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!
It’s not often that the Ark limps back into port, but it’s done it today. She arrives in the dead of night, as is her custom, and the majority of the crew disembark to drink and fuck and do whatever the fuck else they want to with their shore leave. Jack won’t care until at least a week from now, until he’s had the chance to look over the ship for himself. And it’s what he spends the night doing.
So when dawn starts to reach its fingers across the horizon and seabirds start singing for their breakfast, he knows two things: every inch of the Ark has received a cursory glance and he’s assured himself that she won’t sink, and he’s rarely, if ever, been so tired. As light strokes across the hull, the deck, the gangplank, Jack finds himself leaning against the rail with his good arm, smoking his last cigarette and watching Haulani rise.
see the sunset turning red let all be quiet in your head and look about
Boat's back.
That's the word on the street, at least. Ark's lookin' trashed. Ain't nobody seen Jack. Crew says he's alive. That last bit is more important than the rest, and more important than you'll admit, and you release the urchin who passes the message with a flip of a brass coin and a sigh of relief. At least the idiot hasn't gotten himself killed yet.
You're gonna need him to deal with this season's shit.
You make your way to the dock at dawn, as is custom. Also custom: the huge jug of rum and the steaming platter of loco moco, rice and meat topped with eggs and a heaping mess of gravy. Terrible for you? Yes.
Delicious? Also yes.
You see him standing on the gangplank, outlined by the rising sun like some sort of fucking princess, wreathed in his own smoke. "Y'know those things kill ya," you state, nodding toward the cigarette without much conviction behind the scolding. Silently you extend the box of food and bottle of booze, not needing to explain. "How's she holdin' up?"
”They’ll have to get in line,” Jack mutters, his voice hoarse as he flicks the butt of his cigarette into the water. Far as he knows, there’s a whole bunch of people and other things that want him dead. He’ll never admit that Zeph’s a sight for sore eyes, but the smuggler still straightens up with a grateful smile at the food and drink, accepting both and nodding over to an upturned barrel and a couple stools he’s been using as a table.
He grunts something that sounds like a ‘meh’ at the other man’s second question, sinking down onto one of the stools and uncorking the bottle to take a healthy drink, nudging the box of food to the middle of the makeshift table for them to share. ”Got caught in a storm. Her wheel near tore my arm off,” he mutters. ”Then a ghost whale dove for us. Had to use all the powder as a distraction. Blew a whole in her. Then Ludo showed up.”
see the sunset turning red let all be quiet in your head and look about
You settle easily at the makeshift table, pulling a fork out of your bag and digging into the meal. It's not often you're up this early, and you absolutely intend to take an appropriate tax for your trouble. The food is made by a local Aunty who's been feeding hungry sailors since long before you were born, and it tastes like salt and fat and heaven.
Storms aren't super unusual. Ghost whales moreso, but still, it's the ocean, what're you gonna do? Blowing a hole in the boat earns an elevated eyebrow, and a second one joins when he mentions Ludo showing up, your own expression pinching into something rather pained. "So restful, then," you mutter between bites, shaking your head and casting a glance at the Ark. "She's lookin' good for all'a that. What'd Ludo want?"
Jack doesn’t have a fork, so he keeps the bottle until he’s sated, then steals the fork from Zeph’s hands so they can share the meal. ”So restful,” he grumbles, offering the bottle out as payment and picking at the food between them, taking a few bites. ”Mm, raggedy fuck fixed ‘er up good. I just finished givin’ her a once over. She needs some repairs and a bit of TLC, but she’d never have made it back without it.” He sounds particularly irritated about that, passing the fork back to the other man.
”Nothin’, s’far as I know. The firecracker who mans my cannons summoned it. Gave her a lil hello an’ fucked right off again.” Jack sighs. ”So what’ve I missed here? Please tell me it ain’t been as restful as my time out at sea.” He might throw himself into the ocean if it has.
see the sunset turning red let all be quiet in your head and look about
You accept the exchange with an obligatory grumble, raising the bottle to your lips. That the Ark could have sunk is like being told Apopo could explode: sure, it's possible, but it's about as likely as you waking up feeling like sunshine, without any urge to drink.
Though Apopo had erupted, so what do you know. Little makes sense, these days.
The trade is made anew, and you take the opportunity to stuff your face before passing the fork back. "Oh, nothin' too crazy," your answer slowly, too slowly, taking another long pull of booze before raising up your weathered hand, counting events off on your fingers. "Let's see- we got the smugglers int'a a guild, a sea panther showed up an' got electrocuted, I saw Ludo twice, a fuckin' tiger in th'jungle tried t'kill th'gov'ner, an' half'a Torchline's sick with some sorta fever." Five fingers, five big events. You drop your hand back to the table, taking another (un)healthy drink and clapping the bottle down.
"Oh, an' I'm seein' someone. An' if ya even start I'll take yer damn balls an' make ya wear 'em as earrings."
