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!
Despite his cane, his shorter strides, his defect, as some of the more ableist members of society might call it - Falke is never late. In fact, he has often been called obnoxiously early, to the point where valuing one’s time comes at a detriment to his own timetable. Ah, but it’s not every day that the Fixer gets to visit Torchline. In fact, this is the first time and all the various parts of him are vibrating in anticipation.
Like the dedicated Fixer that he is, Falke will head straight to the Inn first, refraining from stopping to talk to the natives, to stand in the midst of the market, to smell the sea and feel the sand, to look for ramphire and cloud wyrms. There will be plenty of time for that later, he tells himself, mildly amused that they’ve let their secondary researcher loose when they are well aware of his predilection towards being sidetracked by the most mundane phenomena.
Taking his own room at the Inn to avoid suspicion and to do his own couple of days of research, Falke causally breaks into Finn’s quarters with an easy twist of some pins (not very secure, that, the Spyglass and the Orator should have secondary systems in place, and he’ll be sure to make the suggestion for future trips), helping himself to the more comfortable chair in the room, and settling himself in with a notebook and some casual journaling until Finn shows up. Hopefully on time.
you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
Finn should know better, at this point. It’s been quiet, and he’s good at his bookkeeping - he knows this check-up is due. And yet with all that has been happening since his arrival in Torchline, he’s let his concentration lapse somewhat. Falke will find the room neat but lived in - and if that isn’t Finn in a nutshell, he doesn’t know what is - and he will be left with the drum of the downpour against the windows, right up until five minutes before the appointed time.
The Spyglass has come back to the room to try to make himself presentable, assuming he’ll be zapping away home to meet with Falke. His door is open already and, absent-minded as he knows he can sometimes be, Finn does not think much of it. Stepping into the room, he doesn’t look great, plainly put - his coat is folded over one arm, his clothes (consisting of a dark blue shirt and pants that were previously pressed neatly) completely soaked through and covered in sand and earth.
He shuts the door, and is already half unbuttoning his shirt when he sees Falke. Pausing, he watches the other man for a second, before his shoulders slump and he lets out a long sigh. ”I am early,” he informs him. It sounds like an attempt at a justification.
07-25-2020, 03:06 PM (This post was last modified: 07-25-2020, 03:06 PM by Falke.)
Falke
Falke is always gentle with Finn; even his version of tough love is meant to guide instead of shock or beat or force him to do something. The other Order members are prickly enough, enmeshed in their own problems and prejudices regarding the way thoughts ‘ought’ to be done, and Falke has never had the intention to be like that. Even when Finn acts like the Fixer might jump down his throat, Falke is ready with a mild expression. Taking in the coat, the wet and dirty clothes, he just closes his journal and puts it in his bag with a flourish.
“You are, indeed. Which means there’s plenty of time to get some tea. You also look like you could use some, too. I’ll be right back.” For this short distance, he leaves his cane in the room and shuts the door behind him, giving Finn the privacy to change his clothes if he’d like, to give himself a minute.
It’s win-win. Falke really does want some tea and busies himself asking the kitchen for a pot and two cups, some milk and tiny bit of sugar - and to put it on Dorian’s tab.
you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
”Tea...?” Finn echoes his counterpart’s words as if they’ve come from far away, and he can do little more than stand by as Falke goes to fetch their drinks, leaving him alone once more in a room he’d expected to be empty. Still, even addled as he is by the afternoon’s events, Finn moves automatically. The shirt comes off, as does everything else, and he wastes no time in dressing anew, though he forsakes shoes this time given that he’s as close to ‘home’ as it gets in Torchline.
By the time Falke returns, Finn will be seated in the other chair (the less comfortable one), his curls still wet, his eyes closed, head tilted back to think. The sound of the door disturbs him, and he glances up to watch the Fixer cross the room. ”Does Cian know you are here? Dorian?” he wonders.
Tea. You see, tea is useful for many things. Not only does it warm the body and occasionally the soul (for is there anything better than someone who knows exactly how you take your tea?), but it gives the drinker something to focus on other than the conversation. There’s nothing worse than feeling like you’re being interrogated and stared at, so Falke brings Finn tea. And besides, he’s curious to see if Torchline is up to par in that regard, so the Fixer does not give the Spyglass an answer, nor does he wait for his consent before heading out.
