( too seriously, she writes it isn't kindness if it has a purpose. the darkling had been a cautionary tale for girls with a sweet tooth — saccharine, until she'd realized it was all artificial affection. alina rapidly deletes the drafted message for how rainy it is, on what should be an otherwise happy day. )
I wouldn't know. I've never had a birthday cake. You're the professional. I'll defer to your birthday cake expertise. See you soon. 🌞
[ alina gets a string of emojis in response, presumably to represent said birthday, his excitement, her impending excitement (surely coming!), magic, books, christmas, and also inexplicably several of the cuter looking animal ones tossed in there for good measure too. a response isn't necessary and one won't come even if she does have questions, busy with his new task.
hopefully no one was planning on eating that yule log cake laid out beautifully for the manor to enjoy, because nick has repurposed it for his own uses, with the smallest candle he could get his hands on stuck in the top. alina does eventually get another message, once he's arrived near sol + scroll with the promised haul. ]
( embarrassingly, he doesn't have to wait long. alina flounces out of the entrance like a child sneaking a peek at christmas presents, quick enough that it's obvious she'd been keeping watch beyond the glass. kettlewing is, predictably, fastened to her hip by one bracing hand against his rotund body — a kindness for paul, mostly, who she expects would crack like any teapot, if he has to mop up another of kettlewing's (or her) tantrums. the little bell around his neck twinkles and chimes merrily once alina sets him down, free to waddle over to nibble on nick's pant leg. )
Very festive, thank you. You didn't have to go through all the trouble for me.
( warmly, the corners of her eyes pull tight and crinkle. nick could have brought her someone's leftover cupcake, a bite already taken, and it would still be a more worthy celebration than anything keramzin had bothered with. what reason is there to rejoice in an orphan's birthday in ravka, when another passing year means they've one step in the grave, months closer to the army's draft? she makes a grabby motion, all raccoon-like paws. )
I see you're still in one piece. I'm assuming the kitchen staff didn't throttle you, then.
I was very quick, I don't think they'd even started yelling before I was out the door.
[ if alina's lingering is embarrassing then it's only offset by the way that nick visibly beams at the presence of the little bell ringing away around kettlewing's neck. there are more important matters at hand though, namely ushering alina's hands away before she can successfully get the cake out of his. there are rituals to uphold, after all. ]
Hang on, look.
[ he hadn't managed to snag a birthday candle exactly, but it's slim enough to pass for one and do the job well enough — and yes, maybe nick could have fished the lighter out of his pocket to light it once it was stuck securely into the middle of the cake, but he opts to touch the tip of his finger to the wick and briefly close his eyes to light it instead.
showing off, maybe, a tiny bit, but only a little. ]
( it's still an odd sight to behold — flame born from nothing but power, putting an inferni's flint to shame. alina's eyes fall to raptly watch it flicker to life, sparking the small wick, with a subtle smile and all the enjoyment of an audience watching a magic trick, without understanding the secrets behind it. )
Mm. It just so happens to be a perfect way to show off, too.
( if there's anything she can clock, it's a man with an impressive set of skills, and an even more impressive need to showcase it. teasingly, alina strikes her hands together in a soft, encouraging clap — then leaves forward without a further need for invitation, ignoring the chocolate that blends into the ends of her already paint-streaked hair.
none of her wishes have ever come true, whether they've been spent on pretty candles or shining stars or soaring comets — but even cosmic intervention can't bring alina starkov impossible miracles, it seems. it's more for nick's sake, and the ever-living childish, naive hope that they may come to fruition this time, that alina closes her lips and blows, letting the flame putter out.
her eyes flick up to his as she hovers, smearing her thumb through frosting to pop it into her mouth. )
nick doesn't look terribly embarrassed at being so shamelessly called out — he's never been able to manage to figure out how to be subtle in his clawing for attention and he likely isn't going to start now. he'd gotten her tiny suggestion of a smile, and that's enough for nick to give a pleased little shrug to the rest.
at any rate, it's all secondary to the moment in question. alina blows out the candle and nick grins, even calls out a quiet little 'woo' in time with the moment, half an impression of a real birthday party. it's still a celebration, even if nick doesn't want to call the attention of anyone inside the shop. ]
No, you have to keep it a secret, or else it won't come true.
[ parrotted like a fact and not superstition--though honestly, nick is quite a superstitious person. why else would he keep all of his own wishes so close to his chest? but with the birthday ritual complete, he's quick to swipe some frosting for himself, sticking his finger quickly in his mouth before he asks— ]
Am I allowed to ask you how old you are now or is that rude?
( faux, unoffended surprise as her eyes flicker to the bounty of the cake, its edges smeared by nick's (and alina's) sticky fingers. an orphan's life in keramzin is too dictated by sharing — the same assigned birthday, worn hand-me-down donations, lumpy cots — for alina to resort back to the instincts she'd had as a child, rusted away by time. or — not time, but maybe the uselessness of trying to protect what's hers with a snap of her teeth, when nothing has ever truly belonged to her to begin with.
she shakes her head, instead, settling for a more attainable form of retribution: the swipe of her fingers to nick's cheekbone, streaking frosting down his cheek like a trail of mud. not quite an excessive waste of food to make her stomach curdle and clench, when it serves a higher (childish) purpose. )
Twenty, I think. ( difficult to say — before saltburn, she's had to count the past year in battles and betrayals and everything in-between, more likely to tally the days without death knocking at her door than the days in a month. her lips roll, banishing the thought. ) But you wouldn't be able to see any difference. Grisha don't age the same as a normal person might.
