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 Katrina on Sept 11, 2009 15:02:57 GMT -6
Mutant God
1,654
2
Nov 16, 2013 12:00:06 GMT -6
Katrina was reluctantly following the plan her mother had laid out for her recovery. It was like an elaborate family road trip and she didn't really want to travel it. Except, she had to because her mother was family. The steps had been small at first, just little things to do in bed to keep her distracted: a book of word puzzles, a new vampire romance novel that had just been released, the story of how her mother had elbowed her way though a thousand teenage girls wearing black capes and plastic vampire fangs at the midnight release to obtain said novel then wait in the Beans and Knobs checkout line for two hours listening to a raging debate on whether vampires or werewolves were hotter (she recounted this debate blow by blow and in the end Katrina and her mother had both decided it was the wolves), and a sketchbook with a set of colored pencils. Katrina couldn't help but be distracted by the shiny pencils, there were over a hundred of them in every color of Koga's skin (or maybe even more) all organized in a professional looking case.
The next steps had been to coax her out of her room. First she was required to come downstairs for at least one meal out of the day. Then, she was needed to help make a particularly elaborate supper. (Katrina, however, did not see the point of putting peppers, mushrooms, spinach, onions, freshly minced garlic, oregano, and tomatoes in a lasagna. There was hardly any room left for the noodles.) Then, after dinner one night she was invited by one of the students to watch an episode of Star Trek, “Time's Arrow”. Katrina suspected a set up, but it was one of her favorite episodes so she could hardly refuse no matter how annoying it was to explain to the girl who had invited her that, no, Spock would not be appearing in this episode (This was the most lively conversation she had had since the incident. She'd previously been as tight lipped as a clam, but when someone started asking if Data was a Vulcan she could hardly keep silent). Of course it was a two part episode, so she had to watch another episode the next night.
After that, Mrs. Dumonde decided that Katrina was ready to have conversations again, including one with the school counselor, Raina, whom the young illusionist found to be rather... odd for a counselor. Friends started invading her room, too, looking to talk about everything from the ending of the vampire book to what classes they had signed up for the next year. To her horror, Katrina found out that her mother had done her registration for her and signed her up for Self Defense. It was taught by Sam, who was nice, but it meant that he would see how weak and puny she was! Then there was math again. She could never escape it. World Geography and History reminded her that she hadn't been to a single study session with Slate yet. She felt a twinge of guilt at that, because she had ended the year a little behind in geography and was supposed to be studying to catch up.
Finally, her mother announced that it was time for her to leave the house. Claire promised to take her daughter anywhere she wanted to go, but it had to be outside of the mansion grounds. Of course, the blonde teen wanted nothing to do with going anywhere so she sulked in her room and refused to even watch any Star Trek that night. By the next morning, though, she had decided the one place she wanted to go on her first outing.
Her mother had been surprised at her choice, but faithfully promised to take her daughter the very next Sunday. After not having been there in a couple of years, they were going to church.
Posted by Katrina on Sept 11, 2009 15:03:30 GMT -6
Mutant God
1,654
2
Nov 16, 2013 12:00:06 GMT -6
When Katrina was little the Dumonde family had once gone to church every Sunday. Katrina had loved Sunday school for the stories they told, the art projects they did, and for the friends she made there. Afterwards that got out she used to sit between her parents during “Big People Church” and draw pictures on the church bulletins during the sermon. She had loved singing the hymns back then, even though she didn't know most of the words. When in doubt, all the words became “Jesus loves me, this I know” no matter what tune they were actually singing. As she had gotten older, their lives had gotten busier and busier and going to church happened less and less often until they had stopped going except on the most important holidays. There had been talk of getting her signed up for confirmation, but that plan fell apart when she was transferred up to Xavier's then spirited away to the Resistance.
