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!
Content and unbothered by the slapping of a hand on his back, he turned around abruptly, stomping his way back towards the kitchen. A snort rallied through lungs and chest, eyes only going towards the timer, uncertain how many moments had been spent regarding cookie dough over the actual ones in the oven. “He is spoiled enough,” hastened in response, rolling his eyes in the direction of Evie and the peryton alike. For his efforts, Belial tilted his head, confused and perplexed and uncertain all at the same time, clearly outmatched in how he might help. Considering how often Deimos simply plucked him out of the sky when he was being naughty and nefarious, the carnivorous deer may not have had much to bargain with. Zuriel was a lost cause anyway, opening her eyes briefly to see they were all being stupid, and then closing them to resume her nap by the hearth.
Another plan already rallying its way through his mind, the Sword intended to try for a peace offering before the next interval and wave of stupidity. They had a few more minutes to spare – judging by the timer and the aroma coming from the oven. Still clutching, despite her wriggling and poor attempts at evasion, he kept her well over his shoulder, only swinging sharply to pretend to snag at something, head tilting vaguely in her direction. “Do you yield?” Because he could always make it worse. "We can share."
Evie squeaks as Deimos about-faces abruptly, both impressed by his strength and put out by the clear ineffectiveness of her general physical being against his own. She raises a mournful hand in solemn salute to the peryton, aware of how she has failed him. Maybe she could sneak him a cookie later, see if her stealth was any better matched against Deimos’ unfairly well-rounded skill set.
Unable to peer past his broad frame, the sudden swing makes her emit an embarrassing startled noise as she instinctively clamps her legs and arms tight around each side of him in fear of being dislodged. Admittedly it does make her a little more open minded, the scare. But she won’t give him the benefit of showing it, making a noise of prolonged consideration before tapping his shoulder in the ‘I yield’ signal they use in sparring. “Alright, I yield. Sharing is caring as they say - even though I tried to,” she heckles playfully, adjusting the bowl awkwardly so it won’t be a hindrance whenever he decides to put her down.
Don't look up, just let them think There's no place else you'd rather be
He made no attempt to hide the seditious, devilish grin rounding out every portion of his mouth as the surrendering motions went through – even if she couldn’t see it from her current vantage point. “You did not,” by way of childish argument – he was fully capable of feeding himself – and attempted to peel and dislodge her off his form, setting her back down on the floor when she’d managed to become disentangled. Pointing to the middle of the counter, he’d give her a moment to put the bowl in the center (deciding not to laugh at the amount of flour that had been transferred from clothing to clothing; they both continued to look ridiculous).
Besides, there were cookies to take out.
Not forgoing the mitt, he snagged one on his hand, and then opened the door, permitting the aroma to permeate through the rest of the house (no one would be surprised by Belial’s sudden reappearance), and taking them off the rack. Settling them along the top of the stove to cool, he subsequently shut everything else down, eyes flickering briefly to the golden brown ningos, banshees, Evie landshark riders, ursurs, and other assorted odds and ends. Some looked better than others, but overall they’d come out decently.
Turning back towards Evie, raising a brow in either challenge, inquiry, or merely to see if she’d adhere to her own yielding, he found another spoon in a nearby drawer. “See, now we can eat the dough while those cool.” It’d all been very logical.
Just as she can’t see his mischievous smirk, he can’t see the way she childishly mimics his words with a very unflattering expression. Sure she could have objected, but Evie intrinsically knew his response would be that he could feed himself, and well…yeah, she had no argument for that one. It’s somehow less graceful being deposited back to the kitchen floor than being swooped off it, but that might be because of the slower nature of it. Aside from the flour war zone they’ve only worsened on their clothes, everything else - most importantly the dough in the bowl - remains intact.
Obediently setting the bowl where he points, Evie immediately undermines that compliance by hopping up to sit on the edge of the counter beside it. Ankles crossing and bouncing lightly as she watches Deimos retrieve the first batch of cookies. They smell magnificent, and her mouth waters immediately. “I don’t have the artistic talent for icing those I hope you know,” she points out as he retrieved a spoon, grabbing her own to dip into the doughy valleys inside the bowl. Popping it into her mouth she preens and melts immediately, savoring the perfect, slightly gritty texture of the uncooked sugar and eggs. “Okay, maybe you had a point,” she mumbled after she swallows, reluctant to admit it and smirking all the while.
Don't look up, just let them think There's no place else you'd rather be
Another snort rallied through chest and lungs. “Neither do I.” Glancing back at them, the sugar cookies really didn’t need icing, and it would certainly end in some other disastrous wake. Just looking around the current state of them, and the kitchen, between eggs and flour everywhere, the frosting would only add to the mayhem and bedlam.
For now, he’d take the calm – little pockets of repose layered amongst chaos.
