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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.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
After you get your heart broken, what's the logical next move?
Get the rest of your body fucked up, too.
It started, as is tradition, with alcohol. From the Celestine, Koa'd gone straight into town, making a beeline for the red-light district that is the Silk Houses. In his wilder days as an upstart boxer, these streets had been his frequent haunts; now the dark alleys seem to welcome him home, back to the smoke and the booze and the dirt. He hits one bar, and then another, and before he knows it he's at the Hart, five shots in and three sheets to the wind and itching for a fight.
And when the fight finds him it's hard to say if it's his fault or the other guy's. He knows there's been a challenge to his history as a boxer, accusations of going soft. A well-aimed fist had ended that quickly, but somehow or other things had evolved and the barkeep had told them to get the fuck out of his establishment and so Koa and some others rolled out into the night, and now they've wound up here.
From outside it's a massage parlor, but for those in the know it's the most infamous underground boxing ring the Silk Houses boasts. In one corner, a hulking bear of a man stands ready to take out anyone who challenges his (current) position of Stormbreak's Heavyweight Champ. Cavebear Chad, that's what he's called, though his real name is in fact Herbert - but who's ever been intimidated by a guy named Bert?
And in the other corner our hero sways: Koa Carpenter, prodigal son, his fists wrapped for boxing and his jaw ready to break.
A good size group of people has gathered, cheering on the scene. It's going to be a bloody massacre, or so they predict, though there's a small yet vocal minority who seem to think Koa has a chance. In shadowy corners money swaps hands, bookies eager to use this impromptu cage fight as a way to make a dirty buck. Come see the Bear take on the Dragon! they sneer. 30 to one says the pretty boy only takes one hit!
Koa doesn't hear any of it. He's shirtless, though where his nice button down wound up is far beyond him. His vision swims; he tries to focus on the brute who towers above him, tries to breathe and steady his heartbeat and remember how the fuck to fight. At least the imminent threat of being beaten to a pulp has forced Flora out of his mind.
Except for right now. And ten minutes earlier. And probably again, three minutes hence.
Of all the places in the Silk Houses - and rest assured, Mateo knows them all - underground boxing rings fall right to the bottom of his list of good nights out. A lover, not a fighter, is our botanist, and he's been loving his way through all of his favourite venues. He's on his way to another, in fact, his curls pulled into a careless top knot to keep them off the back of his neck, his waistcoat powder blue and embroidered with tiny daisies, shirtless beneath it.
But before he can ascend a fire escape decorated with ribbons to the little loft bar he'd like to fall out of later, he's jostled, quite abruptly in fact, by a group shoving their way into the 'massage parlour' next door. Mateo hears the words massacre and Dragon and pretty boy, and gods, it's either his father or his fucking friend, and that alone has him changing direction.
Trying to avoid anyone stepping on his white brogues as he slips downstairs and into the air warmed by breath and body heat, Mateo sticks out like... well, like Mateo at a boxing match. Still, he spots Koa easily enough (read: by standing on a crate to check out the fighters) though eyes perfectly lined with dark blue kohl, and one brief look at him tells him he's either having a really good night or a bad one.
"Koa! Come stai, fratello?" he shouts, before realising it's come out in entirely the wrong language. "Why are you beating up that bear man?" He tries again, though his voice is largely lost in the clamour of other people.
if anything could fall at all, it's the world that falls away from me
There was a time not too long ago when this was a part of Koa's routine. In the murky haze of anger and anguish after his mother died, the boy'd found some modicum relief, unhealthy as it may have been. And he'd been good at it, too; relished each fight, basked in the bruises, found merciful peace in the pre-bout stillness, the way it forced him to shut off his mind, to focus his thoughts into this one moment.
He looks for that stillness inside him, now, desperate for respite from his raw pain. But just as he struggled when his boxing days started, Koa is not doing a great job today. Maybe it's the alcohol blurring his senses, or the distracting crush of the crowd.
Or maybe the reason he can't find his center is because it has been hollowed out by a girl with feather daggers and a venomous smile, and now there's nothing there but a void he's terrified to look at too close.
Point is, he's distracted, drunk, and off his game. So let's blame that instead of Mateo for the way the first round goes. Cavebear Chad comes in swinging, taking advantage of Koa's lack of spatial awareness with a ruthless lack of integrity that one can only get away with in the underground. A mean right hook catches the Dragoon's handsome cheekbone, connecting with a force that already bruises across his skin. It's only through instinct that he manages to turn enough to avoid the full brunt of it, but as his head snaps and his body tenses he knows, immediately, that this is maybe the dumbest thing he has ever done.
Second dumbest, he mentally corrects. The dumbest was falling in love with a Queen.
