Court of the Fallen
hold my hand - Printable Version

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hold my hand - Lily - 07-22-2019

There’s one place in the Hollowed Grounds which has always fascinated her - besides the Spire, which was also fucking terrifying - the Bone Bridge. The mist, the mysterious abyss, the kinda creepy formation. How many times has she walked past it, paused, considered crossing it, and then just… not? Too many times. And she has resolved to be bolder, less afraid, put herself out there instead of just sitting and home with her music and her dancing and her thoughts.

To be honest, the woman who had to be an extrovert for a living was finding that she may be more of an extroverted introvert, she just never had the luxury of discovering that.

So here she is again, just… staring at the bridge with this look on her face of deep indecision, arms crossed over her chest. A brisk wind tousels her flame-red hair, her locks the color of the changing leaves, which might be stunning elsewhere. But here? Here there are no trees and it just whistles through the air and down into the chasm, where it echoes in its depths. She inches closer. Just a little bit, still toeing the line of indecision with a healthy dose of fear.


RE: hold my hand - Melita - 07-23-2019

Melita’s bow was with her today, the quiver tight along her back, the sensation of adventure maneuvering her forward and onward, ghosting and coasting along the fragments of places she was somewhat familiar with. The bleached array of the Bone Bridge heightened and plucked at her senses, the emboldened traces of her foundation maneuvering her closer and closer; Fangorn tucked at her ankles, doing the same. She lifted her face to the wind and caught the start of a song, high and then lilting, pressed between rock and crag, and she hummed it beneath her breath, striving to match it pitch for pitch, but lacking the tunes, the ability; melding and molding under its hallowed sanctions, closing her eyes for an instant simply to savor: the chill, the sonnets, the stanzas, and the strains.

When she reopened them, another had materialized out of the fog and earth – and she’d recognize the flaming hair anywhere, for they had matching adornments – crying out and waving as she loomed and advanced. [say]“Lily!”[/say] She cried and gestured, another piece of the labyrinth and warren, racing forward, Fangorn striving to keep up with massive bounds and launches of his own. When she finally caught up to the other woman, her inquiries were breathless, but tender, warm and bright. [say]“What are you doing out here?”[/say] She was smiles and grins, effervescence and ebullience, as part of the earth and sky and gulf down below, ready to sink into its measures with no folly, no thought, no beacon. But was Lily? Had curiosity driven her to these fathoms, where the wind whistled, where the enigmatic twitched, pulsed, and waited? Where monsters might have roamed, far, far below?


RE: hold my hand - Lily - 08-02-2019

Lily! floats across the mist, causing her to fully turn and search for its source. And you know, she wasn’t going to laugh, but the little gourd at her feet never ceases to bring a smile to her face - especially as it (he?) bounces so merrily at her side. With a little wave to the other redhead, the entertainer takes a couple of steps backwards, towards the approaching woman. She looks prepared, Lily thinks, as her eyes roam over the bow and general, enthusiastic demeanor of the other.[say] “Hi Melita! I was, ah, thinking of crossing the Bone Bridge today. As a challenge to myself.”[/say]

An almost apologetic shrug follows her declaration of intent, as if to say that she knows it’s silly - but she is not like the rest of the fierce people who seems to have come from vicious, life-and-death worlds. Other words seem to be on the edge of her tongue, but she swallows them. She should feel comfortable asking for help, but there’s just something that feels childish about wanting someone else there to give her strength. She should be able to do this herself.

So instead of being and adult and asking for what she needs, she blurts out,[say] “And you? What are you up to today?”[/say] All the way out here, where she was sure her wimpiness wouldn' have any witnesses.


RE: hold my hand - Melita - 08-03-2019

Melita was one to love a challenge: the more demanding, exciting, or inspiring, the better. It was a daring provocation, a series of cycles and rhythms set to her bones, to her veins, to the spinning measures of her blood and breath, to become something other than the wayfaring honeybee, than the beckoning, boasting girl who couldn’t defend anything or anyone. She didn’t render Lily’s shrug as apologetic, but a way to serve a purpose, and her features practically glowed at the insinuations, at the promise of embarking along bridges made of remains, of becoming brave, bold, and brazen, for Lily to match the fire of her hair with the rest of her entity. [say]“That sounds awesome!”[/say] She exuded, a fierce little thing with nothing holding her back but the weight of her own calamity, ruin, and errors, gilded eyes lingering on the bleached contortions nearby, on the suspension of marbled countenances and fallen monsters. Her fingers seared on her bow strap, playing and toying with it, as if announcing it’d have its moments too, stark, keen, and clear, whistling in the wind as they chased after demons and fiends.

