VESPER
Vesper’s gaze drifts across the threshold, pale eyes sweeping over the room like a tide claiming new shoreline. Every surface seems to hum with invitation—the glitter of shattered glass, the neat alignment of weapons, the gleam of chains draped like jewellery—even the scent of the place feels indulgent, a cocktail of iron, smoke, and sweet liquor meant to tempt both saint and sinner alike.
He steps inside, shadows slipping after him in a low, restless swirl, and pauses as though the air itself might shift in response. When it doesn’t, he raises a brow, amusement softening the cut of his expression. With idle curiosity, he trails a finger along one of the blades. The steel answers easily, parting skin with a whisper, and a single drop of blood wells bright against the pale of his hand before rolling lazily down his knuckle. Vesper watches it for a heartbeat—cool, detached, as though observing someone else’s pulse—and then turns toward the door.
He closes it without ceremony, regardless of which side Danta had decided to remain on. The latch clicks, the silence holds, and when he opens it again, the air seems to inhale around him. The cut is gone. Not healed, but gone; his skin is smooth, untouched, as though the act itself never existed.
A low hum escapes him, half fascination, half approval. He glances back toward Danta—whether the man stands within or beyond the doorway—and flexes his hand once, watching the motion that should have hurt and doesn’t. "Well shit," he says softly, lips curling into a slow smile. His gaze roves again over the room, the corners full of promise, the shadows full of potential. "And there's never been any issues usin' it? I mean, folks still remember what happened inside, right?"
He steps inside, shadows slipping after him in a low, restless swirl, and pauses as though the air itself might shift in response. When it doesn’t, he raises a brow, amusement softening the cut of his expression. With idle curiosity, he trails a finger along one of the blades. The steel answers easily, parting skin with a whisper, and a single drop of blood wells bright against the pale of his hand before rolling lazily down his knuckle. Vesper watches it for a heartbeat—cool, detached, as though observing someone else’s pulse—and then turns toward the door.
He closes it without ceremony, regardless of which side Danta had decided to remain on. The latch clicks, the silence holds, and when he opens it again, the air seems to inhale around him. The cut is gone. Not healed, but gone; his skin is smooth, untouched, as though the act itself never existed.
A low hum escapes him, half fascination, half approval. He glances back toward Danta—whether the man stands within or beyond the doorway—and flexes his hand once, watching the motion that should have hurt and doesn’t. "Well shit," he says softly, lips curling into a slow smile. His gaze roves again over the room, the corners full of promise, the shadows full of potential. "And there's never been any issues usin' it? I mean, folks still remember what happened inside, right?"
wake me when it's over
like a bad dream
like a bad dream
☆ 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.
