The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
Jack was shivering, by the time Zinnia had decided to jolt awake. Breaths shuddering in a way that usually precipitated nervous laughter or crying. Zinnia spasmed to life, and Jack felt herself scrambling back (to the best of her ability—with someone on her lap, it was more like “mutual flailing”).
>> “Was I dead?”
“Not breezing,” Jack rumbled affirmatively, “Scared. Sought I had… sought sun-ting… went wrong.”
A relieved eye rub chased away the widen-eyed look of surprise from the prawn’s face.
>> “Sorry. That’s what I get for not using my machine.”
“Na-chine?” Jack echoed. Zinnia got up, letting a draft of cold in as she went. The prawn followed her with her eyes, quiet and contemplative. Now that they had untangled themselves, Jack wondered if it would be best for her to leave, or if it was acceptable to stay in her own, cozy spot on the couch. While the room was dim with nighttime, Jack could see as clearly as day, though in grayscale. Zinnia slipped away, retrieving her water bottle and machine. As Zinnia made her way back, Jack adjusted herself, drawing her legs under her once again.
>> “Did I squish your arm? I apparently went for a bit of a sleep-crawl.”
A soft sipping filled the silence. Jack busied herself with stopping the repetitive home screen of the DVD, plunging the room into a blue light as the disc came to a halt. She didn’t know if she could shut the t.v. off with the DVD player remote, so she set the remote back down.
“No,” was the timid response back, a hushed laugh fringing Jack’s tone. She rapped her knuckles against the carapace of her chest, which gave a wooden resonance, “I’n really hard to squish. Don’t worry ‘out it.”
A contemplative silence punctuated Jack’s reassurance.
“Sur’ised you could e’en sleet like dat, honestly.”
The prawn had no delusions about how uncomfortable it must’ve been. Her tone remained humored, however. Just thinking about it made her face hot, and one of her primary hands had taken to awkwardly rubbing the back of her head. Jack tapped the screen of her phone into wakefulness. It was nearing half-past three.
“Is it okay iss I stay?” Jack murmured, “It’s really late.”
Jack had often walked home from the club at far later hours, but the fact of the matter was, she was too cozy to leave. Somewhat selfishly, the prawn wondered if they'd go back to cuddling. But she was too bashful to ask.
Jack smiled, taking another sip of cocoa and swallowing another “thank you” that had started rising in her throat. Already welcoming Jack back “anytime”, even before she’d met the roommates. Would they be as okay with her, Jack wondered? As chill?
The prawn felt the lull of impending sleep in her bones. A handful of popcorn and the rest of cocoa later, and Jack, too, felt her eyelids growing heavier. Shifting her weight, Jack laid her head on the armrest of the couch, curled-up into a tight ball on her half of the couch. She told herself the lies that many sleepy filmgoers had told themselves for decades prior—I’m just resting my eyes, I’m not really sleeping, I’m still listening.
And, eventually, the dark-quiet of sleep enfolded the prawn, and she dozed off altogether.
===
Subconsciously, the prawn had stretched out, over the course of a bit more than an hour. While her head had rooted itself onto the very same headrest that it had settled on, her legs and somehow managed to extend past Zinnia’s initial location. Now, Zinnia was sprawled across Jack’s chest, her head resting above a secondary arm. The corresponding primary arm was looped around the smaller mutant, massive hand settled unwittingly on Zinnia’s hip. The blanket was, for the most part, spread over them both, although Jack’s feet and lower legs poked-out on the end.
The prawn blinked the bleariness of sleep from her eyes, stirred from her sleep by the sound from the Main Menu of the DVD. This house didn’t smell like her house, and she wasn’t in her bed. Her first inclination was to sit mostly still, and look around surreptitiously. It only took a few moments for Jack to remember that this was Zinnia’s apartment.
Crap, I fell asleep!
She started to shift, contemplating making a hasty departure, but there was a dead weight slumped against her chest. Jack glanced down, trying to further regain her bearings. It was Zinnia. Apparently she’d elected Jack as honorary mattress, although there was plenty of good couch available. Sleepy!Jack had also seemed to approve, having draped a large arm around her.
