Writer Tips

    Shock of all shocks, a post that doesn't feature my writing. (Although one of the next planned posts does.) Instead, writer tips that I've seen recently on Tumblr that were really good.

    First.

    Ten Questions to Ask a Friend Who Just Read Your Novel
  1. At what point did you feel like “Ah, now the story has really begun!”
  2. What were the points where you found yourself skimming?
  3. Which setting in the book was clearest to you as you were reading it? Which do you remember the best?
  4. Which character would you most like to meet and get to know?
  5. What was the most suspenseful moment in the book? 

  6. If you had to pick one character to get rid of, who would you axe?
  7. Was there a situation in the novel that reminded you of something in your own life?
  8. Where did you stop reading, the first time you cracked open the manuscript? (Can show you where your first dull part is, and help you fix your pacing.)
  9. What was the last book you read, before this? And what did you think of it? (This can put their comments in context in surprising ways, when you find out what their general interests are. It might surprise you.)
  10. Finish this sentence: “I kept reading because…”

    Isn't this neat? And incredibly handy, in my opinion. 

    Whenever "Anomaly, Not Prodigy" gets finished, I'm going to attach this to whatever format my novel is in for my family and friends to make use of for my benefit. 

    And now an actual writing tip when it comes to describing characters. (Found on Tumblr, so I'm going to rewrite it and then you can check out the original post here.)

    "Describing eye colors isn't actually very helpful as a description. Talk about the makeup smeared on the left side, the lines under their eyes, the sloppily cut hair obscuring their eyes from view, how bloodshot or sunken them seem in the face, how wide they go at the slightest sound, how glassy and unblinking they seem, how they're always darting away.

    All of that tells me a bit more about the character than whatever shade of gemstone they most resemble, seriously."

    Seeing as I've been having trouble with describing background characters myself lately, this struck me as a good reminder.

    Don't just go with the basics. Describe the ticks, the hungover expression, the hunted look in their yes, where their gaze goes while conversing.

    Little details make the written world a pleasure to read.

    And that's all I've got in the take for tips currently, but hopefully they were helpful and I shall see you all in short order. (It's a day for blogging rather than studying Sociology.)

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties. 

Merry Christmas! + Writing: J&D - Who Does What (Christmas Edition)

    First off, Merry Christmas! I sincerely hope that you all have had (or, are having) a fantastic morning with your families and that the rest of your day is just as memorable. 

   As happens every year, Christmas helps signify the closing of one year and the opening of the next chapter of our lives, and while that's as poetic as I'm going to get today, I'm planning on making it a good one. 

    Write your story. Finish that class. Record that song. Go on that trip. Make good with that friend. Forge new ties. Work harder. Go further. Be more.

    We've all got it in us, it's just a matter of finding it and hanging onto it. Keep that in mind, yeah?

    And, on that note, a short Merry Christmas from Jandy and Dechlan. 

    who wears the ugly Christmas sweaters

    Well, after they went wandering through a department store at the beginning of the holiday season and passed the quite horrifically large displays of Christmas sweaters—for both men and women—featuring large Rudolph heads or prolific scatterings of snowmen, Dechlan had to go and mention how much he doesn’t like those articles of clothing, mostly because he had a great aunt who visited every Christmas, wore the garish sweaters, and had the gall to pinch his cheeks while she was at it.

    He comes home from work two days later and Jandy is prancing around in a wash of bright blue that has a rather overpowering nutcracker stitched across the front, and has the most mischievous gleam in her eyes.

    who picks out the holiday movies and who makes the hot cocoa

    With the very tight budget that Jandy and Jane grew up with, extravagances like bringing movies home, at any time of year, was basically unheard of. They did hot cocoa, but it was the instant type that tastes like cardboard half the time.

    So Dechlan will pick up old classics for them to watch together and Jandy will experiment with fancy (that is, not instant) hot cocoa, following a recipe to the T to create the perfect brew, and even though Dech isn’t a huge fan of overly sweet beverages, he concedes to a mugful in front of their movie of the night.

    who starts the snowball fight

    It goes back and forth, actually. But it is Dechlan who tends to initiate more often, just because he is able to keep his intentions to himself for a smidge longer than Jandy, which means he is able to have the element of surprise. 

    Jandy’s mind is always wide open and the moment she even considers stuffing a handful of snow down the back of Dechlan’s coat, he knows about it. So after the first several spoiled attempts at an ambush, she let the idea go and moved onto other antics.

    who drags the other under the mistletoe

    Oh so Jandelyn. Dechlan likes his privacy—and, by extension, their privacy—and so usually keeps the PDA at a minimum when in public, but that doesn’t mean that Jandy always agrees with this sentiment.

    Meaning, when they get invited to a Christmas party for the habitants of their apartment building and she spots that green sprig above a doorway, and with her veins are buzzing (because you can’t have a decent Christmas party without spiked eggnog), no amount of withering looks from Dech are going to stop her. 

    Of course, he doesn’t really put up much of a fuss when she grabs him by the collar and pulls him across the room to stand under the mistletoe. He never has been able to keep up his resolve when she gets that spark in her eye and that honest, open smile. 

    (They don’t realize almost the entirety of the party guests are watching until after, because they all burst out in applause and good-natured laughter. It’s a well-kept secret from them, but Jandy and Dechlan are something of their building’s OTP, and it’s hard to catch them in the middle of such displays.)

    who decorates the house

    They both do that, but Dechlan is the one to drag the boxes out of the closet on December 1st and by the time Jandy rolls out of bed, there are decorations strewn across the living room. He does inventory every year, to check their lights and decide if they need any replacements. 

    And Jandy is the one to decide where everything is going that year, because she likes to change it up annually just for it to be fresh and new. Dech doesn’t mind, because it makes her happy, which makes him happy, and it always looks nice in the end.

    who hangs up the ornaments on the tree

    Dechlan performs this duty, because by the time they get to the tree at the end of the day, Jandy has worn herself out and is usually cocooned on the couch in a blanket with a mug of coffee. She’s content to let him arrange and just sit and watch. 

    He’s good at it, anyways, that somewhat-analytical mind working to keep any one area from being too heavily populated with the ornaments.

    who cooks christmas dinner

    Neither of them are master chefs—far from it, actually, but Jandy has at least a bit more practice with cooking something that’s palatable, so she’s the first to pioneer the effort and Dechlan will pitch in and help where he can.

    When he’s not “checking for poison”, that is.

    And there's your weekly dose of cavity-worthy adorableness from Jandy and Dech.

    One of these days my sadistic side is going to kick back in and then there's going to be drama and trauma and angst. Just sayin'.

    Thanks for another year of hanging in there with me, guys! It really means a lot to me to know that my "shout into the void", as it were, is being heard by someone. 

    Again, Merry Christmas!

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: Who Does What, pt. 2: Jandy & Dechlan

    So I found some more of those "who does what" type prompts while scrolling around the internet the past few days and decided that they'd be a good thing to fill out as a tide-over until I get something of actual weight written.

    Which could be a while, or it could be tomorrow. You never know, with me. 

    This series is pretty similar to the last set, in terms of topic. Day-to-day life type thing. But I do have a couple of Christmas-themed sets that I'm planning on working through in the next few days to post as well. After all, t'is the season.

    And these are for original storyline Jandy and Dech, which might be hard to remember, because I have posted both Trinity's Prompt storyline and Fringe!AU storyline most recently. If you have trouble remembering the original storyline, let me know and I'll dig up the posts for you. 

