The Door in the Tower

She sighed and picked disconsolately at the tapestry she was supposed to be making. She didn’t even remember what the picture was supposed to be anymore. Before she could fling herself restlessly onto her bed, she heard the familiar call, that ridiculous name Aunt had picked and that stupid chant about her hair.

She bundled her hair up, hauled it across the tower, and peered out.

Another buffoon in fancy armor on a horse. Of course.

She sighed again and let her hair down, and when he made it to the top she kissed him on the cheek before Aunt burst out of nowhere and chased the boy off with magic.

“You can’t be so picky,” Aunt said after the knight tumbled to the ground and staggered away, blinded and cursed.

“I want an interesting boy, thank you very much,” Rapunzel said, and plopped down in front of the tapestry next door.

“You won’t be young and pretty forever, and if I keep cursing those knights soon no one will be telling your story in the courts,” Aunt said.

Rapunzel shrugged and picked at the tapestry some more.

***

She woke in the middle of the night to find a young man perched on her windowsill. A scarf covered the lower half of his face, and he had a wicked-looking dagger instead of a sword.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“A thief,” he said. “I heard there was a fancy tapestry here that would fetch good money. Go to sleep, let me take the tapestry, and I won’t hurt you.”

“Well,” Rapunzel said, “how about you cut all this stupid hair off, marry me, and then for once, someone can use the stupid door at the bottom of the tower?”

“Why should I marry you?”

“I’m a princess.”

(298 words)

Logic From a Former Mermaid

“Well,” she mused over the side of the deck to her sisters, “if he was willing to forget me so easily, perhaps he doesn’t love me as much as I thought he did.”

One sister blinked. “As you said, he was enchanted.”

“This is true, but enchantments can be broken by true love. Apparently his love is not so true.”

Another sister nodded. “Then do what you must.” She swam closer to the deck, reared up on the cap of a wave and offered her tool. “Take it and return to live with us forever.”

The former mermaid nodded and accepted the knife.


A few minutes later, she realized that, even if her prince’s heart had not been true, it had at least been quite healthy. She sank her teeth into the thickness of the muscle, tasted iron on her tongue, and when it was done, she flung herself overboard --

And vanished beneath the waves with a splash and a flick of her shiny new tail.

(166 words)

Role Reversal

"I tell you I saw one. I'm not lying," cub said, trying to get anyone's attention.

Everyone passed by the young one, ignoring what he was saying.

"Please, you've got to believe me," he begged, trying to get anyone to stop and listen to him.

"Do you really think that anyone is going to believe that there are humans out there," one said as they brushed past the cub.

"But."

"Give it up," another said and bumped him back.

The young cub sulked as he trotted to the edge of the clearing, "No one believed me."

"Can you blame them?" A voice asked from behind him.

House of Brick

“I think,” First said, “that dynamite might be apropos at this point.”

Second tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Look, just because wind and fire haven’t worked at this point doesn’t mean we need to be quite so extreme. Maybe a high-powered blast of water? What say you, Third?”

Third already had a detonator, a pair of pliers, and several blocks of plastique out on his work bench.

“Then the majority has ruled,” First said. “Dynamite it is.”

Second sighed and shook his head. He turned back toward the brick house and called out. “Really, Mr. Wolf, this is becoming quite tiresome! This is the third house of yours we’re going to have to demolish. You might as well give up now.”

“No!” came the muffled reply from behind the front door. “Go away!”

“Look,” Third said drolly, “he’s lit a fire to prevent us from crawling down the chimney.”

First reached for the pliers. “Let’s get to work, brothers.”

(159 words)

Musings from the Psuedo Grave

"I bet no one ever told you that it was a nightmare, this tale over which you sigh romantically. I bet they never told you while you listened to some sweet fairytale, that it wasn't all a path lined with roses. I'm sure that you realized that at one point, but I am just as sure that you ignored it. How do you know that the slipper didn't have a nail through it, or the kiss of life wasn't really just an excuse to put the moves on a helpless woman. Did you ever stop to wonder if I'm really asleep, or whether I can still hear and think. That I have been slowly going crazy year after year. Every storm I've heard, every rap on my glass coffin, every step in the woods."

"Yup. Slowly going crazy..."

Deceptive Beauty

What no one realized was that she could hear everything. Over time she’d learned to tell who people were, where they were, just by the sound of their footsteps and voices. Slow, shuffling footsteps accompanied by wheezing breath and a voice like a creaky door meant some old woman - a hedge-witch, likely - collecting herbs. Quick, light steps and bright, sparkling laughter meant children exploring the ancient, overgrown castle.

She wasn’t quite sure how time passed, because she couldn’t see anything and had no concept of light or dark, day or night, but she knew one voice that came regularly. She was quite sure he was the only one who knew she was there, and he would talk to her - about everything. About how his mother nagged him, about how he was doing his best to fill his dead father’s shoes, about how his little sister let the goat loose again.

So when she heard the almost-forgotten clank of armor and swirl of a heavy cape and knew that some prince had arrived, she knew her time had come.

When he kissed her, she could feel the spell that had weighed her limbs down for so long begin to stir, pull free. But she kept very, very still and waited until he left, heavy footsteps slow with disappointment.

And then she heard that familiar light, easy gait, that gentle tenor.

“Good day, my sleeping princess. It’s been quite a madcap out there - someone left the bull’s pen open and he’s been marauding in the village. We just barely managed to wrangle him back into place.”

She felt him settle on the edge of her bed.

She opened her eyes and sat up.

“Hello,” she said. “My name is Aurora.” And she kissed him.

(294 words)

Warts

"All you have to do is kiss me and I'll turn back into a prince," the frog croaked.

"Yeah, but won't I get warts or something," the young girl asked. She looked skeptically at the little frog. she had just been sitting near the pond resting when the creature had hopped up next to her and started talking.

"Nope. Trust me," the frog pleaded, trying his best to get her to come nearer.

"You know, my mother always warned me about talking animals. I think I had better not," She said as she stepped away from the little green amphibian.

Little Red's True Colours

"Sorry Grandma," Little Red said.


She gazed at the sleeping wolf for a little longer, then brought the axe squarely down on its neck.

"But I want the inheritance."

Then Little Red stepped out of the house in the woods, threw her head back, and screamed. The woodcutter who had spotted her walking along the trail with her basket full of baked treats came running. She cried prettily for him, and he held her, comforted her.

As soon as the funeral was done and the will was probated, Little Red split the proceeds with her mother.

None of the wolves on the edge of the forest ever came near Little Red again.

(112 words)

Project #49: Fairytale Remix

I've decided that it's been a while since we took on a genre assignment, so here I thought we would take fairytales and remix them. Think Neil Gaiman's "Snow, Glass, Apples" if you're confused about what this means. What if the princess instead of the prince were the frog? What if Snow White didn't wake up? What if the stepmother wasn't really evil? Give yourself 100-300 words to turn the Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Andersen on their heads.

Mod Post Again

That's right. Another mod post.

So totally no one took me up on the free-write. No new challenge will be up until Sunday, when we will resume our usual posting schedule. I think I have plans for the challenge since I think it's my turn in the rotation again. In the meantime...cogitate on fairytales. I think it will be awesome.

Welcome back, writers!

Mod Post

Yes, I abuse this post title a lot.

Okay...so, I had the plague over the weekend. And I have a horrifically important trial competition coming up. The sort of thing that makes or breaks a law student's soul, if not her career. So things may be...quiet. Around here. For a while. But we will get caught up, don't get me wrong. In the meantime, feel free to take a gander through your own universe. In the grand Madness tradition...freewrite! Freedom! And writing! For all! Up to 500 words.

-- Nagi out.

Hard On Yourself

(continued from this post)

“Why would you want to kill me?” Bob asked quietly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, but the words just spilled from his lips.

Carolyn shook her head. “No. No - I never wanted to kill you. Ever.” She hiccuped softly. “But - Command had orders. For if - if they ever took you, I was supposed to make sure they couldn’t...use you.”

Bob closed his eyes, swallowed hard. “I see. Would it have been quick and painless?”

“For you,” Carolyn said. “For me it would have lasted forever.” She buried her face against his neck, and she was trembling. “I’m so, so sorry, Robbie. I fell in love with you and I’m not sure I could’ve done what I was supposed to, and then, when they took you, they would have tortured you, and you would have been in pain. For hours. Because I loved you and couldn’t do it and --”

Bob hushed her gently, wrapped his arms around her and held her. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said. Relief curled through his limbs, echoed by the warmth of her body against his. He swallowed hard. All these years he’d done his best to hate her, forget her, and she’d tortured herself with the knowledge that loving him was failing him. Who were these people in command, that they’d do this to a girl? Because she’d been just a girl when she’d started on the road with them.

He could still hear her words, some of the last words she’d said to him all those years ago.

“I picked up a gun when I was six years old, first killed a man when I was ten. I learned seven languages and how to withstand torture, just so I could keep you alive.”

“Carolyn,” he said, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Robbie.” Carolyn pulled back. “Now c’mon - we have to get out of here.”

She reached into her jacket and drew out a handgun.

Bob blinked, then stood up, offered her a hand. “Let’s go.”

(340 words)

What's To Love?

“That’s pretty harsh,” Melanie said. She and Carolyn stood on the front porch and peered through the open door to where Clay was roundly dressing down his younger brother for running out on him while they were both still supposed to be teaching school.

Bob had his head bowed and kept nodding apologetically. After a while, Clay ran out of steam, and then he stepped forward, pulled Bob into a hug.

“So,” Melanie said, “all those times I was being a crazy fangirl, you thought I was creepy obsessed, huh?”

“No.” Carolyn smiled at her friend. “Not at all. You love them just as much as I do.”

“Yeah, but you grew up with them. You love them because you know them. I love them because --”

“Because they’re talented and attractive and nice guys,” Carolyn said. “Same as me.”

Melanie floundered for a moment. “Yeah, but -- you got to kiss one of them.”

