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!
“Well, I did go there once before,” she hummed, eyes flicking upwards, admittance about a journey that hadn’t gone as well as they’d hoped or liked. “A merchant wanted a bone monster taken care of. But he offered some decent rewards.” Pretending that they hadn’t lost an unknown comrade in the rush of power, or that the goods stored away in her bag still weren’t really worth a life. “Maybe Jack could do some trading or something.” She gave a shrug, knowing full well it’d take a bit more to convince the Captain to conduct business amongst and amidst the sand. “I wonder what else is out there though.” Besides skeletons and sand, death and desecration.
At the inquiry, she nodded, a light laugh buoying through. “Yes. He lost his eye in a game or something with a spirit,” and she rolled her own, as if that was a normal happenstance. But Saiden too had drifted and disappeared into the void – maybe he’d found other work. Perhaps he’d collected himself in other parts of the world. “Where do you think he went off to?”
Milo’s head tilts as he regards Melita, a red brow raising in curiosity before a low whistle passes by his lips. “See, that’s perfect.” He offers with a huff of a laugh. “Imagine Jack might find that sorta thing interestin’, don’t you?” He asks, a small grin forming on his face as he watches Melita. He doesn’t know what else is out there, doesn’t even know where to begin when it comes to his imagination. He could try to conjure up all sorts of different thoughts, but he doesn’t get far.
Instead, he focuses on the topic of Saiden because that is much easier, and Milo’s brows do pinch a brief amount as she asks where he went off to, as if Milo might know, when he certainly has no idea. He shakes his head. “Dunno. Didn’ really care for ‘im too much if ‘m bein’ honest.” His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, his gaze scanning over Melita to see just how she might take that tidbit of information.
Melita figured it was a pretty big if in accords with Jack; the benefits had to greatly outweigh the costs, and she wasn’t certain it’d be the case this time. But perhaps when they returned she’d be able to coordinate some manner of curiosity and suggestion – so she shrugged, laughed in reply. Thereafter though, she reached into her bag, plucking out an object she’d chosen from the merchant’s provisions – with her head low and heart guilty. “Here. I’ll even let you see my spyglass.” She examined it in her palm for a moment, and then handed it over for his inspection and perusal. “That was one of the things I picked.” And the silly gloves, of course.
So while he looked, she poked around with her stick some more, gilded eyes only rising back to him at the statement about Saiden. She hadn’t expected that, which made her ponder over gossip and particulars, granting an edge to her smile. “Oh? Why’s that?” Mostly out of curiosity and nosiness – if there were experiences and stories she’d missed along the way.
“Oh?” Milo asks with a wide grin, eyes eating up the spyglass she holds in her hand before she’s offering it out to him. He takes it carefully into his own hands, inspecting the outside of it before lifting it and extending it to peer through it, glancing around. Though it’s hard with how dark it is, he can see a brilliant view of the stars and the edge of the Ark in the background, when he suddenly can see through one of the rooms of the Ark itself to see who’s within it.
There’s a slight gasp of surprise that leaves him beaming as he lowers it, hearing her question and huffing a soft laugh with a shrug of his shoulders. “Had t’do a run with ‘im in the Fingers. He kept followin' me 'n asked me all sortsa weird questions.” He eyes Melita a moment longer before he shakes his head. “And then... Wouldn’ stop scratchin’ his crotch.” He makes a grossed out face before breaking into a cackling laugh, far more likely to come from a hyena than a man.
Melita waited; fingers dancing along portions and pieces of the log as she leaned back on it, anticipating some sort of reaction from his attempts with the object. The gasp of surprise sealed the mischievous smile on her features, and her eyes flickered back to his. “What did you see?”
As for Saiden, her head tilted, before more of the platitudes came to light. She suddenly burst into laughter at the image, at the memories of Saiden that she’d apparently blocked out. If any nocturnal creatures had sought out refuge nearby, undoubtedly their matching cackles drove them all away. Absent-mindedly, she wiped a tear from her cheek, one of merriment and certainly not driven by angst, and when she’d gained back her breath and the pain in her ribcage ceased, she could speak again. In between more fits of giggles. “Ah yes. One-Eyed Ball-Scratching Saiden.” Another round threatened to start, but she wrinkled her nose instead, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Do you think he had some issues down there?”
“Th’Ark.” Milo replies with a wistful grin, one that only remains at the ridiculousness of the subject of Saiden. He hands her back her spyglass, another bark of a laugh leaving him as she gives the nickname, his shoulders shaking with the laughter that leaves him. He’s glad she’s happy too, that her laughter fills the air alongside his as they move toward the idea of what caused such a thing for the sailor.
And really? He sucks in a breath, trying to talk without laughing, but the second he opens his mouth another cackle leaves him. He recovers though, a small whine leaving his throat. “Fuckin’ prolly. Tho, he had water magic so I dunno why he didn’ wanna shower more t’get it cleared up.” A grimace leaves him, broken up by a chuckle. “Ain’t hard. We live ‘n Torchline for Frey’s fuckin’ sake.”
If she was disappointed by the notion of just the Ark, she let it go – flickering the edges of suspicion over her eyes and off into the darkness. A shrug of her shoulders followed thereafter, tucking the spyglass back into her bag, and then rounding in return to the volley of laughter the nickname had produced. Far better than their earlier trials or ghost stories – even if it was harmless mocking of a man long since gone to somewhere. Tipsy, or slightly drunken amusements, were more appeasing than the dimming cry of memories.
