VESPER
The cache is meant to be somewhere in the Undergrove, left where the undergrowth folds into itself and the roots make hollows deep enough to hide more than water and old bones. Jack’s instructions had been sparse, though not unclear, and Vesper follows them with the careful patience of someone who has learned better than to question the map he's been given.
He moves without haste, pale eyes flicking from one marker to the next while the damp earth gives softly beneath his boots. A card turns once between his fingers before vanishing back into his pocket, the motion neat and nearly soundless, and his shadows keep close rather than ranging ahead, thin and dark against the roots at his feet. There is no mind waiting in the hollow ahead that he can feel, and so he gives the quiet no more weight than it seems to deserve.
The blink hares are only movement at first, small bodies shifting beyond a tangle of roots, and Vesper notes them the way he notes the drip of water or the faint glow of fungus against bark: present, but irrelevant. They scatter a moment later, quick pale shapes vanishing out of sight, and though his gaze lifts toward the hollow they have abandoned, nothing in him answers with alarm.
That is the trouble with instinct; it leaves no thought behind for him to catch. So, Vesper continues on, following the path Jack had marked for him, his attention divided between the route beneath his boots and the place where the stolen goods ought to be waiting, and because the danger ahead is all muscle, hunger, and molten stripes pressed low to the earth, he walks directly toward it without knowing it’s there.
He moves without haste, pale eyes flicking from one marker to the next while the damp earth gives softly beneath his boots. A card turns once between his fingers before vanishing back into his pocket, the motion neat and nearly soundless, and his shadows keep close rather than ranging ahead, thin and dark against the roots at his feet. There is no mind waiting in the hollow ahead that he can feel, and so he gives the quiet no more weight than it seems to deserve.
The blink hares are only movement at first, small bodies shifting beyond a tangle of roots, and Vesper notes them the way he notes the drip of water or the faint glow of fungus against bark: present, but irrelevant. They scatter a moment later, quick pale shapes vanishing out of sight, and though his gaze lifts toward the hollow they have abandoned, nothing in him answers with alarm.
That is the trouble with instinct; it leaves no thought behind for him to catch. So, Vesper continues on, following the path Jack had marked for him, his attention divided between the route beneath his boots and the place where the stolen goods ought to be waiting, and because the danger ahead is all muscle, hunger, and molten stripes pressed low to the earth, he walks directly toward it without knowing it’s there.
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.
