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.
>> "Been here a while? I've seen her looooads of thimes"
He mouthed something to her, but in the low lights, Jack couldn't make out Linley's unvoiced words. His eyes were serious, though.
"Nister Lundgren's a regular," Jack said tiredly, taking another sip of Old Fashioned as she nodded towards Linley. The word "regular" rolled off her tongue drolly, suggesting that Linley's character was a terrible drunkard.
>> "Yeah, I lllove it here"
Again he was mouthing words to her, and Jack shook her head. Her exasperation was genuine, but overstated. She didn't understand what he was trying to say. Even with night-vision. For all she knew, Linley was mimicking a fish. But she'd act like he was someone else, regardless.
"Could likely singlehandedly su'ort us, 'ey Lundgren?" Jack agreed teashing, "No trou'le tonight, okay? I'n oss duty."
A silver-haired, J-Pop Legolas-looking gentleman drew Linley's attention, so Jack returned her attention to Devon. Her lavender eyes slid speculatively over his sharp featres, and she took another sip of her drink.
>> "I'm sorry. I was going to tell that guy to maybe find someone else to bother but it looks like he did. I was also going to say before he started slurring over my shoulder that I thought I'd read of a Chief working here. That's great. I was actually hoping to talk to someone with the staff if you have a moment now or later. I'd certainly cover the old fashioneds while we talked."
"Don't has any sorta sway here," Jack said flatly. The name was misleading, at times. People thought that "Chief" meant she was the boss. Her only authority was that she was the muscle that escorted drunkards out. Something about being picked-up like a wayward kitten by the scruff of your collar was sobering.
She didn't hold any actual, managerial sway though.
>> "Care to head out onto the patio? Probably easier to talk up out there."
He was a stubborn one, Jack gave him that.
"Lenne sin-ish dis one," Jack answered, "Den we can talk o'er dere, in the corner."
There was a large leather booth in front of a wall of books, which deadened the sound just enough for some conversation. She leaned closer to Devon and admonished, "I wanna kee' an eye on Lundgren. 'e's trou'le sun-tines."
And, like that, Linley and the silver-haired Legolas joined. Who the f--- was this guy? Another cop?
>> ”I didn't mean to overhear ya, but I couldn't help it. This is pretty good, nice burn too. That girl really knows her stuff."
"Dat's why she tends duh dar," Jack confirmed, "Knows her stu-ss. 'rolly knows it 'etter dan anyone here."
The prawn took another sip. The Old fashioned was reaching critical levels. She'd probably get another swig out of the glass before requesting a refill.
While all sorts of individuals came into the bar-- mutants of different shapes and sizes, humans and human-passing individuals alike-- there were still certain individuals that Jack never expected, yet always seemed to see. Police officers. Sure, they came around when there was trouble, but she figured such a hectic line of work would steer policemen away from such lively hobbies as "going to the club". Thus, when someone she knew to be with law enforcement staggered to the bar, slurring about "what do you think of the club" or some such nonsense, Jack's guard raised. Her antennae lifted from their usually flat position, and her eyebrows twitched. Recognition.
Linley.
Some of the more cultured employees of Chrysalis added an "Officer" before his name, but Jack had an issue with "f's". To her, he was Linley. Frequently he was the officer that NYPD sent to collect drunkards and gangbangers alike, when things got too out-of-hand for the bouncers. But Jack-- well-- Jack didn't particularly care for policemen, X-gene or not.
The prawn said nothing. It wasn't her business. But something rose a little red flag at the back of her head. Her antennae settled, her eyes thinned minutely in scrutiny and unspoken intrigue. Perhaps Linley caught the stare, perhaps not.
>> "Hello."
And, like that, Devon shut Linley out. Jack quirked a smile as Devon turned back to her, casually unhooking her surgical mask and clenching it in her free hand. The other rose the dwarfed glass to her lips and took a sip of the mixed drink. Real smooth, just the way she liked it.
>> "Yeah, we are. I was just saying how this is my first time here. I assume not yours or have you been here a while?"
"Could say Chrysalis is ny hone," Jack replied, in response to Devon, "'een here long tine... see-yew years... Tonight's ny night oss doh." Suggesting that she worked there.
In response to Linley-- who, for the time being, Jack was treating like a common, inebriated club-goer, she said, "It's a good 'lace. Got duh kinda soul not a whole lot o' uzzer 'laces got. Like a san-ily al-nost."
