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!
His cheeks may have taken on their own rosy hue at the first statement, half-tempted to lean down and bite her ear out of teasing machinations. Instead, he settled for swinging her more purposefully, pondering if he could get her to take a misstep on their meanderings. “Thank you,” contorted along his rumble; before a snort at the other inclusions, with margins for errors.
“Fair enough,” and he shook his head, the proportions of mischief striving to resettle again after emotional nuances, and he couldn’t hide the loud chuckle that came along at the inclinations of invitations. There were several names he could cross out immediately in his head, adversaries, enemies, or generally out of spite and pettiness, before trickling down to those they considered stalwart friends and companions, family and beloved. “Fine,” came on mulish acceptance of the inevitable, though his curiosity ran more to the Hollowed Grounds traditions, pondering worthwhile combinations of Halo and Grounds both, even if the latter was well in their past. “And what would those be? I cannot recall if Remi and Ronin’s were traditional, or Rexanna and Bastien’s…,” he didn’t bother including Sunjata’s and Phoebe’s, because he didn’t go. Also grudges. “Besides phallic fireworks.”
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
She doesn't fully stumble, too sure-footed and sturdy after a lifetime of traipsing through woods and forests, but she does sway closer to him until their hands are knocked between their hips - prompting her to lean closer and bump against his shoulder with narrowed eyes and a twitch of a grin.
"Well, all of them were Outlanders," she points out, and is proud of how she reigns in the snootiness that wants to emerge. "Natural Grounds weddings were all done inside the barrier. So they involved the groom presenting the biggest kill or domestic cow he could manage to show he was capable of providing for his bride. In turn, the bride would showcase her baking talents in whatever she was most skilled at - and both would be utilized for the reception feast, with the first pieces fed to the other during the vows." Usually accompanied by old words she can remember by heart, but wouldn't care if they were included. "A bit old-fashioned, obviously. But it was a lot like 'in sickness and in health', showing you would keep your beloved fed and cared for by your own hand." To emphasize, she swings their joined hands a little further as they walk.
"There were also elaborate hairstyles for both parties, usually done by your in-laws or closest confidants. No specifics, but it gave time for marital advice and bonding before the nuptials." Tilting her head and looking skyward, she tries to remember anything else she might be missing that were of significance to the Grounders. "Oh, weddings were usually held into dusk, so that glow stones could be used to mark the aisle for the couple to walk down. That's about all I can think of though."
The Sword fought off the insatiable urge to elbow her out of his seditious, rebellious nature, opting to bump her in return with the larger breadth of his shoulders and biceps. He didn’t reign in the inevitable eyeroll accompanying the Outlander statement, and even without the airs, he could imagine them just the same. Thereafter though, he listened, of showcasing kills, of baking, of skills to show off to family and friends. He grinned though, wry and juvenile, imagining Halo counterparts. “Do you want me to bring you an ursur?” He’d mauled enough of them. “Or a frost giant?”
Elaborate hairstyles, in-laws (which neither of them had directly, unless he could count Kiada and Ru, and that came with its own chaos), and chatter amidst advice and confidants could be appealing, and he lifted his eyes back to the scenery, attempting to track Belial’s movements again. “The glow stones sound similar to how the lanterns were lined along the Sea of Glass,” he mused, pondering. Perhaps they were getting ahead of themselves in the whole of machinations, but the monolith appreciated the notions anyway. “Would you want those things? Or should we make our own traditions?"
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
She should have anticipated such a mischievous response, but it makes her laugh all the same. "If you can convince Zuriel to haul a frost giant on the sled back to the altar, I'll marry you twice over." Quartering and hauling it in chunks simply wouldn't do, he'd have to present it in its entirety for it to count - Evie wasn't some simple harlot to be won!
Her own in-laws would have once been Sam, Amalia, and Maea, so their options are abysmally slim regardless. Even the humor of those notions cannot withstand the tenderness in her heart as Deimos proposes their own traditions. While he watches the sky and the path beyond, Evie takes the time to merely look at him. "It would be nice to make our own. Maybe stones set in a few of the lanterns, or something similarly half-and-half." The Evergreen matches his stride so that she can lay her head upon his shoulder comfortably, half-hiding her smile. "Maybe we can do each other's hair, instead? I always felt the whole 'don't see the bride until the alter' thing was ridiculous. I'd like to get ready together." Spend that time in their own little bubble of intimacy, easing any pre-wedding jitters and having a hand in the final look their intended would wear.
