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.
They were having fun, but Celeste was still responsible for her younger charge’s tables, so she made sure to ask about the gentlemen at her first table. Marisol nodded, smiling proudly. ”They’re doing fine. Just finishing up with some chatting over the last of their food, it looks like. I even asked if they wanted dessert!” It had been a genius move not at all inspired by Marisol eyeing the pies behind the glass case under the counter.
The idea was once again floated that flirting back with customers could warrant more tips. Marisol could see the logic; if she felt she had a flirtatious bone in her body, she would gladly give it a shot. New York had plenty of exciting possibilities she could open up with some more pocket money. Sadly, she knew herself well enough to know any attempts at flirting would seem awkward and forced. ”Well, a girl’s gotta make her money,” she replied with a chuckle.
They were having conversation and Marisol was still surprised at how easy it was to talk to Celeste. She was still her usual level of awkward, but the blonde was rolling with it and making things less awkward because of that.
Celeste considered Marisol’s question of her future for a moment, but much to the younger woman’s surprise, Celeste was still undecided. She sounded like the uncertainty did not phase her, which Marisol thought was impressive. If she woke up and was told she could no longer be a performer, she would probably burst into sobbing tears, unsure of where to go next. There was a reason Marisol was overly-cautious in most physical activities.
It was nice to hear Celeste’s optimism. Marisol did not know a lot about the girl yet, but she was confident Celeste would find her way and do something wonderful. ”College is for discovering ourselves, right? I’m sure whatever you do, it’ll be great.” It was easy to say because it was what she genuinely believed.
Even with Celeste’s college path still in limbo, there was still something Marisol was curious about. ”So… why almost radiology? Not that I’m judging. It just seems oddly specific.” Didn’t most people who wanted to pursue medicine choose a specific field further down the line?
Celeste was protective of her and Marisol did not mind. She was in a new city, starting her life fresh with no one but her uncle and his family to rely on. It was nice to know someone else might have her back; Celeste was starting to seem like she could fit that bill. ”I’m okay, really. I just don’t have a lot of experience with people flirting with me,” she admitted. It was not a complaint; people did not flirt with Marisol because they did not get the sense she was welcoming. (With rare, oblivious exceptions like her customer.)
There was a compliment in Celeste’s comments, so Marisol wanted to be polite. ”And thank you for saying I’m pretty. I guess you must have a lot of guests like that, too?” Celeste was objectively pretty with her blonde hair, nice face, and lithe build. If people were going to flirt with Marisol, she had to believe Celeste had her own suitors as well.
Marisol giggled upon being called “Miss Grown Up,” rolling her eyes. ”What! I just don’t want you to think I’m some kid. I’ll be in college too, soon enough.” Not that Marisol was in a rush. She still had so much to learn at her high school before she could consider a future at Juliard or the Conservatory.
”Speak of, you know so much more about me at this point,” she pointed out matter-of-factly. ”I’m the dance girl, drama nerd, socially oblivious chick. What about you? Do you have any big plans for college?” Most people did not have the set-in-stone career goals Marisol had, dreaming of being one thing since they were children. Marisol was curious what kind of path a woman like Celeste would take as she grew up and left her part-time waitressing job behind her.
Marisol was frozen because she knew there were social cues involved with flirting and even rejecting flirtations advances, but she had no clue what they were. In lieu of her own answers, she meekly deferred to Celeste, hoping her new friend was willing to save her.
She stepped back as Celeste took center stage with a smile, letting her would-be suitor know that she was a high schooler. Apparently, she was also fifteen, which was untrue, not that Marisol was about to speak up. Celeste was confident and forceful, all while keeping a sweet expression. It was so impressive, Marisol almost missed how quickly and effortlessly she switched to asking about the guy’s order. Suddenly, he seemed to have no desire to cause trouble, clearly embarrassed as he ordered his sandwich.
Celeste went back to the kitchen to drop off the new order, and Marisol took the opportunity to check on her first table. Both men were still enjoying their food, but were not ready for the check. Marisol smiled and politely excused herself, fine with a small break until they were ready to leave.
Returning to her trainer, Marisol sighed. ”Celeste, thank you. So much. I get awkward when people are flirting with me.” She paused before adding, ”Well, more awkward.”
Marisol placed a hand on Celeste’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. ”I think I’m gonna be really glad I get to work with you. And for the record, I’m sixteen.” She smirked, clearly just making a light-hearted point. ”Very soon to be seventeen.”
