Captain Laura Nelson sat at her desk considering the papers before her. She had been asked by Commander Hayes to evaluate the psychological state of the men in the late Major Cole's team. Flipping though the files again she read her notations. None of the men had been willing to talk to her at all, so what she knew she had gleaned from their behavior and minutely observing them in the aftermath of Major Cole's death.
First Lieutenant Steven Blackwood: Appears guilt ridden, trying to flee from reality. Drinking heavily, near exhaustion.
Second Lieutenant Brian Allard: Injured, refuses medication, some self destructive behavior
Second Lieutenant Mark Allard: Blames himself, puts on a good face for others but torn up inside.
Second Lieutenant Joseph Kendrick: Sees Major Cole's death as a reprise of his own brothers death, unwilling to deal with it.
Captain Nelson looked over her papers. She noted in the report a common thread of the men either not dealing with the loss or dealing with it in destructive ways.
Laura thought on the man that they had lost. David was bright and friendly when he opened up. A natural leader and teacher. He had advanced through the ranks swiftly after Commander Hayes had brought him to the base. His men had come to love and rely on him. She had not a doubt that each of them would have died in his stead. But she also knew David, knew that he would sacrifice himself rather than let any of his men die.
With regret Captain Nelson picked up her pen.
Recommend separation and reassignment due to risks of emotional and psychological damage to the personnel.
Laura hated what she was doing to them, but she had to think first of what was best for this command, for the base and for all the men here. Reluctantly Captain Nelson signed her name at the bottom of the paperwork and placed it in the out box. It would be delivered to the Commander first thing tomorrow morning.
Setting down her pen, Laura scooted her chair back from her desk and turned off the desk lamp before walking out the door.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
And The Torch Went Out
“Now, pretty boy, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at DJ with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
DJ sat calmly back in the chair and watched the man with hooded blue eyes. “How much of my blood do you think you can shed before I take you apart?”
“I’d like to go for all six quarts, if that’s all right with you.” The man grinned, expression wicked, cruel. He reached out, used the dull edge of the blade to trace DJ’s jawline. “I could slit your throat, but then you couldn’t talk, so maybe I’ll save that till last. It’ll be fun, though, messing up your pretty face.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Hagalaz says you’re one of the famous Sector Five, that you have everything he wants to know, about your commander, his plans -”
“Hagalaz doesn’t know much, then.” DJ’s tone remained flat, impassive. “My commander is a woman. Of course, Hagalaz is a little too sexist to think that far outside the box.”
The man’s grin widened. “So you are protective of your pretty face.”
“Not as such, no.” DJ tilted his head to the side, watched the light flash off the man’s knife. “Did you know that Hagalaz isn’t a man’s name at all, but the name of an old Norse Rune?”
“His name doesn’t matter so long as he pays me and lets me have my fun. Sector Five, pretty boy. Before I gut you.” The man jabbed playfully with the knife, but his eyes were dark, hungry.
“You know what’s also a rune? Inguz.” And the entire room went black.
There was a pause, and then the man said, “What the hell?”
“Magic and electricity don’t go well together,” DJ said, and all the man could see was a pair of blue eyes in the darkness. They came closer, closer, and then there was a whisper, a hiss, and DJ was standing over him holding a torch. And a sword. “Now, precisely how much of my blood did you say you wanted?”
The man swore and scrambled backward, but DJ was on him before he could get out of the chair. He caught the man by the hair and wrenched his head back, slid the blade of the sword against his throat.
“I’d ask you to deliver a message, but you’re probably too busy peeing your pants to remember a word I say, so your body will have to leave a message for me.”
And the torch went out.
(459 words)
DJ sat calmly back in the chair and watched the man with hooded blue eyes. “How much of my blood do you think you can shed before I take you apart?”
“I’d like to go for all six quarts, if that’s all right with you.” The man grinned, expression wicked, cruel. He reached out, used the dull edge of the blade to trace DJ’s jawline. “I could slit your throat, but then you couldn’t talk, so maybe I’ll save that till last. It’ll be fun, though, messing up your pretty face.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Hagalaz says you’re one of the famous Sector Five, that you have everything he wants to know, about your commander, his plans -”
“Hagalaz doesn’t know much, then.” DJ’s tone remained flat, impassive. “My commander is a woman. Of course, Hagalaz is a little too sexist to think that far outside the box.”
The man’s grin widened. “So you are protective of your pretty face.”
“Not as such, no.” DJ tilted his head to the side, watched the light flash off the man’s knife. “Did you know that Hagalaz isn’t a man’s name at all, but the name of an old Norse Rune?”
“His name doesn’t matter so long as he pays me and lets me have my fun. Sector Five, pretty boy. Before I gut you.” The man jabbed playfully with the knife, but his eyes were dark, hungry.
“You know what’s also a rune? Inguz.” And the entire room went black.
There was a pause, and then the man said, “What the hell?”
“Magic and electricity don’t go well together,” DJ said, and all the man could see was a pair of blue eyes in the darkness. They came closer, closer, and then there was a whisper, a hiss, and DJ was standing over him holding a torch. And a sword. “Now, precisely how much of my blood did you say you wanted?”
The man swore and scrambled backward, but DJ was on him before he could get out of the chair. He caught the man by the hair and wrenched his head back, slid the blade of the sword against his throat.
“I’d ask you to deliver a message, but you’re probably too busy peeing your pants to remember a word I say, so your body will have to leave a message for me.”
And the torch went out.
(459 words)
She's a Great Kisser
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Chase with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Chase closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d been trained for this at the academy, had trained on both sides of the scenario, and right now he had to get away. Escape. Flee as far from this place as possible, and as far into the depths of his mind as he dared, lest he lose all contact with the outside world.
His lips moved, formed words. “I’ll say nothing.” He was far enough gone that the words came out tinged with the Parisian accent he’d worked so hard to force away. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t see the man’s eyes narrow, calculating.
“Hagalaz didn’t tell me you were French.” The man turned the blade in his hands, considering. “My old man died in Viet Nam, you know. Because of what you French did.”
“I’m sure Hagalaz doesn’t care about that,” Chase said.
The man backhanded him sharply. The pain stung, briefly, but Chase closed his eyes again, and he was...in a room. Black, lit with candles, lined with mirrors, and swaying to soft music. She was in his arms, pressed close, listening to the beat of his heart, her head tucked under his chin. When he bowed his head and buried his face against her neck, he could smell her skin, honey and jasmine.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Fire at his wrist dragged him back to the present. The pain was so sharp he couldn’t even cry out, but when he opened his eyes the skin at his wrist, just below his tattoo, was blistered.
