Writing: Jaz + Fairytale AU

   This month went by in a blink, and next month is three times as busy, so it'll go by even faster, no doubt. My 20th birthday, a wedding, two separate trips out to Illinois, Christmas with our grandparents.

    Rest? Who needs rest?

    As the title might suggest, I put Jasmine in a dress. We saw Cinderella for the first time a few months ago and the rest was 3,419 words, as they say. 

    Jaz held her breath as she ducked her head to hide her face and slipped inside the palace with the rest of the attending footmen. The ball would continue for several hours and the hundreds of staff waiting for their lords and ladies would be left to fend for themselves in the meantime.

    The fear of being discovered was real. She was a woman in man’s clothing, in a place where she shouldn’t have been, with a plan that could have her thrown in prison. 

    Not that it mattered. Not of it mattered, in that moment. Bright eyes flicked to and fro as she eased through the edges of the crowd to the nearest exit. 

    This was her last chance. Last chance at getting away from the Windsor’s, from her beginnings, last chance to see him again. She’d said that day that she would never let some over-inflated fool with a wand dictate her future.

    She’d never been more wrong.

    The bindings around her chest to help her fit in were constraining, cutting off the lungful of air she tried to draw in. Her palms were sweating as she escaped the din and chatter of the footmen and into a connecting passageway. It wasn’t hard to tell where to go; the strains of the music reached even down here, in the depths of the royal residence.

    Urgency burned in her. Jaz glanced over her shoulder then moved forward with purpose. She’d pulled enough scams in her youth to know the best way to blend in was to make sure no one had reason to question your presence.

    With hundreds of well-to-do guests requiring food, drink, and entertainment, the palace’s staff would be running around like headless chickens to fulfill all the needs. She would be invisible as long as she didn’t stand out.

    Jaz reached up to make sure there were no auburn strands of hair escaping the tricorne hat that had been pulled over her hair. Adele had stabbed more pins than she’d thought possible into her hair to keep the unruly waves in check. 

    The woman stopped at a crossroads of halls as a passel of servants hurried past, laden with beverages and victuals. No one even glanced her way.

    Waiting until they were a safe distance away, Jasmine continued after them at a steady clip, stride long and shoulders back. On the outside, she would be just another of the household staff attending to an errand as long as no one looked too close.

    (Adele had made a point of pounding it into her head that if anyone decided to actually take in her face, “those long lashes and soft lips will give you away faster than if you’d paraded around in a dress.”)

    Inside, she trembled. It reached her fingertips and undermined her confidence. The fact that this moment would make or break her wasn’t of consequence anymore.

    The more steps she took behind her, the more she wanted to turn back. This pull, once caused by that magical bind, now propelled only by herself—please, I want to see him again—terrified her. 

    Sure, she’d been interested in guys before, done her share of flirting and offering coy smiles, but this was so different. She could—would—shatter over this, something that hadn’t happened since her father left her waiting in their ramshackle home.

    Jasmine kept moving as traffic began to pick up.

    Some people gave her a distracted look, but when she didn’t look back, continued on her path with single-minded determination, they didn’t pursue the curiosity.

    The long slacks Adele had acquired for her ruse were strange to wear now, after so long in dresses befitting of her age and position. Dresses, constraining corsets, pantaloons, slippers… 

    She almost missed them. If she was able to reach him tonight, she would be a social nightmare, dressed as a man.

    The palace was more sprawling than she’d been able to comprehend. Herds of servants became a trail that led her up countless stairs, around numerous corners, and through innumerable hallways, the signs of wealth growing with every floor they rose. 

    Soon, jade eyes blinked at golden candelabras that watched over well-tended wood floors and side tables of rich color and complex engravings. The dirt on her boots from the courtyard felt impudent by comparison. 

    The orchestra that presided over the festivities grew ever louder, the sweet strings and notable brass coming together in a harmony unlike one she’d ever heard. 

    Only the best in the land for his highness, after all…

    

//

    Years of living on the streets and fending for herself lent themselves to Jasmine as she threaded her way through the fringes of the crowd. A dance was taking up the entirety of the ballroom floor and much of the attention of those not joining in, with swinging skirts and clapping hands joining the vivid ambiance.

    She paused in a small nook between a statue of someone’s forebear and an ornate pillar to catch her breath and watch the proceedings. 

     Thus far, she hadn’t spotted him. The royal box housing his uncle and a couple of his cousins had been easy to locate, but it’d only taken a moment of studying to know he wasn’t there. Zahn and Matthias, although alike in appearance to him, were cunning where he was straightforward, scheming where he was honest.

    It showed in their postures and their movements, marked them even from a distance as not who she searched for.

    Please.

    That thrice cursed bind had dragged her by the ear to his very feet last time she’d been in the palace with the Windsor’s. Now, it abandoned her. Jaz’s fingers curled into fists, short nails digging into her palms. 

