Writing: "waiting & hoping"

    My friends, it has been some time since my last post, but it is not yet October, and thus, I have not yet exceeded my own deadline. 

    I've got an medium aged piece of writing today. Scrawled it down back when I read a bunch of military Dee Henderson books and came away with the following piece. 

    Early morning hour and the peace that came with it.
    Warm sunlight creeping in across the tiled kitchen floor.
    Quiet rustle of the pages of her Bible.
    Shadow’s heaved sigh and Troxie’s foot jerking in response to his dream.
    The scent of her coffee drifting to her from the overlarge mug she’d taken to using.
    Mandy pulled her knee up to rest her chin on it, blue gaze drifting from her morning journaling to the backyard and the ocean, visible on the horizon as the hill dropped away.
    It’d slipped her mind to not watch CNN before bed, again, and she’d sat through a lengthy late night report about a series of IED attacks in Afghanistan. She’d woken up at two o’clock after a nightmare.
    Sleep hadn’t returned, even though she knew that wasn’t where Sam was deployed to. Or at least, was fairly certain. The whereabouts of his unit was restricted information.
    A subdued breath left her. Mandy rubbed the back of her neck, sitting back and reaching for her coffee. The black mug with the Marine Core insignia on it she’d stolen from Sam’s cupboards last month was too large for her hands, but she found an odd safety in that fact. It made her feel like he was closer than a world and an ocean away.
    Shifting around, the woman checked the time on the stove. Almost 0600. Shadow and Troxie would be stirring from their slumber on the kitchen floor soon—protective instincts kept them near her, especially after an irregular night—and would be expecting the morning jog she’d kept as a habit even after retiring from the Air Force.
    It was Saturday, which meant escaping her thoughts at work was off the table. No overtime pay and while she enjoyed her work, being locked deep in a basement behind multiple dead-bolted doors made her a wee bit claustrophobic.
    There was work to be done today, anyways. Claire’s husband was coming home next week as well, and between a toddler and being seven months pregnant, the spring cleaning she wanted to get done before his homecoming wasn’t happening. The request for help had come up in the weekly Bible study Mandy went to and she’d volunteered, badly needing a chance to burn off her own nervous energy.
    Mandy reached for the letter from her sister that had come in the mail a handful of days prior. It’d been tucked in the pages of her well-worn Bible since, reread a number of times. The news it carried had left a pit in her stomach.
    “It’s the most amazing thing, Dee. Jeff proposed to me tonight. I probably won’t sleep for a week. The ring is gorgeous and he wants to be married no later than next summer!”
    Oh, Meg...
    The pain that squeezed in her chest was familiar. Mandy was well-accustomed to its presence, after two years of feeling it. She dreaded having to tell Sam about this letter. He deserved to know its contents, but she didn’t want to be the one to deliver the news. It’s not fair that this happened to him, Lord.
    The German Shepherd sprawled on the ground behind her roused with a clank of ID tags and a sneeze. Shadow heaved himself up and plodded to her, resting his head on her thigh and staring up at her, pleading.
    With a watery laugh, blinking away the tears that had risen to the surface unbidden, Mandy leaned down to press a kiss to his furry head, scratching behind his ear. She would miss having the Shepherd around the house when Sam came home and took him back.
    “Maybe your daddy will get his head out of the hole he’s buried it in while he’s dry-docked,” she remarked with one last pat before pushing the dog away so she could get up.
    Shadow moved to give her space and stepped over the top of Troxie, whacking the Retriever on his way and awakening her dog as well.
    She checked the time. 0600. Time to get moving.
    Draining the last of her coffee, Mandy headed to change into her running clothes. There’d been more than enough contemplation of the entire subject for one morning, and although she could feel it still pressuring at the back of her thoughts, she needed to get moving.
    The weight of it did cause her to pen down a memo to call Mrs. McIntyre and see if they could meet for lunch early next week. The older woman was her confidante of recent years, offering the level-headed advice and listening ear that she needed in ever-increasing frequency.
    She had to get it together.
    Sam would be flying home next week and would be needing their tried and true friendship as he got resettled into the pace of stateside life. (Even if she hoped for that picture she’d sent from the 4th of July, her with Shadow and Troxie in red, white, and blue, laughter brimming, to have made changes in his heart.)
   (Come home safe, soldier scrawled across the photo in metallic silver pen.)
    Meg, you’ll never be able to grasp what you’ve given up.
    Shadow and Troxie were waiting by the front door when she emerged, scraping her hair back to restrain it. It was impossible not to smile.
    They were both getting old, but Shadow’s past MWD training showed in the way he sat upright in anticipation of her coming. Troxie, on the other hand, a family dog for most of his existence with the name to show for it, had slumped down to snooze for a while longer.
    “Come on, pretty boys,” Mandy laughed, stepping around them to unlock the front door, slipping her phone into a plastic bag and putting it into the pocket of her running capris. 
    The dogs preceded her outside into the still-cool air. Most of her neighbors’ cars were still in their driveways, the true sign of the weekend having arrived. No one wanted to be at work if they didn’t have to be.
    Relocking her home behind her, Mandy took a moment to stretch while her two companions wandered around the yard, searching out the scents of any new person or critter that might have trespassed into their territory.
    Hoping that the fact that it was Saturday would keep the beach mostly clear, she started at an even jog towards the preset loop that would take her down to the waterfront. The fresh, salty air did wonders for the soul, and she hoped the length of the course would help settle her tumultuous thoughts.


    I wanted to capture the longing, the waiting, wishing, and hoping. Not sure that it quite worked, but I tried. 

   Life is about to descend into a hectic mess here soon. We're watching the Hundred Foot Journey right now and I feel as if we are in the quiet before the storm, the calm before the chaos. We have two weeks, not even, before we are going to drive back down the highway to the East Coast. (Or is it east coast? Do you capitalize that?) Then it'll be the moving in process--again.

     Such fun.

     But I have not forgotten you all, have no fear. I'll continue to update as I can or as I have worthy material. Thank you for staying with me.

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

Writing: Of Habits and Rain

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

Writing: Kadin

    I love being able to find a spare minute to scrawl out a post real fast, especially in the madness that has been my family's Christmas season this year.

   There isn't very much to tell about the bit I'm posting. Most everything is explained in the contents of the scribble, so you should be able to figure it out without an extensive explanation about the background events. Though, I will tell you that Kadin's father used to be a fighter as well before he was injured badly in a fight that put him in a wheelchair.

   Sometime after the injury, he lost part of himself in anger and the want for vengeance, so he's driving Kadin hard to try and get back at the man who paralyzed him through her.

   Yeah, it's messy.


