Five Things Ashley Will Never Mention... Unless Sydney Asks A Direct Question (And Only A Direct Question)

1. Her mother - or rather the female human whose body from which she spawned - is alive, and not dead. Has been not dead for more years than many of her friends would suspect. It's not like it matters though - if you called her up on the telephone and asked her about her daughter, the reply would not be about Ashley at college, or the awards she's won, or even the friends she's made - the reply would be "What daughter?" It's better to think of her as dead.

That's what Ashley's to her, anyway.

2. For as much as she tries to emulate him, Ashley doesn't remember her father. Oh, there's bits and pieces, flash of things - his hand on hers, showing her how to hold a dagger, the echo of his laugh over her head, the feel of him lifting her up and tossing her in the air. But not an individual memory, no.

3. What she does remember is Bernard - her father's mage. The one her mother would like to forget. When father died, Ashley knew he couldn't come around. But Ashley remembers things like school plays, spelling bees, sports days, things all the other parents came to but hers never did, and she knows she heard someone yelling her name, just like all the other parents did (just like all the other kids had). And she would finish her part, her word, her race, and look up through the crowd, and see his eyes. It didn't make up for her mother, then, didn't make all the winning worth it, but it did something. A quiet something, small and hidden, but strong enough to hold on to, in the quiet nights when a mother's arms refused to be there.

He wasn't allowed to come near her, her egg-donator had made sure of that. But Ashley could go to him, at least after she hit her 15th birthday and her rights were expanded. And she did. It didn't make up for not having a father, nor for her mother not being her mother, but it was something sweet and precious all for that. He had no children, but she knew if he was asked if he had a son or daughter, he would name her.

And if somebody asked if her father had made time to come to her plays, her spelling bees, her games, she'd say yes.

3. Bernard was dead before her 16th birthday. He shot himself, determined to not make anyone else kill him - they both knew that magic's price was coming to call on him, and had been for years. There had slight madness during all their meetings, a mania he tried to keep control of, wanting only to protect Ashley and not scare her. But she felt his hands shake in hers, and knew time was short.

When the funeral service was conducted, no one tried to move her from the family section. And when the will was read, leaving her a daughter's share of the estate, she smiled through her tears, knowing he had handed her her freedom.

When she was eighteen, she kept her father's family name, but took Bernard's for her middle.

4. The first time she picked up a hammer in a forge, she dropped it. On her foot.

Good thing she was wearing steel-toed boots.

5. She's loved Sydney in all their myriad forms: from the prickly mage he never quite got to know, to the sharp-tongued woman he loved as a treasure wife first and then as partner, to the indignant scholar, to the crafty girl who stands before her. But in truth, the one that she always laughs about and remembers most fondly, is the French noble. The one who, smart as a man he was, realized being a man in a French revolution was rather too dangerous, and dressed as a woman. A woman who decided that slow looking Irish redhead would be a good mark for a dumb and ignorant husband - and one who wouldn't look too closely under the skirts.

When he finally figures out he should have been looking closer at the breeches, Ashley's already spent five minutes rolling on the ground, laughing.

===================
Umm, Ashley did a drive-by? Sydney is supposed to do one as well, but I haven't been to bed.

I dream of a man who had no hands
But a tongue that cut like a knife
As I stare into the darkening night
I wonder where he went
Stepping from shadow to shadow
As solid as the mist
As tangible as thoughts
And as fleeting as memories
I dream of a man who hands told the lies
Sweet silver claws and arms
While his tongue held no secrets
Telling always telling the most bitter truths

======
Ashley is an honorary Scotsman--he broods. Snap out of it.

You know what was the first clue that my Ashley-muse was no longer the VS-canon-fanon Ashley? The sense of humor--or at least the facsimile thereof.

I do not need you telling me you want to meet Captain Jack Sparrow. Sure, you're telling me you just want to take Will Turner on as an apprentice in advance blacksmithing, says he has the talent. Right...

She's still snickering at me. Right, fine then, you can be a pirate... oh, right, not really a pirate. A privateer. Actually, hmm... that works. Sixth or seventh lifetime... pre-American Revolution... well, barely... running the embargoes...

However, I'm still laying down the law, Ashley. You are not dressing up as Captain Sparrow! No matter how good you would look that way. It's just wrong. So very very nice, but still very very wrong.

Love.
It's enough to bring a man to his knees,
Or lift him up on fairy wings.

