Here I am on camera! Yay for me!
Tag: fiction
Runemaster: My Process of Writing and AI Art Creation
I made a video!
I know I know, I’m very amateur and should probably be embarrassed — and one day I will be! But for now, everyone has to start somewhere.
So yes, that’s my voice. You know how it is when you’re not used to the sound of your recorded voice, so you keep asking yourself over and over, “Is that really what I sound like?” I’m totally mortified! 😅
But you know, this was fun! Expect more videos in the future.
The runes at the bottom of the thumbnail are: Solwilo, Othala, Isa, and Berkana — sun, inheritance, ice, and birch tree.
Thank you for sharing my work!
Runemaster 3.1
Malachi was all that anyone ever talked about. Lyra spent the next couple of days listening as women buzzed about him, excitedly conversing about how the Runemaster was helping to heal the sick, cure bad habits, and comfort the broken hearted. Lyra still hadn’t seen him since he had asked her to repair the hem of his cloak, and the smallest part of her was starting to feel left out.
She was among the broken hearted, wasn’t she? Why didn’t he care enough to provide his services to her?
Lyra knew that he had tried, and she had chased him away. Otherwise, perhaps she would be contributing her two cents about Malachi, instead of silently listening to everyone else talk about him. Why had she done that?
He must have taken it personally, she thought to herself. She had been rude and dismissive with him every time they had crossed paths, and after she had gone out of her way to drop off the cloak at the boarding house rather than wait for him to pick it up himself, he had good reason to think that she was avoiding him. Rather, because she had been avoiding him.
Lyra was beginning to regret it.
What was it about Malachi that everyone liked? It hurt to be left out – at least, that was what she told herself. She imagined that he was constantly surrounded by a crowd of adoring fans, all laughing and hugging him as they thanked him for his latest spell, and her chest grew tighter. What would have happened if she had let him stay when he had asked? What if she had listened to his reassuring voice and let him cast his runes for her sake instead of acting so defensive … then she could have found out what it was that everyone was so enamored with, instead of being left to guess.
But despite her growing curiosity, she was also extremely anxious about running into him again, certain that she had given him good reason to dislike her.
Another evening came around, and Lyra found herself working late in the dressmaker shop, sewing lace onto a pretty blue dress by the light of a lamp. She hated walking home in the dark, but with the garment due to be picked up early the next day, she didn’t have the luxury of waiting until the morrow. The stars were out by the time she stepped outside and locked the door behind her. She walked down the empty street and looked up at the pale moon, then despite feeling silly over it, she couldn’t help but wonder if Malachi was looking up at that moment as well.
Lyra halted when she thought that she had seen a flicker of movement beyond the line of trees, but after staring for a moment, she decided that it was simply a trick of her eyes. But her nerves were now shot. Her mind had begun to race with fears, and she was helpless to make it stop. She picked up the pace, determined to make it home as quickly as possible, wishing that her house wasn’t so close to the forest. There was no one around to judge her for hurrying.
Unexpectedly, there was a small cough, and her head snapped around to find Malachi crouched a few feet away just off the side of the road, almost completely hidden in the darkness. He made no move to approach her, but merely sat quietly and calmly, as if in a deep reverie.
“The stars are rather lovely tonight,” he said softly.
She swallowed hard. “W-What are you doing here?” she demanded, trying to hide her fear. The last thing she wanted was for Malachi to know how much she was trembling, so she took a step back, hoping that the darkness would shield her from his gaze.
He tilted his head, but Lyra couldn’t see his expression as he replied, “Perhaps I am here to show you a star that you haven’t yet seen.”
She took another step back, wishing to get home and lock herself inside.
Why was she always fleeing from him?
“I’ve seen all the stars,” Lyra replied, her voice quivering. “I’m sorry Master, but I’m on my way home. I just … was surprised by you, that’s all.”
“Is that so?” Malachi’s tone was almost teasing, and Lyra’s eyes widened in surprise. Had he been playing with her? Her hands were sweating and she had to remind herself to breathe.