     Kadin knew she was off her game in the moments following her mistake. She’d flinched right when she’d caught the glinting fist aimed for her head and had pulled up her guard to catch it, leaving her left side wide open.
     A hiss of pain escaped her when the robot landed a heavy blow to her midsection, and she knew that that wouldn’t be the end of it, because the automaton was programmed to press any advantage it received, to go straight for the knock-out.
     In a way, it was far more fearsome than any human opponent was, because, while she might be able to call a timeout, until the time that she did, it would not stop.
     Gritting her teeth, Kadin took two rapid steps back to try and regain her footing before he threw it off all together, bringing her hands up into a defensive position just in time.
     The silvery fist was just beginning its descent to try and catch her underneath her guard when Kadin felt a familiar buzz in the back of her skull.
     “Timeout!” She shouted, telling herself to not feel too relieved.
     Saved by the call, the young woman mused as the robot straightened and developed what she’d titled “standby mode”, which he’d remain in until she was ready to continue their spar.
     Kadin ducked down between the ropes surrounding the square fighting ring, pushing the hair that had escaped her tight ponytail out of her eyes as the buzzing continued in her head.
     Dash, dash. Pause. Dash, dash, dash. Pause. Dash, dash.
     A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. Mom. She clicked her back teeth to pick up the call via the device embedded deep in her ear; an upgrade her father had designated necessary.
     “Hey, Mom, what’s up?” Kadin said in greeting, taking a seat on the bench near the ring and grabbing her towel.
     “Kadin! It’s so good to hear your voice,” her mother sounded relieved, as she usually did when they hadn’t been in touch since that morning.
     “It’s been maybe ten hours since we talked last, Mom,” she reminded, wiping the moisture of her brow and then glancing around for her water bottle.
     The silver exterior was beaded with condensation from the cold contents, and it felt good in Kadin’s hands.
     “I know, but I worry about you. Did you eat lunch? Actually, no, I’m focusing. I want you to come home for dinner.”
     The fighter paused mid-swig of her water, then lowered the bottle. She can’t have possibly asked Dad. There’s no way he’d approve of this. “I’m kind of busy, Mom...” Kadin said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
     “No, you’ve said that every night for the past two weeks and I won’t take it anymore. You can tell your coaches or your friends or your sponsors that you’re having dinner with your parents tonight.” The older woman sounded far more heated than Kadin was used to, but she took it in stride.
     Her voice was quiet as she replied, “Mom, the nationals are next week, and if I don’t qualify for the worldwide—“
     If I don’t qualify, Dad will—I don’t know what he’ll do, but I don’t want to find out.
     Aloud though, she said, “It’ll be another two years before I get a shot at this if I don’t make it this round. I’ve already failed once.”
     And she could still see the bruises on her Mother’s wrists from that failure.
     “Kadin, sweetheart, you’re amazing. You know you can do it. You practice all day, every day, and if you’re not doing that, you’re talking strategies with the Barton’s. All I want is to see my baby girl at the kitchen table and getting a full meal under my supervision. Just this once, please.”
     The young woman swallowed back the emotion that threatened, looking at the walls of her boxing gym. I don’t care what he’s going to say. I have to do this for Mom. “Alright, Momma. When do you want me to come?”
     The relief on Marina Evans’ voice was clear as she said, “Whenever you finish up for the evening.”
     “Give me an hour then,” Kadin leaned back, looking up at her sparring pal who still stood in standby. “I need to finish up this round then get cleaned up.”
     Despite the unease roiling in her gut, it felt good to hear her mother’s cheer coming through the connection. The older woman closed the link after a few more moments and several good-byes.
     Kadin sat for another moment when silence fell, contemplating the wisdom in her decision. Dad wouldn’t be happy, the Barton’s wouldn’t be happy, but her Mom would be, and that was her sole wish. Keep Mom happy... and safe.
     She was just rising when the buzzing in her head came again, this time the pattern spelling out A. Barton. Great.
     “Hey,” the fighter greeted, wandering up the steps and ducking back into the ring. “I was just going to call you.”
     “Glad I beat you to it,” Antonia said with dry humor.
     Victor and Antonia Barton were some of the hand-fighting world’s most renowned coaches... and some of its greatest legends.
     They’d both fought in the ring before they got married, but it was after they did that they’d made their names known. There were singular, duo, and tri fights. Kadin specialized in singular, much like her father had. The Barton’s were “Dryads”, two fighters who went up against other two-member teams.
     That, however, hadn’t been where their success came from. It was when they qualified for two-on-three fights that the news had exploded with news of them and sponsors had been lining up to help them.
     The Barton’s had taken on the world-reigning Triad team, almost seven years ago now. It had been them against three of the best men the globe had to offer.
      And they’d won.
     “What can I help you with?” Kadin asked, perching on the ropes and eyeing her sparring automaton critically. Was that some wear and tear on his left leg?
     “It was about tonight’s meeting. Our reservation got thrown out the window by some bigwig who apparently outranks a couple of hand-fighting coaches, so Vic suggested I actually call and ask if you had a place you’d rather eat at,” her female coach said, sounding quite intent to get this all figured out.
     They’d only been her instructors for the past year, a relatively short time in the fighting world, but her father had had a specific goal in mind when he’d hired them as her trainers. Along with ranking at the top of the singular, mixed fights, he expected her to dominate in the two on one matches as well. The Barton’s purpose in her life was to teach her how to fight when she was outnumbered.
     “I actually can’t make it tonight, Antonia. Something came up just a couple of minutes ago and I’m busy. We’ll have to try for breakfast or something tomorrow.”
     There was a long silence and then the woman drew out, “I... see. You realize the nationals are in a week, Kadin?”


   This bit was the perfect example of how most my bits work. I got halfway through the next sentence and then didn't ever write anything else for it. Aherm.

   I hope you liked this small scrawl and thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave feedback, should you have any to give. I'd love to hear it.

   On another note, I might be posting more of Nuada sometime, if I can get together my brain to write something more substantial. She's been very active in my head, and I'd really like to flesh out the rest of the characters, so. Be on the look out for that, and otherwise I'll probably have some other scribbles... sometime. We shall see.

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

Writing: Jaq

   Alright, I know I said I would be posting a lot of writing stuff and I haven't really done so yet, but I've had a crazy week. First there was mailing all that stuff, a concert on Sunday (though I did post my thoughts on Newton), and a lot of the rest of the week we've been babysitting a three-week-old baby boy. He's precious, let me tell you.

   So, writing.

   I would almost call this a short-short story, just because it's so long and has something of a storyline to it. And as a warning, it is long. 13 pages on my Microsoft Word document.

   Writing Jaq always amused me to no end, just because of her trains of thought and how she acts around different people, and I hope that maybe she makes you smile as well.

   Perhaps feel a bit of pity for Alec as well, yes?


