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!
The thing was – they used to. Their impulsive natures and impetuous designs had gone along swimmingly for a time, and then they didn’t anymore. Between the chaotic messes, the shambles of broken shells, the pieces and puzzles of who they once were and who’d they become, Melita couldn’t figure out where she fit. Where she mattered. Where anything she did really came to fruition. Where any modicum of sense prevailed. So instead she picked away at his strands and hoped something would flicker and flare and just stoked cinders, embers, and coals instead. “I don’t think I belong anymore,” she whispered, very quietly, suddenly cracking when the little girl’s arms came around her, and that hurt too, because she was supposed to be strong and enduring and little proportions of fire to set the world ablaze.
And what would a child know? The honeybee only knew how to make things worse, and it seemed to show in everything she did. In everything that shambled and contorted and flared. But her arms followed through and wrapped around the little one too – uncertain with whatever the fuck she was doing anymore. Maybe touch-starved. Maybe burdened. Maybe just so tired of anything and everything, of avoiding, of running away, of having only survival to her name. “I’m sorry,” was another hushed thing. “What are you going to tell me?”
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
06-19-2021, 04:29 AM (This post was last modified: 06-19-2021, 04:30 AM by Kamaria.)
love should be as flowers of the weedy sort
The crack in Melita's facade bleeds into Kamaria, too. Her lips shift and a deeper, more thoughtful frown darkens her rounder face. Something clicks for her in this moment, though it's hard for her to understand even so. What she does understand is that Melita is hurting, and she's sorry for that, wants to try her best to mend it.
"You can be with us," Kamaria insists, trying to be encouraging, "if you want..." It's an addition to her words that sounds small and meager, but holds a lot more weight. It's ultimately up to Melita where she belongs. She deserves the choice, at least. Nobody should be somewhere they're not happy, Kamaria thinks.
Melita apologizes but the girl, whose arms are still snugly wound around the woman's shoulders and neck, doesn't think it's necessary. In fact, what just happened is more eye-opening than anything. Did it make things worse for Kamaria, or for Sunjata? It's hard to tell from where they sit on the sandbar, with the gently-crashing waves on either side of them. It seems like the one that's worse off, right now, is Melita.
"Well, I won't keep anything from you. I'll ask you first 'cause that's what friends are 'posed to do." Kamaria answers, voice strong with her determination to please, "Or I don't have to talk. I can be quiet and listen to you instead." The point isn't that they'll talk, the point is that they'll be together. Now, Kamaria thinks the hug has lasted long enough to have a more lasting impact on Melita. So she gives her one last squeeze before letting go. Her pale gaze wanders curiously over the woman's face, trying to see how she feels about these proposals.
Melita didn’t know what she wanted. In some ways, it’d been eternally clear: strength, persistence, fire, and blood; she’d grabbed hold of those in her iron, steely grasp and never let them go. But her family? Which grew and blossomed so much that she should’ve been thrilled, should’ve been ecstatic, only seemed overwhelming, tiring, exhausting, because of the parameters associated with it. Her uncles constantly getting into some modicum of shit. Children appearing from gods. Long-lost siblings carving their way through sands and schisms. She felt out of alignment, out of place, because she didn’t readily go with the streamlined waves or the press of foolishness. Instead of leering further into agony, she hunted monsters and smuggled on ships, drew back her cannon strands, pulled at her bow strings, and kneeled at Ludo’s altars until she found like someplace, somewhere, was going to become home. “Thank you,” she managed to warble. “You’re very kind.”
But it didn’t; no essence of home stuck to her now, pressed into her heart. It was all residual effects and aspirations for what was before. And Kamaria was still laden there, draped around her, and the honeybee choked back a lot of things shackling and tethering her soul together. “I can’t deal with them.” With Sunjata, because there never seemed to be any thought pattern there and she yelled while he shut down and together they were just maelstroms, with Nate because he kept returning when he should’ve been angry and she was so cross for him, and no one seemed to care. It didn’t matter. And they’d made that loud and clear.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
06-28-2021, 01:28 PM (This post was last modified: 06-28-2021, 01:28 PM by Kamaria.)
love should be as flowers of the weedy sort
The give is obvious in the woman’s softer tones, and it feels like a win to Kamaria - who had only ever wanted to appease her. These subjects, though, she struggles to know how to deal with them. She wishes she were better but, maybe this is a step in the right direction. Maybe people just want to be heard. Kamaria could be a good listener, she thinks.
She turns to sit down beside Melita with a gentle thump into the sand. Placing her elbows on her knees, which tuck up against her chest, she leans slightly against the redhead. Her gaze travels across the open sea and sands before returning to Melita’s face. She offers a soft smile and listens, to let the woman bark and bite if she so wants. Or maybe she won’t want to, and they can enjoy the view in all its simplistic, peaceful beauty.
