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.
>> “Sounds good. There’s a coffee shop just around the corner The Roasted Bean, do you know it?”
“I seen it, yes.”
Jack walked and took public transit everywhere, so she’d been past Roasted Bean before, even without ever going in there. She wasn’t much of a coffee-drinker.
>> “I might see you there.”
“See you dere,” Jack agreed.
Then, the prawn was gone. Off, into the swimming area. It was a few short strides to the door, and the acrid sting of chlorine enveloped her. She relished it. Jack abandoned her towel on a bench along the far wall, found an open lane, and dove in with barely a splash. And, as she swam, she couldn’t swallow the niggling anxiousness at the back of her throat.
***
Fifty three minutes, many laps in the lap pool, and a hot shower later, Jack found herself just across the street from Roasted Bean. The option of making a hasty escape was still sorely tempting. After all, Zinnia hadn’t said she “would” see her there, she said “might”, which suggested that Zinnia half-expected her to bolt.
Like a wuss, Jack’s subconscious chided. Jack growled at her subconscious. I’m not a wuss! I’m just… not… used to doing girly sh_t like this. Jack sighed, adjusting the duffel bag that was slung over her shoulder. You can do this, you can do this.
Jack glanced both ways, then strode across the street. Her eyes swept the outside tables and, not spying a familiar face, she slinked inside. Anxious hands adjusted the duffel bag again, and she smoothed a palm over the front of her hooded sweatshirt. Should she have been wearing something better? Naw, they were just chilling. Right? She couldn’t have known that they were going to get coffee, anyway. Street clothes felt too informal. Baggy cargo shorts, a tank, a hoodie. She looked like a guy. You always look like a guy, you twit. Jack spied Zinnia sitting at a small table, against the wall, textbook opened on the table.
You can do this. The prawn meandered over, gathering her duffle into the arms to avoid accidentally jostling any of the café patrons. She made it to the table without any fantastic accidents and deposited her duffel in the chair.
“Hey,” she greeted, “I’ll go… uh, get sun-t’ting. You want… mmm… any-t’ing?”
She was too flustered to notice if the young woman had a drink or not. Was it hot in here? Jack unzipped her hoodie, slid out of it, and draped it over the back of her chair, as she awaited the young woman’s response.
Well, as already mentioned in the cbox-- I am down for accidental awkward times with Jack. > w < Honestly, I can't see her wittingly going on a date with anyone, but if for one of these threads, Fishman gets stood-up, and she just happened to be there? Well, she'd probably sympathize with the poor guy, at least, and he'd at least get a friend out of it!
>> “No problem. Muties need to stick up for each other.”
Jack quietly ground her mandibles, her expression one of quiet acceptance. Ah, so this woman was one of Jack’s kind. A mutant. No wonder she intervened. Such was the way of things. Jack’s hand found the towel, drying-off her face and taking great care not to snag the loose, towel knit on any of her spiny edges.
>> “Actually, if they’re not putting themselves in danger everyone should stick up for each other. Bullying is bad. My name is Zinnia. Would you like to get a coffee after?”
The prawn didn’t do too thorough of a job toweling herself off, as she was just going to lumber off to the pool, anyways. But the lady was still rambling, partly to herself, and partly to the prawn, so the prawn moved slowly, drying her shoulders and neck. She then draped the towel over her shoulder.
“Jacquelyn,” the prawn replied, nodding her head curtly. Jack only opted for the full, feminine form of her name as the result of the recent calling-her-gender-into-question fiasco. She fidgeted with her towel, murmuring the word “…Caw-hee…” to herself as if speculating the meaning. Who on earth randomly invited other women to coffee, in the locker room, of all places? Albeit, Zinnia was an attractive, young woman, and a mutant at that, but Jack had literally just arrived.
“I would hate to delay anyt’ing,” Jack rumbled noncommittally, “I kinda just got here.”
Her tone was gravelly, and she was glancing towards the exit that led towards the pool. Zinnia had done her the favor of leaping to her defense, so brushing her off would be a bit of a d__k move. But Jack wasn’t about to shrug her workout off, either. She needed her workout.
