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!
Harper may be a self-sacrificial martyr of a man, but he’s been rolling snake eyes since he watched his parents die, and at some point you scrape bone enough times that you reach the other side and are left with nothing more than grit and dust. At that point in time, is it selfish or pitiful when he gives up? Will people look upon him with understanding and grace, or scrutiny and disappointment?
Once, he was an optimist. Now he can’t conceive of anyone understanding why he has to do this.
Whether someone recognizes him from last time and informs Sunjata or the man merely happens past while checking on his patrons, some indeterminate amount of time since his arrival he looks up to see the Flood standing by the table he’s half-hunched over. Harper knows he’s far drunker than last time, but he has an unfortunately high tolerance that allows him to huff a sad noise too low and bitter to be a laugh as he says, “I swear your fix worked well last time. Enough to make me travel all this way just for a drink.” Which Torchline normally has in abundance. No, he’d returned because he selfishly was hoping for exactly this - to see Sunjata again, and hope the man could set him on the right path a second time. “Y’can join me if you aren’t busy.” Otherwise Harper intends on drinking himself sick and seeing if that cute brothel worker from last time is available tonight. Whatever helps.
take it straight to the vein, do what you're afraid to
It is a convenient and quick trip around the brothel to make sure everything’s in running order, but of course he can’t help but to hear the soft whisper coming from his staff. An unannounced visitor, though something tells the Flood that Harper would prefer it that way given his current state. So he abandons whatever else he had planned for the moment to slink into the seat across from the attuned, flashing him an easy, crooked smile. “I told you it would.” He purrs with all the confidence he has, nodding toward the bartender to get himself a drink. The usual – Whiskey.
“Need to blow off more steam or is there something more to this visit?” He asks, bracing his elbows on the table to lean a bit closer to the hunched over man, steel gaze focused on however much of Harper’s face he can manage, awaiting the answer.
the flood
don't show them your pain, show them who it made you
totally sniped from odd ilu
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 a welcome visage, and the fool that Harper is - unaware of news and updates - there’s a twist in his chest that is reminiscent of feelings he shouldn’t be feeling for the man. Maybe he’s just been alone too long. Or maybe Sunjata is just more forward than most in this role of his. Either way, it’s hard not to want.
The words crowd in his throat, desperate to be spoken for the very first time. With the Flood sitting aside from him, steel eyes bright and half-smirk on his scarred face like it’s so familiar he’d forgotten to stop, Harper knows he shouldn’t. That he should do this the right way and tell Hadama first. But why? It’s going to happen anyway.
“I’m uh…I’m gonna be leaving Torchline.”
It’s like the world lifts off his shoulders, letting him sit a little straighter. Only for the darkness of so many other things to darken his blue eyes and twist his lips into a frown. “It’s not good timing. But I can’t do it. If I don’t leave, I don’t think I can keep being diplomatic.” He wants to tear apart the plan for their current regional quest. He wants to throttle Koa for presuming to have the Dragoons be involved in Torchline’s affairs. He wants to remove the region from Safrin’s domain. It all slips through in disjointed thoughts through the bond, fully formed words but scattered and streaked with emotion where the words fail. “We’re not going to get the region secure enough before Safrin returns. I can’t - I can’t have their blood on my hands. Even if I have to take the coward’s way out to avoid it.” He can hear Flora’s voice in his head already accusing him of it - but he can’t stop seeing the wobble of her lip either, the thickness of her voice. Harper hadn’t been able to agree with her up there in that meeting, and it had killed him. Filled him with helpless anger. And this is where it had all led him.
take it straight to the vein, do what you're afraid to
He wears this mask like a well worn coat, all playful flirtation, easy crooked smirks and the rumbling purr of his voice. All of it, a mask that stops the second that Harper’s admission hits him and he straightens, brows lifting in surprise, the smirk fading from his face like the smoke of a candle that’s just been blown out. The mask is now replaced with pure curiosity, a question on the tip of his tongue that wets his lips before he speaks only to have Harper answer them in the Attuned bond.
Now he really needs that drink and is even more thankful when the bartender drops it off. He immediately takes a swig of it, nodding his understanding to Harper as he swallows down the burn. “Well. I do understand what you’re feeling.” He leans back over and reaches out, resting a warm palm on Harper’s hand, head tilting slightly as he focuses on the other man’s face. “Why do you think I created the Refuge? I was planning on skipping out of the war anyway, I just hoped I could save more than my family when it happened.” In which, Harper would remember, he didn’t even do. Nate was gone, unable to join, but it’s a burn that doesn’t hurt with the admission when it comes to understanding all it took to get away from the innocent blood on ones hands when it was all you’d ever really known.
