Anne and Jane

Sparks jumped from the flint and stone that I held loosely to a small pile of tinder, catching and sputtering in the dark. I held the small flame to the wick of the lantern on the table. And the next, and the next. Soon the room was filled with the soft glow of lamplight, and warmth began radiating through the chilly room; shadows retreating to the far corners.

I worked at the laces of my bodice with numb fingers, pausing occasionally to hold them over an open flame, trying to restore some feeling. I let out a breath of relief when at last the constricting garment gave way and I could breathe easier.

"Mistress, Anne? Do you need any help?"

I thought for a moment before answering, "Alright Jane, come in."

Jane entered the room quietly, almost timidly. She was a small waif of a girl, not more than twelve I would have guessed. Given over to the great houses service by her parents for a pittance of money that I knew would not last a month.

I watched Jane move quietly around the chamber, her eyes downcast, almost fearful of being noticed, yet determined to do her work.

I slipped out of the bodice and the skirt and handed them to Jane who folded them precisely and placed them in the wardrobe. She removed my dressing gown and a soft robe and helped me into them before picking up a brush.

I sank into a low chair and hummed a little with pleasure as I felt the brush move rhythmically through my hair; Jane's soft, child hands, untangling my long black locks before loosely braiding it and tying it off with a ribbon.

Jane placed the warming pan filled with coals from the community fire between the sheets of my bed and turned down the covers. "Will you be needing anything else Mistress Anne?" she asked quietly.

"No Jane, thank you," I said gently and watched her move towards the door.

The little girl remained in my thoughts long after she silently slipped from the room to seek her own bed in a far, cold servants room.

Chris, Student

Chris squinted at the italicized font and sighed, raked a hand through his hair in frustration. He reached out and pressed the ‘pause’ button on the recorder and attempted to sound out the words.

“Day-zhoor? Day-zhoor-ay?”

“Talking to yourself again?” his roommate Evan asked.

Chris held up the thick law tome. “How do you pronounce this phrase?” He pointed to de jure.

Evan shrugged. “Not a lawyer, man.” And he went back to his chemistry and punk music.

“Thanks anyway.” Chris tugged his headphones back on and pressed the button to resume recording, continued reading. “ ‘A corporation formed according to legal formalities is a corporation de jure. If a corporation is not formed de jure, it may still be considered a corporation de facto...’”

After a while he got into the rhythm of reading, and he felt the words roll smoothly off his tongue even though he didn’t really understand any of what he was reading. He’d read so many textbooks on so many topics that they started to blur together. But as he read, he gazed at the photograph pinned above his desk, of Sarah and her guide dog, and thought, She doesn’t know I’m alive, but she depends on my voice.

He finished the chapter and stopped the tape, popped it out of the machine and scrawled Corporations, Chapter One on the label. He had to deliver it to the student support center and then get on with his own homework. Maybe, on his way across campus, he would see Sarah and Diane sitting on the grass, basking in the sun, picture-perfect and completely oblivious to it.

Chris scooped up his jacket and headed for the door, and the phone started to ring. Evan was closest, but he continued bobbing his head to his music and balancing chemical equations. Chris sighed and crossed the room, scooped up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Dear, it’s your mother.”

Chris winced. She sounded more frail than usual. “Hi, Mom. What’s going on? What can I do for you?”

“I got a call from the pharmacy again today...”

Of course. The creditors had come calling again. Chris let her words wash over him, making humming noises in all the right places. When she was done, he had to resist the urge to slam the receiver back into place. Then he stared down at his knuckles, red and swollen and scraped raw in several places, and he picked the receiver back up, dialed.

“Hey, Matt? Yeah, it’s Chris. Tell Tony it’s on tonight. I’ll meet him down at The Pit. Yeah, bare knuckles. Bring some sports tape. Put me down three-to-one on me, all right?” He glanced over at Evan, but he was lost in his music.

Good.

He probably wouldn’t notice when Chris came back after midnight with a new black eye. Chris shrugged on his jacket, grabbed the tape, and slipped out the door. He did stupid things for the people he loved.

(496 words)

Lillian, Cryptologist (or Nick, Bricklayer)

Lillian stared at herself in the mirror. She felt horribly self-conscious. Her nanny hadn’t had time to alter her uniform, so her trousers were rolled up around her ankles, and the sleeves came far past her wrists and she had to keep pushing them back up. Her frizzy black hair was fraying out of the braids her nanny had woven in that morning, and she looked like a pale scarecrow stuffed into someone else’s oversized clothing.

Apart from the bearded man who’d let her into the building, no one else was there. The man - Mr. Lewis - spoke briefly to her nanny, then told her to wait in the corner until the others arrived. It was nearly a quarter to six, and she was still the only one besides Mr. Lewis at the dojo, and didn’t class start at six?

As if on cue, the door swung open. A young man strolled into the building, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Hey,” he said easily. “You new?”

“I am,” she said. “My name is Lillian Fairbanks.” She offered a hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The man’s brow furrowed, but then he shook her hand. “Good to meet you too, kid. I’m Nick. When we’re in class, you’ll have to call me Sensei Vincent.”

“Of course. I understand hierarchical authority is important in martial arts.”

“Hier-what now?” Nick set down his backpack, toed off his sneakers and kicked them into one of the cubbies along the wall next to the mirror. “How old are you, kid?”

“I’m seven,” Lillian said. “Also, I am not a juvenile goat.”

“You talk like a dictionary.” Nick tugged a pile of clothes and a black belt from his backpack and started toward the men’s room.

“I’m sorry,” Lillian said. She ducked her head. “I’m around scholars all day, and their manner of speech is typically quite pedantic, and I find it’s best to conform lest - lest they disregard me because of my age.”

Nick leaned down and peered into her eyes. “No need to apologize. It’s just different, is all. What do you do all day, that you talk like that?”

“I’m a cryptologist,” Lillian said.

Nick raised his eyebrows. “Which means in real English...?”

“A code-breaker.” Lillian tugged one of her pigtails. She saw it, the flare of surprise in his eyes, followed by understanding. She was waiting for it, the revulsion, the disgusted curiosity, but instead she saw something she’d never seen before; she suspected it was that thing called empathy.

“Cool. I’m a bricklayer most days,” Nick said. He beckoned. “C’mere. Show me how you throw a punch.”

Lillian took a deep breath. She realized this was martial arts, but she’d been raised to avoid physical violence and instead attempt to end all arguments with logic. But Nick smiled and beckoned again, and she said,

“Yes, Sensei.”

(477 words)

Night in the Day

"Sarah."

I raised my head from off of my folded arms when I heard my mother call my name. I knew she couldn't see me unless I sat up, the grass was to long for that. I sighed at the tone in my mothers voice and let my head fall back onto my arms again, content to not be found; if only for a few moments longer. I closed my eyes and let the sun warm my skin to a tingle before turning my face away from the warmth. A light breeze rustled the grass and cooled my skin before passing on to the South.

"Sarah!"

I rolled over in the grass and covered my head with my arms. I knew I couldn't hide for much longer.

"Diane!"

From beside me Diane jumped to all fours and shook herself out. I knew that mom could see her, knew she knew where I was. I drew in a breath and sat up, running my fingers through my hair to dislodge any stray grass that had gotten tangled up in it and stood up.

I felt Diane brush against my leg and I reached out for the harness, gripping the soft foam handle loosely.

"Home. Diana," I said and let her lead me back to the house.

Nothing

My name is Shane.

At least that's what they tell me. Anything that came before waking up in the hospital is lost to me. All I can remember is opening my eyes and seeing bright fluorescent lights above my head and hearing a beeping to my left.

I remember taking a deep breath and trying to clear my dry throat; it was scratchy and sore, as if it hadn't been used in a long time.

"Hello?" I called out, and suddenly I was surrounded by many people; some checking machines, and others checking me and asking me questions that I couldn't answer. All I could say was, "I don't know."

It felt like that was all I could say for the longest time. "What's you're name?... I don't know...Where are you from...I don't know... Do you know what happened to you...I don't know..." I felt like a broken record.

After what seemed like forever they all went away; left me to my thoughts; though those were rather blank as well. It was like a soft black wall that I could push against, but I couldn't get through it. Whatever was beyond the wall stayed hidden from me.

I sat in silent thought for a long time, only interrupted when a young woman brought in a few things and placed them in my lap. A wallet, keys, and a few papers.

I flipped open the wallet to reveal the face of a smiling young man; dark brown hair and laughing bright blue eyes. The name read Shane Briarwood. Five foot ten, one hundred and sixty-two pounds. He lived in a city in California.

I set aside the wallet and picked up the keys. It was a simple set of keys. Two brass keys on a ring as well as some type of car key; but to what kind of car I couldn't tell. I set the keys next to the wallet

I next picked up the papers. They were covered in close neat writing, addresses and names. Snatches of poetry, random and unfinished. Nothing was familiar.

"Mr. Briarwood?" a voice said from the door.

I assumed I was being spoken to so I turned my head towards the voice.

"Mr. Briarwood, you had quite an accident. Can you remember what happened?" the doctor said.

I blinked. The name held no recognition for me.

"Mr. Briarwood?"

...Nothing...

Jeffrey, Baritone

“Your name?” Samuel asked.

The boy wore black skinny jeans that were somehow too big on him and a faded black t-shirt featuring some obscure 80’s band. Beneath his shaggy black hair (he was obviously due for a haircut) he had thick-rimmed glasses, and Samuel was quite sure the boy had not made proper eye-contact the entire ten seconds he’d been onstage. Wasn’t there some sort of pre-screening process by underlings? The mite looked terrified beneath the bright lights, standing before a crowd of thousands.

“Jeffrey,” the boy said. His voice was soft, almost inaudible even with a microphone.

Samuel twirled his pen, the gesture impatient. “All right, Jeffrey, and what are you going to do for us today?”

His response was a mumble.

“Pardon?” Samuel asked.

Jeffrey cleared his throat. “I’m going to sing,” he said.

The Celandine and Ben cast Samuel dubious looks, but he nodded. “All right. Take it away.”

Jeffrey lifted a hand in an awkward gesture, likely to signal someone to start his chosen music, and then something happened. He uncurled his shoulders and stood up straighter, lifted his head, and for the first time the judges could see that he had a pleasant face, a wide-lipped mouth curved in the faintest smile, a strong, solid jaw-line. When the music poured over the speakers, Samuel raised his eyebrows. He’d been expecting melancholy electric guitars, not orchestral strains.

