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!
Every year the storms come, and every year Milo goes insane by the first week of it. The same old same, similar frustrations and annoyances lingering in the idea of being cooped up that he can’t stand it anymore, departs his home to get into trouble yet again. Already he’s healing from a few cuts on his cheek, a few scratches and scrapes along his arms from debris picking up and flying through the air. Today seems a bit calmer at least in the morning, the smuggler moving along the alleys of Haulani with a hammer in hand, trying to nail down all the things that haven’t flown off yet.
He doesn’t know if it’ll work, but repairs made during monsoon season often took longer than when the storms were over. If he’s being honest, it’s worse during Longheat with the sun beating down overhead.
By the time he’s finishing up, his shirt is removed, used as a way to wipe away sweat and dirt and rain, hands dirty from mud and dirt as he worked. At least he’s content with the results of the day, already tired as he wanders back through the alleys, shirt slung over a shoulder while his red hair clings to his face — stopping only when he sees a new shop and recalls something about maps, and wonders just how accurate they are.
So he slips in, careful to not drip all over the shop floor, moving to peruse what kind of maps it offers.
Sam had never been fond of storms; as a child the Deepfrost rain and thunder in the Grounds had often had him curled up under the covers at night, clutching his pillow tightly around his head to block out the sound. The monsoons weren't quite like those noisy nights (in many ways they were worse, actually), but he'd still found his anxiety on a high recently, the only solace he could find being in his work and the odd moments of quiet in Zeph's home.
At least the work he was doing, while challenging, was new and interesting. While his books had required a lot of focus, the words and letters needing to be correct, he had never needed the sort of precision that Cartography demanded from him: each line, each minute curve, had to be replicated exactly, his pen moving at a snails pace across the page.
Sam was deep in concentration, purposefully drowning himself in details to ignore the storms outside, when he heard the door open: he glanced up, expecting to see one of the wizened old sailors or now-familiar smugglers that seemed to be his most common customers. Instead, a very handsome young man entered, without a shirt and almost as if to add further surprise - wet. His pen paused and he stared, blinking a couple of times. Had this man chosen the wrong door? The Halenani was a few streets over.
"...Can I...help you?" He asked, making sure to keep his eyes at Milo's face. "Or..oh." Suddenly realising what the case might be, Sam smiled. "If you're just looking for shelter from the storm, you can sit in here a while. I don't mind." Especially not for this man.
A voice pipes up and Milo comes to a dead stop in where he’s investigating, mahogany hued eyes lifting as a grin spreads across his face to greet the other red headed man at the back of the shop. He doesn’t sound like he’s from around here, but it’s no matter to Milo, not as he focuses on the offer that’s laid out. Shifting the shirt briefly along his shoulder, he turns a bit more fully to face Sam.
“Was just comin’ in to take a peek.” He offers, voice heavy with an accent. “Avoidin’ the storm is justa ‘nother perk.” He adds with a bright laugh to accompany the similarly bright smile. “I don’t mean’ta drip all over yer floor. Ya got somewhere I can dry off?” Comes the other request, smile shifting a bit lopsided at that. Hopefully the other man does, otherwise Milo’ll have to deal with picking a corner to stand in under the idea one puddle is better to clean up than a few.
Milo certainly had a nice smile and Sam thought it was a good sign: he knew there were troublesome sorts in Torchline, but he liked to think that robbers didn't smile when they entered stores...hopefully not, anyway. "Oh, I see. I'm glad the window display is working then." He smiled, glad to hear that his store was interesting enough to merit it's own investigation.
"Of course. There's a fireplace over there..." Sam stood, gesturing to a wall in the back of the shop, where an old wooden stove and fire was built into the brick. It was not usually on: as an Ascended he didn't feel cold, and besides Torchline was rarely in need of fires, but he had some logs nearby anyway, more for aesthetic than anything else. "You can put in a log, and there's some tinder I think, behind the grate...I shouldn't get too close." He pointed to his fangs, hoping Milo would gather what he meant.