“Two, actually,” Carolyn said absently.

Melanie’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“Clay fell out of love with me a long time ago,” Carolyn said.

“What makes you say that?” Melanie asked. She peered at Carolyn and saw that Carolyn’s gaze was distant; she was lost in memory.

“He saw who and what I really am, and he couldn’t deal.”

“And Bob could?”

“I think, by then, Robbie just didn’t care.”

Melanie nudged Carolyn’s shoulder with hers. “It couldn’t have been that bad. After all, you’re just a crazy prodigy law student. What’s not to love about brains and good looks?”

Carolyn said, almost too softly for Melanie to hear, “What’s to love about lies and bloodstained hands?”

Bob crossed the den and opened the screen door. He was still blushing faintly, but he was smiling.

“Clay’s done being all big brother on me. Sorry to kick you out of your own place, Carolyn.”

The smile she offered him could have outstripped a thousand suns. “I’m just glad you two made up.” Then she turned to her friend. “C’mon, Melanie. Want to meet half of Four Times Summer?”

(339 words)

Always About Him

A fist to the ribs. Carolyn could feel the ribs breaking beneath her knuckles. She followed her victim as he staggered back, spun into a roundhouse kick that probably broke his jaw. He hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, and then Carolyn had to pause, assess.

No breathing, no voices, no footsteps within hearing distance. She spun, scanned her surroundings, listening to her victim’s weak gasps all the while. No witnesses, then.

Carolyn knelt, flipped open her switchblade. Sometimes it was just easier to make it look like a mugging. Too professional a hit and local cops started asking questions, started running into bureaucratic walls. If she made this look like a proper wet job, it would be one too many in a string of hits - the Orphaneers were getting damned persistent - and some idiot with Mulder-doggedness would come sticking his nose where it wasn’t wanted.

The Orphaneer was young, Carolyn’s age, but far less experienced. She was beyond caring at this point.

“You tried to kill Robbie, you bastard,” she whispered, and plunged the knife into him once, twice, three times. Covered his mouth with her other hand while he gasped and gurgled as blood pooled into his lungs. When she stood up, she kicked the corpse for good measure.

She was halfway back to the stage door when she realized her vision was blurry from tears and her hands were still covered in blood. Carolyn stumbled into the nearest bathroom to wash her face and hands. It took a good drubbing in ice-cold water before she looked presentable again.

John’s words ricocheted through her brain.


“This is about him, Carolyn, not you.”

The blood all over her hands was always about him.

She wanted to cry some more.

And then the shrill screams of teenage fangirls broke the sound barrier.

The show had just begun.

(311)

Nothing to Lose

Joe took the blow to the side without uttering a single sound, not even a whimper as the air rushed from his lungs, barely defended himself when he felt a rib crack from the next blow.

The jeers and yells from the gathered men were just a noise in his head, he knew that if he carried on long enough that he would collapse, and then he could rest. Joe looked at the large and burly man opposite him in the makeshift ring, his eyes filled with blood lust and his gaze fixed on Joe. Joe brought his fists up in a defensive position and the man smiled; Joe knew that he appeared exactly what he really was, a scrawny nineteen year old boy with nothing to lose.

"Joe!" a strong female voice called out. Joe looked up in surprise and was knocked backwards as his opponent took the opportunity to strike. He stumbled backwards and fell to the ground, and the men around cheered as the victor walked out of the ring.

"Joe? Joe, can you hear me?" A voice said from beside him. Joe looked up, dazed, into the familiar beautiful features of Jen.

"Jen," he said, his words slightly slurred, "what are you doing here?"

"I came to find you. I've been worried about you," she said as she cradled his head in her lap and dabbed at the blood on his face. "Why are you doing this Joe?" she whispered.

"It helps," he said simply. "It helps me forget, helps take away the pain and the guilt."

Jen's eyes flashed in anger, "and I suppose I mean nothing to you?"

Joe tried to roll over so that he could face her, "no, Jen, it's not like that."

"Then what is it like? Are you trying to get yourself killed? I don't suppose it occurred to you that I could help you, that I could help take away the pain. Did you stop to consider that?" Jen asked as she stepped out of reach.

"Jen, I'm sorry, I didn't want you to have to worry about me. I..."

Jen cut him off, "But I do worry about you, ever since the first time I saw you in the hospital I have worried about you. but I guess that means nothing to you," she said. Not giving him a chance to respond, Jen hurried to the door and out into the night.

Joe could hear her words echoing in his mind, 'I could help take away the pain...I guess I mean nothing to you...'

Be Careful

“Do you know what your father will do to you if he finds out about this?” Shelley demanded.

Bob ducked his head, stared down at his shoes. Carolyn met Shelley’s gaze, then looked away. Shelley saw that Carolyn was looking at John, who loomed in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a very grim expression.

Finally, Bob lifted his head. “Dad doesn’t get to have a say on - on who we date. Or even if we date.”

“And when the fans ask --”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Bob said.

John shook his head. “Don’t bother, Shelley. They’re teenagers - they’re not seeing reason.” His gaze bored into Carolyn, but she kept her head held high. “They’re too young to understand the consequences of their actions.”

Shelley flinched, surprised by the icy fury in John’s tone. He was looking at Carolyn steadily, and something passed between them, something Shelley didn’t understand. She had the feeling that John was talking about something more than the fans finding out that one of the brothers had a girlfriend.

“Did it not occur to you that we are capable of doing a cost-benefit analysis and that we found the odds, despite the risks, weigh in our favor?” Carolyn’s voice was cutting.

John shook his head. “You’re being an idiot and you know it. There are things in this world that are bigger than you two, or have you forgotten who are you? If you think you can take them on you’re more of an arrogant fool than I thought.”

Bob realized something else was going on and cast his step-mother a look. Then he stepped in front of Carolyn. “John, it’s not as bad as you think --”

John didn’t even look at him, hurling his words right at his daughter. “You have no idea what you’re risking. What we’re all risking. What I’m risking. What he is risking.”

Bob flinched. “John --”

“This is about him, Carolyn, not you,” John said, “and you’d better remember that.”

Shelley blinked when John spun on his heel and walked away. Then she turned back to Bob and Carolyn. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Dad hasn’t caught us yet,” Bob said, “and he won’t.”

“I know,” Shelley said. “But be careful.”

Bob caught on the second time and turned bright red. Carolyn was still staring after her foster-father, looking as if she’d just been hit.

(399 words)

Perfectly Balanced

The voice that crackled over the intercom was several shades past displeased.

“What is the meaning of this?”

The monitor in the middle of the room hummed to life, and the lighting took a moment to fade up, but as soon as John saw the entwined silhouettes he knew what was going on. Damn Carolyn for - for what? For being human? For being a teenager?

It was grainy video, and badly shot. John’s first thought was that some rabid Four Times Summer fangirl would have given her first three children to get her hands on this footage. His second thought was that what the girl would see would break her heart. She’d see Bob and Carolyn, tucked into an alcove backstage at some random venue in some nameless foreign city, pressed up against a wall and kissing each other hungrily. Bob was still wearing his gloves, and his hair was damp with sweat where it curled at the nape of his neck - he’d just come offstage. Carolyn had one hand fisted in his t-shirt, the other buried in his hair, and her eyelashes fluttered against her cheekbone when Bob lowered his head to her throat.

“Agent Pierce was your responsibility, Agent Simon. Her job is to ensure The Carrier is secure. Not...this.”

John took a deep breath. The Generals knew they were walking a fine line when they’d decided to take on a project like Carolyn. To make her an effective agent, she had to be the perfectly balanced blend of killing machine and empathizer. Apparently she was too much of an empathizer for their tastes.

“Sir, Carolyn is ensuring The Carrier is secure. As his girlfriend, she has better access to him than ever before.” John wasn’t sure he believed his own words. “The Carrier is being protected during periods when he was usually at high-risk, such as while he’s asleep.”

“Agent Pierce’s job is to make sure the Orphaneers never get their hands on him, not to moon over him like a lovesick calf. If they take him, she must finish him. And then she will be terminated. Do your job, Agent Simon, or someone else will do it for you.”

And the intercom went dead.

(371 words)

Wasn't Thinking

"I'm sorry man. I don't know what else to say," Bryan stammered out an apology to his brother. He watched warily from where Mark couldn't reach him, watched the emotions play across his face; shock, disbelief, anger.

Mark stood in the doorway to their room, he could still hear the echo of the door slamming downstairs as Shandra left the house, probably for the last time.

"I guess I just wasn't thinking," Bryan said after an awkward pause.

"That's always been your problem Bryan," Mark said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "You never think. You never stop to consider what may or may not happen, who you might hurt or how your actions might be taken in the wrong way. Did it ever occur to you that what you do affects other people?"

Bryan swallowed his shame, he knew that he shouldn't have, and it's not like it's his fault that Marks girlfriend can't tell them apart, it had just happened.

"Mark, I'm sorry, it just happened. I looked up and smiled at her, and suddenly she was kissing me, and my brain just stopped," Bryan said quietly, "I hope the two of you can work it out. Tell her I'm sorry will you?"

Mark looked at his twin, his almost perfect mirror image in everything, "No, I don't think that I will; and I doubt that this can be fixed," he said. Turning on his heel, Mark left the room, slamming the door behind him.

"I'm sorry," Bryan said again to the empty space.

Kill Shot

“Do it again, Pierce.”

Carolyn took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and fired.

That voice crackled over the intercom. “With your eyes open, brat. You need to look at your target when you fire.”

Another voice broke in. “Easy, easy, she hit the bulls-eye.”

“That’s not the point,” the first voice barked. “Cadet Pierce, eyes on the target at all times, understood?”

Carolyn opened her eyes and stared at the row of targets laid out before her. Each of them was marked with specific red sections - kill shots. She’d become a sufficient marksman; now she had to learn to kill first, ask questions later.

“Again,” the voice commanded.

