“Where’s James?” Asia paused in the hallway outside Riley’s door.
“He’s caught a cold,” Riley said, darted a nervous glance down the hall toward James’s room.
Asia craned her neck and saw that someone had taped a biohazard sign to James’s door. “Oh dear. He doesn’t take illness well, does he?”
“He’s officially quarantined,” Serena added. “We’re shooting around him until he gets better.”
“Has a doctor been to see him?”
Serena shook her head. “No. No one’s to go near him. He’s contagious.”
Asia knew that contagion mattered little for her. “I’m going to take him some chicken soup.”
Riley winced. “You really shouldn’t. George has forbidden anyone from going in there.”
“I’ll be fine,” Asia said. “I’m tough.”
“He’s really, really ill!” Riley called after Asia, but she was already halfway down the stairs.
As she spoke fluent French, she managed to bully her way into the kitchen. Then she called Tobias and demanded his best chicken soup recipe. The cooks seemed amused at her cooking attempts, but in a couple of hours she had a bowl of soup and some bread rolls. One of the waitresses helped her load it onto a tray, and one of the maids slipped her a master key.
“’M miserable, George,” James said, muffled through the door. “Can’t I just see someone? I’ll take the nagging costume girls --”
Asia nudged the door open with her hip. “Chicken soup for the patient.” She smiled brightly.
James was disheveled and pale, though his cheeks were flushed with fever, and his hair stuck up every which way. He was huddled miserably on the bed, and it looked like he was in the middle of watching The Labyrinth. Again.
“Asia!” James’s face lit up, and then he dissolved into hacking coughs.
She set down on the tray and then sat down on bed next to him. She reached out and checked his forehead; he acquiesced to her touch easily enough; he was clearly hungry for human company.
“You’re quite ill,” she said.
James nodded. “I know. George said I’ve been quarantined. How’d you get permission to see me?”
“I didn’t,” Asia said, “but I’m tough. I won’t catch what you have.”
“How do you know?”
Asia just smiled and offered up the bowl of soup. “I know these things. Now come on - eat some soup and some bread rolls, and then I’ll pamper you for the next few hours, hm? Back rubs and foot rubs and anything else you’d like.”
James accepted the tray gratefully. “Thanks.”
Asia pressed a kiss to his cheek. “No problem.”
(429 words)
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Sport of Their Own
“You all right?” DJ asked. He sank down on the edge of the basketball court beside Lee Hong.
Lee shrugged, carded a hand through his hair. “I’m not much one for American sports,” he said wryly. He had a black eye from catching an accidentally-on-purpose elbow to the face, and DJ had winced when he’d seen the hit.
“Yes, well, I’m not sure they’re much for your sports either,” DJ said.
Lee cast him a sidelong glance. “You’re the first person who hasn’t insisted that basketball should be my sport.”
DJ gave Lee a once-over and could see why the other boys at the high school might make that insistence. Lee was a good six-foot-three and built along the lean lines of a runner - or a martial artist. He had curly dark hair and Persian-dark eyes and mediterranean-olive skin, but he spoke fluent Chinese and took his notes vertically, right to left when he was in class. None of the students understood how Lee, who looked faintly like a Greek korous statue, was Chinese. Because he’d been raised by Chinese monks in the mountains of norther China and, until some foreigner had spotted him and offered him a mirror, hadn’t realized he wasn’t like his brothers in the faith.
“I can play it, and I like it, but it’s not my sport either,” DJ said.
“You can play it very well,” Lee agreed. “What is your sport?”
DJ eyed Lee up and down. Then he lunged, swinging one fist out in a snake-strike. Lee reacted automatically, blocking crane, striking tiger, and then they were nose-to-nose, Lee’s eyes wide in surprise, DJ grinning.
“You know wushu.” Lee blinked.
DJ’s grin widened. “Southern Shao Lin. What’s yours?”
“Northern,” Lee said.
DJ rocked back, kipped up onto his feet. He settled into an easy mantis stance. “How about we show those boys what your sport is?”
Lee followed suit, and then he crouched low, phoenix stance.
What came next was the best sparring match DJ could remember having in a long time. While he and Lee were weaving across the gym floor looking for openings in the other’s defense, the basketball game they’d been ejected from screeched to a halt, and the other boys could only stare.
DJ let Lee win, just barely, and when he was down on the ground he could see some of the other boys shuffling nervously.
As Lee pulled DJ to his feet, DJ asked, loud enough for the others to hear,
“Why did you take that elbow to the eye?”
He knew the answer, but hearing Lee say it was what made it worth it. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
DJ clapped Lee on the shoulder, and together they headed for the locker rooms. The coach forgot to blow his whistle, for he was still staring.
“How about you come to my house for dinner tonight? My brother makes killer spring rolls...”
(496)
Lee shrugged, carded a hand through his hair. “I’m not much one for American sports,” he said wryly. He had a black eye from catching an accidentally-on-purpose elbow to the face, and DJ had winced when he’d seen the hit.
“Yes, well, I’m not sure they’re much for your sports either,” DJ said.
Lee cast him a sidelong glance. “You’re the first person who hasn’t insisted that basketball should be my sport.”
DJ gave Lee a once-over and could see why the other boys at the high school might make that insistence. Lee was a good six-foot-three and built along the lean lines of a runner - or a martial artist. He had curly dark hair and Persian-dark eyes and mediterranean-olive skin, but he spoke fluent Chinese and took his notes vertically, right to left when he was in class. None of the students understood how Lee, who looked faintly like a Greek korous statue, was Chinese. Because he’d been raised by Chinese monks in the mountains of norther China and, until some foreigner had spotted him and offered him a mirror, hadn’t realized he wasn’t like his brothers in the faith.
“I can play it, and I like it, but it’s not my sport either,” DJ said.
“You can play it very well,” Lee agreed. “What is your sport?”
DJ eyed Lee up and down. Then he lunged, swinging one fist out in a snake-strike. Lee reacted automatically, blocking crane, striking tiger, and then they were nose-to-nose, Lee’s eyes wide in surprise, DJ grinning.
“You know wushu.” Lee blinked.
DJ’s grin widened. “Southern Shao Lin. What’s yours?”
“Northern,” Lee said.
DJ rocked back, kipped up onto his feet. He settled into an easy mantis stance. “How about we show those boys what your sport is?”
Lee followed suit, and then he crouched low, phoenix stance.
What came next was the best sparring match DJ could remember having in a long time. While he and Lee were weaving across the gym floor looking for openings in the other’s defense, the basketball game they’d been ejected from screeched to a halt, and the other boys could only stare.
DJ let Lee win, just barely, and when he was down on the ground he could see some of the other boys shuffling nervously.
As Lee pulled DJ to his feet, DJ asked, loud enough for the others to hear,
“Why did you take that elbow to the eye?”
He knew the answer, but hearing Lee say it was what made it worth it. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
DJ clapped Lee on the shoulder, and together they headed for the locker rooms. The coach forgot to blow his whistle, for he was still staring.
“How about you come to my house for dinner tonight? My brother makes killer spring rolls...”
(496)
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Fake Assignment
“I don’t think she likes me very much, Mr. Andrews,” Zach said.
Tobias sat down next to him and followed his gaze to where Marisa Halloway was standing and talking with her friends. Best as Tobias could tell, Marisa was stylish and fashionable by modern standards, but Tobias would always have eyes for a golden-eyed girl with black curls.
“Have you told her you like her?” he asked. He figured, of all the boys on the team, he best understood how to be a compassionate high school teacher.
“I tried.” Zach shrugged helplessly. “But I don’t think she even knows I’m alive.”
“Well...” Tobias studied Marisa. “Do you have any special talents?”
“I’m an orchestra geek, Mr. Andrews.” Zach rolled his eyes.
Tobias nodded patiently. “What instrument do you play?”
“The violin,” Zach said.
“I play the violin.” Tobias gave him a friendly nudge. “It’s a noble instrument. No need to be ashamed.”
