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Character of the Season
Frail in body but dangerously quick of mind, Nikandr is the sort of character who proves that curiosity can be just as perilous as any weapon. A necromancer, inventor, and problem-solver with more ambition than self-preservation, Niki approaches the world like a puzzle box begging to be opened, even when what’s inside has teeth. Blunt, dry-witted, fiercely independent, and carrying a history best left partially buried, he has a knack for making even failure feel fascinating. Whether he’s raising the dead, moving across Caido to King's End, or experiencing a hangover for the first time, Nikandr brings a wonderfully strange spark to Caido, and we can’t wait to see what trouble his brilliant mind wanders into next.
Congratulations, Niki!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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Where some might have needled Asta for all of the details that had led to his reaction just now with Maea, Flora had always been more of the sort to act as though she was already in on all of it, and to piece together the details along the way. So it was that as they strode away from the bloody pool and the pale woman standing by it, Flora offered the butcher an exasperated and entirely understanding roll of her eyes. "Honestly, what goes through her head, I'll never understand." She murmurs, the words directed right into Asta's shoulder in the hopes that the fabric of his shirt might swallow them up and keep them from echoing out for eavesdropping little loreseekers to hear.
While it's true that Frey's Breath is quite the tourist destination, especially for couples, there's a suitably secluded section around the back side of the cavern where a few candles have blown out, and, instead of relighting them, swimmers have just opted to set up elsewhere. Leading Asta in that direction, the Doubletake gives her head another little shake (not enough to upset her curls though, of course).
"Did you hear about the stunt she pulled before the Ball, at the meeting of the leaders that she called? Nearly got a baby killed." The queen imagines Danta has mentioned it, but that doesn't stop Flora from underscoring the baby part.
So incredibly thankful for the fact Flora doesn’t needle into his personal issues with the pale Ancient, it helps that Flora seems to just play along, her voice hidden behind the cloth of the red and white floral shirt, content to leave the remaining frustration and anger die on the top of his tongue. “Truly. It’s a difficult place to traverse.” He knows because he’s tried.
But that’s beside the point. They had agreed to not let her ruin their day. And Astaroth fully intends on not letting it damper any of the plans that Flora has already planned (though perhaps not realizing the extent of her thoughts). He’s content to let her guide him toward the secluded spot, where burnt candles haven’t seen the flicker of flame in a fair amount of time. Something that changes with the snap of his fingers as they approach, sending a stream of fire to catch the burnt wicks aflame.
Letting his dark gaze drift back toward her with the smile that has found its place on his lips again, he tilts his head curiously toward her. “I did hear about that.” He hums to her, slipping back into his traditional tones. The comment of nearly killing a baby is new information, though, because he’d heard that Danta had been threatened and that had taken all of his focus — and he truly can’t remember if the Maverick had mentioned a child being there or not.
“I did ask her once after that happened, what she was thinking. She evidently assumed everyone would want to stand up to that Dahlia woman.” He says in a sigh, head lolling a touch dramatically as they round to the flat space and he releases her to set down the bag he’s brought, and swiftly takes the bag full of bottles over Flora’s shoulder before she has a chance to do it herself.
07-24-2024, 06:37 AM (This post was last modified: 07-24-2024, 06:38 AM by Flora.)
we show off our different scarlet letters
Whatever Flora makes of Asta's little comment is something she keeps to herself, accruing tiny details and letting her mind fit them into their respective places in order to keep up the facade of knowing more than she actually did. She was quite adept at this sort of puzzle work—of piecing things together without knowing what the picture on the box actually was—and so it was with an expression of weary understanding that she nodded as if she too had been forced to tread the terrain of Maea's mind and found it similarly tiresome.
Even though the queen would have been perfectly happy to spend time with Asta in the shadows where the darkness might have lowered certain inhibitions, she also hadn't done her makeup for nothing. "I was hoping you'd do that." She gasped, utterly delighted as the candles sputtered to life, bathing their little corner of the hot springs in an inviting glow.
"Well, you know what they say about those who assume." The queen says, only for her lips to part in a girlish O of surprise and approval as the bag on her arm was removed for her, as if Asta simply couldn't allow her to bear the burden of it anymore. That's how she saw it, anyway. "Gods, Caido could use more men like you around." Flora purred, and no, had she known about the butcher's proclivities her approval wouldn't have changed one bit. She was queen of Torchline after all.
"I had drinks with Dahlia recently, you know." Though Flora says it casually enough, her tone is made silken and dark by the pride she feels at having done something no one else had the balls or foresight to do. And she'd come out on top. "Better to treat someone like that with a silver tongue than a closed fist, mmm? In the beginning, anyways." Shrugging out of her coverup so that she was dressed only in an intricately strappy black bikini and matching heels, the queen nodded toward her bag with a smile. "Wine? I brought a delicious red."
