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 Welldrinker Cult
A shadowy group is gaining power, drawing in people who are curious, vulnerable, or malicious, and turning them into Mystics. They are recruiting people into their ranks to spread the influence of magic in the world, but for what end goal?
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.
Posted by Deleted on Sept 17, 2012 20:06:41 GMT -6
Deleted
The storm caught him before he could reach the ground, though he angled himself as best he could to plummet through the increasingly restless air. He could only risk going so fast, or when he did hit the ground it would be with too much force - but perhaps he should have taken the risk.
And now he couldn't see the ground for the lashing rain beneath him, and it was all he could do to slip out of the strongest wind channels into weaker ones - whenever he was picked up by a faster one, it felt like he was about to be torn apart. There was nothing for it, though, but to endure. Most of the storms that passed through Litchfield were quick, short-lived things. Surely this would be much the same.
Surely… it would be…
Dein clung to that thought as the storm crashed on around him, no longer even trying to control his path and just trying to keep from being ripped to shreds. He seemed to be doing reasonably well, for the moment, but he couldn't turn to see if the storm were fading at all behind him - its winds certainly weren't bothering to be so kind. Nothing… for it… but to… endure…
--------------
Dein's eyes flew open with a start and a paper-like rustle. Straining his head from side to side, he managed to get the branch poking him out of his immediate field of view. More light flooded in, then, though still dappled and weak, and he gave the rest of his body a shake - and abruptly stopped. Dein had felt a lot of pain before. This wasn't a record. But still, it reached a pretty decent score. Internally grimacing - since his current face wasn't exactly equipped with the muscles necessary to change expression - he slowly flexed one arm/wing, then the other. Both ached, but he could live with that. Nothing seemed to be broken anyway, mercifully.
Okay. He figured it was safe to guess that he was in a tree; nice and clichéd, wasn't it? Kite in a tree. Anyway, that dealt with the branch in his face. Now, where was the tree? That… he couldn't really see. He wiggled a little. All right… branch under his right arm and legs, two under his left arm. Would they support him through a change? Hopefully. If not? He couldn't see down, but the branches all seemed to be reasonably thick - he couldn't be that high up. All right. Here went nothing…
Somewhere between kite and human, the branches stopped holding him up and he tumbled from the tree, though he did land on something soft. He was still lagging a bit much to notice, however.
Posted by Cheshire on Sept 19, 2012 18:26:30 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
Calley was moving fast. Slower than the ever-present joggers with their mini-music players strapped to their arms and the glazed looks in their eyes; faster than the early morning tourists with their cameras and their bad habit of stopping right in front of—
Uff.
"Sorry, sorry," the brown haired young Italian said, wobbling precariously for his balance after the collision. On his shoulder, a black kitten wobbled likewise, its claws digging for purchase through his thin T-shirt. He wasn't the best dressed denizen of Central Park: the T-shirt, with its frowny duck cartoon on the front, could have fit two of him inside. His pants looked to be vintage: not in the nice, fashionable sense, but in the 'they were clearly past their mint date' sense.
The man he'd bumped into was about a head taller than he was, and seventy-odd pounds heavier. He looked like he was going to say something; he looked like the sort of guy who said things when little guys bumped into him. But the shoulder kitten was staring at him, with big blue eyes set in a fuzzy black face. ...He wasn't used to saying something in front of kittens.
"Sorry," Calley said again, and kept walking. Rather fast.
That was the creepiest dog he'd ever seen. Or smelled. Its fur was black as the shadow behind a dark alleyway dumpster; its eyes were a little more than merely bloodshot. And its smell. Its smell was... like someone had taken a dog, and made it stop drooling, stop eating dog food, stop rolling in poo—like they'd taken a dog and made it stop being a dog. But there it stood, still looking like one. Like a black furred, glowy-eyed one.
Creepiest. Dog. He'd ever seen.
It might have had something to do with the kitten on his shoulder, but as soon as Calley caught sight of the thing (and the kitten caught scent), they were both off down the trail. Fast.
His pace didn't slow until something new caught his attention.
"What."
It was in a tree—one of the park's younger oaks; a respectable climbing tree, but not one of the park's ancient monoliths. The thing that caught his attention was about half way up. It looked like a kite. A big kite. The wind shifted directions; the kitten's whiskers fanned forward again, then flattened.
