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.
The dizziness in Jack's skull made it difficult to string thoughts together. Her brain seemed absorbed in a state of "weeeee, this is fun~" and there was very little else going on. Sure, the buzz wound-down with time, but the whole event felt so surreal. The dancing... the spinning... the being in someone's arms. Jack, the actual and completely sober Jack, would never dance with someone else-- this the prawn assured herself of, for the third or maybe fourth or fifth time that evening.
>> "Would you like me to walk you home?"
Jack chirred, in coy confusion. Why? As if one buzzed giant wasn't enough, now they were going to have two buzzed behemoths staggering their way home.
"Would hate to trou'le you," Jack danced around the answer, "'ut I'd like it..."
The dance had been full of missteps-- and Jack, so caught up in coyness, forgot to move her feet. She felt the pitch of gravity-at-play, and compensated by taking a step back. Sure, Victor probably would've caught her, but the step was reflexive. Said reflexive step was planted atop another patrons foot. Pop!
There was a scream of alarm and surprise, and Jack recoiled, startled. The music sputtered to a halt. That was the problem with being such a massive creature on such small feet. What typically took a purposeful stomp atop the arch of a foot, only took a small misstep at Jack's size. She turned just in-time to see the man crumple, his hands fluttering to the crunched in-step.
The scream snagged the attention of the other patrons present present. No one stopped to ask what had happened. Their eyes drew towards the two massive figures, accusatory, while others fixated on the bandana-wearing fellow who rolled on the floor.
"That insect freak attacked Mikey!"
Other bandana-wearing fellows were surging through the crowd. Sh-t, a gang. Jack tucked her hands around one of Victor's massive forearms, her heart sinking to her stomach. Fight or flight. They had to get out of here.
"Accident!" Jack insisted, "Accident, sorry!"
They weren't listening. And, in the low lights of the club, Jack noticed the metallic glint of a knife in one of their hands.
"Now go, yes?" Jack whispered to Victor, still tugging at his arm.
((Feel free to escalate the fight as you'd like. :3c ))
Jack beamed, eyes closing in a reciprocated grin as Zinnia swirled back at her. Whereas Jack felt completely ridiculous, Zinnia looked absolutely adorable as she twirled.
>> “Pie’s done, just needs to cool a bit before we pack it. Can you zip me?"
"Zi' you?" Jack echoed, ducking past the young woman and in through the door. Oh, yes-- the dress! Dresses did have zippers, sometimes.
"Sure!" Jack agreed. That was something that girls often helped each other with, right? Zippering dresses! Jack had never zippered a dress for anyone else before (in her human years, her mother had mastered the art of zippering her own dresses), so this felt like a momentous occasion of femininity. Her primary hands, however, were indeed to clumsy for handling a zipper, but her secondary hands were more than capable of managing it.
Just as one might push a hood or a veil back from their eyes, so did her secondary hands push the two layers of shirts up and out of the way, freeing the hands and arms from their confines. Since the reach of these arms was far shorter than the reach of Jack's primary arms, she drew closer to Zinnia. One hand pinched the base of zipper, while the other clasped the zipper pull. There were a few hitches here-and-there, but with some adjusting, Jack was able to draw the zipper all the way up.
The proximity, and the situation, gave Jack jitters. Would it be appropriate to use the phone text-to-speech app? Would the family be patient enough with her poor speech? What about the actual act of eating?
"Dere ya go," Jack trilled, letting the shirt fall upon the completion of the zip.
Heavy, bare feet padded after Zinnia as she returned to the kitchen. The prawn rooted herself at the kitchen's edge, propping her elbows on the countertop. She didn't cross the threshold into unfamiliar territory, ghosts of her mother's wisdom whispering from the depths of her psyche-- "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen!"
Not that Zinnia seemed to need help, everything seemed done or near-done. The young woman meandered to the fridge, and Jack's gaze followed her, a sidelong and timid look. Then, the tank-skinned mutant returned, bearing two small pastries.
Jack's antennae perked, her posture straightening slightly. When was offered to her, the prawn trilled and gladly accepted. A well-practied finger unhooked the face-mask. Once free, the mandibles set to taking small, incrimental nibbles of the pastry.
Ooo, damn. Jack gave a faint whistle of approval. It was very good.
