#if you try to teach jeanne how to read and write it will stick for a second but if like idk 15-20 min pass she would likely find herself

[cestacruz]

Mmm Jeanne

[maeday-gae]

Red Ribbon of Fate

BayoJeanne Week day 5 (a fricken moth late I’m sorry ) Prompt: AU Pairing: BayoJeanne Words:  7216 (DJFDKLSAFJ no wonder it took forever)

Summary:  One can never tell when the smallest of choices might lead them to something they lost.  For Jeanne, reluctantly tagging along to a rock concert on a lonely Friday night might have been the single best decision of her life.

Author’s Note: This story is legit massive, the BayoJeanne week is over by a long shot, but the ideas keep coming, so I’m gonna keep writing, even if it’s slowly.  Frankly, I might have to write a chapter or two more for this story, as I have not even gotten to the core bits of this AU. Regardless, I had fun writing this and I sincerely hope you all enjoy reading it. :)

PS I read all tags and comments, they are always massively appreciated. Big thanks to everyone who has said nice things about my stories, they are a fuel source to keep me writing.  

PPS. Massive, massive Shoutout to @xall4one for hosting the week in the first place, and for all the hard work she puts into the Bayonetta Fandom and into the BayoJeanne pairing. I think you’re one of our pillars in the Tumblr Bayo fandom. Rock on dude. :)

Jeanne regretted giving into her co-workers wheedling from the moment she walked into the concert hall. When they arrived the music wasn't supposed  to begin for another half hour, but the place had already been packed, floor to ceiling, with people, not all of whom bathed regularly. The general milling noise had already been enough to start the beginnings of a headache (after dealing with teenagers all day it didn't take much), and she'd swallowed down an aspirin in preparation  for the rest of the night.

A rock concert was not her first choice for a TGIF party, no matter how much her co-workers insisted it was better than clubbing. 

Sitting at the edge of the bar, which was at the opposite end of the hall from the stage, Jeanne was fairly certain she could write a five page argumentative paper on how dissimilar the experiences were.

A man that was more beer belly than bone slumped over the bar and loudly slurred a drink. Jeanne wrinkled her nose and looked away before he got any bright ideas.

Argument 1, people who went clubbing generally were looking for company or a good time, both required cleaning oneself and one's clothes to hope to achieve this. Even from four seats away Jeanne could smell the man's BO and beer breath.

Someone jostled her shoulder and she nearly spilled her drink over the bar. She turned to glare at the offender, but the woman was moving off into the crowd without so much as a glance back.

Argument 2, when clubbing there was generally an accepted area of the establishment where running into people was possible, if not a given. At a concert, there was no safe place for our personal space, except perhaps for outside the concert hall. She had already been jostled, bumped, feet stepped on and generally shoved about more times in the last hour than on her last two weekends of barhopping.

“Isn't this great?”

Jeanne’s musings were interrupted by a flush faced woman whose hair was only a shade redder than her cheeks. She slid in between Jeanne and the neighboring barstool, waving the barwoman down with her empty glass.

“This place is soooo packed! With so many great looking people!” She gestured loosely towards the floor, “y-you should get out there and start cruising, there's plenty of ladies loving ladies who's looking just lovely.”

“How many of those have you had already, Claire?” Jeanne asked mildly, managing to keep her irritation out of her tone.

“'nuff to have a good time,” Claire replied with a slight slur as the barwoman handed her a filled glass, “maybe you should catch up so you can start having some fun too! Pull the stick out of your ass and join us, we're all hanging out on the edge of the pit. Best place to see them.”

“See who again?” Jeanne ignored the barb in favor of taking a drink, mentally trying to recount the names of the bands playing that night. Given that she had only heard of them on the drive over, she wasn't sure she was going to be impressed.

“Well the bands! Duh.” Claire paused for a second and followed up with. “Mostly we're here to see the name band at the end though, they are probably why it's so packed tonight.”

Jeanne gave her a flat look, but Claire didn't seem to notice.

“It's so cool they're playing here, they already did a much bigger show at the other side of town last week, but there were so many fans they booked here at the last minute.  The Umbra are the best band there is.”

Ah right. Jeanne frowned sourly. It wasn't as though the old clan had much power or influence anymore, but they weren't exactly dead. Someone using the age old title for some silly pop band made her stomach turn over. She couldn't even begin to imagine what her mother would think, probably fire and rage and the threat of hexes if Jeanne had to guess. But that wasn't Jeanne's life anymore, she'd left it all behind and had no place to comment on the name, no matter how much it twisted her insides.

Claire was still talking, completely oblivious to her inner turmoil.

“.... The dummer is so handsome, I'd love to meet them. Oh! But the lead singer, Witch, she's the hottest thing on two legs right now, her performances are so good she puts all her audience under her spell! And get this,” Claire's leaned closer to Jeanne with a conspiratorial grin, “she's openly pan, it's the coolest representation I could hope for!”

Jeanne was fairly certain Claire was quoting some article or other almost verbatim. Still, she could understand Claire's glee at having a famous celebrity be open about a shared sexuality, even if the woman's stage name was something as unimaginative as 'Witch’.

“I'm still shocked you haven't heard of them! Aren't you related to that old family back where you're from?”

Jeanne stiffened. Even if Claire meant that innocently, the implications laden therein were extremely antagonizing. Or maybe it was just her American accent-that seemed to be the standard tone half the time.

“Distantly.” Jeanne lied stiffly, hoping Claire would take the hint.

“Yea I thought maybe the band was connected to that family somehow, maybe you knew about it or something.”

For being a high school leveled English teacher, Claire was very bad at reading between the lines.

“You'd better get back to the others, they'll be wondering where you are.” When Claire looked concerned and opened her mouth to reply, Jeanne cut her off. “I'm fine here, I'm fighting off a headache and don't want to be too much into the fray so it doesn't turn into a migraine “

“Well, if you're sure... you can always join us anytime,” Claire pointed to a fair corner of the hall, close to the stage without being in the inevitable mosh pit zone. “We're camping in that spot there. You should at least make your way over to see the Umbra up close, they'll be playing around midnight.” Claire started to walk off, “We'll see you in between as we need drinks!” Then she was lost to sight amid the ever shifting shuffle of bodies.

Argument 3, one actually spends time with one's friends at a club, given that they are all enjoying the atmosphere.

Jeanne was sure Claire would take news of her grumpiness back to the other teachers, many of whom she'd been friends with for the six or so years she'd been teaching at the school. Yet she knew she was still an enigma to them in many ways, her lack of enthusiasm for these things being one of them.

That was fine, she'd agreed to go with them and she had. Now she was handling the situation on her own terms, not dragging anyone else down with her moodiness by choosing to remain reclusive. If they couldn't deal with that about her by now then there were worst things going on than sitting alone at a bar.

This was fine.

It was another twenty minutes before the concert started, and when it did, the opening band caused such a noisy ruckus of ‘music’ that Jeanne was half tempted to escape to the restrooms until it was over. She supposed they might have sounded alright when not live, but frankly the overuse of flashing lights and too long guitar solo was off-putting.  

