August Writing Challenge POLL!

[Admin!]

It's the end of the first week of August, which means it is time for a writing challenge! To enter, just post a ficlet (300-2000 words) in this thread. When the voting for August's OTM winners comes around, a voting poll will go up for this as well. Winners will get a slot on the awards wall, as well as a microbanner to go in the character's signature of their choosing.

The challenge: Not My Story. To qualify for the challenge, you must write a ficlet about someone else's character. Your own characters may be players, but cannot be the focus of the story.

NOTE: If you do not want your characters to be used for this, PM me or Mads and we will list them here. If you are willing to volunteer your characters, you may also do so here.

Volunteered Characters:
James Campbell, Levi Xu, Eli Morrison, Paulo Ortiz, Noor Quadri, Oberon Sparks, Josef Pearson, Devin Sykes, Tatiana Nikitin, Jared Park, Zachary LaRousse, Vincent Verax, Spencer Ellis, Benjamin Park, Jacob Lawrence, Nykohl Rochelle, Alice Perrette-Johnston, Clarisse Prideaux, Morgan Tonaya, Fifi Hart, Lala & Reese Degreas.

The rules:

• Characters must be Hammel-related, but the ficlets are not site canon unless explicitly stated.
  
• Alternative universe interpretations of characters are allowed.
  
• Entries must be between 300 and 2000 words.
  
• You can enter no more than three ficlets.
  
• Ficlets should be titled.

[Eli Morrison]

Power

It was an accident.

Alice was just walking through the library, knowing she was supposed to be looking for a particular book for class, but not doing so. It was so peaceful there. It was quiet, except for the quiet rustling of pages and murmurs from people on the floor below. The balcony/fiction section was mostly empty, and there was a kind of haunting romance to being up there alone. It was like a forest of books.

(Sad, a little, since the forest had to die for the books.)

In theory, she should have gone to class when the bell rang, but it was too nice and too quiet to let go. Libraries had magic, and she was going to stay with this spell for as long as it could last.

The blonde girl floated among the stacks of books, each one a physical door for her. She didn't want to practice, didn't want to concentrate on reality where books were books and not a physical portal to another world. She didn't feel like metaphors today.

But then, as she was brushing past another student who missed the bell, it was as if she stumbled. Alice found herself in a hallway, standing beside a boy about her age, and he ran, sprinted towards the door at the other end. But it was as if he was on a treadmill, and no matter how fast he ran, he wasn't going to reach the door. With one hand, he was pulling a little girl along with him, and she felt his urgency to get to the door before the dark shadow that was getting closer enveloped him.

Alice watched for only a moment, before her training started kicking in. She recognized symbols when she saw them, after all. So she had a choice, stay here, or force herself back to reality.

But the teenage boy looked pretty scared.

So Alice looked at the door, which seemed even more distant now, and brought it closer to them. It was a little tougher than she was used to, but she could do it. And though she couldn't stop the shadow from closing in, she could make the hallway brighter. (It helped that she gave the little girl a crown of flowers. Since they were her creation, she could easily decide to make them glow.)

When they finally reached the door--the one she had been standing beside and the boy had been sprinting towards for a long time--he burst through it, pulling the little girl with him, and Alice followed. It was a field, one of those meadows that always looks more attractive in pictures, before you walk into it and step in sheep shit or get bitten by ticks. But this one was just as idyllic as the pictures, and now the little girl took the lead, pulling the boy behind her. She pulled him away from Alice, but she didn't mind. Instead, she smiled beatifically, and willed a picnic into existence behind the next rolling hill.

She heard the little girl laugh with joy when they discovered it, and again when they found that the ice cream hadn't melted. Alice turned and stepped out of the door again, back into the library. She really did have to go to class.

Jesse, having fallen asleep at a reading table, stilled. For once, the shadow didn't get them.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

I’m Sorry

Sean lay in the backseat, sprawled out unconscious. His right arm and leg dangled limply, awkwardly off the seat, while his left leg was scrunched up against his chest just to fit in the car.

Griff hunched over the steering wheel, feeling like his heart was going to explode from how fast it beat; he could hear it in his ears, so loud it was deafening. Combined with his hyperventilation, he sounded like the worst one-man band in history.

Why wouldn’t the light change? It had been red for the last five minutes, easily. He couldn’t just sit here waiting while Sean might be dying in a coma.

