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!
The playful question is somehow more embarrassing than the kids; Amalia's cheeks flush a deeper scarlet, and she shrugs her slender shoulders, looking bashfully away. "It's not like I've kissed a lot'a people," the not-Shield clarifies, too pleasantly buzzed to hold her tongue. "Just... Just you, and Adam, and Ronin, and Finn, and Deimos - my husband - well, not anymore I think." Her brow furrows in concentration as she thinks this over. Is she still married? Certainly there hasn't been any sort of divorce, but she hasn't felt married, not in a long time...
This rabbit hole is mercifully interrupted by a glass of water, which Amalia has the good sense to actually take a drink from. She's still drinking when Sera's next question comes. With measures swallows she empties the glass, setting it on the table beside them before looking back up at the Artificer. There's mischief in her eyes and the tilt of her head, emboldened by liquor and how comfortable she feels.
"Hmm... Hard to say," She's trying for a casual, worldly thoughtful tone, but the flush of her cheeks and the way she looks at Sera's lips again utterly belie this image. "I think I need more research." And this time it's Amalia who pushes forward, her free hand cupping the cheek of the Artificer, their lips meeting with tender caution that quickly depends into a proper kiss, warm and bright and innocent in their private corner of the busy bar.
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
Amalia’s list of kisses is amusing to hear, and yet when she says Ronin, the Artificers lips part to respond — until she’s surprised at the mention of Finn. Her eyes widen as she regards the Archangel, softening a fraction with the mention of Deimos as she tries to place that smile back on her face. “Hmm. I’ve only kissed Ronin out of that list.” She murmurs with a soft smile, a bit offhandedly, still distracted.
Since when did Finn kiss anyone, let alone want to be near them long enough to?
But Amalia is drinking the water again, downing it fast, and Sera watches with some small part of appreciation until the demi-god’s eyes find hers again. More research has her smile broadening a fraction, one that’s felt as Amalia is the one to surge forward and Sera’s arms wind around the Archangel’s waist, below the wings. Her cheek tilts into Amalia’s soft touch, their lips meeting and the kiss deepening, and Sera is happy to continue it. A sigh leaves her into Amalia’s lips, a gentle hum as she pushes back ever so slightly to deepen the kiss some more, her arms keeping the woman close to her as the flush crosses her skin.
darlin', darlin', why don't you sleep at night? the colder the heart, the warmer the gun
This is not something Amalia does. Kissing for the sake of kissing? And yet as Sera winds her arms around her the Angel finds herself leaning in, basking in the warmth, the humanity of the embrace. It sears out the memory of Adam's cold lips and bloodless hands, replaces one pair of brown eyes with another, one head of black hair with longer, more luxurious locks. Amalia's mouth parts in a soft gasp, the hand on her cheek shifting to tangle gently in that hair. Here in the nest of the Angel's wings and Sera's warmth, the girl thinks maybe she could feel safe.
But, of course, they are not alone. A pointed aherm sends her reeling back to reality. Amalia disengages with the Artificer, looking up to see the flushed bartender standing outside the shelter of her wings, trying not to stare. Compliments of those gentlemen, he mutters, placing down two fresh glasses and scurrying away. Less subtle are the four men who leer from the other side of the bar, raising their glasses as the Angel peeks over from behind her wings.
A blush creeps over Amalia's cheeks and down to her neck, her eyes growing wide as the realization of their audience sinks in. "Sera... people're looking," she whispers urgently, clearly shocked by this development. "What d'we do?"
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 content to be like this, to be honest. Wrapped up in warm wings – such a strange thing to think of, but she’d never once complain. Amalia is soft and gentle, deerlike in her wariness and quiet fear. The Artificer doesn’t mind, willing to let herself get wrapped up in the demigod without a problem. And when the ‘ahem’ arrives, Sera isn’t at all awkward like Amalia is. She lets the demigod disengage, though the Artificer’s hand still remains on Amalia’s hip when she withdraws and casts a fluttering look to the bartender. “Oh, how lovely, thank you.” She says, turning just enough to peer past him to the gentlemen that had bright the glasses, flashing them a playful smile of thanks.
