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 and Reagan were fine roommates. Their sleep schedules were similar, Reagan liked keeping a neat room, and neither young woman was a social butterfly bringing crowds of people into the room. Marisol was unsure if they were friends, but they were at least compatible, and that was enough.
With such an amicable arrangement, one could wonder if Marisol was upset that Reagan was spending more nights away from the dorm with her new boyfriend, William the Technical Theater boy. Wonder no more: Marisol loved having the room to herself. It was quiet when she needed quiet. When she wanted music, she had total control without relegating herself to earbuds. Heck, she could move around some furniture and make enough space to practice dance techniques without risking a stray foot kicking someone in the face.
Yes, an empty room was truly a blessing. With the extra time alone, Marisol got herself ahead in her studies. So ahead in her studies, in fact, she found herself with free time. Yep. Free time in an empty room. All on her own.
So maybe Marisol was kind of bored. She had options. She was a teenage girl with Binge and the internet; it was not like she lacked ways to kill time. In the rare windows where Reagan and Marisol were not busy, they occasionally tossed on a television series to run in the background, or they would find some movie to watch. Reagan’s entertainment tastes were not totally lined up with Marisol, but they were able to find common ground the commentary running throughout the films.
In an empty room, the prospect of watching something alone seemed less appealing. If she made a clever comment, who was going to laugh with her?
Marisol was sitting on her bed with her laptop, but it was off to the side while she was scrolling through an article on her phone sent by none other than her bestie, Celestina De Ward. The girl had a knack for sending thought-provoking articles about everything from events in the world to the unique cultural foods hiding away in lesser-known downtown restaurants.
When she finished the article, she looked back at her laptop and grimaced. She could always start studying the next chapters in her History of Classical Dance digital textbook. Ugh. It was a Saturday night. When was the last time she felt so lame?
Oh right, the previous Saturday night.
Opening the Shuttertext app on her phone, Marisol found the best angle to take a picture of a very disappointed face. She threw on a grey filter and added the caption, “tfw you’re so bored you’re studying for assignments you don’t have yet.” She sent off the picture and sighed deeply, pulling her laptop closer so she could do something so her night was just dull, rather than dull and wasted.
Concerns over dorm life were very familiar to Marisol, who was now living with her third roommate. ”I’m sure she won’t be a psycho killer. I’ve heard they go to Columbia,” Marisol joked, dabbing spicy sauce from the corners of her mouth with a napkin. ”If your roomie’s bad, I’m sure they’ll try moving you if another room needs a swap. That’s what I did my freshman year in Los Angeles. My first roommate was a slob who bring loud friends around at all hours of the night. We didn’t mesh, but I ended up transferring to a room with another girl, and we were fine through my time there.” Marisol did luck out when Jenna’s roommate transferred, opening a space for her to live with a pretty good friend. ”If I, Queen of Social Incompetence could survive a bad roommate, a sunbeam like you will be fine. Promise.”
Marisol and Reagan were functioning fine as roommates, but the other dancer was a senior, so Marisol had one High School roommate left to get through, (at least,) but once she graduated, Celeste was tossing around an intriguing idea. They could get a place together when Marisol made it to college. Obviously, they would be at different schools, but off-campus housing was a thing. It just felt surprisingly fast for an idea like that to come up. Marisol worried it was the kind of idea that would fall flat, but she was just continuing to let her self-conscious behavior make her doubt Celeste. Maybe it would not happen, but she did believe Celeste wanted it to happen, and so did she. ”Being your roomie and bestie sounds like the best thing ever. If we can find a way, I’m all for it. Assuming you don’t find some guy at college and get married sophomore year after a whirlwind romance,” she said melodramatically alongside a wave of her hand.
Celeste had so many possibilities ahead of her, and while a small part of Marisol was jealous, the rest of her was excited to be there as her friend met new experiences head-on. Hopefully nothing that would get her arrested, of course, but she was willing to explore new passions, and interestingly did nothing to dismiss the idea of some roommate intimacy. That would be quite the story to hear between waiting on their tables.