Even if she stopped working there, Jack couldn't imagine ever leaving Chrysalis. Not voluntarily. Her gaze lingered on Linley for a moment, as if puzzling over him, before touching on Devon, and returning to her drink. She took another sip.
Jack let her gaze linger on the bartender for a few measures too long, the beat of the music reverberating in her carapace before she turned her gaze to the dance-floor. The seven-foot behemoth wasn't one for parties (sober, anyways) despite (or perhaps because of) her line of work. But she did enjoy drinking the partying scene in. And Chrysalis, being so vocally pro-mutant, was sort of a "dreamland" for the prawn where people, you know, actually treated her like a person. Sometimes people even flirted with her (although their perception of her gender was frequently misconstrued and uncorrected).
>> "Would you prefer my seat? I'm not sure if you prefer sitting or standing so I figured I'd offer."
The prawn fixed her attention on the young man-- he was one of those "so pretty it's unfair" types. Laser-cut cheekbones and icicle eyes. Jack shifted her weight, shouldering a genial shrug. Who even is this guy?
"Kee' your seat," the prawn purred, "Sank you. I can stand alright."
She even included a thank you. How fortunate for him. The bartender returned with her drink, and Jack fished a loose ten from her pocket.
"Sanks Honey," Jack said with a nod. "Honey" was the barkeep's designation chosen by other Chrysalis employees, since the young woman often preferred sweeter scents to emulate, "Don' need duh change."
"Thanks Chief," Honey sang. There was something about working in a service position that gave you a deeper appreciation for other service workers. Besides which, bartenders gave you more attention if you tipped well enough.
>> "I'm Devon."
Jack peered longingly at the Old Fashioned. Most people would just sit and have their drinks, but Jack found slinking-off to eat or drink preferable. And she certainly did not favor removing her surgical mask in front of unfamiliar faces (or really, any patrons at Chrysalis). However, a certain degree of decorum made her compelled to make some small talk in her place of business, even when she was off-duty. She was recognizable enough that a churlish attitude would come back to bite her in the butt. In this way, Jack was being held hostage by social convention.
"Jack," she replied, nodding to the man, "'ut e'eryone calls nee Chief here."
The /f/ in "Chief" was achieved by exhaling sharply through pinched mandibles. It was a sound that Jack typically avoided due to the shear amount of effort it took to articulate it. but she took the time when introducing her, since literally all the regulars almost exclusively called her "Chief".
The prawn resumed watching Honey work, mesmerized by the flair with which she met orders. Jack could never fathom moving with such grace. Not when she was the seven-foot behemoth that she was. Honey was the epitome of femininity, whereas Jack was... well, Jack. And all that "Jack" implied. Cargo short and tank-top clad and with such an immense presence that she couldn't shy out of attention if she wanted to. How obnoxious.
"'een here 'e-sore?" Jack inquired, attempting polite conversation. Of course, she'd remember someone with cheekbones as sharp as his coming to her club, but it was one of few conversation-starters that Jack had in her repertoire.
If there was one thing Jack was not, it was a morning person. Despite the second round of dozing-off, it did nothing to improve her wakefulness. If anything it made her more sleepy. Jack felt Zinnia wriggling free what literally felt like seconds after deciding to go back to sleep. The prawn begrudgingly lifted her arm so that her dear friend could free herself.
>> “I’ll be back in a sec.”
"Mhmm," Jack acknowledged. She rolled onto her stomach and decided to put-off joininig polite society for a while longer. Getting up meant putting on clothes, meant functioning, and the prawn was simply unprepared for such responsibilities yet.
>> “You wanna cuppa?”
Jack pried her eyes open, her head lolling in Zinnia's direction.
"Yus 'lease," was the garbled response. It was so hard to coordinate her mouthparts first thing in the morning. Jack wasn't even sure of what a "cuppa" was, but she didn't want to seem impolite. Jack wrapped her arms around a seat cushion and, laying on her stomach, stole occasional glances in Zinnia's direction. If Zinnia made motions to leave, Jack would rouse herself, but the prawn otherwise saw little motivation to get out of the pillow nest.
Having worked an late morning-to-evening shift at Xavier's, Jack found herself walking home during a time when most participants in urban nightlife (and all that it entails) were venturing their way out of doors to begin the night. Thugs, partygoers, and anything in between... and Jack. The prawn walked briskly, keeping the hood of her sweatshirt pulled close to her head. She had the advantage of towering over most individuals, so she was able to cut through the thick of the crowd.
