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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Apr 30, 2014 19:22:34 GMT -8
A potential client had come into the Vortex one night, looking lost and horribly out of place among the Jazz enthusiasts, college students and the average man or woman who came in looking for good music, and reasonably priced alcohol to tide them over until the end of the night. The client, in all his finery and well-ironed three-piece suit that looked like it was expensive enough to pay Niklaas' rent for at least two months, walked through the haze of drunk merriment and cigarette smoke to the front, trying to look as dignified as possible while holding a handkerchief to his nose. Priss, Niklaas thought to himself as he glanced over at the man, and he was half tempted to pick the cigarette up from its ashtray and blow a nice cloud in his face. But his hands were occupied with coaxing sounds from the piano. When his performance was over and another band began to nervously file onto the stage to begin theirs, the potential client pulled Niklaas aside to a relatively unoccupied part of the club to discuss business over glasses of wine.
Niklaas' musical aptitude was highly recommended (“...and I've no idea why you chose to relegate yourself to this” the client said with a scrunched nose as he made a vague gesture to the room around them), and the client requested that Niklaas play at an upcoming charity ball that he was holding at the Cadogan Hotel. The go-to place whenever you wanted to show the masses just how much money you had to throw around. A place that was as renown and romantic as it was scandalous. A tourist attraction if there ever was one, whenever some big-shot in London wasn't renting the place out to hold some sort of grand party. Charity was all well and good, but Niklaas de Vries didn't volunteer his time to any sort of cause unless there was some sort of pay off at the end of the night. At this knowledge, the client rolled his eyes and pulled out a checkbook, scribbling on it a few times before harshly ripping it from its binds and handing it over to the Dutchman with a sneer. Prissy and uptight. Two traits that didn't sit very well with Niklaas, but he was being paid well enough. All he had to do was play the piano all night for other prissy rich people, and entertain any requests that they may have for him. Easy money. Unfortunately, the client snapped it back to his side of the table before Niklaas could take it. "I'll mail it to you the day after the ball." The client said in a snipped tone.
When the night of the party arrived, Niklaas arrived about an hour early, dressed in the only three-piece suit that he had in his closet. It had been used when he bought it, but a few visits a tailor in between paychecks had it looking like new again. Unfortunately the humidity of the evening forced him to shed the jacket and roll up his sleeves to the elbows. Upon entering the ballroom, he was immediately drawn to the piano sitting quietly near the front of the room. Niklaas ran a hand across the body with a low, appreciative whistle. A Steinway & Sons grand piano, carved from red wood and varnished to a glass-like smoothness and sheen, the sheet music stand beautifully carved into an intricate pattern of swirls and curves. His fingers pressed down on the keys slowly, eighty-eight in total, and when the final C note echoed throughout the empty room, he found himself marveling all over again. A work of art in both build and sound, the kind that made his usual piano in the Vortex seem like a cheap knock-off. Hell, if he knew he'd be playing something like this, he might have not demanded a paycheck... might have. Provided the client sweetened the deal a little more. As it was, a nice check and a nice piano was good enough for Niklaas.
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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Apr 27, 2014 13:56:54 GMT -8
“..Have we met before?”
That was an odd question, particularly to ask someone who you ran into in a bookstore. With a quirked eyebrow, Niklaas looked at the young man who had asked,. Well groomed, well dressed, in something that looked way too expensive; seemed to be some wealthy kid studying abroad in London. On mommy and daddy's money, no doubt. Even still, the kid's features reminded Niklaas of his mother. Then again, a lot of people had a similar facial structure to the late Beatrix van Rosenfeld. Chances were it didn't mean a goddamn thing, and he felt stupid for even vaguely making the connection.
