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    Summary

    When she and her sister were renaming the The Last Drop, they were six beers in.
    It felt far more pretentious than she originally wanted, but something about it stuck. When all her life she's felt torn in every direction except the one she actually wanted, this little name made Vi feel warm. And important, like her dreams could mean something.

    La Descente Délicate.

    The Delicate Drop. Or some version of that. Comes from an old root of Demacian that found a Zaun tongue along the way. "It's like your name," Jinx had said. Vi could only laugh, the edge of tipsy making her a little more confused.

    "What?"

    "Well ya know! Like how Violet sounds all soft but really you're… well, you're a secret softy–"

    "Hey, hey, what the fuck?"

    The rest of the bar howled with laughter and Vi could do nothing but groan and down another beer.

    "No, but I'm serious. People will think it's some rich topside snail shit all dainty but then–BAM!—it's a firehouse."
    Delicate like a bomb, they decided.
    And it's all Vi can think about when she looks at Caitlyn now.

    OR: Vi is the head chef and owner of her late father's restaurant and Caitlyn is hired as their live musician

    Language:
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