17:00- Latere
Series: Hunter's Path
Pairing: James/Claudia
Word Count: 987
24hour_themes prompt: Insight to the self. Communicating with spiritual guides.
Chapters: Master List
Infitialis | Latere | Abeo | Obsidis | Videlicet | Praesidium | Transitus | Mutatio | Umbra | Terminare | Constantia | Autus | Salvus | Gubernatio | Spero | Animus | Consensio | Discrimen | Consilium | Veritas | Phoebus | Fortuna | Sensus | Victoria She'd hate to think he knew. After all, she had made an art of projecting the façade of utter certainty, dependability, and audaciousness. To some extent, the decade-plus she'd spent with the Order had forced those traits into an early fruition, maybe even a development she wouldn't have made if left to her own devices. That was something she'd ever know now; it was far too late to regain that time now.
It was every day or even every week, but sometimes she wanted to just... give up. Admit that it was all too much for her to handle and swear off the entire business. She'd retired from the Order with relatively few repercussions -- just a new scar to add to her already impressive collection, a sheering of hair she'd not had cut since joining, and a stern admonition against further contact with them them or any of their numbers -- so there was nothing say she couldn't do it again. Except...
Except she was more attached now. For all that the Order still contained her pseudo-brother and Jean, the red-haired witch who had stolen Sean's heart, here she had her first real friend since childhood in Gypsy. And then there was Romeo -- Montecchi, she corrected herself with a frown. Now James had her calling the poor man that weird nickname as well. That he didn't mind it didn't excuse her mistake.
Then there was James -- and what was there to say about him? He was the obnoxious, sarcastic, rude, self-conceited, arrogant, prideful, daring, gallant, protective, handsome, caring, dedicated bastard she'd ever laid eyes on, a walking contradiction in and of himself. Yet she couldn't deny she felt some weird kind of attraction to him. In a lot of ways, the two of them were like a matched set, sharing just enough interests and attributes to get along a bit of the time, enough to work together through the night and manage to have drinks at dawn without one of them trying to kill the other. But they were also dissimilar enough to clash in fights that were gaining a level of notoriety in a house where gossip from the time of her great-grandmother's childhood was still fresh and new.
No, if they were a matched set, then they were a similar pair of broken plates: identical only in their jagged edges. She'd wager a guess that if someone put their two halves together, they'd have a perfectly whole plate once more.
And if one ever heard psychobabble crap like that from her, they'd probably die of shock or have her committed.
But James... The idea of him knowing about these secret doubts she harbored bothered her, more than the thought of anyone else in the world. That was why she made a point of resisting them till she was alone, either shut up in her room to sleep or, like now, during the five o'clock hour and the two following hours when he was in class and then practice. There was still the possibility of Gypsy or Romeo -- Montecchi -- showing up unexpectedly, but that didn't bother her nearly as much.
Worrying about what James would think of her occasional dark turn of thought was better than wondering about why Sean hadn't returned her call yet. No matter what time she called, she had in no way expected him to answer. That just wasn't how things worked in the Order. he could have been in the field or injured -- though the mere thought that something could hurt him badly enough that he wouldn't be better in two weeks was a frightening one; she'd long become used to the fact that he'd only be laid up a few days with injuries that would have her hospitalized for weeks, if not months. If he hadn't gotten her message because he was hurt was one thing, though, but if the Order had commanded him not to contact her back was another. And then there was the possibility he hadn't even gotten her message in the first place, whether by not being there or, more sinisterly, someone deleting it. As James had been so quick to point out when she first brought this up three weeks ago, she was on their hate list. Therefore, it was entirely possible -- no, probable -- that he'd never even received the message.
The possibilities still plagued her.
The training room door opened with the soft hiss of wood over carpet but otherwise no sound. She quickly schooled her face into a quick impression of impassivity with a twinge of annoyance for the interruption and turned to face the interloper. Before she could even finish the action, though, the familiar thump of a heavy duffel bag hitting the bench closest to the door resounded, and genuine confusion replaced the artificial expression. "What are you doing back so early?" she demanded.
For a brief moment, he wore the look of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but it quickly changed into bemusement. "Why? Did I catch you at something you're not supposed to be doing?"
Too fucking astute, that's what he could be when he set his mind to it. "Yeah, right. Did practice get canceled or something?"
"More 'or something' than anything else." At her questioning look, he expanded, "I quit the soccer team. Maybe you can handle this much double-life, but I can't."
She opened her mouth to retort that statement, but nothing came out. Damn it, he had a point; she was more comfortable playing a role for a brief period of time than settling in and being herself -- whoever that was -- for long periods of time. Well, this was just the day for unpleasant insights into herself. The only thing that could top all of this would be if she realized she...
No, it'd be best not to jinx herself. No need to invite problems.
