Seize the Day - NaNoWriMo Attempt - Chapter 7
I'm ahead now on the NaNoWriMo goals, but we'll see how long that lasts.... I didn't get much writing done today (so far), and I work tonight, but I am off tomorrow night... We'll see how it goes, I guess.
Previous Chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Jazz cleared his throat as he stood up, his fingers twisting the buttons of his suit jacket. The rest of the Council stared back at him expectantly -- all but Mitchel, anyway, who leaned back in his seat and looked pointedly off to the side. “As you all know, my father’s still recovering from his surgery,” he began, his voice wavering somewhat. He cleared his throat again, glancing at Alexandra for support. “According to his medical team, he will not be able to travel for at least another three weeks. He won’t be able to join us for simple Council meetings for at least another two.”
“What, exactly, does that mean for the Empire?” Samantha asked. She was an older woman -- older than Alexandra, early into her sixties. Her grey hair was cut in a smart bob. “We can’t go three weeks without an Emperor.”
“We don’t need to go without,” Regan muttered, removing his hand from his chin. He gestured over to Jazz with a jerk of his head. His hair, too, was gray, along with his eyes. “Prince Jasper can fill in for his father. The Empire’s going to be his one day, after all. We need to stop coddling him and let him take on real responsibility.”
“We’re not coddling him, Regan,” Alexandra responded, folding her hands on top of the table. She glanced around the room for a moment, pursing her lips together before focusing her attention on Regan. “Prince Jasper is still young. He’s taken on an appropriate amount of responsibility, considering his age, and his father’s near impeccable health. Rushing him to learn how to run the Empire before he’s ready would be detrimental to him and the Empire.”
“Why don’t we ask Prince Jasper whether he’s ready to tackle the Empire by himself or not?” Mitchel suggested, sitting forward in his seat, mimicking Alexandra’s body language. “He’s not a child. He can decide for himself whether he feels capable of handling the Empire in his father’s absence.”
Jazz shifted uncomfortably on his feet, avoiding Mitchel’s eyes once they flickered over to him. “Councilor Foraker is right,” he said, his voice wavering despite his best efforts to sound confident. “I’ve already taken the initiative and rearranged my father’s schedule. His meetings that were scheduled in the upcoming week have been pushed back. Some have requested to speak with me instead, and I’ve acquiesced to their requests. I’m more than willing to fill in for my father, as long as I have your assistance in the preparation for each of these meetings.”
“See? The boy thinks he’s ready to fill his father’s shoes. So why not let him?” Regan asked, putting his hand back to his chin in thought. “Emperor Callahan has been considering allowing Jasper to come along for several of his diplomatic meetings, anyway. This would be the perfect opportunity for the young man to show us what he’s capable of.”
Samantha nodded, her lips twisted in a slight, wrinkly frown. “While I agree that this is a good opportunity for Prince Jasper to take the lead, we must remember that he hasn’t dealt with many of these contacts before, and with his father currently indisposed --”
“Emperor Callahan was awake and lucid, when I left the hospital, this morning,” Alexandra said, cutting Samantha off. She glanced up at Jazz again, this time her expression a little more severe. “He can advise Jasper as need be, just as we can.”
“Exactly -- so there’s no need to be concerned as to whether taking over the Emperor’s responsibilities will be ‘too much,’ for young Jasper, here,” Mitchel said, a half smile forming on his lips. “His father will still be at his side, telling him how to proceed. Jasper should only need to do all of the running around.”
Jazz nodded, swallowing thickly and unable to trust his voice. “I will turn to my father -- and to his Council, should I need advice on how to proceed with any of the given contacts,” he said, finally taking that moment to sit down in his seat. “That said -- the Western colonies have requested to see me sooner, rather than later. I’ve read up on what I could about their situation, but -- I’m not sure what I should offer them, in terms of a solution.”
“They don’t want a solution,” Regan muttered, shaking his head. “They’ve been complaining about lack of resources and materials for years. Nothing will satisfy them.”
“The war with United all but nearly wiped out their resources, Councilor Novak,” Samantha pointed out, her frown deepening. “As we all know, the Empire’s recession can be directly linked back to the war -- and if they were already suffering from depleted resources prior to it...”
“What resources are they specifically asking for?” Jazz asked, flipping through the paperwork in front of him. He ignored the sudden bout of fatigue that ran through him, the hours he spent in front of a computer doing additional research catching up to him. “The most I could find is their lack of monetary funds -- what else do they actually need, though, for their people?”
“According to my research, they only need financial support,” Mitchel said, clearing his throat. “If they simply were to invest in more outside trading, they would be able to pull out of their own recession.”
“Have you forgotten why they aren’t trading with the nearby colonies?” Alexandra asked, pushing her reading glasses back up her nose. “The war with United Ameos severed their trade routes. They still aren’t safe to this day.”
“Then rebuilding them and providing them with the military support to secure their trade routes would make the most sense, wouldn’t it?” Jazz asked, furrowing his brow. He frowned a bit in thought, continuing to search for a specific piece of paperwork. “That way they can become self-sufficient once again, right?”
The rest of the Council turned their eyes towards him, every single one of them wearing matching, disbelieving expressions. Jazz blinked, sucking on his bottom lip for a moment before straightening his back. “What?” he dared to ask, his voice loud in the now quiet room.
“Opening those trade routes back up might incite another war with United,” Samantha muttered, pursing her lips together.
“Can we be absolutely certain of that?” Jazz pressed, settling his paperwork back down on the table. He folded his hands on top of the stack and glanced around the room again. “We wouldn’t be entering into territory won fair and square by United. We would simply have to develop new routes that go around the new borders.”
“The amount of man hours and financial support that would require would be detrimental to the Empire --”
“How so?” Jazz asked. Regan sat back with a start, his eyes widening somewhat as Jazz regarded him sincerely. “Providing the financial funds and paying the workers and soldiers needed to develop that trade route would pump more money into the economy -- create more jobs for the people, get more monetary flow back into the Empire. It’s simple economics, isn’t it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“In theory, yes, that’s what should happen,” Mitchel said, speaking up. His voice carried a note of boredom, and he moved to tweak the knot of his tie -- something Jazz knew Mitchel only ever did whenever he was annoyed. “Your father, however, has shot that exact plan down several times, in this room.”
“Well, I’m not my father, am I?” Jazz countered, feeling his own annoyance build within his stomach. He cleared his throat, ignoring the warm flush he felt grow on his cheeks as his father’s Council all blinked in surprise. “I am acting Emperor until my father returns. I propose we suggest reopening the trade routes to the Western colonies. All in favor?”
When three out of four hands rose in the air, Jazz breathed a discrete sigh of relief. His heart began to settle in his chest, no longer pounding in his ears as he spoke.
Perhaps he could truly do this, after all.
***
“That was quite the performance you put on, this afternoon,” Mitchel said, a note of disdain creeping into his voice. He leaned back in his seat, the rest of the seats in the Council room now lacking their usual inhabitants.
Jazz lifted his head from the paperwork he had in front of him, narrowing his eyes at Mitchel. “Shouldn’t you be going home?” he asked, trying to keep the biting edge out of his voice. Judging by the slight widening of Mitchel’s eyes, he hadn’t quite succeeded. “The meeting is over, Councilor Foraker.”
“Jasper, please,” Mitchel murmured, getting up from his seat. He took several steps closer to Jazz, settling into the seat beside him. “I’m merely stating that I’m quite impressed with you. I didn’t think you would be able to take matters into your own hands so quickly.”
“Thanks...?” Jazz asked, raising an eyebrow. He moved over to his left, putting more distance between himself and Mitchel. “If that’s all that you wanted to say, Mitchel, then please leave me alone. I need to look over some more notes before tomorrow’s meeting.”
Mitchel offered him a slight smile, the edges of it not quite reaching Mitchel’s eyes. He placed a hand on top of Jazz’s, stilling his pen. “Jasper, there’s no need to busy yourself with all of this -- your father will be back on his throne in no time. Merely standing in for him is enough. There’s no need to prove yourself -- you’ve already done an excellent job of that.”
Jazz eyed Mitchel warily and pulled his hand out from under Mitchel’s. “What if this happens again?” he asked, his voice wavering. “What if my dad gets shot again sometime in the future and he doesn’t make it, Mitchel? I can’t just keep -- pushing my duties aside. Not anymore.”
