ISOLOPHILIA

Isaac didn’t see Jordan as a monster. A fun killer, maybe. An asshole, definitely. Someone who grated on his last nerve, absolutely. But noting about a guy who could only strip someone else of their powers screamed ‘monster’ to Isaac. Maybe that had more to do with Isaac’s view on his own powers, which were an extension of himself but mostly a source of excitement and entertainment, hence where Jordan’s fun-killing reputation blossomed from. He would also go as far to say Jordan is not an asshole, but a pompous asshole, and it was that which made them quarrel in the first place – Jordan’s educated mind and large vocabulary confused Isaac to the point where he just took everything he didn’t understand as an insult, and while he was confused often, he wouldn’t be insulted lying down.

And that somehow got them here, Isaac stumbling back, his bare feet hoping to keep him upright on the pavement. Thankfully, they didn’t have to do too much of the work, because along came a brick wall against his back to hold him upright, though it also succeeded in knocking the wind out of him as Jordan shoved him against it. Eyes widened a bit in surprise as Jordan grew close, twisting a hand in his shirt. Normally, he would make a suggestive comment, but this was Jordan, he reminded himself. He wouldn’t know a good time if he bit him in the ass. It didn’t help that his throat had almost dried up, locking the words away for reasons he couldn’t know. “Nope!” he replied, devilishness threatening to pull at the corners of his mouth

Why wouldn’t he leave Jordan alone? Because getting under his skin was satisfying, but why? Was it the way his brow furrowed when he couldn’t pretend to ignore Isaac any longer? Was it the way soft lips pulled back to bear his teeth? He couldn’t answer, and he wouldn’t face any real reasons inside his mind, lacking the critical thinking skills to do so. His eyes searched for answers he couldn’t find. For once, he had no remark. “I dunno,” was all he could reply.

Jordan knew this from the start, but he was absolutely too drunk for this. He had already put his hands on Isaac, and that alone was more than he would ever do if he wasn’t under the influence. He should’ve skipped the bookstore and went home instead, but he thought he was handling his liquor better than that. 

The alternative was that it was Isaac all by himself that was making Jordan’s skin bubble with something not quite unpleasant, but definitely unwanted. Isaac was a little shit, but he was a little shit with big confused eyes, and that harsh part of Jordan that he had put up against Isaac after Isaac tried to leave him to die soften just a touch. 

Seeking him out on instinct without knowing why, just like how Jordan doesn’t scare Isaac way for good. Why not? Why, why, why? His head was spinning, the only thing grounding him in any sort of way was the confused frown on Isaac’s face.  

Slowly as if moving through water, he felt his hand move until his thumb was gently pressing down on the other’s lower lip. His brows furrowed before he shook his head. He should really be leaving now, and hopefully Isaac wouldn’t fight him on it. 

“Figure out the answer,” he said, before he took his hands off of Isaac and wiped his own down his face. “Then, if you’d still like to fight me, I’m sure we can arrange something.”

Control had no place in Isaac’s world. Control locked his mother up, though he never knew her enough to think to fight for her now. Control locked him up in a home that only sought to stifle him, and that was what left this lasting impression upon him that control was something that only suffocated people when they didn’t have it, and Isaac never seemed to have it. Benjamin’s control over the police made his life harder, made the lives of others like him harder if they ever opposed Benjamin. Anyone who sought to control Isaac, to put him in a cage and clip the wings he’s tried so hard to grow over these past few years, would meet one hell of a resistance. Order and control comforted Jordan. They terrified Isaac.

He glared at Jordan, expecting some sort of remark, some sort of condescending bullshit to show he’s gotten under his skin that might leave Isaac beaming with a bit of pride and the drive to dig a little bit further beneath the surface he’d already have evidence of scratching. He doesn’t realize how glossy the eyes looking back at him are when the sun is making it a bit difficult to (and when he’s just generally not very observant himself), suggesting Jordan’s been drinking. He also doesn’t acknowledge how pretty those eyes are, which is just a damn shame.

Instead, Jordan laughs, a first, catching Isaac off guard. He even tries to leave, and like a child who didn’t get the attention they’d acted out to get, Isaac only acts out more in response. His hand shoots out to grab at Jordan’s wrist, attempting to stop him as he aims to walk away. “Did I say we’re done? We’re not done. I’m only just getting started, asshole.”

Isaac never stopped being Isaac, even when Jordan wanted him to the most. For instance; in this particular moment, he wished Isaac was just a little less persistent. Or maybe a lot less persistent. If he had been, maybe what happened at the riot wouldn’t’ve happened. Or maybe they wouldn’t fight at all, just pass each other by without anything but a cursory glance.

