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!
04-14-2021, 08:04 PM (This post was last modified: 04-14-2021, 08:04 PM by Ronin.)
RONIN
the darkstar
light is easy to love.
"Over here." Ronin waits for no man when it comes to food, as Bandcamp is about to realise. He's waving a hand from a little table in front of the window - and yes, that means he's definitely been able to watch the other man sprint up the street, slow down to appear casual, and then hurry inside out of the rain. He's taken the liberty of ordering lunch and yet more coffee, waving a hand to the empty seat opposite him and the toasted sandwich boasting an unhealthy amount of cheese (at least three different kinds) and some spiced chutney.
"If this isn't your thing, don't feel obligated. I can get it to go," Ronin says around a bite of his own identical sandwich - they call it the holy cheesus, and he's of the opinion that it's a name that's well earned. "Have a good morning with your maid?"
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
Still flushed, and yes, trying to appear cool and casual, Remi makes his way over toward the table. Slipping into the booth (and knocking his knee on the table in the process), he's still trying to act like he isn't catching his breath as Hallway gestures to the pile of grease masquerading as a sandwich. He almost thinks it must be a joke, but given the massive bite Ronin has just taken—and the way the grease leaves his lips looking as if he's applied gloss to them—suggests that no, he's quite serious.
'Oh, I ate already.' He hadn't, but he also hasn't been away from Italy long enough to put any part of what Ronin is eating in his mouth. Besides, if he did, he was fairly certain Vai would put a curse on him or worse, make him do a cleanse.
'Ah, I did yeah.' Realizing he's completely forgotten the jacket, he flashes Hallway a crooked smile. 'Wouldn't you know it, between the mud bath and my mandatory massage, there just wasn't time to look for your jacket." He says, bearing his palms in a placating gesture as he shrugs.
Was that Ronin's boot he just kicked under the table, or the table leg? Fuck.
ThE RoCkStAr
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
"Suit yourself," Ronin murmurs, his eyebrows playfully bouncing up in a gesture that approximates damn, tough crowd, before he raises a hand to ask one of the waitresses to come and remove the cheese masterpiece from in front of the esteemed musician. Wouldn't want to offend his delicate sensibilities. She sweeps straight over, moving to box up the sandwich to-go, and Ronin waves a hand at the other cup of coffee.
"You drink already, too?" he teases, putting down the sandwich to wipe his hands and mouth on a napkin, before settling back with his own coffee. "Oh I see," he says. "Good thing, really - how am I supposed to look for it with you if you've found it already?"
Ronin can feel the awkwardness drape itself over them like a wet blanket. Invite a man for food and he's already eaten, and now they get to walk through drizzle to look for a jacket that, by the time he puts it on, he'll be soaking wet. Then a foot nudges against his beneath the table, and he smirks into his coffee. "That's sweet," he jokes, "but in these boots I couldn't play footsie even if I wanted to."
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
Ronin wipes at his lips and a lyric about being jealous of the discarded napkin floats through Remi's mind. Without the confidence, alcohol inspires the musician finds his tongue far less sharp than it had been last night. So instead of telling Ronin to fuck off with is truck-stop coffee, he raises it to his lips, sipping at it as if it were a teacup filled with imaginary tea handed to him by a child in a princess dress.
'Good thing.' He agrees with a laugh that's far too amused for the level of humour on offer. Flushing a shade of red he can't blame on the walk over, Remi quickly tucks his feet against the bottom of his side of the bench with an awkward laugh. 'No, I...sorry, restless legs and all that." More like my legs are on fire because I'm out of shape.
"Busy day?" Remi asks, like they aren't complete fucking strangers navigating a sexual chemistry that is at complete odds with how incompatible they seem to be. Raising his eyes to the grease smeared across Ronin's forehead, Remi nods at it, eyebrows raising once. 'You've got...uh, grease, I think. Just there."
ThE RoCkStAr
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Ronin watches the display with the coffee as if unsure how a man who lives in a literal cave full of sheet music and glasses with fingerprints on them can simultaneously be a snob. It's amusement, at least, that crosses his face, and he shakes his head as he takes another gulp of his coffee and another few bites of his sandwich. He gives barely a shrug to the other man's apology, as if he'd have preferred more banter, but with it having successfully killed the conversation, Ronin is silent until he's finished with his lunch.
