Profile: The World of Ianthe

    It seems I'll do everything but write about Ianthe, but I've been kind of short on energy of any sort this past week, so I won't hold it against myself.

   Just this evening, I decided to create a profile board for Ianthe's world on Pinterest.

   (For those who don't know what Pinterest is, now is your chance to get in on the awesomeness.)

    http://pinterest.com/penwielder1262/profile-ianthe-and-the-tribes/

    You don't need a profile on Pinterest to view the pictures, so feel free to go mosey through what I've dug up so far. There is also a small description at the top giving you a little bit more of an idea about Ianthe and what her story is, since I don't think I've explained it thus far.

   Also, keep in mind that Ianthe's story is not set on Earth, but in some other distant realm/desert/thing. So none of the cultural distinctions (?) that you might garner from the pictures on my Pinterest board are probably not how things are over in Ianthe's world. Does that make any sense?

    To fill up a little more space, I'm going to run down the characters I have so far. (The ones with names, that is. There are a couple, far hazier characters without names that I won't list.)

    -- Ianthe of the Iparsha Tribe. Main character. Younger sister to Isra by five minutes. Gives herself over to Malika (see below) in exchange for Isra's freedom. She, being the younger twin, is Isra's guardian and as such, her life is not her own until Isra marries and allows Ianthe her freedom.

    -- Isra of the Iparsha Tribe. Older sister to Ianthe. Heir to the Iparsha tribe. Betrothed to Haro of the Delath Tribe (see below). Set free by Malika after Ianthe hands the rest of her life over to Malika.

    -- Malika of the *unnamed* Tribe. Main antagonist, but not a technical villain. Sole ruler over her tribe's city. Husband has been deceased for several years. Her tribe is renowned for its strength and ingenuity, making it a formidable foe that is not to be crossed. Ianthe and Soran (see below), of their own free will, gave their fates over to her so their respective twins could go free.

    -- Soran of the *unnamed* Tribe. Ally to Ianthe. Older brother to his twin, and also the rightful heir to his own tribe before he handed that right to his brother and stayed with Malika so his twin could go free. Eventually becomes Ianthe's confidante.

    -- Haro of the Delath Tribe. Oldest son and heir to the ruler of the Delath Tribe. Betrothed to Isra by their fathers to bring the two tribes together, although there is a genuine affection between the two of them.

    Alright. That's most of them. Everyone else is kind of hazy as they haven't had any majorly important parts to play in my mind rambles.

    I think it's also important to note that Malika, while the main antagonist, is not an inherently bad person. She enjoys toying with lives, but it is rare that she is actually cruel. She keeps her word to both Soran and Ianthe and lets their siblings leave. (Also doesn't declare war on their tribes, but that's a small, inconsequential detail.) She was in love with her husband before his death several years ago in the story, but I don't believe he ever loved her in return. She also has no children, so Malika's life is a very lonely one.

    Which I believe is one of the reasons why she 'kidnapped' Soran and Ianthe. They might hate her, but they fill that empty gap in her life.

    So... does Ianthe's story interest you yet?

    (And have my fellow romantics connected the dots yet?)

    That's about all I have for now. Thank you for reading1

    Ad astra per aspera.
    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: New Beginnings and Reliving Nightmares

    Also known as, more of Garrett and Breen.

    I've already talked about these two a lot in previous posts, where they're coming from (vaguely) and such and such, but these two bits will be about where they went. Well. The first one will be. The second one will be me messing cruelly with their lives again.

    What can I say? Writers are sadistic people.

    I had wanted to write something that would fit neatly in the middle of these two blips, but never got the inspie or motivation to do so, but I think it's sort of self explanatory.

    Though, I'll admit the second bit was mostly for you guys' sakes. The lines have always been a little blurry when it comes to their relationship but I've always known in my head how things work out eventually and figured that I had best share that with you all as well, else you get the wrong idea about them. Which would be bad.



