i'm a long-shot and a bad bet

VESPER

Rain trails down the gothic spires like veins of quicksilver, the Temple rising from the Hollowed Grounds as though carved directly from the storm. Vesper steps inside without haste, the echo of his boots softened by the vaulted hush that clings to the air. The downpour still hums beyond the doors, a low and constant percussion that makes the interior seem even quieter. He has left his coat by the entrance—black wool, heavy with the scent of rain—and the faint drip of his umbrella leans against it like an afterthought. Without them, he looks lighter, the pale sweep of his hair carrying the sheen of recent weather, a few drops still caught at his collar.

The Temple itself feels alive in the way only old places do, its stone bones full of memory. Shadows breathe in the corners; the sconces burn low, their light amber and liquid. Vesper’s hands rest loosely in his pockets as he moves through the hall, constellation freckles glimmering faintly when the torchlight catches. He isn’t in a hurry. There’s something almost meditative about his pace, as if the vast silence deserves to be learned before spoken through.

He lets his mind unfold; quietly, discreetly, like ink bleeding through water. Thoughts shimmer faintly at the edges of perception: prayers that rise and fade before words form, the hum of old emotion pressed into the walls. His telepathy skims gently across the corridors like mist, searching for a mind that glows with the name Charlie, as that's who he'd been told to come and find.

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

If Charlie is in the Temple right now, Danta hasn't seen her. That doesn't mean she isn't there, of course, just that she's likely busy with an act of hedonistic worship or assisting others in all the best ways to get closer to their dark goddess. And whilst he loves to watch her work, he's also got his own respects to pay, so he'd gone ahead and slipped into the shrine all on his lonesome.

His thoughts are a spitfire of blood and spice and carnal devotion, like a slap across the face after a sweet shot of liquor, and he steps back out through the door in enough of a daze not to notice the pale-haired angel ghosting through the Temple pillars. Loose limbed and cleaning a streak of blood from his wrist with a flick of his tongue, he leans down a fraction to tug his boots back on, preferring to pray barefoot (and bare everything else, too, when he can get away with it).

Straightening up when he's finished and taking a slow, deep inhale, it's as he sighs the breath out again that he notices the interloper at last, all constellation-spangled and seeming lost but somehow not.

"If you're looking for our priestess, I think she's preoccupied right now," he purrs. "But you're always welcome to wait. And to watch, if you can find what she's up to."

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

VESPER

The thoughts Vesper's magic brushes against are unlike most; heady and unrestrained, tasting of sweat and sin and reverent violence. They snap and burn across his awareness, bright as struck flint, and the demigod lets them linger for a breath before he recedes, leaving only the faintest echo of interest in their wake. When the man himself materializes from the shrine, the pieces align easily enough: blood on his wrist, bare feet against stone, and the kind of dazed holiness that clings to those who’ve prayed too deeply, in very specific ways.

Turning slowly, Vesper’s gaze drifts up from the crimson smudge to the man’s mouth, then to his eyes. His own expression is unreadable save for the slight lift of his brows and the amusement that flickers beneath it. The shadows at his back stretch and shift as though they, too, are watching. "Normally," he drawls, the words smooth as smoke, "it’s considered rude to watch without bein’ invited first."

The faintest curl of a smile ghosts at his lips, and though the comment is mild, something tells him (it's his telepathy) that he'd about to be proved wrong.

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

With eyes that flick automatically to the writhing shadows at the stranger's back, Danta can't help the way his expression softens a touch, the way his thoughts spin like bloody silk towards grinning darkness and honey black eyes. He blinks the fondness away if only to focus back on the here and now, and the younger man's words have a fanged grin spreading across his face.

"And sometimes," he says, as if he's offered a yes and rather than a statement, "it's the uninvited watching that makes it fun." As if this has been the plan all along, he immediately sets off among the pillars, beckoning for Vesper to follow. "I'll show you."

Whether or not the other man decides to join him, Danta will head towards one of the several rooms that spider off the Temple - small rooms, private rooms, for any manner of Dygra worship. There's the sound of soft moaning, half pain and half pleasure, and he nods towards the door. "See for yourself."

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

VESPER

Vesper can taste the flicker of fondness before he sees its source; a thread spun not for him but for another, tangled in the memory of someone Danta loves. The thought carries a heat that doesn’t belong to the present moment, bright and molten against the cool brush of Vesper’s mind, and though he doesn’t reach further, it’s enough to make one brow rise with quiet intrigue.

"Is that so?" The words fall soft, carried on that low, measured cadence of his drawl. He trails after the Ancient with the easy patience of someone who already knows he’ll find what he’s looking for, shadows drifting lazily across the floor at his heels.

The sound from beyond the door is unmistakable; pleasure and agony braided so tightly that they’ve forgotten how to breathe apart. But Vesper doesn’t need to rely on his ears. The moment he reaches the threshold, the energy within the room blooms in his mind: a flare of wild devotion, searing and erratic, like a candle burning too hot to last. The pulse of her—bright, chaotic, lush as honey poured into fire—is Charlie, undoubtedly. The second presence beneath her feels more subdued, swept under by her rapture, pain gilded by pleasure until it gleams like an offering.