As much as her friend was open to new experiences, she was understandably concerned by her own uncertainty. Marisol stuck her chopsticks into her pile of fried rice and reached across the table to grab one of Celeste’s hands with both of her own. ”Just because things were set, doesn’t mean they would have been better. A lot is changing because you’re going to find something you really want that you never considered before. If things stayed ‘set’ for me, I’d still be in Cali.” She smiled, releasing her friend’s hand. ”And if I didn’t do that, I’d have one lest best friend and be at least twenty percent more of a loser.”
Talking to a stranger on the street was already something Marisol would not dream of doing under normal circumstances, so her first-attempt and failure already had her reassessing her plan. Maybe she could cut her losses, try to backtrack to the restaurant, and pick up her shoes at a later date. It was selfish to intrude on a stranger with her issues, especially when they were also dealing with a useless phone.
At least, Marisol jumped to the conclusion that Alice was talking about her phone. After a brief moment of distraction, Alice confirmed that it was actually her mutation acting up. The admission was so natural, it surprised Marisol. She had nothing against mutants, but she was also not used to mutants who talked so casually to strangers about their identities. The would could be a mean place to mutants, so the level of trust Alice was showing toward Marisol was unexpected.
After pulling out her phone, Alice looked up the dance shop via GPS, which was a huge boon for the lost dancer-slash-waitress. She even went as far as to offer some company to Marisol for the walk, possibly so she did not manage to get herself more lost by misremembering directions. It was a very kind gesture that Marisol felt almost bad accepting. She pushed herself into Alice’s life and now she was potentially going to take more time from her day because the blue-haired girl was too nice.
”I really don’t think you have to, Alice. I mean, it’s really nice. I just…” She hesitated in her objections, because it would be a huge inconvenience to end up on the wrong street and have to potentially repeat the whole process again. ’I mean, are you sure I wouldn’t be taking you away from anything?” Marisol did not want to be the kind of person who let someone inconvenience themselves for her sake.
And then there was the other problem. The powers problem. Alice was very forthcoming with who she was, but Marisol worried she might sour once she realized who Marisol was and what she could do. ”Also… I really should warn you, if you come with me, you’re not going to be able to use your powers. That was my fault,” she admitted, looking down at her feet. ”I’m what people call an Adapted, I guess? If you’re within six feet, whatever your mutation does, well… doesn’t.”
Marisol was not confident in social situations; she could not help it. Confidence came from practice and experience, of which, she had neither. She was not used to having best friends and rarely even had close friends, but she was finding it to be a lovely feeling. The idea of that feeling going away as her friend found other, more interesting people to spend her time with was an unnerving one.
To her credit, Celeste might have been the perfect friend to deal with a girl like Marisol. While the younger girl was keeping her neurosis hidden behind a thinly guised joke, her friend was taking it upon herself to reassure Marisol things were going to be fine. ”Okay,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant, which was undone by her pleased smile. ”If you live on campus, you better expect me to come hang out at your dorm!” Where she would find the free time, Marisol was not sure yet, but she would figure it out.
Marisol took her seat and uncovered her meal, prompting a plume of steam to rise and envelop her face in the strong aromas. She pulled the cheap pair of chopsticks from its sleeve and tore the corner of a small bag of low-sodium soy sauce to soak her rice in. Marisol did not eat Chinese food often, but she knew it well enough to know how she enjoyed it.
She settled a portion of rice and chicken between her chopsticks, carefully leading the food to her mouth. ”Mmm,” she moaned in appreciation, ”Spicy and tasty and so good.” The flavorful bite had taken Marisol out of the conversation for a moment, but when she returned, she felt her cheeks blushing. ”I’m sorry, you were saying what about seats?” It had been too long since her last Chinese food indulgence, and Marisol nearly forgot why she ranked it so highly amongst her cheat foods.
