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!
Yup. yup yup yup yup yup. The storms a bad one, and unfortunately Milo tends to be a bit narrow sighted. He thought he might be able to get out of the house, venture around for a bit before making his way back. But as it turns out, he always casually forgets that the storms have minds of their own and always get worse when he decides to go outside.
It’s about that time when he’s tearing through the alleys of Haulani, fighting the wind and debris that gets picked up — a rogue board snapping off and smacking him in the arm, drawing a line of blood along a tanned forearm, mixing with the rain that whips against his skin. So he dips into the first building he sees, the brothel, dripping wet like a soaked dog — water streaming from red hair, dripping from his face as he slams the door shut behind him and presses his back against it with a huff of trying to catch his breath.
As Milo dashes in out of the storm, James is sauntering casually down the stairs. He's wearing a pink negligee that is sheer and over the top and probably not his (hey now, don't judge. You've no idea if that's true or not). "Well hello." He purrs towards the soaking ginger, pulling the nighty closed as if he's worried about offending the poor boy with his nipples.
"Looking to be warmed up outside in, or inside out?" Since the Hanged Man lost a few of its walls, the Halenani had been serving more alcohol than normal, in addition to their normal fare of body parts on offer.
Waggling his brows and flashing the man a lascivious smile that suggested the thief might already be a little bit drunk, James leans inelegantly against the bannister undressing Milo unsubtly with his eyes.
Water drips along his face, and a rough calloused hand lifts to brush the red away from his eyes as a voice calls out to him. Dark eyes lift to meet James’ face, thinking nothing of what the other man wears, but offering a brilliant grin in response. “Oy, hello!” He chimes in greeting, stepping in a bit further to avoid getting the door all wet. Indeed, he was soaked.
The mention of warming up, however, keeps that grin on his face – his head tilting as he debates, watching James briefly before looking around the Halenani and taking it in. It’s been a fair while since he’s been in a place like this – and drinks? The offer of alcohol always is one he takes up on. “M’thinkin’ inside out first.” Flashing a wink to James he slips away from the door and heads toward the other man. “Y’gonna be my guide while I drip allova’ the floor?”
"Friendly one, aren't ya'?" The thief purrs happily, before looking down at the small lake pooling around his feet. "Phoebe is not going to be happy about that. Think she'll believe me if I tell her that's how satisfied I made one'a'her female customers?" Even James frowns at this, tugging at his ear before shrugging.
"Ahh you would. All you youngin's always pick inside out." Waggling a finger in Milo's direction, James pushes himself away from the bannister making a come hither motion with his finger to lead him down a corridor. "Guide? Gods no. Just think of me as your..." James' fingers make mystical motions as he pauses to think.
"actually no yeah, guide is pretty accurate." He concludes with a shrug of his bony shoulders. Back they go until they reach a parlour filled with lush red velvet couches. "Sit anywhere y'like. All the material here is magic. Cleans itself right up after you're done. It's quite a convenient thing. Now—" Disappearing behind the bar, James rummages around, clinking bottles together. "What'll it be?" He asks popping back up, holding a bottle of something dark, and a bottle of something darker.
“’Course I’m friendly.” Milo playfully protests – the equivalent of a dog in this town. Someone that can get close and friendly with those around, so nobody thinks twice when he makes his runs. As for the next comment, a snort is granted to him, a shrug of bronze shoulders. “I dunno, maybe? Think yer that good, eh?” He chides playfully, before following the other man at the gesture.
A gesture with his own hand seems to say ‘yeah, a fuckin’ guide, exactly what I said’ but the young man remains silent. At the option of the red velvet chairs and couches, Milo immediately picks one as James tells him to sit wherever – flopping down in one and sprawling out. “Does sound convenient.” He offers, running a hand along the fabric and thinking nothing of what body parts had touched it.
At least trying not to.
His red head pops up over the edge of the couch as he focuses on the bottles, squinting so his dark eyes flicker between the options. “Somethin’ sweet and strong. Darker, prolly.” Flashing another wide, crooked grin at James, Milo slips back down along the couch.
"I mean, just look at me!" The thief invites, gesturing to his body. And..well, there isn't much to see. He'd be a -A cup if we were being generous, and hip bones that jut out so far he could probably hold water in the valley made between them and his belly. Mostly hairless (but almost in a have you hit puberty way?), the real allure of the thief are in his various piercings, tattoos, and honestly, the enormous, unmistakeable size of his..
..confidence.
"Yeah mate, especially when you've got like, loads of girls, and loads of...well, y'know." He whistles, pointing towards his crotch, and shrugging.
"Yeah, but what'ya want to drink?" James trills, fake tossing his hair over his shoulder, clearly accepting the description of the alcohol as capturing him. Cavalierly the thief pours the drinks (it's like..a quatriple, or whatever, it's fine), and offers one of the glasses to Milo. "To friendly faces, stolen clothes, and this goddam storm for bringing us together." He says, before clinking his glass with Milo's in a toast.
“Just look at me!” And look, Milo does – sweeping his gaze long and slow along James, snagging on tattoos and piercings, and letting that fill him with more than enough amusement to last what feels like a lifetime. He’s not one to judge, though, thin and scrawny himself just far more athletic in terms of running items and heavy lifting. He’s got muscles… Just, not many. Not a lot.
Still, a bright laugh barks out of Milo as James continues, sliding a bit closer to the man as the drinks are poured and one is handed to him. “Wouldn’t mind stealin’ some dry clothes fer myself.” He mutters, clinking his glass against James’ before downing the whole shot and wincing after.
How much was in there? His eyes water a bit, but he swallows it down like a trooper – stifling the cough he wants to give with a sharp exhale – as if that’ll work enough. “Though I guess that means takin’ these ones off, huh? Are y’gonna steal my clothes too?” He questions, flashing a grin toward James full of amusement and jesting, despite the roughness of his tone from the harshness of the alcohol.
"Honestly mate, who comes to a brothel and asks to have clothes?" James wonders with a resigned sigh. "But yeah, I'm sure I can find y'somethin'."
Looking Milo up and down, James gives him a haughty look. "Clearly I am a man of impeccible taste and style. This—" He gestures to Milo's soaking wet ensemble. "—belongs on the floor and kicked under a bed where it will never see the light of day again."
Pouring them each another shot, James sets down the bottle and disappears to one corner of the room, obviously rummaging through a chest of some sort. "Go on, strip. Quick as y'like." He calls over his shoulder, muttering to himself as he picks out a replacement outfit.
“Someone who’s just dipped outta storm without quite realizing where they’ve landed.” He retorts easily, though the grin spread across his face shows he doesn’t mind the outcome of it. Happy accidents, as it were. The grin remains, though, as James looks him up and down, Milo huffing a laugh at the idea of it. “Aye, it ain’t that bad.” He throws his hands up as if pleading his case.
But once James pours the shots, Milo debates taking it while James is rummaging through chests, but decides against it – instead, easily shrugging out of the wet clothes and letting them drop to the floor with a loud slap of a sound. He isn’t shy, there’s nothing to be shy about in Torchline when half the time the people that lived here would see all the bits and bobs eventually, anyway, right?
"A'ight. Whenever yer ready." He snorts, slipping toward the edge of the table where the shots were poured, hand hovering nearby his as he waits.
