...as a welcome back, here's another taste (continued from last time) which is the start of a new scene.
...and you might be able to tell, my *fall-back-names* always end up starting with a 'J'. It's just one of those weird things where I throw in a placeholder name and figure it out later, so they'll definitely be changed the next time I run through and edit/continue writing. At least I changed 'Mercy', which was originally 'Jamie' and specifically forced myself not to use 'James and Jessica' (Spence & Fay fell into place).
Yeah, weird, I know. If anyone wants to name one of these throw-away characters, call dibs and tell me in the comments.
Weapons of mass destruction, that’s what Jackson called us. Well, he really only meant Triss, but since I’m like her shadow, I get included too. Maybe I’m the protective casing, the parts that don’t explode and make it safe to carry around.
Like the beast, which is barreling down the road at 50 mph with no power steering and mushy brakes, Triss is unstoppable when she gets going. No one steps in her way, not even me. Like the pulled pin of a grenade, you know the moment when there’s no going back and all you can do is duck, cover and pray your ass doesn’t get blown off when everything goes boom.
It started with shots of Jose, flipping quarters and casual bets.
How long ‘till Jordan tried to feel up Mercy? Would he wait ‘till she was trashed, or go in while she was still loose and laughing hard? Triss called it when he got greedy and Mercy kicked him in the nuts.
Could Jace make it through a mickey of Silent Sam, or would he be hurling half-way through? Money changed hands when he got three quarters of it down. Another crumpled twenty went in Triss’ pocket when Jace didn’t make it to the sink and yakked in an ugly potted fern.
Jackson cracked Triss’ jaw when she called the long-shot hook-up of Spence ‘n Fay, and they wound up doing it on Jackson’s bed, which really pissed him off. He didn’t hit her ‘cause his sheets got soiled or ‘cause she won. Triss had swiped the key to his bedroom and handed it over to Spence, thus making the hook-up a hell of a lot closer to a sure-thing.
Jackson was mad as hell that she’d cheated.
After his gut got stitched up, Jackson handed over five crisp hundred dollar bills and the butter-knife. Said he wouldn’t be able to enjoy his morning toast if it got mixed in with the other cutlery. Her war trophy, he called it, with a strange look in his eye. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t lust, it wasn’t fear. I know those looks. This was something savage. Hunger, maybe.
Every party after that, the bets came a little faster and the stakes got a little higher. Triss wanted money, Jackson wanted Triss. She won too much for it to be called luck, but he got her a few times. A kiss, a touch, but nothing big and he never pushed for more than was on the table. It didn’t bother me. Like I said, we aren’t like that. Sure, she stuck her tongue in his mouth, but she did that to me the first time we met. I know it didn’t mean anything, not with him, and not with me. Things didn’t get to her, not the good stuff and not the bad. She was too cold, too solid, too relentless. It’s just the way Triss is. Was.
Maybe I don’t know anymore.
But Jackson kept touching his side long after the cut had healed and the stitches had melted away. And he looked at her. Always her.
And what are you guys writing? Anything fun/new? Working your way through revisions? Polishing? What stories and characters are running amuck through your brains right now? Anyone thinking of doing NaNo?