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Red, white, and black; those were the only colors Nikolai could see in the moment, swirling around him in a crazed array of vivid color.
Red: the crimson liquid staining his clothing and his already scarlet gloves. Blood. Not his, no, never his. This time, it was of a government official he had skinned the top half of. Blood, staining the floors, his gloves, and driving the clown mad.
White: The normal color of his attire, different shades of white, layers upon layers of it. The color of the tile floor, the color of the bright florescent lights above him. The shade that was his skin at the moment, pale, sickly white. White, the horrible, horrible blank feeling inside him.
Black: The spots in his vision. The darkness creeping in on him. The figures only he could see. Black, all he could see of the city outside of the window.
From all around him, the corners of the room, the mirror, the edges of the bathtub, Nikolai saw shadowy figures. They fluttered across the walls in an eerie but graceful dance, fading in and out of reality, circling him. The clown clutched at his head in a desperate attempt to ground himself, covering his eyes to block out the silhouettes.
And that was all.
~
When Nikolai eventually gained enough confidence to look back up, he faced the sink and the mirror. From the corners of his eyes, Nikolai saw a dark figure behind him, but something else had distracted him from the sight.
There was a knife there, laying in front of him, a rather dainty thing, made with silver and having rubies embedded in the handle, still splattered with the blood of the man he had used it to kill earlier. It sat there enticingly, an object that had captured his attention. The clown grabbed the dagger, wrapping his fingers around the cool hilt.
He had been walking in the market with Fyodor when he happened upon the knife, and it had been the conjurer who purchased it, later gifting it to Nikolai. That was a good day. It was snowing, the shimmering flecks coming down gently, dancing in the wind. The sun was peeking out slightly from the clouds then, illuminating the wide grin Nikolai had on his face.
Without hesitation, Nikolai plunged the glimmering steel into his skin, letting the crimson liquid run along his arm, staining the off-white of his clothes scarlet. Pain in the body to ease the pain in the mind, or so it felt. The sharp, stinging sensation momentarily cleared his head, providing a distraction from the horror that was the screams of the people he killed that day replaying over and over. Anything, anything to make it stop.
Within minutes the first drop of blood grazed the floor, splattering the tile. A river of the fluid ran along his arm, dripping on the floor in a constant rhythm. The voices had come back now, screaming at him. Nikolai balled himself up, burying his head in his arms, letting the knife drop to the floor. It landed with a resounding cling, adding further to the cacophony the clown was being subjected to.
"Make it stop..." he sobbed into his hands, his voice catching in his throat. "How do I make it stop?"
A guttural scream was wrenched from his vocal cords, travelling up his throat like a discordant plea for mercy. The jester clutched at his ears, as though covering them could block out the voices. The black was staining his vision now, blocking out the corners of his vision.
"Nikolai?" Then came a soft yet hurried voice, calling out his name from outside the door. "Nikolai!" the voice screamed again, this time harsher, more worried. "Nikolai, I'm coming in. Oh my god... NIKOLAI. NIKOLAI, YOU'RE BLEEDING." Evidently, the door wasn't locked. Huh... the clown thought he locked the door before coming in. But maybe not. At this point, what was real? Haaaa... look at the blood. It started to form a halo around him, a crimson pool. He wondered if the blood could go back in.
A dark haired man came running in a moment later, his cloak flapping around his ankles in an urgent dance.
And that was all.
~
Nikolai woke in his bed, from the feel of it, his arm had been taken care of, and was no longer bleeding. Once he had propped himself up into a sitting position (or rather- tried to, as the moment he moved the world started spinning,) he saw that there was a dark haired man looking over him, sitting on a chair beside the bed, with a book in hand and a seemingly uninterested opinion on his face.
"Fedya?" His voice was scratchy from disuse, and speaking hurt slightly (the aftereffects from... last night, was it?) "Fedya, how long was I out?"
"Not to worry, just an hour or two."
"Oh. Okay." So it wasn't that long ago. Nikolai flopped back onto his side, staring absent-mindedly at Fyodor. "Thank you..."
Fyodor merely flipped the page of his book, not answering. Nikolai watched the other for a moment longer, taking in every detail of his dear friend. Why did Fyodor save him, Nikolai wondered absently. It made no sense, really, Nikolai wasn't shy at all about his plans to kill him, and in that case, it would make the most sense to let the jester die so that an attempt wasn't made on his own life, wouldn't it?
"Are you alright?" Fyodor whispered a moment later, as though half-hoping Nikolai wouldn't hear.
"Oh my, is the demon Fyodor... worried about me?"
"This isn't the time to be joking around."
"Ah, but I'm honored!" Nikolai's smile lit up the room at the moment, beaming widely at his dear friend.
"Answer the question already."
"But that's boring! I know, let's make it a quiz!!" the jester exclaimed excitedly, his eye twinkling.
Upon further inspection, something about Nikolai was... off. His smile was akin to those of the people Fyodor had personally seen go off the so-called deep end, manic and dead-looking. Though his right eye was still covered with his card mask, the Russian was sure that beneath it held an eye that was equally crazed as the left.
"I refuse. You're in no state to be messing around, you know that," He replied firmly, letting his gaze drift back to the novel he was pursuing. Nikolai sat there in silence in the meanwhile, staring at the wall.
"Nikolai..." his partner muttered after a while, "why do you kill?"
The sudden question had Nikolai taken aback for a moment, but answered regardless. "Silly Fedya, don't you know?" A small laugh bubbled up in his throat, the answer was obvious, wasn't it? "All you need is to ask and I'd gladly snuff out the life of anyone you wish. Why do you think that is? Why, repayment of course!" the clown smiled slightly, his eyes overcast. "Repayment."
"Repayment...? My dear, what is there to repay me for?"
Nikolai gave a small giggle, reaching up and tapping his companion's nose lightly. "You gave me freedom. You are my liberty, the one I seek to kill most. After all, I will be the one to end your life one day, hmm? It's only fair that I repay you with my services. After all, without you, where would I be?"
"Better off..." the raven haired man muttered. "Maybe, you would have been better off."
"Fedya!" The clown exclaimed. "How could you say that? You know as well as I that if you hadn't recruited me I'd be dead by now, silly."
"And yet, there's no proof of that, is there?"
"Trust me then," Nikolai reached out to cup his friend's cheek in his hand, "Trust me, just this once."
"I can try," Fyodor responded, clearly unconvinced but happy enough to let the subject drop in any case. He leaned into the other's touch, softly letting his lips brush the slightly cold skin of his companion's hand.
Nikolai lightly kissed his partner's forehead, running his free hand through the other's hair. "Thank you," he murmured, "Thank you, my dear Fedya, for giving me a goal, a purpose."
And that is all.