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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!
Jack doesn't realise that his jaw has started to feather until it relaxes; Flora's breezy acceptance smooths over whatever barbs might snag between them, each of them waiting to catch and remind them of the truth that lurks beneath this easy peace. But fuck, it's too tempting not to take the moment and stretch it for as far as it will go, such that as Flora's hips rise, Jack scoffs and anchors his free hand against the delicious curve of her back, as if to keep her right there.
"My closet is yours to raid. An' if that doesn't tire you out I'm sure I can find somethin' for you to do," he says, head dipping to press his lips to the hollow of her throat before he's suddenly rolling away. He doesn't go far, at least, and his distance has purpose, Jack unlatching the door and cracking it open enough to bark an order down the corridor. A deckhand comes running and, after a curt conversation, disappears again so he might shut them away a second time.
"Stormbreak bound," he confirms, sweeping a hand back through his hair and approaching the desk as if to pour them both a glass of rum - which is when he notices the cracked bottle and the frozen liquor inside. "Sonovabitch," Jack mutters to himself, lifting it to look and shooting Flora a dry glare. "This is your fault," he informs her, failing to hide the smirk that ghosts across his face.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Flora gasps in delighted protest when his hand presses her flush against him, the sly smile that breaks across her lips making it clear she hardly minds the possessive anchor of his grip. But as he suddenly rolls away, she props herself on an elbow to frown after him—only for the view of his bare ass marching toward the door to tug her mouth into another smirk. She bites her lip, amused as much by the sight as by the barked order that echoes out into the corridor, her gaze never straying from him even once the door shuts again.
By the time he reaches his desk, all sharp shoulders and rum-stained glare, Flora can’t take the look seriously with him standing naked in the middle of the cabin. Sitting up, she pushes her curls to one shoulder in a deliberately slow sweep and lifts a brow, a shrug tugging one strap of ruined lingerie looser down her arm. "So what, you’re planning on blaming me for every single thing that goes wrong this trip?" she teases, her tone coy and coaxing at once. Her grin flashes bright, an edge of promise in it. "Because if that’s the deal, then I'm going to raid more than your closet to make up for it."
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
Narrowing his eyes, more at how casually good Flora looks arranged on his bed in her ragged lingerie, Jack sets the cracked bottle down on a silver plate so the rum won't spill all over his desk as it inevitably begins to melt. "Of course not," he tells her, reaching into a drawer to draw out a much smaller, much more expensive looking bottle. "Only for stuff that goes wrong that's your fault."
Smirking and uncorking it with his teeth, Jack pours a finger of liquor for each of them into a glass, before he finally returns to the bed. "If I remember right, you've raided my closet, my drawers, my stock, my pantry an' my shelves in the past - I ain't sure that's the threat you think it is," he says, sinking down into the sheets and offering her out a glass.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Flora raises a brow, though her gaze drops coyly to her hands as she mumbles, "Never knew I had ice magic before," the words feathering soft with sarcasm. When she looks back up at him, one brow arches higher as her head tilts slightly to the side, aqua eyes wide with mischief.
By the time Jack returns to the bed, the space between them has cooled that too-tender ache back into something far more familiar, and Flora slips easily into it. Her bare legs slide over his lap, curling against him with casual claim as she takes the glass from his hand with a pleased little hum. Letting the liquor linger on her tongue, she savours the warmth before swallowing, shivering at the delicious burn that coils low in her belly.
Her smile flashes bright and wicked as she tilts the glass his way. "Yeah, but last time I was raiding your shit I was also trying to make you fall in love with me." The grin that follows is sharp enough to glitter. "This time I’m just trying to get into your pants."
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
Her legs slip across his lap, warm and bare and begging for his touch, and of course Jack is kind enough to oblige while Flora takes a sip of the liquor he's brought over. "Oh, are those... different?" he asks dryly, feigning ignorance with a smirk as he tilts his head towards her; getting into his pants and making him fall in love with her seemed to be quite intricately tied together, if he remembers correctly.
Accepting the glass, he takes a measured sip and leans back on one elbow, his free hand continuing to trickle along her calf as if he might absorb the sunlight that has settled in her golden skin. "'Sides, as it turned out my fallin' in love with you had nothin' to do with how many of my things you managed to rifle through." He doesn't bother to tell her not to do any of it, of course; partially because it won't make a difference and also because it might actually encourage her more.
So instead, Jack takes another sip from the glass and hands it back to Flora, before he shifts enough to collapse back down into the sheets - just as the ship rocks softly to signal that it's skyborne.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Flora rolls her eyes, her mouth curving into something dry and fond as she lets out a soft, "Yeah, very different." Whether or not it’s true hardly matters; part of her wants to believe that it hadn’t only been chemistry that held him, but even she can’t deny that being able to make a man as complicated as Jack Barclay feel good, telepathy not withstanding, probably was a trait worth staying for.
