March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month

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Dr. Sean Neville
Institute Official

Psychiatrist
Telepathy/Memory Manipulation
Played By Sean

The One and Only Seangularity

Posts: 8,987

Gender:: Male

March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 6, 2013 15:11:20 GMT -5

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Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Mar 6, 2013 15:11:20 GMT -5

#72 – Space

“And how did that make you feel?”

“How do you think?”

“Captain Neville, if we’re to make progress, you have to-” The counselor was interrupted by the beeping of the chronometer, informing them that the mandated session had come to a close. She sighed to herself, because she was on a tight schedule. As much as she might want to go a few minutes overtime in order to reach an understanding with the highly decorated officer, she simply couldn’t afford to do so.

Not without disadvantaging another patient, which wouldn’t be fair to them. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

Captain Sean Neville didn’t argue. He never argued about scheduling his appointments. Instead, he bundled up his coat and left the office without another word.

Ever since his return to Earth following the rescue of his crew and himself, his life had been nothing but appointments. Appointments with the Brass. Appointments with the Judge Advocate General’s office to discuss his testimony for the pirate queen’s impending trial. Medical appointments to cope with the toll on his body and with the fact that he remained a few pounds underweight. Psychiatric appointments to cope with the toll on his mind.

Every last one of the members of his crew had been assigned to mandatory psychiatric appointments. Most had escaped with a mandate for one per week. Benjamin Rhodes, Anya Vasiliev, and Clarisse Prideaux had been assigned to two per week because of the additional attention and humiliation they had suffered, although Clarisse had cooperated and had her appointments reduced to half that.

Sean had been assigned to three each week: Monday afternoon, Wednesday afternoon, and Friday morning.

He didn’t fault the counselor. She was only doing her job, and she was quite skilled as far as he could tell, though it had been a long time since his medical track at the Academy.

Still, it was frustrating (at best), to sit with a stranger – no matter how qualified or professional – and to be expected to discuss things that he could barely discuss with Josh. That he was somehow supposed to lay out in great detail the trauma of nearly two months with a doctor when he couldn’t with his husband.

Bad enough that his decontamination physical exam had revealed to others – and made an official record – of the abominable scar on his chest.

Bad enough that everyone treated him with kid gloves for fear of the inevitable breakdown. The one that the Brass and the medical professionals all expected because it hadn’t yet happened.

The flitter ride with quick.

As Hammel’s “Golden Boy” and captain of the Flag Ship, Sean was expected to live within a reasonable distance of Headquarters. That was a double-edged sword; the closeness made traveling for duty (when not actively in flight) quite convenient, but it also ensured that he could easily be found in any circumstance. With an injunction preventing travel until he received medical clearance, Sean resented the proximity, rather than appreciating it these days.

“I’m home!” He announced, as he crossed the threshold.

Josh was home, too. Although he couldn’t see or hear his husband, Sean was as certain of that as he was of anything in the universe. Josh had been reluctant to part from his side since the rescue, and he had voluntarily grounded himself: refusing to take on missions for as long as Sean was home.

Sean oscillated between gratitude for, and concern with, that state of affairs. He appreciated that Josh cared for him so attentively and deeply. At the same, he didn’t think that his husband should stifle himself indefinitely. Someone deserved to come out of this situation better than wholly and completely miserable.

The cartographer descended the staircase, offering Sean a smile from the foyer. “Welcome home!” He greeted. His expression quickly shifted to one of tentative inquiry. “How was your session?”

Sean shrugged and held his hand out; Josh took it without hesitation. “It was fine.” By which he meant that it had been tolerable.

“Good.” That was the same exchange that they shared after every session.

For the moment, Josh was content to let his husband guide him in their routine for the afternoon. The older man led them into the kitchen, because he wanted a cup of tea.

The silence was companionable as they sipped their tea. Although, after a few minutes of quiet, Josh took the initiative to ask, “Did you...did you discuss the nightmares?”

“A little bit.”

“Good...good.” Josh looked down into his mug. “Does she have a way to help with them?”

“No.”

“Did she give you more pills?” The sleeping pills were the only method they had available by which to keep Sean’s nightmares at bay. They didn’t always work, but not taking them guaranteed that the older man’s nights were plagued by bad memories and nightmarish visions from which he couldn’t awaken.

“Friday.”

“Friday?” That was only two days away, which wasn’t much time in the scheme of things – less than 48 hours. At the same time, it was two additional nights that his husband wouldn’t be able to sleep, and thus Josh would sleep poorly as well. “Do you want to call Doctor Jones? He might be able to do us a favor to tide you over...”

“I can survive another two nights. There’s no need to bother anyone else.” Sean’s eyes clouded over briefly, the surest indication that he was entirely in the present. Instead, his thoughts drifted back to his first meeting with Doctor Jones after the rescue, in which he had all-but begged for a drug that the doctor had refused him. He had only been doing his job, of course, but it had done nothing to mitigate the captain’s misery. There was no need to repeat that experience.

Josh reached across the table to brush Sean’s fingers with his own. “I’ll be here with you, if that helps.”

“It always does, Slim.”

“Good.” Josh didn’t always feel as though he did much to help.

Another few moments of silence descended upon them, before Sean asked, “Have you been invited on any mapping missions?”

“A couple,” the cartographer admitted.

“When do you plan to leave?”

“When do they give you back your ship?”

Sean sighed softly to himself. “You can’t wait for me forever.” Then, knowing what his husband would say due to the intimate familiarity that came from over three decades of love, he added, “Even if you can, you shouldn’t. I can fend for myself, and you’re wasting precious weeks and months like this. It’s untenable.”

Josh shook his head so adamantly that he dislodged his glasses in the process. Not wanting to lose the physical contact, he set down his mug, reaching up with that hand in order to set the frames in order once more. “I’m not leaving you behind,” he said firmly. “I spent two months without you, and I nearly lost you. I’m never going to do that again. Never.”

Sean said nothing in response. Instead, he looked at his mug, and then at their joined hands in the center of the table. “I think I need to lie down.”

Josh nodded his understanding. “I’ll come with you.” Pushing off from the table, he added, “We can use the skylight, if you want.”

That was as close to the sky as either of them would come for a long while yet.

You want to graduate? Listen to Sean talk about condoms.

Dr. Sean Neville
Institute Official

Psychiatrist
Telepathy/Memory Manipulation
Played By Sean

The One and Only Seangularity

Posts: 8,987

Gender:: Male

March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 6, 2013 17:43:08 GMT -5

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Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Mar 6, 2013 17:43:08 GMT -5

#63 – Waiting

It was entirely his fault.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. It was supposed to be the happiest moment of their lives, and instead everything had fallen apart.

Sean blamed himself. He had never felt worse about anything than he did about this. He had never regretted anything even half as much as he regretted what had happened.

All he wanted was to tell Josh how sorry he was. He didn’t think that he would ever have the chance to do that.

The young telepath couldn’t believe that he had been so stupid, but he had gotten caught up in his eagerness. Josh had always had an intoxicating effect on him, inhibiting his judgment. Sean didn’t fault Josh for that; it wasn’t the other boy’s fault that he was so enticing. Josh certainly wasn’t responsible for Sean’s poor decisions.

Although Josh had suffered for them regardless.

They should have locked the door.

If they had locked the door, then nobody would have stumbled upon them half-dressed and in each other’s arms. Nobody would have reported them to the Headmaster, and the Headmaster wouldn’t have contacted their parents to report on their deviant behavior. Even though they were hardly the first students who had been involved with each other – members of the same sex.

Sean’s parents had been horrified. His father and mother had both wanted to pray for his soul and had brought him to church to seek penance from their priest. Despite the scrutiny, Sean hadn’t been able to bring himself to offer sincere apology for what had happened. He regretted the stress; he regretted the panic that had resulted, but he wouldn’t, and couldn’t, apologize for loving Josh.

Eventually, his parents had a meeting with Robert Hopkins, his trainer, about the effects of telepathy on his personal development. Sean hadn’t been allowed to attend that meeting; but, when it was over, his father had been less upset, even if his mother continued to look on the edge of tears when discussing his future and his eternal salvation. Besides, there was nowhere else for him to go, because only one school in the entire country – on the entire continent – was designed to teach telepaths.

Josh hadn’t been quite so fortunate.

Josh wasn’t a telepath, and thus he didn’t have a powers trainer. He attended Hammel because it allowed for blending meta-human children with non-powered children, and it provided a first-rate academic education. Future leaders - politicians, attorneys, doctors, ambassadors, Nobel Prize winners – attended Hammel as the stepping stone for their educational and professional development.

But his mother couldn’t abide by the moral decay inherent in her son being one of those people. Sinners. Degenerates. Mentally ill.

She had demanded that Josh put an immediate end to all contact with Sean. The other boy was under his mother’s thumb, something that had been apparent from the first day of school during orientation. Still, even with his devotion to his mother and his dedication to his faith, to his future, and to his father’s approval, Josh hadn’t been able to cut all contact with his boyfriend.

Everyone knew that.

