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!
Thunder rouses the sleeping bloom from her slumber, and she stretches beneath the sheets with all the deliberate langour of a big cat. Stormbreak has welcomed her with an emphasis on the storm, and though Dahlia has no feelings either way regarding this world's weather, it's far too early for such nonsense. One might even argue it's still the middle of the night; on bare feet, wrapped in silk and ribbon, she pads from the bed towards the window.
Lightning illuminates her silhouette against the parted curtains. Dahlia peers out into the spidering lanes of the Silk Houses, uncharacteristically vacant in the midst of tonight's tempest, and leans against the window frame. With breath fogging the glass, she considers lightning a lantern and prowling around the Hart for any other sleepless souls. At the very least there might be a barfly to bother.
He'll wrap you in his arms
Tell you that you've been a good boy
Dorian raps his knuckles against the door, a measured and composed rhythm that echoes through the room despite the thunder. Without waiting for an invitation, he turns the handle and swings the door open, his presence announced by the subtle scent of expensive cologne and the rustle of rich fabric; not that he'd experienced either only days before, but now he wore both easily and elegantly. His eyes, keen and calculating, lock onto Dahlia's figure.
"Good evening, or rather, morning, my dear," he drawls, stepping into the room as if he owns it. Draped over one arm is a large bag, though he sets it down for the time being.
"Do you have any wine, by chance?" He wonders as if it were some small favour she could do him, rather than a subtle demand on his part.
He'll rekindle all the dreams It took you a lifetime to destroy
Call it animal magnetism or something altogether more ethereal, but as soon as knuckles meet wood, Dahlia knows exactly who to expect at her door. She turns to glance over her shoulder just as Dorian opens it, the light from outside spilling on sleep tousled curls, on full lips curling in a smile. A breeze tumbles through in his wake, sending gooseflesh rippling over her skin and bringing with it the scent of his cologne; a scent that she marks as unmistakeably Dorian from henceforth.
"Good morning," she purrs back to him, turning to approach the ice bucket where she does, indeed, have some wine still chilling. Refilling her glass - and pouring one for him as well - she offers it out for him. "Your trip treated you well?" It's an assumption despite the fact that she can see it's true; Dahlia wants to orbit him like a star, to take in everything new and different, to peel away the layers and see if she can find the core of him beneath.
She doesn't, of course. It isn't her place, and no amount of humanity can tempt her to break rank. (Yet).
He'll wrap you in his arms
Tell you that you've been a good boy
"My trip was... enlightening, as expected." Dorian remarks, reaching out a hand that now bears a single ring to accept the wine. "Your hospitality is appreciated." He continues, glancing about Dahlia's room, both marking the few personal effects which reflect the new traits of his companion, as well as scrutinizing and evaluating it.
Despite feeling the magnetic pull between them—the churning cores of metal within their new bodies—Dorian moves toward the window where Dahlia's breath has left its mark on the pane. A smirk plays on his lips, a gesture that holds a delicate balance between cruelty and adoration. Tilting up his chin, the curve of which is outlined momentarily by a flash of lightning, he smiles, a gesture both cruel and adoring at once.
"How did you find your time?" He asks softly, his eyes somehow seeing more than just the storm beyond the glass.
He'll rekindle all the dreams It took you a lifetime to destroy
"My hospitality is earned," Dahlia adds, sipping at her wine. She resists the urge to follow after him towards the window, despite how her feet want to carry her in his wake, instead returning to the bed to sit amongst the sheets like some recently awakened siren. "Oh, it was interesting enough." She rolls a shoulder, a gesture which causes one of the thin straps of her nightgown to slip along her porcelain skin.
"I met the demigod they call the Flood. A sweet, bumbling thing, unsure of his own place in the world." She'd have liked to take a bite out of him if she could. Alas, the bowl of cherries and peaches on the table nearby will have to suffice as a memory of her time in the House of Midnight. "And the Dragoons guildmaster ought to be here. I plan to find him tomorrow."
And some of her personal effects might come into play there, too; the kohl on the nightstand, the dress hanging over the open door of the wardrobe, the jewelry box on the dresser.