It was helpful having Celeste around as a resource in situation that were still new to Marisol. Her guest was acting weird, and she needed to know if it was something she did. The actual answer was much more distressing.
>> "No, he's not mad. He just wants inside your pants. He's flirting with you."
Some of the color flushed from Marisol’s face. Celeste seemed to think the guy they were serving was flirting with her, which made it easier to see why Marisol was so lost. Since puberty and the advent of flirting in her life, Marisol learned she was entirely oblivious to the whole social game. People flirted with her, but she usually just felt uncomfortable about forward, complicated comments from people she did not know. The practice seemed oddly intrusive, and she failed to realize she might have to deal with it at work. ”He isn’t! Is he? He is,” she groaned in realization. ”Crap.”
Fortunately, Celeste seemed to have experience with flirty customers and even had a list of ways to handle them. Plan one sounded like a winner: tell him to back off. Apparently, she was supposed to find a way to respectfully do that, which might be slightly more difficult.
Celeste mentioned she could claim to have a boyfriend or girlfriend, but Marisol almost winced at the idea. She did not want to tell someone she was just getting to know that she had no clue what it was like to have a boyfriend or a girlfriend. She did not want to just say she was immune to love, flirting, and romance because she did not want Celeste telling her, “it will happen eventually,” like her old friend once said. Plan two was out.
Plan three was so out, Marisol nearly laughed. ”Yeah, there will be no flirting back. I’m… not a flirter. I’m bad at flirting. My flirt game is nonexistent.”
Marisol had a better idea of what she was dealing with, so she would handle herself with grace and composure. ”Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.” She led her friend back to the table with a clear plastic glass filled with soda and ice.
The young man was already watching Marisol’s return, brushing his medium-length brown hair from his face. He was aesthetically pleasant. Marisol knew that, and could see how girls her age would be interested in that, but she hit the same wall she always did. He could have ripped off his shirt and had a six-pack and all she would wonder was why he felt the need to take his shirt off in a restaurant.
Placing the soda in front of him carefully, Marisol pulled out her notepad and tried to force a smile. ”There you go, sir. Sorry about the wait. Did you see anything you liked?”
“Oh, I definitely—”
”On the menu, I mean!” she amended hastily.
The customer arched his eyebrow, watching Marisol with a devilish grin. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? It’s all about service with a smile, right?”
”I… um…” Marisol turned back to Celeste with panicked eyes, spacing out on the plan she decided upon not two minutes earlier.
Marisol was being hard on herself, but Celeste kept her from going too far with her self-critique. It was not the smoothest interaction, but Marisol officially survived her first customer conversation. The men even chuckled, which was better than mocking or yelling. Her face scrunched up into a smile when Celeste gave her a congratulatory pat. ”Gotcha. Pleasantries first, then down to business.”
From there, the shift started to feel easier. She had to get the jitters out, but her next visit to the booth went better and she dropped off drinks without incident. While Celeste addressed two of her own tables, Marisol had time to check the menu and familiarize herself with some of the substitution option and notable items. Day one was going better than expected!
A new guest was walked to a table and Marisol’s perked up, looking over her menu at the young man awaiting service. The businessmen were already eating their lunch, so it seemed like Marisol should look for a new opportunity to adjust to her new position. ”Hey, Celeste?” she asked once the blonde returned from her customers. ”I think I’m gonna try taking the new table, if that’s okay.”
The two waitresses approached the table to find a young man no younger than Marisol, but no older than Celeste. He looked up from his menu at the girls and smiled. Smiling was a good start, Marisol was pretty sure.
”Hello,” she started, trying to emulate Celeste’s energy levels. ”My name is Marisol and this is Celeste. She’s training me. How are you doing today, sir?” Perfect!
“Me? I’m better now that you’re here,” he replied with a grin.
The response perplexed Marisol; she was certain the young man was not waiting very long for service. She watched him get to his table less than a minute earlier. She worried he might be irrationally impatient, but she had to make an effort to work through that. ”Well, I’m sorry if you were kept waiting, but I’m here now and ready to serve!”
“I like the sound of that.” Something about the way he smiled caused goosebumps on Marisol’s arms.
”Yes… well… what can I get you to drink, sir?”
She took the guy’s order for a lemon-lime soda and quickly replied, ”Perfect. Good. I’ll… go get that for you and be right back!”
