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laleiaI'm cleaning out my Abandoned WiPs and officially labeling them all as such on a different folder on my laptop, so they all get dumped here.
Here, have an ancient (started 6-ish years ago?) unfinished Jackie Chan Adventures/Incredibles crossover ficlet, in which Jade is a blatant self-insert (like, my idealized self), plus the fizzled attempt at rewriting it. (Note: no less a self-insert in the three paragraphs of rewrite)
In a world where science can achieve miracles …
In a world where magic lurks in the shadows …
In a world where governments struggle to keep the public ignorant of the evil powers seeking power each day …
This is the world in which I live.
I was introduced to both the danger and the exhilaration of magic at a young age, when I moved to San Francisco to join my uncle and Uncle in their antique shop. Uncle was a practitioner of the ancient Chinese magic, who had hoped that his nephew (my uncle Jackie) would be an apt student. Jackie ended up as an archaeologist, and Uncle as a bitter old man owning an antique shop. Soon, the antiques became his life, and Jackie’s archeology became his life. Then I arrived. Not far behind me (or perhaps I followed it) came trouble in the terms of magic.
Uncle, who had not used his magic in so long, dusted off his books and dived in again, rediscovering the wonders that magic can hold. And I? Not only did I partake in adventures beyond my wildest imagination, I learned some lessons I still hold dear to my heart. In the end, Uncle received an apprentice (Tohru), and a new desire to live life as he ought. My uncle received more excitement to his exceedingly dull life, and even found love (I suppose you could say) in Viper. And I?
When I returned to China, I viewed the world with new eyes. And that was when I discovered that my home, my hometown, even, contained more magic than I thought was possible. It was as if my experiences had shed a new light on everything I had taken for granted before. I found a sorcerer, became his apprentice for several years, before leaving him and finding another master (and sometimes mistress). Keeping my magic studies and my school studies apart was difficult at first, but became easier with time. I graduated from college, attended graduate school in America, and spent the remainder of my grad-school time learning law (I had planned on going into law enforcement, but had finally decided that law school held a better future for me—although I still retained hopes on being invited to join the FBI, or one of the other secret government organizations across the nation) and magic. As I was expected, after I graduated, I was offered a job concerning secrecy and magic, what I had been yearning for all my life. The only drawback was that it was government-involved, which meant paperwork and accounting for my every move. I did, however, receive the opportunity to travel around the world and learn of all different types of magic. I encountered the strange, the bizarre, the awe-inspiring, and the terrifying.
I soon became a proficient magicwielder, and pretty knowledgeable in various cultural magicks. Once I believed myself skilled enough, I gave the government my one month’s notice, finished out my term in Saudi Arabia, and departed for San Francisco as my own woman. I paid a quick visit to Uncle, with whom I clarified a few questions of the ancient Chinese magical variety, bid hello to Tohru (Jackie was on an archaeological expedition), and began to pursue my own agenda. What was my agenda?
Demons. And not just Demons of the sort that Uncle and Uncle Jackie and Tohru and I had shut up in portals, but the truly evil and much more prolific kind that haunted mankind and spread violence and terror. The kind that would snatch a child and eat it. The kind to which innocent virgins were sacrificed. Yes. That kind.
First, of course, I had to find those demons. And the only way to start out a demon-hunt is to go undercover, because only cult-members, and only exclusive cult-members at that (and I’m not talking about your average, harmless cult … I’m talking about the ones no-one ever notices, much less talks about) knew the information I needed to know.
Now, the place to go when advertising oneself as an evil-Satanist-cult-member is The Hot Spot. Bizarrely named for such a cool, air-conditioned place (one reason it is so popular in summer), it also has enough underground backrooms with back doors that lead to the other side of the world and alternate dimensions to start a business in interdimensional travel if it wished it. A mix’n’match of magic both antique and modern, The Hot Spot appears to be owned by no-one, operated by no-one, readily supplying its services to everyone. That meant that both evil and good magic found its way there in the end.
Before I went there, of course, I had to disguise myself. I decided to pass myself off as a rookie Wiccan. The first thing I did was change my hair a few shades lighter and my eyes a few shades darker. The result was a dark brown-haired, dark brown-eyed girl that would never be mistaken for Jade Chan. I resembled a third or fourth-generation Asian maybe, but that was cutting it close. Then, I nonmagically streaked my hair blue, smeared on blue and silver body glitter, and slid into a slinky teal halter top and a short black miniskirt. I sighed as I moved to put on gobs of glittery eyeshadow and lipstick, but the type of casual Wiccan who dabbled and reveled in magic but didn’t have enough of it at her disposal I was striving for required it. I hated glittery makeup, because I needed makeup remover to get it off, and makeup remover never agrees with me.
