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 evening's prayers and hymns had been made and his meetings done with; Gideon was going through the process of closing the temple: folding each altar cloth, extinguishing the candles, polishing the golden and silver ornaments. He liked the ritual of it all, the way the task was the same every day; it gave him a chance to think and reflect during the work, to really absorb the atmosphere of the temple in it's quiet period.
When all was done, the temple dark except for the final few lights by the doors and the windows shuttered until the next morning, he reached into his robe to pull out the small metal flask that always sat there, secretly in an internal pocket. Gideon had barely even gotten a sip of the burning liquor within when the sound of one of the side doors opening made him scramble to put it away, a drop on the floor covered up with his foot.
Turning to see who had approached (sure they hadn't seen, but wary in case they had), he adapted the posture of a good, innocent priest. Hands behind his back, body tall and straight. "Good evening; the temple services are over for the day, but you're welcome to stay for prayer."
GIDEON
You claim to be virtuous, but you're a liar
And you'll feel the heat of the flames
“Rae and Vi have already heard my prayers today,” Falke says with a crooked smile when he hears the formaily of the Priest’s welcome., internally almost always amused by The Priest. If there was ever a man’s head he wants to dig into (besides Finn’s), it’s Gideon’s. “Good evening, Gideon.” Congenial, of course, and flawlessly polite, the Fixer crosses the threshold into the Temple with off-tempo steps. He’s cane-less tonight, but it’s clear he’s moving slowly and purposefully with sure footing, the dips and natural shapes of the stone familiar under his thin-soled feet.
In reality he’s just going through some prescribed exercises and wanted to get out of the clinic to do them. “Sorry, the Temple is usually dark by now - or perhaps I’m early.” Fale shrugs, letting it slip that this a semi-regular occurrence. And it is, the pews are the perfect support height and there’s no one around to watch him. Even Tobi, bless her.
Sometimes one’s apartments are just too small. Sometimes a man just needs the arching ceilings and watchful deities to make him do his physical therapy.
"Have they? I'm sure more will never hurt." Gideon answered easily as he saw who was entering, a fellow member of the Order, one Mort was fond of. Relaxing a little upon knowing it wasn't anyone that would hold his secret drink against him had they seen it (he didn't know who those people were, but Falke wasn't one of them), he returned the 'good evening' with a nod.
Apparently, Falke was a regular here at night, which drew a raised brow. It wasn't against any rules, the temple purposefully left open during the dark hours for private prayer and reflection, but Gideon had never quite seen anyone use it for...whatever Falke began to do. For a moment, an indignant objection that this was a place of worship and not a gym bubbled in his chest, but he swallowed it down, deciding it was harmless enough: better to save his energy for the real heretics they were dealing with.
That didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun chastising, though. Walking forward effortlessly, gliding across the stone floor in his robe, he let his hands lace together in his front and looked Falke up and down; a look he had practiced many times in the last 20 years, designed to make the recipient feel as if the Gods themselves were regarding them through Gideon's eyes. "So, you think this is an appropriate space for exercise, this place of calm contemplation of our Gods?" He asked, voice even and steady, a slight smile on his lips the only evidence he was not really too mad.
GIDEON
You claim to be virtuous, but you're a liar
And you'll feel the heat of the flames
09-10-2020, 08:37 PM (This post was last modified: 09-10-2020, 08:39 PM by Falke.)
Falke
Knowing that Mort was fond of Falke would have been a big surprise to the Fixer, perhaps because he likes to imagine the defender of Life and the great creators would have more regard for someone who sought to heal and learn about their world.
Then again, who is he to deny the favoritism of the Gods? Or to say one is better than the others? Certainly not he, crippled mortal that he is.
He chuckles in genuine amusement at Gideon’s light chastisement, ready with an answer since the day he’d started physical therapy in here. “I’m surprised you haven’t caught me sooner. I think that the Gods would want me to be whole in both spirit and body, and that they might understand that the peace their presence brings makes it easier to make myself do something I don’t always want to do. Or they might take pity on a dedicated servant and heal me after all these years.” Insinuating that his exercises might be a form of prayer, the Fixer tips terribly close to not funny. And although the light is fading, there is a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Sometimes he just doesn’t want to stop.
Falke has never been particularly reverent. “I also offer amusement to their divine eyes. And I’ve been told I have a nice body, despite the hip thing, so they can look on that.”