Which is precisely when Remi points out the oil streaked across his forehead. "Shit," he mutters on autopilot, grabbing a fresh napkin and swiping away the smudge in a practiced gesture that suggests this is not the first time it's happened. "Wonder how many people have been staring at it before you noticed. Busy day, messy job. Especially when it's just me." He grins. "But it does mean I can head out whenever I please."
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 have to tell you something.' Remi says in his best we need to talk voice. Setting down the cup of coffee, he opens his mouth to speak, before considering and closing it again. With an oscar-worthy sigh, he finally looks across at Ronin, pensively biting at his lower lip before finally spitting it out. "I am an absolute snob about coffee." He says with all the lead up of having just admitted he hides dead bodies beneath his floorboards.
Grinning, he watches as Ronin wipes away the grease. He doesn't necessarily get all of it, but fuck if it doesn't just add to the rugged vibe that the mechanic has going on. Slyly, Remi thinks that even naked, he'd still manage to look dirty. "My guess? Every woman in here." He says, looking over his shoulder. Nevermind that it's the noon crowd which is mostly cougars and 70-somethings who like to stay active. "How nice for you. And lucky for your jacket. If it stays at my place for too long, I can't be held liable for what might happen to it." He doesn't realize how pervy that might sound; Remi is thinking only of Vai, and how she'll take the animal-made jacket and give it back to nature somehow. Maybe in the form of a birds-nest, or some sort of shelter for a beehive.
"So...is this you following me home, again?" Remi wonders, trying to swallow down the thrill that rises from his stomach into the back of his throat.
ThE RoCkStAr
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
With his sandwich finished and his coffee half gone, Ronin smiles over his cup and slouches back in the booth. "You ought to have said something - you could have chosen where we ate, and then I could have politely declined the filet mignon and the ristretto." He absolutely would not have declined it, and he might have even found a shirt to wear if one still exists in the back of his closet.
"Oh, ha ha. Surprised the rain didn't wash it off," he grumbles, setting the crumpled napkins onto his plate and exchanging it with the waitress for the other boxed up sandwich. "Shall I put you out of your misery and finish your coffee?" he asks with a smile that is suddenly very sweet. "As for the jacket, just wipe it down before you give it back if that's what you want to do with it," he advises, gesturing for the other man to head out of the booth if he's ready.
"Uh, no. I was invited this time, I'll have you know. I've got the messages to prove it," he informs him, though as he rises to his feet as well, he holds up a hand. "If I am coming home with you again though, you're telling me your fucking name, aight?"
04-14-2021, 09:11 PM (This post was last modified: 04-14-2021, 09:12 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
'You're right. My bad. Next time you leave an article of clothing at my place, that's what we'll do.' The words are out before he's realized the implications, and it's with a flustered inhale that Remi frowns down at the table, pushing around a bit of spilled sugar.
"How could it, with that flop of hair?" Remi wonders, glancing across the table through mostly dry curls. 'Absolutely not.' Pushing the mug of coffee toward the side of the table where the waitress can come and fetch it, he gives his head a shake. "I will make you a proper coffee back at mine."
Rolling his eyes though not bothering to reply—he's not up to the mental or verbal challenge of replying to that particular comment—he slides out of the booth, careful not to knock the coffee off the edge. Glancing down at the raised hand, Remi frowns, before offering the man before him an incredulous (and honestly, a bit offended) look. "You're kidding. You were at my show. It was my name on the sandwich boards." Planning on standing there until he got an answer, it was only a polite 'scuse me loves from the waitress as she tries to bus their table that sends Remi toward the door.
ThE RoCkStAr
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
"Deal." For Ronin, he finds himself saying it before the other man can possibly take it back, and in the back of his head he's wondering what he might be able to leave at the apartment once he's taken his jacket back and-- stop it, the guy already showed you he isn't really interested, you dumbass. "You're in no position to start throwing hands about hair, sir," he informs him instead, scoffing at the mug of perfectly good coffee he's leaving behind. With his boxed sandwich in a paper bag that will probably half-dissolve in the rain, Ronin is ready to go.
But for one thing, apparently. "So?" He steps out of the way of the waitress, blinking at Bandcamp expectantly until it becomes clear that he's not going to get anywhere with it. So, in front of the doors, making sure to hold up the person trying to come in (they have to wait in the rain, oops), Ronin googles Sunset Patrol and finds the information he's looking for.
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 absolutely am." Remi counters with a smirk. "I will have you know that my hair has literally been listed as one of my best features." He adds with a so fucking there tilt of his head.
