[SE] Closer still ain't close enough to hold ya

Colt

I know it's a drag, I know it's a grind
I know that a dollar ain't worth a dime
I know you get tired, I know you get down
I know you get sick of this soul-sucking town

The bastard beasts had been spotted last time she'd come back from the market, off on a distance hill, but with tracks too close to the main road to leave them be. She might have just told someone else and gone about her day, but with all the fires around as of late, hands were on a bit of short supply. The Family might be gone, but these ghosts of their blight remain, and well isn't that exactly what she'd been fucking working on lately? Brushing up on rusty skills to make something more than just a mild dent when push came to shove? Not to mention, she's a little curious to see what Frey's gift will actually do against something other than a dummy or a fat, grain-stealing rat.

She'd called for his help, though. An excuse really. Not playing damsel in distress, just damsel in need of backup. Damsel in need of seeing his face again, by whatever half-assed reason she could devise, since just saying it outright is a little too honest.

The day is storm-tossed, the wind gusting in stronger than she'd prefer, but the nearby coast isn't helping. Hopefully as they get further into the slope of meadow some of the gale will have worn itself out. She's working on buttoning up her tan jacket against the tug of the breeze, back set to the wind, head tilted to keep her hat from flying off her braid. "I saw 'em up over there," she murmurs to him with a motion of her hand to a rise beyond the dock they're on. "Three corrupted unicorns from what I could tell." Her hand slips back to her buttons, Biscuit snorting lazily at her side. The mare will be staying tied here, they don't need the added height and the noise alerting the unicorns when they're not ready. She hopes to make this as undramatic of a show as possible, in and out with enough time to grab lunch like it's any other day.

Let's make a little lemonade if lemons is all we got
Sunset's like a tangerine, let's find a road we've never seen
Don't waste another mile or a minute not kissin' me
Life is short, make it sweet

VESPER

The wind bites at the edges of his coat, tugging at the deep navy wool where it buttons high across his chest, the silver trim at the cuffs glinting faintly when the clouds break just enough to let a bit of sun slant through. Vesper stands close enough to Colt that their elbows nearly brush, his shadows settling at his feet with a subtle twitch, ready.

His gaze, though, is on Colt. Not the ghosts of shipwrecks swaying in the shallows behind them. Not the ragged road or the slope of meadow ahead. Just her—fighting the wind like it’s personal, hair tucked in braids and hat gripped tight, jacket pulling snug around shoulders that don’t know the meaning of quitting. There’s something fond in his expression as he watches her, a quiet ache tucked into the corner of his smirk that doesn’t quite reach the surface.

But then she mentions the corrupted unicorns and his jaw feathers, and his smirk fades, folding inward like a tide receding from bloodied sand. "Yeah," he says after a beat, voice low. "We came through here a few weeks back. Me, Hadama, a seer and this ancient.  There was a whole herd we tried to deal with. It wasn’t what I’d call a smooth affair." He doesn't elaborate about how he thought Hadama had been a bit of a prick, but instead just rolls his shoulder as he glances sidelong at her, the corner of his mouth tilting up again like a secret he’s thinking about sharing. "But I’m game for a do-over since you're the one askin'." One pale brow lifts as he glances at Biscuit. "Could always carry you if you want. Or," he drawls, tapping two fingers lightly against his temple in memory of the last time, "I could try whinnyin’ again. Worked a little too well last time—herd came runnin’ like I owed ‘em money."

wake me when it's over like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Colt

I know it's a drag, I know it's a grind
I know that a dollar ain't worth a dime
I know you get tired, I know you get down
I know you get sick of this soul-sucking town

His voice tugs at her attention, the quiet tone bidding more than just an ear be lent, not that it requires much to encourage her eyes to him. She does pause in her busying with supplies to afford it though, tracking the subtle retreat of his usual ease. "You did?" If there's surprise in her tone, it's because she's fucking surprised. "You just run around fighting every manner of creature in-between our visits? That's three for three now." There's a bit of a playful tease to it, like she's finally got some aspect of him solved, monster hunter extraordinaire—Deimos would love to have him on the team. "And you didn't even stop by for a hello?" She scoffs, tsking at him like he's wounded her hospitality.

