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 was not going to be petty. She worked hard for the body she had and she was proud of it, even if it meant a lifelong commitment to consuming less than the ideal number of tacos. (The ideal number, of course, being all the tacos.) She danced hard and worked out enough to stay in peak shape because she had to; dance was an even more competitive field than drama, and she had not yet ruled out pursuing a career in dance.
Still, how could she not get a little jealous about Alice’s ability to consume cake without concern? Alice seemed a tiny bit self-conscious about it, pointing out the challenges of constantly needing to eat. Marisol knew how exhausted she could get if she was not eating the right number of calories and that was without a mutation. Marisol continued to listen, but tucked away the question she had been meaning to ask.
It was flattering that Alice wanted to know more about Marisol, but that did not stop it from making her anxious. Why was so much focus on her? Unless she was hiding behind a character, there was no need for a spotlight on the timid brunette. Biting her lip, she mumbled, ”I mean, I really got into dancing and singing early and just never stopped. It’s not that exciting a story, honestly.” Sure, she knew that being a student of the arts in New York was a big deal, but Marisol’s origin story was still pretty pedestrian. ”It is kind of an honor to be studying here, though,” she admitted, feeling the pink hitting her cheeks.
”So…” she started, seeking to move the topic over to Alice, ”What do you do? Or do you want to do? Oh!” she quickly added as she remembered her tucked away topic. ”And I’ve been meaning to ask: what does your mutation do? You know, when you’re not next to a lame off switch like me?”
Marisol was still getting used to being around mutants, with Jorge, Chase, and Celeste all playing growing roles in her life. For some, it was convenient; others might be inconvenienced or worse, put in danger. If she thought about it too much it almost made her question going out in public for fear that she might cross paths with the wrong mutant and make them unable to breathe or something.
Evidently, Marisol was affecting the power Alice had, which was something affecting her sight and it sounded like something she had no control over. Marisol could relate to that part.
It made Marisol feel better knowing Alice would accept payment in the form of food. Marisol did not like burdening others and if Alice refused a meal, it would have made her feel more awkward to accept the help and offer nothing in return. She did chuckle at Alice’s dietary suggestions. She gave the blue-haired girl a once-over to reaffirm that she was pretty darn thin. ”I might op for a salad or something, but sure. You choose the place, after all.” Some people were born with great metabolisms, which was unfair, but the harsh truth. ”Though I’m not sure where you’d even put all that.” Maybe Alice was just the kind of girl who could put away greasy foods and sweets without putting on a pound. Lucky her.
As expected, Alice was originally from England which filled Marisol, like most American girls, with envy. It was preposterous since she was living painfully close to Broadway these days, but Marisol still loved the idea of catching shows in the West End and setting foot in the Globe.
Alice returned the favor by calling out Marisol’s own accent, which shot her into a surprised and almost defensive retort. ”I don’t have an accent! Do I?” She pondered on her own voice for a moment, before deflating. ”My God, I totally have an accent, don’t I? I’m a total Cali girl out here.” Most people, particularly actresses, believed they had no accent, but that opinion was often challenged when they were thrown into a new environment. She was not a valley girl or a surfer girl, but there was something to the way she spoke that, if you listened keenly, gave away her Long Beach upbringing.
With all the questions, Mari had worried about being intrusive, but Alice dismissed those thoughts. She also called Marisol’s curiosity adorable, which struck her as odd. Was she being infantilized? Alice seemed nice so far, so Marisol tucked the notion away, but she suddenly found herself more on her guard.
Alice asked her own question of Marisol’s purpose in moving to New York, which was something Marisol thought was pretty apparent, given their shopping mission. ”I mean, we’re going to a dance shop.”
Okay, that came off as rude. Like, way rude. Rude enough for Marisol to realize it and quickly chuckle at her own comment, trying to play it off. ”Really though, I came here to transfer to a school in the city as a student of Theatre and Ballet. The school is kind of a big deal and so is New York, really, so yeah. How could I say no?”
It was clear that Siobhan was taking one last moment to panic. It was hard to blame her; she had a very rough first day of rehearsal. In the end, she was still able to smooth her skirt and power through the panic. They were ready and that was a reason for Marisol to smile brightly, nodding her head. ”Definitely ready. You’re great, it’s all gonna go great. So yeah,” she said awkwardly, trying to find the point she was making. ”Let’s… go be great!”