And then Jeffrey began to sing. Samuel dropped his pen. He hadn’t expected a voice that deep and powerful to come out of such a skinny boy, but he had perfect pitch and enunciated as if he’d been born speaking Italian. He scaled the notes with breathtaking ease as if he were simply speaking, and he sailed through the tricky syllables without tripping once. Impossible. It took years of training to be able to sing like this, didn’t it?

Whenever Jeffrey hit a particularly impossible note, the audience roared, and Samuel felt something spark in his blood. Whoever had decided to let this skinny moppet onstage had discovered something special; Samuel suspected the lads in the wings were smirking then and there.

Samuel held his breath, nervous, waiting, because that last note was the hardest to hit, the easiest to ruin, and then behind him, the audience was on its feet as Jeffrey hit that final, magical note and took it to the rafters. Beside Samuel, Celandine was crying.

Then the music faded, and the audience kept roaring, and Jeffrey seemed to shrink back in on himself, hunching his shoulders, jamming his hands into his pockets. He stepped back from the mic, and Samuel realized he was getting ready to bolt offstage, so he spoke.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

Jeffrey shrugged, clearly uneasy. “My grandmother always listens to opera music. I like to sing along sometimes.”

Samuel suspected there were two sides to this boy, and he’d just seen the best and the worst in turn.

(498 words)

Project #71: New Characters!

We have beloved 'verses we keep writing in, some with over a hundred tagged entries to them, some with less than twenty, all created with tender loving care. This week the challenge is to come up with brand new characters, one a day, 100-500 words. You can go for a Sweet Valley-style exposition, you can go for the Hollywood introduction, or just drop right into the new person's storyline. Give it a whirl and see how it goes, and see if any of the new faces will make it in the crowd that runs the halls of Master & Madness academy. Good luck!

Overview #70: Color

Okay, so I will freely admit, I had a heck of a lot of fun with this one. I challenged myself to pick colors for the boys not usually considered in conjunction with said boys (DJ tends to be blue, Keith tends to be red or green, Gabriel tends to be gray, Tobias tends to be brown or black, James tends to be green), and I came up with some pretty startling but altogether fun results. My favorite scene of the week was probably DJ's, because as much as Nick's death is pretty much ipso facto part of DJ's story, I never did much with it, and it turned out better than I thought it would be, and it taught me some things about DJ too. I didn't finish out this week, but I'm in the middle of bar prep, so I'm going to forgive myself, and chances are I will fail next week, but hey - here's to writing as often as possible and improving as I go.

They say as long as you write every day you will improve, and I am writing every day - mostly to the tune of bar essays, but writing nonetheless. So I am writing. Just not always here, and not anything anyone but a bar examiner would want to read.

Ultimate fail...

Okay I must sincerely apologize to my fellow writers. I epically failed this week to get my posts done... guilt...

My only excuse is that I have been so busy. I work eight hours a day at my normal job and then come home and put in another 4-7 hours worth of training and contacting. I am so busy that I often don't get to bed until after midnight... and I'll be honest... It slipped my mind... I vow to mend my ways and I will do better this next week!

Please forgive me fellow writers...

White Fright

Most people were afraid of the dark, the black, the shadows. Gabriel had been afraid of many colors in his life - the blue, the gray, either meaning a gunshot on sight depending on his own colors. Gabriel wasn't afraid of the dark, though, not the way most people were. No, he was afraid of the white.

The whites of eyes and teeth bared in frozen, lifeless grinned, lips skinned back in eternally silent laughter, dozens of faces circling his windows so that when Gabriel rose in the night to draw a drink of water from the pail and sought the midnight sky, all he saw was the white, white, white.

For one moment he was still, terrified, sure they were the faces of the dancing skeletons foretold by the vodun priests. Too much blood had been spilt along these rows of soft-white cotton; souls would not rest easily here.

When Gabriel took a deep breath and looked closer, saw the faces had flesh, he realized he knew those white eyes and white smiles set in black faces. The Drummer Boys and Fast-Hand Jim, Smilin' Sam and Charlie Haystack. All slaves from Old Man Harris's plantation.

All dead and strung up along the slave barracks for every slave to see in the dawn. Only it was the black of night, and Gabriel had discovered them all.

For the first time in his life, he wished he could scream.

And then he smelled it, smoke, burning. He wheeled around, tore through the house, searching for the danger, and some of the others muttered sleepily, but he didn't find it. He turned, searched, but at every window and door he was hemmed in bodies, faces,white smiles, and he thought, They're going to burn us alive in here.

One of the women screamed, and as one the barracks woke; people poured into the safety of the darkness, of fresh night air, and there, in the middle of the fields, was a burning cross, and around it stood demons with pointed skulls, all arrayed in glorious white.

(345 words)

Green and Lost

Green, yellow-green, faded green mottled with red, green brown around the edges, green sticky and velvet like moss, green ugly like a fading bruise. Tobias tore through the undergrowth, breathing hard but silent, desperate to outrun the other boys. He knew his way through the forest blind, but the fear pounding in his heart and his lungs and his ears had blinded him, and now everything was one morass of the same color: green.

And lost.

Tobias dove behind a tree, winced at the scrape of rough bark against his skull, and waited. They’d come by, any moment, charge past like a herd of elephants, and then he could double back, climb a tree and search the surface of the forest, orient himself.

It almost worked. One by one they streamed past him, hell-bent on capturing him. And then one of them glanced sideways, and his green eyes gleamed with predatory triumph. He lunged. Tobias cried out, fell backward, went head-over-heels and face-first into a bed of ferns.

A boot connected with his ribs.

He couldn’t even cry out.

And then the green began to change, shift so it was almost neon, infrared, as if he were looking at light in the middle of the night through night-vision goggles, and then he realized he was seeing plants.

Outlined in heat.

He was seeing heat, the plants in shades of greens and blue.

And there they were, the humans, in reds and yellows.

Tobias threw his head back and howled.

(255 words)

Gray and Guinness

The world was a distressing grayscale, from the walls to the floors to the skies out the windows. Even the stones on the mountain and the very dirt were gray, gray, gray. When Angel had first told Keith he’d be training up in the mountains of China, he’d envisioned shaving his head and living with a load of blokes in saffron robes, but no, even his tunic and trousers were stone-boring gray.

One of the other lads had shaved his head, and the place had no mirrors, so there wasn’t even a splash of blue or red to liven his day.

Keith had been more than glad to get out of Ireland, away from the ashes (gray) of his past and the prospect of criminal charges and life in an English prison. He just hadn’t thought he’d miss the magic that was green.

Green hills and sky, green laughter and green smoke...he missed it all.

At night, when he lay in bed and stared up at the black sky with its gray moon, he realized that what he really missed was Holly.

And Guinness.

Seeing Red

Red. He’d seen true red in his lifetime, had gone without drinking or vice for a week to save up enough to buy a tube of red pigment, and when he’d first dared to squeeze a dollop onto his palette, his world had turned upside down.

No one had ever told him red could be alive -- or dead.

“What have you done?” He looked up at Søren, blue eyes solemn. Then he looked back down at the blood on his hands from where he’d pressed them against the wounds in Nick’s lifeless body.

Søren lowered the gun with shaking hands. His eyes were still wild with the chemicals. “He owed me money, man. You get that, don’t you? I know you were a good kid, Nicky, but --”

“I’m not Nick,” Dylan said. “He is.”

The red kept drip, drip dripping from Nick’s body. In the first few moments, when Nick had been gasping for breath, trying to say his brother’s name, the red had been alive, but now...now it was dead, and sticky, and getting cold.

Someone else - Torin? Brain? - said, “The cops are coming.”

Dylan said, “I’m not leaving him.”

“I gotta get the hell outta here --”

Dylan lifted his head, pinned Søren with a glare. “No! You - you’re staying right here, understand?”

Søren started to back up, and for the first time, Dylan understood what it meant to see red.

He was still seeing red when the police pulled him off his cousin thirty seconds later. He still had red on his hands when they took him down to the station, and he didn’t know why the red was blurring and browning and drying, and he didn’t know why he was crying.

(284 words)

Summer Rounds

Like burning shades of golden twine;
We dance in summer rounds.
An emerald sea beneath our feet
Whispers, as the sun goes down.

Azure mantle round our heads,
Pearl white clouds our crown.
Diamond stars to kiss our brows
As ebony night enshrouds the land.

Everything Blue

“I don’t like this one bit.” Christian swiped a hand over his forehead, and the blue mark glimmered; his eyes glowed just a bit, too. How had anyone ever believed he was fully human? Perhaps that was evidence of his father’s power, that people had just accepted that he was Ranolfe’s baby brother and not his son of an illicit affair with the Queen of the Wild Hunt.

Anna slapped his wrist lightly. “If you stop touching it, no one will see, will they?”

Christian hefted his new sword, looked down at his new armor. It looked just like his old armor, if a touch shinier and perhaps glowing again with that faint, surreal blue that was the mark of Quislai magic.

“They’ll see the color, though, won’t they?” He turned away from the mirror pool and sighed.


Anna was dressed as a servant again, clutching her harp. “What color?”

“The blue.”


“What blue?”

Christian gaped at her. “The everything blue,” he said, making a sweeping gesture to indicate his armor and weapon and even the blue mark on his skin. Then he saw that Anna was trying not to laugh.

She reached out, brushed her fingertip over the mark, and he felt it hum before it vanished from view.

“No one will notice,” she said. “After all, the sky is blue, as is the sea, and people rarely take the time to notice them.” She started back toward the manor house.

Christian trotted after her. “The sea is blue?”

Anna blinked at him. “Ah. Right. You’ve never seen it. Yes, the sea is blue, except for when it’s green.”

(270 words)

Project Assignment # 70 - Color

Lets use color as the vehicle of our stories this week. A vibrant colorful scene, a world of color, or one purposely devoid of colors. It can be story, poetry, anything you want.

Let's keep it under 500

Overview #69: Plot Kink

At first I was stuck for a plot kink, then I realized that I had somewhat set one up already simply by the fact that I had identical twins in my story, and it was already established that they get confused fairly often. So it was easy enough to pick mistaken identity as my plot device. But coming up with a situation to fit it was harder. I chose to set the story in their high school years because there is so much possibility for angst and drama over a confusion. Now obviously it didn't end up angsty, but I think it did bring a little more light onto Bryan's personality. That while he can seem unconcerned and carefree, and often unthoughtful, he does care about the girl enough to worry that she might think he had been lying to her on purpose, and what she would think of him when he told her the truth, and even if he wanted to tell her the truth because of the fear of rejection. He really does like her and doesn't want to lie to her, and the endless 'What if she really prefers Mark and that is why she likes me' type of thing. It was fun to run with for a week.

