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!
When there is nothing he can physically do help, Falke goes to the Collegium. He hits the books - and sometimes he finds something useful - but most of the time he doesn’t. The Collegium is an impressive part of the Tower, second only to the Archive in the Fixer’s humble opinion. He’s gathered himself some books and sits at a long table like any other person, glasses perched at the end of his nose and notepad (empty) at his side.
The topics range from the Voice to the beginning of the War to Mort - not that much is known about Mort’s realm because people don’t tend to come back from it. It’s as much a fact-finding mission as it is an act of self-soothing, as he has his tea in a thermos and Ophelia is curled up against his chest, her head barely visible above the table.
THE 'FIXER'
the greatest fear I've ever kept is dying with regrets
Amalia had been researching as well, stories and history of the world outside the bubble and all that's happened since her home was isolated from time. She's gathered a sizeable collection from the Archive, and now she carries them into the Collegium, Jyoti drifting helpfully alongside.
She's still learning many of the faces that inhabit Stormbreak, but a familiar one now catches her eye as she seems an open spot. The mind doctor, Falke - and more importantly, a small presence in his company, which the Archangel reaches out to through the Attuned bond.
"May we join you?" Still standing, Amalia offers Falke a shy yet warm smile, her braid blooming with primrose. Jyoti has already flown across the table, eager to meet the new companion.
Something rouses Ophela first, the Attuned nudge tickling her dozing brain so that she opens her eyes and blinks first up at Falke, who doesn’t notice she’s wakened, then out over the table. She gives a curious little squeak, rousing her bonded to the duo - he looks up and over his glasses - and quickly smiles at Amalia.
“Of course,” the Fixer says, readily agreeing to the company. Making sure to keep his spread in control, Falke moves a few things that might be intruding into a neighbor’s space and lets her pick where she’d like to sit - however close or however far she likes. Ophelia, meanwhile, has hopped up and over Falke’s left arm to the table beside him, watching the starwhale with wide eyes. She’s calm and curiously quiet - the little monkey has probably never met a starwhal before, but like most creatures of nature, she knows something safe when she sees it.
“What are you reading, if you don’t mind me asking?” Falke inquires quietly, ever mindful of others as he eyes the stack of books.
THE 'FIXER'
the greatest fear I've ever kept is dying with regrets
Relief courses through Amalia at the invitation, bringing a smile to pull at her lips, warm and grateful and shy. She finds a seat across from the pair, curling into it with feline fluidity despite her human form, one leg tucked instinctively beneath her, the other resting gently on the floor. The stack of books that she's collected sits beside her, for the moment unopened as she focuses on extending a hand to Ophelia, dark eyes glittering with quiet delight.
Of course Falke is also there - and Amalia blinks at his quiet question, lifting her head with a surprised flush. "Oh- um, history. About what happened while we - the Grounds - were trapped." How the world had turned, what brought it to its current state. Straightening, the Archangel tilts her head, investigating his own tomes. "You?"
It can be hard to pull one’s attention from a starwhale, but the motion of Amalia’s hand manages to do so and the little monkey finds herself torn between the Jyoti and the human. Falke no longer exists, even with his amusement echoing in her head. After what seems like an agonizing forever (it isn’t, how does one measure time in a monkey’s head?) she eventually chooses Amalia and scoots over, reaching for her hand with tiny, dextrous fingers of her own. She examines it for a moment, as if looking for a treat, and then lets it go.
Falke watches the interaction and the learning his companion is doing with the air of a trusting parent. He’s a bit surprised to hear she’s reading about history, but then - also isn’t. Not much happened in the grand scheme of things, but he won’t spoil the ending for her.
“A bit of this and that: The Voice’s rise during the first war and whatever I can get regarding Mort and the afterlife. Not much there, as you can imagine.” That whole ‘realm’ debacle is very much up to the Gods, but he wonders if there isn’t some record about being brought back from the dead, or something like that.
THE 'FIXER'
the greatest fear I've ever kept is dying with regrets
There's no treat for the curious monkey, just a warm rush of greeting through the Attuned bond, delight at meeting another creature of Rae - especially one so very different from any Amalia has met. Jyoti croons another note of her own, circling around the Shield's head before coming to boop Ophelia with her snoot - should the monkey allow, of course.
Amalia retracts her hand, allowing the companions to continue getting acquainted and focusing her attention onto Falke. A white poppy has bloomed behind her right ear, curious and coiling through her hair as she considers this topic of conversation. "Ludo might be able to tell you more," she suggests softly, rolling her shoulders in a shrug. "Or... the ones who returned. Not that Cian would allow us to speak to them."