She ordered another drink, keeping herself contained to light sips as the hour wore on -she had no intention of getting drunk in such an unpredictable place.

The second band was much better than the first, older and more experienced with their music and performing. She found herself nodding along to the music and took a note of their name on her phone, intent on looking them up later. Claire and several of the other ladies returned to the bar during the second to last song, ordering a new round of drinks and inviting Jeanne to join them soon, because as they said “The floor is gonna get tight when Umbra starts playing, you wanna move closer while you still can!”   Jeanne had managed a light smile and promised she would in a bit, which seemed to have satisfied them.

The third band was one she had heard of before, even if just in passing on the radio, and Jeanne found herself bobbing her head to the rhythm by the second song in. By the third song, she could see what her friends had meant when they said ‘tight’. Somehow the ground floor was even more packed than it had been just a half hour ago, and though everyone was enjoying the music being played, there was an air of anticipation.

Jeanne let out a resigned sigh, and downed the last of her drink in one go, the burn of the alcohol flaring through her mouth and throat as she paid her tab and began to ease her way around the edge of the hall, slipping between gyrating bodies on her way to her friends.

“About time!” a voice hollared in her ear when she stumbled into them, tightly knit and standing a only a few feet away from the roiling mosh pit.

“You know me Trish,” Jeanne called back, having to lean close and yell for the blonde math teacher to be able to hear her, “I only show up when the party really gets started.”

The five other women cheered at that, and while most of them were at least tipsy, Jeanne guessed they’d accept that as good reason and forgive the rest of her absence.

For the rest of this song and the entirety of the final one, Jeanne sung along with her friends and cheered with the crowd. Albeit with somewhat less vocal enthusiasm than most were displaying.

It was nearly midnight by this point, and as the second to last band of the night cleared off the stage, Jeanne could feel a palpable buzz of excitement.

Then someone stepped out on stage, their whole persona a glimmering blend of black leather and bright primary colors. The crowd went wild.

“That's the drummer!” Jeanne could barely hear Claire scream over the din. “Aren't they just dreamy?!”

Jeanne didn't have time to study further for another band member strode on stage, a woman with similar clothes as the dummer, her hair shining in all the darker hues of the rainbow. Blue, green, purple.

Each of them moved with total control and confidence. The first gave the crowd a cursory nod and wave as they moved to their drum set, the woman flashed a playful grin and trotted over to a base that had miraculously appeared on stage.

The crowd began to assemble into some form of cohesion, clapping to a single rhythm and growing with a loud chant of “Umbra! Umbra!”

This went on for several long moments as the first two artists tested their instruments with such calm interest they might as well simply be sitting in their living room rather than in front of a crowd full of people.

Said crowd broke their chat and roared in approval as a second woman appeared. Electric guitar already slung over her back, its bright blue body and white lightning marks contrasted sharply with her buzz cut and orange dyed hair. She flashed hand signs at the crowd and cheered along with them, showing off a tongue piercing.

”ls that Witch?” Jeanne yelled at Claire.

“Just wait!” Claire called back, eyes never leaving the stage, her lips smirking.

The guitarist took her place and strummed a few practice cords on her instrument, the sound warbling across the whole hall. The sound caused the whole huge room to go oddly quiet, only a low buzz of hushed whispers. None of the band them seemed particularly worried or involved in what was happening, tuning out the crowd as much as they tuned into their instruments.

Jeanne frowned and glanced at her friends, suddenly very concerned that this was something a lot less innocent that simple concert.

Trish frantically waved at her to look back up at the stage, then in a low tone, she called over the quiet. “Witch!!”

“Witch!” Called someone else from across the hall.

“Witch!” A third voice, and now the rest of the hall joined it. Rhythmically chanting the name over and over, only this time there was no clapping. Instead, each and every person in the room stomped their foot in time with the call, creating a cacophony of beats.

Jeanne was reminded of a summoning ritual, and had to suppress a shudder.

The sound grew louder, voices rising in volume and stomps coming down harder. Jeanne could feel the floor rumble under her heeled feet with every chant.

Just when it seemed the whole hall was would collapse with the sound and the shaking, a flash lit the stage. A cloud of smoke rolled through the center of the stage, through the white haze the silhouette of a woman melted into view.

The hall went ballistic.

“My my,” came a smooth alto voice from the speakers, an accent Jeanne had not heard since she left home tickling in her ears,  “I heard so many people calling out for me.”

The cheering increased, somehow.

There was a laugh across the speakers, and the silhouette moved a step closer to the edge of the stage but didn't leave the cover of the smoke. Hands went to hips and the head cocked to one side.

“I just had to come and see what all the fuss is about, and here I find all of my most dedicated fans, what luck.”

Jeanne was tempted to cover her ears to block the screaming, some of which was coming from her own group, but she resisted. There was something painfully familiar about the voice, and she couldn't tear herself away come hell or high water.

“Well, it looks like all my friends are here as well,” the rest of the band was still visible, all of them grinning at the shrouded figure, “What do you think then, should we give them a show?”

The rest of the band nodded or cheered, raising fists into the air.

“I guess that settles that,” there was a showy shrug, “Get ready!” then she threw her hands out to the sides and the smoke whisked away. To where, Jeanne did not care, for the woman revealed was a goddess.

Short black hair spiked in stylish lines across her forehead. A black leather top with the chest cut open wide, the neckline coming back together at her clavicle and continuing into a woven high collar. Her arms were also covered in woven leather, the design pulling apart as it went down to her hands, exposing more and more of her pale skin as it went. Hanging from each arm were six long red ribbons that flashed gold in the light, all of them fluttering in mesmerizing patterns as she moved.

She stalked close to the edge of the stage, her high stiletto boots clacking loudly as she went. Now that Jeanne was closer she could see the woman wore wire rimmed glasses. Her eyeshadow was an enchanting blend of dark grey and purple, and her lips were a shade of rich maroon. But it was her eyes that made Jeanne’s breath stutter. A shade of gun-metal blue that had to be the singular most unique color she had ever seen.

No. It couldn’t be-

“We are Umbra and the Witch!” The woman cried, throwing her hands in the air, ribbons flaring out around her, and the music started with gusto.

It was a credit to the sound system that Jeanne could hear any of the song over the sound of the crowd, but it hardly mattered to her anyway. She was utterly glued to the woman prancing across the stage.  

Every note she sang was belted, beautiful, and bold, her lips and eyes smiling with each word. Every motion she made was fluid, one step flowing into the next and then curving into some unexpected half jolted turn, but even these she made look effortless and captivating.

The song was about standing tall, being loud and proud. The beat was infectious, everyone jumping or shaking with it.  Jeanne was swept up, her heart thundering in her chest with the aura of the experience. But a smaller portion of her was still reeling.

There was no way that this ‘Witch’ was the same person, and yet…. And yet Jeanne recognized some of her dance moves, things reworked from fighting stances and routines.

Witch kept her crowd wild, gestures that encouraged them on choreographed into her routine. Right at the crescendos of the song, the members of the Umbra joined in on the singing to enforce her words. At the final climax of the song, Witch reached  one arm over the other and tore a ribbon free, twirling it in the air for a moment before flinging it into the crowd in a streak of red and glitter.  A surge of cheers erupted from where she had flung it, a victorious hand punching the air with the ribbon clenched tightly between the fingers.

