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.
Hel seemed to sneer at her and her choice of stakeout. Zed shrugged, lit the new cig from the old before dropping it in the gutter and stretched her legs. The men had been in there a while. It must have been a good show. The thing about strip joints is, they didn’t tend to have a lot of windows. She didn’t think this one had a backdoor though, from the times she had been in there.
“Nope.” There was no better view, and cafes gave her the heebie-jeebies. All that coffee, all those people slurping away at the bitter awfulness, loaded with sugar and lies. How anyone could drink that dirtwater was beyond her. Give her a strong glass of liquor and a smoke any day over that. She lifted her arms above her head and rolled her neck, crackles indicating her sleeping situation. One day, when she was rich, she was going to buy a proper bed. She was sure of it.
“They should be out any moment now.” Judging from the muffled music and sounds of male appreciation. The cat calls and gorilla hooting only ever lasted a few seconds, then the men tended to make a hasty exit. Never wanting to see behind the mask. They had what they needed by then.
As if on cue the suit and his shadows emerged, he crimson tinted and sweaty, his tails equal parts indifferent (gay, she labelled) and awkward (virgin). She flicked the half finished smoke to the ground and crushed it under a grubby boot.
“Half a block,” she murmured to her partner in crime, “abandoned convenience store. I jigged the lock already.” She’d done her homework.
As long as the men continued on their current path they would travel right past it. The trick was getting them inside somehow so they could take them out. If she were alone she would have tried a grab and stab, but with the addition of Hel they could play the sexy angle. With any luck he hadn’t yet blown his trumpet, and they could intercept him and redirect his attention while there wasn’t much blood in his brain. With a swift movement the sweater was over her head and she stood in a cropped top and jeans. Her hair was a disadvantage (to the girly look) so she had to play to the tough-girl stereotype. Which was relatively easy seeing as how she was a tough girl.
“Green.” The please was in the tone. He asked for it like a man dying of thirst might ask for water. Which she supposed it technically was… water and hot leaf juice, which was all tea was really. She was happy to oblige. Green was by far the least complicated to make, no additions required unless you were being super fancy and had a lemon on hand. There may have been a lemon lurking in a nearby fruit bowl, but she was anything but fancy.
“Volunteers? Wow. So do all the other X-men have like… day jobs?” It would be super weird to be served coffee by an X-man and not know it. To sit in the bookstore of a caped crusader and crack the spines under the nose of someone who beat up baddies for fun.
He was a family man. A family man who liked to jest about her unfortunate run-in with his older son’s fist.
“Well, you know, looking after kids who’s Mom’s have disappeared with their boyfriends takes up most of my time…” she could give as good as she got “I swim a bit, study towards my next nursing qualification… hang out with my ladyfriend. Try not to get clocked as a Mutant.”
For all that her workplace was an equal opportunities one she was facing down enough challenges without adding mutation to the mix unless she really really had to. It was something she felt guilty about sometimes, like she should be making a stand, ‘mutant and proud’ or something to that effect. But she was also ‘mutant with bills’ so the fewer doors she shut on herself the better. She sipped her coffee pensively, oblivious to the tendrils of delectable coffee-scent which wafted to the pinkish mutant.
Wait, pink-ish?
She turned to look at him more full-on. Sure the last time they had met it was darkish in the bar (all the better to not see your big ears my dear), and people change hairstyles all the time, but still…
There was definitely no games being played by this guy. He wasn’t even on the field anymore. Poor dude. But no time to think on him now, they had vehicular freedom! Partay! Jac seemed of the same opinion, guiding her into the car with a hand which spanned almost the width of her back.
“As delicious as these ballet flats look,” she wiggled them towards her girlfriend to prove her point, “I just don’t think they’d be filling enough for the both of us.”
She smirked along with Jac’s suggestions, making 'mm-mm' noises as if that was the most delicious lunch imaginable. She hop-wiggled into the cab of the truck and fumbled the keys into the ignition. Turned them. And there the problem started.
Gurh-gurh-gurh. The truck lurched forward, then back. A very uncomfortable noise indeed. Zinnia jerked her hand off the key and pouted.
“But… it didn’t do that before…?”
