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.
Jack sank on her haunches, her head still reeling-- no, sitting was better. She needed to sit. She felt ill. Jack sank lower, onto her rump, extending her legs out in front of her. The woman (now that they were facing one another, Jack could confirm that she was, in fact, older) all the while backpedaled, sputtering an apology. The prawn looked blearily at the lady, unhooking her surgical mask.
>> "That was totally my fault. I apologize, I should have warned you. I'm an adapted. You will want to stay more than eight feet away from me."
"A... what?" the prawn grunted, catching the water bottle, "Shanks." she cracked the lid open, artfully pouring a swig of water into her mouth. The water helped. She replaced the cap, "What's an... ada'ted? Was it?"
The woman greeted Jack without turning, initially, quickly rising to her feet. She had to have been sitting for a while, for she tottered forward, nearly eating dirt. Jack, forgetting herself, also stepped forward, extending a primary arm to catch the woman, lest she actually did face-plant.
She seemed to catch herself on a branch, much to Jack's relief. For as she drew closer, she too was sent reeling. Her vision tunneled and dimmed, and a sharp pain went right down her spine. Reflexively, the prawn grasped at her chest, stumbling backwards. What the f**k?
Stumbling backwards carried her back out of the woman's aura, but the prawn was not fully aware of what had happened. She looked at one of her hands as her vision flickered. Everything looked so muted and greyish. Slowly, the scope of her vision widened, and the full brilliance of colors returned. And-- whoa-- were her spikes getting bigger? Had they gotten smaller?
"I..." the prawn began, unsure of how to explain what she'd just experienced. Her head had been reeling, and that pain was... incredible. She'd only experienced pain like that once before, but it wasn't possible! She was already a behemoth mantis-shrimp creature, she couldn't transform again, "I sink I need sun water."
Dehydration was the obvious answer to this. Maybe the spasm of pain was a massive cramp, and the tunneling vision was Jack nearly passing-out. She shook her head, touching a massive hand to her forehead.
With a groan, Jack fished-out her phone. She didn’t have patience to mumble her way through explanations. It’d be better to let the text-to-talk app do the speaking for her, especially with how profoundly clueless the young blonde was behaving.
Hey, be nice, Jack chastised herself while typing, You were a blonde once.
The prawn finished typing her response, and hit play, dialing up the volume on her phone. A crisp, albeit synthetic, British voice flatly began to clue the young woman in.
<<You are breaking curfew,>> the voice recited, <<Which is breaking the rules. If you’ll come with me, we’re going to write you up and send you back to bed.>>
Jack nodded towards the building emphatically, adding-on, “Diss year, iss you could.”
In the periodic silences, Jack wondered if her spectral friend had vanished. She was perfectly content to walk in silence—Jack’s brain would similarly be quiet, dwelling on very little, except the noises of the city. But then the voice chirped back into existence, demanding to know what Jack was doing and breaking her reverie. The prawn jumped. How did it get in front of her?! It was behind her before!
“I… an on security…” the prawn explained haltingly, suspicious of the voice’s chipperness and proximity. It was probably up to no good. Almost before the prawn had finished speaking, it pressed-on, asking if it could help.
“I just… walk… nake sure e’ery-sing is where it should ‘e,” it wasn’t exactly a two person job, is what Jack was saying. But it sounded… so… hype for assisting the prawn, it was hard to say no. At least… directly, “You’re wel-cun to… iss you want.”
So much for a quiet night.
“How sar a’ay can ya go?” Jack asked, attempting to make conversation, “When you’re aslee’?”
“Since high school,” the prawn said simply, “Only ‘A’ I ezz-er got.”
There was a note taped to the door. The janitor had helpfully left a checklist and set of instructions. Empty all of the trash cans and replace with unused garbage bags, scrub toilets, wipe mirrors and sinks, scrub and hose-down showers, mop floors. Don’t forget the “Wet Floors” sign, and the bar that declares bathrooms “Closed for Cleaning”. Wait for students to clear-out. Thankfully, the janitor had left his cart for them, which was already stocked with all the necessary materials—various sorts of scrubby-brushes and soaps and solvents.
“Need diss,” the prawn said, awkwardly wedging herself into the closet in an attempt to push the cart out. After some fidgeting and adjusting, the cart was freed, and the prawn pushed it into the hallway.
Although this was punishment for Alice, she had no intention of leaving the girl to do the work on her own. It would be a joint effort. A collaboration.
