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.
Celeste promised to be a bad influence when it came to food, but Marisol had her doubts. It was hard to picture Celeste as a bad influence for anything. She was hard working, hopeful, and way too sweet to lead anyone astray. Of course, her sweetness could have ended up being the thing that doomed Marisol’s diet. A day’s worth of healthy eating set aside thanks to the harmless suggestions of a friend.
A pretty good friend. A bestie. Marisol was not sure how serious Celeste was dropping a word like that, but she was sure she felt her heart flutter at the thought. It was so easy to think their friendship was just a passing fancy to occupy Celeste’s friendly nature, but it put to ease so much of her anxiety, knowing the thought was not just something made up in Marisol’s head. She smiled like someone just told her it was Christmas, or that she got a Broadway callback. ”I mean, I don’t have many ‘besties,’ but I’m totally good with you making that short list,” she replied, unable to stop smiling.
Even Marisol’s suggestion landed well, as Celeste took her final nudge of advice and committed to getting a new iPhone. There was still the nagging concern that Celeste would hate the new phone and place some of that hate on Celeste, but Marisol recognized that as an irrational voice in her head and dismissed it accordingly. Celeste was not going to hate her over something as petty as a phone suggestion.
The next suggestion Celeste asked for was something more significant. What did she do with her number? Did she cut off her last line of communication to her family? Marisol considered the gravity of the question, but it felt easier knowing a change could be made at a later date. ”I say… keep it. For now,” she added, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder. ”There’s no rush, right? If you’re not sure, keep it. And if one day, you want to let… the number go, we’ll come back.” Marisol would not leave her alone to take that trip either. They were besties, after all.
When people were part of a crowd, everyone seemed to be carbon copies, moving in the same direction and taking the same steps. It was fascinating to see how wrong that was when you isolated one person amidst a crowd. Marisol noticed that the blonde’s pace was quick, and the way she took her steps seemed almost uptight. Marisol thought she might be in a rush, or maybe even that she disliked being around people any longer than she had to; a gripe Marisol could relate to.
She jotted a note about the walk cycle on her notepad, but Marisol could not help but mimic the strides the blonde woman took. They were only an inch or two from the same height, so Marisol thought she was doing a good job of matching the movements from her spot a few yards back.
The blonde entered an ice cream place, and while Marisol could have observed from through the window, she thought that would be more creepy than just getting in line herself. Three people stood between them, but Marisol stood off-center from the line to get a better view. Even if she could not see the woman, she could still hear the toe-tapping on the tiles. Spotting a right foot bouncing up and down and once again, Marisol could not help but imitate. Was she in a rush? Maybe anxious? The very act of tapping her toes was making Marisol feel anxious. Her teacher’s lessons were really making sense; the minute details of a character really did a lot to build up character traits in an audience’s mind.
Celeste called Marisol out on her eating habits, because they worked together at a diner, so naturally, they ate around each other. There were plenty of unhealthy or hearty options on the menu, but Marisol was committed to eating well despite the terms of her employment. At the diner, she usually subsisted on egg white omelets, light sandwiches, salads, and fish dishes that were not fried. ”I mean, yeah, I usually eat really healthy because I want to be at my best for all my dancing,” she admitted with pink cheeks. ”I really do like most foods. It’s not, like, unheard of for me to have a cheat day.” It was not unheard of, but it was incredibly uncommon. Usually someone needed to be around to convince her to indulge, and she had a feeling Celeste was just the “someone” for the job.
Marisol did not have many major “friend” experiences under her belt. Sharing the painful truth of a family that did not care enough to stop their daughter from running away to New York was the kind of thing Marisol assumed was reserved for close friends. Realizing that her and Celeste were approaching the doorstep of “close friendship” put a lot of pressure on her to do the right thing. She was still a friendship rookie, and she had to get past her inexperience to be there for her friend. It felt like a little victory when Celeste squeezed her hand back. The tears she wiped from her eyes made Marisol’s heart ache, but she knew she was doing the best she could to help.
The trip to the mall had sounded so casual, but Celeste wanted Marisol there not just for company, but for emotional support. Marisol’s smile was warm and sincere when she shrugged her shoulders. ”What are friends for, right?” They were definitely friends; Marisol was convinced they were well past coworkers now.
