i'm a lost cause, do it the way I want
The cards do not fall the way they should, and that is the first tell, subtle enough that most eyes miss it while they are busy being delighted. Vesper stands at the outer edge of the small crowd, half in shadow where the roots of a great oak rise like ribs from the earth, his posture loose in the way of someone who has nowhere urgent to be and every intention of lingering. The Sidhe Village hums around him with its evening life, but his attention narrows to the illusionist at the centre of the ring, to the soft flick of wrists and the practiced smile that sells wonder as easily as any coin.
The trick is clean, he will grant that much. The deck blossoms into motion, cards leaping and folding and reforming as though gravity itself has agreed to look the other way, and the audience gasps on cue, laughter following close behind like a familiar refrain. The images are flawless to the eye, rich with colour and depth, every card precisely where it promises to be, but the weight beneath them does not match the display, the intent running just a shade too shallow, the strain of concentration pressed thin and careful rather than expansive.
He feels the trick before he confirms it, a whisper of effort brushing against his awareness, all angles and redirection, a deliberate misalignment meant to guide thought away from where the truth is sitting patiently. The cards are not real in the way they are pretending to be, and the illusionist knows it, knows exactly how convincing the lie needs to look to pass without question, and that knowledge hums faintly beneath the performance like a second, quieter melody. Vesper’s mouth curves, almost despite himself, not in mockery so much as appreciation, because deception done well has always deserved respect, even when it is transparent to him.
Vesper shifts his weight, fingers idly worrying the edge of a silver ring as he watches the illusionist bow, already preparing the next lie, already gauging where attention will drift when the trick resets. Somewhere behind him the village continues on its steady rhythm, and for a moment, the distance between this place and the quiet rooms of Niki's house he has left behind feels both deliberate and necessary regardless of the fact that he'd left just after the necromancer had, misty-stepping his way here so that his presence would appear entirely coincidental.
The trick is clean, he will grant that much. The deck blossoms into motion, cards leaping and folding and reforming as though gravity itself has agreed to look the other way, and the audience gasps on cue, laughter following close behind like a familiar refrain. The images are flawless to the eye, rich with colour and depth, every card precisely where it promises to be, but the weight beneath them does not match the display, the intent running just a shade too shallow, the strain of concentration pressed thin and careful rather than expansive.
He feels the trick before he confirms it, a whisper of effort brushing against his awareness, all angles and redirection, a deliberate misalignment meant to guide thought away from where the truth is sitting patiently. The cards are not real in the way they are pretending to be, and the illusionist knows it, knows exactly how convincing the lie needs to look to pass without question, and that knowledge hums faintly beneath the performance like a second, quieter melody. Vesper’s mouth curves, almost despite himself, not in mockery so much as appreciation, because deception done well has always deserved respect, even when it is transparent to him.
Vesper shifts his weight, fingers idly worrying the edge of a silver ring as he watches the illusionist bow, already preparing the next lie, already gauging where attention will drift when the trick resets. Somewhere behind him the village continues on its steady rhythm, and for a moment, the distance between this place and the quiet rooms of Niki's house he has left behind feels both deliberate and necessary regardless of the fact that he'd left just after the necromancer had, misty-stepping his way here so that his presence would appear entirely coincidental.
☆ 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.
