Where I Am NOW (7:20 PM, July 22, 2011)
I was unsure of the wholee "when you return" thing. Would Tezuka send a note? Would I show up randomly? As it turned out, I already had plans that afternoon: Professor Witt texted me to be at his office at three. You can probably imagine how weird it would be to get a text from your ninja principal who you never ever even gave your number to.
I gave a solid knock on the office door, reminding myself to have some kind of backbone. I heard Witt's voice.
"It's the Shadow girl. Let her in."
"Evan, I'm not through," protested an unfamiliar voice. It was deep and soft and enunciated. It brought to mind darkness and very much made me wonder what kind of person it belonged to. "A moment more and-"
"I do not feel like bending to your whims, Xephyr. Open the door," Witt replied tiredly.
In a couple of seconds, the door was opened. A pallid man with a brooding expression held it at arm's length. He wore a long, black coat and his inky hair was grown shaggy and askew. The only reason I can give for counting him as more than a creepy Downfall were his eyes: speckled black and bright green, penetrating as if through my skull 'til I looked away.
I'm sure there are a lot of reasons why a ninja wouldn't have completely black eyes, yes... but my first impressions are almost always right... there was something acutely out of place about him.
(from page 260, where Zoe is going to training after school with Witt. SHE MEETS XEPHYR! I LOVE XEPHYR! XEPHYR XEPHYR XEPHYR.)
I gave a solid knock on the office door, reminding myself to have some kind of backbone. I heard Witt's voice.
"It's the Shadow girl. Let her in."
"Evan, I'm not through," protested an unfamiliar voice. It was deep and soft and enunciated. It brought to mind darkness and very much made me wonder what kind of person it belonged to. "A moment more and-"
"I do not feel like bending to your whims, Xephyr. Open the door," Witt replied tiredly.
In a couple of seconds, the door was opened. A pallid man with a brooding expression held it at arm's length. He wore a long, black coat and his inky hair was grown shaggy and askew. The only reason I can give for counting him as more than a creepy Downfall were his eyes: speckled black and bright green, penetrating as if through my skull 'til I looked away.
I'm sure there are a lot of reasons why a ninja wouldn't have completely black eyes, yes... but my first impressions are almost always right... there was something acutely out of place about him.
(from page 260, where Zoe is going to training after school with Witt. SHE MEETS XEPHYR! I LOVE XEPHYR! XEPHYR XEPHYR XEPHYR.)
Owen
So, here's the excerpt describing Owen physically and a bit characteristically, as I promised. If you don't know what this is about, read the Update Blog!
"So, you've got a dance studio now," I commented.
She grinned hugely, nose crinkling in a smile. "Yep, and one that comes with the best British dance instructor on earth, as well."
I almost had an annurism right there. There are few things that get under my skin in a good way. British accents are one of them. "You don't tell me ANYTHING!"
Brianna laughed. "Hey, I've only had, like, three and a half weeks of classes with him... and they've been on video chat."
I tried to imagine teaching someone dance moves that way. "Must've been odd."
She nodded vehemently. "Quite."
"So, what's his name? Does it have any possible alliteration, like The Terrible Tyrannical Twinkletoes Tasha?"
We all (including Tatiana, through bubbles of Pinkmint gum) had a good laugh about that. Brianna's past dance instructors had been AWFUL. But they had all moved away, possibly because Brianna's parents hold quite a bit of influence, and they did NOT like how they treated their little baby. Yes, that was probably it.
"It's Owen," Brianna admitted through a chortle. "And I swear, I've racked what brains I have... not to manny funny 'o' adjectives that I can find. Besides, he's super awesome. I can't find a decent thing to point and laugh."
"I'm sure I will," I announced.
We pulled up to the dance studio- a plethora of interesting, angled walls in shiny cerulean, black, and grey. The curved metal sign that had been impaled into the freshly-cut lawn read "Canfield Dance Studios" in black and cerulean, depicting the silhouette of a figure locked in a flying leap.
"Cool," I said, optically picking out every flat surface, for all the surfaces were flat and beautiful in a simple, not intricate way. There was one weird glint coming off the overhang above the door- ah. Security camera. No bigger than a thumbnail, very high tech, I figured.
