egomultiplied: ([x1] surprise!)
Okay, so I've been a little busy lately. You know advocating mutant equality/supremacy (seems like we're changing our minds about this every day) leaves you with a full plate.

So. Hey. You all missed me.
egomultiplied: ([teen] doesn't remind me)
Cremation or burial? Talk about funeral arrangements.

"It is with great dismay that we must make these decision on behalf of the deceased Mr. and Mrs. Madrox," the balding man across the giant mahogany desk seemed to be miles away from the three people anchored to the other side. In the first chair sat a husky-looking man with dark hair and large eyes. His tallness was stifled by the way he slouched in his chair. Next to him was his sniffling straw-haired wife, her small lower lip trembling. Why she had bothered with makeup no one was really sure as her eye makeup was now in thick lines down her cheeks. Seated in the very back near the door in a floral recliner was a teenage boy with shaggy brown hair. His knees were set tightly together, intently sitting upon on his hands as his eyes locked with the tan carpet. Nothing could have moved him.

"However not all families who fail to clarify their wishes are fortunate enough to have fellow members to help us with their final arrangements," the sparse-haired man adjusted the collar of his gray suit. Fifteen year old Jamie Madrox didn't understand why anyone would wear a suit in this humidity but his aunt and uncle accepted it without a blink of an eye. It was a hot Wednesday in August when the remaining collection of Madroxes had planned to make the final arrangements for their beloved brother, their in-laws and their parents at the Green Terrace Funeral Home.
The funeral director laced his hands together delicately... )

Jamie Madrox [Multiple Man]
X-Men
Word Count x 977
egomultiplied: ([x1] casual conversation)
This is me.

And a rat that vaguely resembles a dog.

image under the cut )
egomultiplied: ([x1] ready for a beatdown)
What are you wearing?

What, this thing? It's a green t-shirt and I am well aware I get a lot of crap for wearing it. People say "Jamie, that's not any kind of uniform!" or "What are you trying to say about yourself?" I don't believe in over-compensation and trust me, you don't even know the meaning of embarrassing suits.

When I was born the doctor gave me the customary welcome into the world by holding me by one leg and a slap on the rear. What that doctor didn't expect was another baby to fly out from the original and fly straight into the arms of a well-placed nurse. That first dupe didn't last long, he merged back with me in less than a minute, but my parents had enough expectations to last a lifetime. I was more than a kid with a "condition", I was a young boy who was way too entertained by his abilities. Three years of treating a toddler like some kind of glass figurine was enough for them. Even a failed attempt at learning to walk could result in three duplicates wailing simultaneously. Finally my father was able to seek help from a government research facility. When every scientist and physicist there had finished poking and prodding me they determined it was the strike force of kinetic energy that made this multiplication possible. To solve this predicament a special suit was designed for me that absorbed kinetic energy (for example any direct blows to me or the reaction of impact from falling over) thus no three-year old duplicates running amok. It was a full-body suit with conspicuous markings and pads. I looked like a walking circulatory system with a few pads stuck in places that would appease the most paranoid of mothers. I wore basically the same clothes from the age of three until I was fifteen. That year everything changed…but that's not what we're talking about. What I mean to say is that I deserved some sort of shot at normalcy. I deserved at least a taste.

Okay, back to the T-Shirt. It's green and if you notice it's got a pretty distinct pattern on the front: two sets of three orbs connected by a vertical line. No I'm not in it for the design: they're the same specialized shock-absorbent pads. Sure I've got more control over my ability now but hey, I can't have dupes popping out of me left and right just in case some schmo lands a lucky couple of hits. Those pads are developed directly from the suit I wore for all those years. It reminds me of what I came from, but just enough for me to be able to feel comfortable in my own skin. Maybe I'll never be normal: I've come to terms with that and I see my power as a superior human trait. But trust me, you'd take a t-shirt over some skin-tight suit any day of the week.

The other thing you might catch me wearing is a black jacket. Don't sweat it. It's just a jacket. Not everything has to have an epic back story. It's just clothes.

Jamie Madrox
X-Men [comics]
Word Count x 521
egomultiplied: ([x2] no way!)


And here I thought Dane Cook being a superhero was a first. Heh. I lol'd.
egomultiplied: ([x1] I saw what you did thar)
If I lost my powers? Then I wouldn't be the same person I am right now. I was born with my powers. They shaped who I am today and I was always told it was nothing to be ashamed of. I don't imagine my affiliations would be too enthusiastic about it either- a mutant gone lame is next to useless.

bonus scene: a morning without powers )
egomultiplied: ([x3] ready to fight)
Just because I have a cooler room does not make it bigger compared to another in the same...complex. It's exactly the same size! I can inspect them simultaneously for you if you really want.

Places can seem smaller when you're inside all day trying to write some smut book. Am I right?

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