I used a little bit of conjured electricity to frizz my hair out slightly, slipped into blue strapped high heels that would be killing my feet within hours and slipped on a black purse. The contents of the purse had been carefully selected the night before. People say that you can tell a lot about a woman by the contents of her purse. Whether or not that is true, it is a definite fact that you can tell a lot about a witch by the contents of his or her purse. Witches, male or female, deposited all things magical in their purse, and practically lived out of their purses. Magical tools, potions, herbs, stones, all of these went in the purse. Arcane spells, useful spells, scraps of ancient spells, magical contacts, all of these went in the purse.
I was ready.
At the Hot Spot, the loud, barely-rhythmic music almost deafened me, but I bore it. I made my way into the dancing masses, and soon found myself leered at, ogled, pinched, prodded, and danced with by men (and even a couple of women) of all ages, races, species, and types. Finally, I found myself face-to-face with a blue-skinned, horned demon that was showing great interest in my blue and silver body glitter.
Let me take a moment to explain. There are many kinds of demons. There are those that I am after. And there are those that Uncle locked away. And then there are those pesky minions of hell who were really too weak to worry about but were a big pain in the butt. (I’m not even going to go into the Japanese youkai or the Chinese yao-guai or the Irish- you get the idea.) I mean, you can kill them, but since they live in hell, they can’t die. So they just keep coming back. They usually don’t do anything harmful because there are all too many slayers out there who know how to make the slaying of a demon painful and permanent and are willing to do so the moment a demon steps out of line, but they are very annoying.
This one was going to take ogling to the next step. His arms snaked around me and rested on my ass, automatically pulling me closer to him, before the hands squeezed. I kneed.
Demons have several anatomical differences that stand out from humans. Their stomachs are elsewhere, for example. But demons also have a very sensitive bit between their legs that doesn’t like being kneed.
I tossed my hair as he collapsed, wheezing, and moved on to dance with the next, warier male.
A few more days were required before my reputation was completely built up. Then, I could make inquiries without seeming too suspicious. After that? After that, I could take commissions. After all, I didn’t have a job anymore. I needed some source of money. A stint as a temporary bounty-hunter would reacquaint me with San Fran’s night life, and help me out financially.
And after that I would see where the fates led me.
That night, they led me to knee two more guys, one a seedy-looking warlock with barely any magic about him and the other a succubus whose salacious offer I had no intention of accepting.
Another month of this passed, nothing more than mindnumbing boredom. In that month, I managed to find a set of apartments that would be my abode for the time being, establish my reputation as bounty hunter (for the supernatural, of course), and begin the tedious process of making contacts.
On my fifth visit to the Hot Spot, I received my first commission. I had decked myself out in full Wicca regalia in celebration of the full moon. In other words, I had decided to go more towards the “immature noob” Wicca stances, who still delighted at every full moon because she didn’t know any better. And this was not in any way influenced by the fact that I was sick of miniskirts and spaghetti straps and wanted a change. Really. It wasn’t. Nor was it influenced by the fact that I could, in this way, avoid the glittery makeup I was beginning to run out of.
A dark black cloak and an almost-tacky-yet-somewhat-endearing headdress were basically what encompassed my outfit. The gyrating was a bit difficult in the cumbersome clothing, but it fit my persona. (A persona I was beginning to despise by this time, but a persona I had to stick with nonetheless.) A striking woman (a Super by the look of it) lifted a cup of something potently alcoholic towards me on the other side. At this point, persona be damned, I was ready to take the job this woman was offering, even if recognizing the oblique offer was a bit out of character.
I gyrated myself off the center of the floor and gravitated towards the silver-haired Super.
“Mirage,” she introduced herself.
“Lightning,” I said, spontaneously. “Rookie Wiccan at your service,” I said brightly.
“Bullshit,” she snorted. “No rookie would have noticed my offer.”
“I said rookie Wiccan, not rookie bounty hunter,” I pointed out.
“True, true,” she agreed.
I had always hated pretending to be a rookie … it was so difficult. At least in this, I could avoid pretending ignorance.
“I want you to kill someone for me,” she said coolly.
“Status?” I inquired.
