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.
Mari was not defenseless; her mother was not going to allow her to move to New York without some basic self-defense courses. If she was ever in a situation where she had to take care of herself, she hoped those lessons would be worth something, but she was in no rush to use them. The man could not access his powers, but he was still larger and angry. Even worse, whether or not she defended herself, she ran the risk of causing a problem for Celeste during her first march.
Fortunately, luck was on her side and the guy decided she was not worth the effort. Celeste, like the true-blue friend she was, backed Marisol up and provided a reassuring arm squeeze as a reminder. It did a lot to calm the rattled Adapted down. ”I think I’m okay. I guess I’ll just make sure to stick by my own personal hero,” she added with a weak chuckle.
The rest of the marching put Marisol in a better mood. No one picked a fight with her after the first guy and the crowd’s energy was still electric. The whole affair was getting everyone primed to cheer for some speeches, including one from Celeste, (hopefully.)
When they arrived at the platform, Marisol was disappointed to see counter-protestors gathering already. She knew they were inevitable, but it was still disappointing to see so many people standing against the mutant cause. Marisol tried to remember that many people were still scared or uncertain or just thought mutations changed the game too much to ignore. Still, with some of the signs in the crowd, it was a sobering reminder that, while not everyone might have been there with ill-intent, there was plenty of hate around.
What made things worse was the seeming lack of boundaries keeping mutant protestors and human counter-protestors from jawing and yelling. It felt tense, like a single match could light up a powder keg.
As luck would have it, the man who was, minutes earlier, yelling at Marisol was at the front of the line. Several feet out of Marisol’s zone, he was finally able to show off what his power was when his arm ignited, becoming flame. He was literally the metaphorical match.
That was not good! Marisol remembered when the sprawling, general march was initially set off due to harsher punishments on mutant violent crimes. The counter-protestors were in the wrong, but if a hot-head mutant could be baited into kicking off an honest-to-goodness riot, it would undo so much hard work from so many activists and politicians, Celeste included. That was not even factoring in the amount of mutant and human injury that would be sure to follow. If things got worse, it would be a disaster waiting to happen!
The electricity of the crowd and the heat of the moment spurred Marisol forward and, before she realized it, she ran from the relative safety of Celeste’s side and jumped between the two lines. The angry flame mutant stopped when he realized his fire went out, but he was not the only one. Other mutants around him ceased their shouting when they realized their mutations were muted. The humans on the other side were equally confused about the sudden cessation of yelling and mutant peacocking.
It was an awkward standstill as everyone figured out what was going on, but it was not going to last. Both sides were only going to get angrier, especially if the mutants felt like Mari was taking away their ability to defend themselves. The window of time she bought was shrinking, but Mari had no plan beyond throwing herself into the fray. She stood there, frozen and panicked, realizing at any moment that she might be caught in the eye of the hurricane if someone did not step in.
Sometimes the best of intentions weren’t enough. Marisol was starting to accept she might have failed in her attempt to reach out to another antisocial soul. She was not the most empathetic person, though she was trying. Maybe she had to admit to herself that the situation needed someone warm and welcoming. Apparently, that was not her.
At least, that was what she thought. Just as Marisol removed her back from the stall, a tiny, shaky voice spoke up. Siobhan needed a moment, but she was going to come out of her washroom refuge. Marisol smiled, understanding the need to regroup. ”Sure, of course. Take your minute; I’ll be outside.” And with that confirmation of a job well done, Marisol stepped out and waited for Siobhan.
Eventually, the girl came out, hands hidden in her sleeves and eyes clearly still red and puffy from crying. Marisol contemplated saying nothing, but ignoring it seemed just as bad as saying something. As much as they needed to get back to the stage, Siobhan’s sob session would be obvious to everyone. Marisol nibbled at her bottom lip contemplating the right decision before finally sighing. ”Okay, hang on, come with me, Siobhan.”
