Writerverse - Table of Doom, Prompt: Hope
I'm writing bits and pieces of the whole trilogy out of order for the time being, until I get a solid plan set up for Seize the Day. This should take place about...halfway through Seize the Day. It's juuuuust before Ryin becomes Emperor. This is also my fill for the hc_bingo prompt "forced to face fear." Enjoy. :)
Jazz gave himself a little shake, ignoring the phantom pain in his left side. It had been months. Months since he last gave a speech and stood behind a podium, looking out into a crowd that likely both loved and despised him.
The speech had burned itself in his mind, the words turning over and over. He rehearsed the words under his breath, straightening his tie in the mirror. As he smoothed out the slight wrinkles in his suit, he moved away from the mirror, the constant stream of his speech continuing to eek out through his lips.
His side hurt worse, his stomach turning as he kept his feet moving. Anything to keep his mind off the speech he was about to give. Anything to forget the way the crowd looked several months ago; to forget how he had riled them up in favor of Natural Borns like himself.
The public face. He had to be the public face. Ryin’s relation to the Emperor made him anything but ideal to do this. Not to mention Ryin’s mannerisms and harsher voice made him a bad candidate for public speaking. Ryin couldn’t command a crowd the way Jazz could. Jazz knew that.
Despite that, he’d give anything to have Ryin by his side at the moment. Except Ryin was attending to personal business. Ryin couldn’t be there to put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it good luck. After last time, Jazz could desperately use that small comfort, too.
Clearing his throat, Jazz paced the small room, practicing inflections all while telling himself he needed to save his voice for later. This speech couldn’t wait. The crowd was building, waiting for him just outside that door and wanted to hear him clarify what The Natural Born Movement wanted from the Empire.
Freedom. Protection. To be able to live their lives without fear of retaliation from bigoted neighbors, just like everyone else. Things Jazz had never really had, not in his short twenty-five years of life. A life that had almost -- almost --
He put a hand to his side, the phantom pain growing worse. He needed to ignore it. Needed to push through it, to just get out of this room and head towards that stage. He didn’t need Ryin’s support. Didn’t need that little shoulder squeeze.
When a knock sounded on the thin door separating Jazz from the outside world and keeping him safely tucked away from it, Jazz jumped. His rhythm had been broken and he cursed under his breath, tripping on the small area rug that lay between the mirror and the door. The door didn’t seem to want to open anymore than Jazz wanted to stand in front of that podium yet again.
“You ready?” Savin asked, blinking. His eyebrows furrowed together. “Where’s Ryin?”
“Personal business,” Jazz answered, shrugging his shoulder. He looked anywhere he could, avoiding Savin’s eyes as a blush crept up on his face. “I’m -- as ready as I’m gonna be.”
“Nervous?” Savin asked, stepping inside the small room and shutting the door behind him. A brief moment of reprieve. Another moment to stall and waste before standing in front of a crowd again. “I totally never thought you’d actually be nervous.”
“I’m -- I’m not nervous,” Jazz protested, rubbing his forehead with his thumb. The fact he wiped sweat away unnerved him a little. “I’m never nervous.”
“You sure?” Savin raised an eyebrow, crossing his long, thin arms over his chest. “You’re pacing back and forth and you look sick to your stomach.”
Jazz felt his blush deepen as he stopped in his tracks, crossing his own arms over his chest. “So what if I am?” he muttered, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket.
“That would mean you’re nervous, wouldn’t it?” Savin asked, leaning against the door. He gave Jazz a sympathetic look. “It’s normal to be nervous before giving a speech. I don’t exactly enjoy giving them, myself.”
“It’s --” Jazz sighed, shaking his head as he let his arms fall to his sides. “It’s not that, okay? I actually like giving speeches. It’s just --” He cut himself off, willing the tears in his eyes to go away. “The last time I stood in front of that podium, I almost died.”
That time, the pain in his left side flared even worse. He could feel the bullet piercing him all over again; could feel it ripping up his insides. How his own blood had soaked through his clothes and covered his hands as he tried to staunch the bleeding with his fingers. The pain he had been in.