“A deluded Normal. Who has a grudge against Supers, by the way,” she added. “Male, large ego, has supervillainous tendencies. He … has become very inconvenient. He has no special powers, but he is a technogeek and profits from it.”
I mentally calculated in my head. “Bobby? The recent Super wannabe escapee? Who attacked the … Incredible family?”
“You know of it?” she raised an eyebrow.
“It was big news at …” I couldn’t tell her I used to work for the government “the last Wiccan meeting,” I improvised. “Someone mentioned reading his story in her tea leaves.”
Mirage looked at me skeptically.
I allowed a bashful look to cross my face. “I eavesdropped.”
She nodded. Leaders of the occult had to know everything that was going on in order to stay ahead of the game, so to say. Even rookies knew that information was power, and were always trying to keep abreast of current (magical) events.
“Didn’t he already die, however?” I raised an eyebrow.
Mirage sighed. “I thought so. The Incredibles currently think so. And I would rather not involve them in this. I have a … soft spot for them, you could say.”
Of course she did. I had read the reports on the anomalous case, had helped with the cleanup, had returned from Antarctica to help with the cleanup, as a matter of fact. The Incredibles were an endearing family who seemed to inspire most around them, and word in the grapevine had it that Mirage, rejected by said Bobby (or cheated on by him – the grapevine was fairly vague on the matter), had fostered a crush on the Mr. Incredible, although the grapevine was a bit hazy on why he, of all people, was fixed upon.
“And how much money would I be getting out of this?” I asked.
“I heard that you would accept information in lieu of money,” she suggested.
I snorted. “I love information and all, but I need to be able to eat dinner everyday. A good mixture of money and information, at least?”
“It's very important information,” Mirage purred, “that you would find very interesting.”
“How interesting?” my eyes narrowed.
“I hear that you've been trying to obtain membership to the exclusive Demonology nightclub,” Mirage smirked.
I hadn't been specifically attempting to obtain membership to that nightclub, but membership would certain help in future endeavors. “You have good ears,” I observed.
“I have in my possession a piece of information you could feasibly use to blackmail your way into the nightclub,” Mirage said satisfactorily.
“That promises me nothing,” I snorted. “You could sell that information to as many people as you wished, rendering it worthless.”
“I could guarantee you I wouldn't breathe a word of it to another person for thirty days,” Mirage offered. “Thirty days should be more than enough time to blackmail.”
“And what good is your guarantee?” I snorted. She had, after all, worked under a villain before double-crossing him for what amounted to nothing more than personal reasons. “I'd need something more than a guarantee, as well as other information and/or money on the table before I'd even consider your offer.” I downed my shot of whatever-it-was-I-had-ordered and left. If she wanted me on the job, she'd find a way to entice me.
And she did, although it took a bit shorter than I might have liked.
We parted after only eighty minutes of negotiation (really far too short, but I needed what she had to give me – a bad precedent to set). She was really better off for it. I had agreed to an assassination and in return had been guaranteed the blackmail material on Demonology entrepreneur as well as a secondhand copy of an ancient Chinese text Uncle had been looking for a while (thrown in desperately and last-minute by her) and guaranteed admittance into the slightly less but still importantly exclusive nightclubs Yin and Six Feet Under.
--
Rewrite:
My life had been perfect until it happened. Well, not perfect exactly but near enough. Coasting through undergrad on a full ride at USC had landed me a cushy job with the FBI that had me globetrotting and city-hopping, and gave me much-needed training. Magic lessons I'd been paying out-of-pocket for and balancing with schoolwork were now reimbursed by the U.S. Government, and my security clearance gave me access to restricted books and other materials it would've been impossible to get otherwise. I went home (home being Hong Kong) often enough for my taste, but thankfully lived (when not traveling) in D.C. because I can only spend so long with my parents before their nagging gets on my nerves.
I'd kept in touch with friends from school, my job had been going somewhere and was kick-ass fun, and I got to see Uncle and Tohru, who'd taken over the shop, on a regular basis. Uncle Jackie and Viper were harder to get ahold of, as they were always traveling on business, but life was undeniably good.
Then, I pricked my finger on the wrong pin, and before I knew it everything had gone to crap.
--
Notes: I still like the idea of this, a thematic one that pops up in a few other ancient WiPs, of a future where Jade continues working in the magical worlds and it ends up eventually being a giant crossover with everything I've ever watched ever. I just think Jade is awesome and want her to continue being awesome as a grownup. And now I want towrite read Jackie Chan Adventures fanfic.
