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!
12-18-2020, 08:40 PM (This post was last modified: 12-21-2020, 07:13 PM by Amalia.)
you drew memories in my mind I could never erase
painted colors in my heart I could never replace
The Plaza is always busy. Bustling, moving, alive- it reminds her of home, or what home might have been, had they not been frozen for three hundred years. Once Amalia had believed her whole world to exist under the shell of an invisible dome. Small, contained, sealed and locked, but hers. She knew the people and their ways, knew the trees and the animals, the shops, the sounds, the smells. Her world had been a snowglobe, but it was a snowglobe she knew intimately.
Now the snowglobe has cracked open to reveal a world familiar and strange, and every time she thinks she's found her footing the rug is pulled again.
She's found a place beneath the arms of a large statue, an alcove outside of the bustle where she can sit and watch. Her legs are pulled up under her, knees up near her chin: a position that may appear uncomfortable, but is truly rather cozy, especially as the padding of luxurious fur gives protection to her back. Upon her knees a notebook sits, and in her fingers rests a quill. Every now and then she jots a note into her book, but for the most part Amalia simply watches, dark eyes keen as she soaks in the strange and wonderful world she now inhabits.
Ronin's voice is a warm rumble, the Star standing on the plinth of the statue just a little behind Amalia, casually hanging onto one of its outstretched arms. Clearly he's taking a break from the Dragoons this afternoon, given that he's dressed in the opposite of training gear. It's near the end of LeafChange, so he's pulled a light jacket over his pale t-shirt, and his pants have a hole in the left knee.
Not soldier, not ex-king, not former baron from a land like this one but not. Just Ronin, and it feels really fucking good. "Unless you're very busy, stalking the crowds with your eyes?" He flashes Amalia a grin and nods out at those bustling through the markets or enjoying drinks on the patio of some restaurant or another.
It's been a while since she saw Ronin; his training regimen and her research have kept them both busy, each finding ways to serve and distract themselves. So the sound of his voice rumbling behind her is a welcome surprise indeed, even moreso given that his question and manner suggest he is on a break from the Dragoons.
Amalia flashes her own grin in response, uncurling from her position and twisting to look from the Dark Star out to the people who pass and chatter. "I am very busy," the Shield confirms, trying very hard to sound solemn as laughter bubbles in her chest. "But I suppose I can pencil you in."
Swinging her legs down off the statue, Amalia rises fluidly, arms rising up above her head in a much-needed stretch, neck cracking audibly. "Been a while since we did something stupid. I might be a little rusty. What did you have in mind?"
"Oh, I can see that," Ronin says with a slow and serious nod - Amalia couldn't look any busier, if he did say so himself. Still, with a spreading grin on his face, the Star ducks under the arm of the statue and slouches down to sit beside her at its base. "I'm very glad to hear that - your busy schedule isn't something to be toyed with." He nods again, as if they both weren't looking for things to purposely fill their days.
Luckily for the Archangel, though, Ronin has something stupid and strange enough to fill their time for a while. He produces, flamboyantly, a bloom from within his jacket pocket. The petals are so black that they seem to suck in the light from around the marketplace, and the Star bounces his eyebrows like it's something to be impressed about.
"I've got a little job from Safrin, to try and expand the reach of my astral projection," he explains. "I've got a bunch of these flowers in different colours. When I pull the petals off, I get seized by a different emotion, which is as fun as you can undoubtedly imagine. I don't know what emotion it's going to be until I start." Ronin chuckles. "So Amalia, would you do me the honour of being my babysitter for this one?"
Of the things Amalia expects Ronin to materialize, a flower is not one. Black as night, Amalia regards it with a lifted eyebrow and a tilt of her head, glancing curiously between the bloom and the man and waiting for the explanation to arise.
