In keeping with my own tradition to post at least once a month, here I am. Two days before the deadline. True to form.
Since I don't have much of not for writing, here's installment 2 of my The 100 bullet-point meta fics--explanation in my previous installment post.
This is one of my favorite installments (and, as it happens, also the most popular one on Tumblr. Just for some trivia.)
bellamy + she’s home
• Bellamy getting back after two weeks of travelling with Octavia and Lincoln, searching out allies with various Grounder tribes, exhausted and weary to his bones, because it’s been almost a year, and stories of her dog his every step in the Grounder villages, tales of Clarke of the Sky People and the death she’d brought down upon their greatest enemy, the Mountain Men.
• Bellamy stepping through the gates of Camp Jaha and knowing right away that something’s happened, because there’s a foreign buzz in the air, one that only crops up when something of significance has occurred.
• Bellamy setting down his pack when a shout goes up–Bellamy’s back!–and bracing for the onslaught of news and hugs that always greet him nowadays from the Delinquents, while Octavia laughs off to the side, she and Lincoln moving off towards their tent together to drop their gear.
• Bellamy patiently working through the small crowd of kids that turn out to welcome him home, not paying much attention to their words until Miller’s in front of him, hand settling on his shoulder, and saying that she’s home.
• Bellamy feeling a rush of numbness overtake him as he stares at Miller and just asks Clarke? and Miller nodding, jerking his head back towards the remains of the Ark then leading the way through the kids, who’re still chattering to each other in excitement.
• Bellamy having questions running through his mind but being unable to put any of them in the air as he hoists his pack up again and following Miller because this can’t be real, can it? He doesn’t know how many times he’s woken up from a dream of her having come back in the last eleven months and is just tired enough that he’s not sure he isn’t in the midst of another dream.
• Bellamy catching sight of Clarke exiting the Ark with Abby and Kane in tow, blonde hair turning to shimmering gold in the dying sunlight, and realizing she’s searching the people–for him–because then she’s looking right at him and is starting to smile.
• Bellamy dropping his pack and crossing the space between them in fifteen long strides–he’s not waiting for Clarke to come to him, not this time–and she waits for him, arms outstretched, and Bellamy wraps his around her, lifting her off her feet and burying his face in her shoulder.
• Bellamy shuddering when Clarke’s fingers curl into his hair and feeling the warm moisture of her tears against his neck and just holding her tighter, unconcerned with how he can feel the toes of her boots bumping against his shins.
• Bellamy breathing in her scent–sunshine and salt and Clarke–and letting the rest of the world fall to the background.
• Bellamy letting out a choked laugh when she whispers “I missed you” against his skin, voice unsteady with her emotions and rasping out “I know. I missed you too” in reply, and he won’t say how hard it’d been, how rough those first months had been, because she doesn’t need that weight.
• Bellamy finally setting her back on her feet, but not releasing her all together, his hands lingering on her back to keep her close and hers resting on his arms. Clarke having tears in her eyes and smeared on her cheeks–tanned, like she’s been in the sun, where she belongs-as she looks up at him.
• Bellamy leaning down to rest his forehead against hers, smiling at the laugh that sounds like a sob that escapes from Clarke, because he missed her, he missed her, she’s not allowed to leave like that again.
• Bellamy straightening and telling her as much–you’re not allowed to leave like that again, not without me–because it’s been a long year and he knows the value of communication now, the importance of saying what you mean, after having to shepherd the Delinquents on his own for so long, and savoring the warmth that steals into her blue eyes at that.
• Bellamy wanting to kiss her, because in the long eleven month since she left him standing there, the memory of her in his arms and her lips against his jaw burned into his memory, he’s realized that she’s it for him, there’s never going to be anyone who compares to Clarke, but he doesn’t. Because he won’t risk scaring her off, not when he just got her back.
• Bellamy realizing that Kane and Abby have been joined by David Miller, that all three are rather amused, and that Raven (Wick bearing down on her, because he has trouble losing sight of her for long) is standing with Monty and Harper nearby, watching the proceedings.
• Bellamy looking back down at Clarke and contemplating spiriting her away, because she’s obviously been here for a day or two, but instead shifting to slide one arm across her shoulders, keeping her close to his side (it’s going to be hard to let her go more than a few feet away for a while) as he turns to face the Arkers’ leaders.
• Bellamy giving his report to Abby and Kane about the outcome of the two-week trek into the mountains with his sister and Lincoln, aware of Clarke slipping her arm around his waist, leaning against him in quiet contentment.
• Bellamy feeling Clarke tense beside him when Octavia and Lincoln join the little powwow, and tightening his arm around her as he eyes his sister, knowing where the stress was coming from, but also knowing what Clarke doesn’t, that he and Octavia have had several loud arguments about her opinion on Clarke’s leadership skills.
• Bellamy waiting as Octavia stares at Clarke with a blank face, impatient for her to make up her mind, because if she keeps this up, Clarke is going to try and step away from him and he isn’t ready to have her even a couple of steps away at this point.
• Bellamy letting out a quiet sigh of relief when Octavia finally shrugs with an offhand glad you’re back, Clarke, things aren’t the same without you bossing us around and not missing the way the woman at his side slumps in relief even as she responds with a thank you, octavia.
• Bellamy steering the conversation back to business with one-minded purpose–the sooner they’re done here, the sooner he can find a quiet corner to talk to Clarke in–and letting Lincoln and O put in their opinions and observations on their expedition’s results.
• Bellamy tangling his fingers Clarke’s loose curls without even realizing he’s doing it.
• Bellamy sharing a significant glance with Abby when they’re done, before glancing down at Clarke, finding her already watching him, and murmuring come on.
• Bellamy clasping one of Clarke’s hands in his, taking them away towards the fence surrounding Camp Jaha, ducking behind the shrapnel that shields Raven’s Gate for some privacy–heavens knows there isn’t a lot of that here.
• Bellamy and Clarke settling down cross-legged, her close enough that her legs overlap his and her blue eyes filled with relief and hope and contentment as she looks up at him.
• Bellamy letting his hands settle on her legs, needing to touch her, because he’s still not sure this is real, it’s been so long.
• Bellamy asking after a long space of quiet where they just watch each other if she found what she was looking for, and feeling the lingering knot in his chest ease further when Clarke nods with a low I did, Bellamy, thank you for letting me go. (He wants her to say his name forever.)
• Bellamy trying to shrug it off, as if it hadn’t been as hard as she made it out to be, but failing because it had been, it’d been harder to watch her walk away than pulling that lever with her hand trembling beneath his.
• Bellamy stilling when Clarke reaches for him, her fingertips–her hands are cold–brushing his cheeks, slim fingers combing back his unruly hair with care as she soothes eleven months of pain away with a few simple touches.
• Bellamy closing his eyes and letting his head droop into her touch, wishing she didn’t affect him so profoundly but not wanting to have it any other way.
• (clarke whispering i’m sorry for leaving you, bell, i’m so sorry. i had to go.)
• (bellamy shaking his head ever so slightly, as long as you’re okay now.)
• (i am. i am. i needed to find myself again and i’m going to be okay now. quiet but sure.)
• (just… don’t leave me like that again, okay? i can’t lose you, clarke.)
• (okay. i won’t. pause, breath, then her lips against his forehead, lingering. he feels her smile. i have so much to tell you.)
• (the feeling’s mutual. the kids have done a lot of growing up.)
• (thank you for looking out for them, bellamy.)
• (anything for you, clarke.)
• it’s going to be okay.
Of course, this will be a few light years away from what actually happens in the show when it comes back next spring but, this is my happily ever after for Bellamy and Clarke.
As always, apologies for the lack of existence, but, you know how it goes. Life. School. Work. I'M STILL ALIVE. Just not, you know, actively writing a lot. Just blips and blurbs. As usual.
Thanks for hanging in there, folks. Keep on.
Ad astra per aspera.
To the stars, through difficulties.
Monday, August 31, 2015
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Writing: "clarke + healing"
Alright. This is going to be a little bit off on a side road, because while I did write this piece of work, that I like to call a "bullet-point fic" for reasons you will soon discover, the entire idea, characters, and world are not mine.
Over the beginning of this year, I watched a CW tv show called The 100 and while I cannot, in any good conscience, recommend it for a variety of reasons, I really enjoyed it. Then the finale of season two rolled around, I was reeling, and I wrote some of my first fanfiction. Though not in the normal format.
Despite the fact that the catalysts for these bullet-point fics (I wrote several different ones) are unknown to you, I felt that the writing itself was strong and packed a pretty good punch at times. There's six-some installments at this point in time and I plan to post them in chronological order of when they happen in my mind.
