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!
"Sunjata," Isla admonishes gently, as if trying to beat him to it, and as she gazes back up at him, there's nothing but sincerity in her pebble blues. "I'm sorry - and I understand. You know I do," she whispers, having felt the loss carved by death and grief very, very intimately. "It's been a long night of drinking and seeing other people happy, that's all." And envy hurts as much as losing someone, that much Isla can say personally.
"So please, don't feel like you need to answer, or justify yourself." Because gods, the hurt in his voice is enough to drive a rod of ice through her spine, and after everything else tonight, she can't bear that. "Partners, okay?" Nothing more, despite whatever happens in these moments between them.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
'cause we might as well be blind, if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
Guilt blooms in his chest, replacing anything else that had sat there as she tries to take back what she’s said. It’s reminiscent of their conversation on the way over here, of when she’d told him that if he was happy with Hotaru that he should follow through with pursuing it. Especially as she continues with the mention of seeing other people happy. A frown starts to tug on his face, those slit pupils shifting toward a more full pupil.
He’s helpless in responding, though, as she continues on and he takes a deep breath, nodding, shifting slightly to lower himself and blanket across her, resting his head on her chest, looking over at the wall with the line of pale blue moonlight. “Partners.” He agrees in a quiet whisper, despite how his arms tighten around her, the feeling of his long lashes brushing against her skin as he blinks.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses — that you'll fire in vain — but those 12 rounds just won't do
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
The weight of him against her has no right to feel as good as it does, Isla smiling despite herself and letting her fingers smooth through his hair and trickle down his back. He grasps her closer, though, and the Remedy finds herself holding him tight in return, as if it's a substitute for the things they can't and won't say. And she can feel that he's about a thousand miles from sleep, and it's a hard won thing for Sunjata at the best of times.
"Do you know how to play sand darts?" she asks softly, her voice a mere breath away from a whisper; prior to being an Ancient, Isla spent every night like this with the Flood, after all. She's no stranger to fairytales, to anecdotes - anything to start stitching the mind back together, to reassure that everything is okay. "Cal and I played it once, when we came to Torchline. He kicked my ass, but I'm still sure he cheated." And talking about him almost punches a hole through her chest, but forgetting would be worse.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
'cause we might as well be blind, if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
It may be a comfort for her, but to him all it sparks is the constant wonderings if whether or not this was a mistake. That maybe, in his lowest of lows, he thought that perhaps maybe they could find a way to be content with the arrangement. And as time went on, isolated despite the business they shared, perhaps it had been simply a fantasy. It feels like perhaps he’s lead her on despite his own possessive nature. A feeling that sparks regret deeper in his gut that he doesn’t let on as he continues to stare at the blue, moonlit painted wall of the room.
Her question drags him out of his deep musings, however, even as her fingers continue to trail along his hair and neck and spine, and Sunjata acknowledges her question with a quiet little “I haven’t heard of it,” before he lets her continue, only to squeeze her a little tighter at the mention of Cal’s name – remembering the fiery Ascended. “I think it's likely for anyone with a metal arm to consider cheating." A brief pause as he tries to offer some amount of dull humor. "How do you play it?” He asks, hoping maybe the way she explains it might keep him drifting away from more regretful thoughts.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses — that you'll fire in vain — but those 12 rounds just won't do
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
It isn't a feeling, but a fact. Polite kindnesses can be misconstrued as something more, it's true; possessive marks and touches, appearing like a shadow at her back when someone shows a flicker of interest, you can always count on mes whispered in the dark - those cannot. And maybe that's what drew her in so deeply, until platonic friendship started to feel tenuous at best. It's almost comfortable, this space, reminiscent of distant times spent with a Lullaby. I don't want you, but I don't want anyone else to have you either.
"Oh, it's quite easy," Isla murmurs, pushing through despite how her voice wants to grow rough. "Just like playing ordinary darts, really. You draw circles in the sand, like a dartboard, and try to throw pebbles or shells as close to the bullseye as you can. I did so badly, Cal even let me swap with him for a turn." Gods, she misses him so much. She had been enough, for him.
But even that had ended without fanfare, with quiet goodbyes and fiddles in the night. Isla doesn't know it yet, but she's starting to grow a lockbox around her heart, trusting only herself with its protection.
"We can play at some point, if you like." And she can go back to being a pretty thing, worth having but not worth keeping, worth fighting for but not worth coming home to. (Sorry, Cal).
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
'cause we might as well be blind, if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
It’s selfish of him to have started down this path, having nothing to offer her in return. The possessive nature only because he doesn’t trust someone else to not hurt her again in the process when it appears that’s exactly what he’s doing in turn. And suddenly, it becomes a mantra of him telling himself that he needs to let go, let her go and have fun in the brothel if she wants to have no attachments, to be the one that’s supportive and doesn’t care if she finds someone else.
