when rome's in ruins, we are the lions
Vesper registers the disturbance a heartbeat before the sound finishes blooming, the ripple of attention through the room tugging at him whether he wants it to or not. Books strike stone, breath catches; a sharp, crystalline wash skims the edge of his awareness—cold, startled, threaded through with something bitter and bright—and there is no universe in which he does not know who that belongs to. To remain facing the desk would be suspicious, so Vesper exhales slowly and turns with the rest of them, already braced for what his eyes will confirm, though it still hits harder than expected.
The world narrows with brutal efficiency, all his careful composure collapsing down to the slope of Colt's hips as she bends, the clean line of muscle disappearing into denim, the familiar arch of her lower back written so deeply into memory that his body recognises it before his mind catches up. Heat surges, unwanted and sharp, dragging up everything he has been pressing down since the moment he walked away and refused to look back. For a fraction of a second it threatens to crest—desire tangled with regret, curiosity barbed with something like resentment—and his jaw tightens as he bites hard into the inside of his cheek, grounding himself in the sting until the flood breaks against restraint instead of spilling over.
He turns back to the desk with a speed that borders on abrupt, shadows drawing in close as if sharing the instinct to retreat. The fae librarian is still speaking, still tracing a finger down a cramped column of script, and Vesper reaches out with a long arm to take the slip of parchment the moment it’s offered, the movement smooth but final. "I’ll find it, he mutters, the words low and clipped, edged with a clear end to the exchange.
He does not check the directions or ask for clarification. The stairs he chooses are simply the nearest escape, winding downward into deeper damp and dim, and he takes them two at a time with no concern for whether they lead to necromantic theory or flooded stone so long as they lead him away. Behind him, the Undercroft settles back into its murmurs and rustling pages, while ahead the air grows heavier, cool with water and old magic, and Vesper lets the darkness close around him gladly, anything better than standing still long enough to feel the chill of Colt's thoughts brush his magic again.
The world narrows with brutal efficiency, all his careful composure collapsing down to the slope of Colt's hips as she bends, the clean line of muscle disappearing into denim, the familiar arch of her lower back written so deeply into memory that his body recognises it before his mind catches up. Heat surges, unwanted and sharp, dragging up everything he has been pressing down since the moment he walked away and refused to look back. For a fraction of a second it threatens to crest—desire tangled with regret, curiosity barbed with something like resentment—and his jaw tightens as he bites hard into the inside of his cheek, grounding himself in the sting until the flood breaks against restraint instead of spilling over.
He turns back to the desk with a speed that borders on abrupt, shadows drawing in close as if sharing the instinct to retreat. The fae librarian is still speaking, still tracing a finger down a cramped column of script, and Vesper reaches out with a long arm to take the slip of parchment the moment it’s offered, the movement smooth but final. "I’ll find it, he mutters, the words low and clipped, edged with a clear end to the exchange.
He does not check the directions or ask for clarification. The stairs he chooses are simply the nearest escape, winding downward into deeper damp and dim, and he takes them two at a time with no concern for whether they lead to necromantic theory or flooded stone so long as they lead him away. Behind him, the Undercroft settles back into its murmurs and rustling pages, while ahead the air grows heavier, cool with water and old magic, and Vesper lets the darkness close around him gladly, anything better than standing still long enough to feel the chill of Colt's thoughts brush his magic again.
free of the colosseums
☆ 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.
