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.
Heyo so I have resurrected two of my oldies, Chase and Gina, and am eager to get both of them in threads. If you have the desire for a thread, and think we can work something out with those two, lemme know!
Chase is a 12 year old human-shifter and student at Xavier's. He's occasionally endearing and occasionally churlish, as one would expect for an adolescent. I can figure out a way to get him off-campus too, so don't let his youth deter you! He's obsessed with cool-looking mutants and has sticky fingers (re: known to steal stuff sometimes) which we could use to start a thread?
Gina is 20 (can you believe it?!), currently attending university and an absolute sweetheart. Kind of a gargoyle-ish thing, now including scales!
Have a look at their profiles, and either hit me up here or shoot me a PM if interested. I'm pretty much game for anything!
>> ”Well I’m sure you’re doing an amazing job, no one should want to mess with you.”
"Key'ord, 'should'," was the prawn's droll response, a tired smile touching her eyes. The slow progress she made through her trashy paperbacks was testament to the contrary-- there was always some nitwit in need of getting hauled out, or looking for a fight with the tallest, burliest person in the vicinity. There was no shortage of poor choices being made in Chrysalis. Though Jack supposed she wouldn't have it any other way, since that was her livelihood...
>> ”OH, um, nothing nearly as exciting, I play the violin. Not on the street or anything. I play for the New York Philharmonic. Ever gone?”
"Not nearly as exciting", she said. How was playing for the philharmonic "not nearly as exciting"?! Her trilling had quieted as the prawn fixed the young woman with a stare, which was the epitome of "Really? Not interesting? Are you for real?"
"Ne'er has gone," Jack admonished. She wouldn't fit in the seats, that much was certain. What more, she couldn't afford the seats. Not on her pittance of a wage that she earned from bouncing and working security at Xavier's. She could make ends meet, but there wasn't exactly enough wiggle-room to spring for tickets to the motherf***ing New York Philharmonic.
Even if it was a hoity-toity sort of position, Agnes seemed nice and it was really cool to be in the presence of an actual musician from the orchestra.
"How long has you 'layed?" Jack said, "I'd sink dat it takes a lot to get to duh orchestra?"
Jack knew plenty of buskers of various sorts who visited Chrysalis every now and again. Sometimes on Acoustic night (typically held on Tuesdays, one of the slowest nights of the week) they'd even come in and perform. They worked hard, and were really talented, but somehow still busked on the street day-in and day-out. (Though one charismatic guitar-and-cajon duo insisted that there was a good money to be made, especially in prime locations and times.) Jack imagined that anyone who made it to the Philharmonic had to be a very accomplished musician-- perhaps even a God-status musician. This notion likely stemmed from the fact that she held musicians from all walks of life in fairly high regards.
Jack ascended the stairs to the second-floor lounge, pausing for a moment at the top of the stairs. Honey locked eyes with her as soon as Jack reached the top of the staircase, and the bartender nodded pointedly towards the nearest side of the bar. Jack followed Honey's gesture, immediately spying the young redhead and man in-question. She arrived just in-time to see the man grab the redhead's wrist. Instinctively, the prawn was already moving towards them, parting the crowd in a way only possible by someone of her stature. She was a few yards away from them when the chair shot out from beneath the man on its own volition, and he crumpled to the floor.
Jack caught the chair in an unsuspecting primary hand, replacing it gently on the floor. The young woman cradled her wrist, all the while the man was raucously getting to his feet, very obviously embarrassed by going *ss over kettle, likely by the young woman's design.
"'scuse nee, sir," Jack boomed, "'scuse n-" A closed fist drawing back to strike the woman. Jack was quicker. Her hand enveloped his forearm. She hauled him back.
"I don't t'ink so."
The mans' limbs pinwheeled as he was hauled back and, somewhere amidst the flailing, he managed to get a hold of a beer bottle. Jack was in the process of trying to put the man into an wristlock the patron smashed the beer bottle on the inside of her arm, conveniently catching the gap between carapace plates inside of her elbow.
A hiss of pain escaped the prawn, and she lost her hold on him.
