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!
"As opposed to a genuinely creepy weirdo. You know, foil hat, penchant for serial killer documentaries?" He raises his eyebrows. He's seen that Don't Fuck With Cats thing on Netflix, he knows a weirdo when he sees one. Luckily, Bandcamp seems more like harmless, talented and unfairly handsome drug addict type. "I'll fucking drink to that," he says about the money, though the other man still has the jar so... he guesses not.
"Mm, I guess we will." He throws a cursory glance over the sheet music, understanding precisely none of it and caring even less, before suddenly it's Q&A time with him as the star, and he flashes a crooked smile at his host. "You bring me here to get me more drunk and interrogate me?" He sighs. "Fine. My deal is that I fix motorbikes. I got a garage a few blocks away, bought it from my boss a couple years ago. Used to be in the army but I ain't any more, and I left the good ol' Emerald Isle to find my fortunes here. That enough, or do you need my blood type and my bank details too?"
It's too bad. When did it get cool to be so sad? We're spinnin' backwards, did we all go mad?
Yeah, we're only human but w?'ve got hands and hearts and noses, So stop and sm?ll the fucking roses
'Oh shut up. At this point if you don't binge-watch serial killer shows, that's suspect." Taking the hint, Remi takes another hasty sip offering an apologetic bob of his eyebrows before handing the jar over.
"No, I'm interrogating you because you're a lousy conversationalist." He counters, tilting his head before brushing his curls away from his forehead and leaning back against the window. "Oh fuck off, the one that is always blaring music through those shitty speakers?" If there's one thing he can't abide as a musician, it's shitty electronics.
Trying not to seem too interested in the details of Hallway's life, Remi clears his threat with as casual a nod as he can manage. "I was wondering. Thought those might just be a fashion statement. You know, since you're so cool and all." Eyes dipping towards the chain the dogtags sit on (my, my, how astute of you to notice), Remi lets them rise up again with a snort. "Lemme guess, your blood type is the one that universally takes but doesn't give, right?"
ThE RoCkStAr
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
04-13-2021, 08:30 PM (This post was last modified: 04-13-2021, 08:30 PM by Ronin.)
RONIN
the darkstar
light is easy to love.
"I slammed back six drings to tolerate Sunset Control or whatever it is you were doing up there, thank you very much. And I had a fight with a fuckboy in the parking lot - I think I'm entitled to be a bit lacking in the conversation department," Ronin informs his host, accepting the drink back with an easy smile and taking another grateful sip before handing it away again.
Grinning properly to hear that Bandcamp has heard of him, he puts a hand to his heart like the other man is delivering him a compliment. "You ever tried to put expensive kit anywhere near heavy machinery?" he asks. "Besides, not all of us have stars in our eyes to spend on molly and blow. Some of us have to make do."
"I drive too fast to make fashion statements, or to worry about being cool," he remarks with a smirk, pointedly not looking down at the dogtags. "And actually, it's quite the opposite. Might not look it, rockstar, but I'm a real giver."
04-13-2021, 08:39 PM (This post was last modified: 04-13-2021, 08:40 PM by Remi.)
It's too bad. When did it get cool to be so sad? We're spinnin' backwards, did we all go mad?
Yeah, we're only human but w?'ve got hands and hearts and noses, So stop and sm?ll the fucking roses
'Is this that charm and wit I'm meant to be remembering?" Remi asks with a roll of his eyes as his band's name is intentionally (probably) recalled. 'Last I checked I asked you to come. No one made you stay."
Fuck if Hallway doesn't look hotter than hell sitting there looking smug, leaving Remi no choice but to laugh up at the ceiling. "Yeah, I have actually. Helps when the people working those machines know what they're doing though." He counters, idly wondering when this became a pissing match. Because if it was going to continue, he'd much rather just whip out his dick and grab a ruler and be done with it. Ronin's commentary on how Remi chooses to spend his money just earns a cheers from the musician (either with or without the jar, depending on who has it now). 'Yep, that's me. Silver spoon all the way.'
