Sanjeev Singh. 35. Navy SEAL. Formerly married. One daughter. Recently MIA. Vegas native and resident. var sc_project=11262670; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_security="4ea19908"; var scJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://secure." : "http://www."); document.write("");
bake a cake from scratch | ride a horse | drive stick | speak a second language | dance | catch a fish | play an instrument | throw a punch | build a deck | ice skate | unclog a drain | program a computer | change a flat tire | fire a gun | sew | juggle | play poker | paint | fly a kite | sculpt | write poetry | change a diaper | sing | shoot a bow and arrow | ride a bike | swim | sail a boat | do a back flip | play chess | give CPR | pitch a tent | flirt | stitch a wound | read palms | use chopsticks | write in cursive | use an electric drill | braid hair | make a campfire | make a mixed drink | do sudoku puzzles | wrap a gift | give a good massage | jump-start a car | roll their tongue | do magic tricks | do yoga | tie a tie | skip a rock | shuffle a deck of cards | read Morse code | pick a lock
“Well we’ll see about that.” Noah wasn’t sure whether or not he’d eat his words, but on one hand he’d get to see Jeev do something cool and on the other he’d be a hundred bucks richer. “You’re on!” Noah chuckled, the alcohol buzzing through his brain as he stood up from his stool, motioning for Jeev to follow him outside.
Sanjeev could not help but laugh. He nodded, heading out of the bar and towards the fence. What was he doing agreeing to this? Still, it was just over six or seven feet tall. He had taken higher walls before. Taking a deep, slight intoxicated breath, Jeev ran at the wall. He jumped up, finding the crevices in the wall and scaled up it. Jeev climbed up to the top, grunting from his worn muscles and intoxicated internals. It took a little longer than normal but eventually Jeev made it to the top and jumped down. On the other side, he grunted as his feet gave out under him and he hit the ground. “Shiiit,” he grumbled.
[ sms → sent ]: this is the best wake up text you will ever get. everrr[ sms → sent ]: no really. wake up, come running with me i’ll make you a smoothie after.
Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text.
[ sms → sent ]: I MAY HAVE JUST ADDED A NEW EDITION TO MY CREW [ sms → sent ]: meet louie…
Send “%” for a CURIOUS text.
[ sms → sent ]: okay so riddle me this, did you really have a crush on that girl with the really bad perm all those years ago?[ sms → sent ]: you can tell me, i promise not to judge.
Hazel had always loved befriending strangers. As a journalist, other people fascinated her. She’d never turned down an excuse to make a new friend and the stranger appeared harmless. “It’s not an imposition at all. If I have a great love for anything, it’s late night apple pie.” Hazel joked, motioning for him to follow her as she began walking. “I’m Hazel, by the way. Tell me, are you a Vegas native or just passing through?”
Jeev could not help but chuckle at her words. It was strained, because nothing felt natural these days. He nodded to her and walked with her. “I’m Sanjeev. And I’m basically a Vegas native. I’m in the military though so I’m gone half the year too,” he added.
Jonny considered the question from the stranger. Did he mind? He was more wary about new people ever since the threats and the murder but honestly, he was tired of living in fear of that. Besides, it was a public place and he didn’t really feel like eating alone anyway. The model gave a soft smile as he ran his fingers back through his hair to rid it of its helmet shape. “Yeah, that’s where I was heading and no. Company actually sounds great.” Jonny headed in towards the diner and held the door open for his new companion. “Jonny,” he informed him, giving his name. “I figured if you’re gonna have a meal with me you might want to know that.”
Sanjeev nodded at his words. He was much less scared of people in Vegas and more wary of small places underground. It would be nice to have someone to eat with, even if they just sat there without a word. He walked with the other towards the diner and stepped inside when they got to him. “Sanjeev. Nice to meet you Jonny,” he replied to him and found a booth to plop down on.
Harper had paused as well, mesmerized by the light shows and how breathtaking they were. A lot about her job had forced her to stop and take in the sights around her, no matter how used she was to see them. People had worst days than she and she should be thankful for the easy life she’d been given. “They are, “ she breathed, “ they really are.” With a small smile, her eyes flicked towards the male before going back to them. “There’s a little dinner that serves breakfast at any hour. It’s always my favorite.”
