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 is a miracle she finds her way back from the Wilds, with all the tears she sheds.
And when she does make it? When Stormbreak's spires come into view, the Tower and the Needle and every other part that represents everything she's ever wanted? It is not to her rooms the Archangel goes, nor to the gardens, the temple, the church. No, it is into darkness the wounded bird falls, weaving her way through busy streets until she finds herself at a door decorated with softly glowing antlers.
Once there, she drinks.
Amalia does not drink often. By all accounts a lightweight, even her demigodly stamina is not enough to protect her from the effects of that first glass of liquor, the way it burns against her throat and causes her ears to buzz. Not enough- she makes a universal sign for another, and the barkeep is quick to oblige. It tastes like oil, like gasoline, like Adam's blood probably does now, but Amalia drinks it anyway, relishing the pain.
Patrons whisper to themselves about this young demigoddess who seems determined to drink herself under the table, but none dare approach. She has taken a corner of the bar for herself, wings wrapped tight against her shoulders, a crown of black orchids stark within her golden hair.
it's cold, it's dark, it's deep and it's wet and you ain't gonna make it if you don't let someone in
There is a starwhale that snags her attention – one that has become familiar now enough that the Artificer has no trouble following her. Levi flies along the air beside her, catching up just enough that he can perch on her shoulder – a pale gargoyle while Seraphina tries to figure out where exactly Jyoti was leading her. Had something happened to Amalia? Was she hurt? Why were they heading toward the Silk Houses?
Regardless, she tucks it all away to focus on the path taken, the bar that they dive into – to see Amalia in the corner, alone, passing by whispers of people that seem worried… And perhaps a bit surprised. And while none of them dare to get close, Sera isn’t one of them. She steps with purpose, like a woman on a mission, chin raised and motioning to the barkeep to give them two glasses of something strong.
Something tells Sera she, at least, is going to need it. So it’s with those two glasses that Sera sits opposite of the Archangel, dark eyes scanning her friend before she wordlessly slides one of the glasses over toward her. “What happened, Ama?” She asks quietly, wondering what spurred this bar trek onward.
darlin', darlin', why don't you sleep at night? the colder the heart, the warmer the gun
When Sera finds Amalia she has finished her second drink, and now stares into the empty cup as though it might hold secrets, or cures. A faint flicker of dark eyes and the sharp tensing of her jaw is the only sign that the blonde has noticed Sera's approach; she doesn't look up, not even when the Artificer sits across from her and Jyoti swims over the table, trying to burrow in her hair.
It might have been more responsible of Sera to fetch the Angel a glass of water, but responsibility does not always the best of friends make, and Amalia takes the offered liquor with a rush of tired gratitude. Her gaze transfers to it from the empty cup, but the girl doesn't drink it yet. Instead she sits in unhappy silence, her jaw working as she tries to bite back a new wave of tears, to find the voice that's trapped somewhere, strangled in her chest. "Thanks," she murmurs, rough and rumbled, before clearing her throat. When she speaks again her voice is the flat monotone of one who's trying very hard to hold emotion back. "I.. saw him. Adam. My best friend. The one who died and came back."
it's cold, it's dark, it's deep and it's wet and you ain't gonna make it if you don't let someone in
She’s staring into an empty glass and Sera watches it briefly until it’s replaced with a full one – reaching over to slide the empty glass to the edge of the table – catching the eye of the barkeep from across the room and giving the shallowest dip of her head. In this time, her gaze lands back on Amalia when she begins to speak, an easy smile crossing Sera’s face at the thanks – even though it doesn’t reach her eyes.
But the Archangel continues and Sera’s head tilts ever so slightly, reaching for the glass and downing half the contents as if she’s practiced it – when in reality she simply just wants to get on a level of inebriation that might make this conversation an easier one to travel. “The Ascended.” She supplies, trying to ensure that she’s understood it right.
She nibbles at her lower lip, before she’s reaching out to rest her hand on Amalia’s, trying to capture her friend’s gaze. “Do you understand now?” Obviously she had to, she wouldn’t be a wreck like this if she didn’t. But the Artificer is here, watching her friend, awaiting for whether she’s correct in her assumptions or not.
darlin', darlin', why don't you sleep at night? the colder the heart, the warmer the gun
A curt movement of her head, more flinch than nod, confirms Sera's suspicions as to what Adam is, what he has become, and what she found. Still Amalia stares at the glass before her; it isn't until the Artificer's hand presses against hers that she moves again, a silent sob forcing its shuddering way through her as her vision blurs with tears. Her hand is warm, like skin, like blood, like Adam's hadn't been. Warm enough to burn or heal; Amalia isn't yet sure which.
"It wasn't him, Sera," she whispers hoarsely, watching as tears ripple the surface of her untouched drink. "It looked like him, sounded- it remembered everything, knew what to say, but..."