“You already know my feelings on Safrin, so I won’t go down that road. But in my experience, you know when it’s time to let go. Let someone else take the responsibility.” A casual shrug is offered as he removes his hand and goes to take another sip, pulsating the bond with calm, collected understanding.
the flood
don't show them your pain, show them who it made you
totally sniped from odd ilu
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 cocksure expression dissipates, but somehow the genuine focus and intrigue is more devastating, and Harper turns his hand slightly to more comfortably rest beneath the Flood’s. Even platonically this cuts through him like a knife. Hadama isn’t the physical sort, but he’s also Harper’s only close friend. Harper is a man meant for close and gratuitous physical contact, and he aches like he’s been starved for it for years.
“I can’t get them to work together. I can’t push for harder defenses or - or riskier changes.” Changes that Hadama would push back against if no one else. Changes that would invite Safrin’s ire, yes, but wouldn’t that be worth it if it meant keeping everyone safe? His free hand rubs hard over his face, still struggling with the bitter feeling of cowardice and shame in his throat.
“How do I stop feeling responsible for all of them?” It’s a mumble to himself more than Sunjata, a quiet expression of helplessness. “Flora - gods, she hates me, but I wish I could convince her to leave. To come to the Refuge. I wish I could convince them all to come this time. The entire region.” No matter how impossible that would be, how difficult to coordinate. “Because I was there during the war. I helped fight the Kingmaker. And I know how many fighters we’re losing by the day.” Moving away, slipping out of Torchline without a sound. Friends and faces both familiar and unknown. “If something like that comes again, it won’t be stopped next time.” The hand on his face goes into his hair, pulling helplessly.
“She was almost in tears, telling us we were stupid for having to continue our quest. She lost more than most in Torchline during the war. And I can’t help her - can’t help any of them.” And now he’s running like a coward. All because he ran out of options. “What does loyalty to Safrin matter when she’s gone? When we can’t even dream of stepping a toe out of line, insult her by bit finishing our quest and pursuing a new one?” He’s frustrated and it’s plain through the bond, spilling over everywhere. “I only know half of your feelings about her but I just - I can’t stop thinking about it. All of it.” His eyes fall to the glasses around him, expression sadder than he thinks he’s ever felt on his own face. “And I just wanted to stop thinking.” So here he is.
11-05-2023, 01:02 AM (This post was last modified: 11-05-2023, 01:03 AM by Sunjata.)
take it straight to the vein, do what you're afraid to
It’s like reading into a mirror image of when he’d been under Safrin’s thumb. All of it, things that Sunjata couldn’t dream of accepting only lied under the attention of a different god. One that didn’t require so much of himself as Safrin had. His only regret is taking so long to realize that. But for Harper? Well, his is far more in depth. There are many different pieces at play with it, and Sunjata winces slightly at the mention of feeling responsible for everyone, at the fact that Flora hates him.
Something of which he has in mind about, but he remains silent to let Harper soak up the touch Sunjata gives him, only offering little ‘hmms’ and humming of understanding to continue to prompt the King of Torchline into finishing the thoughts, not wanting to let his interjections distract from the line of thought. Harper’s already drunk, he knows it wouldn’t take much, but it’s a little thing he can give the other man until he’s finished, looking to the glasses as if they might hold the answer.
“Well,” Sunjata pauses, withdrawing his hand from Harpers to stand and slip over to scoot in beside the other man into the booth, sharing the warmth of his side and whatever scent of him Harper might find most appealing in this moment. “Hotaru is moving here soon, I intend on extending the offer to Flora as well. Perhaps you might not need to worry about her as much as you think.” A brief pause as he turns so that his torso faces the attuned. “And if you feel all of this, perhaps you should apologize to her…?” Gods knew Sunjata wasn’t the best when it came to relationships and repairing them, but he can offer the advice people had given him that he’d not taken and perhaps that would result in something that worked.