Another chorus came around, and then the music suddenly stopped, and Witch was alone, her voice carrying out the final notes of the song with a long, powerful vibrato, her arms raised in the air and head tilted slightly back. Jeanne could feel the energy in her singing, feel it excite her heart.  More than that, it awoke something she had forgotten.

Note ending, Witch dropped her arms and faced the screaming hall, chest heaving slightly, her lips split in a brilliant smile. She twirled towards her band and they seemed to converse about something, then all of them began to play again. Their enthusiasm evident in their faces, in the way they swayed with their music.  

Jeanne was caught up in the next song as much as the first, but still she could not bring herself to make a sound. So stunned, so unsure was she by what she saw. She was under a spell, both by the music and by her own memories.

Midway through the second song, Witch tore a ribbon from the opposite arm as the first, throwing this ribbon further into the hall. Jeanne could see her scan the hall for a split second before she let fly. The woman was calculating, but in a way that only someone who was looking could see it.

It felt like hours, it felt like a few minutes, but one song blended into the next, and soon a third ribbon was thrown. Jeanne could feel her friends tense, feel their eager hope that they might be the next to catch the prize, but it flew further away that the others had.  For a brief moment, Jeanne joined her friends in hoping one would come their way, if only because that would mean Jeanne could see her face clearly.  She had to know.

The lead guitarist wound down the song, then hollered out, “Are we all having a good time?!” More screaming, to which she roared back. Witch was taking a drink of water off to the side, her chest heaving very slightly, but her expression amused.

“Do you have any requests for our next set?” The bassist called out next, swaying her hips and grinning.  It was almost impossible to hear individual words in the tumult that followed, but there was some kind of similar rhythm to the reply, enough that the band seemed to understand.

“Down with the Moon? Oo good choice!” it was the drummer this time, twirling their drumsticks in a mesmerizing pattern, both sticks glimmering in the light.  “What do you think, Witch?”

Witch gave a playful shrug, smirking as she set down her water and strutted forward. “I think these New Yorkers have excellent taste, but then, they are our greatest fans so that’s hardly a surprise.” as the crowd lost their minds, She struck a pose and cried. “Let’s dance, baby!”

Jeanne didn’t hardly hear the song, that phrase circling around and around in her head. Her body numb and her heart hammering.  

It was her. There was no mistaking that oft repeated phrase of hers. The tone, the inflection, everything. It was her.

“Cereza.” Jeanne whispered, the sound totally lost in the uproar of the music, the flash of the pyrotechnics, the jumping bodies all around her.

Somehow, in some totally impossible way, Witch’s gaze turned to their side of the hall, Jeanne saw her scan, saw her reach down to grab a ribbon, and then fling it out towards them.

Time slowed, Jeanne’s hand shot out without thought, and her fingers caught hold of fluttering red silk. She caught the ribbon tight in her fist, the small rhinestone that was attached at the end swinging down to tap her arm with its momentum.

She hadn’t even needed to move, the ribbon had flown straight to her.  

Claire and the others were hollering and grabbing her shoulder, jumping up and down in excitement- but Jeanne didn’t notice.

For that split second of stuttering time, she was looking straight up into Witch’s face, and Witch was looking right back. Past the entire crowd and the waving arms and the spotlights, Witch stared at her. Jeanne swore she saw a flash of shocked amazement across her face, a flicker of recognition.

The moment was over, Witch twisting away to continue her song, her groove totally uninterrupted despite the brief second they shared.

Jeanne felt… lost. Suddenly disconnected from the ruckus world all around her. The others clutching at her arms and shoulders, but she held the ribbon in a fist against her chest. As though as it was her only line to this moment in this reality.

Witch didn’t look back her way through all the rest of the song, nor through the encore that the crowd coaxed from Umbra. Jeanne couldn’t bring herself to join the cheering or the singing, too caught up in staring at Cereza. Her Cereza up on stage, shining and singing for all the world to see, pure enjoyment in her eyes and dazzling energy in her steps.

Jeanne absently wound the ribbon between her fingers as she watched, the silk smooth and warm against her skin, and she twisted it over and over as the final song came to an end with one last, long note from Cereza.

Witch dropped her arms from their high pose, smiling hugely at the screaming hall, her skin shimmering with faint sweat. “Thank you!” she called, the speakers almost not loud enough to be heard over the fanfare. “Thank you very much! You’re the best crowd we could ever ask for!”  

Umbra moved to stand beside her, all shouting their thanks through huge smiles as they waved.

A handheld mic was tossed to the drummer from off stage, and after a few taps it came to life.

“We are Umbra and the Witch! Thank you New York!”  They crowed, flashing a peace sign before handing the mic to the guitarist.

“We hope you had a magical night here with us!” She punched one arm in the air, grinning wickedly. Then she tossed the mic across Witch, where it was caught by the bassist.

“Take flight back home all you pretties! But please don’t drink and drive, the bar has cabs standing by if you need a safe ride home.”  

The mass of people began funneling out of the hall, moving more like a bag of crusty marbles rather than anything more fluid. Jeanne was quickly surrounded by her friends, who chatted excited in her ear as they began to walk.

“Can't believe-” “you're so lucky!” “I saw Witch look right at us!” “Best. Night. Ever!”

Jeanne managed a grin, feeling her body tingling as the rush of the night set in. Her shock adding a numbing to her muscles while her heart drummed thunderously. What was she going to do? What could she do? Cereza was here after all these years, but she was an untouchable celebrity. A far gone enigma more out of reach than in all their shared years in the coven.

“Ms. d’Arc?”

A smooth baritone voice cut through the murmured hubbub, stunning Jeanne from her stupor.

Standing just inside of a hidden door in the wall was an absolutely massive man. His rich ebony skin and dark suit made it difficult to see him in the low light. His arms were crossed but even though the contours of the jacket Jeanne could see that he was built like a damn tank.

“How do you know my name?” She blurted, the hand holding the ribbon tightening further. Her friends had ground to a halt, all of them watching the man with various levels of suspicion and unease.

The man inclined his head and it was then Jeanne noticed that he was wearing sunglasses. Sunglasses! In a back lit hallway in a dim concert hall.

“Witch would like a word with you.”

All further judgments if his character were lost in a haze of white noise shock.

“Your friends are welcome too, if you'd feel more comfortable that way.”

Jeanne didn't bother to wait for the chattering and dithering to start. She wasn't going to waste this chance on entertaining possibilities and problems.

She stepped forward to the hall and the man stepped back. The light from behind him flashed across the Id badge pinned to his chest, illuminating the single word there. 'Rodin’

A hand gripped her shoulder, it was Claire. “Jeanne wait, this feels weird.”

Irritation stabbed through her, made worse by the curious crowds roving by on their way to the exit, but she fought it down. Under normal circumstances, Claire was very correct, at the moment however…

“It's fine, he has a verified badge, he's a legitimate security man. We'll be fine.”