At last the red-rimmed eyes turn up, searching for answers in the Artificer's face. "He kissed me, and his lips were cold. He didn't have a heartbeat. He isn't... him." Again she sobs, her slender body wracked beneath her grief.
it's cold, it's dark, it's deep and it's wet and you ain't gonna make it if you don't let someone in
She moves, shudders when her hand touches Amalia’s, and Sera bites down on the inside of her cheek. She doesn’t withdraw, she simply remains there – perhaps taking another large sip of her drink, the barkeep coming over before Amalia has spoken to offer glasses of water for the two women as well as another drink for Sera – something telling them that she’ll need it. And so, the Artificer is grateful for it as her gaze turns back to the Archangel, sorrow lingering in her face at what Amalia says.
Her thumb brushes along Amalia’s hand gently, before she’s standing suddenly, dragging her chair over to sit directly beside the Archangel, finagling the woman’s wing so she might slip in beside her friend, offering her presence in the form of everything an Ascended is not. “He isn’t.” She agrees softly, frowning, sliding the water toward Amalia easily. “The Voice is smart in how she tricks everyone. You know this. You lived in the Grounds with her monsters for years, Amalia.” Her voice is blunt, but gentle as she can be.
“Still, I am sorry that you experienced it with someone close to you.” She frowns, peering down into her own glass of dark amber.
darlin', darlin', why don't you sleep at night? the colder the heart, the warmer the gun
Amalia doesn't help Sera dip beneath her wing, but she doesn't stop the Artificer, either. Woman, dragon, and starwhale invade the shelter of her feathers, and cold and broken as she is Amalia begins to feel warm. Hand still shaking she raises the third glass, this time taking a slower sip as the buzz courses through her.
"I've been a fool for years," the Angel agrees, the heat of liquor and Sera's closeness loosening her tongue. Another sip; she still doesn't look at the Artificer, knowing that this next confession will be even worse. "I'm the one who let her free. She was trapped in the Underground, and we- I didn't know, Sera. But she fooled us into finding her, and it was me - I was the one who said the word that let her free."
The rest of her drink is thrown back aggressively, and this time her sob contains a mirthless, almost hysterical laugh. "Everything that's happened since? The barrier going down, the Blight, the Voice getting free, Adam and Kia dying? It's all because of me."
it's cold, it's dark, it's deep and it's wet and you ain't gonna make it if you don't let someone in
Her lips part, prepared to offer something in response to Amalia’s comment of being a fool – perhaps something trying at being consolable, something gentle, something like Lena might say to a wounded animal. And yet? Her lips close immediately when the Archangel continues. And while the weight of the words hit Seraphina with dread, she also finds it unsurprising that it was her that had done it.
Obviously Vi had seen something in Amalia, hadn’t he? In order for her to become the demigod after all of that transpired.
So it’s with a soft smile and a downing of the rest of her glass that Sera moves in closer, invading Amalia’s space. She is not tainted to the Artificer, despite how much Amalia thinks she may be. Vi believes in her and therefore Sera believes in Amalia. “Hey, no. It isn’t because of you.” She says gently. “We’ve been around since before the barrier had been put up, specifically in case she came back. If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else.” She moves to let her hand try to grasp Amalia’s, to try and gain the woman’s gaze.
“And despite all of that, Vi chose you. He believed in you, Amalia, that you would see the truth of them. His light surrounds you.” Her smile is softer when she peers at the Shield-turned Archangel. “And I believe in you too.”
darlin', darlin', why don't you sleep at night? the colder the heart, the warmer the gun
And there it is: her darkest sins laid bare. I'm in love with an Ascended. I helped free the Voice. I failed again and again and again, and others paid with their lives. And now Sera can hate her the way she deserves to be hated, can treat her with the cruelty she so justly deserves. Now she can be thrown out of Stormbreak, stripped of her wings, and everyone will realize what a terrible mistake they've made, laugh about it around the warmth of their confidence while she huddles alone in the cold.
Sera moves against her and Amalia stiffens, ready for the inevitable abandonment, for the girl to pull away. But no- the Artificer is moving closer, her voice a soothing balm on her hazy mind. The first part means nothing - she's heard it all before - but the second? Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the weight of everything she's endured today, but the words strike Amalia differently than they ever have before, flicking a switch and shining a light on the darkest recess of her mind. All at once the girl changes, relaxes, because all at once it all makes sense. Vi chose her, believed in her. She isn't broken, she's just been fooled.
It;s like a weight is lifted. Amalia leans into Sera, her wing settling on the other woman in a warm embrace instead of passive presence. Her red-rimmed eyes are still swimming with tears when she turns to face the Artificer, but they're warmer now, hopeful and sweet and bright with fire above the ghost of a shy smile. "You mean it, Sera?" Amalia wonders with all the innocent faith of the broken, or the drunk. "You believe in me? You think I can... I can still be good?"
it's cold, it's dark, it's deep and it's wet and you ain't gonna make it if you don't let someone in
She’ll wait however long it takes, she’ll bolster Amalia however long she needs. Her trust in Vi is her trust in Amalia. And while Amalia is a demigod, she had started off human. They had all made mistakes, hadn’t they? Even the gods had made mistakes they were still trying to rectify. Why should Amalia be treated any differently, in her eyes? So she settles in against Amalia while her words hit, soothe over the fractures of her friend, and there’s a slight hum of surprise as the wing wraps around her.
