"You've reached Jono. Leave a message." --BEEP--


[for ic/ooc messages]

It was half past two in the afternoon and Jono had only just gotten up. Paige Guthrie had kept him up for most of the night. She had attended Mike's Christmas party and had gotten herself drunk and had spent a good portion of the time puking her guts out in the bathroom, and (fairly necessary to add) had made attempts to molest him whenever she could. As much as he loved his girlfriend, having her puke five times in a bloody row in front of him had only gotten him concerned and he certainly hadn't been turned on by her antics.

Sorry, Paige.

He put the kettle on and nudged the window open in the kitchen. He was going to have a quick breakfast, drag Paige out of bed for a shower and well, enjoy the rest of their Christmas holiday. Bloody ho ho ho. He slipped a cigarette between his lips and lighted it.

The Rules:
1. Answer each of the questions below using the Flickr Search engine.
2. Choose a photo from the first three pages.
3. Copy the URL of your favorite photo into this site: http://bighugelabs.com/flickr/mosaic.php
4. Save mosaic to some form of photo hosting thing and share w/world.

1. First Name: Jono
2. Favorite Food: Paige's cooking
3. Hometown: London
4. Favorite Color: Black
5. Celebrity Crush: Paige Husk
6. Favorite Drink: Coffee
7. Dream Vacation: Antarctica
8. Favorite Dessert: Apple pie
9. What I Want To Be When I Grow Up: A bloody rock star
10. What I Love Most In The World: Sunshine
11. One Word That Describes Me: Moody
12. My LiveJournal Name: Starsmore Jono

( M-O-S-A-I-C )

[8:45AM, Friday]

Stole Paige. Decided to run away 2gether, get hitch, that sort of thing. If she asks, I CALLED u.

[8:46AM, Friday]

Marriage bit was a joke, luv. (Nice fish face.)

Yea, u can kick me arse for it l8r.

[8:46AM, Friday]

DND. I mean it.

Whatever had possessed him to think that he was capable of preparing a meal for his girlfriend. Hell, he couldn't even figure out where they kept the pots and pans, let alone what ingredients to use to make her a decent supper.

Jono opened one cabinet after another in search of a frying pan. So far, he had what he needed. Corn, eggs, sausage, potato. Now all that was left to hunt for were the tools to make his English breakfast. He didn't think it was going to be that difficult. He'd seen Paige cook a number of times already and it looked simple enough.

Times Square, NYC.

Lunch hour at the Wu Liang Ye restaurant was a noisy and busy affair. The place was so crowded that when they got there, the waiters ended up jamming a table right by the entrance for them to sit.

Jono was at a loss for what to order and he suspected the waiter was starting to get impatient with his indecisiveness.

Sichuan dumplings, Kung Pao chicken, cold sesame noodles, wonton soup...

He had no idea what was what.

Jono had left his room door ajar and was flicking through the channels on the TV to keep from dozing off. Paige hadn't specified a time for when she'd planned on dropping by his room but he supposed she'd be coming round sometime before midnight.

'... 'ere's hopin',' he thought and glanced over at the door.

Gone were the days of being able to stay up till the wee hours of the morning apparently.

Jono grunted and shifted, and then forced himself to sit upright before he got up for a stretch and walked over to the window. As he stared out across the expanse of the mansion's garden, he briefly contemplated going outside for a quick smoke. But smelling of stale cigarettes was hardly what one would call pleasing or appealing, and he had a feeling Paige wouldn't approve of his new bad habit.

He sighed and went over to his desk to store his pack of cigarettes away.

" . . . "

What else was he planning on keeping from her?

Well, how about the fact that he was part of a crazy cult responsible for giving him a new set of organs to go with the other half of his face, and that even though he'd rejected Clan Akkaba's offer of membership, he couldn't very well get rid of the bloody chest tattoo they'd managed to brand him with.

'Plonkers. The lot of 'em.'

01. Movin' out to me own flat. It's crucial. Even havin' me own room with a single bed would be sufficient. I'd like some space and a bit of privacy.

Right now, I've got tons of equipments and old records cloggin' up the livin' room area. I think it would be dead good for Jubilee to get some of her floor space back, and then there's that fella, me livin' room mate, Adam, who'd be able to quit his filthy habit of passive smokin' once I'm gone.

02. Purchasin' a brand new guitar. Tried to fix the old acoustic-electric but it's a crock of shit. Dropped it down a flight of stairs two nights ago when some bevvied up bastard rammed into me. Machine heads' completely fucked - loses its tuning with each strum - body's partially damaged...

03. Workin' on all sorts of music related stuff...

Auditionin' for band members. Performin' gigs at live houses in and out of New York. Recordin' in the studio. Jammin' in someone's garage.

'I don't feel like smiling.
If that troubles you,
go stand on a railroad track and take a moment.'

Jono looked up from beneath heavy bangs, blue eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at the date on the calendar.

Exactly five years ago, he'd demolished a building, killed dozens of people, and crippled his girlfriend. He'd lost a good portion of his chest and the lower half of his face then and he'd stopped needing to breathe, to drink, to eat.

His mutation had turned him into a monster.

From horror and disgust to repulsion and hate. That was the look his parents gave him the night he staggered home from the morgue. They forced him into the basement, locked him up and hid him away for months before they decided he had to go, informing him that they'd faked his funeral and that he could never come home.

People work very hard at describing their pain and sometimes come up with strange, creative results. It's a sort of rushing, gurgling pain. It's a whooshing pain. It's a kind of dry, sparkly pain. Other people don't have any kind of vocabulary to describe how they feel. The best they can come up with is, it's a hurting kind of pain.