    Shall we, then?

    who holds the umbrella when it rains

    Jandy is the one who bought the bright blue umbrella with the white polka-dots, on a whim, merely because she could, and while she remembers to bring it with her when she leaves the apartment, but tends to forget about its presence in her backpack when it actually does begin to rain. She’s not accustomed to little niceties such as an umbrella, not after spending the years before Dech, growing up in Akita with Jane, without them.

    So he’s the one to tug her to a stop when it does start to drizzle, to retrieve the (ridiculously, in his opinion) bright umbrella from her bag and then hold it over them. Jandy is pleasantly surprised each time but has no qualms with using it as an excuse to stick to him like a burr.

    They get a lot of smiles from elderly folks during these occurrences. 

    who is the grumpiest in the morning

    On a normal day, neither of them are too bad. Jandy is a slow-riser, but it doesn’t make her too grouchy. Bad days, however, are a different story altogether and picking the worse of the two is nigh impossible. 

    For Jandy, it’s when she’s had a cruddy several nights of sleep, filled with dreams about subjects she’d much rather avoid—Warren, his Dyad program, Jane—that she gets into a snit right when her eyes open. She slams doors and drawers, contemplates kicking her dresser, and seriously considers just breaking something, because she would rather take her heartbroken anger out on inanimate objects than on Dech.

    And Dech… Dech gets surly in the mornings when he’s stressed and isn’t sleeping because of it. He’s off beat and going up the wall with the strain of trying to figure out the problem. He isn’t as demonstrative in his mood as Jandy is, but heavens help anyone who crosses him on those mornings.

    They’re adjusted to living in each other’s heads, but that doesn’t mean it’s always easy. They’ve learned when to intervene on each other’s bad moods and when to slip out of the apartment for a few hours so they both can breathe.

    who worries more when the other is sick/hurt

    Seeing as Dechlan is the one who didn’t practically raise a younger sibling all on his own, this one falls on him. Jandy’s is well-versed in what counts as a serious illness and what doesn’t, and, as such, knows when it’s time to worry and start considering a trip to the hospital.

    His lack of experience means that Dech tends to hover when Jandy comes down sick, or during one of the admittedly multiple times she is injured in some way. Like she’ll slip through his fingers if he’s not careful.

    Jandy is much more relaxed about it. Sure, she’s concerned when Dechlan’s under the weather or laid up in some other fashion, but she’s been through this gamut before. She knows what to expect. And knows that, even if his forehead is burning hot beneath her hand or he’s moving like an old man after getting shot, as long as those things are happening, he’s not gone from her life.

    who plays pranks on the other

    Does this even need answering? Jandelyn Elsie Sparks, folks. Not a grand prankster, on any account, but every now and again, she’ll catch Dechlan off-guard with a simple trick that tends to make him stand there, blinking in surprise, while she cracks up following his train of thought. 

    And though you wouldn’t think it, Dech does, in fact, get his revenge for his mischief in quiet ways. Such as the quite unfortunate occurrences that all her shirts have to go in the laundry at the same time, or those times that he forgets that she doesn’t like a particular food product…. for three weeks in a row.

    who is always the first to suggest cuddling on the sofa

    It takes them both time to acclimate to each other physically, even after their minds are connected. Dech isn’t inclined towards touch and it’s been so long for Jandy, since before she lost Jane, and even then, she was working so much that there wasn’t a lot of extra time to spend curled up with her sis. 

    But after they do figure it out, get closer, adjust to each other, then things like napping on the couch together start happening. While Jandy is given to impulse hugging (and poking, and tickling, and hair “fixing”), it is Dechlan who enjoys coaxing her into the living room with him on a lazy Saturday afternoon when the sunlight is warm and they have nothing to do. She might put up a good show of considering his offer, but it never lasts, and she’s always the first to drop off, humming in contentment to have Dech near with his heartbeat under her ear.

    who insists on creating nicknames for the other

    Jandy, Jandy, Jandy. As you’d expect. She was the one who started off their unorthodox relationship by calling him “Soldier Boy” when she was annoyed or just felt like getting on his nerves. But he broke her of that habit pretty quick, along with a handful of other inclinations that he didn’t agree with. 

    So she’s settled into just “Dech” if she doesn’t feel like saying all the syllables of his name and he calls her Jandy, because she both doesn’t like her full name, and who on earth wants to say Jandelyn on a daily basis, and it works for both of them. 

    who drools on the other when they’re asleep

    This one’s on Jandy again. It doesn’t really bother her, once she’s comfortable with Dech, because, hey, she raised her sis and do you know how much kids tend to drool? But it still kind of weirds out Dechlan and he tends to lay there, nonplussed, as she wipes it off his shirt, sort of apologizing, but not really. Because what’s the problem? And then she starts laughing when his reaction sinks in and she realizes how unused he is to this. Then she calls him a big baby, and goes to get ready for the day.

    who says ‘I love you’ first

    Because this is Jandy Sparks and Dechlan Scott, and because they don’t tend to do things in an orthodox fashion, there is never an outstanding moment where one grabs the other and blurts out those three, life-changing words. There’s just never a need to. 

    They live in each other’s heads, are privy to each other’s most private thoughts and emotions, and thus they both know when their attachment to each other shifts from affection, to caring, to love. And they don’t need to say it because they are it.

    Even if they hadn’t been linked in the Dyad program, they know they wouldn’t have ever found someone else who complements and completes them like the other. The “I love you” just begins getting tacked on at the end of farewells in the morning, or at the end of a wandering thought that ends with a “I can’t believe how much I love him” or just in a quiet stare across the kitchen in the evening. Nothing momentous or memorable, particularly, just… them. 

    And that’s how it’ll always be.

    Sappy/cute/humorous enough? Yeah, I had fun. Goofing off and having to actually think about what they'd do under these circumstances. It's a lot of fun and fairly helpful in character development, if you're looking for easy ways to add some quirks to characters of yours who happen to be a relationship.

    And.... yeah! 

    Thanks for reading!

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties. 

Writing: Trinity's Prompt // stolen moments

    Well, hello there.

    Obviously, I did not get anything posted throughout November, but guess who finished NaNoWriMo for the first time. 

    If you guessed Siani, then you would be correct. 50,052 words got put towards Anomaly, Not Prodigy and I finished on the 29th, a day ahead of schedule. Despite the craziness that has become a part of my daily life. So that's pleasing to me.

    My family is now planted in South Carolina and will be for the next couple of months. Which is nice, because we get our own space again and will be able to keep warm through the coldest part of winter.

    And how did everyone's Thanksgiving's go? Hopefully you all made some good memories and ate way too much rich, fattening food, as the tradition goes. 

    At any rate. Trinity, would you look at this! I haven't given up on your prompt altogether. It's really quite an intriguing idea, I just need the brain power and will to put words towards it, as always.

    I did Jade this time, however, instead of Jandy and Dech. Not sure when this drabble falls into the storyline, but I'm going to go with before the mission to kill Sean and Lindsey. Because Jade would never risk a visit in the middle of an operation.

    And... yeah. The rest is self-explanatory. 

    Jade entered the quiet room on soundless footsteps, her hands already deep inside her pockets. Even though she’d been on edge since she’d gotten into the atmosphere, she prowled around the small space, checking for transmitters and receivers.

    Only once her examination was done did she let soft breaths draw her in.

    The crib of the past had been replaced by a toddler bed but Jade could no longer determine when the switch had been made. It’d been years and she’d visited so rarely. 

    Dark eyes fell on the golden-haired child, her gentle profile illuminated by patches of moonlight. Vivian hated the darkness, always wishing to sleep with her curtains open so she could see the stars and moon if she should happen to wake during the night.

    The irony never escaped the hunter. Vivian might’ve disdained the dark, but in the same turn she embraced one completely swallowed in a black unlike the child would ever know.

    Jade’s ruminations were interrupted when Vivian awoke with a start, bolting upright and sending loose curls into further disarray.

    Her green eyes searched the room, noticing after a delay the woman standing at her bedside, unmoving and silent.

    It didn’t surprise Jade when Vivian began to cry. So similar to Ruusan, even after years of separation from her mother. 

    Longstanding routine kept Vivi from being loud when she cried, “I didn’t think you were ever gonna come back.”

    Jaydn bent at the waist when the child held up her arms, tears still leaking from the corners of verdant eyes, and kept her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat. She would not draw them out until long after she had departed and left the innocence in this room behind.

    Years of practice had given them a routine that they were well-used to following. The small girl clung to Jade like a monkey, arms clamping around the hunter’s neck so that she cleared the gate at the side of her bed designed to keep her from falling out.

    Jade’s nose was filled with the gentle scent of laundered clothes and floral bath soap that came off of Vivian. It made her heart twinge with homesickness.

    Once reassured with Vivian’s hold around her neck, the woman straightened, easing upright and watching as Vivian wrapped her legs around her hips. She took a couple steps backwards and then settled the two of them on the floor, crossing her legs to create a place for the child to sit.

    Vivian’s little hands loosened from their grip on the back of her collar but then curled into the front of Jade’s shirt as her weight settled onto the woman’s lap. A quiet sniffle rose from her before the little girl buried her face in Jaydn’s chest.

    Bowing her head over Vivi, Jade breathed her in, eyes fluttering shut as she felt knots of tension begin to ease as they only did in these sheltered moments, so far from the bloodshed of the hunter’s day-to-day business.

    Vivian trembled against her, a hiccup escaping her. If she’d looked at her face, Jade knew the toddler would be nearing full-on waterworks again.

    A soundless exhale leaving her, Jade rested her cheek against her niece’s mussed curls, eyes still closed. It had been some time since her last visit, but she hadn’t felt it safe enough to come until just a handful of days ago. And security was everything, because if he caught wind of Jaydn’s attachment to this faultless, elfin child—

    “I want you to stay,” Vivian burst out before Jade’s razor sharp mind could envision an even blacker future. Clinging close, Vivi pressed her damp face closer to her aunt’s shirt, seeking comfort.

    Jade pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, amongst loose, golden curls. “I can’t.”

    A long sniff came from the five-year-old. “But I love you and it makes me sad when you’re gone.”

    “I know. But I cannot, Vivian.” Too long, she’d been striving to bury any hint of emotion. There was little trace of sentiment in her low, modulated tone as she sought to reassure Vivian.

    However, that she spoke at all seemed to be enough for the child who was so desperate for Jade’s consistent presence in her life. Even though a muted sob wracked Vivi’s small body, she gave a tremulous nod.

    “Because you’ve gotta rescue Momma, and Gramma, and Grampa, right?”

    Smooth, deadly hands curled into fists. There was no other external reaction. “Yes.”

    Dad and Ruusan. Vivian didn’t know about her grandmother yet and would not for a significant portion of time if Jade had any say in the matter.

    “But when you bring them home, you’ll stay?” Vivian pleaded, tilting her head back to look up at the hunter—killer—green eyes still watery. 

    Jade stared back, dispassionate even in the face of this whole-hearted, trusting emotion.

    This small child, who loved her so guilelessly, oblivious to the danger that every stolen moment brought to her. When Vivian’s lower lip, one half of her rosebud mouth, wobbled with her upset, Jaydn relented.

    “I will visit.” It was all she could offer. There was no telling what would happen when she was able to leave this nightmare behind and put it to rest. The blood staining her soul would be inescapable by then.

     Vivian nodded several times, reminiscent of a tourist’s bobble-head and then buried her face against Jade’s chest once more. “I love you, Aunt Jade. So, so much.”

    “…Aa,” the woman breathed, bending her neck to inhale the calming fragrance of flowers and a hint of Charle’s cologne from her niece’s hair. 

    This was the most she could offer—the most she would ever be able to offer. Moments in the dark, stolen meetings while the rest of the world slumbered.

    Anything else was too dangerous. She shouldn’t have been coming at all, but Vivian was the one thing she had been unable to give up. Everything else had been sacrificed—friends, attachments, choices, morals—but not Vivian.

    Sweet, little Vivian with her elfin visage and soft, gold curls. The only light twinkling in Jade’s black sky, not untouched, but as of yet untainted by evil.

    

    Puir, wee Vivi. I put her little heart through so much. But her Momma goes through way more than she does. Poor Ruu.

    At any rate, there were some allusions to the situation Jade finds herself in, and I can't remember if I explained it in a previous post, so allow me to expound.

    Some big, powerful evil baddie captured Novarr, Sarris, and Ruusan (somehow missing Vivian) back when Vivian was just a few months old, and used the three of them as leverage to get to Jade and use her for his own devices. She's made an effort to find them so she can rescue them, but it's slow going because if the darkness-shrouded he realizes what she's up to, he'll just kill one of them.

    Sarris didn't make it, though. Probably between Jade initially digging in her heels and Sarris' own resistance to be used as a pawn, Evil Puppetmaster knocked her off both to keep Jade in line and so he didn't have to deal with Sarris anymore. 

    Now I feel bad for Novarr, because last time Sarris died before him he just kind of faded and then died as well before too long. Very sad.

    Anyways. Charles, who some of you might recall as an informant friend of Jaydn's who originated in the Steampunk Storyline way back when, is now raising Vivian. They're holed up on some backwater planet under a pile of aliases and no doubt moving often to keep Evil Puppermaster off their scent, just in case.

    Jade visits occasionally, but it's dangerous.

    And, yeah. It's a mess. Woot woot. 

    I have no idea when I'll post next. My brain is quite burnt-out after NaNo and I'm attempting to give it a break before attempting any more serious writing, along with continuing on Anomaly, Not Prodigy. Because, of course, 50,000 words was only scratching the surface. ::sigh::

    Thoughts are welcome, as always. I hope you all are doing well and that life isn't too stressful as the Christmas holidays approach with concerning rapidity.

    Thank you for reading!

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties.

PSA + Writing: Anomaly, Not Prodigy

    Going for a record-breaking four posts in the span of just a couple weeks. Although this one isn't just more scribbles.

    I, against my better judgement and probable eventual mental breakdown, am aiming to attempt NaNoWriMo again this year. The project, as you might have assumed by my recent rash of posts, will be (retitled) Anomaly, Not Prodigy. How far I will get I have no idea, because there is a whole bunch of schoolwork I have to do as well.

    But, we shall see what occurs, ne?

    For those curious about following my progress, here's the link to my NaNo page for Anomaly, Not Prodigy, complete with synopsis and Novel Excerpt (that is liable to change). Seeing as NaNo starts tomorrow, the rest of my day is going to be world development cramming and whipping up a few more new characters and just generally attempting to have things as ready as possible.

    http://nanowrimo.org/participants/siani-delaney/novels/anomaly-not-prodigy

    Wish me luck.

    Now for the second portion of this post. I wanted to upload some more writing in case I don't get hardly anything up in November, although if I do manage to scrawl some decent stuff for Anomaly, Not Prodigy, you guys may get a sneak peek at what I hope becomes my next completed novel. (Fingers crossed so hard.)

    This bit is another from my 18 page, Jaz + Renner document that took up much of my attention last week. Spoiler alert but Jaz has just learned that the man who single-handedly trained her into the soldier that she is today, has been killed. His name is Min and she doesn't not take the news of his demise well. Ren is the one to intervene.

    To be on the safe side I'm going to give a slight content warning for brief, mild language (most edited out) and thematic elements. 

    And this scene is subject to change in the near or maybe somewhat far future. Since it's come to my attention that writing Jaz late at night means that she turns out kind of bipolar and since she's not... yeah. Anyways.

    Monsoon season. 

    Never ending rain.

    Always soaked through. Perpetual squishing in her boots.

    Four laps around the path, splashing through puddles, lungs burning.

    Drop at the start line. Thirty push-ups. Back on her feet.

    Run. Fast lap, slow lap. Easy run to a full-out sprint.

    It was late afternoon but it looked like dusk with the heavy cloud cover.

    Rainwater dripped into her eyes, caused her hair to cling to her face, her neck. Jaz flicked strands of auburn back, feeling her tied up hair swing to and fro with her movement.

    Her everything was on fire but she was numb. 

    Not him, not him, not him, not him. The rhythm matched the tempo of her feet as she fled an invisible foe.

    She took the curve too fast, her tennis shoes finding a water-slicked spot and then she was unbalanced, sliding across the spongy surface. Jaz went down hard, wrenching her knee to the side and then gasping in pain when her shoulder and head impacted with almost as much force.

    The rain didn’t slow. Lungs heaving for breath to deal with the pain, Jasmine curled in on herself. Get up. We’re not done yet.

    Roll onto stomach. Shove upwards. Get your good leg under you. Shake it off. Keep going.

    Her knee buckled. Jaz almost went down again, but compensated, panting for breath as she doubled over, hands on her thighs. 

    Jade-green eyes squeezed shut to keep water from streaming in. 

    This wasn’t happened. This hadn’t happened. He would still be there. She’d walk in the bar and he’d wave her over and ask about her missions. His dark eyes would reserve judgment until she’d filled him in and then he’d nod and say “you’re doing well” or “good work” or—or—

    Jaz start a stumbling run again, pain ricocheting through her leg and she didn’t care. She didn’t care. She didn’t care.

    “The Chief Commander agreed that, in the absence of your teammates, one-on-one training would be beneficial to your improvement.”

    “Flicker. As far as you can. Go.”

    “Again.”

    “Again.”

    “Stop. Sleep. We’ll do more tomorrow.”

    “Take the target. I will be here.”

    “You’ve gotten stronger. Go farther.”

    “You’re late. Don’t let it happen again.”

    “You want to be an elite—act like it.”

    “Again.”

    “Use your instincts. Don’t think. React. Come again.”

    “You think you’re that good? Prove it.”

    “Again.”

    “Remain conscious. Losing awareness now will ensure your death and that would be troublesome to me.”

    “How many times have I told you? Pay attention. You want to be the best, then you learn how to protect yourself so you don’t burden your teammates.”

    “Again.”

    “Tell me about your teammates.”

    “Again.”

    “Tell me about your family.”

    “Again.”

    “You have come very far, Jasmine. Good work.”

    She dropped, catching herself with her hands and bent toes inside her shoes. Down. Up. Down. Up. Hard shove off, hand clap, down. Up. Down. Up. Hand behind back, other centered beneath her. Down. Up. Down. Up.

    It’d been last week. He’d caught her in the hall of headquarters last week, curious about her schedule.

    “Sorry, sensei. I’m slated to head out for an investigation at the south border tonight, but I’ll be back in five days and I’ll find you at the Tipping Point so we can catch up.”

    “Very well. Be careful.”

    Idiot. Idiot. Telling her to be careful when she was doing a routine inspection and then—

    Jaz held herself on the up of her push-up, jaw clenched against the way her arms were turning to jelly, trembling from the strain she was putting them under.

    Dead. Dead. Dead, dead, dead.

    Dead like Mio. Dead like Levi. Cold. Stiff. Lifeless. Dead.

    Jaz struggled to get back on her feet. Her knee would be in no condition for anything in a few hours and she didn’t care. She’d been confined to the city-state until further notice anyways. 

    Blast Whitecourt.

    The joint was already stiffening. It protested when the soldier started to run again, breaths coming in jagged gasps, from physical pain, from devastation, from exhaustion, from defeat, from despair.

    Jade-green eyes blinked to keep the pouring rain from blinding her. First curve, straight stretch. 

    She wouldn’t cry. Didn’t know how she could—not after Mio and Levi.

    Why bother. Why bother. What’s the point, if they all die?

    I hate you, Min. I hate you. I hate you. You weren’t supposed to leave. You were more of a dad than anybody else has ever been to me in this city. You saw me for my potential, not for my roots. 

   Second curve, straight stretch, headed back towards the start line. Three more laps. A form in one of their black uniforms, face a pale splotch through the inclement weather, waiting for her.

    Jaz continued her limping run, drawing in a lungful of air through her nose, letting it out through her lips, trying to stem off the stitch forming in her side. 

    It was Renner. Always Renner. Aristocratic features drawn, hands in his pockets.

    “What.” She went down to do her push-ups, arms almost buckling. If she couldn’t run, she’d do this instead.

    “I just got back. Whitecourt told me.” His boots scuffed across the spongy track and he crouched down at her side.

    Jaz didn’t spare him a glance, gaze trained on the ground. Up. Down. Up. Down. Don’t stop. Can’t stop. Don’t stop. Can’t stop. Down. Up. Down.

    “Stop.” There was that voice again, the one that meant Ren wasn’t kidding around. “Jasmine, stop.”

    It went ignored. “What do you want, Mason?” She knew the reversion to his last name would throw him and that would buy her time to finish and get back up to run. Renner was predictable, to her. 

    Ren broke her expectations, this time. There was an irritated huff, then Jaz watched him stand up in her peripherals, and was caught unawares when a heavy boot was planted between her shoulder blades.

    Jaz tried to lock up in time to keep from collapsing, but was too off guard, her senses too dulled by exhaustion and grief to react in time. Ren applied pressure and she buckled, her arms giving out and she hit the ground—again.

    Her earlier impacted shoulder complained against the rough handling.

    Turning her head so she wouldn’t drown, Jaz heaved for air before making to get up again. 

    Ren shoved her back down, merciless. 

    “Get off my blasted case, Mason,” she spat between pants, using her able arm to shove herself away from Renner’s foot and onto her back. 

    Not her brightest idea. Raindrops splattered against her exposed face, blinding in their intensity. Respite came in the shape of Renner Mason leaning over her, his jaw set.

    “No. Get up. You’re going home.” Hard. Unflinching. Adamant.

    “I’m not done.” Sparked temper, unhidden anger.

    “The hell you are. Get on your feet, O’Haire. That’s an order.” Ren reached down to grab her by the collar of her jacket, reminiscent and yet not of a reversed situation years ago, and pulled her up.

    Jaz’s body refused to fight anymore, and all she could manage was to latch onto his wrists, her head lolling backwards at the sudden change in position. Ren dragged her closer, she tried to backpedal, and he just tugged her back again. 

   “Stop. Fighting.” He clipped off the words, dark eyes narrowed. Dangerous. Not someone to cross.

    She couldn’t have been accused of being that smart. “You don’t know anything, Mason. Now get your hands off me.”

    “No. Because the moment I do is the moment you go back trying to kill yourself.”

    Pain burned through her but Jaz only let it fuel the fire. “Did you ever think that maybe right here is where I need to be, Mason? That this is how I deal?”

    “Only those with no one left deal this way. You are not alone.” A small shake punctuated Ren’s heavy tone, as if he were attempting to shake his version of sense into her. 

    Now it wasn’t just pain kindling embers in her chest, but her eyes smarted. “Don’t talk to me about loss, Mason.”

    Thin lips let out a hissing breath and Ren’s fingers tightened further in her jacket. “Listen to yourself, Jasmine. This is not you.”

    “Maybe this is me, you’ve just been too oblivious to notice it in all your fascination with the runt of the pack,” Jaz sneered, bitter, lashing out in the only way she had left. “The little mongrel that Daddy said you weren’t allowed to play with. Ever think of that with that genius brain of yours? Maybe you didn’t care because why should you? The daughter of the drunk and the whore, the only one to not put you on a pedestal.”

    Stop. Stop talking. Stop.

    Ren slapped her.

    The air left her lungs at the blow, head turned from the low force of it. She swallowed, then found her face brought back around by cold fingers grasping her chin. Jade-green eyes flickered upwards.

    “If you,” the temperature felt like it dropped when Renner posed the words to her, deadly calm and his eyes frigid. “Dare to insinuate that you are only a fascination to me again, you will find yourself alone, Jasmine O’Haire.”

    That killed any remnant of fight left in her. Jaz felt like a cork had been pulled and now her every wayward emotion was emptying from her with a speed that made her already shaky legs impossible to stand on.

    Renner’s hold on her jacket was released as he grabbed her upper arms, keeping her upright. The ice had disappeared—that was a scare tactic she did not need to see from him again anytime soon—and her longtime friend was there to support her.

    “You need to go home,” Ren murmured, helping her regain her feet. 

    Jaz nodded, tremulous, deflated, ready to drop again at a moment’s notice, and clung to his arms, needing the grounding effect just feeling him there brought.

    Not gone. 

    Not yet.

    “You can’t go anywhere.” Jaz lifted her head to plead with him, jade-green eyes shadowed in her grief. “You can’t go anywhere, Ren. I can’t—not again. Not anymore than this.”

    Ren pushed back one response, then shook his head. “I will do the best I can.”

    And that was it. She knew that would be all he would give her, because they both knew what their line of work meant, how dangerous it was.

    How many losses there were, even in times of peace.

    “I will carry you. You are not strong enough to flicker and you’ve injured your knee.” The business-like tone was chosen to draw her from her thoughts, distract her.

    Jaz wanted to kick up a fuss. The retorts were there, ready to be used, but she couldn’t get her brain to connect to her tongue. So she just sagged in Renner’s supportive grip, awaiting whatever decisions he came to.

    Just like he had done with her, when his own grief had propelled him to her door.

    Rain continued to pour down around them. Fitting, considering, but she wished it would stop. 

    Maybe if the sky would stop crying, then she could do so instead.

    I ended up liking this scrawl quite a lot, myself, although I mentioned Ren's rough handling to my sister and she did that disapproving brow pinch and said that there had to be a more chivalrous way for him to handle the situation.

   Unfortunately for her, chivalrous and gentlemanly is one of the first things on the list of "This Will Not Work When it Comes to Jasmine O'Haire". Even more so when she's in this state of mind. 

    At any rate, this will be October's last post, and I do hope to see you all in November, to update you on my NaNo progress if nothing else. 

    Thank you for reading! 

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: Abnormality, Not Prodigy + Introducing Ren

    I guess this project is going to remain "Abnormality, Not Prodigy" for the next while, until another stroke of (hopefully better) genius strikes me. Suggestions are always welcome, if you happen upon an easier variation that doesn't clog up the mouth so much.

    So, a short post, just as a heads-up. I created a new character to weave into Jasmine "Jaz" O'Haire's story. And I love him to pieces. Because he's amazing and turned out to be just what Jaz needed if she were ever to settle down. Which she does, spoiler alert. 

    This scrawl is liable to change in the future as I work out the kinks in the timeline and Jaz's reactions to certain changes in her life. And if I probably didn't make it clear, this is Renner and Jaz's first meeting.

    In a hospital, of course.


    Jaz was quiet—displeased, unhappy, sulky—as the orderly wheeled her into her new hospital room. Seventy-hours in intensive care had gotten her to a point where they were comfortable with moving her to a regular room. 
    She was mad. Mad she’d let that guy close, mad she hadn’t realized the knife had been laced with poison, mad her team had had to carry her sick, feverish body back to Busan, where she’d been promptly admitted to a sterile prison and chained to one bed or another by her own weakness.
    It took her a minute to realize that the other bed in the room—the one nearer the window that was letting streams of bright sunshine in to paint the floor and brush the walls—was occupied. But there was no time to study her new roomie because her wheelchair came to a halt beside her newest cage. 
    “Alright, up we get,” the orderly was a middle-aged man, who, while pleasant, took way too much satisfaction from doing his job. He slid his arms under hers and used the positioning to hoist her up onto her feet, cautious of the IV taped to the skin of her forearm.
    Jaz could do very little to even help keep her upright. The poison had been fast acting and merciless. It’d ravaged through her and the doctor had said that she was lucky that she’d gotten to them when she had. Having to throw her own strength into flickering home had only sped the toxin’s effects.
    He maneuvered the wheelchair out of the way with one foot, bracing his arm around her back to support her while flipping the covers back. Jasmine sagged back against him, face burning with shame at being unable to do something so simple as stand. The final humiliating blow was when he scooped her up—bridal style—to deposit her with care amongst the starched sheets.
    It was mortifying, she was mortified, and knew it would show, which made nothing about her situation easier to handle. 
    Orderly Matt just smiled, pulled the blankets up to her collarbone, and went about connecting her to the heart-rate monitor. The IV bag was transferred from the rod on the wheelchair to a wheeled stand beside the monitoring devices, the appropriate cords being shifted and plugged in.
    The young soldier sat in stiff silence until he finished, jade eyes fixed on a spot on the opposing wall.
    “The doctor will be by to check on you later.” Was his closing remark as he left, taking the wheelchair with him and making sure to close the door behind himself.
    Jaz lifted a shaking hand to drag it over her face, struggling to sit up. They’d been gone two months and she’d already almost gotten herself killed trying to prove herself to her new team, despite her placement with them only being temporary. Her anger caved in to exhaustion, loneliness welling up in its wake.
     The tube for her IV drip dragged across the folds in her covers as she wrapped her arms around her legs and leaned her forehead into her knees, tremors whispering through her body, mocking her weakness. 
     She was stronger than this, she knew she was. She’d made it so far without them and she was going to do it again. Becoming special forces was something she had decided to do, something that she would have to do on her own strength. 
    Zack and Dan not only had potential, but a pedigree to match. They had been chosen to receive special training because of it. 
    Jaz wasn’t special, she didn’t have the same blue blood as most, but she would become the best that she could be. It would just take a bit more time and determination for her.
    Lifting her head with a steadying breath, Jasmine blinked the slight moisture from her eyes. And glanced towards the window. And startled to find a gaze trained on her profile. Then Jaz felt like hitting herself upside the head for forgetting about her roomie.
    It only took her a moment to sort through who he was, jade eyes taking in unkempt black hair and equally dark eyes before placing him in her memories. Two years ahead of her class, from a very wealthy and very old family, known for being well ahead of his own age group. Renner Mason, in all his… pale, pained, somewhat pathetic glory.
    “Wow.” First word in her head, not necessarily her first choice of things to actually say. 
    Her roomie’s expressionless visage shifted into a frown.
    Jaz blinked, then shrugged. “Sorry. I’m surprised they put commoners with the nobility. I might give you poverty, you know.” She said poverty as a seven-year-old might say “cooties” and took some pleasure out of the line that appeared between his brows.
    Because flummoxing one of Busan’s top minds could only be a bright spot in her day. Maybe even her week, considering how said week had been going for her thus far.
    “…Busan General does not discriminate based on monetary status.” Renner was still frowning—at her, no less—as if he had no idea what she was talking about.
    Jaz snorted. “Keep telling yourself that, Captain Mason.”
    He blinked, but didn’t ask how she knew his name. Jaz suspected he got it a lot, as accomplished a soldier as he was.
    “We haven’t met.” Statement, not a question.
    Guessing that perks like sharp memory came with being a smart person, the woman shrugged. “Nope. My class was two years behind yours.”
    “Aa.”
    “Yup.”
    Silence.
    Jaz fought her grin as long as she could, then turned her head to lay it on her arms so she could watch him and not have to expend energy at the same time. “Tyro O’Haire, sir.”
    One brow rose, but dark eyes didn’t flick towards her this time. “It’s a pleasure.” Bland, bored, whatever emotion was the farthest from pleased.
    It wasn’t silent treatment, which was a good start. Though she did have experience with his type. Zach was a watered down version of Renner Mason and his big, bad, silent guy routine. Or, had been. Who knew what having pure, uninterrupted exposure to Dan for five years would do to him.
    Snorting to herself, jade-green eyes wandered around the plain hospital room. There was a cluster of blooming flowers in a glass vase next to Mason’s bed, on the far side from her. She wondered who’d brought them then settled her gaze on the sunlight that was creeping onto the foot of her bed.
    A catnap sounded very appealing all of a sudden.
   Reaching behind her with care, Jaz snagged her pillow and tossed it to the opposite end of her bed before crawling over to lay down on her back. She preferred sleeping on her side, but there was no lesser evil to turn her back to right at the moment. Renner Mason and the large windows to her right, the door into the room on her left. 
    So she chose the middle ground, where she could see both directions in her peripherals, and let her exhausted body relax in preparation for sleep.
    Renner was noiseless on his side of the room and between the quiet and the warmth of the sunbeams caressing her skin, Jasmine slipped into unconsciousness in minutes.


    At this point and for the next while, the best way to characterize their relationship is to say that Jasmine flummoxes Renner. In a good way. She's just very far removed from the society and standards that he grew up with.

    New Terminology Note: Jaz introduces herself as "Tyro O'Haire". Tyro is defined as "a person who has just started beginning or doing something: a beginner or novice" (Merriam-Webster Dictionary). I have described Jaz as a soldier, but didn't want to adhere to the traditional ranking system. Thus, the terms Tyro, Elite, Primary Elite, Captain, Commander, and Chief Commander have been added to this story world to describe different ranks in Busan's Special Forces. Don't worry, I'll go into it in depth again at another point down the road. 

    Why no, I didn't just come up with half of those ranks right this minute, why do you ask?

    At any rate, let me know what you think, yeah? I ended up quite liking Ren as a character, even if he is less than a week old. He's a refreshing new face to add to the renovated versions of all the other characters and is a challenge to figure out how to write to boot. Again, in a good way.

    This bit, if you're curious, takes place just a few months after Zach and Dan leave Busan to receive specialized training, the details to which I will expound upon at a later date. As a result, Jasmine is set adrift in the ranks, having no team to continue training with. She gets bounced around from team to team for a while until a month or two after this scribble, at which point she gets picked up by a Primary Elite by the name of Min who becomes her one-on-one teacher for a rather grueling nine-some months.

    But that's another chapter in Jaz's life. 

    Three posts though! This is a record-breaking streak for this year and I am rather heartily pleased with myself, if I do say so myself.

    Hope all is faring well for you guys. Don't forget that I don't bite (too hard) and that comments or critiques are always welcome.

    Ad astra per aspera.
    To the stars through difficulties.

Writing: Trinity's Prompt // motionless

    Alright, now the apocalypse can begin, because not only two posts in one month, but two posts in one day.

    It does help that I have some built up writing, but still. Keep an eye on what occurs outside your window today, just in case.

    As the title might suggest, this is more for Trinity's prompt from forever and a day ago, where Jandy and Dechlan are bodyguards for Lindsey and Sean, who are being hunted by Jade and Jase. It is, predictably, a bit of a skip from my last (and only other) post for this prompt.

    The idea for the events preceding this scrawl occurred to me, and then the actual motivation to write came when I considered the aftermath. As usual.

    It's going to be a bit confusing, but Dech helps clear things up near the end, so bear with me.


    He was there, Jandy could feel him, feel every fiery hot emotion burning in him, through him, through them, but she couldn’t reach back. Couldn’t find him. Didn’t know where he was.
    Wrong. This was wrong. Something was wrong.
    There was fog everywhere, filling her mind, causing her thoughts to mire, helplessness rising when she was unable to touch Dechlan and calm his chaotic thoughts.
    Even her body was unresponsive to her wishes. Her fingers wouldn’t twitch and her eyes wouldn’t open. If there hadn’t been a tube down her throat helping her to breathe, Jandy thought her heart may have just stopped beating.
    It felt like she was suffocating and she couldn’t lift a hand to do anything about it. Pleasepleasepleaseplease—she felt like panicking in a way that she hadn’t in years. Not since Jane.
    “Hey, it’s alright,” Dechlan’s voice reached her, but it was as if through a window. Muffled, fuzzy, muted.
    Jandy didn’t know when he’d approached. Had he been there the whole time? Why wouldn’t her eyes open?
    There was a gentle caress across her forehead, fingers sifting through her hair. She felt the brush of blunt fingernails on her scalp. “Calm down. It’s alright. You’re okay.” Unchanging, soothing, quiet.
    She didn’t want to listen but she did, drawing her consciousness together to focus on Dechlan, his touch, the contrast of his racing thoughts to his calm presence, the safety just knowing he was close brought.
    “I’m right here, Jandy. You’re not alone.” There as a slight pressure against her brow, momentary and mystifying. “The doctors gave you a paralytic. You can’t move until you’re on the mend.”
    Mend from what? Panic rushed back in almost as quickly as it had fled. Choking, consuming, asphyxiating. There was nothing. Nothing in her memories. Nothing, nothing, nothing—
    “Jandy.” Dechlan didn’t shout—he never did, not at her—but the force behind her name was impossible to ignore.
    She struggled to breathe with the ventilator, her racing heart wanting faster lungful’s of air that she couldn’t draw in on her own.
    “Don’t fight it. Just breathe. Okay? Breathe. You’re alright. I’m right here.” Dechlan’s voice was low and even, and Jandy could feel the tips of his fingers sifting through her hair in a repeating but calming path.
    It was hard to dismiss the way his thoughts seemed to batter against the bubble, unruly and anarchic. There was too much fog to make out what was upsetting him. Too much fog. She couldn’t reach him. 
    “It’s the painkillers, Jandy. It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong. You’re going to be fine.”
    Jandy would’ve gotten mad at him if she’d had more presence of mind. Nothing was wrong, her drugged and immobile backside. She felt adrift on a choppy ocean, with no sail and no paddle, knowing where she needed to go but having no way to get there. It was maddening and exhausting and she just wanted to move. 
    “You can’t, Jandy. Okay? You can’t. The doctor said if you move too much at this point there’s—there’s nothing he’ll be able to do to save you a second time.” Emotion crushed his words, causing jaggedness like she’d never felt from him before.
    Helplessness choked her. He need her, her partner needed her, her Dechlan needed her. 
    Compared to some of the feats—a few of bravery, most of stupidity—that she’d accomplished in her time, breaking through the hold of the painkillers on her mind wasn’t difficult once she gathered herself and shoved. 
    Her senses were still dulled, sounds distant and movement impossible and her vision dark, but the clarity that washed through Jandelyn’s mind helped compensate. Dechlan was suddenly very there, and the return of the usual precision and transparency of their bond flooded her with relief.
    The reason for his wayward emotions, usually so under control, became painful in its clearness.
    Jandy’s blood was still on his shirt. In his hair. Under his nails. 
    The memories that had eluded her in her drugged state came back… from Dechlan’s eyes. The impenetrable glass that wouldn’t cave under a heavy blow from his booted foot. The chaos of the fleeing hotel guests. That alarm, every wail sending fresh waves of hysteria. 
    Her, slumped against a wall, blood seeping from an innocuously small wound to her chest. Too close to her heart. Staining her white button-up red.
    A dark head of hair bent over her, a hand grasping her chin, forcing her head towards him, but not stemming the flow of her life-force. Culprit. 
    Desperation. Uselessness. Rage. He was on the outside, but he was the one who was trapped.
    Finally getting back inside. The offender having disappeared. Easing her into his arms, one hand clamping down over the bullet hole. Lack of any response from her. Shouting for an ambulance to be called now.
    Stay, stay, stay.
    Don’t go anywhere.
    Blast it all, Jandy.
    Jandy didn’t realize she was crying until Dechlan’s touch against her cheek brought her out of his memories. He smoothed away the moisture, lingering. She could feel his exhaustion now. The staggering relief. A lingering desire to hunt down whoever had done this.
    Wishing she could do more, she soothed her partner’s mind with her own, seeking relief for him through the reassurance that she was alive. 
    I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got too much to live for.