They eat and drink with the sort of casual comfort that can only be bred in friendships that have been tried and tested over years. Soon enough Jack hands the fork back for good, letting Zeph finish up - he’s far too tired to stuff his face more without risking hurling it all back overboard. Besides, the other man has news, and the slow response he gives is a prelude to all manner of bullshit. Jack already looks suspicious, and it’s for damn good reason.
”What.” His voice is flat, the bottle thumping down on the barrel. ”You’re seein’ someone?” Jack gets up from his seat, as if everything else is dandy compared to the bombshell Zeph’s just dropped. ”The fuck am I s’posed to do with that information? It’s unacceptable, sorry. I didn’t approve this. No wonder you look so smug.”
see the sunset turning red let all be quiet in your head and look about
Of all the bombs you drop upon him, of course he settles on the last. Should have slid it in casually and hoped he didn't notice, but no, you had to make a big deal out of it, leave it there like blood in the water. Of course he sinks his teeth right into it. Motherfucking shark.
"You're not s'posed t'do anythin' with it," you growl sullenly, "An' I sure as hell don' need yer approval t'be fuckin' someone." Still you don't meet his eyes, instead scowling at the barrel and snatching the fork back, hoping the food you shovel into your mouth will mask the flush on your cheeks.
You swallow it down before looking back up, your face at least somewhat composed. "There's more important shit than my sex life goin' on," you remind him, desperate to change the subject. "Sea panther. Plague. Hanged Man bein' trashed. Get yer head outta th'gutter, kid."
”But you aren’t fuckin’ someone. You’re seein’ someone. That’s different.” Jack sounds remarkably unhappy to say that there is one hell of a shitstorm brewing over Torchline, and Zeph’s love life is dwarfed by it. Except, not to the captain of course. When he turns back, his arms are folded petulantly across his chest, and fuck but he swears he can feel the awkwardness pouring out of Zeph.
Swearing under his breath, Jack slouches back into his seat and reaches out to smack the rest of the box of food off the barrel for good measure. Evidently it makes him feel better, because he refocuses somewhat. ”I can help deal with the Hanged Man. Anyone get killed by the panther? And what kind of plague?” He raises his eyebrows at Zeph. ”Do I need to be sailin’ again soon?”
see the sunset turning red let all be quiet in your head and look about
The petulant little brat smacks the food off the table, and you're half-tempted to bend him over your knee and spank him for his insolence. Instead you lean forward, a sudden flash of anger coming over your usually placid face. Your right hand comes down on the barrel; your left reaches out in an attempt to snag him by the collar, maybe give a little shake. "Seein', fuckin'. Look, Jack- this is important t'me, okay? An' it's got nothin' t'do with you. But if If I hafta deal with you bein' a little princess about it, things ain't gonna go well."
Releasing him with a small shove, you plop back down on your stool and fix him with an aggravated glare. "Couple," you snap in response to his questions, clearly still miffed. "Th'plague kind. Th'kind that makes people act like fuckin' idiots while they're drippin' wet with fever. Whaddya think I am, a doctor?" You've reclaimed the whiskey by now, and take a unhealthy pull. It's rare to see you properly put out, but the boy has a gift.
Jack absolutely shouldn’t be smiling at the predicted response to his petulance, though it quickly flickers away as Zeph lurches forward, snagging him by the collar. The flash of real anger on his face is enough to cool the captain down to a simmering sort of annoyance - he’s still got questions (and he will get answers), but he supposes they can wait until all of this bullshit is sorted out. ”Fine,” he says, hissing out the word through clenched teeth. ”I s’pose if we do need to make a quick getaway, there’s room for her on the ship.”
It’s said begrudgingly, but Zeph will know that Jack’s basically just offered him unicorn shit, for how rare an opportunity it is. But then they’re onto panthers and plagues, and he reaches up to peel the dockhand’s fingers from around his collar. ”It dead now?” he asks of the sea panther, gazing across at Haulani waking up across the shore. ”An’ is this plague shit killin’ people? This ain’t the sort of shit we usually fuck with, Zeph.”
see the sunset turning red let all be quiet in your head and look about
The offer has its intended effect, assuaging your aggravation and making it clear that Jack gets how serious this is to you. Which, in turn, kind of makes you realize how serious it is, which is a whole other can of worms that you really don't need to open just now. You've been doing fine without the L-word in your life. Fuckin' Vai, ruining your perfect grumpy old hermit lifestyle.
You're still glaring when he pries you off his collar, but you release it with a final light shake. The whiskey is held tight between your hands - he's lost his rights for the moment, after his infantile treatment of the food - and you half-snort through a gulp, nodding. "Dead'n dusted. Fuckin' 'Biter nearly died in th' process, too."
The rest of the early morning is spent filling Jack in on all the shit that's been going down, though you steer carefully away from your personal life. You relate the little you know about the plague, the panther, the jungle, the rest of it, and by the time it's done (with only a couple more fights breaking out) it's time for you both to get back to your lives. As is tradition, you leave Jack with a curt nod and a hand on his shoulder and instructions to "Don't cause any shit," that you know will be ignored, then set out across the dock and back towards town, preparing to organize your men for unloading goods off the Ark.
