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!
”It’s useful when it’s around.” Nate agrees somewhat sullenly, licking his lips and trying to nod without actually nodding as she continues. ”Its more practical to have someone who knows what they’re doing over someone who’s just feeling it.” His view on magic hadn’t exactly softened, but he’d learned to tolerate it, given the number of times Sunjata’s life had been saved by magical intervention. ”I’d appreciate the lessons though.”
”Its different. Actually being here.” Under her skilled, sharp hand. ”Half thought you’d tell me to fuck off when I came in here.” Nate’s pretty sure she would have told himself to fuck off if he’d been on her side. ”I just... want to get this part over with though.” He squeezes her hand back, grinning despite himself.
Nate can’t help himself, not one bit. While Isla busies herself with gathering the tools she needs to open him further, he lifts a hand and runs it over the smoothness of a rib, the barely there sensation making something in the back of his head shiver. If he could still be nauseous, his stomach would twist, but ascended as he is all Nate has room for is quiet, rapt interest, his head twisting so his good eye can get the best possible view.
I would never call him enemy He's the bad god I need
"Mm. Ideally you could have someone with both the practical and magical knowledge," she says. "That way you have the best of both worlds, and there's always that fall back. For now, though, I'll take a scalpel over a hand on my forehead." Not that Ascended could even benefit from healing magic, and Isla nods confirmation that they will continue with lessons once they've completed this one (the lesson this time being what Nates are made of, naturally).
"Ah, here..." Isla moves as she's gathering more of her tools on a rolling table, grabbing a folded blanket and carefully easing it beneath Nate's head that he might not have to strain to look at what's going on. It's easier for them both, this way. "Would you like to help?" she asks, as if that might make him feel a bit more at ease. "You can hold the tools and make a few explorations of your own." Even as she's speaking, she's at least respecting her fellow doctor's wishes. Nate wants this part over with, and so she operates swiftly to get through the metal coating over his bones, to crack the sternum and lever it apart that they might get to the goodies within.
"Why would you think I'd tell you to fuck off?" she wonders, taking a peek inside and exhaling a breath beneath her mask. "Now that is something else."
ISLA
when it's just the two of us, only the two of us, I could die
Some distant hum of agreement leaves Nate, his focus dragged in a different direction by the definitely imagined sensation of his own fingers running over his bones. His hand falls away when Isla offers him the chance to help, Nate glad for the distraction from being cracked open. ”I’d love that.”
That desperate warning in the back of his head finally winds down a little, exhausting itself and giving him a chance to relax a little bit. ”Pretty sure it’s how most people would react to me asking to be cut open.” Theres an awful lot of humour in Nate’s voice, but no judgement. After all, how could he judge the person who was helping him?
No sooner does the gasp leave Isla than Nate is shifting, craning his neck to get a better look at his inner workings. The warnings in his head grow more insistent as he moves, though it’s his mind that protests at seeing his insides, especially unmoving and strange as they are. Laying back again with a huff, Nate licks his lips. ”Any chance one of those tools is a mirror?” He asks, voice stiff. ”I’m at a bad angle.” Lips quirk in a thin smile, though he can’t quite muster the huff for a laugh.
I would never call him enemy He's the bad god I need
Isla is not a psychologist or a therapist, and the small tells - Nate's tone of voice, his thin smiles - are all but lost on her, engaged as she is in the body beneath her hands. "Oh - of course," she says, moving to lean down and bring out an extendable mirror, that he might angle it just so. Helping to get it into position before moving back to her explorations, Isla points out the neat positioning of biomachinery in place of squashy organs and flesh and blood.
"You can see each fluid line too. It's so delicate," she almost whispers, glancing up at the humming, powerful core of the demigod, a finger dancing up towards his heart. "Luckily for you, I am not most people." She smiles warmly to him. "There aren't many people who can claim friendships on both sides of a brewing war - though I suppose both of us can. I have to ask, though - why did you go after Remi?" Isla's voice never changes, not even a fraction, and somehow the threat still feels present.
