The Tomorrow Trilogy - Seize the Day: Chapter Five
Seize the Day is the first book in the Tomorrow Trilogy. I'm trying to update it at least once a week, but we'll see how that goes. Previous chapters below:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Jazz glanced around the bar and noticed Ryin sitting in a booth by himself. He had an open bottle of beer in his hands, a pensive expression on his face. For a moment, Jazz considered leaving the bar and going to another one. Just as he moved to turn on his heel, Ryin looked up from his glass, his brow bunching together in confusion. “Jazz?”
“Ryin,” Jazz answered, giving his brother a slight nod of his head. He steeled himself, taking in a deep breath as he walked towards his brother’s booth. “What’re you doing here? I figured you wouldn’t want to be seen drinking in an NB-bar. How unbecoming of the future Emperor, right?”
Ryin winced, lowering his eyes to the table. Instead of saying anything, he got up from his seat. “I’m gonna grab another beer. You want anything?”
“A Mai Tai.” Jazz sat down in the seat opposite of Ryin’s, facing away from the door. “I’ll sit here and hold down your booth for you, I guess.”
“Thanks, man,” Ryin said, heading towards the bar. Jazz watched him for a moment, noticing the slight sway of Ryin’s body as he moved. Idly, he wondered how many beers Ryin had already had before shaking his head with a sigh.
“It’s been weeks, hasn’t it?” Ryin asked as he sat back down at their booth a few moments later. He placed Jazz’s drink in front of him. “How’s your side?”
"Alright," Jazz murmured, placing a hand over his now scarred-over bullet wound. "Couldn't really get around the apartment much the first week or so, but everything healed up just fine."
Ryin nodded, twisting his new bottle of beer open. "That's good, that's good...” He trailed off, tapping his fingers against the glass before taking a sip of his beer. “How's Mitchel? You guys still not dating or --"
Jazz snorted into his glass and gave a slight shake of his head. "He's been around," he said, crossing his arms on top of the table. "And yes, we're still not dating."
“That’s too bad. The guy obviously really liked you,” Ryin teased, his voice light. He paused again, this time taking a long gulp of his beer. He grimaced a little, slamming the glass down on the table. “I tried to talk to Uncle.”
“You did what?” Jazz asked, fishing the cherry free from his drink. He placed it in his mouth, licking away any of the excess alcohol before chewing on it. He then leaned over the table to their booth, being mindful of his side.
“I tried to talk to Uncle,” Ryin repeated, his fingers running along the sides of his beer. He frowned, bitterness creeping into his tone. “After you left the hospital, I realized you were right, man. I couldn’t just give up on the Movement like that.”
“What’d he say?” Jazz pressed, lifting his glass to his lips. He took a sip of his drink, the alcohol burning pleasantly down his throat.
“He told me I fucking had to give it up.” Ryin dropped his eyes to the table, his fingers tightening around the bottle of his beer. He, too, lifted his drink to his lips. Unlike Jazz, he took a hefty swallow of it. “I just don’t fucking get it, man. He said that it would tell the people -- the Empire -- that I would be threatening their way of goddamn life if I remained publicly involved.”
Jazz winced, tapping his fingers against the table. He reached out for Ryin’s beer, taking hold of it before Ryin could take another swig. “Slow down on those, will you?” he murmured. “I’ve only been sitting here like ten minutes and you’ve already almost finished two beers.”
Ryin paused, moving his beer out of Jazz’s reach but settling it off to the side. He crossed his arms over his chest. “He wouldn’t even let me join him on a Council Meeting -- you’d fucking think he’d want to get me more involved with the goddamned Empire if I’m gonna be the one running it, soon, y’know?”
“Yeah...” Jazz sighed, shaking his head and brushing his blond hair out of his eyes. He leaned back in his seat, settling his hands in his lap as he met Ryin’s eyes. “Look, I’m sorry for getting mad at you,” he said quietly, frowning to himself. “I talked to Mitchel about it a bit, and he made a good point -- that you have to worry about your public image now. I guess Uncle’s trying to make the same point? I dunno.”
