sobachka

#KORZNI  ;  an INDEPENT and SEMI-SELECTIVE interpretation of NIKOLAI LANTSOV from the GRISHAVERSE novels by leigh bardugo. this blog can be both book and show compliant. 

                                  ‘   —  also known to answer to ‘sweetheart’ or ‘handsome’.   ’ 

                                      CARRD.        PINTEREST.        MEMES.  

— @mrachnyie sent   ‘ how did you get in here? ’

'  well,     there’s a door,  ’  nikolai says,     an edge of confusion colouring his voice as he glances from aleksander to the hallway outside then back again.  ‘  that’s how most people come and go from this room.  ’   there’s something in the other man’s posture that he doesn’t like;     something that makes him feel almost nervous.     he squints a little.     the room is dark inside and aleksander’s face is half obscured by shadow.     it casts him in a new and unfamiliar light;     like a caricature villain in some quaint,     small-town festival.     it’s a ridiculous and childish thought,     but he can’t shake it.     he clears his throat and tries to regain his composure,     knowing fine well that his friend will see right through him.

he isn’t sure if he wants him to comment;     to make some joke and break the spell.     he isn’t sure if it would make him feel any less on edge. 

@korzni  sent   :       ‘  how  did  you  get  in  here?  ’

          this  particular  feeling  was  one  that  inej  knew  would  never  grow  old  —   the quiet sense of pride that came with knowing she could do the impossible,  the rush she still felt when she snuck up on someone unseen.

     “   your  window  was  open.   ”     four storeys up,  but that’d never stopped her before.   inej’s posture was as sharp as ever,  but she let her hands hang at her side, empty ;   she was unarmed,  here to talk and nothing more.     “   you  should  be  more  cautious.   you  never  know  what  might  come  crawling  in.   ”

’  i’ve heard that,  ’  he said slowly,     not moving from the doorway,     hand still resting lightly on the bronze handle.     ‘  i suppose i always thought people were talking about  ...  oh,     i don’t know.     spiders?     lizards,     maybe?  ’ 

alina gave a light, little scoff and rolled her eyes. of course he does, she thought to herself. and why wouldn’t he? he’s a prince, first of all. and with a handsome face, and charm for days. she would admit it had become increasingly difficult to say no to him, the more time they spent together.

“me?” she scoffed again. “i am plenty charming, thank you! no false compliments needed at all.”

nikolai raised a brow at that.     charming wasn’t the word he would have used.     that wasn’t to say she wasn’t perfectly likeable.     he liked her rather a lot;     found her stubbornness helplessly endearing.     she wasn’t what he’d expected from a would-be saint.    not even close. 

it’s  always  harder  at  night.    to  cope  with  the  loss  that  hangs  so  heavy  from  her  shoulders  ,    to  curl  up  in  a  large  ,    empty  bed  and  know  that  he  should  be  here.    that  she  should’ve  been  able  to  save  him  ,    to    protect  him.    like  he  had  protected  her.    but  it  is  not  just  matthias  that  haunts  her  ,    the  dead  are  restless  and  so  is  she.    whispers  on  the  wind  ,    unheard  to  all  ears  but  her  own.    requests    ,    demands  ,    pleas  ,    last  thoughts  just  before  the  moment  of  their  demise    —      they  tangle  like  vines  within  her  skull  ,    curling  up  and  over  each  other  ,    thorns  prickling  at  delicate  flesh  and  effectively  causing  her  to  ,    for  what  feels  like  the  millionth  time  ,    question  her  sanity.  

nina  doesn’t  pretend  to  understand  this  power  of  hers  ,    there  is  no  one  to  teach  her.    to  compare  notes  with.    but  somehow  ,    he  calms  it.    whether  it’s  this  room  ,    merely  the  presence  of  another  person  or  something  specific  to  the  king  himself  ,    she  does  not  know.    she  does  not    care.    she  crosses  the  space  and  does  as  he  requests  without  a  word  ,    gooseflesh  scattering  along  the  bare  skin  of  her  arms  as  the  night  air  rushes  to  greet  her.  

sleep  was  ,    it  seemed  ,    a  foreign  concept  to  them    both.    one  of  the  reasons  she  liked  him  so  much.    so  her  lips  twitch  ,    a  semblance  of  a  smile.    there  one  moment  ,    gone  the  next.    the  bottle  replaces  it  ,    pressed  to  pale  lips  as  the  wine  is  graciously  swallowed.    ‘    sleep.    ’      the  word  said  ‘round  a  scoff.      ‘    who  needs  it  ,    right  ??    ’

we need it more than anyone,     he thinks,     but he doesn’t dare to say it out loud.     they have an understanding between them that they will not speak about their problems.     they won’t acknowledge the deep shadows under each-other’s eyes,     nor the dim,     humourless smiles.     they won’t talk about the drinking and they will not,     under any circumstances,     talk about their feelings.

pretending to be happy is easy.     sincerity is hard. 

'  i’d toast to that,     but i don’t have a glass.     i wasn’t expecting company.  ’  his tone isn’t pointed or unkind,     just factual.     not that he’s especially worried about it his comment being taken the wrong way.     not with nina.     they share a unique understanding,     he thinks.     she either knows what he means when he speaks in plain terms or she simply steamrolls over any doubts she might have about his meaning.     either way,     her presence is a comfort.     he doesn’t have to second-guess or dress up his words.     he can speak freely.     in some ways it’s like being on his own,    only with a friendly face and good humour to keep the darkness away.  

— @archivars​ sent   ‘ your heart is an idiot, just like the rest of you ’

— @sanktasolntse​ sent   ‘ 🛏 ’

nikolai wakes in a partial state of undress,     sunlight streaming in through his bedroom window and lighting up the room in shades of cream,     red,     and gold.     it’s a beautiful morning.     the birds are singing and the sky is blue   ...   so he does what any egregiously hungover man would and closes his eyes again,     wishing for the merciful embrace of death to free him from his pain.     the pillow by his right cheek is damp with drool,     not his own.     a few months ago that would have indicated scandal;     a stranger to greet with breakfast and a non-disclosure agreement,     maybe a coupe hundred bucks if his guest was feeling feisty.   

 now,     it means a raspy  ‘  good morning  ’  to his beloved partner in crime.     he doesn’t have to look to know she’s there.     he can feel her presence,     and each breath fills his nose with the scent of last night’s perfume.     it’s not very proper.     but then again,     neither is ordering take-out pizza to the palace gates at 03:30AM.     neither is he’s not sure where the line between ‘ appropriate behaviour ’  and ‘ absolute idiocy ’ lies,     just that it’s somewhere far behind them. 

— @sanktasolis​ sent   ‘ don’t look at me like i’m a hero. you’ll only disappoint yourself. ’

nikolai kept his expression passive,     just barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes and throw back another measure of kvas.  '  that’s not a very can-do attitude,  ’  he said,     kicking his boots up on the table and shooting her a look through the dim,     partial light of the captain’s quarters.     it was late.     the rest of his crew had long-since retired for the evening,     as had the sun-summoner’s ever-lurking shadow.     for the first time since she’d come aboard the volkolny,     they were finally alone together.