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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 couple of days after Flora's birthday and one Surprise Pancake Breakfast later and Niki is feeling much more human. His headache has faded, his stomach no longer considers rebellion at the prospect of anything other than sitting or being horizontal in the dark, and he's finally in a state to enjoy the last of the Leafchange weather. The morning finds him out on the terrace by the pool, in fact, though of course the necromancer is in the shade of the outside bar.
His nose is in a book - one that had appeared mysteriously on his nightstand courtesy of the spirits, and he isn't one to deny them - and a cup of coffee steams gently on a table beside him. Other than the long sleeves and high collar of his pale linen shirt, he seems to have embraced vacation-mode, though he's currently distracted from reading by considering having the Gilded Market adjust his glasses to darken in the bright light.
Removing them and setting them down, he rubs his eyes for a moment before slouching back in his chair and letting his book drop gently over his face, pages splayed to act as a source of shade for a bit.
The terrace is already bright with morning, the kind of light that turns everything a little too sharp at the edges—the pool flashing white-blue, the stone warm underfoot, the air carrying that soft salt-sweet drift from the sea—and Flora slips into it like she belongs to it. White on white, Flora wears white shorts and a white crop top, bare legs catching the sun, curls half-pinned and already threatening rebellion, she moves with the sort of deliberate quiet that only ever means trouble, aqua eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in the scene Niki's made for himself: shade, book, coffee, an almost comical attempt at peace.
It lasts exactly as long as she allows it to.
She circles in behind him without announcing herself, the faintest curl of a smile already tugging at her mouth as her gaze flicks to the table, to the glasses set down with all the careless trust of someone who hasn’t yet accounted for her existence, and she reaches for them without hesitation, lifting them delicately between her fingers before slipping them onto her own face in one smooth motion. The world tilts a fraction, sharpens oddly, and she squints immediately, one eye snapping shut as if that might fix it, her nose wrinkling as she leans forward just enough to loom over him, hands settling on her hips in a posture that’s equal parts accusation and affection, sunlight catching in the gold at her wrists and throat. "Gods," she murmurs, the word drawn out with theatrical disbelief, her voice warm and easy and entirely unconcerned with the fact that she’s just invaded every inch of her friend's carefully curated solitude, "you must be blind without these."
Niki reacts exactly as Flora might expect. He's oblivious, blissfully so, even as she looms over him like a beach-ready vulture, but some sixth sense must have tipped him off at that point. His brow furrows beneath the book, and he slips it down just enough to open his eyes when his immediate panorama is all Flora. The noise that leave him is one of boyish surprise, and he jumps hard enough to knock the table and send his coffee spilling.
"If I were blind, I would not have just shaved years off my life thanks to your sneaking around," he retorts, snapping the book shut and setting it in his lap (now that the table has coffee all over it). "They are reading glasses," he clarifies haughtily for good measure. "I am only blind when I am trying to read for a long time. They suit you, though. Have you considered becoming mildly farsighted?"
The reaction lands exactly the way she’d wanted it to, sharp and immediate and just a little bit disastrous, and Flora’s laughter spills out of her before she can even think to contain it, bright and delighted as the coffee sloshes and Niki's book snaps shut, as if the entire moment has been staged purely for her amusement and he’s played his part perfectly. She tips her head, curls shifting against her shoulders, one eye still squinted behind the lenses as she looks down at him with exaggerated innocence that doesn’t fool anyone, least of all herself, her mouth curving as she lets the laughter taper into something softer but no less pleased. "Sneaking around?" she echoes, the words lilting upward with disbelief as though he’s said something genuinely ridiculous, her gaze flicking briefly to the mess he’s made before settling back on him, entirely unapologetic. "I don’t sneak. You just need to get your ears checked."