     “Jaq!” he shouted her name while rifling through the chests that lined the walls. “What did you do with mother’s gift?”
    His midnight-haired wife stomped into the room, indigo eyes glittering with irritation. “Stop yelling, will you? I can hear you just fine from the other room.”
    The man glared up at her. “I know you hid the comb I acquired for my mother. Where did you stash it?”
    She plopped down on the low-sitting couch, stubbornness written on her face as she sealed her lips.
    “Jaq, I realize that is it reflective and that it shimmers, but you can’t have that one. If you want one, I will find another, but it’s Mother’s birthday and she’s expecting something from me. So will you please go and find it?”
    Truly, he didn’t see why she needed the bracelet as well. Their large apartment of rooms already sparkled, shimmered, and shone with multitudes of expensive objects. Mirrors covered many of the walls, which had taken some adjusting to, and the walls which lacked more than two or three seeing-glasses were laced with delicate chains of silver and gold and where she couldn’t put the long links of metal she put bracelets of various sizes. The result was a quite distracting display of treasure. Jaq also tended to put rings, bracelets, and jewels in small piles on the floor – in the lacquered chests as well –, sequestered somewhere off to the side, but not out of sight. Best of all, she hoarded things that she took a particular fancy to. To Alec’s exasperation, that included his own jewelry and other various objects he might mistakenly carry into their rooms.
    Such as this gift to his mother, an expensive bracelet, made of woven silver and inlaid with sapphires.
    He went to lean over her, hoping that the display of dominance might force the information out of her.
    The woman merely frowned up at him before switching her gaze to stare out the window.
    “Jaq...” he said, warning in his tone. “Tell me where it is.”
    “No.”
    Alec huffed in frustration. “Please? I’ll find you another, but you have to let me have this one. Immediately.”
    Her eyes flickered to him and she muttered, “I want silk.”
    “...I’m sorry?”
    “Silk! I will fetch it for you, but I want a length of silk in return for it.”
    The male couldn’t believe he was bartering for the gift he had already purchased, but he sighed and nodded. “Alright. A bolt of silk, as soon as I can find it, in whatever available color you prefer.”
    Delight lit her face as she bounded off into their bed chamber and he heard the sound of jewels spilling everywhere.
    Jaq was back in a moment, silvery prize in her palms as she presented it to him with a large grin on her face.
    He took the bracelet without comment, stowing it in the small, tasseled bag that it had come in. Then he bent to kiss her forehead, amusement finally surfacing over the whole situation.
    “Thank you, Jaq.”
    Said woman smirked and as he left, he heard the familiar rattle of her digging through one of her treasure piles as he departed.
    Alec’s humor remained good as he made his way through the hallways of his parents’ vast palace.
    After all, how many other princes of their realm had the fortune of being married to the descendent of dragon shifters?

    Jaq’s footsteps were mere whispers of sound as she treaded through the dark rooms belonging to herself and her vow-partner. She silently marveled in the way the moonlight reflected off her treasures.
    Despite the fact that they had been bound to one another nigh six moon-phases, her nature still made Alec uncomfortable at times. She had tried to explain herself once, but speaking was not her specialty and how could she put these urges into words for him to understand? She had been this way from birth. This was part of who she was, it was part of her blood and the core of her being. There were no words to describe that.
    In the beginning, she had agreed to wed the keeper-of-her-vows for the sole reason that doing so would expand her country’s land and swell their riches, and by extension, hers.
    So she had born the superfluous speeches and extravagant ceremony both sets of sovereigns had insisted upon without complaint and had been bound to Alec-royalty-of-the-sands within a time stretch of two moon-phases.
    He had been wary of her at first, which had transformed into bewilderment at her multiple habits, and finally settled into the recent norm; amusement, annoyance, and quiet affection.
    And... she enjoyed it.
    She enjoyed this land, which kept her warm during the day, and cool at night, she enjoyed frustrating Alec by hiding the things he would need for whatever social function he had to attend. She loved his attention, be it anger or that smoldering warmth which made her skin crawl with anticipation, though what she expected she did not know. He strove to accommodate her odd needs, but knew when enough was enough and wasn’t afraid to tell her so.
    It was that that made her blood truly stir. It made her dragon-self roar with excitement, because, although she had been refused before, it was different coming from this one. There was something about the determined set of his jaw and the unyielding look in his dark eyes that made her want to fight his authority once more, if only to see it again.
    Jaq dragged the lengthy piece of silk off the couch and pulled it around her bare arms. Its smooth touched calmed her and her heartbeat slowed as she weaved the fabric through the air. It rippled appealingly and she danced around the room with quiet steps, letting it swirl about her.
    When her breath came in pants and her arms ached from holding the silk aloft, she made her way to the window, leaning against the marble ledge. She stared out across the surrounding buildings and the sands beyond it, amused by how much larger the desert was compared to even the large capital which they resided in.
    Alec-who-stirred-fire-in-her-heart inquired if she missed her family, and she was unable to give him a reply.
    She supposed she wished for their presence, in some way. She had never cried or ached because of their absence from her life, but she did feel the loss of the counseling of father-protector-of-her-person, the quips from mother-who-had-given-her-life, the constant attention from her younger siblings-who-never-knew-weariness, and the rough teasing of her brother-who-was-strong-and-brave-always.
    Once again, it was difficult to explain such feelings to Alec and thus she would say that yes, she did at some points desire their presence, and left it at that.
    Jaq looked down at her arm, taking in the way it appeared white in the white-night-sun’s rays.
     A light snore caught her attention, and she made her way to the archway that led to the expansive-but-short-sleeping-couch that she shared with the-one-bound-to-her.
     Alec’s arm lay across her side of their bed and his mouth hung open in an amusing manner. His gold-like-sun-and-brown-like-earth hair was shimmering in the white-blue light that came through the thin curtains. She quelled the instinct to touch it, choosing instead to sit on the windowsill and let the fabric shielding them from the outside wash over her.
     The sound of his breathing had much the same effect her length of silk caused. Peace and serenity stole through her and she relaxed against the stone at her back.
     Nights of restlessness oft came upon her, but she had learned over time to wait for this moment, this feeling that would lull her back to sleep. It was quite unlike any other emotion, singular and unique and she enjoyed its coming.
     When her eyes slid dangerously low, the woman got to her feet and shuffled around to her side-of-the-place-she-saw-as-a-haven, crawling onto it. The coverings were light on accord of it being hot-like-sun-itself during the light-hours and the dark-times being blissfully cool.
     Jaq boldly scooted close to the sharer-of-this-sleeping-couch, stuffing her pillow between his arm and her neck before pulling his other arm over her waist. The result was content curling up inside her, and her dragon-self humming with approval.
     Alec-who-rarely-woke-before-light didn’t awaken, but he must have recognized her presence in his sleep-state for his limb tightened around her then pulled her closer.
     The woman fell asleep with a slight smile touching her lips.


