Crayola of Chack
Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters, nor do I make any profit or attempt to with the writing of this or any of my other pieces.
Warnings: Language, homosexuality, implications of sexual situations, etc.
Jack gave a breathy sigh, burying his face in his pillow.
Chase merely laughed, his large hands continuing to rub up and down his lover's back. Slick with cream, their glide was smooth and firm, talented in a way that continued to pull these sighs and groans from the young man beneath him.
"Are you perhaps enjoying yourself, Spicer…?" he wondered.
Jack shivered instinctively, already half-way lost in heaven. A massage, rich body butter that was doing wonders to his skin, the creamy scent of almonds pervading his senses, and Chase was talking in that wonderful voice of his?
This was a luxury that bordered on ludicrous.
"Mmmyessss," Jack managed to purr in response, drawing yet another chuckle from his master. Let Chase laugh at him all he liked, so long as he didn't stop.
"I imagine you're feeling a bit better, then?"
One red eye blinked open. Better? What… oh. Oh, right, he'd been complaining to Chase about back pain…something about a Showdown…? He couldn't remember anymore right now, nor did he want to.
Remembering was very distracting from the feeling he wanted to do.
"Yeah, better," he murmured, his eyes slipping shut again. "Keep going."
Chase grinned and happily acquiesced.
Chase remained relatively out of sight, preferring to give Jack his space as he wandered around his old lab.
Though it had been quite some time since Jack was here, his body had not forgotten even a single detail of the specialized basement laboratory. He moved flawlessly amongst the tables and shelves, only having to sidestep every once in awhile to avoid broken down machinery.
"I can't believe this place is still here," he said eventually.
"You put a very good locking mechanism on the door," Chase pointed out. "When Mr. and Mrs. Spicer died, the mansion was made a museum, but no one could figure out how to get into the basement. If I recall correctly, several locksmiths were called in and after they were unable to fake your handprint or remove the door altogether, dynamite was suggested. The museum staff nixed that and decided there was enough storage space in the attic."
Jack absently nodded, continuing to take a trip down memory lane. A deactivated, dismantled Robo-Jack, a rusting Chameleon-bot, that stupid time machine…
Jack had long since remade these things much better: a Mecha-Jack, purposefully created without the dangerous self-updating AI, a Shifter-bot, now able to take on the form of anyone or anything with seamless holographic transformations, and a…well, it was still just a time machine, but it had a return function and was therefore better.
Chase watched as Jack suddenly paused before making a beeline to his oldest creation: a simple Jack-bot.
A white hand (sans gloves; he only wore gloves when working, these days) gently touched the cold, hard metal of the inactive automaton. His fingers traced the design of the face, skating over the black lacquer and brass.
"Brass," he muttered to himself. "Did I really make them out of brass?" The concept of using such a soft metal in the construction of robots seemed unfathomable now. There were so much stronger metals available, like titanium and tungsten, even steel! But brass…?
It wasn't the only thing Jack found himself criticizing about his past work. The structural configuration of the Jack-bot was top-heavy and hardly resistant to trauma. In retrospect, it was obvious that they would get toppled over and broken apart so easily by a well-placed kick.
Just thinking back, their programming had quite a few bugs, as well. They weren't truly dangerous ones like those in the old Robo-Jack, but they were bugs that would've slowed down and outright impeded performance in obeying orders and carrying out attacking maneuvers.
Simply put, in comparison to Jack's current work, the Jack-bot was obsolete.
"I've…come a long way, huh?" he wondered aloud.
Chase nodded from his place partially among the shadows. "A few hundred years will do that to one's progress in their field," he said casually.
Jack did not meet his eyes for a long moment, and when he did… "Can you destroy it?" he asked. At the odd look he received, the goth clarified, "The lab, I mean. All of the evidence that this was ever anything more than a basement with a fancy lock. Can you do that?"
"Easily," Chase assured. "Is that what you want, Jack?"
"Then, I will do it." He held out a hand, inviting Jack to come and take it. "Come, consort: we go home."
Jack took a step forward only to pause and glance backwards at the robot he'd been inspecting.
The Jack-bot was useless; obsolete; riddled with flaws and imperfections.
"Wait," Jack said.
Chase quirked an eyebrow.
"I want this one," the eternally young man confessed. "As a…memento. You can destroy the rest of it, just…not this one."
Chase offered Jack an enigmatic smile. "Whatever you wish," he assured, once more holding out his hand in offering.
Jack gladly joined his master at his side and took his hand, allowing Chase to transport the three of them home.
Chase watched, practically hypnotized as his beloved enjoyed his mid-afternoon snack.
White lips wrapped sensually around the fruit, teeth sinking into the tender flesh with a wet sound, sweet juice dribbling down his chin…
Chase had to wonder if Spicer had managed to turn messy eating into an act of eroticism, or if he was just far too easily aroused, these days.
Jack cottoned onto the fact that he was being watched and pulled the apricot away from his mouth, tongue darting out to sweep along his bottom lip; licking up the remaining juice in a positively sensual manner.
"Hey, Chase," he greeted. "What's up?"
By Jack's casual tone, he hadn't even been trying to be seductive, and yet he'd gotten his overlord all hot and bothered!
Well, that just wouldn't do, Chase decided, stalking closer to his consort. Such indignity deserved a fitting punishment…
"What's up?" he echoed, coming nose to nose with Jack. He dipped ever so slightly, licking a trail from the youth's chin to his lips and savoring the sweet tang of juice to be found there. "Why don't I show you…?"
Jack was a mechanical genius. In his younger days, his creations hadn't always been perfect; had sometimes backfired, but that was in the past; when he'd been young and reckless and hadn't always quality-checked everything.
Certainly, magic seemed to be the more reliable option, most of the time. It seemed a lot safer and, in practice, more effective and efficient than something done by machinery, but that was hardly an option.
Jack didn't have enough skill with magic; only barely enough to be able to use Shen Gong Wu. Machines were his field, the thing he had the utmost confidence in, what he trusted to be able to solve whatever problems he needed to solve.
That confidence, however, was drastically shaken and wavering. Nothing had gone wrong yet and hopefully, nothing would, but Jack could not be blindly confident in his own skills now, not with so much at risk.
Worried red eyes once more fell upon the computer's readout, giving him data: steady heart-rate, vitals strong, brainwaves intact. Everything was fine by the computer's account, but again, Jack was not so sure.
Glancing upward at the glass tube, the glow of the delicate bluish stasis fluid within reflecting on his face, Jack watched his lover with obvious concern.
Not two days ago, the monks had gotten horribly lucky and lucky monks translated into unlucky Heylin everlords.
