The Man With Few Words
"If you know someone who tries to drown their sorrows, you might tell them sorrows know how to swim." –H. Jackson Brown Jr.
Chapter Six
Jacob Black wouldn't go as far as calling himself a 'ladies man'.
Because he wasn't. Not really.
He's trying on a shirt currently, fiddling with the shirt-tails to make sure they're even. This is a miraculous occasion, seeing as how Jacob had given up wearing shirts a long time ago. It was a useless article to have, in his opinion. Because he knows that he'll just eventually burst out of it or have it torn off him in one of Paul's many temper tantrums. It's not like he needs it either, he runs at one-hundred and ten degrees these days.
But he wanted to look nice. Even if it is just for one day.
A voice in the back of his mind reprimands, "You're going to get a cold sooner or later. Always wandering around half-naked." A clear voice that sounds a lot like Janie's.
He finishes up the last button on his shirt and tilted his head in front of the mirror. God, he looked horrendous. And what was this? Plaid? What was he thinking? He rips it off with a vengeful passion, ignoring the clattering of the buttons as they fell to the floor.
His head was pounding and his stomach's doing these weird flip-flops inside of him. His heart would beat really fast, then really slow. And he thinks he's starting to cold sweat.
It takes Jacob a few moments to realize that he was nervous.
He tries to scoff at himself. What did he have to be nervous about? The fact that this is his first date? No. Psh, of course not. He's been on a date, before. Did he? He can't remember. What about...no. No. He stops that train of thought before it starts. He wasn't going to think about her. Not at a time like this.
When was the last time he's been with a girl? A girl that wasn't Leah.
The question takes himself by surprise. This was indeed a very good question. Jacob has to blink a few times. He massages his temples, racking his brain. He has a blurry image of a girl from a nearby high school. She was a brunette and they always made jokes about him being younger than her. He remembers they rode bikes together. Oh no, wait. Wait. That was...fuck.
He shakes his head. Never mind.
Oh. Then there was the young woman in Argentina. He had met her when he was on the run. He had been depressed and desperate, devouring bottles after bottles of tequila. Until his stomach ached and churned and he was seeing double.
His memory of the incident is fuzzy at best. But he distinctively recalls starting a bar fight. He can still feel the glass on the broken tumbler digging into his palm. And the flower of pain that bloomed across his jaw when some burly Argentinean's fist connected with it. The crack of his bone, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He had swung back, but missed. Then there was a small, warm hand on his arm, tugging him out of the rowdy bar.
In the dark of the night, she had the most shimmery hair and the smoothest, olive-toned skin. She took him to a storage room of some kind and sat him down. She wiped the blood from his nose and set his jaw right again. She was nice and when he awkwardly mumbled, "Gracias," she gave him a tentative smile, which is bright against her dark complexion.
He doesn't remember much about her or that night except for the fact that she didn't speak a lick of English and so she had trouble pronouncing his name. He's pretty sure she called him 'Jose'. And he's pretty sure he had kissed her. Or...she had kissed him. And then—well, he was 17. And he was drunk. And she had been pretty.
He honestly can't say nothing happened. He can't say something did either. He simply...doesn't remember. But whatever happened that night—or whatever didn't happen, Jacob Black doesn't regret it.
He just regrets never having the chance to learn her name.
He ends up showing in front of January's door shirtless. As always.
His plan to appear presentable was deemed impossible because there was just no way to wear a shirt without feeling like a completely nerded-up ass. He's been a wolf for too long. Been bursting out of his skin and running one-hundred and ten degrees for too long.
He knocks.
There's some shuffling. A crisp, "Coming!" Was trilled, followed by clumsy footsteps. Then the door is unlocked, unhinged by an inch or so. Through the thin gap, he spots Janie's retreating back, so he takes it as a sign to let himself in.
He does.
She had cleared the living room, pushed the couch towards the kitchen and moved the coffee table to the side. She's throwing pillows haphazardly onto the floor when she turns and greets, "Hey." She smiles, nudging a beanbag closer to the roaring fireplace with her little feet. Then she blinks at him with surprise, "Where are the drinks?"
Jacob tenses. He's standing stiffly in the foyer, hands stuck in his pockets and his stupid hair tied back. "Uh," His brows tried to raise and wrinkle at the same time. It hurt. "I-I don't...I'm not," He stammers for a couple more seconds before managing meekly, "I'm not old enough."
