LEIZU

" — and though i was stung , he didn't live to sting . "

&. FALSEMIRAGE — an independent, selective, private, mutuals - only original character for the animated series arcane.

— created by carcass ( it/its , 22 )

one of the few perks that came alongside employment beneath the kingpin of zaun was after hours access to the last drop. leizu was partial to a drink on the odd occasion — though not when waves of crashing, squawking patrons that reeked of sweat and stale liquor filled the bar to the brim each and every night: leaving almost no room to breathe or even think. years of putting herself in unsavory social situations for occupational purposes has long since steeled her to the idea of conversing for enjoyment.

a maroon painted finger absently traces the rim of her cup, chin perched heavily on the palm of her hand with a melancholy sigh that seems to echo throughout the barren room. she relished in the tranquil lull of silence as dark eyes flicker across the marred wood of the counter. even when the door behind her creaks open and a heavy thud of boots approaches she remains static — there were very few people who'd show up this late, considering not many were permitted the luxery.

sullen features quirk into something a little more . . . fake; sour look softening, pursed lips parting to take a drawn out sip of her drink. there were appearances she had to keep up. just as she'd suspected, sevika stalks up to the bar, surly expression seemingly more prominent than usual, to slip behind it and pour herself a drink with practiced ease. her hand reaches for a bottle leizu had come to realise was almost strictly reserved for silco's right - hand. neither say anything, scarcely acknowledging one another until she catches two fingers rubbing at no doubt aching temples from her peripheral.

" free, that's all that she can bleed —

leizu almost wishes she could feel sympathy for the woman sat before her.

perhaps some part of her does. some younger, more naive part of her buried far below the countless mangled corpses of her past selves: below layers upon layers of protective falsity. a childish part that had been blind to the reason behind her suffering — the suffering of everyone in the scorned city of zaun. a part of her that believed the way she lived was merely a way of life. it was the way things were. the way they had always been. fighting day in, day out, just to survive: living life as though it were a constant battle. but as a child? she knew no better. knew not that change were possible, should those who had the power pulled their gold adorned thumbs from their arses.

no longer was she a child, though. she hadn't been a child since her age passed into the double digits. awareness had hit her like a swift kick to the gut. that their suffering was not necessary. that its elimination could be possible — it was merely essential to keep them in line. to keep them pliant. they didn't care for their suffering. not that they endured it, not that they could change it.

the innocence leizu had grown accustomed to feigning had been disregarded in favour of apathy, features that were often kept strategically delicate to portray naivety now blank with her disregard.

" what changed? " voice missing its typical velvet tone, it was instead laced with a subtle ire — a rare display of true emotion.

if you decide to play, just copy-paste to repost, with a list of 6-12 headcanons that are centered on features your mutuals should know about your muse, including your muses' thoughts about them, if any. don't reblog it. have fun!

HAIR: leizu only began keeping her hair short after the first time she killed. despite her affection for it, she realised it would only pose to be more of a hinderance than it was worth. she does it herself, and after so many years she's mastered snipping it to an almost professional standard.

PIERCINGS: courtesy of madame margot, a one-night fling left leizu surrendering her anatomy to garner information she'd been tasked with finding. a conch and forward helix are harboured on her left ear, her tragus pierced on the right. though she rarely wears any jewellery outside of the bolts that mimic the chem-baroness' own — anything fancier is only ever used when she's going to piltover so she can blend in better.

CLOTHING: despite using her body as a tool to get as she desires, she doesn't often have skin on display. while she will show off her figure, she's found that seduction works best when the poor fools have to imagine what her tight-fitting clothes are hiding. she also leans towards red colours when working - otherwise, the typical dull, murky colours zaunites often donned were her go to.

LIPS: leizu has a diagonal scar on her bottom lip - which is often hidden with a thin layer of red lipstick or gloss. she acquired it while she was a child living at the brothel. she'd been running around after hours and ended up tripping, smashing her chin into a set of drawers, causing her front teeth to cut into her lip. a reminder of calmer, more enjoyable times.

SCARS: only visible up close and personal when laizu's face lacks any of her typical makeup, there is a circular scar on her right cheek. when her head tilts up, a similar scar is visible at the bottom of her jaw. after being caught mere seconds after killing a mark - when she was just starting out - his buddy had walked in and managed to get the upper hand on her in her surprise. as he stood above her he'd expected the shot to the head to kill her, not realising he'd missed anything vital when she managed to turn her head at the last second. she stood, blood pouring from her mouth, and killed him too. they've faded over the years, and the makeup makes them less noticeable. it was also the last time she'd truly felt fear.

FINGERS: while typically bare when in zaun, they are always donned in expensive (stolen) looking rings when travelling to piltover. her nails, kept well manicured, are always painted a crimson red, the length short enough to be practical, but long enough to retain that feminine quality men were so drawn towards. there are plenty of thin, white scars across her fingers and palms from where's she's nicked herself on a plethora of things - knives, debris, metal from whatever buildings she often scaled.

tagged by: @fourchaos !! <3

" sorry — do i know you? " leizu's head cocks with her feigned confusion at the approach of the stranger. the bengin, innocent tone to her speech had been carefully curated and perfected over the years she'd spent meticulously forging every part about herself to ensure not a glimpse of the old her remained.

he was a stranger — but she knew of him. she knew of many, many people who were likely unaware of her existence. no matter how discrete or crafty they believed themselves to be: she was always better.

when the shimmer addicts she'd leave whatever spoils she gained from her marks began to disappear, she'd become curious; thus leading her to the firelight's hideout, where she continued to leave the money she made from her work — from killing. they needed it more than her, after all. deserved it more.

leizu had heard plenty about the infamous caitlyn kiramman.

the people residing in piltover had nothing but stellar reviews for their trusted sheriff. many times during her excursions to gather information on her marks had the woman unintentionally overheard blinding praise in regard to her skill, her conviction, her resolve — it seemed she had it all.

those in zaun, however, had vastly different views, including leizu herself. enforcers were just one amongst a plethora of bane's of the cities existence. even those who had not heard the woman's name would curse her, preconceived notions regarding the uniform leaving nothing but negativity in their hearts.

one thing she could confess ( to only herself ) was that running into caitlyn was not something she ever desired to do. it wasn't out of fear — it had been a long time since leizu had been fearful of anything — but because if anyone were to figure her out it would be the sharp-eyed sheriff.

the cloak draped around her shoulders was of high quality, hiding the dull clothes that would blatantly betray where she was truly from should they be visible. glancing down a nearby street, the bridge she needed to cross to return home was in sight — though, heading towards her, was the sheriff of piltover herself, who seemed as if she were looking for . . . something. too late to dip into a nearby alley or store, leizu is swift in the practiced way she tugs the hood up and over her head, silently willing her presence to be ignored.