Indifferent to whether she sat on the counter or not, he followed through on the same, preferring to lean against its surface, bowl in its stately, neutral home in the middle of them. Half-tempted to purposefully whack his spoon against hers for no other reason than to be a nuisance, he reined it in by scooping along the sides, licking the concoction, content and satisfied. “They can stay like that.” No need for adornments or fanciful whims; he could only imagine what sort of things would arrive at the festival anyway.
On a train and trail of thought, as they sat and leaned in companionable silence (he’d take her admission proudly, but not rub it in her face), he snagged at a closer portion, and then inquired in his residual, habitual rumble. “What is your favorite color?”
They must be thinking along the same lines, because Evie’s grin is sheepish beneath the lingering flour on her cheeks. Not fully repentant, no, because she’d had far too much fun indulging in juvenile antics, but aware that she wouldn’t be able to resist if colorful frosting entered the mix. For now she lingers in the calm, taking spoonfuls from the bowl and bouncing her tangled legs to chase away some of the lingering energy that always prickles beneath her skin.
“How few can we get away with bringing before we look stingy?” she muses idly, envisioning showing up with one cookie from her and Deimos each as an offering, and then immediately hiding her snort of laughter in her next bite.
His question is unexpected, but only prompts a slight rise of a ginger brow. Humming as she pulls the spoon out of her mouth, she plays absentmindedly with the handle as she considers her response. “Orange. But not the really vibrant orange, more like the slightly orange-yellow of Birds of Paradise, or sunsets.” A color less frequently found in nature, and yet she’d cultivated as many as possible to line her windows and shop for the joy it brought her. Maybe it was being a Grounder, but sunsets would always be special to her, reminding her that they were not trapped in a seemingly endless darkness yet again.
Don't look up, just let them think There's no place else you'd rather be
Occupied by food, inquiry, and company, the restlessness didn’t scald at his skin or crawl along his spine. The only movements were the occasional dip of his spoon, or idly tapping it against his mouth in moments of thought, permitting the stillness and peace to reside and resume, rather than tear it apart. Tranquility, even after the fringes of mischief, rarely existed in his life, so he took it with stoic breaths just as readily as he would bedlam and nefariousness; interlocking rhythms of sanctity for a man who’d sometimes only known bloodshed and survival.
“Ten?” He wrinkled his nose though, because even that sounded like a dismal number, and based on the way they were consuming the remaining dough, there wouldn’t be much left for a second batch. He pictured a little bag dropped off on a table and then leaving altogether, notions of the festival itself still granting residual misgivings.
The General listened to her answer instead of perusing further, contemplating pockets of orange along skylines, like fire and brimstone, like edges of cinders or fading embers. And even though she hadn’t asked, he gave his too, gaze flickering down to the floor for a moment, brow furrowed in thought. “Mine is blue.” Like the rippling ocean tide, the trickling of raindrops, the icy proportions of distant mountains, a lake that never froze in the middle of a valley. “And white.” Snow upon rime and unfurling mist, the outcry of gulls against a constant moon. “Favorite food?”
She muffles her huff of laughter into her next spoonful, tracing the wrinkle of his nose with her eyes. “I mean logically if we’re all bringing food, the spread should be massive. I think ten is completely fair.” And if not, people could split them. These cookies were destined for her mouth. And Deimos’ of course, but mostly hers in her mind.
And yet it’s amazing how quickly they leave her mind when he asks what he does - when he shares, freely, his own answer - because Evie is suddenly overcome with the realization that nobody has asked her her favorite color in years. In fact she can’t remember the last time anyone cared enough to inquire. Maybe when she was young and newly dating Rory? Her bites slow as she hangs on his words, few though they are. “What shade of blue?” Without meaning to her tone softens, quiets, like they’re sharing secrets instead of simple preferences. The empty spoon taps idle against her lips as she considers her response, brow crinkling. “Lamb skewers, but they’re hard to find in the Grounds.” Butchering a sheep so young when the meat was higher quality but undeniably smaller in quantity was rarely ever a smart choice back home. Turning guileless eyes to her companion, she smiles; small, sincere. “What’s your favorite drink?” Enticed and drawn in by this simple exchange of questions, finding she wants to know the little things, the tiny pieces that make up a man she is confident she knows to his core, but whose little preferences have unfairly been overlooked.
Don't look up, just let them think There's no place else you'd rather be
Pointing his empty spoon back in her direction, he nodded. “Exactly,” before scooping out another portion along the edges, trying, with great difficulty, to not go for the larger mass settling in the middle.
Even if the questions were simple, the meaning behind them weren’t – little gates and pathways opening, pieces of bulwarks not so readily fortified. Rarely did anyone ask him the basic inquiries either, perhaps believing he wouldn’t answer, was incapable, or had no time for the bits of conversation that made him human. He’d readily put his life on the line for anyone he cherished, but the smaller proportions were relatively unknown – and he found himself willing to share the bare bones. Sometimes, in small doses.
