Who Says I Can't Write My Own Fanfiction?

In an effort to get to know my characters better, I'm writing short stories involving them in the years before the novel happens. Okay, so since I'm the author, it's not really fanfiction. Whatever. I can call it what I want. Please, those valiant few who read my blog, find it in your heart to comment on my characterization or something.

Oh, and as I edit, I'll be keeping the story here. So don't assume it's all the same; I really am taking other's advice and making my story better. Thanks to ahem., Goober, and Random, who have helped me so far.

Sight

We’re something of an odd lot.

That’s the thought I keep having as I watch the antics going on under our oak. There’s pale, blue-eyed, black-haired James. His very movements, the way he sits, lounges, teases Mariel, betray the cat he was born as. And Mariel, loudly proclaiming her displeasure while twisting in a way that makes it look like she’s trying to get away without actually accomplishing anything. Her long, curly red hair has come undone – James, in his teasing, had removed the tie – and is now flying all around, obscuring her bright green eyes. Her skin, usually nearly as pale as James's, is flushed, making her few light freckles even harder to see. As she moves, at one moment half in James's lap, at another moment nearly out of his reach, she shows a surprising grace for one so tall (for she is the tallest of the four of us). Finally, she twists in such a way that she knocks James over, and they lie next to each other, panting and grinning, with the merest space between them.

Off to the side, Tarin is working on something in his lap, continually pushing his silky black hair out of his almond-shaped eyes. He occasionally glances at Mariel and James out of the corners of his eyes and shakes his head slightly in annoyance, forgetting that if he was not in between girlfriends at the moment, he would be doing the same. Instead, he is bending over something that seems to be constructed mostly of wires. The sunlight glints off of metal surfaces, contrasting with Tarin's dark clothes and olive skin. I find that I don’t really want to know what the device is, for then I might be obligated to warn either the lab, if it’s a mechanical device for use in some explosion, or whoever the intended victim is, if it’s something he’s using for a prank. With Tarin, it's almost always one or the other.

And then there’s me. Doing nothing. My clothes are as neat as they were when I put them on, not rumpled like Mariel's or dirty like Tarin's. My hair, black like my twin brother’s, falls calmly to my shoulders. My eyes hold little emotion. I am not a part of the games and other doings under our tree. I merely observe. It often feels like I’m not really here, or I am only here in spirit, not in form.

“Amber, what have you been thinking about this time?”

I turn my head slightly to catch Mariel’s eye. She is nearly sparkling with happiness. Her hand is twined with James’s and she is leaning into his shoulder.

“Oh, nothing much,” I say with a slight smile.