#j.jones

Jess doesn't care. It's a sentence she tells herself over and over. At this point it's a damn mantra. She wants it to actually stick but her damn heart has other ideas. What a fucking traitor it is.

If Oliver knew anything, it was that training, at least, would help him feel better. He didn’t have his actual bow ready yet, but he had managed to craft something quick out of some lumber he had bought at the hardware store downtown—it was kind of crude, but it reminded him of his roots as an archer. On the island, he didn’t have anything but raw materials. He had to make do with what he had. He tested the weight of it in one hand before he notched one of 3 arrows he had made, aiming at a tree almost too far in the distance for him to see properly. He let it fly—the arrow sank with surprising accuracy into the edge of the tree trunk, but it wasn’t good enough for Ollie, who had been aiming for the middle. He scoffed at himself, shaking his head and looking down at his slightly trembling hands. He had to get his crippling paranoia under control.

Even though Lois had no powers to boast of, she wasn’t completely without an ability to defend herself. Her father had been very strict about making sure that both of his daughters were able to properly defend themselves—part of him had expected both of them to go into the military, like he did, and in a way, Lois had, with her tours served embedded as a journalist with a marine corps unit. Of course, not everything she had written had been entirely flattering—and that had made him furious—but that, she supposed, was the price to pay for good journalism. Still, she was grateful for her father’s strict regimen that day, when someone tried to grab her as she was walking back to the mansion at night. She immediately gained leverage over her attacker and flipped him over her shoulder, slamming him into the pavement hard before she kicked him in the ribs. “Just because I’m 5′4 doesn’t mean you can grab me—bitch!”