“It’s classical and boring,” Zach pointed out. “All the cool guys play the guitar.”
“That’s not true,” Tobias said. “How about this - you play her a song?”
“Modern girls don’t like it when a guy serenades them out their window,” Zach said.
Tobias nodded. “I know. But...how about you make her a CD? Find out her favorite pretty ballads and record them.”
“An entire CD of violin solos? That’s kinda boring.”
“I know some musicians,” Tobias said. He smiled encouragingly. “You’d have back-up.”
“Really? And how would we record it?”
“Don’t worry - I’ve got that covered. You just need to find out what her favorite songs are.”
Zach gazed at Marisa for a long moment. Then he hauled himself to his feet. “All right.”
***
It took a fake assignment on Tobias’s part to find out Marisa’s favorite songs, some wheedling of DJ, Gabriel, and Keith, and a month in Tobias’s basement studio before the project was done. On the big day, Tobias lingered in the hallway and watched as Zach taped the CD to Marisa’s locker (DJ had made cover art specially for the project). Then Tobias and Zach watched together as Marisa approached her locker, slowed, inspected the gift.
She opened her locker and popped the CD into her discman right then and there. A smile spread across her features as she heard the first song, and Tobias saw Zach’s face light up. Tobias patted him on the shoulder and walked away, just in time for Marisa to look up and notice Zach.
Mission accomplished, Tobias thought, and headed for the teacher’s lounge.
(420 words)
Tobias sat down next to him and followed his gaze to where Marisa Halloway was standing and talking with her friends. Best as Tobias could tell, Marisa was stylish and fashionable by modern standards, but Tobias would always have eyes for a golden-eyed girl with black curls.
“Have you told her you like her?” he asked. He figured, of all the boys on the team, he best understood how to be a compassionate high school teacher.
“I tried.” Zach shrugged helplessly. “But I don’t think she even knows I’m alive.”
“Well...” Tobias studied Marisa. “Do you have any special talents?”
“I’m an orchestra geek, Mr. Andrews.” Zach rolled his eyes.
Tobias nodded patiently. “What instrument do you play?”
“The violin,” Zach said.
“I play the violin.” Tobias gave him a friendly nudge. “It’s a noble instrument. No need to be ashamed.”
“It’s classical and boring,” Zach pointed out. “All the cool guys play the guitar.”
“That’s not true,” Tobias said. “How about this - you play her a song?”
“Modern girls don’t like it when a guy serenades them out their window,” Zach said.
Tobias nodded. “I know. But...how about you make her a CD? Find out her favorite pretty ballads and record them.”
“An entire CD of violin solos? That’s kinda boring.”
“I know some musicians,” Tobias said. He smiled encouragingly. “You’d have back-up.”
“Really? And how would we record it?”
“Don’t worry - I’ve got that covered. You just need to find out what her favorite songs are.”
Zach gazed at Marisa for a long moment. Then he hauled himself to his feet. “All right.”
It took a fake assignment on Tobias’s part to find out Marisa’s favorite songs, some wheedling of DJ, Gabriel, and Keith, and a month in Tobias’s basement studio before the project was done. On the big day, Tobias lingered in the hallway and watched as Zach taped the CD to Marisa’s locker (DJ had made cover art specially for the project). Then Tobias and Zach watched together as Marisa approached her locker, slowed, inspected the gift.
She opened her locker and popped the CD into her discman right then and there. A smile spread across her features as she heard the first song, and Tobias saw Zach’s face light up. Tobias patted him on the shoulder and walked away, just in time for Marisa to look up and notice Zach.
Mission accomplished, Tobias thought, and headed for the teacher’s lounge.
(420 words)
Buried
David awoke slowly from his nap. The sun was still high and warm on his face and he felt like he was surrounded in warmth. He could remember lying down on the warm sands of the beach, Ariana beside him.
David turned his head and saw that Ariana was still sleeping. He smiled to himself and went to sit up, and found that he couldn't. Puzzled, David looked down at his chest and saw that he was buried up to his shoulders in a thick layer of warm sand.
After a few moments of fruitless struggle David sat still. He turned his head to look at Ariana and saw that she was shaking with silent laughter, tears rolling from her eyes.
"Ari, what on earth..."
Ariana burst out laughing and rolled onto her stomach as she scooted closer to her trapped boyfriend. She bit her lip, trying to hold back the laughter.
"Okay Ari, will you let me go now?" David laughed, trying again to free himself.
Ariana cocked her head to one side, "no. I don't think I will. At least not yet."
"Why not?" David asked with one eyebrow raised.
"Because now I can do this," Ariana said, as she bent over him. Ariana captured his lips in a long passionate kiss.
David turned his head and saw that Ariana was still sleeping. He smiled to himself and went to sit up, and found that he couldn't. Puzzled, David looked down at his chest and saw that he was buried up to his shoulders in a thick layer of warm sand.
After a few moments of fruitless struggle David sat still. He turned his head to look at Ariana and saw that she was shaking with silent laughter, tears rolling from her eyes.
"Ari, what on earth..."
Ariana burst out laughing and rolled onto her stomach as she scooted closer to her trapped boyfriend. She bit her lip, trying to hold back the laughter.
"Okay Ari, will you let me go now?" David laughed, trying again to free himself.
Ariana cocked her head to one side, "no. I don't think I will. At least not yet."
"Why not?" David asked with one eyebrow raised.
"Because now I can do this," Ariana said, as she bent over him. Ariana captured his lips in a long passionate kiss.
Ghostly
"You know, it really sucks that I can't touch you all the time," David said as he reclined in a chair, half in shade and half in the sun. Ariana hovered as if she were sitting on his lap.
"But you can see me almost all the time," Ariana said with laughter in her voice. "If you could touch me all the time, or rather, I could touch you, then I would be alive and I couldn't do my work."
"What exactly is your work?" David asked. He had gotten used to talking to her out loud, but only when he was sure there was no one around.
"Mostly to keep you safe," she said, "that's why I had to die. God knew that you would need me to help keep you safe. But thankfully, He didn't want to separate us."
"You said mostly," David said after a few moments, "what else do you do?"
"Well, you are by far the person that takes up most of my time. The other two don't need me so much. I also keep a general eye on your team, though each of them have their own guardian," she said.
"So when can you touch me?" David asked with a wink.
"When it won't endanger you, when it will keep you from harm, and when I think it is for your good," Ariana ticked them off on her fingers, her voice singsong as if reciting a list of rules.
"For my good," David laughed, the lost twinkle in his eye sparking to life, "wouldn't that be all the time."
"No," Ariana smiled, "I have to judge when it is for your good."
"Like when?" David asked.
"Like now," Ariana whispered and leaned in for a ghostly kiss.
"But you can see me almost all the time," Ariana said with laughter in her voice. "If you could touch me all the time, or rather, I could touch you, then I would be alive and I couldn't do my work."
"What exactly is your work?" David asked. He had gotten used to talking to her out loud, but only when he was sure there was no one around.
"Mostly to keep you safe," she said, "that's why I had to die. God knew that you would need me to help keep you safe. But thankfully, He didn't want to separate us."
"You said mostly," David said after a few moments, "what else do you do?"
"Well, you are by far the person that takes up most of my time. The other two don't need me so much. I also keep a general eye on your team, though each of them have their own guardian," she said.
"So when can you touch me?" David asked with a wink.
"When it won't endanger you, when it will keep you from harm, and when I think it is for your good," Ariana ticked them off on her fingers, her voice singsong as if reciting a list of rules.
"For my good," David laughed, the lost twinkle in his eye sparking to life, "wouldn't that be all the time."
"No," Ariana smiled, "I have to judge when it is for your good."
"Like when?" David asked.
"Like now," Ariana whispered and leaned in for a ghostly kiss.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Made On National Radio
“You get so antsy before publicity,” Devon remarked. Once in a blue moon the fans liked to see the producers and the writers, but Devon was content to stand in the wings and watch the principal actors do their thing.
