PSA + Writing: Anomaly, Not Prodigy

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

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

    But, we shall see what occurs, ne?

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

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

    Wish me luck.

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

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

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

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

    Monsoon season. 

    Never ending rain.

    Always soaked through. Perpetual squishing in her boots.

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

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

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

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

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

    Her everything was on fire but she was numb. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Flicker. As far as you can. Go.”

    “Again.”

    “Again.”

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

    “Take the target. I will be here.”

    “You’ve gotten stronger. Go farther.”

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

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

    “Again.”

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

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

    “Again.”

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

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

    “Again.”

    “Tell me about your teammates.”

    “Again.”

    “Tell me about your family.”

    “Again.”

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

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

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

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

    “Very well. Be careful.”

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

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

    Dead. Dead. Dead, dead, dead.

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

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

    Blast Whitecourt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Her earlier impacted shoulder complained against the rough handling.

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

    Ren shoved her back down, merciless. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Stop. Stop talking. Stop.

    Ren slapped her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Not gone. 

    Not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Thank you for reading! 

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: Abnormality, Not Prodigy + Introducing Ren

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

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

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

    In a hospital, of course.


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Ad astra per aspera.
    To the stars through difficulties.

Writing: Trinity's Prompt // motionless

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

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

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

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

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


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

    Mwuahaha. Ha. Ha. 

    I am so sorry.

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

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

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

    Thank you for reading!

    Ad astra per aspera.

    To the stars, through difficulties.

Writing: Abnormality, Not Prodigy

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

    Sad, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

//

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

    Anyways. You know where the confused questions go. 

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

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

Writing: D&J // Fringe-Inspired AU

    Well this is embarrassing.

    I was trying to post at least once a month and I missed the entirety of August. Though, in the interest of fairness, that was a pretty up-in-the-air crazy month. Not that the next few months won't be as well, but hey. It's an excuse and I'll take it.

   But my fingers have not been completely idle. They've not been channeled into what they should be working on, but this AU idea was not to be ignored.

    Basically, I watched all five seasons of a show called Fringe (9/10 stars, would recommend) and got inspired by the final season, where the team was encased in amber and were woken up twenty years down the road.

    I know what you're thinking and oh yes I did. But just Jandy, because I'm sadistic that way. 

    There are going to be some inconsistencies and some POV swaps, because writing through Dechlan's eyes is not nearly as easy as you might think. There should also be more at some point, because I didn't even get to Teagan in my scribbles. And I kind of love Teagan. Some of the different bits are unfinished, as I'm sure will become apparent very quickly. Those would be the ones that got worked on in my head, but never got to the point where I could figure out how to put them down on the page.

    That said, shall we?


