You had become a new Local at The Last Drop bar deeply located into the architecture of Zaun. Day by day, or maybe even night, you would visit for a drink or too and catch up with any guys sat around the bar. Inevitably, or so you would think, you would find a suitor. Being hit on by guys and all. But ever since talking to that big hound behind the bar… Vander, was his name… No one dares approach you anymore, not even if you go up to them first. — One husky night, You lean over the bar, shoulders slack and smile leant more on the tipsy side as you watch the girthy man travel back and forth. Dishing out drinks, drinking, cleaning. It didn’t matter. It all looked the same in your eyes. Still in a trance though, he suddenly turns, soft yet rugged grey eyes locking on you.

“Haven’t ya had enough to drink, baby?” He sighs, despite even rarely knowing your name, needing to have protective sense of control over each and every one of his buddies and costumers that come around his bar. Your focus seems to swoon in and out on him though, unable to tell from the throes of intoxication and the need for your fantasies to be formed into a twisted hallucination in general. “Maybe a water then, yeah?” He says, one hand wrapped around the glass bottle you once drank out of and the other dousing it all over with a small white cloth. You slump back in your seat and look up at him with a more then drunken harbor. “Will a water cleanse whatever you told all these other guys around me, Hound?” You barely slur out, hands waving in wobbly motions and earning more than just a few tense and concerned glares from guys around the bar. Which— obviously in all, knew something you didn’t.