ooc:
name/handle: Devit
contact: monkeypop @gmail, benthic @ plurk
timezone/availability: PST, after 7 PM on weekdays, usually open on weekends.
character:
As the second son of the noble Avis family, Nikolas wasn't born to be the heir; that honor should have gone to his older brother Reynold. But when Reynold's devil-may-care lifestyle finally caught up to him and got him killed in a duel, the weight of the family expectations fell on Nikolas instead, even though he was only ten at the time, and had definitely not been raised to be the eventual Great Avis. Frankly, though, his father Wallace isn't the type of man to "raise" a child in any meaningful way at all, and young Nikolas was left entirely without guidance or example to grow up--into an overly dramatic, manipulative, smarmy, cowardly, and unreliable young man, more interested in avoiding his problems using alcohol and women than solving them.
To be fair, his problems are many. His father has lost his mind in his old age, and his care takes precedence over any support Nikolas might have from the family (if any); his Ward Amalia, the protective spirit guide that is ceremonially bound to any Head of one of the Five Noble Houses, dislikes him intensely (it's mutual); he's been thrown overnight at the age of 22 into a position of political power and inherited all of the shady business deals his father was involved in, with the expectation of seeing them through; he's in pitiful, unrequited love with his friend Winter, who is also a man, against Avis tradition; gruesome assassination attempts have a tendency to spring up around Winter from time to time and oh holy Mother is that a dead body?; he has no other friends to turn to when he inevitably screws up and can't bear to be around the judgement of his family or the insane ramblings of his father any longer.
It's so much easier to sneak off and polish off a bottle of wine and then throw himself at Winter for drunken blowjobs instead of facing up to all of that.
Nikolas isn't a bad person, but at times he tries his very best to be one, his cutting rudeness and flippant disregard being the best non-alcoholic armor he has against the reality of his life. He enjoys seeing people lowered to his level or forced under his control just as much as he enjoys giving up his control himself; making someone uncomfortable, turning them against someone else, seeing them embarrassed, or forcing them to face up to some harsh reality of their own life will make him feel better for a little while. He can be quite charming in a sharp, expansive, smarmy way when that's what suits the situation; he is very successful in sexual conquest, after all. But in the end, he's (rightfully) unpopular with his peers and unloved by his family, and carries a deep loneliness inside of him, which he hides behind walls that only Winter can bring down.
sample:
Dearest Fool,
Well, pretty Winter, have the sharks eaten you alive? I've no waterproof ink with which to write you this letter, so if it finds itself delivered to a shat-out pile of bones at the bottom of the sea, you'll have to guess from the afterlife what it says. Don't imagine anything for me that I wouldn't have written myself! Knowing you, you'll go and give me too much credit, reading the best of intentions into everything I hypothetically wrote. For once you'd be right, but someday you'll find yourself no less dead for it.
No, I've decided it's high time I offered you some lessons. Since you're such a little fool who's not yet taken my hosts up on the same generous offer they extended to me, I can't offer you really interesting lessons in the comfort of my lonely bed. I can only assume you're still playing at being a proper politician, if you really have survived in it this long. I've never once known how you manage to keep that pretty head of yours above water! Whatever it is, you're the Great Quertis now, and you ought to have an advisor--not your overly faithful yellow-haired hound, but someone more suitable, Winter, someone who understands people. And it just so happens my own political talents are being wasted here. Don't get me wrong--that's the highest possible recommendation I can give any place I find myself in. But consider this letter a token of my investment in your continued existence.
Well, then! Here's your first lesson from your friend, one of the sharks: the difference between telling a lie and withholding the truth. I know how you hate to do either, and it's bound to end up with you dead one of these days. For your own safety, then, keep reading, rather than dashing off to inform His Majesty that you've finally had contact from the Great Avis. No one where I am now will recognize that name, pretty Winter. I've told them that my name is Nikolas Tier--and even you can't call that a lie. No part of it is a lie! Rather, it's exactly one half of the truth! There is the elegance of it. Even if you refuse to lie, you don't need to go telling everyone absolutely everything in that thoughtless way of yours. If only you had realized this years ago, you might not have ended up such a doormat, and I'd have no cause for friendly concern; I'd be having much more entertaining thoughts of you in bed at night.
Ah, see? You've gone and ruined my evening now. But I've imparted everything I wanted you to know, though you're sure to only see half of it. Either way, it's high time I closed this letter and found some way to lift my spirits! It's so much more effort without my pretty maids around, but Winter--Winter, I'm no longer lord nor master to anyone, and do you know, I can't find it within myself to regret it?
Think about it. I'll be waiting.
Nikolas
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