Jackson Whittemore (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bigkanimaoncampus) wrote2014-10-07 08:35 am
bigkanimaoncampus) wrote2014-10-07 08:35 am
003 // Put It Back Together
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[ It was about a week after the barge had settled after the arena. Jackson seemed to have regained some sense of composure, back to his arrogant self. But in reality, he'd just managed to get the mask back in place. It was a thin disguise over all of that turmoil and pain. Most people wouldn't be able to tell the difference, but anyone capable of detecting emotions in any way would be able to tell it was just a ruse.
He moved through the ship with a well practice confidence, like he owned the place. It wasn't too unlike high school, after all. The dining all wasn't unlike the cafeteria. Where he sat like a king upon a throne. Even if his table were lacking in his usual followers.
If he wasn't there or in his cabin--which is where he spent most of his time--he was working out. Mostly running, because almost anywhere else required warden access and he refused to go to anyone for that. The stairs were great for running. He was alwas pushing himself as hard as he could. A look of stern determination on his face. ]
[ It was about a week after the barge had settled after the arena. Jackson seemed to have regained some sense of composure, back to his arrogant self. But in reality, he'd just managed to get the mask back in place. It was a thin disguise over all of that turmoil and pain. Most people wouldn't be able to tell the difference, but anyone capable of detecting emotions in any way would be able to tell it was just a ruse.
He moved through the ship with a well practice confidence, like he owned the place. It wasn't too unlike high school, after all. The dining all wasn't unlike the cafeteria. Where he sat like a king upon a throne. Even if his table were lacking in his usual followers.
If he wasn't there or in his cabin--which is where he spent most of his time--he was working out. Mostly running, because almost anywhere else required warden access and he refused to go to anyone for that. The stairs were great for running. He was alwas pushing himself as hard as he could. A look of stern determination on his face. ]
no subject
This boy was hurting. This wasn't her Jackson.
More curious than anything, Allison moved towards the stairs just as Jackson was reaching the top of his flight mid-run. There were a thousand things she could say to him, but she said the first thing that came to her mind with a thoughtful, guileless look of wide-eyed concern.]
Are you okay, Jackson?
no subject
With her, it was like getting smacked in the face. Werewolf. And that was wrong. So very, very wrong. It made him stop, his heart dropping into his stomach with dread. And for a moment, that registered on his face. Would she be like Stiles? ]
What's it matter to you?
[ He managed something close to his usual disdain, but there was an unsteadiness to it. ]
no subject
But that cocktail of chemosignals struck her as very...uneducated. Like he was new.
She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, rolling her lips together before she made a decision and nodded to herself. Straightening, she schooled he features into unreadable lines and focused on her choice: feelings of concern, compassion, hope for friendship.]
Tell me what it matters to me. Take a deep breath, but don't look for a smell...look for a feeling. Something you only feel when you inhale.
no subject
And right now, he very much needed her to fit into what he remembered her as being. An accessory. A pawn. Unimportant. And most certainly, not a friend. ]
Why don't you scurry back to McCall and have him smell...or feel...or whatever for you.
[ He moved toward the nearest door. He had a run to finish. ]