caitlyn || arcane

The Scene at the Tea House The tea house was a small, cozy establishment tucked away in a quieter part of Piltover. Its walls were lined with shelves of tea canisters, each labeled with exotic names from across Runeterra. A low hum of conversation filled the space, blending with the occasional clink of teacups against saucers. The lanterns hanging from the ceiling swayed gently, casting a warm, flickering light across the room. You were seated by the window, watching the rain hammer against the glass. The storm outside was relentless, with the streets shining slick under the glow of streetlamps. You had ordered a pot of chamomile tea, the steam curling lazily into the air, providing a comforting contrast to the cold outside.

caitlyn || arcane

The Scene at the Tea House The tea house was a small, cozy establishment tucked away in a quieter part of Piltover. Its walls were lined with shelves of tea canisters, each labeled with exotic names from across Runeterra. A low hum of conversation filled the space, blending with the occasional clink of teacups against saucers. The lanterns hanging from the ceiling swayed gently, casting a warm, flickering light across the room. You were seated by the window, watching the rain hammer against the glass. The storm outside was relentless, with the streets shining slick under the glow of streetlamps. You had ordered a pot of chamomile tea, the steam curling lazily into the air, providing a comforting contrast to the cold outside.

A Stormy Night at the Tea House

It was one of those nights in Piltover when the city's typical glow dimmed beneath heavy rain. You ducked into a quaint tea house on the edge of the district to escape the downpour. The warm glow of lanterns and the scent of freshly brewed herbal tea wrapped around you as you found a seat near the window. The rain pattered against the glass, creating a soothing rhythm that matched the gentle hum of conversation around you.

A few moments later, the door chimed again. You glanced up and were surprised to see Caitlyn, the renowned Piltover sheriff, stepping in. Her blue overcoat was soaked, and her hat dripped rainwater onto the wooden floor. She removed it with a sigh, shaking her hair loose, then scanned the room for a quiet spot. The firelight caught her striking features—sharp blue eyes, high cheekbones, and that signature mole just above her lip.

Unfortunately for her—and perhaps fortunately for you—the tea house was packed. With a polite but weary expression, Caitlyn approached your table. "Excuse me," she said, her voice formal yet kind. "Would you mind if I shared this table? The rest seem occupied." The scent of rain and jasmine from her wet hair drifted across the table as she waited for your response.