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!
That it's Finn's dream matters very little. It's the same mind dreaming the dream, the only difference is that it's seen through two different sets of eyes. There is still the heat and the smell of sex. Moans and cries and laughter all covered up by piano keys stroked by fingers ever bit as dexterous as the ones employed behind closed doors. The floorboards hardly creak anymore, so saturated are they by perfume and spilled beer.
The boy—a young man now, but with an innocence that keeps him looking youthful and naive—sits beneath the stairs. This is no place for a child and yet he's a familiar sight to many. His father is upstairs somewhere offering memories best forgotten to some poor soul while Remi tries to remain invisible. He tells himself he isn't hungry. He tells himself it will all be over soon, allowing himself to long for the hard ground of the road beneath his shoulders as he sleeps beneath the wagon.
Anything is better than this place of feigned love. This land of dark make-believe.
Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me
Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
The footsteps upon the stairs are soft and careful, made by bare feet. One step is skipped because he knows that it creaks, and when the johns are sleeping off the latest session, it’s the only chance he gets to steal a little silence, to buy time. Lately, Finn has caught the attention of one man in particular, and he’s visiting more and more. But tonight is not one of those nights, and the not-yet-Spyglass aches right down to his bones.
A sigh slips out when he’s finally reached the bottom step, and he turns about to head towards the kitchen just past the staircase. Only a tangle of silk gets caught about his ankle - Finn isn’t wearing much, but what he is wearing is made of delicate, pale blue material - and he stumbles and lands hard on one knee.
Swearing softly under his breath, the man glances up, his curls a little longer, his face a great deal more youthful, and yet still so like the boy under the stairs. Finn frowns. ”You’re new.”
It's like those scenes in films, where all you can see are feet moving by. Remi could see more if he looked, but he doesn't. He very intentionally doesn't, preferring to let his mind make shapes out of the grains of wood in the floorboards. But as the man falls Remi is helpless to do anything but look up, his body tense with adrenaline. Frozen as if Finn is some predator who might not notice him if he doesn't move, he almost seems surprised as he's spoken to as if having truly believed himself to have become one with the shadows. But that magic is more than a decade off, and so he is indeed easily seen.
"No, I am—" The accent is rougher now, having not been smoothed out. He isn't new. To this place perhaps, but they're all the same. The sounds are the same. The sickly-sweet smells. The vibrations in the floorboards. The boy sidles back into the shadows, hands around his knees which pull tightly into the small and cramped space beneath the stairs.
"Sorry." He whispers, his knobby-knees fresh with scabs tucked under his chin. Unlike Finn who has to maintain some form of hygiene, Remi's curls are oily and matted with mud, and his face is freckled with dirt. What he wears is tattered and soiled, mended time and time again by hands that don't quite know what they're doing.
Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me
Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
”Sorry for what?” Finn wants to know. His smile is a fleeting thing, practiced and sweet, but a closer inspection shows that it reaches nowhere near his eyes. The boy under the stairs is a ragged thing, skinny and scabbed, and he reminds Finn of himself just a few short years ago. While Remi’s face is splattered with mud and dirt, Finn has seen more of LongHeat here than he ever will in his life, and the bridge of his nose is covered in real freckles. Beneath his silk shift there are marks of all that has come to pass, even in the past few hours, but externally at least, he seems healthy enough.
Certainly healthier than the boy under the stairs.
Perhaps it’s that phantom similarity that causes him to speak again, Finn carefully getting up and arranging the silks around himself. ”Would you like some bread and honey?” he asks. ”Whoever it is you’re waiting for, they probably won’t be done for some time.”
"I know I am not supposed to be here. I just.." It isn't that he has nowhere else to go. It's that like a dog beaten but still loyal, he heels even now.
The offer of food makes the boy's stomach growl as if it is up to his flesh to answer the older man. The latter part of what he says, however true, makes Remi's fingers dig into his skin. Had his nails not been entirely bitten off they would have jabbed deep into the tanned flesh. The growling in his stomach stops, his hunger curdled by phantom images of what it means for his father to not be done for some time.
