The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
Marisol’s uncle assured her he was better than lame pizza puns before immediately proving he was not better than lame pizza puns. She groaned at his first pun because it was even worse than she was prepared for, but even she had to admit the second one was clever. It took her a second to realize why it was a pun, and when she did, her eyes threatened to roll out of her skull. ”You’re lucky I’m not judging your taste in pizza based on those legendarily bad puns.” Marisol was hungry enough to ignore her uncle’s lame but endearing humor for the sake of free pizza.
As her uncle promised, her first New York pizza as a resident New Yorker was delicious. Healthy food could also be delicious food, but there was something special about food that was designed to be unhealthy. The unabashed greasy, cheesy goodness hit a spot smoothies and salads and salmon did not.
They took their time enjoying dinner, but eventually, they were back on the road. Marisol had a big day of class prep to look forward to in the morning, so she had to get to her dorm and set up her new living space so she could relax and get to sleep at a reasonable time. Jorge drove to the school’s campus and parked near the dorms so they could get Marisol’s two suitcases and a carry-on worth of belongings up to her room.
Seeing people her own age walking around alone, in pairs, and in groups reminded her that she was not in some dream and she was not visiting. She was stepping into the next chapter of her life.
The realization was, of course, terrifying. ”Tío, what if this was a mistake? I don’t know anyone here. What if Reagan hates me? What if she’s a mutant and gets upset that I’m adapted? I could have just gotten really lucky with Jenny.” Jenny got used to having human levels of balance around Marisol, so living with an adapted never became a problem for her. Reagan never mentioned being a mutant, but if she was, and her mutation was something she needed to survive, Marisol could be a real hazard to her!
Suddenly, Marisol’s chill and excitement were turning into anxiety and concern again.
Marisol was not always a bad movie lover. When Jenna first proposed the idea the night Marisol moved in, the newcomer gave her a blank stare. She justifiably thought it was crazy to watch movies she knew were going to be terrible. It was only after two movies with Jenna that she realized how funny a truly terrible piece of cinema could be.
Celeste assured Marisol that people were not going to just stalk her to confess their romantic interests, which was reassuring. ”I don’t think you have to worry about me. On the rare occasion that guys take a chance at approaching me, they figure out pretty quick I’m not interested.” If Marisol tried to avoid social situations, she totally shut down romantic ones. She was trying to work on it, like with the guy from her first day at the diner, but her combination of cold, confused, and oblivious usually warded men away, labeling her as “not worth the effort.” She would have done the same thing with women, but it was much rarer for another woman to make a move, while men seemed far too comfortable with the idea.
The movie was progressing at a snail’s pace, and Celeste was already noticing important things like the main cast’s successes and the lack of birds in a movie about birds. ”Oh, please remember you asked for more celebrating people in a few minutes. And the birds. Don’t worry,” she said ominously, ”There will be birds.”
Of course, before birds, they had to see the slow process of a solar panel sale. While Celeste took her time appreciating that such a scene would be allowed in a movie by someone with a working brain, Marisol unwrapped her “Mexican Pizza,” as the wrapper said. She grabbed a slice and enjoyed the crunch filled with melty, cheesy beef, beans, and tomatoes with some kind of sauce. ”Still not sure I’d call this Mexican, but it’s tasty,” she admitting, covering her mouth with her hand as she spoke.
The scene moved onto the main characters on a date, complete with boring conversation and lifeless dancing. Marisol knew romance was not as dull and unfulfilling as the movie made it out to be, but it was not reassuring when the film was clearly showing someone’s idea of dating. ”You know, if this is what dates are like, I’m probably not missing out,” she joked, taking another bite.
Both girls were enjoying their junk food now that Marisol set aside her apprehensions toward Bails of Tacos. For the night, at least. She was not going to run to the place on her lunch periods, but she saw the appeal of cheap junk food for a movie night. She was also morbidly curious about the crunchy disk Celeste was eating in slices like a pizza, but she would find out more soon enough since there was one waiting for her after the Quesorito.
Aviarypocalypse was living up to the legacy it earned in the bad movie community, and Celeste was dealing with the struggle of accepting how a movie like that could exist. There had to be people who green lit the project from stage to stage. People okayed the script, approved of the actors, and let the movie itself reach the public. At what point did they have to consider the whole movie might have been an elaborate prank to troll the populace.
The way the protagonist approached his love interest still struck Marisol in a way she found hard to shake. Like Celeste said, the woman seemed content to carry on a conversation with the guy who ran out of a restaurant to pursue her. It was obviously how the interaction was written in the script, but that did not excuse how unnatural it felt. ”If that’s anyone’s idea of romance, maybe it’s really just not meant for me. It just seems so forward and presumptuous. But I guess I think that of all flirting, really.”
Marisol stopped and realized she was treading into cautious territory. Her own problems with romance and attraction were bleeding into her commentary on a terrible “romantic” scene. It was best for her to move onto the wooden acting of the main character. ”Well, I didn’t mean literally ‘reading’ his lines, but at the same time, I’m not sure I want to rule it out. This guy’s like, legendarily bad. To be honest, I don’t think any of these people had promising careers. An acting gig is an acting gig, I guess,” Marisol explained, shrugging as she chewed through her last bite of the Quesorito. ”But really, if I’m ever involved in a clunker like this, please stage an intervention.”
The awkward romantic subplot was put on hold, but it was not going to be replaced with anything better. The movie had an odd obsession with showing the many stages of the main character’s work day to provide some kind of “full experience” of what it was like to be an incredibly boring software salesman. ”Quick rule of thumb if you ever wanted to direct a movie: showing a character stuck in traffic, getting gas, and going back to being stuck in traffic is a bad idea. Don’t.” If only someone told the director of Aviarypocalypse that advice.
Marisol could be hard on herself when she showcased her inability to socialize correctly. There were reasons why she often shied away from people and conversation; each new encounter was an opportunity to say the wrong thing or sound like an idiot. It was nice of Jorge to let the young woman off the hook she snagged herself on, otherwise she could have been obsessing over her forgetful omission all night.
It was a huge relief knowing she had her uncle’s support, even as an adapted, and that he was marrying someone who knew what it was like to be an adapted who loved mutants. She was not versed on the etiquette of being adapted around mutants, just like she was oblivious to most basic social etiquette. It would be nice to talk to Gemma and get a better idea of how to be around mutants without causing trouble. Jorge was handling her well, but the loss of his abilities only seemed like a mild inconvenience. That would not always be the case, and she had to be aware of that.
Meeting Gemma felt like an even bigger deal than it already was minutes earlier, but she had to remember Gemma was just a person like anyone else. The last thing Marisol wanted to do was meet her and freak out like a total spaz. ”So, I don’t know how to be cool,” she admitted. Her tone was light, because she did not want to come across as serious or concerned. ”I hope you can settle for me not being weird or creepy about it. I think I can do those.”
They finally reached the pizzeria, which looked nothing like what Marisol expected. As they approached, she eyed the neon Buddha curiously, wondering exactly how offensive it would be to an actual Buddhist. ”I think my stomach’s more ready than my tastebuds. I just hope this place is as good as you say and this isn’t just a long setup to call this pizza ‘a religious experience.” Marisol had no father for “dad jokes,” so she wondered if “uncle jokes” were comparable or worse.
Bails of Tacos definitely was not authentic Mexican cuisine, and if she had to choose, she would never pick them over her Tío’s cooking, but maybe Marisol could see the appeal. Cheap, flavorful, and admittedly, Jorge would not make her a taco if she showed up to his apartment at midnight. It was the kind of food designed for movie nights or sleepovers, and Marisol could get on board, even if it was a slow, stubborn process. ”I think it’s a burrito wrapped in a quesadilla? As far as Frankenstein foods go, I’ll admit this isn’t the worst.”
Celeste seemed proud of her success in luring Marisol to the dark side of junk food, but she could have her smug moment. Marisol was the one leading her friend into the horror of a top-ten worst movie ever. In her experiences indulging in bad films, she watched Aviarypocalypse back in Los Angeles with Jenna, and its absolute failure as a movie made it hard to forget. She had no qualms with watching the movie again, because part of the joy of bad movies was sharing the suffering with a friend.
The main character’s long drive finally came to an end at a small restaurant that totally lacked the charm of the Wallflower Diner. Marisol nearly snorted when Celeste jumped at the waitress’s first line nearly blowing out the audio. ”I’m telling you, cinematic masterpiece.”
