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!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
On a dark and dready eve, when rain battered the windowsill of a newly constructed building, it happened that a raven flew in to shelter beneath the jutting roof. With waterlogged feathers and a bedraggled look about it, the bird let its claws scrabble for a hold, and so caused a mighty ruccus of screeching, whining noises that many a patron within began to wince and grimace. Their cheer diminishing, some brave and fastidious soul decided to rise from a seat of comfort. Over to the window they stepped, to open it and shoo the poor drenched creature away.
Alas, what a mistake it was. For when the crack in that wall was opened, the bird in an instant pressed past waving hands and startled glares, and scattered on its flight onto a marble bust a torrent of heavenly tears upon the fine silk, and the plush cushions, and also upon the beautiful humans that tried so very hard to make merry.
And there, from upon that pallid marble, did the raven gaze across a sea of faces. Uncanny eyes, blue as sweetwater pearls and utterly drenched in a maddening sorrow - deeper than the depths of the Maw - and with unease the patrons grew quiet.
Wondering, perhaps, if it was Ludo itself, come to play a game of cards over some unnamed stakes.
07-03-2021, 01:10 AM (This post was last modified: 07-03-2021, 01:10 AM by Maeve.)
"What a shame she's fucked in the head," they said.
The only patron within the place that seemed unbothered by the raven's sudden arrival, unsettling as it was, was the Madame herself. Instead she stood calmly, a vision in black, drifting among her workers and guests with airy steps. They made a fitting pair, The Madame and the raven, seeming to compliment one another in aesthetics and state. Maeve cocked her head to the side as she stopped before the raven, letting out a breath, green eyes dim and red rimmed. Her hand extended, offering the raven a perch to stand on and should he take it, she will move out of the main living area they find themselves in.
Instead she will glide towards a room off to the side, dimly lit aside from the hearth and a few stray candles, flickering and dancing in the breeze that came in from the open window. The rain pattering against the deck that laid just beyond the double doors of this room. Maeve lowered the raven onto the empty coffee table in front of the flame so it might warm itself, banishing water from his ebony feathers, black as pitch and slick as if covered in tar.
She lowered herself onto the couch, silent as she regarded the raven, head tilting to the side as flames danced in her eyes. "Why is it that people fear such simple things? Ravens, rain, the dark... I'll never understand it." Maeve mused as if the raven might actually respond. Stranger things have happened in Caido and the Madame wouldn't be all that surprised if it did actually open its beak to speak.
The woman approaching was stately and serene. Upon her the raven turned all of its attention, fixing her visage into memory even as a pale hand extended. Blinking, the bird considered for solemn minute, before hobbling graciously onto that generous perch. Hobbled, indeed, because a leather strap was tied about a leg from which a golden gem dangled, and that string had come undone. Threading, tangling, into claws and ink-black talons, until only a firm grip prevented the treasure from being lost.
Onto gentle hand, through hallways and into rooms, the bird followed quietly and observed, until such a time as it could stride down onto elegant furnishings. There, unburdened, the lady perched and the raven spread its wings, to shake the moisture from shadowed feathers - oil slick, gleaming, yet tousled enough to appear more shaggy than elegant.
A heavy beak clicked open as she spoke. Musings and ponderings, met with thoughtful silence.
Then the bird stepped once, twice, and slipped off the table's edge. Shimmering, shifting, it grew into a man - or a semblance of one. Tall and thin, only a boy with a starved look in hollowed out eyes. Blue as pearls. Dark as grief.
"They fear themselves," he said, so quiet the hoarse voice was barely more than a whisper. "Darkness... makes you look inward."
He avoided her gaze, and inched closer to the fire. Ragged clothes hung limp on his frame - tattered and dirty, as if he had worn them unchanging for many years.
K O R B I N
It's a lie for a lie and I'm getting tired An old lullabye, drifting through the sky
"What a shame she's fucked in the head," they said.
The Madame was more than familiar with Attuned and their ability to shift. As the raven slipped off the table opposite of her to be closer to the fire, shifting and growing into something more boy than man, the Madame didn't even blink. Her eyes were soft as she took in his appearance, a hum of consideration pushing past her lips, "They hate to do that, don't they? To consider what harm they might have caused with their actions? No one wants to look at the darkness in themselves. No one wants to fix it." There is a quiet bitterness to her words, something sharp and edged with pain, painting her usually gentle voice with something more vicious.