With a look that's overly incredulous, for moment Remi can do little more than gape at the man sitting across from him. "I drive too fast to make fashion statements or worry about being cool?" He repeats, eyes bright with mockery. "You read that off a bumper sticker?" Snorting, Remi nods sarcastically. "Oh yeah. That's why one of us came into a clump of paper towels and the other got a pat on the back and a phone number, huh?"
Shit. That was not how he meant to segue back into that.
ThE RoCkStAr
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
"You're right. No one did," Ronin replies simply, bobbing his eyebrows over the jar as he takes another drink from it. It's going down too easy, and the heat in his belly is far too pleasant for the long as hell walk home he's got to look forward to. As he hands the booze back across as Bandcamp insults his skills, he can't help the way his jaw drops incredulously. "You know they call us the fighting Irish, right?" It's half a warning, half a joke, and honestly - Ronin is too battered already to be bothered with another punch up. Especially not in some carelessly handsome musician's apartment.
"Lucky for some," he remarks about the silver spoon comment, deciding to put that the fuck to bed before it dances right across the line of banter and into an argument. "And I read it off a tshirt, actually. Probably the same place you got yours." He nods at the other man's fashion choices.
Only then wow, they're really getting into the meat of the conversation, and Ronin runs his tongue along his teeth. "Most don't get the phone number," he points out. "So is this your way of saying that I owe you one, or...?" Tilting his head, he barks out a laugh. "You're a bit of a dick, aren't you?" he says. "I like it." A lot.
04-13-2021, 09:00 PM (This post was last modified: 04-13-2021, 09:03 PM by Remi.)
It's too bad. When did it get cool to be so sad? We're spinnin' backwards, did we all go mad?
Yeah, we're only human but w?'ve got hands and hearts and noses, So stop and sm?ll the fucking roses
"I know that, yes." Remi says with a studious nod. "I also know that I saw you nearly lick the pavement tonight, compliments of a guy who smelled like he lives in Abercrombie and Fitch."
He was kidding earlier, but now he really can sense the charm, and it warms him in a way that all the alcohol and lingering drugs in his system can only masquerade at. "Aww, and here I thought we wouldn't have anything in common." Like with much of their conversation thus far, this has a grain of truth in it as well.
So as Ronin runs his tongue along his teeth, Remi finds himself thoroughly unprepared for the words he says next, or the effect they have on him. "Lucky me." The words all but stumble out of his mouth; he means it as a response to the phone number comment, but wants it as a response to the latter question. 'Well. Good." Smooth. So smooth. Remi can feel his cheeks flushing, and they've been drinking too long for him to be able to blame it on the alcohol. "I mean, you hated my band so, glad to hear I haven't fully disappointed." It's more leadingly said than it is flirtatious. Though it would be easier to just come out and say, hey I'm gay btw, that seems too terrifying. So instead, he supposes, he'll just keep insulting the incredibly rugged soldier sitting just a foot away from his bed and hope for the best.
ThE RoCkStAr
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Ronin opens his mouth to argue, before belatedly realising that the other man is absolutely right. Huffing out the breath instead and spreading his hands as if to say you got me, there's perhaps a twinkle of laughter in his eyes through the haze of booze and assholery. "Thanks, by the way," he says, very belatedly. "You didn't have to peel me out of that mess, especially when I started it."
He raises his eyebrows as if to ask what, exactly, they don't have in common - they're both into different flavours of shitfuckery, and as far as he can remember they're both damned good kissers. What else do you need?
More awkward insults, apparently. "Oi, I don't hate your band. I hate the music your band plays, except for one song. Which I don't reckon is anything to do with the band, for what it's worth." This is also leadingly said, and Ronin sits up a bit in his seat. "So why did you invite me back here?"
