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: Train Travel and Thrift Shop + Retake on the Locker Scene

    Ha. Look at me. Posting more scribbles before a full month had passed. 

    Nothing terribly long, but it is Jandy. The first portion is continuing off my last drabble challenge, with Jandy and Gage Continuing Escapee Adventures, and then I found that I had originally written that locker room scene with Jandy and Dechlan in a notepad. So I typed that up and am throwing it in here as a bonus.


    The train hummed and thrummed around Jandy in a way that was not as soothing as having Dechlan’s activities running in the back of her head, but it was getting there. Anything besides the dead silence that had been making it difficult to concentrate during her waking hours. 
    Again, almost without meaning to or even thinking about it, she searched for him, seeking relief from the echoing quiet that made a near-physical ache rise in her chest. 
    It wasn’t as bad as when she’d lost Jane—she doubted anything would ever be as bad as that. Dechlan was still alive; their connection was unharmed, intact, just weakened by distance.
    Lost in her thoughts, Jandy wasn’t prepared when a bump on the tracks below them made the car jolt and that motion caused her to slide on her make-shift cot enough for the pain to flare across her upper abdomen. 
     A quiet gasp escaped her before she could help it. Gritting her teeth as an afterthought, Jandy tried to breathe slow and even, lying still, her mobile hand fisted, in an attempt to keep from irritating any other portion of her injured anatomy. Not an easy thing to do, to say the least.
    Jandy was just quelling the urge to give in and voice a handful of choice words—a habit Dechlan had made a point of breaking her of and the only reason she underwent the effort to not—when Gage spoke.
    “You okay?” He sounded both weary and wary, neither of which were too surprising.
    She took a moment to get herself together before speaking, reminded of how little she actually knew about either of the Daxtons in those moments.  “Yeah. I would just give a lot for a bottle of some hard alcohol right about now. Or, you know, morphine or something.”
    There was a snort of humor off to her right, out of sight. Granted, most everything was out of sight as her position on her back only put the four sides of the train car and the roof within eyesight.
    Needing a distraction, Jandy gripped the crate under her with her useable hand and used that hold to elevate herself. Gage, sitting with his back to a near identical crate on the ground, watched her progress with a cautious gaze, but didn’t offer to aid her. Yet. Jandy was grateful. She would have to learn to deal with this new, unfamiliar pain and the sooner, the better for both of them.
    Once she was upright, nails digging into the wood beneath her, she forced out “What’s the plan then, chief?”, desperate for something else to think about besides the way her injuries seemed to be set on fire, her head pounded, and everything else ached like she’d been thrown from a bull.
    The man glanced at the expensive silver watch on his wrist, the long sleeves of his dress shirt from their op the prior night rolled up past his elbows. “We’re going to get off at the next stop, which should be a fair-sized hub. We need to figure out how far we’ve come, get a new set of clothes, and see if there’s anything we can do to make movement easier for you. We’ve got a long ways to go yet.”
    The promptness of his reply told her that he’d already been working out the different steps they needed to take in order to continue further for some time.
    His reminder of their clothing state caused Jandy to hazard a glance down at her own evening wear. Former evening wear. Now she wanted to be out of the torn, blood-stained, and uncomfortable dress as soon as possible. If she hadn’t been so familiar with Gage, the state of her disattire in his presence would have made her edgy. But she was at least comfortable having him around and she wouldn’t have put it past Dechlan to read the male Daxton his right when it came to her. Or, his lack thereof.
    Four months linked mentally to Dechlan had allowed her the chance to realize just how much protecting those he cared for was a part of who he was.
    Burying the ache that rose from the loss of her counterpart’s presence, Jandelyn moved to sit on the floor, favoring her side, diagonal from Gage, and let her head lean back on the crate. They would have a few more hours of travel in this unorthodox transport and then she would get to relearn how to walk with cracked—or broken, it was hard to tell—ribs. 

