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+---- Thread: you play the victim with your finger on the trigger (/showthread.php?tid=12883)
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RE: you play the victim with your finger on the trigger - Vesper - 06-04-2026
Vesper takes the chair across from him and drapes his jacket over the back of it in precisely the same way Jack had, before taking a seat and leaning back, pale eyes lifting as the shutter drops inside his father’s mind and the shape of Hak Etme opens where words would have been clumsier. He lets his magic move carefully through what Jack has chosen to leave available, not prying so much as accepting the offered angle of the thing. The port assembles itself in heat and dust and broken ambition, ramshackle and hungry, and then Thalassa appears amid it all, which draws an unimpressed little sound from somewhere low in his throat. Not Colt, at least. That’s the first useful mercy of the evening, and Vesper doesn’t dress the relief up as anything nobler before letting the thought slide back behind his teeth. [say]"Looks rough as hell. Good thing the Ark doesn't have to anchor in that mess."[/say]
When the server comes near, he glances up and nods for her to double Jack's order before his attention returns fully to his father, the question waiting there with more care in it than Vesper might have expected, though he doesn’t let surprise make anything obvious of itself. It only pulls a slow breath into his lungs as he reaches into his pocket and draws out a card, spinning it idly between his fingers while he considers the shape of the answer. Business is business. Wanting something to sting less has never made it worth less, and he’s Jack’s son in enough ways to know better than to mistake pain for principle or to let a particular sort of soreness in his chest ruin a good business deal.
So, Vesper exhales smoothly, lips pursing for a moment before he gives his head a slight shake. [say]"Sounds like a smart play,"[/say] he says at last, dry and even, the card flashing once between his fingers. For both of you sits beneath it, unspoken but not hidden, close enough to the surface that Jack can have it if he wants it while Vesper’s shields remain lowered by that same careful fraction. His expression barely changes around the thought, though his gaze holds steady across the table, cool and pale and not quite indifferent enough to be believed. [say]"Let me know if you need anythin' done."[/say]
RE: you play the victim with your finger on the trigger - Jack - 06-04-2026
[say]"Mm, apparently it's still bein' worked on, so we'll see how it looks come Flowerbirth."[/say] But Jack hasn't got high hopes given how welcoming the flora, fauna and Thalassas are, though he fully accepts the fact that he might have been the exception to the rule when it comes to that sort of thing. (Not many people roll out the welcome wagon for Jack Barclay).
He pauses only long enough for the server to approach to set two glasses of whiskey down before them, Jack frosting the glasses with a flick of his fingers before lifting his own to his lips. [say]"Mm, it is,"[/say] he agrees of the smart play, though his blue eyes are curious as he regards the young demigod across from him, the way his indifference threatens to choke him with the insincerity of it.
[say]"Let me know if you want me to need anythin' done,"[/say] he fires back, raising his glass in a half toast. [say]"You're wearin' nonchalance like shirt that's too big. She still under your skin after all these seasons?"[/say]
RE: you play the victim with your finger on the trigger - Vesper - 06-04-2026
Vesper’s eyebrows lift a fraction because whatever Hak Etme is meant to become by Flowerbirth, the version he’s seen through his father’s eyes looks like it needs more than time and optimism to make it habitable. [say]"Looks like it needs a divine helpin’ hand,"[/say] he says, short exhale brushing almost into a laugh before he shakes his head. [say]"I’ve been up there when it ain’t Deepfrost, and—"[/say] Whatever precise assessment waits at the end of that sentence isn’t worth the effort of polishing. The desert had been brutal enough in the comparative cold; the thought of it under full heat makes him exhale again, quiet and flat, as if the air alone can finish the insult for him.
He nods his thanks when Jack frosts the glasses, the card between his fingers disappearing with a clean flick before his hand closes around the whiskey instead. The cold bites nicely against his palm at first, sharp enough to give his attention somewhere to settle, and he has just lifted the glass when Jack opens him up as neatly as any knife.
His first reaction is not pretty, with his shadows shifting, drawing in around his chair in a low, restless sweep as Vesper straightens, pale eyes sharpening across the table. There’s an answer waiting on his tongue, something narrow and cruel enough to leave a mark if he lets it loose, but the shape of it catches against his teeth before it gets any farther. That alone says enough, and as Vesper forces out a slow breath, his shadows ease back by degrees until he's settled back into his chair again, though his fingers stay wrapped around the glass until the frost begins to burn cold into his skin. He watches Jack over the rim of it, expression composed now in the deliberate way that admits, if only by omission, how recently it hadn’t been.
[say]"Ain’t much else to do with it,"[/say] he says of the nonchalance, and tips the whiskey to his lips for a swallow generous enough to sting. The glass returns to the table, though his hand doesn’t quite leave it. [say]"I keep expectin’ her to channel me outta the blue,"[/say] he adds, voice lower now, stripped of the sharper edges without being softened. [say]"She’s done it before."[/say] His mouth tightens faintly, not enough to become a smile. [say]"And I can’t figure out if I’m hopin’ she will, or that she won’t."[/say]
Because if Colt pulls him through the bond again, at least the waiting stops. At least the thing fraying between them is no longer only his to hold, no longer something he has to carry around with all that careful indifference while it cuts deeper than it has any right to. But if she does channel him, then there she’ll be, immediate and real and close enough to make all his careful distance useless. And if she doesn’t, there’s no mercy in that either. It only means she has already set it down, and he’s the fool still standing there with his hands full.
RE: you play the victim with your finger on the trigger - Jack - 06-04-2026
Thoughts about Hak Etme and whatever divine assistance it might need vanish from Jack's mind the moment Vesper's shadows spring to his defence, the Captain watching them with neat precision and a healthy dose of respect. He's trained enough times with Vesper now to know that even warning shots can still flay you to the bone; he knows, because he'd had a hand in teaching him as much.
His eyebrows raise over his glass as he lifts it slowly to his lips, asking a dozen silent questions and expecting no answers, but when the boy decides against cheap shots and easy insults, he swallows his sip of whiskey and sets the drink back down to listen instead. And at the mention of channelling, Jack's lip curls in distaste. He'd never considered that element of it, that Colt could decide at least once a season to bring Vesper unwillingly back into her life - not just to see him, but to put him to work - and though it might only be for a few seconds, that's still long enough to bruise.
[say]"You still got shit left unsaid between you?"[/say] It's phrased as a question, though in reality it's nothing of the sort - the distance between them is screaming loud enough to be heard from Hak Etme down to King's End, and Jack sighs. [say]"Would it be easier if I gave you opportunities to be in her way on purpose? Or to tell her that channellin' you has consequences?"[/say] He doesn't know what kind yet because he hasn't fully considered it, but Jack happens to be very creative when it comes to that sort of thing.
RE: you play the victim with your finger on the trigger - Vesper - 06-04-2026
Vesper’s eyebrow lifts, exasperation cutting cleanly through the careful arrangement of his face before he exhales a huff and lets his gaze drop to the whiskey between his fingers. Dropping his shields a measured fraction that Jack might be able to catch the proper shape of his thoughts rather than just the texture of them, he sighs. [say]How could there not be, when I couldn’t ever tell her the real reason it wasn’t ever gonna work?[/say] The thought comes through with more shape than sound, edged in the private bitterness of a truth that’s had too long to sharpen itself. [say]When I couldn’t tell her why I ended shit the way I did?[/say]
He shakes his head, indecision flickering through the motion before he buries it beneath a shrug that doesn’t quite convince either of them. [say]"It ain’t like I actually don’t give a shit about her,"[/say] he says aloud, the words rougher for being plain, [say]"even if that’s the impression I left. So if I start showin’ up on errands from you, imagine what that’ll sound like."[/say] He drinks again, letting the whiskey do what composure can’t without looking like it’s trying too hard. Colt would hold her tongue if she saw him, probably. She had pride enough for silence and teeth enough to make it convincing, but thoughts were another matter, and gods, Vesper knows better than most that she’d still have a stampede of them, sharp-hooved and furious, whether she let a single word loose or not.
As for channelling, his head gives another uncertain shake, slower this time. [say]"Well,"[/say] he says, eyes fixed briefly on the frost at the edge of his glass, [say]"guess it ain’t like I’m the only demigod she could call on if she needed help."[/say] His expression sours before he can stop it, mouth tightening into something close to a sneer as the thought turns traitor beneath his skin. She had the likes of Sunjata to help with her tasks, help with the things beneath her sheets and whatever else she'd once called on him for. He has no right to resent it, which does absolutely nothing to keep the resentment from moving through him anyway, quick and ugly and jealous as a knife slipped between ribs. [say]"Maybe that's why she ain't called."[/say] Which, if it was the case, also meant that his pining and his bullshit was so much piss in the breeze, anyway.