    The Wiley’s campaign was nearing its end, with only three more weeks left to their travels. Garrett started to think more objectively, turning his mind to the near future and what he—and Breen—would do. They’d already discussed what would happen to them after this was over, and Breen sentiments had echoed his own.
    Whatever they did, they were going to do it together.
    The train car was quiet, the only noticeable noise come from the clack-clack-clack of the wheels on the tracks. Breen slept fitfully on the nearby couch and he made a point of checking for the signs of a nightmare every few minutes.
    Garrett watched the passing scenery that was bathed in moonlight under a cloudless sky. They’d been travelling through endless fields for days now and the repetition was getting dull, but he wasn’t going to complain. Their destination would be along in the next day or so and then the scenery would change once more.
    Staring out the window, he lost himself in thought, working out a plan. Although he hadn’t made himself focus to this intensity for some time, it was easy to fall back into the way his mind had been before all this had happened.
    He and Breen wouldn’t be destitute when they left here; quite the opposite, in fact. The Wiley’s’ manager had been compensating them well for their role in Ryan’s campaign, something that Garrett had never protested. By now, they both had a sizable amount saved up, having had neither motive nor opportunity to spend it.
    Location was one of the larger concerns to Garrett. The sooner they figured out where they wanted to live, the sooner they could start looking for an apartment.
    Glancing over to Breen, who’d settled for the moment, facing the back of the couch, he wondered if being in a stable location would help both of them settle enough that they would be able to start leaving the nightmares behind them.
    That was another thing to work on with Ryan. He and Breen would need something official. Anything related to an actual wedding was out of the question, but they needed for the law to recognize them as being bound to one another.
    It wasn’t so much a matter of love as one of security. They’d both found someone who knew why they’d become the way they were in each other.
    Someone who hadn’t been inside those camps would never understand. They’d always be trying to help, to make them forget things that had been cut into their hearts and shattered their souls, leaving behind only the image of the person they’d been before.
    And Garrett knew that he was for Breen what she was for him. Not a form of morphine in the shape of a person, but instead a shoulder to lean on and a hand to grip. He held her up when it she was drowning just as she pulled him out of the darkness when it began to overwhelm him.
    There would be a lot to consider in the near future, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid to look ahead.

~~~~~

 

    Subconscious anxiety made him a light sleeper, assuming he slept at all. Granted, his sleeping habits had improved since he and Breen had gotten their small flat, but that didn’t mean they were normal by any standard.
    His haunted dreams had grown less frequent, soothed by her presence by his side throughout most the day and into the never-ending night. Garrett had found that the smell of her skin and the steady beat of her heart had a far more calming effect than the alcohol that he had once drowned himself in.
    When he would wake in the middle of the night, remembering his sister and the fate she had suffered, he would seek out Breen where she lay within arm’s reach across the bed. He would find the pulse point in her throat and when he felt her heartbeat unfaltering against his fingertips, he was able to rest easy again.
   Tonight, though, it was not a dream that awoke Garrett from his uneasy slumber.
   This time, it was reality that jerked him from unconsciousness.
   The intrusion to their apartment might’ve gone unnoticed, unheard until it was too late, but the window they used for entry, the one adjacent to the next building, had a horrible squeal when budged that could wake the dead.
    And Garrett was far from dead.
    He sat up, heart in his throat, as he heard the sound of heavy footsteps from the living room, also the location of the complaining window.
    This couldn’t happen again. Not to them.
    The bedroom door was thrown open wide and Garrett didn’t bother trying to locate the knife he kept in his bedside table drawer. They filed in, six men with black helmets and matching tactical gear, bearing matte black rifles he knew to be military issue. They took up a crescent-shaped line at the end of the bed, weapons held ready to discharge.
    If it had just been him, he may have tried to fight them. If it had just been him, he would’ve preferred to be gunned down than be taken again.
    Breen, dead to the world at his side, though, kept him from doing anything rash, just as he’d held himself back two and a half years ago when they’d come for him and Sharon
    The soldiers weren’t making any aggressive movements, probably receiving orders from someone on the outside through the headset built into their helmets.
    Slowly and with purposeful movements, Garrett reached over to gather Breen’s limp form to himself, letting her head fall against his shoulder.
    He could barely see in the darkness of the room, but his fingertips found her face, brushed along her cheek and then tangled in her loose hair. He was grateful to the drugs recommended by the local psychiatrist that she’d decided to try after months of urging. She would remain asleep for several hours to come, a fact he knew well from experience.
    It would keep her from reliving this nightmare along with him, and that was enough.
    Escape was impossible, and fighting had never been an option, so Garrett made use of the only avenue of opportunity left to him.
    He remained aware of the soldiers, the silent spectators from the shadows of the room, and then bent his head until he could hear Breen breathing.
    Surrendering entirely after another moment, Garrett shut his eyes and just focused on her, on how her dark hair ran like silk between his fingers, how her skin always seemed a few degrees cooler than it should’ve. He knew of every scar that had been inflicted on her and could only pray that maybe they were just here for him.
    They’d been through that hell once, but he would bear it again if it meant she could go free. It was the least he could try and do for her.
    She was all he had and even though nothing about them was perfect, they loved each other, in whatever dysfunctional ways they had left. They were both broken, shells of who they used to be, but neither of them would’ve had it any other way. No one else would’ve understood.
    Garrett heard the soldiers shift. He pressed a kiss to her temple and refused to let go. He would protect her as long as he could.
    The sound of a discharged projectile—not a bullet, he realized—was the last thing he heard before something sharp pierced the skin of his throat and the world faded to black.

 

    Personally, I like how the second one turned out. My apologies about the cliff-hanger (I am trying to work on that...) but it's Garrett's reaction to the inevitable that I enjoy. He chooses to spend what he thinks are going to be his last minutes of freedom not fighting, but holding Breen. As he said, she's all he's got anymore.

 

    Sorry, I'm on the tired side and anything romantic tends to warm my heart, even if it's my own writing. The endings of the two bits sound like they echo each other, don't they? My bad, but I don't really feel like changing it right now.

 

    I hope you liked these blips that are a bit more fleshed out than my previous Breen and Garrett scrawls, and I would love to hear your thoughts if you've got any to give.

 

    Ad astra per aspera.

   To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: Introduction Bit to Jaz

    It's just as the title says and I apologize for taking so long to finish editing the blasted thing. It didn't take me much longer at all after I finally sat down to do it.

    Unlike the last vague ramble I posted for Jasmine "Jaz" O'Haire, this one is in my regular format and is of a good length. You won't need much of an entering explanation, since this bit starts at the beginning.

   
        The two males walked back into their small city side-by-side, taking in the bustling activity with the pleasure that came when one had been gone three years.
    The darker-haired one stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking around him for the familiar bean-paste fish seller that had been in business since he and Dan had been kids.
    The other took in a deep breath and grinned. “Now this is what I’m talking about. All those foreign places, and they can’t fry beans like the old homestead can.”
    His partner agreed with a small noise from the back of his throat.
    They had just started forward again, intent on checking in with their commander in person for the first time in several years, when a laugh rang out from behind them that made them both stop in their tracks.
    It was a feminine laugh.
    An incredibly familiar feminine laugh.
    A lot of things could change in three years, but there were some things that didn’t and her laugh was one of them.
    They turned as one, hearts pounding with anticipation at seeing her again, minds racing with similar thoughts. Would she have changed? Would she remember them? Was she still waiting for them?
    And they froze when she appeared through the crowd.
    Her auburn hair was tied up in a high pony tail, its length hanging down her back and swinging as she walked. Jade eyes shone with amusement and her lips were stretched in a dazzling grin.
    She wore the outfit of a black-ops member, two handguns hanging from her hips and they swayed in time with her step. Not just a black-ops member though; a captain.
