[ The thing about John is that, well. He's learned, over the years, to be very careful. With things, and with people. There's always a layer of control, above everything else. Because when his powers first started flaring up, he'd crush glasses and metal door handles and wooden planks and cinder blocks, by just holding them. Because he broke a schoolmate's hand in five places by shaking it.
Control became the very thing he held on to for dear life, and a reason to join the military, as well. The Marines were severe and disciplined, requiring him to hold himself together every second of every day.
John learned to be careful, and controlled. Because nobody could take it, if he did lose control. That was, of course, until he met Jessica Jones.
For all intents and purposes, he shouldn't care for her, nor even like her. She despises everything he's trying to do - or at least, pretends to - like it doesn't matter, like nothing he can do would ever have an impact. It should infuriate him, and it does, sometimes, but.
But they get drunk together one night when he's in New York, and she lifts the front of a car when her keys roll under it later on, and he slams her against a wall and she laughs into his kiss. So. It's kind of a thing.
Which is why the next time he visits, it doesn't take long before they're kissing in a dark alley, one of his hands on her thigh, the other on the rough wall above her head. ]
[ Jess has learned to be careful, too, several times over. Stumbling into her abilities after the accident, she pushed them only as far as she thought they could go, and when she met Kilgrave, he had her push them past the breaking point just to see where it was. It was always about the right pressure with him, given that, at any moment on the right day, if her mind could slink itself into a safe corner, she was filled to bursting under the skin with the urge to kill hm. Careful and controlled.
Now she exercises caution by staying under the radar, no matter what it takes, but her instinct to protect others over herself wins out against all her better judgments when a teenager's mutation has forced them to flee their own family. The Underground may be destined for failure but she trusts it over the foster system. On an individual basis, at least, and they're smart enough to send their least breakable representative to liaise with her when necessary. Their only mistake was assuming she was a professional.
Jess thinks they've actually been working together better since they fucked that pretense away. They kiss like it's combat, Jess having to duck her chin just rend their lips apart so she can get a word out before someone half-attentive wanders by and they end up racking up Pornhub views uncredited. ]
Your place. [ It can't be any less shabby or more fragile than hers and he probably doesn't have a deposit sunk into it. ]
[ He thinks of it, the place he rents here. It's a hole, but it has walls, and a roof, and heating in the winter. But it's also not far, and more private than an alley outside a bar.
John pushes himself off of Jessica, clearing his throat as he stands there, only wearing a long-sleeved shirt in November. The cold, at least, helps him keep his head clear. As clear as it can be when he knows that he's about to get laid which - look, it's not something that happens that often these days. His relationship with Sonja is fractured beyond repair, and he spends too much time planning rescue missions to really think about this.
With Jessica, there is a tiny bit of respite. Stolen moments he doesn't talk about to anyone - they'd probably start sending someone else if they knew, and John wouldn't even be able to disagree. ]
It's a few blocks away, [ he says, starting to walk. They're not exactly the kind to talk much, on account of the fact that they don't actually... like each other much, believe in different things, yadda yadda. If you'd asked John, he'd say it's all a pretty shitty defense mechanism for Jessica.
Still, he can't help himself, thinking she'd probably care to know. ]
That kid you helped, last time, Addy? She's doing well.
i saved you from getting decapitated by an eidolon demon and you didn't even call!
( the air in atlanta is thick, humidity and heat more oppressive than even an autumn fall in the city. it leaves isabelle's hair feeling slick, her own sweat mingling with the moisture from the air at the nape of her neck; she ties it up in a thick braid that rests over one shoulder, out of the way, and does her best to ignore the beads of sweat that pool along her brows.
she's here at the institute's request, to track a ravener demon with a penchant for peddling yin fen. or, rather, she's in atlanta at the institute's request, but here — more specifically, standing in a clearing just outside the city limits — for reasons all her own. a reason. a man, to be precise, one man with a sprawl of tattoos that have managed to crawl into her subconscious mind, a desire to map them out blooming over her memories.
to be fair, there hadn't been much else to remember him by. it had been dark, and the eidolon preying from above had been particularly sneaky; she hadn't been able to see the mundane's face, let alone learn his name, when she'd struck the head of her whip into the heart of the demon, its soot and ash falling over an expanse of tanned arms and legs.