    Mwuahaha. Ha. Ha. 

    I am so sorry.

    Yeah, so, Jandelyn got shot with some futuristic, high-tech sniper round that tore her up pretty good. We can thank Jade for that, and then, if it wasn't clear, Jase was the one who approached her. I think he was questioning her, but I'm waiting for Jandy to get her and her partner's sensibilities back and remember what happened.

    There's your dose of daily drama, hope you enjoyed it!

    Off to either work on math or sort through other recent-ish writing projects. We'll see.

    Thank you for reading!

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: Abnormality, Not Prodigy

    I feel rather pleased with myself at the moment. I added a whole new tag to my tagging system on my blog.

    Sad, right?

    Here I am, though, with the obligatory once-a-month post. I was hoping this was the second one this month and was going to make vague allusions to the possible end of the world because there were two blog posts in one month, and then realized this was the first. So. Never mind with that.

    As for the title, the kinks are still getting worked out. That was the first thing that popped into my head when I sat down and scrawled down five pages one evening for Jaz.

    Yes, we're going back to Jaz. But this time, back to the beginning. 

    Truth be told, I am really pleased with all the background development that occurred during the course of writing these segments earlier this month. It's a bit more summary than I usually write, because I was aiming for quantity and not detail. 

    Before we begin, I would like to note a content warning for somewhat mature themes. Nothing too major, but it's better safe than sorry, ne? Also, this is just a portion of what I wrote, because I didn't want to leave it as a total cliffhanger. Not that it was the worst one I've pulled, but still. I'll see how this goes over then post more.

    Let's go, then, and you can leave your confused questions in the comments afterwards, as my brain is rather scattered today.


    She wasn’t yet thirteen when the yearly trials rolled around. She didn’t know if she had a snowball’s chance of making it past even the preliminary round, lacking not only the gender, but the pedigree and public face that usually came with those who made it into the final fifty candidates. 
    Jasmine had to push her hung-over and malnourished father out of bed and from there to the bathroom. She hadn’t explained it to him. She wasn’t planning on it. All that was needed was his presence and his name, and if she got him sobered up enough, then he would be able to provide both. 
    This was her only chance. If she couldn’t get through this and make something of herself, then she may as well just give up and follow in either of her parents’ footsteps right now, because there would be no other options. She had more street smarts than book schooling and that lack meant that she would never receive a penny of financial aid to continue her schooling. She could work for the money, but the positions available to her would mean working for years—maybe even a decade—just to scrape up enough for the first few years of higher education.
    Plus, the entity that was the elite force of highly trained soldiers that protected their city-state of Busan had been her hero since she’d been small. Well, smaller. She wasn’t much more to look at at almost-thirteen than she’d been at seven. 
    The trials were a big thing for Busan—probably were no matter what city-state one was in. The streets that she’d grown up running through were alive with activity, festooned with banners and flags. Anyone who had a uniform was wearing it, and everyone else was dressed up to the nines for the occasion.
    Jaz got her uncooperative auburn hair up in a high pony-tail, made sure there was no dirt on her face or hands, and tugged on a too-large shirt and cropped off pants that she’d been saving for this day alone. They weren’t new, but they were clean, and that was what mattered right now. 
    Her stomach, empty since early yesterday evening, churned despite that fact. She’d only been able to manage water, her nerves were so bad. This wasn’t done. What she was attempting didn’t happen. It wasn’t a case of “no one in history” but it was still going to be difficult for her to even get a foot in the door. Busan’s societal rings were far more lax than other city-states, but there were tendencies and prejudices not easily overcome, and considering how many candidates would come from families with innate abilities going back centuries… Jasmine O’Haire, daughter of a drunk and a prostitute, had her work cut out for her. 

//

    Jaz hurried along at her father’s side, having to pull him along by the arm while trying to keep his attention long enough to tutor him in what she needed him to do. Get them in the front door, present the official documents held tightly in her free hand, put his name and hers down on the dotted line, and then let her do the rest. The cold flask in her back pocket, hidden beneath the long hem of her black shirt, was his incentive. 
    Nobody paid them much attention as they wound their way through the gathering crowds early that morning, following the path that Jaz had stalked out four or five times over the past three days. Only a third of the masses of people would end up in the actual audience for the physical portion of the evaluation later in the day. Most were just taking the opportunity to escape work for a day and celebrate with their friends. 
    When they neared the testing building outside the city walls along with a small trickle of other people, Jaz steered them right. Candidates had an alternate entrance than those who were coming to watch. Now they got some looks. Her father’s halting stagger combined with her significantly less decorously attired appearance made them stand out.
     Jaz just held her chin a bit higher and made sure to straighten her back. She had a right to be here, just as much as any of these other candidates. She had not only the capability, but the desire to perform and perform well today.
    Maybe not as well as everybody else was going to, but they had a leg-up in that their families would’ve been grooming them for it since a young age. Jaz had had only herself and the offhand comment of a black-ops captain to push her to try and manifest an ability she could feel in the pit of her stomach, the tips of her fingers.
    There was a strength inside of her, one that Jaz had never dreamed she’d have, and she was determined to unlock it, even if she had to go head-to-head with every privileged and gifted kid her age. 

