Nikolai Lantsov Fanart Novels & Stories

I didn't even look up. "Reorganizing the trophies?" Nikolai asked, leaning against a pedestal holding a jagged bronze sculpture. Oh, God. "Just doing some work, Nikolai." "This stuff is garbage," he said, waving a hand at a huge canvas of grey and black lines. "It’s cold, it’s hard, and it’s exactly the kind of soulless crap my father loves. I’m surprised you haven't picked out something with more... color." "It’s a world-class collection," I said, sounding like a brochure.