Jack could feel the heat climbing into her face. Did “normal friends” cuddle like this, too?
For a few moments, Jack watched the smaller, sleeping mutant—it’d be honorable to wake Zinn and prompt her in the direction of her own bed. But, guiltily, Jack admitted that she liked being snuggled up like this.
…she wasn’t breathing. Jack’s own breath hitched when she noticed this, a rush of panic flooding her veins. Did she accidentally roll over Zinnia? Crush her? Was her arm heavier than she’d anticipated?
“Zinnia?” Jack inquired. And, when the other young woman didn’t respond, more urgently, “Zinn, wake utt! Zinnia!?”
The prawn had drawn into a half-sitting position, lightly shaking Zinnia’s shoulder and making concerned whines. Ya get invited to someone else’s house one night, and you end up killing them. Sleepy panic-brain didn’t think to call for help. It only knew to panic and fret.
>> "That's unfortunate. Sounds like something you need to fix."
Drunken-Jack!Brain didn’t know what to make of that statement. She wasn’t in-touch with her family, but that wasn’t really a lighthearted conversation to have while dancing. Unless Victor meant that Jack, personally, needed more excitement in her life. Which was both true, and not true. She’d hold onto this evening for what it was, sincerely doubting that she’d have many other nights like this.
>> "I could do it again if you want. You're not too heavy for me. Hell, I might be able to lift you."
The two of them were grinning like idiots, but Jack couldn’t find it in herself to stop smiling. When Victor threatened “lifting” the prawn, Jack quickly shook her head, chanting a stream of, “Oh, no no no no. No, no no.”
Her protests were interspersed with chuckling, though. There was nothing stopping him. The prawn wriggled in his arms, as if contemplating making her escape from the impending “lift”, but did so half-heartedly. Teasingly.
“Dis shrin’ not nnn-ade sore listing, no sir,” she protested. Jack had forgotten herself, in a way. She and Victor weren’t two mutants on the dancefloor, but two newfound friends, sharing a dance. Sharing a memory. The nearby spectators went unnoticed, for she was too absorbed in the moment to give them the time of day, “Like to kee’ nigh seat on duh ground!”
>> "I have to thank you for dancing with me. It feels wonderful to be moving like this again.”
“I see why you nissed it,” Jack confessed, “My ‘leasure.”
The song was slowing, and so did they.
“Again?” Jack pleaded, eagerness fringing her tone. Why the hell wouldn’t they keep going? The alcohol in her veins bequeathed Jack with an abnormal daringness. Venturing where no prawn had ever gone before—the dancefloor. Cutting the rug with an unusual yet interesting man, to the sound of a live jazz band. What a night.
Jack chuckled at the appropriate times, particularly when this self-proclaimed “Starlord” had one of his silly quips. She laughed especially hard when the guards processing him didn’t recognize his name. Just like any night in the club, when some self-important man would snap back at her with a “Do you know who I am?! I’m ___ ___!” after having one too many drinks. And Jack, much like the confused guard, would say, “Who?”. It was too real.
When the tall tree-creature and raccoon showed-up, Zinnia clued Jack in.
>> “That’s Groot.”
Groot was drinking out of a water fixture. Jack grimaced, but gave a noncommittal, “Well, I’d ‘e tall e-nuss.”
This much was true. He stood head-and-shoulders over every other character.
He, likewise, had very little variety in the way of lines. His voice, like a creaking door, uttered, “I am Groot,” in response to every situation.
“Could ‘e a mess-od actor,” Jack remarked wryly. It would spare her the trouble of making conversation.
The prawn teetered on the fence about whether or not she’d be willing to play the part of the tree-man throughout the film. She tallied off the pros and cons of dressing as him for Halloween in her skull. As she watched, as the plot progressed, the prawn found herself pulling the blanket to her chest, along with her knees, enrapt with the film. It wasn’t until the near-end of the film, when Groot sacrificed himself to protect the others in the ragtag team, that Jack’s mind was made.