Overview #69: Plot Kink

I have so many favorite plot kinks that it was hard to pick, but I'd been messing with this one for a while during the crazy finals/graduation hiatus, so I went with this one. It was honestly difficult to arc the subtleties, nuances, humor, and reality (as much reality as there is) for a body-swap in just six posts, so I hit the highlights, and I had fun with this. It didn't turn out quite how I'd like, but then that seems to be the nature of the beast when it comes to writing 400-word bursts over six days. Nevertheless, even though the fun of the plot kink didn't get fully explored, I developed a sense of the characters, and it was good times, and I think more good times would likely unfold if I ever tried to turn it into a proper story.

I learned something this week, even if it wasn't what I had set out wanting to learn. Next time, who knows which twist I'll pick?

Also...game on to Madness, who finally gets to pick a challenge after all my dreadful procrastination.

Denouement

“I see you kept your end,” Niamh said quietly, looking her own body over. As promised, Niall had trained to keep Niamh’s body strong all year.

Niall nodded. “And you.” He accepted the spellbook.

“What did Declan say?” Niamh asked.

“We must return immediately.” Niall frowned; for one moment, Niamh thought she was looking in a mirror.

“You’d better say my goodbyes,” Niamh said.

“I’m sorry.” Niall squeezed her hand.

“Me too.” Niamh nudged him in the direction of the knights’ hall. “Your princes await.”

“I’ll make it brief so no one notices.” Niall returned the spellbook and ducked out of the alcove, drew the curtains closed behind him so Niamh could hide.

Only before the heavy velvet fell shut, a hand thrust into the gap and pulled the curtains wide.

“Hello there.” Aurelius, grinning, stepped into the alcove. Ambrosius came up behind him; his expression was grim.

“Your Highness.” Niamh started to bow, then fumbled into a curtsey.

“Did you really think,” Aurelius said, “that Ambrosius wouldn’t notice such powerful magic going on right under his nose?”

Niamh’s eyes went wide; she clutched the spellbook close. “I’ve done no magic, My Lord --”

“I daresay you have,” Ambrosius said. “This entire time, you were a girl?”

Niamh cursteyed again. “My Lord, I am Niamh, sister to Niall, your page --”

“The boy who just left is no page of ours,” Ambrosius said. “The entire time you served us, I could sense something was off, that your magic was disjointed, but now it’s back in place, and I see why.”

He knew? Niamh lifted her head. “There’s a good explanation for this, My Lord.”

Aurelius arched an eyebrow.

“All right, not a good one as much as one day I woke up and Niall had switched us and I wanted to be a knight anyway, and no one would have known, only now father is dying and Niall is to inherit, and I --”

“And you’re going to deprive us of the best page we’ve ever had?” Aurelius said. “Come along - we’ve bribed one of the barbers to cut your hair and a scullery maid to help disguise you. Quick - before Father notices.”

Niamh blinked. “My Lord --”

“When this is all over, maybe one of us will marry you,” Ambrosius said, and he grinned. “I’ll give that book to Niall. He’ll be interested to know that Father’s accepted my proposal for battle mages.”

I'm Bryan

Bryan straitened his tie nervously as he tapped Amanda on the shoulder. The dance was in full swing and he had been watching her for a few minutes from across the room. He swallowed in awe as Amanda turned to face him. She was in a floor length burgundy gown, a simple flowing design that accented her figure perfectly; her hair was curled and twisted into a simple up-do that left a few tendrils framing her face.

Amanda smiled brightly as she turned and saw Mark standing behind her. "Mark!" she said with surprise, "you came."

Bryan nodded mutely, looking for all the world as if he wanted to run.

"I'm glad you came," Amanda said as she looked him up and down with appreciation. He was in a black suit with a emerald green tie. She thought it was cute how he looked nervous.

"Would," Bryan had to clear his throat, "would you care to dance?"

Amanda smiled up at him, "I would love to," she said as she took his hand.

Bryan pulled her close and fell into an easy circling pattern as a slow song came over the speakers. He noted that she smelled of lilacs.

They danced in silence, but Amanda didn't mind the silence. It was nice not to have the pressure of finding a topic of conversation, to just enjoy dancing and being close to someone.

The song was over before Bryan worked up the nerve to say what he had to tell her.

"Thank you for the dance," Amanda said as she smiled at him. AS she turned to walk back towards the music Bryan reached out and took her hand.

Amanda looked down at his hand wrapped around hers and back up at him, a question clearly expressed in her eyes.

"Can I talk to you?" Bryan asked quietly.

"Okay." Amanda said.

Bryan guided her through the crowds of people to the edge of the room where it was quieter. "Now that you can hear me," Bryan said with a half smile, "I have something I need to tell you."

"What is it?" Amanda asked, her brow furrowing prettily in confusion.

Bryan drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm not Mark," he said quietly, "I'm Bryan."

Amanda frowned a little, "I thought you were Mark. Then Mark didn't come?" she asked, "He said he wasn't planning on it, but I thought when I saw you that he had decided to come after all," she finished.

Bryan blinked slowly, "No, Amanda. Mark is at home. I'm Bryan."

"Yes, you said that. Is Mark not feeling well? Did he send you to keep me company?" Amanda asked.

Bryan reached out and touched a tendril of hair, "Amanda, you never knew Mark," Bryan said. He watched as the information sunk in.

"You're not Mark," she said as she took a step back.

"Look, I can explain," Bryan pleaded.

"Then please do so," Amanda said as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Bryan took a breath and related the whole story. All the times that he and his twin had switched places. The mix up with Jason, and how as time went on he felt more and more like he couldn't tell her, that she would think that he had been purposely lying to her.

Amanda took in the whole story, listened intently to all he had to say. "So you are Bryan," she said at last.

Bryan nodded, "yes. I'm Bryan." He waited anxiously for her next words, watched as she thought through everything, saw in her eyes as she reached the end of her musings.

"So you can do more than 'dance a little.'" she said as her mouth twitched up into a grin.

Bryan let out a breath of air he didn't know he was holding and smiled widely, "Yeah. I can do more than 'dance a little'," he echoed as he pulled her onto the dance floor.

Tell Her The Truth

"What's been eating you lately?" Mark asked as he flopped down next to his brother on the bed.

"Do you know Amanda?" Bryan asked.

"Which one? There are quite a few Amandas at school," Mark said rolling his eyes. He was sure it was just another of his brothers crushes. It would go away in about two weeks.

"Amanda Hollingworth."

"Oh." Mark was taken aback a little. Amanda Hollingworth was not Bryan's typical girl. Mark reviewed in his mind what he knew of her. Pretty, studious, a little on the quiet side but very nice.

"I don't know her well," Mark said at last, "mostly in passing. What makes you mention her?"

"Because she thinks I'm you," Bryan said as he sat up.

Mark puzzled over this for a moment, "why would she think that you are me? Not that people don't get us confused all the time, but how did you two meet and why would she think you're me?"

"Remember that Dance Committee that you were supposed to be on?"

"Yeah. I vaguely remember that. What has that got to do with it?"

"Well Jason grabbed me one day after school thinking I was you and dragged me off to the meeting. I wasn't really paying attention and I ended up on the music committee with Amanda. She thinks I'm you."

"I don't see how this is a problem. Just tell her that you're Bryan. I don't know her all that well anyway."

"What if she thinks I've been lying to her on purpose, having a laugh at her expense."

"And what if she doesn't?" Mark asked, "what if she realizes that it was a mistake and let's it go."

"Then how would you account for me not telling her before that I was really Bryan?"

Mark was silent for a moment. After a few seconds of thought he said, "look, do you like her?"

Bryan gave him his 'are you that dim' look.

"Then tell her the truth," Mark said. "You can't build any sort of relationship without trust. You have to trust that she will see the situation for what it is, and she will have to trust that you had no intention of deceiving her."

"You're right," Bryan said as he jumped off the bed and walked out of the room.

"Of course I'm right," Mark said to the empty room.

Not When it Matters

"So are you going to the dance with anyone?" Amanda asked as Bryan stood to go an hour later. She bit her lip a little nervously as she walked with him down the hall towards the front door.

"Bryan glanced at her quickly, trying to gauge how he should answer. "I hadn't really planned on it," he said. This much was true. He hadn't really planned on going with anyone.

"I'm sorry you won't be there," she said as she opened the door.

"Look Amanda..." Bryan said as he turned to look at her as he stepped out the front door.

"Hm?"

Bryan sighed, "Nothing. I'll see you tomorrow at school."

"Good night Mark," Amanda said to his retreating figure.

************************

Bryan sighed as he closed the front door of his own home and leaned against it.

"What's with you?" Mark asked as he paused in the entry, a sandwich in one hand.

"Sometimes I wish I was you," Bryan said quietly as he bumped his head against the door in frustration.

Mark looked at his brother funny, "You practically are me sometimes," he said.

"Not when it matters," Bryan said as he stepped away from the door.

A Little

Bryan paused before answering her question. She thought he was Mark, and Mark was known for one personality, while he himself was known for having one completely different. Did she know Mark? Know how Mark would respond? Did she prefer his quiet spoken brother or would she like his own more open demeanor? Would she even know the difference? He wanted to tell her that he was actually Bryan, but didn't know if she would think that he had been deceiving her on purpose instead of it just being a mistake.

Bryan bit his lip as he continued to hesitate, trying to gauge how he should reply.

Amanda cocked her head to one side as she waited for Mark's answer. He seemed a little lost in thought, so she let him think.

She had heard that his brother danced, and was very good, but she didn't know if Mark also danced. She didn't know what to think of the twins as a unit. Not much was generally known about them.

"Mark?" she said as she touched him gently on the shoulder.

Bryan blinked and focused on Amanda's face, "I dance a little," he said at last.

Do you Dance

Bryan sat on the floor; his knees pulled up to his chest, and his back pressed into a comfortable looking bed, eyes closed as he let the music swirl around him. It had a good driving beat, something that you could dance to.