Mitchel frowned at that before pursing his lips together. “I see. So this has nothing to do with you attempting to bury your emotions in your work, then?”
“No,” Jazz said, shaking his head. He ignored the uneasy feeling in his stomach, once again moving his chair a little further to the left to maintain the distance he wanted between himself and Mitchel. “After I finish looking at these notes, I planned on visiting my father at the hospital. So -- please, I’d like to be alone, if you don’t mind.”
He paused, watching Mitchel for any sort of reaction. Instead of protesting like Jazz had expected him to do, Mitchel nodded, running his fingers through his grey-flecked hair. “I see,” he said, pushing himself back onto his feet. “I’ll leave you to your work, then. Good evening, Prince Jasper.”
“Good night, Councilor Foraker,” Jazz murmured in response. He turned to watch Mitchel leave the room before sighing and facing his paperwork once again. The words on the papers began to blur together a few minutes later.
“I’m calling it a night,” Jazz whispered to himself, tossing his pen down onto the paperwork. He ran his fingers through his hair, ignoring how his eyes burned with lack of sleep. He should visit his father while he had the chance. Somehow, he had the feeling that being the Prince didn’t make him exempt from following visiting hours, and the time on the clock was winding down all too quickly.
Slowly, Jazz pulled himself from his seat and pocketed his pen. He then scooped up his paperwork and headed towards his apartment. He’d have to call the Guard -- ask them to be discreet as he made his way to the hospital. As much as he wanted to walk, he knew he wouldn’t be able to. But maybe he’d be able to go from the hospital parking lot to his father’s room without an entourage of guards.
As he unlocked his door, he tried not to think back to the Council meeting earlier that day. Tried not to think about Mitchel’s boredom with him. His annoyance. As long as Mitchel could behave himself at Council meetings, there shouldn’t be any problems with their breakup. As long as Mitchel didn’t continue to intrude on Jazz’s life anymore than he had to, things should soon return to normal.
These thoughts occupied him as he arranged transport from the Palace to the hospital. Jazz shifted uncomfortably on his feet, despite now wearing sneakers and jeans. Suits could be insanely comfortable, but he much preferred to look like an average man. When he climbed into the car, he cleared his throat and tapped the head guardsman on the shoulder. “Please, keep your distance while in the hospital, okay?” he asked, his voice shaking somewhat. “I’d like to have some privacy while seeing my father.”
The head guardsman blinked, but gave Jazz a stout nod. “Of course, Prince Jasper. We will escort you to the room, but remain just outside it, if that’s what you’d prefer.”
“Thank you,” Jazz whispered, settling into his seat. As the vehicle pulled away from the Palace, he closed his eyes. He pulled out his phone, glancing at the missed calls and waiting text messages. He frowned, noting that none of them were of any importance.
“No messages from Savin...” he muttered to himself, turning the screen off and moving to place his phone back inside his pocket. He stopped, phone poised just over his hip before turning the screen back on again and unlocking it quickly. Without thinking, his fingers pulled up Savin’s contact information.
It had been a couple of days since he had last seen Savin. A couple of days since they had communicated in any sort of way. Of course, Jazz had been busy furiously catching himself up with all of the Empire’s on-goings, but what about Savin? Jazz wasn’t sure what kind of hours a doctor worked, let alone a surgeon. He had been left with the impression that it had been quite a bit.
Jazz bit his lip, fingers poised over the touch-screen. Should he ask if Savin would be at the hospital? Would Savin even answer? And even if Savin was there, would he be able to sit with Jazz in his father’s hospital room?
Jazz gave himself a little shake, mentally pushing those questions aside. Taking in a deep breath, he began to type out a message. Visiting my father in the hospital. Will you be around?, he asked. With a small frown, he sent the message before he could think better of it.
When he didn’t receive an immediate answer, his eyes stung, somewhat. He shook his head again and rubbed his eyes. What did he really expect, anyway? For Savin to just be able to drop whatever he was doing in order to entertain him?
Maybe a relationship with someone on the outside just wasn’t feasible. Maybe it was silly of him to hope that maybe, just maybe, something could come out of his meeting Savin.
