He looked down at his boots as they crunched in the snow. He'd always liked that sound. The park was pristine, the snow barely having stopped. The night was rapidly drawing in, and the air was so crisp it made one feel alive.
Which, logically, he knew, was a complex biological process at play, making it all feel so remarkable. But he, alone among the Five, was the romantic; the believer - much as Druitt had once claimed to be the former. To his mind, at least, that had all been an act. So much had been pretense between them all, and so much not. He looked over at her, lifting the collar of an exquisitely tailored black coat as she walked beside him.
Helen tilted her head back, letting the brunette curls call over her shoulders. A long sigh comes from her as she crosses her arms over her bust. It is pristine, but, certainly cold. Winter always was.
"Have you noticed that the world is never as peaceful as it is when it snows?" She glanced at him, then nodded to the park around them. "Everything stills. It becomes quiet. It easily leaves one to their thoughts and memories."
"We're a metaphorical species," he replied, watching her for a moment, before she glanced at him. How was it that she seemed to grow more beautiful with time? As if wisdom added something more to the already absurdly sexy confidence.
"We love the idea of the tabula rasa, and combine that with the freshness of the air...I think it makes us reflective, by and large. Gives us all that moment, like right before a pen is put to paper, or a brush to canvas."
"'We'? I wasn't aware you counted yourself outside the vampire race." She teased him gently with a small smile touching her mouth. He prided him so much on the fact that it was hard not to poke a bit of fun when she felt he misspoke. No doubt he'll correct her shortly.
A hum followed the smile. "You're certainly feeling metaphorical."
"One lives and one learns," he retorted. "Meeting the Queen of the Vampires and finding out she's a cheap, tarty, Saturday Matinee villain doesn't exactly help one's cherished illusions. No, my dreams about resurrecting the knowledge and wisdom of Sanguine Vampiris are well and truly dead. Staked through the heart, you might say."
A sign of how far he'd come that he'd even make that joke, really. He looked over at her.
"No, it's back to the old dream - use my gifts to try to improve the human lot. I kind of missed them, you know? The heady days of Niagara, and Wardenclyffe."
As for the last, well.
"I am always metaphorical, somewhere underneath. The part of me that's always the little kid from the Serbian version of the sticks."
Helen can't help but give him a sad smile to the story. Being there had been one thing, yet hearing Nikola speak of it in the manner he was? It was bittersweet. Although it did show he had grown some in the last few years. Instead of chasing grandeur he was off to improve humanity once again. Maybe he even found humanity appealing or worth it after their adventure with the Queen.
"The days where you had actually hoped? My, my, Nikola. You truly are feeling nostalgic." Still, she shakes her head. "It's a good thing. Your gifts and talents were always best used when it was working towards improving the state of your fellow man. Even if you are a different species."
She gave a knowing nod. "Deep down we're all still those children on some level. Perhaps we never really grew up in that regard."
The world was still full of the unknown and wonder for her. It didn't matter the events of the last few years. The secret societies, the ulterior motives. She still found the world to be breathtaking and full of things to learn.
"My father always told me, he said: 'Nikola, my boy, the beauty of God's creation is infinite. Everything we learn merely reveals more holy mystery.'"
He smiled, fondly, eyes somewhere in the past.
"He wasn't wrong." That was the other thing, of them he had always been the believer, never falling into the trap of thinking that science and belief were two separate, warring factions. He and Gould had gotten along, really. He missed ol' Stephen.
"Fresh pages, fresh starts, fresh snow," he added, "so yes, back to basics. I spent too many years trying to bring back what was, when all my strengths were creating what should be."
He paused, turning towards her.
"And I never said that I was sorry. For any of it. For...not talking for decades, for wandering as far as I did. You were always...always the wisest of us, and I should have listened better, I see that now. Oh, and for the ulterior motives - ugh, those got old fast."
He then shook a finger at her, a sly grin spreading across his face.
"But not for the flirting. You're somehow getting lovelier with time. Inside and out."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hobbitholmes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
synthneon2021-02-11 07:57 pm
You choose on the roulette wheel of time! Early days? Elsewhen? Post-series?
Which, logically, he knew, was a complex biological process at play, making it all feel so remarkable. But he, alone among the Five, was the romantic; the believer - much as Druitt had once claimed to be the former. To his mind, at least, that had all been an act. So much had been pretense between them all, and so much not. He looked over at her, lifting the collar of an exquisitely tailored black coat as she walked beside him.
"A nickel for your thoughts?"
Post-series could be INTERESTING
"Have you noticed that the world is never as peaceful as it is when it snows?" She glanced at him, then nodded to the park around them. "Everything stills. It becomes quiet. It easily leaves one to their thoughts and memories."
Well then off we go. :P
"We love the idea of the tabula rasa, and combine that with the freshness of the air...I think it makes us reflective, by and large. Gives us all that moment, like right before a pen is put to paper, or a brush to canvas."
zooom!
A hum followed the smile. "You're certainly feeling metaphorical."
no subject
A sign of how far he'd come that he'd even make that joke, really. He looked over at her.
"No, it's back to the old dream - use my gifts to try to improve the human lot. I kind of missed them, you know? The heady days of Niagara, and Wardenclyffe."
As for the last, well.
"I am always metaphorical, somewhere underneath. The part of me that's always the little kid from the Serbian version of the sticks."
no subject
"The days where you had actually hoped? My, my, Nikola. You truly are feeling nostalgic." Still, she shakes her head. "It's a good thing. Your gifts and talents were always best used when it was working towards improving the state of your fellow man. Even if you are a different species."
She gave a knowing nod. "Deep down we're all still those children on some level. Perhaps we never really grew up in that regard."
The world was still full of the unknown and wonder for her. It didn't matter the events of the last few years. The secret societies, the ulterior motives. She still found the world to be breathtaking and full of things to learn.
no subject
He smiled, fondly, eyes somewhere in the past.
"He wasn't wrong." That was the other thing, of them he had always been the believer, never falling into the trap of thinking that science and belief were two separate, warring factions. He and Gould had gotten along, really. He missed ol' Stephen.
"Fresh pages, fresh starts, fresh snow," he added, "so yes, back to basics. I spent too many years trying to bring back what was, when all my strengths were creating what should be."
He paused, turning towards her.
"And I never said that I was sorry. For any of it. For...not talking for decades, for wandering as far as I did. You were always...always the wisest of us, and I should have listened better, I see that now. Oh, and for the ulterior motives - ugh, those got old fast."
He then shook a finger at her, a sly grin spreading across his face.
"But not for the flirting. You're somehow getting lovelier with time. Inside and out."