VESPER
The rain has settled into a steady, satisfied rhythm by the time Vesper decides the evening could use improvement. He has already been inside for a while, long enough for his fur to be entirely dry and fluffed back into place, long enough to assess the space and deem it acceptable. The old funeral parlour has good bones—quiet corners, warm light, the kind of stillness that listens rather than presses—and the smells drifting from the kitchen are grounding in a way he doesn’t usually admit to appreciating.
In his current form, Vesper takes up very little room, a black shape arranged neatly atop the kitchen table as though it were the most natural place in the world for him to be. His tail curls around his paws with deliberate elegance, ears relaxed, posture unbothered. He does not knock anything over, he does not announce himself. He simply is, the way cats are, sovereign and uninvited.
When Niki eventually turns—because of course he must at some point— Vesper will life his head just enough to meet the necromancer’s gaze. The blue of his eyes is impossible to miss, bright and unblinking, catching the firelight in a way that has nothing at all to do with reflection and everything to do with intent. There is no apology in it, no surprise, not even curiosity. He does not meow, he does not move, he merely watches, tail tip flicking once, as rain lashes the windows and the house settles around them both, content in the knowledge that, once again, he has found his way exactly where he wants to be.
In his current form, Vesper takes up very little room, a black shape arranged neatly atop the kitchen table as though it were the most natural place in the world for him to be. His tail curls around his paws with deliberate elegance, ears relaxed, posture unbothered. He does not knock anything over, he does not announce himself. He simply is, the way cats are, sovereign and uninvited.
When Niki eventually turns—because of course he must at some point— Vesper will life his head just enough to meet the necromancer’s gaze. The blue of his eyes is impossible to miss, bright and unblinking, catching the firelight in a way that has nothing at all to do with reflection and everything to do with intent. There is no apology in it, no surprise, not even curiosity. He does not meow, he does not move, he merely watches, tail tip flicking once, as rain lashes the windows and the house settles around them both, content in the knowledge that, once again, he has found his way exactly where he wants to be.
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.
