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 dragoon barracks have a medical wing, and yet Ronin has been told to come here instead. Something something Order introduction, something something what do you mean you haven't had a physical check up for years, Mr. Taliesin? and so on. It's after dark when he arrives - again, he's been told this doesn't really matter, which, okay, but weird - and unfortunately Ronin is far from in a chipper mood.
It's still his first day in Stormbreak, and this is the last thing he's required to do before he can throw himself into sleep and see his husband again. He's got his little assigned quarters at his little assigned post, a uniform waiting for tomorrow (right now he's still in what he was wearing in the Greatwood, only now the shirt is buttoned, his hair is dry, and he's found boots to wear), the Star seeming tense and haggard as he taps on the door to the clinic's reception area.
"Hello?" he calls, itching at the stubble on his chin, Sugar trilling an echo of his greeting from her place draped across his shoulders.
"Innnnnn here!" You chime brightly, playfully elongating the sounds as if the man outside is meant to follow your voice in. You've been expecting this particular appointment, having received notes of a broody former solider, recently recruited to the dragoons. None of that is very important to you, but when you see that he's an outlander, well...even your professionalism is understandably shaken by that.
An outlander. Here!
Dressed in your usual formless scrubs with your hair tied back, you push open the door to the clinic and beam a smile at the rather surely looking man standing in the doorway. "Nice to meet you Mr. Taliesin. My name is Doctor Hart. This way, if you please." For all your excitement, you do still have a job to do here. Extending a hand and gesturing down a corridor, you lead Ronin to an empty examination room. Not overly large, it has a sink and cabinets, a bed with a dressing gown folding neatly on it, and a chair.
Not expecting quite such an informal (and warm) response, it's a quietly puzzled Ronin who blinks at the doctor when she appears, and recognition flashes through his eyes. Following after her, scritching at Sugar's chin as she chirrups at Doctor Hart - a surprisingly polite greeting from the pale reptile - his brow furrows. "Uh, hi," he says slowly, unaware he's repeating himself. "Have... have we met before, somewhere?"
He'd been far too wrapped up in finding Remi at the Apopo at the time to really pay much attention, but he is certain that the woman standing before him once rode with him on the back of his nimbus to the volcano. Then again, perhaps he's just too tired and too rattled to tell the difference between stranger and acquaintance.
Entering the examination room, he eyes the bed, the chair and the gown, and gives a gentle shrug of his shoulder to prompt Sugar to take leave of him. She lands somewhere in the sink, lapping at the water dripping from the tap with a forked tongue.
Well used to dragons, you smile at Sugar, mentally setting yourself a note to find her something fleshy to chew on once all of this is over. "We did, though I can understand why you wouldn't remember it. And...I'm not sure I actually introduced myself." Waiting for Ronin to enter the examination room, you close the door behind, softly ensure that it latches. "You gave me a ride to the volcano, where I retrieved one of my colleagues, and you found your husband." You remind him as if reciting a story, your voice entirely free of any sort of judgement or hurt at not being remembered.
You're perfectly fine not being memorable.
"If you'd like more, just chirp." You say casually to Sugar, before turning back to Ronin. 'Gown on, if you please.' As with animals, you find that if you act as though your patients are going to cooperate, they normally do. You're sure that this trick won't work for anything more than suggesting the Star slip into a gown, but you're willing to try just the same. Politely turning your back, you eye the dragon in the sink. "If you're inclined to shred anything, there are some old sheets in the corner over there." You say with a grin.
"I'm not sure either of us did," he says with a breathless sort of laugh, trying not to remember the life he'd had just a couple of months ago; the one with Remi in it. "Nice to see you again, though. Under... different circumstances." He was going to say better, but he doesn't think that's true. "Just call me Ronin. Mr. Taliesin was my father." Smirking, he goes ahead to examine the gown, before shrugging out of his clothes and barely giving her a chance to turn around.
A fading tan and a few scars and tattoos later, and the huntsman is pulling the gown on and sinking down onto the bed, wiggling his toes. Sugar, meanwhile, has already frozen the water in the tap to lick at it as if it's a popsicle, turning her head to Tobi with her tongue still out. The opportunity to shred something is irresistible, and she trills an affirmative and obediently swoops away to diligently ruin the sheets.
Ronin smirks. "She doesn't normally like people. What's your secret?"
You give him an understanding nod, having heard a bit about the circumstances which brought the Star here. Rolling your eyes, that line making you want to pretend to vomit but also chuckle, just leaves you with an amused expression. Apparently Ronin isn't shy, which is going to make this exam go quickly you think, for which you're both grateful, but also disappointed. You probably won't have many chances to pick the mind of an Outlander.