he'd offered to thank her, but her mission had come first: tracking and later confronting the dealer meant finding the lower tiers, and that had meant slipping into the crowd, anonymous and unfollowed. the fact that he'd seen her at all, if not the demon itself, had surprised her; perhaps that fact alone inspired her reply. another time, she'd told him then, in another place. i'll meet you.
a place like this one, a time like now. waiting, leaned up against a tree, the toe of her boots scraping idly at an exposed root along the ground. she had to wonder how long it might take, how long his own mission might keep him occupied in return. )
[ Tracking was second nature to John, at this point of his life. A skill finely tuned, well honed by time and practice - from the Marines to the Underground, it was a part of him, as much as his heritage was.
Which is why he could track something he couldn't see. Which is why he ended up almost dying - something he sometimes thought impossible - and being rescued by a beautiful girl. Really, in his life? A standard occurrence, nowadays.
But then she'd disappeared. She'd used a weapon, not a Mutant power, and she'd seemed to be able to see whatever it was that attacked him.
He'd been easy, to catch a scent. He caught enough of her that he could just track her through the city if he wanted to, but he decided not to - easier to just find her when she wanted, and he had a job to do. But he picked her back up that evening, and it was just a short drive until he made it to the woods, pulling his hair up into a bun as he steps int the clearing. ]
(hi, he says, and the word drapes over her like a thick shawl, warm and comforting; her head tilts to the side, braid hanging heavy against her shoulder as she lets her gaze flick up to his. ) Hello yourself, ( murmured in a lazy drawl, casual as ever. as if she hasn't been waiting half an hour in a clearing just before twilight, feeling particularly like a brontë sisters' heroine in the process. )
I see you've managed to keep yourself alive this evening. I'm impressed.
( which is true, to an extent. she can only assume that his prior damsel in distress scenario could only be one of accidental circumstance, a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time; she doesn't expect the downworlders of georgia to track down a would-be victim. but still — mundanes have such bad luck when it comes to staying alive these days. )
[ Raising an eyebrow, there's a flash of indignation that rushes up his veins before he stomps it out - she did save him. Yet, he can't quite help the slight annoyance in his words. ]
Funnily enough, I've managed for the past 35 years, without your help.
[ Sighing, he lets it drop, his expression softening. ]
But thank you, for the other night. Contrary to your beliefs, I don't think my life was in danger - [ Because, indestructible - ] - but it doesn't change the fact that you got me out of a sticky situation.
[ He pauses for a moment, looking at the woman in front of him, straight on. ]
So... what are you, exactly? No offense, but you're apparently able to see stuff others can't, and you're a highly skilled fighter. Are you a Mutant? [ He doesn't add too at the end of his sentence, but it's implied. ]
( his indignation is easy to read — it's clear in the quick raise of his brow, however minute a motion, and in the glimmer of something rash and defensive in his eyes, an indication of pride jostled by their previous meeting. she's used to that. men often don't like being bested by a woman, even less so by a beautiful one, and isabelle has enjoyed the satisfaction of earning their ire many a time on the sparring floor.
but a thank you, however reticently given, is worlds above the grumbled stay well and other platitudes usually given after a match. it's a courtesy she's not often extended, especially by mundanes... even ones who call her a mutant. while she appreciates the gesture, she can't hide the tone of reproach that slips into her voice in her reply. )
A mutant? By the angel, no, I'm no such thing. ( she supposes you could call shadowhunters mutated in some way, modified by sheer angelic force and their own runic adjustments, but mutant just seems crass. ) But don't feel discouraged — demons aren't often seen by mundanes unless they want to be. I'd imagine the Eidolon wanted to eat you, not have you over for tea.
[ Now, the disapproval is evident in his voice, and his stance. He tenses immediately, as he usually does when finding himself faced with prejudiced people who think of him and his as things. Beneath humans.
Even if she didn't mean it that way, it stings all the same, as does her condescending tone. He has to swallow the fuck you that sits on the tip of his tongue, that Lorna or Marcos would probably have thrown at her face. ]
Look, I don't know who you think you are, or what you are, but I am perfectly able to defend myself, and whatever it was that attacked me, it would have had a hard time getting to eat me.
[ Crossing his arms over his chest, he gives the woman a look, extremely unimpressed. ]
You're this condescending to everyone you meet, or is it just 'mundanes' that you treat this way?