She withheld her decision until the end credits. And, in a soft, decisive tone, she remarked, “I wouldn’t nine-d ‘eing Groot.”
Zinnia clambered free of the blanket, and Jack remained bundled, spare a single arm, which reached to the far table to retrieve her phone. Just past midnight. There’d been later nights at the club. And, after whatever came next, she’d be more than fine with walking home. Zinnia seemed to be making more popcorn and cocoa, so they’d probably be hanging out for at least a little while more.
When Zinnia returned, Jack lightly accepted her mug with a quiet thanks. She pressed play and let the DVD roll.
>> “I shouldn’t be mean to the party people, they’re just trying to have a good time really. They just like to make out in a corner, and I like to dress up and do the haunted house and stuff.”
“Sounds like doze at duh nightclu’,” Jack said with shrug, “Nnn-naybe you can has a straight haunted house… shindig. Like… neat at your house, go to haunted house, cun back, hangout? Den e’ryone’s ha’y.”
Jack shrugged her shoulders. She wasn’t a big fan of haunted houses—partially on principle, and partially because her first instinct often seemed to be to want to punch their attackers. Which, given that you paid to be frightened, was not a good move. Jack took a sip of her cocoa, feeling the warmth spread across her chest.
“T’anks for has-ing me o’er,” Jack murmured, for perhaps the fifth time that night, “It’s kinda cool to just hang-out wiss sun-one.”
She glanced over at Zinnia, the corners of her eyes pinching in a smile.
>> “Sure I’m sure, it’ll be a mix of people from work and school, they’re alright but not… interesting I guess?”
That was both reassuring and disconcerting all at once. Typically when people tried to sell someone on a party, they made it out to have fun and interesting people to interact with. Zinnia was selling them short. Then again, Jack was an introvert anyways, so too much excitement would’ve been a turn-off for her.
>> “My costume’s done, I’m going as Gamora from this—if you wanted to come I reckon I could whip up a Groot costume in a day or so. Just think about it? Besides, if there was ever a party where people go nuts over how cool you look, it’d be a Halloween party.”
Jack watched to movie quietly, milling the possibilities over in her head. Being ostracized for your mutation versus being idolized were two different things. Jack wasn’t sure which she preferred more. On the one hand, being treated poorly was degrading, but receiving rave reviews just because you fit a costume well also felt a bit odd. The prawn simply couldn’t find the words to explain why.
“Len-nee sink a’out it,” Jack purred, watching as the leather-clad character rhythmically punted ratty creatures, to the sway of retro tunes through the opening credits, “I don’t want to sign-utt for sun-ting wiss-out knowing what I getting into.”
Jack admittedly didn’t know what a “Groot” costume would entail, and didn’t want to volunteer if it was overly flashy or risqué. She was to embarrassed to confess this outright, however.
Hyper-aware of how much space she was occupying beneath the quilt, and their proximity-without-touching, Jack tucked her feet closer to her body. It was probably just a casual thing, for normal ladies to share blankets with each other. The prawn had seen it all the time, at Chrysalis. Sloshed girl-friends helping each other to the restroom, draping themselves over one another. Maybe it was the same when they were sober? Who knew. The bashful giantess of a woman felt so uncertain in this situation, though. It was strange to have someone be so casually comfortable with her, despite still being relatively new acquaintances.
Jack had found her way to the sofa and took a seat to one side, legs folded beneath her and elbow propped on one arm of the couch. She had settled by the time Zinnia departed for the restroom. The prawns’ eyes continued to sweep around the main room, finding more details that she hadn’t noticed before. She politely redirected her attention towards the t.v. screen when Zinnia reemerged.
Zinnia draped a large blanket over their laps, which earned a quiet chirr from the prawn. It was just like they were really friends, sharing a blanket, so that they could watch a movie together and share popcorn. Was this what it was like?
>> “Are you doing anything for Halloween?”