"Are we just going to make CD mixes and switch out CDs or are we going to take requests?" a soft voice said from above him.

"I think it would be fun to take requests," Bryan said as he opened his eyes and craned his head around to see the girl that was lying on the bed above him. They had met at Amanda's house a few times since the committee meeting to listen to music and try to settle on what should be played at the dance.

"Well at any rate, we should have slow songs that everyone can dance to, but also songs that encourage people to have a little fun," Amanda said as she sat up. She looked over at Bryan, "Do you dance Mark?"

Ideas and Plans

This is all your fault," Aurelius said cheerfully. He, Ambrosius, and Niamh - who, by this stage of her page training, served both of them - were huddled beneath a dense cluster of shrubs watching King Lars' men march past.

"I distinctly remember that this was your idea," Ambrosius said. "I was content studying barrier spells in the library."

"I meant Niall," Aurelius said. He ruffled Niamh's hair. "It's always the subordinate's fault."

"Yes, My Lord," Niamh said patiently. Ambrosius met her gaze, and they both rolled their eyes.

"What's the plan, O Genius Warrior?" Ambrosius asked.

"Why would I have the plan?" Aurelius asked innocently. "I'm just the muscle, O Future King. Shouldn't His Highness have a plan?"

Niamh said, "Ambrosius, you should start a fire on the far side to distract them. Aurelius can sneak around and cut off their rear and I...will shoot them. With arrows."

"Why does the page have a plan?" Aurelius asked.

"Because he's looking to make squire." Ambrosius handed Niamh his quiver. "Take my arrows."

"We need a back-up plan, of course," Niamh said reasonably. "In case one or both of you are captured and held for ransom."

Aurelius had gone to draw his sword; he paused. "Do you have to think of everything?"

"You're the king's sons. I must be prepared." Niamh shoved Ambrosius's arrows into her quiver.

"He's right," Ambrosius said. "If we get taken by King Lars, Father will -"

"Start a war," Aurelius said brightly.

"If I get taken, on the other hand," Niamh said, "you two can get home free." She started to slither forward on her stomach, ready to make a one-man rally against King Lars's troops.

Ambrosius caught her arm. "Are you mad?"

"It's the best plan we've got." Niamh looked up at him. "Have you seen how many men there are?"

"That doesn't matter," Ambrosius said.

Aurelius shook his head. "Niall's right. You're heir to the throne. You have to get home."

"Just me?" Ambrosius asked. "But we're both princes --"

"I'm the second son," Aurelius said. "I'll protect Niall. You go."

"But the plan --"

"Set the fire and go."

Ambrosius pressed his lips into a thin line. "No, Aurelius, I'm not leaving you -"

"Go," Aurelius said. He tugged on Niall's elbow. "Come on. We have to protect the prince."

Niall looked at Ambrosius. "Good luck, My Lord."

"Niall --" Ambrosius began.

She fired an arrow.

For The Day

Niamh came awake sharply, hand going for Niall's sword. She rolled to
her feet and swung the sword up, ready to guard.

Aurelius leaned in the doorway, smirking. "You're jumpy, aren't
you?"

"My Lord," Niamh stammered.

"I heard you had an interesting night at the pages' feast," Aurelius
said.

Interesting was one word for it. Niamh thought a better choice was
'embarrassing', given that she'd almost given herself away as a girl
and been mocked as a coward by the rest of the pages.

"Don't worry - I'm not one of the pages here to play a hideous prank on you," Aurelius said. "I've just come to inform you that, as Ambrosius is busy doing heir-to-the-throne things and I've scared away my own page, you shall be my page for the day. Get dressed and come help me with my armor. I'm training with the master-at-arms."

Niamh bowed. "Yes, My Lord."

Aurelius crossed the room and caught her by the chin, tilted her head up, and she felt her pulse jump. He was ridiculously handsome.

"You've an uncommonly pretty face, for a lad. Be careful - it might get you into more trouble than you're already in."

Niamh swallowed hard.

Aurelius stepped back. "The knights' courtyard. Fifteen minutes."

Fifteen minutes later, Niamh skittered into the courtyard dressed in leggings and a tabard marking her as Ambrosius's page. Aurelius stood on the sidelines next to a rack of weapons, fiddling with the buckles
of his gauntlet.

"Allow me, My Lord," Niamh said, hurrying to his side.

He looked up and smirked. "A page who's prompt. Giving your superiors high expectations already, are you?"

Niamh blinked. "Are you suggesting I should be slovenly in my duties?"

"Not at all." Aurelius let his hand fall to his side and watched her work.

Niamh had always been quick with armor, because Niall fussed if it took too long to prepare for the mock-bouts he had with Declan.

The master-at-arms, a grizzled veteran of a knight who was missing an eye, stepped into the courtyard fully armed.

"Good luck, My Lord," Niamh said, and handed Aurelius a sword.

"I don't need luck," he said, "but thanks anyway."

Niamh arched an eyebrow. "Shall I tear a strip off my tabard so you can wear a favor?"

Aurelius threw his head back and laughed. Then he leapt into the fight.

To You

“Aurelius,” Ambrosius said mildly, though he blushed, “no need to be so fierce with the pages. It wasn’t so long ago we were pages ourselves, aye?”

The blond boy was Prince Aurelius. Of course. Prince Ambrosius’ younger twin brother, the legendarily brilliant warrior despite being only a squire; Prince Ambrosius was known more for his skills in diplomacy and magic. As if sensing Niamh’s thoughts, Ambrosius tugged on the collar of his squire tabard, obviously uncomfortable.

But he smiled at Niamh, and she felt something in her chest lurch. “Don’t mind him - his bark is worse than his bite. It’s true, though, the master-at-arms forgot to assign me a page. If you’ll follow me, you’ll be staying adjacent to my chambers during your training.”

Niamh swallowed hard and almost tripped over Niall’s big feet as she followed Ambrosius away from the pages’ hall.

“So, Niall, do you come from a large family?”

Ambrosius smiled over his shoulder at her, and she was struck by how lovely his blue eyes were. Her voice lodged in her throat.

“No need to be afraid - I am the prince, but I’m also just a boy. Speak up.”

“My mother died when I was a child,” Niamh said, “and I have one sibling. A twin br- sister. She is training in the magical arts.”

Ambrosius’ smile brightened, and Niamh felt her palms begin to sweat.

“Then you understand some of what I put up with when it comes to Aurelius. Are you elder or younger?”

“Younger,” Niamh said, which was true - she was younger, but Niall was older. It wasn’t as if Ambrosius would ever find out.

“When we’re twins, it doesn’t make much of a difference, I suppose,” Ambrosius said. “Besides, you and I are more similar than you and Aurelius - after all, we’re both the ones who will inherit.” He pushed open a door down a side hallway to reveal a small stone chamber with a more comfortable-looking bed than Niamh had ever known. A wooden chest for belongings and a wash basin stood off to the side.

“Is this...my room?”

“Yes.” Ambrosius pointed to a door in the far wall. “My chamber is through there, should I need you in the night. Honestly, I can dress myself, but sometimes I’ll need help with my armour.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Niamh stammered.

“None of that - to you, I’m Ambrosius.”

Sub-Committee

Bryan sat in the uncomfortable desk in the spare room that the committee had appropriated for the afternoon. The room was dim and Bryan rubbed his nose to keep from sneezing on the chalk dust.

Gathered in the room was an assortment of students; some clearly not sure why they were there, but merely accompanying friends, others with pads of paper for taking notes and others that seemed to just be staring off into space.

Bryan shifted to a slightly more comfortable position as one of the girls cleared her throat for attention; Amanda, Bryan thought her name was. He looked up at her as she began to detail various sub-committees; those in charge of music, decorating, and advertising. Bryan let his mind wander as she spoke on and on.

"Mark, what would you like to help with?"

Bryan was pulled out of his wool gathering abruptly at the sound of his brothers name.

"What was that?" Bryan asked as he raised his head from where it was resting on his fist.

"I said, what you you like to help with?"

"Uhh..." Bryan stalled, "I don't know, anything I guess."

"Okay, then you'll help me with the music," Amanda smiled brightly at him.

Bryan noticed for the first time that she had pretty green eyes. "Okay," he said and smiled at her.

Exactly What We Did

Niamh was still mightily disturbed at having woken up in her brother’s body, and she was a touch miffed at losing all the conditioning she’d done in her own body, but once they reached the palace courtyard where the knights trained and she saw a handful of them gathered in a circle and sparring, swords flashing, she was excited.

She suspected she’d put a lot more thought into being a boy than Niall had into being a girl.

”Fare thee well, brother,” Niall said from atop the mare, voice airy and faint. He even fluttered the handkerchief Niamh had been forced to embroider. “Bring our family honor.”

Niamh could only stare; she never spoke like that. “You too. If the other girls give you trouble, don’t be afraid to give them trouble right back,” she managed finally.

Declan stared at the two of them, puzzled. Drat. Had they given the game away already? “Did you two switch personalities in the night or something?”

“That’s exactly what we did,” Niamh said, deadpan. “Anyway, I’d best be off to my fate. Keep her safe, Declan.” And Niamh, with the best boyish swagger she could muster, headed toward the hall of pages.

She found the way easily enough - other boys her age were heading toward a pair of double wooden doors that led to a long, low stone building that ran perpendicular to the knights’ hall.

Several older lads, likely squires as they were wearing tabards in their masters’ colors, directed the other boys in the right place. Niamh came up short when a tall, broad-shouldered, and frighteningly handsome blond boy stepped into her path.

“What house are you from, mite?” he asked.

Of course he was a prat. The handsome ones always were. Niamh decided that she disliked him. “The House of O’Scannlain,” she said.

The blond boy called over his shoulder, “You have an O’Scannlain on the list?”

Another squire - taller, dark-haired, thin - consulted a parchment scroll. “Yes - Niall.”

“Who’s he been assigned to?”

“No one.”

The blond boy grinned and clapped Niall on the shoulder. “Excellent. You can be Ambrosius’s page.”

Niall bobbed her head politely. “Yes, sir. And Ambrosius would be?”

The blond boy’s grin turned mean. “That would be Prince Ambrosius, and he would be standing over there.”

Niall felt her heart plummet into her shoes. Prince Ambrosius was...holding the scroll.

Niamh and Niall

When Niamh had suggested switching places with Niall so he could go to mage school and she could go to knight training instead of finishing school, she’d thought there would be a haircut, some awkward and painful chest binding, and promises to keep each other’s secrets.