A soft hum of a laugh escapes his throat at her delight to see the candles sputter to life, and Asta flashes her that too sharp smile once more, moving to slide the bag from her shoulder to gently set it down (surprised at her own surprise because this was just being a decent person?) “They make an ass out of you and me?” He supplants an answer, wondering if that was where she was going with it. Even if it wasn’t, he’s pretty sure it was close enough. “I have always been a gentleman, darling.” He hasn’t, but she doesn’t need to know that.
With her free of any burdening bags, Astaroth returns to his own, his tail no longer lashing from earlier but waving comfortably like a content cat as he withdraws the towels, picking the larger ones to spread out as they continue their conversation. And her next tidbit of information has his dark gaze, alight in shades of umber and honey in the candlelight, lifting to her with a sharp grin and approval. “The enemy you know is better than the enemy you do not.” He half purrs his agreement, incredibly impressed by the actions the Queen has taken with this so-called Family. And the fact she seems wholly unscathed by the ordeal, an added bonus in his mind.
Delighted even more by the idea of wine, he reaches for her bag to produce the bottle of white wine and two glasses, pouring her a glass before his own. He remains in his mostly buttoned up shirt and shorts, though he doesn’t blame her for dressing down. It’s warm and comfortable enough for him so he has to imagine she’s too hot. It doesn’t stop his gaze from lingering though in a purely calculating way (though it likely doesn’t come off as such). “You truly have thought of everything, my dear.” He starts to say, lifting his glass a little toward her. “A toast to you, for having a foresight most do not.” A playful and charming wink accompanies the toast, even if he’s completely unaware of everything Flora has planned.
Flora's eyes widen in confirmation before her expression turns positively roguish. "Have you now?" The question might have seemed leading but for the teasing smile on the queen's lips or the way one of her carefully plucked eyebrows lifted with playful interest. Certainly it wasn't a healthy response to immediately wonder what it might take to make the butcher forget his manners, but gods if the sight of a man so carefully and politely put together didn't all but force images of him on his knees, shirt askew and fingers trembling.
Interpreting the butcher's gaze as being far from just friendly, Flora is no stranger to moving in subtle ways that her best assets might always remain on show: from a raise of her shoulder to emphasize her collarbones, an arch of her back to accentuate her breasts and the sculpted shape of her torso, to ensuring that the length of her legs was never compromised by how she was standing. While it was true that she'd made her first impression upon the butcher months before, first dates were the sorts of things that ought to be just as memorable, especially given how often they were retold on group dates or even at weddings.
Watching the butcher uncork the wine and pour it while silently assessing the way his hands went about their duties as a way of determining what else they might be capable of doing, Flora accepted the stem of her glass with a hum of thanks, before clinking it cheerfully against his own. "Time will tell." She purrs over the rum of her glass, her aqua eyes glinting with a touch of green in the warmth of the candlelight as she tilts her head back to take a sip.
"The heat's so nice, isn't it?" She moans decadently. "Really helps to loosen things up, you know?"
No, he has not always been a gentleman, but Flora doesn’t need to know that, does she? So it’s with a sharp toothed grin that grows a touch saccharine as his head tilts slightly toward her. “Of course, my dear.” Comes the accented drawl, playful all the same to her leading question. He could delve into the details and the grit, but Astaroth is happier to leave some things out.
Oblivious as he is, the way Flora moves and accents her best assets, Astaroth seems to not notice or let his gaze linger too long, focusing instead on the wine poured into the glasses, to the toast offered, to a blossoming friendship that he’s positive is the reason that this gathering was part of a bargain (not that he knows any of the true details, he’d had a wonderful platonic picnic with Isla back in Torchline, why would this be different?)
Taking a sip of the wine and humming in content at its sweet taste, his gaze finds her again the second she lets the comment moan from her lips, lowering the glass slightly to look around toward the steaming spring. “Absolutely.” The heat did much to make him feel more comfortable. But he does look back to her with a playful raise of his brow and a smirk, revealing a few sharp teeth amongst the even sharper canine as he begins his banter. “Paired with the wine, it truly does much to loosen these old bones.” Gesturing to his torso, a soft laugh leaves him. “You are handling it better than I anticipated, darling.” After all, she wasn’t Ancient. It was likely quite warm for her. Though maybe that’s why she’s chosen to wear such little clothes.
Why indeed, Astaroth. Perhaps because Isla wasn't a horny 21-year-old with daddy issues? But don't worry, Asta. In Flora's mind you're absolutely picking up what she's putting down, so for the time being, everyone's a winner.
