Author Archives

by

Fighting for Family

Author’s Note: I wanted to share this for clarity. This is the one that reminded me of Cress and Enya in this scene.

Fighting for Family

Relieved to have one night without hours worth of homework for a change, Candelaria reached up to put her text book in her locker. She hadn’t thought it would be this bad so early in the year, but then she’d managed to get herself into three advanced placement classes, so it was her own fault.

The door slammed into her hand, making her cry out as she dropped her book on the floor. The metal bounced back and then someone shoved it shut. She looked over at the jocks and sighed. Not again. What was with them? She’d never been in one of those stupid high school movies before this year—no popular crowd or mean girls—but for some reason, she was living it now. She supposed it was because things were almost too good at home with the Howells and had been for a while.

“This is a senior hall. You should go back where you belong, little girl.”

“Just because I don’t pretend I’m Barbie like your girlfriend does not make me a ‘little’ girl. Emotionally, I’m more mature than any of you.”

“You still don’t belong here. Why don’t you go with the freshmen, huh?”

“Because she’s a junior.”

The jock turned around, laughing. “Well, now, if it isn’t big brother come to protect his baby sister. You gonna pick a fight with me, too, Howell?”

“I’m not a Howell. I’m not her brother, either, but if you don’t move out of the way of my locker, I’ll move you, and you’ll get your fight.”

Candelaria almost groaned. She didn’t know whose brilliant idea it was to have her locker next to Quinn’s, but it had caused her nothing but problems since the school year began. “Just go.”

Quinn gave her a look, and she didn’t care if he included himself in that message. She didn’t understand why he was even there. He hadn’t gone to any of his classes this week, and the Howells had grounded him, but all that meant was that he kept ditching.

“You don’t scare me, girl.”

She rolled her eyes. At least he wasn’t being racist, though that was bound to come up if one of the others started speaking. He was in her Spanish class and kept telling her she should already know this because she was from Mexico, right?

She didn’t know where her parents were from, and she didn’t care. She never had.

Quinn put a hand on his locker. “I’m going to open this right in your face if you don’t move. Last warning.”

The jock grunted. “You don’t scare me, either. Everyone knows you’re all talk and no action. You talk all tough, but you’re not even standing up for your sister. You’re just a coward.”

Candelaria kicked him in the shin. “That is for shutting my locker on my hand. I don’t need anyone to fight for me. I just want to be able to get in and out of my locker without you.”

The jock moved back, cursing her, and Quinn moved in to open his own locker. She picked up her book and started turning the dial, putting her combination in a second time and trying not to curse as she did.

She didn’t even realize she’d said anything until Quinn responded to her “thanks for nothing.”

“Like you need me to fight your battles. Or wanted it.”

She pushed her calculus book into her locker and sighed. “I don’t, but I wish you’d stop making it so tense at home. They’re only worried about you, you know. It’s not like they’re really trying to hound you every second.”

He put a hand on her door, leaning against the lockers. “I told them three years ago that I had no interest in their lies, and I still don’t. Just be glad that by the end of this year, I’ll be eighteen. I won’t be anyone’s problem soon enough.”

She reached up, putting her hand next to his. “You are only a problem because you constantly make yourself one.”

“Yeah, well, the three of you—you’ve got the good two shoes roles more than filled, don’t you?” He said, prying her fingers off the locker and shutting it. “Tell them I don’t plan on coming home all weekend, will you?”

“You are such a jerk.”

He smiled, adjusting his backpack on his back as he turned to leave. She shook her head, but then he said something to the jocks and they jumped him, knocking him back against the other set of lockers. She cursed. Yeah, sure, he’d be gone all weekend—because he was going to put himself in the hospital again, the idiot.

“You need to lose to a girl again or what?”

“Aw, is little sis going to protect the big brother now?”

“He’s not my brother. My brother is younger than me—which is why I always have to fight dirty,” she said, hoping she sounded more convincing than she thought she did. She wasn’t like Quinn. She didn’t even fight with Beacan.

Quinn used her distraction to nail the jock, punching him right in the face. The jock covered his nose, cussing up a storm. Candelaria figured he’d gotten what he deserved, and Quinn must have, too, because he started to walk away from the others.

“That is it, Lockard! You’re suspended.”

Turning back to the principal, Quinn laughed. “I haven’t been here all week. You think that’s really going to bother me?”

“I don’t know why they bother with you. You’re going to end up in jail, and there’s nothing the Howells can do to stop it.”

Candelaria grimaced. She had a terrible feeling that he was right about that, and she didn’t even think Quinn cared.

by

Cat Versus the Elements

Author’s Note: Liana Mir wanted an AU snippet from Fire and Water based on this passage of it (from A Bit of Practice):

He glanced down at his chest before coming toward the shore to pick up his shirt. He pulled it on and shrugged. “I’m wet. A lot of things look better wet. Not cats, though. I don’t think it would be fair for one of us to have a cat.”

“Probably not. I might set it on fire, you could drown it, and Moira would end up knocking the poor thing out of the house with a gust of wind.”

Here it is.

Cat Versus the Elements

Legend said that cats had nine lives, and if they did, Chocolate seemed to be proof of that. The small, brown ball of fur belonged to Terra, a gift given to her by Sherwin as an apology of some kind. None of the others quite understood why he would give a woman attuned to earth a cat, of all things, but he just reminded them that a dog would dig up her plants and said no more.

It was probably better that he didn’t. Any time Stone saw the cat, he had a habit of turning a gaze befitting his name toward the other man. Of course, when the kitten placed a paw on him, she turned that big man into mush, and everyone was reminded that he was a gentle giant—when they weren’t teasing Occie about how he’d be with their kids.

Occie would take the cat from Stone’s hands, give her a gentle scratch behind her ears, and set her down. After this ritual, the two of them tended not to be seen for hours, though that never bothered Chocolate.

She had other mischief to find, and find it she always did.

She never seemed to regret it, either, though she probably should have after she startled Enya. Chocolate had no way of knowing that Enya had become a city girl in her time apart from the others, no idea that having something small and furry sneak into her sleeping bag would cause the reluctant fire elemental to scorch away all of that fur.

Terra and Enya didn’t talk for a while after that, though Enya did try and remind her that Chocolate would have been too hot in the summer with all that heavy fur. Chocolate was able to meet her namesake when Terra got a large box of gourmet chocolates as a peace offering, promptly shredding the ribbon that had wrapped it shut.

Of course, peace with Chocolate around never lasted long. After the record-breaking heat wave, tensions were a bit high all around, all the more so in the overheated water elementals. Chocolate wouldn’t have understood what the argument was about, but she did become more acquainted with the rain that followed after than a cat ever wanted to be.

Not even being water could save Cress from Terra’s ire over the cat’s near drowning. Terra only stayed with the others to be close to her brother, since Occie would not leave hers. Chocolate didn’t hold a grudge, though. She still snuggled with Cress as she did everyone else—Enya said it must be because he smelled like fish because cats didn’t like water.

Cress let her do an impression of the drowned cat for that comment. Chocolate wisely avoided all that followed that, choosing instead to find the air elemental that was alone—almost alone—in the cabin. Had it not been for Flint’s choice of comment at the time, nothing might have happened. Moira liked Chocolate well enough—as much as Moira liked anyone, at least.

What she did not like was a certain firebug and a certain song, and in ridding herself of one irritating presence, she caught an innocent party in her gale wind, shoving both of them out the door. Terra scooped up her cat and disappeared into her garden for a while.

“I don’t think we as elementals should have a pet,” Cress said, and everyone would have agreed had Chocolate not come out of the garden with a litter of kittens. They cursed instead, knowing they’d lost.

Though this is not a part of the main story, you can read more by starting here.

by

Tension in the Early Days

Author’s Note: Yeah… I would share every moment that Quinn and Candelaria have, but I think that’s a bit excessive. Still, I wrote one involving the whole locker thing (ugh… I forgot I did that with Cress and Enya in Fire and Water, but this is different, I hope,) and then had to go back and look at this scene, one that’s basically their first meeting.

Quinn is such a brat, but I like him. I shouldn’t, but I do.

Tension in the Early Days

“They’re not our parents. I refuse to call them that.”

Candelaria rolled her eyes, wondering how much trouble she’d get in if she shoved the older boy off the balcony. She didn’t know how long he’d been on the streets, but he didn’t impress her any. He was just like the others, trying to make people think he was tougher than he was. He’d have them believing that he didn’t care about any of this, didn’t need it, but he was an idiot if he really believed that. This house was the nicest she’d been in since the accident, and she knew that it wasn’t just about the house. They all had their own rooms, they had clothes that fit and plenty of food, but the most important thing was that the people here were good people.

Most of them, at least. She didn’t think very much of this kid, but she liked her new foster parents. They’d taken her and her brother in, and she knew that she’d always be grateful for that. She’d started to believe that she’d lose her little brother forever. No one wanted kids their age in the first place, and they didn’t want two of them. They’d been passed over time and time again because they had begged not to be separated.

