when rome's in ruins, we are the lions
Able to feel her intention before her boot leaves her foot, a starbright shield will flash in front of Vesper knocking it away as books scatter with soft, offended thumps against stone and shelf, without the demigod having to move. Despite his stillness he feels everything anyway; the flint-spark of her anger, the raw snap of nerves stripped of habit and ritual, the truths she has been worrying at since he left now flung wide open and bleeding into the air between them. It hits him all at once through that sense he cannot ever turn off, her thoughts and emotions pressing in hard and hot, crowding his chest, though his blue eyes never leave hers.
Some of what she says lands cleanly, finds places already sore and tender from his own private autopsies of this ending, and the muscle along his jaw ticks once, twice, betraying the effort it takes to keep himself contained. Other accusations glance off, not because they are cruel but because they are incomplete, built on angles she cannot see from where she stands. He lets them all pass without interruption, absorbing the rhythm of her voice as it shifts from fury to something quieter and more dangerous, something that knows him well enough to hurt without meaning to, which has ever been the problem.
When she says that this is not him, something in his expression almost gives. Almost. The shadows at his feet still, drawn close as if listening, and he shakes his head just a fraction, a restrained motion that carries more weight than refusal alone. "If you know so much," he says quietly, voice even and low, the faint drawl softening rather than sharpening the words, "then you’ll know some things just ain’t ever gonna work."
He holds her gaze as he says it, carefully neutral despite the way his chest tightens, despite the flicker of sadness that bleeds through anyway in the slight downturn of his mouth, in the tired steadiness of his posture. "This is one of those things."
Some of what she says lands cleanly, finds places already sore and tender from his own private autopsies of this ending, and the muscle along his jaw ticks once, twice, betraying the effort it takes to keep himself contained. Other accusations glance off, not because they are cruel but because they are incomplete, built on angles she cannot see from where she stands. He lets them all pass without interruption, absorbing the rhythm of her voice as it shifts from fury to something quieter and more dangerous, something that knows him well enough to hurt without meaning to, which has ever been the problem.
When she says that this is not him, something in his expression almost gives. Almost. The shadows at his feet still, drawn close as if listening, and he shakes his head just a fraction, a restrained motion that carries more weight than refusal alone. "If you know so much," he says quietly, voice even and low, the faint drawl softening rather than sharpening the words, "then you’ll know some things just ain’t ever gonna work."
He holds her gaze as he says it, carefully neutral despite the way his chest tightens, despite the flicker of sadness that bleeds through anyway in the slight downturn of his mouth, in the tired steadiness of his posture. "This is one of those things."
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.
