[ A nice disembodied question for a nice rainy evening. The voice asking it is quiet, and beyond it there's periodically a murmur of someone else's conversation. He's in the room the mages are sharing while they refuse to work, likewise refusing to work, but not fully capable of refusing to think about work, which presently means thinking about Caius Van Markham's severed neck and the forces his family his consolidating outside the capitol.
There would not have been forces consolidating for the Averesches. Perhaps that also means Nikos would not have been important enough for an axe. Hanging is kinder, anyway, in its way—easier to mummify. ]
Mm, [Nikos says, thoughtfully, which sounds more like disinterest coming from him. And he says it once he's over the what-even-is-this surprise of his brother contacting him out of nowhere.
It's not that they don't talk. They don't talk much. Certainly not in the evening, and not remotely. Not without a hand of cards and a few dozen drinks to protect them. Although--capable of drinking alone--Nikos has been drinking alone, in the blessed quiet of personal isolation.]
I would fucking hope not. People can live for seconds after decapitation. Imagine.
[Not the horror. Imagine how annoying it would be to still be alive.]
Think hanging would have been more likely. [And also,] Planning on handing me over?
[ And, you know, he'd never. Even when he was nineteen and burning with rage over the indignity of being shackled and shipped to Orlais for something he had nothing to do with. At most there might have been threats and sulking and periodic reminders that he could have, but did not. Instead there was silence for enough months for him to cool off, because it took some time and some bribery for the Templars in Ghislain to let letters through.
He tries not to dwell on the thought of Nikos—anyone, it could be anyone, but Nikos—headless and alive. It's his own fault for asking. ]
A few hundred Gulder as a courtesy, perhaps. Or is there still a bounty?
Small. It's shrunk in the past few years. The opposite of me. [On his end, he's balancing his cup on his gut, and smirking at himself.] It would be an execution of principle at this point. Maybe combined with that negligible price of Nevarran gratitude, it would total enough to buy a small private residence. Away from all of your roommates.
[All Maker-knows-how-many of them. Nikos rescues his precarious cup and tips it forward into his mouth, for another sip of wine.]
Might be confusing if you were the one bringing me in, but it would be more interesting than cuddling with half the mages in the Gallows. How many have proved completely insufferable so far?
[For the record, talking shit is what he talks about with Marisol. Most times.]
Mm. [ A delay, first with some rustling as he sits up, then in relative silence, save the aforementioned more distant conversations, as he does a silent headcount, complete with unabashed pointing at heads as they're counted. ] Three-quarters, if I can count those who brought their lovers [ gross ] along as two.
[ Why is that not something people can be executed for. Why must he suffer so. He's only done six hundred and fifty-nine things wrong in his entire life, he doesn't deserve this, etc. ]
If I kept you from wine for a few months first perhaps I could have a medium private residence. That is more promising.
[ Genuinely, perhaps. It did not take most them long after the Inquisition brought them in from the cold to readjust to four walls and armed protectors. But still, a touch defensive— ]
You should have seen the war. Magic makes it much easier to travel with feather beds and fainting couches. In an emergency they may double as barricades.
[ The rational response to realizing that his little (yeah, that's right, little) brother thinks he has to want something to talk to him is probably not to amp up the hostility, but but you know what. ]
Is that what you and your friends do now? Deal in pillows? [ Sick... burn....? ] Are you any better at that?
We are exercising restraint, [ Kostos bites out, which is definitely not the first time those words have been used in that order in relation to this event, ] to avoid irreparable damage to our common cause.
[ So, you know, there. ]
If we set the Gallows on fire we can't all run to Antiva.
[If only they were six years old and not, you know, thirty. If they were six, it would be acceptable to make good on the impulse to find Kostos and give him repeated kicks to the shins until he was on the floor.
Instead, Nikos bores the tip of his knife against the stone wall beside him. I didn't run, he does not say, because it would sound petulant and childish. Even though he didn't run.]
And you were left behind to nanny. Lucky you.
You should try it, you know. Antiva. It's beautiful this time of year. All that sea air, could be good for whatever has crawled up your arse and died.
[ In the absence of the ability to fight over running, he could at least fight over nanny. Something like, if being left here for a week or two makes me a nanny, what are you. But no. That would make too much sense. Instead: ]
[ —led up anyone's ass and died. Not Kostos', at least. But he is too surrounded by people to say that, once he realizes he's about to, and comes to an abrupt (but seething) halt, like a cat suddenly rediscovering its dignity after running circles around a room and knocking everything over. ]
[Nikos only just manages to bite back a furious YOU'RE stupid. Ever the younger brother (by a few minutes only, by no significant margin, no matter what Kostos used to say), he still has to get in a last word.]
Good night. [Sarcastic, maybe a small, small bit in mockery of Kostos' voice.] The next time you want to insult me, write it in a letter. So I can burn it instead of listening to you talk.
[ He can HAVE the last word. Kostos will give it to him, because he is older and wiser and more generous that way, along with a free bonus prolonged pause of the you can't hear me rolling my eyes but I'm going to make you listen to it anyway variety, before the shuffling and hand-on-crystal noises that accompany a connection being severed.