“Jeanne I mean, this would be so cool, like chance of a lifetime cool, but why would Witch wanna talk to you? Why do you even want a talk to her? You didn't even know the band before tonight, why are you wanting to risk this?”

Jeanne guessed that Claire and the rest thought she must have been drunk, or under the influence of something to act so out of character. They weren't entirely wrong about influence, but they were wrong about what kind it was.

“Because I think I know her, the real her, from my home country. And I need to be sure.” Her tone was final, forceful and focused. “Come with me or not, I'm going. I can catch a cab home if I need to.” She walked through the door, past the giant man, and after a half second of hesitation, heard the rest shuffle through.

The door closed and the hall was instantly quieter.

“This way, ladies.” Rodin moved ahead of them and without glancing back, began to walk down the narrow hall.

It was a service corridor, doors to the side of them labeled 'Electrical’, 'Maintenance’, and the ever creative 'Closet’.  

Claire fell a step behind Jeanne in the narrow space and tried to mutter something in her ear, but Jeanne couldn't hear her over the mad rush of blood pounding through her body.

The corridor opened up to the backstage area, though technically they found themselves to the side of the stage itself. Not that any of that mattered, for a few steps in they were close to the stairs that led up to the stage proper, and there, loitering around the edge of the curtain, was Witch and her Umbra.  There was Cereza.

Their eyes met.

Cereza's face blossomed into a huge smile, eyes sparkling. “Jeanne!” She clattered down the stage stairs and skipped the last one altogether. Jeanne took two mindless steps forward and suddenly Cereza had thrown her arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug.

Jeanne instantly wrapped her own arms around Cereza's torso, the motion, the grip so natural and familiar that it ached.

“Cereza!” Jeanne choked out, burying her head into the crook of Cereza's neck, the intricate weave of her high collar. She smelled of leather and light sweat, strawberry shampoo and the natural floral undertone that was so very Cereza. “It really is you, I thought I'd never-”

Cereza pulled back and Jeanne had just long enough to regret the loss of contact before Cereza moved forward and her full, warm lips were pressing into Jeanne's.

Jeanne had no reservation. She kissed back, hard. Drowning in the feeling of them that she had missed for so many years. Cereza tasted of cherry schnapps and mint and Jeanne couldn't get enough.

Cereza hummed a long low note in her throat and slowly pulled back, smiling lips now swollen, her eyes shining. Her hands came up to run fingers through Jeanne's hair, cup her chin and run a thumb over Jeanne's lips.

From behind her, Jeanne heard Trish stage-whisper a “Holy shit.” she ignored it.

“It's really you.” Cereza bit her lower lip, eyes still shining, “When I saw you in the crowd I couldn't believe… I had to make sure. It was like seeing a ghost.”

Jeanne chuckled maniacally. “How do you think I felt? Seeing you up there all razzle dazzle, I kept going over and over again whether it was you or not. Gods, Cereza, seven years and here is where I find you?”

“Yo,” a voice from on stage made them both jump and look around, though neither of them let go of the other.

It was the lead guitarist, she sauntered down the steps. “Not to break up this pretty reunion, but who's this, Witch?” She looked Jeanne up and down, then smirked. “She's pretty.”

“Oh,” Cereza turned to face her band, but rather than let Jeanne go, her arm lowered to wrap around Jeanne's waist. Her nails dug into the fabric of Jeanne's dress very slightly, though the rest of her pose was relaxed.

“Jeanne, meet Umbra, my band. There's Tina,” she motioned to the noisy guitarist, “Bree” that was the bassist, “and Sam.” The final being the drummer, each of them waved and gave a mild greeting.

“Umbra, meet Jeanne d’Arc, she's…” Cereza hesitated, Jeanne could feel the weight of the years between them fill that empty space. It made her stomach drop, but she wrapped her own arm around Cereza and squeezed slightly, unwilling to let the moment drown in the tide of the past.

“We were together for many years, before circumstances forced us apart.” Jeanne supplemented gently.   

“Holy shit are you serious?” Claire's voice rose higher with each syllable, and Jeanne almost flinched, having forgotten that her friends were present.

The hand on her waist went tense. “And who are these lovely ladies?”

To the room at large, Cereza was playful, teasing. Jeanne however, could hear the deeper question in her words, the tension in her tone. Even after so long apart, Jeanne could still read her like a book.

Oh that wouldn't stand, Cereza had kissed her and then been kissed back.

“These are my friends from work,” she supplied quickly, “they are the reason I came to the concert in the first place. There's Claire, Trish, Amy, and Silvia.”

She could feel Cereza relax. Potential jealousy nipped in the bud.  “Well then, I owe them all a debt of gratitude for bringing you here tonight, hands of fate as it were.”

“Yea, big fans, totally had to see you okay tonight.” Amy was well and truly sloshed, but only enough that her normally quiet self actually spoke. Jeanne was grateful that she was the only one that far gone, the rest were much  looser drunks than the demure art teacher.

“Well in that case, how about I sign a few thing as thanks? Oh, maybe let's do a group selfie! I bet that will leave anyone impressed!” Cereza smiled brightly at the group and their ensuing enthusiasm for the idea.

She was as in control of people here as she was on stage. Jeanne had to marvel at this skill, wondering where on Earth she had learned it so well. She'd certainly never had any kind of need or opportunity all the years of growing up...

Reluctant though they were, Jeanne and Cereza released each other as their two groups coalesced, the band cheerfully answering all questions poised to them or signing photographs of themselves that had appeared out of nowhere.  Jeanne was thankful that her friends kept the fan gushing to a minimum.

She caught the members of Umbra staring at her more than once, their eyes flicking between her and Cereza with pensive expressions. To be fair, she also caught her own friends doing the same. Neither side seemed to truly believe their connection, and she could hardly blame them.

“Wait, hold on,” Sam abruptly cut their own conversation with Claire, eyes snapping over to Cereza with sharp interest, the outburst was enough to silence everyone else. “Is she the one that ‘Snowy Woman’ is about?” they pointed directly at Jeanne, the rings on their fingers glinting.

Jeanne frowned, trying to remember the lyrics of the second song they had performed that night.

“Ah hm,” Cereza cleared her throat and Jeanne was astonished to see the faintest blush dash her cheeks. “Yes, Jeanne was my inspiration for that song,” she brought her hand up to her mouth and half covered it before mumbling, “and a few others I’ve written, if I’m being honest.”

Jeanne turned to her, eyes wide and her own blush burning across her cheeks. Cereza gave her a small embarrassed smile.

“Rapid water hair, ice cold eyes, my snowy woman melts only for me,” Trish mumbled the lyrics with unfocused eyes, then giggled madly, “Holy shit Jeanne it’s totally about you and- oh, oh wow.”

Umbra laughed, Jeanne’s co-workers grinned in stunned silence. Cereza half smirked and rubbed at the edge of one eyebrow. Jeanne’s blush deepened and she buried her face in her hands. She wasn’t allowed to wallow long, Cereza gently pried one of Jeanne's hands free and brought it to her lips to softly kiss, her expression full of open affection.