As for half of his feelings? Perhaps it’s a bold move, but he’s picked up on how touch starved Harper is. And so it has him taking one more sip of his whiskey before he reaches up to grab Harper’s jaw, ensuring the drunken man’s attention is raptly on him as words start to spill from his lips in that regal Korofi tone that sound far too much like Frey’s to come from Sunjata’s own mind. (In fact, the deity had told the Flood the very same sentiment he’s about to share). “You cannot and will not save everyone. Nor is it your responsibility to the second you step down.” He pauses to make sure Harper’s following. “I ruled Torchline, did that mean that I was responsible for what happened to those harmed by the KingMaker, an event that took place after I stepped down? No. The most you can do is help where you can and are able to. I made the Refuge. I did my part.I do not regret it.” Another pause, the hand at Harper’s jaw shakes just a little to make sure he’s still following along. “You have your own life to live, Harper. You cannot sacrifice who you are for what other people want you to be. That is why you feel like this.”
the flood
don't show them your pain, show them who it made you
totally sniped from odd ilu
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 closeness is his kryptonite, and he leans sideways into Sunjata, grateful that the man bears his weight as if it doesn’t exist at all. Harper is no small man - muscular if not overly tall - but for once it’s nice to have his weight and worries alike carried by somebody else. Sunjata smells like patchouli and orange blossom, and it pauses Harper’s hand from reaching for his glass. A different kind of inebriation.
Harper has never known Hotaru in a personal way, but they’d lived in Torchline at the same time, and he knows she’s Flora’s mother - knows her by her title more than her name however. Any recollection fades in the face of apologies however, face twisting less than when Phoebe has recommended it but souring all the same. “I don’t regret the arguments I had against her claims of suitability for the throne…and she seems the type to hold a grudge regardless.” He wouldn’t be surprised if she hated him more after trying to apologize, especially if he didn’t apologize for the election itself. “But…maybe a letter. Though I’m sure she’d just burn it.” At least he says it with a huff of a laugh, capable of admiring her spitfire nature while still being exasperated by it.
His wandering attention is snagged as surely as his face, tilted and turned toward Sunjata, wide eyed and a little pink around the edges as he subsides into quiet complacency. He hangs on every word, no matter how his mind tries to recoil against it, refusing to believe his own happiness is more important than the lives of - what will soon no longer be - his people. “I don’t know who I am without Torchline as my purpose,” he confesses, voice warbling slightly, clearly affected by Sunjata’s intensity and his chosen words. “I’m so unhappy. But I don’t know what to do once I leave either.” One hand comes up to grip loosely around Sunjata’s forearm where it is still lifted to grasp Harper’s face. “I’ve lived there so long and now I won’t be. I’ve only ever followed Safrin and now my faith is breaking. What do I do?” Tears create a shallow film over his eyes, not quite enough to pool and fall but threatening to soon. Who is he if he is not the Stalwart, or a councilman? What worth does he have left if he is not serving someone else?
take it straight to the vein, do what you're afraid to
Harper’s weight is nothing compared to Sunjata’s stature, size, and strength. So he lets the Attuned lean against him however much he wishes to, listening and seeing as the other man’s face twists at the mention of an apology (and it’s probably best that the Attuned doesn’t tell him that Phoebe also had that idea – shocked as he is these days with the commonalities between him and his ex-wife). “At least you’d know you tried, whether she did or didn’t burn it.” He shrugs the opposite shoulder from where Harper leans against him.
All of it is momentary, though, because he reaches up to grab Harper’s face – calloused fingertips pressing gently into the soft edges of the Attuned’s cheek as he speaks. “You invest in yourself.” He says matter of factly. “Do not forget that you were an Outlander, too, and every one of your obligations changed the second you landed here. You had to learn to do something else. You can do that now, too.” He pauses, releasing Harper’s face to adjust his wrinkled collar, smoothing out his hand over the Attuned’s shoulder. “I became nomadic the second that the war ended. I needed time to figure out who I wanted to be and how I was going to cope with everything that happened. It takes time, but, eventually you will get there Harper.” He offers the man a small crooked smile, as if it might alleviate the worries he feels as he reaches for his glass to take another sip.
“I personally say you should live life to the fullest while Safrin isn’t around to puppet you.” Sunjata rumbles, allowing his distaste for Safrin to leak into his words. “Maybe that means saying 'fuck it' to your responsibilities for the time being, to drink and fuck and disappear for a while. Whatever helps.”
the flood
don't show them your pain, show them who it made you
totally sniped from odd ilu
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’s unfairly accurate, and hilariously reminiscent of how years of Phoebe’s urging for them to become an item had been resisted only for Sunjata’s singular visit to achieve the end goal. Perhaps she burns it, perhaps she doesn’t and applies to co-lead. Maybe she enacts a smear campaign in his wake or exiles him with her new leadership powers. Maybe she sends a letter back to him that he can burn.