Their schedules had to be reorganized, study groups had to be shuffled around, and it proved too great an investment for an exercise that was doomed to failure. They still resided in the boy’s dormitory, albeit in different rooms. And, at the end of the day, Sean was still a telepath, and nobody could regulate their thoughts.

So Josh’s parents withdrew him from Hammel. He was sent to an elite private academy on the west coast almost overnight. The dark-haired boy wasn’t even given the opportunity to give his contact information to Sean before he left.

The telepath was devastated.

The only silver lining was Robert Hopkins. The older telepath was exceptionally fond of Sean, his best student. More than that, he had sympathy for their plight, had his own ideals which didn’t sync with societal conventions, and had access to student records. At the end of one training session, an address popped into Sean’s mind, unbidden. When he turned to question his mentor, Robert nodded a single time, before slipping him a roll of stamps.

Sean didn’t need further instruction.

He’d written a letter every day since then, no matter what. It didn’t matter if he had tests the next morning or headaches from training. He dutifully wrote letters every day – replenishing his stationary when he ran low – and then mailed them each morning before class.

But Josh never wrote him back. The young telepath had yet to receive even a postcard, not a single line to let him know that his boyfriend was all right.

Sean didn’t think that Josh would move on. He didn’t think that Josh would forget about him, didn’t think that Josh could forget about him, even if he wanted to.

So he continued to write letters, hoping that someday, the other boy would do the same.

Dear Josh:

I’ll wait for you. Until I’m 100 if I have to.

All my love,
Sean

You want to graduate? Listen to Sean talk about condoms.

Cuppy *
Retired

Hammel Moderator

Posts: 150

March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 7, 2013 10:37:54 GMT -5

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Post by Cuppy * on Mar 7, 2013 10:37:54 GMT -5

1. Crash

It had been months, though it had felt like years. Ten months earlier, Elliot and Caleb’s prayers had been answered. It had been a year of waiting and hoping somebody would realize how badly they wanted to be fathers. There were reasons for their hopes to get up, only to be disappointed. But ten months ago, they were finally chosen. They final got what they had so desperately wanted.

A little girl. A beautiful, little girl. And she was perfect.

McKenna had come into their life like a flash of light. And they had been utterly devoted to her ever since, to making sure she was always comfortable and happy. But that left little time for each other. Between work and caring for Kenna, they tended to sleep during their free time.

But Elliot’s mom was nothing short of a godsend. It was because of her, helping to take care of McKenna in the evening, that they weren’t constantly dead on their feet. And it was because of her that the pair was able to go on their first date night sans McKenna. Of course, they missed their daughter while they were out. But they also wanted to keep their spark alive, so they grabbed at chance to be able to go out.

Driving them to dinner, Caleb turned to glance at Elliot. “Do you know how excited I am to be going to a restaurant and not have to worry about making sure we have everything in the diaper bag or that McKenna might start to wail mid-meal? And we don’t have to eat at five like we’re eighty, so that she can be fed on time?”

Elliot allowed himself to chuckle. His husband’s almost constant habit of asking redundant questions could on occasion be annoying, but Elliot was just as excited for tonight and could find no reason to roll his eyes. “I’m willing to bet you’re about as excited as I am.”

Cale smiled, glancing at Elliot again, took his husband’s hand, and interlocked their fingers. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I’m more excited.” He chuckled when he could almost feel Elliot raise his eyebrow in defiance. “Well, the company I’ll be keeping is immensely better than the company you’ll be keeping.”

After remaining silent for a moment, Elliot nodded. “You’re right, you’re more excited.”

With a laugh, Caleb raised their hands and gave the back of Ellie’s a gentle nip as retaliation.

“Ooowww.” Elliot chuckled, attempting to pull his hand away, but Cale kept it locked in his long enough to give the nip a light kiss before releasing it as he slowed at a red light. Rubbing his hand in mock pain, Ell returned his hand to his lap. “Oh. You forgot one. We’ll finally be at a restaurant that has real tablecloths as opposed to paper ones to color on.”

Smiling because Elliot was joining in his game, attempting to make them each see the benefits of being out just them as opposed to staying at home with their daughter, Caleb began to pull away from the green light. “Ahhh, yes. Real tablecloths and adult conver-”

It had been fast. In the blink of an eye really. There’d been a flood of light that barged into their car, blinding Elliot and Caleb. But it was gone as quickly as it’d appeared. The shock of it made Cale slam on the breaks. Simultaneously, the next things to happen was the impact that sent the two fishtailing and Elliot’s scream. Though, Caleb was unaware at first that’s what it was. Not until after the dizzying spin had stopped and he heard the screaming for a moment longer beside him.

There were screeching tires and blowing horns and pain filled cries.

Caleb had thought they managed to survive. He thought they’d made it out relatively unscathed. Breathing hard, he reached for Elliot, stroking his face and prodding his husband’s body gently for injuries. “Are you ok? Are you in pain? Does anything hurt?”

“No.” Elliot took a deep breath, stretching out different muscles. “I’m ok. You? Are you ok? Jesus fu-… What the hell happened?!”

Turning away, Caleb stretched his own muscles, checking for injuries though he was already relatively positive he was fine. “I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s just… Holy shit. But we’re ok.” Caleb turned back to Elliot to reassure him more.

He saw it then. It was like it had been moments ago, a blinding light. But this one didn’t disappear. It barreled towards them. So quickly that Caleb didn’t have a chance to warn his husband, was only able to look at him in fear and panic.

Vincent Meian
Retired

Trainer
Spatial Dissonance
Played By Kalli

The sheer want to exist is sometimes not enough. It must be earned. Even then reality may disagree.

Posts: 907

Gender:: Cisgender male

March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 7, 2013 11:47:33 GMT -5

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Post by Vincent Meian on Mar 7, 2013 11:47:33 GMT -5

#5 - Loved (I Will Always Love You)

He sat at her bedside, listening to the machines intone their harsh notes as he woke from a fitful sleep. His back ached from the way he'd been resting, and he was pretty sure his arms were both asleep from laying on them, but he didn't want to get up. He didn't want to be awake and face this. He didn't want to remove himself from the last warm embrace he'd ever receive from her, even if he was only this close.

After a few moments, a cool hand brushed his hair from his face, tracing weakly down his jaw. His eyes opened, reddened from sleep and tears but still the bright honey color they'd always been, and he met her deep blue stare meaningfully. Even so sick, she was as radiant as the day he met her; still so pale, still so pure, and so very full of life.

Even though that life slipped away with each passing breath.

Saying not a word, he took her hand in his, her pale and unmarked flesh so small and delicate when encompassed by his scarred and tan fingers. He could barely feel it, but the chill of her side-effects bit through even the numbness of returning feeling. It was comforting, and it grieved him further.

"Were you here all night?" Her voice was soft and gentle, barely a whisper and slightly slurred from the pain medication. Not trusting his own voice, he only nodded. She breathed a soft sigh, then after a moment asked again. "What about the girls?"

"Hatsu." His one word answer made her understand, and the pale woman nodded, closing her blue eyes to lay against the pillow fully. There was a long moment of silence, and he feared that she'd fallen into sleep again, but she spoke. "Shouldn't they be here?"

He didn't know what to say. On the one hand, he believed that yes they should - they should have the chance to say goodbye. On the other, no - no child should have to watch their parent die so slowly, wasting away as their own powers consumed them.

And, of course, he didn't want to believe himself that she was dying. That his wife, his beautiful bride of thirty years, was passing on so young. Ceasing her existence in this mortal coil to go somewhere he couldn't follow, no matter how hard he trained nor how long he searched. He'd only be able to follow her once his own time came... and even then, would he find the way? Or was it simply nothingness, as when he vanished?

He didn't know. And it was the not knowing that was killing him.

She spoke his name, and his eyes returned to hers, his heart aching at the sight of her so peaceful and yet in so much pain. Her fingers gripped his lightly, as if they were doves perching only for a moment before flying away. Her breathing was becoming softer, and tears formed in her eyes, rolling down her face the moment she blinked. "I love you," she whispered. "Will you hold me? Just for a moment?"

He gripped her hand tightly in his own, standing enough to move to the bed, one leg keeping him steady on the unstable seat. He moved the machines a bit closer, slacking the wires and tubes enough that he could lay back with her without disconnecting them, then pulled her gently into his arms. She was so cold - had it always been this way? Had she always been this thin, this delicate? Had it always been that he worried to hold her too tight, lest she shatter like so much ice?

She sighed as she lay against him, her pale eyelashes fluttering closed to rest against her damp cheeks. They lay there, silent for a few moments more, just experiencing the comfort they could give one another without speaking. When she finally spoke again, he closed his eyes to fight the tears and the pain. He couldn't do what she asked, yet he had no choice. How could he let her suffer anymore? How could he make her stay, even when she would only languish in misery?

So, with a silent nod, he hugged her close and kissed the top of her head, tears falling into her hair and onto his shirt as they both wept. For life, and love; for grief, and pride; for goodbyes, and forever.

"Promise me?"

His hands tightened on her arms, and after a shaky breath, he did. She nodded, then looked up to him and smiled. He returned it, the expression painful and unfamiliar even as he tried. She laughed. "You're still terrible at that."

He laughed too, the sound breathy and full of grief. "I always will be."

