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!
Vi bless whomever my fuck-up of a father got to enchant this place. Its the one thing he did right and the only saving grace on Longheat days. The bar is still empty and I’m ok with that, sitting with my legs wide open on top of the long slab of wood, picking at the sand underneath my nails with a tiny knife. Don’t worry, I don’t cut the fruit with this knife. And even if I did, you’ve probably put dirtier things in your mouth, haven’t you?
Anyway. My bar, my rules. And if you don’t like it, you can leave.
You’d think by now that I’m used to the heat - but no, every year I still manage to complain about it. Hoa is the only one who really loves it, his reptilian little body happiest when everything he likes to hunt is too hot and dopey to run away. Now there’s a guy after my own heart. He’s stretched out on the rafters right now, a white loop amongst dark wood. I think he likes the change of view from up there - wouldn’t you, if you had to live your life slithering along on the ground?
We hang in companionable silence, listening to the waves and the gulls outside, and ever-so thankful for that continuous light breeze.
Weaver has a knack for finding bars. Other people have a knack for finding food or treasure or ‘useful’ things. Weaver can find booze. But here’s the thing, it is actually useful to find a bar. Things happen at bars. Information can be gathered, friends and enemies can be made, deals can be made. Life revolves around food and liquor. Food because people gather, liquor because inhibitions die and life becomes fun.
Weaver had set out in the Grounds with more purpose than she does in Torchline. Torchline simply interests her, captivates her. The sound of the ocean is soothing, the sun is hot and miserable but she’s getting vaguely used to it. Not freezing all the time is, at least, a nice change. Though maybe in the future she’d do more exploring to other places in the winter, when Halo is at its worst and everywhere else will still feel like the tropics to her. Her fair skin has finally started to get used to the sun, tanning just enough that she can go with only a short sleeve t-shirt, pants rolled up around her ankles, and wherever there is sand no shoes. That is the real luxury - warm, sandy toes.
The bar, as one might expect, catches her attention. It is dimly lit, as if twilight, and as she enters there is a light sea breeze that cools the sweat on her neck. The woman on the bar is rather hard to miss, legs spread wide, taking up the better portion of the bar as she picks her nails with a knife. Well, Weaver can appreciate that. “Do tell me you’re on the menu,” she says with a purr, though there is something clearly playful and jesting in her voice as she comes to slide into a barstool in front of the woman.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Well she’s not from around here. I have a feeling I would have seen her before - she seems like the type to occasionally get herself into trouble in bars. Someone to keep an eye on - for various reasons. I raise my brow at her greeting - it’s hardly the first time someone’s asked that. “Even if I was, you couldn’t afford me,” I reply with a bit of a twinkle in my eye. And it’s probably true - I’m worth far more than a simple bartender, but she’d never know that.
Swinging my legs around the other side, I scoot myself back behind the bar and drop down into bartender mode. Leaning against the back wall, where I know I’ve got a lovely little backdrop of assorted bottles and the like, I cross my arms in a picture of confidence. “So. What’s your name and what’s your poison?” We've got liquor, wine, ale, water... even fruit juice, but somehow that doesn't seem like her cup of tea.
Her fair skin alone probably gives away her heritage. It is the sort of skin that has never really seen sun. Even now, slightly tanned as it is, she is fair skinned and dark haired, a rather deadly and sultry version of snow white. Though the barkeeps assumption is correct. If Weaver were from around here they would have been well acquainted by now. Weaver was without a doubt the type to get into a little trouble at bars - for various reasons.
Weaver laughs lightly at the response, not particularly surprised by it but pleased that this woman wasn’t offended. Such was often how Weaver judged a person in those first moments. How did they respond to her, to whatever ridiculous thing came out of her mouth or strange thing she might be doing? They were important things to learn quickly, given that Weaver wasn’t everyone’s type and they weren’t all her type either.
The other woman moves around the back of the bar, asking for a name and an order. “Weaver,” she says, leaning forward slightly to rest an elbow on the bar. “Liquor. Give me your favorite.” It’s a game she has never really gotten to play, given her trapped life in Halo up until recently. But she found she was enjoying the game. Sunjata had given her wine from Greatwood berries and vodka he’d acquired. What would Torchline, and this woman, provide?
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
01-28-2020, 02:46 PM (This post was last modified: 01-28-2020, 02:46 PM by Raza.)
RAZA
It takes a lot to offend me; mostly because I just don’t give a fuck what 99% of the world thinks and am capable of taking care of myself. There are people I can easily go to for help, but trust me on this one, you’d much rather deal with me than them.
My favorite liquor? I make an amused face and turn around to reach for a blue bottle in the middle back. I’ve got multiple favorites for multiple moods, but today I’m feeling something smooth and sweet and easy. “This is like swinging in a honey hammock in the shade on a lazy day,” I say as I pour her a taste. It comes out dark red. “Try it first, it’s not for everyone.” And look, I’m a damn good bartender - I want my patrons to be happy with what they drink. But she is probably a foreigner and this is a Torchline specialty: mamajuana - red wine, rum, honey, herbs, and bark. Let it steep. The longer the better. When it’s bad, it’s bad. but when it’s made by the experts, it’s a glorious nightcap.
“Raza,” I say as place the glass in front of Weaver. “Where you from?”
Not everyone is so easily unoffended. Weaver doesn’t tend to give a damn, simply because life is too short, but she’s grown used to the looks of suspicion, narrowed eyes, sometimes disgust. To their credit, she often jokes about death, stealing, and other seedy activities, but she is joking. It’s a dark sense of humor, she knows, but she still prefers those who aren’t really bothered by it. Like Sascha, who’d joked right along with her when she’d suggested he could definitely carry a dead body for her. Those were her type of people, the ones who didn’t take life too seriously.
Weaver watches as the bartender goes for a blue bottle on the shelf. Sunjata had run his fingers over the bottle, pondering, making a show of his choice. This woman simply goes for it, pouring a taste for Weaver as she explains what it is. “A honey hammock?” she asks, liking the image the woman paints but not entirely understanding it. One does not go lazing about in the sun in Halo, after all.
Weaver takes the glass, the state of her hands some indication of the life she leads. They are dry, despite her best efforts, the nail as well cared for as she can but brittle from the constant cold of Halo and so never all that long. They are not calloused, really, given that she’s almost often wearing gloves, but they do look like hands that have seen a lifetime of honest work. Mostly honest work, anyway. Taking a sip, Weaver savors it for a moment, letting the flavor sit on her tongue before swallowing.
“Sweet,” she says, “though not too sweet. I do like it, and I think I can picture what you describe in the taste.” It is a high compliment from Weaver, as good as saying ‘you are damn good at your job’, though Weaver is not always so direct with compliments. She puts the glass down so Raza can fill it. “Halo born and raised. It’s a little warm here.”
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
I just nod sagely as she questions my turn of phrase. Does it make sense? Maybe not, but I mean what I say and say what I mean. A honey hammock.
Content to watch my sole customer (from the North, apparently - a frozen hellscape I’ve only heard of in school, which was a long time ago) try a specialty, I actually turn and grab a shot glass for myself. Just a little. Pouring it almost all the way to the top, I take a sip as she’s savoring, feeling very curious indeed. I’ve grown up with this stuff, teethed on it, had it in traditional remedies… it actually makes me a little proud to see someone from such a different place like it as well.
“Excellent. This one’s on the house, then.” I pour her another, a proper amount this time, before re-shelving the bottle. “Halo, huh? That's the one way up north, yeah? I’m sure it doesn’t help that you came in Longheat. Took that new portal thing, I assume?” That thing does have me curious… but not for Halo. I might just be content to learn about it from Weaver.
she's got a real quick trigger and some new demands
Raza nods, and Weaver is left wondering exactly what a honey hammock is. To her credit, she has only heard of a hammock in concept. It’s not like they have any use for hammocks in Halo, though she imagines sipping on this drink while swinging in the shade of a few trees would be a great way to pass time in a place like Torchline. Maybe she should move.
It is an easy thought to think, but the truth is Halo is home. She would agree that it’s a frozen hellhole, but it’s her frozen hellhole.
Raza gives her the drink for free, filing the glass with a proper pour. Weaver could get used to all the drinks she’s gotten on the house lately. Pays to go visiting new places. She raises the glass to Raza in a cheers motion. ”Thanks,” she says, taking another sip, enjoying the companionship of drinking with the bartender in an empty bar. This was her sort of scene, after all.
”Yup, the one way up north. I think if I’m smart I’ll learn to travel in Deepfrost. But yea, took the portals. I mean, except for the fact they don’t tend to bring you out in the most convient locations, it’s a pretty good way to travel.” Like the Fangs. That was the least convenient place for the portal to spit her out, but beggars can’t be choosers she supposes. Actually, Whitebrim would be worse. At least it’s not there.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
I mean, I don’t know what a honey hammock is either, but it sounds very allegorical or metaphorical or something fancy like that. Sometimes I just say shit and hope it sounds good slash my customers are too intoxicated to notice otherwise.
“Where else have you been? To the… Hollowed Ground?” pulling the name from memories of whispered conversations and talking to Remi. It’s all very new to me - Halo we knew of, of course, but the Ground had more or less disappeared from record with that bubble thing the Gods put up. And apparently there are like, heralds now too? Idk man, too much change, too quickly. I don’t like it.
“What’s Halo like?” Swirling the mamajuana around, I'm content to listen if she's okay with talking. I am curious. Not because I want to go there, but because it’s so different and yet Weaver seems cool (ha, ha, see what I did there?). And as a member of the second oldest profession in the world, it is universally acknowledged that we should know far more than we let on. In this case, I know nothing. Which means I need to learn.
she's got a real quick trigger and some new demands
Weaver nods as Raza asks if she’d been to the Hollowed Ground, taking a sip of her drink before putting it back down. ”Yea. There seem to be more outlanders there than anywhere else, but I say that when really my comparison point is Halo which is tiny and no one wants to live there. Not sure what’s been happening here on that front. Otherwise, it’s kind of what you’d expect from a place ravaged by war and trapped behind a barrier. Mostly ruins, slowly rebuilding. A lot of people though.” Granted Torchline also had a lot of people, so that might not be as shocking to Raza as it was to Weaver. New faces were just shocking in general when you’d lived with the same five hundred people your whole life.
”Halo is a tiny little city that you’d probably call a town. It’s freezing cold and made of snow and ice. Most Halovians hunt or craft given that we’ve had very little trade. There’s some outlanders pretending to run the place now, so we’ll see how they do.” She shrugs, not sounding particularly concerned about said outlanders. She’d respect their choices if they made good ones, and she'd promptly ignore them if they didn’t. Calling yourself Warden and moving into the Palace did not, in fact, mean you had any authority. Earn it. ”How about Torchline? What’s been going on here?” Like Raza, she knows of the other places, but not much about them. It’s not like Halo gets a whole lot of news.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
I listen attentively to what Weaver tells me, not just because it’s the polite thing to do, but because the information is useful, and useful information is a currency all its own these days.
“Yeah, they’ve managed to come here too,” I saw with an eyeroll. My experience with Outlanders hasn’t been stellar. I’m reserving judgement. “But if they’re looking for another power grab, they’re going to be sorely disappointed.” I chuckle. The idea of Torchers letting any outsider (aka, anyone who doesn’t know how the system works) try to run the place is laughable. They’d be up in arms and the at the Governor’s gates in no time.
It’s what I like about us. We have a particularly feisty spirit.
As for what’s going on in Torchline… looking into my drink as I raise an eyebrow, I debate how much reveal. “Well. We have two sides to everything. An above ground and underground side. Both are thriving, as far as I know.” Looking around the bar, I chuckle. “You’d never know it now, but the portal has been good for business, so…” I shrug, throwing it away. “I can’t complain too much.”
{sldkjfsldjfs sorry this is such shit}
she's got a real quick trigger and some new demands
It seemed like a vastly different thing to try and grab power in Torchline, which did have a government of sorts if her understanding is correct, than to grab it in Halo. Because as far as she could tell, they just didn’t care in Halo. Some people moved into the Palace and Halovians, at least the ones she knew, acted like nothing had changed. ”You have a government here already though, yea?” she asks, not asking after the details but just confirming its existence. She’s heard rumors that there’s a lot of blind eye turning here, which she’d love to confirm for her own personal knowledge, but she isn’t sure Raza’s going to disclose that info to her. Maybe if they become better friends.
”An underground?” she asks, looking interested and not judgmental. Halo has one too, though it was tiny given that Halo was tiny. If she could work her way into a larger one, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. ”I’m sure it has been good for business though. It’s been good for trade for us. Though I admit I’m enjoying the empty bar at the moment and the conversation. How about you, Raza? How’d you end up with a nice bar?”
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Here’s the thing - I’m not nearly as keen on giving out information as I am on collecting it. Luckily, Weaver asks a question to which I can give some easily discovered information, without being too evasive. It’s an art, this subtle fishing for information. “We have a Governor. He conducts business up by the volcano. Can’t tell ya what he and his people do, but it keeps life here good.” I indicate the vague direction of the mountain, which is hard to miss. Wouldn’t know it was a volcano unless someone told you though, so there’s that, too.
Moving along to talk of the portals, I shrug again. “If only everyone comin' through were like you. Some of y'all have some real issues.” Not gonna name any names, just gonna leave it at that for now. It’s all part of owning a bar and I’m more or less used to it. The crazy nights, the calm afternoons - ya just gotta take it all in stride. I take another sip of my drink and glance around with a light smile. “She’s mine. Inherited from my Dad.” And not a moment too soon, if I recall correctly. It’s been a decade and between the bar and Hoa, my life’s been pretty damn good.
she's got a real quick trigger and some new demands
Weaver is well versed in the art of information fishing. It was something her mother had taught her, and she knows better than to ask questions that won’t get an answer. That just makes your conversation partner feel awkward and it puts them on guard, which means you will get even less information than you might have otherwise. Instead, build rapport, spend time with them, don’t seem too damn nosey. Eventually the information you want will come. Eventually being the key word. Straia, for all her fire, had infinite amounts of patience. Weaver didn’t share this with her mother, but she tried.
”A volcano?” The question is just intrigued, the idea of a volcano being among the many number of things Weaver never actually thought she’d ever see in her life. ”When’s the last time that thing exploded?” she says, taking a sip of the drink. Given the size of the city here, she doubts it was anytime soon and she probably isn’t dredging up bad memories. Likely the answer is “a really long time ago,” but she’s still just fascinated and can’t quite help herself.
Weaver laughs at the comment about outsiders with issues. ”You say that now, but you don’t really know me. I do carry a scythe.” She winks slightly though, suspecting that she is the least of the crazies out there. Weaver had her quirks, but she was pretty put together, all in all. And having spent enough time in the local tavern, she certainly has a clue what the crazies can be like. ”Nice gift. It’s a hell of a lot better than anything in Halo, that’s for sure.” Though of course, Halo was really lacking for good bars.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
