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 Governor might have changed hands, but as far as Finn's compass knows, the Aumakua is still the political hub of Torchline - and until that officially changes, he supposes that's where he ends up. It's still perfectly midnight when he arrives, the sea and the sky lit up overhead by a thousand thousand stars, and he's caught for just a moment by the beauty of it. Torchline's air is sweet and warm, and having visited there once before the Spyglass can almost admit to missing it.
Luckily, unlike a lot of those who were sick, he remembers very little about his time gallivanting through Apopo at this point. And honestly, that's probably for the best. Still, as he turns and recognises the Governor's House (formerly, not that he's aware), he can't help the shard of ice that shoots through his gut at remembering who lives here. His dreams are just dreams, he tells himself... but they did feel so, so real.
Swallowing hard, he starts to try and get his bearings again. He knows Haulani and the inn are quite the walk away, but if he starts now he might get there before it's too unsociable an hour. (Does such a thing exist in Torchline?)
As the illness wore on, Amalia's memories became less and less clear.
Which is to say that of the few things she can remember, her strange night with Finn is the one of the most vivid, like a photograph faded by the sunlight but with enough detail remaining to leave an impression of what was there. Fragmented moments knit together, taunting her when she tries to sleep; though she does her best not to look too closely, they still linger, reminders feverish mistakes.
So when Amalia sees him standing in the night, her first thought is not to be surprised, but suddenly, horribly afraid. Afraid that he isn't real, that the fever is returning and the hallucinated images have returned to claim her mind. Afraid that he is real, and she is about to be confronted by the shadows of her sins.
She has been flying, but now she lands a distance from him, bare feet touching lightly on the grass. Her hair is wild around her shoulders, her dark eyes glittering in the starlight as she stares at Finn. Wings still hang down from her spine, not yet retracted from her midnight flight. "F... Finn?" Amalia exhales uncertainly, her voice quivering under the weight of her fear. "Are you... are you real?"
It's remarkable, truly. Finn once (literally) broke the bones in his hand to avoid a meeting like this one. And yet, with only a few pieces of information slotted into place, he is off to Torchline in search of that very thing. Then again, the sick shell of a man who had once gone to such extremes has been replaced by one comparatively very healthy; as he turns to face the sudden appearance of the very person he seeks behind him, Amalia will likely notice the change immediately.
No longer gaunt and exhausted, no longer pale and undernourished, the Spyglass even manages a faint smile to the Shield before he's reminded, very abruptly, of their last meeting. His fingers touch to his lips, remembering that faux pas in particular, and his cheeks flush. "Quite real," he assures her. "I see Vi has blessed you with further gifts." He nods, of course, to the wings upon her shoulders. His initial impression of her appears to be coming true.
"I have something to tell you. Is there anywhere we might go? Or is it better to meet in the morning? I'm afraid I have left quite without permission."
The man who turns around to face her is the man who she remembers, and at the same time not. For the first time since she met him Finn appears well rested, dressed appropriately, not tired but strong. It surprises her to see it, and with the surprise comes relief. She is fairly confident that the version of the Spyglass she would hallucinate is not this living, confident man.
She takes a step forward, smiling now, relieved and eager to prove that he's real. But her eagerness gives way to a sudden flush of awkward heat as his fingers touch his lips, her own hand dropping to the side she didn't realize it had left. Truth be told Amalia had rather forgotten about the kiss, or at least convinced herself it was entirely imagined; to see this confirmation of their actions catches her off guard.
Embarrassed, it takes her a second to register his next comment. "Oh-? Oh. Yes." Pale camellias bloom in her hair as she turns to look at the tawny wings, tucking them away self-consciously and trying to steady her erratic heart. When she turns back he's moved on, as though their strange interlude at the Inn was nothing more than an amusing anecdote. Is she disappointed? Relieved? She's not sure she wants to know.
"Oh. Something from the Order?" If Amalia's voice comes out cooler and sharper than normal it can be blamed on her frustration with the organization, not her welling uncomfortable feelings about Finn himself. She reaches up to rub her neck, the other bare arm coiled around her muscular waist. "Of course. Do you want to come in? Or would you rather stay out here?"