The man had a blow torch.
“Hagalaz warned me you were one of the ranked agents, a commander even.” He was grinning, the expression distinctly cruel. “Wherever you thought you could run away to, you were wrong. Now - tell me about Sector Five Commander.”
Chase shook his head. “No.” He bit through his own lip to stifle a scream with the flame of the blowtorch hit his other hand. He’d probably never play piano again.
“Tell me!”
Chase closed his eyes, summoned the dark room again.
A jolt of electricity in his ribs forced him out of it.
“None of that, Frog. Sector Five Commander. Tell me!”
“No.”
The blow to his temple was fierce, left his head ringing. “Speak, dammit!”
Chase felt a smile, almost involuntary, curl his lips.
“What’s so funny?”
“Sector Five Commander - she’s a great kisser.”
(462 words)
Chase closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d been trained for this at the academy, had trained on both sides of the scenario, and right now he had to get away. Escape. Flee as far from this place as possible, and as far into the depths of his mind as he dared, lest he lose all contact with the outside world.
His lips moved, formed words. “I’ll say nothing.” He was far enough gone that the words came out tinged with the Parisian accent he’d worked so hard to force away. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t see the man’s eyes narrow, calculating.
“Hagalaz didn’t tell me you were French.” The man turned the blade in his hands, considering. “My old man died in Viet Nam, you know. Because of what you French did.”
“I’m sure Hagalaz doesn’t care about that,” Chase said.
The man backhanded him sharply. The pain stung, briefly, but Chase closed his eyes again, and he was...in a room. Black, lit with candles, lined with mirrors, and swaying to soft music. She was in his arms, pressed close, listening to the beat of his heart, her head tucked under his chin. When he bowed his head and buried his face against her neck, he could smell her skin, honey and jasmine.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Fire at his wrist dragged him back to the present. The pain was so sharp he couldn’t even cry out, but when he opened his eyes the skin at his wrist, just below his tattoo, was blistered.
The man had a blow torch.
“Hagalaz warned me you were one of the ranked agents, a commander even.” He was grinning, the expression distinctly cruel. “Wherever you thought you could run away to, you were wrong. Now - tell me about Sector Five Commander.”
Chase shook his head. “No.” He bit through his own lip to stifle a scream with the flame of the blowtorch hit his other hand. He’d probably never play piano again.
“Tell me!”
Chase closed his eyes, summoned the dark room again.
A jolt of electricity in his ribs forced him out of it.
“None of that, Frog. Sector Five Commander. Tell me!”
“No.”
The blow to his temple was fierce, left his head ringing. “Speak, dammit!”
Chase felt a smile, almost involuntary, curl his lips.
“What’s so funny?”
“Sector Five Commander - she’s a great kisser.”
(462 words)
Hayes get the news
Commander Hayes sat stunned in his office. Steve had just left to have his wounds tended in the infirmary after having told Hayes what had happened. Hayes was used to men not coming back from battle. He had lost many good men, men that he had trained, men that he had grown to respect. Of all the people that had died in the battles that had been waged across the world; the thought that David would not come home had never crossed his mind. David had seemed so strong. He knew that it would have been foolish to assume that David would never get hurt, but he was shocked all the same.
Hayes sucked in a breath at the pain in his heart. It was like loosing a son. Hayes had never had a son, only three daughters. Hayes thought back to when he first met David. He had received intel that a young man, with no family to speak of was bent on revenge; his girlfriend recently killed by a powerful man. Hayes had found the young man easily enough; watched him for a few days. He could see the light in his eyes gradually going out, and then replaced with a look that he knew well, the desire for revenge.
Hayes had stopped David the night that he would have exacted his revenge, showed him another path, set him on a course to become more than what he was. He had watched with pleasure as David grew into a accomplished soldier. Watched him on his first mission, given him his first command. He knew that they were warned about becoming to attached to their men, but Hayes had disregarded the advice, he had become quite fond of David.
Hayes could tell just from the state that Steve was in, that all the men of the team would be having a hard time. Making a call he requested that the base psychologist speak to the men of Commander Cole's team.
Hanging up the phone, Hayes poured himself a shot of scotch and raised it high. "To you David. Friend, commander, brother, and son." Hayes knocked back the shot and shuddered.
Hayes began to fill out the proper reports, stopping to dab his eyes from time to time.
Hayes sucked in a breath at the pain in his heart. It was like loosing a son. Hayes had never had a son, only three daughters. Hayes thought back to when he first met David. He had received intel that a young man, with no family to speak of was bent on revenge; his girlfriend recently killed by a powerful man. Hayes had found the young man easily enough; watched him for a few days. He could see the light in his eyes gradually going out, and then replaced with a look that he knew well, the desire for revenge.
Hayes had stopped David the night that he would have exacted his revenge, showed him another path, set him on a course to become more than what he was. He had watched with pleasure as David grew into a accomplished soldier. Watched him on his first mission, given him his first command. He knew that they were warned about becoming to attached to their men, but Hayes had disregarded the advice, he had become quite fond of David.
Hayes could tell just from the state that Steve was in, that all the men of the team would be having a hard time. Making a call he requested that the base psychologist speak to the men of Commander Cole's team.
Hanging up the phone, Hayes poured himself a shot of scotch and raised it high. "To you David. Friend, commander, brother, and son." Hayes knocked back the shot and shuddered.
Hayes began to fill out the proper reports, stopping to dab his eyes from time to time.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
The Better Liar
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Bob with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Bob studied the man’s face. It was familiar - the man was a marked agent, at the very least. But resignation had settled into his bones a long time ago, and he’d known from the beginning that he was going to die before he was thirty. Whichever took him first, the job or the disease, he didn’t know, but he’d been waiting for this day for a long time.
“If you plan on shedding my blood,” he said, “you’d better see about getting some plastic gloves or something. And hope you don’t have any open wounds. My blood is poison.”
The man’s expression went from smug to wary, blank. “What?”
“It seems counterintuitive, to pick the sick brother for selection,” Bob said, “but it makes sense. If I died on the job, well, I was going to die anyway.” He tilted his head to the side slightly, considered the man from behind the veil of his hair. He hadn’t hid behind his hair since he was a teenager, but then this was the first time he’d let it grow out again in years. “So really, slice away, but one wrong move, one artery nicked, and a good spurt will poison you for life. Which will suddenly be much shorter.”
It was a lie, and a good one - leukemia wasn’t contagious, but his blood was poison, was killing him, and Bob had been a better liar than his brothers ever knew.
The man twirled his knife and considered Bob for a long moment. “Hagalaz didn’t tell me that.”