"Get your ****ing claws off of me!" the guy yelled.
"Sir, I'n gonna has to ask you to lea-ze iss you can't control your-sells," Jack said tersely. Honey stood just behind them, a bar between her and the action. Jack nodded to her, and Honey nodded in response, hurrying back towards her radio. She'd call for back-up, and hopefully the back-up could help decompress the growing situation.
When someone felt cornered, they could react in a number of ways-- these were most commonly knows as fight, flight, freeze, or fold. Jack typically dealt with ousted patrons in the "freeze" and "fold" stages-- she would escort patrons out (sometimes physically, and other times just casually) after someone had talked them down. An uppity patron who "flew" would have already escorted themselves out. "Fighters" however were someone else's job. It wasn't that Jack was incapable of handling them-- it was that she was a liability. She was too good at incapacitating the patrons. Broken bones didn't look good for business. But having an exotic-looking mutant doorman (*cough* door-woman) was very good for business. As such, Jack did very little of the scuffling, unless it involved someone of higher-than-average strength or durability. This guy seemed to be very cagey, very breakable, human man.
A cool dribble of blood was leaking from the fresh cut on the inside of her arm, and it stung against the air. It'd ****ing figure that he'd find one of the very few gaps in her carapace. Of all the rotten luck.
>> ”Honestly, the things you don’t have in common with a girlfriend are just as important as the things you do. My ex hated onions, but loved sneaking bites of my food. When I was really hungry, I’d always make sure to order something smothered in them. She’d always pout and roll her eyes and tease me when the food came out. She had an adorable pout.”
Jack nodded her head slowly, half-listening and half-watching the door. It wasn't that she didn't care about Nate's old love life (although she really, truly, didn't)... it was just that Jack had never before been in the position to swap girlfriend stories. I mean, Zinnia was her first girlfriend, after all.
>> ”So your girlfriend, does she work in the Mansion, too? Or is she a human?"
"Nei-zer," Jack said, shaking her head, "Zinnia is a nyu-tant, 'ut she's not at duh Nan-sion. She's training to 'e a nurse."
"Net at duh gin I 'orkout at," Jack explained, "Didn't know she 'as nyu-tant at duh tine. She just... seen'ed really interested an' 'e got sun-ting to eat." Coffee, if Jack remembered correctly. Even if she didn't, knowing Zinnia, it'd probably been coffee, "And 'e just... ne'er got rid uzz each udder."
The prawn smiled at the explanation. It was true, how things had just sort of "happened".
As a silence began to settle, Jack heard the heavy, familiar footfalls of utility boots making their way up the hall. Another person from the security staff peeked into the kitchen. They were toting a clipboard and, Jack noted, a guest badge.
"I'll be damned," the guard greeted, "Jack wasn't blowing smoke!" The clipboard was tossed onto the counter-top, badge and all, and Jack's coworker closed the distance between him and Holloway. One arm was extended for a handshake, the other opened wide for the manliest of one-armed embraces, "Nate! How the hell are you?"
"Know hin?" Jack asked coolly, ascertaining the obvious.
"Hell yeah, I know him," the fellow guard confirmed, "He's the old art teacher. It's been ages, man! Was Jack giving you grief?"
"Didn't know hin," Jack huffed tersely, rolling her eyes, "'e's lucky grease was all I gaze hin."
A smile still tinged her tone, though. What a relief, this guy really was the real deal.
>> ”Same to you, Jack. I love the rainbow colors. Absolutely beautiful.”
The prawn stiffened, gaze cutting sideways towards the crowded floor. Getting hit-on by patrons was an entirely different experience when they were very obviously sloshed and very obviously joking. The sort of indescriminate proclamations that often found their way towards unsuspecting staff were easy to brush-off without much of a second though. Jack could endure such impersonal trifles all night long. It was the personal, softspoken compliments that the prawn couldn't handle. A hot flush ran down Jack's neck, and in that moment she was grateful that her carapace would hide the blush from view.
"Shanks," the prawn grunted, "Dey're dee, uh, a'solute worst sore uh... not standing out."
That and being seven feet tall-- also not conducive to trying to blend in.