"Work on it."

"I will."

"Vincent?"

"Yes?"

"Stay with me?"

"Always."

And so it was that Dr. Nakia Meian-Kenjutsushi departed from this world; succumbing to the effects of all that which she had taken from those she helped, releasing her final breath in the arms of her husband and truest love. And so it was that Vincent Meian was found by the doctors and nurses attending, holding her close to him and weeping as if the world had ended.

Because for him, it had. Even after they pulled him away and covered the body with that thin sheet, he moved back to her and kissed her shrouded forehead, tears staining the white as he whispered to her.

"I have always loved you. And I always will. Wait for me."

Time-Warp/AU

Last Edit: Mar 7, 2013 12:23:25 GMT -5 by Vincent Meian

Just because one has the ability does not justify its usage.

Remember that desiring power for its own sake leads down a dark path, and control must be maintained lest the power control you.

Damien Tremblay
Retired

Law Clerk
Invisibility
Played By Mads

This is how I disappear...

Posts: 250

March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 7, 2013 12:37:24 GMT -5

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Post by Damien Tremblay on Mar 7, 2013 12:37:24 GMT -5

83. Monopoly

Damien jumped at his cell phone ringing, practically diving through his pockets to get at it. Beside him, Josef just raised an eyebrow. Damien gave him a look before answering. It was an important call.

Which meant the twins were calling. It wasn’t the first time the eleven year olds had been left at home alone, but it was definitely the longest. They had been instructed to call either parent if anything came up, which was why Damien was so quick to answer. “Hey guys.” He thought he did a fairly good job of hiding the ‘panicked parent’ tone. “Is everything okay?”

“No. We’re bored. When are you and Dad coming home?” Damien instantly relaxed. No fires, no emergencies. Just boredom. That, he could handle.

“Soon, I promise. I’m sure you can find something to do until we’re home.”

“We tried. There’s nothing to do.”

“Watch a movie, then. Or go play a game. We have tons of them downstairs.” On the other end of the line there was a little huff, followed by a sigh.

“Fiiine. Bye, Daddy.” There was a click, and Damien stared at his home screen for a moment before putting the phone away. Josef stole up behind him and laid a gentle hand on his arm.

“Everything under control at home?” Damien smiled and shook his head.

“No. They’re apparently suffering from boredom.” He glanced around the room, trying to figure out how much more socializing could be considered acceptable before going home to relieve the twins. “We shouldn’t be much longer, though.” Law parties could get lengthy, particularly the retirement ones, but they’d already been there for two hours. The corner of Josef’s mouth twitched up in a tiny smirk.

“Boredom won’t kill them. They’re lucky we didn’t bring them here.” Damien had to laugh at that. Not many parents brought their kids to these events, mostly because they were, in fact, boredom inducing at times. Even for the adults.

“So we aren’t going home and telling them it was amazing, then.” Josef shook his head.

“No, we tell them it was boring, but we lived through it.” Considering how many things the twins had for entertainment, including a dog to play with, it was strange to think they couldn’t find anything to do. “They’ll be fine for a little while longer.” With that, he took his husband’s hand and strolled over to where Josh and Sean were getting drinks.

Unfortunately, the scene they returned to at home an hour later wasn’t as peaceful as the party had been. Board games had been pulled out of their homes on the shelves in the basement and strewn around the house. In the kitchen, several red and green structures were all over the floor. Neil Patrick Harris was sleeping by the back door, his paws twitching every now and again. (Damien still hated that name.)

And the twins looked... annoyed, more than anything. The moment Kieran spotted their parents, he pointed at his sister. “Carol owes me money!”

“I do not!” She pointed to the board where her battleship was sitting. “You don’t own this one!”

“I do! You pushed the hotel off!”

... This was why Josef didn’t like Monopoly. It was a boring game to start with, and it tended to spark wars when people were competitive. Which their daughter was. “Okay, okay.” The twins were adorable at the best of times, but when they bickered they were just... impossible. “Game over.”

“Fine.” Carol leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “But I won.”

“Did not.”

“No one won. Call it a tie.” Josef picked up the houses and hotels from the floor and dropped them back in the box. “If you can get this picked up in less than five minutes, we might be convinced to take you to a movie tonight.” Yes, it was a bribe, but they had just left the twins alone for three hours and the house was still standing.

After letting NPH outside, Josef headed upstairs to change. Damien was already more or less finished. “Is the war over?” Josef smiled and nodded.

“Yes. It was a truce. ... Sort of. And I might have bribed them into cleaning up with a movie.” Damien laughed and pulled Josef into a little hug, kissing his cheek softly.

“And you had doubts you’d be good at this.”

Vincent Meian
Retired

Trainer
Spatial Dissonance
Played By Kalli

The sheer want to exist is sometimes not enough. It must be earned. Even then reality may disagree.

Posts: 907

Gender:: Cisgender male

March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 7, 2013 12:58:31 GMT -5

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Post by Vincent Meian on Mar 7, 2013 12:58:31 GMT -5

#78 - Music

"I don't think you've ever played for me."

Vincent looked over his shoulder from the small kitchen, frowning slightly at his boyfriend. The plant manipulator sat on the floor in front of a low table (a kotatsu, as it's called), his back to the cook and his (currently) green hair tied up in a messy bun as he pruned a potted ivy plant, completely ignoring the other man as if he'd never spoken. The pan in the older youth's hand sizzled from the heated oil, and without a word he turned back to the fish he was searing. Once the food in question was finished, he shifted it to a plate and checked on the rice, replying with a question. "What brought this about?"

"Just thinking, that's all. You've got a concert with the orchestra in a few days, don't you?"

"Yes..." His answer was hesitant, and considering that the remainder of the dinner had a few more moments to cook, he turned his back on it and leaned against the counter, crossing his long arms over his chest. He watched the back facing him intently for a moment, keeping up the pause for a long moment. "Is there something you want to ask, Minamori?"

The use of his surname made the green-haired teen turn, blinking innocently from the table of the communal kitchen. Vincent normally called his younger roommate "fox" or by his given name; when he called him Minamori in private, well... it meant he was skeptical or concerned. Probably both. Still, the effeminate male just gave him a shrug. "I just don't think I've ever heard you play," he answered. "You don't practice in the dorms."

"It disturbs the other residents."

"You also don't seem to practice much in the practice rooms."

"I can't hear properly in there - the acoustics are terrible."

"...So... you only practice when exactly? In class?"

Vincent's eyes narrowed, annoyed at this line of questioning. Where was he going with this? "Mostly, yes. Sometimes I play after clubs let out, so I don't bother them. What's this about?"

"Oh... umm..." Suekeichi looked distracted and tilted his head back and forth in a display of either/or. "Well... hey, it's nothing, really. I was just talking to myself before anyway. Don't worry about it." He laughed, waved the pruning shears in the seventeen year old's general direction, and then turned back to his work. He did not turn back around, even though the dimensionalist stared at his back until the timer by the stove nagged at him to turn it off again. He did, and wordlessly he returned to his task of making dinner and tomorrow's lunch for the two of them.

Still, this was very strange. He could see the lie and the cover-up from miles away, but why would the other boy lie? They'd been dating now for a few months, had been friends for a couple years... why did he feel the need to lie about something so trivial? If he wanted to go to the concert, he should have simply asked.

Maybe he'd just give him a ticket tomorrow - he was allowed to invite a guest.

.....

"Why didn't you go?"

"I-I told you! I had a project due!"

"Since when has that ever stopped you?"

"Look, maybe I just don't want to fail Konishi-sensei's class, all right?"

"English Language classes are your best subject."

"S-so! You can't just learn a language overnight, you know!" Vincent sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he held the payphone to his ear, his forehead resting against the glass side of the booth. This was very strange - his boyfriend had wanted to come to the concert, wanted to hear his music; why didn't he show up? And why did he feel the need to lie? Right now, he was starting not to care; the formal wear wasn't exactly warm, and he was standing outside in January in Sapporo. Not exactly the place he wanted to be right at this very moment, and certainly not the conversation he wanted to be having.

"Fine, Suekeichi," he sighed, shaking his head. "We're heading back to Tokyo tomorrow. I'll see you when I get back."

"S-sure. I can meet you at the train, if you like." Now the other boy was starting to sound normal again, but he didn't much care. He was too tired.

"Yeah, that's fine. Would you mind if we ordered out?"

"Not at all. See you tomorrow."

.....

"You seriously don't get it?"

Vincent looked to his team captain, frowning slightly in confusion. "Obviously not or I wouldn't have asked you," he replied dryly, turning his gaze back forward to continue his sword practice. Iaido was hard enough with a wooden sword and no distractions; with a sharpened katana and a conversation, a mistake could be hazardous.

"Okay, look," his captain explained, running a hand over his face. "He's your boyfriend, right? All you have to-"

The sword stopped in motion halfway as the taller man whirled about on the older student, startled. "Wh-what? No, we're just roommates!" he protested, backing away slightly. If people found out about that, he could be expelled and have a black mark on his record. Not that he would give up his fox for it, but it was still something he'd rather not have happen.