“Probably because he didn’t know,” Bob said. He felt his lips curve in the faintest smile. “You have no idea how much he doesn’t know.”
“Hmmm.” The man twirled the knife some more. “You’re right.” And he shoved the knife back into its sheath. “No blood, then. I can make you scream without it.” And he reached for a blow torch. “So, tell me everything you know about Sector Five.”
Bob’s response was classic. “Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
The man lit the torch, and for a moment Bob was dazzled by the blue core of the flame. “One more time, lad. Sector Five. Tell me all.”
“Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
Bob would rather die than scream.
(441 words)
Bob studied the man’s face. It was familiar - the man was a marked agent, at the very least. But resignation had settled into his bones a long time ago, and he’d known from the beginning that he was going to die before he was thirty. Whichever took him first, the job or the disease, he didn’t know, but he’d been waiting for this day for a long time.
“If you plan on shedding my blood,” he said, “you’d better see about getting some plastic gloves or something. And hope you don’t have any open wounds. My blood is poison.”
The man’s expression went from smug to wary, blank. “What?”
“It seems counterintuitive, to pick the sick brother for selection,” Bob said, “but it makes sense. If I died on the job, well, I was going to die anyway.” He tilted his head to the side slightly, considered the man from behind the veil of his hair. He hadn’t hid behind his hair since he was a teenager, but then this was the first time he’d let it grow out again in years. “So really, slice away, but one wrong move, one artery nicked, and a good spurt will poison you for life. Which will suddenly be much shorter.”
It was a lie, and a good one - leukemia wasn’t contagious, but his blood was poison, was killing him, and Bob had been a better liar than his brothers ever knew.
The man twirled his knife and considered Bob for a long moment. “Hagalaz didn’t tell me that.”
“Probably because he didn’t know,” Bob said. He felt his lips curve in the faintest smile. “You have no idea how much he doesn’t know.”
“Hmmm.” The man twirled the knife some more. “You’re right.” And he shoved the knife back into its sheath. “No blood, then. I can make you scream without it.” And he reached for a blow torch. “So, tell me everything you know about Sector Five.”
Bob’s response was classic. “Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
The man lit the torch, and for a moment Bob was dazzled by the blue core of the flame. “One more time, lad. Sector Five. Tell me all.”
“Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
Bob would rather die than scream.
(441 words)
AWOL Joe
Joe stood on the edge of the beach, staring out to sea, the wind fingering through his hair. Joe watched the sun set over the waves. It had been a week now since he had left the base; a week since David's funeral. It felt like he had walked around in a fog the week leading up to the funeral. The psychologist had tried to get him to talk. He had flatly refused.
Even now, Joe could hardly bring himself to think of David's death. He had come to think of David as a brother. Alec could never be replaced, but it was like losing Alec again. David had always been there to help him, to be a friend. And now he was gone.
Joe reached into his pocket and drew out his phone when it went off. Glancing at the screen he saw that it was Steve. Drawing a breath, Joe accepted the call.
"Joe, where are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, if you are not back in two days, you will be labeled a deserter."
"I don't know if I want to come back."
"Joe, they will break up the team."
"Maybe that is for the best." Joe was finding it hard to care at the moment.
"Joe, please, come back. I want you to come back. You are family."
There was a long pause, "Alright. I'll be back tomorrow."
"Thank you Joe."
Joe hung up the phone. He silently cursed the fates that had robbed him of two brothers.
(Joe is not cooperating today.)
Even now, Joe could hardly bring himself to think of David's death. He had come to think of David as a brother. Alec could never be replaced, but it was like losing Alec again. David had always been there to help him, to be a friend. And now he was gone.
Joe reached into his pocket and drew out his phone when it went off. Glancing at the screen he saw that it was Steve. Drawing a breath, Joe accepted the call.
"Joe, where are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, if you are not back in two days, you will be labeled a deserter."
"I don't know if I want to come back."
"Joe, they will break up the team."
"Maybe that is for the best." Joe was finding it hard to care at the moment.
"Joe, please, come back. I want you to come back. You are family."
There was a long pause, "Alright. I'll be back tomorrow."
"Thank you Joe."
Joe hung up the phone. He silently cursed the fates that had robbed him of two brothers.
(Joe is not cooperating today.)
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Canadian National
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Scott with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Scott glared balefully at him. “I’m a Canadian National and I have rights. Let me go.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “What makes you think we’re in Canada, or that I give a damn about your rights?”
“Even if we’re not in Canada, what you’re doing is criminal, and when Interpol finally catches up with you, the result won’t be pretty.” Scott set his jaw stubbornly. He refused to be afraid of this monster. By now his brothers had noticed he was gone, and they were smart enough to go to the police.
The man tilted his head to the side and considered. “If they do catch up to me, then maybe what happens won’t be pretty, but internationals are so tame these days. What won’t be pretty, however, is what I’m going to do for you if you don’t give me the information I want.”
“I don’t have any information,” Scott said.
“The boss says you do, and I answer to the boss.” The man twirled the blade casually, and for a moment Scott was dazzled by the way it flashed in the light. “Now...tell me where Sector Five is staging its first assault.”
“I don’t know what or who Sector Five is, and I’m demanding you let me go.” Scott leaned forward, ignoring the strain in his shoulders, and caught the man’s gaze, held it.
“I know you’re lying to me,” the man said, and drove the knife into Scott’s thigh.
Scott let out a roar of pain and fury and lunged, sank his teeth into the man’s shoulder. The last thing he saw before he was knocked out was the man’s fist.
(343 words)
Scott glared balefully at him. “I’m a Canadian National and I have rights. Let me go.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “What makes you think we’re in Canada, or that I give a damn about your rights?”
“Even if we’re not in Canada, what you’re doing is criminal, and when Interpol finally catches up with you, the result won’t be pretty.” Scott set his jaw stubbornly. He refused to be afraid of this monster. By now his brothers had noticed he was gone, and they were smart enough to go to the police.
The man tilted his head to the side and considered. “If they do catch up to me, then maybe what happens won’t be pretty, but internationals are so tame these days. What won’t be pretty, however, is what I’m going to do for you if you don’t give me the information I want.”
“I don’t have any information,” Scott said.
“The boss says you do, and I answer to the boss.” The man twirled the blade casually, and for a moment Scott was dazzled by the way it flashed in the light. “Now...tell me where Sector Five is staging its first assault.”
“I don’t know what or who Sector Five is, and I’m demanding you let me go.” Scott leaned forward, ignoring the strain in his shoulders, and caught the man’s gaze, held it.
“I know you’re lying to me,” the man said, and drove the knife into Scott’s thigh.