Janie tosses him an arched brow look that would've annoyed him if she weren't Janie. She sticks her hands onto her hips, "That's a joke, isn't it?"
Jacob strides into the living room with two steps, then plops down on a beanbag. He shrugs and wiggles a little, trying to get comfortable. "No." He responds dully, "Why? How old did you think I was?"
She squats in front of him and it scares him. How close she was. Her lashes are really long and her eyes are gleaming silver. And she smelled mesmerizing. She bites on her bottom lip pensively and she grins, "Old enough." She murmurs through her pretty mouth.
He swallows. Not because he was nervous or anything, but just because his throat went dry. He shakes his head in an effort to clear his mind. It doesn't work; not really. "I'm 19." His voice has gone hoarse all of a sudden. His age was something he could've gone his whole life without telling her because—technically, he doesn't age. And technically he's 16 forever. He could've just let her assume however old she thinks he is but there was something inside of him, that crawling sensation in his chest that told him...he wanted her to know. He wanted her to know about him. These useless, trivial facts that were...insignificant. But the insignificance wouldn't matter to him anymore, because now she knows.
January's button nose is scrunched. She complains loudly, "Dear God. I'm four years older than you." She's twenty-three. Twenty-four in just three months. He's blinking rapidly in surprise because she was so tiny. Her lips curve and her dimple quirks, "I assumed you were older than me. Twenty-seven...somewhat."
He inclines back into his seat, because their proximity is making his blood rush. "Why would you assume that?" He asks slowly.
She shrugs, "Same reason you assumed I was younger." She makes box-shapes with her hands. Her tiny hands. "Because I'm small. And you're—huge."
Jacob blanched, "You-you're not just small! You're hobbit sized!"
January ignores him. She straightens and ambles into the foyer, muttering something about finding her purse. Her midnight hair fluttered with her every movement, laced with crimson silk ribbons. She reminded him of those little dolls his sister used to keep in her room. Rachel never played with them, because they were so neat with their hair and dresses. She'd just put them up on her bookshelf and look at them. Jacob never used to understand that, until now.
Janie in a short sky blue dress and red stockings pulled up past her knee. She looked like Dorothy. Dorothy is cursing because she can't seem to remember where she placed her ID. Somehow, he can't imagine Judy Garland cursing.
Jacob is gravitated towards the tall, wooden cabinet. Gravitated towards all the pictures and all the history that's there. He picks up, more cautiously than the first time around, the cracked image of Peter and January. He cocks his head. They had looked so—happy. It sickened him.
"Is that one your favorite?" Janie's question comes from right behind him and he jumps out of his skin. Not literally, of course. That would be bad. But he gives this little yelp and almost drops the goddamn thing.
He sniffs haughtily, "No."
Janie laughs, a musical sound. She pushes her tousled hair behind her ear, looking very demure. "Ah," She traces the sharp planes of Peter's boyish face. "You just seem very attached to that picture." A single brow arches expertly, "You haven't developed some fetish for my ex-boyfriend, have you? I always knew he's far too pretty for his own good." She must've caught Jacob's perplexed expression because she indulges in another lazy, sultry smirk, "Well, I'm heading out to the liquor store. Any special requests?"
Jacob doesn't know why, but he thinks back to the nameless woman in Argentina. He swallows and tells January, "Tequila."
If she detected the hint of ruefulness in his voice, she doesn't comment on it. Instead, she reaches towards the back of the cabinet and pulls out a photo framed with black-wood, obscured from view by the rest of the collage. Jacob hadn't even noticed it was there.
She hands it to him with a roguish grin, "Perhaps you'll find this one more appealing." And then she was gone.
Jacob tries that eyebrow-raising trick she does and fails tragically. He stares down at the picture instead. Jacob Black is not amused.
Peter is standing against the sun, which is so bright that you couldn't tell where the background is. He's wearing a dark overcoat that went down to his knees. His girlish hair, dark and mussed, is wet, as if he's just trudged through the rain. He's half-turned, one arm extended towards the photographer, a shy lopsided smile on his face, as if somebody had just called his name.
There's writing on the clear pane of the picture. A looped cursive in black Sharpie.
For when you're sad. Love, Peter.
Jacob Black hides the picture in one of the cabinet drawers.
January Jansen arrives home to a truly horrifying development. Jacob Black had discovered her yearbook. He's leafing through it very carefully, absorbing every little detail and every little caption. He had found it in the drawer where he hid Peter's picture.