“Can’t wait,” he replied smoothly as the girls walked toward the drink station.
Marisol glanced over her shoulder, trying not to make the action obvious. ”He’s… is he upset about something? Or does he appreciate my service? I can’t figure this guy out,” she said, oblivious to the intentions of her newest customer.
Knowing Celeste was there to be a parachute to save her from falling was reassuring for Marisol. She wanted to handle the table on her own, but it never hurt to have a backup plan. Celeste was a friendly, encouraging safety net, which gave Marisol the final push to walk up to the booth.
Both men watched them coming and looked expectantly. They were not glaring or ogling, but they did not smile like the elderly women from the first table of the day. They were businessmen, so it was possible they were hoping for a quick lunch break.
Marisol took a deep breath and smiled. ”Hi, I’m Marisol and I’ll be your waitress. I’m still in training and this is my trainer, Celeste.” She gestured to Celeste to make her point clear. ”She’s right beside me.” The two men chuckled, which threw off the rambly Marisol, because she just pulled the comment from Celeste’s little pep talk. She offered a weak chuckle to go along with the joke she probably made.
”So, yeah. What are your drinks and how is your day?” It was more clinical than she intended and in the wrong order, but the men rolled with it, ordering a coffee and a water. They were also having a nice day, which was nice, so she replied accordingly. ”Nice! I’ll be right back to take your orders.”
Marisol was already stepping away from the table when one of the men called out, “Actually, I think we’re ready to order now, if that’s alright.”
Marisol whipped back around, her skirt following the motion on a delay. ”Oh?” She glanced at Celeste, then back to the table. ”Oh, yeah, sure! Fire away.” She flipped to a clean page of her notepad and documented a mushroom and swiss burger with fries and a BLT with sweet potato fries, which prompted an, ”We have those?” that led to more laughter.
With a nervous smile, Marisol held her notepad up. ”Alright, I’ll get these things in for you now then. And get your drinks.” Did not want to forget that step, after all.
The two women walked away from the booth and Marisol exhaled a big breath. ”Why am I allowed out around people again?”
Celeste had the right idea. Marisol would have to practice until she could develop her own routine as a waitress. She did not know the steps or lines, so she would have to think of them and run them until she was a natural. Learning from Celeste felt like a good start, and until she got the hang of things, she had to not worry about screwing up so much.
The comment on helping “youngins” had Marisol chuckling and rolling her eyes. ”Oh stop, like you’re even much older than me.” It was not what she expected, but Marisol was having fun at work. She did not even realize fun at work was allowed by the rules of societal norms. She was joking and laughing and making hushed comments about coworkers, (though nothing too hurtful, since she was not some kind of mean girl.)
Marisol followed Celeste dutifully from table to table, jotting down little things Celeste would say or do as she took orders and served food. Her notepad was proving to be very useful, even during her shadowing. When Celeste leaned against a wall, Marisol naturally followed her lead. They had a moment. She noted that it was not a “break,” because Celeste made them sound both uncommon and short.
The time had come for Marisol to take her first table and she felt a familiar sensation of butterflies in her stomach. It was a silly comparison, but she felt the nervous, excited energy that came before she stepped out onto a scene for the first time. After the first show, it was always easy to sink back into a sense of routine, but the first time was always special. ”I think I do.”
Marisol was not even finished with her sentence when, sure enough, the hostess led two businessmen to an available booth. A flash of nervousness hit but Marisol pushed past it, gripping her notepad tight. ”I can do this.” She then pivoted to face Celeste for affirmation. ”Celeste, remind me I can do this.”
Marisol kept her new fluffy friend cradled in her arms as her uncle reminded her to keep his comments to herself and away from her mother’s ears. The young woman always enjoyed the dynamic between her mother and Jorge. The two loved one another, but it was the kind of love where you tease and bicker and it is all good nature. It was enough to almost wish Marisol was not an only child. Almost. ”My lips are sealed, Tío,” she replied with a wide grin.
With their reintroduction out of the way, Jorge brought Marisol’s attention back to something she almost forgot about. ”Huh? Oh, right! My suitcase.” Their reunion was sweet, but Marisol wanted to know more of New York than its airport. She looked back at the conveyor belt carrying luggage around the carousel. ”It’s purple with a black handle, about yea tall,” she said, holding her hand about three feet off the ground. ”I tied a green ribbon to the handle to make it easier to find.”