    She hated magic more than she had words to express. 

    Two laughing women passed in front of her hideaway, dresses long and full, the colors vibrant. She wished to be allowed to command the room as they did, to belong. To be worthy.

    But she wasn’t and never would be.

    It didn’t take a brilliant mind to know it and hers was sharper than most. 

    Taking a breath, building her resolve again, Jasmine stepped out and continued to traverse the room. Her gaze swept every face, focusing in on every dark head of hair she passed.

    Ten minutes turned into half an hour. Hope turned to bleak despair.

    He wasn’t here. 

    She went around the expansive room three times, risking exposure to drift further towards the epicenter, never lingering too long, but coming up empty all the same.

    Jaz had to bump a waiter and endanger his load to divert the attention of a young lord who eyed her with more attention than she wanted. Her distraction worked but the close shave reminded her that discovery would be easy for anyone with keen focus.

    Bowing out of the way of an older couple headed towards the nearest table of champagne flutes, Jaz found an exit from the press of people and slipped out the unassuming door into a well-lit, but empty corridor.

    She sank to the floor, back against the paneling, and pushed the hat and white-haired wig off her head. The cloth tied around her forehead, keeping her natural hair in check, was damp with sweat. 

    Moisture burned in her eyes that she blinked away, drawing in a shuddering breath that was nowhere near as full as she wanted it.

    Her fingers shook as she undid the cloth and started working pins from her hair. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. She’d seen the king, had seen Matthias and Zahn, the beautiful Annalise Vaughn who was rumored to be the bride of whichever nephew the king chose as his successor.

    But he wasn’t here. No whisper of his presence, only the lingering question on the lips of many a young woman about the missing Mason.

    Jaz curled in on herself, pressing her forehead into her knees. There was nothing left to do. Her every hope had rested on him being here tonight, where she could find him before he was removed from reach altogether.

    The announcement would be made in the morning of the king’s choice, the new heir’s fate sealed to the throne and a wife. There was not time between now and the wee hours of the morning when the party would disperse for her to search the sprawling palace for him, not being a foreigner to its winding halls. 

    

//

    Jasmine resisted the vice-like grip on her arm as the guard dragging her through the halls. Her auburn hair fell down in waves around her shoulders, telling any within sight of her deception. 

    “Get your hands off me!” She snarled, grief fueling her anger as she lashed out at the man. 

    The eyes turned on her at her words were hard, unmoved at her attempts to dislodge him. Her fingers dug into his thick doublet and made no impact on him. Jaz felt her breath catch in her throat, becoming aware of the vulnerability of her situation in a rush.

    “Listen and listen well, wench,” he ground out at last, dragging her nearer by the hold on her upper arm, his other gauntleted hand resting on the hilt of his longsword. His breath smelled stale. “You have entered the royal palace without invitation, in the appearance of a man, and refuse to explain yourself to me beyond more lies. And now you order me to unhand you?”

    The air felt too thin. Jasmine tried again to jerk away to no avail, desperation strangling her. Everything he said was true, but what was she supposed to tell him? That she was searching out one of the potential heirs to the throne to see if he would take her, despite her station and roots? 

    No. No, he would never believe that. 

    His gaze narrowed at her silence, then nodded once, as if his suspicions had been confirmed. He started walking again, dragging Jaz along in his trail as if she were no more than a wayward child.

    “Where are you taking me?” She bit out, voice tight and with lingering anger. Better anger than fear. Anger kept you alive and gave you a fighting chance, whereas fear just crippled. Jaz knew that better than most. 

    Strong fingers tightened around her arm, cutting off circulation to the rest of her limb even further. There would be bruises to explain, if she walked away from this. 

    No answer was forthcoming.

    They were going a way she wasn’t familiar with—not that such a route would be difficult to contrive, but they were also descending. The staircase, even at the back of the palace, was wide, spiraling down and made of polished mahogany.

     Jasmine had to hurry to keep from being dragged. The guard made no allowances for her shorter stature and moved with what she assumed was his normal pace.

    Her jade gaze drifted down to where the stairs ended in another corridor, this one lined with windows overlooking the sprawling gardens that were one of the palace’s many awe-inspiring features. And then stopped on a figure who looked to have been passing by, only to have stopped at the noise of their descent.

    Jaz tripped and would have fallen down the remainder of the steps if not for the painful hold the guard had on her arm. Her saving grace was that they were still hidden in shadow by the unlit stairwell. 

    He turned to snarl at her, having failed to spot what she had. “If I have to tell you to walk one more time, wench!”

    Jasmine refused to cringe, not this time—she’d taken a heavy-handed blow from the guard earlier and would not flinch in the face of another.

    “Captain.” His modulated voice cut in and the underlying command in it couldn’t be ignored.

