[ Working with and channeling chroma like that has been a skill honed over too many years of living on the Continent, especially once he and Renoir -- learned things, about who they were. Observation, practice, even watching his mother and how she would work in the days before everything started to truly fall apart. Understanding its there, drawing it out with awareness, purpose, focus. He taught it to Monoco, taught it to some Expeditions in the past, though how well they could really learn it tended to vary.
Verso can't help but enjoy that obvious surprise and amazement in Gustave's eyes. There's so much more that's possible than he can possibly know -- so many truths out there that he has no idea of. In the middle of everything earlier, a blur of mutual want and desperation and anger all at once, this is simpler, easier, and he makes an amused sound as he stands there, chest heaving, catching his breath. ]
Gradient attack.
[ His smirk widens just a little, and his gaze once again drops from Gustave's, drawing over his throat. The marks he'd left there with his mouth and tongue are really definitely darkening by now, and his eyes lid slightly, tongue wetting his lower lip. His hands flex over the sword and dagger still held in his grip. ]
I think it deserved it.
[ Gesturing with a nod at where the last of the Nevron's drifting chroma is still dissipating back into the air in ink and ashes. He really didn't appreciate being interrupted, but getting the chance to -- show off a little, isn't so bad, either. The weapons disappear from his hands in another ripple of chroma and light, and he looks at Gustave with the same focus as he'd looked at the damn Nevron in the middle of the fight, closing the distance between them with long, sure strides. Once he's within reach, Verso is reaching out to wind an arm around his waist and pull him close again, his hand sliding over the lining of his trousers, skimming over warm skin under his half-open shirt, settling against the jut of a hipbone. ]
no subject
Verso can't help but enjoy that obvious surprise and amazement in Gustave's eyes. There's so much more that's possible than he can possibly know -- so many truths out there that he has no idea of. In the middle of everything earlier, a blur of mutual want and desperation and anger all at once, this is simpler, easier, and he makes an amused sound as he stands there, chest heaving, catching his breath. ]
Gradient attack.
[ His smirk widens just a little, and his gaze once again drops from Gustave's, drawing over his throat. The marks he'd left there with his mouth and tongue are really definitely darkening by now, and his eyes lid slightly, tongue wetting his lower lip. His hands flex over the sword and dagger still held in his grip. ]
I think it deserved it.
[ Gesturing with a nod at where the last of the Nevron's drifting chroma is still dissipating back into the air in ink and ashes. He really didn't appreciate being interrupted, but getting the chance to -- show off a little, isn't so bad, either. The weapons disappear from his hands in another ripple of chroma and light, and he looks at Gustave with the same focus as he'd looked at the damn Nevron in the middle of the fight, closing the distance between them with long, sure strides. Once he's within reach, Verso is reaching out to wind an arm around his waist and pull him close again, his hand sliding over the lining of his trousers, skimming over warm skin under his half-open shirt, settling against the jut of a hipbone. ]