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!
Fortunately the days end early in the Deepfrost Grounds, dark shadows lengthening threateningly as the sunlight grows weak and slanted. Aamu sets out as early as he dares to, hands stuffed into threadbare pockets, white hair in its trademark long braid, a recently acquired scarf wound around his neck. Despite the fact that he is all clean, and his eyes blue and bright, he still looks a bit like someone freshly dug up from their grave. His clothes are just too thin and broken down, ragged despite Mabel's careful mending.
Aamu steps into the familiar ether fog of the portal, but instead of making his way through as quickly as possible he stops by the signpost and looks around. It feels the same as that not-place through which he led the recently reborn. And why are only so few of the portals active..?
Where did the others go?
Frowning, Aamu steps through to Torchline, appearing on the docks down in Kaiholo. It's such a different place—bustling, lively, active, and for a moment Aamu considers just stepping back and going back to the Grounds. There, life is slow, sedate, crippled, here it presses in, pushes, pulls, and he's surprised by how panicked it makes him feel.
Taking a deep breath (for comfort, for the signals it sends) Aamu makes his way past the slowly closing shopfronts and traders, keen eyes studying those who move and mill about him, walking ever on until he makes it to Haulani proper.
He follows some side streets where the activity lessens, stopping every once in a while to peer out at the ocean through gaps in the buildings. He was always fond of it, but he can't remember much more about it—at least, not yet.
Finally Aamu finds himself where he meant to go all along. It is one of the bigger markets in Haulani, still bustling despite the lack of light, because the weather (for non-Ascended) is mild and if you don't do business in the dark, you don't do much business at all during Deepfrost. Aamu feels like he sticks out like a sore thumb as he stands there, pale and owlish, looking around and feeling overwhelmed. He needs to start looking somewhere, but even that feels like too much.
Open thread! Aamu could need someone to rescue him and help him do some shopping X'D
You are the night-time fear
You are the morning when it's clear
He does stick out like a sore thumb, damn pale thing with owl eyes who looks like he washed out of a fairytale. Definitely too clean to belong to Torchline while also appearing to have just crawled up from a long nap in a particularly musty cave, like a prince who's been under a witch's curse or a hipster influencer trying to pass off barely intact clothing as chic.
These are the things you think (sort of, obviously, with some artistic liberties taken) as you sit on a stoop, taking bites out of an apple and watching the familiar marketplace milieu. Poor Whitey keeps catching your eye with his lost puppy act, which means he's either actually lost or pretending really hard. Either way you figure you ought to step in and intervene, because wandering fuckers are part of a recipe for a bigger headache somewhere down the road.
You finish your apple and discard the core, then stand up and amble towards the fellow, hands shoved deep in your pockets. A nod or word of greeting is offered here and there, but your primary attention is on your prey new friend. You come to a stop at his left shoulder, casual as anything, head tilted to the side as you pretend to be looking at whatever it is that's caught his eye. "Evenin', friend," comes the mild murmur. "Lookin' fer somethin' in particular?"
He doesn't feel like it was a bad idea, just poorly carried out. Turns out his endurance isn't what it used to be, and he's left all drained before he's even gotten to do what he set out to do. All the noise has haunted him on his walk from the port to the market, all the lights, the colors, the faces, until it's difficult to focus.
He should've stayed down in Kaiholo. Acclimatized. Waited. Gotten his sorry ass all the way here the next night.
Oh well. Too late? He's not sure. Could always find some dark nook to wait in. It's tempting.
He's not sure for how long he's been spaced out, wallowing in overwhelmed indecision, but he forces himself out of it. He wasn't born yesterday—he knows standing around and looking like an unwary lost tourist is a recipe for inviting trouble. And he's got allll the ingredients in the pot already.
What is he even looking at?
He doesn't know. Not really. It's .. something. Somethings. A marketplace full of noise and things he doesn't need but need to look at because one of them might have what he wants—
Aamu jumps at the sudden presence at his side, startled to find—a very friendly? average? not-harmful? looking guy. "Hi," he responds awkwardly, choosing to trust about zero of those impressions. The Haulani he remembers is not very honest. Can be, definitely, but best remain on your guard. This guy might not be the danger he's supposed to look for anyway. "Yes. I am."
What's it to you? But that doesn't matter. Aamu contemplates how honest he can—wants—to be with a perfect stranger. He blinks. Slowly. "Why?" Polite. Perplexed.
You are the night-time fear
You are the morning when it's clear
Oh, poor fellow. You almost feel bad for him, though that could all be a ruse. An expertly done one, if it is, but you've seen some impressive lies in your old age. Told 'em, too.
