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!
She blatantly stared at him while he listed off all the things he was trying to do – and she truly wondered if he was committing to the parameters. He certainly hadn’t when she was strolling the marketplace in Halo, intentionally antagonizing and grating on her, even when she’d asked him to cease. “Might try a little harder then.” She rose from her crouch, arms folded across her chest, chin lifting in that familiar air of defiance. Perhaps he was doing a fair job now, but they were both settled on those thin, sketched lines; and it never took long for Melita to flare. “I don’t know. When people get stuck in their ruts, they need to do something different.” And he certainly looked like he’d been marooned and mired right in his own little sanction of hell. He could stay there for all she cared; it was just an oppressive feeling across the wood. “Or maybe it’ll just take time.”
At Melita's comment, Loren pressed his lips together. "Forgive me for saying this, but you don't know me well enough to say that." It came out quietly, but he meet her gaze squarely.
Spreading his hands a bit helplessly, he shrugged. "I picked up and moved to an entirely different region, got a new profession, left everyone and everything behind. What more should I change?" The question came out more raw and pained than he'd intended, and he ran a nervous hand through his hair.
Shaking his head at her next statement, he sighed. "Probably. For what it's worth I'm sorry for how I acted when I saw you last. I was drunk, and stupid, and mourning. None of that makes it better though."
His quip didn’t land particularly hard, a snort ensuing, following suit. She’d said it anyway, and wasn’t taking it back. “Purely based off my experiences with you.” Quite frankly, she didn’t want to know him well enough. He seemed like a spiraling mess, constantly up and down, and she wasn’t sure how anyone ever knew where they fit in his mercurial moods. While Melita would always admit to having a temper, she didn’t blatantly go out of her way to rile and provoke someone (unless it was Kiada; and their history was far more extensive). Loren just seemed to poke needlessly. “Not sure. I don’t know you well enough.” No sneers, no jeers, no other reaction save for the slightest narrowing of her eyes. But the danger wasn’t there, coiling in her blood. Just acceptance of the inevitable, of a man she wasn’t sure she would ever want to understand.
She didn’t expect the apology though. It caused her gaze to form into naught more than gilded slits, presuming something else was afoot, suspicious, and specious. The youth certainly wasn’t sorry for her actions, and a fake, forced segment of regrets wouldn’t make any of it better. She’d asked him to back off, and when he hadn’t, she’d been well within her rights to ensure he did. She’d do the same to anyone acting in a threatening, odious, ridiculous way. The girl wasn’t even certain she could, would, accept it, if it meant anything at all, if she was supposed to let go of her grudges. So the honeybee child nodded, and perhaps that was some modicum of forbearance.
Loren sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fair enough." Then he let out a huff of bitter laughter and gave her a faint and rueful smile, one that still didn't reach his eyes. "The first one wasn't so bad." However, the comment came out uncertainly.
As she mentioned she didn't know him that well he crossed his arms. "Not sure you want to know me that well." His words were as judgment free as hers were, not a trace of the mockery or derision from when they'd spoken last.
Of course, just then Astra trotted out of the woods, bleating happily at having frolicked about for a bit. He lowered his hand and petted her absently. However, his eyes didn't leave Melita.
Her head tilted, the fracture of some half-smile maintained along her lips. “When I had the blight?” That wasn’t so bad? Not the greatest hallmark of introductions and meetings, when she’d been far more savage, nefarious, and wild, an untamed, contemptuous contortion of her blood. No control. No power. No dominance over her own soul. A horrific memory, when she’d been permitted, allowed, and extended into the darkest regions of her entity. How low were his standards on meeting others? She snorted and shook her head, bending down to take hold of Fangorn, clutching it to avoid the tremulous shake of her hands, the bitter, acrimonious memories stirred within.
At his next set of words, her face went back to its neutral, irreverent stance. “Not sure I do either.” She had trouble with her own moods, much less trying to gauge and step around his. The youth was far too tempted to bulldoze her way through things – without forethought or much rationale behind her mercurial, capricious ambitions.
Astra reappearing was likely her cue to depart. “Take care, Loren,” lifting a hand to wave absentmindedly, before turning to go back the way she’d arrived, trailing over remembered pathways.
Nodding at Melita's question, Loren smiled a bit ruefully. "When you had the blight. Trust me, it's not the worst introduction I've had with someone." Then he hesitated and his smile turned apologetic. "I am sorry, though, that you had to go through all that." It came out quietly and uncertainly.
When she responded that she didn't know any better than he did, he shrugged. "I guess I'll keep at it then. And hopefully keep you out of it next time." Cheeks flushing a bit with embarrassment, he scratched behind Astra's ears. She gave out an excited bleat, then trotted up to the redhead and Fangorn to say a proper goodbye.
Nodding again at the woman's words, the healer slipped his hands into his pockets. "You too, Melita." He looked down one more time at the puddles, and it showed it strolling through the hallways of the Palace, completely alone except for Astra, eyes shining with tears that he refused to let fall. Tearing his gaze away, he turned and walked away without a look back.
He didn't need that particular vision to be translated.
The honeybee youth arched her brow at the insinuation, but shrugged her shoulders, constantly trying to move away from the notions of the blight; where she’d likely been her absolute worst. She granted him a blunt nod thereafter, uncertain of what else to say or where else to go, while Loren kept at his alterations, intending to keep her out of it. She permitted the lightest round of laughter – because with any luck the sentiments and ruminations would hold true – and they’d be in better circumstances than in the past or present.
Astra’s goodbye was met with warmth and kindness, a stretch of her fingers to scratch at the luxere’s ears, under her chin, while Fangorn grumbled a salutations as well. Her eyes ghosted briefly upon the man, and then waved once more, following down her favored paths, the puddles a forgotten thing.