“Sure is.” Milo replies easily, keeping that grin along his face. It had distracted him, had also one up to offer shelter a small amount, a small win during monsoon season at least. Still his question is aired and Sam answers easily, Milo stepping up a bit on his tiptoes right peer around Sam to spot the fireplace in question. When Sam turns his attention back to Milo, the smuggler keeps that grin on his face. “Aye, thanks.” He begins, already moving to step over toward the fireplace.
He tries to drip as little as possible, moving to put a log in and some of the tinder, pulling out a bit of the flint out to spark the fire. “Milo, by the way.” He offers half in a belated greeting once he gets a small flame to start. “Yer Ascended? That’s what the fang thing means, yeh? Can’t get close ta fire?” He asks a bit bluntly, a bit more forward. He’s never met an Ascended before, but he’s heard the stories of them since before the portals opened. He keeps his eyes on the fire, pausing to blow a bit into the flame to spark it a bit more to catch.
The stranger walked past him to go to the fire and Sam found himself glad that he'd thought to clean up and keep the thing now; it seemed it was helping to warm the locals to him during Monsoon season. He tried his best not to stare too much at the man as he went over to the fire, not wanting to appear rude or weird, though he did allow himself a glance at his back.
"Oh, Samuel." He offered over the counter, shifting to sit on his heels so he was a little higher and for the moment putting his pen down, not able to work on his precise lines with company. Thankfully, Milo seemed to have correctly guessed he was Ascended but didn't mind about it, a refreshing occurence; he nodded. "Yes. I'm sure it'd probably be fine, but when I can afford to avoid it, I like to. You...know about Ascended? Not a lot of people here do."
“Samuel.” Milo repeats, committing the other red haired man’s name to memory while he fiddles with the fire. Once a flame begins, he blows a bit on it to spark it up a bit more before stepping back – letting the heat of the fire begin to dry off bronze hued skin. It gives him time to run a hand through his own cherry hued hair. “I’ve ‘eard stories.” He offers, having never met one in person before.
His arms come to fold across his chest as he turns around to let the fire start to dry off his back – head still tilted toward Sam. “I’ve heard… That Ascendeds can run real fast, don’ need to breathe, fancy eyes or somethin’. I think our… The fucks it called.” He purses his lips slightly. “Social Affairs Dictator, or somethin’, guy’s Ascended too.” A shot in the dark, the kids never met Nate. But a story is a story, and he’s interested in what’s real and what’s fake.
Sam dreaded to hear just what stories Milo had been told, knowing full well that a lot of the rhetoric surrounding Ascended in Caido was less than positive at the moment; he wouldn't be surprised if there were tales of Ascended lurking in the shadows with fangs as long as knives waiting to pounce on innocent passers-by.
"Fancy eyes." He repeated with an amused smile. Milo wasn't wrong, but he'd never heard it put quite that way. "We can see in the dark, if that's what you mean." One of the more useful yet mundane abilities he had; Sam had not realised how used he'd gotten to it until it had gone and the shadows had been pitch black.
He laughed out loud at the hesitation before Nate's title. "I know him well. He should not be directing any social affairs...but yes, he's Ascended." Trying to hold back from saying too much about his opinion of Nate, Sam stood and stepped out from behind the counter, went to lift the kettle resting on a nearby table. "Would you like a drink, while you're here? It might warm you up from the inside."
“Yeah.” Milo responds with an exaggerated nod. “Fancier’n mine.” He jests back, gesturing with a hand to his dark brown gaze. But then he’s explaining Nate, turning to dry off a bit more with the fire, when Sam laughs and Milo’s attention flickers back up to the Ascended.
“Ah, no? Why’s that?” He prods, having never met Nate (not yet anyway) and wondering what about him meant he shouldn’t be in charge. Not like Milo was much for politics and what not, he stayed out of the public eye of questioning and things went smoothly after that.
Milo spins again, letting his side start to dry as the opportunity of tea is offered, the grin growing a bit brighter. “Man after my own ‘eart, huh?” He chimes with a laugh. “That’d be great.”
"I can't tell from over here if your eyes are fancy, but they certainly look fine to me." Sam responded with a smile, not realising that he was almost flirting (the art of joking and teasing was still new to him, as were it's implications).
