[ Nikolai considers it. It hadn't occurred to him at first, how the open-ended nature of the curse could make it even worse. With specificity, there is at least certainty. But something as broad as that would leave so much doubt. ]
Of course there are worse fates, but all the same... I can see how it would be distressing. Who would lay that kind of curse on a young woman? Was it a rival of hers?
[ He is making an assumption without even realizing it: that a curse must come from a particular malicious source. His own curse (if his affliction even counts as curse according to Noah's parameters) had been targeted and highly personal. ]
Some parties, yes, but certainly not all of them. Plenty are more about conversation, or games, or enjoying a meal together. Depends on the occasion.
[ Nikolai can't understand Noah's hesitation, but he recognizes that his upbringing was a fairly unusual one. Large, formal social events had been an unavoidable part of his life since the day he was born. He'd learned to dance as soon as he was able to walk.
He is making good progress on the bed frame as they speak. Nikolai has unscrewed all but one join and is neatly setting aside all the components. When he comes to the last one, however, he encounters a bit of an issue. One tiny nail is stuck. It's too small for any of his tools. Nikolai can tell that it just needs one good tug and he'll have it out. He tries half a dozen times, but he can't get a grip on it with his gloved fingers. The fabric is too thick and too smooth, and he manages to get it even more badly stuck fumbling at it through them.
Exhaling a short sigh of annoyance, Nikolai makes a snap decision. He could, of course, have asked Noah to try to get it free. That would probably be the wise thing to do. But Nikolai's irritated, now. He's annoyed at the nail for being stuck and annoyed at the gloves for getting in the way and annoyed at the fact that he's wearing them in the first place. With a tiny, telling glance at Noah first, he tugs the glove from his right hand, dropping it to the floor. The skin of his hand is covered in strange markings. His fingertips and nails are pitch black; black-stained scars wind up his fingers and along his palm and the back of his hand. It is especially clear when Nikolai moves his hand, to get that troublesome nail, that they are scars rather than tattoos of some sort.
Nikolai keeps his eyes on the nail, though some part of his mind can't help listening carefully. For what? A gasp of disgust? He pushes the thought away, focusing on wiggling the tiny nail free. ]
no subject
Of course there are worse fates, but all the same... I can see how it would be distressing. Who would lay that kind of curse on a young woman? Was it a rival of hers?
[ He is making an assumption without even realizing it: that a curse must come from a particular malicious source. His own curse (if his affliction even counts as curse according to Noah's parameters) had been targeted and highly personal. ]
Some parties, yes, but certainly not all of them. Plenty are more about conversation, or games, or enjoying a meal together. Depends on the occasion.
[ Nikolai can't understand Noah's hesitation, but he recognizes that his upbringing was a fairly unusual one. Large, formal social events had been an unavoidable part of his life since the day he was born. He'd learned to dance as soon as he was able to walk.
He is making good progress on the bed frame as they speak. Nikolai has unscrewed all but one join and is neatly setting aside all the components. When he comes to the last one, however, he encounters a bit of an issue. One tiny nail is stuck. It's too small for any of his tools. Nikolai can tell that it just needs one good tug and he'll have it out. He tries half a dozen times, but he can't get a grip on it with his gloved fingers. The fabric is too thick and too smooth, and he manages to get it even more badly stuck fumbling at it through them.
Exhaling a short sigh of annoyance, Nikolai makes a snap decision. He could, of course, have asked Noah to try to get it free. That would probably be the wise thing to do. But Nikolai's irritated, now. He's annoyed at the nail for being stuck and annoyed at the gloves for getting in the way and annoyed at the fact that he's wearing them in the first place. With a tiny, telling glance at Noah first, he tugs the glove from his right hand, dropping it to the floor. The skin of his hand is covered in strange markings. His fingertips and nails are pitch black; black-stained scars wind up his fingers and along his palm and the back of his hand. It is especially clear when Nikolai moves his hand, to get that troublesome nail, that they are scars rather than tattoos of some sort.
Nikolai keeps his eyes on the nail, though some part of his mind can't help listening carefully. For what? A gasp of disgust? He pushes the thought away, focusing on wiggling the tiny nail free. ]