Fortunately, the shorter man waved a hand off. "Don't worry about it; everyone on the team knows and no one says anything because it doesn't matter," he answered, his tone bored. "Besides, I swear that the two of you have a bigger fanclub as a couple than Hoshi-o has on his own."

That really didn't make him feel any better. "So... the whole school knows?"

A shrug. "It doesn't matter. No one cares, so stop worrying about it. Who's going to pick a fight with you over it? Or him with you around, for that matter? Left-handed or not, you're a better fighter than most of us in the club; even with your off-hand you're more than a match in tournaments, so relax."

He had a point. With a sigh, the vice-captain returned the blade to the sheath and took up his stance again, keeping his right hand on the blade. He needed to practice lest he grow complacent. "So what's so obvious?" he asked grudgingly. "What do you see that I don't?"

"He likes music, right?"

"...Yes." Shift stance, focus on target.

"You play music, right?"

"Yes, but-"

"And you've never played for him before?"

"I've invited him to half a dozen concerts." Lower hand to hover above the hilt, waiting for the right moment.

"Has he shown up?"

"No." Grab hilt and pull blade, swinging in one fluid motion. The straw doll cut in a clean diagonal, with a very slight curve at the very end. With a huff of annoyance, Vincent returned the blade to the sheath. "He's made excuses," he continued, picking up the scattered straw and setting it aside. "He keeps saying he's busy, then asks me about it again later. I just don't understand."

"Isn't he claustrophobic?"

The younger boy waved his hand slightly. "He can sit through classes, can't he?"

"But he doesn't like large crowds."

"So... you're saying he doesn't go not because he's mad at me, but because he doesn't like crowds.

"Pretty much."

"So, what do I do, then?"

.....

"Sooo.... where are we going?"

Vincent sighed at the question. "You'll see," he answered, probably for the fiftieth time since they left the dorm. He'd set everything up already, and even though it was a little late, he was sure Suekeichi would like it. Well, mostly sure. Okay, he was pretty nervous - but what was he supposed to be? He'd missed his friend's birthday because of a tournament, and he wasn't even sure that this was what the fox would want.

The trip had been a long one, and the sun was setting as they reached the atrium from the train station. Showing their student badges from Eisai as well as their tickets, Vincent grinned at his friend. "Happy birthday, Suekeichi," he said, motioning inside. "We have the run of it to ourselves."

The look on the younger boy's face was ecstatic, and with a flicker of (now) red hair he was gone, running off into the enormous greenhouse. Settling the grin into a smirk, the older student thanked the woman that had let them in and walked on after his friend, taking a leisurely stroll as the basket on his arm bounced against his leg rhythmically. The open-air room was filled with greenery, and it wasn't hard to spot the plant manipulator gaping in awe at the whole of it.

"Vincent, I haven't been here since before I came to Eisai!" he breathed, giving his roommate a bright grin and then a hug. "This is amazing! Thank you so much!"

Giving a short glance over his shoulder, the taller boy returned the embrace for a moment before holding up the basket. "Dinner?"

"Please!"

The small picnic outlasted the rest of the sunshine, and still no guards came to kick them out. That was just fine with him; he'd rather Suekeichi have as much fun as he wanted. After all, it was his birthday present. Nibbling on a bit of mochi, golden eyes watched the other boy intently as he coaxed a brown section of a plant into green again. When he was sure that he was distracted, Vincent reached out nearby and procured a small, battered case, flipping the latches silently so not to spoil the surprise.

Inside lay a violin; old and well-worn, but well-taken care of, too. Its strings were taut and tuned still from earlier in the day, the bow already pre-rosined and waiting. With great care, the Meian boy plucked both from the case, and with a deep breath he began to play.

At the first sound of music, the other boy whipped around, confusion and shock on his face. Vincent couldn't see them; he'd closed his eyes to hear the notes better, and played by feel as his long, scarred fingers danced across the strings. The piece was from Vivaldi's Spring - one of Suekeichi's favorite pieces, both in musical integrity and in emotive imagery. He played the entire piece through, then as the notes died away into echoes opened his eyes to meet the astonished gaze of his closest friend.

"Happy birthday, Fox."

Without a word, the younger man came close and kissed him, pushing him back onto the grass with surprisingly little force.

They didn't leave the atrium for another hour.

Relatively canon story from 1987 - Japan.

Last Edit: Mar 7, 2013 18:14:48 GMT -5 by Vincent Meian

Just because one has the ability does not justify its usage.

Remember that desiring power for its own sake leads down a dark path, and control must be maintained lest the power control you.

Vincent Meian
Retired

Trainer
Spatial Dissonance
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The sheer want to exist is sometimes not enough. It must be earned. Even then reality may disagree.

Posts: 907

Gender:: Cisgender male

March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 7, 2013 18:05:29 GMT -5

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Post by Vincent Meian on Mar 7, 2013 18:05:29 GMT -5

#9 - Broken (Breaking Dishes)

He knew the minute she walked through the door that she was upset. He'd figured out how to read people a while ago thanks to Suekeichi - her shoulders were tense, her hands gripped her bag tightly, her coat was tossed over the sack of groceries instead of being tucked into the sack, and she didn't return his greeting when she walked in. The question was, was she upset with him or was she upset with work? That was always a tricky one to figure out, considering that Nik tended to bottle up her feelings and rarely let them out.

Considering his experiences with such people, Vincent found that rather unhealthy. But, if that's how his girlfriend wanted to deal with it, that was fine with him. Different people do different things an all that.

Still, he gave her a slight smile as she handed him the bag of groceries and kissed her hand before she could pull it away. The doctor gave him a rueful glance before pulling her hand away, so he shrugged and thanked her regardless. She didn't say a word.

That was odd, certainly. However, even a man as clueless as he was knew to stay out of people's way when they were upset. So, he simply finished making dinner, served it up for the two of them, and let her eat in peace. No small talk, no questions; if Nik wanted to talk, she would talk. He wasn't going to force her.

Still, the silence was somewhat unnerving.

Dinner ended without much in the way of words, though when the tall man began cleaning up, she'd stopped him and started washing the dishes on her own. Though the chore was appreciated, the older of the two was still a little concerned and brought the dishes in regardless. He even made an attempt at the conversation.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes."

"......." Something was definitely not right, but if she didn't want to talk about it, that wasn't his business. Going back to the heated table, Vincent began wiping down the surface with a towel to clear it of whatever remained of dinner. "Did anything interesting happen at the hospital today?" he tried again.

There was a pause, then, "We had an administrative inspection today. Nothing very important for the interns or residents."

Well, that was an answer, at least. Not a very good one, and the albino woman sounded angry about it. Shifting the comforter around the kotatsu, the soldier then asked, "Really? It sounds important."

"It wasn't." Ouch - that had some bite to it.

"All right... How are your patients?"

"Could you not try and make small talk with me tonight?" the white-haired woman snapped, her motions becoming jerky as she scrubbed at something a little too hard. "I don't want to talk about work, or family, or us, or anything else. I just want to do the last of my paperwork and get some sleep."

Vincent cocked an eyebrow, annoyed as his own temper flared a bit. He was just trying to help - wasn't that what he was supposed to do? He never understood women that broke down over the littlest thing and cried at the drop of a hat; hence, Nik was the only woman he'd ever seriously dated. But this was a little strange even for her. If she'd been upset, normally she would have simply not come over, or she would have at least jumped into banter with him, or she would have allowed him to distract her from her annoyances. This passive-aggressive conversation was... well, it was weird.

"If that's what you want, that's fine," he replied sullenly. "I'm only trying to help. Do you want me to walk you home, or do you want to stay here?"

"I can go home myself, Vincent. I don't need an escort."

Red flag. "I wasn't asking to escort you, Nakia - it's late, and I just-"

"I really don't want to have this argument now."

"When did this become an argument?"

"You're making it into a fight."

"I'm...?" Vincent sighed, cupping his face in one hand. This was definitely going less well than he had hoped. "Nik, I'm not trying to fight with you. I just-"

"Well, I don't feel like talking about it," she stated tersely. "Can we please change the subject?"

That didn't sound like a request. Even with his commanding officers, Vincent didn't like taking orders. Especially when he was on leave.

"No," he stated, walking closer and reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. "I won't change the subject, and you're being-"

He didn't get to finish the sentence because the moment his bare hand touched her shoulder, Vincent was on the floor.

Well, actually, that's not entirely accurate. He wasn't instantaneously on the floor; he'd been knocked there by something that addled his head enough to make time flow strangely. His face also hurt like hell, and he could taste copper in his mouth, feel his cheek flame up, and see red all over the linoleum of the kitchen. Not a whitewash of red, like when he was well and truly angry; this was just a splatter of red, with more dripping every few fractions of a second. Blinking the dots from his eyes, the tall man shook his head in an attempt to clear it, vaguely hearing the sound of steel hitting the floor some distance away from him.

Had she just hit him? With a skillet? "...I think you broke my nose." Wow, it really hurt to talk.

"Oh no, oh Vincent I'm so sorry! I- I panicked, I'm so sorry!" Cold hands gripped his arms and fluttered about his face as the soldier pushed himself into a sitting position, still slightly dazed even as he batted her hands away gently. "Stop," she said, his voice sounding thick to his own ears. "Nik, stop, it's all right. I'll be fine."

