just because the fog is there
A dry chuckle flicks past his mouth as he lifts one hand in theatrical surrender, the faint clink of his rings tapping against the glass still resting in his other. "Oh, I see," he says, like her explanation has unveiled some great architectural secret. His gaze trails lazily from her hips to her heels, drinking in the sprawl of her posture like it’s a blueprint he could happily memorise. "You’re usin’ the counter. My mistake."
And she’s not wrong, either; he does have his drink. Exactly as ordered, chilled to perfection, just the way he likes it. "Suppose if your bartendin’ is any indication, maybe your cookin’ll be just fine," he concedes, rolling the glass between his fingers as if warming to the idea. "An’ bakin’, huh." His eyes lift again, catching on the flour as she dusts it off. "I've never had much of a sweet tooth before—maybe you’ll change my mind."
Her thoughts flicker then—unexpected, soft-edged—rising like steam from a summer street, warm and bittersweet, as tangible as the fondness in the curve of her palm where it strokes the marble. He doesn’t usually ask; doesn’t need to, and doesn’t care to pretend he’s someone who gets curious out loud. But tonight is already different—by design, not accident—and maybe that’s reason enough to pull the thread. His voice lowers as he turns toward her, one hand still cradling his glass, the other resting against the counter like he’s not quite sure whether to close the distance or hold the line.
"What happened to her?" he asks quietly, not pushing, not gentle either. Just present, and—unusually—honest in the asking. Her reply can come when she’s ready, or not at all. Vesper's already grinning again at her last quip, the one about bartending at the grill, and this time the sound that breaks from him is a real laugh—sharp, low, and unwillingly fond. "Now that I believe," he mutters, shooting her a wry glance as he nudges the bags farther open with his shadows.
He tips his head toward the produce with a dry smile, already peeling open one of the steak parcels. "Cut those up for me, yeah? Add some butter, pinch of whatever spice ain’t turned to fossil." There’s a flicker of mischief as he looks back toward the door. "I’ll go see if this world-famous barbecue will light up."
And she’s not wrong, either; he does have his drink. Exactly as ordered, chilled to perfection, just the way he likes it. "Suppose if your bartendin’ is any indication, maybe your cookin’ll be just fine," he concedes, rolling the glass between his fingers as if warming to the idea. "An’ bakin’, huh." His eyes lift again, catching on the flour as she dusts it off. "I've never had much of a sweet tooth before—maybe you’ll change my mind."
Her thoughts flicker then—unexpected, soft-edged—rising like steam from a summer street, warm and bittersweet, as tangible as the fondness in the curve of her palm where it strokes the marble. He doesn’t usually ask; doesn’t need to, and doesn’t care to pretend he’s someone who gets curious out loud. But tonight is already different—by design, not accident—and maybe that’s reason enough to pull the thread. His voice lowers as he turns toward her, one hand still cradling his glass, the other resting against the counter like he’s not quite sure whether to close the distance or hold the line.
"What happened to her?" he asks quietly, not pushing, not gentle either. Just present, and—unusually—honest in the asking. Her reply can come when she’s ready, or not at all. Vesper's already grinning again at her last quip, the one about bartending at the grill, and this time the sound that breaks from him is a real laugh—sharp, low, and unwillingly fond. "Now that I believe," he mutters, shooting her a wry glance as he nudges the bags farther open with his shadows.
He tips his head toward the produce with a dry smile, already peeling open one of the steak parcels. "Cut those up for me, yeah? Add some butter, pinch of whatever spice ain’t turned to fossil." There’s a flicker of mischief as he looks back toward the door. "I’ll go see if this world-famous barbecue will light up."
don't mean nothing's behind it
☆ 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.