But as for her own motives, the youth’s exuberance was still a wild, chaotic thing, ready to chase down the world at a single notice, at a spare glance, at the slightest, lightest kindling, incensed and eager, fervent and blistering. Beneath all the smalls she was a renegade, a ruffian, a proud, victorious urchin, head stuck somewhere in the midst of assaults, sieges, bedlam, and songs. [say]“I thought about going on an adventure,”[/say] her voice was not half-hearted by any means, but rich and vibrant, a pinnacle of boisterous intentions, her eyes lingering back on Fangorn, distracted by an insect floating by, before riveting along Lily. Perhaps today she’d challenge herself too. [say]“Would you mind if we joined you?”[/say]


RE: hold my hand - Lily - 08-30-2019

The younger woman’s enthusiasm for Lily’s self-declared challenge takes the entertainer off-guard for a moment. Not enough to make her step back, but enough to make her pause, blink in surprise, and then break into a wide smile tinged with disbelief. Awesome?![say] “If you say so…”[/say] For her, it’s all about proving something to herself, about being able to move forward in this world and shedding part of the old Lily who would rather burn herself on a hot pot than stare into the foggy abyss, knowing there’s nothing underneath her feet if she steps too far.

But there is strength in numbers, and strength in Melita’s bones; she radiates youthful naivete in the way that young men often do when think they’re indestructible and everything is a challenge to be overcome. Except that it’s not testosterone fueled and it isn’t brash. It’s kind. At least, this offer is. And Lily is quite grateful.

She exhales quietly in relief, not knowing she’d been holding her breath. And that smile grows wider (if possible), disbelief fading into gratitude.[say] “I’d love it if you joined me,”[/say] she says before reaching her hand out to Melita, hoping that the warrior-to-be will take it and they can step on to the not-so-strong looking bridge together. Making sure Fangorn isn’t in the way, Lily prepares herself to take a step, looking at the straight path ahead of her and definitely not at the bridge or the vast expanses of emptiness on either side.


RE: hold my hand - Melita - 08-31-2019

If Melita’s excitement and exuberance for the upcoming provocations was too much, she didn’t really notice; too busy with her eyes on the horizon, on bleached contortions that might’ve been bones, on the traversing and crusades lending them to the other side. The honeybee didn’t have to prove her own merit and courage – that had been instilled long before and would likely remain for her lifetime, inherent and as natural as breathing, running headlong with ruthlessness and ferocity, daring anyone in her wake to try and stop her. She maneuvered forward and onward and into bliss or chaos, intending to thrive in either; a restless, intrepid little beast with fire and acrimony hastened to her existence. Some could’ve been due to ignorance, but the youth had seen too many things, had experienced too many wounds, too many scars, to be waylaid by the probability of danger, wasn’t a daunted morsel, swaying in the breeze – she was the wind, she was the sky, she was the earth, intending to race across each contortion as if it were hers to wage and wield.

Lily permitted her to join, and the girl’s halcyon spun smile reeled back to the entertainer, eager and fervent and ardent, eternally ready to strike out on her own with no questions asked, no inquiries ignited, a provocation in her steps, a dare on her lips. Melita took the woman’s offered hand, swinging it along their arms with a hum on her breath, the nervous intricacies in Lily’s pulse instigating the croon under her tongue, along her throat, coating the moments in merriment instead of ongoing dread. She extended one leg in an exaggerated stride, the devilish tethers of her smirk now settling along her lips, chin lifted in such a radiating bout of defiance that no one would be surprised if some demon sprung out just to wipe it off her face. Fangorn growled, rumbling forward as if naught was untoward or worth worrying about. [say]“Let’s go!”[/say] Melita conjured, the hum still there, still poised, still a radiant bout of fire. [say]“What are you hoping to find?”[/say] Her inquiry sizzled in between croons and murmurs, intending to keep the woman calm as they ventured into warrens and the unknown.


RE: hold my hand - Lily - 09-05-2019

What is she hoping to find?

