Waking up, half past five Blood on pillow, one bruised eye Drunk too much, you know what I'm like but you should've seen the other guy. This ain't the right time for you to fall in love with me. Well baby, I'm just being honest
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Ripley shrugged and kind of looked at the ground, her crossed arms tensing against the cold on the roof. “Yeah, well,” she muttered, “Now all my ex-boyfriends know not to fuck with me, so…”
(“Of course, silver lining to the blood on your hands, I suppose...”)
Jericho didn’t even try to show compassion, nor was he scared of her.
In fact he almost pitied her that she felt like she had to brag like that,
even when it clearly made her uncomfortable.
▌— ★ ❛ considering this place houses hundreds of mutates and mutants, i’m not sure why you’re even surprised. if you don’t mind, i’ll just be sketching. or are you going to complain about that too? ❜
(“I’m surprised because this place provides a dozen
other recreational spots to hang out in,
roof would hardly be anyone’s ideal location...
but whatever - just keep it down.”)
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Atlas turned as he continued talking. Waking up, she didn’t know where he was standing- she just heard his voice. But, everything began to come back, the fact she snuggled beer on to the roof, and the fact that it was only an half hour ago. It wasn’t until she turned to see his knees and followed the trail up to his face did she notice who she was talking to. A stranger, but a cute one. “I mean, how did you?” She questioned, just as curious. Sitting up, she saw the one bottle she drank and the others unopened next to her feet. With an irritated sigh, she began to hiccup and her hand rested on her chest.
(“I climbed.”) It was hard to tell from the tone of his voice
whether he was being sarcastic or speaking the truth.
There was very little emotion, no pitch or volume change.
He frankly sounded bored - like all the time.
Demetria’s ears perked up as she sat up straight and turned her body to face Jericho. Aside from the fact that there’s a difference between their second ability, the pair were equals, literally, and it made her job hell of a lot interesting. She liked challenges and Jericho was indeed a daily one. The Head Trainer scoffed in response and emitted a slight laugh as if the young man told a good joke. “Oh come on! You’re kidding right? I’ve put plenty of scratches and marks on you—you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”
(“Scratches, yeah. Bruises, sure. But I’ve left my fair share too,
yet the point still remains; you’ve yet to actually knock me out.”)
Though they shared the ability to copy and repeat any move or action
they’ve seen once, the difference in their second ability is what made things interesting.
On occasion they could match up perfectly, if he copied her enhanced strength,
but other times he could throw a spanner in the works -
turning up to training with someone else’s mutation.
Flight, or speed, iron skin... they were perfectly matched until they weren’t.
—She realized it looked bad. The unhinged resident, just released from the detention center, atop the roof, teetering over the edge. The fact of the matter was she had survived a fall double that only eighty-five days prior, gotten up and walked away as soon as she had caught her breath. This was nothing. Child’s play in comparison. “I can assure you it’s not what it looks like,” Clara replied after a moment, offering the stranger a lackluster shrug. “Even if I did–” She indicated the actions she had nearly taken with a quick glance of her eyes “–Nothing would happen.”
(“And what does it look like?”) Jericho knew what it looked like,
he’d been in her place a number of times before now -
it’s probably why he continued to come up here,
not to actually do it, but to remind himself why he didn’t -
why he wouldn’t. He did however believe that she wasn’t going to do it.
He also believed that even if she had it wouldn’t have made a difference.
(“If it’s not what it looks like, then why are you up here?”)
“You thought you would be alone in the one place that has a bomb ass view, some fresh air, and is completely open up for anyone?” Kali inquired, pressing her lips together in questioning at his thought process. “Your best bet is your bedroom. Oh, the things you can do there in private,” she mused as she wiggled her nose at her insinuation. “If it makes you feel better, my company is way better than being alone.”
(“Yeah, considering the grounds have just as much fresh air and open space,
if not more, and require less rule breaking.”) Jericho replied,
with a roll of his eyes. (“There’s no privacy in my room either,
not with my room mate.”) The blonde had a habit of barging in unannounced
whenever she pleased, he also chose to ignore the crude and childish wiggle
of her eyebrows. (“I really doubt that too.”)
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Lynn gasped and slammed his hand on the table. “Brother, have you never heard the word of the Lord’s most beautiful winter sport?” He nodded his thanks as he took the new beer placed in front of him. His old beer was sitting, half-empty, about two inches away, but he’d worry about that later. “The Canucks are a hockey team in Vancouver. My dad used to take me all the time when I was little.”
( “Never really been a sports fan.”) Jericho shrugged, which was something of a lie.
He used to be into baseball, he’d play and watch the game with his dad.
But when his parents died the sport just didn’t had the same appeal.
Ripley gave a light scoff, “ You sound like you’d enjoy the fall too much. ” She crossed her arms, wandered further around the roof. “I don’t need another murder under my belt anyway.”
Jericho didn’t agree or deny any truth to her statement.
Maybe he didn’t just come up to the roof for the quiet.
(“Another, huh? You sound almost proud of that.”)
The younger mutate stomped off angrily while Amir stayed with the other raven haired boy. “A knife at the hands of someone trying to stab me?” Amir raised his eyebrows before shrugging. “More often that you’d think.”
Jericho pulled a face like he was semi impressed,
eyes giving the other the once over looking for evidence
that he’d ever fallen victim to a blade but nothing was obviously visible.
(“I find that actions speak louder than words...
maybe if you were to pull a knife on the next asshole that thinks it’s funny
then the running trend might stop.”)
