open

[inkindled]

WHO: Matthias, Nikos, Salvio (tbd if Doki, Val, and Darras will get open stuff. how did I get all of these characters) + YOU
WHAT: just open stuff, man
WHEN: NOW
WHERE: various
NOTES: tiny bit of self-harm but it's so small and it gets fixed so fast

Comments

Nikos Averesch

[exsecutus]

[other closed stuff might go here too, hmu for something or wildcard]

OPEN -- lowtown tavern

[exsecutus]

[The Silver Fish isn't as gleaming as its name makes it sound. Nikos likes it for that. He has spent a lot of time in taverns like this, shadowed and generally inhabited by people who don't come for the conversation. When he was younger, he used to come to places like this, desperate to prove himself among the People. Slumming. He was a fucking idiot. He knows better now.

Brusque, and without comment, Nikos stuffs the last of his pamphlets under the lantern sitting in the center of the last trestle table. The paper is not very thick, but it's enough to tilt the lantern a little, shifting the light across the scarred surface of the table.

The pamphlets are Caspar's idea. Everything is Caspar's idea. But Caspar's ideas work, usually, so Nikos does as he's told.

The language in the pamphlet is simple and digestible, written to be read. A short summary of the history of the title of viscount, the history of the Orlesian occupation of Kirkwall, the sanctioned process of nobility electing a new line of viscounts from their own ranks when the viscount dies without an heir. A king who is not called a king remains a king, inevitable tyranny. It draws no conclusions but poses simple and pointed questions, questions that the reader of the pamphlet will, hopefully, answer for himself, or at least begin toward consideration.

Or wipe his arse with it, Nikos had said to Caspar, when Caspar read it aloud to him. Which made Caspar laugh, which made Nikos, against all odds, smile, because--Maker's balls--he's over thirty years of age and he is still besotted.

Not right now. Not on his face, at least. It helps that Caspar isn't in the room. Right now, Nikos is ready to get down to the business of drinking the last of his wine, and going back to the bar for more.]

[thereneverwas]

[Already at the bar and acquiring his first drink is one Obeisance Barrow, who, noticing the familiar face (though he isn't sure which one it belongs to), raises his mug in smiling greeting.]

Easier to think down here, isn't it?

[exsecutus]

[Nikos grunts, which is as close as he will get to assenting, and shoves his cup across the bar. It is refilled; he lays down coin.

He doesn't walk away, but tolerates the company for a moment of quiet. Easier to think that way. He takes a mouthful of wine, swallows it, then says,]

Nikos. Not Kostos. To forestall hilarious confusion.

[Or not so hilarious. He's been held accountable for Kostos' debts a few times.]

[thereneverwas]

Not to worry, [Barrow assures him lightly,] I didn't know your names in the first place.

[He takes a sip of his own drink.]

No need to be so dour, I'm just saying hello.

[exsecutus]

[Being unknown is almost nice. Nikos has missed anonymity. He takes a sip of his wine, drowning anything appreciative he might have said.]

This is just how my face looks. [Deadpan.] Unfortunate accident. What's your excuse?

[thereneverwas]

[The quickness and brutality of the insult results in a loud, surprised but delighted bark of laughter.]

Maker.

[He collects himself.]

Just lucky, I suppose.

[exsecutus]

I hope that's not what luck looks like. We all up shit creek if it is.

[thereneverwas]

Shows how much you know. I know for a fact I'm quite handsome.

[exsecutus]

[With great exaggeration, Nikos pushes away from the bar so he's turned toward Barrow, to get a proper look at him. He gives him a slow and very careful up and down, checking him out.

Eventually, he gives his assessment:]

You're a type.

OPEN -- the rookery (like the real one not the comm)

[exsecutus]

[There is a very large and well cared-for raven that puts in regular appearances to the Gallows' rookery. His smooth black plumage and sleek head make him look like a cut-out of midnight whenever he appears. He is well-trained, does not jostle the other birds overmuch as he sits on a perch, eats his fill and then some, but does not peck at anyone's hands if they reach for him.

