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!
why else love if not to feel the stars exploding in our veins?
With the seal of approval given by the men's thorough (and swift) devouring of the pancakes, Amalia wastes no time in setting more to cook. Enjoying the distraction of a challenge, she this time attempts a rather more complex series of patterns: a dragon, somewhat misshapen but still a good approximation, and a unicorn beside.
Jyoti is trying to get Sugar's attention when the Shield turns back, leaning against the counter with one eye still on the stove. "Ah... I'm not actually that hungry," she admits, though she hasn't eaten anything since the afternoon before. More nauseous, really, her anxiety a tight knot in her gut that threatens to suffocate her if she looks at it too closely. "And I'm enjoying- oh, fuck!"
The cause of the curse is readily apparent as faint curls of smoke rise from the dragon-cake. Turning swiftly back to the stovetop Amalia scrambles to flip it over, succeeding only in thoroughly mangling the poor pancake into a misshapen, folded mess. "Mort," she hisses with far more anguish than one ruined pancake rightly deserves, tension radiant in her shaking figure. "I'm sorry, I'm- I'm so sorry. Oh, gods, I can't-" Her voice cracks and tears begin to fall, the floodgates broken by this straw upon her back.
"Not hungry?" Remi frowns. "You'll be the only one in this house to ever say that." Vai was a healthy enough eater, but with two grown men, a teenager and a dragon? Someone was always eating, it seemed.
As the temperature of the room quickly changes with the destroyed pancake, Remi peels himself away from Ronin and thoughtless goes to Amalia to wrap his arms around her. Knowing what it would mean though, he stops, fingertips nearly on her shoulder. Only if you want.. He offers silently; Remi will happily take on her feelings, but the Alchemist doesn't want to force this emotional nudity on her without her permission.
Glancing over his shoulder with a furrowed brow, not needing to silently say anything to Ronin that his expression can't communicate just as well (perhaps you'd better..?), the Alchemist swallowed unsteady to turn back to Amalia. Ready to take her into his arms if she can endure what it would mean, or step aside and let Ronin take his place.
Who are you? They ask. Death? Sometimes... I say. But not today
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Everything changes from something so apparently meaningless, and Ronin’s grip loosens on Remi as he peels himself away. Lips parting as if to call out a warning, the Alchemist seems to have come to that same realisation himself. Ronin chews on the inside of his lip, stepping up beside Amalia to blow out the stove, waving away the smoking dragon-cake. ”I hear they are supposed to breathe fire anyway,” he says gently, before holding up a finger in preparation for Sugar’s outrage. ”And not a word from you,” he tells the grumpy reptile.
”You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But at least stop holding it all in,” he suggests, holding out an arm for - unsurprisingly - the two of them. Because if Remi is going to end up as upset as Amalia for offering comfort, he may as well be there for them both.
soft spoken with a broken jaw we step outside, but not to brawl
why else love if not to feel the stars exploding in our veins?
She knows how selfish it would be to accept Remi's embrace, and yet as the Alchemist opens his arms Amalia finds herself leaning towards it like a lodestone, eager to be understood and allowed to feel her pain. She falters at the last moment, looking up at him with a soft "Are you sure?" before finally giving in.
As Amalia sinks against her friends Remi will feel, well, a lot. Grief, harrowing, terrible grief, for the Harpy, for the Sword, for the life she's left behind. Anger with herself for daring to take this step, undeniable hope for a future where it all makes sense, and relief and gratitude that the men have given her a place to be.
Tears streak down her tired face, pooling onto Ronin's shoulder where she has buried it. When she finally speaks her voice is muffled, both by fabric and by sobs. "Kiada is dead," the Shield chokes out, agony sharpening the words. "And- and I tried to save her, Vi sent me to save her, and she's dead-"
Another sob wracks her body; she reaches out, clutching to whichever of them she can reach. The floodgates are open now, and the confessions continue to fall. "And Vi changed me but I already failed and I told Deimos I needed space and he was so hurt and I, I, I just left and now I'm here and oh gods what am I doing?"