“No, t’ank-sully,” Jack said in a singsong tone, “Su’er crazy night at duh cluh… no work dat night, since I work dere so long.”
Most of the new hires were subjected to Halloween. It wasn’t nearly as crazy as New Years, so it gave them an opportunity to acclimate to the pandemonium of a holiday crowd, without the sheer force of drunken New Year’s revelers about. Although in certain regards, Halloween was worse, because the disguises that costumes offered the patrons made them more ballsy than usual.
>> “I’m going to a Halloween party if you’d like to come I could help you make a costume?”
Halloween hadn’t been Jack’s thing, following her transformation. Something just felt “off” about having people waltz around in inhuman costumes when you spent all year looking like a garish Halloween costume. That, and Jack couldn’t find a costume that ever seemed to fit her.
“Nn-nee? Go to a--“ she struggled with the word “party” for a moment, “—uh, Halloween ‘arty?” Her tone wavered uncertainly, but she didn’t say no quite yet. Jack wasn’t really the partying type, though. She wasn’t good at small talk (or even just “talking”) and she didn’t want to scare the guests. Would Zinnia really want her there, anyways, or was she just being nice.
“Are you sure?” Jack murmured, “Dat’s a lot to ask o’ sun-one, es’ecially dis close to Halloween. An’ I not usually real good at ‘arties. Make udders uneasy.”
Jack paced herself carefully. Hungrier than she had realized, the forkfuls of food felt meager in her mouth—and it was really, really good. Had she been alone at home, she would have simply scarfed the food down without the aid of utensils. But she was in polite company. Though Zinnia was furtive in her stolen glances, Jack lifted her eyes periodically. At one point, their eyes met, and Jack could feel a hesitant crinkling at the corner of her eyes, too. Perhaps it was an apologetic smile. Maybe she was making weird noises while she ate. Maybe, despite her best efforts, Jack still was making a spectacle of herself. Eep.
>> “Ah well, I can only cook one or two things, so they’re probably sick of it. You’re very welcome.”
Well, if her one or two things tasted this good, Jack would find it difficult to complain. The iridescent mutant typically chose a much simpler meal structure—though most of her food was organic and scant in chemicals, it wasn’t exactly “cooking magazine” grade meals. She’d have a meat, a grain, and a veggie, each of which had very little seasoning and was dealt in heaping portions. To a normal person, Jack’s meals would seem bland, but to Jack, too much seasoning felt muddled to her tastebuds.
The prawn lifted her gaze once more when Zinnia got up and retrieved the DVD’s available for their viewing.
>> “I’d like to watch Guardians at some point tonight, because I’m going to a Halloween party as one of the character, but any other preferences?”
Jack was, unfortunately, very much like an old person when it came to pop culture. Which is to say, she had no frigging clue about any movies that had come out in recent years. She did woodwork, read the newspaper and an occasional trashy novel, and watched the occasional show on Netflix. She didn’t give movies too much thought.
“Guardians sounds good to nee,” Jack agreed, “I actually hasn’t seen it yet.”
As if she actually knew what “Guardians” was. Her massive hand found the DVD box, which proclaimed, “Guardians of the Galaxy” in gold lettering. The prawn picked it up and turned it over in her hand. It was by “Marvel”, so that meant it was one of those comic book movie. Hm. Could be interesting. She set the DVD back down.
Jack finished the meal soon after her hostess, and said a heartfelt thanks as well as a “It was really good.” Though Zinnia cleared the table, Jack dutifully assisted, picking up spare dishes and serving utensils, and anything else that was left behind.
As Zinnia prepared the popcorn, Jack milled about, peering at certain details and fixtures of the apartment—the pictures that were hanging on the walls, the books on the shelves. She wasn’t trying to be nosey, Jack just wanted to get a feel for the place. It was a very cute apartment.
Jack was, admittedly, holding back. Sure, a kick in the baby-maker wasn't "fair", but punching these guys would do a whole lot more damage. Jostled junk was a lot easier to handwave than a few broken ribs. She arched her eyebrows when Sam protested, though.