Marisol was extremely lucky with her locker placement. By virtue of a senior graduating the previous spring, she inherited a locker three spaces away from the entrance to the backstage area. Other theatre students had offered her cash for a trade, but Marisol identified the convenience as more valuable than a small monetary boost.
Stopping at the locker, Marisol quickly fiddled with her lock before pulling open the door. Inside, she opened a small makeup kit. ”Alright, do me a favor and hold still.” A guiding hand took Siobhan’s shoulder and gestured her toward the mirror on the back of the locker door. ”I know I would feel self-conscious going out there with puffy eyes. So just… real quick.” Marisol took concealer on her pinky and started blotting the area around Siobhan’s eyes, not exactly giving the girl an option.
The scene felt familiar for some reason, and without realizing it, Marisol was humming the Heather’s makeover sequence from “Beautiful.”
Everything was going so well, Marisol should have seen the harsh turnabout coming. She was an outsider; not quite a human, not a mutant, but part of a population far smaller than either. Just like humans saw mutants as a threat, the mutants would see her as a danger to their existence. It was a lot to hang on the head of a seventeen-year-old drama student.
The man did not like the idea of an off switch for mutants being part of his group and Marisol was almost ready to bow out to avoid the conflict, but Celeste stepped in to protect and defend her. Marisol was behind her friend, clinging tightly to Celeste’s arm like it was the only thing keeping her safe.
With her powers outed as “always on,” the guy was still grumpy, but he held his tongue for the moment, glaring at the little adapted. Marisol felt the need to say something, despite her nerves. ”I’m s-sorry I can’t turn it off, b-but I want to be here supporting the cause. I’ll try to stay further ahead.”
The tension was thick in the air, but the man eventually fell back into the group, muttering, “Freaking weirdo,” before escaping Mari’s six-foot field.
Marisol could still feel herself shaking, but she loosened her grip on Celeste’s arm as they took a few quick steps to return to the front of the pack. ”Thank you for looking out for me. Are you sure I should still stick around, though? I don’t want to make more problems for you.”
Siobhan’s voice caused Marisol’s brow to furrow, because she did not sound okay. Her voice was muffled and shaky, like she had her face buried in her palms or something. It did not matter that Siobhan was a stranger; she was distressed, and for some reason, it was tugging at Marisol’s heart. There was always the possibility that Siobhan was just a drama queen who only knew how to blow up and freak out. It was possible that she was always going to fall apart and Marisol was wasting her time.
Even with cause for doubt, Marisol moved toward the stall door and leaned her back against it. Speaking to Siobhan over her shoulder, she sighed and shook her head. ”I mean, this school has a lot of talented girls. Another McNamara is out there, probably, sure.” There were girls Siobhan beat out who would love the chance to step up, but that was missing the important point. ”We also have talented directors who know what they’re doing. If they picked you over all those other girls, Siobhan, there was a reason.”
Theatre at the school was serious, so they were not going to cast someone from outside the school if they thought it would screw up the performance. Siobhan earned her role, and she needed to understand that. ”Come out and get back on stage with me. I want you to show me what the director saw.” Her tone was still friendly, but she had shifted into a command nonetheless. Maybe a little bit of Chandler was warranted, after all.
It was a new world for Marisol, but the excitement was undeniable. There were chants, songs, and an ever-present energy buzzing through the crowd. It was still an intimidating atmosphere for a natural introvert like Marisol, but she could see why Celeste felt so in her element when everything came together in such an impressive way.
The other organizers were nice and handled Marisol’s nervousness in stride. Marisol wondered if Celeste gave them a heads up about her awkward friend, so they were ready for her lack of social graces as well as her adapted powers. If she did, Marisol would not blame her; she would rather have the excuse precede her so everyone could shrug off when she stumbled through a sentence or mentally grasped for a good way to phrase a comment. No one seemed bothered by her, which was nice.
It also did not last long into the march, as a man with roughly a foot of height on Marisol moved up to the front of the group. At first, it seemed like he might be happy; maybe someone commending the organizers for their hard work. Quickly, they found out he was far from happy. His powers were not working and he was pissed.
