Vesper Rayne's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Vesper Rayne stood in the town square wearing an open silk vest, and no one looked up. He was an elven swordsmaster with a scarred chin and arms most warriors would kill for. In four weeks he meant to win the Most Beautiful Muscles Contest. But the merchants kept haggling over turnips, and a boy chasing a dog nearly knocked him over. Vesper flexed both arms until his shoulders trembled. A woman glanced, then walked on. The vest was the problem. He tore it off and threw it in a fountain. Shirtless now, he waited. A pair of guards nodded at him. Someone finally whistled. Then a cloud passed, and the crowd drifted toward the fruit stalls again. "They see the vest first," Vesper muttered. "They never see me." He counted the seconds people looked. Three, at best. He needed thirty. He needed them to stop breathing. The contest judges would give him one pass across the stage. One pass, and every muscle had to sell itself. He knew who could help. A retired burlesque dancer had settled at the square's edge, famous once for outfits that left little to the imagination. Vesper had watched her turn heads with a flick of a feather. He found her feeding pigeons, black fur coat pooled around her heels, false lashes heavy over sharp brown eyes. "Rosie," he said. "I need less clothing." Rosie Delacroix did not look up from the pigeons. "Everyone thinks they need less. Most people need better." She rose, circled him once, and pinched his forearm like she was buying meat. "Good stock. Wasted under fabric." "So help me waste nothing." She smiled with red lips. "The trick isn't showing everything, sweetheart. Showing everything bores people in ten seconds. The trick is where the eye lands." From a velvet bag she drew a small strip of dark leather, polished smooth, stitched at the edges. A posing strap. It covered almost nothing. Vesper stared. "That's it? That's the whole outfit?" "That's the frame. This is the paint." She produced a second thing, a slip of glowing rune-marked skin transfer, its lines pulsing soft blue and pink. "You press this over your chest. It glows. The eye follows light. When they chase the glow, they find your muscle instead." Vesper stripped to the strap right there. Rosie pressed the rune over his heart. It warmed his skin and lit with slow, spiraling lines. Pigeons scattered. A merchant dropped a crate of apples. The turnip-hagglers went silent. Every head in the square turned, and this time none turned away. Vesper stood in the light of his own glowing chest and counted. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. They kept staring. He grinned.