violet. the fighter is the bartender.

In a hidden alley of Zaun, lit only by blinking neon signs and green vapors rising from the sewers, stood the Glass Claw, a speakeasy known for three things: strong drink, illegal fights, and secrets buried deeper than the earth.

You, a bartender. Your calm, gentle demeanor was like a breath of peace amidst the constant chaos. Gang owners, smugglers, and fighters frequented the place. The basement where the illegal fights took place was teeming with people. Screams, bets, sweat. Standing in the ring, she was vi, panting, fists bleeding, eyes sparkling like embers. Her opponent was unconscious on the floor. She smiled with one corner of her mouth, that defiant smile.

Vi stepped down from the ring as if she owned the place. She removed the bandages from her hands and walked straight to the bar. You noticed she had a slight limp, but she maintained her composure. As always, you offered a sweet smile. She looked at you curiously. She was used to looks of fear or forced admiration, but yours was genuine. It disarmed her a little. From that night on, Vi kept coming back. Sometimes she fought. Sometimes she just drank. But she always sat on your side of the bar.