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!
Rigby pulled his cigarette back up to his lips, leaving it there as he shifted to rest his head on his hands. Despite the laughter and smirks of another, this was still a good night. Dark, swimming in smoke, just another moment to relax.
Yeah, Jack's behavior did sound familiar when you frame it that way. Rigby's eyes darkened at the devilish smile from the other man, "Yeah well he's doing a worse job of it than I am, running a ship doesn't seem like the best way to be alone." Rigby couldn't imagine himself mingling with a crew, taking orders, even giving them sounded horrible. He was fine as he was, no manner of promised riches could pull him from his sweet lonesome.
"You one of his then?" he asked, as it would make sense.
now they're standing in the door singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
Rigby doesn’t seem to completely disapprove of Milo’s encroaching so far, so the smuggler takes it as a small win while he playfully teases the other man, spends some time dragging on his cigarette, and peers at the bonfires below. The retort from the man beside him has a snort leaving Milo, shoulders rising and falling in a small shrug. “’spose that’s true. Though it’s pretty hard t’run a ship all by yerself.” So despite the need for being alone, compromises had to be made.
It made sense, he supposes, as he tilts his head back toward Rigby. “Sorta. I work fer this side’a the Ark. So I don’ talk to Jack much if at all.” Mostly, Milo stuck to helping Zephyr and whatever came their way from that. Though, this up coming season meant all of that would change when he steps foot onto the ship to go out adventuring.
that's what everybody wants an' some more singing "you may be the death of me"
03-08-2021, 08:20 PM (This post was last modified: 03-08-2021, 08:21 PM by Rigby.)
i'm the kind of human wreckage that you love
"That's the problem, otherwise I'd be halfway cross the ocean," Rigby replied with a snort. There would also be the question of finding a suitable ship and the resources to stay alive on it, but what he would give to sail away on his own at least for a little while.
Rigby quirked a brow the Milo's answer, a curious edge kicking in as he'd deemed this an alright interaction. "What's this side'a the Ark?" he pressed, turning to face Milo with his body now, propped on one elbow, and running his free hand through his hair. Could be something useful that the other man had to say, and Rigby was always fishing for information he could use.
now they're standing in the door singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
Rigby’s comment does manage to spark a huff of amusement from the smuggler, a laugh that leaves him both in understanding and humor, before he’s shrugging his shoulders again. He’d never really thought much for himself in terms of exploring, too comfortable in his own life he had going on here. The trip to the Climb had been his exception and he’d raced back, remained here ever since.
But he captures the street rat’s attention when he mentions this side of the Ark and his grin grows almost a bit feline as he tilts his head this way and that. “Oh, y’know, movin’ things from th’Ark into Torchline ‘n doin’ whatever else needs doin’.” He’s a runner, a runner for the Ark’s smuggled goods, after all. But he’s not going to say that outright.
that's what everybody wants an' some more singing "you may be the death of me"
The cheshire grin of the other had the rat snorting again, this guy sure loved to smile. Rigby couldn't say the same, a sincere expression of joy from him was usually a smirk at best. But the other seemed amused, by the question or by him, answering with a tilt of his head. Moving things, things that Rigby assumed were not just fish and traded goods.
"Smuggler," he replied, accusatory and dry, simply stating the obvious. Smuggling was one of the biggest gigs in Torchline, next to thievery and fighting. Rigby was partial to the second, but smuggling was equally as respectable.
now they're standing in the door singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
”Smuggler” Rigby says and that very same Cheshire grin remains on Milo’s face as he shrugs his shoulders. “Never gonna confirm ‘r deny it.” He offers with a knowing glance, a playful smirk – if he knew Rigby better, he might’ve even nudged his elbow out to the other man, but he doesn’t. And so he doesn’t. Instead, finishing the cigarette in his hands, he flicks the butt off the edge of the cliff to where it might fall into the ocean below.
His attention flickers back to Rigby after a moment. “What d’ya do yerself?” He asks. If he wasn’t a smuggler nor someone from the Ark, and he hadn’t heard the kids name going around the docks where his mother and sister worked, well, Rigby was essentially a ghost. Milo had no idea where to even begin to guess what he did to make ends meet. If he did, at all.
that's what everybody wants an' some more singing "you may be the death of me"
The playful response was confirmation enough, Rigby shook his head lightly and inhaled deeply on his cig to hide the faint smirk. The cloud swirled around before them, the smoke between his lips grew shorter and shorter as time went by. Soon it would be nothing but ash, and that would be his cue to move on or pop another.
What did Rigby do? He snorted at this, trying to pick just one thing. So he shrugged, turning his gaze to watch the way the cherry of Milo's cigarette seethed and settled. "I steal," he decided, simple as that. No point in hiding it, he was among criminal company here.
now they're standing in the door singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
It appears as though his answer hits home the way Milo had intended, a small smirk crossing his face in response too while he focuses on Rigby beside him, even if he’s leaned back and peering at the rest of the parties below. It remains dark, the cherry of his cigarette lighting his face when he asks what Rigby does, truthfully unsurprised with the answer.
So he pokes fun where he can, huffing a quiet laugh as his head angles back toward the street rat. “That so, huh? A twig like ya able t’steal shit?” He cocks a red brow, amusement lingering in the tones of his voice, eyes squinting a bit as if he might be able to see through the lie. “Tho I ‘spose people here aren’t th’most observant, eh?”
that's what everybody wants an' some more singing "you may be the death of me"
The nature of Rigby's profession was not surprising, he seemed just the type for it. With a moniker like street rat what more could be expected? But Milo insisted on poking fun, smirking past his light with an amused hum. A twig, yep sounded bout right, "I amaze myself," he drawled, content with the description.
Milo mentioned the observational skills of most Torchers, people in general. And wasn't it the truth? Many of his best steals were in broad daylight, walking by and lifting a pouch from a belt, switching a rock for a coin in someone's pocket. Everyone was always so busy socializing and trusting in their own perceptions to notice the scrawny boy and his wandering hands. Once something was stolen it was so easy to blend into the shadows, down an alley or up onto a roof.
The redhead probably knew how it was, smuggling wasn't that different. "It's what we count on," Rigby replied, smothering his cigarette against the stone.
now they're standing in the door singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
Rigby’s drawl brings a huff of a laugh from Milo – finding ease with it and agreeing with a playful tilt of his head this way and that as if he’s debating arguing the point, but decides not to. If Rigby was a successful thief, well, he supposes it made sense. He didn’t seem like most of the types Milo was used to seeing.
He flicks the end of the cigarette off the edge of the cliff, moving to stand and brush out the sand and grass that stuck to his skin and clothes, before peering back down to the darkness below with bonfires and parties raging into the never-ending night. “Well, ‘spose I’ll be seein’ ya.” He offers, a small wave given Rigby’s way, before he’s moving back on down the cliffs.
- FIN <3333
that's what everybody wants an' some more singing "you may be the death of me"