“All right all right, enough grab-assing.” a nasally voice broke up the moment, and diminutive portly man appeared from the same hallway they had come from. He gave a Rodin, who had taken up a stance near the exit door, a nervous glance as he passed by, “thought you were here to keep the groupies outta here Rodin.”

“I invited them Enzo,” Cereza cut in breezly, “I saw an old friend in the crowd and I just had to see her again. Rodin was very sweet in passing along my invite for me.”

Enzo squinted at Jeanne, and at the lack of space between her and Cereza. Jeanne decided right there that she wasn't very fond of this man and his pinstripe suit.

“'’Friends’ huh, yea sure…” he chuckled and the sound oozed sleaze. “Well, you are all very beautiful women, and the band always appreciates their fans, but we've gotta get a move on.” He motioned to the Umbra, the lit cigar in his hand trailing smoke as he moved. “We've got paying VIP’s who want their turn with their favorite band. So let's go, andiamo!”

“Always a buzz kill, Enzo.” Bree sighed, offering up a fist bump to Silvia.

“I'm your manager, not your Butler, somebody's gotta keep you nuts in line if we all wanna make a paycheck.” Enzo made a shooing motion.

“Wait wait, before we go I promised these wonderful ladies a group photo, can't waste a backstage opportunity like this.” Cereza waved at Rodin. “Would you be so kind as to take a few photos for us? That would be lovely.’

He uncrossed his arms and took a step forward. “If you stand over there,” he tilted his head to a section to the side, “the light will be best.”

“Perfect! Now ladies if you'd hand over your camera or phones to my associate and let's all crowd together…?”

There was a handing over of devices, then a shuffle as they all tried to get into position, Jeanne's group nervously trying to remain at respectful distances to which Umbra half laughed and pulled them in with arms slung around their shoulders. Jeanne found herself pulled back into Cereza's side, the hand on her hip gentle but firm.

Trish was on Cereza's other side, Cereza's arm around her shoulders and an ecstatic expression on her face. Claire was on the receiving end of a half hug from Sam, wearing an equally dreamy look. That left Tina standing with Silvia and Amy posing with Bree.

“Alright, everyone saaaay, Magic!” Cereza called, making Jeanne tense slightly.

There was a chorus of “Magic!” And several flashes, Rodin trading off phones in a quick and practiced manner until each of them had several shots on them.

“Take a look.” he said, offering the phones back to their owners.

Jeanne loosened her arm from Cereza to accept her red Mato X back, only half glancing at the photos for a quick moment to make sure none of them were out of focus.

The rest giggled and chatted, pointed at or zooming in on the pictures.

“Alright alright,” Enzo interrupted the sharing of screens. “Ladies, thank you so much for supporting Umbra and the Witch, we really appreciate fans like you, but now I really gotta insist that we take our leave.”

Panic stabbed though Jeanne's guts and she resisted the very strong urge to reach out and grab Cereza's hand. She settled for casting a wide eyes look Cereza’s way instead. She hadn't thought this far ahead, they hadn't hardly a moment to talk, and there was so much to talk about, so much she needed to say-

Cereza brushed their hands together, her index finger hooking around Jeanne's pinky. “Duty does call and all that. Rodin, would you be so kind as to escort my new friends to their ride home? Make sure they get there safely please.”

When Rodin nodded and the Umbra started to walk off, saying heartfelt goodbyes and giving handshakes or hugs, Cereza turned to Jeanne.

“Jeanne I… please, can you stay a while longer? Here with me? I do have to work a bit longer but after that…” there was an edge of fear in her eyes, her pretty lips turned down in worried lines. “I know it's late but-”

“I'll stay,” Jeanne gripped Cereza's hand firmly, “of course I'll stay, Cereza.”

“Um Jeanne?” It was Silvia, she was glancing between the two of them with concern, “are you sure? I mean… um.”

“I'll be fine, I promise, thank you all for looking out for me.” She managed a genuine smile. Honestly it was all thanks to them that any of this had happened in the first place, she couldn't help but be touched by their continuing concern.

“Com’on Sil,” Trish wrapped her arm around Silvia's shoulders, “Jeanne's a big girl, she can call a cab if she needs one.”

“If she needs one.” Amy giggled this so low it was hard to hear her.

Claire winked Jeanne's way, “Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Jeanny.”

Jeanne blanched at their antics. “That doesn't exclude much of anything, Claire.” She replied dryly.

“I know, that's the point.” Claire shot back, then, in a much more chipper tone, “Witch, you rock! We love you!” She flashed Cereza a 'rock-on’ sign and started after Rodin, who stood waiting for them in the hall.

Cereza blew a kiss after Jeanne's friends as they walked away, all of them chatting animatedly and casting sly looks over their shoulders as they went. When they were out of sight, Cereza asked.

“Do they have a ride home? I don't think any of them should be driving.”

“Amy’s cousin is an Uber driver, he's waiting for them outside. No one wanted to be the DD tonight. They'll be fine.” Jeanne assured her, suddenly feeling the lateness of the night and the tiredness in her bones.

It took her half a second to realize that Cereza was staring at her, and when their gazes met, Cereza glanced down at their still intertwined hands.

Jeanne flinched. “Sorry I-” Cereza's grip tightened as she tried to pull away, then slowly lifted their hands to eye level, the crimson ribbon still wound between Jeanne's fingers.

“Do you want it back?” Jeanne blurted the first thing that came to mind and then immediately regretted it.

Cereza blinked and then chuckled. “Out of all the ribbons I've given away, this is the first one to come back to me in anyway, and I couldn't be more pleased at who it found for me.”  She toyed with the rhinestone clip on the end, letting it sway between them. “They are my gifts to the people who supported me all these years, and I cannot think of anyone more deserving of it than you.”

Jeanne's throat stuck, welling with a cascade of emotions that she didn't have room to release. “Cereza I-”

“Hey Witch! Get a move on, the band is waiting for ya!” Enzo’s shout broke their moment and Cereza sighed in exasperation.

“I'm sorry. But I promise you we will have time for a talk, a good long one. We'll have time for us,” her face softened, and the touch of fear was back, “I mean, if that's what you want…”

Jeanne reached up and cradled the side of Cereza's face, the action automatic as it was affectionate. “Yes. Yes that is what I want.” She wasn't entirely sure of what all she had agreed too, but this was Cereza, there was very little implied there that she would have any opposition to.

Cereza’s mouth split into a bright smile, her gunmetal blue eyes shining...

“YO-”

“Coming Enzo!” Cereza yelled, cutting off her band manager off with a roll of her eyes.

She turned and lightly tugged Jeanne along by their held hands. “Come on, we'll be in the VIP lounge, they'll be lots of questions and autographs and picture taking for another hour, but there's also great catering and a minibar, I promise it won't be too boring.”

“Cereza,” Jeanne picked up her pace to walk alongside her, “ if there's one thing I learned about you years ago, it's that being around you is never boring.”

“You haven't seen the half of it!” Cereza flashed her devil-may-care grin.

“I look forward to seeing more.” Jeanne shot back with her deepest sultry tones, gratified to see Cereza's pupils flare slightly at her words.

