Γｐｒｏｊｅｃｔ ｍａｔｃｈ ┐

Pro: she’s not dead.  that’s a pretty big pro and she mentally pats herself on the back.  Con: her throat’s on FIRE, and as soon as she wiggles her way out from his now-relatively-slack grip, she presses her hands to her neck and coughs.  looks up at the not superboy inches away and chokes out a hysterical laugh.  what do you know, twin boy had a name and social manners.

“Yes, PINK.”  the witch pulls herself together to sit crossed legged, resisting the urge to run away at his intense stare. Instead, she rests her hands on her knees, where Match could clearly see them ( and where they are positioned to hex him as hard into the wall as magically possible if he so much as lunges at her again ). Blinks inquisitively at the other, head tilted to the side.

“Nice to meet you, Match.” she gestures to herself.  “I’m Jinx.  Can you tell me what you’re doing here in this top-secret facility?”  and maybe if he was there to guard the contents on sub level 24?

( it takes so much effort to keep eye contact, because all she wants to know is WHY his eyes were black and did he blink?  Can he blink?  Why is she staring at her, this is the most unflattering stare from a teenage boy she’s ever received. )

            There’s no way to gauge his emotions on the first mark of exchange, no way of being able to sufficiently control that either - there’s always a chance of a slip up, a broken wall, or in this case - a bruised throat for Jinx. He might feel bad about it, but it was hard to really sense anything beyond a conflicted manifestation of jumbled feelings (if she’s inclined to that sort of thing). HINT: he’s certainly not.

            And sure, he might not have the most approachable looking set of eyes, but they damn sure stood out. No way of telling Match is Match, at least until someone gets (unfortunately) close enough to take notice. He swallows, suddenly remember exactly where he was and -- why? Why indeed. A slow gloss over of the surrounding facility forces a grimace from the clone, and he lifts off the ground in a slow float. Just far enough to get feet untapped, “...Getting out. Not find what I want.” He cranes a look down at her, cautiously, “Why you here?”

          ‘We DON’T get to decide that.’

     the man of steel took a deep breath to keep calm. the distinct sound of only two strong heartbeats made kanwer almost tremble as he looked at the carnage around them. the comm-link in the man’s ear beeped once before the batman’s voice came through to let kanwar know the rest of the team was on the way for containment. 

     as the comm-link fell silent again, kanwer’s gaze returning to the clone. An exasperated, almost panicked, breath left the man of steel–the voice in his head whispering he’s not just a clone. after all kon wasn’t just a clone either, he was his son. and this boy, he too was his son. perhaps even more so than kon-el. match–the first born.

the man of steel’s chest felt as if it was constricting as realized what he needed to do. he had to get the boy away from here. the team would help the unconscious men at their feet. but match would end up in a meta-prison. kal couldn’t give up on him yet. no, he’d already made enough mistakes.

                              ‘You need to go with me. Now.’

             confusion; perhaps something more crosses the features of the clone as he stares at the man of steel. a symbol of hope, protection - LIGHT. everything this malformed creature (himself) is not. he’s broken, coded in content and fragmented memories - promises, and moralities that don’t quite belong and contradict everything and anything that pulses with life.

            he watches, eyes brimming in a spark of that awful RED power while muscles teem with tension capable of breaking the very atmosphere in less than a heartbeat. Kal could sense it, like a volcano ready to burst or an unsteady trigger to a loaded gun. he was living proof; the brightest light can cast the darkest shadow. and Luthor’s grip on the boy had disappeared the second the containment chambers were broken open, months of surviving on the brink of existing and then NOT.

            confusion is probably the first emotion that quickly dissolves into contempt from Kal’s words - a natural reaction for such a volatile creation. “THEY decided already.” Match claims, the bleeding heat from his eyes threaten to pool over in a blink. not yet.

[ — open ]

     ‘ I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation… ’

TOO MANY situations that this could go wrong. Too many reasons that he shouldn’t even BE; but here he is - staring down the brink of his existence with complete and total defiance. “Don’t.” He snaps, a wretched noise heaves from the clone’s chest. It almost pains him to even be in the same room as this one. The people - (the criminals), laid out, un-moving and possibly at a loss for their lives are scattered across the deserted docks whereas the only two beyond life are the ones that belong to another world.                             

ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ

CLASHES with the baby-league are more often F U N than worrying.  Her previous camaraderie with Robin, Speedy-sorry-Red-Arrow, and Wally gave them an unofficial truce - she stayed out of their business, occasionally assisted them, and they didn’t go all out on her when they met on the field.  It makes this then, throw her especially off guard.  She only has time to see - dead eyes - black, NOT SUPERBOY before her head collides sharply with the concrete, an iron grip around her throat.  Her eyes glow back in automatic reflex before they taper down - if he shares any biological traits with his twin, she’s fairly certain he could break her neck before she shocks him off her.  and the little hairs at the back of her neck is warning her that AGGRAVATION isn’t the way to go.

In a snap decision ( oh, she was probably going to regret this ) she blinks up at him, rests her hands on either side of his face.  Tries to keep her voice steady when her throat is burning. “You know, if you want to differentiate yourself a little, a change of clothes and a haircut might HELP.”

              He spies the retaliation and for a split second, considers crushing the woman’s windpipe and invoking sweet silence. Maybe it would stop the static, maybe the buzzing would creep away back into the abyss -- and yet, something ( human? ) kept Match from the decision. No matter where morals stood, committed coding and force-fed behaviors only solidify that he’s of Superman’s kin. If not a little broken and fraying. . .

             And then the girl starts stalking, touching his face and there’s a crack in the heated sight that dulls the bleeding red glow. Why is she touching him-- ( as if he hadn’t been the one who just smacked her into the floor ) He squints, finally taking in physical features and breathing out the most obvious observation ever. “Pink.” Bless his soul, he’s not used to seeing that. Match alleviates the pressure around Jinx’ throat, dignifying her with the option to squirm or crawl out from underneath him. Seems the guy has real no personal boundary value either, because he’s just STARING at her now - perhaps expectantly.

send ‘rough touch’ and the generated outcome     will be used for a small drabble scenario or starter

11. Your muse slams mine against a wall hard.

@dementedspeedster

            Walls smashing and collapsing isn’t a new sight for the kryptonian clone; but being sent into one at the speed of light probably has some jarring fluctuations to consider. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it. Something clicked in him in the wrong way, and the cars started to flip - and the streets were cracking open wide in a semblance of misdirected rage. All over seeing a stupid ‘S’ symbol tagged in graffiti on an alley wall.

           It sings and screams through his bones; reviving layers of trauma and confusion.            A muddled trigger to a loaded gun.