the highway won't dry your tears
Vesper’s grin curves slow and sharp, like a blade honed on heat. Colt’s delight is its own kind of fire, and he soaks in it without flinching despite the heat already all around him—doesn’t preen, exactly, but there’s a flash of satisfaction in his expression. He lets her laugh trail off before replying, his voice as lazy as dusk, "Sure did. Woke up itchin’ for oats and affection. Thought maybe I was havin’ a crisis."
At the threat to flatten him, his gaze sweeps down and back up with deliberate slowness. "Y'know," he muses, "I believe you just might." The wink is implied, not performed—just a glint behind his lashes before he exhales, the humour softening into something steadier.
He listens as she talks about the gods, about luck and what Frey might have meant, his expression settling into a drier kind of attentiveness. The desert rolls out before them, unforgiving and vast, but it’s her voice he tracks now. You're my good luck charm, she says, and the shadows at his heels pause with him, stilling like they’ve heard something worth stopping for. "You'd be the first to think so," he says, running his fingers through his hair. "I don’t usually bring much luck—just long odds and decent company." But the thanks, the warmth—it lands, even if he doesn’t answer it directly. He shifts his weight, eyeing the horizon, then glances back at her, grin flashing anew.
'Well," he drawls, rolling his shoulders in preparation to shift, "you can thank me properly once we make it out alive. But for now..." His bones stretch and bend with smooth inevitability, limbs lengthening, dark hide rippling into place beneath the stars. Where Vesper had stood now waits a tall, sleek stallion—black as night, white markings glowing faint like star-trails along his flanks in vague rabicano patterns. He's nothing that might grace the cover of romance novels, instead looking more like he was built for speed and endurance not unlike what one might think of his long-limbed human self.
He tosses his head once, tail flicking, immediately feeling the flightiness settle into his bones. The itch to run. Glancing at Colt, the ear closest to her flickers a touch uncertainly as the demigod considers; rather than kneeling down like some well-schooled pony, instead Vesper merely lifts his front leg, his hoof steady beneath himself that she might use it like a step ladder to clamber aboard.
At the threat to flatten him, his gaze sweeps down and back up with deliberate slowness. "Y'know," he muses, "I believe you just might." The wink is implied, not performed—just a glint behind his lashes before he exhales, the humour softening into something steadier.
He listens as she talks about the gods, about luck and what Frey might have meant, his expression settling into a drier kind of attentiveness. The desert rolls out before them, unforgiving and vast, but it’s her voice he tracks now. You're my good luck charm, she says, and the shadows at his heels pause with him, stilling like they’ve heard something worth stopping for. "You'd be the first to think so," he says, running his fingers through his hair. "I don’t usually bring much luck—just long odds and decent company." But the thanks, the warmth—it lands, even if he doesn’t answer it directly. He shifts his weight, eyeing the horizon, then glances back at her, grin flashing anew.
'Well," he drawls, rolling his shoulders in preparation to shift, "you can thank me properly once we make it out alive. But for now..." His bones stretch and bend with smooth inevitability, limbs lengthening, dark hide rippling into place beneath the stars. Where Vesper had stood now waits a tall, sleek stallion—black as night, white markings glowing faint like star-trails along his flanks in vague rabicano patterns. He's nothing that might grace the cover of romance novels, instead looking more like he was built for speed and endurance not unlike what one might think of his long-limbed human self.
He tosses his head once, tail flicking, immediately feeling the flightiness settle into his bones. The itch to run. Glancing at Colt, the ear closest to her flickers a touch uncertainly as the demigod considers; rather than kneeling down like some well-schooled pony, instead Vesper merely lifts his front leg, his hoof steady beneath himself that she might use it like a step ladder to clamber aboard.
the highway don't need you here
☆ 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.