    She wanted to run. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen, with tears in her eyes and a bruise forming on her jaw, appearance disheveled, but when her captor’s attention turned to the man waiting for them, hers went with it.

    The silver embroidery on Renner’s formal jacket glimmered in the candlelight, his dark eyes unreadable. There was a sheathed ceremonial blade balanced in his hand. 

    Jasmine still remembered what it felt like to have those hands lingering on her arms, keeping her near.

    Finally catching up with who opposed him, the guard, retaining his grasp of her, executed a hasty bow. “Milord. I apologize for disturbing you.”

    “What are you doing, Captain?” Again, that tone that insisted on an answer, but with the subtlety of one in control of the situation, even if he was the only one who knew it. 

    “Escorting an intruder to the prison, milord. It’s nothing to fear, just a wench who wanted a little too badly to be part of the proceedings upstairs.” The abrupt change in character from threatening to easy confidence was not altogether surprising.

    Jaz felt her mind stopping and restarting, trailing after tangents, then pausing to consider the tingling that was spreading from her fingertips, and not because of the numbness of the guard’s grip. He was here. He was here.

    Ren.

    He hadn’t seen her yet, right? Surely he would say something, respond somehow. Please, don’t let this just be me.

    But his name caught in her throat, got stuck on her tongue as fear won out despite her best efforts. She wouldn’t survive seeing the rejection, or worse, the lack of recognition, on his face.

    There was no choice, in the end, of escaping without that final, shattering moment of confrontation.

    Not when the pain in her arm was getting unbearable and Renner bade the guard, “Bring her here.”

    Her socked feet, boots left behind in the corridor with other components of her disguise, slid off the steps as she stumbled to keep up as her captor hurried to follow his lord’s command.

    Jasmine knew that the candlelight would catch on every thick wave of her loose hair, illuminate her profile, bare her to him where the shadows had sheltered. Her gaze dropped to the ground as they reached the passageway, becoming level with the heir. Before any reaction could be had, the guard clamped a heavy hand down on her head to force her into a bow.

    “Forgive me, milord,” she whispered, squeezing jade green eyes shut. “I was—searching for someone dear. I meant no disrespect.”

    “Quiet, wench—“ the captain’s fingers dug into her scalp, yanking at her hair and it was impossible not to yelp even as she tried to dislodge him.

    Tears pricked again—when had she gotten so weepy?—as Jaz gritted her teeth and prepared to throw herself towards the man and catch him off guard.

    Instead, Renner’s order came like a blade formed from ice, frigid and forbidding, even as his boots sounded on the stone floors, drawing nearer. “Release her now, captain, and return to your post.”

    Both Jasmine and the guard stilled. Confusion and hope pounded at the back of her consciousness.

    She wasn’t expecting the over-powered shove that her captor gave her during the release part of Ren’s order, and she lost her balance, toppling to the side, head bouncing off the wall before she went down.

    “Milord—“ 

    The guard’s beginning explanation bounced in her ears, disjointed and far off. Vision swimming and with pricking pain on one side of her body and white hot pain on the other, Jasmine almost missed the lashing order as she gasped for breath against her chest bindings. 

    “Go, now. Your commander will be spoken to. Do not let me see your face again.” An abrupt end to the man’s military career was promised within the sharp commands.

    “Yes, milord.” The stiff note to his tone would’ve been funny if not for the way her body burned because of him. Heavy footsteps retreated and everything was still for an aching moment.

    She flinched when there was a clatter nearby; Renner’s sword being cast side. A cool hand brushed her cheek, pushing her hair aside and sliding behind her neck. It was impossible to say if the tremor to his touch was from her or was his own. 

    “Have you broken anything?” His voice was a low murmur, scarce more than a breath. The same yearning and agony that had swirled in her for weeks now was in those hoarse words.

    Jasmine forced air into her lungs, flailing her unimpeded arm to gain motor control over it again and then reaching up to find his wrist with her own hand, clinging tight. “Ren.” Speaking alone cost her dearly, setting back her efforts to regulate her breathing, but she had to. 

     “You will not be harmed again.” Renner whispered, fingers spasming under hers as his other hand joined the first in supporting her head from the other side. His thumb brushed across the aching spot on her jaw, fingertips lost in her hair.

    “I’m okay,” she managed, forcing her eyes open to look at him despite the fire burning in her head. His dark eyes were close, brow lowered and jaw tight with agitation. Despite her night straight from the gates of hades, Jaz smiled.

    Tears filled her gaze, unbidden, as she struggled to maintain her uneasy connection to consciousness. “I’ve missed you.”

    The heir and lord ducked his head down to press his forehead to hers, a harsh breath leaving him. “And I you. I was leaving to search for you when the guard—“

    Laughter bubbled in her chest, stemming in the relief that flooded her system, and then caught in her throat as her restricted lungs tried to meet the needs for air. Jaz’s fingers tightened around his wrist. “You found me. You found me.” The sweetness of it burst across her tongue, cascaded through her senses in a rush.

    “You found me,” Renner corrected, and she could hear how the anxiety had fled him as well in the simple remark. He was silent for a beat, and then, “You still struggle to breathe properly. What’s wrong?”

    Jasmine did not want to roll her eyes at him, but she was tempted. “I’m dressed as a man. My partner in crime helped too well in hiding my female assets.”

    The quiet lasted longer this time and she accepted to herself that she was going to have to cut herself out of the chest bindings soon, or black out when she wanted most to be aware. 

    Ren withdrew from her, shifting back, although his left hand remained splayed beside her head, keeping it from the stone floor. “If you’ll permit it, there is the apartment of one of my cousins within this section. You are welcome to borrow some of her things.”

    His proposition made her wilt with relief at the prospect of freedom. “I would be grateful.”

    Once the time-consuming task of escaping the confines of her disguise was completed, Jasmine bundled up her clothes and stuffed them under the bed. Renner’s cousin was almost a perfect match in size, just a deep breath in bigger. She checked her appearance in one of the many mirrors in the room, satisfied with the gray, unremarkable dress that she’d dug from the depths of the closet.

    Tugging her hair over her shoulder, Jaz took an extra moment to examine the purpling bruise on her jaw. It’d been a temptation to dab some of the face powder from the washroom on it. But she’d never been that vain and Renner was already aware of its extent. With no plans to linger at the palace, covering it up would be a waste of time.

    Jasmine stepped into the shoes she was borrowing then pushed her way out of the Mason woman’s bed chamber, gaze finding Ren a heartbeat later where he stood watching out a window, motionless.

    The magical bind that had been woven over them no longer trembled in her breast, insisting that she search for him with every beat of her heart. As if it knew that once Jaz had found him, she wouldn’t need it to draw them together anymore.

     Even if she would have willingly cursed the bind to the gates of hades and back, there was no denying what it had done for her.

    Renner turned before the thought could be completed. His attention dropped down to her changed attireand back up before a smile flitted at the corners of his mouth and he crossed the room towards her.

    Yeah, it's 85% complete. Better than usual, yes? These two shift in personality with every different AU that I do. Don't be surprised if more of said AU's continue to crop up, because I have more in the works.

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: Anomaly, Not Prodigy + "too close."

    Well, first, I'm not dead, contrary to popular belief. Even if I kind of feel like it with this headache.

    Second, look who's actually fulfilling that self-imposed requirement of one post a month, at the very least.

    Not that it's anything all that new, but it was written in the last six months and I kind of like it, so it counts.

    Life is crazy, my family has turned nomadic again, and writing has been minimal between college work and finishing an intense television show. That's a basic summary of my recent life.

    Now onto this latest peek into Jaz's life. Shall we?