Marisol’s heart was pounding against her ribs; it felt like the exact nightmare scenario she worried about when she agreed to come to the event. After contemplating keeping her mouth shut, she realized the man would only get louder if he did not receive an answer. She had a power and she had to own it. ”Excuse me,” she squeaked, sticking close to Celeste, unintentionally hiding behind her with their positioning. ”I’m really sorry. That’s me. I’m like an off-switch. I’m sorry. If you stay at least six feet away, your powers should come back fine. I’m so, so sorry.” Her voice was high and shaky and her pace of speech was quick, but she managed to get words out, which was a start. She hoped the man would accept her apology—apologies and move away.
While Marisol was expecting Alice’s offer came from some sense of polite obligation, the blue-haired girl seemed all for the idea. Marisol had to admit, she was impressed by the girl’s willingness to just jump into some unexpected new plan. If someone came to Marisol asking for directions, she would give them, but she would never dream of accompanying them. It sounded like the easiest way to get taken, and while her uncle had a set of skills, Marisol tried her best not to end up in the position where he would need to use him. On the bright side, Alice apparently saw her as trustworthy enough not to be part of the Albanian sex trafficking scene!
With a phone in hand, Alice was going to lead their way to the dance shop. She was up for anything and she was not scared off by Marisol’s adapted ability. Calling it an ability seemed generous since an ability was normally something someone did. As Alice guessed, she had no off switch, making her mutation nullification zone more of a trait. ”Unfortunately, it’s one of those always on things. I hope that’s alright, Alice. If not, I guess you could walk just outside of my range, but that’s still a little far for the sidewalk.” Marisol did not enjoy feeling like a burden, so when her presence inconvenienced the mutants around her, she was anxious to make it right.
Following along as Alice blazed the path, Marisol was already thinking of ways to thank her for her kindness. ”This is really nice of you, Alice. If you’re hungry, we can even get food after. My treat.” Marisol was not rolling in money, but she had a job and she could do something nice for the Good Samaritan saving her butt.
Glimpsing the computer screen, Marisol knew they had time to walk, which means time to talk as well. If Alice was going out of her way to help Marisol, maybe she was someone worth getting to know. ”So I’m going to guess you’re not from around here? The accent is kind of a dead giveaway.” It was a more genuine accent than Marisol could fake on a stage and she certainly found it easy on the ears. ”I’m actually pretty new, too. It’s been, like, a month since I came from Cali. What brought you to the city? Have you been in the city long?” She paused and something hit her. ”I’m being obnoxious with the questions. Sorry.” Marisol was still working on socializing like a “normal person,” which felt like such an impossible task, she almost considered asking her mother if she was really an alien.
It was a shot in the dark assuming Siobhan would retreat to the bathroom; even if it was her goal, it was still quite possible she would just end up wandering the halls of an unfamiliar school. All Marisol could do was trust her instinct and hope that girls panicking in social situations shared the same escape strategy.
In the grand scheme of things, going out of her way was nothing Marisol had to do. People freaked out and lost roles; it was just a thing that happened in theatre. It was a stressful world and not everyone was made for it. It was unrealistic to try saving everyone who got in their own way on stage, but Marisol still felt the need to talk to Siobhan. There was a sense of camaraderie as the two newest girls on the cast. Besides, if Siobhan really claimed a spot in the school’s play despite going somewhere else, she had to be a great actress. It was wrong to judge her for one bout of stage fright.
Looking around the bathroom, things got quiet after Marisol spoke, but she was certain there were sounds when she entered. Crying sounds were not easy to contain, and Siobhan had every reason to cry.
Marisol was not going to duck down and check stalls for Siobhan, but she was still confident the girl was somewhere in the room with her. Hopping up to take a seat on the countertop lined with sinks, (and regretting that choice when she realized she chose a small wet patch,) Marisol started speaking clearly enough to be heard through the bathroom.
