[Then he takes a big swig of wine, because he wants to, and because it will probably help him to stop looking so very insufferable. Smugness is something in the mouth.
Truthfully his brother is familiar because he looks like Nikos, because Kostos is Kostos. A voice on a page that Nikos could always hear in his head when he was reading his brother's letters. A mirror that frowned back, when Nikos was permitted to go along for a visit. A cheek that Nikos bit once, very hard, and then said it was just because he was pretending to be a wolverine.
And at the same time, Kostos is unfamiliar, because they have not seen one another in years, exchange letters only infrequently, thanks to several factors in both of their lives. And while it is nothing that Nikos is going to dwell over or write about in his journal, it is still a strange thought to consider, as he looks across the table at his brother.]
I'm surprised no one's complained yet. People are always whining at me about the expressions I wear. Perhaps you're more intimidating than I am.
[Nikos raises his cup in a lazy half-toast before he knocks back another sip. Then he leans forward and grabs the edge of the table, levers himself back into position to consider the card that's just been discarded before he picks up his hand and considers what he's holding.]
Anyways. What a blessing for you that our mother is leery at the very idea of Kirkwall. I don't even know that she's send cart or servant. Think of what they would track back on their boots.
[He picks up another card, and discards the Angel of Fortitude with careless ease.]
Edited (oh come on enter key) Date: 2018-02-22 06:21 am (UTC)
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2018-02-22 06:11 am (UTC)[Then he takes a big swig of wine, because he wants to, and because it will probably help him to stop looking so very insufferable. Smugness is something in the mouth.
Truthfully his brother is familiar because he looks like Nikos, because Kostos is Kostos. A voice on a page that Nikos could always hear in his head when he was reading his brother's letters. A mirror that frowned back, when Nikos was permitted to go along for a visit. A cheek that Nikos bit once, very hard, and then said it was just because he was pretending to be a wolverine.
And at the same time, Kostos is unfamiliar, because they have not seen one another in years, exchange letters only infrequently, thanks to several factors in both of their lives. And while it is nothing that Nikos is going to dwell over or write about in his journal, it is still a strange thought to consider, as he looks across the table at his brother.]
I'm surprised no one's complained yet. People are always whining at me about the expressions I wear. Perhaps you're more intimidating than I am.
[Nikos raises his cup in a lazy half-toast before he knocks back another sip. Then he leans forward and grabs the edge of the table, levers himself back into position to consider the card that's just been discarded before he picks up his hand and considers what he's holding.]
Anyways. What a blessing for you that our mother is leery at the very idea of Kirkwall. I don't even know that she's send cart or servant. Think of what they would track back on their boots.
[He picks up another card, and discards the Angel of Fortitude with careless ease.]