Along her route home, she passed a familiar nightclub, her other place of business. The hum of the neon sign beckoned to her, and the doorman was too preoccupied with the crowd before him to notice the familiar figure approaching from his side.
Jack had no plans, for the evening. She was just going to go home, curl up with her laptop and catch some shows on Webflix. Stopping in for a drink wouldn't hurt. She dropped her hood and reached into her pocket, rummaging out her wallet for her ID. As she fished out her wallet, she also fished out a 10$ bill and tucked it behind the ID. and she made her way to the rope.
The doorman was a mutant man, just shy of six-feet and built robustly-- over his back, arms, and crown of his head were armored plates. His ears stuck out to the side, and a short tail barely skimmed the ground.
"Hey, Roadie," Jack greeted. "Roadie" as in "Roadkill", because he looked like an armadillo. Jack didn't make the names. But Roadie didn't take offense to the nickname, so it stuck. Just like everyone called her Chief.
"'ey Chief," Roadie rasped, looking up as he stamped some patrons' hands, "Been a while. You here for a drink?"
"Yeah," Jack grunted affirmatively, offering her ID. It was more of a formality than much else. Roadie knew her, knew she was of age... but if she was skipping the line, it would serve her well to bribe her friend a bit, regardless. Roadie pocketed the ten, unhooked the rope, and ushered her in.
The techno music swallowed Jack whole, the bass reverberating to her core. She walked down the foyer onto the main dance floor, before skirting around the edge and ascending the stairs to the "library". Though the space upstairs provided no protection from the pulsating music, smatterings of benches kept a majority of the dancers downstairs. Jack found a place at the bar where she could lean on her elbows. One of the bartenders, a young fair-skinned woman, caught sight of the prawn. Jack waved casually, and the woman finished delivering her order before approaching the prawn.
"What are you doing here?" the woman teased, "Isn't it your night off?"
"Can't get 'nuss o' diss 'lace," Jack drolled.
"Yeah, sure. Want the usual?"
The prawn nodded, and the woman turned tail with a smirk, the scent of rose petals following in her wake. This particular bartender had some froufrou power. Apparently she had a shrewd nose that could track a man by their scent, but also never needed perfume, as she could emulate any scent she'd ever smelled. Huh.
A meandering primary hand found a stray coaster, and the prawn spun the coaster on the counter-top. Maybe she'd go sit outside once they barkeep finished with her drink.
(ooc: I envision Chrysalis to look like this with a patio space connected to on the roof, which one can access by going upstairs, and then up another flight of stairs (have yet to decide where).)
It was fulfilling and dreamless sleep, which were difficult to come by in Jack's experience. Jack's primary hands were tucked under her head, one leg behind the other, form relaxed. Despite the slight mess of pipes and cords, the prawn was at ease and remained sleeping until Zinnia began dislodging them. The spines along the ridge of her jaw accidentally held onto the tube, and cause Jack to nod slightly, stirring her from sleep.
The prawn rumbled in confusion, and confused "harump" at the awakening. Squinted eyes roved about for the offender. Her annoyance dissipated when she realized it was Zinnia. A heavy (unhelpful) primary hand attempted to help brush the pipes free, but eventually admitted defeat and found a place to rest on Zinnia's hip. She was too tired to help dislodge tubes or wires.
>> "Morning you."
"Is it?" Jack rumbled back. Her friend had scooted closer, so the prawn took the opportunity to (carefully) wrap herself around Zinnia. Primary arms enfolded around Zinnia, and Jack rested her chin atop Zinnia's head.
"I's gonna... not acknowledge... nor-ning... gonna hit duh snooze dut-ton on duh day..." she purred. Her hold on Zinnia wasn't tight, and her friend could have squirmed free with ease. Jack was still too sleepy and ragdoll-y to put up much a fight in any regards.
Posted by "Chief" on Aug 30, 2016 21:58:47 GMT -6
Tempest likes this
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
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Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
I would love to get Jack in this thread! I haven't really established Chrysalis as having a sketchy underbelly IC'ly yet but it is an eventual hope of mine. Maybe Chrysalis could provide beverages at the event (since they have strong mutant-friendly vibes and, well, alcohol) and due to the owner's own personal interests.
I would be down to have Jack there as just an attendee, or as security for the booth, a bodyguard, whatever.
>> “Hey. I mean to. And I don’t mind the shirtlessness at all."
Zinnia was all smiles, which simply made the prawn even more flustered.