Maybe it was wrong of him to hope that Mitchel was wrong, just this once.
Next Chapter
Previous Chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Jazz cleared his throat as he stood up, his fingers twisting the buttons of his suit jacket. The rest of the Council stared back at him expectantly -- all but Mitchel, anyway, who leaned back in his seat and looked pointedly off to the side. “As you all know, my father’s still recovering from his surgery,” he began, his voice wavering somewhat. He cleared his throat again, glancing at Alexandra for support. “According to his medical team, he will not be able to travel for at least another three weeks. He won’t be able to join us for simple Council meetings for at least another two.”
“What, exactly, does that mean for the Empire?” Samantha asked. She was an older woman -- older than Alexandra, early into her sixties. Her grey hair was cut in a smart bob. “We can’t go three weeks without an Emperor.”
“We don’t need to go without,” Regan muttered, removing his hand from his chin. He gestured over to Jazz with a jerk of his head. His hair, too, was gray, along with his eyes. “Prince Jasper can fill in for his father. The Empire’s going to be his one day, after all. We need to stop coddling him and let him take on real responsibility.”
“We’re not coddling him, Regan,” Alexandra responded, folding her hands on top of the table. She glanced around the room for a moment, pursing her lips together before focusing her attention on Regan. “Prince Jasper is still young. He’s taken on an appropriate amount of responsibility, considering his age, and his father’s near impeccable health. Rushing him to learn how to run the Empire before he’s ready would be detrimental to him and the Empire.”
“Why don’t we ask Prince Jasper whether he’s ready to tackle the Empire by himself or not?” Mitchel suggested, sitting forward in his seat, mimicking Alexandra’s body language. “He’s not a child. He can decide for himself whether he feels capable of handling the Empire in his father’s absence.”
Jazz shifted uncomfortably on his feet, avoiding Mitchel’s eyes once they flickered over to him. “Councilor Foraker is right,” he said, his voice wavering despite his best efforts to sound confident. “I’ve already taken the initiative and rearranged my father’s schedule. His meetings that were scheduled in the upcoming week have been pushed back. Some have requested to speak with me instead, and I’ve acquiesced to their requests. I’m more than willing to fill in for my father, as long as I have your assistance in the preparation for each of these meetings.”
“See? The boy thinks he’s ready to fill his father’s shoes. So why not let him?” Regan asked, putting his hand back to his chin in thought. “Emperor Callahan has been considering allowing Jasper to come along for several of his diplomatic meetings, anyway. This would be the perfect opportunity for the young man to show us what he’s capable of.”
Samantha nodded, her lips twisted in a slight, wrinkly frown. “While I agree that this is a good opportunity for Prince Jasper to take the lead, we must remember that he hasn’t dealt with many of these contacts before, and with his father currently indisposed --”
“Emperor Callahan was awake and lucid, when I left the hospital, this morning,” Alexandra said, cutting Samantha off. She glanced up at Jazz again, this time her expression a little more severe. “He can advise Jasper as need be, just as we can.”
“Exactly -- so there’s no need to be concerned as to whether taking over the Emperor’s responsibilities will be ‘too much,’ for young Jasper, here,” Mitchel said, a half smile forming on his lips. “His father will still be at his side, telling him how to proceed. Jasper should only need to do all of the running around.”
Jazz nodded, swallowing thickly and unable to trust his voice. “I will turn to my father -- and to his Council, should I need advice on how to proceed with any of the given contacts,” he said, finally taking that moment to sit down in his seat. “That said -- the Western colonies have requested to see me sooner, rather than later. I’ve read up on what I could about their situation, but -- I’m not sure what I should offer them, in terms of a solution.”
“They don’t want a solution,” Regan muttered, shaking his head. “They’ve been complaining about lack of resources and materials for years. Nothing will satisfy them.”
“The war with United all but nearly wiped out their resources, Councilor Novak,” Samantha pointed out, her frown deepening. “As we all know, the Empire’s recession can be directly linked back to the war -- and if they were already suffering from depleted resources prior to it...”