"It was easiest," Jack said simply. She waited until Sam had his fun, inclining her head as he began reading them their rights. Was he a cop? He could've mentioned that earlier. But he worked for a school... he had even given her a business card for the school where he worked. Maybe he was just being corny.
Once the man's feet were enclosed in ice, Jack unfurled her fingers and left him suspended there. The prawn went to grab her grocery bags, allowing her newfound friend to voice his discontent.
>> ”Supposed to be off duty today. Really though. You know how much that hurts so why would ya kick him there?”
Should I tell him, Jack asked herself? Sam had made the same assumption that many before him had, and over the years, the prawn had grown sick of correcting people. The wryest of smiles curled at her maxillipeds, though, as she hoisted the bags over a shoulder.
"Jack," she said simply, "Is short sore Jacquelyn."
A chuckle burbled out of her, " 'sides which, you can't attack s-run 'ehind and ex'ect a clean sight."
Not that this wasn't fun, but Jack was eager to make herself scarce, lest a bystander had phoned for the police. The prawn wasn't exactly inconspicious. She started walking away from Sam, tossing a casual wave back at him as she retreated.
"We'll 'e in touch," she assured him.
((OoC: Feel free to conclude with your next post, hun.))
>> “I imagine with all the power running around there that fist fights might be the least of your worries?”
Jack shrugged and smiled, removing the scarf that had previously covered her mouth and hooking it on the chair.
“Dey’re still kids,” she murmured, “Adolescents, no less. Dey still has duh sane challenges as duh next teenager, just wit’ an added le’el o’ dissiculty. O’ course dere’s shenanigans dat only cun wiss has-ing a recently de’eloped nyu-tation, too.”
In other words, even with powers, which brought an added layer of mayhem to an already chaotic age, the kids at Xavier’s were still kids, with lives that bore the same highs and lows typical of adolescence. Boyfriends and girlfriends, gossiping and fighting, whatever. Jack listened as Zinnia recounted her day, which seemed both variable and gory. Jack grimaced. Although she was a bit of a bruiser, and not much to look at, herself, she didn’t have the stomach for gruesome details. Had she an epidermis, her skin would have paled. Her face slackened, instead, and her brow stitched. Ugh. Whatever she wound-up doing in life, she did not have the stomach for the medical field.
“I dunno,” Jack countered, “I’s heard o’ sun weird nyu-tations o’er duh years. I wouldn’t ‘e sur’rised if dere was a nyu-tant like dat.”
Marble manipulation. It wasn’t the strangest mutation possible. The prawn rumbled a word of thanks as Zinnia served her. Green beans and cheesy potatoes. Her gaze trailed to the silverware. Normally, Jack was a private eater, and with good reason. The mechanics of her mouth weren’t typically something that most people wanted to see. Using silverware was also a bit of a challenge, both because of her massive hands and strange mouth.
Jack plucked up her fork and pinched it between two fingers, carefully using its edge to cut a polite bite of food. Her head remained bashfully tucked as Jack carefully guided the fork past her maxillipeds, and then allowed them to do the rest of the work.
The potatoes actually tasted quite good. Like the earth, and not too saturated with chemicals. It wasn’t snobbery that guided Jack’s interpretation, but the altered tasting mechanisms. The cheese wasn’t half bad, either. Jack speared a few green beans, and took a bite of those. Also very fresh and not tinged by traces of overwhelming chemicals. There was some, of course—there always seemed to be—but this was really good.
“I shocked your roo-nees are nissing diss,” Jack reiterated, taking another forkful of potato, “Is so tasty, sank you.”
When Zinnia opened the door, Jack released tension in her shoulders that she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Perhaps she was a little anxious about accidentally knocking on the wrong door—what if there’d been a typo on the text message?
Zinnia welcomed her, and Jack replied in-turn with a polite, “T’ank you.”