The two young women arrived at the store where display phones were all arranged on neat, clear platforms. As technology continued to grow, so did options. "Well, I'm not really techy, so the Iphone's easier for me.” Marisol had no problems admitting that she liked her phone’s simple interface. It got the job done and that was what she needed. ”If you like a lot of customization, my roommate, Reagan, says you go to Samsung.” From what Marisol had gathered, those were the two big differences between the two major phone companies.
There was one other fringe perk that Marisol could not resist the urge to mention. ”Though if you did get an iPhone, we would be able to Facetime, like, all the time. Just saying,” she added nonchalantly, trying not to sway her friend into a major purchase, even though that was definitely what she was doing.
Marisol was unsure why she picked the girl with the blue-hair. Maybe the look was just eye-catching, and Marisol was looking through the crowd for someone who would catch her eye. New York had hundreds of thousands of people walking through the city, so she needed some arbitrary way of divining the best stranger to accost with her request.
Ironically, the blue-haired girl was not someone Marisol would have talked to normally. It was nothing she did wrong; Marisol was not a social person and she generally relegated herself to social circles she naturally fit into. She was friendly with some of the girls she danced with, some she acted with, and some she worked with. The blue-haired girl seemed like something out of a punk-rock magazine with her brilliant hair and a t-shirt adorned with an intense wolf emblem. It was hard for Marisol to imagine a world where they ended up traveling the same social circles, and without that, they might as well have been in separate universes.
In Marisol’s moment of panic, she was reaching out to someone new and wholly foreign to her, so she could only hope it went well. Alice, the blue-haired girl who thankfully provided her name, seemed caught off guard by Marisol. It was understandable; she was a stranger on the streets in a fifties era outfit asking for directions. Marisol was not an everyday occurrence in her current state.
Right away, Marisol noted Alice’s accent, which proved that she somehow found one person amidst the droves that was not a native New Yorker. It was bittersweet; the Brit might have been more receptive and helpful, but the odds of her knowing the streets like the back of her hand seemed iffy. Alice also made a weird comment about power issues, which took Marisol a moment to process. ”Oh, is your phone dead? I’m sorry. I was on my way to pick something up from a dance shop, but I left my phone at work—which is why I’m dressed like this, by the way. I don’t just… you know, dress like this.” She felt her cheeks pinken at her unfortunate state of dress. She was not bringing her A-Game to this pivotal social interaction.
”Anyway, I’m kinda lost. I was hoping you might be able to direct me to the Set the Barre Dance Shop, but I’m guessing you might not know it off the top of your head. I’m… really sorry to bother you,” she said, backpedaling and bowing apologetically as she unintentionally stepped Alice out of her six-foot Adapted bubble.
The mall had plenty of people, but it was a massive building, so the girls had enough room to walk. If anything, it was an upgrade from the subway where they were forced to huddle close to avoid the people around them. With some space to relax, her eyes surveyed the wide selection of stores around them, purveying games, clothes, lingerie, toys, and pretty much anything else one might want, (though usually, not need.)
They were not near the food court, but it was clear they would come upon one eventually. Other shoppers would occasionally pass by with a large pretzel or frozen treat, and one guy seemed to be trying to simultaneously walk and eat a Philly cheesesteak without dropping any of it. Celeste was not opposed to a snack eventually, bringing up some of the sweeter options the mall had to offer. ”Definitely sounds like worst case to me. So disappointing,” she said sarcastically. In truth, Marisol did not eat sweets often. It was not that she did not like desserts; she just prioritized eating healthy so she could perform at her peek when dancing. Until they reached the food court, however, there was no reason to bring that up.
When Marisol asked about Celeste’s cell phone, she did not realize what kind of story she was asking for. Marisol knew Celeste was from Canada from their conversations and her accent, but now she understood why her friend came to New York. She left on her own, gathering what she could afford to start a new life away from her family. She wanted to hope her family would reach out eventually, but her hope was running empty. And now, the last thing tying Celeste to her old life and her family was a broken phone. Celeste did not have to tell her the situation was painful; it was all Marisol could hear in her voice.
Marisol was initially unsure of how she should respond to a bomb like that. She wanted to be optimistic and say Celeste’s family would call eventually, but if she was wrong, she did not want to encourage false hope. Celeste was a mutant, so if that was part of why her family was not reaching out, it was an all too common story. Some people did not deserve the amazing kids they had.
