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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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"That was rather the impression I got as well. He was nice enough, though. I believe he promised you some form of retribution for convincing him that I was a spectre, though." It only seems fair to warn Flora of any iron pendants that might be flying her way in the near future. Sipping at his tea before setting it back down on the trolley so it doesn't interfere with their... whatever they are doing, Niki tilts his head at her sudden siring at him.
And if the smile he gives her is in any way smug, why, that ought to be a trick of the light, surely. "Noted," he says, and if Kaisel had still been here, he might have made sure it sounded vaguely ominous, too. "I have heard tell that King's End can be quite spooky, yes. I imagine it must be teeming with spirits this season. Ludo's Woods have been especially animated since Longheat ended, too."
All the more reason for them to celebrate Ludo, he supposes, and he gazes at last at the array of fabrics and adornments she's brought. Sharp and shadowy has his eyebrows raising - particularly down at his oversized excuse of a red sweater - but he doesn't argue with Flora. "I feel as though a classic look may be appreciated if we are attending a masquerade for Mort's herald. It may not be too pleased if we deviate too much from its signature aesthetic. What were you thinking?"
stay your pretty eyes on course i guess i never really faced my fears before
At the mention of retribution, Flora’s grin falters; not sharply, not dramatically, but like a candle guttering in a breeze. The memory presses in: Kaisel in the House of Midnight, the kiss, the truth tangled too tightly behind their ribs to name. She clears her throat, fingers twitching against the rim of her teacup before she brushes it off with a half-hearted smirk. "I’d like to see him try," she says, but the usual sparkle is missing, her voice softening into something nearly wistful. Then, with practiced ease, she reroutes herself—reaches for her cup and sips the sugary blend like it might anchor her to the moment.
She nods as Niki mentions Ludo’s Woods, eyes drifting toward the window. "Yeah, I believe it. I miss living in the trees, sometimes. Leafchange especially—there’s something about the way the whole forest leans into its death that makes it feel more alive than ever. Everything’s glowing and crumbling and clinging to beauty even as it lets go."
But when he mentions going for a classic Ludo look, Flora’s brow arches. "Classic? So...what, just a regular old black cloak?" she teases, narrowing her eyes at his oversized sweater as if he’s already failed the aesthetic. "No drama? No theatrics? No swish?" Setting her cup aside with care, she reaches for a bolt of heavier fabric—black, but with a subtle shimmer when it catches the light. "I mean, I get the classic appeal, but I want mine to have some shape to it. A waist, definitely. Maybe even a train."
"Is everything..." Niki begins, though no sooner has he voiced the shadows that he can see creeping into Flora's expression when she's banishing them with her usual aplomb. And the necromancer, not knowing her nearly well enough to pry into the tangled layers of her relationships, opts not to dig any deeper. "Mm, it is my favourite season," he agrees instead, following her gaze out his window to smile at the riot of colour in the trees, the way the sun dappling through the branches paints everything golden.
"And you are always welcome to visit. I hope that all of the business with the Family has not soured your opinion of the Greatwood." Because what are the odds that both times Flora had been attacked it had been among these very trees?
As for his outfit, he can only wince a bit and shrug his shoulders. "I am not particularly well-acquainted with drama and swish," he confesses. (I know, we're all shocked, Niki). "Do you have any recommendations?" He reaches out, fingers grazing across silver buttons and black velvet. As for her train, he lets out a soft laugh. "Ludo and Bride of Ludo?" he suggests.
stay your pretty eyes on course i guess i never really faced my fears before
Flora’s smile softens at the almost-question, at the way Niki kindly lets the moment pass without pressing. She gives her head a firm shake, curls bouncing lightly with the motion. "No weird alien nightmares could ever scare me off the place I was born," she says, tone half-wistful, half-fierce. "I love it here. Always have. Always will."