When she turns back to Amalia, casted in a brilliant light, Sera’s practically beaming when she reaches up to brush Amalia’s hair back from her face. “Oh, I didn’t do anything. It’s what you did.” She whispers back, withdrawing a fraction from Amalia, to pull up her bag, fishing inside it for a small mirror – because of course Sera keeps a mirror on her. “You’re glowing, you know.” She comments with a soft gaze that rises, pulling out the mirror to angle it toward Amalia and the halo that blossoms above her head, offering light in their dark shadowed corner of the bar.
darlin', darlin', why don't you sleep at night? the colder the heart, the warmer the gun
Sera's grace is an almost comic contrast to Amalia's discomfort, the flighty Angel seeming quite at a loss for what to make of this turn of events. "Me?" she wonders, dark eyes wide as she follows Sera's fingers to brush on her own face. "What did I...?" But then there's a mirror to show her for herself, and the already-wide gaze grows impossibly larger as Amalia notes the halo that rings around her head. Gently she reaches up towards it, as though it might fit in her hand - but of course, it's made of light, and her fingers simply phase through it. "That's... that's new."
By now the men have taken Sera's smiles as an invitation. Three of them approach like prowling tigers, the boldest sliding in beside the Artificer with a "Well there, it's rare to see girls so gorgeous in a place like this." With a predatory grin he reaches out to stroke a finger along Amalia's wing, and the Angel stiffens next to Sera, an animal in a trap. Her discomfort radiates off her in waves; she is clearly torn between shoving the man away and curling into herself in hopes she'll disappear.
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
“Yes you.” Sera says with a bright grin, pulling out her mirror to show the Archangel. And when she tries to reach up to brush her fingers through it, Sera half expects it to bump against a piece of glimmering, glowing metal. But it’s simply just the light, brightening the space around them, brightening the ex-Shield, and Sera’s glowing with it.
She doesn’t even falter as they’re joined by the three men – partially used to this sort of thing. If nothing else, she’s learned a few things from Ronin on how to defend herself, sure that she’d be able to harm at least one of them and hopefully ward the other ones off.
Either that or Cian would certainly deal with it, right?
One sits beside her and she flashes them another charming grin that turns to something sharper, something with teeth that can snap and bite as she reaches up to take the man’s hand off Amalia’s wing by the wrist, pressing her fingers into the pulse point there until his hand feels almost staticky. “We were doing quite fine without your company.” She keeps that same sharp, wolfish smile on her face as she stares down the man beside her. “It would be smart of you to simply let us enjoy our drinks and go back to your part of the bar.” Her head tilts a bit, as if she can’t imagine a scenario where the man would deny her.
darlin', darlin', why don't you sleep at night? the colder the heart, the warmer the gun
There's a sharpness in the air, a cold fracturing of the moment in which it could take a number of directions. But none of the possibilities are the ones the man expects. As Sera grabs his hand his grin turns quickly into a snarl, a grimace of pain flashing over his face as predator becomes prey. His hand squirms, trying to retract from the Artificer's iron grip, and when she finally releases it he is quick to recoil back into his chest, a murderous glare in his eyes. Amalia watches all of this with a mix of awe and shame, her face flushing a deeper red as she sits there, frozen, unable to help. She's used to being strong, to being untouched, but with her emotions as wild as they are? The Angel feels small, and weak.
She's turning back to Sera as the man walks away, her vice-like grip on the other woman's hand relaxing by measures as the tension fades- that is, until keen hearing catches a snippet of conversation between the trio of men. "Heard she was soft," the man grumbles furiously, "Coulda fucked a demigod, if it weren't for that damn slut. Someone oughta teach her a lesson, show 'er how t'take a man--"
Before he's able to say anything more there's a hand upon his collar, holding him up with undeniable strength. Amalia moves faster than any mortal, leaving her corner and grabbing the man in scarcely the blink of an eye. The bar goes silent; the only sound is the man's strangled "What tha---" followed by heavy, fearful breaths. In that moment Amalia is something new: avenging angel, furious and cold, her dark eyes like iron as she stares at this stranger, a crown of thorns upon her head.
"Apologize," the Archangel of Vi says softly, a world of danger in her alto voice.
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
His surprise is something that Sera immediately relishes in, releasing him to have him glare at her. She lets it roll of her with ease, though her grin doesn’t falter from it’s sharp edge. It only does as she turns back to Amalia, checking in to make sure that the Archangel is okay. From this distance, however, Sera can’t hear the conversation that happens behind them. Amalia does, however, and it’s evident as her lips part and she’s prepared to say something, when suddenly Amalia is gone.