Her giggles kindled in response, and the wild cacophony likely hurt some other animals’ ears, stretching out over the boundaries of the fire without a care in the world. In between the chuckles, she might have snorted a couple times, she tried to surmise the information, but her ribs still hurt and her lungs ached and it was a good kind of pain. Her nose wrinkled more than once. “Maybe it was all part of his charm,” she remarked, but then that caused another bout of merriment.
She takes the spyglass back and Milo watches her curiously for a moment as he offers his explanation of Saiden and his magic, of why he still itched and scratched so much when Milo thought it was easy to have basic hygiene. His lungs burn between the laughter, the alcohol, and the smoke from their makeshift campfire, and when the air calms around them again, without the snickering laughter, his bronze gaze is bright as it lands on her.
Red brows raise in a whole lot of surprise at the idea of it being a charming quality, and his nose wrinkles even as he can’t hide the grin on his face. “Ew.” He sputters out, shaking his head as another round of laughter hits him, his hands rising to rub at his face. “Think it’s a shit charm t’have, y’know.” He mutters, but the grin at his pun is evident beneath his hands that still rub at his face.
More laughter, more amusements, the mark hitting exactly where she wanted it – Saiden had probably been a lot of things, but hygienic and charming probably weren’t at the top. Suddenly, the youth, in between giggles and clutching at her side, the youth gasped – as if struck by another notion entirely. “Maybe he was cursed!” She’d heard of worse – or perhaps…better, in this case – and stranger walks of life maimed and marred by spirits, by angry, vicious deities and whatever else an individual happened to run into. Pleased with this modicum of thought, the youth leaned back against the log, pondering the matter further. “To never bathe or…,” she snorted, continuing the patterns webbing through her mind. “To always have itchy balls.” Only then, very proud of herself, did her eyes meander back to Milo’s – eager to see his reaction.
The idea of Saiden being cursed gives Milo another bout of laughter. If that’s the case, the cook should’ve known better. After all, they were Abandoned. The gods didn’t like them, and if he’d been cursed with itchy balls then perhaps he’d have deserved it. Hard to say, though, when the man wasn’t around. Milo doesn’t know if he wishes he was around again if only to ask.
The rest of it, though, still has snickers racking through his body as he watches Melita through eyes that shimmer with the glint of tears of his amusement. “Wish we could ask ‘im.” He mutters, hoarsely, wheezing a fraction toward the end as the grin spreads across his face and his hands fall back into his lap. “Sounds like somethin’ Frey’d do.” He snickers.
Her laughter quieted then, in those slow, residual ways; stomach aching from the mirth and merriment, head tilting up towards the stars, watching the smoke rise to meet them. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” He probably would’ve told them too – no amount of shame or humiliation in the cook. None she’d seen anyway. A shrug of her shoulders rambled and ambled through, eyes flicking over the flames, a tilt of her cranium as she pondered the rest of the marshmallows. “Especially since he was willing to gamble his eye away.” Melita wasn’t certain she’d even be that brazen and impulsive.
At the mention of Frey, she snorted, jabbing at one of the last marshmallows, hungry again, and waving it over the inferno, waiting to see it catch, turn a gilded, golden sort of brown. “You have any run-ins with gods?”
He manages to catch his breath, thankfully, and he flashes Melita a brilliant grin – vibrant by the flickering firelight and the bronze hue of his skin from the sun. He does idly wonder what happened to the cook, but finds that he doesn’t particularly care in this moment while his stomach is full of sweets and booze and the company is far better than having Saiden dampen it.
Another snort but not a ruckus of laughter leaves him at the idea of bargaining an eye. “’xactly.” He mutters, propping himself up on an elbow as he kicks at one of the logs of the fire, watching the sparks shoot out. The question to him, though, has his gaze lifting to Melita with the raise of a red brow before he shakes his head. “Me? No. Abandoned, so nobody’s ev’r answered me.” He shrugs. “Like t’think I’d get on with with some’a them but.” His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug and he slips back in the grassy knoll to peer at the stars overhead.
In an idle sense, Melita did wonder what had become of Saiden. Mainly by bouts of curiosity, imagination capable of drawing all sorts and semblances of possibilities; from the one-eyed crotch-scratching cook wandering off and working for another ship, to gambling his other line of sight away and meandering blind somewhere. But there was no way of knowing, and maybe one day he’d simply stroll back in as if nothing was the matter.
Her question drew naught anyway; her gaze angling back towards Milo as he answered. She didn’t frown and furrow her brows, tucking her legs neatly in front of her, rounding an arm over her knees, humming under her breath. “Which ones?” Her head tilted, all inquiry without menace or measures otherwise.
It was far more likely that they wouldn’t ever see the cook again and to Milo, despite his curiosities, he doesn’t particularly care too much to find out what happened. Aside from that, all he can do is focus entirely on the switch in the conversation, over gods and choices, of differences between them. She was chosen by the gods and he was spurned, scorned and aptly described as Abandoned.
“Hm, think ‘d like Frey.” He lifts his head a fraction, cocking it to the side as a red brow raises curiously. “Don’ think I’d make Safrin too happy ‘n I don’ really got anythin’ in common with Ludo. So… Prolly Frey.” He shrugs his shoulders, knowing all too much how she’s a Ludo follower, how there are a few in the Ark crew that follow various gods. And Milo? Milo hasn’t tried in a very very long time.