It was exactly the same as she remembered, and completely different all at the same time. The friendly smiles that greeted them upon walking in were familiar, even if the faces of the people were not. The banners of light streaming through the stained glass windows were the same as ever, but the pictures on the windows told different stories than the one's Katrina was used to. The pews were just as hard as she remembered, but now her feet could actually reach the floor when she sat on them. The hymns were the same ones they had always sung, but now the words were projected on the wall with projectors instead of written in hymnals. The pastor gave the sermon in the usual way, quiet at times and fiery at others, but for once Katrina actually listened to what he was saying. “Patience and Forgiveness” was the topic of the day, and the bible verses that accompanied the speech were about the sufferings of Job and the necessity of forgiving someone no matter what. The young blonde was not sure what she thought about that message.
As the organist thundered through the recessional at the end, the minister made a beeline towards them. He knew his flock well and he recognize new comers when he saw them. He always made it a point to make sure they felt welcomed. As he steered Mrs. Dumonde towards the new member fliers and started talking about how exciting this year's confirmation class was going to be, Katrina slipped away from them and back into the sanctuary. She hadn't come to talk to a preacher, she'd come to talk to someone else.
In the third row, way off to one side, she found a seat on the pew and looked up at the stained glass window where Job was depicted with sores all over his body.
Dear God, praying felt a little weird after such a long time. And even then she'd only really ever said the Lord's Prayer at bedtime, so she wasn't sure if that even counted. You answered my prayer, but I still have questions...
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Sept 18, 2009 21:21:39 GMT -6
Haven
Member of Haven
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822
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Aug 29, 2018 17:15:00 GMT -6
Calley
Rupert had never understood Job. Not just the biblical book: the man himself. His possessions, his children, his health: all were taken. At the end of the day, his only failing was assuming that God rewarded the pious, instead of granting Satan full permission to toy with their lives. Job believed God was inherently a good, just entity. But not infallible. No—if he was suffering, then clearly God had made some mistake, some small error in accounting. If he simply presented his case...
A man doesn’t get to argue his case before a perfect God. That was what Rupert got out of Job. A man just had to suck it up and keep praising the creator’s name, even as he’s sitting in the ashes. God had power over life and death: power of that magnitude was beyond rebuke. Even if what it was doing didn’t make any damn sense. Bow your knees and worship, for I am stronger than you.
That attitude reminded him of someone else. Several someones.
Rupert hadn’t been to church in a few months. Honestly, he’d been hoping for a little New Testament, today, on his first Sunday back. Job and him just didn’t get along. Patience and forgiveness? He just didn’t see it, as hard as the preacher tried.
The pews cleared out as the post-mass socializing got into full swing. Patience and forgiveness might be lacking a bit in Rupert’s mind, but he was benevolent enough not to inflict himself on his fellow parishioners. Not when so many of them had welcomed him back, so sincerely. As if he was here to stay. As if he belonged here.
There was a girl in the next aisle over, her face softly lit by the light through the stained glass windows, the sores of Job’s suffering turning into pale flowers of red on her skin. She couldn’t be more than thirteen or fourteen. Blonde, slender. New to their congregation. Or, by now, maybe old—maybe she’d been coming here for all those months he’d been gone, and it was him who was the outsider. How selfish of him, to assume this place would hold its breath without him.
“What did you think of the sermon?” He asked. A good, safe topic; except that this was Job they were talking about. Rupert suddenly wasn’t so sure how many uplifting spiritual quips he had in his soul.
Posted by Katrina on Sept 22, 2009 10:23:27 GMT -6
Mutant God
1,654
2
Nov 16, 2013 12:00:06 GMT -6
>>>“What did you think of the sermon?”
The man's voice brought her from the world of colored light and innumerable questions back to the real world again. Either God didn't feel like answering her questions right now, or this man was the answers. You never could tell with a God.
