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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!
i'd wipe the dirt off your name with the shirt off my back
What to Flora feels like slamming down the shutters around her thoughts likely feels to Jack like someone wrapping a Christmas present in clear plastic wrap. Much as she ties knots and tries to hide what's beneath, she simply doesn't have the skills—especially not in her current state—to keep him from seeing anything. At best she can only hope that he'll understand that the reason she's trying to keep him from seeing the truth is only so that she can take comfort in the lies that the copious amounts of liquor have allowed her to believe thus far.
"Unlocked." Her voice is barely more than a breath against his ear. After all, what’s the point of locking her door if the threats she fears have already broken through the minds of her own family?
And if I can't trust you? The thought slips free before she can rein it in, making her clamp her eyes shut. She feels tears clinging to her lashes as she inhales in jagged fragments, well aware that for everything the two of them have been through, trust isn’t something the captain has ever failed her in before. The realization stings, echoing like an unspoken accusation she suspects he won't receive well, and it has her clutching at him rather desperately. "Please stay."
Unlocked is all Jack needs to hear before he steps forward to click open her door, sweeping inside and kicking it shut with his heel, not bothering to lock it either. For Jack though, it's because he'll likely hear any danger coming well before they take the time to pick Flora's lock or kick her door in. He watches her thoughts, blurry but comprehensible as they might be for him, and deigns not to speak about them any further, especially before the Doubletake has had a chance to sober up and face the things she doesn't want to examine too closely right now.
Instead, he heads straight upstairs towards her bedroom, pausing in the hallway just as that traitorous little thought punches through his telepathy. "Then we've both wasted a lot of time, haven't we?" he rumbles, leaving it at that and shouldering open her bedroom door. "I'll stay," he mutters, moving towards her bed where he can set her down among the sheets. "Let me get you some water." Fountain water, because technically Flora is poisoned.
i'd wipe the dirt off your name with the shirt off my back
"Jack—" For all the ways she's ever said his name, this time it comes on the broken heels of a sob. When they'd nearly ended before they'd even begun months ago on the beach, though Flora had loved Jack, she hadn't known what losing him would be like, because she hadn't had him then. Now with his I love you like a permanent refrain in her mind, the thought of them being over had her biting back a sudden swell of hysteria that threatened to send her back to her knees if she wasn't careful.
"I don't want the water—" Immediately trying to follow after him, no sooner do Flora's feet touch the ground than the sudden drop in blood pressure has her sitting heavily back down on her bed. —I just want you. The thought is perhaps extra seeped in girlish desperation thanks to the alcohol, but it has perhaps never been more true. With her head in her hands to try and keep the room from spinning away entirely, Flora rakes her fingers through her dishevelled curls before suddenly peeling off her sweater as if its presence was suddenly the most offensive thing. Yeeting it across the room, the Doubletake glances around; she was still too drunk to be thinking clearly but sober enough thanks to vomiting outside to know that she was on the verge of really fucking things up if she wasn't careful.
"I didn't ask if you wanted it," Jack calls back to her from where he's already stepped out of the room. It's perhaps the current state of her that saves them both, in reality; the captain, because he knows she's wasted and in no position to be making any sense, in thoughts, words or actions. For Flora because she can't pursue him to try and plaster over the things she's already blurted out in her head.
Either way, whatever desperate need she has for him clearly isn't something that Jack is going to walk out of tonight, and he returns with water in a glass and in a pitcher, ice frosting it from a pulse of his magic. "You're gonna drink this - slowly," he says, setting down the pitcher and offering out the glass. "And I'm gonna peel you out of those clothes. And in the mornin', we're gonna talk properly about everythin'. Deal?"
i'd wipe the dirt off your name with the shirt off my back
As Flora really hadn't intended on staying at the Hanged Man, she hadn't put on any makeup such that there are no mascara tears trekking down her cheeks to make her look even more of a mess than she already felt as Jack returns with the water. Suddenly thirsty beyond all measure, she greedily reaches out for it, and were it not for the fact that it was far too cold to drink quickly, she'd likely have vomited it back up within seconds.
Mashing her tongue against the roof of her mouth to ward off the brain freeze already setting in, Flora feels her body begin to tremble as the fountain water begins its work, detoxing the alcohol from her system. "Technically half of them are your clothes." She points out, eyeing the pair of Jack's grey sweatpants that she'd tugged on earlier. The smile she hazards his way immediately crumbles as her lower lip begins to tremble. Likely once she's done with her cup of water she won't be inclined to oscillate between smiling and sobbing quite so quickly, but for the moment it doesn't take a telepath to see that the tightrope of emotions she's walking is one she has no hope of staying balanced on.
"Not any more they ain't - I've seen what they've been through tonight," Jack mutters, the barest hint of amusement in his voice as her thoughts begin to clear, pulling at the strings of tension in his neck and shoulders and loosening them ever so slightly. Whoever the clothes belong to, he reaches out to tug them off her, starting with the her/his sweatpants since her hands are full with the cup of water.