As expected, Celeste was not quite ready to process the next step in her future. The first day they met, Celeste admitted she was not sure about her major. It was a foreign concept for Marisol, but she also realized that not everyone chose a path so early in life, and there was nothing wrong with that. ”Of course. You’re supposed to go figure yourself out at college. Find a passion, make out with a roommate, get put in police custody.” She took a bite of her eggroll, chewed, and swallowed, before grinning and adding, ”Or, you know, join a club. I don’t really know, I don’t go for another two years.”
The way the blonde woman looked at Marisol made her stomach uneasy, (which was not aided by her still present need to use the restroom.) She felt like she was being assessed, which came with its own anxiety since she did not know what the woman was looking for. How was she supposed to pass a test when she did not know the criteria?
It was not until the blonde sighed that Marisol could finally exhale and relax. In a crisis, she was wound so tight, her body felt rigid and defensive, so it was nice to let her muscles loosen back up.
Then again, even if Marisol was not “a bad guy,” as the woman said, that did not let her off the hook. Her behavior was questionable, and answers were being demanded. This was unfortunate, since the last thing Marisol wanted to do was explain the thought process that led them into a tense restroom confrontation.
And yet, she had no choice. ”So one of my acting teachers gave me an assignment to study and mimic someone. But I had no one I could ask to help, and I’m still new to New York, so I… um, kinda just… picked someone on the sidewalk to watch.”
Marisol shifted uncomfortably in the moment that followed, moving her weight from the ball of her left foot to the heel of her right. ”And I see now, in retrospect, where that might have been a bad idea.” Her tone was not sarcastic; Marisol could now genuinely access the hindsight and perspective to see how she could have thought out her plan better.
Marisol was so focused on her own goals and aspirations, sometimes it was hard to see the big picture outside of herself. Driving through New York, she could see a clear reminder that the world was bigger than one actress’s aspirations. She wanted to make her mark, but it was daunting to strive for a goal like that when she was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.
The introspection was cut short by Jorge, who helped Marisol shrink her world back down. Yes, she was in one of the biggest cities in the world surrounded by people who were living out their own stories and dreams, but that did not take away from who she was. Marisol had her own story that would become part of the living, breathing entity that was New York. She was going to focus on her dreams like she did in Los Angeles, and just like on the West Coast, she had the support of family in the form of Jorge and his fiancée. ”Okay, but remember this conversation when I’m calling to ask you where to go on the B Train, or a Six Train, or whatever.” Learning the subways was going to be its own unique challenge.
Jorge already did a lot to ease Marisol’s tension, but she really felt her enthusiasm returning when he started asking her about school. It was the reason she moved and she was thrilled about the opportunities she would get to explore. She rolled her eyes at his last comment, but ran down the list in order to the best of her ability. ”Let’s see. I have a mix of dance, acting, and singing classes. I’m interested in ‘Body Language, Facial Expressions, and Other Non-Verbal Acting.’ Reagan says good things about the teacher. Oh, and Reagan will be my roommate. She’s a senior and she’s focused on dance.” It was common for people to pick one area of focus, but Marisol was still convinced she could keep acting and dancing on her plate and survive.
”And for the record, Tío, I have yet to ditch a class. It’s been ten years now. I don’t think you have to worry,” she advised, smirking. Marisol was so focused on her classes, she ran more of a risk of showing up to class on a snow day than skipping class.
The sights of the city passing slowly were intriguing and Marisol could not wait to explore the city when she was ready, but the more she thought about the New York Pizza she was on her way to enjoying, it was hard to think of anything but her stomach. ”Is there a ‘best pizza place’ in New York? There seem to be so many; I think we’ve passed three so far.” With each pizzeria they dismissed, the call of her stomach grew.