Cereza pulled them to a dead stop, smack in the center of the backstage still half full of people rushing about. She turned, and pulled Jeanne in for their second kiss that night.

There was so much to be said, so many years and loss between them. But in this uninterrupted kiss, Jeanne allowed herself to hope they could go back to the way they had been before.

Their hands tangled together in the red ribbon, their fates bound as one.

[ink-consequential]

Ink Consequential: Summer 2017

Ten Word Tales

Jana A

1. I want you to redefine love. Love is not pain.

2. Sometimes, you remind me of my father, and it’s scary.

3. I wish I started years ago. But I’m starting today.

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Keep reading for movie reviews, short fiction, poetry, and more!

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Movie Review: Gifted

Lucas Brantley 

Gifted is a film directed by Marc Webb and stars Chris Evans as Frank Adler, a freelance boat repairman in coastal Florida who is raising his 7-year-old niece, Mary, who is played by Mckenna Grace.  They lead a normal, simple life until they discover that Mary has exceptional mathematical skills.  This leads to a custody battle with Frank’s mother, Evelyn (played by Lindsay Duncan), as each of the two has a different opinion on how Mary’s talent should be handled in her upbringing.

I thought this film was terrific.  Personally, I enjoy films with simple stories about people being people.  I appreciate films that don’t feel the need to extend its story to some grand, world-altering scale.  Films like this can be very engaging for ordinary people like you and me—but more on that later.  And, full disclosure, I saw this film with my mother on Mother’s Day.

Marc Webb is best known for his directorial work on The Amazing Spider-Man films starring Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone.  I didn’t like The Amazing Spider-Man 2 primarily because it never gave us a chance to breathe.  It was a sensory overload from the start, and audiences around the world agreed, which is why there won’t be another Garfield Spider-Man movie.  I’m glad Webb got to scale back his focus in this film because his directorial skills shine brilliantly and prove that he has real talent directing these slower, more character-driven stories.

The acting in this film is also superb.  Chris Evans really gets to show off his acting chops in this movie, which I was glad to see; too many times, actors that are best known for a superhero blockbuster franchise can’t escape that bubble.  Evans does an exceptional job, and his chemistry with Mckenna Grace makes that central relationship very touching.  Mckenna Grace did a fantastic job on her own.  She goes toe-to-toe with Chris Evans and Octavia Spencer (who plays their neighbor and landlord Roberta in the film), and she steals the movie in quite a few scenes.  I would honestly put this as the second-best child performance I’ve seen in a while, only trailing Dafne Keen’s performance in Logan.  Octavia Spencer herself is great, although she doesn’t appear often.

The writing in this movie may be my favorite part.  I can’t remember a time when I’ve had so many out-loud reactions to moments or one-liners in a film, and I wasn’t the only one in the theater who did.  The humor in this movie is great and well-timed by all the actors, especially Mckenna Grace; she comes off as an adorable little smart-aleck, which is very relatable for me.  Overall, however, the film is a drama and it handles its subject matter intelligently, and that’s what I want to get into.

Without spoiling anything, the film’s main conflict surrounds the custody battle for Mary since her mother has passed away and left her in the care of her brother, Frank.  Evelyn and Frank have a strained relationship (to say the least), and Evelyn seems to only become interested in Mary after the school discovers she has this talent.  Evelyn wants this talent to be nurtured; she wants to send Mary to a school for gifted children and get her into classes more suited to her intelligence level.  Frank, however, believes that she needs to grow up as a normal girl and not be treated as special in any way, so he refuses to send her to this gifted school.  Thus, the court custody battle begins.  The film handles this conflict well in that they don’t overload you with courtroom scenes in the second act; they’re spaced out between watching the characters evolve with this situation in daily life, which makes for an organically-paced story, which is another major credit to Webb’s direction.

I think many people, especially today’s youth, will find this film to be very relatable and engaging because, from what I’ve been witnessing, the main conflict is pervasive in society.  Too often, I see that kids anywhere from preschool to high school and beyond are being pushed to be great at something.  If it is discovered that a child has a talent for something, be it academic or athletic, parents often make sure that they are engaged 110% in that activity.  They push the child to try harder and harder to improve their skills daily.  In my opinion, this action by parents, while well-meaning, is counter-intuitive.  If you saturate a child’s life with this one thing and push them too hard to be better at it, they will grow to resent you and hate the activity, thus removing any motivation to pursue it.  Kids should be able to explore any number of interests they may have.  It improves their learning with the added benefit that they can grow to know what they enjoy and don’t enjoy.  There is a scene in the film where Mary is staying with Evelyn for a brief period at her home in Massachusetts.  Evelyn tries to get her to work on more math problems after going through old photo albums, but all Mary wants to do is try the piano—something she has always wanted to do but Frank could not provide for her.  Evelyn refuses her this desire.  It’s a small moment, but it resonated with me because I was begging her to let Mary be a normal kid.

I was very much sympathetic to Frank for most of the film, as is the intention, but the film does a good job of also presenting Evelyn as a human being and not just “the bad guy”.  It would have been so easy to make her a cardboard cutout of a snobbish and unfeeling old lady, but she wasn’t.  You do understand her side of the argument as well, though how she goes about pushing her agenda is anger-inducing.  You can tell that she genuinely does care about Mary and Frank, though her way of showing it is not ideal for either.  The history with Mary’s mother plays an important role throughout the film, and I won’t discuss it here because it gets into spoiler territory, but it determines the film’s resolution.

The ending of the film was very satisfying for me because it compromises.  I think this is an important film for any parent of young children to see because it teaches the lesson that you need to let kids be kids.  Don’t push them too hard to do something they may not enjoy; just because they’re good at something doesn’t mean they enjoy it.  Let them have a normal childhood, and, if they show a talent at something, give them the opportunity to try it, but don’t push them to be the best at it because that puts too much pressure on them.  You should obviously encourage them to stick with it, but if they end up not liking it, encourage them to find something else.  The character of Frank is a good role model for parents because he does an excellent job of teaching Mary about how life works and doesn’t lie to her; he trusts that she is intelligent enough to grasp the truth when he tells it, which I found very refreshing.

Overall, Gifted is a terrific film that I will absolutely buy on Blu-ray/DVD when it releases.  If I had to grade it, I’d give it a 9.5/10 or an A.  It’s also an independent film, so I would encourage anyone to support the film because we need more films like this.  Films like this—the ones that analyze everyday life in society from a singular situation—can resonate with many people because, quite often, they are situations with which we can empathize to some degree.  By doing so, the film reaches the largest audience from a singular platform, which is a quality you find in a lot of the so-called “Oscar-bait” movies.  Let’s give this film the attention it deserves.

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First Love

Elise Alarpy

First love, I wish I could forget you; I don’t want you anymore. Years have passed and my traitorous heart Still clings to your memory.

Darling, why is it so hard to let you go? I shouldn’t love you. I shouldn’t love you. I shouldn’t love you. But I do. I do— I do.

Honey, I’m trying to move on, I’m trying all the time. I don’t want you, I don’t need you. Leave me alone.

Dearest, I hate you. I love you, but I hate you. You wrecked us, You did this, And I am left in the aftermath.

