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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!
A soft snort escapes Flora, wineglass cradled loosely in one hand as she grins. Whatever complexity exists between her and Ronin—whatever slow work it’s taken to build something resembling peace—Flora will never waste the chance to let someone else needle him. Especially not so elegantly. "I mean, I’m not saying you’re wrong," she murmurs, clinking her glass lightly against his with a sparkle in her eyes.
Her grin deepens as he paints the ghost of another life, a version of himself locked in a dull marriage and living for the next formal dinner. "Well, at least the parties here are fabulous," she says with an airy shrug, curls bouncing as her head tilts slightly to the side. "Or, you know, mine are."
She punctuates it with a sip of wine, pleased with her own little flourish, before laughing again as Neron mentions his lack of sweat. "That does make sense. One of the perks of being dead, I guess, no laundry."
But then the banter falters, just a little. The air turns softer as Neron’s smile tilts and her own follows, slow and small. Her eyes drop to her hands curled lightly around the stem of her glass, and for a moment, the firelight on her skin seems warmer than usual, like it’s trying to comfort her through the words she’s choosing. "Ah," she says first, breath curling faintly with the syllable before she glances up at him again. "Last time I saw Vai...gods, it was months ago. I was miserable. Everything felt like it was falling apart, and I—" She huffs softly, shaking her head. "I did ask her to find me a prince charming."
And then, with a crooked smile and a lopsided smirk, she lifts her gaze fully. "Funny that she picked you. I mean...I was kind of smitten the first time I met you actually." Her grin grows, coloured with nostalgia. “"That night in the Grounds, you conjured an ice flower to save my tongue after I burned it on my cider, remember? I swear that whole memory got folded into some fairytale in my head for like, weeks after."
The sigh she releases after is small and real, lips pressing briefly together before she clears her throat. "Since then, though—since Vai, I mean—I’ve started seeing someone." Her voice stays soft, but her eyes are steady as they meet his. "I don’t think time moves the same for you up there, so maybe Vai didn't know." There’s no defensiveness in her tone, no guilt either—just honesty, tinged with the kind of wistful affection reserved for things that might have been, once, in another life.
you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars you're either falling in love or falling apart
liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene
"Because I am not, my dear," Neron says with a flash of teeth and a wink, though he'll happily let the Knight off the hook if only because there are more interesting things to talk about. And yes, Ronin, that does mean he thinks you're boring. "Are they, now?" His eyebrows raise as he considers all of the wild get-togethers he must have been missing out on, Neron letting out a lamenting sigh. "Alas, I never got to attend one. Perhaps the next time I'm invited through it will be for a party, mm?"
He helps himself to another cracker from the charcuterie board as if to give his hands something to do while Flora finds the words she needs to say, Neron tilting his head as she explains. "If it helps, you certainly don't seem miserable now," he says, though he's about to find out exactly why. First, though, he's reminded of their first meeting, and he can't help but let out a laugh that's open and honest in its nostalgia.
"I do remember," he says. "And I can only apologise - Vai might have picked me for your prince charming, but that's probably because she didn't know how much of a cad and a bastard I really am." But hey, Flora doesn't seem to mind, and so he'll drink to that.
Less so about the revelation about her boyfriend, though. "And yet you still came out with me," he says with an arch of an eyebrow, sitting back a fraction as the server approaches with their chocolate sundae, complete with two spoons.
"Well," he says, brushing it off with the ease of, yes, a duke, "there go my plans to share a goodnight kiss with you. And you definitely aren't learning about my secret cravings now."
"Count on it," Flora says with a flash of a grin, tilting her wineglass in mock salute. "I’ll make sure Vai gets your next invitation so that she can make sure Remi is there ready and waiting to open the door for you." Her tone is all warm amusement, but there’s an edge of fond mischief in it too; she’ll never pass up the opportunity to arrange a little coerced use of her dad's abilities.
As Neron calls himself a cad and a bastard, Flora’s laugh is low and knowing, swirling gently into her next words. "Oh please," she drawls, plucking up her spoon with a curl of her fingers. "The last person I dated took platinum-tier in the bastard department. I doubt you could even qualify for the semi-finals compared to him." And though her stomach knots reflexively at the memory—at flame-blue eyes and the weight of words that she'll never be able to unhear—she keeps her tone light, even fond. Jack is still a scar she traces with polished nails, but she’s not bleeding from it regularly anymore.
She opens her mouth to explain—something short, something smooth—but the arrival of the sundae steals the moment. The scent of dark chocolate and caramel curls through the air, and she leans back with an appreciative hum as the dish is placed before them, ornate spoons nestled like an invitation for gluttony.