The letter today, tied tightly to his leg, bears an elaborate purple wax seal, an ornate letter A twisty with vines and blooming flowers. This mark is always upon what he is delivering, in regular correspondence.

Nikos tries to be at the rookery early to intercept, before anyone sees the raven or the letter or the seal. This is difficult for him, after a late night, and he stumbles up the last few steps this morning, looking disheveled and irritated. Breathing heavily, he leans against the wall--after he's checked the patch for caked-on birdshit.]

[sulahnan]

[ Normally, Batty Batkins lives in the aerie with the griffons, but sometimes he finds his way to the rookery, and since she didn't find the giant fluffy creature cuddling up under Chawcey's wing, this seemed like the next best place to look.

So she's here, with an oblong basket of nearly-too-far-gone fruits from the kitchen when Nikos stumbles into view. Athessa turns to look, sees who it is, and hesitates. They haven't spoken since Sonia's party, when she took her frustration out on both him and Kostos. There's a gnawing little voice telling her she should probably apologize...but she doesn't. Not yet, anyway. ]

...Mornin'.

[exsecutus]

[Nikos rolls his eyes around to look at her. Then he closes his eyes and breathes out. It isn't exasperation, exactly.]

Mm.

[Dull and dry-mouthed, he swallows hard. Too early. Still with his eyes closed, he lifts one hand and taps his chest.]

Nikos. [And, in case she needs more prompting,] The friendly one.

[sulahnan]

[ She rolls her eyes. ]

Yeah, I know, [ Dumbass. ] dumbass.

[ ...Whoops. She taps herself the same way, even if his eyes stay closed for the bit. ]

Athessa. The dumb one.

[exsecutus]

[Still with his eyes closed, an appreciative little smirk hitches up the left corner of Nikos' mouth. Which is his way of saying good one, without actually saying it, because you can't just say those things aloud.

But she hangs out with Kostos, so probably that's well-known to her already.

He shoves away from the wall and slumps over to the raven, which watches his approach with glittering black eyes and a cocked head.]

Up here writing to your smart twin?

[sulahnan]

Yeah. That's what all the fruit's for.

[ She lifts it, slightly, in case he hadn't seen the basket that's as big as her torso. (Which isn't that big, actually.) ]

[exsecutus]

Fuck off.

[It's almost amiable. The raven gives a qwork of greeting as Nikos reaches it, and patiently lets him remove the letter fixed to its leg.]

I like to drink when I write. Makes it easier to find things to say. Maybe fruit is your vice, how the fuck should I know.

[sulahnan]

Elfroot is my vice. The fruit is for Batty.

[ She says it plainly, with a little drop of doesn't everyone know this?

And, upon hearing his name, the eagle-sized bat chitters in his corner of the rookery. A canvas sheet has been set up like a tent for the creature to cling to, just like his smaller relatives in Rivain and Antiva do with broad leaves. Athessa walks over to Batty Batkins and offers him the basket, only for the bat to clamber onto her back with his snuffling yellow snout resting over her shoulder. ]

So if you didn't drink, you'd have less to say?

[excipio]

[ There are times when Caspar doesn't set foot in Gallows for weeks, and the routine they've got is mostly that there isn't one: sometimes the letters are frequent, by raven or by messenger. It'd be easy to assume he's in Kirkwall when the letters are that quick, or at least somewhere close; skipping the house calls, lying low, busy. Sometimes the letters are few and far between, and very occasionally they're unanswered until Nikos tries the long route — waiting days for delivery to Antiva, then waiting however many more for the letters to mysteriously find Caspar elsewhere.

He does an alright job of keeping Nikos apprised of where he'll be, all things considered. The silences usually come with a warning. The arrivals — not as often, but sometimes.