Darling, I love you, The words I never said. I hate you. I hate myself for loving you.

Sweetheart, you're my addiction. When I finally think I’m clean, You pull me back in again. And again. And again.

First love, you’re my biggest regret, My biggest could have been. I think of you fondly, I remember you sadly, But I just want this to end.

First love, my heart was yours, Although you never knew it. I shouldn’t love you (I do) Leave me alone I hate you (I love you) (Again and again and again)

But I don’t want to anymore.

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The Trial

Danielle Jeanne

The bed was soft and warm by the time Brougha fell into it at the peak night hours. She could feel the blood from her right arm oozing towards the sheep skins that acted as blankets. She was feeling far too tired to actually get under the covers, let alone deal with her injuries before falling asleep. She could feel the cracked wrist bone and the black eye she had been gifted from the clan chief and knew that they would still be issues in the morning even if she tried to fix them now. She was no healer after all. She was not her mother.

*****

“—ling! Darling! It is time to get up now! The chief is waiting, along with your parents!” Brougha jolted awake at the sound of Carguk’s voice filtering in through her sleep. Her green eyes regarded him thoughtfully, confused as to why he would be the one to come tell her.

“Where is Purdash? Isn’t she still my mother’s lead Curer?” Brougha inquired gruffly, not pleased with being alone in the same room as a full-blooded orc so soon after last night. She knew how talk traveled in small encampments like Burning Blood, especially with it being so late in the morning according to the sun. Chances are that the whole tribe had heard about it by now, even the few human members.

A mincing smile grew on Carguk’s face as he looked at her right arm, confirming Brougha’s suspicions. He just wanted to see if the rumors are true. He probably wouldn’t even offer to help bind up her wrist, just to settle some morbid curiosity on the pain tolerance of half-orcs. He straightens up from where he had been crouching next to her bed, “She’s busy at the moment. Your mother’s people have a bad habit of getting sick over the slightest things. I say, getting a fever over raw meat is just being weak—”

“No one keeps you here for your opinions,” Brougha cut him off, “I’m going, get out of my way.” She pushed herself up using her right hand and made her way out of the clay hut that had her bed and not much else. As she walked through the encampment, her ears picked up hushed whispers from the tanning shack as she passed, but nothing clear. She soon found herself standing outside of the Chief’s Longhouse, hesitating before pushing aside the canvas that served as the door as she made her way inside.

She guided herself though the Longhouse and stopped once she was inside the meeting chamber. She saw her father standing next to the chief, solemn. When she notices the absence of her mother, she stays quiet. Instead of her mother, there is another woman there, one with a very serious disposition. The other woman looks at her closely and begins to hum in disapproval.

“You didn’t take the time to tend to your wounds? That is how one dies after battle, you know!” The other woman growls out. “You don’t think when you’re done fighting! You don’t even think when you are fighting! That is why I broke you last night, and that is why I will break you again!”

Brougha stayed still as she listened to the words her chief spoke. It was clear then: she was here for another fight. Another beating, if what her chief says is true. “Fine, then I will think when I fight,” she responds, “And this time you will not break me.”

“Me breaking you was not the point, Brougha. The point is that even with the berries that your mother gave you, you still lost!” the chief roared.

Brougha’s blood froze. She was being accused of cheating; her mother, of helping her with it. She knew of the berries that the chief was talking about: to rare to even name, and too powerful for an orc to even think of using, let alone a half-orc like herself.

“I did not eat any berries before I fought. Do not accuse me of cheating,” Brougha told her chief. She looked over to her father, “Explain this to me.”

“They found a few berry stains in your mother’s tent. It looked like she was trying to dilute the berries for safer consumption. She knew how important last night was to you. She made the mixture and gave it you. That is the only explanation as to why we couldn’t find the mixture in her tent,” Erigg spoke mater-of-factly.

“I was given nothing. The humans are sick, she probably made it for them!” Brougha pleaded. She had seen a few public trials of the tribe before, and she knew that there was little to no chance of the chief going back on her ideas of what went on in the encampment. “Go check with Carguk! That is what he told me was happening in the healer’s tent!”

The chief looked upon Brougha gravely. “You were found cheating and your mother was found in aiding you. Your weakness has cost you your place in the clan and your mother’s shamefulness will be surrendering her own life.”

Brougha stood frozen in place for the decree. Her mother was to die. Her mother, one of the few humans in the encampment that could heal the others, was to be put to death. That was unacceptable.

“I will go, but if I come back and prove that I am better than you, you will let my mother live.” It wasn’t Brougha’s style to ask permission to do something; she found that people tended to accept what was told to them much as she accepted what was told to her. Her charismatic gamble paid off when she saw the chief nod in her direction.

“I will give you three years to become better than me. You will come back in that time and if you do not your mother will be dead. Now go; you have some training to do.”

It wasn’t the orc’s style to have any amount of fanfare when one was banished from the village, and there was certainly no exception when it came to a half-orc. Brougha made her way out of the Longhouse and out of the wooden gates of the encampment, completely bypassing her clay hut. Her things were earned by the tribe, so they stayed with the tribe. She wasted no time in goodbyes or lingering outside of familiar buildings that she would not see for a while. The faster she left, the sooner that she would return.

Brougha had a lot of fighting to do.

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Haiku Hiccups

Esther C

I the journey is long, winding, wavering as I push myself further

II you will not know love until you awaken next to the one you love

III summer’s heat gives way to quenched passion and remorse in the quiet nights

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Ramadan

Jana A

As the first beams of dawn start to light up the night sky, the imam's deep melody begins: "God is great..." and so on until the end of the call for prayers. For the next 16 hours or so, I would abstain from food and water. If you're not familiar with Islam, Ramadan can seem like a daunting challenge.

"Not even water?!" Nope, not even water.

And I admit that sometimes it can be challenging. Your body gets tired more easily. Your throat feels like a barren desert. Your movement becomes sluggish towards the end of the 16 hours. Yet, millions of Muslim choose to fast each year, and a lot of people don't understand why.

I love food. I adore food. If each person is born with a vice, then I'll sheepishly admit that gluttony must be mine. I don't just eat food—I devour it, taking the time to enjoy every second of flavor.

When I'm hungry, I literally begin to fantasize about food. I close my eyes, almost purring, remembering how it feels to sink my teeth into a warm, fresh roll of bread. I plan, with perfect attention to detail, future meals. I think of more than just the taste, of course: the smell, texture, and sight of food is an essential part of the experience.

So, since I adore food so much, why do I (a mostly non-religious person) follow the tradition of fasting?

First of all, fasting brings me a great peace of mind. When physical desires are quenched, my mind feels more alive. Instead of resorting to comfort food when I'm feeling down, I pick up the phone to call a friend. Instead of eating lunch at 6 pm alone in my room, I break my fast with family and friends. Instead of carelessly satisfying hunger with whatever is in the house, I relish every moment of the dish that I spent the last 16 hours craving.