The pain of that thought bursts bright and vibrant through the haze of booze and blood; Koa clings to it like a life boat, turning his focus wholly toward pushing that pain without. Bert's next swing is blocked, much to the man's surprise. Now the match is on in full, the pair dancing and bouncing and exchanging feints, the crowd electric with delight. Small hits get through, but nothing significant, until another well-aimed blow is blocked and swiftly followed by one of Koa's own. It catches the gargantuan on his chin, leaving Koa breathless with adrenaline and the surge of success. Maybe he can actually do this. Maybe this thing he won't fail--
And the next thing he knows Koa's on the floor, bleeding profusely from his nose as a literal half-bear growls above him, seemingly ready to grind his bones into dust unsuitable, even, for bread. That's right, fam: Berty's Attuned, something Koa either didn't know or, more likely, entirely forgot.
Koa is not beating up the bear-man, but rather he is the one being beaten, if the way he hits the ground is anything to go by. And the bear-man is literal, something the botanist observes with a gentle raise of his brows even as he's hopping off the crate to shove his way through the crush. Gods it's stifling down here, the Longheat evening already humid even up in Stormbreak, made worse by the underground and the sheer number of people.
"Koa," he calls out, though it's about as good as a whisper (and what the fuck would his friend do anyway, even if he had heard his name?) Finally elbowing close enough to be able to smell the tang of iron and sweat in the air, Mateo is out of breath and on the tipsy side of sober himself, but he can at least see the other man up close. Not to mention the bear.
"Koa!" he yells again, crouching - a dangerous move but so be it - so he's almost level with the dragoon, if not still too far away to really assist. "Dio dannazione! Channel something!"
if anything could fall at all, it's the world that falls away from me
Mateo's voice cuts through some of the haze, familiarity clanging coherent notes among the din of the crushing crowd. Channeling is a good idea - or would be, were Koa able to think straight. But no sooner does the suggestion work its way into his thoughts than it is dismissed, because who could he possibly call for aide? The demigods who spring most readily to mind are all members of Flora's family, and to have Safrin see him in this state would be the nail in the coffin of Koa's injured pride. No, no, no, he shakes his head, he cannot ask for aid, not when it's his own fault and weakness that have brought him into this position; not when he's so desperate for raw, physical pain to dull the ache of his injured spirit.
Berty the Bear Man swings again, his massive fist coming for Koa's face. Half-shifted and heady with bloodlust, the behemoth is clumsy now, slow - which means that Koa has an opening, one he's not afraid to take. Swiftly he rolls out of way of the blow, curling left and in toward Cavebear's leg. Teeth grit, the Dragoon wraps his hand around a bare calf, electricity pulsing from the ring on his finger. Immediately his opponent howls, shock and pain making him reel back; it's enough to allow Koa to bounce to his feet, his shoulder ramming upward against his enemy's sternum as he goes.
And now they're both back on their feet, dark red blood staining Koa's lips, a wild look in the Cavebear's eyes. Like a pair of predators they circle around, neither willing to give the other the opportunity to hit. It's Koa who finally breaks the stalemate, darting forward with an electrified two-strike. The smell of singed fur fills the ring briefly as he lands a jab on the half-bear's jaw, satisfaction blooming like a bruise across his face.
Alas, it isn't enough.
Still drunk, still wounded, Koa's disadvantages remain, and as hard as he fights he is still outclassed, at the mercy of a stronger foe. He holds on for a handful more exchanges, landing and taking hit after hit, but eventually, inevitably, it comes to an end. Chad catches Koa as the Dragoon strikes, grabbing the younger man by the left arm and hurtling him around. It's a move that wouldn't be considered legal in any upright circle, and it ends with the boy sprawled on the ground, his shoulder dislocated and in mind-numbing pain.
As the winner is announced and the crowd pushes forward, Koa attempts to make his escape, his useless arm cradled against his chest. Embarrassed and defeated, he has no interest in well-wishers or snide remarks; he just wants to get his arm back in its socket, and maybe take enough snapdragon to never think again. He doesn't see Mateo until he's directly beside him, and then all he can do is stare, tear marks running into dark, dried blood, his face an impassive and bruised tableaux.
If you asked Mateo - nobody does, and that's their loss - he'd have said that turning into half a bear is also far from a legal move when it comes to a fight like this, but of course nobody else in the crowd gives much of a fuck. Rallying to see Koa pull himself to his feet and land an impressive number of blows on Berty the Bear Man (and he probably gets himself a fair few bets placed on him as a result of the unexpected increase in odds), Mateo's hope is short-lived, alas, and when his friend goes down he goes down.
Flinching and shoving himself to his feet to see Koa bounce off the walls and floor, it isn't a matter of chance that gets him beside the dragoon by the time he's trying to limp away; Mateo has practically fought his way to the space himself. "Hey," he says, breathless and far too hot in the crush of people, a few curls having escaped to tumble around his face. "Did you run out of money or something?" He could understand being flat broke as a reason for Koa to get drunk off his ass and square up against the bear. Clearly he hasn't done it for fun.
