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+---- Thread: [SE] Promise me that I dont need a parachute (/showthread.php?tid=11885)
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Promise me that I dont need a parachute - Colt - 08-12-2025
The morning has unfurled into full splendor by now. Everything is golden and bright, alive with dew and promise of something fresh. That's exactly what she means to deliver today, a fresh coat of paint for some of the more downtrodden homes. A few were owned by elderly who couldn't keep up with all the needs of their weathering property, and some were kept by people who just didn't give a damn, even if their neighbors did. She's not taking up a painter's role in town, but she can extend the hand, especially since she'll be doing no riding until her leg mends up a bit better, courtesy of no healers on hand in the swamp, and though her ranch needs its own version of repairs, she's still arranging some of that.
This is something she can do now. Plus, it has a visible outcome that will make her feel useful and accomplished. So she surveys the first house, brush in hand and paint bucket and tray beside her. She's in her overalls that have seen better days and have definitely been her painting partner a time or two. A dark green, short-sleeved shirt is on underneath, and her navy jacket is already flopped over a nearby fence, not willing to risk it taking on a new color and figuring she'll be plenty warm with the work. She's got on her old, favorite boots that look ready to fall apart with her next step, and her hat is a little smushed and frayed on the edges, suggesting it's either been sat on recently by a horse or is more aged than her usual. She doesn't expect to walk away pristine today, so she dressed in things that she wouldn't regret losing to some of the paint.
Pulling her hair back in a ponytail to keep it from turning into a brush, a tune hums out as she rolls the first tan line across the side of the house.
RE: Promise me that I dont need a parachute - Vesper - 08-12-2025
Word travels quick enough along the docks, quicker still when someone like Colt leaves a trail of intention behind her. By the time one of the coastal captains mentioned a certain rancher swinging a brush instead of a lariat, Vesper was already on his way.
The air in King’s End carries that Leafchange crispness now, a bite beneath the sun that says winter’s already eyeing the place. He’s dressed for it; dark coat left open over a fine-knit sweater, collar turned up against the wind, boots clicking soft on the packed earth. It's a long walk from the harbour, but utilizing his horse shift had made the trip relatively quick, and it’s easy enough to pick Colt out long before he’s close. Even with her overalls obscuring her curves and the smudge of paint blooming across the boards, there’s no mistaking that familiar sway of movement, the pale flare of hair pulled back, the stubborn set of her hat and boots.
He whistles low under his breath, the sound carrying a note of approval as he closes the distance. A glance slides from her to the stretch of house she’s working on, and he shades his eyes with one hand, letting his voice drift with deliberate mischief. [say]"If only there was someone around with extra hands t’make this easier."[/say] Vesper's shadows answer before Colt can, with a few curling out along the boards near her elbow, lazy and sinuous like they’ve got all the time in the world. They flex once, a parody of readiness, before melting away again as if they’d only been idling there for the view.
RE: Promise me that I dont need a parachute - Colt - 08-12-2025
This isn't the first whistle she's heard, although it's the first one today, and it's the first one looking like this. Proof that there's someone for everyone it'd seem, if unflattering and paint-crusted denim is capable of luring someone in still. She ignores the sound for the most part, just lifts up a middle finger in response, which should be plenty clue enough for the dog to keep walking.
Except there's no receding footsteps, and just one all too familiar voice, if entirely unexpected. Not a dog then, a fox. Her tune cuts off, head turning over her shoulder with a sway of her ponytail, a smile stretching in at the sight of him framed by all his mischief. Gods, if he isn't a sight for sore eyes. Every time, especially the unexpected ones, he's something she could watch over and over, the same way a sunset never loses its value. Fuck if that isn't half the problem though.
She sighs softly, pushing back against the way he lands with all the permanence of smoke settling in the fabric of her mind. Light, she tells herself, keep it light. The night of the masquerade had shown her just how heavily she'd started carrying him inside her.