Holy hell did his jaw hurt.

"No no, Vincent, I need to fix this," she stammered, tears welling up in her blue eyes as she tried to touch the broken skin. Grabbing her arms and forcing her hands away, the Japanese man looked her in the eye and shook his head slowly.

"Don't. I don't know what I did, but I'm sure I deserved that," he stated firmly. He cracked a weak smile, then asked, "So, would you mind telling me what I did?"

Apparently, that broke the dam.

For almost two hours, the two of them talked. Well, mostly Nik talked. Vincent listened, accepted an ice pack and allowed his girlfriend to make sure no bones were broken (thankfully, none were) as she talked. There was a changing of administrators at the hospital; metahumans were becoming more and more unacceptable under the new regime; she lost a couple patients because she'd been banned from using her powers without written consent on hospital grounds; her latest test had come back with less than stellar grades... The stack of straw had grown so high, that the resident had finally come by to see if Vincent would just let her have a moment of peace from the ruckus of the world.

And they had an argument.

"I didn't mean to hit you," she muttered finally, keeping her blue gaze averted from his golden one as she spoke. "I just... I had a rough time as a child. I was worried... I was worried you were going to hit me."

The idea shocked him. "Nik, I'd never intentionally hurt you," the soldier replied, giving her a concerned look. "If I did hurt you, it'd only be to defend myself, you know that. And even then, I'd rather take a frying pan to the face than hurt you in a disarm."

That seemed to make her laugh for some reason. "You're not very good at soothing people's fears, are you?"

He chuckled when he realized what she meant. "No, not really," Vincent admitted. "Sorry."

"It's okay; I understand."

"Oh good. I mean it, though; I won't hit you. No matter how angry I get."

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, and wiped them away hurriedly before responding. "I... I know that now. I'm sorry. It must hurt something fierce."

The soldier shrugged. "It hurts, but at least you didn't knock me unconscious," he reasoned. "Then we'd be in the hospital, and they don't have beds my size."

She laughed, then gave him a rueful smile. "We should be in the hospital, you moron. If you won't let me treat you, you should at least have someone look at it."

"Eh, I'll get a medic to look at me on Monday."

"That doesn't make me any less concerned."

"I'll be fine, Nik."

Still, he let her take another look, winced when she touched his nose and jaw, and settled back with another ice pack when she replenished it. Honestly, if she hadn't been his girlfriend, Vincent would have let her fix him - however, a soldier coming back to work with these bruises was one thing; a female doctor doing the same was like to get his backside thrown into jail. Not to mention he didn't like the idea of someone else taking responsibility for his mistakes.

"So, next time, how about you just yell at me."

"What?"

"Yell at me. Scream, shout, throw things, break dishes - you know, that sort of thing."

Nik looked incredulous. "What about your neighbors?"

"Have you heard the family above me? No one will notice or care, and you'll feel better."

"And you know this because...?"

"Because it helps me sometimes."

"...Maybe. I'll think about it."

At least she stayed that night. And next time, she could break dishes instead of busting his face. Vincent didn't hear the end of that from his squadmates for years.

Once again, relatively canon story - Japan, 1991

Last Edit: Mar 8, 2013 12:42:17 GMT -5 by Vincent Meian

Just because one has the ability does not justify its usage.

Remember that desiring power for its own sake leads down a dark path, and control must be maintained lest the power control you.

Dr. Sean Neville
Institute Official

Psychiatrist
Telepathy/Memory Manipulation
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The One and Only Seangularity

Posts: 8,987

Gender:: Male

March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 7, 2013 19:20:05 GMT -5

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Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Mar 7, 2013 19:20:05 GMT -5

#42 - Scarred

Sean Neville had always been a light sleeper. That had proved problematic as a student at Hammel, when sleep had been the only reprieve from the constant onslaught of thoughts to which his telepathy made him privy. It had proved useful in the middle of the War, because it had been impossible to get the drop on him when he was in a building, even in the dead of night. It now proved invaluable in the aftermath, because he no longer had Robert to guide him; it was only him and Josh now, against the entire world.

Josh needed him.

The shifting beside him in bed caused Sean to bolt upright. He groped for the light and then turned to check that his boyfriend was safe.

The younger man was, although Josh was struggling to move into an upright position. Sean reached out with no hesitation, and, with ease, he lifted his boyfriend until Josh had support from the headboard.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. The telepath supposed it could be a nightmare; Josh suffered from those regularly and had ever since his kidnapping.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” The younger boy’s expression was rueful, as though he was embarrassed.

Sean didn’t think there was anything embarrassing about it. At the same time, he felt a swell of pity for his boyfriend, and he also felt more than a bit of anger rise in his stomach at those responsible for this situation. Josh was crippled so badly that he needed help tending to himself and to basic bodily functions.

Technically, that wasn’t entirely accurate. With great difficulty, Josh could manage on his own. But this shouldn’t require great difficulty; toddlers were capable of tending to themselves. And transferring to and from his wheelchair was a pain at the best of times.

The telepath reflected on that situation, wishing that he could force Cobalt and Danny to witness, first-hand, the results of their actions. Not that it would do any good, because Josh was in this situation and would be for the foreseeable future.

Fortunately, Sean was more than capable of splitting his attention between his boyfriend and his thoughts. Thus, he slid from the bed, lifted Josh gently in his arms, and carried him into the bathroom that was just off the bedroom in their apartment. Moving the wheelchair would take more time, in between transferring to and fro; this was easier.

After setting Josh down and getting him settled, the telepath left the bathroom, turning his back so as to afford his boyfriend privacy. Only when he received the all-clear several minutes later did he turn back around.

Just as he had lifted Josh again, the young boy sighed. “I don’t think I’ll get back to sleep.”

Sean didn’t know what time it was; he hadn’t bothered to look at the bedside clock when he awoke, and he didn’t wear a watch inside of the apartment. However, he accepted that assessment as true. His boyfriend knew his own moods and needs, and as much as the telepath strove to protect the younger boy, he didn’t do so in a domineering what that overrode his own autonomy. All that he could do was nod a single time before saying, “I can brew some tea.”

“That’d be nice.”

That involved stopping back in their bedroom, rather than going straight to the kitchen. That was another aspect of Josh’s injury that was irrevocable – the fact that he required that contraption to have any freedom of movement (limited as it may be by comparison) around their apartment. However, once securely in his wheelchair, Josh was able to propel himself, even if Sean preferred to do so for him to spare him the exertion.

The telepath filled the kettle with water and then placed it on the stove to boil.

“Did you have nightmares again?” He asked over his shoulder.

The younger man looked down at his hands, his expression rueful. “Yes.”

“The same ones?” From what Sean had determined through conversations and telepathy, Josh went through a rotation of about four different ones.

“The one where you’re crying out in pain and I can’t reach you.” Josh’s voice was soft, and his breath hitched as he continued. “When I finally get to you, it’s too late.

Sean could kill Cobalt and Danny for what they had done to his boyfriend. Josh sitting here, laden with guilt, afraid to sleep, all because of their horrific actions. And still, they thought he was a monster?

The primary reason he didn’t go after them was because the War was over. If he did anything to them, he would go to jail, leaving Josh alone to fend for himself. Sean would do nothing to separate himself from his boyfriend, even if it involved curbing his sense of righteousness. Though his actions to protect them were a double-edge sword. On the one hand, he had ensured that Cobalt and Danny could never pose a threat to them again, by erasing their memories of their prior lives. On the other hand, this mean that they weren’t haunted by their actions, didn’t have to suffer every minute of every day the way that Josh did.

But the younger man wanted to keep his memories, and Sean would never take advantage of him.

The kettle whistled to signify its readiness. The telepath poured each of them a cup of boiling water, and then dipped in the tea bags. Crossing to the table, he set one down in front of Josh, and then reached out to clasp his hand tightly. “Nobody will ever take me away from you again,” he promised.

Sean didn’t know what would await them when college ended. Josh would continue his studies and eventually go on to law school. The telepath supposed he would have to find a job for himself, since Robert’s money – like the money he inherited from his parents – was limited. Whatever he did, he would remain with Josh, there to protect him and watch over him.

“I hope not,” Josh replied, looking at their joined hands before braving a glance at the telepath.

Sean brought the younger man’s hand to his lips. “I promise you this. You’re everything to me.”

He knew that Josh felt the same way, and that made the rest of the isolation and uncertainty worthwhile.

You want to graduate? Listen to Sean talk about condoms.

Dryope *
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March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 7, 2013 19:58:08 GMT -5

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Post by Dryope * on Mar 7, 2013 19:58:08 GMT -5

84. Reality

Joshua Bernstein had always claimed a close relationship with his family. His parents had been affectionate and warm with one another and their children, and he had adored his older brother. And when a baby sister had come along he had been thrilled by the prospect of another person to play with.

Now that both his siblings were married with children and Josh had moved up to Vermont the three siblings saw less of one another. However, the presence of their parents meant that the occasional visits were in order. After all, the newest generation of Bernsteins had to visit their grandparents sometimes; if they hadn't, Mama B (as she was affectionately known) would have had words for her children.