“Yes …” she hesitated, then asked timidly, “Do you like the trim on your cloak?” She felt about ready to faint now, wondering why she had spoken the question out loud when she was so terrified of a negative response – when she was already so close to the edge of what she could handle. She felt compelled to cover up her nervousness, and began babbling, “I put in a lot of extra care when I sewed it on. I hope that my stitching is adequate … and that you feel that you got your money’s worth.”
She watched as the stranger tilted his head again, the pale moonlight illuminating his features in an otherworldly light. He said nothing as he looked at her, then finally asked, “May I read your fortune, Miss Lyra?”
Lyra wanted to say “no” and be done with him, but instead she found herself stepping forward and nodding. She had spent a couple of days listening to everyone else gush about how wonderful Master Malachi was, and she thought that if she rejected him once again, she would be permanently left out. She wanted to see the Runemaster’s work for herself.
Thank you for sharing my work!
Runemaster 2.1
Lyra sorted through the dressmaker’s orders to place the day’s highest priorities on top as she listened to the rhythmic snipping of Mrs. Elwood’s shears, and the thought crossed her mind that she liked those quiet busy moments best of all. She supposed that one day – assuming she didn’t get married first – the responsibility of sales and customer support would fall on her once she opened her own shop, and she hoped that she would feel more equipped to handle the responsibility in the future. For the moment, she liked being the assistant, without having to think too hard about anything.
“Hello! How may I help you?” Mrs. Elwood called out cheerily, and Lyra carefully tucked the orders into a slot on the top of their “business desk,” as they liked to call it.
“I seem to have snagged the hem of my cloak,” a deep yet all too familiar voice answered, and Lyra’s head snapped around, her heart leaping up into her throat.
“Allow me to take a look, Master,” Mrs. Elwood replied in a voice that was far more saccharine than Lyra thought becoming of a widowed woman. She avoided looking at Malachi, instead quietly making her way towards the backroom in what she hoped was a subtle get-away, knowing all the while that he had already seen her. “Oh yes, the stitching has been pulled out, and there’s a hole torn in the fabric as well. Lyra! Come here, please.”
Lyra’s heart sank, but she turned around and forced a smile. “Good morning, Master Malachi,” she echoed Mrs. Elwood’s tone, though she couldn’t keep the edge of sarcasm at bay.
“Would you find trimming to match Master Malachi’s cloak? We could easily patch the hole for you, but I think that the best solution would be to put a new hem on entirely. The repair would be entirely invisible.”
“I trust your expert judgment, madame.” Malachi smiled back at Mrs. Elwood, and Lyra swallowed down the embarrassment at having to silently watch a Runemaster flirt with her employer.
“Mrs. Elwood,” Lyra ventured timidly, “You have a fitting in two hours, and the dress has yet to be basted.”
“You’ll have to excuse me, Master, but I must get back to my work. Lyra here will assist you, and I assure you that she is very bright and talented. Your cloak will be better than new.” Mrs. Elwood smiled broadly, then retreated back to her cutting table to continue working.
Lyra examined the damaged hem, then murmured, “The tailor is just down the street, Master, if you would feel more comfortable in an establishment that is more suited to male clientele.”
“Hmm … but you don’t work over there, do you.” He grinned, and Lyra couldn’t stop the flush that colored her cheeks.
“I don’t know what I did to gain your attention, Master,” she replied with false politeness, “but I have no intention of responding to your advances. It would be in your better interests to move on.”
“You misunderstand!” Malachi chuckled as he removed his cloak and handed it to Lyra. “I am not pursuing you romantically at all.”
“And yet here you are,” Lyra replied tersely. She took the cloak and retreated to the back room, to search through their supplies to make the repair. She couldn’t quite place the fabric, but it was some sort of warm velveteen and Lyra compulsively touched it to her cheek before she stopped herself. Her training as a dressmaker took over then, and she knew exactly which trim she wanted to line the bottom with. She retrieved it and hurried out to seek Malachi’s approval for the project that was blossoming in her mind.