“Have you?” He questioned, licking a finger and flipping a page idly. This poetry was alright. Nothing fantastic, but nothing that made him scoff and roll his eyes. For the most part, anyway. “Depends on whether or not you come to the Vortex very often.” He turned away from his book to look the young man over. He could recognize the faces of regular patrons well enough (some better than others for obvious, personal reasons), but this kid drew a complete blank. Despite the odd feeling of seeing him somewhere, that annoying feeling of having someone's name on the tip of your tongue, but not knowing it exactly. But it was entirely possible he was over thinking this. “A strange question to ask a complete stranger, don't you think so?”
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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Apr 10, 2014 23:08:29 GMT -8
Based on plot threads Mona and I discussed the other night.
Niklaas had heard life described like a mountain climb once, years ago when he was still young and ignorant to the harsher ways of the world. His mother had gone on to explain that, at some point in his life, he would meet someone that made that climb up life's mountain come to a sudden standstill. Time would pass, and eventually he would tumble back down the mountain as he fell in love with that person, the only way to get back up to try and do it with his loved one. Looking back at it now that he was a man who had grown bitter and pessimistic, the entire metaphor seemed like complete rubbish. He had fallen down life's mountain several times in the past, and each time he clawed his way back up with increasingly bloody hands. Love didn't have anything to do with it, and the men and women Niklaas had taken to bed hadn't helped in that ascension any. Ciel, on the other hand... he hadn't fallen for her, oh no, he had tumbled and rolled down the side of the mountain, cutting his hands as he tried to stop himself from falling too far, from reaching the point where he was so battered and bruised that he needed Ciel's help getting back up. When he crashed to the bottom and looked dazedly at the sky, he realized needed her like he needed nicotine and air. He wanted her like he wanted to return to his home country a free man and spend the rest of his days enveloped in peace and the perfume of sea water and tulips.
A part of his mind, the professional killer, the devil on his shoulder if you wanted to call it that, tried to pull Niklaas back up as he started his tumble downwards, screaming and yelling and cursing that falling in love with Ciel was the single most idiotic thing he could ever do in his life. Stupider than distancing himself from Charlotte when she needed him most, more moronic than taking that god damned contract in the first place.
In Niklaas' defense, he had never intended to let himself fall. Their relationship had started as awkward as they came, Ciel just barely remembering him from the scarce amount of time they spent together in Monaco. She laughed at the fact that their first conversation had been her stating how funny she found his accent to be. Niklaas had wanted to keep his distance, regarding the young princess –the young woman-- like she was the omen of his impending death. Her finding him marked the end of his life, Niklaas thought. It would only be a matter of time before he would face the punishment for taking so many lives, deserving or their fates or no. But Niklaas was a man of many vices, and attractive young women just happened to be his Achilles heel. No matter how much he wanted to keep her away, at arm's length so she wouldn't know and he wouldn't die, it seemed fate had other plans in store. Sera's teasing didn't help matters much either, with her constantly teasing him over his growing affections for “that cute French girl”.
The assassin part of his mind all but condemned him to die when he had taken Ciel to his bed, but he was far too gone to pay it any real attention. Too enthralled by soft hands tangling in his hair and the perfect set of lips that was ravishing whatever part of his body they could. Too intoxicated by what was purely Ciel to consider the possibility that he was having sex with the emissary of his demise. But god damn it, he was a selfish creature. If he was going to die, he would much prefer it if one of his final memories was of the one night where he allowed someone else to see past the cold facade he put up for the rest of the world. Just for one night, he would let someone break through all of his walls. But she didn't break them, no, she walked through them like they never even existed.
Niklaas tried to recall when it was he first started falling. Was it before, or after their first night together? Was it when they first reunited? Who could even know? He wasn't even aware of it himself until he realized that he had no hope of climbing back up his life's mountain without Ciel there to help him back up. He hesitated, of course, not wanting to drag her down into hell with him. If she ever found out who he was, what he did, it would destroy her. Tear her apart from the inside out, until the husk that was left wasn't even Ciel anymore. Did he want to risk that? Did he want to be the one who completely and utterly tore her entire world to bloody little pieces?
“I love you.”