He didn’t want to go through that again.
Savin’s eyes widened behind his glasses, his mouth forming a thin line. “I know,” he said, his voice rough despite its softness. He walked over to Jazz, closing the distance between them. “I had to take the bullet out, remember?”
Jazz nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “I -- I never did thank you for that, did I?” he asked, avoiding Savin’s eyes as tears started to fill his all over again. “You saved my life.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Savin whispered, directing Jazz to look up at him. Savin’s expression couldn’t be read, but his own eyes seemed anxious. Worried. “I’d do it again, if I had to. Jazz, I think I --”
“Alright, Jazz, if you’re ready, it’s time to --” Jazz tensed, glancing over Savin’s shoulder and noticing Alexandra standing in the doorway, a slight look of surprise on her face. “Everything okay in here?” she asked, adjusting her glasses as she stepped inside the room. She glanced between Jazz and Savin, a knowing smile tugging on her lips.
“Y-Yeah, Alex,” Jazz said, moving away from Savin just as Savin’s hand fell away from his chin. His face felt as though it were on fire. “S-Savin was just -- just trying to help me out, that’s all. I’m coming right up.”
“Good boy,” Alexandra said, smirking. “They’re waiting for you out there. Got ‘em all riled up for you -- hopefully not too riled, this time.” She turned on her heel and strode from the room.
Sighing in relief, Jazz turned back to Savin. “Wish me luck?” he asked, a nervous smile breaking out on his lips.
“Don’t get shot this time, okay?” Savin said instead, causing Jazz to let out a quiet laugh. “You can do this. I know you can,” he continued, guiding Jazz towards the platform, his hand never leaving the small of Jazz’s back until they were at the steps leading up to it. Savin then smiled at him, leaning forward and brushing his lips against Jazz’s own. “Good luck,” he murmured, pushing Jazz up the steps.
Jazz blinked in surprise, turning to glance at Savin with his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. “I -- thank you,” he said, swallowing the fear and nerves down one last time.
He hoped his face would stop burning as he made his way to the podium, one foot in front of the other. One step at a time, he told himself. Savin was right. He could do this. As he squared his shoulders, he stood in front of the podium, flashing the crowd his best smile.
He hoped Ryin was watching.
Jazz gave himself a little shake, ignoring the phantom pain in his left side. It had been months. Months since he last gave a speech and stood behind a podium, looking out into a crowd that likely both loved and despised him.
The speech had burned itself in his mind, the words turning over and over. He rehearsed the words under his breath, straightening his tie in the mirror. As he smoothed out the slight wrinkles in his suit, he moved away from the mirror, the constant stream of his speech continuing to eek out through his lips.
His side hurt worse, his stomach turning as he kept his feet moving. Anything to keep his mind off the speech he was about to give. Anything to forget the way the crowd looked several months ago; to forget how he had riled them up in favor of Natural Borns like himself.
The public face. He had to be the public face. Ryin’s relation to the Emperor made him anything but ideal to do this. Not to mention Ryin’s mannerisms and harsher voice made him a bad candidate for public speaking. Ryin couldn’t command a crowd the way Jazz could. Jazz knew that.
Despite that, he’d give anything to have Ryin by his side at the moment. Except Ryin was attending to personal business. Ryin couldn’t be there to put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it good luck. After last time, Jazz could desperately use that small comfort, too.
Clearing his throat, Jazz paced the small room, practicing inflections all while telling himself he needed to save his voice for later. This speech couldn’t wait. The crowd was building, waiting for him just outside that door and wanted to hear him clarify what The Natural Born Movement wanted from the Empire.
Freedom. Protection. To be able to live their lives without fear of retaliation from bigoted neighbors, just like everyone else. Things Jazz had never really had, not in his short twenty-five years of life. A life that had almost -- almost --
He put a hand to his side, the phantom pain growing worse. He needed to ignore it. Needed to push through it, to just get out of this room and head towards that stage. He didn’t need Ryin’s support. Didn’t need that little shoulder squeeze.