And then he will lie there in his bunk bed and consider whether he's petty enough to have FUCK YOU stamped into a sheet of metal. ]
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timeasmymeasure
crystal.
Date: 2018-04-18 03:50 pm (UTC)[ A nice disembodied question for a nice rainy evening. The voice asking it is quiet, and beyond it there's periodically a murmur of someone else's conversation. He's in the room the mages are sharing while they refuse to work, likewise refusing to work, but not fully capable of refusing to think about work, which presently means thinking about Caius Van Markham's severed neck and the forces his family his consolidating outside the capitol.
There would not have been forces consolidating for the Averesches. Perhaps that also means Nikos would not have been important enough for an axe. Hanging is kinder, anyway, in its way—easier to mummify. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-04-18 08:36 pm (UTC)It's not that they don't talk. They don't talk much. Certainly not in the evening, and not remotely. Not without a hand of cards and a few dozen drinks to protect them. Although--capable of drinking alone--Nikos has been drinking alone, in the blessed quiet of personal isolation.]
I would fucking hope not. People can live for seconds after decapitation. Imagine.
[Not the horror. Imagine how annoying it would be to still be alive.]
Think hanging would have been more likely. [And also,] Planning on handing me over?
[Not why do you ask.]
no subject
Date: 2018-04-20 05:13 am (UTC)[ And, you know, he'd never. Even when he was nineteen and burning with rage over the indignity of being shackled and shipped to Orlais for something he had nothing to do with. At most there might have been threats and sulking and periodic reminders that he could have, but did not. Instead there was silence for enough months for him to cool off, because it took some time and some bribery for the Templars in Ghislain to let letters through.
He tries not to dwell on the thought of Nikos—anyone, it could be anyone, but Nikos—headless and alive. It's his own fault for asking. ]
A few hundred Gulder as a courtesy, perhaps. Or is there still a bounty?
[ Look. He's trying. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-04-20 03:50 pm (UTC)[All Maker-knows-how-many of them. Nikos rescues his precarious cup and tips it forward into his mouth, for another sip of wine.]
Might be confusing if you were the one bringing me in, but it would be more interesting than cuddling with half the mages in the Gallows. How many have proved completely insufferable so far?
[For the record, talking shit is what he talks about with Marisol. Most times.]
no subject
Date: 2018-04-20 08:44 pm (UTC)[ Why is that not something people can be executed for. Why must he suffer so. He's only done six hundred and fifty-nine things wrong in his entire life, he doesn't deserve this, etc. ]
If I kept you from wine for a few months first perhaps I could have a medium private residence. That is more promising.
no subject
Date: 2018-04-21 12:10 am (UTC)[Just saying.]
One extra bed. Why the fuck would anyone bring a bedwarmer to a strike? Perhaps mages are as bad as everyone says.
no subject
Date: 2018-04-22 08:51 am (UTC)[ Genuinely, perhaps. It did not take most them long after the Inquisition brought them in from the cold to readjust to four walls and armed protectors. But still, a touch defensive— ]
You should have seen the war. Magic makes it much easier to travel with feather beds and fainting couches. In an emergency they may double as barricades.
no subject
Date: 2018-04-23 02:35 am (UTC)Is that what you want from me?
no subject
Date: 2018-04-24 04:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-04-24 09:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-04-30 12:09 am (UTC)Is that what you and your friends do now? Deal in pillows? [ Sick... burn....? ] Are you any better at that?
no subject
Date: 2018-04-30 03:01 am (UTC)[Sick burn for sick burn.]
What my friends [heavy on the sarcasm] do is more actionable than sleeping in bunkbeds for a few weeks while petitions circulate.
no subject
Date: 2018-04-30 04:15 am (UTC)[ So, you know, there. ]
If we set the Gallows on fire we can't all run to Antiva.
no subject
Date: 2018-04-30 05:03 pm (UTC)Instead, Nikos bores the tip of his knife against the stone wall beside him. I didn't run, he does not say, because it would sound petulant and childish. Even though he didn't run.]
And you were left behind to nanny. Lucky you.
You should try it, you know. Antiva. It's beautiful this time of year. All that sea air, could be good for whatever has crawled up your arse and died.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-01 04:16 pm (UTC)Sea air does not cure death.
[ ReAd A bOoK. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-05-01 06:36 pm (UTC)Forestalls it, maybe. I'm still alive.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-01 09:35 pm (UTC)[ —led up anyone's ass and died. Not Kostos', at least. But he is too surrounded by people to say that, once he realizes he's about to, and comes to an abrupt (but seething) halt, like a cat suddenly rediscovering its dignity after running circles around a room and knocking everything over. ]
This is stupid. Good night.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-02 06:31 pm (UTC)Good night. [Sarcastic, maybe a small, small bit in mockery of Kostos' voice.] The next time you want to insult me, write it in a letter. So I can burn it instead of listening to you talk.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-03 02:22 am (UTC)And then he will lie there in his bunk bed and consider whether he's petty enough to have FUCK YOU stamped into a sheet of metal. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-05-03 02:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-05-03 02:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-05-03 02:43 am (UTC)