Author's notes:

Fun. Writing has to be fun. I've rewritten this chapter probably four times, to try to find the right voice so it's fun to write. Yeah, it's supposed to be stream-of-consciousness, but you gets what you gets.

I figure it's possible to write something that's fun to read, but hard work to write. Depends on the definition of fun, I guess. Mysteries must be fun for some people (I'm not one) but they must be a pain to write. Or maybe they are fun to write for some people.

I like writing dialogue. Part of this comes from my Asperger's Syndrome, that requirement that I spend a little effort, a little Will, so to speak, to ensure my spoken words have sufficient meaning, context, content, organization and many other facets that NeuroTypicals take for granted. I end up consistently checking my real speech, so I can apply these same metrics to dialogue.

One fact I keep in mind when writing dialogue is that it's sparse -- it's not as dense as narrative. I can't get the same number of ideas across for a given wordcount. I probably can't even if you doubled or trebled my space.

I can, however, drive home the few that do fit in a much deeper fashion. It's that old "show vs. tell" adage. With carefully crafted dialogue, I'm showing the character's feelings and intentions.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: get ready for lots of wordiness.

(Those of you just joining here, start with Callan and Sian 1)



She rushed off the bus, into the sprawling shopping complex. People tried not to stare at her, at her bruise. She grew used to their kind, if ineffective farce by the time she arrived at the food court. Already seated at a nearby table, Evander had no such guile.

"Ow, what happened to you, Sian?"

"Some guy. It won't happen again."

"Did you call the cops on him?"

"No... No, it was a one-time thing. I gave as good as I got, though."

He laughed, then ran a hand through his close-cropped hair and smiled. "I bet you did, Si. Bet he won't be in a hurry to see you again."

Sian pursed her lips, then looked through the menu.

"Sian? Look at me, okay? You're not planning to see him again, are you? Not after this."

She cocked an eye at him. "'Vander, that's not really your business, is it?"

He blinked, rocked backwards. "I don't know. Is it?"

"No. We're done."

"Okay, but you said we were still friends. Was that just a line?"

"I meant that. We're still friends, but there are limits."

"Got that." He drank from his mug. "Got that a long time ago. But, let me ask you: would you be jumping down Blair's throat if she asked you that? Or Chaz?"

"Asked me what?"

"If you were gonna see that jerk again."

She sighed. "No, course not. I'm sorry. It's just ... you know, we--"

"--have history," he finished with her in unison. "Yeah, makes it sort of complicated. I wasn't asking to run your life or anything. I just figured you'd get a laugh on the 'give as good as you got' bit. You look like you need it."

She looked at him over the pamphlet. "I do, I think. I'm just not sure you're the one to give it to me."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"History." She gave a bitter smirk. "We have history, remember? Most of the time we talk about problems, we end up in bed."

He nodded with deliberation on his face. "I don't seem to recall it being a bad thing."

"It wasn't, and you know it. Stop being a silly boy."

"Seriously, we didn't do it as a distraction. We usually figured out what to do, then talked some more about it, like what led to it, or how you felt about it, or something. Then... we just, well, ended up in bed."

Sian's smirk warmed a bit. "Actually, you usually came up with a solution." She hooked her fingers in the air to emphasize that last word. "You just wanted to fix it, then move on." She winked. "And move in."

Evander looked down, adjusted his napkin a little. "Wasn't like that. I was trying to help."

"I know, and you were lovable for it."

"But?" His eyes flicked up, caught hers.

"But?" She cocked her head, echoing him.

"Well, what happened? To us, I mean. Here you're saying I'm lovable because I was always trying to help, and I still want to help. So why'd you call it quits?"

"I asked for a ... no, you're right. I called it quits. You sure you want to talk about this here?" She tilted her head to indicate the crowd flowing through the coffee kiosk.

"Sure, no one's paying attention. We could go talk at your place, if you want."

She shook her head fiercely, hair flying wild. "No, not a good idea. Here or maybe your car. How about here?"

"Okay, so why'd you stop it? Stop us?"

"It's complicated. I mean, you're right, you always try to help. But, in the end, it came down to sex. That's all you seemed to think would help. Every--"

"Whoa, you just said, whenever we came across a problem, we solved it, we talked about it, then we ended up comforting each other."

"No, I said you gave a solution. I never said that solved it. That just finished the conversation. Then we made love."

"If that weren't the case, would we still be together?"

"Maybe."

"One last chance, Si?"

"We're done, Evander. It's over."

He nodded. "Well, as you say, we're still friends. Franklin and Deanne don't even have that. They're still playing games, trying to--"

"Hey, Vander? As a friend, can I ask a favour?"

"Of course, silly. Who do you want buried?"

She giggled at the old joke. "Nothing so involved. Just come with me back to my place--"

"Score!" His hands went up in the air, though his face showed he didn't mean it.

It did make Sian laugh, though. "Stop it, Van! It hurts when I smile! I just want you to help me get some stuff."

"Help you move out?"

"No, just little things. I need to stay with Blair for a while."

His face distorted in confusion. "Blair? Doesn't she live two floors up from you? Or did she move?"

"No, it's not that. I ... I was already running late with you and ... and, I don't know how to explain it. I just want someone there with me, and I don't want it to be Blair."

"Why not? She's a firecracker, just like you."

"I'd rather it be someone safer."

"Huh?"

"Stronger."

"Uh, Sian, we are over, right? You know, done?"

"I'm serious. Can you? If not, I need to find some more clothes."

He took a deep look at her, realized the seriousness of her mien, then his turned somber to match. "Sure, when?"

===

They knocked on the door once more. Evander sighed. "She's probably out. Why don't you try her cell phone, Si?"

Sian balanced her purse on the suitcase and fished out the battery and phone. "Heh. Must have ... uh, came apart."

He held up his. "That's probably why you didn't answer my calls when you were late today."

"Yeah, probably why." Her phone chirped, buzzed and flashed a logo. She dialed, heard her friend's rapid-fire greeting, then the tone. "Uh, Blair? It's Sian. I'd like to stay at your place for a bit. It's a long story. Could you call me back? Thanks." She hung up.

Evander shrugged. "Any other ideas?"

"No. Not really. Well, one, but it's a long shot."

He nodded and picked up her purse and suitcase. "Lead on."

"Your place. As friends."

"Cool! I do get one last chance!"