He charms his way out of any actual offense though, her own half smile slipping in as she shakes her head at him and resumes pulling her weapons off the horse. "No pressure then." Although, she's fairly confident it will go smoother, if only because less cooks is usually a better meal. She slips a knife between her boot and her pant leg. A bow, the quiver Frey made, and a host of arrows inside of it are slung over her back.

As she ties Biscuit's lead to the hitching post they're beside, she glances sidelong at him, his suggestion earning a widening grin. "Careful, you keep offering me rides and I'll get you a saddle made for real." She gives no edge of humor to suggest she isn't serious, deadpanning for a moment, although he'd know it's entirely in jest. She can't maintain it though when he tells her what he'd done last time, and a belly laugh slips free, a hand jostling his shoulder in disbelief. "You did not," she manages after residual chuckles. "I bet you had a funny accent, or said something entirely wrong, like hey, fuck you, and really pissed them off."

Much as she'd like to see it in real time, she simmers to just a grin and a shake of her head. "No," she sighs after a moment, like giving up the opportunity of sitting on his back again is one she truly laments. "I think by foot. I want to hit them from a distance first. They're more dangerous up close." Natural swords and all. "Besides, wouldn't your other form be more effective?" Not for travel, or summoning, but murdering.

Let's make a little lemonade if lemons is all we got
Sunset's like a tangerine, let's find a road we've never seen
Don't waste another mile or a minute not kissin' me
Life is short, make it sweet

VESPER

Vesper’s expression darkens further as she ties off Biscuit, a breeze slipping between them and catching the collar of his coat just enough to flutter the navy fabric like a flag of mild annoyance. "Hadama put the word out," he mutters, as if the explanation leaves a sour taste in his mouth. His shoulders rise in a nonchalant shrug, but the tension at the back of his jaw lingers a breath too long. "Demigod politics. Everyone’s got somethin’ to prove."

He glances sidelong at her, the faintest smile twitching at the edge of his mouth. "Did get halfway to your place after," he admits, voice low and wry. "Had this idea I’d stop in, sit on your porch, maybe stay the night.." A huff of quiet laughter slips from his chest, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "But I was in a piss poor mood. Didn’t want you thinkin’ it had anythin’ to do with you, so I fucked off instead."

Then her saddle comment lands, and the grin that breaks across his face is slow and sharp, all glinting teeth and raised brow. "If you get to make leather for ridin’ me, darlin’, then I get to return the favour." He lets it hang there for a beat, implication purring between them like a lazy cat too smug to move. Then, chuckling, he adds, "And maybe ‘hey, fuck you’ was exactly what I meant to say."

He falls into step beside her as she suggests walking, the crunch of dried grass soft under their boots. "Foot it is. I’ll shift when we get closer." "is eyes narrow faintly toward the slope of the meadow, watching the sway of the grassline. “Even upwind, I wouldn’t be surprised if those bastards got some extra sixth sense for things with teeth. Better not to spook ‘em till you’re ready."

His hand brushes hers for a second—an absent touch, but not accidental—as if to say he was here for more than just the hunt, without putting too much weight on the words.

wake me when it's over like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Colt

I know it's a drag, I know it's a grind
I know that a dollar ain't worth a dime
I know you get tired, I know you get down
I know you get sick of this soul-sucking town

All her movements slow a bit when he admits he got halfway there. She ends up fiddling with a strap that doesn't need it, fingers doing work, even the unnecessary sort, out of habit more than actual guidance as her mind wanders to what could have been. Porch swing sihouettes at twilight, dinner with a current of laughter, abandoned drinks and kicked off shoes, letting every bit of the day fade little by little until all that remained was them.

She blinks, her attention back on task as she leaves the strap alone and finishes gathering everything she needs, fastening the lariat to her left hip. "Honey, if you don't think I can handle a little bit of vinegar," she starts, patting Biscuit's neck as if the mare is her own brand of sour, "then I must have given you the wrong impression." He's not the only one capable of turning bad moods around, and though she'd not be offering punches, she's certain her hands could still be put to good use for his sake. "But that's real considerate of ya," she finishes gently, glancing back over at him a little softer, something other than the usual there to admire about him. Too many people make their mood everyone else's problem, an issue she's well-versed in, so him having the wherewithal not to is refreshing to say the least.