Asia shrugged and watched with narrow eyes as the make-up girl spent longer than necessary combing James’s hair. “Yes, well, this one is going to be special, isn’t it? Usually the fans don’t see me live. I have to go out there and get my spar on.”
“I saw you and James rehearsing the routine,” Devon said. “It looked fine to me.”
“James is fine with a sword,” Asia said, distracted. She knew she was being irrational - James was attractive, and half the reason the fangirls tuned in each week was to see him with his top off (which distressed him more than he’d admit, but that was an argument for a later time), so it was expected that girls would throw themselves at him.
Finally James batted the make-up girl’s hands aside and scrambled up on the sofa to sit beside Riley for the radio interview before the live interview.
The DJ was a charming fellow, easy with the friendly banter and the jokes, loosening the boys up - since Riley was still awkward when it came to publicity and often let James answer for them both - and Asia was glad. Sometimes DJs liked to pick on James for being a pretty boy.
“What about the ladies?” the DJ asked. “James, you’re strapping and golden blond and fine with a sword - does it help? With the pulling?”
“I’m not much one for anonymous pulls, actually,” James said. “People recognize Riley more than me anyway. Unless I go out on the street wearing armor, no one looks at me twice.”
“That’s not true,” Riley said. “I mean, sure, all the girls think I look like a pixie, but you’re all strong and handsome --”
James blushed. “Yes, well, all right, being on the show has garnered me more attention on the streets, but - I’m seeing someone actually, so there you go.”
“Oh - so being on the show has helped you get a girlfriend?”
Asia didn’t hear the rest. She had told James it would be all right if he didn’t tell people about them, because he had a career to think about, and she really wouldn’t have minded, but - that he cared enough to say anything made her feel strangely warm inside. While the DJ quizzed Riley about his love life, James cast a glance toward the sidelines, and when he saw Asia, he smiled.
“I think,” Devon said, “you’ve just been made on national radio.”
“I think you’re right,” Asia agreed.
James grinned and made a motion liked swinging a sword, and Asia felt strangely warm, calm.
(468 words)
Asia shrugged and watched with narrow eyes as the make-up girl spent longer than necessary combing James’s hair. “Yes, well, this one is going to be special, isn’t it? Usually the fans don’t see me live. I have to go out there and get my spar on.”
“I saw you and James rehearsing the routine,” Devon said. “It looked fine to me.”
“James is fine with a sword,” Asia said, distracted. She knew she was being irrational - James was attractive, and half the reason the fangirls tuned in each week was to see him with his top off (which distressed him more than he’d admit, but that was an argument for a later time), so it was expected that girls would throw themselves at him.
Finally James batted the make-up girl’s hands aside and scrambled up on the sofa to sit beside Riley for the radio interview before the live interview.
The DJ was a charming fellow, easy with the friendly banter and the jokes, loosening the boys up - since Riley was still awkward when it came to publicity and often let James answer for them both - and Asia was glad. Sometimes DJs liked to pick on James for being a pretty boy.
“What about the ladies?” the DJ asked. “James, you’re strapping and golden blond and fine with a sword - does it help? With the pulling?”
“I’m not much one for anonymous pulls, actually,” James said. “People recognize Riley more than me anyway. Unless I go out on the street wearing armor, no one looks at me twice.”
“That’s not true,” Riley said. “I mean, sure, all the girls think I look like a pixie, but you’re all strong and handsome --”
James blushed. “Yes, well, all right, being on the show has garnered me more attention on the streets, but - I’m seeing someone actually, so there you go.”
“Oh - so being on the show has helped you get a girlfriend?”
Asia didn’t hear the rest. She had told James it would be all right if he didn’t tell people about them, because he had a career to think about, and she really wouldn’t have minded, but - that he cared enough to say anything made her feel strangely warm inside. While the DJ quizzed Riley about his love life, James cast a glance toward the sidelines, and when he saw Asia, he smiled.
“I think,” Devon said, “you’ve just been made on national radio.”
“I think you’re right,” Asia agreed.
James grinned and made a motion liked swinging a sword, and Asia felt strangely warm, calm.
(468 words)
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Concept of a Surprise
Joe slipped the blindfold over Jen's eyes and gently but firmly tied it, blocking her view of the world.
"Joe. What are you doing?" Jen asked with laughter in her voice.
"You'll see," he said as he helped her into the car.
"So where are we going?" Jen asked as they accelerated into the flow of traffic.
"You don't get the concept of a surprise do you?" Joe teased.
"Can I ask questions?"
"I won't guarantee that I will answer them," Joe said with a grin.
"That's not fair," Jen pouted.
"Have I ever told you how adorable you are when you pout?" Joe asked as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
They kept up the easy banter as they drove along. After what seemed like a short time, Joe was pulling the car off the road and onto a bumpy path. Joe knelt next to the car of Jen's side and slipped off her shoes.
"Hey," Jen protested, but Joe silenced her wit ha finger on her lips. He helped Jen out the car and she felt a fresh breeze blowing across her face and the moisture of a nearby body of water. She felt soft cool grass and earth beneath her feet. Joe took both her hands and lead her forward; she could sense the warmth of the sun on her face.
"Sit here," Joe said as she stepped from cool grass to soft fabric.
Jen settled herself down on the blanket and reached for the blindfold only to have Joe's strong hands arrest her own.
"Not yet," he whispered.
Jen placed her hands in her lap, waiting for him to say it was time. She could hear him rustling around next to her and wondered what he was doing. After a few more moments, Jen felt his strong fingers slide through her hair and release the blindfold. It fell to reveal a dazzlingly beautiful sunset over a lake; surrounding the blanket was a half dozed oil lamps, and a picnic dinner.
"Oh," Jen breathed.
"Do you like it?" Joe asked, his voice holding just the barest hint of uncertainty.
Jen leaned towards him and pressed a passionate kiss to his lips. After a moment she pulled back, "I love it," she said and kissed him again before curling into his chest to watch the sun set.
"Joe. What are you doing?" Jen asked with laughter in her voice.
"You'll see," he said as he helped her into the car.
"So where are we going?" Jen asked as they accelerated into the flow of traffic.
"You don't get the concept of a surprise do you?" Joe teased.
"Can I ask questions?"
"I won't guarantee that I will answer them," Joe said with a grin.
"That's not fair," Jen pouted.
"Have I ever told you how adorable you are when you pout?" Joe asked as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
They kept up the easy banter as they drove along. After what seemed like a short time, Joe was pulling the car off the road and onto a bumpy path. Joe knelt next to the car of Jen's side and slipped off her shoes.
"Hey," Jen protested, but Joe silenced her wit ha finger on her lips. He helped Jen out the car and she felt a fresh breeze blowing across her face and the moisture of a nearby body of water. She felt soft cool grass and earth beneath her feet. Joe took both her hands and lead her forward; she could sense the warmth of the sun on her face.
"Sit here," Joe said as she stepped from cool grass to soft fabric.
Jen settled herself down on the blanket and reached for the blindfold only to have Joe's strong hands arrest her own.
"Not yet," he whispered.
Jen placed her hands in her lap, waiting for him to say it was time. She could hear him rustling around next to her and wondered what he was doing. After a few more moments, Jen felt his strong fingers slide through her hair and release the blindfold. It fell to reveal a dazzlingly beautiful sunset over a lake; surrounding the blanket was a half dozed oil lamps, and a picnic dinner.
"Oh," Jen breathed.
"Do you like it?" Joe asked, his voice holding just the barest hint of uncertainty.
Jen leaned towards him and pressed a passionate kiss to his lips. After a moment she pulled back, "I love it," she said and kissed him again before curling into his chest to watch the sun set.
What Matters
“I don’t trust your intentions toward my brother.” Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and did her best to stare Asia down.
Asia briefly considered refusing to look up, continuing chopping carrots, but then she sighed and set her knife down. “I can understand your skepticism, seeing how we only started dating after the show drew its first six million, but what I feel for James has nothing to do with how famous he is.”