But no. Instead, Isaac saw him and saw a challenge. Saw him and saw…. What? A monster? An asshole? Both? Jordan wouldn’t be surprised by either; he was sure many thought the same, considering what his power was and the fact that he was so untrusting. But instead of avoiding him, he faced him with a sort of self righteousness Jordan would almost begrudgingly admire if it wasn’t Isaac.

So he wasn’t really surprised that Isaac didn’t want him to leave, but Jordan was realizing how drunk he really was, and how vulnerable that made him, and he certainly didn’t want to be vulnerable around Isaac of all people. He really just wanted to go home and get out of the heat and be with his cats. But Isaac was standing in his way. 

And yet, if he really hated Isaac that much, why hadn’t he left him to die? Why hadn’t he properly scared him off? Why did he care? Why had he always cared, even when Isaac drove him mad? 

In a surge of anger, Jordan turned sharply and shoved Isaac back and out of the street, pinning him with one flat palm against his chest to the alleyway wall. He dug his fingers into the other’s shirt and let out a sharp breath of irritation. “Do you ever shut up?” he bit out, trying to stay angry even though it was ebbing out into exhaustion quickly. He hadn’t realized how close he had gotten to the other, but that wasn’t something that was really registering in his mind. Mostly it was how the dimming lights were hurting his eyes and how Isaac didn’t smell like a wet tortilla chip like he was expecting, but something bordering on pleasant. 

Jordan lifted his eyes to stare at Isaac. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“If you're lonely when you're alone, you're in bad company.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre

“Me? What the fuck did I do?!” Isaac replied defensively before Jordan could even finish. His one-track mind hadn’t thought to process all of Jordan’s words, because unlike Isaac who would simply make an accusation and leave it at that, Jordan at least had the mind to give him a bit more detail. “Keeping the police in check? That asshole kept them on his side! Not ours! He only helped himself, but I guess it’s hard to see that - the light must look so blinding if you’ve only seen the inside of Ben’s asshole for years.” The police were never his friend, and Isaac would defend that statement above a lot of other things. They’d put his mother in jail, though he didn’t exactly know why. They’d hunted for the mutant escaping a home that was nothing but cruel to him, because silence, to them, was more important than the freedom of those who just wanted to live. They stopped any chance at fun Isaac had, though that was less of a gripe about police in general and more about how Benjamin only utilized his connections there when it suited him and his, not to aid all mutants. Jordan was living in whatever fantasy Kings designed, the same that decorated that garden only to shatter the dream with a deafening gunshot.

So yeah, of course Isaac was pissed. He hadn’t done anything, and yet he felt as if he was being blamed for the situations in Chicago. He didn’t control the police, and even though Benjamin, in a sense, had a hand in that, he certainly didn’t have a good grip on it, considering everything that happened. He didn’t control the politicians, and frankly probably couldn’t spell the words democrat republican if his life depended on it. He couldn’t control fear. He’d learned that way too long ago. That’s why he only ever ran from it, and now, that running brought him to Miami.

And what was so wrong with that, anyway? Isaac couldn’t really understand why this move was a bad thing to Jordan; this place was sunny and warm and had a beach and some random guy playing an instrument Isaac didn’t even know existed on the street corner one block down, what wasn’t to like? Well, Isaac certainly didn’t like Jordan or the attitude he was responding with, since Jordan obviously didn’t seem to like Isaac, either. “Guess what? I’m not human, bitch. I’m a fucking mutant,” Isaac argued, clearly not getting the point as he stepped closer to Jordan’s personal space, as if all five-foot eight of him was intimidating. “And I guess you’ll just have to get used to me, you praying-mantis looking fuck.”

Unfortunately, Jordan knew Isaac had a point. Benjamin was a self-centered prick, but then, so was Jordan. He would rather hide under Benjamin’s appearance of control, if only so he could continue to get away with his life. It seemed that Isaac would be the one to constantly remind him of his vulnerability in even the most asinine and round about ways. 

Of course, Jordan would never let Isaac know that, but he hardly was going to try and refute it. Sometimes, arguing with Isaac was like talking to a brick wall, and he didn’t properly have the energy if he didn’t even really believe what he was saying. That was, until, Isaac got properly angry after his dismissal, and puffed up and stepped forward, as if it did anything but make him look like a small fussy cats. He loved cats. He loved his cat. But not Isaac. Good lord, he must be more drunk than he thought he had been. 