Josh had initially bought his house expecting his family to visit, but even still it felt crowded with Matt and his wife and their two teenage sons. Noah spent all his time on his iPod, playing games or texting his girlfriend, but Jeremiah tore through the house, jumping on everyone and trying to get his brother's attention.

Noah gamely tried to ignore his younger sibling's pestering, though there were bouts of shoving and terse, angry expressions of his desire to be left alone.

Michelle Bernstein tried to coax her younger son into behaving more calmly, promising that they would go to the lake later in the day, but to no avail. Jeremiah was adamant that he wanted to play now, and he wanted to play with Noah.

Josh shook his head in bemusement at their antics. "So much energy. I don't remember having nearly that much energy when I was thirteen."

Matt choked on his coffee, shooting his younger brother a look over the mug.

Josh recognized that look. It was one that Matt had inherited from their father, one that meant he had just said or done something very, very stupid. Although the attorney took after his father more in appearance, his older brother had more of their father's personality.

This included the ability to be expressive without words.

Josh could feel guilt creeping into his chest with that look, although he didn't know what he had done to deserve it.

"I never jumped all over you like --- " He began.

Matt's look became even more judgmental, if that were possible. Fortunately, before Josh was forced to defend his teenage self further Michelle intervened.

"Who wants to go get ice cream on the way to the park?"

That got the attention of all four men in the house, even Noah. But as they left the house Josh could overhear Matt whispering to his wife.

"Sometimes Josh has his own version of reality."

Last Edit: Mar 7, 2013 20:12:37 GMT -5 by Dryope *

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Aaron Hale
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Telekinesis
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March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 7, 2013 20:08:17 GMT -5

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Post by Aaron Hale on Mar 7, 2013 20:08:17 GMT -5

#79 - Silence

“No.” Aaron muttered the word and let it drift off into an infinite silence, a silence so profound that it seemed to suck away all thought, suck away everything. He curled up into a tight ball, hands pressed against his chest as if they were holding something, holding him together in a finite gesture. He was for all intensive purposes dead to the world, yet very alive, that heartbeat thrumming against his chest.

The music no longer pumped through his white apple head phones, those now hanging from the edge of his desk. Balls of sketch paper and sketches half erased littered it, all of them not right. It was sometimes the silence that brought the most, gave the yearning artist what they had needed. It was in these times that he missed his brother, a person that he never expected to want.

Maybe it was that special twin link, even if they weren't clones like everyone imagined when they heard the word twin. Brandon just had a special way of talking, piercing that veil so to speak. Any minute he expected him to come slowly into the room, say something witty and they would laugh like they always did. The thought alone brought a rueful chuckle, the sound itself piercing the eerie quiet.

Perhaps it was the silence that brought this sudden spike in emotional energy, even his chatty roommate wasn't here to brighten the mood with his quirky but endearing mannerisms. That was when he heard it, a single sound that fully broke the silence, sending a jolt down his back. It was his phone vibrating on his dresser. Reaching out with a numb arm, the blonde pressed a button, ending the vibrations and pressing the device to his ear.

“Hello.”

“Hello mister dark and dreary, this is me calling you to brighten up your otherwise meaningless day.” It was Brandon and his usual self. Must have been his twin senses or he wanted to brag about his recent conquest.

“Well, this is a pleasent surprise.” It wasn't a surprise.

“You know you missed hearing my voice, no one can go without hearing it.” He was jackassing around, but that was his brother after all, none could match his refreshing arrogance. “So how are you and that guy, Mat was his name right?”

There was silence, but this time of a more awkward strain. Aaron like it better like that.

Last Edit: Mar 7, 2013 20:33:33 GMT -5 by Aaron Hale

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March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 7, 2013 20:18:51 GMT -5

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Post by Dryope * on Mar 7, 2013 20:18:51 GMT -5

60. Spring

Josh dragged his luggage up the steps of the beach house his parents had rented for spring break. A reward, his mother had said, for the good grades he and Talia had made over the course of the school year. He supposed that was nice for Talia; she struggled in school, and so recognition for her hard won achievement had to be refreshing. But he didn't want to be at the shore. He wanted to be at home, where he could hide in his room all week until it was time to go back to school. Perhaps he still could, though. After all, his teachers had assigned quite a bit of homework over the break, and he hadn't felt like doing any of it in the airport.

His father pointed him in the direction of the room he would be sharing with Matt, once Matt arrived with his girlfriend -- "She's such a lovely young lady," Mrs. Bernstein had gushed, "Won't it be nice when you find a nice girl like her." -- and the teen had silently taken his luggage in that direction, pushing it into the far corner to be dealt with later. He poked his head around the doorframe, announcing without really looking to see if anyone was there, "I'm gonna take a nap. I think I must have jetlag."

He figured this was probably true, given that there were several timezones difference between his school and the east coast, although in reality he simply didn't want to be innundated with questions. The drive down to the shore had been mercifully short, and Talia had occupied most of it with her insistence on filling him in on her social life and the happenings of her drama club. He had been receptive to this, if only because that meant nobody would call attention to himself, but she had taken off to her own room to shower.

He knew that his parents would question him soon enough, but he wanted to put off the inevitable for as long as he could.

He heaved a sigh and dropped onto one of the two beds occupying the room, not bothering to remove his shoes. It was entirely unfair. Here he was, back on the east coast, and no way to get in touch with Sean without either Hammel or his parents noticing. He wondered what Sean was doing now; would he have gone home for Spring Break? Or would his family be off on vacation as well? Was Hammel treating him well, or did everyone know what had happened? If they did, he was sure to be the target of viciousness.

At least nobody at his new school had any idea of why he had transferred, with the exception of his counselor.

He didn't like his counselor.

The sound of footsteps roused him from his thoughts, though he didn't move until a familiar voice said, "Hey, Josh? Mom says let's go, we're going for dinner."

The blue-eyed boy rolled over, pushing himself off the bed. "Hey, Matt." He greeted his older brother dully, shuffling out of the room and down the hall. "When'd you get here?"

"Just now. You know mom, she won't let anyone catch a break."

Josh certainly understood that sentiment.

Dinner out and fresh seafood were usually aspects of visiting the shore that Josh enjoyed.

He wasn't enjoying them now. He had ordered a bowl of soup, over his mother's protestations that he ought to eat, he had lost so much weight at that new school, didn't they feed him? And this wasn't hyperbole on her part, either; he had lost weight since being sent away. This was no fault of the school, however, unless the school was meant to force him to do more than pick at his food for the first half of lunch before abandoning the cafeteria for the library. Sometimes he skipped altogether. But he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of admitting that she was right.

"I'm not very hungry. It's probably the jetlag."

He dipped a cracker into his soup, watching as the tip became soggy. Perhaps if he kept his attention on anything other than his family he would become invisible and they would leave him alone.

"So boopkie, you haven't told us how your new school is," His mother piped up. She had called him weekly, but he had managed to convince her that he was always busy. Which was true, in a sense; he spent most of his time buried in his books and notes.

"It's fine." He shrugged, hoping that would suffice as an answer. Fine was perhaps stretching the truth a bit; in fact, he hated it there, a fact he was sure his mother should have known had she paid even the slightest bit of attention when she had taken him around to meet his new teachers.

"These Chemistry grades are excellent," The science professor had said, and Mrs. Bernstein looked delighted.

Josh shrugged miserably, looking down at his shoes. "I'm not very good at science. I just had a good tutor."

"Joshua is so modest," His mother had whispered conspiratorially to the teacher before they had been ushered to his dorms, upon which they said their farewells.

And just as he had cried the whole airplane ride there, he had cried himself to sleep.

"How are your classes?" This question came from his father. "Your counselor's given us an update on your grades, but you've not said much about them."

Josh gave another shrug. "They're hard. We have a lot of homework over break."

He hoped that would suffice as a warning that he would spend all of Spring break doing homework and studying.

"Oh, you started at a new school?" Matt's girlfriend inquired, looking sympathetic. "It's hard being the new person."

Mrs. Bernstein waved a hand dismissively. "Boopkie never has a hard time being new. He's always so friendly and charming, makes friends with everyone. He'll make friends with the taxi driver in five minutes. It's been four months now, I'm sure he's made lots of friends, haven't you, Boopkie?"

"No."

He took vicious delight in upsetting his mother's expectations, and the looks of shock on his family's faces.

"Don't worry, you'll make friends soon enough," Matt's girlfriend said in tones that made it clear she was trying to be encouraging.

"No." Josh repeated, more firmly this time. "I don't need friends. I need good grades. Friends just get in the way."

He had made it abundantly clear to his classmates that he had no intentions of responding to their overtures.

"You need friends, honey," His mother reprimanded lightly, "Your counselor says prom is coming up. How else are you going to find a nice young lady to go with? Your father and I even wrote you a check so you can rent a suit and take her somewhere nice for dinner."

Josh couldn't hide the horror on his face. It was one thing for his parents to drag him forcibly away from his boyfriend, but quite another for them to push him into taking someone to prom. He wouldn't do it. He'd already made up his mind not to attend (even going alone would mean a reminder that other people were allowed romance and he wasn't) but this only strengthened his resolve.