Well, it seemed Falke certainly had prepared for this moment. Gideon leaned against one of the pews, crossing his ankles as he listened to what the Fixer had to say; one eyebrow was raised in sardonic amusement the entire time as he took it in. "Wow, Mr. Guildenstern. Your impassioned speech has truly changed my mind." Deciding he didn't really mind too much about Falke's use for the pews (as long as it stayed after-hours), Gideon sat down on the end of the same one as he was using.
"I can't comment on your body, I'm afraid." He said casually, looking ahead at the altar, at the darkened room, feeling the same swell of pride and importance that he always did when seeing his little Kingdom. "Have you ever considered actually praying while you come in here to stretch? I'm sure most Gods would appreciate that over a chance to see your wondrous physique...except Frey, possibly."
GIDEON
You claim to be virtuous, but you're a liar
And you'll feel the heat of the flames
“I knew it would, Sir Priest,” he says with what he hopes is a disarming, utterly charming smile. Neatly toeing the line between respect and jovial cripple who can push it a little further than most, he holds fast to the idea that he has done no wrong - unusual, yes, completely. But not wrong.
“Though it is Doctor, if you don’t mind.” A pause. “Falke works too.” All of which Gideon knows, but like many, often need reminding because the Fixer isn’t the kind to stand on honorifics very often. Leaning against the pew in a moment of repose, his dark eyes seek the Priest’s in a moment of not joking. “Why do you think I wouldn’t pray when I come in here?” At the very least it would cover all the bases in regard to his hip. Exercises and good will. He isn’t so naive as to think that the Gods will answer him after all this time of living with it, but some luck and a guardian so it won’t get worse is always appreciated.
Reminded again that his young companions were getting old enough to hold respectable titles, Gideon tapped the side of his head and nodded. "Forgive me. Doctor." Honestly, he'd never really been one to insist people use his own title of 'father', not caring much what people called him as long as they were loyal to the Gods and willing to listen to his spiritual advice.
He wasn't expecting the sudden seriousness in Falke's eyes and voice, used to the jovial tone. Still, he took the question well, laying his hands out flat in the air and shrugging. "You're right. Praying looks different for everyone, I suppose. I'm just used to the more...'on your knees, closed eyes, hands together' type." That said, of course Gideon had seen many variations over the years: crying on the floor, dancing, singing...some of them he preferred over others, especially if the devotee had a poor voice.
"Out of interest, Doctor, who is it you pray to, then?" He asked, wondering if Mort's love was returned.
GIDEON
You claim to be virtuous, but you're a liar
And you'll feel the heat of the flames
“Mmmm,” Falke responds with a considered tilt of his head. “And I suppose I’m so used to praying over a surgery table that formality fell by the wayside.” He pauses briefly and chuckles, “That, and kneeling isn’t a great position for me.” Knees are fine, but the effort to get up is more than he likes. Still, it is an interesting peak into each other’s worlds, is it not? The Fixer knows so little about the Priest - presumably because he finds comfort in the Gods and they offer insights others are not privy to, take care of ailments… or so he assumes.
He’s been wrong before.
“Rae and Vi,” he answers with a small smile. “I like to think I do Vi’s work, in some regard, and Rae has made such an interesting world for me to study. I’m forever fascinated.”
Falke's words humbled Gideon a little, the reminder that he saved people quite literally instead of the more metaphorical salvation he offered (not that he didn't believe in the very real effects of spiritual rescue, but there was a difference between that and the gory work of surgical blood and bone). He didn't know enough of the man's injury (or was it an illness?) to know how effected his ability to kneel was; but truthfully, sitting was just fine. He wouldn't pick on that point too much.
"Do you find that the prayers help, when you're working?" He asked out of interest. Gideon felt it was useful to talk about the times the Gods 'failed' them (though truly, the Gods didn't fail so much as humans expected the wrong things), if that had been the case for Falke.
It was interesting, given which Gods held affection for him, which ones Falke prayed to. With an amused, knowing smile, Gideon nodded; it was often the way. "We do have a wonderful world. I've been doing some exploring myself, recently; Halo truly is a place of cold beauty...but I worry it will fall to the wrong influence." He sighed, shook his head. "At least there is some presence of the Gods there; I met two Demi-Gods in a day, if you can believe that."
GIDEON
You claim to be virtuous, but you're a liar
And you'll feel the heat of the flames
Humming to himself in consideration, the Fixer’s gaze disappears inward and dips back to the more recent moments of work. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’ve never thought about whether or not they help. It was something the Head of Medicine before me did, so I suppose I adopted it under her tutelage. If you look at the evidence…” Which has always been of more interest to Falke, the measurement by which he weighs most things, “I suppose it does. Though I find it hard to believe that either God or herald takes the time to guide my hands or nudge knowledge into my head.”