The return is quite different, with Falke purposefully making his steps a bit heavier to announce his approach, carrying a dinged up and tarnished silver tray in one hand, with an equally ‘well loved’ teapot and two cups and two other containers on it. The inkeep’s effort was commendable, Falke thinks, even if the product ends up being less than satisfactory.
He sets the tray down on a side table and busies himself with the pouring. “Remind me how you like yours?” he asks, before answering the question. He does so when he turns, the cups in hand, offering one to Finn. “Of course. It would be both foolish and dangerous for me to come here without them knowing.” Settling gingerly down into the seat so as to not slosh the liquid, he looks at Finn again with a mildly curious expression. “Why do you ask?”
you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
Falke brings Finn tea - and whilst the Spyglass doesn’t have the words to express that sort of gratitude in a way that makes them seem like more than they are, more than doctor and patient, he feels it nonetheless. ”Milk, no sugar please,” he reminds the other man, forcing himself to settle in his seat no matter how much he doesn’t want to. Call it strange, but the room at the inn has become something of a sanctuary to him; it feels odd to have a reminder of reality come in to perform a check up.
His smile at the question bounced back at him is hardly that; it’s an expression that doesn’t come close to the eyes. ”Because I didn’t know,” he says simply, teasing at a loose thread on the arm of his chair. Because it’s foolish or dangerous to come without letting Dorian or Cian know about it. It’s par for the course for Finn. ”How are things at home?” Ah, deflection. A well worn trick, and they both know it.
It would be odd for Finn to know everything that Falke does; the scope and breadth of his Fixing and tinkering, the amount of doctor-patient confidentiality he must maintain, the levels at which he casually appears to do things. No, of course he wouldn’t know. He dodges that small statement and lifts the cup to his lips, blowing ever so gently on the liquid within, feeling the steam drift up to his brow. “The same. A little quieter, perhaps, but the energy is still there. Many anticipate your returns.” ‘Your’ being Finn, Dorian, and Cian with news from the outside.
Potentially very big news. Even he finds himself quite curious.
“Tell me about Torchline,” Falke begins with a tentative sip, as if this were a normal conversation. “Is it everything you expected?” Radiating a calm energy that might ordinarily be beyond his years, he begins to ease into the conversation, like he has many times before.
you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
”Let us hope that we don’t disappoint,” Finn murmurs, collecting his own cup and holding it between long fingers, even though it burns a bit. He dodges Falke’s question and the Fixer dodges his statement in return; the dust settles and they move on. Stormbreak is curious about their efforts out here to find those who might help their cause - and Finn can’t blame them, though he’s not sure it’s as straightforward as they think. These thoughts, of course, all stay inside.
This is a dance that they have danced before, and Finn sags back into his chair, blowing gently on his tea and staring down into the hot liquid. ”It’s surprisingly similar to home. I think it must be the rain,” he begins, his voice quiet, slow. ”But I have found it difficult to adjust. There is a man here - one of the demigods we have been instructed to find - who looks almost exactly like me.”
Indeed, it’s a familiar dance - they know the steps and they know, hopefully, where it will lead. Perhaps Falke no longer has to cajole and pull the way he used to, but Finn can still present a bit of a challenge. “Any information is an improvement,” Falke says with a reassuring smile, fully believing what he says. Even if that information is disappointing, it’s more than they knew before and they can adjust their plans. But then the man who came to be known as The Fixer has always been one of the more optimistic members.
He listens to Finn and latches on to two things. “Difficult - how?” Asking him to elaborate on the vagueness of that statement, Falke holds back on asking about the long-lost demigod twin for now, lest he overwhelm the Spyglass with questions. He’s found it’s best to let the man reveal things in his own time. He’s like a turtle being convinced to come out of his shell - and then slow and steady wins the race.
you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
”I do often find that to be the case,” Finn agrees softly, rolling his teacup gently between his palms to watch the liquid swirl (and to spread the burn out, to keep it from settling in one place). He can feel it, the urge to offer breadcrumbs, to lead Falke on his merry waltz of words until there’s very little else but the truth left to say. But this is not the Fixer’s usual locale, and Finn is tired. Finn is always tired, but more so lately - and thus begins his answer.