"There's a few more things in my bag to help with bone loosening." The queen mentions, her tone obviously suggestive (rather, obviously for 99.9999% of the population). Lifting her eyebrows to indicate that it would all be revealed in time, Flora laughs brightly as she glances down at her own body as if surprised by all the toned and tanned skin on display. "I'm from Torchline, babe. Have you been during LongHeat?" Her smile is proud if not a touch coy as she glances over her shoulder at the water. "I'm not quite ready to get in yet, though. Come—" Stretching out one hand, her fingers boasting several carefully curated stacks of rings, Flora waggled her fingers at him. "Sit by the water with me?"
A chuckle slips from his lips at her tone, the grin remaining as his dark gaze glances toward her bag with a raised brow — wondering just what she had in mind, had hidden, and what kind of bone loosening items she might harbor within it. “I cannot wait to see.” Drawling, the butcher inclines his head a touch playfully.
One that lingers in the way he compliments her ability to handle the heat, and for as much as Asta hates crows of any kind, he is very much distracted by the glittering jewelry she wears. “I do not recall if I have. But, I have bathed in fire a fair amount.” Not a brag for Ancients, of course, but for everyone else? He certainly would pull the card.
Taking her glittering hand as she offers it and asks him to sit by the water with her, he’s quite willing to go — hand intensely warm within hers as if he’s soaked up the humid heat of the springs and the Climb as a whole. “Whatever you’d like, darling.” He hums, knowing already that the rocky surface of the Climb would not be comfortable for her even if he had been immensely used to it in his life, so, like a gentleman, he sits beside the water in such a way that would allow her to sit in his lap should she wish for a more comfortable space to relax. “I will admit I have not gone swimming in quite some time.” He offers to her, setting the wine glass on the smooth surface of the rock, beside a flickering flame.
"And I can't wait to show you." Flora purrs in return as her cheeks flush a delicious pink that has nothing at all to do with the temperature of the surrounding hot springs and everything to do with the way every word from the butcher's lips sounds as if it's honey-heavy and dripping from satin.
"You should come visit me then." She invites, just as casual as can be as her fingers loosely wrap around his own. For all of her skills with her daggers the Doubletake has no callouses to speak of, her hands just as perfectly manicured and taken care of as the Butcher's own. "That's right—ancients can't be harmed at all by fire, can they?" Flora muses, wonderstruck at the mental image of Asta emerging from a pillar of fire only to slick his hair back and then light a cigarette with the flames. Did he smoke? Gods, she bet he did.
Having no idea quite how hot the ground was given that she was still in her heels, as the butcher sank down ahead of her, providing ample room in his lap, who was she to say no? Placing a hand on his shoulder to aid the way she intended to melt down against him—Flora took meticulous care of her physique, yes, but that only stemmed from a whole host of issues with self-confidence so no way was she just going to plop down—the Doubletake fit herself as neatly against him as she could in order to make it feel as though she belonged there. "Very thoughtful of you." She hums appreciatively before taking a small sip of wine and gazing up at him through dark lashes.
"No? You should. It's so good for the body." Though based on how the butcher felt against her, he wasn't lacking for ways to keep fit. "You know.." The closest now that she'd properly been to him, as Flora peers up at Asta, her aqua eyes brushing over the burnt honey of his eyes before falling down to his lips, her eyebrows raise ever so slightly as the corner of her mouth quirks into a crooked smile. "I'd have expected more scars around your mouth." She whispers softly.
“I should.” He muses, of coming to see her during Longheat. And he does truly make a mental note to visit her then, even as he offers his gentle tease of being immune to fire. “We cannot be harmed by it, no. And it is quite beneficial for us should we turn into gargoyles.” Just in case she’d ever need that information (if any of them turned to stone at least Flora would have an idea how to revive them).
He’s content to let her imagine whatever she wishes, (and yes, he does smoke, but distinctly only from a tobacco pipe, but that’s neither here nor there) offering his lap for her shortly after settling so that she doesn’t have to feel the uncomfortable and hard ground beneath her.
The grin that’s offered to her as he inclines his head as she does melt against him is even sharper this close, his body radiating a fair amount of heat even as his tail sweeps around the other side of her to dip the spaded end in the hot springs. “So I keep hearing. Alas, the last time I took a dip was in the Grounds and it was far too cold.” He shivers for emphasis.
Her question over his scarred mouth (or lack there of) has him cocking his head toward her as his smile widens a fraction. “Why is that, Flora, dear?”
"Gargoyles?" Flora, who has had other things to occupy her thoughts since the end of the war and the rise of the ancients (the death of her twin, her fleeting romances, taking over Torchline, blah blah), is utterly fascinated by the concept given how little she knows about the racial traits of the ancients. "So you what, just...turn to stone?" She's so enamoured that she doesn't even bother to make the obvious stone-dick joke.