Natasha arched an eyebrow. “I’ve seen girls talking to him at pubs, smiling at him -- all his life. I’ve heard how they talk about him, how fit he is, the things they’d like to do to him --” She closed her eyes and shuddered.
“Natasha, I’d be an idiot not to realize your brother’s a very handsome man, but that’s not why I’m interested in him,” Asia said.
Natasha opened her eyes and continued to pin Asia with an expression both dubious and disdainful.
Asia had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ve known James since he was in drama school. I’ve seen him first thing in the morning when he has bed-head and has been drooling all over his pillow. No matter what the fangirls think, that sort of thing is never attractive. And I love him anyway.”
Natasha’s closed-off posture made it clear that she didn’t believe it.
“Look, I’ve seen James at his worst - his sulkiest, his drunkest, his most foul-tempered when he’s ill - and I love him.”
“I’ve seen loads of girls who put up with his moods because he’s James Mallory.”
The frustration welling in Asia’s chest was enough to make her want to punch something. Again, she resisted the urge. Natasha was staring at her, waiting for some other verbal riposte. Asia reached into her pocket and drew out her wallet, rifled through it. Then she tugged out a picture and thrust it at Natasha.
Natasha’s expression went from mulish to awed in three seconds flat. “That - that’s DJ Callahan. The supermodel. And - you’re standing with him. How do you know him?”
“He’s one of my foster brothers,” Asia said.
Natasha blinked. “Wha?”
“That’s right. One of my brothers. I do his dirty laundry and feed him chicken soup when he’s sick and laugh at him when he spends his money on stupid things.” Asia smiled hopefully. “Don’t you see? Pretty faces and money don’t matter. What matters is love. And I love your brother.”
Natasha didn’t seem to be listening anymore, but Asia felt that it ought to be said anyway.
“I love James,” Asia said, “enough that I’d die for him. Or kill for him.”
“Right,” Natasha said faintly. It would be another ten minutes before she’d give the photo back.
Asia sighed and went back to chopping carrots.
She didn’t notice James lingering in the kitchen doorway, watching her and smiling.
(480 words)
Asia briefly considered refusing to look up, continuing chopping carrots, but then she sighed and set her knife down. “I can understand your skepticism, seeing how we only started dating after the show drew its first six million, but what I feel for James has nothing to do with how famous he is.”
Natasha arched an eyebrow. “I’ve seen girls talking to him at pubs, smiling at him -- all his life. I’ve heard how they talk about him, how fit he is, the things they’d like to do to him --” She closed her eyes and shuddered.
“Natasha, I’d be an idiot not to realize your brother’s a very handsome man, but that’s not why I’m interested in him,” Asia said.
Natasha opened her eyes and continued to pin Asia with an expression both dubious and disdainful.
Asia had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ve known James since he was in drama school. I’ve seen him first thing in the morning when he has bed-head and has been drooling all over his pillow. No matter what the fangirls think, that sort of thing is never attractive. And I love him anyway.”
Natasha’s closed-off posture made it clear that she didn’t believe it.
“Look, I’ve seen James at his worst - his sulkiest, his drunkest, his most foul-tempered when he’s ill - and I love him.”
“I’ve seen loads of girls who put up with his moods because he’s James Mallory.”
The frustration welling in Asia’s chest was enough to make her want to punch something. Again, she resisted the urge. Natasha was staring at her, waiting for some other verbal riposte. Asia reached into her pocket and drew out her wallet, rifled through it. Then she tugged out a picture and thrust it at Natasha.
Natasha’s expression went from mulish to awed in three seconds flat. “That - that’s DJ Callahan. The supermodel. And - you’re standing with him. How do you know him?”
“He’s one of my foster brothers,” Asia said.
Natasha blinked. “Wha?”
“That’s right. One of my brothers. I do his dirty laundry and feed him chicken soup when he’s sick and laugh at him when he spends his money on stupid things.” Asia smiled hopefully. “Don’t you see? Pretty faces and money don’t matter. What matters is love. And I love your brother.”
Natasha didn’t seem to be listening anymore, but Asia felt that it ought to be said anyway.
“I love James,” Asia said, “enough that I’d die for him. Or kill for him.”
“Right,” Natasha said faintly. It would be another ten minutes before she’d give the photo back.
Asia sighed and went back to chopping carrots.
She didn’t notice James lingering in the kitchen doorway, watching her and smiling.
(480 words)
I Put Something On Your iPod
Asia awoke abruptly when she sensed someone ducking out of her hotel room.
The only people who could get into her room totally unnoticed were on her team. Anyone else who might sneak into her room in the wee hours of the morning without disturbing her had to be someone familiar, someone she instinctually knew was safe.
The only people she could think of were the principal actors, and if they were sneaking into rooms, pranks were bound to ensue. Asia crept around her room, checking nooks and crannies, her luggage and furniture and even the door for any prank rigging, but there was nothing. She scoured the bathroom before she dared shower, but as it turned out, nothing was amiss. She scooped up her iPod and went to pocket it, and that was when she noticed the sticky note on the screen.
I put something on your iPod, it read. She’d know that handwriting anywhere. Asia immediately turned on her iPod and thumbed through the “recently added” list, but she saw nothing. Then she thumbed through her videos, but again, nothing was out of the ordinary. And then she spotted it, a brand new playlist labeled Jamie. At first she was tempted to scroll through it and see what songs James had deemed worthy of representing him on her iPod forever, but then Asia decided she wanted to be surprised.
She put in the earbuds, grabbed her training bag, and decided to walk to the castle. No one had to know that she didn’t take a car. As she walked, she listened to the songs he had cobbled together: Rest in Peace by James Marsters, because James liked Buffy; Sweet Child of Mine by Guns’n’Roses; The Prettiest Star by David Bowie, and --
Asia went still, closed her eyes, and drank in the sound of James’s voice.
As soon as she heard the words The Wart she knew what book he was reading from even if she’d read the book a thousand times over the years. Asia stood in the middle of a wooded glade, head tipped back, lost in the cadence and rhythms of the voice that led her from her nightmares.
When the words ended, another song kicked on - Baby Can I Hold You, the Boyzone version - and Asia resumed walking.
For the next week, anyone who spotted her listening to her iPod would occasionally notice that, randomly, she would stop whatever she was doing and close her eyes, go completely still, and lose herself in whatever she was listening to, and then when it ended she would go on as if nothing strange had happened.
As Asia listened to James’s voice, she determined to find some way to hint to him that next time, he should read her a sonnet.
(463 words)
The only people who could get into her room totally unnoticed were on her team. Anyone else who might sneak into her room in the wee hours of the morning without disturbing her had to be someone familiar, someone she instinctually knew was safe.
The only people she could think of were the principal actors, and if they were sneaking into rooms, pranks were bound to ensue. Asia crept around her room, checking nooks and crannies, her luggage and furniture and even the door for any prank rigging, but there was nothing. She scoured the bathroom before she dared shower, but as it turned out, nothing was amiss. She scooped up her iPod and went to pocket it, and that was when she noticed the sticky note on the screen.
I put something on your iPod, it read. She’d know that handwriting anywhere. Asia immediately turned on her iPod and thumbed through the “recently added” list, but she saw nothing. Then she thumbed through her videos, but again, nothing was out of the ordinary. And then she spotted it, a brand new playlist labeled Jamie. At first she was tempted to scroll through it and see what songs James had deemed worthy of representing him on her iPod forever, but then Asia decided she wanted to be surprised.
She put in the earbuds, grabbed her training bag, and decided to walk to the castle. No one had to know that she didn’t take a car. As she walked, she listened to the songs he had cobbled together: Rest in Peace by James Marsters, because James liked Buffy; Sweet Child of Mine by Guns’n’Roses; The Prettiest Star by David Bowie, and --
Asia went still, closed her eyes, and drank in the sound of James’s voice.