Scott let out a roar of pain and fury and lunged, sank his teeth into the man’s shoulder. The last thing he saw before he was knocked out was the man’s fist.
(343 words)
Fractured
Mark was hesitant to leave Brian's side in the hospital. He knew that Brian was in pain; both physically and mentally, but he was trying his best not to show it. Mark knew however. You can't hide anything from your twin.
Yawning, Mark stood up to relieve the kinks in his body. He had slept in the hospital chair again, even though Brian had told him to go home. Brian had even tried to order him to go get some real sleep; however, Mark was quick to point out that not only were they the same rank, and therefore he couldn't order him around, but Mark was the older by five minutes.
Mark yawned again, rubbing his eyes. His sleep had not been restful since before the mission two weeks ago. He kept feeling the ground shake with explosions; the heat from the blasts, searingly hot. He also couldn't get the image of David going down out of his mind. Mark's mind unwillingly played back over that night. Again and again. Brian was down with two bullets and losing blood fast, Joe was breaking through the lines to clear them an exit. Steve had come over to help carry Brian, and when Mark looked back at David, he had seen him jerk forward as a bullet took him in the back. He couldn't get David's face out of his mind.
The psychologist had tried to corner him, but he had sidestepped her, making an excuse and a vague promise to come to meet with her. Mark shook his head; he had no intentions of seeing her.
Mark took to pacing his brothers hospital room, his footsteps light and whisper quiet. He wished there was something he could have done. If he had been one second faster, one degree better, if he had gathered better intel on the op, David might still be alive today. They would still be a team. Mark couldn't shake the feeling that this had been his fault.
Mark sighed, there was not even anyone in David's family that he could pay his respects to. David had no family. They, the team, was his family. And now it was fractured.
Yawning, Mark stood up to relieve the kinks in his body. He had slept in the hospital chair again, even though Brian had told him to go home. Brian had even tried to order him to go get some real sleep; however, Mark was quick to point out that not only were they the same rank, and therefore he couldn't order him around, but Mark was the older by five minutes.
Mark yawned again, rubbing his eyes. His sleep had not been restful since before the mission two weeks ago. He kept feeling the ground shake with explosions; the heat from the blasts, searingly hot. He also couldn't get the image of David going down out of his mind. Mark's mind unwillingly played back over that night. Again and again. Brian was down with two bullets and losing blood fast, Joe was breaking through the lines to clear them an exit. Steve had come over to help carry Brian, and when Mark looked back at David, he had seen him jerk forward as a bullet took him in the back. He couldn't get David's face out of his mind.
The psychologist had tried to corner him, but he had sidestepped her, making an excuse and a vague promise to come to meet with her. Mark shook his head; he had no intentions of seeing her.
Mark took to pacing his brothers hospital room, his footsteps light and whisper quiet. He wished there was something he could have done. If he had been one second faster, one degree better, if he had gathered better intel on the op, David might still be alive today. They would still be a team. Mark couldn't shake the feeling that this had been his fault.
Mark sighed, there was not even anyone in David's family that he could pay his respects to. David had no family. They, the team, was his family. And now it was fractured.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Brian is Stuck
Brian was stuck in the hospital. He hated hospitals. He especially hated being in the hospital for something that could have been avoided if he were more careful. Brian looked down at his leg and over at his bandaged shoulder. He had taken a shot in the leg that had shattered the femur, and a shot thorough his shoulder; the bullet ripping clean through; just under his collar bone. Mark and Steve had carried him to safety.
Brian ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to be doing something, anything. He looked over at the sleeping form of his twin. Mark, he knew, was taking this really hard. Not only was he injured, but they were both dealing with David's death. They had only let him out of the hospital long enough to attend David's service.
Brian winced, any twitch of his body causing pain. Brian didn't call for more medication when his morphine wore off. He wanted to feel anything but the pain of loss, even the pain from his wounds. He knew that this pain would fade; but not the pain from David's death. He had looked up to David as another brother, as a leader, and a friend, both of them had.
Brian's vision blurred as he thought of David, his commander. The pranks that they had pulled, the council that he had given, and the laughter that they had shared. The psychologist had come to see him here in the hospital, but he had not felt like talking. The pain was still to fresh. The psychologist had left the room, shaking her head and making notes on a pad.
Brian ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to be doing something, anything. He looked over at the sleeping form of his twin. Mark, he knew, was taking this really hard. Not only was he injured, but they were both dealing with David's death. They had only let him out of the hospital long enough to attend David's service.
Brian winced, any twitch of his body causing pain. Brian didn't call for more medication when his morphine wore off. He wanted to feel anything but the pain of loss, even the pain from his wounds. He knew that this pain would fade; but not the pain from David's death. He had looked up to David as another brother, as a leader, and a friend, both of them had.
Brian's vision blurred as he thought of David, his commander. The pranks that they had pulled, the council that he had given, and the laughter that they had shared. The psychologist had come to see him here in the hospital, but he had not felt like talking. The pain was still to fresh. The psychologist had left the room, shaking her head and making notes on a pad.
The Wrong Brother
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Clay with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Clay took a deep breath. “Before you start cutting me like an emo, girl, there’s one thing you should consider.” His mind raced - this wasn’t just an unfriendly crowd he was trying to win over, this was a professional psychopath. “I have a twin brother.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “Why should that matter to me?”
Clay met the man’s gaze squarely. “You should consider that you might have the wrong guy. Granted, we’re both in the rhythm section, but I’m the bassist and he’s the drummer. If you have the wrong guy, well, you’re not going to get anything from me but six quarts of mess, and whoever you work for won’t be pleased that you wasted all this time and effort for nothing.”
The man tilted his head to the side and considered. “You make a fine point, you know. If you aren’t lying. They didn’t say anything about twins, they just said to a grab the boy from the band - and you’re a boy. From the band. But I don’t think I have the wrong brother.”
“I’m the wrong brother, I assure you.” Clay knew that much, but he didn’t know which of his brothers was the right one, which one he should protect or scream at.
“The wrong brother wouldn’t have known I work for anyone, and he wouldn’t be this calm in the face of interrogation,” the man said. His smiled widened. “The right brother would have been trained, however, for just this type of situation, and you, young sir, are very calm.”
“Maybe I’m just a talented performer,” Clay said. Between him and Scott, he was honestly the better charmer. “I can pretend to be calm. Have you ever been calm when ten-thousand thirteen-year-old girls are trying to pull your hair?” Maybe that was a stupid question, since the man was bald.
And he was full-on grinning. “Pretend away, then, son. Time for that six-quart mess.”
Clay passed out.