A hurried check of the dash lights (nothing other than the seatbelt light, which she rectified just in case) and the fuel indicator... nothing amiss...
"I didn't do anything?"
The gear stick waited patiently to be put into first.
Jac was making no efforts to put the poor guy at ease, he squirmed and Zinn made an effort to keep her poker face in check. Knowing how much of a softie the prawn was inside made it tricky to see her as the terrifying hulking figure that others saw at first glance. Though, to be fair, she had never really seen her girlfriend at work.
The guy’s attempt at political correctness with the ‘average-sized Joes’ almost cracked her again, but she nodded solemnly and noted the new replacement in her mind. She knew roughly where it was on the car, but she wasn’t going to point and risk embarrassing herself if she indicated the wrong part. She nodded at Jac’s suggestion and swung the hood shut, careful of all limbs primary or otherwise. It wouldn’t do to crush an antennae at the start of what was otherwise shaping up to be the start of an adventure.
“Ok, let’s give her a whirl.” The guy glanced at the keys and the pair of women. He said nothing, but the implicit risk that they would simply drive off and leave him rattled, carless and cashless was too high.
“You drive then.” Zinnia gave him an out without making him ask. It meant she could concentrate on listening to the engine, and watching for any billowing smoke or steam. She would also check that the heating and cooling worked, though they weren’t deal breakers they were points for negotiation.
The drive went without incident, out around the block making a combination of left and right turns to ensure that everything was in order. The truck made no unusual noises, and was remarkably quieter than she had thought it would be. The interior was clean(ish, it was a truck after all) and upholstery in good nick. All in all she was satisfied.
The only feature she overlooked, so focused was she on looking for defects, was that it was a stick-shift. It hadn’t been mentioned on the sales ad because it was a truck and weren’t all trucks manual?
After a final walk-around to check for any unforgivable dings or scratches she was ready to haggle. She opened with a price three quarters of what she was willing to pay, a fair chunk less than the advertised price. Tom didn’t even hesitate. He had the paperwork out of his ride and on the hood signed in all the relevant places and x’d in all the places she needed to sign. After a brief skim to ensure that it was all relevant paperwork, and that there was a copy for each of them Zinnia signed off on the papers and handed over the envelope (she had hurriedly removed the additional quarter and stuffed the loose cash into her purse while he was getting the papers).
With the briefest of pleasantries and the assurance that she would call him if anything unexpected turned up in the first three months of ownership (per their papers) the deal was done.
She hadn’t seen anyone hustle like this guy hustled in a long time. He was in his ride and encouraging the other driver out of the parking lot faster than she could say ‘stick shift’. She turned to her girlfriend, the long held poker face dissolving into to chortle.
“Well, bye then” she said to the rapidly disappearing car and rolled her eyes at the prawn, some people just couldn’t handle a mutation. “That went just about as well as it could have.” She indicated the glaring yellow letter above them with a barely hidden grin, “hungry?” She was only teasing of course, let the word hang in the air for a moment before dissolving into giggles. That pile of chemicals masquerading as food was bound to set off the sensitive tastebuds (taste…feelers?) in her special one’s special mouth.
Such excitement poured in in the text message that a smirk almost quirked across Zed’s lips. Almost. As it was it manifested in a roll of the eyes. Splitting the bounty was a bit of a blow, but she could possibly pressure the payer to up it a bit considering the additional security measures the suit was taking. If they wouldn’t pay up at least the girls got a chance to stretch that murder muscle.
She sent regular location updates as the suits travelled and she followed. They didn’t step into a cab, so they couldn’t have been going too far. None of them seemed the type to relish exercise, and they were clearly cashed up enough to pay for it. True enough just under a block away they entered a gentlemen’s club and she squatted in the opposite alcove. They would be in there a while, she was sure of it. That would give plenty of time for the backup to arrive, no doubt flamboyant and attention drawing.
She settled in to a comfortable position on a crushed box and lit a cigarette. Nothing more she could do until the other woman arrived.
…
Sure enough Hel was attention drawing, long red leather coat swished around her legs as she approached, and Zed’s paranoid eyes clocked at least three sheathed weapons hidden in the contours of the woman’s body, within easy grab-and-stab reach. It was perfectly likely that to the standard eye she looked simply like a well dressed woman, confident in colour. Zed knew her for other skills.
