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.
The window next to her sort of spooked her when she glanced out and saw the clouds below after the jet had taken off some time ago. Her knuckles had long since turned an ashen white after that moment, as she gripped onto her knees as if for dear life. What had she gotten herself into?
Things back in the States happened so quickly, though, she thought, that she needed this. If putting up with being stuck on a plane behind a stranger who smelled like cheese, next to a snoring old woman who’s dentures were sagging out of her mouth and the smell of Bengay almost overpowering the cheese smell, and in front of an irritating little brat who was kicking her seat, was what it took… By golly, she would put up with it.
Her own, subtle floral scent did little to choke out the offending smells, and the kid wouldn’t stop kicking the seat. This was not going to be fun by a long shot unless a miraculous thing happened. Please, god, or someone, please?
As if answering her prayers, a stewardess happened to pass by, and did a double take at the old woman. “Oh, my, weren’t you in first class?” She then proceeded to try and wake the nicely dressed old lady, and once she succeeded, the old woman was escorted back to heaven.
That meant the old lady had taken someone else’s seat. Heh. How had she missed that? Perhaps it was from staring straight ahead for the duration of the hour or so.
Sighing a breath of the tiny bit of relief she got, she relaxed in her seat for the first time, and ignored the seat kicking and cheese scent that had previously bothered her. She had much more important things to think about. The money she was going to make for pimping herself out to a group called the Kabal, which she knew little about, going to Romania itself, which was bordering her birthplace, and turning her life around. She knew what her job was, but the rest was still slightly blurred.
Things would clear up when she got there, right?
Nobody sat next to her yet, and she took a look around her all slick like, making sure they were all occupied doing one thing or another. When she was sure of it, she began to idly twist her hand around and form a small bit of ivy in her palm and around her fingers, the little leaves and stems sprouting from her pores.
Posted by Martin Stein on Nov 1, 2009 10:02:42 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
His first job. His gray-gloved hand fingered slightly at the handle of a black-leather business suitcase that was swinging leisurely at his side. In it were contained the details of this, as already stated, very first mission for the Kabal in which he had been initiated only a few weeks prior to the now unfolding events. Details that were written in military sharpness in a manilla folder. A thick manilla folder. A complete dossier on country and culture of Romania, including a short section about the complicated and mutually tangled history of southeastern Europe. Hundreds of pages of text. Enough to occupy him for a few hours during the flight. And enough to guarantee a good headach when he got there. He would be exhausted from using his powers so much. Well finally it would happen for once. Sometimes it really paid off to be able to read at much greater speed then the average person. Or was it that he lived at greater speed? Distraction thoughts were banished by the distanced part of his mind, that now focused on leaving the taxi that had taken him from his usual place of residence. A mansion full of mutants of all ages and kinds. But mostly for him a mansion of mutant teenagers that trampled on rosebeds and were a steady stream of work for both him and the leafed co-workers that he supervised. An upturned leaf there, a burnt shrub here, sometimes he had no names for the things that happened to flowers in that, his personal mansion garden. In the back of his mind already lay, directly beside the picture of his ruined garden, filed and formatted, the plans for some hopefully effective defense measures as well as other projects, but those would have to wait until the funeral of his Uncle was over. At least that was the official reason he had given his employer with some minor documentary backing from the Kabal, which had even from somewhere procured a letter with the signature of the German ambassador to the US, informing the Alien of his loss. It was wonderful to be able to work with professionals. Even if he was quite new at this.
He hoped that his skills at information retrieval would be able to compensate for his lack in training and experience. Make that formal training and experience. From his first paycheck -after having to look at the amount for a few minutes- he had drawn not only the resources to acquire a new gray suit, the black tie around his neck and the white dress shirt that made his pale skin look even paler, but also that he would be heading to do some more or less likely dangerous work overseas. To Europe. Close to home. In a way. He was M. Stone, a young Entrepreneur on his way to a business meeting in Romania, while Martin Stein was sitting in a plane to Germany that had already taken off a few hours ago.