"What are you doing with that?" Janie's tone is accusing and her usually snow pale cheeks are flushed. He can't quite tell rather it's from the cold or from embarrassment. Whichever it was, red suited her.
"You were quite the home-town favorite." He taps the awards page. "Most popular. Best smile. Most caring. Biggest flirt." He makes a show to appear bewildered. "Oh, your brother's most athletic. And most likely to take over the world, did you know that?" She's blushing now. He's positive. "My head is spinning from all the Jansens." He comments dryly.
Jacob thinks that when he graduated, he was voted 'Most Likely to become a Serial Killer'. Oh yeah. He was amused by that. He's pretty sure his pack was too.
Janie's fiddling with the grocery bags in the kitchen, and she lifts her shoulders into a half-hearted shrug, "It was high school." She offers simply. She's rifling through the kitchen when she asks casually, "Who was the best couple?"
Jacob scans the page, reciting loudly, like an announcer would at a baseball game, "Peter Petrelli and January Jansen." His eye twitched in annoyance. The alliterations of their names made his skin shudder.
Janie laughs. She wanders back to the living room, bottles clanging inside a paper bag, and holding two little shot-glasses. Her brows knit together in concentration, "I believe he was voted Best Looking too." She smiles, "Just in case you're interested." She curls a spidery leg under her and sits down next to him.
He ignore the jab and settles for a blank look, "I wouldn't have taken you for the cheerleading type."
She tilts her head, her curtain of onyx waves tumbling over her shoulder, a few strands tickled Jacob's arm. "I was really good at it, can you believe that?" The question was rhetorical, but Jacob still nodded. He can see it. Little January whooping and shouting. She shakes her head as if to clear the cobwebs of her memories, "How about you? What were you like in high school?"
Janie cracks open a bottle of tequila and pours them each a shot. He picks it up dubiously. The elfin girl had already leaned forward to smash their glasses together and knocked back her first shot. He follows. His throat burned and his eyes watered as he grimaces. Janie laughs at him.
Jacob frowns. He strains to remember. It seems too long ago since his life's been normal. He can barely hang onto what it was like before the phasing. It's all kind of out-of-focus and mystifying. Like he's looking back at a life that wasn't his.
He reaches into his jean pocket and pulls out his keys. He hands it to her with a quiet grunt of dismay. Little January takes it from him, fingers tracing a small picture frame hooked onto the silver ring. It's a photo from his first day in high school. Him and Billy. Billy in a wheelchair and him standing behind his father.
He's wearing a plaid shirt. He's wearing cargo shorts. He's wearing—for fuck's sake, glasses. It had been something minor. Near-sightedness. Nothing too extraordinary, in fact, Jacob could see fine without his glasses. It just made reading the whiteboard easier, so it's always been more of a 'why not' situation. And so Jacob Black is almost ashamed to admit that he trudged around with those thick frames for nearly two years.
He stopped wearing them after he met her, of course. And then when the phasing started, his vision was corrected and so naturally, he had ditched those suckers for a manlier look.
January's giving him an incredulous look. She snickers, "You looked like Peter Parker."
His purses his lips together, offended. Then he gives an irritated snort, partly because of her choice of comparison and partly because he was sensitive about his past, goddamn it! Stiffly, he informs her, "That's just the way I was."
He pours himself another glass. He drinks it. He coughs.
She chuckles, examining the picture with such a critical gaze that made him want to snatch his keychain back. "Well, you looked like Peter Parker." She declares with a tone of finality. "In plaid, of course. Is that your father?"
"Hm-hmm." He grunts, still a little annoyed that she thought he held resemblance to Spiderman. No, not Spiderman. Spiderman's pathetic alter ego.
Janie had stretched all three feet of herself onto the floor. She rolls over to rest her chin onto her hands. Staring at him with her glittering eyes, she prompts, "I kinda want to see you like that."
Jacob is confused. His long fingers wrap around the clear bottle as he fills his tumbler. "Like what?" He asks. He had forgotten how good alcohol feels. Like it can numb everything. Stop all the pain.
"Like that!" She taps to the photo. "All nerded up."
He has to admit, she looks awfully tempting. With her pretty, sloppy grin and her silly, tangled hair. It looks so silky and so...dark. And her eyes are silvery like tinsels. And...and dear God, he thinks he's drunk already.
"No." He declines, in what he hoped to be a firm voice. In an afterthought, "I doubt you have plaid, anyways."
