we're both losers, baby

i'm a lost cause, do it the way I want

The cards do not fall the way they should, and that is the first tell, subtle enough that most eyes miss it while they are busy being delighted. Vesper stands at the outer edge of the small crowd, half in shadow where the roots of a great oak rise like ribs from the earth, his posture loose in the way of someone who has nowhere urgent to be and every intention of lingering. The Sidhe Village hums around him with its evening life, but his attention narrows to the illusionist at the centre of the ring, to the soft flick of wrists and the practiced smile that sells wonder as easily as any coin.

The trick is clean, he will grant that much. The deck blossoms into motion, cards leaping and folding and reforming as though gravity itself has agreed to look the other way, and the audience gasps on cue, laughter following close behind like a familiar refrain. The images are flawless to the eye, rich with colour and depth, every card precisely where it promises to be, but the weight beneath them does not match the display, the intent running just a shade too shallow, the strain of concentration pressed thin and careful rather than expansive. 

He feels the trick before he confirms it, a whisper of effort brushing against his awareness, all angles and redirection, a deliberate misalignment meant to guide thought away from where the truth is sitting patiently. The cards are not real in the way they are pretending to be, and the illusionist knows it, knows exactly how convincing the lie needs to look to pass without question, and that knowledge hums faintly beneath the performance like a second, quieter melody. Vesper’s mouth curves, almost despite himself, not in mockery so much as appreciation, because deception done well has always deserved respect, even when it is transparent to him.

Vesper shifts his weight, fingers idly worrying the edge of a silver ring as he watches the illusionist bow, already preparing the next lie, already gauging where attention will drift when the trick resets. Somewhere behind him the village continues on its steady rhythm, and for a moment, the distance between this place and the quiet rooms of Niki's house he has left behind feels both deliberate and necessary regardless of the fact that he'd left just after the necromancer had, misty-stepping his way here so that his presence would appear entirely coincidental.

NIKI

Niki misses the illusionist on his first pass around the village and its evening market stalls, driven by intent to beat the next onslaught of rain and muck, and with a shopping list to complete rather than the time to lurk and linger (like some people). Now that he's almost finished up, though - and though the village is too busy to properly hear it, he does very faintly jingle when he walks - he's caught by the display, pausing to lean on his cane and shift the bag in his hand.

He watches the trick with an interest that isn't dissimilar to Vesper's, not that the necromancer is aware of it; his mind tracks the movement of the cards and the subtle dissonance between what's being shown and the deception that leads the ruse with both interest and appreciation. Nothing is seamless, of course, but the illusionist's showmanship makes up for the imperfections in spades.

Smiling to himself, he's just turning to leave again when he catches sight of someone's tall silhouette almost entirely hidden among the roots of an old oak. Niki hates that he recognises Vesper so easily these days, if only so he can avoid him, but he's almost entirely made his way in his direction when he's cringing and trying to turn back to the illusionist. He'll find another way home, even if it takes him all night.

my body's on the line now, I can't fight this time now
I can feel the light shine on my face

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

i'm a lost cause, do it the way I want

Vesper’s mouth tilts as he continues to watch the illusionist, approval sharpening into something nearer to satisfaction, because deception that understands its audience is always more effective than force. He can feel the structure of it humming along beneath the spectacle, the illusionist tracking probabilities and appetites rather than hands, letting the confident overreach while the cautious linger, all of it neat and bloodless and profitable. When the final reveal comes and the winner realises too late that the game was never stacked in their favour, the crowd answers with laughter rather than anger, and that, too, is part of the trick.

He is already shifting away, shadow loosening at his heels as the square reshapes around the dispersing audience, when something catches, bright and unmistakable, a flare of recognition brushing against him with the sharp clarity of a name spoken silently. It is not intrusive so much as immediate, and his attention turns with it, gaze finding its anchor without effort among roots and lanternlight and moving bodies. 

The decision about what to do next comes to him fully formed, precise and a touch unkind. Rather than go to Niki directly, Vesper lets a sliver of shadow slip free, smooth as breath, threading itself into the footfall of a woman navigating the edge of the square with her arms full and her attention elsewhere. The misstep is small, plausible, the sort of accident that belongs to crowded evenings and uneven ground, but it unfolds with an inevitability Vesper is quietly confident in, momentum redirected just enough that once her balance is lost Niki's is sure to follow. It is all very natural, the kind of chaos no one questions because it requires no villain to explain it.

NIKI

Amid the laughter of the audience enjoying the illusionist's show, Niki is focusing on finding a safe path through the knotted crowd, more interested in escape than escapism now that he's spotted the demigod guaranteed to spoil his evening. But they are dispersing soon enough, and the frenetic pattern of their footfalls makes it more difficult to adjust himself or to predict where someone might be; even had Vesper not committed to his unkind act, it's not implausible that Niki would have ended up on the ground at some point anyway.