“Sup.” It was a greeting, not a question. “You’ve got pile of papers, or trashbag of veggies.” She indicated each with her head. She wasn’t giving up her box. The men were bound to be a while yet, but with any luck they would stumble from the establishment worse for wear and easier to take out. She flicked another smoke to life and offered one to her… companion.
Her coffee-cocoa concoction was already steaming in her mug when he gave a polite cough (so polite it didn’t actually sound like a real cough anymore) and requested tea instead. The urge to roll her eyes and say ‘yes Dad’ was deep, seated in being the child of a Brit in the US of A. Still, she had spied a collection of bags and loose leaves and even a tea-pot (though it was themed after a police box).
“Herbal, black or green?” or some hellish combo of the lot. She wasn’t against tea, per se, but she preferred hers icy and full of sugar- or better still, coffee. He made his selection and she set to work boiling more water to fill the pot. The idea that some houses didn’t have kettles at all was odd to her, another throwback to her British heritage. Something something about microwaved tea and barbarians…
So he didn’t live at the mansion, rather was just visiting loved ones. Somewhat like herself. Could an empty house ever really feel like a home? She doubted it. Minimum requirement was a fluffy family member, even for the cold-heartedest of realmen. It was a documented fact that as people got old and stopped seeing and touching others their health declined. It was one of the reasons her nursing home had a resident tabby or two. Good for the oldies, good for the cats. She was sure at least one of them was a stray, it seemed to come and go as it pleased, let itself in and out somehow and just generally behave a little… odd. It was cute though.
"X-men to the rescue once again. No need for applause."
She quelled the urge to clap.
“Oh, huzzah! My tax dollars paying off at last!”
Were they tax funded? She had always assumed that the government had to be subsidising them somehow. It was only fair seeing as they kept dozens of otherwise high-risk youths off the street. Even higher risk when they had abilities like those she had seen out and about.
“Tha-ank you.” She filled the vase with cool water from the tap and the teapot with hot water from the kettle. Tea and stems met their respective waters and were shimmied into place. The leaves of the bunch of flowers hung almost completely over the vase, which made it look like they were floating above the benchtop. Suitably magical.
Beverages poured and flowers hydrated she settled in to one of the higher chairs to sip the dark beverage. Sweet, sweet caffeine. Despite the heat of the mug she curled her hands around it and puffed a sigh of contentment.
“So, when you’re not punching bad guys or lifting cars with your mind or whatever, what do you do for fun?”
There had been talk of movie watching, but that had never got off the ground. Movies without popcorn weren’t really movies at all… and somehow she doubted he ate popcorn. Something about the rippling abs the billboards liked to splash around.
Zed rolled her shoulders under the loose folds of the sweater two sizes two big for her. It smelled like dog and old cigarette smoke. The smoke was hers, the dog was not. It was chilly out, and she had been crouched on the corner for an hour, watching, waiting, tracking the movements of a man in a suit. At one stage she had been challenged by a bum for ‘their’ corner, but a sharp elbow to the ribs and the flash of a knife against their throat had secured it as her own for at least a few hours. The homeless individual had scurried into the nearest alley, clutching the bleeding knife-prick, cursing the young woman with similar words under their breath. Zed didn’t know if it had been a woman or a man. She couldn’t have mustered it in her to care if she had tried.
The man in the suit exited the building opposite and she froze in place, head down but eyes up, fixed firmly on him, tracking his movements through the dirty slush. People like him never noticed people like her, particularly if they happened to be huddled over a pathetic sign and a cup. What easier way to be unseen than to present as someone people make an effort not to look at? He was flanked by muscle, one on either side. If it had just been baldie she could maybe have taken them, but having wedgie along for the ride put the threesome solidly in the ‘too hard’ basket. He hadn’t been without them for hours now though, which meant that either they were three-way lovers (unlikely) or he suspected there was a price on his head (disappointingly more likely).
Moving slowly to keep them in view without drawing attention to herself she moved to the nearest bin and seemed to rifle in it for a bit. In actual fact her busy hands were speedily texting in for backup.
