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!
As a former duke, Neron has attended many a lady's house in his time, prepared to take them out for an evening of dinner and dancing and (if you're Neron) snarking about the world at large. But it's the first time he's ever had to arrive at a Palace to pick up his date, no less a Palace that he himself used to live in. Of course he's not so silly as to swan up and knock at the door for Morgan, given that it defeats the object of their attempts to be subtle.
He has agreed to meet her outside one of the guards' entrances, the Hailstorm waiting patiently in his customary black (in a coat as well, even though he doesn't need it), though between his fingers he twirls a fresh snowdrop, the splash of white uncharacteristic on his person. The snowdrop, of course, is for his date, and he can't help but smile to himself at the prospect. It has been a while for him as well, after all.
It had been many, many years since Morgan had been on a date, or even considered flirting with somebody. In her room in the palace she spent a while staring at the wall, quite unable to believe what she was doing. In a life of efficient planning and practicality, this choice made entirely through feeling and impulse was odd, ill-fitting...yet she could not bring herself to regret it, even as she considered all the ways it would likely go wrong.
A lot of her clothing was tough, battered and thick; hardly date attire. In the back of her wardrobe she finally found something that was at least somewhat 'dressy' compared to her average look; a white shirt with simple buttons and sleeves, a little tighter than what she might usually wear (for a minute she left the top two buttons undone, stared at the glimpse of cleavage in the mirror, then shook her head and pushed them back in) and some black pants, which she was rather pleased to find still fit her after many years.
Her usual cloak went over this outfit (it was, after all, still Halo and still cold), though she positioned it so that what was underneath could be seen. Hair loose and perhaps the slightest stain of something purple and years-old on her lips, she was ready, casual enough to be able to convince anyone she was simply going to the Kraai for the night, but different enough for Neron to know she had made an effort.
Slipping out of the guard's entrance, she was pleased to see Neron back in his usual smart black, rather than the scruffy looks he had selected while sick. "Neron. I see you have returned to your favourite colour." Morgan said with an amused smile, then glanced down to the shot of white; her brows raised as she realised what it was - she'd never gotten flowers before. "I didn't know you were such a romantic."
11-01-2020, 06:49 PM (This post was last modified: 11-01-2020, 06:50 PM by Neron.)
Neron
the wind breathes lonely longing to be seen
His steel blue eyes seem flinty in the darkness as Morgan emerges from the guards' entrance, Neron's vision cutting easily through the shadows so he can take in the Warden and her efforts. And his smile is devilishly charming, if he does say so himself, the Hailstorm offering out the snowdrop that Morgan might pin it to her cloak. "You look bewitching," he purrs, beckoning for her to go first before drawing up to walk beside her. He does have somewhere in mind, in fact, but the Citadel is large and they can stroll to their heart's content for now.
"But of course. Believe it or not, the choice is made out of laziness," he says with a fanged grin her way. "Everyone looks good in black. And this way I don't have to spend too much time choosing what to wear." Ever the pragmatic one. "And there are a lot of things you don't know about me, Morgan. I daresay the same can be said for you."
"Bewitching." Morgan repeated, then smiled, finding that she liked it much more than 'beautiful' or 'pretty', words that had always seemed tepid and distant from her. She took the snowdrop, gently held it in her fingertips then pressed it into a loop in her cloak, making sure it was secure before lifting her eyes back to Neron. "You do look..well, too, in your black. Even if it is lazy."
'Handsome' was a word far too flirty and direct for this point in the date; she needed at least a drink first.
She walked when he gestured to, unsure where they were going but quite content to walk along the streets of her beloved Citadel. While it would be clear she wasn't dragging Neron to prison, for the few people on the streets at this time in the evening, she made sure there was enough of a professional distance for there to be no suspicion of what was actually occurring.
That was, as long as they couldn't read her smile. "Well, that's certainly true. ...Tell me, then. Something I don't know about you."
"Why, thank you for saying so. I like to think I add to the outfit, even though it has its own charms," Neron drawls, all sly wit and quiet ego, and he strolls beside her with his hands resting in the pockets of his coat. He's no fool, and to see them walking with even a remote amount of comfort with each other is sure to get the rumour mill turning. It probably already is - such things are inevitable, Neron has learned, but the less they feed it, the better.
He leads them through streets set aglow by torches and lanterns, turning eventually to hug the Citadel walls. Neron is heading towards a guard tower by the look of it, though everything about it suggests that it is not in use - at least for tonight. Is that the Hailstorm's doing? You bet it is.
Glancing sidelong at Morgan, a smirk curling across his lips at her forward questioning, he nods in acquiescence. "Alright," he says quietly. "Granted, it might not be something you don't know, as I imagine you have already seen them. But I happen to be a stickler for trashy romance novels. Halo is rather lacking in them, by the way. As Warden, surely it is your duty to rectify that."
As they went through the streets that Morgan knew like her own hands, she tried to work out where it was they were going. It felt almost like Neron was trying to lead them out of the Citadel as they got close to the walls, and she wondered where on Caido he could be trying to take her in the Tundra for a date. Blizzards and barren fields were close to her heart, but they were hardly a romantic setting.
However, they began to walk along the walls; Morgan didn't even look at the guard tower, not considering it as a possible destination. Giving up on guessing (if this was an assassination plot to get her in a dark corner, Neron had been planning it long enough to earn the respect of getting to try it), she listened to what he had to say instead, figuring she'd find out when they got there.
"Oh, I do already know that. The guards told me." She laughed; at the time she'd been amused and occasionally she remembered it and chuckled again, unable to quite reconcile Neron and bodice-rippers. "My mother reads those...I don't understand the appeal. It's nothing like real love; what is there for you to enjoy among terrible misunderstandings and badly written smut?"
What a twist that would be - alas, there are no assassination attempts to be found in Neron's destination. He pauses outside the empty guard tower, clicking open the door and letting light spill out from within. "Follow me," he says, slipping inside and beginning to walk the steps up and onto the walls, where guards are normally stationed to watch the world outside. Once they get out into the open again, it will be to find a small picnic has been set up in full view of the stars and the Tundra.
Acting as if this is a perfectly ordinary occurrence, Neron indicates for Morgan to take her seat and continues their conversation. "Once upon a time I spent my days perusing the most tedious documents known to mankind," he reminds her. "And I happen to be fond of reading, so the badly written smut makes a nice change." He laughs. "Besides, there is very little to criminally analyse in the misunderstandings of two fools in love. It gives the brain a break. Why - what do you prefer?"
Morgan walked up the Guard's Towers stairs; somewhere she had been many, many times throughout the years, but no where she'd ever have expected to have a date within. A part of her expected to still see the familiar dirty boots and weapons in the top, a couple of chairs and some empty bottles of whatever secret the Guards were keeping from her that day.
It did surprise her then, when she saw the picnic. Rather a sweet idea, especially for Neron, and not anything she would have predicted. Morgan paused at the door, for a moment staring at the spread before her, then with a soft, quiet laugh and a smile, entered behind Neron. "It seems you've taken some lessons from those novels." She commented, but it would be clear from her face that she was impressed.
"I don't get much time to read nowadays." She admitted, glancing at the door then removing her cloak, something she rarely did outside of her own chambers. Without it she felt vulnerable, but also more herself; without the walls of Warden and Captain, someone able to be more honest with her feelings. "When I did..I liked to read about spirits. Not the Gods - the things that live in the mountains and water."
After a pause, she admitted further: "..As a teenager, when I lived with my mother, I did sometimes take something off her shelves."
Morgan takes her seat and Neron is hot on her heels, grinning and sinking down alongside her (opposite is far too formal for his liking, and brings back reminders of stuffy dinners and arranged, political setups). "Actually, my novels are rarely so twee. This is all me," he informs her, reaching out to uncover the bounty (it's typical fare from Halo, which can be expected given how difficult it is to grow anything in the climate). "I'm that you like it, though." Or at least she seems to, by the look on her face.
Taking a flask from among the picnic, he offers it out to her; it is still warm to the touch, filled with a sweet, mulled cider. "You ought to make some time to read. It's one of the best pleasures the world has to offer." He smirks, surprised by the sincerity of his own tone. "I remember you saying that you were close with spirits. What made you lean towards them?" Oh, but then the conversation takes a turn, and Neron's eyebrows shoot up. "Did you, now? Do tell. What did you think?"
Morgan chuckled, watching Neron reveal the food; nothing particularly remarkable, but growing up in Halo, she was not used to luxurious excess. It was only upon seeing the meal she remembered that Neron didn't eat. "..Is this all for me? What happens if an Ascended eats normal food?" She asked, not knowing about that particular subsection of Ascended biology.
"I do like it. Thank you. I wasn't expecting you to do anything special." She smiled and went to take whatever was before her, giving it an experimental nibble before deciding it was acceptable and chewing it properly.
The cider was a welcome treat too, though she immediately thought that she'd have to be careful not to over-indulge, especially with Neron unable to get drunk; she did not want to embarrass herself. Morgan took a drink then leaned back to look at Neron as he spoke, her back feeling oddly cool against the stone tower without the usual barrier of her cloak. "My mother is probably a large part of it. She taught me to always be aware of them. I didn't take it too seriously until I spent time alone in the mountains, though. Three years, I lived up there. I got to know the land, and what lives within it, very well." She'd been called insane, and perhaps she had been, but that period had taught her more about life than anything else.