    And she was flanked on either side by two other males they didn’t recognize. Both were at least half a head taller than her and wore a similar uniform to Jaz’s, except they wore a distinctly lower rank than she did.
    “Jaz…” The lighter-haired boy murmured with wide eyes.
     His partner was similarly dumbstruck, his dark brown gaze following Jaz and her new teammates, unable to find words.
    The three black-ops members passed them without a glance and the two returning soldiers couldn’t help but catch some of the conversation passing between them.
    “…wanted to laugh when he said you two were no match for his men!”
    “Did you tell him otherwise, captain?”
    “Of course! I’ll always protect my boys.” Jaz’s smile was bright as she put her arms around their necks and her fondness for them was clear.
    “Hey, Zack,” the lighter-haired male said, eyes narrowed speculatively.
    “What, Dan?”
    “They look like they’re coming back from an op. Probably headed to report to the boss.”
    “What are you standing around for, idiot?” Zack was already walking, eyes fixed on where their teammate had disappeared through the crowd with her subordinates.
    Dan pumped a fist and hurried after his friend.
    Their minds were both set on the same questions; just what on earth had happened to their teammate, and who were those intruders daring to get near her?
    “…work, Captain. You two as well, Kano, Des.” Whitecourt was saying as the two returning soldiers neared his office door.
    Zack waited until his boss had finished speaking before rapping his knuckles on the door twice.
    “Come!”
    The two exchanged glances, sharing the uncertainty they both felt over facing Jaz again, then Zack pushed the door open and they stepped in.
    His office was unchanged, bearing the same smart, yet tasteful decorations likely chosen by one of his female aides and the oak desk piled high on all corners with files and loose papers.
    Four pairs of eyes watched them as they approached the head’s desk, and Zack made a point to focus on Whitecourt, and not Jaz, although the temptation was strong. She’d changed so much while they were away.
    “Mission complete, sir!” Dan announced for the both of them, glancing at their female teammate for a moment before refocusing on the commander.
    The graying man smiled. “Good work. I want reports done and on my desk by Thursday, understood?”
    Both nodded. “Will do, sir,” the dark-haired one replied, voice far less exuberant than his bright-eyed partner.
    Zack finally glanced at the team standing off to the right of the desk. Jaz was entirely ignoring them, which wasn’t what he’d expected. As he watched, was making faces at one of her new teammates, nose scrunched up.
    So much for having matured in the last few years. Well, mentally that is. Physically was another matter altogether and it was probably a good thing that she was a sister more than anything else to them.
    But her blatant ignoring of them was out of character, which meant that she was avoiding them by ignoring them, and the thought put Zack on edge.
    Whitecourt didn’t seem to notice the faint tension in the room, or maybe he was just overlooking it on purpose for the time being, and he addressed Jaz and her team when he spoke again.
    “Captain, you and your team are dismissed. Take a few days off before coming in for your next assignment, will you? I’m sure there’ll be another team willing to take an extra mission so you three can get some sleep.”
     Jaz looked up, jade eyes glinting in the sunlight that streamed through the windows as she did so. “Aa. Will do, sir. Come along, little pets.” The humorous twist to her lips indicated that this type of teasing was a regular thing, and their reaction confirmed it for Zack.
    The two strange men both huffed in amusement at her words, but they followed her command and moved towards the door.
    The boss chuckled at their antics and glanced down at his paperwork, and that was when Dan reached out and grabbed Jaz’s arm.
    She stopped in her departure from the room, and turned to look at him; her face had switched from teasing to indifference so quickly it was frightening. “Is there something I can do for you?”
    “Don’t you remember us, Jaz?” Dan was pleading with his voice, his eyes, and his grip on her arm, but it didn’t seem to be having a visible effect on her.
    Zack was tense, watching her closely while remaining aware of her new teammates standing near the door who were observing the proceedings silently for now.
    “Of course,” she said simply, her jade eyes narrowing a fraction. “Most everybody will, I would guess. It’s not been that long.”
    Dan grinned. “Then what’s with all the coldness? Don’t I get a hug?“
    Zack saw her tense right before she took a purposeful step backwards, away from Dan’s outstretched arms. She hooked her thumbs through her holsters, adapting an expression of nonchalance, but Zack knew what this was now. She hadn’t forgiven them for leaving her behind.
    “What do you two want?”
    “J-Jaz, it’s us! You’re teammates!” Dan’s voice was almost desperate in his attempts to regain good ground with their sister-figure.
    “Yes, I believe we’ve established that, and no, you aren’t. Not anymore.”
    Dan had that kicked puppy look down pat, Zack admitted in the back of his mind, but her words were a far more pressing matter than Dan’s facial expressions.
    “Aren’t you glad to see us at all?” The lighter-haired boy asked with a far more subdued voice in response to her statement.
    “What reason do I have to be happy about?” Jaz questioned with a deceptive air of calm that none in the room believed for a moment.
    “We’re back, Jaz,” Zack took up the conversation, taking his time in speaking. “I would think that's a pretty good reason."
    “No, it’s not. Because you left me without even asking if I wanted to come. Isn’t that correct?” Her smile was grim, her jade gaze hard.
    He had guessed that was what this would be about and chose his next words carefully. “We thought it would be best. You needed the support of your friends and teachers more than you needed us. We did it for your benefit.”
    “You forgot something.”
    “What is that?”
    “I needed my family more than my friends and mentors.” She held together well when she said it, the unforgiving smirk lingering on her mouth, but her voice cracked when she said family.
    Zack met her gaze and knew regret at the look in her eyes, and before he could say more, the captain turned on her heel and left the room.
    Her departure left Zack, Dan, Kano, and Des in something of a silent standoff, with their commander keeping an eye on their goings on while he continued to work.
    One of Jaz’s new teammates, the taller of the two with dark brown hair and muted blue eyes, spoke first and with meaningful inflection to his words. “Don’t aggravate our captain.”
    “She was our teammate long before she was your captain,” Dan shot back, temper heated with his anxiety over Jaz’s response to their return.
    “You’re the ones who left her!”  The brunette seemed to be holding more back.
    “We left her for her own good!” Zack said between clenched teeth, something about these two rubbing him the wrong way.
    His response seemed only to fan the brunette’s ire, causing the other soldier to step closer to Zack as he spoke. “Which is why we had to pick up the pieces of her broken heart when we were placed on a squad together, yes? You call that good for her?”
    “Oi, Kano,” the one apparently called Des said, grabbing his teammate’s arm. “Cool off.”
    The taller male took in a breath. “Sir?” His eyes went from Zack to their commander. “On second thought, do you mind if we take a mission? I think we’d all agree that a bit of time away might be good right now.”
    “Yes, that’d be nice, sir.” Jaz’s voice came from the large window behind their commander.
    She was leaning in the open space, jade eyes glinting.
    “How on earth did you get there so fast?!” Dan all but shouted.
    Their former teammate, Kano and Des’ captain, smirked with genuine humor in her gaze, the first sign of acceptance she had given thus far. “It’s a secret.”
    “As for your request,” the commander interrupted loudly, looking at all the soldiers in his office in the eye so his point got across. “Denied. I won’t be having strife in the ranks, so you’re all grounded to the village until further notice.”
    Silence reigned for a long moment as the four males assessed one another and the sound of Jaz thumping to the office floor came a moment later.
    At her bidding, Kano and Des said their farewells to Whitecourt before heading out the door after their captain, none of them looking back.
    Zack and Dan exchanged looks, before they turned back to their commander. He didn’t seem overly annoyed with the argument that had just occurred.
    “When did she become a captain?” Dan asked after brief moment of quiet.
    “Last year. Kano and Des have been under her command since the day after she made rank. “
    “Did she ever have signs of waiting for us, sir?” The lighter-haired boy said, hope in his eyes. Zack knew he was searching for anything to give them hope.
    “The first six months she was in here every other day asking for any updates on your mission before she stopped out of the blue. Next thing I knew I was giving her promotions until she reached a level of skill that gave her the option of switching to black-ops, and she took that opportunity the moment it was available. Looks like you guys’ leaving didn’t have the preferred effect, eh?” Whitecourt leaned back in his seat, an apologetic smile on his weathered face.
    “Yeah…” Dan murmured before tapping Zack on the arm. “Let’s go, yeah? I feel like some of those fried bean paste fish you love so much.”
    “Aa…”
    They also spoke the required formalities to the commander before plodding out.
    Once on the street in front of the central military headquarters in the city, they faced each other, studying and gauging how the other had taken it.