She stood, drifting towards a cart positioned against the wall, taking up one covered tray to bring over to the coffee table. Maeve set it down with a soft clatter before returning for the other, placing it beside the first, reaching over to remove the lids from the trays. Underneath the silver domes were full meals still steaming, the scent of cooked meats, potatoes, and vegetables filling the room. Something like a roast complete with gravy and fresh bread. The silent offer of food left for the boy to decide if he wanted to indulge or not.
Despite the invitation for food, Maeve didn't look at him, eyes drawn to the fire as her fingers drifted towards the choker around her neck. Made of moons and silver and onyx. So stark against the paleness of her skin. She inhaled sharply, removing it with fumbling fingers and tossing it onto the table as if it scalded her, letting it skid across the smooth surface of the wood. "Instead they lash out and push away as if that will solve the problem."
Warily those same blue eyes watched the lady as she moved, from couch to side table and back. Never quite looking, but glancing from corners of half-lidded eyes. Now bird-like, now with the golden intensity of something wilder, fiercer. But she did not intrude upon his space, and the boy turned back to the flames. Ignoring the food, save for a quick glance - though the way his tonge passed quickly over thin lips spoke of hunger. Mouth watering, belly contracting.
His eyes yearned for something else. Even as the sharp clatter of necklaces onto hard surfaces made him flinch, and brougth feathers shuddering to life across pale skin. Up the neck, over cheeks, rising and falling away like dark waves... Only in the hair did shimmering down linger when some semblance of calm returned, and the nails of his hands were dark. Talon sharp, and reluctant to retract.
"I... heard music," he mumbled. Turning half around, to peer over broad shoulders at the woman, it could be guilt on his face. Her words had hardly gone by unnoticed... but whatever it was she wished to hear, he couldn't offer it. "Do... is there... a lute, somewhere? Or... anything?"
Ah, the longing. Softer than the grief. More insistent than the hunger. Strong enough to set those long fingers to trembling with need.
K O R B I N
It's a lie for a lie and I'm getting tired An old lullabye, drifting through the sky
"What a shame she's fucked in the head," they said.
A wave of guilt rose in her belly as he flinched, eyes dipping down to the necklace as she tore them away from the feathers that erupted over his skin, sticking firmly in his hair. "Sorry." The word came quickly, voice hushed among the quiet of the room, barely audible over the flames crackling in the hearth. She didn't miss the way he licked his lips, eyeing the food only like a man starved can, but she doesn't prompt him to eat. It's there if he wants it.
Music? She barely noticed it anymore, so used to the sound of it filtering through the rooms of the Halenani, mingling with laughter and conversation. Maeve stood again, once more a phantom as she drifted to the far side of the room, fingers curling at the edge of a room divider that she pushed back to reveal a piano. There were various other instruments set up behind her. Clearly this room was meant for entertaining.
The Madame slid onto the piano bench, fingers splayed across the keys as she took a breath, "Tell me if it's too much." Came the gentle request before her fingers began to drift across the keys, playing something from memory instead of following any sheet music as there was none for her to even read, the soft notes filing the space between them. The music, while beautiful, held a tragic sort of beauty A sadness that couldn't be expressed with words. Soft, yearning, and broken. Somehow managing to weave itself into a song that had her breath shuddering, eyes closing against a prick of tears, willing the ache in her chest away.
The apology shrugged away with some additional feathers, the youth followed her progress towards the folding screen. The way his eyes widened at the sight spoke of wonder and joy, trebling and frail - so mingled with hazy memory that one might be forgiven for imagining tears bleeding down his face. But there were none. For someone so immobile, it was a wonder that there was anything communicated at all in posture or changing breaths... and for someone less skilled in the reading of people, he might even appear stoic.
A shuddering breath was drawn as she began to play. The notes painted color in the air, whispered fragile tastes upon a tongue long since accustomed to the barren and plain, the sharp and acrid. For a time, he merely lingered. Absorbed, swaying softly to the billowing tune.