(397 words)
Clay took a deep breath. “Before you start cutting me like an emo, girl, there’s one thing you should consider.” His mind raced - this wasn’t just an unfriendly crowd he was trying to win over, this was a professional psychopath. “I have a twin brother.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “Why should that matter to me?”
Clay met the man’s gaze squarely. “You should consider that you might have the wrong guy. Granted, we’re both in the rhythm section, but I’m the bassist and he’s the drummer. If you have the wrong guy, well, you’re not going to get anything from me but six quarts of mess, and whoever you work for won’t be pleased that you wasted all this time and effort for nothing.”
The man tilted his head to the side and considered. “You make a fine point, you know. If you aren’t lying. They didn’t say anything about twins, they just said to a grab the boy from the band - and you’re a boy. From the band. But I don’t think I have the wrong brother.”
“I’m the wrong brother, I assure you.” Clay knew that much, but he didn’t know which of his brothers was the right one, which one he should protect or scream at.
“The wrong brother wouldn’t have known I work for anyone, and he wouldn’t be this calm in the face of interrogation,” the man said. His smiled widened. “The right brother would have been trained, however, for just this type of situation, and you, young sir, are very calm.”
“Maybe I’m just a talented performer,” Clay said. Between him and Scott, he was honestly the better charmer. “I can pretend to be calm. Have you ever been calm when ten-thousand thirteen-year-old girls are trying to pull your hair?” Maybe that was a stupid question, since the man was bald.
And he was full-on grinning. “Pretend away, then, son. Time for that six-quart mess.”
Clay passed out.
(397 words)
Monday, May 18, 2009
About Six Quarts
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Dan with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Dan took a deep breath. “I don’t know anything.” It was the truth - he was the youngest, and he didn’t know anything, never knew anything. Scott hardly trusted him, and then twins were locked in their own little telepathic world - he didn’t know anything. “I swear - I’m just a keyboard player in a band and I don’t know what’s going on.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “I know you seem like you’re just a keyboard player in your little boy rock band, and I seem like some random truck driver, but I work for a man who knows more about you and your world than you realize, and he knows that you’ve been two-timing your agent to run connections for Sector Five Commander.”
Sector Five Commander. Agent. Connections. Dan didn’t understand any of it. “I really am just a musician. Please - let me go! My father will pay whatever you want - there’s lots of money in the trust account - just --”
“It’s not money Commander Hagalaz wants. Just information. And you’re going to give it to him,” the man said.
Hagalaz. Dan didn’t even realize that could be a person’s name. He strained against the chains, felt them bite into his wrists. He was already bruised - what would more bruising matter? “I have nothing to give.”
The man stared at him for a long moment, and Dan felt his heart begin to pound madly in his ears. The man rose to his feet and brandished the knife so the blade glinted beneath the glow of the single bulb.
“You have lots to give, actually, lad,” he said. “About six quarts.” He drew the knife slowly, delicately, across Dan’s thigh.
Dan screamed.
(348 words)
Dan took a deep breath. “I don’t know anything.” It was the truth - he was the youngest, and he didn’t know anything, never knew anything. Scott hardly trusted him, and then twins were locked in their own little telepathic world - he didn’t know anything. “I swear - I’m just a keyboard player in a band and I don’t know what’s going on.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “I know you seem like you’re just a keyboard player in your little boy rock band, and I seem like some random truck driver, but I work for a man who knows more about you and your world than you realize, and he knows that you’ve been two-timing your agent to run connections for Sector Five Commander.”
Sector Five Commander. Agent. Connections. Dan didn’t understand any of it. “I really am just a musician. Please - let me go! My father will pay whatever you want - there’s lots of money in the trust account - just --”
“It’s not money Commander Hagalaz wants. Just information. And you’re going to give it to him,” the man said.
Hagalaz. Dan didn’t even realize that could be a person’s name. He strained against the chains, felt them bite into his wrists. He was already bruised - what would more bruising matter? “I have nothing to give.”
The man stared at him for a long moment, and Dan felt his heart begin to pound madly in his ears. The man rose to his feet and brandished the knife so the blade glinted beneath the glow of the single bulb.
“You have lots to give, actually, lad,” he said. “About six quarts.” He drew the knife slowly, delicately, across Dan’s thigh.
Dan screamed.
(348 words)
Steve Deals With It.
The pain of losing a friend, commander and a brother in arms was almost to much for Steve. It had been a rough few weeks; first David's death in the bunkers. Brian was still in the hospital, though he was able to attend the funeral. Joe had run off somewhere for a week and now would hardly talk to anyone; and Mark was as bad off as the rest of them.
Steve tried everything that he could think of to block out the pain of reality; exercising to the point of exhaustion, meditation, even hitting the bottle pretty hard. All he wound up with was a hangover, frustration, and sore muscles.
The psychologist had wanted to talk to all of them, but Steve was not really in a cathartic mood.
Coming back to his quarters one evening, Steve found an official set of orders.
ATTN: First Lieutenant Steven Blackwood
SUB: Disband
You are hereby notified that the team lead by the late Major David Cole is to be disbanded and reassigned to different teams.
Office of General Command.
Steve could hardly believe what he was seeing. Jumping up from his bunk, Steve ran down the hall to Commander Hayes office and knocked on the door, not waiting for permission to enter.
"Commander."
Hayes turned in his chair to face Steve.
"Lieutenant," Hayes said, looking at the agitated man in front of him.
"What is this? Are you really splitting up the team?" Steve demanded, his voice bordering on belligerent.
When Hayes raised an eyebrow at his tone, Steve amended with a moderated, "Sir."
"Yes, lieutenant, I am splitting up the team. The cohesion of the group has fallen apart since the death of Major Cole."
"But sir, will all due respect, we are almost a family. Please, give me the chance to keep us together." Steve felt like he was pleading. Not that he minded, he would do anything to keep the group together.
Hayes considered the man in front of him. He knew all about Steve, and what he had been doing the last few weeks. He also had the Psychologists report on the mental state of the team. She had recommended the disbandment of the team; stating that they would do better if they were separated. But Hayes was a shrewd man; he could see what this would mean for the group.
"Alright Lieutenant," Hayes said nodding, "I'll give you one month to pull your team back together. If in that time, you are not all functioning as a unit again, then I will disband the team."
"Thank you Sir," Steve said, saluting his commander. He walked out of the room. He knew that he could never be to the team what David was, but he would give it his best to keep them together.
Steve tried everything that he could think of to block out the pain of reality; exercising to the point of exhaustion, meditation, even hitting the bottle pretty hard. All he wound up with was a hangover, frustration, and sore muscles.
The psychologist had wanted to talk to all of them, but Steve was not really in a cathartic mood.
