// Sweet shot of kerosene //
Vesper’s brows lift, not all the way to surprise, but enough that one eye cracks open to glance at her. A dress? It lands in his mind like a pebble in a still pond, sending out quiet rings of thought. Jack Barclay: patron of high fashion. Stranger things had happened. Still, he’s silent a moment too long, until the shadows lazily curling around his chest slip deeper into the water.
"Soft?" he echoes finally, letting the word roll over his tongue like he’s checking its weight. "Mm. Maybe. Or maybe just distracted. Love’ll do that." He assumes, anyway. Vesper tips his head, eyes tracing the gold in his sister's hair as it fans around her like sunlit kelp. "But he didn’t seem soft in the Fingers. He felt like a storm waitin’ to break." So whatever harm the Doubletake had done, it didn't seem to have lasted.
The swirl beneath his fingers grows tighter, a spiral that pulls inward. "He’s got so much shit hummin’ under the surface, Caly. Like a thousand tripwires all strung together. Every time someone says his name, I think about how easy it’d be to step on the wrong one." There’s no fear in it—just recognition. Respect for the volatility in his veins.
Then, softer, almost teasing: "And what kinda dress we talkin’ here? Pretty little thing for dancin’, or somethin’ you can gut a man in and still look like the prize?" His grin returns, slow and dangerous; knowing Caly, the answer would be both.
"Soft?" he echoes finally, letting the word roll over his tongue like he’s checking its weight. "Mm. Maybe. Or maybe just distracted. Love’ll do that." He assumes, anyway. Vesper tips his head, eyes tracing the gold in his sister's hair as it fans around her like sunlit kelp. "But he didn’t seem soft in the Fingers. He felt like a storm waitin’ to break." So whatever harm the Doubletake had done, it didn't seem to have lasted.
The swirl beneath his fingers grows tighter, a spiral that pulls inward. "He’s got so much shit hummin’ under the surface, Caly. Like a thousand tripwires all strung together. Every time someone says his name, I think about how easy it’d be to step on the wrong one." There’s no fear in it—just recognition. Respect for the volatility in his veins.
Then, softer, almost teasing: "And what kinda dress we talkin’ here? Pretty little thing for dancin’, or somethin’ you can gut a man in and still look like the prize?" His grin returns, slow and dangerous; knowing Caly, the answer would be both.
Vesper
// When I threw it back, it poisoned me //
☆ 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.
