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
Basic Information
Full name: Jordan Rojas
Pronunciation: JOR-DAN RO-HAAS
Nickname(s): dont even think about it
Birthdate: January 12
Age: 23
Zodiac: Capricorn
Gender: Cis-male
Pronouns: he/him
Romantic orientation: homoromantic
Sexual orientation: he is what the kids call, morosexual….. Jk homosexual
Nationality: American
Ethnicity: mixed (hesitate to comment beyond Italian due to my inability to track down definitive sources of Rob Raco’s ethnicity)
Current location: miami baBY
Living conditions: immaculate and modernly simplistic. A clean house is a calm house.
Background
Birthplace: unknown
Hometown: Chicago
Social Class: upper middle? I think?
Educational achievements: nothing formal, but he does consume books at an unhealthy rate
Father: unknown
Mother: unknown
Sibling(s): unknown
Birth order: unknown
Pets: ABSOLUTELY YES OF COURSE! He has five sweet honeys, one queen named Melon, and four beautiful kittens, Cantaloupe, Sugar, Honeydew, and Galia. Fun fact, but all of the kittens names are names of melons.
Previous relationships: non existent….. lol
Arrests: ….uhhhhhhh, absolutely not
Prison time: ^^^^^^^
Occupation & Income
Current occupation: he do be a thief for a crime organization tho
Dream occupation: a librarian… or maybe an archivist for a famous museum…. yeah
Past job(s): being a full time SQUARE
Spending habits: hm, careful with his money, but will spend extra to make sure what he is wearing/doing/seeing is up to his standards
In debt?: this is MY fantasy and in it, i have NO DEBT so NO
Most valuable possession: his babies… but followed up by his gold leafed edition of the Grimme Fairytales.
Skills & Abilities
Physical strength: Above Average | Average | Below Average
Note: pre-determined that he lifts to carry the homies
Speed: Above Average | Average | Below Average
Note: do you really think you’d catch him running in gucci shoes? no
Intelligence: Above Average | Average | Below Average
Note: jordan says ‘fuck the school system!’ and then read books forever
Accuracy: Above Average | Average | Below Average
Note: jordan is very good with powers, but uh, i don’t know if he’s good with a gun. I imagine he’d flinch at the recoil
Agility: Above Average | Average | Below Average
Note: he’s a bit of a snake, but erm, not enough to be considered wily i think
Stamina: Above Average | Average | Below Average
Note: he goes to the gym, but not for endurance so-
Teamwork: hell no. total lone wolf, which is why it's a miracle he gets along with Len
Talents/hobbies: reading, obviously, but he also dabbles in piano and writing I think. Lets make fun of Jordan for writing bad poetry!!!!! Im going to throw that nerds books in the fountin
Shortcomings: stubborn as hell and also extremely stuck up. Partially because he is naturally untrusting but also partially because hes kind of a dick.
Languages spoken: English and conversational Spanish
Drive?: hell no, hes gay
Jump-start a car?: hell no, hes gay
Change a flat tyre?: hell no, hes gay
Ride a bicycle?: yes, but the last time he did he was like 8 or something so
Swim?: yes! He actually likes it I think, but usually only if he’s alone.
Play an instrument?: Piano!
Play chess?: Obviously. Not seriously or anything, but he can play.
Braid hair?: Yes! He plays with his own hair when he’s bored.
Tie a tie?: oh my god yes of COURSE he does. If he didn’t he would have to bully himself.
Pick a lock?: he’d be a pretty shit thief if he couldn’t
Cook?: yes! Nothing quite like knowing what to cook with his nice white wine
Physical Appearance & Characteristics
Faceclaim: Rob Raco
Eye colour: blue
Hair colour: black
Hair type/style/length: shoulder length and wavy
Glasses/contacts?: contacts
Dominant hand: left
Height: 5’9”
Weight: i don’t want to answer this because i don’t know
Build: slender and lightly defined
Exercise habits: i feel so embarrassed admitting that jordan do be lifting three times a week
Skin tone: i….. Golden? idk
Tattoos: contrary to his many gifs, he doesn’t have any i don’t think
Piercings: his ears are definitely pierced though
Marks/scars: some scars from some “playful” rough housing. Nothing too extreme, just a nick on his left calf and a hidden one in his right eyebrow.