Barely a minute of time passed in the restaurant before the man glanced out the window and saw a woman he felt compelled to chase down. The whole scene made Marisol cringe. ”See? Right away, how does this lady not run far from this guy? Who just goes out of their way to accost someone with conversation? How is that endearing?!” Marisol was hopelessly oblivious to the standbys of dating, romance, and flirting, but she sincerely hoped running after someone because they were attractive was frowned upon by more than just herself.
Still, the woman did not run, so the girls got to enjoy a painfully wooden conversation about how they kind of, sort of, maybe knew each other. It was dull and it was a prime example of how terrible the lead actor was, thought it would not be the last. ”I’m sorry, if I was acting with a guy who read his lines like that, I don’t think I could keep a straight face. Heck, if I was talking with a guy who spoke like that, I’m sure I couldn’t take it.”
Celeste unloaded a veritable treasure trove of low-price Mexican fast food on the bed. Marisol knew it would be the best long-term decision to commit to her healthy-eating habits and grab something different to eat, but Celeste was taking it upon herself not to play fair. Her puppy-dog look was so fake she was already breaking into laughter, but it was undeniably effective on Marisol. ”You are such a cheater! You’re using puppy-dog eyes for evil. Fine. You win.” At the very least, she grabbed Marisol bottled water. It was a small healthy gesture. For one night, Marisol could set aside the many responsibilities she stuck to week after week.
Marisol grabbed one of the cylindrical wrapped items, assuming it was some kind of burrito. She was opening it when Celeste confessed she snuck into the dorms. It was Marisol’s logical assumption since she never went to sign Celeste in, but she could still roll her eyes and giggle. ”Such a troublemaker.” She let out a melodramatic sigh. ”I guess I’ll just have to cover for you. This time.” Marisol nudged Celeste’s shoulder with her own and hit the play button on her remote.
The movie started up with a poorly framed shot from within a car driving down a country road. ”Aaand we already have time to kill. This lasts for almost four minutes. Remember, tonight was your idea.”
The long introductory scene gave Marisol time to examine her food. It was definitely a burrito, but when she looked at the wrapper, it called itself a Quesorito. ”The heck even is a Quesorito?” Cautious and curious, she committed to her agreement with Celeste by taking a large bite. There were a lot of flavors all at once, from the beef, melty cheese, sour cream, and some kind of cheaply-made Chipotle sauce. It was, in theory, nothing special and tasted anything but authentic. ”Hm.”
She took another bite. The taste was weirdly addictive like many processed foods tended to be. As she chewed, there was a long pause before she begrudgingly admitted, ”So it’s not terrible. Not completely, I guess.” Feeling the shame of her food elitism weakening, she stifled those concerns with another bite.
As expected, Marisol was taking part in a bad movie night, whether she wanted to or not. Of course, she loved the idea, so she conveniently agreed with the choice that was made for her. If she really did not have the time to spend with Celeste, she was well aware the Canadian blonde would leave her to her studying, but they both knew Marisol had nothing pressing to worry about.
As the girls settled in for their movie night, Marisol eyed the bag of food again cautiously. ”You know there’s no way those things fall in line with my diet, right? Not all of us have your unfair super-metabolism,” she reminded Celeste. ”I might have half a salad left in the fridge,” she mused to herself. She was trying to be good, even though the scents of greasy, savory meat made a salad sound unfulfilling.
Celeste took a spot sitting close to Marisol, expressing her surprise at the size and quality of the full-size bed. ”I think it has something to do with the focus on dancing and movement. They want us to get better rest, so they got nice beds. I’m not about to complain.” Fiorello H. LaGuardia was not a cheap school, so the money had to go somewhere. Beds were a good place to start.
Marisol was going to be the one picking out their movie, which was no problem, since she considered herself a connoisseur of terrible films. She was already pulling up Binge to look for one of the classics. Meanwhile, Celeste was taking in the dorm room. ”Reagan deserves a lot of the credit, really.” Her roommate had a vision, and Marisol went along with it. Christmas lights were hanging around the perimeter of the room and gauzy pink drapes tinted the light coming in through the windows. The wall on Marisol’s side of the room had a few posters of Broadway shows, while Regan’s had posters advertising famous ballets. In the space between the windows had two smaller framed posters representing the first shows of the year for the roommates: Anastasia, the ballet for Reagan and Heathers: The Musical for Marisol. Their room screamed “performing arts” almost as much as it screamed “nerds.”