Carolyn closed her eyes and emptied her clip into the closest target. She could hit a heart from two hundred yards with her eyes closed, but she was tired of this. Before she could open her eyes, someone plucked the gun out of her hand, and hands clamped around her upper arms. She reacted smoothly, instinctually, sliding into the series of motions drilled into her by daily repetition, and began taking down her opponents one by one. But there were too many of them, and they were bigger than her.

When she finally managed to get herself uncuffed and the blindfold untied, she was in a four by six cement cell with only a single light. Any moment, someone would shut it off.

Then she’d have to wait until her body was desperate enough for food to make that kill shot.

(251 words)

Again and Again

The four men in Commander Cole's unit were huffing for air when they came staggering into the open compound yard after a twenty mile run; Joe immediately collapsed to the ground, heaving for breath.

"On your feet soldier," David barked as he stepped out of the command post.

Joe immediately rolled to his knees and struggled to stand again without blacking out, Bryan and Mark were both doubled over with their hands on their thighs, and Steve was leaning against the wall, swallowing convulsively, as he tried to regain his balance.

"Line up!" David commanded, and watched as they shuffled into a staggered line.

"Not good enough men," David said, looking them up and down, "Dress those lines and come to attention.

It took the four subordinate officers a few seconds to straiten themselves out. They were still breathing hard and sweat was pouring off of their faces in the hot Nevada sun.

"That run took you almost three hours gentlemen," David said disparagingly as he paced back and forth in front of them. "It should have taken you no more than two," he said, and looked each of them in the eye until they looked down. "I will not tolerate such poor standards in my command. You will do it again tomorrow, and it had better be within the time limits. As for right now, you will each give me one hundred push-ups, and then you will run the obstacle course. You will finish in under two minutes. Now Move!" David barked.

The four men dropped to the ground and began the rigorous number of push-ups that came on top of the run; none of them looked forward to the obstacle course. None of them had ever finished in under two minutes.

David watched in silence as his men struggled to make the repetitions that he had required, watched them stagger to their feet again and run to the obstacle course, and watched every one of them fail to make the two minute mark.

"Not good men," David said as he shook his head, "not good at all. Tomorrow will be more of the same, and the next day, and the next. Everyday until you can do it right. Now, dismissed to eat and wash," David said.

The four men said nothing as they turned from their leader and headed towards the barracks, complete exhaustion the only emotion in their faces.

"Just a little harsh don't you think?" Commander Hayes asked as he stepped out of the command post where he had been watching David drill his men.

"Were you any easier on me?" David asked without turning, "If I'm harsh now, they will become better soldiers; quick, agile, disciplined, strong, and resilient. They will live longer, and be prouder of themselves."

"Well, they're your men, I won't interfere, but do remember that they are also pretty young," Hayes said as he turned to leave.

"So was I," David said to no one in particular.

Project Assignment #48 - Harsh

Okay, this week is a chance to let your characters harsher side make an appearance. Haow harsh is Carolyn with Bob or Clay? How harsh is John on Carolyn? Does David come down on his men hard?

Have fun this week and let the harshness out for a stroll.

word limit of 500

Overview #47: Confessions

Hah. This was a pretty good one. Some of the confessions weren't as overt as I'd have liked them to be. Once again, it was a week of confessions for everyone. I was quite pleased that this week's lot of entries actually did some good as far as moving the plot along - I got some key scenes in. There were a couple of double confessions, as it were, about things, wherein two things were confessed even if only one thing was the main issue at dispute between the characters. It would've been nice if at least one of the confessions were happy, but thus is the way of things. I was a little leery about letting Dinah in on the secret, but it sort of had to be done. John needed to get things off his chest as well, and I think what I ended up doing with him worked.

Of course, the most important post was the last.

Carolyn finally said it.

Like I'm Supposed To

(continued from this post)

“What are you doing here?”

“I need to know something,” Bob said. “Just one thing.”

Carolyn searched his gaze. “Robbie, I can’t --”

“Please.” He caught her by the shoulders and leaned down, so close their foreheads were almost touching. “I need to know. I’ve needed to know since I watched you walk away. Do you love me?”

Carolyn reached up slowly and curled a hand around the nape of his neck, gazing into his eyes. A small sound caught in her throat, like a sob, and she closed her eyes. Then she looked at him again. “Yes. Yes, I love you.”

He covered her mouth with his.

She clung to him, fingers tight against his skin, and he held her. She loved him. All this time, she’d loved him. He couldn’t believe she was real,in his arms. Five years of missing her, of hating her and wanting her, and it all came down to never wanting to let her go.

He pulled back and buried his face in her neck, breathless. “I love you. Tell me you love me,” he whispered against her skin.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you.” Then she tugged on his shirt. “Robbie, we have to go, we have to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

“But you love me, right?” He pulled back and looked into her eyes. He had to make sure.

She was trembling in his arms. “I do love you. More than my own life. Now come on.” She tugged on him again, and he saw that the emotion in her eyes was more fear than love. “We can’t stay here. Please.”

“Why?”

“They’re coming to take you, and I - I can’t kill you.”

Ice crept through Bob’s veins. “Kill me?”

“Like I’m supposed to.”

(298 words)

Yes It Is

“I’ll be fine,” Bob insisted.

“Shut up,” Clay said gently. “You’re sick.”

“We can tour. Really. I just need a couple of days to rest,” Bob said.

Kevin reached for the phone. “So if I call the label rep --”

Bob started to nod his assent; Clay and Scott exchanged desperate looks. Why did Bob always give in?

“I don’t want to renew my contract,” Dan said.

Scott shot him an apprehensive look. “Danny --”

“I’m done. We had our fun, but I want a normal life. I want to go to college.” Dan met his father’s gaze evenly, but his hands shook. The other two triplets looked alarmed.

Kevin’s jaw tightened. “Daniel, be reasonable --”

“I’m sick of living on the road and hearing girls scream in my sleep.” Dan’s hands curled into fists.

Kevin attempted a winning smile. “The girls love you.”

Dan said, "I'm gay."

The other three froze.

Kevin’s face went blank. “What?”

“I’m gay and I have a boyfriend and we’re going to college together,” Dan said.

Rage flashed in Kevin’s eyes. “No son of mine is like that.”

“Well I am!”

Kevin swung at him.

Dan automatically moved to block, but then Bob was in front of him, one hand on his father’s wrist. Kevin looked stunned. All Clay could think was, Nice reflexes.

Bob’s eyes were dark with fury. “You promised you’d never touch them.”

Kevin swallowed hard, tugged free of Bob’s wrist. “Robert, I...”

“I think enough is enough,” Scott said quietly. “I’ve stood by and watched for too long what you’ve done to my little brothers, and it ends now.”

Kevin’s expression hardened, and he lifted his chin defiantly. “Is that your decision?”

The other three boys formed a wall around Scott, staring their father down.


Scott said, “Yes, it is.”

(297 words)

Tickets

"Has anyone else noticed how strange the commander has been acting this week?" Steve asked the other three as they sat in the dining room. None of them knew where David was; he hadn't left any note.

"Yeah," the other three answered. "I don't know what is going on, but it feels weird. First the picture, and the dinner," Bryan said.

"I heard him singing one night," Mark said quietly.

"And he invited me to watch the meteor shower with him," Joe added.

Steve was pondering over these thoughts when his phone went off. Seconds later the other three phones in the room went off also.

Flipping open the phone, they could see that it was a text message from David. All it said was an address and a time, ten hundred.

Steve looked at his watch and nodded. "Let's go men,"

>>>>>>>>>>>>

The four men were extremely puzzled as they stepped out of the car. Rising before them was a massive carnival. They could see David waiting at the front gate.

"What's up Boss?" Steve asked as they approached.

David shrugged, "Let's go have some fun," he said as he turned to buy tickets.

Dinner

"Oh, what smells so good?" Bryan asked as he came in the front door, followed by the other three.

Both Mark and Steve inhaled the scents of roasting meat that were coming from the kitchen.
"Whatever it is, is sure smells good," Mark said and he inhaled again, internalizing the scents.

Steve poked his head around the doorway and into the kitchen. He was rewarded by a powerful gust of scents as David opened the oven door. "Cooking Boss?" Steve asked in surprise.

David looked up from where he was placing the food on the counter, "Yes," he said simply.

"What are you making?" Steve asked as he stepped fully into the kitchen.

"Seared duck with a raspberry chipolte demi glace sauce, Garlic whipped potatoes, a harvest vegetable medley, a butternut squash soup, a spring mix salad with almonds, feta cheese, and dried cranberries, and a passion fruit mousse for dessert," David said, though he sounded distracted. "Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Go get cleaned up."

"Yes Boss," Steve said as he ushered the others out of the kitchen and towards the back of the house.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The team sat around, groaning in pleasure at the delicious food that they had been treated to. Finally, Mark said, "I didn't know you could cook Boss."

David looked up at him from the small coffee gup he was contemplating, "A good friend taught me a long time ago. It has been a long time though since I have cooked."

"Well, it was the best I have ever eaten," Bryan piped up and the others agreed.

"Thank you," David said simply.

Not The Same

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Ellis demanded.

Scott hugged his knees to his chest. “I didn’t start anything. I was doing my share of the ambulance check and he whacked me.” He had a black eye and a split lip, but he still wasn’t hurting nearly as much as Graham was.

“That boy-band fag was givin’ me lip,” Graham said. His voice was muffled behind the handkerchief he had pressed to his broken nose.

Scott’s eyes blazed. “I’m not a fag, and I wasn’t in a boy-band. I’m sick and tired of taking crap from you guys about what I used to do.” He stood up, scooped up his guitar. “You know what? I’m damn proud of the music I made with my brothers. I don’t care what you people think - I’m a good musician and nothing you say will ever change that.”

“I don’t care what you used to do,” Ellis said sharply. “I care about you getting along with the crew.”

“I haven’t been stepping on anyone’s toes,” Scott said. “I pitch in and do my share and don’t complain.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Graham said. “You’re not one of us.”

