One of Those Faces

“...Put the computer by the window?”

“No - the glare from the sunshine will be obnoxious,” Tobias said.

Asia paused by his door, puzzled at how the other voice in the room - presumably his roommate - could sound familiar. Then she hefted the box of books she was carrying and nudged the door open with her foot.

“When you’re doing being Martha Stewart, how about you help me move your junk?” She edged into the room and dumped the box onto his bed. Which she’d made earlier and now was already rumpled.

“Nice, Asia.” Tobias rolled his eyes. “This is my sister, Asia. Asia, this is my roommate, James.”

Asia’s head came up sharply. There, standing across the room, was none other than James Mallory, Arcturus Dux reborn. He flashed her a wide, easy grin, and that was when she noticed the faint line of a scar running down the left side of his face. Easy for a talented make-up artist to cover, then.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said. Then his brow furrowed. “You don’t look like his sister.”

“The milkman liked our house a good deal,” Asia said easily, and Tobias let out an indignant yelp.

“Hey! Don’t listen to her. We’re not blood-related; we were all foster kids in the same house growing up, but I think of her as my sister is all,” he said.

James nodded. “I see. I was afraid I’d stumbled into the middle of an awkward family drama.”

“Well, you’re in drama school, so it should come second nature to you.” Asia grinned, then pinched Tobias on the arm. “Come help me move boxes already.”

“I thought Angel was helping you.”

“He’s charming the dorm matron,” Asia said.

“I’ll help,” James offered.

Together, the three of them headed for the stairs.

“So,” James said, “Asia. Have we met before?”

“We haven’t even been roommates for a day and you’re already making a move on my sister?”

James shook his head quickly. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” Then he looked at Asia. “Not that, er, I wouldn’t ever mean it like that.” Then he looked at Tobias. “It’s just - you look familiar.”


Tobias shot her a look; would she be a liability while he was undercover?

She shook her head and shrugged. “I guess I just have one of those faces,” she said. They made it into the parking lot where Angel was, indeed, chatting up the dorm matron.

“That’s our foster father, Angel,” Tobias said.

“He doesn’t look old enough to be anyone’s father,” James said. He was refreshingly blunt.

“Don’t tell him that - his ego doesn’t need it,” Asia said lightly, and then called out, “old man, come help your spawn!”

Angel spun around, ready with a glare, and then he went still. Awe, confusion, then something akin to fear crossed his face.

So he saw the resemblance, too.

(481 words)

And Their Pride

Asia was used to the repeated betrayal of looking at a familiar face and finding instead of a long-lost friend an alien, distant stranger. She hadn’t thought it would hurt so much more to glimpse an unfamiliar face and see a long-lost love.

He was seventeen and now average height for his age. Asia knew there was no accounting for taste, but she would always think him the most beautiful man she had never known.

Only he wasn’t that man.

He was a boy surrounded by a pack of angry bullies.

One had a knife.

“Poofter!” he shouted, jabbed.

It was the way James stood firm, chin held high, that made Asia miss Arcturus.

“Go on, Kaz, cut the freak!” one boy yelled.

“He’s not one of us anymore,” another added. “He’s fair game!”

James spoke smoothly, elegantly. His was the voice that would lead a thousand men willingly into battle. “If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?”

Asia blinked, surprised. Since when did he know Shakespeare? Kaz lunged. James brought his arms up, ready to defend himself, but Kaz was faster, stronger. James went down, and Asia smelled the sharp copper of blood in the air.

No. She was in the fray in seconds, dispatching the stupid teenagers with swift, accurate strikes. After the first four went down, the last of them went running.


“Stay the hell away!” Asia shouted after them, and then she was on her knees beside James.

He had pushed himself up onto his haunches and had one hand pressed to his face. Blood streamed from between his fingers.

“Are you all right?” Asia asked.

“’M fine,” he muttered. “They’re just - bitter I quit playing football to do drama. They’re ignorant. They’ll grow out of it eventually.”

Asia tugged on his wrist. “Let me see.”

“He didn’t get my eye. I don’t need the hospital or anything.”

Asia tugged harder, and he yielded to her. Blood dripped from a gash that ran from brow to jaw. Asia shrugged off her jacket and balled it up, handed it to him.

“No,” he said, “blood stains.”

“You’ll probably need stitches,” Asia said. “Put pressure on it.”

“It’s not that deep - I can feel it,” James said.

Asia fished her mobile out of her pocket. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

James sighed. “Please --”

“It’s going to scar,” Asia said. “He’s ruined your career.”

“Yes, well, I’d prefer it if people hired me because I’m a good actor instead of how pretty I am.” James tried to smile, winced. “They can’t call me pretty anymore.”

