VESPER
The toe pressed into his side earns her a look, amused and slow, as if she’s just poked a sleeping cat and dares it to pounce. Vesper doesn’t rise to the bait, though, not immediately anyway. Instead, his fingers trail down her leg where it touches him, slow and idle as thought. They follow each waypoint left by time with deliberate ease, tracing the edge of a barbed wire bite like he’s learning the shape of a map only he’s meant to read. His touch doesn’t linger out of pity—he’s not that sentimental—but it is reverent in its own way. Like each mark tells a story worth knowing, worth remembering. His thumb passes over a freckle near the bend of her knee, then skims along the outside of her thigh, as if he’s mapping constellations into her skin with nothing but heat and silver rings.
"Mmm," he murmurs, too focused to bother smirking yet. "Or I could just keep doin' this." This of course being touching her slow. Even as he speaks, the shadows are already slinking into place. Slick and silent, they coil around the base of the basket tucked behind her, lifting the lid just enough to begin their silent thievery. A wedge of cheese disappears. Then another. A curl of fruit, a slice of bread. He doesn't look at them—doesn’t have to—but the corners of his mouth twitch just slightly with every successful swipe even as his attention remains firmly fixed on her: On the way her mouth curls around the edge of the cracker sleeve, shaking the crumbs into her mouth like a wolf playing dress-up as a girl. On the way her fingers grip the handle like she knows she’s losing ground but refuses to admit it.
"Mmm," he murmurs, too focused to bother smirking yet. "Or I could just keep doin' this." This of course being touching her slow. Even as he speaks, the shadows are already slinking into place. Slick and silent, they coil around the base of the basket tucked behind her, lifting the lid just enough to begin their silent thievery. A wedge of cheese disappears. Then another. A curl of fruit, a slice of bread. He doesn't look at them—doesn’t have to—but the corners of his mouth twitch just slightly with every successful swipe even as his attention remains firmly fixed on her: On the way her mouth curls around the edge of the cracker sleeve, shaking the crumbs into her mouth like a wolf playing dress-up as a girl. On the way her fingers grip the handle like she knows she’s losing ground but refuses to admit it.
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.
