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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!
For the most part, The Ark listens and absorbs the information with little more than a cursory glance or a small pulse of acknowledgement, but it doesn't surprise Jack that it's The Banshee that has her mind turning shark-deep and vicious. He smiles into his liquor and takes a slow sip of it. "Mm, that'd be the one," he agrees. "It's his family's ship, though I trust you to keep that bit of information to yourself," he adds. "Used to be his father who captained her, but now it must've gone to one of his sons-in-law."
And definitely not to Murphy, who had been considered a traitor for literally jumping ship; not that Jack expected him to take the offer even if it had been presented to him.
Scoffing and raising his glass in a toast, he winks at her and shrugs his shoulders. "There'll be other nights," he says with the air of a promise. "Nights where we ain't at the Tide and Tonic, where fightin' feels like the first answer to a problem." But for now, if it hasn't been obvious beforehand, Jack is here simply to be in Torchline again.
"Mm? Oh, I fuckin' guarantee it," he says, of The Ark's existence and the sailors' wondering about her. "An' I imagine some'll wanna do it with their own ships just in case they end up lookin' half as good as you. Honestly, though, I ain't sure many of 'em have the balls to do what it takes."
bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
At Jack’s explanation, The Ark's reaction is immediate and uncontained. "What?!" It cracks out of her, sharp and bright as a snapped line, loud enough to turn heads across the room, though she doesn’t so much as flinch beneath the weight of their attention. Colour rises high along her cheekbones, a flush that has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the sudden, violent churn of feeling beneath her skin. Jack might trust her with secrets, but he’s never shaped her into something quiet enough to hold them neatly, and the Ark was never built for subtle waters to begin with.
Murphy’s family. The words settle like ballast dropped too quickly, dragging something deep and dangerous down with them. She doesn’t look toward the Banshee’s captain, knowing that would be too obvious given her outburst, but an image arrives anyway, unbidden and vivid: herself slipping close, hands threading into hair, breath warm and intimate, before freezing the blood in his veins and snapping his neck between her palms. Her tongue drags slowly over her teeth, the last of the gin tipped back and swallowed as if it might drown the thought before it surfaces fully. It doesn’t, not entirely, but it smooths the edges, reins in the surge until it’s something colder, more controlled.
Her gaze finds Jack again, meeting his wink with something darker, something that glints like teeth beneath the surface. Rolling the empty tumbler beneath her fingertips, she lets out a low, humourless laugh. "Even if they manage it," she murmurs, voice gone silk-slick and edged, "it won’t go the way they think it will."
Her attention drifts, not aimless but deliberate, brushing over the room again before returning to him, one brow lifting as she angles slightly in her chair. "Not even half of them take care of their ships the way they ought to," she goes on, the words carrying a quiet, cutting certainty, "and even the ones who do...still don’t." There’s meaning in the look she gives him then, something unmistakable in the way her gaze settles, in the faint curve of her mouth that isn’t quite a smile.
"They treat them like tools. Like something to spend and replace." Her voice lowers, intimate but not soft. "So if they go digging for something like this—" her fingers tap once against the glass, a hollow little note, "—they won’t find devotion waiting for them. They’ll find everything they’ve ever taken." A slow inhale, her shoulders easing back as the storm inside her settles into something deeper, more patient. "And I’d wager," she adds, almost idly, though the darkness lingers in her eyes, "most of them won’t survive what answers."
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
The Ark's whipcrack exclamation might draw attention from the rest of the cellar bar, but has an honest laugh rumbling up in Jack's throat, the Captain having to put his drink down to stop from sloshing liquor over the glass. "If you're havin' thoughts like that, you'll definitely have to wait for Murph to come out with us," he says, keeping his voice low enough to be considered conversational, though the dark glitter in his blue eyes betrays his amusement at the way every mind in range has just perked its ears up to try and listen. "He can more'n handle himself though, remember. I dunno that he'd thank you for wantin' to fight his battles."
There's a reason, after all, why The Banshee is still afloat, the same as there's a reason why Jack's father is (presumably, anyway) still breathing and drinking himself to death. It might not be a kind reason, but it's still a reason.