He is sure; his hands are already reaching out to encircle her before the question has fully left her lips. Her emotions hit him like a wave just as he knew they would. She feels just as strongly as he, but the shattered prism of her feelings is far sharper than he'd been expecting. Tugging in a quick breath as if he does truly expect to drown, he folds his arms around Amalia all the more strongly.
He wants to say something like welcome to being a demigod, in response to Amalia 'failing' her first task, but he can't find the words. Even if he did, he'd end up chewing on Amalia's braid anyhow, with how it was pushed against his lips.
He rides the crest of her despair, feeling the way the manic high-points of her ascension are brought low by the death of her friend. It's a drop that makes his stomach flutter unhappily in his chest, and his stomach clenches as if threatening to throw up from the vertigo.
What was she doing? Well that was easy enough to answer. You're figuring it out. Remi's voice is silent but reaches both Amalia and Ronin easily. The ball of arms and tears that is the three of them requires no audible words, which is probably for the best.
Who are you? They ask. Death? Sometimes... I say. But not today
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Ronin is not privy to the intensity of the emotion that flows from Shield to Alchemist, but his Attuned bond can discern enough. He stands in quiet reverence of all that is happening, tilting his head to rest it against Amalia’s, his fingers strumming out a slow pattern on Remi’s lower back. A smile tugs at his lips as Remi’s remarks reach him, the huntsman nodding gently in agreement. However that looks, he adds, standing with them for a little longer before carefully letting them go.
”Come on,” he murmurs. ”Figuring it out doesn’t have to happen all at once. We’ll go into the lounge, I’ll bring wine, and we’ll see what we can do.” The news of Kiada’s death is sad, it’s true, and Ronin feels it keenly in a place he’ll not visit until later. But now is not about them - it’s about Amalia.
soft spoken with a broken jaw we step outside, but not to brawl
why else love if not to feel the stars exploding in our veins?
There's a strange stillness that over takes Amalia, now that everything is out. A numbness starting in her toes, making its way in a steady, dulcet tingle through legs and hips and spine and arms, until she is no longer her body but an outside observer looking in. She watches detachedly as Remi and Ronin give her support she does not deserve, escorting the hollow shell she has become into another room with couches and comfort.
She lets them lead her, no fight left in her tired bones. It's only when her sobs have subsided that Amalia speaks again, face still buried in whichever of them has let her cling closest, snot and tears staining their shirt (or lack thereof). "I don't know how to do this," Amalia whispers hoarsely, her hands clenching and clenching anxiously. "How to be... whatever we are. He told me to protect them all, and I let her die- gods, I don't know."
Helplessly she turns up to Remi, searching his sea-green eyes. "How do you do it? How do you know?"
Lots of wine, Remi wants to comment, though he's quite certain that Ronin will bring an appropriate amount (and then some). He thinks he's found his foothold in the monumental cliffside that is the face of Amalia's wall. How long until his arms grow tired? When will his fingers no longer be able to pin him against the rock, holding him aloft on the smallest of edges? It doesn't matter. He had wings should he fall.
"None of us know." Remi says with a half-hearted laugh, the sound falling heavily to the ground between them. "Though...if Vi wanted you to have the ability to unequivocally save, you would have it. If being in Ludo's orbit has taught me anything it's that...sometimes death is what this world demands." He swallows, tugging her close. Remi is not one for kisses against foreheads as Ronin is (not with anyone but his husband, at least), the Alchemist being far more of a cuddler. So it is with the same affection that his fingers hold onto her, that ever deep inhale he offers against her is meant to counteract the turbulent tide of her soul. "Perhaps like me, you were simply there to prevent it from being worse than it otherwise might have been."
He knows from experience what a hard-won comfort this is, and how flat the words might seem at first. But, perhaps like him, she will come to see the truth of it.