With one more beaming smile, Marisol led the way back through the backstage area so they could join the cast on stage. They had moved on to one of the early scenes with Veronica and JD, but the acting took a pause when the missing girls returned. All eyes fell on them, which caused a knot in Marisol’s stomach. That was the last thing Siobhan needed.
“Are we all through with day one distractions?” the director asked flatly. Okay, maybe that was the last thing Siobhan needed. The director was known for being prickly, which was not great for a girl who was trying to find her footing and confidence.
Without really thinking about it and without looking at Siobhan, Marisol’s hand fell to her side and grabbed Siobhan’s. Siobhan stood a step behind her, so the action was hidden behind Marisol’s back. She gave the girl’s hand a squeeze, hoping to reassure her. ”Yep. Siobhan wasn’t feeling well.” There was an awkward pause as Marisol realized where she was pulling that excuse from. ”Which, I guess is usually a Heather Duke thing, but I think we’re good now.” That actually earned a chuckle from the rest of the cast.
Mr. Bigelow rolled his eyes, but even his lips seemed dangerously close to breaking the smile-frown threshold. “Yeah, yeah, sit down and we’ll return to the bathroom scene next.”
”Of course!” she replied, so thankful that he accepted the excuse that it came out as a squeak. She turned back to Siobhan and offered a weak smile. ”We’ve got this, right?” Marisol asked in an optimistic whisper.
Marisol’s second act outfit was a bit daring, but she was going to handle it. She was an actress and, while part of her still considered a career in dancing, she could also see her life spent on a Broadway stage. That was not the kind of life where she could afford to be shy or modest; there were too many roles in the world she did not want to preclude herself from. The role of Heather Chandler might have been a break from her “type,” but that was a good thing. She finally had the chance to show off her range, so she would not screw it up.
Celeste must have been nervous for her as well, because it was coming through in her voice. It was interesting to see, because Celeste was rarely that nervous around Marisol, yet there she was stammering and looking wide eyed. And wow, there was an unexpected compliment at the end. ”Aw, thank you! You don’t have to be nervous for me,” she assured Celeste cheerfully and bluntly. ”I’m just gonna show a little skin; I’ll be fine! Heck, with how often I used to go to the beach during the summer, this is nothing. I more or less spend the whole season in a bikini, if you can imagine,” she added with a chuckle.
Carefully taking her second act costume back, Marisol returned it to the garment bag it belonged in. ”Do you know if any of the girls from the diner are making it tonight? Or are you gonna be running solo as my number one non-family fan out there?” There was also the possibility that Jude had accompanied Celeste and was claiming a seat in the audience, but Marisol would intentionally ignore that possibility.
Celeste was right; since the bra was going to be hidden throughout the show, (barring some tragic wardrobe malfunction,) it did not matter if she went plain red or lacey red. It was just for the sake of her own peace of mind and she could admittedly go over the top. ”You have a point. Hmm. And I guess if I change my mind I can go lacey for the other performances.” Of course, that would mean changing her “costume” between nights, which felt like a breach of superstition.
When Marisol brought up her second act costume, and Celeste seemed confused. Why should she prepare? How should she prepare? It was adorable talking to someone who did not know the show cover to cover because they did not know what to expect. Marisol had half a mind to keep the surprise intact, but she wanted to give Celeste a closer look before the show. ”Oh, you’ll see. One sec!”
Marisol moved toward a nearby rack of bagged costumes and sorted through them until she got to the bag marked “HC#2” and pulled it off. Unzipping the bag, she returned to Celeste and unveiled the red négligée she would be wearing during her death scene and all subsequent scenes as the ghost of Heather Chandler. ”Check it out. I don’t think I’ve been on stage wearing anything quite like it. I was kinda nervous about it when I first saw it, but I think I’ll be alright. It’s very Heather Chandler.” It definitely suited the character and, when the play started, Marisol took a backseat to Heather.
Marisol was glad Celeste liked her new hair color. She might not keep it very long, but she liked the way it looked and worked for her role as Heather Chandler. Celeste also liked her costume, and Mari had to agree; the Heather Chandler look was flat out hot with the skirt and stockings.