    Jaz stood at her sink with the heavy-duty hand soap at her elbow, aware of her two returned teammates behind her but more focused on the grisly task at hand.
    Blood cleaned off her skin in watery, red waves, splashing against the silver basin of her kitchen sink and dribbling back down the sides to rinse down the drain. In just her skintight tank-top that she wore as a third layer beneath her uniform, the rest having been left on the floor of her kitchen, staining the tiles a darker shade of maroon, the smeared red was visible up past her elbows.
    The silence was weighty.
    They’d ambushed her on her way home from delivering her mission report to her superiors. Zach and Daniel, their faces long-stripped of the baby fat of youth and grown to their full, towering height, come home at last.
    Too bad she’d long moved on.
    Jasmine wanted to feel cynical but found that she could feel nothing at all. Her body was numb. She worked in silence, movements mechanical. Kano would be fine but her heart had still iced within her.
    The captain knew what was going on behind her. They would be exchanging long looks in the absence of her attention, having perfected the understanding of each other during their five years away.
    One arm scrubbed raw, she transferred to the other, the grainy soap biting into her tender skin as Jaz cleansed herself of her teammate’s blood without mercy.
    Too close.
    It had been too close.
    She never should’ve taken those two on. 
    It was too soon after Mio and Levi. They still haunted her, appearing when she was weakest, screaming in her dreams and smiling in the sunlight. 
    Kano and Shun helped but not enough—nothing would ever be enough. Not when it came to getting that sadistic smirk out of her mind, to getting that pooling blood out of her hair. 
    A weight settled on her shoulder and Jasmine reacted.
    Not even pausing to draw in a breath, she rammed her elbow backwards to where she could feel him standing, twisting aside, water splattering with every fast motion. Jade-green eyes were lifeless as she grabbed the nearest makeshift weapon—she should never have taken off her chōkuto—and gripped the dull blade in her wet hand, already calculating how to maximize its potential when—
    Zach flickered a breath away from her, wrenching the knife away and throwing it against the wall with a harsh utterance of, ”Snap out of it, Jaz.”
    The counter bit into the small of her back. Chest rising with normal breaths despite her exertion, Jaz went still, staring up at him, trying to see the boy in this man before her and failing.
    His slate-grey eyes only relaxed, tense frame winding down again, when she nodded once, a sharp movement.
    They both turned their heads to look at Dan, where he was still reeling from the suddenness of her blow to his solar plexus, one hand extended to support himself with a nearby counter.
    The faucet in the sink continued to let out a steady stream of water, waiting for someone to interrupt its pattern.
    Jaz felt no remorse for her actions, reaching out to shove Zach away from herself before returning to continue getting the blood off of her arms.
    “Sorry,” Dan wheezed, breaking the quiet. Jaz felt his apologetic gaze more than saw it. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that. Looks like you’ve had a really rough day of it.”
    There was no forthcoming response from the Primary Elite as she finished at the sink, skin chafed and burning but devoid of the maroon life-force that had rocked her so badly. Jaz flicked excess water from the tips of her fingers as she moved to dig in her cupboard for an oft-ignored bottle of rum, one that had taken up residence in her kitchen shortly after returning from hell.
    It was still a quarter full. It’d be enough for tonight.
    “Jaz?” Dan again, hesitant, uncertain of how to proceed.
    She wasn’t surprised. Not quite the homecoming he’d been expecting. But she would be grateful to Zach in the morning, for keeping him intact while they had been away.
    For now, the glass she found clattered on the countertop and the rum sloshed over the side, wetting her fingers, as Jaz poured herself a generous portion. 
    Realizing that she’d given no response to Dan, despite the numbness in her body, the exhaustion threatening to drop her as soon as the alcohol swirled in her bloodstream and her near-painful degree of tension was forgotten for a few hours, Jaz turned to face them after ten minutes of ignoring their existence.
    Daniel had cropped his hair short, but there were still small curls all over his scalp, impossible to escape. Green eyes were older than she remembered, but then, weren’t they all? His counterpart, two inches taller and annoyingly keen in his gaze, had retreated to lean against the opposite counter, watching her.
    Jaz let the rum wash over her tongue, feeling it burn down her throat and kindle embers in her gut, warming her being from the inside out. “I apologize,” she articulated, voice rough with lack of recent use, but dispassionate. Blank. “My team ran into trouble while out.”