“It’s a short workout, doh,” she admonished, “We could uh, hrm, get caw-hee later. Sun-where else-” she did the math in her head, for how long the swim might take, then showering-off and changing, “-Takes around… uh, little less den an hour."
Jack still felt rather odd about the whole exchange, but wrote it off as, ‘Maybe this is a thing that normal ladies do, and you’re just so used to being one of the “bros” with the bouncers at Chrysalis, that you just… are out of your element.’
There was a squeal as Jack slid past—oops, apparently she had kind of scraped past the two women—and the observation that the prawn was “crunchy”. At least the aggressors got out of the way though. Jack huffed, shaking her head, as she padded down the tiled walkway to the sectioned-off showers. The prawn heaved a sigh and ducked beneath the beam that held the stalls in-place. The shower where Jack had made her retreat was towards the far end of the row.
She draped her towel over the high crossbeam of the stall, and hunched low beneath the shower head. She couldn’t cause any more trouble if they couldn’t see her.
The initial stream of water was a cold, unsympathetic blast. The prawn made a noise of discomfort, and quickly turned the nob towards the warmer water. As soon as the water warmed, Jack ducked beneath the stream, turning her head this way and that, eyes closed. Over the harsh stream of water, she barely heard the approaching footsteps. Jack opened her eyes, glancing towards the entrance of the stall. She first expected that she was going to get jumped by the boisterous aggressors—which was uncharacteristic of their… demographic… but Jack would be the last person to underestimate the stupidity of a mutant-hater.
>> “Are you alright? People suck.”
That was a surprise. Rather than another attack, someone was making conversation with her from the other side of the stall. Jack rose, glancing over to see the source of the voice. The Brave Defender. The mutant shouldered a shrug, nodding her head to the side. Her expression was coolly humored.
“Honestly, I’n used to it,” Jack assured the young women, her tone aloof, “As you say, dey suck.” People, that is. “People” was a hard word for Jack. And she figured that saying “hue-nans suck” would be the perfect way to offend someone who’d just stuck their neck out for you.
Jack ducked beneath the shower again, rubbing her hand over her arm to scrape away any potential grime.
“Also… sank you,” the prawn rumbled, her “thanks” lingering awkwardly in the air. Even if the lady was unintentionally putting herself out there for a mutant, it was still much appreciated. Jack hunched down again, rolling her head under the warm stream of water. The water felt good on her neck, but the prawn tried not to dwell on the sensation for too long. Thoroughly rinsed, she shut the water off, grasping for her towel.
Ka-chunk. The lock was unlatched, and the prawn deftly unsheathed it, setting the combination lock atop the collection of lockers. With that, Jack casually began to strip. First, came the hoodie, which she unzipped, removed, and draped atop the locker. Next, she removed the tank top, sliding it off over her head in one, practiced motion. Jack was in the process of unfastening her belt when Raptor-Lady came screeching after her.
>> “This is a ladies’ room. You can’t be in here, GuyFreak.”
Jack glanced around as she unbuckled her belt and, spying no one, realized she was the “GuyFreak” in question. Jack stretched her secondary pair of arms, and surveyed the two toweled women with a droll, half-lidded gaze. Jack couldn’t care enough to smart-off to the lady, seeing as she often got this type of reception in a gendered place, like the women’s restroom. Unless authorities got involved, she really didn’t care. Even so, another woman hastily charged to her defense, without so much as seeing the prawn in-question.
>> “Can you see my bits?! Can I see your bits?! No? Well, since no one can see any bits, who are you to say she’s not a girl? Sod off and take a STI test you grot.”
Meanwhile, Jack continued her undressing, sliding-off her pants, and standing in nothing more than her boxers. The pair of shirts was sat atop the lockers with the remainder of her clothes. Jack sat down to rifle through her bag, fishing out her swim trunks. The Brave Defender rounded the corner, catching full view of the boxers-wearing prawn.
She was an attractive woman with light tan skin. As soon as she caught sight of Jack, her mouth formed a delicate “o”, and her expression filled with what the prawn interpreted to be the look of someone caught on their unawares—a deer in the headlights. Jack understood the connotations of the exchange. She wasn’t supposed to be gender-ambiguous shrimp-beast. The poor woman had probably assumed Jack was a masculine-but-human-looking individual. Jack’s mutation kind-of threw a wrench into the whole rescuing scheme.