Disclaimer: none of this is mine beyond the actual structuring of the words into sentences and paragraphs. This is not canon for The 100, as it is set after the events of the finale of season 2.
Shall we?
clarke + healing
• Clarke wandering for weeks and months, staying with various Grounder tribes that welcome Clarke of the Sky People, who slayed the Mountain Men.
• Clarke never being able to stay in one place for too long because she can’t bear to hear the tales of the death she’s wrought.
• Clarke staying tucked away in the mountains for a time, drawing the trees and the peaks on paper she’d traded for (Grounders always welcome the skills of a healer), breathing the mountain air and slowly trying to repair her heart.
• Clarke wandering to the coast through the forest, smiling for the first time in so long when she sees the endless ocean, watching the waves ripple across the expanse of water.
• Clarke being absorbed into a tribe of Grounders who are removed from the circles of rumors going around about her great victory.
• Clarke becoming their healer and having children come running to accompany her when she needs to go looking for herbs.
• Clarke spending hours on the beach, drawing in the sand, soaking in the sun, watching the sea and the effect of the wind on it, lost in thought.
• Clarke refusing for the longest time to join in any celebrations, preferring to spend them in her little hut, grinding herbs and keeping to herself. (She doesn’t deserve to be happy like that.)
• Clarke starting to cry when a little girl with dark hair and blue eyes, with chubby cheeks and a shy smile, gives her a necklace of seashells strung together. The little girl hugging her, seeming to get, somehow, that Clarke’s tears are not because of her.
• Clarke being drawn out, little by little, by the people of the village. Being brought along on berry-picking expeditions by the women, being trusted implicitly by the men to tend to their wounds. Being asked by their village’s leader to weigh in on decisions as their healer.
• Clarke starting to laugh again.
• Clarke adapting to the Grounders’ way of life, but always retaining a small piece of her being a Sky Person, because she will always be different, always kom skai kru. (Of the Sky People.)
• Clarke learning to speak Trigadeslang and making children giggle as she mispronounces. (Sometimes she does it on purpose, just to get that reaction.)
• Clarke training with a warrior of the village–Rael–(a solemn, wise woman who fights hard but also loves deeply and sees no weakness in it) and getting stronger.
• Clarke joining the Grounders when they’re all gathering, late one night, for some momentous event that she hasn’t quite grasped, just to realize they’re watching a meteor shower. The pain is palpable on her face.
• Clarke sitting on the beach at dawn with Rael and telling her in muted whispers of the people she left behind, of the death she caused, of a promise to return someday. (Of being afraid to go back to them.)
• Clarke crying as Rael tells her that some wounds take longer to heal than others. That the courage will return in time. That she has been brave for her people. That they can now be brave for her and wait until she’s ready to go back to them. That she is not weak for needing this time to repair her heart. That she would be weak if she weren’t affected by everything she’s done. And then resting her hand on Clarke’s head as she settles back in silence and Clarke breaks down, sobbing.
• Clarke being noticeably lighter after that, smiling more and laughing harder, and allowing herself to cry when she needs to. Welcoming anyone who comes to her with open arms, having sweets for children, and a kind word for adults.
• Clarke decorating her little home with seashells and sea glass.
• Clarke telling tales of her adventures with Bellamy, the rebel leader, and Raven, who shouldn’t have survived, and Octavia, who loved one of the tri kru, and Jasper and his goggles, Monty and his pure heart, and all the people she loves. (She smiles when she speaks of them and realizes it doesn’t hurt like it did once.)
• Clarke joining in the dances and the ceremonies and going on gathering and hunting trips as she’s invited and spending six months among them before Rael looks at her one day and says that it’s time.
• Clarke trying to deny it, wanting to stay longer, to continue healing, but Rael shaking her head and saying that she has done her healing, it is time to regain her courage and rejoin her people and continue her journey there.
• Clarke preparing to leave with no lack of emotion, packing her shells and her paintings and her clothes into a pack as children drift by, giving her more small gifts, of rocks and shells and dried food, that she packs away.
• Clarke standing at the village entrance, tears in her eyes and with a tremulous smile, as the whole village turns out to see her off, with called farewells and last minute hugs and Clarke promises that she’ll come back to see them some day–and bring her people with her–and gives final instructions for the injured that are still healing.
• Clarke walking forward into the forest, only to hear someone call after her, and turning to find Rael, the warrior who trained her (and helped heal her) stalking towards her with a grudging smile that she’s trying to smother. “We cannot afford to have our healer be eaten or lost on her journey. I will accompany you to your destination.”
• Clarke welcoming her friend with a grateful smile and the two falling into step together to begin the long journey. Only for the warrior to ask what exactly is their destination again? and Clarke just starts laughing.
• Clarke and Rael travelling for weeks, talking and sharing, and Rael helping to settle Clarke’s fear that she isn’t ready for this step, sometimes insisting they stop so that they can “train” but really it’s just a tussle to help Clarke blow off her nerves.
• Clarke whispering to Rael about Bellamy late at night, about how much it had hurt to have to walk away, about how much she trusted him, about how much she’d realized she needed him to be able to lead. About how he’d helped her pull the lever, about how he’d tried to take some of the blame for the deaths at Mount Weather.
• Clarke telling Rael several nights later how much she’s missed him. All of them. Her people. Even if they hate her when she comes back, she still has missed them.
• Clarke and Rael being road-weary when they finally come across that last hill, exit the tree-line to see the loom of the Ark and the fence around Camp Jaha. Rael clasping Clarke’s forearm and then pulling her into hug her. This is as far as she will go. The rest is up to Clarke.
• Clarke thanking her for everything in Trigadeslang, promising again to come see them, before turning towards Camp Jaha and her people, fingers tight around the strap of her pack as she walks towards it, already seeing Arkers gathering at the gate.
• she’s home.
(end clarke + healing)
And that's the first installment. I'm sorry that you're probably quite lost now, but I really, really liked these installments I did, so they're going to be shared.
Thoughts? Confused questions?
(Thanks for sticking with me. Sorry it's been so touch and go, but that's life, you know?)
Ad astra per aspera.
To the stars, through difficulties.
Over the beginning of this year, I watched a CW tv show called The 100 and while I cannot, in any good conscience, recommend it for a variety of reasons, I really enjoyed it. Then the finale of season two rolled around, I was reeling, and I wrote some of my first fanfiction. Though not in the normal format.
Despite the fact that the catalysts for these bullet-point fics (I wrote several different ones) are unknown to you, I felt that the writing itself was strong and packed a pretty good punch at times. There's six-some installments at this point in time and I plan to post them in chronological order of when they happen in my mind.
Disclaimer: none of this is mine beyond the actual structuring of the words into sentences and paragraphs. This is not canon for The 100, as it is set after the events of the finale of season 2.
Shall we?
clarke + healing
• Clarke wandering for weeks and months, staying with various Grounder tribes that welcome Clarke of the Sky People, who slayed the Mountain Men.
• Clarke never being able to stay in one place for too long because she can’t bear to hear the tales of the death she’s wrought.
• Clarke staying tucked away in the mountains for a time, drawing the trees and the peaks on paper she’d traded for (Grounders always welcome the skills of a healer), breathing the mountain air and slowly trying to repair her heart.
• Clarke wandering to the coast through the forest, smiling for the first time in so long when she sees the endless ocean, watching the waves ripple across the expanse of water.
• Clarke being absorbed into a tribe of Grounders who are removed from the circles of rumors going around about her great victory.
• Clarke becoming their healer and having children come running to accompany her when she needs to go looking for herbs.
• Clarke spending hours on the beach, drawing in the sand, soaking in the sun, watching the sea and the effect of the wind on it, lost in thought.
• Clarke refusing for the longest time to join in any celebrations, preferring to spend them in her little hut, grinding herbs and keeping to herself. (She doesn’t deserve to be happy like that.)
• Clarke starting to cry when a little girl with dark hair and blue eyes, with chubby cheeks and a shy smile, gives her a necklace of seashells strung together. The little girl hugging her, seeming to get, somehow, that Clarke’s tears are not because of her.
• Clarke being drawn out, little by little, by the people of the village. Being brought along on berry-picking expeditions by the women, being trusted implicitly by the men to tend to their wounds. Being asked by their village’s leader to weigh in on decisions as their healer.
• Clarke starting to laugh again.
• Clarke adapting to the Grounders’ way of life, but always retaining a small piece of her being a Sky Person, because she will always be different, always kom skai kru. (Of the Sky People.)
• Clarke learning to speak Trigadeslang and making children giggle as she mispronounces. (Sometimes she does it on purpose, just to get that reaction.)
