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!
Her seriousness only brings him more amusement that lights up his eyes. “Then I apologize for my bad manners.” He retorts with another chuckle, spying the smile that twitches up her lips as her shoulders shrug. She agrees to the purple regardless and somehow it feels like he’s won a tiny little battle at least. “Oh good. I’m not sure I’ve even sketched anything that wasn’t chicken scratch.” He half mutters, another soft laugh leaving him.
But he’s there to rescue her when it comes to things to do before she kicks him out, and he regards her question over board games with a hint of surprise. She doesn’t have any – which is fine, perhaps another gift later on down the line when she’s fixed something else of his – but perks up at the subject of paper and pencils. “Ooh. Yes. Alright.” He says, stopping his scans and moving to stand, folding the blanket back onto the couch the best he can with one arm, before he’s moving toward her to offer his good hand to help her up. “Hangman sounds great. Where’s the paper and pencils?” He asks, flashing her a bright fanged grin.
and i find sorrow in idle minds and solace in being heard
Cal is a lot, Isla is learning; a bright spark of energy that doesn't ever seem to stop or flicker. It dims at times - she's seen it, very briefly - but then it's right back to full speed ahead. She doesn't know whether she wants to be swept away by it, or if she wants to see straight through it to whatever is underneath. For now she settles on the former, tilting her head up at him and reaching out to clasp his hand and draw herself to her feet.
"Alright - hangman it is," she agrees, smiling warmly and gesturing over to the bookshelves. "There will be notebooks and stationary there," she says, stepping over to collect them up. Returning to sit on the couch and scoot forward so they can play on the coffee table, she offers him out the pencil. "You are the guest, so you can have the first word." It's only polite.
passing by, you light up my darkest skies you take only seconds to draw me in
It’s a bandaid for him as much as everything else is. It’s a way to ignore the rest of it and push it off for later, for scowling and brooding when he’s alone or when he’s people watching, or when he’s not surrounded by someone that had only been kind to him in helping him. So he helps her up with his one hand, following her gaze toward the bookshelves. He moves to follow her but she seems to have it under control, and so he sinks back down into the couch, leaning forward with his elbow braced on his leg toward the paper strewn on the coffee table now.
Gripping the pencil lightly, he flashes her a grin of thanks, before he’s moving to mark the underlines of the word. “Alright.” He hums, drawing six blank underscores, before he’s leaning back and regarding her with an almost childish bout of energy. “What’s your first guess?” He asks, pencil ready to either write a letter or start drawing the hangman’s post.
and i find sorrow in idle minds and solace in being heard
Isla has to shift a bit closer so they can play, and she peeks over at the six blank lines he draws out, her pebble blues narrowing in concentration. His energy is infectious, and she’s grinning as well as she makes her first guess. As it turns out, Cal has chosen a difficult first word for the game, and his hangman’s noose will only be a short an arm and a leg before the medic finally gets it. “Fiddle!” she announces, sitting up and grinning across at him.
”Whatever made you choose that as your first word?” There’s both pride and exasperation in her voice, and she has to resist the urge to reach across and punch him in the arm, only because there isn’t actually one to punch. “Alright, alright. My turn. Since you aren’t going easy, neither will I.” Reaching to grab another pencil, Isla moves to draw out seven spaces where letters might be.
passing by, you light up my darkest skies you take only seconds to draw me in
It’s apparently quite the challenging word and Varus has a smirk on his face by the end of it, barking a laugh as she finally figures it out. “Because I’m not a painter but I can play the fiddle.” He pauses, leaning in with a considering look that flashes across his face. “When I have both arms, of course.” He makes sure to note before he snorts, settling in to watch her list out her own.
And gods he struggles though, the hangman nearly complete aside from an arm (oddly fitting he finds) before the dawning realization hits him. “Duchess? Gods I haven’t used that word in a long time.” He laughs, wondering what made her pick that word as well.
And then he settles in with something a bit more difficult, a bit more personal, with five underscores written out, waiting to see if she guesses his name. “This ones probably tough but I’ll take some pity on you.” A crooked, fanged smirk is shot her way.
and i find sorrow in idle minds and solace in being heard
"You can?" That earns a raise of the eyebrows from Isla, and she smiles across at him. "I haven't got a musical bone in my body, but I was taught to dance. There is a music shop in the Sanctuary - we'll have to go some time, see if we can pick you up a fiddle," she suggests. "I get to come, of course, because I think you owe me a performance after making me guess that word."
But she supposes she gets her own back in a way, because he's only one Cal away (haha get it) from losing the game when he guesses her word in turn. "That's right," she says sunnily. "I used to be a duchess, back in Northaven where I am from. Granted, I was never a very good one - being a field medic in a war takes it out of you a bit."