His return fire regarding leather stiffens her up a bit, through the blush that streaks past her cheeks suggests she imagines a number of possibilities before adamantly chasing them away. "Fair is fair," she shrugs, attempting to act unruffled even as his devious smirk continues to ruffle everything. Thankfully the picture of him flipping off a herd of unicorns, intentional or not, thoroughly dashes any lingering distractions with its own brand.

He steps in beside her easily, and it seems to be something more than just the way they've both hunted a thing or two down in this world that does it. "Good call," she nods as they walk and plan, the drift of his fingers across hers just the sort of invitation she needs to loosen up any residual worries. "I can fire first. Keep shooting when they run up, hopefully drop one, maybe two, or at least injure 'em enough before they reach us." Her aim's worse the further off they are, but she's banking on the distance to make some headway, otherwise she'd be doing a lot of dodging and relying on tangling up their feet with a loop, too bad she's a better header than a heeler. Still, she's not concerned.

While she thinks it over, she drifts unintentionally closer to him as they hike, shoulders brushing his from time to time without apology. "This is our second date, by the way. Did I forget to tell you?" She glances at him with a half grin, keeping back a laugh for the sake of stealth, though it hums just behind her lips. "I wanted to mix it up, avoid the cliches."

Let's make a little lemonade if lemons is all we got
Sunset's like a tangerine, let's find a road we've never seen
Don't waste another mile or a minute not kissin' me
Life is short, make it sweet

VESPER

The wind shifts again as they climb, whistling low through the hollow bones of shipwrecks behind them and tugging gently at the longer strands of Colt's braid. Vesper watches the movement absently, his gaze trailing the line of her profile until she speaks causing the corners of his mouth to curl faintly. "Mm," he hums, shrugging one shoulder as if to ease the weight of the thought. "Just figured you’ve got enough on your plate without addin’ a grumpy demigod into the stew." It’s said lightly, with a chuckle tucked beneath the words, but it’s honest. The idea that someone might want to soften the sharp edges of his bad days hasn’t quite occurred to him—not in any way that sticks. He’s used to folding inward, not reaching out.

They move steadily into the rise of meadow, boots muffled by grass that whispers with the wind. Vesper’s gaze sweeps the horizon, alert for movement. "I don't see 'em yet," he murmurs, though the slight narrowing of his eyes says he doesn’t trust it to last. "If they rush us, I can put a shield between us. Might hold for a bit, but I’m hopin’ shiftin’ will do the trick. Big cat scent oughta make ‘em think twice."

She brushes against him again, and he doesn’t shift away. If anything, he leans just slightly into it, shadows sliding like smoke around their feet as if listening too. Her next words spark a quiet laugh from his chest, dry and sharp, his brow rising. "That a fact?" he drawls, eyes glinting as he casts a glance down at her. "Second date already? We’re movin’ fast, darlin'." Without warning, he reaches, a swift and fluid motion, catching her at the waist and drawing her in until her front presses flush against his chest. The grin that tugs at his mouth is all crooked lips and playful arrogance, but there’s warmth beneath it too; something quieter and more careful. "Well," he murmurs, dipping his head low, voice curling like smoke against her skin, "if it’s a date..."

And then he kisses her, sudden and sure, wanting to steal the breath between her grin and the laugh behind it, like it’s something owed.

wake me when it's over like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Colt

I know it's a drag, I know it's a grind
I know that a dollar ain't worth a dime
I know you get tired, I know you get down
I know you get sick of this soul-sucking town

She might have said something about him not knowing how big her appetite could be if the meal's worth it, or just how heavy of a plate she could carry without risk of tipping it. She doesn't, though, because she understands that type of thinking. The kind that knows everyone's dealing with some sort of shit every day, so you don't want to be a reason that adds to it and makes it worse, and you sure as hell don't want anyone to think you can't handle it by asking for a hand. Of course, you don't blame anyone else when they need a hand, but you're never supposed to need one. You're the strong one.

She wants to tell him she'd like to get to know all the parts of him, especially the ones that are messy. It's the grumpy and the sharp and the tired days that make the ones full of laughter and laziness all the sweeter. It's the wild that makes life worth living, the tame is just the breathing room you get to take in-between.