The compliment hits and she reacts like it’s been lobbed at her from across a crowded room, immediate and unfiltered, her expression lighting up in a way that feels almost theatrical in its sincerity as both hands come up to frame her face, fingertips pressing lightly to her cheeks while she angles herself just enough to present the glasses properly, lashes fluttering in an exaggerated display that leans into the bit without losing the thread of something warmer underneath. "Do you really think so?" she asks, dragging the moment out with a soft sort of delight.
Flora doesn’t ask for permission before dropping onto a piece of Niki's chair, one leg hooking casually over the other as she settles in. "It’s nice having you still in the house," she adds, the words slipping out with an easy affection as she beams endearingly at the necromancer.
"So now I am going deaf as well as blind? I always feel so uplifted when we have these chats, Flora, have I told you that?" Smirking and letting his head tip back properly against his seat to watch her pose with his glasses, he gives her micro-modelling shoot all the attention it deserves, nodding approvingly in places and shifting enough to let her properly perch on the side of his chair when she's done. "I absolutely think so," he confirms, before grinning and lowering his voice a touch. "Granted, you do get a little blurry the closer you come, but I am sure you are radiant either way."
He doesn't bother to ask for the glasses back - Flora will return them when she's good and ready (probably directly onto his nose), or the spirits will whisk them back to his room at some point. Instead, relaxing and reaching for his half-cup of coffee to sip at it, he hums soft agreement to her sentiment. "I have enjoyed it quite a bit," he freely admits. "Though I do apologise for disappearing halfway through your party. I have seen the error of my ways in regard to the Blue Torcher cocktail."
Niki's tone lands like a perfectly thrown pebble skipping across the surface of her mood, and Flora lights up for it, the smile that spreads across her face bright enough to rival the water beyond them, entirely pleased by his dry sass as she drinks in the shape of his humour, and the easy bite of it. "Mm," she hums, delighted, and with a small, decisive motion she slips the glasses from her face, the world snapping back into its proper clarity as she leans just slightly toward him to return them. "Here, I wouldn’t want to be blurry and give you a headache."
She straightens again, her hand drifting up to comb through one of the curls that’s escaped whatever attempt she’d made to tame them earlier, the motion absent but not unconscious, as her gaze shifts outward toward the water, bright and distant and conveniently not him. "Oh, it’s no problem," she says easily, the dismissal smooth enough to pass on its own, though the faint curve at the corner of her mouth suggests there’s something else tucked just behind it, waiting.
It arrives as she glances back over her shoulder, the movement slow, deliberate, her aqua eyes catching the light as they settle on the necromancer again with a spark that’s far too amused to be innocent, one brow lifting in quiet, conspiratorial curiosity while her other hand drifts down to inspect her nails as though they’ve suddenly become fascinating. "But it’s the funniest thing," she continues, tone soft but edged with mischief, "I could have sworn Sunjata disappeared at nearly the same time." The pause that follows isn’t empty; it hums, full of an implication she doesn’t bother to dress up, her lips curving just slightly as she tilts her head. "I do hope you both felt alright."
As surprised as he is quietly pleased to have his glasses returned to his hands instead of directly onto his face, Niki accepts them and tucks one of the arms inside his shirt with an ease that suggests habit. (Because of course she isn't actually blurry - he'd meant it when he said they were just for reading). "You are too kind," he says, taking another sip of coffee and setting it back down again.
Niki has known Flora long enough now to know when there's a trap waiting behind her smile, to know when distance is purposeful, like the pause before the curtain rises at the theatre, and whether consciously or not, his eyes narrow playfully and he waits for her to snare him. Which she does, and he reacts entirely as she might have hoped, blushing to the tips of his ears and looking thoroughly flustered.
"Yes. Well," he says, because whether or not he's familiar with it, Niki does have tea about that night. (Alas, it's probably not what Flora is hoping). "I was too inebriated to get upstairs," he explains, "and so Sunjata carried me - without asking first, might I add." And that in itself had contributed to a large part of his embarrassment.
"He took me to my room and I... I think he was a dog or a cat? I fell asleep."
