[ He hasn’t been avoiding Nikos, this past month. There has been wine. There have been cards. Between discarding Songs and trying to surreptitiously reacquire discarded Serpents, Kostos has commented on the weather at least once, which counts as talking.
And if that seems like its own kind of avoidance—wine, Wicked Grace, weather—well, it might be, but only as a cover for unseen and unheard but nonetheless determined readjustment to the idea of a brother as a living thing with toes and eyebrows instead of a story being written in irregular installments.
He’s nearly there. Close enough that. He asks, ]
Do Mother and Father know that you’re here?
[ It’s an important question. He’ll have to answer their letter eventually. He needs to know what to say.
It’s also cover, somewhat, for an attempt at the idle sleight-of-hand cheating that’s all but required in the game. He isn’t bad at it, for someone who learned playing against mages instead of Antivans. ]
[An important question answered with a casual question. Nikos, attention fixed on his hand, does not look up.
Which means he misses this particular instance of Kostos cheating. He has already called his brother out at least once this game. He will call him on it again before the game is done. He is better at cards, because he has spent more time playing cards, in Antiva, in Cumberland, in dining halls and taverns and basements and storerooms while someone else kept watch for the intended target.
But he has forgotten, somewhat, what Kostos looks like when he lies. So. There's a handicap.
Deftly, Nikos slips out a card and places it face-up on top of Kostos' last discard. Serpent of Dismay.]
There's a holiday coming up. One of the meaningless little ones they do in Antiva. I expect they'll figure it out when I don't come around. Unless Marisol has preemptively sent a flamingo with the news.
[As he picks up his cup of wine, it occurs to him to ask, flatly:]
[ He lets that hang there a moment, despite there not being anything that threatening about it. Mainly he’s frowning at the card Nikos has discarded, which means that Nikos doesn’t have the sort of hand Kostos thought he had, or else is playing mind games.
When he looks up again, he narrows his eyes for a moment, like he’s on to him, although he is not on to anything. He might never have really known what Nikos looked like when he lied. ]
[Oh, says Nikos' frown, without him having to say it at all or really changing very much.
A letter.]
And have gone into holy seclusion? Novel. [He takes another sip of wine before he tips the cup forward slightly to examine its contents.] I have considered it. Seclusion. But I would have to have the wine delivered, which would put an end to the good seclusive part.
[Pointless. He takes another sip of wine.]
You could forgo the letter. It's not as if they would notice.
[ Kostos cuts a look toward Nikos, one of chiding severity, which is easy for him to emote when he hasn’t lived with them all this time. When the only times he’s seen them since he was nine were the times they were there, intentionally, to see him, usually with presents. ]
And lose the chance to inform on you?
[ He would really like that Serpent. He glances at it again, mentally chides himself for looking at it, weighs the risks while he looks at his own hands, and discards an Angel on top of it. ]
[Unmoved by his brother's look, yet moved by his response, Nikos snorts, loudly. He has been--unflatteringly, unfairly--compared to a horse for this reaction. It has not been enough to make him change his ways.]
And here I was under the impression that our pact was still in effect.
[The pact. It came together after a particularly savage fight in the library. Kostos, with a bloody lip, Nikos with a bite on his hand. Torn clothing too. They were expected at dinner. There would have to be some lie. So: the pact. They wouldn't sell one another out, not for this or for any future incident. They would be stone walls and neither could get into trouble.
Keto had been there as well that night, crying outside the door. Now she is like a wraith, when Nikos thinks of her. She was dead two weeks later. Perhaps that is why. And Kostos left, and the pact remained unbroken by greed or temptation or the promise of reward, as it surely would have been if they had more time.]
If you inform on me, I will have to do the same for you. There are a disgusting amount of wasteful gifts waiting to be delivered to you. It would require, [and he plucks a card from his hand. The Song of Mercy.] a small parade.
[And while his brother is distracted by that horrible image, and as he is laying his Song on top of the discarded Angel, Nikos moves his ring finger, cleverly, to slip out a card discarded four moves ago. A small gesture, one that relies on distraction.]
[ Kostos is thoroughly distracted. First by our pact: he has to reach back through twenty years and through the shroud hung around other memories in close proximity, and while doing that he frowns at Nikos like he's learned some strange fourth language. When he does find the memory in the haze, though—the blood, the bruises, the distant crying, the somber drama (they have not changed all that much) of the handshake—he exhales the sort of exhale that might have been a laugh if he were another person in another situation. The pact.
But then, a threat.
It is only fair, of course. Only a return volley of something Kostos started. But Kostos' face still crumples with horror at the thought of a gift parade. He even covers his eyes so he can massage his temples one-handed. He misses Nikos' sleight of hand entirely. Well played. ]
That is, [ he says, and lowers his hand, ] disproportionate retaliation. Escalation.
[Nikos smiles at his hand as the Knight of Sacrifice shows his face among his knightly brothers.]
A pair of wagons at least. You have never been settled anywhere long enough to receive the gifts, the Circle might not allow you the gifts, the road that led to you was dangerous and the gifts might be stolen, you outright refused the gifts-- [A litany of reasons delivered in the tones of complaints. These are all things that have been said of Kostos when their mother was showing Nikos the room kept stacked with back-burnered presents for him.] --or perhaps fear of refusal preempted the effort. I am never sure of which. And thinking about it now, they may require three carts. There are so many.
[He lays his hand facedown on the table so he can lean back in his chair. Of course, he takes his cup of wine with him, and his next comment is addressed there, and not to his brother.]
I am open to negotiation.