[say]"Yeah, you don't know anyone like that, do you?"[/say] she props one hand on her hip, a 'brow rising with expectation of an answer. [say]"It'd help if they're tall too,"[/say] at that she turns back to the wall and motions with the brush in her other hand towards the peak of the roof that stretches well above her, although there's a step ladder leaning against the fence where she slung her jacket. [say]"They'd have to be willing to get dirty though,"[/say] she tells the house, frowning a bit at it, like that could be the troublesome part.
RE: Promise me that I dont need a parachute - Vesper - 08-12-2025
Vesper’s grin sharpens the moment her middle finger goes up, wolfish and pleased as if she’d just thrown him a gift instead of an insult. It stays there while she turns, his gaze shameless in the way it takes her in from hat brim to battered boots as his hands slide into his coat pockets like he’s settling in for a show.
[say]"That’s quite the tall order,"[/say] he drawls, the words curling with amusement. On the wall beside her, his shadows stir again, stretching up the boards in long, inky strokes until they drape lazily across the spot her next pass of the brush would claim. They linger there, flexing slow, as if daring her to see whether paint could smother shadow.
At her talk of getting dirty, his mouth crooks into something drier. [say]"Might be able t’find someone with those qualifications,"[/say] he muses, eyes still tipped toward her work. [say]"If I can promise ’em a shower after."[/say] The glance he tips her way after that is pure invitation to decide whether he'd make use of said shower regardless of how the painting went.
RE: Promise me that I dont need a parachute - Colt - 08-12-2025
She absolutely intends to discover if paint will stick to his shadows, driving her brush hurriedly for them before they have a chance to pull back, all their laziness a disguise she's seen worn before. They've gotta have some substance if they can move brambles and tear off panties, but admittedly they fade away as quickly as they appear, trained to his whim alone and dancing around like no darkness she's ever known before. He's always full of surprises that way.
When she glances back at him next, she attempts to keep the line of her lips behind the rise of her shoulder. She can't keep a straight face much longer, just like in poker, always her downfall. [say]"Will a hose do?"[/say] she asks after a thoughtful pause, paintbrush still poised like a weapon in her hand. Shadow or skin is due to be marked today one way or another. [say]"Might be able to find a pond if the help is real picky, because I'm certainly not willing to bother dear ol' Edith with a request for a shower. That's an invitation to be handed inside chores and I'm strictly on outside chores today."[/say]
She returns for another swipe against the worn wood. [say]"Although, maybe the help will be charming enough that Edith will be too flustered to assign any more work."[/say] She shrugs, because she's not Edith.
RE: Promise me that I dont need a parachute - Vesper - 08-12-2025
Vesper’s grin tilts sharper as Colt drives her brush toward his shadows, the dark tendrils lazily curling away just in time, leaving her paint to cling only to the siding. [say]"Careful,"[/say] he murmurs, voice warm with amusement, [say]"you’ll start thinkin’ you can boss ‘em around."[/say] The shadows slink back into nothing, their retreat deliberate, like a cat letting a mouse believe it’s winning.
Her talk of hoses and ponds lands in his head before it reaches her mouth, and he sighs as if the universe has personally asked too much of him. [say]"Findin’ you this sort of help’s soundin’ harder an’ harder by the minute,"[/say] he drawls, though the flicker in his eyes says he’s already toying with the idea. Edith’s name drifts through her thoughts and earns a quiet, amused breath from him. [say]"Maybe the help’d be charming enough she’d offer the shower instead of the hose."[/say]
The remark lingers with a faint twitch of a smirk, but the edge of playfulness softens as he steps forward, boots catching faint damp from the grass. He props one hand on the ladder, gaze trailing up past the faded denim, the stubborn set of Colt's shoulders, to the paintbrush still ready in her grip. Whatever she’s telling herself, the masquerade’s still clinging to her thoughts like smoke, and he’s never been the type to leave something smouldering unattended. [say]"Come down a minute,"[/say] he says, quiet but not quite asking, his blue eyes catching hers like he means to keep them there until she does.
RE: Promise me that I dont need a parachute - Colt - 08-12-2025
A laugh threatens to break free as he cautions her against bossing. [say]"I'm positive I can't, don't fret,"[/say] she reassures coolly. Proof enough in the splay of bristles and paint across wood alone, a disappointing return to work. She brushes the coating back to something akin to even, having no desire to be scolded by Edith for a poorly done job.