“Even if he is, what the hell does he really expect me to do? Or for you to do? You’re more involved with the Movement than I am -- and if I become Emperor, that means you’re next in line, man. Is he gonna make you quit the Movement, too?”
“He can’t make me do anything,” Jazz said, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. He paused, noticing the incredulous look on Ryin’s face. Pursing his lips together, Jazz picked up his glass again and took another sip. He then bit his lip and looked away. “What took you so long to talk to me about this?”
Ryin blinked, frowning into his glass. He dropped his eyes to the table, spinning the bottle between his fingers. “I dunno, man. I guess I thought you were still mad at me. And you’ve been busy with the Movement and getting your next public appearance up and running. Not to mention you never actually called me, either.” He gave Jazz a wry smile. “I guess you’ve been too busy fucking that Mitchel-guy to call, though.”
Jazz blanched, feeling his face get hot as he downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, this time the burn less pleasant than it had been before. “I don’t -- I’m not --”
Ryin snickered, tipping his beer back one last time and draining the bottle of its contents. “Then why’re you blushing?” he asked, leaning one arm over the table. “Are you guys dating now or what?”
“No,” Jazz snorted. He shook his head. “He’s just -- he’s a really interesting guy and he’s really knowledgeable about a lot of shit going on with the Empire. He’s been such a huge help with everything involving the Movement.”
“Why doesn’t he just join it himself if he’s so interested in what you’re doing for it?” Ryin asked, draping one arm over the back of his side of the booth.
“I keep trying to get him to, but he says he can’t,” Jazz said. He gave Ryin a small shrug and shook his head. “It’s whatever, really. He helps in any way he can anonymously and the Movement gets to move forward with pushing its agenda. Works for me -- and Alexandra’s been okay with it.”
“Maybe I can do the same damn thing, then, when I’m Emperor,” Ryin grumbled, getting up from his seat. “I’m gonna go grab another beer. You want anything?”
Jazz shook his head again, pushing his empty glass aside. Ryin just shrugged, making his way to the bar without so much as stumbling over his own feet. Jazz tapped his fingers against the table and propped his chin up with the back of his hand.
“Hey, Jazz! Look who I found!”
Jazz snapped upright, focusing his attention towards Ryin’s voice. Ryin had an arm slung around another man’s shoulders. Furrowing his brow, Jazz studied the man standing next to Ryin, recognition flashing in the back of his mind but with him unaware as to why. Before he could ask anything, Ryin pushed the man to sit down beside Jazz.
Up close, Jazz caught sight of the man’s bright green eyes behind thick-framed glasses. Except they seemed duller than the last time Jazz had seen them. Bags weighed down the man’s eyes and were darker than his short black hair. Something was missing -- something Jazz couldn’t quite place.
“Y’know, I almost didn’t recognize you without your lab coat, Doc,” Ryin said, breaking Jazz from the slight trance he seemed to be stuck in.
Jazz shook his head, his brow furrowing even further at Ryin’s words. He turned to the man sitting next to him, who offered him a tired smile. “Dr. Bates?”
“Please, call me Savin,” the man snorted, picking up his stout glass. “I’m not at the hospital right now, am I?” He gave another small smile, this one more exhausted looking than the last. “I see you’re doing well.”
Jazz managed a smile back, directing his eyes towards the empty glass he now played with in his hands. “Yeah. Still hurts from time to time, though.”
“That happens,” Savin said, tipping back his own drink. He settled it back down on the table and frowned. “How’s the Movement coming along?” he asked after a few more moments of silence.
Jazz and Ryin both blinked at him. Ryin leaned in close, his hand tightly wrapped around his newest beer. “It’s -- well, Jazz knows more about that than I do. I’m ‘not allowed’ to be involved. Uncle’s orders,” he scowled into his beer.
“Okay, seriously, Ryin, that’s your last one,” Jazz grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re definitely drunk.”
