Golden sand burns soles and toes.
Waves lap at ankles and knees.
Open sky glows blue, dotted with birds
And clouds.
Sunlight glitters on
Clear blue waves;
The air filled with
Coconut-scented suntan lotion and
Melting ice-cream.
Voices weave a cheerful din -
Children chasing a frisbee,
College boys tossing a football -
And slowly the day wends on,
Suntans getting deeper,
Shadows getting longer.
(65 words)
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Happy Halloween
Golden leaves, red, brown
That crunch underfoot
Mean harvest moons and
Pumpkins carved and grinning
On the doorstep.
Chimney-smoke
Like unfurling ferns on the horizon
Smells like family warmth
And apple cider.
Ghosts and goblins,
Fairies and princesses,
Knights and queens,
Laughter and costumes rustling.
Shoes patter down pavement In time to the swish, swish of
Leaves in a blue-cool breeze.
Dawn will bring
Candy-sickness and
Sore throats.
Happy Halloween.
(73 words)
That crunch underfoot
Mean harvest moons and
Pumpkins carved and grinning
On the doorstep.
Chimney-smoke
Like unfurling ferns on the horizon
Smells like family warmth
And apple cider.
Ghosts and goblins,
Fairies and princesses,
Knights and queens,
Laughter and costumes rustling.
Shoes patter down pavement In time to the swish, swish of
Leaves in a blue-cool breeze.
Dawn will bring
Candy-sickness and
Sore throats.
Happy Halloween.
(73 words)
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Typhoon Season
It’s lightning and moonbeams,
The army-roll of thunder across the heavens
As rain sleets down
In ordered rows, columns, ranks
To pierce the sand,
Innumerable crystalline needles.
It’s white-capped waves
Whipped by the same invisible hands
That bend palm-trees toward breaking,
Fronds of green lashing against the horizon.
It’s thousands of homes laid waste
Like toys scattered by a careless titan;
It’s death and tears and shallow graves,
Oceanic byres,
And alphabetical names.
It’s typhoon season.
(79 words)
The army-roll of thunder across the heavens
As rain sleets down
In ordered rows, columns, ranks
To pierce the sand,
Innumerable crystalline needles.
It’s white-capped waves
Whipped by the same invisible hands
That bend palm-trees toward breaking,
Fronds of green lashing against the horizon.
It’s thousands of homes laid waste
Like toys scattered by a careless titan;
It’s death and tears and shallow graves,
Oceanic byres,
And alphabetical names.
It’s typhoon season.
(79 words)
Fog Bound
Hazy mists obscuring
Sight; sound dimmed,
Life muffled.
Diffused light
Surrounding, enveloping.
Air sparkles
an opalescent sheen.
Enshrouded trees loom
Out of the mists
Sentinels of time
Sight; sound dimmed,
Life muffled.
Diffused light
Surrounding, enveloping.
Air sparkles
an opalescent sheen.
Enshrouded trees loom
Out of the mists
Sentinels of time
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Raining Stars
Warm air -
The perfect temperature for
Short sleeves and bare feet -
Rustles tall green grass.
Clear skies glitter
With diamond-chip stars
Even as the sun
Dips its last
Down the horizon.
The last wafts of barbecue
And soda
Potato chips and
Homemade brownies
Fade in the breeze,
And as the moon creeps up
The summer perseids
Start to rain.
(60 words)
The perfect temperature for
Short sleeves and bare feet -
Rustles tall green grass.
Clear skies glitter
With diamond-chip stars
Even as the sun
Dips its last
Down the horizon.
The last wafts of barbecue
And soda
Potato chips and
Homemade brownies
Fade in the breeze,
And as the moon creeps up
The summer perseids
Start to rain.
(60 words)
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Tornado Season Again
Green skies signal
Sirens that
Break city din and
Bring on the wind.
Clouds form a wall
Black
From land to space
Triggering
Artificial night
And too-bright sunlight
Juxtaposed like
Opposing pieces
On a chessboard
Poised to kill.
The wind is
A thousand voices
Weeping and angry
And an army of fists
Battering windows
Breaking glass.
A second siren is
A false alarm
The eye in the sky.
It’s tornado season
Again.
(73 words)
Sirens that
Break city din and
Bring on the wind.
Clouds form a wall
Black
From land to space
Triggering
Artificial night
And too-bright sunlight
Juxtaposed like
Opposing pieces
On a chessboard
Poised to kill.
The wind is
A thousand voices
Weeping and angry
And an army of fists
Battering windows
Breaking glass.
A second siren is
A false alarm
The eye in the sky.
It’s tornado season
Again.
(73 words)
Into the Night
Warm breathe of spring
Whispers silk soft
Against the skin.
Lily scent and Lilac grace
Ripening in the sun.
Color on the green.
Heavens dew distilling
Soft upon the grass
Fading into night.
Whispers silk soft
Against the skin.
Lily scent and Lilac grace
Ripening in the sun.
Color on the green.
Heavens dew distilling
Soft upon the grass
Fading into night.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Winter out the Window
Wind carries white
In an upward spiral,
Winter silk in an
Arctic breeze that
Turns my breath to crystal
And my words to
Weight.
Pristine powder on branches turns
Muddy in the streets
Under boots and tires and
Human industry.
Sirens and gales
Sing counter-harmony howls
Against the windows and
Around the gaps between
Doors and door frames.
The sun was
Golden
Yesterday.
(64 words)
In an upward spiral,
Winter silk in an
Arctic breeze that
Turns my breath to crystal
And my words to
Weight.
Pristine powder on branches turns
Muddy in the streets
Under boots and tires and
Human industry.
Sirens and gales
Sing counter-harmony howls
Against the windows and
Around the gaps between
Doors and door frames.
The sun was
Golden
Yesterday.
(64 words)
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Project #57: Weather Poetry
Up to 300 words! Tell us what the weather is like where you are or where you want to be, or anywhere in the world, and make it poetic. Does the snow glisten/like a thousand crystals/ dropped from a careless giant hand or is the sun / desert-hot and deceptively / golden / like molten metal / that burns to the touch? Let us know! Open-form or closed-form as is your pleasure. Work on concrete imagery.
Overview #56: Fluff
Okay. So I confess, I basically used this week's challenge as an excuse to get some Asia/James fluff out there in the open, because James is going to go through hell, and I needed a fluffy baseline to work from. I decided to completely give into the fluff and try out alternative forms of fluff, which ended up being some of the other boys of Sector Five just being decent human beings. I wanted to see what counted as nice and what didn't, how different people viewed compassion and what counted as compassion to them. I rather enjoyed the fact that DJ resorted to violence as an act of compassion.
Go DJ.
Still, it was more difficult than I thought it would be, trying to come up with non-cliché fluff, so in the end I resorted to cliché. For the last post.
Go DJ.
Still, it was more difficult than I thought it would be, trying to come up with non-cliché fluff, so in the end I resorted to cliché. For the last post.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Quarantine
“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)
“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)
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)
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