”Listen, Siobhan—and I think I’m pronouncing it right now. Really sorry about that, by the way.” That was an apology she had been meaning to get off her chest. ”I know this place can be intimidating. This is my first year here, so I get it. Everyone’s talented and there’s a lot of pressure to get it all right immediately. But this is still just our first rehearsal. Even those kids out there will screw up, so… maybe don’t beat yourself up? I’m sure you’re a good actress or you wouldn’t be here.” It was the truth, even if it was delivered matter-of-factly.
Sighing, Marisol looked at the stall she was fairly certain she heard the shaky breathing of a cryer behind. ”It’s up to you, but… I think you should come back out with me. I can’t be a Chandler without a McNamara.” Marisol could have gotten up and left, but she wanted to linger and see what Siobhan would do or say, assuming she did or said anything.
Marisol was glad to focus on the posters and the impending march. Those things were exciting and brought her and Celeste together, while talking about Celeste’s budding new relationship was only making things tense. Correction: Marisol was making things tense. She had to figure out some way to become okay with the idea of Jude and Celeste, but she needed more time. Until then, it was best to avoid the touchy topic.
The sign, slogan, and accompanying hearts Marisol drew up were a big hit with her friend. The way she smiled and giggled in appreciation warmed Marisol’s heart on a cool Autumn day. ”Of course I’m here. I support the cause, and just as important, it’s my favorite person’s big day,” she replied, her smile wide beneath her rosy cheeks.
The two young women put the finishing touches on their signs, finished up their lunches, and joined up with the other organizers of the event. It was hard to spot them initially because an impressive crowd was already gathering. There was a buzz in the air unlike anything Marisol knew before. She had been on stage, performing for large, engaged crowds, but it was different than being in the thick of the masses, all ready to be part of something.
Along with Celeste and the rest of the organizers, Marisol stayed toward the front of the march. She disliked taking such a prominent position in a rally that was not for her benefit, but it was practical. If Marisol was in the center of the group, she had a greater chance of nullifying more mutant powers. She was also thankful to stick with Celeste because being along and surrounded by strangers more or less constituted her own personal hell.
”So we’re marching to City Hall, right?” Marisol asked her friend, who she was staying as close to as possible without actively hugging her, (as nice as the thought might be.)
As expected, work kept Jude from joining them at the rally, which was disappointing. For Jude. As much as Celeste seemed excited for the pair to meet, Marisol was unsure of how that would go. She needed to figure herself out before she was put in a position like that. Her friend was giving her chest and stomach flutters, so meeting her boyfriend was a recipe for rude, passive-aggressive comments. She decided to just nod and leave the topic there.
Celeste took the offering of falafel, finding yet another way to be self-deprecating about the event. Maybe it was the conversation about Jude, but Marisol felt the need to be more direct with her friend because the gentle support was not stopping the unrelenting nerves. ”People are coming because they care. They’ll show up because you helped to inspire them. Because you’re amazing and you’re making a difference. So give yourself more credit, okay?”
Taking a deep breath and realizing she was coming off a little strong, (though entirely out of love,) Marisol settled down and looked at Celeste’s sign. ”I think ‘human rights for all’ can come across wrong, like the humans are the focus. I like what you said the first time. But flip it; ‘Mutant Rights are Human Rights.’ You’re mutant, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t human and you don’t deserve the same rights as anyone else.” In Marisol’s head, it made the most sense.
Putting a marker to her own poster, Marisol finally found her idea, inspired by Celeste’s idea. In blocky, clear letters, Marisol started writing:
MY MUTANT BESTIE DESERVES ALL THE SAME RIGHTS I DO
Maybe it was not necessary to pay for Celeste’s food, but Marisol wanted to do something nice for her friend on her big day. ”Please, you bought the supplies. It’s no big deal. Your thanks and smile are all I need,” she replied melodramatically, before her smile grew too wide and she had to laugh. They were friends doing their fair share for one another. It was not even like she was treating Celeste, though given the opportunity she would. Celeste was too quick paying for the posters and markers, and in hindsight, Marisol would have liked to take care of everything for the sake of her friend who had already done so much. Maybe when all was said and done, she could treat Celeste to dinner to celebrate. Just a nice dinner between friends where one offered to pay for the meal. A very friendly concept.