Shades of blue made him hesitate, breathe a little softer. “Deep, darker ones. Like the ocean, or rain. Distant ice on a mountain.” He paused, gaze going upwards, perhaps catching on the ceiling, but mind going over memories of a different life. Only thereafter did his head tilt vaguely, absorbing her answer – smiling a little more, not expecting lamb skewers to be her favored dish. “Must have been like a delicacy,” especially with a world set apart from everywhere else.
Sliding the spoon back into his mouth for a moment, considering the question, he permitted the sugar to melt across his tongue before delivering a verdict. “Tea. Water. I am not picky with alcohol.” Just when he consumed it. His gaze eventually riveted back to hers. “Yours?”
They both seem to be dancing around the center portion, so Evie spares them both and rakes her spoon through it a few times to portion it into chunks and spread it further towards the edges, where she then takes another for herself. There was no use pretending this dough would be made into cookies, it was entirely meant for their stomachs at this point.
His answers make her wonder only ever more. “I know you’ve told me where you came from was a lot like Halo, but what about the ocean? Until the bubble came down, I’d never seen it myself,” she admits, exchanging honesty in hopes of receiving the same. The memories might be bittersweet, but they aren’t painful anymore, not to her. She hopes the same can be said for him. “It was, it still is,” she admits with a soft laugh, spooning another portion but holding it idle for the moment as they talk. Even years later the earth had not recovered from the damage done by the barrier. “I can’t imagine it’s any more popular here, unless the dome has made animal farming more hospitable.” At this point Evie has accepted she can only partake in what is essentially a rare treat when she visits Torchline.
“Gods, I don’t think we’ve ever had a drink together - and for good reason, I can’t hold my alcohol at all.” She laughs as she says it, far from embarrassed by the truth. “I like to make my own apple juice though, and sometimes cider. It’s the only alcohol that doesn’t knock me straight on my ass.” She’d sold a few bottles over the years, but never cultivated a market for it. It was a hobby more than anything, and the gentler levels of alcohol had gotten her through times best spent inebriated without sacrificing her stomach the next morning.
Don't look up, just let them think There's no place else you'd rather be
And then it was decided – Deimos sparing another modest laugh as Evie cut straight through the middle, the designations of no more cookies set. In that case, he shook his head and then indulged, taking a larger portion to feast upon.
His answers only seemed to spawn further inquiries, but these ones he didn’t mind – the pictures in his mind never quite doing the responses and statements justice though. “I was born beside the ocean. The Moonlit Tides, in Isilme.” An entirely different world, but only in some matters; still war, still heartache, still loss and triumph, still kingdoms fighting and gods converging, sovereigns combative and tenuous. For times and measures though, it had been his to rampage through, and even leagues and lives torn away couldn’t take those measures out of his soul – carving him, especially in the quieter moments.
“Probably not,” in regards to her favoritism for lamb. “Any animals farmed are the ones who can still tolerate constant winter.” Or the tougher, stronger, stubborn owners who had the means to feed the livestock – maybe the greenhouse aided in that. “You could always try at the butchers though.” Uncertain if value in trade had heightened over time and abilities.
Savoring another feast of dough, he had to chuckle, the deeper rumble echoing along the small kitchen as he glanced back at the cooling cookies. “That can be built up,” with a cheeky indulgence to his features, but certainly not insinuating she should. A choice of consumption in all things. The Sword hadn’t known the Evergreen was making her own liquor though, so he tilted his head a little further back in surprise, tapping the spoon against his lips. He shouldn’t have been surprised, however, considering her occupation. “Might go over well here.” He paused, considering. “Favorite season?”
Admittedly she hangs on every word, made all the more meaningful because it’s where he was born. Where he came from. Even with open borders and transitory nomads, where you came from - where you were born - was still a matter of great importance in Caido. As a Natural, Evie was raised with that mindset, and knowing how deeply being born and raised in the barrier has shaped her, she wishes she could know firsthand the place that did the same to Deimos. “It sounds beautiful,” she murmurs, lost in envisioning it as best she can. Even the ocean in Torchline still takes her breath away after a lifetime having never seen the shores of an ocean.
“I could,” she admits easily, finally popping her spoonful into her mouth and savoring it before continuing. “But I’m a little afraid it won’t be as special if I can have it more often.” Likely a baseless fear, but Evie is even now too accustomed to scarcity even with the opportunity for more within reach. Even alcohol falls into that category. She’d learned to cope in many other ways, even on days she would’ve wanted nothing more than to disappear into a haze of oblivion.
