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!
Blame it on days in the places they made for the people just like me
He’s been staying in the Infirmary since Isla had offered it. And he’s been being good and running his scans. There’s been a lot to go through but at least this time? This time his scans come back virtually empty, his new arm attached and metallic and wonderful if not for a little heavy. He’s gone for a decent amount of time without the arm so it only makes sense that he’d have grown unbalanced before he grows fully balanced again. But as always, the Voice was there for him. Even when his thoughts had grown a bit more traitorous since then.
He stares down at the metal arm, sitting on the bed with his legs tucked up under him — an old soldiers method of meditating before battle (though there wasn’t one yet, just old habits were hard to kill) — and he finds himself twisting the metal arm this way and that, watching the arm flex and pull, shift and move with the pressure he applies to it. And he can hardly feel a thing with it.
So he continues to flex and loosen his arm, getting used to it again, sucking in a deep breath he doesn’t need and starts the meditation over again, head straight and face set in a stony expression.
And here comes Isla to ruin his brooding. She knocks but doesn't wait, too absorbed in the pages of what she's reading; she rarely finds time to get a break in between patients, so this is an exciting time indeed. Varus has been set up in one of only three private consultation rooms, but there are hardly any people who need to use them these days, so Isla considers it a decent sacrifice for giving a friend a place to stay.
"You will never believe what I found in the Atheneum," she says, marking a finger in the pages so she won't lose her place. "This is a very rare romantic mystery - and it's actually not bad at all," she informs him, before finally looking up and realising she's blundered right into whatever he was doing. "Oh - sorry! I didn't realise. I'll come back later?"
Blame it on days in the places they made for the people just like me
The knock barely registers with how deep into the scan he’s gotten, his hand continuing to clench and unclench, flex and relax. Isla breezes in right in time to spy him in a cross of meditating and brooding and he tries to pull himself out of it when her voice pipes up — a breath sucked in sharply and his metal arm clenching again, before his attention flickers over to her right in time for her to notice his less than tiptop shape attitude.
A small smile is given her way, a roll of his neck to loosen the muscles there, before he’s reaching over to her with the metal arm, glinting in the lowlight of the room, as if he might be able to drag her over to sit beside him and maybe pluck the book from her (keeping her place in it of course). “No, it’s fine. Was just scanning.” He pauses, before he’s staring at the book. “What’s it about?” There's definitely a bit less fire to himself, but he pretends not to notice.
Isla is left blinking at him as if wondering whether she's walked into the right room. Her lips part to say something, but then he's reaching out - with an arm that isn't even supposed to be there - and she's drawn up to sit beside him on the bed before she can really comprehend it. The book vanishes from her hands, and she blinks between this man she knows looks like Varus but definitely doesn't act like him, and the question he's asked her.
"Oh... it's about a hotel. A bunch of people die, and... well, you get it." Isla smiles, and without thinking she's reaching out to touch a hand to the new arm, flexing and gripping at the book she's brought. "This is new," she murmurs, glancing up to seek out his eyes. "Is everything alright?"
Blame it on days in the places they made for the people just like me
He keeps her place in the book, holding it with the metal arm as his other hand runs his fingers along the cover of it, his usually bright blue gaze is slightly dimmed as he peers up at her when she explains. “Let me guess, it started over a jealous lover and you probably find out at the end that it was the husband all along?” His head tilts to regard her, watching instead as her hand traces along the metal arm.
“Oh! Right, forgot to tell you I went and saw the Voice. Brought a kid to Ascend and I got a new arm.” He shifts to keep her place in the book with his other arm so that she might be able to inspect his replacement. Brows pinch together slightly as her question hits him and he offers a small crooked smile. “Everything’s fine. Just a bit in my head is all.” An attempt to soothe her slightly, paired with a wink.
"I don't know, I haven't gotten that far yet," Isla says with a smirk, giving him a nudge with her elbow (it goes nowhere against his solid metal arm). "But if you have accidentally spoiled it for me, I will be very disappointed." She won't be really - these novels always have a tendency to be rather cliche, but at the same time, it's nice to indulge isn't it?
But then they're talking about his arm and Isla's attention is freshly captivated. She sits back a bit, if only so she can look at it properly, eyebrows raising. "Then I suppose we can bury your old one?" she suggests with a grin, before reaching out to pat his arm. "Would you mind if I took a proper look at it? I'd love to see how it ticks."
Then, glancing back up to his face, she gives him a gentle smile. "We all get that way sometimes. I can bring my medical bag and we can get more in your arm than your head if you want?"
Blame it on days in the places they made for the people just like me
“Well luckily for you I haven’t read this one. Luckily for me, if it’s a lucky guess I’m held to no accountability.” He retorts easily, drawing himself out of the mental jail he’s placed himself in so that he can flash her a crooked smile, offering his metal arm for her to inspect. He studies her face and then the hand that pats it. It’s cold under her touch, though they both wouldn’t notice it much. “We can burn the other one. And sure, I don’t mind.” He murmurs softly, clenching his hand into a fist as the metal pieces flex and shift over one another as they move.
Her smile is gentle when it’s directed at him and the one he offers her is equally soft. “Isla, I would love that.” He hums softly, turning his attention back to the book to fold the corner in so he can close it and she still has her place, before he’s setting it beside him and unfolding his legs, moving to remove his shirt so she can come back and see just how connected it is to everything else. It’s a seamless connection from the stitches she’d placed prior, and parts of his skin have already started to grow and fix over the edges.