Three words. Three god-damned fucking words. They were overused and abused, “love” being tossed around like confetti whenever a pair of teenagers suddenly realized their primal urges to fuck and reproduce. “Love” was used as an excuse for the most ridiculous things in the world; it had no right holding so much weight. A three word long sentence shouldn't feel as heavy as the burden Niklaas carried as an assassin. They shouldn't hold enough meaning to make his heart clench and his stomach flip and twist in ways he never thought possible.
His hands were bruised, bloodied and tired. Hell, Niklaas was tired. Climbing back up his life's mountain to continue on as he was seemed like impossible to do by himself now. Could Ciel ever possibly forgive him? Accept him? Embrace him when anyone else would spit on him in disgust and label him a cold-hearted murderer who cared only for money? The cons outweighed the pros, and it would be better for both of them if Niklaas turned her down. But, again, he was a selfish creature. A selfish creature who wanted Ciel and everything that she was willing to offer. Her warmth, her heart, her life; everything.
Love was an overused word. A dead word. A word that had lost its meaning a long time ago, so he didn't respond in kind. Instead he approached and embraced Ciel more intimately than he had ever embraced someone in his life. Niklaas breathed in the scent of her hair and placed a light kiss on the crown of her head. She was as smart as a whip, his little princess. She would know his response, so there were no needs for words. She would also know when to start hating him, but he could pretend. For now, in his greed to covet all the love and affection Ciel was willing to offer a man like him, he could pretend. He would pretend that his hands weren't irreversibly stained with the blood of her family.
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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Apr 5, 2014 3:22:32 GMT -8
It seemed like the universe was conspiring to keep Niklaas as out of options as possible today. Alright, that was a huge over-exaggeration, but still. He had rode back to his flat, let Nijntje out of her cage so she could stretch her legs out, took a shower, and changed into a nice suit jacket and slacks in preparation of working at the Vortex for as long as they needed him. Turns out they didn't need him. Period. It seemed like nobody needed the club-hired musician for the night, since the entire schedule was booked up by no-name bands either trying to get their footing in the musical world, or just trying to earn some extra cash on the side. Either way, Niklaas wasn't needed, and unless Michael the Bartender suddenly suffered a spontaneous heart attack, that position was filled too. In short: the afternoon after leaving the Three Tomatoes just served to waste his time and annoy him.
Michael suggested that the Dutchman just get himself a girlfriend in a “nonchalant” fashion as he casually slid the Dutchman's drink to him. He was an okay guy, Michael, but a little too obsessed with the idea of a relationship. Hell, if you asked him if he knew the answer to life and the universe, he'd probably reply with “finding a relationship”. It was almost sad that a guy so adamant about love and relationships couldn't hold down a girlfriend for more than a few months, but that wasn't Niklaas' business anyway.
After a while he found himself at the Scribble, a cute little bookstore that had a pleasantly antiquated feel to it. Tile floors, oak booshelves; it almost felt like he had stepped back in time a couple decades or so. Maybe this was what he really needed; something quaint as a way to escape the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Away from the horrible London traffic and constant buzz of chatter and gossip the citizens made about things he could give less of a shit about. And, wow, he was starting to sound like an old man. Jesus Christ.
The most popular selections were the most stereotypically English things in the world; Harry Potter, Sherlock Holmes, Shakespeare. Nothing against those titles, of course, since Harry Potter was a guilty pleasure and he did enjoy the story of Hamlet. Sherlock Holmes, on the other hand, was a too needlessly verbose for the sake of showing off how intelligent the titular character was. It didn't appeal to the Dutchman that much, so he casually skipped over the entire section dedicated to the series. The darker tales of Emilie Bronte were more his style, honestly, actually showing the darker side of romance. Honestly, romance was so full of mushy-gushy “steamy” erotica (and vampires for some reason) that it was disgusting. Maybe he would rectify that himself one day... maybe. As it was, the market wasn't looking for a realistic portrayal of a romantic relationship, that wasn't “exciting” enough. Unless the greater majority of romance fans got their hands out of their pants and realized that they were reading was utter shit, any ideas he might have would get shot down. But, que sera, sera.
