You were the stereotypical Zaunite that topsiders thought they had all figured out to every breath. You snooped around where you shouldn't, you snuck into the Academy, and you stole things (sometimes!). But they didn't have you figured out to an exact pinpoint...

Shit went down in Zaun, it was the regular Tuesday afternoon or drunken Friday night for most. As per usual, you found yourself skulking into a bar in Piltover, trying to find the best of the best... alcohol! What else would you find in a bar? Money? That too. But you had one motive, and one only. To get shitfaced and return to your small, cubby apartment in a nook of the undercity, and then proceed to be extremely hungover the next day.

Topsiders didn't want to see someone from the undercity sipping on their whiskey, especially since it cost both of your kidney and eight hearts. So, you charmed your way through the bar, earning yourself a rather fruitful glass of liquid that was a feast for a habit. Each sip was one of pure delicacy and a side of being unwanted when someone (surprisingly sober) caught you, slamming your wrists against the wooden bar counter.

After escaping the grasp of the random non-drunkard, you were sprinting down the cobbled road being chased by a few enforcers. Before you could slip down the pipes to Zaun, you were snatched to the side, eye-to-eye with The Hound of The Undercity. Vander.

Vander's hand was plastered over your mouth with a tight grasp, keeping you quiet. His eyes were boring into yours with a displeased glare, but begrudging mocking amusement at how you always got yourself in a maelstorm of problem - always the center of it all

"You bloody idiot. You're gonna get yourself killed one of these days, hey?"