~{N} i k o m i s__{C} r i m s o n g a z e~
+>and<+
*[V] i r g i l__[D] a r k s t a r*
+>and<+
*[V] i r g i l__[D] a r k s t a r*
Do you want to get a w a y from [her]?
Do you want to l i v e a life >free< from the {pain}, the <pressure>?
Click. Click. Click.
It was a comforting sound. A solid sound. The sound that reminded him there was, after all, something firm and hard that he placed his feet on and tapped the silver tip of his six foot staff against as he strode down the corridor. Stone corridor. Cold corridor. For anyone else it might have been depressing. For anyone else in that position it might have even been home. For Nikomis is was a hallway. He saw no need to put emphasis on insignificant trivialities. they were just that, trivialities. His mind had more important things to worry about.
His mind was preoccupied with the desire for nicotine. His lungs thirsted for the smoke. His tongue thirsted for the drink. It was a weakness; one he hide away as a normality, but hated nonetheless. It was one he gave into only in the most distressing situations.
Now was one of those situations.
Silence. Silence signified solitude, and Niko liked solitude. Solitude meant no one would bother him. Solitude meant no one would disturb him, and that was just how he liked it.
One glove hand landed on the brass handle of his door; the door hadn't been opened in some time, a year at least, but that didn't mean anything. It was a usual occurrence for him to disappear for a year at a time, only returning to school to receive his new apprentices. This year he was interested in no such thing. This year he had walked through the entrance hall without telling anyone he was available for new apprentices. This year all he cared to do was taste the bitter taste of fermented anything and breathe the polluted air that his cigarettes provided him. This year he wished to be alone.
The door opened easily; making no sound, as if it sensed the mood of it's mage and decided it would be best to behave. Niko entered, allowing the solid core door to fall shut behind him with an echoing boom that resounded down the corridor. It did not matter to him; there was no one here to bother him about it.
He dropped into the high-backed, black leather armchair that stood in front of the fire and fished a package of cigarettes from the pocket of his robes. A bottle from the door beside the fireplace was soon to follow. The harsh liquid burned going down; the smoke chaffed his lips and lungs and he loved it. He reveled in it; he wanted more and he needed more. And there was more, so he had more. More, and more still; more than that cigarette, more than just the pack it had come from, and more than just one bottle, more than two even. He feared not for his life, for he would have preferred that it was no longer a life; it would have been a very pleasant way to die. A long sleep. A painless sleep with no headache to wake up to. An eternal, painless sleep.
Nothing. There's nothing inside me.
"Nothing," Niko insisted aloud, contemplating the combination of alcohol and fire. His voice cracked along with his smooth facade.
The hood, which had previously hidden his face from view, fell away to reveal his face, pale and angular like a famished dog. His expression was distressed; his lips trembled with the emotion he tried so hard to convince himself he could not feel, but his eyes gave away everything his body did not.
His eyes.
It was a sight most people never saw. It was a sight most people did not want to see. The color itself was unnerving enough; a color that suggested someone had stabbed him, and yet, instead of bleeding, he had filled up with the liquid: filled up all the way to his eyes. But that was not the tell-tale part of them. They were the eyes of someone cruel and careless, of someone who had killed many and cared little. The eyes of someone who would do it again without a second thought. The eyes who had done everything and regretted nothing--nothing except this.
This.
It was impossible to tell what "this" was, but it was regretted. The eyes of blood filled to the brim with hot, clear fluid. The eyes of a murderer regretted. He buried his head in his hands, his mouth cracking open without his assent; he hid his face, ashamed of existence.
"Niko..."
The words came from everywhere and no where. It was not his voice; it was the voice of a snake, a succubus, a shadow--and yet it flowed from his mouth, produced by him and issued over his lips and out into the world.
"Cry not, child; cry not. Mortals do not deserve your tears. Mortals do not deserve your care." His body language changed abruptly during the time when these words were spoken, as if he were relaxed in the arms of some comforting being.
Niko did not lift his head from his hands, but spoke in a muffled voice.
"Gone... gone..." his voice cracked once more; the voice of one in complete and utter despair. Nothing existed worth living for anymore.
"Gone for the best; gone, and never to darken a doorway again. Life is better without them. Life always has been. We don't need her."
"Never...?"
"Never. It is just us now. Us again. Sleep Niko, sleep. Forget mortals, and the mortals will forget you. You have power. You are superior."