And what an explanation it is. Confusion gives way to bemusement, a little disbelief, and then a grin and rueful laugh, the girl shaking her head at this most unusual of quests. "It sounds delightful," she agrees, raising an eyebrow at the idea of a more emotional Ronin. "Are they ever pleasant feelings?" she wonders, already moving her feet out from under her, readying to stand and leaning forward to investigate the flower. "How long will it last?"
Of course she's going to be part of this stupidity. Really, he didn't need to ask.
"Oh, sometimes they are very pleasant. Other times, not so much. So far I have been overtaken by lust, greed and rage. It's wonderful, truly." Ronin grins; it's easy to laugh about it now that it's over for those particular flowers. At the time it's hardly a laughing matter. Still, he twirls the black bloom in his fingers, as if wondering what secrets it might hold. And as Amalia leans in to observe it as well, Ronin lets her examine it to her heart's content.
As for how long it lasts? "Until I manage to get control of myself," he says, rubbing at the back of his head and hopping down from the statue's platform. The fact that she neither openly confirms nor refuses says it all for Ronin - off down the rabbit hole they go, then. "Ready?" He grins. Without waiting for her to respond, he's already starting to pluck the petals from the flower to let them scatter to the ground.
Lust, greed, and rage. Amalia blanches a bit at the trio; "No overwhelming joy, huh? Kindness and love?" She supposes that isn't Safrin's style, or particularly lesson-teaching, but for once the goddess' favor of Ronin sparks no envy in the Shield.
She continues to admire the flower, anxious and eager as anticipation mounts with every breath. Echoing blooms of deep purple rise in her own gold locks, some odd attempt at empathy over which she has no control. Lips twisting into a half-grimace, half-smile, the girl wrinkles her nose and nods to Ronin. She's ready as she'll ever be.
Looking from the falling petals back up to her friend, Amalia tilts her head while waiting for the effects of the flower to begin. "Don't you worry our wise and watchful Eye will protest to his pet demigods getting into trouble?" she muses, making no attempt to hide the aggravation in her voice.
"Wouldn't that have been lovely? I doubt I would have wanted to get control of myself if that had been the case." Really, Ronin thinks it might have been a decent lesson to learn. Not so great for having to control himself by being cruel, though. He continues to pluck the petals away from the flower, letting them flutter to the ground like drops of ink. To anyone watching, they must make quite the whimsical sight - especially with the bark of laughter that Ronin lets out at Amalia's comment.
"I don't give a fuck about the Eye," he informs her breezily, finishing with the petals and tossing the flower over his shoulder as if it's nothing. Then there's a pause, where Ronin tries to figure out what's happened, and he rubs at the back of his head curiously. "...I just really feel like ice cream," he tells Amalia, his feet already taking him away from the statue. "Want to come?"
Well at least they agree on the virtues of the Eye, or lack thereof. A blush creeps over Amalia's face, her nose wrinkling as she clandestinely looks over her shoulder as though convinced Cian might materialize to stare disapprovingly at her. "He's not- he's so- ugh," the Archangel exclaims quietly, flailing a little as she searches for the words to describe her complicated feelings towards the Eye.
She might have gone on, but suddenly Ronin is turning on his heel, expressing a desire for... "Ice cream?" Amalia repeats bemusedly, rising up and following obediently behind the Star. "I- yeah, sure." She's wrapping a thong around her long hair, as though anticipating she'll need a ponytail for whatever's to follow. "So... hunger, then?"
"He's an absolute twat, and one day I've promised I'll murder him," Ronin says with a sweet smile to Amalia that is completely at odds with what he's actually just told her. Still, he's already forgotten all about it apparently, walking backwards towards the marketplace and intending to find some cafe or another that sells ice cream for them to sample. Along the way, he passes a fruit stall, thinking nothing of snagging a few apples and starting to juggle them. (The vendor isn't impressed, but whatever).
"Nah, I've been hungry. This isn't that," he says with a furrowed brow, glancing up just in time to lose track of the juggling apples. One bonks him on the head, and he laughs and rubs at the spot like he can make it all better. "I feel like me but on a very good day," he informs her. So basically, chaotic and distracted as all fuck.
Well, that took a turn. Amalia is left predictably speechless by Ronin's declaration, her mouth falling open and eyes blinking rapidly as he drops the pronouncement of death as though he were recounting a conversation had over tea. And then he's breezily drifting away, leaving her to scramble and collect herself, an apologetic look thrown towards anyone who might be listening in (nobody at all- yet.)
They don't make it to the ice cream stand, instead stopping so Ronin can steal and poorly juggle some fruit. A coin is given to the irate vendor who mutters something about damn Dragoons, and Amalia turns back just in time to see an apple fall on the Dark Star's head in a very un-godly way. Her eyes go wide, and then she raises a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the bemused giggle at Ronin's boyish antics. "Maybe this one was idiocy," the Shield teases, an eyebrow raised, head tilted to the side.
Whatever their next venture might be, it is interrupted by a crowd of children who suddenly appear as though by some spell, swarming the pair of demigods, their attention focused primarily on Ronin. 'Is it true you died?' one demands, wide eyed and breathless while the others chime in. 'And you fought a monster as big as the Tower?' 'I heard you killed ten Ascended-' 'I heard he killed a hundred!' 'I heard he punched the Voice in the face, and so she dropped a building on him.'
Now the voices are overlapping, whispering rumors with question marks as they wait for their hero to confirm or deny all that they've heard.
"Maybe," Ronin says brightly, clearly taking no offence at the idiocy remark. Nor does he seem to care about that fact that vendor did not receive any payments for the apples that he stole borrowed. Times move on, and he offers Amalia one of the remaining apples, before starting to munch on the other. (The one that hit him on the head is ignored, of course, because it's a bastard).
And then? Children. Ronin's eyes light up and he grins around the apple, still munching through another bite of it as they clamour around him with their rumours and questions. "It's all true!" he announces with a shrug that somehow manages to be grandiose. "Every single word! And this here is my friend Amalia! She's got a sword that lights up."
Ooooooooh comes the chorus of the children, and they instantly try to swarm the Archangel instead. Did Ronin just drop her in it? Maybe.
Quietly amused by the swarm of curious children, Amalia is content to take a step back and let Ronin bask in his new admirers - that is, until he turns the tide on her, redirecting the stream of admiring youths. Anxiety and discomfort make her stutter in surprise, an accusing glare shot briefly at the Dark Star before she returns to her assailants. Bastard, she snaps without teeth through the bond, inaudible to the youths.
"I... I do. Nova. Its hilt is made from the shed antlers of a luxere." The children oooh appreciatively, clearly wanting to see the sword - not, the Archangel thinks, the best idea in a crowded swarm of energetic children. Time to turn the tables again. Leaning down a little, Amalia beckons the kids closer. "Actually," she stage-whispers, looking up at Ronin once more, "Ronin can turn into a luxere. Antlers and all. Maybe he'll show you, if you ask nicely."
And again the attention shifts, allowing Amalia an opportunity to step back, laughter written over her face.
I am, Ronin agrees sunnily. He is a bastard. A happy, chaotic bastard in this moment, and he's as enraptured as the children by the description of Nova. He's actually just about to really drop her into it by suggesting that Amalia does show them the blade, but then they're inching closer to the Archangel and so is Ronin, blue eyes wide to try and hear this new secret.
He gasps audibly (so do the kids) to hear the revelation, and as the children whip around to look up at him again, he's straightened once more to beam at them all. "It's true! I can!" He claps his hands together, ushering them away to give him space before doing just that.
And it's all Amalia's doing now, that there's a luxere stag prancing around the marketplace, horns ablaze and a trail of children at his heels. It's all going very well too, until one of Ronin's antlers gets tangled in the canvas of a market stall, and he predictably starts to panic. The panic brings the whole canvas down (naturally) and sends the stall's contents exploding and rolling around the square.
