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It's been months since I last lived on an island. Longer still since I lived anywhere even remotely tropical. Walking for any significant period of time's been a bit problematic since I picked that fight with Cable, but it's been a few weeks by now, and I plan to make the most out of the month I promised Rogue I'd stick around for. Besides, I've lived through worst scrapes in my day -- that's the problem with having a power that works on kinetic energy. You tend to get hit. A lot.
Though Madrox's bruises had faded from violet to a sort of sickly green, there was no mistaking him for the perfect picture of health. For one, his hand was still bandaged, and for two, he was still covered in bruises, sickly green or not. He looked haggard, the direct result of having yet to find a good night's sleep, and he was sporting a few fresh cuts from an ill-advised stroll in the jungle the night before. In short, he looked like Edward Norton in the latter half of Fight Club.
"With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels." That's why I had the gun held to my head. I wasn't about to kill myself without a few intelligible words at the end of it all.
His feet led him to the beach more so than any conscious choice on his part. Swimming was out the question because of the cast, obviously, though no one -- Rogue, namely -- would've had to worry about him trying to off himself, anyway. He'd nearly drowned back home thanks to a renegade dupe; he had no desire to repeat the experience. There were quicker and easier ways to go. Still, there was nothing preventing him from dipping his feet in the water. He'd left his trench coat back at the Compound, but even without it he was still horribly overdressed for the weather, and out of the shade provided from the trees, he was beginning to notice that more and more. So as Madrox slipped out of shoes, he thought about taking off his shirt, too. He was in the middle of a long, drawn out, internal debate about the pros and cons of being shirtless when he noticed he wasn't alone out there.
"Uh, hey," he greeted eloquently.
Though Madrox's bruises had faded from violet to a sort of sickly green, there was no mistaking him for the perfect picture of health. For one, his hand was still bandaged, and for two, he was still covered in bruises, sickly green or not. He looked haggard, the direct result of having yet to find a good night's sleep, and he was sporting a few fresh cuts from an ill-advised stroll in the jungle the night before. In short, he looked like Edward Norton in the latter half of Fight Club.
"With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels." That's why I had the gun held to my head. I wasn't about to kill myself without a few intelligible words at the end of it all.
His feet led him to the beach more so than any conscious choice on his part. Swimming was out the question because of the cast, obviously, though no one -- Rogue, namely -- would've had to worry about him trying to off himself, anyway. He'd nearly drowned back home thanks to a renegade dupe; he had no desire to repeat the experience. There were quicker and easier ways to go. Still, there was nothing preventing him from dipping his feet in the water. He'd left his trench coat back at the Compound, but even without it he was still horribly overdressed for the weather, and out of the shade provided from the trees, he was beginning to notice that more and more. So as Madrox slipped out of shoes, he thought about taking off his shirt, too. He was in the middle of a long, drawn out, internal debate about the pros and cons of being shirtless when he noticed he wasn't alone out there.
"Uh, hey," he greeted eloquently.
[For Theresa] Laundry Day. See you there.
Jul. 13th, 2009 09:05 pmStanding here now, waiting for my shirt to dry, I can only think that laundry seemed a lot more interesting when NPH was singing about it. Logic tells me that I should check out the aptly -- if uninspiring -- named clothes box instead of just washing the clothes I arrived in again and again, but the idea of sorting through a box of infinite choices leaves me cold. I have a closet full of the same outfit back home for a reason, and it's not because the outfit in question's particularly flattering, much as the trench coat really sells the noir aesthetic. It's like I said to John: who else wears this shirt?
Madrox leaned against the wall opposite the dryer, a bowl of cereal in hand. It had been late when he passed by the kitchen, and he didn't trust himself with anything beyond pouring milk into a bowl. He could barely manage coffee on a good day, so this was probably for the best. Though the island was hardly bereft of night owls, he'd so far been alone in the laundry room. If asked, he might've said that that suited him just fine. That would have been a lie. The quiet made him uncomfortable, and even the dull hum of the dryer wasn't enough to put him at ease. For all that he'd wished back home to be alone in his own mind, he'd never appreciated that that would mean he was well and truly alone.
For all the troubles my dupes have given me over the years, I guess it's true what they say. You don't know what you have until you lose it.
Madrox leaned against the wall opposite the dryer, a bowl of cereal in hand. It had been late when he passed by the kitchen, and he didn't trust himself with anything beyond pouring milk into a bowl. He could barely manage coffee on a good day, so this was probably for the best. Though the island was hardly bereft of night owls, he'd so far been alone in the laundry room. If asked, he might've said that that suited him just fine. That would have been a lie. The quiet made him uncomfortable, and even the dull hum of the dryer wasn't enough to put him at ease. For all that he'd wished back home to be alone in his own mind, he'd never appreciated that that would mean he was well and truly alone.
