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!
Occasionally he awakens to remember that his left hand is bound up and plastered in a cast, that he’s broken it, that he’s sick and there’s nothing that can be done for him until they find a cure.
Other times the morphine in his blood is far too heavy to stir him to wakefulness at all, and whilst it’s not a great thing long-term, it would be remiss to say that the Spyglass isn’t desperately benefiting from so much dreamless, healing sleep.
Then there are the times where he does blink his eyes open, but he’s riddled with fever and unseeing of the world around him.
There’s no telling which side of the coin he’s about to fall upon. Either way, it doesn’t stop him from starting to stir anew now, laying in clean, crisp sheets, his other injuries carefully cleaned and bandaged, a cool compress on his brow. Blinking his eyes open, Finn looks around in a haze. His cheeks are hollow; he’s becoming a skeleton in this bed. Maybe it’s for the best.
Whilst Finn sleeps, Falke keeps watch, letting the morphine keep the Spylgass in deep sleep, an IV line keeping him hydrated for now - and yes, close attention is paid to make sure he doesn’t rip it out. Nutrients, however, are a problem, and it’s obvious that Finn needs to eat soon, so the Fixer has foregone his next painkiller dose in the hopes that he’ll rouse and be hungry. Or at least able to force something down.
His glove has already given him a lot of information - the only thing to do now is try to catch Finn in a lucid state and get details, if he can.
He enters the room as Finn begins to blink his eyes, a calm smile on his face, as if everything is perfectly alright and this is normal. “Hello,” he says quietly, coming to stand at the bed side. “Good to have you back. Doctor Hart and I were worried.” They still are, of course, but he needn’t know that. The Fixer refrains from sitting down (he’s more ‘agile’ when he’s up, and can move quickly to intervene if need be), though he does his best not to loom above the patient. “Can you tell me your name? And where you are?”
Finn inhales sharply and jumps a bit at the sound of another voice in the room, however soft and familiar it might be. His stormy eyes land on Falke, though he looks at him as if he’s staring through frosted glass. There’s a definite twinge in his hand now, likely from the stitches and the cast and the horrific bruising that lurks underneath, but it’s manageable for the time being. ”H’lo,” he mumbles through a dry mouth, his good hand sneaking up to run across his face.
Finn Roseinpants almost slips out, and he threatens to giggle at the sudden memory, but he swallows it back. ”My name is Finn,” he tells the Fixer. ”We’re at the medical clinic in the Tower, in Stormbreak.” So far so good, as the hazy puzzle pieces of his life start to float together to form a larger picture.
“Excellent,” Falke says with a beaming smile, as if Finn has told him the meaning of life. Turning to reach over to a table on the other side of the chair by the bed, he grabs a small cup, “Let’s start with these ice chips,” and places it on a little tray that he swings up and locks into place on the side of the bed. “And if you feel up to it, we can get some soup into you.” It’s the most optimistic version of what will happen there, but Falke has always set the bar high. And right now that bar consists of nutrient rich bone broth, brown rice, and vegetables.
While the Spyglass continues to shake off the opiate-induced fog, the Fixer busies himself adjusting the bed so that it begins to tilt Finn up to a more conversational angle. Enough to easily suck on some ice chips. Enough to swallow easily.
“And do you know who I am, Finn?” It doesn’t really matter if he can properly identify Falke, so long as he knows the doctor is there to help, not to harm. He is no threat to Finn or the illness that rages inside him.
It is a testament to Finn’s fever that he smiles back at Falke, the gesture boyish and sunny, void of any of the weight the Spyglass usually carries. ”That sounds nice,” he says of both ice chips and soup, though it’s very likely that he’d have responded the same way regardless of what the Fixer planned to give him. Still, it’s a dizzying and entertaining few moments, to see the cup fix itself before him, to have the bed lift him into something reminiscent of sitting.