You are supreme.
It was a comforting sound. A solid sound. The sound that reminded him there was, after all, something firm and hard that he placed his feet on and tapped the silver tip of his six foot staff against as he strode down the corridor. Stone corridor. Cold corridor. For anyone else it might have been depressing. For anyone else in that position it might have even been home. For Nikomis is was a hallway. He saw no need to put emphasis on insignificant trivialities. they were just that, trivialities. His mind had more important things to worry about.
His mind was preoccupied with the desire for nicotine. His lungs thirsted for the smoke. His tongue thirsted for the drink. It was a weakness; one he hide away as a normality, but hated nonetheless. It was one he gave into only in the most distressing situations.
Now was one of those situations.
Silence. Silence signified solitude, and Niko liked solitude. Solitude meant no one would bother him. Solitude meant no one would disturb him, and that was just how he liked it.
One glove hand landed on the brass handle of his door; the door hadn't been opened in some time, a year at least, but that didn't mean anything. It was a usual occurrence for him to disappear for a year at a time, only returning to school to receive his new apprentices. This year he was interested in no such thing. This year he had walked through the entrance hall without telling anyone he was available for new apprentices. This year all he cared to do was taste the bitter taste of fermented anything and breathe the polluted air that his cigarettes provided him. This year he wished to be alone.
The door opened easily; making no sound, as if it sensed the mood of it's mage and decided it would be best to behave. Niko entered, allowing the solid core door to fall shut behind him with an echoing boom that resounded down the corridor. It did not matter to him; there was no one here to bother him about it.
He dropped into the high-backed, black leather armchair that stood in front of the fire and fished a package of cigarettes from the pocket of his robes. A bottle from the door beside the fireplace was soon to follow. The harsh liquid burned going down; the smoke chaffed his lips and lungs and he loved it. He reveled in it; he wanted more and he needed more. And there was more, so he had more. More, and more still; more than that cigarette, more than just the pack it had come from, and more than just one bottle, more than two even. He feared not for his life, for he would have preferred that it was no longer a life; it would have been a very pleasant way to die. A long sleep. A painless sleep with no headache to wake up to. An eternal, painless sleep.
Nothing. There's nothing inside me.
"Nothing," Niko insisted aloud, contemplating the combination of alcohol and fire. His voice cracked along with his smooth facade.
The hood, which had previously hidden his face from view, fell away to reveal his face, pale and angular like a famished dog. His expression was distressed; his lips trembled with the emotion he tried so hard to convince himself he could not feel, but his eyes gave away everything his body did not.
His eyes.
It was a sight most people never saw. It was a sight most people did not want to see. The color itself was unnerving enough; a color that suggested someone had stabbed him, and yet, instead of bleeding, he had filled up with the liquid: filled up all the way to his eyes. But that was not the tell-tale part of them. They were the eyes of someone cruel and careless, of someone who had killed many and cared little. The eyes of someone who would do it again without a second thought. The eyes who had done everything and regretted nothing--nothing except this.
This.
It was impossible to tell what "this" was, but it was regretted. The eyes of blood filled to the brim with hot, clear fluid. The eyes of a murderer regretted. He buried his head in his hands, his mouth cracking open without his assent; he hid his face, ashamed of existence.
"Niko..."
The words came from everywhere and no where. It was not his voice; it was the voice of a snake, a succubus, a shadow--and yet it flowed from his mouth, produced by him and issued over his lips and out into the world.
"Cry not, child; cry not. Mortals do not deserve your tears. Mortals do not deserve your care." His body language changed abruptly during the time when these words were spoken, as if he were relaxed in the arms of some comforting being.
Niko did not lift his head from his hands, but spoke in a muffled voice.
"Gone... gone..." his voice cracked once more; the voice of one in complete and utter despair. Nothing existed worth living for anymore.
"Gone for the best; gone, and never to darken a doorway again. Life is better without them. Life always has been. We don't need her."
"Never...?"
"Never. It is just us now. Us again. Sleep Niko, sleep. Forget mortals, and the mortals will forget you. You have power. You are superior."
You are supreme.
I can take you to a w o r l d where [magic] is >coveted<,
I can give you the {power} to do unto o t h e r s as the did unto <you>.
I can give you the {power} to do unto o t h e r s as the did unto <you>.