"I'm not going. I hate dances."

This was a baldfaced lie. He enjoyed dancing and had always enjoyed parties. Unfortunately, his mother seemed impervious to his words.

"Your father and I expect pictures."

Josh thought he was going to be ill.

"Great." He mumbled, pushing himself away from the table. "I need to go to the bathroom."

But he wasn't even allowed peace then, as Matt had followed him, placing a hand upon his shoulder as they neared the restrooms. "Hey, Josh, what's wrong?" He asked, expression concerned. He was away at college, and hadn't been around for the fiasco that had lead to his younger brother's sudden transferral to a school across the country. "You're not yourself."

"Nothing." Josh lied, shrugging his brother off and pushing open the doors to the men's room.

"We both know that's a lie. Come on, mom and dad said you transferred because of undesirable elements. You aren't on drugs or something, are you?"

Josh stiffened in indignation. Undesirable elements? That was how they referred to Sean? "No." He snapped, not turning around. "They didn't like my best friend. If they wanted me to have friends they wouldn't have made me change schools."

Matt's expression turned thoughtful. "Why didn't they like --"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

When he returned from the bathroom his mother picked up where she had left off as if there had been no interruption.

"If you need help with the corsage you can ask that nice young lady who teaches art. Remember how she said she would look after you for me? And she's an artist, so she'll know all about flowers."

Josh dipped another cracker into his soup.

This was going to be a long spring break.

Last Edit: Mar 7, 2013 22:18:33 GMT -5 by Dryope *

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Dr. Sean Neville
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Psychiatrist
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March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 7, 2013 21:17:17 GMT -5

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Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Mar 7, 2013 21:17:17 GMT -5

#27 – Winter

Kindergarten existed in a state of twilight between preschool and the numbered grades. Unlike preschool, kindergarteners attended the local Pilot Ridge Elementary School, and they could use the regular buses instead of the smaller preschool buses. Kindergarteners even had homework to complete, although the older grades wouldn’t consider it as such. Unlike the numbered grades, kindergarten classes still benefitted from dedicated nap time and dedicated snack time, in addition to the daily recess and lunch break. Additionally, the kindergarten classrooms were filled with toys.

Eleanor loved kindergarten. She got on well with her teacher, and she loved being able to play with her friends. She loved to learn. She enjoyed listening to stories at story time. She enjoyed running around outside during recess. She enjoyed all of the toys; her parents bought her many toys, but it was impossible to have as many, and to have all of the same types, as were in the classroom. She liked taking her turn as Snack Monitor and handing out the crackers and milk to all of the other kids.

So she was sad when she woke up one morning to find snow on the ground, piled so high that it reached the windows on the first floor of her house.

Her Daddy told her that there was no school that day. Then he tried to cheer her up by making hot cocoa and French toast sticks for breakfast. Daddy’s school had been canceled for the day too, and he said that the courts had closed down, so Papa would also be home with them.

That made it better, even if she had wanted to go to school and play with her friends.

After breakfast and washing up to get the syrup and strawberry juice off her face and fingers, she disappeared into the den to color. After making a few pictures, she went to ask her Daddy if they could watch a movie. He let her watch movies and television, but either Papa or Daddy had to be in the room with her while she did.

They decided to have a family movie, and so she was allowed to pick from any of her collection. Papa made popcorn. Then they all settled in together on the sofa to watch Beauty and the Beast which was one of her favorites.

She sang along to Be Our Guest. Papa sang too, and Daddy hummed. He rarely sang, usually only for lullabies.

By lunch, it had stopped snowing, although there were a couple of feet in the streets and on the lawn. “Can I go outside?” Eleanor asked, staring at the white fluff through the kitchen window.

Daddy and Papa shared a look, and then Daddy nodded. “After we do the dishes.”

Her parents did the dishes together, and then Daddy helped her sweater and her parka, while Papa helped her put on her snow boots. Then her mittens and her scarf, and her hat to cover her long hair, which was then tucked into the hood of her jacket.

Then her parents each donned their coats and pulled on their boots and gloves. “Are you ready?” Papa asked her when they were dressed.

She shook her head.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

Papa scrunched his face, bewildered at why she hadn’t mentioned this before getting dressed . Daddy simply took her hand and brought her to the bathroom, helped her take off her scarf, parka, mittens, and snow boots, and then waited for her outside the door.

When she came back out, he asked, “Are you ready now?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Her parents helped her get dressed a second time, and then brought her out into the snow-scape that was their yard.

“What do you want to do?” Papa asked her.

“Let’s make a snowman.”

“How about a snow family?” Daddy suggested, and Eleanor nodded enthusiastically.

“We’ll start with snow-Eleanor first,” Papa suggested, and she smiled up at both of them. Then she began to roll the snow into a ball to try to make a head.

Missing school wasn’t so bad after all.

You want to graduate? Listen to Sean talk about condoms.

Suekeichi Minamori
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March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 8, 2013 0:42:04 GMT -5

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Post by Suekeichi Minamori on Mar 8, 2013 0:42:04 GMT -5

#11- Odds and Ends (For Arisa)

Well, I know the feeling
Of finding yourself stuck out on the ledge
And there ain't no healing
From cutting yourself with the jagged edge
I'm telling you that, it's never that bad
Take it from someone who's been where you're at
Laid out on the floor
And you're not sure you can take this anymore

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done. His clothes, dishes, and everything else of necessity were packed and ready to go. All that was left were the little things. Her things. And that was the hardest part of the entire thing. He felt like he was watching himself, willing himself to move. He could see the picture frame in his hands, see his long fingers tracing over the image of her hair. Her face.

It hurt.

So just give it one more try to a lullaby
And turn this up on the radio
If you can hear me now
I'm reaching out
To let you know that you're not alone
And if you can't tell, I'm scared as hell
'Cause I can't get you on the telephone
So just close your eyes
Oh, honey here comes a lullaby
Your very own lullaby

He still dreamed about her. Still attached to her. Still grieving. Still wishing and hoping that one of those times he'd wake up, and she'd be laying beside him with that smile. God he missed that smile.

The picture had long since been packed. Forgotten in a box with everything else that reminded him of her. Maybe if he left it there hidden behind planter boxes and bags of potting soil it wouldn't tug at his heart strings. He was kidding himself, sure. Trademark denial. If he didn't see it, he didn't think about it. It hadn't happened.

It was left to his dreams that would flit back to his subconscious as he'd rub his eyes.

Please let me take you
Out of the darkness and into the light
'Cause I have faith in you
That you're gonna make it through another night
Stop thinking about the easy way out
There's no need to go and blow the candle out
Because you're not done
You're far too young
And the best is yet to come

He drowned himself in his studies. Swam in his textbooks. Taking long strides out to sea with his feelings. Anything to keep the anger at bay. He wasn't dealing with it well, and he knew it. He didn't care. If he kept his nose in his books or hands in the dirt, he didn't feel the fire inside as fiercely. More denial. But who cared? Vincent, maybe. If he didn't have his own things to deal with.

And letters went unanswered.

Sure he'd thought about it. Numerous times. He didn't tell anyone he'd thought about it. Convinced himself it was normal.

Depression.

A constant unwanted companion. All he wanted to do was sleep. To dream about her again and never have to let her go.

Well, everybody's hit the bottom
Everybody's been forgotten
When everybody's tired of being alone
Yeah, everybody's been abandoned
And left a little empty handed
So if you're out there barely hanging on...

At his family home in Osaka, Suekeichi planted a cherry blossom tree. At the base was a hand painted plaque that read only two words:

For Arisa.

He hadn't gotten over her death. Feared that he never would. But he came to terms that she was there. On the gentle breeze that caressed his cheek. Cooling her feet with him in the water on a warm summer day. The scarf around his neck in the winter to keep him warm? Her arms. She wasn't gone. Just away for a while.

Just give it one more try to a lullaby
And turn this up on the radio
If you can hear me now
I'm reaching out
To let you know that you're not alone
And if you can't tell, I'm scared as hell
'Cause I can't get you on the telephone
So just close your eyes
Oh, honey here comes a lullaby
Your very own lullaby
Oh, honey here comes a lullaby
Your very own lullaby

Every year he'd return home, and place a trinket of hers at the base of the tree. Maybe one day he'd unearth that photo again, and it'd find it's way home.

(This fic is loosely canon.)[/i]

Last Edit: Mar 9, 2013 21:26:01 GMT -5 by Suekeichi Minamori

Alexander McKenzie
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March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 8, 2013 12:40:51 GMT -5

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Post by Alexander McKenzie on Mar 8, 2013 12:40:51 GMT -5

18. Push

Alex had thought he’d known pain before. All kinds, but nothing seemed to compare to how he was feeling now. It was an odd mix of fury, fear, and despair that burned through his veins.

That was why he had ended up at the self defense clinic. He couldn’t handle being at home any longer, and he’d had to do something to expel his energy. If he tired himself out, maybe he would be able to handle everything better.