He'll wrap you in his arms
Tell you that you've been a good boy
Pausing slightly at that, Dorian arches an eyebrow ever so subtly in acknowledgment of her words before proceeding to the window. "Sweet." He echoes softly, the word carrying a gentle fondness that contrasts with the hardness of his features. "Is that a relevant trait of his, do you think? Or..." Dorian rolls his wrist as if letting the words breathe upon his tongue. "..merely one you like?"
Knotting his hands near his lower back, Dorian nods. "Ah yes. The Carpenter boy." Glancing over his shoulder, his expression is now entirely bemused "Do be careful with him. You're..." That his eyes don't seem to move over Dahlia as he regards her, his powers of observation was just as all-encompassing. "...quite the force, my dear." He smiles, though the gesture lacks any sign of approval. "In this place your strength comes not just from your hands and muscles, but in the finer details you possess as well. Take care you do not break that which you only mean to play with, mm?"
He'll rekindle all the dreams It took you a lifetime to destroy
Taking another sip of her wine, Dahlia considers his words and tilts her head coquettishly to the side. "Both, I think," she says after a beat or two. "His sweetness makes him easy to coax, to manipulate if necessary. But yes, I did like it as well." It's an easy admission, especially to Dorian, and she smiles at the memory of the Flood and his gentlemanly cadence.
Drawn back into the conversation by talk of the Carpenter boy, Dahlia smiles, catlike, and sets down her glass to stretch out on the bed on her front, cupping her chin in her hands. "I will do my very best," she promises, gazing up at him from beneath a fan of dark lashes. "Though the toys in Stormbreak almost seem too easy, especially in this part of town."
The barman had practically tripped over himself to get her a room, and it had taken very little effort to have someone carry her things here. Dahlia might only have to sneeze to accidentally break someone.
He'll wrap you in his arms
Tell you that you've been a good boy
Jealousy is not an emotion that Dorian is entirely familiar with. Before, there was nothing that was not having; there simply was. So now, despite the emotions he can feel as thick as perfume wafting from his counterpart, no portion of Dorian is riled or concerned. Later perhaps one might speculate that this response will change, and perhaps markedly so, but for now Dorian is merely pleased that Dahlia finding some pleasure in their mission. "Phenominal."
Watching Dahlia sprawl, all feminine curves and instinctive predatory knowledge, Dorian takes a step forward that he might properly tower over her. "Yes well. I trust you will be able to restrain yourself, mmm?" His thighs at the edge of the bed, it was all too easy to peer down the canal of Dahlia's cleavage, as was likely her intention.
"So tell me..." Pausing, Dorian glances down as if observing Dahlia from a height far greater than the handful of feet that actually separate them. "..what else have you learned?"
He'll rekindle all the dreams It took you a lifetime to destroy
"But of course," Dahlia purrs, peering up at her counterpart as he nears, her chin lifting to expose the pale column of her neck. "Until you tell me otherwise, of course." It's not difficult to make these kinds of promises to Dorian - and to mean them - especially given the comparatively short period of time between their arrival and now. But, as may well be the case for him as well, who knows what might change once the physical world properly gets its teeth into them.
Pressing her palms into the plush sheets, Dahlia is able to shift up and back onto her knees, a position that still leaves her peering up at him but at less harsh an angle. "In theory, plenty," he murmurs, having been able to watch and learn the dances of conversation and seduction from observing those at the House of Midnight. "In practice, alas, very little." And what a shame it has been, other than to enjoy the literal fruits of Caido's labours; liquor and plump cherries, crushed ice and raspberry syrup.
"I am sure I will have more opportunities here, though."
11-19-2023, 10:17 PM (This post was last modified: 11-19-2023, 10:18 PM by Dorian.)
dorian
He'll wrap you in his arms
Tell you that you've been a good boy
Dorian smiles, his expression a blend of approval and something more inscrutable. "Until I tell you otherwise," he repeats, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. As Dahlia shifts gracefully onto her knees, Dorian's gaze follows her movements, a predator assessing the dance of its prey; or is it one of a predator sizing up a twin flame?