“Boys and their pride,” Asia muttered. She dialed, spoke to the operator.

Then James said, “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

“I just have one of those faces,” Asia said. “I’ll wait with you.”

James looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, “Thanks.”

(500 words - quote from Merchant of Venice)

Pay

He was fifteen and tall for his age, broad in the shoulders, and completely and utterly grass-stained. His mother might have despaired of the state of his football uniform, only it was a football uniform and that’s what it was for. Asia suspected, after the last time she’d seen him, any hope he would look different from Arcturus was futile. He even moved the same, which she found uncanny.

She wondered how she could still find things uncanny when she lived with a quislai, a genie, a fire elemental, and a dragon.

He was fast, skilled from practice, and she felt something tug in her chest when she saw the rest of his teammates stand in a circle around him for a pep talk. Arcturus had been fifteen when he’d pulled the sword from the stone, and he was king soon thereafter, leading his men into battle. She remembered how much Emrys had fretted that the only table he could find on such short notice was circular.

The players spread themselves across the field once more, and James began shouting orders. Asia watched the teenagers move with ragged synchronicity. Even in practice, James ran his team like they were in competition. Then one of the boys made wild, flying kick, and the ball came right at Asia’s head.


She reached up and plucked it out of the air.

“Sorry about that!” James trotted toward her, waved his arms. “Give us a throw-in, would you?”

Asia abandoned her books and hurried down the bleachers toward the sidelines. She hefted the ball a few times, then looked at him, considering.

“What will you give me if I give this back?”

The confusion on his face was priceless. Apparently he’d never been challenged like this before.

“We’re in the middle of practice.”

Asia spun the ball on her index finger and looked up at him, amused. “Indeed you are, but as soon as this left the pitch it was no longer in your possession, and now it is in mine. So...what are you willing to pay?”

“Pay?” James echoed. “That ball belongs to the school --”

Asia remembered, wildly, baiting Arcturus when he was king, just to see the way his cheeks flushed and his eyes burned bright.

“Pay,” she said. “What will you give me?”

James patted down his pockets reflexively. “I don’t have any money, but -- this is madness. Can we have the ball back, please?”

Asia saw his players were getting restless and raised her voice. “What say you, lads? How much for your football? Is it worth a kiss? Maybe two?”

The boys gaped at her. One of them laughed, another let out an indecorous whoop and holler. James turned bright red.

“Go on, James, kiss her!” one of them called out.

James prowled toward the sidelines, wary and still blushing. He was muttering under his breath, and any other mortal wouldn’t have heard it, but Asia could.

She was pleased with herself, for taking his first kiss.

(500 words)

The Prettiest Star

When she saw him next, he was twelve years old, huddled in precisely the spot she’d wanted to use as a surveillance point. He had a guitar across his knees and was strumming it with more enthusiasm than skill, though after a few bars she realized she recognized the riff. Oasis. Of course.

She wondered if his face had changed since childhood, sharpened toward the angles of manhood so that when he lifted his head to look at her she wouldn’t overlay the image with twelve-year-old Arcturus dressed in hunting leathers, Cully perched on one arm.

When he lifted his head to look at her, his face was pale and streaked with tears and his eyes were puffy, red. He scrubbed a hand over his face with an angry huff and resumed playing his guitar.

“Are you all right?” Asia asked.

“’M fine,” he muttered. “Wish people would stop asking.”

“Why would people keep asking?”

He peered at her through damp, spiky lashes. “Oh. You don’t know.”

Asia eased down onto the grass beside him. “What don’t I know?”

“Don’t want to talk about it.” He studied the frets intently.

Asia smiled easily and shrugged. “All right.”

He peered at her again, suspicious of her acquiescence, but she just hummed along to the song he was playing.

“You like Oasis?” he asked.

“On occasion,” she said. “How long have you been playing?”

“Couple of years,” he said. “Dad always says - he always said I need to practice more.” He swiped his hand over his face again.

Asia caught the verb tense, understood the tears. “Practice makes perfect,” she said. She held out one hand. “Would you like me to tune it for you?” She was nowhere near as good as DJ, Gabriel, or Christian, but she was competent.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“You look familiar is all.”

“People say that to me all the time. I have one of those faces,” Asia said.

He studied her for a long moment, then handed her his guitar. She tuned it with practiced hands, and he smiled at the clear notes she played.

“Can you play very well?” he asked.

“Not very well, but well enough,” Asia said. “What would you like to hear?”

“Can you play any David Bowie?”

Asia played The Prettiest Star, and he sang along.

Years later, when she found the song on a playlist someone else had put on her iPod, she couldn’t help but smile.

