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!
you can't see, we've been falling from the 5th story, hope we don't hit the surface
There’s something about an ocean view at night, some leftover bioluminescence from Torchline spilling through the waves of the Boondocks once they’ve grabbed their hot chocolates. He hasn’t taken a sip yet, his attention focused on picking out the perfect little cup, adding the right amount of marshmallows — who cares if he can’t taste it, it’s the thought and attempt that matters isn’t it?
He’s got two in hand as he breezes back to Isla’s side, nodding his head toward the waves, handing her a large cup of cocoa overflowing with puffy sweet pillows, flashing her a fanged grin. He can see the steam rise from the cup despite not feeling it, the cold air penetrating the layers he wears yet affecting him very little if the pile of snow in his long dark hair is any indication. “To the first hot cocoa that we can remember.” He toasts, a smirk crossing his face as he raises the cup.
"To the first hot cocoa with the man I love," Isla toasts back, gently clacking her cup against Varus's once he's handed it to her, smiling across at him and settling in against his side. As Ascended, they might not be great at discerning hot from cold (not that the pain from either really registers), but Isla definitely knows that the cocoa will scald their tongues. So rather than taking a sip, she blows on the steaming layer of marshmallows, grinning into them.
"I used to love when they would melt into the chocolate," she says. "But it isn't really something you can enjoy without getting sticky." Is that a double entendre? From the look on Isla's face and the way she bounces her eyebrows at Varus, she definitely thinks so. "Thank you for coming out here with me. I needed this more than I thought."
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
you can't see, we've been falling from the 5th story, hope we don't hit the surface
“Maybe we could make it a tradition.” He muses, flashing her a fanged smirk as their cups toast together, but Varus isn’t as smart as Isla is when it comes to the sensors – too used to having no pain that it truly takes the endless haranguing of his sensors to deter him of much. The Captain takes a deep sip of the hot cocoa, sputtering only slightly as his sensors spark off, eye twitching with a wince as he focuses back on what she says.
There’s a huff of a laugh, his breath appearing for the first time in centuries as the hot cocoa warms up his throat and mouth to create it. “Along with most things.” A wink shot her way before his arm slips around her shoulders, tucking her into his side. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” And he wouldn’t – not just because of the state of the world. “Did you have different kinds of hot coco where you’re from?” He asks, bringing up some interest in the fact that despite how much like a Natural she is, she still came from a different world, one with different customs, different things to get used to and change.
"A tradition? That sounds fun," Isla says with a smile, leaning into his side and raising an eyebrow as she watches him slurp at the obviously scalding cocoa. "So elegant," she purrs into his ear, kissing his cheek as if that will soothe the protesting of his sensors. Tucked against him as she is, the medic's free hand slips around to work itself into Varus's back pocket, Isla enjoying the glitter of lights off the cold ocean and the quiet peace of their closeness.
"We did," she says with a smile and a nod. "You could add sea salt, or caramel, or mint. And to that you could always add a little bit of whiskey." Gods, she misses it. Sighing and gazing up at him, she takes a cautious sip of her drink. "If you could go to a restaurant and taste something, what would you order?"
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
you can't see, we've been falling from the 5th story, hope we don't hit the surface
“A gentleman.” He drawls, amusement flickering in his gaze, his smile, in the fraction he tightens his arm around her shoulders, humming a comfortable sound as his sensors smooth over. Captivated quickly by her response, his gaze slips over toward her as his hand rises to tug at little stray blond locks. “Mint and whiskey additions were my favorites.” He admits, nodding in his agreement.
However, the follow up has him pausing, gaze flickering out over the twinges of bioluminescence that appear here and there, rarely, like shooting stars in the ocean. “That’s a tough question.” He admits with a soft snort, head tilting slightly as he smacks his lips purely for show. “A big juicy steak with a baked potato, I think.” He’s a simple man when it comes to food and there’s something about such a homey meal that has his no longer useful taste buds salivating in pearlescent fluid.
“What about you?” He asks, blowing on the cocoa now.
"Mm, same," Isla agrees, practically able to taste the cool mint and the tang of whiskey on her tongue. Perhaps it's really there if she imagines it hard enough, the Ascended sighing into her cocoa and closing her eyes for a moment. The intermittent glow of the ocean turns the dark shades of neon, and she smiles to hear Varus's preference. "You know, I thought you'd be a steak guy," she says, blinking her eyes back open to smile up at him.
"Me? Gods, I'd want lobster," Isla says without hesitation, letting out a long sigh and taking a large slurp of the rapidly cooling cocoa. "With melted butter and corn and potatoes. Together maybe we could have surf and turf?" she suggests. Sharing is caring, after all.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
you can't see, we've been falling from the 5th story, hope we don't hit the surface
“Ack, am I that easy to read?” He whines, nose wrinkling momentarily before he takes another sip of his cocoa, lowering it to rest easily around his center, waiting for a moment to grow dramatic once more when she gives her answer. There’s a soft huff of a laugh, a squeeze of her shoulder as he imagines it.
“Mm, yes. I didn’t have lobster much before. Crab, yes, lobster? Not so much. Maybe we should plan it even if we can’t taste it.” He suggests, before his head tilts and he considers it. “Maybe if we think hard enough we can imagine it, Hm? A nice little treat.” Romantic in all the ways it could be, uncaring if the Prince were there to join them as well.