Katrina looked him over before answering. He was tall with curly black hair. She couldn't pick out what ethnicities might make up his ancestry, but she had never really paid attention to whether a nose looked Italian or Irish or whatever. All she could tell was that Whomever had sculpted his face hadn't been at all shy about making his features what they were. His nose was a Nose. His eyebrows were Eyebrows. His mouth could just as easily scowl or smile. He was handsome without being a generic pretty boy like the ones in the movies. His eyes were a thoroughly non threatening brownish greenish goldish hazel. His voice was currently soft, which was fitting considering they were in a church, but there was just a bit of a growl behind it as if he had been a lion in a past life.
Katrina was unsure. Here was a stranger, the first one she had met outside of the mansion. She had learned a hard lesson about strangers, and yet, this one was in a church. Even if he did turn out to be a conniving, deceitful, evil person, she was safe here with all the people around. Surely at least some of them would come to her rescue if she so much as raised her voice. This was a sanctuary.
As for the sermon, “It was...” She paused trying to come up with the right description for exactly what it had been. It hadn't been an easy sermon to swallow, in light of recent events. It was very hard to just forgive and forget when someone hurt you.
“...difficult, I suppose. Not that it was hard to understand what you're supposed to do, it's just hard to actually do it.”
She looked down at her hands. She smoothed out her skirt, then returned them to their folded position. It wasn't that she wanted revenge or justice. She didn't want to hate the green eyed man that had abused her so. She just wasn't sure she could do the exact opposite and forgive him either. Wasn't there something in between?
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Sept 29, 2009 2:37:24 GMT -6
Haven
Member of Haven
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822
9
Aug 29, 2018 17:15:00 GMT -6
Calley
>> “It was ...difficult, I suppose. Not that it was hard to understand what you're supposed to do, it's just hard to actually do it.”
Truer words were rarely spoken. Leave it to a kid. Rupert leaned back, his elbows hooking over the back of his own pew as he looked towards the front of the sanctuary. The alter was empty now. That wasn’t how he was supposed to think of it, though, was it? A large wooden cross stood on the wall behind the podium, as if in admonishment. Clearly, nothing was empty about a house of God. God was everywhere. God was good, God was just; God cared.
“Sometimes I have to wonder,” the Italian man said, “if we were made in God’s image, than what does that say about Him? What part of us is the part that’s God’s, and what part of us is just the muck we got shaped from? Forgiveness—do you suppose He has a hard time with it, too?” A small laugh that may have doubled as a snerk came out of Rupert’s lips. “It did take him a few centuries to send us his Son, after all. Before that, it was all fire and brimstone; ‘Don’t look back, or you’ll turn to a pillar of salt.’ ”
Dust motes drifted between them and the cross, caught in the light of the stain glass windows. “I guess we’re allowed to look back now, huh,” he said, mostly to himself. “Or maybe that’s still our problem.”
How much easier would it be if they—if he—could just leave the past behind; let God deal with the sinners, and take his own life somewhere out of this city. New York was getting steadily more infamous for its mutant population; it’s mutant terrorists. Why did he stay? Why not move somewhere nice, where the people weren’t just a bunch of heartless freaks? Why try to take matters into his own hands?
He could save people, though, if he stayed here. If he kept... doing what he’d been doing. Wasn’t that part of ‘God’s own image’, if he took judgment into his own hands?
Posted by Katrina on Sept 29, 2009 21:37:59 GMT -6
Mutant God
1,654
2
Nov 16, 2013 12:00:06 GMT -6
Katrina had never thought about it that way before, that God had to learn how to forgive. The differences between the stories in the old and new testaments made sense with that explanation. First fire and brimstone, as he said, then love your neighbor and forgive your brother seventy times seven times.
“If God has to learn how to forgive, doesn't it mean that he isn't prefect to begin with? If we are like him, that explains a lot of why we aren't perfect and why we have to learn and change and grow. He is striving to be better and so must we.”
Katrina swung her feet in her Mary Janes. If she sat far enough back on the pew her legs were still short enough to swing without scraping the floor.