Scott leaned in so they were almost nose-to-nose. “You don’t know what it’s like to be me.”

“And you don’t know what it’s like to be me either,” Graham shot back.

“I’ll tell you what,” Scott said, “when you figure out how to make it so when I close my eyes I don’t hear people screaming and dying, we can call it a mile in each other’s shoes.”

“We’re EMTs - we see people die every day,” Graham said.

“Death,” Scott said softly, “is not the same as murder.”

(288 words)

Who Else

John’s last mission was to make sure the boys made it home safe. Luckily for him, his duties ended at the border, so he lingered on the edge of the throng of fans gathered at the airport and watched. And waited.

“I thought you and Carolyn were done with the tour,” Dinah Summers said.

John’s hand went for his gun, and he cursed himself. How the hell had he missed her?

“Nostalgia,” he said, eased his hand away from his gun.

Dinah didn’t miss the motion. “I know what really happened in Germany.”

“The boys were lucky they were out breaking curfew when the quake happened,” John lied smoothly. “Kevin just thinks they were quick on their feet.”

Dinah shook her head. “No. I know what really happened.” She took a deep breath. “It was right after Scotty was born. We needed money, so I signed up for a medical study. By the time I was pregnant, I realized something was wrong, that it was no ordinary medical study. Tell me one thing, John, will they hurt my son?”

“Not anymore,” he said. “We worked long and hard to make sure they can’t. It’s done, now. He’ll be free to live a normal life - or as normal as it can be, seeing who he is.”

A chorus of cheers and screams rose up when Scott, half-awake, stepped into the terminal laden down with his luggage and guitar case.

“You weren’t sent to kill him?” Dinah’s voice quavered.

John shook his head. “They wouldn’t have killed him either. But it was our job to protect him.”

“Who else worked with you?”

“Who else but Carolyn?”

(275 words - too many people know now, don't they?)

Perseid

Joe threw down his pencil in frustration over his paperwork, and wiped the sweat from his face. "Perfect," he muttered, "middle of August and the cooler goes out. It has to be the most humid and hot night on record," he griped to no one. Joe stood up and walked to the kitchen, stripping off his damp and sweat soaked over shirt. He reached into the fridge and pulled out a cold soda; David didn't allow alcohol in the house, and rolled the cool can over his face and neck. As he turned to go back to his work he spotted David walking out the back door with a large cylinder over his shoulder. Curious, Joe followed him to the backyard.

Joe watched in fascination as David set up the cylinder. It looked like it was made from a cardboard tube.

"What are you doing Boss?" Joe asked after observing him for a few moments.

"Tonight is the peak of the Perseid meteor shower; it's when the earth moves through the trail left by a comet, there will be a lot of shooting stars tonight," David said as he looked at the youngest member of his team.

Joe frowned in puzzlement, "I didn't know you were into meteor showers," he said.

David smiled and brushed some dust off of the telescope, "a long time ago, I wasn't, at least not at first, but a very good friend of mine was," he said as he adjusted the angle of the lens. He looked up at Joe, "would you care to join me? It should be quite the show tonight."

Joe thought about it briefly, "okay," he said after a moment, "I would like that."

David smiled and stepped aside so that Joe could get a look at the sky.

"Wow," Joe breathed in wonder as he watched streaks of light flash past.

"Yeah," David said with a gentle smile. He stood back and looked up at the heavens, a single tear brimmed, but didn't fall.

The First Time

Paul had been really patient about teaching Clay how to play the guitar, and they were celebrating Clay’s mastery of the chord hammer by getting drunk next to a bonfire on the beach.

“So.” Paul gesticulated wildly with his half-empty bottle of rum. “Tell me, Clay Timothy Summers, what is the worst thing you’ve ever seen? I mean, you’ve been a rock star since you were, like, born. So really, what’s the worst you’ve seen?”

Clay swiped the bottle from Paul, sipped thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Paul smirked. “Try me.”

“So, Bobby and I were in love with the same girl one time.” Clay stared into the flames. The ones on the edge, the darker ones tinged with shadow, were almost the same shade as Carolyn’s eyes.

“Lemme guess - you caught Bobby and her doin’ it up against the wall after a concert!” Paul’s grin was wicked.

Clay shook his head. “No, jerk. I’m being serious here.”

“What happened, then?”

“I fell out of love with her the first time I saw her kill a man.”

Paul choked on his rum. “The first time?”

(189 words)

Requiem

Bryan's eyebrows knitted in confusion at the sounds coming from the living room. It was three in the morning and Bryan had needed a glass of water. It sounded like low humming, a sad song. Eventually the tune resolved itself into words, sung ponderously, as if recalling a memory, or trying to forget one.

Byran was even more confused when he recognized almost instantly his commanders voice. He took a quick peek around the doorway and saw David at his desk, looking at the photo that they had found earlier that night.

Bryan listened as he hung back out of sight in the dining room. Bryan felt tears welling in his eyes as he listened to the heartbreak in his leaders voice, and had to wipe at his face. Bryan eased back from the door as David fell silent; he could hear the muffled tears from his friend, and walked, cat-silent back to his own room.

Bryan had a hard time falling asleep again that night.

Four Years Since

Bob knelt in the small wooden booth, crossed himself, and waited for the screen to open.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been four years since my last confession,” he said.

“Speak, my child.”

He started small - sneaking cigarettes from John’s stash, saying yes when he should’ve said no to beer cans from Captain Lyle, all the times he was horrible to his brothers and Shelley and his father.

The priest broke in. “Maybe just say you suffer from impatience and a lack of charity and do your best to work on that, okay?”

Bob nodded, then remembered the priest couldn’t see him and said, “Yes, Father.”

“What’s really on your mind, son?”

“I don’t want to die.”

(120 words)

Picture Out of Place

Steve, Mark, Bryan and Joe entered the house quietly after their night at the club. None were staggering, but they were all very light hearted at the moment. Steve, being the designated driver, herded the others through the house and towards the kitchen to get some aspirin. He was sure that they would need it in the morning.

As they walked quietly through the dining room, snickering and laughing quietly, a flash of color out of place caught Mark's notice. He turned to look at David's desk.

Their commanders desk was always scrupulously neat and exact in its order; and nothing was different now except for a single photograph lying in the precise center of the clear space. Mark fell behind as the others continued on to the kitchen; he picked up the picture and examined it closely. A very pretty young woman that he would judge to be about eighteen or nineteen was smiling, but that was not the odd part of the picture. The woman was curled around a young David, their arms would around each other, with one of David's arms going out of the frame, clearly he was taking the picture.

Mark had never seen that expression on his commanders face; happy, carefree, full of life and excitement, and love.

"What do you have Mark?" Steve asked coming up behind him with the others following.

Mark turned and showed them the picture.

"Who's that?" Joe asked, pointing at the woman, "how old do you think he is there?" as he took the photo and looking at it closely.

"Why would he leave it lying out like this?" Bryan asked, "he's in no way careless, so it was on purpose."

"I don't know," Mark said, "But I think the more important question would be, why did he stop looking like that?"

"It's Ariana," Steve said after a moment.

Project #47: Confessions

Yes, this is out of order. And yes, it's not technically my week. Too bad! I am on fall break and full of crazy. So! This week's assignment is confessions. What do your characters have to confess? Do they want to tell? Who should they tell? How long have they been trying to get the words out? What will happen if they do? What will happen if they don't?

Write on, sister friends, for 100-300 words. Happy fall break!

Overview #46: Anniversary Special

I had a blast this week; though I have to admit, I am terrible at Fanfiction. A couple of Nagi's posts stumped me for a while, but I was mostly able to work them out. I don't think I improved any this week, but it was good times to have a throw back to the beginning. Here's to another great year of friendship and writing, and to continued improvements.

Overview #46: Anniversary Special

So this was a lot of fun. I can't believe it's been a whole year since this started. It's been a crazy year. I've had a hell of a fun time creating a new universe to play in, I've written poetry, and I have defnitely grown as a writer. As for this week, I had lots of fun revisiting some of my old tried and true fandoms as well as some new ones. (Okay, only one new one.) It was a good exercise in POV and voice and also the details of a fandom. Knowing which details would or would not give a fandom away was hard. But I loved it. Happy anniversary, team!

No Good

I swim my way back to awareness, conscious of a pain in my arm, though dulled by the drugs that keep the worst of it at bay. I can feel my pulse increasing as I come half awake, my hand automatically searching for him, groping at the air. I sigh his name and he is here in an instant, hovering over me where I lay on his mother's couch.

I look up into his face, searching for a truth that I know is there. His gentle smile and soft caress assure me that I am safe. I can't remember how many times he's saved my life, and I, his.

As much as he drives me crazy, I love him, and I wouldn't want any other. As I lay there, vulnerable and worried of the future, he leans down and presses a brief kiss to my lips. I open my mouth to tell him how I feel and he places one finger over my lips, silencing me.

"It's okay," he said, "we're no good at this."

Broken Mirror

Sometimes, while I’m sitting at my desk faced with a mountain of paperwork, I actually miss him. I close my eyes and sit back, remember what it was like to face him. It was like looking into broken mirror, seeing an unfamiliar face - his green eyes, my grey ones - but the same expression: determination. Sheer soldiering willpower.

And that scar, a mirror-twin to my own. Some days I think it might have been better for me to lose an eye; it’d stop the girls from cooing over me. And I’d never have ranked up for proper field training. Late at night, when I’ve worked too much and eaten too little, I come awake from an old memory, manacles around my wrists and ankles, electricity pouring through my body.

One day, after too much paperwork and not enough sanity, I leave my office. Walk out while the secretary is attempting to inform me of my schedule for the day. It’s rude, but no one’s ever accused me of being a gentleman. They’ll get mad at me and sulk, but when push comes to shove I’m the one with the weapons and the firepower, and they need me more than I need them.

I scoop up my weapon case and sling it over my shoulder. I’ve heard rumors that he lives out on the water, fishing with his two sidekicks. I’ll bet he’s spoiling for a fight, too.