Clothing style: clean cut. He prefers dress shirts and slacks for most occasions, and is rarely seen dressed down further than a short sleeve button up. Putting on his clothes is like putting up a front. Just a reminder to hold everyone at a distance.
Jewellery: he does have a watch and earrings and perhaps a couple of necklaces
Allergies: none
Diet: vegetarian i have just decided right here right now
Physical ailments: none
Psychology
I did a test with Jordan in mind for each of these fuckers.
MBTI type: INTJ-A: Bookish and reclusive are two words to describe this type, and that lines up pretty well with Jordan’s personality as well. They value themselves more so than the relationships they make, and pride themselves on getting things done.
Enneagram type: Type 6: the Loyal Skeptic. Taken from the website “The committed, security-oriented type. Sixes are reliable, hard-working, responsible, and trustworthy. Excellent "troubleshooters," they foresee problems and foster cooperation, but can also become defensive, evasive, and anxious—running on stress while complaining about it”
Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral- Driven by their own purposes, willing to do anything to secure themselves. They aren’t inherently evil, but are only usually only good when it serves their purposes.
Temperament: Take from the website: Phlegmatic - The phlegmatic temperament is fundamentally relaxed and quiet, ranging from warmly attentive to lazily sluggish. Phlegmatics tend to be content with themselves and are kind. They are accepting and affectionate. They may be receptive and shy and often prefer stability to uncertainty and change. They are consistent, relaxed, calm, rational, curious, and observant, qualities that make them good administrators. They can also be passive-aggressive.
Element: Earth
Emotional stability: At the moment in our time line, horrid. Non existent. He is just a giant ball of feelings and he HATES IT because usually he is very put together.
Introvert or Extrovert? Incredibly introverted, if it wasn’t already obvious.
Obsession(s): Books! Clearly. But also his cats as well as fashion and cleanliness and coffee!!!!!
Compulsion(s): Making sure all of his mugs are facing the same direction in the cabinet.
Phobia(s): Claustrophobia
Addiction(s): none
Drug use: Remember the Jordan is a pot head meme. Yeah. That
Alcohol use: usually just a glass or two of wine. Nothing to big. Usually.
Prone to violence?: Heavens no! For all of his lifting, if someone threw a punch at him he’d probably run away.
Prone to crying?: Not in front of people, but he can be a weepy drunk depending on the time nad place
Believe in love at first sight?: Although he is a realist, he has a very very romantic and soft heart, so this one is a yes, although he would never admit it.
Mannerisms
Accent: American
Speech quirks: talks like he’s a bored victorian scholar
Hobbies: reading, writing, playing piano, playing with cats, making coffee.
Habits: sleeping with a light on
Nervous ticks: he touches his hair when he’s nervous or thinking
Drives/motivations: his biggest motivation is staying alive and safe from the government. He knows his power could be used to hurt everyone, not just him, and that is important because there is safety in numbers. Also, he knows that there are mutants who will help him just because he is one of them.
Fears: being taken and tested on or used against other mutants. There is litcherally no fear greater than that for him
Sense of humour?: dry and sardonic. Usually takes amusement in knowing more than you
Do they curse often?: Heavens no! If they are cursing, they are either drunk, scared, surprised, or PISSED OFF. or all of them together LMAO
Favorites
Animal: cat for obvious reasons
Beverage: a classic latte, for obvious reasons
Book: The Door into Summer by Robert A. Heinlein
Colour: Mahogany
Food: Yogurt and berries
Flower: traditional roses, because he is a romantic
Gem: Mahogany Obsidian
Mode of transportation: Foot or bus
Scent: Lily and lets be real, good kush
Sport: he’s gay…...