Just because God evolved didn't make trying to change for the better any easier for lowly humans, or mutants, as the case may be; mutants and humans were all the same to her. Their humanity didn't change just because they had tails or could bend the elements to their will; they still loved and hated, fought and made up, went to school and failed geography tests, got married and raised families, and lived the same way humans did. And, just like humans, some mutants were bad people and some were good. They probably all went to the same heaven, if there was such a place.
Did green eyed torturers get to go to heaven, too?
She looked up at the window again, at Job with all of the sores all over his body, as if he had been beat up. “Do you think God forgives evil people, too?”
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Oct 1, 2009 8:01:15 GMT -6
Haven
Member of Haven
Bi
822
9
Aug 29, 2018 17:15:00 GMT -6
Calley
>> “If God has to learn how to forgive, doesn't it mean that he isn't prefect to begin with? If we are like him, that explains a lot of why we aren't perfect and why we have to learn and change and grow. He is striving to be better and so must we.”
“The difference is,” Rupert said, eyes still on the cross in front of them, “God has all of eternity to change himself. What did he give us? Less than a century, if we’re lucky.”
>> “Do you think God forgives evil people, too?”
Rupert ran a hand through his hair; short curls snarled and snapped around his fingers. “I might be a bad person for saying this—I might just be a bad person, in general—” A distinct possibility. “—but I hope He doesn’t. There’s just... some people I couldn’t face, up there. Even if they’ve repented—once someone’s done evil by you, they’ve left a scar on you that’s never going to heal. If they do repent, where does that leave you? Are you just the ugly scarred soul in the shadow of the throne, watching God welcome your enemy? They can repent all they want, but what they’ve done doesn’t go away. Scars don’t go away. If heaven is full of beautiful repented sinners, then I’d rather burn in Hell with the rest of the scarred.” He gave a small start, muddy hazel eyes remembering who he was talking to.
“Pardon my French,” he said, a bit awkwardly. Kids these days—was ‘Hell’ still a swearword, to them?
>>>“The difference is, God has all of eternity to change himself. What did he give us? Less than a century, if we’re lucky.”
Yeah, that was hardly fair. The 'perfect' One took a couple thousand years to learn forgiveness and gave her fourteen years. All He had to do was not get his divine undies in a bunch about a golden calf, and she had to forgive someone who had kidnapped and tortured her. Even though she was healed now, she could still remember the fear and the pain.
>>>"There’s just... some people I couldn’t face, up there. Even if they’ve repented—once someone’s done evil by you, they’ve left a scar on you that’s never going to heal. If they do repent, where does that leave you? Are you just the ugly scarred soul in the shadow of the throne, watching God welcome your enemy? They can repent all they want, but what they’ve done doesn’t go away. Scars don’t go away."
Yeah. Just, yeah. Her scars might not be visible anymore, but they were there just the same. Flesh and bone could heal again, but there was no bandage, splint, or salve that could soothe an injured mind. Unless there was someone out there that could wall off memories and keep her mind from ever revisiting them, she was permanently scarred. Was she even the same person that she had been three months ago, when she had been unquestioningly friendly and trusting? Was she still the innocent young girl that took everything at face value and believed that every person had some measure of good in them? She wasn't sure anymore.
What had he been startled by? Oh, he'd said 'Hell'. The preacher said it in church sometimes, too, therefore in this context it was probably okay to say. Imagine that, a swear word that was only acceptable to use in a church. Not that it was a very terrible swear outside of church either.
"Is everything black and white, though? How does He determine who goes where? Everyone must have some mixture of good and bad in them, light grey and dark grey, you know?" Did she really believe the green eyed torturer had some good in him, too? Maybe he was really nice to dogs or his grandma. Or maybe not.