“I’m definitely not.” Ryin pouted into his beer. “And you’re not my mom -- can’t tell me what to do.”
Jazz sighed and rubbed his temples, glancing at Savin. “You see what I have to deal with?” he murmured. He watched as a slight smile graced one side of Savin’s face and then disappeared.
“He doesn’t look very drunk to me,” Savin said, leaning back against the seat. He traced his fingers over the edge of his glass. Long, delicate fingers that Jazz couldn’t tear his eyes away from.
“See! Even Doc agrees I’m not drunk!” Ryin said, snapping Jazz’s attention away from Savin. He grinned at Jazz downed roughly half of his beer in one gulp. “I just like beer, okay?”
“How many have you had?” Jazz asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ryin shrugged, raking his fingers through his red hair. “I dunno -- I guess like five? Maybe six?”
“In how many hours?” Jazz prompted, smirking at Ryin.
Ryin smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away in thought. “I dunno... An hour? Maybe two?”
Jazz gestured to Ryin as he turned to Savin. “You’re a doctor, Savin -- you can’t tell me that my brother is not drunk after sitting here with him for a few minutes.”
Savin shrugged in response. This time, the smile on his face appeared genuine and didn’t disappear in half a second. “I’ll give you that he’s definitely tipsy -- I’m just not certain on drunk. Not yet. He can still walk in a straight line. Or he did, anyway, when bringing me over here.”
“That’s ‘cause he had an arm around your shoulders,” Jazz pointed out with a quiet laugh. He brought his own glass to his lips, tipping it back and taking a long swallow of his drink himself. As he settled his glass back down on the table, he put a hand on Savin’s arm. “What brings you out to this bar, anyway? I didn’t think they let NBs become doctors.”
Savin winced and ran his fingers through his hair. “They don’t,” he muttered into his glass. He made a face, shaking his head slightly. “Well, okay -- they do, but most NBs drop out during medical school. And I’m not an obvious NB, so...”
“That explains why you weren’t a fucking jackass to my little brother,” Ryin said, using his bottle as a pointer. He jabbed it at Savin again before taking another swig from it. “How’s your fiancee?”
Savin’s shoulders slumped, and he looked down at the table top. Those fingers of his traced along the edge of his glass again, this time moving with jerkier motions. Jazz frowned, furrowing his brow. “She’s... alright,” Savin answered, swallowing thickly. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses, focusing on some point beyond their table. “Hey -- is that Emperor’s Guard?”
Ryin dropped his beer to the table, twisting in his seat to look over the edge of the booth. Jazz followed Savin’s gaze as well, noticing the Guard as they stepped into the bar through its second entrance, dressed in all black. He gulped. “Ryin -- did Uncle want to talk to us about anything?”
“Uncle?” Savin asked, his own eyebrows bunching together.
“Man, I don’t even know -- he said he’d get back to me when he was ready to talk, but that was fucking weeks ago,” Ryin said, turning back around in his seat. His joyful expression had completely faded, an unnerving soberness overtaking his features.
“Uncle?” Savin repeated, glancing between Jazz and Ryin. “The hell are you guys talking about?”
Jazz and Ryin exchanged a look as the Guard approached their booth, their strides purposeful and quick. “Ryin King?” the leader said, snapping his feet together as stood at the end of their table.
“Yeah?”
“Emperor Casio requests your presence at the Palace.”
“‘Course he’s fucking ready to talk now,” Ryin grumbled, downing the rest of his beer in one gulp. Ryin turned to Jazz and Savin, his empty bottle clinking against the table. “I’ll catch up with you guys later,” he said with a sigh. He slipped out from his side of the booth, following the Emperor’s Guard without another word.
“Talk? He’s going to talk with the Emperor?” Savin asked, confusion lacing his voice. He looked towards Jazz. “What the hell is going on?”