( alina even less so, but that's the other half of that secret, a burden of immortality she doesn't care to acknowledge — like the weight of it on her chest will ease, if she doesn't have to consider the vast, barren wasteland of eternity. emphatically, she tugs on a strand of hair — streaked a bone-white where the color intertwines through her hair, like sparse snow on damp earth, like light invading shadows. )
It's only the stress that's graying me. ( — she jokes, like a liar. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I wouldn't know. I've never had a birthday cake.
You're the professional. I'll defer to your birthday cake expertise.
See you soon. 🌞
no subject
hopefully no one was planning on eating that yule log cake laid out beautifully for the manor to enjoy, because nick has repurposed it for his own uses, with the smallest candle he could get his hands on stuck in the top. alina does eventually get another message, once he's arrived near sol + scroll with the promised haul. ]
ok im here you can come out 🎉🎉
no subject
Very festive, thank you. You didn't have to go through all the trouble for me.
( warmly, the corners of her eyes pull tight and crinkle. nick could have brought her someone's leftover cupcake, a bite already taken, and it would still be a more worthy celebration than anything keramzin had bothered with. what reason is there to rejoice in an orphan's birthday in ravka, when another passing year means they've one step in the grave, months closer to the army's draft? she makes a grabby motion, all raccoon-like paws. )
I see you're still in one piece. I'm assuming the kitchen staff didn't throttle you, then.
no subject
[ if alina's lingering is embarrassing then it's only offset by the way that nick visibly beams at the presence of the little bell ringing away around kettlewing's neck. there are more important matters at hand though, namely ushering alina's hands away before she can successfully get the cake out of his. there are rituals to uphold, after all. ]
Hang on, look.
[ he hadn't managed to snag a birthday candle exactly, but it's slim enough to pass for one and do the job well enough — and yes, maybe nick could have fished the lighter out of his pocket to light it once it was stuck securely into the middle of the cake, but he opts to touch the tip of his finger to the wick and briefly close his eyes to light it instead.
showing off, maybe, a tiny bit, but only a little. ]
Here, see, you blow it out and make a wish.
no subject
Mm. It just so happens to be a perfect way to show off, too.
( if there's anything she can clock, it's a man with an impressive set of skills, and an even more impressive need to showcase it. teasingly, alina strikes her hands together in a soft, encouraging clap — then leaves forward without a further need for invitation, ignoring the chocolate that blends into the ends of her already paint-streaked hair.
none of her wishes have ever come true, whether they've been spent on pretty candles or shining stars or soaring comets — but even cosmic intervention can't bring alina starkov impossible miracles, it seems. it's more for nick's sake, and the ever-living childish, naive hope that they may come to fruition this time, that alina closes her lips and blows, letting the flame putter out.
her eyes flick up to his as she hovers, smearing her thumb through frosting to pop it into her mouth. )
I don't have to tell you what I wished for, do I?
no subject
nick doesn't look terribly embarrassed at being so shamelessly called out — he's never been able to manage to figure out how to be subtle in his clawing for attention and he likely isn't going to start now. he'd gotten her tiny suggestion of a smile, and that's enough for nick to give a pleased little shrug to the rest.
at any rate, it's all secondary to the moment in question. alina blows out the candle and nick grins, even calls out a quiet little 'woo' in time with the moment, half an impression of a real birthday party. it's still a celebration, even if nick doesn't want to call the attention of anyone inside the shop. ]
No, you have to keep it a secret, or else it won't come true.
[ parrotted like a fact and not superstition--though honestly, nick is quite a superstitious person. why else would he keep all of his own wishes so close to his chest? but with the birthday ritual complete, he's quick to swipe some frosting for himself, sticking his finger quickly in his mouth before he asks— ]
Am I allowed to ask you how old you are now or is that rude?
no subject
( faux, unoffended surprise as her eyes flicker to the bounty of the cake, its edges smeared by nick's (and alina's) sticky fingers. an orphan's life in keramzin is too dictated by sharing — the same assigned birthday, worn hand-me-down donations, lumpy cots — for alina to resort back to the instincts she'd had as a child, rusted away by time. or — not time, but maybe the uselessness of trying to protect what's hers with a snap of her teeth, when nothing has ever truly belonged to her to begin with.
she shakes her head, instead, settling for a more attainable form of retribution: the swipe of her fingers to nick's cheekbone, streaking frosting down his cheek like a trail of mud. not quite an excessive waste of food to make her stomach curdle and clench, when it serves a higher (childish) purpose. )
Twenty, I think. ( difficult to say — before saltburn, she's had to count the past year in battles and betrayals and everything in-between, more likely to tally the days without death knocking at her door than the days in a month. her lips roll, banishing the thought. ) But you wouldn't be able to see any difference. Grisha don't age the same as a normal person might.
( alina even less so, but that's the other half of that secret, a burden of immortality she doesn't care to acknowledge — like the weight of it on her chest will ease, if she doesn't have to consider the vast, barren wasteland of eternity. emphatically, she tugs on a strand of hair — streaked a bone-white where the color intertwines through her hair, like sparse snow on damp earth, like light invading shadows. )
It's only the stress that's graying me. ( — she jokes, like a liar. )