Celeste asked about Marisol’s food, which earned enthusiastic nodding before they both returned to their posters. Evidently, they were both stumbling into writer’s block. Artist’s block? Activist’s block? Was that a thing? Taking their minds off the boards for a second could help, but sadly, Marisol was not a big fan of the conversation she had decided to open up.
Much to her surprise, Celeste did not say much. She was clearly enthusiastic and confident in her relationship, which was… whatever. Marisol expected more because the initial phone call she received after the couple made things official was filled with excited run-on sentences. Maybe it was just harder to keep up that level of excitement over time? Eventually updates about Jude would be more blasé and maybe even exasperated.
Marisol felt guilty for how much she enjoyed that thought.
”That’s good,” Marisol replied, trying to put on a believable smile. ”Always nice when a new relationship is going well. Shame he couldn’t make it today, though. Was he busy?” Too busy to come support his girlfriend? Well, that was not fair. Marisol’s director almost rescheduled a rehearsal to coincide with the rally and if he did, she would have been in an unwinnable position. Jude probably wanted to be there, even if Marisol hoped he was just disinterested.
Okay, really, when did she become such a b***h? That was her reputation, sure, but Marisol never thought she was really mean before. Changing the topic was the best idea. ”Want a bite of falafel?” Marisol held out the pita pocket; it had several bites in it, but she was not a germaphobe. Well, she was. But it was Celeste. She felt like the exception. ”Might be the brainfood you need for your poster!”
The kind words of reassurance Marisol provided could be seen as a friend being supportive, but she was genuinely impressed by everything Celeste and the other organizers were able to put together. Political events happened all the time, but they had drummed up so much genuine support, there was no way the news would not report on the rally.
That was a badge of honor for someone who was still only eighteen. It was getting serious, but it was also the kind of event that could get Celeste’s foot in the door if political activism was something she really wanted to pursue. ”It’s serious, but you can handle it. You were made for this!” Until it was time for the event to begin, Marisol was going to be a fountain of compliments and reassuring comments.
Holding her pita pocket with careful reverence, Marisol turned her attention to the pizza cart. It was hard to blame Celeste for her choice; they were in New York and neither was a native, so New York pizza was kind of a big deal. ”I can support this choice both emotionally and financially,” she joked, setting money down on the counter to pay for the last of their food.
With food and supplies in hand, the girls found an area away from all the commotion to work on their signs. Sitting cross-legged, Marisol looked at her blank sign and took a bite of her falafel. She chewed the fried chickpea-based treat while she contemplated the best message to show her care for the cause. She wanted to be a loyal, supportive friend to both mutants and Celeste.
Which reminded her… ”So, how are things going with this new boy of yours?” Marisol did what she could to keep her tone even. Jude apparently made Celeste happy, so it would be wrong of her as a best friend to ignore the situation and pretend he did not exist.
Regardless of how much more she liked the sound of that plan.
The excitement in the air was electric and contagious to everyone gathering around. Marisol was surrounded by people, but they were all gathered for a good cause and that made things feel easier to process. After what the skittish blonde told her about some organization taking mutants off the streets, it was more important than ever that everyone, human, mutant, and adapted, watched out for one another.
The excitement was clearly getting to Marisol’s nervous friend who was rattling off questions. Putting a reassuring hand at Celeste’s back, Marisol smirked and answered, ”I’m starving, that sounds great, and you’re going a mile a minute, hun.” She pulled back her hand quickly since they were in public and Marisol was not sure why she kept finding ways to touch Celeste.
Looking over the grouping of carts, Marisol called out the first delectable scent she was picking up from the collective. ”Mmm, falafel. I think that’ll hit the sweet spot.” Not terribly unhealthy, plenty of flavor, and portable enough to eat on the move.