She doesn't say any of it. Just lets the moment fade with nothing but the glances traded from the corners of their eyes and the smiles creeping in at the edges of their mouths. Because telling him any of that, over one time he didn't swing by? That's the kind of thing you say when you miss someone too much, and she's doing her best to make sure there's no type of too getting tacked onto him. As if too young, too charming, too handsome, too good, haven't already managed to slip by.

She tilts her head to set her hat against the brunt of the wind as they move. It lessens significantly once they get the first slope to their backs. The idea of a shield does not surprise her, since he'd once used his shadows as a barrier against her, each slip of darkness he commands as versatile as it is strong. "Mm, might work, might not. They don't think the same as the regular unicorns. Void really does something to the mind as much as the body. Seems they'll stop at nothing but destruction, whether us, or them." Most predators just need a little bit of a threat leveled against them and they turn tail. A meal isn't worth it if they'll die from the wound a few days later. Bluffing goes a long way in nature for that reason, but the void is anything but natural.

The risk of her humor breaking free rises when his does, and she has to look away when he peeks down, his expression alone enough to send her over. "Yeah, the second usually comes after the fi—" Abruptly she's pivoting in his grasp, step hitching on air as he tugs her in, and it's all she can do to keep up. She braces initially, fingers curling for purchase against his arms, afraid of falling. Everything softens beneath his devilish grin though, body coming alive like a tide to the pull of his voice. It's just long enough to turn surprise into giddy, and then his thievery lands with all the success of a crook finding an unlocked door. Her fingers slide from his arms to his jaw, holding him against her as she leans into the kiss, deepening it with all the ways she misses him but doesn't have the courage to say.

She might have gone limp and dragged them both to the ground before letting it break, if not for the shrill, unmistakable call of a unicorn carving up the hillside. Her grip sinks to the edge of his arm as she steps back and glances around him, still flushed from all the breath he pilfered. "There they are," she mutters, clocking them down an opposite slope, coming into view after passing an outcrop of stone. "Sorry sugar, gonna have to hold that thought," she sighs through her nose, as if finding their target has become the most inconvenient thing possible. Hoisting her bow around to the front she reaches back for an arrow. One eye closes as she nocks it, aiming for the chest of the thickest corrupted unicorn among the pair. “Ready?” Though it’s framed as a question, it’s more of a warning, because the next exhale looses her first arrow.

---

Type: Dark | Style: Offensive | Level: Basic
The Pencil Sharpener | An earthen quiver that sharpens any arrow placed inside.

Let's make a little lemonade if lemons is all we got
Sunset's like a tangerine, let's find a road we've never seen
Don't waste another mile or a minute not kissin' me
Life is short, make it sweet

Vesper doesn’t need her to say any of it. The shape of her thoughts is already there—an unspoken weight and warmth braided together, tangled with restraint. He walks the length of it in silence, wandering the maze of her uncertainty and flushed affections like a man running his hands along walls painted with things she’ll never speak aloud. He doesn’t linger in one place too long, doesn’t press, just takes it in the way one might take in the scent of something they’re not meant to touch. And as always, there’s no flicker of it in his expression, just the steady, easy rhythm of his stride beside her.

If it weren’t for the call, he’d happily let gravity have its way, take them both down into the grass and keep her there until neither of them remembered what they’d been hunting for. Instead, the shrill note tears through the slope and he exhales heavily against her, tension ticking once through his jaw before he glances past her shoulder toward the sound. Releasing her, he straightens, the cold light in his eyes catching on the sudden shift in purpose.

The change comes smooth as breath; shadow crawls like a tide over his frame, fur bristling through the darkness until the jaguar stands in his place. There’s no ocean-colour to him—no green, no violet—just the deep black of an unlit sky, constellations pulsing faintly along his flanks in time with the slow sweep of his breath. He shakes once, claws raking the turf, then drops his head low and slips ahead of her.

