VESPER
It starts with a sound he can't quite place—like laughter if it were round and hollow, like chaos given shape and too many colours. Then comes the rattle. The roof of the Hanged Man chatters with the first bounce. Not thunder, not hail—something lighter. Stranger. Vesper stills mid-pour behind the bar, peppermint stick paused at the corner of his mouth. He feels it before he sees it, the low thrum of what the fuck rising in the thoughts outside. A chorus of confusion. Delight. Panic. Lust? (That one might’ve been from the alley again.)
He sets the glass down and steps out, shadows slinking like velvet through the doorway behind him. The door creaks open on a street that is, by all accounts, being invaded. Not by enemies. Not by voidbeasts. Not by gods.
By bouncy balls.
They’re rolling like a tide over the cobbles now—skipping under tables, pinging off shutters, colliding with a particularly unfortunate crab cart that explodes into a clatter of shellfish and citrus. One bounces directly into a lantern, scattering sparks and glitter like divine confetti. Another boings past his hip and vanishes into the bar’s open window.
Vesper’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes follow the one that caught the edge of a passing hel’s wing and ricocheted, somehow, into a man’s soup.
"...What in the actual fuck," he mutters, low and dry as aged whisky. He glances upward—just once—tracking the path of the storm back to its origin.
A silhouette at the top of the city. Arms wide. Hat tipped. The unmistakable hum of Vox.
He exhales through his nose and picks one of the balls up off the ground where it’s shuddering faintly against his boot. Glitter ink scrawls: “YOU’RE MY FAVOURITE SHADOW, DON’T TELL THE OTHERS.”
He sets the glass down and steps out, shadows slinking like velvet through the doorway behind him. The door creaks open on a street that is, by all accounts, being invaded. Not by enemies. Not by voidbeasts. Not by gods.
By bouncy balls.
They’re rolling like a tide over the cobbles now—skipping under tables, pinging off shutters, colliding with a particularly unfortunate crab cart that explodes into a clatter of shellfish and citrus. One bounces directly into a lantern, scattering sparks and glitter like divine confetti. Another boings past his hip and vanishes into the bar’s open window.
Vesper’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes follow the one that caught the edge of a passing hel’s wing and ricocheted, somehow, into a man’s soup.
"...What in the actual fuck," he mutters, low and dry as aged whisky. He glances upward—just once—tracking the path of the storm back to its origin.
A silhouette at the top of the city. Arms wide. Hat tipped. The unmistakable hum of Vox.
He exhales through his nose and picks one of the balls up off the ground where it’s shuddering faintly against his boot. Glitter ink scrawls: “YOU’RE MY FAVOURITE SHADOW, DON’T TELL THE OTHERS.”
And I'm going down, where the waves will surround
to the roar and the pound, Of the wild wild sea
Talking sweet to me
to the roar and the pound, Of the wild wild sea
Talking sweet to me
☆ 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.