//

    Jandy sat on the floor of the small thrift shop in Stoney Run, a decent-sized city with a larger train depot then anything much else, Gage had informed her, trying to recoup her energy. The not-so-stealthy walk from the far end of the train tracks had been a long, grueling excursion, even with Gage’s help. 
    Now he rifled through the racks of clothes with a focus reminiscent of Dechlan while she worked to not curl into a ball of pain. The proprieter was already eyeing them with the look of someone comfortable calling the cops on suspicious patrons. And boy, did they fit that ticket, between the visible bruises, the tangible injuries, and their attention-drawing clothing. Gage’s jacket was around her shoulders, shielding her immobilized shoulder and arm but doing nothing for the raw scrapes and deep purple marks on her legs.
    Pushing her loose hair, with only the remnants of its curl, out of her eyes, Jandy considered weighing in on what Gage was taking off the rack, but knew that whatever he got would be functional. Not pretty, but Jandy was done with dressy for a very long time. Not to mention, the fewer eyes they drew, the better for everyone. 
    Gage snapped his fingers, drawing her out of her thoughts with a jerk. “Hey. You should look at the jeans. I want to be out of here in ten minutes. Need a hand?”
    Arching a brow at him, Jandy got herself up using her good hand planted on the ground and making sure not to stretch out her damaged side. Coming to her feet brought her into the stream of burning daylight that was coming through the filthy front windows and illuminated the water-stained walls. Squinting against the light, the female turned to find the women’s pants.
    “Check for small sweatpants over there,” Jandy commented to her companion as she started rifling, looking for anything close to her size that wouldn’t be a pain to wear.
    She heard Gage pause in his own search, then resume a few beats later. “Copy. Look at the shoes, too.”
    Just what she needed—a reminder of her scraped and dirty feet, the cost of losing those admittedly-stupid heels sometime before they’d gotten on the train, while she’d been unconscious. Letting a silent sigh escape her and with her bad arm braced along her battered ribcage, Jandy settled into her seaerch, trying to keep from imagining that Decklan was nearby. 

//

    The sky had clouded over by the time they had found clothes, gotten changed, and straggled back to the rail depot. Gage left her out beside the building’s wall, the hood of her ratty sweatshirt pulled up to cast the bruises on her face in shadow. He wore a ball cap that would perform the same function along with a dark gray jacket that complimented her blue sweatshirt and faded denim jacket that was a couple sizes too large in order to accommodate both her bound arm and the sweatshirt that kept it from sight.
     Rain started to spit from the dark clouds overhead, staining the sidewalk and splattering on her pants. Jandy let her head fall back, protected under the roof’s awning. Everything was happening more quickly than she was almost able to keep up with.

    It’d been twenty-four hours since she’d stood in the bathroom back at base, feeling like she’d be ill to her stomach with nerves. Since then, she’d been a prize on Gage’s arm, had the snot beaten out of her, escaped from the organization that had killed her sister, and was now on the run with a man she knew hardly anything about. Without the man that she wanted most at her side right now.


    The only thing about Blogger is that I have to take my documents from Microsoft Word, transfer them to a Notepad, so that the format isn't totally screwy on here. Thus, it doesn't transfer over my italics, and I have to go back through and put them in and it's just a pain in general. Just to be random.

    Onto the retake! Just as a mild warning, this one could be seen as a bit more mature than the last one.


    Jandy was fairly sure that the ill-tempered European woman who’d put a day’s worth of time into her appearance would have an aneurysm—or at least a fit—if she threw up right now.
    Trembling hands gripped the edge of the locker room sink. Slow breath in, even longer out. Get it under control.
     Dechlan was detectable on the fringes of her thoughts, but he felt distracted and Jandy was fine with that because she couldn’t have handled his reaction at that moment. Anymore emotion than was already roiling in her and she really would be ill.
    The brown of her eyes had been covered with a pair of contact lenses that were an eye-drawing azure and it was that gaze that stared back at her in the mirror.
    The hard part was that Jandy knew what this was. She hadn’t been given any information on this job, but her appearance was telling.
    When she and Jane had been living in Akita, she’d juggled two full time jobs and a part time when she had the energy to spare. One of those jobs had been as a serving girl in a high-class night club—a position she’d procured by not being one of the women her age addicted to drugs—that would get crazy around two in the morning on a regular basis. 
    Right now, her attire and make-up could have rivaled that of any of the women who had walked into that club on the arm of a man who man a point of showing how deep his pockets were.
    The dark outlining to her eyes, the high pair of platform heels, the short hem and plunging back of the dress that matched her eyes. All of it had a purpose. Draw attention, intimidate lesser men, intoxicate those who thought they had a chance.
    Jandy shifted to stand up straight, ignoring her churning stomach and stepping into her shoes, all too aware of how their height had been chosen to further augment the image she’d been created to fill.
    Previously dark eyes flickered to the door, closed for the moment, then back to the mirror. Jandy wished she could say she had no idea how to be the type of woman who could fulfill this role, this… appearance. But she couldn’t, because this was who her mother had been, who her friends had been. This was the type of person she’d worked around for three years, day in and day out, and who she had learned to be when the moment called for it as a result.
    Jandy knew how to walk like those women, talk like them, smile like them. Seduce like them. That’d been the world she’d struggled to keep both herself and her sister afloat in, when everyone else had been content to drown. 
    In the back of her mind, she felt Dechlan’s focus shift to her, but knew she wasn’t ready to face his thoughts—not yet. Her ability to keep him out was far, far less impressive than his, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know how to drown him out for the precious few minutes that she needed.
    Finding a memory of a pounding beat, deafening lyrics, and the thump of her own heart, Jandy ran her hand through her loose hair. It, too, had undergone hours of treatment and the tousled look her short, brown locks now bore could easily have been hours of work or a happy accident, depending on the eye of the observer.
    She practiced smiling, the blood red lipstick on her lips stretching to accommodate the expression. It looked real because she’d had to learn to hide the exhaustion, the stress, the hopelessness that had weighed heavily on her shoulders as she worked to support her family of two. All for naught, as it turned out. 
    Her smile took on a sardonic edge just as there was a light rap at the door that echoed through the locker room. Then Jandy realized that Dechlan was very there in her head, despite her thoughts drowning him out, and that he was waiting for her to let him in—literally and figuratively. 