A tear slips from the boy's green stare, tracking a winding road down his cheek. Already Remi's fledgling sexual urges have started to take hold such that it's impossible for him to look at Finn for very long. It isn't so much the wealth of skin on display, the hollow but alluring blue eyes or the dance of freckles across his nose, but the simple kindness that makes Remi's cheeks burn with heat. "I am okay. I know I am not allowed in the kitchen." This ain't no charity shop, he's been reminded. Perhaps not here, but elsewhere. Remi more than respects it. His moral compass is impossibly straight (to compensate for the parts of him that aren't). He'd never steal to feed himself. Would never ask others to bend the rules just for him.
Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me
Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Wordlessly understanding, Finn taps a finger against his nose as if to assure the boy that he need say no more. The growling of his stomach tells just as much as the way he shuts down, the tears on his cheeks, and it’s a sad fact of life that this iteration of Finn is both more open and more closed than he ever will be again in his life. ”Alright,” he says, straightening up properly again and abruptly stepping past the boy, leaving him hiding under the stairs.
He’s gone for some time, and the house continues to sway and groan with the antics going on within its rooms, but there are no further movements. Not until the shift of someone returning through the kitchen casts a shadow on the world opposite the stairs, and a hand - a hand with a wrist that has been recently chafed and bruised by restraints - appears, holding a plate upon which sits thick slices of breath slathered with honey.
”My name is Finn. Don’t worry - I’ll keep watch for you.”
Remi glances up, hopeful and optimistic eyes hidden behind thick lashes that blink uncertainly. Not one to act impulsively—and this could very well be a trick or a trap, after all—the boy holds his breath. He keeps holding it even after Finn rises and leaves. It's both a relief and a cold slap that he's gone. He's too hard to look at, all dark skin and blue silk, but Remi had believed the kindness he'd heard in his voice, even if it didn't make it to his eyes. Or maybe he'd just wanted to believe it.
Swallowing hard and focusing intently on the hairs on his knees so that he might ignore his hunger and the yawn of other appetites, the movement across the floor makes Remi's heart leap into his throat. Sure that Finn has returned with the Madame of this place (and he wouldn't blame him for it either, it might earn him an extra copper or so), Remi is breathless with confusion as food is placed down before him, accompanied by some promise of safety.
Stalled by the bruises on Finn's wrist, Remi swallows hard as he lets his face move out of the shadows. The light makes his eyes look almost clear somehow, so pale is his sea-glass stare. "Will you have some?" He wonders, his lips nearly saying you look hungry too, but of course he can't say that. Saying that would imply he's looked at Finn, and such a thing, even here, is too close to truths that won't see the light of day for several years. "My name is Remi." He offers, sliding another inch out of the shadows.
Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me
Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
As Remi sidles out of the shadows, inch by inch, it will be to see Finn leaning very casually against the side of the staircase, his stormy eyes flicking down to the boy as he appears. ”Sure,” he says with another sweet smile, reaching out to lift a slice of bread from the plate, taking a small bite and glancing over his shoulder and up the stairs. It’s late - a very unsociable hour even by the Silk Houses’ standards - and no one looks as if they will be around for a while.
Even now the smell of sex lingers on him; it can’t be helped, unfortunately, though he has stopped to wash face and hands as well as topping himself up on wine. It’s an amalgamation of scents - sweet berries and fragrant soaps, honey and musk and alcohol. ”It’s nice to meet you, Remi,” he says. ”Are you thirsty?”
Remi's eyes dart only briefly to Finn's face before they tumble like lead back to the floor. He's not quite a virgin at this point, though in his mind he is. He's had sex, but it was more akin to having someone emotionlessly slap their arms around his shoulders and calling it a hug. It both was and it wasn't. But he knows enough to know who and how Finn fits into this place, and it causes something inside of his belly to churn blackly. "I do not have any way to pay you for this.." He says slowly, eyes darting up through a curtain of curls before skittering away again. There's no safe part of Finn to fix his eyes on, and so he regards the corner of a chair instead.
Thirsty? A world away in a bed, chained in a way which would make marks nearly the same as the ones on Finn's wrist, he is dying of thirst. He wants to drown in an ocean of fire. In this world though, thirsty as he is, Remi just gives a vague shake of his head. This man—Finn—has already done too much.
Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me
Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
”Luckily for you, I’m not asking for any payment,” Finn says, nudging the plate towards the boy and nodding at it again, taking another bite of bread. ”Eat,” he urges, letting out a long and tired sigh through his nose. ”The longer I am standing here with you, the longer I am away from my rooms. You are doing me a favour,” he says, ruffling his free hand through his curls and letting his eyes slip shut for a moment. Insomnia is something that has followed Finn since he was a child, which explains his lurking when others would be snatching whatever rest they can get.
