Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
“But they will see it as us striking first. This is a game of appearance as much as power,” they point out blithely, not particularly emotionally invested but happy to speak and debate. They’d been silent for most of their life, it is a delight to match wits with anyone at all.
Delight overcomes their expression at the news that the seasonal gods may yet be in their favor. “That is wonderful! Then perhaps we can honor one of them and host it in their name.” They would have to do more research on the deities, determine what they liked. Wrinkling their nose a little at the idea of art - as a farmer art was an expensive luxury - they nevertheless don’t object. “We have non-Ascended living in the Grounds, and only lighting them would be an issue - in the air they are harmless. What sort of art could we do in the dark? Maybe something the guests can do themselves instead of a showcase?” Perhaps this would be their first taste at art as well.
Amun tilted his head to one side as Ophelia continued to list her concerns. Frowning, the potter glanced over her shoulder, brow furrowed as he thought. "Well then we just have to remind them they locked us in the Hollowed Ground, repeatedly murdered us, and that this latest incident was perpetrated by a premeditated murder committed by one of their members. They should hardly come out of this smelling like roses." His expression turned into a full blown scowl.
However, it slipped away as they started discussing the possibilities for festivals. "Well, for starters, if we held it out here we could use glow stones for light." He gestured at one that was not too far away. "Illumination without the risk of blowing all of us up if something went wrong. And believe me, having attended enough festivals in my time, something always goes wrong. It also has the added benefit of highlighting something unique to the Hollowed Ground." He snorted.
Returning his gaze to them, he reached into a pouch to retrieve a small chunk of meat. Tossing it towards the ground for Zhanshi to munch on, the potter scratched under his chin with his free hand. "In terms of the seasonal deities, I know we've had good relations with Eirachi in the past. I don't know about any of the others, especially the newest one."
we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
He is quite impassioned, which makes sense considering he was part of the group that went, but it does little to disturb the calm lake of Phi’s emotions. “You said yourself that words do little to move or convince them. We must endear ourselves - bonds of affection are more powerful.” And Ophelia doesn’t care about intentionally constructing those for the benefit of their family. Doesn’t care how genuine they end up being.
He seems quite intent on shooting the idea down, so they shrug and play idly with his fingers. “So we have our lighting. What of the event?” He’d not answered that bit, and art is far beyond Phi’s wheelhouse. “Newest one? The one on the Notice Board?” They’d sort of killed Mathair, so perhaps not that one.
Nodding at Ophelia's assessment of the situation, Amun sighed. Rubbing his eyes with his free hand, he felt his head dropping slightly. "I agree with you, but it's easier said than done. All I was trying to say is that we've got plenty of material to try and convince people we're not the only ones to blame here." Grimacing, he dropped his hand back into his lap. "But as you've observed, we need more than just words."
Forcing his expression into something more neutral, he hummed a low note as he considered more details about the event. "The newest one, yes. As for the event, invite professionals and representatives from every region to showcase the best of their work, whatever that is. We can have contests in various categories, like food, entertainment, art, and more. We'll give the winners some sort of prize and have sweets for the little ones." He shrugged and scratched under his chin.
we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
Ophelia nods along, pale hair swaying. “We need all types. Those who want to convince, those who fight and defend, healers and philosophers alike. But we are so few, and so the actions of each person are weighed so heavily.” Which is cruel and unfair, but they have no other choice than to bear its weight.
He paints a picture for them to see in their mind, and Ophelia plays with his fingers like a child as they let their grief float further away to instead focus on this better idea. “It sounds very fun,” their dreamlike voice sighs. “And you and I can be the organizers, and wear mighty crowns and sashes so nobody can mistake us.” Crinkles form in the corners of their eyes as they grin, fangs poking through at the mental image.
Nodding at Ophelia's assessment of the situation, Amun rubbed his forehead. "Just remember that, as vocal as they are, and though they outnumber us, there are actually only a few of them that matter. Remi, Ronin, and perhaps the leaders of the other lands. Everyone else just goes along with what those few say." He grimaced. "Unfortunately, those few are powerful enough to enforce their will when charisma fails them."
Smiling back at their enthusiasm for the idea, he let them take his fingers. "And we can have scepters to anoint the best creators in each category." He cocked his head to one side as he waited for their reaction to that addition to their idea.
we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
Names are powerful, especially when Ophelia has only ventured beyond the borders of the Grounds once. Titled spread faster than names most times, so the ghost recites them in their own mind to commit them to memory. Enemies that are outlined on the sparse board in her mind, colorful string connecting relationships in a slowly budding web of connections. “It is always those who speak loudest who drown out the more plentiful voices,” they agree with a disgruntled little frown, skin wrinkling between their brows. But what can they do, singularly, against godlike beings such as them? Nothing. And so it is better to consider these other efforts and plans, to chase away the grief and the feeling of being useless with things that bring joy and expectation to the horizon of their days.
Their laugh is like the creak of branches, or a child’s giggle inside a decrepit building, but it’s sincere all the same. “Yes!” they agree gleefully. “I do not want us to stop living merely because others say we must. We deserve to be happy, even in times of war.” Even if only for a moment.
