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!
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
“I imagine not.” Varus admits quietly, before he shakes his head a fraction. “I’ll let you know.” But without pain and seeing as the arm is entirely useless right now as is, he’d rather just have it shut off the warnings and be done with it. So he listens to her story instead of listening to her blades cutting around his skin — feeling nothing but pressure and more warnings as they spark in his head.
Ah, the blessings of being Ascended. “What made you decide to Ascend?” He asks curiously, tilting his head toward her to watch as she cuts through the arm carefully and well practiced. As for keeping it? A dark brow raises and he’s quiet as he tries to decide. “Hm. Well, maybe the Voice could use it to fashion me a new one.” He pauses before a soft laugh rumbles out of him, pushing aside all the rest of everything to deal with in favor of humor. “Could be quite the party trick in the meantime, don’t you think?” He teases her lightly, flashing another crooked grin her way.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
"Curiosity," Isla admits, her voice quiet and soft as she peels away the flesh to reveal the mechanisms beneath; bone coated in a sheen of quicksilver, cabling and fluid and other workings that she's only vaguely familiar with, at present. "Everything I have done seems to be in the name of curiosity. I don't regret it for a moment, though." Gathering her tools, she leans in closer, her eyes flashing a bit as she engages her optical upgrade.
Smirking a bit as she starts to make incisions and to release the arm from its socket, she glances briefly up at Cal. "A new one?" she asks. "Yes, I imagine she could do something with it at least. And if not, there is something of a graveyard out in the Hollowed Grounds, filled with various Ascended parts. We could give it a proper send-off there, if you change your mind about the party trick."
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
Curiosity is a good enough answer for him, truthfully. And he finds his head inclining toward her, watching as she pulls the skin away and reveals his bone and the wires, fluid and everything else. He isn’t squeamish either, and simply seems to watch it with a hint of indifference. “Did you find what you were looking for?” He asks instead, his blue gaze lifting to watch Isla’s face in his own quiet curiosity.
But she begins to release the arm from the socket and he can already feel his weight grow disproportionate, something that he’d have to practice with and train with in order to get back into tip top shape – a mental note made as he listens. “Is there really?” He asks with a quirk of amusement to his lips. “Well, perhaps if she doesn’t have use of it we could send it off.” He offers a soft laugh with that, leaning back to rest his head against the back of the chair again. “You seem like you’ve done this before.” Taking off an appendage, that is.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
04-19-2021, 08:42 PM (This post was last modified: 04-19-2021, 08:42 PM by Isla.)
Isla
"Yes, I did," Isla remarks softly, and her pebble blues lift enough to his face so she can smile gently to him. "And then some. It was more than I could have ever imagined it would be, to be honest." And that's in good ways and bad ways, but the former outweighs the latter so far. "Obviously, we all get melancholy every now and then. But put it this way - I've never been able to have such a nice conversation with a patient while I operate."
Turning back to his arm, she's surprised to hear humour as dark as her own, grinning as she moves to collect up her tools so she can actually saw through the bone and remove it. "I used to be a field surgeon during a war," she explains. "Yours is the first time I've ever amputated an Ascended, though. All a learning curve I suppose." She sits a little straighter now. "Alright, I'm going to need you to keep as still as possible for me now. if you want to brace against the table or grab my shoulder, that's fine."
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
A hum of consideration leaves his throat at her honesty within her answer, finding it resonate a bit with him. “Of course we do. We still feel, just… A bit more emotionally than we used to. I think it’s how our bodies make up for the lack of everything else.” He tips a wink toward her, before that fanged smile remains. “Should I scream in pain, then?” He tacks on after with another internal hum of a laugh that he tries his best to keep contained.
He leans back a bit now, though, keeping his arm in her view and still as he can while she works, just trying to get himself a bit more comfortable as the warnings continue to go off in his head. “Ah. Well, I’m pleased to be your first.” He teases playfully, despite not quite being pleased he has to lose the arm.
He isn’t torn up about it, though. So he does as she instructs, a sharp nod of his head before he’s bracing his good hand against the table, head tilting toward her to watch her chop off the rest of his arm as he stills himself to that old familiar predatory stillness he’d mastered so many centuries ago.
