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!
Well, as long as they're on the same page. For a minute, at least - because then of course Ronin turns around and raises the level of chaos up to an eleven, turning into a luxere in the middle of the square and beginning to prance around like some kind of insane and beautiful beast instead of a dignified soldier. There's a couple beats where Amalia can only stare in stunned surprise and wonder what new disaster this will lead to, and then there's the point where she actually moves and begins to stop it, and then there's the painful realization that she's a split second too late.
The luxere's antlers become embroiled in canvas, and the entire stall around them begins to fall, and Amalia is reaching out ineffectually to try and contain it all, warm light solidifying to block the spread of apples and oranges through the plaza. Simultaneously she sets off after Ronin, whose little entourage has scattered away, leaving the luxere surrounded by little but the carnage of slain produce.
Into the carnage Amalia jumps, hands raised in a placating manner, her expression and demeanor the type you might assume to soothe a wild creature. "Hey, Ronin, let's calm down, yeah? I'll- let me get that canvas off you, and we can clean up this mess. Okay?"
At first Amalia will feel little more than the panicked rush of ohshitwhatthefuck through the Attuned bond, as their adoring fans scatter back into the plaza and the luxere is left entangled by canvas and blindly attempting to either escape or free himself. By the time the Archangel arrives, Ronin has at least had the sense to shift back into himself, though the antlers still remain, and he's flushes and panting for breath when his friend finally reveals him.
"There you are," he gushes in a sigh of relief, though his grin is still overbright and there's a strange and vibrant energy in his eyes. "Cleaning up a mess sounds boring. I sort of feel like cooking. Do you think any of the stall owners in the plaza will let me have a go?" He's already trying to get to his feet, seemingly oblivious to the fruit that lays strewn everywhere.
It takes more effort than it should to get the canvas off of Ronin, but when it's done the brilliant and somewhat giddy smile that the Dark Star flashes makes it all worthwhile. The cloth is discarded to the ground with an exhalation of relief, Amalia wiping sweat from her brow and inadvertently leaving a trail of dirt streaked over her skin. "Here I am," the girl agrees, settling back on her heels. "And there you are."
She ought to have expected her plan's rejection. Pursing her lips, the Archangel thinks a second, mind racing to find a solution that doesn't involve Ronin burning the plaza down. "Or- or- what if we made cleaning up a game? We could race, or get the kids to help?" Indeed, the little gaggle of children is reassembling much like a disturbed flock of birds, hovering around eagerly to see what the demigod will do to amuse them next.
"And here we are," Ronin agrees, his grin growing brighter as she inadvertently swipes dirt across her forehead. He thinks nothing, in this mood, of licking his thumb and reaching out to rub the dirt away again, and he's just about to get to his feet to get into more mischief when her suggestion filters through. And somewhere, deep, deep down, the part of Ronin not shrouded in chaos knows that they really ought to help clean this up.
And Amalia has phrased it just so, so he finds himself nodding his enthusiastic yes as he hauls himself up and brushes himself off. "We could," he agrees, dragging the canvas about him like a cape (it causes more mess, of course). "Come on, children! Let's clean the plaza!" And he's off, corralling fruit and probably eating some of it as he goes. It's something, at least.
Once not that long ago Amalia might have been somewhat confused by her reaction to Ronin's finger suddenly on her forehead; now, although some part of her does feel electric at the touch, she is able to respond with little more than a stuck out tongue and a bright smile. Complicating attraction and affection is too much for the Shield; better to keep lines drawn, barriers where they need to be. So she squishes any rising desire, punching gently at his shoulder as she might a brother before rising to her feet.
If he's the Pied Piper then she's the poor sod who had to clean up all the rat droppings, following along with a bemused expression. At least her method of persuasion works, Ronin swiftly takin up the mantle of cleaner, which seems to soothe a few ruffled feathers (and set a few others on end). As the children swarm back in to assist their reckless leader Amalia tries to find barrels and boxes in which to deposit the fruit, directing the youths to separate them out and promising to award points to whoever collects the most. She keeps an eye on Ronin, too, not trusting him to stay particularly on-task; should he wander off to some other misadventure she figures her attentions would be better spent minimizing the damage than cleaning up the mess.
Ronin gives a dramatic wail as Amalia punches his arm (obviously), the Star quickly getting to work 'cleaning' with his possee of miscreants. And it goes badly, at first, with very little actually getting done, but the Archangel will notice significant improvement as time goes on. The act of focusing allows Ronin to rein in the chaos somewhat, until he's simmering down at his usual levels of mischief. Soon enough, he's organised the children into pretend troops of soldiers; some responsible for cleaning, some for fixing, some for organising.
Hopefully it will help to repair his reputation amongst the stall-owners; the Star drops back to stand with Amalia, folding his arms across his chest and grinning at her. "They're not too shabby, are they?" He nods to the children. "Reckon the Order will let me recruit kids into the Dragoons?"
Slowly, against every odd, some measure of order is restored. Amalia has rarely gotten to see Ronin the Commander, the Soldier, the Stormguard; now she finds herself stepping back a little, watching bemusedly as he rallies his troops of enthusiastic children and generally sets about regaining a fair bit of the goodwill he'd lost.
It doesn't take long for things to return to some semblance of normal, and the girl has just returned a bucket of some sort of purple fruit she's never seen before to a vendor when she finds Ronin at her side, looking like the cat that got the cream. Out of habit and necessity Amalia rolls her eyes, jabbing the Dark Star in the ribs with her elbow before allowing her smile to soften. "I'm sure the kids would be delighted," she replies, watching as a group of them begin to pantomime the chaos, using sprigs of rosemary as antlers as they play at being Luxere. "You're really good with them."
Unlike the Archangel, who has no idea how to manage children of this age.
"You know, if the Dragoons are recruiting... I, ah, might want to sign up." Color and warmth floods her cheeks, and she glances sidelong at Ronin. "Unless, of course, you think I'm too old."
Hissing and flinching away as if the elbow to the ribs has really hurt him, Ronin flashes Amalia a sunny smile and straightens back up, burying his hands in the pockets of his coat. "Oh, I bet the kids would be," he agrees with a rumbling laugh. "I doubt the Order will be quite as delighted." And does he care? No, not one iota. Not that it's a serious idea (not now that the chaos in his veins has subsided anyway), and his smile softens somewhat.
"I always wanted a big family," he admits with a shrug. Clearly in his element among the children, it shows now more than ever. Clearing his throat, he latches onto the next topic of conversation - which turns out to be fascinating anyway. "You want to be a soldier?" he asks, tilting his head. "I mean, of course you can. But I didn't think..." She was a fighter, that she wanted to commit violence, all manner of other things.
"I wouldn't put child soldiers past them," Amalia murmurs darkly, before she can keep the words from flooding out into the air. Honestly, even now that she lives in Stormbreak the aura of mystery that surrounds the Order continues to irk the Archangel, and the irritation mars her bright expression, briefly hardening the angles of her face.
She relaxes quickly, forces herself to remember the words of Vi. And the words of Ronin, who Amalia glances back at fondly, empathy furrowing her brows and softening her smile. She reaches an arm around his wait, squeezing gently in a sideways hug that says more than she can put into words. You have a family that loves you, the gesture says, emphasized by an outpouring from the Attuned bond.
The moment dies in bashfulness, Amalia drawing away to rub at her wrist and stare down at her feet. "That I would want to fight?" she supplies, shrugging a shoulder. "I don't - not exactly - but..." Her chin turns up to look back at Ronin, a resolute set in her jaw. "If there's going to be a war, then I want to be able to hold my own. And protect the people who can't. I've... we've lost too much already, Ronin. I can't afford to be weak."
Ronin raises an eyebrow across at Amalia, not having expected such bitterness from her (it seems more like his deal lately, honestly). Before he can give it voice, though, she's slipping an arm around him in a hug that's as surprising as it is welcomed. Curling an arm around her shoulders in turn, he gives her a brief squeeze and a warm smile; then they're parting once more, and conversation turns to something much more serious.
The Star is quiet as Amalia explains, rubbing at the back of his neck and nodding gently in understanding. Not wanting to be helpless. Wanting to make a difference. It was a motivation that he understood well, but... he has to be sure. "This isn't like a guild you can dip in and out of," he murmurs, feeling as if he needs to warn her. "It never really leaves you, when you walk down that path. I kept trying to find my place, after the Storm Guard. But... it's this. It's here."
She listens solemnly, sucking her lower lip between her teeth and nodding slowly as he explains. "I don't want to be a soldier," Amalia clarifies softly, still rubbing softly at her wrist. "But we are, aren't we? And I... I've been throwing myself at danger, trying to be a better Shield, but it isn't enough. Someone still gets hurt."
Dark eyes cast over the plaza, where business has by and large resumed. For a moment Amalia is quiet, watching the merchants go about their work, the children play, the people pass and talk and smile and simply live. "My life used to be so small. I miss it sometimes. I went to the market and traded and smiled and thought that the world was made up of all those little moments, while bigger things happened beyond where I could see. People ate my food and it made them happy, and that made me happy. But now...?"
A heavy sigh; she shakes her head, looking away from the crowd. "I don't remember the last time I cooked for someone. The big things aren't beyond us - we're part of them, and it's terrifying and incredible and everything I ever wanted and was ever afraid of, all at once. And I'm not saying I'm not grateful, and I wouldn't choose this every time if I had to do it again, but..."
She trails off, shrugging, her dark eyes earnest as she looks up at Ronin and seeks understanding. "I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm already on a path I can't turn back from. And maybe it's not what I thought my life would be. But it's what it is."
Ronin's lips part to tell her that she literally just asked to be a soldier, but then Amalia continues and understanding dawns on him, the Star (for once) keeping his mouth shut until she's done, giving only a gentle nod. "You can still cook for people," he reminds her with a lopsided smirk, as if her baking is somehow more important than the fate of Caido and all those who live upon it. And it is, in some ways, because if this is what they're here for - to win and to maintain a fragile sort of peace - then it's vital for them to at least get a little slice of that peace every now and then.
"I haven't painted since I came to Stormbreak," he adds offhand, itching at the stubble on his chin. A reminder for Ronin, too, that he needs to take care of himself better. "But I get it. And you're right - it is what it is. I suppose, then, I'll see you at the Dragon's Nest tomorrow morning at sunrise? If you're late I'll start adding laps."
That's Ronin's way of saying yes, you can join the Dragoons.
02-01-2021, 03:49 PM (This post was last modified: 02-01-2021, 04:21 PM by Amalia.)
you drew memories in my mind I could never erase
painted colors in my heart I could never replace
You can still cook for people- but for who? Still, Amalia smiles faintly at Ronin's reassurance, flushed from speaking so much and with fervor. She lets her gaze stay on the people of the market, the hustle and bustle of their daily lives, the way they talk and laugh and smile. It's a reminder of what she's doing this for, what benefit peace will bring.
They make it worth it, she thinks.
"You can still paint," the girl retorts gently, dark eyes slipping back over to her friend. As for training starting in the morning? "Okay- but I'm not going to live there or anything," Amalia clarifies quickly, wrinkling her nose. "I want to train with the Dragoons, be one. Especially if it means I'll wind up smelling like you all the time." With this joke she leaps away, expecting some kind of retaliation.
"You're right - I can. So I will still paint, and you will still cook for people," Ronin tells her, as if it's as easy as that. And unbeknownst to the Star, the opportunity for him to kickstart his hobby again will bump into him in just a few days' time. Amalia watches the marketplace and Ronin tilts his head back to watch the sky overhead, all grey cloud and the promise of snow in the near future.
Gasping suddenly and dramatically, Ronin reaches out to give the Archangel an unceremonious shove. "How dare you - I smell perfectly fine. But alright - despite your unexpected backtracking you do not have to join the Dragoons. You can train with them, and I will still add laps if you are late," he says, spreading his hands and shrugging as if to say he doesn't make the rules.