Still, at the same time, did Marisol want to tell Celeste to give up hope? Her parents may have mistreated her or shunned her, but they were still Celeste’s family. Marisol knew, even if her mother turned on her, she would never want to give up hope that things would get better. Sometimes that hope kept things going when someone was stuck in a dark place.
Amidst all her uncertainty, all Marisol knew was she wanted to be there for her friend, so she would start from there and build. As they walked side-by-side, Marisol reached for Celeste’s hand and grabbed it to give it a firm, supportive squeeze. She sighed, coming up with words as she went along. ”I wish I knew what you should do. I’m sorry you’re stuck in this position. Really, I hope they come looking for you. Honest.” At that moment, Marisol wondered if anything would make her happier. ”But if they don’t, they’re missing out. No one is better off not having someone like you in their life, Celeste.”
Marisol relinquished her friend’s hand, forcing a smile. She did not want to make Celeste more upset in the middle of the mall. ”So… you know if you get a phone with a nice camera, I’m demanding we take an inaugural selfie, right?”
She was saddled with an assignment from one of her acting classes that put her in a tough position. According to her instructor, she was supposed to watch someone go about typical, everyday activities and she was supposed to note mannerisms and traits and do her best to emulate their behaviors. Most students would just ask a friend if they could be a shadow for an hour or so.
Marisol considered that option, but she did not like it. Reagan was a logical choice since Marisol lived with her anyway, but she knew it would come out awkward if she asked her roommate for permission to stalk her for a while. Alice Rivers was someone she was still becoming friends with, so she decided not to weird her out so early with an odd request. Celestina De Ward was another option, but she was volunteering at the Library and Marisol did not want to get in the way. That same reason eliminated Jorge Cervantes, who was a Detective with way more important things to do than humor his niece’s bizarre homework.
And with that, Marisol exhausted the list of everyone she knew well in New York. She considered faking the assignment, but she just did not have it in her to half-a** a project like that. Running out of options, she realized the real problem driving her anxiety was the fear of asking someone to help. It was an intrusive assignment, and she would hate putting someone in the position to begrudgingly agree or decline.
However, if she never asked anyone, she could probably get away with completing the whole project with an oblivious subject. New York had so many people; who would notice some girl coincidentally following a similar path for a while? Marisol was sitting on a bench near the sidewalk, looking for someone she could tail.
Her gaze settled on a blonde woman. There was no particular reason to choose her, but Marisol had to pick someone. With a person in mind, she stood from the bench and walked in the direction of the blonde woman. She was a good fifteen feet away, with plenty of people around to keep her from looking conspicuous. Marisol had a small notepad, but she kept it at her side, out of sight for the time being. She wanted to get a good idea of how the blonde walked. That seemed like a good first step to emulating her.
Marisol was lucky enough to have an uncle who seemed to understand her. She did not want to voice her anxiety and the initial impressions of homesickness, but Jorge understood what was on her mind anyway. The Cervantes family was never the most sedentary. The whole family moved to Florida, Jorge moved to New York, and Marisol’s mother moved back to Long Beach. It was Marisol’s turn to move her life to a new place and start fresh, and she wondered if every Cervantes before her was just as scared of the change.
A strong arm wrapped around Marisol for a hug, followed by a soft kiss on the top of her head. The two acts of familial affection were enough to ease a lot of the tension in Marisol’s stomach. She was strong like her mother and her uncle, and she was going to take New York by storm. Like Jorge said, it was just the first day, and life would get more normal once she had more days in the city under her belt.
Jorge also understood Marisol’s mother. She did not hate New York, but she certainly would never consider living in the big city. Marisol could not count on one hand the number of times she was asked if she was sure she really wanted to move out to the East Coast.
Marisol was excited to move into her new dorm, but the process would not be long. Beyond clothes and some small touches of home, she was not bringing a lot into the new space. She was in no rush to part ways with her uncle, so dinner sounded like a great way to celebrate her arrival. ”I can totally do food first! But… I mean, I’m trying to eat healthy for dancing and stuff.” She wondered if “real New York food” was healthy, or if it would be something greasy and savory. She was always inclined to behave, but it was her first day. ”You know what? I can get back to healthy eating tomorrow. Today’s a big day, right?” she asked, sporting an excited smile.