Coming back to his quarters one evening, Steve found an official set of orders.
ATTN: First Lieutenant Steven Blackwood
SUB: Disband
You are hereby notified that the team lead by the late Major David Cole is to be disbanded and reassigned to different teams.
Office of General Command.
Steve could hardly believe what he was seeing. Jumping up from his bunk, Steve ran down the hall to Commander Hayes office and knocked on the door, not waiting for permission to enter.
"Commander."
Hayes turned in his chair to face Steve.
"Lieutenant," Hayes said, looking at the agitated man in front of him.
"What is this? Are you really splitting up the team?" Steve demanded, his voice bordering on belligerent.
When Hayes raised an eyebrow at his tone, Steve amended with a moderated, "Sir."
"Yes, lieutenant, I am splitting up the team. The cohesion of the group has fallen apart since the death of Major Cole."
"But sir, will all due respect, we are almost a family. Please, give me the chance to keep us together." Steve felt like he was pleading. Not that he minded, he would do anything to keep the group together.
Hayes considered the man in front of him. He knew all about Steve, and what he had been doing the last few weeks. He also had the Psychologists report on the mental state of the team. She had recommended the disbandment of the team; stating that they would do better if they were separated. But Hayes was a shrewd man; he could see what this would mean for the group.
"Alright Lieutenant," Hayes said nodding, "I'll give you one month to pull your team back together. If in that time, you are not all functioning as a unit again, then I will disband the team."
"Thank you Sir," Steve said, saluting his commander. He walked out of the room. He knew that he could never be to the team what David was, but he would give it his best to keep them together.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Project #27: Characterization in an instant
You have 100-500 words to demonstrate characterization in a single instant. Start with a single, simple scenario and have one character's reaction to it. In the next post, have a different character (original character, of your own making) react to the same scenario. Take the opportunity to explore what each character would do, how each of them is formed, how they think and feel and what makes them act the way they do. Don't tell too much, don't overdo backstory and details - just show us, in a moment, what makes your character who he or she is.
Rules v. 1.5
Rest Days
It is my official decree that Sunday shall be a day of rest, a chance to post overviews and new project assignments or muse on one posted by another, but having to post two or three things in a day could be a challenge, since sometimes creating a challenge and then writing for it is difficult. From this week henceforth, Sunday shall be a day of rest - feel no need to post writing beyond minor admin stuff on a Sunday. There - take a load off and relax.
It is my official decree that Sunday shall be a day of rest, a chance to post overviews and new project assignments or muse on one posted by another, but having to post two or three things in a day could be a challenge, since sometimes creating a challenge and then writing for it is difficult. From this week henceforth, Sunday shall be a day of rest - feel no need to post writing beyond minor admin stuff on a Sunday. There - take a load off and relax.
Overview #25 and #26
So I failed a couple of overviews in a row. Them's the breaks, I guess. It was fun, cobbling together dialogue out of random things like song lyrics and poems. To make it really work, I'd have to fiddle with the quotes a bit, what I came up with from direct quotes worked pretty well. It was difficult to establish true character, but at least two subject positions could be clearly defined creating dialogue that way. As much as I love dialogue, writing so much of it here gets it out of my system, because in rereading some old online fiction, I've discovered that pointless dialogue for the sake of witty exchanges is a mark of immature writing. Still, sometimes, when practicing with a character, it's fun.
The midnight challenge was pretty good times. It reminded me of late nights with my friends and all the things you can say in the sombreness of darkness that no one dares breach during the day. It was also fun to let Bob and the boys out of their boxes a little more to explore the Dagaz universe and possibilities for Asia.
The midnight challenge was pretty good times. It reminded me of late nights with my friends and all the things you can say in the sombreness of darkness that no one dares breach during the day. It was also fun to let Bob and the boys out of their boxes a little more to explore the Dagaz universe and possibilities for Asia.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Walking the Midnight Perimeter
Scott didn’t like her. He’d been suspicious of her the first time they’d met, back when the triplets were fourteen and didn’t know much better. All three of them had been charmed by the pretty college girl, the one who was willing to listen to Clay’s bad poetry, learn new rhythms from Bob, spar with Dan, but Scott knew it was bizarre, how perfect she was for each of them. She was perfect for him, too, but he was the older brother, and he would cut off his own hands before he let anyone hurt his brothers, and he was sure she’d hurt at least one of them.
He just hadn’t realized how she could hurt them.
She was sitting in Clay’s chair on the front porch, hands folded neatly in her lap, when Scott returned from walking the midnight perimeter.
“What are you doing here?” He didn’t care that his tone was rude or hostile.
“I brought medicine for Bob.”
“You could have left it on the table and been on your way.” Scott swung his axe up on his shoulder and studied her. He was taller than her, not that he or any of his brothers were particularly tall, and outweighed her by a lot. He imagined he was almost angry enough to take her.
“This is your house. It’s rude to enter someone’s house uninvited,” she said. Her gaze was perfectly frank, and Scott had the strange notion that she actually meant what she said.
“Bob wouldn’t have needed this medicine if it weren’t for you,” he said. That was irrational and he knew it, but he’d wanted to speak his mind to her since she’d shown up in their hotel room in Germany nine months ago.
“He would have needed this medicine regardless of whether or not he passed selection.” Asia gazed up at him. “Some of the team passed you for selection, but the analysts knew better - you’re too distrustful for your own good.”
“Why would I trust you? All you’ve done is endanger us and isolate us from everyone we know and love.” Scott knew he was starting to yell, that Dan would come running, but he didn’t care.
“Because that red dot on your chest isn’t from the laser pointer on my key chain,” Asia said, and stood up.
Scott could only stare as she jerked forward slightly, a red stain blossoming across the front of her t-shirt. She coughed, the sound wet, and when she drew her hand away from her mouth it was covered with blood.
“You - you’ve been shot!”
“I know,” she said. She drew a gun from the waistband of her jeans, glanced over her shoulder, and fired once. Scott heard the resulting thump of a corpse hitting the ground.
Scott ripped open the front door. “Dan! Dan, get the first aid kit!”
“This is a bit beyond first aid, but I’ll live,” Asia said. “If you can’t trust a woman who takes a bullet for you, you’ll never trust anyone, not even the woman you love.” She thrust a plastic bag at him. “Medicine for Bob. I’ll be back before it runs out.” She didn’t even stagger as she stepped off the front porch and began the trek down to her car.
(545 words)
He just hadn’t realized how she could hurt them.
She was sitting in Clay’s chair on the front porch, hands folded neatly in her lap, when Scott returned from walking the midnight perimeter.
“What are you doing here?” He didn’t care that his tone was rude or hostile.
