I'm just a cherub riding comets through the night sky
The air tastes like salt and change.
Vesper emerges from the dense green heart of the island with a canvas satchel slung across his back, shadows clinging like humidity to his skin. The leaves overhead whisper secrets in a tongue only the Isles know, and the ground underfoot—muddy, blooming with roots and buzzing with life—feels just a little different than when he first landed. Which, given where he is, means exactly what it sounds like.
He pauses at the tree line, brow twitching as his eyes sweep the horizon. The bay he should be staring at—complete with the little cove and the rowboat Jack lent him—has vanished like a coin flipped into water. In its place is open ocean and a dark smear of another island drifting lazily in the distance, waves lapping at where the shoreline used to be.
"Ah, fuck me," he mutters, adjusting the satchel and glancing down at his boots, which are already damp from the first stretch of morning mist. He’s dressed for the heat: a sleeveless button-down left half undone and untucked, linen trousers rolled to the knee, his usual silver rings catching the light like small, deliberate suns. A pair of beat-up sandals are strapped to his feet, though one looks like it’s half-thinking about giving up the ghost.
The sun is relentless, pouring down in waves, and Vesper runs a hand through his hair, curls damp with sweat and the effort of not cursing Jack’s name out loud. The old bastard knew this would happen. Probably half the reason he sent Vesper in the first place.
Then, with a sigh, he sets off down the makeshift shoreline toward the speck of his boat, now bobbing far off in the cove of some neighbouring island like it’s taunting him. As he walks, the island hums. Beneath his steps, beneath his shadows, the ground almost pulses—faint, like a heartbeat in a buried thing. The Isles are alive in that eerie, shifting way they always are. He’s just hoping they don’t decide to drift again before he gets to the boat.
Vesper emerges from the dense green heart of the island with a canvas satchel slung across his back, shadows clinging like humidity to his skin. The leaves overhead whisper secrets in a tongue only the Isles know, and the ground underfoot—muddy, blooming with roots and buzzing with life—feels just a little different than when he first landed. Which, given where he is, means exactly what it sounds like.
He pauses at the tree line, brow twitching as his eyes sweep the horizon. The bay he should be staring at—complete with the little cove and the rowboat Jack lent him—has vanished like a coin flipped into water. In its place is open ocean and a dark smear of another island drifting lazily in the distance, waves lapping at where the shoreline used to be.
"Ah, fuck me," he mutters, adjusting the satchel and glancing down at his boots, which are already damp from the first stretch of morning mist. He’s dressed for the heat: a sleeveless button-down left half undone and untucked, linen trousers rolled to the knee, his usual silver rings catching the light like small, deliberate suns. A pair of beat-up sandals are strapped to his feet, though one looks like it’s half-thinking about giving up the ghost.
The sun is relentless, pouring down in waves, and Vesper runs a hand through his hair, curls damp with sweat and the effort of not cursing Jack’s name out loud. The old bastard knew this would happen. Probably half the reason he sent Vesper in the first place.
Then, with a sigh, he sets off down the makeshift shoreline toward the speck of his boat, now bobbing far off in the cove of some neighbouring island like it’s taunting him. As he walks, the island hums. Beneath his steps, beneath his shadows, the ground almost pulses—faint, like a heartbeat in a buried thing. The Isles are alive in that eerie, shifting way they always are. He’s just hoping they don’t decide to drift again before he gets to the boat.
VESPER
☆ 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.