>> ”My name’s Agnes and its lovely to meet you, Jack.”
Jack's heart stammered in her chest, and an involuntary chirr began to rise in her throat. Nerves, probably.
"N-nice to neet you," the prawn trilled. She extended one of her massive hands and gingerly clasped Agnes's hand in her own, exchanging a careful handshake. The chirr in Jack's throat persisted.
>> ”So you work here? DJ? Bartender, maybe? Or just a professional flatterer?”
Sure, Jack still envied Agnes, but the sentiment was quickly fading as the prawn found herself more and more endeared with the young woman. Agnes certainly was attractive, but she was also kind. She was also making Jack's head hum, though perhaps that was the anxious trilling that was filling the prawn's throat.
"Security," the prawn reported simply. A DJ would be in the box, and a bartender at the bar. Wasn't that obvious? Belatedly, the prawn realized that Agnes might have been teasing her. Her gaze meandered back, "'ut dey only usually call on nee 'en dey need to haul sun-one out."
Plot twist, Jack was the muscle.
"'ut do you do sore a lizz-ing?" the prawn returned the question, tilting her head. It was always interesting to hear what clubgoers did during daylight hours. Sometimes it was an absolutely unexpected surprise.
>> "Hello Chief, how did Xavier's manage to talk you into this one then?"
"Linley," Jack returned the greeting politely. The prawn pressed her back to the wall, "All duh sta-ss has to do ser'ive hours... cha'erone or 'orking dances or e'ents... just lucky I guess..."
Lucky as a self-proclaimed atheist to have to suffer through a church outreach event. The prawn breathed a sigh.
>> "Ruth certainly appreciates the help the school is giving us."
Jack's gaze followed the officer's nod. The "Ruth" in question was a rather rotund lady with short, grey curls crowning her head. Despite her apparent agedness, she moved quickly about the dining room, redirecting students and shepherding people who were filtering in with uncharacteristic energy.
"I'll stay outta her 'ay," the prawn murmured. Ruth seemed like a lady on a mission. Jack was certain that if they crossed paths, she'd certainly be volunteered for something... the pastor drew everyone's attention, calling the churchgoers to prayer. Jack awkwardly clasped one hand over the other, but her eyes remained open during the prayer, skirting the room and roving over the students. She mentally ran a headcount, since everyone was in the same place.
Jack endured the prayer and, since it was over, Linley turned ot her, inviting Jack to either trail him or talk to attendees. Maxillae curled at the idea of small-talk with strangers. Not that Linley was much better, but at least he was somewhat familiar.
"Su'ose I could nake ny-sels use-sul," Jack admonished. There had to be something for a prawn to do that didn't entail weaving through tables or making chitchat with people. She trailed behind Linley, hunching to a unobtrusive six-ish feet tall.
Working at a nightclub that drew in a large mutant crowd had given Honey the gift of sensing trouble before it broke-out. She had no premonitions or psychic abilities, only the experience of a barkeep. Right now a terse conversation between a young man and woman was roiling up from the far end of the bar, both apparently sloshed. The man was looking for something that the woman wasn't going to readily give. He snatched the young woman's drink, and Honey closed-in. Besides just an invasion of personal space, she didn't want the man to spike the young woman's beverage.
"Need any refills over here?" she asked sweetly, descending the two like a vision carried upon a cloud of lavender (tonight's augmented scent). The faintest bit of a drawl lingered in the inquiry.
"We're a little busy," the guy said curtly. Honey thinned her lips-- he certainly wouldn't be the top of her priority list when he did want a refill. Honey turned her attention to Rebecca, dawning a smile once again, "What about you, sugar?"
Regardless of Rebecca's answer, Honey would flit away towards the ingredients and, conveniently, their walkie. Her back to the two patrons, she quickly sent out a page-- "Honey here. I have a heated conversation between a man and a redheaded woman at my bar. Could I get some heat over here?"
Heat, as in back-up. As in someone to break things up if it went south. Jack, who was just getting off of her break, answered Honey's page.
<<Dis Jack, gi' nee a nin-ute. I'll get dere.>>
The prawn stepped back into the public part of the venue, enfolded by the heavily pulsing music. She expertly wove her way around patrons, towards the stairs that led to Honey's second-floor bar. Honey, all the while, replaced the walkie-talkie and resumed making drinks.
Jacks' shoulders stiffened when the young woman locked eyes with the prawn once again, her gaze cutting sideways abashedly. The prawn's gut roiled with one part jealousy and one part awe and admiration. Oh sh-t, she was getting up. An anxious glance was cast the other direction. The young woman took a moment to adjust her dress, and then-- oh, f-ck, here she comes-- drink and all.
Jack kept looking at the dancefloor, reassuring herself that the patron couldn't possibly be walking towards her. She had to be going to the bathroom! Yeah, the bathroom! Everyone does that. But the young woman closed-in on her. There she was, right in Jack's bubble. The prawn looked down at the young patron, whose smile widened at the acknowledgement. The prawn’s gaze darted away again.
>> ”I know you see me.”
Antennae flattened, the prawn ground her mandibles wordlessly from behind the surgical mask.
>> ”Kind of hard not to. Are you sure you’re okay? I only ask because, well, you were staring at me. I really didn’t mean to hurt you, if I did.”
"I, uh," the prawn blanched. Her nervous tic of grinding her mandibles together persisted momentarily until she quieted herself, in order to finish her train of thought. Sure, Jack was gigantic, but being put on the spot like this made her feel very small.
"D-didn't nean to," Jack said apologetically, "Just don't see a lot uzz nyu-tants like nee around. And I see a lot uzz nyu-tants.” The prawn tapped her nametag, which clicked against her armored fingertip. Her lavender eyes found their way back to the young woman.
“Caught nee oss guard,” the prawn continued, “Your shell is really...” beautiful? Mesmerizing? Dazzling? “Re-slective.” Yup, that’s the word she went for. Reflective. Whereas Jack’s shell was shiny like the hood of car, the patron’s carapace was reflective like tinted mirror.
>> ”Of course. Last thing I want is any trouble with the security for my work and home.”
The prawn nodded, closing her eyes in a brief smile.
>> ”Do you drink coffee, Jack?”
Jack flexed her jaw, lavender eyes sliding towards the expectant cup. In the pre-Zinnia days, she hadn't been much of a coffee drinker. The acrid taste was magnified by her sensitive preferences. But after some experimentation, the pair learned that as long as the coffee beans were good and Jack practically drowned to brew in coconut milk creamer, she could make it almost palatable. The stuff they carried at school was the cheap, large-quantity stuff, and would likely taste disgusting to the prawn. Besides, drinking coffee meant taking off her surgical mask in front of an essential stranger.
The prawn shook her head and politely replied, "No sank you. Nice uzz you to oss-er, doh."
Jack shrugged her shoulders and looked towards the door, subconsciously grinding her mandibles as she awaited the arrival of another one of the security staff. The kitchen was not a small room, by any means (at least not compared to the galley-styled kitchen at her apartment), but the lingering awkward silence made the room feel stuffy to the prawn. She was not a conversationalist. But she also was not about to leave Mr. Holloway on his own, until the staff turned-up. (It was easier with drunk clubgoers. They were more belligerent-- you just roughed them up a bit and scowled. It was different with someone who could potentially be a coworker.)
"Ny girl-sriend can't get e-nuss uzz duh stu-ss," the prawn finally rumbled, looking back to Mr. Holloway and his mug of coffee, "She's like a co-ssee connoiseur or sun-sing. Hasn't gotten a hold uzz any-sing I like yet, doh." Jack shouldered a shrug, "She doesn't seen to care, doh. Says dat it just lea's nore sore her."
Weekend nights were rough to work, particularly when Jack had a shift at Xavier's just prior to showing-up at Chrysalis. Jack went from corraling kids to corraling drunkards. She also went from well-kempt street clothes to the club uniform, which entailed a bottom-up shirt and tie, a semi-fitted vest and black slacks. The black surgical mask to conceal her grisly mouthparts were an addition of her own. Altough these formal, masculine clothes accentuated her figure, the prawn didn't exactly look forward to dawning them. She wasn't looking forward to this night as a whole, as a matter of fact. Jack also wouldn't call-out unless she was on her deathbed, however, so here she was suffering in silence.
