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!
i'm not a slave, i won't be guided to a grave in a masquerade, you'll hide your face
His arm is held out to her and Sera’s grin grows bright and wide as she trots over toward him, interlocking her arm with his. “I’ll certainly keep that in mind.” She assures Locke with a bright chimed laugh, peering up at him from beneath dark lashes with a dark gaze that seems to suggest she wouldn’t forget.
She keeps her arm in his as she begins to step toward the exit of the training grounds, guiding him toward the Tower of all things – because a girl’s got to change her clothes after she’s been training, after all, especially if they’re going out drinking. So she flashes him a bright smile and a tilt of her head. “Well, for starters, I need new clothes. I won’t go drinking looking like this.” She informs him matter-of-factly, before she’s tugging him along closer toward the Tower. She might be a bit prissy about her appearance, but part of that is certainly due to her upbringing.
As for a drink to tell him about the Order, she flashes him yet another smile, even if her gaze is considering. “Oh. It isn’t really! We all have a part to play.” She says easily, patting his arm. “We’re a group helped along by the Gods in order to keep the Voice from causing her destruction to the rest of Caido. I am the Artificer, which means that I’m the builder.” She informs him as her gaze turns back to the Tower that approaches. Her free hand lifts to point at the architecture around the entrance of the building with a hint of pride. “I made this and revamped the Temple for our Priest.” She turns her head toward him with a smile. “And we can be found here in the Tower. I live on the sixth floor.”
you got it out for me, like strangers in the night holding close their sharpened knives
Hearing her laugh gets a chuckle of his own. He hasn’t felt this at ease around someone in awhile, like he doesn’t have to watch his tongue for fear of stepping on someone’s toes. Not that he usually worries about that. But still. She’s done a good job at putting him at ease. It helps that she’s easy on the eyes. Her hand feels soft against the skin of his arm as she pulls him towards the Tower.
”Of course not. Everyone here is so.. fashionable.” He’s never once thought about what he was wearing. Maybe he should start caring. It probably doesn’t help that he wore as little clothing in Torchline as he could generally get away with. He only wore shirts to keep from burning really.
He raises an eyebrow at her as she talks about the Order, giving her a little grin when she pats his arm. ”A part huh?” He can’t imagine being part of something. Even if he’s in the military. Doesn’t really feel like he’s part of it, maybe just someone passing through. When she says she built it, he doesn’t hide his amazement, a little ‘wow’ whispered before he looks at her. ”You built this? Holy shit.. I mean. Sorry. Shit.” He kind of shakes his head, ”I’ll have to go to the Temple some day.” He says as if he might be even a little pious.
”Sixth floor? I’ll keep that in mind.” Never know when you might need to visit a pretty girl.
i'm not a slave, i won't be guided to a grave in a masquerade, you'll hide your face
Sera has no qualms with tugging Locke along wherever she goes, provided he’s willing to follow her. So far, however, signs point to yes, and so it’s with a bright grin that she flashes to him at the mention of being fashionable. “It’s almost like an extension of yourself, after some time. I don’t always look so rundown and sweaty.” She tips a wink his way, before she’s gesturing to the architecture around the entrance, after she’s announced how the Order works.
She studies his face a brief moment as the surprise cascades over it and Sera can’t help but to beam with it. “You should! Tell Gideon I sent you. The old bat would have a blast with it, I’m sure.” She hums a soft laugh with that, before she’s tugging his arm and himself into the apartment, and before long they’ve managed to get to the sixth floor and to her room.
She lets go of his arm to reach into the pocket of her work out pants, pulling out a key that she uses to unlock it swiftly, opening it up and letting Locke in first before Levi dives in to find his nest in the living room. Sera’s apartment is nothing but opulence, clean and organized and bright – nothing less expected from someone who dedicated her life to creation of architecture. Crown molding fits easily against the walls, the colors bright and pale in comparison to the soft couch with vibrant hues and golds. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable, Locke.” She chimes, stepping past him toward her bedroom.
you got it out for me, like strangers in the night holding close their sharpened knives
She’s right, in a way, that fashion is an extension of yourself. Locke’s fashion sense is lacking and maybe his sense of self is too. That’s a little deeper than he’s willing to dig right now. ”Aww, really? I kind of like the rundown and sweaty look.” He clicks his tongue as he mock pouts, tilting his head to one side. His brain goes straight to the gutter and he hates the faint heat he can feel rise into his cheeks. Hopefully she doesn’t ask what’s on his mind.