Pierced through the lung! Jack would've laughed at how silly a thing it was to bring down the powerful Chase Young if he weren't feeling so nauseous and nerved up.
It had been an accident, truly. The Xiaolin had been horrified to see Chase collapse, choking on his own blood and struggling to breathe.
They had fled in a panic instead of trying to help, and a frantic Jack had managed to get his overlord here to the lab, where he could help.
Chase was dead to the world, now, and floated peacefully in the tank of aquamarine gel that suppressed his consciousness and movement. A breathing apparatus did the work of taking in oxygen for him and he was hooked up to several different life-support devices that ensured his well-being.
Not for the first time, Jack was wishing he'd been the one almost-fatally wounded because Chase knew how to handle these situations. There was probably some healing spell out there that would've taken care of this problem in minutes and Chase, the stoic warrior he was, would've hardly batted an eyelash before seeing to it that everything turned out hunky-dory.
It was a miracle to Jack that he'd hadn't broken down crying yet, although he figured he might out of relief if— when, he forced himself to think—Chase got better.
Jack hated this: the waiting, the uncertainty, the helplessness. Of course, he was doing all that he could, but he was constantly doubting himself, constantly waiting for Chase to flat-line or something because he'd done something wrong or because his machines weren't good enough.
But that could easily be the lack of sleep talking. Since the horrifying event had happened, the most sleep Jack had allowed himself were the few minutes he unintentionally conked out every now and again.
How could he sleep when the man he loved was possibly still in mortal danger?
Jack breathed deeply and laid his hand on the glass, wishing it could pass through and Chase would be awake and take his hand, berating him for worrying so damn much. He was a dragonlord, for gods' sakes!
With another glance at Chase's perfectly serene face and at the computer's data that assured him again that Chase was fine and healing right along schedule, Jack sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Chase would pull through. He had too much resilience to be killed by something like this, and Jack was a mechanical genius: anything he built would work wonders and Chase would be perfectly alright in no time, ready to enact his revenge on the monks.
For the first time in nearly two days, Jack smiled and truly believed it.
"Can we have asparagus for dinner, tonight?"
Chase frowned and fixed Jack with a hard stare.
"What?" Jack defensively wondered.
"You want asparagus so you can test out the foul-smelling urine theory," Chase declared.
"Eating asparagus does cause foul-smelling urine," Jack corrected, "but only, like twenty-something percent of the population have the right genes to be able to smell it and I wanna know if I'm one of that percent!"
Chase sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "You realize that is a ridiculous reason to eat asparagus, don't you?"
Jack appeared quite unbothered by this fact. "So?"
Chase sighed again. "Fine," he conceded. "Asparagus for dinner, it is."
Jack jumped up and cheered, utterly jubilant at the prospect of being able to eat a vegetable that changed the scent of his urine and Chase continued to remind himself of all the other good things about his consort that made putting up with this nonsense worthwhile.
Chase sat patiently in the living room of the Spicer mansion, waiting for his hostess to return from where she'd excitedly dashed off to.
Beside him, Jack spoke up. "Thanks for doing this," he said. "I know you don't have to."
Jack, of course, had pleaded for this meeting. He had never had anyone to bring home to the folks before, and now that he did, he had asked Chase if he wouldn't mind being showed off too terribly.
Chase had initially expressed a reluctance to go through with it. Young men weren't exactly expected to bring home other young men to show the parents, and those that did were frequently subject to prejudiced yelling and, 'I have no son's.
Jack had assured him he'd prevaricated that and come out to his mother months ago. As for his father, he was never home, anyways; always off on business and no longer really factored into the family equation.
After copious promises that Mrs. Spicer would welcome Chase wholeheartedly as her son's significant other and the most irritating thing she could do was be happy, Chase had given in and allowed the visit.
So far, Sylvia had exuberantly greeted the pair, complimented Jack on finding such a handsome man as his boyfriend (Jack had looked distinctly like a tomato at that point), and insisted that the two of them make themselves at home while she fetched a plate of cookies from the oven for them.
"Nothing catastrophic has happened yet," Chase admitted. "Your mother is a very…cheery individual. She's easy enough to get along with."
Jack smiled. "Yeah," he agreed, "she's—"
He was cut off by the reentrance of the lady of the household, looking like distilled sunshine with her bright yellow dress and pretty blond hair (threaded liberally with gray, but nonetheless lovely). She effortlessly balanced a tray of deliciously fragrant chocolate chip cookies in one hand while an album was held in the other.
"Cookies are done," Sylvia chirped, setting them down on the coffee table and gracefully seating herself beside the everlord. "Help yourself to as many as you like!"
Chase wondered for a moment if such consistent happiness in his mother had been the deciding factor in Jack's choice to be dark and evil, but he didn't wonder on it long.
Jack groaned in dread. "Mom," he began, "why do you have the album?"
Sylvia smiled and set said album on her lap, certain to hold it so Chase would be able to see. "Well, honey, I just thought your boyfriend might want to see some pictures of you!"
Chase almost waved the opportunity away as unnecessary: he had Jack now and had no need of seeing him younger.
However, Jack made the fatal mistake of groaning again. "No, mom," he begged, "don't show him the pictures…"
"I would love to see Jack's baby pictures," Chase declared with a grin, much to Jack's horror. "How very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Spicer."
Delighted to be indulged, Sylvia opened the album and pointed to a photo. "Oh, look here," she cooed, "it's Jackie as a baby. Isn't he sweet?"
Jack noticed with a sinking feeling of dread that it was the typecast, embarrassing baby picture: the one that featured him buck-naked on his stomach with his tiny baby rump in plain view.
Chase laughed, more at the mortification on his consort's face than the actual photo. "How cute," he said for Sylvia's benefit.
Mrs. Spicer flipped another page and pointed out another picture. "Here he is a little older," she said. "He is just precious in his pajamas! Did you know he was scared of the toilet until he was three?"
"Mooooooom…!" Jack exclaimed, thoroughly dismayed.
Chase laughed again, only sparing a brief glance at the photograph of little-Jack in a pale blue onesie.
The page was turned a third time and a picture actually caught the dragonlord's attention.
In it, Jack of about eight or nine was surrounded by several police officers, pouting something fierce. Men looking to be part of a bomb-squad were also in the shot, carrying away what looked like an orange hooked up to a car battery.
"What happened here?" he couldn't help but wonder.
Seeing where her guest was pointing, Sylvia smiled. "Oh, Jackie got into a little trouble back in the day," she explained. "That was the time he made a bomb out of a tangerine."
Chase blinked silently for a moment. "A bomb?" he echoed incredulously.