"If it is all greys, where does the line get drawn that separates the good from the bad? If you go by the commandments, like thou shalt not kill, someone can do plenty of evil without actually killing someone. Or there are mercy killings, like when people are so old they need life support and are dying anyway. Is pulling the plug murder, too? And executioners at a prison, is they guy that administers the fatal shot a murderer or is it the one that gave him the order to do it, or the judge or jury that convicted him, or the senator that made the death penalty legal, or did the prisoner bring it on himself? And what if you kill in self defense or to protect someone you love?" What if she had accidentally killed the green eyed mutant? Or if Slate had? Would that make them evil?
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Oct 14, 2009 2:13:10 GMT -6
Haven
Member of Haven
Bi
822
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Aug 29, 2018 17:15:00 GMT -6
Calley
>> "Is everything black and white, though? How does He determine who goes where? Everyone must have some mixture of good and bad in them, light grey and dark grey, you know?"
Rupert hooked his elbows over the pew back, propped up his heels on the little flip-down kneeling pad, and stared up at the ceiling. “Damned if I know.” There was that French, again. He shifted uncomfortably.
>> "If it is all greys, where does the line get drawn that separates the good from the bad? If you go by the commandments, like thou shalt not kill, someone can do plenty of evil without actually killing someone. Or there are mercy killings, like when people are so old they need life support and are dying anyway. Is pulling the plug murder, too? And executioners at a prison, is the guy that administers the fatal shot a murderer or is it the one that gave him the order to do it, or the judge or jury that convicted him, or the senator that made the death penalty legal, or did the prisoner bring it on himself? And what if you kill in self defense or to protect someone you love?"
“They say He’s a perfect judge. ‘Don’t worry about questions like that—He asked them before you were ever born, and He knew the right answer before the stars existed.’ ” Pretty nice ceiling in here, actually. Rupert had never really noticed it before: the wooden crossbeams above had been left exposed, and the way they overlapped to form the greater hall was like some kind of humble masterpiece. “Honestly, perfect God or not, I don’t think there is some kind of perfect scale. And the commandments—pretty good guidelines, but even a kid can point out how many holes they’ve got in them. Err,” he rubbed at the back of his head. “No offense.” As kids went, this girl seemed rather smart, actually. And articulate. She was probably on the honor roll at some private academy or another.
“I think the only thing we can do is do our best. Do what you think is right, no matter what it is, and do whatever you can for the rest of the world. Leave things better than when you found them. At the end of the day, if you meet Him and He says all that wasn’t good enough—” Rupert shrugged. “Well, then maybe Heaven isn’t a place you’d enjoy, anyway.” They did say the company was better in Hell.
How could anyone be a perfect judge, even a god? There were just too many particulars. What if someone missed the mark by one point and someone they loved had to go on to heaven without them? That hardly seemed like a very nice heaven for the person who had to leave their loved one behind. Katrina followed his gaze up to the wooden beams of the ceiling. She scowled at them like they were bars on the gates keeping some people out. Sorting people just didn't seem fair, no matter how she tried to wrap her mind around whatever the criteria might be for getting into heaven.
>>>“I think the only thing we can do is do our best. Do what you think is right, no matter what it is, and do whatever you can for the rest of the world. Leave things better than when you found them. At the end of the day, if you meet Him and He says all that wasn’t good enough—” ... “Well, then maybe Heaven isn’t a place you’d enjoy, anyway.”
“That seems unfair, too. Besides the really basic commandments we don't have any directions for doing what is 'right'. What if we think we are doing the right thing, but it is actually completely wrong? You might think you are making the world a better place, but if your idea of better is different from someone else's it could totally mess up everything.”
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Oct 17, 2009 6:59:13 GMT -6
Haven
Member of Haven
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822
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Aug 29, 2018 17:15:00 GMT -6
Calley
>> “That seems unfair, too. Besides the really basic commandments we don't have any directions for doing what is 'right'. What if we think we are doing the right thing, but it is actually completely wrong? You might think you are making the world a better place, but if your idea of better is different from someone else's it could totally mess up everything.”
Damn, this kid was smart. Rupert kept staring up at the ceiling; one of his hands gave a so you see twitch.