“I wish I knew,” Jazz answered, propping his chin up with his hand again. He watched as Ryin disappeared amongst the suits of black before meeting Savin’s light green eyes. “I really fucking do.”
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1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Jazz glanced around the bar and noticed Ryin sitting in a booth by himself. He had an open bottle of beer in his hands, a pensive expression on his face. For a moment, Jazz considered leaving the bar and going to another one. Just as he moved to turn on his heel, Ryin looked up from his glass, his brow bunching together in confusion. “Jazz?”
“Ryin,” Jazz answered, giving his brother a slight nod of his head. He steeled himself, taking in a deep breath as he walked towards his brother’s booth. “What’re you doing here? I figured you wouldn’t want to be seen drinking in an NB-bar. How unbecoming of the future Emperor, right?”
Ryin winced, lowering his eyes to the table. Instead of saying anything, he got up from his seat. “I’m gonna grab another beer. You want anything?”
“A Mai Tai.” Jazz sat down in the seat opposite of Ryin’s, facing away from the door. “I’ll sit here and hold down your booth for you, I guess.”
“Thanks, man,” Ryin said, heading towards the bar. Jazz watched him for a moment, noticing the slight sway of Ryin’s body as he moved. Idly, he wondered how many beers Ryin had already had before shaking his head with a sigh.
“It’s been weeks, hasn’t it?” Ryin asked as he sat back down at their booth a few moments later. He placed Jazz’s drink in front of him. “How’s your side?”
"Alright," Jazz murmured, placing a hand over his now scarred-over bullet wound. "Couldn't really get around the apartment much the first week or so, but everything healed up just fine."
Ryin nodded, twisting his new bottle of beer open. "That's good, that's good...” He trailed off, tapping his fingers against the glass before taking a sip of his beer. “How's Mitchel? You guys still not dating or --"
Jazz snorted into his glass and gave a slight shake of his head. "He's been around," he said, crossing his arms on top of the table. "And yes, we're still not dating."
“That’s too bad. The guy obviously really liked you,” Ryin teased, his voice light. He paused again, this time taking a long gulp of his beer. He grimaced a little, slamming the glass down on the table. “I tried to talk to Uncle.”
“You did what?” Jazz asked, fishing the cherry free from his drink. He placed it in his mouth, licking away any of the excess alcohol before chewing on it. He then leaned over the table to their booth, being mindful of his side.
“I tried to talk to Uncle,” Ryin repeated, his fingers running along the sides of his beer. He frowned, bitterness creeping into his tone. “After you left the hospital, I realized you were right, man. I couldn’t just give up on the Movement like that.”
“What’d he say?” Jazz pressed, lifting his glass to his lips. He took a sip of his drink, the alcohol burning pleasantly down his throat.
“He told me I fucking had to give it up.” Ryin dropped his eyes to the table, his fingers tightening around the bottle of his beer. He, too, lifted his drink to his lips. Unlike Jazz, he took a hefty swallow of it. “I just don’t fucking get it, man. He said that it would tell the people -- the Empire -- that I would be threatening their way of goddamn life if I remained publicly involved.”
Jazz winced, tapping his fingers against the table. He reached out for Ryin’s beer, taking hold of it before Ryin could take another swig. “Slow down on those, will you?” he murmured. “I’ve only been sitting here like ten minutes and you’ve already almost finished two beers.”
Ryin paused, moving his beer out of Jazz’s reach but settling it off to the side. He crossed his arms over his chest. “He wouldn’t even let me join him on a Council Meeting -- you’d fucking think he’d want to get me more involved with the goddamned Empire if I’m gonna be the one running it, soon, y’know?”
“Yeah...” Jazz sighed, shaking his head and brushing his blond hair out of his eyes. He leaned back in his seat, settling his hands in his lap as he met Ryin’s eyes. “Look, I’m sorry for getting mad at you,” he said quietly, frowning to himself. “I talked to Mitchel about it a bit, and he made a good point -- that you have to worry about your public image now. I guess Uncle’s trying to make the same point? I dunno.”