She hadn’t planned on waking up in Niall’s body to find Niall standing over her in her body, holding a grimoire and looking disturbingly self-satisfied.

“So...just answer my name and I’ll answer to yours,” he - she - said.

Niamh might have quibbled about that more if she hadn’t suddenly had to answer the call of nature and ducked out of the cave, into the bushes. Where she had a quiet panic attack, did her business, and then strode back into the cave in time to find Declan, the man-at-arms sent to escort them to the capital, packing up their gear.

“You took your royal time, Master Niall,” Declan said. “Come along, help your sister onto the horse. We’ve got to make the capital before sundown.”

Niall smirked when Niamh struggled to help him onto the horse, but she got the satisfaction of wearing the sword that Niall despised.

The Capital rose against the horizon in the distance, the palace towers gleaming in the early morning light. Somewhere, amidst those bright white towers, the King’s Knights trained. Niamh had seen the King’s Knights once before, when she was a child, and she’d been enchanted by their shining armor, their seeming endless strength as their sparred in a tourney held in the neighboring baronet, and she’d decided then and there that she wanted to be one of them.

If only she could get used to her brother’s gangly, clumsy body. She wasn’t sure that Niall even needed to go to mage school if he could do something like this just by reading out of a book, but...she had been afforded a unique chance. And she was going to take it. When they stopped for lunch, she practiced drills with the swords, ones she’d bribed Declan into teaching her while Niall helped Declan prepare the food.

She almost tripped and fell on her face, but once she became accustomed to Niall’s body’s balance, it’d be worth it.

“Master Niall, it’s so good to see you taking an interest in a man’s work,” Declan said.

Master Niall. Maybe Niamh could get used to that.

No Excuses

"Hey Mark!"

Bryan's head came up at the sound of his twins name. Nobody ever got them straight all the time, even their own family could get it wrong; and it probably didn't help that both of them would answer to the others name as readily as their own. It had been a game when they were younger; now it was habit.

Josh jogged up to Bryan a little out of breath, "Hey, we have a meeting. Did you forget?"

Bryan put on a vapid look, "I guess I did. What was the meeting about again?" he asked. He knew that he could imitate his brother almost perfectly, and did so now out of twisted curiosity to see how long it would take Josh to catch on that he wasn't Mark.

"Hello? How can you forget prom planning?" Josh asked as he pulled Bryan to his feet, "let's go, we'll be late as it is."

Bryan felt a rush of horror as he remembered that his brother had volunteered to help plan the prom.

"Uh..." Bryan stammered out, "I know you had your heart set on me coming, but I just remembered that I have some important homework that is due tomorrow that I had forgotten to do; so I should really go do that," Bryan said as he tried to sidle away from Josh.

"Oh no you don't," Josh said firmly as he latched onto Bryan's arm, "you talked me into this and now you are going to come with me. No excuses."

Bryan didn't have a chance top protest or explain before he was being dragged off to a planning committee.

Project #69: Plot Kink

What's your favorite plot kink - cross-dressing Shakespeare style, time travel, mistaken identities, haters destined to love each other, body-switching? Make it happen this week, in 100-400 words. Does she have to cross-dress as a page to save her life and fall in love with the knight she serves? Does he have to save her life and then travel back through time to before he ever knew her and watch her love someone else? Was she set up on a blind date and talks to someone other than the man she was set up with, only to find out the man she picked is perfect for her anyway? Pick one and make it arc for six days, and see how well that goes for you. We all love our favorite plot kinks, and we might as well enjoy them for a week. Happy writing, and welcome back to our regularly scheduled show.

Variation on a Theme

Chantelle noticed something was wrong as soon as she came to full consciousness - her bokken wasn’t next to her bed where it usually was. Maybe it had rolled under her bed, but...she wasn’t in her bed, either. In fact, the fact that she was even in a bed was wrong, because she always slept atop the covers underneath a mountain of blankets.

Then she looked down at herself.

And shrieked.

She was shirtless.


And tall.


With hairy feet.

She was a man.

She staggered out of the strange bed and across what was obviously a hotel room and into the bathroom, ready to have a good, long scream at her reflection. But once she got the bathroom light on and saw just what she looked like, she paused.

She was kinda hot.

Or rather, he was.

Then she fainted.

(140 words)

A Night for Dancing

The level of light didn't change when Rose stepped from the twilit street into the Book of Dead Names. A quick glance around revealed a short hallway lined with coats, hats and shawls. Rose nervously slipped her own light jacket off and hung it up on a peg,the emerald green playing against a white fur coat that hung on the next peg over.

Rose moved down the dim hall towards the soft golden glow of the room beyond. As she stepped into the room Rose drew in a breath in wonder at what she saw. A magnificent chandelier spilled warm light over the large room, the very outer edges of the light just stopping short of private tables and nooks that were separated with heavy velvet drapes, tied back to reveal beautiful tables. The tables were filled with people talking quietly in twos and threes or playing a variety of games; each table was softly lit with a small candelabra that hung from a nearby pillar. The sections of wall that was not taken up with rich velvet were lined with books, many of them worn and valuable. Along one wall ran a short bar which ended in a small recessed area that was occupied by a four piece band. The music that filled the room was slow and had a slightly jazzy edge to it. The middle of the room was taken up by a dance floor, the wood shining beautifully in the candle light.

After a slight hesitation Rose moved along the perimeter of the room towards the bar where she slid into a seat with relief. A moment later one of the three men that staffed the bar approached, "What can I get for you Miss?" he asked.

"Just some water for the moment please," Rose said, trying to keep her tone level.

The man nodded politely and moved away, returning a moment later with her water.

Rose gratefully accepted the water and sipped at it as she turned to look at the room; she was sure that this was the place, he had described it so well that even had she had never come here she was sure that she could have pictured it in her mind. Rose set her glass down and smoothed the skirt of her green dress, her eyes continuing to watch the room. A nearby grandfather clock struck nine o'clock, its deep resonant tones carrying through the room. As it finished chiming the hour Rose felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Rose smiled and turned to the man behind her.

Warm pale green eyes looked out of a handsome face, the barest hint of red stubble shadowed a strong jaw and a soft smiling mouth. Rose quickly looked him up and down, revealing a well cut suit that hung perfectly from his slender frame.

"Hi," he whispered, his mouth quirking into a half smile that sent shivers down Rose's back.

"Hi," she whispered back, leaning into his touch as he traced her jaw.

"I wasn't sure you would come," James said; he couldn't stop looking at her.

Rose didn't want to tell him just yet that she would always come when he called her.

"Will you dance with me?" James asked as he took her hand.

"Of course," Rose said and let him lead her to the dance floor.

A familiar song floated across the room as James pulled her into his arms and flowed smoothly into the waltz; Rose following his every movement, though her eyes never left his face. They had the whole floor to themselves and they took advantage of it, moving gracefully around the floor in time to the music.

As the song ended another filled the room after a brief silence. James pulled Rose closer to him, one hand holding hers against his chest as his other hand softly stroking her hair.

Rose sighed in content as she let her eyes fall closed and her head rest on his shoulder as they swayed slowly. She breathed in his scent; letting him fill all her senses; his quiet heartbeat that she could feel in his chest, his warm body close to hers.

"Rose?"

Rose could feel his voice in his chest, "Hm?"

"Rose, Will you marry me?" James asked as they drifted to a stop with the end of the song.

Rose's heart skipped a beat and she raised her head to look into his eyes, wanting to know for sure that he meant it. Rose kissed him softly, "yes she whispered."

Tell You What's Next

They lay curled in each other's arms, basking in warm afterglow and waiting for their hearts to stop racing, for that stillness of silence when he breathed out and she breathed in.

"That was amazing," she said.

He blushed and ducked his head, pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. "I love you."

She smiled. "I love you, too." She sighed happily and snuggled closer to him. "We have our whole lives together. I'm excited. And a little scared. Mostly excited, though."

He sighed. "If I could tell you what's next --"

She grinned impishly up at him. "Go ahead. Tell me what's next. Make a prediction. I want to know my future." She waggled her eyebrows and giggled.

He laughed softly. "All right. What's going to happen next is..." He trailed off, and his gaze went dazed, unfocused.

She prodded him in the shoulder. "Dave, what's wrong? Come on - tell me what's happening next for us." She laughed, but the sound was unsure.

Dave said, voice flat, almost mechanical, "What's going to happen next is that they're going to break down the door. They're going to shoot me and take you, and in twelve hours they'll ask your father for half a million dollars."

She stared up at him, pale. "That wasn't very romantic."

Dave blinked. "What? I'm sorry. I must have spaced out." He leaned in and kissed her again, and he smiled. "I think, what's happening next for you and me, is we're going to have kids, lots of them, and --"

"That's not what you said before," she said.

He blinked. "Before what?"

"Before you started in about kids," she said. "You said --"

Someone kicked in the bedroom door.

Wishing and Hoping

Annie had always wished, vainly, that she was taller. At a solid 4'11", she was doomed to Seven Dwarf jokes from the age of twelve onwards, and she had watched with emerald envy as her guy friends - of whom she had many, for she overcompensated as a vicious tomboy - grew all through middle school and high school and broke the 5'8" barrier with ease.

When Annie first got her wish, she didn't even realize it. She just rolled out of bed, cranked out the requisite crunches and push-ups in a half-awake daze, and then stumbled into the bathroom to brush her teeth. It wasn't until she looked at herself in the mirror and saw a pale-faced Irish boy staring back at her that she realized something was different.

She stared down at the strange, large pale feet, so far away, and realized she was much taller than before. Her wish had come true.

She screamed.

Opening Lines

"Deena, we have kind of a weird favour to ask."

Deena looked at Audrey, then JJ, and felt a touch of fear twist in her
chest. Nothing good came after someone opened with that line.

"What kind of favour?" she asked.

JJ said, "We'd like you to be the witness at our wedding."

Deena dropped everything she was carrying.

Audrey sighed and shook her head, crossed her arms over her chest.

"This is such a stupid idea. If you weren't so uptight, we could move in together until this whatever wears off, and then we would just go back to our own lives."

Deena blinked, confused. JJ was many things, but uptight wasn't one of them. Between JJ and Audrey, Audrey was the one who was uptight. That she would even consider unmarried cohabitation with someone like JJ was utterly confusing.

"What's going on?" she asked finally. Perhaps it was some sort of prank.