Here, have an ancient (started 6-ish years ago?) unfinished Jackie Chan Adventures/Incredibles crossover ficlet, in which Jade is a blatant self-insert (like, my idealized self), plus the fizzled attempt at rewriting it. (Note: no less a self-insert in the three paragraphs of rewrite)
In a world where science can achieve miracles …
In a world where magic lurks in the shadows …
In a world where governments struggle to keep the public ignorant of the evil powers seeking power each day …
This is the world in which I live.
I was introduced to both the danger and the exhilaration of magic at a young age, when I moved to San Francisco to join my uncle and Uncle in their antique shop. Uncle was a practitioner of the ancient Chinese magic, who had hoped that his nephew (my uncle Jackie) would be an apt student. Jackie ended up as an archaeologist, and Uncle as a bitter old man owning an antique shop. Soon, the antiques became his life, and Jackie’s archeology became his life. Then I arrived. Not far behind me (or perhaps I followed it) came trouble in the terms of magic.
Uncle, who had not used his magic in so long, dusted off his books and dived in again, rediscovering the wonders that magic can hold. And I? Not only did I partake in adventures beyond my wildest imagination, I learned some lessons I still hold dear to my heart. In the end, Uncle received an apprentice (Tohru), and a new desire to live life as he ought. My uncle received more excitement to his exceedingly dull life, and even found love (I suppose you could say) in Viper. And I?
When I returned to China, I viewed the world with new eyes. And that was when I discovered that my home, my hometown, even, contained more magic than I thought was possible. It was as if my experiences had shed a new light on everything I had taken for granted before. I found a sorcerer, became his apprentice for several years, before leaving him and finding another master (and sometimes mistress). Keeping my magic studies and my school studies apart was difficult at first, but became easier with time. I graduated from college, attended graduate school in America, and spent the remainder of my grad-school time learning law (I had planned on going into law enforcement, but had finally decided that law school held a better future for me—although I still retained hopes on being invited to join the FBI, or one of the other secret government organizations across the nation) and magic. As I was expected, after I graduated, I was offered a job concerning secrecy and magic, what I had been yearning for all my life. The only drawback was that it was government-involved, which meant paperwork and accounting for my every move. I did, however, receive the opportunity to travel around the world and learn of all different types of magic. I encountered the strange, the bizarre, the awe-inspiring, and the terrifying.
I soon became a proficient magicwielder, and pretty knowledgeable in various cultural magicks. Once I believed myself skilled enough, I gave the government my one month’s notice, finished out my term in Saudi Arabia, and departed for San Francisco as my own woman. I paid a quick visit to Uncle, with whom I clarified a few questions of the ancient Chinese magical variety, bid hello to Tohru (Jackie was on an archaeological expedition), and began to pursue my own agenda. What was my agenda?
Demons. And not just Demons of the sort that Uncle and Uncle Jackie and Tohru and I had shut up in portals, but the truly evil and much more prolific kind that haunted mankind and spread violence and terror. The kind that would snatch a child and eat it. The kind to which innocent virgins were sacrificed. Yes. That kind.
First, of course, I had to find those demons. And the only way to start out a demon-hunt is to go undercover, because only cult-members, and only exclusive cult-members at that (and I’m not talking about your average, harmless cult … I’m talking about the ones no-one ever notices, much less talks about) knew the information I needed to know.
Now, the place to go when advertising oneself as an evil-Satanist-cult-member is The Hot Spot. Bizarrely named for such a cool, air-conditioned place (one reason it is so popular in summer), it also has enough underground backrooms with back doors that lead to the other side of the world and alternate dimensions to start a business in interdimensional travel if it wished it. A mix’n’match of magic both antique and modern, The Hot Spot appears to be owned by no-one, operated by no-one, readily supplying its services to everyone. That meant that both evil and good magic found its way there in the end.
Before I went there, of course, I had to disguise myself. I decided to pass myself off as a rookie Wiccan. The first thing I did was change my hair a few shades lighter and my eyes a few shades darker. The result was a dark brown-haired, dark brown-eyed girl that would never be mistaken for Jade Chan. I resembled a third or fourth-generation Asian maybe, but that was cutting it close. Then, I nonmagically streaked my hair blue, smeared on blue and silver body glitter, and slid into a slinky teal halter top and a short black miniskirt. I sighed as I moved to put on gobs of glittery eyeshadow and lipstick, but the type of casual Wiccan who dabbled and reveled in magic but didn’t have enough of it at her disposal I was striving for required it. I hated glittery makeup, because I needed makeup remover to get it off, and makeup remover never agrees with me.
I used a little bit of conjured electricity to frizz my hair out slightly, slipped into blue strapped high heels that would be killing my feet within hours and slipped on a black purse. The contents of the purse had been carefully selected the night before. People say that you can tell a lot about a woman by the contents of her purse. Whether or not that is true, it is a definite fact that you can tell a lot about a witch by the contents of his or her purse. Witches, male or female, deposited all things magical in their purse, and practically lived out of their purses. Magical tools, potions, herbs, stones, all of these went in the purse. Arcane spells, useful spells, scraps of ancient spells, magical contacts, all of these went in the purse.
I was ready.
At the Hot Spot, the loud, barely-rhythmic music almost deafened me, but I bore it. I made my way into the dancing masses, and soon found myself leered at, ogled, pinched, prodded, and danced with by men (and even a couple of women) of all ages, races, species, and types. Finally, I found myself face-to-face with a blue-skinned, horned demon that was showing great interest in my blue and silver body glitter.
Let me take a moment to explain. There are many kinds of demons. There are those that I am after. And there are those that Uncle locked away. And then there are those pesky minions of hell who were really too weak to worry about but were a big pain in the butt. (I’m not even going to go into the Japanese youkai or the Chinese yao-guai or the Irish- you get the idea.) I mean, you can kill them, but since they live in hell, they can’t die. So they just keep coming back. They usually don’t do anything harmful because there are all too many slayers out there who know how to make the slaying of a demon painful and permanent and are willing to do so the moment a demon steps out of line, but they are very annoying.
This one was going to take ogling to the next step. His arms snaked around me and rested on my ass, automatically pulling me closer to him, before the hands squeezed. I kneed.
Demons have several anatomical differences that stand out from humans. Their stomachs are elsewhere, for example. But demons also have a very sensitive bit between their legs that doesn’t like being kneed.
I tossed my hair as he collapsed, wheezing, and moved on to dance with the next, warier male.
A few more days were required before my reputation was completely built up. Then, I could make inquiries without seeming too suspicious. After that? After that, I could take commissions. After all, I didn’t have a job anymore. I needed some source of money. A stint as a temporary bounty-hunter would reacquaint me with San Fran’s night life, and help me out financially.
And after that I would see where the fates led me.
That night, they led me to knee two more guys, one a seedy-looking warlock with barely any magic about him and the other a succubus whose salacious offer I had no intention of accepting.
Another month of this passed, nothing more than mindnumbing boredom. In that month, I managed to find a set of apartments that would be my abode for the time being, establish my reputation as bounty hunter (for the supernatural, of course), and begin the tedious process of making contacts.
On my fifth visit to the Hot Spot, I received my first commission. I had decked myself out in full Wicca regalia in celebration of the full moon. In other words, I had decided to go more towards the “immature noob” Wicca stances, who still delighted at every full moon because she didn’t know any better. And this was not in any way influenced by the fact that I was sick of miniskirts and spaghetti straps and wanted a change. Really. It wasn’t. Nor was it influenced by the fact that I could, in this way, avoid the glittery makeup I was beginning to run out of.
A dark black cloak and an almost-tacky-yet-somewhat-endearing headdress were basically what encompassed my outfit. The gyrating was a bit difficult in the cumbersome clothing, but it fit my persona. (A persona I was beginning to despise by this time, but a persona I had to stick with nonetheless.) A striking woman (a Super by the look of it) lifted a cup of something potently alcoholic towards me on the other side. At this point, persona be damned, I was ready to take the job this woman was offering, even if recognizing the oblique offer was a bit out of character.
I gyrated myself off the center of the floor and gravitated towards the silver-haired Super.
“Mirage,” she introduced herself.
“Lightning,” I said, spontaneously. “Rookie Wiccan at your service,” I said brightly.
“Bullshit,” she snorted. “No rookie would have noticed my offer.”
“I said rookie Wiccan, not rookie bounty hunter,” I pointed out.
“True, true,” she agreed.
I had always hated pretending to be a rookie … it was so difficult. At least in this, I could avoid pretending ignorance.
“I want you to kill someone for me,” she said coolly.
“Status?” I inquired.