( now it's her turn for a furrowed brow, mouth pulling into a taut line as her own self-control works to school her features into an expression more uninterested than hurt. she hadn't meant to insinuate anything lesser of him, but mutant wasn't exactly a kind expression in isabelle's book.
it made her think of the circle and their experimentations, the dangerous blend of man's ambition and greed and the heavenly powers funneled through the mortal cup. those were mutants. terrifying, tortured, and traumatized — but not the same as the man before her. there was no angry red ring burned into flesh, no power-mad gleam in his eyes, just affront and indignation smoldering a path across his body. )
Had you met an Eidolon before, you might be a little less confident about that. ( but whether or not the demon would make a quick snack of the man is really beside the point, and so she lets it drop. the press of her lips softens to a gentle touch, tip of her tongue darting out to moisten what's gone dry — something that seems impossible, given the weight of the moisture in the air — before she speaks again. ) The demon's not the point.
( fortunately for all involved, isabelle's not so self-involved or self-absorbed to purposely avoiding an apology when one is warranted. it bites at her pride a bit, but she can manage enough to move forward. )
My name is Isabelle Lightwood, and I am a Shadowhunter. ( a moment for the dramatic flourish; a sweep of her hand pushes her braid over her shoulder, revealing the arc of the rune that sprawls up her neck and over the path of her collarbone. one of many, dark black marks that crisscross over her body, peeking out from under shades of black. there's a theme here. ) Mundanes are our word for those that need protection.
( perhaps that's not exactly true of the man before her all the time, but at least the night before. )
For the record, I was trying to save your life, not belittle it.
If you knew me at all, you might be a bit more confident than that.
[ It's an immediate response, one that he can't help, but he allows the subject to be dropped after that, lets his arms uncross, make himself look less on the defensive.
After all, what follows out of her mouth is a lot more interesting than squabbling over whether or not he or a demon would win in a fight.
He lets the words sink in, swallowing down some primary thoughts without giving them any time - they're unkind, and unfair. If she's here to protect people, then they are on the same side. ]
John Proudstar. And I'm no mundane. I'm a Mutant.
[ When he says the word, he holds it with pride. He's not one of those that believe they are so apart from the rest of humanity they can't live peacefully together, but he is as proud of what he is as he is of his Apache heritage. ]
And for the record, I am pretty much indestructible. [ He smiles. ] But still, I very much appreciate your help. It got dicey.
( there's a passage in the gray book that isabelle is fond of, one that often gets translated into different languages and drafted up in the family homes of shadowhunter clans — it talks of protection being a two-way street, that the skills and honors bestowed by the angel require not only action and valor but compassion and humility as well. it had been a passage her father had been fond of, and like many things, isabelle and her father agreed on this too.
so it's with the thought of a two-way street that her own features soften in return, one hand coming down to rest against her hip, the other drifting to trace patterns along the ridges of her bracelet, lingering on the head of the serpent with each pass. )
Perhaps the terminology needs adjusting. (that earns a quirk at the corner of her mouth, just the barest hint of a smile. ) Do all mutants wear tattoos as well as you?
( because if they're not going to fight, she might as well enjoy herself. )
[ The air is crisp and sticks to her mouth, needles through the holes in her scarf and pricks her skin awake with gooseflesh. Her landlord's stingy about the heat, which her bank account appreciates -- or it just doesn't work. Jess is disinclined to ask. Considering how she spent her holidays last year, she doesn't foresee herself caring when December starts winding down. Instead of thinking about that, she lets herself get a step behind to drink up an eyeful of the purposeful walk that makes his ass look accidentally great. ]
I didn't ask. [ Ass. She flicks her gaze to the barred storefronts on the opposite side of the street, then behind them, briefly, out of habit. ]
[ There's a part of him that's absolutely, 100% in control of himself, at all times. He has to, to prevent breaking everything around him. It only takes a hold too strong, or a moment of panic, and he's bending metal and pushing through concrete walls without a second thought.
Right now, he stays in control so as to not smirk too obviously. So as not to take a step forward. ]
No. And I'm John, by the way. [ He almost adds, Leader of the Mutant Underground, but that's another thing his control keeps him from doing. He doesn't know her, and she might have saved her life and talk about protection, he still has no idea what her thoughts on mutants are. She seems to use the word like it's not something to be proud of. ]
So, this Shadowhunter thing... is that like. A secret society, of some kind? If you're not a Mutant, how come you can see something no one else can?