With her tumbler empty he pushes his glass across the table towards her as if to offer her something to keep the burn in her throat, simultaneously gesturing to ask if she'd like another gin.
As talk turns to ships and the heart that might beat inside them, Jack doesn't hide the curiosity in his own expression, idly tapping a finger along the table's woodgrain as he listens. "I s'pose you can feel it in the water, the way another ship moves or turns or responds," he says slowly. "You sense them in a way no one else likely could. Still, if one of 'em succeeds only to have a siren bury a knife in their backs, more power to her."
bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
She lets his words roll over her for a moment, weighing them, tasting them the way she might test the pull of a current before deciding whether to follow it or cut across. Then her head tilts, a small, dismissive motion, as if whatever caution he’s offering simply doesn’t anchor. "I was made to fight battles," she counters, the words smooth but edged, her gaze sliding to him with a lifted brow that dares him to argue otherwise, to pretend she was ever meant to be anything gentler than the thing she’s become.
The push of his glass toward her catches her predatory stare, and she takes it without hesitation, tipping it back in a single swallow that’s just a touch too ambitious, the liquor hitting hard and bright. The burn drags a sharp breath from her, quick and involuntary, before she exhales through a quiet huff, colour blooming deeper along her cheeks, vivid as her hair. When she nods for another, it’s done with the same unbothered certainty, as if the heat in her throat is something she needs more of.
Leaning back into her chair, she lets her attention fall to his hand, to the idle tap of his fingers against the wood, her eyes following the rhythm as though it might mean something if she listened closely enough. "I can’t feel inside of them or anything," she says after a moment, her voice settling into something lower, more thoughtful, though the edge never quite leaves it, "but I can feel what they should be. When a hull moves wrong, when she drags when she ought to cut clean, I can tell if she’s heavy with cargo or just.." Her mouth tightens slightly. "Neglected." A soft exhale leaves her, sharper than a sigh, her fingers tracing an absent shape against the table’s surface, as if mapping something only she can feel.
"Some of them are left to rot on the inside," she continues, the words gaining weight, gaining bite. "They're given pretty mastheads, new sails snapping in the wind, all for show—while below deck the wood’s softening, the latrines spill over, rats chewing through anything that still holds." Her lip curls faintly, distaste flickering through the line of it. "They dress it up like it means something. Like it's all that matters." Not unlike a pair of expensive sunglasses placed over a black eye, or a diamond bracelet on a wrist newly broken.
The Ark's gaze shifts toward the Banshee's captain who seemed nearly finished with his cigar, before her gaze slides back to Jack, a dark smile on her lips as a new idea takes form. "I wonder if I could bring them out."
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
"You were made to fight battles as a last resort," Jack objects, raising his eyebrows right back in gentle challenge. She'd been made to carry secrets, whether in cargo or information; she'd been made to cut clean and quick through the water, to weather storms and waves that would swallow a lesser ship. She'd been made to appear invisible at dusk, to wait silent and without fanfare, and to cut loose with the sort of agility that made those on the shoreline triple-check what they'd seen.
But yes, she also had cannons. And she was made to fight, if it came down to it.
Catching the attention of the server to order another round, Jack sets their glasses at the edge of the table where they can be collected. And as The Ark starts to speak again, Jack feels it as the rest of the bar lets go of a held breath, the lull of muttered conversations replacing the hush that had momentarily fallen.
"That makes a lot of sense," he murmurs, brows furrowing thoughtfully as he considers not only what she's saying but also how they might use it to their advantage in future. "An' it shouldn't be a surprise, I s'pose - sailors use their ships to posture as much as anythin' else, what little good it'd do 'em if they only take care of appearances." Jack can't sense that sort of thing, but he can tell a man with too much pride just by looking at him.
"I wonder if you could," he adds with a scoff, nodding as their new drinks arrive. "You got more types of magic in you than I ever expected, so it wouldn't surprise me if you learned how along the way."
bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
Jack’s correction lands, but it doesn’t move her, not really. Yes, his care and attention to keeping her hulls free of seaweed and barnacles and outfitting her with sails meant to catch and warp the wind had her traveling faster than she had any right to, and yes her bays had been used more than her cannons had, but even so. "Funny," she says, her voice smooth and unbothered, "how many last resorts we've found ourselves in over the years." Her gaze lingers on him a moment longer, not argumentative, not quite yielding either, but perhaps with a touch of arrogance that Jack might have identified with more in his younger days.