Wrestling with his ethics, he made a decision and tapped the gas pedal; he’d risk the ticket if it meant they’d get to the hospital quicker. There was more than enough to get him arrested for tonight.

I’m sorry, he thought, wishing that the older man could hear him. I’m so, so sorry.

He hadn’t intended for anything to go wrong; to the contrary, he’d wanted his lover to be aware of a possible medical malady. True, he hadn’t gone about it in the best possible way, but Sean was used to his panicky nature by now. But it was still his fault, because he’d forgotten how tall the other man was, and how low the headboard started.

They’d been in bed.

It had been an exhausting week because Vincent Verax had somehow contracted fleas, and then he’d been worried about catching them. Verax had been in his office three times this week, because he’d fallen off the roof – he said he’d fallen, but all other faculty told him he’d jumped – and his little pixie friend had insisted he get checked out.

Sean had been so patient with him and at the end of the week – had it really been only a few hours ago? – he’d made a special supper, had broken out a very nice bottle of wine and had whipped up chocolate fondue for dessert. Then he’d been so patient while Griff had wanted to take his second shower of the night.

The Welshman should have kept his mouth shut; he realized that in retrospect but it did nothing to change the fact that Sean wouldn’t wake up and he’d never realized before just how far away the hospital was. He’d never noticed how slow his car was; like that…what was the story James had mentioned at work that day….the little train that could? Except it couldn’t, and Griff pressed his foot all the harder on the gas pedal as though his life depended on it.

Sean’s did.

He shouldn’t have said anything. But the little bump had felt off to him, and his imagination had gotten away from him as it usually did. What if it wasn’t just a mole? What if it was a malignant tumor? He’d wanted Sean to be aware of it.

“Oh God! You have a lump!”

It worked insofar as it got his lover’s attention. Sean had bolted upright in bed, managed to get halfway through “What on Earth are you talk-” and bashed his skull on the headboard. The loud crack had filled Griff with dread, and even now, the memory of that sound nauseated him.

He couldn’t get the telepath to wake up; nothing worked. Not shaking him, not slapping him, not even thinking the lyrics to Cotton Eye Joe as loudly as he could. His lover was out cold. And he was bruised, and the cut on the back of his head had begun to bleed.

Griff had panicked, and after finally calming down, he’d put a bandage on the back of Sean’s head, threw a robe over his body, and then somehow managed to lug him out of the bedroom and down the hall. Anyone who doubted the enhancing powers of adrenaline need only look at his relatively short and thin frame and then at Sean’s massive one. He was glad that they were at his place tonight; his apartment had an elevator.

As gingery as possible, he’d fit the older man in the backseat, and then jumped in the front and had started driving. Belatedly, he’d realized he wasn’t wearing pants. It didn’t matter; nothing mattered beyond getting to the hospital.

“Brysia i fyny!” Griff muttered under his breath, slipping into his native tongue from irritation. Too many red lights, too much time.

Finally, he saw the hospital off in the distance and he steered the little car closer, pushing the engine to its limits. When he arrived, he pulled up and parked awkwardly in the emergency deposit, hopped out and rushed inside.

Everyone in the emergency room stared at him, the funny little panicked man who hadn’t shaved in days and was wearing only a tee shirt, a pair of boxer shorts, and one shoe. One shoe? What happened to the other? He must have lost it in rush.

Mustering his doctor persona, he walked up to the front desk and explained, “I’m Doctor Jones, and my partner is in our car out front; he’s experienced a head trauma, and he won’t rouse himself. One pupil is dilated; the other isn’t, and he also doesn’t respond to physical stimuli. Please, help him.”

Two medics were dispatched with a stretcher to bring Sean inside, while Griff gave the necessary background information. He emphasized the fact that the other man was a meta-human psychic, and thus there were potential complications.

And as Sean was wheeled through the doors into the back room, the receptionist asked if he wanted to borrow a set of scrubs.

[Mads ♥]

Numbers

Hammel was a strange place for a newly discovered meta. Heck, it was a strange place for veteran metas, which only made it worse for the new recruits.

Yeah, Spencer was feeling it. Of all the people here that could do things, like the ones with super speed, or strength, or that amazing display of hydrokinesis in the courtyard earlier that day, all she had was… adaptation. It wasn’t special. It was barely detectable. Yet here she was, among the much more talented students.

Thank god for academic classes. It was the one place they were all back on an even playing field. Spencer might not have been able to shoot fire from her eyes, or jump to incredible heights. But she could solve a math problem, no sweat. Science? Easy. English? Who couldn’t grasp the simple themes of novels and poems? (Aside from Vincent, but really, this isn’t about him.)

