'It's a demon,' Nikolai says, and the fixture of the expression worn by the man behind the desk alters instantly into one of a very distinct breed of exhaustion. His hand rises, calloused fingertips rubbing roughly across the wrinkles of a furrowed brow. When Nikolai is finished, Flint's response is instant:
"Oh for fuck's sake."
Could they not have simply led with 'I'm possessed and now this is your problem'?
"Fine," sounds like 'Fuck everything.' "You will meet me in the courtyard this evening to be delivered somewhere secure. You will not speak of this to anyone. You"—is for Zoya—"And I will stand watch outside the cell for the duration of the evening to be certain of the effects. And if you expect me to keep this a secret beyond tonight, you will be disappointed. The other division heads will be made aware."
An interesting reaction. It sparks an immediate narrowing of Nikolai's attention, focusing in on the way Flint veers towards exasperation rather than fear or revulsion, or any of the other reactions Nikolai had braced for.
Is this so commonplace here that they can afford to be bored by such matters? And if it is, then what are the chances there's some remedy for it? He won't hope for anything yet, but the look he directs at Zoya is full of possibility.
If it is not so dissimilar to the look Nikolai wears when boarding one of his new, untested airships, well.
But, rather than the dozens of questions now piling up, Nikolai answers very smoothly, "That isn't necessary. I'll be telling them myself, now that we've handled the particulars of it."
There are objections he'd like to make, first among them the demand this man makes to witness the night's events. It is humiliating to consider, but Nikolai doesn't care to haggle over the terms when it might be easier to simply throw him into the sea and have done with it.
Zoya's most basic instinct is to bristle at Flint's tone, at his orders, at the way he thinks he can speak to the king of a nation, and the commander of his army. There's nothing unreasonable to the notion that the other division heads will need to know — she'd expected it — but everything the Commander chooses to be, in this moment, has her eyes sparking.
And yet Nikolai sees something else. When he looks to her, he isn't dismayed; he glows from the barest of implications. We hope or we falter, as he's said to her before. And in this moment, he looks scarcely like a king to her, instead more like a boy who's heard whispers of sunrise after a long night.
Not that Zoya is moved. She says, simply, "Fine." And if it sounds a little like your manners need as much work as your hairline, well. She had the self-control to leave it unspoken.
"You will do nothing of the sort until I give you leave to," he clips back impatiently. The last thing he needs is an hours long debate on how to handle rifter possession. There is a fucking Seeker on this island, a dozen or more rifters sensitive to the treatment of their fellows, and at least one Division Head with no patience for the Fade-touched.
They haven't begun to handle the particulars.
"Tonight, we will assess the risk. After, we will present your case to the other division heads to determine how best to handle your affliction. I would strongly advise against the thought of the word 'demon' much less it's repetition of use until then."
The snap of that impatience, the order it carries over with it, is an insult of sort. One that settles in the wake of the tenor of conversation, which Nikolai has been mostly content to turn his attention from.
But he knows immediately that Zoya will not take kindly to that. And even though Nikolai had promised himself to patience and diplomacy, to bear up under the reveal of the curse that had plagued and shamed him with good nature and ease into the hands of a man he knows nothing of, he still feels tension drawing through his body, straightening his posture. Charm has ever gotten him through most discussions of this nature: a collection of people sat around a room unsnaring a problem to satisfaction, and he reminds himself of this as he draws breath to answer—
"I'm very grateful that you'll speak alongside me to your fellows," Nikolai tells him, sincere over each word. The bright glow of a few moments earlier has ebbed. "And I am eager to hear your advice as to how to move forward, as I know I am blind to much of what is motion here already. But I hope you understand that there's no need to give me leave. I would prefer we approach this in collaboration."
A compromise, one that hopefully draws away the sting of that until I give you leave had left in it's wake.
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no subject
"Oh for fuck's sake."
Could they not have simply led with 'I'm possessed and now this is your problem'?
"Fine," sounds like 'Fuck everything.' "You will meet me in the courtyard this evening to be delivered somewhere secure. You will not speak of this to anyone. You"—is for Zoya—"And I will stand watch outside the cell for the duration of the evening to be certain of the effects. And if you expect me to keep this a secret beyond tonight, you will be disappointed. The other division heads will be made aware."
no subject
Is this so commonplace here that they can afford to be bored by such matters? And if it is, then what are the chances there's some remedy for it? He won't hope for anything yet, but the look he directs at Zoya is full of possibility.
If it is not so dissimilar to the look Nikolai wears when boarding one of his new, untested airships, well.
But, rather than the dozens of questions now piling up, Nikolai answers very smoothly, "That isn't necessary. I'll be telling them myself, now that we've handled the particulars of it."
There are objections he'd like to make, first among them the demand this man makes to witness the night's events. It is humiliating to consider, but Nikolai doesn't care to haggle over the terms when it might be easier to simply throw him into the sea and have done with it.
no subject
Zoya's most basic instinct is to bristle at Flint's tone, at his orders, at the way he thinks he can speak to the king of a nation, and the commander of his army. There's nothing unreasonable to the notion that the other division heads will need to know — she'd expected it — but everything the Commander chooses to be, in this moment, has her eyes sparking.
And yet Nikolai sees something else. When he looks to her, he isn't dismayed; he glows from the barest of implications. We hope or we falter, as he's said to her before. And in this moment, he looks scarcely like a king to her, instead more like a boy who's heard whispers of sunrise after a long night.
Not that Zoya is moved. She says, simply, "Fine." And if it sounds a little like your manners need as much work as your hairline, well. She had the self-control to leave it unspoken.
no subject
"You will do nothing of the sort until I give you leave to," he clips back impatiently. The last thing he needs is an hours long debate on how to handle rifter possession. There is a fucking Seeker on this island, a dozen or more rifters sensitive to the treatment of their fellows, and at least one Division Head with no patience for the Fade-touched.
They haven't begun to handle the particulars.
"Tonight, we will assess the risk. After, we will present your case to the other division heads to determine how best to handle your affliction. I would strongly advise against the thought of the word 'demon' much less it's repetition of use until then."
no subject
But he knows immediately that Zoya will not take kindly to that. And even though Nikolai had promised himself to patience and diplomacy, to bear up under the reveal of the curse that had plagued and shamed him with good nature and ease into the hands of a man he knows nothing of, he still feels tension drawing through his body, straightening his posture. Charm has ever gotten him through most discussions of this nature: a collection of people sat around a room unsnaring a problem to satisfaction, and he reminds himself of this as he draws breath to answer—
"I'm very grateful that you'll speak alongside me to your fellows," Nikolai tells him, sincere over each word. The bright glow of a few moments earlier has ebbed. "And I am eager to hear your advice as to how to move forward, as I know I am blind to much of what is motion here already. But I hope you understand that there's no need to give me leave. I would prefer we approach this in collaboration."
A compromise, one that hopefully draws away the sting of that until I give you leave had left in it's wake.