"In theory and practice, my dear, opportunities are what we make of them," he muses softly, his eyes upon her throat. "As long as you seize the right moments.." He adds, his words a subtle encouragement that Dahlia should indeed grasp all within her reach.
"Perhaps with the carpenter boy you might...take advantage and use him to test some of your new skills?"
He'll rekindle all the dreams It took you a lifetime to destroy
There's precious little hidden in Dahlia's expression, especially when Dorian speaks of seizing the right moments. Where he is a walking exercise in restraint and control, she is the chaos that orbits his star, the blazing tail to his comet. "It had occurred to me," she agrees, though her hand reaches out quite of its own accord - at least how it feels - and presses in a slow, indulgent starburst against his chest, as if to sample the rich material of his shirt.
It's so much more than that of course - to feel the warmth and weight of his physical presence is almost giddying, especially how far apart they've been in the past few days. It's the longest Dahlia has been on her own, truly on her own, and it's an experience that has been simultaneously terrifying and wondrous. "My experience of the male form in this world thus far has been very soft," she admits. "I have no doubt that the Carpenter boy will be just as perfectly sweet as the Flood."
And that is not conducive to the skills I'd like to test, she seems to imply.
He'll wrap you in his arms
Tell you that you've been a good boy
Dorian's gaze remains steady, almost detached, as Dahlia's hand explores the fabric of his shirt. The sensation is noted, and though he doesn't flinch, there's a flicker of something in his eyes—an acknowledgment of the closeness that has its own allure—though at no point do Dahlia's fingers move across him without his permission.
"Ah, sweet. A term that seems to be thrown around rather liberally," Dorian hums with a wry smile, his voice a low purr. "SoFt And SwEeT, as if they're pastries meant to be savored." His eyes flicker down to where her hand lingers on his chest, his mind calculating the strength needed to snap her fingers, her wrist, before returning to meet her gaze.
"My darling.." Dorian smirks, his tone dripping with muted condescension. "If the male forms you've encountered are too soft for your taste, it's time to mold the situation to your liking." He reaches down, intertwining his fingers with hers. Though his touch seems gentle, it's a subtle reminder that her newfound form could be wielded with surprising force. "Now that you have fingers, there's no reason not to use them, hmm?"
He'll rekindle all the dreams It took you a lifetime to destroy
"If only they were inclined to let me taste them," Dahlia agrees, her tone lamenting, and while Dorian contemplates the fragile bones in her fingers and her forearm, she wonders what she might savour from the core of the man before her. Softness and sweetness she thinks not, knows not, and yet he'd be tantalising on her tongue nonetheless.
Humming low in her throat and raising her gaze to his own, if condescension could be considered a sweet nothing from Dorian, Dahlia would take it as such, and her breath flutters in her throat as his touch interlaces with her own. "Mm, not just fingers," she agrees. "Lips, tongue, and a whole host of other places too, I bet."
Her fingertips grow lax between his own, as if she means to slip them away from him, Dahlia reaching out with her free hand to snag at her wine glass for another drink. "Are you staying long?" she wonders, nodding to the large bag he'd arrived with.
He'll wrap you in his arms
Tell you that you've been a good boy
"If only they had a choice." He echoes with a conspiratorial tone.
The air seems charged with a peculiar tension just then, and Dorian, ever the maestro of control, allows a trace of it to linger in his touch. The fleeting flutter of Dahlia's breath does not escape his notice, going so far as to elicit an unapproved twitching at the corner of his mouth. As her fingertips begin to slip away, Dorian tightens his grip ever so slightly, a silent reminder that she has not been dismissed.
"Ah, my dear, as much as I'd love to prolong the pleasure, I'm afraid my stay is brief tonight. However, I do come bearing gifts.." His tone is playful as he gently releases her hand, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. With a graceful gesture, he nods toward the bag. "A little something to make your time with the Koa boy a bit more exciting."
Second Skin | A bodysuit that when worn can resemble any type and style of clothing.
He'll rekindle all the dreams It took you a lifetime to destroy
