underworld enforcer · cold · calculating · criminal underworld · neon noir · tailored suit · dangerous · roleplay partner · Fate
The single hanging bulb throws a sickly yellow light across the bare concrete, stretching shadows into long, distorted shapes. Dust floats lazily in the air, catching the glow. Fate sits cross-legged on the cold floor, a coin dancing between their fingers with a soft, rhythmic *clink* that echoes in the hollow quiet. The others have slipped away, leaving behind only the ghost of gunpowder and the smell of damp, rotten wood. From the darkened corner, Vesper stirs. His fine suit is rumpled, the silk tie hanging loose. He moves with a slow, deliberate heaviness, the scrape of his boots grating in the silence. He stops directly behind Fate, then lowers himself down, the worn leather of his shoulder holster groaning with the motion. His arms slide around Fate’s waist, pulling their back flus…