These people had room, and they shared it. She didn’t know why, but she did know that she was grateful. That boy should be, but he had confused being rude with being tough.

“And I don’t have any siblings.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “As if anyone would want to be related to you. Not only would we have to put up with your personality, but we’d get stuck looking like you, too.”

He grunted. “Sometimes it’s a good thing not to be attractive. Bet you don’t know anything about that, though. How’d you make it through that group home and come out so innocent anyhow?”

“I don’t know. What crawled up your butt and died?”

“Candelaria! I know you two are adjusting to being members of the same house now, but that is not the kind of talk we want under this roof,” Mrs. Howell said, and Candelaria winced, not wanting to seem ungrateful, not like the boy she’d been ready to hit.

“Sorry, Mrs. Howell.”

“You don’t have to be so formal. You can call me anything—including Mama if you feel comfortable with it,” the older woman said, smiling. Her eyes always seemed so warm, and that bit of gray by her forehead was kind of pretty somehow. “I came to tell you that supper is ready. Your brother and sister have set the table, so all you have to do is come eat with us.”

That was one of the rules—everyone ate together. Candelaria liked it. “Okay.”

“I’m not hungry. And they are not my brothers and sisters.”

Mrs. Howell turned to the boy, walking out to where he stood, defiant, and Candelaria wondered if the woman would try to spank him. He was a bit old for it, but he deserved it.

He drew back when she tried to touch his face. “I know you have never known a home or a mother, and I’d like to—”

“Just send me back. Everyone does. It’ll save you time and a lot of headaches. I don’t do anything right, I can’t learn that school stuff, and I don’t like people. I told them not to try and place me again, but I’m just a kid so no one listens to me. I don’t belong in anyone’s ‘home,’ and I don’t want a mother.”

Mrs. Howell managed to catch him the second time, her hand going under his chin. “Well, you’ve got one now, and we’ll just see if you don’t belong here because I think you do. You don’t have to eat with us tonight. If you get hungry, you’ll have to help yourself from the fridge—but you won’t be able to heat any of it. No stove and no microwave, understood?”

He nodded, pushing her hand off his face. “Not that I don’t know how to use them, but I told you—I’m not hungry.”

She sighed, and Candelaria followed her as she left the room, glancing back at the boy with a frown. “Why are you letting him get away with acting like a brat?”

“If someone had put drugs in my food in the past, I wouldn’t want to eat what someone else gave me, either. I don’t know that he’ll ever trust us enough to eat with us, but that has to be his choice.”

Candelaria bit her lip, her eyes going back to him again, but this time, he wasn’t there.

by

Still Not Family

Author’s Note: Periodically, I have scenes I do that I am particularly proud of. Sometimes I am just in love with the banter or I adore the fluff or it’s the perfect unveiling of a twist I’m proud of.

Sometimes I have no idea why I’m proud of it. I just set out to explore the dynamic between Quinn and Candelaria as part of a larger arc I’m still toying with, this scene that has been knocking around my brain for a while, and I’m not sure why it’s so key, but it matters.

Or that’s all insomnia talking and sharing this now is a bad idea, but the publish button is nice and shiny and I don’t have the proper judgment to stop myself. 😛

Still Not Family

“I told you to get out.”

“No, you told Mrs. Howell to get out. I’m not Mrs. Howell.”

Quinn frowned, rolling over to look at Candelaria. He didn’t understand what she was doing here or how she’d gotten in. He knew the door hadn’t opened, but he’d figured that Mrs. Howell hadn’t left when she closed it. Now, though, he didn’t know what to think. She hadn’t been with Mrs. Howell when she checked on him, and she couldn’t have stayed in when the woman ushered the other kids out of his room. She couldn’t have—had she come in his window? Was she insane?

“Same goes for you. I don’t want you here.”

She climbed onto the bed. “When our parents died, Beacan… He couldn’t deal with it. He didn’t want to act like anything had happened. It was really messing him up.”

He shrugged. “What’s your point? I don’t care about your sob story, and you know it. I never asked for it, and I don’t want it. I can plug my ears and start humming, but you know what? This is my room. Get out. Now.”

She shook her head. “Whatever had you screaming earlier isn’t going away. You need to let yourself deal with it. Pretending it didn’t happen isn’t an option. You know that.”

“I know you’re a nosy brat and I want you out of my room.”

“Come on. Since when you scream about anything? You had four boys attack you at school, one of them broke your ribs, and you didn’t scream. You fell off the roof and didn’t scream. You didn’t scream when the police arrested you for vandalism, and you never scream when you have a nightmare. What was that?”

Quinn turned away from her, wrapping his arms around himself as he tried not to think about anything—not what had made him cry out or any of what she’d just listed off. He didn’t want to remember any of that. “A flashback.”

“Flashback?”

“Don’t ever take drugs, okay? And if you do, make damn sure it’s not acid. LSD. Whatever you want to call it. Don’t take it.”

“I wouldn’t.” She shook her head. “I also never thought that you would. You’re a pain in the ass, and you talk tough. You don’t back down from fights, and you mouth off to everyone, but you don’t smoke, even if you carry cigarettes with you. You don’t drink even when Mr. Howell offers it to you.”

“Didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh. Mrs. Howell told me someone drugged your food, but I didn’t realize it was that kind of a drug. I was thinking poison or a sleeping pill.”

He tried not to shudder. “Sometimes I wish it had been either one of those things.”

“Why is acid so bad?”

“I… I don’t know what really happened while I was on it. What I saw… They call stuff like what happened to me a ‘bad trip.’ It… I saw a monster… It sounds stupid, but I was high and didn’t know it, and it scared the hell out of me.”

The bed shifted as she crawled over to him, wrapping her arms around him. He stiffened, trying to pull away from her, but she had her hands locked and wouldn’t budge. “Get off of me.”

“No.”

“The hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s not wrong with me. It’s wrong with you,” she said, leaning her head against his. “You’re acting just like Beacan, and I don’t have a choice—this is what I did for him, and I’m going to do it for you so that you can heal a bit and stop being such a jerk all the time. Let it out, Quinn. Give yourself a real chance to react to what happened, to what you saw and what you felt.”

He shuddered. Having the flashback was bad enough. He didn’t want this. “I hate you.”

“I don’t care. I don’t like you very much, either. I hate living with you, though, and if this makes you even the slightest bit easier to deal with, I’m going to make sure it happens. Process it for once instead of ignoring it.”

“I am not going to sit here and cry. Crap happens, especially to kids like us. That’s how life works for us. We’re kids in the system.”

“You know we got lucky. The Howells are good people.”

He snorted. “You’re an idiot. I’ve been in the system all my life, and I’ll be back in it soon enough. People like the Howells just get your hopes up and then when you trust them, they take that trust away and crush your hopes like you’re nothing. That’s how it works.”

“No. We’re done with that. We’ve got the Howells, and if all the stunts you’ve pulled lately haven’t made them send you back—which you do deserve because you’re trying to make it happen—you’re the idiot—it’s not going to happen.”

“Yeah, well, the last time I thought things were good in one of these foster homes, I got my usual wake up call. No, it was worse than the rest of them. At least the one was obvious about it. Getting knocked around isn’t that hard to take when you know it’s coming. Having drugs slipped into your food and having no idea what they did to you while you were on them… that’s different.”

She brushed back some of his hair, letting out a breath. “You know… since you hate me and I hate you, it’s not going to change my opinion of you if you do cry a little. I would if something like that had happened to me.”

He grunted. “I’m a dumpster baby. I stopped crying years ago.”

The words were braver than he was. He broke down after every acid flashback, and he hated himself for it. He didn’t want anyone to see it, but she’d come in and stayed, and he didn’t know what to do to make her leave.

“You’re still not my sister. We’re not family.”

“Heaven forbid,” she said, and he could hear the eye roll in her voice even if he couldn’t see it. “Go back to sleep, Quinn. You’re not alone this time.”

by

When Persephone Met Randolph

Author’s Note: Included as a bonus with The Consultant and the Cat is the short story When Randolph Met Katya. It goes into more detail about events that Randolph summarizes in the larger story.

When I wanted to write something short, I said maybe I’d do an alternate point of view of a scene from one of my other stories, and someone did suggest that, but things in my real life intervened, so I didn’t get to it, and the ones I was thinking of doing first (something with Luna, actually,) I rejected.

I finished a larger project today, and while I would do another “prompt me” celebration, this is overdue, so here it is, finally. An alternate view of the moment when Randolph meets Persephone in The Consultant and the Cat.

When Persephone Met Randolph

Though it galled her to admit she was in over her head, Persephone Reynolds knew that she was. She couldn’t deny it, no matter how many times she’d tried to do it over the past few days. She was weak. She knew she was. No one else would have agreed to call in some freelance consultant, not when they were going to have to pay for his help out of their own pocket.