Jeev’s attention averted next to him and he smiled. He was still thinking about all the changes that the city had endured while he had been away. It had only been a handful of months but it felt like his city was brighter now. At her suggestion, he nodded. “That sounds perfect. You want to join? Check’s on me?” he offered.
Aly rolled her shoulders and neck to help release some of the tension that had grown there. It had been a hell of a day dealing with patients who were sick and just wanted to get back home. A feeling she knew all too well. “Doctor,” she breathed out with her lips against the rim of her coffee. “I had the shift at the emergency room which is always fun. Except it’s not.” She paused, glancing up at the male. “You know all about sleep deprivation? What do you do?”
Jeev watched her. He thought back to all those times training as a SEAL. They were brutal when it came to training and keeping you sleep deprived. It made sense because sometimes they would need to stay on their feet, traveling, for days on end. So yeah, he knew all about sleep deprivation. He smiled when she said she was a doctor. That made sense. “I should have known,” he nodded. He nodded along as she talked. When she asked what he did, he smiled weakly. “I’m a Navy SEAL.”
Name: Sanjeev Singh
Moment: a typical night in Sanjeev’s apartment.
When: probably a night or two ago.
Trigger Warnings: torture, violence, starvation, war, pain, ptsd, anxiety, blood.
The cracking double snap of a whip awoke Sanjeev from his erratic sleep. The air was dry and calm around him as his chest constricted. The sound was like an echo but only in his head as he looked around, blinking at the darkness. Eyes roamed the room before falling upon the digital neon green numbers of his clock. It was nearly three in the morning. His shirt stuck to his back as he shifted his muscles. Sanjeev shifted on the bed, pushing the top blankets off his body as he sat up and set his feet on the ground. The wood floor caused a icy sting that made him inhale sharply and lift his legs with an involuntary release. Again, he blinked as shadows and figures began to form around him in the nightfall. He braved another attempt and lowered the pads of his feet to the ground behind.
The ground was so bitter that it quickly numbed his feet. The shackles around his ankles tugged at his raw skin. They dug more into the sensitive remnants of the layers as if nesting a permanent residence there. Sanjeev's chest felt tight as his feet brushed across the cold cement. His mind no longer noticed the raw skin along his shackles. They were as close to shoe comfort as he would ever get. His strides were much smaller, given the restraint of the metal cuffs and the size of his cell. His fingertips brushed the wall, noting the indents from captors before him. There were slashes, like markings of significance. It reminded him of paintings from the Native people in caverns of the North American mountains. He had no idea whom made them before him and wondered if they marked days or deaths. There were no windows so the comfort of watching time was stolen from him. Possessions were no longer his. Markings were all that was left of lives before him and he wondered what fate befell them. He wanted to believe their deaths were swift and honorable but nothing was honorable down here. Or was it up here. He exhaled.
Sanjeev shook his head, stopping as he reached the kitchen. He tried to shake his head clear. He'd been doing that a lot. Sometimes his memories would come to the forefront and he felt trapped as he walked through them. His chest tightened again and he rubbed it, trying to ease the pain. He could feel the healing scars under his hand. The Navy SEAL pulled out a '#1 DAD' mug that his sister had helped his daughter pick out for his first Christmas as a new father. It was his favorite. He did not believe he would ever, truly, earn the rank of #1 Dad, but it was nice to have a daughter who believed he was. She had been less than a year old but every time he hugged her, he felt it. That innocent hopefulness that came with young age.
Sanjeev poured water into a kettle and glanced up at the window above the sink. The water poured over Petty Officer Stone’s face in large amounts and splashed the room around him. With arms clasped behind him and a cloth over his face, there was no stopping the feeling of drowning as his brother gasped for air and convulsed under the weight holding him down. Sanjeev felt the edge of a gun barrel scrape against the back of his head that told him if he did not watch, his mind would be scattered in another way.