Jack ducked her head as she crossed the threshold, lavender eyes taking in the cute layout of the apartment. It was a whole lot nicer than the little hole-in-the-wall place that Jack called home. Jack’s apartment was sparsely furnished and cluttered, the apartment of one who was constantly on the move. This apartment was cute. And big… Were there multiple residents?
Jack pulled her scarf higher--
>> “Please come in. it looks like it will be just the two of us tonight, my housemates are AWOL. Is it cold out there?”
--and then tugged her scarf down, inhaling the warm air of the apartment.
“A little chilly,” Jack confirmed, removing her messenger bag from her shoulder, and setting it cleanly by the door, “Getting colder sast, doh, wiss duh sun setting.”
She undid the snaps that allowed the sleeves of her hoodie to fit over her enlarged forearms, and then unzipped the hoodie, peeling it all off at once. The hoodie was then neatly folded and set atop her bag. Jack kept the scarf, however, lest she needed to quickly hide her mouth from returning roommates.
The prawn shuffled after the young woman, her antennae flattened cautiously against her skull as she surveyed the main living space of the apartment.
“It's 'ery nice here," she remarked.
>> “Tea? Coffee? Cocoa? Something cold? What would you like?”
“I would like a cocoa, t’ank you,” Jack said, a touch too eagerly, “Iss it’s not too nuch trou’le.”
Jack lingered in the kitchen with Zinnia, quietly awaiting direction from the young woman. Should there have been no direction, Jack would simply shadow her at a reasonable distance. She ended up trailing after Zinnia to the table, waiting for her hostess to take a seat.
>> “How was your day? Did you come straight from work?”
The prawn sidled towards one of the chairs and slid it out, cautiously sliding into the seat. She still looked around as she replied, “Nnn, yeah, you caught nee on ny walk hone. All I had today was Xa’iers’s, t’anksully.”
Or else, she wouldn’t be here. She’d by high-tailing it to Chrysalis. “Nostly pretty caln,” Jack continued, “Duh kids at duh school are nostly good. Sun shenanigans, yet no sights today. Sist sights.”
Jack smiled, shifting her weight. In her adolescence, she’d been a scrappy one.
“How’re t’ings on your end?” Jack asked, “Was your day too busy?” and, as an afterthought, “Everyt’ing looks fantastic.”
Jack had come to a halt at a street corner, leaning against the edge of a building as she awaited Zinnia’s response. Now that she’d been invited to dinner, Jack didn’t want to keep walking in one direction only to find out that Zinnia lived somewhere in the opposite direction. The young woman would simply look foolish, retracing her steps.
>> “If you want anything in particular to drink, yes. We have milk, cocoa, red soda. Do you have any allergies or special dietary needs?”
Jack mmm’ed to herself, closing her eyes. She hadn’t had cocoa in very long while.
The prawn milled over whether or not it was worth mentioning her strange sense of taste, and how it seemed to be both flavor- as well as chemical-based, and how overly artificial foods just flat-out tasted nasty to her, but it didn’t seem like something worth mentioning. Especially if someone was being invited on the fly.
<Nope I’m pretty easy when it comes to food,> Jack responded.
When the text containing Zinnia’s address arrived, Jack copied the address and input it in her phone’s GPS application, the GPS informed her that it was only a twenty minute walk. Nice.
<Be there in 20,> Jack replied, setting out.
= = =
The walk was actually about fifteen minutes, given the length of Jack’s stride and brisk pace. She made it to the apartment building and, after some pacing about and critical thinking, managed to find her way to the door of Zinnia’s apartment. Jack adjusted the scarf from its position over her mouth, and ran a hand over her antennae. She didn’t want to freak anyone out, if Zinnia didn’t live alone. The prawn also sank on her haunches, lowering herself to a slightly more standard six-foot height.
The prawn rapped her knuckles against the door, a hesitant trio of knocks, before letting her hand fall to her side.
“Zinnia, it’s Jack,” the prawn announced. She adjusted the messenger bag that was slung across her chest, surveying her feet. This felt weird. Maybe she should’ve gotten something along the way. A store-bought cheesecake? A bottle of wine? Jack hated wine, but it would have been a nice gesture. Was Zinnia even old enough to drink?
