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!
05-09-2022, 02:57 PM (This post was last modified: 05-09-2022, 04:03 PM by Nate.)
Nate
Nate hasn’t made a thing of being awake again, not really. Not yet. It’s not like he’s going to great lengths to hide himself, but truth be told it doesn’t feel real. Days have passed by this point, and the time has come for a daylight excursion. Despite the stolen coat and scarves, Nate’s silhouette is obvious, made all the more obvious by the truly comical number of baskets and boxes strewn across his four false arms, some already half full with various produce.
His flesh and wave and gesture wildly as he argues with a merchant, the woman staring impassively at his emotion. “Look, I didn’t wake up yesterday, okay?” Nate is trying to keep the pitch of his voice low, trying to make it seem like he’s not growing too upset. “We had a deal, right? Good whiskey for turnips, and I,” he pauses to grab one of the vegetables from the basket, ignoring the woman’s complaint, and too quick for her grasping hand trying to stop him, “I don’t even know what the fuck this is? I mean, it’s white, I wanted turnips, not whatever these are!”
Nate doesn’t seem to care that his voice is carrying, that he’s making a scene. And he doesn’t know it, but he wouldn’t particularly care to find out that he’s the wrong one either.
Do you read fuck-up in my walk?
Do you see fuck-up on my face?
"Nate, you're back!" Isla's cheerful trill cares little for the brewing argument between demigod and merchant, and it's his recognisable silhouette that has her slipping through the bodies around the stalls to reach him. She's out to collect some more herbs for the infirmary, her basket tucked under her arm as she draws up beside him. "Oh, those are some pretty good turnips," she remarks, easy as you like, before looking up at him properly.
"It's good to see you," she says, and were it not for the jumble of baskets and boxes being held aloft around him like some cluttered halo, she might have moved in for a hug. As it stands, it seems as though one wrong move might send everything toppling, so the medic wisely keeps a polite distance. "How long have you been awake?"
If it wasn’t for the fact that on some level he recognizes the voice that chirps his name, Nate would be startled out of his vegetable malcontent, but as it is, Isla is ignored until she’s right by his side, adding fuel to the fire.
“Not you too.” He moans, turning to face Isla and shove the turnip under nose. “It’s white! White, turnips are orange!” The merchant takes his distraction as her chance to snatch her side of the bargain and leave the basket of turnips, offering the Overseer a polite but subtle nod as she does.
It’s another thing Nate doesn’t notice, immediately caught up by questions. “Not long. Couple hours?” He says of being away, face tipping towards the sky, though the demi-god can’t actually drag his eyes away from Isla to properly gauge the angle of the sun. “I’ve been alive again for a few days though. Been keepin’ quiet.” He licks his lips, then drops his chin again. “I’m guessin’ you wanna… box my ears, or somethin’?”
Do you read fuck-up in my walk?
Do you see fuck-up on my face?
Isla reacts to the merchant almost on autopilot as she flees takes her leave, which is probably a good idea, given that the medic is at risk of inhaling a turnip. "I... see...?" she says, somewhat disbelievingly. "I thought swede were orange." (So it turns out that in Europe we call a rutabaga a swede, or a Swedish turnip. The more you know!)
Regardless - and Isla has no idea what a box of turnips frogs she might have opened here - she resists a smirk to hear that he's been keeping quiet. It certainly looks like it. "And now you're doing a bit of... light shopping?" she asks, glancing at the game of Tetris he seems to be playing with his false arms.
As for boxing his ears, the medic has the sense to look mildly offended, shifting her basket to the opposite arm. "I don't think I have ever boxed anyone's ears in my life," she murmurs. "On the contrary. What's done is done, Nate - I'm just glad you're back. You were missed, by everyone."
“Turnips are orange. I don’t know what this fuckin’ thing is, or what you said, but,” Nate turns, ready to continue his argument only to find his opponent gone, leaving him with a basket of disappointment on top of his already boiling over pot of emotions. The line that his lips tug into isn’t exactly a frown, but it is severe and upset, quiet and internal in a way Isla might recognize from his less put together moments.
The basket is heaved onto his jenga tower of supplies, even his bounteous grip struggling with the load he’s carrying. “Stuff for Longnight.” He explains, about to shrug but thinking better of it. “The boys and Sunny still need to eat, and my gardens fucked this year, so…” His real hands gesture up at his load.
