doves and ravens fly the same
"From an alien from space tryin’ to take over everythin’?" Vesper lifts a brow, flicking a sidelong look her way. "Yeah. I reckon flowers and a cheek pat are the least nice thing about it." His mouth quirks like he wants to grin, but it doesn’t land, not really.
Normally, Colt’s jabs roll right off him. Usually, there’s a kind of music in her bite, something half-wild and half-playful that makes her mind feel like a place worth wandering. But not tonight. Tonight it’s coiled barbed wire and shuttered windows, brittle with signs that say keep out, and for someone like him, someone who listens without trying, it hits like static. Like splinters in the soft parts of him he doesn’t show. Her thoughts used to be golden in places—reckless, stubborn, sun-scorched and wild. He’d liked them. Liked her.
But now?
It’s not the insults that wound. It’s the barricades she’s hammered in where once there was room for him. Where uncharacteristic as it was, he'd felt like he could be unguarded, and call him selfish all day long, but he'd liked it. Gone out of his way to feel more of it. But now, Colt's words feel sharp even before they’re spoken. The way she fights to push him out, as if him being there is something that should shame them both. So when she snaps back about pretending, he exhales a laugh, soft and hollow, too dry to hold much humour. "Yeah," he murmurs, "well. That was my mistake."
No venom. No edge. Just quiet resignation and the faintest shake of his head as he tried to sidestep the gopher holes now littering the once pristine fields of her mind.
There’s more he could say. He could call her on the loneliness she wears like a brand. Could say something about the end of the world and how maybe he might just been there too, if she let him. But that’s not the game they’re playing tonight. And he’s not interested in bleeding for someone who’s already built the gallows. So instead, when she says he’d go down swingin’ for his sisters, he nods once, shoulders squaring like that much at least is easy. Uncomplicated. True.
"Speakin’ of," he says, voice light again, though it doesn't ring right, not even to his own ears. He glances over his shoulder toward the dying glow of the gathering, where Nova’s probably still throwing glitter into the wind like it’s a weapon. "Oughta go make sure Nova got home all right." It's a clear enough out given that Jack is standing right there, but fuck, if she wants him gone that bad, he'll go.
Normally, Colt’s jabs roll right off him. Usually, there’s a kind of music in her bite, something half-wild and half-playful that makes her mind feel like a place worth wandering. But not tonight. Tonight it’s coiled barbed wire and shuttered windows, brittle with signs that say keep out, and for someone like him, someone who listens without trying, it hits like static. Like splinters in the soft parts of him he doesn’t show. Her thoughts used to be golden in places—reckless, stubborn, sun-scorched and wild. He’d liked them. Liked her.
But now?
It’s not the insults that wound. It’s the barricades she’s hammered in where once there was room for him. Where uncharacteristic as it was, he'd felt like he could be unguarded, and call him selfish all day long, but he'd liked it. Gone out of his way to feel more of it. But now, Colt's words feel sharp even before they’re spoken. The way she fights to push him out, as if him being there is something that should shame them both. So when she snaps back about pretending, he exhales a laugh, soft and hollow, too dry to hold much humour. "Yeah," he murmurs, "well. That was my mistake."
No venom. No edge. Just quiet resignation and the faintest shake of his head as he tried to sidestep the gopher holes now littering the once pristine fields of her mind.
There’s more he could say. He could call her on the loneliness she wears like a brand. Could say something about the end of the world and how maybe he might just been there too, if she let him. But that’s not the game they’re playing tonight. And he’s not interested in bleeding for someone who’s already built the gallows. So instead, when she says he’d go down swingin’ for his sisters, he nods once, shoulders squaring like that much at least is easy. Uncomplicated. True.
"Speakin’ of," he says, voice light again, though it doesn't ring right, not even to his own ears. He glances over his shoulder toward the dying glow of the gathering, where Nova’s probably still throwing glitter into the wind like it’s a weapon. "Oughta go make sure Nova got home all right." It's a clear enough out given that Jack is standing right there, but fuck, if she wants him gone that bad, he'll go.
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.