    Dusty and looted though it may have been, the majority of the furniture still remained in the upper levels of the abandoned research facility. Too heavy to transport, if he had to hazard a guess. Dechlan checked the desk drawers of the office he’d found a reasonable-looking couch in, searching for anything that might be of use. 
    As expected, nothing. Just indecipherable notes and appointment books. 
    He tossed a stack of papers onto the aged mahogany then went to drop onto the couch with an expelled breath. The electricity was out and they weren’t going to risk turning it on, so the only light available came through the dirty windows, making the interior a comfortable level of darkness to sleep in. 
    Dechlan closed his eyes but sleep couldn’t have been farther away in that moment. He started counting ceiling tiles, one arm crossed behind his head.
    Ten years. Almost eleven in a few weeks more.
    Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dechlan tried shutting his eyes again. It was his turn on the sleep rotation and if he didn’t sleep now then he wouldn’t get another opportunity for at least ten hours. 
    That knowledge did nothing to help calm his mind.
    All the evidence had pointed to her death. No one had heard from or seen her since the Takeover and with the silence and the gaping emptiness nearly driving him insane, he’d had to let go.
    If he hadn’t known better than to waste the energy, Dechlan would’ve been angry. Furious. That someone would’ve taken her, loaded her mind full of information, and stuck her in a high-tech freezer for someone to find down the road. For the resistance army to find after searching through whispers and rumors and fairytales for almost a decade to find a hail mary pass to save them all.
    Jandy.
    The emotions that came attached to that name had faded over time. She had become a fading memory. He’d let go and put her out of his mind years ago because he couldn’t handle trying to hold onto her. It’d been over thirteen months that he’d even thought about her in passing. There was just too much else going on to ruminate over the past.
    Except, it wasn’t the past anymore. 
    If they found Jandy here and if she’d survived the cryogenically frozen state she’d been suspended in for the last decade with her mind intact, then it would’ve been weeks for her since she’d last seen him. Her memories of him would be fresh. Outdated, but fresh.
    Dechlan could remember the facts about his counterpart. He knew that she’d had short brown hair and darker eyes, that’d she’d been 5’5” on the nose. He knew which hospital she’d been born in, the city she’d grown up in, all about her lost twin, Jane. He knew what her preferred foods were, that she hated sleeping with the curtains open, and that her sarcasm got caustic when she was scared.
    But her smile was gone.
    Staring at an overhead air vent coated with dust and cobwebs, Dechlan tried to remember her laugh and couldn’t. Her voice, the temperature of her skin, the smell of her hair after she’d showered.
    At some point over the years, he’d let it all slip away.
    The soldier forced himself back to stable territory again. It wasn’t worth it to linger in the past. 
    Yes, Jandelyn Sparks had been important to him. The only thing important to him, at one point.
    But there was a war going on. A fight for their survival where every pair of hands was needed and that meant he could not be crippled If they found a frozen corpse somewhere in the multiple sub-levels of this building.
    Coming to this conclusion, Dechlan turned on his side with his back to the wall and his fingers wrapped around the grip of his handgun.

//
    
    The office door banged open with an excited announcement of, “Sir!”
    Dechlan jerked into awareness, not even realizing he’d fallen asleep and sat up, resisting the urge to pull out his weapon. “Boweman. What?” A check of his watch said that he’d still had fifteen minutes.
    “The commander said to get you, sir. Nielsen found something.” Boweman was young, still full of vigor at the thought of being part of the resistance movement.
   It was usually amusing but it was downright annoying right now. Rubbing a hand over his face and feeling the foundations of stubble on his jaw, Dechlan nodded once. “Fine.” 
    The boy disappeared with a hundred-watt grin, leaving the door open as he left. 
    His body protested when he stood, an ache in his back making itself known, probably due to the decrepit couch. It wasn’t fun to remember but Dechlan was aware that he’d be forty-two in a handful of months. A fact that kids like Rick Boweman would not be learning, if he had any say in the matter. He already got enough “old man” jokes due to the graying hair at his temples.
    Boweman was waiting in the hall, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he leaned against the wall. The older man wanted to snap at him to straighten up and stand at attention, but this wasn’t the army. They pretended it was, with ranks and a chain of command, but half of their so-called troops were civilians, most of whom had never fired a weapon. Army could only be applied loosely to this group. What military procedures and regulations did show up were because of guys like him, who had been in the service at some point before the Takeover and had had it ingrained in them.
    Dechlan walked past the kid without acknowledging his presence, intent on getting to the stairwell to start down the eight flights of stairs to where their commander, Iain Ferrel, had set up his temporary headquarters. 
    A mumbled curse and a series of running steps told him that Boweman had noticed his rapid departure and had to hurry to catch up.
    “Sir!”
    Dechlan was already half way down the first set of stairs and didn’t pause. “What, Boweman?”
    “Do you think this is really going to work? Thawing out a popsicle and hoping whoever it is has enough marbles left to save the world?” He sounded out of breath already. 
    Making a mental note to suggest some extra PT to the commander, he answered, “The commander is in the business of exploring all our options, Boweman, and ours is to not ask questions and do as ordered.” He didn’t let it reach him that the “popsicle” the junior soldier was talking about was Jandy. 
    “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” The kid had gone from skeptical to subdued in less than a minute. 
    Silence reigned while they continued going down, footfalls echoing through the space. 
    Dechlan considered tacking on some of his own views on this endeavor to lighten Boweman’s mood again but decided against it. He was a superior, not a friend. And taking into consideration his own doubts about the matter, mentioning them to someone as impressionable as Boweman would be undermining Ferrel’s command in a punishable way. 