Margot smiled, shaking her head. “The roof feels more…I don’t know, ceremonial?”
Jericho blinked at her, like she’d just sprouted a second head
and started talking in an alien language. Eventually he shrugged;
(“Whatever. Just get on with it then.”)
Whoa, look at that - I’m finally getting round to a proper introduction! Hello friends; I’m Lottie. About to hit my quarter-life crisis, answers to she/her pronouns, British to the core, probably related to Satan and the writer of this overgrown, grumpy man-child. He’s a little bit broken and a whole-lot-a bitter - love him at your own risk, hurt him at your own peril, enjoy him in small doses....
on with the shit show!
— &. welcome ( JERICHO MALONE ) to the mutates protection program. the ( TWENTY-SEVEN ) year old mutate is ( OBSERVANT & BLUNT ), possessing the ability of ( ADOPTIVE MUSCLE MEMORY & POWER MIMICRY ). they look strikingly similar to ( MATTHEW DADDARIO ). are they going to self-express or self-destruct?
- Jericho was born alone, found as a baby on the doorstep of the local firehouse in a small town on the outskirts of New Jersey, he never knew his parents, or who they were. He was left with nothing but the blanket he was wrapped in, no name, no sad sorry excuse letter. Nothing. The firehouse gave him his name; dubbing him baby Jericho in dedication to one of their firehouse that had died on duty a couple of days before.The name never meant anything to him growing up, the sentiment still lost to him, but he doesn’t hate it.
- Being a baby he didn’t spend long in the system and was adopted by the Malone’s before he even hit his first birthday. He had a good and happy childhood, the Malone’s were a kind couple, loving and patient. They weren’t rich by any means, but they were able to provide everything a growing boy could want or need. Jericho called them mom and dad, even though they’d always been honest with him about his adoption. He loved them, they were his family and that’s all that mattered to him.
- But loss and death were destined to be good friends of his, and just before his eleventh birthday or the very same day the Malone’s had adopted him all those years ago - a day they celebrated as a family - Jenny and Kenneth Malone were killed in a tragic accident on their way to pick their son up from school. Jericho once again found himself alone, left waiting on the sidewalk outside his school. Yet this time he knew his name, he knew who his parents had been and he would know this time what it feels like to have nothing.
- He spent longer in the system this time round, it’s harder to find an adoptive family for a child over the age of three, let alone a child that doesn’t want to be adopted - and not to mention one that can do things no ten year old should be able to do. He could scale the side of houses without a ladder, tackle other kids to the ground in karate style moves without ever having taken a lesson, he could even knock a grown man unconscious with two fingers.
- Jericho made it as hard as possible for his case worker to find anyone even willing to foster him, but eventually the Spencer’s proved themselves brave enough to take on the strange, unruly kid that nobody wanted. But her made it in no way easy for them. Jericho refused to call them anything but Mr and Mrs Spencer, he refused to eat or talk, and for a good few weeks he refused to go to school. It wasn’t until the arrival of their second foster kid that Jericho started to settle down,
- Her name was Abby, and she too knew loss. Her father had died overseas as a Solider for the United States Army and her mother had killed herself shortly after - leaving Abby to find her, leaving Abby alone. The two young orphans bonded and were eventually inseparable, and in high school what had been friendship blossomed into love. But remember loss and death were always destined to be good friends to Jericho...
- Together they had survived high school, gaining entry to their state university on scholarship, and together they survived four years of ups and down, before graduating. They were ready to spend the rest of their lives together, find their own place and move in - start their careers and then settle down to have a family; a big family. But fate had other ideas, and though they’d begun checking things off their five year plan - all of that came to an end when the radiation wave hit.
- Though it had been clear for a long time that Jericho was a mutant, Abby had been wholly human, after the wave however she could control that actions of other. Not to mention, with the sudden increase of mutates around, Jericho discovered a second power that he hadn’t known he’d had - the ability to mimic other mutant abilities. Their perfect little world had been turned upside down, but little did he know Jericho’s was about to stop turning completely.
- The hunt was on for mutants and mutates, and word began to spread about the couple that could do extraordinary things - and soon Jericho and Abby were leaving their home behind and running for their lives. But life on the run was short lived as they found themselves cornered by a couple of Hunters - a fight broke out, and though the idea had been to capture them, Abby had got shot. For the third time in his life Jericho was alone, but this time he held the thing he was losing as it slipped through his fingers.
- Fast forward too months and Jericho finds himself at the MPP, he’s still plagued nightly by dreams of leaving Abby behind, or losing her over and over again. He keeps his distance from everyone, reverting back to similar behaviors he’d inhibited when he was ten, scared to love or care for anyone for loss and death still lingered, he could feel them and he wouldn’t give them an opportunity to hurt him again.
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“no, i suppose we can’t.” ask if the sick joke that was her life hadn’t proved that already. all those years wanting to escape her little town and her big family, and when it finally happened it wasn’t what she wanted at all. noticing the slight hitch in his voice, she asked, “what slowly trying to quit or some shite? i say we’re all dying anyway.” the words were said with a slight smile, almost like she liked that idea.
He scoffed at her suggestion, the thought of being able to quit laughable.
(“No - just prefer the taste.”) He answered, looking away into the distance.
(“Yeah, and some of us are already dead.”)
It wasn’t really clear in his tone whether he was talking literally
or metaphorically, but he made no effort to verify which either.
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