"We should just tell her," JJ said.

Audrey shook her head. "Everyone will think we're crazy."

"Not Deena," JJ insisted, and Deena wondered if they thought she actually couldn't hear them. "Deena's one of my best friends. We've been through weird things before."

Now Deena was genuinely confused. JJ was a close acquaintance at best, seeing how they saw each other on a regular basis but didn't spend enough time together or know each other well enough to be called friends. In fact, Deena didn't even know who JJ's best friend was; she just knew it wasn't her.

"What if she calls the dudes in the white coats?" Audrey asked.

"She won't," JJ said, "once we prove it."

"Prove what?" Deena asked, and now she was genuinely alarmed.

Audrey sighed again, the sound uncharacteristically loud and impatient. "That we've switched bodies."

Mod Post and Apologies, Take 2

I am so, so sorry. Finals and belt testing and graduation have swallowed my life. We will get this business back in place when I'm settled in my new place.

In the meantime, feel free to post whatever strikes your fancy. Starts of a story, ends of a story, scenes that would make you smile. Go ahead and write them. Share them. We want to know what's going on in your head.

Stand

I stand on the edge of the abyss; staring off into the blackness of the night and the darkness of my own soul. I can not see the future and the past is lost in the mists of time.

Shadows and dreams swirl around me; morphing and twisting, first beautiful then horrifying, tantalizing and repellent. I raise my hand to touch the future and there is nothing there, nothing to feel. I look in vain for anything to latch onto, anything to save me.

One wrong step and I fall to the enticing darkness; yet a shift the the right brings bliss; a dance along the razor edge of life. Is the price to high to pay for such darkness, or can I attain that promised joy?


(Random I know. This is just what flowed from my mind to the keyboard)

How Bad?

“Is everything all right, My Liege?” Elaine asked.

Arcturus knelt beside his horse, tested its leg. “I felt Hengroen slip. There’s something wrong --”


Elaine dismounted smoothly and knelt beside him. She reached out and smoothed a hand over the joint. Hengroen whinnied and started, jerked away from her touch. “I think it’s just a sprain,” she said. “We can stop here for the night.”

Arcturus looked up at her. “A sprain? How bad?”

“Not so bad that Hengroen will have to be given mercy.” Elaine smiled at him gently. He was sixteen and barely a year into his reign; sometimes he looked like the child she’d met in the woods, muddy-faced and racing through the trees.

Arcturus rose up and caught Hengroen by the reins, steadied him. He patted Hengroen’s neck and murmured softly, soothing wordless sounds.

“Let’s rest here tonight,” he said to Elaine.

She nodded. She understood.

Owner, Jailer

“Does it have a name?” James asked.

“Finley,” Tobias said, and sprinkled a few flakes on the surface of the water.

Finley, all blazing blue and violet tail and fins, swam a swift flurry of a circle, trying to chase down his food.

James, sprawled across his bed with a copy of Waiting For Godot open on his lap, shook his head, amused. “Doesn’t it realize it should just wait till the food drops beneath the surface?”

Tobias closed the jar of fish food and sat back. “Finley’s a fish, not a genius. If it amuses him to swim like that, I won’t deny him the pleasure.”

“You’re such an accommodating owner,” James said, and then he turned back to his script, studying the lines, imagining tone and inflection and gestures.

Tobias peered in the bowl at Finley, and he knew he wasn’t an accommodating owner as much as jailer.

(150 words)

Isn't It?

“Is it a pet?” Ciaran asked.

Brenna cast him a dark look and continued walking through the trees. The massive raven perched on her shoulder cast him a similarly dark look and then tipped its head back, let out a caw. Brenna didn’t even flinch at the sound; Ciaran jumped. It made his skin crawl.

“Does it have a name?”

“Depends,” Brenna said.

“On what?”

“On what I need it to do.”

“Oh. What does it do?” Ciaran knew he wasn’t supposed to be out roaming the woods with a woman painted blue, but she’d rescued him, and he was...curious about it.

“On same days it is Thought, on other days Memory, on same days Death, on better days War.” Brenna reached up and stroked the bird’s crest; it preened and pressed its head into her touch.

Ciaran blinked. “That’s...a lot of names.”

Brenna smiled. “Isn’t it?”

Springtime Run

Wind whipped through Ariana's hair, invisible fingers tugging at the long blond strands, and her stomach seemed to drop through her feet as she briefly became airborne. She laughed with breathless joy at the speed and the freedom she felt. Long silky strands of black hair brushed her face and her body rocked rhythmically in time to the thundering of hooves.

Ariana released one hand from the reins to let her fingers rest against the surging muscles of her favorite stallion, Skychaser.

She pulled back gently on the reins and Skychaser immediately slowed down to a trot as they came to a wide, shallow stream. Ariana jumped down from the horses back and patted his neck as he bent to drink from the stream, laughed when he snorted and shook himself out.

Ariana breathed in deeply of the springtime breeze and wished life could always be this simple.

In Heaven

Steve couldn't stop crying as his father held him tightly. "It's alright son," his father murmured as he stroked his young son's head, "It's alright. Dash was an old dog. It was just his time to go."

"But Dad," Steve sniffled, "who's going to keep away the monsters from my room at night? Dash always slept right at the foot of my bed so that no monsters would dare to come in. Who's going to run with me, or play catch, or hunt for bunnies?" Steve's eyes filled up with tears again at the thought of his best friend in a hole in the backyard.

"I know it hurts son, but sometimes those that we love the most have to leave us so that we can grow and become stronger," his dad said as he wrapped Steve in a tight embrace.

"Dad?" Steve asked.

"Yes Steve?"

"Will I see Dash when I get to heaven?" Steve asked

"I know you will," his father said and hugged him again.

As Much of a Pet

“She doesn’t like you,” Keith said easily.

Gabriel drew his hand back from the rumpled orange tabby that was curled on the arm of Keith’s recliner. Keith was curled up with a blanket and a wireless controller, enjoying the mindless destructiveness of Assassin’s Creed.

“She might like me,” Gabriel offered. “She didn’t hiss at me or anything.”

“Doesn’t mean a thing,” Keith said, and shrugged, killed a guard.

“Actually,” Tobias said, “the fact that she didn’t hiss means she’s feral. If you’d actually gotten a hand on her, she’d have had your eyes.”

Gabriel winced and took a healthy step back. “I thought she was Keith’s new pet.”

“As much of a pet as a feral cat can be,” Tobias said.

(121 words)

Can I Keep It?

"He followed me home Sir," Joe said in response to his commanders questioning look. David had stopped Joe as he tried to walk quietly through the dining room and to his own room. He was holding a small ball of fluff and petting it gently with one finger.

Joe had tried to sneak it past his commander and into his room, hoping to keep the little creature a secret for a while. He held the kitten close to his chest, cupping it in both hands as if to protect it.

"Can I keep it Sir?" Joe asked in a small voice, his eyes large and pleading.

David stopped and carefully considered his answer before he gave it. He knew how hard their job was, how much it was important to having something to care about, something that cared about you. Cared unconditionally.

"Alright Joe," David said, "You can keep it."

Cafall

“What should I name him?” Christian asked.

Anna shrugged. “Him who?”

“My new hound,” Christian said. “Hunter didn’t survive his encounter with that boar.” He looked mournful, but Anna could see hints of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he held the brown pup.

Anna reached out and scratched the pup behind the ears; it wagged its tail and licked her hand. “How about...Cafall?”

Christian blinked, sounded it out. “Is that...Welsh?”

“Perhaps.”

“Why would you suggest that?”

“Cafall was the faithful hound of a mighty king,” Anna said. “Perhaps naming your dog after him will make him a better hunting companion.”

Christian hummed thoughtfully. “All right. Cafall it is.” He scooped up the pup and headed toward the kennels, calling for the lead houndsman.

Anna smiled and watched him, remembered the original Cafall, bounding at his master’s heels. Christian’s dog would be fine.

(149 words)

Project Assignment # 68 - Pets

If you characters were to have pets what would they be? what would be their reasoning? Do they even have a reason?

This week let's go for fun in 150 words

Overview #67: Mythology Remix

This was short and sweet. Like so many in the western world, my best sense of mythology is Greco-Roman mythology, so I had to fight hard to pick mythologies from other traditions. It was fun to see how things could be remixed and rewrote. The cheap thing about having such a limited wordcount is that I didn't have to play out the consequences of a remix, especially when I hit up epics like the Iliad and the Odyssey. I had fun researching other mythologies, though, so that was good times.

Of course, where there is mythology and me, there is a nod to Arthurian legends. I'm just sad I didn't think to try for anything Norse.

Defeated

"I will avenge you, my brother in arms," Owain vowed solemnly, slicing open the palm of his hand to let his blood drip on Cynon's grave, "I will bring you justice; your soul peace. I will find the Black Knight and kill him," he whispered.

......

Sir Owain staggered back from the Black Knight, a sword through his chest, his breathing wet and labored as he struggled to rise from where he had fallen.

"No," he whispered, "it's not supposed to end this way," Owain said.

"No one defeats the Black Knight," the Knight declared as he delivered the final blow.

Sun and Moon

“Well, this is a fine mess,” Amaterasu said. She perched on the edge of a cloud and stared down at the mortals who were blearily going about their day, dragging their feet.

“They haven’t been sleeping,” Tsukiyomi said. He balanced a silver globe on one palm, spun it idly. “They’re not very good at sleeping when it’s so bright outside.”

Amaterasu tossed her head, and golden rays shimmered on the ground. “I can’t change who I am.”

“Neither can I,” Tsukiyomi said.

“What are we going to do? We can’t go through eternity never seeing each other.”

“Indeed.” Tsukiyomi sighed.

Calendar Reshuffle

“This is all your fault,” Ox said.

Rat perched on the bank of the river and cleaned his whiskers with delicate paws, shrugged innocently. “How?”

“You couldn’t even figure out how to lie to Lion?” Snake asked.

The rest of the Animals were scattered across the garden while Lion had a long chat with the Kitchen God about being the first animal in the calendar for the humans.

“I didn’t want to,” Rat said.

“She could have eaten you,” Rabbit pointed out.

“She didn’t,” Rat said.

Tiger shook her head. “Two big cats in one calendar? That’s a terrible idea.”

The Fruits of Acquiescence

“So we’re going out on Friday night?” Apollo asked.

Cassandra nodded. “Pick me up at eight?”