'So?' He repeats, because listen: Is Remi famous? A household name? No absolutely not. Has he played enough shows that he gets recognized by women when he's out walking his dog? Yes (though not as much as he pretends). And it was his show Ronin had come to!
"You're a dick." Quietly thrilled but outwardly bothered, he just nods his head in the direction of the street they need to take. "Come on samurai. Or do you need an Uber? You're so sweet I worry that you'll melt in the rain." He asks with a sarcastic smile, finding this sort of banter much more manageable, even when paired with those blue eyes and dark hair.
ThE RoCkStAr
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
"Hmmm," says Ronin in response to the hair comment, in that annoying if you can't say anything nice sort of way. He can't help but enjoy the way this man bounces between could be homeless and prima donna, and so he heads out into the rain with him and resists the urge to step on his heels with steel toe-caps for the nickname he has so kindly graced him with. Speaking of which, at least he finally does know Remi's name. And he doesn't say it, but he thinks it: sounds French.
"And you still invited me home," he murmurs as he's called a dick, falling into step with the musician as he's predictably soaked. Wearing only the faded jeans and grey tshirt that he walked to work in, Ronin supposes that he'll have to drive back to his place in his overalls after work. Wouldn't be the first time. Hopefully Saki doesn't mind.
"Know what else melts in the rain? Witches." That's code for no, I don't need an Uber, and he tilts his head back to enjoy the rain on his face as they walk. "Nothing like grey skies to remind you of home," he mutters.
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 invited you to come and pick up your jacket." Remi corrects flatly, though he can't help but smile to himself, because yeah, he had still invited him back.
"I did know that." The musician agrees with a surprising amount of confidence; Vai did many things, but melt wasn't one of them. Glancing over his shoulder to watch Hallway tilt his head back, Remi greedily soaks in the man's details while his eyes are diverted. He's a mystery to be sure, this one. All hard edges and rough hands with moments that are surprisingly sweet that have a tendency to abruptly end, but not before leaving a small string to follow: a phone number to text, a grin from the crowd, a kiss, a jacket left on his couch.
Looking up as well, Remi chuckles under his breath and nods. "I would much rather have the sea as a reminder than cloudy skies, but..." He shrugs, not bothering to follow it up with the expected aphorism. Land of opportunity? More like land without culture. Thunder purrs overhead as they reach Remi's apartment; they're thoroughly soaked by now, and the way Hallway's t-shirt clings to him hasn't gone unnoticed.
"Towel? Or...I'm sure I have something that'll fit you." Remi mumbles giving Ronin a quick once-over that is far too fleeting to at all have taken in the man's measurements.
ThE RoCkStAr
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
"That too," he agrees regarding the sea. In that regard they are probably similar, but he imagines Italy's coastline to be a lot more sunshiney and sandy and full of busty women in bikinis. Ireland is more of a slate grey, don't go in the water unless it's on a boat kind of vibe. Still, he glances back away from the sky in time to steal a glance of his own, allowing himself a little private smile that completely ignores how awkward things were yesterday.
It isn't long before they arrive back at the musician's apartment - and it looks a lot different in the daylight while Ronin is sober, though whether that's a good different or a bad one is beyond him. His shirt absolutely clings to him by this point, and Bandcamp isn't the only one forced to go to the gym, though for Ronin it's less forced and more habit. He has no personal trainer or expensive gym membership - just weights and a pull-up bar in his apartment, and an urge to run on weekends.
"Either or," he says in response. "Will I be wearing something from the bad slogan store, if I change?" The amusement in his voice is devoid of its usual snark, speaking of in-jokes rather than sarcastic attempts to keep his head above water.
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
Biting at the inside of his cheek to keep his grin from spreading, Remi tries on as casual a shrug as he can manage. "I am just as committed to their well-being today as I was last night." So saying he goes into his closet and with only a moment's hesitation (he'd like to put more thought into it, but trying to be cool means doing everything carelessly, apparently), tosses Hallway a white t-shirt that at first glance looks like a screen-print of American Gothic. Instead of the original faces though, it's the husband and wife from the Shining, and the husband is predictably holding an axe instead of a pitchfork. "Sweatpants too?" Remi asks, absolutely not letting himself looking down at Ronin's legs or groin to see how wet they were for himself.
Grabbing a burgundy shirt that has Rosebud Motel written in flowing script across it, Remi tries to decide which is more awkward: changing in front of this man who kissed him and then bolted only 12 hours before, or going to change in the bathroom like a 12 year old.
ThE RoCkStAr
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