“What resources are they specifically asking for?” Jazz asked, flipping through the paperwork in front of him. He ignored the sudden bout of fatigue that ran through him, the hours he spent in front of a computer doing additional research catching up to him. “The most I could find is their lack of monetary funds -- what else do they actually need, though, for their people?”
“According to my research, they only need financial support,” Mitchel said, clearing his throat. “If they simply were to invest in more outside trading, they would be able to pull out of their own recession.”
“Have you forgotten why they aren’t trading with the nearby colonies?” Alexandra asked, pushing her reading glasses back up her nose. “The war with United Ameos severed their trade routes. They still aren’t safe to this day.”
“Then rebuilding them and providing them with the military support to secure their trade routes would make the most sense, wouldn’t it?” Jazz asked, furrowing his brow. He frowned a bit in thought, continuing to search for a specific piece of paperwork. “That way they can become self-sufficient once again, right?”
The rest of the Council turned their eyes towards him, every single one of them wearing matching, disbelieving expressions. Jazz blinked, sucking on his bottom lip for a moment before straightening his back. “What?” he dared to ask, his voice loud in the now quiet room.
“Opening those trade routes back up might incite another war with United,” Samantha muttered, pursing her lips together.
“Can we be absolutely certain of that?” Jazz pressed, settling his paperwork back down on the table. He folded his hands on top of the stack and glanced around the room again. “We wouldn’t be entering into territory won fair and square by United. We would simply have to develop new routes that go around the new borders.”
“The amount of man hours and financial support that would require would be detrimental to the Empire --”
“How so?” Jazz asked. Regan sat back with a start, his eyes widening somewhat as Jazz regarded him sincerely. “Providing the financial funds and paying the workers and soldiers needed to develop that trade route would pump more money into the economy -- create more jobs for the people, get more monetary flow back into the Empire. It’s simple economics, isn’t it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“In theory, yes, that’s what should happen,” Mitchel said, speaking up. His voice carried a note of boredom, and he moved to tweak the knot of his tie -- something Jazz knew Mitchel only ever did whenever he was annoyed. “Your father, however, has shot that exact plan down several times, in this room.”
“Well, I’m not my father, am I?” Jazz countered, feeling his own annoyance build within his stomach. He cleared his throat, ignoring the warm flush he felt grow on his cheeks as his father’s Council all blinked in surprise. “I am acting Emperor until my father returns. I propose we suggest reopening the trade routes to the Western colonies. All in favor?”
When three out of four hands rose in the air, Jazz breathed a discrete sigh of relief. His heart began to settle in his chest, no longer pounding in his ears as he spoke.
Perhaps he could truly do this, after all.
***
“That was quite the performance you put on, this afternoon,” Mitchel said, a note of disdain creeping into his voice. He leaned back in his seat, the rest of the seats in the Council room now lacking their usual inhabitants.
Jazz lifted his head from the paperwork he had in front of him, narrowing his eyes at Mitchel. “Shouldn’t you be going home?” he asked, trying to keep the biting edge out of his voice. Judging by the slight widening of Mitchel’s eyes, he hadn’t quite succeeded. “The meeting is over, Councilor Foraker.”
“Jasper, please,” Mitchel murmured, getting up from his seat. He took several steps closer to Jazz, settling into the seat beside him. “I’m merely stating that I’m quite impressed with you. I didn’t think you would be able to take matters into your own hands so quickly.”
“Thanks...?” Jazz asked, raising an eyebrow. He moved over to his left, putting more distance between himself and Mitchel. “If that’s all that you wanted to say, Mitchel, then please leave me alone. I need to look over some more notes before tomorrow’s meeting.”
Mitchel offered him a slight smile, the edges of it not quite reaching Mitchel’s eyes. He placed a hand on top of Jazz’s, stilling his pen. “Jasper, there’s no need to busy yourself with all of this -- your father will be back on his throne in no time. Merely standing in for him is enough. There’s no need to prove yourself -- you’ve already done an excellent job of that.”
Jazz eyed Mitchel warily and pulled his hand out from under Mitchel’s. “What if this happens again?” he asked, his voice wavering. “What if my dad gets shot again sometime in the future and he doesn’t make it, Mitchel? I can’t just keep -- pushing my duties aside. Not anymore.”