An hors later:
M. Stein was heading through the gateway to the plane in the desired region of the world. The plane was not crowded, but not quite empty either. Still too many people for him. He proceeded cautiously from one row to the other, until he had found the one he would be placed in for the remainder of the day, only to find himself seated next to a young woman that was playing with something in her hand. Suddenly he had to think of his garden. The petunias would probably not be alive on his return, but lien on their earthen deathbed. Sad story. Poor Petunias. There was a young Lady seated next to him. R23. He opened the coffer, the lock giving off clicking noises in the process, to retrieve the manilla folder that would be his occupation for the rest of the night and then stowed the coffer away in one of the lockable compartments overhead. It was only then that he turned to the youth and addressed her. "Good Day Mrs." and then sat down in one swift and practiced motion. He opened the folder and apparently began skimming through the pages, turning them swiftly from one to the next, eyes darting around. He was reading. And he got some very interesting information. Apparently he had a partner on this Mission. Why hadn't that stood on the first page? A partner. That opened not only strategic possibilities, but also meant that, depending on their training, the person would turn out to be either way ahead or way below his training standards. He hoped for the first. Finally an opportunity to learn. Another few pages beyond the first, he found another bit of information that had been missing on the "all-you-need-to-know" about the mission. The partner would be joining him on the flight already! And it was a young woman named Xavia. Exotic name, interesting description, a person that would be, most importantly of all and naturally written as last of all the given points, be seated right next to him. And seeing that he was sitting right at an alley there was only one....
The folder was placed in the lap of the man and he turned around, scanning the youth next to him. "I believe we are working for the same company." He finally pronounced his sentence. And then he widened his lips to something that might have equaled a smile. If it were not so thin. The blue eyes were sparkling. "My name is Stone." at least for today..."Its a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Xavia." Silence fell between them. A child wailed up in the background. Those eyes were of the stuff to drown in. Everything was in perfect order. Someone pushed his seat forward a little. Perfectly normal. Flight.
Xavia was intent on the ivy in her hands and didn’t hear the “Good day, Mrs.—“ directed at her. The young woman kept silent even as she heard him shuffling papers around and looking through a file. No, she was ignoring everything while humming in the back of her mind so that only she could hear. However, the second time around, she heard her given name, albeit a little mispronounced, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. What the??
Her head turned with a snap, and she stared at him in surprise and apprehension. Who was this guy who knew her name? Her caramel eyes narrowed then in suspicion, and the ivy in her hand withered and turned brown. “I don’t know who you speak of.” Half lie, but she was a wary person, and the expression on her face was common for people who lived on the streets at some point in their lifetime. She eyed “Stone” for a moment of pregnant silence, and all the while, she was shifting her fingers so the dead leaves could fall to the floor of the plane without notice.
After the intent stare at the man’s face, she looked down to the file in his lap, and then back up to his face. She didn’t smile. When she looked away again, she took a deep breath and calmed herself, once again, because he really had scared her half out of her mind for that moment after he said her name. “It’s Miss. Worshalai, ‘Stone.’ Or should I say Fraulein?” She didn’t correct him yet on how he spoke her name, she would wait until they properly introduced themselves to one another. She had a feeling he was using a fake name. He sounded German, and Stone was an English word, at least she thought it was. Nonetheless, she eyed him again with a canted head.
What was she getting herself into? The cat woman, Sara, had explained some about the trip to Romania, basically to do a favor for a favor, so to speak. In this case, Sara had saved her drunken butt from getting hit by a car, then took care of her as she hit her lowest point ever. She had told her about the Kabal, but not much about them. She had been busy running away from brutish thugs, and a man who was never far from her thoughts lately, Jupiter, and many more thoughts, and somehow found it that she needed someone to rescue her from herself. Which is what Sara did… And Anthony… Sort of…
Now she was on a plane on her way to Romania to talk to people about overturning the Registration act, and such other things involved with the trip. Next to a guy who called himself Stone, when really, he should have said something more like Stein. Funny how that suited him and she didn’t actually know that was his last name.
Posted by Martin Stein on Nov 2, 2009 4:22:07 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
The eyes of the stranger flickered up on her head, where he was sure he had seen green Ivy a second before he had started addressing the woman. Now all that was left were some brownish remainders of plant life tht would return in the coming spring. Welcome wintertime. He had thought the greens, of course, to be some form of plastic that girs were apparently quite fond of sticking on their heads to enhance their appeal or to make a political statement maybe. But the slight earthy smell that reached his nose seemed to confirm it. That was no ordinary Ivy-imitate. And the girl he was sitting next to was no ordinary girl, albeit maybe a little young for such a dangerous mission abroad. Such and similar were the thoughts of the man, youth in exterior, as wilting leaves dropped to the ground. He seemed not to notice. Or maybe he was just asking himself wether he was going mad right now. Petunias first and now Ivy. He probably, no most certainly, needed to get out of the garden more often.