At first Finn tries to grab the cup with the left hand plastered in a cast, and he mumbles an oops under his breath as he nearly knocks it over. His right comes up next, gripping the cup and guiding it clumsily to his lips. ”Doctor,” he says of who Falke is. ”Fixer. You’re my... Fixer.” The words are mumbled around ice chips, and he gazes up at Falke again, like that might give him more of an idea.
Based on Tobi’s report of the past week or so, Falke is a little surprised to see Finn so coherent and compliant, though that particular sentiment is well concealed. “Good, well done,” praising the Spyglass for rising to the challenge of identifying him, the Fixer then backs off a little when he sees the fumbling, “Move slowly if you need to, they aren’t going anywhere.”
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he turns a little recorder on and angles the speaker towards the pocket opening. He’d rather be able to focus on Finn than be looking up and down whilst taking notes. “I’m going to ask you some more questions, and I want you to answer them if you can. And if you can’t, that’s okay too.” Starting with something easy, Falke asks, “Other than a hurt hand, how do you feel?”
As Falke will soon find out, Finn seems to start coherent and then proceeds to slide swiftly towards delusion. But that can be a pleasant surprise for later. For now, he’s content to suck on his ice chips and gaze down at the sketches that Tobi has left on his cast; piano keys and musical notes. He sort of remembers that happening, glancing up at Falke as he potters about and speaks again, Finn relaxing into his pillows.
”Mmhm,” he agrees, humming the response around his ice chips, eyes slipping shut to enjoy the silence interspersed with the calm thrumming of his voice. ”I feel... foggy,” he says slowly. ”I can’t remember... how did I get here?” A frown knots his eyebrows together, the Spyglass looking pained. ”I was in my rooms. I was in the Grounds...”
“That’s normal,” Falk assures him, before going to the door, poking his head out, and reaching for something - or is handed (does it matter?) a bowl of soup.
“Doctor Hart and I brought you down from your room when you hurt your hand.” And fuck, what a mess that was. How they managed to avoid seeing anyone is still a Rae-brought miracle, and it’ll be an even bigger one if they can keep his place here a secret from Cian. But none of those thoughts now, he worries plenty about it outside of this room. Placing the bowl and spoon on the little table, Falke now does indeed hover, just in case Finn needs assistance eating.
“Why were in you in the Grounds?” he asks gently, aware that last time Tobi had mentioned Amalia, the hand had happened, and he isn’t keen on evoking that kind of reaction.
Nothing about this feels remotely normal, but Finn is already starting to heat up again, as indicated by the soft flush to his cheeks, and as the soup is placed down before him he automatically reaches for the spoon. With one arm in a cast and the other attached to an IV drip, he’s quite the mess already, but he manages to get the spoon in the bowl. So far, so good.
”Oh... yeah. When I hurt my hand.” It sounds as though the Spyglass is paying lip service to something he still doesn’t remember all that well, but by then he’s concentrating on getting the soup in his mouth. It’s something that would be going a lot better if he weren’t looking at his cast instead of at the spoon.
His brows knot together as he’s asked why he was at the Hollowed Grounds, the spoon frozen just before his lips. ”I was there to... to keep watch on her. On Vi’s chosen. I had to keep my distance, but I... we drowned.”
Ah, yes, he’s peripherally heard of Vi’s chosen; rumors here and there make it to his ears and the Fixer is dutifully impressed, intrigued, and simultaneously wary. For one of the Big Three to make a move was a once-in-five-lifetimes scenario and that she’s gone and gotten Finn (of all people) already under her influence sends all sorts of uncomfortable feelings aflame in the Fixer.
He has a feeling he’s going to be very busy soon.
But for now, he focuses on Finn, offering to take the spoon and feed the Spyglass if needed.
Where the conversation may twist and turn under delirium, he tries to go along, yes, and?-ing the man as if the hallucinations and convoluted images he will describe (or not) are perfectly normal. Falke is a Fixer, a healer, a gentle man. He’ll let Cian handle the reality checks when the patient can handle one.