"O-oh! Dat's good!" the prawn chorused back. The tone of relief had too brittle an edge. Jack tried to wriggle out of her tank top, but her shakiness made it difficult and the fact that an arm spine got caught didn't help. Zinnia tugged at the hem, which sent Jack's heart hammering away. Deft hands helped free the prawn from her shirt, leaving her confused owlish. Her pupils had dilated slightly, brow furrowed. She managed a small, "Shanks."
>> “Yeah, light please... Can you see in the dark? No fair!”
Jack answered with a soft yet mischievous chuckle at Zinnia's realization.
"Sun colors are diss-erent," Jack rumbled, reaching over to switch off the light, "Uzzer-wise yes." She carefully maneuvered herself closer to Zinnia, laying on her side. With the spines and gaunt hips, it was easier and more comfortable for the prawn to lay on her stomach or back. But now, she just wanted to look at the young woman beside her.
A careful primary hand trailed over Zinnia's hair, careful not to dislodge the straps for Zinnia's mask. Jack laid so that their faces were level.
"Is hard to sink dis is real..." Jack murmured, "I'n... glad."
That was all the prawn could muster the guts to say, as she gently ran her hand over Zinnia's hair. She wished she had human hands...you can't comb fat centipede-like fingers then a person's hair. Such affectionate gestures were reserved for normal hands.
>> “Can I hold your little hand?”
"Sure," purred the prawn. While a primary hand could easily cover Zinnia's face, Jack's secondary hands and arms were like those of a small child. Jack reached a secondary hands towards Zinnia. They could figure this out.
The prawn leaned forward and nibbled lightly at the other mutant's forehead, sharing her version of a forehead kiss.
>> “You surprised me too! I’m sorry to startle you. Did it… hurt?”
"N-no," Jack had stammered, "Dey just get--" she made the pinching motion with her thumb and primary finger "--a lot, y'know?"
>> “Umm. Me either… Pillow nest?”
"Mmmm... sure," Jack replied, gears turning. With the carapace and all, sleeping on the floor was less uncomfortable for her than most. The risk of certain parts going numb was less of a concern when hardly any part of you was squishy. Zinnia, however, was quite squishy, so the floor might be uncomfortable for her. Jack surveyed the cushions contemplatively... then again, there were a lot of cushions.
As Zinnia fussed with the CPap, Jack carefully took a seat in the pillow-nest. This was a much better alternative to a hide-a-bed... Jack didn't need to worry about fitting (couches were often too short) or the weight limitations when sleeping on the floor
>> “Will your little arms be squished? Cause I can look away…?”
"You don't has to!" Jack protested, a little too eagerly. One mandible rubbed against the other, as though she were contemplating her words, "I just... did not know iss it would 'e alright to slee' shirtless. Didn' want you to 'e un-con-sortable or any-sing."
Said the prawn who had just had a shirtless make-out session with the person she was addressing. Sleeping was far more vulnerable a situation, however. And, if Zinnia was a conservative sleeper, the prawn didn't want to be awaiting her in a more scant bedtime ensemble.
"I can take ny shirt oss iss it's okay wiss you," the prawn reiterated.
>> “I’m sorry about your antenna, I should have asked.”
"No need to say sorry," Jack mumbled, brushing the knuckle of a primary hand against Zinnia's arm. The prawn chirred. There was a note of worry creeping into her tone, causing her to speak more and more hastily, "It just sur'rised nee is all. Ny antenna are su'er sensiti'e, a-an I close den in duh door sun-tines so I sought nay'e I got den stuck 'etween duh couch an duh wall or sun-sing... you didn't hurt nee at all. In sact it can 'e really nice when sun-one touches den I just ne'er had anyone touch den and nean too. No one e'er neans to when dey-"
Well, when they touched her. Any for of contact was often coincidental, and anyone who had this misfortune of bumping shoulders with her or accidentally bumping into her usually jumped aside as if stung. The prawn didn't think that it bothered her-- a wide berth made it easier to get to where she was going-- but maybe, deep down, she craved the same kind of closeness that humans and human-passing mutants took for granted. Or maybe not-so deep down. That was why it was so nice to share an evening like this with Zinnia... they were close to each other and, spare the newness and excitement of a first kiss, it was a comfortable and almost normal encounter.
Jack pinched her nasal bridge and averted her gaze. Her heart was hammering, and the realization of that sent a thrill of embarrassment through the prawn.
"I can get duh light, when you're ready," Jack said lamely.
● Midnight Snack (29 Jan. 2016) w/ Wolf: It's not easy being monstrous, but it's nice to know you're not alone.
