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!
Despite where this day is destine to end, it isn't where it starts.
It begins outside of Cian's office, the day after Amalia's drunken adventure with Sera. After Adam- but she isn't thinking about that, or so she tells herself again and again, as though thinking about not thinking about it will somehow make it true. No, she's done with all of that, and it's for that reason she stands here, outside the office of the Eye, steeling herself once again to step inside and change her fate.
Amalia is dressed with surprising attention, wearing the teal open-backed shirt that Sera found her above a pair of clean black pants, her hair wrapped up a plaited wreath interspersed with small purple flowers. Most notable is Nova on her hip, its crimson cross-guard glowing faintly in the hall's dim light. Not often does Amalia wear the sword out on display, but it seems appropriate for this encounter, given what she is determined to ask.
Knock knock knock. Three raps, straightforward and quick, and then the requisite pause. She figures he already knows who it is - his secretary had told her he was there, after all - and so her hand shifts down to the knob, ready to let herself in.
we drink the poison our mind pours for us and wonder why we feel so sick
No, no, today he won't be calling her in with that dry and dusty come of his. (Are other comes of his dry and dusty, one might wonder?) Instead, no sooner has her knuckle left the elaborate door for the last time than it suddenly opens. Had she knocked a fourth time it would have been against the top button of his waistcoat. "Hallo Amalia." The Eye says with a nod, looking unsurprised to see her. Politely, he waits for her to take a step back that he might exit his office, and when she does, he closes the door behind him and nods warmly to his assistant. "Hold all messages for this afternoon. Won't be back tonight. And take off early, will you?" He winks at her, and the assistant—an elderly woman in far too much makeup—titters girlishly and nods.
"I have a meeting in another part of town." Cian explains, sounding almost apologetic. Or perhaps it's simply the musical tilt of his accent. "Care to accompany me?"
It's a good thing for Amalia she has a three-knock pattern woven into her bones, because otherwise she would have quite embarrassed herself tapping Cian on the chest. Instead she is able to retract her hand from where she reached for the handle, taking a step back from the Eye as he makes to leave his office. "Hi," comes the somewhat flustered reply, nearly as surprised by his almost-friendly demeanor as she is by his appearance. She falters as he strides purposefully by, unsure if she's being dismissed until she's asked to accompany. And then she blinks and rallies, biting the inside of her cheek and falling into step beside Cian.
"Thank you." Much less insecure than the last few times she encountered Cian, Amalia's voice has the soft ring of confidence and purpose beneath the requisite anxious warble. "I won't take too much of your time. I wanted... well, first I wanted to apologize, I guess. I know my attitude hasn't always matched what's expected of me, by the Order and by the Gods." She's looking ahead, her jaw set stubbornly against the scrutiny or judgment she expects. "I was naïve, in the way I viewed the Ascended. I know better now."
we drink the poison our mind pours for us and wonder why we feel so sick
'Take all the time you wish.' Cian replies with easy charm, extending an arm out for her to link hers through if she chooses. Listening as if Amalia was explaining the weather to him or something else equally unimportant, the Eye just chuckles warmly as she finishes a speech that sounds very much as though it had rattled around in her mind once or twice. "Think nothing of it." His smile is dismissive of any guilt or upset she might still feel, and the way he shrugs his shoulders seems to indicate that he's very much over their previously turbulent interactions.
'What was the second thing?' Cian wants to know, pushing open the doors of the Tower that the pair might step out into the fresh Flowerbirth air. The area outside the Tower is like a humming organism; some parts move slowly with purpose, others race about, and others still are strange superfluous hangovers from previous times when their services were needed (the juggler on the corner, for instance).
Silently Cian leads them toward the center of town, the Silk Houses if Amalia is paying attention.
There is a moment where Amalia has no idea what to do with the offered arm. A trick, she wonders, or something else? A glance at his face shows a perfect mask of friendliness, and so the girl decides to roll with it, awkwardly settling her arm within his. It's not something she's used to, and it takes a few steps for her to fall into rhythm, but when she does it feels bizarrely natural. Arm in arm they push their way into Torchline proper, the Angel somewhat mystified by this whole turn of events.
"Hmm? Oh, right." Distracted as ever by the liveliness of the city (is that a juggler?), it takes a second for Amalia to process the Eye's follow-up question. Straightening a little, she turns towards Cian. "I would like to join the Order. Properly." The shadow of a building eclipses the sun, letting the halo above the Angel's head flicker brightly as they walk. "I thought I might work with Finn, doing research on what's to come. Or Gideon, reaching out to the people who live beyond Stormbreak."
we drink the poison our mind pours for us and wonder why we feel so sick
Cian is given a respectful berth by those they walk through, though perhaps Amalia will be surprised to see just how many polite smiles and nods he receives amidst the panic and hasty respect.
Glancing at her over his shoulder, Cian's lips turn down slighted in a strange sort of frown that looks like a smile somehow. "Is that right?" He muses, navigating the walkways and alleys with ease. 'Finn isn't one who...works well with others, you might say.' Not a no, and certainly not something the Archangel is ignorant of either.
"Reaching out? Ronin has begun work with Torchline to allow for easier transportation. There are plans for something similar to be done in other areas, though..." Frowning, the Eye shakes his head with a weary sigh. "I fear many other areas are already lost. Halo is largely abandoned and ascended, and the Grounds—" He barks a laugh. Clearly a lost cause.
