[ it's a relief to allow kaz to take control, even if he's going to wrench it back without warning. it affords him a moment to think, to consider if this plan formulating in his head will get them both killed in the worst possible way. it sounds mad if he picks it apart, so he doesn't. kaz has seen him control the demon once, back in ketterdam when they nicked the titanium, and even that lacked finesse. but nikolai knows if he can't manage it now, then all the better for the sea to sweep him away.
kaz may not agree. kaz will simply not be consulted, then. he is the captain, after all, and needs no approval for his mad schemes.
i don't trust anyone but myself. of course. the truth comes out haltingly, as most things that require the barest hint of honesty. hold on a moment longer. his line, historically, in the face of disaster. before he watched dominik slip away. he blinks back the memory, refocuses on kaz instead, his methodical movements in slowing the hemorrhaging of this situation. they're alike in this way, though what drives them might be different. for nikolai, hope. always hope, even when he can't see it. kaz may not wish to ascribe his fortitude to something so trite, but without it, he wouldn't be moving at all.
he's careful with the bandage, eyes flickering over his wounds before covering them. if they survive, he will have to atone for those, too. he's almost glad for the blood in his mouth, making the scales feel more balanced. the height of absurdity, or just self-flagellation. ]
I should spit it on you, Brekker. [ something uncoils in him. a bad idea. his favorite kind. this smile feels more like himself — not the soft ones he reserves just for kaz, but the sharply reckless grin befitting of an unscrupulous privateer. ] For not shooting me back on the ship.
[ their arms wind, and he balances himself again with kaz's eyes. he's never been more glad to see the sky. kaz is going to kill you, if you survive this. it feels like a challenge, like a balm over his wounds. the swipe of kaz's thumb over his wrist is a triumph in itself. he never would have done that, before. he hopes he'll do it again. ]
The way is down. [ he uses their linked arms to jerk kaz against him, wrapping both arms around him, his hand at the back of his skull to secure him against his shoulder. ] Take a deep breath, Kaz. And don't let go.
[ he fills his aching lungs with air before dragging them both underwater, keeping a tight hold on kaz as they dive — deeper and deeper. he can barely see through the darkness, but he doesn't need to know where he's going. all he needs is to go down. one day you're going to have to stop asking so much of brekker. one day that isn't today.
down he goes. his lungs grow tight, but he doesn't stop. the demon moves, and he would laugh if it wouldn't fill him with seawater. he has bested this beast before, faced certain doom with it before. he remembers the way it shrieked for release when he was plummeting to what should have been his death in his flyer. he was too prideful, then, to give in, or perhaps too ashamed. he casts both away now, holding the leash tight as the thing howls inside of him, clawing at his chest, and it isn't until the pressure for air becomes too great for him to stand that he finally lets go.
spit out any blood, princeling. air bubbles in a cloud of red rush out of him when his jaws open wide, fangs dropping, his fingers sharpening to talons. this time, he's careful not to pierce flesh, keeping an iron grip on kaz. is he panicking? is he angry? things he can smooth over later. he feels the shadow of his wings spread, and within seconds they rush impossibly fast to the surface.
then — air. wind. the darkness of the night sky. he doesn't feel his wounds, doesn't feel fear. for a moment, he feels free. you sour beast, he thinks, why can't it always be like this? he careens toward the shore — not the docks where everyone can see you, you imbecile — banking sharply toward the headland to a deserted stretch of sandy shore. high trees. rocks. don't hit the rocks. not the trees, either. he estimates the landing, falls more into the margin of error. something to work on later. they tumble into the sand, nikolai's breath knocked out of him as he shrinks back to himself and sputters to a stop. his arms drop. he rolls onto his back. tries not to vomit. ]
Bloody Saints. [ the sky tilts above him. dizzy. his side hurts again, not helped by the bout of hysterical laughter bubbling out of him. he wipes the back of his hand over his bloody mouth. kaz. saints. he dragged this boy into the depths of the sea and now he's laughing about it. he turns his head, trying to catch his breath. ] Are you all right, Brekker?
no subject
kaz may not agree. kaz will simply not be consulted, then. he is the captain, after all, and needs no approval for his mad schemes.
i don't trust anyone but myself. of course. the truth comes out haltingly, as most things that require the barest hint of honesty. hold on a moment longer. his line, historically, in the face of disaster. before he watched dominik slip away. he blinks back the memory, refocuses on kaz instead, his methodical movements in slowing the hemorrhaging of this situation. they're alike in this way, though what drives them might be different. for nikolai, hope. always hope, even when he can't see it. kaz may not wish to ascribe his fortitude to something so trite, but without it, he wouldn't be moving at all.
he's careful with the bandage, eyes flickering over his wounds before covering them. if they survive, he will have to atone for those, too. he's almost glad for the blood in his mouth, making the scales feel more balanced. the height of absurdity, or just self-flagellation. ]
I should spit it on you, Brekker. [ something uncoils in him. a bad idea. his favorite kind. this smile feels more like himself — not the soft ones he reserves just for kaz, but the sharply reckless grin befitting of an unscrupulous privateer. ] For not shooting me back on the ship.
[ their arms wind, and he balances himself again with kaz's eyes. he's never been more glad to see the sky. kaz is going to kill you, if you survive this. it feels like a challenge, like a balm over his wounds. the swipe of kaz's thumb over his wrist is a triumph in itself. he never would have done that, before. he hopes he'll do it again. ]
The way is down. [ he uses their linked arms to jerk kaz against him, wrapping both arms around him, his hand at the back of his skull to secure him against his shoulder. ] Take a deep breath, Kaz. And don't let go.
[ he fills his aching lungs with air before dragging them both underwater, keeping a tight hold on kaz as they dive — deeper and deeper. he can barely see through the darkness, but he doesn't need to know where he's going. all he needs is to go down. one day you're going to have to stop asking so much of brekker. one day that isn't today.
down he goes. his lungs grow tight, but he doesn't stop. the demon moves, and he would laugh if it wouldn't fill him with seawater. he has bested this beast before, faced certain doom with it before. he remembers the way it shrieked for release when he was plummeting to what should have been his death in his flyer. he was too prideful, then, to give in, or perhaps too ashamed. he casts both away now, holding the leash tight as the thing howls inside of him, clawing at his chest, and it isn't until the pressure for air becomes too great for him to stand that he finally lets go.
spit out any blood, princeling. air bubbles in a cloud of red rush out of him when his jaws open wide, fangs dropping, his fingers sharpening to talons. this time, he's careful not to pierce flesh, keeping an iron grip on kaz. is he panicking? is he angry? things he can smooth over later. he feels the shadow of his wings spread, and within seconds they rush impossibly fast to the surface.
then — air. wind. the darkness of the night sky. he doesn't feel his wounds, doesn't feel fear. for a moment, he feels free. you sour beast, he thinks, why can't it always be like this? he careens toward the shore — not the docks where everyone can see you, you imbecile — banking sharply toward the headland to a deserted stretch of sandy shore. high trees. rocks. don't hit the rocks. not the trees, either. he estimates the landing, falls more into the margin of error. something to work on later. they tumble into the sand, nikolai's breath knocked out of him as he shrinks back to himself and sputters to a stop. his arms drop. he rolls onto his back. tries not to vomit. ]
Bloody Saints. [ the sky tilts above him. dizzy. his side hurts again, not helped by the bout of hysterical laughter bubbling out of him. he wipes the back of his hand over his bloody mouth. kaz. saints. he dragged this boy into the depths of the sea and now he's laughing about it. he turns his head, trying to catch his breath. ] Are you all right, Brekker?