Weather: sunny rainshower
Vacation destination: into his own bed and then no one bothers him
Attitudes
Greatest dream: to not feel hunted no matter where he goes. He also wants to settle down with someone whom he loves and who loves him, because romance is something he has always fantasized about
Greatest fear: dying before he’s ready, but worse so, being captured and used against his will
Most at ease when: he’s snuggling up with his cats with a nice book
Least as ease when: he is in a high stress situation with no familiar faces.
Worst possible thing that could happen: being captured and used
Biggest achievement: Securing his place in the Kings and consequently out of the police as soon as he possibly could once he turned 18.
Biggest regret: Never resisting the orders of those in his foster home.
“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.
☀️Location: The Waterfront
☀️Time: March 30th
☀️Status: closed with coffeecupsandquiet
Luke just wasn’t expecting it to be honest. He was completely caught off guard and he screamed internally. He fought every urge to turn around and run. But he wasn’t going to do that, no. Maybe if he just walked straight past, they wouldn’t even recognize him? ‘Yes. Do nothing and pretend like you didn’t see them.’ His eyes darted from the pavement up to the other’s face, back to the pavement, back to their face. ‘FUCK! Did he see me look at him?! I’m sure he saw me, do I greet? Maybe it would make it worse if I don’t say hello to gang members of the kings considering I just helped kill their leader?’ Luke took a deep breath and lifted his head. ‘Come on man, you don’t owe them shit.’ He said to himself trying to get some confidence and look tough. Of course, tripping and stumbling into them definitely didn’t help with the whole ‘looking tough’ part.
“Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean too, I just tripped. I mean, why would I want to throw myself at you on purpose? Who’d do that?” He paused, “In this specific context I mean, I’m sure many people throw themselves lustfully at you.”
This was awkward. Yes, Jordan could admit that, at least, and it didn’t help that Luke didn’t make it any better by seeming unable to meet his eyes. It seemed like it was his curse to run into Blackburn members on the street and deal with their… feelings about his presence when all he really wanted to do was go home. At least this time, he wasn’t tipsy.
It was amusing, in a way, because Jordan didn’t care about Benjamin. He had no fond feelings for him. He was simply the man who paid his bills and lent him protection for his help. When he died, Jordan was almost relieved, because in this way, Neve wouldn’t be the one guilty of it. So the nervousness the other was showing wasn’t necessary, but yes, mildly hilarious at the same time.
Jordan blinked slowly at him for a moment. “Lustfully?” he asked slowly, smirking more out of confusion and disbelief than anything else. Jordan was glad that when he got nervous, he got quiet, instead of blurting whatever came to mind. “I’m not sure if I should thank you or not.” he said honestly, before shrugging and giving him a break.
“You shouldn’t worry so much. Most Kings weren’t fond of him anyways. Some would say you did us a favor,” he said cryptically, carefully keeping his opinion out of it. “I believe it has made us stronger,” he finished, if only to give the impression that the Kings were not as rattled as Alma most likely wanted them to be. If the other decided to run off and give what he said back to Blackburn, he wanted to make sure no more Kings were targeted. Then it would be personal.
WHEN: March 19th, 2:35PM
WHERE: A sidewalk near a bookstore in Miami
WHO: Closed @coffeecupsandquiet
Miami was… different from Chicago. It didn’t have the same gritty feel of home; it had its own grit, or maybe it was the sand still stuck in his shorts from early, but it was a grit different from Chicago. It was sunnier. It was warmer. Honestly, Isaac was excited to get to know it, as evident by the aforementioned sand in his shorts and salt water making his hair curl a bit more than usual. And yet there was a bitter aftertaste when he swallowed, and no, that wasn’t from the sea water he accidentally inhaled when a wave took him out at the knees earlier that day; Chicago was the only home he’d ever known, and within a matter of hours, he’d packed up everything he owned (which wasn’t much, but still) and left it behind, without so much as the chance to say goodbye. Chicago may not have ever been the best home, housing the trouble he’d faced, but it was the only one he knew, and it was there he found his family. Thankfully, his family was accounted for now in Miami, and with nothing tying him to the city of Chicago but a few warrants for his arrest, the sun seemed brighter here, as well.