The colour that climbs into Niki's face is instant and unmistakable, and Flora latches onto it like a spark finding dry kindling, her delight blooming bright and uncontained as she turns fully toward him now, abandoning any pretence of subtlety the moment she sees just how thoroughly she’s caught him. "Oh no," she breathes, the words softened into something mock-sympathetic that doesn’t quite hide the grin tugging at her mouth, one hand lifting as though in genuine concern even while her eyes gleam with mischief. "Carried by a big strong demigod? How awful," she adds, the cadence just shy of sincere, the corners of her lips betraying her as they twitch upward, even if she is fully aware of why, proximity to Sunjata aside, that Niki would hate being carried without permission.
But then he keeps going, something in his explanation catching oddly against her expectations, and Flora’s expression follows suit, amusement faltering just enough to make room for confusion as her brows knit together, her head tilting slightly as though that might help her make sense of what he’s just said. The image rearranges itself in her mind—Niki, his room, Sunjata shifting, sleep—and it refuses to settle into anything coherent, her gaze sharpening as she studies him, searching for the punchline she’s convinced must be coming, only it doesn't.
Flora straightens a fraction, turning toward him properly now, all of her attention narrowing in with sudden intensity, disbelief threading through the way her lips part. "Fell asleep?" she repeats, the words lifting at the end, incredulous, her brows arching high as though she’s trying to peer over the top of the answer he’s given her and find the one he’s clearly forgotten to include.
"It was awful," Niki insists, despite knowing that Flora's truth ring will risk burning a brand around her finger with the words. His hands have come up to press at his pink cheeks now in exasperation, as if willing the colour to fade and for his composure to return, but whatever his tipsy conversation with Flora had unlocked at her party, it's refusing to get packed neatly away again.
"Fell asleep," he repeats, glancing up at her and trying not to laugh at how thoroughly put out she is at that being entirely it. And now that Niki is sober, he's both much more tight-lipped and articulate, but he's also able to offer context that seems incredibly necessary here.
"Flora, I have never... been with anyone like that, so if it was going to happen I would hope I would be sober enough to have remembered it," he tells her, succeeding in his usually dry tone despite the way the colour deepens at the tips of his ears.
Flora watches the necromancer with that same sharpened attention, though now it narrows into something more pointed, her eyes slipping just slightly as if she’s trying to catch the seam of the lie. "Mhmm," she hums at last, the sound low and skeptical, her head tipping once in a slow, unconvinced nod that just like the gif of her.
As he continues, offering context she hadn’t asked for but clearly needed, her expression shifts again, the incredulity softening into something more dramatic, more deliberately performed as she exhales a quiet sigh and rolls her eyes skyward, as though the entire situation has become just a little exhausting in its innocence. "Well," she says, drawing the word out as if it needs the space to stretch, her tone easing into something almost philosophical, though the glint in her eyes keeps it from ever becoming too serious, "it’s probably for the best, really." Her gaze drifts briefly back toward the water before cutting sideways to him again, a small, knowing smile tugging at her mouth as she tilts her head. "I’m sure as far as rebounds go Sunjata would make it good for everyone," she adds lightly, "but no one ever really wants to be a rebound, so.."
Shrugging her shoulders, Flora will fix Niki with a more genuine gaze, the teasing sparkle having fallen away somewhat, but not enough that the necromancer might not be able to brush off the uncomfortable topic. "Though, just saying, sometimes having your first time not be like...y'know, the be all and end all, is not a bad thing. It's fine to just...get it over with so you don't put it on such a pedestal, y'know?" Remembering it, certainly, seemed a low bar, then again, Flora doubted if Sunjata wasn't highly requested at the House of Midnight for taking virginities for precisely that reason.
Rolling his eyes as she successfully catches his mistruth, and likely would have done with or without a truth ring, Niki exhales a long, hard sigh that briefly puffs out his cheeks before slouching back in his chair to look up at her. Flora is perched over him like some divine matchmaker, beach kissed and wrapped in white, though her suggestions are anything but innocent. "Yes, well," he mutters, a thread of agreement stitching into his tone, "I do not exactly have experience there either, but I do not doubt it. Especially given that Sunjata does not have a heart currently."