Preoccupied with eating, Jack used her free primary hand to type a message to cohort.
<< Better keep the pie away from me, >> the cool, synthetic voice alerted Zinnia, << I could eat the whole thing on the ride over. >>
The pastry was gone too soon, as pastries often were, and Jack gave a rumbling chuckle at her own sentiment. She was kidding. Mostly.
[[Flip-flopping the order for this post, hope you don't mind. Halloween first for this one.]]
Jack was accustomed to the hands-on approach. She could kindly escort the uppity drunk man out of the bar or detain the wayward brawler, at Chrysalis. She had authority, there.
Strictly speaking, though, punching the actors or actresses of the haunted house was likely more than slightly illegal.
The prawn thought she'd be alright in the haunted house. Really, she did-- but in there, there was no authority to hind behind. In there, she was powerless. Each jump-scare whittled away at her reserve, her flinches becoming more and more noticeable each time. She trailed behind Zinnia the entire time, but each time, the distance grew smaller and smaller. Until, eventually, Jack one of her primary hands around Zinnia's arm, tethering herself to her friend with the gesture.
Jack uttered both human and inhuman sounds of alarm-- churrs and hisses, "eugh's" and "woah's" and the occasional well-placed swear. Each time, it was accompanied with a slight tensing of her hold on Zinnia's arm, quickly followed by lame apologies.
<<<◊>>>
Changing had taken longer than usual, and the end-result was a rather winded prawn finding themselves outside of Zinnia's door, gulping down their breath before hazarding a ring. Usually, Jack didn't give her outfit much thought. There were work clothes, for either Xavier's or Chrysalis, and there were casual clothes. Sure, she owned a few of her own dressy clothes, but she typically didn't care enough about how she presented herself to wear them.
At this very moment, she actually cared. A lot.
When she finally regained her breath, Jack slicked back her antennae and knocked at her friend's front door, taking a cautious step back.
Upon opening the door, Zinnia would find a better-dressed rendition of her prawn-friend standing just outside. An Oxford shirt beneath a tasteful v-neck sweater, which was of course bunched at the elbows, and a pair of crisp, dark jeans. To hide the mouthparts, she opted for both a clean, white surgical mask and a scarf, having been unable to decide which would be the appropriate choice.
"Hey," the prawn rumbled, gaze flickering over her smaller friend, "Do you sink dis is too nerdy looking? I wanna look nice for duh dinner."
She flexed her wrists, and gave a coy little sway, as a woman might do if she was showing how her skirt twirled. A strange motion, for someone who appeared masculine.
The prawn breathed a sigh of relief, upon seeing that the other young woman was likewise wearing nice yet conservative dress clothes. Food-smells were wafting through the doorway, prompting a curious antennae twitch and urging the prawn torward the door.
"You's hard at work," Jack remarked, ducking inside, "Any-sing I can do?"
"Cale-uh," Jack reiterated. Even if she wanted to use a more formal "Dr. Fishman" or "Manfish", those two options were laden with syllables that would sound sloppy on her tongue. Of course, she could just call him "Doctor", but that felt... strangely sterile. Lamely, she explained, "Couldn't tackle your last nay-n e'en iss I wanted to."
There was a smile in her eyes. Even if it was reclaimed, it seemed really harsh to signify yourself with a literal description like "Manfish". It'd be like Jack calling herself "Rainbow Shrimp". Maybe Shrimpbo for sort. Eugh. The prawn hummed at Caleb's confession, deeming it worthy of belief. "Dat ex'lains it."
The chair creaked as Jack leaned back, shifting her posture into something slightly less confrontational. She wasn't much with conversation, even when she shared the possession of an X gene with the fellow at the table. A long stare was cast towards the front counter, before being dragged back towards the piscine man.
"What kinda doctor are you?" Jack inquired. There was a lot of different facets of the medical field, and also doctors that weren't really doctors. It was a fairly safe inquiry, prodding about what people did for a living.
The phone reverberated in Jack's hands, catching her on her unawares. Her hold slipped, but the secondary hands caught the smartphone deftly. There could only really be two possibilities of who it was-- Zinnia or one of her two places of business. Beyond that, Jack was something of a loner. Jack fumbled with the phone and righted it in her hands.
>> “Dad’s gunna pick us up, meet at mine at 4:45?”