“A deluded Normal. Who has a grudge against Supers, by the way,” she added. “Male, large ego, has supervillainous tendencies. He … has become very inconvenient. He has no special powers, but he is a technogeek and profits from it.”
I mentally calculated in my head. “Bobby? The recent Super wannabe escapee? Who attacked the … Incredible family?”
“You know of it?” she raised an eyebrow.
“It was big news at …” I couldn’t tell her I used to work for the government “the last Wiccan meeting,” I improvised. “Someone mentioned reading his story in her tea leaves.”
Mirage looked at me skeptically.
I allowed a bashful look to cross my face. “I eavesdropped.”
She nodded. Leaders of the occult had to know everything that was going on in order to stay ahead of the game, so to say. Even rookies knew that information was power, and were always trying to keep abreast of current (magical) events.
“Didn’t he already die, however?” I raised an eyebrow.
Mirage sighed. “I thought so. The Incredibles currently think so. And I would rather not involve them in this. I have a … soft spot for them, you could say.”
Of course she did. I had read the reports on the anomalous case, had helped with the cleanup, had returned from Antarctica to help with the cleanup, as a matter of fact. The Incredibles were an endearing family who seemed to inspire most around them, and word in the grapevine had it that Mirage, rejected by said Bobby (or cheated on by him – the grapevine was fairly vague on the matter), had fostered a crush on the Mr. Incredible, although the grapevine was a bit hazy on why he, of all people, was fixed upon.
“And how much money would I be getting out of this?” I asked.
“I heard that you would accept information in lieu of money,” she suggested.
I snorted. “I love information and all, but I need to be able to eat dinner everyday. A good mixture of money and information, at least?”
“It's very important information,” Mirage purred, “that you would find very interesting.”
“How interesting?” my eyes narrowed.
“I hear that you've been trying to obtain membership to the exclusive Demonology nightclub,” Mirage smirked.
I hadn't been specifically attempting to obtain membership to that nightclub, but membership would certain help in future endeavors. “You have good ears,” I observed.
“I have in my possession a piece of information you could feasibly use to blackmail your way into the nightclub,” Mirage said satisfactorily.
“That promises me nothing,” I snorted. “You could sell that information to as many people as you wished, rendering it worthless.”
“I could guarantee you I wouldn't breathe a word of it to another person for thirty days,” Mirage offered. “Thirty days should be more than enough time to blackmail.”
“And what good is your guarantee?” I snorted. She had, after all, worked under a villain before double-crossing him for what amounted to nothing more than personal reasons. “I'd need something more than a guarantee, as well as other information and/or money on the table before I'd even consider your offer.” I downed my shot of whatever-it-was-I-had-ordered and left. If she wanted me on the job, she'd find a way to entice me.
And she did, although it took a bit shorter than I might have liked.
We parted after only eighty minutes of negotiation (really far too short, but I needed what she had to give me – a bad precedent to set). She was really better off for it. I had agreed to an assassination and in return had been guaranteed the blackmail material on Demonology entrepreneur as well as a secondhand copy of an ancient Chinese text Uncle had been looking for a while (thrown in desperately and last-minute by her) and guaranteed admittance into the slightly less but still importantly exclusive nightclubs Yin and Six Feet Under.
--
Rewrite:
My life had been perfect until it happened. Well, not perfect exactly but near enough. Coasting through undergrad on a full ride at USC had landed me a cushy job with the FBI that had me globetrotting and city-hopping, and gave me much-needed training. Magic lessons I'd been paying out-of-pocket for and balancing with schoolwork were now reimbursed by the U.S. Government, and my security clearance gave me access to restricted books and other materials it would've been impossible to get otherwise. I went home (home being Hong Kong) often enough for my taste, but thankfully lived (when not traveling) in D.C. because I can only spend so long with my parents before their nagging gets on my nerves.
I'd kept in touch with friends from school, my job had been going somewhere and was kick-ass fun, and I got to see Uncle and Tohru, who'd taken over the shop, on a regular basis. Uncle Jackie and Viper were harder to get ahold of, as they were always traveling on business, but life was undeniably good.
Then, I pricked my finger on the wrong pin, and before I knew it everything had gone to crap.
--
Notes: I still like the idea of this, a thematic one that pops up in a few other ancient WiPs, of a future where Jade continues working in the magical worlds and it ends up eventually being a giant crossover with everything I've ever watched ever. I just think Jade is awesome and want her to continue being awesome as a grownup. And now I want to
