VESPER
Vesper’s grin unfurls slow and wicked, teeth flashing like moonlight caught on a blade. "Rainbow-coloured, actually," he drawls, watching her with a kind of lazy delight. "Had hallucinogenic properties, too. Whole fight felt like wrestlin’ a fever dream. Pretty sure it laughed at me in three voices." His head tips slightly, constellation freckles shifting faintly beneath the trees. "If Ma can keep the trip intact when she makes it into armour, Nova’ll be more dangerous than ever. Not sure if I oughta be proud or terrified, but either way, I think it'll keep her safe."
He stills as her fingers circle his wrist, the chill of the star resting against his pulse. His gaze doesn’t leave her, even when the clasp clicks home. The party flickers behind his eyes, but he doesn’t speak of it—only a slow flex of his jaw betrays the ghost of it, the weight of what went unsaid. And maybe that silence is the best he can offer. Not penance. Not denial. Just presence. Just this.
When she dares to suggest the rodeo might be a one-time thing, he lets out a short, amused snort, shaking his head. "You know damn well that thing was half a miracle and all yours." His thumb drags lightly across the heel of her hand before curling to catch it fully, threading their fingers together like it’s instinct. "If you don’t host another one, it’s just gonna appear on your porch anyway. Saddle bronc buckin’ on your front step, flowers eatin' by a bull. World’ll make it happen with or without your blessin’, that's how good of a job you did."
The grin he casts her next is less wolf, more fox—slightly crooked, a touch fond. "No more desert, then. But there’s places out there that don’t feel like walkin’ through hell. We could see a few of ‘em," he says, casual as wind through pine, but it’s an offering all the same. A quiet vision of tomorrows not yet promised.
He sighs then, exaggerated and theatrical, glancing back toward the moss-lined trail behind them. "Reckon we oughta head to the restaurant before they give away our table." But his gaze drops meaningfully to the arch of her heels, his eyebrow rising in quiet challenge. "Unless you’d rather ride back." The look he gives her is pure trouble, but his hand in hers is steady and warm. "Or detour altogether...?"
He stills as her fingers circle his wrist, the chill of the star resting against his pulse. His gaze doesn’t leave her, even when the clasp clicks home. The party flickers behind his eyes, but he doesn’t speak of it—only a slow flex of his jaw betrays the ghost of it, the weight of what went unsaid. And maybe that silence is the best he can offer. Not penance. Not denial. Just presence. Just this.
When she dares to suggest the rodeo might be a one-time thing, he lets out a short, amused snort, shaking his head. "You know damn well that thing was half a miracle and all yours." His thumb drags lightly across the heel of her hand before curling to catch it fully, threading their fingers together like it’s instinct. "If you don’t host another one, it’s just gonna appear on your porch anyway. Saddle bronc buckin’ on your front step, flowers eatin' by a bull. World’ll make it happen with or without your blessin’, that's how good of a job you did."
The grin he casts her next is less wolf, more fox—slightly crooked, a touch fond. "No more desert, then. But there’s places out there that don’t feel like walkin’ through hell. We could see a few of ‘em," he says, casual as wind through pine, but it’s an offering all the same. A quiet vision of tomorrows not yet promised.
He sighs then, exaggerated and theatrical, glancing back toward the moss-lined trail behind them. "Reckon we oughta head to the restaurant before they give away our table." But his gaze drops meaningfully to the arch of her heels, his eyebrow rising in quiet challenge. "Unless you’d rather ride back." The look he gives her is pure trouble, but his hand in hers is steady and warm. "Or detour altogether...?"
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.