● Nothing Personal (-- ---. ----) w/ Randy: A follow-up to "So a Shrimp and a Hothead Walk Into a Bar". Jack tries to right old wrongs with a conciliatory table, Randy is decidedly less-than appeased.
Summer/Fall 2016
● Welcome Home (21 Jun. 2016) w/ Zinnia: When your girlfriend is out of town, sometimes some romantic healing is in order.
● Bystander (numerous months) Solo/Utopia Plot: When tragedy strikes the mutant community, one needn't be in the thick of things to feel the ripples.
As Jack leaned over to reach the lamp, one of her antennae coincidentally brushed Zinnia’s face, which the other young woman saw fit to nibble toothlessly upon. The prawn jumped and let out a surprised shout, quickly brushing a hand over her antennae and out of Zinnia’s reach. Her antennae with covered in fine hairs and miniscule scales, and incredibly sensitive—for the most part, the only time Jack’s antennae got any attention was when they were accidentally slammed in cabinets or doors. This happened very rarely, but it was painful enough that should anyone (re: Zinnia) touch them, Jack’s initial reaction was one of pain.
It didn’t take too long for Jack to realize that the touch had come from Zinnia, and had been intentional if not a touch inquisitive.
“Y-you… sur’rised nee,” Jack chastised lightly, her hand remaining atop her head as the warm light flooded the room. “Sorry sore yelling.”
Jack deigned to admit that, with forewarning, she wouldn’t mind Zinnia investigating her antennae once again. Not by surprise, though. Jack warbled at the parting kisses, and roused herself once Zinnia left to do whatever Zinnia’s did before bed. The prawn gathered dishes and carried them to the kitchen sink. Once there, she drank some water from the faucet, before making her way back to the couch. Slide the coffee table out of the way, remove couch cushions and pillows…
It was there that Jack stopped. She’d never been able to figure these things out, as a child. She remembered her mother standing by the couch and proclaiming, “It’s easy!” and grabbing the legs, unfolding it just like that, and bam. Finito. It was never “just that easy”. Ever. Even as an adult Jack couldn’t make sense of the thing. At least she tried.
Jack collapsed on the love seat, deciding to await the return of Zinnia, who was likely better versed about opening hide-a-bed’s. Jack stretched out, legs hanging off the edge of the loveseat, casting a jokingly listless gaze towards Zinnia as she returned to the living room. Her dear friend donned an oversized shirt and toted the CPap along with her. Jack sat up slowly, kicking her legs to the front of the love seat. Lavender eyes drank in her friend’s appearance, before turning to her own attire. There were little spikes on her pants for added punk flair, which might poke into Zinnia if they were sleeping. Jack retrieved her tank top, which had been thrown to the floor while she removed the coupons, and she wriggled back into it. Somehow shimmying out of her pants seemed less audacious with a shirt on. Jack undid her belt, and shimmied free of the cargo shorts, standing before her dear friend in a loose tank top and boxers.
Though usually quite forward about her dress and undress, Jack felt uncharacteristically bashful.
“Couldn’t sig-ure out duh couch,” the prawn rumbled lamely, rubbing the back of her neck.
Zinnia finished her meal and likewise deposited her plate on the coffee table, nestling close against Jack’s side. She closed her eyes cheerfully. Cute.
>> “Umm, more practicing?”
Was that even a question? Despite the noodle-breath that both women now boasted, Jack was more than ready to “practice more”.
“Yes ‘lease,” Jack replied lightly. The two of them readjusted, got comfortable, and resumed where they’d left off. From the couch, Jack surrendered even more control of the situation. Her hands wandered, their venture punctuated by timid, “Dis okay?” ‘s every so often, before resuming their meandering. Jack focused her efforts along Zinnia’s sides, back, arms, neck and shoulders… too bashful to really dare letting her hands wander anywhere else.
Time galloped past without any forewarning, leaving both women in its wake. Jack broke the kiss when she realized that the room had darkened around them, and that the clock had climbed into the upper double-digit hours.
“I sink we could win duh gold, iss we enter a con’etition,” Jack teased, lightly nibbling at her dear friend’s neck once again, “We’s ‘ery well ‘racticed, wouldn’t you say?”
While Jacks’ eyes could see Zinnia well enough, albeit in tones of grey, she wasn’t sure if her friend could see in the darkness. Jack ran a hand over Zinnia’s leg, before lightly using her primary hand to steady her friend. She didn’t want Zinnia falling off of her lap, nor did she want her friend tripping in the dark.