And she was complimenting her bra. That was possibly the first time since her friend entered that Marisol was aware of her state of dress. It would have been mortifying on any other day in any other setting, but nothing was bringing her down on Opening Night. ”It is! I mean, it’s pretty simple, but I figured the audience wouldn’t see it anyway. Though maybe I should have gone for something a little lacy? Heather might go lacy, the more I think about it.” Sure, it was not necessary to coordinate her undergarments with her costume, but Marisol liked going the extra step to embody her character.
The injury Celeste sustained on Halloween was terrible, especially since Marisol was not around to keep her safe. She was an adapted after all; she could have kept people safe from the creepy mutant effects they all fell under. But of course, Marisol had rehearsal, so now all she could do was offer support. ”I’m glad it’s getting better.”
It was interesting to know how small a town New York could feel like. Her best friend and her favorite castmate were from the same school, even if they did not know one another. It was one of those coincidences that got you thinking about the role of fate in the world. ”I think we’re ready. The cast is really top notch. We had a shaky rehearsal last week, but the last few runs have gone smoothly.” Lines were down pat, blocking was on point, and costume changes were handled like clockwork.
Which reminded her! ”Oh, you should totally prepare for my costume in act two. Actually, wanna see it?” It was on a nearby rack, after all.
Celeste was, as always, brimming with support for her best friend. In so many aspects of her life, Marisol needed the boost Celeste provided. It was a little different with theatre; being on stage put Marisol in her element. Performing was one of the few things that Marisol had the utmost confidence with, so the friendly support was not needed, but that did not mean it was not welcome. That was what friends should be, right? The people who supported you through the good and the bad.
Always one for modesty, Celeste downplayed the compliments on her dress. It was certainly part of her signature style, but that did not mean it did not warrant a compliment. Marisol shrugged her shoulders. ”I don’t know, I mean, your usual kind of dresses just work for you. You look great in whatever you wear,” she added honestly. ”Though like I said, the coat should probably go.”
Marisol stepped closer to help remove Celeste’s coat, but stopped when she saw signs of discomfort in her friend, reminding her of the knife wound she was still recovering from. Mari had been around to help Celeste in any way she could and when her friend was comatose, she spent more free time than she would admit visiting. ”Oh, I’m sorry. Is it still sensitive?” she asked, delicately placing a hand on Celeste’s abdomen near, but not on, the spot of the wound.
Pulling her hand away, Marisol tucked a lock of her recently dyed blonde hair behind her ear. ”It’ll be a great show and I’m just one of many stars. The two playing Veronica and JD are great and my fellow Heathers rock. The one from your school is hella talented and hella wonderful.” Beyond her social struggles, Siobhan really was a talented actress and Marisol respected her for it.
Being the ice queen was something Marisol was used to, but if she was not careful about the way she was acting with Siobhan, she might end up earning a reputation as the weird girl. She was enthusiastic about helping a fellow outcast, but her excitability was making her pushy and invasive, defeating the purpose of her kind intentions. The thought of returning to the auditorium occurred to her, but Siobhan was still using her locker and makeup. Besides, if she left first, there was a strong chance Siobhan would reconsider and run off again.
When Siobhan offered her thanks, Marisol looked up from the spot on the ground she was fixated on. It was soft, but she sounded genuine, which cheered Marisol up. Maybe she helped in some small way after all. ”Of course. I’ve gotta look out for a fellow Heather,” she joked meekly.
Eventually, the concealer was returned to Marisol’s possession, so she returned it to the makeup kit as Siobhan pointed out that she had not yet shared her name. ”Oh, I didn’t, did I?” It sounded like a mistake she would make. She made an effort to rectify it by offering her hand as an official greeting. ”My name’s Marisol Cervantes.”
With actual introductions out of the way, Marisol closed her locker and took a deep breath. ”So do you think we’re ready?” Now that they were finally ready to return, Marisol felt the nervousness that she might be receiving some kind of reprimand for running off to follow Siobhan. Hopefully the director was understanding or would at least limit their punishment to a tongue lashing.
The door to the dressing room creaked slightly when it opened, so Marisol noticed Celeste in her mirror right when she walked in. The presence of her best friend was enough to make Marisol’s face light up. It would be easy to blame her excitement on the crush she was harboring, but honestly, it just made her feel special to know she had someone in her life who wanted to be there supporting her. In such a short time, Celeste had become an important person in her life and Marisol was excited to share the biggest part of her life.