Their embarrassment is shared, Finn letting his fingers fall away from his lips so he can gaze pointedly just over Amalia's shoulder. That way he can avoid looking too closely at the flowers in her hair or the wings that fold into her shoulders; they remind him too much of things that he really ought not be seeing, and although he has almost no doubt that they are real, there's always that niggle in the back of his mind. He ruffles a hand through the back of his curls, his other still clutching the briefcase that contains his notes and personal belongings. On his shoulder, Artemide shifts her wings a little.
"Sort of," Finn says of his information being something from the Order. "I am not here on official business, shall we say." As for going inside? Finn almost seems to wince as he gazes up at the house behind her, his head subtly shaking even before he says anything. "That is the Governor's house, is it not? I would... rather go elsewhere, if you don't mind. Would you like to go to the inn...?"
That Amalia entirely missed the owl on Finn's shoulder is testament, perhaps, to her myriad of emotions at seeing the man at all. "What does that mean?" she questions quickly, still off-balance, both hot and cold. At least he owns to what he is, who he works for, though apparently he is working for someone else today.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Amalia narrows her eyes. She doesn't want to be mad at him, and yet she absolutely does, because anger is easier than any of the other feelings that lurk beneath the turbulent rage. "Why not here? Remi and Ronin are demigods, and my friends- though I'm sure you know that already."
Again the words are sharp and accusatory, her onyx eyes flashing with hurt. You know everything about me, don't you? they say above her frown, pained and glittering with something like tears.
On his shoulder, Artemide suddenly tilts her head, inserting her beak into Finn's curls and pulling. It's hard enough that she comes away with a scraggly lock of hair, which seems to have been her intention. She offers no sounds of apology, merely looking at him with her cosmic stare, before lifting off silently. Where she's going, she gives no indication.
"It means," Finn says slowly, trying to find the right way to say it all, "that what I came here to tell you might be... known by the Order. But they didn't tell me to come and see you. They don't even know I am gone." He scuffs a foot gently along the ground, disturbing the sand and the scrags of grass. But suddenly Amalia seems colder, harsher somehow, and the Spyglass feels his words catch behind his teeth, not knowing what to do or to say.
Then of course, Artemide rips a curl from his head and flies off with it, and he flinches away and lets out a cry of surprise and pain. Rubbing at his hair, Finn forgets entirely what he wants to say and lets out a frustrated sort of sigh. "Remi and I have a history," he manages eventually. "I would rather not have this discussion so close by. I am not sure... what you mean, though. About what I know."
They don't know I'm gone. "Are you not allowed to leave?" she asks before she can stop herself, expression changing to one of concern, a protective glint illuminating in her her dark eyes. She doesn't have the chance to speak more, though, because it is at that moment she notices the owl.
Just in time for it to fly away.
"What...?" Thrown off kilter once again, the Shield blinks as she watches the barn owl retreat, a lock of hair grasped in her talons. "Are you okay?" comes the automatic question, Amalia taking another step closer, her hand raised instinctively as though to reach for his head. She stops, though, pulling up short, remembering the last time they were in this proximity with another surge of boiling emotion.
And then as though struck by an unseen force, Amalia deflates. The force is visible, though, painted in starlight and a soothing song as Jyoti catches up with them, sensing her soulmate's distress. The arrival of the whale softens the Shield, easing the tension she holds in her shoulders from eleven down to an eight.
"Because he's a demigod?" Biting her lip, Amalia wraps her arms around her waist again, her eyes falling down to the sand that coats her toes. "I'm sorry. I just... You - the Order - seems to know everything about me. Like I'm... I'm something to be studied." Frustration ripples over her face again, her eyebrows knitting tight. "I thought that you.... I thought we... but I was just a job to you." A sad, mirthless half-smile curls at her lips, and she looks up at him with fierce pain in her onyx gaze, searching for his blue. "And you didn't even tell me, Finn. You let me believe we were friends."
"Not exactly. I... disobeyed orders previously, and then I got sick. So I am on house arrest at StormBreak currently. But this was too important to avoid sharing." It's with a belated sense of oops that Finn realises this might be the final nail in his coffin for his time at the Order, and he ought to feel cold about it. He ought to feel anything about it, and yet... here he is, standing before Amalia with the Aumakua shining in the distance, a briefcase in hand and chaos ready to drop from his lips.