He ended up picking out an unassuming little poetry book from one of the shelves, an anthology by the looks of it. He didn't recognize any of the author's names, but maybe it was better that way. The bigger names tended to vary in the quality of their work, not really being allowed to work outside the little box that their fans preferred. Shrugging his shoulders, Niklaas slipped on his reading glasses (he never left the flat without him, since he had to hold things obnoxiously close to his face otherwise) and began to leaf through the little book casually.
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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Feb 17, 2014 22:06:51 GMT -8
As odd as it was, the argument reminded him of the argument his parents had before they divorced. The woman being cold and distant, her voice a dangerous whisper, and the man being apologetic and asking to be understood. No, Beatrix, you don't understand; I have to do this! Niklaas shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind of such unpleasantness. The parallels he could draw just made him more uncomfortable than he already was, and a part of him dreaded that the reunion with his own siblings would be just as chaotic. Elise and Marianne were, from what he remembered, little angels despite the threat of poverty and foreclosure breathing down their necks. But there was always the possibility that the decade-and-something of separation had changed them, just like it had Niklaas. He had been forced to grow up too quickly, but what of his sisters? Either they hadn't changed at all, or time had made them bitter and jaded, just like he was. It was best he didn't linger on these thoughts for too long. Elise probably didn't even remember him, she had been so young when the divorce happened, and Marianne... hopefully she was still as bright and bubbly as he remembered.
"Don't say a word, just leave." Niklaas flinched slightly, and he hoped that neither of the two saw it. Those words struck a little too close to home for him; too similar. This entire thing was way too familiar, and he wanted out of the whole mess. Day off be damned, maybe he could slip in a time slot for himself at the Vortex. Maybe some new aspiring band or singer needed someone to play saxophone for them. Whatever the case, he felt like he needed a smoke, but knew he couldn't partake. Smoking was prohibited in the Three Tomatoes, and even if it wasn't Carmen would probably remind him for the hundredth time that he smoked too much, and how labored his breathing sometimes became seriously worried her. He coughed into a fist, almost like his lungs were angrily reminding him that he could go ten minutes without sucking on smoke. Luckily this fit was short and nonviolent (and his coughing fits could get very bad), and he didn't feel the urge to spit anything up. What he did want was away from this- this, TV soap opera bullshit. Seriously, the only thing missing from the entire scenario was a doctor coming in as dramatically as possible and announce that Carmen was pregnant, and that Niklaas was the father. Away from a situation that bitterly reminded him about how easily his mother went from loving and supportive, to distrusting and disgusted. Away from this unpleasantness, period.
Antonio seemed to have the same idea, seeming to conclude that any attempts to patch up whatever remained of his relationship with Carmen was pointless. “Okay, I'll leave” he resigned heavily. He gave an apologetic nod to the Dutchman, and muttered one last phrase before he left; “I'm sorry.” Niklaas could practically hear Carmen's anger crack and shatter like glass. Her anger and frustration crashing away to reveal something much more hopeful and desperate. That was something that he had never seen from her, heartbreak. It was like Antonio's simple act of leaving had ripped a hole in her world. A hole that she couldn't repair without him.
"Antonio, wait--" The door closed, and Carmen jumped up, pausing only briefly to regard Niklaas. "Niklaas, querido, lo siento -- sorry," Her accent was starting to escape and run amok all over the place, tongue naturally falling back to the language she was more familiar with. "I'll -- I'll be right back, I'll make it up to you, I'm sorry."
“It might actually be best if I left.” He replied, standing up, tucking in his chair both to be polite and to show that he didn't intend to come back. “Just call me or something.” Like he needed to tell her. Carmen would most definitely call him later that night to apologize in every way that she knew how. Properly offer to take him out to a nice dinner to make up for it. Carmen all but sprinted out of the cafe, Niklaas trailing behind her at a much more casual pace, and he didn't regard her and Antonio as he fiddled with the lock on his bike and pulled it free of the rack just outside.