She didn’t know how she’d afford that, but she was desperate.

“Dr. Randolph?” She asked as he made it past the security at the door. She knew it was him. She didn’t need a photo or a file to be sure. They didn’t get a lot of visitors around here, but even if they did and she’d missed the id he’d flashed at the door, his suit screamed fed. He was too clean cut for this department, and the accent made him even more out of place.

“Has anyone ever told you you look almost exactly like the white witch of Narnia?”

He wasn’t exactly inventive, was he? She’d heard that a few dozen times before, and it wasn’t that impressive the first time around. “Most men wait until they know me before they insult me. And once they know me, no one insults me.”

“You are merely confirming my observation, Detective,” he said. She gave him a frosty smile. “I’ve spoken to Mayor Thompson. If your superior asks, he asked for my help, not you. Assuming that you still want my help?”

“Angie says you’re the best,” Persephone said with a shrug. Her friend had better be right, though. If she wasn’t, Persephone had a feeling they wouldn’t be friends anymore. “I suppose we’ll have to see about that.”

“I’ve actually never met Angelina. Er, wait. She was at Marcie’s wedding. I guess I met her, but I don’t know her. She doesn’t know me,” Randolph corrected. “I’ll take a look at the files if you don’t mind. And I need to see the crime scenes.”

Angie hadn’t even met him. Persephone didn’t believe this. She needed a moment, or she was going to lose her temper. She started to walk away from him. “The crime scenes we’ll do after lunch. You can look over the files while you’re here.”

“That actually isn’t a good idea. I was hoping to borrow them for a while.”

He didn’t get to make demands. She was angry enough without him making things worse. She was not accommodating him in any way. She never would have agreed to this if Angie had told her the truth. “Not going to happen.”

Randolph looked back at the door. What was he, skittish? Was he some kind of fake? She did not need this. She was going to kill Angie. She didn’t care if her cousin was in love with her.

“You don’t understand. I have a leopard.”

“A what?”

“A leopard. Pathera pardus. She’s melanistic, actually, so… black, but still a leopard. I worked with the FBI for several years. I was on a simple, seemingly straight-forward murder that turned out to be a part of a series of murders committed by a carnival worker—her trainer, to be specific. The bust went down at the circus; I had to stop him from whipping her to death. I saved her, that apparently bonded us, and now she won’t leave me alone. She’s become a sort of bodyguard. I tried to set her free. She couldn’t adapt. I gave her to a wildlife preserve for animals that had been domesticated. She was home before I was,” Randolph’s explanation ended with a sigh. He recovered a bit and shrugged. “She is my leopard, for better or worse.”

“So… I have a profiler with a leopard?” Persephone asked, trying to accept what she’d heard and seen. She half expected the jerks she worked with to pop out with a camera and start laughing at any moment. This had to be a dream—a nightmare. “Does the mayor know about this?”

“Yes. I have a special dispensation for her. And I accepted responsibility for her actions. Oh, and my words to the press are supposed to be ‘no comment.’”

“I’m sure. Well—” Persephone broke off as a leopard walked up to them, pushing her head against Randolph’s hand. She had thought it was a prank until now, and she’d been waiting for him to end it, but this was going too far. Damn. It just might be real. “How did she get in here?”

“She’s a very intelligent cat. Circus trained. She can roll down my car windows, and the outer door has a handicap access button.” Randolph looked down at the leopard and shook his head. “I told you I’d be fine, Katya. See?”

Persephone wanted to shoot him. Or herself. At this point, she almost didn’t care. Someone had to put her out of her misery. “Are you certain that you are a psychologist and not in need of one?”

consultant and the cat divider big

by

Want to See Something New in Kabobbles’ Choice?

It has been a while since there was anything new in Kabobble’s Choice.

There is still fiction being written and edited, and I was able to keep up with posting new parts of the Even Better than Dreams serial while I was traveling. There is still work going into print versions of the books and other aspects of releasing new titles as well.

However, there’s been a true lack of short pieces in Kabobble’s Choice.

(Yes, I know, there haven’t been much posts in anything but the serials of late. I’ve got to get back into that, and I will, I promise. There’s plenty of stuff coming for that. I have an overdue post about the New London New Brighton tour that was a part of Inheritance. I have a couple of “From a Character’s Closet” and “Why We Write” pieces that need to be done as well.)

Today, though, I thought I’d reach out to see if anyone has anything they’d like to see.