There’s no expectation in his tone, which makes it easier to laugh around another bite. “I wouldn’t be against the idea, but I’d only do it with you, and definitely only in private. Whatever embarrassing things I do or say need to be kept utterly secret, and if anyone is to have blackmail on me it might as well be you.” She would trust nobody else with it, even if she is all too aware of the good-natured but plentiful teasing and heckling she would receive from Deimos. Admittedly Evie hadn’t thought of selling it again, but she tilts her head and considers it for a moment, intrigued. “Hm, you might be right. I know you said you have no preference, but would you be willing to sample a few flavors for me?” Different strains of apples, different inclusions…it could be fun, admittedly. Turning a hobby into something she can share with others.
But the questions don’t end there, and Evie bashfully ducks her head, cheeks flush with sheepishness. “It’s incredibly on the nose, but Flowerbirth. Everything is growing and thriving and colorful, like the earth is waking up again.” And every time all she wants is to get her hands in it, to cultivate and mother. “You’re a snowy person, is yours Deepfrost?” The grin that plays on her mouth says she thinks it’s likely not, if only because Halo becomes impassable in that time.
Don't look up, just let them think There's no place else you'd rather be
His corresponding smile was softer, lighter, given over to warmer memories than any lingering, melancholic ones. “It was,” and for those instances he took another spoonful of dough, larger than the multitudes before, and probably courting an impending stomachache. “Torchline reminds me of it sometimes. But we never had ghost whales or sea panthers.” To which he was eternally grateful, as a child of the waves, diving underneath undulations and tides.
Deimos considered her mindset over the rarity and scarcity, of the act of indulgences and too much of a good thing. “As a treat then,” with an accompanying laugh, because sometimes he wondered how often anyone got to snag at their cravings and yearnings and desires without it backfiring or falling to pieces. With the way Caido worked, operated, and broke; or maybe it was the impending war on the horizon that left him in those nuances. He didn’t voice the thoughts, keeping them to himself, for Evie would make her own choices without his preconceived notions cluttering up the kitchen.
His juvenile grin lingered back upon her thereafter anyway, piercing eyes following. “I am good at keeping those,” since he retained so many other things under lock and key, fortified and quiet. Having the mind to at least be partially offended by the accusations, he extended a snort after another bite of dough. “Would I blackmail you?” Others, sure. Ru? Absolutely.
But his tone lightened at her offering, the dimple in his cheek deepening, content at being considered. “Sure.”
That Evie would hasten towards Flowerbirth didn’t surprise him at all – not with greenery and verdantry, plants blooming, animals thriving, things coming back into bloom after ice and snow. Especially in Caido, with LongNight haunting them for so long. “Sounds like you.” As for his own, he sighed, considering. “It would be, had there not been monsters immersed in it. Leafchange, maybe.” Cooler, known for its changes and alterations. “Favorite place?”
“It was likely better off without them,” she agrees with a soft laugh, refusing to remember things like belated letters and friends lost to ghost whales beneath the waves. Their serenity is hard won and too rarely experienced, and Maea’s fate hadn’t been permanent anyway. His outlook is kept mum, though admittedly she might have changed her mind had he spoken it. Perhaps it’s the life she’s led, but even war does not seem like an inevitable end. The barrier had, once. The spire, Zariah’s reign, the freeing of the Grounds. And yet each time they’d come out the other side. Or maybe she’s just too optimistic, when she doesn’t feel she is.
His grin and the intensity of his gaze as it lingers should be intimidating, or flustering, but it’s not. Her smile is warm with agreement, and when the smallest tinge of doubt and hurt creeps into his tone, she knocks her spoon against his in the bowl to playfully knock his dough off and laughs. “No, you wouldn’t. But it wouldn’t make the material any less capable of being used that way.” In this way she’s different to Ru, because the idea of him doing so never even crossed her mind. Teasing her in private or with a whisper in her ear? Absolutely. But she knows her secrets - and her embarrassing moments - are safe with him.
Ah, right, monsters. That was a big part of it too. Though she’s not surprised by his secondary choice, given it’s the second coolest season. “Here,” she replies softly, staring down into the bowl. Then she bites her tongue at the snappiness of it, laughing a little too brightly and forcefully to distract from her answer and hoping it was vague enough to imply the land they’re in. “Or there’s this one shallow section of the river in King’s End, right where it branches into two at the border of Hak Etme. It has a sandbar, and the water gets warmer since it’s so shallow. There’s a little copse of trees you have to walk through, so there’s barely any visitors, but it’s perfect to swim in - the current is slow, the sand is soft, and it’s not too deep. I had many lunches there, watching the water.” It had been the most peaceful time she’d ever known. But also the loneliest, which is why her answers are so torn. “What about you? With all the adventuring you’ve done surely you have some secret spots to share.” And the gleam in the Evergreen’s eyes is proof enough of how she’d love to be made privy to those locations.
Don't look up, just let them think There's no place else you'd rather be