She can hear the words leave the Archangel as she whirls in her seat, moving to stand and approach the group. Her arms fold across her chest – nowhere near close to denying Amalia’s request for the man to apologize. She half wonders if the one that the Archangel has grabbed has pissed his pants. In fact, she looks him up and down to see if he indeed has.
In this time he’s stuttering, panicking, the men with him begin to try and depart and Sera slips in beside Amalia toward the man’s face, suddenly sweating in his fear. “I wouldn’t fuck with her if I were you.” She murmurs sweetly, reaching forward to smooth his collar with a half smirk. She still doesn’t know what the group had said, but she trusts Amalia’s choice in the matter.
Luckily for her, though, the man stutters before he offers his apology, slurring between the alcohol and his panic, unsure if the demigod of Vi would actually end up hurting him or not. He doesn’t want to take a chance, though, and Sera’s content to bow her head in an easy acceptance. “Thank you!”
darlin', darlin', why don't you sleep at night? the colder the heart, the warmer the gun
The presence of Sera at her shoulder makes her bolder, brighter, the bar seeming to grow dim in response. She releases him that Sera might get her apology, onyx eyes glinting with righteous fury as her fingers uncoil from their place at his collar- oh, she would happily have held him longer, but only that she might play with his fear as a cat does a mouse. He is broken, quivering, and Amalia's point has been made. There is no use in prolonging the aggression, and yet...
...and yet...
Sera's glib acceptance and bright smile makes Amalia's icy fury all the more pronounced. Her voice is low when she speaks again, yet strong enough to carry throughout the bar. "Never touch a woman without her consent. Mercy and justice are not exclusive. You will not be warned again."
She turns then, suddenly, and heads to the door. Only when she escapes does the girl begin to quiver, a shaking starting deep in her belly and rattling through her chest until it bubbles up and escapes her lips in a bright, shocked, melodious laugh.
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
Amalia lets the man go and Sera quietly relishes in the look that the man carries. He apologizes and she chimes her thank you quite loudly, for the rest of the bar to hear, before she’s watching and listening as Amalia’s voice carries through the bar as well. A threat, a warning, meant for ensuring the man thinks twice about what he chooses to do the next time he finds himself in this situation. And the man suddenly begins to nod his head up and down, the gist of it understood and will be followed through.
He even looks to his buddies when Amalia turns, despite shaking like a leaf. And as Amalia begins to step out, Sera flashes them all a wolfish grin, before she slips a bit of payment to the bartender for her own drinks and Amalia’s, before she’s following the Archangel out the bar into the dark streets. “Ama.” She calls out, picking up her speed to catch up to her friend, hoping to link her arm with the demigoddess’s. “Thank you for that.” She offers, flashing Amalia a gentle smile.
“Are you okay?” She asks after, wanting to ensure that everything was alright with the way Amalia quivers and laughs.
darlin', darlin', why don't you sleep at night? the colder the heart, the warmer the gun
Amalia is still laughing when Sera joins at her side, the Artificer's linked arm met with a firm squeeze and a radiant, flush-cheeked smile. Struggling to catch her breath, the girl shakes her head through giggles and gulps of cool night air, her eyes and head swimming merrily through a sea of triumph and booze. Finally she catches her breath enough to find her voice, fierce hope and adoration in her eyes as she looks at the other girl.
"Yeah, I'm... I think I'm gonna be."
(This is, of course, wrong.)
But Amalia doesn't know that yet. All she knows right now is that she's kissed a girl and fought off an injustice and is wonderfully, terrifyingly alive. Adam is forgotten, at least for now, lost to the warmth of Sera's lips- lips she leans for once again and completely missed, her head instead landing on the Artificer's shoulder as another stream of giggles courses through her frame.
The world is reduced to the scent of Sera, something Amalia inhales with a deep, contented sigh. "Can we go home now?" the girl finds herself mumbling into the warmth. The rest of the night becomes a blur - the girls stumbling happily through streets, the return to the Tower, the crash into bed. In the morning Amalia will wake with new trauma and regrets, but for tonight she is blissfully, ignorantly happy, young and fully in the embrace of life.