    Trouble being a band of seven mercenaries, fast and trained in the art of battle against the Special Forces of Busan. 
    “I’m sorry,” the more compassionate of the duo uttered, true feeling in the regretful twist of his mouth.
    Jaz felt nothing. Her rum scorched its way down her esophagus. She swirled the half-full glass with a drying hand, watching the rich, amber liquid churn with the simple motion. “We’re fine.” 
    We’re was an easier lie to say that I’m.
    Lifted head, level gaze. “What did you two need?” Jaz intoned, knowing she had fifteen minutes before it was lights out whether she liked it or not and she had every intention of embracing unconsciousness when it graced her.
    It was Zach who shifted to draw her attention, responding in his usual, reserved manner. “We hadn’t seen you since we got back and had thought now might be a good time, which was a mistaken assumption.”
    “You’re correct.” Jaz wasn’t one to beat around the bush, even less so now. 
    Visiting hours at the hospital would start at ten am, but a black uniform and an imposing presence would get her in at seven to see her teammate.
    “We can head out, Jaz,” Daniel dropped back into the conversation, brows knitted together in consternation.
    Her gaze settled on him for a moment before refocusing on her booze. “Do that. I need to sleep.”
    Sleep, think, decide. Get up, find paperwork, check up on her hospitalized teammate.
    The list felt like it wouldn’t end because of the emotion that it would involve.
    She didn’t deserve them. And they had done nothing to have her brought down on their heads.
    A quiet scrape of shoes on tile pulled Jaz from her thoughts, head coming up again. Dan held out his hand in a silent request for her hand. It struck her as odd. He’d always been the hugger of the three of them. Why change that now?
    Ah, yes.
    She’d knocked the wind out of him and had been ready to go after him with a dull butter knife last time he’d initiated touch between them. This was his safer option, apparently.
    Switching her glass to her left hand, Jaz complied, pressing her cold fingers into the warm roughness of her childhood teammate’s. Dan clasped her slender hand between the both of his, hold strong and secure. His smile was still a bit dimmed in the face of her disinterest in their reappearance, but no less genuine.
    “We can catch up another time. Tell your teammate to get healed up soon, alright? And you really should go to bed as soon as we leave. You look ready to drop.” His instructions were well-intentioned but still got no strong response out of her.
    Jaz inclined her head after a moment, if only to appease him. Ever the tactful one, Daniel Becker.
    Dan grinned. “Good. Shall we go then, Zach?”
    That man shrugged once, watchful but not offering any opposition.
    Some things may have changed, but it seemed that other things would stay the same for the rest of the time and the interactions between the childhood friends appeared to be one of such things.
     Jaz made no move to see them to the door, did not offer any farewells beyond one lifted finger as she lifted the glass in her hands to her lip again to drain the contents in one long draught.
    She would regret it in the morning to a degree—drinking on an empty stomach didn’t end well—but she found a bottle of water on one of her countertops to counteract the dehydrating effects of the alcohol as her front door shut.
    Once they were gone, Jaz flicked off her kitchen lights and went to lock up, letting the water chase her rum down in an unsavory mingle of tastes. She needed a shower but had little interest in the effort, so it was routine only that got her out of her clothes and under the steaming showerhead to wash the remaining signs of the grueling fight from her body.
    More blood was washed away. Dirt had stained her skin despite her uniform and was soon forgotten as well. Once completed with her ritual scrub, both of hair and body, Jaz shut off the water and found her towel.
    There was nothing homey in the scent of the long, voluminous cloth. It smelled musty and of dust from sitting unused for two weeks but it dried the water from her slowing form.
    Sliding into enough clothing so that she’d be more-or-less decent in the case of sudden visitors, Jaz staggered to her couch, slamming her shin into the low coffee table, but not even that pain was able to break her from her exhausted state of mind. 
        Her couch smelled like herself, like afternoon sunlight and spilled beer, and even of her many male acquaintances who liked to drop by unannounced, and where the towel had failed, her nest of blankets succeeded in surrounding her in home and Jasmine collapsed into their embrace.
    Telling her team goodbye was going to be hard and nothing in her looked forward to that moment. But she would wait until Kano was on his feet again, able to take the surprise of it without bringing himself further harm.
    Jade-green eyes opened in the pitch-black of her living room, staring out at the shadows of her furniture, collected despite the way her heart turned in her chest.
    It was better, this way. They would be safer, this way.