Perhaps he should feel weirder about it, but right now? All he wants is some peace and quiet inside his head.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
"Do you think so? That... certainly would make a lot of sense to me," Isla agrees, never having really thought about it that way before. It would explain her reactions at times (sorry again about the "date", Remi) and it's definitely a thread worth pulling at when she's not about to forcibly remove a stranger's arm. Letting out a laugh that can't help but be lighthearted, she raises her eyebrows at him and shrugs a shoulder. "You go right ahead, but give me a couple seconds' warning, okay?"
She wants to say and hopefully the last at his next quip, but it's honestly a lie, and so instead she merely nods back at him and makes a few final checks before she's starting the process. Isla moves quickly and calmly - even if he can't feel pain, she works as if he can, more than used to performing such a procedure on soldiers without anaesthetic. The sound of the bonesaw is strangely metallic at first, before it gets to the material beneath, and in smooth, careful strokes, she completely saws through his damaged arm.
Once the bone is detached, she's careful about the rest - something she wasn't able to be with more organic patients. Fluid lines are clipped and sealed, the flesh is cut just so that she might suture it up, and Cal finds himself very much apart from his mangled arm at last. "How is that so far?"
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
“Mhm.” He replies easily. “It’s like when someone is blind and they can hear things more intensely.” A fanged grin is shot her way. “Our bodies are quite the fighters themselves, you know.” This ends with a slightly more wolffish smirk as she agrees that he could scream provided he gave ample warning. So of course he waits for it, something glinting mischievously in his ocean eyes.
He waits and waits and bides his time, until the arm is removed and she’s pulling it away from his body, and still watching her face (it’s the only warning she’ll get) he barks out an “AHH!” that echoes off the walls — not unlike how it was when the dentist had already pulled a tooth but hypes you up in preparation for it only to have it already out on the table.
He ends it with a wink, though, of bright amusement, before he’s sitting forward and inspecting the work, craning his head this way and that. “Looks good, Isla. Better than good, actually.” He admits with a bit of excitement. “It’s going to throw off my balance, though. That’ll take some getting used to.” He admits, reaching forward with his one arm to grab the ruined one to inspect it more fully.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
"They certainly know how to make you aware of things," Isla says of Ascended bodies. For her, a fighter? Perhaps not, but she has never been given the chance to demonstrate it. Everything else, though? Well, Cal will know more than most how vocal his body can be about its warnings and alarms and alerts and thresholds. Her thoughts are entirely on this, in fact, when the asshole stranger makes his move. It takes a lot to startle Isla, but someone screaming loudly after an amputation will do it.
He'll find, though, that her reaction is not to shriek, but to swear and beat him with his own severed arm. "You frightened the life out of me-- oh, gods, I'm so sorry." She can't help but laugh as she realises what she's done, a silvery blush colouring her cheeks, and she holds still to allow him to inspect it and surrenders it willingly. "I can always fill a sock with rocks and attach it as a sling," she remarks - and maybe beat him with that too, for startling her - before she's leaning in to sew up the rest. "Just a few more minutes and you'll be free to frighten another day."
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
A hum of agreement leaves his throat when it comes to their bodies alerting them to the things that are wrong. As for the rest of it, though? He can’t help himself. He has to pull out the stops. He’s been gone three hundred years and missed out on quite a lot of bullshittery. What he doesn’t expect, however, is for her to hit him with his own arm.
The one still attached rises to try and block it, but he misses and the arm smacks him right on the shoulder next to the neck and Varus sinks back into the chair with a barking round of laughter. One that creases the edge of his eyes and leaves him still a few moments longer as he regains some sort of composure, eyeing her warily (quite playfully so) when the arm is given to him to inspect.
There’s still a grin on his face tough as he peers up at her. “I’m good without the sling. Does make quite the decent weapon, though.” He waves the arm as if for emphasis, chuckling again before he sets it in his lap. “I’m sorry Isla, I had to.” He sits up a bit more fully, regarding the feeling without having the weight of the second arm to balance him.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
She doesn't expect to make him laugh that hard - by default, Isla has found Ascended to be masters of quiet brooding and serious personalities (Bastien is the exception, actually). But here is Cal, barking laughter at being smacked with his own arm and thoroughly enjoying his own amputation. The medic is getting a brand new look at how life might go as an ageless robot vampire, and she tries and fails to stop her own grin as she prepares to suture him up.