“I brought medicine for Bob.”
“You could have left it on the table and been on your way.” Scott swung his axe up on his shoulder and studied her. He was taller than her, not that he or any of his brothers were particularly tall, and outweighed her by a lot. He imagined he was almost angry enough to take her.
“This is your house. It’s rude to enter someone’s house uninvited,” she said. Her gaze was perfectly frank, and Scott had the strange notion that she actually meant what she said.
“Bob wouldn’t have needed this medicine if it weren’t for you,” he said. That was irrational and he knew it, but he’d wanted to speak his mind to her since she’d shown up in their hotel room in Germany nine months ago.
“He would have needed this medicine regardless of whether or not he passed selection.” Asia gazed up at him. “Some of the team passed you for selection, but the analysts knew better - you’re too distrustful for your own good.”
“Why would I trust you? All you’ve done is endanger us and isolate us from everyone we know and love.” Scott knew he was starting to yell, that Dan would come running, but he didn’t care.
“Because that red dot on your chest isn’t from the laser pointer on my key chain,” Asia said, and stood up.
Scott could only stare as she jerked forward slightly, a red stain blossoming across the front of her t-shirt. She coughed, the sound wet, and when she drew her hand away from her mouth it was covered with blood.
“You - you’ve been shot!”
“I know,” she said. She drew a gun from the waistband of her jeans, glanced over her shoulder, and fired once. Scott heard the resulting thump of a corpse hitting the ground.
Scott ripped open the front door. “Dan! Dan, get the first aid kit!”
“This is a bit beyond first aid, but I’ll live,” Asia said. “If you can’t trust a woman who takes a bullet for you, you’ll never trust anyone, not even the woman you love.” She thrust a plastic bag at him. “Medicine for Bob. I’ll be back before it runs out.” She didn’t even stagger as she stepped off the front porch and began the trek down to her car.
(545 words)
After the First
Commander Hayes walked back and forth in his office. Glancing at the clock on the wall, it read eleven forty-five. Commander Hayes office was in perfect military order; the only hint of anything personal was a photograph on his desk. It showed Hayes with a pretty woman. The figures in the photo were sitting on the grass, the trees overhead turning bright colors, Hayes and the woman were smiling at each other.
Hayes forced himself to stop pacing and sit at his desk, trying to get some paperwork done. He was not worried about David, at least not to much, but it was David's first solo mission. He looked at the clock again, only five minutes had passed.
Hayes thought back to his first mission. Surveillance, and execution of the objective. Of course it had been different back then. Weapons had not been as advanced, nor had the surveillance.
Hayes looked up at the solid knock on his office door.
"Come," Hayes called.
The door opened and David stepped in the room, snapping off a salute. Hayes looked his man up and down, noting the blank look in David's eyes. Hayes motioned for David to take a seat.
He reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "It looks like you could use this," Hayes said, pouring out a glass for David.
David grasped the glass tightly and knocked back the shot, wincing as it went down.
Hayes remained silent, waiting for David to speak.
Eventually David asked, "Does it get easier?"
Hayes considered his answer before speaking, "No, but eventually you learn to block it out.
Hayes forced himself to stop pacing and sit at his desk, trying to get some paperwork done. He was not worried about David, at least not to much, but it was David's first solo mission. He looked at the clock again, only five minutes had passed.
Hayes thought back to his first mission. Surveillance, and execution of the objective. Of course it had been different back then. Weapons had not been as advanced, nor had the surveillance.
Hayes looked up at the solid knock on his office door.
"Come," Hayes called.
The door opened and David stepped in the room, snapping off a salute. Hayes looked his man up and down, noting the blank look in David's eyes. Hayes motioned for David to take a seat.
He reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "It looks like you could use this," Hayes said, pouring out a glass for David.
David grasped the glass tightly and knocked back the shot, wincing as it went down.
Hayes remained silent, waiting for David to speak.
Eventually David asked, "Does it get easier?"
Hayes considered his answer before speaking, "No, but eventually you learn to block it out.
Friday, May 15, 2009
She Knows Things Sometimes
“Why are you still awake?”
“Still? It’s midnight. I got off work at eleven. It takes at least an hour for my brain to shut down.” Bob closed his eyes and tipped his head back.
Clay slid into the seat opposite him. “You shouldn’t risk yourself, going out there like that.”
“Risk myself how? No one’s going to look for the drummer of Summers Four at a paper factory.” Bob ran a hand over his shorn head and smiled tiredly. From just the right angle, he looked indistinguishable from his older brother. “You should cut your hair again and we could pull doubles.”
“Someone has to keep an eye on Scott and Dan,” Clay said.
“It’s too bad they were always the fan favorites, hm? No one ever cares about the rhythm section.” Bob reached up to rub his neck. It was sore from his being hunched over a machine all day. “Just three more months of this and we’ll be in the clear.”
“Why do you trust her so much?” Clay leaned forward and caught Bob’s gaze, searched. “She lied to all of us, and she lied to you, endangered us, stole our lives - “
“She’s the reason I’m still alive. She’s the reason all of us are alive, and as for her being a danger - I could have said no, let them do the memory wipe, but I chose to be part of something bigger than I am.” Bob met his brother’s gaze frankly. “I did this to us, not her. Don’t be afraid to blame me just because I’m sick.”
Clay shook his head. “Sometimes, when it’s you and me hunched over Scott’s old guitar, writing country songs like we did when we were kids, it’s like we’re children again, like we have that same wordless connection we always had, but then I realize I don’t know you at all. Ever since you told us about the leukemia, you’ve changed.”
“I changed before the leukemia,” Bob said.
“I’m guessing so, if you started working for these people when you were fourteen,” Clay said. “It’s just -”
“I knew about the leukemia before it happened,” Bob said.
Clay forgot everything he was going to say. “What?”
“I knew. Before it happened. You all thought it was weird that I never cried, but - I was ready for it. When I said I was ready, I meant it.”
“How could you know something like that before?” Clay demanded. “Was it the work they had you doing? Did you work around radiation, or-?”
“Asia knew. She just - knew. And she told me.” Bob studied his hands. “She knows things sometimes.”
Clay sat back. “What else does she know?”
“The day I’m going to die.”
(451 words)
“Still? It’s midnight. I got off work at eleven. It takes at least an hour for my brain to shut down.” Bob closed his eyes and tipped his head back.
Clay slid into the seat opposite him. “You shouldn’t risk yourself, going out there like that.”
“Risk myself how? No one’s going to look for the drummer of Summers Four at a paper factory.” Bob ran a hand over his shorn head and smiled tiredly. From just the right angle, he looked indistinguishable from his older brother. “You should cut your hair again and we could pull doubles.”
“Someone has to keep an eye on Scott and Dan,” Clay said.
“It’s too bad they were always the fan favorites, hm? No one ever cares about the rhythm section.” Bob reached up to rub his neck. It was sore from his being hunched over a machine all day. “Just three more months of this and we’ll be in the clear.”
“Why do you trust her so much?” Clay leaned forward and caught Bob’s gaze, searched. “She lied to all of us, and she lied to you, endangered us, stole our lives - “
“She’s the reason I’m still alive. She’s the reason all of us are alive, and as for her being a danger - I could have said no, let them do the memory wipe, but I chose to be part of something bigger than I am.” Bob met his brother’s gaze frankly. “I did this to us, not her. Don’t be afraid to blame me just because I’m sick.”
Clay shook his head. “Sometimes, when it’s you and me hunched over Scott’s old guitar, writing country songs like we did when we were kids, it’s like we’re children again, like we have that same wordless connection we always had, but then I realize I don’t know you at all. Ever since you told us about the leukemia, you’ve changed.”
“I changed before the leukemia,” Bob said.
“I’m guessing so, if you started working for these people when you were fourteen,” Clay said. “It’s just -”
“I knew about the leukemia before it happened,” Bob said.
Clay forgot everything he was going to say. “What?”
“I knew. Before it happened. You all thought it was weird that I never cried, but - I was ready for it. When I said I was ready, I meant it.”
“How could you know something like that before?” Clay demanded. “Was it the work they had you doing? Did you work around radiation, or-?”
“Asia knew. She just - knew. And she told me.” Bob studied his hands. “She knows things sometimes.”
Clay sat back. “What else does she know?”
“The day I’m going to die.”
(451 words)
Thursday, May 14, 2009
New Day
The world turned. Years flowing into each other; the seasons flickering past -winter, spring, summer, fall- in the blink of an eye.
Garain had not paid attention to the world in a long time, not in many ages, for there were none now alive that remembered her. Pale and insubstantial, Garain ghosted in the world. Unable to leave the world, she was the Goddess of Nature. The peoples of the world now attributed nature to science; and when they stopped believing in her, she became a shade of her former self. Still her work continued, rain and sun alike came by her will, but she paid scant attention to it.
Garain floated far above the world. Watching as one day turned into another.
Garain had not paid attention to the world in a long time, not in many ages, for there were none now alive that remembered her. Pale and insubstantial, Garain ghosted in the world. Unable to leave the world, she was the Goddess of Nature. The peoples of the world now attributed nature to science; and when they stopped believing in her, she became a shade of her former self. Still her work continued, rain and sun alike came by her will, but she paid scant attention to it.
Garain floated far above the world. Watching as one day turned into another.
Witching Hour Minus 300
“We’re moving out now? Are you insane?” Henry cast a look between the two brothers, but they were silent, unmoving, staring each other straight in the eye. Anyone else would have thought it was CT using his mind magic, but Henry knew it was something deeper, more intrinsic - they were twins, after all.
CT tore his gaze away from Robbie and said, “We’re moving out now. We have to draw the Chantry forces away from this place while J and the Technocrats find the Book.”
“It’s just now midnight - that’s three hours till the Witching Hour. That’s three hours until we’re at full potency,” Henry said. He sighed and tugged at the strap of his goggles. “Look, I’m just a minor matter mage - what could I possibly do that you two want my help this much?”
CT said, “That doesn’t matter. We’re going. Now. Rob - you’ll hold them off, right?”
Robbie nodded once, sharply, and summoned his spellbook off a nearby shelf. Henry shook his head in disbelief.
“Do you ever speak? I know CT’s the older one and twins have telepathy or whatever, but we might die tonight, and all you can do is look for one of your mouldy old spells?”
“Hey,” CT began, sharply.
But Robbie opened his mouth. “I can speak,” he said. “Unlike some, however, I keep my mouth shut unless I have something useful to say. Gushing sentimentalities to a man who knows half of my soul is of no use, for if he dies, I will follow soon after and will not suffer a lifetime of regret as you think I might. When he dies, our patterns will merge, and we will shine in the umbra for all to see.”
Anyone else might have been horrified by the coldness of Robbie’s words, but he was Verbena, and they were uncanny when it came to death and souls, more so than the Euthanatos at times. Henry was horrified not by Robbie’s words but by the way Robbie spoke, by the black ink that flashed between Robbie’s parted lips.
Someone had tattooed the Triangle of Solomon on his tongue.
Robbie must have realized Henry noticed, for he smiled, then, a full-on, bared-teeth smile that was too lifeless and vicious to be a real smile. “Now leave,” he said, “and make sure the Chantry doesn’t come near here, or you’ll regret it. For eternity.” Then, with a single, casual motion, he slashed open his own wrist.
(412 words)
CT tore his gaze away from Robbie and said, “We’re moving out now. We have to draw the Chantry forces away from this place while J and the Technocrats find the Book.”
“It’s just now midnight - that’s three hours till the Witching Hour. That’s three hours until we’re at full potency,” Henry said. He sighed and tugged at the strap of his goggles. “Look, I’m just a minor matter mage - what could I possibly do that you two want my help this much?”
CT said, “That doesn’t matter. We’re going. Now. Rob - you’ll hold them off, right?”
Robbie nodded once, sharply, and summoned his spellbook off a nearby shelf. Henry shook his head in disbelief.
“Do you ever speak? I know CT’s the older one and twins have telepathy or whatever, but we might die tonight, and all you can do is look for one of your mouldy old spells?”
“Hey,” CT began, sharply.
But Robbie opened his mouth. “I can speak,” he said. “Unlike some, however, I keep my mouth shut unless I have something useful to say. Gushing sentimentalities to a man who knows half of my soul is of no use, for if he dies, I will follow soon after and will not suffer a lifetime of regret as you think I might. When he dies, our patterns will merge, and we will shine in the umbra for all to see.”
Anyone else might have been horrified by the coldness of Robbie’s words, but he was Verbena, and they were uncanny when it came to death and souls, more so than the Euthanatos at times. Henry was horrified not by Robbie’s words but by the way Robbie spoke, by the black ink that flashed between Robbie’s parted lips.
Someone had tattooed the Triangle of Solomon on his tongue.
Robbie must have realized Henry noticed, for he smiled, then, a full-on, bared-teeth smile that was too lifeless and vicious to be a real smile. “Now leave,” he said, “and make sure the Chantry doesn’t come near here, or you’ll regret it. For eternity.” Then, with a single, casual motion, he slashed open his own wrist.
(412 words)
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