When she addressed him in utter disbelief and slightly repulsed, he did not even blink. Though his thoughts were wandering, analyzing, he was walking in a garden of notes, memories long lost, analyses long complete, incomplete, fractured, broken glass. Everything was as usual. Her accentuation held something forent. It tingled at the back of his mind, but he was unsure where to put this kind of accent. It look slightly like she was sitting next to a teenager. The fance looked young enough for that. But he also wore a suit. And gloves, fingers slightly streaking across the surface of his folder. He was a picture of serenity. With a touch of teenage 'innocence'. He waited for her to continue the speech, she had probably prepared in her mind in advance. She was most certainly untrained. Like him in a way. And in others not. She could not play. And she would probably just give him the information he needed to confirm whether she was indeed the one. So he finally spoke.
"First mistake Miss Worshalai..." He tried to imitate her pronounciation, but naturally failed. It was now that his differing linguistic origin bacame totally apparent. Consonants, voiced much harsher then the English ones usually were, vovels slightly more rounded. It was a German accent indeed for those that had an ear for such things. " you need to work on your denial." Calm and suitable for a dinnertable were the words that he spoke, yet with an underlying harshness, that could be often found in teachers. The man seemed quite intent on getting the point across that he had slightly more experience. Or maybe it was the suit. "But let us not needlessly start the teaching now." The voice became much warmer, friendlier. Maybe a mask, if so a good one, moods that disappeared, changed in an instant, were replaced y something else. Either she was sitting across someone who was very good at masqueradeing or she was sitting next to a madman. Choose your pick, young one. "But you have a sharp ear, Miss Worshalai. I am indeed not of American heritage." Not that there was such a thing in most americans anywys... "You may call me Martin. Its my pleasure to be working with you." another smile, a short one. It was much more honest in a way. Almost instantly disappearing. "As I said, we work for the same company." Only that him selling out his skills was a first. And apparently his partner was even more clueless then himself. Wasnt there someone assigned to them with slightly more experience? His hand was still caressing te folder. One could now see that there was a sharp edge to the pages. An imprint, a chance to cut yourself at any moment, full of sharp edges that were ready to cut leather and flesh. The Kabals badge in a way. One gloved hand was raised and pointed. Enough to cut yourself?
Sure, she was inexperienced. Up until last year, she had lived the life of a seventeen year old for eight years. She went from being a popular immigrant student in high school, to being kidnapped from a party where almost the entire Senior Class of her school had been killed in cold blood, to being turned into, so she thought, a freak. Anyone who had lived a sheltered life since being a teenager was bound to be inexperienced. But that was another story, and this is a plane trip to Romania. She didn’t know he thought of her as inexperienced, but had an inkling he may.
When he told her his name, and also stated how her gut feeling was right about his heritage without her saying so, and instead of speaking back to him in English, she spoke in somewhat, but not completely, fluent German. "Sie wollen mich auf meine Fehler hinweisen? Und wie siehts damit bei Ihnen aus? Sie kommen hier einfach an und nennen mich beim Vornamen. Der ist übrigens Saveeah, wie Klavier, nicht Schafia. Wenn wir für die gleiche Firma arbeiten, hätte sie zuerst sichergehen sollen, dass ich bin, wer Sie vermuten. Ich brauche keine Erfahrung zu haben, um zu wissen, dass es Ohren gibt, wo keine sein solllten."(“You want to say mistakes I make? What about you? You come and greet me by first name without knowing me. It is Sah-vee-ah, like klavier, not zay-vee-ah, by the by. If we work for same company, you should have made sure I was who you thought I was. I need no experience to know that there are spies.”)
She gave a sweet smile, then, and returned to English, “Nice to meet you, Martin.” She then held out her hand for a handshake, and the smile on her mouth stayed on her mouth, but did not find any piece of her eyes. She was displeased, of course, that he had chastised her, so naturally, she chastised right back. She may be timid at first, but once someone makes her mad, it was easy for her to get riled up enough to bite back a comment.
Xavia’s scent had also shifted with her changing moods, the air went almost thick with the scent of Damask, and if he looked, fragments of vine still clung to her pores where they had grown from. Indeed, she was not some normal girl, she was Homo Superior. Mutant. Freak. She had once been a mutant hater until she became one. Irony was best served on a silver platter, and she had her fare share.
She assumed he was one as well because he hadn’t flinched when he spotted the greenery in her palm. Normal human beings tended to get scared or mad when they saw a mutation happen in front of them. Well, it was in her experience anyways. Even her parents had done it when she found her way back home.
She shifted back into German to speak some more, "Ich weiß nicht viel über das, was wir hier machen, aber ich weiß, dass es wichtig ist. Ich habe jemandem, der mein Leben gerettet hat, ein Versprechen gegeben. Das will ich einhalten. Sie mögen von mir halten,w as Sie wollen, aber Sie werden sich noch umsehen ohne mich. Ich komme aus Ungarn. Ein Nachbarland von Rumänien."(“Look, I do not know much about what we are doing, but it is important to do it. I made a promise to someone to return favor of her saving my life, and I intend to keep it. You may think what you like of me, but as new as I am to this, you may need me more than you think. I come from Hungary, and it borders our destination.”) And no, she didn’t assume that is what he thought of her, but she outright said she was inexperienced so it was on the table.