Marisol spun her chair around and hopped to her feet with an excited squee. She was still there in a bra which, under any other conditions, would give her a near heart attack in front of Celeste. Drawing from the well of confidence that was the theatre, Marisol barely gave her half-clothed nature a second thought. She ran to Celeste and threw her arms around her friend, squeezing tightly. ”I’m so glad you came! I mean, I knew you were gonna come but yeah, I’m really excited to see you,” she said, beaming with joy and pride.
Relinquishing her tight grip on her friend, Marisol stepped back to give the blonde a once over. ”Oh wow, darling, that dress totally works on you.” And it really did. It was another thing that might have been a hang up, but she was already possessed by Heather Chandler. She took the directness another step further, tugging at the lapel of Celeste’s coat. ”Though it is really too warm in here for that coat. You should take that off before you get too hot to handle,” she suggested with a playful wink.
”So are you excited for a night at the theatre?” Marisol stepped back to lean her butt against the makeup counter, folding her arms under her chest. ”I know this isn’t really your thing. It means a lot that you came.”
Absolutely nothing got Marisol going like opening night of a show she was part of and Heathers: The Musical was going to be her first show in New York. It was a monumental night, as far as she was concerned and she was going to share it with the people who were special to her.
Her mom was not going to make it out, though she intended to come to one of the weekend shows during the second week. In her place, Marisol’s New York family—Tío Jorge, Tía Gemma, and her little cousin Chase—would be in the audience supporting her. They would not be alone, as some of Marisol’s coworkers wanted to come out to support her. And of course, front and center would be Marisol’s best friend, Celeste.
Things with Celeste were great on the surface, but Marisol was quietly suffering a massive crush that she could not tell her best friend about. Celeste had her boyfriend Jude and Marisol did not want to make things complicated for a fledging relationship. Even worse, she did not want to make things complicated for their own friendship, and feelings could definitely do that.
Thankfully, Marisol could put those concerns on pause for the night because it was opening night and her mind was on the show. Heather Chandler had a big role in the play, both as a Queen Bee and a sassy ghost, and Marisol wanted to nail the performance not just for herself and her high standards, but for the friends she had on the cast. Much to her surprise, she felt like she had actual friends on the cast! Not many, but any was more than what she would usually earn.
Things with Siobhan started rough from day one, but Marisol liked to believe things got better. They had to work together a lot, which meant spending a lot of time together. Not all their time was spent with Marisol in what she affectionately referred to as “Chandler Mode,” which was for the best. She was not a true “method actor,” but she did like to get into the headspace of her role and Heather Chandler made her more confident, more forward, and maybe even more intimidating. In a way, she was an exhilarating headspace to be in, but not the most friendly.
Still, friendships seemed to be forming against all odds. Mari and Siobhan were total introverts, but Dani, the girl playing their Heather Duke, was indomitably friendly and seemingly took her shy costars under her wings. The rest of the cast joked that they were becoming the Heathers if they were a force for good lead by a Bizarro Heather Duke.
As with any show night, Mari spent most of her day mentally preparing for the performance. She was one of the first ones to the theatre and the first in the changing room. The makeup girl arrived soon after and helped get Marisol’s stage makeup ready while things were still quiet. She pointed out, after several direct suggestions, that Marisol was in “Peak-Chandler Mode” and Marisol would not argue. She had her own confidence, she had Heather’s confidence, and she was going to kill it on stage!
With time to spare, Marisol slipped out of her comfortable street clothes and worked on getting into the costume laid out for her first act. She slipped into the plaid skirt and pulled the argyle stockings up to her thighs. She even grabbed her red scrunchie and kept it around her wrist. Putting it in her hair would still be premature since her hair would have to be tended to when the rest of the hair and makeup team arrived.
Mulling over the red jacket that completed her outfit, Marisol considered the temperature of the dressing room. It was slightly warm and would only get warmer as more bodies crammed into it. The jacket would make her hot, which would make her sweaty, which would be uncomfortable to deal with all night. The jacket would wait until absolutely necessary. She set it aside and took a seat with her script and song book, not bothering to put a shirt back on. She had a plain red bra on, but she was backstage. It was sacred theatre ground where the rules of modesty seemed to shift. When you had three minutes to make a full costume change, you often had to set aside your pride and start shedding clothes the moment you’re offstage to make your transition.