It smelled like human skin. And oh hey, it was sort of... wiggling. In a way that didn't much match up with the wind. Having not seen nearly enough horror movies in his life, the curly-haired Italian took a step closer, and peered up the length of the trunk at the thing above. Yep. It was... definitely wiggling. And maybe... changing, bit by bit, in a way he couldn't quite foretell as he starred up through the veil of leaves.
...Creepiest. Kite. He'd ever seen.
The kitten on his shoulder was half way up the trunk before he realized what was going on. Or, more accurately: what he was doing. "Hey! Don't...!" The protest trailed off rather wimpily. It wouldn't do much good. There was a phrase for this, after all: poor self-control.
He watched through the kitten's eyes as the thing came closer, one branch at a time. He watched, because the kitten was him: literally. In this case, it was a shinning example of the part of him that wanted to climb up and get a better look at the wiggling, fleshy-smelling thing, despite the ground-bound advice of the rest of him.
Calley was not used to being the prudent one in a relationship.
Almost there. One branch to go, and then he could reach out a velvety paw and sink his claws into—
Crack.
Calley had time for exactly two thoughts:
I'm glad I'm not down there, and Well, f—
Then the Italian on the ground had the good manners to break the thing's fall.
The kitten wobbled on its branch for a hazy moment as Calley's head became acquainted with the ground; then, in a light tumble of black fur, it graciously offered the thing a chance to return the favor.
Fuff, was the sound of a man-kitten hitting a man-kite.
((ooc: Aaaaand Calley's down for a few rounds. Kitten and man will be semi-responsive if you poke them, in a very groggy stop-poking-me manner. See you both on Monday!))
Who on his right mind runs around with a freaking KITTEN on his shoulder?
The guy doing it was wearing a t-shirt so big you'd think he stole it from the guy he bumped into. He then continued his trot in a hurried fashion, giving Astor an odd look as he passed by. That wasn't uncommon, really. Miles' larger dog always attracted all sorts of strange looks, from curious to terrified and the boy had already gotten used to it by now.
He was sitting in a park bench, wearing jeans and a t-shirt with two shades of blue (dry blue and sweat blue) just starting to munch down on a hot dog, with Astor right by his side, standing still like an ummutable statue. This would have been impossible back in the day when the dog was younger and alive. He would have been slobbering himself into a puddle, pawing at his legs and not letting him eat in peace, but things had changed since those days. He was the most obedient of fellows now but this "I will do whatever you command" attitude also made his thralls pretty boring sometimes. Tinaker had been left back at his room in Sanctuary if only because Miles liked to break his dog handling routine sometimes.
"Did you see that? Next we're going to see a man walking his parrot with a leash" he said in a low voice to his dog, knowing full well the dog couldn't answer him back, but if he could understand mental commands, who's to say he couldn't understand random chit chat as well?
The dog turned his head and stared down towards the way the man with the shoulder kitten had gone and Miles instinctively looked the same way. If there was one thing the dog did well was be vigilant and any commotion out of the ordinary usually attracted his attention.
Oh, great. Shoulder cat had just gone up a tree and his master was now trying to fetch him back.
Wait a minute... there were two people there. The second person was up in the tree already and he was... not much of a person? What the hell was going on in there? He looked strange, like he had somehow been flattened against the wall like some kind of cartoon character but he was suddenly starting to shape back into 3D. Miles blinked a couple of times to make sure he was seeing things right and then he heard the sound of branches snapping and... OOF! The second man fell off unceremoniously, like giant pigeon droppings right over the first man's head and then...
Oh NO!
The poor kitten!
Miles immediately got up, still holding his hot dog on one hand and Astor following right behind him. Cats usually landed on their feet but he didn't know what had happened to this one, why was the poor animal lying like that? Why wasn't he up and running about, mocking his pet, like cats usually did?
Oh, and maybe he should check on the two men as well.
The teenager got closer to them, asking in a loud voice: "Hey, you two! Are you all right? What were you doing up there?"
Posted by Deleted on Sept 28, 2012 13:56:41 GMT -6
Deleted
Oh, come on.
As soon as he started to move, despite the complete lack of awareness during his transition, it was quite clear that he was no longer in the tree. Kind of a good thing, because now he didn't have to climb down, but everything hurt. He carefully inhaled, and though his ribs ached he didn't think they were broken - or at least only mildly cracked. Score one for the clumsy fragile idiot.