On a completely different note, she snorted at his last question, an undignified laugh she wouldn't make near anyone else. "I was young. I thought it would be nice to meet a man like the one in the novel. Nowadays? I would smack him for being so unclear. I prefer directness, not a hundred pages of back and forth uncertainty."
"As much of it as you like." Neron nods in confirmation about the food. "As far as I know, nothing happens. But when you can barely taste food, there's not really much point." He smiles and shrugs. "It's why alcohol is a go to for a lot of us, from my experience. We can't get drunk, but liquor is usually strong enough to enjoy."
As Morgan partakes, Neron lets his steel blues dance out and across the Tundra, as if seeking out the aurora that is sometimes visible at night, chasing across the dark skies. "Well, you can add that to the list of things you didn't know about me," he suggests, his attention turning back to the Warden. "I happen to be a gentleman, though it does not often show."
Mainly because he's a dry and sarcastic bastard the majority of the time, but no one is two-dimensional. Raising his eyebrows as she continues to explain about the spirits, Neron relaxes back in his seat, well able to imagine Morgan braving the mountains alone. Was it the experience that had made her this way, he wonders - or did it merely strengthen what was already there? "That's quite a feat," he remarks. "Just another reason why you are an obvious choice for Warden."
The conversation tumbles on, and Neron finds himself chuckling as she continues. "You prefer directness, and yet you are sitting atop a guard tower with a Launceleyn. Forgive me, but my family are not known for being direct."
"And when you drink blood, does that taste of much?" Morgan asked, trying not to imagine it in her own mouth too much as she ate, the coppery taste of blood sounding to her like something she would resent having to indulge in regularly. His admission that he was a gentleman brought a soft smile to her lips, perhaps slightly amused, but she didn't vocalise an agreement or an objection.
She did laugh though when he called her the 'obvious choice', raising an eyebrow. "I doubt you would have said that last year." When she reflected back, it felt very odd indeed to be here; there had been a point, just before and during his fall as Warden, where she had despised him entirely, had been sure he would end in execution or exile...yet here she was, having a picnic with him. Willingly.
If the Gods did decide their fates, they had a sense of humour.
"Maybe your family aren't. But you are; after all, the first interaction we had that was more than professional was..." Morgan didn't quite want to name it, but she gave Neron a look, sure that he knew. "And you responded to my outright question on the way back from the Grounds. No needless tension and pain, just...truth." Maybe she was too practical a person, but everything, even love, seemed easier if one laid out a plan and stuck to it.
Neron wrinkles his nose a bit at her question - not exactly because he doesn't want to answer it, but more that he's unsure how to phrase it. "Not really," he begins, "but then it's more than taste, I suppose. I can't say that I've stopped to think about it, amid everything else that tends to happen at the time." He raises his eyebrows at her, knowing she knows what he means. "And since last Deepfrost, and when I was sick, that feeling of thirst is beyond things like taste or smell. It's..." He shakes his head, losing the words for it. Unnatural springs to mind, but he has the feeling that will ruin the moment.
But thank the gods for Morgan, and she gives him an out in the form of a fanged smile and an echo of her laughter. "You know, you're probably quite right there," Neron agrees with a chuckle. "At the time, Warden in Halo was all I knew of Caido. I have enjoyed myself more since giving up the title, though." And as for his directness, he can't help but arch an eyebrow at Morgan, surprised by how right she is.
"When you spend your life dabbling in half-truths and subterfuge, I suppose you relish a bit of directness, now and then," he says. "Or perhaps you simply bring out the best in me."
Morgan laughed, quiet and under her breath, at Neron's point about the bite. She supposed, when it was happening, there were more pressing concerns than the taste. "So when you bite, you also feel that way? I wasn't sure if it was just the..." Searching for a word that wasn't victim, she eventually settled on: "..Receiver." Interesting that the Voice would choose to give the pleasure to her children too; perhaps she was not entirely as cold as people made out.
He mentioned the thirst during the sickness, which she had known was stronger. Leaning over, she placed her hand gently on his knee and squeezed lightly. "It is a testament to your character, though, that you did not give in. I never felt in danger around you."
Besides, she thought, this Deepfrost he'd probably get to drink a lot...but she didn't say that.
"I think you're much better suited to what you're doing now. Though I have thought about adding you into my council...perhaps secretly, until we feel we can reveal it. I am not a fan of all this secrecy, but..." She trailed off and shrugged with a sigh, going to take another bite of food; he had to know what his somewhat toxic reputation in the Citadel could do to hers. "I do think you would make a good spymaster."
She smiled, looking off to the wall of the tower and pushing her hair behind her shoulder, revealing her neck to Neron in what could have been, if one wanted to analyse, a subconscious suggestion. "Perhaps I do. I must say you remind me to...laugh, every so often. I find it hard."