But Vesper guarantees it, and the show unfolds exactly as he expects. The woman, her arms laden to the point where her peripheral vision is already compromised, stumbles over the snag of shadow that coils about her ankle, and as she staggers to the side she connects roughly with the necromancer, who goes down like a paper doll knocked off a table.

Hissing a curse as he hits the cobblestones, having managed to keep hold of his cane this time at least, he nevertheless takes a lot of the impact on his bad side, feeling the shock of the stone thrum through already aching bones and gritting his teeth even as the woman's flurry of apologies hits the air. "It is quite alright. Accidents happen," he is telling her, waving her away and trying to judge whether he can hold his own weight right now.

my body's on the line now, I can't fight this time now
I can feel the light shine on my face

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

i'm a lost cause, do it the way I want

Vesper feels it the instant the necromancer hits the ground, the clean certainty of the outcome souring into something sharper and less satisfying than he anticipated. Pain carries a particular brightness when it is sudden and unguarded, flaring louder than intention ever does, and the involuntary recoil of it threads through the square before Vesper has time to pretend he does not notice. His jaw tightens a fraction, irritation turning inward, because this was meant to be inelegant, humiliating perhaps, but not...that. He exhales slowly as he steps forward, the crowd already doing what crowds do best, curiosity swelling like a tide around disruption, noses craning, opinions forming where none are required.

He emerges at Niki’s side with an ease that suggests coincidence rather than orchestration, shadows settling obediently at his heels as if they have always belonged there. Lanternlight catches the pale planes of his face, the silver at his fingers, his expression composed into something approaching concern, though it does not quite reach his eyes. The necromancer is already trying to gather himself, pride stiffening his spine even as the ache lingers, and that, too, presses uncomfortably at Vesper’s awareness, familiar enough now to grate.

Still, Vesper reaches out, deliberate and controlled, his hand extending downward into the space between them, palm open, rings cool and unmistakable in the glow. "Let me help you up," he offers, voice level and unhurried, pitched to cut through the murmurs without feeding them, the words chosen carefully enough that they could pass for genuine to anyone watching.

The circle tightens, a handful of fae edging closer under the pretext of concern, and Vesper feels the weight of their attention settle, the pressure of being observed threading through his thoughts like static. As his fingers stretch forward with Niki's hand potentially reaching for his in that moment, suddenly Vesper is gone, channelled cleanly away in a breathless slip that leaves behind nothing but cooling air and the faintest distortion where he stood. The offered hand vanishes with him, the promise withdrawn at the precise moment it is about to be accepted, and for six quiet seconds the square is left to its confusion, the illusionist’s laughter still echoing faintly as if nothing of consequence has happened at all.

NIKI

It is perhaps unsurprising that Niki is used to crowds forming around him, their curious expressions disguised as pity; it's neither the first nor the last time he has fallen in public, though he'll likely bear the bruises from this encounter for a few weeks afterwards. Gingerly he gets himself into a sitting position, his mind performing checks through the pain that are nearly automatic - no broken bones, not winded, nothing numb or screaming with an agony that seems other compared to what's expected. Just badly bruised and a little shaken up.

He's assuring the woman again that she doesn't need to apologise and that he'll be fine, and at the sudden help offered out, Niki can already feel his cheeks threatening to heat with a mix of shame and embarrassment at knowing he'll need to accept it. With his cane gripped between his fingers and a mutter of gratitude, he's just reaching for the hand when he realises who it - and the voice - belong to.

Brows flinching together, for a moment the necromancer can only gaze up at Vesper, frozen with indecision. But with the crowd so close, although he doesn't put it past the demigod to do something callous (not knowing, of course, that this ship has already sailed) he doubts he'll do so quite so publically. So while this is probably just an excuse to lord the good deed over him, Niki would like to not be on the hard ground any more.

"Thank you," he says properly this time, reaching further for Vesper's hand; and his fingers are just about to glance against the other man's when he's just gone suddenly, spirited away into nothing. Niki's face is on fire now whether he likes it or not, the boy biting hard at the inside of his cheek and forcing himself to stand under his own muster.

By the time Vesper returns the crowd will already be dispersing, and the necromancer will be leaning heavily on his cane and glancing across the square for a place to sit and catch his breath.

my body's on the line now, I can't fight this time now
I can feel the light shine on my face

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

i'm a lost cause, do it the way I want

Vesper reappears with his jaw locked so tightly it aches, breath caught high in his chest as though he has surfaced too quickly from deep water. The channel releases him back into the square with all the delicacy of a blade withdrawn too fast, and for a heartbeat the world refuses to settle properly around him. Memory lingers instead, bright and intrusive, Colt’s bowed shape burned sharp behind his eyes, the posture of surrender or exhaustion or both collapsing inward on itself. It is the second time she has pulled him away like this, wrenched him from a moment he was shaping with intent, and the echo of it leaves him unmoored, the residue of her presence clinging far longer than the six seconds ever justify.