"Not at all," Isla informs him, as if he's forgotten that he's a brooding, super serious assassin. "I just know you, that's all." And it's a privilege to see beneath that shell, one that she doesn't take for granted. "And maybe we should, yeah. We can arrange it in Torchline on the sand under the moonlight. A little dinner for two."
Laughing and gazing down into her hot chocolate, Isla shrugs against him. "This is enough of a treat already, though," she admits, wanting to follow up with something stupid and serious like who knows how many more occasions like this we'll have, but fuck if she's done with the war talk. So instead she relaxes against Varus, turning her head to nose into his scarf and press a kiss against his neck.
"How's the cocoa? Living up to your expectations?"
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
you can't see, we've been falling from the 5th story, hope we don't hit the surface
“Good. I thought I was slacking in my training.” He doesn’t think he has – and regardless, the mask and get up he wears certainly hide much of any facial twitches he’s become a bit more accustomed to than he used to be. For now, however, he sips from his cocoa thinking dreaming about the surf and turf, in Torchline, the region of which sparks an amused glint to his gaze. “A dinner for two followed by a sand darts rematch?” He suggests, waggling his brows as he recalls one of their more defining moments.
As she speaks next, he nods, letting some amount of solemness overcome him – not wanting to make light of the situation they’ve found themselves in. But she turns her head and kisses against his neck and he leans into it, the Captain’s arm squeezing her shoulders lightly before he nudges his way in to pepper her face with little kisses of his own. “Not as sweet as I’d hoped but I have you to make up for it.” Punctuated with another chaste kiss to her lips before he pulls away, looking down into his glass as if he's missing something in it.
"No, no. I see you making grumpy scowls at the mirror every morning. Your training is right on schedule," Isla assures him with a grin, her pebble blues lighting up at the idea of a rematch. "I am much better at sand darts than I was when we first met," she informs him, despite having absolutely zero evidence of this. Isla certainly hasn't been training in that regard. "You'd better come prepared to lose."
Quite enjoying being squished in next to him, Isla flails a bit and lets out a peal of laughter as she's suddenly assaulted by kisses, and it's only by luck that she doesn't spill her cocoa. "I'm so pleased to be able to pick up where your cocoa left off," she says, and as he looks down into his drink, Isla takes the opportunity to plunk one of her marshmallows into it, as if that's what he's looking for.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
you can't see, we've been falling from the 5th story, hope we don't hit the surface
“Good, good.” He says, letting a dramatic flare of relief spread across his face, only to let it be twisted up immediately after. “What?” He asks, some mock horror reflecting in the oceanic blues that meet her face, that scan her for the lie. “You’ve been practicing?” And he hasn’t been, of course, though when it comes to being prepared to lose, he tugs her in just enough to pretend to use the hand on the arm wrapped around her might clasp to his chest. “I’ll prepare to start groveling immediately.” A noble lilt hits his words, something playful and so painfully obvious that it’s fake he can’t help but to let the twitch of a smirk cross his face.
She’s squished in closer, the peal of laughter ringing in his ears contagious as he chuckles along with her. He watches as she drops a marshmallow into his drink, one of the last few remaining that hasn’t melted fully into a sticky mess, wiggling the cup ever so slightly so that it might stir without being touched. “You should be. I don’t think there’s enough marshmallows in the world that could sweeten it up as much as you do.” He admits, looking up at her fully now before he dives in to catch her in a proper kiss.
"Maybe. You'll just have to wait and see," Isla informs him with a small smirk of her own, thoroughly and happily entwined with Varus and his drama. Nodding her approval to hear that his grovelling preparations will begin, the medic turns her attention back to the bioluminescence occasionally lighting up the world beyond the Boondocks. Only the motion of the cup wiggling distracts her, Isla shamelessly pleased to see her marshmallow gift accepted.
Not that her cocoa matters as Varus speaks again, the Remedy inhaling a breath she doesn't need as she gazes up at him. "You are such a dork--" she informs him, only to be cut off by the press of his lips. Flinging her mostly-empty cup into the water, Isla loops her arms around his shoulders and smiles into their kiss, wishing they weren't wearing so many layers.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
you can't see, we've been falling from the 5th story, hope we don't hit the surface
“Oh the horror.” He drawls, incapable of keeping the edge of a snicker from lacing his voice. But he pushes past that part of the conversation in favor for laying more compliments, more playfulness offered in the face of times that are growing darker and darker by the season. He snorts, focusing instead on the kiss that has her losing her cocoa, that has his squished between them as he tries desperately to not spill it. Indeed, his sensors spark with the pressure against his ribcage, but he ignores it in favor for lowering the arm on her shoulders for her middle.
He parts when he’s satisfied (which thankfully they have no breath they need to catch after) and peers at the cup of cocoa, part of it having spilled on his jacket. “Yes but I’m your dork. And now I’m all sticky.” He whines, arms opening to show her the cocoa that clings to him before he downs the rest of his mug and huffs a pout.
The horror indeed. With a silvery flush to her cheeks as she parts from him, Isla takes a couple of seconds to realise what he's actually talking about, smiling somewhat dazedly down at the stain to his jacket. "Oh no. Not a sticky dork," she breathes, tugging at his lapels so she might be able to see it better while Varus disposes of the rest of the evidence. "Well, you can't take it off, you'll get cold," she says.
Of course, this is absolutely a leading comment, Isla's fingers teasing around the buttons of his jacket. "Unless you want to sneak home through the portal. Your shirt might be ruined too, so I might have to take that off as well." And what a crying shame that would be.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