"Stop it, or your stitches will be wonky!" She chuckles, flashing him a playful glare before getting to work. "You had to? Are you quite sure about that?" she inquires, not that she seems to bear him any ill will. "You are lucky that I was only holding an arm, and not something more dangerous. Just a couple more minutes, I'm nearly there." Isla works quickly and skillfully, of that there can be no doubt, and the sutures go in like butter. "There."
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
There are times where Varus absolutely will brood. Probably after this when he goes and explores just how different things had become in the last three hundred years. For now, though, he takes the amusement where he can – life’s so fucking boring without it – and flashes her another grin when she threatens that his stitches will be wonky. “I can’t feel them anyway. Could take as long as you like. Stuff me up like a couch cushion, I don’t care.” He offers, flashing her a playfully fanged grin.
“And yes. I’m sure. I did have to.” He tips her a wink to follow it up, as if there wasn’t any room within him to deny himself the little joy of that. But he waits until she’s finished before he’s speaking again, his bright blue gaze dancing along the stitches until they lift to meet her face. “Eh, if you stabbed me with something I guess that means you’d have to spend more time with me.” He gives her a rogue smirk, sitting back in the chair and using his one hand to poke and prod at the mangled mess that’s been removed. “Which would be such a shame, I know.”
His gaze lifts after a few moments, still with humor crinkling the edges of his gaze. "Thanks for this, though. I can finally hear myself think."
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
"You might not be able to feel them, but I will still know if they're wonky," she informs him. "And I regret that I still have the rest of an infirmary to run after we are finished here, so I won't be able to spend an hour on each stitch." It might be fun if she did, granted, and there's still a smile on her face as she finishes the sutures, makes a last inspection, and sits back so she can take in the work as a whole (and the mangled arm now parted from his body).
Scoffing at what she quickly realises is roguish charm (she has spent enough time around the likes of Taliesins and Wrenzaoks to know it when she sees it), her eyebrows raise in defiant enjoyment. "Such a shame," she agrees. "If I find you go out and ruin another perfectly good limb just to come back in and see me, though, there's going to be trouble," Isla warns, waggling a scalpel finger at him for good measure.
Then she's putting away her tools and taking off her surgical protection, glancing over her shoulder at Cal wil a bright smile. "You are very welcome. The infirmary is always open, so if you do need anything else, just walk on in."
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for? what i am, or what i'm not?
“Gods no.” Varus comments as she finishes up the sutures and he immediately feels relief from the warnings that had been blaring in his head. The arm is detached and he spends a few moments peering at it, debating waving it around, before she captures his attention again and that charming grin is plastered back on. “Ruining this one wasn’t entirely the plan in the first place.” He offers with a light chuckle. “Though I guess neither was getting stuck under a hedge for three hundred fucking years, yet here I am.” The Ascended’s shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, though it’s lost on half of him.
He moves to stand while she puts away the tools and cleans up the work space. “Honestly, doc, I hope I don’t need to.” He offers with another crooked grin. “But I will be seeing you soon regardless, I’m sure.” He winks to her, moving toward the door to not keep her longer than she had planned on staying. He’s got a shrine to get to, to replenish himself, and a lot of time on his hand to figure out what all else had changed.
tell me mother, which should i regret? what i became, or what i didn't?
"Some of us are just lucky I guess," Isla drawls, a smile creeping across her face as she finishes cleaning up - lucky to lose an arm and to get trapped under a hedge for three centuries? Yeah, Isla is definitely making fun. It doesn't take long before they are both standing in the clean operating theatre, empty but for the two of them and the detatched limb, which Isla assumes she's going to take care of given that Cal makes no move to take it with him.
"Oh is that so?" She raises her eyebrows - she has no doubt she'll be seeing him soon as well, based on his tone of voice and his suggestion at repaying her, for some reason, for lopping off a limb. "Well, then. I eagerly await the day when you decide to darken the infirmary doorway again." Gesturing towards the exit, Isla will walk him out, still finding herself smiling even once she's alone again.
~FIN
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