Shivering slightly to feel Asta move against her despite the heat practically rolling off of him, Flora lets her head tilt back theatrically as she sighs. "There's nothing like swimming in the ocean, I can promise you that." She says dreamily. "Though we have a few quieter natural pools if battling the waves isn't your thing."
Letting her head slip forward again, Flora's teeth find the corner of her lip as her eyes ones more rove across the butcher's olive skin. "Your teeth." She whispers, leaning in just slightly closer as if the millimetres between them might yet reveal an unseen scarred tapestry around his mouth. The queen had noticed the butcher's teeth almost right away, if only because of how deliciously they fit together. Releasing her lower lip, Flora tugs her eyes away from his mouth and though it wasn't quite a Kubrick stare, there certainly was a dark delight in the way she peered up at him.
“Correct.” He informs her, head tilting slightly as he watches her surprise, her enamored state. “I had slumbered in stone for centuries until Danta woke me.” Just to give any emphasis on how old the butcher was, and Danta, if the Queen knew anything about that.
But he doesn’t know how much Danta told her of the time before, knowing that the Maverick had a tendency to keep those things close to his chest.
Watching with his honeyed gaze in the firelight as her head lolls back, the feel of soft curls against him is a noted pleasant feeling. “Well, I suppose you will have to show me, hm?” He asks in a touch softer of a voice but still just as polite. He realizes that he might end up doing quite a bit more swimming than he’d otherwise intended on with his renewed state and new life.
Her head tilts forward, though, closer to his sharp teeth and Asta’s eyes track her curiously — wondering what exactly her motives were. Her answer sparks a snort and a tilt of his own head, up a fraction as his lips part and his tongue runs along the sharp edges in a very particular, well practiced motion to prevent from slicing open his tongue. “My tongue receives most of the trouble. I learned quickly not to bite my lip.” His head tilts back down to her, dark eyes scanning her face and the minimal space. “It was a rite of passage in my youth.” He explains, as opposed to having his adult teeth simply grow like this. “Thankfully, the rest of my scars are easily hidden.”
"Does it feel strange? To be both so old but also not?" Maybe it's a superficial question, but as the pair have yet to even crack open the second or third bottle of wine she'd put in her bag, Flora wasn't too worried about having not yet gotten to the meat of what made the butcher tick.
Flora's smile blooms as her name might imply that it would, and instead of answering she simply scrunches her nose in eager agreement. "We can even go shopping and pick out matching bathing suits before hand." She suggests before playfully leaning into him and helping herself to another sip of wine.
"Clever man." The queen murmurs as she watches Asta's tongue dance along the sharp edges of his teeth, her own flinching inside of her mouth as if trying to mirror the movements with the same cunning and dexterity. "Does it?" She wonders, of the trauma to his tongue. "Maybe I have something for that in my bag as well." Or between her legs as the quirk of her lips suggests.
"A rite you clearly passed." She hums, not prying for the details of how or why; the queen was here for him not to write his biography, but then..."Do you know...my twin brother died in my arms during the war and I don't have a single scar to show for the things I did.." For all of Flora's brightness and theatrics, for all that life had just handed to her, it had not been so easy that the sudden darkening of her eyes or the scarlet flush of her cheeks seemed misplaced. "Are there any you wouldn't hide?" Flora asks, her voice uncharacteristically uncertain as she peers up at him.
“At times.” He answers honestly, snorting softly as he reaches for his own wine to take a sip from, downing a decent amount of it in that sip. “My geography is quite terrible these days.” As if the world had shifted and changed in the time since he’d fallen asleep and woken back up.
Poetic, in a way that’s entirely truthful.
Raising a brow with clear delight at Flora’s offer, he nods and flashes a grin of acceptance to the offer — because if there was one way to get Astaroth’s appreciation, it’s through beautiful clothing.
As for his tongue and the show he offers without realizing it fully, his brow lifts as he looks down to her, the angle of his horned head removing some of the space between them. “Like what?” He starts to probe. That is, until he’s speaking on scars and she turns a bit less bright, as sorrow places itself into their otherwise joyful conversation.
“I did not know that. I am sorry for your loss.” He murmurs, and his arm winds around her a bit tighter to offer comfort where he can. His smile fades to nothing as she continues and he hums a touch thoughtfully, setting the glass down again to reach up and unbutton another button of his shirt, revealing the brutal scars on display. “Some that perhaps had better memories.” He starts to say, before his gaze slips back to her face. “These are hidden because I do not wish to remember in my day to day.” But for the sake of the conversation, he would show her. He invites her to ask, on his terms, preventing his panic over them. “I believe that having… mm, a choice in how you reflect on your physical or mental scars is important.”
But then again, Astaroth never does well with being blindsided. He’s far too controlling for that.