Raising a brow as he senses the see-saw of emotions Flora is beginning to ride, Jack tosses the sweatpants to the floor and remains half leaning on the bed before her, raising his eyebrows. "You wanna ask your face to settle on an expression?" he asks dryly; perhaps his particular brand of humour isn't for everyone, but fuck if Flora is going to cry, he'd rather it be from laughing.
Straightening up, now it's Jack's turn to shrug out of his coat, sending the knife he'd tucked away - still bloody - tumbling to the floor. He leaves it, unbothered as he discards the coat and starts to work on his shirt buttons.
i'd wipe the dirt off your name with the shirt off my back
"What, does that mean I'm not yours anymore?" She'd been everywhere the sweatpants had been, after all. The quip is out before Flora's mind can follow its implications all the way through, such that as Jack pulls off his/her the sweatpants, the queen's lip is already puckering and beginning to tremble. Glancing up at him, it's true that someone else might have slapped him for being so callous when his girlfriend was clearly going through something, but his words have their desired effect such that Flora's lips twitch enough at the corners to stop them from trembling as she hides the barest smile behind the lip of her glass.
Eyeing Jack as he unbuttons his shirt—is the oscillation between amused and horny okay, at least?—Flora drains the remainder of her water before pushing herself to her feet to see if she could make it to her bathroom on her own. "I'm definitely going to be sick again if I don't get the taste of this out of my mouth." She explains; this being cinnamon whiskey and vomit.
"I ain't gonna dignify that with an answer, because I know you didn't just compare yourself to a pair of old sweatpants," Jack quips; wise is the man who holds his tongue in such matters, and he'd have known that with or without telepathy. See, Flora? He's learning. And at least she settles on a smile, however small it might be, the captain leaning down to unlace his boots and tug them off while she finishes her water.
It leaves him crouching by the time her interest whispers through his magic, and he raises an eyebrow at her in response. "Amused and horny?" he echoes. "Most people just call that flirting, don't they?" Rising to his feet nonetheless and stepping aside so she can get past, Jack scoffs out a laugh of his own.
"Could be worse," he reasons. "You might not be able to taste the whiskey at all."
In the time she's gone the captain peels off the rest of his clothes, abandoning them in the room with a sudden, dragging sensation of exhaution that has him collapsing back in her bed, an arm thrown over his eyes to keep out the light.
i'd wipe the dirt off your name with the shirt off my back
Snickering at that and absolutely adoring Jack for always being able to find an option between giving too much weight to Flora's insecurities while not dismissing them completely, the queen shoots him a crooked smile. "I guess you'd be the one to know what most people do." She counters, caring very little for what he might want to label it, and only knowing that no amount of being sick nor parent-induced breakdowns could keep her from wanting him.
If she thought she could stomach it, Flora might have tried to create a waterfall of vomit in her thoughts just to bug the captain; alas, it would have come back on them both, so she wisely set her thoughts on the task of brushing her teeth instead. Once the taste if not the memory was out of her mouth, the queen sighed softly before splashing her face with cool water in her sink. She knew Jack was right and that they ought to speak in the morning, the only hitch in that plan was the hours that lay between them and sunrise.
Sleep, petal, Hotaru had whispered on the beach.
SLEEEEEEEEEEEP! she'd screamed in the little houseboat.
Pressing her eyes closed and sipping in a quick breath, Flora eyes herself in the mirror. Running her fingertips over the mess of scar tissue on her shoulder, she glances down at her reflection as her fingers smooth the fabric away from the scar that sliced neatly across her belly. Not like those Jack bore in almost exactly the same place which were far crueler and messier. Frowning she pulls her shirt back into place before shutting off the lights and pouring herself another glass of fountain water.
Drifting toward her side of the bed, Flora sets down her glass. Normally she'd be trying to think of a way she could douse him with water before he'd be able to block it, but tonight she just slinks wordlessly beneath the covers. "If my thoughts keep you up...just nudge me. I'm not sure how much sleep I'll be able to get."
"Guilty as charged," Jack concedes, because yes, he absolutely would be the litmus test for what most people consider flirting. And he does his best not to listen to Flora as she heads into the bathroom, not least because of the waterfall of vomit that flashes ever so briefly through her mind (he scrunches his nose), focusing more on the way he can count the steady beat of his own heart if he concentrates hard enough, or the sensation of his body sinking into her mattress.
Not having realised how close sleep has been to pulling him into its clutches until Flora slips beneath the sheets, Jack pulls his arm away from his eyes only to find himself blinking into the velvet darkness of Flora's bedroom. "Sometimes you just gotta let 'em race," he says of her thoughts. "I'll be fine." Either he'll drift off regardless, or he'll gain further insight into the conversation they'll have tomorrow. Either way, it's with only a moment's hesitation that he rolls over, reaching out to draw her back against his chest.
i'd wipe the dirt off your name with the shirt off my back
At least one of them would be fine.
