all ur lite is belong to kavi

[owl_and_heart]

Kavi Chernevog, troubled Kavi Chernevog, rash Kavi Chernevog, is regretting his rash decision to frighten Pyetr Kochevikov by near-killing his English woman--when he was setting about it, when he was taking her strength from her slowly, it seemed to him a good plan, at least one that would damage Pyetr Ilitch and show him that he, Kavi Chernevog,

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[all_that_grace]

Courfeyrac is reading in his room when the lights die. He jumps, dropping the book, and fumbles after the light-switch -- he still hasn't quite figured out how they work; maybe he did something to them, maybe it's fixable --

Candles and the means to light them, if they're in the room at all, are nowhere he knows to look, and in any case he's not thinking clearly at the moment, not at all.

[le_desirous]

"Then there's no hurry."

[all_that_grace]

"I'm sorry. I'm not-- very good company tonight."

[le_desirous]

"Is that requisite?" Snuuuuuggle.

[all_that_grace]

It's having an effect, very gradually. Courfeyrac leans on him. "It's preferable, surely."

[le_desirous]

"If my memory hasn't entirely gone to hell--which, of course, it may have--you withstood my bad company for nearly three months. Without complaint."

[all_that_grace]

A little laugh. "You had cause."

[le_desirous]

"Given that I went out a provoked the fight in the first place--"

[all_that_grace]

"Ah, yes, well."

[le_desirous]

"I think it's close to even."

[all_that_grace]

Courfeyrac reaches up cautiously to run a hand through Sagramore's hair. "If you insist."

[le_desirous]

"I'm afraid I do."

[all_that_grace]

"Then I'll have to concede."

[le_desirous]

"I'm very glad." He kisses Courfeyrac's cheek.

[all_that_grace]

A sigh, and he kisses back cautiously.

[le_desirous]

Sagramore smiles at him and strokes his back. "Helyes. Jól érzed magad?"