Her restraint slips at his exaggerated disappointment, as if a shower means the world to him, like she hadn't seen him fling himself into the sea like Poseidon's son. She hadn't offered him a beach though, maybe that's the problem. [say]"Yeah well, good help is always hard to find, that's why you do shit yourself."[/say] The smile that reached up to her eyes for a moment is schooled back to nonchalance, trying to recover the ruse. Both the one they're playing at with words, and the one in her head. [say]"Shall I fetch her and we'll find out?"[/say] Her head tilts, a glimmer of challenge in the corner of her eye before she turns back to finish another set of tan passes to the building's side.
She can hear him walk in further, though she's trying hard not to let every manner of want rise up to the idea of him coming in close, like metal readying to be magnetized. His hand on the ladder stills her. She exhales soft, gaze turning to him after a pause, like she's gathering something up first before she can. Balance, for one, because even on solid ground he makes everything go askew, and she will be damned if she falls off this step in front of him. At his words though, and more importantly the soft way they land, her 'brow quirks up in silent question. He's got a look to him that's not like his usual—too focused. Normally there's a casual drift to him, same as a tide that'll pull you out from shore without you realizing.
The brush gets set down over the edge of a step and she rubs her free hands across the front of her overalls. A new smear of tan adds to the fabric from the edge of a finger she didn't even know had any paint on it. Exactly why she'd worn it. Bracing her questionably clean hands on the ladder's side, she carefully reaches down with one foot, not wanting to bump her bum leg against anything as she retreats back to solid ground. She leans her weight on her better leg as she turns towards him, one arm keeping hold of the ladder while the other hooks a thumb in her pocket. [say]"This is the opposite of helping, y'know?"[/say] she points out with only a sliver of actual complaint, because much as she'd say otherwise, he's always free to interrupt her day. Edith can enjoy her shower with a half painted house if need be, although her neighborhood reputation would end up in shreds.
RE: Promise me that I dont need a parachute - Vesper - 08-12-2025
The flicker of pain in Colt's mind doesn’t just register—it lands like a pebble in still water, sending rings out until they touch something quieter in the young demigod. Whatever easy smirk he’d been wearing pulls into a frown before she’s even set her foot on the ground. He doesn’t bother with the usual preamble; one hand comes out of his pocket and extends toward her, loose but ready, as though catching her would be the most natural thing in the world. Shadows stir at his periphery in an unhurried climb up the ladder, wrapping themselves along the rungs until the whole thing seems to steady under their weight.
His gaze doesn’t stray from her, not even when she leans into her good leg. He marks the way she guards the other, the careful drop of her foot like she’s sidestepping glass, and his plans for a sly turn toward the masquerade fall away with the tide. [say]"What’d you do?"[/say] he asks, voice pitched low, the usual lazy edge replaced with a kind of measured focus that makes the question feel heavier than its few words.
Underneath, the reach of his mind settles just far enough to catch the spill of whatever comes loose—whether it’s the simple truth or the sidesteps she thinks she can get away with. He’s not digging, not yet, but the net is there all the same, quiet and waiting, while his eyes hold hers as if she might try to walk right past the answer.
RE: Promise me that I dont need a parachute - Colt - 08-12-2025
The shadow of her smile hanging beneath the playful banter gives way to surprise. The dozen of his dark hands weaving support into the ladder and the ready extension of his arm to catch anything that'd tumble all seems like overkill for stepping down a few rungs. It's the way he cuts to the quick that really throws her though, and for a moment she doesn't place the meaning. Painted? is the answer she's tempted to say, and even casts a glance back at the wall like maybe she'd done a worse job than she realized. This could be his roundabout way of asking why she's offering up skills she doesn't actually have to the town, but none of that really slots in together. There's too much unfamiliar edge to him for this to be about paint, unless his other hobby is judging how well people match their color to their trim.