The topic of Nate turned the corners of his mouth down quickly though and Sam let out a sigh as he leaned against the counter, unsure of how much to reveal to a stranger about his tumultuous relationship with the 'Director of Social Affairs'. "Let's just say...he's very aggressive. I can't see him solving many 'social affairs' without threats or some kind of trickery being involved...I'm honestly quite sure he only got the job because of his connection to Sunjata, the Arbiter." With a shrug, Sam lifted himself off the counter and went to put the kettle on to boil, using a stick to push it over onto the stove ( a well-practiced motion by now).
"Most people, when I offer them tea, either say they don't like it or look confused. I'm glad to find someone that understands the benefit of a warm drink on a day like this." Even with his tastes and sense of temperature dulled, Sam found there something very comforting about having his hands around a warm mug. "Do you live in the area?"
An amused bit of surprise crosses Milo’s face with Sam’s response, grin shifting a bit more crooked. “Oy! Y’aren’t usin’ your fancy eyes well enough then.” He teases back, snickering lightly to himself. The amusement only grows as Milo questions about Nate – letting his eyes find Sam’s shift in emotions at the subject. But unluckily for Samuel, Milo isn’t attuned to it, doesn’t focus on the way his questions might come off awkward or bring back strange memories.
All he does is just nod, watching as the pot is slid over to the stove while he sucks on his teeth a brief moment. Feeling relatively try enough, that he won’t drip puddles along the floor, he slips over toward the counter to lean against it as well – hoping Samuel doesn’t mind the encroachment on his space. “Mm, prolly.” Milo responds with a shrug of his own.
But the mention of how people react with tea sets his brows raising. “Nothin’ wrong with tea. Tea with a bit a’rum… Now that’s a winner.” He shoots back before folding his arms in front of him where he leans against the counter. “Jus’ down the alley a bit. I work on the docks.”
"The eyes only help me see in the dark; I'm seeing yours very normally, and I still think they're fine." He insisted, a smirk on his lips as he glanced over to look at Milo again; Sam had always liked brown eyes, found them comforting and warm in contrast to his watery blue-grey, which always seemed to stress how frail his appearance was.
Making sure to avoid touching Milo as much as he could (the man was shirtless and Sam was easily embarrassed after all), he waited until the kettle began to sing, which did not take long: Torchline always kept the water warmer than it had been in the Grounds, and it had never been long since Sam had made himself a cup of tea. "I'm afraid I don't have any rum, but I promise this is quite a nice blend." Pouring it into two cups, he handed one to Milo: the brew would smell faintly fruity, a light berry tea for the warmer months.
"..Oh. On the docks." Sam repeated, having heard much the same from Zeph. Taking his own tea he went to sit back behind the counter, giving Milo an over exaggerated knowing look. "You mean...on the docks? Do you know Zeph?"
“Glad to hear it.” Milo rumbles, a half smirk crossing over his face. He takes the compliment with a nod of his head, before he’s approaching the counter to lean against it – watching the tea as it begins to heat up, before his gaze slips over toward Sam. Milo feigns dramatics as Sam mentions there’s no rum – what kind of person in Torchline didn’t have rum? it was a staple after all – but it disappears soon with a nod of his head.
He’ll be the judge of that.
He doesn’t notice the surprise at first at the mention of the docks, not until Sam’s handing him the cup and he blows on it a few times to cool it off when the question hits him. A bright laugh leaves Milo as his gaze lifts to Sam with a nod. “Yeah, I do. Zeph’s known me since I was justa pup.” He flashes a grin. “Got me the job, actually.” But then a brow raises as he goes to take a sip, wondering just how far Sam knew Zeph as well.
Sam couldn't help but stare for a moment at Milo's smirky smile, finding it all entirely too charming: he'd never really had a thing for bad boys, but in that moment he wanted to be whisked away to the docks to begin his life of sexy crime. With a smile that would have flushed his cheeks had he the blood for it, Sam looked down into his teacup and sipped at it.
"A pup? That's a sweet phrase." He sat down on the seat behind the counter and crossed his legs underneath himself. "I've been living with him since I moved to the area. I used to live in the Hollowed Grounds...the houses here are much nicer. They certainly have nicer views, at least." Sam gestured to the window, which even as it showed the tumultuous storm outside, impressed him with it's vision of the roiling and shining sea.
