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!
The medical wing of the Tower is almost never empty, but you're so used to every face by now sometimes it feels like it is. Oh sure, patients come and go and bring with them little snippets of excitement, but for the most part life is static for you.
Or, it was until all of this.
Both Dorian and Finn have mentioned their encounters with the Outlanders, and you can't help but feel a little jealous. You're well aware that your duties lay here, tending to Stormbreak, even more so with Falke away. But you'd be lying if you said that you hadn't been distracted by the possibility of Outlanders coming here. Meeting them first hand. You'd never let your work suffer for your curiosity, but you do find your mind wandering more than normal. So it is that as you pour over the notes you took from your rounds, you find yourself replying snippets of conversations with the Spyglass and the Orator. Putting down your pen as you sit at your desk, you lace your fingers together and lean them against the bridge of your nose. If you're going to be distracted, better that you give yourself a time limit to think your thoughts, so that you can get back to your work.
It was probably the sand. All that sand and the unstable surfaces, plus the onset of their monsoon season, that are causing Falke’s hip to ache. If he weren’t the Fixer, he might be embarrassed that a comparatively ‘short’ trip has made his injury flare up, but there are times when he can easily take his own advice. This is one of them. He needs a hot poultice, a bath, and his own bed. Like an old man, he thinks with a grin, running his free hand through his beard as he enters the Tower. Leaning heavily on his cane, Falke returns greetings but stops for no one on his way to the medical wing and his nearby compartments.
Pausing only to set his pack down, Falke notes that everything is as he left it and hobbles towards the public area, calling out for October. “Tobi?” He says loudly as he unlocks the separating door and pushes it open. He has nothing but a smile on his face, ready to multi-task and debrief. “Is there any tea on?”
October takes just as much delight from the novel as he does, and his head is full of the wonders of Torchline - some of which they’d heard of before and some of which were entirely new. Ah, fuck - he pauses, glancing back towards his room. His notebook is still in there -
"Nope, but there can be!" You trill back brightly, thoughts snapped away from all of your wondrous speculations back to the here and now. Your cheeks flush a pretty pink with a weak sort of embarrassment for having been caught so off-guard, but it isn't an emotional state that you linger in long. Better to just do better next time and up and make some tea.
"Welcome back, by the way." You say over your shoulder as you pour water into a kettle, puttering about to find a match to light the small bunsen-burner type device that you keep on one of the shelves for precisely this purpose. Spinning and leaning against the cabinets as the water heats, you fix Falke with a warm smile. Doctors make the worst patients, and other than her own workaholic tendencies, Falke is probably second to none when it comes to self-care at appropriate intervals.
"Finn and Dorian have both already been by. It sounds like all is going well out in the big wide world out there." Falke, who knows you better than most, is well aware of your fascination with the Outlanders. Given your name and who your parents are, it isn't any great surprise, but only your fellow colleague has been privy to your endless questions and musings that just seem to bubble out during the long stretches of silence during surgeries and the like.
“Thank you. It’s good to be back,” Falke says as he turns to half-shuffle his way back in to his room to get the mostly filled notebook, and returning with a triumphant flourish that Tobi probably doesn’t see. Or might. Who cares, he’s done far sillier.
“Ah, the outside world - the stars are beyond brilliant, but the sand and my hip are mortal enemies. No, Torchline is lnot for me. A curious gem in Caido, but who can top the comforts of the Tower, this wing, and the dear Doctor Hart? Hmmm?” With a twinkle in his eye, Falke lowers himself gingerly into his one indulgence - a plush chair - to wait for the tea to be ready.
“What did they have to say?” he asks, curious on the others’ take on Torchline, and if they’d tell October more than they’d tell him. He does enjoy a good double team, comparing notes to find that the truth usually lies with her instead of him - perhaps its her face, her bedside manner, or the lack of scary title that makes them open up to her more. Hell, if faced with the choice, he would probably choose the same way, so there’s no jealousy there. Falke views the two of them as a team who works best when they can feed off each other.
However good your bedside manner might be, it is nothing compared to Falke's. He's the perfect mixture of unassuming (that's largely due to the cane and limp, you think), disarming (thanks to his over the top antics at times), and incredibly knowledgable.
"Mmmmmmm." You hum indulgently. "Finn was saying that the ocean is just...there." Here, the ocean is just a vast but distant thing, like the sky is. Sure, you could make your way down to it, but you never do. It crashes far too treacherously against the cliff-side for you to risk such a thing, especially after all those who have drowned on innocuous sight-seeing trips. But stars over the sea? Ugh it sounds amazing.
"Who indeed." You agree, laughing at his flattery as you begin to mix a few spices together for your tea.
"Oh, Dorian said it all seemed quite nice. I think he certainly liked being near the ocean more than the Hollowed Ground." You shrug, finding this quite understandable. For you though, you'd be happy to visit anywhere. Even Halo. "And Finn..well." You sigh, turning your head over your shoulder to offer Falke a one-sided smile. "It was a hard trip on him. All of it, it seems. He came back from the Greatwood pretty broken up." Mentally and physically, though that goes without saying of course.