Though Flora should have absolutely expected it, what with how wonderfully sweet Jack had been all night, the feeling of his arms tugging her against him had the Doubletake hissing in a panicked breath that she quickly clenched her teeth around. Forcing her body to relax against his, the queen twisted rather awkwardly in his arms, just enough to be able to brush her lips against the curve of his jaw. Her aim was just as poor as it had been in the bar, though now it owed to their positions in the dark rather than her intoxication.
She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but fear had her certain he'd not say the words back again, so instead she whispered, "I'm sorry," before laying her head uncomfortably on her arm and staring blankly out at her window.
Trying not to think about what had happened, especially now that the fountain water had purified the poisons in her system, felt impossible. Thoughts of Jack led her to what he'd said about sending messages to her on their parchment, which made her wonder where her parchment had gone; a question she couldn't answer because she had no idea where her mother had taken her. Thoughts of Torchline made her question her safety, made her wonder how many others were walking around infected on her shores. Was that the reason Hadama had been so worried about whether or not she was okay? What of Sohalia and Mateo? Were they shocked to see her because they'd known ahead of time she was meant to be dead?
Had something happened when Remi and Ronin went to try and heal Sunjata in Halo? Had he infected them? Was the only reason she'd been rescued simply because the Taliesin side of her family tree was keen to prove themselves better than the Wrenzoak-Kaito side? If not, where was he? If he'd really been healed, how had he just let someone he knew was infected come after her? And Ronin...he'd had that letter on the table. Why hadn't he done something about it before Remi had called him to wherever she'd been?
Flinching in rare surprise as Flora balks against his touch, spiderwebs of panic surge along Jack's magic and have his arms slipping back away from her, the captain clenching and unclenching his fingers a few times as if to prevent the frost from coating them in his shock. "S'okay," he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes and letting out a long breath as he forces himself to relax back against the pillows.
He keeps his telepathy open for as long as he can before the way Flora's thoughts twist and tumble grows too dizzying and profoundly far reaching. In the end he's forced to drag up a wall if only so he can turn her down if not shut her out entirely, enough that he can hear the sound of her mental voice but not the nuances of her words. That, in fact, becomes quite an unexpected lullaby for the captain, and before he knows it, he's passed out in Flora's bed.
Not for long, of course. The Doubletake doesn't have the monopoly on PTSD nightmares, and as the hours tick on, even the constant warble of Flora's mind isn't enough to drown out the memory of silence, black and cold as the blade that had punched through his stomach. Jack doesn't awaken screaming, the captain instead shooting to half sit up with a sharp inhale of breath, dazed but no less aware of his own shortcomings when it comes to sleep.
Grumbling, he flops back to the pillows and rubs his eyes, debating some fountain water in case it can heal away his bad night's sleep.
i'd wipe the dirt off your name with the shirt off my back
How many hours pass between when the couple finally fall silent and when Jack shoots up in bed, Flora can't even guess. Though there were still stars faintly twinkling, the sky wasn't as dark as it had been. She couldn't see the clock from where she was, but Flora assumed that dawn couldn't be too far off.
"Hey—" Rolling over, Flora immediately reaches out for Jack just as he flops back down onto the bed. "You're with me, in my room." Her voice is soft, the words meant to tether him to the present as much as to give context for why he'd not be able to feel the sea beneath him. Sliding closer, she stretches a hand across his chest, her fingers splaying out in a starburst as if trying to touch more of him at once. Jack hadn’t been as descriptive about his nightmares as she’d been about hers, but Flora didn’t need the details to imagine the black edges and the cold silence that had pulled him awake. Her fingers brush gently over his ribs, seeking out the steady rhythm of his breathing as much as the comforting warmth of his skin.
"What was it this time?" she asks lightly, grinning against his shoulder as she tucks herself closer. "Bassian painting the Ark hot pink? No, wait—he was playing captain and made you swab the deck." She tucks herself closer, her curls spilling against his chestas she presses her cheek to his chest.
Her own nightmares—her mother, the houseboat, the unbearable screams—is still too sharp to face just yet. It’s far easier to focus on Jack, to cling to him like a lifeline and make jokes about painted ships and misplaced authority than let herself sink back into the violet gouges running through her mind.
Flora's voice is an anchor, steadied further by the soft rhythm of her thoughts, and Jack lets out a heavy, shuddering sigh and lets his hand drop from his face to rest over her own on his chest. "Thanks," he mumbles, shifting a little as if to get more comfortable while she curls up against his side, her warmth suddenly necessary after the bleak cold of his subconscious.
Her suggestions are enough to drag a tired scoff of laughter from his lips, Jack shrugging his shoulder and taking the opportunity to avoid talking about it and running with it. "Yeah, somethin' like that," he says of Bassian and his deck swabbing fanaticism, the captain's voice rough with sleep.
Peering across at the pre-light of dawn filtering in through Flora's window, he raises an eyebrow down at her in a silent question that he can't resist voicing out loud. "You didn't sleep at all?"