Lenna turned the blood-red gemstone in her hand again. The way it caught the light and refleced the faint texture of the airplane seat ahead of her was pleasing. The feel of the ruby in her hand? Priceless. That Slate had divvied these gems out up front to members of the Kabal was intriguing. Had it been payment up front? Oh no. He'd wanted them to eat their gems.
Eat them. And digest. A precious gemstone that could have served as payment, or been sold off later. Yes, the logic behind the free handout had escaped Lenna. She'd learned a short while back not to question Slate's logic, though. So bottoms up.
The woman in the seat across the aisle goggled at the blond mercenary dressed in black. Leather jacket, black turtleneck t-shirt, black jeans. Her hair was neck-length and blond now. She hadn't dyed it in weeks. For this mission, a new look was needed. Lenna raised the ping pong ball-sized ruby up to her mouth like a pill, and took it down with a glass of complimentary alcohol in one swig. Her shot glass clinked back down. Ice caught the light.
Lenna sighed, and picked a small can of lime soda up off the passing refreshment trolley. She refilled her glass, took a swig, and swished it around. Ugh. It wasn't as if it had any noticable aftertaste, but something about the color, and the ease of gemstone handout just made Lenna feel wrong. She slumped back into her seat with a sigh, dashing the thought against the rocks. Sure, whatever. Slate knew best.
Her thoughts dripped languidly towards Romania as she began digesting the gem, and the languages around her. Romania... One of the few countries with a language she did not speak. A shame, really. She wondered how she'd get by... across the aisle, one seat ahead from her, a newspaper crinkled. Lenna's eyes caught the headline. Romanian Registration Act Enacted.
Mutant Registration. Romania.
She'd been briefed on her first mission there. Bribery. Simple, casual. The Kabal would gain power by greasing palms, and garner dissent within Romania's lower politicians to speak out on Mutant Registration. Through any means necessary, short of killing.
This was, Lenna assumed, part of something bigger. That was one good thing about Slate. He didn't give out all the information. Individual pieces on the bigger chessboard knew their missions. That was enough. And Slate planned big. So no big deal.
A passing sentence masked behind a thick Romanian accent caught her ear. Lenna tossed her line of thought aside to let it shatter against the wall as the Dragonspeak gem 'translated'.
"Can I has... Coco Coora..."
"........." Okay, obviously the thing she'd just swallowed was negatively affecting her hearing and judgment.
"I can has... alcohol."
And there it was again. With a sigh, Lenna slumped down even further and covered her ears...
~*~
A few minutes later, when ear-covering grew tiresome, Lenna leaned forward to pick the briefcase up off the ground. The clasps clicked open. Lenna pulled out the first manilla folder, and opened it to briefly skim. She'd gone over the mission details countless times since she'd been assigned the task. Why not waste away the long flight reading them over again unassumingly at her leisure?
It was times like these she was glad for her window seat... and pleased no one yet had claimed the seat on her left, near the aisle...
It was supposed to be a closed chapter of her life.
And still, there she was, getting on a plane that would deliver her to Romania, back where shadows were looming over her life. She cursed silently. None of this was supposed to happen. The death of her parents should have stopped the whole Registration Act that her father was planning. Instead, it turned it into a whole new Revolution. Who could have believed that now blood of mutant and humans was being spilt and mixed together only to fade away into the brownish, unforgiving earth? Humans. Cruel and blood thirsty. They started the attack and as far as she was concerned they deserved it. But mutants? Reckless and too proud of themselves to admit they were doing wrong. Answering violence with violence, carnage with carnage – they were loosing their soldiers without any victory being in foresight.
The molecule manipulator knew that she shouldn’t have come. She could have disobeyed Slate’s order to get there. She could have listened to Sam when he told her that she won’t come in this mission. But the weight of the guilt was heavy on her shoulders. She would speak with the Underground, those who were her brothers and sisters once; she would do anything necessary to bring peace back, to stop this stupid bloodshed. She owed them that.
“Enjoy your flight, miss.”
Alexandra smiled at the flight attendant as she walked further into the plane, her fingers playing inside a pocket with her passport. Again, she ceased to be Alexandra Kettler. She was Alexandra Violet Leigh, American citizen… a plain human for if the Romanian authorities would ever see her real name they’d want her head on a silver plate and the last thing she wanted was a couple of idiots chasing her around instead of doing her job.
