Prove Yourself

“I think this qualifies as a test in humiliation,” Rastaban said.

Dakshana stood in the wings of the stage, arms crossed over her chest. “This will prove your ultimate dedication to the cause, won’t it?”

“And what, exactly, did you have to do to prove yourself?” Rastaban asked.

Dakshana’s eyes were opaque, although the corners of her mouth were curved up in the faintest traces of amusement. “It might have involved kissing you.”

Rastaban, who’d been frowning down at the ridiculousness of his performance costume, lifted his head sharply. “What? I couldn’t have been that horrible a kisser -”

Dakshana reached up and straightened his headdress. “Do you know who I was before I dealt with you?” She leaned in and whispered, her breath against his ear sending shivers down his spine. “I was a queen and a goddess, a mother and a daughter, a wife and a sister, a priestess and a whore. I was everything a woman could be and had been, and it was all my choice. And then you came along - this bumbling, blustering, arrogant strip of a boy who fancied himself man enough to lead an army. And I had to pretend you were worth kissing.”

Icy shock shot down Rastaban’s spine. He sucked in a deep breath. “Dakshana -”

“Or maybe what I had to do is none of your business and you’ll never know and given how easy it is to yank your chain, maybe you don’t deserve to earn field command.” Dakshana shoved him toward the makeshift curtain. “Now get out there and dance.”

Just a Bit Pathetic

“Are you scared?” James asked.

Tobias lifted his head, straightened his crown of oak leaves absently. “Why would I be scared?”

“Our entire semester rides on this one performance.” James tugged impatiently at his sword-belt. “I still look like an idiot with a sword at my side. How did anyone back then get around without banging into everything?”

Tobias reached out and used the loose end of James’s belt to hitch the sword up to a neater angle. “There. Now you won’t accidentally kneecap your lovely Hermia.”

James blinked. He tugged at the sword hilt experimentally, then grinned at his roommate. “You’re full of random useful skills. Thanks.”

“Yes, well, even though I’m not afraid, I don’t want to fail this class either.” He straightened his green tunic. “It’d be pathetic if I failed my Shakespeare course at a British drama academy, wouldn’t it?”

“Just a bit pathetic,” James agreed. “Is your family coming to watch?”

“No,” Tobias said. “Uncle Angel is on business, DJ’s on the runways in Paris or something stupid. Everyone else has jobs and things - I’m the only idiot who’s still in school.”

James slung an arm around his shoulders. “Well, my parents are here, and I’m sure my mum would love to coo over how pale and underfed you look.”

Tobias laughed but, for the first time, didn’t shrug him off. “I’m only underfed because you keep stealing my food.”

One of the directors came over and hissed at them, “Curtain in three. Take your marks.”

“Good luck, Puck,” James said, and started for the wings.

Tobias grinned. “Break a leg, Lysander.”

Beyond the curtain, the audience went quiet.

(275 words)

Successful Replacement

“This is it, your big test. If you make it through tonight, you’re ready,” Chase said.

Jade nodded, wiped his clammy hands on his palms. “Okay. But I think Chris is getting a little...suspicious. He keeps looking at me funny, and I think I’ve been missing out on some of his inside jokes.”

“Look, just nail the performance tonight. Chris gets on edge because he’s Chris. And...he feels guilty. For making Justin fall down the stairs.” Chase smiled gently, smoothed a hand over Jade’s curls.

Jade scowled and knocked his hand aside. “I’m not a poodle. Don’t pet me.”

Something unreadable flickered in Chase’s eyes, but he let his hand fall to his side. “Oui. Je suis desolé.”

“Sorry,” Jade said. He knew it was bad when Chase kicked back into French. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just - nervous.”

Joe chose that moment to poke his head into the dressing room. “C’mon, Mouseketeers, we gotta show Germany how we rock it.”

Jade bounced to his feet and gave Joe a high-five. “All right. Let’s rock this joint!”

And rock the joint they did. Jade knew he hit every mark like clockwork, that every smile and every wink for the girls in the front row was perfect, because after the last encore the curtain fell and Chris swooped him into a hug and gave him a noogie.

The affection in Chris’s eyes was genuine for the first time in the three weeks Jade had been living with them, and the jubilation of success was tainted with the guilt of dishonesty. Jade had finally replaced Justin, and no one would ever be the wiser.

(276 words)

His Last Test

“You think you have what it takes to be a field handler?” The Colonel asked.