    And there we go. Scribbles! And now I need to go work on science and my parents and I are watching The Island with Ewan McGregor and Scarlett Johansson. She's been kicking butt for a lot of years. 

    Thoughts, comments, and critiques are welcome, as always. Thanks for reading!

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

Writing: Nuada, continued

    As promised in my blog challenge, a little something that's more interesting than a month long dissertation on my life. 

    It's not a lot, because I was sitting in a car and we got home, but it follows off of the confrontation in the diner, sort of, and hopefully you all remember that. If not, I'll throw in the last few paragraphs of what I last posted for Nuada.


    As she slid into the driver’s seat, the young woman felt moisture fill her eyes and knew that what she usually did when she was this upset was call Maggie.
    Her head ached as she started the old Mustang and backed out of the diner’s parking lot to find the motel even though she just wanted to drive.

    The room Nuada acquired for the night smelled strange and didn’t look all that clean, but she didn’t find any bugs or mold in her inspection, so it would suffice. She dumped her bags on the short dresser.
    Sound from her neighbors’ TV filtered through the wall and she was too tired to care. Drawing the curtains and throwing the bolt, Nuada crawled onto the bed, setting her cell phone’s alarm to go off early the next morning.
    Her head hurt as much as her chest did in the moments before sleep took her.  The young woman refused to let herself cry, though, her dark hair strewn across the white pillow case. Still in her clothes, Nuada drifted to sleep.

    Beep. Beep. Beep.
    Panic filled Nuada when the noise registered and she bolted upright, drawing in a breath as she took in the dark room, grey light just beginning to filter through the edges of the curtains. 
    She checked her cell, which had finished peeping at her. 0500. Gram’s Burgers opened in half an hour to cater to the truckers hitting the road at this hour, and Nuada planned to be there before too long.
    A tightness to her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten a full meal in… Nuada settled her feet on the floor, running a hand through her mussed hair. Days, she decided. Having to spend so much time with her brother had caused her emotions to be on a constant high, and depleted her appetite to almost nothing. 
     Nuada considering going for a run as she dug through her bag for a new set of clothes, but decided against it. She didn’t want to risk an encounter with just about anyone right at the moment. 
     It took ten minutes to shower and set her hair to rights. She didn’t leave anything behind when she went out to her car, not having any plans to stay another night. 
     She settled into the front seat and checked the time again. 0525. Silvery eyes stared out the windshield as her fingers drifted to the paper tucked into the breast pocket of her lightweight jacket. 
     It’d taken hours to decipher Dad’s scrawl, and days to realize just what the short message had meant. 
     The Mustang protested as she started its engine, cutting off her own thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. She had to talk to Mr. Stafford, figure out exactly what was going on, and then somehow cut ties with her brother and friend enough that they wouldn’t hound her.
     Weariness weighed on Nuada’s shoulders as she backed out of the motel’s parking lot and got onto Main Street. The town had nothing to hold her attention; she’d been through too many in the last two weeks alone. 
     As expected, Gram’s Burgers had several large semis pulled into the sizable parking lot, but most the front row of spots were available and Nuada pulled into one on the far end. Now that she was here, the thought of food was almost nauseating, but she knew she had to eat. Especially if she wanted to put in some distance later that afternoon.
     The door creaked as she pushed it open and stepped out, dragging her messenger bag with her. The morning air was still chilly, but the sky was a mix of pink and blue with the rising sun. 
     For a couple of minutes, Nuada just stood and breathed. There wasn’t a lot that beat country air in the wee hours of the morning and she hadn’t had a lot of chances to enjoy it; not with the hours she’d been pulling to get herself and Agyros here by Mr. Stafford’s requested date.

    Not a lot, I know, and it'll be void before too long if I can stagger through NaNoWriMo (the whole series of events after the diner are going to change; drastically) but it's something.

    And now I need to either sleep or watch some TV. I haven't decided which yet. 

    Thanks for reading!

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties.