First Impressions

[Quiver he/him]

Well, here's my first story set in the world of chiromancy. Thanks again to everyone who commented in the magic system thread; I hope this piece at least gives you some optimism for what I can do in the future. I realise the chiromancy may be thin on the ground, but I sort of wanted to try and practice my prose and characters as well. Any criticism will be gratefully appreciated.

EDIT Since posting my first piece, I've changed how I'm treating this thread. For the foreseeable future (or until I get bored) each piece I post here will be it's independent short story, focused around a different character, theme, location, genre, etc. Since I'm using this to make myself develop different things about the world, there will probably be changes from one story to another as I figure stuff out. As I build up things, it will probably become more consistent, so I apologise in advance for any unexpected changes in the meantime.

Story One: Jaren

Status: Complete

The people of Tamis were nervous. You didn't need to be a Chiromancer or have someone's Prints to know that; Jaren didn't. He was a beggar, huddling swathed in a great big coat in the mouth where an alley between two buildings met the street. He was dirty, unshaven, and felt a churning in his stomach, but he could still tell.

No one knows what's wrong. He shuffled the bowl that sat between his legs, rattling the handful of change within it. He glanced up and down the street. The people of the city were going about their business, stopping at stalls, speaking to friends, but it was forced joviality. They were tense, and the presence of the justices patrolling street corners wasn't helping.

One of them turned, and Jaren was sure it was to look at him. He couldn't tell for certain, of course; the heavy masks that covered the guards face was only broken by slits for his eyes and mouth. He was too far away for Jaren to see his eyes, but he was sure they had settled on him. The justice probably thought Jaren intended on Printing someone, or stealing some food from a nearby stall.

Well let him think that, he thought, wrapping his hands under his armpits. He had learned who to steal from and who to leave. The woman on the corner, for instance, grew ripe, juicy oranges in her gardens outside the city. When he went to peel the skins, he could read the time she had put into it, the pride she felt for a job well done, and her resolve to provide for her children. It made him so sick with guilt he almost threw the fruit away. And as for Printing, well...

The justice, of course, was clad head to toe, without a patch of bare skin to grip. It wouldn't do for a thief to give them a moment of moral flexibility so they could escape. The jacket, pants and boots were designed to cover as much as possible, with a gauntleted fist resting on a sword. But now, they weren't the only ones who travelled the city concealed. Ordinary citizens had begun wearing clothes with sleeves that went to their wrists, and pants that went to their feet. Jaren couldn't help but think it strange seeing so many people so overly dressed.

Even the children were wearing long sleeves, and more than one parent stopped to scold them for trying to roll them up to their elbows. He looked up at a nearby couple hopefully, smiled, and was unsurprised as they hurried on. He pinched his nose with two gloved fingers. It was beginning to get late. Suppose I'd better go before the justice decides to take me in.

He reached into a pocket of his coat, and undid the draw string of a grubby bag. There were only three or four coins in the bowl. It was hardly enough for a decent meal, but they might have been good for his side-venture. But that was something to check at home; he poured them into his bag and pocketed it, before rising to his feet and heading further into the alleyway.

It had been three weeks since the City Primarch had ordered the gates shut, three weeks since the justices (good little dogs that they were) had done it. But why they had done it, well, that remained unclear. Jaren had heard things, idle gossip in the street; that the Primarch had disagreed with the Hands and was preparing for war. That sounded ridiculous; even if Jaren hadn't attended in years, most of the citizenry were devotees of one sect or another. The Primarch would have surrounded himself with enemies inside and out.

Actually, that sounded like something he might do. The dark-haired beggar laughed under his breath as he turned a corner towards the poor district.

The more likely suggestion was far more unnerving. The city was being quarantined. After all, weren't the gates being closed to keep the sick out?

Or is it to keep us in?

He didn't like the thought, but it was persistent, and growing. Not long after the gates had been shut, the justices had rode their horses into the poor corner, a wagon hitched to mules trundling behind them. Jaren hadn't been there at the time, but he had heard the pronouncement from ones who had. Anyone who intended to go into the main squares were to wear what was in the wagon, no exceptions. Then they'd ridden off, leaving the mules behind, almost as if- some said- they had been afraid.

What was in the wagon turned out to be clothes. Thick, heavy clothes. They were the clothes that Jaren, and hundreds of the poor throughout the city now wore. Thick, grey, lumpy jackets. Loose trousers. Shoes. Gloves, the sort with fingers on them. The message, to Jaren, was clear; they weren't to come into contact with anyone. And hadn't that couple in the market moved on, as if he were touched with a plague?

A plague.

It was a heavy, sobering thought, one that stopped Jaren in his tracks. He leaned against a rundown building and considered it.

I don't feel sick. But would I? Could he have caught something from someone? No. He shook his head to dispel his thoughts. It's just that people don't like being made to think about going hungry. That's all.

Still. The looks he had gotten in the square. And the coins. He shook the money bag absently. He had learned over the years that the ones who donated were the charitable, or those with a guilty conscience. And didn't the guilty give in times of distress?

No. He shook his head again. It's only been three weeks. Is that how long it takes for people to stop trusting one another? It didn't seem right. He was just anxious. And hungry. And alone.

He turned another corner, and found himself in the poor district. At least here there was some degree of normality. Yes, it was dirty. Yes, the buildings were falling apart. But it was also full of people, most of whom were wearing normal, sleeveless shirts.

He waved a hand at some acquaintances as he walked the steps to his residence. The wood creaked beneath his boots, threatening (as always) to collapse. The door pushed open with barely a nudge. Inside, he could see scuff marks where someone else had taken the opportunity of his absence to get some sleep. All of it were comforting reminders of life.

He found a space near the wall that wasn't being used, and undid the draw strings of the bag. He peeled off a glove, and felt the familiar breeze of wind on bare skin. He reached to dip his hand into the purse.

The charitable. Or the guilty.

For a moment, the thought stayed him. But does it matter either way?

He reached in, and closed a fist around a coin. He felt a wave surge through him, a heat that began in his hand and spread up his arm. He leaned back against the wall, and smiled. It was the content smile, of someone who has done something for someone, and the person who has received it. It was the smile of someone in response to an act of kindness.

The coin had a Print on it. It was faint. As Jaren held it tight, he felt his palm beginning to sweat. He couldn't squeeze the feeling, the connection he felt with whoever-this-was into him, and if he didn't let go, he might wash the Print away. But even if that happened, he would still remember it. Remembering the feeling, the surge, and the emotion.

That, even in times of strife, someone had given him something of theirs.

And despite the guilt, he felt grateful.

Edited January 20, 2014 by Quiver

[Gamma Fiend he/him]

This was very good. I'm not going to go into grammar or style, cause I don't really focus on that stuff as much (I know, bad habit for an aspiring writer) but I liked it, so that's all I care about.

is a nice subtle introduction into the whole ideas of Printing. I liked the narrative, too.

Umm can't think of anything else, but keep it up. Good work.

[Quiver he/him]

Thanks for the response. I'm doing this as a series of short stories, so here's the second in the series.

Story Two: Kayla {Ongoing}

Chapter One: The Chase

“Stop! Thief!”

Kayla turned at the shout. A merchant standing behind a stall of fish and loaves gestured wildly into the market. The guardwoman scanned the square, her eyes falling onto a ripple, a wave that was driven away from the outraged cries and was shoving the crowd aside. She tightened her belt, secured her sword, and began to run.

She strained to keep an eye on the thief in the sea of people. Once the crowd began to realise what was going on they stopped milling around, half-heartedly opening a corridor between the thief and his pursuer. It shouldn’t have been too difficult; he was running against the flow of people, and dressed head to toe in the itchy, uncomfortable wool that the ruling council imported from the mountain tribes to clothe the poor. Kayla would recognise those clothes anywhere. Even so, she felt her feet dragging against the flagstones of the city, a hesitance deep in her gut...

The thief turned to look over his shoulder, and she felt the tension ease away. It was a fleeting look, but it was enough. He was young. Scrawny. Fair-haired. And completely unrecognisable to her. Beneath the heavy mask, Kayla felt her lips curl, and quickened the pace.

The thief turned his eyes back to his escape route, a second too late to avoid the woman who hadn’t gotten out of his way. He jostled her roughly, and she screamed with shock as she felt to the ground. The blonde thief lost his footing for a second and dropped a crust on the ground, but kept on running. As Kayla approached, she looked at the woman. She was being helped to her feet by a nearby man- a husband?- who rubbed her shoulders in reassurance. She began the mental balance, of whether to continue the pursuit or stop to help, then saw the colour drain out of the pair as they noticed her attention.

She’s fine, she thought, stiffening slightly. She leapt over the prone couple, her armour flashing in the sun, and kept pursuit.

By now, the chase was getting attention. Kayla heard the crowd around her murmuring, a few offering pointers as to where he had gone, and more than a few pointing in the opposite direction. Through the corners of the slits in her helmet, Kayla could see two other shapes converging through the crowd, and caught a glance of the high helmed plume of a sergeant. The thief must have seen something too, since the flow of traffic shifted away from Kayla’s re-enforcements and back towards her.

“Stop,” she yelled, trying to make herself heard over the crowd that was beginning to press against her. The people of Tamith might not have liked the guards, but given the choice between being pressed against an officer and a recruit, they made their choices. Kayla forced a gauntleted arm through the press, and began to pry her way out. “Out of my way!” The helmet made Kaylas’ voice muffled and heavy, but the crowd didn’t so much as flinch. “You are obstructing an—“

She froze, feeling something brush past her. She spun, her cloak becoming tangled in in the mass and feeling the weight of her sword hit someone. She ignored both, instead focusing on the figure fleeing downhill; a figure, dressed in thick, grey wool.