It doesn't take too long for the meaning to land true, and exhaling the understanding she lifts up the hurt leg a little and wags her toe back and forth. [say]"Oh this?"[/say] she says, the way a girl does when complimented on a dress that she pretends didn't take far too much time or money to turn out looking so nice. Her eyes turn back to his for confirmation as she gingerly sets the leg back down, a shrug sealing the this little ol' thing? of it all. [say]"Received a reminder not to stick my nose in business it doesn't belong in."[/say] The corner of her mouth quirks to the side, teeth pressing together like she means to chew apart the resurfacing memory of the mud holding her despite all her caution, of the ugly tongue nearly snatching more than some of her hide.
[say]"Hunting doesn't go so well without you it seems,"[/say] she huffs, trying to spread some humor over the hurt, both physically and to her pride. [say]"So next time a giant toad tries to eat me out in the swamp, wanna come along?"[/say] Maybe he'd reconsider how easy painting a house is with that offer.
[say]"Fortunately Nova killed it, everyeone was alright in the end."[/say] The shower of little tiny toads afterwards seems to suggest they might have just helped its lifecycle along, but close enough. She'd thought he'd have heard already, from Nova, but perhaps she accidentally just threw his sister into the fire. [say]"Nova did great. Don't think we'd have made it so well without her."[/say] Maybe some peace of mind for him, maybe not, but Colt has been impressed twice now by her, although darts with icicles doesn't hold a candle to blowing a toad into acid spray. It is disappointing it ruined her favorite rain jacket.
[say]"Figure to ask Frey for some way to heal next, could avoid this layup in the future."[/say] Not that she's particularly planning on making it a habit to run around battling monsters, but some healing in your pocket never hurts.
RE: Promise me that I dont need a parachute - Vesper - 08-13-2025
The swamp isn’t here, but it might as well be, the way it fogs through Colt's head; water dark as oil, breath heavy with rot, the sudden flicker of teeth where there shouldn’t be any. It slides into him without effort, the murk warping and pooling until his jaw tightens. She tries to skim over it, the way she does with most things that bite, but the image clings like brambles and he keeps it close, filing away the way she steels herself before she speaks.
Her ask comes dressed in humour, light enough to pass for a joke, but the undertow says she means it. He lets the corner of his mouth tilt, a slow pull rather than a smile, the sound of a laugh ghosting out as if he’s been given some private amusement. [say]"One day you oughta try channelin’ me,"[/say] he drawls, lazy on the surface, though the notion of her actually doing it lingers sharp in his mind. They hadn't ever really spoken about the fact that he was a demigod, but it was branded into her as an accepted to be able to call down things more powerful than she was when she felt inclined
Nova’s name stirs a different tide in Vesper's mind and he drags a hand through pale hair like it might straighten the thought. [say]"Guess I oughta hurry up with her armour,"[/say] he mutters, the words low, pulled from somewhere that doesn’t see much light. Then, with the same ease he’d offer a cigarette, he offers, [say]"could always come back to Torchline with me,"[/say] he says, tone light but eyes cutting in, [say]"soak in the healing fountain a while."[/say]
RE: Promise me that I dont need a parachute - Colt - 08-13-2025
The smug crease of her features suggests that channeling him has already crossed her mind a time or two, usually when a particularly frustrating day has worn itself into an empty evening. Only the knowledge that his arrival would be as fleeting as any of her dreams has kept her itchy trigger finger at bay and the level requirement. She's had her weaker moments though, when the temptation nearly beats out sense, a too common trend when it comes to him. Sometimes a glimpse is worth it though. [say]"Careful suggesting that sugar, not sure I wouldn't abuse the ability to have you at my beck and call."[/say] Although she laughs, there's a current of desire to it that she's not strong enough to keep out.
The sound quiets to something more reflective, grateful that he doesn't splinter into disapproval or condescension or all the other facets of things she's had angled at her before. He just takes it in, steady as ever, and it makes the sting of it all a little lighter. She tracks the sweep of his hand, combing through the strands like he's organizing worries he won't name but she knows are there, at least for his sisters she knows. [say]"What do you need?"[/say] because though he said it like an offhand reminder of his to do list, she wouldn't mind doing something to benefit Nova. [say]"Could lend a hand,"[/say] she offers, shrugging like it's easy. Right now it is—the animals are all moved for the season and her leg's got her out of the saddle and instead at the wit's end of all her workers, which is why they kicked her out into town. It's also why she's got no good reason to decline his invitation.