A crooked grin starts to pull across his face, tugging at one corner of his lips before it’s stopped by the thought that he was missed. His mouth opens immediately, dark brows furrowing above his eyes, and just when it seems like something dark and angry is about to come spitting out of his throat Nate just… stops. Clamps his face down and swallows and manages the worlds least convincing smile. “Well I’m back now. You’ve all got your blunt instrument back.”
Do you read fuck-up in my walk?
Do you see fuck-up on my face?
Isla opens her mouth to continue the conversation only for Nate to realise how gone the merchant is, and she'd have laughed if he looked at all like it was funny. And so instead, noting the nuances in his expression that suggests this is about more than just turnips, she holds out a hand for the basket of them. "If you leave them with me, I'll see if I can try and trade them for orange ones? I'll drop them by when I've got them," she says.
As for the rest of the bounty somehow balanced in his arms, the medic smiles softly and tilts her head. "Do you need some help getting it home and putting it away?" she asks. "I've only got two arms, but I promise I'm more than capable. I was just getting herbs to restock the infirmary." And she should probably get some food as well, thinking of it.
Taken aback by the whipcrack of his reaction, Isla is left blinking up at him, smiling uncertainly. "Is that what Sunjata calls it?" she wonders. "Is everything okay?"
05-13-2022, 06:18 AM (This post was last modified: 05-13-2022, 06:20 AM by Nate.)
Nate
"No no no." Before Isla can get a hand on the basket it's lifted up into Nate's load, above both of their heads. "I can figure something out for them. I mean, it's not like it's me eating it, right?" The laugh that chases the heels of his words covers up the trembling in his hands and the tightness of his face, at least for the moment. "I won't say no to the company. But I'm good on help. Sunjata's home, I don't need more than him." Nate licks his lips, readjusts once more, and then steps out away from the stalls, aiming for the VlamVloed.
Confusion casts it's line and hooks a corner of Nate's eyebrow, reeling it up as he tips his head, almost bemused. "Why would that be what Sunjata calls it?" A huff escapes his nose, the sound trying to be a laugh, though it never quite lifts itself up. "Isla, the last thing I remember before before waking up is falling and not hitting the ground. How okay do you think things are?"
He stares into pebble blue eyes for a moment, his face dropping back into something calm, except for the tenseness around his eyes, the intensity of his stare. His feet know the way home, he doesn't need to look. "Thank you." Nate offers, enunciating the words clearly and carefully. "You don't need t worry about me though, okay? I can take care of myself. And I am!"
Do you read fuck-up in my walk?
Do you see fuck-up on my face?
"Oh! Alright, if you're sure," Isla murmurs, following the basket of turnips as it sails up and above their heads, the medic raising an eyebrow and shifting her own basket on her arm. "Well, I'll try to be better company than a helper," she murmurs, nodding and turning to fall into step with him away from the marketplace.
Isla tilts her head right back at Nate, opening her mouth to explain the nuances of her innuendo, but that sort of defeats the object of it. Shaking her head and tucking a lock of fair hair behind her ear, she rolls the topic away in a shrug. "It doesn't matter," she murmurs.
What does matter is how okay things are and how Nate's words fall out of sync with his expressions, the Remedy letting out a long, needless sigh. "I've died twice, you know," she says gently. "Neither time was anything close to peaceful, so I think I might have some idea. But I also found it easier to just bury myself in work, so I get it. We don't need to talk about it if you don't want to."
And so, purposely injecting a bit of brightness into her step, she casts a sidelong look at Nate. "Have you heard about the relic that might be in Stormbreak...?"
“Its not the peace of it that I’m struggling with.” Nate admits gratingly, his tongue between his teeth more often than not, beads of fluid on its tip while he considers how to continue. “There’s nothing between those points for me. Not dreams, not… hell, or what the fuck ever. I closed my eyes in Stormbreak and opened them up here, and Sunny tells me theres been a season between those two points instead of nothing."
A laugh, near hysterical, shakes his shoulders, Nate’s load shifting precariously above them. “And it’s not like I even know how I should start putting things together again either, I just…” A huff hisses out between his teeth, Nate’s gaze shifting to stare ahead of them into the snowy distance.
Another relic is news indeed, even if the location is less than ideal. “No. I haven’t heard anything about it.” They make a turn, the street around them emptying out almost completely. Even considering Deepfrost, it’s a touch too early for anyone to be heading towards the VlamVloed. “What are we thinking about that?”
Do you read fuck-up in my walk?