Sighing, the molecule manipulator glanced at the seats looking for her own. A couple of steps later she’d found it. She smiled politely at the woman standing in the seat next to hers, in an attempt to keep up the appearances. Sliding into her seat, she allowed herself to breathe for a moment before reaching into her oversized shoulder bag and pull out a folder. It was every possible information on what was going on there, articles both in Romanian and English. Paper cuts, printed information over the internet, everything self made since she wasn’t supposed to have anything connecting her with Slate when she’d meet with the X’s. Heh. Sam’s going to have one hell of a surprise in seeing her there. Taking a small, silent breath Alexandra started to read.
”-wie Klavier, nicht Schafia-“
She blinked confused as this words rang into her head, getting a hold of her attention. Why was she being distracted by a conversation in … German? Mentally shaking her head the molecule manipulator started to read again, while half of her attention was whirling around the piece of conversation she’d listened to.
Why did this name sound so familiar? Why the voice sounded so familiar? Frowning slightly, Alexandra started to tap her finger on the papers in her hand while the name was being repeated again and again in her mind. A few moments later the finger stopped in the air, eyes narrowing slightly as she turned her head in the direction of the voice. “Xavia?”
Posted by Martin Stein on Nov 12, 2009 8:04:08 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
After the exchange of necessary plesantries involving him mispronouncing her name a few times more until he finally found the right stresses and accentuation, his tone became much more serious and private then before, position shifting into a much closer one, near to her ear. Whispering. The serious was gone again, though they were now talking business, it was almost as if he knew her and was whispering plesantries in her ear. So natural. Honest lies. "Ich nehme an, Sie haben einen dieser Ordner erhalten und sind über die groben Missionsdetails informiert?" ("I assume you got one of these folders and are briefted about the general mission?") A short pause between the breaths, silence that fell to giver her answer room to pass to his ear. "Denn dann können wir uns einen Nutzen für ihre Herkunft überlegen (Then we will be able to think on a use for your heritage.")
"Xavia?" He fell silent. Bad. Just bad. If theres someone here who knows her, then we got a real problem. His thoughts raced along a dozend different paths, reached different conclusions, factored in or out variables that were important. If they would be able to pull something off that would be belieavable, then there would be no trouble. If they didnt, well then.... there would be other means. There had to be. The mission had to come first and then everything else. Silently still, his hands fingered and ungloved themselves, lying now white on the yellow paper surface. Blue lines indicating the blood vessels. Snow white ineeed. These hands did not see the sun much. "I believe someone called your name." He did not turn, but fell back into English. Only his slightly sour look told her, that they were in trouble. Big time. Could he protect them in necessary? He would probably have to.
He spoke about using her heritage to his advantage, and she nodded softly, explaining in German, “I can tell you how to blend in more with the culture of Romania. People from Hungary have migrated there, so it would make sense if you followed some of the traditions of the Hungarian man. But there will be time for that later.” She took a breath and glanced around, “Yes, I have the folder in the overhead, and the ‘pill’ swallowed. I took the liberty of reading everything before I even got on the plane.” Well, skimmed through it, more or less, she was planning on brushing up when the monotony of the plane ride got to her.
She was about to open her mouth and speak again when she heard her name from a few seats away, and the next aisle over. Xavia’s brow knit, and she glanced over toward the sound of the familiar voice. Her brain couldn’t quite grasp the name, but she knew the voice. She stood up and scanned the seats ahead, shifting out of her seat and squeezing passed Martin, with the guise of getting something out of the overhead all nonchalantly.
“Play along.” She whispered so softly that only Martin could hear, and then said louder. “Enough of this silly name game, I need to use the restroom, darling.” Before laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing very softly, the way a lover would and bending down to pretend to brush her lips across his cheek while whispering again, “I will see if we need to worry or not, alright?”
That being said, she straightened up, leaned over him and placed her second-hand carry on bag in the seat she had vacated, and then started to head toward the bathroom, smoothing her hands over the crisp slacks she had bought with the money she had been given in advance for the trip to Romania. She entered the restroom and had to cover her mouth and nose against the thick air that greeted her there, and she used her own, natural air freshening to get through the smell. She counted out in her head with the approximate number of seconds and minutes that it would take to use the restroom and wash one’s hands, before exiting the restroom and then heading back down the aisle. She could see much better that way, and her gaze eventually found the familiar, and bright blue eyes of Alexandra.