“I don’t need to ‘roove* sh-t to you,” Jack said flatly, flicking a quick glance towards the indignant gym-goer before she began to transfer her street clothes into the locker, draping them off of the hangers inside, “You got an issue wit’ me, take it to da runt** desk. Dey know who I an. Dey know where I should go.”
Jack rose to her full seven-and-a-half feet, and slid off her boxers and kicked them aside. She then slid into her swim trunks. Jack tied her swim trunks, tossed the boxers into her locker, retrieved her towel out the bag, zipped her bag closed, and then stuffed the bag into the locker. Bam, locker closed. Snap, locker locked. Finally, the prawn gave the aggressors her full attention, and unflinching lavender stare that burnt hole into them. Her pupils were thing, incensed slits. Back straight and shoulders square, she closed the distance between them. Jack needed to rinse-off before she swam, and they were in the way. The prawn was full of indignant, furious, petty quips, but had no urge to utter them. Jack wanted so badly to lecture them, but it would be like shouting at a brick wall. She wouldn't give them the delight of getting a reaction out of her.
“Excuse 'e,” she growled tersely, without waiting for them to move aside. She politely stepped around the Brave Defender, but might have scraped past the aggressors en route to the showers.
Jack went to the gym to return a sense of normalcy to her life. After the incident with Victor, and the incident with Sam, that was precisely what Jack craved. A sense of normalcy. She would push her body to its limits, physically, and thereby expunge any remainder of stress that the wacky hijinks had left inside of her. She walked to the front desk, flashed her membership card.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Dyer,” the secretary greeted cheerily, giving Jack a toothy, slightly uneasy smile, “How are you today?”
“Good a’ternoon,” Jack replied with a nod, “Doing well. T’anks.”
They returned her card, and Jack padded into the main area of the gym, bee-lining for the dressing room and sparing them the awkward conversation. The locker room was decently-sized. The first room you entered into was full of lockers, off of which branched a restroom and a showering area. By the sounds of it, two ladies were chattering loudly in the shower-area, while another was prepping for her work-out in front of the restroom mirror. Jack huffed, antenna twitching, and sauntered towards her locker.
Once over there, she dropped her bag on the ground, and hunkered onto the bench in front of her locker. Just don’t make eye contact, she assured herself, they’ll leave you alone. The prawn spun the dial of her combination lock a few times, and began keying-in her code.
>> “Really gonna let a few ***** dictate where and what you do?”
“Uh, yeah?” Jack said, incredulous. It wasn’t a matter of standing your ground or retreating. It was a matter of survival. While the men posed no immediate threat to her, and it was likely that she could take them with a quick one-two punch, she didn’t want any trouble. She just wanted her groceries.
Jack jumped as the young man slammed a bottle onto the display, causing some of the bottles to roll aside at the impact. Jack’s antennae flattened, form tensed, and she breathed a soft hiss. Its tone was cautionary, as if to say—Dude, take it easy. We literally just stocked these shelves, I’m not about to restore them for a second time. Jack just wanted her groceries, for God’s sake, the last thing she wanted was some guy to run to her defense.
>> “You take your time, get what you want and if anyone has an issue with you. THEY CAN COME SAY SOMETHING TO ME.”
Oh, for the love of all that’s good and pure, why was he getting all bent out of shape? This time, when Sam slammed the other bottle down, Jack didn’t jump or hiss at him. She finished her task and rose. Though some bottles weren’t upright, at least they were all off of the floor. Jack glanced to the two men, then to Sam, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t worth getting in a fight over. She’d hold him back if a physical attack was unwarranted.
>> “Jack, there anything else you need here? Take it you came grocery shopping for a reason right?”
Jack shrugged, exhaling heavily. Did she need anything else? Jack looked at her basket, then looked back to the eyepatch-wearing man as he slid more whiskey into his cart. The prawn heaved another sigh. She certainly didn’t come here for her health.