As she watched black, blue, and red suitcases passed by, wondering how long she would have to wait to see her own bag pass by. Excitement was starting to mount as everything was suddenly more real than it had been on the plane. She looked down at her outfit, wondering what she could expect in terms of weather. She was on the East Coast now, so she was warned there would be more variety than she was used to in California. ”How’s the weather outside, anyway? I came dressed for Summer weather, so I hope it’s still a little bit Summery out.” She knew it was not raining, which was a good start; she did not want to start her New York life amidst a rainstorm. They were getting ready to enter September, so she thought it was a safe bet to assume the weather would still be warm, but she had to accept she was in uncharted territory.
Marisol decided she liked Celeste’s smile. It was warm and it was usually the precursor to very kind words. Celeste still talked a lot, but if she kept saying the things she said, Marisol could forgive how verbose she could be. The dancer was not the chattiest person, so if Celeste was going to carry their conversations, that was fine by Marisol.
In an effort to help Marisol deal with the social aspects of her new role, Celeste drew a parallel Marisol had made herself. It was a nice thought, but she had already poked plenty of holes in it. ”It’s a nice thought, but I’d kill for a script. This girl’s not a fan of improv,” she admitted lightly.
Along with the encouragement and reassurance, Celeste slipped in a promise to step in if someone was giving her trouble. It was actually nice to know her job was not every woman for herself. She got the sense she could trust Celeste. She grinned and nudged Celeste’s shoulder lightly with her own, careful not to tip her tray. ”Still, nice to know I’ve got someone like you protecting me from jerks.”
They returned to the dining room and Celeste suggested she should try committing the order of her… orders to memory. ”Gotcha. I have a pretty good memory. I can totally do that.”
Celeste delivered the drinks to their customer counterparts and took food orders on her notepad. Marisol was trying to peek at her note-taking style, but Celeste had a good four inches on her, making the task harder. Once the order was complete, Celeste walked them toward the kitchen. Evidently, the store did not have some kind of program for entering orders. ”I guess I’ll have to make sure to keep my writing legible. I don’t need the kitchen calling me ‘chickenscratch’ or something behind my back,” she joked in a low voice, unsure if anyone else would be close enough to hear her.
Marisol was not as naïve as she sometimes seemed in social situations. She was well-aware of the career her uncle chose and the risks that came along with it. After losing her uncle once, it would be heart-breaking to deal with it a second time, but she had to focus on the here and now. Her uncle was back in her life, and she was going to get to spend more time with a man she thought she would never see again. If there was a cloud higher than cloud nine, she was on it.
The young woman was not the only one clearly feeling a wealth of emotions. Jorge was brushing away his own tears, taking in the new person that the little girl grew into. Jorge vanished as Marisol was hitting puberty. The girl he knew had yet to come close to five-feet-tall, and she had not grown into the slender, curvy figure of a young woman. He joked about Marisol growing past her mother, but it was barely a joke. Marisol and Jayda stood at an almost even height, and Marisol still likely had an inch or two left to gain before she reached adulthood. ”Don’t tell her that,” she warned her uncle with a grin. ”She might fly here to give you a punch in the arm.” Her mother was widely regarded as quite the spitfire, which was ironic considering her brother’s gifts.
And speaking of gifts, Jorge offered a small bag, but seemed to hesitate and pull it back. Marisol reached for the bag and took it gladly, curious what Jorge had bought for her. She pulled out a stuffed whale with a spherical body. It was true, she did not have stuffed-animals anymore, but it was mostly a matter of fitting her clothes and belongings in suitcases. There was no rule saying a teenager could not have a stuffed animal companion, particularly when it was a gift from someone significant in her life.
Marisol squeezed the whale into a hug, looking up happily to her uncle. ”I love it. Way better than tax forms and perfectly appropriate from the man who taught me to swim,” she teased. Marisol loved the water and Jorge was a big part of that love, teaching the girl at a young age how to swim so she could really appreciate her coastal home.
Celeste’s reaction to Marisol’s unique field of study was flattering. Some people thought “drama students” were a pretentious lot with unrealistic dreams and heads in the clouds. Marisol hated that kind of pigeon-holing because she considering herself a very grounded, realistic person who had passion and determination. There was no judgment in Celeste’s voice, and that earned her many Marisol Points right out of the gate. ”I act and I dance—ballet, even. I… kinda still don’t know what to focus on,” she said with a half-smile. She was a great dancer and a darn good actress, but eventually, if she wanted to be the best at one, she might have to drop the other. Both things made her so happy, she wanted to push aside the decision as long as he could.