“I guess the real problem,” he said, “comes down to this: what does God think is right?” Idly, he propped up one of his feet on the pew back in front of him; then realized what he was doing, and took it back down with a sacrilegiously guilty jerk that brought him back to sitting up straight.
“That’s where the ‘made in God’s image’ phrase starts to really hurt my head,” he said, shifting to find a comfortable posture again. Pews: not made for comfort, per se. Probably made to prevent churchgoers from easily nodding off. “If we’re all made in God’s image, and we’re all a bit different, then you’d figure that maybe putting us all together, you’d get closer to seeing His face. You’ve got the artistic types, the musicians,” one of his hands started counting off the points; “the carpenters—we know God likes his carpentry, if he sent his only son to apprentice in it—and all the people like that: the builders. God made the world, and all of us; makes sense we’d take after that. But you’ve got the kids who kick over sandcastles, too; the murders, the rapists, the people who put kittens in ovens and pull wings off bugs. The ones who don’t just destroy—they cause pain. And that’s a part of God, too—that’s the part that says ‘if you do wrong and don’t repent, I’ll put you in hellfire for eternity, but I won’t tell you what’s right’.”
Rupert gave a small, bitter shrug. “Half the book tells us to stone the sinners, and half tells us that love is the most important thing of all. Right and wrong—I can feel them sometimes. The problem is, that feeling keeps changing. And this—” he cast a hand wide, taking in the whole Church with a capital C, from here to Rome, “all this: it just doesn’t seem to be any more sure than I am.” The more he looked at it, the more twisted it seemed. Just like him. Just like this whole world. Made in God’s image, indeed.
He put his feet on the back of the pew; was that allowed? Katrina wondered if her legs were long enough to do that, too. She's have to slouch so far down that it wouldn't be very comfortable, most likely. She slouched to try it, but sat back up straight when he did suddenly jerked back to upright again.
>>>“If we’re all made in God’s image, and we’re all a bit different, then you’d figure that maybe putting us all together, you’d get closer to seeing His face.”
Katrina thought about all the bad things and the good things that were mixed up in the world. Kids ruined other kids' sandcastles, while God sent his army marching around a walled city seven times to make them miraculously fall. There were serial killers who made patterns of their kills; God owned his very own angel of death. The green eyed man from the sewer had tortured her; God had let the devil torture Job. Humanity was like God and God was like humanity. Hmmm. This guy was pretty smart for a grown up.
“I think that the good in God outweighs the bad, and I think the good in the world outweighs the bad, too.” But then, she was a rather optimistic and somewhat sheltered individual and hadn't seen very much of the world. Katrina absently let her feet swing back and forth under the pew.
“I never doubted what I thought was the right thing to do before now.” Things were just a little more fuzzy than before. Right and wrong had seemed so simple until someone came along that made it uncertain whether he required forgiveness or punishment. Not that Katrina would be punishing him. If she saw him again the plan was to get away as fast as possible.
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Nov 4, 2009 2:57:11 GMT -6
Haven
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Aug 29, 2018 17:15:00 GMT -6
Calley
>> “I think that the good in God outweighs the bad, and I think the good in the world outweighs the bad, too.”
The Italian man was quiet for a moment. The low buzz of after-sermon conversations drifted in, from the foyer outside of the sanctuary; a cloud drifted over the stained windows outside, then passed. They were left in diffused light again.
“I’ve got to wonder about that,” he said, simply. “If anything, I’d say it’s fifty-fifty. A balance. I’ve got to hope it’s a balance.” Because he sure wasn’t hopeful enough to believe ‘good’ was tipping the scales. Between his pessimism and her optimism, they had a pretty decent balance, right here. Hopefully she didn’t grow up into him. The world might not be a better place just for having a few more optimists around, but at the least, it probably had a few less people drinking before noon. Not that he’d ever slipped a little something into his coffee in the mornings.