Second thing that he noticed was raised voices. Nff. He didn't need his ears to hurt too. He started to push himself to his feet, but slipped on the... body... underneath him.
Wait. Body? What the hell was a body doing under him? He squirmed to get at least the ends of his limbs clear and on the proper ground, and pushed himself far enough up to see that he was splayed over some guy. Uh... Dein quickly scrambled back and off the stranger, only to feel something sliding off his back. He twisted, from an instinct to both see what the heck it was and catch the mysterious sliding thing, but merely succeeded in dumping a cat, of all things, onto the person he himself had been on. What was going on? Someone decided to make a Dein sandwich or something?
Stumbling to his feet and rubbing his head - it had received the least bludgeoning, so far as he could tell, but he still wanted to rub it - he looked around blearily. Hadn't someone been yelling? Probably the kid with the freaking-looking dog. "Doing up..?" he said belatedly, finally noticing what had been said, and craned his head back to look up at the tree. "Oh. Um. Kinda got stuck. Not sure what happened to what's-his-face, though." He scratched his head, looking down at the fallen guy and cat and surreptitiously poking the former with a sock-dressed toe.
Posted by Cheshire on Sept 28, 2012 17:40:42 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
Do you know that fuzzy feeling? A little cloth-wrapped, with a boney center? You know, like a prodding foot to your aching rib cage? Nothing was broken, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't have a man-shaped bruise on his back come morning. And maybe a few toe imprints, for funzies.
" 'Sappened," was the first mildly coherent thing that the ill-dressed young man on the ground managed to say. Simultaneously, the kitten said: "Yrrrrrrr."
Being one-half winded and one-half contused is not, for the record, an advisable hobby. The Italian on the ground wobbled back to all four limbs with great care; the kitten wobbled into a standing position on its hind legs with a few coughs—
That... wasn't quite right, was it?
Do over.
The kitten flopped back to four feet (much easier to balance); the Italian coughed, and got to his feet (all two of them). Then, with great care, what's-his-face turned to the former kite and enunciated somewhat breathily:
"You're what happened."
Part of him—the small, black, fuzzy part—was aware that something wasn't quite right here. Something large, black, and glowy-eyed. It couldn't quite put its paw on what...
The guy who dropped off the tree apparently failed to realize he had been expertly caught by someone else's face. He looked slightly dazed and pretty much average as he got up into his feet, but Miles was sure he had seen a flatter version of the man when he was up in the branches.
The dropee, however, was somewhat stunned in his ridiculous cartoon t-shirt (Miles was one to talk, his underwear had Garfield printed all over). He was having trouble getting up and the teen would have offered a hand, but alas, his hand was busy holding a hot dog.
The kitten... the poor kitten, that's the one he was worried about, but luckily, the cat came back to his senses in a rather odd fashion. First, he stood up on two feet somehow, then back in his fours, then he gave a curious glance at Miles side...
... where Astor was staring him down like a bug.
Most of the time, Miles dogs behaved pretty much like robots. No emotions, no reactions, all follow-ordery, but once in a blue moon a glimpse of their old personalities would show up, giving the boy some hope that the animals still kept some minuscule part of themselves within the black shell of muscle and red glow they had become. Chasing down cats had been one of Astor's favorite past times, him being so territorial back in happier days and witnessing this tiny glimpse of old Astor in his new form was quite refreshing for Miles. If those red eyes of Astor could shoot laser beams however, the cat would have been instantly vaporized.
Cartoon-duck guy was sort of peeved at being taken for a cushion and not even getting a wee bit of a thank you for his trouble it seemed, specially since the first guy was oblivious to what he had done after getting unstuck from his tree. Miles was looking at the both of them, about to intercede and explain what he'd seen, when from the corner of his eye, he noticed the back of his dog tensing and both of his ears pricking up, a clear signal that Astor was about to chase the cat down.
Without turning his head, Miles gave Astor a mental warning to root him on the spot, but as it was customary on him, he voiced it aloud as well.
"Now you behave!" he said, still looking at the two men. "Behave, or I swear to god I'll spank you!"