That shouldn't matter, not if it was just sex, and yet it spills out regardless.
In response to her more genuine warmth, he offers her a playful if not pointed wrinkle of his nose, fingers drumming lightly on the cover of the book in his lap. "It is lucky for us both that I do not put my chastity on a pedestal then," he says, a hint of dry humour working its way back into his voice, even if his face still feels like it's on fire. "Believe me, it is not that I am saving myself for something grand or world shattering. But I appreciate the advice nevertheless."
There’s a flicker, small but unmistakable, and Flora catches it the way she catches everything. The mention of Sunjata's heart—or lack of it—doesn’t sit neatly in the easy, flippant space she’d carved out for this conversation, and for a moment she feels it tug, feels the shape of something more complicated pressing up against the edges of what had been light. Her teeth find the inside of her lip, a quiet, absent pressure as she considers it, as she considers Niki, and the way that detail lands heavier than it should if this were only about sex and nothing else.
She could follow it, press just a little harder, see what spills out if she leans into the conversation, but she doesn’t. Not today. Not when the edges of it brush too close to things she’d rather not turn over, not with the lingering echo of her mother’s heartbreak sitting somewhere inconvenient in her chest. Instead, she lets the moment slide, smooth as silk, trading it for something easier.
Flora's mouth curves, sharp and playful again, and she leans forward just enough to re-enter Niki's space. "Well, if you did," she says lightly, of his virginity being on a pedestal, "you wouldn’t be able to reach it." She braces immediately after, shoulders lifting just slightly as if anticipating a retaliatory smack from the necromancer, her grin widening in open invitation for it. It dissolves just as quickly into a laugh, easy and warm, as she straightens again and gestures vaguely toward the table, toward the evidence of his earlier catastrophe that she had absolutely nothing to do with. "Well, since you’ve obviously finished your coffee—" her gaze flicks meaningfully to the spill, her brows lifting in quiet emphasis, "—wanna help me train? You can hit me with your cane."
Flora doesn't bring it up and Niki has been looking for an excuse to exit stage-left from this subject since it first appeared, so as she swerves and plucks at the low hanging fruit of his reach, he seizes it without delay. Mouth falling open in affectionate outrage, he delivers the smack she's bracing for by bopping her knee with his closed book. "There are low pedestals," he objects, straightening up as if to make himself (unsuccessfully) seem taller. Granted, no matter how tall he might be, it doesn't make his leg work any better.
Following her gaze to the evidence of his 'finished' coffee, or whatever Flora considers finished to be, Niki lightly rolls his eyes and glances back to the Doubletake just in time for her to offer to get beaten by his cane. "I would be a fool to pass up such an opportunity," he says immediately, his cane promptly appearing so he can get to his feet. Leaving the book on the chair rather than the coffee-spill table, he glances thoughtfully over his shoulder to her.
"I do have to ask, though. How does me hitting you constitute training?"
The book lands against her knee with a soft thud, and Flora laughs immediately, the sound spilling out of her as she folds just slightly at the waist in reaction before straightening again with a grin that lingers, wide and pleased, as though she’s been given exactly what she’d been fishing for.
She rises as he does, kicking off her shoes. When he questions her logic, she tips her head as her eyes roll affectionately. "Well, the point is not to let you do it," she says, the emphasis playful but firm, as if that much should be obvious, her tone threading confidence through the tease. "But I’m going to try and stay on one leg to work on my balance, so that should make it easier on you."
Lifting one leg and settling into the stance with a small adjustment of her hips, arms loose at her sides before she shifts them slightly for balance. The movement isn’t perfect, there’s a faint wobble she doesn’t bother to hide, but the grin she sends his way is sharp with challenge all the same, her brows bouncing once in invitation for him to give it (her) his best shot.