Pairing: James/Claudia
Word Count: 987
24hour_themes prompt: Insight to the self. Communicating with spiritual guides.
Chapters: Master List
Infitialis | Latere | Abeo | Obsidis | Videlicet | Praesidium | Transitus | Mutatio | Umbra | Terminare | Constantia | Autus | Salvus | Gubernatio | Spero | Animus | Consensio | Discrimen | Consilium | Veritas | Phoebus | Fortuna | Sensus | Victoria She'd hate to think he knew. After all, she had made an art of projecting the façade of utter certainty, dependability, and audaciousness. To some extent, the decade-plus she'd spent with the Order had forced those traits into an early fruition, maybe even a development she wouldn't have made if left to her own devices. That was something she'd ever know now; it was far too late to regain that time now.
It was every day or even every week, but sometimes she wanted to just... give up. Admit that it was all too much for her to handle and swear off the entire business. She'd retired from the Order with relatively few repercussions -- just a new scar to add to her already impressive collection, a sheering of hair she'd not had cut since joining, and a stern admonition against further contact with them them or any of their numbers -- so there was nothing say she couldn't do it again. Except...
Except she was more attached now. For all that the Order still contained her pseudo-brother and Jean, the red-haired witch who had stolen Sean's heart, here she had her first real friend since childhood in Gypsy. And then there was Romeo -- Montecchi, she corrected herself with a frown. Now James had her calling the poor man that weird nickname as well. That he didn't mind it didn't excuse her mistake.
Then there was James -- and what was there to say about him? He was the obnoxious, sarcastic, rude, self-conceited, arrogant, prideful, daring, gallant, protective, handsome, caring, dedicated bastard she'd ever laid eyes on, a walking contradiction in and of himself. Yet she couldn't deny she felt some weird kind of attraction to him. In a lot of ways, the two of them were like a matched set, sharing just enough interests and attributes to get along a bit of the time, enough to work together through the night and manage to have drinks at dawn without one of them trying to kill the other. But they were also dissimilar enough to clash in fights that were gaining a level of notoriety in a house where gossip from the time of her great-grandmother's childhood was still fresh and new.
No, if they were a matched set, then they were a similar pair of broken plates: identical only in their jagged edges. She'd wager a guess that if someone put their two halves together, they'd have a perfectly whole plate once more.
And if one ever heard psychobabble crap like that from her, they'd probably die of shock or have her committed.
But James... The idea of him knowing about these secret doubts she harbored bothered her, more than the thought of anyone else in the world. That was why she made a point of resisting them till she was alone, either shut up in her room to sleep or, like now, during the five o'clock hour and the two following hours when he was in class and then practice. There was still the possibility of Gypsy or Romeo -- Montecchi -- showing up unexpectedly, but that didn't bother her nearly as much.
Worrying about what James would think of her occasional dark turn of thought was better than wondering about why Sean hadn't returned her call yet. No matter what time she called, she had in no way expected him to answer. That just wasn't how things worked in the Order. he could have been in the field or injured -- though the mere thought that something could hurt him badly enough that he wouldn't be better in two weeks was a frightening one; she'd long become used to the fact that he'd only be laid up a few days with injuries that would have her hospitalized for weeks, if not months. If he hadn't gotten her message because he was hurt was one thing, though, but if the Order had commanded him not to contact her back was another. And then there was the possibility he hadn't even gotten her message in the first place, whether by not being there or, more sinisterly, someone deleting it. As James had been so quick to point out when she first brought this up three weeks ago, she was on their hate list. Therefore, it was entirely possible -- no, probable -- that he'd never even received the message.
The possibilities still plagued her.
The training room door opened with the soft hiss of wood over carpet but otherwise no sound. She quickly schooled her face into a quick impression of impassivity with a twinge of annoyance for the interruption and turned to face the interloper. Before she could even finish the action, though, the familiar thump of a heavy duffel bag hitting the bench closest to the door resounded, and genuine confusion replaced the artificial expression. "What are you doing back so early?" she demanded.
For a brief moment, he wore the look of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but it quickly changed into bemusement. "Why? Did I catch you at something you're not supposed to be doing?"
Too fucking astute, that's what he could be when he set his mind to it. "Yeah, right. Did practice get canceled or something?"
"More 'or something' than anything else." At her questioning look, he expanded, "I quit the soccer team. Maybe you can handle this much double-life, but I can't."
She opened her mouth to retort that statement, but nothing came out. Damn it, he had a point; she was more comfortable playing a role for a brief period of time than settling in and being herself -- whoever that was -- for long periods of time. Well, this was just the day for unpleasant insights into herself. The only thing that could top all of this would be if she realized she...
No, it'd be best not to jinx herself. No need to invite problems.