//

    Riker Nielsen was at turns jittery, nervous, and excitable little man and no matter which it was, it always seemed as if he was on some form of a caffeine high. Or maybe a sugar high. It was hard to tell.
    He was waiting when Dechlan entered a couple of steps behind Ferrel. Twirling on a stool that let out a horrible screech with every turn he made.
    “Mr. Nielsen, if you would,” Ferrel’s voice was deceptively mild but all who knew him knew better than to not sit up and listen when he addressed you in that tone.
    Dechlan let him deal with the scientist, taking in the lab with subdued interest. It was in a back corner of the bottom most basement level, tucked away behind three prior labs. Ferrel said they’d almost not found it, except this floor had been Brisk and Counterman’s responsibility and Brisk was renowned for taking the time to do his job right. There was no other door, nor was there a person-sized freezer that was locatable, but he did spot a large part of the flooring that had been pulled up and displaced.
    While he wasn’t sure about what type of space one would need in order to hide a cryogenically frozen person but it looked large enough to him, especially if it spread out beneath the floor.
    A glance at Ferrel and Nielsen told Dechlan that the scientist was deep in the midst of explaining something long, complex, and mind-numbing to the only person who would listen to him. He had time. 
    There was no hesitation to the soldier’s stride as he moved to the hidden storage space, crouching down beside it to shove the steel piece of floor further out of the way. The lights of the lab couldn’t quite reach into the darkness, but there was a faint hum indicating a power source. 
    Dechlan lifted his head and checked his immediate surroundings for a flashlight.
    There. Tabletop, four paces away. 
    Retrieving it, he twisted it on, checking that the beam was strong before turning it downwards, fingers curling around the edge of the floor space to keep his balance. The light revealed wires, silver piping wrapping around and feeding into the coffin-like case, and a frosted glass pane that extended beyond the scope of the opening in the floor. 
    He let out a long breath. 
    Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that the conversation behind him had ceased, indicating that something of greater importance had caught their attention but he didn’t care. Gripping the flashlight with his left hand, Dechlan reached down to try and scrape off the thick layer of frost with his nails. 
    He had to know.
    It wasn’t coming off and he knew a flare of irritation before tamping it down again. Dechlan sat back on his heels to study the stasis chamber another moment before standing. Nielsen would have to do his thing and get it to open before they would know who was stored inside.
    Stored. Like frozen produce.
    Both the commander and their only capable scientist were watching him when he straightened, their expressions expectant.
    Dechlan turned off the flashlight and set it back on the nearby table. “Whenever you’re ready, Nielsen.”

