[ Verso has lived practically all his life on the Continent, and while Gustave and his friends have impressed him so far with how much they seem to be getting stronger and stronger, he's still spent a good amount of the past few weeks clearing some of the most dangerous nevrons out of their path. Fighting and survival are a matter of his everyday life, and something he enjoys. There is, perhaps, only one other way he can feel the thrill of having his entire body honed to one specific purpose, and that's when he's tangled up in someone else, narrowing himself in at making them feel good the same way he'd aim a sword at a nevron's heart.
So he's irrevocably angry at the way he's been interrupted -- it seems surprisingly easy for him to shift his focus. From Gustave, beautiful and perfect beneath him, taking him apart with his teeth and tongue -- to taking apart this Cruler with his sword and dagger, and Verso would like to think that if the damn thing has any capacity to feel regret, he'll make damned sure it does . He's already sweeping in, a whirl of blades as he spins through the air, reaching the nevron with a hard slice of his sword and following it up with a sweep from the dagger. They make contact, dig deep, blood and ink already pouring from the nevron as it makes some gurgling sound.
He could take this creature alone, and certainly it would feel really good to do so -- and part of him isn't exactly opposed to showing off a little for Gustave's sake, realizing dimly at the back of his mind that this is the first time the man has ever seen him fight, his Monsieur le pianiste. But he doesn't want to. He wants to fight with him, has watched him for weeks from afar and he wants to see what he can do up close, especially when for a moment when Verso's focus slips from the creature and he sees Gustave standing there like the most infuriatingly attractive thing he's ever seen. Tousled hair, his shirt falling open to the lean muscle of his chest and stomach, scattered scrapes and cuts from his time on the Continent so far darkening hungry bruises from Verso's own mouth across his neck and shoulder, half-loosened trousers slung a little too low on his hips.
The moment of distraction passes as he swiftly eases out of the way of the Cruler's crashing club, leaping into the air -- and he meets Gustave's eye. A smirk, a light in his eyes, a tip of his head.
Come on, babe, the thing's distracted: go for it. He wants to see what you can do. ]
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So he's irrevocably angry at the way he's been interrupted -- it seems surprisingly easy for him to shift his focus. From Gustave, beautiful and perfect beneath him, taking him apart with his teeth and tongue -- to taking apart this Cruler with his sword and dagger, and Verso would like to think that if the damn thing has any capacity to feel regret, he'll make damned sure it does . He's already sweeping in, a whirl of blades as he spins through the air, reaching the nevron with a hard slice of his sword and following it up with a sweep from the dagger. They make contact, dig deep, blood and ink already pouring from the nevron as it makes some gurgling sound.
He could take this creature alone, and certainly it would feel really good to do so -- and part of him isn't exactly opposed to showing off a little for Gustave's sake, realizing dimly at the back of his mind that this is the first time the man has ever seen him fight, his Monsieur le pianiste. But he doesn't want to. He wants to fight with him, has watched him for weeks from afar and he wants to see what he can do up close, especially when for a moment when Verso's focus slips from the creature and he sees Gustave standing there like the most infuriatingly attractive thing he's ever seen. Tousled hair, his shirt falling open to the lean muscle of his chest and stomach, scattered scrapes and cuts from his time on the Continent so far darkening hungry bruises from Verso's own mouth across his neck and shoulder, half-loosened trousers slung a little too low on his hips.
The moment of distraction passes as he swiftly eases out of the way of the Cruler's crashing club, leaping into the air -- and he meets Gustave's eye. A smirk, a light in his eyes, a tip of his head.
Come on, babe, the thing's distracted: go for it. He wants to see what you can do. ]