=====
I have no idea if that's Syd or Ash; I can tell their female voices apart, but male? Sounds like something Syd would say, but I think it was Ashley.

Dance in the Darkness
(to the tune of "Lost in the Shadows" by Lou Gramm)
Moving in the moonlight
Dance in the shadows
Moving in the moonlight
Dance in the darkness

(another tune, currently tapping with foot... gimme time to actually write this piece of music...)
Oh the fire may burn
And the water may wave
The earth can move
And the wind never stays
The light may shine
But it never tells the truth
So into the darkness goes you

You saw the dance
And you fought your fight
You stood against wrong
And you did what was right
You took your chance
And you lived your life
So into the darkness goes you

I've made my choice
And I know who I am
I've seen the past
And where I began
I've seen who I was
And I'll be that again
So into the darkness goes me

=====
Ashley insists she sings constantly. She also insists Sydney is the better singer, and while Sydney agrees, Ashley is the type who is constantly humming or singing under her breath.

So, yeah, these are songs set in the origfic.

There are pieces missing from me.
Shattered once, twice, thrice
Pieces lie on the ground
I can't put them back where they were
I put myself back together
But I can't make all the pieces fit
Are they still me?
Are they still a part of me?
Or are they you?
Did I steal a part of you
To make the glue
So I could still move
In this world of pain I inhabit
These pieces glitter in the light
But I can't tell if it's gold or pyrite
That makes them shine
And there's silver running through
All my soul's tarnished gold
Holding these tawdry pieces together
Is the silver me, a different me?
Or is it you?

We're staring at each other. What do we do? I want to look down at my clasped hands, I want to stare at her newly formed silver claws, but I can't move my eyes from her. She can see into my soul, she always could. But what if this time it isn't strong enough for her?

Her words can shatter me. Simply saying my voice with ridicule will harm me in ways I don't want to think about.

======

She stares into my eyes. I wonder if she reads my heart as she does so. Probably not. My Warrior has ever been the one to wait until she is sure.

Does she know she can shatter me with a touch?

======

*blink. head drops into hands* I need plot, guys. Not angst over whether you two still want each other. Or how you want each other. Or how to go about doing the things you want to do with and to each other. Plot, not angst, hmm?

I don't want to know why they are hunting me... hunting us. I don't want to know. But I do. Talent is a hit and miss proposition. Skill must be both earned and learned. But power? Power can either land in your lap, or can be gradually grown. Talent can be found and nurtured, or located and destroyed. Skill can be taught, or the knowledge hidden away. But power just happens, and they can't control that. They can't control us.

I've always hated that mindset. Sydney loves the politics, the cut and thrust of the battle of wits. But even he hates the lording over done by the powerful on the powerless. Maybe because, for all the power both of us hold, the talent we both started with, it is nothing compared to our skill. We earned our positions among the mighty by being the best, over and over again. Earning our places with blood and sweat and tears, the grit of teeth over the pain, and the determination that no one would own us. And they would seek to own us? Never.

For all I am her champion, Mother understands that to me she is simply my Mother. I owe her allegiance, I owe her fealty; she is my goddess to defend, protect and honor. My mage is my love. But neither of them do I obey. Neither of them do I follow blindly. I submit only when I believe the cause is just, when the action to be taken is proper.

I will find my Mage. Then we will inform them that would seek us exactly what they sought. This world needs a shakeup, those in power have held it too long. They have forgotten fear in the power of creating it in others. We will show them that they were right to fear our power, but that they were wrong to actually do something about.

The sleeping wolf has awoken. And I am seeking my mate.

======
Thank you, Warrior. Mind telling me when you got so bitter? You're chucking things at me, and keep asking questions about the governments. I'm still thinking, y'know? And Mage, clamming up just makes me want to poke until you react. Don't push me into making you talk. I will be a bitch about this; you demand equality in this damn relationship, you pitch in as an equal muse.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Words echoing in my mind, same as the fear echoing in my heart. The deep-seated anger turning to rage in my soul. Growing up, I had hid the tears that came when I looked at the mage-knight pairs that trained me in my craft. Hid the hurt when they whispered to each other, "If she only found her knight... she would be so much stronger."

One time I told them, "My knight is not here; I'll be strong without them. Just watch me! I will!" And I did, and the rumors started saying that I was the mage that didn't want a knight, like a princess who didn't want her Prince Charming. All that meant I tried harder to hide the tears; I did so well that no one knew.