It turned out Celeste was older than Marisol, but not by much. She was starting college in the spring, which was not common, but plenty of people had their own reasons for starting on an unconventional schedule. That was none of Marisol’s business. ”Sounds like you have an exciting change in your future,” she replied cheerfully as she followed Celeste out to the dining room.
They approached a table of three older women and Marisol watched Celeste work, keeping her mouth shut. She did smile and offered an awkward half-wave when Celeste introduced her. Celeste was courteous, sweet, and proactive. The older women seemed to eat it up, providing their drink orders with smiles. Marisol took mental notes like she was an understudy learning her role from the principle. Maybe Celeste could help her with more than just the basics of the job.
As they walked to the drink machines, Marisol finally spoke up. ”So you seem good with people,” she remarked. ”That’s good. I’m not. Good with people, that is. I really hope that doesn’t bite me in the butt here,” she added nervously as Celeste prepared drinks.
Marisol knew the book would only provide her so much information, but she was a diligent study. The last thing she wanted to do was make a customer sick and get the restaurant shut down. She tucked the handbook into her purse before placing it where Celeste told her to deposit her belongings.
Evidently, Marisol’s irrelevant comment was relevant enough to Celeste’s attention for the blonde to ask more about Marisol’s school. She was proud of the school she found her place in, but there was something about telling people that made her bashful, like she was bragging or signing herself up to be called the weird theatre chick. ”Fiorello H. Laguardia High School. It’s a school for Performing Arts in the city.” It was probably good that the back room retained some of the nearby kitchen’s hear; it was a good excuse for the redness in her cheeks. ”Um, are you a student, too?” Marisol hoped that was not an insensitive question if she found out the girl quit school or something. It just felt like the logical next question.
According to Celeste, some of the workers were relentless gossips, talking behind people’s backs and shirking their own duties. Marisol’s stomach was uneasy, because the last thing she wanted was the looming concern that everyone around her was passing judgment. She had enough problems being social around people.
All she could do was cling to the people Celeste claimed were safe: the waitresses (mostly,) Barb, and of course, the blonde trainer herself. She tucked away the idea of meeting Celeste outside of the Diner for gossip; it was too early to think about, but once she started getting stories of her own, who knew?
Marisol was straightening the skirt of her dress, not quite focusing when Celeste asked for any last-minute questions or… alcohol? ”You can drink on the job?” she asked incredulously, before she heard the actual comment on a delay when her brain finally pieced it together. ”The phrase. Duh. No, I’m totally cool. Hella ready for this.” Her tone was not convincing, but she pressed forward. She was only Celeste’s shadow for the first few tables, after all. ”I leave my waitressing future in your hands. Let’s go.”
Marisol was lost in her world of thoughts, trying to prove to herself that she was experiencing something real. It was hard to believe she was not dreaming. She was in New York. She was going to the Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School of Performing Arts. She was going to see her uncle again. Everything sounded too good to be true and she was convinced she would blink and wake up in her Long Beach bed, getting ready for another school year in California.
As she dreamily looked around at the crowds, Marisol let out a, ”Yeep!” as a commanding voice spoke behind her. It was not an atypical reaction when she realized she was dealing with people. Her shock subsided when the voice started sinking in, and by the time he was calling her a pip-squeak and poking fun at her childhood obsession with bunnies, Marisol had already turned to see her uncle with her own eyes.
He looked just like how she remembered him, maybe with more greys peppered across his dark hair. He was tall and imposing, even as he approached fifty. He was the kind of man criminals would not want to cross, but Marisol knew, behind his gruff exterior, he was a teddy bear of a man and the best uncle in the world—in her entirely unbiased opinion.
He was also a miracle. Marisol had accepted years earlier that her life was just going to be a darker place without Jorge. As happy as she was to find out about her acceptance to her new school, no call gave her greater joy than the one that let them know he was alive. Her eyes were already welling with tears and she could not break her smile. The feelings were overflowing in her chest until she could not take it and flung her arms over the man’s shoulders, taking her off her feet.
”I haven’t even bought bunny stickers in years,” she muttered jokingly through her tears. ”Like, at least two.” She had a binder that needed to be decorated with more than just drawings of ballet shoes!