Jack was roused from her thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps from behind the closed door, and she looked up, antennae perking slightly.
>> "Dancing at parties was mandatory in my family. It wasn't a good celebration unless a few people got drunk and danced."
“Dat sounds like a lot of fun,” Jack remarked, “My san-ily was dull, dey ne’er had shindigs like dat.”
While sober Jack loathed social occasions like that, drunken Jack was more than a touch envious. She really had never attended parties like that, even when she’d been human-looking. They were a family that kept to themselves and scarcely entertained. A household that wasn’t very close to the extended family. Jack glanced at her feet, and was impressed to see that she was, for the most part, keeping up with Victor. There was a shaky step, here and there, but as she fell into the rhythm, her movements were getting a little easier.
>> "Mmhm...I'm gonna try something stupid, but I want you to trust me, okay?"
“Sun-ting stu’id?” Jack began to echo, “Like wh-?”
Rather than clarify his intent, massive hands maneuvered her into a spin. It reminded her of the ocean. She has once swam in the sea when she still lived in California. She stood neck-deep in water and swayed with the current, like seaweed. That’s how it felt in Victor’s arms. They were swaying in the current of the music and her feet scarcely moved.
Jack chuckled. And, when Victor brought her out of the spin, Jack was breathless and all-smiles. Everything was dizzy and warm. Though the steady hand on her waist assured her that Victor wouldn’t drop her, Jack’s hand tensed lightly as they resumed dancing once again.
“Whoa,” she breathed, “You twirl nee like it was not’ing. Dat was cool.”
Delight brimmed up in her lavender gaze. It was apparent, in how she moved, that Jack was starting to feel more at-ease now. She wasn’t so tense in Victors’ arms, and her mouthparts were continually curled into her rendition of a smile. Jack hoped that this memory wasn’t lost in the whiskey-induced stupor. She rather hoped to hold onto it.
Jack had made it a good three blocks or so before the phone buzzed again. The reverberating in her pocket shook the prawn from her thoughts, which mostly just lingered on what she would be having for dinner once she got home. Chicken…? Or beef…?
The phone was fished from her pocket once again, and Jack unlocked it, eyes skimming the message.
>> “I was going to add you so we can chat online, without the chatrooms full of weirdos or the distractions of BookFace. What are you up to tonight, working?”
Jack didn’t even know what chatrooms were, and hadn’t the faintest interest in BookFace. Social networking was for people who wanted to keep in-touch with old friends and stay connected with new ones. Jack was a far more private person than that.
<Just got off,> the prawn reported, <No bouncing tonight.>
The prawn’s phone reverberated again as the second message sent, and a new message arose in a little speech bubble.
>> “My housemates have bailed on my cheesy*ss dinner, wanna come over? My plans are dinner and a movie. In a totally non-date way.”
Well… that would save Jack the trouble of having to make her own food. And her night was empty, anyways. Besides, she'd only be going home to a sad and empty apartment. It could be nice to have some casual friend-company.
<I’m down,> Jack replied, <Where you at?>
Perhaps it was a little blunt, but when matters of food were involved, there wasn’t time for being indirect. They were making plans, after all. The stipulation of “non-date” went over Jack’s head altogether.
As an afterthought, the prawn added, <Want me to pick anything up?>
“Craigslist,” Jack offered, half-joking and half-serious.
>> “Mind you, might need to have an official interview but I think you’d be a good fit. Xavier’s sister school. I call it mutant manor though.”
Jack took the business card that was offered to her between her thumb and primary finger, surveying it closely. The card did, in fact, list the name of the school—Xavier’s Sister School—and included the contact information for Sam. Jack tucked the card into her wallet, and slipped her wallet into her pocket.
The two mutants hastily left the store—away from the registers, to the exit, and into the parking lot. Jack had expected to part ways, here. Thank C.S., go home, maybe plow through half of a container of ice cream. The possibilities were endless.