The other had lovely eyelashes. Too bad he never wore anything to compliment himself. He probably wouldn’t be too half bad to look at if he tired even a little bit- Perhaps it was because he had been in such deep thought that the insult ripped a sudden surprised laugh from him. It wasn’t a snide laugh either; it was genuine amusement, which he stifled as soon as he realized what was happening. 

“Good lord. You are a dumb fuck,” Jordan blurted, before blinking in surprise. He stared at Isaac, before he moved to push the other away. “Okay, this conversation is over,” he said firmly, realizing that it was time for him to go home and sleep before this got out of hand. 

After Luke had finished cringing at his own words, he finally tried to calm his emotions further. ‘Get your shit together’ he told himself. He was a weapon, it was time he acted like on instead of being so cautious about everything. “It would be a compliment.” He said quickly. “So you’re welcome.” 

He wasn’t sure how to respond to what the other had just said. Finally, he realized it was a good thing, it meant that they weren’t about to break into a fight in the middle of the street. “I guess I’m glad that you are stronger than before, we’re both mutants, and we shouldn’t be wishing harm upon each other.” He paused, “Sometimes politics gets in the way which is a shame, but it’s always for the greater good.” His words sounded patriotic, but more so to promote the Syndicate’s agenda than the mutant kind agenda. 

“I also guess that since we all moved to Miami at the same time, the universe has a greater plan that includes us all, and there’s no escaping that.” 

Jordan’s lips quirked up in a smirk, again, more born out of confusion than confidence, but he shrugged it off all the same. He needn’t get wrapped around the axel about some supposed compliment from a rival gang member. Yet still, Jordan found the nerves the other demonstrated almost cute, if he were in the business of giving compliments himself.

The neutrality of his words had Jordan’s shoulders relaxing a little bit. Of course he hadn’t felt truly threatened, but still, he had to watch his mouth more so than usual around rival gangs. He knew how fast things could turn sour. But if the other seemed disinterested in the petty rivalry their gangs participate in, and that was something Jordan endorsed completely and fully. It wasn’t like he cared much about mutant solidarity, but it served its purposes in the long run. 

Jordan hadn’t ever really believed in fate… outside of the novella’s he would privately read, but he knew those were fantasy. Still, he nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we are meant to get along. Besides, the… issue that interrupted the first attempt is gone now. Perhaps we are meant to put the pieces back together,” he said slowly, before he huffed. “But it seems those are not decisions for us to make.” His lips twisted in a bitter smile.

Luca was having a great time, she always had a great time, she tried to always have a great time. There was nothing better than to just watch people do their best to figure her out, as she slid into conversations, threw her hands up in dramatic displays, and left them all guessing at why she truly spilled the tea on everything. The thing was, chaos was always easiest to create in a group of people who knew each other, and Luca could not afford to generate it within her own group. They would need to be a fighting force if the Dutch wanted to show off their skills in Waterpolo. 

So she had to find her fun somewhere else. She spoke English well enough, with a terrible accent. Knew some French and German from high school, and had picked up enough words in Spanish to shout Puta in a convincing manner. Way too many people started speaking Spanish to her right of the bat, but she usually just answered back in Dutch for the hell of it. Because nobody knew Dutch, which meant it would always be her secret weapon. Her and the other girls would often speak in Dutch when they were talking about other people. Aside from the random German individual they met, this usually worked. 

She was happily taking a stroll around the little Olympic village with a huge smile on her face, rosy cheeks from all the drinks, and a dress that was both revealing, and incredibly cold, when she saw a lone person sitting near the koi. Since she had spoken English almost the whole evening - as the only language that connected them all - she slouched down next to the individual and greeted them the same. “Cheerio,” she said, grinning. “You feeding the fishes?” 

Even though Jordan had heard them approaching, he was still startled by how close the other got so quickly. It was a little off-putting, how overtly cheerful the other was, and her beauty did little to relax him. In fact, it put him slightly more on edge. He forced himself to calmly continue to sit as he was, refusing to budge or change in light of another person.

Still, while abrasive to him, she wasn’t doing much harm. Jordan didn’t recognize her as an American, but if he was being honest, he didn’t really care where she was from. Perhaps that was a little mean, but he didn’t care; she didn’t have to know. Besides, he thought he was being rather kind by not completely ignoring her, instead tucking his hair behind his ear and making eye contact. 

Isaac had never seen himself in the Olympics, though that was partly because the Olympics had only recently adopted skateboarding into its lineup. Though, Isaac had never seen himself with any of the titles he’d had when he first started out; back then, he was just a kid who loved the rush of dropping down and flying back up on his board, feeling the wind in hair that should have been trapped under a helmet and the sun beaming upon his face. His original motivation to get better was to learn those crazy, cool tricks he saw others do and even make up some of his own, to get more eyes on him and more hands cheering him on. Eventually, doors opened, titles were thrust into his hands, and now his neck itched for that gold medal. Isaac wasn’t usually a sentimental guy, but damn, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to be the first person to ever win a gold medal for skateboarding.