The uncle and niece stepped into the tram when it arrived, and Marisol breathed a sigh of relief when she realized they had the good fortune of a quiet car. She was ready to be done with big crowds for the day. ”Nice, there’s barely anyone on hear. Which reminds me, how is your fiancée? And little Chase? I’m really excited to meet mi primo.” She remembered her uncle adopting a son years earlier, but after the incident, Marisol was unsure if it would be insensitive to still reach out. Chase was younger than her by a few years, and after growing up an only child, Marisol was excited to have a younger relative to spend time with.
Marisol knew hanging out at the mall was a quintessential teenage thing to do, but she had little experience with the pastime. She kept few friends and the ones she usually found were as averse to big crowds as she was. Marisol was surrounded by actresses and dancers, so when they had “free time” after their rehearsals, they were all usually too exhausted to loiter around at a mall. As long as Binge and Nile.com existed, hanging out and shopping could easily be done from the comfort of a tired performing arts student’s dorm room.
Of course, with Celeste in tow, Marisol was willing to give the whole “being a normal teenager” thing a try. Her friend was on board with the plan, though she had a solid sense of priorities. First came the phone, followed by arbitrary mall walking! ”I can get behind that plan. I probably need… things. Just, you know, things I haven’t quite thought of yet.” Surely, if they walked by all the stores, something would catch Marisol’s eye. Something necessary that would definitely not be a waste of money.
The two women walked through the large lobby of the mall, with Marisol looking around for a T-Mobile store for her friend. ”So I always thought it would be rude to point out, but… your phone is kinda old, isn’t it?” Marisol was not the most tech-savvy person, but even she was enough of a product of her generation to have a smartphone of her own. ”I mean, it sucks when anything breaks, but I dunno, maybe it’s a good excuse to upgrade?” There was obviously frustration when decisions were taken out of one's hands, but Marisol thought it was easy to see the silver lining to Celeste's situation.
Celeste took her turn in the bathroom to change and reemerged with a nice white top covered in flowers. ”I like that shirt. It makes sense for you.” She was so used to seeing Celeste with an upbeat, sunny disposition, so it only made sense that she would wear something light and pretty.
The trip to the mall was nice. Marisol was still getting used to the New York reliance on public transit and she was not a big fan of the crowds. The one thing the subway had (besides rats) was crowds, so getting to and from work was a practice in quelling her anxiety and trying not touch people accidentally. The whole trip was easier with Celeste. Having someone to talk to really made the whole trip speed along and she found herself less concerned with the people around her. Maybe she was just taking the train wrong all those other times.
The mall was more of the same: a large building with many small shops and way too many people. Marisol did have the day’s tips in her pocket, though, so she saw plenty of potential for the day. ”So were you thinking you’d just get a phone today or did you want to check out some other stores? I’m up for whatever,” she said enthusiastically. A trip to the phone store sounded quick, but Marisol would not have minded a longer stay at the mall.
Against all expectations, Marisol was getting the hang of her job as a waitress. She was learning to talk like something resembling a real person when she tended to her tables. She rarely dropped anything and she was on top of the odds-and-ends tasks, like filling salt shakers and ketchup bottles or grabbing cans of tomato juice (yuck) from the basement. She was even seeing an increase in her tips, likely because, as she had been told, her awkward earnestness was endearing.
The coworker who told her that, Celeste, was part of the reason Marisol was feeling so at home at the Wallflower Diner. Since her first day on the job, Marisol felt like she clicked with Celeste, which was not something she could say for most people. It was going so well, Marisol found herself worrying that she might be getting clingy and Celeste was too nice to brush her coworker aside. It seemed like she wanted to be friends. They usually coordinated their schedules to work together and when they were not at work, they were even texting! It was like Marisol was an honest-to-god millennial. Still, it was hard not over-think how she was just being a pest.
It was almost the end of another work day. Marisol enjoyed her job, but she was ready to go home, curl up under her covers, and run some lines. She was not expecting Celeste to chime in with an alternate plan. ”The mall?” she asked, picturing the giant building filled to the brim with people: not an ideal scenario.
But that mattered less than her new friend wanting to hang out outside of work. Marisol had picked up the habit of bringing a change of clothes to work so she did not have to ride the train in a fifties era dress, so the plan made sense. ”Sure. I’d love to go with you. And… I’m sorry about your phone.” It was not the ideal reason to go to the mall, but at least they would be able to get Celeste a nice replacement. ”We can change once we’re done and catch the train over!”