Leaning forward, Flora's fingers idly trace the dark stems and petals blooming across Jack's shoulder. "Oh?" she hums, brows lifting too lightly, as though daring him to say something she isn’t entirely sure she wants to hear. "What did it in the end?" It's an ill-advised ask given they’ve just found something that resembles ease again, but if there’s anyone who can breeze past the weight of the question if he finds it doesn't suit their current where or when, it’s Jack.
When he sinks back into the sheets, Flora happily takes the glass from him, smiling down at him as she tips the last of the amber liquid back. The heat spreads through her in a rush that she doesn’t bother to hide, letting him taste the burn in her thoughts as easily as if she’d kissed him with it.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
Jack raises his eyebrows at her question, tucking his arms beneath his pillow and behind his head and settling into the sheets as he'd done a hundred times or more when they'd been together. When he realises she really does want to know the answer, he huffs out a soft laugh and closes his eyes. "It was when we took that first trip through the Greatwood," he says. "Just before what happened with Pierce."
Wrinkling his nose, he doesn't linger on that particular memory for long. "Seein' how much you loved those woods brought you to life in a way I didn't get to see in Torchline. So... yeah. About then." Shortly after that, of course, they'd been murdered amongst those very same trees, and it had promptly taken the shine off the place for a long, long while.
Blinking his eyes back open and smirking as she feeds him the burn of the liquor in her thoughts since he can't enjoy it on his tongue, Jack tilts his head at her expectantly. "You just gonna perch there the whole trip?" he asks, nodding at the space beside him; he's surprised, honestly, that she hasn't already glued herself against him.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Flora's mischievous smile softens, though the sparkle in her eyes stays as bright as the memory. She remembers the trip exactly as he names it: the way she’d shown him around the Greatwood like she was opening a secret, dragging him between trees in search of Ianto’s wagon and then sprawling together in the guardians’ tree house, raiding her father’s stash of gin. It had been good, better in hindsight, but it never occurred to her that Jack had tucked it away as something more. Her thoughts shift with the memory, the garden in her mind stretching into something wilder, an untamed forest drenched in rose gold, until she’s biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too fondly. "It was nice to show you the woods," she says quietly, aqua eyes flicking toward his with the kind of restraint that keeps her from blurting an invitation for them to go back.
When he nods at the space beside him, her eyes widen a fraction. She had been half-planning to cause a little chaos—maybe shuffle through the papers on his desk just to watch him huff about it—but the offer makes her cheeks warm. She hides it quickly with a smirk, her voice tipping coy. "Plenty of places I could think of perching," she teases, letting the implication slide between them as her gaze threatens to wander. Rising smoothly, she sets the empty glass on his desk and lets her fingers tug free the single clasp holding her ragged lingerie together. The whole thing collapses at once, pooling to the floor. It’s ruined anyway, and she has no intention of keeping anything between them when he’s just gone and offered cuddles like it’s nothing.
Sliding down beside him feels familiar in a way that has her breath softly catching. She tucks her head into the curve of his shoulder, body moulded against his with a comfort that needs no practice. Her curls spill across him, her skin warm against his. Then, as if to disguise how many layers they're currently stripping away, she asks almost offhandedly, "Heard anything about my big construction project on the beach yet?"
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
"It was good to see 'em for myself. Still don't trust 'em, but they seem to like you, so that was enough," Jack says through a scoff. He recalls his suspicion at the tangled canopy overhead, the endless swathes of trees that seemed to bend and move in response to Flora's whims in a way he couldn't hope to replicate. It had been both claustrophobic and not at the time, and he'd trailed after her as if her thoughts were the guiding light in an endless dark.
"Is that so? You might have to offer a little persuasion to one particular place if that's what you've got in mind." For at least another few minutes, anyway. But then she's shifting off the bed to let the silk and straps and shredded lace fall away, and Jack's eyes have dropped closed again as she settles herself beside him.
Shifting one arm from beneath the pillow, it drapes around her with casual familiarity that shouldn't feel nearly as good as it goes. "Mm...? Oh, of course." Grinning at her question, Jack's fingers strum gently across her side towards her hip. "You got workers callin' in absent to build ships so they can put your walls up and a roof on your house. You can see it from the port, too."
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Flora laughs at that, quick and bright, aqua eyes sparking. With an affectionate wrinkle of her nose, she shakes her head at him. "I still can’t believe you’d never been in a forest before," she says, her voice warm even as her curls tumble across his shoulder.
His next remark earns a snort of laughter low in her throat, cocky and pleased. "Please. Since apparently now I have the power to freeze a bottle of rum solid, I think I could persuade plenty of things." The words are light, though her thoughts don’t sharpen with heat or the sorts of garnet thoughts which might well coax certain things to life; instead, they stay soft and golden, light breaking across waves as her hand glides lazily over Jack's stomach and chest, fingers tracing idle, seafoam patterns across his skin.