Celeste grabbed them plenty of supplies and was quick to pay. Marisol was not going to object, but she did make note of the gesture as she stayed in the conversation. At the mention of the mayor, Celeste downplayed his speech like she was trying not to make a big deal about her success. ”I mean, you might be right; mi madre always said politicians only know how to lie and recognize a photo op.” Marisol’s mother was an awesome, independent role model who just happened to instill a healthy amount of questioning in her daughter. ”That doesn’t change how huge it is that you made this happen.”
With supplies in hand, Marisol led the way to the a cart with Middle Eastern food, following her nose to the source of the scents. Placing an order for her falafel in pita with tomato, lettuce, cucumber, and light on the tahini sauce, she turned to Celeste. ”What are you feeling? We can hit up another cart, too. The only condition is I’m the one paying this time,” she demanded with a wink, wanting to keep things fair and even with her friend. Celeste owed her nothing; Marisol was exactly where she wanted to be.
Going to the march was something Marisol needed to do, because there was no way she was going to miss Celeste’s big day. As excited as she was, there was still plenty to be anxious about. Marisol was willingly going out into a massive crowd, but that was only part of the problem.
While there would be many allies to the mutant cause like herself there, plenty of mutants would be taking part in the march. With her adapted powers, Marisol’s presence could be a problem. A mutant could get offended, or worse: her power could cause discomfort or complications for a mutant whose powers were necessary. She considered if there might be some way to distinguish herself as an adapted, but the idea of carrying a sign felt like she would be speaking about herself on a platform that was meant for mutants. Even worse, it could be seen as a threat or it could invite trouble from mutants who hated the existence of adapteds—which her Tío did warn her was a thing.
All Marisol could do was be careful, hope for the best, and stay as close to Celeste as possible, which she was already getting started on with the hug. The surprise attack resulted in a satisfying squeak followed by an even more appreciated hug. The compliment pinkened Marisol’s cheeks immediately because she was convinced she looked like nothing special compared to how Celeste was wearing her dress. ”You look gorgeous in that dre—woo!” Marisol was not able to finish her compliment before an excitable Celeste grabbed her hand.
And there were the butterflies.
As one of the event organizers, Celeste knew her way around the tents they set up to prepare. People were working on signs, greeting early arrivals, and talking with curious onlookers. Several food vendors had their carts set up and were even offering discounts for the sake of the March. It was smart business; even with the discounts, marchers were hungry people and the vendors would make a killing, especially with the heavenly mix of scents Marisol was walking through.
There was no denying Celeste was in her element, but she was also clearly nervous. If Marisol had to guess, the sudden influx of followers on social media came with a lot more pressure to succeed. That was why she was there, thankfully. ”They’re following you because they are excited because they can just tell how awesome you are. And, by proxy, how awesome this march is going to be. And it’s going to be awesome,” she assured her friend, giving the hand she was still holding a squeeze. ”I still can’t believe you got the Mayor to speak! Actually, wait, yes I can. As previously stated: you’re awesome.”
Being an actress had an interesting aspect of duality to Marisol because, while she was living and breathing the art, she was also a huge fangirl for most of the subject material she worked with. Marisol loved Heathers: The Musical, so she was just as eager to hear her castmates lines as she was to perform her own. Siobhan in particular had one of Marisol’s favorite lines in the show right in that first bathroom scene. The meat cleaver line was a genuinely funny example of McNamara’s well-intentioned yet tactless logic.
At least, it would have been if Siobhan spoke her line. There was an unexpected pause and, when Marisol turned to look to her castmate, she was frozen in place.
It was oddly reminiscent of the nightmares Marisol would have leading up to a big show, except it was real and happening to another person. It was still rehearsal, so it could have been worse. Siobhan could bounce back and regain her footing.
