Sigh. I tried, gang, I really tried. Unfortunately promotion = work craziness and even more travel, and by the time the day wraps up, and the important things (family, food, working out, laundry, sleep) happen, there’s no time left for anything else.
Sadly, that means that everything has to be put on indefinite hiatus. I tried to get some writing done over the holidays, but once the family departed, I was sucked right back into work/life, and well, here it is, January 4th and no go.
So I’ll make this offer - if you were reading Who You Are, and want the broad brush strokes of what was going to happen - hit my ask - I get an email alert when I get a ping, and I can give you the bullet points on how it all wraps up. I don’t have any high hopes about when I can get back in to wrap it up, and I don’t want to leave anyone hanging that wants closure to the story.
More importantly, thank you for the support, the love, the encouragement, and the friendship. I madly miss you all, and some day, when work lightens up enough to let me back in to play, I hope to lurk around and be silly with all of you.
Oh, and the little enigma asked for a Bucky Bear for Christmas.
My first reaction? Go little fanboy!
My second reaction (after Googling and realizing no one makes them and I can’t sew)
A glass of wine, no work to do tonight (or trips until January - YAY!), and more importantly, 342 words and going. OHAI writing, I think I remember you….
She lies still, listening to the even rise and fall of Steve’s breathing. He’s so warm next to her, the comforter and sheets cast off, his long legs bare in the cool night air. It’s so different from their time locked away in that awful cell where he lay board straight, as if afraid to move. Maybe peeling away the charade is allowing him to settle into a level of comfort that never existed before. It’s hard, always living on edge, worrying about who will find out the truth, and what comes when the lies come crashing down.
She looks at him differently after Belarus. It would be easy to call it admiration – no one stands up to Amanda – but that’s would be an easy answer. Reality is much more complex.
Alex transforms as Ovechkin’s neck snaps – scared rabbit to haunted little girl to battle-weary soldier in a fraction of a second. Sean turns away, firing shots into the fallen men. He has a mission - he will set the scene and see out his orders.
The slugs sink deep into Ovechkin’s chest with a dull, satisfying thud.
Standing up to a bully has never felt so satisfying.
She sits on a bench in the dingy cell, haughty in her gold dress, ego wounded.
The video footage doesn’t lie - her actions aren’t those of a stone cold killer.
It’s easy - justifiable, even - to call him a Boy Scout. Sean’s more than earned that. At the same time, Alex is nowhere near as cold and calculating as she acts. Someone out for revenge would never have stepped in to right a wrong.
Alex limps past, eyes hidden behind her hair. She’s still an enigma, fixated on a single point, but she’s capable of doing good, too.