    “She’s changed,” Dan stated.
    Zack huffed, but resisted the urge to roll his eyes in his soured mood. “You think?”
    “How do we get back in her graces?” The other mused aloud, seemingly oblivious to Zack’s exasperation.
    “What makes you think I have the answer to that question?”
    “Because you’re the brains here, and I’m the brawn,” a half-hearted grin here, but it faded fast. “You know, of all the things I expected to happen, this wasn’t one of them. Tears, anger, avoidance, yes, but... this is something else entirely. She’s got a new team Zack. She doesn’t need us anymore.”
    “That’s because she wanted it that way,” Zack murmured, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he surveyed the street, not surprisingly devoid of the bustling crowds found in most other sections of the city. “She never liked having to rely on us as much as she did. She wanted to be on the same ground as we were, but we never gave her the time of day.”
    “She did? We didn’t?”
    “Yes, imbecile, she did. You just were too busy protecting and shielding her to notice.”
    “Hey! You were doing the same thing!”
    “Yeah, I was, wasn’t I?”
    “Then how do you know she felt the way she did?”
    “We were gone three years, Dan. That’s a lot of time to think and analyze everything about our team. But I didn’t know for certain until we talked to her just now.”
    “And you think she despised how much we protected her?”
    “It was a possibility, and now I think that that’s been confirmed as well.”
    Dan fell quiet, processing Zack’s words for several minutes before he finally said quietly, “She called them ‘her boys’. She smiled at them like she used to do to us.”
    “And she loves them more than she did us, I think.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “They understand her more than we did. You can tell by the way they automatically guessed that she told off her target for talking down her team. The way they’re so comfortable together. Think back; when was she ever that comfortable around us?”
    “To the point where she’d walk through town like that with us, you mean?” Dan mused for a moment, then frowned. “Never.”
    “Exactly.”
    “I don’t want it to be like this, Zack. I know she’s mad, I know she’s got a new team, but I don’t want our old friendship to die like this. I don’t want it to die at all, blast it!” The lighter-haired male threw his hands up.
    The older boy shrugged. “They’re grounded here and we’re not going anywhere until after some well-deserved leave. Might as well make the best of it and see if we can talk to her again.”


    Unfortunately, after this, my bits all skip to that rather disastrous mission that Jaz takes on. I might try and fill in the blank spaces, but I'll likely just end up editing whatever I have got and go with those.

    Sheesh, I have no brain... It's been a long day, with an 0700 wake time, exercising, walking our neighbor's beagles twice solo because my sister is sick, and then I've been running back and forth between schoolwork getting stuff for her all afternoon.

    Anyways. Thank you for reading and I hope this bit isn't too disjointed, considering it's two years old with an edit job to make it more readable.

    As astra per aspera.
    To the stars, through difficulties.

On Life and Writing

    A) Be glad this post didn't start with "of". I'm into "of" for the starting word in titles.
    B) Shockingly enough, this post is only about writing, and not actually of writing.

    Well, hopefully it'll turn out being about writing. Depends on how my brain is doing and, judging by the massive mood-swinging that's been going on today, anything is questionable at this point.

    Anyways. This is the third week that my siblings and I have been back to school after Christmas break, but it's only the first week that Dad has implemented the two week break off movies and video games. And I am proud to admit that the only 'movie' I've watched since Tuesday (we had a four day weekend that included Monday) is Jane Eyre, which I watch to put myself to sleep. So it doesn't count as a movie so much as bed... music? Some such.

    The point of that pointlessness is that, with the lack of movies and tv shows to fill my brain and distract me with feels, I've found that my imagination has come back in force and, as such, words seem to be spilling out my fingers tips. Well, they were yesterday. The mood-swings today aren't helping me feel like writing.

    But, a general update on my various drabbles.

   Nuada and Argyros: I do want to write more for Nuada, maybe show a bit of what they actually do and just write more in general, but I don't have anything firm to go on at this point. I'm probably going to back it up a bit and try to figure out when Nuada sort of figured stuff out between herself, Argyros, and Maggie and then maybe another scrawl with some foreshadowing of... stuff... that I've been considering putting in there. Plot twists can be so much fun, you know? You can also expect to see a fair deal more of Carson; there's a little bit of stuff with him and Nuada that's important-ish. Man, that's a lot of... what are they called? Qualifiers? Anyways. I'm churning over this, but it could take some time before something crops up.

    Marks and Kelsey: Now, with these two, I actually do have a next section in my head that's been there for a while now. I just have to, well, write it and I've been caught up in other things over the past few days. Hopefully, the urge with strike me soon and I can scrawl it all out without it turning out to be too crappy. We'll see how it goes, yes?

   Jaz: Not Jaq, mind you. Very different characters with very similar names and not to be mistaken for each other. I realize that I've just sprung Jaz on you all recently and that you're probably not attached to her at all (and maybe never will be) but my interest in her has been renewed, so expect to see more of her in the coming days/weeks. (I never know how long my interest will last.) At the moment, I'm editing through my initial, introductory bit that I wrote for Jaz a long, long time ago. It shouldn't take much longer, and I would've finished last night, but staying up until 1:30 with an 0700 wake-up call for Ortho... Yeah, not cool. Beyond that, I'll probably fiddle with the original storyline I had for Jaz' mission, editing my bits for that and then writing more as it comes. Expect a lot of jumping around when her bits crop up eventually.

   Garrett and Breen: Again, I don't know how attached you all are to these two, but they've always been, hm, important to me, I guess. I'm not sure how to explain it. But, they've been on my mind as well of late, and I have written some for them in the past couple of days that I'm going back and forth between posting, though not because it's violent/mushy. Just... I don't know, personal? As I said in one of my recent posts, there are some ideas that I find very important to me, but don't like to share because I don't know if other people will take them the wrong way. Knowing me, though, I will likely end up posting what I've got before too long and maintain a "don't like it, don't read it" majooger.

    Sean and Lindsey: I got a rather positive response to these two and wouldn't mind doing more, if I had more to write. I've only got a rather small blurb in my head right now, but beyond that, it's all up in the air. They're relatively foreign characters to me, and I don't know what path I want the story to take. Revenge mission? Skip a couple of years and have the two meet up again? Or maybe the people who took out her parents will come back for her, who knows? That's what I mean by "up in the air". Haven't got a clue what to do with it, and, with every other idea I've got running through my head, it will probably fall down the ladder of priority very quickly.

   (Aha! Stroke of genius! My cousin and I have a running joke between us about him wanting me to put camels into my first novel [no, you may not read it. It's very raw and needs editing.] and I've just now stumbled across something to tease him with in return. His alias is Dana MacDonald [those who read Penny Kearney's blog will recognize that] and what familiar children's song has a MacDonald in it? "Old MacDonald had a farm, e-i-e-i-o." I shall ask him if he plans on starting that farm soon next time we should speak. Bwaha.)

    Sorry, that was really random, but maybe it amused you?

    Misc:
      Lorelei and Gil - Mostly done, I'd say. There haven't been stirrings from their direction in a while now and, while I like the idea, I have others that I enjoy more.
      Ianthe and Isra - If I can ever get my brain to cooperate when it comes to this idea, I would very much enjoy writing it. The idea has always been one of those that I've clung to for quite some time and I really like the characters, so, maybe sometime in the next few weeks I'll figure out a style to write it in and sit down to weave some words together.
      Tatsuo and Shard - Not sure how that blip went over, but again, I enjoy the characters enough that you may or may not be seeing more of them in the near/far future. Depends on if the mood strikes me.

    Now I can't decide if I've forgotten anything... That seems like most of it, at least for the time being.

     If you've got questions about anything, please don't hesitate to let me know and I shall do my utmost best to answer them. And if you have any requests, I'm open to receiving them but I can make no promises about being able to fulfill them.

   (Hm. Did I ever post that one bit about the girl and the dragon? Let me check. Huh, I don't believe I did. I'll add that to my mental queue and see about getting to it before long.)

    Right, then. That shall be all.

    Stay awesome, drink some tea, and thank you so very much for reading my writing. It makes me very happy.

    Ad astra per aspera.
    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: Of Teammates and Being Seamless