(237 words; post-canon)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

That's right - today is the one year anniversary of the first Master & Madness fic to ever grace cyberspace. It's been a wild ride; we've built worlds, written poems, made each other laugh and cry. Thanks to all my sisters in literature for being there.

(feel free to leave a comment and share your love of our little green corner of cyberspace)

Be So Many Things

I want to be so many things for her that I feel like I’m tearing myself apart. The first time we met, I was half under a car in the garage, spattered with oil. She was lovely in a blouse and skirt, fresh home from another semester of medical school. She was eight years older than me and I knew then and there I wanted her to be my wife.

For the first time in a long time I was glad I saw the world in shades of red and black; it meant she couldn’t look into my eyes and know how desperately I wanted to kiss her. Sometimes I thought she could read my mind anyway.

We played chess by the fireplace; she drank wine and let me sneak a little Irish cream into my hot chocolate. I felt grown-up and charming until I realized she’d had me in checkmate for three rounds and I was ridiculously drunk.

She was done with medical school and off doing her residency when I started college. I spent those four years learning not to stutter, to carry myself like a man instead of a boy. I trained ruthlessly to become an efficient field leader and a competent math teacher.

The first time I saw her after graduation, I wanted to be that kid again, sitting up with her watching Saturday morning cartoons and trying to steal cheerios out of each other’s bowls. When we watched the Sunday evening news and saw more reports about the violence and hatred against our kind, I wanted to show her the man I had become.

The first time she kissed me, I realized she’d been reading my mind all along, and she only wanted me to be one thing: hers.

(295 words; not canon)

Knowing and not Telling

I never told him, but I remember everything from the time loops. Everything. I am so glad though that they figured it out, because to much more of it and I was going to go insane.

At least he did make it interesting some of the time. The golfing, the pottery, juggling, and by heavens that kiss was amazing. Everything that I ever imagined and hoped it would be. I wonder if I activate that machine again I can spend eternity with him. Just the two of us; locked forever into a time loop. I can't think of why I would want to leave. It would be pure heaven.

When he smiled at me, thinking that I didn't know what he was thinking about, I had a tough time hiding the fact that I knew.

Blood and Control

I can't take my eyes off of his still form lying in the hospital bed. He's too still, though from the steady rise and fall of his chest, I know that he's alive. My hand itches to hold his, though that would be a breech of regulations, I reach out anyway and gently brush the back of his hand. I flinch when he twitches it away. I can't imagine what he has just been through. the doctor says it's a blessing that he is even alive, let alone that he will be just fine before long. He may be physically fine, but I worry about how he will be doing emotionally.

Even as I sit watching him, I can't help going over details in my mind, trying to peace together what happened and how this will affect him. Thinking back, I think that I knew that something was not right. I couldn't focus all day, something just seemed wrong. I know we were all tired from the last case, but still, something wasn't right.

That feeling stayed with me all day; after we go the call and we all went to work, and he never showed up. I was worried then, but there was nothing I could do about it. Finally it became to much for everyone to handle, so I went looking for him.

I didn't find him, but I found blood.

My world spun out of control.

(sorry this one should be backdated.)

Magical Vision

I have magical vision - I can always see the white elephant in the room, the one thing that no one else notices. For the longest time I thought that it was a simple matter of the other three ignoring what was going on, but one day, while I sat bound in the corner and contemplated the shininess of the buckles all down my chest, I realized that they really didn’t see what I saw. They were so busy hoping no one noticed them that they didn’t notice each other.

It made me want to laugh.

I laughed once, and it frightened the little one, who pretends he’s cruel and unafraid, who presses his face to the window and watches children laugh and scramble as they kick a soccer ball around a field. I can only assume his longing for the game was born in his childhood, the childhood he pretends he never had.

One morning, while I was hanging upside down in the corner waiting to be released from the latest round of punishment, I watched our leader shuffle into the kitchen, vulnerable in a thin cotton robe, tear tracks fresh on his face from where he wept in his sleep. After he showered and dressed, his eyes behind his glasses were golden-cruel, but I could still remember what he looked like after a night of memories unbound.

Maybe I would tell someone if I could, but they all think me mad and wouldn’t believe me. I’m not sure if I really am mad, but it’s fun to let people think it.

It was one of my rare moments of freedom in the kitchen that I learned the final sad secret of my third teammate. I was mashing potatoes by hand, because it was my turn to provide supper and I liked to do things the right way. He slipped in far later than he was supposed to, even if dinner wasn’t ready, and I watched him shrug off his hideous double-breasted green coat. He was rarely without a coat, mocking formality by assembling the most clashing pieces he could find.

I caught a brief flash the pale skin on the inside of his arm before he rolled down his sleeves with quick, smart motions.

He’d lost his mind so many times that he’d had to tattoo his real name on the inside of his wrist.

(398 words)

All that I Offer

He looked up at me, and suddenly, he seemed to see me. Really and truly see me, and all that I had to offer him, all that I am and all the love that I posses was his for the asking. He finally looked up and saw what I was offering and reached out to me.

I don't know if he ever noticed the change in my patronus or not. Being a guy, as perceptive as he usually is, he probably didn't. He most likely attributed it, like that git, to the loss of my cousin.

No. It changed, though I never did, because I love him. I don't know how I manage to continue breathing without him around.

It doesn't really matter anymore, because he is here, and he's not going anywhere, and miracle of miracles, he says that he loves me.

For Her

I do everything for her. No one knows, but I do.

I sit in the midst of a flowering meadow on a sunny day and read for her, white pigeons perched on my shoulder and punctuating Sun Tzu with soft coos; they're pretending to be doves.

I train in the rain for her, form upon form upon form, snake and tiger and mantis and crane. I end in dragon, always dragon, solitary dragon that I am. The name makes me smile; the others think I cannot hear what they say when I’m staring at a go board, playing against myself and pretending she’s sitting opposite me, taunting me for being such a scholar.

I fight for her and kill for her. Every time I climb into my machine and fire up the engines, I close my eyes and feel her presence seep into me, feel my instincts meld with the motherboard, and then we launch into space.

I would have died for her.

Every morning I wake up and put on my uniform and go to work, put out another fire, prevent another war, and I wake up for her. One day, when this is all over, I won’t wake up, but when I open my eyes, it’ll be to see her.

(212 words)

Smiling

I smile at his stupid movie trivia, but inside I cringe. Chances are, when I'm not fully occupied, my eyes stray to his face. It's a handsome face, just a little bit boyish. I try to hide my smile as he picks on out teammate. Sometimes I get the colloquialisms wrong, just so that I can hear his voice correcting me. I would follow his voice even if it meant my death.

I just can't forget what he said in Africa. I knew that I could ask him anything then, and he would tell me the truth, but I couldn't bring myself to ask. I couldn't bear it if he had said it was duty and not love.

We will carry on as we are. It's comfortable, easy, routine. But not what I want.

Six Photographs

The happiest moments moments of my life were captured in six photographs. I’d stolen Father’s rusty old Nikon, mixed the developer formula myself, and set the thing to just go. Whenever it wanted to.

The first was of the two of us sitting side-by-side on the grass studying, she with a textbook in one hand like it was a novel (she made it look so easy), me with the book propped open on my knees scribbling notes in the margins (me and my cramped handwriting). Every now and again we’d sneak glances at each other. She’d flick a flower at me (always the play on her namesake, cheerful with her where it was kitschy from anyone else), send the petals to march solemnly across my boot. I’d immolate them with a glare and send ants to scale up her (pretty, soft) red plait. It was a loop of action, inaction.

The second photo was escalation, petals circling my head while I studiously ignored them, her plait wavering in midair like a charmed cobra rising from a basket. By the third photo we were shooting sparks at each other, subtle jolts that were harmless but made us jump nonetheless and mock-glare at each other.

In the fourth picture, she’d drawn her wand on me and drenched me with a single spell. I looked like a drowned-rat, ill-fitting clothes clinging to my abused, underfed gaunt form, hair hanging in my face in limp tatters. I spluttered, spelled my book dry, and seized my own wand.

The fifth picture featured her thoroughly soused in green and silver paint (I did not stoop to glitter) and lunging at me with a cry, and a flock of (shockingly lovely, detailed) birds exploded at me.

The sixth picture was the aftermath. She was covered in paint, bat-bogeys, and multiple other horrid (potions ingredients) substances. I was liberally doused with glitter, garlands of flowers (again with the blossoms), and had hummingbirds perched in my hair. We were both laughing and smiling at each other (for the last time).

The best moments of my life in six photos. I wasn’t a kind or sentimental man, but I’d make sure her brat got them after I was gone.

(375 words)

Forever Seventeen

My father and my brother both agree, we can't be living because we can't die. I never saw it that way. It is true in a way what father says, we are like rocks, we just are, and I suppose we will always be this way. Not that my brother hasn't tried to kill himself on numerous occasions, all those wars that he fought in, trying to make it his last. It never worked. It never worked for him or for me; we just keep living as if there was no time at all.

I've seen everything this world has to offer, but there are still more things to be discovered. Not many things surprise me anymore. I've heard the music and I've read the books, BTW, I'm the original Edward Cullen. Forever seventeen, that's me. Personally I think I have it better than him. I don't have to drink blood, talk about gross, and I can go out in the sun whenever I want.

I guess the only time I ever tired of life, was when my love no longer there. I had always hoped that she would make that choice, the choice that would keep her here, frozen forever in youth. I had hoped that when I returned, that she would be waiting for me. But she wasn't. She lived her life, and then she died.

I can now understand my brothers forever grief over losing the one he loved; because now I feel it too.

(I know this one comes out of left field, but have fun reading anyway.)

Who I Really Am

I watch him out on the training ground with his knights, wielding his sword with easy confidence. The ring of steel on steel is a comforting counterpoint to the frustrated scrub, scrub of this blood-stained cloth at his stupid maille. Blood rusts metal, I know, but I don’t understand why he has to bleed on something every day. I imagine he does it just to spite me; the careless dismissal in his voice when he tells me to have all his armor polished for the next day makes me curl my hands into fists.