Jack's lavender gaze flicked to the top right corner of her screen.
Well, sh*t, that'd work if she'd started getting dressed twenty minutes ago.
<<Kk>> was the short response that Jack sent in return. She roused herself from the couch with a grunt, tossing the phone onto the seat cushion and shuffling towards her bedroom. Likewise, a very sparse room. An enormous bed, dresser, and two bedside tables.
Jack crossed the room in a few strides, stepping out of her casual clothes as she went, until she had stripped down to her boxers. She didn't know what was "dinner with your friend's family" appropriate, but she guessed that a black muscle tank and cargo shorts was not among the permissible items. The prawn set to rummaging through the closet, pushing past the Groot costume, which was delicately hung on a black plastic hanger.
<<<◊>>>
Halloween Night
The red, plastic cup looked like a shot glass in Jack's primary hands.
She had to admit, the Groot costume had turned-out well, especially considering how last-minute the assmebly had been. She had recieved rave reviews from various other partygoers, to which the prawn had only responded, "I am Groot."
Now she was watching the party before her, absently swirling the mostly-untouched cola in her grasp. Someone sauntered up and lightly leaned against her, snapping the prawn out of her reverie. This earned a quiet chirr.
"How are you holding up?" a familiar-face green woman inquired. Zinnia's costume was phenomenal. Hugged her form in just the right way, and-- Jack hoisted her eyes back to the other young woman's face, her own face radiating heat. Rude to stare.
"Dey seen real nice," Jack assured her hostess, "I just no good at duh snall talk."
Jack took an anxious sip of soda, only to find that it had gone tepid... how long had she been holding it, anyway? The prawn rumbled, and set the glass down.
"Hey--" Zinnia said lightly. Jack gave an equally-light "Hm?" to which the smaller woman only gestured for the prawn to come closer. Jack stooped, grinding her mandibles uncertainly.
"Your mask is crooked," the young woman commented, fixing said mask nonchalantly. The heat that crept into Jack's face intensified, seeping to her core. Zinnia was close. "There."
Like that, Zinnia returned to standing beside Jack, after a pause that lingered two moments too long. Jack ground her mandibles again, trying to push back what she'd thought the moment would hold. Don't be ridiculous, Jackie, the prawn scolded herself.
"Sanks," Jack said simply, her tone wavering.
"You're so tense," Zinnia observed, her tone still upbeat, "You sure you're going to be up for the haunted house."
Jack gave a sharp exhale of air. Haunted houses were nothing compared to rooms full of this many strangers. "Sink I can nan-age."
I'm game. Jack would either be an unwitting participant of some sort OR since she's part of Mansion Security... hmm... potential there. Like walking the grounds and sweeping or chilling with students to keep them calm. Something.
Maya's sudden appearance surprised the prawn-- which is to say, her eyes widened a fraction and she checked over her shoulder to make sure that the young woman really had teleported. Yup, really there. The young woman was quiet, so Jack didn't make a big deal about the teleportation.
Her hand lingered on her chest... there was a tingling, in her chest, and the raised arm wouldn't stop spasming. That was likely from the electrial shock.
"No need sore a sight, s-riend," Jack rasped. She cleared her throat. That was probably from having the wind knocked out of her, "I just need to ask you to ste' outside and take a breezer."
"It's none of your f-cking business!" Shades snarled, taking another swipe. Jack, expecting a swing this time, shifted her weight to dodge the swinging arc of electricity, but already, Maya was yanking him back.
"Care-sull!" Jack gasped, reaching out again. It was one thing if a paid employee (who was insured by the club) was injured. It was something else entirely if a patron was. Rather than bashing his head against the mirrored countertop, the guy phased into it, and Jack stared, her mouth gaping beneath the fabric mask.
>> "I suggest you cool yourself down. You break the glass, you might break with it. Take ten, dude."
The prawn sidled up next to Maya, following her gaze into the reflective countertop below. Shades peered back up, dealing a frustrated, open-palmed smack to the mirror. With that, he set to pacing like a caged animal, seeming to fume to himself.
"Can see how dat would 'e o' use," Jack remarked. Her tone waivered, from the tremors, but it bore the humored edge of someone who had to deal with this sh-t all too often. Shades saluted them with the two-handed, one-fingered salute common amongst belligerent drunks, before setting to pacing again, "T'anks sore dat."
