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!
honey, i rose up from the dead. i do it all the time
It soothes a little that she hasn’t expected the vibration either. Something they both get to learn in this moment. And when she tells him he doesn’t need to apologize to her over what occurred, he offers a nod, head tilting a bit more in her hand as he scans her face. She works quickly to fix him up and when she’s done, settles in beside where he lays on the floor and Varus rolls over just enough to be able to still be in the conversation, ignoring the way his mind wishes to draw him into a scan once again.
“Yeah.” He’d always wanted to be perfect though, it’s what had kept him going until it hadn’t. He used to be good at his work and now he’s become too distracted, drawn in a million different places. “This is me.” He murmurs, giving her hand a squeeze. “I wanted to practice so I’m ready. War or protecting or...” For the surprise of war when it inevitably comes, for the ability of protecting her when she needs him to. “I’m out of shape and I thought maybe finding the pieces might be able to get me back into the mindset. It did… But not entirely in the way I thought.” His lips purse, his normal arm rising to tuck under his head as a makeshift pillow. “Guess it dragged up some shitty memories.” He frowns here, metal thumb running along her knuckles.
"Very handsome," Isla remarks, giving his hand a squeeze right back and offering him another smile. She lets herself relax a bit now that the knife is out and his side is on its way to healing, melting out of work-mode where she sits with him. "Though I think it might look even better once you get a new shirt," she admits, nodding to the bandages and lifting his hand to kiss the back of it; to hell with it being made of metal.
Isla winces as she listens to him explain, more than understanding where he's coming from even if the idea of preparing for a war makes it seem as though it's inevitable. "It sounds as though you put a lot of pressure on yourself," she says, shifting to sit a little closer. "War isn't going to arrive tomorrow, Cal. You've got time." She thinks. She hopes.
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
honey, i rose up from the dead. i do it all the time
Her compliments do alleviate some of the shadows in his gaze, drawing him back to her, softening as she kisses the back of the metal hand. It’s a belated notice in his sensors, but he knows it’s there and it’s enough for him to manage to crack a smile to her — something small and gentle and soft. “Maybe I’ll show off the whole getup to you when I’m not looking like a drowned rat nor bleeding out.” He suggests, an edge of his other self creeping out.
She shifts closer to him and he focuses on her more, humming a low sound in his throat as he agrees. “I thought I did. And then the Infirmary happened and I wanted to make sure you’d be okay. And ever since I came back… I’ve been so weak compared to how I was before.” He frowns again, before he’s pushing himself up a fraction, trying not to shift the bandages that cover his wound, if only to pull her closer to press a kiss to her cheek, hair dripping a few drops along her skin. “I don’t want to lose everyone again.” It’s a quiet uttering, one he can’t look at her for as he presses his stubbled cheek against her temple.
"I'd like that," Isla says, flashing him a fanged grin to see more of the man she knows starting to creep out a bit. "I ought to have thought about that before dealing with your injuries, huh. We'll get you dried off and out of your wet clothes in a second." She'd been a little more concerned with the state of him at the time, to be fair.
Finding herself drawn closer, Isla closes her eyes and enjoys the feel of his lips against her cheek, muted though it might be. She turns to press a gentle kiss against the side of his neck; his words hold the weight of centuries behind them, and she remembers not for the first time that this is a man very much not from this era.
"I can't even imagine," she whispers, shifting to carefully get to her feet, though she begrudges the distance between them. "Come on - your sensors will calm down a little more when you're dried off."
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
honey, i rose up from the dead. i do it all the time
“Next time.” He hums with that same brief, blooming smile before it fades in the face of how old he is and the truth to why he wants to get stronger, better, more put together. He absolutely leans into the kiss she presses to his neck as he presses his own to her cheek. “Besides, I’d be more worried about your couch anyway.” It’s another weak attempt at humor, before she’s pulling away and the distance between them has Varus immediately attentive.
He sits up, nodding along with her reasoning, moving to stand — hand rising to rest over the bandage as he pulls the pieces of the shirt that would need to be replaced and balls it into a pile, to sit beside the glass trinket he’d crushed, before his dexterous hand reaches for the dagger, spinning it idly before he slips it into the loop on the side of his pants with the other one. They’ll all come out when he gets out of his wet clothes, but he’d at least like to have them together at the very least. He grabs the mask, too, for the same reason. That and he doesn’t want to lose it.