Jack had noted the three men, but hadn’t expected them to want anything from her and Sam. Not until one of them addressed them, raising his tone to a loud timbre. He was issuing an ultimatum.
“You shouldn’t shop here anymore.”
>> “Shoo flies.”
Sam looked to Jack. The prawn, who’d previously been keeping a hunched profile, rose, squaring her shoulders.
“Dat’s not sore you to decide,” Jack said flatly. “We don’t want any trou’le,”
Grocery bags, which the prawn previously held in both of the prawn’s primary hands, were switched into her non-dominant hand. Neither mutant wanted trouble, but they weren’t so foolish as to not expect it. Jack settled a hand lightly on Sam’s shoulder.
“Let’s get outta here,” she reiterated, loudly enough for Sam to hear. Jack turned and began to leave. Whether or not Sam followed her was up to him. She had walked maybe two strides when the rush of footsteps was upon them. Taptaptaptaptap- some people just didn’t take a f__king hint.
Jack turned to see that two of the three men had singled her out, metal glinted in the hands of one. He was carrying a pipe. The man brought it down like a sledgehammer, Jack slid her right heel back, dodging the swing. Momentum carried him towards her. The prawn dropped her groceries. One hand grasped the back of his shirt. The other tore the beam free of his hand. Jack dropped the man as his friend rushed her, dodged a punch, punted him between the legs. The kicked man crumpled and reflexively threw-up.
The first man scrambled to his feet, dealing a quick one-two punch to Jack's abdomen while his friend rolled on the ground. *Thock*. No damage. Slightly lower. No damage. Jack grabbed the man’s head, pulling him away from her and holding him out where he couldn't reach her. He dangled like a plushie in a claw machine, though he was putting up significantly more of a fight that one such plushie.
“Can’t you just ice dere ankles and wrists?” Jack groused. The man in her grasp was still grappling her arm ineffectually, whilst his buddy was still on the ground, hands pressed hard against his pelvis, as he rolled about, “Like hand-cuss or sun-ting. I just wanna go hone.”
She looked towards Sam, to see how he was fairing. Rumbling to the man in her hold, she complained, “Can’t e-zen go to duh store wit-out a**holes like you trying to start a sun-ting.”
Jack could already tell that she was going to need to rework her sleeping schedule. With Chrysalis at night and Xavier’s during the day, her sleeping schedule and workout schedule sometimes took a serious hit. She was walking home from Xavier’s, back to her apartment, when this thought dawned-on her. Conveniently, it was one of her nights off, so the prawn would actually get to sleep tonight.
The prawn took her time as she walked, taking-in the sights. The winter was turning colder, now. She had long pants and a coat on, a scarf wrapped around her mouthparts. Her hands were wedged deep into her pants pockets, one of which was tucked over her phone. The sun was setting, the air would get colder soon. It would be best to hurry.
The phone reverberated in her pocket, rattling against the palm of her hand. Jack reflexively fished the phone out and surveyed the screen, weighing whether or not she wanted to answer. A text message—already, her likelihood of replying was higher. When she read Zinnnia’s name across the bar where message sender was listed, Jack unlocked her phone.
>> Hey, do you have Skype? <<
Jack squinted at the inquiry. Despite what her web-enabled phone would suggest, Jack wasn’t on the up-and-up with technology. She had a Netflix (which she avidly used), and an email (which she typically ignored), but she never had a cause for Skype. Her only real interaction with the internet besides binge-watching certain shows on Netflix was doing woodworking research.
Jack had begun typing a response, when a second text came through on her phone.
>> This is Zinnia, by the way. <<
Of course it was. Jack hadn’t taken the contact out of her phone, so she already knew that much. Jack typed a response back, clearing her throat.
< I don’t, > it read. The prawn paused, wondering the motivation behind asking such a question. < Why? > Jack read over the brief text. Maybe it was too abrupt? Zinnia had written considerably more. So, just for safe measure, the prawn added, <Good to hear from you.> and sent the text.