Surprise was the expression on her face, and she tilted her head. Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember the name, but she knew the face because it had been there when she awoke from her coma. In fact, it was the same woman who offered her clothing, or was it the other lady with the gray skin? She had a feeling that Alexandra was involved with the same thing they were, Romania, because three mutants on a plane at once was more than just a coincidence. She smiled toward the kind lady who had helped her back in the infirmary, and glanced to the occupant next to her.
This time, she tried not to look surprised again, when she caught sight of another folder, identical to the one she and Martin both had, though she missed the swallowing of the large gem. The blonde girl was unfamiliar, but Xavia did not discount her as another mutant. Well, she assumed she was a mutant, anyways, since they were sitting beside one another the way Martin and herself were.
She made her way back to her seat and bent to pick up her bag, whispering, “Nothing at all to worry about. I think they are with us.” And then, she slid back into her seat and set the bag in her lap.
((OOC: This is a joint Post with Circe. Circe requested that we skip her turn, and let Martin post next, because of the this.))
Pleased no one had yet claimed the... seat... near the... aisle? Lenna's eyes rose to focus on the blue-eyed woman with black/brown hair who stood in the aisle, ready to claim... Lenna offered a friendly smile, closing the folder gently... her seat.
The woman slid into place next to her. "Good day." Lenna tried to pass the whole act off as innocently as she could. Silently, she cursed the day.
There went her plane reading material. Begrudgingly, she turned to her new seatmate, who would also be her new conversation-mate. "So. My name's Lenna." She spoke quietly, extending a friendly hand. What about you?
>>“Xavia?”
The woman turned towards the seats behind them with a distracted utterance. Lenna's hand dropped. So much for innocent formalities. She eyed the target of her seatmate's attention silently, still smiling. Never stopped smiling. The woman slipped through the aisle and towards the restroom.
In the moments that the woman was absent, Lenna's hand struck out once more. Let's try this again... "Lenna," she smiled.
Apparently, her thought decided that it was better to be turned into a sound. Blinking slightly, the molecule manipulator looked up, to see if her call will attract someone’s attention. It did, for soon Xavia’s figure could be seen. Blue eyes narrowed slightly at the woman, curiosity written all over her face. As Xavia smiled at her while passing by, Alexandra smiled in response, quickly covering the suspicion in her eyes as assumptions started to form inside her mind.
Lost in thought, the molecule manipulator didn’t hear the woman beside her talk with her until she had said her name. Blinking, Alexandra turned her head, confusion in her eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry.” she said as she closed the folder in her hand and extended it toward the woman. “Lost in thought.” she apologized as she shook Lenna’s hand. “I’m Alexandra.”
Alexandra. Lenna took note. Her eyes fell to the folder in Alexandra's lap. "Light reading?" She couldn't help but notice the information on Romania, and the Romanian Mutant Registration act printed there before the folder's face snapped shut. Her eyes rose back up to meet Alexandra's eyes.
Light reading? Not that light. The molecule manipulator smiled in response as she closed the folder. “More like documentation. I’d like to know in what I’m walking exactly.” Alexandra glanced at the folder again. As if she didn’t know what was in those papers. Blue eyes turned back to Lenna. “How about you? Going to Romania for business?” Not that anyone sane enough would go to Romania at this moment for pleasure’s sake.
Lenna shrugged, turning her body towards the seat ahead of her. She closed her eyes. "The company I work for chooses the worst times to take its business overseas. And they could have put me in something a bit better than coach class..." Her hands stretched out in front of her in a yawn.
Alexandra laughed slightly. “Yeah, superiors can be a pain sometimes.” Like Sam, for example. Who decided to sneak up on her and fly to Romania without her. Oh, she was gonna be so happy when she’d see that lovely face of his and direct her fist right toward it.
"Tell me about it. And the toughest part is you just can't say 'no'."
Alexandra chuckled. He he. "So what exactly are you working on in Romania?"
"I work as a salesperson for the Hermès Group." Lenna replied casually, swinging a half-glance Alexandra's way. "Selling dinnerware, leather, jewelry... all kinds of things. You?"
Alexandra decided to bite her lip to retain a smile. “Well, I hope they give you one hell of a paycheck to sell dinnerware in Romania at this time.” The molecule manipulator turned her head as Xavia returned from the bathroom, smiling in her direction then looking at Lenna. Or better said, the folder which Lenna held in her lap. Strange. At least two mutants on the same plane and one paying too much attention to a simple folder. Why was she getting the impression that Xavia was far from traveling for a random purpose and that Lenna wasn’t visiting Romania to sell plates?
A friendly laugh escaped the prison of Lenna's mouth. Indeed.