Of course, hunger was not the only thing Marisol was dealing with. The small plastic cup of ice water she had on the plane was a memory of the past. With all the moving around of her day, Marisol was finding herself surprisingly parched. ”Hey Tío, do you maybe have a bottle of water lying around in this thing?” She could wait until they arrived at the restaurant, but she figured it would be worth a shot to ask.
Celeste already knew Marisol well enough to call her out on out-of-character behavior. Even when they were working, Marisol would usually have a script or textbook nearby to flip through on her lunch break. Of course, with Celeste around, her commitment to studying was not as ironclad, but that was just extra time. Marisol had enough of a handle on time management to set aside an appropriate amount of time each night for her assignments.
Her more honest revision was met with a playful nudge of the shoulder. ”Of course, but same goes for you. You’re gonna be a college gal soon, Celeste. You’ll be way too busy to entertain texts from your high schooler friend,” she joked, pretending she was not actually concerned about the possibility of their friendship fading in the face of college. They did not go to the same high school, so Marisol chose to belief it would not change anything when Celeste was occupied with college. And all the awesome friends she would make in college because she was wonderful.
With all the options of the food court at their disposal, Marisol was struck with a bout of indecision and deferred to her friend. Celeste seemed to have an idea of what she was craving, and sure enough, she led both girls to the Chinese station. Behind the glass, there was a collection of varied scents from different sauces, meats, and veggies, along with plenty of rice and noodles.
Marisol looked away from the selection, surveying other, healthier food options in the area, but the aromas behind her were vying for her attention. She looked over the metal containers of Chinese food again, and one scent spoke out to her from the cacophony. ”Okay,” she said, sighing in resignation as she pointed to her selection. ”May I have the Szechuan Chicken with fried rice, please? Oh, and an eggroll!” If she was going to cheat anyway, might as well go big or go home, right?
The girls paid for and collected their orders before finding a nearby table to claim. The seats were made of hard plastic, as if the mall was discouraging anyone from loitering in the food court for too long. ”So, speaking of college, it really is right around the corner, huh? Just a few months. Has it even sunk in yet?” She wondered if Celeste even had time to think about her imminent college life between school, work, and volunteering.
Conversations with Celeste were fun. When they talked, Marisol often felt silly in a playful way, rather than silly in the socially unskilled way she was with almost everyone else. Meeting Celeste was the product of so much luck and coincidence, it was hard not to believe they were supposed to be friends. Reagan wanted to get Sunday Morning breakfast with her roommate one day while they were still in the “getting to know one another” stage. Marisol was still struggling to acclimate to a roommate at all, so breakfast was still awkward, but she did take the opportunity to fill out an application for the diner they visited. One forced breakfast was the difference between Marisol having a best friend or spending all her free time running lines and practicing steps.
”I don’t know, I think you’re drastically underestimating how much I’m stuck at school. You’ve got like ninety percent of my free time, though,” she pointed out correctly. ”I’ll still be looking forward to photo distractions in class.”
Well, maybe that was a fib. Marisol was too studious and focused to get sidetracked while she was actually in class. ”Or at least some cute pics to check out once class is over.” That was a more honest answer, and likely a more believable one.
They approached the food court and Marisol snuck a peek of what Celeste was doing on her shiny new phone. Much to her surprise, their selfie was the picture hiding behind the few apps collected on the phone so far. With the exception of, perhaps, her mother, Marisol had never earned a spot as someone’s phone background before. Knowing she had that spot with Celeste gave her a fluttery feeling in her stomach. It was pleasant, but unexpected. Marisol wondered if she could silence it with food.
They certainly had options, she realized as she looked out at the many restaurants packed into the space. Celeste wanted to know what Marisol was craving, but she had yet to figure that out herself. There was a salad place. She could definitely order there and be the good girl, holding firm to her diet. She mulled the idea over. ”Hmm… the only thing I know is I’m not interested in Chipotle.” If she was going to cheat and eat Mexican food, she was going to eat authentic Mexican food, which usually meant getting dinner at her Tío’s apartment. ”I think… we can get your food first and I can make up my mind then.” It was a non-decision to stall things out, because Marisol was being subjected to too many scents at once to make up her mind.