Who are you? They ask. Death? Sometimes... I say. But not today
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Oh, he brings a lot of wine. He’s even polite and brings glasses, because they have a guest and he and Remi chugging from the bottle is reserved for nights where it’s just the two of them and whatever ridiculous project they’re embarking on. Pouring them all a glass and setting everything on the small table before the couch, Ronin sinks down on Amalia’s other side. He slouches against the soft cushions, reaching out to carefully tuck a lock of escaped hair behind her ear, smiling to Remi.
”Even when you walk under starlight, death is still sometimes the price. It’s a circle, not a line, the way things go.” It’s the best way he knows how to say it. ”And besides, from experience - when I have fucked up, it usually doesn’t take long for the hammer to come down. But perhaps Vi is a little more patient than Safrin.”
soft spoken with a broken jaw we step outside, but not to brawl
why else love if not to feel the stars exploding in our veins?
It is small comfort to be sure, that she might have made things easier for the Harpy in the end. She hopes it is so, yet what is the point if it still was not enough? "Does it ever get easier?" she entreats of Remi, sighing and at last pulling away, giving him space to be free of her grief.
Tugging her feet up onto the couch, Amalia wraps her arms around her legs, resting her forehead on her knees as another sob wracks its way down her spine. A sob which turns into a laugh halfway through, hiccoughing and surprised. "I doubt that," she replies to Ronin, peeking out at him over her knees. "Whatever Safrin's punishments... she loves you. Vi hasn't called me back to him since... what if he never does?"
It's strange to hear Ronin speak so. The consolations and sympathies that the huntsman offers the Alchemist are not normally of this type. It's endearing to listen to this side of Ronin, and though Amalia is falling apart between them, the Alchemist finds himself hopefully tripping over his own love for the Star.
"No." He answers swiftly, hazarding a glance towards Ronin, before shifting back to gaze at Amalia. This probably isn't the answer she was looking for, but it's the only truth he knows. "I've found that understanding helps...change the grief I feel so that it isn't so bottomless."
As for Vi? The Alchemist has never known anyone else to even lay eyes on him save for Amalia, so he can't comment. Perhaps it is simply the case that being called to this purpose by the original gods does not bring with it the same...closeness as it does with the heralds. Remi doesn't know. Similar as they are now, Amalia is different in this regard.
Who are you? They ask. Death? Sometimes... I say. But not today
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Ronin doesn’t need to respond to Amalia’s question, or to Remi’s answer; he meets his lover’s eyes over the crown of the Shield’s hair, offering a soft smile that understands everything from one simple no. Swallowing hard, he lets out a long sigh and rubs at his forehead, trying to force his mind away from grief so he can properly focus on their friend. ”She has a funny way of showing it sometimes,” he says through a gruff laugh, speaking obviously about Safrin.
Still, he rests a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. ”What if he never does?” he echoes, smiling warmly. ”It doesn’t make you any less who you are. You’ve only spoken to him twice in person, right? We all make mistakes. Just keep doing what you’ve always been doing.”
soft spoken with a broken jaw we step outside, but not to brawl
why else love if not to feel the stars exploding in our veins?
There is a silent understanding that passes between the men, something Amalia notices, even in her distressed state. Keen envy courses through her, a longing for that level of unity and understanding, an awareness of the isolation she has forced upon herself.
Perhaps her tale will end with that sort of love. But for now, it is not her path.
She has settled down, soothed by their words and simple acceptance, by the wine that she now sips on slowly, feeling it warm her veins. A long, slow nod, and she looks at Ronin, inhaling deeply and exhaling again. This is far from her first mistake, and yet Vi still came. Chose her, for whatever reason. She must be doing something right.
"Okay," Amalia whispers, to the men and to herself. "I'll... you're right. This isn't the end of anything. I can... I can do this. Thank you." She reaches out for the hands of each, squeezing gently, and Remi will feel gratitude and resolve blazing past the pain.
Rising up abruptly, the Shield forces a smile onto her pale face. "Okay. I'm hungry now. More pancakes?" she invites, as much an apology as the situation warrants, before going to fashion up a feast.
