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 Deepfrost and Longnight coming quick on the horizon, Sam knew he had little chance of coming to Torchline for the next while. There would be preparations to do, Longnight itself to survive (if he was so lucky again this year)...not many excuses to run off to the beach in the depths of the cold. With that in mind, he'd come for one last walk around the area surrounding the portal while the warmer seasons lasted, wanting to see the water before the dark times ahead.
He'd once never seen the sea. Now he could hardly imagine his life without it, finding the ocean deeply relaxing to sit by and watch, his thoughts somehow nullified by the sight of moonlight on the waves and the sound of soft foam on the sand. If he were still just on his own he would be stealing off to the beach for Longnight, but he had promised to be a protector for the Naturals that would stay in the Hollowed Grounds.
Sitting on the edge of the pier, he laid his hands in his lap and watched the light on the water. It was very quiet: no one around to cause any trouble, though he was keeping an eye out. For the moment though all was still and he let out a happy sigh, leaning back on his hands and gently swaying his legs.
You learn somehow to like the dark, even love the doubt
as the world comes to an end
i'll be there to hold your hand
And just like that you emerge from the moonlit water, not unlike a fucking mermaid.
Ok, somewhat unlike a fucking mermaid. For one, you've got an oil-slicked bag clenched between your teeth. A cleverer man may have tied it to his waist, but you hadn't managed to think that far ahead when you went on this diving expedition.
Another thing that sets you apart from the folk who live beneath the water is, of course, the manta stone you've got pressed against your throat. On a choker of leather that looks surprisingly well maintained, it clearly distinguishes you from any natural water-breather. It also looks pretty cool.
And then there's the legs.
They become more visible as you move forward through the water, pressing toward the ladder that hangs down into the sea. When you'd jumped off the pier half an hour ago the dock had been empty; now you're surprised to see a man sitting above you, his pale feet dangling overhead like sweet temptresses. It's obvious he's not from here, if only for that: every self-respecting Torcher knows that waving your feet about like that is just begging for someone - or something - to pull you in.
You're not really in the mood to deal with outlanders (you rarely are), and if the circumstances had been different you may have simply found another ladder to ascend. Thing is, your shit is all in a bag on the very dock where this stranger has decided to sit. And by things I do mean clothes: not expecting any interlopers this late you did indeed jump into the water buck-ass naked, a choice you now regret.
Transferring the bag to your hand, you consider your options. You could climb the ladder naked, definitely scandalizing the damn outlander... or you could ask for him to pass your clothes, resulting in wet pants and a scandalized outlander. Lose-lose for the outlander.
Might as well score a win for you.
"Comin' up." It's the only warning he'll get before you begin to ascend the ladder, your bare body glistening in the silver moonlight... not unlike a fucking mermaid.
Sam was considering the last month, the not-quite-anything with Loren, the Ascended vote, everything that had resulted in his current stress, idly continuing to swing his legs entirely unaware of any tempting he was doing. It was only upon hearing a voice he looked down, his attention and wariness for attackers reserved for on the dock.
At first, seeing the man ascend he wasn't that shocked. He'd seen shoulders before after all - it was the moment later when it became clear that shoulders weren't all he was going to see that he looked away with a 'oh!', holding a hand up over his eyes to make it clear he wasn't trying to ogle. He knew it was a different culture in Torchline, but he'd hardly expected to see all of that in the middle of the night.
Of course, the man was not unattractive. Still, Sam kept his hand up, not wanting to make this any more of a mortifying experience than it already was. "I'm sorry! I won't look - feel free to walk past."
You learn somehow to like the dark, even love the doubt
as the world comes to an end
i'll be there to hold your hand
The fact that he covers his eyes like a goddamn schoolgirl earns the stranger some points in your book, if only for the hilarity of the picture it presents. For a moment you pause in your ascent, wondering if you ought to just dip back down and put the poor bugger out of his misery.
Then you shrug and finish climbing the last few rungs. It's too damn cold to be polite.
You reach the top of the ladder and stop, looking down at the man. He's pale as a bed sheet with hair like a brushfire - not the sort who lasts very long in this neck of the woods. Small, too, but really you can't get over how pale he is. Like a porcelain doll, and probably just as fragile.
Realizing you're staring you look away suddenly, clearing your throat and trying to hide your discomfort. "'Fraid yer not rid'a me that fast. I left my stuff here, an' nice as the night is, I'd rather not go walkin' through town in nothin' but my skin."
Moving to the place just behind him, you grab your bag of clothes and start rummaging through for a towel. Then, taking pity on the fellow, you add: "Don't worry too much about my modesty, eh? Ain't nothin' you haven't seen before, I'm sure."
Sam heard Zephyr climb the ladder and step past him; the clearing of his throat caught him by surprise and he looked up, thinking that the man wanted his attention: seeing that he was still very much naked Sam snapped his head back to stare forward at the sea. Had he still had blood, it would have painted his face a bright red. He'd had partners, seen men naked as Zephyr was quick to point out, but he wasn't often accosted with nudity unexpectedly.
As the man continued to chatter behind him Sam let out a breath and tried to get over it. It was clear that his late night visitor wasn't that embarrassed. "...Right. Um..I just..where I'm from, in the Grounds, we don't see a lot of people, ah, nude. Outside. It's usually too cold." Even in Longheat they didn't reach the hot temperatures of the beach; most men if they felt adventurous might stretch to being shirtless on a Longheat's day.
Desperate to try and continue talking now he'd begun, dreading a fall into awkward silence, he continued: "I'm surprised you left your things out on the beach. Aren't you worried someone will steal them?" Still talking out towards the ocean, he spoke louder than usual so Zephyr could hear him.
You learn somehow to like the dark, even love the doubt
as the world comes to an end
i'll be there to hold your hand
"Sounds right awful." You don't try to pretty your opinion of the Hollowed Grounds (seriously, who names a place that?), but there's a lightness to your gruff retort that softens the blow a little. It's hard to take you too seriously, or be too offended by what you say. There's never any edge to it, like a shark who's missing his teeth.
As the man does his best to keep silence from falling you dry out your thick hair; that done you hitch the towel around your waist, still too damp for pants. Grabbing the black bandage from your bag instead, you offer the stranger a shrug. "People 'round here follow a code. Some crates y'don't steal from, 'less you're stupid. Or desperate. Or both." You kick the crate your bag was in, turning it just enough to reveal a small A carved into a corner.
You pull the black brace up over the scar on your arm, grateful as your hips hold the towel in place. "So what brings a Grounder to Kaiholo in the middle of the night? This ain't the safest place, as y'seem to have figured out." Your voice, always low, comes out as something of a growl as you divide your attention between multiple things at once.
Instead of being offended of Zephyr's appraisal of the Grounds Sam just laughed quietly, glad that not everyone judged places based on their frequency of nudity. It was so absurd he couldn't really be bothered by it.
Willing to bet that the man might be a little more covered by now, Sam turned and seeing the towel around Zephyr's waist covering the unmentionables relaxed. When the crate was kicked and turned he blinked at it, not having thought anything of that specific box when he'd passed by earlier. "And...why would people not want to steal from your crate?" He asked, a little nervous of the answer.
As Zephyr pulled up the brace Sam's eyes followed it, noticing for the first time the scar on the man's arm, which he had not gotten a good enough look at when avoiding seeing anything else. He tried his best to not let his eyes linger, pulling them back to the man's face as soon as he realised he was looking. "Oh, I was just here for a last look at the ocean before Deepfrost. I..won't be able to leave the Grounds once it begins, so." Sam shrugged, tried to pretend like that wasn't a little terrifying, even though it had been the case for many years.
You learn somehow to like the dark, even love the doubt
as the world comes to an end
i'll be there to hold your hand
Why would people not want to steal from your crate. "Honor among thieves an' all that," you say with a shrug, content to leave it there unless he wants to pry. Agreeable as the fellow may be, you're not ready to give away too many secrets just yet. Jack may be a fan of peacocking and waving his street cred around for attention, but you've found with time that more and more you'd rather be treated like a man than some sort of myth.
Braced and toweled, you seem to be in no apparent rush to continue dressing yourself. Instead you squat down next to the stranger, peering out over the water and trying to pretend you don't notice him looking at your scar. Because it is not your fucking business you do not remark on the fact that he doesn't particularly seem to want to stay in the Grounds, even if you're thinking it really really hard.
Instead you let silence fall. Still squatting you let your gaze drift across the water, taking in the moonlight as is bounces on the waves. "Beautiful, ain't it?" you remark at last, glancing sidelong at him. "Dunno why anyone'd leave, knowin' all this is here. Gods know I never will."
"..Oh." Sam automatically put a hand to his pocket as the man admitted to being a thief, surprised by the brazenness and worried about the safety of his valuables. "...I see. Have you found that everyone sticks to that? From what I've heard there isn't much honour at all around here." Not that he'd yet had a proper run in with the criminal side of Torchline (until now, he supposed).
The man came to squat behind him and Sam averted his eyes again, well aware of what lay beneath the surely gaping towel and not wanting to stare. An oddly quiet moment passed between them and Sam found himself looking back to the waves too, smiling faintly at the light. Maybe he didn't trust the man next to him (his hand continued to drift back to his pocket to check nothing had gone) but he was glad to appreciate the beauty before them with someone else.
"It is beautiful. I...wish I could stay, but I'm obligated to the Grounds." Thinking it was time for introductions if they were going to be having a conversation, Sam held out a hand towards his new companion. "I'm Samuel Wordsworth. I..work on the council in the Hollowed Grounds."
You learn somehow to like the dark, even love the doubt
as the world comes to an end
i'll be there to hold your hand
You notice the young man's hand going to his pocket with a low chuckle, the crows feet at the edges of your eyes crinkling a touch. Rolling your shoulders in an easy shrug, you place your hands on your hips. "Just 'cus we ain't got a fancy queen doesn't mean we ain't civilized... in our own ways." Protectiveness of your home swells briefly in your breast; it's blown away in your next exhale. "Still, it's best to play it safe here. At least until ya learn the rules."
The quiet moment is a pleasant one, though you don't miss the way his hand continues to drift to his pocket. It's almost endearing, the poor little lamb: even if he had anything worth stealing on him, he needn't worry about you. Leaning in close to his ear you murmur in a low rumble: "Relax, Red- you ain't in any danger here. 'Sides, grabbin' at yer ass like that only draws more attention to it."
Leaving the man's personal space, you turn back to the sea until he makes a formal introduction. His hand is small in your large calloused one, pale next to your tan skin. You squeeze it firmly, meeting his blue eyes with your own piercing brown stare. "Zeph. Lowly dock worker here in Torchline." An oversimplification, but not the biggest lie you've ever told. No council position or fancy title for you.
"Oh no, this is certainly civilised - the town is beautiful. It's much nicer than Sanctuary...and I know your Governor. I'm sure he'll do a good job." Though Sam wondered if as a self-proclaimed thief if Zephyr might not be a fan of the upholders of the law. Still, Remi was (usually) good at being fair and he suspected the man might be willing to let some things slide in response for good deals.
He was caught up enough in the sight of the sea to not notice when Zephyr got close and he flinched with a gasp at the sudden whisper in his ear, hand zipping back to rest on his leg. "I--I didn't think you'd notice. Um. Sorry." At first he wanted to point out that Zephyr had no idea what he had in his pocket and it might be very much worth stealing, but he thought better of it a second later. There was no point advertising yourself to a thief.
While Sam had certainly noticed that the man was attractive, it was when their hands met that his heart actually jumped a little, though partially anxious from the talk of stealing: he'd always liked big hands with clear experience written on them. Gods, he'd been lonely for too long. He was beginning to project onto men's hands.
"A lowly dock worker...and a thief." He corrected, a small smile on his lips now. "Zeph is a nice name. Is it short for anything?"
You learn somehow to like the dark, even love the doubt
as the world comes to an end
i'll be there to hold your hand
"Hardly a thief," you correct in turn, raising an eyebrow at the younger man. There's a line to be drawn between what you do and full on thievery - a thin, delicate, easily crossed line, but a line nonetheless. Still, the correction is softened by the humor that dances once again around your eyes, never quite reaching your mouth but there nonetheless.
Humor that brightens further when he asks about your name. Resisting the urge to snort, you simply jerk your head in a nod, letting his hand go and turning back to the ocean. "Yup." Yup, and you don't much care if he knows the whole thing- Zephyr is a stupid name, and you'd rather it not get around.
Tired of squatting you finally sit, balancing your weight on your hands and letting your legs hang over the dock in a way that mirrors Sam. It's a lovely night and you don't feel much need to be getting back to your empty house just yet. While you'll never admit to being a lonely old man, the truth is that's exactly what you are.
A lonely old man who's terrible at small talk. Gods, you have to get out more.
"I wouldn't know the distinctions." Sam said with a similar humour in his eyes, looking back to Zephyr. He was sure the man had plenty of justifications for his own stealing and why it was different: most criminals did. Still, even while he judged Zephyr and his crimes, he couldn't get too angry, finding himself quite charmed by the strange 'dock worker'.
Yup. But he wasn't going to tell Sam, by the sounds of it. For the moment not continuing to enquire (but wondering if he could find out later) he sat with Zeph. As the other man relaxed he looked down at their legs hanging together and the water below. "While...you've been in the sea, have you ever seen mermaids? Or..or been to the Underwater City?" His face lit up, this prospect clearly very exciting indeed. "I'd love to see the Underwater City."
You learn somehow to like the dark, even love the doubt
as the world comes to an end
i'll be there to hold your hand
Good thing Red is better at small talk than you. With a nonchalant shrug you tilt your head up, looking at the horizon. "Mermaids, mermen, an' every flavor in between." The topic isn't particularly exciting to you - merfolk are much like other folk, just, y'know, fishier - but then you catch sight of the young man's illuminated expression and something in you squeezes, stirring from the place it's been sitting dormant for years.
"I've only seen the city once, but it ain't a sight you forget." Hands splayed on the dock behind you, you lean back, your expression and tone easily adopting the nostalgic allure of a storyteller. "It was years ago, more'n I care to admit to." A crooked almost-smile pulls the muscles on your cheeks, and the moonlight that's reflected in your dark eyes seems to dance. "When I was a young an' foolish man who thought he could tame the ocean."