And now Amalia closes off, the bright curiosity abruptly shuttered behind a film of pain. It's still a difficult thing to talk about or think of, her loved ones brought back by means that she disagrees with so strongly. Dark eyes slide away from Falke, and the flower fades and wilts. "Sorry," the girl mumbles as Jyoti returns to comfort her, the little calf rubbing a starlit side against her bonded's cheek. "Um. How, uh, how is your leg?"
“Mmmmm,” he agrees softly, trying not to stare at the flower in her hair, while absently wondering if the flowers have various meanings or if they correspond to different moods? Ludo might indeed be able to tell him more, but the Gods have never been his go-to for answers. Caido gave them minds for a reason. They ought to use them.
“I don’t really expect any answers in that regard,” he confesses in hushed camaraderie, raising his brows in a you know how everything is kind of way. “The search is the distraction from feeling a bit useless.” His expression quickly turns, however, as Amalia’s face deflates and her flower wilts. Another strong reaction to the people who’d returned.
“It’s fine,” the Fixer says of his leg, evading that twist of conversation and looping back to what had just happened.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Quiet, unassuming, and gentle, his eyes (if not a hand, because he doesn’t know her well yet) strive to create a bridge across the table, a safe little bubble in this big room. Fee seems to echo his concern, looking at the Archangel with an innocent encouragement. “I’m a good listener.”
THE 'FIXER'
the greatest fear I've ever kept is dying with regrets
Distracting oneself from uselessness is a venture Amalia can relate to closely, her own time buried in the library largely a response to the same overwhelming weight. Something in Falke's easy manner and familiarity makes her less self-conscious than she might normally be; "Same," the one-time Shield confesses, a wry smile briefly lighting her face.
He deflects her question about his leg, so she deflects in turn. Comfortable as she may feel, all her attempts to voice concern for the returned Ascended have ended the same way. She meets Falke's gaze in brazen challenge, raising an eyebrow. "About your leg?" Amalia asks, tilting her head and trying to appear genuine in her misunderstanding. She fails, of course, lacking any skill in masking her emotions. Still, she tries. "Sure. How did you hurt it?"
“It was an accident,” Falke begins, calling her bluff. “When I was a teenager. They did their best to reset the bone, but I was never one to be still, then.” So he pushed himself and re-injured it, and the second time wasn’t nearly as fixable as the first. Regret once colored the way he spoke about the accident, but that sort of longing for what might have been has been replaced with acceptance of his path in life. “A lack of patience and trust in healers led me to hurt myself more. It wasn’t until I listened that I realized the magnitude of what they were trying to fix.”
And without healing magic, which of course Falke knows about. It’s an abomination, but perhaps the least-abonimable of the mutations and one he privately thinks might be useful, if used in conjunction with learned skill and training.
“But back to what I asked about,” he continues smoothly, the transition from one topic to the next as elegant and natural as he could make it. “Both times they’ve come up, you’ve been visibly upset. I don’t say that as a judgement, just as an observation.” And to this he shrugs, looking at the demigod with what he hopes is a frank, but kind expression and wondering how she became so murky - transparent in places and dark, debris-filled in others.
“Everyone in Stormbreak can sign up for a time to speak with me if they want to. I only have to report on the Order members and you aren’t an Order member, so…” she can figure out the rest. As for the Fixer, he will leave it at that, offer delivered and safety assured. The Fixer caps it with a small smile, dragging his eyes back down to his books, feeling like Amalia is very much like a caged animal who must decide she wants to trust on her own terms.
THE 'FIXER'
the greatest fear I've ever kept is dying with regrets
03-01-2021, 08:16 PM (This post was last modified: 03-01-2021, 08:17 PM by Amalia.)
and all this devotion was rushing over me
Having grown up with a healer for a mother, Amalia has a great deal of respect for the words of medics. Her own litany of past injuries have left her in her mother's care often enough, and later at the mercy of the Heralds as her spine refused to knit. So it is with some surprise that she learns Falke - a healed himself - did not obey the words of the healers in his youth. Such a minor (to her mind) injury should be easy enough to fix; naïve and forgetful of the bias against magic that those in the Order hold, the Angel tilts her head. "I can heal it for you," she offers simply, as casually as she might suggest they have some tea, "If you want."