But she’s always found warmth in that wing. She’s always found safety in that wing – given the way Amalia had protected them when Remi had destroyed the shrine.
Red ringed eyes flicker to Sera, meeting a content dark gaze as she nods her head and moves to wrap her arms around Amalia, to hug her and hold her in close against the Artificer. “Of course I do.” She says gently. “We all make mistakes, right? But what are mistakes if you don’t learn from them?” She offers gently, before she’s pulling away, giving Amalia a gentle squeeze. “This is your mistake. And you have learned. And you will not do it again.” If anything, how torn up Amalia is now is indicative of that to the Artificer.
And that? That’s all the belief she needs.
darlin', darlin', why don't you sleep at night? the colder the heart, the warmer the gun
The embrace is warm, so warm, and Amalia hums contentedly at it, unselfconscious thanks to exhaustion and alcohol. It feels good to be held, after what she's done- so she lets it happen, leaning even closer against Sera until the Artificer pulls away. And even when that happens Amalia slips her hand into the other girl's, desperate for that continued connection. Everything Sera's saying makes so much sense and the Angel drinks it up, nodding eagerly as a child listening to a teacher speak.
She has her chin tilted towards Seraphina, a radiant devotion soothing the lines of weary worry from her angled cheeks. Even in the dim light of the bar Amalia's face is illuminated, light blossoming among the flowers in her hair, a halo of warmth and sunlight in the dusky room. Dark eyes flicker down to Sera's full lips, and then back to the woman's eyes. Her face is flushed when she speaks again, a single smoky word with an unspoken question tacked to the end. "Sera...?"
it's cold, it's dark, it's deep and it's wet and you ain't gonna make it if you don't let someone in
The continued touch is given, Sera as always, is happy to offer whatever she can for Amalia’s comfort, her wellbeing – any demigod, for that matter – but it is Amalia that her focus is on in this moment, that the warmth and protection of the wing around her supplies comfort. She meets dark eyes when she looks down, light flickering along the faces of the two of them, and Sera watches the flowers bloom in the Archangel’s hair.
Oh, oh, oh, but she doesn’t miss that look. She smiles, something bright and vibrant, soothing Amalia’s worries as she squeezes her hand and slips her other hand back around the other woman. “Here, let’s help get the taste of that ascended off your lips, hm?” It’s a whisper, aimed for Amalia only – but in the crux of wings and feathers and the two of them in a corner by themselves, well, Sera isn’t too careful.
So it’s with that, that the Artificer leans in, soft and gentle at first to ensure it’s what the other woman wants, before she presses her lips to Amalia’s in a gentle, soft kiss, supplanting Amalia with the memory of warm lips and bodies, of just how wrong and mechanical the Ascended were.
darlin', darlin', why don't you sleep at night? the colder the heart, the warmer the gun
03-18-2021, 09:26 PM (This post was last modified: 03-18-2021, 09:27 PM by Amalia.)
everything you want is on the other side of fear
Amalia is no stranger to physical affection platonically between friends. And yet as Sera squeezes her hand, wraps an arm around her waist... well, the things that the girl is feeling are decidedly not platonic. She forgets the alcohol, her pain, her loneliness, and her newfound purpose, focusing only on the scent of the woman beside her, the sensations of her skin, the beat of her heart. And whatever Amalia was going to say washes off her lips, replaced by the soft, warm, supple touch of Sera on her mouth.
The kiss isn't amazing, objectively speaking. Amalia is surprised and very much drunk, and she doesn't make any sort of sexy impassioned move on Sera, only responds with shy, sloppy eagerness, her lashes fluttering to kiss her cheeks. But it feels good, in a way the Angel hasn't felt in a long time, and when it ends she finds herself smiling radiantly up at the other girl, her dark eyes unfocused as she lifts her fingers to touch her lower lip. "Oh," Amalia murmurs softly, "I've never kissed a woman before." It's the only thing she can think, at that moment - her face already says everything else.
it's cold, it's dark, it's deep and it's wet and you ain't gonna make it if you don't let someone in
Luckily for Amalia, Sera doesn’t care how good the demi god is at kissing. Shesimply is g lad to help, to offer a bit of a distraction perhaps, a replacement for cold mechanical lips where nothing but warmth and flesh should be. Amalia flushes and Sera smiles down at her, her head tilting gently as her hand at Amalia’s side gives a gentle squeeze. “Oh? Is that so?” She asks easily, turning her head slightly to take another sip of her drink, before she’s sliding the water toward Amalia again.
When she looks back at the Archangel it’s with a mischievousness that lingers in the darks of her iris’. “What did you think?” She asks as well, awaiting what kind of response Amalia might give her, given by the flush to the demi-god’s skin, Sera assumes it wasn’t awful, and so she grows playful – a fraction of course, she doesn’t want to frighten the woman or push too far.
Ah, but the signs were there.
darlin', darlin', why don't you sleep at night? the colder the heart, the warmer the gun