//
    
    There was something about being told to stay far to the side that produced a feeling of general uselessness in Dechlan. If Nielsen was just going to put him on the sidelines, why ask him to come at all?
    He stood at ease near the wall farthest from the hidden cryogenics chamber, a desk piled high with test tubes and paperwork obscuring his view. Silence reigned over the lab, a mixture of tension and anticipation in the air. 
    No one knew what to expect. This find could be their saving or their undoing. 
    Part of Dechlan wanted to be right across from Nielsen, listening to every muttered word the nervous man had to say, but the rational portion of his mind knew here was better. If it was Jandy – he would not acknowledge how every fiber of him screamed it is her – and she woke up to see him vastly changed from her last memories of him, it could…
    Nielsen had had a slew of technical terms but what Dechlan had come away with was that the shock of seeing him could cause irreparable harm to her. If she woke up, she would be in a very fragile state, physically and mentally. The scientist had made sure to stress her fragility several times too many. The human body, he had explained, was not built to be frozen in untested conditions for so long and there was no telling what the side effects would be. At this point, it was better safe than sorry.
    So he would remain in the background while only Nielsen, a couple of needed aides, and a medic would be close to keep the trauma sustained during her reviving to a minimum. 
    Quiet murmurs reached his ears. It sounded like they were getting close. 
    Ferrel, standing a few paces away in full view of the happenings, shifted his footing, telling of his own apprehension over the matter.
    “Alright!” Nielsen’s voice shattered the quiet, too loud and too excited.
    Dechlan jerked, then gritted his teeth. Of all the scientists sympathetic to their cause to have been assigned to their unit, it had to be him.
    “Mr. Ferrel, boss, sir,” he spoke in a constant stream, words running together until it was almost impossible to understand him. “I found the deactivation sequence—masterful work, whoever built this beauty—buried in some subroutines and I can start the thawing process whenever you would like. It shouldn’t take too long—this is some great tech, taking into account its being ten years old—but I’m thinking maybe three minutes before we can get the subject out of the chamber.” 
    The commander checked his watch and then nodded to Nielsen, hidden from Dechlan’s view. “Alright. Get started. How long until she’ll be ready to transport?”
    “I won’t know until we get her out and breathing. It could be minutes, it could be days, depending on what type of medical attention she needs.
    
//

    He’d underestimated what it would do to him to have to stand on the sidelines.
    She couldn’t breathe.
    Nielsen had turned the stasis chamber off and there’d been a flurry of activity with orders being thrown to and fro between Doc, Nielsen, and the two aides then there had been gasping breaths.
    “Get me that oxygen tank now,” their field doctor ordered, voice tight with the stress everyone in the room was feeling.
    Dechlan gripped the countertop behind him, feeling the edge cut into his palms. His world was narrowing down to any noise he could hear from ten feet away.

//
    
    The world was blinding white and icy cold. Every lungful of air she dragged in burned her from the inside out and then cooled the blazing path when she expelled the breath. The sensation caused Jandy to gag and she had to fight for every breath after that, battling breathlessness.
    “Get me that oxygen tank now.” Foreign voice and what must’ve been a touch that just felt like fire on the back of her neck, around her wrists.
    And… emptiness. Sharp, aching, a frozen blade cutting through her mind.
    Oh dear God, no.
    A mask was pressed against her nose and mouth and Jandy fought it, struggling to pull free because he couldn’t just be gone.
    He’d been there. He’d been there, she’d felt him… before. Before.
    Before this. He’d been there and now there was nothing but her own thoughts and her own feelings and Dechlan could not be gone.
    “Please,” she tried to speak, her mouth almost too dry to manage it. As it was, she choked on the single word, still trying to twist away from the insistent hands that held her.
    “Don’t try to speak. There’ll be time enough for that later.” That same voice, firm and unyielding, somewhere above her in the white-out when she dared open her eyes.
    “Please,” Jandy jerked her head from side to side, the movement only partly controlled, as she felt a tear ignite a fiery path down her temple and into her hairline. “Please, Dech…” Her throat closed then, making it impossible to speak further, but a helpless whimper escaped.
    It was so cold. Why did it have to be so cold?
    Another tear escaped, slipping across her skin unimpeded. 
    It was getting easier to breath—or at least the air she was getting was doing more—and she realized that she’d lost the fight against the mask. The lightheaded spinning feeling was beginning to diminish, if she focused on it.
    Jandy attempted opening her eyes again and found it easier to see. There was the black shape of a person now instead of an all-encompassing white blotting out everything and everyone.
    “Miss Sparks, I’m Doc Dempsey. I’m going to hold your hand in mine and I want you to squeeze my hand to answer my questions. Once for yes, twice for no. Do you understand?”
    It took her a moment to relate the burning pain in the palm of her left hand as the man’s touch. She fought the reflex to pull away. It felt like brushing against a hot stove except without the part where her skin was singed.
    But she did as asked, contracting her fingers into what she hoped was a squeeze. It was hard to say. She couldn’t quite feel her body, where everything was and if she was even grounded. The only surety was the cold. An icy blanket wrapped tight around her entire being, from the pain in her heart and extending outwards with a numbing presence.
    “Good. That’s good. Do you remember what happened?”
    Jandy tried, but the memories weren’t there. None at all, in fact. Impressions and moments and feelings, but locations and dates and images were lacking. She tightened the tendons in her arm and hand. Once, twice. She blinked her eyes to try and remove the film making the world hazy. It didn’t do any good.
    “Okay. That’s fine. It should come back in time. Are you in any pain right now?” His voice never changed tone, maintaining consistency, probably for her sake.
    Everything had faded to a dull roar. Jandy figured she couldn’t have told pleasure from pain at that point and squeezed the doctor’s fingers twice. No. 
    “Good to hear. I expect for that to change in the next while, but I’m glad you’re comfortable for the moment.”
    If she could’ve, Jandy would’ve rolled her eyes. She’d never said anything about comfortable.
    She waited and felt panic tighten her chest. There should’ve been exasperation and it wasn’t there.
    Dechlan.
    Dechlan was gone, she couldn’t feel him anymore, and she’d already come to that realization. What was happening? What already had happened?
    Jandy pulled her hand from the doctor’s, trying to find the floor beneath her and ground herself.  
    “Miss Sparks? Jandelyn? You’re going to be alright. I need you to stay calm, please.” Dempsey’s voice was low and soothing overhead.
    It was driving her insane. 
    “Get off.” She forced the words out, trying to raise her voice because she knew the mask would muffle it. “Tell me… what happened… to him.”