Marisol was glad to know that her uncle seemed to believe, for the moment, she had a height advantage on her preteen cousin. She also begrudgingly accepted that, once puberty really struck, that advantage would wither away. It was one of the facts of life she had learned to accept, made easier to handle with the knowledge that she was maybe less than an inch from eclipsing her mother.
The young woman had been joking about taking her uncle’s car for a spin because she knew better. The man committed plenty of time, money, and love to keeping his classic vehicle in mint condition. She was fairly confident about her driving abilities, but being behind the wheel of Jorge’s pride and joy would give her far too much anxiety to actually enjoy her ride through her new home. Her bags were placed carefully in the trunk, allowing her to take a seat with nothing but her new whale friend on her lap.
She heard the sound of Jorge’s seatbelt buckle, reminding her to take the safety precaution herself. Her mind was obviously elsewhere. ”Yes, let’s! I’m ready to see what I’ve gotten myself into.”
Jorge pulled out of the lot and towards the city streets. Right away, Marisol noted that the crowded airport was not an anomaly, but rather a sign of things to come. The sidewalks were busy with people walking briskly from place to place. Businesses and food carts were everywhere. Marisol wondered how anyone stayed on a diet with so much food nearby. Maybe they balanced it out by walking around. From what Marisol knew, driving was not commonplace in New York City. People could walk to and from most places easily and they could get to a subway station or an Uber when something was out of reach. ”I don’t think I realized the big city was really so… big.” She knew the numbers and was aware that New York City was the most populated area in America, but watching it in action was intimidating. ”Really reminds me I’m just one in eight million,” she said introspectively. How many dancers were there in the city? Singers? Actresses? How much competition was she putting herself up against with her move?
Marisol was not sure why or how, but her harmless, innocuous plan to follow a total stranger around New York was somehow blowing up spectacularly in her face. She could have picked anyone out of the crowds, but she found a woman who would corner her in a bathroom and accuse her of being part of some grand conspiracy.
It was hard to follow the blonde’s train of thought, mainly because Marisol was more concerned with taking a step back to match the step her accuser had taken. They both had athletic builds and Marisol was only an inch or two shorter, but the dancer was no fighter. The blonde, meanwhile, had a presence about her that unnerved the younger woman.
There was a lot to process, and Marisol wanted to be careful not to offend or rattle her further. She raised her hands, palms facing forward, as a reminder that she had no way of hurting the older woman. She pointed out that Marisol was on “this side,” which took a moment of thought. She initially thought East versus West, given her recent move. Once she accepted that made no sense, she remembered Jorge’s explanation of a rip in space located downtown and the supposed alternate universe it led to. It made sense, but it was way off. ”First of all, I’ve never even been to the other side of that thing. My Tío won’t let me.” It sounded childish, but in that moment, Marisol would rather be seen as a child than a threat.
”Secondly, I am very much alone. And I very much would like to not be taken down by you,” she added emphatically. It would have been hard to explain the events that led to the loss of her financial aid if the blonde snapped her leg in half. ”I don’t just walk around with mutants. Well, except when I’m with my best friend—which is not relevant,” she hastily added, realizing she was almost getting off-track in a situation where she definitely needed to stay focused.
Marisol was panicking, but something did get through her anxiety and struck her as odd. ”Wait. How did you even know I was a…” Suddenly, Marisol’s eyes widened, as the truth dawned on her. ”…Oh, duh. You’re a mutant,” she pointed out, starting to make sense of one of the twenty mysteries comprising their situation.
Marisol was preoccupied with getting to the nearest bathroom stall, so she failed to notice someone standing behind the door as she entered. She did not question the door closing behind her because, well, that was what doors did.
