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!
With himself and Rexanna weakened as they were, Bastien had tried to set himself some tasks that could be done easily, that needed to be done. While anything that made him travel wasn't ideal, he had been wanting to introduce those in Torchline to his guild for a while, maybe drum up some interest to make a branch in the warm continent: packing up his paints and tools he had set out at night, telling Rexanna he would be a couple of days.
After spending a day inside a hotel room he had bought sketching out ideas (and sipping at wine he couldn't really taste, purely for aesthetic purposes) he headed out again in the evening. He'd scouted a location for his idea beforehand: a plain wall facing one of the main roads through Haulani, opposite a few market stalls. A lot of footfall would come through this place in the morning. Of course, the people who owned the house he was painting on would be honoured to find his artwork on their wall, he was sure.
Beginning with a large arch painted in a mild green for his sketching colour, he began to plan out a mural that would read 'ARTISTS SANCTUARY', planning to drum up some mystery and hype in the town. Wrapped up in his work he didn't pay much attention to anyone going by in the street behind.
It had only been a few weeks since his clinic had opened, and already he was leaving late. Granted, this was entirely due to Nate's own mistakes, the passing of time not really feeling the same when he didn't grow weary of the hours the same way, but still. The streets are close to empty as he enters them, anyone who'd be out this late moved down towards the bar or the pier. With a few exceptions.
One of which seemed to have a bucket of paint and some brushes. Nate paused, watching the man work for a moment, then looked around them. The street was still quiet. And so was he, as he crept up on the vandal, waiting until he was in the middle of a brushstroke before leaping out beside him with shout, trying to startle him. The idea that the other man might be a fight and not flight kind of person crossed his mind far too late, as did the realization that he knew who this was.
There was a moment of almost awkward silence, during which Nate tried to compose himself, to straighten up, keep the ghost of a laugh off his lips. "Bastien." He greets, hand coming out to rest on his fellow ascended's shoulder. "What brings you to this neck of the woods? Surely not just petty crime."
At the sudden shout Bastien jumped only a little, lifting his brush (annoyed that Nate had caused him to make a bump in his line) and looked over to see the source, raising his eyebrows. Being Ascended and a reasonably charismatic man (and a calm one) he was not too panicked by noises in the night, more irritated that someone had felt the need to make them.
"...Nathaniel?" He asked as he recognised the man that had danced at his party, wondering how on Earth he'd gone from stripping in the Grounds to screaming at strangers in Torchline: he wasn't sure if it was an improvement or not. Bastien put his brush down in the pot and took some steps back from his work, evaluating it where it was.
"You call this petty crime? I would call it art. Whos to say otherwise?" His voice was the slightest touched offended, Bastien hoping for compliments on the piece before questions and criticisms.
It seemed his shout had had the intended affect, a bump in the smooth line on the wall and a laugh leaving him as the painter turned to face him. Nate's arms spread out as if to say in the flesh and blood when his name was said, despite the fact that he was made up of neither of those things. "Haven't seen you since that party. Sorry I dipped on the back room fun."
Bright eyes turned to look at the wall, the few lines of colour splashed over it, Nate's head cocking to the side as he did. "I mean, you can convince me that it's art, but they just got a new sheriff around here, and I hear he's a real hardass." The words would seem much more serious if not for the laugh that's all but coughed out around them, Nate unable to keep a straight face for his own in joke. "Can I help?" The offer seems to surprise even him, artistic pursuits never really calling to him before, but it was just painting a wall. Even he could do that.
Nate received a glare as he laughed at the error in the line, Bastien personally mourning that flaw in his work quite strongly. He was a master of 'let the art's mistakes take over', but not when those mistakes were the result of a twat yelling at him. Still, Nate had danced at the party even if he'd missed out on the orgy, so Bastien had some goodwill towards him, enough to forgive one dumb decision.
"A real hardass, ah? Does he hate the arts? If so, me and this fellow may not get along." Bastien put a hand to his chest as if to say this would be a great shame, as he continued to paint. Nathaniel's offer of help was met with a moment's hesitation: this was meant to advertise the guild and he wanted it to look reasonably professional..but he supposed some simple assistance wouldn't go amiss. "You could put a base coat of the green down here, in this area." He said, pointing to one of the chalk shapes.
Hearing such a sensible reaction to his words only made Nate laugh harder, his hand coming up to wipe at his eyes as he struggled to get himself under control. "I don't uh, actually know his opinion on art." Nate smiled, reaching out now to clap Bastien's shoulder, though he stopped himself at the last moment, figuring one messed up line was enough. "I can't imagine he'll care too much though. And if he does, I got an inside line to get you forgiven quick."
The hesitation in response to his offer of help is not lost on Nate, but he's just happy it's accepted, happy to have a hand in the work. The paintbrush is snatched up dutifully, thin coats of green soon filling the chalk shape Bastien had indicated. "What's this for anyway? I mean, you seem the type to... art up a wall for no reason, but this is a long way to come." His unblinking gaze moved up, to where the actual artist was still working, trying to put the shapes and chalk together into something cohesive before it emerged.
"You know the man, but you don't know his opinion on art? Then you do not know him." Bastien stated plainly, for a second all of the man he had been in Venice, confidently spouting artistic theory recumbent on a couch, holding his wine. "Ask him what he thinks of music, of perfume, of a painting: you will learn more of the man than you ever could with simple direct questioning." Of course, that was if Nate did want to know more of the 'Sheriff', who as far as Bastien knew might be a casual acquaintance.
Pleased that he seemed the 'type' for this, Bastien stood back from his painting as he explained it. "It is an advert of sorts for my guild. A beautiful image will draw the viewer closer: above, it will read the name of the guild and where to come in the Hollowed Grounds. I am hoping to gather members to make a chapter in Torchline: do you know anybody that might be interested? Indeed, even yourself?"
Nate has to stifle a laugh at the bold proclamation from Bastien, not wanting to seem too rude all at once. "I'm not even sure I know what my opinion is on art." It had never been something particularly important to him, especially not the extent it seemed to be for his fellow ascended. Though despite his earlier efforts, he couldn't help the laugh that came with the next claim. "I don't think his opinion on art is going to change how I think of him at this point." Nate was fairly certain they'd moved past that point of their relationship, even if it did matter to him.
The paint seemed to be fighting Nate every step of the way. His first pass of the brush too thin, the wall clearly shining through the layer of colour. Nate huffed, the issue seemingly having an easy fix, but his next pass was too enthusiastic, his brush dripping, rivulets of paint threatening to drip past the chalk line, no matter how he tried to catch them. "I'm sure it'll be eye catching for the right type." Nate said, a little distracted by his struggle. "I can't really say I'm the artsy type though." There's a laugh, a helpless gesture towards the mess he's making.
Nate was going further down in Bastien's estimations by the second. What kind of man got to the age Nathaniel had without even considering the beautiful things in the world? In Bastien's opinion, this was the kind of poor fool that needed to join his guild, if only to gain some education about the greater world around him.
Not that he was a snob about art or anything, but Nate was definitely a fucking idiot for not caring about it.
"Do you know the Sheriff well?" He asked, aiming to upkeep some kind of polite conversation before he launched into his lecture that Nate had basically asked for. Stepping back to decide where to put his next line, he shook his head. "There is no such thing. There will be art that appeals to you for art is made for everyone. There is something out there...tell me, do you have a favourite story? A picture? A song? A perfume? All these things are art. If you cannot name a single one of these you admire then I simply cannot image your life being much worth living."
The question makes Nate snort, and turn back towards Bastien, his brow raised. "Well, we're living together and sharing a bed, so I'd say I know him pretty well, yea." Though he hadn't expected the question to be a fucking trap, an unavoidable segue into a lecture he hadn't asked for.
Nate stays knelt where he is, eyes locked in Bastien, half interested and half bemused, the look on his face a little helpless in the face of the artists passion. "I never really... considered the things I liked to be art." He offers at first, voice uncertain. "But I do like music, and... pictures, I guess." Something told him most of his favourite stories wouldn't be considered art even by the other man, tales of stupid decisions and illegal shenanigans, and Nate wasn't sure he'd ever even noticed perfume beyond the distant memory of his mother in her church clothes. "I thought art was just the kinds of things they put into museums though."
Bastien raised his eyebrows with a crooning noise at the news that Nate was sharing a bed with the Governor. Always one for a bit of romantic gossip, a smile spread over his face as he spoke. "Oh, now you must tell me more! Is it a sordid affair or have you had your wild heart tamed by a wondrous romance? Is he a fantastic lover? Deeply charismatic? Breathtakingly handsome?" In the absence of knowing the man, Bastien was able to imagine all kinds of things.
Nate's awkward, slow admission was typical of people that had never allowed themselves to consider art: Bastien had heard it a million times. With such a perfect opening line, he just had to launch into one of his speeches.
"Oh, Nathaniel, no. The art you might see in a museum, while surely art of a form, is not at all all there is to see. Art that is preserved in such a fashion is the art that pleases the people that make the museum exhibits. And who are these people? Often those higher in society, those with the money and the big houses and the poor taste." His lip curled while he spoke of these people. "But if you look in the streets, if you look to the people, the average man: you will hear their songs, see their art. The stories they tell each other. Even a children's adventure story is art, something a human has created for the joy of another, of themselves. Nate, the clothes you wear on your back could be art. Do not limit yourself away from it."
The crooning had Nate ducking his head down a little, a smile spreading over his lips despite his best attempts. He shouldn't be embarrassed, but he hadn't quite expected this reaction from his fellow ascended. "I guess... it started as a sordid affair. He was married and I was... thinging, with uh, Sam." There's an shrug that would be self conscious on anyone else, but Nate simply barrels on past any kind of self reflection or shame. "We're trying the romance thing now. And he is all of those things. And more." There was more he could say, more that he though, but emotional admissions did not come easily to him, and he wasn't going to be spending any loving revelations on Bastien.
If there was one thing Nate could say he knew about Bastien, it was that the man had passion. Passion that was almost overwhelming to have pointed towards him. As soon as it began to sound like a lecture, like a lesson, part of Nate checked out, his gaze focused on the other ascended, but the words going in one ear and out the other.
Something resonated with him though, made his eyebrows rise in genuine interest, just as Bastien's lip curled. Nate let his brush drop away from the wall, actually focusing on what the other man was saying. Art created for the joy of it. He hummed, looking down at himself, around the street they were in, then back at the artist. "So is everything art then? Anything a person makes, if it makes someone happy?"
Seeing an almost bashful reaction from Nate only encouraged Bastien further and he grinned as he watched the man explain, always happy when he was teasing someone about their business. At the sizzling details about marriages and 'things', he gasped and held a hand to his chest. "My! Your passion must have been irresistible. I cannot blame you for leaving that little wallflower Samuel: you are a man of action, hm? Need something exciting." Waving his hand off his chest dismissively, he sniffed at the thought of the boring nerd that was one of the 'strongest' among them.
"So...do I get to learn the name of this romantic Sheriff? I might want to wish him congratulations on his wondrous affair." Bastien hoped Nate might give him this detail so he could properly relay the gossip to Rexanna. He knew from her that Sam had been cheated on, so more pieces of the puzzle were welcome.
With some broad strokes, the base colour of the painting was finished and Bastien began to slap on elegant details and lines, confidence radiating through them and his strong hand on the brush. "Why not? Of course! Have you ever said something to someone they liked? Maybe they repeat it to themselves at night or think of it often: that must be more meaningful than a stuffy painting you cannot get into at a museum. This is art. That what effects you."
It's been some time since he's actually gotten to talk normally like this, and Nate eases into it more and more as Bastien encouraged it, a wide grin on his face. "I guess passion is one way to describe it." He snorts, remembering the desperate bite in the ruins, the memory all hands and heat and pleasure. "Sam's.... I mean, nice, I guess, but that's boring. At the end of the day, we just lived different lives, wanted different things. And it's nice having some excitement to go home to." His words about Sam are a little cautious, despite Bastien's own flippant remarks. The thing about gossips is they can't be trusted to keep anything to themselves, and as much as Nate didn't like Sam at the moment, anyone else hearing about it was drama he didn't want tot deal with.
The obvious probe for more information has Nate grinning all over again, but it's something he's willing to share at least. "Now that you've asked for it you can get it." He teased first. "It's Sunjata. He owns the bar back in the Grounds." A bit of background information is thrown in for free, because he doesn't know who knows who, in the grand scheme of things.
Nate watches with a newfound respect as the design on the wall begins to take shape under Bastien's skilled hand, his own brush dangling loosely and uselessly in his own grip. "Where'd you learn all this stuff about art anyway? It's nothing like I've ever heard before."