>> “I never doubted what I thought was the right thing to do before now.”
He stared straight forward, and asked the only thing he could ask: “What happened?”
He could have just given advice, but he didn’t have much advice to give, right now. And that would be damn presumptuous, to tell her what she should do without even hearing what her situation was. Humans weren’t like freaks: they didn’t all have the same sap story. If she wanted, he’d hear her out. If she didn’t, he didn’t much care. It wasn’t like he was about to tell her his own story, after all. To each their own secrets.
“My name is Rupert,” he added, much belated. “Rupert Kelley.”
“I'm Katrina,” she responded, then because he had given his full name, too, “Katrina Dumonde.”
She looked him over again, trying to decide if she really wanted to talk about it. Especially with a stranger. The only beings she had shared with up to this point was her dogs. Maybe a stranger, or rather a brand new acquaintance, was the next step up. Maybe it got easier with each retelling and eventually she could tell the truth to her friends or to her mom.
She paused a long time while she decided whether or not to even say anything, but finally decided she should at least give him the essence of the story even if she didn't share all the details. She looked down at her hands folded in her lap as she spoke. Her feet swung much less enthusiastically beneath the pew.
“I was kidnapped by a really bad man. He dragged me into the sewers and...” she swallowed, fighting off the flood of memories that even this watered down version brought back, “he did really bad stuff to me.”
It was uncomfortable to let that be the last statement to hang in the air, so Katrina added to the end, “That's why forgiving seems so hard.”
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Nov 25, 2009 2:18:05 GMT -6
Haven
Member of Haven
Bi
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Aug 29, 2018 17:15:00 GMT -6
Calley
((ooc: 600 posts. )
>> “I'm Katrina,”
She responded, like a flare gun to his memories;
>> “Katrina Dumonde.”
Katrina Dumonde. He looked at her; really looked at her. An older face seemed to lurk just out of sight in his mind; blonde, confident. He hadn’t seen her since she’d left for China. No; that wasn’t right. He hadn’t seen her since graduation.
Rupert ran his hand through his hair, as if to clear out spiderwebs. This was their first time meeting. Really their first time. In the future—they hadn’t met until after he became a pastor, had they? That was how they’d met. So the future was already changing, then.
Tell him something he didn’t know.
>> “I was kidnapped by a really bad man. He dragged me into the sewers and... he did really bad stuff to me.”
Bad stuff. Really bad stuff. From her voice, her hesitation, her downcast glance—it didn’t take anyone any smarter than Rupert to leap to the worst conclusions. It was a small mercy that his imagination fell short of the truth; it was hard enough to swallow as it was. This was Katrina; Katrina Dumonde. On his knee, one of his hands clenched into a fist. Had this happened to her in the future? To her past self, in the future. ...God, that was confusing.
“Have the police caught him yet?” Rupert asked, his voice cold. He hadn’t been on a hunting trip since that dream. He’d never hunted down a normal human. For Katrina Dumonde? He’d make an exception.
Except that Katrina Dumonde wouldn’t want him to do that.
>> “That's why forgiving seems so hard.”
He had the urge to put an awkward arm around her shoulders; she was too far away, though, and he wasn’t much good at comfort.
“You have to,” he said forcefully, with maybe a bit too much emphasis on the ‘you’. “If this guy makes you into the kind of person who can’t forgive—doesn’t that mean he’s still hurting you? People like that breed hatred. If you hate him, you’re letting that part of him grow inside of you. It’s easy to hate.” Damn easy. “It’s hard to tear that hatred out, and keep living your own life. You need to forgive this guy; you need to stay you.” Katrina Dumonde. The future might be different for him and Raina, but she needed to stay the same. The world had enough assholes breeding hatred all around them. It was far, far too easy to hate. Of all people, he knew—
...Katrina Dumonde.
“You’re a mutant,” Rupert couldn’t help but say. And he couldn’t help but feel shame, at the way the words venomously dripped from his lips.
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