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.
A late night minus the appropriate amount of sleep plus caffeine did not equal a good morning. Nor did it make for a good afternoon on patrol with good ol' Diggit. Today Terra's left leg was so much sand in a baggy in her pants pocket. Yeah. Not really the best of days. She looked like a freaking amputee with her pant leg tied up in a knot so it didn't drag the ground. Aw heck. Today she was a freaking amputee. At least she didn't need a crutch. She had one for appearances and everything, but as long as she had one foot on the ground her balance was uncanny.
"Hey."
"Hey WHAT?" Okay. So maybe she was a little grouchy too. Diggit found every excuse to send her hobbling out of the car that he could.
"Gezz. Lay off the coffee and check out little miss short skirt at 10 o'clock."
"You looking for a date?"
"Shut your mouth and open your eyes."
Even if Diggit was an ass, he was also a good cop. Far too often those things went hand in hand. Terra did exactly that. What she saw wasn't abnormal at first. Just a girl. A slutty girl. Looking for someone. She found them said hello and then walked away.
"Here it comes." Diggit growled.
If she hadn't been watching, she would never have guessed it was the same person. One second her hair was brown, the next bright and fiery red. Her nose was short and up turned then long and straight. Nothing moved or anything. Just one second it was one thing and the next it was something else. The girl, now a showy looking older girl in a dress, repeated her process.
"You think she's getting wallets?"
"She ain't passing out hundred dollar bills."
"She's going to be hard to follow."
"We'd better both go and Pincer her. Doesn't matter what she looks like if you've got your hand on her arm. Unless you think she can Teleport or something."
"Right."
"You hobble around back, I'll come from the side. Stay out of her sight or she'll bolt."
"Yeah, yeah."
Terra opened the door and without hesitation was up on her one leg. She stood in the most unnatural way as if she still had two legs and somehow the balance still worked out. She made a funny little hop to the back door to grab her crutch (it did actually make walking easier) before making her way around. Far around. The girl and her fishing area.
Diggit of course had left himself the easy and more direct way. Terra tried her damnedest not to be glaringly obvious about where she headed.
Posted by Cheshire on Oct 14, 2009 16:55:33 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
This was Calley’s park. (In spirit.) These were Calley’s pigeons. (Even if he didn’t want them.) That was Calley’s ability. (Sort of.) A pair of deep blue eyes traced the woman’s path, as she bird-walked between targets. