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!
a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
He is restless with nothing to do and nothing to keep his mind off of being around so many people when he was so used to being a hermit alone in his room while his parents watched over the rest of everything. And now? Now it’s just him, unsure of what to do with himself and his hands other than the only thing he really does know. So he supposes now is as good a time as ever, choosing his little toolbag as he easily kicks the dufflebag under his bed.
And then? Then he’s stepping out toward the main room, avoiding the eyes that drift to him occasionally, aiming for the main center where the tables sit where one of the tables had a loose leg that had driven him insane the first time someone had set something on it and it wobbled. Green eyes focus on the table, almost as if he’s on some sort of determined path to fix it.
He doesn’t say anything to anyone around, ignores them for the most part as he moves some of the items to the table next to it so it’s empty, before pulling out a few tools to start to fix it.
Wouldn't claim to feel the same we felt the first time it was heard
While there is an overabundance of restless energy permeating the Academy, outlanders going through this for the first time, Grounders waiting for some kind of extra trauma. The Halovians seemed calmest, well used to this, but even among them there was no one who seemed to share the specific kind of anxiety that coursed through Hester.
Until now, Longnight had been spent in the embrace of her family, piled into one siblings home, fires roaring and drinks and stories passed around. Hester had a place in that house, a routine to follow, but here, she's unsure what to do with herself.
Bothering other people, if you can call innocent conversation bothering, is fun for a little bit, but it's a game people catch on to quickly, unsustainable for the whole week. Watching other people was a less obtrusive practice, though sometimes, she couldn't help herself. Especially not when she saw a kindred soul, felt the same kind of undirected worry that came from being away from the familiar, heavy blanket of family. It's not the same kind of circumstance, not that she'd know, but it's the same result.
Hester sidles up in the time between the table being cleared and the tools being pulled out, sitting squarely on the wobbly table (nearly sliding off when it predictably wobbles) and peers down at the familiar face, a kind smile crinkling her eyes as she chirps. "Hi! What're you doing?"
a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
The items are moved over to the side, and he’s grabbing a few tools he thinks he might need before he’s kneeling before the table, eyes focused on the way it wobbles and trying to determine which leg of the table needed the work as he settles back on his heels a small amount. But then the table really starts to wobble, and his green eyes grow wide, moving to try and grasp it to keep it from toppling over, looking up through a bit of long blonde hair to see a somewhat familiar freckled face looking back down at him.
Hester.
He didn’t really know her personally too well after his attack, but he had done some work for her family and her siblings, occasional birthday gifts as well. They were close enough in age too that the young crafter before the accident had a few interactions with the attuned as well, though it had all faded when his family had ensured he was protected and safe. It still didn’t help his thundering heart of surprise as she chirps down to him. “H-Hi Hester.” He manages, though he really doesn’t feel like talking right now.
Green eyes look down to the table leg again, the one causing the problem as he grabs a small screwdriver. “I’m… Fixing the t-t-table.” He manages, taking a deep inhale to try and keep his words under control, all the while he works on chewing the inside of his cheek. “B-but you’re sitt... Sitting on it.” He looks back up at her again beneath a raised brow, a silent question he can’t quite air without tongue tying himself. ’Can you move a little?’
Wouldn't claim to feel the same we felt the first time it was heard
"Hettie, Glas." She corrects his greeting automatically, almost certain she's given him permission to use the nickname before. They might not be close, but that doesn't mean she doesn't consider him a friend, albeit in a distant way. He'd disappeared, and she hadn't heard too much of him, had let him drift away from her thoughts, except in occasional anecdotes. Even considering that, Glas is probably is the closest thing she has to an actual friend here.
For a moment, she considers him, the unspoken question. She thinks about ignoring it, forcing him to voice it. "Fixing the table." An echo, before she slips off the edge of into and into a crouch beside Glas, peering at the tools curiously. "So what do we do first?" She asks, inserting herself into the task without question, not giving him room to deny her. This is exactly the kind of distraction she needed, that they both probably needed.
a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
“Het-t-tie.” He corrects, though keeps his gaze away from her to focus on the table. A lot had slipped his mind since his family had begun to shelter him, and most of all the friends he’d had before everything had happened. He wonders if she’s being polite in not mentioning the large scar that gapes from the corner of his lip halfway along his face. If she is, he decides that’s pretty nice of her, decides that perhaps her company is a balm of what he needed while he tried to avoid everything and everyone else.
But he’s glancing up at her again, that unsaid question in his gaze as he focuses on her the best he can, avoiding her eyes. And before he knows it she’s crouching beside him, and he can take a moment to even out the table while he figures out the leg he’d previously thought was the problem seemed relatively fine in comparison – but that the table off to the side had a few loose screws. “We… Have to t-t-tighten the screws.” He manages after a moment of pause, of gathering himself.
“Here.” He moves to stand to flip the table over, then to hand her another screwdriver while he points to the problem table leg and he focuses on the others. “How… Have y-you been?”
Wouldn't claim to feel the same we felt the first time it was heard
Say what you will about Hester, but she'd been raised right. If someone you haven't seen in what feels like ages shows up again, newly scarred, you don't bring attention to it. Not right away, at least. Her curiosity can wait until they've repaired this bridge a little bit more. Ideally, until Glas is ready to just tell her, but she knows who she is, knows there's a time limit on how long she can go before blurting out the question.
There's no complaint, no refusal of her sudden intention to help, just a quiet acceptance. Glas was almost exactly how she remembered, while somehow being changed completely, the time that had passed since she'd last seen him doing something, something that ran deeper than the scar on his face. "That's all?" Hester laughs, shaking her head. "At least it's an easy fix, right?" Honestly, it's what she'd been hoping for, something simple she can actually help with, that they can actually complete, to shake the oppressive weight of Longnight.
She shifts out of the way as Glas stands and flips the table, keeping out of the way, until she has to lean back to accept the tool, to look over the screws in place. "I've been good. Working on my music, mostly." Comes the cheery automatic answer, her eyes carefully focused on the task at hand, on tightening the screws. "My families doing alright, I just... couldn't stay with them this year." She shakes her head, and moves on to the next screw, the screwdriver slicking a few times before she managed to press down on it enough to get it to catch, to turn. "What about you?"
a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
“S-should be.” He manages as the table is shifted and he’s wiggling the legs to find which piece is causing the issue. And once he has he hands her the screw driver as he works on the main problem leg, ensuring she can tighten the other screws in the other legs while he listens. There’s a small nod given to Hester at the mention of her music — recalling the tunes she’d put together as they grew up, how he’d always liked the sound of it sung around the fire.
And he’s glad for her, but it sparks a thought in his mind all the same. “K-Korbin asked me to make… Him a lute.” He says, looking up from where he tightens the screws down. “I… I could m-make you something.” He doesn’t know what, but the lute was almost done, the drum that Chulane had requested as well. And he hasn’t even had time to start on the flute he initially wanted to make.
The subject of family has his gaze dropping immediately though. “They d-died.” He says rather bluntly, tightening down the last screw he looks over the work she’s done with a small attempt at avoiding her gaze. “When the Palace… Was hit. I w-wasn’t home.” Too busy at the workshop with his instruments that his parents had never condoned him making. Maybe it spurs some guilt in his chest.
Wouldn't claim to feel the same we felt the first time it was heard
"Did he?" Hester looks up from her work just in time to meet his gaze, a confused furrow in her brows. When she'd last talked to the barkeep, he'd made it perfectly clear that he was done with music, and as much as she hadn't agreed with the idea, she had let it lie. Less competition for her anyway. "He told me he'd burned his lute, didn't want to play anymore." A shrug graces her shoulders, before she's smiling softly, and turning back to her task so she doesn't focus too much on him, so she isn't too overwhelming. "I'd love that. If you have the time."
She can all but feel his gaze drop again, and hazards a glance up again, the smile on her face freezing awkwardly at his words, his revelation. "I'm sorry." The words are small, said because she knows she has to, because she isn't sure what else to offer, other than the utter lack of her gaze, her focus returning with a vengeance to her job. It's something she can only maintain a moment, if that. Hester's arms fly out to pull Glas into a tight hug. Still not quite the response she thinks she's supposed to have, but it feels better than the apology had. "Where are you staying?" She asks, without pulling away.
a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
“Huh.” Glas replies swiftly, without a stutter, perhaps the surprise crossing his face replaces it as he glances up toward Hester with a blonde brow raised in a silent question. Almost wondering how long ago it had been, if he should continue making the lute, if it meant anything at all anymore. Oh well, at least his offer to make her something was accepted, already wondering about grabbing his notebook once the table is finished to start on something.
But then he’s explaining that his family died, his mother and father perishing in the attack on the palace, avoiding her gaze and avoiding even the possibility of looking at her just to avoid all the emotions that could cross her face, if only to preserve his own mask of being relatively put together. So he tightens the screws, pulls on the leg, nods slightly as she offers her condolences, and he sits back on his heels briefly to put the screw driver down.
Suddenly, her arms are around him, pulling him in close and tight, and Glas flinches at first – unsure what to make of it, the last time he’d received a hug had been from his mother, the night before they’d died. He’s frozen, arms hovering in the air, trying to pull himself together enough to not break down in her arms. He fails it, however, eventually moving his arms to wrap around her too and bury his face into her shoulder. “H-Home and… The work- workshop...” He says, though it’s muffled by clothing and the pressure of the hug. He’d cleaned up the house the best he could, burned the remains of his family all alone, and tried to put some semblance of his life back together.
Wouldn't claim to feel the same we felt the first time it was heard
Her touch is met with a flinch, and she nearly pulls away from it then, nearly releases Glas with yet another apology. But he doesn't move, and so neither does she, holding him tightly until her embrace is reciprocated. It's the easiest thing she has to offer, the only thing she has to offer, away from home like she is. "You can come stay with us." Hester offers, not even questioning whether it would be allowed. Of course it would, of course her parents would welcome him with open arms and condolences.
The hug will go on as long as Glas needs, as long as he wants. No matter how long it takes for them to part though, Hester's eyes are a little watery, her smile a little shaky. She can't imagine going through what he has, can't imagine how it must have felt. She can almost, almost imagine life before for him, just a house and his parents, not unlike her, all her siblings living their own lives by the time she was born, but they still came around. She still knew them, could still turn to someone, if not her parents.
"Should we... we should finish this." Hester says, reaching for her screwdriver again, hoping the little distraction will help keep him grounded, help hold him together. She has no idea what else to do.
a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
He doesn’t remember the last time someone else had hugged him, had kept him close as Hester does now. Sure, his family had after the attack, but for friends? People he’d grown up with? Years ago. Far too long ago. It hurts, in a way that he doesn’t realize, as if he’s been starved of it when she latches onto him and he finally gives in. The offer to stay with her and her family is a big one, one that he’s not quite sure he can take her up on. “M-Maybe.”
He feels like it’s just trading the burden of himself from his family onto her own.
He’s buried his face into her shoulder, eyes shut tight against the tears that swim within his gaze, trying to hold it together but falls apart, evidenced by the tremble to his shoulders and the way he attempts to hold his breath even though he knows that doesn’t work. But they have work to be done, and he pulls away after a moment, avoiding her face as he reaches up with the back of his hand to wipe at his face, to suck down a breath of fresh cold air, and latch onto the screwdriver like it’s the only thing he has that’s right in the world.
“Yeah.” He manages, though his voice is rough and it burns when he speaks, he swallows hard and focuses his attention on the last few screws that need tightening down, and once it’s done and hers are tightened, he’s sitting back a bit – still blinking away tears – as he goes to wiggle each leg. “T-That’s… Good.” He tries to keep his composure as he runs a hand through blonde hair, moving to stand and flip the table over to ensure it’s sturdiness, if only to do something with his hands.
Wouldn't claim to feel the same we felt the first time it was heard
Hester doesn't get any of what he's going through, not really. She's never lost anyone big, or unexpectedly, she wasn't plagued by a lack of confidence, or whatever it is that makes Glas' voice tremble the way it does, that keeps his eyes away from most people. She knows that he's hurting though, and she knows that she can offer a hug at the very least, her home at the most. A promise of companionship, in the meantime. "Think about it." She murmurs, so he doesn't need to talk too much. "You could just come around for meals and stuff too, if you wanted."
What else was she supposed to do, what else could she offer? Was just that enough? It certainly didn't feel like it was. At the same time, it felt selfish to be trying to rush him along this, to be offering solutions, or at least trying to, so quickly. Maybe she was overthinking this. As much as Hester still feels like she should be doing more, she's glad when Glas pulls away, focuses them back on the task at hand. Her own hands are slower to grab her screwdriver again, far looser around the tool, all the restless energy gone out of her at once.
Glas moves around her, wiggling the legs, but Hester doesn't really move again until he goes to lift the table, to set it back the right away again, rising to help flip it. She leaves him to whatever final check he does and grabs the previously evacuated items spread around, returning them to their place on the table. But with the work done, she shuffles awkwardly, looking anywhere but directly at the craftsman. "If... you wanted, the library is... quieter. More private."
a thousand faces staring at me, a thousand times i've fallen
Oh, he does think about it. He thinks about it long and hard – to fill the void of himself with people around him, but there’s a part of him that worries he’ll be too much of a burden, too much trouble to keep around even if he keeps to himself – whether it’s the fact he can’t talk the way she can or the way he’s got far too much emotional baggage to really be useful.
But he nods regardless, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he swallows the tears down and tries to recover his voice as much as he can. He checks the legs and when they’re all satisfactory, he moves with her help to flip the table. She puts the items back on top of the table, and while she shuffles awkwardly he shuffles a bit as well as he goes to put the tools back in his tool bag and slips it over his shoulder.
He manages to look back toward her – and this time, really look at her, and nods. “S-sure.” He manages, before he ducks his head again and pats the bag a bit, moving to walk with her toward the library. She’s right, in the end, it is quiet once they finally get there, hardly a person milling about and he swallows down another bit of tightness in his throat. “I-I’m sorr-sorry.” He says after a few moments of quiet. “I d-d-didn’t mean t-to m-make it awkward.”
Wouldn't claim to feel the same we felt the first time it was heard
The agreement is more than Hester really expected, but combined with the look, her eyes rising just in time to meet his, to get caught in the seriousness of the situation. She hopes he finds something comforting in her eyes. She hopes there isn't pity.
Walking to the library does not take a lot of time, but it's enough to suck in a deep breath, to try and prepare herself a little bit. Hester doesn't stop just inside the doors, but tugs Glas to a more secluded corner, shelves between them and the doors. And once they're there, she keeps quiet, fingers tapping silently at her leg while she waits for something to give.
"You don't have to be sorry!" The words are out of her almost before his apology is, her hands coming up to knot together in front of her, that line of closeness difficult to cross again, no matter how much it feels like the only thing she can offer. "You didn't make anything awkward. I promise." A smile tries to pull itself to Hester's lips, but she can't quite manage it, can't quite pull it into what she wants. "I would have just left if I didn't want to help." She's trying to be cheerful, trying to be optimistic and jokey, but her tone is just a little too flat.