But he’s selfish, because there’s a part of him that’s torn between seeing her succeed while he still feels he’s only just treading water.
His arms remain tight around her as he listens despite the tightness of her voice, imagining how to play sand darts and wondering why he hasn’t tried to play such a thing before if it required literally nothing else aside from what one can find on the beach, and it takes most of his thoughts when he hears her offer the idea of playing it sometime. “Sure,” he begins, pausing as he considers it while he still stares at the wall. “It sounds fun.” And a way to keep Cal’s memory alive, which in his sudden influx of emotions, is something that he wants to do for her.
His arms loosen around her as he pushes himself up again, brushing his hand along her cheek as he moves to step off the bed and stand, wings tucking in politely behind him even as his body rages at the way he’s pulled away from the comfortable warmth she offers.. “Might be able to make a version back at the House of Midnight?” Less fun, with dirt rather than sand.
He cracks open one of those windows that the moon shines in, rummaging around in his pants pocket at the end of the bed for his pack of cigarettes and matches, before the brief glint of orange brightens his face and is replaced by a plume of smoke, one that wafts around his face as he exhales a small cloud out into the cool sea salt night.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses — that you'll fire in vain — but those 12 rounds just won't do
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
He's selfish and she struggles to know how to be - there's probably some great cosmic balance out there somewhere, urging them to learn from each other, blah, blah, blah. "It is," Isla mumbles, of the silly game they'd played together on the beach. More fun was the way Cal had proclaimed himself the Sand Dart King, and had kissed her for the first time under a canopy of trees, but that probably isn't part of the regular rules. (He'd have incorporated it though, she's sure).
Closing her eyes for a moment as his fingers brush along her cheek, Isla lets Sunjata go and rolls over in the bed to watch as he approaches the window. Set ablaze by a small halo of amber light, his handsome face hazed in smoke, his wings folded around him like some fallen angel, she's reminded simultaneously of why it's better to be alone... and also why it's the most terrible thing in the world.
"So that's sand darts, a dragon tower for you... anything else you want to add to the list?" she murmurs with the barest hint of a smirk, peeling herself out of bed to pad across and join him at the window, peering out at the moonlit sea. "I don't think we can quite manage a sea view, but they don't call you the Flood for nothing."
Partners is better than strangers, she tells herself, Isla painting on a more genuine smile for him as she glances up. "Those are terrible for you," she reminds him playfully, nodding at the cigarette.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
'cause we might as well be blind, if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
His eyes remain focused out the window the second he’s exhaled that first starting plume, though it doesn’t stop the dull glow of the cigarette’s cherry to bloom his face in hues of a sunset each time he takes a drag. He listens, though, to her and the roaring sea out the window, wings tucked in prim and proper despite the horns that suggest otherwise that spiral from his head. “Hmm,” he pauses, trying to figure out what else to add, curls of smoke wafting around his face as he half turns to her when he hears her move from the bed to join him.
“Might still be a little too much for me.” He admits, leaving the cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he lifts a hand to create a steam of water, glistening in the moonlight before it thins out and wraps around her arm with a surprising amount of hold for it being nothing more than water, as if he’s giving her arm a squeeze using nothing more than the magic Frey’s blessed him with. Magic he has barely used.
He moves the water away immediately when she notes the cigarette, letting the stream slip out the open window to drop below, not checking to see if there’s anyone out there before he does so. It’s just water, anyway, and he plucks the cigarette from his lips, exhaling smoke from his nose as he regards her again, letting a small smile bloom on the corner of his lips. “I know. It’s helpful in taking the edge off, though.” And he’s got nothing else that comes to mind that would help that other than this.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses — that you'll fire in vain — but those 12 rounds just won't do
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
"Now, now - don't put yourself down like that," Isla chides him, her tone even managing a touch of playfulness. Her expression drops into a mix of surprise and something akin to awe at the stream of water that grasps onto her, however, the Remedy tilting her head, reaching out to let her fingers skate across the surface of the liquid. "Just when I think you're all out of tricks," she drawls, raising her eyebrows at him and following the water as he dumps it out of the window.
It's too late in the hour, really, for it to hit anyone outside, and yet Isla still finds herself leaning out to check, heedless of the fact that they're both very much without clothes. "Taking the edge off of what?" she wonders once she's heard an audible splash, ducking back inside and gazing up at him anew. "I'm sorry," she adds softly, reaching out to rest a hand against his forearm, "for making things weird. Life's been hard enough for the both of us without that."
