when rome's in ruins, we are the lions
Vesper doesn’t brace for the hit—he doesn’t need to. The shadows curl in tighter like petals folding protectively over a bloom, absorbing the full force of Nova’s strike with a whispering crack of impact. There’s no recoil, no sound of surprise from him, only the slight shift of his jaw as her punch reverberates through the black construct and into the stillness between them.
His pale eyes glint, admiring and amused, as they flick from her fist to her face. "Well damn," he murmurs, pushing off the edge of the table with the easy grace of a cat stretching between sunbeams and shade. The shadow target dissolves into mist at his side. "Guess teachin’ you to pull your punches would just be a disservice to the world."
There’s no mocking in his voice now, only warmth—dry, understated, and undeniably proud. Her magic had laced the blow, subtle but sharp, and he felt the difference. She wasn’t just growing stronger. She was learning to aim it. He tugs on the sleeve of his jacket like brushing off some invisible wrinkle, and though his expression stays cool and composed, there’s no hiding the flicker of pride in his eyes. He doesn’t say what it means to him, not really—how much he trusts her strength, how fiercely he believes in it—but it’s there in the space between the words, as steady and certain as a star.
Then, with a sly lift of one brow and that flickering grin that dances somewhere between encouragement and mischief, he adds, "Hope whoever gets in your way next has good reflexes."
His pale eyes glint, admiring and amused, as they flick from her fist to her face. "Well damn," he murmurs, pushing off the edge of the table with the easy grace of a cat stretching between sunbeams and shade. The shadow target dissolves into mist at his side. "Guess teachin’ you to pull your punches would just be a disservice to the world."
There’s no mocking in his voice now, only warmth—dry, understated, and undeniably proud. Her magic had laced the blow, subtle but sharp, and he felt the difference. She wasn’t just growing stronger. She was learning to aim it. He tugs on the sleeve of his jacket like brushing off some invisible wrinkle, and though his expression stays cool and composed, there’s no hiding the flicker of pride in his eyes. He doesn’t say what it means to him, not really—how much he trusts her strength, how fiercely he believes in it—but it’s there in the space between the words, as steady and certain as a star.
Then, with a sly lift of one brow and that flickering grin that dances somewhere between encouragement and mischief, he adds, "Hope whoever gets in your way next has good reflexes."
free of the colosseums
☆ 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.