Mitchel frowned at that before pursing his lips together. “I see. So this has nothing to do with you attempting to bury your emotions in your work, then?”
“No,” Jazz said, shaking his head. He ignored the uneasy feeling in his stomach, once again moving his chair a little further to the left to maintain the distance he wanted between himself and Mitchel. “After I finish looking at these notes, I planned on visiting my father at the hospital. So -- please, I’d like to be alone, if you don’t mind.”
He paused, watching Mitchel for any sort of reaction. Instead of protesting like Jazz had expected him to do, Mitchel nodded, running his fingers through his grey-flecked hair. “I see,” he said, pushing himself back onto his feet. “I’ll leave you to your work, then. Good evening, Prince Jasper.”
“Good night, Councilor Foraker,” Jazz murmured in response. He turned to watch Mitchel leave the room before sighing and facing his paperwork once again. The words on the papers began to blur together a few minutes later.
“I’m calling it a night,” Jazz whispered to himself, tossing his pen down onto the paperwork. He ran his fingers through his hair, ignoring how his eyes burned with lack of sleep. He should visit his father while he had the chance. Somehow, he had the feeling that being the Prince didn’t make him exempt from following visiting hours, and the time on the clock was winding down all too quickly.
Slowly, Jazz pulled himself from his seat and pocketed his pen. He then scooped up his paperwork and headed towards his apartment. He’d have to call the Guard -- ask them to be discreet as he made his way to the hospital. As much as he wanted to walk, he knew he wouldn’t be able to. But maybe he’d be able to go from the hospital parking lot to his father’s room without an entourage of guards.
As he unlocked his door, he tried not to think back to the Council meeting earlier that day. Tried not to think about Mitchel’s boredom with him. His annoyance. As long as Mitchel could behave himself at Council meetings, there shouldn’t be any problems with their breakup. As long as Mitchel didn’t continue to intrude on Jazz’s life anymore than he had to, things should soon return to normal.
These thoughts occupied him as he arranged transport from the Palace to the hospital. Jazz shifted uncomfortably on his feet, despite now wearing sneakers and jeans. Suits could be insanely comfortable, but he much preferred to look like an average man. When he climbed into the car, he cleared his throat and tapped the head guardsman on the shoulder. “Please, keep your distance while in the hospital, okay?” he asked, his voice shaking somewhat. “I’d like to have some privacy while seeing my father.”
The head guardsman blinked, but gave Jazz a stout nod. “Of course, Prince Jasper. We will escort you to the room, but remain just outside it, if that’s what you’d prefer.”
“Thank you,” Jazz whispered, settling into his seat. As the vehicle pulled away from the Palace, he closed his eyes. He pulled out his phone, glancing at the missed calls and waiting text messages. He frowned, noting that none of them were of any importance.
“No messages from Savin...” he muttered to himself, turning the screen off and moving to place his phone back inside his pocket. He stopped, phone poised just over his hip before turning the screen back on again and unlocking it quickly. Without thinking, his fingers pulled up Savin’s contact information.
It had been a couple of days since he had last seen Savin. A couple of days since they had communicated in any sort of way. Of course, Jazz had been busy furiously catching himself up with all of the Empire’s on-goings, but what about Savin? Jazz wasn’t sure what kind of hours a doctor worked, let alone a surgeon. He had been left with the impression that it had been quite a bit.
Jazz bit his lip, fingers poised over the touch-screen. Should he ask if Savin would be at the hospital? Would Savin even answer? And even if Savin was there, would he be able to sit with Jazz in his father’s hospital room?
Jazz gave himself a little shake, mentally pushing those questions aside. Taking in a deep breath, he began to type out a message. Visiting my father in the hospital. Will you be around?, he asked. With a small frown, he sent the message before he could think better of it.
When he didn’t receive an immediate answer, his eyes stung, somewhat. He shook his head again and rubbed his eyes. What did he really expect, anyway? For Savin to just be able to drop whatever he was doing in order to entertain him?
Maybe a relationship with someone on the outside just wasn’t feasible. Maybe it was silly of him to hope that maybe, just maybe, something could come out of his meeting Savin.
Maybe it was wrong of him to hope that Mitchel was wrong, just this once.
Next Chapter