Her gaze drifts out the window again, toward the canopy of shifting gold and fire. "I do wish I’d met you when I was still living here, though," she murmurs. "Back when everything felt bigger and simpler and the worst thing I had to deal with was splinters or Enzo teasing me about moss in my hair." There’s affection in it, and a flicker of melancholy she doesn’t dwell on.
But Niki’s next comment draws her back into brighter waters, and she huffs a delighted little breath, eyes widening dramatically. "Doubt," she says under her breath, grinning at him over the rim of her teacup. "You can be very dramatic, Niki. You just do it with a straight face and all those perfectly timed pauses like you’re monologuing to a camera crew only you can see."
Turning back to the fabrics, she pulls one of the stiffer pieces toward her, fingers tapping thoughtfully. "Okay, so—no billowing robe that’ll trip you mid-stride. I think we keep it a bit more fitted for you. That way you get the drama without the danger." Her eyes flick to his cane. "We can use boning to shape the hood so it actually frames your face instead of making it look like the robe's trying to eat you."
She’s already pulling a piece of it over, forming a rough arch with her hands to demonstrate. "See? Foreboding, not suffocating." At the Bride of Ludo comment, Flora snickers, nose scrunching with delight. "Please. Bride of Ludo? More like estranged ex-lover who shows up to the funeral looking fine as hell, throwing shade and stealing centrepieces." She picks up a spool of black thread with a little tooth-shaped end and twirls it in her fingers.
"That is the spirit," Niki says with a grin, reaching once again for his tea. His agreement is silent; truthfully he can't see himself settling anywhere else either, though Flora of course is living proof that it can and does happen. Perhaps one day if his horizons should expand, he might feel that itch in his feet at last. For now, though, it's enough to be among the vibrant trees and the cooler days with good company.
"I am not certain we would have gotten along as children," he confesses, though, his tone warm but honest. "I mostly kept to myself."
Because children can be far crueller than adults; a truth Niki has lived day to day growing up.
"A what?" he asks automatically, setting his tea down and snorting under his breath. "Are you telling me that my very undramatic way of speaking is theatrical?" Because if that's the case, call him Will fucking Shakespeare.
Scooting a little closer and putting his cup back out of the way as Flora goes into detail about their outfits, Niki finds himself nodding automatically, his hands finding thread and fabric of their own quite without his notice. "And for you, ex-lover of Ludo? Perhaps some feathers, some fine embroidery?" He gestures to a few sleek raven plumes and a spool of shimmering gold thread.
stay your pretty eyes on course i guess i never really faced my fears before
Flora grins, eyes sparkling as she affectionately rolls her eyes at him. "Pff, you’d probably say the same thing about yourself now. ‘Oh, I mostly keep to myself, Flora,’" she mimics in a faux-deep voice, fluttering her lashes dramatically. "And yet here we are, designing spooky couture and sipping tea like old friends." She tilts her head at him, smile growing smug. “"Face it, Niki. We’re besties. You just haven’t realized it yet." (She’s well aware he’d disagree, or at least attempt to, but the tone she says it in leaves absolutely no room for argument. It’s simply a fact of the universe now, like gravity or dramatic capes.)
At his incredulous snort, Flora only bounces her brows and nods with solemn approval. "Absolutely. It’s the cadence. The casual precision. You sound like you’re narrating a very stylish ghost documentary. And I, for one, am obsessed."
Her hands are already busily rifling through the pile of trimmings again when he gestures to the feathers and gold thread. She pauses, then plucks a handful of raven plumes and fans them dramatically around her collarbone like a macabre necklace, turning her chin to the side with a flourish. "Daaaarling," she purrs, voice low and faux-regal, "what do we think?" A smirk tugs at her mouth. "Too much?"
"You did not even try to attempt my accent," Niki says with a solemn raise of his eyebrows, as if he's more offended that she thinks an impression of him amounts to a faux-deep voice. "And is that what we will be calling it from now on? Spooky couture?" He tries to sound neutral, but the amusement in his expression is all too obvious. The jury is still out on the besties front, if only because he doesn't know that he would convince any of their mutual acquaintances that she was a ghost, but then again, it's not as if he's experienced in the art of friendship.
He's not experienced in his own cadence and inflections either, if Flora's obervations have any truth to them, and before he can quip out with I do not when she's clutching at the raven feathers and splaying them dramatically against her throat. "Not enough, if you are going for centrepiece stealing theatrics," he says approvingly, meanwhile collecting together a few bits and pieces he finds interesting for his solemn yet stylish apparel. "Perhaps you even ought to include some fur. What were you thinking for your mask?"
stay your pretty eyes on course i guess i never really faced my fears before
Flora scrunches her nose and gives a decisive little shake of her head. "Absolutely not. There’s no way I could do your accent justice, so I didn’t even try. I’d sound like an owl with a sinus infection." She flashes him a grin before cocking a brow. "But if you’ve got a better name than spooky couture, I’m all ears. It’s a working title. I’m open to alternatives, like...spectral chic. Ghoul glam. Phantom vogue."
She waves a hand, clearly pleased with herself, even as she circles back to the raven collar with a thoughtful hum. "Ludo is always up to mischief," she agrees, tapping a feather against her lips. "So you’re probably right. Centrepiece stealing theatrics is the right vibe."
At his question, she glances back to the materials and taps a polished nail to her chin. "White, definitely. I’m happy to keep that part classic. But I don’t want to cover my whole face like Ludo does—" She puckers her lips demonstratively, giving them a little pout. "This part needs to be free. I intend to be drinking and looking fabulous, and both require visible lip."
Furrowing his brow as if he's unsure whether he's being mocked - does he sound like an owl with a sinus infection in some cases? - Niki is luckily far too distracted with his stitchwork. Having taken Flora's idea about the boning around the hood of his cloak, he's busy stitching the shape into place, his hands quietly certain in the work even if they are more sutures than seamstress patterns. "Oh, ghoul glam. Now we are talking," he says, grinning across at her. "Should we ever go into business making cloaks, we have plenty of options for business names."
He reaches out to delve into her supplies, drawing out a couple of deep crimson feathers to add to the raven choker with a raise of his eyebrows, as if to ask whether that would add appropriate flair.
Nodding his agreement on the mask - white, classic, works for him as well - Niki smirks at Flora's reasoning on the shape. "And for making out," he adds as a reminder. "Perhaps I could fashion mine into half a skull, and use kohl to continue the look with makeup..."
stay your pretty eyes on course i guess i never really faced my fears before
Flora beams across the table at Niki like he’s just given her a bouquet of raven feathers and compliments—and honestly, he sort of has. "Ohhh my gods," she breathes, one hand lifting dramatically to her chest as if overcome. "With Kaisel still out here whispering that you’re maybe a ghost, we could absolutely let the rumours swirl. Ghost-approved cloaks. Ethereal chic. I can see the signage now: You don’t have to die to look drop-dead gorgeous." She fans herself with a spare strip of gauze, entirely too pleased with her own nonsense.
When he pulls out the crimson feathers, she nods emphatically and leans back on her hands, tilting her head to admire the contrast. "Ooh yes, that’s the drama. Subtle, like blood on snow."
As he muses about kohl and bone structure, her gaze drifts back to his face with a spark of interest. "Wait, do you mean like...actual bone outlines on your cheekbones and jaw?" she asks, clearly into it. "I love that. You’ve probably got more anatomical references than anyone in Caido." Then, with a sly smile curling at the edge of her lips, she adds, "Though, fair warning—it might get all smudged if you’re the one making out with someone."
Flora's antics evidently hit all of the right anatomical places (he's talking humerus, before you get any ideas), because they nearly startle a laugh out of Niki, the necromancer nodding his approval. "As business models go, it is certainly better than anything I have come up with. Perhaps I ought to have gone into fashion rather than metalwork." Not that he'd get far without someone like Flora to help him out, lest all his outfits be designed with painful practicality in mind.
Blood on snow isn't what Niki might call subtle, but he understands what Flora is getting at, and he nods again as he continues to stitch the boning into the fabric. "Mmhm, that was what I was going for," he confirms of his makeup. "Though I do not know where you get that idea, Flora. I was but a humble undertaker - no need for anatomical knowledge" he says, the wry smile all too audible.
The idea of making out with someone is funnier than their imaginary business, but Niki merely smirks down at his stitchwork. "I assure you," he says, "that I will come out of the masquerade as pristine as I went in."
stay your pretty eyes on course i guess i never really faced my fears before
Flora practically glows at the half-laugh she manages to tease out of him, the kind of grin that could melt frost off windowpanes. "See? You do have a sense of humour hidden under all those big sweaters of yours," she teases, before shaking her head as if deeply disappointed in his lack of capitalist ambition. "And don’t tempt me. I’ll rebrand your entire workshop if you want me to." She wiggles her fingers like she’s casting a spell, already envisioning signage and letterhead.
As she threads her needle with the shimmering gold and starts carefully stitching the raven feathers together, she lifts her eyes to play along, brows raised. "Oh, my mistake," she hums, mock-chastened.
But it’s the comment about emerging from the masquerade pristine that has her narrowing her eyes like a woman given a challenge. "Absolutely not," she declares, already shaking her head. “"If you walk out without at least one smudged line of kohl or a wrinkle in your very dramatic hood, I'll consider it a personal failing on my part." Then, more softly, almost innocently, she tilts her head and asks, "But just out of curiosity...what kind of person would tempt you into messing up all your lovely makeup?" She glances sideways at him, half-focused on her stitching, half-not. She already has some sort of idea, at least insofar as he's paid her zero attention, even just offhandedly. "Tall and gloomy? Short and mysterious? Or is it all about the bone structure?"
"My sense of humour has always been here," Niki retorts, dry as you like. "It is just that you have not said anything funny until now." Smirking down at his stitchwork, he holds up the creation once he's content with the way the boning creates the arch of the hood, then sets the fabric aside. "And please do not threaten my workshop - it has not done anything to merit your rebranding."
Besides, it would be a lot more difficult to cart his creations to and from the house if they consisted of bulky fabric rather than intricate pieces of jewellery or other small trinkets. "Should you decide to run with the idea yourself, though, I can introduce you to all of my contacts," he suggests, but then Flora is getting a look in her eyes that has Niki self-consciously sitting back in his chair, tugging the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands.
"It does not really matter," he says with a shrug. "I am not the sort of person that anyone would risk smudging their makeup for, so do not trouble yourself on my account."
stay your pretty eyes on course i guess i never really faced my fears before
Flora laughs, bright and unbothered, her gold needle still catching light as she works. "Oh, rude," she says, though her smile doesn’t falter for a second. "Here I was thinking I’d dazzled you, but no—turns out I’ve only just reached baseline amusement." She hums, nodding her approval as he holds up the structured hood, eyes glittering with mischief. "See? What did I tell you. It’s giving mystery. It’s giving drama. It’s giving...deeply cursed heirloom."
Still, when Niki draws into himself, sleeves tugged down, posture shrinking just a little, Flora’s gaze softens. She lets the moment settle, lets it breathe, before clicking her tongue and giving her head a slow, deliberate shake. "Now that," she murmurs, "is absolutely not true."
Laying her stitching aside, she folds one leg beneath her and levels him with a look far too warm to be pitying. "I’d happily smudge my makeup for you any day. I'd fall in love with you right now, no hesitation." Her voice is light, teasing, but laced with sincerity. Then, lips quirking, she adds slyly, "Of course...I doubt it’d be the kind of smudging you're looking for, but still."
