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[color=9e0b0f][h2]Hey, I'm Jericho. I hope we work well together.[/h2][/color]
[@Write] [@HereComesTheSnow] [@FlitterFaux][/center]

[color=9e0b0f]"Skitter once if you're there."[/color] So spake Jer, teeth gritted around a piece of boxing tape, ripping it away from the roll as he finished wrapping a fresh set of gauze around his tricep.

Without the sound of the hot water running into the drain, or beating against his body, the locker room was quiet. Jericho didn't make noise very often. He liked keeping an ear out for the people around him. Right now, there was nobody. He was freshly dressed, staring at his tight black t-shirt in the mirror, the white monogrammed '#1 CLONE' letters staring up at him from his sternum. It was his most effective catalyst. If he wasn't getting an answer, he wasn't going to.

[color=9e0b0f]"Worth a shot."[/color]

He had hoped that Bekah would be here, stalking him, waiting to help him practice his introduction to the rest of the team. He had effectively bungled his introduction to his classmates-turned-students by throwing them into a hellish obstacle course when he meant to say hi, and it wouldn't do to repeat the mistake with his new unit. Unfortunately, it was far too late for him to disguise himself as someone else - or even as the other sex - in order to facilitate a later, seamless escape back to Atlas. He had shown his face during classes all day. By now his absence would already be missed.

He would have to be a flapjack.

[color=9e0b0f]"Hey, I'm Jericho. I can't wait to work with you guys."[/color]

Sure he could. He was already homesick. There were no real lights in Vale. Where was the neon?

[color=9e0b0f]"Hey, I'm Jericho. Good to meet you guys."[/color]

Maybe. Maybe not.

He could have called his dad and asked for help, but everyone else in his family would have roasted him over an open fire for overthinking saying hello to someone so much. Jer was better at infiltrating things he was supposed to put a stop to. The real him was boring and staid, unimportant to whatever task ever ended up being at hand. The Jer with the big guns and the knives and the Semblance were what was important. The Jer with the spooky arm was all that mattered anymore. Everything else was prologue.

Jer sighed and tossed his hair back, running ridges through it with his fingers. He made sure to leave his guns, chest holster, and knives - or at least the ones he'd had on his person all day - in his gym bag on his way back. His Scroll remained in his hand, to make sure he had the right room assignment for his team. He gritted his teeth and let out a long breath when he reached it; he smelled food. He knew it was probably a welcoming gesture for him, maybe a way to make him feel at home. Honestly he just wished he'd gotten here before everyone else so he could do the cooking himself.

Dad was able to pretend he liked normal people. He envied that.

The door swung open, and Jer kicked his gym bag full of weaponry over to the bed where, at a glance, he could see the rest of his belongings had been left. He gripped the top of the door frame with both hands, leaning forward casually. They had definitely bought food. Lots of it. [color=9e0b0f][i]Crap.[/i][/color]

[color=9e0b0f]"Hey, I'm Jericho. I hope we work well together."[/color]

For a second, he was absurdly proud of himself. That was a fantastic hi.

Then he looked past the food.

...

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Jericho Piper turned around and walked back out, through the open door.