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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's lips part to softly agree, in the silence that stretches between them, that he's not envious of the conversations she's got to have. Not that they're the sort of conversations he's ever had to have himself - and besides, his method of problem solving is demonstrably vicious and takes the most efficient shortcuts known to man. Before he can say anything, though, Flora has closed the space between them, and he bristles automatically at the unexpected touch before his mind catches his body up to what's happening.
His arms close around her with a gentleness that surprises even himself, the captain quietly befuddled by the words that spill from her lips. That she's said it, though, is already a step in the right direction, because gods, the urge to laugh is nearly overwhelming. "Of course I still love you," he says, unable to hide the smile in his voice. "I never fuckin' stopped. And if this wasn't worth it to me I'd not have spent time havin' this really uncomfortable conversation," he points out.
"But yeah, it's worth it. You're worth it."
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
The second he bristles, Flora feels it echo straight through her—her mind snapping taut as if a stiff wind had slammed into her sails and she had to scramble to tie down every rope before the whole thing tipped. But then his arms close around her, not rough or withholding but unexpectedly soft, and all that knotted tension loosens into a tremble. Relief courses through her so quickly it almost hurts, mingling with the bright ache of affection that rises unbidden in her chest.
She nudges him gently with her nose, a playful little press that keeps the moment from drowning in its own heaviness, before tipping her face up toward his. Aqua eyes search his, her curls brushing across his chest as she smiles faintly. "Well, for the record," she murmurs, "I like hearing things too. And I don’t even have telepathy to fall back on."
The tease fades into a softer breath, a sigh that carries more weight than she wants it to. Her thumb strokes absently across his ribs as though she can smooth the edge off her own nerves. "Do you want me to go back to Torchline now, then?" she asks, voice low, hesitant. "I could try to find Kaisel, maybe meet you in Stormbreak by the end of the week. Or—" she glances aside, lips pressed briefly together before she lifts her gaze back to him, "—we could just sail home now and plan for it another time."
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
"That so? I figured you were deaf all this time," Jack quips with a breezy shrug, before he tilts her chin up towards him. "I love you," he tells her softly. "Some days are gonna be better'n others, an' sometimes I'll be better than I am right now. Sometimes a lot worse. But it won't change that I love you." Following after her sigh with one of his own, Jack shifts to lean against the edge of his desk, and at the questions of what he wants, he scoffs under his breath,
"No," he says bluntly. "What I want is a cigarette and a nap, an' for you to stay here. But if we're gonna be doin' this properly, I fuckin' guess you better go back to Torchline. I'll stick around in Stormbreak - if you ain't around by the end of the week, I'll know to come lookin'." He doesn't say as much, but the implication is fairly obvious: no one will want that.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Flora huffs out a laugh, rolling her eyes at him with a grin that’s all teeth and sunshine before it softens into something brighter, sparklier, impossible to disguise as anything other than what it is when he says it again—I love you. The words shimmer through her, steady and true, and as he shifts against the desk this time it doesn’t feel like distance, and gods if that isn’t the sweetest reassurance she’s had all day.
His talk of cigarettes and naps has her laughing, arms slipping easily around his neck. "Well, you’re the impatient one," she teases, voice low and fond, "so I guess it’s your call if there’s time for a nap together or not." Her tone carries the lightness of the joke, but she doesn’t need to answer out loud to the unspoken warning tucked into his plans. They’ve been doing this too long, and she knows that temper of his far too well, to need to put it in words. She’ll heed the threat of it, though, and then some.
Still, she sighs with mock exasperation as her smile lingers, grumbling, "Sohalia’s got the other half of our parchment now. So Seven’ll have to keep an eye out for messenger ravens."
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
"I'm a lot of things," Jack retorts. And very few of them make sense side-by-side, he might have added, but Flora has likely already put that together and then some. As her arms thread around his neck with the same sort of ease that he'd have felt comfortable shrugging off or accepting as it pleased him the last time they'd been together, now he curls an arm around her waist in return, pinning her close.
"There's time," he decides quietly. "Besides, with your compass it ain't like it'll take you long to get there an' back." Already moving, the draw of the bed is evidently superior to wanting a smoke, because he tugs her along with him with little aplomb. "Yeah? Old fashioned messengers it is," he says, dragging at the sheets and collapsing into the pillows. "Seven'll get the memo to me, with or without the bird still attached."