Still, the Shield steps forward and he instinctively steps back (newfound confidence does not eliminate the social anxiety imprinted into his psyche), flashing a quick smile and rubbing at his curls before letting his hand drop again. "It's nothing. She's... Artemide has been with me for a small while, now." Though she's never attacked him before, admittedly.
Glancing fleetingly to Jyoti, trying to stifle the way he wants to smile, Finn is quickly schooled into something more solemn by the frustration evident on Amalia's face. He meets her gaze, just about, though rather than subdued, guilty, even, the Spyglass is merely puzzled. He shifts his weight to his other foot, clearing his throat awkwardly. "You were never a job to me, Amalia," he says quietly. "It's true, that my role is one of research. But... Dorian was your contact. I spoke with you because I wanted to."
She notices the way he steps back from her, her own cheeks flushing at the brazenness with which she approached. Anxiety is a palpable thing between them, each drowning in their own set of social mistakes. Amalia returns her arms to her chest, moving neither back nor forward. It feels like she's done something wrong, or worse- that the moments between them, the burgeoning friendship, were only that. Moments.
And so it's with some hopeful relief that she hears his puzzled response, her hurt giving way to something more vulnerable, the mirthless smile fading. "Oh," she says simply, not quite sure how else to reply, the wind knocked from her sails. Glancing away from him at last, she lets her eyes drift past towards the town, her next statement almost soft enough to be a whisper. "I think I would have preferred you to Dorian."
The ghost of a smile returns to her face, a blush above her lips. She flicks her eyes to Finn again and quickly away, back to town. "We can go somewhere to talk." Once again her expression fades, a brief sadness in the angular lines. "Not... not the Inn. But there are shops still open, or we can go to the beach..." She shrugs, leaving the decision to him.
No sooner has Amalia's temper flared (or something approximating it), it simmers down again, leaving Finn just as quietly puzzled as he was before. Still, at her remark - barely audible, and he strains to hear it - the Spyglass can't help but feel a smile start to twitch at the corners of his mouth. "I'm not so sure about that. Dorian is much more sociable." But then again, he had been Remi's contact, and he's still undecided as to whether or not that was a wise decision.
His shoulders sag with relief to hear that she will speak with him, Finn nodding and leaning down to pick up his briefcase once more. He's unsure why the inn won't do, but frankly what he has to say is too urgent to question it, so he nods down towards the path to the beach. "Come on," he murmurs, already setting off beneath the starry night.
"Amalia, have you ever wondered how it is that Outlanders get here, to Caido?"
"Dorian talks a lot," she replies flatly, still staring down at the lights of the town. The man had been charming, to be sure, but Amalia had found herself swiftly irritated by his use of prose and verbal games. Finn may still be a puzzle to her, and she may not have forgiven him fully for failing to reveal his alliance, but at least he's been straightforward to her. Seems to trust her, to an extent.
Finn decides to walk down to the beach, it seems, and Amalia falls in step beside him, her fingers curling and uncurling at her sides. The stars light the path well enough for her to see through shifted eyes, though she wonders if it isn't too dark for him, but he seems to make his way easily enough.
His question makes her pause, her feet pausing before she continues to walk the familiar trail. "The Voice brings them from their worlds," she answers softly, remembering Maea's shared information. "She makes copies of them... copies that work in Caido." A small frown pulls between her brows, eyes darting up to Finn. "Why?"
If it's too dark for Finn, he does his best with it, the Spyglass moving slowly and surely down the craggy incline, his feet carefully navigating the stones until they bleed into soft sand. "That's right," he says slowly, standing aside so she can join him on the beach, allowing them to walk abreast of each other while he explains. "They get here by way of some sort of machine. I found some information about it that I think would be pertinent for you to know."
And so Finn lowers his voice and he explains - he explains what he read in the book, and whose book it belonged to, seemingly. He expresses his fears, his worries, and his need for Amalia to know the information above all others. When he's finished, the Spyglass is staring distantly out at the ink-black ocean. "So you see why it was important, that I travelled here right away."