No one knew that I didn't need her... him... them. It does not matter who or what they are. I do not need them. I want them. I desire them. I crave their presence in my life, but I do not need them to survive.

The other mages swoon over the mage-knight pairs, cooing over their deep bonds, and the knowledge that they'll be their for each other, that they couldn't form the bond without being a good match. I keep silent, and they think it is in admonishment over their fangirling. They miss the point--the best pair in the world forms not because they need each other to exist from the beginning, but when they form the bond from their own desire, that they create niches for the other in their own soul of their own volition.

I have already created those niches, my knight.

So where are you?

I will survive this hunt without you. I can do it, so I will do it. But the cornered prey alone is not as powerful adversary as the mated pair that is hunted together. And I never wanted to be on the losing side.

So I will hunt you as they hunt as both--the fools. They gave me a great deal of what they know, while no one knows that much about me, even myself. Maybe you know the things that I cannot seem to remember. We shall see.

Let the hunt begin--but I still wish it wasn't this way.

==========

And she speaks! My Mage actually speaks! And I may keep the names; one of my friends pointed out that with as many changes to the source material, I probably don't need to change the names to avoid copyright infringement. But my MAGE spoke! And... and... I think I was right, she's even more messed up than my Warrior. Or maybe not, it's just they're fucked up in different ways, and going to be damned if anybody will stand in the way of having the other in their life. And that's before the memories come back.

we won't have our chance
we won't have our day
so man the walls
hold your blades close to your breast
we'll be going to Death today
but we'll be going with the best

wear the shadows like a cloak
never let the tears fall
they'll smell the hate
they'll smell the fear
but only let them get near
cut their throats from behind
while they hesitate, looking for the scent

blood has been shed
but the tears don't come anymore
words are never spoken
nods and shakes
movements of the hands
never opening the mouth
we tell each other our fates

Ummm... *points to song* it's really depressing? Honestly, I'm not sure whether this is part of the origfic, one of the Warrior's nightmares (and not really part of the origfic), one of Carerica's nightmares, or just something that haunts me. *shrug*

And to show that I can actually write something happy ( though a bit confusing... )

I want to go back to not knowing. I want to go back to dreaming. I want to go back to feeling hope.

Two days ago, I finally found out the truth of this life. Found out the truth of all my lives, past present future. And though the tears sting my eyes, I won't let them fall. That would mean I finally accepted that you're not here, that you're not going to be here in this life. That my dreams, my hopes, will stay just that. And that my fears came true.

I used to dream you would come and hold me. When the pain was worse, I literally could feel your arms around me, cradling my body in your own. Sometimes you were smaller than me, sometimes a woman, but most of the time a man who was larger than me, though always a slighter build. No matter the form, the arms would always hold as tight as possible, barely letting me breathe. And now I find that might been the truth; that your ghost haunts me, only being able to pierce the veil in spare moments. Spare moments when I need you the most, spare moments that would never even come into being if you stood beside me in reality.

I want to hate you for not being here. I hate myself for being so weak as to need you so desperately. We always maintained that the mage needs their knight; now I'm living the reality of the knight needing the mage.

Hopes and dreams can be heavy burdens, but knowledge and truth can crush you when they crush your chains of lies.

I want to go back to not knowing.

I mentioned unhappy lives? Try just plain depressive and suicidal. Warrior won't even talk about it with the Mage in the room, just presses her lips together, and refuses to speak. Granted, some of this is channelling my own history through the story, but if you take the position that characters can take on life and personality of their own--which the Warrior has done, and the Mage is trying to do--the only reason she tells me any of it, and doesn't just dance around the subject like she does with her Mage... is because I do understand.

His hand touched the sleeping body in laying beside him. No movement, only a low hum of appreciation from the touch came, but his own joy was nearly blinding to himself in the near dark. But the other didn't know why, nor would she know why for a few more years. Hopefully, his reborn mage would remember the spells easily and not the memories, as he the warrior-turned-mage didn't want to think about the loss of temper that faced him. Till then though, he would simply wonder at the fact that maybe the powers-that-be or the Dark that he served decided he deserved a reward. A smirk at the thought that a grouchy, trainee mage with an acidic tongue and an eye for chaos among order was a reward; a smile at the soul deep satisfaction that for him it was.

I mentioned a new story that I was writing; here's part of it. It's not the beginning, though it is near the start of the story. It's simply when the warrior starts to remember ( that she used to be more. )