     Alec grinned at his brother, pleased that he had been able to return home earlier than they had expected. Aaron had yet to meet Jaq, and it would be an introduction he’d enjoy experiencing.
     They were on the way back from a friendly crossing of swords, and had plans to reconvene in an hour for the evening meal.
     “And make sure to bring my newest little sister. I am quite intrigued as to her personality.”
     Alec raised his brows, and pondering warning his elder brother as to her tendency to lift shiny things, but decided against it.
     It would be amusing, to say the least, to observe his reaction.
     “I’ll do that. I’ll warn you though, she’s doubtful to be in a good mood,” and even though Alec didn’t explain further, Aaron seemed to get the message.
     Clearing his throat uncomfortably, the elder mumbled something along the lines of “heavens help you” and moved off, waving over his shoulder.
     Alec watched him go before heading to the baths. He finished in short order and found himself standing before the door to their rooms.
     Jaq had been in a foul mood for the better part of a week now, and he’d learned there was little he could do to calm her besides stay out of the way and get her whatever she asked for as fast as possible.
     He pushed the portal open, and closed it behind him, glancing around the dark interior for his wife.
     “...Jaq? It’s almost time for dinner.”
     There was a growl from the direction of the bedroom, but she didn’t speak.
      Alec wandered that direction, leaning in the archway with his arms crossed. She was curled up on the bed, a pillow hugged tight to her chest. Her glare was directed at the window, but was likely meant for him.
      “I know you don’t want to go, but my brother wants to meet you,” the prince murmured, watching her for any signs of a better disposition. There was none in coming. 
      Jaq sat up and threw a bolster at him. Alec caught it and stepped aside as she stomped past him.
      “Do you want this?” he held up her favored train of silk, which had been draped over the back of the couch. 
      The woman turned around, and her gaze fastened on it.
      He wasn’t surprised that she didn’t speak; it seemed to be her way of showing the depths of her frustration with life in general.
      But the fabric was whisked from his grasp and Jaq settled it so it rested in the crooks of her arms, leaving the rest to trail along behind her.
      Alec smiled and held out his hand for hers, trying not to let his amusement at her behavior show. Whatever irritation that might’ve remained in her gaze was cooled by his offer.
      Jaq slid her fingers into his grasp and let him pull her through the halls, distracted by the fluttering of her silken train, and the waving of the curtains in windows they passed.
      A door-guard pushed open the oak barring their way, revealing the well lit interior beyond.
      The feasting hall was a large room, and one’s attention was immediately drawn to the long, low table which sat upon a wooden platform off the floor.
      Servants puttered about, bringing food, or leaving with trays, and Alec’s attention was drawn by his brother’s laugh from nearby at another of the entrances.
      “This is her? You make her sound much more—“
      Jaq leveled her indigo gaze on him, previous good humor vanishing as she stopped Aaron midsentence.
      He recovered by executing a flawless bow. “My lady. Please forgive me. My name is Aaron, brother of your husband.”
      She looked at him for a few moments longer, then away, towards the table with an uninterested manner.
       Alec cast his brother an apologetic look, whose features showed his surprise at her conduct.
 
     Jaq ran about the encampment with bare feet and her head uncovered. Alec had been sent to deal with a dispute on the border somewhere and when she’d learned how long it would take, she’d demanded to be brought along.
     It was day two in their journey, and her enthusiasm had yet to die. Her dragon-self reveled in the intense heat that the sun-very-high-over-head brought on, and by extension, she did as well.
     When Jaq had learned Aaron-brother-of-the-one-bound-to-her hated the heat, she had taken to paying closer attention. She enjoyed watching the-one-who-frustrated-her squirm with discomfort.
     They had been traveling at night and resting in the daytime, to cause less strain on people and carrying-beast. 
     Jaq darted around one of the attendants-whose-presence-she-found-unnecessary, and pushed into the tent she and Alec shared. It was nearing dusk, so everyone was working to prepare to go.
     Except the one-who-must-have-his-rest, apparently. Jaq plopped down next to Alec’s head, leaning over to study his features in detail once again. Light was dim in the shelter, but she could make out the lines-speaking-of-his-weariness, and the faint spots-from-the-sun that littered the tops of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.
     And then she sneezed.
     Right in his face.
     Alec jerked upright, nailing his head against hers, and both went reeling.
     “Jaq?” he groaned, peering at her in the dark.
     Said woman twiddled her fingers at him, recovering remarkably quickly from their little bonk. “We’re leaving soon,” she explained, then sneezed again.
      A frown of confusion crossed her features because she was rarely allergic to anything. Caught up in her ponderings, Jaq didn’t notice when Alec rolled his eyes in exasperation.
     She noted from the corner of her eye as he got to his feet and wandered towards her, but was taken entirely by surprise when he tilted her chin up and kissed her.
      It was a few moments before realization kicked in and she jerked away, scrambling backwards as she glared at him. Alec grinned innocently and her frown deepened.
      “You know I despise that,” Jaq snapped, on her feet and stalking to the exit.
      “Evening to you as well, darling,” he called after her.
      The dragon-descendent stomped away from the tent, muttering under her breath for the next long while, and never stopping to examine the feeling that had lanced through her at his sudden touch.
 
