VESPER
Vesper’s eyebrows lift a fraction because whatever Hak Etme is meant to become by Flowerbirth, the version he’s seen through his father’s eyes looks like it needs more than time and optimism to make it habitable. "Looks like it needs a divine helpin’ hand," he says, short exhale brushing almost into a laugh before he shakes his head. "I’ve been up there when it ain’t Deepfrost, and—" Whatever precise assessment waits at the end of that sentence isn’t worth the effort of polishing. The desert had been brutal enough in the comparative cold; the thought of it under full heat makes him exhale again, quiet and flat, as if the air alone can finish the insult for him.
He nods his thanks when Jack frosts the glasses, the card between his fingers disappearing with a clean flick before his hand closes around the whiskey instead. The cold bites nicely against his palm at first, sharp enough to give his attention somewhere to settle, and he has just lifted the glass when Jack opens him up as neatly as any knife.
His first reaction is not pretty, with his shadows shifting, drawing in around his chair in a low, restless sweep as Vesper straightens, pale eyes sharpening across the table. There’s an answer waiting on his tongue, something narrow and cruel enough to leave a mark if he lets it loose, but the shape of it catches against his teeth before it gets any farther. That alone says enough, and as Vesper forces out a slow breath, his shadows ease back by degrees until he's settled back into his chair again, though his fingers stay wrapped around the glass until the frost begins to burn cold into his skin. He watches Jack over the rim of it, expression composed now in the deliberate way that admits, if only by omission, how recently it hadn’t been.
"Ain’t much else to do with it," he says of the nonchalance, and tips the whiskey to his lips for a swallow generous enough to sting. The glass returns to the table, though his hand doesn’t quite leave it. "I keep expectin’ her to channel me outta the blue," he adds, voice lower now, stripped of the sharper edges without being softened. "She’s done it before." His mouth tightens faintly, not enough to become a smile. "And I can’t figure out if I’m hopin’ she will, or that she won’t."
Because if Colt pulls him through the bond again, at least the waiting stops. At least the thing fraying between them is no longer only his to hold, no longer something he has to carry around with all that careful indifference while it cuts deeper than it has any right to. But if she does channel him, then there she’ll be, immediate and real and close enough to make all his careful distance useless. And if she doesn’t, there’s no mercy in that either. It only means she has already set it down, and he’s the fool still standing there with his hands full.
He nods his thanks when Jack frosts the glasses, the card between his fingers disappearing with a clean flick before his hand closes around the whiskey instead. The cold bites nicely against his palm at first, sharp enough to give his attention somewhere to settle, and he has just lifted the glass when Jack opens him up as neatly as any knife.
His first reaction is not pretty, with his shadows shifting, drawing in around his chair in a low, restless sweep as Vesper straightens, pale eyes sharpening across the table. There’s an answer waiting on his tongue, something narrow and cruel enough to leave a mark if he lets it loose, but the shape of it catches against his teeth before it gets any farther. That alone says enough, and as Vesper forces out a slow breath, his shadows ease back by degrees until he's settled back into his chair again, though his fingers stay wrapped around the glass until the frost begins to burn cold into his skin. He watches Jack over the rim of it, expression composed now in the deliberate way that admits, if only by omission, how recently it hadn’t been.
"Ain’t much else to do with it," he says of the nonchalance, and tips the whiskey to his lips for a swallow generous enough to sting. The glass returns to the table, though his hand doesn’t quite leave it. "I keep expectin’ her to channel me outta the blue," he adds, voice lower now, stripped of the sharper edges without being softened. "She’s done it before." His mouth tightens faintly, not enough to become a smile. "And I can’t figure out if I’m hopin’ she will, or that she won’t."
Because if Colt pulls him through the bond again, at least the waiting stops. At least the thing fraying between them is no longer only his to hold, no longer something he has to carry around with all that careful indifference while it cuts deeper than it has any right to. But if she does channel him, then there she’ll be, immediate and real and close enough to make all his careful distance useless. And if she doesn’t, there’s no mercy in that either. It only means she has already set it down, and he’s the fool still standing there with his hands full.
And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want
So what are you after? Some kind of disaster?
So what are you after? Some kind of disaster?
☆ 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.