John inclined his head deferentially. “Yes sir.”

The Colonel shoved a manila folder at him. “Then prove it. Go get yourself a field agent.”

John opened the file and scanned the specs - an orphanage in Iran. No one would notice a girl go missing; girls were second-class commodities there. He closed the file and nodded, saluted once, then waited till he was dismissed.

John was never one to procrastinate, so he booked a flight as soon as he got back to his bunk in the barracks. He spent the entire flight over finagling out the details - forging passports and birth certificates, drafting an entire history for a non-existent child. As soon as John had made it out of basic and been shuttled into officer training, he’d learned about what was keeping the brass on its toes, the mysterious conundrum of The Carrier. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with it.

Apparently, his last test to prove his fitness as a field officer, was to throw himself in the middle of it.

The orphanage was on the poorer side of town. He’d considered trying to blend in as a local, but the sad truth was that no one would think twice of a foreign man purchasing a local child.

John spent seventy-two hours observing the children who shuffled in and out of the ramshackle building before he found a suitable one. The orphanage matrons called her Kalila. She couldn’t have been more than three years old, but John saw fierce intelligence in her bright green eyes. None of the matrons thought it at all significant that little Kalila could read.

John took another two hours to finish forging out his documents for his new daughter - Carolyn - and then he made his move.

Two days later he was a ranked field officer, and he was a father.

(323 words)

Exactly the Same

I don't know how the two of you did it!" Mrs. Marsh said in exasperation. "Both of you got the exact same score, and the exact questions wrong, but you were both sitting on opposite ends of the room. How did you do it?"

Mark and Bryan looked at each other and then back at their calculus teacher, "well, we are twins," Bryan said, but swallowed the rest of his statement when she shot his a glare.

"Mrs. Marsh," Mark spoke up softly, "the most simple answer is that we study together, so what one of us know, the other also knows. We drill and drill, if we didn't get it right it's because we didn't study that hard enough. Simple as that," Mark finished just as softly as he had started.

Mrs. Marsh looked from Bryan's smiling face to Mark's quietly composed face, shrugged and shooed them out the door.

Under Pressure

“You ready for these?” Kyle asked.

Bob blinked and looked up from his notes. “Pardon?”

Kyle twirled his pen; it was a nervous gesture, one Bob had seen him perform many times before, usually when he was talking to that girl Mary. “The exams. You know? I’m kinda scared. All the pressure.”

“Oh.” The exams. Pressure. College. Bob supposed he should have been frightened, but he wasn’t really planning on going to college. He didn’t think it would be socially appropriate, as Carolyn always put it, to inform Kyle that he had the money to go to college three times over without going into even a smidgeon of debt. “I guess the pressure is, er, bad.” For him, pressure was not screwing up a gig at an award show on national television.

Kyle arched one eyebrow. “You don’t seem that nervous.” He craned his neck to peer at Bob’s notes. “You must have studied pretty hard, then, huh?”

“I studied as hard as I could,” Bob said.

Mary paused by Bob’s desk. “Ready for this, rock star?”

Bob hated it when people called him that. “As ready as I can be.”

A sour expression marred Kyle’s nervous grin. “Right. I forgot who you are. After performing in front of thousands of screaming fans, a little test is probably nothing for you.”

“Depends on the type of test,” Bob said. He remembered sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for the test results after his last round of chemotherapy.

The teacher burst into the room. “Take your seats. Test begins in ten minutes.”

Bob didn’t have the heart to tell his classmates that he could do music theory in his sleep. After all, he’d been writing songs since he was five.

(289 words)

Twice the Test

Dan didn’t like this one bit. Being crammed into one of these tiny desks for three hours straight, a test administrator hovering the entire time. She’d sent the three of them to the farthest corners of the room from each other, casting them suspicious glances as if somehow being triplets gave them some shared psychic edge over the other students. Dan hadn’t appreciated being stared at while he stood in the doorway anyway, and even now, as he stared anxiously at a quadratic equation, he could feel the weight of multiple gazes on him, wondering.

Kevin had thought it would be a good idea to make sure all four of them were back in Calgary in time to take their final exams with the other high school students. A good learning experience, he’d said when he announced it on the bus that last night in Switzerland. Dan didn’t think that being left in a room with at least half a dozen potentially psychotic fangirls was a learning experience as much as it was a test of the triplets’ survival skills.

Scott was in a separate room with other kids in his grade. Dan missed the days when it was just the four of them scattered throughout the bus, trying to figure out how to write comfortably while their mother hovered in the background, her kitchen timer ticking ominously as it marked the time down toward the boys’ mutual doom.

The test administrator called a half hour warning.

Dan sighed and skipped to the next question; hopefully he’d have time to come back to a few at the end.

For the first time in a long time, Dan wished he’d always been like one of the other students, anonymous and faceless in a crowd. Until then, every exam would be twice the test - first the math, then the fitting in.

Dan wondered how he’d ever thought that listening to thousands of girls screaming his name every night was normal.

(328 words)

Project Assignment #52 - Finals

In honor of finals week, let it be finals. Finals for school, mission, life. OR nothing at all if life gets in the way.

Max 500

Overview #51: Gifts

This assignment was actually pretty hard for me. I figured with Bob and Carolyn, the obvious gift from Bob would be music. I was tempted to make an entire mixtape playlist so people knew what songs Bob had included for Carolyn, but otherwise I was not that motivated, what with finals and all. As for the others - my original intention was to show what every single Sector Five boy got for his incarnation of Asia in his life, but then I ended up showing what Asia might give some of them in return. Honestly, once the team becomes a team and they've all been awakened, things like birthdays sort of disappear and rarely happen, and then Christmas isn't much of a celebration either, so I'd honestly never really thought too hard about what gifts they might give each other, and it was interesting to see how they thought of each other. It was a lot of fun, though, so good times were had all around!

Partying in Style

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Angel stared at the open box, disbelief and pleasure shining in his eyes.

“Check the label,” Asia said.

Angel scooped up the fedora and turned it over, ran his fingers over the soft satin lining until he found the tiny hand-stitched label in the back. “Tanner’s Row? However did you find it?”

“I have connections.” Asia smiled enigmatically.

The rest of the boys clustered around the table, faintly confused, but amused and pleased at their lieutenant’s happiness nonetheless.

Angel placed the fedora on his head, tipped it to a jaunty angle, and grinned. “I didn’t think you could find good haberdashery like this anymore.”

“I don’t think people use the word ‘haberdashery’ anymore,” Gabriel said drily.

“It looks good on you,” Tobias said. “You should throw on your zoot suit and come jitterbugging with me on Friday.”

“No, not on Friday,” Asia said. “Tonight. I rented out the old dance hall and found a twelve-piece band. If we’re going to party, we’re doing it in style.”

DJ arched an eyebrow. “Just the seven of us? That’s kind of a lame party.”

“I’m not that disorganized,” Asia said. “You remember your cover three missions ago?”

“The advertising designer?” DJ asked.

“The model,” Asia said. She waved a shiny Blackberry at him. “I still have all your coworkers’ phone numbers.”

Keith looked aggrieved. “You get Angel an antique hat and a room full of supermodels for his birthday, and all I get is a fuil-sgian?”

“I made that fuil-sgian myself,” Asia huffed. She prodded Christian in the shoulder. “Go, go, get dressed!”

(270 words)

Mothers and Sons

“Happy birthday.”

Tobias looked up from where he was cleaning one of his guns and blinked. “Uh. Commander. Hi.” He froze, trying to decide whether he should jump up and salute or hit the floor and do push-ups for being caught unawares.

Asia leaned in the doorway, one hand outstretched, a box resting on her palm. The box was heavy padded velvet and tied with an intricate bow.

“None of the others remembered,” she said, “but then I doubt most of them remember their own birthdays.”

“I think, for some of them, their two birthdays get jumbled,” Tobias said.

“That’s funny,” Asia said, “since I doubt that most of them had proper first birthdays.” She thrust the box at him.

Tobias rose up and accepted it gingerly. He peered at it, then at her. “I, er, should I open it now?”

“It’s yours to do with as you like.”

“Well...thank you.” Tobias smiled at her.

She smiled back, though the emotion in her eyes was unreadable, and left the room. As soon as her footsteps were out of earshot and Tobias couldn’t hear her breathing - he shifted into panther temporarily to make sure her heat signature was gone too - he opened the box.

Inside were...photographs. Letters. Tied in neat bundles with a rhythm. The note on top was in Asia’s handwriting.

“I found these. I wasn’t sure if they matter anymore, but I thought you’d like to have them.”

