VESPER
Vesper snorts softly at the idea of just sailing away. "Wish it were that easy," he mutters, his gaze flicking back toward the dark horizon where the masquerade still flickers like an ember trying to reignite. "Hard to pull anchor when your sisters are tethered to the docks." That, and because he hasn't spent nearly two decades scrounging up a crew and a ship that he'd put any amount of trust in, but he gets the appeal.
He shoots a sideways glance at Jack, eyes glinting faintly in the lantern glow. "Oh yeah? Well word around the rum fountain is that if you do start shit up with Flora again and try to sail off into the fuckin’ sunset, the Ark might not be welcome back in Torchline." He shrugs, one shoulder rising and falling in a lazy roll. "That was the rumour when it all went down, anyhow." It was all fine and dandy to talk of gettin' lucky and then fuckin' off, but Vesper thought perhaps his dear old dad needed to take some of his own advice to either hold onto the things he liked or to stop makin' waves.
But it’s the porch comment that cuts a little closer. At Jack’s phrasing—in love with you—Vesper straightens just a touch too quickly, the movement smooth but sharp enough to betray a flicker of unease. His eyes narrow, the blue of them a little flintier now. "You need to get your hearin’ checked, old man," he says, tone dry as ash, but there's a flicker of something uncertain beneath it. He’s not entirely sure if he believes himself, which is perhaps the most dangerous part.
Luckily, the conversation turns before he has to dwell in it. At Jack’s mop comment, Vesper raises a brow. "A mop?" he echoes, arching a brow in disbelief. "You’re tellin’ me you’ve got the power to push this ship around with your own winds and summon storms with a thought, but a mop is outta your league?"
With a grin, Vesper follows Jack down the corridor, tapping his fingers once across the wood, knuckles light and rhythmic before shooting the captain a sharp, wolfish grin. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but whose bed are you plannin’ to sleep in tonight if I'm in here?"
He shoots a sideways glance at Jack, eyes glinting faintly in the lantern glow. "Oh yeah? Well word around the rum fountain is that if you do start shit up with Flora again and try to sail off into the fuckin’ sunset, the Ark might not be welcome back in Torchline." He shrugs, one shoulder rising and falling in a lazy roll. "That was the rumour when it all went down, anyhow." It was all fine and dandy to talk of gettin' lucky and then fuckin' off, but Vesper thought perhaps his dear old dad needed to take some of his own advice to either hold onto the things he liked or to stop makin' waves.
But it’s the porch comment that cuts a little closer. At Jack’s phrasing—in love with you—Vesper straightens just a touch too quickly, the movement smooth but sharp enough to betray a flicker of unease. His eyes narrow, the blue of them a little flintier now. "You need to get your hearin’ checked, old man," he says, tone dry as ash, but there's a flicker of something uncertain beneath it. He’s not entirely sure if he believes himself, which is perhaps the most dangerous part.
Luckily, the conversation turns before he has to dwell in it. At Jack’s mop comment, Vesper raises a brow. "A mop?" he echoes, arching a brow in disbelief. "You’re tellin’ me you’ve got the power to push this ship around with your own winds and summon storms with a thought, but a mop is outta your league?"
With a grin, Vesper follows Jack down the corridor, tapping his fingers once across the wood, knuckles light and rhythmic before shooting the captain a sharp, wolfish grin. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but whose bed are you plannin’ to sleep in tonight if I'm in here?"
Will I ever quit playing with matches?
Why am I making angels in the ashes?
Why am I making angels in the ashes?