• Clarke training with a warrior of the village–Rael–(a solemn, wise woman who fights hard but also loves deeply and sees no weakness in it) and getting stronger.
• Clarke joining the Grounders when they’re all gathering, late one night, for some momentous event that she hasn’t quite grasped, just to realize they’re watching a meteor shower. The pain is palpable on her face.
• Clarke sitting on the beach at dawn with Rael and telling her in muted whispers of the people she left behind, of the death she caused, of a promise to return someday. (Of being afraid to go back to them.)
• Clarke crying as Rael tells her that some wounds take longer to heal than others. That the courage will return in time. That she has been brave for her people. That they can now be brave for her and wait until she’s ready to go back to them. That she is not weak for needing this time to repair her heart. That she would be weak if she weren’t affected by everything she’s done. And then resting her hand on Clarke’s head as she settles back in silence and Clarke breaks down, sobbing.
• Clarke being noticeably lighter after that, smiling more and laughing harder, and allowing herself to cry when she needs to. Welcoming anyone who comes to her with open arms, having sweets for children, and a kind word for adults.
• Clarke decorating her little home with seashells and sea glass.
• Clarke telling tales of her adventures with Bellamy, the rebel leader, and Raven, who shouldn’t have survived, and Octavia, who loved one of the tri kru, and Jasper and his goggles, Monty and his pure heart, and all the people she loves. (She smiles when she speaks of them and realizes it doesn’t hurt like it did once.)
• Clarke joining in the dances and the ceremonies and going on gathering and hunting trips as she’s invited and spending six months among them before Rael looks at her one day and says that it’s time.
• Clarke trying to deny it, wanting to stay longer, to continue healing, but Rael shaking her head and saying that she has done her healing, it is time to regain her courage and rejoin her people and continue her journey there.
• Clarke preparing to leave with no lack of emotion, packing her shells and her paintings and her clothes into a pack as children drift by, giving her more small gifts, of rocks and shells and dried food, that she packs away.
• Clarke standing at the village entrance, tears in her eyes and with a tremulous smile, as the whole village turns out to see her off, with called farewells and last minute hugs and Clarke promises that she’ll come back to see them some day–and bring her people with her–and gives final instructions for the injured that are still healing.
• Clarke walking forward into the forest, only to hear someone call after her, and turning to find Rael, the warrior who trained her (and helped heal her) stalking towards her with a grudging smile that she’s trying to smother. “We cannot afford to have our healer be eaten or lost on her journey. I will accompany you to your destination.”
• Clarke welcoming her friend with a grateful smile and the two falling into step together to begin the long journey. Only for the warrior to ask what exactly is their destination again? and Clarke just starts laughing.
• Clarke and Rael travelling for weeks, talking and sharing, and Rael helping to settle Clarke’s fear that she isn’t ready for this step, sometimes insisting they stop so that they can “train” but really it’s just a tussle to help Clarke blow off her nerves.
• Clarke whispering to Rael about Bellamy late at night, about how much it had hurt to have to walk away, about how much she trusted him, about how much she’d realized she needed him to be able to lead. About how he’d helped her pull the lever, about how he’d tried to take some of the blame for the deaths at Mount Weather.
• Clarke telling Rael several nights later how much she’s missed him. All of them. Her people. Even if they hate her when she comes back, she still has missed them.
• Clarke and Rael being road-weary when they finally come across that last hill, exit the tree-line to see the loom of the Ark and the fence around Camp Jaha. Rael clasping Clarke’s forearm and then pulling her into hug her. This is as far as she will go. The rest is up to Clarke.
• Clarke thanking her for everything in Trigadeslang, promising again to come see them, before turning towards Camp Jaha and her people, fingers tight around the strap of her pack as she walks towards it, already seeing Arkers gathering at the gate.
• she’s home.
(end clarke + healing)
And that's the first installment. I'm sorry that you're probably quite lost now, but I really, really liked these installments I did, so they're going to be shared.
Thoughts? Confused questions?
(Thanks for sticking with me. Sorry it's been so touch and go, but that's life, you know?)
Ad astra per aspera.
To the stars, through difficulties.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Writing: This Isn't Anarchy
So I'm kind of developing a new story. I have no idea how far it's going to last, but it's doing a lot better than the majority of other little spurts of inspiration I get on occasion. Which I am taking to be a good sign.
The title is a work-in-progress. They say writing a book is the hardest part of being an author, but titling has to be right up there too. It's hard.
There’s always the brave, reckless few who fight the order, and refuse to take their fate lying down. Who hope instead of accepting defeat.
The Essche family is among the Elect, the elites of the Sagittarian Cluster, owning one of many transcontinental mining enterprises that turn whole planets into forms of endless capital. The process displaces millions, whose only choice to survive is to accept the positions offered them by the same companies that took everything—low wages, poor conditions, crowded communities.
It’s been happening for generations, with no sign of the cycle ceasing.
Adaline Essche, the second daughter and heir, born with the genetic coding her sister lacked, grew up with her every whim fulfilled—while being trained to take on her father’s business. Natalia Essche, first of Hannady Essche’s two daughters, left. She vanished three years prior and the feeble attempt to find her was unsuccessful.
There’s a star-map leading to the unknown and an insurrection publicized as chaos.
This isn’t anarchy. It’s revolution.
It's still rough around the edges (mostly rough around the edges), but my cast of characters have some good footing, I'm actually contemplating in coherent thought what the theme will be, and the MC is a challenging sort of different from the average personality of the rest of my main characters. Though her sister is a bit more what I'm used to and will probably flow a lot more easily.
Leave a thought, yeah? My Tumblr audience was a typical Tumblr audience and left me hanging on feedback.
And sorry I haven't been very active. Let's just chalk it up to a busy, busy, busy month. Busy. Really busy. You get the gist.
Thanks for sticking around!
Ad astra per aspera.
To the stars, through difficulties.
The title is a work-in-progress. They say writing a book is the hardest part of being an author, but titling has to be right up there too. It's hard.
There’s always the brave, reckless few who fight the order, and refuse to take their fate lying down. Who hope instead of accepting defeat.
The Essche family is among the Elect, the elites of the Sagittarian Cluster, owning one of many transcontinental mining enterprises that turn whole planets into forms of endless capital. The process displaces millions, whose only choice to survive is to accept the positions offered them by the same companies that took everything—low wages, poor conditions, crowded communities.
It’s been happening for generations, with no sign of the cycle ceasing.
Adaline Essche, the second daughter and heir, born with the genetic coding her sister lacked, grew up with her every whim fulfilled—while being trained to take on her father’s business. Natalia Essche, first of Hannady Essche’s two daughters, left. She vanished three years prior and the feeble attempt to find her was unsuccessful.
There’s a star-map leading to the unknown and an insurrection publicized as chaos.
This isn’t anarchy. It’s revolution.
It's still rough around the edges (mostly rough around the edges), but my cast of characters have some good footing, I'm actually contemplating in coherent thought what the theme will be, and the MC is a challenging sort of different from the average personality of the rest of my main characters. Though her sister is a bit more what I'm used to and will probably flow a lot more easily.
Leave a thought, yeah? My Tumblr audience was a typical Tumblr audience and left me hanging on feedback.
And sorry I haven't been very active. Let's just chalk it up to a busy, busy, busy month. Busy. Really busy. You get the gist.
Thanks for sticking around!
Ad astra per aspera.
To the stars, through difficulties.
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Writing: Sarris + "bringing her home"
It is not June yet, okay? I'm still ahead of the deadline. This is going to be a lame post, but it's a post and it counts, okay? I also might have to go to work in forty minutes and have to eat, do my hair, brush my teeth, and finish getting my snack together. Short post.
Long story short, I'm in Alaska (again), I'm working 1-8pm, five days a week, our internet is not in our house yet, and I've been reading a lot of books.
Yeah. That's about it. It's been a busy few months of travel. Once again.
My writing scribbles have meandered all over story ideas, but I liked this scrawl best that I did over this last week. Hopefully you guys do too.
Original storyline, just by the way. Since it's so confusing with the four some different storylines and I get turned around every once in a while as well.
Sarris found herself wide awake despite not having slept in almost two days. The starliner thrummed around her, as soothing and constant as the sleepy warmth pressed to her front.
It felt like events had not stopped slipping past faster than she could almost comprehend. Two days ago she had been returning home to an empty apartment and an aching pain in the wake of visiting Tara—again.
Now she glanced down and wondered that the past forty-eight hours weren’t anything more than a dream. That she would wake up in an empty bed, reaching for the only constant in her life, only to find him gone.
Downy blond curls were stark against the gray of Sarris’ uniform jacket, softening the military edge in a way no smile could. Quiet breaths left the child in her arms as she slumbered.