“Stop it!” echoed through the small apartment. “Stop!” he screamed at the men but they continued to make death flirt with the Petty Officer. Sanjeev struggled against a couple of arm restraints that were connected to his ankle shackles. He'd grown to know that whatever he did to fight them, to rebel, he would receive tenfold. The open wounds on his body and torn clothes left soaked by his own blood were proof of that. He clenched his muscles as his arms fought the restraints, feeling the hot heat against his hands, and heard the Petty Officer give a whistling scream.
Sanjeev quickly pulled his hand away from touching the sides of the kettle. The heat burned against his skin as he blew on it. The fresh burn was already stinging and he picked up the kettle handle, pulling it off the burner and turning the knob of the stove to an upright position. It clicked into place.
Sanjeev heard the click of a gun and grabbed his mug. His arm held it up, ready to throw it as he looked around the apartment. “Someone there?” he questioned but nobody answered. His eyes swept the room with skill and brought the walkie in his hands up to his ear. “Clear,” he spoke and knelt down behind a broken wall the size of a kitchen island. The muscle memory of clearing a room was second nature as he kept to confined spaces and easy visual access.
The trash bin clattered against the ground and the military man stood back up to his full stature. He glanced around and brought the mug back to the kitchen island. His hands throbbed as he made his way back to the kettle. The liquid poured into the familiar ceramic mug and hands shuffled through a cabinet by the stove, fishing for a tea bag. The aromatic contents were soon joined with the hot water and he dabbed it along with boredom. It would be another night of idle time.
Hands brought the hem of his shirt up above his head and he touched at the sweat that had been clinging against his skin. A quick sniff caused him to toss it away to the laundry room and he, once more, stood over his mug, waiting for his tea. After a few minutes, Sanjeev brought his mug to his nose and smelled the rich aromas of the tea. A small smile crossed his lips.
“What are you smiling at?” a voice rippled through the room. Tense, the SEAL grasped tightly the device in his hands.
“I was thinking of how great it will be to kill you,” his voice replied calmly. The small faint smile still on his lips. He'd thought about that moment. A lot. He was going to get free. Maybe his brothers in arms would find him soon. He could not have been gone more than a few hours. And if not, he would die fighting them every moment.
A gruff laugh followed and he spoke to another in the darkness, in a tongue that was not familiar to Sanjeev. Sanjeev knew very little phrases and words in the dialect but not enough to know the conversation. The Captain he'd been taken with had been an interpreter for his team. He had been a sensible man and had tried to reason with them. Sanjeev could feel the Captain's blood still dried on his cheek. They'd shot him without a second thought in the matter. How dare an American abomination speak to them in their native tongue. The rest of them were not trained in that military aspect so Sanjeev could only guess by body language and tone on what they were saying unless spoken to in English.
“Nobody cares about you mutt,” one of the men spoke in broken English before Sanjeev felt a painful kick to his abdomen. It knocked the air out of him and Sanjeev's knees hit the hard wood floors. The mug in his hands dropped and the contents spilled out along the floor. He struggled as the second man dragged him along the floor before his head hit the wall. It bounced along the floor and Sanjeev looked up at the ceiling of his apartment, smiling ever so softly as the Sun began to rise and his eyes drifted down to close. Sleep was luring him in and his aching hands pressed against the cool floor as exhaustion overtook him.
so i’ve been struggling a lot with muse for jeev. I could use some deep plots and threads with him. i have a connections page up if you’ve got anything in mind. i’ll be editing the connections soon but hit me up.
“oh, sir. no one ever calls me sir. feels fancy!” he giggled. he gave overly uptight (otherwise known as decent folk to non-punks) a lot of shit, but he still met respect with respect. mostly. at least with kind people, and this guy seemed kind. tyler fell into step beside him, heading in the direction of denny’s. “funnily enough, yeah, i am. almost always. you?”
Sanjeev felt a genuine chuckle of amusement at the words. He forgot that the way he had been trained in the military did not always match that of civilian life. Sir and Ma’am were common forms of respect and direction to those around him but some people had never been exposed to them. Jeev did not judge the other by him, it simply was a reminder of just how different he was. How engrained his military life was to him. “Sorry, habit,” he countered with a friendly smile and nodded as his latter words. “I am.”