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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Jan 5, 2014 16:40:18 GMT -8
A few years ago he would have had an eye for miniscule details. Dabbling in photography for couple years gave one an eye for such things, but that had since turned that energy and preciseness to his music. Picture perfect finger movements, pausing at just the right time to breathe so you can play your solo without gasping for air by the end, knowing the keys of the piano so well that you could play any song blindfolded. Okay, so he was kind of a stickler for details like that, but not so much for the little containers of spices on his table. Carmen seemed to notice they were out of place, however, and rearranged them absently as she spoke, mentioning Google Translate's less-than-accurate translations in a bemused tone. The application itself was... passable. Not bad, but not great either. He wouldn't recommend it to anyone who was interested in learning another language.
“...My shift ends in a little while, why don't we do something after that~? I've been a bit bored lately myself!" Said Carmen. Did she have to be so peppy about everything? ...Dumb question. Of course she did, although her jubilation was somewhat contagious. Maybe that was why he had come to her before anyone else- because he needed someone far more upbeat than himself to get him out of this slump. Something that didn't involve getting high in his flat and watching the Nijntje (he didn't care if the cartoon was called “Miffy”;Nijntje was Nijntje) tapes he had managed to scrounge up. That, and the good weed was really expensive and hard to get in this city. Not exactly something he'd smoke every other day as recreation.
“What did you-” His question was cut off when someone called out. Glancing at the new voice Niklaas was taken somewhat aback at how... similar this man and Carmen looked. It was almost eerie in a way. Whatever the case, and whoever this look-alike was, Carmen seemed less than thrilled to see him. Christ, what did he do to make her regard him with anything less than sunshine and smiles? Whatever had happened, Niklaas didn't want to be in the middle of it. Let these two deal with... whatever it was they needed to- just keep him far away and out of it. God knew what would happen if Carmen ever got angry, and a part of him didn't want to see. The happiest, nicest people had the fiercest tempers, after all.
“Well, um, for what happened two weeks ago..."You know, um, well, what I mean to say is..." The look-alike (Antonio, was it?) said nervously, scratching the back of his head before taking a breath. It was when he said... some sort of fast, jumbled mess of words that was almost intelligible to his ears. Whatever he had said, it was for Carmen and it was probably personal. That was his cue to leave. He stood up, trying not to make it obvious that he was backing out of an uncomfortable situation. “"Oh, hey! I'm Carmen's brother, Antonio. It's nice to meet you!" Oh, goddamn it. With a sigh Niklaas resettled himself in his seat. He couldn't exactly get away easily now.
“Niklaas,” He began. “I'm a... friend of Carmen's.” Hopefully he would just leave it at that and take this private, whatever-kind-of-matter this was outside or in the back. Anywhere he wouldn't be caught in the middle of an argument. ELECTRIC OF GS AND BTN |
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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Dec 31, 2013 2:49:23 GMT -8
Akfjdfdj sorry for taking so long to get back to you ;; But yeah, I'd love to have Niklaas have some interactions with Kiku  You think they have any hobbies in common they can bond over? |
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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Nov 7, 2013 11:38:57 GMT -8
Niklaas’ eyebrow quirked in irritation at the unknown, uninvited, intrusion on his personal space. Small, delicate hands wrapped around his in an attempt to steal what little warmth they could provide, and a small body tucked itself against his to try and achieve the same goal. The nerve of some people. He cleared his throat and glanced down at the intruder,
“Can I help-” The words died down his tongue once the intruder turned her head to look back at him. The same golden blonde hair, slightly chubby cheeks, and innocent emerald green eyes stared back at him. This same face had been distraught and stained with tears a decade ago, and this same woman had stubbornly clung to his sleeve as she begged Niklaas to come with her, Elise, and their mother.