"Oh, yes, he was a very talented boy," Sylvia praised. "To this day, they can't figure out how he did it, but he almost blew up half of his school, the little prankster!"
A glance at Jack saw him quite embarrassed. "It was…I used the citric acid in the…never mind, it's not important," he declared.
"Not important?" Mrs. Spicer chuckled at her son. "Sweetie, that's what got you expelled, don't you remember?"
Jack winced. "Yeah, I remember, mom. Can we drop the atomic tangerine, already?"
Sylvia pouted. "Oh, alright," she agreed and turned another page. "Oh, Chase, look here! This was Jackie's first attempt at taking over the world! Isn't he just adorable?"
Chase obligingly looked at the young Jack, a wrench in his hand as a makeshift scepter, a strainer as some sort of crude helmet, and a rather large dog as his noble steed, but he was more focused on the odd fact that this bright and sickeningly happy woman seemed to approve of her son's evil aspirations wholeheartedly.
It was clear from Sylvia's friendly behavior towards him that he had been accepted into the Spicer family.
Even so, Chase couldn't help but wonder what sort of strange family he'd just been accepted into.
"Chase, why am I blindfolded?"
"Because your gift is meant to be a surprise," Chase answered succinctly, continuing to lead Jack down the hallway. He had a feeling he would be thanked for this gift for a long time.
"Oh, you didn't have to get me anything," Jack said. "What'd you get me?"
"What part of 'surprise' has slipped past your notice, Spicer?"
Jack proceeded to make a displeased noise and was quiet until they at last reached their destination, Chase throwing open the door and leading Jack inside.
"Can I take off the blindfold, now?" Jack wondered.
"Not yet," Chase said, handing his consort something.
Jack knew it the moment he touched it. "The Monkey Staff? What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Activate it," the overlord suggested. "It will enhance your surprise."
Dubious, Jack nonetheless did as instructed, taking on the quicker, more flexible, and more dexterous half-simian body.
A tantalizing scent hit his enhanced nose.
"You didn't," he accused.
Chase reached up and undid the blindfold from Jack's eyes. "See for yourself," he invited.
Jack's jaw dropped as he beheld the sight before him: bananas everywhere. His favorite flavor was set out for him in possibly every incarnation it could have been. Plain fruit, pudding, cream pie, bread, even splits!
Chase grinned but couldn't help his wince at the loud screech of glee from beside him as the partially-monkey Jack practically rushed the buffet of treats laid out. Had he attacked the food with any more enthusiasm, it would be mostly all over the walls as opposed to the intended destination: his stomach.
"Happy birthday, Jack," Chase called to his lover.
He received another joyful screech in response as Jack scampered around the room of banana confections, far too excited to properly thank Chase for an excellent (and delicious) birthday present.
When Chase had entered the den to find a giggling Jack watching television, the last thing he had expected the goth to be watching was a nature show.
Having nothing better to do, Chase joined his consort on the couch and decided to see what was so funny.
Jack glanced over briefly, acknowledging his presence but otherwise saying nothing and returning his attention to the program.
The narrator, in a stereotypically British accent, was speaking, accompanying several screen pans of a forest and the animals within it. Most prominently featured, it seemed, was the North American beaver.
"…population is in decline," the narrator was saying, "due largely to extreme hunting. Beavers are hunted for their fur and for their glands that are useful in perfumes and medicines."
Jack snickered as if he had heard something funny. Chase looked at him blankly before continuing to watch.
The narrator had moved on and was now discussing biology. "They continue to grow throughout their lives, so it is not uncommon for an adult beaver to weigh upwards of 55 pounds."
A snort of laughter from Jack again and Chase frowned.
"What's so funny about that?" he demanded.
"You wouldn't understand," Jack said, shaking his head. "It's not…never mind."
Chase's frown deepened, and he reluctantly turned back to the nature show.
"Aside from dams," the narrator was informing viewers, "beavers also build homes for themselves, known as lodges."
Jack was smiling, Chase noticed, but not laughing.
"The ponds created by well-maintained dams help isolate the beavers' lodges, which are created from severed branches and mud. The beavers cover their lodges late every autumn with fresh mud, which freezes when the frost sets in. The mud becomes almost as hard as stone, and it is impossible for wolves or wolverines to penetrate the beaver-mound."
And there was the laughter, this time boisterous and obnoxious like the narrator's words had been raunchy. Jack began laughing so hard that he was forced to clutch his stomach, his face bright red as he collapsed sideways onto Chase's lap.
And then, it hit the everlord just what his consort found funny.
Scowling down at the youth, Chase declared, "You are so immature, Spicer."
Jack managed to get in a breath of air and paused his laughing, but only long enough to say, "Well, at least I don't have an impenetrable beaver-mound!"
Sometimes, Jack wondered if it were all worth it.
Unhappiness with his life and his failures had reached a fever pitch several decades ago. He had been so disappointed that he could never seem to win, so jealous that his peers (the monks) were so much stronger than him, so angry at his supposed allies' mocking, and just plain hurt at Chase's refusal to acknowledge him.
Looking back, he knows it as a move of desperation. No one else would listen: good despised him, evil ridiculed him, and love just plain ignored him. Perhaps the impartial gods would listen.
With the summoning spell he had found, listen they did, but his cause was nowhere near noble enough for any of those aligned with good, and so it was gods of death and destruction that heard his plea.
Jack was granted his wish.
In exchange for his soul, he was given power and magicks strong enough to wipe out all who opposed him. In exchange for using those powers to call down the wicked gods to earth, he was granted eternal youth. In exchange for his humanity, he was allowed to save one person on the planet from the chaos that would come forth.
Jack agreed to it all and did as he had promised to do. Armageddon rained death and pain on the human race, enslaving or torturing those who survived the initial bedlam.
Society collapsed within a day and mankind fell, simply because of one unfairly ostracized young man.
The gods Jack called his masters were pleased with him and chose to allot him a territory of his own. He became a bona fide lord in his own right, ruling over the subjects he'd been granted with an iron fist, his most beautiful pet by his side.
Chase hated being referred to as a pet. He also hated the collar and leash; the manacles that oppressed both his magic and his sense of self, but they were necessary. If Chase left Jack's keep, he would likely be killed instantly and Jack had no want of that. True, he could no longer remember why he didn't want that, but he knew he didn't.
When Jack had sacrificed his humanity, he had sacrificed everything that made him human, not only in body, but in self. He could no longer be happy or sad, angry or pleased, and hate and love had become foreign concepts to him. Sometimes, he felt as if he remembered his human feelings for Chase, the beautiful warlord that had captured the heart of the mortal Jack, but the remembrance was always fleeting.
The immortal Jack did not feel.
So, he spent his days on his throne, passively ruling. There were hardly any conflicts that needed his attention, for the people he ruled were kept in line by fear of his very appearance.
Jack's human body, as said, had gone. He was only a vaguely humanoid shape now, a glowing, barely corporeal figure of white light with hellish red where his eyes should be. Jack knew he looked quite scary, for absolutely everyone recoiled from him at a mere look.
The mortal Jack might've been insulted, but the immortal Jack felt nothing.
Jack reflected that Chase was likely far from happy with his situation. He almost never spoke these days, and when he did, it was always insults and the sentiment that he'd have much preferred death to this slavery; the very slavery that had saved him from death.
He never displayed anything remotely positive towards Jack, either. He shuddered whenever his unwanted master touched him, likely out of disgust, even when it was only to stroke his hair. He hissed and spat like a cobra whenever Jack got too near, proclaiming that he would rather the other immortal fuck a porcupine (or something else unpleasant that came to mind) than him.
His fears of that nature were quite unnecessary. Even if Jack did still have sexual urges, he would be physically unable to act on them. He was bodily not human anymore, and as such, he was quite incompatible with Chase.
The mortal Jack might've been terribly pained by Chase's continual refusals (and the inability for anything to happen if Chase were willing), even after he'd obtained power and domain, but again, the immortal Jack felt nothing.
Feeling nothing was quite the blessing, though, he idly supposed. A mortal, a human would be able to see how hollow this victory was; how bittersweet the payoff of his sacrifices was. They would be able to see that he had given up everything and really, his life was no better than before: Chase still didn't love him back.
But Jack was not human and he could not see those things or be upset by the tragedy of them.
It was just as well: the best thing about not being able to feel was not being able to regret.
"What is your fascination with goth subculture?"
Jack sighed, looking irritated. "Don't do this," he said.
Chase raised an eyebrow. "Don't do what?"
"This!" Jack exclaimed. "You always ask weird, random questions like this that I'm just expected to answer."
Chase sat up straighter, frowning. "I am your overlord," he reminded. "As my consort, you are bound to obey me. You know that."
Jack sighed, hearing truth in those words. "Fine," he said tersely, "I like black. Happy?"
"Not particularly. Why do you like black?"
"Do you want the short answer or the long answer?" Jack asked.
"That depends," Chase shrugged. "What's the short answer?"
"I like black because."
The dragonlord snorted. "The long answer, then," he decided.
Again Jack sighed. "Brace yourself," he suggested. "I like black because it's the absence of color. I like it because it goes with everything; because it's slimming. I like it because it's the color of rebellion, death, and evil. It's sexy and sophisticated, mysterious and cool, and since I've been labeled with it already, I figured I might as well just run with it."
"Labeled?" Chase prompted.
Jack nodded. "I've been a black sheep since birth. After getting blacklisted, black-eyed, and just plain blacked out, it's hard not to get a little black-hearted. Black tends to grow on you."
Chase eyed his dearest consort, clothed head-to-toe in his color of choice, and considered how close this black-loving youth had gotten to him. "Yes," he agreed, "it most certainly does."
For a moment, Chase could do little more than gape at the pitiful, violently shivering figure of Jack Spicer on his porch, standing in the midst of a snowstorm.
"H-hey, Chase," he quivered out through chattering teeth. "I'm h-home…"
Chase blinked once before narrowing his eyes into a glare. "Your lips are blue," he observed.
At this, Jack looked puzzled. "…I don't wear lipstick," he announced, shaking his head.
At the nonsensical statement, Chase's eyes widened before narrowing again into an even darker glare. "In," he ordered of his consort, dragging him by the arm. "Now."
Jack stumbled after him, his steps sluggish and apparently difficult to make. It didn't help that Chase was pulling him along like a wooden duck toy, muttering angrily all the while.
"I never should have let you go home," he was growling. "Christmas or no Christmas!"
Jack was doing his level best to keep up. "Wasn't snowing when I left," he explained. "The blizzard hit halfway here. Didn't wanna land 'cause I wasn't sure where I was, an' I figured it'd…be worse to land, 'cause then, I'd be out in the snow…"
Chase took a deep breath, reining in some of his anger and (dare he admit it?) fear. "You did the right thing, Jack," he gently assured. "You're home. I'll take care of you."
"Take care of me? Is there something wrong with me?"
Jack abruptly tripped, causing Chase to stop and pull him upright before continuing down the hall.
"Hypothermia," he informed, at last coming to their shared bedroom and pulling his lover inside. "You were out in the cold too long and have far too many symptoms for it to be coincidence."
"Crap," said Jack, as it was the first thing that came to mind. "M'not gonna lose a limb or something, am I?"
Chase calmly began stripping the goth of his helipack and trench coat. "No, xin aí, that is frostbite. You're confused right now. There's no need to be worried: you came home before your case became severe. I would say your hypothermia is moderate; still dangerous, but you're indoors where you can be warmed up."
A thick, cozy sweater was forced onto Jack, his head popping out fine on its own, but his lack of coordination requiring help to get his arms through the sleeves. He nearly lost his balance and fell again as he was spun around so that Chase could more easily remove his jeans and replace them with a warm pair of sweatpants.
Jack grunted in surprise as he was seated on the bed, watching with yet more surprise as Chase carefully removed his boots and peeled off his socks, slipping on a fresh pair of wool ones and fuzzy slippers over them.
"Are we gonna snuggle?" Jack wondered as Chase began undressing and redressing himself, as well.
"Something like that," the dragonlord allowed, joining his lover on the bed. "You need to get warm and rest."
Several blankets were wrapped around the two of them and, had Jack really been paying attention, he'd have noticed the sudden spike of heat in the room, caused by Chase's elemental control of flame.
As it was, he was certifiably oblivious to it; a combination of drowsiness, luxurious body heat, and plain old love drawing his full focus to Chase, who cuddled him close like a precious object.
"Mmmlove you…" he murmured affectionately, practically burrowing his way into the dragonlord's chest and drifting off to sleep.
Satisfied that his consort would be well, Chase nestled himself against the bedding and buried his nose in Jack's soft red hair. "I love you, too, Spicer," he said.
A month! What a terrible shirking of duties! What an irresponsible thing for a consort to do; to decide to go gallivanting off on whatever stupid whim and just leave.
The first week or so had been irritating, but tolerable. Now, things were getting ridiculous— intolerable by any definition of the word.
Feh! A month: how disgustingly cruel!
Abruptly, there was the sound of a door opening and Chase's head turned so quickly that, were he a lesser man, his neck might've snapped.
"Hi, Chase, I'm back," Jack greeted, setting his bags down and closing the door behind him. "Remind me to never go on anymore family vacations where dad is involved; talk about awk—mmph!"
Jack suddenly found himself tackled to the ground and molested within an inch of his life, making it perfectly clear to him that he should really never leave his overlord alone so long without attending to his consortial duties.
"Chase…what's all this about?"
"I thought you enjoyed gardening, Spicer," Chase noted.
Jack shook his head. "I do, yeah, but…this? Really?"
"I don't see why not," the dragonlord merely shrugged. "You're going to be living in my palace and I simply don't have the patience to deal with you 24/7."
At this, Jack pouted.
"Oh, don't," Chase sneered. "I don't have the patience to deal with anyone 24/7 and no one else in the world does, either. Both of us would go insane without our own hobbies away from each other every so often. That doesn't mean I hate you."
Jack still frowned, but he was no longer pouting. He didn't have too much relationship experience outside of Chase, but he had heard that that was how healthy couples worked. In love with the dragonlord as he was, he still couldn't see himself getting sick of Chase's presence, but he could acknowledge that if they spent all their time together, it would eventually get kind of irritating.
"So…a garden?" he prompted.
"Your own private garden," Chase nodded. "You may come to it whenever you like, plant whatever you like, and do whatever you please with the space."
As of now, said space wasn't much: really, it was just a patch of land, albeit with soil that looked to be good for planting just about everything but the pickiest of flowers and vegetation. It was a spacious area, though, and Jack imagined he could put in a nice fountain and a walkway, maybe a bench or two so that he could sit and read a book or something when the garden was in bloom.
And of course, if Chase ever wanted to hang out in here with him, he wouldn't bar the everlord's presence.
Abruptly, something caught Jack's eye, off in a far corner of the garden. Flowers, he realized, a small thatch of pale bluish-purple blooms that looked to have been pre-planted in the otherwise empty garden.
"Chase," he began, inspecting the delicate flowers hanging upside down from their stem, "what are those?"
Chase looked. "Ah, the bluebells," he acknowledged. "You can keep them or not; it's your choice, but do look up their meaning before you decide."
And with that, the overlord was gone in that magical way of his, leaving Jack altogether puzzled.
Later that night would find Chase laved with affection from a touched and happy consort, who had taken his master's advice and found the bluebell representative of everlasting love.
The first thing Jack saw upon opening his eyes was nothing because it's really hard to see anything when white-hot pain is rocketing through your skull.
Instantly, his eyes clamped shut tightly as if to squeeze away the pain while a hand came up to his aching forehead…
…or tried to, anyways; his right arm did not seem to be responding too well and stung when he tried to make it move. That probably wasn't a good sign.
Jack decided opening his eyes was worth the risk of pain again if it might help him determine what the hell was going on. This time, the first thing he saw was an expanse of sky partially hidden by treetops: blue tinged dark with a hint of dirty gray.
Oh, great, he thought to himself, wherever I am, it's gonna rain soon.
He was not yet ready to sit up as that would require movement of more than his head. Even though his headache was still very bad as of now, he did not want to test how much worse the other aches in his body were; not yet.
So, instead, he turned his head to the side and looked around. Grass, he saw, lots and lots of grass with rocks and tree trunks (which he could only assume were attached to the trees that were blocking the sky).
Probably a forest, he decided, but how the hell had he ended up here?
Wondering if the other side of him would give any answers, Jack turned his head to the right. More grass, more rocks, more trees, but also mechanical wreckage looking quite like it might've been his helipack at one time.
Must've crashed, he decided, following the stem of one cracked and bent propeller, only to find one of the blades lodged in his arm.
Surprisingly lucid about it, just knowing he should really be freaking out, now, Jack simply figured that was probably why his right arm wasn't working so well. Who knew how many other jagged metal parts had gotten lodged in his body from the fall.
So…yeah, pretty bad.
Jack decided he should attempt to sit up. That propeller really did need to be taken out of there and he should probably try to find some sort of shelter before it started raining.
A lightning shock of agony raced up and down his spine when he attempted it, pulling a scream from his throat and forcing him to fall back to the hard ground.
Jack lay there for a long moment of blinking sightlessly up at the dark sky, panting for breath. "Okay," he decided aloud, voice sounding rough and hoarse even to his own ears, "guess I'll just lay here, then…"
"Oh, no, you won't."
Jack's first instinct was to sit up again and look in the direction of the voice. Thankfully, for his own sake, he reined in that instinct and simply waited until the voice's owner stepped in close and he could see them simply by looking up.
"Chase?" Jack frowned up at the everlord, thoroughly confused. "What are you doing here?"
Chase, for his part, looked extremely pissed off, if Jack did say so. He could only pray that Chase was not pissed off at him, for he couldn't very well run away, nor could he adequately take any punishment the older man wanted to give him.
"Is that the thanks I get for coming to your aid, Spicer?" Chase demanded. "I thought it quite courteous of me to come and save you."
Jack blinked up at him, abruptly reminded of his headache as he tried to think of just why Chase would have any interest in helping him. He prudently decided that now wasn't the right time to ask as Chase did seem to have some interest in it and to turn away any help would be just plain stupid when he could hardly move on his own.
"Thanks," he said instead. "Saving me would…would be good."
Chase sneered and knelt at the goth's side, surveying the damage. He obviously didn't look very happy with what he found, for the sneer easily became a scowl; the very kind of scowl Jack frequently used as a cue that he had irritated Chase far too much for the day and should run like hell, now.
Jack watched warily as gloved hands took hold of the metal blade in his arm. "Brace yourself," Chase advised, and the youth had only seconds to clench his teeth and steel his nerves before the propeller was deftly yanked out.
There was a grunt at the stab of pain and a few tears gathered at the corner of his eyes, but Jack bore it relatively well.
Chase continued looking him over, taking inventory on whatever injuries he had and Jack gratefully took the time to catch his breath and try and think back as to what had led him here in the first place.
Things were fuzzy for him, but it was coming back; a little bit, anyway. He remembered…flying home from a Showdown…and his helipack had sparked and whirred and made several other noises frightening to anyone who knew machinery. His helipack had never failed him before: he made sure to perform maintenance on it daily, sometimes twice. One could never be too careful with a device that had to carry you several hundred feet in the air.
It couldn't have just broken, he realized. Impossible. Maybe…sabotage? He had lost track of it at one point during the Showdown…and when he'd left (in defeat, of course), the monks had been smiling…like they knew something…
Would they really have…?
"Spicer," Chase said sharply, getting the youth's immediate attention.
"What?" he asked, startled.