// 

    They were in the middle of a meeting, maps that covered over half the country strewn across the table. Dechlan listened to Ferrel as he laid out their path for the following week, zigzagging through the mountains to avoid detection and returning to either the safe zone or to their designated infiltration points. They wanted a strong resistance presence in high-profile target cities at all times.
    “Then Enjolras, you’re going to take squad tango and cut across to Central City…”
    A cold feeling washed through Dechlan, but it wasn’t from anything in his immediate vicinity. The last time he’d felt something like this had been…
    “Call an assembly.” He cut across what the commander was saying, not caring about the repercussions.
    The room froze. 
    “What?” Ferrel’s brow was smooth. Not a good sign.
    “Sir, I will explain but I need you to call a company-wide assembly in the front hall right now.” Dechlan shot Ferrel a look, dead serious.
    The older man measured him for a long beat and then nodded once. “Charleston, 

//

    It was fourteen hours in a truck to get to North Central City and Dechlan was not pleased to learn that Nielsen would be among the occupants of their transport.
    Fourteen hours of the scientist’s constant jittery rambles. Maybe their medic could give him some extra sedative for Nielsen, for when the urge to murder the man became too overpowering.
    Dechlan nodded to the other soldiers he passed. It was early, well before sunrise, but everyone was up and prepping for a company-wide departure. There were eight different trucks, all going to a variety of destinations and all slated for a different departure time. 
    The temporary infirmary was on the first floor, just down the hall from Ferrel’s office. He made his way that direction, running a hand over his hair. Once they got back to North Central, he’d need a haircut. It’d been too long since his last one. Too long equating to almost two weeks.
    Jandy had guessed where his mind was at one morning and then had laughed at him, apparently reading small tell-tales that she’d remembered despite the time. 
    His step slowed as his mind began to churn again. She wasn’t doing well. Not since that absolutely idiotic kidnapping. Doc said with her system as broken down as it was, even the two hours of exposure she’d had to endure before Boweman had found her had had a catastrophic effect.
    It made Dechlan want to get access to those two and put a bullet between both of their eyes.
    The fact that she had valuable information aside, this was Jandy. 
    The soldier’s heavy boots caused a loud echo in the stairwell as he traveled down. They had an hour and a half until the truck for North Central left and he still needed to talk to Doc and figure out what he’d need to do so that Jandy would be okay until they got to the city and another resistance doctor could be summoned.
    Green eyes surveyed the large entryway for a moment, picking out faces and putting names to them before he continued to his destination.
    Most of the lights were off when Dechlan stepped across the threshold, pausing to let his eyes adjust. The space had been a filing room when they’d first arrived, with rows of cabinets filled with documents and records lining the walls. Dust layered everything in this room as well, although Doc had been meticulous in cleaning at least the front half of it while Nielsen had been working out how to unfreeze Jandelyn.
    “Oh, Scott, good. I was hoping you’d get here sooner rather than later. It’s only going to be a day, maybe two tops, unsupervised by a physician, but the more you know, the better off Miss Sparks is going to be.” Doc’s voice was low from where he sat at his desk, feet settling back on the floor from where they’d been propped up.
    Jandy must’ve still been asleep. “We’re scheduled for 0630 departure, so whatever you’ve got for me before then will be appreciated.” Dechlan tempered his voice as well, making his way through the mostly empty room to where he knew Jandy’s cot was.
    The doctor rose from his chair to come stand a few paces back.
    Ignoring his presence for the time being, Dech crouched down at her bed side, reaching out to carefully shift the blankets away from her face. Her skin was a pale splotch in the darkness, white against the black. 
    Even as she slept, there was a shiver to the breaths she took in and let back out.