She lingered on the hug, content with the very real presence of her uncle that finally assured her that, yes, she was not just dreaming. Marisol finally planted a kiss on Jorge’s scruffy cheek and slowly slipped back to the floor and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. ”Tío, it’s really, really good to see you again.”
The blonde girl tried to ease Marisol’s nerves, which meant her nervousness was obvious and not just a figment of her imagination. Great. Fortunately, Celeste seemed to make a genuine effort to be welcoming and supportive. Marisol’s fears of having a rude, pushy trainer were thankfully unfounded, which she could chalk up as her first little victory of the day.
A training guide was handed over to Marisol, who promptly started flipping through it. It was definitely old, but it was a good place to start because it gave her something concrete. “Handle this food a certain way. Dispose of this accordingly. Keep these filled up with that.” She could pick up some rules from the book and fill in the blanks following Celeste, who seemed to have enough experience to feel confident talking about the job.
And boy, could Celeste talk. It was not bad since Marisol was depending on Celeste’s guidance to ensure she did not suck at her job, but it felt like a stark contrast to Marisol’s own conversational style: namely, that she shied away from conversation. Celeste had the energy and warmth that made people enjoy the way she talked. Even Marisol had to giggle at her hushed comments about the owner of the Diner. ”Noted,” she confirmed with a grin.
Marisol was noting a lot as Celeste spoke, jotting down mental reminders. Take orders, ring them up, deliver to and from the kitchen, enter through the back, leave belongings there, stop by the waitressing station. All the set pieces and steps were easy enough to follow and made Marisol feel more confident about the job. ”Gotcha. Though I won’t have a bookbag. I live at school, so I wouldn’t need to—” Marisol caught herself and rolled her eyes, ”Well, that’s irrelevant. Sorry, continue.” It was just an example, and there was no reason to correct her over something so small.
For her first shift, Marisol was going to shadow Celeste and watch how she handled the one part of the job Marisol was willfully ignoring: the customer interactions. Celeste had the process down to a science, or at least that’s what Marisol thought when it was explained. She was basically weaponizing small talk to move along the interactions. Small talk was not on Marisol’s list of talents, but Celeste made it feel like a script she could adapt. The idea sounded more manageable.
At least until Celeste warned her against letting guests “smell her fear” and all the hassles it would inspire. Marisol’s eyes widened, and Celeste responded by patting her arm. She watched the hand initially, but it gave her a sense of ease she needed. Her reassurance was quickly followed by a muttered aside that caught Marisol’s attention. ”Really? You’re the first coworker I’ve met besides Barb. What exactly am I in for here?” she asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. She had seen shows and movies where restaurant gossip was a thing, but Celeste had her wondering how much truth there was to the trope.
Marisol was trying to keep her mind busy while she waited. Looking out at the floor of the diner, there were booths along the walls and tables occupying the free space. She was not sure what “sections” were there, but she made notes of the spaces between tables and chairs where she might have to walk. Just like on stage: if she was not conscious of props and set pieces, she was bound to trip or knock something over. On stage, it would ruin a scene, but at her job, she expected it might just annoy a customer, or worse, her boss.
>> “I’m guessing you’re the new girl, Marisol?”
Since she was so focused on her own thoughts, Marisol was caught by surprise as another girl in a waitress’s outfit greeted her. The girl could not have been much older than Marisol, and she had her blonde hair pulled into a loose bun, which in Marisol’s eyes, had a messy quality to it. Still, her tone was friendly, and oh God, she totally asked Marisol a question, didn’t she?
”Yes. Marisol. Is me.” Marisol needed a quick, focusing breath to right her ship. ”I’m Marisol and I’m the new girl. Yay,” she added with a nervous smile and gestured with both hands like she was expressing a burst of enthusiasm.
Celeste introduced herself, and right off the bat… she was a lot. Marisol was a morning person, but only in so far as she could function without problems in the morning. She lacked the pep and enthusiasm the blonde girl was bringing to the table. Still, enthusiasm at work was good, right?
Marisol dutifully followed Celeste to the training room in the back and took a seat. Once they were settled, Celeste proved to be conscientious, asking if Marisol had any questions to start them off. She probed her mind for her main concerns, not wanting to sound like she had not given the job much thought. To the contrary, she was overthinking it, like she did in most other aspects of her life. ”Just the basics, I think. Where to find what, the best way to take orders, and how not to get fired on my first day?” So, maybe she was a little nervous. She was new, and once she acclimated, she would be a natural in no time.
