VESPER
Finch gives him Vesper no answer about his brother, but the answer is there all the same, pressed down beneath steady breathing and careful feet, tucked behind his teeth where hurt has learned to sit quietly because making noise has never made it useful. Vesper lets the silence stretch for several steps, his fingers trailing once more along the weathered marks in the stone, before a dry breath of laughter leaves him. "Guess that’s a yes."
The tunnel narrows slightly as they move, its walls slick with mineral damp and old salt, the air cool enough that every breath feels borrowed from some deeper part of the earth. Vesper can feel Finch studying the cant, touching the old marks as if they might answer him more kindly than blood ever had, and there’s a certain usefulness in that. A man who knows the language of a place can still be led by it, misled by it, or made to prove just how much of it he really understands.
But as Finch lifts a slender finger toward him, Vesper stops. For a moment there is only the distant water, the hush of their breathing, and the small bright thread of Finch’s shamelessness testing the leash it has been given. Vesper considers it without surprise. Men in debt often need to know the size of their cage, and thieves especially seem incapable of believing in boundaries until they have put their hands on them.
The demigod's shadows answer before he speaks, sliding up from the uneven dark along the floor with a slow, deliberate grace. They do not strike; they curl. One tendril glides around Finch’s wrist while another slips along his palm, cool and almost gentle as it coaxes his pointing finger down and eases the rest of his hand open against the stone. The motion is almost intimate in the way a lockpick is intimate, precise and invasive without haste, and as Vesper steps forward once, then again, the shadows aim to pin Finch’s hand to the cave wall as neatly as if the tunnel itself has decided to hold him there.
Only when there are mere inches between them does Vesper let his gaze settle fully on Finch’s face, not quickly, and not politely. It moves with the same unhurried precision as his shadows, taking in the pale line of the scar through the thief’s mouth, the calculation tucked behind his lashes, the stubborn charm he wears as if it might still be worth something down here in the dark. This close, Finch can see the faint shift of Vesper’s constellation freckles across his nose, the private little rearrangement of stars beneath his skin, and just how blue his eyes are when there is nowhere easy to look instead.
For a moment, Vesper lets the silence narrow between them until it feels almost chosen.
"That so?" he murmurs, soft enough that the words seem meant for Finch alone, though the stone keeps them greedily all the same. It is not quite a threat, though there is enough danger in it to make pretending otherwise difficult. It is closer to flirtation, worn like a knife slipped beneath silk; an answer to Finch’s testing charm that offers exactly enough warmth for him to perhaps wonder whether he has invited something in, and exactly enough edge to remind him that allowing a man like Vesper the freedom to decide the terms of that invitation. is a very dangerous game indeed.
Then, just as suddenly as he'd invaded the younger man's space, the moment breaks as Vesper straightens, the shadows loosening from Finch’s hand as though they had never touched him at all, and he steps past with a rough pat of his shoulder against Finch’s, enough contact to jostle but not enough to pretend at affection. "Guess that makes this your lucky day," he drawls, with a lazy smirk.
Magic: Shadow Touch | Can create and manipulate tendrils of shadow. 30ft radius. Shadows share his STR stat.
Type: Grey | Rank: Upgraded | Cost: Action
The tunnel narrows slightly as they move, its walls slick with mineral damp and old salt, the air cool enough that every breath feels borrowed from some deeper part of the earth. Vesper can feel Finch studying the cant, touching the old marks as if they might answer him more kindly than blood ever had, and there’s a certain usefulness in that. A man who knows the language of a place can still be led by it, misled by it, or made to prove just how much of it he really understands.
But as Finch lifts a slender finger toward him, Vesper stops. For a moment there is only the distant water, the hush of their breathing, and the small bright thread of Finch’s shamelessness testing the leash it has been given. Vesper considers it without surprise. Men in debt often need to know the size of their cage, and thieves especially seem incapable of believing in boundaries until they have put their hands on them.
The demigod's shadows answer before he speaks, sliding up from the uneven dark along the floor with a slow, deliberate grace. They do not strike; they curl. One tendril glides around Finch’s wrist while another slips along his palm, cool and almost gentle as it coaxes his pointing finger down and eases the rest of his hand open against the stone. The motion is almost intimate in the way a lockpick is intimate, precise and invasive without haste, and as Vesper steps forward once, then again, the shadows aim to pin Finch’s hand to the cave wall as neatly as if the tunnel itself has decided to hold him there.
Only when there are mere inches between them does Vesper let his gaze settle fully on Finch’s face, not quickly, and not politely. It moves with the same unhurried precision as his shadows, taking in the pale line of the scar through the thief’s mouth, the calculation tucked behind his lashes, the stubborn charm he wears as if it might still be worth something down here in the dark. This close, Finch can see the faint shift of Vesper’s constellation freckles across his nose, the private little rearrangement of stars beneath his skin, and just how blue his eyes are when there is nowhere easy to look instead.
For a moment, Vesper lets the silence narrow between them until it feels almost chosen.
"That so?" he murmurs, soft enough that the words seem meant for Finch alone, though the stone keeps them greedily all the same. It is not quite a threat, though there is enough danger in it to make pretending otherwise difficult. It is closer to flirtation, worn like a knife slipped beneath silk; an answer to Finch’s testing charm that offers exactly enough warmth for him to perhaps wonder whether he has invited something in, and exactly enough edge to remind him that allowing a man like Vesper the freedom to decide the terms of that invitation. is a very dangerous game indeed.
Then, just as suddenly as he'd invaded the younger man's space, the moment breaks as Vesper straightens, the shadows loosening from Finch’s hand as though they had never touched him at all, and he steps past with a rough pat of his shoulder against Finch’s, enough contact to jostle but not enough to pretend at affection. "Guess that makes this your lucky day," he drawls, with a lazy smirk.
Magic: Shadow Touch | Can create and manipulate tendrils of shadow. 30ft radius. Shadows share his STR stat.
Type: Grey | Rank: Upgraded | Cost: Action
wake me when it's over
like a bad dream
like a bad dream
☆ 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.