So Marisol sat in front of her mirror, greeting cast members when they shuffled in and running lines to herself. When the actress playing Martha crossed by her, jokingly accusing JD of murdering Ram Sweeny, Marisol even grinned and shouted her famous line, ”Well, f*** me gently with a chainsaw!”
Marisol was happy to be alive, but beyond that, she was just happy. The rally was not ruined, no one got hurt, and Celeste was somehow simultaneously Marisol’s saving grace and the most impressive thing she had ever seen. How could she not reward such heroism with a friendly kiss on the cheek.
Except nothing was ever that simple. Celeste immediately blushed and, when their eyes met, Marisol knew her heart skipped a beat. She was in a whole lot of trouble because it was entirely possible she was falling for her best friend.
While she was not one to shy away from praise, Marisol felt surprisingly humble about her decision to jump into the conflict. ”I just knew I could keep things safe, is all,” she mumbled, but she could not fight off the need to smile. She followed Celeste up onto the stage, just happy to be at her side.
The speeches were uplifting and, as Marisol predicted, Celeste absolutely crushed it. No one clapped louder than the quiet adapted girl behind her. Marisol was not as political as Celeste or, really, anyone on the stage, but she thrived on the passion they all had for making the kind of change the world needed.
With the event finally behind them, the girls could finally breathe a deep sigh of relief. Celeste was already joking about how they were famous, but Marisol simply grinned and shook her head. ”Nah, I’m just the friend behind the great woman. This was your day, and really? You were something special today.”
The moment he realized what was happening, Chase reverted his features to look more like his “standard self.” There was a pang in Marisol’s heart because her cousin felt the need to change back in front of her. She tried to be warm and inviting, but she knew all too well how hard it could be to share things with others when you were unsure about them yourself. Maybe Chase was just a boy having fun with her clothes, but Marisol wanted to be open to any possibilities.
Chase was quick to get defensive, with his words, his tone, and his need to distance himself from the skirt. He had a point; with his ability to shift, Chase could have just been looking to test his shifting powers by wearing an adapted’s clothing. The only problems were the parts of the story that did not make sense. Chase changed his… her? Their appearance. That had nothing to do with trying to mimic Marisol. Besides, if Chase really wanted to test his abilities, he could have borrowed his mother’s clothes. She was around all the time, so he had to go out of his way to try out her wardrobe.
Still, it was best for Marisol to play along as long as Chase was trying to be guarded. ”Of course. There’s nothing wrong with that. With any of it.”
More than anything else, Chase wanted reassurance that Marisol was not going to tell Jorge and Gemma. He was panicked and he was trying to do anything he could to make sure she kept the secret. That spoke volumes. Marisol held up both her hands with open palms, hoping to convey that she was on Chase’s side. ”I’m not going to tell them anything because there’s nothing to tell. It’s just a skirt. You are allowed to wear a skirt, regardless of how or why you want to.”
It was hard to figure out the right way to be supportive and welcoming without prying or pushing for information. It was important to be careful. ”It looked good, you know. The skirt,” she started, before adding more hesitantly, ”The hair.”
Marisol pointed to the bed behind Chase. ”Can I get closer? So maybe we can sit and talk?” Spending more time around mutants, Marisol was learning to ask before stepping into someone’s personal space with her own personal space.
Mari was terrified. The same thought of, “I’m gonna die,” kept running through her head. What had gotten into her? She was not the girl to throw herself into the heart of a conflict between a bunch of strangers. Her uncle was the hero. Celeste was a hero. She was just a girl; an actress, for goodness sake! The only reason for her to get involved was her powers and she did not even like being a walking mutant blackout. Things were about to turn south, and the mutants and humans were both set to converge on her; the first casualty of an imminent riot.
With the tension looming, Marisol was ready for the worst. And that’s when the most amazing thing happened.
Celeste. Suddenly, Marisol’s best friend was there with her, standing between her and the mob of potentially angry mutants. With everything about to go to hell in a handbasket, she spoke to everyone so eloquently. She appealed to the crowds; mostly to the mutants, but her words reached the humans, as well. She made everyone realize that, if they really wanted to be better than the side they stood against, they had to act like it. It was a war of words and peace spoke volumes.