Her fingers begin to move against the table, an idle rhythm that mirrors his own without her noticing, each tap leaving behind the faintest trace of moisture, little beads gathering and slipping along the grain of the wood like condensation drawn from nowhere. "Not that you were ever fooled by appearances," she adds, a slow, sly curve touching her mouth as her eyes flick briefly to his. If he had been, she wouldn’t be here at all; she’d be so many rotten boards by now at the bottom of the marina.
When the fresh drinks arrive, The Ark reaches for hers without hesitation, lifting it to her lips. The gin bites cold and sharp before blooming warm, the strange inversion of it catching in her throat and chest alike. She doesn’t pace herself, chasing one burn with another as if there’s something in her that wants the heat.
She smiles low and wolfishly at his comment, her eyes darkening slightly as she sets the glass down again. "I doubt anyone would think the captains had anyone to blame but themselves," she murmurs, tone easy, almost careless on the surface, though the undercurrent is anything but. "If they turned up drowned or with a knife in their backs after having given their ships life." Her shoulders lift in a small, languid shrug, as if the thought is nothing more than idle speculation, something to pass the time between drinks. "No real reason to start wondering who else might’ve had a hand in it."
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
Jack only responds this time with a pointed look and a wolfish smirk, raising his new glass of liquor slowly to his lips and taking a long, burning sip of it. However many last resorts there might have been during their time together, they've been fewer and farther between as the years had ticked by; both a testament to The Ark's impressive reputation and Jack's growth from arrogant upstart to seasoned crime lord.
His eyes flick down to the beads of moisture sparkling in the wake of her drumming fingers, the Captain smirking and reaching out to capture her hand beneath his own. His calloused palm is warm, his expression a whisper away from playful as he lifts his fingers to watch the magic at work. "You say that," he drawls, "but I knew you were my ship the second I laid eyes on you. I don't believe in fate but some might call it that."
Others might swoon and deem it love at first sight.
Jack doesn't tell her to pace herself, doesn't tell her to slow down. She'd wanted to come for a drink and so here they are drinking, and besides; it only takes one fierce hangover to teach a lesson that a dozen seasoned alcoholics might try to impart. So instead he continues to listen, well able to imagine the fate of sailors who had taken their vessels for granted, who had chosen surface reputation over care and upkeep.
"You're quite the malicious bitch, ain't you?" he says warmly; hopefully she takes it as a compliment, because it's fully intended as one.
bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
When his hand closes around hers, the water doesn’t stop. It gathers and slips instead, beading from her fingertips and trailing down the length of them, cool against the rough warmth of his palm, as though there’s simply too much of the ocean in her to ever be fully contained. It runs over his skin without resistance, unbothered by the boundary between them, and for a moment her gaze follows it, before lifting again to meet his.
There’s something deeper in her eyes for it, something that pulls like a tide under moonlight, before her mouth curves, slow and teasing; a flash of teeth beneath wine-dark lips. "Oh," she says lightly, tilting her head, "so it had nothing to do with your keen insight at all?" The grin that follows is sharper, but it softens just as quickly, her expression shifting, brightening at the edges as the depth in her gaze gives way to something more luminous, more openly amused.
Her thumb drifts, finding a particular scar in his palm and tracing over it with quiet intent, the motion slow, almost absentminded if not for the way her eyes stay locked on his. "Somewhere along the way," she murmurs, her voice dipping just a touch, "I realized you weren’t just taking whatever you could get your hands on and selling it to whoever offered you the most for it." Her gaze doesn’t waver, something knowing settling into it, something that recognises exactly what sits across from her. Jack isn’t softened by it, not made gentler or safer for having principles; if anything, it sharpens him, gives weight and structure to everything he is. The violence, the ambition, the way he moves through the world, it all hangs on that quiet line he doesn’t cross unless he’s decided it’s worth crossing.