At six months old, Ruusan was just beginning to take an interest in the world, and was sleeping through the night on a somewhat regular basis. Not that it would’ve made a difference.
The Warrior had been struck by the vivid blue of her eyes from that first moment on the side of the road after dragging the crying child from the burning wreck of her parents’ streamer.
Letting her head settle back, Sarris stared at the illume casting faint light over the rows of seats, the low setting telling that their destination, Sinjaro Kahn, was in the late hours of night. Sleeping now would be in the passengers’ best interest.
She hadn’t commed Novarr any details beyond asking him to meet her at home tomorrow, or the earliest he could get away from his current job.
This wasn’t something she would be able to talk about, could make a decision about, without being able to see him, to grip his hands with hers and see the truth of his own choice in his eyes.
Ruusan could and would change everything. Already had. Even if they didn’t keep her, even if they committed her as a ward of the bureau on Norsha’ac, Sarris knew there would be no going back now. Not after memorizing the weight of the child in her arms, the pitch of her cry, the gentle scent that clung to her hair and skin after a bath.
It was burned into her mind as deep as Gogam, as her time with the Force, as the people who meant everything to her.
No, there was no return from here. And Sarris didn’t care, as she laced her fingers together over Ruusan’s back, her eyes closing. She knew that she wouldn’t get much rest, but it was worth it to at least try. There was no telling when Ruusan would awaken. Or what the next few days would hold, for that matter. She would need every moment of respite she could manage.
//
Sarris knew that the only thing Novarr would read on her face and in her eyes would be strain, so she grabbed his hands, hoping the contact would help him understand.
“You’re really starting to freak me out here, Sar,” his voice was strained, brows at an odd angle as he attempted to keep at least a hint of a smile on his features. His fingers were tight around hers with rising tension.
The words stuck in her throat, as easy as they should’ve been, but she didn’t know what to say anymore.
Staring into the concern in his gaze, the Warrior struggled. She didn’t do well conversing even within normal parameters, let alone when it came to an issue of this magnitude.
“Her name is Ruusan,” Sarris murmured at last. Her name almost got stuck, came out as a whisper. “She’s six months old, Norsha’acite, and her parents are both dead. Killed in a streamer accident.”
Novarr was uncomprehending, a frown crowding out his failing attempt at a smile, and he rubbed agitated circles around her knuckles with his thumbs. “What about her, Sar? I need details here, babe.”
“Next of kin waived their claim, she was going straight to a bureau-operated home, Novarr.” Sarris was unfamiliar with the desperation crawling beneath her skin. It was wishful, devastating, craving, unthinkable, nothing like she’d ever known.
Her hunter, her Novarr, waited, knowing to give her time, to allow her to work past her barriers and speak, perhaps already thinking he knew where this was going.
“I—“ Sarris paused, closed her eyes. “She’s here. I brought her home with me. She’s asleep in our bed right now.”
It might have been amusing in any other situation, with any other circumstances. Novarr stopped functioning, frozen, staring at Sarris.
She let him process, her attention on their conversation, but every sense tuned to the small noises of their apartment. Waiting for that familiar cry to come.
It would be weeks before her usual sleeping schedule returned. Before her senses dulled again from razor sharp awareness, at a level she hadn’t seen in years.
Since her first years off Gogam, struggling with the blood that had soaked her.
“We… have a baby?” Novarr’s dawning comprehension made warmth spread through Sarris’ fingertips.
Drawing in a breath, she explained in low tones, “If that’s what we want. I have temporary custody because of my dual status as a Warrior that’s acknowledged by both Kahn and Uhric. It allows some space to maneuver legally.” Away from the emotion of the situation, her tongue loosened, thoughts flowing with more ease.
Not that it made a difference what she said now. Novarr wasn’t attending again, just smiling, a goofy expression she didn’t see on him often. His good humor was usually more focused, not an uncontrolled reaction like now.
“Her name is Ruusan?” He checked, squeezing her hands at odd intervals.
Sarris blinked at him. Nodded once. “Yes. Ruusan Armstrong.”
“And her family doesn’t want her?”
“No.” That was the part of this she couldn’t understand. How Ruusan’s grandparents had walked into that security station where Sarris had waited with their granddaughter, and had turned their backs on her. Had signed all the forms to give up their rights without looking at her twice.
It had made her burn with anger. That they were so willing, so eager, to be rid of Ruusan. Of her blue eyes and golden curls, her sweet giggles and priceless babbling.
Short but sweet, I hope. Unfinished, as with all my projects. But it hit me during church last week and I ran with it. This is a phase of their lives I never really got around to writing out, just put a mental marker in with an idea of events and moved on to bigger fish.
Baby Ruu is so. adorable. Just so you know. One of those babies that makes you think, "I wouldn't mind having kids after all" because she's just precious and a sweetheart and. Yeah.
I've gotta run now.
Thoughts?
Ad astra per aspera.
To the stars, through difficulties.
Long story short, I'm in Alaska (again), I'm working 1-8pm, five days a week, our internet is not in our house yet, and I've been reading a lot of books.
Yeah. That's about it. It's been a busy few months of travel. Once again.
My writing scribbles have meandered all over story ideas, but I liked this scrawl best that I did over this last week. Hopefully you guys do too.
Original storyline, just by the way. Since it's so confusing with the four some different storylines and I get turned around every once in a while as well.
Sarris found herself wide awake despite not having slept in almost two days. The starliner thrummed around her, as soothing and constant as the sleepy warmth pressed to her front.
It felt like events had not stopped slipping past faster than she could almost comprehend. Two days ago she had been returning home to an empty apartment and an aching pain in the wake of visiting Tara—again.
Now she glanced down and wondered that the past forty-eight hours weren’t anything more than a dream. That she would wake up in an empty bed, reaching for the only constant in her life, only to find him gone.
Downy blond curls were stark against the gray of Sarris’ uniform jacket, softening the military edge in a way no smile could. Quiet breaths left the child in her arms as she slumbered.
At six months old, Ruusan was just beginning to take an interest in the world, and was sleeping through the night on a somewhat regular basis. Not that it would’ve made a difference.
The Warrior had been struck by the vivid blue of her eyes from that first moment on the side of the road after dragging the crying child from the burning wreck of her parents’ streamer.
Letting her head settle back, Sarris stared at the illume casting faint light over the rows of seats, the low setting telling that their destination, Sinjaro Kahn, was in the late hours of night. Sleeping now would be in the passengers’ best interest.
She hadn’t commed Novarr any details beyond asking him to meet her at home tomorrow, or the earliest he could get away from his current job.
This wasn’t something she would be able to talk about, could make a decision about, without being able to see him, to grip his hands with hers and see the truth of his own choice in his eyes.
Ruusan could and would change everything. Already had. Even if they didn’t keep her, even if they committed her as a ward of the bureau on Norsha’ac, Sarris knew there would be no going back now. Not after memorizing the weight of the child in her arms, the pitch of her cry, the gentle scent that clung to her hair and skin after a bath.
It was burned into her mind as deep as Gogam, as her time with the Force, as the people who meant everything to her.
No, there was no return from here. And Sarris didn’t care, as she laced her fingers together over Ruusan’s back, her eyes closing. She knew that she wouldn’t get much rest, but it was worth it to at least try. There was no telling when Ruusan would awaken. Or what the next few days would hold, for that matter. She would need every moment of respite she could manage.
//
Sarris knew that the only thing Novarr would read on her face and in her eyes would be strain, so she grabbed his hands, hoping the contact would help him understand.
“You’re really starting to freak me out here, Sar,” his voice was strained, brows at an odd angle as he attempted to keep at least a hint of a smile on his features. His fingers were tight around hers with rising tension.
The words stuck in her throat, as easy as they should’ve been, but she didn’t know what to say anymore.
Staring into the concern in his gaze, the Warrior struggled. She didn’t do well conversing even within normal parameters, let alone when it came to an issue of this magnitude.
“Her name is Ruusan,” Sarris murmured at last. Her name almost got stuck, came out as a whisper. “She’s six months old, Norsha’acite, and her parents are both dead. Killed in a streamer accident.”
Novarr was uncomprehending, a frown crowding out his failing attempt at a smile, and he rubbed agitated circles around her knuckles with his thumbs. “What about her, Sar? I need details here, babe.”
“Next of kin waived their claim, she was going straight to a bureau-operated home, Novarr.” Sarris was unfamiliar with the desperation crawling beneath her skin. It was wishful, devastating, craving, unthinkable, nothing like she’d ever known.
Her hunter, her Novarr, waited, knowing to give her time, to allow her to work past her barriers and speak, perhaps already thinking he knew where this was going.