How would he know? What would it matter? He’ll be gone. For the first time ever, it won’t matter.
The prospect is both attractive and terrifying.
Sunjata parts through every worry and regret like a vessel through water, bringing clarity where Harper didn’t think it could ever dawn. Nobody has ever looked at him and seen to the core of him this way. Nobody has ever cared about how hard it is to be an Outlander, how it never stops being hard no matter how many years go by. Eyes thick with tears that quiver in the cradle of his lashes, Harper feels small and scrubbed raw, every word painful but necessary. And when the stream of words ends, he can’t help but lean in and press a mindless kiss to the edge of Sunjata’s mouth.
It’s emotionally charged, a helpless expression of gratitude, loneliness, fear, hope. But reality kicks in milliseconds later, pulling him away as he turns his face to the side, struck with embarrassment and guilt. “Uh, sorry. Sorry, I know you’re not - available. I don’t know what -” got into me. Except he does. His chest caves in with loneliness and burden, and for a moment Sunjata’s kindness had been too much.
Quiet little tears trace down over his cheeks as he blinks rapidly, trying vainly to sober up. “Thank you. I…nobody has said anything that nice to me in a long time.” And Sunjata is the first to shamelessly tell him to fuck his responsibilities - perhaps literally. It’s novel. Exhilarating. Terrifying. “I don’t know where I’ll go but can I linger around here for a while?” Hire men and women alike to drown his mind in their bodies, drink his nights away, sleep in the cold of the distant fields as an animal when humanity feels too raw and unbearable.
take it straight to the vein, do what you're afraid to
No, Sunjata doesn’t expect his honesties to hit the Attuned as hard as they do. And yes, there is surprise when Harper leans forward suddenly, warm lips pressed against the corner of his mouth, opposite to where the scar tissue would deaden the nerves. But he pulls away immediately and offers apologies and Sunjata shakes his head, not needing to offer any reprimand. He already looks like a dejected, abused puppy as is. “I tend to have that effect on people.” Sunjata rumbles, aiming to make it feel less like Harper’s just launched himself off of a cliff.
He can offer his gentleness in other ways, though, as he does with brushing away Harper’s tears, nodding an acceptance to the question he offers. “You’re always welcome here, Harper. For however long or little you like.” A comfort, perhaps, that there was some place he could go to get away from everything and pretend that there aren’t a million problems outside the door. (He knows it well enough with how often he’d spent in the sheets of the Halenani).
So to push the point home that he is, indeed, not available but can still help, he downs the rest of his whiskey and goes to stand, extending a hand to the Attuned to take. “Come, lets get you into a room. I think I might have the perfect person to drown out your sorrows tonight.” Once Harper takes his hand, he’ll guide him up the stairs in a repeat of a previous night, opening up one of the available rooms to let the Attuned step into and choose just how he wished the room to look this evening.
the flood
don't show them your pain, show them who it made you
totally sniped from odd ilu
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.
11-07-2023, 02:07 AM (This post was last modified: 11-22-2023, 11:23 PM by Harper.)
HARPER
Harper laughs but it's a wet, cracked thing. Yeah, he's sure Sunjata has that effect on people. Selfishly he wishes he wasn't part of that number. It doesn't feel good - nothing feels good right now. The weight is rising off his shoulders, yes, and Sunjata has stemmed the guilt and the grief, but there is so much more that sits in his chest that the Flood doesn't need to be burdened with. Knowing he will have to close up the Court of Stars quarters, set up an apartment for Jude, leave his sons even if it's not permanent and he will always come when they call. He may not be on the hook for the guilt of running away from Torchline, but he can't pretend he's not guilty for what is to come in regard to his sons.
But there is comfort in knowing he can stay as long as he needs. As long as he wants. It's novel, that idea. He can focus on those now. It's a sweet allure that draws him from the booth as Sunjata offers his hand, one that Harper takes willingly. Anywhere but here sounds good to him, with the fresh memory of his stupidity and the taste of alcohol in his throat tainting the space.
Wherever Sunjata takes him, he trusts it to be what's best for him, just like the last time. And as he steps into the room he pauses long enough to squeeze his hand before Sunjata can drop it, the Attuned bond flayed wide and aching with both gratitude and the poison of hurt. "Thank you, Sunjata. Again." He doesn't deserve the man's guidance, or his friendship if that's where they're heading, but he will selfishly take it anyway.