"Alright. We'll hold a little bonfire and send it to the little manicure place in the sky," Isla tells him with a decisive nod. She doesn't expect him to respond quite so sincerely to her offer, but the medic wastes no time. With another soft smile, she rises to her feet and sweeps out of the room to fetch her things. And by the time she comes back, Varus has stripped to the waist and Isla is definitely not looking at anything else apart from his shiny new arm. Nope. No siree.
She sets the bag down next to him on the bed, removing a few bits and bobs and holding out a hand for him. "Do you mind?" she asks. Does he mind if she takes a physical look, she means. "It's incredible. How does it feel? Like your old one?" The mechanisms are seamless, just from a first glance, and Isla has no doubt that it will be capable of more than just being an arm, if the Voice is involved.
Blame it on days in the places they made for the people just like me
His eyes light up a fraction at the mention of a bonfire, a nod of his head in agreement before she’s off and he’s prepping himself for her to take a good look at how it connects. He leans back on his right arm, the one that hasn’t been replaced, and when she steps back in he regards her easily as she sets the bag down on the bed. He only leans forward when she sits beside him, his arm available for her to look at. “Feel free.” He rumbles to her, the smile growing a bit brighter.
She’ll see that the seams are nearly perfect if not for the slight scarring, the way there’s also a few scars along his stomach (appearing to be from a sword), but he appears relatively unharmed, and whole now.
“Somewhat, yeah. It’s a bit heavier. It’s really nice though.” He leans forward, pressing into her space. “Here, feel.” He murmurs, dropping his arm easily into her palms as if she might be able to determine the difference in weight for herself while it remains attached. “The metal plates shift like muscles and tendons.” He hums softly, turning his hand in her arm to let the ripple effect of the change take place.
Her eyes widen a fraction as the arm drops into her waiting hands, Isla lifting it experimentally (assuming he has left it as dead weight, anyway) and humming a note of interest. "That is amazing," she almost whispers, gently setting his arm in his lap before moving to grab a few tools that she might investigate further. Taking his hand again and watching as the muscles and tendons ripple in real-time, Isla is almost entirely absorbed by her examination.
Things like personal space don't matter when you're a doctor, and the same is true here, though it's for a purely selfish academic interest that she's doing this. "It's almost seamless," she agrees, leaning up to examine the places where the arm attaches to his shoulder. Her eyes flash as she engages her optical upgrade to see how things join together, Isla leaning in closer as if she might be able to move things around in there from here. She can't, of course, and it's with a sheepish smile that she sits back again.
"Sorry." She chuckles softly. "It's very sophisticated. I imagine you won't even miss your other arm."
Blame it on days in the places they made for the people just like me
He does leave it as a dead weight, for her to do whatever she wanted with it. And truthfully, he doesn’t mind the closeness as she inspects it, smiling softly over at her as she gets closer and closer in his space. “Almost.” He agrees with a knowing look, one that grows more playful. “Be a bit harder for things to shred this one like they did the last one.” He can’t help the breathy laugh that leaves him. Isla works well at drawing him out of his mind, out of the dark pit he’s fallen into.
She leans back after her exam, though, and the smile he offers her is playful and almost boyish. “I could do so many things with it.” He murmurs before he’s focusing on her and leaning into her space a fraction more, reaching over with it to grasp her hand gently, trying to determine the right amount of pressure. “Don’t be sorry.” He offers, pausing before pretending like he isn’t all in her space too. “Haven’t tried any grip tests yet. Not sure how to get it to work just like the real thing.” Perhaps she has ideas.
"That's never a bad thing," Isla remarks with a smirk, a staunch advocate for preventing limbs from being shredded to pieces (as much fun as it had been to amputate, she is still a doctor after all). She's still looking over his new arm when suddenly he's moving much closer - arguably just as close as she did, though - her fingers slipping into his own. Her body registers his hand as cool and hard but not entirely inhuman, and that ignites her curiosity as she squeezes it experimentally.
But then Varus is talking again and her eyebrows furrow together, smile turning a bit sly as she lifts her gaze to his face. "Are you flirting with me, Cal?" she wants to know, sounding amused but not horrified. "Don't get me wrong - I think you've tried to charm the pants off of everyone you've spoken to since you got here, but this feels more intentional somehow."
Blame it on days in the places they made for the people just like me
He agrees with her remark, but he doesn’t comment on it – because he’s leaning into her space, slipping his hand into her own, testing it out with a light squeeze that’s reciprocated with her own squeeze in turn. He offers the point of it all, though, and she sees straight through it like he’s made of glass – the question bringing out a bark of a laugh that tries to cover up everything else. “Excuse me, Isla. This is clearly for science.” He rumbles to her with an amused look.
But he tilts his head away from her, peering out into the dark of his borrowed room, raising a brow into the nothingness as he picks his words carefully. “Unless you’d rather it be something else, in which case, I could be convinced.” His head tilts back toward her with a crooked smile, the shadows of prior getting chased away in the light of her distractions and help.
Is it? Is it clearly for science? The look on Isla's face suggests not, though the wicked glint in her eyes obviously doesn't seem to mind it at all. And even with their banter, she still hasn't slipped her fingers out of his hand. In fact, she lifts it up once more, holding it between both of hers to clasp it with gentle pressure. "Do you feel it?" she wonders. "The way you'd have felt your original arm?" It's such an unusual circumstance, even Isla finds herself at an intellectual dead end with it.
Then there's a crooked smile and a playful remark in her immediate field of vision, and with a fanged grin, Isla releases him. "Excuse me, Cal - you are not the one who needs to be convinced here." She can play at haughty as well as any former duchess, straightening up on the bed. "Your skin-deep charm might work on some ladies, but some of us crave a deeper connection." She chuckles.
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