It’s what makes him dangerous. It’s also what makes him worth following.
So yes, if she is a malicious bitch, it's only because he's taught her to be that way, even if her principles don't mirror his exactly now that she's been given form.
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
"I ain't sure my keen insight was fully developed back then. I ain't afraid to admit it," Jack says with a crooked grin and a quiet laugh. He'd still been in his late teens when he'd first gone fishing for The Ark, as reckless as he was ruthless and half-mad on his worst days. But he'd found her, he'd raise her from a wreck, and he'd started to sail. The rest, as they say, is history, though Jack isn't sure any history books could have seen this chapter coming.
The thumb that grazes his palm, feeling scars and lifelines and whatever other karma is stitched into his skin by the fates, is an absent sort of affection Jack hasn't received in a very long time, the kind that had taken long enough to get used to in the first place. He smiles quietly into his drink as he realises as much, before lifting the glass back to his lips. "The highest bidders ain't always the best investments," he agrees, raising said glass in a toast.
It's no lie that he'd had the advantage in being able to say what were the best investments, and the sort of behaviour that made him a wildcard back then makes him a shrewd businessman now. "C'mon," he says suddenly, "let's finish up here an' take a walk back down to the docks. I wanna see if the sea's glowin'." He's not laid eyes on Torchline's bioluminescent shores for near enough a year, to the point where he's almost half convinced he'd imagined it all this time.
bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
Her smile answers his—crooked for crooked—before she slips her hand free of his and lifts her glass in a small, indulgent toast. "To your many talents," she purrs, the words touched with something that sits comfortably between flattery and truth, before tipping the gin back again. The burn comes quicker this time, easier, the strange inversion of it blooming through her chest as she swallows, leaving her thoughts just a little lighter, a little looser, buoyed on something warm and bright.
At his suggestion that they go, her brows lift, interest catching immediately. "Mm," she hums, finishing the last of it without hesitation, the empty glass set aside with a careless flick of her fingers. Now much closer to drunk than sober, nevertheless for the time being, the Ark is riding the high of being pleasantly buzzed. "I missed it too." Her eyes slide to him, a flash of something playful sparking there as her brows bounce lightly. "Wouldn’t mind a swim, if it is."
She’s already moving as she says it, slipping from her chair and looping her arm around his waist, her body leaning in to his from familiarity as much as inebriation. The room parts around them as they make their way out, her attention drifting ahead toward the door, toward the promise of salt air and open night. She flashes Gallagher a grin as he lets them through, the expression bright and easy, before stepping out into the cool breath of the harbour. The air hits first—salt, damp, alive—and she draws it in deeply, only for it to catch sharp in her throat as her gaze lifts to the stars, where, for a moment, she simply stares.
Her brows draw together slowly, the line between them deepening as the shapes resolve into something unmistakable and intentional. The words sit there, etched across the sky in impossible clarity, followed by the answer just as emphatic. Her head tilts slightly, the confusion settling into something narrower, sharper, before she glances sidelong at Jack. "I’d say we should get them a congratulations gift," she says dryly, the sarcasm cutting clean through her tone, "but since they already ran ahead and got married..."
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
With that loose plan in place, Jack and his many talents are content to sink his liquor and set the empty glass aside, rising to his feet alongside The Ark. "A swim in tropical waters sounds like a good end to a good evenin'," he agrees; it might not be the height of Longheat but neither will the water be particularly cold at this time of year.
His arm settles around her shoulders as they cross the Tide and Tonic, the Captain managing to catch the eye of The Seahawk's captain at last, casting him a lazy salute as they head back up the cellar steps. Offering a rough goodnight and a handshake that has something exchanged between Gallagher's hand and Jack's, he's already tucking the missive away into his pocket as they leave.
No sooner has he inhaled the salt-sweet perfume of the harbour when he feels The Ark tense beside him, their steps faltering as he follows her gaze skywards. It feels both strange and right that they should be standing here together to watch a (sham) marriage proposal jizz its way across the sky in starlight, the Captain tilting his head a little as if to check for spelling errors.