The molecule manipulator smiled at Xavia before turning her attention back to Lenna. “Well, I’m certainly not doing something as interesting as selling dinnerware.” Alexandra replied as she eyed the folder Lenna was holding. And then it kind of hit her in the head. The size, the color, the texture. The same kind of folder that she had been handed while in Colombia. Slate, dude, you seriously need to buy more types of folders. Sighing slightly, Alexandra turned her head from Lenna as she let her body sink in the comfy chair. “By any chance your boss’ name is Mr. Slate?” Disguising a smile, Alexandra turned her head back to watch Lenna’s reaction to the name. “I know someone at Hermes Group with that name."
. . . And just as suddenly, that prison locked tight shut. Lenna's lips drew into a thin, closed line. This woman next to her knew of Slate... and the woman who'd left to go to the restroom had smiled at them... not before looking surprised, though! And it wasn't hard for Lenna to pick up on the gaze that fell towards the folder in her lap. No, too many things here were strange. Too many things too curious to be mere coincidence. Lenna's eyes followed the woman's path back towards her seat ahead of them, and across the aisle... then snapped back to Alexandra.
"Yeah, you do?" She forced a laugh. "The idiot goes by 'Slater' now." Like 'it's later now? Yeah'. Her voice dropped an octave, so that only Alexandra would hear. "What gave me away?"
Posted by Martin Stein on Nov 15, 2009 21:26:17 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
As she was going his mind was still playing games at highspeed, a computer testing all kinds of different scenarios, all in due time, all with their parts being examined and checked, their every component dissected in mere seconds. He spent years trying to come up with a firm and profoundly simply solution to their current dilemma. Half lifetime ran by, while the clock on his wrist idly counted seconds. His headache grew worse and worse, while his eyes remained transfixed on keeping the movement of the time counting device to a bare minimum, while still staying in almost perfect synch with nothingness, comforting numbness becoming part of his body, as the hours passed and it became accustomed to its slightly crouched position. Femtoseconds are eternity. On a quantum level. Welcome to Martins world, where the movement of the pendulum is but a relative condition. Relative, isnt it?
It was when the young femme returned to her seat, returned from her expedition to the bathroom, a lifelong expedition, that Martin finally fell, slumped into a crouched position, a fully crouched posotion, panting, as if he had just done a heavy physical exercise. There were magic words spoken here, for the instant that the young one confirmed her favorable disposition towards the two strangers, the gloves snapped back on the hands in one controlled motion. It took a little fumbling and a somewhat awkward amount of force to keep those small white worms from wiggling, before the pale-white appendages were covered in leathery safety once more. Safety for everyones sake. Especially the others.
The fact that the solution to their corundrum had presented itself to them freely was quite irritating for the timemancer. After all: It had just taken a fifty-two step battle plan out of order.
Easy solutions were no fun at all.
As were headaches.
He slightly raised himself, only to shoot the pair a stern calculating look between the seating rows that blocked most of their actions from view. There was only one swift movement, during which a manilla folder was visible. Adn then there was nothing any more, except that during his unnatural positioning he had knocked his own folder from his lap and it was now lying on the floor. Manilla. VIsible to everyone. Oooops. TO spill the beans, this was. To speak in figures. Drills in his head. They hurt.
Alexandra nodded at Lenna as her own body leaned closer, her voice turning into a whisper as she spoke. “The idiot needs to watch the details.” Blue eyes trailed to the folder Lenna was still holding in her lap. Now, she only needed to see if her other assumption was right. Her body leaned to the other side, quietly glancing at the seats where Xavia had disappeared. She was starting to get up when a manila folder fell to the ground. Figure that. Identical to Lenna’s. A sigh escaped her lips as gloved hands rushed to pick it up. Her head turned to the side, blue eyes starring at Lenna with an amused look.
“Come with me, please.” Alexandra smiled in the blonde’s direction as she picked up both the folder she had been holding and her bag. Taking in a deep breath, she walked over where Xavia was seated, blue eyes scanning curiously both her and her companion. A very familiar companion, that is. Wasn’t this man the Mansion’s Gardner? A sarcastic smile appeared on her lips as blue eyes traveled back to Lenna. The eye contact lasted for a few moments, before the molecule manipulator turned her attention to Xavia and the man besides her. “Mind if we join?” Of course, by the time she had opened her mouth to ask them, she was already seated and waiting for Lenna to do the same.
Now if that wasn’t as vague as a non-answer can get, Lenna didn’t know what was.
Across the aisle from them, a man’s back slumped to the floor. Familiar contents spilled slightly from a manila folder. Alexandra caught it. Lenna certainly caught it. Why, even the fat old lady some seats back may have noticed something strange as the cute younger gentlemen slid from his seat. Her arm jabbed her seat partner’s side as she whispered something highly likely to be considered rude.