(418 words)

Ages

"How old are you Jen?" Joe asked absentmindedly as they walked along the beach.

Jen laughed, "don't you know it's not polite to ask a woman her age?"

"You can't be much older than me," Joe said as he pulled her to a stop at the edge of the water.

"Well, I did graduate early from high school, and I jumped right into the local nursing program. I always knew that that was what I wanted to do with my life. I always wanted to help people. And look what it brought me," Jen said as she held up their intertwined hands.

"You're evading the question," Joe accused as he began to walk again.

"No I'm not, I just haven't answered you yet."

"Are you going to answer me?"

"Would it make a difference how old I was?"

"Not really," Joe said, "I'm just curious."

Jen looked out at the setting sun and then back to the handsome young man by her side. "I'll be twenty one in six weeks."

"And I'll be eighteen in a month," Joe said.

Page Mallory

It was the flash of golden hair and the song of a wooden sword cutting through the air that caught Asia’s attention. She was wandering along the boardwalk, idly browsing the bright wares at the stalls and considering buying a stick of Brighton Rock for a pre-mission sugar rush when she saw him.

He was no more than eight, but then Arcturus had been the same age when he’d first met Emrys and his nameless, faceless Prentiss. He stood on the sand, swinging the sword with more enthusiasm and skill, and Asia recognized the determination in his expression.

She paused, leaned on the railing, and watched him battle an invisible foe. Over the years she had seen many faces repeated, knew that it was the way of DNA and biology, but she’d never hoped to see his face again. Asia closed her eyes and remembered her king as she’d seen him last, face peaceful in magic-woven sleep.

“Take that!” the boy cried, lunging and jabbing with the sword.

Asia opened her eyes and saw him trip over his own shoelaces, land in the sand.

“Ow,” he muttered, and heaved himself up, dusted himself off.

“If you slide your back foot forward and push off with it a little bit before you lunge, you won’t over-extend yourself and lose your balance,” Asia said.

The boy tilted his head to look at her. “You know how to fight with a sword?”

She nodded. “I do.”

The boy clambered to his feet, picked up his sword. “Will you teach me?”

Asia glanced at her watch. She still had forty minutes until she had to meet her contact. “I don’t have much time, but why not?” She hopped over the railing and landed in the sand, neatly like a cat.

The boy’s eyes went wide. “Wow. Are you a ninja or something?”

“Or something,” Asia said. “What’s your name?”

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” the boy began.

“Yes, well, considering what I can do with a sword, if I’d wanted to hurt you, you’d already be hurt,” Asia said. She winced when she realized just how aggressive that sounded.

“That’s not true,” the boy said. “You might have been paid to kidnap me and bring me undamaged.” He brandished his sword at her.

Asia knew enough about children that she didn’t laugh. She kept her expression solemn. “Yes, well, you have my word I’m not going to kidnap you.”

The boy gazed at her for a moment, and Asia reflected that children had an uncanny ability to sense deception that at times rivaled Gabriel’s gift. “My name is James,” he said finally. “James Mallory.”

“Well, Page Mallory, let’s see your sword,” Asia said.

He handed it to her.

“Why am I Page Mallory? Shouldn’t I be Sir Mallory?”

“Before a man becomes a knight, he must first serve as a page, then as a squire,” Asia said easily. “Now come on - this is how you hold a sword.”

(499 words)

Overview #57: Weather Poetry

So in my shame, weather poetry became more like seasonal poetry (Halloween and Summer, anyone at all?) and I think, surrounded by terrible cold and dirty snow made me want to write mostly about how horrible winter is, and that would have been boring. I think I went a long way in sticking to concrete imagery, but in doing so I lost out on emotion and themes. By the end of the week, all my poems were starting to sound the same to me. I'm not a poet, and I know it, but it was fun, ignoring things like definite and indefinite articles and not having to worry about plot or characters.

It was a growing exercise for me, but I'm not sure how much I genuinely improved at the art of poetry.

Still, another week is here, and I shall write on.

Project Assignment # 58 - Non-Canon

Okay. This is a week to switch it up. Write something that your characters would never do under normal circumstances, or just some good old things that have been kicking around in your brain, but would not work in the story.

Maybe a change to tweak something, to experiment with it before it becomes part of your story.

A chance to explore a relationship that could never happen, or what might have happened if things had turned out differently.

Have fun and happy writing.

500 words max.

Overview # 57

So I totally failed this week at posting. And when I did post, it was not so great. I don't know where my mind has been, but obviously not on writing. *Bows head in shame*

Nagi totally owned this week in writing. Her work was fantastic!

This next week will be better.