Apollo broke into a wide smile, then snapped the reins of his chariot, and the sun took off across the sky.

“What now?” Hecuba asked.

Cassandra leaned over the battlements of the city walls and watched the Greek soldiers hauling the giant wooden gift horse into place.

“I guess I should tell Father and the others that the horse is a trap,” she said.

Hecuba looked skeptical. “You’re a woman. Why would they believe you?”

“Because I can see things,” Cassandra said. “Important things.”

Out of the Box

"Didn't I tell you not to open that box!" Zeus thundered at Pandora.

"I was just curious," she said as she hung her head in shame, "all I let out was hope, charity, love, kindness, and all those other things. Aren't they good things?" she asked timidly.

"Yes they are," Zeus said, "but you also listened to the last voice in the box and let it out."

"It said it was a good thing too," Pandora defended herself.

"I suppose I can't get to mad at you," Zeus said.

"What did I let out of the box?" Pandora asked.

"Deceit."

Ascension of Isis

“Did you find it?” Horus asked.

Isis thought of the beautiful box, gold and cedar, inlaid with lapis lazuli and agate. She thought of the limbs and joints, muscles and sinews and bones, broken apart like puzzle pieces and laid gently on a cushion of linens and silks in that box.

She thought of the dark tomb, dug furtively on the sands, where the box had been lowered in the dead of night.

“No,” Isis said. “Osiris is gone forever.” Screaming in the underworld, in the afterlife.

Horus gazed up at the empty throne. After a few moments, Isis sat.

Impassioned Youth

I will rescue the fair Andromeda!" Perseus exclaimed as he entered the throne room of King Cepheus.

King Cepheus looked up from where he had been hunched over in despair at the fate of his only daughter, "and why would you do this?" he asked. He knew that Poseidon had decreed the death of his daughter.

"She is more beautiful than the glittering stars," Perseus declared, "more radiant than the sun, more lovely than the moon, More..."

King Cepheus glanced away from the impassioned youth out the window. Saw the monster devour Andromeda.

Perseus continued speaking.

"To late," Cepheus thought.

Discord

“Choose,” Aphrodite said.

Paris took a deep breath and studied the three goddesses. Athena offered wisdom, battle glory. Hera offered land. And Aphrodite, she offered...Helen. Of Troy.

Eris stood on the sidelines, tossing the golden apple up and down in one hand, grinning.

Paris glanced over his shoulder to where Helen was standing, and goodness gracious, she was beautiful.

“Who is it going to be?” Hera demanded. Her eyes flashed with impatience, with immortal power.

Paris studied the three women once more. Then he grinned, winked, and said, “I choose Eris.”

Eris dropped the apple.

Helen started to laugh.

Bad Hair Day

"Are you going to come out?" Persephone called through the door a second after knocking, "you're going to be late for school."

"I'm not going!" came the shouted reply.

Persephone jerked her head back in surprise, "why ever not?" she asked with a puzzled frown, "you always said you loved school."

"I love learning, I hate the people," the rich voice said, "besides, I can't go. I look positively terrible."

"It can't be all that bad Adonis," Persephone said as she turned the handle and opened the door.

"Yes it can," Adonis said mournfully.

Persephone gasped at his horrendous bedhead.

The Once and Future Queen

Merlin stared at the stone. Arthur looked at the sword for a little longer, shrugged, then stepped back.

“I don’t know why anyone thought I’d be king,” Arthur said. “I’m just an orphan after all.”

Merlin felt his heart climb into his throat. What now?

Then someone stepped out of the crowd of knights, golden-haired, noble-featured, beautiful, tall.

“I’ll give it a try,” Morgause said, and tugged.

The sword slid free.

Kay bowed first, followed by Ector, and Arthur bowed too. He whispered to Merlin,

“Can a girl be king, or will we have to call her Queen?”

Project #67: Mythology Remix

So we've done fairytale remixes. This week it'll be mythology remixes in 100 words, no more, no less. What does Merlin say when Arthur can't get the sword out of the stone? How does Apollo deal with Cassandra says "all right" to his flirtations? What if Sigfried didn't kill the dragon? What if Loki escaped from the snake before Ragnarok? Think about it. Write it. Remix it. Enjoy. Do a little research if necessary. Maybe post a link if you picked obscured mythology.

Mod Post and Apologies

Hi. So I clearly failed last week's challenge as well as getting a new challenge underway this week. The weekend was a little psychotic, to say the least, and I'm sorry that real life intruded upon our cyberspace fiction haven. Take the rest of this week to rest up, recuperate, and get those creative juices going, and I'll get a new challenge up for the coming week. >.< I'm so, so sorry. Keep up the good work, and keep those stories coming!

Seeing Clearer

Ariana rolled out her mat and toed off her socks as she quickly pulled her long hair through a rubber band, hands trembling with suppressed frustration, trapping the long mass of curls, before reaching over to turn on the radio. A CD whirred to life and Moroccan music began to pour into the stiflingly warm room.

Ariana stepped to the front of her mat, feet together and her hands centered in front of her chest. She began to breathe in and out heavily through her nose as she brought her hands up above her head before she bent at the waist. Her flow was rough as she stepped back and lowered herself towards the ground before pushing her chest forward and up, arching her back just before bringing her hips upwards, her body bent at a ninety degree angle, hands and feet pressing hard into the mat, as if trying to push all her frustration and anger into the ground.

Ariana never once opened her eyes as she flowed through the Salutations and the postures that opened up her body and released tension as sweat trickled down her face from the heat and the intensity of the workout.

When she opened her eyes after the final posture, it seemed she could see clearer.

Normal As We Get.

"What is that?" David asked as he rounded the corner into the dining room in the team's house. He could hear beeps, whistles, clangs, and explosions coming from the living room.

Steve and Joe were in the kitchen making dinner and talking quietly while mark was at the table processing some paperwork from a recent mission. Mark looked up quickly, "cartoons, Sir," he said, "Bugs Bunny cartoons," at his commanders confused look.

"Why are there cartoons on and why is it so loud?" he asked. He could hear Bryan's laughter coming from the couch in front of the small television set that they seldom used.

"Bryan's been in a pretty rotten mood all day and cartoons are one of the few ways to snap him out of it fairly quickly. It's been that way ever since we were young; when he has a problem he can't or wont deal with or he is in a foul mood, the slapstick comedy of cartoons always helps," Mark explained, "And judging from the laughter, he seems to be almost normal again." Mark paused and grinned, "well, at least as normal as any of us ever get."

Island of Peace

A black Camero roared down the sharp turn of the off ramp, nearly sliding into the guardrails. It accelerated wildly as it came out if the turn and onto the flat desert road, nothing but pale dirt, scrubby brush and Joshua Trees as far as could be seen.

David's hands clenched and unclenched on the wheel as the speedometer edged past ninety-five, his face a dark thundercloud, teeth clenched. He only hit the breaks long enough to turn onto a seldom used road, winding and almost overgrown. As David made his final turn a small oasis came into view, tall trees surrounding a tiny lake that shimmered in the afternoon light.

David was stripping off his clothes as he climbed out of the car and walked quickly to the water. As soon as his toes hit the warm natural spring water he started to breathe easier and his face started to clear.

He sloshed quickly into the warm spring of water, the warmth creeping up his body and easing the tension from his muscles. Soon enough he was neck deep in water, suspended in the comforting warmth of the silent spring. With a few twitches of his hands and legs he rotated onto his back and began to float, the water buoying him, seeming to embrace him. He stretched out his arms to the sides, tiny movements keeping him stationary, and listened to his breathing as he felt the sun beating down on him.

David began to breathe easier as he let his eyes fall closed.

For a time, he had peace.

Hopefully

“I wouldn’t bother him,” Elise said. She and Marsh were huddled at the rickety kitchen table in another run-down safehouse, sharing tepid, watered-down tea and watching Cody out in the rain.

For all that Kyle was the best fighter of the lot, being small and quick and wiry, Cody was physically the strongest. Marsh and Elise were steady fighters, competent, generally quick-witted, but Gabriel had been training Kyle forever, and Cody was just...husky. Not big enough to be imposing, but he had enough weight to make his hits hurt.

And right now he was hurting a tree pretty solidly, over and over again. Half an hour from now, he’d be worn out and his hands would be bruised and scraped raw, and he’d come inside. Even Asrael had given up trying to make Cody see sense. He’d be out there working on his punches until the anger was gone.

Until then, the others would leave him be. Marsh watched a particularly wild swing go awry and cringed. Then he pushed back his chair and went in search of a first aid kit.

Hopefully Cody would get over it soon.

(193 words)

Gonna Kill Him

An irritated growl issued from the nest of blankets on the bed when Bryan flipped on the lights in the room that he shared with his twin. The blankets shifted slightly, curling tighter into itself as another hiss of displeasure came from Mark's general direction.

"Hey, you okay?" Bryan asked casually, knowing the answer before his brother spoke.

"Go away," Bryan's muffled voice came from the bed, clipped and tense.

"You know, there are better ways to deal with a bad mood," Bryan said flippantly as he poked the pile of blankest that enshrouded Mark.

"Nothing will help as much as sleep and your absence from this room," Mark said, poking his head out of the covers and glaring at his brother.

"Okay, chill bro. I'm outta here," he tweaked Mark's ear and then scooted through the door just as the shoe that Mark threw hit the wall where he had been standing.

Mark huddled back into the blankets and pulled them over his head, the warmth and darkness beginning to work their magic.

He sat bolt upright in bed as a shattering beat started pounding through the house. Every muscle tensed and his fists began to clench and unclench.

"I'm gonna kill him."

Meanings Change

“This isn’t going to end well, is it?” Elise asked.

Cody shook his head and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Nope. Not at all.”

Marsh had strutted into the bar with probably more arrogance than he’d deserve if he didn’t have Tabris at his back. The other choirboys knew, of course, that having Tabris at one’s back meant taking a chance, because Tabris was all about chances, but when Marsh was in a mood like this, he didn’t care.

The pool game started off well enough; Marsh was cautious, but the others could see tension lining his every limb, taut in every motion. He won a little, lost a little, came out marginally ahead. And then he slipped up, showed off, proved he had too much skill for an easy bar game like this.

The fools betting money on a pretty blond dandy like Marsh regretted it quickly, quickly enough for Marsh to earn a black eye and a split lip before he dove into the fray.

“He always did say he liked to use his hands,” Elise said.