Prior poking notwithstanding, Dein was quite relieved when the less-than-delighted person and cat started to get up. Those attempts were highly amusing, however. He'd never seen a cat try to stand on its hind limbs before. It was probably far kinder to the cat than flying through the air, but this cat had given no indication of being quite so nasty as to deserve that. At least that Dein recalled; he had a feeling that *something* of some sort had occurred to get him out of the tree.
Probably just a case of horrible balance. Yup, he'd go with that.
"I.. happened?" he said slowly, looking up at the tree again. "Figures." He rubbed his more-sore elbow. At least this happening seemed to involve a distinct lack of broken bones. "Hm. I thought I was stuck enough not to fall out." He shrugged. "You okay?" he asked the cat-person. Dog-person's command to his dog caught his attention, though, and he finally noticed the dog itself. He blinked. The dog was... kind of glowy. Man, wherever he had landed, the locals sure had some weird pets.
Aaaanyways.... "I'm Dein," he said after a moment, rather lost as to how to proceed. "Uh... I don't suppose you could tell me where exactly this is?" He gestured to the park and surrounding area in general and hoped he didn't look too crazy to earn an honest answer.
Posted by Cheshire on Oct 13, 2012 13:19:51 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
Was he... okay?
There was only one reply to that.
A broad, relieved smile spread across the young Italian's face. "Oh, never mind me, please," he said. "The important thing is, are you okay? Falling out of a tree, landing on someone as thin and boney as me—that must have been very traumatic for you. Are you hurt at all? My ribcage didn't bruise your elbow, did it? I'm so sorry."
Was he okay? Seriously? Oh, but don't mind with any apologies, tree-man.
"In fact, I—" His gushing continued.
>> "Now you behave! Behave, or I swear to god I'll spank you!"
This threat was overlaid in his mind with a sudden realization: his other half had figured out what was wrong.
What was wrong: there was a demonic dog face with laser eyes staring down at him.
Again, there was only one reply.
"Gah!" Calley said, and promptly tried to climb the nearest tall object for safety. That meant his new friend, Dein. That meant a man trying to climb up Dein's right side, and a kitten trying to claw up his left. To be fair, they were both rather light for their species.
"Hi," the Italian said, by way of proper introduction, now that they were so chummy. "I'm, ah, Calley."
Of course Miles had zero intentions of spanking anyone, but that's the sort of threats he dished out when his dogs were alive and old habits die hard. The dog remained rooted to the spot, succesfully ignoring the cat and the teenager felt like he had just killed a remnant of Astor's old persona to save the little feline.
Cat and owner however were not too trusting of Astor's newfound discipline and decided to climb up over Dein like a tree (see how he liked THAT!) so Miles tried to calm Calley down.
"Relax, he's not gonna bite you..." he said, pointing at his hellhound with the half eaten hot dog still in his hand, but sort of enjoying Calley's frightened reaction, so he added a "...much" right at the end of his sentence. Next time, leave your cat safe at home, mister, he's not a shoulder pad.
He found it curious that Dein seemed to be at a loss of his whereabouts. He was asking where he was, he wasn't wearing any shoes and he admitted he had been stuck on the tree. What had happened to him?
"I'm Miles and we're in New York, Central Park to be specific" he explained as he tried to figure out Dein's situation. "What happened to you? You were partying last night? You got drunk and then got mugged or something and they took your fancy sneakers? You escaped running up the tree and then... oh wait! You were flat! How did you do that?" he asked, noticing how that tiny little detail made any of his assumptions make no sense whatsoever.
Dein blinked. Traumatic? He hadn't even noticed the falling or the landing, so how could it be traumatic? But then, maybe the kid hadn't noticed Dein's lack of awareness, if he had been busy dealing with being fallen on. "Er, sorry about that," he said belatedly. "Generally, if I'm not broken, I'm fine, and I'm not broken." He shrugged, and was about to continue, but talking to someone like they weren't climbing up you wasn't quite his style. Dein went for the second option.
"Gah!" Admittedly, his gah was rather more garbled than its predecessor, but, then, its predecessor didn't have to deal with being climbed on. Climbers had a distinct advantage over the climbed. Once the initial surprise faded, Dein eyed the cat and the cat's owner in turn. Seriously? He was getting climbed on? After a moment, he returned his attention to the cat and watched it warily. He held still, though he really wanted to not be clung to by an unknown feline (the cat's owner might be heavier, but was less sharply equipped) and would much rather be well away from the whole situation.