Scooping up a small bite, she shrugs, the motion casual, almost flippant. "For what it’s worth, I didn’t know what I was coming out for. Vai told me to dress nice and meet someone at the pier." Her eyes sparkle as she glances at him over the rim of her spoon. "And when you said you were only here ‘cause she thought I needed cheering up....I thought maybe that’s all she meant. Maybe she forgot about the prince charming part, or saw I didn't need it anymore." Or that she disapproved of Kaisel, but Flora chose to keep that to herself.
But then Neron dares to mention a goodnight kiss, and Flora's cheeks flush prettily. However at the mention of keeping his secrets close, the Doubletake will just roll her eyes. "Well," she huffs, theatrical indignation blooming as she clinks her spoon against his with flair. "As the only living person with the power to find ways to satisfy your mysterious cravings, you’re only hurting yourself by playing coy."
you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars you're either falling in love or falling apart
liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene
"I look forward to it," Neron purrs; more than Flora knows, in fact. Or perhaps she does know, after their conversation so far tonight, that the afterlife and eternal paradise can get real old, real quick. And considering that what she says next sounds an awful lot like a challenge, the Launceleyn tips his glass towards her in a return salute, before drinking deeply from it again. (And yes, at this rate she will absolutely have to gently steer him back towards Remi and the portal to Mort's realm, because two is a lot for a man who has been stone cold sober for far too long). "To not being as much of a bastard as your last squeeze, then," he quips, happy to toast to that.
And luckily for the both of them, the arrival of the sundae that comes on the wake of wine and charcuterie means that Neron is far from displeased by the direction the night is taking. Good company, great gossip, and a chance to indulge senses that have been numbed for as long as he can remember? Count him in, every single time. "Or maybe she just wanted to do something nice for you without thinking much past that," he suggests, taking a small bite of the sundae himself and pausing for a moment to enjoy the decadent sweetness that melts across his tongue.
Only as he lowers his spoon and finds it clinking against Flora's does he pull himself back together, scoffing and clacking his spoon back with revenge. "Flora," he says, voice low and rich with wine and chocolate, "if you must know, you could satisfy my mysterious cravings with a pair of stilettos and a hard slap across my face. Alas, you aren't in a position to provide that, unless your new squeeze is truly a saint."
There’s a softness in Flora’s eyes as she lifts her glass again, rounding her cheeks in something that isn’t quite a smile but isn’t far from it either—, something a little too full to be amusement alone. "To not being Jack," she murmurs gently, and even if there’s fondness in the words, the ache underneath lingers like salt in seawater. She doesn’t clarify the thought, though There was no one quite like him. That was the problem. That was the point.
She lets it go with a hum, leaning into the indulgence of the sundae instead. One taste has her groaning under her breath, the kind that turns heads if not kept in check, and she presses the cold sweetness against the roof of her mouth with slow, deliberate pleasure. "Okay, that is criminally good," she says, tongue catching at the corner of her lip like she’s trying to steal back every last molecule of chocolate. "You definitely need something like this at your bar."
She doesn’t mind the way Neron says her name at all. The weight of it lands warm across her collarbones, heavy and velveted with suggestion. Her spoon slows in her hand, fingers curling as if trying to wring the tension out of her own skin. And gods, when he says it like that...The flush that climbs her cheeks isn’t bashful so much as hungry, blooming vivid across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. She clears her throat, lashes sweeping low in a futile attempt to look unmoved. "Well," she says lightly, her voice a little too breathy to sell the act, "so long as I’m not just wearing stilettos..."
you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars you're either falling in love or falling apart
liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene
"Oh, so it's my bar again?" Neron grins, all playful ribbing and chocolate ice cream, though the heat he can see blooming like roses in Flora's cheeks is enough to have him forgetting the thought entirely. He doesn't look away - it's been too long since he got to see a gorgeous woman blush, and Flora ticks every box that makes bad decisions sound heavenly; enough that even the reminder of her horrifyingly powerful father still lurking nearby isn't enough to sober him up.
"Of course not," he purrs around another spoonful of ice cream, reaching out to pluck one of the obnoxiously red cherries from the top of the sundae to offer it out to her. "I think you'd look stunning in a corset, so why not one of those as well?" Mouth curling up in a smirk, he takes his sweet time glancing over the curves so artfully hidden by her dress. A shame, truly.
And whether or not he'd make the semi-finals of bastarding, clearly he's still cad enough to be open about his admiration, boyfriend or no.
Flora laughs, the sound low and sun-warmed, as she tips her spoon toward him. "Didn’t seem worth fighting you for it," she says, aqua eyes glittering over the rim of her glass. And then comes the cherry.