“Need sun* t’ings, yes,” she groaned, “I don’t need-“
>> “You mind if I join you? Terribly boring walking around the grocery store by yourself. Come on, what were you here for?”
Well, she was going to say that she didn't need a chaperone. Another sigh. It seemed like she didn't have a choice. Jack considered the option of turning her cart in the opposite direction, of ditching the young man who had apparently taken it upon himself to be her escort. But the enormous ice hand, complete with the ceremonious one-fingered salute, blocked her path. She couldn’t really get around that, even if she lifted the cart over her head. It would only cause more of a scene.
“Guess you can,” she rumbled, pushing her cart after him. There wasn’t anything wrong with “boring”. The prawn preferred it, even. But it seemed as though she wasn’t going to lose her company any time soon. The prawn surveyed her cart, grinding her mandibles anxiously. She had toilet paper, a few miscellaneous food items, Lysol wipes. She fished into her pocket and surveyed a handwritten shopping list.
“Body wash,” she announced, “Deodorant, and—“ she continued skimming the list for items that were not yet in her cart. And, finding none, concluded, “—dat’s all.”
Jack nodded and sipped her water. She hadn’t “known” a kid in ages. There were random encounters on public transportation, who’d pass by her while shopping or on the streets. Some of them were fascinated by her, others were terrified. Jack reacted accordingly—gave a wave or avoided eye contact. Regardless, she always made a hasty departure.
Jack could feel his eyes on her, and she timidly set her glass down, holding her arm with the opposite hand, as both elbows remained planted on the bar. The anxiety stretched between her inquiries and his response, causing her heart to stutter.
>> "Of course! I like drinking with you. In fact-”
He polished off the bottle and rose. Confused lavender eyes followed Victor as he loomed above her, extending a large hand. Ever the clueless one, Jack extended her hand, hesitant and slow, but almost immediately after. Were they going to shake hands on it? Scout’s honor? Would he swear to drink again with her? That seemed like a pretty intense length to go to, to guarantee another rendezvous. She would’ve been perfectly content to just give him her number.
She squeezed his hand as if to initiate a handshake, and noticed then that their hands were about the same size. Whereas hers were calloused, cool, and chitin-armored along the back, his were warm and soft. Inviting. Reassuring. When Victor did not shake her hand, the prawn realized a cycle too slowly that his motives were otherwise.
>> “How 'bout we dance? I haven't had a dance partner my own size in a while."
Her fingers tensed, contemplating retreat, but her hand still rested lightly upon his. Though Jack would deign to admit it, she liked holding someone else’s hand. Particularly when their hands were so similarly-sized. It had easily been a decade since she’d shown or been shown this degree of affection, and in her alcohol-induced stupor, she enjoyed it.
The attention also made her timid.
“I- I ne’er danced,” she admonished, “I don’t know how. I ne’er danced, e’en as a teen.”
Despite her hesitant excuses, Jack slid off of the stool. Her uncertain, lavender gaze swung towards Victor’s enormous eye. He really was a good deal taller than her, easily a foot. For once in her life, Jack felt small: and yet, rather than feel intimidated or scared, she felt at-ease. She was always minding her step around others, constantly aware of how she was occupying the space she was in, on the look-out for any potential threats. Standing before Victor, as she was now, it felt like the release of an incredible tension that she had never known she was holding.
Dancing had never been her thing—she’d never had the guts to go a dance with Chelsea, in junior high; and, after high school, she’d all but given-up hope of being asked to a dance. She just wasn’t one for dancing, she’d asserted. She couldn’t fit the cute dresses, towered over most of the guys, and was mistaken as one by many more of them.
Despite all of this, she still stood before her fellow mutant, a shy smile crinkling at the corner of her eyes, her large maxillipeds curling slightly.
((ooc: Not sure if I gave you enough to work with, so please feel free to have Vic walk them to the floor, etc. Too much internal monologue in my post! D:))
Jack groaned, but her expression loosened a bit as the man insisted on helping her. She would deign to admit that she was grateful, not for any sense of pride, but because she was ashamed to subject another person to the sideshow-like attention that the two were now receiving. The prawn’s attention remained on the task at-hand, but her antennae kept twitching. She had heard them long before the man rose, the gathering crowd, the soft murmurs that were usually out of the human range of hearing. Soft sentiments about how “that type” shouldn’t be allowed in stores if they would just trash them, how it was a privilege not a right. The whiny voice of a child asking why “that thing” was playing with the bottles when they weren’t allowed to. A muscle in the prawn’s jaw twitched.
Just get the display back together and get the f—k outta here, she repeated in her head like a mantra.
She heard the man rise and followed him with her gaze. Probably leaving. She wouldn’t blame him. She wanted to leave, too. It would’ve been easier to just leave the mess for an employee, but Jack was in too deep now to abandon ship. Save yourself, she silently urged the man.
>> ”I got an idea of what it’s like to be stared at. Maybe not to the extent as you but…”
Oh yeah, the eyepatch, the prawn thought, a touch cluelessly. Sometimes, folks stared at those with disabilities the same way that they looked at mutants. She watched as the man pointed at the accumulating crowd, expecting him to preach at them, about how ashamed they should be. Jack felt the chill, but expected it to be the result of her nerves. She didn’t realize what he really, truly meant until the illustrious ice sculpture began to take form seemingly out of the air.
Jack’s eyes widened, surprised, and then her features twisted into their own version of a grin when she realized the one-fingered salute that was arising. If his stubborn insistence to help hadn’t earned her respect before, standing-up for her certainly did.
>> “Got no problem staring with their mouths open. Makes ‘em look stupid... My name’s Sam.”
The bottles were nearly tidied up. Then they could hoof it out of there.
“Jack,” the prawn replied briefly, giving him abrupt head-nod of approval and a smirk, "T'ank you."
Though the ice-sculpture mostly blocked them from view, and some of the crowd had dispelled, some individuals remained. One man snidely remarked about how many skewers a "shrimp that size" could fill. It was murmured, but Jack still turned back and hissed sharply at the crowd, a low growl seeping out of her throat.
"Gonna get outta here quickly, when done," she cautioned, the growl still churning in her throat, "Few a--holes over there. Concerned." She'd been on the street too long to not take such sentiments seriously.
Jack punctuated Victor’s explanation with attentive nods. Changing color with changes in temperature, that was pretty cool.
“Dat’s cool,” Jack said appreciatively,“Iss I was da one changin’ colors, I would ‘e like a… uh-” cue embarrassed, hurried typing, << A lava lamp of rainbows.>>
The alcohol was loosening Jack up enough to try speaking with Victor, but when she encountered a tangle of consonants that her mouth couldn’t articulate, she quickly leaned on her phone as a crutch once again. Jack spaced-out a bit, as Victor polished-off a second beer. How refreshing, to have a normal conversation.
Her thoughts wandered quietly, music filling the space between them. Jack allowed the pause, idly twirling her cellphone on the counter-top. She had so many questions, intrigued by the larger mutant. You wouldn’t give him the time of day if you were sober, would you, Jack? Perhaps, perhaps not. Jack was operating on whiskey-brain, so it was difficult to say what sober-brain would think. The prawn let the phone fall flat on the counter, staring at it for a moment.
The only way to find out would be to meet-up once again, when whiskey-brain was sober-brain once again. Jack's mandibles flexed, as if testing the words before voicing them. She'd seen it a thousand times, at Chrysalis. Girls scrawling their numbers on napkins, giving a wink, leaning low. Jack looked down at her own, broad chest. She wasn't like those girls see saw at Chrysalis.
“Iss you come here again, would you like to drink toget’er?” Jack asked experimentally, eyes pointed towards the display of expensive alcohol bottles, “Dey’re cool wiss… doze like us, all-dough dere’s still not a lot o'… uh… us.” She gestured between the two of them, meeting Victor’s eye, before realizing how her invitation could be connoted.
“Iss you want, dat is,” she said hurriedly. Her hands felt too fidgety. She grasped for her water and took a timid sip, looking back to the display of alcohol.