The rest of the shift passed quickly thanks to the excitement for actual social plans. Marisol changed in the employee bathroom, reemerging in dark jeans, a pink top with a light grey sweater, and flats. ”Okay! Off to the mall, then. Lead the way!”
Marisol thought it was a nice gesture of Celeste to play matchmaker between the customer and another waitress. The guy was not right for Marisol, (not that anyone really seemed to be,) but there was someone out there for him. Maybe he and Bianca would click and there would be a happy ending somewhere. ”That was sweet of you, Celeste.”
It was interesting to see how, behind someone’s veneer of confidence, sometimes they were just as nervous as she was. ”I guess he was just trying not to be awkward. I guess I can relate.” She could connect with the desire to not be alone, too, but she would keep that one to herself.
On the bright side, Marisol was, in fact, feeling less lonely. She was really starting to see Celeste as her first real friend-prospect in New York. She was trying to get to know her schoolmates, but Celeste was the first person she seemed to click with. ”You know, this job isn’t so bad,” she said with a grin.
Barb glanced at her from the window of the kitchen. “Good to hear it,” she said flatly.
Blushing, Marisol gave a playful salute to her boss, who shook her head and left her employees to their work and their bonding.
Marisol only had a few moments to worry about Celeste’s reaction to her Adapted nature before an arm was reciprocating her half-hug. When she checked out message boards, there were a few Adapteds who talked about themselves like the first line of defense against mutants. Marisol could never get on board with an idea like that because she knew mutants who were good people. Her uncle and her first friend at her Los Angeles school were both great people and, while some mutants were not, the same could be said for humans.
Not only did Celeste recognize what Marisol was, she knew another Adapted in New York! Marisol made a mental note to ask about her Adapted friend at the library later. She knew her uncle’s fiancée was an Adapted, but it could not hurt to connect with more people like her.
Celeste did point out that, without Marisol around, she might have given the flirtatious suitor a dose of radiation. ”Wow, my heroine,” she teased through giggling.
“ORDER UP!”
Marisol looked over to the kitchen and saw the younger guys order waiting to be delivered. She sighed. ”I’ve got this one. I can do it.” She was going to have more flirty guests in the future, so she had to deal with them now.
She grabbed the plate and walked over to the table where the man was no longer leering with his lecherous smile. It was a good start. ”Here’s your order, sir. Is there anything else you need? A refill maybe?
“No, but…”
”What?” So maybe that one was more terse than expected.
“I wanted to say sorry,” the young guy said, hanging his head.
It was genuinely surprising. ”Oh?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I don’t tend to do that, but you were really pretty and I just kinda… went for it? Sorry, it was rude.” The young man was not as confident as he seemed earlier.
Marisol was still annoyed, but she recognized the guy making a genuine effort. ”It was rude. And I’m not interested. But… apology accepted.”
“Thank you,” he replied, smiling again.
There was an awkward pause and Marisol was unsure of where to go next. She was not looking to have a moment with the guy, after all. ”…Okay then. So… if you need anything, wave me down.” He nodded and Marisol turned back toward her claimed spot on the wall.
”So… That happened,” she said to Celeste, still confused. Evidently, some creepy jerks were just misguided creeps. Who knew?
Not only did Celeste go to Xavier’s, she knew Marisol’s uncle by name. It was fun to know that, even amidst such a large city, the world could still be so small at times. ”Yup, that’s my Tío!” she replied proudly. ”I try to visit the Mansion at least one a week for dinner and to check in. Mi madre is still in Long Beach, so I promised I would be good and report in.” She loved visiting her uncle anyway, so it was not a chore and it gave her mother peace of mind.
In the middle of their conversation, Celeste’s watch started beeping. They both watched as the alarm, along with Marisol’s question, seemed to prompt a revelation for Celeste. Her mutation made her feel nauseated, (which made Marisol furrow her brow because it sounded like an awful side-effect,) but she was conspicuously nausea-free.
Marisol figured there would be some tip-off of her own unique power, but she was beaming when she realized how unintentionally useful she had been. ”Well… I think you have me to thank for that,” she said through a Cheshire grin. ”Considering I’ve kinda been shutting off your powers all day.”
It was rare for Marisol to even have the opportunity to share that special quality of herself. To most people, she was a plain, non-descript human. Her powers only became relevant when meeting mutants, and her few interactions had been positive thus far. Of course, there was always the possibility that a mutant could get upset or offended by an Adapted’s ability to give them an “off switch,” but she had to hope Celeste would not freak out like that.