“Guys’ roon sirst?” she asked, “Get duh worst o-zer wiss?”
It was commonly-held wisdom that guys were usually more untidy than girls.
“Glad dey lest a checklist,” the prawn murmured, “Ne’er done janitor stu-ss e’sore.”
Jack quietly ushered the two girls out of the kitchen, trailing behind them down the hallway. The white-haired child announced that someone else had once blown-up the kitchen.
“I don’t doubt it,” the prawn said offhandedly, her gaze flicking towards the girl, “She likely got in trou’le too… es’ecially iss she was sighting a-nuzzer stu’ent.”
Her voice wasn’t accusatory, but faintly warm. Just because it’d happened before, didn’t mean it was okay now. And while property damage was egregious, the bigger issue at-hand was that two students had been at each others’ throats. Come to think of it… the girls were tending to their own wounds… perhaps a visit to DocProf was more urgent than changing clothes.
“Change uzz ‘lans, go see Doc’ross sirst,” the prawn said, “Clothes second. Den see ‘rinci’al.”
Thankfully, visiting the doctor did not mean changing the route they were headed. Jack herded the two of them towards the nurse’s office, pushing the door open so that the girls could step inside. The three were promptly greeted by the DocProf.
“Hello?” Jack asked uncertainly.
“Jack!” a voice sang back. The prawn tensed. She didn’t recall meeting DocProf before. This man knew too much.
“Doc,” Jack echoed, “Got sun kids you need to see.”
The DocProf emerged from his office, the smile fading from his face when he spied the two bedraggled young women and the half-dressed prawn.
“Oh my goodness, come in, come in,” he said urgently, ushering them in, “I’ll see to these injuries at once.”
He didn’t bother asking how the injuries had occurred—his mutation would reveal that in good time.
“Can I use your sone?” Jack asked, “I need to talk to Ruddy.”
“By all means,” DocProf insisted, before turning his attention to the girls.
Jack stood at the mouth of the hedge maze, rocking on her feet. Her shift had just ended, and she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling at the back of her skull—she had been thinking back to her exchange with the young blonde student, the other night. She was lucky that the kid had left the maze on her own volition. If the kid’s wherewithal been anymore in-tact, she could have easily shaken the prawn. Jack needed to learn the hedge maze, for future reference.
Once upon a time, Jack had heard it’d be impossible to get lost in a maze, if one kept their arm to a wall and followed the wall through the maze, so she extended a primary arm and began walking, leaves and twigs prickling at the sensitive underside of her palm. Jack tread lightly, inhaling the scent of soil. Noises were muted, here. It’d be easy to forget the time. As she walked, Jack made note of the various twists and turns in her mind. Left… right… right…
At some point, she lost track. Ah, well. It was peaceful in here, and the prawn was happy to get a little lost. There was birdsong overhead.
Jack rounded a corner—and for the first time since she entered the maze, she had found someone else. From behind, the prawn could see glimpses of dark skin. Her figure and the fact that she was tending to a garden led the prawn to believe the person was older, but perhaps not.
“Hello,” the prawn clicked softly, not wanting to startle them. It didn’t seem right to be loud in a quiet maze like this, “Nice day.”
The blonde poked her head out of the maze, and oh-so theatrically yowled at the sight of Jack. The prawn dragged a massive primary hand down one side of her face, exasperation tangible in the sigh she breathed. Really? You go to school for mutants and you can’t even look an inhuman mutant in the face. She was shrieking again, she was running again, the prawn was lumbering after her when she heard the heavy “whoomphf” of someone getting a face full of grass.
Jack peeked around the corner, antennae raised inquiringly. The girl was shakily fumbling with her phone, chanting something about how she was going to die, blah blah blah. Jack kept her distance, but she was visible at the corner of the hedge. She sank on her haunches, to a less-intimidating four feet.
“Hey, Einstein,” the prawn greeted, “Are ya done yet? Did ya hear a word I said?”
It was always the underage twerps in the skimpy outfits that were the biggest messes that Jack had to clean-up after in Chrysalis, and as such her patience was worn thin with people the prawn lumped in that category. Given the girl’s mode of dress and her… well… theatrical disposition, made her the pinnacle of this category.
“Not gonna die,” the prawn reiterated, “I work security. Understand? Se-cu-ri-ty. Wiss duh school. Security. And you ‘reaking duh rules.”
