(444) Foredating the hell out of it time! I think it'd be the 27th.
Vesper is by Sie!
Vesper woke up late and sore. She lifted her head from the limestone floor, and immediately something felt wrong; her throat felt exposed, and she bristled instinctively before her eyes found the rosary discarded in the corner of the cavern. Her anxiousness flooded her with energy, and she didn't stumble as she stepped over to it, nudging her nose underneath and wiggling it down onto her neck with some effort.
The faint pressure of the beads against her windpipe brought back memories of the previous day, and she shut her eyes for a moment as she confronted the images. She came to terms with them, just as she came to terms with any near-disaster, and discarded any overwhelming feelings to be considered when it wasn't time to patrol. It simply wasn't in her nature to hole up and panic after something even worse than this; she'd been figuratively dry-eyed during the war, and managed to shove aside her childish feelings when she was a child. At least, she told herself this had to be so, and with a stiff upper lip she stepped out into the bright morning sunlight.
The assault on her constricting pupils was enough to convince her that patrolling could hold off for the day; Stark would chew her out if she worked any harder than she needed to today, and a grumpy paternal raven was the last thing she wanted to deal with. Scowling, she considered what she could do; there were plenty of responsibilities for her as Centurion to take care of but, fortunately or unfortunately, none came to mind. Surely, she could go around raising a cry about the single poacher in Drifter Bay, but she wanted nothing to do with the goddamn horses right now.
Vesper shifted into optime to adjust the beads (her neck was sore, and the tactile memories did not help) and, oddly childishly for a woman who'd revoked her childhood, stomped westward, following the natural curve of the cave formations toward where the rivers flowed into the bay. The beach was one of those places she rarely frequented, mostly because it wasn't very pretty or apparently useful, but the moment she recognized the horse grazing along the shoreline, she was glad she had come.
She breathed in the salty air, and the somewhat-horsy coyote scent teased a rare smile onto her lips. She quickened her pace, fumbling over the scattered stones but never appearing to lose her balance; she shifted her weight constantly and easily, wavy but fluid. No doubt she made noise, but the second she caught sight of that pretty red-striped face, she announced herself with a smooth greeting.
Good morning, gorgeous!
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