Finally settling on an option, Marisol enjoyed a mischievous giggle. ”Okay, I think I’ve got the perfect choice for us. You better be ready for Aviarypocalypse: Startled and Frightened.”
Not only was there supposedly a shadowy organization kidnapping mutants, they were also funded and sanctioned by the other world’s government. The idea of government exploitation and imprisonment of mutants made Marisol sick to her stomach. Celeste was more politically active than she was, but everyone should have been opposed to unfair, unethical treatment of anyone.
”That’s terrible! I’ll… I don’t know. My friend is part of a bunch of activist groups. Maybe she’ll know how to spread the word.” Marisol’s resources were limited and Celeste was just one of the many supporters of those activist groups on social media, but if there was any chance the blonde was telling the truth, she knew Celeste would want to do whatever she could.
It was hard to decide if she believed the older woman, but her tone was so serious, she seemed to believe the threat was real. She distanced herself from the story, but that did not necessarily mean she was lying. If one thing was made very clear from the start, it was that the Russian had no desire to cross paths with the organization she was talking about. She did not want Marisol tying her to the information, which was going to be easy. ”I mean, I don’t know your name. What was I gonna say? Some blonde lady in a bathroom told me?”
Marisol stopped for a moment to reassess her tone. ”That was rude. Sorry. Didn’t hear it from you. Got it.”
Marisol was not unhappy to see Celeste; On the contrary, she had been making every effort to find free time in her schedule to see her friend outside of work. Marisol had not clicked with a friend so quickly… well, ever. She and Jenna were good friends in Los Angeles, but that was only after a very rough rivalry due to Marisol’s adapted aura. Being social felt easier with Celeste because she worried less about saying the wrong thing or being mocked. It was refreshing to have the confidence that someone would treat her well.
As nice as it was to see Celeste, there was a moment of confusion as she tried to piece together how and why she was staring at her friend. According to Celeste, she sent a text forewarning her arrival twenty minutes earlier, which was great, but presented one glaring flaw. ”I must have missed my phone going off, but Celeste, you live at least thirty minutes away. You were already on the way, weren’t you?” She grinned, rolling her eyes at her friend’s plan. ”I had no choice here, did I?” It was not like Celeste was twisting her arm by asking to hang out. It was a surprising change, but Marisol was not in the mood to be left alone.
Celeste defended her taco decision by pointing out how much food she was able to buy with less than twenty bucks. Marisol was ready to point out that Mexican food was not the kind of thing to cheap out on, but her complaints died in her throat when Celeste shared her plan for the night. The actress’s eyes lit up at the prospect of a bad movie night with her bestie. ”You so know the way to my heart. The Bails of Tacos is forgiven. Come in, come in!”
Walking back into the room, Marisol hopped onto her bed stomach first to reach for the phone under her pillow. As she turned off the music going to the speaker, she saw the notification right there in her bar: “New Message.” It was silly of her to get so distracted, but it was not as though things would have changed if she read it.
Marisol reoriented herself to sit with her back to the wall, turning on Reagan’s smart tv with a nearby remote. ”So we don’t exactly have a sofa in here or anything. Is it cool if we sit on my bed?” They were in a dorm room, so space and money for extra furniture were virtually nonexistent.
Marisol was focused on her reading. Well, she was focused for maybe ten minutes. Her curiosity got the best of her and she found more articles related to the last one Celeste sent over. Apparently, a recent study showed that mutants sentenced for crimes, on average, served significantly longer sentences for the same crimes committed by their human counterparts. In response, a bill was proposed to standardize sentencing for mutants, but analysts had doubts about its ability to pass. There were voices on both sides saying crimes using mutations were inherently more severe. Fear was apparently the only bipartisan belief.
The whole story was disgusting to Marisol, who saw no difference between a mugger with a gun and a mugger whose hands caught fire. Celeste sent her the link to a MyFace page trying to organize a rally in support of the bill, and Marisol hoped they could get one together. Sure, the people in question were criminals, but a mutant criminal was not suddenly worse than a human one.
Marisol got so wrapped up in her articles, that between her reading and the song playing loudly through her Bluetooth speaker, she failed to register the buzzing of the phone she left under her pillow. It was not until she heard a knock at her door that she broke free from her own little world of frustration and disappointment.
Getting out of her bed, Marisol gave herself a once-over in the mirror. With no intentions of leaving the dorm, she was wearing comfortable pink cotton shorts and an oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder. She walked over to the wooden door and flipped the switch for the lock. ”What’s up, Reag, did you forget something?”
Except Reagan was not on the other side of the door; Celeste was. Marisol looked at her friend in confusion, trying to piece together what was going on. ”Um, hi Celeste? Did we… we didn’t have plans, right?” She glanced down at the bag in Celeste’s hand emblazoned with the Bails of Tacos logo. ”And did you maybe go to a good Mexican place and put the food in that deceptive bag?”
Marisol could feel metaphorical egg on her face. Being an adapted was one of those things that only came up around mutants, so the young woman rarely had to think about her own identity until someone else noticed it. She was well-aware of her uncle’s powers, as well as her own, but she never bothered to make the connection that he might like a heads up about his off-switch of a niece. ”That was so dumb, I’m sorry. I had other stuff on my mind, obviously. Sorry, Tío,” she groaned, hanging her head in shame. If she was going to meet mutants, (which was likely, given her uncle’s job at the Xavier’s School,) it was probably proper etiquette to give warning so they had the option to steer clear of her. It felt like a non-issue most of the time due to the rarity of mutants and the rarity of people who troubled themselves to get within six feet of her.
It was a pleasant surprise to find out her uncle had not just knowledge, but intimate experience with adapteds. He knew the term and he was handling her delicately for her benefit. Apparently, Jorge’s fiancée was like Marisol, which prompted a new revelation. ”That’s really cool! I can’t wait to… wait. Gemma. Gemma Taylor.” Her brain was slowly connecting the obvious dots. ”Dios Mio, you’re marrying the Gemma Taylor.”
That was enough of a shock before Marisol moved onto the next, anxiety-driving dot. ”Dios Mio, I’m going to be meeting the Gemma Taylor,” she muttered to herself in disbelief. ”When I figured out what I could do, I scoured Google for information, because I thought I was just a mutant. I found a video where Miss Taylor talked about her power. Wow.” It was still a lot to take in. Marisol had never met another adapted, to her knowledge, and now she was going to meet one of the most notable adapteds in New York. She was in no way mentally prepared for that kind of meeting.
The tone of the conversation was lightening. The blonde had no qualms with Marisol being an adapted, which meant Marisol was only worried about her newfound identity as a weird stalker girl.
The lightness and the chuckling was offset by the rumors the older woman was concerned about. According to her, there was some organization traveling between worlds to kidnap mutants. It sounded like the kind of boogeyman story mutant parents told mutant children, or conspiracy theorists spread online. Still, the story was enough to rattle the Russian and in a world where rips in space were a reality, could those concerns be dismissed so easily?
Regardless of how legitimate the rumor was or not, Marisol still caused the woman anxiety. ”I’m really sorry, ma’am. I’m definitely not one of them, but if they’re real, should I warn my mutant friends and family?” She was still unsure, but if there was a real organization kidnapping mutants, she would hate to see them take Celeste, Alice, or Jorge. Speaking of her uncle, actually, ”If this is real, would the X-Men know? They deal with that kind of thing, right?” Marisol was not oblivious to her uncle’s secondary job; the X-Men were well-known and deputized to deal with mutant-related problems and problems related to mutants. The mystery organization sounded like both.
Marisol’s excuse for her actions was so lame, she would have doubted it if someone used it with her. She would have dismissed the explanation, claiming no one could be so socially oblivious or willing to go to such crazy lengths to avoid talking to anyone. Marisol should have changed her name to No One. It worked out for Odysseus, after all. (At least until the whole “voyage cursed by Poseidon” bit.)