Frowning, you bring over Falke's cup, taking a seat opposite him. "I think he's getting worse." You admit, sounding more sad than you otherwise would. Around patients, your optimism is near-constant. With your coworker though? You can be more honest. "He mentioned coming to see you, but I worry that he's...content with just treating his symptoms instead of addressing the underlying causes."
“It is,” he agrees, closing his eyes to picture where he was only an hour or so ago. “And in Monsoon season, it is very present.” That day of wind and rain kept him from returning as soon as he wanted to, and though it wasn’t a bad thing it reminded him very much of the weather he could get at home. The charm was gone.
As Tobi repeats what the others have said, Falke laughs at her assessment of Dorian. “Ha! Dorian would rather clean all the toilets in the Tower daily than live in the Hollowed Ground.” Oh, that’s a good one. He’s made himself chuckle again and it rolls out of him like little aftershocks. “And was the Orator here to flirt or did he need some medical assistance?” Teasing, of course, he’s seen the way they all look at Tobi, and if she weren’t squarely in the sister/co-worker category to the Fixer, he might look at her the same way.
“Ah, he must have gone to the Greatwood after Torchline. We had our monthly session, and he mentioned being fixated by a particular demigod who, strangely enough, looks like him.” Taking the offered cup, Falke blow on it for a minute and then sips. “Thank you.” Ritual complete, he now seems very focused and content to dig into the deeper stuff of psyches and their patients.
“I would agree. His mind is a curious place. He’s able to do this in depth research, but can’t come up with the idea that a walk when he can’t sleep might clear his thoughts. Self-aware enough to know when some of his behavior is detrimental and dangerous, but can’t summon the discipline to avoid the triggers or specific situation.” He sighs. “I’m worried he’ll begin to seek this demigod out for non-Order reasons.” And they can’t have that. Not yet.
You can't help but snort at that, nearly spilling your tea. Covering your mouth quickly to hide your smile, you nonetheless shoot Falke a dirty look. "Can you even imagine?" You say of Dorian cleaning anything, much less toilets. Rolling your eyes at the Fixer's assessment of the Orator's motives—spot on, of course—you just shrug. "Oh, he tried to say something about needing to gauge his performance in matters of a sexual nature. I told him that as a high ranking member of the order, only Doctor Guildenstern would be skilled enough for such things." You say with a wink, blowing on your tea. "I offered to pencil him in, but he couldn't make up his mind about his schedule." You add with a mischevious chuckle to yourself.
As the subject turns to Finn, your expression becomes much more serious and concerned. Sometimes you worry that your level of attention for the Spyglass suggests you don't think that he's capable of taking care of himself. And while that certainly isn't true...on some level, you think it actually is. "Looks like him?" You repeat, wondering what that has to do with anything. "He didn't mention anything to me." Both you and Falke work with Finn in very different capacities. That the Spyglass didn't mention this demigod encounter to you could mean nothing. Or, to someone like Falke who has more insight, it might not.
"Non order reasons?" You frown deeply at that. Finn...seems to lack the basic skills that lets one meander through social situations. He gets lost in them. At least the work he does provides some sort of structure. To wander away from that though? "Do you think it's wise that he keeps working like this? Away from the Tower and his routines, thrown all over the continent?"
And now it’s Falke’s turn to snort when she tells him about deflecting with the Orator’s mostly harmless advances with his name. “Some people just don’t take their health seriously enough,” he muses dryly, but letting the teasing drop. Dorian isn’t who they need to talk about, anyway. Even if he is avoidant and constantly deflecting, he’s stable.
“Yes,” he says after another sip, putting it down to open up his notebook. Flipping to the day he’d made notes on the session, he scans just to remind himself of the specifics. “Said he feels himself opening up to this man in a way he wouldn’t with a good friend or a doctor. He sees himself, or a version of what he could be. And Finn…” he sighs, quietly, not in frustration or despair, but in regret, because he wishes he could help the man more. “Finn has always been different, you know. Now he’s found what he sees is a connection unlike any other, with no preconceived notions from Order members and rumors, no one who “has”-” he makes air quotes around the word, indicating their jobs “- to listen to him. He said there’s something broken inside this man and he wants to fix it - and do what he can’t do for himself.”
One hand smoothes his brow ridge, resting his head in his fingers for a moment before looking up. “That’s what I have to talk to Cian about.”
And Gods, how he doesn’t want to. It feels like tattling and breaking a patient’s trust instead of something for the good of the Order, but what Finn had said was something he had to report. For the sake of everyone else. It's something he's always struggled with because it puts an inherent wall between himsel and the patient, but in the end Falke Guildestern always does his duty.
All you can do is exhale unhappily to hear Falke's description of events.. Finn? Fixing someone? You know your expression betrays the non-judgemental attitude you're meant to have towards your patients, but...gods this could only spell disaster.