    Sleep came and Jaz didn’t even consider fighting it. She was ready to go and slipped into the black with a whisper of a breath to tell of her departure. 

//

skip

//

     It was drizzling when Jasmine returned to the hospital a handful of days later, the required paperwork tucked in a folder that she carried in one hand. The nurse at the desk recognized her and smiled in greeting, oblivious to how the captain was dripping on the freshly mopped floor. 
    “Elite Matsuda has already come through, Captain, and should still be with your teammate,” she announced with cheer that Jaz couldn’t even begin to reciprocate.
    Her face felt stiff, plasticized by what she knew came next.
    So she nodded once, murmured her thanks, and flicked off some of the excess rain from her person before she walked away. The sunny nursed called after her to have a nice day and Jaz lifted one hand to shoulder-level in semblance of a wave before disappearing around the corner.
    Busan General Hospital had multiple wings, two of them devoted entirely to the Collective’s expansive Special Forces, who made up a good deal of the medical emergencies who came through their front door. A high portion of those were training inflicted—those critical developmental years between when you graduated from the Academy until you got your feet under you as a Tyro produced many, many injuries.
    But the rising tension between the Collectives meant that there was a rising percentage of combat-related injuries. 
    Kano was far from the only Elite in the recovery ward recuperating from a close brush with death due to an ambush and the resulting close-quarters fighting. 
    It made anger burn in her chest, despite knowing that this was part of the brewing conflict.
    Jaz had wrench her mind back to focus on where she was going. Her standard-issue boots made echoing thuds as she walked with lengthy strides through the quiet halls, devoid of the visitors that would start arriving later in the day, after visiting hours had actually begun.
    The trademark slouch of her youth had faded after her year with Min. It was with a straight back and hands at her sides that the woman moved now, unlike the slumped shoulders and hunched back she’d adopted as a self-defense mechanism as a child. He’d wanted her to act as if she always had a purpose, to be unashamed, refusing to hide. 
    Noting the passing numbers, Jaz stopped outside the correct hospital room and paused before knocking. 
    This was for their own good, she reminded herself, letting the discomfiting smell of antiseptic reinforce her decision. The papers in her hand would change everything and it would be for the better.
    She rapped twice and waited until a familiar voice called, “Come on in, we’re all decent in here!”
    Shun, so like Dan and yet so different. She wasn’t surprised that he’d beaten her here. 
    Their bond was just as tight as Zach and Dan’s, despite having a quarter the time behind it. 
    Jaz toggled the lever to get the door open and entered with muted footsteps, searching the roomy space inside for her two teammates. Kano’s roommate, a Tyro in for a ruptured appendix, glanced at her as she closed the door behind herself. He did little more than offer a wave in greeting, after her strict orders the following morning to not even consider getting up whenever she dropped by.
    The kid would probably kill himself if he tried to follow protocol right now.
    With a vague smile and a nod before solemnity took over again, Jaz moved past him towards the curtain bisecting his half of the room from Kano’s.
    Her teammates were in the midst of eating what was no doubt a contraband breakfast, which Jaz arched a brow at. Bacon and pancakes can’t have been what the nurses wanted Kano to be eating for the time being, but they no doubt had a contingency plan in place if they did get caught.
    It only took them a moment to process her presence.
    And that contingency plan came into play as Shun smile winningly, closing his take-out box with a smooth box and rising in the same movement, as if there weren’t anything suspicious occurring under the hospital staff’s notice.
    “Captain,” he greeted, and Jaz could hear the heavy layer of charm that he laid on. “So good to see you this bright and early.”
    Kano didn’t care one whit about his compatriot’s efforts , considering the way he continued to eat behind Shun. The brat knew he would get away with it and Jaz knew a moment of exasperation because he was correct. 
    Jaz sighed. “Shun, stop trying to win me over. It doesn’t work. Kano, you have syrup on your cheek.”
    Smooth operator though her may have been, Shun had learned his painful lesson of when enough was enough early on and rocked back on his heels with a far more natural grin. “Sorry. Figured I’d give it a shot.”
    “Morning, Captain,” Kano greeted, finishing his illegal breakfast and leaning forward to set his take-out box on his rolling table, settling back with a mild grimace. 
    The tone of his skin was paler than normal, but he was sporting that annoying little ponytail of his like always and even though there were dark marks from pain and sleeplessness under his eyes, her subordinate of just three months was alert and willing to interact with his visiting teammates.
    The file in her hand got just a little bit heavier.
    Jaz felt herself relaxing despite her wish to remain reserved through the next half hour, some of the stress draining from her shoulders against her will. “How’re you doing, Suong?” 
    The use of his surname fooled no one. Jaz would always care, no matter how hard she might try to detach herself. But Kano and Shun knew—they knew about Mio and they knew about Levi and they knew about Haydn who had taken everything from her. 
    They got where she was coming from and didn’t begrudge her continuing insistence on trying to distance herself from them.
    No matter what came out of her mouth, the truth was always bared through her actions. Her voice. How she took care of them.
    “Better than yesterday,” Kano responded, tilting his head toward the available seat on the other side of the bed.
    Jaz took him up on his wordless offer, settling into the hard plastic chair, her back to the window that was letting in gray light from the cloudy morning skies. Rain was continuing to patter against the glass, picked up from from when she had arrived ten minutes prior. It would be a long, damp walk back to headquarters to file her returned status to solo operator.
    Both men watched as she got comfortable, yellow folder balanced across her knees until she decided to reveal the contents.
    “That’s good. What’s your projected release date?” Her jade-green eyes drifted to meet now-familiar brown, which were narrowed at her. Just a fraction, but enough that she knew he was starting to pick up on an odd vibe.
    Wary now, Kano drew out, “Next week, but three more after that until they’ll sign off on a return to active duty. You okay, Captain?”
    Never one to beat around the bush. Jaz liked that about him, but appreciated that particular facet of his personality a bit less than she might otherwise at the moment. “I’m fine. We just… need to talk.”
    “We’re listening, Cap,” Shun broke in, leaning his forearms against Kano’s hospital bed, starting to clue into what his counterpart was already tracking on. 