The seditious snort rallied through instantly at her request, courting his own juvenile tendencies back, front and center. “Then I should be worth about five dozen cookies,” if they were going to be detailing baking matters; both fully aware of his capabilities on delivering such a promise, though perhaps less with Zuriel and more with his own hellhound form. A notion to gather and collect in the back of his mind, if only for rebellious practicalities.
He could feel her glancing his way though, so he glanced once more from the corner of his eye, airing the boyish depths of his smile again. “It has potential. But we have time to think about it.” Amidst all the other plans and machinations, fitting somewhere between schedules of guilds and Warden duties, moments scattered across horizons. A busy, but content, life, even as they pushed themselves into other segments.
The semblances of doing one another’s hair left him far too cheeky, bending down as she leaned in, pressing his mouth to the crown of her crimson hair. “I am not wearing pigtails.”
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
Eyeing her beloved, Evie holds their hands aloft to examine his waist and chest. "Hmmm...what if I baked your weight in cookies? Think that would be even better? Though I might have to outsource the flour for that much." A gleam of mischief in her blue eyes as she peers over their biceps to grin at him, aware he is always fighting fit but happy to poke fun at him for his nonexistent belly.
"Not too much time, I have to contact shops in all the lands!" Sticking to her guns, the Evergreen laughs brightly - devolving into more of a guffaw at the visual of Deimos in pigtails. Turning into the kiss he lays in her bright tresses, she brushes their cheeks together as he remains near, her own plumped up with the force of her grin. "I'd find you handsome in any hairstyle, even pigtails. But I won't make you wear them on our wedding day." As for a different day...well. Who knew?
Fully aware his mass was made mostly of muscle, his brows furrowed, calculating out the endeavors. If she did have to find extra flour, then so be it; his jaw and head raised at a defiant, seditious angle. Watching her labor over that many portions of dessert might be worth it anyway. “Acceptable,” and he gave an affirmation of a nod, mentally considering he’d won that round.
Not an individual meant for massive shopping endeavors, he tilted his head, perplexed. “For what?” Stones and lanterns could be shaped, wielded, or found without too much complexity – and even then, he could simply create them all with incantations, and perhaps then they’d feel a little more personal. "I can probably make most of what we would need." Nor was he about to be rushed, complete with a billowing snort to accompany the jibes.
Intending to turn the teasing right back upon her, his piercing eyes flicked over her hair, considering the multitudes of ridiculous styles to choose from. “I bet I could make yours go straight up.” Like she’d been electrified or something equally inane.
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
He unwittingly gives her the perfect opening to continue her teasing, and Evie's cheeks twitch spasmodically with the effort it takes not to grin like a loon. "For all that flour of course! You can't think Halo has enough to make Deimos-volume cookies?" And though their hands are attached she dances a few steps away, their arms like a line tethering her to him that she won't forsake even with the threat of revenge imminent.
And though it's not retaliation just yet, Evie still makes a mock noise of offended horror at the insinuation of such a hairstyle. "Only if you decorate it like a holiday tree," she challenges in return, giving up on trying to hide her amusement and grinning hard enough for both dimples to deepen in her cheeks. "And I'd want all the works; glowing lights, baubles, flowers..."
He blinked, brow arching, then snorted at the notions. “Best get busy then, I suppose,” taking the notions in stride, as if permitting her to evade and escape off into the rest of the world for her sacks of flour. He could’ve made it worse by peeling her hand and fingers out of his own grasp, and considered it for dramatic effect, but his head tilted vaguely thereafter, distracted by the rest of the semblances – and the mental images they offered.
His following laugh was enough to send a few birds scattering out of the backdrop. “Like a firling?” Those holiday trees Frey seemed to toss into the world around Deepfrost, with all their bizarre connotations and enigmatic graces; if he could recall, he and Cordelia had been followed by one during LongNight. The Sword’s grin grew all the more juvenile and Cheshire. “What a sight you will be," and she could take the meaning in more than one grace.