Then he laughs, the sound that scoffs out of him almost boyish in its open amusement, and he shakes his head to The Ark. "We already got 'em a gift," he says. "We're here, ain't we? The news is already halfway across Torchline, let alone when the sun rises an' your sails are burnin' a hole in the port for everyone to see. What are the fuckin' chances of that?"
bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
The Ark runs her tongue slowly across her teeth, as if testing the taste of it, deciding whether this is something to laugh at or something to bite down on. Jack’s amusement rolls easily beside her, bright and unbothered, but hers doesn’t follow quite so quickly; there are still things sitting beneath the surface, things left unsaid and untested, and the sight of it—that—written so boldly across the sky pulls at them in a way she doesn’t quite smooth over.
Flora. The name doesn’t need to be spoken to settle heavy and familiar, and for a moment the Ark’s gaze lingers there, sharp and measuring, before she lets the thought slip under rather than crest. Like the Banshee, like everything else tonight, there’s a time for that sort of thing. This isn’t it. Not yet, anyway.
She scoffs softly, though the sound melts into a grin as she looks back to Jack, the moon catching in her hair and along the edges of her eyes, brightening them into something almost luminous. Her head tilts, considering, her fingertips tapping idly against his side as they start back toward the port. "What are the chances of that?" she echoes, the words thoughtful, though there’s a thread of something sly working its way through.
The rhythm of her steps settles quickly, the earlier tension smoothing into something more fluid as she leans just slightly into him again, her attention drifting between the sky and the path ahead. "Do you think she heard we were here," she adds, her voice light but edged, curiosity sharpened just enough to cut, "and ran to have her nuptials shoved down everyone’s throats in response?"
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
Jack can practically feel it, the way The Ark's intention glides across her thoughts like a whetstone along a blade. Although he's almost curious to probe further, to dig at those things that are unsaid and untested, he can sense too the way she purposely sets those darker inclinations aside. Later, then. He has no doubt that this will not be the last time Torchline's queen manages to make the show about her during their visit to the islands.
And so, with the moonlight casting a sheen of silver across the cobblestones and proposal stars shrinking the shadows from view, Jack also commits to strolling towards the port once again, his steps slow and easy, unfaltering as she leans into him a little more. "Y'know," he says with a smirk, "part of me wanted to say no, but honestly? I reckon that exactly the sort of shit she'd do."
He shakes his head, having surrendered any hope of trying to understand the Doubletake's motivations - theyre tangled and impossible even for a mindreader. "You'd have thought that if she was so happy she'd stop havin' to convince everyone about it," he nevertheless mutters, keeping his eyes on the sea of masts becoming visible up ahead rather than on the message scrawled in the sky.
bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
The Ark hums low in agreement, her head tipping slightly as she lets his words settle, turning them over the way she might test the pull of a current before deciding whether to follow it or cut across. "Last time she made quite a show of it of being perfectly fine. Like everything was exactly where she wanted it. Like she was holding it all together without even trying." Her mouth twists faintly, not quite a smile, not quite disapproval, but something that knows better. She tilts her head the other way, maroon hair spilling over her shoulder in a soft cascade as her tongue clicks once against her teeth, a small, dismissive sound. "If she’d learned as much from you as she bragged she did," she adds, glancing up at him sidelong, "she’d know how easy it is to see through that sort of thing."
The grin that follows is slow and wicked, something darker threading through it as the thought takes hold and settles. "Maybe she isn’t so happy," she muses, the idea rolling easily through her, coating her thoughts in something almost oily and indulgent. For what Flora had done, for how she’d left things happiness shouldn't sit easily on her, not in the Ark’s mind. But the thought doesn’t linger as the sea comes into view.
The shoreline glows faintly at first, then brighter as they draw closer, the waves lapping in soft, luminous pulses that flicker and bloom with every movement. It pulls at her instantly, the vastness of it opening up inside her, the earlier edge in her thoughts smoothing out into something wide and endless. She exhales, long and satisfied, her body shifting subtly toward it, her stride lengthening as though she’s already half drawn in. "I want to go in," she says, the words less a suggestion than a quiet certainty, her gaze fixed on the glowing water as it beckons. She'd understand if Jack didn't, but just as he'd found comfort in his old haunts, so too did the Ark.
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
