While the nation was reeling from the disaster at Manhattan, another case was making the headlines.   This one was of Ethan Myers.   Ethan was a sports teacher at Roosevelt high school.  Ethan is married.  Ethan is charged with ‘sexual misconduct with a minor’ of no less than two dozen young girls attending the school.   Ethan is a Mutant.

The case is brought before the court, and despite overwhelming evidence against him, including forensic, DNA evidence, and testimony, he is unanimously acquitted by the jury.  Almost immediately, conspiracy theories start flooding the web; Ethan is a telepath and used his powers to influence the Jury, as well as the young girls.   Or his defense lawyer was a mutant.  Or a mutant friend of his sitting halfway across the world interfered in his behalf.    The fact that every. single. one. of the jurors believed the law shouldn’t be applied in this particular case lent credence to the allegations.  But those were still allegations.  There was nothing the authorities could do.  No one could ever prove that the memories or opinions of the jurors were indeed influenced by Ethan, or anyone else for that matter.    The law, the police, the prosecutors – the entire justice system, were all (allegedly) ill-equipped to handle such cases.

What are ordinary humans to do?

It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.   Pictures from the disaster area at Manhattan were still on the evening news.  Quiet vigils for the dead. Flowers and funerals.  And now those were intermixed with the picture of a so-very-smug Ethan flashing the ‘V’ sign as he was being released from custody.

No speech from the President about ‘tolerance’ and ‘we’re all in this together’ could stop the protests, even if she was inclined to make yet another such speech two months before the election.  People demanded justice, and if they couldn’t get it from the authorities, they’ll have no other choice but to take matters into their own hands.   Police and protestors clashed in the streets, the Seattle courthouse went up in flames (because ‘what’s the point of having it, anyways?’), and mutants were harassed and bullied by the ‘friends of humanity’.

And then things got even worse.

A mutant boy by the name of ‘Fishy’ was found hanged out at the woods, an eagle carved into his scaly flesh.  He was barely fourteen, and never posed a threat to anyone (except, perhaps, crustaceans); an innocent victim that found his death because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time and was immediately recognizable as being a Mutant.

Now it was the mutants, and their supporters, turn to rampage on the streets of Seattle.  The national guard had to be called in, then the army, and lastly – the X-Men, when neither of the former could stop a man of immense size and girth from kicking cars off the highway as ‘payback’.   Even though he was eventually stopped, it only served to prove the point of those calling out for the government to do ‘something’ about the Mutant situation.

What that something was going to be would be determined in the upcoming election, and as the unrest continued maverick candidates started appearing on the polls on multiple states.

As bad things were, this was only the beginning.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:25, Fri 29 Jan 2021.

Zoey had been following the developments ever since she had become aware of them. It was hard not to be aware of them, given her surroundings and how intimate the news was to a majority of her fellow students.

Unlike some people, Zoey doesn't think marriage is somehow sacred and untouchable. Nor does she particularly care about age; love is love, and as long as the more mature party is being responsible and the younger giving their consent then everything ought to work out. "Informed" consent was, to her mind, something the Moral Guardians invented for the express purpose of taking it away from people who didn't even have the right to vote on the subject.

But this wasn't just one minor, there was a major imbalance of power between the parties, and consent may never have been involved. Worse, one of Zoey's favorite tools to fight against unjust laws -- jury nullification -- had just been corrupted by an ill-meaning party. Thoroughly disgusting. She wondered if this Ethan cocksucker understood what he had just done, and if not, how much worse she'd make the situation if she flew out to where he lived and forced him to.

Oh who is she kidding. She'd just get mind-controlled, and then Ethan would have supreme authority over the mind and body.

Zoey hugged her knees to her chest as she watched the latest news in the mansion's common room. She felt very small and very helpless right now. Even if she were as powerful as the giant xenohuman on television it wouldn't make that big a difference. This situation felt too impossibly huge for anyone to control.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:15, Sat 30 Jan 2021.

In reply to Zoey Fujino (msg # 2):

Kate had been sitting quietly in the corner, watching as Zoey pulled in on herself more and more. She didn't like it, and having been told off about it once already she glanced to make sure nobody was looking before shifting down to become her adorable tabby self.  Then squirming free of her cloths padded on quiet feet over to join Zoey in her lap, hopping up to cuddle with the distraught mutant radiating compassion and care, hoping to help make her feel better, fishgivinggirl definitely needed it.

Wandering in from the kitchen (where else?) Frank couldn't help but spot Zoey's body language as a red flag. Hers was the universal posture for 'everything in the world sucks'.

"What's wrong?" he asked, even as he noticed what the television was tuned to. "Oh."

The fat guy versus the X-Men. Was this the guy they called The Blob? Had to be, right? He was tougher than he looked, obviously, but that was as much to do with looking like a giant creampuff as his actual power level. He had to be tougher than he looked. But this wasn't what the story was really about, nor what Zoey was really reacting to. It was that guy Ethan at the heart of this disaster-in-progress.

"Mayyybe we don't watch this," he said, taking the TV remote and pressing the OFF button. He went to sit down next to Zoey, but held up when he noticed the empty clothes piled nearby, and the tabby in Zoey's lap. "Oh, hi Kate."

Kate would be way more of a comfort than Frank could be. Frank honestly wasn't even sure if Zoey considered him a friend or not. The two of them had never really talked all that much. She seemed a lot more comfortable around the other girls, at any rate.

He reached out to give tabby-Kate some quick head-skritchies, then backed off.

Zoey is briefly started by the intrusion of a tabby cat, but it is not an unwelcome intrusion. In the time since they'd met, the two girls had gotten pretty well acquainted. The way they could communicate their thoughts to each other without having to resort to inelegant and easily misconstrued words reminded her of the halcyon days before she'd become a mutant and had an actual friend to spend time with.

Was Tabby a friend? She sure seemed like a friend. Okay, sure, she's a friend.

Zoey absentmindedly strokes Tabby, pausing now and then to scrunch up and tug affectionately at that loose section of skin cats have behind their neck. She must have had kittens at some point in her life in order to know how much cats tend to enjoy that, because it's not something the casual cat-fan typically knows.

A voice pulls Zoey back to the world around her. "Hello Tank," she quietly greets the young man. She doesn't protest as the television is turned off, and in fact murmurs some manner of indistinct thanks. "Reckon we'll be deployed for realsies sometime soon? World's burning up out there... time to fight some fires probably."

"It feels like we might, yeah," Frank agreed. There were simply too many fires for the X-Men to put out without fielding some new members. It felt as though the plan was to field Zoey, Kate, Ana Sofia, (maybe Barnell) and Frank as some sort of junior team. He wondered if this was a good idea, rather than add them to the current roster and then break out into teams with a couple of veterans and a couple of newbies each. But maybe it made sense. After all, the original team of X-Men didn't go out with training wheels on. There weren't and veterans for them to lean on. They trained for a while and then went out and fought Magneto, of all people.

Magneto. There was a guy Frank hoped he'd never have to face. That guy was powerful beyond belief. All Frank could do was punch people.

"I wonder if the older X-Men felt ready to go out and fight bad guys when they first started. They were younger than us, but they went out and they did it."

The supersonic boom that rattled the window frames didn't draw more than a shrug from the other students at the common room.  It was the Blackbird, the no-longer-secret jet that the X-Men used for their forays across the globe.   In the last month, the loud bangs of it crossing the sound barrier were an almost daily occurrence.  Sometimes even twice a day.   Seeing the aircraft taking off has therefore wore out whatever novelty it had a long time ago, to become something of an annoyance - especially when it disturbed one in the middle of a night's sleep.

Zoey opened her mouth to say something, but it gets forgotten as yet another boom rattles her delicate ears.

"God fucking damn it!" she yells, ironically probably louder than the actual event she's complaining about. She curls up into a ball of pain, inadvertently dislodging a doubtlessly indignant Tabby. "There are aerospace regulations, assholes!" She isn't sure what it is about sonic booms that make them hurt more than normal explosions; she's certain there's some fascinating biological phenomenon involved that interact with her sensory hypersensitivity in exciting ways, but there's just so much to read up on these days that she doesn't have the time.

From somewhere deeper in the mansion, a boy's voice yells down at her to shut the fuck up. Zoey pays it no mind.

Kate was getting at least as much relaxation out of her time in fishgivinggirl's lap as Zoey was getting relief from her presence.  She had just started purring when Frank showed up.  Hearing her name her head perked up, eyes went from half slited to alert but beyond that didn't shift or even stop purring, butting her head into his fingers when he gave her some extra scritches.  'Ooh three hands...' leaks out to the others for a brief moment.

She wrinkled her nose a bit as the topic of conversation comes up.  That was a mess she wasn't eager to go get involved with.  She picked up from Frank's tone that there's something at least troubling him too.  Unfortunately unless they all moved to a couch there was only so much Tabby to go around.  This would take ugh...talking.

About to do so the boom made her startle and shoot a glare through the wall in the direction of the hanger, even though it was obviously out of sight and through walls.  'Stupid plane.'  The times it had startled her was starting to reach unfortunately high numbers.  That this time corresponded with her getting dumped to the floor was just icing on that ugly cake.

Taking the moment to stretch out her spine she walked over to Frank and twisted between his legs for a moment scenting to see where he had been recently.  'I hope when we do get dropped in it we don't have to fly anywhere.  I want to stay in walking distance of home.'  It was almost a surprise to her that she had begun to feel that way about the mansion, but she did.  It was home, warmth, safety.  It even had friends.

But for now she tried to figure out which one to deal with first.  Zoey was in pain, but Tank seemed conflicted... which one which one... her head turning back and forth between the pair.

Zoey's always in pain about something or other. Some days it almost seems like she's on a constant lookout for shit to get offended over, though for those who had taken the time to get to know her it had become clear that she really was on that much of a sensory hair-trigger at all times and just not-shy enough to not want to keep her displeasure to herself. Not the best combination of traits. She was also tougher than she acted though, and always recovered given some time, quiet, and solitude.

"Sorry Tabby," Zoey apologized for what was probably the fifth or sixth time this had happened. The words were starting to sound a little hollow to her, especially given that she knew the cat-girl could feel the contrition well enough without words. Her eyes flick to Frank, lips moving in several conversational non-starts. She finally gives up and just asks "what were we talking about?"

Ana Sofía has been quiet while the news has been ongoing. But with everyone next door she certainly heard the conversation while she was preparing fish tacos. When she hits a little break she follows Frank into the other room. "So, Zoey, have you ever wondered how they gave that plane VTOL capability without fundamentally changing its design?" She then responds to Frank, "I don't think I want to go fight bad guys. Practice this summer wasn't great, and this guy scares me more than Sauron did, even if Sauron had been real. José's the hero of my family, not me." More to everyone she says, "Fish tacos in 15 minutes." And finishes with a comment directed more at Frank, "We'll see if I can help add some more to that fine muscle of yours," followed by a slightly lingering look as she turns to head back into the kitchen to return to the stove.

In reply to Ana Sofia Garcia Mendez (msg # 11):

Ana's intrusion wasn't particularly helpful in making up Kate's mind on what to do.  At least until she spoke some magic words, fish tacos.  The first time she had made them Kate was just confused.  Coming from the Midwest where the fight was between Taco John's and Taco Bell over what was more authentic Mexican, the idea of a fish taco hadn't really computed.  Now however those words meant something, and that something was that she was terribly underdressed if she wanted her fair share.

There was a question in the back of her mind about Jose, but it was forgotten almost as soon as it got there as she darted from her spot at Franks feet, beneath Zoey's chair and over to the pile of her cloths.  She took one look over to make sure the big comfy chair offered enough cover before shifting.  If he didn't move the best Frank would get to see would be the occasional flash of a bare ankle or arm reaching out to snatch at the discarded cloths as she hurried to dress.

"You don't think she told everyone do you?"  Kate asked from behind the chair, as she lived her best life, concern over the moment and food!
This message was last edited by the player at 22:49, Mon 01 Feb 2021.

Frank blushed at Ana Sofia's mildly salacious attention, then blushed more as Kate started getting dressed behind the shelter of a chair. He supposed she hadn't taken into account just how tall he was... so he backed away to help maintain her modesty.

"Told everybody what?" he asked. "About the tacos? Probably."

"I assumed it was the same bullshit magi-tech they used in the Danger Room," Zoey replies. "What I always questioned more than that was why they picked a Blackbird to mod. It was never the most practical aircraft; frankly I marvel that someone had ever been insane enough to design it." She had been into aircraft, once, when she was younger. A lot of that had faded away now though.

"Are you using those walleye I caught the other day for your tacos? I had been planning to grill those!" Not that she would object to their use in tacos either. She had certainly forgotten to label them...

In reply to Zoey Fujino (msg # 14):

Now dressed, well mostly, Kate was darting around the chair, only mostly dressed because it looks like she put her shirt on backwards and is currently imitating a turtle, pulling in her arms, so she can twist it right way round all while on her way after Ana.

"Are you coming or should I sneak a plate for you guys?"  Kate asks, pausing at the door to the hall as her arms pop back out of her sleeves, the t-shirt on right this time.  'I could meet you somewhere more quiet than the kitchen or dining room if you want to avoid people' she lets just Zoey know.  Her skills having gotten a bit better with some practice.

Without turning around from the stove Ana Sofía replies to the question, "Don't worry, Zoey. I use white fish, like abue taught me." She's just now removing the fish from the stove and apportioning it between the many soft taco shells that are already partly filled. "Uno momento."

Zoey breathes a small sigh of relief for her walleye, and she also takes a note from the best cook in the mansion that her fish aren't good for tacos. Zoey does like to cook her own food, especially if she caught it herself, but she has no illusions about being any good at it. She could probably learn a lot from Ana.

Cooking is chemistry but for hungry people, after all!

She senses the unspoken question from Kate and waves it away, sending back cautious confidence. I need to learn to eat with the "team" if this is going to work, she explains.

Cooking was one of the things that Frank knew nothing about. He understood the chemistry, but not the artistry. So he resigned himself to helping in the best way he knew how: staying out of the way, except to bring out a stack of plates.

"Hey, I have a question for you three," he said suddenly. "If we do become X-Men... do any of you have code-names picked out?"

Setting up the table proved to be pointless.  Like a swarm of locusts, the children descended upon the kitchen as soon as the smell of freshly baked tacos made it to the dorms.  They circled Ana, little hands snatching the food straight off the tray