When a knock sounded on the thin door separating Jazz from the outside world and keeping him safely tucked away from it, Jazz jumped. His rhythm had been broken and he cursed under his breath, tripping on the small area rug that lay between the mirror and the door. The door didn’t seem to want to open anymore than Jazz wanted to stand in front of that podium yet again.
“You ready?” Savin asked, blinking. His eyebrows furrowed together. “Where’s Ryin?”
“Personal business,” Jazz answered, shrugging his shoulder. He looked anywhere he could, avoiding Savin’s eyes as a blush crept up on his face. “I’m -- as ready as I’m gonna be.”
“Nervous?” Savin asked, stepping inside the small room and shutting the door behind him. A brief moment of reprieve. Another moment to stall and waste before standing in front of a crowd again. “I totally never thought you’d actually be nervous.”
“I’m -- I’m not nervous,” Jazz protested, rubbing his forehead with his thumb. The fact he wiped sweat away unnerved him a little. “I’m never nervous.”
“You sure?” Savin raised an eyebrow, crossing his long, thin arms over his chest. “You’re pacing back and forth and you look sick to your stomach.”
Jazz felt his blush deepen as he stopped in his tracks, crossing his own arms over his chest. “So what if I am?” he muttered, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket.
“That would mean you’re nervous, wouldn’t it?” Savin asked, leaning against the door. He gave Jazz a sympathetic look. “It’s normal to be nervous before giving a speech. I don’t exactly enjoy giving them, myself.”
“It’s --” Jazz sighed, shaking his head as he let his arms fall to his sides. “It’s not that, okay? I actually like giving speeches. It’s just --” He cut himself off, willing the tears in his eyes to go away. “The last time I stood in front of that podium, I almost died.”
That time, the pain in his left side flared even worse. He could feel the bullet piercing him all over again; could feel it ripping up his insides. How his own blood had soaked through his clothes and covered his hands as he tried to staunch the bleeding with his fingers. The pain he had been in.
He didn’t want to go through that again.
Savin’s eyes widened behind his glasses, his mouth forming a thin line. “I know,” he said, his voice rough despite its softness. He walked over to Jazz, closing the distance between them. “I had to take the bullet out, remember?”
Jazz nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “I -- I never did thank you for that, did I?” he asked, avoiding Savin’s eyes as tears started to fill his all over again. “You saved my life.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Savin whispered, directing Jazz to look up at him. Savin’s expression couldn’t be read, but his own eyes seemed anxious. Worried. “I’d do it again, if I had to. Jazz, I think I --”
“Alright, Jazz, if you’re ready, it’s time to --” Jazz tensed, glancing over Savin’s shoulder and noticing Alexandra standing in the doorway, a slight look of surprise on her face. “Everything okay in here?” she asked, adjusting her glasses as she stepped inside the room. She glanced between Jazz and Savin, a knowing smile tugging on her lips.
“Y-Yeah, Alex,” Jazz said, moving away from Savin just as Savin’s hand fell away from his chin. His face felt as though it were on fire. “S-Savin was just -- just trying to help me out, that’s all. I’m coming right up.”
“Good boy,” Alexandra said, smirking. “They’re waiting for you out there. Got ‘em all riled up for you -- hopefully not too riled, this time.” She turned on her heel and strode from the room.
Sighing in relief, Jazz turned back to Savin. “Wish me luck?” he asked, a nervous smile breaking out on his lips.
“Don’t get shot this time, okay?” Savin said instead, causing Jazz to let out a quiet laugh. “You can do this. I know you can,” he continued, guiding Jazz towards the platform, his hand never leaving the small of Jazz’s back until they were at the steps leading up to it. Savin then smiled at him, leaning forward and brushing his lips against Jazz’s own. “Good luck,” he murmured, pushing Jazz up the steps.
Jazz blinked in surprise, turning to glance at Savin with his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. “I -- thank you,” he said, swallowing the fear and nerves down one last time.
He hoped his face would stop burning as he made his way to the podium, one foot in front of the other. One step at a time, he told himself. Savin was right. He could do this. As he squared his shoulders, he stood in front of the podium, flashing the crowd his best smile.
He hoped Ryin was watching.