John. (not proudstar. got it. she's not quite sure she could ever call him proudstar with a straight face. ) That's a shame. I quite like them.
( the enkeli rune, classic as it may be, rests just under the fabric of isabelle's shirt. rather than expose it quite yet, isabelle opts instead to turn her hand over, milky skin of her wrist revealing the swirled lines that compose the agility rune. one of many examples, though not quite as many as her brother or jace might wear. )
We are descendants of the Angel, peacekeepers and protectors of the shadow world and — (the world of the mundanes, she almost says, but the words still on her tongue. instead, she opts for a phrase often used in mocking by shadowhunters and downworlders alike, though her tone is genuine and kind. ) the world in light.
Our runes are a gift from the Angel. This one for agility, another for sight. We can see demons, other Shadowhunters... downworlders, too. Vampires, warlocks, faeries...
( as if those are completely normal things for people to see. but, for isabelle, they are. )
[ Not that he doesn't use his last name, or doesn't have pride in it - he does. But right now, it feels superfluous.
He listens to Isabelle, to the way she recites the words like she's read them out too many times, a little impersonal, pompous, until she starts talking about the runes. All of it, beforehand, feels rehearsed, but John doesn't comment, or interrupt.
The world in light, she says, and John has to keep himself from snorting. That's not the world he lives in. That's not the world he's ever lived in. ]
Well. This is a lot to take in. [ Even for a Mutant. At least, there's science behind who and what they are. Vampires? Angels? Folklore tales. ]
No, we're not. We are - genetically different from human. The x-gene gives us powers, different from one mutant to the other. Sometimes it's nothing you can even see, and we look like normal humans - like me, and sometimes, it's... a lot easier to spot us.
[ Looking down for a second, John goes back to crossing his arms over his chest. ]
We're a known entity. There's nothing secret about us - Mutants are known and under constant surveillance, especially in the US. Which begs the question... where do you come from?
[ Because if she came from here, she would know of them. ]
[ Sometimes, he wonders if Jess is even aware of the rest of his abilities - not just the strength and invulnerability thing. He wonders if she realizes how he can very easily sense her eyes on him; it makes him smile, a slightly smug little thing that clings to the corners of his mouth while she's not looking. ]
Well, I'm telling you anyway.
[ Despite the weather, he's only wearing a rundown leather jacket on top of a long-sleeve shirt. It feels good - pleasant - to be out in the cold, compared to the sort of always a little sticky atmosphere of Atlanta. New-York is sharp, smells of gasoline and vomit, and somehow, makes John feel incredibly alive. ]
Also, Marcos says hello.
[ He also said, double-bag it, but she doesn't need to know that. ]
[ She knows about his other abilities -- awareness is something else entirely. If she thinks about it too much, it's back to a life of celibacy for him and at least a week-long, uninterrupted bender for her. As long as he never quite likes her, she figures the risk of intimate gestures is small. If he needs that, he can find somewhere else to get it. So, again, celibacy.
She rolls her eyes, though she does commit to recalling Marcos's face and that's better than most casual mentions get. He was part of the original away team she crossed paths with, forming a tenuous don't-ask-don't-tell pact that's mutated (get it) into a barely sustainable work relationship. For instance, she thought Marcos's name was Carlos, so. ]
Not the rest of the Funky Bunch? [ She sounds drolly disappointed. It was that or "Oh hi, Mark." ]
Most mundanes can't — ( a sudden press of her lips together stops the phrase from finishing, and she pauses for a moment before continuing as the words rise up from her throat. ) Shadowhunters don't often reveal themselves. We wear a glamour rune to keep ourselves hidden, so those without the Sight cannot see us. I was surprised you could.
( mutants or heaven-sent or demonic, whatever the answer, he could see her. even with the glamour rune activated, he could see her, if not the demon lingering above him. that alone had caught her attention, sparked her curiosity, made her want to know more. it had made her a little reckless, perhaps, following her own curiosity rather than returning home to the institute right away... )
That's why I wanted to meet with you.