"I cannot treat you here. You have too many broken bones and from the looks of your pupils, a concussion. I will have to take you home with me," Chase explained. "Do you understand that?"
Jack nodded slowly; slowly as nodding sort of hurt his brain. "Yeah," he said. "I understand."
"Then, stay still," the dragonlord ordered before scooping the goth up easily enough that he could've weighed nothing.
Jack forced back a cry of pain at being jostled when in such poor shape, letting out only a tight hiss that slowly died away.
Chase held Jack's broken body against him, one arm around his waist and the other cupping the back of his skull (careful of the large knot to be found there). "Wrap your legs around me," he instructed the battered young man, wanting to secure his grip a little better.
Initially, Jack was wary of attempting such a feat, but it proved surprisingly painless for him. When he'd fallen out of the sky and crashed into the forest, his upper-body had taken most of the punishment and cleared the way of branches for his legs: the most damage to them was superficial bruises and a cut or two.
Exhausted by the whole ordeal, Jack rested his head on Chase's shoulder, filling his vision with thick, dark hair. The blackish-green was much lovelier, he decided, than the blue gray of the rain-threatening sky; its scent much more pleasing, as well.
The two men were gone by the time the first droplet fell from the sky, lighting gently on the wreckage of the tampered-with helipack.
It was sometime after midnight when Jack escaped the cabin and crept out on deck. He walked past several young couples, likely heading to and from the always-open bar and buffet; or perhaps sneaking off for a romantic, moonlit moment.
For now, Jack was alone, sincerely doubting that any romantic moments he wanted to have might be approved of.
Perfectly quiet and unobtrusive, making sure to find a secluded spot, Jack folded his arms atop the ship's guardrail and leaned against it, gazing out at the darkened sea. The view was nice, he supposed, light glinting off of the calm waves in a very pretty way, but he couldn't really bring himself to enjoy it. Not when he felt…
Jack tensed up as a pair of arms quite suddenly encircled him, holding him tightly to a firm, broad chest. He prepared to kick and scream and whatever else might help were he being assaulted by a stranger, but a lock of long, silky hair fell over his shoulder and brushed his cheek.
"Chase," he acknowledged. "I thought you were asleep."
"I was until my consort decided to slip out of bed in the middle of the night," Chase murmured at his ear, causing Jack to unintentionally shiver. "I was waiting to see if you would do anything interesting."
"Nothing interesting tonight," Jack frowned, slumping back against the rail. "Sorry to disappoint you."
Chase was still behind him, and just as quiet as he was motionless. Then, "Something is bothering you."
Jack sighed. "I…I dunno, I was just…thinking that maybe…this cruise wasn't such a good idea…"
This time, there was no silence before a reply. "You're still upset by what happened at dinner."
Jack winced at the very memory of it. "Yeah," he admitted, "just a little."
"I dealt with that woman, Spicer. It's over."
"I know, I know, but…"
"But what?" Chase demanded.
"But it's not fair!" Jack declared. "We weren't doing anything! We were just having dinner and maybe you touched my hand once. It's not like we were…fucking on the table or something!"
Chase sighed. "Xin aí," he said, "people with prejudice will always exist to find flaw in that which society currently considers taboo. That woman didn't care that we weren't doing anything obscene: she simply saw the fact that we were an obvious couple having a romantic dinner—but we happened to be two men. She is the type of person who could not see how harmless our activities were to those around us; only how deeply our existence irritated her."
"But the staff agreed with her," Jack petulantly reminded, "or do you forget being told to 'please tone it down'?"
"Have you forgotten how I soundly put both parties in their place? How I pointed out the heterosexual couple also holding hands that weren't being told to tone it down?"
Jack frowned. "No…I didn't…"
"Even the woman's own daughter was embarrassed by her behavior," Chase pointed out. "When she finally went back to her table, we received a standing ovation."
"Yeah, but…" Jack sighed again, staring out at the sea. "It's still not fair…"
There was silence between them for several long moments, simply watching the waves of blue green ocean crash gently against the ship.
Then, Chase rested his chin atop Jack's head. "We can attempt this vacation again in a few decades," he suggested to his lover. "I can guarantee we will have no trouble from anyone."
Puzzled, Jack tried to look up at Chase in question, only to realize it was quite impossible. Instead, he asked, "What do you mean?"
"Time degrades all unfair prejudices," Chase explained. "The rare fool who simply hates others that are different in ideals and practices from himself shall always exist, but society as a whole moves past such things. Only a few generations ago, blacks were seen as subhuman creatures inferior to the All Powerful White Man. A generation before that, they were outright slaves."
Jack was quiet, considering this. "So…in the future, being gay won't be a bad thing…?"
"Eventually," Chase assured. "Homosexuality is a taboo, now. As time goes on, it will become more of a counterculture, and then a subculture, as socially acceptable as the gothic clothing you so enjoy."
At this, Jack smiled. "So, all we've gotta do is…wait."
"Precisely." Chase nuzzled his hair and Jack giggled at the oddly ticklish sensation. "You and I have far more time to kill than most: a few decades is nothing to us."
Sufficiently cheered up by the thought, Jack turned, looking up at his lover. "You wanna hit the buffet?" he wondered. "I'm kinda in the mood for some pizza."
Chase laughed and kissed Jack, certainly not caring that this spot was right in view of the earlier irritant's cabin window or that she had chronic insomnia and was likely to be looking.
"Pizza it is, xin aí," he purred.
Jack noticed the limp sometime early in the afternoon. It was a subtle thing, but Jack often made a habit of committing Chase's personal quirks and habits to memory and anything not the norm became immediately obvious.
Knowing for a fact that the warlord's stride was usually perfectly smooth; a graceful thing of purpose and power, Jack took quick notice when it suddenly turned hesitant and stilted.
He did not, like most would, pass it off as nothing, but neither did he read too much into it. Chase was a lord and he a consort, and it was hardly his place to pry. That had never really stopped him before, but this was just a little limp and Jack was hardly in the mood to be snapped at for asking about something that could very well be…well, nothing.
So, instead, he decided to observe.
The limp remained throughout the day, still small and inconsequential, and Chase said nothing about it, so Jack didn't ask.
The next day, the limp had not yet left: instead, it had worsened. It still wasn't very bad, but now, it was something that the average person might be able to notice. Still, Chase was not saying a word about it, so Jack didn't bring it up.
The next day, however, put an end to the silence.
Jack was training with his master, as he often did these days. Chase had insisted that he learn how to defend himself, and so he did under the tutelage of the best martial artist around.
