if you try and chase the sun you're never gonna catch it
The warning comes long before the roar.
Iskra’s thoughts hit Vesper like a siren—too loud, too raw, a surge of desperate fury coiled tight around the image of Melita like barbed wire. It’s all possession and panic, that feral refusal to lose, and Vesper could drown in the noise of it if he weren’t already so used to tuning out the screamers.
So when the thunder of boots punches across the snow behind him, when Iskra's yell tears through the air, Vesper doesn’t flinch.
He just grins.
The smirk tugs slow across his mouth, all teeth and danger, and then he’s gone—vanishing in a flicker of shadows, the mist of his step curling like smoke in the space where his body had been.
Iskra hits nothing but air.
Vesper reappears a few paces to the right, standing at an easy angle with his weight on one leg and a crooked eyebrow lifting like a challenge. One hand is already pushing the hair out of his eyes, while the other flicks lazily to dust off a phantom fleck of snow from his sleeve. "Tsk," he murmurs, the condescension coiled soft and smug in his tone, like a teacher disappointed in a particularly dumb pupil. "You always this dramatic, or am I just lucky?" His shadows slither faintly around his boots again—ready, just in case—but for now they linger like amused spectators. Vesper doesn't move to strike. Doesn't need to. He’s already got the upper hand, and the snarl on Iskra's face only confirms it.
Iskra’s thoughts hit Vesper like a siren—too loud, too raw, a surge of desperate fury coiled tight around the image of Melita like barbed wire. It’s all possession and panic, that feral refusal to lose, and Vesper could drown in the noise of it if he weren’t already so used to tuning out the screamers.
So when the thunder of boots punches across the snow behind him, when Iskra's yell tears through the air, Vesper doesn’t flinch.
He just grins.
The smirk tugs slow across his mouth, all teeth and danger, and then he’s gone—vanishing in a flicker of shadows, the mist of his step curling like smoke in the space where his body had been.
Iskra hits nothing but air.
Vesper reappears a few paces to the right, standing at an easy angle with his weight on one leg and a crooked eyebrow lifting like a challenge. One hand is already pushing the hair out of his eyes, while the other flicks lazily to dust off a phantom fleck of snow from his sleeve. "Tsk," he murmurs, the condescension coiled soft and smug in his tone, like a teacher disappointed in a particularly dumb pupil. "You always this dramatic, or am I just lucky?" His shadows slither faintly around his boots again—ready, just in case—but for now they linger like amused spectators. Vesper doesn't move to strike. Doesn't need to. He’s already got the upper hand, and the snarl on Iskra's face only confirms it.
And now it's turning out to be the worst of my bad habits
☆ has a pale star tattoo beneath his left eye, and freckle-sized constellations move across his skin
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
