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Character of the Season
Once known as the Butcher of Whitebrim, he's now The Butcher of Dygra, stepping forward as the first created demigod of the Ancients. There is no question that Astaroth casts an intimidating silhouette. Tall, domineering and dangerous, if looks could kill you'd be dead already, but to get up close and personal with the Grounds' resident cannibal tells a much different story. Dripping with charm and clad in only the finest attire, Asta is a gentleman monster, as polite as they come and committed to his role as security for the Dusklight and those who have earned his loyalty. Be careful of that smile, though - those teeth are sharp.
Congratulations, Asta!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
Flora grins and nods, the expression immediately turning wicked as her brows bounce with the kind of mischief that makes plausible deniability look like an art form rather than a defence. "Exactly. It’d be the perfect alibi too," she says, one hand lifting from the water to gesture delicately through the steam. "You just say your instincts took over." Her smile widens, bright and terrible.
The humour slips aside when Melita mentions the storms, and Flora winces with immediate, honest sympathy, sucking in a breath through her teeth. "Fuck, that must have been so awful," she murmurs, and there is no pity in it, nothing soft and useless offered from a distance, only the bone-deep recognition of what it is to have the world keep casually resembling the worst moment of your life. She hums her agreement as Melita speaks, gaze dropping back to the constellations trembling across the surface of the spring while the heat folds around them both as if warmth can do anything against memories sharp enough to cut through seasons. "I think it makes people feel uncomfortable, not being able to just fix things." Her shoulders lift in a small shrug, though the motion is tight around the edges. "I know when Enzo died, after a while it seemed like everyone was annoyed with me that I just wasn’t over it yet."
She lets that sit there for only as long as she can stand it, her fingers moving restlessly beneath the water before Melita’s shock yanks the conversation so sharply sideways that Flora’s expression brightens with something smug and vindicated and not particularly healthy. It is not fair, exactly, the satisfaction that blooms in her chest at hearing someone else react with the proper amount of horror, but Flora has never claimed to be a saint, and breakup wounds apparently do not care about fairness even a year or more later. Her eyebrows climb. "Yep," she says, popping the word with crisp, glittering satisfaction.
"But yeah, apparently Jack has been going around introducing her. The first time I saw her was at Colt's rodeo when Jack spilled a drink on me." Her brows stay raised, judgment written plainly across every inch of her face as she looks at Melita through the steam. "It’s so fucked up, right??"
The rumors are terrible and cruel But honey, most of them are true
To be fair, Melita’s instincts did turn towards violence first, questions later. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch, either in an Attuned form or otherwise, to say it was an inherent impulse. Her grin remained mischief laden too, for the sheer thought of it, marking it down in her mind as one of those to revisit.
Discussion of their traumas was a different sort though, and her smile turned smaller, much like her form, as she folded amongst the stars and water, gazing along snowy horizons. There had been steps though, hopefully in the right direction, so every thunderstorm wasn’t a sudden attack or people using said incantations weren’t out to maliciously assault and seethe against her. But she hummed and nodded in agreement, eyes cast downward again at the semblances of Enzo, lost, with people annoyed that she hadn’t recovered. “I don’t think that kind of thing ever really goes away. Muted, a little, maybe, over time, but that’s a pivotal loss. I wouldn’t think anyone else should recover quick either.” She shrugged too, like it was an echo of things they had tried to toss away and still found a quick edge to cut themselves on. At least Enzo was back – through Flora’s own machinations. Melita would never have the opportunity to grasp hold of Clementine or her mother again. “Everyone grieves differently, but expectations are fuckin’ wack.”
Besides, there were other shocking things to explore – like the news of Jack and the ship, the Ark being made real and whole and apparently something he’d always wanted to stick his dick in. Flora’s news roused the Honeybee out of any morose qualities, bug-eyed and incredulous as she shook her head, mouth still slightly open in horror. “Ohhhhh, that was her?” She’d only seen brief glimpses – because despite having been a part of the crew on said Ark, her knowing hadn’t much mattered. Understandable, that could’ve been for the best, but here they were. “I don’t even know what to say, honestly,” and she laughed, something a little more hollow in the disbelief. Confusion still knitted through her brows, and the breath of air around her turned into puffs extended into the colder components of Halo. “Does…does he still have a ship then? Like how does that even work?” Furrowing her brows to the last time she'd seen him, with said Ark, she couldn't quite discern the timeframe of the matter - nor how it affected the travel.
Flora nods, the motion small but certain, because if there is one thing grief has taught her it is that everyone else’s timeline for how long pain is allowed to remain visible is almost always insultingly short. "You’ve got that right," she says, shooting Melita a crooked grin that doesn’t try to make light of the whole thing so much as step around it with care. Expectations are fucking wack, and while Flora has no desire to linger there until the heat of Safrin’s Mirror can’t reach them anymore, the look she gives Melita holds the appreciation plainly enough: for the honesty, for understanding that some wounds are less like bruises and more like permanent alterations to the shape of a person.
Luckily, Jack Barclay fucking his ship is exactly the sort of horrifying gossip capable of dragging them both out of emotional sincerity by the ankles, and Flora is more than happy to be hauled. [asy]"Honestly, same when I first heard about it," she says, her nose wrinkling as disbelief and judgment settle back over her features like a much more comfortable robe. "I dunno. I mean, I know he does still have the ship, because the Ark was moored in the Port not too long ago, and I heard from my soldiers about Jack and The Ark going to meet with the Blackfox and then just...being in Torchline again." Which is not, admittedly, the sort of sentence Flora ever thought she would need to say with a straight face, but here they are, apparently living in a world where ships can spill drinks on her and still somehow also be ships.
With a restless little splash at the water, Flora lets the starlit surface break around her fingers, her mouth pulling into a shape that is part sneer, part grimace, and part something she refuses to inspect too closely. "I can’t decide if I’m offended or flattered that I was replaced by basically a puppet." The words come sharp, but not cleanly; there is too much old humiliation caught beneath them, too much remembered wanting and losing and watching Jack somehow make even his damage into everyone else’s weather. "I mean...it isn’t like she’s a real person, right? Or at least...surely she was made to be exactly what Jack wanted?" Her eyebrows lift, judgmental and almost pleading in the same breath, because if the alternative is that the man somehow manifested a fully autonomous woman out of his ship and then immediately started introducing her around like that is normal and dating her, Flora might well need to reconsider what she actually meant to him, and that is not something presently she has any intention of doing.
The rumors are terrible and cruel But honey, most of them are true
They could let that subject meld and mold back into the surroundings – the understanding clear. The pressing gossip about Jack had given way regardless, and Melita had unfolded herself to stare blankly ahead, as if trying to summon the vision and reality of what Jack had been up to. “So she’s both ship…and…person,” as if reasoning the perplexities out, holding her hands upwards like scales. “Kinda like being an Attuned…except…,” well not, because she didn’t think people could suddenly become inanimate objects. Her eyes narrowed, like it hurt to think this deliberately or she was destroying her own brain cells in the process, head tilting vaguely as she silently muddled through things, and then back when no, that line and direction didn’t make up the additional semblances either.
Then when Flora followed up with her next statement, some portion of it made Melita blanch. “Gods, do you think she even had a choice?” It was one thing if the Ark had somehow (?) communicated to the Captain that she’d like to be a human and then go around dumping drinks on exes and dicking about, it was another if Jack had simply decided it for her. And then the matter of Flora herself; and how Jack had gone from her livelihood to…well, this. “That’s really fucked up,” was all she could surmise on the initial round of it cycling through her mind.
And then there were more proportions settling through, especially as Flora glanced her way. Melita took a breath, tried to formulate the rationale. “I am very glad, once again, that you are not with him anymore, because if this is the length he would’ve gone to-,” well, who was to say he wouldn’t have done something to her?
At Melita’s question, Flora’s shoulders lift again, slower this time, and she shakes her head as the steam curls against her cheeks and the heat of Safrin’s Mirror laps softly at her collarbones. "I mean, maybe it felt like a choice," she says, and even that feels generous enough to leave a sour little film over her tongue. "But really, if someone like...literally put you together and was your captain for years and years, and then suddenly you had a body, I mean..." She runs her tongue along her teeth, aqua eyes narrowing slightly as the shape of it settles in a way she hates. "He always loved that ship more than anything, so really, how else could she be anything other than exactly the same towards him?" The realization hits wrong, an ugly little pang beneath her ribs, because this is not just Jack fucking his ship, is it? It's Jack being handed something almost worse for Flora’s ego to look at directly: a version of love built to fit him from the keel up, something loyal because it had never been anything but his, something that might be his soulmate in the most horrifyingly literal way possible.
With a huff, Flora looks back to Melita and lets her mouth pull into a wry smile, forcing the thought away before it can bloom into anything more humiliating. "I am too," she says, drawing in a breath that feels too thin for all the heat wrapped around her, as if she can choke out the lingering shadow of where she might have ended up if she had chosen differently that day, if she had gone back, if she had mistaken being coveted for being happy. The smile stays, because she makes it stay, but there is something brittle at the edges of it now, something that belongs to the woman she had almost been and is very, very glad she is not.
The rumors are terrible and cruel But honey, most of them are true
The more they talked, the more Melita wondered if this was some horror story. She could never imagine a world where she’d shaped someone to be a perfected beacon of what she wanted and craved and desired, with no say on their end. It sounded like a trap, a noose, a snare, dangling by some cruel edges and daggers in the way maybe only people like Jack could surmise. She’d once worked on that ship – knew he loved it, but as property and a vessel – not as a creature ordained to serve him. Something felt very unsettled in her gut, just beyond her ribs, a discomfort as she wrapped her arms around her legs again, tucking her knees into her chest. “So like, do you think she’d ever be able to escape him?” Flora had. But who saved ships from their Captains?
Her eyes chanced briefly to Flora, watching at the brittle smile, before the glance flickered away again. That woman had lived and breathed and died for Jack, and then had managed to cut her ties and chords from him. No small effort. A sharpened and pierced growth from the lovesick girl to the strong leader – but that journey –
The Honeybee sighed, not wanting Jack to be something that always haunted the narrative. He’d like it too much. Determined, she plastered another grin on, meant to be mischievous and sincere and steer the tides away from the aggravating. “All right, happier things. What do you guys need for wedding gifts?”
Flora considers it for a moment, but the thought only makes her lips turn down into a frown as she shakes her head. "What’s there to escape?" she says quietly, the question more bitter than she means it to be. "He must feel like...I dunno, like a god to her. She’s literally only alive because of him, and everything she is is because he wants her to be that way." The words leave a sourness behind them, and she grimaces slightly before looking back at Melita with a relieved little smile as the Honeybee so clearly decides they have spent enough time picking apart that particular horror.
Biting at her lower lip, Flora feels a flush of delight roll through her, not just at the thought of presents but at everything tucked behind the question: guests knowing, celebration, getting to be publicly and loudly married to Kai instead of carrying something so enormous and happy in a secret little pocket between them. She hums dramatically, eyes narrowing as though this is a very serious matter requiring exhaustive thought, before grinning at Melita. "I haven’t even thought of it," she admits. "Maybe, like, an enchanted waffle maker that writes dirty jokes into the waffles?"
The rumors are terrible and cruel But honey, most of them are true
Melita had forgotten that maybe, for the Ark, it scarcely mattered. Without Jack she wouldn’t be as she was presently, and therefore, way make the effort to evade? Still, her brows furrowed as Flora uttered the lack of avoidance. The Honeybee could’ve waged more argument, more defense, but for people who didn’t want it, didn’t need it, didn’t see it that way, it would’ve just been another empty collective. So her mouth opened, then snapped shut, nodding with a muffled and long-held breath – mustering a spare thought for a ship who might never yearn for anything more than the Captain she already had.
There were better things on the horizon anyway, like weddings and gifts, and she laughed at the mental image of a waffle maker composing dirty jokes into said food. “Could do a bounce house for your reception,” she gleamed, imagining the hordes of recent children, and probably those like Kaisel and herself, who’d eagerly launch into said jumping arena with many an impending injury. “I’d even rent the thing and blow it up,” as an offering.
Flora’s brows shoot up so quickly they nearly vanish into the damp curls at her hairline, and then she laughs, bright and delighted enough to scatter the last of the heavier conversation like steam off the surface of the springs. "Oh my gods," she says, already picturing it: a mountain wedding with dragons circling somewhere safely far away, starlight and wind for an aisle, and a bounce house full of adults behaving with less restraint than the children. "We could have judges who give out points for style, or maybe a competition to see who can bounce the highest."
Her grin turns even wider at that, because the second Kaisel enters the thought, she can already see exactly how little dignity he would bring to any of it. There would be no such thing as one polite turn in a bounce house for him; there would be declarations, challenges, elaborate attempts at tricks that cannot possibly be good for anyone’s knees, and an immediate refusal to accept losing at something so gloriously stupid. The thought warms her more than the water does.
Turning her smile properly toward Melita, Flora nods with emphatic approval. "That would be epic." Her eyes gleam as the idea grows legs, and Flora adds, "Do you think Iskra would be the sort to join in, or would he be more of the setup-and-judge type?"
The rumors are terrible and cruel But honey, most of them are true
Flora’s reaction was enough for the mischief to complete the glow around Melita’s features – drawn back into their ridiculous schemes, rather than mining away at another woman’s snares. The Honeybee’s grin was embellished and Cheshire, tilting her head as the warmth brewed over them and she loosened another series of laughs at the thought of judges and spectators watching chaos and anarchy over a singular bounce house. “And prizes for survivors,” because gods knew someone would end up on the bottom of the not-well-constructed floor.
Melita could picture Kaisel too – all dressed in his groom finery – striving to alleviate and eliminate his competition in one fell swoop. How far others would go might not matter; though it would serve to amplify the already glorious depiction. “Approved, then?” She winked, already making plans to secure the lot – figuring she could drag the necessary parts on skyship.
As for Iskra’s part, her smile turned into something fond, eyes drifting upwards, either conspiring or trying to predict the woodcutter’s course of action. “It could go either way.” She had managed to snag him into her skijoring tactics with little issue, and an abundance of other stupid notions – like fire jumping. “I think I could convince him to join, but if we needed an additional judge he might be all right with that too.” Part of her figured he’d be a little too worried about her blowing portions of the house away or getting herself stampeded upon in the process…but then again, she’d never really accounted for her own safety. “I’ll pitch the idea and see what he says.” Very content with this newfound idea on multiple levels, she leaned back against the stone. “Who else could we get in there? Think your dads would?”
Flora’s grin flares brighter at that, because prizes for survivors is exactly the sort of detail that turns a perfectly good bounce house into a proper wedding event. "And bottles of fountain water for the losers," she adds, already imagining the dramatic awarding of them to people who have had someone bounce on their head, before chuckling and nodding emphatically. "Approved."
She lets her gaze linger slyly on Melita for a moment, working from the small handful of things she knows about Iskra and trying not to make the curiosity too obvious beneath the easy shape of her smile. "Well, I’m sure we can find more judges if he’d prefer to be in on the festivities," Flora says, because honestly, the more adults bouncing around in formalwear, the better. At the thought of her dads, she snickers and nods. "Oh yeah, for sure. Have you ever seen Remi in his raccoon shift? You’d literally never know it was him, he’s so different."
Considering the rest of the family, Flora tilts her head slightly, fingers drawing idle patterns through the starlit water. "I dunno about Mateo or Enzo, but for sure the twins would. Though they’d probably try and steal from everyone while they were in there, or bring in a bunch of frogs or something stupid like that." Glancing back at Melita, her mouth pulls crooked with fond exasperation. "Did you hear about that? They aged themselves up on their own and the first thing they did when walking home from the shrine was set off the cannon on the docks."
The rumors are terrible and cruel But honey, most of them are true
With both potential murder and a bounce house approved, the Honeybee took that as several wins, a little inward fist pump relegated to imagination only, but there in her heart just the same. “Of course,” she mentioned like it had been a thought at all (it hadn’t), before she proudly preened with a less-than-dignified grin, leaning further back against stone to let the remedies cure any other mulish, muscle discrepancies.
But Flora’s scrutinizing grin made her brow arch; mostly because she figured there were underlying inquiries lurking there. The Hot Take had always been fairly free and open with her life – and it depended entirely on Melita’s mood if she deigned to be much the same. When nothing else came though, she released a long breath like it’d been armor, snorting and nodding at implications. “Gods, it’s been ages.” Perhaps the last time she’d had a full length discussion with Remi had been after coloring dicks on his face with markers as he napped and Ronin supervised. “But it’s good to know he’d be all for it too.”
Barely knowing Enzo or Mateo (though she could absolutely see the latter going hog wild in the bounce house, based on how he’d thrown water balloons at random Stormbreak individuals), the information on the twins was enough to occupy her. With a bold laugh, she shook her head, suitably impressed by the mischief and antics of children she’d never met. “Good for them. I’m very proud,” as she put her hand over her heart; content that the cannon had stirred more into stupefying and demonic enterprises. Something she might’ve done at a tender age, had she ever been allowed access to weapons that early. “Your dads must be exhausted though.”
Flora snickers, shooting Melita a crooked grin as she shrugs one shoulder out of the glittering water. "Honestly, the world probably isn’t ready to see him like that more than once every few seasons."
Huffing out an affectionate laugh, Flora rolls her eyes in a way that says you would be proud of them, because of course Melita would see the part where two nine-year-olds had found a cannon and immediately regard it as evidence of a promising future. "And here I thought forcing two people to be needed to operate the cannon would make it safe, and instead I apparently tailored the experience specifically for them." The sigh she lets out is fond enough to ruin any attempt at sounding genuinely put upon, and she shakes her head as the water shifts around her shoulders.
"Oh, they are," Flora agrees. "Ronin was sad about them not being babies anymore, because he likes that stage so much, but it’s also probably because of how much more work they are now." Her smile turns softer for a second before the mischief returns to brighten her expression. "But I bet you would like them, though."
The rumors are terrible and cruel But honey, most of them are true
The grin was a reflection of her own – and to be fair, Melita would rather see Remi happy and ridiculous, raccoon or not, because he’d had enough hardships in life to warrant any blissful moments. Surely the good had to outweigh the bad by now, or there’d been some accumulated efforts in all the years passed.
“Listen, it was only a matter of time,” she hinted with the same sort of wicked smile, before someone got to it and made “ill-use” of said weapon anyway. While Melita might not have considered it dangerous, hordes of others would probably be disapproving (and for that, fuck ‘em).
Melita’s lack of experience with anything remotely baby came to call as her eyes narrowed. “Huh. I suppose once they’re mobile it's…worse?” Infants always seemed a bit needy and helpless to her – and then, recalling how she was ….could confirm it was indeed “worse.” “I’ll find them later then,” as a little treat.
Stretching and finding her muscles no longer taut or painful, she floated along towards the edge, considering practicalities, and then what on earth the men had gotten up to. “Should we start heading back?”