”Gideon? I’ll keep him in mind.” He’s still mulling it all over as she tugs him up to her apartment. Honestly, not how he was expecting the day to go. Not that he’s mad about it. Being pulled around by a pretty girl is exactly how he wants his days to go. Plus, the tower really is interesting. He’s never seen anything like it. Well, there’s the lighthouse but it’s not the same.
And her apartment gets a similar reaction. If he was still doing the shady thing, he’d see if he could plifer something without her noticing. Not today though. He’s a good boy. Or, a slightly less bad boy at least. It looks both exactly how he imagined and not quite at all. It’s a lot more colorful than he expected. This might be the nicest place he’s ever been in, or at least very close. ”Don’t say that, I might not leave.” He’s half tempted to follow her but instead seats himself on the couch, folding one leg across his knee. He wonders if he should’ve offered to change too.
i'm not a slave, i won't be guided to a grave in a masquerade, you'll hide your face
A huff of a laugh leaves her as he clicks his tongue, her dark gaze leveling on him with a raise of a brow. “You’re from Torchline, I imagine it only makes sense.” She titters lightly, offering her own playful jesting as they step into her apartment. A decisive nod is given at the mention of Gideon, though, letting Locke commit the name to memory, before she’s drifting further into the apartment toward where she might go to change.
“Where’s the harm in that?” She quips back, flashing him a wink, before she departs fully into her room. She’s gone for not too long, but long enough for Locke to get a good look at the space, the softness of the blankets and the pillows on the couch, the opulence of her kitchen and the snacks left out on the counter to be easily grabbed upon her inevitable departure, blueprints on the coffee table with a pencil that she’s been pouring over.
When she returns, she’s put together again, hair down and no longer tied up, a skirt worn that stops just around her knees, and a blouse with a deep v-neck that both clings to her skin and flows. Her face is painted up again, a dark red lipstick applied to her lips and kohl eyeliner that flares out in a wing on either side. And it’s with a bright smile that she returns to Locke. “Well, are you ready? I am.”
you got it out for me, like strangers in the night holding close their sharpened knives
Where's the harm in that? Oh sweet summer child. Locke only knows how to ruin his relationships. But she's gone before he can say anything else. While he waits, he looks around, trying to pick out things about her. It's a moment before he gets up, heading into the kitchen. It might be the nicest kitchen he's ever been in. He's in the middle of poking around things when she comes back. He makes a little noise, turning around failing to hide that he was touching things.
He gives her a full once over, smirk curling at the edges of his lips as he makes his way over to her. "Wow. Don't think a girl's ever gotten so dressed up for little ol' me. Was gonna suggest we stay in but kinda feel like I gotta show you off now." He reaches out slowly, fingers trailing along the edge of her arm for a moment as he moves past her. His hand comes up to fiddle with his necklace for a moment before dropping to his side again as he thinks.
Maybe the bar is the best place to go. He keeps second guessing what he's doing and he doesn't like it. Everything feels off though. Which isn't fair to Sera. She's done nothing wrong besides show vague interest in him. "Nice night for a walk though." The smile he gives her is soft, even if it fades when she looks away.
i'm not a slave, i won't be guided to a grave in a masquerade, you'll hide your face
Truth be told, she doesn’t mind that he’s been poking around. She doesn’t have much of personal value that didn’t scream her if it were lifted from her anyway. So as she returns and her ruby red smile is given to Locke, she can’t help but to notice the once over he gives her. “No?” She asks with a tilt of her head, dark hair bouncing over her shoulder with the movement as she peers at him as he gets closer. The hand trails along the edge of her arm and she doesn’t mind it in the slightest – in fact, she may or may not bat her lashes at him a few times just for playfulness and showing off.