It's too bad. When did it get cool to be so sad? We're spinnin' backwards, did we all go mad?
Yeah, we're only human but w?'ve got hands and hearts and noses, So stop and sm?ll the fucking roses
"If I hadn't, you'd have drawn a bigger crowd than I did." Remi says with a bashful shake of his head. "Couldn't have that."
Rolling his eyes, Remi pokes at the inside of his cheek to keep as straight a face as he can manage. "You lose the plot faster than the ending of How I Met Your Mother did. Raising a brow, he tugs at the collar of his shirt. 'Shopping at the same terrible-sayings-on-t-shirts-store?'
Bobbing his head (the rhythm of which has been picked up by one of his feet which taps against the floor), Remi tries not to notice that Ronin has sat up straighter; as it happens, straighter is closer than being slouched back (nearly against the keys, he might add). "Well maybe if you hadn't decided to start a fight and get yourself kicked out, you might have heard something else you'd have liked." Not even Remi knows what the point of that is supposed to be, but the words feel heated as they leave his lips, though not from anger.
'So you wouldn't get hauled off to the drunk tank.' Remi says, finding it remarkably hard to hold Ronin's gaze. "And then..you just sort of followed me up here, so..." On the couch the wolfhound shifts, grumbling as he did so as if to say just fuck already, before going back to sleep.
ThE RoCkStAr
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
"Oh no no, of course not. It wouldn't look good for your image," Ronin agrees. His smiles feel more genuine on his lips as they settle into the rhythm of insulting you and then apologising for something different, or however this dance is supposed to go. "I'm not sure How I Met Your Mother had a plot to begin with," he shoots back. "It just pretended to. And I'll have you know, the store had a sale. Might explain a lot of your terrible sayings."
They're talking shit. Stop talking shit, Ronin - this is stupid, and the guy is hot and you're drunk, and even if you've never with a guy before, who gives a fuck? You live once, and hopefully when you die, it's in one piece.
"So now I'm here," he concludes, skipping over the rest of their preamble. "And now I could leave again, or I could stay. And I think I'd quite like to stay, if the past however-the-fuck-long of this is any indication." He pats the pocket that holds his phone, as if to wonder whether they are only capable of a connection when it's via text. Probably - a gif is worth a thousand awkward t-shirt slogans, as they say.
It's too bad. When did it get cool to be so sad? We're spinnin' backwards, did we all go mad?
Yeah, we're only human but w?'ve got hands and hearts and noses, So stop and sm?ll the fucking roses
Remi nods, conceding the point with a boyish smile. As long as they keep talking around things he feels like he'll be able to keep his tongue from getting too tangled. 'I'm just looking out for the little guy. Someone has to keep the shirt-slogan-writers in business.' The blush on his cheeks however is just a little bit bashful, because in truth, Remi is rather helpless where bad puns are concerned. Where hot motorcycle mechanics are, too.
Ronin lays out his options, and in the back of Remi's mind he can see himself smiling and saying, You haven't seen anything yet, and then tugging him into bed. The sex is amazing and they stay up looking at the stars instead of sleeping, and in the morning they do that thing where you give the SkipTheDishes guy the combo to your house so that they can bring you food right to bed. It's all romcom filth, and it absolutely makes the heat in Remi's belly begin to broil. Of course what actually happens is that Remi blinks awkwardly, his mouth opening and closing slightly as he loses himself in the music and laughter in Hallway's eyes.
"I could play it for you, if you want." He blurts out, the offer entirely without context. Swallowing hard and trying to laugh off what is quickly becoming the most awkward moment of his life, Remi runs a hand up the side of his face and tries again as he nods toward the piano. "The song you missed." He clarifies, softly. "I could play it for you, if you wanted to hear."