    Well, this cropped version of my Jaz scrawl turned out to be only 400 of the original 1,300 word-count, and I apologize for it, but I'm just not personally comfortable sharing the rest of it, not because of the risqué-ness of it, but because of why Jaz even agrees to it and such and such.

    It's complicated, as some of my writing tends to be. I believe that a writer always has those story ideas that they have justified to themselves. The character's actions and reasons have been justified with their the writer's mind, but when they try and share it with others, it's almost impossible to impress this same reasoning upon them.

    Onto the scrawl itself.

    I have written Jaz before and I've always admired her character, because she always puts up a strong, confident, and almost cocky front while she pours her heart and soul into protecting the things that are most important to her.

    The mission mentioned in the first two segments is one that is either a war-ender or a war-avoidance technique... thing. I've not really worked out which it is. This is also my second run of this idea, as this version was easier to do the 100-word segments with.

    In the original idea, Jaz went alone on the mission, completed it, but got knocked on the noggin' hard enough to lose her memory. Haydn was a member of another country/city-state, and thus not always seen as being one of the good guys, but showed up later, after Jaz found her way home accidently, to see if she remembered him. (She didn't, but that's beside the point.)

    The names mentioned in segment four-- Zack, Dan, Kano, Des, and May-- are the people that Jaz puts everything she has into protecting. Zack and Dan were here original team members, back when she was younger, but they left on a long mission without her and she, well, grew up. Kano and Des were a couple of younger soldiers underneath her, and May was her... I'd say best friend, but Haydn more suits that role. Girl friend, then.

    Oh, actually, I just found a bit from the original storyline that I'll put in after the 4, 100 word segments, where Jaz and Haydn are talking shortly before she leaves on what she sees as a suicide mission. The style is a bit odd, just as a warning.


    Jaz knew they would never see it coming. Masks were her skill, lies were her trade, and pain was something she’d learned to bury a long time ago.
    Her teammates knew she was one of the best at deception, and that would work in her favor when she seemingly disappeared from their lives. They would believe, after she was branded a traitor, that she had been playing them the whole time.
    Haydn would see through the cracks in her mask and know how leaving them destroyed her from the inside. The world would get her confident smirk and nothing more.

    Whitecourt hadn’t intended for two of them to carry out this mission at first. And Jaz hadn’t wanted another to suffer the same fate she had accepted with only a moment’s deliberation.
    I will give my life for these people.
    But she and Whitecourt had agreed, upon further analysis of the information they had, that it would have to be a two man operation.
    She’d spent two days poring over the files of other black-ops members, searching for a candidate. She had ruled out some due to attachments; families, wives, fiancées, anything of the sort. Women she ruled out altogether.

    When she and Haydn had been assigned to work a month long operation together with no prior warning, Jaz pretended to not know how the idea had reached their superiors, all the while having been the one who chose him.
    She couldn’t have anticipated how flawlessly they fell together, though.
    Within a couple of weeks of working, eating, and sleeping in the same, closet-sized apartment, he was reading her mind as well as she had learned to know his.
    The language with which they communicated was one all their own. Messages were sent between them by way of unconventional methods.

    He was suited to Jaz in a way no one else had been before him.
    Zack and Dan had always been protecting and shielding her, Kano and Des always looking for her guidance as their team leader and superior. May’s heart had been too innocent and naïve to comprehend how Jaz worked.
    Haydn had used that first week they spent together to sort through her mannerisms, her habits, her priorities, just as she did to him, and the end result was one unexpected by both.
    It felt like the first time she’d ever been on equal ground with her teammate.


    Sorry if those are a bit disjointed... I was still working out what I wanted to write about when I scribbled them last night. Onto the original scrawl.


   all i want is to not be left alone tonight. let me spend my last night on earth in the arms of the man i love and blast the consequences because i cannot do this. i can't do this, i can't leave you, i can't leave them, but i'm going to. i will. i took an oath. i will protect my family and my country.
   you always have a choice. you don't have to do this.
   don't do this to me, haydn. you promised. i promised. we don't get in the way of loyalties. we knew that from the beginning.
   i can't let you walk away knowing that you're not going to come back.
   i know. i know. but i have to.
   no you don't. you don't have to do this, jaz.
   i made a promise, to my people and my village. this could stop the war if we succeed, haydn. i'm not so selfish that i would condemn this country to another lifetime of war because i couldn't let go.
   so, what, you wish we had never met?
   i didn't say that. don't twist my words.
   then what are you saying, jaz? are you just going to throw me away now?
   never, haydn. i can't let go of everybody else, i can turn my back on my teammates and walk away without telling them goodbye, but i couldn't do that to you. i could have. i could've just gone on this mission and not have come back without ever seeing you, but i didn't. i didn't, haydn, and the proof is my standing before you now. do you get it? do you understand?
   tell me, jaz.
   i-- this is probably the loudest declaration of my feelings i will ever manage, haydn. because i love you enough to tell you goodbye and to have you know i'm doing it. nobody else, haydn. i told no one else goodbye. they all got a last day, none of them the wiser, and they won't see me again. they'll have that last day that i spent with them, but the knowledge that i didn't say goodbye. but i'm here to say goodbye to you, haydn. am i making any sense?
   you are, jaz, don't worry.
   i don't want to die, haydn. i don't want to go in there knowing i won't make it out to see you all again, but i'm going because i have to. i have to do this so that none of you have to sacrifice yourselves in the same way.
   you don't have to say anything more, jaz. i've got it.
   i need you to do one last thing for me.
   what is it?
   i need you to let me go, haydn. i have to leave in three hours and i don't want for you to try to stop me. let me say goodbye, haydn, then forget me. move on with your life, to someone else who can actually be with you.
   no.
   haydn--
   no, jasmine, i won't, because i believe that you're good enough to come out of this alive. you can walk away from this mission alive, jaz, but only if you believe that you can.


    Huh. So the mission was to stop a war. Fergot that bit.

    That's about all I've got the moment, then. I did write more Breen/Garrett, but I'll hold that one in reserve until I either extend it or write another, earlier section to explain where things have jumped to.

    Thank you once again for your time and I hope you found these little blips to be vaguely interested. Feedback tends to make my day, so don't be afraid to drop me a note, either here or on the OYAN forum to PenWielder62.

    Ad astra per aspera.
    To the stars, through difficulty.

Writing: Of Habits and Rain

    It's been sometime since I last posted, and I apologize for it. Life has been a bit busy, getting back into school and then my family and I were out and about in Seoul over the four-day weekend due to Martin Luther King Jr. Day.

    Of Habits and Rain is basically a random scrawl. I don't really remember where the inspiration came from now, but it may have had to do with The Amazing Spider-Man.

    It's mostly self-explanatory in a rather ambiguous way, so it doesn't need explaining. The style, though, you might notice, is a bit different. I tried my hand at writing in 100 word segments. 100 words on the dot, I might add. It's a bit challenging, both to keep the word-count down and to try and infuse the emotion into the different sections. I don't think I did very well on that count, but I'll leave the decision up to you. The final word-count for this scrawl was 1,000 words, and it was easier to reach that tally than it usually is for me.

    (Also, the italic parts are her remembering, just in case it isn't clear.)


    She sits in the small café, watching the rain come down. On the table before her, her customary cup of tea sits with sugar already stirred in with the stick she’s placed to the side on a napkin.
    Her muffin has been picked apart, crumbling across another napkin. She doesn’t usually have much of an appetite for it, but what little she does eat of it is always delicious.
    A quiet sigh escapes and she stares out the window, seeing people hurry by, desperate to escape the cold.
    It’s been a year, and she’s still learning to live without him.

    The café door opens and closes with comforting regularity.
    The barista calls out orders as they finish, just as he’d done with hers fifteen minutes prior.
    The Earl Grey is still awaiting her attention, but Vienna knows it will probably be consumed on her way to work.
    After all, it’s a part of her routine.
    This is life now, and she is determined to leave the old behind.
    A small gust of air teases at the curls that escape her loose braid as another customer brushes past, aiming for the corner table.
    Once, they probably would’ve sat there, for safety.

