From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
Melita spent the next couple days hunting for the perfect felled branch for a bow. She and Fangorn had roamed various tree lines and fallen timber, glancing this way and that at branches, testing, flexing limbs; some were hardly worth considering, too thin, too delicate, too breakable, not enough for power and prowess. A few were set aside, promising, capable of handling her fingers bending and shifting over their merits and might, and before long she’d narrowed it down to two hardwoods. Then, going about her work, she utilized both, stitching over bark seams and strands, checking constantly whether or not they would hold up to rigorous practice and potential – she wasn’t sure if Adam would continue honing his skills, but it was best for it to be prepared all the same.
By the time she’d finished, the youth had also managed to whittle five arrows from the remains, using some crow feathers at the fringes (found, not plucked, scattered along the moss and bramble). Before long, her promised gift and prize to Adam was assembled, and at midday she meandered through the residences, the chilling wind stirring her senses into ebullience and exuberance; skipping along cobblestones as she strived to pay attention to buildings and the directions he’d given her.
Near the edge, and she exalted her movements that way, Fangorn rushing along her ankles, a hush falling over whatever hum she’d been conducting. Bench thing outside. Her eyes lingered on one or two with such adornments, and in the end, lingered along the threshold of the one with the big crack over the door. She glanced at it briefly, hoping that no one else’s residences had the same characteristics and that she’d spend the length of the day wandering back and forth. On her hunch, minor sagacity, and pluck, she knocked upon the entrance and waited.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Adam was 'cooking'. The closest he got to this was usually tossing a piece of meat on a flame with some kind of pot, waiting until it smelled like food, and putting it on bread. Sometimes, if he felt very fancy, he would cut up an onion and throw that in too, though he had no idea how to tell if it was cooked. Something about how floppy it was, maybe...?
As he stirred some beef and onions and herbs (that he had gotten from his old satchel and which were not the kind of plants made for cooking, but he still inhaled them every day, so it was probably fine) he wondered when he'd run out of ammo. Probably at some point. He was already running low, some of his bullets lost for really stupid reasons that he regretted now.
There was a knock at the door; he put his spoon down and walked over, opening it. Wearing only the most casually buttoned shirt (one done right at the bottom) and no boots, he looked very much like someone that slept until noon most days. "Oh, uh..." Adam paused for an uncomfortably long moment. "...Melita! Hey! I didn't know if I'd see ya. Come in. You want a drink..?"
He opened the door further for her. His kitchen was not beautiful, but it was certainly his. Decorated with many colourful things and with plenty of clutter, it already looked like he'd been living there for years. On the table, where three chairs were haphazardly arranged, there were several bottles of alcohol at various levels of emptiness.
It didn’t take much time for Adam to answer (and she breathed a sigh of relief that she had found the correct house), a bit worn and ragged around the edges (which was fine; half the time she bounded and leapt around like a wild ruffian, untamed, feral, and savage, all but caught in the crosshairs of her own ineptitude). She fought the urge to tilt her head in curiosity at his statement (didn’t know if he’d see her – she had promised – but maybe that was how things went here, convictions and vows unfulfilled), but shrugged it away, not bothered for more than a few moments.
“Hello!” She remarked instead, curiosity getting the better of her as she meandered and slipped inside; the bow behind her back not worth hiding, but still there, it’s dark wood peeking out from fingers and limbs. Her golden gaze went immediately to the world pigmented and varnished with color, with hues, with blends of items and artifacts scattered from one threshold to the next. Then it swept up and around again and again, striving to catch any array or element she might have missed; trapped and ensconced in her nosey habits. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this. Content for the moment, when her gaze settled on the alcohol, the youth hid a snicker. “I’m all set, but thank you,” maneuvering her features towards him and bestowing a bright smile.
She stepped forward, light and airy, ethereal and otherworldly, a blistering contortion of movement and constant noise; Fangorn brushing against her ankles as he tugged at something on the floor. Her arms swept in front of her, presenting the bow, the wood lacquered, the string taut, the calculations hopefully enough. “I brought this for you! Sorry it took so long.” Then her stare lingered on his, waiting for some gesture of approval or dismay.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Adam always looked a little scruffy; in fact, if asked, he had even been known to call it his thing. The carefully selected sloppiness, with just enough good placement to still be attractive, was designed to the last detail to appear casual. Even his pose, tilted onto one foot with a smirk, was something he had practiced for a long time to get right.
"You already pissed...?" He asked, unsure of what 'I'm all set' meant (it did not occur to Adam that she could just not want to have a drink).
The bow, though, that was enough to drag his attention. Taking it from her he carefully held it up, as if scared to hold it too hard at first, then he brought it closer and drew the string back, firing a phantom arrow over towards his window. At the moment where it would have hit, he grinned and looked to her. "That's fucking awesome. Thanks, damn."
He brought the bow down again to look at it closer, stroking his fingers over the wood. "I can't believe you took all the time to make this for free."
His first response confused her, made her furrow her brows for a moment, collecting back over any fabrications or expressions she might’ve invoked that had led him down that path. “No?” She inquired, mildly questioning, then shrugged it off entirely, back to her bright smiles, waiting for his reaction to the bow.
The honeybee girl’s eyes followed his movements and motions as he took her offering, careful, and then followed through on a mock trial, imagining an air flying through the abyss, out the open window, and into stone or crag. In the depths of silence, she wondered if he liked it at all, if it was good enough, or if she’d have to start again – mind whirling at the possibilities of finding another set of boughs and branches decent enough to makeshift another –
But at his grin, her worries and apprehension ceased. “You’re welcome!” She chirped, exuberant and content that he liked it, that it was useful, and that she’d fulfilled her end of the bargain, the vow, the assurance. At his last statement, she tilted her head; pondering how often she mirrored the same thoughts and nuances (how could I deserve this?), but breathed, eased the sentiments away from her lungs. “A deal is a deal,” she winked and imparted. “You earned it.”
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Melita said no in a questioning tone that Adam decided to take as a joke (because everyone found copious day drinking hilarious and not worrying at all, right?) and he appreciatively chuckled, pouring himself out a little drink as he looked over to the stove to make sure nothing was burning. It was approaching well done, maybe, but not yet cremated, so he brought his attention back to Melita.
A deal was a deal, but this was still a lot. It crossed his mind that it was possible Melita could have...ulterior motives. Not malicious ones, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd received seemingly extravagant gifts from near-strangers.
With an understanding nod, he asked: "Hey, if you're doing this cos you fancy me, I really appreciate that and all, but I think I've only got one night stands in me at the moment."
Unfortunately for Adam, and quite possibly Melita, any notion of one night stands or fancying anyone was completely lost on her. While bloodshed, disaster, ruin, and abominations had been in her education, in her repertoire, the loss of her mother, sister, and a multitude of other companions who might’ve instructed her on anything along those subject matters simply left her ignorant. All she’d ever done was survive, and all anyone in the Rift had ever done was survive, so reaching out beyond companionship, allies, and comrades in the pits, the pendulums, and the fire, had never even occurred to her. At his laughter, at his nod, she merely tilted her head, her eyes, her features, holding a wave of confusion; brows slightly furrowed, nose wrinkled, glancing back and forth from Fangorn to Adam (as if the gourd might understand that something was amiss).
Because everything had been done innocently – kindness for kindness, an exchange of beneficence. That she could comprehend. That she had experience in.
This? Not so much.
“I don’t know what you mean. What’s a one night stand?” She tried to connect the dots (did someone really stand all evening – and what was the point? To test endurance?), and failed utterly. Then she shrugged, ignoring the weird tremors in her hands, and not knowing really what else to do – she intended to turn the way she’d came, her promise and convictions fulfilled. “Well, enjoy your bow!” A light smile varnished and intertwined its return on her features, and she hummed under her breath, twisting back towards the door frame.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Adam, who had grown up in a world of seedy deals from a very young age, could not imagine the innocence Melita had. Even his first few years in the farming village, with his father the folk hero who had died echoing through every bedtime story, he had seen the men enter their house at night, known they were going to his mother's room for something. By the time he was ten he had been stealing and making lewd jokes with his friends.
It had just been life.
"It's...uh..what? It's where you fuck but you just do it once and you don't really get close after, or you do but you don't do sex stuff after." He stumbled through the explanation, finding the concept difficult to get across when it had always been so obvious.
But before he could really get into the details, the well, I guess it depends if it's really good because then maybe you'd start a friends with benefits thing..., Melita was turning around to leave. "Oh, uh, thanks. I'll...see you later..?" Adam asked, though the question was really was it something I said?
Had Melita known she and her sister were the products of the exact thing Adam was describing, she might’ve been more interested. Instead, she just wrinkled her nose, as if dismayed those principles were what people were invested in – when there rebellions to stage, seditions to maintain, vehemence to encounter. She shrugged at the explanation, only the mildest of embarrassed blushes crossing over cheeks (and mostly because she’d asked a stupid question, betraying absolute innocence where in any other regard, she had none). “Oh,” she proffered thereafter, gaze settling on the floor, a quiet snort sifting through her chest. Her inexperience was showing, and it rankled at her a little.
So much so that she’d entirely forgotten the quiver to give too – the lovely little notched arrows, bundled up in a collection of five, waiting outside on the doorstep. Without any implication on her part, she dashed outside, not intending to leave him so quickly, so soon, though she heard the I’ll see you later? with all the inquiries and pauses. Her movements were fervent and rushed, sliding along the aperture until she saw them, right where she’d last placed their tipped edges, grabbing ahold and hustling right back. “Sorry! Forgot these too!” Then she offered the artifacts once more, the same grin from before emboldened on her features. “Let me know if you ever want to practice again!”
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