## H. Job on. Good $, vs 3. U in?
She had worked with this chick before, so she knew she was solid. If she wasn’t in Zed was in for a longer, colder night waiting for this guy to be alone for long enough for her to take him down. That usually meant a bathroom stop. She hated bathroom jobs. All the cigarettes in the world couldn’t mask fat old man farts.
Jac seemed somewhat pensive on the ride over, so Zinnia kept silent, running her fingers up and down the massive forearm until they arrived, unchallenged, at their destination. If she wasn’t so excited to go and collect the car she would have been happy to ride the bus for longer, snuggled up in the space between primary and secondary arms. As it was she practically bounced off the bus, barely containing her glee. She was so wrapped up that she almost forgot her coat, and had to scamper back for it before exiting the bus. That would have been bad.
“ere are ‘e headed?”
Zinnia looked up the street, then down it. For a moment she felt a flicker of fear that they were lost, but then she spied the unmistakeable yellow W suspended in the sky on a pillar, Wackdonalds, the cheapest, most averagest burgers around. There were always people around, and security cameras and the like, which is why she had chosen it as a meeting place. Even with Jac-backup she wasn’t about to take risks for getting rumbled.
“This way!”
They found the parking lot with no trouble, and there it was, gleaming and yellow in the sun like a lemon skittle. A man was leaning against it, he started when the pair came into view and his eyes clamped firmly onto Jac. Zinnia did a head-to-toe sweep looking for any tell-tale bulges of holstered guns before nodding to the guy.
“Tom, I’m guessing? I’m Zin, this is Jac,” she nodded to the towering bulk of muscle and shining shell. The man swallowed deeply and forced a smile onto his face, despite the terror that clearly gripped him.
“Nice to meet ya. Here she is. I guess you wanna have a look, do you wanna have a look, coz you can have a look. You can have a drive if you wanna, or open the hood or whatever, it’s all legit I swear.”
He had seemed a lot more cool and collected over the phone when they were discussing price, but the colossal shrimp sometimes had that effect on people. Nodding in agreement Zinnia lifted the hood and began checking all the things the internet had warned her to check, valves and tubes and sections which needed to not have rust. If all was in order here she was happy to settle on a price and let the poor guy go, as he was clearly soiling himself, as it were, at the proximity of Zin’s protecto-prawn.
If ever someone was going to be flexible on price it would be when there was a massive rainbow prawn overseeing the transaction. She’d seen that particular magic work before. She would feel bad if that was the only reason she was inviting her girlfriend, but seeing as any time spent together was good time in her books there was no guilt.
Her brothers pressed Jac for violent details, but the kind of violent from video games or movies, not the kind where actual people you knew and cared about could get hurt. She was pleased Jac had a safer job now. Much to the exaggerated groans of the brothers.
She revelled in the simplicity of it all for a while, helping finish the prawn’s sentences when she fumbled for a work, chiming in with her own work anecdotes where relevant. All too soon the meal was over and the lads excused themselves to get ready for their respective weekend extracurriculars.
She moved her own dishes to the sink and leant into the tender peck from the prawn.
“Haha, you know I didn’t cook that, not nearly burnt enough! But you’re welcome. Always.”
A moment later to collect a coat and they were on their way to the bus stop. It wasn’t too far, and time spent in good company always seemed to move faster. The bus was on time, their tickets valid, they didn’t even have any problems with fellow passangers aside from the occasional stare, which was really to be expected. Despite the prevalence of the X-gene in the city, many people hadn’t seen a visible mutant in the flesh, or in this case shell, before and definitely not one so shiny as Jac.
The ride passed without incident and she squeezed the large primary as their stop approached.
“This is us.”
The little envelope of cash seemed to burn in her inner coat pocket. She wanted that car.
Suffocation woke Zed, as it often did. Stifling a groan she rolled off the couch and knelt on the floor for a few moments, waiting for the earth to stop spinning. Some apneas were worse than others, and this had been a bad one. Trying not to couch so loud as to wake the baby she shrugged the worn blanket over her shoulders and moved to the fire escape for her morning dose of nicotine. The cold air nipped at her fingers and knees where the blanket didn’t cover, but the smoke coursing through her lungs made that irrelevant. Numbness. It was what she sought more often than anything else.
7am.