“I—“ Sarris paused, closed her eyes. “She’s here. I brought her home with me. She’s asleep in our bed right now.”
It might have been amusing in any other situation, with any other circumstances. Novarr stopped functioning, frozen, staring at Sarris.
She let him process, her attention on their conversation, but every sense tuned to the small noises of their apartment. Waiting for that familiar cry to come.
It would be weeks before her usual sleeping schedule returned. Before her senses dulled again from razor sharp awareness, at a level she hadn’t seen in years.
Since her first years off Gogam, struggling with the blood that had soaked her.
“We… have a baby?” Novarr’s dawning comprehension made warmth spread through Sarris’ fingertips.
Drawing in a breath, she explained in low tones, “If that’s what we want. I have temporary custody because of my dual status as a Warrior that’s acknowledged by both Kahn and Uhric. It allows some space to maneuver legally.” Away from the emotion of the situation, her tongue loosened, thoughts flowing with more ease.
Not that it made a difference what she said now. Novarr wasn’t attending again, just smiling, a goofy expression she didn’t see on him often. His good humor was usually more focused, not an uncontrolled reaction like now.
“Her name is Ruusan?” He checked, squeezing her hands at odd intervals.
Sarris blinked at him. Nodded once. “Yes. Ruusan Armstrong.”
“And her family doesn’t want her?”
“No.” That was the part of this she couldn’t understand. How Ruusan’s grandparents had walked into that security station where Sarris had waited with their granddaughter, and had turned their backs on her. Had signed all the forms to give up their rights without looking at her twice.
It had made her burn with anger. That they were so willing, so eager, to be rid of Ruusan. Of her blue eyes and golden curls, her sweet giggles and priceless babbling.
Short but sweet, I hope. Unfinished, as with all my projects. But it hit me during church last week and I ran with it. This is a phase of their lives I never really got around to writing out, just put a mental marker in with an idea of events and moved on to bigger fish.
Baby Ruu is so. adorable. Just so you know. One of those babies that makes you think, "I wouldn't mind having kids after all" because she's just precious and a sweetheart and. Yeah.
I've gotta run now.
Thoughts?
Ad astra per aspera.
To the stars, through difficulties.
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
Writing: Jade + "isn't this illegal?"
Hey, look who actually has something to post. It's from several weeks ago, granted, but at least it's something.
You have no idea how long I agonized over that fight scene. And how many martial arts gifs I looked at on Pinterest, trying to figure out what moves to have Jade pull. And then how on earth to write said moves. So I'm sorry if it's ultra wonky and weirdly paced. I'm just thankful that I got it down.
Um. Yeah. Writing has been slow. I did scribble a little something in the car, but it's disjointed. The writing ability has dulled again and it's hard to kick it back in gear. Le sigh.
But this is deviant verse, post the Ruusan kidnapping arc. Jade showing off her mad skillz and being weird. As normal. And Charles being awesome.
Someone remind me to hit the ground running with Dax/whatever I'm going to name him and (oh, what about Dackson?) start writing something for him.
Charles stepped into the warehouse after the sentry let him through with only a small monetary donation and a mention of his good friend Jade. He was pretty sure the guard had shown some approval in response to her name and had to wonder what Jade had gotten herself into this time.
The action was happening several hundred feet away once he stepped through the heavy, metal door but it was still like being hit in the face with a tidal wave of voices, noise, and blinding white light.
The contact had to stop and regain his bearings, adjusting to the extreme light variance and then trying to decide just what he was looking at. A rather large group of people stood in a frenzied cluster around the main attraction of the night, and even though what that was was out of his vision for the moment, but it wasn't difficult to draw conclusions. Dead of night, out of the way location, guardsmen starting several miles out, and now, high-powered lighting on an activity that was being betted on. Charles didn't frequent illegal fighting rings, but the few he had stopped in at had been very similar to this.
And it had to be a human versus human fight, because there was no equipment for dogs or any other creature hanging around in the fringes of the warehouse, plus the fact that Jade would have no purpose at any of those sort of places.
It was nicer than some he’d been to—at least it was in a warehouse, and not an hour out of the city in a barn with nothing but hales of bay and outdated lamps to light the space.
But still.
He sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. She was going to be right in the middle of the crowd, probably one of the fighters. Which was news to him, as this had never come up in the nonexistent “Jade Digest” as a pastime of hers, but neither was Charles surprised.
There was no way he could condone this habit, but she was more than capable of participating in and surviving any sort of unlawful fights she could buy her way into, seeing as her day job was made up of many similar components. Plus, she was a big girl. She could make her own choices.
Resigning himself to his fate, he started making his way around the crowd in a subtle manner in an attempt to find a break in the mass that he could see through to spot his longtime friend.
Jade, Jade, Jade, you well accomplished, but possibly over confident, oddball. Only you would come to one of these places for fun.
Keen eyes surveyed the feverish audience, looking for a break in the wall of bodies.
Finally.
There was a small gap that he headed towards, preparing himself for the crush of people. Nothing put him out of his comfort zone like being surrounded by bigger, burlier men who were out to enjoy a blood sport and who could crush someone like him just by not looking where they were stepping.
Putting his skills to work—Charles had not spent half his life learning to be unnoticeable and honing the ability to slip through a crowd with ease to let them go to waste now—he eased his way towards the front, ears ringing.
The combined voices of the spectators was a fearsome thing. He could scarce tell one shout from another, but could make out the difference in tones, knowing who was cheering and who was jeering. One man Charles ducked under the arm of hurled a vitriol string of curses, no doubt being on the losing end of a considerably large bet.
Charles took a quick step back before another of the onlookers could clip him in the chin and put him out of commission for the rest of the fight, before he’d even laid eyes on his goal.
Jade owed him for this. So owed him for this.
The things I do for you, dearest.
With one final movement, in which he sidestepped and tucked himself through a narrow gap between two more shouting observers of the fight, the contact found himself a mere two feet from the ring. It was cordoned off by pulsing blue cords, which, by the look of them, would deliver a stinging bite to whoever touched it, keeping the brawlers in and the spectators well away.
Hazel eyes travelling, the next thing that caught his attention was the blood. It was splattered at odd angles across the cement floor, some of it smeared by what looked to be footprints, other portions untouched. But all pointed to a brutal fight.
Initial assessment complete, Charles flicked his gaze to the two competitors, anxiety already tightening in his chest. The larger of the two fighters was everything he expected in a place like this—nothing but pure muscle and a face that could make his mother cry—and the other…
The brute turned his stance, following his opponent as the slight woman with a swipe of red across one cheek and a shadow of purple forming on the curve of her jaw took quick steps away from him.
Apprehension swelled in Charles’ chest unbidden. He knew she could handle herself, had seen her do it, but that knowledge wasn’t helping.
Jade dropped to sweep out with one leg, avoiding a heavy blow aimed for the side of her head by a narrow margin. She caught her adversary’s right leg behind her calf and yanked, misbalancing her opponent with the motion. He tottered and Jade was on him in a heartbeat, dark eyes intent and without a hint of pain as she went in to try and finish the fight.
Hair clinging to the back of her neck swung free with her violent surge of movement, lunging upwards from the ground, pressing her advantage. One arm came up hard to catch him in the solar plexus, the other in a firm defensive position in case he caught his wits again before she expected it. Everyone in the crowd let out a low breath when the man expelled all the air in his lungs at the force of Jaydn’s wallop, his eyes bulging in his head.
Charles had to force his hands to unclench, already tense after even the few brief moments he’d been standing there. Trying to tell himself that Jade is a grown woman who knows what she’s doing did nothing for him. He’d known her since she was nothing more than a gangly teen who distrusted the universe from day one in it and the last fifteen years of growing up didn’t make a lick of a different right then.
She followed up her winding blow with an elbow strike to the jaw, form closed and tight, leaving no space for a mistake and yet with the fluid ease that came with years of training and hard-earned experience. The man’s head snapped to the side and he staggered away, making a feeble attempt to swing at Jade.
The crowd’s roar spiked as they tried to urge him on—Charles had no illusions that there would be only a few betters to walk away with a fat wallet that night. Jade had the appearance of an underdog. She didn’t get bet on, didn’t get chosen first, because she didn’t come off as deadly or even intimidating, like the rest of her family did. Not unless she was aiming for it.
As the contact watched, Jaydn danced out of reach, bare feet sliding across pocked concrete, and Charles was struck by the gracefulness of the movement. It was so unlike her usual fighting style, the one her whole family utilized. They fought like Gogamians; hitting hard, not aiming to draw the clash out, finishing the skirmish with as little effort as possible. This was an art unto itself, the type people made a legal, professional living off of.
He had to wonder if any of these beefy onlookers had any idea about the show they were witnessing.
Her opponent—a man to Charles’ left shouted move your feet, Thrace—lurched after her, regaining himself as he bellowed in anger, red in the face from exertion. They crossed the small area of the ring, Jade always just out of reach, light and easy, never taking a lifted step, sliding instead. Always grounded, always ready to dig in.
Charles’ lungs felt like they’d contracted to half their size when his longtime friend neared the ring’s border. She skirted the edge of thrumming cordon, passing just feet from where he stood, unfazed by the painful burn that awaited a hair’s breadth from her skin.
Thrace followed, blinded by his rage, intent only on trying to land a blow. The fight would degenerate to the level of bar brawl if he got his hands on Jade, and judging by the spike in fervor, the audience knew it. Some jeered, others goaded on the lumbering man. Charles kept his hands deep in his pockets, silent, tracking every quick moment, trying to determine what Jade’s next play would be.
She was toying with Thrace, that much was obvious. Letting him get close enough to feel confident about taking a swing, then moving out of range in the next breath. Linger, retreat. Linger, retreat.
Shifting from one foot to the other, he contemplated bailing to wait elsewhere until Jade had finished, because there was no way this could be good for his blood pressure. Illegal fighting rings weren’t places he frequented for a reason.
The dance continued for what felt like an eternity. A quiet began to fall over the onlookers as they waited with baited breath for the final move, Charles among them. It was only a matter of time now, and they all knew it.
One beat.
Two beats.
The panting breaths of the two fighters as they circled. Thrace had caught onto her game and had stopped falling for Jaydn’s baiting.
Dark eyes glinted. Charles had a sudden vision of a cat on the verge of pouncing.
He wasn’t far off.
Jade took a half step back, then reversed direction and surged forward, towards Thrace, crossing the span between them in a matter of heartbeats. On her last stride, she pushed off with her back foot, kicking out with the same limb and using the momentum to scale Thrace, toes driving into the space where his thigh met his hip and give herself the foundation she needed to get to his shoulders. Hands gripping his head, digging into his hair, Jade swung herself up and around so she could lock her legs around his neck, still utilizing that forward impetus to jerk Thrace off balance. One more hard twist of her body, throwing her upper torso out to the side and they both went down, hard.
Charles didn’t want to imagine the expanse of bruising Jade would be facing in a handful of hours, flinching as the duo went crashing to the concrete floor, Jaydn’s hip and shoulder taking the brunt of her impact.
It didn’t disconcert the woman, though. Jade’s head came up in the moments after she and Thrace went sprawling, watching as his face reddened, then purpled, as the effect of her chokehold took hold. He made a paltry attempt to struggle, his unimpeded arm flailing out, but it was a doomed effort from the start.
Counting down the seconds—five, four, three, two, one—Charles braced for the swell of noise as Thrace’s eyes rolled back into his head, unconsciousness taking him and declaring Jaydn the winner of the fight.
The cacophony of voices rose and peaked. Bets would be collected and the loser dragged from the ring to be brought back around. Within the safety of the cordon, Jade rolled to her feet, fingers going to push back loose strands of her hair, a poorly repressed smile tugging at her mouth.
She sought Charles out with her gaze, quirking a brow once she’d made eye contact, as if to ask what’d you think?
His only response was an exasperated shake of his head, before he started to shift through the crowd to where he could see the supervisor of the fight was keying in the code to take down the electrified partition. Jade headed that way as well, stepping over Thrace, out cold, as she went.
“Some fight, champ,” the supervisor was saying as Charles reached him, lifting the deactivated fibrous cord that kept the fight separate from the crowd for her.
Jaydn ducked low to slip between the two upper cables, coming upright on the other side with a grin. “You did a good job by picking Thrace, Kashi. That wasn’t an easy win.” Her dark gaze flicked to Charles, smile widening further. “Hey, old man. Come out to see the show?”
“Work, I’m afraid,” the contact responded, stepping in closer when someone whacked him in the shoulder with an elbow. Ignoring the spike of pain, he took a quick inventory of Jade’s injuries.
It was far easier to see the extent of the damage from her tussle when up close; the bloody nose, bruised jaw, and hair plastered to her forehead and neck from sweat. Nothing that wouldn’t wash away or heal. Her attention was already back on the third member of their trio, however.
Kashi, the short, stocky enabler of the brutal display, slapped Jade on the back and used the placement of his hand to urge her into motion, good humor clear on craggy features. “Come on, Vance. I’ve got your stuff in the corner and your cut of the winnings, then you can head out.”
A small jerk of her head told Charles to trail them as Kashi led the way through the crowd. Insults were thrown as often as, if not more than, compliments from the milling spectators. Thrace must’ve been something of a legend to this crowd, because having a woman bring him down wasn’t going over well.
The sooner they got out of here, the better.
It was darker in the corner of the warehouse, away from the temporary spotlights that had been installed in the rafters for tonight. No one made to follow them, though, and that put Charles more at ease.
“There you are. Safe, as promised,” Kashi announced, gesturing to a small pile of clothing and a bag on the ground.
Jade nodded, going to snag a pair of slacks and shimmy into them, pulling them up over the capris she’d fought in. While Charles averted his gaze, the other man felt no such consideration, watching her disappearing curves with undisguised appreciation.
“I assume you have my cut of the winnings?” The hunter prompted, and there was mild warning in her voice, enough that Kashi was quick to look to the side.
“Yes. There’s the expected fee for, ah—“
“Take whatever cut you usually do, Kashi. I’m not planning on coming again.”
The snort was hard to stifle. Jade was in the midst of pulling on a loose shirt and couldn’t see the despairing look that crossed the fight supervisor’s face. He would lose a lot of potential money by her not coming back.
Kashi was smart enough to know better than to argue, though. With a heavy breath, he conceded, “You got it. I’ll meet you by the exit.”
There was a mumbled affirmation in Gogamian as Jade pulled her hair out from its tie to shake it out.
//
He didn’t speak until they’d left the warehouse and its inhabitants far behind. “So. Illegal fighting. Interesting pastime.”
Jade took in a deep breath, hands in the pockets of her pants and head thrown back to take in the night air. “I don’t know how to explain it, Charles. Fighting gets my pulse racing in a way it doesn’t when I’m working. It—I guess that it drives away the demons for a little while."
Charles could've sworn that the moon illuminated a smile that pulled at her features—and a true smile. Not just a quirk of the lips. He had to remind himself to keep pace with the hunter. It’d been a long time since he’d seen that smile. Months, if not years.
"I get in that ring and there's nothing else but me and my opponent, Charles. I'm not tracking my siblings' positions. I'm not assessing possible threats. I'm not building a veritable library of criminals in my head. I can narrow in, block everything else out. There isn't time to think. I take a breath, and he’s coming at me again. Then the crowds are drowning out all the noise and the lights make it hard to see and he comes at me again and again until one of us goes down." Passion lent a foreign vibrancy to Jade's voice, bringing her words to life and transporting the contact back to the scene he'd witnessed to twenty minutes prior.
Charles had to resist the urge to sigh. "You certainly have a knack for unusual pastimes, my love."
Jade did snort, casting a smirk at him over her shoulder before she wiped blood from her nose with the back of her hand. "I can smell the disapproval on you."
The contact raised his palms in a gesture of innocence. "I said no such thing."
"Didn't have to." She spat off to the side to get blood out of her mouth, making a face. Which she really didn't need to because she already was a sight to be seen with the bruises already forming, visible even in the poor light.
"Now I remember why you aren't the one who works cons," Charles commented, dry humor overtaking his tone as he ambled along at Jade's side.
Something akin to a laugh bubbled out of her. "Is that a subtle way of telling me that my manner could be seen as offensive in some circles?"
His grin was nothing short of cheeky. "Possibly."
"I hate acting anyways, so it all works out well in the end. But shak, that was a serious work out. I may actually be sore tomorrow." Jade crossed her arm over her collarbone, using the other to stretch out the toned muscles in her limb.
"Was that a subtle brag, Jaydn Vhander?" Charles didn't have to reach far for false outrage, but he did have to fight to maintain a suitable expression. After all, he had seen her bring down Thrace. If she’d been serious about the fight instead of out just to relieve stress, it would’ve been over long before he’d gotten there.
"Charles, please. You know that I am above bragging. We both are aware of the fact that my skills far outweigh most opponents I am faced with. I have no reason to brag when one well-placed punch can do it for me." Despite her mostly factual tone, there was a saucy sway to Jade's hips and a tilt to her lips that betrayed her.
