VESPER
Vesper watches him with the same steady, unblinking regard as before, blue eyes fixed and bright as Niki speaks, as if weighing each word and finding them, at best, insufficient. His tail moves in a slow, measured flick behind him, back and forth with the quiet regularity of a metronome marking out irritation rather than time.
When the small body is dispatched, Vesper’s response is nothing more than a wide, languid yawn, jaws parting to reveal a flash of teeth before closing again with quiet indifference. At the question, Vesper rises without hurry, stretching through his spine in a slow, deliberate arch before stepping across the bed and down onto the floor, then up again onto the edge nearest Niki. There is no hesitation as he crosses the remaining distance, before settling himself squarely onto the necromancer’s lap. His purr starts almost immediately, low and steady, vibrating through him as he arranges himself into comfortable weight, tail curling neatly into place as though this has always been where he belongs.
And then, as if to underline the point in a language Niki might actually understand, his paws begin to press in slow, alternating rhythm, claws extending just enough to catch, to prick, to make the contact felt rather than merely tolerated. It is not careless, not quite cruel, but neither is it gentle; the pressure deepens incrementally, each kneading motion deliberate, measured, accompanied by that same unbroken purr that hums with quiet satisfaction.
When the small body is dispatched, Vesper’s response is nothing more than a wide, languid yawn, jaws parting to reveal a flash of teeth before closing again with quiet indifference. At the question, Vesper rises without hurry, stretching through his spine in a slow, deliberate arch before stepping across the bed and down onto the floor, then up again onto the edge nearest Niki. There is no hesitation as he crosses the remaining distance, before settling himself squarely onto the necromancer’s lap. His purr starts almost immediately, low and steady, vibrating through him as he arranges himself into comfortable weight, tail curling neatly into place as though this has always been where he belongs.
And then, as if to underline the point in a language Niki might actually understand, his paws begin to press in slow, alternating rhythm, claws extending just enough to catch, to prick, to make the contact felt rather than merely tolerated. It is not careless, not quite cruel, but neither is it gentle; the pressure deepens incrementally, each kneading motion deliberate, measured, accompanied by that same unbroken purr that hums with quiet satisfaction.
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?