"I know, right?" Brianna chirped as the automatic doors swung open (leaves me feeling like a Jedi every time). They revealed a pristine lobby that was mostly empty, save for a receptionist and a little-girl class of ballerinas filing from one wing of the studio to the next. Brianna grinned at the sparkling leotards as if she still remembered wearing one just like them. She probably did... I've seen Brianna get lost in a dance... you'd think she was a geizer for how danceually experienced she is (ignore my making-up-of-a-word).
Tatiana signed off something at the front desk and wiggled her heavily-jeweled fingers in the air. "Toodles, tots," she threw over her shoulder, leaving without a second (or first) glance.
A man dressed in a black t-shirt and track pants entered the lobby, smiling ear to ear with recognition at Brianna. He looked somewhere close to Ashlinn's age... 25, 26... and, okay, although I really try to not be attracted to anyone that much my senior, it was a bit hard not to be. The clearest blue eyes, icier even than Brianna's, paired with sandy brown hair, warm facial features, and an athletic build... yeah, I'm just going to shut up now.
"Brianna Jacoby," he said, his British accent hinting at Scottish, "we meet at last." He added air-quotes to the "meet".
"Owen Canfield," Brianna returned happily. "It's great to have a real session..."
______________________________________________________________________________________
Here's a bit more. Just 'cause I feel like it. This is later on. A few weeks I think.
I noticed Owen had gotten up from his judging seat and had edged towards the water, talking rapidly into a phone. Curious, I followed, inconspicious in my navy hoodie and indigo (INDIGO! INDIGO! INDIGOOOO! Jenna... okay back the the story) jeans. He was looking pretty stressed.
"Yes," he almost-shouts. I can't hear anything beyond that, but I think he's irritated with someone. I make out the words "national TV" and begin descending on my prey, closer and closer...
"It's not a hobby." I could tell he was holding his voice back a bit, holding his temper, which I'd never even felt a little bit of before. He was so collected most of the time. "Oh, you're one to talk. Is that a threat, really now. Of course I know where my loyalties lie. Do you know just how much activity my enterprises can cover? A lot. And I need this job. It's getting me in contact with the subject. So I am dreadfully sorry, but I can't take off to cover your illegal behavior. No. Not anymore. It's tough love, Dad." In exasperation, he throws his dress jacket on the damp sand, the wind nipping at his t-shirt's edge. I noticed that tattoo on his right elbow. At first, I thought it was just that usual shifting pattern of randomosity, but he twisted his elbow into a full bend and...
No way. The tattoo was shifting before my eyes into a perfectly symmetrical diamond-like figure. The star, the four-pointed star, on Owen's elbow now.
I was launched into a new mindset. Owen had something to do with my madness. This was new. I was rabid for want of answers. The symbol, laughing in my face, rippling as his elbow bends, then gone... I had to do something. I needed answers.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Then she blah, blah, blah, and finds out about everything, by way of Owen's big screen in his office back in Amati. She talks to Morpheus and stuff. He's really mysterious. I'll have to mention him again sometime...
"So, you've got a dance studio now," I commented.
She grinned hugely, nose crinkling in a smile. "Yep, and one that comes with the best British dance instructor on earth, as well."
I almost had an annurism right there. There are few things that get under my skin in a good way. British accents are one of them. "You don't tell me ANYTHING!"
Brianna laughed. "Hey, I've only had, like, three and a half weeks of classes with him... and they've been on video chat."
I tried to imagine teaching someone dance moves that way. "Must've been odd."
She nodded vehemently. "Quite."
"So, what's his name? Does it have any possible alliteration, like The Terrible Tyrannical Twinkletoes Tasha?"
We all (including Tatiana, through bubbles of Pinkmint gum) had a good laugh about that. Brianna's past dance instructors had been AWFUL. But they had all moved away, possibly because Brianna's parents hold quite a bit of influence, and they did NOT like how they treated their little baby. Yes, that was probably it.