Amun grunted in response to Ophelia's statement. Staring into the distance, he shrugged a shoulder. "Even when those voices are raised in a chorus." He shook his head and frowned.
When they spoke about living life to the fullest, he took a deep breath. "The only ones that can stop us from making the most of life are us ourselves," he told them. Meeting their gaze, he tried on a smile, though he wasn't sure how well it fit. "And the war is not on us yet, no matter how gloomy people may be acting. We've still got quite a few seasons left before everything comes to a head."
we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
It’s a depressing topic, and already there is enough to grieve. Enough loss and futility to contend with. So instead Ophelia lets his words go unanswered and continues to fiddle with his fingers, splayed and loose between them. Tracing lines in his palm that no longer have purpose in their Ascension, wondering what traits they would signify now if a medium deigned to ascribe meaning to them. They cannot die natural deaths after all, nor bear children. Perhaps an inclination for specific blood types? ‘This line here means you prefer O-.’ Ophelia snorts aloud to themself at the idea.
As he lifts his head and smiles, Ophelia lifts a hand to cup his cheek, full of the same love they always feel in overwhelming measure for this struggling little family they have found. Always needing to touch and share physically that which they never had growing up. “You are very handsome, Amun. Gloominess does not suit you. It suits Wessex, which is a shame, but I’m sure we can throw a party grand enough to make that frown take a vacation.” The gentle ribbing makes them grin, hand falling away with a little laugh.
As Ophelia traced Amun's palm, he followed her movements. Arching an eyebrow at her snort, his lips twitched. "Checking my future, are you? Let me guess. I'm going to marry a rich and handsome man and have many children who will all love me unconditionally." He barked out a laugh, but only one and its echoes died out quickly in the dark.
"Well there is a first time for everything. Though can you keep a secret?" He leaned towards them and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I've seen Wessex smile before. So it definitely can be done" Winking, he rocked backwards again. "It would be nice not to feel this way, even for a little while," he admitted.
we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
His laughter is abrasive in a way that makes them feel warm inside, boyish but sharp at the edges. “Hmm, I see a handsome man yes - or perhaps many, the line isn’t clear for you - with a single child who will inherit all your hard earned wealth and possessions,” they tease, tapping their fingertips in the center of his palm the same way one pats the cover of a bound book.
Leaning forward, biddable and trusting, Ophelia laughs in turn at the man’s dramatics. Their own laugh more like the tinny sound of raining glass on a smooth floor. “I would love to see it,” it comes out wistful, but their smile is dreamlike. Hopeful. “It’s nice to already not feel this way now.” Because his company has greatly helped in putting their head on straight. “What art do you prefer Amun?” They change the topic, wanting this moment to go on even longer. “I have never so much as colored on spare pages. I would like to learn before I am to judge our peers.”
Amun gasped and fluttered his eyebrows at Ophelia. Smiling at them, they rested their free hand over their heart, leaving the other in their grasp. "What a revelation! You are gifted, truly gifted!" His smile morphed into a smirk for a moment and he let out a chuckle.
"Obviously I can't promise anything, but I'll see what I can do." Winking at them, he grinned briefly as they revealed they were feeling better. "Hm? I've always enjoyed stylistic and symbolic imagery, if that makes sense. You know, for instance painting a wave as you perceive it and not as you might see it in real life. Or a person with exaggerated features." Snorting, he shook his head. "That was a terrible explanation."
Arching an eyebrow when they revealed they'd never done anything artistic before, he gave their hand a squeeze. "Well we can't have that. You'll have to come by the Art-isan's Guild sometime soon." He inclined his head to them as he offered the invitation.
04-29-2022, 05:47 PM (This post was last modified: 04-29-2022, 05:48 PM by Ophelia.)
we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
His dramatics enchant them like an infant being shown something new and exciting, blue eyes bright and face radiant as they chime a laugh in harmony. He is wholly unlike anyone they have ever known, isolated and paranoid as their family had been. A constant oppressive shadow that they had lived inside. Funny how they’ve lost the ability to be in the sun now, and yet they feel as if they’ve stepped out from the darkness for the first time in their life.
“No, it made sense,” they assure, though admittedly their curiosity is roused by the notion. Could everyone paint the same wave they see differently then? And what would it say of each person? Squeezing his hand back, Ophelia smiles beatifically. “I would love to. There is so much I’ve never done or seen. Sam took me to see the ocean, and now I want to do it all. Maybe I can paint the waves like you said - from memory.”
Grinning, Amun nodded. "Good. I'm glad you followed my rambling." Shooting Ophelia a wink, he glanced up at the night sky. The moon had completed most of its evening cycle and he sighed. Standing up with a groan, he held out his hand to them.
"We should probably get inside before the sun rises. Besides, it sounds like we've got our cut out for us." Cocking his head to one side, he waited to see if they'd take his assistance. Assuming they did, he'd start to walk towards the Settlement. Zhanshi poked his head out of the ground for a moment to tug on the hem of the potter's pants. Chuckling, he shook his head as the landshark dove underground and began tunneling to lead the way.