    The academics were the difficult part. 
    After making it through the initial identity check and verification, whereupon she had found a side door to let her father out after slapping the alcohol into his hand, it was onto the educational examination. But because her nerves had gotten her out the door so early, Jaz found herself ushered into an empty classroom, instructed to sit at any desk she wanted, and was left alone. 
    Over the following hour and a half and a twenty minute nap at the beginning, other candidates trickled in. Jasmine had taken a seat next to the far wall, two rows from the end. The rest of the examinees—mostly boys who eyed her with either curiosity, disdain, or disinterest—filled in the rest of the space. 
    Jaz knew that the volume of these trials meant there were likely to be three or four other classrooms just like this one that would be filled to capacity. 
    Almost two hours after her initial arrival, one man and one woman entered the room, he carrying a stack of folders and she with a clipboard under her arm. The conversations that had been carrying on ceased in seconds as everyone became aware of the two proctors.
    It took work for Jaz to keep from shrinking in her seat. She knew she stood out like a sore thumb. She wore her poverty as those around her wore their fortune. No doubt, all their mothers had spent hours fussing that morning, combing hair, fixing pants, cleaning off that last vestige of breakfast.
    Jaz had no mother to do that for her and felt the loss badly as the expressionless adults surveyed the classroom. The girl could’ve sworn that the graying woman’s gaze rested on her for a beat longer than it did the boy ahead of her or behind her. 
    The instructions were simple. They would all get a folder, and they had exactly fifty minutes to answer, solve, and fill out the contents. Those caught cheating would be escorted out immediately. There was to be no conversing, no movement, until the time was called. Then pens were to be dropped and their papers returned to the folders to be retrieved by the proctors.
    Jaz wondered what happened if you threw up on the floor while the uniform-clad male started to walk through the rows and place a single gray folder on each desk followed by an equally non-descript pen.
    The proctors then each took a seat at the head of the class and the woman just said, “Begin.”
    Then the mad scramble to survey the contents of the files began and the race was on.
    Every day of missed schooling weighed more heavily on Jasmine’s shoulders in those fifty minutes than she’d ever known them to. There was so much she didn’t know, so much she could only guess at an answer for. The study help that the little old man on the corner had given her when she’d whispered in his ears that she was going to enter the trial was the only thing that kept her from drowning. Those long afternoons crouched in his alley, writing in the dirt, on the walls, came back to her and Jaz tried to recreate those moments as she wrote. Removing herself from the tension in the room was the only way to manage a clear thought.
    All too soon, the woman called, “Finish.”
    Jaz dropped her pen on the edge of her desk and watched it clatter to the floor. Relieved to have it so far out of reach and thus temptation, she shuffled her papers into her folder, closed it, and then held it in her once more sweaty palms to be picked up by the male proctor. 
    After their written tests were received and transported from the room, another, younger woman came into the room and proceeded with an oral exam. Jaz hadn’t been expecting that and had to endure snorts and titters when she stumbled over her words. 
    Her face burned when she was allowed to sit down again and she had to remind herself why she was there. 
    If she wanted to make something, someone of herself, this was it. This was her chance. If she didn’t succeed here and now, she might not be past the age-range next year, but her spirit would be broken. She wouldn’t be able to make herself endure this a second time. 
    An image of her mother’s heavy make-up and her father’s drunken haze flashed before her eyes. Jasmine sat up straighter. Forced herself to look straight ahead. She was not them. She would not be them. 
    She couldn’t be them. 
    That weakness wasn’t in her and Jaz refused to let herself fall prey to the idea that it was.
    It went better, after she built up her own courage again. 
    The following lunch hour proved a curious experience. She got the sense that it was another test, and remained wary of what was going on around her, while many of the other candidates got caught up exchanging remarks with each other about the trials thus far. 
    Jaz did have the slight advantage of her stomach still being too knotted to eat much anyways, ending up munching on the end of a loaf of bread and taking in a glass of water. This left her time to watch the comings and goings of the proctors. She watched the two that had led her class’ written examination, keeping an eye on their whereabouts. No one she’d talked to had had quite an idea of what happened in here and so she wanted to be prepared for anything. 
    If it was a test, they were never let in on it. They continued to physical examinations after that, filing through a small office for a ten minute session with an experienced doctor in groups of twenty. Jaz found that, while she was quickly learning the faces of the proctors that were in constant attendance, the appearances of her fellow examinees was lost almost as soon as she caught sight of them. There were too many, too similar, in her opinion.
    The majority was mentally filed away in the same folder anyways. Rich, proud, talented.
    Which Jaz didn’t really hold it against them, it did set them apart. 
    No one tried to address her directly, but there were whispers about who she might be, where she was from, that she ignored. Jaz did try to keep track of how many other girls there were, and was disheartened to only count five others among the countless candidates. They took only a cursory interest in her in return. 
    The physical capability was the next portion and at least this Jasmine felt good about. She’d spent her entire childhood running, hiding, ducking, and climbing, for fun, to escape trouble, or just to flee. The reason didn’t matter. It just meant that maybe she’d get a slight advantage over her blue-blood compatriots because she had real-life application of skills they had—hopefully—only groomed in controlled training sessions.
    There was no rule against preparing for the trials if you were planning on entering. Strength was gained over time and foresight was a valuable tool. Those who were weak of mind and body would wash-out eventually, one way or another.
    Jaz kept to the back of the groups she found herself in, remained watchful of everything that happened around her. There was a distant awareness of growing sound that echoed through the cavernous rooms she found herself in. 
    They were all gathered at what must’ve been the halfway point, just before the physical trials began. The names called were to stand and move towards a nearby door, where they would be escorted out to their waiting parents and guardians. If you were called, you hadn’t made the cut. 
    Jasmine sat with her fingers clenched together, knowing the starting letter of her surname would mean she was going to have to wait to know whether or not she continued into the half of the trials.
    The air was tense, strained, as one name after another was called. It felt like they were going to dismiss everyone, so many stood up, though in reality, it probably wasn’t very many. The real cuts would occur after the next portion of testing, where they decided whether or not you had enough raw talent to be worth the time.
    Jaz had almost gnawed through her lower lip when the final name was called and she’d made it through to the next phase. The urge to shout in relief was easy to curb, because she knew that it just got harder from here.
    Taking in a shaky breath, she kept focused on the proctor standing on the platform at the head of the room, waiting for their next directive. 


    Little Jaz is just... adorably earnest. So different from the confident woman we see she grows into.

    It was impossible to miss, but I did incorporate a new aspect into the story world as a whole. The "flicker" technique that Jaz is more than a little excited to realize she possesses is similar to a watered-down form of teleportation. Less spontaneous disappearing and reappearing and more instantaneous opening of a passageway through space that they "step" through and come out on the other side in a different spot than before. It creates the illusion of teleportation, but flickering requires more bodily movement.

    As you could tell, it is also not an easy technique to master. Jaz, being our spunky heroine, possesses some innate talent for flickering, but others were barely able to flicker a few feet, and some not at all. It takes a chunk of stamina to flicker and it requires consistent, aggressive training to keep the ability in "good working order", for lack of better terminology.

    To give a brief explanation of the title, if you haven't guessed it already, Jaz is going to learn quite quickly that, despite her before-stated innate ability to flicker, she is not a prodigy. She is not going to get special treatment--not in the good way, at any rate. She is an abnormality, coming from the gutters and making it through the trials. A variable in the statistics, a blip on the radar. Thus, an abnormality, not a prodigy. Anomaly, not a genius.

    So yes. I haven't come back to this cycle through Jaz's childhood quite yet, but I look forward to doing so because she meets some pretty awesome people on her path through life. Mostly her mentor dude, who is... fantastic, but you get the idea.

    Her love life is still something of a gray area, though. Which bums me out. Haydn's okay, but I'm not sure I see her ever working something out with him. We'll have to see.

    Anyways. You know where the confused questions go. 

    Thank you for reading and, as always, your patience means the world to me!

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