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Entry tags:
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WHO: Caspar Perakis & Nikos Averesch
WHAT: a tearful reunion while waiting for some intel
WHEN: NOW. but at night.
WHERE: Darktown, where all romantic reunions take place.
NOTES: nah
WHAT: a tearful reunion while waiting for some intel
WHEN: NOW. but at night.
WHERE: Darktown, where all romantic reunions take place.
NOTES: nah
"You're a fucking idiot," Nikos says, to the love of his life.
They have exchanged letters, written in code. Do not come to Kirkwall is a pretty clear directive, even after it is decoded. And yet Nikos had known, as he folded that last letter, that Caspar would come to Kirkwall anyways.
He can't, in words, explain why he wanted Caspar not to come. Part of it is maybe that Kirkwall positions Caspar too close to two people Nikos is not eager for him to encounter. He loves Marisol; he's related to Kostos. And Caspar is a different part of him that exists elsewhere, and always has. Better that it stay that way.
Kirkwall is also where Nikos was sent, to work. And when you are somewhere in the field, working, and suddenly the the head of the organization takes an interest in your particular corner of field and comes calling, it feels like a failure. In their line of work, failure often means cutting your losses and getting the fuck out of town. So it's not proper failure. And Caspar isn't the proper head of a proper organization; Caspar is, in fact, much more than that. For one, he's not Nikos' supervisor. They are, probably, equals, among other titles and pronouns and things. But Caspar is the one who smiles, who talks, who inspires, who makes people want to attend to what he has to say. Certainly it worked on Nikos. Still does, if he were to be truthful.
He is not letting it work on him today. In Darktown, in the back corner of a very dingy tavern, in a booth tucked into a nook with a low and greasy lamp hanging over it, Nikos has his arms folded over his chest and his arse half off the bench and a frown settled so deep on his face it looks as if it has stuck that way. Which would imply that his mother's warning has finally come true.
Crumpled on the table is a note that Nikos had discovered just today, written in that personal code. Two words, only: Broken Dog, and then the little symbol that Caspar uses in place of his name or his initial. Found stuffed under Nikos' door when he woke up this morning, setting the tone for the whole day.
Nikos has been at this table since the afternoon. He has plans, later--a handoff of the names of Van Markham supporters. He should be waiting there, staking out the site. Instead he has been here, drinking bad wine, since this afternoon. The sign outside--two halves of a dog, no written name--had been an obvious indication of where he is to meet Caspar, who is sidling up to the table now as if they were still schoolboys meeting for a drink after their last class. He looks well, which Nikos confirms in a glance. He looks fantastic, even in a bulky cloak. He wants to kiss him as much as he wants to punch him.
He settles instead for shoving the crumpled note across the table, so that it falls onto the seat of the built-in bench that Caspar will sit on.
"My contact expects me within the hour," he says, in a very low tone. "My contact expects to meet one man. You could have shown up earlier. Or not at all, as I suggested."
hi cavill was annoying so i have a new pb. SURPRISe NIKoS...........
"Clever as always." More like stating the obvious. He wonders if the comment about wealthy recruits is a jab at someone specific, but it doesn't really matter, and he doesn't ask. Instead he takes a short drink and stands up, flashing a broader smile as he catches Nikos' gaze.
The trip to the Gallows is more quiet because they've got nothing to say in public than companionable, though it's sort of that, too — they've spent enough time laying low for this to feel routine, even after months apart. Once they're at the docks, he finally slants Nikos a look; his expression is reserved, but it's one Nikos knows. Teasing.
"The reports don't do it justice."
Reports as in Nikos' condemnations? The ones claiming the Inquisition is a terrifyingly efficient threat, or the ones calling it a hot mess? Probably all of them.
ok but i love him
At last because they've come all this way together in trim silence, walking more or less side by side. At last because it is finally just the two of them standing together at the edge of the docks, facing toward the Gallows at this present moment, a moment separate from the miserable crowds of Kirkwall proper that they pushed through, and separate too from the few others that are gathered behind them, waiting on the ferry. At last, because Nikos does know that look, that Caspar is wearing in this moment, and he would never admit it to anyone but it is one of his favorite looks on Caspar, and because buried in Nikos is something like humor, running toward grim and clipped and sarcastic but nevertheless appreciative of Caspar's stupid dry remark--and ultimately because Nikos really, really has missed Caspar, really does love Caspar, so much that it makes him angry sometimes--
All this is to say that now, at last, Nikos looks over at Caspar. His expression has cleared again, and yes, fine. He'll smile.
Sort of. It's reserved, too, but it's one that Caspar knows just as well.
"If you wanted a poet to send reports," he says, and leaves it hanging. "There were enough of them lounging around."
Way back when, he means, back when Nikos wasn't the only one hanging on Caspar's every word. All manner of people, men and women. And Nikos, tight-lipped, glaring from the back of the room.
"It's a shithole. Which is why I said don't bother. Among other reasons. But you're a pigheaded fool, so," now they're here, and Nikos gestures toward the slumped mass of the Gallows, which awaits Caspar's presence. His favorite fool.
guess what i love yOU
"Ah, but I'm your favorite pigheaded fool." Mind-reading. The Gallows is a shithole, though. It's instinct to give the scene an assessing once-over. The state of the buildings across the way, the boats, the people waiting to cross. It's haphazard, and it isn't exactly impressive, but it seems functional enough. Absently, "You could've at least arranged a private boat."
You know, with all that advance notice he gave.
plurkblushemoji
Nikos should be able to say something to Caspar by now. He isn't a poet. He is thirty years old, and he has spent nearly half of his life in proximity to Caspar, in obsession with Caspar, looking at Caspar and thinking about Caspar so, by now, he should be able to speak to Caspar. Instead he feels the burn of feeling flush into his face, and he doesn't know how to say what he feels, and wordlessness sours into frustration, which curdles to anger--which means Nikos looks down, quickly, at his boots, lest Caspar catch greater sight of emotion that he can't release in words.
Two seconds, to collect himself. Because, after all, he is thirty years old, and has learned a little control. And then it's easier to be snappy back at Caspar, as long as Caspar is looking at the Gallows and no longer turning the dazzling brunt of himself right on Nikos.
"You could have advised me of your stupid plans, with transparency and a stricter timeline." With all that advance notice indeed. "The ferry is more economical. As far as I know, we don't spare coin for luxury." And he knows exactly what he's doing when he adds, "Give me one good reason that we would have spared coin for a private boat."
Tell secrets, make out. They're about the same, in terms of what Nikos is into, what he likes to see Caspar use his mouth for. He fixes his eyes on the approaching ferry and does not look at Caspar.
throws self respect into the garbage
He still shifts his weight, leaning imperceptibly closer to Nikos. A small comfort, even if there's still plenty of perfectly appropriate space between them. He shifts his focus out across the water, following Nikos' lead and allowing him to stew without audience.
"Impatience."
That covers both. Sort of. The small crowd behind them starts to move forward as the ferry docks, and Caspar steps forward, unhurried, giving Nikos another look.
"You can get boats without coin, you know."
Friends of friends of friends, and all that. Then again, asking for friendly favors has never exactly been Nikos' main talent. And all ribbing aside, it's clear that Caspar is perfectly fine with the ferry; it's just harmless, pointless talk to fill the space before they can speak plainly. Technically, the ferry's better — easier to get a pulse on the mood of the Inquisition, even if he'd also technically rather be getting a feel for Nikos' pulse.
good riddance also I'm so happy
Impatience is a very nice word for this feeling. The war in Nikos is all emotion and desire and sentimentality, feelings, versus how he very much does want it to get out that, if one were to translate Nikos' inner feelings to a physical material, the weight and force of those feelings would be enough to sink a small fleet of ferries, never mind the single sad ferry that they are stepping on to.
"You can get boats without coin," he corrects. The ferry is low and shallow-bottomed, with three rows of benches like a rough outdoorsy classroom. The floor of it pitches and rocks as people begin to fill in. Nikos moves straight to sit, stiffly, at the back, as close to the end of the bench as he is able. "As I have seen it, you can get most anything without coin, and to make it worse, you blithely assume the same power has been gifted to everyone, but it hasn't. Congratulations on your ability to work miracles."
8^)
"Thank you." As if Nikos' remark was an honest compliment, though his tone's too cheeky to be taken seriously. He's watching Nikos now, not the towers or the water or the other passengers as the ferry pushes off with a deep, slow rock. His attention's easy, though; fond, casual. This isn't business — it's simple catching up.
"Did you ever imagine you'd end up living in a templar's tower?"
(^B
Instead, he dares to look back at Caspar. Manages a kind of half-smile.
"I was born a toff, as you well know. Thought I'd live in a mansion. In a garden shed on the grounds, if my lord proved in a particularly generous mood the day we divvied up the holdings. Somehow I never once considered the life of a templar as an appealing alternative. Always hated them. As I understand it, my current room was last occupied by a member of the Order known to be disturbingly monastic. It will be a pleasure," too rich a word, so he is careful to say it deadpan, "to profane it a little."
With Caspar, he means. Obviously. So obvious he leaves it entirely unsaid, and by force of will, manages to hold his gaze. Caspar is being unfair, playing to Nikos' weaknesses, giving him that smile, so he has to reclaim ground.
an important month late tag
He echoes, thoughtfully, as if in agreement and with none of the weight the subject requires. He seems slightly distracted, though the cause of his distraction is entirely on topic. He's considering Nikos as a proper toff, making a genuine effort to fit into high society without making waves or offending gentle ladies, which is entertaining enough on its own. But then he's imagining Nikos the templar, which is so wildly outlandish that it's hard to sincerely call it appealing, but—
"Do you suppose they've left any uniforms? Storage, perhaps."
an important answer to the important tag
The thing about Caspar is, he might be serious. Or he might be trying Nikos' patience. Or simply joking. And Nikos, looking at Caspar, does not know which it is, or even which he would prefer.
"I worry about you," he says, eventually. Which is, tellingly, neither a yes or a no.