…Or she could run off! Marisol stood on stage in surprise as the girl made a quick exit with a muttered, accented apology. It was a kind of stage freight Marisol was unsure she ever had, but she had to realize what the girl was dealing with. She was in a new place with people she never met who were literally going to school to act. In her head, she was probably surrounded by judgy elitists and, really, she might not have been wrong.
The director sighed. Mr. Bigelow was not known as a particularly patient man, so Siobhan’s exist did her no favors. “Day one and I lose my McNamara,” he grumbled. There was an understudy, but the idea of the poor, out-of-place girl could lose her role so quickly pained Marisol’s heart. The stage freight was not an issue Marisol dealt with, but feeling like an outsider around everybody was something she could understand intimately.
Acting quickly, Marisol dropped her script (carefully) on the floor and squeaked, ”I’ll go get her!” She was off the stage and out of the auditorium before the Director could protest.
Looking up and down the hallway, Marisol heard the sound of a door closing. Where would she go if she was fleeing people? The answer was easy; the only room with individual stalls to close one’s self in. Marisol walked with urgency toward the nearest washroom and called out, ”Heather?” before shaking her head and returning to the real world. ”I mean, Siobhan! Are you in here?”
Marisol Cervantes did not like crowds. She was iffy on people, but crowds were a definite problem. Living in New York, Marisol was still learning to cope with the densely packed population of the city. The subways were crowded, the sidewalks were crowded, and even restaurants and stores had too many people in them. Knowing her introverted tendencies, Marisol was trying not to become a hermit simply to avoid the mobs, but it took a conscious effort.
If there was one person in New York who could compel Marisol to leave the safety of her dorm, it was Celestina De Ward. As Marisol’s best friend, Celeste knew how to motivate the dancer to step out of her comfort zone. Sometimes, Marisol put up a fight, but not always. The Ten Thousand Fists March was something Marisol would not miss for the world.
When the girls met, Celeste was still looking for something to be passionate about. Marisol knew she would find something that clicked, and with the way she got involved and took on an actual leadership role with the March, it appeared activism was Celeste’s singing and dancing. The thing that she felt so strongly about, her face lit up when she talked about it. Marisol wanted to be supportive about anything that made Celeste that happy.
Well, she wanted to be, but some situations were harder than others. As Celeste’s best friend, Marisol was the first to receive an excited call with the news that Celeste had an official boyfriend. It was great for her and she was excited and Marisol was definitely happy to see her happy, especially after the painful loss of her friend and roommate. Marisol was just entirely unsure how she felt about what was making the blonde girl happy. It was irrational; Marisol had yet to meet “Jude,” so she had no reason to think the worst of the guy, even though he could totally be a cheater or a bully or a criminal.
If she was being honest, the problem was with herself, not the shady guy Celeste was dating. Since their movie night, things were back to normal between the girls. Almost. Most days, things were exactly the way they had been for months. Marisol would have the time to convince herself that the movie night was a fluke. Then Celeste would wear her hair a certain way. Or she’d sing while cleaning off tables. Or she’d go on an excitable tangent about politics.
And Marisol would swoon. It was becoming a problem because she was finally convinced the feeling was swooning. She had no reason to recognize it before; it was like someone who never experienced heartburn suddenly getting hit with it. They would not have the words to describe it, but they would know it hurt.
Celeste was definitely doing something to Marisol’s heart, but she was convinced it was a byproduct of being part of a friendship closer than she had experienced in the past. As someone who was not well-versed in friendships and personal relationship, she had to accept there would be a learning curve.
And when she approached Celeste from behind, spotting her in a cute-yet-professional dress with her hair done up elaborately and beautifully, she would ignore the swooning sensation and the butterflies in her stomach.
The buzzing of Marisol’s phone thankfully distracted her. She grinned when she realized it was from the girl who had not yet realized her best friend was approaching from behind. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Marisol walked quickly and carefully with the footfalls of a dancer so she could sneak up and wrap her arms around Celeste’s waist from behind. ”Turns out I’m very close,” she replied with a giggle. ”Ready to change the world?”