Oh God, she really hoped Celeste did not freak out like that. Marisol’s broad smile became more nervous as she continued to explain, ”I’m not sure how much, if anything, you know about us, but I’m an Adapted. I have a mutation-negating bubble at all times.” She paused, before quickly adding, ”And I really hope that doesn’t bother you.”
Marisol was expecting one of the typical answers for why someone might be interested in a certain field or career. It was possible Celeste’s parents were radiologists or she could have a fascination with medical diagnosing. What she was not expecting was the candid confession that her new friend was, in fact, a mutant.
Celeste looked away when she came out as a mutant to Marisol, so she missed the initial wide-eyed surprise. Marisol was not bothered or frightened, but she was caught off guard. Mutants were more common over time, but they were still a huge minority so it was unexpected when she came across one. Then again, as an Adapted, Marisol should have known a thing or two about being a dramatic minority.
The initial shock passed and was replaced by a warm feeling reflected in an equally warm smile. Celeste could have made up an answer to the question, but she chose to tell Marisol the truth. In the short time they knew one another, the Californian had done enough to earn the kind of trust that allowed someone to share themselves. Some people still had bigoted beliefs toward mutants, and as a radioactive mutant, plenty of people probably looked at Celeste with fear or mistrust.
Fortunately, when Celeste glanced up, the look Marisol met her with standing at her side was anything but fear. It was more forward than Marisol would usually be, but she slipped her arm around Celeste’s shoulder, giving her a half-hug. ”It’s really cool that you wanted to do something good for people with your powers,” she said, keeping her voice low so customers would not overhear. ”But I’m sure you’ll find a way to do that with or without them.”
Knowing Celeste was a mutant dredged up pieces of their earlier conversation. Celeste was in high school, but she never clarified, so she enthusiastically asked, ”Are you at Xavier’s? My uncle is a Swim Teacher there.” Maybe it was rude to assume she went to Xavier’s because she was a mutant, but the question was out there, so there was no taking it back.
Marisol wondered what kind of changes it would make to everyday life to have a radiation mutation, but that prompted her to realize: Celeste was a mutant, but she had yet to make a comment about Marisol herself. ”Hey, just curious… have you tried to use your powers at all? Or maybe, I dunno, are there any usual side-effects that just… aren’t?”
Jorge was distracted by something, but Marisol was oblivious to her uncle’s pensive behavior. Her mind was preoccupied with hyping her up for all the changes she had in her future. She was going to live in a dorm! She had a roommate waiting for her! Marisol had been messaging back and forth with Reagan, a fellow dancer she was going to be sharing a small dorm room with. That would be a unique change for an only child who was used to having her own space.
There were so many things on her mind, it was nice to be reassured she was dressed in a weather-appropriate way. Warm with some early Fall coolness was the best forecast she could have asked for: something cooler than West Coast, but not cold enough to make her shiver. ”Perfect ‘new life starting’ weather,” she replied with giddy anticipation.
It was fortunate having her uncle with her, because he was focused enough not to miss a green ribbon on the carousel. He had more reach and strength than she did, so he effortlessly pulled it off the belt and wheeled it over to its owner. It was a kind gesture, but not kind enough to keep her from scoffing at her uncle’s judgment. ”First of all, if she snuck in there while my stuff was being sent to cargo, that’s impressive.” To be fair, if anyone would, her mother was high on the list.
Still teasingly indignant, she continued, ”I am moving here. It’s not like I can leave my stuff back hom—in Long Beach.” Woah. That was an oddly bittersweet feeling. She was excited to embrace her new home of New York City, but Marisol was finally realizing that, at least for the foreseeable future, California was not going to be home. That left a funny feeling in her stomach.
If she wanted to move past those funny feelings, the only way was to move forward. ”Okay, Tío, I think I’m ready to go.” She grabbed the handles of her suitcases and followed Jorge away from the crowds to the exit that would lead them to the area for pick-up parking. The doors opened as she stepped on the pad leading up to them and a breeze sent a ripple through her hair as she felt the New York sun for the first time. (Well, as an official New York Resident, at least.)
Marisol turned her head to her uncle and smirked. ”It doesn’t smell as bad as mi madre said.”