“We would need to order in matching fabric,” she said as soon as she was back in the Runemaster’s presence, “but I think that this would be a beautiful accent that would far surpass an invisible repair.” She presented the roll of trim to him, which consisted of thick metallic threads expertly tied in an swirl of knots and cords. It had taken Lyra’s breath away when she had first unboxed it, and she had been waiting for the project that would give her the opportunity to work with it. Somehow she doubted that the cost would be a problem for Master Malachi.
He took it from her hands and studied it closely, rubbing the end between his fingers and holding it up to the light. “You’re correct, Lyra. This would be an elegant addition to my cloak … assuming it holds up well in my travels.”
“I assure you that the metal threads are quite strong, and they would hold up well against the dirt and mud of the road,” she almost purred, subconsciously slipping into the same mannerisms that Mrs. Elwood used to drive a big sale. The idea of spending the next hour stitching that trim onto the soft fabric of Malachi’s cloak was too tantalizing to let slip away.
“It might also inspire bandits,” Malachi replied, then gave Lyra a sly wink. “But I would be a fool to turn away the magic that you are offering me. Yes, Lyra, I will order this trim for the repair.”
“Allow me to measure out the length of your hem, and I will write up your receipt for you. The work will be done this afternoon.” Lyra couldn’t suppress the smile that bubbled out from the center of her chest. She had taken the job at the dressmaker’s purely to make ends meet after her father had died, but the process and materials had grown on her in the weeks since, and for the first time she felt deeply excited about this project.
It didn’t matter that it was for Master Malachi, she told herself. It didn’t matter that he had visited their shop specifically for her, either. She repeated that to herself after he had left, and she worked intently on his cloak, carefully applying the trim with her neatest stitches, savoring the soft fabric that rested in her hands.
It didn’t matter at all.
Thank you for sharing my work!
Runemaster 1.2
The gossip about Master Malachi continued through the rest of the day. Through her silent assistance in Mrs. Elwood’s work, Lyra felt that she had learned everything there was to know about the mysterious stranger that had wandered into their town. He was a Runemaster, skilled but soft spoken, trading his services in divination and healing for very little. “A man of the Old Gods who understood the challenges of modern life,” a particularly chittery client had gushed, before describing how he had told her that a blue dress would bring her good fortune, so she had rushed right over to book a fitting. Lyra wasn’t certain how legitimate he sounded, but everyone who met him was buzzing with excitement. Her imagination wanted to insist that she had felt something special about him during the brief period that she had spoken to him, but she forced the thought away. She hadn’t felt anything at all, she told herself repeatedly. He had seemed very ordinary.
The day had lasted forever.
Lyra was grateful when Mrs. Elwood informed her to close up the shop, then left her to put the supplies away and sweep the floor on her own. She wondered if Mrs. Elwood was eagerly seeking out Master Malachi, and amused herself with wondering if her employer would ask how to make her business more profitable, or about matters of love.
Once she was finished and locked the doors behind her, Lyra stopped by the butcher to pick up a small cut of beef for dinner, then continued home. She hoped that this Master Malachi character would leave soon, so that her sleepy little town could continue on as it had always been.
She stopped short and found herself staring at the front porch of her home. There he was, sitting on the top step with his strawberry blonde hair catching the late afternoon sun, his white hands contrasting sharply against the deep black of his clothing. The fabric had to have a nap to it like velvet, Lyra found herself thinking, to stay that dark against the light. Their eyes met, but he made no indication of moving.
Lyra carefully suppressed the groan that attempted to escape her lips, then forced her feet to start moving again. When she was close enough to begin a conversation, she awkwardly began, “I’m sorry about the last night. I didn’t mean to, um … be rude.”
He stood and silently descended the stairs to approach her. She found herself blushing, and focused her gaze down on his leather boots, her grip tightening on her basket.
“It would appear, Miss Lyra, that no one knows much about you outside of your name and occupation,” he said.
She took in a sharp breath, and looked up at his face. “You asked about me?”
“I asked about the first house on the eastern road.” He turned and looked back at the front door. “I merely commented that it looked empty.”
Lyra scowled. “Somehow I doubt that you could only learn my name and occupation,” she grumbled, then skirted around him to continue up her front steps. Discovering that he had already knew about her put a sour taste in her mouth, and she was ready to lock herself inside again.