“Here,” she shouted again. She threw a hand in the air, gesturing the direction, but she didn’t look behind to see if her colleagues had spotted it. Instead, she forced her way forward, wading through the group as if it were a sea, and following her quarry down, down a street, past storefronts that she recognised well. She grimaced. He was headed down to the Tangles.

It was what the locals called the neighbourhood that was pressed between the freshwaterdocks and the upper districts. The former was full of the sort of people whose professions and reputations kept them away from the more respectable areas of the city, the sort of people that the latter liked to make use of, particularly if they were young and drunk. As a result, the neighbourhood in between had become a wandering mess of back alleys and side streets, ways for the nobleborn to visit the warrens in secret. The Tangles ended up with the worst of both sides, a fractious den run by ever shifting gang loyalties. If the thief was heading there, he must have been confident that he was going to find help.

Or he’s desperate. Kayla bit her lip. It was the last place she wanted to go back to. There weren’t any guards, at least not any that could be trusted, and she had no idea if her back up had seen her signing. I could just not go, she thought. I could have lost him in the press, or been wrong, or…

She kept on running.

Slowly, the buildings around her decayed. It was mid-afternoon, but she felt a chill in the air, the ramshackle houses rising crookedly into the sky to blot out the sun. She slowed down. There were no flagstones here, just bare foot churned muck, and the streets were empty.

Of course they are, she thought bitterly. Most of the people who lived here would be working at one of the docks, if they didn’t work nights. She kept her eyes peeled to the road, looking for a trail, for fresher prints. For a moment, she almost wished she were a chiromancer; probably one of them could follow the thief through muck, and rain, and snow, and sh-

She shook her head, flexing her fingers. She placed a hand on Stringers hilt. The sword had been used, and bent, and broken, and remade by dozens of guards before her. She couldn’t feel them through the gauntlet, of course, but knowing that that warmth of experience was beneath her grip made her feels better all the same. She was certain that Loren, the man who had trained her in its use, wouldn’t have been afraid to go into the Tangles, nor would his mentor, Kan, or his, Fulia, or hers…

She recited the list back to herself as she walked. She couldn’t take off the gauntlet to feel them, but holding them in her mind was almost as good. And if they hadn’t been afraid, well, she couldn’t taint Stringers history with cowardice, could she?

The tracks ran down the main thoroughfare. Kayla felt a brush of surprise; most people who ran down here would have gone down one of the side-streets or alleys long before now. She had been counting the terriroties unconciously as she passed them- Yoren, who renamed it Talon,- Sooyen- Tyla who broke it,- Buja- Marin who trained her- and he hadn’t gone down any of them. It probably didn’t mean anything, or that he was more afraid of being caught by a rival gang than by her, or…

Or that he was sticking the main thoroughfare because he wasn’t affiliated with any of them. Kayla’s blood chilled. In the Tangles, that might be the one thing worse than being a guard. She quickened her step.

All around her, she could see evidence of the Tangles history. There was a watery smell in the air, unlike what one would find down at the seadocks. Here, the shame was palpable, every street seeming to crouch as if to hide themselves, while the alleyway and gutters lunged outwards to invite you in. And still, it wasn’t an offer that the thief had ever taken. He had kept going straight downhill, ignoring the other ways that might lose her, one pair of footprints...

And then there were more. A lot more. Kayla stopped, staring at the ground. Her eyes flit between the main street and the nearby gutter, then back again. The ground was tossed, with footprints and even a boot overlapping leading out of the cavernous entrance, then back inside, dragging a set of legs behind them. Kayla looked at the alleyway and, straining her ears, heard the sound of fists striking flesh. Despite herself, she shivered.

That’s that, then, she told herself. That’s sad, but that’s it. I should go back.

Instead, she put a foot forward. Then the other. Then the fist again. And then shouted “Stop right there!”

The sound of the beating stopped. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

]She took a place at the mouth of the alleyway, a hand resting on Stringers hilt, and her feet wide-apart. Her cloak hung a few fingers above the ground, and she tried to seem confident. When the burly men emerged from the shadows, rags tied around their heads, she was suddenly glad that her face was covered. People might have found the blank carved helmets of the guards frightening, but at least these gang members couldn’t see her blood chill.

They stood, shoulder to muscled shoulder, in the alleyway. Behind them, just out of sight, she heard a whimpering sound.

“You have something of mine,” Kayla said.

The men looked between themselves. One of them, scars on his scalp breaking up his dark hair and wearing what looked like a noblemans hand me downs, stepped forward with a swager. “I think you have the wrong people, justice.”

The reedy tone was familiar. Kayla frowned, trying to place it, staring into the grey eyes, and then grinning. “No, Baldren, I really don’t. I’m here to collect.”

The man flinched at his name, and his cronies shuffled. Some began reaching for their pockets, and Kayla felt a brief moment of panic. “Have we met before, miss?” he said, his grin chilly and with a suspicious gleam. Kayla breathed heavily, and stepped forward.

“Of course we have,” she said. She began to reach for her helmet. “You always said I had pretty eyes, remember?”

The men flinched as if suspecting some trick, but Baldren held a hand to still them. Kayla reached for the clasp in the centre of the helmet, but hesitated. She hadn’t thought that everything she had been taught had been ingrained so deep, but she still felt a wrongness as she undid the lock.

She composed herself, and formed a cocky grin. The seam ran down the middle of the mask, so she opened it on both sides. “Do I still have pretty eyes?” she asked, pulling the helmet off to expose her scalp. “My hair’s shorter, now, but…”

She flashed that grin again, and cocked her hip. Baldren was the kind of man who had always been attracted to that sort of thing. But there was no attraction in his eyes now. There was barely even any recognition. Kayla made her smile stay in place as she searched him, hoping, waiting, thinking…

Finally, something sparked. “Kayla?” he blurted. She nodded, but her heart skipped a beat. He didn’t sound pleased. He sounded angry. “What are you doing in that get up?”

“I’m in it because it’s my job. Oh, don’t give me that look,” she added smoothly. “Plenty of people do it. It’s an easier way of earning a coin than back alley brawling.”

“You turned on us?”

“What? No.” Kayla blinked, made herself frown. Then, after a moment, she grinned. “Wait a minute, you thought this was…? You really are an idiot, Baldren.” She shook her head. “I’m on the take, you idiot. A small fee, for doing nothing? It’s the easiest money I’ve ever made.”

The gangleader nodded absently, but his men didn’t relax. They didn’t remove their hands from their pockets, either. In the background, the thief continued whining.

“Last thing I expected from you,” Baldren said slowly. “With the way you walked around, nose in the air.”

“I was ten. Things change. Look,” she added. “Two weeks ago, you were in the drunk tank. And one of your friends there assaulted a guard. Why do you think you got off so easy?”

“And collecting this freerunner?” Baldren gestured to his men, who dragged the thief forward. They threw him on the ground, where he fell with a wet splat. Kayla decided not to think what it was he had landed in. “Part of your cover, I suppose?”

“If you’re dumb enough to steal in sight of a guard, you deserve to be caught,” she answered flippantly. “If he was coming this way, I thought he might have been one of yours… so he’s a freelancer?”

“That’s right.” Baldren stepped on the small of the man’s back, and he whined. He twisted in pain, and Kayla could see his gloves were gone and two fingers were broken. “Thought he could evade the law down here. Unlucky for him huh?”

Kayla forced a smile. “Very. Not too many guards grew up with the Tangle as a backyard.”

Baldren nodded absently. “Right… well then.” He reached into a pocket and the next instant, a rusty knife was placed to the man’s throat. “Since we’re all criminals here, you won’t mind if we cut his throat, will we?”

The thief looked at Kayla with pleading, swollen eyes. “Do what you want, but make it fast,” she suggested. “I wasn’t the only one chasing him. There should be a whole squad down here pretty soon, and I don’t think you want to be here for that.”

Baldren nodded, eying her carefully. Kaya kept up the smile, trying not to crack. Finally, he said, “You get paid when you bring someone in, don’t you?”

Relief. “That’s right.”

He considered it a moment, then shoved the thief back in the dirt. “A present for old friends then,” he said, getting back to his feet. He gave a mock bow, and one of his crew doffed his hat. “And future business.”

Kayla gave a crooked smile. “I look forward to business with old friends.”

Baldren smiled, then knelt down by the thief again. “You breathe a word of this,” he hissed, “and what happened here? That’ll be kisses.” He got up, bowed once again to Kayla, then turned and vanished down the alley.

Kayla waited until she was sure they were gone, then approached the prone man. “Get up,” she said, grabbing him under the arm. “I’m placing you under arrest for theft. You have the right to-“ She didn’t finish her sentence. He lunged towards her, and placed his broken hand against her bare face.

Kayla staggered, dropping him. She placed a glove over her hand, trying to rub the Print away, but it was too late. That brief contact had been all he needed. She shouted at herself mentally for not putting on her helmet first. She kicked the muck of the ground, soiling her boots. Then she turned back to the thief.

But instead of a thief, she saw a hungry man. One dressed in those horrible, humiliating clothes, that weren’t just there to cover his Prints. They were there to cover his bones. But she could see the sunken cheeks, the desperate eyes. She had seen them in the river growing up, and now, they were looking back at her, and, damnit, damnit, damnit!

She wasn’t thinking clearly. She knew that. Even so, she placed her helmet back on her head, and sealed the mask. She looked around for something large and heavy, and found a broken piece of wood.

“Here,” she growled, thrusting it into his hands. “Do it. Then run.”

The thi- the man nodded slowly, leaning on the cudgel. He looked at her sheepishly for a moment, until she scowled. “Here.” She handed him a handful of coins; enough to buy something to eat, if he bartered for it. She could hear the footsteps of her backup in the distance, and bowed her head.