"It's Owen," Brianna admitted through a chortle. "And I swear, I've racked what brains I have... not to manny funny 'o' adjectives that I can find. Besides, he's super awesome. I can't find a decent thing to point and laugh."
"I'm sure I will," I announced.
We pulled up to the dance studio- a plethora of interesting, angled walls in shiny cerulean, black, and grey. The curved metal sign that had been impaled into the freshly-cut lawn read "Canfield Dance Studios" in black and cerulean, depicting the silhouette of a figure locked in a flying leap.
"Cool," I said, optically picking out every flat surface, for all the surfaces were flat and beautiful in a simple, not intricate way. There was one weird glint coming off the overhang above the door- ah. Security camera. No bigger than a thumbnail, very high tech, I figured.
"I know, right?" Brianna chirped as the automatic doors swung open (leaves me feeling like a Jedi every time). They revealed a pristine lobby that was mostly empty, save for a receptionist and a little-girl class of ballerinas filing from one wing of the studio to the next. Brianna grinned at the sparkling leotards as if she still remembered wearing one just like them. She probably did... I've seen Brianna get lost in a dance... you'd think she was a geizer for how danceually experienced she is (ignore my making-up-of-a-word).
Tatiana signed off something at the front desk and wiggled her heavily-jeweled fingers in the air. "Toodles, tots," she threw over her shoulder, leaving without a second (or first) glance.
A man dressed in a black t-shirt and track pants entered the lobby, smiling ear to ear with recognition at Brianna. He looked somewhere close to Ashlinn's age... 25, 26... and, okay, although I really try to not be attracted to anyone that much my senior, it was a bit hard not to be. The clearest blue eyes, icier even than Brianna's, paired with sandy brown hair, warm facial features, and an athletic build... yeah, I'm just going to shut up now.
"Brianna Jacoby," he said, his British accent hinting at Scottish, "we meet at last." He added air-quotes to the "meet".
"Owen Canfield," Brianna returned happily. "It's great to have a real session..."
______________________________________________________________________________________
Here's a bit more. Just 'cause I feel like it. This is later on. A few weeks I think.
I noticed Owen had gotten up from his judging seat and had edged towards the water, talking rapidly into a phone. Curious, I followed, inconspicious in my navy hoodie and indigo (INDIGO! INDIGO! INDIGOOOO! Jenna... okay back the the story) jeans. He was looking pretty stressed.
"Yes," he almost-shouts. I can't hear anything beyond that, but I think he's irritated with someone. I make out the words "national TV" and begin descending on my prey, closer and closer...
"It's not a hobby." I could tell he was holding his voice back a bit, holding his temper, which I'd never even felt a little bit of before. He was so collected most of the time. "Oh, you're one to talk. Is that a threat, really now. Of course I know where my loyalties lie. Do you know just how much activity my enterprises can cover? A lot. And I need this job. It's getting me in contact with the subject. So I am dreadfully sorry, but I can't take off to cover your illegal behavior. No. Not anymore. It's tough love, Dad." In exasperation, he throws his dress jacket on the damp sand, the wind nipping at his t-shirt's edge. I noticed that tattoo on his right elbow. At first, I thought it was just that usual shifting pattern of randomosity, but he twisted his elbow into a full bend and...
No way. The tattoo was shifting before my eyes into a perfectly symmetrical diamond-like figure. The star, the four-pointed star, on Owen's elbow now.
I was launched into a new mindset. Owen had something to do with my madness. This was new. I was rabid for want of answers. The symbol, laughing in my face, rippling as his elbow bends, then gone... I had to do something. I needed answers.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Then she blah, blah, blah, and finds out about everything, by way of Owen's big screen in his office back in Amati. She talks to Morpheus and stuff. He's really mysterious. I'll have to mention him again sometime...
So... this is just an excerpt from early on in my book. It's when she gets her "powers", more or less. It's pretty complicated, but I won't explain, I'm just that evil. Muahahaha. Basically, she's in the hospital getting her tonsils removed, but while she's knocked out a certain someone tampers with her medicine, triggering an awakening of the inactive, inherited, power within her, as well as some other side affects. But she doesn't understand any of this yet, so it's okay if you don't... okay, just read!
