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!
After sailing there was brief snippets of repose – and she buried her toes in the sand, dress draped around her knees, as she began to summon the strength to adhere towards Leafchange’s traditions. Today she brought out Clementine’s lantern, to sit next to her while she began to whittle another; a series of twigs and sticks lined up in various rows of various lengths, twine nestled by her ankles. One more cycle of the year meant one more lantern to be made – to remember those lost, to remember what felt like eons before, when she’d made her sister’s, her mother’s, for fallen companions adrift amongst and amidst their doomed connections.
A finger went idlely to Clem’s, to trace over the dried, pressed flowers, to recall whispers of honeysuckle sonnets and whimsical laughter, to rejoice in the faded remnants of a twin she’d never see again. Of a sister long since gone. Of a soul she couldn’t save.
Her jaw tightened, and Fangorn grumbled down by her feet, vines placed upon the dunes, and she sighed. “Right.” Chin up, in all her defiance and glory, in all her spun determination. Another vicious breath pooled through her, and she began once more, snagging at the carved, blunt edges, and beginning to intertwine a base together.
Only one loss to mourn this year, and damn if that isn't some sort of record. And probably a bad omen for the days ahead, but shit, you'll take what you can get. James was a royal pain in the ass, but he was a pain in the ass who belonged in your crew, who you'd known since he toddled around the docks stealing shit. And though you're used to the harsh ease with which lives in Torchline are prone to end, it still fucking sucks to see it happen, especially to someone so...... vivacious, as it were.
You're looking for some shells to add to the lantern when you spot a familiar shock of red hair and orange flesh (?). You didn't get much of a chance to speak with the girl on the ship (didn't speak to much of anyone, due to your proclivity to spill your guts every time you opened your mouth), but now you trudge in her direction, feeling some odd paternal obligation to check in.
The lantern swings in your right hand as you draw to the base of the dune, peering up at the girl on her perch. "Watcha up to, little spitfire?" you call, flashing her a crooked almost-smile.
Past the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind
Another wandered along the beach, and her eyes narrowed in speculation, head rising from the base of the lantern, sticks piled together, tied by string. Her brows rose a little, not subtle, upon realization of the other individual. She was further surprised when he advanced towards her, and Fangorn grumbled again, another incoherent slide along the sand, so they were both turned to glance at Zeph.
Different features angled thereafter; a tilt of her head. “I didn’t expect to see you on the ship.” A light little smirk there, and if she were fanged and attuned the edges of her spirit would be lined in the subtle ferocity. Instead, it’s just a Cheshire figment, emboldened and audacious. For it was the truth – she hadn’t; and the trip had been a wild, reeling force anyway.
But then towards his inquiry, her eyes drifting along the artifact in his grasp – same reasons, same measures, same machinations. She grabbed hold of Clem’s, leaving him room if he chose to sit, and for safety’s purposes, because she couldn’t lose the precious thing. “Making a lantern,” the smile disappeared, a little shrug drifting through her shoulders. “For Eloise.” The fellow crew member, lost amongst the waves (ironic, really; because she shouldn’t have been). “What about you?”
You extend a careful hand to the grumbling gourd, still somewhat uncertain as to whether or not it will decide to nip your fingers off. "Didn' expect t'be there," you admit, pulling a face at her smirk and shaking your salt-and-pepper head. "Jack sweet talked me int'a it, promisin' a short an' uneventful adventure." Very dignified, you make sure to put air quotes around the last part of this statement.
Melita's purpose catches your breath in your throat, a silent curse exhaled as you realized you forgot poor Eloise. With a soft grunt you settle into the sand beside her, admiring the lantern and looking chagrined. "That's right. I'll hafta do hers, too," you mutter softly, running your hand through your hair.
Holding up your own paper lantern which is painted in a pattern of serpentine scales, you shrug. "James." Whether or not she knows (knew) him isn't important to you. "You know Elo well?"
Past the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind
Fangorn, while mildly disappointed he didn’t come off as more threatening (the dreams of yesteryears where he’d alarmed Oliver had yet to leave his head; unfortunately never encountering anyone else quite so frightened by his presence), didn’t nip or nibble at Zeph’s fingers. Instead, he intended to glide beneath them, expecting a scratch. All Melita could do was snort at the antics, then raise her head away from the lantern, back to Zeph.
“You should’ve known better by now.” She shook her head, and the crimson locks were caught in the breeze, wilder than before, uncontrolled and untamed, exactly as she wished to be and become. “This is the second time I’ve run into ghost whales. He didn’t give you any warnings?” The smirk remained, a quiet bout of laughter she hadn’t felt in days extended, and then more ties, more loops, instilling a firm structure along the base. She tested it once or twice, flexing the bottom contortions, ensuring they wouldn’t fall apart at the slightest touch. When her engineering proved to be sound enough, she continued, gilded gaze going back to him as he sat beside her.
The honeybee briefly recognized the name signified with the lantern. “Oh. I remember him,” briefly; from when they called to the luxere, another LongNight forged in what felt like ages and eons before. “I’m sorry for your loss.” James would like the scales, probably. As for the notion of Eloise, she could only swing her skull back and forth again, all glimmer of the smirk and snicker falling away. “No. I just felt like I should honor her, for being a part of the crew. Did you?”
"Usually ships ain't that unlucky," you reply with a grimaced smile, thinking about the ill luck that the Ark has faced where ghost whales are concerned. Reaching into your endless bag, you produce a (relatively) smaller pouch full of sea glass and other beach treasures, beginning to comb through for the colors you want.
Her sympathy is touching, causing you to huff a half-sigh, half-chuckle of gratitude. "Thanks," you murmur, staring at the glass in your hands. "He was a right shithead, but he was one of ours." One of the many wayward souls who found some semblance of happiness on Torchline's shores. He'd deserved better than whatever happened to him.
You weren't super close with Eloise, and so you shake your head. She'd been a feature on the Ark for a couple years, and you'd liked her, but you've learned to be choosy about where you form real attachments. You've got enough ghosts as it is. "How'd y'get wrapped up in Jack's shit, anyway?"
Past the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind
“Maybe we’re just doomed then.” The ruffian smile following thereafter insinuated the devil-may-care platitude; that the adventure awaited, but she’d rather see something else for a change. She couldn’t exactly imagine how or why they seemed to entice the beasts, other than they were some large object to batter, ram, and destroy out amidst the sea. Her eyes went to the pouch of seaglass, gaze riveted to the swirl of colors and hues; she hadn’t managed to pick up any of those sorts of emblems, artifacts, or objects. Most of the time it’d been rocks and shells, and she wrinkled her nose slightly, gaze flicking back to her lantern, then to the glass again.
She was distracted from the nuances and slight avarice clinging to her hands, the notes about James, a right shithead, causing the lightest of smiles. “He helped the Grounds prepare for LongNight once.” Maybe more; she hadn’t been there for the last one – for the doom, for the damnation, from the spiraling hell.
With neither of them close to Eloise, the honor of pushing any further symbolism faded. She’d have to embody the vague inclinations of the navigator, and once she’d completed the structure, the walls built upon sticks, she attempted to dig a compass into the side. The inquiry caused a brief shrug – because it’d been rather simple, and she wouldn’t have to mull on the complexities of merely wanting a place to belong. “He offered me a job.”
11-24-2020, 07:18 PM (This post was last modified: 11-24-2020, 07:18 PM by Zephyr.)
zephyr
His crown lit up the way as we moved slowly
The idea of James helping out of anything other than a base sense of greed or lust or hunger is somewhat amusing, but it is nice to hear the girl talk positively about your one-time compatriot. Poor kid deserved a helluva lot better than he got. A real shame when a fire like that goes out, even if it did occasionally smell like burnt rubber and lighter fluid.
The blue and green pieces of sea glass added to the bottom of the lamp, you now extract some paint and bushes from your bag, intending to adorn the outside of the lantern with a motif of scales. Melita's explanation of how she wound up on Jack's crew is a bit of a distraction, though; you raise an eyebrow and look over at her skeptically. "Lotsa work t'be had in this world. Takes a certain sort t'decide t'throw in with a crew'a strangers an' sail half'a th'year."
Past the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind
The honeybee began adding shells to the adornments, to the exterior, a haze of light blue and pale ivory, pearlescent little shades she’d found at the bottom of rock pools and embankments, constantly snagging shiny refinements. Stones too adorned the bottom, some pointed and rigid to resemble some diamond fixtures and fixation, to weigh it down, and then she thought over the implication, and reassembled them elsewhere, so they shone instead of drew to causes and effects. A few pieces of light palms were added too, like fans and waves from the jungles themselves, pieces, snippets, and pockets of a world Eloise had unfortunately left behind.
Zeph’s comment drew her head upwards from her work though, wondering what the statement was meant to signify. “And what sort would that be?” An arch to her brow followed, along with a delicate balance in the tip of her head, destined to be either mercurial, tempestuous, or entirely whimsical in her nature. The answer could’ve been a range of nuances – bold, stupid, ignorant, impudent, defiant, and she probably wouldn’t argue with any of the sentiments.
You're putting the finishing touches on your lantern, sealing off the sides with glue, adding a scale here and there. Nothing much, and you make quick work of it, craftsman's fingers well-suited to the task. It keeps your eyes from going right to the girl at her sudden audacity, though your brow does raise in quiet amusement, the ghost of an almost-smile wrinkling your face. Nonchalant and (apparently) unperturbed, you shrug. "People runnin' away from somethin'. Or towards."
Almost abruptly you rise to your feet, packing up materials and supplies. "Break time's over. I oughta get back to it." The lantern hangs from your thumb, swaying jauntily just like the man it represents. You raise it in farewell to Melita, your fingers sprawling in an awkward wave. "See ya around, firebug."
And then you set off back towards the dock, whistling a bright and merry tune.
{Fin <3}
Past the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind
