just because the fog is there
A dry snort breaks from him, low and amused. "If you had to run a bar with Nova and Caly for staff," he says, "you’d run a tight fuckin’ ship too. Calypso’s gettin’ hit on every other minute, and Nova’s got the attention span of a mayfly when there’s anything shiny around. It’s less drink service and more herdin’ cats." He glances at her, the faint edge of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
At the admission about wine, he quirks a brow. "If that’s the case," he murmurs, turning the skewers with a slow flick of his shadows, "you can bring it out here. I’ll throw it in with the meat, and we’ll keep drinkin’ what you like." There’s no judgment in the offer, just ease, like the world could shift to her comfort without needing to be asked twice.
As the grill crackles, he looks back to her, draped over the porch swing like the heat softened her bones, head tipped back, gold-blonde hair catching the light in places like dry grass at sunset. He doesn’t look away, just lets his gaze settle on her with a quiet sort of curiosity as she considers the ripple effect.
Her question draws his eyes back toward the glass in his hand. Ringed fingers tilt it once, twice, before he takes a sip and lets the thought spool loose. "Focused mostly on Torchline," he says, voice low enough to ride the breeze. "Knew me ‘n my sisters were gonna end up there eventually, so I kept watch. Meant watchin’ Jack, too." A faint snort escapes him, fond and sharp. "His ripples went pretty fuckin’ far. Not really a surprise."
But then his gaze drifts upward, into the bruised sky with its scattered stars, as though sifting through memory. "Mm, there was one that started with this married woman." His voice is soft now, the kind of softness that comes when handling a story with too many edges. "Not unhappily, far as I could tell. Had a husband she cared for, two kids who didn’t scream too much. They ran a shop down by the docks—sold charms, little bottles of perfume, pocket mirrors with wards carved on the back. Honest place."
He rolls his glass between his fingers. "But there was a sailor. Young. Stupid. Pretty in a way that makes people forget better judgment. A pause, then a glance her way. "You know the type." He grins. "They didn’t mean to start nothin’. Wasn’t that kind of affair. Just shared a drink after her husband locked up late one night. Talked about books. She liked books about storms. He said he dreamed of bein’ struck by lightning and survivin’ it. Idiot poetry. But somethin’ in it cracked her open. Made her laugh in a way she hadn’t in years.
They met up twice more. Never touched. Never kissed. Just talked. But she started smiling at nothing while she stirred her teas. Forgot ingredients. Her husband noticed. He followed her, thought it was worse than it was. Picked a fight with the sailor outside the bar. The sailor fought back. He had a knife." Vesper’s voice goes quieter as he takes another sip of his rum. "Didn’t kill him. But it changed things. Husband started drinkin’. Shop closed a few weeks later. Sailor skipped town with a busted wrist and a rumour behind him. The woman stayed. Didn’t speak much after. One of her kids went and sided with the Family after things got real bad at home, and he got killed shortly after tryin' to steal a lily from someone. The husband became that mean kind of quiet that's always on edge. Ended up killin' himself over it not long after their kid died."
Vesper lifts his rum in a dry salute, expression unreadable in the dim porch light. "All ‘cause of a laugh and a boy who thought he could survive lightning."
At the admission about wine, he quirks a brow. "If that’s the case," he murmurs, turning the skewers with a slow flick of his shadows, "you can bring it out here. I’ll throw it in with the meat, and we’ll keep drinkin’ what you like." There’s no judgment in the offer, just ease, like the world could shift to her comfort without needing to be asked twice.
As the grill crackles, he looks back to her, draped over the porch swing like the heat softened her bones, head tipped back, gold-blonde hair catching the light in places like dry grass at sunset. He doesn’t look away, just lets his gaze settle on her with a quiet sort of curiosity as she considers the ripple effect.
Her question draws his eyes back toward the glass in his hand. Ringed fingers tilt it once, twice, before he takes a sip and lets the thought spool loose. "Focused mostly on Torchline," he says, voice low enough to ride the breeze. "Knew me ‘n my sisters were gonna end up there eventually, so I kept watch. Meant watchin’ Jack, too." A faint snort escapes him, fond and sharp. "His ripples went pretty fuckin’ far. Not really a surprise."
But then his gaze drifts upward, into the bruised sky with its scattered stars, as though sifting through memory. "Mm, there was one that started with this married woman." His voice is soft now, the kind of softness that comes when handling a story with too many edges. "Not unhappily, far as I could tell. Had a husband she cared for, two kids who didn’t scream too much. They ran a shop down by the docks—sold charms, little bottles of perfume, pocket mirrors with wards carved on the back. Honest place."
He rolls his glass between his fingers. "But there was a sailor. Young. Stupid. Pretty in a way that makes people forget better judgment. A pause, then a glance her way. "You know the type." He grins. "They didn’t mean to start nothin’. Wasn’t that kind of affair. Just shared a drink after her husband locked up late one night. Talked about books. She liked books about storms. He said he dreamed of bein’ struck by lightning and survivin’ it. Idiot poetry. But somethin’ in it cracked her open. Made her laugh in a way she hadn’t in years.
They met up twice more. Never touched. Never kissed. Just talked. But she started smiling at nothing while she stirred her teas. Forgot ingredients. Her husband noticed. He followed her, thought it was worse than it was. Picked a fight with the sailor outside the bar. The sailor fought back. He had a knife." Vesper’s voice goes quieter as he takes another sip of his rum. "Didn’t kill him. But it changed things. Husband started drinkin’. Shop closed a few weeks later. Sailor skipped town with a busted wrist and a rumour behind him. The woman stayed. Didn’t speak much after. One of her kids went and sided with the Family after things got real bad at home, and he got killed shortly after tryin' to steal a lily from someone. The husband became that mean kind of quiet that's always on edge. Ended up killin' himself over it not long after their kid died."
Vesper lifts his rum in a dry salute, expression unreadable in the dim porch light. "All ‘cause of a laugh and a boy who thought he could survive lightning."
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.