As soon as she heard the words The Wart she knew what book he was reading from even if she’d read the book a thousand times over the years. Asia stood in the middle of a wooded glade, head tipped back, lost in the cadence and rhythms of the voice that led her from her nightmares.
When the words ended, another song kicked on - Baby Can I Hold You, the Boyzone version - and Asia resumed walking.
For the next week, anyone who spotted her listening to her iPod would occasionally notice that, randomly, she would stop whatever she was doing and close her eyes, go completely still, and lose herself in whatever she was listening to, and then when it ended she would go on as if nothing strange had happened.
As Asia listened to James’s voice, she determined to find some way to hint to him that next time, he should read her a sonnet.
(463 words)
Monday, January 18, 2010
Project Assignment # 56 - Fluff
Yup. You heard it right folks. This week is all about the fluff.
500 words max.
Get out all your warm fuzzies and get to writing fluff.
500 words max.
Get out all your warm fuzzies and get to writing fluff.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Overview #55: Urban Fantasy
I confess I was, in part, inspired to create this project after reading Holly Black's Tithe, which I enjoyed but I didn't find nearly as accessible as The Demon's Lexicon or The Mortal Instruments Trilogy, both of which are pretty awesome urban fantasy. I think I have a pretty good start on characters and a universe sketched out, but I don't know that anything I produced this week would actually be a good start for a novel itself. I sort of lost some of the urban after the first piece, because the mark of Urban fantasy is that it's set in a city, so readers can experience the bizarre juxtaposition of fast-paced modern life thrown in with the usually medieval conceptions of traditional high fantasy. Of course, the urban setting often lends a certain urgency and energy to the fantastical elements that develop. I have no idea what central conflict I could derive from the characters and setting I've created, but I think I did a decent job of weaving the mundane and supernatural.
Why does it always come back to Angels for me? Even the Wordsmith-verse had angelic elements in it.
Go figure.
Why does it always come back to Angels for me? Even the Wordsmith-verse had angelic elements in it.
Go figure.
The Fallen
“You’ll never guess who I caught singing in the streets the other day,” Kyle said, and for a moment Cody had no clue what he was talking about, but then Elise asked,
“Who?”
“Abbadon.”
Cody sucked in a breath sharply. “What? But I thought The Fallen didn’t have Voices.”
“Not natural ones,” Kyle said. “But the government hates it when ordinary people have an edge over them. So they tried to find voices of their own.”
“Who else has a choirboy, that you know of?” Marsh tossed a pair of dice up in the air, caught them with practiced ease.
“Olivier, or so the rumor goes.”
Cody could only stare as Kyle hoisted himself up onto the railing and perched for a moment, looking so much like one of those morons who tried to suicide off the footbridge between Nebraska and Iowa. Then Kyle stepped off the railing - and into the air. Marsh swore under his breath, and Cody saw Elise’s grip on her guitar go white-knuckled, but Kyle hovered for a moment, then began to descend slowly, gently, as if on an invisible elevator. In a movie he’d have been accompanied by a pillar of light filled with swirling dust motes.
“Malpas and Samael, too. Maybe even Zagan,” Kyle said. He paused, beckoned, and Cody’s entire world was filled with the beating of mighty wings.
Then Gabriel appeared on the ground beside Kyle. Amidst the shadows and the rubble, Gabriel looked too bright, too vivid to be real.
“Can the listeners catch on to them, too?” Elise asked.
Kyle nodded. “I suspect Olivier let himself be caught. Imagine what the government will do, once it has what it thinks is an actual Angel in its grasp?”
“We already fought this war,” Cody said. “The Fallen have their answer - and one third of us. What’s going on?”
“Don’t you get it?” Marsh asked, his voice tight. He was staring at his dice where they lay on his open palm. Snake eyes. “This is a whole new war.”
(338 words)
“Who?”
“Abbadon.”
Cody sucked in a breath sharply. “What? But I thought The Fallen didn’t have Voices.”
“Not natural ones,” Kyle said. “But the government hates it when ordinary people have an edge over them. So they tried to find voices of their own.”
“Who else has a choirboy, that you know of?” Marsh tossed a pair of dice up in the air, caught them with practiced ease.
“Olivier, or so the rumor goes.”
Cody could only stare as Kyle hoisted himself up onto the railing and perched for a moment, looking so much like one of those morons who tried to suicide off the footbridge between Nebraska and Iowa. Then Kyle stepped off the railing - and into the air. Marsh swore under his breath, and Cody saw Elise’s grip on her guitar go white-knuckled, but Kyle hovered for a moment, then began to descend slowly, gently, as if on an invisible elevator. In a movie he’d have been accompanied by a pillar of light filled with swirling dust motes.
“Malpas and Samael, too. Maybe even Zagan,” Kyle said. He paused, beckoned, and Cody’s entire world was filled with the beating of mighty wings.
Then Gabriel appeared on the ground beside Kyle. Amidst the shadows and the rubble, Gabriel looked too bright, too vivid to be real.
“Can the listeners catch on to them, too?” Elise asked.
Kyle nodded. “I suspect Olivier let himself be caught. Imagine what the government will do, once it has what it thinks is an actual Angel in its grasp?”
“We already fought this war,” Cody said. “The Fallen have their answer - and one third of us. What’s going on?”
“Don’t you get it?” Marsh asked, his voice tight. He was staring at his dice where they lay on his open palm. Snake eyes. “This is a whole new war.”
(338 words)
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Freak Out
"Now that I have accepted the reality of your existence, will you show yourself?" David asked. It had been nearly three months since his 'visitor' had taken to keeping him company.
"I still don't think you are ready," she laughed.
"What if I promise not to freak out or anything, not that I think that anything could freak me out now."
"If you behave yourself, then maybe."
David was still not one hundred percent certain that he wasn't crazy, but he was fairly sure."
She sighed, "remember how I told you that I had been wanting to touch you for a long time?"
David remembered back to that day when she had touched him, how it had brought back so many memories, and feelings. "Yes," he said hesitantly.
"Well that was not strictly true."
David waited for her to continue.
"It was true that I had wanted to touch you for a long time, but I didn't tell you how much I had missed touching you."
"Missed touching..." David began with a puzzled expression.
"David," the voice said hesitantly, as if afraid.
David suddenly recognized the intonation of his name, and everything clicked into place. The teasing, the smack to the back of the head, the way that he felt when she ran her fingers through his hair.
"Ari?" He asked, half in shock, half in hope.
The voice didn't say anything.
"Please Ari, if that's you, please, please, show yourself to me," David said frantically as he looked around for the source of her voice, now certain that it was her.
David sat stunned as his love appeared before his eyes; there but not really there. She was biting her lip in the way he knew all to well, "Hey Dave," she whispered.
David jumped up and ran towards her with his arms outstretched, "Ari!"
Ariana shook her head, "I can only touch you at certain times," she said as he passed through her.
David turned to look at her, his heart in his eyes, "why? Why did you have to leave me?" he asked brokenly, longing to touch the woman he loved, his had outstretched to caress her face.
"I never left you. Never," she said, "but you needed protection. You have a great work to do in life. You still need to do that, and I will be here with you to the end."
"Will we be together when it's all over?" David asked.
"I promise."
"I still don't think you are ready," she laughed.
"What if I promise not to freak out or anything, not that I think that anything could freak me out now."
"If you behave yourself, then maybe."
David was still not one hundred percent certain that he wasn't crazy, but he was fairly sure."
She sighed, "remember how I told you that I had been wanting to touch you for a long time?"
David remembered back to that day when she had touched him, how it had brought back so many memories, and feelings. "Yes," he said hesitantly.
"Well that was not strictly true."
David waited for her to continue.
"It was true that I had wanted to touch you for a long time, but I didn't tell you how much I had missed touching you."
"Missed touching..." David began with a puzzled expression.
"David," the voice said hesitantly, as if afraid.
David suddenly recognized the intonation of his name, and everything clicked into place. The teasing, the smack to the back of the head, the way that he felt when she ran her fingers through his hair.