She leans deeper on the ladder at the casual extension of it, like she doesn't trust her own feet to keep her upright right now. Her eyes widen just a touch, blinking back her bewilderment. There's a brief moment where she grabs onto the idea with full force. She can picture lazy afternoons on the coast with him, laid back in the sand until the creep of the tide against their toes chases them off. Of evenings spent draped against him while they wander the town until something strikes their fancy enough to make them slip in, be it dinner or a party or a back alley where the lights don't reach. She can imagine falling asleep to the sound of his breathing, waking up with one limb or another still tangled, sheets like smoke around them and the morning growing old before they rouse. She can see it all clearly, but that's all so heavy, and she's trying to keep it light, because if she can't even keep her mood at an even keel when she can't find him for a dance that doesn't even matter, she sure as shit knows she won't handle herself with any sort of grace in a region with too few familiar places and faces.
Hell, she doesn't even know if that's the sort of with me he means. She'd be with him because that's where he lives, but realistically she'd be shacked up at an inn, just another empty room, one worse than her own. Soaking in a healing fountain sounds more like letting herself stew amid dangerous thoughts, all to retreat to a room with boredom as company. The more it spins out in her mind, the more certain she is she'd have an easier time relaxing fighting another toad. [say]"The worst of it's behind me, not sure there's much left to be healed, just time. Besides, if I left, who'd paint dear ol' Edith's house?"[/say] She tries to pitch the words into something higher, airy, light, like she didn't just wander from best to worst case scenarios over something he said as simple as a meal order to a waitress.
RE: Promise me that I dont need a parachute - Vesper - 08-13-2025
Vesper’s chuckle curls out low, his head tipping just enough to angle a look her way. [say]"Pretty sure you’ve got an upper limit on how often you can yank on that trick before it fizzles out,"[/say] he murmurs, letting the pause draw long enough to invite her to test it. [say]"I’ll take my chances."[/say] The words are light, but the pull of her mind isn’t, not when the images she brushes across him slip deeper than the playful threat riding her voice.
It starts like a tide running underfoot, the quiet tug of something she’s not saying. Idle evenings aren’t idle at all; they’re laid out in full colour, salt-warm and deliberate. The tide pushing against their toes, sand sticking to skin, the heavy-limbed sprawl of sleep that only comes when she’s tangled against him. She’s careful not to linger there too long, folds the notion back under the humour she’s better at wearing, but it leaves a faint outline behind, something like a watermark he can still see when he blinks. There’s weight in it, heavier than anything he’s caught outside the triplets. Nova and Caly think of him because he’s family, a constant fixture. In Colt’s head, he’s a place she circles back to, an anchor she keeps within reach whether she admits it or not, and that...
He doesn’t hold it long—dwelling never does him favours—but it settles in the chest all the same. [say]"What I need?"[/say] His shoulders lift in a slow exhale. [say]"Skin’s gotta sit out under the moon all night, run into some kind of illusion, and—"[/say] there’s a faint twist of his mouth [say]"—get Nova’s measurements."[/say]
With a grin, Vesper's gaze flicks to hers, deceptively casual. [say]"Healing waters can be worth it even after the fact. I soaked for about an hour the day after the masquerade."[/say] The lie comes easy, helped along by a shrug as loose as the claim itself. [say]"Was hopin’ to see you there, but I got a bit sick. Jack hauled me back to the Ark before I could find you."[/say] Sick is easier to sell than the truth; there’s no easy way to explain what happens when too many minds press in at once to anyone who isn't a telepath.
Vesper doesn’t elaborate, though, instead letting the quiet stretch between them while his eyes skim over her stance again. The ladder had wobbled earlier, but it’s the subtle shift in how she leans that tells him more than any answer might. [say]"You’d’ve been a good distraction,"[/say] he adds at last, the dry edge to his voice soft enough that it might almost pass for something else.