ThE RoCkStAr
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
"You'll get them set for life, when you're a big star and everyone realises you buy from them," he points out, as if Bandcamp here really is a saint for doing such a solid for an independent business without them even realising his generosity. But yeah, that's the end of the storytime with imaginary retailers, because the night is getting on and they're both not getting any younger, and the booze in Ronin's system is telling him to reach up and grab the front of the other man's shirt and pull him into a kiss.
He doesn't, of course, because the next thing he knows they're talking about music again, and the piano at his back, and it ties his tongue in frustrating knots. "Oh - sure," he says, assuming that he has misread the situation and shifting to rise to his feet that his host might take to the bench. "Multitalented, huh. I saw that trumpet on the stovetop too."
It's too bad. When did it get cool to be so sad? We're spinnin' backwards, did we all go mad?
Yeah, we're only human but w?'ve got hands and hearts and noses, So stop and sm?ll the fucking roses
Now it's Remi's turn to look saintly and humble as he graciously lowers his chin to accept Ronin's kind words. Which is probably for the best because he can't—and he knows this for absolute certain—take another second of Ronin's blue eyes. Not without needing to feel the crash of his lips again.
"Oh, you can—" But Ronin is already on his feet, ruining the romantic moment Remi was setting up in his mind; they sit together on the bench as Remi plays, Ronin you know..hopelessly swooning and telling him what an amazing musician he is.
"Mm?" Glancing over his shoulder as he sits down at the bench, Remi blushes yet again as he turns his gaze back toward the familiar landscape of the piano. "Oh, yeah. Insert a joke here about the things I can do with my tongue." Scrunching his eyes close that he might silently wince at himself, Remi exhales. This, he knows, he can do.
And if Hallway hates it? Well. At least he's hating Remi's real music this time.
"I'd go more for a joke about what you can do with your fingers," Ronin objects where he's taken the other man's place at the window sill. Especially based on their last interaction, but if Bandcamp wants to tote his tonguing ability too, they can test that out. No objections here. He settles at the sill, trying and failing to hide his smile (he sees the way his host cringes at himself, and honestly, it's the sort of boyish self awareness that he finds thoroughly attractive), falling silent to listen.
And honestly? He wants to find some smart ass comment to say about the music, because that's who Ronin is these days and finding a way to quip through it is easier than being genuine, but fuck if he can find the words. It's good. More than good. Slow and sweet and heartfelt in a way that he's damn sure would make those girls looking for the after-party wet. Except those girls aren't here right now. Ronin is, though.
He's left the window sill towards the end of the song, when he figures that an interruption will be taken as a compliment rather than a judgement, ghosting up behind the man at the piano to let warm fingers glide along his biceps and shoulders. His lips trail along a jaw that, unlike his own, does not have bruises brewing beneath the skin. Is this how he'd imagined his evening going? Nope.
It's too bad. When did it get cool to be so sad? We're spinnin' backwards, did we all go mad?
Yeah, we're only human but w?'ve got hands and hearts and noses, So stop and sm?ll the fucking roses
Lost in it all as he is, Remi is only vaguely aware that Ronin has moved. There is a tickle of annoyance in the back of his skull—"jesus it's like thirty more seconds and then you can fuck off out of here" he wants to say—when he feels fingertips against his shoulder that continue down one arm. It's the first—and only, thank you—time that his fingers have faltered on the keys, and though he fucking hates the early mornings and the rabbit food, god if he isn't suddenly happy that the day before at the gym had been arm-day.
Turning slowly into the feeling of lips against his jawline, Remi's fingers are able to still map out the remaining chords with ease, as his eyes have the nerve to seek out Ronin's with a look of soft confusion. What is confusing about having brought an attractive man home, peppering him with liquor, and then playing him a love song only to find him trying to slide into first base, even I don't know. Neither does Remi.
Entirely undone by Ronin's presence, despite the way he subtly turns into the man next to him, his fingers continue to gently coax out the remaining chords. "I wasn't—" He begins, and unless Ronin does something about it, Remi is going to finish that sentence with done playing yet.
ThE RoCkStAr
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