Secondly, fasting, more than anything else, brings a great empathy for people less fortunate than I. Not every person who feels hungry is lucky enough to think of the delicious meal they're going to have in a matter of hours. For a lot of people, Ramadan isn't just a month. They are hungry all year round. Some people don't have clean water to drink. When I force my body to undergo a small part of what they go through, I challenge the subconscious part of me that turns poor people into a caricature. When I'm hungry, starving people are not just figures in a far-away land. They're suddenly, joltingly, brought to reality.

Ramadan, for me, is more than the beautiful fairy lights covering my neighbours' porch, or the feasts that cover my dining room table. It's a conversation with a God who I otherwise don't talk to. It's almost like He's telling me, "Look how many blessings you have laying at your feet." And I listen the growling of my stomach, and I listen to Him.

Photo by Jana A

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Mountain Climbers

Esther C

I like to think that I’m known for my adventurous spirit. Roller coasters, zip lining, international travel, you name it. Stuff like that is a cakewalk for me. So, since I was blessed enough to score incredibly cheap plane tickets, I did something adventurous: I went out to visit our own Adrianna for a few days.

During my vacation to the desert, we did lots of things that you’d expect two writers to do. We visited coffee shops and bookstores, had group writing sessions, and played with her amazing kitties (though one did enjoy stealing my pillow, but I digress). That being said, I doubt that anybody expected us to literally climb a mountain.

Okay, not literally. It was actually a really big and climbable rock in Papago Park. It’s beautiful, too. Sand, sun, cacti, bees, and other desert friends all welcomed us on our journey. We did literally climb (while posing for some pictures for Instagram—what are friends for, right?), and this is where my problem began.

When it comes to climbing mountains, my biggest obstacle is, in fact, myself and not the mountains.

I was wearing a dress.

Yes, you read that right. I was wearing a dress to go climb a really big rock in the desert. In the effort of fairness, I had made the dress (I dabble in making my own clothes, and this one actually worked out for me). And, when I had gotten dressed that morning, we didn’t know exactly what was on our agenda for the day except for a bookstore and a coffee shop. You see, it’s not totally my fault that I didn’t have the foresight to bring extra clothes or better shoes, and it’s definitely not my fault that I didn’t wear almost anything but that. (Okay, maybe it’s a little my fault.)

If you’ve never worn a dress in the summer, then you may not know about the torture that is thigh chafing. It’s literally the worst, and I subjected myself to it while climbing a freaking mountain. I cannot remember the last time I was that physically uncomfortable. I’m certain that I complained to Adrianna no fewer than twelve times (I’m not totally sure why she kept listening to me, but I suspect that it was probably the puns). I have promised myself that I would never do that again; leggings were invented for a reason, people.

My discomfort aside, the sight was beautiful: Phoenix was off in the distance, there were other large rocks and many cacti dotting the landscape, and it was warm and sunny. It was a dream. Adrianna and I sat there for a few minutes, taking the occasional selfie and chatting idly. I may or may not have accidentally flashed the whole of Phoenix by sitting down improperly.

After a while, we ventured back down the rock in search of air conditioning. I must admit that I sat in a very unladylike fashion to rid myself of the discomfort. This should go without saying, but I changed clothes later in the day when I climbed another mountain, but that’s a story for another day.

All in all, I would love to go back. You know, when I’m not wearing a dress.

Photo by Esther C

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For My Sister

Jana A

To my sister:

You were born in December, just before Christmas, and I remember wanting to hold you like you were hand-wrapped just for me. I held you like I thought you might break, and spent the next decade or so watching you break. Sometimes I would be the one to push you.

I would apologize to you, I'm so sorry, but I was trying to make you indestructible. Here is an apology: I'm sorry I saw in you everything I hated in myself. I'm sorry I always told you that Mama loved you best. I'm sorry that I tried to raise you. You rose by yourself like ashes from a burning home. You have taught me to look in the mirror with clearer eyes.

I love you more than I have ever loved anything in this life. If I could, I would redefine all the words in your dictionary, but it's too late: you have already learned how to speak and read and write.

I don't know if you need me anymore. I hope you always know that I still need you. I hope you always know you are the only part of home that I will cry over.

Who's going to wake you up from your nightmares when I'm away? When you're sad, are you going to hole yourself up in your room like I did? Will you trust me enough to call me and say, “Listen, listen, I did something wicked and awful and bad so please show me how to fix it, but please don't tell Mom and Dad"?

I hope you will because it has been an honor to watch you grow, and I hope I never have to stop.

Love,

Your BIG sister (even if you're my height now)

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Six Word Sagas

Danielle Jeanne

I You never pick up my calls

II I never hated you, only feared

III Fear is power, but also weakness

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Editorial

Esther C

If there were a drinking game inspired by my life, I would probably request that the players take a drink every time I did one of the following:

Talk about grammar (my default conversation topic)

Talk about Jesus (since I’m at church at least once a week, that’s beyond simple to do)

Make a bad pun (my other default conversation topic)

Get upset about how things could be done better (injustice irks me)

Do math for a stranger (hello, day job)

Say something sarcastic (excluding during Lent, of course)

Internally roll my eyes (which can be hard to identify unless you know me pretty well)

In all honesty, if you played this game, you’d probably suffer from alcohol poisoning within the hour. It’s easy to reduce myself down to a list of traits that would fit a character on a TV show—like the girl from the Midwest who’s probably the comedic relief of most episodes—but I also have the occasional heartfelt moment or memorable story arc. I’m in a constant state of acceptance of who I am as a person, of growing and strengthening my identity as a woman. I sometimes have to come to terms with my inherent worth as a person on a weekly basis.

More about that last point—it’s a sticky situation, but I’m not going to sugarcoat it. So, without going into the gritty details: I've struggled with mental illness for the better part of the last 8 years (I'm 21, for context). I had a conversation with someone lately where I mentioned that, and it occurred to me that I don't know who I am without it. I've grown into adulthood without an important piece of healthy living. I'm slowly making amends to fix that, but it's difficult. I’ve often stared at myself in the mirror and wondered to myself what I'd be like without the illness, and it finally struck me: I'd be the same person I am, just healthier.

I would still love fiercely and altogether too quickly. I would still sing in my church choir, still edit and write, still delve into my artistic side on occasion. I would still have a job (hopefully; one never knows the future). I would still be sarcastic and wear lipstick like it's armor while listening to music that many people in my life wouldn't like. I would still be a woman, a person, someone who breathes and has a soul and a spirit. My faith would still be important to me—and I imagine that it always will be.

I look at that list and see that I’m so much more than comedic relief. Sure, humor is an integral part of my identity, but it isn’t the only factor by a long shot. I am a created being, a woman loved by my Creator because of that. I am constantly in awe of the complexity with which He pieced me together, honestly. Everything I listed before and more is true, right down to the illness. Yes, I’m struggling, but I’m far from alone in this, and I’m far from the single qualities that I often peg myself as.

I don’t know who I will be tomorrow, but I know who I am today: I am a person so genuinely unique that it would be impossible to write everything on a piece of paper and have a complete picture of me, and that’s the way it should be. But, in the meantime, feel free to take a shot of something whenever I correct your grammar. Amid all the negativity, it makes life a little more fun.

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