With a faint glance toward Danta, a silent acknowledgment of shared understanding, Vesper nudges the door open. His shadows move ahead of him, brushing along the handle until it swings wide enough for sight to meet sound. Inside, the air hums with incense and want. Charlie stands before a kneeling supplicant, her corset of leather and lace gleaming in the flickering light. Before her, a bowl brims with blood so vivid it might be wine. Her voice is a low purr coaxing obedience, coaxing sacrifice, and when the man presses his arm to the blade, pain cracks the air in a sound almost holy.

Vesper watches without flinching as a knife kisses her own skin, as the act folds back upon itself, his wounds closing as hers open and heal again in perfect, mirrored devotion. The moan that follows trembles through the room like prayer answered.

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

Danta stands at Vesper's shoulder to peek in at the room as the door cracks open, his eyes growing molten with the sight of Charlie at work. She's a thing of chaos and beauty, a promise of agony made perfect by the kiss of a knife blessed in Dygra's name, and it's enough to make his mouth water. It's a wave of twofold attraction and deep respect that rolls from the Maverick as they sneak a peek in at her - and it's as the supplicant's gaze flicks up to catch their own that the flush really heats his cheeks and down his throat, as if the act of being caught makes it all the sweeter.

"You see?" Danta whispers as he steps away again. "Everybody wins." Tail flicking its amusement, he forces himself not to linger lest he want to go and join in, but he does nod to the stranger as if to tell him he's welcome to stay. "I don't know how long she'll be," he says. "That looks like she was just getting started. But I'm sure they won't mind if you wait. If not, though, maybe I can help." You know, depending on what he's here for.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

VESPER

Voyeurism is a different sort of intrusion; one that doesn’t belong to him, one that looks back. Vesper’s used to minds folding open without consent, to the quiet, untraceable trespass of thought. But this, this is being seen watching. When the supplicant’s eyes lift and meet his, the moment crystallizes into something sharp and strangely intimate. The awareness doubles back on itself, a mirror held up to his own habit of seeing without being seen, and it makes something twist low in his chest.

He straightens unconsciously, shoulders aligning as though posture could smooth away the exposure. The faintest flush touches the sharp edges of his cheekbones, and he’s quick to turn from the open doorway, his composure cracking only in the flick of his fingers as his shadows draw the door shut again with quiet finality.

"Mmm," he hums, noncommittal, letting the sound blur into the hush between them. A hand slips through his pale hair, scattering the fine droplets of rain still caught there, as if movement alone might dissipate the heat beneath his skin. When his gaze returns to Danta, it’s steadier again—cooler, faintly curious—the faint colour at his throat betraying him only slightly.

"I was just lookin’ for some information. Heard about your Rage Room and wanted to see it for myself." A small shrug follows, eloquent in its simplicity, the unspoken obvious written in the faint lift of his brows; that he obviously wasn't from around here.

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

Having already long stepped away by the time Vesper slinks back from the door, Danta clocks the flush to his skin, faint and fading though it might be, and decides the colour rather suits the otherwise aloof young man. At the mention of the Rage Room, though, the Maverick brightens, dark anticipation unspooling within him like an oilspill. "Is that so? Well, you're in luck - I know exactly where it is, given that it was my idea to make it."

Well, it was the Grounds' idea if he gets political about it, but given that for the majority of their Regional Quests, Danta has approached them with an I'm doing it and little else, he's happy to take the credit. Nosing over his shoulder for Vesper to walk with him, he turns away from Charlie and her supplicant in their private worship to continue through the temple towards the faint glow of smoulder blossoms nearby.

"I'm Danta," he introduces as they walk. "You come to let of some steam?"

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

VESPER

The claim draws a flicker of surprise, one brow arched, the faintest curl of a smile ghosting at the corner of Vesper’s mouth. Beneath the surface, though, the pulse of Danta’s mind confirms it: truth, dark and gleaming, coiled in satisfaction. His idea. It fits, now that the name follows; Danta, the Maverick, the Theocrat. The weight of the title settles neatly against the rest of what Vesper’s already gleaned: charm gilded in sin, devotion sharpened into leadership.

"Ah," he murmurs, the small sound carrying both recognition and amusement as he falls into step beside the Ancient. His hands slip into his pockets, shadows pacing at his heels as they move down the hall, the faint glow of the smoulder blossoms painting their path in embered light. When Danta glances back, Vesper returns the look with an easy tilt of his head, the earlier flush faded into cool composure once more. "Vesper," he offers, the introduction simple, his voice low and even.

"If what I’ve heard about it’s true," he says, drawl smooth as smoke, "lettin' off steam certainly seems to be one of the things it'd be good for." An implication lingers, though, unhurried, suggestive, and deliberate, about what else the room might be well suited for.

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

"A pleasure," Danta trills as they walk together, absently twisting one of the several rings bedecking his fingers. "What you've heard is true," he tells him without fanfare, nodding towards the seemingly innocuous room up ahead, sconces of fire bedecked by smoulder blossoms. "Step inside and close the door, do whatever takes your fancy, and when you open it again, poof, it's like nothing happened."

Turning the doorknob to let the door swing open, Vesper will be greeted by the fruits of their labour; the walls stacked with items begging to be broken, the weapons, the restraints, the liquor, the slab of a table fit for a multitude of uses. "Broken glass, broken bones - none of it matters once that door swings back open. A little piece of chaos you can play with whenever you like, no lasting consequences."

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

VESPER

Vesper’s gaze drifts across the threshold, pale eyes sweeping over the room like a tide claiming new shoreline. Every surface seems to hum with invitation—the glitter of shattered glass, the neat alignment of weapons, the gleam of chains draped like jewellery—even the scent of the place feels indulgent, a cocktail of iron, smoke, and sweet liquor meant to tempt both saint and sinner alike.

He steps inside, shadows slipping after him in a low, restless swirl, and pauses as though the air itself might shift in response. When it doesn’t, he raises a brow, amusement softening the cut of his expression. With idle curiosity, he trails a finger along one of the blades. The steel answers easily, parting skin with a whisper, and a single drop of blood wells bright against the pale of his hand before rolling lazily down his knuckle. Vesper watches it for a heartbeat—cool, detached, as though observing someone else’s pulse—and then turns toward the door.

He closes it without ceremony, regardless of which side Danta had decided to remain on. The latch clicks, the silence holds, and when he opens it again, the air seems to inhale around him. The cut is gone. Not healed, but gone; his skin is smooth, untouched, as though the act itself never existed.

A low hum escapes him, half fascination, half approval. He glances back toward Danta—whether the man stands within or beyond the doorway—and flexes his hand once, watching the motion that should have hurt and doesn’t. "Well shit," he says softly, lips curling into a slow smile. His gaze roves again over the room, the corners full of promise, the shadows full of potential. "And there's never been any issues usin' it? I mean, folks still remember what happened inside, right?"

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

Vesper slinks into the room and Danta lingers, at first, in the doorway, shoulder casually pressed against the threshold to watch him explore at his leisure. It's with a wave of his hand that he ignites his Scorch magic to set the various candles and torches flickering to life; they add a ghoulish parade of shadows to the demigod's own, but they also provide a little more light to see by.

As steel parts flesh and the tang of copper hits the air, the Maverick can't help the way he inhales deeply with it, drawn to the scent like a moth to fire. He steps fully into the room to allow Vesper to test the capabilities for himself; click, the cut is there, click, the door opens and it's gone again.

"It's Dygra made," he says, his confidence in his goddess a quiet and all-encompassing thing. "No one has ever reported issues with it before. Granted, I have no idea how far they've taken it. Cutting off limbs, maybe? Death?" He shrugs, as if to say he's not sure. "That's something you probably will need to wait to ask Charlie about." Unless Vesper wants to go ahead and test it himself.

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //

VESPER

Vesper’s eyes widen—not dramatically, but sharply, like a blade catching the faintest glint of light—and he turns fully toward the Maverick. The candleflame shadows lick up the walls behind him, tugged by the movement, a soft ripple of darkness mimicking the tilt of his head. "Death?"

The word slips out quiet, almost velvet-soft, though disbelief threads through the drawl. It isn’t fear, exactly, more the wary curiosity of someone who has seen enough endings to take the concept seriously. His gaze drifts around the room again, slower this time, as if something might be hiding in the rafters: a secret panel, a stain left behind, a whisper of something the room failed to swallow. "Surely not," he adds, though the tone betrays the uncertainty. The idea wedges itself under his ribs, equal parts fascination and something colder, as Danta's thoughts give no indication of deceit or exaggeration.

He steps further inside, fingertips brushing the edge of the heavy table, shadows stretching thin along its surface like they’re tasting it. The implements scattered along the walls gleam back at him, each one an invitation or a dare depending on the angle of the light. He glances over his shoulder at Danta, brows lifting with a faint, dry curl of his mouth. "What do you tend to use it for?" The question is casual, almost lazy, but the glimmer in his eyes says he’s genuinely curious.

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// I thought of angels choking on their halos //

”Why not?” Danta says with an easy shrug, moving further into the room to lean against the table and reaching up to tease his fingers through the teardrop flame of one of the candles, warping it with his magic to let it kiss his flesh in a thin ribbon. ”It would be weird for the room to put things back to exactly how they were but with strange caveats, no?” He tilts his head towards Vesper. ”Besides, Dygra is much more capable than any other god out there - she’s the shadow cast by Caido. If anyone could be capable, it’s her.” Hells, maybe someone has already tried it out successfully.

Straightening back up from the table as Vesper approaches, Danta watches the movement of his shadows with the same wicked fixation as a cat watching a mouse, as if no small part of him is dying to reach out and bat at them to see if they’ll play. ”Me?” he repeats, grinning.

”Anything I can,” he says. ”Experimenting with a new ability, interrogating people I don’t like, settling disputes, having really rough sex…” Flashing the demigod a fanged grin, he releases the wisp of fire to let it flicker out. ”World’s your oyster.”

Dantalion

// get them drunk on rose water //