VESPER
Vesper shrugs, slow and unapologetic, swirling what’s left of his drink as though it’s merely the weather they’re discussing. "Didn’t have a fixed address to send the invitation," he murmurs, casting a glance over Mateo like he’s trying to measure whether the man could have broken the shelves on purpose just to make a point. "Didn't know where you'd be moored to come and hand deliver it, either." He'd glanced about the harbour, having no idea at the time that Mateo had chosen to park his schooner above Flora's old home.
The smile that follows is full of lazy promise, curling at the corners as he considers Flora’s supposed leniency. "Fifteen minutes," he echoes, tasting the number like it’s a wager. "Sounds fair." His shadows agree—pressing slick and slow across Mateo’s thighs, puddling warm and deliberate in his lap like they’re scouting real estate.
Still, it’s only once Vesper finishes his drink that he moves. Smooth as spilled oil, he slides out from behind the bar, silver chains glinting with every step as he approaches the tavern’s front. One hand flips the sign from open to closed with a faint click. His shadows slink like silk cords, coiling into the belt loops of Mateo’s trousers with unmistakable intent. There’s no rush in their pull, no demand—only the kind of slow, assured drag that says you’re coming with me, whether Mateo stands up or not. Vesper doesn’t look back as he heads for the once-supply-closet, before turning the handle pushing open the door. The walls have been painted a deep, velvety plum, lit by a single, dim star-shaped lantern that hangs lazily from the ceiling and casts soft constellations across the room. One wall is mirrored—just the right height to catch certain angles—while the shelving has been reinforced and polished, their edges padded discreetly. There's even a narrow, well-worn bench tucked along one side, draped in black linen and clearly not for sitting.
The smile that follows is full of lazy promise, curling at the corners as he considers Flora’s supposed leniency. "Fifteen minutes," he echoes, tasting the number like it’s a wager. "Sounds fair." His shadows agree—pressing slick and slow across Mateo’s thighs, puddling warm and deliberate in his lap like they’re scouting real estate.
Still, it’s only once Vesper finishes his drink that he moves. Smooth as spilled oil, he slides out from behind the bar, silver chains glinting with every step as he approaches the tavern’s front. One hand flips the sign from open to closed with a faint click. His shadows slink like silk cords, coiling into the belt loops of Mateo’s trousers with unmistakable intent. There’s no rush in their pull, no demand—only the kind of slow, assured drag that says you’re coming with me, whether Mateo stands up or not. Vesper doesn’t look back as he heads for the once-supply-closet, before turning the handle pushing open the door. The walls have been painted a deep, velvety plum, lit by a single, dim star-shaped lantern that hangs lazily from the ceiling and casts soft constellations across the room. One wall is mirrored—just the right height to catch certain angles—while the shelving has been reinforced and polished, their edges padded discreetly. There's even a narrow, well-worn bench tucked along one side, draped in black linen and clearly not for sitting.
wake me when it's over
like a bad dream
like a bad dream
☆ 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.