It was the surprise of a voice behind her that had Marisol jumping in surprise. She spun around to see the blonde subject of her project watching her with arms folded. Evidently, Marisol was not as subtle as she gave herself credit for. Her instinct was to fold her arms as well to match the blonde, but based on the woman’s tone, she thought better of that plan. If she realized what was going on somewhere along the way, Marisol had enough to explain without antagonizing her further.
The blonde’s words struck Marisol; she seemed to know there was some kind of assignment. That was a scarily accurate assumption. ”How do you know about my assignment? I really just thought I could do it without bothering you,” she replied anxiously, still forgetting to actually apologize for her actions.
The assignment comment was surprising, but the suggestion of the “other guy” was downright confusing. Marisol quirked an eyebrow, shifting uncomfortably. ”And what guy? This is the woman’s bathroom, isn’t it? You didn’t see a guy in here, did you?” Suddenly, Marisol was feeling plenty of regret toward how she chose to get her homework done.
The more she watched the blonde woman, the more Marisol started wondering who she was. It was one of those existential moments where you had to step back and realize each of the eight-point-five million people in New York had complex lives and backstories. The teenager was not going to approach the older woman and ask about her life, so the next best thing was to create the story based on everything she saw.
The woman did not want to be out in public. She had a lot on her mind and she was forcing herself to go out and treat herself to an ice cream. Maybe her living situation was causing her stress? Dead-beat husband? To be fair, the possibilities were nearly endless. All Marisol knew for sure was the woman had very anxious behaviors. She was so invested in studying the blonde, she was failing to remember that anxious people were not appreciative of teenage stalkers studying them.
Marisol reached the front of the ice cream line, which jarred her from her wild speculation. Ice cream was not a traditional part of her rigid diet, but she had no way of explaining why she waited so patiently in line. She settled on a bowl of low-fat French Vanilla ice cream with a mocha swirl and found a seat. The blonde had her back to the wall, so Marisol did the best she could to pick a seat not directly facing her.
Without the ability to stay hidden behind the blonde woman, Marisol could only sneak peaks to see how she was holding her spoon or her posture while sitting. Marisol also noticed she was not smiling, which seemed odd when enjoying an ice cream sundae.
The woman went to the bathroom and Marisol decided she had done enough to cover her assignment. She had successfully picked up on someone’s mannerisms and put them into practice, but there was nothing she needed to know about the blonde’s bathroom habits. Marisol took a minute or two to finish up her ice cream and was ready to leave before her body gave her a very clear warning: she had business of her own in the bathroom.
Marisol shuffled quickly to the bathroom and pushed open the door, already looking for the closest open stall.
Marisol was still dealing with the surreal nature of her day. She had been at her mother’s house hours earlier, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Her day was a blur of vehicles: her mother’s car taking her to the airplane taking her to a tram taking her to her uncle’s car. She felt like a modern-day nomad traveling until she found a place to claim as her own.
The almost empty tram gave Marisol a second to decompress and loosen from some of the tension she seemed to naturally build up on her body around crowds. She was starting to relax for the first time in hours, making her more susceptible to her uncle’s suggestion of pizza. The very word summoned a pang in her stomach calling out for food. The egg white omelet she had before leaving the house was a distant memory, and her layover in Chicago forced her to scurry around O’Hare on an empty stomach to get from one gate to another. ”Okay, okay! I don’t think I need the hard sell. Pizza sounds amazing, Tío.” After all, there was no such thing as a “New York Salad,” right?
It was nice to get updates on Jorge’s family, particularly when there was a wedding coming up. Marisol was thrilled that she would be attending her uncle’s wedding, and without the stress of traveling to and from California, she would be able to enjoy it well rested and unfrazzled. ”I can’t wait, Tío, really. I’ll even make sure to give the little guy a dance,” she said, chuckling, before she realized, ”Assuming the ‘little guy’ is even still shorter than me…” Marisol wanted to assume he would be, but some boys got hit with the puberty stick hard, and she was not exactly towering over most people.
The tram ride was a relaxed combination of chit chat and pictures she was taking for Speedigraph or Shuttertext. Her uncle snuck into one shot and compelled her to caption his rude photobomb with, “Greetings from New York!” It was a pleasant break from the fast pace of her day.
They reached the lot and it did not take long for Marisol to recognize the beauty that was her uncle’s prized car. He called her out as they got close, but she just shrugged. ”You sure, Tío? I have my license now. It could be a beautiful bonding experience,” she teased, knowing he would let her nowhere near the steering wheel while there was still breath in him.
Marisol knew she was a product of her generation. She was not tech-savvy, but she loved the way apps could entertain her or make life slightly easier. She still remembered her fist-hand lesson on the importance of keeping a GPS on hand, even if things worked out well that one time. It was fun to watch someone jump into the world of infinite distraction for the first time. (Her uncle did not count, since he was going to forever be hopeless when it came to modern technology.)
”Oh no, photos of my best friend all day? How will I even manage,” she bemoaned sarcastically. Shuttertext would be a great way for Marisol to get little updates on Celeste’s day on the rare days where they did not cross paths. Since she was apparently one of the only people Marisol did not get tired of or exhausted by, more Celeste sounded like an unquestionably good thing. The idea of photos of Celeste throughout her day felt like it would make Marisol’s days more enjoyable.
Eventually, Celeste’s new phone was handed back to her with all necessary information. Marisol gave her friend a moment of privacy to reply to stored up text messages from the old dead phone. She was looking at a tablet when she saw Celeste waving her over. It took a moment to realize what was happening, but the way Celeste was holding her phone gave it away. Marisol ran over and wrapped an arm around Celeste’s shoulder, getting on her tip-toes to balance out some of their height difference. ”Cheese!”
They stepped out of the store with Celeste already downloading apps to her new toy. ”Don’t you worry. We will add each other on all the things.” That was what besties did. The word still made Marisol feel giddy.
With their main objective out of the way, the choice came down to food or more shopping. Vanessa had a few things she would not have minded picking up and she was about to decide on shopping before her stomach intervened. She felt the groan that suggested she was running on empty and blushed. ”I think maybe we’ve earned a dinner break. To the food court?” she asked, calling for the bolder of the two women to lead the way.
It was an unfamiliar feeling, but Marisol really felt like she was part of a pair. She tried not to think of herself as a lonely girl because really, who could be lonely when they had so much on their plate? She rationalized her anti-social behavior by reminding herself that friends could be distracting. Her drive and determination opened up her path to New York, so distractions were something she did not need.
The thing about Celeste was she did not seem like a distraction. She was just part of Marisol’s life and she fit. They got along at work, and when there was time in her life, she could see Celeste slipping in then as well. She had a friend she could be with that did not tax her like most people did, and she genuinely believed Celeste would have her back “110%” if she needed it. It was an immediate sense of support that Marisol was not expecting, but she appreciated.
They waited for Celeste’s data to transfer over, and Celeste was digging for some app recommendations. Marisol turned on her own phone to scan through what she had downloaded. ”Well… there are the basics. MyFace, ViewTube, Chirpr—if you chirp, obviously.” Not everyone felt the need to express their lives in one-hundred-forty character bursts, but Marisol found it helpful for following Broadway news and casting information. ”Speedigraph is good if you want to collect pictures to show off. Oh, and you are going to want to be able to Shuttertext little moments of your day for inquiring minds!” Marisol Cervantes: Inquiring Mind.
She scrolled through pages of apps, including many she felt she barely touched. ”Hmm, beyond that, I guess you want some kind of app to waste your time with. Games are good for that, or you can waste plenty of time scrolling through Stumblr.” Half the reason to have a smartphone was to waste time when you were too far away from a computer, after all.