And in that brief moment, it seemed the blue-eyed lady next to her had reached a battle plan.
>>“Come with me, please.” She spoke.
Lenna stifled a sigh as she followed suit with the folder-shuffling and the plane-seat-hopping. A part of her died a bit. Why was she always getting led around by the younger generation...? Soon, she'd be getting led to bingo and sponge baths... ugh! She slipped in behind Alexandra, carry-on luggage clutched to her chest. The manila folder stood out against the black of her suitcase like a spotlight in shadows. File Folders were the Bat Signal, a nerdier mind might have stated. Thank God Lenna wasn’t that nerdy. She merely coughed into a balled fist as the blue-eyes lady asked
>>“Mind if we join?”
Yet, she was already seated… and four seats to a row. Lenna kissed her window seat ‘good bye’ and slid in. Such was life…
Xavia hadn’t noticed anything wrong at first, but as she settled into her seat, she watched Martin flop a little bit and a worried expression crossed her face. When he looked like he passed out (from her perspective), she nearly jumped from the seat to grab for him, but stopped when she saw him grabbing for the folder he had dropped at his feet. “Hey, are you alright?”
She did not have much time to say much else because Alexandra and Lenna showed up next to them within a few moments….
>>> “Mind if we join?”
“Uh… Sure, have a seat.” She said, but really didn’t need to, because she was already sitting herself down next to Martin and herself and Alexandra was then, apparently waiting for the blonde to do so.
“Have we met before, Miss?” She asked this loudly, and as she looked over Martin to Alexandra, she leaned a little closer to the woman without touching Martin, and lowered her voice, “We all ought to be more careful, really.” She was starting to get irritated because she had a job to do, and it wasn’t getting off on the right foot. But her tone was neutral, she wasn’t about to tell someone off, especially if it turned out that she was talking to her Boss, or maybe someone of rank in the company that hired her. Really, she kept her tone respectable.
Her mouth drew into a line, and she turned her attention to her briefcase, which she unzipped and opened. The folder she had been given, thankfully, was buried in the bottom underneath other things, and she grabbed for a bag of Skittles that she had stashed in there. Closing the case, she set it on the ground at her feet and casually opened the bag of candy, palming a few and sticking them in her mouth and gesturing with the bag toward those next to her without thought, offering a piece or two around.
Posted by Martin Stein on Nov 20, 2009 4:06:35 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
He was still quite occupied with himself, when the two women started walking along the aisle in the middle of the plane and -after a rethorical question of course- sat down next to them in empty seats that he had hoped to be soon-occupied. Well they now were occupied. Oh **§$%. Where his heart had been racing before, from pain, from power overusage, from stress, from everything around him, it now seemed to miss a beat. Those people were now sitting right next to him and he was not quite prepared to unveil his Kabal identity to anyone but the ones that warranted it. He did not yet see that happen with the two women that were now seated next to the pair of accomplices.
Xavias low rumble was answered with a mere exaled breath that contained the barely audible word "Indeed." The time manipulator then put on a bright smile and turned to the two women completely. His smile almost fell off his face. Those startling blue eyes belonged to the Mansions Infirmary Assistant. This was not good at all. If she was part of the staff and he was aprt of the staff and they were both on their way to Romania.... It would very much complicate things. And she was wearing a smug smile that told him not all was well on this airplane. "G'day Madams." He said, while some flight attendant was scurrying down the aisle, maybe to some customer that had pressed the red button over their heads, maybe out of sheer necessity. He was tempted to do so, too, if only for a moment. His request to have the two woman thrown out of the now moving airplane would probably not have been fulfilled, no matter the promises of the advertisements. Sadly.
It was only then that he saw an equal folder to his own in one of their arms. This time the smile fell of his face. Quite litterally. Blue eyes blinked and looked into blue eyes. They seemed to be made of steel. No emotion. No caring. Just a calm judging of persons, their figures were checked and checked, the blue eyes taking in everything they could. From the missing zipper on one coat pocket of one lady to the yellow thread that head together her shoes. It was all noted and carefully filed. If it just were not for that headache.
Soon Martin lifted a gloved hand to his head and massaged his temples in a vain effort to get rid of some of the pain. Trying to take in so much was just not good at the moment. Instead he opted to go for the dose of swets that had suddenly appeared in their midst. Hand making bristling noises when it encountered the plastic bad, he just removed a few of the chocolate droplets and put them in his mouth, where they began to melt slowly. Quite delicious really. It tasted bitter. "So, what brings you here?" He asked the young woman that took car eof the foolish young mutants that always seemed to hurt themselves? Cold eyes they were. But somehow interested, no?