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!
02-14-2023, 10:26 PM (This post was last modified: 02-27-2023, 10:45 PM by Deimos.)
Deimos
Sometimes it was still difficult to parse through the wickedness of LongNight’s drawn claws, even years away from the threshold of its bite and menace. But these moments in the present, scaled and turned towards the light, made more bearable memories; traces of repose to fill in the shambles and nightmares.
They’d long since constructed some blanket fortification in the middle of the living room, in front of the great fire so that each angle corresponded to embers rather than shadows. Wide and tall enough for him to sit within without bending over, tall and imposing in its stature so that Belial had long since found a corner to claim, and Zuriel snorted indignantly from outside, bothered that they’d taken over her favorite spot. But it’d be worth the unicorn’s ire to laugh in fondness and tranquility, rather than ever broaden the horizon of monsters and mayhem again.
He leaned against one portion of the couch from underneath the starry-draped awning, one knee drawn upwards, palms surrounding the overly large mug of hot chocolate, the steam making its own curls and cues. Half-inclined to start some mischief, agitate, provoke, and incite, the Sword’s gaze purposefully flickered back and forth from his cup to Evie’s, before announcing some juvenile correspondence in his habitual rumble. “I think you have more marshmallows.”
it's not the waking, it's the rising It's the fire it ignites
He is not the only one who finds it difficult to relax in this sunless time, when history has always marked it as a time of grief, suspense, and terror. But optimism had been the prevailing trait of every Grounder who sought to make it through to feel the sun on their face on the other side, and she thinks they both deserve gentle endings these days. Though life doesn’t stop just because the skies are dark, there are fewer people out and about, and the Wardens of Halo can hang up their coats for an evening to enjoy a moment alone. Perfectly constructed fort and all.
Warm mug wrapped between both hands and with an array of pillows at her back, Evie stretches her bare legs out towards the fire and takes a long sip that spreads warmth further through her chest and arms, chased by a hum of contentment. It’s almost amusing, then, how quickly her eyes narrow and her lips quirk around the rim of her mug as Deimos’ rumbling voice rises, instigating, prodding, until the quick-flare embers that always live inside the Evergreen spark in response. “More marshmallows go to the best Warden,” she teases, eyes bright with mischief in the firelight as she pauses dramatically, “or at least the smartest. Foresight and all that.”
Endings or beginnings, and the Sword would like to think there were both settling on the horizons. Genesis of days not spent in terror, horror, or apprehension, where the very scales of possibility tipped so low and ghoulish; unfurling in rapid succession of things that could be. A close to hours spent in infamy and hells, and ensuing days, months, seasons, where change didn’t come from war, famine, or bloodshed, but the resolutions and plans of prosperous and preferable highlights.
Teasing and mocking seemed to go with those notions, hand in hand.
Her response caused an immediate scoffing and snorting. “If that were true, then I would certainly have more,” with an indignant and boyish wrinkle to his nose, head tilting, seeing how quickly either of them could rise to the occasion. His were made on clear pretenses, since both knew he had no taste for arrogance. Stretching out one leg, he intentionally bumped his foot into her thigh, all the more irritating. “Better looking, maybe.”
it's not the waking, it's the rising It's the fire it ignites
He falls right into her trap, and the slow vixen grin makes it deeply obvious. “The mugs don’t lie, so what does that mean?” Evie waggles her mug shallowly at him to emphasize, careful not to spill any of the precious contents in the meantime. She knows he would never claim any fame or ascension above her, which makes it all the easier to win this little power struggle - or at least until he compliments her. It cuts her right at the knees, spreading pink across freckled skin and softening the edges of her foxsmile into something endeared and appreciative.
Nudging him back with her thigh is pretty hard compared to a foot, but Evie does her best, trying to trap it beneath. “Whichever accomplishment nets me the marshmallows, I’ll take it,” she laughs into the prelude of another long swallow. She catches a marshmallow in her teeth and chews at it dramatically to work her way through biting it in half, letting the rest drop into her mug without any shame for the childishness. “But if you were trying to get one from me…” she trails off, expression returning to mischievous factions. He’d have to work for it one way or another, either by being sly or groveling. She suspects one above the other given his predilections, but both would be enjoyable.
She could hold her forthright beliefs, but he’d still scoff, snort, and roll his eyes from beneath their ridiculous canopy. It was better than settling into silence, listening for scratches along walls from outside, from unrelenting apprehension spanning through their bones. Besides, the Sword would remain satisfied at the flush on her cheeks, reveling in it as he leaned further back, a smug little smile appearing on his features, regardless of their tug of war.