//

    Jandy rounded on him, eyes sparking with kindling anger. “Don’t even start with that, Dechlan Scott. I will not believe for an instant that a single one of those gray hair made you forget about it.”
    “It’s been ten years, Jandy, and you deserve—“ he tried again, struggling to not fight fire with fire. He was supposed to be the cool-headed one.
    She shook her head, emotions running across her face almost faster than he could process. “No. No. You don’t get to tell me what you think I deserve, Dech. That’s my right. I get to choose and I will not let you take that from me.”
    Just as soon as her ire had blazed, it was dying down, leaving a raw pain behind. It took a lot to keep from responding to the hurt in her brown eyes.
    As it was, Dechlan reached out to gather the open flaps of her oversized jacket in his hands and tow her closer to him. Jandy’s body trembled with a cold that seemed to have manifested itself deep within her. He was reminded once again of what Doc had said—that she’d probably never be the same, physically, again.
    Taking in a quiet breath, he bent to touch his forehead to hers, breathing her in, recommitting her to memory, restoring fragments of what he’d lost.
    “I don’t care about the years, Dech. You know that I don’t. You know that I’m not going to. I married you because I love you. And if you want me gone, then you have to tell me right now, because I can’t take this.” Jandy’s breath caught in her throat and he knew she was close to tears. “I can’t live with you so close and so far away. I can’t. It’s going to kill me.”
    He knew what she meant. Some of the physical barriers had fallen away—he was the only one she trusted enough to allow close and keep her warm when the nights dropped below freezing in the unheated building—but many of the emotional dividers remained. It’d been so much easier before. All they’d had to do was feel. Not it was similar to trying to sail a boat through dark, foggy conditions with no lighthouse to guide them. That is to say, difficult.
    “Jandy…”
    Her hands found his, her skin’s temperature chilling in comparison to her own, and Jandy slipped her slim fingers between Dechlan’s.
    Jandy cut in before he could get anything more out, her words halting even as she said them. “I—I’ll understand. If there’s somebody else, Dechlan. It’s been a really long time for you. But you’ve got to talk to me.  Please—“


//


    And that's mostly where my brain has been for the last few weeks, though I did get some scribbles penned down for Trinity's prompt that I need to type up and then fill in the inbetween space for. 

    Again, there's some blank spaces and inconsistencies. Apologies. I was just trying to get it out of my head and on the page.

    So. Let me know what you think. I'm going to see about some other stuff I scribbled early last month and consider posting that as well, though it probably won't be going anywhere else. I've been watching too much television.

    As always, thank you ever so much for reading and for your patience. You guys are amazing.

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