The crowd is already thinning, interest dissolving now that spectacle has resolved itself into mundanity, and through the gaps he sees Niki upright again, leaning heavily on his cane, colour high in his face and frustration radiating off him in quiet, disciplined lines. The image lands harder than Vesper expects, guilt threading sharp and unwelcome through the aftertaste of displacement, because he remembers too clearly the way those fingers had been reaching, the gratitude offered without irony, the trust—however begrudging—extended in public.

Thank you, he'd said, and an apology rises instinctively to meet the memory of them, already shaped and ready to be given. It sticks instead, lodged somewhere behind Vesper's teeth; he swallows, throat tight, aware with uncomfortable clarity that there is no version of this moment in which he looks anything other than exactly what he is. An asshole.

He does not step toward Niki, nor does not offer belated help or hollow justification. His shadows curl close, obedient and eager, and with a final glance at the necromancer—standing, breathing, managing despite him—he folds space around his own body and slips away, cutting a clean line back to Niki’s home and arriving there long before the necromancer could hope to follow on foot. W

NIKI

It does take Niki a while to arrive back home, the necromancer having taken a long few minutes on a bench to catch his breath and to let his body settle into its new cacophony of bruises and pain. Once they've settled along his heartbeat like accompanying strings to the usual harmony of aches he carries, he finally has it in him to get to his feet and set himself along the trail home, which is about when the steady rainfall begins.

Having tugged the hood of his coat up to catch most of it, he's nevertheless still soaking by the time the old funeral parlour comes into view, his key clicking softly in the lock. "Well, I think that is my outing firmly finished for the day," he says to both no one in particular and to the black shadow that seems to have settled into his life over the past couple of days.

Dismissing his cane and locking the door behind him, he leans against it with practiced ease so he can take off his shoes, setting them on the doormat to dry out before he starts unbuttoning his coat. "I hope your morning has been less adventurous than mine."

my body's on the line now, I can't fight this time now
I can feel the light shine on my face

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

VESPER

Vesper shifts back into fur awkwardly this time, irritation carrying over where it should not, compacting itself into muscle and teeth and the sharp, restless flick of a tail that refuses to still. He has displaced things in the living room—a book nudged from its careful stack, a small object sent skittering off a shelf—the quiet evidence of agitation left behind like pawprints in dust. Now he sits on the kitchen table, an affront to order by virtue of placement alone, blue eyes bright and unblinking as rain taps steadily at the windows.

Without the sharper edge of his usual awareness, as Niki enters, everything arrives blunted, impressions reduced to movement and tone and the faintest emotional weather rather than anything precise. It leaves him ill-equipped for the ache that lingers anyway, misdirected now into something smaller and meaner, all bristling nerves and offended pride.

He watches the necromancer through narrowed eyes, tail lashing once, twice, the sound a soft thump against the kitchen table’s edge. Whatever apology he could not give earlier has no place here, filtered out entirely by instinct, leaving behind only the sensation of having been thwarted and the reflexive urge to make that someone else’s problem. A low, sharp chirr slips from him before he can stop it, not quite a meow, more a pointed commentary on the state of things. He does not move to greet or console, instead holding his ground, tail continuing its irritated rhythm, gaze fixed on Niki with the intensity of a creature that has decided, for the moment, that the universe is deeply unsatisfactory and that this, somehow, is related.

rot gut whiskey's gonna ease your mind
but when the hell are you gonna ease mine?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

NIKI

After hanging his coat on the rack next to the door (and removing the thankfully still-dry treasures from the pockets), Niki summons his cane again and heads towards the kitchen. He takes a cursory glance into the living room, brow arching at the subtle evidence of a cat making mischief, the necromancer uttering a quiet scoff and continuing on his way. "I am sorry that the items in my living room offended you," he says as he enters the kitchen to spot the agitated black cat sitting dead centre in the middle of his table.

"Perhaps a peace offering will make up for it?" He raises his free hand, a small paper parcel clutched in it. "I got this at the market. I am sure there is probably some growing around the grounds of the house somewhere, but the weather is not ideal for roving." Pausing by the table to unseal the parcel, Niki shakes a bit of the contents onto the table, clearly having given the piece of furniture up to Vesper for now.

To the necromancer's senses, the herbs just smell faintly like herbs, and so his feline roommate will have to be the judge on the quality of the catnip. Leaving Vesper to investigate should he choose, Niki instead goes to fill his kettle to make a hot and very necessary cup of coffee.

my body's on the line now, I can't fight this time now
I can feel the light shine on my face

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

VESPER

Vesper tracks the necromancer’s movement with the unwavering intensity of a creature convinced it has been wronged in some abstract, personal way, tail snapping back and forth in sharp, offended strokes. His ears angle back a fraction as the parcel appears, suspicion deepening rather than easing. The paper rustles. His tail lashes once more as he watches the packet open without moving, chin lifted, eyes narrowed to bright slits as if sheer judgment might be enough to discourage whatever foolishness is about to occur. It is only when the contents spill onto the table that instinct finally overrides grievance, the sharp, unmistakable scent cutting cleanly through his irritation and lighting up every dulled sense at once. He leans forward to sniff, whiskers brushing the herbs, and then dignity abandons him entirely.

Vesper flops sideways into the pile with theatrical commitment, body melting bonelessly across the tabletop as if gravity itself has turned indulgent, paws kneading at nothing in particular while his tail switches from aggrieved to exuberant in the span of a breath. Any lingering resentment evaporates under the sheer sensory delight of it, hostility replaced by a blissed-out sprawl that would be embarrassing if he were capable of embarrassment in this form. He rolls his cheek into the catnip with a soft, satisfied sound, eyes half-lidded now, the universe abruptly restored to its proper order and no longer worth arguing with at all.

rot gut whiskey's gonna ease your mind
but when the hell are you gonna ease mine?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

NIKI

Pretending not to watch as Vesper investigates the pile of catnip on the table - and failing entirely - Niki can't not smirk as he watches the full-bodied commitment to indulgence. "There," he says, as if the feline has just done something reasonable, "now at least one of our days can improve exponentially." Pottering about a little longer to make his coffee, he eventually comes to sit at the table (a respectful distance from Vesper and his drugs, it should be noted), setting the mug down on a coaster to let it cool for a bit.

"I got you this as well, but I feel like you might not be in the mood for it right now," he adds, slipping something from his pocket and rolling it slowly across the table. The ball is wooden and hollow, and through its little cage a small bell can be seen glimmering, set to an exuberant jingle as it trundles towards Vesper. "Not that I do not appreciate your judgement of my trinkets and reading materials, but having something of one's own is always quite nice."

my body's on the line now, I can't fight this time now
I can feel the light shine on my face

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

VESPER

Vesper answers the necromancer with a deep unapologetic purr vibrating through him as he continues to grind his cheek into the catnip with wholehearted devotion. Whatever sharpness had defined him earlier has dissolved entirely, replaced by a languid, boneless contentment that radiates outward in soft pulses, tail swishing lazily now rather than snapping, paws flexing and relaxing as if the table itself has become something worth kneading into submission.

The bell draws his attention despite himself and he stills mid-flail, one paw suspended in the air, blue eyes locking onto the small wooden sphere as it rolls toward him. The sound is bright and tempting, the promise of motion contained just out of reach, and for several seconds he simply watches it, pupils widening, head tilting the barest fraction as instinct recalibrates priorities. Catnip may rule the body, but curiosity retains its own jurisdiction. With exaggerated care, he stretches out a single paw, extending it slowly, delicately, as though the slightest excess force might offend the object into retreat. The pads brush the ball just enough to set the bell chiming, a soft, triumphant jingle ringing out across the table, and he freezes again, satisfied, as if this alone has proven a point.

Then, decision made, he withdraws his paw and collapses back into the herbs with renewed enthusiasm, rolling onto his side and resuming his purring sprawl as though the bell has already served its purpose.

rot gut whiskey's gonna ease your mind
but when the hell are you gonna ease mine?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

NIKI

With the release of the ball, Niki wraps his hands around his mug to warm them through, smiling his amusement to see his offerings magnanimously accepted. "You are very generous with your praise," he tells the cat, tone wry but warm with affection, and he falls into the sort of quiet contentment that only comes in the presence of animals and people who have earned a specific sort of trust.

And so while Vesper enjoys his catnip and melts ever further into the table, Niki sips at his coffee and listens to the occasional accidental jingle of the bell-ball, until he feels as though his bones have thawed out enough to permit more movement. Outside the rain has intensified into a steady drone, pattering against the windows in waves with the odd gust of wind through the woods.

"Well, I do not know about you, but this is the sort of weather that makes for reading, napping and a good fire," he says, carefully getting to his feet to set his empty mug in the sink. Whether Vesper agrees is neither here nor there; either way, Niki will head from the kitchen and towards his bedroom, fully intending to capitalise on the misery of the day to turn it into something warmer and more palatable.

my body's on the line now, I can't fight this time now
I can feel the light shine on my face

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!