And then the owner had the presence of mind to introduce himself? And so calmly. While hanging off him. Fortunately, the dog-guy broke in before Dein really had to reply. "Hear that? Now you could climb down," he suggested politely, shifting his balance to try to stay upright. "Besides, climbing on me doesn't exactly take you out of range." He shifted again, wobbling a little, but resolved not to fall over while Calley and the cat were still on him. Falling on cats? Not good for the integrity of one's skin.
"New York?" Dein was so dumbfounded that he froze mid-wobble. "Seriously?" He reeled, rather less under the combined weight of Italian and cat than might occur otherwise, and tried to kick his brain back into gear. It really didn't want to go, but stuck half in neutral like Miles had snuck in and fused part of the shaft to the box. The damage snapped and everything started moving again as Miles was suggesting Dein had gotten drunk, and he very nearly fell over. He gradually restabilized, though, and held his ground.
Yeah, he'd been flat. "Yeah, well, I, uh, kind of got caught in a storm." He carefully scratched his head around his occupants. "And shoes don't shift with me." After a moment, he added, in much the same neutral tone, "I turn into a kite. It's not exactly useful."
Posted by Cheshire on Oct 23, 2012 18:00:51 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
Calley learned three things in quick succession:
1) The Amazing Sometimes-Flat man could not identify irony to ironically save his life.
2) Demon Dog Boy could. Not to say that he would ever be flippant. Much.
3) Demon Dogs were best dealt with when there were no small kittens around.
With the greatest of dignity, the young Italian stretched an arm in front of his precariously balancing perch's face, and poked the kitten in its fuzzy little chest.
The kitten disappeared. To all appearances, it was there one moment, and gone the next, with only a few black furs left on Dein's shoulder to show it had ever been there. For the first time since that morning, Calley's mind was all his own, and all human again; it wasn't splintered between forms.
With the greatest of renewed dignity, the Italian dropped back to the ground, and aimed some casual dusting-off and helpful shirt-straightening hands at Dein.
"A kite?" He asked. "That explains what I was battin— Yeah. That explains what I saw up in the tree. Big kite."
Dein's explanation was not mundane in the least and started to step into familiar territory. He was still somewhat dazed, but from what Miles could surmise, the guy was a fellow mutant... who could turn into a kite.
Yup. A kite.
Sometimes, Miles whined and complained about his mutation. Oooh, I can turn the dead into slaves! Ooooh, I can only do it when crying like a baby! Ooooh, I can't control it and it's kinda useless! But then he'd meet mutants like Dein with a mutation so far out of the ordinary in the uselessness scale that you couldn't help but wonder if the genetic pool was trolling him. He could actually visualize it.
"Come on guys! Swim faster! FASTER!" said the sperm on the lead, wiggling it's tail and swimming ahead of the rest. "To the victor go the spoils!"
"Not if I get there first!" said the sperm who was in close second place.
"I see the egg! I see it dead ahead!" said the sperm in close third.
But just when they were about to reach the egg, first place sperm hits on the brakes and goes "HOOOLD IT! I got a better idea!"
Then all the sperms start stopping without reaching the egg, while first place sperm encourages them to stop and hide in the walls and behind the egg without touching it.
An hour later, last place sperm pops up.
"Helloooo? Anybooody? Is this egg still not fertilized?"
All the other sperm are hiding, giggling and tittering at the confused last place sperm, who then fertilizes the egg and then they all start laughing out loud, snorting and guffawing and high-oneing each other with their wiggling tails.
Nine months later, Dein was born.
Miles snapped out of it, blinking at Dein in slight confusion. His confusion turned into astonishment, when Calley touched his cat and ZAPPED IT INTO NON-EXISTENCE!
The teenager felt tempted to tell him 'remember the part where I said my dog doesn't bite? I WAS KIDDING!' but Calley was taking the whole situation in stride in a completely casual fashion. He stood up, dusted Dein off, corroborated Dein's claims and then revealed himself a mutant as well, which sort of explained the disappearing cat.
Apparently, it was Miles' turn to come clean.
"Yeah well, I'm normal" he said.
He couldn't keep the straight face for long. His abdomen shook, his face contorted, his cheeks puffed up and then he bursted out laughing.
"No, I'm not!" he said between breaths "I can... make creepy looking dogs. Kinda obvious, I guess."
He then straightened up, tilted his head to the side and asked Dein: "You said you got caught in a storm and you didn't know where you are. Just... where did you lose your way? Where are you from?"
Dein blinked. What was Calley doing now, reaching in front of his face? These people were so strange. He followed Calley's hand though, and stared when the kitten simply ceased to exist.
What. The. Hell.
He figured some degree of brainless staring was warranted in such situations, and so simply stared at Calley while being dusted off and fiddled with. "The cat part makes sense," he eventually said, blinking a little and sort of just chalking it up to the strangeness of New Yorkers. Weren't New Yorkers supposed to be completely insane anyway? And was New Yorker even the right term? He couldn't quite remember. Pity.
Likely unlike Calley, Dein believed Miles' attempt to declare himself human. Evidently there was some other reason for the whole glowy eye deal. Maybe the dogs were actually robots. That would explain the whole obey-every-command-and-not-twitch thing. Dogs usually moved more.
Or maybe not. Dein cocked his head slightly at Miles' laughter. So being human was a joke? Or at least in this instance. Well, all right then. "I'm from Litchfield," he answered. "Ohio. I was just killing a bit of time and misjudged how close the storm was." He grimaced. "Kites aren't exactly agile. Or fast. Or... much of anything else."
Posted by Cheshire on Nov 10, 2012 12:11:53 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
Litchfield? Sounded like a place where the dead didn't stay dead. Ohio? Sounded like—
Wait. Ohio?
"You are being too hard on yourself," Calley said. "Kites may not be agile, fast, capable of navigation, good in a fight, attractive to the ladies, or able to get themselves out of trees any better than a turtle can get itself off its rolly-polly backside, but," he aimed a friendly slap at Dein's back, "they are clearly good at long-distance travel. Just think of all the money you saved on a plane ticket. Not to mention flight delays. How long did it take you, anyway?"
Seriously. From Ohio?
As for the kid who thought himself just hilarious: yeah. Yeah, Calley was not fooled. Glowy-eyed dog-fiends did not 'normal' make.
"What's with that thing, anyway? Did you forget to order the personality chip with the robo-eyes?"
Not that it was still creeping him the heck out. He was far too mature for that sort of thing.
Dein was being a tad harsh on himself. Calley didn't help much by listing a whole bunch of setbacks before the one tiny advantage, so Miles tried to think up a few more positive traits turning into a kite could have.
"Yeah, don't sweat about it. I bet that as a kite, you can... you can... yeah."
I said he tried not that he did.
Really, even the flying all the way from Ohio to New York bit was more of an accidental blunder than something he intended. How was he supposed to get back? Catch another storm going the other way around? What if he ended up going into the sea? He was going to have to get his shoeless butt in a bus or a plane if he wanted to go back home to Litchfield. Where were his savings now?
Calley then redirected his attention to Astor's robo-eyes. Right, should Miles even bother? Witty riposte or truthful explanation? Explaining his dogs to mutants usually got him understanding looks and less creeped out stares than explaining them to normal humans. Surely these two could understand a teenage boy resurrecting the recently deceased and then turning them into slaves for the rest of their unlife? It's almost the same as turning into a kite and teleporting cats, right?
"It didn't come in the mail order, that's for sure" he said. Miles knew what they really wanted to know was if the dog was dangerous or not, having almost lost his cool with Calley's cat. Self preservation was always the biggest concern new people had when they met Astor.
"Don't worry about him, he's harmless" the boy affirmed, trying to assuage their fears. "Look, I'll prove it to you. Hold my hot dog."
Miles ended up handing his half eaten meal to Dein, then he approached his dog's head, wrapped his hands around Astor's face and pulled, twisted, ruffled and shook those cheeks and ears at his heart's content.
"Whooo's a good doggie? Whooo's a really good doggie? Cootchie cootchie coo!"
The dog remained unfazed as this was going on. His tail was limp, he offered no resistance whatsoever, didn't jump, didn't wobble, didn't lick, didn't do anything.
Miles stopped and straightened up, bringing one hand to his head and waving the other towards his dog in frustration.
"You know, this sucks. He was much more fun when he was alive."