Putting himself on his friend's injured side as if to take the brunt of the impact from people jostling around them, the botanist's hand presses gently but insistently against the small of Koa's back, and he nods towards a side entrance that will have them spilling out into the nearby alleyway. "Let's get your arm back where it should be to start, no?" he suggests; with his nonna's magic warm against his chest, he's confident, at least, that he can do that much for the other man.
if anything could fall at all, it's the world that falls away from me
Somehow he makes it through the initial crush with only minor jostling, though every stray elbow and thoughtless push sends needles screaming through his arm. And then a hand is on his back, and a face is peering up at him, and there's words in a lilting, familiar accent that briefly tether him back to the world. Drunk, winded, and mildly concussed, Koa offers nothing but a flat expression at Mateo's breathless concern. There's something too familiar in his friend's face, anyway; the blue eyes hurt too much to look at, forcing the Dragoon to turn away. Even without his intoxication, it's too crowded in here to think.
So he lets the botanist walk beside him like a comically disproportionate bodyguard, following mutely as the older Taliesin leads them out into the warm dark. The relative quiet of the alley is a balm after the boxing ring, where behind them Koa can already hear another challenger stepping up. He doesn't look back; as adrenaline begins to leave his bloodstream a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion kicks in. Without a word Koa finds his back against a building; wincing at the pain in his arm, he slumps down to the curb.
The brick wall scratches bare skin (where's his shirt?) but Koa barely notes it. It's drowned out by the symphony of pain sung cacophonously by his battered body. Now that he's out of the ring and danger, he's able to mentally take stock. A fractured rib, probably, or at least a bruised one; the dislocated arm; a broken nose. Those are the big things, leaving aside the myriad of bruises on his face and torso. All in all, it could be worse.
For the past seven minutes, at least, he hasn't thought about Flora at all.
Comically disproportionate (and useless in an actual fight) though he might be, Mateo will still make quite the effective bodyguard for Koa as he leads them out of the building, shoving where he needs to and hissing curses in the travelling tongue should anyone try to amble too close or get in their faces. They all but spill out into the alleyway, the botanist stepping away from his friend to straighten out his waistcoat and take the necklace of delicate finger bones from around his neck.
By the time he's more or less happy with the state of himself again, even if he smells like sweat and blood instead of the delicate bouquet he'd spritzed himself with before leaving home, he turns back towards the Dragoon only to huff out a long sigh at the state of him. "A cosa stavi pensando, Koa?"
The other man will find Mateo filling his vision again soon enough, the botanist crouching before him and smiling weakly, feeling far too sober now for any of these shenanigans. "Here," he says, holding out the necklace - which is now softly glowing - to press it against his bare chest to let pulses of healing magic thrum through his body.
if anything could fall at all, it's the world that falls away from me
10-10-2024, 01:16 PM (This post was last modified: 10-15-2024, 12:35 PM by Koa.)
Koa
You keep telling me to live right
It's unclear how long he sits like that, staring blankly at the ground. Somehow, though, the musical voice of his friend permeates the Dragoon's fog. Koa looks up with a frown at the incomprehensible words, familiar enough with Mateo's second language to know it's not gibberish, at least. Firmly grasping his useless left arm, Koa grits his teeth together, aware of what's to come. "Vaffanculo," he snarls back unnecessarily, the harsh oath masking the tell-tale click as his humerus pops painfully into place. Agony blooms in his mind like a firework, screwing up his face into a twisted mask. "Vaffanculo," Koa repeats, this time as a raspy hiss. It's one of the only words in Remi's language that he'd ever retained, dredged out from memories of schoolboy days, when cursing was the funniest thing in the world.
It doesn't feel funny, now.
Letting his now located arm dangle, the Dragoon reaches for the outstretched hand. The glowing fingers, while still decidedly creepy, provide Koa with a blessed relief. He sighs, his breathing growing steadily easier as his nose and ribs re-discover their alignment, the ligaments of his rotator cuff knitting into place. "Thanks," he murmurs, passing back the fossilized necklace, his eyes already falling shut as his his head begins to throb. Wellness means sobriety, or something looking like it, and the rush of emotions he's tried so hard to bury now slink on claws back toward his thoughts. "Not my finest night," he mutters, leaning his head against the wall. It isn't the first time Mateo has had to patch him up after a fight, but rarely, if ever, has the young soldier come out looking and feeling quite so much like shit.
"Your pronunciation is much improved," Mateo remarks, scrunching his nose to see Koa manipulate his arm back into its socket as if it isn't the first time he's had to do such a thing (he has the feeling it isn't). Still, it's for the best given that he has no chance of forcing it back in place himself; at least he can offer a salve through magical means, though. Letting out a breath he hasn't realised he's been holding to see some of the other man's more visible injures knit themselves back together, he accepts the necklace back and loops it over his head.