Then he approached. Soft and quiet, a dark shadow come to loom at her shoulder. Old clothes and the lacking graces of civility should have lent him an unpleasant odor... but it was not. Only wild, reminiscent of cold wind and dry shrubs - dusty feathers and warm fur. Long-fingered hands reached out to join hers on the ivory. Hesitant at first. Shying away from touch... but skilled, oh so quick to pick up the secrets of an instrument never before seen.
Soon, it was his hands that brougth the melody onwards. It changed, then, and became something else. Frantic, hollow, a motion driving forward, onwards; paws burrowing into chest deep snow in pursuit of something that could never be caught.
Shimmering, faint, a softness came over the young man, then. And from a golden stone tied to his wrist a light burst out, shooting upwards through the ceiling. Giving birth to a star, somewhere high above the heavy clouds.
K O R B I N
It's a lie for a lie and I'm getting tired An old lullabye, drifting through the sky
"What a shame she's fucked in the head," they said.
The Madame dared a single glance towards him as she started to play, watching the imperceptible way his breaths shuddered, eyes widening and swimming with a mix of emotions that even the Madame couldn't fully untangle, but a part of her understood. She felt it in her soul. Maeve turned her attention back to the keys, focused on weaving and writing her song for them, letting the ache in her chest influence the music she created.
She didn't even realize his approach until she felt the heat of him near her shoulder. It lingered there for only a moment before shifting again to join her on the bench. Maeve slid along the wooden seat, giving him ample room as her fingers moved across the keys, letting herself follow his lead until they fell away completely. Enraptured, the Madame closed her eyes, feeling silent tears roll down her cheeks as she acknowledged what she'd lost. A lover, a friend, a life that would never be theirs.
Her hand pressed against the belly, still flat, not yet showing signs of the child that laid within. It isn't until a glow seeped through her eyelids that she opened them again, gaze glassy as she searched for the light, finding it just in time to see it disappear from the room. Up, up, up it went until it was gone, nestled above the clouds to twinkle and shine for them.
Long-fingered hands, supple and narrow and strong, came finally to rest upon the ivory keys. When the last notes rang into silence, the young man turned slowly to gaze down at the woman by his side. Though the haze in his eyes was still there and still whispered of tears shed so often that they had lost their meaning, some new clarity had entered them too. Enough to see her. Enough for what he saw to paint a small, crooked but rather soft smile onto lips that almost had forgotten how to laugh.
"Not bad," he murmured. "Not bad, but..." He stood. Reached up onto the wall, and plucked from the multitude of choices a simple lute. Retreating from the stool, to the plush armchairs where he could sink his long, lanky frame down with a creak of joints, the stillness was soon filled with the deft plucking of strings to twist, tune and adjust the strings. Too long unused, too often neglected.
When he was done, the not-raven bowed a dark haired, feather-clad head and began to tease the strings. Gently, hesitant at first, like someone who had been asleep for too long might need a moment to recall the act of breathing. As with the piano, the surety was regained with staggering swiftness, and before long a cascade of sound was rising up to fill the air. Shimmering, gleaming, this tune was slow and soothing like the crackling of a fireplace burned low, where embers slow to die sunk in on themselves and endured. Survived. Thrived, in waiting for some small fuel and a gust of wind from which to rise once more.
Every once in a while, that golden gem tied to his wrist would glow, and another light shoot up. Up to the sky, to the stars - and as it did, peace would come over the troubadeur all anew.
K O R B I N
It's a lie for a lie and I'm getting tired An old lullabye, drifting through the sky
"What a shame she's fucked in the head," they said.
The song came to an end and Maeve reached up, wiping the tears from her cheeks, drawing in a shaky breath as she offered him a wane smile of her own. The newfound clarity in his eyes wasn't lost on her, seaglass meeting blue pearl, chest expanding with her breath. His own smile loosened a tightness in her chest and despite the fact that this man was close in age to her, an urge to soothe and protect rose in her chest, fierce and strong. The Madame didn't move or dare to reach for him, knowing better than to try and pet a stray, lest she wanted to scare him off.