    Jaz stilled, not allowing the way her heart squeezed in her chest to show through. They deserve better than me. They deserve to be as secure as possible in their captain.
    “Captain?” Kano checked, shifting to sit up again, his brows furrowed in concern. “What’s going on?”
    Summoning the stoicism and blankness that had gotten her through so many hard mission briefings, through well-intentioned sympathies, through Mio and Levi’s memorial ceremony, Jasmine fished out the two clusters of stapled and collated papers.
    She didn’t have to look to know what was printed upon the white sheets. Transfer request forms for Elite squad members of more than a month. 
    “First-Class Elite Matsuda, Elite Suong,” she addressed them with all the formality she could muster, straightening her spine in an unconscious movements. The forms were held out to them in an unwavering hand. “You two are to fill out these and submit them to human resources at headquarters at your earliest possible convenience.”
    There was little room for argument or contest left in her tone. 
    Her two subordinates, soon to be former, frowned at her but the captain refused to be affected, delivering the forms to their reluctant grips, then settling back against the unpadded chair back, arms crossed loosely over her chest.
    Jaz didn’t miss the wary glance that Kano and Shun shared before they both started reading what she’d given them.
    Shun’s reaction was immediate and far more vehement than she had expected. His hazel blue eyes sparked with an anger that didn’t kindle in such a way very often even as he ripped the three-page stack in half and threw it over his shoulder to let it flutter to the floor. “Don’t even start to give me that bullcrap, Captain.”
    “Shun,” Kano warned, flashing a cautioning look towards his counterpart, remembering that, even though their team was close, Jasmine O’Haire was still their captain and superior officer. 
    Unperturbed and placid, Jaz blinked at Shun but didn’t respond to his ire, waiting for Kano to finish after he returned his attention to his perusal and finally set the forms down amongst the folds of his blue hospital blanket.
    Once both pairs of gazes were levelled in her direction, one still filled with resentment, the other far calmer but vexed just the same, the woman set about explaining herself in modulated tones. “I was hasty in agreeing to take on a team. Previous experiences have clouded my judgment and it isn’t fair to the two of you. Put down what you wish in the performance review. They should allow a transfer without too much resistance.”
    They were silent for a long minute. Shun, because he was still reigning in his knee-jerk anger, and Kano was churning, trying to formulate a response. Jaz gave them the time they needed—it wouldn’t be an easy transition to accept. 
    She wasn’t their first captain, but their last had been one from a founding family and she knew firsthand what that meant for a soldier from the second-tier. Still, her body protested the way her muscles tensed over the stress building in her chest.
    “What… brought this on?” Kano articulated at last, looking far more haggard now than when she’d first arrived.
    Hesitating, Jaz shifted to bring up her leg, resting one booted foot on her knee and clasping her hands around her ankle. Stowing away her momentary uncertainty, she afforded Shun a glance to gauge his stability, before murmuring, forcing herself to hold Kano’s gaze, “There’s a make or break moment when you have a teammate’s blood on your hands. I’ve been there before and am unable to stand up under it this time.”
    Pause. Breath. “I will not watch you two die as well.”
    The rebellious light in the younger male’s fizzled out and the supine of the two had a stricken expression cross his already pale features. Even if she hadn’t known them as well as she did, Jaz would’ve been able to sort out that they hadn’t considered this aspect of their situation.
    A strained smile pulled at the corner of her mouth for a brief moment, but even that was difficult. 
    It was hard to imagine stepped outside the city walls and not have these two flanking her as they engaged in friendly ribbing over the latest love of Shun’s life.
    “Think about it. Submit the forms. Resources should be able to get the request up to one of the commanders by the time you’re ready for active duty, Kano,” Jaz bade the duo, rising from the uncomfortable hospital chair and offering a more genuine smile in farewell. “I’ll see you two around.”
    “Wait,” Shun found his tongue, straightening from his slump. “Respectfully, sit back down and quit running for a minute, Captain.”
    Jade-green eyes narrowed at his tone. He didn’t usually push his limits like this. “Watch it, Elite. I will write you a citation if need be.”
    “Then be reasonable, ma’am.” Shun shot back.
    “Matsuda,” Kano cut in before Jaz had a chance to get after him herself. “Take a walk.”
    “Are you seriously pulling rank on me right now?” The younger male was incredulous, his attention swinging to his compatriot. 
    In an even, unyielding tone, the Elite confirmed, “Yes. Cool your head, then come back. Captain O’Haire and I will be here when you return.”
    Looking between the two of them, Shun let out an annoyed huff but obeyed, pushing away from Kano’s bedside and veering around the curtain to disappear from sight. Despite his anger, the door didn’t bang when it closed, announcing his departure.
    Spine still stiff, Jasmine eyed the remaining, bedridden man, who was in the midst of folding up the transfer request forms and placing it next to his empty takeout box. 
    “He is right, though, Captain,” Kano commented with some degree of care, returning his attention to her again. “This needs to be a team decision and not just you. I respect that you’re not having an easy time of it, but we deserve a say in this as well.”


    The more time I spend on Jaz's story, in her world and with her teammates, the more I fall in love with it all. You know how some writers have a story that's their "baby" and they spend quite seriously years writing, editing, and perfecting it?

    Well, I think Jasmine and the ins and outs of Anomaly, Not Prodigy are going to be my baby. There's so much potential for the story, so much to be explored and developed and put into play, from characters to world politics. 

    It'll be a good place to seriously work on my paltry worldbuilding skills, too, which have been in dire need of sharpening for some time now. 

    And I comment all this because I was editing back through the above drabbles and was struck--yet again-- with how very much I love this story and the people who live in it. Kano and Shun. Zach and Daniel. Ren. Mio and Levi (though I haven't written much of them yet). Min. Whitecourt. Captain Jasmine O'Haire.

    Yeeeaaaah, this story is definitely going to end up being my baby. Sigh. Oh for the work ahead of me.

    If the lead-up to these drabbles are confusing, let me know and I'll fill you in on the details. And even if it's not confusing, let me know what you think, yeah? I adore feedback of any type.

    Thank you for your patience with my erratic posting schedule, and 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.