Every word was piped through the speakers and, in that moment, Marisol was sure Celeste could change the world. The crowds backed away and the swelling of violent energy dissipated. Marisol’s eyes lit up and she wrapped Celeste in a tight embrace. Before she could think or stop herself, she had planted a kiss squarely on Celeste’s cheek.
Pulling back, Marisol looked Celeste in the eyes for a heartbeat as she realized what she just did, but she shook the implications off. Instead, she chose to giggle and smile. ”Celeste, that was incredible. You are incredible.” Finally releasing her friend, Marisol wrapped her arms around her own body nervously. ”After a show like that, a little speech on stage is going to be a cakewalk.” The stage would have its own stresses, but the chances of getting attacked were still slightly smaller than being in the middle of a potential warzone.
Thanksgiving break was such a great time of the year! Sure, it did come with a bittersweet Skype call to remind Marisol she would not be seeing her mother for the first Thanksgiving in… well, ever, and there was no denying that sucked. Marisol and her mother had a close relationship because, for the longest time, they were all the other had day in and day out.
The maternal distance did not mean Marisol was without a place to turn to during Thanksgiving. Not only did she get to spend the holiday with her Tío, she even got to enjoy the company of her new Tía Gemma and her cousin Chase. They all shared a delicious dinner as a family, followed by a movie.
Beyond all the things Marisol loved about New York and her career path, she might have loved connecting with her favorite uncle and his family the most. Gemma was wise and sweet, and Chase was an adorable kid. He was also a shapeshifter, so Marisol had to be cautious about getting too close and resetting him into his form. Marisol cared about her cousin; she just lamented the literal distance between them at times.
Marisol could handle Chase’s base form, though her first exposure to the sinewy, ropey form was a bit of a surprise. She just did not want to go around forcing Chase out of whatever state he wanted to be in. That meant being aware of where she was stepping around the boy.
That was why, when Marisol entered her temporary room the next day, she was surprised to see Chase and pressed her back against the door to hopefully stay six-feet away. She had to process the surprise before she could really settle in on all the reasons to be surprised.
Chase was In her room. Chase was going through her clothes. Chase was wearing her clothes.
…Did Chase look so feminine a day earlier?
Marisol was not yet sure what was going on yet, but she knew something was going on. Until she had a better grasp on the situation, she made it her top priority not to over-react, because Chase was there for a reason. ”H-hey, honey. I’m not gonna freak out,” she promised. Chase was wearing her clothes and presenting in a feminine form. As someone who was still getting a handle on what her sexual identity was, Marisol’s mind jumped to questions of identity, but Marisol did not want to jump to any conclusions. ”It’s a nice skirt, right?”
The human element was such a problem for Marisol. She could see ideas and plans in her head when it came to dealing with other people and, once those ideas were in the chamber, she often went with them. She looked at the surface-level elements of the situation and came up with a simple, logical solution. The only thing she failed to account for every time was the human element under the surface and how it would react to her otherwise logical choices.
Siobhan was the human element. The obvious parts: Siobhan was still clearly marred by her sob session, but clearly cared enough about making a better first impression with the cast. Simple, logical solution: Marisol should do Siobhan’s makeup, so she was ready to get back out into the public eye.
And there came the problem: Marisol never took the time to consider that, just maybe Siobhan would feel weird having a girl she barely knew doing her makeup against her will. It was obvious in retrospect, but that was only when Siobhan literally squeaked at her touch. The moment she heard the sound, it clicked in her head: if someone did that to Marisol, she would freeze with anxiety.
Wincing, Marisol pulled back and shook her head at Siobhan’s apology. ”No, I’m sorry. I didn’t… here.” Marisol handed over the makeup so Siobhan could take care of herself in the locker mirror.
With her castmate now in control of her own makeover, Marisol leaned against the next locker over, slumping down. ”I… I’m not good at this stuff. Like… people. I’m not good at people. With people.” A frustrated sigh. ”At or with people. Sorry, Siobhan.” Marisol was no longer feeling as up to rehearsal as she once was, though she would find it in herself to fake it in spite of her string of social faux pas.