“Even if he is, what the hell does he really expect me to do? Or for you to do? You’re more involved with the Movement than I am -- and if I become Emperor, that means you’re next in line, man. Is he gonna make you quit the Movement, too?”
“He can’t make me do anything,” Jazz said, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. He paused, noticing the incredulous look on Ryin’s face. Pursing his lips together, Jazz picked up his glass again and took another sip. He then bit his lip and looked away. “What took you so long to talk to me about this?”
Ryin blinked, frowning into his glass. He dropped his eyes to the table, spinning the bottle between his fingers. “I dunno, man. I guess I thought you were still mad at me. And you’ve been busy with the Movement and getting your next public appearance up and running. Not to mention you never actually called me, either.” He gave Jazz a wry smile. “I guess you’ve been too busy fucking that Mitchel-guy to call, though.”
Jazz blanched, feeling his face get hot as he downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, this time the burn less pleasant than it had been before. “I don’t -- I’m not --”
Ryin snickered, tipping his beer back one last time and draining the bottle of its contents. “Then why’re you blushing?” he asked, leaning one arm over the table. “Are you guys dating now or what?”
“No,” Jazz snorted. He shook his head. “He’s just -- he’s a really interesting guy and he’s really knowledgeable about a lot of shit going on with the Empire. He’s been such a huge help with everything involving the Movement.”
“Why doesn’t he just join it himself if he’s so interested in what you’re doing for it?” Ryin asked, draping one arm over the back of his side of the booth.
“I keep trying to get him to, but he says he can’t,” Jazz said. He gave Ryin a small shrug and shook his head. “It’s whatever, really. He helps in any way he can anonymously and the Movement gets to move forward with pushing its agenda. Works for me -- and Alexandra’s been okay with it.”
“Maybe I can do the same damn thing, then, when I’m Emperor,” Ryin grumbled, getting up from his seat. “I’m gonna go grab another beer. You want anything?”
Jazz shook his head again, pushing his empty glass aside. Ryin just shrugged, making his way to the bar without so much as stumbling over his own feet. Jazz tapped his fingers against the table and propped his chin up with the back of his hand.
“Hey, Jazz! Look who I found!”
Jazz snapped upright, focusing his attention towards Ryin’s voice. Ryin had an arm slung around another man’s shoulders. Furrowing his brow, Jazz studied the man standing next to Ryin, recognition flashing in the back of his mind but with him unaware as to why. Before he could ask anything, Ryin pushed the man to sit down beside Jazz.
Up close, Jazz caught sight of the man’s bright green eyes behind thick-framed glasses. Except they seemed duller than the last time Jazz had seen them. Bags weighed down the man’s eyes and were darker than his short black hair. Something was missing -- something Jazz couldn’t quite place.
“Y’know, I almost didn’t recognize you without your lab coat, Doc,” Ryin said, breaking Jazz from the slight trance he seemed to be stuck in.
Jazz shook his head, his brow furrowing even further at Ryin’s words. He turned to the man sitting next to him, who offered him a tired smile. “Dr. Bates?”
“Please, call me Savin,” the man snorted, picking up his stout glass. “I’m not at the hospital right now, am I?” He gave another small smile, this one more exhausted looking than the last. “I see you’re doing well.”
Jazz managed a smile back, directing his eyes towards the empty glass he now played with in his hands. “Yeah. Still hurts from time to time, though.”
“That happens,” Savin said, tipping back his own drink. He settled it back down on the table and frowned. “How’s the Movement coming along?” he asked after a few more moments of silence.
Jazz and Ryin both blinked at him. Ryin leaned in close, his hand tightly wrapped around his newest beer. “It’s -- well, Jazz knows more about that than I do. I’m ‘not allowed’ to be involved. Uncle’s orders,” he scowled into his beer.
“Okay, seriously, Ryin, that’s your last one,” Jazz grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re definitely drunk.”