"Mmm? Oh. Well, I find with dragons, not being an asshole is usually a good start." You say with an easy laugh as you turn back around. "That, and not trying to change their natures." As a canine with the urge to shred things every now and then, or bark when you're startled, you absolutely understand.
"Alright. A physical for the dragoons includes all the standard things you'd expect. We'll do a standard physical examination, some bloodwork, test your reflexes and other responses, and then there's a brief psychological portion. Though, that isn't given by me." Stepping toward him, your dark eyes full of quiet interest and respectful bed-side manner, you give him a look which asks if he's ready to begin.
"I must have been around a lot of assholes and didn't realise it," Ronin says dryly, a smirk on his face despite himself. He watches Sugar happily shred the sheets, chirping to herself and making quite a nice little nest - he's not sure she'll like Tobi so much when it's time to go again, but for now the doctor has made a fast friend.
Then she's stepping towards him once more, Ronin refocusing and listening as she explains. He nods; it doesn't sound terribly unfamiliar. "Much the same as the Storm Guard," he remarks, sitting up a bit an dnodding for her to go ahead with whatever she needs to do. "Though I'm not so sure they cared quite so much for mental health." Not if the types of people Ronin had been working with was any indication.
"Who performs the psychological portion of the exam?"
"Don't worry, it happens to the best of us." You say with an overly-sympathetic frown, before returning the Star's grin. As for Sugar? Well she can shred all she likes. You'll take the tattered strips of cloth outside once she's done with them so that the birds can make a nest of them as well. What you don't know yet is that with Ronin's penchant for getting himself into sticky situations, he's bound to be back. Had you known this, you'd have just offered to make the corner a den-away-from-home for the dragonling.
Though you try—biting the inside of your cheek to keep your smile from flashing across your face too quickly—you suddenly exude excitement and interest. "Is that...from the world you came from before?" You ask, trying and failing at being casual about it. "Oh? Why's that?" This is genuinely asked, your eyebrows furrowing beneath your thick bangs.
"Doctor Guildenstern. He's much better when it comes to mental and emotional illnesses and exams. I'm just here for the skin and bones and squishy stuff." Waggling your fingers, you begin at the top: Reaching forward with gloved hands you feel Ronin's jawline, your fingers working at his skull and feeling the inevitable places that it shows sign of previous injuries. Were he not a soldier, you'd be concerned. But, given who he is now and who he was in the past, you just make a mental note of it and move on. Working down to his shoulders and arms. "Clearly you've never gotten yourself more than a papercut," You note as your fingers trail over various scar, both old and new. "The dragoons will be a cake-walk for you."
This is old hat for Ronin; he sits up straight, lifts his chin, and lets her poke and prod wherever she needs to (providing it doesn't make him ticklish or cause him to try to squirm away). "Mm, it is," he says of the Storm Guard. "It was my kingdom's army - I was Captain of Training, back there. It was my job to get new recruits up to par, and to keep the veterans on their toes." He wrinkles his nose at the memory, though it's not entirely unpleasant to recall.
Still, at her second question, he snorts. "They were very much of the opinion that quantity was better than quality," he says; it might just be his opinion, but it's enough to colour his words. "Cannon fodder, most of them." He sighs heavily. "I hope your dragoons are a bit more caring in that department."
Tobi's hands are warm and gentle, and though he knows it's a very clinical examination, her touches remind him of those he should be experiencing now, at home, if he'd been at the Wishing Wagon. Forcing those sorts of thoughts away, Ronin glances up at her. "My kind of doctor. Skin and bones and the squishy stuff tends to be the more urgent, in a crisis. How-do-you-feels can come after."
If you could, you'd pause this moment, grab your scalpel, and cut right into his head that you might reveal his brain and all the things it knows. If only medicine worked that way. "That sounds like quite the busy schedule." You remark with an appreciative bounce of your eyebrows. "Was your world heavy with conflict?" Perhaps that's why he's here. Not in your exam room, but in this world. Maybe that's what the Voice saw in him.
Frowning deeply, you scan Ronin's face to see if there's any humour there. That there isn't at all only has the lines around your mouth deepening with disapproval. "Well it doesn't sound like it's a high bar to meet, but yes, they are a good deal more caring. They're like...well, they're all rather like a big family." You shrug, not knowing too much more about their inner workings than that.