Tobias fished the photos and letters out, untied them and leafed through them. Most of them featured a lovely young woman, pale-skinned and dark-haired, her eyes familiar. In one picture she was playing a violin, and in another she was holding a tiny baby. The letters were all addressed to ‘my son’ and signed ‘Lillian, your mother.’

It wasn’t until Tobias got to the bottom of the stack of letters and found the birth certificate that he realized Lillian was his mother. Then he picked up the first letter and read through it properly.

He was still reading when Keith got back from his mission three days later.

(352 words)

Happy Anniversary

“...What is this?” Carolyn asked.

Bob nudged her shoulder playfully. “Surely even you remember the archaic notion of the mix tape.”

It was, indeed, an old-fashioned cassette. Bob had written on the label, in his girly cursive, ‘Anniversary Mix #1’. Carolyn turned it over in her hands, ran her fingertips over the familiar contours and corners of the tape. She smiled.

“Wherever did you find it?”

“I’ll admit, I had to call around to some of my friends down at the studio, but I did it. I know you love your cranky old car and it still has a tape player, but in the event that it doesn’t work, I have this.” Bob plopped an old boom box down on the kitchen table.

Carolyn laughed. “Wow. And if we weren’t celebrating our first anniversary, I’m guessing you’d stand outside my window and hold that over your head, mix tape going at full blast?”

Bob pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You better believe it.” He nudged the boom box toward her. “Go ahead - give it a try.”

Carolyn reached out and pressed a button cautiously, and the tape deck popped open. She slid the tape in, had to pause and turn it around, and then she pressed ‘play’.

Music flooded the speakers, familiar voices. Carolyn’s eyes lit up.

“I haven’t heard this song in years! You sounded like chipmunks.”

Bob shrugged. “We were kids. But this song reminds me of you.”

Carolyn leaned back against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.

“I love it,” she said.

“I love you.” Bob kissed her on the cheek. “Happy anniversary.”

(274 words)

Lovely, Love You

“For Valentine’s Day? D’you think I’m a bloody girl?”

Holly slewed him a glance. “I wouldn’t be dating you if I was thinking you’re a girl, would I?”

Keith eyed her for a moment longer, took a deep drag off his cigarette. Then he dropped it, ground it out with the heel of his shoe, and accepted the clumsily wrapped package. “Could you have made a bigger mess of this? Are you sure you’re a lass?”

“You’d know best.” Holly’s golden eyes glittered.

Keith tore the newsprint off with awkward, hurried hands. He cast the paper aside - ignored Holly’s tuts about littering - and found a box. A shoe-box. Covered in duct tape. He lifted his head, confused.

“A lad needs to work for his gift.” Holly gestured for him to hurry up.

Keith reached into his pocket for a switchblade. He flicked it open and grinned at her, then proceeded to saw his way into the box. Holly rolled her eyes and took a drag off her own cigarette.

She smoked cloves, which Keith thought was pretentious, but he wouldn’t deny how good it tasted when they kissed.

Inside the shoebox was - more newsprint. Crumpled up and shoved in there to pad - something. Keith arched an eyebrow at his girlfriend and then fished around and came up with a lovely silver lighter. It was heart-shaped and filigreed and almost looked girly, but for the sinister eye engraved in one side.

He flipped it open and tested its flame.

“So you don’t need one of those cheap Bics you’re constantly losing,” Holly said.

Keith cupped his palm around the flame and tested it, working his gift over it. Holly stared pointedly at the horizon, pretending she couldn’t see.

Keith grinned. Then he looped an arm around her waist and pulled her in, kissed her thoroughly.

“’S lovely,” he murmured against her mouth.

“Love you,” she murmured back, and he laughed.

Flames danced on his fingertips.

(326 words)

So Different and so the Same

Mark and Bryan sat around the tree in their small apartment, completely disregarding what little furniture there was in the room. The tree was a little one that they had cut from the local forest plot. They figured that no one would miss a two foot sapling. The tree was strung about with strands of popcorn and construction paper chains, a single candle acted as the star on the top of the tree. Only two presents sat under the tree.

Both of the twins were bright eyed with anticipation as they handed each other their gifts, one wrapped in blue and one in green.

"Ready?" Bryan asked.

"Ready."

"GO!"

The twins tore into the simple paper quickly, pulling out the gift from the one that knew him best.