Bravery first comes to mind, but that admission seems weak and does the entertainer a great disservice to herself. Another portal comes next, but that, too, is untrue. What would she do? Go back? The limits placed on women in her world were removed here, and even though Lily doesn’t have magic or shape-shifting powers, she still has risen further by herself than she ever would have at home in Portsmouth. There’s some miracle in that, right? Inspiration comes third, because the entertainer has been waffling lately. Words come and go, phrases stick in her head, but she’s finding that actual product she’s supposed to create is… less than ideal.

So. That begs the question again, and as the green-eyed woman looks out into the floating mists, hand swinging and fingers interlocked with a sweet, darling friend, she hesitates for a moment.[say] “I don’t know... “[/say] Does she need to find anything? Maybe some peace of mind?[say] “Maybe that there’s nothing out here to be afraid of? Heights has always been a challenge.”[/say] Still looking ahead, her hand grips a little tighter.[say] “The thought of falling?”[/say] She makes a sound and a face that indicates shivers are crawling up her spine, that its a horrifying, invasive thought.

It doesn’t matter that the span is wide; there’s barely a railing. It seems like a strong enough gust might be able to send her reeling to the side and then… oops, down she goes.


RE: hold my hand - Melita - 09-07-2019

Melita thrived on challenges, on the daring voids, on the startling provocations, on worlds, whims, and people telling her she couldn’t, and she’d set foot onto the strands, the threads, the tethers simply because of those goading, tangible lines. So her smile bolstered all the more as Lily sought to push herself into becoming better, mightier, braver, even amongst the hesitation – which was far more sensible than the honeybee girl had ever been, eternally twisting and yearning, parading and cavorting into escapades without forethought, without adherence. Where Melita might not have ever thought to segment her fear into heights, into the notion of falling, Lily had likely experienced a realm, a role, in which she had a reason to despair over its torment – the youth was foolish and courageous, but Lily was considerate, contemplative, and thoughtful.

At her mention of descents and plummets, the girl’s first notion was to briefly look over the side, not tugging at hands, just a mere shuffle towards the railing. But there was only fog billowing and binding, and she shrugged, meandering back to Lily without any further notation on the matter – nothing to see, nothing to be afraid of. She did ensure her staff and bow were still holstered on her person, and that Fangorn leapt and bounded at her ankles, not straying too far away as they began their strides across, inclining further and further. The subject matter might not have been entirely distracting or diverting, so she pursed her lips and granted some notions, some notations, until she found something worthy of considering their attention spans. [say]“Do you have any favorite stories? I can tell you some of my mother’s!”[/say] A hum sequestered itself back under her breath, warm and chipper in the mysterious, enigmatic atmosphere, trying to chase all of Lily’s demons away.


RE: hold my hand - Lily - 09-16-2019

The notion that Lily might be more sensible than her courageous friend was something that had not occurred to her. History remembers the brave ones, the heroes and heroines who go swinging into battle, who live and die by the blade. It does not remember the women who sit back and wonder if rushing into battle is a good idea or not, unless said women prevent a massacre. And is Lily at the head of an army? No. No, she is not. She can’t even compose an Ode to Arduinna right now (a sneaky, but also legitimate way to at least get her name into the books).

In some other world, certainly not her own and definitely not Caido, she might be worthy of acclaim.

But today is all about personal growth, so onward, ladies!

Melita might feel Lily’s grip tighten and a certain rigidity begin to afflict her normally fluid and graceful body. It’s nothing severe - it doesn’t keep her from walking and it doesn’t keep her from breathing (two very essential things), but it does betray whatever trepidations she might have, which is why it’s so good when her companion asks for a story. Ah! The perfect thing to take her mind off the next couple of steps. What is one of her favorite stories? Scrambling to think of something entertaining and adored, Lily finally lands on one.[say] “There is this one, and it’s about a very smart woman.”[/say] She swallows, trying to remember the story as it was laid out on gold embossed pages, the heaviness of the leather-bound tome as she read (a rarity, for a servant) aloud to her mistress.

[say] “A long time ago, in a far away land, there was a woman named Scheherezade. She was the beautiful and learned daughter of one of the king’s advisors. She read everything.Now, this king’s first wife had been unfaithful to him and he killed her for it, and vowed that every day he would marry a new wife, and then the next day, he would kill her before she had the opportunity to be unfaithful.”[/say] The ultimate dick move and no way to beget heirs or run a kingdom, because eventually all the other men get pissed off at you for taking away all the women, but hey, no one asked Lily. [say] “So, against her father’s wishes, Scheherezade volunteered to spend one night with the king, and during this night she told him a wonderful story, but dragged it out so that she was only half way through at dawn. She stopped and the king asked her to keep going, but she said she’d run out of time. So the King promised to spare her life until the end of the story.”[/say] Her body becomes more relaxed now, as Lily begins to forget about the bridge and the abyss and everything except Melita and the story.