“I don’t think,” Kyle said, “that’s what he meant.”

Cody shrugged. “Sometimes meanings change.”

(194 words)

Around and Around

The pavement flowed under Steve's feet as he ran through the dark streets. His hands were clenched and his body ridged; jarring with every step as his feet pounded the ground. Narrow eyes took in his surroundings, irritation radiating from his body.

Steve shook his head, trying to dislodge his dark thoughts, but his mind kept skittering back to his problems; brooding.

Left right; Left right.

Breath in; Breath out.

His mind circled his problems as he circled the base. Again and again, around and around, from every angle, every possible solution. Sweat poured from his body, his shirt sticking to his sculpted abs and chest.

Gradually he settled into a rhythm, his pace becoming smoother, his strides long and controlled, his breathing easier.

As he slowed to a stop he stretched his long limbs, shaking out the tingling that came with a long run, and wiping the sweat from his brow.

His problems weren't gone, the darkness still lingered, but he could ignore them for a while longer.

Chain of Balances

“Where is he?” Serena asked.

“Out on the grass, likely sending wardrobe into a tizzy because he’s still in costume,” Fiona said.

Riley peered out the window of the catering tent and saw James standing on the grass in full armor where they’d shot a duel earlier during the day. James was bouncing a soccer ball on one knee, over and over and over again, a surprising display of coordination and concentration given how James usually acted like an overfed, over-caffeinated puppy between takes.

“He’s not happy at all,” Stuart mused and sipped his tea.

“Yes, well, that harpy woman hit a sore spot,” Serena said, “asking about Asia like that.”

Stuart almost choked on his tea.

“It’s all right to say her name when he’s not around to hear,” Fiona said.

“Is he going to keep that up all night?” Stuart asked.

“At least until the director calls him back, but I suspect it’ll take a while to fix the lights down in the cave.” Riley sighed and rested his chin on his hands. He wouldn’t admit to the others, but he’d been counting James’s successful chain of balances, and James was nearing two hundred.

He was furious.

(200 words)

Project Assignment # 66 - Bad Moods

How do your characters deal with a bad mood? Does Keith start burning random things to cheer himself up? Does Bryan drive Mark mad when he is in a bad mood? How do our boys exhibit their powers, or lack thereof?

let set a limit of 200. Short and simple

happy writing!

Prize to the winner at the end of the week.

Overview #65: Armed & Dangerous

So this was a lot of fun. A very short word count each day helped a lot - I think my understanding of brevity has gotten a little lax with such massive word counts as of late. Certain things are sacrificed in the name of brevity, certain things that maybe don't have to be sacrificed. I definitely learned from this week's exercise, not just about my characters but also about writing short again.

And...I take it back.

This week's winner is totally me. Self-prize to follow at the usual place.

This One Thing

“Well?” Tobias asked.

“Well, everything’s gone to hell as much as it can, given that we have a telepath, a telekinetic, a pyrokinetic, an astral projectionist, a shapeshifter, and someone who can see the future on the team,” Keith said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“So I take it nothing we can do will get past the guards,” Gabriel said in a mock-reasonable tone.

“Yes,” Keith said.

Christian sighed. “There is this one thing.”

“What thing?” DJ asked.

Christian peered up over the edge of the barrier, cupped his hands, and blew.

Quislai diamond dust exploded across the gate.

Every Inch

"Would you like a copy watch?" Angel held open his coat. The irony was that all the Rolexes in his coat were real. There were never any takers, though, not when he greased his hair back and mocked up a thick Bengali accent and smelled faintly of curry. The man grimaced and waved a dismissive hand, turned away.

"Really, a new watch would help you attract the ladies, yeah?" Angel slung an arm around the man's shoulders, every inch the pushy salesman. The man turned, ready to protest, and Angel reached up with his other hand, snapped the man's neck.

Recipe for Death

Mark carefully combined his ingredients, scrupulously making sure that all of his skin was covered and his face mask and eye protection were in place.

Various vials of chemicals and other toxins were neatly arranged on his work surface. Mark worked precisely, adding a few drops of Potassium Cyanide to Japanese puffer fish venom, forming a clear toxic fluid.

Mark added exactly five drops of the poison to a bottle of fine cologne and packaged it neatly in a gift box.

Three days later the death was reported in the news as a heart attack.

Dance of Death

Bryan beckoned the pretty lady towards him, his smile seductive and full of the promise of adventure. His eyes glittered with something mysterious and his hips moved sinuously in time to the music.

Bryan pulled her close as she stepped towards him, their bodies moving in synchronization, his lips brushing her neck as they twined together.

"Let's get out of here," Bryan whispered in her ear, his voice low and husky.

The woman smiled and took his hand to lead him outside.

She was smiling up to the point when he neatly slid a knife between her ribs.

Mission accomplished.

Precision Strike

Joe crouched back into a fighters stance, one that bespoke of quick reflexes and powerful strikes. His eyes took in his challenger; a hulk of a man, heavily muscled with a cocky smile dancing about his mouth. Joe's mind ran through instinctive calculations of weight, mass, and inertia, profiling his opponent. Joe let fear show in his eyes, the perfect lure.

Joe took a step back as the man advanced.

One quick pivot of the hips and Joe flung his fist forward with devastating power and precision, connecting solidly with his opponents sternum with a sickening crack.

Another victory gained.

Only Keith

“What’s the stealth rating on this mission again?” Keith asked.

Christian ducked down behind the wall and checked the clip on his gun, sighed. “Zero, obviously. Else we wouldn’t be having an action-movie shoot-out with the facility security.”

“Why are we sitting here shooting, then?” Keith asked.

“Got a better idea?”

Keith curled his hands into fists, and his grin turned decidedly wicked. “Got a better weapon.” He stood up, and flames flared to life on his palms. He began to hurl them across the room.

Christian cringed at the scent of burning flesh, the screams. Only Keith.

So Surprised

They thought he was insane; there was no reason to attempt to decipher his unintelligible mutterings as he sat in the corner, rocking back and forth and talking at nothing, grimy fingers drawing obscure symbols on the linoleum. If Cody kept his head down, they barely noticed him.

It was precisely the way he wanted it. It took days, weeks, almost a full-on month to secure the spell, and he’d had to restart several components because he was working from memory. What they took to be insane mutterings were incantations, and they looked so surprised when the walls fell.

All of Those Things

It was the smile, the slow, gentle curve of his lips, the coy tilt of his head, the glimmer of blue as he peered up from beneath his lashes; it was the slender lines of his body and the smooth ripple of muscle under skin as he moved; it was the fine lines of his cheekbones and jaw, the silky-smooth paleness of his hair. It was the song festooning the air as his long-fingered hands drew music from the strings of a guitar. It was all of those things that made people miss the first punch every time.

Sneak Attack

"You're never going to get any better if you don't practice," David said, leaning against his foam sword.

"What's the point, I'll never beat you," Ariana pouted.

"Yes you will, but you must practice. Now, try again," David commanded.

Ariana narrowed her eyes at him as he began to stalk towards her. As he approached she rushed past his defenses and pressed her lips to his in a long kiss.

David was taken by surprise and his brain seemed to fizzle out. He was brought back to the present when he felt a blow to his back.

"Dead." Ariana said.

Seriously

It was the wide eyes, the trembling lower lip, the suspicious glimmer of tears on eyelashes, tears that would drop like crystals and draw shining silver lines down smooth cheeks, it was the hitch of breath in the throat and the beginnings of a sob –

It worked every time. Gabriel sighed and surrendered the sword. Instantly the tearful expression vanished, and Kyle leapt to his feet, brandishing his weapon like a miniature knight in shining armor.

Gabriel sat back and shook his head. A child that young shouldn’t have been able to defeat the general of armies of Heaven. Seriously.

Project #65: Armed and Dangerous

This week you have 100 words (set limit, to more no less) to describe your character's favorite weapon. Is it a gun? Is it a knife? Is it his smooth-as-butter English accent? Is it is disarming smile and cute southern drawl? How does he or she use it? When does he or she use it - is it for special occasions, or is it for an instant kill every time? Tell us how your characters fight and fight dirty, and show us the best - or most unusual - weapons in their arsenals.

Overview #64: Challenges

As usual, I responded better to someone else's challenge than my own, so let's see how well I do with my own challenge in the coming week, aye? Once again this was a pretty good week of characterization for me. As a general rule, the boys in Sector Five follow a pretty similar mold - they all have tragic pasts, and they're all inhuman killers now with a soft spot for their commander. It can run a little boring, right? I remembered that the best characters have flaws, and real ones. So this week I decided to explore what makes each of the boys more human than he'd like, and I did my best to tie it into their existing characters.

For example, Tobias can look like anyone he wants with the nature of his gift, but he's still scarred from the horror of both of his lives, being the quintessential high school loser on acid, and despite being a trained killer he still hates himself. Both of Gabriel's lives were rife with the horrors of racism, and it's difficult for him to pretend to be racist to get the job done. Keith's second life was set during The Troubles in Ireland, so he hates the British, and as far as he's concerned Angel, the James Bond figure, stands for all the worst of Britain, and Keith struggles with that. Angel is womanizer and has some very deeply entrenched notions of his own sexuality, and he can't let those go. Christian struggles with class issues, having swung from one end of the spectrum to the other between lives. What I liked about Christian was that I could develop his coming to grips with his sense of self by the time the rest of the boys show up. Christian has several decades' seniority over the others, and I don't know that I really ever explored that properly before.

Knowing what a character struggles with and showing a character facing a struggle - one that's deep-set in a personality or history - makes a character interesting, and I'm glad I'm learning more and more about what makes my boys tick.

Rules 3.2

3.2(a) - since almost everything we post is "prose", almost everything was tagged prose, and the tag had lost its usefulness, so from now on don't use it as a tag (I've removed it). If we do write poetry, however, do mark a poem as poetry so it'll be easier to find. The prose tag wouldn't help anyone find anything.

3.2(b) - prizes! We have not been picking winners and issuing prizes as of late, which is pretty sad. It'd be a bit insane to go back and attempt to issue awards and prizes, but from now on we would definitely like to get prizes and the like written again. Also, if there is anyone out there who would like to join the game and would contribute regularly, let me (Nagi) know and we'll see about getting you listed in the ranks.

Question: on tags, do we want contributor tags, so one writer can find everything he or she has written? It could be done. I could do it. Let me know.