"Prego," he says easily, looking him over properly and furrowing his brow. "Not your worst either," he says, trying for a joke with a lopsided smile, before he straightens and offers the other man his hands to help him up. "What happened?" he asks, because of course he does. "Come on - we can go to the Hart and sit somewhere." His appetite for raves and drugs has been somewhat dampened by the night's events, to say the least.
if anything could fall at all, it's the world that falls away from me
Rain would be thematic, right about now. You can see it, right? The night sky is starless, cast in shades of grey; a moody drizzle dims the lights; rivulets of water run red with blood as they make their way down the soldier's face. A late-night carriage might rumble past, its wheels catching the edge of a gutter, sending water crashing on Koa's shoes. Dark and dingy, a monochrome scene but for the stark swathe of red on his mouth. Sin City meets Caido, if you will.
That's the scene that ought to play out- but no, the boy can't even have that. No, the night is clear and warm and starlit, a perfect ode to the waxing summer, as fair as one could ask. It's a night for late night strolls with a lover, a night for secrets, a night for laughter. Koa watches over Mateo's shoulder as a couple wanders their way past them. His arm is around her shoulder; she giggles into the warmth of his chest. They take no note of the two young men, and why should they? To them the world is fresh and magical, flush with the bloom of summer love. They live in a reality Koa inhabited not twelve hours earlier.
What happened, indeed?
Shrugging off Mateo's offer of assistance, the young man forces himself to stand, teeth grit and hands clenched as pain shoots to his head. "I got dumped by your sister." Maybe not the most tactful answer, but Koa isn't feeling exactly rocking subtlety just now. Biting hard on his lower lip, he slams his fist on the wall behind him, willing another burst of healing through the boxing wraps and straight to his blood. "But sure," Koa continues flatly, pushing off the support of the wall and taking a stubborn step forward, as though by walking fast enough he might outpace the inevitable consequences of his ongoing mistakes. "I could use a drink."
Shrugging easily as Koa refuses his assistance in standing, the botanist steps back to give him room to get back on his feet, only momentarily distracted by the couple canoodling their way through the alley behind them. Easy for them to do, given the whole clear and warm and starlit nature of the night, though even if it had been raining it likely wouldn't have stopped them. He's still gazing admiringly after them (because they're attractive, you understand, rather than because they are in love) when Koa speaks at last, and Mateo blinks back at him like a luxere in the lamplight.
"Oh." He has the good grace to wince, at least, both at the news and at the way the other man slams his hand back against the rough wall. "That sucks, yeah." He imagines. Mateo hasn't ever been dumped - and especially not by his sister - but he's heard enough pining love songs to understand it isn't a pleasant feeling. "I didn't know you guys were together." Is that the right thing to say? Probably not, fuck. Mateo tries again. "Is there anything I can do?"
if anything could fall at all, it's the world that falls away from me
Ouch. Okay. Cool cool cool. Koa visibly flinches as Mateo speaks, his mouth curling into a wry grimace at the reaffirmation of how very little their budding relationship apparently meant to Flora. "Yeah. Well." He shrugs, mouth too dry and ego too bruised, the weak attempt at nonchalant almost more pathetic than tears. Evidently the love Koa'd thought was growing didn't warrant mention to Flora's next of kin. Add it to the stack lacerations upon his thoroughly flayed heart.
Is there anything Mateo can do? Again Koa shrugs, crossing his arms mulishly over his chest. "Can you make your sister change her mind?" It's a rhetorical question - nobody can make Flora change her mind about anything, a quality he both loves and, right now, hates. "Otherwise, y'know. I'd take more booze. Or something stronger." Something to make Koa forget what an unmitigated disaster today has been. A half-ass bandaid of a bad idea, but tonight is clearly not a night for good and reasonable calls.
"We have not spoken very recently," Mateo tries, though he imagines the damage has already been done given the grimace that flashes across Koa's face. Perhaps Flora had just been too involved in all of her feelings to think of telling him about it? (Which, not a bad guess to be honest, but as he'll soon find out, those feelings just weren't for Koa). "I do not think I can make her do anything she does not want to do," he adds in a quieter voice. "Would you even want her to change her mind, knowing she made this choice once?"
Sighing and nodding - booze and something stronger are things the botanist can provide, and in wondrous quantities - he steps up beside Koa to stretch an arm around him and guide him forward, back into the bustle of the Silk Houses. "Do you think a change of clothes would be a good idea before you get even more fucked up?" he suggests gently. "The Hart might throw you out looking like that." And that's saying something, because their standards are not high.
if anything could fall at all, it's the world that falls away from me