( if she had known about the society he spoke of, perhaps she might not have been so surprised. genetic differences was just another way to explain your lineage, a similarity they shared. perhaps if the institute had known, they might have made an alliance. or perhaps not. isabelle only has to think of the clave's treatment of seelies and other downworlders to know that their judgment call might not be so kind. )
I live in the New York Institute. My family... we are from Idris, originally. ( the name won't spark any recognition. she knows this. ) In Central Europe.
[ He snorts - they'd hate that nickname. Lorna, especially; but Lorna already disliked Jess. Lorna disliked practically everyone, but even more other women who played on the same lengths she herself did. She liked to think she had her little corner for herself. ]
Haven't told them where I was going.
[ Outside of the broad strokes, anyway. Supplies, checking in, the usual. Sonia would just have been too obvious about her dislike if she knew, and Lorna would have teased him to no end. Better to keep it to Marcos - someone needs to know just in case he needs back-up. ]
D'you want to grab some dinner? My place is upstairs from a Chinese. We can eat it in bed.
[ Lifting his chin a little, John walks a few steps closer, looking around them. If he focuses, he can tell so many things - animals scurrying around them, a car on the road a way away, her heartbeat, steady and rhythmical. ]
My abilities - they allow me to track things. Very little gets by me without being noticed, and I can see through a lot of disguises.
[ He considers her for a moment, her words making him think she feels it's an honor, of some sort, to be able to see her. And she's beautiful, for sure, but. ]
You live in New-York, and you've never heard of Mutants before?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2017-11-06 08:32 pm (UTC)let me know if I should take some of this out!!! i wanted to set some background but i can change it
Date: 2017-11-07 11:46 am (UTC)Control became the very thing he held on to for dear life, and a reason to join the military, as well. The Marines were severe and disciplined, requiring him to hold himself together every second of every day.
John learned to be careful, and controlled. Because nobody could take it, if he did lose control. That was, of course, until he met Jessica Jones.
For all intents and purposes, he shouldn't care for her, nor even like her. She despises everything he's trying to do - or at least, pretends to - like it doesn't matter, like nothing he can do would ever have an impact. It should infuriate him, and it does, sometimes, but.
But they get drunk together one night when he's in New York, and she lifts the front of a car when her keys roll under it later on, and he slams her against a wall and she laughs into his kiss. So. It's kind of a thing.
Which is why the next time he visits, it doesn't take long before they're kissing in a dark alley, one of his hands on her thigh, the other on the rough wall above her head. ]
no subject
Date: 2017-11-07 05:19 pm (UTC)Now she exercises caution by staying under the radar, no matter what it takes, but her instinct to protect others over herself wins out against all her better judgments when a teenager's mutation has forced them to flee their own family. The Underground may be destined for failure but she trusts it over the foster system. On an individual basis, at least, and they're smart enough to send their least breakable representative to liaise with her when necessary. Their only mistake was assuming she was a professional.
Jess thinks they've actually been working together better since they fucked that pretense away. They kiss like it's combat, Jess having to duck her chin just rend their lips apart so she can get a word out before someone half-attentive wanders by and they end up racking up Pornhub views uncredited. ]
Your place. [ It can't be any less shabby or more fragile than hers and he probably doesn't have a deposit sunk into it. ]
no subject
Date: 2017-11-08 09:54 am (UTC)John pushes himself off of Jessica, clearing his throat as he stands there, only wearing a long-sleeved shirt in November. The cold, at least, helps him keep his head clear. As clear as it can be when he knows that he's about to get laid which - look, it's not something that happens that often these days. His relationship with Sonja is fractured beyond repair, and he spends too much time planning rescue missions to really think about this.
With Jessica, there is a tiny bit of respite. Stolen moments he doesn't talk about to anyone - they'd probably start sending someone else if they knew, and John wouldn't even be able to disagree. ]
It's a few blocks away, [ he says, starting to walk. They're not exactly the kind to talk much, on account of the fact that they don't actually... like each other much, believe in different things, yadda yadda. If you'd asked John, he'd say it's all a pretty shitty defense mechanism for Jessica.
Still, he can't help himself, thinking she'd probably care to know. ]
That kid you helped, last time, Addy? She's doing well.
no subject
Date: 2017-11-20 05:39 pm (UTC)like maybe finding us a shadowy corner to make out in?
( As long as she keeps her head around his well defined chest, that is. )
no subject
Date: 2017-11-20 06:21 pm (UTC)i saved you from getting decapitated by an eidolon demon and you didn't even call!
( the air in atlanta is thick, humidity and heat more oppressive than even an autumn fall in the city. it leaves isabelle's hair feeling slick, her own sweat mingling with the moisture from the air at the nape of her neck; she ties it up in a thick braid that rests over one shoulder, out of the way, and does her best to ignore the beads of sweat that pool along her brows.she's here at the institute's request, to track a ravener demon with a penchant for peddling yin fen. or, rather, she's in atlanta at the institute's request, but here — more specifically, standing in a clearing just outside the city limits — for reasons all her own. a reason. a man, to be precise, one man with a sprawl of tattoos that have managed to crawl into her subconscious mind, a desire to map them out blooming over her memories.
to be fair, there hadn't been much else to remember him by. it had been dark, and the eidolon preying from above had been particularly sneaky; she hadn't been able to see the mundane's face, let alone learn his name, when she'd struck the head of her whip into the heart of the demon, its soot and ash falling over an expanse of tanned arms and legs.
he'd offered to thank her, but her mission had come first: tracking and later confronting the dealer meant finding the lower tiers, and that had meant slipping into the crowd, anonymous and unfollowed. the fact that he'd seen her at all, if not the demon itself, had surprised her; perhaps that fact alone inspired her reply. another time, she'd told him then, in another place. i'll meet you.
a place like this one, a time like now. waiting, leaned up against a tree, the toe of her boots scraping idly at an exposed root along the ground. she had to wonder how long it might take, how long his own mission might keep him occupied in return. )
no subject
Date: 2017-11-20 07:10 pm (UTC)I definitely *shouldn't* since we got another batch of refugees coming in
How would you persuade me?
no subject
Date: 2017-11-20 09:53 pm (UTC)Which is why he could track something he couldn't see. Which is why he ended up almost dying - something he sometimes thought impossible - and being rescued by a beautiful girl. Really, in his life? A standard occurrence, nowadays.
But then she'd disappeared. She'd used a weapon, not a Mutant power, and she'd seemed to be able to see whatever it was that attacked him.
He'd been easy, to catch a scent. He caught enough of her that he could just track her through the city if he wanted to, but he decided not to - easier to just find her when she wanted, and he had a job to do. But he picked her back up that evening, and it was just a short drive until he made it to the woods, pulling his hair up into a bun as he steps int the clearing. ]
Hi.
no subject
Date: 2017-11-21 12:40 am (UTC)I see you've managed to keep yourself alive this evening. I'm impressed.
( which is true, to an extent. she can only assume that his prior damsel in distress scenario could only be one of accidental circumstance, a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time; she doesn't expect the downworlders of georgia to track down a would-be victim. but still — mundanes have such bad luck when it comes to staying alive these days. )
no subject
Date: 2017-11-21 10:50 am (UTC)Funnily enough, I've managed for the past 35 years, without your help.
[ Sighing, he lets it drop, his expression softening. ]
But thank you, for the other night. Contrary to your beliefs, I don't think my life was in danger - [ Because, indestructible - ] - but it doesn't change the fact that you got me out of a sticky situation.
[ He pauses for a moment, looking at the woman in front of him, straight on. ]
So... what are you, exactly? No offense, but you're apparently able to see stuff others can't, and you're a highly skilled fighter. Are you a Mutant? [ He doesn't add too at the end of his sentence, but it's implied. ]
no subject
Date: 2017-11-21 02:38 pm (UTC)but a thank you, however reticently given, is worlds above the grumbled stay well and other platitudes usually given after a match. it's a courtesy she's not often extended, especially by mundanes... even ones who call her a mutant. while she appreciates the gesture, she can't hide the tone of reproach that slips into her voice in her reply. )
A mutant? By the angel, no, I'm no such thing. ( she supposes you could call shadowhunters mutated in some way, modified by sheer angelic force and their own runic adjustments, but mutant just seems crass. ) But don't feel discouraged — demons aren't often seen by mundanes unless they want to be. I'd imagine the Eidolon wanted to eat you, not have you over for tea.
no subject
Date: 2017-11-21 03:08 pm (UTC)[ Now, the disapproval is evident in his voice, and his stance. He tenses immediately, as he usually does when finding himself faced with prejudiced people who think of him and his as things. Beneath humans.
Even if she didn't mean it that way, it stings all the same, as does her condescending tone. He has to swallow the fuck you that sits on the tip of his tongue, that Lorna or Marcos would probably have thrown at her face. ]
Look, I don't know who you think you are, or what you are, but I am perfectly able to defend myself, and whatever it was that attacked me, it would have had a hard time getting to eat me.
[ Crossing his arms over his chest, he gives the woman a look, extremely unimpressed. ]
You're this condescending to everyone you meet, or is it just 'mundanes' that you treat this way?
no subject
Date: 2017-11-21 04:11 pm (UTC)it made her think of the circle and their experimentations, the dangerous blend of man's ambition and greed and the heavenly powers funneled through the mortal cup. those were mutants. terrifying, tortured, and traumatized — but not the same as the man before her. there was no angry red ring burned into flesh, no power-mad gleam in his eyes, just affront and indignation smoldering a path across his body. )
Had you met an Eidolon before, you might be a little less confident about that. ( but whether or not the demon would make a quick snack of the man is really beside the point, and so she lets it drop. the press of her lips softens to a gentle touch, tip of her tongue darting out to moisten what's gone dry — something that seems impossible, given the weight of the moisture in the air — before she speaks again. ) The demon's not the point.
( fortunately for all involved, isabelle's not so self-involved or self-absorbed to purposely avoiding an apology when one is warranted. it bites at her pride a bit, but she can manage enough to move forward. )
My name is Isabelle Lightwood, and I am a Shadowhunter. ( a moment for the dramatic flourish; a sweep of her hand pushes her braid over her shoulder, revealing the arc of the rune that sprawls up her neck and over the path of her collarbone. one of many, dark black marks that crisscross over her body, peeking out from under shades of black. there's a theme here. ) Mundanes are our word for those that need protection.
( perhaps that's not exactly true of the man before her all the time, but at least the night before. )
For the record, I was trying to save your life, not belittle it.
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Date: 2017-11-21 04:21 pm (UTC)[ It's an immediate response, one that he can't help, but he allows the subject to be dropped after that, lets his arms uncross, make himself look less on the defensive.
After all, what follows out of her mouth is a lot more interesting than squabbling over whether or not he or a demon would win in a fight.
He lets the words sink in, swallowing down some primary thoughts without giving them any time - they're unkind, and unfair. If she's here to protect people, then they are on the same side. ]
John Proudstar. And I'm no mundane. I'm a Mutant.
[ When he says the word, he holds it with pride. He's not one of those that believe they are so apart from the rest of humanity they can't live peacefully together, but he is as proud of what he is as he is of his Apache heritage. ]
And for the record, I am pretty much indestructible. [ He smiles. ] But still, I very much appreciate your help. It got dicey.
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Date: 2017-11-21 04:47 pm (UTC)so it's with the thought of a two-way street that her own features soften in return, one hand coming down to rest against her hip, the other drifting to trace patterns along the ridges of her bracelet, lingering on the head of the serpent with each pass. )
Perhaps the terminology needs adjusting. ( that earns a quirk at the corner of her mouth, just the barest hint of a smile. ) Do all mutants wear tattoos as well as you?
( because if they're not going to fight, she might as well enjoy herself. )
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Date: 2017-11-21 05:48 pm (UTC)I didn't ask. [ Ass. She flicks her gaze to the barred storefronts on the opposite side of the street, then behind them, briefly, out of habit. ]
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Date: 2017-11-21 06:51 pm (UTC)Right now, he stays in control so as to not smirk too obviously. So as not to take a step forward. ]
No. And I'm John, by the way. [ He almost adds, Leader of the Mutant Underground, but that's another thing his control keeps him from doing. He doesn't know her, and she might have saved her life and talk about protection, he still has no idea what her thoughts on mutants are. She seems to use the word like it's not something to be proud of. ]
So, this Shadowhunter thing... is that like. A secret society, of some kind? If you're not a Mutant, how come you can see something no one else can?
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Date: 2017-11-22 03:54 am (UTC)( the enkeli rune, classic as it may be, rests just under the fabric of isabelle's shirt. rather than expose it quite yet, isabelle opts instead to turn her hand over, milky skin of her wrist revealing the swirled lines that compose the agility rune. one of many examples, though not quite as many as her brother or jace might wear. )
We are descendants of the Angel, peacekeepers and protectors of the shadow world and — ( the world of the mundanes, she almost says, but the words still on her tongue. instead, she opts for a phrase often used in mocking by shadowhunters and downworlders alike, though her tone is genuine and kind. ) the world in light.
Our runes are a gift from the Angel. This one for agility, another for sight. We can see demons, other Shadowhunters... downworlders, too. Vampires, warlocks, faeries...
( as if those are completely normal things for people to see. but, for isabelle, they are. )
And the mutants? Are they a secret society?
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Date: 2017-11-22 01:20 pm (UTC)He listens to Isabelle, to the way she recites the words like she's read them out too many times, a little impersonal, pompous, until she starts talking about the runes. All of it, beforehand, feels rehearsed, but John doesn't comment, or interrupt.
The world in light, she says, and John has to keep himself from snorting. That's not the world he lives in. That's not the world he's ever lived in. ]
Well. This is a lot to take in. [ Even for a Mutant. At least, there's science behind who and what they are. Vampires? Angels? Folklore tales. ]
No, we're not. We are - genetically different from human. The x-gene gives us powers, different from one mutant to the other. Sometimes it's nothing you can even see, and we look like normal humans - like me, and sometimes, it's... a lot easier to spot us.
[ Looking down for a second, John goes back to crossing his arms over his chest. ]
We're a known entity. There's nothing secret about us - Mutants are known and under constant surveillance, especially in the US. Which begs the question... where do you come from?
[ Because if she came from here, she would know of them. ]
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Date: 2017-11-22 04:05 pm (UTC)Well, I'm telling you anyway.
[ Despite the weather, he's only wearing a rundown leather jacket on top of a long-sleeve shirt. It feels good - pleasant - to be out in the cold, compared to the sort of always a little sticky atmosphere of Atlanta. New-York is sharp, smells of gasoline and vomit, and somehow, makes John feel incredibly alive. ]
Also, Marcos says hello.
[ He also said, double-bag it, but she doesn't need to know that. ]
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Date: 2017-11-22 06:13 pm (UTC)She rolls her eyes, though she does commit to recalling Marcos's face and that's better than most casual mentions get. He was part of the original away team she crossed paths with, forming a tenuous don't-ask-don't-tell pact that's mutated (get it) into a barely sustainable work relationship. For instance, she thought Marcos's name was Carlos, so. ]
Not the rest of the Funky Bunch? [ She sounds drolly disappointed. It was that or "Oh hi, Mark." ]
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Date: 2017-11-25 05:12 pm (UTC)( mutants or heaven-sent or demonic, whatever the answer, he could see her. even with the glamour rune activated, he could see her, if not the demon lingering above him. that alone had caught her attention, sparked her curiosity, made her want to know more. it had made her a little reckless, perhaps, following her own curiosity rather than returning home to the institute right away... )
That's why I wanted to meet with you.
( if she had known about the society he spoke of, perhaps she might not have been so surprised. genetic differences was just another way to explain your lineage, a similarity they shared. perhaps if the institute had known, they might have made an alliance. or perhaps not. isabelle only has to think of the clave's treatment of seelies and other downworlders to know that their judgment call might not be so kind. )
I live in the New York Institute. My family... we are from Idris, originally. ( the name won't spark any recognition. she knows this. ) In Central Europe.
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Date: 2017-11-27 03:17 pm (UTC)Haven't told them where I was going.
[ Outside of the broad strokes, anyway. Supplies, checking in, the usual. Sonia would just have been too obvious about her dislike if she knew, and Lorna would have teased him to no end. Better to keep it to Marcos - someone needs to know just in case he needs back-up. ]
D'you want to grab some dinner? My place is upstairs from a Chinese. We can eat it in bed.
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Date: 2017-11-27 03:54 pm (UTC)My abilities - they allow me to track things. Very little gets by me without being noticed, and I can see through a lot of disguises.
[ He considers her for a moment, her words making him think she feels it's an honor, of some sort, to be able to see her. And she's beautiful, for sure, but. ]
You live in New-York, and you've never heard of Mutants before?
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Date: 2017-11-28 01:28 am (UTC)it's been thirty days since our last plant decay incident.