That was days away, however, so when he focused on the now, Isaac was just looking for something to do. Half the people he knew were off at their own training sessions or at appointments for something or other or seeing sights he personally would have found boring after a few minutes (who wanted to see a temple when there was literally a hoard of Pikachus running around?), leaving Isaac to wander the grounds in search of something to do. That was how he found Jordan, on his own in the village as he sat near a pond. Oh, how he loved getting under the skin of the tennis player, so naturally, he decided to join him. “All the things you could be doing, and you chose to look at some rocks? Why am I not surprised.” He’d always thought Jordan had a stick up his ass from the moment he met him, but this was a new low. “Come on man, you can do that shit anywhere.”

Jordan rolled his eyes the moment Isaac started talking. Of course. It couldn’t just be a stranger. It had to be him. As if this particular moment in time could get any worse. He steadied himself with a deep breath, before he glanced over his shoulder at Isaac.

“I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand how to appreciate something like this,” he drawled arrogantly. He himself wasn’t really sure what he meant by “someone like you” but he liked to think it was unsavory. He eyed Isaac with an almost condescending look, before he turned his back on him. 

It doesn’t matter how many times he’s walked into an Olympic village he still feels just a little bit overwhelmed by it all. The sounds, the people, the places. It’s never something he’s felt has gotten old over the years. He knows he can partially blame it on the ever rotating cast of faces but lately he’s attributed the loud and vibrant nature of the Olympic Village to the younger Olympic hopefuls. Not that he can blame them, he was a terror himself in his first few years. Fond memories, if just a little bit on the cringe side. He smiles thinking about it as he deposits his bag on his bed. He can leave the unpacking for later. He wants to get to know the people outside. It’s the friends he’s made during his time in the Olympics that he thinks he’ll miss the most in the coming years. It’s not the same for coaches as it is for actual competitors.

Not everyone speaks French and Tierney’s English is more rough than he’d like to admit, but he still manages to spend a few hours hopping from one group of people to another, laughing and talking about the coming days. He tries to focus on spending time with the younger kids, the ones hanging on the fringes, looking overwhelmed and out of place. His coach calls him a bleeding heart but Tierney just likes to think of it as him being friendlier than most.

So when he spots someone off on their own he excuses himself from the group and heads over to them. “Bonjour. Est-ce que tu parles français?” He doesn’t look like someone from the French contingent, but Tierney has never been the kind of person to memorize everyone that comes from his country. “Or…perhaps, English?”

Jordan did not understand French, but he did understand what the man was saying. Part of Jordan felt like he should be rude, but immediately he was offended by his own thoughts. He should be more grateful that he was at the Olympics and knock off his rude behavior, even if he wasn’t really in the mood to talk. 

He turned and gave a half smile towards the stranger. “Sorry. English only,” he said quietly. He wondered if the other was worried that he was lonely. No. Jordan knew what being lonely was, and this wasn’t it. Still, he supposed he had to appreciate the kindness he was sure the other felt they were giving him. 

“I suppose that makes me somewhat of a classic American,” he said dryly, though with a good humor about him. This wasn’t about making enemies, even if he wasn’t quite comfortable making friends either. 

When: The First Day

Who: Open

The Olympics…

If Jordan was being honest, he hadn’t thought he would get this far. It was something he had trained for, of course, but actually qualifying was very different. As was actually showing up and seeing all of the different people from all different walks of life. It was kind of nice… until people wanted to start talking.

Jordan didn’t really want to talk to his own team or country, let alone strangers, but he was far from rude. He did the greetings and the small talk, and by the time he was done and finally had some time to himself, he felt incredibly drained. All he really wanted to do was sit down by one of those pretty Japanese koi ponds and watch the fish. It was late enough that the sun was starting to set, so he figured he would be alone. He watched the sunlight reflect off of the scales of the fish and the coins in the water and felt soothed, before he heard footsteps behind him.

cain: riiiight

cain: u never know bitch this is chicago

Jordan: I suppose that would be something a robot would say.

cain: soundin pretty snippy for a robot

cain: i mean. maybe. i dunno dick about healing tho

cain: i think if u rub a happy cat against a fucking gut shot ur still gonna die tho

cain: just guessin

cain: welcome

Jordan: Surprisingly, I am not a robot. We did meet in real life.