The blonde was definitely judging the young brunette, but the judgment came with a smirk. Smirking was a significant improvement on scowling or sneering. She made a good point: if Marisol picked someone less reasonable, she could have suffered far worse than angry, suspicious words and looks. If her subject had been a mutant who was upset at the prospect of losing their abilities, things would have gone south quickly. ”I know. My Tío Jorge says we’re, like, hella uncommon, so I’m surprised you actually know.”
Marisol was in the clear, so it would have been the right choice to back out of the conversation and get herself far away from the scene of the awkward crime, (which, technically, stalking was.) Her natural inclination was to avoid talking to anyone, let alone a stranger, but something was gnawing at her curiosity. ”Wait a second. Who did you think I was?” The way the blonde spoke to her, she clearly thought Marisol was someone else. Whoever she was being confused for, they sounded like the last people Marisol wanted to cross paths with.
Marisol shoveled a generous portion of chicken and rice into her mouth and reflected on her first roommate. She chewed thoroughly and swallowed before finally answering. ”Mmm, we were different people. We traveled in different circles after I left, and that was fine.” Specifically, the roommate travelled in circles, while Marisol did little to no traveling.
It was a nice thought that everyone who met Marisol loved her, but she knew well enough to know it was untrue. Celeste was drawing out the best side of her, but plenty of people saw Marisol as a cold, antisocial b**** because of how much effort she put into avoiding conversation. ”Whatever you say,” she said, smiling. There was no reason to argue when she knew Celeste would never accept the truth.
The future sounded promising for both of them. They were going to live together, Celeste was going to have a husband and two kids, and Marisol was going to fall in love and enjoy a widely publicized relationship. The last future sounded the least believable, not just because Marisol would wilt at the off-stage attention, but because she still could not see a future where she found someone to love. She was seventeen and no one had set off the warning bells or caught her eye. If her hormonal teenage years were going to leave her without a single significant crush, why should she think that would change as she got older?
Marisol had no desire to dredge up a serious conversation about her problems after such a long, stressful day for Celeste. She only smiled and shrugged. ”Sounds like we have exciting plans in store. Guess we should really appreciate the time we have now, then.”
The shopping trip was light-hearted, with their path determined by whatever passing fancy came over them as they walked by shops. Marisol would end the day with a new set of ribbons for her hair, a dress and a scarf suited for New York’s impending chilly months, and a heart-warming afternoon with her best friend.
Jorge was not wrong; Marisol’s course load had one extra class than most of her peers filling what could have been her “free period.” She narrowed her class selections down from an impossibly large selection, but in the end, she could not pick one class she was willing to cut for the sake of a break during the day. She was convinced she would be fine; there was a designated “lunch break” during the day, so she would not go hungry. How important was a whole period to relax, refresh, and decompress, anyway? ”I’ll be fine. Mi madre always says I’m made of stronger stuff than everyone else.” Cervantes Strong, her mother used to claim they were; Marisol had a legacy to live up to.
As expected, “New York’s Best Pizza” was hard to nail down when there were hundreds of pizza places vying for the crown. If she asked the question to ten different people on the sidewalks, she would surely get ten different answers, all defended with the same certainty and passion. Not that she would do something crazy like that; Marisol listened to the lessons on not talking to strangers. She agreed to the golden rule not for safety reasons, but because the thought of approaching strangers sounded like a terrifying social prospect.
Another thing Marisol knew she could rely on was the presence of water somewhere in her uncle’s car. Jorge was a mutant her entire life, so she was well aware of the necessity for water in the man’s life and what he could do with the substance. What initially confused her was her uncle’s inability to grab her a water. As she leaned over the center console to grab herself a water, she questioned the situation aloud. ”Can’t reach? But that’s silly, you’re able to…”
Her voice trailed off when it hit her. Jorge would have been able to mentally move a water the back of the car once upon a time, but while his powers had not changed, Marisol had. ”Dios Mio, I totally forgot!” She was wide-eyed, because how could she have been so excited about her move to not bring up something so important? ”So. You may have noticed your powers don’t work. And… that’s way my fault. Tío, I’m something called an adapted.” How did she even begin to explain her innate ability to mute mutant powers?
Then again, if his powers were not working the whole time she was with him, he had to have noticed, which lead to another question. ”Wait, if your powers haven’t been working, how did you not say anything until now?”