The bartender was wathcing from a safe distnce, the uproar near his bar at least snagging his attention. Jack lifted her brow, and gave a sideways nod towards the woman who'd been attacked by shades. Touching the speaker on her bone mic, she informed the club personnel, "Duh 'atron is detained sore now, until ...sur-der instruction. Sun-one should talk to duh lady dat accon'anied hin."
"10-4."
Jack shifted her gaze towards Maya, inclining her head, "I don' usually talk to doze wiss duh trou'le-sun ones. Don' talk well e-nuss sore... hn... fast-talking. I jus'... duh... " Jack quickly fished out her phone, concluding, <<-the muscle.>>
Jack sipped her water, waiting for her instructions. The club sometimes let people who snuck in stay, others they did not. It all depended on the ruling of the security staff. Most settled through climbing in the bathroom windows, though. Very few went to such lengths to leap over walls.
The ear-mic reverberated as someone spoke-up, this time a sharp tenor voice. Another member of the security staff.
<<He grabbed a box on the way in, and it seems to have fallen into the hands of another male patron.>>
<<Chief, intercept the green bean, now,>> a baritone voice commanded. The boss. Things could get dangerous, <<We'll intercept the receiver.>>
The camera-room woman began rattling off locale and details of appearance. Jack set down her cup. Showtime.
"How sar should I chase hin?" Jack paged over the bone mic, stepping away from the bar.
<<If he leaves the premises, you go after him,>> the boss declared, <<Something's up.>>
Jack was alreacy cutting across the dance floor, honing-in on the Cueball, who had the lights of the club skittering off of his reflective dome of a head. Already, the green guy and the man in the suit were parting ways, and as such, Jack wouldn't need to keep a low profile to intercept in.
In moments, Jack was before him, standing tall and shoulders back. Now, her badge was clear. She gave a brief wave with her right hand, expression smiling. Then, she pointed to the back of her left hand. Everyone in Chrysalis got their hand-stamped, after paying for admission at the door. Jack knew, for a fact, that this fine gentleman would have no such stamp, since she had seen him jump the wall firsthand. By tapping the back of her hand, she was asking to see his handstamp, his proof of having paid to enter the club.
Regardless of his response, Jack would give a humored yet patronizing bow of her head, and lightly place a hand behind Cueball's back (without touching him), gesturing towards a stairwell that would lead towards the offices. Hopefully this one wasn't interested in a fight.
The prawn was set her things down beside her chair, removing her coat and draping it over the back before taking her seat. The scarf soon followed. She set her phone face down on the table, and slouched in her chair. Not a minute after taking her seat, someone approached her. Her antennae perked. He looked like a fish. A rather stacked fish, too. Complete with wetsuit, goggles, and a leather bomber. Interesting choice in clothes.
>> "Would you like a little company, ma'am?"
The prawn shifted from her slouch, to a more attentive posture. One arm planted its elbow on the table, crooking a massive hand beneath her chin. The other flipped her phone over. She dropped her gaze, inputting her response in the text-to-speech app.
<<What makes you think I'm a ma'am?>> the clipped, synthetic male voice inquired. Her gaze returned to the fish, tilting her head slightly. What the tone of the application didn't convey was that the prawn was just genuinely curious. Not defensive, not stand-offish. Just intrigued. No one else seemed to make that assumption, and the prawn didn't care enough to correct them. She just found it curious (absolutely f**king weird) that some other visible mutant might use this insight as a bonding experience.
Regardless of his response, Jack would gesture for him to sit, waving her hand in a "come on over" way, before using her two fingers and thumb to indicate he chair opposite of her. She wasn't much of a "bonding over mutual freak-ish-ness" type, but at least the two of them could suffer through the crowded cafe together. She flipped her phone back onto its face. She kept people at a distance with the text-to-speech app. By sitting at her table, the piscine man was stepping into a slightly-more-personable space.
"I'n Jacquelyn," the prawn yielded, keeping both of her elbows on the table. Her forearms were crossed so that her hands hung off of the edge. There was still ample space for the fish-faced fellow, though, "I go 'y Jack, doh. Who are you?"
Her body language, much like her stare, was unflinching. She was curious about the guy, to the say the least. Like about why he saw fit to accompany her. Some people used visible mutations for bonding opportunities, but Jack was mostly apathetic about it-- polite if approached, but she didn't care to initiate stuff on her own. Her eyes pinched in a smile, though. Meaning no harm, not sizing him up. Just looking at him the way that two, normal people might survey one another.
The loveseat was one of very few articles of furniture in Jack's living room. As a whole, the apartment was very sparsely furnished. She knew the life of one who didn't stay somewhere for very long, thus her apartment never felt fully settled in. Besides which, it was small. There wasn't enough room for a lot of stuff. But she had a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a bedroom, and that was really all she needed.
Jack lay on the loveseat, perusing her phone in the aimless way that many unoccupied individuals would. It, like her apartment, was already rather sparse. A couple of games, email, calendar, a sticky note app. Nothing more than necessary. Lately, however, her phone had acquired more inhabitants, much to the thanks of a new-found friend that had wriggled their way into Jack's life.
Skype was the most noteworthy new arrival. But there were also photos. Jack wasn't a sentimental heart, and scarcely touched her camera. Her photos were largely of woodwork projects she wanted to take-on, and the occasional interesting sight she'd caught on the city streets. Now, her phone was colored with snapshots of day-to-day life, a catalog of the budding friendship between her and Zinnia.
Jack tapped the icon marked "Messaging", then tapped Zinnia's name on the queue. She scrolled back the beginning. Over time, the text messages had been erased to create more storage space on the phone. Now, it was a mere collection of photos-- an exchange-- between her and Zinnia, over the last month. It was fascinating to rifle through the archives and look at the pictures that had been shared between the two of them.
The first was a pair of hands, palms towards the camera, stained with browns and greens from painting. In the background, a thick foam plate, painted and carved to look like a curved, wooden surface. The slick sheen suggested that it was in the process of drying.
Beneath it, the caption read, <<One down, a hundred to go!>> The date was marked as October 28th. A smile crossed Jack's expression. Her Groot costume. After her overnight at Zinnia's, the two of them had gone out to get supplies the next morning. The day after that, the 28th, had been filled with them working on the prawn's last minute costume.
Though, Jack thought it worthy of note, "a hundred" foam plates was a bit of an exaggeration.
<<<◊>>>
[28 October 2015]
After her shift at Xavier's, Jack found herself at Zinnia's door once again. Having agreed to the Groot costume idea, there was some debate about who would foot the cost. Zinnia had insisted that, since it was her idea, it was only fair that she would purchase the materials. Jack had replied, in-turn, that Zinnia would be doing most of the work, and it wasn't for a costume that Zinnia herself would be wear. Besides which, wasn't she a student? In nursing school, no less?
The debate was hastily resolved. Jack had handed Zinnia the cash she had in her wallet (more like, wouldn't leave until Zinnia begrudgingly accepted the money), and insisted that she should at least help out with some of the process. ("Ninny hands nake light work," was Jack's rationale.) It was only fair. And, Jack had still yet to reconcile the idea of someone making a costume for free, just to have a complementary character to accompany them.
The prawn knocked lightly on the door. She hunched down, remembering the possibility of roommates being present, and trilled, "Zinnia? It's Jack."
Jack was not the woman in-question. And, if she'd any inkling of what it meant to be "the woman in-question", that would be quite miraculous. She'd been on her way home from Xavier's, en route to her house for a nap, before continuing on to Xavier's. She was most of the way home when the prawn determined that tea was in order, and detoured to a cafe that was only a few blocks off of her route.
The prawn pushed open the door, a soft bell jingling above her head as she crossed the threshold. A cold breeze followed her in. Forcing the door shut, the prawn then found her spot in line, lavender eyes trained on the menu. Ah, they did seem to have tea. Though the flesh of her palms with calloused and thick, she could feel the cold that was seeping into her core. Hot tea, it was.
She was remarkable in her usual ways-- looming, iridescent, and with a presence much akin to an active, urban young man. Cargo pants, hoodie over a waffle-knit henley, and a scarf over her mouth. At least it wasn't snowing, but the biting cold was harsh enough. Jack fished the phone out of her pocket, and allowed her text-to-speech application to make the order for her.
"Hello sir, what could I get started for you today?"