RE: Promise me that I dont need a parachute - Colt - 08-13-2025
The list of tasks he rattles off doesn't sound difficult, but sometimes just having a list is problem enough, as she well knows. [say]"Easy,"[/say] she announces with a tilt of her lips. [say]"Moonlight's nothin'. And I betcha Thorn could make the illusion for you."[/say] As for Nova? [say]"If you're worried she won't do it willingly, I can always hog tie her."[/say] Her grin breaks into full spread at that idea, as it always does at the notion of catching anyone in her lasso, a woefully short list of victims if she's being honest. Should win a ribbon for all her restraint.
When it comes to him though, it's a damn miracle that she has any left. Her smile wanes back into thought as he dangles the idea of a spa trip once again, although her expression remains skeptical. She could always try, she supposes. What'd be the harm except some wasted time, like she isn't looking for ways to burn through it at the moment. If it succeeds, could get her back on track faster, and it's not as if she needs to be there so long. Could be in and out before she even has a chance to get to missing him...
The flicker of her new back and forth dims with the revelation that he'd left the masquerade early due to being ill. That would explain why she hadn't seen Jack again either, not that she'd particularly been looking for him, but she had wanted his tequila after a certain point of the night. An edge to her softens a bit, her gaze lifting to his with fresh clarity, an allowance for some relief of the worry she'd been winding and unwinding against her ribs. [say]"I was wondering why you were so hard to find,"[/say] she murmurs, gentler than she means.
It's an answer to a question she'd been silently chasing, but it doesn't solve much, the way scratching at a bug bite doesn't help anything but the itch. That night hadn't gone south for her because of him or anything he did, or didn't do. It would have stayed steady if she'd found him, but the tilt of it had all been her. Shit, if anything it's almost worse now, knowing he had such a good reason, and she let it bother her? She's really losing her grip on this situation. [say]"Glad you've recovered. Don't worry, you didn't miss much,"[/say] she reassures, playing it off like the evening hadn't been something she'd built up with him solely in mind. Well, her fault. She'd be cautious not to repeat it.
Her attention flicks back to him when he mentions distraction. [say]"Unfortunate the channeling is one way,"[/say] she sighs regrettably, a touch of a smile coming in. [say]"Is that why you're wandering the streets of New Haven, lookin' for distractions?"[/say]
RE: Promise me that I dont need a parachute - Vesper - 08-13-2025
Vesper lets the first laugh scrape out low in his chest, dry as the dust curling across the streets, before tipping his head in mock apology. [say]"Hard to find the time, what with chasin’ down void unicorns and what not. Though if you want to sit up all night with me, I'd not say not to the company."[/say] It’s thrown out like an afterthought, though his grin shifts warmer for a flicker, catching on her mention of Nova and dissolving into a snort that drags his shoulders. [say]"Gods,I bet she’d love bein’ hog-tied, just so she could show off all the ways she could get loose again."[/say] The image comes laced with amusement, though there’s no mistaking the truth in it.
Colt's thoughts still run at a quiet churn underneath, full of push and pull, weighing him against the safe harbour of distance. He can feel the exact shape of her skepticism about the fountain, the way she’s already hedging against missing him, the lightness she tries to braid through the heavy. It’s not the first time someone’s carried him in mind like that, but the depth is different—his sisters’ affection is its own anchor, steady and rooted—while Colt’s is restless, vivid, already sketching coastlines and back alleys and the curve of a night tangled close. She tucks those visions away before they can stand too long in the light, but they’ve already brushed his awareness like warm surf against his ankles.
When she says she’d wondered why he was hard to find, he gives an easy nod. [say]"Came with my sisters, left almost right off."[/SAY] There’s a faint twist of his mouth before he adds, [say]"Thought I’d seen both those sleazy dragoons sniffin’ around them."[/say] It’s tossed out casual, but the fact that he'd left them behind in the company of Koa and Kaisel is telling enough.
Her question at the end brings his head to a slow shake, the movement unhurried, almost certain, though it runs entirely counter to the coil he instinctively feels with the brush of her thoughts. [say]"Nah. I near-exclusively come to King’s End hopin’ to find you."[/say] His gaze holds hers, steady, not letting the thought wander off before it lands. [say]"Today’s no exception."[/say]