[say] “So the next night, she finished the story and then started a second, even more exciting tale than the last. And the King spared her life again, as he wanted to hear the end of that story, too. She was able to continue this for one thousand and one days, until finally, she ran out of stories. But over the course of those thousand nights, the King had fallen in love with her and ended up making her his Queen.”[/say] Lily chuckles a little at the absurdity of the whole situation, but is ultimately smiling at the wit of the woman and her ability to manipulate the situation. It's how women have always been able to survive - by outsmarting the men in power and finding ways to use the situation to their advantage. They are adaptive creatures.

[say] “Do you have any favorite stories from home?”[/say] she aks, hoping the Melly's story will take them to the end of the bridge so that they can then turn around. Surely the trip back will be easier!


RE: hold my hand - Melita - 09-18-2019

She was a part of the breeze, the bones, the bridge, the length of marrow and tissue as she walked, waltzing along with no trepidations curled into her movements. The youth breathed fire and brimstone, then savored the relish of the tempestuous eaves; tightening her grip on Lily’s when the singer seemed to lose some ambition – swinging their arms back and forth with the melody under her breath, tilting her head to listen to the story of the clever woman who’d outwitted her intended. Melita could understand some of the implications, that the king was distrustful because of an affair, but to murder? To kill? What had been the threat? What had been the motive except shame? As for the rest of the unfortunate wives, the youth wrinkled her nose, pondering over which measures of disdain to amplify or release judgment. Thankfully, it seemed to be only a myth, a legend, though she was a tad bit irked that after everything, the monarch had twisted it back around, left the poor Scheherezade to maintain the place of Queen. Perhaps she’d wanted it anyway; far greater, far wiser, than the man in charge, not deluded, but manipulative to her survival tactics and means. Melita could appreciate that. [say]“She should have found someone better.”[/say] Then she smiled, an embellished grin, and laughed as the curls, as the plumes, of fog and mist rolled over them, sinking into ivory vapor.

Not deterred or dismayed, the youth obliged with her own saga. [say]“Once, there was a world of smoke and ash, fire and blood, flames and dragons. It was savage, untamed, and beautiful. All around it were other terrains, but it was said to be the best of the best, wild and capable of anything.”[/say] The youth was biased, of course, as the same terrain was imbedded in her ichor, in her lungs, in her heart – draconic enterprises and intervals she could never have again, [say]“One day, a body was discovered – dead as a doornail, barely any clues to suffice the meaning, who or what had accomplished such a dastardly thing.”[/say] Her voice took on an ethereal, eerie whisper, lowering it to signify the mystery, the bewitching, alluring segments and fragments. [say]“Each week, another one lain stone cold. Finally, the gods became involved, asking for each kingdom to make teams to track down suspects, signs, or traces. As the season wore on, fingers were pointed, and accusations were made. Who was the murderer? Why were they doing this? What compelled them to such crimes?”[/say] A Cheshire grin unfolded over her features again, wide and effervescent, akin to some cat who’d snagged and consumed the canary in one bite – pausing only to unfold the drama, to wait for Lily’s input or decrees.


RE: hold my hand - Lily - 09-30-2019

She grins, too, and laughs in agreement, the first part of which is genuine delight until it trickles into something a little more sad.[say] “She should have. But in my world, women don’t have a lot of power. You’re lucky if you have a kind father and a good husband.”[/say] There’s a bit of a break in her voice, enough to signal a quick shift in emotions.[say] “Many don’t. So to be a Queen and have even a little bit of power…”[/say] Well, she found power in her own way. But it came at a price. But Lily can understand why Scheherezade persevered, even if the Sultan was a murderous royal dick: even a smidgen of agency, an iota of influence, a way to make life better for others or keep her fellow women from dying at yet another man’s hands - would that not be worth fighting for?