Grinning, he smacked her in the ribs, feeling no sympathy when she flinched at the light blow and strolled past while the hunter paused to catch her breath before jogging to overtake him again. "You have a ride, I assume?"
Elbowing him in one quick strike and then throwing her shoulder into his to push him off balance, Jade jogged a few steps to be out of retaliation range before responding, "Of course. Half an hour walk away, at that privatized pad on the edge of Upper Westside's jurisdiction."
Holding his side—Jaydn didn't know the meaning of playful jab and never really had, when he thought about it—Charles nodded, even if she couldn't see it. He wasn't going to ask where she’d gotten permission to touch down at a private landing pad. They all had those connections that made their lives easier. "That works. We can talk shop and then I can get a ride in to the spaceport from there."
There was a grin on her voice when she shot back over her shoulder, her high ponytail swinging with the motion, "You up for a run, old man? I don't look this good because I walk everywhere."
"Impudent brat. I'll meet you there. Take the long way around and maintain your amazing physique even better." Charles had to shake his head, partly because of exasperation but more in amusement.
As always, thoughts, comments, or critiques are always welcome. I love feedback or just chatting. Both is good.
Ad astra per aspera.
To the stars, through difficulty.
You have no idea how long I agonized over that fight scene. And how many martial arts gifs I looked at on Pinterest, trying to figure out what moves to have Jade pull. And then how on earth to write said moves. So I'm sorry if it's ultra wonky and weirdly paced. I'm just thankful that I got it down.
Um. Yeah. Writing has been slow. I did scribble a little something in the car, but it's disjointed. The writing ability has dulled again and it's hard to kick it back in gear. Le sigh.
But this is deviant verse, post the Ruusan kidnapping arc. Jade showing off her mad skillz and being weird. As normal. And Charles being awesome.
Someone remind me to hit the ground running with Dax/whatever I'm going to name him and (oh, what about Dackson?) start writing something for him.
Charles stepped into the warehouse after the sentry let him through with only a small monetary donation and a mention of his good friend Jade. He was pretty sure the guard had shown some approval in response to her name and had to wonder what Jade had gotten herself into this time.
The action was happening several hundred feet away once he stepped through the heavy, metal door but it was still like being hit in the face with a tidal wave of voices, noise, and blinding white light.
The contact had to stop and regain his bearings, adjusting to the extreme light variance and then trying to decide just what he was looking at. A rather large group of people stood in a frenzied cluster around the main attraction of the night, and even though what that was was out of his vision for the moment, but it wasn't difficult to draw conclusions. Dead of night, out of the way location, guardsmen starting several miles out, and now, high-powered lighting on an activity that was being betted on. Charles didn't frequent illegal fighting rings, but the few he had stopped in at had been very similar to this.
And it had to be a human versus human fight, because there was no equipment for dogs or any other creature hanging around in the fringes of the warehouse, plus the fact that Jade would have no purpose at any of those sort of places.
It was nicer than some he’d been to—at least it was in a warehouse, and not an hour out of the city in a barn with nothing but hales of bay and outdated lamps to light the space.
But still.
He sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. She was going to be right in the middle of the crowd, probably one of the fighters. Which was news to him, as this had never come up in the nonexistent “Jade Digest” as a pastime of hers, but neither was Charles surprised.
There was no way he could condone this habit, but she was more than capable of participating in and surviving any sort of unlawful fights she could buy her way into, seeing as her day job was made up of many similar components. Plus, she was a big girl. She could make her own choices.
Resigning himself to his fate, he started making his way around the crowd in a subtle manner in an attempt to find a break in the mass that he could see through to spot his longtime friend.
Jade, Jade, Jade, you well accomplished, but possibly over confident, oddball. Only you would come to one of these places for fun.
Keen eyes surveyed the feverish audience, looking for a break in the wall of bodies.
Finally.
There was a small gap that he headed towards, preparing himself for the crush of people. Nothing put him out of his comfort zone like being surrounded by bigger, burlier men who were out to enjoy a blood sport and who could crush someone like him just by not looking where they were stepping.
Putting his skills to work—Charles had not spent half his life learning to be unnoticeable and honing the ability to slip through a crowd with ease to let them go to waste now—he eased his way towards the front, ears ringing.
The combined voices of the spectators was a fearsome thing. He could scarce tell one shout from another, but could make out the difference in tones, knowing who was cheering and who was jeering. One man Charles ducked under the arm of hurled a vitriol string of curses, no doubt being on the losing end of a considerably large bet.
Charles took a quick step back before another of the onlookers could clip him in the chin and put him out of commission for the rest of the fight, before he’d even laid eyes on his goal.
Jade owed him for this. So owed him for this.
The things I do for you, dearest.
With one final movement, in which he sidestepped and tucked himself through a narrow gap between two more shouting observers of the fight, the contact found himself a mere two feet from the ring. It was cordoned off by pulsing blue cords, which, by the look of them, would deliver a stinging bite to whoever touched it, keeping the brawlers in and the spectators well away.
Hazel eyes travelling, the next thing that caught his attention was the blood. It was splattered at odd angles across the cement floor, some of it smeared by what looked to be footprints, other portions untouched. But all pointed to a brutal fight.
Initial assessment complete, Charles flicked his gaze to the two competitors, anxiety already tightening in his chest. The larger of the two fighters was everything he expected in a place like this—nothing but pure muscle and a face that could make his mother cry—and the other…
The brute turned his stance, following his opponent as the slight woman with a swipe of red across one cheek and a shadow of purple forming on the curve of her jaw took quick steps away from him.
Apprehension swelled in Charles’ chest unbidden. He knew she could handle herself, had seen her do it, but that knowledge wasn’t helping.
Jade dropped to sweep out with one leg, avoiding a heavy blow aimed for the side of her head by a narrow margin. She caught her adversary’s right leg behind her calf and yanked, misbalancing her opponent with the motion. He tottered and Jade was on him in a heartbeat, dark eyes intent and without a hint of pain as she went in to try and finish the fight.
Hair clinging to the back of her neck swung free with her violent surge of movement, lunging upwards from the ground, pressing her advantage. One arm came up hard to catch him in the solar plexus, the other in a firm defensive position in case he caught his wits again before she expected it. Everyone in the crowd let out a low breath when the man expelled all the air in his lungs at the force of Jaydn’s wallop, his eyes bulging in his head.
Charles had to force his hands to unclench, already tense after even the few brief moments he’d been standing there. Trying to tell himself that Jade is a grown woman who knows what she’s doing did nothing for him. He’d known her since she was nothing more than a gangly teen who distrusted the universe from day one in it and the last fifteen years of growing up didn’t make a lick of a different right then.
She followed up her winding blow with an elbow strike to the jaw, form closed and tight, leaving no space for a mistake and yet with the fluid ease that came with years of training and hard-earned experience. The man’s head snapped to the side and he staggered away, making a feeble attempt to swing at Jade.
The crowd’s roar spiked as they tried to urge him on—Charles had no illusions that there would be only a few betters to walk away with a fat wallet that night. Jade had the appearance of an underdog. She didn’t get bet on, didn’t get chosen first, because she didn’t come off as deadly or even intimidating, like the rest of her family did. Not unless she was aiming for it.
As the contact watched, Jaydn danced out of reach, bare feet sliding across pocked concrete, and Charles was struck by the gracefulness of the movement. It was so unlike her usual fighting style, the one her whole family utilized. They fought like Gogamians; hitting hard, not aiming to draw the clash out, finishing the skirmish with as little effort as possible. This was an art unto itself, the type people made a legal, professional living off of.
He had to wonder if any of these beefy onlookers had any idea about the show they were witnessing.
Her opponent—a man to Charles’ left shouted move your feet, Thrace—lurched after her, regaining himself as he bellowed in anger, red in the face from exertion. They crossed the small area of the ring, Jade always just out of reach, light and easy, never taking a lifted step, sliding instead. Always grounded, always ready to dig in.
Charles’ lungs felt like they’d contracted to half their size when his longtime friend neared the ring’s border. She skirted the edge of thrumming cordon, passing just feet from where he stood, unfazed by the painful burn that awaited a hair’s breadth from her skin.
Thrace followed, blinded by his rage, intent only on trying to land a blow. The fight would degenerate to the level of bar brawl if he got his hands on Jade, and judging by the spike in fervor, the audience knew it. Some jeered, others goaded on the lumbering man. Charles kept his hands deep in his pockets, silent, tracking every quick moment, trying to determine what Jade’s next play would be.
She was toying with Thrace, that much was obvious. Letting him get close enough to feel confident about taking a swing, then moving out of range in the next breath. Linger, retreat. Linger, retreat.
