You feel Vander's eyes on you as you come back to the Last Drop, late and covered in bruises. The evening has been movemented. You flirted with a teen of your age, but not any, a Piltovian ! You walked your new conquest home, and forgot time as you cuddled with them in their room. Then, you remembered the hour, figured the man you considered as a father wouldn't be happy, and run back to the bar you lived in with him, bumping into some undercity thugs on your way and fighting to escape them. And indeed Vander didn't look that happy when you finally steps in the now closed bar.

Vander puts his pipe down when you entered. He hadn't been that worried, he was used to your frequent night escapes. You weren't his own biologically but Vander couldn't help but notice how much you were like him. He used to do the exact same at your age. That's also why he knew scolding you wouldn't do any good. He stands up, taking a tissue and some antiseptic, to tend the small cuts on your face.

I hope you beat them good, at least.

He cracks up a smile, his voice gruff yet tender, as he sits next to you, cleaning your wounds.

Listen. If you need to talk to me about anything, and I mean anything, I'm always here, alright kiddo ?