They say the first years of a human life are the most important in terms of social development and general learning process. Now, I’m not exactly human, but the first years of my life in The World -or days, considering the speed we grew up at- certainly formed who I am now.

Having been isolated in a makeshift reality full of force-fed social information and training instructions, we have always heavily relied on each other. It was known, back then, that we were three of a kind, but three minds with their own opinions, and thus, Mother had a habit of treating us as such. She never had just one child. She had three of us. Where regular triplets perhaps grow up hand in hand, playing side by side, we were inseparable for more reasons than just one. We were trained to work together, raised as though we were three separate beings meant to team up, which all served to keep up appearances that it was our own choice for us to work together, as siblings, as teammates—soulmates. Reality was, however, that we were stuck in one body with no other option but to work together, lest we’d spend the rest of our fast-forwarded lives bickering in stead of focusing on our collective goal.

We grew up…not quite as bickering siblings. We grew up as like-minded beings with varying opinions and skills, each of us with our own area of expertise. Inappropriate as it may be to claim a creature who is essentially bred to be a weapon has morals—I have always had the largest variety of them. Emotions, too; I thrived off my enhanced senses. I would opt for a walk through the rain, despite protest of my counterparts, just so I could feel the drops plummet onto my skin—and it really did feel like a plummet of sorts; my skin has always been sensitive to outside influences, in the sense that I can feel my surroundings, if I so please. Not in the super-powered sense of the word, I suppose, but I’ve always been very aware of things. Jean-Phillipe and Charlie…they had other interests.

Jean-Phillipe has always been a remarkably skilled fighter, passionate, thriving on the thrill of the fight to keep him on his toes, but at the same time measuring each and every step careful as anything. Charlie’s more carefree. Perhaps in terms of being self-centered not unlike Jean-Phillipe, but he’s always gone about things the suave way. When we were young, we never fought much, but as we grew older and formed our own opinions, we started clashing. It’s funny, really, that I have been the mediator in many a heated argument between Charlie and Jean-Phillipe, taking into consideration that I am JP’s direct opposite. But whereas the boys both have a fiery temper as well as the ability to keep icy calm, I am generally fairly neutral. I don’t have suppressed emotions, I live them, though in a shared body, I mostly remained quiet about them.

Jean-Phillipe, always eager to take the lead in a fight, and silent as Death himself when on the job, was the protector. Charlie the smooth-talker, the public speaker of the three of us, and I the moral high-ground. Our dynamics worked fairly well, until we grew up. We matured so fast we couldn’t keep up with our own developments, and with three minds in one body, at the very least one of us was going to end up being pressed entirely to the back. Charlie convinced me it was in our best interest to suppress Jean-Phillipe, and he spoke to my sense of reason; I was unwilling to go with the program. We both were. We were individuals now, and JP’s line of thought would turn us into a mindless drone of three collective minds, when we could be so much more than that.

It took two of us to combine our strength and suppress him, I mostly quiet and actively pressing JP to the back, Charlie mostly taking the lead, the microphone of our shared body, so to speak. But some days, some very rare days, I would let my guard slip so Jean-Phillipe could reclaim his freedom, albeit temporarily.

Why? I haven’t quite figured that out just yet. Perhaps because I know what it feels like to always be second. And on a bad day, I do hurt for him being third choice. He is so much stronger than that. So much better. But he does need a set of morals that he distinctly lacks to back him up.

vilestofthethree started tailing you

A single raised eyebrow and a slightly stretched-out black patch around the pale-skinned woman’s eye indicated a heightened sense of alertness. There was something not quite pleasing about the situation, something that jolted her senses to sharp, fingers flexing towards her glocks holstered on each thigh, but not quite reaching for them. ‘Shoot first, ask questions later’ was something she only worked with when contracted, and this so happened to be a day off. Still, there was someone altogether not unfamiliar to her lurking in the shadows—not a friend, but not an enemy either, per say. But his reputation spoke of him as a bit of a charmer, not unlike his Cajun colleague, except perhaps even more on the shady side than she knew Gambit to be.

Since they weren’t overly acquainted, she decided to keep her guard up, turning in the masked thief’s direction to face him and give him a once-over. Change of costume? Wasn’t he usually a stickler for mostly white? Oh well. Not like that was any of her business.

“Lookin’ for something, Fantomex?”

vilestofthethree-deactivated201  asked:

Jean-Phillipe won. He won, and he thought this was what he wanted. Victory tasted bitter. Too late now. Can’t turn back time, and not even Elizabeth Braddock could come back from that. Jean-Phillipe slowly walked to her body and knelt down. Gently, he moved the hair away from her face. So beautiful, even in death. He had just closed her eyes when the scent of jasmine made it to his nose. He fled the scene immediately, confused by the pain in his chest he couldn't find a bullet hole for.