     She didn’t know where he was. Didn’t know where he had gone. The world had shrunk to her and the pain and all she knew was that she needed Alec. Not any of those spineless men who called themselves physicians and tried to shove foul smelling brews down her throat.
     Jaq needed the one who would calm her dragon-self, because this wasn’t supposed to be happening.
     It was too soon, she was too young, she hadn’t matured yet. Those thoughts contrasted Jaq’s own mental train, confused her, until she wasn’t sure what was herself and what was her dragon-self.
     She clung to a pillar, free arm pressed into her abdomen in a feeble attempt to abate the burning sensation that filled her.
     How long had it been since she’d seen him? Where had he gone?
     Jaq forced herself to take in her surroundings, to recognize where she was because she needed to see someone, to make someone understand what she needed right now.
      A sound reverberated in the air, but the buzzing in her ears drowned it out. She turned to look behind her, everything blacking out for a moment before coming back.
     “...Mother,” the young woman rasped, looking at the haggard face of the woman-who-had-given-birth-to-her.
      It took a few tries, but Jaq was able to decipher the meaning behind her mother’s lip-movements, and allowed the woman to lead her back the way she had just come.
      Exhaustion and bone-deep pain was setting in when she was lowered onto the bed in the rooms-where-Alec-should-have-been.
     She tried to speak again, to force her dry tongue and throat to voice the name of the one she desperately needed to find, but was unable to.
     Her mother swam into view again; pain was clear in her bright eyes, and Jaq read the word “sleep” off her lips.
     And even though she tried to fight it because she had to stay awake, had to find Alec, her dragon-self’s agony was dimmed somewhat by their mother’s presence.
     That was enough to send Jaq over the edge into the blackness that had been so rare in coming.
     Her mind was clearer when she woke, but the fire blazing through her body had returned in force, and Jaq had to fight screaming when its full intensity impacted. As it was, a long, low groan escaped her lips.
     “Jaq?”
     She cracked her eyes open, seeing her mother through the haze covering her gaze. “Mother...where’s...”
     “Quiet, Jaq. You need to eat and drink.”
     “Where is he?” the young woman persisted, voice breaking on every word.
     “Jaq—“
     “Tell me.”
      A cool hand covered her forehead, providing a momentary balm to her anguish.
     “We don’t know, Jaq. He’s missing, and we assume that he has been captured by a band of ruffians.”
      Jaq cried out, curling in on herself as the pain increased exponentially at the news. “Need him,” she gasped out, searching for her mother’s hand. “She needs him so badly.”
     Aliya held her daughter’s hand in her own, gripping them near as tight as Jaq did hers. “You have to tell me what’s wrong, Jaq. Alec’s parents said that their physicians could find nothing to pain you.”
     “She...wasn’t ready...” she ground out, burying her face in the bed as she tensed.
     The queen grabbed a nearby cloth, damp and cool, to press to the back of Jaq’s neck. “Breathe, Jaq. It’ll help.”
     “Nothing...helps...Mother. She needs...Ale—“ and a scream broke from the young woman’s throat as her back arched.
      Aliya waited it out, fighting to keep calm, because she was scared. Scared because she didn’t know what was happening that could cause her daughter, who was always to strong, to be in so much pain.
     It didn’t make sense and the only one who could explain it was in so much agony she could barely speak.
     “She wasn’t ready, wasn’t prepared,” Jaq burst out, then heaved in a shuddering breath.
     “Wasn’t prepared for what, Jaq? You have to tell me. Please, Jaq. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
     “A child, Mother,” she whispered, twisting her head so she could see the other woman. Tears stood in her eyes, shining in the light like diamonds. “Dragon-self wasn’t ready for—“ a cry rent from her throat again. It was another minute before she could speak. “S-she was not ready to bear a – a child.”
     The queen stared for long moments. “You...are...”
     “With child, Mother, and it is like being ripped apart from the inside.”
      As if to prove her point, another spasm of pain overtook Jaq, keeping her from speaking while it overcame her. The burning wave left her gasping for breath.
      “And you are in pain because your dragon-self is not mature enough to bear a child.”
      Jaq nodded, fighting to keep her wits about her. “We need Alec, Mother. I can’t... can’t last, not like this. Every moment brings me closer to surrender.”
      “And having Alec here will help?” Aliya asked, pushing bangs wet with cold sweat from her daughter’s brow.
      “Yes,” Jaq groaned, muscles clenching. A pained whimper escaped her when she could relax once more. “She screams for his presence and his touch. She’s scared. She doesn’t know how to do this without him.”
      “What about you, Jaq? Not your dragon-self,” Aliya murmured, smoothing her hand over the young woman’s hair.
       A drop of moisture ran across the bridge of Jaq’s nose as she clung to her mother’s arm. “I miss him,” she cried. “I miss him. I’m scared. It hurts so badly and nothing is helping.”
       “Sshh, it’ll be alright. We’ll find him.”
       “Please, Mother. Please find him.”
*****
     Jaq dragged the cloak over her shoulders, grinding her teeth together as the movements agitated the burning within her.
     The moon was high in the sky as she made her way from the room, to the hallway, and then continued on towards where she assumed the stables were located.
     It was no doubt a foolish move, but there was nothing left she could do other than scream out her pain day and night. She had to find Alec, since no one else had been able to do so.
    The guards were easy to slip past, and even if they had noticed her, they wouldn’t have been suspect. At least, not overly much.
     Once inside the stables, Jaq dug through the saddles for the one she had used when coming to Alec’s kingdom.
     A few of the horses nickered as she stumbled along with her burden, the heavy tack not the only reason for her uneven gait.
     The woman had to stop several stalls from her destination, chest heaving as she fought to just breathe, breathe and get through it.
     Doubling over, she gripped the saddle’s edge as an outlet for the pain, trying to channel the urge to cry out into her hold.
     Multiple minutes passed before she could straighten again, and she doggedly began dragging the horse-seat once more.
     Her steed of choice was Alec’s second best horse, as his first best had disappeared along with himself. The stallion snorted, in irritation likely as not, as Jaq entered his stall.
     Humming a lullaby she had long forgotten the words to, she set about saddling the beast without alarming him, or any of the others.
     To have the stable-keeper come to check on the horses would not be conducive to her plan. Stealth and secrecy was a must because if anyone found out she was going to ride off into the desert, alone, with no weapons, nor sustenance, she would be chained to the bed and not allowed to leave.
     And that would drive Jaq over the brink that been hovering in her mind for days now.
     So she gritted her molars together and tightened the saddle’s girth on the stallion.

     Jaq lifted her face to the moon, a long, hot breath leaving her. The foggy cloud plumed above her, and she looked back at the city.
     Nothing stirred that she could see. It was time to depart.
     Pain struck once more before she could knee the stallion into motion. She bent at the waist, forehead pressed to the horse’s mane.
     When she was able to open her eyes again, the skin on her forearms and the backs of her hands had darkened to black.
     Jaq studied the curious change, running her fingertips over the dark skin, and feeling the ridges beginning to form.
     It almost felt like...scales.
     Her dragon-self assured her that it was nothing to be alarmed about. Jaq got the feeling this was only happening because of the changes occurring within her. They were rousing her line’s long dormant dragon blood.
     She turned her gaze towards the ocean of sand, noting minute changes in the way she perceived the dunes.
     There was no time to delay; even less now. The woman had no idea what a possible shift to her dragon-shape would do to her control, and she had no wish to find out so soon.
     With that firmly in mind, she urged the stallion prancing between her legs into a steady pace, in the direction Alec had last travelled.
     Another steamy cloud left her mouth as she rode, soon dissipating into the warm night air.