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Her lips quirk in quick agreement, not needing to point out just what an understatement that was but instead letting the slant of her mouth do it for her. When he decides there’s time, the bright grin that blooms across her face betrays just how much she’d been hoping for him to say exactly that. She sinks into the bed after he does, still half-dressed in his sweatpants and her own shirt, curls spilling as she folds against him, struck by how different everything suddenly was compared to when they'd been pressed together like this only an hour or so ago. One kiss had tilted the axis, spun everything dizzy, and she still hasn’t quite caught her balance.
The image of Seven devouring a raven whole flashes through her mind, and she snorts softly, shaking her head at the thought of Jack finding nothing but a bloodied scrap of letter on his desk. Sliding close, she tucks herself against him, the grin audible in her voice and warm against his skin. "As cozy as your cabin is," she murmurs, fingers idly tracing at his chest, “"you’ve got to admit my bed’s much more comfortable."
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
Flora hasn't caught her balance and neither has Jack, and honestly it's a relief to have the bed at his back to ground him for a bit; at least if nothing else he can still tell which way is up and down. "I dunno that she'd manage it whole," he drawls, eyes already shut, a smirk on his face as he considers the sear cat. "A raven's about as big as she is." He doesn't doubt she'd make its life hell, though, before ending it entirely.
She tucks herself against his side and Jack tugs the sheets over them, blinking down at her as her voice hits the air. "Do I gotta admit that?" he wonders, amused. "Which bed, anyway? The one in your old house, your new one, or the one on your boat? At least I'm consistent." In the state of his cabin, the quality of his bed and the very small number of people who have experienced it to give a rating on its comfort.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Flora chuckles, because really? She has no doubt Seven could swallow a raven whole if she put her mind to it, feathers and all.
Rolling her eyes, she nudges him with the same ease she might shove a door closed with her hip, as though he’s just being contrary for the fun of it and not making legitimate points. "The Sugartide, obviously," she says with a grin, "since my brand-new house doesn’t even have a bed yet. Construction only just wrapped up." Her chin tilts onto his chest as she fixes him with a mischievous stare, curls spilling like seafoam across his skin.
"Also," she continues, voice playful but threaded with a private shimmer of truth, "Ludo’s helping me stock the place with a few spirits to make living there a little easier." Her mind paints the picture—warm cups appearing at her elbow, lantern light flickering to life before she can strike a match, tea brewing in the kitchen—and if those same spirits chose to make mischief with some of her guests? Well, so be it. She doesn't mention that part of her motivation was to keep the silence at bay, to keep her house from feeling too lonely when it was just her there, instead just imagining Jack having to negotiate with a closet door in order to get his clothes from it.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
"Oh, obviously," Jack agrees, drawing the word out. "I'll have to reserve my judgement, in that case. I ain't ever taken a nap on your boat," he points out. And while she might be fixing him with a stare and spilling her curls all over him, the captain can only peer down at her with half-open eyes, as if wondering whether being kept from said nap is part of their new agreement and if there's any scope to negotiate that point.
"Wait, spirits?" He stirs a bit at that, snorting. "To make your life easier? I didn't realise that was what they did." And while the image she brings to life is cozy and warm and delightful, Jack can guarantee that he's going to be targeted and bullied by anything that comes to haunt her house. Abandoned tend to draw that kind of negative attention.
"Will they accept bribes?" he wonders.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Flora huffs a laugh, rolling her eyes as though he’s being particularly obtuse. "No, you haven’t," she fires back with mock exasperation, grin curving as she nudges him. "Because someone up and left too soon last time." It's teasingly said, if only because not lingering had been an implicit part of being fuck-buddies back then, as evidenced by the fact that lingering this time, is what had led them to this place.
At the mention of spirits, she nods, curls bouncing as if the matter were obvious. "Absolutely they’ll accept bribes. I'm making them shrines in the house, little ones tucked around for offerings. That’s part of the quest." Her grin turns knowing, already picturing the coin, trinkets, or bottles Jack might try to palm off on them just to avoid their antics.
Then, softly, her cheek finds the curve of his shoulder again, eyes drifting shut as the sheets and his warmth pull her under. After all their talking, all the sharp edges and sudden lurches, she half-expects the floor to give way, that this fragile steadiness will crumble. Surely it couldn’t be so simple, couldn’t be as easy as wanting it enough. But for now it is. For now, she lets herself sink against him, breath easing into quiet surrender, and believes—just for this moment—that wanting it is enough.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
"S'pose that just means I'll have to come back another time an' try it out," Jack reasons with an easy shrug of his shoulders; the words are simple, likely because he'd have said them even if they were just in the realm of fucking and not thinking about the future. "And good - if they can be bribed, they can be reasoned with," he decides of the future-spirits of Flora's house. (And the image she conjures in her mind's eye is all too accurate).
But then she's settling in against him, and although her mind is going a mile a minute at first, it's a familiar sort of overthinking that turns into white noise in the end; before Jack knows it, he's dropped off as well, letting sleep drag him under for a while.
How long a while ends up being is something he'll have to figure out later. They're still in the air when he awakens, as far as he knows, the captain having rolled over in his sleep to clutch Flora back against his chest, his arm tucked beneath the pillow. Blinking slowly into the light of the cabin, he lets out a long sight and lifts his hand to rub at his eyes.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Eventually, Flora's thoughts sputter out the way candle flames do when they’ve eaten through all the wax, a final restless flicker before going soft and quiet. She sinks against him like a tide rolling back, boneless now, curls spilling over his chest as sleep finally pulls her under.
When Jack stirs, Flora doesn’t rise with him; if anything, she digs in deeper. A sleepy protest slips out of her, muffled against his skin, more pout than actual argument. The sunlight sneaking in through the cabin windows earns nothing but a dramatic groan, and she tries to burrow her way further into the warmth at his side as though that alone might prevent time from ticking on and hard conversations from being had.
"No," she mumbles stubbornly, the word barely more than a puff of air. Her arm slides around his middle like her body has its own ideas, clinging for an instant before she twists onto her stomach, cheek pressed against the sheets. It’s childishly defiant, the way she shields her face with her curls, like she could simply cuddle her way into freezing time if she really meant it.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
Flora's stubbornness rises like a brick wall against the world, Jack huffing out a soft laugh before he can help himself and letting his hand drop from his eyes to rest back around her. (By which time, of course, she's burrowing herself into the sheets and pillows). "What was all that shit about your bed bein' more comfortable?" he mumbles, voice rough with sleep.
Alas, no matter how many refusals she might have for what needs to happen next, time will inevitably march on towards them, and so after a couple more minutes to come around, Jack stretches and starts to peel himself away to sit up. "Sorry, love. I reckon our time's up," he says. By which of course he means he's itching to check on the progress of their flight and whether any of his crew have done anything stupid.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Flora huffs into the pillow, curls a haloed mess around her face, and mumbles, "If I say yours is more comfortable, can I stay?" The words are half-petulant, half-hopeful, pitched somewhere between a pout and a dare. For a heartbeat it feels like maybe she’s bought herself a reprieve, but Jack has always been more restless tide than anchor, and she can feel him shifting beside her.
She considers—briefly—whether she ought to add lazing away in bed to the list of things she’d like him to work on, but the thought fizzles almost as quickly as it comes. Jack Barclay has never been the sort of man to linger, and she’s always known better than to ask him to, even now when asking is now on the table. So instead she pushes herself upright, bare toes curling against the floorboards, trying not to show how much she hates giving up the cocoon of warmth they’d made.
"Don’t say it like that," she says softly, shooting him a look as though the words had been a slap when they were only inevitability. Rising, she crosses to his desk and plucks up her compass, the metal cool in her palm, the tug of it both anchor and knife. Turning back, she tilts her chin up at him, her chest tight with the sudden and overwhelming sense that the moment she steps out of this cabin everything will unravel, the fragile thread of them unspooling with the light.
She swallows against it, aqua eyes lifted to his. "Kiss me before I go?" she whispers, and there’s no armour in it, no playfulness left to dress it up—just the raw plea of someone who has jumped too many times without looking to confidently be able to do it anymore.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