A growl rumbles from deep in his chest, low and resonant, rolling through the air like distant thunder. He plants himself between Colt and the oncoming shapes, ears flattened, muscles coiled. When he roars, it’s a sharp, tearing sound meant to carry, a warning for the corrupted things charging down the slope that they will not get close enough to touch her.

all these little things together don't build up to somethin' small

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

Colt

I know it's a drag, I know it's a grind
I know that a dollar ain't worth a dime
I know you get tired, I know you get down
I know you get sick of this soul-sucking town

He doesn't respond, but she doesn't need him to. He can handle himself, all his monster hunting tales are proof enough of that, but she's seen it herself too. It'd been there with his sharp scrutiny when they'd wandered the vicious jungles, and present in his unyielding strength when he'd carried her through hak etme. Even the steady certainty of every task he'd done for her sake, each one carried easily in his capable hands.

Her arrow grazes the unicorn's leg instead, alerting them. She sees the jaguar instead of the man now at her side as she reaches back for another arrow, just as stunning as she remembers. Working against time, she sets another arrow, aiming well above him and towards the oncoming pair of void monstrosities. His growl rumbles low and long, vibrating through her with a primal response that screams death into every nerve.

Steadying the tremble of her hand with a breath, another sharpened arrow flies, carrying the sound of his warning as it lands into the side of the larger beast's neck. The hit, or his call, slows the pace of that one for a moment. Colt moves as quickly as she can, falling to a rhythm: grab an arrow, nock it, take aim, exhale, release. The next two sink into the large one's chest, his pace is a crawl now, then finally he sinks down to his knees, red stark on the dark of his nose.

The smaller one has not been intimidated or struck, so it surges ahead with a full gallop. It angles its horn low, jousting towards the shape of Vesper on the hill.

Let's make a little lemonade if lemons is all we got
Sunset's like a tangerine, let's find a road we've never seen
Don't waste another mile or a minute not kissin' me
Life is short, make it sweet

Vesper watches each arrow the way some men watch the fall of dice—tracking distance, speed, and the thin thread of time between the draw of her bow and the strike. The larger unicorn’s slowing collapse is measured without satisfaction; his gaze is already on the smaller one, watching the tilt of its horn and the hard line of its charge as it fixes on him.

He shifts his weight, trotting across the slope in order to keep it away from Colt, then drops low, muscles coiled as though for a straight lunge. The corrupted thing lowers its head, no doubt picturing the impact, but Vesper’s mind is already three moves ahead.

When it closes the gap, shadow floods his frame, folding the jaguar back into the man. The space he leaves behind snaps shut in an instant—mist blooming cold and sudden—before he’s behind it, shifting mid-stride. The jaguar slams back into being, claws spread wide as he launches for its haunches, aiming to take the beast high enough to clear the kick he knows is coming.

all these little things together don't build up to somethin' small

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

Colt

I know it's a drag, I know it's a grind
I know that a dollar ain't worth a dime
I know you get tired, I know you get down
I know you get sick of this soul-sucking town

There's a moment where she's worried, when Vesper seems ready to run straight at a wielded blade like it's nothing but a child brandishing a corn stalk. Those still fucking hurt, by the way, when they whip against you and leave welts. Certainly a more manageable pain than being speared to death though.

She tries to press it back into her chest, the concern, as she reaches back for another sharpened arrow. She's anxious to tag the unicorn before the very daring panther winds up skewered, but her nerve trembles just a bit too much for her to trust it, not with him so close in-between now. She's not a soldier, barely would call herself a hunter. She raises her burgers, she doesn't track them and trap them and shoot them down, and if she does, the only risk is the burger running away and her losing an arrow or two, and all her time and patience with it. It's only this problem, the void, that has threatened her enough to try harder at honing skills that others have made into a career.

She drags a breath through her nose, willing the calm back in just as Vesper vanishes in a fold of darkness.

The unicorn is already faltering before he reappears behind it, expecting gory collision and success, not the clear slope of the empty hill, and definitely not the damning counterbalance of the jaguar's body weight and momentum dragging down its hind end. Leave it to Vesper to add some flare to his attempt, the man's as simple as stacking marbles. Her worry dissipates.

A window appears where the front of the struggling unicorn is in frame without Vesper too close to it. She takes the shot before she loses the opening, aiming towards the corrupted thing's throat.

