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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!
The docks are quieter now, the aftermath of the day's chaos sunk into the lull of evening tide. A few hels wheel overhead, silhouetted against the fading peach of the sky, and the breeze carries the scent of salt, oil, and something sweeter from one of the food carts still open down the boardwalk. Somewhere out at sea, music drifts faintly from a passing skiff—muffled laughter and the twang of strings, too far to matter.
Closer to shore, the Sugar Tide rocks gently at her mooring, bright sails catching the lamplight in flares of pink and gold.
There’s no fanfare to her arrival—no footsteps, no voice. Just the sudden presence of something unseen as Flora drifts toward the waiting guard, high on the sugar-rush thrill of success. She’d done it: The blood was collected, the daggers had been scraped of Pierce's blood. Still, her thoughts are a mess of tangled threads: glittering, knotted, wild. She’s giddy one moment, jittery the next, the adrenaline of the day refusing to fully let go. It hadn’t gone perfectly—not with Vox so close, not with the Family undoubtedly regrouping in the shadows, not with whatever had happened with the Carpenter family and Sohalia. The win tastes sharp in her mouth, like pomegranate and poison, sweet but with something bitter tucked behind the teeth.
Invisible, it's only a bright hum that announces her approach. Then a firm hand presses a folded parchment into the guard’s palm; neatly written, perfumed, and inked with little hearts beside each item on the list. Before he can respond, a bright red kiss blooms on his cheek, glossy and perfectly shaped like a signature in wax.
Flora doesn’t linger, instead turning toward the Sugar Tide again, heart still skipping along the rim of something reckless. There’s too much to do, too much to plan—and far too many feelings she’d rather not think about.
Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price
You know that I bought it
06-06-2025, 10:53 AM (This post was last modified: 06-06-2025, 11:05 AM by Jack.)
JACK
A sharp whistle cuts through the air, slicing the peace of the evening briefly in twain; across the dock, a man Flora will recognise as one of the less important members of Jack's crew halts in his footsteps and turns back towards the dark hull of The Ark. She sits in her mooring like a sleeping beast, ruddy sails down, figures moving swiftly and silently on her deck. And her captain is just hopping down from her gangplank, a pouch of something in hand which he tosses to the crewman.
He catches it and raises a hand in a wave of understanding, then sets off again at a faster pace, stirring the air around Flora as he breezes by (not that he has any idea she's there). As for Jack, he lingers on the boardwalk, a hand tucked in one pocket, a sprig of peppermint bark between his lips. The Ark has only recently come back down from the safety of the skyline, surveying Haulani and the port before deciding it's safe enough to land.
It means he hasn't had time to take in the very noticeable sails of The Sugar Tide until now, and his blue eyes linger on them for a beat or two before he turns away once more - then pauses. Parsing through the noise of the crew in range, as well as the others milling along the docks, a very familiar string of thought fizzes along his magic like a ribbon of colour.
Smirking, ever so slightly, and gazing at the empty air that is anything but, he offers a subtle nod Flora's way. He doesn't want to blow her cover, of course, but it's nice to know she's still taking advantage of the ring he'd reminded her she possessed.
romancing yourself is possible, narcissistic and recommended
The sharp whistle cuts through her haze like the clean snap of a ribbon, and Flora’s head turns instinctively toward the sound. Even invisible, her body shifts with the grace of someone used to being watched—though right now, there’s no one to see her. Only the darkening horizon, the lap of tide against hulls, the quiet hush of the Sugar Tide behind her. But then she sees him.
Jack on the dock, familiar and frustrating, flicking something to one of his crew with the careless precision that only makes her pulse tick faster. She moves without sound, slipping across the dock like a trick of the wind, trailing that bright, chaotic pulse of too many thoughts behind her—victory, vengeance, fear, the weight of blood in glass jars and the nearness of Pierce across the sands.
Flora stops just close enough to Jack that she can smell the faint bite of peppermint bark. For a moment, she says nothing—not aloud, anyway. But her mind hums, fizzing like champagne in full sun, golden and effervescent and grateful in a way that feels almost reckless. Thanks...for...y'know. The word floats between them, not spoken but sparkling, trailing its sugar-sharp warmth through the air like a sparkler held too long.
Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price
You know that I bought it
Tracking Flora's movements without tracking them, Jack's gaze flicks towards the darkening sea, and he takes the bark from his lips as she draws close enough that he's sure he can feel the heat rolling off her skin and smell her perfume. "Any time," he replies, the words almost murmured under his breath so as not to bring attention to their conversation. Because while she can speak silently to him and be understood, Jack hasn't perfected projecting his own thoughts into others' minds just yet. (Give it time).
"Didn't feel right leavin' when you were still standin' there in plain sight," he adds quietly. "I waited to see if you were gonna do it yourself, but I imagine your mind was elsewhere a bit." On daggers and Pierce and the general bedlam unfolding. "Got extra crew on deck throughout the night tonight, just in case." In case of what he doesn't know - and not knowing is something Jack can't abide.
romancing yourself is possible, narcissistic and recommended
He won’t see the brow Flora lifts, but he’ll feel it; soft incredulity curling through the space between them like the scent of salt-sweet orchids in bloom. It’s not suspicion, not quite disbelief either, but something feather-light and tilted sideways, a question that never fully forms.
She doesn’t speak at first, just lets her thoughts flicker toward him, not sharp or direct, but scattered like petals in the wind. Pierce, was...yeah. The name lands like a stone tossed into deep water. I was focused on him. Part of me wanted him to see me— a pause, her mind veering into darker hues, bitter-edged with glittery, furious satisfaction—just so I could see his face when my daggers sliced into him.
A shrug follows, unseen, and the next thought is more subdued, a little frayed at the corners. But yeah. It was probably for the best.
The sound she makes is light, a hum edged with laughter, like wind chimes catching the last gold flicker of the day. Oh yeah? You wanna lend me Bassian, then? she teases, her mental tone all brightness and coastal sass, breezy enough to lift, but she doesn't have the energy to make it linger. Because beneath the sugar, something steadier begins to take root. A quieter worry, not quite fear, but a readiness coiled beneath her ribs.
Now that Remi and Ronin actually attacked Pierce...The thought trails, then steadies, silvering into something more serious. I think I have to stay invisible. At least until the coast’s got that shield. Dahlia’s not gonna let this go—and I’m guessing Pierce isn’t either.
Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price
You know that I bought it
"If he'd seen you he might've taken a likin' to you, an' then where would we be?" Another question Jack doesn't know the answer to, and he wrinkles his nose as the potential outcomes flicker in his mind's eye before fading again. "Rest assured, even if he didn't see you, I'm sure he felt your presence." And your fucking blades, with any luck.
Scoffing at her next remark, the captain glances up towards his deck where Bassian's strapping silhouette can be seen hefting two large crates, one beneath each of his arms, towards the hold. "Have him for the evenin' if you like. You can braid each other's hair, wear matchin' pajamas, that sort of thing." He knows the tall man's thoughts, and he knows that he'd absolutely not be adverse to it.
Jack's smile fades in time with the way Flora's thoughts grow more sober, his brow furrowing, and though he doesn't glance across at the Doubletake, the weight of his gaze is still evident. "Y'know, if that's the case... why not sneak into Haulani while you're invisible and find somewhere secret to hole up? You'd be safe, you could be invisible if you needed to go out in the streets." He nods at The Sugar Tide. "Sure we could keep an eye on her if you wanted, too."
romancing yourself is possible, narcissistic and recommended
Maybce I could have stabbed him in the eye, Flora thinks with a sugar-dusted sigh, the thought blooming wild and ridiculous for just a moment—bright, cinematic, like something from an over-budget stage play (or Game of Thrones). Or shouted it was me! across the sand like some kind of glittery vigilante. The fantasy flickers and fades, slipping back into the corners of her mind where all the indulgent daydreams go to simmer.
Her grin, though unseen, radiates like sun-warm water. That’s perfect, she chirps. I’ll feed him a bunch of sugar so he stays up all night like a good little watchdog while I sleep. A pause, gleaming with mischief. Of course they both knew that Bastian would likely crash within an hour and end up wrapped around Flora like a weighted blanket—but hey, safety’s safety, right?
For a heartbeat, the laughter lingers, floral and warm and easy. But when Jack makes his next suggestion, her mood shifts—not sharply, but inevitably. He'll feel it first in the way her thoughts draw inward, then push out with a familiar, fond little scowl. Vox can go anywhere, she thinks, and the undercurrent of tension resurfaces. Even if I stayed hidden, I think he’d know. And it’s not just me, Jack. The next thought flickers more quietly. You know how many people that would put at risk. Jack chiefly among them.
I’m staying out. I’ve got my ring and my compass. If I need to move, I will.
Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price
You know that I bought it
Laughing to himself at that, Jack takes great pleasure in the visual Flora provides in her thoughts, the captain more than happy to sample whatever exaggerated demise the Doubletake can come up with for Pierce. Nothing is too much or too dramatic when it comes to that puffed up meathead, in Jack's opinion. Being murdered by someone will do that to you, and he's not sorry about it.
"A'right, but you know the rules. If he throws up an' it's on your deck, you're cleanin' it." He shrugs breezily, placing the peppermint bark back between his lips to thoughtfully chew on it. "He'd probably feel like it was a great honour to keep your ship safe though, so if you do feel like you need it, just go invite him. We'll manage, I'm sure."
The humour fades, though, as it always does these days, especially when it comes to The Family. "Right," he mutters, sighing and inclining his head in a brief nod. "You got the blood though at least, right? So it'll only be Vox to worry about soon."
romancing yourself is possible, narcissistic and recommended
Laughter bubbles through her, quick and light, but she smothers it against the back of her hand so as not to draw attention. Perks of having a baby ship instead of a beast like the Ark, she muses. Way easier to just lean over and vomit into the ocean. Totally efficient. Very elegant.
But then her thoughts shift. Just a flicker, like something clouding over the sun for a moment too long. I thought maybe… she starts to think—but brushes it away before it can settle. The Ark’s too big a target and Jack isn't the sort of man to take those sorts of risks. Actually, she pivots, brightening a touch. Yeah. If you can spare him, I’ll take Bassian. Just for a few days, see how things go. The words glow with careful ease, though there’s something hard to name threading underneath. Be nice to have someone else aboard the Sugar Tide for a while.
The thoughts trail off for a breath before looping back, darker now, edged with practical dread. Yeah, we got the blood. So now it’s just Vox. She doesn't even try to mask the sigh that filters through her thoughts like a tide pulling out. How the hell we’re supposed to get a piece of him, I don’t know. But I guess that’s a future-Flora problem.
Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price
You know that I bought it
"Elegant? That's a new word for it," Jack says with a subtle wrinkling of his nose, his blue eyes finding Bassian once again on the deck of his ship. "He's a big guy - don't underestimate how much vomit'll come outta him. Used to be seasick when he first started." And gods know what had made the captain decide to keep him on, honestly, but these days he's not mad that he did.
"Maybe what?" he asks, raising a brow at the half finished string of thought and turning to casually walk a few feet across the dock, as if he's making a show of looking at something on the horizon rather than holding a conversation with someone invisible. "Sure. I'll send him to you once I go back up. He'll be delighted I'm sure, until he thinks he's on board with a ghost."
Stepping back again, the dread of Flora's thoughts sloshes against him like something physical, Jack rolling a shoulder as if trying to shrug it off. "Might just have to be enough to keep the others out," he muses. "Take the wins where you can get 'em, y'know?"
romancing yourself is possible, narcissistic and recommended
Her thoughts ripple with amusement, an invisible nose-wrinkle punctuating the way her mind scrunches in mock-disgust. I can guess, she hums dryly, some of your crew have been very vocal about what Bassian leaves behind when he visits the head. It’s said with that saccharine sympathy that’s not sympathetic at all.
Footsteps light and ghostly, Flora strolls after Jack without sound, drifting in his wake like perfume. His question hangs between them, but she only shakes her head—another gesture unseen. Nevermind, she offers, quieter now. She’s gotten too used to how easy it's been to talk to him lately. Too used to letting things spill out without double-checking the walls first. But the grin that follows is sharp and wicked, if still unseen. Though I’m super excited to haunt him. Whisper his name while he’s trying to sleep, stick my foot out to trip him, tell him he's about to walk into me naked and make him panic...You know. Normal ghost girl things.
When his shoulder shifts, trying to shake off the weight of her darker thoughts, Flora’s brighten again just enough to meet him halfway. I know, she says, softer now. Her gaze flicks to the Ark. If that’s where you were headed, I can walk you over. Not that anyone would probably comment on it, but you probably do look like a crazy person talking to yourself out here.
Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price
You know that I bought it
"My crew? Vocal? No idea where they got that from," Jack murmurs, his tone airy even as his eyes flick up to the deck again on his way past, as if to ensure said vocal crew haven't decided to fuck around without him on board. He knows they won't have - he doesn't even need Murph up there to crack the whip, not with the importance of keeping vigilant after the pool party today.
Humming a note of acceptance under his breath to hear Flora brush off what she'd been halfway to thinking and saying, if the captain tries to pry a little harder at her mind for a second or two with his magic, so be it. He gets nothing, regardless - apart from her comprehensive thoughts on ghost girl activities, of course, something which has a laugh huffing from his lips. "Mm, well. You were briefly a ghost girl, so if anyone has experience in the matter, it's you."
Glancing briefly to the space where he knows Flora is standing, Jack listens to her offer and then scoffs, taking the peppermint bark from his lips and flicking it into the water. "Rather'n talkin' to myself up there?" He raises his eyebrows at The Ark, before inclining his head and starting up the gangplank. "As you like."
romancing yourself is possible, narcissistic and recommended
They were vocal long before I came on board, Flora scoffs, her mental tone all eyeroll and glittering amusement, though Jack will catch the flicker of warmth beneath it—some small fondness for the chaos of his crew, the noise of a world that had once made space for her.
His magic brushes against her thoughts, subtle and practiced, and for just a second it almost finds purchase. What he does catch, however, is a flash of woodgrain. A particular cabin. The feeling of a door she’d nearly wanted to walk through again. Of safety in numbers. Only..that wasn't quite right. Yeah, well, she thinks, I’ve made enough threats about ghosting people that I should probably start practising. Would hate to fall behind on my brand integrity.
Following just behind him up the gangplank, Flora lets her gaze drift along the familiar lines of the Ark’s hull. Besides, she adds with a mental shrug, talking to yourself up here is a lot less suspicious. The only ones who’ll see it are your crew, and they already know better than to run their mouths. Her thoughts flicker sharp with mischief. Besides, this way I can go collect Bassian myself. Maybe, depending on where he was, she could make it seem like the Safrin-masthead was the one telling him to do it.
Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price
You know that I bought it
"Yes, but now they're sassy." Jack mutters the complaint under his breath as they make their way up the gangplank, though the bitterness in his words is ruined by the sound of his smile. Whatever he gleans from her thoughts he keeps very much to himself, though he does shift to glance over his shoulder, as if he can see where she's standing and the expression she's making.
"Trust me - your brand integrity is impeccable. Ask anyone in Torchline." Smirking, he steps aboard properly and halts their conversation, if only briefly, to call orders and ask for updates. Only when he's satisfied that everything is as it should be and that they have enough men for the night watch does he fall quiet - at least for the crew.
"I s'pose I'll just have to see what the rumour mill spins up 'bout my talkin' to myself," he quips, before nodding towards Bassian (he's deftly knotting coils of rope to keep them out of the way, much like he'd taught Flora to do only a few days prior). "He's all yours. I'll leave you to it," he says, though he lingers for a step or two en route to his cabin.
"I'm glad you're safe," he settles on eventually, before setting off again.
romancing yourself is possible, narcissistic and recommended