”I am not sleeping again,” he remarks. ”My dreams are... vivid. Not always nightmares, not at first. And rest does not come easily to begin with.” It’s a lifelong ailment, something buried deep in Finn’s bones. It gets better and it gets worse, but it’s always present.
”There are so many different races here, too. I see...” He drifts off that train of thought - an automatic reaction to being around Cian for an extended period of time. ”That is to say, I notice a lot more variety in the people. It is distracting.”
Ah, yes, Falke thought that might happen. “It’s not uncommon,” he begins, “to not be able to sleep in a new place, especially one where the mind faces new challenges and situations.” The new stimuli, the races he talks about, it would be enough to set any good Order member on edge for a few days. “I assume you’ve tried the breathing exercises we’ve done before? And the journaling before bed?” Useful, sometimes, but not always with Finn. But best to start with the basics. There are other aids, and he definitely remembers double-checking that he packed them before coming here - just in case.
Falke takes a sip before setting the cup down on the side table and crossing one ankle over the other knee. “How often do you wear the glasses?” Mighty useful for what he does, but there comes a time when the useful can be detrimental. Cian and Dorian wouldn’t know where the line is until they’re well over it, and they can be difficult to say no to...
you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
It’s not uncommon, Falke says - but Finn doubts that the few days of unsettled sleep that someone like, say, Dorian might experience have anything on his long nights of laying awake. Still, the Fixer is trying to do what he does best - fix - and so he keeps any of his opinions carefully under his tongue. It’s for his own good, in general, and he’s been doing this for long enough to know it at last.
”Yes,” he says of the mitigating efforts before sleep, before hesitating somewhat. ”At least at first. I have lapsed, these last couple of days. When sleep does not come, I work instead.” Notes always need writing, research always needs doing, and sometimes in the night with only the patter of rain as company, Finn gets some strange clarity from his mind.
That Falke even believes him about the properties of his spectacles (and honestly, Finn isn’t sure he believes it nowadays - perhaps it’s just a mechanism for his delusions to roar through) is something of a miracle. Finally taking a sip of tea as well, he lets his eyes shut, as if the weight of the lids are too much. ”We both know the answer to that,” he murmurs. Whenever necessary. ”I make sure to take regular days off. To walk the streets without them, talk to people.” With limited success, but it’s something.
Ah yes, the work. Always the work. If there’s one thing he might criticize the Order for, it’s their tendency to create workaholics with tunnel vision. It’s certainly never helped Finn. Nodding when he hears about the developments, Falke has to ask. “That’s alright. Are there any nights when you can’t sleep and you don’t work?” Though he asks as if he’s not expecting any kind of answer, Falke can almost predict the no from Finn. They’ve done this dance enough times. And the reminders are usually the same.
And perhaps because he knows he can’t suggest that Finn wear the glasses less, he chooses to affirm, rather than go down the questioning path. “I’m sure it’s quite difficult, seeing auras and not having anyone who can see the same thing. Do you think the variety you see is adding to the insomnia, or do you think it’s something else?”
Nudging him a bit towards self-analysis, Falke is keen to hear what Finn thinks about his ‘issues.’ He’s had them for long enough to be somewhat self-aware.
you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
No, it certainly hasn’t. Finn keeps his eyes closed, his hands coming to rest around his cup as the liquid finally cools enough for him to hold it without burning himself too badly. ”No, I do not think so. In the Tower I play, when I can’t sleep. But we are told to travel lightly.” And so his instruments - his guitar, mainly - are safely tucked away in his attic room, waiting for his return, and he is here, sleepless and working.
Blinking his eyes back open, he fixes Falke with his stormy gaze and finally takes a slow sip of his tea. ”It is definitely a contributing factor,” he says slowly, the answer coaxed out, as always, by the Fixer’s willingness to treat him as if he has something worth saying. ”These demigods are more complex than anything I have ever seen before. But... the one I met, who looks like my twin. He is Ludo’s chosen. I... struggle, to understand him. I think it is playing on my mind.”