If the hard, angry punches he was landing on the punching bag in the corner were any indication, it really wasn’t working. The harder he hit, the angrier he got. It wasn’t fair.

“Alex?” Josef had been watching his student for a little while now. He had been catching up on paperwork, keeping a quiet eye on the younger man. Normally Alex showed up for one of two reasons. The occasional self defense lesson, or to pick Ann up from work. He’d never seen him so worked up over something. Normally he was calm, so this... this was a little worrying. If he didn’t stop soon, he ran the risk of hurting himself, if he hadn’t already. Josef came over and steadied the swaying bag. “What’s going on?”

Alex twitched away from his trainer, not looking at him. “Nothing,” he growled. “Let go.” Josef arched an eyebrow. This was so unlike the younger man. Something had to have happened.

“I think it’s a good idea for you to take a break. Give your hands a breather.” The kid wasn’t even wearing gloves, and he could see his knuckles already reddening. “Come on, Alex. I’ll get you some water.” Josef moved to touch Alex’s shoulder to encourage him to move away from the bag. Alex just shot him a look and moved away again, hitting the bag lightly in a small act of defiance.

“I don’t need a break,” he said in a calmer tone than he felt. With that, he hit the bag with a little more force, ignoring the sting in his hands and wrists. Josef watched him for another moment before reaching out to stop the bag from swinging again. This time, Alex twisted away from it and tried to hit Josef.

Luckily for him, he still had good reflexes. In one swift movement, Josef was out of range and behind Alex. His hands came up to try to steady Alex, as well as to stop him from hitting. While he hadn’t forgotten about Alex’s power, he hadn’t really expected him to use it. But he did. Alex forced out his forcefield, effectively forcing Josef’s grip off of him. “Don’t,” Alex spat out from behind the field. But in his current state, he couldn’t keep the shield up for long. He started to shake, the weight of everything finally pushing him to a point that he didn’t think he could handle it anymore. His shield came down, his hands at his sides.

“Finished?” Josef didn’t want to unhinge him any more than he already seemed to be. Alex just nodded mutely, his hands shaking. “Come on.” Josef laid a gentle hand on Alex’s shoulder, subtly leading him out of the corner and into his office. After settling him in a chair and retrieving a glass of water, Josef just perched on the desk in front of him. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He didn’t think he needed to say anything else. Alex still wouldn’t look at him, though he did sip at the water. Now he had stopped, and the adrenaline was wearing down, he was left with a thorough sting in his hands, and his still overwhelming feelings. It took a few moments of controlled breathing before he could even say anything.

“I can’t,” he finally said quietly. If he said it, it would make it all that much more real. If he could just pretend for a few more days that everything was normal, maybe he could face what he had to do. He didn’t want to think about it. If he thought about it, he would go through the motions of the things he had to do. That included telling Ann, and probably going back home to Chicago. Neither of which he felt like he was up to doing.

... But Josef was there. Josef was neutral territory. And if he didn’t tell someone, he was probably going to self destruct. Maybe he could bank on him not to tell Ann. Not until Alex was ready to do it himself. All he had done all afternoon since the phone call had been to practically rip apart his bedroom, and then he had come to the clinic. He knew he couldn’t keep this up. His usually good posture slipped into a defeated slump. “Mr. Muller...” His voice broke, something that it hadn’t done in years. “I...” He didn’t even know how to word this anymore. “I’m sick,” he finally blurted. He had said it, it was out there for the universe to know now. He bit down on his lip, not caring that he was probably putting a dent in his lip ring. Everything spilled out. The blood test a few days ago, the call today. It wasn’t fair. He felt fine.

Throughout it, Josef remained quiet, though his calm mask slipped now and again. He couldn’t imagine going through what Alex was, either himself or as an outsider. Which made him think.

“Have you talked to Ann yet?” Again, Alex mutely shook his head.

“No. I don’t think I can.” This had always been what he had been afraid of. Yet he had pushed that fear aside for Ann. He had dated her, loved her, proposed to her. And now he was just... he didn’t know what to do. He had seen what witnessing this had done to his parents. He couldn’t do that to Ann. He wouldn’t.

Josef offered a sad little smile to Alex. He liked the younger man. And he liked Ann. It was terrible to have to know what they were up against. “You can. You’re going to need her.” Alex just bit his lip again, toying with the water glass. “And she needs you, too.” Alex didn’t think he could talk anymore. He just hunched his shoulders and stared at the floor, mentally counting the tiles. It was a coping technique he’d learned a long time ago. One he didn’t think he’d ever have to use again. Yet here he was, coping. And not well.

Before he left the clinic, Josef gave him a hug, and promised that he would be around if Alex wanted to talk to him. He would make the same promise to Ann, once she knew. He cared about them.

Alex trudged home, his anger somewhat dissipated, but the fear and despair were still ever present. His fingers came up to twist around his shoulder length hair as he unlocked the apartment door. Ann wouldn’t be home for at least another hour or so. That gave him time.

~

When Ann returned home to their little shared apartment, she had to stare in shock for a moment. There were things everywhere, like a small bomb had gone off. Metallica was practically roaring from the stereo, which she quickly turned down before someone could complain. If they hadn’t already.

Scuffling noises in the bedroom made her wary. “Alex?” No response. Ann frowned, mentally preparing herself for a fight. The door hadn’t looked tampered with, but thieves could be creative these days. With her fists loosely curled, she moved closer to the bedroom.

On the bed was a duffel bag, half filled with clothes. Her heart began to pound. “Alex?” Where was he, and what was going on? She finally clued into the fact that he was likely in the en suite bathroom. Maybe he had his headphones on, or something. Maybe he had to go see his parents suddenly. It couldn’t be anything terrible, right?

Alex came out of the bathroom then, wearing a hoodie and a beanie. He didn’t even look at her as he walked by to stuff more things into the bag. “Alex, what is going on?” She reached for his hand, but he pulled it away.

“I’m leaving,” was all he offered. Ann’s eyes grew wider. What had she said? Or done? They were engaged. Didn’t that mean they were in love and happy?

“What? Why?” A moment later, it hit her. A flurry of emotions that he had apparently been keeping a tight rein on. Anger, hurt, fear, everything rolled into a confusing ball. It hit Ann hard, and distracted her momentarily. He was always so careful to keep control of the wilder emotions, yet here he was sharing them. What did that mean?

It took a moment, but Ann managed to tame her own feelings back down, and tried to make a calm settle over her fiancé. Alex just gave her a look. “Don’t.” Ann’s heart sank. “I’m going home. Alone.” Tears sprung to Ann’s eyes.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Alex. Please.” He appraised her as he zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Josef was right. She should know. She had to know how much this was killing him, too.

“My last results weren’t good,” he finally said, his icy tone breaking. “It’s happening again. I’m going home.” Ann’s eyes widened again. He was... no. It wasn’t supposed to happen. She moved closer, her arms around his waist.

“You can’t go. I need you here.”

“I have to go, Ann. I’m not making you do this. I’m not going to make you go through what my parents have.” He swallowed hard. “You don’t have any obligation to be with me now. I’m okay.” Ann’s chin snapped up, her eyes burning.

“That’s not your choice to make,” she argued. But it was clear his mind was made up. She shivered as he gently pushed her back.

“I’m sorry, Ann.” His own eyes were wet with tears now. “I love you so much, which is why I can’t make you do this. Promise me you’ll stay here. Keep going to school. Graduate.” Do everything he clearly wasn’t going to do. Not for a while. With that, he kissed her softly, and headed to the door. It was nearly impossible to keep a choke hold on his emotions, but he had to. For Ann’s sake.

Cuppy *
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Posts: 150

March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month Mar 8, 2013 13:14:45 GMT -5

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Post by Cuppy * on Mar 8, 2013 13:14:45 GMT -5

62. Fingertips

There was something between them that couldn’t be explained. People probably thought Morgan was crazy for taking Jake back. That was probably the nicest thing they thought when news spread that they were together again. But there was something there, something that made Morgan forgive Jake of his past and open up his arms, home, and heart to Jake once again.

And he felt it. Morgan felt whatever it was between them every time Jake touched him.

When Jake’s hand slid into Morgan’s grasp and gave a gentle squeeze, he felt it.

Those times when they would sit in comfortable silence and Morgan would suddenly feel Jake’s fingertips dance up and down his arm, he felt it.

When they were pressed to his cheek as if trying to learn the curve of his face.

As they would kiss and Jake’s fingers would smooth across the back of neck.

In the moments Morgan was shirtless as he changed and Jake’s fingers fleeting stroked his spine.

When Jake’s fingers were dug into Morgan’s hips.

When they were tangled in his hair.

When he felt them splayed across his back.

Morgan felt it. Felt their connection, their spark.

It took time, getting used to the touches again. Morgan had spent so long without them; he’d begun to forget what the sweet stroke felt like. And the first time it happened again, it had almost hurt. As if he hadn’t known how much the absence of the gentle graze of Jake’s fingers had pained him until they were back, which only reminded him that they had been missing for a time in the first place.

It was those days, when they were first reunited, that Jake’s touches were gentler than they’d ever been. As if he were using his fingers on Morgan’s skin to say sorry over and over again.

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March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month

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