“Just… do it in one, okay?” she asked. She closed her eyes. She heard the swish of wind, a crack on the back of her head-

Then black.

IMPORTANT EDIT: So, I've been thinking about this piece since yesterday. I liked it when I posted it (and I still do), but there is something about it that bugs me as being potentially problematic, if not offensive. It's possible that I'm just overreacting (I do that from time to time) and I was going to just leave this as is, since addressing it would be a spoiler for any continuations of Kayla that I had in mind, because I did have something in mind.

So I'm addressing the point in a spoiler. If you thought there was nothing wrong or untoward here, then... great. Please let me know so I don't panic mindlessly in the future. If you did think there was a problem, then check out the spoiler.

So, the issue; having Kayla fake being flirty. The reason I wonder if this is an overreaction is because I didn't feel the need to say 'Jaren is an exception to the rule about how poor people think', and if Baldren and Kayla were switched, I doubt if I'd bother addressing this. To that extent, it's probably my own hang up.

But, then again, if Kayla was a man, I'd probably have played it more as the 'charming rogue' rather than hand-on-hip flirty. So... again. Problematic.

Thing is, I thought it made sense, both in terms of this story, and for the future. The build up to that point was an extended action-chase scene, then her mustering her courage. I wanted her to seem confident, but I didn't want to go for the old tropes about women warriors. No offence to Kayla, but I don't think it's a good idea for a cop to start a fight with a gang on their home turf. So, instead of the sword flashing action duel, it was a really good bluff check.

Thing is, the bluff involves her being flirty. I meant to imply in the text that she goes for that route because she knows it's what Baldren likes; if it was someone else, she probably would have faked just being crooked.

The other reason I did it was because of something I didn't touch on here, but is mentioned in the (mental hypothetical) follow up. One of my ideas was that a particular religious/social precept is that, whoever you are or how you act, your 'real' self will shine through in the end- you can't hide your Prints, and you can't hide who you really are. There was another that sggests that the place you were born has a strong influence on who you're going to be.

So, part of the conflict Kayla was going to have was the fact that, when she had to, she thought 'Who would I be if I never left this place?' and played it as she did above. And that terrifies her because, as Baldren said, she really, really doesn't want to be that person, but it came very easily to her.

(Kayla is a lot more complicated than Jaren. He was a fly on the wall; here on in, I want to try and write more complicated characters.)

So, when/if I decide to continue her story, that's going to be a part of it, and I was hoping that would explain why I had her bluff that way rather than something else. But, since that interpretation basically depends on something I haven't written yet, I thought I ought to give a 'I'm totally not sexist, really" defence in the meantime.

LESS IMPORTANT EDIT: By the way, what do you think of the name? I had been going to use Ryla, but it seemed too Cthullu, so it became Rayla, which autocorrect kept changing. I'm not against Kayla as a name, but whenever I say it, I keep hearing an annoying hero saying 'Kahlan' instead.

Edited January 20, 2014 by Quiver

[Edgedancer he/him]

Overall I like this. We have a look at the society, an interesting character, a printed object, print influences in action and, given its lenght, a overall nice scene.

 

While I didn´t read the spoiler I did read the stuff around it and have an good idea what you are concerned about and personaly I don´t mind the flirt bluff. It helps that she knows that this is gonna work. Also I would say that saying "a woman using her wits and her opponents known character trait to save someone instead of giving up or fighting a group of dangerous thugs with number advantage is sexist" sound somewhat weird to me. Unless there I something else I´m missing I don´t think you have to worry.

 

For names, well I suck at naming things so don´t ask me.

[Quiver he/him]

Thanks for the feedback. I was trying to write the second part of Kayla, then something happened that made my outline useless. So, while I did do another part of her story, the story hasn't moved as far along as I thought it would. Then again, one of the things I've always had problems with is how to move about within a chapter without saying 'and then they went here, and they went there, and this person did that' so this chapter having a little bit of lateral movement might be a good thing. I'll try and post another bit sometime this week, but I have to readjust my outline a bit first.

Story Two: Kayla {Ongoing}

Chapter Two: Tangled Li(v)es

When she came to, Kayla wasn’t in the Tangles. She tried to reach to scrub the muck and filth out of her visor, and felt something pulling against her. She felt a stab of panic, before a gruff voice said “Stop your thrashing.”

She felt the weights under her arms give way, and fell to the ground with a lumpy thud. She raised her hands and cleaned her mask, to see the Sergeant and another guard looking at her. Another… two guards? Her vision was blurry. She felt a thick dent in the back of her helm and grimaced. For such a scrawny man, that thief had been strong.

“Stop that,” the sergeant said as she reached to undo the helmet. His voice was louder than the ringing. They were in a small side-street off the markets. Kayla blinked, and reached for the clasp on the front of her face. He grabbed her hand, and squeezed through the metal. “I said, stop that!”

“Turns, sir, she’s out of it.” The other guard knelt next to her, and ran a hand along the back of her neck. She felt something poking the back of her head, and coming away wet. “See that lump? Something must have hit her hard. She’s completely confused.”

“Con…food?” Kayla said, trying to get her mouth around the words. Her tongue felt thick, and slow, and lazy. She reached a hand to her mask again, rubbing it gingerly. She couldn’t take it off, so it was as close to her face as she could get, and her face felt warm, and uncomfortable. A dim thought raced through, of a man-or was a thief?-, and him being hungry, or was it me, or…?

Realisation struck, as heavy as the timber log. Her eye’s widened, and the only reason she didn’t jolt to her feet in shock was because they felt like water.

Oh no. Did I really… damnit!

She looked at the two guards. They didn’t look like they were going to court martial her, but then, how could she tell? Their helms were as flat and blank as her own, the slits in the face for the eyes and mouth too narrow to show expression. Their cloaks and tunics were different colours, but that was because anyone who joined the justices took whichever they were given. The masks and gauntlets were the real mark of their profession, and they were uniform, except for the short plume of rank atop the sergeants.

She swallowed nervously. They could be planning to execute me right now, and I couldn’t tell. She braced a hand against a wall, and started trying to stand. “Sirs, I-“

“Stay down,” the other guard said, planting a hand on her shoulder. “You aren’t fit to walk.”

“Yes, I am,” she insisted. “I mean, yes, I am, sir. I can stand, I’m fine to walk, I’m… fit. Sir.”

The guard nodded, humouring her, and Kayla felt her cheeks flame. Her head still felt thick and lumpy. She placed a hand on Stringer for some sort of balance, and looked between the guards.

After a moment, the sergeant spoke. “No you aren’t. Arlan, take her to the barracks. Have someone look her over. And you,” he added, turning to her, “what’s your name?”

“Ka-Kayla sir.” She gulped. “Cadet Kayla.”

He snorted. “Well then, Cadet Kayla. Once you’re cleared for health, go find a smith. Get him to pull that dent out of your helm while you’re wearing it. Maybe that’ll teach you not to do something so stupid in the future. “

“Yes sir.” It was stupid to follow a criminal? she thought resentfully, as Arlan swung her arm over his shoulder. But of course that wasn’t what he meant. Going into the Tangles, for any reason, that was the stupid part. For some reason, that seemed funny. She started to giggle.

“Well, at least you can see the funny side of things,” Arlan said as they headed towards the barracks. “A shame sergeant Keron won’t.”

That sobered her up. “I’m sorry sir,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Of course not. It’s just the head injury.”

There was something in his tone when he said that, something in the way he turned to look at her. It made her smile. “That’s right. Just something rattling around my broken head.”

“Lots of something’s by the sound of it.” They staggered on through the market. They didn’t have to worry about the crowds; most of them were opening to let the guards pass by habit, and they were rather pointedly ignoring the fact that one was injured and being supported by the other. After a moment, he added, “It must have been a bad knock you took. Do you know what happened?”

Kayla’s smile faded. “No,” she said, shaking her head and instantly regretting it; it made spots appear. “One moment, I’m following someone, the next, I’m being shouted at.”

The words came out before she could stop them, but Arlan chuckled. “Yes, sergeant Keron has a way with cadets. Then again, most of you won’t stay after a year of pay, so I can see why he doesn’t bother getting friendly.”

“I’m going to stay,” Kayla whispered. It was part of the agreement when you took up guard training. One year’s training; food and board, followed by one year’s service with the same, and whatever pay trickled down from the top to you. You could leave after the year, or stay. It wasn’t as if she had much to go back to. “Am… am I going to be drummed out?” she asked, afraid of the answer. “For… this?”

She raised a hand to touch the dent on her helmet, but Arlan grabbed it. “Best not touch it,” he said, lowering her hand. “You don’t know how serious it is. As for being drummed out, I doubt it. Surprisingly, letting yourself get conked on the head and left for dead in a back alley is not the dumbest thing I’ve seen one of you do.”

Kayla laughed, and instantly regretted it. Maybe Arlan realised that, because he didn’t say anything else until they had approached the guardhome.

It was a huge building, even though most didn’t know it. The entrance on the street was small, the inside cramped. It was made out of a brick red brick, with a sword and shield hanging over the door in bronze. If Kayla squinted, she could make out the spiral patterns that had been carved into the weapons, now faded from years of exposure to the elements, but squinting only made the headache hurt more.

They went past that. That was the front entrance, for whenever the citizenry had a reason to call upon them. Down the side street there was a locked gate, which Arlan opened with a key from inside his tunic.

The guard entrance was more spacious. It opened onto the training field, though at the moment, the strawman targets were left unattended. The sounds of wooden swords striking rang from a nearby building, followed by aggravated shouts, insinuating that this years’ volunteers were descended from farm animals and had all the martial skill of a western tribesman. More colourfully, of course. Kayla felt a smile turn her lips. Loren had a certain motivating way with words.