     Jaq sprawled on the ground, writhing in pain and desperation.
     Get up! she screamed at herself. We’re so close! He’s so close!
     A snarl tore from her throat as she dug her hands into the sand and pushed herself upwards.
     Her arms were all black now, the skin glinting with scales, and her nails lengthened to deadly points.
     How much farther the changes had spread, Jaq didn’t know. But the sides of her neck felt rough, and her pants kept catching on her legs.
     It had taken a long time to get here, but her dragon-self roared with decisiveness and urgency when faced with the village laid before them.
     Crossing her arms over her abdomen, Jaq fought to get to her feet and stumble down the dune, ignoring the shouts of surprise and warning that accompanied her arrival.
      She approached the ring of tents, paying no heed to the dark-headed people who surrounded her. If they got to close, or got in the way, Jaq snarled at them, lashing out if she had to.
      Once bitten, twice shy, they said. Once slashed, twice cautious, was more appropriate however.
      The women and children were hurried away and the men tried to keep her boxed in, but seemed unwilling to draw weapons on the young sovereign.
      Jaq could have cared less, making her way in a zigzagging but unfaltering path towards the only real structure in the camp.
      She was finally stopped by two guards with spears at the bottom stairs of the ancient temple.
      “You can’t go in there,” one said, caution on his tone, but determination in his eyes.
      Jaq opened her mouth to reply, but doubled over, words coming out as a strangled scream instead. Unnoticed by her, but observed by all around her, the blackness plaguing her body spread, disappearing into her hair line.
      The hand on her shoulder was marred by four long cuts in moments, and Jaq used the distraction to shove one sentry aside with her shoulder. She ducked under his spear and staggered up the steps, fighting to keep her head from swimming.
      The doors were easy to push open, old and rotten as they were.
      It was there the dragon’s-ancestor went to her knees, pain and exhaustion weighing down her shoulders until she had no strength to stand.

      Alec had been in the midst of one of the daily arguments with his captors when they had heard the commotion outside.
      None of the words were distinct, and he could tell that the men before him wished to know what it was all about, but they returned to the matter at hand.
      “Your people have blocked off our trade-routes, prince. Those trade-routes are the only things keeping our tribes alive and prospering.”
      “We have done no such thing,” Alec shot back at length. “Any closing of trade-routes done by my parents has been first investigated thoroughly. They make sure to confer with anyone involved with it, and verify that it is no longer of use before it is closed off. If you have experienced difficulties by this, then it is because you do not approach the rulers with word of your concerns, which they would gladly listen to! You must stand up for yourselves if you want to survive, Saleem. That is the way of the desert, and you know this.”
       Any reply the man might’ve made was interrupted by a shout of pain, the banging of doors, and then a dead silence.
       All inside the former worship-place turned to survey the intruder.
      She was scarcely recognizable, a shimmering blackness covering her usually light skin. But her eyes he would have recognized anywhere.
      The oddest mix between blue and green that only one person had.
      “Jaq,” Alec murmured, rising from the mat he sat upon.
      “Wait, your highness,” Saleem barked, also rising. “You, bring her here.”
      Two soldiers responded to his command, while Alec clenched his fists and told himself to not do anything rash.
       Saleem waved him backwards when Jaq was dropped before him, a command Alec disregarded when she groaned.
       He dropped to his knees by her side, pushing sand-filled hair from her face while turning her onto her back.
       “Jaq?”
       Her eyes focused on him, seeming to have trouble doing so. When she opened her mouth, presumably to speak, nothing came out.
       “Jaq? What’s wrong? What happening to you?”
       The woman shook her head, panic crossing her features. Alec ran his fingertips over the scales spreading up her throat in an attempt to calm her.
        Alec ignored the varying levels of talk about him until a hand landed on his shoulder and yanked backwards.
       “Saleem, you can’t do this!” the royal growled, yanking against the guards who’d pulled him back several paces and forced him to his knees. “I don’t know what’s happening, but she needs me right now.”
        Said man wasn’t paying attention, which incensed Alec further.
        He watched helplessly as his captor knelt beside Jaq, touching her arm with something akin to awe upon his face.
        “She is... dragon-kind?” Saleem turned to like at Alec.
        “Yes, but never like this. You have to let us go, right now. I have to get her back to the city.”
        The wonder upon the desert-man’s face promptly fled, and he rose up to go and stand before his prisoner. “Never. You are the only collateral we have to force your parents into doing what we wish.”
        “Then send Jaq back, please!” Alec pleaded, looking around Saleem to where she lay on the ground where she’d fallen.
        “If she is truly who you say she is, then she shall also remain here in order to force also her parents to do as we will them,” the man replied, realization, then pleasure, showing in his expression.
        “You no-good sand rat!” the young man exploded, slamming his elbow backwards into one guard, and then reaching back to trip the other.
        Both were unprepared and fell after his strikes, but Saleem seemed to have been expecting some resistance.
        The tribe leader had no qualms in burying his fist in the jaw of his prisoner, sending Alec reeling backwards.
        Across the shelter, Jaq croaked out “Alec” before she screamed.
       Everyone in the premises whirled at the blood-curdling noise, watching in horror as the blackness painting her skin spread further, blotting out any patches of white remaining.
       The pounding in his cheek faded into the background as Alec watched his wife writhe on the sandy floor.
        He stumbled forward, trying to speak through his dry throat.
        She was changing, Alec realized, watching her. Her every part of her was lengthening, thickening, darkening. Jaq’s cries became growls as opposed to groans, rumbling through the air like the thunder before a storm.
        It was minutes and yet years later that the prince saw just how much space she was soon going to occupy.
        Even now, she didn’t even appear to be human, rather, a grotesque cross between a person and...a dragon?
        Alec jerked when someone bumped into him, and he realized it was Saleem, who was white with terror.
        “What is she?” the man asked with a shaking voice.
        “She’s Jaq, descendant of the dragon shifters,” Alec answered, confidence pouring into his tone as he grinned. “And you really shouldn’t have crossed her.”
         As if to prove his point, the woman-turned-dragon roared, eliciting terrified cries from many of the room’s occupants.
         “Get out,” Saleem said, then repeated himself, louder this time. “Everyone get out!”
         His command came just in time, because as Saleem’s subordinates fled the structure, Jaq completed her shift.
         Alec remained where he’d been standing as she snapped and snarled at the scurrying guards, advisors, and servants to hurry them along.
        “How’re you going to get out, Jaq?” the male called up to her, surveying the roof, and the usual exit.
        The dragon fixed indigo eyes upon him and huffed, making Alec laugh.
        “You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”
        She inclined her long, black snout in response, dropping down to her stomach so they were more or less at eye level.
        Alec reached out to run his hand over the hard scales about her ears, murmuring as he did so, “Thanks for coming after me, Jaq.”
       The female released a small sigh, which smelt of burning wood and made the prince cough.
       “I’ll get out of here so you can bring down the roof,” he said at last, turning towards the doorway. “Just be careful, alright? I don’t want to have to carry you all the way back to the city.”
        Alec assumed the series of snorts and hiccups the dragon emitted were supposed to be her new version of laughter.
        When he stepped out into the fading light, he was confronted with the sight of Saleem and the omads, surrounding the ruined temple as if to storm the place, and yet fear was the only thing he saw upon their faces.
        “Take your dragon and leave, prince. We will no longer challenge your parents’ authority, but in return you must leave us unharmed.”
        Alec nodded. “You have nothing to fear from us, Saleem. If you have concerns, bring them to the city, and we will listen. No judgment shall be brought against you either me or my people.”
        And then any further conversation was cut off by a roar and the sound of falling stone.
       The young man turned, searching for the streak of black that would tell him she hadn’t been crushed by the overhead rock.
       Jaq burst from the collapsing building with a triumphant bugle, long wings propelling her high into the sky.
       From amidst the crowd, there was a child’s awed shout of, “Mother! It’s a dragon, like in the stories!”
       It took a moment for those words to sink in but then more children were calling greetings to Jaq, who craned her long neck in order to stare down at them.