Two trashbags of dirty laudry hang from each of her hands as she made her way down the stairs, a sulking Peony strapped to her back in a secondhand carrier stained from the half-dozen babies it had carried before. She shrugged her shoulders to move the weight of the child around and trudged onwards to the laundrette.
9am.
The clanking and hot, steamy air of the laundry washing in inexpertly loads sorted into ‘really dirty’ and ‘dirty, but not that dirty’ seemed to calm the sulking toddler and Zed slipped outside for another breath of burning tobacco. Peony was safely contained in a washing basket sitting on top of the machine, the vibrations soothing her into thumb-sucking silence.
10am through 2pm.
Sitter time. Leaving little P under the paid supervision of someone else Zed made her way to the sauna to soak up some much needed chlorine gas. She had a job to do today and it wouldn’t do to run dry in the moment of need.
3pm.
The job got done.
7pm.
It was cold tonight, and the landlord still hadn’t fixed the heat. The baby grizzled and Zed warmed grey slop in the jar for her to eat. She splattered it everywhere with something like glee. Zed had a balanced dinner of cheap liquor and cigarettes.
9pm.
The baby had finally succumbed to sleep despite what felt like hours of protesting. She wanted to be held, to sleep with her mother in the main room of the house, despite it being degrees colder than the bedroom. Zed wouldn’t risk it. Too much of a chance that she would sleep-shift and poison the little screamer in the night. Laying an extra hoodie gently over the sleeping form she made her way back to her couch, nudging a towel against the crack at the bottom of the door to keep any gas from slipping through. It was safer that way, to leave the window to the fire escape open to whisk away any death she exhaled without realising. It made for cold nights, but it was better than the alternative, she could see the offending breath puffing out into the room, for now it was harmless, but when asleep anything could happen.
11pm.
Cold beans from a can had joined the burbon in her stomach and the toll of the day was catching up to her. With a quick check to ensure she had a knife at the ready in case someone saw the ajar window and got any ideas, she settled into the musty couch cushions and pulled the blanket to her chin. Perhaps tonight she could get some rest.
A light vibration woke Zinnia from restful sleep. Stretching her extremities she yawned within her mask before pulling it from her face and hanging it on the side-table. She flicked the parent machine off, a final hiss escaping. Rubbing sleep from her eyes she made her way to the kitchen and set to making coffee. If she wanted to beat the weekend swimming crowd she needed to be up early of a morning to claim a lane.
7am.
The laps slipped away behind her as she powered through the cool water. This was peace, this was tranquillity. Just her and the lane, she could easily ignore the others in the water as they were ignoring her and just swim.
9am.
Her hands curled around the coffee mug, long sips warming her from within and shifting the deep chill from the swim to a tickle. She scrolled through her recent messages from Jac, and shot a selfie with the coffee mug against her face on the sly and sent it.
>> “Chu doing? Coffee date?”
By the time the prawn replied that she was at work Zinn had drained the mug and was on route to the park, her bookbag bumping against her legs.
10am through 2pm.
The park was full of families and friends soaking up the weak sunshine. It was a perfect mix of cold enough for knits and warm enough to be outside for long periods of time. Zinnia split her time between her study book and a pleasure book and so whidled away the hours until the sun dipped behind the skyscrapers and the air took on a chill.
3pm.
Dressed in woollies Zinn was curled on the couch watching a movie when her brothers arrived home from their respective sports. Banter was had all around about their smell and her comfort in wearing what basically counted as Pajamas at this hour of the day.
7pm.
A hot family dinner, laughter and continued teasing over cornbread and stewed beef.
9pm.
Her breath puffed out before her eyes as she waited at the Mansion gate for her girlfriend to emerge, a thermos of hot cocoa and a picnic rug tucked under her arm.
11pm.
The strongest stars had twinkled there best, but there was no place like home for curling up with a lover. They made their way leisurely back to Jac’s to talk and otherwise while away the final hours of a perfect Saturday.
Posted by Zinnia on Mar 31, 2017 19:39:54 GMT -6
Emily Graves likes this
The Syndicate
Soldier of The Syndicate
179
29
Jun 20, 2020 5:09:16 GMT -6
Whenever their affection was tinted with torment for the younglings that still believed in cooties there was an air of playfulness that tickled her fancy. She donned her best smoochey-smoo voice.