They went past the training grounds and towards a smaller wing, whose stone had been whitewashed. Arlan left Kayla on a bed in the medical ward, leaving to find an attendant.

Now that they were inside the guardhome, Kayla removed her helmet. She turned it over, and staring at the round dent left in it. If I hadn’t been wearing this, he would have cracked my skull, she thought in shock. Maybe he had done it anyway. She hadn’t been lying earlier; it felt like something was rattling around her head. She tried to move, to make herself more comfortable, but it only marginally helped. She placed a hand against her neck, trying to find the injury.

“Stop that,” someone said, and Kayla nearly jumped, expecting sergeant Keron. Instead, it was an attendant, dressed in white robes and wearing a mask. “I hate it when patients try to diagnose themselves.” He stepped towards her, and pulled off a glove. Kayla flinched slightly.

“Sit still,” he said, clicking his tongue. She tried to, her hands tightening around the corners of the bed. He made her lean forward. “You don’t like Printing?” he asked.

“I’ve had… bad experiences of it.”

“Well, suck it up,” he said, placing a finger to the base of her neck.

Her breath caught in her throat, and then she released it. She felt a little calmer, even as she was a little impatient. The attendant pressed two fingers against her neck, just below the wound, and she felt nothing. Then he pressed them on the lump, and she breathed deeply.

“Don’t complain,” he said. He didn’t have to, though; she muttered it at the exact same time. Complaining about someone hurting you when they were doing something to make you better was worse than stupid, it was a waste of time.

The fact that those feelings were coming from the Prints of the attendant didn’t really change that.

“A bad lump… how did it happen?”

“Someone hit me in the back of the head,” she said carefully. “Hard. I guess. I wasn’t looking.”

The attendant clucked again, then stood back. He held out a bare arm in front of Kayla. She stared at it for a moment, before she realised what he meant. She pulled the gauntlet off her right hand and set it by the side of the bed, then grasped his arm.

She watched his eyes glaze over slightly. He flinched, raising a hand to his temple. She left go.

“A very bad lump,” he muttered. His voice and tone were a little softer, and less snappish. He shook his head. “You’re disoriented. Not a concussion, thankfully, though it might be a few days before you’re up on your feet again.”

Kayla nodded mutely, lying back on the bed. “So I just… wait here?”

“Here? No.” The sharp tone came back, and Kayla almost laughed. For someone who was so susceptible to Printing, her own didn’t seem to last long. “We’ll keep you tonight for observation but then you should let someone who needs this bed have it. I’ll just inform your superior officer to take you off the rota. Who is it?”

“Vena. Lieutenant Vena.”

Behind them, Arlan whistled. “Maybe you should tell her cadet Kayla is in critical condition. There might be less fallout that way.”

The attendant glanced at the guardsman darkly. “I’ll take that under advisement, justice. In the meantime, I’d suggest that cadet Kayla gets some rest, and you return to duty. Is there anyone else who should be informed you’re here?” he added, looking back at her.

Kayla thought for a moment. “My barrackmate,” she said. “Cadet Sheron. She might wonder where I am.”

“No one else? Family?”

Kayla’s lips pursed together. “No sir. No family.”

The attendant raised an eyebrow, and Kayla winced. That was a mistake. She’d gotten used to people not being able to tell her expression while she wore her helmet. She could feel Arlan looking at her, and wondered if that was why he hadn’t taken his helm off. A lot of citizens found the anonymity the justice’s gear afforded frightening, but she had rather liked it. Now, looking at him and not knowing what he was thinking, or how he was looking at her, or what he thought of how she had looked…

It reminded her why Roren, Baldren, and everyone else she’d known growing up had called them the faceless giants.

“Alright then,” the attendant finally said. He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and scribbled something in longhand. “I’ll be back to check on you in an hour or so,” he said, pocketing the sheet. “Until then, try and rest, but don’t go to sleep. You might not have a concussion, but I’d rather not risk it. Justice,” he added, bowing slightly to Arlan, before leaving.

The other guard nodded back, then looked at Kayla. “Well then cadet,” he said, “I suppose that that should be my hint to leave as well. Take care.” He saluted. “And try not to wander down dark alleys. A night in bed may sound like a good incentive, but next time, you might run into someone entirely less reputable.”

She smiled as he left, then turned over. It hurt, but she wasn’t paying attention to that. The attendant said not to sleep, so she wouldn’t. She would just close her eyes, and think for a while.

After a few minutes, she realised the attendant didn’t have to worry about her falling asleep. The thoughts she had- of the thief, of the attendant, of Baldren and the woman in the alley- they were enough that she wasn’t going to get to sleep. She didn’t want nightmares.

Edited January 20, 2014 by Quiver

[Swimmingly he/him]

Thanks for the feedback. I was trying to write the second part of Kayla, then something happened that made my outline useless. So, while I did do another part of her story, the story hasn't moved as far along as I thought it would. Then again, one of the things I've always had problems with is how to move about within a chapter without saying 'and then they went here, and they went there, and this person did that' so this chapter having a little bit of lateral movement might be a good thing. I'll try and post another bit sometime this week, but I have to readjust my outline a bit first.

When she came to, Kayla wasn’t in the Tangles. She tried to reach to scrub the muck and filth out of her visor, and felt something pulling against her. She felt a stab of panic, before a gruff voice said “Stop your thrashing.”

She felt the weights under her arms give way, and fell to the ground with a lumpy thud. She raised her hands and cleaned her mask, to see the Sergeant and another guard looking at her. Another… two guards? Her vision was blurry. She felt a thick dent in the back of her helm and grimaced. For such a scrawny man, that thief had been strong.

“Stop that,” the sergeant said as she reached to undo the helmet. His voice was louder than the ringing. They were in a small side-street off the markets. Kayla blinked, and reached for the clasp on the front of her face. He grabbed her hand, and squeezed through the metal. “I said, stop that!”

“Turns, sir, she’s out of it.” The other guard knelt next to her, and ran a hand along the back of her neck. She felt something poking the back of her head, and coming away wet. “See that lump? Something must have hit her hard. She’s completely confused.”

“Con…food?” Kayla said, trying to get her mouth around the words. Her tongue felt thick, and slow, and lazy. She reached a hand to her mask again, rubbing it gingerly. She couldn’t take it off, so it was as close to her face as she could get, and her face felt warm, and uncomfortable. A dim thought raced through, of a man-or was a thief?-, and him being hungry, or was it me, or…?

Realisation struck, as heavy as the timber log. Her eye’s widened, and the only reason she didn’t jolt to her feet in shock was because they felt like water.

Oh no. Did I really… damnit!

She looked at the two guards. They didn’t look like they were going to court martial her, but then, how could she tell? Their helms were as flat and blank as her own, the slits in the face for the eyes and mouth too narrow to show expression. Their cloaks and tunics were different colours, but that was because anyone who joined the justices took whichever they were given. The masks and gauntlets were the real mark of their profession, and they were uniform, except for the short plume of rank atop the sergeants.

She swallowed nervously. They could be planning to execute me right now, and I couldn’t tell. She braced a hand against a wall, and started trying to stand. “Sirs, I-“

“Stay down,” the other guard said, planting a hand on her shoulder. “You aren’t fit to walk.”

“Yes, I am,” she insisted. “I mean, yes, I am, sir. I can stand, I’m fine to walk, I’m… fit. Sir.”

The guard nodded, humouring her, and Kayla felt her cheeks flame. Her head still felt thick and lumpy. She placed a hand on Stringer for some sort of balance, and looked between the guards.

After a moment, the sergeant spoke. “No you aren’t. Arlan, take her to the barracks. Have someone look her over. And you,” he added, turning to her, “what’s your name?”

“Ka-Kayla sir.” She gulped. “Cadet Kayla.”

He snorted. “Well then, Cadet Kayla. Once you’re cleared for health, go find a smith. Get him to pull that dent out of your helm while you’re wearing it. Maybe that’ll teach you not to do something so stupid in the future. “

“Yes sir.” It was stupid to follow a criminal? she thought resentfully, as Arlan swung her arm over his shoulder. But of course that wasn’t what he meant. Going into the Tangles, for any reason, that was the stupid part. For some reason, that seemed funny. She started to giggle.

“Well, at least you can see the funny side of things,” Arlan said as they headed towards the barracks. “A shame sergeant Keron won’t.”

That sobered her up. “I’m sorry sir,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Of course not. It’s just the head injury.”

There was something in his tone when he said that, something in the way he turned to look at her. It made her smile. “That’s right. Just something rattling around my broken head.”

“Lots of something’s by the sound of it.” They staggered on through the market. They didn’t have to worry about the crowds; most of them were opening to let the guards pass by habit, and they were rather pointedly ignoring the fact that one was injured and being supported by the other. After a moment, he added, “It must have been a bad knock you took. Do you know what happened?”

Kayla’s smile faded. “No,” she said, shaking her head and instantly regretting it; it made spots appear. “One moment, I’m following someone, the next, I’m being shouted at.”

The words came out before she could stop them, but Arlan chuckled. “Yes, sergeant Keron has a way with cadets. Then again, most of you won’t stay after a year of pay, so I can see why he doesn’t bother getting friendly.”

“I’m going to stay,” Kayla whispered. It was part of the agreement when you took up guard training. One year’s training; food and board, followed by one year’s service with the same, and whatever pay trickled down from the top to you. You could leave after the year, or stay. It wasn’t as if she had much to go back to. “Am… am I going to be drummed out?” she asked, afraid of the answer. “For… this?”