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
'cause we might as well be blind, if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
Sunjata snorts, trying desperately to return to that ease of before, when things hadn’t gotten so complicated and murky and helpless. It fails, though, because he hums a slight note of agreement when she mentions his bag of tricks. “Tell me about it.” He rumbles, taking another drag of the cigarette as he floats the water out of the window, only to hear the splat on the stones below, watching her as she leans over to see where it had gone.
Taking the edge off of what? Everything.
He doesn’t get a chance to respond, though, because she continues with apologies and he leans his hip against the window frame, giving her his full attention even as the lines of smoke try to distract him. “Don’t be sorry. It’s been a busy night with a lot happening.” And he, most of all, was left with confusion and the burning sensation that he’d overstepped. “I’m the one that should be sorry. And I am.” He pauses to flick the cone of ash out the window, giving him a reason to avert his gaze. “I’m sorry that I can’t be what you need.” He can’t tell her that he loves her, or that he ever will the way she needs to be loved, but those truths feel too far out of reach to voice for someone that struggled with expressing himself in the first place.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses — that you'll fire in vain — but those 12 rounds just won't do
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
Humming out a long sigh of agreement - because it had been a busy night with a lot happening even before they'd come back to the inn - Isla tilts her head a little as she catches him staring off out of the window. Reaching up, soft fingers find his stubbled cheek to try and guide his gaze back to her own. "See, that's the problem though," she says with a smile that hints at realisation. "Because you're exactly what I need, a lot of the time."
Someone to talk to after a long day or a rough time; someone who gives a fuck about whether she feels like eating peaches or drinking gin at sunrise; a strong body to lean on and a kind voice to pick her up when she's low. "So if that's all you can be, don't apologise." Does it solve everything? Of course it doesn't. Pain and grief don't work that way, but neither does affection. "I'm just sorry you're in so much pain," she murmurs. "And I wish I could help you half as much as you help me."
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
'cause we might as well be blind, if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
Her warm hand finds his cooled cheek, tilting his head with ease to focus on her again, and he scans her, cloaked in the moonlight and soft smiles not unlike how he wears his scales in a form of protection, wondering if that’s exactly what she’s doing to herself as she soothes him — masking her own feelings to appease his own. He raises his scarred brow to her, tilting his head slightly, the confusion clear in the steel of his shadowed eyes. “Are you sure?” it’s a dumb question but one he has to ask regardless.
But she isn’t done, either, and his head remains focused on her as he drags the last bit of the cigarette before bringing more of that water to the surface to put it out so it doesn’t burn the Inn down. “One would think with the amount I’d become accustomed to it.” He offers her a gentle smile, wings rustling as he readjusts them in their tightened state. “You do help, though. Don’t think that you don’t.” Even if he can’t offer her more, a little is better than none, he supposes.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses — that you'll fire in vain — but those 12 rounds just won't do
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
"I'm a big girl, Sunjata. Of course I'm sure," Isla murmurs, stroking her thumb across his cheek. "If I wasn't, you'd be the first to know about it." And that much is true, at least. For all of the things that aren't, that can't and won't be, if it was completely unsustainable, Isla would have cut ties by now; she doesn't have it in her to stay in so much pain, not since Sunjata had fetched her down from the Last Step.
Speaking of which, her hand drops away to hear him speak about being accustomed to all of it, the Remedy stepping into his space to eliminate the distance between them, slipping her arms around him in a gentle embrace. "I heard a patient of mine say once that we just end up making room for pain. It doesn't make it hurt any less, though," she says.
To hear that his life isn't entirely awful all day every day though is something of a balm, Isla glancing back up at him and nodding towards the rumpled blankets. "Then come to bed?" she asks. "Lurking at the window all night isn't going to change anything, no matter how much you smoke."
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it When you hit me, hit me hard
'cause we might as well be blind, if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
It’s a gentle touch and agreeing words, that soothe away some of his worries and inner self doubt, and he tilts his head into her hand further when she tells him that he’d be the first to know if she wasn’t okay. It’s as much of a balm as he can get, really, and he nods his understanding.
He speaks, and she wraps her arms around him, and his own moves to wrap around her shoulders in turn, exhaling a breath that’s reminiscent of smoke and the liquor from the Hanged Man. “Thank you, Isla.” As far as he knew, he’d made more than enough room. So much, in fact, that nothing remained but the hollow walls of hurt.
He pulls away and catches her gaze as she nods toward the bed, casting a glance over toward it as he works his jaw slightly. “I can’t sleep.” He admits, flashing her a softer smile, knowing that she’d understand. It was his usual, after all.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses — that you'll fire in vain — but those 12 rounds just won't do
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