Edited (connect my thoughts together, key component of dialogue) Date: 2018-02-12 04:35 am (UTC)
I'm sure. [ Kostos drums his fingers on the table, once apiece. In another time and place, trading threats with another man, there'd be sparks, like a thumb on the scale. But Nikos must know he'd never. Or if he doesn't know, he's one of the few people Kostos wouldn't want to think otherwise.
He draws a card while he's busy sullenly staring Nikos down, and only looks at it belatedly. The Angel of Death. But his hand is a losing one, unless Nikos has had unreasonably bad luck. He keeps it and discards another. He'll sort out how to play it later—try, at least. ]
[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
ACTION.
Date: 2018-01-30 07:55 pm (UTC)And if that seems like its own kind of avoidance—wine, Wicked Grace, weather—well, it might be, but only as a cover for unseen and unheard but nonetheless determined readjustment to the idea of a brother as a living thing with toes and eyebrows instead of a story being written in irregular installments.
He’s nearly there. Close enough that. He asks, ]
Do Mother and Father know that you’re here?
[ It’s an important question. He’ll have to answer their letter eventually. He needs to know what to say.
It’s also cover, somewhat, for an attempt at the idle sleight-of-hand cheating that’s all but required in the game. He isn’t bad at it, for someone who learned playing against mages instead of Antivans. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-01-30 11:03 pm (UTC)[An important question answered with a casual question. Nikos, attention fixed on his hand, does not look up.
Which means he misses this particular instance of Kostos cheating. He has already called his brother out at least once this game. He will call him on it again before the game is done. He is better at cards, because he has spent more time playing cards, in Antiva, in Cumberland, in dining halls and taverns and basements and storerooms while someone else kept watch for the intended target.
But he has forgotten, somewhat, what Kostos looks like when he lies. So. There's a handicap.
Deftly, Nikos slips out a card and places it face-up on top of Kostos' last discard. Serpent of Dismay.]
There's a holiday coming up. One of the meaningless little ones they do in Antiva. I expect they'll figure it out when I don't come around. Unless Marisol has preemptively sent a flamingo with the news.
[As he picks up his cup of wine, it occurs to him to ask, flatly:]
Why.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-05 07:58 am (UTC)[ He lets that hang there a moment, despite there not being anything that threatening about it. Mainly he’s frowning at the card Nikos has discarded, which means that Nikos doesn’t have the sort of hand Kostos thought he had, or else is playing mind games.
When he looks up again, he narrows his eyes for a moment, like he’s on to him, although he is not on to anything. He might never have really known what Nikos looked like when he lied. ]
I might tell them you have rediscovered religion.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-06 02:16 am (UTC)A letter.]
And have gone into holy seclusion? Novel. [He takes another sip of wine before he tips the cup forward slightly to examine its contents.] I have considered it. Seclusion. But I would have to have the wine delivered, which would put an end to the good seclusive part.
[Pointless. He takes another sip of wine.]
You could forgo the letter. It's not as if they would notice.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-10 08:32 am (UTC)And lose the chance to inform on you?
[ He would really like that Serpent. He glances at it again, mentally chides himself for looking at it, weighs the risks while he looks at his own hands, and discards an Angel on top of it. ]
No.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-11 07:26 am (UTC)And here I was under the impression that our pact was still in effect.
[The pact. It came together after a particularly savage fight in the library. Kostos, with a bloody lip, Nikos with a bite on his hand. Torn clothing too. They were expected at dinner. There would have to be some lie. So: the pact. They wouldn't sell one another out, not for this or for any future incident. They would be stone walls and neither could get into trouble.
Keto had been there as well that night, crying outside the door. Now she is like a wraith, when Nikos thinks of her. She was dead two weeks later. Perhaps that is why. And Kostos left, and the pact remained unbroken by greed or temptation or the promise of reward, as it surely would have been if they had more time.]
If you inform on me, I will have to do the same for you. There are a disgusting amount of wasteful gifts waiting to be delivered to you. It would require, [and he plucks a card from his hand. The Song of Mercy.] a small parade.
[And while his brother is distracted by that horrible image, and as he is laying his Song on top of the discarded Angel, Nikos moves his ring finger, cleverly, to slip out a card discarded four moves ago. A small gesture, one that relies on distraction.]
no subject
Date: 2018-02-12 01:01 am (UTC)But then, a threat.
It is only fair, of course. Only a return volley of something Kostos started. But Kostos' face still crumples with horror at the thought of a gift parade. He even covers his eyes so he can massage his temples one-handed. He misses Nikos' sleight of hand entirely. Well played. ]
That is, [ he says, and lowers his hand, ] disproportionate retaliation. Escalation.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-12 04:32 am (UTC)A pair of wagons at least. You have never been settled anywhere long enough to receive the gifts, the Circle might not allow you the gifts, the road that led to you was dangerous and the gifts might be stolen, you outright refused the gifts-- [A litany of reasons delivered in the tones of complaints. These are all things that have been said of Kostos when their mother was showing Nikos the room kept stacked with back-burnered presents for him.] --or perhaps fear of refusal preempted the effort. I am never sure of which. And thinking about it now, they may require three carts. There are so many.
[He lays his hand facedown on the table so he can lean back in his chair. Of course, he takes his cup of wine with him, and his next comment is addressed there, and not to his brother.]
I am open to negotiation.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-22 03:08 am (UTC)He draws a card while he's busy sullenly staring Nikos down, and only looks at it belatedly. The Angel of Death. But his hand is a losing one, unless Nikos has had unreasonably bad luck. He keeps it and discards another. He'll sort out how to play it later—try, at least. ]
Does smugness look that insufferable on me?
no subject
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.]