Once that’s done, he’s reaching for her hand, for her to guide him into the bedroom more than likely. “Is it a god awful green sweater you have in mind?” He’s slowly getting out of the mindset, but it’s a difficult task.
"Couches can be replaced," Isla points out with a small nudge to his metal arm, and she sidles out of the way to allow Varus to get up and get himself together. It doesn't elude her, the dexterity of the knife between his fingers, the way everything so neatly finds its place on his person, and not for the first time, the medic realises how much she still has to learn about the man who had walked so easily into her life. She's so caught up in watching him, in fact, that it's a surprise for him to take her hand, Isla blinking herself back into focus and smiling across at him.
Leading the way, indeed, into the bedroom, she grabs a towel from one of the cupboards and sweeps across to start carefully drying off his hair and his face, offering him the flash of a sudden smirk. "This is not how I expected I would be undressing you for the first time," she remarks softly. "But no - no hideously green sweater. I'll spare you tonight, since you're having such a rough time."
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
honey, i rose up from the dead. i do it all the time
She has a point about the couches, and it leaves room for Varus to hum an agreement as he gets himself together, pieces falling back into place with muscle memory more than anything else. It had been who he’d become all those centuries ago, and perhaps that’s what also sparks those fleeting, dreadful memories. But he can push it aside for her, for her smile and how she continues to be unflappable, even in the face of polar opposites. The least he can do is try.
The bedroom is there and Varus is taking the blades out of their spaces, some in hidden locations like the inside of a boot or placed in a carefully crafted pocket along his lower back. But he manages it, quite a spread of knives and daggers on the side table paired with that mask, when she starts dabbing away at the water on his face and hair. Her comment and smirk does break through his brood, though, a rumble of laughter leaving him. “How did you expect it?” He asks, despite himself. “I think I’m in more of a red sweater mood right now, for what it’s worth.” He admits with a crooked smile, arms finding their way around her, head tilting this way and that as she dries him off.
After the fourth or fifth knife, Isla has the decency to raise her eyebrows at him as if to ask how many more are going to make a home on the side table. And also where did they all come from. And where did he put them all. Those questions can come properly later though, because he's still dripping water all over the floor. "Hmm...? Oh, it was all very romantic in my mind. In front of a roaring fire that somehow didn't burn us, surrounded by romance novels. Fur rug, glasses of wine, the whole shabang," she says, beaming.
Before she can help him to peel off his wet clothes, however, he's winding his arms around her, Isla mewling a protest that comes out half in a peal of laughter. "Be careful!" she scolds playfully, gesturing to his bandages. "And quit squirming, or I might poke you in the eye." Eventually she settles on rubbing at his hair with the towel, and to hell with it.
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
honey, i rose up from the dead. i do it all the time
Oh they come from all sorts of places. And perhaps when he’s dry and his clothes are dry, he can show her exactly where they all go. For now, though, she gets through the layers as he distracts himself away from it, as if the mask itself has also been left on the counter. “Really?” There’s a hint of amusement and disbelief. “Well, somehow our thoughts lined up on that one. A roaring fire is exactly what I was thinking, too.” His gaze lights up with the thought, pushing away the shadows. “I was thinking of a bunch of pillows, too. And you’d be wearing this incredibly fancy dress that I’d absolutely struggle trying to get off of you.” He hums another soft laugh with that as he tilts his head into the towel and pulls her close.
“I just stabbed myself with my biggest knife, I can handle a few bandages that rub wrong.” He points out, cracking an eye open to peer at her before he’s closing them so that she doesn’t poke him in the eye. “What a shame it would be to have to have you tend to me again, to have your hands dance across my skin.” His voice takes on some sort of poetic tone, nostalgic in a way that’s not truly nostalgia but not… Not nostalgia either. Still, she might see the edge of a crooked smile that blooms on his face with it.
"Oh? Is that so?" Isla grins to him, carefully peeling off whatever is left of his shirt now (with difficulty, since his arms are around her) and nodding over his shoulder. "All of my fancy dresses are in the closet. All three of them." She winks. The Grounds are not exactly a place of high fashion, and she's only been alive again for a couple of seasons after all. He draws her closer just as she frees him of the layers on his top half, Isla giving up for the time being to loop an arm around his shoulders.