She nods at Cian's assessment of Finn, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of her lip. "I know," she agrees softly, the halo casting stark shadows over her angled cheeks. "But we're... friends, I think. And I can help with the things he might find less comfortable." Like talking to others, or disseminating information. A liaison, of sorts. She shrugs.
Her jaw tenses at the mention of the Grounds being lost, though her anger is not for the Eye. It still hurts to think of her one-time home as a bastion for sin, and the spiny vines that creep through her hair do nothing to hide Amalia's frustration. "Places may be lost, but not people," the Angel counters, a stubborn edge to her tone. "Not all Abandoned side with the Voice, and if they knew what we do - about the Voice, the Core, the sickness, all of it--"
She breaks off, taking a breath and shaking her head. "With a war to come, the people of Caido deserve to know the truth. Vi asked me to protect them, but how can we protect them if they aren't aware what the danger is?"
we drink the poison our mind pours for us and wonder why we feel so sick
'Finn should be returning at the end of this season. Why don't you run the idea by him? His workload has...varied lately, so I'll let him be the judge of what extra assistance he needs.'
With Amalia as close to him as she is, it doesn't take any extrasensory abilities to feel her palpable tension, not to mention the vines that thread through her golden hair. "I am speaking generally, Amalia." Cian remarks with a strange softness to her voice as he offers her a warm smile over his shoulder. "Places are more than just those who inhabit them. They carry their own personalities...it is harder to change that, even if people come and go." He clarifies.
Eventually, Cian guides them into Molly's where he pauses outside that he might gaze down at the Sheild-Turned-Angel. "And what would you tell them? That the shard came from the Core? And when they ask of the Core what will you say? How will you answer them when they inquire as to how it happened? If they should be worried? If the Voice knows? If it was her doing? What the implications are?" With a smile that's kind but slightly condescending, his head tilts a touch to the side. "Until you can answer more questions than you can raise, the truth is not the beacon of hope you think it is."
They stop outside a shop Amalia (mercifully) doesn't recognize; besides which, the Angel is too engrossed in their conversation to catch on to what services Mother Molly's might boast. "I would tell them what I know." There's an edge to her voice, a challenge in the way her chin tilts up and her dark eyes narrow. "That the disease came from the Core, yes. That the Core is something the Voice made and kept locked in the Spire, and that it's responsible for the barrier falling. That even the Ascended don't seem to know what it is, because the Voice keeps secrets from them."
Her lip curls at Cian's condescending smile, but she doesn't let her features change. Through the thunder of her anxious heart Amalia stares the Eye down, trying very, very hard not to show her emotions, and failing rather spectacularly. "There will always be more questions than we can answer. Only someone too, too scared and proud could think that refusing to tell people anything will make them think he knows everything, instead of just thinking he's a dick."
She hadn't wanted this. Anger, venom- but gods if he didn't know how to push all her buttons. Cheeks flushed with frustration, the girl heaves a sigh, telling herself to take a breath and count away her ire. "Look, I... I didn't come to argue with you. I'm sorry. I want to join the Order- to work with you to keep the people of Stormbreak - and Caido - safe." Slender fingers fidget against her thighs as Amalia bites down on her lip, forcing herself to continue meeting his dusky denim eyes.
we drink the poison our mind pours for us and wonder why we feel so sick
"And you know all of these things, do you?" Cian asks with a raise of his brow. "You're sure about that?" The tilt of his head suggests that at least one, if not most of what Amalia has said, is not entirely accurate.
She aims an insult at him, to which Cian only responds with a warm smile and huff of laughter. "You are very judgemental Amalia, do you know that?" He asks kindly, pushing open the door to Molly's and holding it there, silently offering for Amalia to join him within if she wishes.
'Do you really? Because it seems like you don't want to do things my way. At every step you've challenged things. You argue before you listen, and instead of thinking about the things you've heard, you wave them around like you've suddenly gained knowledge of everything." Cian pauses, his voice never having raised. "I don't think you want to join the Order, Amalia. I think you are lost with no direction, and think that by joining the Order you won't have to be alone when your plans go wrong." Because she never had wanted to do this his way; she wanted to do them her way, but with protection and guidance that she could ignore when it suited her best.
Oh, but she can feel her blood boiling faster and hotter with every quiet rebuttal, every calmly lilting syllable which seems to sneer You know nothing, child. "If I'm wrong then educate me," she counters through ground teeth, hands clenched tight against the impulse to bare exasperated fangs.
She does bristle as he continues on, seemingly unfazed, unapologetically naming her weaknesses and cutting down her strengths. Fur flickers over the girl's bare shoulders as thorns push their way through the waves of her hair; she can feel herself growing hot and cold, her face hardening with shame and anger as the temptation to strike back coils in her like a snake.
But she doesn't strike, doesn't speak, doesn't let the hurt and shame drip like venom from her lips. She stands outside the open door, vibrating as screams howl behind black eyes. A long silence of inhaled breath stretches out between them, and then - "Very well," Amalia says softly, voice as taut as the string of a bow. "I'm sorry for taking your time."
And with that she extends her wings, taking to the air in a rush of wind, her tears and fury cast out into the sky.
{fin <3}
we drink the poison our mind pours for us and wonder why we feel so sick