"Yeah, I do." She scrambles to her feet, "Some of Jude's old stuff. And you can have my out-dated glasses." She must've spotted the 'you're deranged' look he's sporting because she elaborates, "C'mon! It's not really getting drunk unless you do something crazy. This is supposed to be therapeutic. We're supposed to be talking about our past. It only fits."
He shoots her a pointed look, "You wanna play dress-up?" He drawls, "Go put on your cheerleading uniform, then we'll talk."
She tries to wiggle her way out of it, "I don't have that old thing anymore."
It's Jacob's turn to chuckle. Of course, it sounds more like wheezy gasps, but he jerks his head towards the cabinet, "Second drawer. I saw it when I found your yearbook."
January gives him her best glare. Which, is kind of feeble. He means, even her glare had been more effective. Janie's consisted of her squinting her charcoal irises and fighting the curving twitch of her lips. Then she marches, very determined, and yanks out the scarlet uniform. "Fine." She agrees.
Jacob is stunned and for a moment, he doesn't know what to do. He hadn't expected her to give in so easily—or at all. But then he stands up, running the back of his hand self-consciously over his jaw. "I have to shave." He mutters to her, stumbling towards the bathroom.
Janie's using her thumb to trace over the branded letters 'RHS'on her old uniform. "Why?" She questions distractedly.
He answers back, just as lost as he has been in the past, in the days of her, "Because it wouldn't really be Bella's Jacob unless I shave."
They find themselves in an odd predicament.
Jacob felt as if he had fell through a time warp of sorts, transporting him back to four years ago. His eyes is all too aware of the present, but somehow, in his mind, he's back to the gawky, lanky high schooler, a past he had only been eager to leave behind. Back to Jacob before the phasing. Back to Jacob, the smiling best friend.
He's wearing a disgusting brown plaid shirt and January's old specs, which are thick black framed and much too small for his wider face. And he couldn't see a damn thing through them. And January's sitting there on the floor, nursing a bottle to her chest and wearing a cheerleading uniform.
Jacob was right. She did look good in red.
She's drinking straight from the bottle when she sarcastically apologizes, "Sorry. No pom-poms."
He can feel her eyes on him, because his face is burning up something fierce. He averts his attention to wiping the spectacles convulsively with his hideous shirt, "Can't see..." He grumbles. He wants to run his hand through his hair but refrained, which has been combed and neatly parted, just like how he used to do it. His jaw is smooth, free of the subtle layer of stubbles coated there.
He feels all exposed and vulnerable.
Janie holds out her hands for the glasses. He drops it into her open palm. Biting down on her bottom lip, she pops out the lenses with her thumb then hangs it back onto his ears. Jacob grunts, irritated once again. More Peter Parker than ever.
"Isn't this a little pointless?" He asks aloud. He's situated next to the fireplace, gulping out of his own bottle. Because he's already starting to get tipsy and he can't quite find it in him to pour into glasses anymore. He'd miss, he's sure.
"It's all part of the effect, isn't it?" She answers back blankly. "You don't expect me to do cheers, do you?"
He gives a shrug. He takes another drink to avoid responding. He tips his head back, and just for a moment, he could swear he could see her. Her beautiful face, her long brown hair, and that pained smile...imprinted into the ceiling. In his mind, she's scolding him.
So Jacob beams back, happy to have disappointed. And takes another swig.
January is just about finished with her second bottle of Jose Cuervo when she starts the cheers.
Jacob's long body is slouched in a way that would've hurt his neck if he were conscious enough to notice it. He's covering half of the living room and the left side of his face was scorching from the heat radiating from the fireplace. His body is warm and humming. His entire brain is humming in fact. Like he's all a-quiver.
"Okay...so there was this one—it was like...our signature. We always did this when we were up against the Hornets. Oh man, they thought they were the shit." January's wobbling slightly. He wonders if he should catch her if she falls. "Hate those goddamn Hornets."
January's doing some kind of jump-skip-running akimbo. He really can't tell anymore. But he smiles nonetheless. Because the taut pulls on his cheek was gone and he can really smile without restrain. And it feels nice.
"Oh, hey. That's really good."
"I haven't done it yet."
"Oh."