There's a wicked look in her eye that begs for her to question if that really is his biggest knife, but Isla keeps her composure - at least for another couple of seconds. But as Varus waxes poetic, she can't help but lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth, the towel halting in its pathway down his back. "If that is how you really feel, I could always stab you again," she says sweetly.
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
honey, i rose up from the dead. i do it all the time
“Then I guess it gives me time to figure out how they work so I don’t make a fool of myself.” He suggests, absolutely being a pain in the ass when it comes to her trying to remove what’s left of the shirt that clings to him. His hands remain around her, rising up and down along her spine in idle strokes.
He begins to grow a hint more poetic and as she presses a kiss to the corner of his lips, his head tilts to catch her lips in a longer kiss, after she’s announced what she could do. He pulls away with a glimmer of mischief hidden in the blues of his gaze. “Stab me with the scalpel fingers?” He hums, a whisper before his brows are bouncing playfully. “Hit me in the head with that book you had earlier?” He can’t help the breathy laugh that leaves with it, before he’s shaking his head and pulling away from her so he can get the rest of his shirt off, and moves to the pants that are soaked to his legs, trying his best to peel them off too.
"Oh, you've been trying not to make a fool of yourself this whole time we've been together?" Isla teases, her grin wide and fang-tipped, though she melts into the kiss he presses against her lips and draws him a touch closer. He can be a shit all he likes about leaving the remnants of his shirt hanging from his arms, Isla drawing back to gaze across at him as she considers what she might do. "I wouldn't want to damage the book," she decides eventually, letting him go so he might finish undressing.
Isla doesn't help at all this time, on purpose, and she settles to lean against the wall and watch. "I do have another trick up my sleeve, but it isn't really the same as stabbing you. And it doesn't hurt, either," she informs him with a hint of mischief in her tone, waiting expectantly for him to finish his impromptu strip tease.
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
honey, i rose up from the dead. i do it all the time
“Trying.” He reiterates, flashing a wink, before he’s pressing a kiss to her lips. They melt for what feels like too short and yet forever, before he’s pulling away to work on the rest of his clothes. One thing he doesn’t entirely account for is that the metal hand isn’t as grippy as his one made of flesh, and it’s that which struggles against the wet clothing the most. It distracts him as he slips the belt off, working at the button to his pants, his gaze finding her with a smirk. “That’s the best answer you could’ve given.” He wouldn’t want to ruin the book either and something tells him he has a hard head.
It’s a struggle but he gets the button off, pulling at the wet fabric to try and get some air into it against his skin so he can slide it off easier than having to peel it off. “Y’know, this would be so much sexier if I wasn’t sticking to it. I just thought you’d like to know.” He informs her as he finally stops struggling with the rest of his clothes and manages to slip them off.
There’s a raise of his brow at her suggestion and his gaze snaps to her with curiosity and a crooked smirk. “Do I get to ask for a demonstration?” He asks, raising a brow in a hint of excitement.
05-28-2021, 11:13 PM (This post was last modified: 05-28-2021, 11:14 PM by Isla.)
Isla
"Mm, I thought so too," Isla says sweetly, all the while making sure she's paying extra attention as he tries and fails repeatedly to get his pants off. She could help - and she probably should, by the time it stops being funny and starts being awkward - and yet. And yet. "Don't put yourself down like that. I happen to think it's absolutely captivating," she murmurs, which is neither a compliment nor an insult, and the sunny smile on her face doesn't help to clarify either.
"A demonstration? Well, I suppose you could use the pick me up." Isla straightens up from the wall at last to close the distance between them, carefully slipping her arms around him to let her fingertips ghost across his bare skin. "Alright, ready?" Grinning, her palms drift to his chest and press there quite comfortably. Which is about the time Isla engages her upgrade, and the current of power whipcracks from her fingers to kickstart his systems.
Type: Grey
Static Boost Upgrade | The user's palms are capable of delivering a powerful shock to the system. When applied to fellow Ascended, gives all stats +1 for the recipient's next post. When used on non-Ascended, it is capable of delivering a nasty burn. Requires a 3 post cooldown.
sooner or later, we all have to wake and try forgetting everything