Cain: who you gonna report it to bitch?

cain:uh maybe talk more like a regular dude

cain: [video of cat purring and being pet]

cain: ur welcome

Jordan: That is fair.

Jordan: Talk like a regular dude.

Jordan: This is just how I talk. Would you prefer I add in some lowercase letters?

Jordan: She's so loud. I read that cats' purrs have healing properties. Is that true?

cain: u text like a 95 y/o dead guy

cain: but hell ye she is and hell ye u r

cain: $50 and i'll send a vid

Jordan: I don't know how to respond to that.

Jordan: Are you allowed to ask for money like that?

cain: [picture of a fat pregnant cat]

cain: [picture of a fat pregnant cat eating a treat from his hand]

cain: sucks to be not me rn

Jordan: She is beautiful. Look at those eyes.

Jordan: Yes. I am jealous.

Isaac wouldn’t listen to Jordan for a few reasons: first, he didn’t listen to anyone, for the most part. His decisions were always his own, unless Alma was practically threatening him or Felix was holding him down. Free will was always his priority. Second, Jordan was a member of Kings Collective, so there was no way Isaac could ever completely trust anything Jordan was saying or if Jordan ever had Isaac’s best interest in mind when telling him to do literally anything. Third, Jordan was Jordan, and Isaac couldn’t stand Jordan, and so everything Jordan said wasn’t worth listening to. He doesn’t even remember when this immense dislike for Jordan began to form. He hated the other mutant because he believed Jordan hated him, and from then on, it was so simple. Jordan’s insults went over Isaac’s head, and in turn, he would go for the gut, determined to get under the other man’s skin for the pleasure of seeing him squirm.

So yes, believing Jordan hated him, consumed by fear, he planned to leave him behind. In just a matter of seconds, he was that child in St. Raph’s, staring at his clone out the window, only seconds to act and a quick decision to make: his freedom, or bust. He couldn’t save anyone that day. A scared child stares at a window, and in a moment, he decides to break it and save himself. It was the only option, to be selfish, to leave everyone else behind, consequences be damned. And so, from then on, he would be selfish, he would do everything to push forward and not think of that decision he had to make. Now, it returns to haunt him. Now, again, and always, he chose himself. This time, however, he couldn’t even have the help of himself, falling a foot and stumbling to the ground as the clone who was acting as a step disappeared from under his feet. “What the fuck?” Isaac shouted, turning towards Jordan, fear sinking in. His life could be over, and all because of Jordan.

He tried to justify his decision by saying Jordan would have done the same, by speculating that maybe Jordan wanted Isaac to get caught – Kings had the police in their back pocket, after all. He would be fine. Isaac, with many crimes committed at his grimy hands, not so much. Now, it was Jordan’s hands wrapping themselves in Isaac’s shirt, and before he could even move his own arms to grab back, his head hits the wall, a dizzying sensation radiating to the front of his face. If Jordan’s eyes weren’t so clouded with anger, even this close to Isaac, perhaps he could have seen the fear that overtook those of the younger mutant. He wanted to shout back, to point the finger in return, to blame Jordan for getting them into this mess or to ask why he would help someone from the gang who shot one of his own point blank in front of an audience. He couldn’t trust Jordan, so why would he help him? More importantly, why would Jordan ever expect his help? But the words got stuck beneath the terrified knot in his throat. He was a kid, standing in front of a broken window. He was a kid, hiding from the police sent after him. “Fuck, fine!” Isaac conceded, barely able to hear his words over the loud drumming of his heartbeat. “I’ll get us both out of here but I need more than just me to do it! Give me my clones back or we’re both dead!”

Jordan was mildly surprised the other didn’t give up more of a fight, but in the end couldn’t truly care less if he was able to escape from here. For once as Isaac worked, Jordan kept to himself. Part of him was numb from the fear, and the other part was frantically wishing for Isaac to go faster. But still, he reached down and pulled Isaac all the way up and pushed him to go first away. It was instinctive, in a way. Jordan wouldn’t know how to answer if you called him out on it. 

Maybe it was the same reason he risked his life trying to save him. Jordan didn’t particularly care. At the moment, all he was doing was focusing on his breathing, pushing his body to keep running, even when he wanted to stop. Jordan felt like the fear in his body could push him to run as far and as fast as it took to be safe. Anything to be safe.

After a couple minutes, they slowed to a stop, and Jordan leaned against the side of the building with a ragged sigh, his head bowed. As he let his heart beat slow, he allowed a surge of bitterness flood his head. And underneath that, where Jordan refused to acknowledge, he was sure he felt hurt. Because he now stood with Isaac less as rivals, and more like actual enemies. Ones that didn’t care if the other died.