"It was beautiful." Maeve murmured, voice just loud enough to be heard, matching the quiet nature of disuse that had settled over over it. She watched silently as he stood, selecting a lute from the wall to pluck and play, folding himself into one of the plush armchairs that wasn't big enough to really hold his lanky frame. He didn't seem to mind all that much. Maeve lingered by the piano, letting the music wash over her, drawing a shiver down her spine. The Madame wasn't even aware she stood, toeing off her shoes by the piano, leaving them to be retrieved later. Her feet began to glide across the wooden floor, carrying her from one place to the next in a dance as old as time, something that was carved into her bones, drawing her around the room as easily as Safrin draws the stars in the sky as she wayed and twirled almost lazily through the space.
Silence was a state of mind. Peace a fragile thing that made its home within. Music was a balm and a bridge, capable of soothing hurts as well as connecting those for whom words not always sufficed in communication.
Absorbed as he was in his caressing of strings, it took some time before Korbin realized that the woman had risen from her seat. When he glanced up at one point, it was to find her swaying and twirling in tune with his melody. He never knew that a body could paint emotions this way, but it was a pleasing discovery. Satisfying too, in a way, that his fingers might still cause another to writhe, unable to remain still... even though this pleasure was not the one he had indulged in for a long time.
He hadn't lost his touch.
Blue eyes kept following the lady after that, as she moved across the floor. Not a word spoken, no lyrics sung; they were unnecessary here. Only slowly did the tune come to an end, with a lingering sigh as sweet as sunrises or hazy mornings. Full of promise, whispering of new beginnings... of hope.
K O R B I N
It's a lie for a lie and I'm getting tired An old lullabye, drifting through the sky
"What a shame she's fucked in the head," they said.
Both of their hands were made for pleasure in different ways, but yet they were the same. Maeve could bring people to their knees, draw them to the height of pleasure, tear them apart and rebuild the from the ground up with her touch. Korbin didn't even have to touch her and yet she moved for him. Her body move, swaying, and turning to the music he weaved for her.
It wasn't until the song came to an emotional climax, drawing Maeve with it only to let her freefall as she came to a stop, chest heaving with each breath she drank in greedily. She blinked slowly, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, turning to focus on the man. The come down was just as soft and sweet as the end of his song, urging her to sink into the chair opposite of him, licking her lips as her heart slowed.
She didn't have any words for him, simply caught up in the feeling he'd created for her, expression softening as she glanced over at him. The fire flickered in the hearth, bathing both of them in golden light, shadows dancing over their bodies.
A slow, rather pleased looking smile pulled on the young man's mouth as he watched Maeve come down from her high. A little dry, rather smug... he knew what kind of house this was. What kind of activities one usually engaged in. To bring about that look on her face without even laying a single finger on her... well.
Even though some measure of silence had been allowed to settle now, the raven man would not let go of the lute. His hands kept stroking it's neck and body, every once in a while plucking a single note from a string to be left shimmering in the stillness. He couldn't stop. Did not want to let go.
Not even the low growl of his stomach, startling and abrupt, managed to make him stir. He did flush a little though, and that smugness vanished from his face like so much smoke. Torn, he glanced between the lute and the food. Craving both, needing both.
K O R B I N
It's a lie for a lie and I'm getting tired An old lullabye, drifting through the sky
"What a shame she's fucked in the head," they said.
If the Madame wasn't so used to those kinds of looks, she'd perhaps be a bit flustered, but instead she simply lounged. A dark brow arched as if to ask if he liked what he saw, but there were no words to be uttered. Dance was another release for her. It was just as exhilarating and pleasurable as any sexual encounter she might have within these walls. The fact that he'd been the one to urge her to such movements with his music was appealing in it's own way and despite the fact that he'd been skittish of her gaze before, the Madame doesn't shy away from the way her eyes rake over him now, still sipping in greedy breaths as she relaxed in the chair across from him.
The way he cradled the lute, fingers running across it's body almost reverently held her attention, seaglass gaze bright as they settled in this silence. It isn't until his stomach growls, that her eyes snap to his face instead, watching as that smugness disappeared and his fingers tighten. A faint flush colored his cheeks, contrasting against the blue of his eyes, making the Madame lick her lips in consideration.
"You can keep the lute," she began, reaching up to run a hand through her curls, causing the previously perfectly placed strands to become disheveled. "If you promise to come back and play for me."