“I also heard about a recent death,” he answered quietly, and Lyra froze. “An unexpected accident.”
Her throat tightened painfully, so she took in a deep breath then croaked, “That’s everything. There’s nothing else.”
“I thought that we had gotten off on the wrong foot yesterday,” Malachi said. “I came to apologize for frightening you.”
“You didn’t … mention anything about that to anyone … did you?” She turned to face him again.
“Not a word.” He smiled.
“Please don’t talk about me.” Lyra tried to wrap her arms around herself, but remembered that she was still holding the basket as it thumped against her side. She moved awkwardly, trying to play off the mistake in a nonchalant manner, but her face burned with embarrassment. Get hold of yourself, she silently reprimanded herself, then opened the door. Malachi grabbed it to prevent her from shutting herself inside.
“Lyra,” he said, then let go of the door and stepped back with his hands up. “Allow me to divine your future.”
Lyra couldn’t stop the skeptical expression that crossed her face. “In the same way that you knew about the Taylors?”
Malachi chuckled sheepishly. “Sometimes it’s beneficial to leave certain facts to the imagination. But for you, I fully intend to use real magic.”
“I don’t know.” She frowned, then shook her head. “No. I’d rather not.”
“Very well.” He stepped back once more. “I’m certain that we’ll meet again.”
Lyra quickly went inside, shutting and locking the door behind her. She hoped that Malachi wasn’t planning on staying in town for very long.
Thank you for sharing my work!
Runemaster – 1.1
Lyra sat on the front steps of her home, her hands cupped around a lukewarm mug with her father’s old flannel shirt draped over her shoulders. Despite the creeping chill of Autumn, the crickets still sang to the darkening sky, and she listened with her eyes half closed as her mind slipped into the solace of emptiness.
The crunch of gravel under a heavy boot cut sharply through the serenity, and jolted Lyra back into herself. She stood and peered at the line of trees, her grip tightening on her mug as a man dressed head to toe in black materialized out of the shadows, and for a moment he was completely unaware of her as he walked down the road, his hand loosely holding a rope tied to a plodding donkey, both of them with the downcast gaze of a long and weary day. Then the man stopped, seemingly taken aback as he lowered his hood, revealing strawberry blonde hair that hung loose around his neck, and he looked directly at Lyra.
A strange sensation filled her chest. She felt like she could see through this stranger and into the depths of his inner self in just one glance, though she was certain that she had never seen the likes of him before. He felt eerily familiar, and it made her uncomfortable. Lyra unconsciously reached to clasp her father’s shirt more tightly around her neck.
“Hello!” he called out towards her. “Have I reached Leavenworth?”
“The outskirts, yes,” Lyra answered stiffly, nodding towards the road. “Keep going, and you’ll reach the town proper.”
“Thank you,” the stranger replied, but gave no indication of moving.
As the silence stretched on, she began to think that they were locked in some sort of stand-off, and she could almost sense the stranger taking in her appearance. She became acutely aware of how disheveled she was, with her brown hair tied back into a loose braid, and the dirt still packed under her fingernails from digging in her garden earlier. She hadn’t checked her reflection, but she was certain that there was an embarrassing smear of dirt across her forehead. Suddenly, all she wanted was to get away.
“The Taylors take in lodgers. They’ll feed you, too,” Lyra said tersely, then turned to open her front door. In her hurry, she let it fall shut behind her with a slam, and she quickly slid the bolt across before taking in a deep breath.
Perhaps she had overreacted.
When her father had died, she felt like her security had been ripped away from her. It was impossible to not cave into anxiety and flee the first moment something unexpected popped up. She took a sip from her mug and made a face when she realized that her tea had gone cold, then walked to the kitchen to pour it out and wash the mug.
She decided that it would be a good idea to turn in early that night. There was another busy day of work waiting for her on the morrow, and there was a good chance of her rest being disrupted by bad dreams.