Snorting under your breath as you reach for what Ronin will likely surmise is the more advanced-equivalent of a stethoscope, you flash him a smile. "Well, inclined as I am to agree with you on that, don't let Dr. Guildenstern hear you say that, or you'll be looking at ink blots and talking about colours for hours." Offering an apologetic smile for the coldness of the metal as you place it against Ronin's chest, "—nice tattoo—", you tell him to take a few deep breaths in, as you cock your head to listen.
"Given that I was thrown into the role rather suddenly, it was a bit of a culture shock. Made me who I am today, I think," Ronin says with a half smile, warming a bit at the memory, though the expression sharpens a touch again as talk turns to conflict. "Yeah, both of them," he says, before realising that makes no sense. "Where I was originally from, Northwind, there was war pressing in on all sides. They created a sanctuary in a new land they called Northaven, and the best and brightest were to continue the kingdom there."
Ronin shoots her a look that tells her exactly what he thinks of Northaven - a sad joke - before she's speaking of colours and ink blots, and he scoffs out a laugh. "I never understood those things. What does it matter? I know that pink is the best colour going already, I don't need to have a discussion about it."
Eyeing the stethoscope with a small degree of suspicion, and subconsciously trying to move away from the cold press of it, Tobi's remark about his tattoo catches him completely off guard. Indeed, she's in a perfect position to hear the way his pulse increases, the way his breath hitches. "Thank you," he mumbles. "It's of my husband." Closing his eyes, he focuses on inhaling and exhaling evenly, that she might complete her exam.
'Wait, so you've...you've been in two other worlds?" Your hands rest on the sides of his face, puckering his lips slightly as you all but gawk at the words coming out of his mouth. Realizing how unprofessional this is, you release him, though you can't quite wipe the look of surprise away just yet. "That's..." You exhale an ooof sound. "I suppose coming here, here-here, I mean, is nothing to you then." Here-here being Stormbreak, rather than just Caido in general.
You too laugh at this, finding such a quick wit surprising for a soldier so covered in scars. "Gods, Falke is going to love you, if you talk to him like that." You say, warningly but warmly.
Should Ronin try and recoil, he'll just find his back pressed up against your hand, keeping him steady. This isn't your first rodeo after all, and though the Star might look tough, everyone is a baby when it comes to a bit of cold. Whatever you might think of Ronin's reaction to your question, you reveal nothing, instead just chuckling under your breath. "Artistic license I suppose. He looked quite man-like when I saw him last. Quite handsome too." You add with a wink.
"...Huh. Yeah, when you put it like that, I--" and that's when she smooshes her hands against his cheeks, "--shupose it'sh twue." Then she releases him, and he rubs at his jaw, shooting her childish pout. Still, he snorts to hear of Stormbreak. "It's simultaneously very surprising, but also par for the course at this point. Still, when a god tells you you're going somewhere..." His shoulders lift in a shrug.
Gently swinging his feet, he's not impressed when his attempts to shy away from the stethoscope are met with a warm, firm hand, and he suffers through it with what he considers an enormous amount of indignity. "Oh, let me guess. He's going to find something stereotypically peculiar about the colour choice, and connect it, inevitably, to my mother?" He grins.
Talk of Remi has him relaxing though, inevitably, his smile softening to something sweet and entirely out of place given his surly attitude at the door. "Man, hawk, manticore," he says. "You're wrong, though. He isn't quite handsome. He is very handsome. And smart. I think he'd like you."
You flash him another apologetic smile, though you don't look at all bashful about it. Nothing really embarrasses you these days, not even inappropriately squeezing the cheeks of a roguishly handsome outlander demigod. "Yeah...I know how that goes." You say, your tone one of subtle admission. It was Rae who set you on this path after all, Rae who gave you your most prized (and secret) shift.
Growing more childlike under pressure (the flinching from the cold, the swinging feet), you think that Falke really will have a field day with this one who seems so different from how first-glances of him would otherwise indicate. Laughing a touch at that, and nearly flicking him for his snark, you just shake your head. "Oh no, he's much more clever than that. Besides, that whole pink/blue dichotomy is a very Outlander notion. We don't really have anything like that here." Oh, you had other harmful stereotypes to be sure. Just not that one.
"I stand corrected." Offering the Star a conciliatory look, you put your stethoscope down and nod toward the back of the bed. "On your back." You instruct. "I'm sure I would like him. Hopefully I'll be able to meet him when he isn't passed out on the side of a volcano. He recovered from that, I take it?" Once Ronin has complied, your fingertips begin at his ribs, feeling your way down. "If any of this hurts, tell me." You shoot him a don't try and be brave about it, look.