Not this time. There's no letter, just him in the rookery, sitting on an old stool near one of the narrow windows and feeding a very large and well cared-for raven some fruit. He gives Nikos a fond smile as he catches his breath, carefully angling an offered grape to avoid being bit. The letter's undisturbed. ]

If you intend to make morning runs a habit, I'd suggest a lighter shirt.

[exsecutus]

[Too breathless to respond verbally, Nikos rolls his head against the wall so he can look around at Caspar, and makes a rude gesture in his direction.

He doesn't mean it. Or, rather, he does, sort of, mean it, but it belies the other feelings that he has upon just hearing Caspar's voice--the way his stomach turns upside-down and his lungs constrict and his heart skips. And looking at him--that warmth that spreads through him, like when you turn your face toward the sun. All very childish and something he should have outgrown at sixteen, but that's the effect that Caspar has on him.

Once he's caught his breath--]

Welcome home. [And also--] Don't feed it, you'll spoil it.

[excipio]

I'll spoil it.

[ It's a very well cared-for bird. Its head puffs up as he gently scritches the back of its neck, black eyes ticking over to watch Nikos expectantly.

Caspar's curiosity wants Nikos to get on with it and read the note, too, but he's better at poker than the raven is. All he's telegraphing is nonchalance, like he'd be content to feed ravens and make small talk all morning. ]

Thank you. Kirkwall's officially home, now?

[exsecutus]

That-- [the glossiness, the plumpness, the utterly indulgent way that the raven permits the scritching] --is not my fault.

[The bird tips its head in Nikos' direction with a sqwark, as if challenging that statement. Nikos scowls and pushes away from the wall at last.]

And that was sarcasm. I fucking hate it here. And I assume you do as well, or else you'd be here more. [Which sounds like a bitchy boyfriend thing to say, and Nikos scowls at himself, and snatches up the note.] What brings you back?

[excipio]

[ Caspar smiles broadly at the list of corrections and the assumption, which isn't entirely wrong. Kirkwall's very literal walls and -towns are hardly his first choice. He lightly kicks Nikos while he's in range to grab the letter, leather boot nudging his shin. ]

You. [ Half true, wholly earnest. He idly retrieves another grape from the cloth he's got bunched in one hand. There's only a few pieces of fruit, which either means he only brought a few or he's already fed the bird the lion's share. ] I thought I'd stay for a bit. Whose fault is it?

[ Other than his, obviously. He's feeding the raven that second (?) grape. ]

[exsecutus]

[His gaze had jerked up at the kick, and then visibly--if imperceptibly to anyone besides Caspar--his expression softens. Which on Nikos means less glaring, but again, Caspar will be able to read that. And the way his shoulders hunch, the little tug of something like a smile--it's not completely true, he knows that, Caspar doesn't do anything for Nikos and Nikos alone, and he would never want him to--but it still feels good to hear it. And good, too, to hear that Caspar will stay. Better than anything.

He quickly scuffs that near-smile to a frown, his version of neutral, and turns his attention back to the letter.]

The Averesches.

[Which quells some of his near-good humor, too. He ignores the raven-feeding, and goes for one of his daggers to cut open the letter.]

They're very generous. As you know. It extends even to animals.

[excipio]

[ He does know, and he didn't really need to ask; he didn't have to open the letter to recognize the seal. There are plenty of things he knows or could know without asking. He could open said letters and deftly reseal them, or he could ask any number of the agents who occasionally check in on Nikos — strictly under order to make sure he's still alive and kicking and not in imminent trouble, never to pry.

It's much more interesting to ask. He's used to secrets having more power when someone doesn't know you're onto them, but Nikos' secrets? Completely worthless unless they're willingly given. ]

Yes, of course— and Spiders. I think I still owe them a thank you letter for their generous buy-in.

[ a 10+ year overdue letter for an illegal thing they didn't know they were funding would be polite, yes ]