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!
02-08-2021, 06:12 AM (This post was last modified: 02-08-2021, 06:12 AM by Nate.)
NATE
If it's all under control Then what the hell am I doing
Hands that have long since finished wrapping the twigs move to empty Mel’s hands, the almost finished bauble laid to rest on the table to Nate can is instead squeeze his nieces fingers, wishing he could impart some warmth with the gesture. ”I know you have.” He says simply. He hears about it, every time, listens to one side and wonders what he could say to make it go smoother. ”He’s... it’s difficult. He wants to protect you from all the things he can, and a lot of that ends up being himself.” Not just that, but Nate is already struggling far too much to have this conversation, his eyes locked on their hands instead of her face.
”Of course he wants you around.” This at least gets him to look up, brows furrowed and his mismatched gaze intense in its focus. ”Don’t ever think he doesn’t.” A hand pulls away only to wrap around her, to pull her in for a tight hug. ”I’m not asking you to beat your head against a brick wall. Just,” Nate sighs, ”I don’t know. I’m going to talk to him too. But just... try to stay together.”
Yelling for nothing at all And wondering how this all happened
knew what she was doing when she invited the wild in
The composure was nearly lost as she clutched the bauble, and it was all lost as soon as he grasped hold of her fingers. It was a flood, a deluge of emotions, stifling and struggling, yearning for release because she’d kept it tucked away for so long – mercurial, whimsical, tempestuous, like a damned storm, an assailing storm. Her bottom lip trembled before everything else seemed to become watery and tear-laden, rolling past her cheeks and incapable of being stopped when he had her hands. Frustrations, sadness, sorrow, being left behind, being forgotten, being something not of worth to anyone; it weighed and it poured and it overwhelmed, and she tried to stifle them with sniffles, but they became choking, gasping claws down her chest. “I don’t need to be protected.” A shake of her head, as if that would dislodge everything. As if it would render it all back to normal. As if they wouldn’t have to continue this conversation, and the way it poked at the wreckage.
But the other words made her break too, until she was wrapped up in his arms, head tucked in his shoulder, hands clutching, grasping. “I can try.” For you she wanted to say, but it only came out as a garble in her mind, hurting and binding and terrifying. “I hate this. I hate all of it.”
If it's all under control Then what the hell am I doing
”I know you don’t need it. And I’m sure Sunjata knows it too. It’s just...” How can he explain it, how can he make it make sense in a way that doesn’t simply reduce her to a child? Without saying you’ll understand when you’re older? Clearly she’s bright enough to be hurt by the attempts, why isn’t that enough to share in them too. ”You always want to give the people you love better than what you had, right? And he doesn’t want to be a burden on you.” It feels like he’s losing pieces of this, trying to figure out how to get as much as he can into as few words as possible, to try and soothe away the tears and the sniffles.
It’s easier, marginally, when his arms are wrapped around her, when hers wrap around him in turn. Nate’s hand rubs a soothing circle into his nieces back. ”Thats all I’m asking.” Just try, even if it’s difficult, unfair. Even if she should et necessarily have to be the one to extend that hand. ”I hate it too. I promise though, I’m gonna do everything I possibly can to come home to you two.”
Yelling for nothing at all And wondering how this all happened
knew what she was doing when she invited the wild in
Does he? Does Sunjata know it? Because Melita had lived long, long before he’d come into her life, and had survived in her youth, harassed and chased by monsters, desperately trying to save herself, and her sister, from the plaguing demons. She’d lasted all this while without him, and could do so again – she wasn’t weak. Careless, impulsive, and occasionally ignorant? Certainly. But gods did she grind against the soil and howl into the night, a little beast, a spark, a flame, yearning, waiting, for the right stoking to completely unravel and unfurl. To be an inferno; a rapturous, irreverent thing. “He’s not though. He’s not a burden. He’s just stupid.” A sniffle, frustration avid and rampant, a curse on her lips behind all the love she has for these idiots. And the fear too – that she wasn’t enough. That they looked upon her in some insignificant way – that she didn’t belong. “It can’t be better if I’m constantly feeling this way.” When nothing changed.
So she squeezed and held tighter; indifferent to the notion that he couldn’t feel her warmth. Maybe a little bit would slip through. Maybe it wasn’t about the natural way of humans, but the sentiments, the ruminations, buried within. “I'll hold you to that.” She sniffled, but didn’t move away. “Or I’ll have to come find you again.” And quite frankly, naught would stop her.
If it's all under control Then what the hell am I doing
Despite himself, the tears that threaten to drop, Nate does chuckle at her outburst, unable to truly disagree. ”Sometimes, yeah.” He’d had his own share of frustrations, hadn’t he? Things he’d learned to accept, that didn’t come close to outweighing the good, not least of all the seemingly intentional proclivity to attract disaster and injury. ”He’s still trying to figure out the best way to do this though. They way we grew up, you don’t share anything.” Nate doesn’t mean for it to sound like an excuse, though best intentions don’t mean anything.
It’s not the sensation that’s important, not really. It’s the sentiment, the act of reaching out, battered and bruised and terrified of the yawning chasm of the future, but still trying to live in the moment. To seek and offer comfort. ”I know you will.” Nate murmurs softly, his arms tightening around Mel. ”You know if I didn’t have to go I wouldn’t.”
Yelling for nothing at all And wondering how this all happened
knew what she was doing when she invited the wild in
She nodded against him, the weight of a hundred things on her mind, trying desperately to understand those lives led, and how to shape them alongside hers. The honeybee had fought to survive too, after careening losses, after feral trappings, after her childhood became about fighting, enduring, rather than anything non-traumatic, or hopeful. But she kept her silence within those thresholds, uncertain how or what else to convey. That she wished he’d figure it out? That she’d given him a roadmap of how to deal with her? That it was all very simple, concrete, and tangible?
She just wanted to be included. Thought of. A part of this place, instead of constantly pushed and pulled off to the side, about as insignificant as she felt sometimes.
Melita couldn’t say anything more on this damned LongNight either, not without some kind of melancholy void, and she didn’t want to be consumed and swallowed down by it. Not by the possibilities. Not by the outliers. Not by the tangents. She’d deal with them as they came. The youth gave him a nod, then hastened all the other ramparts and remnants down, down, down.
One last hug, one last squeeze, before she unfurled from his embrace, and they could continue the bauble-making, the weaving, the intricate designs coming together. Eventually, through other small-talk and a sharing of hands, the ornaments looked well enough to settle upon the firling. “Do you want to come hang these with me?”
Then they could set off, placing them along unwinding boughs and giggling saplings, something to savor in the midst of what was to come.
