What do you get when two ruthless assassins raise their daughter travelling through the wildest reaches of Caido? Take one look at Theea and you'll get a pretty good idea. Cheerful and tenacious in equal measure, and curious beyond all else, she began her journey on a mission to find those her mother once called family. And find them she did, soon rubbing elbows with demigods, leaders and even ghosts from the past. Her determination is resolute, her thirst for knowledge unmatched. We can't wait to see where her next adventure takes her!
Congratulations, Theea!
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Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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She gratefully clasps her hands around the margarita glass the bartender hands her, knocking back a sip before she even gets two steps away. The only drinking problem she has is how fucking awful the aftertaste of the hard cider had been, but the tart punch of the lime and salt she's got now? Drowns it all out with perfection.
With every intention of finding Hawthorn to drag him onto the dance floor yet again, she settles at a table to survey the ground for a flash of recognizable cloak, seeming to claim the same top at nearly the same time as Thalassa. "Oh, pardon," Colt murmurs, her hand already spinning her drink over the surface, though she straightens up a bit from her lean against it. A quick glance around doesn't reveal any other open options, all of the other tables claimed by some couple or a tipsy group of friends. "I won't be long, just looking for someone." Someones, would be most accurate, ever on the hunt for that familiar flash of blue. He did still owe her a dance after all, so maybe she'd leave Hawthorn to the mob.
Speaking of hauntingly blue stares, Thal's gaze is gripping in its own right, and Colt can't help but peer over at the Ancient from the rim of her drink as she sips slowly, thoughtful in her assessment. "You look like someone pissed in your cheerios. Need a drink?" She extends her glass forward in an offering of solidarity, content to relinquish her cocktail, because this is a party, and a woman as pretty as Thalassa doesn't deserve to be pouting alone at a table, nothing in hand.
Thal would like it to be known that she's not pouting or sulking or any other downtrodden verb. Sure, she's a little hurt, and maybe a little annoyed, and very much tempted to leave, but she's trying to pretend like she's not. It just might be harder to convince others of that when her icy gaze looks more like the stormy sky of a lightning storm rather than a glittering starlit night.
Slipping like a vengeful ghost through the crowd, she secures a table with the intent of gathering what little motivation she has to socialize after her last failed attempt - only for her peace to be interrupted by a distracted blonde who immediately gets on her nerves. She could not care less if this woman wanted to stay at the table the entire night, but she'd rather do anything than make small talk with a stranger, and her eyes set to narrowing, an annoyed flick to her tail.
It only gets worse when the woman is bringing up her mood, Thal's fangs peeking from behind her lips when she snaps back, "And you look like you've lost your puppy." Her tone is colder than the breeze rustling the trees, all hints of the humor she'd attempted earlier gone.
And if that 'welcoming' response doesn't work, she's already dismissing the offered hand with a moderate degree of disgust. "I've got one." She clinks her ringed finger on the glass where her hand dangles - 'one' being an entire bottle of spiced bourbon she'd snagged from behind the bar. Mixed drinks aren't really her thing and she's going to need a lot of alcohol if she's going to make it through this night.
If Jack wins the prize for nicest way of telling her to fuck off, Thalassa is squarely middle of the pack. Some points for the bared fangs and the icy tone, but the words themselves leave a bit to be desired for really hitting the gut punch. Colt's said worse things to stubborn cattle, some just earlier today. "Yeah, fortunately he's potty trained though, just working on the recall, clearly." Her voice remains even, unbothered by the rough edges, too used to handling barbed wire for all these years.
Colt tilts her head into her hand as she ends up leaning into the table after all, her search abandoned for the time being as she readies for a pissing match instead. It's a type of dance if you think about it. "All the better, I didn't really wanna share anyway, was a bit of a bitch to get this." Colt slides her drink back towards her with an idle spin of the glass, leaning it up for another swipe of salt and a sip against her lips. "Just seemed worse, keeping you sober."
The thing about a challenge is, they're too fun to rise up to. Hell, the meanest horses to break out end up the nicest rides by the end, and the shitty mares are always the ones that give her the most heart when it counts. "I'm Colt, by the way."
She won't admit that she likes when the woman doesn't bristle from her snark, the purse in her lips implying otherwise when she shrugs her shoulders. "Sounds like you need a leash." It's not really as biting - a bit of lazy humor almost breaking into the storm wall of her emotions - but it's also not friendly. If she was being 'friendly' she might have offered to use her skills to grab the woman another drink just to prove she could, but Thal just doesn't care.
Until it turns back on her.
If there's one thing she hates more than disrespect, it's pity, and this feels awfully close. It rubs against her pride and sharpens her gaze to that of a dagger point. "No, worse is having to deal with people who don't know when to shut up." The bottle is at her lips, a large swig of it cutting off further conversation. It'll take a hefty amount to get her buzzed, but at least the alcohol warms her stomach and forces open the clench of her jaw.
The edge of her black cloak falls closed over the gossamer bodice of her dress as she lowers the bottle to the table. She thinks she might have a moment of peace until the woman - 'Colt' apparently - is talking again. Thal flicks her eyes briefly to Colt before letting them roam the party, not bothering to respond with more than a small hum of annoyed acknowledgement.
The thing is that she doesn't want to give her name in return because she doesn't want to be 'Thal' tonight. 'Thal' has dealt with too much and gotten kicked down a few too many times in the last few weeks. 'Thal' has history with people. 'Thal' has emotions that she'd much rather forget. 'Thal' is weak. And she'd much rather just not deal with all that right now.
08-06-2025, 08:34 PM (This post was last modified: 08-07-2025, 11:07 PM by Colt.)
It's a real life boogie and a real life hoedown
A chuckle rolls free, tumbling over the edge of the glass like a wind shoving a storm to shape as Colt sets her drink down. She can't help it really, even though she's positive it won't help her situation with this woman at all. Thal just has such a damn edge to her, like a freshly sharpened knife you tempt running your finger against. "Well, you're just a peach ain'tcha?" Colt drawls out, sinking with a laziness akin to dead weight the more Thal tries to shove her off. Just like when the broncs start up, you gotta ride it out, otherwise they learn pitching a fit works. Colt's got nothing better to do than to be more stubborn, and she's got a few buckles to her name that are worth at least eight seconds of hell.
Much as Colt can appreciate a good round of silence to simmer in the piss you accidentally stepped in, she normally picks the emptiness of her house, or the darker corners of the House of Midnight. One's for stewing in it until it breaks, the other's for hoping someone else'll snap it off for her, but either way, she doesn't look for it in a place meant to be loud, the same way she wouldn't cast a line in a field and complain the fish aren't biting. "Y'know Peach," she says with an idle tap of her finger along her glass, deciding this would be Thal's name now since she didn't deign to offer one.
Amusement curls along her lips like a cat's tail, twitching at the corner with the sort of mischief that comes just before everything on a shelf gets shoved off. "Usually if you're hunting for quiet, a party ain't it." Casually, Colt straightens up a little bit more, both palms pressing against the edge of the table, fingers curling under it. It's subtle enough to look like a different sort of lean, but she means to use the top like a buffer, a brace, if the need should arise. Always good to have a plan for getting off a bronc before you get broken instead of them.
Colt's hoping they don't get to that point, but Thal's got a look to her that suggests she just might trample anything and everything tonight, even if it hurts her in the process too.
"Could wingwoman for you though, get you some quiet in the corner of the woods with a man," Colt offers, a genuine smile there. "Or a woman," no judgement, though she wouldn't be as proficient with the latter.
Her eyes narrow at the new nickname, but she doesn't comment, preferring 'Peach' over anything demeaning or vaguely resembling her name. However, if Colt is calling her anything it means she's still talking, and Thal would like nothing more than to drown the woman with her bourbon - but it's good bourbon and then she'd have nothing to drink.
Honestly, she's doing an impressive job of controlling her urge for violence despite how much Colt is getting under her skin. She grips at the bottle, tapping her glass with her silver sapphire ring, and debating again why she'd come to this gilded version of literal hell. Maybe it's because she's usually in her element at a party, all fast quips and swaying hips that shift in the dark like smokey danger and bad decisions. Yet she'd found out recently that her lips won't curve right and she's too burdened by emotion to move with her usual grace, a phantom that haunts what used to bring her enjoyment.
That's not really something she'd like to admit to a stranger, and she definitely doesn't like to be reminded of her suffering - even if she can't seem to escape it nowadays. So she gives another glare, a sneer on her lips that suggests Colt is very much the reason. "It'd seemed like a good idea until people started opening their mouths."
Then the woman resorts to other forms of distraction, and the idea is so absurd that Thal nearly laughs at it. A vicious, bite of a scoff leaves her lips instead. "I doubt any man could handle me right now." Not even people who know her had been able to withstand her moody attitude, and she gets the feeling that if someone else rejects her right now, she might just stab them to soak in the warmth of their blood. It'd certainly be warmer than any reception she'd had. It might even feel like a kind embrace.
The idea becomes more tempting with every moment, but she tables the idea for now, choosing instead to take another concerningly long drag from her bottle. It's light enough now that it dangles carelessly from her fingers, an elbow propped on the table in a way that suggest she might soon stake her claim and banish any intruders. "Do you really have nothing better to do right now?" The accusation sharpens her tongue with crisp coldness, a blizzard of daggers beginning to swirl behind her eyes.
Thal's the best kind of bronc. Moves just enough to make it fun, flashed her hooves to keep the crowd entertained, but isn't too wild to keep a seat on. "Mm, well, that's no different from any other night then, is it?" Colt laughs low, suggesting she knows all about the type of handling men try to manage. Although her gaze does flick back to the crowd, searching for some sign of the one that's got his grip on her lately, a handling by him one she wouldn't mind. There's no cloak, mask, or chin that would suggest it belongs to Mr. Midnight, so looks like she'd be sticking with Peach a bit longer.
Colt's gaze slides back to Thal as the woman guzzles bourbon like a parched plant does water. Just the sight of it has Colt's throat burning with a secondhand buzz. "I could ask you the same question Peach," Colt returns with a lopsided smile, reaching for another sip of her margarita. She's not trying to pace this lush, but she does mean to finish her drink before hitting the dance floor. "I am hoping to dance though. I think I ought to give up on my partner, he blends in too well." Hell, she can hit up the floor with Hawthorn any day, hopefully he found someone else lovely to twirl with and she could do the same. No Vesper in sight though, so maybe she'd have to find a different set of blue eyes to ask. Sunjata is one she doesn't have to hunt down, just has to look up for.
Although there is a stormy pair right in front of her too. Peach has turned down all her offers so far, and after drinking and fucking Colt's starting to run out of ideas. "Wanna dance, Peach?" The quirk of her 'brows is fully serious as she tilts the rest of her drink back.
Colt doesn't know her, but she certainly knows how to hit the nail on the head. Thal hates how much she likes Colt right now, how much she has to hide the smile that feels like betrayal on her lips. She manages it anyways, an expression more akin to disgust taking its place with a shrug to cast away the positive emotions that have begrudgingly attempted to infiltrate her mood. "I suppose not, but I'm less willing to deal with stupidity tonight." She'd rather not have to coach a man through sex, or worry about breaking them with barely a look. And considering the fact that Pierce was the last person she'd slept with... Thal buries the thoughts in another waterfall of alcohol, along with any inclinations of smiling.
It's finally starting to hit her system, a pleasant haze blunting the ache of her chest. And when her question gets turned back on her, Thal just blinks with a dull lack of amusement, not nearly drunk enough to laugh or start a brawl - yet.
She doesn't miss how Colt searches the crowd, and Thal has to stop herself from scanning the masked faces for her own pair of baby blues, ones she knows aren't here and aren't coming back. It hurts, and the buzz makes it harder to hide the brutal heartache that shines through the practiced disinterest in her eyes as she props her head on her fist. "If he can't find you, he's not worth your time." It's a mixture of incompetence and lack of awareness that she can't stand, one that Pierce had never shown.
Her thoughts are knocked aside to make room for surprise. Thal raises an eyebrow but still manages to keep a glare on her face, her voice flat as she says, "With you? No." She takes another slow drink of her bourbon, although she savors it a little more this time, weighing how much she has left in the bottle so she can ration what remains.
Colt tips her head in response to Thal's explanation, the glitter of her gaze behind her lashes full of understanding. Some nights it's worth the trouble, others...not so much. Although she rather thinks Thal could do with the end result of the struggle for the sake of everyone here, she recognizes the steadfast choice to not be bothered. Well, she tried.
She doesn't expect the subtle shift in Thalassa when her gaze returns from the crowd. Heartache, now that makes a bit more sense. If she had to guess, Thal hoped getting lost in a crowd would make her feel less alone, and is now bluntly aware that it's done the exact opposite. A strange feeling, to ache with loneliness in a crowded room. Can't be helped when there's only one hand you're hoping will grab hold. "You think?" Colt muses into her glass. "I reckon everyone gets a little lost sometimes, especially when it's dark out and there's costumes."
With her drink done and her dance offer denied, Colt has less and less reason to remain here. She's put in her ride, and sometimes it takes more than one to break 'em. Better to bail with no broken bones then get too caught up in an idea of winning. Each day is a chance to try again and learn. "That's too bad," Colt laments with a low sigh, a faint smile tugging at the edges of her lips. "I'm gonna dance with someone before the night's over though, so I guess this is adios Peach." Colt starts to pull away from the table, dipping her head in farewell. She does linger for a half step though, glancing over her shoulder at the tragically beautiful and broken girl. "I hope he finds you in time for a song." Him being, whoever has got a hold of her heart, because Colt knows the symptoms of love's ailments when she sees 'em.
08-10-2025, 10:49 PM (This post was last modified: 08-10-2025, 11:19 PM by Thalassa.)
Thalassa
The problem with wearing a dress
Thal sees the pity again, feels it drag claws against her pride, making her bristle and unwilling to give any space for excuses. "Maybe, but if he's not willing to put in the effort, and he can't pick you out among a crowd of disguises, then he doesn't think about you nearly as much as he should." Pierce had gone as far as the appear in her cabin in the middle of the ocean. If a guy isn't at least willing to find her in a dark party, Thal doesn't believe he's worth her time - although, right now, she doesn't think anyone will ever hold a flame to what they'd had.
It's a bittersweet moment to hear Colt announce her departure. Thal craves silence as much as distraction - and the woman has nearly succeeded in doing the later - so she can't bring herself to prolong the conversation, huffing a small breath as she grumbles, "Good luck." Taking another slow drag of her drink, she has to glance away from the sincerity in the woman's eyes - the kindness that makes her want to cry after such a night. She wishes she could cling to that hope, to search for his face in the crowd as much as the dark cavern he's left her with, but she knows the truth, and as Colt turns away, Thal whispers quietly to herself, "He won't."