"Ari?" He asked, half in shock, half in hope.
The voice didn't say anything.
"Please Ari, if that's you, please, please, show yourself to me," David said frantically as he looked around for the source of her voice, now certain that it was her.
David sat stunned as his love appeared before his eyes; there but not really there. She was biting her lip in the way he knew all to well, "Hey Dave," she whispered.
David jumped up and ran towards her with his arms outstretched, "Ari!"
Ariana shook her head, "I can only touch you at certain times," she said as he passed through her.
David turned to look at her, his heart in his eyes, "why? Why did you have to leave me?" he asked brokenly, longing to touch the woman he loved, his had outstretched to caress her face.
"I never left you. Never," she said, "but you needed protection. You have a great work to do in life. You still need to do that, and I will be here with you to the end."
"Will we be together when it's all over?" David asked.
"I promise."
Friday, January 15, 2010
Not Forbidden
"You know, you are starting to creep me out," David said. He knew no one was there, but he knew that she could hear him; that she was there. He had finally decided that the spirit, or whatever it was, was a woman.
"Why is that?" the voice asked after a moment of silence.
"You know me too well, as if you have always been watching me."
"Maybe I have."
"No. I remember. You said that you had been watching me for years, not from the beginning."
David caught a sigh coming from the spirit. "Can you show yourself?" David asked.
"I can. But I won't," the spirit said.
"Why not?"
"You're not ready for that."
"But you can smack me around?"
"Of course I can. Physical contact is not forbidden."
David nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt ghostly fingers being run through his hair, felt them on his neck at the collar of his shirt. He felt one finger tracing a line across his cheekbone, and another cupping his face. David felt his breath hitch in his throat and tears start in his eyes, the touch bringing back sensations and long suppressed memories.
David quickly stepped away for the contact, not sure if that would help. "Please," he whispered, "don't do that."
"But I have wanted to for a long time," the spirit whispered
"Who are you?" David asked.
"Now that is forbidden," the spirit said wistfully, "you'll have to discover that one on your own."
"How am I to do that?"
"Look to the stars...."
(not sure if these are really convoluted or if you are following where I am leading. ;))
"Why is that?" the voice asked after a moment of silence.
"You know me too well, as if you have always been watching me."
"Maybe I have."
"No. I remember. You said that you had been watching me for years, not from the beginning."
David caught a sigh coming from the spirit. "Can you show yourself?" David asked.
"I can. But I won't," the spirit said.
"Why not?"
"You're not ready for that."
"But you can smack me around?"
"Of course I can. Physical contact is not forbidden."
David nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt ghostly fingers being run through his hair, felt them on his neck at the collar of his shirt. He felt one finger tracing a line across his cheekbone, and another cupping his face. David felt his breath hitch in his throat and tears start in his eyes, the touch bringing back sensations and long suppressed memories.
David quickly stepped away for the contact, not sure if that would help. "Please," he whispered, "don't do that."
"But I have wanted to for a long time," the spirit whispered
"Who are you?" David asked.
"Now that is forbidden," the spirit said wistfully, "you'll have to discover that one on your own."
"How am I to do that?"
"Look to the stars...."
(not sure if these are really convoluted or if you are following where I am leading. ;))
The Choir
Cody wasn’t sure what to think of Kyle, who had somehow become the voice of Gabriel. Gabriel meant warrior of God and was, according to Bible tradition, the general of the heavenly host that had driven Lucifer and the fallen out of Heaven. When Cody first heard that Gabriel had a singer, he’d imagined that the legendary Kyle was some tall, blond, all-American handsome boy next door who played football but likely looked ridiculously good in medieval armor.
Kyle was none of those things. He was tall and child-slender with narrow shoulders and sharp cheekbones. In fact, he looked like a male version of Snow White, all pale skin and dark hair and what Elise called (either admiringly or derisively, Cody could never tell) a “pretty red mouth.”
Most of the Seraph-voiced (‘singers’ according to the Angels, ‘companions’ according to the clergy, ‘choirboys’ on the street) managed to stay hidden in the general population, passing off their skills as quirks, mental illness, or dramatic pretension. Even though Kyle didn’t looked much like a warrior, he wielded Gabriel like a warhammer, and wherever Kyle deigned to stay, vigilantism followed. Cody honestly couldn’t figure out how the police hadn’t cottoned on to the crime rate patterns that hailed Gabriel and Kyle’s arrival, but then the police had gotten lazy once the government stumbled across the Listeners.
Elise drove into the heart of the city, navigating the maze of one-way streets like a pro. Cody’s mother, who worked at a law firm downtown, still cursed and got confused by the one-way streets. Elise parked her car outside a nondescript little Lutheran church and then got out, beckoned for the boys to follow her. She didn’t bother to put any coins in the meter. Marsh followed her up the stairs to the church. Cody sighed and put some quarters into the meter, then brought up the rear.
Elise eased open the door and slipped inside, and the boys followed her example.
Marsh paused, stuck out one foot, and Cody almost tripped over it. He caught himself on the back of a pew and straightened up, scowled.
And then he stared. What had looked like a little Lutheran church on the outside was actually an abandoned gothic cathedral on the inside. Pigeons fluttered between the buttresses and beams, and rats scurried through the debris scattered across the floor. After a moment, Cody could sense the buzzing of power, see the Hebrew letters sketched into the walls and floors.
So this was why Gabriel answered to Kyle. Kyle had mastered the Alphabet.
“I found them,” Elise called toward the rafters. “None too soon - the Feds had a Listener posted at the school.”
“Listeners are the least of our problems,” someone said, and Cody saw Kyle shimmer into being on one of the upper balconies.
Gabriel stood behind him, radiant in silver armor.
“Welcome to the Choir,” Kyle said.
(487 words)
Kyle was none of those things. He was tall and child-slender with narrow shoulders and sharp cheekbones. In fact, he looked like a male version of Snow White, all pale skin and dark hair and what Elise called (either admiringly or derisively, Cody could never tell) a “pretty red mouth.”
Most of the Seraph-voiced (‘singers’ according to the Angels, ‘companions’ according to the clergy, ‘choirboys’ on the street) managed to stay hidden in the general population, passing off their skills as quirks, mental illness, or dramatic pretension. Even though Kyle didn’t looked much like a warrior, he wielded Gabriel like a warhammer, and wherever Kyle deigned to stay, vigilantism followed. Cody honestly couldn’t figure out how the police hadn’t cottoned on to the crime rate patterns that hailed Gabriel and Kyle’s arrival, but then the police had gotten lazy once the government stumbled across the Listeners.
Elise drove into the heart of the city, navigating the maze of one-way streets like a pro. Cody’s mother, who worked at a law firm downtown, still cursed and got confused by the one-way streets. Elise parked her car outside a nondescript little Lutheran church and then got out, beckoned for the boys to follow her. She didn’t bother to put any coins in the meter. Marsh followed her up the stairs to the church. Cody sighed and put some quarters into the meter, then brought up the rear.
Elise eased open the door and slipped inside, and the boys followed her example.
Marsh paused, stuck out one foot, and Cody almost tripped over it. He caught himself on the back of a pew and straightened up, scowled.
And then he stared. What had looked like a little Lutheran church on the outside was actually an abandoned gothic cathedral on the inside. Pigeons fluttered between the buttresses and beams, and rats scurried through the debris scattered across the floor. After a moment, Cody could sense the buzzing of power, see the Hebrew letters sketched into the walls and floors.
So this was why Gabriel answered to Kyle. Kyle had mastered the Alphabet.
“I found them,” Elise called toward the rafters. “None too soon - the Feds had a Listener posted at the school.”
“Listeners are the least of our problems,” someone said, and Cody saw Kyle shimmer into being on one of the upper balconies.
Gabriel stood behind him, radiant in silver armor.
“Welcome to the Choir,” Kyle said.
