<div class="floatleft">(https://cdna.lystit.com/photos/bb62-2016/02/14/criminal-damage-navyblack-nep-t-shirt-product-2-556257935-normal.jpeg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Jasper Jameson (JJ) (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=308599.msg15018215#msg15018215)<br/><strong>Age:</strong>28<br/><strong>Sexuality:</strong>Heterosexual<br/><strong>Hometown:</strong>New York, NY<br/><strong>Date/Time:</strong>3 July, 2019 | Early Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Poolside in the Villa/Kitchen<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>This (https://cdna.lystit.com/photos/bb62-2016/02/14/criminal-damage-navyblack-nep-t-shirt-product-2-556257935-normal.jpeg)<br/><strong>Coupled with:</strong>No one<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Mark | Grace<br/><br/><hr/><br/>JJ wasn’t particularly good at being someone’s friend… but much like bartenders, gym owners had plenty of practice listening to people.  Some people turned to substances when they needed solace or self-flagellation.  Some found it in other people’s bodies.  A lot of them beat the shit out of their own bodies at the gym.  Mark seemed to be one of those.<br/><br/>So he listened until Mark wound down a little bit, trying to get a feel for what would motivate the guy.  Why he felt invested in that, JJ would have to sort out later, but for the time being he had nothing to do and his innate humanity was piqued.  When Mark stopped talking, JJ took a long drink of his beer, met the guy’s eyes, leaned back in the deck chair and spoke.<br/><br/><strong>“Well it’s a good thing we <em>do</em> have the power then, isn’t it?”</strong><br/><br/>He set the glass bottle down and sighed.<br/><br/><strong>    “Look, man, I get it.  This place is a mindfuck.  Like I told Grace on my first date yesterday, it’s a pressure cooker where they’re throwing beautiful, horny young people together, turning up the heat and then expecting them to act rational.  To find <em>love</em>, of all things.”</strong><br/><br/>He shook his head slightly and laughed.<br/><br/><strong>“There’s an island in New York City called Roosevelt’s.  Used to be known as Blackwell’s.  Long time ago there was a pretty infamous insane asylum there.  I feel like that’s where we’ve been dropped off sometimes.  Wayward refugees through time and space.”</strong><br/><br/>For a moment JJ’s eyes were unfocused, looking inward.  It was brief, and it passed, but it was clear that he was thinking of home.  Perhaps of his own parcel of rogues and demons.  He looked back to Mark and gave him a wan smile.<br/><br/><strong>  “So look… you’re still adjusting to the insanity.  You haven’t found your equilibrium.  And yeah, you’ve made mistakes.  You didn’t exactly read the room at the competition.”</strong><br/><br/>He leaned forward a bit in his chair.<br/><br/><strong> “But here’s the deal… you’re not leaving after the ceremony.  You get to choose someone.  Basically, you’ve got a week to unfuck yourself.”</strong><br/><br/>JJ gave the guy a lopsided grin.  Grabbed his beer, downed the rest, and pointed at Mark with the empty.<br/><br/><strong>“Now I don’t know you, obviously, but you don’t strike me as the kind of dude who’d waste a week sitting in your own piss and feeling sorry for yourself.  Are you seriously going to tell me there isn’t a single girl here whose business you don’t want to get all up in?  So unless you’ve got absolutely no game at all…”</strong><br/><br/>He arched his brows at Mark dubiously and gestured around the Villa with the bottle.<br/><br/><strong>“These people don’t know you.  They only have a couple data points to tell them who you are.  Give them more.  If you really are a creep, well, then you’re fucked.  But if you’re not, they’ll see it.  Eventually.”</strong>