She raised a hand to touch the dent on her helmet, but Arlan grabbed it. “Best not touch it,” he said, lowering her hand. “You don’t know how serious it is. As for being drummed out, I doubt it. Surprisingly, letting yourself get conked on the head and left for dead in a back alley is not the dumbest thing I’ve seen one of you do.”

Kayla laughed, and instantly regretted it. Maybe Arlan realised that, because he didn’t say anything else until they had approached the guardhome.

It was a huge building, even though most didn’t know it. The entrance on the street was small, the inside cramped. It was made out of a brick red brick, with a sword and shield hanging over the door in bronze. If Kayla squinted, she could make out the spiral patterns that had been carved into the weapons, now faded from years of exposure to the elements, but squinting only made the headache hurt more.

They went past that. That was the front entrance, for whenever the citizenry had a reason to call upon them. Down the side street there was a locked gate, which Arlan opened with a key from inside his tunic.

The guard entrance was more spacious. It opened onto the training field, though at the moment, the strawman targets were left unattended. The sounds of wooden swords striking rang from a nearby building, followed by aggravated shouts, insinuating that this years’ volunteers were descended from farm animals and had all the martial skill of a western tribesman. More colourfully, of course. Kayla felt a smile turn her lips. Loren had a certain motivating way with words.

They went past the training grounds and towards a smaller wing, whose stone had been whitewashed. Arlan left Kayla on a bed in the medical ward, leaving to find an attendant.

Now that they were inside the guardhome, Kayla removed her helmet. She turned it over, and staring at the round dent left in it. If I hadn’t been wearing this, he would have cracked my skull, she thought in shock. Maybe he had done it anyway. She hadn’t been lying earlier; it felt like something was rattling around her head. She tried to move, to make herself more comfortable, but it only marginally helped. She placed a hand against her neck, trying to find the injury.

“Stop that,” someone said, and Kayla nearly jumped, expecting sergeant Keron. Instead, it was an attendant, dressed in white robes and wearing a mask. “I hate it when patients try to diagnose themselves.” He stepped towards her, and pulled off a glove. Kayla flinched slightly.

“Sit still,” he said, clicking his tongue. She tried to, her hands tightening around the corners of the bed. He made her lean forward. “You don’t like Printing?” he asked.

“I’ve had… bad experiences of it.”

“Well, suck it up,” he said, placing a finger to the base of her neck.

Her breath caught in her throat, and then she released it. She felt a little calmer, even as she was a little impatient. The attendant pressed two fingers against her neck, just below the wound, and she felt nothing. Then he pressed them on the lump, and she breathed deeply.

“Don’t complain,” he said. He didn’t have to, though; she muttered it at the exact same time. Complaining about someone hurting you when they were doing something to make you better was worse than stupid, it was a waste of time.

The fact that those feelings were coming from the Prints of the attendant didn’t really change that.

“A bad lump… how did it happen?”

“Someone hit me in the back of the head,” she said carefully. “Hard. I guess. I wasn’t looking.”

The attendant clucked again, then stood back. He held out a bare arm in front of Kayla. She stared at it for a moment, before she realised what he meant. She pulled the gauntlet off her right hand and set it by the side of the bed, then grasped his arm.

She watched his eyes glaze over slightly. He flinched, raising a hand to his temple. She left go.

“A very bad lump,” he muttered. His voice and tone were a little softer, and less snappish. He shook his head. “You’re disoriented. Not a concussion, thankfully, though it might be a few days before you’re up on your feet again.”

Kayla nodded mutely, lying back on the bed. “So I just… wait here?”

“Here? No.” The sharp tone came back, and Kayla almost laughed. For someone who was so susceptible to Printing, her own didn’t seem to last long. “We’ll keep you tonight for observation but then you should let someone who needs this bed have it. I’ll just inform your superior officer to take you off the rota. Who is it?”

“Vena. Lieutenant Vena.”

Behind them, Arlan whistled. “Maybe you should tell her cadet Kayla is in critical condition. There might be less fallout that way.”

The attendant glanced at the guardsman darkly. “I’ll take that under advisement, justice. In the meantime, I’d suggest that cadet Kayla gets some rest, and you return to duty. Is there anyone else who should be informed you’re here?” he added, looking back at her.

Kayla thought for a moment. “My barrackmate,” she said. “Cadet Sheron. She might wonder where I am.”

“No one else? Family?”

Kayla’s lips pursed together. “No sir. No family.”

The attendant raised an eyebrow, and Kayla winced. That was a mistake. She’d gotten used to people not being able to tell her expression while she wore her helmet. She could feel Arlan looking at her, and wondered if that was why he hadn’t taken his helm off. A lot of citizens found the anonymity the justice’s gear afforded frightening, but she had rather liked it. Now, looking at him and not knowing what he was thinking, or how he was looking at her, or what he thought of how she had looked…

It reminded her why Roren, Baldren, and everyone else she’d known growing up had called them the faceless giants.

“Alright then,” the attendant finally said. He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and scribbled something in longhand. “I’ll be back to check on you in an hour or so,” he said, pocketing the sheet. “Until then, try and rest, but don’t go to sleep. You might not have a concussion, but I’d rather not risk it. Justice,” he added, bowing slightly to Arlan, before leaving.

The other guard nodded back, then looked at Kayla. “Well then cadet,” he said, “I suppose that that should be my hint to leave as well. Take care.” He saluted. “And try not to wander down dark alleys. A night in bed may sound like a good incentive, but next time, you might run into someone entirely less reputable.”

She smiled as he left, then turned over. It hurt, but she wasn’t paying attention to that. The attendant said not to sleep, so she wouldn’t. She would just close her eyes, and think for a while.

After a few minutes, she realised the attendant didn’t have to worry about her falling asleep. The thoughts she had- of the thief, of the attendant, of Baldren and the woman in the alley- they were enough that she wasn’t going to get to sleep. She didn’t want nightmares.

This is excellent. We have good character, printing is used well, and the setting is well described.

[Quiver he/him]

Chapter Three, or as I call it "Where originality goes to die".

 

Story Two: Kayla {Ongoing}

Chapter Three: Acquaintances.

 

Kayla left the medical wing early in the next morning, with heavy eyes and a head that was still reeling. She wished that she had been allowed to leave earlier- the ache in her brain had nothing to do with the blow. It was because two hours before her discharge lieutenant Vena had appeared to give her leave.

 

Kayla hadn’t been trying to sleep, but when the lieutenant arrived, she was doing that by just resting her eyes. So, when she was aw- alerted to the officer’s presence, it was with a sharp click of her tongue. Then she opened her eyes, and the expression on the woman’s face made her wish she hadn’t.

 

“So, you’re the cadet who wants medical leave?” Her tone was clipped and professional. Kayla began to fidget as Vena looked her up and down, suddenly conscious of how soft the bed she was lying on was, how comfortably she had spread herself out. “You look like you’re suffering,” the officer finally said, folding her arms.

 

Kayla felt a rush of angry blood to her cheeks. “Lieutenant, I-“

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Kayla, sir,” she answered automatically. “Cadet Kayla.”

 

“Fine, Cadet Kayla. Two week medical leave, on doctor’s orders. I’ll have someone else cover your rota in the meantime.” She fixed Kayla with a stare, and she wondered if this was why the lieutenant hadn’t bothered wearing a helm for this. She pulled herself up a little as shame dragged her down.

 

“Lieutenant-“

 

“Medical leave, cadet. It’s yours.” She looked her up and down once more. “Try not to get too comfortable.”

 

There was no worry of that. After she left, Kayla pulled herself upright, almost perching on the frame of the bed. She took her helm off the cabinet from the night before, tracing the round dent on the back with a finger. She was still there when the doctor returned to discharge her, with the lieutenants looks and thoughts shouting through her head.

 

It wasn’t my fault, she thought. I didn’t know what he was going to do. And I told him not to hit me that hard… Wait, did she? She shook her head to dislodge the memory, but the moments between being printed and being knocked out were still a slightly hazy blur. Not surprising. She had spent the night doing her best to forget what had happened, not remember it.

 

She crossed the training yard, dancing between the straw targets. They were about the size of the thief. For a second she felt like taking a swing at one of them then realised that they were about the same build as he had been, too. She felt a fresh sting of guilt, and kept her eyes to the floor until she reached the weapons room.

 

It was a spacious area. The dummy’s outside were for practicing strokes on, for formations and discipline. This hall, made of plain grey blocks with benches along the walls for observers, was where the real training took place. Armed combat. Unarmed combat. Defensive techniques. One-on-one. The cadets had to spend at least six months training here, and were supposed to keep it up throughout their year of service. Sometimes, when Kayla had been resting or watching demonstrations, she had seen guards in their second- or third-year of service. She supposed that after a year regular training became part of the routine.

 

At the moment though, the hall wasn’t being used, something that she felt inordinately grateful for. The master-at-arms would still be there somewhere, of course, but facing up to him on his own would be better than facing him in front of a room of students.

 

She knocked on a door at the end of the hall, and entered when summoned. Loren’s ‘office’ was just a small room off the main hall. The man himself sat at a desk, a long pipe in his hands. A thick smoke curled around the room, and Kayla stood at attention as far away from it as she could politely manage. The master-at-arms looked at her with a curious expression. Unlike the other officers of the guardkeep, Loren made a point of not wearing gloves, and having the cadets wear sleeveless training vests. It felt strange, especially whenever the yardwork involved wearing the full tunic and gauntlets of the justices, but it worked. Whenever he grabbed you by the shoulder to throw you to the ground, or to correct your mistake, you got a flash of the man he was. It was why, despite the wrinkled face and the bemused expression, Kayla made sure to retain her posture. The man was fair, but he was hard.

 

“At ease,” he finally said, waving her forward. She inhaled discreetly and stepped into pungent cloud. A taste of the man was mixed with the smoke. It tasted like steel.

 

“Cadet Kayla, sir,” she said properly, trying not to breathe it in. “I’m here to… to relinquish my arms.”

 

He nodded, plucking at the few, twisted hairs on his chin. “And what arms might those be, exactly?”

 

She held out the helm and he took it, turning it over in his hands. Despite herself, she flinched as he felt the metalwork. The helm and gauntlets were both made of burnished white steel. The gentlest touch would leave a clear and visible mark on it, and walking around with someone else’s Prints showing on her face, even if they weren’t affecting her…

 

She suppressed a shiver. She had two week leave. Plenty to time to clean the plate.

 

“Someone got the drop on you?” Loren asked, quietly tracing the round dent in the metal. Kayla nodded jerkily.

 

“Yes sir. Doctor says I have two weeks leave. Have to take two weeks leave,” she corrected herself quickly. She thought he saw his eyes flash up at her, then look back at the helm.

 

“I’ll have this done for you by then,” he said, setting the helm aside. “And the rest?”

 

Again, Kayla felt a rush of shame. She pulled the metal gauntlets off and set them beside the helm. Like it, their exterior was made of metal, with thick leather padding for her palms. She began to unhitch her belt, to leave Stringer with the rest, but Loren waved disinterestedly.

 

“What do I need your sword for?” he asked vaguely. “This is maintenance, not storage.”

 

A smile split Kayla’s face. “Yes sir,” she said gratefully. She placed her bare palm against Stringers pommel, and her smile grew easier. This was hers. “I won’t forget this sir,” she added smoothly, bowing her head a little. Loren snorted.

 

“No, I’m sure you won’t,” he said, shuffling with her things. “If that’s all, cadet, you are dismissed. I have work to do.”

 

She smiled, nodded again, and left. She wasn’t sure what ‘work’ the old weapons master might have, but doubtless it would soon involve trying to teach a set of incompetents the right way to hold a sword. That might have been fun to watch, but after they day she’d had, a few hours’ sleep sounded more appealing.

 

And her fortune seemed to be improving. When she reached her room, Sheron was gone. Her half-Ven barrackmate was the sort of person who wouldn’t let the topic go until she had found out where Kayla had been all night.

 

Well, she is Vennish, she reminded herself, kicking her boots off at the foot of her bed. She took her hand off of Stringer, setting it by the head. She felt her spirits drop slightly when she did, some of the confidence she’d had fading, but not much, and what was left would last for a while yet. There were perks to being so susceptible to Printings sometimes.

 

She pulled off her tunic, setting it on the chest. Some of scales woven into the fabric caught the sunlight through the window, reflecting it against the walls. Like the helm and the gauntlets and the boots, the tunic belonged to the guard. Whenever she was finished with it, whether they meant retirement, or quitting, or death, they’d be scrubbed afresh, inside and out, and passed on. Everything that she was would be wiped out of them. The only thing that she had to give them, to pass on down the guardline, was Stringer.

 

And what will the next person think of that? she wondered, pulling a sleeveless vest over her head. She wasn’t like the others who had carried it, the ones whose Prints were so deeply embedded in the sword that she felt them just by brushing it. Touching it filled her with courage, confidence. Maybe,-she admitted with a grimace- Maybe it makes me a bit arrogant. But then, of course it would. Stringer, and the shards of the previous blades that had been forged into it, had been used by heroes and champions. The hilt had been seized and woven with those of noblewomen and marshals. And now it was being used by a girl from the slums.

 

Whenever the next person took Stringer, whoever they might be, would the freshest thing they’d get an impression of be guilt and unworthiness?

 

Maybe it wore off quicker than I thought, Kayla thought, pinching her nose. She shook her head and got into the bunk, pulling the covers over her.

 

It still felt strange, to be lying on a mattress rather than a muck floor. Her scalp felt uncomfortable against the pillow, but her hair had felt uncomfortable squashed into the helmet; at least this was something she could maybe get used to. More than that, it felt strange because she’d Printed the bed whenever she made it. It wasn’t as reassuring as touching Stringer was, but having herself Print against her was strangely relaxing and comforting. At least it meant she was who she was, and not some thin thief stealing from a stall in a market.

 

She rolled over in exhaustion. Belatedly, she raised a hand, and pressed her thumb and forefinger against her eyelids. It was meant to be a prayer for night, but she was sure that doing it before sleeping in the morning would work fine as well…

 

 

 

Sheron said that she was jealous of Kayla’s leave. That might have been true. The Vennish woman had suggested some things for her to do during her time off, and maybe if she was the one with medical leave she wouldn’t be feeling quite so stir crazy. Unfortunately, she wasn’t, and Kayla was.

 

She had spent the week since her discharge loitering around the compound. It wasn’t a requirement; when they were off-duty, the guard were free to come and go as they wished. On the occasions whenever they both were off-duty at the same time, Sheron had suggested doing just that- heading into the city for an hour or two.

 

“You need a change of scenery,” she said, swinging a sword at Kayla’s head. She raised her own weapon. There was a wooden thump, mostly muffled by Loren chastising a new batch of recruits.

 

“Why do you keep aiming for my head?” Kayla demanded, thrusting. Sheron turned the sword aside with the back of hers, stepping backward.

 

“Because now I know that it’s your weak spot. Not taking advantage of that would be silly.” She lunged forward with an overhead chop. Kayla lifted her weapon to block, but her opponent shifted, the blow that was going for her skull connecting with her shoulder. She dropped the sword as a spasm ran down her arm. “Besides,” she added, planting her sword beneath Kayla’s chin, “if I hit you, you might get another two weeks off. You are welcome.”

 

Kayla smiled grimly. “You’re cruel.”

 

“And you are unimaginative.” Sheron sighed dramatically, stepping back. Kayla stooped and retrieved her sword, and the two began circling one another again. “You have a reason to enjoy yourself, and you’re wasting it. I understand not wanting people to think you’re lazy, or faking it, but isn’t this going a bit far?”

 

Says you, Kayla thought darkly. Sheron was the better swordswoman. She was lithe and quick; at times like this, when she was ahead in points, she got annoyingly graceful. She was balancing the wooden training sword evenly, swinging it loosely in front of her while Kayla held hers firmly with both hands.

 

The worst part, though, was that she hadn’t held a sword before she joined. Her father was a merchant from Ven, her mother a stall owner. Kayla wasn’t exactly proud of it, but growing up, she had at least handled a knife. She’d never used it, but at least she knew how to use it. It felt as if Sheron was cheating.

 

Well, maybe I should too.

 

Tired of waiting for an answer, Sheron made the first move. She moved forward, thrusting her sword the way Kayla had done. She couldn’t brush it aside with the same grace Sheron had, so she just knocked it away. The strength behind it knocked the Vennishwoman off balance for a second, and Kayla stepped into the gap. She twisted her leg behind Sheron’s, and shoved. She fell backwards, landing on her back, and Kayla held her sword over her chest triumphantly.

 

“I thought we were practicing sword combat,” Sheron said, almost petulantly. Her lips turned down. “Not grapples.”

 

“I thought I was chasing a thief,” Kayla answered. “Not a six foot man with a swing like a guardcaptain.” She smiled. The more she said that, the more she was beginning to believe that that was what had happened.

 

Sheron sighed again, raising a hand. Kayla grabbed her by the arm, Sheron doing the same. Both were wearing the same sleeveless training vests and thick gloves as the rest of Leron’s trainees. “That’s one to you then,” the woman said, dusting herself off, “and a lot more than one to me. Do you want to go again?”

 

“Not really,” Kayla admitted, shaking her head. She was shorter than Sheron, and stronger, but even her shoulders were starting to ache from the blocking and fighting.

 

“Good,” her friend answered, a grin spreading across her face. “Then you can get back to answering my question.”

 

Kayla grimaced. Part of being raised by traders, she assumed; Sheron would work her way back around to what she wanted one way or another. “No,” she answered, replacing the training blade in the weapons rack. She saw the expression on her friends face, and added, “I mean, no, this isn’t going too far. If I can’t go on patrol, the least I can do is keep in shape.”

 

Sheron looked at her. “And that’s all it is?”

 

Kayla turned back to her. She was staring at her intently. Sheron had blue eyes, eyes she said she got from her Tamith mother, but her skin was speckled the light and dark colours of both her parents.

 

What has she heard? Kayla thought, a momentary panic running through her. Okay, so her isolation was unusual, she could admit that. If it was happening to anyone else, she’d probably be gossiping about them behind their backs too. But she didn’t know how to explain it in a way that Sheron- or anyone else for that matter- would understand. She didn’t talk about her childhood to any of them. So far as they knew, she was just another recruit from a middle-family, earning some extra coin, and the longer she spent inside the guardhome, the longer she could put off any possible repurcussions from her bluff in the Tangles.

 

And there was something else. It wasn’t what she liked to admit to. During the day, she told herself that she was spending time here because she didn’t want to look bad in front of Lieutenant Vena or Sargent Keron, wherever he was. At night, though, when she was lying in her bed, her conscious rubbing against itself, she thought about the guard who had brought her back. Arlan. It was a stupid thought to have. She didn’t know what he looked like, and she was probably just thinking about him because he was the first person she spoke to after she was attacked. Still, whenever a guardsman nodded at her, a small part of her wondered if that was him before he moved on…

 

“Why do you ask?” she said carefully.

 

“You really have to ask?” Sheron walked closer to her. “I’m worried,” she said quietly. “You got hurt, badly. I know, I know-“ she added, as Kayla made to interrupt “-‘it wasn’t that bad’. But the doctor said it was, and you haven’t gone outside in a week. Kayla…”

 

She hesitated, chewing her lip slightly. “If you’re worried about getting hurt again,” she finally said, “maybe you should try and resign now. There’s no shame in doing that.”