It was as Chase made to strike at him with an open palm that Jack saw It and dodged, holding up his hands in a gesture of harmlessness to indicate the end of the sparring session.
Chase frowned at him. "What's wrong, Spicer?" he demanded. "Why did you stop?
"Because you faltered," Jack declared.
"You faltered," Jack reiterated. "Whenever you go on the offensive like that, you strengthen your stance by bracing your leg. That way you can hold strong if the attack is blocked and be ready to shift into a defensive position to fend off a counterattack."
Chase was impressed at Jack's skills of observation, but still did not quite get what his consort was driving at. "So what? That's hardly new."
"No, but it's new that you set your stance and come at me off-balance." At Chase's look, he assured, "Yes, you did and you know you did. I can tell when you're not giving me your best, Chase, and that wasn't it."
"I must be tired," Chase imperiously decided. "You kept me up quite late last night, if you'll recall, Spicer."
Jack scowled. "Chase," he said sternly, "you've been limping for the past two days and just now, putting all your weight on your leg made you—you!—falter. What's wrong with you?"
Normally, had Chase glared so darkly at him, Jack would've shut up and backed off immediately. Instead, he had quite the feeling that it was merely an intimidation tactic, posturing meant to avoid having to answer.
"Tell me," the youth demanded to know.
Chase hissed at him, a sound of absolute loathing as he roughly jerked up his pant leg for Jack to see. "It's nothing," he growled in an attempt to prevaricate any sympathies.
Jack, for his part, was busy staring at the garish bruise on his master's ankle, a colorful array of blues and purples and blacks marring the normally lovely golden skin. "What…what the hell happened?" he wondered.
"That Showdown," Chase sneered. "Surely you haven't forgotten it already."
And Jack hadn't forgotten, but it had all been a very standard affair. Chase hadn't even fought! Jack had, and he'd won, too, despite the fact that Hannibal Bean had made an appearance to vie for the newly-activated Wu.
He had knocked the foul creature right off the edge of the canyon they'd stood at. Of course, the creep had managed to climb back up just as he had been leaving with Chase. Chase had scowled in disgust when the legume had latched onto him to pull himself all the way up and had kicked him off—…wait.
"You got that bruise from Bean?" Jack asked incredulously. "But…but he only grabbed onto you for a second!"
"You've no idea how strong that pestilent thing's grip is," Chase scoffed.
"Well…why didn't you tell me he hurt you? I was getting worried about you, you know!"
Chase petulantly refused to make eye-contact with his consort and said not a word about his reasons.
It was times like this that knowing his overlord well made things a lot easier on Jack. Making a look like that, Jack was reminded of how terribly large Chase's ego was and how easily it bruised from showing weakness.
Like as not, he simply hadn't wanted to seem any less than perfect and amazing in front of his lover.
Jack smiled to himself and approached the standoffish Chase, catching him in an embrace. "Next time, tell me," he suggested. "I like knowing who I should be pissed at for daring to lay a hand…vine…root-thing… on my master."
Apparently, this appeased Chase, for he returned the embrace. "We'll see," he said, which was about as good as Jack would get.
"Fair enough," Jack agreed.
"Has it finally happened…?"
"Has what finally happened?" Jack wondered.
"Have I finally gone senile and forgotten the date of my own birth?"
Jack snorted. "No, it's not your birthday. This is a…'just because' present."
Chase's eyes did not leave said-present; not once.
For whatever reason, Jack had decided to get a portrait of himself done. He had hired a professional, up-and-coming artist to paint it and posed for hours, he said, but as far as Chase was concerned, the result was more than worth the effort.
Looking remarkably lifelike, the painted Jack lay sprawled upon a bed, an enticing 'come hither' look in his eyes that seemed perfectly captured. He was entirely nude, but the portrait was hardly trashy for Jack's pose concealed most everything lewd while particularly featuring the sleek contours of his body.
The canopy of the bed had been used quite creatively, as well, and the deep pink fabric had been draped over and twined around him. Depending on how much of the gauzy-looking material had been used, it was either a bold contrast to or a delicate mesh framing Jack's stunning white skin.
"I love it," Chase said honestly. "I will treasure this 'just because' gift of yours and hide it away for private viewing. I want no one else to see my beautiful consort looking so lovely; especially when such a look was intended for me."
At the time Chase said this, Jack had smiled and kissed him affectionately, inviting the dragonlord to come and see the real thing.
A week later, however, saw Jack exclaiming, "You killed him?"
"He saw too much of you," Chase shrugged nonchalantly.
"He was just doing what I paid him to do!" Jack pointed out.
"And I thanked him for a job well done in that department," Chase allowed. "Then, I lopped his head from his shoulders."
"I did him a favor," Chase insisted. "He was an artist at the height of his popularity, which could've only gone downhill. Now that he's been tragically murdered at the peak of his career, he'll be leaving behind a legacy worthy of the history books."
Jack frowned. "What about his wife?"
"She'll survive," the everlord declared in confidence. "Her late husband's work will earn far more being sold posthumously."
Jack sighed, bringing a hand up to his face. "Goddammit," he said, "I can't take you anywhere."
Chase refused to take offense to the statement which was really just as well, as Jack could never stay mad at him for very long, anyways.
Chase could, quite literally, not stop laughing.
"Shud'dup!" Jack was howling at him with a nasally voice. "Dis hurts like hell!"
This prompted Chase to laugh harder, which only pissed off his consort even more.
"Dammit, you basdard, id's not funny!" Jack abruptly tasted his own blood again and re-tilted his head back, trying to stem the flow of sticky red. "I think id might be broken…"
And now, Chase was crying, clutching his stomach as he tried desperately not to keel over from sheer hilarity.
Really, a good boyfriend would be helping Jack, fetching him tissues to wipe up the nosebleed, checking to make sure his nose really wasn't broken, assuring him that, 'it's okay, lots of people walk into brick walls, you're not an idiot, I swear.'
But Chase was not a boyfriend, nor was he good by any means of the word and so he continued to laugh.
"What is that?"
Jack looked up, startled by the sudden intrusion. " Oh, god, Chase," he exclaimed, "you scared me!"
"And yet, you haven't answered my question," Chase pointed out. "What in gods' name are you looking at?"
Jack returned his gaze to his desk, currently littered with various little trinkets. "Oh, this is just stuff from dad's Disappointment Box."
The warlord raised an eyebrow at him.
"Dad has basically decided that I've been a disappointment to him at…pretty much every point in my life," Jack admitted. "He made a box full of all the proof of it and gave it to me as a birthday present a year or two back. You better believe mom was pissed. Anyway, I'm bored, so I'm just looking through it."