“I’m definitely not.” Ryin pouted into his beer. “And you’re not my mom -- can’t tell me what to do.”
Jazz sighed and rubbed his temples, glancing at Savin. “You see what I have to deal with?” he murmured. He watched as a slight smile graced one side of Savin’s face and then disappeared.
“He doesn’t look very drunk to me,” Savin said, leaning back against the seat. He traced his fingers over the edge of his glass. Long, delicate fingers that Jazz couldn’t tear his eyes away from.
“See! Even Doc agrees I’m not drunk!” Ryin said, snapping Jazz’s attention away from Savin. He grinned at Jazz downed roughly half of his beer in one gulp. “I just like beer, okay?”
“How many have you had?” Jazz asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ryin shrugged, raking his fingers through his red hair. “I dunno -- I guess like five? Maybe six?”
“In how many hours?” Jazz prompted, smirking at Ryin.
Ryin smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away in thought. “I dunno... An hour? Maybe two?”
Jazz gestured to Ryin as he turned to Savin. “You’re a doctor, Savin -- you can’t tell me that my brother is not drunk after sitting here with him for a few minutes.”
Savin shrugged in response. This time, the smile on his face appeared genuine and didn’t disappear in half a second. “I’ll give you that he’s definitely tipsy -- I’m just not certain on drunk. Not yet. He can still walk in a straight line. Or he did, anyway, when bringing me over here.”
“That’s ‘cause he had an arm around your shoulders,” Jazz pointed out with a quiet laugh. He brought his own glass to his lips, tipping it back and taking a long swallow of his drink himself. As he settled his glass back down on the table, he put a hand on Savin’s arm. “What brings you out to this bar, anyway? I didn’t think they let NBs become doctors.”
Savin winced and ran his fingers through his hair. “They don’t,” he muttered into his glass. He made a face, shaking his head slightly. “Well, okay -- they do, but most NBs drop out during medical school. And I’m not an obvious NB, so...”
“That explains why you weren’t a fucking jackass to my little brother,” Ryin said, using his bottle as a pointer. He jabbed it at Savin again before taking another swig from it. “How’s your fiancee?”
Savin’s shoulders slumped, and he looked down at the table top. Those fingers of his traced along the edge of his glass again, this time moving with jerkier motions. Jazz frowned, furrowing his brow. “She’s... alright,” Savin answered, swallowing thickly. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses, focusing on some point beyond their table. “Hey -- is that Emperor’s Guard?”
Ryin dropped his beer to the table, twisting in his seat to look over the edge of the booth. Jazz followed Savin’s gaze as well, noticing the Guard as they stepped into the bar through its second entrance, dressed in all black. He gulped. “Ryin -- did Uncle want to talk to us about anything?”
“Uncle?” Savin asked, his own eyebrows bunching together.
“Man, I don’t even know -- he said he’d get back to me when he was ready to talk, but that was fucking weeks ago,” Ryin said, turning back around in his seat. His joyful expression had completely faded, an unnerving soberness overtaking his features.
“Uncle?” Savin repeated, glancing between Jazz and Ryin. “The hell are you guys talking about?”
Jazz and Ryin exchanged a look as the Guard approached their booth, their strides purposeful and quick. “Ryin King?” the leader said, snapping his feet together as stood at the end of their table.
“Yeah?”
“Emperor Casio requests your presence at the Palace.”
“‘Course he’s fucking ready to talk now,” Ryin grumbled, downing the rest of his beer in one gulp. Ryin turned to Jazz and Savin, his empty bottle clinking against the table. “I’ll catch up with you guys later,” he said with a sigh. He slipped out from his side of the booth, following the Emperor’s Guard without another word.
“Talk? He’s going to talk with the Emperor?” Savin asked, confusion lacing his voice. He looked towards Jazz. “What the hell is going on?”
“I wish I knew,” Jazz answered, propping his chin up with his hand again. He watched as Ryin disappeared amongst the suits of black before meeting Savin’s light green eyes. “I really fucking do.”
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