Jack was returning from chaperoning a particluarly blitzed young man out of the nightclub, and making her return to the shadowy perimeter of the room, when a young woman unthinkingly moved back, and elbowed the prawn. It was a dull sensation, thanks to Jack's carapace, but she felt the faint thud, and heard the young woman's apology.
>> "Oh! Pardon! Deepest apologies! Are you okay?”
It was directed at her. The prawn turned, raising a dismissive hand. She closed her eyes, in her sembleance of a smile, and said, "Yuh. I'n nade uzz radder sturdy stu-ss. You okay?"
The prawn turned her gaze to the apologetic young woman, and was greeted with a strange sight and awesome sight. For starters, the reflective emerald sheen of her skin was dazzling in the low light. The neon pinks and purples of Chrysalis's ambient lights refracted off of her carapace. There were occasional hard ridges at the seams in her armor. Someone like her.
And yet... someone unlike her. The young woman had an attractive, definitely female face and physique, and a whole head of hair. No antennae. She was beautiful. Jack realized, a little too late, that she had lingered for a moment too long, and was (for lack of a better word) staring the young patron down.
" 'scuse nee," Jack rumbled, abashedly retreating to her station at the edge of the floor. She didn't even await a response. It wasn't as though there were anything carnal behind her prolonged stare. It just wasn't everyday that the prawn came across someone like her-- however unalike this fellow mutant was.
It wasn't fair. The prawn pressed her back to the wall, now at the edge of the room, and leveled a gaze at the young woman from afar. Absolutely stunning. Ugh.
The pastor was quick to close-in on the Xavier's cohort. He shook the first chaperone's hand, greeted the kids, then made his way to Jack, not skipping a beat. The pastor proffered a hand, smiling warmly at her.
Jack returned the smile, though noticeably taken aback by his forwardness. She gingerly took his hand in hers, shaking it gently. Given the immensity of her hands, handshakes were no very common.
>> "You must be Jack. Pastor Dr. Mark Richardson. A pleasure to meet you."
"Jacquelyn Dyer," she confirmed, "Nice to neet you."
The pastor segued into a brief exchange of small-talk, which Jack answered with polite, brief responses. Chruches set her on-edge, given the frequent association of radical anti-mutant individuals with religious zealotry. But Pastor Richardson seemed like a nice enough man.
"Is dere any-sing I can hel' 'iss?" Jack asked him, looking for an out, "I an good sore hea'y listing and such..."
"Nothing comes to mind, immediately, but I'll be certain to let the other volunteers know!" the pastor said smilingly. The kids were split into groups, some sent towards the kitchen while others remained in the dining room. Jack stepped towards the periphery and leaned against the wall, keeping a steady eye on the kids in front of her.
As her eyes scanned the room, she spotted a familiar face. Officer Linley. What was he doing here? She supposed that cops, too, could go to church.
Jack raised a hand hesitantly in a half-hearted wave, acknowledging that she saw him. The tables were clumped together rather closely, and he was on the other side of the room, so closing the distance wouldn't be so simple for the prawn.
>> "What kind of moron would pick that fight? ... I mean, sorry, but when I see someone who is a head taller than me, my first thought isn’t ‘fight.’ But I guess hate really does come from a place of ignorance, huh?”
The prawn's mandibles curled in a grin at Nate's own observations. She wasn't the easily-offended type. In fact, blunt honesty was a welcomed change of pace from how people usually tread around her. If people didn't outright react with fear or hostility, their first inclination was to tread carefully around the subject of her mutation. Wouldn't want to hurt the delicate behemoth's feelings, would we? The poor pitiful thing-- bla, bla, bla.
"Yes, 'ut you seen like a reason'ale guy," the prawn rumbled, "Dere are quite a see-ew idiots out dere who see diss--" she gestured to the length of her body, "--As a chance to show how dey so strong and tou'h. Dey got like a Na'oleon con'lex or sun-sing."
The prawn flapped a hand dismissively. All part and parcel for the course, when you wore your mutation outwardly.
Thankfully, Nate was more than willing to help. There was a grunted, "Shanks." and a murmured extension for the office, but little else was said. People felt so tiny, when they were up so close.
>> ”Of course. There you go. I’ll be over making coffee in case you need to throw me in cuffs.”
"Don't has any," Jack muttered, before realizing that what Nate had said was probably a joke. Jack held the pinched reciever to her ear, hunching over so as not to strain the cord. The phone rang a few times, then someone on the other end picked-up.
<Security,> a clipped voice greeted.
"Yo, dis Jack," Jack greeted, "Could you see 'out sending sun-un o-zer. I'n here 'iss a Nate Hollo'ay, he says he's a returning teacher, 'ut dere was no-sing a'out hi'n in duh oss-ice and he got no tag or nuss'ing."
<How'd he get on-campus without checking in?>
"Du-nonte," Jack chirred.
A groan surfaced on the other end of the line. It was a well-known fact that Dumonte was essentially incompetent.
<I'll send someone over to verify his identity and get him a tag. Where are you?>
Jack reported their location, said her farewells, and hung-up.
"Dey're sending sun-one ozer," Jack reported, as she gently replaced the receiver on the housing, "Sun-one who knows you and can get you a tag."
Then again, if Nate hadn't looked so squishy and humanoid, Jack might not have even stopped him. Talk about reverse biases. Oh, well. Everyone, except the kids, had tags or designations of some sort.
It was a mystery to Jack how she had ended-up chaperoning this damn excursion. She thought security meant making sure that the grounds of the school were secure, that the students were safe on-campus. Yet, here she was on a small school-bus full of mutant kids, awkwardly wedged sideways in the front seat. Apparently the school was big on community service, for the usual reasons that schools were big on that kind of thing. Even the little ones could participate in "Creek Week" events where they helped pick-up trash along rivers and creeks, or in the park.
Today, Jack was accompanying the junior high or high school students, en route to a church. The church, St. John's, was situated amid the hustle and bustle of downtown. A stone monolith, untouched by time, that used it's sway and large congregation to fund numerous outreach programs. This included providing meals to some of the local homeless population on certain days of the week. Saint John's had extended an invitation to some of the students of Xavier's, seeking help with preparing and serving the meal.
Jack had been volunteered to help accompany the students on the bus ride there. Of course, she wasn't alone. With this many kids there was at least one more chaperone. But heavens knew why the administration sat down and said to themselves, "You know what's better than sending teachers with our kids? A glorified hall monitor. That makes sense!"
The bus came to a halt, and Jack rose quickly, wriggling her way out of the seat.
"Chief, aren't you excited?" a girl with eyes like galaxies exclaimed, "You get to spend so much time with us!"
"It'll 'e cool," Jack agreed, smiling.
"Alright, everyone!" the other chaperone announced, "Best behavior! The pastor was nice enough to welcome us into his church and let us help out today. So let's show him how great Xavier's can be, okay? And no cell phones!"
There was only a tiny groan. "Gather outside and await further directions."
Jack was the first off of the bus. Wow. The church really was big. The prawn tilted her head back, eyes peering toward the spire above. As the other chaperone approached, Jack asked, "Do dey eat in duh church?"
"Naw, there's a whole other wing of rooms... some classrooms, offices, a fellowship hall, and a gymnasium. They serve lunch in the gym. We just gotta go 'round thee back."
"Alright, follow me, students," the other chaperone instructed, "Ms. Dyer, bring-up the rear, make sure there are no stragglers."
The gaggle of students, trailing behind the chaperone up, were full of bubbly conversation and laughter. Assisting at the church was routine, for them, thus wasn't so daunting. Jack, however, was glad to be at the rear. She hadn't set foot near a church since... well, pre-mutation days. It twisted her stomach in knots, and they weren't even going into the proper church.