Chase scanned a few of the items briefly: an acceptance letter from a prestigious college that Jack had clearly not attended, several documents copyrighting various robotics breakthroughs to Jack Spicer instead of Martin, even the fateful pregnancy test that read positive!
But still, Chase's eyes were drawn back to what had originally caught his attention. "And what, specifically, is that?" he demanded to know, pointing the thing out.
Jack looked at it and picked it up. It was a photograph, or looked like one, of essentially himself. Essentially because, while the facial structure was the same, the coloring was all wrong.
Instead of red, his eyes were a cool, icy blue and his skin was a normal fleshy color; a bit on the pale side, but hardly white. The most prominent difference of the strange, parallel-Jack, though, was the hair: a rich shade of brown reminiscent of what one might see in a mug of coffee or hot cocoa.
"Oh, right," Jack shrugged, "this thing. Dad shelled out a crapload of money about a month before I was born so that he could get a peek into the future. This was made digitally and it was supposed to show what I'd look like at Age 20."
Chase seemed to be glaring at the image for whatever reason. "Then, why is it wrong?" he challenged.
"Didn't count on me being albino," Jack explained. "If I hadn't been, I probably would've been born with mom's eyes and skin tone. As for the hair, nobody's really been able to figure out how the hell that happened. You know as well as I do that that red's all natural, but I should've ended up with brown hair like dad. Genetics are weird, I guess."
Chase looked his consort up and down, silently appreciating his lovely, vibrant coloring before sneering openly at the image of what a 'normal' Jack might look like.
"Destroy that," he ordered his minion, turning to leave. "I never wish to see something so disgusting again in my life."
At an acrid smell that quite offended his nose, Chase purposefully strode into the kitchen in search of the unpleasant scent.
He found it immediately, along with Jack, who was standing with consternation written all over his face as he watched the orange burn on the countertop.
"Spicer," Chase snapped, "what is the meaning of this?"
Jack took a long moment to reply. Most of this time was spent mouthing silently, arms spread in a shrugging motion with his palms skyward. Eventually, he managed to speak.
"I dunno what to tell you," Jack admitted, sounding quite dumbfounded, indeed. "I've been in here for, like, ten minutes trying to figure out how the hell this happened."
Chase frowned. "You had nothing to do with this?" For effect, he gestured to citrus fruit still aflame, now turning black.
Jack shook his head. "I just came in here to get some ice cream," he said. "I didn't even touch the orange."
As if on cue, the bowl of ice cream Jack had mentioned, on the table and partially melted, also burst into flames for no apparent reason.
This time, both Heylin men watched it in silent shock until Jack blurted out with an emphatic, "How?"
Jack whined. "Are you sure we're not laying on any scorpions?"
"Positive," Chase promised. "Quit your worrying, Spicer. I am more than capable of protecting you from the wildlife. I'm already protecting you from the sun, am I not?"
Pinned beneath his master and the desert sand, Jack was, indeed, quite shielded. "Yeah," he admitted, "but…"
"What are we even doing here?" Jack wondered, most certainly not pouting. "I've seen deserts before. It's nothing really new…"
Chase laughed above him. "Deserts, you may have seen, xin aí," he allowed, "but you have not yet seen a desert sunset."
Jack frowned. "It's just like any other sunset, isn't it?"
"Certainly not," Chase denied.
"Well…how different could it be?"
Jack couldn't see it, but he could quite clearly hear the smirk in Chase's voice as he invited, "See for yourself: it's already started."
Squirming out from underneath the dragonlord just a bit, Jack looked up…
…and completely froze.
The sky was, quite literally, awash in colors, all of them vibrant and lively. The setting sun was a pinprick of white-hot light that irradiated into several bright arcs; yellow, orange, pink, and purple that turned the pale sand beneath it a burnt shade of sienna.
"Oh, wow," Jack murmured. "It's…gorgeous…"
"Sunsets are more beautiful in natural landscapes," Chase noted, still blanketing his consort with his body. "I find that the lack of industrial smog makes the natural colors seem so much lovelier."
"You can say that again," Jack agreed.
"Still concerned about scorpions?" the warlord teased. "Now that you've seen what I wanted you to see, we can leave at any time."
"No!" Jack denied. "No…I wanna stay."
"Even though something small and poisonous might be lurking somewhere in this desert?"
"Even though you may be constantly finding sand on your person for the next month or so?"
"Even though you didn't want to come here in the first place?"
"Yes," Jack said. "At least until the stars come out. They're probably clearer here, too. Please?"
His lover chuckled. "Of course," he agreed. "Merely making sure you'd truly changed your mind."
And, nestled between the warm sand and his warm Chase, watching a stunning sunset and soon some lovely stars, Jack was glad he'd changed his mind.
A/N: As all of you can probably see, I have started something ridiculous.
This all started when I was thinking of possible ideas for my BLANK of Chack series. One of my ideas was to maybe revisit older ones and redo them with different plots/ideas. I considered this for awhile and ended up looking at Rainbow of Chack.
From there, it wasn't too large a leap to the project I am working on now: the Crayola of Chack.
I say this is crazy because the Crayola company has produced some-200 different crayon colors, split up into several different collections.
Let me state for the record that some crayons will be skipped due to repetitiveness (i.e., I wrote an entry for Blue Green; I don't want to write another one for Green Blue), but aside from that, I will be writing a prompt for every other color I can.
In terms of posting, I've decided to separate the prompts by Crayola collection. Most of the other collections are small enough that they'll only need one post, but I'm starting with the Standard Collection, which has 133 colors in it.
For the Standard, I'm breaking it up alphabetically: this first installment contains all of the crayon colors in the Standard Collection that start with the letters A and B.
THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS. Here is a status-update on this project, listing each segment by its Collection name (all of which can be found on good ol' Wiki, if you're interested):
STANDARD - Begun, not finished.
SILVER SWIRLS - To be written.
MAGIC SCENT - To be written.
GEM TONES - Excluded: nearly all colors touched on in Gems of Chack.
CHANGEABLES - Excluded: too specific.
COLOR MIX-UP - To be written.
PEARL BRITE - Excluded: too difficult to write for colors that all include the word 'pearl.'
CRAYONS WITH GLITTER - Excluded: too specific.
METALLIC FX - To be written.
SILLY SCENTS - To be written.
HEADS 'N TAILS - To be written.
TRUE TO LIFE - To be written.
EXTREME TWISTABLES - To be written.
So, as you can see, I kind of have my work cut out for me here, but so far, I'm having fun with it, so who cares? XD
Thank you all for reading this first part of what will hopefully be a long and prosperous series. You can expect more eventually, but for now, I hope you enjoy what I've got! :D