VESPER
The Greatwood is beginning to blush. Leafchange has only just touched the forest’s edges, but already the canopy above the Skyport shimmers with hints of gold and copper, the breeze tugging lazily through the high branches like fingers in a lover’s hair. Below, the wooden platforms creak softly in the early evening hush, the world hovering on that golden cusp between day and night.
Vesper's leaned against the railing just shy of the docking platform, posture easy, casual—every inch of him draped in the kind of effortless charm that looks unplanned but is anything but. His shirt is charcoal, sleeves rolled neatly to the elbow, collar open just enough to whisper suggestion without being gauche. A silver chain rests against his collarbone, subtle and sharp, and his trousers are pressed but soft enough to say he doesn’t mind getting them dirty. His boots are well-worn; his smile isn’t. Yet. A single flower spins between his fingers; not a bouquet—just one.
It’s small, pale violet, plucked from a sun-drenched slope somewhere between Torchline and here. Something hardy and wild, with a stem that curves like it grew on its own terms. He twirls it absently, watching it catch the fading light, constellations beginning to wink into the indigo sky above his head like old friends. He doesn’t pace, doesn’t check the sky impatiently. He simply waits, long fingers toying with the stem, his other hand resting in the dip of his pocket.
Vesper's leaned against the railing just shy of the docking platform, posture easy, casual—every inch of him draped in the kind of effortless charm that looks unplanned but is anything but. His shirt is charcoal, sleeves rolled neatly to the elbow, collar open just enough to whisper suggestion without being gauche. A silver chain rests against his collarbone, subtle and sharp, and his trousers are pressed but soft enough to say he doesn’t mind getting them dirty. His boots are well-worn; his smile isn’t. Yet. A single flower spins between his fingers; not a bouquet—just one.
It’s small, pale violet, plucked from a sun-drenched slope somewhere between Torchline and here. Something hardy and wild, with a stem that curves like it grew on its own terms. He twirls it absently, watching it catch the fading light, constellations beginning to wink into the indigo sky above his head like old friends. He doesn’t pace, doesn’t check the sky impatiently. He simply waits, long fingers toying with the stem, his other hand resting in the dip of his pocket.
Will I ever quit playing with matches?
Why am I making angels in the ashes?
Why am I making angels in the ashes?
☆ 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.