Lyra was focused on taking Mrs. Gambee’s measurements, jotting them down with a pencil after scribbling a quick star in the corner of the paper to indicate that a couple of inches needed to be added to the waist and hip numbers before cutting the dress pattern. She only half-listened as the older woman gossiped with Mrs Elwood, the dressmaker, in between browsing through fabric swatches.
“He arrived last night, I’m told, and immediately asked for the Taylors,” Mrs. Gambee practically hummed, “Though when they asked how he knew about them, he smiled in a way that was quite secretive.”
“Do you think he divined it, then?” Mrs. Elwood replied.
“He might have!” Mrs. Gambee giggled. “There’s no other explanation!”
Lyra clenched her jaw for a moment, then quietly asked if Mrs. Gambee would please hold her arm out while she worked with the measuring tape.
“What did you say his name was again?” Mrs. Elwood asked, increasingly interested in the topic.
“Master Malachi, I do believe. I haven’t met him yet, but Ellie Jones told me that he has the most gorgeous orange hair she has ever seen.”
Lyra’s heart skipped a beat, but she bit the inside of her cheek as she set down her paper and pencil, then carefully folded up the measuring tape. She was so distracted that she almost didn’t hear Mrs. Elwood say, “Lyra dear, if you’re done, go grab the french lace for me,” but she caught herself and quickly replied, ‘Yes ma’am,’ then left for the back room.
Master Malachi?
She paused to put her hand against her forehead, feeling oddly faint for reasons she couldn’t explain.
Master?
It wasn’t her fault for not knowing his station. It wasn’t her fault if she left a bad first impression of the people of Leavenworth either, considering that he had popped out of the gloam so unexpectedly when she had been trying to enjoy a moment to herself. He should have known better than to stop and stare.
Master?
Lyra had to squeeze her eyes shut as she took in a deep breath. She was getting herself worked up again, and it wouldn’t do her any good to have the townsfolk thinking that she was losing herself to hysteria. She was going to keep it together, no matter what it took. At least on the outside.
She found the french lace samples and plastered a smile on her face, returning to the two women with the determination to be as helpful and efficient in her work as she could be. She was going to make it through the day, and she was going to forget about her short encounter with Master Malachi as quickly as she could. She wasn’t going to dwell. She wasn’t going to feel foolish.
She was going to pretend to be normal, like everyone else.
Thank you for sharing my work!
Coming soon
This novel is a prequel to The Black Magus, though how the two are connected won’t be obvious for quite some time.
As much as I like The Scion Suit/The Scions, truth is I’ve never 100% gotten over the fact that it originated as a story prompt. It doesn’t thematically fit into the larger mythos that I created for The Black Magus, and on an emotional level, that’s what I need right now.
You know. That whole emotional self expression through writing thing. Remember back when that was popular, before our creative culture was subverted for profit?
Anyway, I still plan on finishing The Scion Suit/The Scions, but it is on the back burner for now.
Thank you for sharing my work!
The Scions – 11c
“You know, Carol,” the captain said more quietly, growing somber as he stared into his own glass. “I expected you to be a sobbing mess by tonight. I have to say, I’m proud of you.”
She shrugged. “I’m not that pathetic.” She paused, then added, “Okay, I was, but not anymore.”
Lambert chuckled. “You know, when I first saw you, commander, I thought to myself … that’s not a woman, that’s a mouse!”
Holmes and the captain laughed heartily, and Hartmann faked joining in. He had a death grip on his glass, and judged that Lambert was pretending to be more intoxicated than he was – an experienced alcoholic like him wouldn’t become so loose-tongued with only one drink.
“Oh shut up! I don’t like how mean you are towards me,” Carol snapped.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a mouse.” Lambert poured out another round of drinks, and pushed one towards Carol. “Lot of men around here find it to be attractive quality in a woman.”
Danger alarms started sounding in Hartmann’s head, but he remained quiet and distant. Don’t mention me, he willed towards Carol. Forget I exist.
Her face turned bright red, helped along by the tequila. “I-I don’t know about that,” she stammered.
“Now that we know you can perform in battle, we can ease up on the training some. Maybe get you off base for a personal day.” Lambert sipped from his glass. “Go on, commander, have some more.”