“Could show me off and come back.” She says with a smirk, moving toward the door as he decides a walk regardless. A bar is in their future, after all, and Sera’d be damned if she didn’t get to indulge in a drink or two tonight. She moves to go and lock the door behind him after he’s left, before she falls into step beside him – heels clicking across the ground with her steps.
Her head angles a fraction as she looks up at him with her dark gaze. “So, what’s your favorite drink?” She asks, wondering if it would be something common or something essentially Torchline.
you got it out for me, like strangers in the night holding close their sharpened knives
She seems content to let him touch her and that's great news for him. He's secretly very touch starved but like hell will he ever ask for a hug or a cuddle. Maybe he'll get some cuddles in tonight. Maybe a little more than that? "Yes. Very much, yes. You look good. Very good." Delicious even. The way she bats her eyelashes at him makes him grin. He feels like a schoolboy, or at least what he thinks a schoolboy would feel like. (He's never been!) He waits for her to lock the door before holding his arm out for her.
"And come back, for sure, if you'll have me." We'll see by the end of the night if she still wants him in her bed. He's been mulling over stories to tell her since she asked. He's got a few picked out, maybe. Hopefully she's figured out he's not exactly a boy scout. Makes for better stories though. Sitting in a library and being a nerd never got anyone laid, at least he.. doesn't think so.
He turns to look down at her, hazel eyes finding her's before he turns back. "Something strong usually. Rum is my default. Or whiskey. Kind of a toss up between the two depending on the day. What's your's? A nice red wine?" She looks like she drinks wine and goes to fancy parties. Not exactly the type of girl he normally goes home with but this is all about branching out, right?
i'm not a slave, i won't be guided to a grave in a masquerade, you'll hide your face
The smile is bright that crosses her face as he confirms that she looks good, and even goes so far as to tell her she does. Quite a few perks there, a few more points added to him as she loops her arm with his and they head out into the city. His agreement and slight question of whether or not she’d have him has her eyeing him briefly, before her gaze departs to the path they take, her footing sure and steady as she picks the location she has in mind. First stop, the White Hart. “I think I’d like that.” She hums to him, patting his arm with a playful smirk.
She helps to guide him along the street they take until a bar comes into view with Luxere antlers glowing in the dusk, decorating the building so that you can’t miss it. “Wine?” She hums thoughutfully, though she does tuck away the information for rum and whiskey away. “Wine is good for… Idle chatting. But no, I’m more of a whiskey kind of girl.” Her gaze tips back up to him with that same air of playfulness, the same smirk, reaching out to open the door and slip in with him – heading straight for a table off to the side in the darker part of the room, a space she’s typically gone to and is surprised to see it’s open at this time of night.
As they walk over there, she catches eyes with the bartender, her free hand rising to show him that she’d like two of the usual this time, before they've both reached the table.
you got it out for me, like strangers in the night holding close their sharpened knives
Oh. He gets to come back home with her, probably. He'll see where he ends up by the end of the night. As long as he plays his cards right, it won't be the barracks. She's made it pretty clear. He keeps pace with her, admiring the bit of leg he sees and the warmth of her arm in his. They must look like a pair. She's dressed to the nine's and he's well, Locke. If he'd known, he would've dressed maybe a bit nicer but nice isn't something he really has. She doesn't seem to mind.
He's never been to this bar, it always looked a little too bougie for him. It seems he was wrong though. "That's my favorite kind of girl, if I'm being honest." She lets him in first but he lingers behind her, his hand finding the small of her back as they walk. She seems familiar enough with this place that he lets himself look around as they walk.
