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!
"Some lovers try positions that they can't handle." With each word, you close your eyes, your head pulsing forward slightly, willing the words to take up residence in your mind. You know enough about memory and mind-palaces that you should be much better at this than you are. Only... every time you try and slip something into a room, or cupboard, or garden, you find yourself distracted by everything else your mind creates. All you succeed in doing is creating associations of beautiful chaos.
So you stick with the tried and true methods of mnemonics and repetition.
"Some lovers try positions that they can't handle." You repeat, your lips moving silently as you name the associated bones. Next, you try singing the words, and, because you've been in your office for forever and a day, you stand up and dance through the waiting room, twirling around chairs, adjusting the pillows, and following well the adage about dancing like no one is watching. Because if they were, you'd be mortified.
How long has Finn been standing there? Long enough for it to be awkward, to be sure. And standing is the technical term for it, but really it’s more of a slouch against the doorframe. In truth he’s been back from the Greatwood for at least a day now, but prior to seeing to himself, there was the matter of Cian’s report. He’d written it, including the footnote about meeting Remi for the purpose of assuring the Eye that Torchline’s Governor was officially on board as well, putting it on his desk with minutes to spare.
Now that those minutes had passed, he’d decided to pass by Doctor Hart’s office. And by pass by, he of course means stop ignoring the pain in his side. Cian had caught him unawares, of course, and he’d already stopped bandaging his ribs when he realised how much it hurt to do alone, so beneath his crumpled shirt he’s sure he looks like even more of a mess than over it.
That’s not true, actually - Finn looks bad, his curls tousled untidily, his stormy eyes fiercely dark with fatigue, and a little bloodshot from writing so late. ”That’s another way of saying it, right?” he adds belatedly.
one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights
the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go
Spinning around with a sheepish look on your face, you already know who you're going to see. Though Finn is the last person to judge you for what you do in your free time, you can't help the cold rush of guilt that pours over your head, sloshing all the way down to your toes.
"It is." You agree brightly, immediately taking in Finn's state of disarray. "But I think I like my version better." You add, setting down your cheat sheet and making your way across the room (you make a mental note to put the furniture back), so you can properly evaluate Finn. Your dark eyes stop seeing him as a person as you near, and immediately view him as a complex system. One currently not functioning as well as it normally does. You won't comment on how it ought to function, having seen Finn far too many times for that. But even by the Spyglass's standards, this doesn't look great.
"Has Cian got you playing toy soldier again?" You wonder, your voice low and conspiratorial.
”Yours certainly has a degree of charm,” Finn remarks, trying on a smile but failing considerably, and it drops away after little more than a moment. He tries to straighten up as she approaches, pain feathering his jaw. He needs a shower and a shave and more sleep than he’s ever going to get, but all of that seems like far too difficult a task when his ribs are screaming at him to get a grip and do something about them.
”Well, I am his favourite toy,” he says, almost under his breath (because being in a doctor’s office will not stop Cian from coming at him, Finn is sure). ”Not a soldier so much, though. I ran into some trouble in Torchline. Some men wanted very much to see what I had in my pockets. Then I was sent to the Greatwood - it’s been over a week since then.” And he feels worse, not better, if it’s not obvious.
one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights
the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go
08-10-2020, 09:17 PM (This post was last modified: 08-10-2020, 09:18 PM by October.)
October
a sunflower soul with rock'n roll eyes
"Oh, no need for that." You say, waving a hand as Finn tries to stand straighter. It doesn't matter how many times you tell him so, you think that there will always be a part of Finn that is unable to help himself when it comes to pleasing others. You both share this trait and had you finished your pathology and neuroscience studies you might have more to say on the subject. But you haven't, so you're quite content to just let both you and he off the hook for now.
"Well, he isn't going to be any more gentle with you just because you're banged up." You say with a shrug. It isn't that you're unsympathetic, it's just that you've both been here before. Things are getting worse for Finn, that you've certainly noticed, but Cian's escalation has no bearing on the here and now.
You listen, your arms folded across your chest and your eyes on Finn's face. Despite the steadiness of your gaze and the fact that you are actively listening, your mind is also whirring with next-steps. "Serves you right for having pockets, I guess?" You flash Finn a bright smile and nod over your shoulder. "Come on then, you know the way."
You lead Finn down a hall and point towards an open door with a bed inside of it. Despite the various cabinets and cupboards therein, what you need is not stored in any of them. What you need is under lock and key, and it's a secret that not even Cian knows.
There isn’t any need for it, and yet Finn finds himself acting automatically before mind and body can tell him any different. It’s like part of him is expecting the pain, and thinks he deserves it. ”Of that I am well aware,” he says with a laugh that hurts more than he can let on. ”If nothing else it has been a successful trip, I would say.” Worth it, for the state he’s found himself in? The Eye would say so.