“Let nee get duh light,” Jack insisted. The prawn leaned over, massive hand finding the knob to twist to turn the light on, “Close your eyes.”
The prawn likewise shut her eyes and click-click, the room was plunged into a week yellow light, which would gradually strengthen as the light warmed-up. Jack righted herself, releasing her hold on Zinnia’s leg, The smaller mutant sat perched on Jack’s lap, looking comfortably rumpled, as lovers sometimes did.
“Wanna try slee’ing?” Jack murmured to Zinnia, lightly taking one of her friend’s hands and brushing her thumb over it. Jack couldn’t, with a good conscience, keep Zinnia up too late after the other young woman had spent hours on a bus today, “You slee’y yet?”
Jack hummed, as if giving the question serious consideration. She watched Zinnia with teasing eyes, her mandibles curling in a smirk. Of course she missed Zinnia-- she was Jack's dearest (re: only) friend. Finally the prawn laughed, as Zinnia set the plates of food down, and the prawn conceded, "I did. It gets ... en-ty... wiss-out you around."
More kisses were peppered upon the prawn's head, which earned a contented series of clicks. Typically, when Jack sat away from a dining table to eat and she was in the privacy of her home, she would remove her shirt in order to let her secondary hands hold the fragile dinner plate. Her primary hands were too large and clumsy and many a-plate lost their lives to the prawn's grip. Given that they had just been so affectionate to one another, however, Jack was very bashful in the process of removing her tank top. Which was worse, though? Taking your shirt off in front of Zinnia, or breaking her parents' plate? The latter, of course.
Jack shed her shirt and set it aside, before gingerly retrieving the plate from the coffee table. Primary hand passed the plate to the secondary pair, and Jack leaned back. She ate quietly, pinching the fork in one primary hand. Occasionally Zinnia would lightly touch Jack and the prawn would shift her gaze towards her, purring faintly. She couldn't feel the touches but she saw the movement in her periphery each time.
Though three of her hands were preoccupied with eating, her fourth arm--the primary arm closest to Zinnia-- was free. Jack maneuvered her free arm around Zinnia and draped it over the back of the couch. With her free hand, she traced lines on her fiend's arm and continued to eat.
>> “Would you like to stay over?”
"I'd like dat 'ery nuch," Jack said, without missing a beat. Despite being hindered by the fork, she managed to clean the plate rather efficiently. Having finished, the primary hand that wasn't tucked around Zinnia replaced the plate on the coffee table. Jack then righted herself, lightly nestling her face in Zinnia's shoulder as she waited for her friend to finish eating.
It was a blissful few minutes. Perhaps it'd even been an hour-- it was hard to keep track of something as trivial as time, when one was in the heat of making out. Zinnia seemed so comfortable and unphased by the prawn that stood before her, and that made the young woman even more precious to Jack.
A light bump on her head stirred Jack from the lull of thoughts that swam in her head. Her mouthparts found their niches once again as Zinnia withdrew.
>> “I’ll grab us some plates.”
"O-kay," Jack clicked, although her brain whined a quiet "noooo" at the announcement. Lavender eyes followed Zinnia into kitchen, but the prawn stayed rooted where she'd been left. When she caught Zinnia's gaze, Jack glanced shyly away, fixing her attention on the couch instead. Her heart wanted to trail after Zinnia like a lost puppy, but Jack's brain told her to play it cool. The prawn shuffled over to the couch and gingerly took a seat.
She might've been "playing it cool", but the expression upon her face betrayed her. While Zinnia was warily keeping track of Jack, Jack was fondly and conspicuously watching her dear friend move about the kitchen.
>> "You doing ok?"
Now that the two of them were inside, and now that Zinnia had eased her way past the anxiety surrounding intimacy, the last thought on Jack's mind was bolting. Sure, she was still self-conscious about her mouthparts, but Zinnia's tenderness had dispelled most of the prawns' concerns over Zinnia's own comfort level.
"Yeah," the prawn trilled, "Doing great."
It was apparent in her tone that she was smiling. If that wasn't an indicator, the coy chuckle and the cheeky remark of, "It'd seen dat you nissed nee," would hopefully clear any doubts about Jack's inclination to stay.
The prawn was all-smirk and perfectly contented with her spot on the couch. Jack swam in the thought of being dearly missed, of being kissed and caressed and... well, loved. Not attacked, not shunned, but simply and innocently loved... and the thought alone sent a flush rushing to her face her heart a-stuttering. How lucky. How utterly surreal.
Thank you for reaching-out!