I know full well that every other knight at the castle sends their armor to the armory or has a miniature convoy of pages and squires to polish every piece of life-saving nonsense. I’m just one servant, and his royal pratliness knows it. It’s a wonder he hasn’t figured out what I am yet, given how many chores I manage to do in a day. Usually he’s too busy complaining at how terribly I do my job to realize that, really, one man alone couldn’t possibly do all I do in one day.

I tried to point that out once.

He sent me to the stocks.

I wonder if wielding a sword feels to him the same way using magic feels for me. On the first day we met, he informed me that he’d been trained to kill since birth. I’ve seen him disarmed before; he’s a natural leader and thinks quickly on his feet, but there’s always that flash of panic in his eyes when his sword flies from his grip. I don’t know what I’d do if I suddenly found myself without my magic.

Assuming we weren’t in the middle of being attacked by something that usually only came from story books, I’d probably cry.

Not that I’d ever tell him that.

He thinks I’m a useless servant. I trip over my feet a lot, so in the middle of an important banquet, when I spill wine down a visiting princess’s dress, I might give him that.

But he has no idea who I really am.

I’m not sure I want him to.

(361 words)

Overview #45: Apologies

This week was really good for me. I really liked the work I accomplished. I just dug in there, and got down to business. Unfortunately, I didn't write on Friday or Saturday, so the story is still up in the air. I know. It's terrible.

However, I did ask for permission to finish it this week! O:

Let's hope I can keep this up...

(Yeah, this is backdated. Sigh.)

Project #46: Anniversary special!

This Thursday marks the one-year anniversary of Master & Madness. It's been a crazy ride, and we've had a lot of fun, changed the game and picked up new players. I figured, this week, we should be able to take a break. Stop fretting about canon, characterization, plot...and just have a party.

A huge, crazy fandom party. So...the challenge is this: pick characters from a fandom you love and write from their POV (first person, to be clear) so the rest of us can get to know them. But...don't tell us who they are! Try to leave as few clues as possible as to who they are and what fandom they come from (without being terribly vague and oblique), and at the end of the week, reflect on who of the other characters and fandoms you'd like to learn more about.

100-400 words. Party on!

ETA: I confess, this is backdated; I'm sorry it's late.

Overview #45: Apologies

I think Chaos totally won this one, but that's just me. Just...wow. Phenomenal writing from her.

I had a lot of fun with this week. I was worried about being a little too heavy-handed with the characters, having too much drama and not enough light-heartedness. Since Carolyn pretty much had the most apologies to give, I figured giving her one of the light-hearted ones would be good times. I tried to make sure a different person apologized each day. Kevin's apology, I think, was the best, and I hoped it would do something to round him out as a character rather than make him a two-dimensional villain. Clay's apology was pretty much a necessary part of the plot, as was Scott's - both stemmed off of previously-established issues. Bob's apology almost completely jacked up my canon even though I technically do have a canon basis for it. And Dan's apology was...a vehicle. At best. For more Joey.

Still...this prompt was full of awesome. I had all kinds of songs in my head for it, definitely including One Republic's "Apologize", as well as As Yet's "Hard To Say I'm Sorry," and Nirvana's "All Apologies". Heh. I like prompts that trigger songs.

Madness, the choice of winner is yours.

Missing Curfew

It was late when the Bob finally crept into the hotel room. Dan and Clay had fallen asleep long ago, Clay ready to give his twin an earful about missing curfew, Dan fretting about Bob not finishing his homework.

Scott lay awake in the darkness and watched Bob dress for bed. He brushed his teeth as quietly as possible, squirmed into his pajamas. The moonlight that filtered through the gaps in the curtains revealed the fresh bruises marring his torso, the silver stains of tear-tracks on his face.

Scott’s hands curled into fists. He watched Bob crawl into bed beside Clay and curl up miserably on his half of the bed. Scott listened to Bob quietly sniffle himself to sleep. Eventually, his breathing evened out, and then Scott was the only one awake.

He stared at Bob’s thin shoulders, hunched beneath the sheets, and he wanted to scream.

Instead, he whispered, barely above a breath, “I’m sorry, Bobby.” And he closed his eyes.

(164 words)

Maria

(play it low)

Bob swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

Maria flung the picture at him. “Who the hell is she, Robert?”

“She’s an old family friend. Her dad was on the crew, so she rode with us when we were kids.” It took every ounce of self-control not to reach out and scoop up the faded photograph, cradle it gently in his hands.

“She doesn’t look like a kid in that picture.” Maria crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

Bob bit his lip. “She and her dad ditched out on the crew when - when we were teenagers.”

Maria took a deep breath, dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, and Bob realized she was trying not to cry. Guilt wrenched in his chest.

“I’ve tried, Bobby, and I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t compete with a ghost.” She hiccuped, and Bob automatically moved forward to put his arms around her, but she shook her head and stepped back.

“Maria, I --” The words caught in his throat.

“Even now, you can’t say it.” Maria shook her head again, laughed, though the sound came out more like a sob. “Tell me one thing. Do you love her?”

“I’m sorry,” Bob said again.

Maria studied him for a long time. Then she nodded. “Right. I’ll come back for my things.” And she headed for the door.

Bob watched her walk away, sank against the door frame. Then he picked up the picture and smoothed it out with trembling fingers. After a moment, he slid the picture back into his wallet and closed the door. Then he sat down on his bed and cried.

(277 words)

Dead Before the Report

Grant Brenna was sitting behind his large desk when the lights flickered and went out. He was a naturally paranoid man and so he drew his gun without thinking. Brenna leaned slightly forward and pressed the button on the intercom to double check that the power was out.

He stood slowly and scanned the room, his eyes gradually adjusting to the dimness, the only light coming in from off the street ten floors below.

Fire cut a searing gouge in his leg before he even heard the sound of the shot or saw the flash of the muzzle. He yelled in pain as he dropped to the floor. The shot had come from the right side of the door, but he hadn't heard the door open or close.

"Who's there?" Brenna shouted into the darkness. The only answer was silence. Brenna grunted in pain as he tried to stand up, but only succeeded in falling over again. As he looked around the room he saw a shadow flit across the window. He Quickly aimed and pulled the trigger, the stillness of the room shattering with the shot.

A hollow laugh filled the room and made Brenna's blood run cold.

"Did you really think that you would not pay for what you have done?" a voice whispered out of the darkness somewhere to his right.

"And just what did I do?" Brenna asked, his voice quavering as he thought over all he had done.

Another chuckle echoed through the room, "I think the bigger question would be, what haven't you done."

"Well whatever you think that I did, I didn't do it. I'm a business man. Nothing more," Brenna said, trying to inject some force into his voice.

"Oh you did it alright," the voice said, this time it was closer, "I know everything about you. I have waited a long time for this."

"At least be a man and show yourself," Brenna said.

"A man huh?" the voice sounded amused, "well what if I'm not a man. What if I'm a monster? I am what I am thanks to you Brenna. And now you will die at the hands of your creation."

"Look I'm sure there is some way to work this out. Some way that I can make it up to you, what ever it was that I did."

"I don't think so Brenna. You are not going to get out of it just by apologizing. You killed her, and now, it is your turn." A gun cocked just next to Brenna's ear.

Brenna jumped a foot into the air and tried to scramble backwards, "look, I don't know who it was that was so special to you, but I'm sorry. I'll do anything."

"Sorry? Well I'm sorry, but your apology not only comes to late, it means nothing to me."

Brenna was dead before he could have even heard the report of the shot that took his life.

David stepped over the lifeless body and walked out of the room, his steps lighter for the first time in a long time.

Hope Is A Liar

Dear Sam,

I feel like all I’ve done in the past forty-eight hours is apologize.

Well, here’s another one to add to the list.

I know that the decision I’m making is probably the wrong one. It’s an immature thing to do and I’m only putting off even harder decisions.

I’m pretty sure you thought you knew what would happen. I guess I’m not as predictable as you thought I was. You thought that I was going to choose Layla, and things between us would never be the same. I don’t know if things between us can be the same, but only because I’m not certain just what it is I feel for you. I know that I care about you and that you are basically my best friend. I know that, without a doubt.

But that night, I kissed you because I felt something else. Something that I haven’t felt in a long time – need. You let everything go and told the truth, and that must have taken a lot of guts. Guts is something I am definitely lacking right now.

So, what am I trying to say? I’m leaving. I’m not sure where I’m going or when I’ll be back, but I promise I won’t be gone long. I hope it’s not too much to ask you to wait just a little longer. I’m asking Layla to do the same – hell, I’ve waited for her, I expect the same courtesy.

I’m sorry I’m leaving you like this. But please, don’t lose hope. I’m not.

See you soon,

Vince

The piece of paper shook in my hands as I read it. I hadn’t spoken to him since the night I apologized and his only response then was to kiss me. And now he’s left a mysterious letter on my doorstep and disappeared. I’m surprised Layla isn’t beating down my door wanting answers. If she was, I wouldn’t have any answers to give her. I’m just as lost in the dark as she is.

He wants me to wait. He wants me to hold on to some sort of hope. How can I? That’s all I’ve been doing for the past few years. I know what’s going to happen. I know he’s going to come back, apologize to me again, and then run back into Layla’s arms.

Unfortunately, hope is a hard thing to kill. And I’ll be here waiting for the final blow.

(404 words)

Closure

David leaned down and brushed the fallen leaves and the dust from the cold stone, revealing a name and a date on the polished surface. He held in his hand a simple bouquet of flowers; a combination of Jasmine and Honeysuckle. David knelt down in the grass beside the grave marker and looked around; the trees were turning gold and red, and a chill wind was blowing from the east.