Let's make a little lemonade if lemons is all we got
Sunset's like a tangerine, let's find a road we've never seen
Don't waste another mile or a minute not kissin' me
Life is short, make it sweet

Shifted, Vesper’s head is quiet in a way it rarely is—no thread of Colt’s thoughts winding through his own, no unspoken sharpness or soft warmth to sift through. It’s all instinct now. The unicorn’s hide is slick under his paws, muscles coiling and jerking as it tries to shake him loose. His claws dig deeper, anchored in the heat of its flank, tail cutting arcs behind him to keep balance while the stench of blood thickens in the air—bright copper layered over something sweeter and wrong, the void’s rot clinging to it like mould.

The snap of Colt's bowstring slices clean through the sound of its bellow, and an instant later her arrow drives into its throat. The creature’s scream is high and ugly, and the wound pulses red in rhythm with its stumbling steps. It fights on, but the strength in its movements is already fraying, each buck weaker than the last.

Vesper knows better than to wait for the inevitable kick. He launches free in a smooth arc, landing light on the grass and pivoting in the same breath to put himself between Colt and the reeling beast. His ears flatten, tail whipping once before he drops his head low, gaze locked and teeth bared. The pulse of his constellation rosettes flickers faintly over his shoulders, starlight catching along the arch of his back as the growl rolls out of his chest, steady and unhurried; the kind of sound that doesn’t bluff.

all these little things together don't build up to somethin' small

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

Colt

I know it's a drag, I know it's a grind
I know that a dollar ain't worth a dime
I know you get tired, I know you get down
I know you get sick of this soul-sucking town

The void is so insistent on destruction it won't even allow a creature die peacefully. It persists, a sure sign of its madness, spurred on by a frenzy she'd never understand. She pities it's grasp on something that had once been beautiful and proud, something smarter than this. With no garden of roses to prick every creature with though, death is the best cure they can provide, and that at least is something natural to the way of the world.

She sinks another arrow into it, the shot coming in behind Vesper's growl like his voice had summoned the sharpness since the indomitable rage of the ruined beast would not heed him. It's unnecessary, really, the rivulets of red already too stark on its black hide, the weakness evident as it staggers and sways, motion something it's trying and failing to remember. The arrow just helps it along, driving into the chest with a final bid for the thing to stop. Stop it does.

Coly pauses for a moment, watching it carefully, another arrow about to be drawn, although she's spent quite a few now. "Can you tell if the further one is dead?" she asks catsper, figuring he had better senses than her right now. It never rose again, but she'd want to make sure it was gone. The living already suffer enough, no need for the dying to as well.

Let's make a little lemonade if lemons is all we got
Sunset's like a tangerine, let's find a road we've never seen
Don't waste another mile or a minute not kissin' me
Life is short, make it sweet

VESPER

Vesper’s growl lingers in his throat as he pads forward, the sound fading into a low, deliberate rumble while he scents the air. The reek of the thing is foul enough to smear across the back of his tongue, blood threaded through with the wrongness of void rot, and it’s impossible to tell by smell alone if it’s taken its last breath. Vesper shifts back in the grass with a ripple of bone and muscle, the starfield of his coat collapsing into skin as he drops to a knee beside the carcass. One of his shadows slides forward, silent as a tide under moonlight, laying itself across the unicorn’s throat. The faint, sluggish push beneath them tells him all he needs to know, and with a slow exhale, he lets them slip away into the grass. "Dead."

With a sigh he straightens from a crouch, raking a hand through hair still mussed from the fight before turning toward Colt. His grin is slanted, a sharp little thing softened at the edges. "Good shootin’," he drawls, voice edged with something warm enough to cut through the blood and rot in the air. The words aren’t idle; he’d tracked every shot, every measured breath she’d taken before loosing, and there’s a quiet satisfaction in the fact she’d landed them true.

Vesper closes the distance between them, boots brushing through grass still bent from their passage. He stops near enough that his shadow slips across hers, eyes roaming over her in a quick, unhurried sweep—checking for any cuts in her clothes, any smear of red that doesn’t belong to the beasts. Only once he’s satisfied does his gaze lift back to hers, one brow tipping upward in silent question before his mouth curves again. "Not bad for a second date," he murmurs, the dry edge to it matched by the faint glint in his eyes, though the way he lingers there says more than the tease does.

wake me when it's over like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!