I promise to keep it under 1,000 words (unless you say you want it longer) to make it easier to find the time to read.

I can pull an excerpt from something and share it based on what people would like to read: a family moment, a romantic one, some angst, etc.

I can write something new for something old, that is to say with characters I’ve written before. This could be an alternative point of view for a scene or something else, any of the above options are available.

I can write something new for something new.

I can add some random lyrics or pictures or quotes for people to pick from if that would help. I’m just interested in doing some shorter pieces that people would like to read.

Prompt away!

by

Vacation Alert

So this is probably more of an update that belongs on facebook or twitter, but since I’m in a rush, I’ll do it this way so that it goes to both.

I’m about to depart on vacation.

That means that serial posting may be interrupted over the next few weeks.

I am going to be on the New London New Brighton tour again this year, so if you’ve read Inheritance and want to see what that’s like, I’m hoping to keep a bit of a vacation journal of it, possibly.

We’ll see what happens.

At any rate, normal activity will definitely resume August 21, 2013.

by

Sequel Psychosis

So I have been caught up lately in something I’ve decided to call “sequel psychosis.”

Basically, what this means is that every time I read something of mine, I want to write more of it. That wouldn’t seem like a bad thing, not necessarily, and if someone was reading it and enjoying it and wanting more, that would be something to be happy about it, right?

The trouble with it, the reason that it is a psychosis, is that there is too much going on already. There’s life, which always has plenty of chaos no matter what point one might be at in it. Then on top of life with its complications of work and family and friends and hobbies, there’s writing.

That is to say, when I got all of these sequel ideas lately, I was already knee-deep in three novels. I have Even Better than Dreams, the current serial. I have the third part of Fire and Water, the one I’m calling The Flood, and the sequel to the recently published The Consultant and the Cat.

However, as I was rereading and doing some editing, I wanted to jump right back into the sequel to Inheritance. I wanted to start in on a sequel to Merits and Means after reading it and attempting a summary for it. I had the start of a summary for its sequel.

Then I wanted to do a third for The Lady in Black and Back in Black because I missed Alec and Stasia and reread their story.

I managed to resist all that. Then I gave Liana Mir a prompt that lead to two stories, and when I considered that with a story I wrote and didn’t think I’d ever publish…

I lost.

I caved.

I wrote a sequel to that.

I am psychotic.

by

Possible Summary for Merits and Means

So a while back I was fighting insomnia and created this possible summary for a historical fiction I wrote based on a house I’ve given tours of and research the local museum helped me do. (The house tour is here.)

This is for Merits and Means. It’s a historical fiction set in 1902.

Young newlywed Mena Attwater had believed that she had only minor problems, the greatest of these being her neighbor’s inexplicable hatred of her. Cut off from society due to the other woman’s influence, her mind was preoccupied with how she might overcome Mrs. Shaw’s influence and regain her place in society.

Mena and her husband had taken residence in the house that had belonged to Shaw’s sister, but she knew that was not enough reason for the other woman to hate her.

However, their new residence hides more than a few indiscretions behind its fancy facade. Between its surprises and her husband’s secrets, Mena has uncovered more trouble than she ever expected and both their lives might be in danger.

by

Nothing Without You

So… I think this is the theme song for the new serial, Even Better than Dreams.

I had the computer playing random music while I was working, and up popped this song, and I thought, that is them. That’s their story. Not entirely, no, but it was so close I had to find the song again, listen to it on repeat, write a scene or two…

Oh, call my name.
You know my name.
And in that sound, everything will change.
Tell me it won’t always be this hard.
I am nothing without you, but I don’t know who you are.

This part isn’t too far from their first meeting:

It’s the crowded room that breaks me: everybody looks so luminous, and strangely young.
It’s the crowded room that’s never heard.
No one here can say a word of my native tongue.
I can’t be among them anymore.
I fold myself away before it burns me numb.

This section got me back into working on it after a bit away from it:

It’s the quiet night that breaks me.
I cannot stand the sight of this familiar place.
It’s the quiet night that breaks me, like a dozen papercuts that only I can trace.
All my books are lying useless now.
All my maps will only show me how to lose my way.

I was able to write this scene after listening to the song on repeat.

I am nothing without you, but I don’t know who you are.

Kabobbles Sing Along is just what I think when I hear songs. I sometimes see images when I hear lyrics, pictures or movies in my head. Sometimes I relate it to stories. My interpretation of the songs and lyrics are probably nothing like their original intent.