Anyway, enough sad, classic tales of patriarchal woe. Melita’s story takes them to the other side, and as they turn to head back, the entertainer finds herself so engrossed in the tale of murder that follow the route without a single thought to what lies below. She’s always been the kind of person who does ‘voices’ for stories, so Melita’s errie whisper is a hook, line, and sinker. She bites her lower lip at the pause, taking a moment to think about the story - but the other girl had given no clues as to who might be the culprit, nothing other than mystery and intrigue. She exhales loudly, in mock exasperation.[say] “Go on!”[/say]


RE: hold my hand - Melita - 09-30-2019

Maybe because she came from a world where women and men had equal power, the youth couldn’t quite wrap her head around some poor dame not having a choice other than kind fathers and good husbands; Melita didn’t have the former, and she still managed to survive, on her own laurels, on her own wits, on her own merits, perseverance and endurance a staple of her existence and entity. [say]“That’s too bad,”[/say] she proffered in a shrug, pondering over ways she would’ve helped or tried to render herself out of such a situation. Perhaps it was a good thing it was only a tale, and not entrenched in truths.

Melita bounded onward though, as they came to the other side of billowing, restless fog, her eyes toying with the convictions, immersed in its labyrinthine quality, before they hastened back the way they’d come. She wanted to announce to Lily of her bravery in the moment – but decided she’d wait until they returned to the proper sides before unveiling the lengths she’d already gone. Tapping her chin in a sort of rogue delight, entertained that Lily had been entertained, she continued on with her spooky ministrations, of a time before her own. [say]“Paranoia grew rampant. The bodies continued, despite all the investigations. It woudn’t be long before friends turned one another, convinced that if they could find a scapegoat, then maybe the murders would stop. Maybe the nightmares would end.”[/say] Her gaze pierced over to the singer, mischievous. [say]“Then one day, the clues became clearer, and their convictions turned to one man: the King of the draconic land, Gaucho the Wildfire.”[/say] She stopped there for future dramatic effect, because, if she recalled the legend correctly, Gaucho’s involvement had been a huge surprise, but with a spectacular twist – no one comprehending how or why someone noble and powerful would’ve started slaying others with no distinction, no reason, no assertion.


RE: hold my hand - Lily - 10-09-2019

It is too bad. That’s why Lily isn’t too fussed about being here. She’s finding that the free life is the good life: fuck the toxic colonial America patriarchy and fuck parents who can sell their children into servitude (though if they could invent birth control ASAP, that would be great).

She inhales violently, surprised that the King of all people could do such a thing to his own subjects. There’s a great sense of betrayal, of a sense that someone in charge should be a protector, but then she thinks back to her own past, to the fairly recent war, and she knows in her heart that she shouldn’t be surprised.[say] “Why?”[/say] she asks quietly, hoping that Melita can shed some sort of light on the troubling revelation. Why?

[say] “Was he… paid to do it? Possessed?”[/say] The redhead continues, a tad excited,[say] “I’ve heard of witches who can do such things.”[/say] Though personally, Lily would rather like to be a witch. Minus the whole ‘being hunted down and hung by the neck till dead thing’ that’s going on. By now, the two women are back to the beginning of the bridge, but the entertainer is so wrapped up in the story that she hardly notices until her feet find earth instead of stone. It’s then that she squeezes Melita’s arm and looks down at her friend in delight. They did it!


RE: hold my hand - Melita - 10-12-2019

The story had hit its noose, one of those strangling, asphyxiating contortions that had once held a tiny Melita enthralled too, shocked at the notions of betrayal by the Wildfire – so trusted, so certain, so stalwart against anyone who would challenge his home. But then again, it hadn’t truly been him. Her guess had been somewhere near the mark, and she didn’t mention anything yet, not until they’d pressed their soles into the earth, and her smile could brim again properly. [say]“Very good. He was possessed.”[/say] She shook her head, eyes glancing up along the sky, the constellations, the stars, where Safrin supposedly channeled and remained; called to earth by them on occasion. [say]“The Moon Goddess took hold of him. Made him murder all those souls. He had no idea.”[/say] And what a scary situation – to have no control over one’s own form, as if sleepwalking through a haze, a labyrinth, not of your own making. Then to slay others, some friends, some foes, some completely unknown, without any mode or reason – simply because she could had been a damning portion too, a reminder that not all celestial bodies were the same, and divinity and virtue didn’t go hand in hand. [say]“He was forgiven, mostly, in the end.”[/say] She shrugged; that was all she knew, hadn’t been alive to see the legends written, only heard, bedtime stories she could eventually recite word by word, staring up at her ceiling in warm huts and wondering if she would ever be part of an epic saga too.

Then, only when she’d finished, did she open up her arms and declare the notions complete. [say]“There! You’ve done it!”[/say]