Jack ducked in through a low doorway, surveying the enormous room that lay before them. It was practically a gymnasium, perhaps bigger, filled with foldable plastic tables and chairs. If you followed your ears towards the clamor on the opposite side of the room, you found the kitchen. There were some people present, but the meal hadn't yet started. The volunteers still needed to finish preparing the meal before it began.
A laugh escaped Mr. Holloway, which earned a wry smile from Jack. The man muttered an apology, and the prawn shrugged her shoulder. Funny or not, it was an honest opinion of Dumonte's character.
>> "Oh, right. I’m an art teacher. I have… experience in that field, so it was an easy fit. I worked here until about four years ago, before I had to take a sabbatical."
"Art teacher," Jack echoed, nodding. Mr. Holloway didn't seem like an art teacher-- then again, Jack hadn't taken many art classes, so most of what she understood art teachers to be were stereotypes.
>> ”And you? How long have you been working at the Mansion, Jacqueline?”
"Jack is sine," Jack assured the man. Her full name felt too formal, as if she was in trouble, "Here sore... a'out a year now..." Goodness, had it really almost been a year? Time certainly flies...
"Got recruited as-ter San Johnson and I got in a sight togedder," Jack rumbled, "Sun guy 'as trying to start sh*t 'iss nee cuz... 'ell, you know." If anything, Jack was a realist about her physical appearance, "Duh rest is history."
The two of them rounded into the kitchen, and the prawn crossed the room towards the phone, side-eyeing Nate as she went. She had to call the security office. There were security staffers who'd been working at the Mansion forever, and one of them were bound to be familiar with Nate Holloway.
The corded phone, which hung from the wall, was an older but not ancient model-- off-white with push-buttons on the housing, and a coiled cord that tethered the phone to the handset to the housing. Jack unhooked the handset, greeted by a dial tone. It was so dwarfed in her massive primary hand that she literally pinched it between her thumb and forefinger. Then came the biggest challenge-- tiny buttons.
"Nis-ter Hollo'ay," Jack said hesitantly, feeling rather like stupid, "Could I trou'le you sore sun hel'?"
How lame, having to ask the guy you were investigating for help operating a phone. Sure, Jack could have (had she been alone) lifted her shirt and used the secondary set of arms to dial the buttons, but she didn't want to make a spectacle of herself.
The sheepish prawn, regardless of the man's response, would admonish, "Ny hands are too... are no good. Too large. Sewn is too tiny."
To put things delicately, the aforementioned “short redheaded guy” whose name was Dumont, was an idiot. No wonder there was no memo. Jack groaned, grinding her mandibles.
“Dat nakes sense,” Jack sighed, “Du-nont is an idiot.”
The prawn rubbed the armored back of her neck and churred. He was night-shift and thus off-duty right now, wouldn’t be back for another few hours. Jack didn’t want to be a bother to Nate any longer than necessary. She’d radio up-front to see if anyone could verify who Nate was. (Some people had been around for a while, so someone was bound to recognize him.) Then she’d give Dumont sh-t when his shift started that evening.
>> “I was up late last night with a student. Helping a student. She was sick. And I’m still very tired, so I’m very sorry if I sound like I’m rambling. Would you care to walk with me, if you’re heading that way?”
Jack flapped a hand dismissively, shaking her head. The more Holloway talked meant the less talking that Jack would have to do. She didn’t mind not having to talk.
“Iss I can,” Jack replied. As if he had the choice. She was wholly convinced, now, that he was innocent—but she was still a very thorough woman, and wanted to be absolutely sure. Besides, she wanted to spare Mr. Holloway the trouble of being bothered by anyone else on the security staff who might not know him. She could call up front, clear him, and get him the appropriate credentials, easily.
Jack would trail behind Mr. Holloway on his stroll to the kitchen, her stature noticeably more slouched and relaxed as they went. She was acutely aware of how immense she was and, now that she fairly certain of Nate’s innocence, she would do her best to seem less… intimidating.
“ ‘uh-t sud-ject did you teach?” Jack tried to spur the conversation, however awkward and unwieldy her attempt was. It felt weird trying to assuage someone she'd previously been trying to intimidate. It was easier to rough people up. Private schools were a totally different animal from nightclubs...