”It certainly does. I will have to take to carrying a bag instead.” Less personal then, if someone wants to take something from him. Still, she’s nodding over her shoulder and he’s grateful, forcing himself upright and to walk like an actual person, given that he’s only a little ways away from treatment.
The room and the bed he knows well, and the Spyglass moves to hop up onto it with a grimace of pain, preferring to be off his feet if nothing else. ”How are things here?” he asks.
one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights
the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go
"Well, if I didn't say it, I wouldn't be doing my job." You say with a grin, as if your concern for Finn's wellbeing is entirely professional. It is, in a sense, but because you take your job more seriously than just about anyone else here, the professional-implication is all wrong.
"Oh?" A sharp interest sparks in your gaze as Finn mentions his success. "With the demigods? Are any of them Outlanders?" It isn't your place to ask, and probably not Finn's place to tell. But there aren't any Outlanders in the city, and with all the research your parents have done, all the knowledge you've inherited from them, you simply can't help the way the subject immediately catches your interest.
"Oh, you know. I have the run of the show with Falke gone." You call from the other room, your voice taking on a sing-song quality as you buzz about, slamming doors and opening things, to hide what it is you're really doing. It isn't that you don't trust Finn so much as...well, this secret isn't even about trust anymore. "It's great. I don't do any work, have parties here every night, really let my hair down." Your grin is audible. The story is outrageous for anyone who knows even the littlest bit about you. You don't party, you haven't worn makeup in months and haven't had sex in twice that long. If anything you've been working harder with Falke away since there is no one to tell you to go home.
Wait. When was the last time you went home?
Doesn't matter.
Returning, you pull on a pair of gloves and reach for a tray upon which you deposit the contents of your pockets. "I'm going to take it by your posture and how you're breathing that you've at least bruised a few ribs, if not cracked them." You say, giving Finn a sympathetic smile as you look over the surface bruises on his jaw. "Other than your normal exhaustion and probably poor diet, anything else I should know about?"
”I am not certain that a day goes by when you are not doing your job,” Finn murmurs. ”Even days when you are supposed to be at home.” Like today, probably. But if there’s a glass house larger than Finn’s, he hasn’t found it, and he really ought not to be throwing rocks.
It isn’t her place to ask, no, and nor his place to tell - and yet, here they are. ”Two,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. ”Perhaps three, in time. All from the same place, beyond Caido.” He taps his nose, as if to warn her against any further questions, mainly because he’ll probably tell her.
He examines the room with a cursory interest, trying to notice the things that have changed since he was last here, the things that are the same. There’s not a time when the doctor isn’t banging about and making some noise or another, and so he tries not to pay it any mind. When she returns he lifts his head, looking straight through her in a habit that goes back to his days in the silk houses, allowing her to look him over, to examine all that might be wrong or right.
”The exhaustion is beyond normal,” he says quietly. ”I’ve been having more trouble sleeping than usual. The normal methods don’t work - I discussed it with Falke when he came to check in on me. Vivid dreams, trouble shutting off. Hallucinations, sometimes. Other than that, though? I don’t think so.”
one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights
the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go
08-10-2020, 09:59 PM (This post was last modified: 08-10-2020, 10:04 PM by October.)
October
a sunflower soul with rock'n roll eyes
You can't help the way your lower lip falls open, looking for all the world like Finn has just announced that he has a treasure map. "And will they come here?" You whisper, as discrete as you can manage; which, considering you want to jump inside of his skull and scoop out all the information relating to the outlanders, is actually pretty restrained of you.
"Your shirt needs to come off" You warn him, before reaching forward to assist. You know Finn will help, but you also know with his injuries he won't be as successful at it as he probably thinks he will. "Lay back." You add, nodding your head towards the pillow-end of the bed as you turn to grab a vial of something shimmery and opalescent.
It's easy to work on Finn. He doesn't pay you much attention, and because of it, he doesn't try to help. Most of your patients try and move their limbs around in an effort to aid what you're doing, and it only makes things worse. Finn on the other hand seems to slip into himself like a child pulling in their arms from a sweater, letting you manipulate his body as needed.
"Mmhmm. What did he recommend? More journaling and meditation? Any EMDR treatments?"
”I don’t know.” Her enthusiasm coaxes a boyish smile from the Spyglass, and it’s all the better because he’s being honest. He doesn’t know. ”In a worst case scenario, I imagine that they will in time. One of them...” He almost says it. One of them looks just like me. But he swallows it back, distracted in any case by the reminder to remove his shirt. Humming an acknowledgement and helping as best he can (though really, she does all the work and they both know it), Finn eases himself down onto the bed.