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
04-24-2023, 09:16 PM (This post was last modified: 04-24-2023, 09:16 PM by Evie.)
Evie
I see what lies heavy on your heart
Instead of being disappointed by his allowances, Evie merely lets her laughter fill the boughs overhead, returning to his side in a meandering fashion as the trail becomes more overgrown and forces them closer the farther they get from the shrine. "I'll make it official correspondence." Putting on a dramatized official tone, Evie lifts her free hand as if reading off her palm. "Warden Evie requests flour from your regions for an official event requiring the finest quality and highest quantity you can provide. In return, you will get our thanks and nothing more. Please send by end of season." Snorting with amusement at herself, happy to find herself hilarious even if nobody else will.
"Exactly like a firling!" The monstrous things that they were, somehow both delightful and ominous. "The real challenge would be getting sparklers or candles without setting my hair on fire. Think you're up to it?" Perhaps he would just keep a constant hold on it with his magic, but that wasn't nearly as fun to envision as gravity-defying hair outfitted with dangerous sparklers.
For all the teasing purposes amidst his pretenses and deflections, she meandered right back to his side, and he tucked her within the angles of his ribcage and the fortitude of his arms, listening and snorting at the theatrics. Even Belial could be heard giving his rendition of the dramatics, with a few hoots and hollers above for equal measure. “That would be received well,” proceeding in dry, rumbling tones. Considering neither Stormbreak nor the Hollowed Grounds had a leader (or nothing official as of late), and Torchline’s otherwise unknown parameters, the imaginative letter would put them all in another bout of crisis.
The image of Evie’s potential firling hair was enough of a mischievous, foolish, and stupefying motion to continue with the charade, the imagination of it being capable of holding candles or sparklers enough to send his features back into a nefariously lined snicker. “I would certainly try. Maybe we could make it stretch outwards,” like arms or boughs on a tree. “Put little birds in it too.”
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
From a small distance Belial’s hooting joins the fray, making it infinitely harder to keep not just her composure, but her lilting and arrogant tone. “Well it would be for the reception,” sneaks out slyly, aware of his outlook on puns and other wordplay and grinning like a fox because of it. Sometimes the greatest fun and revenge she can have on her beloved is merely being the biggest, cringiest pain in the ass she can possibly manage to be.
“Or just make the sparkler sticks really, really long. Maybe even utilize them as a weapon to keep annoying guests from talking to me.” Not that she anticipates them having any such guests at such a small and private affair, but the imagery is amusing. “Though I think the light show spotlight should be reserved for the fireworks. It’s tradition at this point.” One she would be childishly delighted to see on the skyline at their own wedding.
A range of emotions flickered across his face at the pun – from a snort, to a noncommittal grunt/groan combination, to an obvious frown, as if pained to have been through the wordplay at all. “Gods,” he murmured. “That was awful,” and she knew it too, based on the look crossing her face. Playfully brushing her aside for the comment alone, he hastened a few strides ahead, as if racing away from the whim and quibble.
The prospects of hair weaponry gave him some pause, only because it was so ridiculous and they seemed to just be building into some crescendo of antics and juvenility. “May be difficult to control, unless you have some natural dexterity with your head swinging.” Though Deimos, and he presumed Evie, had no intentions of inviting people they didn’t care for; eliminating the prospects of crimson locks unfurling armaments for the moment.
As for the phallic fireworks, he glanced back over his shoulder at her, snickering. “I will not make it easy for anyone. They will have to find their own.”
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
Her laughter rings out against the trees and vines, lighthearted and shameless in both noise and the terrible pun that had caused it in the first place. As he escapes her hold she chases after him - though it's a swaying, lunging motion due to her debilitating laughter - and tries to snag at his hand once more. "Aw, c'mon it wasn't that bad!" she cajoles through her giggles. "Plus I haven't even done it to you recently. I was due it!"
It's tempting to just jump onto his back instead and have him carry her for a bit, but much like Zuriel there's always the chance of getting dumped instead. So she merely grins as he turns over his shoulder, willing to cater to her ridiculous notions and what-ifs as he so often does, even when he's aware they're little more than fanciful painted daydreams of nonsense. "Firework shops would make a killing in general. I don't think I've ever seen anyone selling them in large amounts. Are they hard to make without magic?"