    The clock reaches seven o’clock, and, like clockwork herself, Vienna rises. Collects her scarf and gloves, looping the former around her neck and tucking the latter into her pocket.
    The muffin, only half consumed, is put into a plastic bag in her purse to be eaten at a later time.
    Although she is a regular, there is no farewell, either from the staff or herself.
    Relationships are not something she puts much time into anymore.
    Taking her tea in one hand and her umbrella in the other, Vienna leaves the café to face the ten minute walk to her workplace.

    She is about to leave, pulling her bag up over her shoulder with slow movements.
    It’s hard to refrain from being disappointed.
    I really thought he would make it this time.
    The bell jingles and her head comes up, heart beating faster, hoping it’s him, only to be met with another stranger.
    The touch on her neck almost puts her into cardiac arrest. She whirls, ready to lash out. It’s him.
    He always looks older when he gets back, and Vienna hates it.
    But it is enough to have him back at all. She can’t ask for more than that.

    The wind tugs at her long jacket, seeping through the seams and chilling her through. Vienna used to hate weather like this; she appreciates the irony it brings now.
    It rained so often here. It seemed like it would’ve shone forever there.
    The downpour helps her forget who—what—she used to be. She can’t be that person anymore without becoming a shell.
    Although, she supposes she’s a shell as this person as well, but at least this way she can function. In that life, she would’ve broken down and stopped.
    Here, she has her routines. And they've saved her.

    Here, she can drown the memories in her five-thirty rising, her six o’clock run, her six-forty-five stop at the café before she walks to work at exactly seven, arriving by seven-twenty, at the latest.
    By seven-thirty, she is ready to officially begin her work day.
    Her boss is ideal for her new life. Serious, very business-like, and a workaholic.
    She takes a half-hour lunch break from noon to twelve-thirty. Then she continues to work until seven-thirty that night, sometimes before her superior leaves, sometimes after.
    His life is not regulated to the minutes as hers is. Probably a good thing.

    She rides the bus home, catching the seven-forty headed downtown that stops within five minutes of her apartment complex. It takes another five minutes to get into the building and reach her small apartment on the tenth floor.
    By then, it is near eight o’clock, either before or after. The bus’ schedule isn’t as accurate as she wishes it were, but she doesn’t blame them for it. Delays are inevitable in public transportation.
    Dinner depends on the day. Every meal in her freezer is planned from the Saturday prior, when she shops for it all.
    By eight-thirty, she is done.

    He leans to press his lips to hers and her fingertips find that spot beneath his jaw.
    “You taste like coffee,” Vienna murmurs against his mouth with a faint smile as she feels his heartbeat against her skin.
    She feels his quiet laugh as he rests his forehead on her shoulder. Her hand slides from his throat to curl into the hair at the nape of his neck.
    Neither of them care who might be watching. They never care.
    This is their tradition, one that can’t be broken because it is what they both need.
    To know they’re still okay.

    After eight-thirty, she doesn’t follow a pattern. Training has seen to it that she can still be aware when her alarm sounds at five-thirty the next morning, all sleep-loss aside.
    Often times she will read. She buys a new novel every Saturday along with her groceries and other necessities.
    Sometimes she will turn on the scarcely used TV and flip idly through the channels, usually settling on the news.
    Part of her still wants to keep up on what’s going on in the world, even though the rest of her wants to block it out.
    It’s not her job anymore.

    It’s only when Vienna finds herself awake late at night that she’ll think of that past life. No, not that past life. Of him.
    Is he still alive?
    Did he even notice her disappearance?
    Would he find her, somewhere in the midst of all these storms and habits? Would she let him find who he would be looking for?
    Did she want to be that person again?
    The sheets, cold against her legs, rustle as she sits up, burying her fingers in her hair, so much longer than she used to keep it.
    He would have loved it like this.


    And that's a wrap for Of Habits and Rain. Kind of an undecided ending, I know, but I couldn't think of how to continue it without going on for another few thousand words.

    Hopefully, the feeling you've come away with is a mixture of nostalgia, regret, and... hm. That's all I've got. Maybe just a realization that Vienna used to be a much freer soul and that the routines, habits, and schedules that make up her life now are her way of being able to keep going.

    I might post more in a bit, but I need to glance over the Jaz scrawls I did in this same format. They turned out being a bit more, erm, risqué than my stuff usually is. I'll probably just put up the first part.

   Thank you for reading and feedback of any sort is always welcome!

   Ad astra per aspera.
   To the stars, through difficulties.

MBTI for Characters

    Shock of all shocks. A post unrelated to writing.

   Alright, that may be stretching it. Characters are part of written fiction, after all. But at least it's a break from my rash of rambling scrawls, yes? Anyways, moving on.

    I might have explained MBTI in a previous post or on my ISFJ page, but I'll explain it again for you anyways.

    MBTI, or the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, is a personality indicator. Similar to what you'd find in a personality test, except it is far more accurate than any I've ever seen. There are sixteen "types". I am, for example, an ISFJ. Introverted, Sensing, Feeling, and Judging. My best friend, Penny, is an ENFP. Extroverted, Intuition, Feeling, Perceiving. And then another friend is an INTJ. Introverted, Intuition, Thinking, Judging.

    You can find out your type at www.mypersonality.info and I recommend doing so. It really helps figure out how your head works.

    Now, onto the real purpose for this post.

   In addition to the MBTI test helping me find out about myself, it helped me organize my characters as well. As a writer who struggles with emotion, the MBTI results for a handful of my characters are excellent references to the basis of their characters.

   Also, it's a way to show who has 'taken after me', in a manner of speaking, as you will soon see. (Extra note: the "Multiple Intelligences" is part of MyPersonality's test, to show what areas you are strong in and which you aren't.)

 

 

    You might notice that Ruusan is an ESFJ, meaning that she is like me, except for extraverted. And a lot of other things, but we won't go into all of those.

    It was really quite odd though. Cameron Armstrong, Ruusan's first husband, turned out to be an ISTJ along with Sarris and Jaydn. I even ran him through the test twice, in case I had answered something incorrectly, but he turned out with the same result. It would make more sense if you knew how very different the three of them are, though Sarris and Jaydn are more similar while Cameron feels like he's in an entirely different field.

   The point of this post, though, is that, if you're having trouble connecting with your character or figuring them out or any number of issues a writer can have with their characters, maybe try putting them through one of these tests. Once you know what type they are, there are a lot of different websites out there (some listed on my ISFJ page) that detail the different nuances of that type.

   Granted, not all of the details of a given type will be accurate, but a great many of them will be, and once you can determine which relate to your character, it will help you figure out how they might respond in a given situation.

    Ad astra per aspera.
   To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: Tatsuo and Shard

    Maybe one of these days I'll actually write something that isn't at least vaguely romantic, eh? But, to quote Aragorn, "It is not this day!"

   I can't rightly remember the inspiration for Tatsuo and Shard. It probably all started with the very first line that Shard utters. I tend to do that. Growing a story idea out of a simple line of dialogue, that is.

   There isn't much to tell about this scrawl that isn't explained within. The dragons are at war with the elves and Shard -- or Shardallian, as her people call her -- is a prisoner at the dragon king's castle. Please know that none of the other elves are quite like Shard, making her something of a curiosity not only to her own people, but to the dragons as well. I won't detain you on rambling details any longer.

   Wait, hold on, one more thing to say. If you've read my post entitled "Jaq", please note that Tatsuo and Shard's story is in no way related to Jaq's.


    “You want me dead? Then do it yourself, coward. Drive the knife into my heart with your own hands. I dare you.”
    She slammed the weapon into his chest, eyes burning with rage. “If you can’t work up the gut to do the deed yourself, then don’t kill me at all!”
    With that, his short prisoner turned and stomped away, hissing to herself under her breath, leaving him standing with a dagger in his hand and the eyes of the room on him.
    The dragon prince growled low in his throat, fingers tight around the blade’s hilt. One day, the elf would pay for her impudence towards his person.
    But he would never be able to make her pay with her life.
    It wasn’t because of her usefulness as leverage against their enemies, nor because she held any information of importance, but because she’d made his mother laugh.
    He had no remembrance of his mother laughing when he was a child, not even of her smile. But when this golden-eyed prisoner had been captured and brought to the palace, his mother had been captivated with her from the start.
    The first time the elf had made her laugh had been during a meeting involving both his parents and many of his father’s councilors. Tatsuo had made a passing remark as to the elf’s, Shard’s, heritage, if only because she was far from the elven norm. She had heard him and, in front of the entire room, had shouted many choice words regarding Tatsuo’s own bloodline.
    He and his father had been ready to tear her to pieces when Mother had started to laugh. Not quietly, either. She had been almost in tears, gasping for breath, as if it had been lying in wait for years, awaiting such an opportunity.
    The dragon-kind had been flabbergasted. Shard had been smug.
    And that had been the end of the confrontation. As cruel and heartless as the dragons were made out to be, the remarkable display of emotion from their normally serene queen was something to be encouraged, not stamped down.
    Since then, Tatsuo had born many of the elf’s tongue-lashings just to see the amusement on his mother’s face. He never encouraged it, of course, but Shard often found fault in things he said and had no issues in letting him know.
    Today, she had blatantly disrespected not only himself, but his father, grandfather, and their mental health in front of several of his father’s generals and advisors.
    He had threatened to kill her on the spot if she didn’t control her tongue, and her fiery words had been the end of it.
    And in the last few moments, he had realized he’d never, ever be able to kill the source of his mother’s joy.

  
    Did I mention this would be rather short? I do have a fair amount more written, but, as per usual, it skips about a bit and it's old, meaning I would have to edit through it. Yeesh, editing. Writer's worst enemy and best friend.

    Thank you so much for reading and should you have any feedback, I'd love to hear it. Also, as I stated on my last post, OYANers without an account enabling them to leave comments can feel free to drop a note on PenWielder62's profile feed.

    Ad astra per aspera.
    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: Lindsey and Sean

    Lindsey and Sean are fresh off the press, this likely one-shot bit for them having been completed not ten minutes ago. I haven't written something of this length in one sitting in a bit now.

    The inspiration for this one is a bit humorous, actually. Last night, I watched the latest NCIS episode, titled Shabbat Shalom, and I'm not going to give away any spoilers, but suffice it to say there were some rather devastating losses. Those devastating losses provided for one aspect of this idea, but the spark was struck this afternoon when my mother accidently knocked one of my favorite mugs onto the floor, breaking it.

    I ended up going dumpster diving in our trash can for the pieces because I wanted to put it together again (yes, only after she'd already thrown it away) and in the process, Lindsey and Sean slowly manifested.


    Sitting at the island in the kitchen, Sean listened as his mother talked to Miss Angelo, able to piece together most of the conversation despite only having one half of it.
    “Of course, Margaret, I’ll send Sean over,” she was just saying, and he lifted his head from the laptop before him in anticipation of a task, despite the hour.
    It was nearing one in the morning and they’d gotten word via Miss Angelo that their neighbors, the Donovan’s, had both been shot and killed in a deliberate attack on their lives. Their daughter, Lindsey, hadn’t been home at the time, as she’d been at the library, and had been the one to call 911 upon returning home.
    The call from Margaret Angelo, Mr. Donovan’s secretary, had come an hour ago while she’d been at the hospital with Lindsey. Sean’s father had since gone to bed, exhausted from his long day, and none of his brothers had yet returned home for summer vacation from college, so it was he and his mother still awake, unable to sleep with the weight of the news they’d received.
    While he had never been particularly close with the Donovans – they’d had one female child and he had his brothers to play with instead – his mother had often asked Mrs. Donovan over for coffee and to talk, so their families could be said to be good friends.
    “I’ll call you as soon as he gets back,” his mother assured once again, her voice soft and tired, and then she set the phone back in its cradle.
    Sean closed the computer’s lid, putting it to sleep, and waited for her to speak her request.
    Lily Bracken’s face was lined with her grief over the loss of her friend, but she was beyond the point of tears for the moment. Her son knew that it wouldn’t remain that way for long in the coming days as they readjusted.
    “Margaret said that Lindsey left the hospital half an hour ago and she’s not answering her cell phone. She probably went home, but Margaret is unable to get away from the hospital right now. She would like for us to run over and check if Lindsey made her way back to the house or not.”
    Sean frowned, thinking. “Aren’t the police still there?”
    “Likely, yes, but it’s doubtful that they’d try to stop her from going inside if she shows up and Margaret wasn’t sure who to call to check with about Lindsey.”
    “Alright, I’ll run over real fast.” He got to his feet and went to kiss his mother’s brow before going to find his coat.
    The woman followed him to see him safely out the door. Sean knew she would’ve gone herself, but she wasn’t about to go out in her bathrobe and slippers in the dead of night to face the police.
    “It’ll be okay, Mom.” The young man assured with a partial smile before he opened the front door and stepped out into the cool night air.
    Cicadas were out in full force, their familiar cadence from his childhood creating a chorus he’d learned to ignore. He walked down the front walk to the connecting sidewalk and turned left toward the Donovan house. Even from here, five houses down, one could see the flashing of the lights atop the police cars illuminating the trees and surrounding homes.
    Sean wondered for a brief moment if they were even going to allow him inside, but knew that he would at least have to try. If Lindsey got in, then it would mean they’d ascertained that the shooter or shooters had long since fled.

    While he’d seen his share of crime shows, none of them had really prepared Sean for the site that awaited him when he stepped into the Donovan home through the remains of their front door.
    Bullets had chewed up the walls and décor until it hardly looked like the home he remembered from accompanying his mother on her last visit just a week prior.
    “Lindsey?” He called cautiously, forcing himself to walk through the shattered glass from a table in the entryway that crunched as he stepped on it.
    The policeman he’d spoken to had informed him that she’d arrived twenty minutes ago and they’d given her access to the house, aside from the part where the shooting had taken place, in the living room.
    He stopped at the entrance to the living room, which was cordoned off with yellow-and-black police tape, and listened for any sounds of Lindsey’s presence. There had been no lights on upstairs when he’d looked while outside, so he assumed she was still downstairs.
    The sound of a drawer being opened drew Sean to the kitchen with slow footsteps. It seemed wrong to make too much noise right now, both because of the deaths that had occurred mere hours earlier and because he didn’t want to startle Lindsey.
    Miss Angelo had given no comment as to her emotional stability right now, but Sean figured it was going to be something near what he would be feeling if it were his parents lying dead in a hospital right now. The thought alone made his skin crawl and he focused on making his way through the destroyed home to the surviving Donovan.
    The only lights on in the kitchen were the ones over the sink and stove, but they were enough.
    Lindsey was rummaging through her mother’s desk that sat between the kitchen and dining room, but her movements were sluggish, almost unfocused.
    “…Lindsey? It’s me, Sean Bracken? Mom sent me over. Miss Angelo called and she’s worried about you.” He approached slowly, trying not to liken this to an encounter with a spooked animal.
    She didn’t seem to see him and her high, curly ponytail fell forward as she bent to check a lower drawer. Sean had always wondered how long her hair would be if it didn’t curl so tightly.
    “Lindsey?” He tried again, coming closer but keeping his movements slow.
    The young woman, barely eighteen if he remembered correctly, murmured something that he didn’t catch even as she seemed to find what she was searching for.
    The super-glue in her hand didn’t make sense to him, but it probably held some significance to her grief-addled mind. He was standing directly in her way when she straightened and turned to continue with whatever mission she seemed determined to carry out.
    Sean hadn’t recalled how pretty Lindsey had gotten in the past few years, but he was remembering it very quickly when face to face with her.
    “I have to fix the mug,” she whispered, but her gaze wasn’t on Sean’s, instead staring straight ahead, through him.
    “What mug, Lindsey?”
    “Mom’s mug. She must’ve dropped it. It’s her favorite.” The young woman replied and Sean was quickly coming to see how unfocused she was.
     Her eyes, usually very bright and annoyed when directed his way, were dull, and her face was almost entirely blank. Sean tried to think how to handle this situation.
     “How about this, Lindsey. I’ve got some good glue at home, so we’ll collect up the pieces and go to my house so we can fix it there.” The words would’ve been patronizing in any other situation, but they were needed in order to get his message through.
    “Mom and Dad will be worried if I’m not here,” Lindsey said with little inflection, but she made no move to sidestep him to continue to her goal.
    Sean found himself tongue-tied again and he ran an agitated hand through his hair. He didn’t want to lie to her about her parents, even if she didn’t remember any of this conversation, but he didn’t want to have to remind her of the truth.
    Why couldn’t Mom have come? He asked himself, watching Lindsey helplessly.
    “I’m sure everything will be fine,” he said at last. “Let’s just go see my mom, okay? Leave the glue on the counter and show me where the mug is.”
    Lindsey responded to the command with listless movements, placing the object in her hand on the stone countertop before leading him around the island in the center of the kitchen to where the remains of a white mug lay. It’s ivory shards were decorated with colorful outlines of flowers that Sean could see appealing to a woman.
    “Can you get me a plastic Tupperware, Lindsey? I want to make sure I get everything.” He asked, crouching down beside the shattered glass to begin gathering the pieces up.
    Thankfully, the Donovan’s had the hard plastic flooring instead of tiles, so it was in several large pieces with a few smaller chips that meant it shouldn’t be too difficult to put back together.
    He wasn’t sure it would ever hold liquid again, but he would make sure it at least looked like it had in its ‘glory days’.
    A clear Tupperware was placing next to the mess on the floor and Lindsey knelt to begin placing the mug’s remains into it. She was being careful, but with the proximity, Sean noticed how her hands were shaking and goose bumps covered her skin.
    He just needed to get her back home before everything came crashing down and she snapped. Mom would be more suited to deal with the fall out than he would.
    It didn’t take long before the destroyed mug was collected. Sean spotted a familiar jean jacket laying on the dining room table that he picked up for Lindsey.
    “Where’s your purse, Lindsey?” He said, drawing her gaze to him.
    She regarded him blankly for a long minute, arms crossed over her stomach. “In my car. Sean, I’m cold. Why is it cold in here? Mom hates it when it’s cold.”
    He didn’t say it was because the front door and living room windows had all been shattered by gunfire, merely offering her jacket to ward off the chill.
    When he started for the front exit and Lindsey didn’t follow, even at prompting, Sean returned to put an arm around her shoulders and guide her forward.
    Outside, the police didn’t question their departure. The chief that Sean had talked to on the way in wanted to know where she’d be at, and after giving the man their address, Sean asked that an eye be kept on Lindsey Donovan’s car. It was parked not too far down the road and the officer agreed to do so.
    Lindsey didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but Sean could feel her beginning to tremble beneath his touch and hurried them on home.
    The tears were just beginning to pool in her eyes as he directed her up the front steps.
    With much more coherency than she’d been showing in the last ten minutes, Lindsey looked at him and croaked, “My parents are dead, Sean.”
    Any words he might’ve tried to muster got stuck in his throat and he merely nodded.
    Lindsey began to cry as he eased the front door open and led her inside by the hand, the sound of her sobs drawing his mother in moments.
    “Lindsey—“ she said, her own voice breaking as she held out her arms for the girl.
    It was the only prompting she needed and Sean watched as Lindsey buried her face against his mother’s shoulder and was finally overcome by the night’s happenings.
    Turning, he closed and locked the front door, then went silently to the kitchen with the container of leftover mug. He wasn’t going to do anything with it at present. Lindsey might want to rebuild it herself sometime in the future, otherwise he would’ve started right then and there.


    And that's that.

   As for other news, those who have enjoyed the Kelsey/Marks bits I've written in the past might be excited to hear that I am considering a continuation scribble for them, though I can't promise how many more of such blurbs I've got left for them. One or two more, for certain.

   I hope you enjoyed this particular scrawl of mine. Please feel free to leave feedback and if you are an OYANer on the forum, you can always drop a comment on PenWielder62's profile page thing with your thoughts. Thank you so much for reading.

   Ad astra per aspera.
   To the stars, through difficulties. 

Writing: Ianthe and Isra

    I was just going through my hard-drive and realized that I had more of Ianthe and Isra than I had initially assumed and, since I really enjoy these two, I decided to post it.

   Maybe I'll get around to posting something aside from writing one of these days...

   Ianthe and Isra were inspired by a Japanese manga I read quite a while ago, placed in a desert with a quite different storyline, but my brain was churning anyways. After all was said and done, I had a pair of twin sisters, the older of which is Isra. As the elder, she is the 'chosen' of the two. She will be the one to inherit their father's duties as the tribal leader upon his eventual death. Ianthe, though she seems a good deal older, is the guardian. She appears older by necessity. She must have her wits about her at all times in order to protect Isra from anyone who would harm her.

   These bits begin shortly after, while traveling in a caravan, Ianthe and Isra are captured by the militants beneath Malika, a woman who rules over a rather vast area, left to her by her husband upon his death a handful of years ago. And, as you will see, Ianthe decides to sacrifice herself one last time for her sister.


     Ianthe gripped the edges of her cloak, holding an arm out to shield her sister from the dark eyes of the woman reclining before them.
    “What do you want?” she asked, injecting every ounce of strength she could muster into her words.
    “You are the chosen sister?” Malika, leader of their captors, did not appear to have heard Ianthe’s question, as she voiced her own in a liquid voice.
    Ianthe nodded. She had already ordered Isra to play along, don’t say anything, and to let her handle it. Because, in truth, Isra had been chosen when they were born. Isra would be the one to inherit everything from their father upon his death. Her own role would be to protect her sister until that day which she wed.
    But it was a simple matter to fool someone not of their tribe into believing that Ianthe was the superior of the two. All it had taken was a switch of the cloak and rapid-fire instructions to Isra before the horsemen had reached them.
    Even now, she still wore the deep amethyst dyed cloak of her sister, and the other her own sand colored one.
    Ianthe drew out of her thoughts to again inquire, “What do you want with us?”
    Malika drew to her feet with slow movements, pacing over to stand before the younger woman. 
    “You two will be inducted into my clan,” the woman stated bluntly.
    The guardian balked.



    “I will stay here,” Ianthe told Malika in a low tone, meeting the older woman’s eyes. “But in return for my complete cooperation, my guardian must be returned to my father.”
    Hooded eyes studied her for a long moment. “Tell me why this is.”
    “Why I would give myself up?”
    Malika inclined her head.
    “Because I am the only one that would satisfy you, and it would be more beneficial for you to have one cooperative captive as opposed to two who would fight you every step of the way.”
    “You have a valid point. And all you require is your guardian being returned to your father’s tent?”
    “Yes.”
    “You are a brave chosen; I have known few others who would do what you do for your sister.”
    Ianthe smiled grimly. You do not know the half of it. “It is the least I can do after stealing her right to have a life of her own.”
    The monarch nodded again. “Say your farewells then; I will have her delivered on your father’s doorstep, and in turn, you will remain here as long as I desire it, and none shall come in a foolish attempt to rescue you.”
    “Very well,” Ianthe murmured, turning to face her little sister.
    Isra’s eyes were wide, and the guardian could tell she was struggling to keep her composure.
    Kneeling before the young woman, Ianthe dropped her voice to a scarce whisper. “Isra, you must heed my words, and do not deviate from them. Do you understand?”
    She received an unsteady “I am listening, Ianthe. Speak what you will.”
    “There are two things you must attend upon reaching Father; the first, do not allow him to attack your escorts, but do not allow them to depart until Father has written, in his own hand with the Iparsha dye, that you have arrived and are safely in his care once more. Give the letter to them and they will return it to me. The second is that you must convince Father to abandon all hope of rescuing me. Do you understand, Isra? Father must not attempt to come after me. I do not wish to see how hard the hammer would fall upon our tribe should we break my pact with Malika.”
    “But, Ianthe—“
    “No, Isra. He must not come after me. You will return, marry the man who holds your heart, and forget me.”
    “I will never forget you, sister,” Isra whispered, tears filling her eyes despite her struggle against them. “Neither you, nor all you have sacrificed for me. Thank you.”
    Ianthe could see the underlying gratitude for the protection she had provided for the better part of their lives.

    I've always intended to write more of these two, so maybe in the coming months I'll get around to it. There is a good deal that happens to Ianthe while she resides in Malika's court, which I've been meaning to start pinning down.

    In the meantime, I hope you've enjoyed these blips and thank you so much for reading! Comments are always welcome.

   Ad astra per aspera.
   To the stars, through difficulties.