justjarod

[locked to the 'residents' of the musing_way, and to Sydney's particular IP]

*laughs* At the moment, I'm still at least working half the time doing testing for Toni.

The other half of the time... well.

I am what I am, and I have my particular goals.

There's always someone abusing the power or influence that they have to cause -- or hide -- harm they have done. I don't always hear about it, however, I am fairly good at finding those situations.

I suppose you could call it a gift.

I simply find it useful.

I was used for so long to cause harm... I prefer to end it, where I can.

I'm anyone, or anything, I want to be. And it's always interesting, seeing the world through so many different sets of eyes as my Pretends are.

[locked to ironmaiden, old_csat, lion_cub]

I live each day without the things I crave most. I suppose that makes this both a familiar question, and an easy one to answer. There is some good in everything? I live with the barest scraps of knowledge of who I am, where I came from. Without the gentle strength I know my mother's presence would be. Without any ability at all to know my younger sister – this may in some ways be a blessing. If I cannot know her, the Centre cannot find her to exploit her as they have my brother and myself.

...Kyle.

I live for both of us, without the knife-edged power of his presence and the delightfully wondering joy of his new discoveries. I miss him more than I can stand, on some days. The brilliant clarity of his understanding and the dark edge to his smile. I would give almost anything to be able to feel even his pain again, though I would never wish him to hurt.

Without the woman who I – despite all reason, in spite of all our history – can do nothing but love, and miss, and desire. Pulling her along after me is no salve for how much I wish things could be different.

With only the barest, filtered presence of the only father I can remember having. I miss you, Sydney.

I hope, one day, that the answer to this question can be something entirely frivolous, because I already have what I truly want.

[locked, quite firmly, from notmonica, and any and all Centre IPs.]

Every hour he spends without cameras, Sweepers, guards, glass, concrete walls... is an hour he cherishes, even after the time he's had outside. A couple of years, after all, have a long way to go before they catch up with most of his life.

The ability to breathe air that hadn't been filtered and recycled and pumped down stories of sublevel ducts, to watch the play of clouds on the grass, feel the radiant heat of the sun -- or the cold of rain and snow -- against his skin is a gift he clings to every moment of. Now that he's learned how to deal with the incessantly loud world around him, he's come to cherish that as well, all of the noises of people and the things they create, despite the headache he had had the first weeks of his freedom until he became used to it.

Then there're the boats, trains, planes, space shuttles, cars... all of these things he had only technical knowledge of before. Nothing had ever told him that the speed of them feels like that first taste of freedom every time he's behind the wheel or the tiller or his hand's wrapped around the throttle.

All kinds of freedom, and he's not giving any of it up. Ever.

Jarod shook his head, slow and quiet, looking at the newspaper he was reading through with a long, thoughtful glance. 'Daddy issues' -- slang for the 'Electra complex', he knew from too many Pretends as some form of counselor -- this newspaper article was pressing all of his instincts that there was far more to the story of a fatal accident than anyone had found.

He hated the cases like these, the ones that threw in his face all of the ways that family can go so horribly wrong. They frightened him, always made him wonder if what he still dreams of could go just as wrong as some of these stories showed him -- and then he remembers the desperate scream of 'I love you' from his mother as she jumped back into the cab and ran, the single flash of his little sister's hopeful face, the way Sydney stepped into the path of the Sweeper team's car long enough to give them time, hears the longing in Kyle's voice again as he said 'have you found anything?' If they can still love this much, when they've been separated for so long -- he won't ever believe that when he finds them, it will turn out badly.

He's refused to believe that since the day he escaped. He won't change it now, no matter how many times the world -- and the life of people he loves despite himself -- has shown him that family can hurt each other far worse than strangers. He has to believe that his will be one of the ones that doesn't. He has to.

He took a breath, looked at the article again, and started planning just how he was going to make this one turn out... 'all right.' There really was no 'all right' for this, but... more true, maybe. And getting the young woman to the help that she would need, if he was right -- and he normally was -- would be worth it.