”Have you considered joining the Silk Houses?” he asks, offhand. ”You’d be well taken care of, pretty face like yours.” He reaches out, casually, a soft thumb rubbing a fleck of dirt from Remi’s cheek. ”Worked well enough for me, anyway.”
Not asking right now, Remi's mind warns. But his hunger is making hazy his thoughts such that he reaches out with trembling and calloused fingers to snatch up a piece of bread. It's gone almost before it reaches his lips, leaving only a sticky residue in the corners of his mouth. He's eyeing another piece of bread as Finn's question reaches his ears. It makes his cheeks flush, the colour extending toward his hairline and ears as the not-Spyglass's thumb nearly makes contact with his skin. Flinching away as if Finn's thumb had been a branding iron, Remi scrambles back into the darkness, accidentally kicking away the plate of food in his haste.
His heart is not unlike a rabbit whose screams the pair have heard in other worlds. Remi lips are pressed together in a tight line that he might keep in the breathes that want to heave in and out of his chest. He wants to scream, to hyperventilate, to disappear entirely. This Remi has not learned to harness these feelings into something useful. This Remi has no desire to pull away the lavish blue silks, to clasp Finn around the throat and see his smile up close.
"Sorry." He whispers, tears thick in his eyes. "No, I could not...I..I mean, No one would...that is, we travel, and so.." Excuses fall from his lips, his desire to answer the question asked of him at odds with his complete inability to formulate an actual response. Not with the sweetness of honey still on his tongue and the burn of Finn's touch on his cheek.
Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me
Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Before Finn knows it the boy is gone again, the plate skittering across the floor causing him to jolt in surprise. He leans down to collect it up, his silks dipping in a streak of honey as they slip from his shoulder, revealing stripes of still pinkish scarring. ”I’m very sorry,” he says, chastising himself for being so careless. Has Finn become as bad as those who use him like an object? Touching without thinking, without considering whether those he’s touching might want it or not?
Crouching before the shadowy underside of the stairs, rich blue pooling out all around him, Finn tilts his head in at Remi. ”You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he says. ”No is a complete sentence, so they say. I just thought it might be better than whatever you’re going through now.” The patches clothes, the scraped knees, the frightened rabbit look. ”I’ll fetch you some more food. I’ll leave it with you, and if you’re hungry and it’s gone by the time you go, then no one will notice.”
At some point Remi has to breathe, but he allows himself nothing more than small sips of air. It isn't enough, and as his brain is deprived of oxygen in his attempt to keep quiet, he feels the world start to grow cold and fog around him. He blinks at Finn as if his counterpart is speaking in another language; his expression suggests that in the world Remi comes from, nothing could be farther from the truth.
No is rarely part of his vocabulary.
"I..am fine...it is fine." He isn't and it isn't, but that's what he's supposed to say in these situations. Wide green eyes move tentatively toward Finn's face, before snapping over his shoulder where someone is coming down the stairs. It's a woman in a dressing gown that is just tossed about her shoulders, covering nothing. She's saying something about the Abruzzo man upstairs who has just knocked a girl unconscious and is demanding another to take her place.
At the sound of the name whatever semblance of calm Remi had managed to claw back is gone, leaving his breath hammering unsteadily from his lips as his fingers unconsciously clench and unclench. Surprisingly perhaps, the boy is able to look upon the woman's nudity with shocking ease as he both strains to hear the words she's saying, and to collapse in on himself once again.
Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me
Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Finn’s lips part to say something more, though his presence seems to draw more discomfort than anything else from the boy, and it’s nearly a relief when there’s movement from above. Straightening up, draped against the stairs with the plate in hand, his silks are billowing enough to disguise the presence of another body in the hidey hole beneath. The dream seems to pulse and shimmer, as if at war with itself; the name is important to one man but less so for the other.
”Does it have to be a girl?” Finn asks. ”I’ll trade, if they’d prefer. Mine is sleeping - it’s just clean up that’s needed.” Clean shaven, boyish and willowy, sometimes it doesn’t matter to them. Sometimes it even makes them angry to see him, as if their own arousal is a betrayal.
Surreptitiously, he glances back to the boy under the stairs, an apologetic smile flickering across his face.