Lavender eyes followed Cueball through the doorway. As the last flash of the leather pants vanished through the doorway, Jack arose. Practiced fingers re-buttoned the vest. The prawn smoothed the fabric flat with her palms, lingering just around the corner of the doorway. Cueball ran a hand over his head. Jack lightly touched the side of her head, pressing a button to trigger the ear-bone mic that she was required to where at all times.
“Dis is Jack, I gotta Goldilocks,” she radioed. This was code for someone who had let themselves into the house uninvited, “Alien lookin’ guy, exitin’ le’el two outdoor seating. Hot a wall to get in.”
Having made her report, Jack lowered her hand slipped inside. Cueball had already slipped somewhere into the crowd, so the prawn circled to the left, away from the DJ’ing booth, eyes skimming the floor for him. On the darkened dancefloor, it was hard to separate an individual from the crowd. Jack’s gaze swept high—he had been a taller fellow with a gleaming bald head. If lights glinted just right off of someone’s head, she might be able to spot him.
<<By the booths on the far wall,>> a response reverberated in Jack’s ear. The lady who security cameras. <<Keep an eye on him, Chief. We’re going to review the footage.>>
Jack gave a sharp nod, and went over to the bar, leaning against the counter. In doing so, she shielded the nametag and the ear bone mic from view. They kept a large drink dispenser of water at each bar, so Jack poured herself a glass, nodding to the bartender. The bartender wore an identical ear bone mic, so he ignored his fellow employee accordingly.
Jack glanced towards the booths, and spotted Cueball making his approach. He was approaching a booth where a middle-aged gentleman sat with each arm draped over a lady. Ugh, one of those. Jack didn’t watch for long. The cameras were trained on him now, they’d tell her if she had to make a move. Jack took a long sip of water and sighed. Just another night on the job.
Posted by "Chief" on Oct 1, 2015 23:30:33 GMT -6
Historian 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
Hey friends, I am leaving town to visit friends from my university, and will be gone from Friday until Wednesday. I do not know if I will be on the boards, in the cbox, or around at all. But if I am not around at all, that is what became of me. :V Take care.
Jack gave a proud chirr when Victor complimented knowledge of drinks, but she hastily shook her head and flapped a hand dismissively, eyes smiling. Although she worked at a nightclub, her knowledge of drinks was limited. She knew what she liked and not much else. A few times, one bartenders at Chrysalis had attempted to give her "pro tips" about preparing alcoholic beverages, and to be honest, most of it went over her head.
>> "Yeah, I really do like the music, though I'm not as familiar with the drinks as you seem to be. What's an Old Fashion?"
Jack hummed and typed a brief response.
<<It's a whiskey drink,>> she replied, <<A classic one. With sugar, bitters... an orange slice... I don't know what else. But it's damn good.>>
The prawn arched her eyebrows as she watched Victor hastily consume the beer, and the tone of his skin dialed up a notch.
"Whoa-" the prawn said appreciatively. She caught herself a moment too late, clapping an embarrassed hand over her mouth. If there was one thing Jack loathed, it was being made a spectacle of. And there she was, oggling at some other mutant as his skin very noticeably shifted (at least, to her kean eyes). Jack glanced away, turning towards the bartender as he approached with a second beer for Victor.
"Water, thank you," she moved her hand long enough to make the request, and then cast an askance look at Victor. Perhaps if she chased the Old Fashioned with some water, she'd stop acting like such a damn fool. The baratender nodded and went to retrieve a beer glass, which he could fill with water.
"Sorry," Jack said bashfully, her hands quickly typing an excuse over the screen, <<The color-changing surprised me. It's really cool. Why? If it isn't too personal to ask?>>
The bartender returned with a glass of water. Jack nodded her thanks and took a sig of the cold water, sighing after a single gulp. Her face was hot which, luckily, there was no way of telling that by looking at her. She seemed a touch fidgetty, though. She could feel her secondary set of arms twitching beneath the cover of her shirt.
Jack could feel her attention drifting. The dance floor was busy, there was always something or someone to look at, even if there was nothing illicit going on. Jack would walk the perimeter of the floor, even occasionally venturing into the fray. The patio was much calmer. Even the music was muffled by the thick walls and closed doors. Jack could feel the lull tugging at her, urging her to close her eyes... no, no, no. No shut-eye on the job. She sighed and continued her watch.