”Some medication, to sleep. More journaling and meditation. Breathing exercises.” He lists them all off like they’re old friends, and at times in his life, they have been. But they prove to be fair weather, when times get rough. The last treatment she mentions has his brow furrowing, and he shakes his head softly, letting her go about her inspection. Finn’s left side is a mottled mess of dark and yellowing bruises, tender and excruciating to the touch, though he manages to contain it well enough.
one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights
the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go
Your smile grows and grows until you're fairly certain the corners of your lips are touching the creases by your eyes. Maybe I'll meet an Outlander.... It's...well, it would be a dream. You've heard all the stories about them that you can, and though you're trying your best not to get your hopes up (what if they're all shit? Or stupid?), gods you already have. You emit a small sound of joy that's a mix between a purr and trill. It comes at a rather bad time, as you're currently undressing this poor man who is covered in bruises. "Sorry." You murmur, putting his shirt on the bedside table and lowering your eyes to take in his injuries properly.
"Breathing exercises, huh?" You've taken a seat on a wheelie-chair at the side of the bed, your gloved hands ghosting over his skin and only putting as much pressure is absolutely necessary. The trouble with ribs is that there's very little to be done, so your examination of him is relatively quick. "Was that before or after your decision to wear pockets?"
Breathing exercises for a man whose ribs should stay as still as possible? Good one, doc.
"Okay, I need you to close your eyes for this." You don't, but...well, secrets and all that. Once Finn has complied, you reach for the vial which contains—drum roll please—shards of unicorn horn. Unicorns, being companions of the abandoned, are forbidden in Stormbreak. So it is that your access to what's in this vial would be strongly questioned, should it ever get out. Sprinkling the dust over Finn's wound, you watch as the magic sinks into his skin. The bruises dry up as if they were just a bit of spilled paint, and whatever small fractures in his bones will begin to fuse back together. Quickly you slip the vial into your pocket, "—keep 'em closed—" You remind Finn, as you reach for a cool cloth to wipe his skin with. It's only when you're sure all traces of opalescent residue are gone, then you tell him he can open his eyes.
”Don’t be. If only Cian reacted the way you do when I tell him this sort of thing,” Finn assures her, already feeling better from laying down. His eyes are trying to grow heavy even before she tells him to close his eyes, something that happens almost without his permission. ”It was before,” he assures her with a lopsided smirk - Falke is thorough and efficient, and would have known something was wrong without having to speak to him, if he’d been injured.
But now she’s working her magic (and if only he knew how right he was about that), and whilst her hands on him feels like she’s grinding into his bones, the pain doesn’t last long. In fact, it fades entirely, and Finn takes a full and deep breath for the first time in what feels like weeks. ”I don’t think I could open them if I tried,” he says of keeping his eyes closed, though when she gives the go head he does blink blearily up at her. ”So, Doctor, do you think I’m going to live?”
one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights
the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go
"If Cian reacted the way I do, you'd not be relegated to the top of the tower and treated like a toy." You say, before shooting Finn a grin. "Well. Not his sort of toy, anyways. You'd be like...a stuffed bear bought for a special occasion and meant to sit high on a shelf where your soft fur couldn't be ruined by sticky fingers and sleep-drool. But after much whining, you'd be taken down and loved fiercely."
You chuckle to yourself as Finn nearly nods off, working as quickly as you can so that your little secret remains that way. Finn is a clever one after all, and if anyone could keep a secret...well, actually you don't know. Finn is loyal that's true, you just don't know whose magnetic field is stronger: his own, or the Order's. It's anyone's guess where his moral compass would point.
"Alright, don't overdo it. I'm good, but I'm not that good." You say, though clearly sound pleased to see Finn breathing without nearly so much pain.
Snorting, you take one of your gloves off with a snap and shake your head. "Oh, you're certainly not going to live. None of us are. But it won't be this that kills you, I can tell you that." You reply cheerfully, picking up Finn's shirt and tossing it towards his face.
08-11-2020, 02:55 PM (This post was last modified: 08-11-2020, 06:36 PM by Finn.)
memory’s so treacherous
Honestly, even if Finn had been in top form (and what’s that like, exactly?) he wouldn’t have known what to do with her comments. He swallows, blinking awkwardly up at her - a stuffed bear to be loved fiercely, huh - and takes her next comment as an opportunity to sit right up. He’s not as careless as to ignore the fact that he’s still injured, but he does feel better, pressing a hand to the fading bruises and sighing out a breath of relief.
”Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine?” he says quietly, though he’s trying to hide a smile at her comments. Which are true, however darkly they might be interpreted. ”Thank you,” he says, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. ”Maybe this means I’ll be able to get some sleep.” He almost laughs - because that’s how ridiculous a prospect it seems to him.
one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights
the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go
