She hadn’t been able to find Scott when she first entered the mansion. So she had headed straight for her room. Jade flung her large army duffle on her bed. She glanced around the loft and discovered her journal laying upside down on her bookshelf. She was still in uniform, not knowing what to expect when she entered the mansion. But no bells or sirens had gone off, no mental instructions had been passed. She had time to sit and write. While her thoughts were still fresh.

( PRIVATE JOURNAL )
Jade shut the journal and left it laying on the desk where she had been writing, not even bothering to close it. It was time to find someone, and find out what the hell was going on.

It was well into the early morning, but Jade still couldn't sleep. Many different things were clouding her mind, causing her sleep to be restless. The last time she looked at the clock, it was around 2:19 am, course now she guessed it was closer to 3:00. She was sitting in the garage with the door completely exposing the outside darkness and cold.

Jade doesn't really remember turning on the light, but it was on. She also doesn't remember how she got on Remy's bike. Well,that would be a lie, she remembers admiring it from the garage door, what she doesn't recall is how she pushed it in front of the exposed door, and why she was actually sitting on it...she was sitting on the bike. The thought scared her.

She was straddling it, balancing the weight of the bike between her legs. Her head was pointed down, she was staring at the handle bars carefully. She lifted a unsteady hand out and ran her fingertips along the shiny chrome.

( Her self control suddenly shut down. )

I feel: stressed

Private Journal Entry:

( Fountains, Breakfast, & Bikes )

I feel: blank

( Oh journal, you have missed so much. )

I feel: worried
I hear: "One Nightstand" - Trace Adkins

( It Starts....Dun Dun Dun. )

I feel: mischievous

Sorry journal. I abandoned you. Please forgive me.

I gave Roxy a few more days to contact me, then when she had yet to return I headed up to the Red Teardrop. Turns out she was still on "vacation". Yeah right. I pretty much threatened to pull out the pour little secretary's extensions if she didn't tell me where Roxy went.

Ontario.

So yeah, that's where I've been. Trying to get Roxy out of a financial fiasco she had pretty much drowned herself in.

And then I returned to the mansion to find myself ass deep in protesters. And to see my beloved Lotte with the Brotherhood.

Sorry journal, I have to leave you again. I need to get to Jake's. 'Course lately, it feels like drinking is turning into my way out of everything. Or maybe I've been listening to Roxy to much again.

I feel: distressed

It's amazing what can happen when I get a little motivated. I finally finished my murals, I now have trapped the four seasons inside my own little room. As for my door, I put up a nice little hanging beaded curtain over the main door leading into the loft, and as for the second door frame, I placed a dark burgundy curtain over it, so I can still have some privacy and still have an artistic air about the room.

Ah, it's good to be some what creative.

I made a couple of phone calls today. I called Jake and thanked him for the offer to return to the bar, he understood why I declined. He was even nice enough to compliment my dedication to teach.

I also called Roxy, she didn't answer. Her receptionist, Maria, said she hasn't been in all week. How odd of her. I'm sure Roxy is just on some big adventure, and will gladly bore me with all the details later...it's just that something seems odd about this disappearance.

Oh! I almost forgot, I got a letter from Astacia! Erm, Grandmother. I could always describe the woman to people as my grandmother, but I could never openly call her my grandmother. I haven't fully read the letter yet, mostly because it is written in Romany, and I haven't had the time to translate. The parts I did catch in skimming was "princess", "magic", and "future".

I probably should sit down and try and translate everything. I always was much better at speaking the old language instead of reading it.

I feel: content

Bah, I didn't come out for New Years. I just wanted to stay in my room and enjoy the bottle of champagne I got from Jake. Something about the stroke of midnight that always bothered me. Maybe it was the tradition of a New Years kiss. Yeah. Maybe that's what it was.

I suddenly need some more champagne.

I just read my last journal entry.

I don't remember it. I woke up and wondered where the paint came from, but then everything after that was a blank. I remember bits and pieces of a conversation I had with Scott. I guess I brought him the measurements for my door. Good. It's getting drafty. I had better go, I want to try and put up some decorations for Christmas.

I feel: groggy

I spilled some paint today.

Red paint that flowed over my floor like crimson water. I started to clean it up, but somewhere between the scrubbing and the brushing, I realized I was crying.

It wasn't a hard cry, it was so soft I almost believed it wasn't really happening. I even went into my bathroom to watch myself in the mirror. And sure enough, the tears were there.

I got the red paint on my gloves, I had to scrub my hands hard just to keep them clean. The skin around my wrist and my fingers are raw from the rag and soap. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

Hank ran some tests on me. Had a cat scan and such. Needles. Conclusion? A heat induced concussion. My brain has minor swelling. He told me to try and keep myself from "flaring" up so to speak. At least until the swelling goes down. He also gave me some pills. Said my emotions might be a little intense for a bit, something about my brain again. I tuned him out. I know I shouldn't have but...I just couldn't listen to him anymore.

I miss Mississippi. I miss my little shack, even though it burned down. The basement was still inhabitable. I bet I could rebuild. I bet I could sneak back, the town doesn't have to know. Or, I could always find the circus again, and live with my grandmother. Their dirty little secret. The cursed half-breed. Daughter of a traitor, granddaughter of the elder. A dirty gypsy princess.

I think I'm crying again. No. I'm not. I guess I should take another one of my pills.

They're red too.

I feel: melancholy