“Oh yes,” she agreed, “I luuuuuuurve you sooooo much!”
Her breath caught in the back of her throat for a moment. It was true. Fake spewing noises from the table did nothing to ruin the moment. She did toss a teaspoon at the worst offender though. It bounced harmlessly off the table and onto the floor.
She tipped her head to rest against the bald carapace of her girlfriends… skull? Did an exoskeleton make it a skull?... and smirked at the boys for a long moment before grabbing a plate and dishing out hashbrowns and beans and other such weekend-breakfast goodies for her girlfriend. Offering up the plate she refilled her mug with coffee from the pot and took her place at her own half-cleared plate. Once they had eaten they would away, to adventure, and vehicular freedom!
“Have to say, I’m pretty excited about this truck. I looked up the details and stuff and it gets good miles to gallons and it’s not too expensive to replace parts if something breaks and stuff.”
It was important, she understood, to choose a secondhand car with these features. In her research she had heard far too much about people buying lemons, then not being able to get the sugar-and-water parts to turn them to lemonade.
The third cup of coffee for the day hit the table with a dull ‘thunk’ as a gentle tapping signalled the arrival of her girlfriend. Zinnia swung the door open and slipped out onto the landing, tilting her face up to meet that of the prawn. “Hey, you.” The smile was muffled in a fumbling of lips and mandibles. They pretty much had it down pat now, but there was still the occasional slip in a mirrored head-tilt, or a stifled sneeze. After a lingering moment she pulled back and grinned into lavender eyes. “Have you eaten?” Zinn’s Mom was always pushing food onto Jack, like she was scared the shelled girl would go hungry in her own place. There wasn’t much that could beat her cooking though, and definitely nothing that Zinnia cooked herself. If Jack wanted to eat there was plenty of time. If she didn’t they would get a head-start on the bus company and have time to bump elbows and knees in the bus shelter like awkward teens trying not to let on that they were dating. People were weird about different, and their relationship fit squarely into the ‘different’ box. Slipping a hand into the hoodie pockets Zinn pulled the prawn inside. Somewhere a sibling sense tingled and an ‘eeeeewwwww’ hung in the air. Living at home had its benefits, like homecooked food and massive savings on rent, but it left something to be desired privacy-wise.
Rudeness to a significant other was definitely a reason to let someone go if you had that kind of power. Her skin crawled every time someone made a nasty comment about her girlfriend’s appearance. Despite the ‘thick skin’ Jack had spent years building up Zinnia hurt on her behalf. Mean people were mean. And you can’t just fire people willy-nilly on the street.
Pinkie rifled through the cupboards and dark recesses of the kitchen, seeking a vase to hold her beauties. She made her way to the ‘mallows Rowan had shown her, setting the flowers delicately on the bench next to the kettle, which she flicked on.
“Oh, that’s cool.” He would be a handy man to have around if you dinged your car. Or you know, worked in a profession where people shooting at you was a semi-regular occurrence. She could only imagine him verses one of the new Metabots... Or had she seen that on the news?
“It depends… usually oxygen, sometimes carbon monoxide, I can switch the other way too to be ‘normal’, but it’s no more efficient than my default. Makes for some bewildered scientists that’s for sure.”
She was lucky not to have been scooped up into some kind of medical experiment. Lucky that she ‘passed’ enough to escape the camps she knew had taken so many mutant lives. The kettle clicked to complete and she poked her head out of the walk-in pantry (who paid for all this stuff? Taxes? Rich benefactors? Cheat codes to life?).
“Coffee or cocoa?”
It was a ‘would you like either’, rather than an ‘either/or’ question. But it had been a few hours since her last hot caffeinated fix, so she was having a combo. Plus: ‘mallows!
“Have you lived here long?”
Here the mansion, here the country, his accent was faint, but distinctly un-american… She felt he might have told her that at the speed-dating rink, but her memory was hazy, almost as if it was a thread of history she didn’t have data to check.
She filled her mug with hot coffee goodness and a splash of milk. Mallows, of course, and a spoon of the cocoa powder. The mansion had good stuff, considering it was a school.