Narrowing his gaze at her attempt to trap his foot, his brow arched, watching and waiting for the next rampart and opportunity, when it came into laughter and open ground. He might’ve surveyed her dramatic chewing with muffled laughter, but readied appreciation all the same. A multitude of invoked ideas corresponded to the challenge, however, from the carnal to the innocent, deciding to settle somewhere in between.
For now. Deimos didn’t grovel.
“I see,” was all he gave at first. Then Air magic stirred, small in the confining space, rustling against sheets and entanglements, before purposefully prying one of the clustered marshmallows from her cup, intending to levitate, and then spurn them forward. Directly into his cup.
it's not the waking, it's the rising It's the fire it ignites
A log pops in the fireplace, and in another life, another city, she might have jumped; nerves tightly strung and singing with anxiety. Today, she doesn’t even blink, the glow of firelight on her lover’s cheeks as he smirks and relaxes backward into plush pillows and fine things the only thing present in her mind. So often is she struck by his handsomeness, her love for him, that often she misses the omnipresent seditious behavior that warns of retaliation. It’s the best kind of wool over her eyes, one she wouldn’t dream of removing. Even when it costs her a delicacy as coveted as a marshmallow.
“Hey!” she exclaims in instinctive girlish accusation even as a grin splits her face just as readily. Instead of warring her magic against his own - something she has done repeatedly with little success in the past - Evie transfers her mug to one hand as the other snatches out at the floating treat, hoping to snag it into her palm despite its guaranteed sticky nature. She won’t let go of it that easily.
Another wrinkle of his nose conjured the moment the marshmallow was crushed within her palm – its usefulness waylaid by its now inert stickiness transferred to her hand and no further. The hint of sedition remained interplayed on his features, unmasked and obvious, content in reveling in mischievous natures and aspects, rather than the withdrawn, stoic, or guarded. Here he had no need of his walls and fortresses, save for the one around them, and so he drew another smile, watching as the cup was merely moved to the other hand.
Tactics immersed and presumed. “I do not see why you cannot share.” Considering the amount of times he’d done so with her, and everyone else in the local vicinity; perhaps a minor pretense gathering behind his gaze. He had a feeling they were circling each other on the trapping, ensnared basis, but persisted, continued, already well past evading or withdrawing.
So he prompted more, figuring the Air magic could lift several out at a time, and if he scattered them enough, and closer to his own mug…she couldn’t possibly snag all of them. It became an outstretching of marshmallows rather than stars; appropriate, given the situation.
it's not the waking, it's the rising It's the fire it ignites
The challenge arises swiftly, though you’d never guess it from the rumbling, svelte teasing of his voice. Abandoning her drink on the ground as the other marshmallows begin their merry departure, Evie instead rolls onto her hip to swing one leg haphazardly over Deimos’ bulk however she can, the sticky marshmallow in her palm wielded like a weapon as she tries to smear it in the general direction of his mouth - already knowing he will stop her, and preparing her other arm to pull at and deflect his own if they rise to do so.
“I can share like this,” she declares brightly, laughter shaking her chest. Evie would happily feed him her own marshmallows by hand if he wasn’t so delightfully impish, but she’d also never back down from an opportunity to tussle and butt heads.
Provocations held fast, incensed and kindled within a moment. Gone were haphazard arrays of plaguing memories, the present ease settling amidst the lines of inward scars, and a rogue grin spreading across his face. It could’ve been from the way she simply settled across his lap, closer and closer proximity, the way she’d abandoned the drink and floating confections, or the plan coming to fruition.
Since the Sword was not to be outdone.
Maybe they were both trapped and ensnared and it hardly mattered. By no surprise he attempted to evade, but snaked his free hand around her back anyway. One “shared” notion left him with marshmallow on his nose, jaw upturned and completely unbothered – eyes taking on a hooded denizen; a warning, where she tread dangerously. “This has its merits,” he countered, lifting his mouth upward, teeth aiming to nip and bite at her palm simply for reactions’ sake.
While Air magic lifted her discarded drink from behind, drifting all the while.
it's not the waking, it's the rising It's the fire it ignites
Delicious though the drink and its floating sugary concoctions (now truly floating) may be, he is far sweeter, far more enticing. Though she can't feel his smile beneath her palm as she tries to smear the marshmallow into it, she can see the upturn of his eyes, feel the warmth of his arm around her back as he holds her close. A dangerous thing, but one she is too well-trained into relaxing into.
