VESPER
The clap from Bassian lands like a cannonball, and Vesper stumbles a step with a grunt sharp enough to frost the air. One shoulder rolls back slowly, disdain masked as civility, though the flick of shadow that slinks out behind him to just nudge Bassian’s boot on the next pass is pure spite dressed in elegance. Coincidence, surely.
When the captain barks out the next round, Vesper doesn’t bother drawing straws. The others can fight over canvas and ropes—he simply pivots back toward his section of the deck, nodding once to the shadows still coiled in lazy readiness at his side. The tar is already warming near one of the braziers, thick and black as molasses, while a bucket of resin sits not far off, its scent sharp and earthy in the crisp air. Vesper doesn’t rush. He kneels, gloved fingers testing the wood with a slow press, eyes half-lidded as if listening for where the ship aches most beneath its skin.
The work is steady. Resin glides in amber streaks across the planks, catching light like frozen honey. He follows the grain with patient, painterly strokes. Each weather-worn crack is filled in with dark tar, his shadows smoothing and sealing behind him like the trailing tail of a ribbon.
By the time he’s halfway through, his gloves are streaked and his scarf loosened, but his eyes are clear—brighter, even, under the cold. He doesn't mind the grunt work. Not when the job is quiet and the deck doesn’t ask questions.
Vesp will continue with the deck!
When the captain barks out the next round, Vesper doesn’t bother drawing straws. The others can fight over canvas and ropes—he simply pivots back toward his section of the deck, nodding once to the shadows still coiled in lazy readiness at his side. The tar is already warming near one of the braziers, thick and black as molasses, while a bucket of resin sits not far off, its scent sharp and earthy in the crisp air. Vesper doesn’t rush. He kneels, gloved fingers testing the wood with a slow press, eyes half-lidded as if listening for where the ship aches most beneath its skin.
The work is steady. Resin glides in amber streaks across the planks, catching light like frozen honey. He follows the grain with patient, painterly strokes. Each weather-worn crack is filled in with dark tar, his shadows smoothing and sealing behind him like the trailing tail of a ribbon.
By the time he’s halfway through, his gloves are streaked and his scarf loosened, but his eyes are clear—brighter, even, under the cold. He doesn't mind the grunt work. Not when the job is quiet and the deck doesn’t ask questions.
Vesp will continue with the deck!
rot gut whiskey's gonna ease your mind
but when the hell are you gonna ease mine?
but when the hell are you gonna ease mine?
☆ 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.