 

Kayla stared at Sheron, blinking rapidly. “Is that what people have been saying about me?” she asked quietly. “That I’m afraid?”

 

“What? No,” Sheron said, frowning. “Why would people be talking about you?” She stopped, and grinned. “Oh, now I see. You got hit because your head was too big.”

 

Kayla looked at her, affronted. It worked until she caught the glint in Sheron’s eyes; then she just felt her lip twitching. “You’re unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head.

 

“I know I am,” Sheron answered. The pair of them went outside into the training yard. “It’s why I joined up. I get less marriage proposals this way.”

 

Kayla laughed under her breath. She doubted it. Ignoring her friends mixed descent (uncommon enough to be attractive in itself), she was tall, and even her armour looked lean. Unlike Kayla, she hadn’t cut her hair off completely, and a bob of dark hair danced around her neck.

 

“Well, I joined up for my own reasons too,” Kayla said. “And I don’t intend on quitting just because I had one rough day.”

 

Sheron looked at her again, with those intense blue eyes, and again, Kayla felt like she had opened her mouth and said the wrong thing.

 

“Everyone has reasons for what they do. Most people who join the guard do it for money. Now, me,” she added lightly, “I’m doing it because marriage would be unfair to everyone else. But I don’t think you’re in this for the pay.”

 

Kayla found herself nodding. A voice inside chastised her that that was stupid, an admission. “Money is good,” she said slowly, dragging her feet, “but that’s right. That’s not what I want.”

 

“Then what is?”

 

For a moment, Kayla considered telling her. Would it be any less stressful? Everyone thought of people who came from the Tangles as crooks, roguish conmen at best, sociopaths at worst. She wasn’t either of those, and she never had been. Would telling someone where she was from, telling her best friend where she was from, make things worse?

 

Then she remembered the night in the alley. She might not think she was a liar, but acting like one had been easy. Being a guard, and being respected, that was hard. And that was what she wanted.

 

“It’s personal,” she finally said. She glanced at Shero with guilt.

 

“Oh, fine,” she said, shrugging. “Keep your secrets. Just don’t be surprised if people come to their own conclusions.”

 

Kayla opened her mouth to ask what that meant when something caught her eye. She frowned, walking briskly past Sheron to a board just inside the building.

 

The barracks were connected to the yards and the outer buildings by a hallway, and near the entrance was a board. Pinned against it were a series of scribbles, detailing crimes and rewards. Some were only a few sentances, a vague description with a reward. Kayla always ignored those; they weren’t any good to someone who couldn’t read. But there were others, posters which had a picture of the criminal in question. Someone had realised that some of the guards were better with those, and had added drawings at the bottom to indicate what they were wanted for, and how they were wanted.

 

It was one of those drawings she was looking at now. She pulled it off the board, her hand shaking

 

Sheron came up behind her, looking over her shoulder.

 

“Ugly one, isn’t he?” Kayla said, laughing. She looked at Sheron, but she didn’t dare look in her eye. If she didn’t, then she could pretend that this was working. “What does it say he’s wanted for?”

 

Sheron looked the page over- she had learned to read to help her father- and winced. “Not just ugly,” she said. “Dumb. Very dumb. They don’t have a name, but he’s wanted for assaulting a highborn.”

 

Kayla nodded, laughing again. “Wow. That is dumb.” She looked at the page, and then turned back to Sheron. “Hey, do you mind if I go back to our room? You must have hit me harder than I thought.”

 

She looked Sheron in the eye when she said that, and saw how utterly unconvinced she was. Even so, the woman smiled. “Of course I did,” she said. “Like I said, I was winning. I want to go out anyway,” she added. “The only reason I was here was because I felt bad leaving you alone.”

 

“Because you have so many people you could have spent time with?” Kayla prompted.

 

“Exactly. But I’m not a nursemaid, so if you intend on lying in bed all day…” She shrugged again, turning outside with a wave. “I’ll be back later to show off all the things you missed a chance at having.”

 

Kayla laughed after her, and waited until she had gone out the guard entrance. Then, she shoved the wanted notice into her pocket. She didn’t want anyone else seeing it and trying to claim it while she was gone.

 

It took her some time, but she eventually found Lieutenant Vena’s office.  Ever since she’d been discharged, Kayla had seen the woman around the guardhome; she’d seen her often enough hat it just became convenient to know where she was, when she was, and make sure not to be there. Whenever they had met, the lieutenant hadn’t said anything, but she had looked her over with cool, dispassionate eyes and disapproving lips. It just made Kayla feel more and more guilty. And now she was going to confront her.

 

She took a moment to collect herself, then went to knock. Before she did, a voice called, “Enter.” It made Kayla miss a step, right from the start. She opened the door and stepped inside. The lieutenant stood by a window, looking out at the city, and Kayla frowned. It was so obviously calculated to intimidate her that she felt almost insulted… until Vena turned and looked at her, and she felt genuinely intimidated.

 

“Lieutenant,” she said, standing to attention. Vena looked at her, and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Cadet.”

 

It was a cold word, with no hint of recognition. Kayla felt her heart skip a beat. “I… Liuetenant Vena, my name is Cadet Kayla. We met-“

 

“When you went on medical leave. I remember, cadet,” she answered. She folded her arms behind her back. “How is your vacation?”

 

Kayla’s jaw dropped slightly, but she set it quickly. “Relaxing,” she said obstinately. Don’t do that, a voice inside said. You’re here to ask for a favour, not to make enemies.

 

“Really?” Vena replied, raising an eyebrow. “That’s odd. I thought it was hard to relax when you spent your days at training sessions. Most people would have left.”

 

Something in her tone made Kayla frown. It was still cold, but there was something else. It wasn’t as harsh as it had been in the medical wing. It sounded almost… approving?

 

Well. This is going to go badly.

 

“Yes sir. Actually… that was what I wanted to speak to you about.” She swallowed. “I think I’ve been spending too much time here lately. I wanted to get approval for… for official leave.”

 

If there was any sentiment in Vena’s eyes, it froze over. “Is your head acting up again, cadet?” she asked. “I’m sure we could have the doctor patch it up again.”

 

“No ma’am, it’s nothing like that. It’s… personal.”

 

“Oh. Then, I’ll give you a very personal ‘no’.”

 

Kayla breathed deeply. “In that case,” she said slowly, “it’s professional.”

 

“Stop wasting my time, cadet,” Vena snapped. “Which is it?”

 

She reached into her pocket and unfolded the wanted notice. She spread it on the table in front of the lieutenant. “It’s both,” she said quietly, stepping back. Vena lifted the sheet, and looked at it.

 

“I know this,” she said. “This went up this morning. Captain Yon mentioned it.”

 

“What happened?” Kayla asked. The lieutenant looked at her.

 

“Exactly what it says on the sheet,” she said carefully. “Lord Beron and some friends of his were on their way to a party at a common acquaintance. They took a wrong turn and ended up in the Tangles. They asked a woman for directions, and this thug beat them. Badly. Unprovoked, of course.”

 

Kayla knew what that meant. She couldn’t resist asking “How badly?”

 

“Worse than you were,” Vena replied. “Now, what does this have to do with you, cadet?”

 

Kayla told her. Everything. When it came down to it, there actually wasn’t very much to tell, but she spent the time looking at the ground anyway, too ashamed to look up. Whenever she was finished, she continued to stare at her feet. There was a long, long silence.

 

“Look me in the eye, Kayla.” She did. Vena stepped towards her, and forced the sheet back into her hand. When she spoke, it was slightly louder than usual. “I will not give an officer who is suspended from duty on medical grounds leave to investigate a crime, no matter their personal involvement. I would instead suggest that any officer who might want to do so should find their own time to do it in, possibly with vacation time.”

 

“Yes ma’am. Thank you anyway, ma’am,” Kayla replied, turning to leave.

 

“I would also advise any officer who wanted to find him to do so quickly,” Vena added. Kayla turned to look back at her. She continued. “As I said, Lord Beron was rather badly beaten. He and his associates have volunteered to help in any way they can. They said that the man in question stole a purse of coins from them, and suggested that they would pay a chiromancer to track him down and bring him in.”

 

But they didn’t say who they would bring him in to.

 

The unspoken part of the sentence hung in the air.   

 

“I think a chiromncers services would be better served elsewhere,” Kayla said carefully. Vena smiled.

 

“We agree. In the interest of ensuring that, I would hope that someone bring him in soon.”

 

Kayla nodded again, and gave another salute before leaving. She marched as calmly away from the office as she could; then, as soon as she was sure no one was watching, she ran.

 

It felt like the page was burning in her pocket; she could feel it, rubbing against her legs like an uncomfortable reminder. There was no need for this. For any of this. She had told Vena everything, yes, but she could just replace the picture, or destroy it, and let things play out. It would close off that part of her life for good. It was tempting. It was very, very tempting…

 

Instead, she found herself in front of her barrackdorm, and going inside. Sheron was waiting there, sitting on her bunk with her fist in her chin. Kayla stopped.

 

“Sheron? What… what are you doing here?” she asked breathlessly. “I thought you were going out.”

 

“I was,” the Vennishwoman replied, shifting her legs, “but as I did, I found myself feeling rather guilty. How could I enjoy myself, when my friend was lying in our room, maybe dead? So I came back. You seem to be doing quite well, though.”

 

“Yes,” Kayla answered. “I am.” She shifted awkwardly. She felt the page burning in her pocket again. “In fact...”

 

She hesitated. Sheron stared at her, raising an eyebrow. She looked angry, and worse; she looked hurt. She looked like she wanted an explanation, and the truth was, Kayla couldn’t think of one to give her.

 

“In fact,” she said slowly, “I was thinking I might go out with you.”

