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.

[all_that_grace]

"Hmm?"

[le_desirous]

"Egész jól van."

[all_that_grace]

Another little shaky laugh. "But what are you saying?"

[le_desirous]

"Ahogy a szólásmondás tartja, jobb, ha nem mondok semmit. Ezen nincs miért aggódni."

[all_that_grace]

"Sir..."

[le_desirous]

"This is culture. Bask in it."

[all_that_grace]

"You're extremely vexing," Courfeyrac murmurs into his shoulder. "God, I wish the lights would go."

[le_desirous]

More seriously, "I can look about for a candle."

[all_that_grace]

"No. No, stay with me." Kisses him again.

[le_desirous]

"If you're certain."

[all_that_grace]

"Quite."

[le_desirous]

"Helyes barat," softly.

[all_that_grace]

"I do love you," a little shyly.

[le_desirous]

"Should I believe that?"

[all_that_grace]

"Implicitly."