There was one more person unaccounted for that Isaac would soon learn the presence of. He hadn’t been paying attention, unsurprisingly, as he walked down the street, eyeing the carts selling drinks and the stores selling cheap trinkets (and a shirt that says “never underestimate a woman who is a Dolphins fan and was born in June” which he obviously plans on getting for himself). It was a whole other world out here, painted in various shades of teal and coral and tan, until he quite literally collided with a little piece of the world he once knew. Isaac staggered back a step, nearly tripping over his own flip flops (that have a beer bottle opener on the bottom, he’ll gladly tell anyone) in the process. His head whipped up only to be met with the sight of Jordan. Of all people in the world. Jordan. Great. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He asked, shocked, and a bit pissed off this cloud had to come over this sunny Miami day. “What, couldn’t get enough of me?”
The move had been stressful. Incredibly so, what with having Melon and her kittens as well. They were older, but Jordan was hoping to avoid moving them around. He had lived in Chicago for as long as he could remember, and he was not dealing with the change well. Firstly, the weather was awful. He had to take off his jacket, even though it would’ve been useful stil in Chicago. March wasn’t a month for simply a button up, but here he sat, with two buttons undone and his hair pulled back. He felt strange, weirdly vulnerable for being in a new place, and he did not like it.
So yes, he had perhaps drank a glass too much of wine at the establishment where he dined. He was sure it didn’t help the unbearable heat, but it did ease his nerves somewhat, which were frayed. It was why he splurged on a new hard back book instead of a paper one, hopefully more resilient to the sand that seemed to coat everything.
And it was put to the test almost immediately as he was unable to avoid bumping into someone as he stepped out onto the street. He was more concerned about his book, and scooped it up quickly, dusting off the front and back, before turning to make his apologies. Before he swiftly canned it.
Issac. He hadn’t seen him in two months. Not since the riot. “He shouldn’t be here,” Jordan found himself thinking, even though Isaac already seemed at home. The gangs had moved south as somewhat of a faux unit, but there were strengths in numbers, he supposed, even if some of those numbers hated each other enough to kill.
The sight of him was more sharply painful than it was irritating, and that made Jordan angry. He hated knowing Isaac wasn’t worth his time, and yet spending so much of it thinking of him curled up in bed and spiteful. Disgusting. He was disgusting himself, and Isaac sat there acting as if he hadn’t continued to constantly poke and prod him out of his comfort zone again and again.
His shoulders rose minutely as he felt his nose wrinkle instinctively. “You say that as if you gave us, least of all me, any choice. Chicago isn’t safe anymore because someone got rid of the only mutant keeping the police in check. You are fools,” he spit, suddenly very very angry. “Benjamin was not a good man, but now that he’s gone our homes are gone,” he said, before he scoffed at Isaac insinuation. He shouldn’t even award him with a response, but he found himself coaxed to by his hot-headedness for once. “I’ve already seen everything you have to offer as someone who can claim to have human sensibilities, and found you lacking, so yes, I have had plenty of you thank you very much.”
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.
“No. I heard bread is bad for them. Or is it bad for ducks?” Jordan mused quietly, before he shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t matter because I have nothing for them anyways.” He gave her a half smile and a shrug. “Maybe you can buy food for them somewhere if you’re interested in feeding them,” he suggested subtly. She seemed nice enough, but escaping the situation seemed nicer to him.
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.
“If it’s so boring, why are you over here? Don’t you have anything better to do than be a pest?” he asked even though he was no longer really giving Isaac the time of day. There was no use being polite to someone so uncouth and irrational as Isaac. Maybe he’d get so pissed off he’d leave Jordan alone, and he would be back in peace and quiet before the little gnat came buzzing around his head.
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.
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.
He froze, his shoulders bunching up instinctively. He hoped that whoever was approaching would turn and leave once they saw him, but it seemed less and less likely as the person got closer and closer. Still, he refused to turn and see them, holding out hope that they just wouldn’t talk to him in anyway.
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.
Jordan didn’t even want to look at him. He was almost scared of what he might do or say if he did.