ISLA
when it's just the two of us, only the two of us, I could die
After a steadying breath, and with the help of the mirror, it’s easier to look within himself. To appreciate the craftsmanship that’s gone into him, every delicate line of fluid purposely placed where it is. ”It is lucky for me, isn’t it?” Fingers reach in to dance over organs that have been replaced, removed entirely, some distant interest passing over Nate’s face. ”Its starting to feel like I’m losing all my friends on the other side of this.” He admits with a laugh, the sound dying in his throat as Isla continues.
Honestly, the threat mostly comes from how utterly vulnerable he is right now. Normally Nate could defend himself, but Isla is almost literally holding his heart in her hands. Had just talked about how delicate parts of him looked. ”He hurt Sunjata.” He explains simply, his single blue eye shifting up to watch Isla’s face. ”In a way that I can’t fix, even if I was there. He... he still wakes up with fucking nightmares.” Admittedly, that wasn’t just from Remi, but the alchemist certainly hadn’t helped. ”Would it have been better if I did nothing?”
I would never call him enemy He's the bad god I need
“It does feel as though a net is beginning to close in on us, doesn’t it?” Isla agrees quietly. She does nothing while Nate makes his explorations, allowing him to touch and examine himself at his leisure. In the meantime, she straightens up and merely watches, taking it all in, committing it to memory. Part of her thinks of getting a pencil and a notebook now, trying to sketch all that she sees, but there isn’t really time for that.
He hurt Sunjata. Isla can understand that, she supposes, and her nod as she leans back in is understanding. It seems that way, at least. There are a few moments of silence between Nate falling silent and the doctor’s next remarks, by which time her finger is moving along one of his central fluid lines, one that leads straight into the mechanism of his heart. “I don’t know,” she admits eventually, glancing up at him with a sad smile.
”Did it make a difference? To Sunjata’s nightmares, or to what happened?” she wonders, before slowly removing her finger. “I like you a lot, Nate. Remi is my best friend - I hope, though, that it won’t affect our relationship.”
ISLA
when it's just the two of us, only the two of us, I could die
A dozen arguments bloom on his tongue, withering away before they can be borne and replaced with a single word. ”No.” He admits softly, gaze not slipping away from Isla’s face, a sense of danger follows her finger. There’s a tremble in the set of his jaw while he mulls over his next words. ”But it felt like I was doing something to protect him. To... keep it from happening again.” Finally her finger moves, his eye moving away with it.
”I don’t see why it would have to affect anything. As long as Remi doesn’t try and hurt my family again, I’m not going to do anything to him. I think that’s fair.” Doing nothing simply wasn’t an option for him. Restless fingers move in the mirror, following the path Isla’s fingers had taken with a shudder.
I would never call him enemy He's the bad god I need
Nate shudders and fidgets and explains himself, and it's like Isla is made of marble as she listens to his responses. But by degrees she seems to come alive again, offering him a kind smile and nodding gently. "I understand," she says, and she means it. "Alright, then. Here, let's take a proper look at you," she suggests, drawing up a stool to perch upon, helping to guide his hand with the mirror so they can examine the mechanisms and biomechanics that make up his system.
Isla walks them through her assumptions and investigations, because of course she can only offer conjecture at present; where his lungs are, what their function is now that they don't need to breathe; where the heart fits and why there is no heartbeat; the other organs and what they have been transformed to do. "It's all very efficient, isn't it?" she murmurs eventually. "Do you think you found the answers you were looking for?" Not that she knows what questions he was asking.
Isla only has more questions, but she doesn't mention that. "If not, I can go further. Just let me know what you want to do."
ISLA
when it's just the two of us, only the two of us, I could die
Nate counts the seconds until the danger seems to pass, a soft breath leaving him when the smile finally returns to Isla’s face. In fits and spurts, Nate grows more comfortable, more bold with his own explorations, questions and theories posed and pulled away again in the same breath. ”It is, it’s,” his hand moves while he searches for the word, brows furrowing when he has to settle for an approximation of his meaning, ”neater than I thought it would be.
”I think... I think I’ve seen enough, for now.” He needs time before he can come back to this, and somehow it feels like a mistake to spend that time hanging open on a table. ”I’ll be sure to come see you next time though.” He tries to joke before she goes through the motions of closing him back up again.
And after, when he’s whole, he sits a while longer. Call it a necessary observation, or call it catching up, Nate is in no hurry to go anywhere at the moment.
Done~
I would never call him enemy He's the bad god I need