"Hey Ari," he said in a low voice. Even in the hush of the graveyard his voice didn't carry far past his own ears. David paused, looking for the right words to explain how he was feeling. "I... I came to say I'm sorry, I guess. I don't think that you would have been proud of the way I have lived my life. You were the best part of me, and when you were no longer there, I lost my purpose. I guess I never truly realized how much I depended on you while you were here. Without you, I am only a shadow of what I could have been," David paused again, "I would give up everything to have you here with me. I know that that is impossible, and so I have to learn to live in this world without you," he finished, and a whisper of a breeze rustled his hair, as if fingers were combing through it.

"I guess I also came for closure. I've never been able to move on. I also came to tell you that I love you and that I always will, but I have to let my heart heal, to fill in that hole where you should be," he said as he stood, leaving the flowers propped against the stone.

David backed away a step, "I'm sorry Ariana. But I have to learn to let you go. I can't live as half a person anymore." David bit his lip and forced himself to back up another step instead of lying down on his loves grave and never moving again. Another step. And another. Clenching his teeth and closing his eyes, David turned from the silent graveyard and walked with slow steps back up the path to the gate, tears seeping from his eyes, and his breaths coming in choked sobs.

Turning at the gate, he could just make out her grave marker. "I'm sorry Ariana," he whispered one last time before he got into his car and drove away.

Know What You Mean

Dan took a deep breath and stepped off the bus. They were almost home, just on the outskirts of the city. Once they were dropped off at the house, Captain Lyle had to drive on, so Kevin agreed to stop at the nearest gas station so Captain Lyle could get some coffee.


Dan was grateful for the chance to stretch his legs. One week - it was hard to imagine that one week ago they’d been in Germany, that they’d watched Carolyn and John kill a whole slew of men who were trying to kidnap Bob for...something. It ran in the news as some sort of earthquake, but Dan could still remember the explosions, the screaming, the terror.


The broken-hearted look on his brother’s face as Carolyn walked away.

Kevin bought it too easily, that after all these years John was done with the drama that went down every tour and he was going to take his daughter and walk away. They’d finished out the tour short one roadie and one translator.

The misery that pervaded the bus was stifling. Shelley knew about Carolyn and Bob, but somehow Kevin had been oblivious the entire time, and so he was completely unsympathetic about the fact that she was gone. Dan and his brothers barely spoke to each other. Whenever they made eye contact they remembered - Dan clutching a gun, too terrified to shoot; Clay and Bob clinging desperately to each other and trying to navigate the streets of Munich; Scott running alongside Carolyn, blood-spattered and carrying a machine gun. It was just easier not to talk.

Dan shuffled toward the convenience store with the company card to pay for the gas. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. He wanted to lie down on his own bed and sleep without the sound of screaming girls ringing in his ears.

Someone bumped into him. Dan jumped back, automatically bringing his fists up into a fighting stance, but then he saw that the person was just another boy his age, wearing a uniform shirt. A gas station employee, then.

Dan scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

The boy shrugged, smiled. “’S’all right. You look pretty beat.”

“I don’t even know what time it is,” Dan confessed.

“Pretty late,” the boy said. Then his brow furrowed, and Dan knew it was coming moments before it happened.

“Hey.” The boy grinned. “You’re Dan Summers.”

“Yeah. I am.”

“I really dig your music.” The boy offered a hand. “I’m Joey.”

Dan shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Joey.”

“Don’t worry,” Joey said. “I won’t alert the girls on shift.”

“Thanks,” Dan said. “My brothers and I would really appreciate that.”

Joey laughed. “I don’t know how you can stand the screaming.”

“Some days it’s a wonder I can stand the girls,” Dan muttered, and then his throat closed. No. He hadn’t just admitted that aloud.

But Joey laughed again. “I know what you mean.”

(500 words - more Joey, for Madness)

I Poured My Heart Out

On one hand, there’s Layla.

I love Layla. I have since the moment I laid eyes on her. She was beautiful, and crazy, and I ate it all up. It was nice to have someone to be crazy with. I felt like I could actually be myself with her, that I didn’t have to be responsible. I could be a kid forever, and she would always be by my side, holding my hand as we ran off into the sunset.

Things change, though.

I’ve almost lost Layla a few times. Because she’s crazy, and because she’s always changing her mind, she hates it here in Fayeville. She says that this place reeks of stagnation… whatever that means. Who am I kidding? I know what it means. See, I’m the kind of guy that was meant to grow up, live, and die in Fayeville. I just can’t find a reason to leave. Layla would have been a good reason, but… I was too scared to do it. That’s why she left the first time.

Then, there’s Sam.

I’ve known Sam my whole life. Well, I don’t think that’s true necessarily, but I have known her for quite a long time. For some reason, we just clicked all of a sudden. We understood each other. That doesn’t mean that we didn’t have our differences, because we do. She’s very book smart, and she wants to get out of here too. Not as bad as Layla does, but she wants to go learn about the world. Now, I’m not a dumb guy, but I am aware of my limits. Sometimes Sam has to explain things to me – she doesn’t do it to degrade me, she just says things in a way that I can understand them. She always seems to have a handle on things, and she was always there when I needed her. Especially when Layla left.

I think I knew that she loved me.

I was just too afraid, and too consumed by Layla to really notice. But I could see it, sometimes.

Hell, I felt it sometimes.

Layla… Sam… I’m so sorry. I wish I knew how to make both of you happy. I wish I knew what would really make me happy.

I guess there’s only one way to find out.

(382 words)

Preasure Inside

Alec blinked in the dim light, he seemed to see himself at the same time that he could feel himself slipping away. He could see Joe by his bed, see his own body covered in tubes and wires. He could hear Joe crying, and at the same time, trying not to cry. Alec felt the ghostly presure against his hand when Joe squeezed it. He looked down at his own hand and then at the one that Joe held.

Alec hovered over the scene below him, a slient witness to his own bodies fate. He could remember the crash, but he felt no pain, only the faint echo of a memory tied him to what his body had been through.

Alec reached out to put a comforting hand on his brothers shoulder, but he couldn't feel anything. He was sure that Joe couldn't feel anything either. "I'm sorry Joe," Alec said in a low voice, though he knew that Joe would never again hear him, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I have to leave you, I'm sorry that I can't stay. I'm sorry that you will be alone. You're tough. I know you don't think that you are, but I know that you are and that you can make it. I'm sorry you have to go through this alone. I'm sorry for everything Joe," Alec said. He felt his throat closing up as if he would cry, but he knew that having no body meant he couldn't relieve that preasure building inside.

Alec drew a shuddering breath, "I'm sorry Joseph," he whispered as he faded from the room.

Foster Care

“I’m so, so sorry!” Carolyn stepped back, hands pressed to her mouth.

The brothers gaped at where their sensei lay sprawled in the grass.

“I didn’t mean to hit you so hard,” Carolyn said. She tugged anxiously at one of her pigtails.

Scott and Clay looked at her with newfound admiration.

Dan leaned over, rested his hands on his knees. “Sensei Hammond, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just - gimme a moment.” Sensei took a deep breath, then heaved himself up onto his knees. He clutched his stomach and eyed Carolyn. “You got a solid right hook there, sweetheart. Pull your punches from now on, okay?”

“Yes, sensei!” Carolyn bobbed her head obediently.

“You told her to punch you as hard as she could,” Bob pointed out.

Sensei nodded. “I know. I just wasn’t expecting such a tiny girl to pack such a huge hit.”

Carolyn ducked her head. “I’m really sorry, sensei.”

“Stop apologizing, kid,” he said. He turned to the boys and wagged a finger at them. “You boys better treat her right - she’s pretty strong.”

“She’s one of the boys,” Scott said proudly, and swung at her playfully.

Carolyn blocked automatically.

Sensei sighed. “Kid, did someone give you caffeine?”

“Captain Lyle let me drink some of his coffee,” Carolyn confessed.

Sensei winced. “Right. Get over and - show Bob how to punch. C’mere, Bob.”

Bob scooted toward Carolyn, dark eyes wary. Then he fell into a fighting stance. “Show me what you got!”

Scott tackled him.

The lesson dissolved from there. Sensei was surprised to find himself standing on the sidelines, Carolyn beside him, watching in bemusement as the four brothers laughed and brawled.

“Where’d you learn how to hit like that?” Sensei asked.


Carolyn shrugged. “I used to be in foster care.”

(293 words)

I Can't See

Vince sat on the couch, his limbs twitching nervously. He couldn’t sit still. The reason for this was pacing back and forth in front of him. Layla finally stopped, her arms folded across her chest. A classic defense mechanism. Sam had taught him that.

“Layla, I’m sorry. I mean, what else do you want me to say?” Vince was trying to be apologetic, but he knew he was coming off as irate. Everything had been so crazy in the last few days, and he was having a hard time dealing with it. Of course, he couldn’t imagine what Layla was going through. Or Sam.

“You know what I find amusing?” Layla’s voice was low and uneven. She was trying to stay calm, but Vince could tell that she wanted to scream at him. “I find it very amusing that you are the one apologizing to me.”

Vince blinked a few times. “Wh-what? What do you mean?”

“Sam is the one who started all this bullshit. Telling me that she had feelings for you and she couldn’t hide them anymore.” It was here that Layla rolled her eyes, and Vince felt his fists clench. “I mean, I trusted her. And now she’s trying to take you away from me.”

Layla stared off into the distance, pretending to space out. What she was really doing was waiting for Vince to explain himself.

“Look,” Vince finally began, “she’s already apologized to me for what she’s done. I don’t think she’s going to try anything. I think she just needed to say it.” Vince remembered her apology from the night before, what his gut reaction had been, and tried to hide the redness creeping into his face.

“Well then, Vince.” Layla’s words were dripping with spite. “How do you feel about this? I haven’t heard your opinion yet.”

He was getting tired of this. Vince almost wanted to leave town that very instant, forget about Layla, forget about Sam. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

“You want to know what my opinion is, Layla? I don’t have an opinion. In fact, I’m really confused at this point.” Layla looked like she wanted to interject, but Vince held up his hand so she would let him finish. “I do love you, Layla. I do. But I don’t want to lose Sam. I honestly don’t know how I feel about her, and I think I need to figure that out before I go declaring anything else.”