Lucky for this bloke, you're too old for elaborate cons these days. You're more inclined to take pity on the lost souls, as this appears to be. As he jumps like a cat you feel your mouth curl very slightly at the edges. It makes you feel a little bit bad as you slip your hand into his pocket, palming whatever slides out.
Again you shrug, mild and unassuming as can be. "Ya looked a bit lost," comes the simple answer. Your hand is raised now, and you look down at the iron ring that flickers idly between your fingers, weaving from one to another. "Wouldn' wantcha t'run into any unsavory folk."
So that's how that went. The words you don't say die on his tongue as he sees what moves between the other man's fingers, catching the soft and shifting lights of torches in its hammered surface. Of course Aamu recognizes it: he made it for practice just a few days ago, and now it's wandered from his pocket to this stranger's hand. And Aamu, alert, careful Aamu, has been thoroughly bested, which says a fair bit about the thief's skill.
Aamu laughs. Grins. It's freeing. After years of murder and witch-hunts it's somehow liberating to be expertly pick-pocketed of all things. "Impressive," he says, a little surprised still by his own reaction. If anyone had told him he'd go up to Haulani and get pick-pocketed like nobody's business he would've thought he'd be put out by it, a bit grumpy perhaps, even if an iron ring is nothing of value to him.
And instead, he's just happy. Feels woken up, snapped from his daze. He still has absolutely no idea what the guy is after, and the worst he can steal is his life, and he thinks that wouldn't be so bad either. "So what did I run into?"
You are the night-time fear
You are the morning when it's clear
It's nice to be appreciated. For a flash of white you return the fellow's grin, your own wolfish without being predatory, making you look younger, less worn. It vanishes quickly, replaced by a mild regard, but the amusement remains written in your crow's feet. "Thanks," you reply with a flick of your thumb, sending the ring spinning in a delicate arc back towards its rightful owner. It's not like you were gonna keep the thing.
What has Prince Charming wandered into? Well, that's easy enough to answer. "Zeph," you supply, offering the hand that a minute ago had been in his pocket for Aamu to shake, "The Savory." An arched brow and quirked lip are the only indication you give that you're fucking tickled by the idiot joke.
02-08-2021, 07:03 PM (This post was last modified: 02-08-2021, 07:04 PM by Aamu.)
Aamu
He's glad it's not worse than this (yet: Aamu still does not trust Haulani), that if anything his thief appreciates their due praise. It would've been worse if he would've started screaming about how Aamu should tremble at this feet or something—then he would've been obliged to do something about it.
No, instead it's all just perfectly pleasant, and Aamu catches the ring with ease. It glows softly, smugly, in the light as it rests on his flat palm. "You can keep it if you want to," he offers with a bit of a laugh, not expecting to be taken up on the offer. Who would want a pretty useless and plain old iron ring anyway?
He takes the offered hand, feels the coarse texture of it: rough, calloused. A worker's hand. Sailor's, maybe. And what's this—the savory? My my. Aamu allows himself a bright, approving laugh. It is a grand proclamation, and one he decides to take in a different, more delicious direction. "Are you saying I should take a bite?" he teases with a smile that shows his canines.
You are the night-time fear
You are the morning when it's clear
Never let it be said that you pass up free shit. But of a magpie, aren't ya, Zeph? Oh, you could try to argue, but that attic of yours says volumes more than you could ever deny. So you shrug and take the ring from his palm, when he shakes your hand, slipping it onto your pinky and idly spinning it around. "Thanks." His hands are soft, and deathly cold- and you've already got your own suspicions as to why.
Suspicions that are confirmed when he replies with a fanged grin and a warm laugh, causing you to raise your brow wryly, your voice a languid drawl. "What, now? Seems a bit public, wouldn'cha say?" You've been bit before - by more than one Ascended - a d it's something of a private activity, in your experience. But if this is the game then far be it for you to refuse to play. You spread your hands, looking very pit-upon indeed. "Least buy me dinner first. A guy likes t'be romanced."
He knows it likely doesn't mean anything, but he's pleased all the same when Zephyr slides the ring from his palm as they clasp hands. He hopes he'll keep it for more than an hour, that maybe he'll stumble upon it again among his treasures in a few year, and remember this day as one of those odd and unexpectedly pleasant little adventures in life.
And at least he does not need to worry about having offended him with his teasing suggestion, as he now finds himself accused of public indecency. Or, well, incitement to public indecency.
"Where do we go, then?" he asks smoothly (the corner of his mouth tilts up, he's down to play this game as long as Zeph's comfortable), trying to link his arm through Zeph's while turning to peer out over the busy market. Hopefully Haulani has some street food (Aamu's finances aren't the best after three centuries of stasis) that's spicy enough even an Ascended can tell they put something in their mouth. "I'm Aamu, by the way."
You are the night-time fear
You are the morning when it's clear