She had blossomed, Niklaas concluded. Time had matured her, while it had hardened him, although she probably didn’t have six years of chain smoking under her belt. And how like her, it was, to so easily slip back into his presence like they had never been seperated in the first place. One would think they had talked just yesterday, rather than several years ago. Maybe it was because Marianne didn’t think too much about the small, minute little details like Niklaas did. Broer was broer, and acting awkward around him because she hadn’t seen him in so long was silly. In that sense, the Dutchman envied her way of thinking. Growing up the way he did, everything had to be planned and thought out to the smallest detail. Everything had to be picture perfect or else the entire delivery could go to hell.
At those tiny, delicate little sneezes Niklaas almost offered his coat and scarf. He would have, if they weren’t still damp and cold, and if Marianne hadn’t grown out of her physical frailness, the heavy weight on her shoulders would probably just be more a burden than a help. But she would accept it with a smile regardless. She retracted her hands when her own steaming mug of coco was delievered to her, and after checking her phone briefly she bonked her head on the edge of the table with an exasperated whine of a groan. Niklaas blinked in confusion, “something wrong?”
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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Oct 19, 2013 23:00:18 GMT -8
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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Oct 19, 2013 13:37:51 GMT -8
The sudden rain had chased him in here, the warmth and hospitality of the servers made him stay. Stubborn asshole that he was, Niklaas had ignored the forecast this morning about there being a high chance of a storm, and dared to ride his bike to work anyway. Looking like a drowned ray was his price to pay for his stupidity, it seemed. He had all bust burst into the restaurant, holding his saxophone case of his chest like it would blow away in the gale outside, completely soaked to the bone and trying to brush his water-logged bangs out of his face. Despite some people staring at him like he was mad (which he probably was, going out in such a storm), he was quickly escorted to a table and offered some hot chocolate and a towel. The former probably wouldn't be free, as hardly anything was, but it was better than sitting in a booth, shivering, and getting water all over the nice fake leather upholstery.
Pulling out his phone, Niklaas dried it off and punched in his boss' number, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the other man to pick up. After five or six rings, all he got was a cheerful recording telling him to please leave a message at the tone.
“Hey, it's Niklaas. I might be late coming in, depending on how long this storm lasts,” the Dutchman glared out the most available window, like that would somehow make the rain stop. “If I'm not there when you need me, just push our next act up a time slot or two. Hell, have an open mic night if you want, people love singing when they're pissed. Alright, catch you later.”
Hanging up and setting the phone aside, Niklaas off offhandedly tried to get his hair to cooperate with him. Maybe it was time he got a hair cut, since his bangs were downright obstructive at the length they were. At the moment, however, where he was seemed to be more important. He rode through Dalston, past the University of Westminster, so that would put him somewhere near Hoxton and Shoreditch.. .right? Niklaas groaned internally and placed a hand over his eyes. He should know the fucking route he took to get to work by now! Granted he relied more on landmarks than street signs and overly complicated directions, but stil. This was pathetic. “Well, stressing about it now won't help.” He said to himself as he took his hand away, instead choosing to warm his hands on the ceramic mug that had been placed in front of him. Plenty of people got lost in storms all the time, he just happened to be one of those unlucky son of a bitches today. Nodding to himself he took a sip of the steaming liquid in his cup, thankful that it didn't burn his tongue as it went down.
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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Sept 26, 2013 1:16:23 GMT -8
Hunny. Hunny. Dude, Hunny.
BeNeLux Sibling Reunion Chaos. This needs to happen ASAP.
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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Sept 26, 2013 0:25:07 GMT -8
HEY YOU
I'm super stoked that we've got a Denmark running around now >u< <3 Anyway, I'm Sve, and I play the lovable jerkass known as Netherlands, and the adorable ball of social awkwardness that is Sweden. I wouldn't mind Mathias having a plot with either one of them because I totally ship NedDen and SuDen COUHGHACKCOUGH; whatever you want to do c:
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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Sept 21, 2013 19:16:49 GMT -8
He wasn't necessarily hungry at the moment, having his usual hagelslag before leaving the flat earlier that afternoon, but Niklaas scanned the menu regardless. He might as well look like he was at least considering ordering something, and not just sitting around taking up space-- he knew that drove some servers absolutely nuts. Instead of really reading what the menu had to offer, he listed at least five people who would tell him his boredom came from having no friends. At least one would suggest that Niklaas get himself a girlfriend –or a boyfriend, if he swung that way-- make the time go by faster. The Dutchman's previous relationship had thoroughly convinced him that love sucked, so he tended to avoid that avenue. Such was the price he paid for letting his walls down, even for the briefest of moments.
