[ Its nice to fight beside someone again. He and Monoco make a good team, but its been years since he's seen that old mess of a gestral, and any time he's made enough mistakes to end up working with an Expedition ( it happens far too often ), Verso likes the novelty of working with people again, weaving their attacks and movements with each other. He thrives mostly on his own, he finds, after this long out here in the wild, but it's a change of pace and a strategic that definitely helps against some of the damned things crawling across the continent.
Gustave, though. He'd like to fight with Gustave. He's watched him from afar already, knows the general shape of his movements and how he likes to operate: light on his feet, quick and precise, building himself into a momentum and then using that to bring him forward into a devastating blow. Seeing it up close, especially like this -- Verso can see the way the muscles in his shoulders tense and how it ripples down over his body, see the absolute focus in those eyes. He's beautiful, lithe and fluid, smoothly shifting into a more defensive posture and catching the nevron's massive club in a well-timed parry, and Verso can see the way his body coils and tenses before pushing the thing back, his eyes sliding down to the coiled tight muscle of his stomach, to where smooth skin disappears under the hem of his trousers already slung too dangerously low over his hip.
He's staring. He should probably focus.
-- Except he's still staring at Gustave a little, his gaze slowly dragging back up over that bared chest lightly glistening with a sheen of sweat, all caught in moonlight. Almost as infuriating as being interrupted is how fucking beautiful he is like this and everywhere else, but he thinks he likes the sight of him all disheveled with a sword and pistol in hand, and Verso just wants to go back to touching him. The nevron's lumbering movements are already starting to ready some attack against him, and Verso's just letting his eyes pull all the way up over his chest, lingering on his throat, before meeting Gustave's eyes.
He smirks. A little nod, an unspoken compliment. Nice, and he leans in a little towards him; ]
-- Watch this.
[ Verso turns towards the Cruler, letting the momentum of that spin carry him through, swords gleaming as he once more leaps into the air: but this time, its different. This time the chroma isn't just a nice sharp edge on the blade, but it feels like the chroma in the air itself is suddenly set alight. In the air, Verso spins, gathering momentum for the actual strike, half-open shirt fluttering in the wind, muscles in his arms locked tight, and as he does all that Chroma just seems to get -- sucked in, drawn in, the color itself pulled out of space and time, channeled into his body, his arm, the blade of his sword.
And all that energy comes crashing down in a single blow, Verso's body snapping and twisting through the air to bring the sword down, a rush of Chroma and color and ink and the pull of gravity driving the blade deep into the Nevron's already bleeding body. It screams, that awful curdling sound they've heard so much already, and as Verso's blade moves through it like butter, it dissipates into nothing, sparks of ink and paint and ashes, leaving Verso standing there, sword in hand, breathing heavily.
And looking a bit pleased with himself, as he glances back at Gustave over his shoulder, still smirking. ]
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Gustave, though. He'd like to fight with Gustave. He's watched him from afar already, knows the general shape of his movements and how he likes to operate: light on his feet, quick and precise, building himself into a momentum and then using that to bring him forward into a devastating blow. Seeing it up close, especially like this -- Verso can see the way the muscles in his shoulders tense and how it ripples down over his body, see the absolute focus in those eyes. He's beautiful, lithe and fluid, smoothly shifting into a more defensive posture and catching the nevron's massive club in a well-timed parry, and Verso can see the way his body coils and tenses before pushing the thing back, his eyes sliding down to the coiled tight muscle of his stomach, to where smooth skin disappears under the hem of his trousers already slung too dangerously low over his hip.
He's staring. He should probably focus.
-- Except he's still staring at Gustave a little, his gaze slowly dragging back up over that bared chest lightly glistening with a sheen of sweat, all caught in moonlight. Almost as infuriating as being interrupted is how fucking beautiful he is like this and everywhere else, but he thinks he likes the sight of him all disheveled with a sword and pistol in hand, and Verso just wants to go back to touching him. The nevron's lumbering movements are already starting to ready some attack against him, and Verso's just letting his eyes pull all the way up over his chest, lingering on his throat, before meeting Gustave's eyes.
He smirks. A little nod, an unspoken compliment. Nice, and he leans in a little towards him; ]
-- Watch this.
[ Verso turns towards the Cruler, letting the momentum of that spin carry him through, swords gleaming as he once more leaps into the air: but this time, its different. This time the chroma isn't just a nice sharp edge on the blade, but it feels like the chroma in the air itself is suddenly set alight. In the air, Verso spins, gathering momentum for the actual strike, half-open shirt fluttering in the wind, muscles in his arms locked tight, and as he does all that Chroma just seems to get -- sucked in, drawn in, the color itself pulled out of space and time, channeled into his body, his arm, the blade of his sword.
And all that energy comes crashing down in a single blow, Verso's body snapping and twisting through the air to bring the sword down, a rush of Chroma and color and ink and the pull of gravity driving the blade deep into the Nevron's already bleeding body. It screams, that awful curdling sound they've heard so much already, and as Verso's blade moves through it like butter, it dissipates into nothing, sparks of ink and paint and ashes, leaving Verso standing there, sword in hand, breathing heavily.
And looking a bit pleased with himself, as he glances back at Gustave over his shoulder, still smirking. ]