He glances up at the arches of the cathedral, smiling suddenly. This encounter has turned into a (so far) pleasant discussion that he hadn’t anticipated.
Indeed, he believes that the Gods gave him a great capacity for this work, but leave the day-to-day use of that capacity to him. But is that something he wants to say to the Priest?
As the conversation turns to Demigods, the ever-swirling subject of conversation these days, Falke finds himself leaning forward a little, sufficiently curious. “That’s amazing. Which ones, if you don’t mind me asking? And are they as complicated as I’ve heard?”
Falke gave a considered, measured response, which Gideon appreciated. It was honest, rather than the frequent reassurances he got that people felt the Gods all the time, or the grumpy 'no's of those determined not to serve. "Maybe it's less about them guiding your hands and more about giving you the confidence and grace to do it yourself. Not to say I don't believe in your own skill - but sometimes we all could use a bit of encouragement."
He was glad to see Falke give the appropriate reaction to his news of Demi-Gods; it really was an amazing coincidence and he was still reeling from it himself, sure it had to be some kind of sign or blessing. Gideon nodded, settling back a little in the pew (which was difficult, because they were uncomfortable and wooden, but somehow he made it look easy) and preparing to tell the story.
"The first I met outside the Citadel, in Halo. His name was Ronin and he seemed a sensible sort of man. Blessed by Safrin, he told me he'd come back from the dead, at some point - and I believed him." The affection he'd felt from the Goddess couldn't be faked, and Gideon had no trouble with accepting that if Safrin loved someone enough, she would help to pluck them back away from Mort's grasp.
"The second..." Gideon paused, his brows furrowing as he tried to think of a way to describe the encounter. "She didn't seem to be proud of her achievement at all. I'm not even sure she'd want me to give a name...odd woman."
{You\'re fine <3}
GIDEON
You claim to be virtuous, but you're a liar
And you'll feel the heat of the flames
“Mmmm, yes, that’s roundabout how I feel about it. They gave me ample skills and capabilities and might show up when I really need help -” Falke shrugs slightly, not a dismissal, more of a negation of his own need in the grand scheme of the world, “- if I ask. And that free will is reason enough to praise them.” Unlike the Ascended, of course, who were bound to their singular Goddess for the rest of their lives.
But enough about the Ascended.
The Fixer listens with genuine interest, going over what he knows about the demigods in his head. To have that much Goddesses’ affection and attention seems overwhelming - complicated to say the least. To die - and then be reborn - it only serves to increase Falke’s curiosity threefold. He smiles. “If I’m ever lucky enough to meet this Ronin, I think I’ll have a lot of questions for him.”
As for the woman… he lowers his voice. “Was it Vi’s chosen?” There are only two that he knows of, Vi’s and Mort’s daughter - and being born is not an achievement, per se.
"Indeed." Gideon smiled wide, pleased to hear Falke's conclusions. Perhaps not the most typical display of faith, but one that had the right motivations and results, so he could not disagree with it. "I think that kind of perspective may be useful for many of the tradespeople in my congregation...would you mind me using it in a sermon?" He'd begun to feel lately that a lot of his talks had been conceptual, too high and up in the clouds for the average temple-goer to relate to; maybe this was the chance to come back to ground.
He nodded in agreement about Ronin; an interesting man, though much like Amalia had been, surprisingly hesitant to denounce the Ascended for people so close to the Gods. "Yes. I asked if he'd come and talk in the Temple one day...he said he might."
It seemed that Amalia had made herself well known, despite her apparent shyness. "Yes, do you know her?"
GIDEON
You claim to be virtuous, but you're a liar
And you'll feel the heat of the flames
This is an unepexted surprise for the Fixer! Unused to the philosophical and other-worldly, Falke’s eyebrows seem to jump halfway up his forehead when Gideon asks to use what he’s just said as the basis of a sermon. “Of course not, feel free to” the man agrees quickly, not one to interfere with religion. Hell, he’s surprised Gideon even asked permission to use it, but he very much appreciates the courtesy.
Dark hands run along even the shadowed wood of the cathedral’s pews. The light is dying in the sanctuary and someone comes out to set candles in their holders, methodical and calm. This is its own sort of well-oiled machine, much like his clinic, but with an entirely different energy.
“I’d come to hear that,” he admits with a small smile - perhaps not for the reason he should, but for curiosity’s sake. How long has it been since their Tower’s seen a demigod? Even a… reluctant (?) one. How could he not want to see that? The man's lips press together as he shakes his head; “No, not personally. I’ve heard of her, though. Several times, and each time it’s been… unusual.”