PS: Yeah, it's a terrible title, but it's not a legit chapter, so it doesn't need a title. Unless anyone has some ideas. Then I'd be more than willing to take them. Thanks!
PS: Yeah, it's a terrible title, but it's not a legit chapter, so it doesn't need a title. Unless anyone has some ideas. Then I'd be more than willing to take them. Thanks!
The Dream
The last thing I remember thinking before the knockout gas overcame my defenses was that... oh, heck, I don't remember a thing.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
I dreamt with startling vividness. It was so real... but I was aware that it was a dream. This was different than any dream I'd had; it was like seeing for the first time.
I was standing in a void-like area; the floor underneath me seemed unstable and there was only blackness for as far as I could see. Except...
Right in front of my face, floating and shimmering, was a gossamer-white object that gave off an iridescent light. I couldn't tell the color of the light- it was blue, but then it was green, and then it was every color, sending my mind spinning. At a closer glance beyond the mist, I saw the object was a four-pointed star, a stone or a gem of some sort... and it was, inexplicably, drawing me in.
The beauty of it was discreet but undeniable, slipping through the cracks of my resolve until my motions were not my own anymore. I was reeled in, knowing that something huge and ancient connected me to its power.
Power... it radiated off it like a sunglare, but wasn't blinding, it was enlightening. All at once, I heard voices coming from the mist... only two, a male and a female, though they melded together and I heard the male more clearly. They said things like my name, like my father's name, like whispery secrets my mind wouldn't contain...
There was a noise behind the voices... and this one came from the very core of the stone. It didn't speak in words, but seemed as much a language as anything else. It was eerie and ethereal, forming something like the sound of a choir, but much more otherworldly...
I touched it, at the spot where my wrist connected to my right-hand palm, and suddenly, it was flowing up my arm and disappearing. Except I knew that it wasn't gone... it had become a part of me. I could still feel its pulsing embrace and the sensation of electricity crackling in my veins. The male and female voices had silenced, but they weren't gone either.
I just... knew.
With a jolt, I was kicked out of the picture mentally, and I was just looking on, rather than witnessing it all in the first person... a separate being. I saw myself in the center of a busy street, about to get run over by a shiny black Vespa. I watched in horror as I saw myself trace my palm through the air without a hint of fear. Everything then froze around me like perfect sculptures in some museum, stoic as ice. I watched, bemused, as myself jumped to the side and out of harm's way. In but a few seconds, I felt the pulsing again from my palm up, a slipping sensation, and the world continued to move.
There was a shiver down my spine- that's not normal for dreams, I'm pretty sure- and now I saw a man in a tight-walled chamber, gazing upon the very same stone I'd seen before. Another man appeared behind the first one, and he looked hungry for the stone in a scary way. I witnessed him lunge for it, blocked by the other man, who seemed strained to resist taking the stone in his hand.
My mind reeled in fast-forward, 'til I saw the second man, a little older-seeming, struck down by the first. The first removed the stone from the second's curled grip and walked out of that same chamber with it in hand.
The dream closed in on his eyes, a sky-clear variant of green, so bright that I felt blinded...
And then I realized I was simply waking up.
__________________________________________________________________________________
I opened my eyes, shaking a bit. I put a hand to my feverish forehead to find it was damp, my hair sticking to its surface. My brain felt slower even than it had been in the dream... drugs, maybe? The last events before the surgery came spiraling back into my mind and I realized that my throat felt sore, dry, scraped to the muscle, despite whatever painkillers I figured had caused the drowsiness.
I looked around and realized in a little shock of panic that I was hooked up to a bunch of IVs and other needles. I wondered how long I'd slept.
Seven hours, three minutes, and forty-six seconds.
I blinked. How had I known that? It had just come, with a vivid sting in my palm...
I closed my eyes and remembered the dream. The light, the feeling, the voices... I heard the ethereal choir-esque tone of the star-shaped rock and felt its luminescent power... I heard the other voices. No, wait, it was just the one. And even when I stopped trying to remember it, it was there still. The male voice. In my head. Talking. To me.