For all the troubles my dupes have given me over the years, I guess it's true what they say. You don't know what you have until you lose it.
[For Rogue] Better Days
Jul. 9th, 2009 10:18 pmMadrox's face was a mess. Blood had coagulated around his nose and mouth. His lip was split. A deep purple bruise had blossomed across his forehead. In short, if he'd looked awful on his first day of island living, he'd definitely ramped it up for the sequel. Everything ached, though his hand was notable for its particular brand of 'oh God, oh God, it hurts.'
He knew, logically, that he should go to the clinic. But that involved walking and walking involved standing up and really, he was perfectly fine exactly where he was, sitting with his back against a tree, one knee drawn to his chest. And so, pulling the sleeve of his coat over his one good hand, he tried to clear away some of the dried blood.
"Oh, that's disgusting," he said nasally.
He knew, logically, that he should go to the clinic. But that involved walking and walking involved standing up and really, he was perfectly fine exactly where he was, sitting with his back against a tree, one knee drawn to his chest. And so, pulling the sleeve of his coat over his one good hand, he tried to clear away some of the dried blood.
"Oh, that's disgusting," he said nasally.
[debut] One is the Loneliest Number
Jul. 1st, 2009 08:02 pm“So you see, Jamie…” John stood, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Good things do happen if you have the patience to see them.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Madrox, reaching for the gun hidden inside his coat. “Too bad I’m out of patience.”
“Give me the gun, Jamie.” John’s voice was as calm and confident as the first time Madrox heard it a year ago, delivering a sermon in the very church they now stood. It had been daylight, then, a brisk autumn Sunday morning. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Can’t do that.”
“You want me to stop you,” he insisted in that same measured tone. “You want me to talk you out of this.”
“For a while that’s what I thought, too. But now—” Madrox cut himself off abruptly. Bent forward with his elbows pressed against his knees, he rested his forehead against the length of the gun. “Now I think I just want someone to call the team and let them know I’m gone, and it’s over. They’re still there, y’know. They’ve gone on without me. I call the firm from pay phones every few days, just to hear Terry answer and say, ‘XF Investigations, how can we help you?’”
He looked up, face wet with tears. He’d wanted to say, “Then I hang up. Because she can’t help me. No one can.” He’d wanted John to simply stand by and let him die. He’d wanted – like always – any number of things. And – just like always – he wasn’t about to get any of them.
There had been an unexpected change of venue.
My mind goes numb. I’m no longer aware of the gun in my hand. Then again…I’m no longer aware of a lot of things right now. I’m not even sure I’m still alive.
The church was gone, replaced by the sort of jungle that was rare to see outside of films or television – let alone Vermont. Stumbling forward and out of the pew – now a fallen tree, though he failed to notice as much – Madrox straightened and took a good, long look of his new surroundings.
“Oh, perfect.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Madrox, reaching for the gun hidden inside his coat. “Too bad I’m out of patience.”
“Give me the gun, Jamie.” John’s voice was as calm and confident as the first time Madrox heard it a year ago, delivering a sermon in the very church they now stood. It had been daylight, then, a brisk autumn Sunday morning. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Can’t do that.”
“You want me to stop you,” he insisted in that same measured tone. “You want me to talk you out of this.”
“For a while that’s what I thought, too. But now—” Madrox cut himself off abruptly. Bent forward with his elbows pressed against his knees, he rested his forehead against the length of the gun. “Now I think I just want someone to call the team and let them know I’m gone, and it’s over. They’re still there, y’know. They’ve gone on without me. I call the firm from pay phones every few days, just to hear Terry answer and say, ‘XF Investigations, how can we help you?’”
He looked up, face wet with tears. He’d wanted to say, “Then I hang up. Because she can’t help me. No one can.” He’d wanted John to simply stand by and let him die. He’d wanted – like always – any number of things. And – just like always – he wasn’t about to get any of them.
There had been an unexpected change of venue.
My mind goes numb. I’m no longer aware of the gun in my hand. Then again…I’m no longer aware of a lot of things right now. I’m not even sure I’m still alive.
The church was gone, replaced by the sort of jungle that was rare to see outside of films or television – let alone Vermont. Stumbling forward and out of the pew – now a fallen tree, though he failed to notice as much – Madrox straightened and took a good, long look of his new surroundings.
“Oh, perfect.”