Ah, but he's smooth. There's a reason why Falke is the Order's Fixer, and despite her stubbornness Amalia finds herself taken by the smooth transition, the way he seems so kind and open, so genuinely curious as to why she feels the way she does. Her dark eyes dart from him to the table, focusing on the letters of a book without reading any words. His offer - to come to him, to speak, whatever that means - twists something deep inside her stomach, a longing loneliness tinged with fear. The silence stretches on for another thousand heartbeats; when she finally breaks it her voice is soft, barely more than a whisper of smoke. "Have you... ever lost someone? Someone important to you? Someone you loved? And known that it... it was your fault?
It’s not the first time Vi’s demigod has offered to heal his hip, and even though he isn’t insulted by the offer (it is, indeed, a kind gesture), Falke hopes it might be the last. His head drifts slowly side to side, not necessarily so contemplative as the gentlest of rebukes. “No… It’s part of who I am. How I got here.” A reminder of chronic pain - all kinds - and that injury or perceived ‘defects’ are not the whole of a person. But that’s a conversation for another day, and so he quickly lightens the solemnity of his statement with a quick joke. “Plus it’s a good excuse to ask the patient Dr. Hart to fetch me some tea every now and then.”
And does he take advantage of it occasionally? Absolutely.
When she looks away, he lets the silence stretch between them for as long as she might like, similarly turning back to his book, reading the same page over and over again until the first couple of sentences begin to make sense again. He reaches for his pencil, quietly scratching something on his pad of paper when she breaks and he looks back up again. The depth and seriousness of the question is unexpected. His eyes widen a bit as he recalibrates, mentally taking one hat off and putting the other hat on.
Pulling something from the recesses of his past, Falke’s eyes flicker in a recognition of pain. His pencil clacks against the table, seeming quite loud to him even though it isn’t loud at all.
“Yes,” the Fixer says simply. Honestly. “I have.”
THE 'FIXER'
the greatest fear I've ever kept is dying with regrets
She thinks it's foolish to hold onto this pain, and yet she cannot say anything to the sort. Amalia guards her own pain jealously, clinging to wounds and memories that have shaped her into what she is. A hand drifts over to her left wrist, rubbing at the scar that is no longer there, taken by Loren without her assent. "Taking the pain away doesn't make us any less," the girl murmurs softly, though whether to Falke or herself is unclear.
The sound of the pencil dropping draws her eyes up, snapped towards Falke's face as he gives his honest reply. Amalia nods, her lip sucked in between her teeth; "Then you know," the Angel says, her dark eyes vivid and piercing, almost relieved. She keeps her attention on his face for another breath, trying to confirm that he gets it, before dropping his gaze again.
"Three of the returned... were that for me. My best friend. His lover. My husband's foster daughter." Fists open and clench in her lap, hard, and Jyoti croons a sympathetic note. Remorse and guilt are easy enough to read on Amalia's face, even without Falke's training. Shutting her eyes, the girl lets out a sigh. "They all died on my watch."
“Nor does letting the scar tissue remain,” he offers in return, a gentle assurance that he is quite fine the way he is, and comfortable with it. “But that was a kind offer, thank you.” Belatedly, he wonders if the offer to heal was the Archangel fighting for a way to feel useful, to feel like she’s contributing? He can’t break his own boundaries to comfort her, but there might be another way… perhaps she and Tobi ought to team up…
That idea is for another time, because now, now she seems to need something from him and Falke is here to serve.
The Fixer holds her gaze in silence, nodding a fraction to say yes, he gets it.
Except when she reveals what’s been eating at her, he finds that he doesn’t. And this is deep, unfamiliar territory. The professional mask stays on while inside he’s furiously flipping through all the pages of his journals, every case he can remember - but he comes up empty because, as everyone knows, this has never happened before.
“Do you want to move outside?” he asks, gesturing deftly towards the door. “And continue out there?” Where perhaps, she might not feel the need to hold herself back.
THE 'FIXER'
the greatest fear I've ever kept is dying with regrets
He's calm and quiet against her storm, something Amalia desperately needs. Her own attempts to shield her features are predictably pointless; she opens her eyes to stare at her hands, balled into fists on top of a book, sharp claws at their ends. Fur ripples down her neck and shoulders, and scales glitter among the shrapnel scars that litter the left side of her face. It's an interesting and painfully out-of-place display in this place of un-Attuned. Jyoti croons softly, looking over to Falke with baleful eyes that beg for help.
But then Amalia exhales, shaking her head. "I wouldn't want to take you from your research," the Angel says softly, a sad smile on her lips. "I'm sorry. I'm... I'm fine." Her eyes are moist when they turn up to Falke, underlined by a sad smile. "Well, I'm not. But the things that are broken in me... Even you probably couldn't fix."
