From Attuned to Ascended to Ancient, Kiada Njovu-Reyes has been reborn several times throughout her short life, but her fighting spirit has never once been diminished. With beauty, grace and a quick wit, Kiada is the whole package wrapped in an infectious smile. Recent endeavours have found her in the heart of the Hollowed Grounds, aiding the region and bettering it for her new Ancient kin, and whatever she does next, we know it's sure to pack a punch.
Congratulations, Kiada!
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!
Laughing, Loren shook his head. "Not craftier. Scrappier, maybe." Grinning at Weaver, he gave her an amused and knowing look. "I'm sure you could run circles around me if you put your mind to it." His tone was teasing, obviously.
Humming as she took the scone from him, he smirked. "Glad to know you have your priorities straight." As she went on, he narrowed his eyes playfully. "Luckily for you, I'd prefer not to lose out to scones."
When she protested, he just gave her a wicked look. "That wasn't one of the three rules." Still, he set her down easily enough. Slinging an arm over her shoulder, he used that to guide her towards the stairs and then through the hallways to his room. All the while, he played idly with her hair.
So precious is this life, this gift, this temporary blindness.
”Hmmm, perhaps,” she says, tapping him on the nose with a slight grin. Likely he was scrappier, given his upbringing. Not that she wasn’t scrappy, in her way, though it was more like wild abandon and recklessness in Weaver. Something a bit foolish, because she had never truly learned to be quite as calculating as her mother had been. Sometimes, but not always.
She leans forward, kissing him with cinnamon dusted lips. ”Well since you can just make me scones anyway, I don’t see why I should need to choose.” Besides, she’d choose him. That always seemed to be true though, where he was concerned. She’d wait for him. She’d choose him. Why? That was a great question, and one she doesn’t have an answer for other than that she would. He just feels like the right choice.
”Nor was it a rule that you got to carry me,” she points out, though he’s already setting her down and letting her walk. She draws the line at pretending to be a blushing bride. Still, she does not shrug off his arm, but rather leans into him, slipping her arm around his waist as they walk, his fingers in her hair.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
05-13-2020, 02:40 PM (This post was last modified: 05-13-2020, 02:40 PM by Loren.)
The white sheep of the family
As Weaver tapped Loren on the nose he grinned. "Guess we'll find out when we finally train together." It was clear that he was quite eager to match his wits and skills with her in more ways than one.
The grin turned into a smirked as she kissed him once again. "So you just expect me to drop everything and bake scones for you? I thought I was supposed to drop everything to heal you already." Tone teasing and expression amused, he gave her a challenging look.
Winking at her, he pulled her close. "You should know better than to give me any leeway. If there's a loophole, I will find it, and I will abuse it." Cheerfully unapologetic about that fact, he continued leading her towards his room. The Palace wasn't actually that large, so it didn't take long to arrive at the door.
Pushing it open, he gestured for her to enter. Inside was a practically spartan room. There were no decorations, no personal touches, except for a few books on a shelf next to that pouch of seeds. Indeed, it barely looked lived in. The furniture was serviceable, but not fancy. In short, it hardly looked like the luxury living in a place called the Palace might suggest. There was a fire, of course, merrily burning, but that was the only homey touch.
So precious is this life, this gift, this temporary blindness.
”We keep talking about it,” she says with a groan, as if talk is cheap and worthless (in this context, it was). ”I do enjoy giving people a run for their money for getting my ass kicked.” There’s still no doubt as to who would win that battle, but she did intend to at least make it a little hard for him.
Weaver laughs, clearly amused. ”Yes. I expect you to drop everything for me. No additional qualifier.” Her grin is Cheshire, her amber eyes glittering, though it’s clearly a joke. Weaver has no such expectations, and honestly, would she even want it? Headstrong and independent didn’t usually make for a girl who wanted a whole lot of catering to her every whim. A little bit though? Well, it wasn’t terrible to be pampered and spoiled sometimes, now was it?
She hums her approval at the mention of loopholes. ”Might be one of the things I like about you,” she says, her voice a bit smoky at that, her smile turning Mona Lisa. After all, she couldn’t handle someone too straight laced, someone who didn’t believe in pushing at the boundaries of every rule. Or really, they probably couldn’t handle her in that case.
Soon enough, they make it to his room. It is spartan, borderline empty, not entirely unlike Maea’s room had been but worse. ”Gods, I dread to think what you’ll make of my room, if you live like this.” The sparse nature of his room doesn’t shock her though, because in some ways, it’s exactly what she expected. Without luxury or pretense. Her room too looks like what you might expect, vaguely like a tornado hit it (except not quite that bad), but Weaver is a tornado. ”At least you have a fire,” she says, taking a few steps forward to the bed and tugging him down with her.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
Laughing, Loren winked at Weaver. "Don't worry. I'll let you take it out of my hide later." He spoke in a heated whisper, and his expression was more than a bit smug.
Grinning wickedly, he nudged her with his hip. "You have heard the expression be careful what you wish for, right?" His tone was teasing, and he gave her a pointed look, as if threatening to do exactly what she asked.
Pleased at her compliment, he raised his eyebrows at her. "Dare I ask what else you like about me?" Then his lips twitched with amusement. "Besides what you already told me, of course."
Shaking his head at her words, he moved towards her. "Honestly, I'm just excited at the prospect of seeing your room. Assuming it means what I think it means." Eagerly, he let her lead him to the bed, capturing her lips once more as she pulled him in.
So precious is this life, this gift, this temporary blindness.
”I’ll hold you to it,” she says with a wicked little grin, before letting the topic drift on because she has different plans for his hide in mind right now. Though those plans did still involve his ass.
Weaver chuckles, nudging him back. ”I think I know exactly what I’m wishing, and who I’m wishing it from.” Because she doubts he will take it too far, that he will ever be overboard with helping her. She also expects that on occasion, he might be the type to cater to her ridiculous whims and fancies. Hadn’t he made her scones, after all?
She hums thoughtfully for a moment. ”I suspect there is more to discover,” because though they know much about one another, there was much left to learn. ”But if you are fishing for compliments, I like that you don’t give up. I like that you are capable of doing what it takes, but that it hasn’t turned your heart to ice.” It was the sort of thing she could understand, in some ways, after all.
Weaver chuckles. ”Well I am inyour room, on your bed, so it seems a safe assumption. Except in my house you might run into Korbin.” The threat is playful, though definitely somewhat real too. She’d warn her brother, but right now, she has different things on her mind. He follows her to the bed, capturing her lips in a kiss and she responds, hands slipping around his neck and into his hair, leaning into him.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
"Is that so?" Loren raised his eyebrows and gave Weaver a challenging look. However, it wasn't long before his expression dissolved into one of pure amusement. "And yet you told me I was constantly surprising you." He was not above teasing her, though she should be surprised by that in the slightest.
As she went on to actually answer his question in a heartfelt and genuine way, his expression softened. Clearing his throat a bit awkwardly, he looked away before she could see how his cheeks had become flushed again. "And I like how you're not afraid to speak the truth, but you always manage to do it in a kind way." He flashed her a smile.
Letting out a huff of laughter, he smirked at her. "I run into him pretty much anywhere already, and it hasn't deterred me yet." However, his mouth was soon far too busy to talk. As she responded to his kiss, he slid his hands behind her back, pressing their bodies even more closely together.
So precious is this life, this gift, this temporary blindness.
She just gives him a look, eyebrows raised slightly, as if he’s missing the important bit. ”You are. But isn’t it possible to know the core of you and still be surprised by the details?” There would always be more to learn, more to discover. People did not stay the same, and things true now might not be true in the years to come. Yet she’s pretty sure she knows the foundations of him, the center of him, that place where all other details radiate from. At least, she has a good idea of it.
Oh, that look away from her. It may hide the blush, but she knows all the same, and she nudges him slightly with her hip as they walk, tightening her grip around his waist. ”Always?” she says with a chuckle. ”No, definitely not always.” Everyone had their moments, after all.
”Mmm, well then perhaps you are a saint. He’s driving me up a wall.” She wasn’t entirely sure how much longer she could deal with her brother’s teenagerness. Yes, that’s a word now. Though she forgets entirely about Korbin as Loren kisses her, as he presses his hands behind her back to pull her closer. The kiss is a hungry thing, satisfying and not enough all at once, that first sip of hot cocoa on a freezing day. She opens her mouth, tongue slipping forward to explore, hands still lost in his hair and along his neck. Her thumb finds his jaw, brushing against it and his ear, exploring him bit by bit.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
Grinning, Loren shook his head, clearly bemused by Weaver's words. "I'm just surprised that you know the core of me and still want to stick around." Tone lightly self-deprecating, he winked at her.
Narrowing his eyes slightly, he finally nodded. "When it counts, then." His tone was firm on that point.
Snorting, he let his hands roam as he considered his response. "Maybe I just remember what it's like to be young and angry at the world." It came out quietly, though with more than a hint of amusement, since he was still young and angry. His rage was just tempered somewhat these days.
Still, he much preferred to focus on the way her mouth opened up before his. Eagerly, he let his own tongue explore her mouth as well, even as his hands slipped under her shirt to spread across her back. He let out a satisfied hum, more of a rumbled purr in his chest than anything else.
So precious is this life, this gift, this temporary blindness.
She continues to give him a look. ”You know you are not so bad,” she says, a bit of a teasing lilt, though something serious in it as well. ”Besides, you stick around me as well, which is perhaps equally confounding.” Arguably, they are not so different at the core of them. The details were vastly different, the packaging and wrapping, the bow on top. But inside, she thought perhaps they understood each other.
His next point she doesn’t argue, only hums a slight agreement. She’ll give in to that. Instead the topic drifts to Korbin, to being young and angry. ”That was such a very short phase of my life, I admit, it is hard to completely understand.” She was also older than Korbin by a substantial amount, and still a reasonable amount older than Loren (though she was pretty sure he was old enough this didn’t count as cradle robbing...maybe someday she should ask).
His hands slip up her shirt, and she arches beneath his touch, lips on his, tongue exploring. Something like a purr rumbles in him, and she grins through the kiss slightly, leaning back and pulling him with her, making room for him to slip between her legs or come to the side. Either was fine, so long as she got to tangle herself against him.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
"Not so bad, huh?" Loren grinned a bit indulgently down at Weaver. "I'll take it." Indeed, there was a pleased expression on his features, and the smirk lurking at the edges of his grin belied just how much he enjoyed hearing it.
However, he raised his eyebrows at her next statement. "What makes you say that?" One hand trailed along her body, tracing featherlight patterns. "You're some of the most pleasant company I've ever experienced." He was honestly confused why she would ever think she was difficult to get along with.
As she told him she'd never been an angry youth, he let out a huff of laughter. "I would offer to talk to him more, but the only thing that will probably help is time." He gave her an apologetic smile.
Opting to settle between her legs, he let out a little growl as their bodies pressed even closer together. Hands still exploring her back, he moved on with his lips, kissing down her neck towards her shoulder. His destination was the hint of ink he could see even under all the layers she was wearing.
So precious is this life, this gift, this temporary blindness.
”Yea, not so bad,” she says with a wink, and now her voice is playful and teasing. That’s the best he’s getting at the moment, though from her, it’s a pretty high compliment. Besides, she’s in his arms, isn’t she? And not just because they got drunk and did something stupid.
She shrivers at the featherlike touch on her body, enjoying the sensation. ”I am pleasant company? I’m not sure anyone has actually called me pleasant,” she says with a chuckle. It’s probably true. That’s not a word generally used in her direction. Impossible, ridiculous, beautiful...these are words she hears. Pleasant? Not so much. It’s not that she didn’t make friends, but rather, you had to be tough to handle being her friend.
”Oh, no, I think you talking to him more might make it worse. He doesn’t like being pushed.” And the way she says it makes it clear they have had that discussion already, and probably a bit how she feels about it. Though she’d give him space and time, as he needs, within some reason because he didn’t need to be suck a dick about it.
He finds space between her legs, the weight of him welcome against her. His lips trail down her neck toward the tattoo, and she tips her head slightly, allowing better access. Her own hands trail down his back, finding their way beneath his shirt. Her fingers trace the outline of his hips, sliding to his back, her nails tracing lightly along his spine.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
Smiling at Weaver's insistence of saying he was just not bad, Loren shook his head. Still, it was clear he didn't mind in the slightest. "I am glad to be the first." He grinned. "Hopefully the first of many things." Then he dropped his voice to a heated whisper. "Though if I'm being honest, pleasant is an understatement." There was a rough edge to his voice, and his eyes smoldered.
"Yeah, I noticed." Tone amused, he just let out a huff of laughter. However, Korbin wasn't really the Hale the healer wanted to think about right now.
As she slipped her hands under his shirt, mirroring his own actions, he hummed approvingly. Finally reaching the tattoo, he bit down hard on it. Unfortunately, there were suddenly far too many clothes for his liking. Freeing his hands, he braced himself on an elbow and tried to shuck off his shirt. However, it got tangled around his head, and he cursed as he writhed around a bit trying to get it off.
So precious is this life, this gift, this temporary blindness.
His voice drops low, a heated whisper, and her smile turns a bit mischievous, a bit devilish, at the sound. ”Mmm,” she hums in agreement, something suggestive about the sound. ”I would hope it is, or else your standards are very low and perhaps I should be offended.” There’s a tease in there, but she’s clearly flattered, clearly pleased. A preening cat beneath the compliment.
The topic of Korbin drifts away, because she doesn’t particularly want to think of her brother right now. That would be weird, to say the least. She would deal with the problem of Korbin later. She would have to tell him about this, because it wasn’t just a one night thing. Or at least, it certainly had the potential to be more, unless things went terribly south very quickly.
Instead her mind drifts to him, to the warmth of his body, to the feeling of those hidden muscles beneath his skin, to the hum of approval in his throat. He bites down on the edge of the tattoo, and she lets out a slight gasp, her breath hitching, though the sound is clearly not displeased. He goes to remove his shirt, bracing on one elbow and successfully getting stuck. She laughs, unable to help herself, her hands skimming up his back to the shirt to help him untangle it, an amused smile curving her lips.
When his shirt is gone, she sits herself up slightly, reaching down to pull the top layer over her own head with more success than he had. Thankfully she needs very few layers with the Academy’s magic, and neither of them have to remove five different layers of clothing (ah, the perpetual Halo mood-killer). There’s still her bra, but she’d let that tease him for a moment.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