A flick of motion from the high walls to the ground caught her attention. Did someone... really just jump off of the walls? Those walls were at least twelve feet tall, and they were already a story off the ground. What the actual-- When the jumper arose, the most obvious traits were his green skin and cueball of a head. Hm. Jack undid her vest and fanned it, as if she had just stepped off the dance floor and was trying to cool off. In doing so, she was hiding the nametag which would clearly single her out as security. Of course she was going to go after the guy, but she was curious to see what was so important that he had to hop a wall for.
Feigning exhaustion, she lifted her head and sighed, squinting her eyes as she continued fanning. Through the slits of her eyes, she watched Cueball very closely, waiting for him to make a move. As soon as the green man began to cross the threshold, Jack rose from her spot on the wall, following him inside at a reasonable distance. She kept her vest unbuttoned, continuing to hide the nametag.
[OOC: Hope it's cool that I suggested that Elliot went in, before you wrote it, Shinbo? If not I can jsut erase that paragraph. ]
>> "California, huh. Seattle, originally. Made my way across continent... been here for a couple of years now. I live at Xavier's... the mutant school."
Jack's blood ran cold at the mention of Seattle. It was only an hour down the road from Mt. Vernon. She'd been in Seattle, a short while after fleeing from her childhood home. Just thinking about Washington left a metallic taste in the prawn's mouth. She managed a smile, though, her eyes pinching shut and maxillae twitching, as she said, "Oo! Not a lot of West Coast'ers out here!"
Her finger swiped around the screen, and she flashed the message to Maya.
<<Didn't know that there were mutant schools out here, too.>> the text read. <<I attended one just south of San Francisco. Boarding school, too.>>
That's all the prawn wrote. She didn't pick-up on the connotations of what Maya had said. Jack just assumed that Maya was some part of the staff, or maybe this school allowed college-aged students to remain living on-campus until they graduated? Jack was entirely unaware of the existense of the X-men (largely because she didn't care for vigilante groups), and so didn't bother to pry any further.
Jack's antennae twitched, picking up the sounds of an argument just behind her. Duty calls. She looked up from her conversation towards the sound of the noise, her hold slackening on the smartphone. Perhaps it was just a lover's spat, which would fade-out after a few shouts. If it got physical, however, Jack would have to intervene. The prawn stuffed her phone into her pocket, whether or not May had finished reading, and watched.
She held up a finger to Maya, as if to say "One moment please," and started to make her way across the dance floor, keeping low. Shades raised a hand to the blonde, and his open palm connected with her cheek. Escalation. Jack arose to her full height and strode towards the pair. The blonde now cradled the cheek Shades had struck, and Shades was yelling, Jack could see rivulets of blue light inching up beneath his collar, tracing lightning-like patterns as they crept towards his face. Oh great, a mutant spat. Just what I needed.
Jack approached the man from behind, lightly placing a hand on his shoulder. Blondie had tears welling in her eyes and Jack could feel a hot knot clenching in her stomach. Anyone who made a woman cry was absolute scum.
"Excuse mmm-e, sir," the prawn said placatingly, hunching down to the man's level, "I mmm-ust ask you to exit th-"
Jack could feel the wind leaving her. Clenched fist connected with her diaphragm. The prawn went sprawling. Gasps rippled from any patron that happened to be watching. The average person couldn't lay her out like that. The prawn wheezed. The man had sucker-punched her, blue electricity cackling around his arms.
"Don't f---ing touch me!" Shades screamed. His eyes and mouth were illumed, the magnitude of the electricity increasing. The bartender was fumbling for his phone, and Jack shakily grabbed her walkie, pressing the "Talk" button.
"Heat at Mmm-ain 'ar, mmm-ore water," Jack reported. She was still sucking air back into her lungs, so her voice rasped into the speaker. She was calling for back-up, "Need Null." Null was the code for their Adapted security guard, who typically watched cameras out of the range of the patrons. The enraged mutant man kicked Jack's walkie out of reach. Jack scrabbled to her feet. Once Null was summoned, no one else would intervene. Jack had to try talking the man down, in the meantime.
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