A brief look of confusion passed over each of their faces before they broke out in loud gales of laughter. Each of them held up an identical Ipods.

Use It or String It

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” DJ said.

“It’s your birthday. Of course I had to get you something.” Celia smiled and pressed the small wrapped package into his hands.

He didn’t dare say what he was thinking, that she was from that part of town and couldn’t afford to feed herself and her brothers if she kept spending money on him like this, but he accepted the tiny thing.

“You can open it now,” Celia said. “It’s not like I bought something viciously embarrassing.”

DJ took a deep breath. Then, with deliberate hands, he peeled back the wrapping paper, careful to preserve the edges and seams. Beneath the paper was a matchbox. He set the paper aside and then pushed the matchbox open.

Inside lay a guitar pick, gleaming metal. DJ turned the box and tipped the pick onto his palm. It turned over as it landed on his skin, cool, and he saw, engraved in delicate cursive on one side of the pick, two names.

Dylan and Celia.

Celia smiled at him. “You can use it to play me songs, or just string it on a necklace, or --”

He pulled her close and kissed her.

(198 words)

Grooves and Teeth

“Merry Christmas,” Amy whispered. She reached out to shake Gabriel’s hand, and he paused, confused. Why would she shake his hand?

She thrust her hand at him insistently.

“Uh, Merry Christmas to you too, Amy,” Gabriel said, and ran over some times tables in his head. None of the other telepaths at the facility were as strong as him, but he could never be too cautious. He shook her hand.


And felt her slide cold metal against his palm. Grooves. Teeth. A key. She smiled at him and then walked away.

Later that night, when all of the other residents were sleeping and the only lights on were the Christmas lights strung haphazardly in the hallways by the clumsy telekinetics, Gabriel tried the key.

It opened the door to the stairwell.

Gabriel supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when Amy, bundled in layers and layers of sweaters and scarves, was hiding on the second landing. She thrust a large coat at him, and then a pair of gloves.

“Where are we going?” Gabriel asked, but he followed her anyway.

“You said you wanted to find your mother’s grave,” Amy said. “I got access to some city planning records in the library and I found it.”

Gabriel’s feet slowed. “You - you did?”

Amy nodded. “Yeah. I figured - you know. We could go sing her Christmas carols or something.”

Warmth curled through Gabriel’s limbs for the first time since winter had fallen over the facility. “Okay. Let’s.”

(245 words)

Cocoon

Ariana eagerly unwrapped the large soft object that David had placed in her lap. They were gathered around her families Christmas tree. Bright colored paper went flying as she tore through it with ease. After a few seconds she held up the big quilt. It was blue and green and white. It looked thick and warm.

"Oh, David. It's perfect!" she reached over and kissed him soundly before throwing the new quilt around David and herself, pulling him back against her so they could be cocooned away from everyone. Ariana giggled when David poked her in the side, the tepee that surrounded them shuddering with the movement of the laughter.

Project #51: Gifts

It's the holiday season. So...what do your characters buy for each other for...Christmas? Birthdays? Valentine's Day? How do they choose. How well does David accept a new silencer for his gun? What does five-year-old Joe ask for in his letter to Santa? Since it's that time of the year, think about gifts, gifts, and more gifts. 100-400 words. Enjoy!

Overview #50: Dear Diary

First of all, woohoo! Fifty challenges delivered and answered! I was originally planning on doing this week's challenge as straight diary entries, and this would have been a serious exercise in voice and POV. I think I did that with the first entry, but after that it was a matter of creativity and seeing what I could do with a journal entry. I think Carolyn's journal was the one that mirrored most closely the effect I'd intended when I'd set out to write it. The monster Moffatts nostalgia run wasn't at all what I was expecting, and anyone looking very closely will see that the lyrics can't possibly match up with the timeline as I've established it, but it was a fun project. I felt a little lame for stealing lyrics left and right like I did, but I tried to make each character's sense of journaling different. Clay's made me smile. Bob's, of course, came the hardest, if only because I hadn't really pictured any of the brothers but Scott and Dan keeping journals.

Overall, however, it was a great experience and a learning one.

Overview #50 - Dear Diary

okay so I all kinds of tanked this week. But i had a semi legitimate distraction. I could blame him, but I'm not going to. I did enjoy the posts that I made though. At least for the most part. I know David has a journal entry kicking around in my brain somewhere, but....

this weeks winner is Nagi. Pick your prize my friend.