Zoe Shadow, the voice said. Some advice: be careful who you tell your name to.
I panicked. Crazy people hear stuff in their head. I was not crazy. I wasn't crazy. I was just...
As my mind searched for explanation, the voice chatted on, undeterred. I can't say much, because I don't know much. I walked this earth last about a hundred years ago. I don't know how it is now. But the name Shadow... it brings trouble.
Well, yeah, my mom's famous, I found myself replying inadvertently.
Hmmm. Do you know that which I don't?
I... what?
You don't know, either. Then we are both in the dark. As we like it. A snickering chortle. The dark...
Ahh... I don't tend to talk to... um, my head.
I'm not your head, Zoe Shadow. Try it.
Try what?
The dream. Try it. The voice went away, and I felt normal-ish again. I sighed in relief before realizing I wasn't quite through with my madness. I found myself wanting to try it... to pause time. As if it would work, right? But I was shaken by the tangibleness of that voice. I couldn't sink any lower.
I jutted out my wrist and palm, thinking extremely hard. It almost hurt, through all the druggedness. Nothing happened. Of course. This isn't Star Wars. This is an overactive imagination. Which has just taken steps into being frightening.
I breathed deeply, wondering vaguely if more sleep would ease me back into normalcy or just bring more odd visions. I wasn't entirely upset, even though I thought I might be going crazy. After all, it was novelistic and much more interesting than most hospital trips. Even if I was creating the illusion for myself... it was something new. Just what I'd wanted. Be careful what you wish for.
Suddenly, I heard a door creak; my mother was rushing in, enveloped elegantly in a chalk-white trenchcoat, smiling in the motherly-not-award-acquiring way. I weakly attempted one in return, but figured I'd failed miserably for how she knelt in concern at my side. "Hello, Sleepyhead. You've been out seven hours- I only had to leave twice, don't worry. Just a wardrobe fitting, a soap opera appearance. I swear it was only like an hour overall."
"Cool," I tried to say, but it came out like "Ohl."
"Shh, don't talk- your throat's not ready for that. I'm going to be outside, okay? They say you can leave in the morning, but... well, I'm persuasive. Maybe you'll be home tonight." She flipped her hair over one shoulder winningly and left, blowing a kiss in my direction.
I nodded and rolled over. I didn't see her come back, because I was already asleep.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
I dreamt with startling vividness. It was so real... but I was aware that it was a dream. This was different than any dream I'd had; it was like seeing for the first time.
I was standing in a void-like area; the floor underneath me seemed unstable and there was only blackness for as far as I could see. Except...
Right in front of my face, floating and shimmering, was a gossamer-white object that gave off an iridescent light. I couldn't tell the color of the light- it was blue, but then it was green, and then it was every color, sending my mind spinning. At a closer glance beyond the mist, I saw the object was a four-pointed star, a stone or a gem of some sort... and it was, inexplicably, drawing me in.
The beauty of it was discreet but undeniable, slipping through the cracks of my resolve until my motions were not my own anymore. I was reeled in, knowing that something huge and ancient connected me to its power.
Power... it radiated off it like a sunglare, but wasn't blinding, it was enlightening. All at once, I heard voices coming from the mist... only two, a male and a female, though they melded together and I heard the male more clearly. They said things like my name, like my father's name, like whispery secrets my mind wouldn't contain...
There was a noise behind the voices... and this one came from the very core of the stone. It didn't speak in words, but seemed as much a language as anything else. It was eerie and ethereal, forming something like the sound of a choir, but much more otherworldly...
I touched it, at the spot where my wrist connected to my right-hand palm, and suddenly, it was flowing up my arm and disappearing. Except I knew that it wasn't gone... it had become a part of me. I could still feel its pulsing embrace and the sensation of electricity crackling in my veins. The male and female voices had silenced, but they weren't gone either.
I just... knew.
With a jolt, I was kicked out of the picture mentally, and I was just looking on, rather than witnessing it all in the first person... a separate being. I saw myself in the center of a busy street, about to get run over by a shiny black Vespa. I watched in horror as I saw myself trace my palm through the air without a hint of fear. Everything then froze around me like perfect sculptures in some museum, stoic as ice. I watched, bemused, as myself jumped to the side and out of harm's way. In but a few seconds, I felt the pulsing again from my palm up, a slipping sensation, and the world continued to move.