Carol took another drink, but still shuddered afterwards. “What would I do off base?” she asked. “I don’t have a personal life to spend time on.”
“Really?” Lambert glanced over at Hartmann. “Not even a boyfriend?”
“No … I-I …” Carol took a big gulp of her drink, but Lambert waited patiently for her to finish. Realizing that he wasn’t going to become distracted, she sighed, then said wistfully, “I guess I was lonely.”
He then said quietly, “I’ve been wondering about you, commander. What sort of woman gets yanked out of her life without a word of complaint? I expected to hear nothing but bitching for weeks, but you went along with everything we put you through.”
Hartmann hated the way that Lambert was looking at her, and the fact that the captain was out-maneuvering him while he had to hold his tongue.
“The Suit was my everything.” She pressed a hand to her forehead, as if she wanted to steady herself. “Cleaning it was all I cared about.”
“You lived for your job, huh?” Lambert was studying her carefully. “I think we can all relate.”
The atmosphere around them had become subdued, or perhaps that was because of the storm raging inside of Hartmann had drowned everything else out. That sense of invisibility was creeping over him again.
“No, I don’t think anyone can understand how I feel about the Suit …” Carol slurred, then hunched over slightly at cross her arms over her stomach. “I feel sick.”
Lambert’s jaw twitched, but he pointed with his thumb and said, “Bathroom’s over there.” They watched as Carol stood and staggered her way over to the door, then Lambert gave his orders to Holmes, “Go stand guard. Make sure you can hear her, but don’t let her know that you’re there. No one else uses that restroom as long as she’s inside.”
“Yes, sir!” Holmes saluted, though his eyes looked disappointed.
“Well, MSG Hartmann,” Lambert picked up his glass and held it out. “It’s a shame you picked a rotgut for our first bottle. I could’ve gotten more out of her if you had gone with something smoother.”
“It was corporal Holmes’s choice, sir,” Hartmann answered carefully. “I didn’t think about how it would affect her,” he lied.
“Hmm.” Lambert’s eyes narrowed. “A toast then, to our first success. You should feel proud of yourself – you oversaw most of her training.”
“Sir, I had nothing to do with what happened out on the mission, today,” Hartmann murmured, almost sullenly, but he raised his glass as well. “It was all that ‘help mode.’”
“It doesn’t bode well that she kept it a secret from us …” Lambert finished his drink. “I’ll take Carol and corporal Holmes back to the Base, and I’m granting you the rest of the night off.”
“Thank you, sir,” Hartmann replied, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm out of his voice.
“Report to my office at 0600 tomorrow.” Lambert checked his watch. “I’ll give her a few more minutes to finish, then retrieve her.”
“I’m sorry for not being more considerate, sir.” Hartmann suppressed his smug smile. He felt a tinge of guilt over deliberately supplying Carol with something that was going to make her vomit, but it had worked out favorably enough – provided she didn’t get chatty on the drive home. He wished that he could push the issue and try to drive Carol back in his own car, but didn’t dare do anything that would increase Lambert’s suspicions.
The captain closed his eyes, his face relaxing into the creased weariness of an extremely long day. “Thank the gods this part is over.”
“I know what you mean, sir.” Hartmann leaned forward to pour himself another drink, then scanned the room. “I might try to put the moves on that hot blonde over there,” he motioned vaguely. “If I don’t decide to go home and sleep, instead.”
Lambert followed the direction of Hartmann’s gesture, then scowled. “I recommend you catch up on sleep.”
They exchanged terse and somewhat awkward farewells, and Lambert headed for the bathroom. A minute later he emerged with Carol, supporting her against his side, and Hartmann angrily watched them cross through the bar and out the front door, with Holmes trailing dutifully behind.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
Thank you for sharing my work!
The Scions – 11b
It was late evening when Lambert joined them in the cafeteria. Hartmann had dutifully kept his logbook, and to his relief, Carol had returned to her typical self bit by bit. Lambert was in a good mood, and he clamped a hand down on her shoulder as he proclaimed, “Our commander did a thorough job out there. She’s officially blooded now.”