As the voice explained itself, it went from sounding absolutely crazy and absurd to slightly more believable.
“A drean,” the prawn reiterated, sounding skeptical. How was that even possible? Absolutely insane—as the girl went-on to explain that it was her mutation, that she could “astral project” or whatever, it steadily began to make more sense. The prawn looked over her shoulder, towards the direction of the voice. Her brow was still lifted in skepticism, but that was… slightly more believable than a “ghost”, she supposed.
“You’ll has to cun say hello when you’re awake, so I know I’n not crazy,” the prawn said flatly, as a way of showing she’d accepted the explanation.
Jack began walking, this time at a steady pace. She shook her head, as if trying to shake the sense of how weird this all was. The voice seemed to follow her, introducing itself as Kendra Dillenger, the Daydream.
“Jack Dyer,” the prawn offered in return, slightly less elaborate, “Erry’one calls nee Jack.”
As fun as it was to hold the threat of “all day bathroom-cleaning” over Alice’s head, Jack couldn’t keep a straight face about it. As one would suspect of any teen in a similar situation, Alice got self-righteous, declaring the punishment to be cruel and unusual, and citing the constitution of all things. Hey, it was better than expulsion. The prawn could scarcely contain the chittering chuckle that escaped her.
“Least you’ll ‘e close to a toilet,” the prawn mused, “Hel’sul sore s’rowing utt… dunno if ya wanna eat in dere, doh.”
Especially with all of the cleaning chemicals. The prawn followed the halls towards the residential wing. They’d have to start at the janitor’s closest, first, but then they’d likely start with the boy’s bathroom. (Jack imagined that it’d be worse than the girl’s room, so she’d rather finish on an easier task.)
>> “So apart from torturing from poor innocent students—“
Oh, this was gonna be good. Jack arched a brow ridge at the blue-haired girl, staring at her with an incredulous expression. She wasn’t lumping herself in that category, was she? Both of them knew how accurate that was, if that was the case.
>> “—how do you spend your spare time? You know when you’re not working.”
The prawn’s lavender gaze cut towards Alice, ascertaining that she was still following, before looking away once again. Jack was actually, genuinely enjoying Alice’s company. Which was not to say that she didn’t enjoy the company of all of the students, but Alice was particularly fun to banter with.
“Work at a nightclu’,” Jack grunted, coming to a halt before the janitor’s closet. A small, black plaque reading “Janitor” confirmed this. She reached into her pocket, fishing for her keyring, before perusing the tiny metallic pieces for the key to the janitor’s closet, “Also radder enjoy woodworking, ‘ut I don’t usually has tine to do any-sing… too con-licated.”
She didn’t talk about her personal life, with the students—most of the staff (at least those who bothered to broach the subject), knew Jack had a girlfriend, but it never occurred to the prawn to mention that kind of thing to a kid. Other jobs and hobbies were definitely conversation-worthy, though.
The redhead's confession was recieved with a quiet huff from the prawn, who nodded their head sagely. It was any wonder that the club was able to run in the first place. Even the dingiest holes in the walls at least had a corner of a sound booth with a sofa or two jammed in the corner to accomodate live acts. Somewhere for people to store their instruments or just relax while waiting for their time to perform to come. How did this place even operate.
"Don't 'lane you," the prawn grunted, polishing off her Old Fashioned. Her head swam, but comfortably so. How many of these things had she downed, anywys? Jack idly swung the glass in her hands, causing the ice cubes to cling against one another. A more business-minded individual would have given Xavia their card-- Jack was, after all, the manager of Inferno. She could invite her to perform at their venue at some time. Jack's mind wasn't thinking "business" though. It was swimming around in a rye whiskey concoction and wondering if Zinnia would be up at this hour?
The messenger bag was tossed into the washing machine, followed by the surgical mask from Jack’s pocket. Jack quickly stripped out of her clothes, peeling off her tank-top. Her shorts, too, fell to the ground with a wet smack once her belt was loosened.
“Gross.”
Jack kicked-off her boxers, collected her outfit, and tossed it all into the wash. When Zinnia returned, Jack was adjusting the settings on the washer and adding laundry detergent to the appropriate compartment.
“Found some clothes for you to try,” Zinnia announced, wrapping an arm around Jack’s waist as she set the fresh clothes atop the washer, “And a washcloth, if you wanna wipe-off, and my deodorant.”
“Sank you,” the prawn murmured, kissing Zinnia’s forehead, “Where are duh terrors at?”
The “terrors” in question were Zinnia’s brothers. Zinnia laughed, “Upstairs. Playing video games.”
That meant momentary privacy—which, when living with one’s parents and kid-brothers, was difficult to come by. Jack’s hand ventured down Zinnia’s back, then slightly lower. The dark-haired woman laughed, smacking the prawn’s carapace. It didn’t hurt, but Jack flinched as though it did, chittering apologetically.
“Get dressed!” the smaller woman chastised, “Then I was thinking… perhaps a movie?”
“I like duh sound o’ dat,” the prawn agreed.
Moments later the prawn emerged, donning a pair of basketball shorts (which fit surprisingly well) and nothing more. Zinnia kneeled before the display of DVD’s, skimming the titles.
“Didn’t wanna stretch your dads’ shirts out,” the prawn said, by-way of an excuse. This earned a joking, “Oh nooooo,” from the other young woman. Jack daintily took a seat upon the couch, watching her girlfriend with ponderous eyes. How long had they been dating? And she never once talked about her upbringing? Not any of it? Not Chelsea?
“I was thinking of either… Lady and the Tramp, or… 101 Dalmations,” Zinnia announced, holding-up to DVD cases, “Something animated. With dogs. What do you think?”
A smile fractured Jack’s stony expression when Zinnia looked at her. Zinnia lowered the DVD’s slightly.
“Babe, you look miserable,” Zinnia sighed, “What is it?”
“I hasn’t told you any-sing… as’ter how long?” the prawn whispered, “We’s ‘een to-gezzer sore o’zer a year, and you don’t know any-sing a’out nee. Yet here ‘e are, here I an, in your house… watching new-zies wiss you.”
Zinnia’s jaw flexed slightly, as if she was chewing on her words. Zinnia rose quietly, setting the two DVD’s atop the DVD player, and moved towards the prawn. Jack didn’t move, but allowed Zinnia to take a seat beside her on the couch. The smaller woman tucked herself under one of Jack’s primary arms, looking up at her.
“How can you still trust nee? I could ‘e a dangerous ‘erson and you’d has no idea.”
“I do still trust you,” Zinnia affirmed, taking one of Jack’s secondary hands in her own. The secondary hand reflexively curled around two of Zinnia’s fingers, as a child might hold a grown-up’s hand, “Jackie, listen—do you know how many studies are out there, about the incidences of trauma in mutant youth?”
“No,” Jack admonished.
“There are hundreds upon hundreds of studies. And do you know what nearly all of those comparative studies found?”
The prawn shook her head.
“There is a significantly higher percentage of mutant adolescents who suffer trauma—abuse from their biological and immediate family—than an adolescent of human background.”
The prawn was silent. She wordlessly pulled Zinnia into a hug, resting her head atop the smaller woman’s. Her vision was starting to blur. Jack would be damned if she let Zinnia see her cry.
“I trust you,” Zinnia reiterated, “And I never asked. Because, statistically speaking, there is a high probability that you went through a lot as a kid. And while that may have helped you become who you are, I didn’t think it was essential information for dating you.”
Jack tightened her hold on Zinnia, burrowing her muzzle in Zinnia’s hair. Tears were dribbling out of her eyes, wetting the smaller woman’s hair.
“And I figured… if it ever did become essential information… we would cross that bridge when we came to it…” Zinnia concluded.
“I don’t deser’ze you,” the prawn whimpered, her head still buried in Zinnia’s hair.
“Nonsense.”
The two of them sat tangled like that for a few moments. Zinnia clambered into Jack’s lap and turned sideways, resting her head on Jack’s shoulder. They exchanged feathery touches and the occasional kiss, a sort-of physical conversation of “want” and “reassurance”. It might have been minutes, or it might have been an hour. However much time had trickled by, Jack was the first to speak-up and break the silence.
“Her nay-n was Chelsea,” the prawn began shakily. Zinnia lifted her gaze inquiringly, to which the prawn elaborated, “The girl… in the photo… the dragon-girl? Her name was Chelsea.”
The words creaked out of Jack’s mouth the way the wood of a heavy door might creak when being forced-open after a long winter.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” Zinnia reassured Jack, “Not right now. If you don’t want to. When you’re ready.” Her hands traced over Jack’s mandibles, and Jack nibbled at her fingertips. Zinnia laughed softly.
“I want to,” the prawn murmured. She freed one hand and wiped at her eyes, “I don’t know why I hasn’t.”
Zinnia was quiet.
“Her nay-n was Chelsea,” the prawn reiterated, “She was ny dest sriend… and duh sirst ‘erson I e’er o’ened u’ to.”
Posted by "Chief" on Jul 11, 2017 15:31:44 GMT -6
Sennyo and Xavia like this
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
Jack ascended the familiar steps towards the front door of Zinnia’s place, knocking lightly upon the door with her knuckles. From within, Jack heard the faint call of “Coming!” and hastily approaching footsteps. The prawn unhooked her surgical mask, balling it up and tucking it into a side pocket. The door swung open, revealing Zinnia. She managed to look luminous in the swampy summer heat.
“Babe, you look like you’re melting,” Zinnia commented, rising up on tiptoes towards the prawn. Jack stooped low, pressing her forehead to Zinnia’s as they exchanged a kiss. Jack smiled gently, touching a hand to Zinnia’s cheek.
“I’n sur’rised I hasn’t yet…” she said, straightening up once again. The two retreated into the air conditioned house.
“Was it a good walk, at least?” Zinnia pressed, “Water, dear?”
“Staw-t a raw-ery,” Jack said flatly, “Otherwise, it was sine. Yes, ‘lease.”
Zinnia had reached into the cabinet for a large plastic glass, which she dropped in alarm.
“A robbery?!”
“Yeah,” Jack huffed, “Nuh-sing crazy, just sun dude tried to take dis kid’s satchel. I caught hin dough.”
Zinnia recollected the glass, filling it at the sink. Her brow was stitched with concern, “Jackie, that’s so dangerous.”
“I know, darling, ‘ut I ‘as really care-sul,” the prawn purred. Zinnia smiled, or rather grimaced, as she shut the sink off, returning with the glass of water. Her smile faltered momentarily, her gaze dropping to the ground,
“Your bag is leaking!”
“My what?!”
Jack looked down. Lo and behold, a small, fizzling brown puddle was accumulating on the floor, fueled by a steady drip from one corner of her satchel. The bottom of her bag was tinged three shades darker around the drip.
“Duh soda!” Jack hissed, tossing the bag onto the tiled counter, "Duh kid gaze it nee, to say 'sanks'."
“I'll get a rag!" Zinnia declared as she retreated.
The prawn muttered curses under her breath as she lifted the flap and fished-out the soggy contents of her bag—her sketchbook, her woodworking tools, a few blocks of wood, the photo of her and Chelsea, a bottle of hand sanitizer, old receipts, and finally the offending soda can. F***ing thing.
Zinnia returned, dropping to her knees to mop up the floor with a tattered, red rag.
“We can toss your bag in the wash,” Zinnia reassured her, “It’ll be good as new when you’re ready to go home.”
“Don’t su’ose I could toss ny close in dere, too?” Jack sighed, shaking the loose beads of soda off of her sketchbook. She’d have to leave the paper products out to dry, was down the woodworking tools… come to think of it… Jack wadded up the small collection of receipts and stalked towards the garbage can, which was hidden beneath the kitchen sink, “I was so sweaty I didn’t e’en notice duh can ex'loded.”
“I’m sure Dad has some athletic clothes you could borrow while your stuff is in the wash,” Zinnia reassured the prawn, moving towards the counter to dry-off the woodworking tools. She paused when she noticed the old Polaroid. She shook the beads of condensation off, surveying it more closely.
A freckled-faced blond girl who hadn’t quite grown into her adult teeth laid forehead-to-forehead with a draconic-looking individual, both of them grinning. They seemed to be laying in grass, surrounded by patches of clover and clover flowers. It was obvious by the angle of the camera that the dragon was holding it.
“I haven’t seen this before,” Zinnia commented, handing the prawn the picture, “Who are they?”
Jack curled her mandibles awkwardly, groaning, “It’s nee and ny ‘est s’riend s’run when I was little.”
“That’s you!?” Zinnia grasped for the picture again, which the prawn willing surrendered, “I had no idea that you were-! You-!”
“Started out hyu-nan?” the prawn offered. An awkward silence settled.
“You were a cute kid.”
“I was.”
“You never told me.”
“I try not to sink about it.”
The silence returned, stretching between the two women. Jack cast a glance towards her belongings, which were splayed out across the counter. Although they’d been together for a few years, Jack held a lot of her cards close to her chest. She didn’t talk about her past, or her family, or… anything. Only the now. It hadn’t been an issue, before this.
Zinnia replaced the Polaroid on the counter, quirking a smile at her girlfriend.
“Well… let’s get your stuff in the wash. It’s a talk for another time.”
Relief colored Jack’s expression, and she nodded, fishing her keys, her wallet, and her phone from her pockets preemptively. These were also deposited onto the counter. The two of them padded off to the laundry room.
Posted by "Chief" on Jul 11, 2017 10:00:01 GMT -6
Xavia likes this
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
“Hey-! Help! I’m being robbed!”
Who would commit a robbery in humidity like this? Sweat beading on Jack’s carapace, she felt like she was wading down the sidewalk rather than walking, her damp clothes clinging to her carapace. She couldn’t fathom running in this weather, much less robbing someone.
“Blue, stop him! My bag!”
Jack’s pupils constricted, her stomach dropping. Her eyes swam towards the source of the cry, scanning for a familiar face. She saw none. She did, however, see the thief barreling towards her.
The prawn swept low, her arm connecting with his midsection. Arm bar. She threw him to the ground, the air leaving his lungs.
“I’ll take dat,” the prawn grunted, yanking the satchel from the bewildered thug’s grasp. The man looked as though he wanted to speak, but after his lip trembled for a few moments, a scream escaped him, and he artlessly scrambled away. Across the street, into obscurity.
The prawn stood with the satchel clasped in a massive primary hand, peering up the street. A brown-haired kid, probably no older than twenty, was jogging towards her.
“Thank you so much,” the kid panted, extending a hand. Jack nodded, wordlessly placing the strap in his grasp, “I had my bus pass in there, and I don’t have enough money to get another one.”
The prawn folded her thumb in on one primary hand, and touched her two fingers to her brow, before quickly drawing them out—a salute, and her way of dismissing herself. She didn’t want to stick around and talk about it, she just wanted to get to Zinnia’s-
“Wait! Wait, wait, wait,” the brunette cried, jogging after her, laughing breathlessly. He skipped alongside her as the cerulean woman strode quickly down the street, “Listen, I don’t have much, but uh-“ he rummaged through his bag, procuring a can of soda after a brief search, “I want you to have this as a, uh, thank you gift.”
The soda can was held out towards the prawn, but she did not make a motion to grab it.
“I don’t-“
“Please, I insist,” the kid laughed, holding the can closer, practically pressing it into the prawn’s nearest hand, “It’s not much, but it’s the least I can do. Please.”
“I-“
“Here.”
He pushed the can into her hand, forcing her fingers closed with his other, before running past her, waving farewell from the direction Jack had just come.
“You’re the best.”
Had the kid given her a word-in edgewise, Jack was trying to tell him that she didn’t drink soda. She couldn’t. The acrid carbonation was an assault upon her delicate sense of taste. As it was, however—he hadn’t given her the chance to protest.
Jack surveyed the can, uttering nondescript grumblings. Maybe she could pass it off on one of Zinnia’s brothers. That’s where she was heading, after all, and it’d be a shame to waste a free drink. Jack slipped the soda into the main compartment of her messenger bag, begrudgingly continuing her walk.
God bless enhanced sense. Jack did percieve the surprised gasp, clear as day, and it was enough to make her head whip back towards the patch of grass. Still, she saw no one. She stood there for a moment, lavender eyes thinning in scrutiny. They flickered searchingly, for any indication... of... someone? Seeing none, she marched onwards.
>> "I'm sorry."
Okay, this was just too f**king weird. Of course it was a mutant school, which meant that the voice probably belonged to a mutant, but in the wee hours of the night, it was enough to send a chill through the prawn, particularly when she'd strode a good distance from the kiosk outside of the gate, and was effectively by herself. There were a number of things that Jack did not take kindly to, hearing voices was one.
The prawn jumped at the voice, turning again. Her jaw clenched.
"D... don't worry 'out it," the prawn said quickly, "R-ran-don ghost... t'ing..."
Sure, Jack-- "random ghost thing" was such an apt description for the disembodied woman she was now hearing.
Hurriedly, Jack continued along the fence, shaking her head and closing her eyes. When she'd been tired from too many shifts in a row, she'd seen silhouettes out of the corner of her eye, but she'd never heard voices like this. She needed a good, stiff drink. And some sleep.
