[ the crown isn't as heavy as his own, but twice as nice because it isn't comprised of the gaudy lantsov gold his ancestors were so terribly fond of. it's off his head and in his curious hands within seconds, the gems unidentifiable to his practiced eye. something not of his own world, perhaps, and that gnawing feeling in the depths of his stomach has opened to a much larger pit, wide enough now that he could most certainly fall through it and never find his way back up. wherever he is now is not of his world.
wherever he is now. saints. the crown goes back on his head, because — well, it's the most convenient place to put it and he needs both hands to press to the window, his eyes wide as he stares out into the glittering dark. this feels much worse than elizaveta's nightmare, much grander in scale. rhys' demonstration, unfortunately, makes too much sense to him. a ship in the sky. the evidence is right before his eyes. ]
A ship. [ murmured to himself. he mimics his action, his bandaged knuckles knocking against the wall while listening closely to the sound. his ear presses to the cold metal, eyes closing, a strange hum in the barely perceptible vibrations. if this is truly a ship, it's far more advanced than anything he's ever built, and he'd very much like to take it apart once it's given him safe passage back home. but when he thinks of the expanse all around them, and the fact that rhys has made the presumption that zoya is out there and not in here, it does little to settle his growing panic.
the monster, predictably, does not fancy the idea of being trapped in a cage within a cage, uncoiling restlessly to test the edges of nikolai's tattered control. he thinks of zoya — lost. thinks of home — lost. thinks of the calm waters of the sea, but they turn into a roiling tempest as the monster claws at the cavity of his chest, delicate fissures of black fragmenting his skin, creeping up past the collar of his shirt, webbing from the corners of his eyes, cutting down the high points of his cheekbones. he draws in a sharp breath and yanks at the demon's leash, whirling from the window to face rhys with a keenly manic grin. ]
A ship, you say? A ship that flies? [ he barks out a triumphant laugh, a finger pointed directly at rhys' face as if he's just had a grand idea. ] I happen to be well-suited to all forms of flight. I can fly this ship exactly where I need it to go. I'll find Zoya myself. Where are the captain's quarters? Who is the captain? Is he or she an agreeable person or do you think I'll have to steal this ship for myself? It won't be my first time, but I generally let my other personality do the dirty work. Kings have a reputation to maintain, you know.
[ from halfway down the hall, hands casually resting on the revolvers at his hips — ] Are you coming? Where are you going, anyway, in the grand scheme of things? You seem rather content to slum around the — Ximilia, was it? Are you fond of this ship?
no subject
wherever he is now. saints. the crown goes back on his head, because — well, it's the most convenient place to put it and he needs both hands to press to the window, his eyes wide as he stares out into the glittering dark. this feels much worse than elizaveta's nightmare, much grander in scale. rhys' demonstration, unfortunately, makes too much sense to him. a ship in the sky. the evidence is right before his eyes. ]
A ship. [ murmured to himself. he mimics his action, his bandaged knuckles knocking against the wall while listening closely to the sound. his ear presses to the cold metal, eyes closing, a strange hum in the barely perceptible vibrations. if this is truly a ship, it's far more advanced than anything he's ever built, and he'd very much like to take it apart once it's given him safe passage back home. but when he thinks of the expanse all around them, and the fact that rhys has made the presumption that zoya is out there and not in here, it does little to settle his growing panic.
the monster, predictably, does not fancy the idea of being trapped in a cage within a cage, uncoiling restlessly to test the edges of nikolai's tattered control. he thinks of zoya — lost. thinks of home — lost. thinks of the calm waters of the sea, but they turn into a roiling tempest as the monster claws at the cavity of his chest, delicate fissures of black fragmenting his skin, creeping up past the collar of his shirt, webbing from the corners of his eyes, cutting down the high points of his cheekbones. he draws in a sharp breath and yanks at the demon's leash, whirling from the window to face rhys with a keenly manic grin. ]
A ship, you say? A ship that flies? [ he barks out a triumphant laugh, a finger pointed directly at rhys' face as if he's just had a grand idea. ] I happen to be well-suited to all forms of flight. I can fly this ship exactly where I need it to go. I'll find Zoya myself. Where are the captain's quarters? Who is the captain? Is he or she an agreeable person or do you think I'll have to steal this ship for myself? It won't be my first time, but I generally let my other personality do the dirty work. Kings have a reputation to maintain, you know.
[ from halfway down the hall, hands casually resting on the revolvers at his hips — ] Are you coming? Where are you going, anyway, in the grand scheme of things? You seem rather content to slum around the — Ximilia, was it? Are you fond of this ship?