       Several hours later, well after dark, Alec rode along beside Jaq, still a dragon, upon the horse she’d come on.
       The night sky was black above them, but the stars were bright and the moon shone with a fierceness unbefitting of its role.
       “You’ll have to tell me everything when we get home and you are able to return to your normal self,” Alec mused aloud, glancing at the lumbering reptile next to him.
       Her puffed breath caused a cloud of fog to rise in the cold night air.
       “Shall I assume that means I don’t know the half of it?”
       Jaq grumbled, making the steed prance nervously. Alec steadied it with a firm hand, amusement clear on his features.
        “You do realize the trouble you’re going to be in, correct? Coming out into the desert, alone, on what I am going to assume you thought of as instinct? Foolishness.”
        She slanted narrowed eyes at him, displeasure clear by the snarl curling her upper lip.
        “But I am glad you did. Saleem was one persistent man, although I do believe he has his people’s best interests at heart.”
        His wife’s rumbling growl told him all he needed to know about her thoughts on Saleem.
        “Don’t worry; if he does show up again, you won’t have to see him, alright?”
        She hummed in agreement, lengthening her stride, romping through the sand like a child, and leaving the oddest tracks in her path.
        Alec smiled to himself, pleased to see Jaq acting more or less like herself, and completely unsuspecting of the news that awaited him when they reached home. Or when she was able to return to her human form.
      Whichever would come first.
 
      But that, I believe, is another story.

      Owari

      For now

    And that is the tale of Jaq, the dragon-shifter, and Alec. I'm sorry it's so long, but I didn't feel like splitting it into two different sections.

    I hope you enjoyed it and I should have some more writing up either within a few minutes or a few days. We'll see.

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

Writing: Lane and Tess

     I'm going to warn you now that I have quite a bit of writing posts lined up for the next while. Poked a little through my hard-drive and found a bunch of stuff that was written well enough that I figured I might as well post it.

    With that in mind, onward we go.

    Lane and Tess do not, as you will discover, age naturally. They age quite unnaturally, in fact, both having lived centuries upon centuries. Don't ask about the backstory that's evident by his finding her, the mysterious 'Sterling', or what Tess what doing out during a turf war at all, because those are details I myself never got around to working out.

   What's important is that they found each other again, right?

       She ducked away from a gangster, who was waving a gun wildly through the air, pulling the hood of her jacket closer around her hair, keeping the conspicuous blue highlights from view.
    A shot rang out, making Tess’ heart falter and her head come around. Chaos reigned around her as the gang war erupted, but no one seemed to be paying her any attention. Rain poured down around them, the sky dark and rumbling with thunder.
    Lightning flashed and Tess jumped again, even as she ducked into a doorway to avoid a heavily tattooed man who ran past with an automatic machine gun in his hands.
    For reasons that she couldn’t pinpoint, these sorts of scenarios didn’t bother her. Tess took it all in stride, even as another male, younger this time, fell just a few feet away from her.
    Her mind tuned out the violence, the cursing, the screaming, and focused in on her goal. She couldn’t spot it through the downpour that fell in her eyes and made it difficult to see; not yet, at least. But she knew where it was.
    The old, run-down school held a sealed file somewhere on the second floor that she was supposed to retrieve. 
    Tess side-stepped into an alley, making sure no one had noticed her exit. Her bright eyes were uncharacteristically serious as she avoided a body that lay in a puddle of rain and blood.
    A glance over her shoulder proved the lack of a pursuer, and the woman allowed her shoulders to relax a bit, but kept a tight hold of the handgun strapped to her thigh. The weapon was like an extension of herself now, and Tess wondered when that had happened.
    I don’t even like guns, she mused, rounding a corner and coming up short.
    Even with the rain, unlit alley, and lack of sunlight, Tess spotted the black-clad male ten yards away. He was crouched near the wall, his profile turned her way, and his attention clearly on the backpack before him.
    Tess took a step backwards, and tripped on a stone in the middle of a pool of water. Blast it, no!
    A small yelp escaped her as she fell into the water. It soaked through her pants in moments, and Tess grimaced, drawing her gun.
    She leveled it in her silent spectator’s direction as she got to her feet again. Her hood was hanging down her back now, having fallen when she fell, and Tess used her free hand to remove her hair from her eyes.
    The man made move to rise, but she called out, “I wouldn’t. Stay where you are and I won’t put a bullet in you.”
    Now she just had to hope he wasn’t armed as well.
    ...And he was still moving. Was this guy mental?
    Tess kept her Berretta aimed on him as he stood, water running off his long, black jacket in rivulets. Something in her gut turned over as she took in his form, but Tess ignored it.
    This feeling had been showing up more and more recently; so what if this was the first person her intestines had decided to somersault for?
    “Tess,” he said, his voice almost inaudible through the discharge of weapons and rain. “Did they make you forget?”
    Blue eyes narrowed. “How do you know my name? Wait, no, scratch that. I have no desire to know. Just be quiet and allow me to go on my way.”
    The stranger took a step towards her. “No.”
    Tess wanted to laugh. He was telling the woman with the gun ‘no’? Definitely a moron. She cocked her handgun, brows rising pointedly.
    “You won’t shoot me,” he said with annoying surety.
    “Is that so?”
    Another stride forward that made Tess retreat a pace.
    “Stop moving.” He ordered more than anything.
    “That’s my line,” she bit out. This was taking too much time. Sterling wanted her back at nine on the dot, not twenty minutes behind schedule.
    “No, it’s mine. You just don’t remember.”
    The man had crossed half the distance between them now, and was still coming.
    Tess’ patience ran out. She clenched her teeth and let off a round to his left, near his foot. The sharp bang of the weapon startled her, but she refrained from dropping her gun.
    He drew to a halt, but Tess knew it wouldn’t last long. An odd feeling at the back of her head told her as much.
    It was right, so she did the last logical move she could think of. The Berretta was tucked back into its drop holster, and Tess ran.
    She bolted past him, shoulder brushing against the wall as she fled. Rain blinded her, and her hair clung to her cheeks with irritating tenacity.
    Tess couldn’t hear anything above her own breathing and heartbeat, the two sounds working together to drown out anything else, so she didn’t realize he’d pursued her until he caught her elbow.
    A cry tore from her throat as he yanked her to a stop before she could escape back into the turmoil in the main street.
    “Let go!” She gasped out, trying to pull away from him.
    It proved an impossible task, his grip tight on her forearms.
    “Stop and listen to me, Tess.” He said with an edge that made her pause.
    “No,” the woman said, avoiding his gaze as she continued struggled.
    The sounds of fighting had died down in the distance, and Tess wondered who had won. The rain seemed to be coming down even harder than before, and she could feel a chill seeping into her bones that would not be easily erased. If only this stupid man had chosen someone else to pick on!
    “I don’t know what they did to you, Tess, but you know me. You can feel it, can’t you?” Something about his tone brought her eyes up briefly.
    Stupid though he may be, he was right. That feeling was back again, stronger than before.
    Fear shivered through her veins. “I said to let me go, now,” Tess reiterated, trying to maintain her composure.
    I didn’t sign up for this, Sterling. In fact, I didn’t sign up at all, did I?