More than can be said of you, Hartmann thought bitterly, inwardly bristling at the way the captain’s fingers slightly massaged her. Carol’s face turned bright red.
“I-I just did what I was supposed to, sir,” she stammered.
“Wish you had told us about that ‘help mode’ sooner; would’ve saved us all a lot of stress.” Lambert laughed. “C’mon, let’s go out and celebrate.”
From the captain’s boisterous attitude, Hartmann suspected he had already done some celebrating.
“I kind of just want to go to bed,” Carol protested, then shrank back from the look in Lambert’s eyes.
“Camaraderie, commander,” he half growled, half purred. “You’re one of us, now.”
“I’m in.” Hartmann stood and forced a half smile. “Bring that kid corporal along too. He knows what Carol’s normally like, so he should be included.”
“Great idea.” Lambert pulled the radio off his belt and gave orders for Holmes to meet with them in the parking garage.
They made the necessary arrangements, and Lambert drove off with Carol while Hartmann remained to wait for Holmes. Once alone, he let out an expletive and kicked the tire of his car, then took in a deep breath to regain self-control. Carol was a good as his, he reminded himself, so there was no harm in her spending time alone with the captain – Lambert was already suspicious of his interactions with Carol, so it was prudent to play distant anyway.
If he could have it his way, he’d lock Carol up in his apartment where she would play house for him alone, far away from all of this military bullshit.
It took only a few minutes for Holmes to come jogging, and a minute after that Hartmann was accelerating out of the parking garage with squealing tires. He made casual small talk to hide his anxiety, playing up nonchalance with a hint of machismo, repeating that he could have done a better job in the Suit to imply that he was insecure over Carol’s success. He didn’t care what Holmes thought, as long as the corporal didn’t guess that the real reason why he was speeding was because he was scared of leaving Carol alone with the captain, because even still he worried that there was a possibility of losing her to Lambert.
Lambert’s car was in the parking lot at the bar, but he and Carol were already inside. Hartmann winced slightly when he recognized the exterior as one of his hunting grounds, and silently chastised himself for not paying more attention when the captain had suggested the name. Had the choice been deliberate? Was it Lambert’s move in the competition for Carol’s attention? Was he hoping that Hartmann would be embarrassed by one of his former sluts?
Hartmann’s heart was pounding with anger. He kept his back tall and straight, and strode in through the doors, his jaw set as he scanned for the pair that he needed to keep apart at any cost. Carol was his, and he wasn’t going to stand for this bullshit from their commanding officer.
Carol waved at him from one of the tables, and Lambert turned to study him. Keep it cool, Hartmann breathed in and out. He would keep his facade up, and the evening would pass by without a hitch – he would see to that.
“Hey, corporal,” he said to Holmes who was standing slightly behind him. “What are you in the mood for? This round’s on me.”
Holmes grinned and answered a tequila brand that hit like a punch to the gut, but was popular with the younger soldiers. Hartmann bit back the urge to point out that Carol would be drinking along with them, and instead slapped Holmes’s shoulder and laughed, “Coming right up!” A moment later, he plopped himself down at the table with a bottle and four glasses, and poured an inch of liquid into each one.
“Um, sir, I’m not so sure about this …” Carol began to protest, but Lambert wouldn’t hear it.
“You fight with us, you drink with us. Loosen up and celebrate, commander, your cherry’s been popped.”
“Captain!” Carol’s face turned bright red. “That’s not an appropriate thing to say.”
All three of the men burst into laughter, and Holmes exclaimed, “Carol, you’re a hoot!” as she looked around, confused and uncomfortable.
“Drink!” Lambert ordered. “We’ll find a way to work that stick out, one way or another.”
Her eyes met Hartmann’s, as if she was seeking his help. He picked up his glass and said, “Here’s to the cleaning lady, for surprising us all.”
She took the cue, and sipped some of the alcohol, instantly coughing as a shudder ran through her. “Oh god, that’s strong,” she gasped.
Lambert laughed and gave Carol a strong pat on the back. “Finish it all, commander. Be a good girl.”