 

“Really?” Sheron sounded surprised. “What changed your mind?”

 

Kayla reached into her pocket and pulled out the sheet. She unfolded it, and held it in front of Sheron.

 

The picture was an embellishment. The artist had been working off the nobles descriptions, and they had made him as intimidating as possible. A thick neck, rippling with muscle. A low brow, with deep set eyes. A lip that was twisted into a perpetual snarl. But some features they hadn’t thought important enough to change, like the misshapen ears, a result of an ill-advised fight with Baldren. Enough to recognise him beneath the surface.

 

“This man’s name is Roren,” Kayla said. “He’s from the Tangles, where he’s involved in a lot of crimes. The latest one was nearly beating a noble to death. He’s my brother.”

Edited January 20, 2014 by Quiver

[Tyson]

Interesting character and story. I like how you keep the readers attention by making subtle references and introducing characters from Kayla's past that suggest a contrast to her current career choice.

It makes me want to learn more how she got to where she is.

Kayla's character is well written and likeable. The supporting characters are ok but I would say non stand out as individual or memorable.

The dialogue is solid. Better than the dialogue I write I'll admit.

Overall, really good.

If these were sample chapters on Kindle, I'd probably buy the book if it was cheap. (Just the weird way me and my brother rate books)

[Guest Alaxel]

I called a female officer "sir" once while I was in recruit training and she went ballistic. Screamed herself hoarse and made me rapidly do pushups, then sit ups, then burpies, then mountain climbers, back to pushups. When I could handle it no longer and collapsed, she leaned down and asked me, "How'd it feel to get This post has been reported for attempting to skirt the rulesed by a real woman?"

To which I replied, "This recruit guesses that it was okay, ma'am!" And the whole thing started again. That was a bad day for me and my big mouth.

In all seriousness, in your first few paragraphs your refer to the lieutenant in gender neutral terms like "officer." But then Kayla calls the officer a sir and then observes the officer looking her up and down where it says, "she looked her up and down once more." Believe me, it's a very easy oversight to make.

...but my favorite thing in the world was passing a group of female officers, a rare treat on an Infantry camp, just so I could salute and say, "Good afternoon, ladies."

Anyway, I liked the story. Just be aware that female officers are very, very particular about being called "ma'am" and not "sir."

Edited January 24, 2014 by Rubix
Watch the language, please

[Quiver he/him]

First of all, thanks to both if you for replying. I know it's a bad way to judge progress, but given this had been up for a couple of days with no responses, I was beginning to get worried.

Interesting character and story. I like how you keep the readers attention by making subtle references and introducing characters from Kayla's past that suggest a contrast to her current career choice.

It makes me want to learn more how she got to where she is.

Kayla's character is well written and likeable. The supporting characters are ok but I would say non stand out as individual or memorable.

The dialogue is solid. Better than the dialogue I write I'll admit.

Overall, really good.

If these were sample chapters on Kindle, I'd probably buy the book if it was cheap. (Just the weird way me and my brother rate books)

  

Well, being sellable sounds like a pretty good compliment to me! I'm glad you like her character though; I have it in mind, and I have her story arc mapped out, but I always worry, when I write female characters, how they come across. For that reason, I also can't blame your criticism of the side characters; most of them were invented on the spot. I had an idea of their roles, but not much else. Still, hopefully I can turn that around a bit.

I called a female officer "sir" once while I was in recruit training and she went ballistic. Screamed herself hoarse and made me rapidly do pushups, then sit ups, then burpies, then mountain climbers, back to pushups. When I could handle it no longer and collapsed, she leaned down and asked me, "How'd it feel to get This post has been reported for attempting to skirt the rulesed by a real woman?"

To which I replied, "This recruit guesses that it was okay, ma'am!" And the whole thing started again. That was a bad day for me and my big mouth.

In all seriousness, in your first few paragraphs your refer to the lieutenant in gender neutral terms like "officer." But then Kayla calls the officer a sir and then observes the officer looking her up and down where it says, "she looked her up and down once more." Believe me, it's a very easy oversight to make.

...but my favorite thing in the world was passing a group of female officers, a rare treat on an Infantry camp, just so I could salute and say, "Good afternoon, ladies."

Anyway, I liked the story. Just be aware that female officers are very, very particular about being called "ma'am" and not "sir."

Yeah, first of all, I (obviously) have no military experience, and no law enforcement experience, so any other semantic missteps like that would be gratefully appreciated.

Honestly, Vena being a woman didn't happen until the second chapter, and I wasn't sure if I was going to keep her that, or edit the earlier chapter. I liked having a female commanding officer, but it does mean that the story is very female-centric, with two thirds of the main cast being women. I won't be going back to edit in those corrections yet, because if I started correcting I wouldn't get chapter four done, but I'll keep what you said in mind for the future chapters and for whenever I decide to go back and redraft the whole thing.

[Quiver he/him]

So, I've been trying to work on this, and keep running into a stumbling block. I ended the last chapter on a revelation for a cliffhanger, but the next part I had in mind didn't quite fit with what I was going to do for chapter four. Of course, these are all first drafts anyway, so rather than spend any longer trying to put a square peg in a round hole, I'm just posting this as chapter three's post-script.

 

(The idea of drawing more attention to this thread may or may not have factored into it.)

 

On another note, this short addition pushes Kayla's story to roughly 10k words. It's not much, but given my scatterbrained attitude to attention, it might be the most I've written for an on-going story. It's rough, but I still feel inordinately proud. Anyway, here's the in-between scene (less than five hundred words) and Ill try and pick up the pace on this soon, for anyone who is still reading.

 

Story Two: Kayla {Ongoing}

Chapter Three.Five- Addendum

 

Kayla fidgeted. Now that the words had been said, they couldn’t be taken back, so they were left to hang, almost palpably, in the air between them. Sheron’s head was cocked to one side, and Kayla could see the questions focusing in her mind- what, and how, and why, and-

 

“That’s bad,” she said slowly. Kayla felt like she was sinking into the floor.

“Well,” she began, “that’s why I don’t-”

“He’s probably going to hang for it,” the Vennishwoman continued. “You know that, don’t you?”

Kayla looked up. Her friend was looking at her as casually as ever. Her lips twisted into a frown.

 

Sheron rose to her feet, and took the wanted poster from Kayla. She stared at it, turning it one way and then the other, as if to try and examine Roren from different angles. Her eyes flickered over the words at the bottom of the page. “But then,” she said softly, “if he did beat him- and if it was a public beating- he might want to be caught. Hanging would be quick.”

 

Kayla shook her head. “No. I know- knew Roren. He doesn’t think like that.” She sat down on her bunk, and began pulling at the sheets. “He’d think he could get away with it, she continued. “Once he realised who he was dealing with, I’d bet he made a line for the gates and out of Tamith. Try and hide somewhere for a few weeks until this calms down, then sneak back in.”

 

“And where would he go to hide?” Sheron handed the sheet back to Kayla, who folded it in her pocket.

“I don’t know that. But I know who might know.”

“And who’s that?”

Kayla smiled, and without looking in a reflection, she knew it must look sickly. “You wanted to know how I got leave,” she said. “You’re about to find out.”

[Tyson]

Keep up the good work. I know how hard it is to maintain the motivation/attention to one storyline so I'll leave you a tip that's helped me.

You said you have already mapped out Kayla's story, so you have the opportunity to skip a head a write different chapters, you don't have to write it chronologically.

When I'm losing concentration, I usually go and write a different chapter, viewpoint. For example, the short novel I'm currently writing, I began with the prologue, then chapter 1, then started growing bored/distracted (usually writing 2 or 3 stories at a time) so I skipped to chapter 4 that introduced a support character that wasn't human (something different to write) then chapter 9 which provided more action, then went back and extended the prologue a few pages and will now start chapter 2.

This way usually improves my productivity as I can write random chapters freely without constantly re reading and drafting the chapter I just wrote.

I'm not claiming to be a great writer because I'm not, but this helped me continue a story.

Now onto comments and critism:

Not much as its only 500 words. Dialogue is still believable. Good. Keep it up.

Only thing I would say is I can't really get a feel of her emotions of the scenario she finds herself in. Is she scared, sad, shocked, embarassed, determined? She is sinking into the floor, and she is sickly pale. But why? What is she thinking and feeling. I understand you can't give much details of her brother away else you destroy the suspense, but I would like to get a sense of her true feelings.

Edited February 4, 2014 by Tyson

[Macen he/him]

I called a female officer "sir" once while I was in recruit training and she went ballistic. Screamed herself hoarse and made me rapidly do pushups, then sit ups, then burpies, then mountain climbers, back to pushups. When I could handle it no longer and collapsed, she leaned down and asked me, "How'd it feel to get This post has been reported for attempting to skirt the rulesed by a real woman?"

To which I replied, "This recruit guesses that it was okay, ma'am!" And the whole thing started again. That was a bad day for me and my big mouth.

In all seriousness, in your first few paragraphs your refer to the lieutenant in gender neutral terms like "officer." But then Kayla calls the officer a sir and then observes the officer looking her up and down where it says, "she looked her up and down once more." Believe me, it's a very easy oversight to make.

...but my favorite thing in the world was passing a group of female officers, a rare treat on an Infantry camp, just so I could salute and say, "Good afternoon, ladies."

Anyway, I liked the story. Just be aware that female officers are very, very particular about being called "ma'am" and not "sir."

I think that is really dependent upon the officer. My commanding officer when I was in Iraq was a woman and she would respond to Ma'am but preferred sir. When I asked her why she told me something along the lines of she didn't her subordinates to see her as a man or a woman, but as their leader. And, in the English language sir tends to be more gender neutral (lacking a truly gender neutral title).