The Dutchman looked impassively over the top of his menu when he heard the familiar voice trill out; “Take your breaks now, niños, and I'll take over!” Was she seriously sending all her employees out on a break just because Niklaas happened to show up? He considered the possibility for a few seconds before concluding that it probably wasn't the case. If Carmen made her entire business come to a grinding halt whenever someone she liked walked in the door, she would have been out of business years ago.
Looking back at his menu, he spared a glance at his watch as Carmen enthusiastically filled the seat across from him. Just before two minutes since he arrived; not her slowest but not her fastest either. Thankfully she had abstained from hopping in his lap and throwing her arms his neck, although something told Niklaas was was only because they were in her cafe and she had to maintain at least some sense of professionalism. “Long time no see, querido~! How have you been~?”
“I still don't know what that means.” He said as he set his menu aside. His mother and Marianne had been the multilingual ones in the family, the former speaking fluent German and French, but Niklaas himself was completely hopeless when it came to languages beside Dutch and English. Not that he had needed to learn much else, nor did he really have the motivation. “I've been fine,” Niklaas continued, propping his chin in the palm of his hand. “Nothing much to complain about, just bored out of my mind for no reason.” He would leave it at that and let Carmen fill in the blanks, even though he knew that she would suggest doing something together, which wouldn't be that bad (provided she pay her half), and hell it would be something to do other than just meander about London aimlessly by himself-- and probably get himself lost in the process, although he would never admit that.
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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Sept 17, 2013 13:54:51 GMT -8
It's Niklaas' turn~ have at it, friends!
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Post by Niklaas de Vries on Sept 17, 2013 13:52:47 GMT -8
If Adania hadn't spoken up, he would have assumed that she was just gathering her things to head back home. When she did, it was clearly addressing him; “I didn't mean to... refuse your offer.” Didn't mean to refuse his offer? It was a simple yes or no question. She was making it sound like she had offended him somehow. Okay, granted, maybe his final comment to her was came out a little sharper than he intended, but that was more a force of habit than anything. “I never went out until this late, and I will very appreciate it if you accompany me back to the dormitory. It would make me feel safer," she continued once she had caught up. Niklaas looked over his shoulder at her as he secured his sax in the back basket of his bike. Couldn't she have said that in the club? Intimidated and scared or no, she could still say what she meant- couldn't she?
Cultural differences, Niklaas reminded himself. Not everyone could be as bold and direct as the Dutch (although that would make everything so much easier). "B-but if you want to go home soon, it's okay. I'll be careful and keep myself safe." Adania finished hastily-- nervously. Could a girl like this really defend herself? Granted, London was a safe enough city, what were the odds that this night would be any different? The Dutchman drummed his fingers against the handlebar of his bike in contemplation.
Look at it this way, his mind supplied casually. She'll owe you after this, right? That was true, but what could a university girl offer him? Not money, since he knew from experience the nightmare university life was for a wallet. Finally, he decided that she would owe him a favor sometime in the future. That was fair enough. “I'll come, since you seem to want me to, if it's too far out of my way, I'll work something out.” It would be a major pain in the ass, yes, if it turned out her university was far out of his way. Strangely Niklaas didn't find it annoying as he normally would. Maybe it was something that came with growing up as the oldest child in the family. A long buried big brother instinct rearing its head after several years. Or something to that effect.
ELECTRIC OF GS AND BTN |
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You think they have any hobbies in common they can bond over?
