if you try and chase the sun you're never gonna catch it
Vesper doesn’t shift to make space for Jack, but nor does he bristle at the intrusion. He doesn’t even bother lifting his head fully; the Captain’s presence barely registers as more than a change in the room’s pressure, a slight tilt in the air around him that his magic notes out of habit rather than interest. He keeps folding a shirt with that same mechanical precision until Jack’s question lands, quiet but direct, and his hands still. Not dramatically, just enough that the fabric stops moving, enough that his shoulders lock in place. The second question has nowhere to land; he has no destination, only the bone-deep certainty that it won’t be King’s End. But the first..
He breathes out slowly through his nose, not quite a sigh, not quite annoyance, and glances back over his shoulder. The brow he lifts mirrors Jack’s own habits so cleanly it’s almost funny, if anything in him were in a place to find humour at all.
If anyone understands what it feels like to stand in a room with a mind that’s bleeding at the edges, it’s Jack. But understanding and wanting to talk about it are separate matters entirely, and Vesper is unmistakably his father’s son in this regard as well as all the others. He isn’t inclined to spill anything more than the minimum required to justify the bag sitting half-zipped on his cot.
His fingers rake through his pale hair, catching briefly on a knot and he shrugs with the kind of careless ease that won't fool Jack for a second. "Ran into Colt in the Glade," he says, voice smooth, low, too even for the tension still coiled in his shoulders. "Went bad." That’s all he offers, stripped down and sanded flat, as if the words themselves aren’t carrying enough weight to sink the ship.
He breathes out slowly through his nose, not quite a sigh, not quite annoyance, and glances back over his shoulder. The brow he lifts mirrors Jack’s own habits so cleanly it’s almost funny, if anything in him were in a place to find humour at all.
If anyone understands what it feels like to stand in a room with a mind that’s bleeding at the edges, it’s Jack. But understanding and wanting to talk about it are separate matters entirely, and Vesper is unmistakably his father’s son in this regard as well as all the others. He isn’t inclined to spill anything more than the minimum required to justify the bag sitting half-zipped on his cot.
His fingers rake through his pale hair, catching briefly on a knot and he shrugs with the kind of careless ease that won't fool Jack for a second. "Ran into Colt in the Glade," he says, voice smooth, low, too even for the tension still coiled in his shoulders. "Went bad." That’s all he offers, stripped down and sanded flat, as if the words themselves aren’t carrying enough weight to sink the ship.
And now it's turning out to be the worst of my bad habits
☆ 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.