Do you see fuck-up on my face?
Isla listens quietly by as they walk, as if Nate isn't telling her something that's traumatic and weird and arguably not the sort of thing that should be casual conversation, but it is now, because war. The streets are empty and quiet, luckily, giving room for the Lone Ranger to walk with all of his items, and without anyone to spy on them - not that they'd likely bother, given that the majority of those in the Grounds are Ascended these days.
"It feels like someone should have handed you a sort of Welcome Back To Life pack, with everything you need to know, right?" She hazards a smile up at him. "Is Sunjata able to fill in any of the immediate gaps? I can help with the Stormbreak aftermath, though I'm not sure how much it would help. Those feelings will still be there."
Relics, bizarrely, are an easier topic, and the smile on Isla's face becomes sly as she rolls a shoulder in a shrug. "We are thinking that we sneak into Stormbreak and take it. Sooner, rather than later. Wessex, Amun and I need to find out where it is first, obviously. But if we do figure that out, do you want to join us?"
“I didn’t want anything specific.” Nate mutters, lips pursing into a pout as he turns his face away from Isla. “I mean, Sunny handled a lot of the… welcome back.” It isn’t even an innuendo, not really, though that’s impossible to tell from the kilt of his voice, one that lingers long enough to confuse the emotion behind the next words. “I just… dunno, thought waking up from the dead would merit some kind of response from Her.” Nate frowns down towards Isla, looking her over quickly before glancing up again.
Relics bring another strange yo-yo of his emotions, the drop lifting again as dark brows furrowed above light eyes. “We’re thinking that’s a good idea then?” He confirms, a rumble of amusement in his throat. “Yeah. So long as we have a plan, I’ll be there. S’what I’m for, after all.” A short breath huffs through his nose, Nate not bothering to replenish it before he leans his head towards the other ascended. “How’d we hear about this?”
Do you read fuck-up in my walk?
Do you see fuck-up on my face?
Isla's lips part to speak, but as she gives Nate the space to continue, however faltering and difficult to piece together it might be, the medic guesses at the true meaning behind his sentiment. "You haven't seen Her, since you woke up?" she asks softly, furrowing her brow. "That... there must be a good reason, Nate. I went with Sunjata to the shrine, when he asked for your sight to be restored. She didn't seem angry or disappointed with you about any of it."
Not that it likely helps much, when it comes to the lack of an answer. Clearing her throat, she adjusts her basket and chooses not to think too hard about the Voice. Relics are more fun to discuss, besides. "We are," she confirms. "Especially given how many relics the Old Gods already have. Amun heard about it from some... situation, in the Oerwoud, I think. He isn't the only one who knows, though. I imagine both sides will be looking for this thing."
“I haven’t.” Nate confirms simply, the words barely making it through the tightly drawn line of his lips. A short sigh leaves him as Isla makes excuses and offers explanations, the heavy toe of his boot slipping across the snowy ground and kicking up dirt. “I’m sure there’s a reason. I mean, it’s gotta be something good, right? Something really worthwhile.” The sullen, mocking tone of his voice makes it clear there’s absolutely nothing that comes to his mind, no reason good enough, but that’s neither here nor there.
They’re focusing on relics now anyways.
Far be it for Nate to question the wisdom of them going to Stormbreak again, though he is still hesitant. As far as he’s concerned, he’d only just returned from Stormbreak. His fellow doctor is right though, they cannot afford to let any more relics slip through their fingers. “I guess we need to move fast then? What’s the plan?” The VlamVloed rises up before them, Nate pausing on the threshold of the bar before stepping in, tipping his chin to indicate Isla should enter first. “I’m best as a weapon, but… well, good tools listen, huh?”
Do you read fuck-up in my walk?
Do you see fuck-up on my face?
"I would hope so," Isla murmurs, her brow furrowed as she gazes across at Nate, though she doesn't try to patch things over any further than that. It's between him and the Voice, in the end, though she does privately hope that he chooses to visit a shrine again sooner rather than later. She glances up to see the VlamVloed appear, nodding her gratitude and hopping over the threshold, keeping the door propped open to allow Nate to amble in with his haul.
"Well, first we need to find out where in Stormbreak the relic is. Wessex and I are going to do some sneaking around undercover, see what we can find out. As soon as we've pinned it down I can let you know, and we'll go after it." She smiles up at him. "And you are not a tool, thank you very much. Or rather, you can be. Sometimes. But we all can."