"Nothing about this seems healthy." You mutter under your breath, your tone grave, though in no way is it meant to be a criticism of Falke's care of Finn. For all their good intentions, their patients are all grown adults who can, despite doctor's orders, do as they please. You do your best not to grit your teeth, but what else is there to do, cooped up in the Tower as you are, while those you care about destroy themselves in a world you've never even seen.
"Fuck sakes." You murmur under your breath, thinking it just about rounds out the sentiment you're feeling. "So...do we know anything about this other man? What this...brokenness is, that Finn thinks he can fix? Some sort of shared trauma?" You realize as you say this that there might not actually be anything wrong with this other man. If they look similar...that might be enough for Finn to simply displace all of his insecurities onto this other person. "Or is this just...complicated transference, do you think?"
“Both,” he offers decisively. “I don’t doubt that Ludo’s chosen is somewhat, actually, broken.” Falke makes a face, that term very much disliked. “How and to what degree is entirely unknown, though. The Outlander demigods… their minds are probably unlike anything we’ve ever seen before. Entire lives lived outside Caido, and then to be sucked into our world and ultimately chosen by a God, here?” Gods, his eyebrows would leap off his head and on to the ceiling, if they could, screaming that he is not envious of their positions.
Putting his glasses on, Falke goes to read something he wrote a few days ago, and then stops, looking back at October. “Would you feel comfortable going to Torchline to find out more about this man? I don’t think we can rely entirely on Finn for objective research.” He’s too close now. And he might have insights on the demigod, but they might be colored or skewed.. “I can ask Cian when I speak to him.”
It would be a good choice all around, he thinks. She can get some outside experience, he doesn’t have to walk on the sand, and the demigods can see that they aren’t just a bunch of men in a mysterious little cult. And he trusts her work, her eye, her ability to make decisions. After all, he trained her.
You turn sharply, knowing everything the word broken entails, and the seriousness which must be in Falke's mind for him to use such a term. "I suppose...given what Ludo is, and does. But it isn't like Finn a stranger to death.." Realizing that you're trying to rationalize what's happening, you give your head a shake, before letting it bob in agreement with the rest of what your counterpart has to say. "Then it can't be allowed to continue. Even if Cian thinks of Finn as just a tool, he shouldn't be allowed to sit in the rain and rust."
Blowing on your tea to try and keep your eyes from attempting to read Falke's writing from upsidedown, you blink with surprise as the words you and going to Torchline casually leave the Fixer's lips. You're doll-like in your surprise, all wide-eyes and half-parted lips. "Me?" You nearly bleat. It's...all you've ever wanted of course, to leave Stormbreak and see the world. To meet the Outlanders, but surely Falke isn't serious? "Why me? You were in Torchline...what could I do that you couldn't?"
“Even if I’m wrong about the demigod,” and to some degree, he hopes he is, “No, it can’t be allowed to continue. Finn doesn’t deserve that.” He offers a small smile of assurance over the teacup, taking a long sip and looking back to his notes. “I think we’ll soon find that nothing is as simple as it once was, our oaths to the Order and the ideals of doing no harm tested.” A side note, really, mixed between introspection and thinking aloud. Is it for Tobi or is it for himself? And how could the Fixer affect the larger movement of things, if t all?
There is a sudden shift in energy, as if he’s closed the chapter on Finn and has opened the chapter on his assistant. “Yes, you.” Raising a brow, he somehow slides into teacher mode. “I can think of a number of reasons why, but if you were to make a case for yourself, what would you say?” Holding up a finger for an addendum, Falke adds, “To Cian, not to me.”
You're about to reply until that damn qualification. That promptly shuts your lips from where they'd opened, and you find yourself very much wanting to drown in your tea, or slouch down in your chair. This probably all washes across your face, you not being who tries particularly hard to hide your emotions around Falke.
"Well..." You say more stiffly than you mean to. "...given my parent's research, I know more about the Outlanders than any other member of the Order. So..while we all have our different areas of expertise, I think I'm the most qualified in that regard." You swallow, very much hating this exercise of trying to justify yourself, even if it's just to Falke. You understand the point of this of course, but still you hate it.
"And...I suppose I don't have as many attachments, or tendencies to form them. I know that my interest in Outlanders might be seen as a liability but if anything that might make me more cautious around them"
Oh, the discomfort is obvious once it flashes across her face. Falke mentally kicks himself, because that’s not what this was supposed to be about. This was supposed to be an opportunity, not a punishment. “Hey,” he says softly, more gently, leaning forward. “You’re supposed to brag about yourself. You are an excellent Doctor, and not just because I trained you. Cian’s an asshole, but sometimes we have to deal with assholes who think they know better.” She knows that last part, but it doesn’t hurt to get a little practice with standing firm. The Fixer leans back, gesturing for her to continue, hoping she’ll feel more at ease.
“So you know a lot about Outlanders and are qualified to study them. You can be detached. Anything else?” There are no right or wrong answers, unlike in most of their practices.