Laughing a little breathlessly as she successfully adorns his nose with sticky white particles, Evie looks down into his eyes as they go hooded and shadowed, and finds the air she seeks for her lungs is suddenly not within reach. It's a different energy, one that stumbles her long enough for his teeth to find her palm, making her jerk and pull it back with a strangled squeak that morphs into an outraged cry. "I am not edible!" she scolds through her laughter, her free hand coming to pull lightly at his hair in retribution, not so cruel as to put her marshmallow-hand there. They'd be washing it out for weeks.
“I disagree,” contorted and curled on a distinct rumble, intent on stalking and chasing paths of skin, on those notches of breathless gasps. The tug of his hair might’ve been a warning, but with her trapped and snared, he aimed lower. Content and amused with the squeak, and perhaps yearning to produce more reactions, more sounds, more nuances, his mouth traveled down her palm and along the veins of her wrist, teeth lightly nipping, teasing, taunting. There was far more embedded in the piercing factions of his gaze, peeking out of the corner of his eye, before –
Releasing her entirely, and snagging his free hand around the floating marshmallows, plopping them directly into his drink. A very smug grin followed as he leaned back into pillows and cushions again, unbothered by confections still lurking on his nose. "Thank you," a familiar murmur as he took a sip, content with the progress. Her own mug continued its roaming conjectures, listlessly floating on the tethers of his mischief.
it's not the waking, it's the rising It's the fire it ignites
Given the almost childlike nature of their fort, it’s safe to say Evie didn’t anticipate this turn of events, but she falls headlong into it without any hesitation. It would be hard to resist even if she desired - his lips and teeth send sparks straight through her veins as they bite a path down the fragile skin of her wrist, teasing the sensitive nerves there. She sits entrapped and willingly hypnotized as he does it, and if it’s sound he wants well. The hitch of her breath, the deepening of it as she takes a shuddering inhale, the click of her throat as she swallows, laughter shoved down into a different kind of pressure in her chest? It’s an entire symphony.
One that is cut short as Deimos unexpectedly withdraws and - Evie blinks, trying to clear a head gone foggy. Indignation rises with the color in her cheeks, and if her own drink continues to float behind her she doesn’t even notice, because the godly vision of her lover reclined beneath her - smug, triumphant - is far more riveting. “You don’t get off that easy,” she vows, hand reaching for the forearm that holds his mug, tugging downward to free his mouth so that Evie can lean in to kiss him firmly.
Some avaricious portion of his mind gloated at the notes of her musings; the rise of a heartbeat, the quaking of lungs, the strong inhale, the long swallow reverberating and warring a crescendo in his ears. Triumphant, the length of his Cheshire grin composed its own bravado as his cheeks dimpled, thoroughly amused and enticed: at her righteous indignation, at the color streaking across her face, with a vow layered across her tongue; all he needed in those moments. There was more to want and crave thereafter, and he anticipated it wouldn’t take her long to find those measures either.
He had enough time to laugh before she descended upon his arm and his mouth; instinctually moving his mug out of range. It was a welcome invitation, lips seeking hers within an instant, a rumble hastening through his chest, another symphony of his own welling somewhere in his ribs. His other arm snaked around once more, long fingers splayed beneath coils of crimson locks, deftly tracing the back of her neck, pulling her closer and closer still. With any luck, the marshmallow on his nose would’ve found its way to her face, and they could share the burden.
it's not the waking, it's the rising It's the fire it ignites
They have plans beyond this moment; dinner, relaxation, perhaps a true dessert aside from the sugary concoctions they’d been nursing early. All of them flee from her mind as his arm falls away and permits her access, allowing their mouths to meet as she descends upon him. The deep tones in his chest rumble through her own, and it tastes just as sweet on her tongue as the cocoa and marshmallow that lingers on his lips.
Had he not reached for her she might have pulled away and asked if they ought to focus on making their dinner first, but as his hand cups the nape of her neck beneath her hair she melts into his reclined body and forgets everything else. Even the sticky, tacky pull of her previous attack clinging to her cheek does nothing more than make her smile into their kiss as it draws on and on without a care for proper breathing or chasteness.
Prying the sticky mess from her hand with a bit of idle magic, careless where it goes after, Evie slides both of her own hands into Deimos’ hair to cradle the sides of his face. Using them to gently tilt him higher, for a better angle, and never truly parting as she readjusts their lips to something deeper with a long, pleased sigh.