Hartmann wondered what was going through the captain’s mind. Carol was clearly struggling with the potency of the alcohol, and she was already showing signs of being tipsy. But, after she choked down her first glass, Lambert poured her another.
Thank you for sharing my work!
The Scions – 11a
“What the fuck is ‘Help mode?’” Lambert growled as soon as the door to the small room was closed.
“It’s a function in the Suit reserved exclusively for the commander – me,” Carol replied coolly, the expression in her eyes different from her usual self. While Hartmann was present, he stared silently, trying to parse what he was witnessing.
“How did you know about it?” The captain crossed his arms, but otherwise softened his voice.
“I activated it by accident the very first time I was inside the Suit. After MSG Hartmann had taken it upon himself to harass me, sir.” Carol gave the him a deliberate look, but a weird feeling was coalescing in the center of Hartmann’s chest. She had shortened and slurred ‘master sergeant’ the same way that the soldiers did, instead of meticulously enunciating each syllable in her usual civilian way. Who was this woman sitting there?
“Why didn’t you report its existence before?” Lambert asked.
“Personal reasons,” she replied curtly.
“I could punish you for withholding pertinent information,” the captain said quietly.
She was unfazed. “Sir, I will accept whatever disciplinary measures that you decide are necessary, but after the success of my mission, I do not believe that separating me from the Suit is a valid course of action.”
“Anything you want to add?” Lambert glanced over at Hartmann, but he shook his head and murmured, “No, sir.” The captain studied Carol closely for a moment, then asked, “So, what does help mode do?”
She explained, her voice unwavering, “It removes emotional blockages and clears the mind’s ability to process and calculate. It also heightens reflexes and decision making.”
“How long do the effects last?” Lambert pulled out his notepad and began writing.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“We’ll keep an eye on you for the next while then.” Lambert then addressed Hartmann, ordering, “Close observation, and take notes of her behavior every …” he glanced down at his watch, “Ten minutes. I want every aspect of this recorded.”
“Yes, sir.” Hartmann echoed, oddly fearful that Carol would never return to her normal self.
“I need to go manage the surveillance and confirmation. Carol, write down every detail that happened while you were out on the mission, then sign it. MSG Hartmann will stay here observing you. Afterwards, you are free to go to the cafeteria to eat, but you must stay there until I come for you.”
“Yes, sir,” Carol and Hartmann said at the same time.
Carol began working on her statement, while Hartmann scribbled down his observations of her, careful to keep his personal thoughts private.
No hint of usual anxiety issues, including fidgeting, nail biting, and other quirks. He already ached to see her draw her teeth over her lower lip, oblivious to the sensuality of the action.
“I’d like to know your first name, MSG,” Carol’s voice broke through the sound of scribbling. “I’d like to know now, before I become too scared to ask again.”
“John.” He met her eyes. “Plain, boring, John.”
She smiled. “Thank you, John Hartmann.”
“Have you …” he said, then uncertain, attempted to begin again, “Are you …”
“I’m still me,” she replied. “More so than usual, actually.”
“Carol, I uh …” What was he trying to say? It was like his entire damn head had shut down, and he was left floundering for how he was supposed to interact with the woman in front of him. She looked like the same person that he had taken in his arms and pressed to his lips, but her behavior was not at all the same. “I congratulate you on your first successful mission,” he finished lamely.
“Is there any surveillance in this room? Hidden cameras, or anything like that?” she asked.
Hartmann shook his head. “No. Such measures would imply distrust. This room is used solely for debriefings, and any recordings are done with everyone’s knowledge.”
“In that case …” Carol stood, stepped over to where Hartmann was, and took his hand. “Thank you for being my friend. I wasn’t sure about you at first, but now …” Her eyelids fluttered and she leaned in for a kiss.
Hartmann hated how intoxicating Carol was for him. He couldn’t push her away, or tell her that he was a manipulative fraud. All he could do was feel and taste her, and hold himself back from pursuing even more of her. Why was he doubting himself despite moving closer to his goal? Was it the change in her demeanor that had him twisted up inside?
She blushed when she pulled away, and they both returned to their writing.
By Autumn Rain 