Jacob Black is trying to conjure up, from the deep dark corners of his mind, the last time he's been at a pep rally. He thinks he's only been at one, with Embry and Quil. He thought it was quite a pointless event. It wasn't like he's a football player. It wasn't like he's a football player's friend. But Embry insisted that this is what normal people did and that the cheerleaders were hot. Jacob supposes he's always harbored some hidden animosity for cheerleaders, since like most of the male population, he's never managed to snag one for himself.
Maybe if he had gone to January's high school, things might've been different. He thinks he could've gotten behind the whole hate those goddamn Hornets. It's got a nice ring to it. Plus, what were hornets anyways? Overgrown bees? And even if he couldn't, he can still imagine himself trailing behind Janie like some pathetic puppy, eager for attention. Like he did with her.
The rest of the cheer is composed of a lot of loud rah-rahs and one-letter chants. And he's too drunk to be able to put the letters together into a word. It doesn't really matter anyways, because all he's capable of paying attention to is that he's at the perfect eye level to witness the way Janie's little miniskirt flared from her thighs.
He gives a lewd, half-delirious smirk.
"Oh, hey. That's really good."
"You said that last time."
"Oh."
Jacob scratches his head. He has an odd sensation that they had already had this conversation before. But he can't quite place where or when. What were they talking about again? Overgrown bees?
"You know, something tells me that you're bitter you never managed to snag yourself a cheerleader." She's gesturing to him with a raised brow and almost empty bottle.
It takes him a minute to react, because it takes him a minute to process all her words. Why does she insist on talking in long sentences like that? "What gives you that idea?" He retorts.
She attempts to narrows her eyes, but then just ends up giggling. "You told me! Don't you remember, you ass?!" She's almost doubled-over. He fails to see what's so funny. "Just a moment ago, you said it yourself!"
Jacob Black does not enjoy being sworn at. He's just about to make a noise of indignation when she interrupts him.
"Do you know how many times I tried to seduce Peter in this uniform?" He groans audibly. He doesn't want to hear about this shit. He tips back his own bottle, feeling the burn of the alcohol sliding down his raw throat. It stung, but it felt delightful. "Like there was this one time, where I was completely hammered—"
"Like you are now?" He supplies helpfully.
"Shut up. I'm telling it."
Jacob scrunches his face, he broadcasts, "You're kind of an angry drunk, you know that?"
"So," She raises her voice in order to override his. "I was basically like throwing myself at him. Like seriously, I was getting ready to strip him right there under the bleachers…"
He'd rather claw out his eyes, claw the skin off his face, than hear this story. "How classy." He comments through gritted teeth. He tries to block out all of her words by staring at the 'Jansen' printed on the back of her uniform.
"But he was all 'stop, Jan, I'm not taking advantage of you like this' and I was all like, 'come on, Peter, let's have hot monkey sex', then he starts blushing and I thought I had him, and then—guess what happened?"
"I thought you were telling it."
She throws a pillow at him. God, she was violent intoxicated. "Guess what happened." She presses. "Guess."
He tosses his head back, only to bang it against the wall he's leaning against. He hisses then decides to oblige her, in an extremely exasperated manner, "What?"
She holds up a finger, and sways unexpectedly, "His date of the night, saunters right up to me, slaps me, calls me a 'whore', and drags Peter off. Lord, I was so embarrassed. It was mortifying. Hey, did you know that?"
Her sentences are so disjointed and it was starting to annoy Jacob because he wants his eloquent Janie back. "Know what?"
She blinks, her gray eyes are suddenly very soft, like clouds on a rainy day. Wide and helpless. "That I'm easily embarrassed. That I'm too proud for my own good. That I can't stand it when people pity me." She rolls onto her back, staring unmovingly at the ceiling like he had moments ago. "After that incident, I quit cheerleading." She tells him. "It was probably a stupid reason to quit. Well, it was probably stupid to join in the first place but—I don't know. That was just how I dealt with things. Things get too hard, and I'll just remove myself from the equation. It sounds...logical enough, doesn't it?"
He smiles wryly, "Sounds about right." He reassures.
And she relaxes, deflating as if she just had the air drained out of her. She raises the rim of the bottle to her lip again and shakes when nothing comes out. It's finished and she hollers with disappointment. She lets it roll onto its side, away from her. She struggles to twist open another one.
Desperate to break the tension, January commands him, "Say something."
He rubs his eyes. They burned. And he could've sworn he saw her, standing behind Janie, frowning in disapproval at him. He can almost hear her voice. Rolling around drunk with another girl. What are you doing, Jake? God, he was hallucinating. He also wishes she would go away. Because he didn't want to see her like this. He didn't want to know that she still cared.