He slides into the seat next to her's waiting for their drinks. "So, what kind of stories do you want to hear first? How I broke my nose the first time? How I got this scar? Oh? How about that time I accidentally ended up on a ship?" Will the stories he tells her be heavily embellished? Of course. Does he think she'll care? Not at all. After all, she asked for stories, not for facts.
i'm not a slave, i won't be guided to a grave in a masquerade, you'll hide your face
She doesn’t mind the hand at her back as she guides them into the bar, nor does she mind his soft quip about being his favorite kind of girl. No, if anything, it earns him a playful smirk and a bat of her lashes. “I’m a builder, after all. I’m certainly not delicate.” She supplies in response to the comment of whiskey, before they’re settling in the seat together and she leans in to turn her body a bit toward him, leaning an elbow onto the table as her eyes widen at the offering of a choice with the stories.
She makes a show of thinking it over, a finger rising to her red lips, tapping there a few moments before the whiskey arrives for the both of them and she reaches for that instead. “I want to know all of them, but I’ll settle for the ship story first.” She says, lips brushing against the rim of the glass before she takes a long slow sip, relishing in it with a soft fluttering of her gaze, before her attention returns to his face.
She absolutely plans to hang onto every word he says, whether or not it’s exaggerated. She’s here for the wistful stories of Torchline, after all. And who better to hear them from than from someone that is a Torcher?
you got it out for me, like strangers in the night holding close their sharpened knives
He leans on one hand, watching her. She's not delicate huh? He'll just have to see how rough she can handle, later of course. Even if the thought of taking her on the table is kind of fun. She might even be down for that. She's been pretty bold, even if kind of indirectly. He likes it though. She says what she wants and he doesn't have to try and figure out if he's missing something. "I'll keep that in mind."
He takes a drink of his own, licking the edge of the glass almost in thought before putting it down. A soft hiss leaves him before a sigh. It's good. Like, really good. It soothes the ever present nerves under his almost cool exterior. "Figured you'd go for that one." He chuckles, shaking his head. Locke takes another drink before starting. "Well, I was maybe.. fifteen or so? Just a lanky little fuck with sticky fingers. Decided to swipe some sailor's booze. 'Cept he'd noticed it was missing just shy of me takin' it. Caught me just as I was tryin' to duck out of the way. Made a run for it, got two streets over and dove into a barrel. Filled with pickled fish. Couldn't get the smell out of my hair for weeks." He stops to take another drink before kind of laughing.
"Think you can guess how I ended up on that ship?"
i'm not a slave, i won't be guided to a grave in a masquerade, you'll hide your face
She is quite a bold one, not afraid to speak her mind or do what she wants to. In fact, the only one that had made her feel somewhat self conscious was Cian, but that was neither here nor there. She’d flirted and she’d relaxed indefinitely the next time she’d seen the Eye. And since then it had been the status quo.
Her smirk only grows as he tells her he’ll keep it in mind, a look crosses her face that’s pleased as a cat, before she’s taking a sip of the whiskey and sighing as it goes down. He launches into the story and she settles in, focused intensely on his face to latch onto every word.
A wider smirk crosses her face as she readjusts her seat a fraction, her leg brushing up against hers as she peers down at her drink, lifting it to her lips and takes another long slow sip, before her gaze lifts to his again. “I’m willing to guess it was payback for taking the drink?” She asks coyly, flashing him a small smirk. “Were you at least on the boat long enough that the fish smell went away?” She asks with a soft chime of a laugh.
She leans back a bit, a little straighter so that her back arches like a cats, and she regards him more fully again.
you got it out for me, like strangers in the night holding close their sharpened knives
"You would think. But no, turns out the sailor I stole from was taking pickled fish out to.. I don't know where. Maybe here." He shakes his head, "Finally worked up the courage to get out of the damn thing and there I am, on the ship. A proper little stowaway. Don't know why they didn't notice one barrel was heavier but I've found sailors aren't usually that smart." He says as if he has any kind of education. "Anyway, come crawling out and there he is! Threw me overboard. Still had his booze but don't think he wanted it back. Managed to swim to shore. Thought I was gonna drown. Never went on a ship again." Not a proper ship anyway.
He shakes his head, finishing off the last of his drink, "Sorry it wasn't more riveting. Most of my stories are just me stealing things and dealing with the fallout."