Typical mistake. Jack scrolled to the appropriate voice, a male voice with a vaguely Australian, yet robotic, tinge to the tone.
<<Yes, I would like the black tea. Extra-hot.>>
The barista quirked an eyebrow, yet said nothing.
"Will that be all for you today?"
A flurry of typing. <<Yes, thank you.>>
"For here, or to-go?"
<<For here.>>
It was, as Jack would politely phrase it, f**king freezing. She could stand to stay inside for a little while, at least while she enjoyed some tea. Jack handed her cash to the woman at the register, and then made her way to a small, unoccupied table, depositing her messenger bag.
The prawn followed the roommate with her eyes, as the roommate retreated to her bedroom. Jack understood well, how such late nights could induce a zombie-like shamble.
>> “I’m down for a cream-cheese bagel, and a coffee, definitely a coffee.”
Jack nodded her head, trying not to seem too enthusiastic about this decision. It would be a lie to say that she was not relieved.
"Dat sounds good to nee, too," Jack agreed. The bagel, anyways. She wasn't a coffee drinker. She arched a plated brow at Zinnia, though, in response to the announcement that she was getting another coffee. Jack unfolded herself from the couch, smoothing her tank top down with the palms of her hand, and adjusting her cargo shorts. Luckily, since she wasn't fleshy, there were no imprints in skin to reconcile-- only some minor adjustments to attend to.
>> “No, I was pretty comfortable actually. Sorry if I encroached on your personal space… I get a little crazy when I’m asleep.”
"It's all good," Jack countered, a little too eagerly. There was supposed to be some sort of follow-up statement, but it died before leaving her mouth. Zinnia appeared to be writing it off as being powerless to her sleepy instincts, which would suggest that it wasn't supposed to mean anything. So it'd be kind-of creepy to put too much emotional stock into the situation.
Jack retrieved her scarf, looping it around her neck, and over her mouth.
"Nice to change sings up," the prawn stipulated. As in, nice to sleep with someone else, as opposed to the typical sleeping alone. She'd grab the hoodie and messenger bag on the way out the door.
>> “C’mon, lets get bagels, and the ingredients for your costume.”
The prawn nodded, and followed Zinnia to the foyer, wriggling into her hoodie and retrieving her messenger bag as they went.
>> “Yaaaawwwn they’re ok. Steph might squeak, but she squeaked at me when she first saw me, ‘cause of my colour. She’s just surprised at everything. They aren’t muties, as far as I know, but they’re pro equal rights enough to not be jerks.”
As long as they didn't start hurling anti-mutant slurs or freak-out at the "monster" on the couch, then Jack wouldn't panic too much. Her heart was still hammering in her chest, though, and the pupils of her lavender eyes had constricted to two thin slits. She hugged the pillow to her chest, the top of her head the only exposed area above the pillow, as she listened closely to the noises of the other roommate's endeavors.
Jack merely nodded in reply. Zinnia patted Jack's arm, and the prawn felt an inkling to scoot closer. She did, just a smidgen, but otherwise remained behind her pillow.
>> “Would you prefer to eat breakfast elsewhere?”
Jack's eyes slid towards the kitchen, and then back towards Zinnia, watering the question down to its implications-- do you want to go somewhere else?
The obvious answer was "Yes", but the prawn didn't want to be rude to the roommate... especially if she wasn't actually that horrible.
"Iss you want to," Jack replied noncommittally, "What do you seel like has-ing?"
Her usually-booming voice had been dialed down to murmurs now, for Jack was bashful in the presence of an unfamiliar person. Zinnia seemed to have an easy enough time understanding Jack's impediment, and didn't seem to pass judgement on Jack for it... but Jack wasn't as comfortable with speaking around strangers.
Zinnia left for the kitchen, leaving the prawn to fend for herself. Jack would have followed her, but the kitchen was so far, and the other woman was there. Thus, Jack remained planted on the couch.
>> “Did you sleep ok?”
The prawn could feel the warmth seeping into her face again, her eyes dropping to her lap. Jack had slept very well, not waking once in the night. She'd been so comfortable, so at ease. Jack was usually a fitful sleeper, on her own-- taking ages to doze off, and once asleep, fidgetting about. But with Zinnia, she had stayed relatively still throughout the night, without waking up once. It had been bliss.