“Wait, are you saying you’re leaving me for her?” Layla was screechy now.

“Did I say that? No. I didn’t.” Vince shook his head in frustration. “I’m going out for a couple of hours. I’ll talk to you when I get back.”

He left before she could say anything else.

(460 words)

It Better Be.

"Come on Mark, I said I was sorry didn't I?" Bryan asked.

Mark shot him another glare and turned his back on his twin.

Bryan reached out and pulled Mark around to face him, "I said I'm sorry. Can't you accept that?"

Mark narrowed his eyes at his brother, "I just don't know how you could have done that to me Bryan," he said.

"I'll make it up to you," Bryan promised, "just stop being mad at me."

"Alright," Mark said, "but it better be the same."

"It will, believe me, it will," Bryan said as he broke into a grin and started to hurry away.

"I still can't believe you ate all my cookies!" Mark hollered after his brother.

Make Him Happy

Kevin supposed he was lucky that Dinah and Shelley hadn’t set up some sort of restraining order against him, and once he’d shown the nurses his ID they’d let him in to his son’s hospital room.

He stood at the foot of the bed, stared at the tubes and needles and machines and pumps keeping his youngest boy alive. Bob, ever the responsible one, had called to tell him what happened, left a brief, impersonal message on his answering machine. Judging by the flowers and cards and an old stuffed bear, everyone else had already been by to visit Dan.

Kevin tucked his hands into his pockets. Then he cleared his throat. When he spoke his voice wavered.

“I’m sorry, Danny. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did, that I pushed you and your brothers away, that I abandoned you all when you needed me most. I’m sorry I got so focused on success that I forgot you were my sons. I’m sorry I walked away and never looked back. I’m sorry --” He choked. “I’m sorry that you might die thinking I ever stopped loving you. You’re my son, Danny. I’ve loved you since the moment the nurse put you in my arms, pink and crying and alive.” He pressed a fist to his mouth to hold back a sob. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you from those robbers --”

“It wasn’t a robber.”

Kevin turned.

The young man who stood in the doorway had shadows under his eyes and looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.

“It was a hate crime. They caught Dan coming out of one of the clubs in the pink triangle quarter and tried to kill him. Luckily for him, he remembered some of that horrific karate training you put him through and he fought them off long enough for someone to notice and call the cops.” The young man had his arms crossed over his chest and was positively radiating hostility.

Kevin took a deep breath. “You must be Joey.”

“You must be Kevin.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Kevin shuffled toward the door. Joey stepped back to avoid touching him.

“I won’t bother you again,” Kevin said.

“Don’t you want me to tell Dan that his father came to see him?”

Kevin glanced back at the unconscious figure on the bed. “Only if you think it’ll make him happy.”

(404 words)

Accepted

“Vince, I’m sorry.” It came out quickly, and I was wondering if he had even understood what I said. I unconsciously rubbed my arms in an attempt to keep warm. It was starting to get cold, and I had once again forgotten a jacket.

“Sam, what are you even sorry for? Do you know?” Apparently a simple apology wasn’t gonna cut it this time. Vince wasn’t glaring at me, but he was giving me a look that could kill – well, it was killing me, at any rate.

“I’m sorry for…” I stumbled and tripped over all the thoughts in my head, trying to decide what the right answer was. Was there any answer at this point? “…f-for telling Layla how I felt about you, for getting in the middle, for potentially ruining the best thing in your life, for falling for you, for wanting to be with you, for everything.”

I turned away and started down the flight of stairs that led to the parking lot. In the last twenty-four hours, I may have destroyed the last good relationship I had left in my life. Vince was my world – he was the person I turned to when everything else became too much to handle. Life was simple with him. In reality, it was anything but simple. I loved him. And I had just let myself apologize for it.

My mind had been running miles and miles a minute, so I literally jumped when I felt Vince grab my arm. I turned to look at him, but he was already pulling me closer. His lips were on mine and I was in such a state of shock that at first, there wasn’t much I could do but just stand frozen. By the time I was ready to actually respond, he had already broken the contact and stepped back.

“Vince…” I wasn’t sure whether I was happy or furious.

“Sam, I’m sorry too.” Vince shook his head and turned away, going back up to his apartment.

I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on now. But this was far from over.

(349 words)

Moving On

Steve cringed back from the thought of seeing his commander again after last night. He shook his head. I should have kept my mouth shut. I just can never seem to get that right. Where is that mental filter when you need one. I should have just backed off and let it be.

Steve knew there was no avoiding David even if he wanted to. He took a deep breath and stepped out of his room early the next morning. He knew that David would be alone in the kitchen.

When Steve poked his head around the corner he could see David, his back was towards him, he was looking out the window and his posture told that he was tired, or resigned, or perhaps both. Steve slunk around the door frame and edged towards the coffee pot that was sitting near where David stood.

"Morning Boss," Steve said quietly.

"Good morning," David replied, but didn't turn from the window.

Steve drew in a breath before speaking, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry Boss. I shouldn't have butted in, it was not my place to say anything at all," Steve said.

David finally turned from the window and looked at his second in command, Steve looked miserable, and David couldn't help a ghost of a smile from flitting across his face. "It's alright Steve," he said, "you were and still are right. I should move on." David fell silent, but Steve didn't say anything, wanting to let David say his piece.

"I guess," David continued after a moment in low and broken tones, "I didn't want to let her go. She was the best woman I have ever known. She was my first love, and then she was gone. I suppose it was easier to hold on to her than to try to let her go and move on. I was going to marry her Steve, but then, you never knew that, you never knew anything about me. I guess if I moved on, then I would feel as if I were betraying her, that I had failed her, like I did before. I know that her death was not my fault, but I have always felt responsible for her murder. I should have been there with her. And maybe that would not have changed anything, but at least I could have tried to do something."

Steve reached out and placed one hand on David's shoulder and squeezed, offering silent support.

David continued, "I nearly died the winter following her death. I would have lain down and given up but for one person who saw me at the edge and pulled me back." David paused for a long time before speaking again, "at this point I don't know if I can move on. My heart has been frozen in place for so long that maybe it had forgotten how to beat, been ice for so long that it has forgotten what it was like to be flesh."

David drained off the last of his coffee as Steve stood in silence. He was certain that he alone would ever know what David had just told him.

David turned to Steve after placing his cup in the sink, "how does one move on Steve?" he asked.

Okay

“I’m sorry.”

Clay stood below the stage and watched Bob set up his drums. Almost two days later and Bob’s entire body was still thrumming with fury, every motion jerky with anger. He was still refusing to acknowledge that his brother even existed.

Clay took a deep breath and said, louder, “Tá bron orm.”

Bob paused, lifted his head. Clay cringed, ready for the rage in his brother’s eyes, and shock ricocheted down his spine when he saw hurt instead.

“I heard you the first time.”

Clay jammed his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders. “Bobby, I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to --”

“What, you tripped and just happened to fall on my girlfriend?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Clay said.

Bob closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “I know you didn’t mean to. I just don’t understand how you could possibly think that kissing Carolyn wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I wasn’t thinking.” Clay shrugged, the gesture defensive. “There’s no thinking in love, I guess.”

Bob’s eyes flew open. “You’re in love with Carolyn?”

Clay had to look away. There was a thump; Bob had jumped off the stage. He crossed the stadium floor, caught Clay by the shoulders.

“You’re really in love with her?”

Clay took a deep breath and nodded miserably, unable to look at Bob.

“Aw, hell,” Bob said.

Clay took another deep breath and was horrified when it caught in his throat and sounded like a sob. “I know she chose you. I just had to tell her so she’d understand --”

“That it hurts you too?” Bob said softly.

Clay couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to cry.

Bob pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I love her and she loves me and I’m sorry.”

Clay nodded into Bob’s shoulder. “Don’t break up with her because of me. You’re my brother - I want you to be happy.” He sniffled and felt distinctly pathetic.

Bob held him tightly. “We’ll do our best so it doesn’t hurt so much, okay?”

“Okay.”

(340 words)

Overview #44 - Vices

Nice work this week to Madness and Nagi. Seriously, everything this week was awesome. Sorry that I wasn't around much, haven't had a whole lot of computer time, which is where I usually do my writing. I need to get back into writing in notebooks again.

I thought my one post this week was okay... I kind of want to establish characters, but at the same time I don't. Do you guys think I need a name and a face to connect my little vignettes to? Or are they fine just the way they are?

This week's winner is Nagi... just because she rarely gets stuff written for her. She's usually the one writing for everybody else. So name your prize, darlin'.

Overview #44 - Vices

This week was interesting for me. Mostly because I am still trying to establish cannon, so I am hesitant to give my characters anything to big that I don't think that I can handle as a writer yet. So I chose to accentuate some of their habits into extreme versions; dancing, running, procrastination, etc...

So in the future, they will probably have worse problems, but not until I am sure that I can write it right and not make it terrible.

Project Assignment # 45 - Apologies

Apologies people. Apologies is the name of the game this week. Does Carolyn ever tell them in person that she is sorry. Do the boys of the Special ops even know how to say sorry?

It can be a big apology, or a small one. One that for someone means all the world, or one that they received but never would have thought needed to be apologized for.
A large incident or a passing bump in the hall.


Lets set the limit at 500 words.

Have fun everyone!

Overview #44: Vices

Ah. I This week I wasn't sure I did the right thing. I spent more time on Carolyn than I would have liked. Also, it would have been a hell of a lot of fun to get into Scott's vices, since he has alcohol on the list as well. It was difficult for me to come up with vices that aren't typical rock-star vices for the boys. Carolyn's vices are pretty much my own. As are some of Bob's. Still, any chance I have to delve into the nooks and crannies of a character is much appreciated. As usual, Clay surprised me, as did Dan.

I still want to know what Clay hides in his room.