............

    Lane sat across from her in the abandoned classroom, digging through his backpack again, and not seeming to pay Tess any mind.
    Rain still poured down outside, some of it dripping through holes in the roof. The interior was dirty, grimy, and molding all across the walls and floor. The windows had long since been shot out, and there were only shattered remains left of the light-bulbs overhead.
    Tess was sitting on one of the aged desks, feet swinging in a façade of ease, while she was anything but. Her gaze flickered to the doorway. Wood still clung to the hinges, but the door itself was gone.
    Shivers racked her body every few seconds. The empty classroom had no means to retain heat, and Tess was feeling it more and more with every minute that passed.
    Her clothes clung to her skin, and she could feel water dribbling down between her shoulder-blades from her hair. It wasn’t the most pleasant of sensations, but Tess had made up her mind to not respond to it.
    She focused on the man, who’d introduced himself as Lane, who was still preoccupied for his search. Tess tried to place him in her memory, blue eyes narrowing in thought.
    There was something so very familiar about him. The way he sat, moved... heck, even the way he breathed! The focused look in his unremarkable green eyes and the steady way he sifted through the backpack with long-fingered hands. All of it struck Tess as things she had once known very well, but had forgotten about.
    Blast it all, where do I know you from? How do I know you?
    Tess’ belief that they knew each other was growing every minute that passed, and that was disconcerting in and of itself.
    “Here, look at this,” Lane requested, his voice quiet in the silence that had reigned until then.
    Her gaze went first to his outstretched hand, then his face.
    “What is it?” Starting to believe, not actually believing and it showed through the wariness in her tone.
    Lane was unperturbed by her blatant mistrust. That was how it appeared to her, at the least. “Take it, Tess, and see for yourself.”
    Tess hesitated another few moments, trying to discern anything from his calm gaze, failing, and then reaching out to snatch the object from his palm. She withdrew her arm, and leaned back so it would be illuminated by the gray light coming through one of the windows.
    Water dripped on her head, making gooseflesh break out on her arms and neck, but Tess scarcely noticed. Her attention was consumed by the small, glass vial in her hands.
    It was old; that she could tell within moments. There were nicks and hair-like fractures in the glass. The cork at the opening had been broken off to a stub; it would take a needle to work it out safely, and there was green intermingled with the brown of the stopper. The contents captured her, though, not the exterior.
    The substance was powdery, and shone silvery white, even in this poor lighting. Tess turned it around and around, watching the way it glimmered in a near trance-like state.
    She felt him watching her, waiting, but couldn’t bring herself to care.
    “Chennai, Tess, remember?” Lane’s voice was a low murmur, his hand appearing in her line of sight as he ran a finger along the vial as well. “We didn’t mean to be out on Holi, but something came up. Your... devotees doused you in silver. This silver, Tess.”
    She could see it as he spoke, the memory burning through her mind.
    Walking by Lane’s side, her sari blinding white, scarf drawn across her face, but nothing could ever tame the startling blue of her eyes.
    The sun beat down, burning hot and the air had been heavy with moisture.
    Tess remembered the sheen of sweat to her skin, the excited shouts from the celebrating crowds, being jostled from behind by someone, watching another covered with a brilliant red dye.
    They’d meant to stay indoors that day, unwilling to support the pagan festivities, but it had been unavoidable. A summons had come for Lane, and that automatically extended to her as well.
    It had happened five minutes from home. Tess, despite her ever cautious nature and attempts to not draw attention to herself, had amassed a small group of admirers, most of them young men, and they must’ve been lying in wait for her to make an appearance. There had been a shout of triumph, then the dye had coated her attire, her skin, everything, making her shine like a star.
    Tess came out of the recall with a choked gasp, clutching the desk with both hands. She didn’t know when she’d let go of the vial, but Lane had it, and she knew a moment of relief that it hadn’t shattered on the tiled floor.
    A shuddery breath left her. “What’s going on here?” She asked in a scarce whisper, trying to keep her voice from shaking and failing.
    Lane must’ve put away the dye, because his hands were free when he dragged his chair closer and reached out to touch her cheek with almost hesitant fingertips.
    Tess met his gaze and saw that he was struggling as well, pain in his eyes.
    “Who are you? What are you to me?” She continued, desperate for answers. “Who am I?”
    “They made you forget, Tess. They took you away and made you forget and I have spent the last fifty years trying to find you,” there was a strain on his voice.
    Two words stood out. “What do you mean, fifty years?”
    He seemed about to answer when lightning flashed outside and the crack of thunder followed it up within seconds. Tess cringed away from the window, clenching her teeth as another lost memory came to her.
    A ship being tossed about like a toy by a storm, and Lane out on the deck with the crew, manning the ropes and trying to keep them from sinking. She’d been in the hold, in their cabin, terrified for his life and hoping, praying, pleading that please, please, Lord, don’t take him from me.
    A sob tore from Tess’ throat as she remembered the tumult of emotions that had taken hold of her heart that day, tried to recall what had come later and couldn’t. Tears welled in her eyes and blotted everything out in a watery blur, but the warmth of Lane’s hand against her face didn’t disappear.
    So many things began appearing and tearing through her like a hurricane. People, places, and emotions; they were too numerous for her to know what to do with.
    Tess held her head between her arms, fingers tight in her hair as she rode out wave after wave of history. Because that was what it was, she realized after a few minutes.
    Not just her history, though, or she and Lane’s history, but the world’s history. There were suddenly so many languages on the tip of her tongue. She could see Mongols, Romans, Victorian England, the Civil War, all of it.

   And that's all, folks. I haven't ever written anything else for them, if you were wondering, although I do have another long-lived couple by the names Caesar and Anastasia. They got a bit more old-timey feel to them, I like to think.

   More to come, so keep an eye out in the next few days and I really hope you like reading through all this stuff. Feedback is welcome should you find you have any to give.

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