"Yeah," the prawn rumbled. A shy laugh escaped her, "I t'ink I was quite tired. Sle't like duh dead."
Jack itched at the exposed flesh between her her jaw and the plates on the back of her neck, yawning in an attempt to wake herself more.
"What 'out you?" she said with a smile, "Not too un-con-stor-ble?"
Jack watched as her friend shuffled around the kitchen, preparing what Jack assumed to be coffee. A regular at the cafe by their gym, and making coffee at home, right now? She was beginning to wonder if Zinnia had something of an addiction.
Jack did not stir when the key slid into the lock. The warm lull of sleep made her even less willing to open her eyes. In the back of her mind, she heard the door open and close. Her sleepy brain wrote it off as a trick of her mind, though.
>> “Nothing came of the speeddate huh?”
That wasn't Zinnia's voice-- probably a dream, then.
It wasn't until Zinnia replied that Jack began to blink the sleepiness out of her eyes.
>> “That’s not what this is.”
The prawn pried her eyes open, her hand shifting on Zinnia's back as she awoke.
"Hrrrm," Jack hummed, looking towards Zinnia, first. She'd stayed. A contented and groggy look crossed Jack's expression. It had all be real. How unbelievable.
The clattering of someone rifling through a refridgerator snagged the prawn's attention, and Jack's head snapped towards the direction of the sound, her antennae flattening against her skull. Her expression was one that had often been seen of a deer in the headlights. A wild, wide-eyed look of alarm.
Jack breathed a quiet, nervous hiss, wriggling beneath Zinnia as she grabbed another accent pillow and hid her mouth behind it.
"T'ings cool?" Jack whispered to the young woman, "Dey okay wiss nyu-ties like nee?"
The prawn shivered, blatantly on-edge. Now that Jack had moved her arms aside, Zinnia was free to rise at her liesure. Jack was shifting her weight, though, drawing herself into a more protected seating position. She didn't want to be splayed-out the way she was around a stranger.
Posted by "Chief" on Nov 13, 2015 11:33:17 GMT -6
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Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
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>> “If my machine doesn’t annoy you, stay as long as you like. I warn you ahead of time though, my breakfast skills extend as far as toast and no further.”
"I can nake 'reak-sast," Jack offered noncommitally, yawning. The addition of the whirring machine to the fray of New York's typical sounds was nothing, to Jack's heightened hearing. If anything, it added grey noise to the frey. And the prawn was already sleepy.
The prawn wriggled back under the blanket, careful not to accidentally nudge Zinnia with her feet. Why, Jack wondered, was Zinnia still sleeping out here when she had a perfectly good bed? Selfishly, Jack left the inquiry unspoken. Begrudgingly, Jack admitted to herself that she didn't want the young woman to leave. It was the first time in a very long time that the iridescent mutant had been on the receiving end of such casual affection.
>> “Since you’re hard to squish can I steal your warmth again?”
Jack could feel the heat climbing back into her face. Shyly, the prawn nodded. Then she realized that Zinnia likely couldn't see her.
"Sure," was the rumbled response, which creaked out of her mouth hesitantly. The prawn adjusted a bit, reaching for one of the decorative pillows underneath her, "Just... use 'illow sore head. Your ss-ace looks like duh noon."
After passing Zinnia the pillow, the prawn laid down once again, allowing the young woman to settle wherever she so chose. Jack's nerves made her tense and immobile. Now that the cuddle was a conscious decision for both parties, the prawn wasn't sure what was an acceptable gesture, and what was not. Not that she wasn't planning anything ludicrous, heavens no. No, Jack was hung-up on innocent details, like where to set her hand, and if it'd be weird to rub Zinnia's back. Pansy stuff.
Zinnia dozed off within minutes, and the prawn decided that simply resting her hand on the small of Zinnia's back was permissible and un-invasive enough. She stayed up a while longer, lavender eyes swimming around the room before always returning to Zinnia. She looked so small, especially when they were this close to each other. With her head tucked just beneath Jack's, Zinnia's feet barely reached the last segment of Jack's legs. Jack's hand occupied most of the small of Zinnia's back.
The prawn yawned, and allowed her eyes to close. Eventually, she surrendered to sleep, the tension leaving her body. The last inkling of thoughts in Jack's mind was the quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, those roommates wouldn't catch her and Zinnia here.
