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J O S I A H x D A L I N S K I o f x h a r l e y & j o k e r
#B48F7C || Outfit || the jester
After everything was said and done, and all of the heroes dispersed to do whatever it is that they do, Josiah was left in the training area for a brief moment. He stared at the lockers with all the names of heroes past and wondered if this is where he was supposed to be. He felt sorely out of place, and that he could do better back home. Whatever was going on here, he didnāt want any part of it. He couldnāt be any part of it.
He had already successfully ruined his reputation at first sight anyway. He was useless in combat. He canāt remember 75% of his day depending on what happens. He is volatile and mentally ill, and that was just the truth. Mentally ill. He couldnāt combat the science just like he couldnāt combat the fact that something was wrong about his presence here. There was nothing pleasant or good about Josiah or his other entities. They were all bad. He belonged back in an asylum, not near typical and healthy minds.
Therefore, Josiah did not hesitate to pack up his stuff and leave. No word. No one would notice that he was gone, and that was a good thing. He missed his friend, but there was nothing that he could do about it. It would be better left up to real heroes with real abilities and real skill - not some guy with a multitude of mental entities taking over whenever they feel like it. It was only a matter of time before someone here would be hurt by him, and he was not a bad guy. Josiah was not a villain. He was not evil. Everything inside of him is absolutely putrid, and he doesnāt know why.
Would knowing his genealogy explain it? No. No. He didnāt want to know the fine details. His other personalities didnāt want him to know, either. They were happy. He was not. That was just the way he livedā¦
ā¦ That was just Gotham, too. Putrid on the inside. He belonged there.
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L E X A x C R E E Do f x s a b r e t o o t h
#b45439 || Outfit || nightclaw
Lexa didn't know how long she remained submerged under the hot water, only that, at one point, it became boiling and she was forced to resurface.
Hot tubs are supposed to be relaxing, but when she looked around in this vast empty space with nothing but the sounds of the bubbles and jets, the steady stagnant sounds of pool water, the chlorine smell, and then her own gentle heartbeat - all she could do was think. She brushed her hands over now slickly wet hair, pulling some of the strands out of her face and tucking them behind her ears.
It was hard to be part of a team when you didnāt know anyone in it. It was hard to be young. Hard to just beā¦ her. Sure, she liked social media and attention, but that didnāt make her less than anyone else here. Lexa needed a healthy (or perhaps unhealthy according to the majority of loners here) dose of social contact on a daily basis. Without it, she just feltā¦ odd. Not having a conversation, her social media, or any kind of attention over energized her already full batteries. When the juice spilled over, she had nothing to do with it other than overthink situations. For instance, why wasnāt she worthy of talking to? Was it her personality? Is it wrong? She wasnāt sure.
She missed her friends; as ragtag as they were. They were a great team. They were Instagram famous as superheroes, and that wasnāt a bad thing. With the disappearance of so many important figures of safety for the public, people were comforted by the idea that there were still others out there to protect them. Heroes were still necessary, and at this point in time, all around the world, they were needed more than ever. In Canada, heroes were even fewer and in-between.
She let the calming sounds pull her into happier times of reminiscence; being with her friends, her father, even with her āuncleā Wolverine. She considered herself very lucky to have lived with great people. The Weapon X project left so many kids broken, but Wolverine and Sabretooth put them back together again and made them family. That was lucky. Not everyone here likely had a great life, and maybe thatās why sheās actually an outcast. Lexa was a happy individual despite the fact that her father and uncle were gone. Despite the fact that she had no mother to speak of. Despite the fact that she was far removed from her place of comfort.
She was upset that there was no word on the whereabouts of Wolverine and Sabretooth - that they had left and not yet come back. It had only been a month or two at this point, and that felt very typical of them. What was not normal was the lack of communication. Lexa knew that something happened to them in her gut, but also that they were both very capable of handling themselves. Wolverine, especially. That man was older than old - Civil War old, and the South vs. North Civil war, to be exact. They were hard to destroy because of their power and skills. Still, she was concerned.
After a while, she had fallen asleep only to be awakened just J.A.R.V.I.S. summoning her to the lobby for their debriefing. There was nothing she loved more than being scolded by two old men, and probably by everyone else that was present. She climbed out of the hot tub, threw on her clothes while sopping wet, and headed up to her room to get dressed.
And you know what? She was on fleek, and there was no reason not to be exactly who she was. Even though she didnāt need to, she threw on some makeup. There was some bruising here and there on her legs, but she could live with it. With her iPhone camera, she took a few photos and posted them on Instagram. Yes, Lexa knew she was super cute, and the little hearts that blew her phone up made her happy. It drained some of that social battery so that she could be less crazy and ready to jump into any conversation with the real people that were here right now. What did she need friends here for when so many people in cyberspace loved her?
The elevator pinged on her floor and the doors opened to reveal Myla inside. She smiled brightly in the womanās direction, even if the Daredevilās daughter was blind. It didnāt do anyone any use to treat her or behave differently. "You look super cute. Real comfortable," she complimented, and while that second sentence might seem backhanded, she meant it genuinely. It was cute to be comfortable, and Lexa didnāt really like to put down other women.
With that small conversation out of the way, she looked back at her phone and surfed her Instagram. Naturally, since Jameson put up such a fuss about it, she removed all traces of him from it. To the disappointment of many swooning men and women all across the globe, of course. Poor them! His ass was not for viewing.
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A R I A x M U N R O E o f x s t o r m & f o r g e
#475D6B || outfit || tempest
Aria wasnāt going to be one to sit around and mope. There were things that needed to be done and thoughts that needed to be gone over with a fine-tooth comb. She wasnāt sure when she made it to her room, but she did end up there after the simulated training was completed. The womanās loft had belonged to her mother, and that much was pretty obvious. There was green everywhere, and while Ororo Munroe was a botanist by leisure, Aria had a black thumb. Still, she found the space serene. There were floral hangings from the ceiling and a balcony with a small garden. This must have been where her mother spent much of her time with her thoughts, too.
Not that Aria really knew. She had limited and mixed interactions with her mom - most of it having been in her much, much younger years. After taking a shower and tying up her robe, she headed out of the double glass doors to the mini garden. Her hands rose and soft barely-gray clouds slid across the blue sky, but the rain that would fall was soft and gentle. The sun still shone high as Aria did not want to disturb anyone with a storm or gray skies. A small wind swirled around her, which kept the rain from falling on her freshly washed hair. Sheād remain dry.
She sat on a small swinging chair, kicking herself back and forth, idly glancing at the flowers then up at the spring drizzle.
The whole training scenario was set up to fail, if she were honest with herself. It wasnāt the mission itself, rather the variety of super-powered beings that made up the āteam.ā Also, one could hardly call this disheveled group a team, as they had yet to develop any sense of camaraderie among themselves. They didnāt know each other. They had only their names, and only a few of those names could be pinpointed to their respective parents. Even at that, not everyoneās families were very famous - and that was not a bad thing.
From a logical perspective, not one of them could beat themselves up over what happened. People were not in their proper places, as no one knew what they were in the first place. Aria did, however, feel a little bad about taking the lead and giving orders. She was very young- perhaps one of the youngest in the group, and there was probably someone with more experience than she had. Was it arrogance that got to her? She wasnāt sure. Most of her didnāt feel like she was better than anyone, but she did feel smarter. Her father always told her that intelligence was everything, but in this case, having more common sense knowledge and understanding of other people would have been more ideal.
Aria hung out on the balcony for a few hours; the rain having subsided seconds after she drifted off into a small nap. It couldnāt be helped with the back and forth swinging motion of the chair. When she woke, she sat up straight and stretched out her arms. Her brown eyes wandered off into the distance as she yawned noisily. JARVIS could be heard chiming in and then beckoning her to the lobby for debriefing. It was a good thing that everyone had a few hours to themselves, as they were less likely to be heated during the reassessment.
She pushed her natural hair, which was now unbraided and slightly unruly, into a loose bun. Sheād have to make a trip to go get it done somewhere. While on the drive here, she thought she saw a mall in passing that they could go to. Itād likely have a place where experts could braid her long hair. Sheād have to ask Phil and Alfred about it because there was nothing more important to a woman of her ethnicity than having her hair done. It was ritualistic for her, and she sat down for hours on end at least once or twice a month depending on time and budget.
She threw on what looked like a long oversized sweater, a pair of shorts too small to see, and her fanciest pair of flip flops - black with some blue ārhinestonesā and extra flop and flip as she walked.
She waltzed into the lift when it pinged at her level, pressed a button while yawning again, and failed to realize she didnāt even tap the correct one. When it opened and she dragged herself out like a zombie just waking up from a nap, and probably fresh out of a shower (all that sheās honestly missing is the hair towel and a cup of coffee), she blinked a couple of times.
With squinting eyes, she finally saw Jameson come into view. She attempted to turn around and catch the lift doors before they closed, but it was already gone! Awkwardly, because it was very likely Jameson already saw her, she tried her best to smile and pretend like she was a woman on a mission!
"I was just making sure you, uhā¦" she bit her lower lip and knew she looked like a hot mess. She had no makeup, her clothes were frumpy, and she was in flip-flops. Jameson was just - good looking, and she was utterly embarrassed for herself. Why was she so unlucky? Who decided that a man could be that handsome while washing his bike like some slow motion movie or something?
She continued to smile, but anxiously pressed the button behind her back. "Debrief. Lobby."
It just wasnāt opening fast enough! What the hell? Speaking of Hell, it was hot down here. Really hot. The damn lift must be going to retrieve Kane or something!
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