She could have leaned in, could’ve taken it with her teeth like some breathless tavern girl in a cheap story. But this isn’t that kind of night. Instead, she holds his gaze as she lifts her fingers—slower than necessary, featherlight where they brush against his hand—and plucks the cherry from between them. It’s nothing overt, but the red does kiss her lips like a secret, and when she slides it into her mouth, her smile turns knowing. "I do look good in corsets,”" she says, tone offhand but eyes wicked. "I own at least four. One of them glows in the dark. Don’t ask." The last time she'd worn one, in fact, two ancients had peeled it off her.
The sigh that follows is all mock-tragedy, her shoulders rising with theatrical resignation. "But since I’m not dressed properly tonight," she says, tapping her spoon against the dish, "I guess you’ll just have to wait."
She leans in slightly, like sharing a decadent secret. "There’s a brothel in King’s End," she murmurs, "blessed by Frey. The rooms cater to your every whim. Whatever you want, however you want it, and the staff are very good at their jobs." Her lips curve. "There’s also a room in the Grounds where nothing inside stays permanent once the door you go through opens again." With a flick of her spoon, she scoops another bite of chocolate and melts it across her tongue before adding lightly, "Maybe next time you’re invited through, you can see what sorts of things on your list those places can check off."
you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars you're either falling in love or falling apart
liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene
"You can't tell me one glows in the dark and expect me not to ask," Neron says, outraged and delighted in one, and the moment Flora takes the cherry from his fingers he brings them to his lips to lick away the lingering sweetness. "But you're right - I suppose I will just have to wait. Next time, then. Glow in the dark corset. Stilettos." He winks across at her as if that in itself will seal the deal, before reaching for another spoonful of ice cream before the sundae starts to melt and spill over the sides of its plumed glass.
Leaning in as well, as if the proximity between them is all that's keeping the secrets and gossip from being known to the rest of the bar, Neron's eyes glitter with dark anticipation at the options she lists off. Well, one of them anyway. "Glorious as that room in the Grounds may be, it's still a little too soon for me to consider visiting the region where I died," he says, apology knitted into his tone. The brothel, though...
"To be a fly on the wall for that conversation with your father and your boyfriend." He sighs. "Will you not be joining me in that magical room, then? Not even to watch?" His voice lowers further, a devilish whisper between them.
She gives Neron a slow, feline smile; head tilted, brow arched like she’s measuring the exact level of mischief he can handle. "I have black stilettos, of course. But the glow-in-the-dark corset is an obnoxious seafoam green. Like someone drowned a mint leaf in glitter." She shrugs, not even a little apologetic, despite her assumption that Neron would likely prefer her clad in his preferred colour of black.
The mention of the Grounds shifts her mood in a heartbeat. Flora draws in a soft breath, the sweetness of wine and chocolate suddenly too thick. Her lashes lower slightly as she nods, the understanding in her gaze saying more than any hasty apology could. "Right, of course," is all she says.
At his sigh and devilish murmur, however, her eyes lift again, sharp and playful all at once. "Remi doesn’t need to know a damn thing about it," she says breezily, like it’s the easiest solution in the world. She doesn’t mention Kaisel, because no, he probably wouldn't find it fun to coordinate a night out for a man who just suggested she slap him across the face in stilettos.
Still, her grin returns in full force as she leans in ever so slightly. "I prefer to be watched," she says, voice dropping to a purr of her own, "rather than do the watching. Sorry." And with that, she slips another spoonful of sundae into her mouth, unconcerned with the way the chocolate clings to her lower lip before vanishing entirely.
you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars you're either falling in love or falling apart
liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene
"Then you'll be the most alluring cup of mint tea I've ever laid my eyes upon," Neron tells her, nose scrunching in amusement and his smile trying to run away with itself. "I'm not allergic to colours, Flora. Like I said - I'm just lazy. And if your seafoam corset and black stilettos want to kick me to my knees, I promise I'll not be disappointed." Far from it, in fact, and he abandons the ice cream for just a moment to swap it back to the wine, as if to give himself a chance to let that image brand itself into his mind for good.
Laughing wickedly as he sets his glass back down - not a damn thing, then - he inclines his head towards her, feeling heat in his own cheeks that's a combination of wine and the present company. "Now is that so," he whispers, softly clicking his tongue as if learning this little piece of information will definitely be the second-death of him.
"I only invited you to watch because I doubted you'd be interested in participating. For what it's worth, though," he adds, reaching for the other cherry in the sundae, "I already find it very difficult to take my eyes off you. Let alone what might happen in a brothel."
Flora’s smile curves with something rich and sultry, a honeyed chuckle slipping past her lips as she lifts one brow in mock contemplation. "Well then," she murmurs, spoon twirling idly in the sundae, "I suppose I ought to start practising. I’ve never kicked anyone to their knees before—though I imagine it’s all in the angle."
A flush warms her cheeks again, though this time it’s not just from the wine. Her fingers tighten a little around the curve of the glass, lifting it partway before setting it back down again. "If you like being watched," she says, voice light with curiosity and just a hint of amusement, "there are rooms in the House of Midnight that specialize in exactly that. I’ve been told some even come with built-in audiences."
At the topic of pain, she wrinkles her nose prettily and shakes her head. "It’s never really been for me," she admits, almost shy now, though it’s tempered by a thoughtful shrug. "But I get it." Her mind flickers briefly to Asta’s teeth and Danta’s nails, but her tone stays casual, warm. “"Not my favourite flavour, but I don’t mind being—" Her words trail off as Neron speaks again.
The compliment lands like a soft thud in her chest, knocking the rest of her sentence right out of her mouth. Her smile turns unmistakably pleased, delighted in that way she can’t quite hide. She turns her face away for a beat, lifting her wineglass like a shield and ducking slightly behind it, though the angle can’t quite disguise the way her mouth curves. "If nothing else," she manages, once her voice is steady again, "you’re certainly living up to the charming requirement from Vai even though I'm no longer searching for a prince." Or a Duke.
you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars you're either falling in love or falling apart
liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene
"I'm sure you'd be a natural," Neron assures her, head tilting ever so slightly beneath the table they're seated at, as if reminding himself of her long legs. "And if not, I'm very practiced at going down on my knees, so I would be happy to show you the ropes." And if they keep talking like this, he might have to give it a second before he gets up to leave, the Launceleyn busying himself with the cherry from the sundae as if it might salvage his wine drenched self-control.
It does nothing more than remind him of the way the red of it stained Flora's lips, and how it might have tasted on his own.
As for being watched, he hums his consideration at that, abandoning his spoon now in the sundae that's almost entirely melted and finished with anyway. "I never considered it," he admits with a roll of his shoulder. "I daresay I wouldn't mind it, though. I'm into rough handling, so as long as there's plenty of that I'll be up for almost anything else you had planned." He clears his throat then, offering her a quiet little smile. "Whatever the person I was with had planned, I should say."
Flora trying to hide herself behind her glass of wine is enough for mischief to take a clear hold in Neron's expression, and he sits back to nurse his glass in his hand. "That is quite a compliment," he assures her. "I'm glad to hear it - means that I stand a chance of being reintroduced to you another time." Maybe when you're much more available, is what he doesn't say.
For once, Flora doesn’t have a clever retort on her tongue. Her mouth opens, then closes, then parts again in a flutter of indecision, the breath catching behind her teeth like a startled bird. She blinks, lashes fluttering in a way that would feel theatrical if it weren’t so unintentional. Floundering like a fish just snagged from the surf, she finally clears her throat and reaches blindly for composure. "I’m sure," she manages, the words slightly airier than intended, "you’d make an excellent teacher."
Her wineglass is a lifeline, cool and familiar in her hand, even as her cheeks bloom with heat that has nothing to do with the alcohol. Absolutely nothing. She swirls the contents lightly, watching the way the palk liquid paints the glass, trying not to imagine it painting anything else.
"Besides," she continues with a casual shrug that doesn’t reach her flushed cheeks, "I could still do the planning." She glances at him, mouth quirking into something sly again. "My mother’s one of Sex-Frey’s demigods. And she and my soon-to-be stepfather own the House of Midnight, so...let’s just say I’ve got access to more of the services than your average patron."
Her aqua eyes glint over the rim of her glass as she sips, the look unmistakably feline. "I’m sure that could be arranged," she murmurs, voice lower now, her smile tugging deeper as she leans back in her seat. "Though I’d rather not wait another five years and a second death in between. If that happens, my imagination might run wild again…" She lets the pause linger, her gaze sweeping over him like a hand. "And I'm not sure you'd be able to live up to my expectations a second time."
you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars you're either falling in love or falling apart
liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene
"I like to think so," Neron says softly, "and I'm sure you're a very quick learner." His own glass has become something of a lifeline, if only to give his hands something to do. Otherwise one might be tempted to go wandering, whether that's beneath the table to Flora's knee or, if he's going by preference, scandalously higher than that. It's a blessing that sex-Frey demigods become the next distracting topic of conversation, and even more so that Neron is too focused on Flora to comment on knowing one intimately himself. That would ruin the mood and then some.
"I don't think planning has ever sounded so exciting to me," he admits, finally trusting himself to set his glass down, and far enough away that he isn't tempted to finish the wine and fall onto the obnoxious side of charming. Not when he's made such a good impression thus far. "Come now," he says smoothly, on that note, "you've barely given me the chance to live up to your expectations this first time. Speaking of which, I usually make sure to bring flowers on a first date. How rude of me."
Nodding surreptitiously towards Flora's wine glass, she'll find bobbing in it a perfectly formed daisy crafted from ice. "It's only fair to try and live up to our first meeting, no?"