"—Say...say what?" He squeezes his eyes tighter, jamming his fists into them, and pinches the bridge of his nose. He drinks. The alcohol makes his skin burn, and it bruised his liver, and it gave him that tingly buzz Janie often gives him.
She repeats forcefully, "Say something."
He purses his lips, "I don't know what—"
"Say something Bella's Jacob would say."
Jacob Black's heart stopped. Stopped, as in...halted. Literally, in mid-beat. He couldn't breath and he started to grow light-headed. His stomach's clenched. "What?" He gasps in surprise.
January looks at him directly. Her eyes are brooding and enchanting and rain silver. Her jet-black hair is spilled messily onto the floor, a puddle of black, streamed with red from those ribbons in her wavy tress. "What is Bella's Jacob like?"
He sighs, frustrated and wary. But in the end, he complies, chirping in a faux-energetic voice, "Why sure, Bells. Of course I can come over. Oh yeah, really it's no trouble at all. Uh-huh. Whatever you want. You want to go cliff diving? Okay. As long as we're together, anything is fine."
January Jansen bursts into a round of girlish giggles that no matter how hard she seemed to try, she just can't contain. The way he emphasized the words. And the way his face remained stoic even during the cheerful speech.
"Oh, Jeez. I'm sorry, but that's just depressing." She apologizes with another short laugh.
Jacob rolls his dark, sunken gaze. "Yeah well, that's Bella's Jacob for you." He tries to drown himself with tequila. Drown himself like he did that night in Argentina. With the name-less woman and the bar fight he started. He licks his lips, and tips his head towards Janie. She's resting her back on the wall furthest away from him, one knee pulled up to her chest, and her head lolled to the side dreamily. "How about you? What were you like with Peter?"
She chuckles under her breath, husky melodic chuckles. She questions, bemused, "Why do you always say his name like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you're trying to screw with it. Like you're trying to mispronounce it." She raises a brow in that wonderful way only she can pull off. When Jacob opts to stay silent, she shrugs, "We were basically like every other couple out there. We didn't fight much though." He thought she sounded wistful for a second there, "Because Peter always lets me win, so it's really no fun."
He gives her a vacant stare, hollow but pained, "Say something good ole' Jan would say then."
"Mm..." She hummed thoughtfully, her pretty grin is roguish. Then she adopts a monotone, eyes dull, "Oh hi, daddy. Yes, I am still dating that boy with the floppy hair. No, he hasn't tried anything. No, I haven't tried anything. No, I haven't heard anything from April." She turns her head to the other side, like talking to someone else. "Hey, mama, Peter and I bought you these earrings. Glad you like it. No, it wasn't too expensive. Yes, yes—I do realize it's not the same thing as a grandchild. Of course we're trying. We try everyday. No progress though. Sorry."
She had spat out the last word so insolently that Jacob had to chuckle, because it was January and it wasn't like her to be so...typical. He grins at her, his mouth holding an edge of hysterics. And she grins back, softer.
And he can't help but tell her all about Bella.
End Note:
Well hey there, readers! This is a long chappie indeed and I'm very proud to say that I'm very proud of it. Does that make sense? Well, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to BlueWhitney and her story 'The Company We Keep' because it kinda inspired me to write this chapter and this STORY in general.
But in THIS chapter--and for a moment, I sounded like my old English Lit teacher--we really do learn more about January. Her character really develops and she's slowly becoming more 3D. Because I've been reading over the last few chapters and I realized that we really know NOTHING about Janie except for the fact that she was a bit of a flower child and she loved color and she wore flowers in her hair. So I've decided that we learn more about her and I juggled with a few personalities for quite a while. At first, she was very energetic and full of life. Then, I gave her a more mellow attitude. But then, I decided that both were kind of over-done so I was like, I'll just give Jan a very typical lifestyle. A very NORMAL life. Then show her course of maturity throughout the story, of course.
QuestionS of the day: What's your favorite part of the chapter? Favorite line? What do you think about January's high-school life, are you surprised? And lastly, how would you feel about a Peter/January companion fic?
As for the last question, I've sort of already wrote out the outline for the first chapter and the story is appropriately titled as 'The Biography of January Jansen' and the first line of the story is as follows:
"Jan, he's not a toy."
--Lots of love, my lovelies, and reviews are always adored.