(487 words)
Thursday, January 14, 2010
The Listeners
No one liked to acknowledged the fact that Angels existed. When the first stirrings had crept across the Internet, on underground radio stations, the atheists and agnostics had rallied, insisting that it was some sort of Fundamentalist Christian propaganda, backlash as a result of the big Supreme Court decision construing the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment once and for all.
The first generation of Seraph-voiced hadn’t been able to handle their gifts, and the world discovered that, no matter what religions held sway, Angels were real, and their power was formidable. When the government had to intervene, round up the mad men and women whose power had broken their sanity, society was forced to admit, through gritted teeth, that Angels existed, and there were some mere mortals who could talk to them - and use them. Control them, no. Use them, yes.
While the government scrambled quietly to find a way to deal with the Angel issue, society did what it did best - turned its nose up and pretended not to notice that anything was different.
And then they appeared - the Listeners. Ones who could hear angels but not see them, not talk to them or use them. They lingered in the corners of offices and police stations, in court rooms and restaurants, keeping an ear out to help maintain law and order. It was a little harder to walk in oblivion when the Listeners were there, a constant buzz in the background, seeking out Seraph-voiced and their angelic companions.
When a Listener stepped into Cody and Marsh’s ninth grade English classroom, the cheerful, pre-bell din died. Everyone stared as the Listener - a small, nondescript woman with mousy brown hair - perched on a stool in the corner and smiled benignly. Mrs. Larson cleared her throat and did her best to keep the students’ attention on her, but they kept looking at the Listener, wondering who among them was Seraph-voiced.
Cody and Marsh kept their heads down and their Angels silent while they pondered the overrated tragedy that was Romeo & Juliet.
They supposed they shouldn’t have been surprised when Elise was waiting for them after school, sitting on the hood of her car, guitar across her knee.
“What’s going on?” Cody asked.
“Get in the car,” Elise said. “Kyle’s waiting for us.”
Marsh’s heart leapt into his throat. Kyle was Gabriel’s companion.
(395 words)
The first generation of Seraph-voiced hadn’t been able to handle their gifts, and the world discovered that, no matter what religions held sway, Angels were real, and their power was formidable. When the government had to intervene, round up the mad men and women whose power had broken their sanity, society was forced to admit, through gritted teeth, that Angels existed, and there were some mere mortals who could talk to them - and use them. Control them, no. Use them, yes.
While the government scrambled quietly to find a way to deal with the Angel issue, society did what it did best - turned its nose up and pretended not to notice that anything was different.
And then they appeared - the Listeners. Ones who could hear angels but not see them, not talk to them or use them. They lingered in the corners of offices and police stations, in court rooms and restaurants, keeping an ear out to help maintain law and order. It was a little harder to walk in oblivion when the Listeners were there, a constant buzz in the background, seeking out Seraph-voiced and their angelic companions.
When a Listener stepped into Cody and Marsh’s ninth grade English classroom, the cheerful, pre-bell din died. Everyone stared as the Listener - a small, nondescript woman with mousy brown hair - perched on a stool in the corner and smiled benignly. Mrs. Larson cleared her throat and did her best to keep the students’ attention on her, but they kept looking at the Listener, wondering who among them was Seraph-voiced.
Cody and Marsh kept their heads down and their Angels silent while they pondered the overrated tragedy that was Romeo & Juliet.
They supposed they shouldn’t have been surprised when Elise was waiting for them after school, sitting on the hood of her car, guitar across her knee.
“What’s going on?” Cody asked.
“Get in the car,” Elise said. “Kyle’s waiting for us.”
Marsh’s heart leapt into his throat. Kyle was Gabriel’s companion.
(395 words)
What Do You Want?
"Alright!" David said in exasperation, "what is it you want and why do you keep kitting me in the back of the head?" David backed up against a wall, "I mean thanks for saving my life and all, but really, you need to just tell me what you want. Why won't you leave me alone?"
"Because you're not listening!" an exasperated voice whispered in his ear.
"What am I not listening to?" David asked, not sure if he should be talking to himself.
"You're not listening to me. I've been trying to get your attention for years. I've been protecting you for years. You just never knew it."
"Well I'm certainly listening now. What is it you want?"
"I want you to be safe and happy."
David sighed, "neither is possible for me. My work precludes the first, and events in the past eliminate the second."
David felt another tap to the back of his head.
"Will you knock it off!"
"No," the voice said as it faded into the night.
"Because you're not listening!" an exasperated voice whispered in his ear.
"What am I not listening to?" David asked, not sure if he should be talking to himself.
"You're not listening to me. I've been trying to get your attention for years. I've been protecting you for years. You just never knew it."
"Well I'm certainly listening now. What is it you want?"
"I want you to be safe and happy."
David sighed, "neither is possible for me. My work precludes the first, and events in the past eliminate the second."
David felt another tap to the back of his head.
"Will you knock it off!"
"No," the voice said as it faded into the night.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Going Crazy
"Steve, I'm worried I'm going crazy," David said as he stopped in his friends room.
Steve looked up from the report he was typing; green eyes staring thoughtfully at his commander through a pair of silver frames glasses, his slightly shaggy blond hair falling across his brow.
Steve slowly closed his laptop and turned his full attention to his friend. "What makes you say that?" he asked as he gestured at the bed, inviting David to sit down.
"I don't know. I suppose a lot of little things that have been happening lately. Like during the last skirmish, I felt hands on my head pull me out of the way of a bullet, but no one was around. I felt a hand on my arm, making me pause just as a car came careening around the corner. And just now, I was thinking on the past, and I felt someone smack me on the back of the head," David said.
Steve slowly removed his glasses and examined them. David recognized this gesture. Steve was deep in thought.
Steve eventually replaced his glasses on his nose and looked at David, "perhaps someone is trying to get your attention."
"Oh Steve, not you too. Don't tell me you believe in all that spirit stuff," David said as he rolled his eyes.
Steve shrugged, "it's just a suggestion."
David sighed in exasperation, but jerked forward when he felt a solid whack to his head. David reached up and massaged the spot and looked around.
"Steve, do you see anyone in here besides the two of us?"
"No sir."
"But..."
"Maybe you just need to be open to the idea of something you can't explain, and then an answer will find you sir."
"Open to the idea. I guess I could give it a try if it will restore my sanity."
Steve looked up from the report he was typing; green eyes staring thoughtfully at his commander through a pair of silver frames glasses, his slightly shaggy blond hair falling across his brow.
Steve slowly closed his laptop and turned his full attention to his friend. "What makes you say that?" he asked as he gestured at the bed, inviting David to sit down.
"I don't know. I suppose a lot of little things that have been happening lately. Like during the last skirmish, I felt hands on my head pull me out of the way of a bullet, but no one was around. I felt a hand on my arm, making me pause just as a car came careening around the corner. And just now, I was thinking on the past, and I felt someone smack me on the back of the head," David said.
Steve slowly removed his glasses and examined them. David recognized this gesture. Steve was deep in thought.
Steve eventually replaced his glasses on his nose and looked at David, "perhaps someone is trying to get your attention."
"Oh Steve, not you too. Don't tell me you believe in all that spirit stuff," David said as he rolled his eyes.
Steve shrugged, "it's just a suggestion."
David sighed in exasperation, but jerked forward when he felt a solid whack to his head. David reached up and massaged the spot and looked around.
"Steve, do you see anyone in here besides the two of us?"
"No sir."
"But..."
"Maybe you just need to be open to the idea of something you can't explain, and then an answer will find you sir."
"Open to the idea. I guess I could give it a try if it will restore my sanity."
Marsh and Tabris
Marsh tipped his fedora back and winked at the pretty blonde girl leaning on the railing of the front steps.
“Hey pretty lady, wanna take a chance, make a few bucks?” He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a deck of cards, a pair of dice. “We could do three card monty, five card draw, or maybe a little --” he rattled the dice -- “Vegas?”
She laughed, the sound musical and delicate. “What, you peddle gambling? In the middle of the school yard?”