Shifting from one foot to the other, he contemplated bailing to wait elsewhere until Jade had finished, because there was no way this could be good for his blood pressure. Illegal fighting rings weren’t places he frequented for a reason.
The dance continued for what felt like an eternity. A quiet began to fall over the onlookers as they waited with baited breath for the final move, Charles among them. It was only a matter of time now, and they all knew it.
One beat.
Two beats.
The panting breaths of the two fighters as they circled. Thrace had caught onto her game and had stopped falling for Jaydn’s baiting.
Dark eyes glinted. Charles had a sudden vision of a cat on the verge of pouncing.
He wasn’t far off.
Jade took a half step back, then reversed direction and surged forward, towards Thrace, crossing the span between them in a matter of heartbeats. On her last stride, she pushed off with her back foot, kicking out with the same limb and using the momentum to scale Thrace, toes driving into the space where his thigh met his hip and give herself the foundation she needed to get to his shoulders. Hands gripping his head, digging into his hair, Jade swung herself up and around so she could lock her legs around his neck, still utilizing that forward impetus to jerk Thrace off balance. One more hard twist of her body, throwing her upper torso out to the side and they both went down, hard.
Charles didn’t want to imagine the expanse of bruising Jade would be facing in a handful of hours, flinching as the duo went crashing to the concrete floor, Jaydn’s hip and shoulder taking the brunt of her impact.
It didn’t disconcert the woman, though. Jade’s head came up in the moments after she and Thrace went sprawling, watching as his face reddened, then purpled, as the effect of her chokehold took hold. He made a paltry attempt to struggle, his unimpeded arm flailing out, but it was a doomed effort from the start.
Counting down the seconds—five, four, three, two, one—Charles braced for the swell of noise as Thrace’s eyes rolled back into his head, unconsciousness taking him and declaring Jaydn the winner of the fight.
The cacophony of voices rose and peaked. Bets would be collected and the loser dragged from the ring to be brought back around. Within the safety of the cordon, Jade rolled to her feet, fingers going to push back loose strands of her hair, a poorly repressed smile tugging at her mouth.
She sought Charles out with her gaze, quirking a brow once she’d made eye contact, as if to ask what’d you think?
His only response was an exasperated shake of his head, before he started to shift through the crowd to where he could see the supervisor of the fight was keying in the code to take down the electrified partition. Jade headed that way as well, stepping over Thrace, out cold, as she went.
“Some fight, champ,” the supervisor was saying as Charles reached him, lifting the deactivated fibrous cord that kept the fight separate from the crowd for her.
Jaydn ducked low to slip between the two upper cables, coming upright on the other side with a grin. “You did a good job by picking Thrace, Kashi. That wasn’t an easy win.” Her dark gaze flicked to Charles, smile widening further. “Hey, old man. Come out to see the show?”
“Work, I’m afraid,” the contact responded, stepping in closer when someone whacked him in the shoulder with an elbow. Ignoring the spike of pain, he took a quick inventory of Jade’s injuries.
It was far easier to see the extent of the damage from her tussle when up close; the bloody nose, bruised jaw, and hair plastered to her forehead and neck from sweat. Nothing that wouldn’t wash away or heal. Her attention was already back on the third member of their trio, however.
Kashi, the short, stocky enabler of the brutal display, slapped Jade on the back and used the placement of his hand to urge her into motion, good humor clear on craggy features. “Come on, Vance. I’ve got your stuff in the corner and your cut of the winnings, then you can head out.”
A small jerk of her head told Charles to trail them as Kashi led the way through the crowd. Insults were thrown as often as, if not more than, compliments from the milling spectators. Thrace must’ve been something of a legend to this crowd, because having a woman bring him down wasn’t going over well.
The sooner they got out of here, the better.
It was darker in the corner of the warehouse, away from the temporary spotlights that had been installed in the rafters for tonight. No one made to follow them, though, and that put Charles more at ease.
“There you are. Safe, as promised,” Kashi announced, gesturing to a small pile of clothing and a bag on the ground.
Jade nodded, going to snag a pair of slacks and shimmy into them, pulling them up over the capris she’d fought in. While Charles averted his gaze, the other man felt no such consideration, watching her disappearing curves with undisguised appreciation.
“I assume you have my cut of the winnings?” The hunter prompted, and there was mild warning in her voice, enough that Kashi was quick to look to the side.
“Yes. There’s the expected fee for, ah—“
“Take whatever cut you usually do, Kashi. I’m not planning on coming again.”
The snort was hard to stifle. Jade was in the midst of pulling on a loose shirt and couldn’t see the despairing look that crossed the fight supervisor’s face. He would lose a lot of potential money by her not coming back.
Kashi was smart enough to know better than to argue, though. With a heavy breath, he conceded, “You got it. I’ll meet you by the exit.”
There was a mumbled affirmation in Gogamian as Jade pulled her hair out from its tie to shake it out.
//
He didn’t speak until they’d left the warehouse and its inhabitants far behind. “So. Illegal fighting. Interesting pastime.”
Jade took in a deep breath, hands in the pockets of her pants and head thrown back to take in the night air. “I don’t know how to explain it, Charles. Fighting gets my pulse racing in a way it doesn’t when I’m working. It—I guess that it drives away the demons for a little while."
Charles could've sworn that the moon illuminated a smile that pulled at her features—and a true smile. Not just a quirk of the lips. He had to remind himself to keep pace with the hunter. It’d been a long time since he’d seen that smile. Months, if not years.
"I get in that ring and there's nothing else but me and my opponent, Charles. I'm not tracking my siblings' positions. I'm not assessing possible threats. I'm not building a veritable library of criminals in my head. I can narrow in, block everything else out. There isn't time to think. I take a breath, and he’s coming at me again. Then the crowds are drowning out all the noise and the lights make it hard to see and he comes at me again and again until one of us goes down." Passion lent a foreign vibrancy to Jade's voice, bringing her words to life and transporting the contact back to the scene he'd witnessed to twenty minutes prior.
Charles had to resist the urge to sigh. "You certainly have a knack for unusual pastimes, my love."
Jade did snort, casting a smirk at him over her shoulder before she wiped blood from her nose with the back of her hand. "I can smell the disapproval on you."
The contact raised his palms in a gesture of innocence. "I said no such thing."
"Didn't have to." She spat off to the side to get blood out of her mouth, making a face. Which she really didn't need to because she already was a sight to be seen with the bruises already forming, visible even in the poor light.
"Now I remember why you aren't the one who works cons," Charles commented, dry humor overtaking his tone as he ambled along at Jade's side.
Something akin to a laugh bubbled out of her. "Is that a subtle way of telling me that my manner could be seen as offensive in some circles?"
His grin was nothing short of cheeky. "Possibly."
"I hate acting anyways, so it all works out well in the end. But shak, that was a serious work out. I may actually be sore tomorrow." Jade crossed her arm over her collarbone, using the other to stretch out the toned muscles in her limb.
"Was that a subtle brag, Jaydn Vhander?" Charles didn't have to reach far for false outrage, but he did have to fight to maintain a suitable expression. After all, he had seen her bring down Thrace. If she’d been serious about the fight instead of out just to relieve stress, it would’ve been over long before he’d gotten there.
"Charles, please. You know that I am above bragging. We both are aware of the fact that my skills far outweigh most opponents I am faced with. I have no reason to brag when one well-placed punch can do it for me." Despite her mostly factual tone, there was a saucy sway to Jade's hips and a tilt to her lips that betrayed her.
Grinning, he smacked her in the ribs, feeling no sympathy when she flinched at the light blow and strolled past while the hunter paused to catch her breath before jogging to overtake him again. "You have a ride, I assume?"
Elbowing him in one quick strike and then throwing her shoulder into his to push him off balance, Jade jogged a few steps to be out of retaliation range before responding, "Of course. Half an hour walk away, at that privatized pad on the edge of Upper Westside's jurisdiction."
Holding his side—Jaydn didn't know the meaning of playful jab and never really had, when he thought about it—Charles nodded, even if she couldn't see it. He wasn't going to ask where she’d gotten permission to touch down at a private landing pad. They all had those connections that made their lives easier. "That works. We can talk shop and then I can get a ride in to the spaceport from there."
There was a grin on her voice when she shot back over her shoulder, her high ponytail swinging with the motion, "You up for a run, old man? I don't look this good because I walk everywhere."
"Impudent brat. I'll meet you there. Take the long way around and maintain your amazing physique even better." Charles had to shake his head, partly because of exasperation but more in amusement.
As always, thoughts, comments, or critiques are always welcome. I love feedback or just chatting. Both is good.
Ad astra per aspera.
To the stars, through difficulty.
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