Hearing about the borrowed workers only makes her shrug mischievously, lips quirking. "Noooo idea why that might be," she says airily, though the truth flickers in her thoughts—free drinks at the end of shift, food always piled high, laughter and music spilling out long after the workday. When he mentions being able to see it from the port, she tips her chin, brows rising as she slyly peeks up at him. "Which also means you can see the Ark from it." The implication lingers unspoken but clear: if he ever came to stay, his ship would be right there, in sight and safe—just like she knows he’d want.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
"Mm, closest I'd been was the Oerwoud, and a jungle ain't exactly the same thing." A little more bitey. A lot more humid. Hot. "The Ark was just a ship until a year or so ago." It's strange to remember that time, especially given that it had been the norm for so long, but it's true. "So the Greatwood wasn't all that accessible." Not unless he strayed away from his ship which, as Flora well knows, takes a lot.
"Oh, I've no doubt about that," he drawls at her assurance regarding her powers of persuasion. "It was just a heads up, in case you did feel like one perch over another." But as her thoughts stay soft and still enough for him to drift in, like a swimmer in the shallows of the Arclight, there's no objection from Jack.
Cracking open an eye and gazing down at her, a crooked smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. "That so? Might find my way up there once it's finished. I always like to see how she looks from a distance." The Ark he means, of course. And if he happens to run into Flora while he's there? Oh no.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Flora wrinkles her nose in emphatic agreement, curls bouncing as she shakes her head. "Ewuh, the jungle is not the same as forest." She says it with mock insult before her grin softens, eyes glimmering as memory threads itself through. "Although, now that I think about it, you did tell me about being a telepath in the jungle...so really, it feels like a lot of the big-deal things in our relationship happened with trees involved." Finding out Jack's biggest secret, falling in love, having been murdered, devastating fights.
Flora's hand trails lazily across the captain's chest, but with an affectionate roll of her eyes she tips her fingers just so, letting her nails graze against his skin instead of the soft pads—punishment light as a cat’s swipe. "Good thing you’re here to instruct me," she mutters under her breath, dry and teasing, "because obviously I’d never have figured that out on my own." Making Jack hard was probably the only thing she could reliably do, aside from get under his skin.
When he smirks down at her, she smirks right back, aqua eyes bright. "You would," she chuckles, about wanting to see your ship from every angle. Casually, far too casually, she lets her voice slip into the next thought as though it’s nothing at all: "I’ve been making custom rooms for everyone I care about." The implication hums between them, no telepathy required. To keep it light she laughs again, playful as she adds, "Yours was going to get one of those ridiculous waterbeds. Maybe hang a bunch of ships in bottles from the ceiling." In actuality, she had much more creative and thoughtful ideas for Jack's room, much as she thought it would largely go unused.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
"No, I understand that now," Jack agrees with a scoff. "Though I'd argue that no forest is like the Greatwood, so I dunno if I can stay I've still been in the regular ol' woods." His tone is quietly provocative, as if knowing already that Flora is likely to jump to the Greatwood's defence at the slightest hint of criticism about it. As for the big milestones in their relationship being surrounded by trees, he can't help but snort. "It didn't end there, though," he points out.
Shivering almost imperceptibly as her nails prick across his bare chest, his own fingers stray down against her hips, threatening to dip lower. "Always here to help, love," he rumbles, smirking unrepentantly about it. "I reckon you'd have gotten there in the end though." And her naked body pressed against his own and the riotous thoughts that gather in her mind would have done it even without her input.
"I would," he agrees, before her next words tumble out and Jack blinks down at her with a puzzled expression. "You made me a room in your house?" he asks quietly, the follow-up question already locked and loaded in his tone: why?
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Flora almost takes the bait—her lips part like she’s ready to leap to the Greatwood’s defence—before she rolls her eyes instead, curls tumbling as she shakes her head. "Or," she counters, the tilt of her voice sharp with mock-sweetness, "maybe it just sounds like you need to get out more."
But the moment he says it didn’t end there, the light of her thoughts dims, gold turning shadowed as though a cloud has drifted over the sun. Her shoulders soften with the sound of her swallow, and she shakes her head gently against his shoulder. "No. It didn’t." The words are quiet, pulled from a place that doesn’t usually make it into her voice. "If anything, it probably ended in Stormbreak." Her eyes slip half-closed, not needing to explain that she means Dahlia, that particular deal inked into her skin and her fate before she’d even understood it.
Her hand, which might have slid lower to try her hand at coercion, stills instead, fingers spread over his heart. It’s the same arrangement she’d once imagined would be the placement of their matching tattoos, though now her fingers flex faintly as though she isn’t sure whether to hold or pull back.
Jack’s eyes look softer now, shaded by the drowsy pull of rest rather than the sharp glint of plans, and Flora finds herself caught in the lull of it. Her lips part to answer the unspoken question tangled in his tone, but for a moment nothing comes. She’s already said the rooms are for people she cares about—surely that’s answer enough? Her aqua eyes search his, testing whether he’s just needling her or if he actually wants more.
Finally, she shrugs, small and almost imperceptible against him. "Technically, all those tradesmen I stole from the port are the ones who made it," she says, voice lighter, humour brushing the edges again, though her fingers twitch where they rest over his skin. "But, yeah....Of course I made you a room."
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
