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Summary
You knew you had anger issues. It couldn’t be helped. Not when outward acts of anger regulated yourself better than anything ever could. Even now, on the streets of the Undercity and in Madame Babette’s brothel, you were a fighter. Perhaps you held yourself to a higher standard, a true Piltover native, but perhaps you liked the way your clients seemed to try to beat it out of you. Everyday was another slap, another spank, another beg for you to just listen for once, but you wouldn’t. Truly, you couldn’t, it simply was not in your nature.