Well, Vincent, and one other student at The Hammel Institute. A student that Spencer had not been acquainted with just yet. Her first day of classes, and she was lucky to remember her teachers’ names, let alone her fellow students. So far, apart from meeting with her powers trainer, things had seemed like any other normal school. More exclusive, perhaps, than her old public school, but it was a nice place. And the classes seemed to present enough of a challenge. She’d like it here.

Once she got past the whole ‘meta’ thing.

She slipped into her math class, found an empty seat and settled in. Her notebook and textbook were placed on the desk, the end of her pen sliding into her mouth as she waited for the teacher and the rest of her peers. She hadn’t particularly wanted the attention that came with being new, so she’d chosen a desk near the back of the room. Little did she know, that decision was going to change her entire experience at Hammel.

Slowly, the later students began to filter in, along with the teacher. Spencer watched, noting the somewhat familiar faces of students she’d already shared a classroom with. No one was standing out to her just yet. In time, she’d be able to recognize them. For now, they were just nameless teenagers. It was the teacher she planned to focus on for the moment. Her classmates didn’t matter all that much yet. She hadn’t made friends, and once she had them, her attention would be compromised. No, for now it was better this way.

Her attention never wavered from what their teacher was talking about. It all made sense to her; it was minor review from her old school. The problems were easily solved, and Spencer found herself falling into an easy pattern of working through the questions.

It didn’t last.

It was the sound of pounding footsteps down that hall that first put a dent in her concentration. The second was the skidding squeak of sneakers coming to a dead stop. The third was the half articulated, loud apology that came from the doorway. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I slept in and then I had to stay late in power training ‘cause I set the desk on fire again and now I’m here and… and… yeah.”

The blonde girl sighed. Whoever it was, they were interrupting. She glanced up, curious to see what kind of student had decided it was worth it to derail the class when it was already halfway through.

She could only stare.

She could only stare at what had to be the best looking guy she’d ever laid eyes on. Ever. With his wonky grin and rumpled clothes, the things that might turn another girl off were attracting her like a moth to flame. He was just… imperfectly perfect.

And she was staring.

Spencer blushed and forced herself to look away, pretending that he didn’t exist. That he wasn’t in her class, and he wasn’t –

Oh lord, he was sitting beside her. And he smelled faintly like marijuana, but he also smelled good. She couldn’t explain it if she tried. Hell, it was all she could do to keep her eyes on her paper. It took even more control to answer the questions the teacher was asking. If she focused on the problems, maybe the boy beside her would just… vanish.

It wasn’t working. Especially when he raised his hand, announcing that the answer was, apparently, “Spooge.”

His idiocy might have been yet another nail in his coffin when it came to appealing to the opposite sex. Yet Spencer was finding it somewhat endearing. (It didn’t help that she’d been looking at him during that particular moment in class, and he’d met her eyes and winked.)

Back to concentrating. With her heart beating at about the same speed as a hummingbird’s wings flap, Spencer focused on the questions, giving answers when she could, and trying so, so hard to ignore the boy beside her.

When the bell finally rang, there was a massive wash of relief over the blonde girl. No more pretending that certain people didn’t exist (all the while sneaking peeks at them when they weren’t looking). She could get on with her day and leave behind this ridiculous little crush.

Too bad he was waiting for her just outside the door.

“Hey!” He grinned, reaching out to touch her arm in the hopes of slowing her. “You’re the new chick, right? The smart one?” Spencer managed a weak, smile.

“Um… sure?” His grin grew wider.

“Sweet! Listen, can I have your number? I need a smart chick around. I suck at school.” Though she was blushing, Spencer was able to keep up her little smile.

“Okay… um, can I see your phone?” He handed it over, and she was quick to program in her phone number. After handing it back, the boy held out his hand.

“I’ll trade ya. I’ll give you mine.” Like she was going to say no. Spencer fumbled in her bag for her phone and slipped it into his hand, pretending not to notice the way her fingers grazed his skin. It was warm. It was a miracle she was able to remember her own name at this point, let alone where she kept her phone. He was quick, and gently tossed it back to her. “Thanks, babe. I’ll call ya.” And with that, he walked away.

Spencer just stared after him for a moment, before looking back down at her cell phone.

One new contact.

Sammy.

His name was Sammy.