Marsh slid closer, eased an arm around her shoulders. “If you’re looking for something a little more long-term, I can peddle you some medieval fantasy, or, if you’re into the Twilight thing, vampires.” He opened one hand with a flourish and offered up a sparkly ten-sided die.
“You’re a funny kid, Marshall Harris,” she said. “If you weren’t such a freak, I might even ask you out sometime. But you know what everyone says about you, don’t you?”
Marsh knew exactly what they said, but he smiled at her innocently, widened his eyes. “No, I don’t. What do they say?”
“They say you talk to yourself, that you’re crazy, and also, that you’re a cheat at those games.” The girl pulled away.
Marsh threw his head back and laughed. “I don’t cheat, but I don’t really have to.” He tossed the dice up, caught them midair.
“But you win obscene amounts of money from the older boys.” The girl arched an eyebrow. “No one’s that lucky.”
Marsh tipped his fedora back down and winked again. “Maybe I’m just touched by an angel.”
The girl huffed, disbelieving. “A devil, more like it.”
Marsh licked his fingertips, traced the back of one of his trick cards. The girl turned away and headed up the stairs toward the other cheerleaders, and she didn’t see a pair of wings unfurl from behind Marsh, didn’t see the slender redhead who leaned his chin on Marsh’s shoulder and sighed.
“One day you’re going to have to do something useful with your talent,” Tabris said.
“Has that day come yet?”
“Would I tell you if it had?”
“The odds are pretty good, I think.” Marsh cut the deck with one hand, fanned them neatly. “Hey Tabris, pick a card, any card.” He ignored the students who streamed past him and stared, aghast, at the boy who looked like he was talking to himself.
(402 words)
“Hey pretty lady, wanna take a chance, make a few bucks?” He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a deck of cards, a pair of dice. “We could do three card monty, five card draw, or maybe a little --” he rattled the dice -- “Vegas?”
She laughed, the sound musical and delicate. “What, you peddle gambling? In the middle of the school yard?”
Marsh slid closer, eased an arm around her shoulders. “If you’re looking for something a little more long-term, I can peddle you some medieval fantasy, or, if you’re into the Twilight thing, vampires.” He opened one hand with a flourish and offered up a sparkly ten-sided die.
“You’re a funny kid, Marshall Harris,” she said. “If you weren’t such a freak, I might even ask you out sometime. But you know what everyone says about you, don’t you?”
Marsh knew exactly what they said, but he smiled at her innocently, widened his eyes. “No, I don’t. What do they say?”
“They say you talk to yourself, that you’re crazy, and also, that you’re a cheat at those games.” The girl pulled away.
Marsh threw his head back and laughed. “I don’t cheat, but I don’t really have to.” He tossed the dice up, caught them midair.
“But you win obscene amounts of money from the older boys.” The girl arched an eyebrow. “No one’s that lucky.”
Marsh tipped his fedora back down and winked again. “Maybe I’m just touched by an angel.”
The girl huffed, disbelieving. “A devil, more like it.”
Marsh licked his fingertips, traced the back of one of his trick cards. The girl turned away and headed up the stairs toward the other cheerleaders, and she didn’t see a pair of wings unfurl from behind Marsh, didn’t see the slender redhead who leaned his chin on Marsh’s shoulder and sighed.
“One day you’re going to have to do something useful with your talent,” Tabris said.
“Has that day come yet?”
“Would I tell you if it had?”
“The odds are pretty good, I think.” Marsh cut the deck with one hand, fanned them neatly. “Hey Tabris, pick a card, any card.” He ignored the students who streamed past him and stared, aghast, at the boy who looked like he was talking to himself.
(402 words)
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Elise and Israfel
“So you got it.” Elise nodded at the receipt crumpled in Cody’s fist. It bore the date, time stamp, and address of a convenience store on 24th and Lake. If the news was anything to go by, someone got shot outside of that store at least once a week.
Cody pushed his glasses up his nose and nodded, jammed the receipt into his pocket. “Yeah. They’ll leave me alone now.”
“You probably should’ve made a better attempt at going incognito, you know,” Elise said. She lit a cigarette, took a deep drag.
Cody pawed at his bruised cheekbone, abashed. He’d made it almost all the way back to Dodge without incident before he’d hit an unexpected patch of light and Asrael’s protection had vanished. A couple of boys from Central High had rolled him for some of his lunch money. Too bad Cody spent more on lunch in one day than those boys spent in a week.
“I hope you know you’re a walking cliché,” he said. He eyed Elise up and down where she was perched on a tombstone, smoking a cigarette, a guitar dangling from her other hand.
“What kind of cliché?”
“The Courtney Love kind.”
Elise snorted indelicately and tossed her head. “Oh please. Are you even old enough to really know who she is?”
“I keep company with the Angel of Death,” Cody said flatly. “Wanna know what Kurt Cobain sounded like after he died?”
“You’re just bitter you didn’t get the fun angel.” Elise stubbed out her cigarette and spit on her fingertips, traced a few idle Hebrew letters on the granite of her tombstone perch, and then angel on the tombstone behind her stirred, came to life.
It unfurled its wings and stretched, tossed its head, and when it lifted its head, parted the curtain of platinum blond hair, Cody saw that it was male. Most likely. Angels were distressingly androgynous.
“Hey, Israfel,” he said.
Israfel lifted one languid hand and pushed his hair out of his face. “Hello, Nicodemus.” He stepped off the grave and crossed the grass, his feet not quite touching the ground. He stood behind Elise. “What did you need?”
“How about a little heavenly harmony?” Elise asked.
Israfel sighed and lifted his hands, and a guitar materialized from the twilight shadows. “Someday you’ll have to find a non-frivolous use for your gift.”
“One day I’m sure you’ll tell me about one,” Elise said, and drop-tuned her guitar.
Cody huffed and cast Israfel a sympathetic look. “I’m sure if you read your Bible, you’d remember how the walls of Jericho came down.”
(434 words)
Cody pushed his glasses up his nose and nodded, jammed the receipt into his pocket. “Yeah. They’ll leave me alone now.”
“You probably should’ve made a better attempt at going incognito, you know,” Elise said. She lit a cigarette, took a deep drag.
Cody pawed at his bruised cheekbone, abashed. He’d made it almost all the way back to Dodge without incident before he’d hit an unexpected patch of light and Asrael’s protection had vanished. A couple of boys from Central High had rolled him for some of his lunch money. Too bad Cody spent more on lunch in one day than those boys spent in a week.
“I hope you know you’re a walking cliché,” he said. He eyed Elise up and down where she was perched on a tombstone, smoking a cigarette, a guitar dangling from her other hand.
“What kind of cliché?”
“The Courtney Love kind.”
Elise snorted indelicately and tossed her head. “Oh please. Are you even old enough to really know who she is?”
“I keep company with the Angel of Death,” Cody said flatly. “Wanna know what Kurt Cobain sounded like after he died?”
“You’re just bitter you didn’t get the fun angel.” Elise stubbed out her cigarette and spit on her fingertips, traced a few idle Hebrew letters on the granite of her tombstone perch, and then angel on the tombstone behind her stirred, came to life.
It unfurled its wings and stretched, tossed its head, and when it lifted its head, parted the curtain of platinum blond hair, Cody saw that it was male. Most likely. Angels were distressingly androgynous.
“Hey, Israfel,” he said.
Israfel lifted one languid hand and pushed his hair out of his face. “Hello, Nicodemus.” He stepped off the grave and crossed the grass, his feet not quite touching the ground. He stood behind Elise. “What did you need?”
“How about a little heavenly harmony?” Elise asked.
Israfel sighed and lifted his hands, and a guitar materialized from the twilight shadows. “Someday you’ll have to find a non-frivolous use for your gift.”
“One day I’m sure you’ll tell me about one,” Elise said, and drop-tuned her guitar.
Cody huffed and cast Israfel a sympathetic look. “I’m sure if you read your Bible, you’d remember how the walls of Jericho came down.”
(434 words)
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