Then they're playing again, though, and gods but Isla can't get the word as hard as she tries. Until she does get it, triumphantly looking up at Cal. "Virus," she announces.
passing by, you light up my darkest skies you take only seconds to draw me in
“I can.” There’s a bit of pride in his voice with it, before he’s making note of the place she’s suggested, humming a sound of consideration from his throat. “Alright, Isla, you’ve got yourself a deal.” He flashes her an amused grin, before the game takes up again and her word has him leaving him hanging with a missing arm.
Bright blues shift to focus on her face, his hand rising to rub at his jaw. “Huh. I was gonna say that you don’t seem very duchess-like. Most of the ones I knew were quite squeamish and hated field work of any kind.” He shrugs, hand dropping to write the next underscores.
He does take pity on her, though, because she isn’t getting it. And all that’s left is a V—RUS. And when she proudly boasts her answer his face flashes with both amusement and a bit of feigned hurt, starting to draw on some toes to a foot. “Nope.” He proudly offers, flashing her a crooked grin. “It’s Varus.” He pauses, leaning forward on his elbow that’s braced on his leg. “I’ve kept it a bit of a secret but that’s my first name. Keep calling me Cal, though. Varus is mostly used for when I’ve gotten into some shit.” He offers her with another hum of laughter.
and i find sorrow in idle minds and solace in being heard
"I'm glad to hear it," Isla says of their deal, flashing a grin at him and shrugging her shoulders as he remarks on her un-duchessness. "Not me," she says softly. "Both of my parents were healers, though they were blessed with magic. I wasn't, so I had to learn everything the good, old fashioned way." The gory way, is another way of puttting it. It had made her into the medic she is today, though, so she can't complain about it one bit.
Then there's something more interesting to think about, though, especially as he mentions that the word isn't virus after all. "Varus? That isn't fair," she informs him. "You chose a word that doesn't actually exist. Name's don't count!" She raises her eyebrows, as if to inform him that this ought to count as him being in the shit, but she's endeared nonetheless. "Why is it such a secret, if you don't mind my asking?"
passing by, you light up my darkest skies you take only seconds to draw me in
The gory way is the way to do it if magic isn’t around, and he finds it both surprising and admirable that she’d want to follow the path even when magic didn’t run through her veins. “That does make sense.” He offers her with a soft laugh, a nod of his head, before the game of his name comes into play and the smile on his face turns into a Cheshire grin.
“Too bad. I’m counting it.” He winks to her with a bright laugh, one that settles and sombers when her question is aired, why he kept it a secret. “It’s secret because I’m a soldier.” He offers her, before realizing he should clarify. He leans back, fingers tapping on his knee as he regards her. “Well, I used to be an assassin in the first war and I didn’t need anyone knowing my real name, let alone the enemy.” He shrugs his one shoulder, his blue gaze drifting to her face to see how she takes it. “So I started going by Cal because my father did when he was a soldier, too. Got me extra perks and all that.” The smile turns crooked and nostalgic.
“I should probably stop bothering you now and go run some of those scans, huh?” He says softly, pausing before he stands.
and i find sorrow in idle minds and solace in being heard
Her lips part to object - he can't just count it because he says he does! - but then the conversation becomes a good deal more serious, and Isla's expression turns thoughtful. "Oh, I see," she says softly, before reaching up to draw an imaginary cross over her heart. "Well, Cal. I'll make sure I keep that to myself for you." She doesn't need to sigh, but the motion is a habit by now. "They say another war is coming, so it could be that your skills will be of use very soon." But I hope not is something she decides not to say.
Lost in the prospect of what fighting will do to her friends on both sides of this, Isla blinks herself back to the moment to find that Cal is getting to his feet. She follows suit automatically, though it's on the tip of her tongue to tell him he can stay if he likes. But he gets the impression that perhaps the scans he wants to perform are best done alone, so she offers him a gentle smile and a nod.
"You weren't bothering me, but if you want to go back to the infirmary, I'll see you in the morning when I get there?" she suggests.
passing by, you light up my darkest skies you take only seconds to draw me in
“I appreciate it.” He assures her with an easy smile. And when she sighs, he can feel the notion of following suit in his chest, but instead calmly regards what she says with a small, quiet nod, unsurprisingly less fiery and playfully than before. “So I’ve heard. Just need to get my arm back and start training up again.” He shrugs, as if it doesn’t mean anything, when in reality it meant a lot.
Brought back just in time for another fight, one where he hopefully would outlast it too. But only time would tell, wouldn’t it?
He stands to make his departure and she stands with, a sort of understanding smile crossing her face as she offers the infirmary again and he nods, facing her to reach out and cup her hand with his only one as a gesture of thanks. “I’ll see you in the morning, Isla. Do enjoy those flowers while I’m gone.” A crooked smile crosses his face, paired with a wink, before he moves to make his departure, heading toward the Infirmary to both brood and run scans in a space that’s dark and quiet.
— FIN <333
and i find sorrow in idle minds and solace in being heard