There was a shiver down my spine- that's not normal for dreams, I'm pretty sure- and now I saw a man in a tight-walled chamber, gazing upon the very same stone I'd seen before. Another man appeared behind the first one, and he looked hungry for the stone in a scary way. I witnessed him lunge for it, blocked by the other man, who seemed strained to resist taking the stone in his hand.
My mind reeled in fast-forward, 'til I saw the second man, a little older-seeming, struck down by the first. The first removed the stone from the second's curled grip and walked out of that same chamber with it in hand.
The dream closed in on his eyes, a sky-clear variant of green, so bright that I felt blinded...
And then I realized I was simply waking up.
__________________________________________________________________________________
I opened my eyes, shaking a bit. I put a hand to my feverish forehead to find it was damp, my hair sticking to its surface. My brain felt slower even than it had been in the dream... drugs, maybe? The last events before the surgery came spiraling back into my mind and I realized that my throat felt sore, dry, scraped to the muscle, despite whatever painkillers I figured had caused the drowsiness.
I looked around and realized in a little shock of panic that I was hooked up to a bunch of IVs and other needles. I wondered how long I'd slept.
Seven hours, three minutes, and forty-six seconds.
I blinked. How had I known that? It had just come, with a vivid sting in my palm...
I closed my eyes and remembered the dream. The light, the feeling, the voices... I heard the ethereal choir-esque tone of the star-shaped rock and felt its luminescent power... I heard the other voices. No, wait, it was just the one. And even when I stopped trying to remember it, it was there still. The male voice. In my head. Talking. To me.
Zoe Shadow, the voice said. Some advice: be careful who you tell your name to.
I panicked. Crazy people hear stuff in their head. I was not crazy. I wasn't crazy. I was just...
As my mind searched for explanation, the voice chatted on, undeterred. I can't say much, because I don't know much. I walked this earth last about a hundred years ago. I don't know how it is now. But the name Shadow... it brings trouble.
Well, yeah, my mom's famous, I found myself replying inadvertently.
Hmmm. Do you know that which I don't?
I... what?
You don't know, either. Then we are both in the dark. As we like it. A snickering chortle. The dark...
Ahh... I don't tend to talk to... um, my head.
I'm not your head, Zoe Shadow. Try it.
Try what?
The dream. Try it. The voice went away, and I felt normal-ish again. I sighed in relief before realizing I wasn't quite through with my madness. I found myself wanting to try it... to pause time. As if it would work, right? But I was shaken by the tangibleness of that voice. I couldn't sink any lower.
I jutted out my wrist and palm, thinking extremely hard. It almost hurt, through all the druggedness. Nothing happened. Of course. This isn't Star Wars. This is an overactive imagination. Which has just taken steps into being frightening.
I breathed deeply, wondering vaguely if more sleep would ease me back into normalcy or just bring more odd visions. I wasn't entirely upset, even though I thought I might be going crazy. After all, it was novelistic and much more interesting than most hospital trips. Even if I was creating the illusion for myself... it was something new. Just what I'd wanted. Be careful what you wish for.
Suddenly, I heard a door creak; my mother was rushing in, enveloped elegantly in a chalk-white trenchcoat, smiling in the motherly-not-award-acquiring way. I weakly attempted one in return, but figured I'd failed miserably for how she knelt in concern at my side. "Hello, Sleepyhead. You've been out seven hours- I only had to leave twice, don't worry. Just a wardrobe fitting, a soap opera appearance. I swear it was only like an hour overall."
"Cool," I tried to say, but it came out like "Ohl."
"Shh, don't talk- your throat's not ready for that. I'm going to be outside, okay? They say you can leave in the morning, but... well, I'm persuasive. Maybe you'll be home tonight." She flipped her hair over one shoulder winningly and left, blowing a kiss in my direction.
I nodded and rolled over. I didn't see her come back, because I was already asleep.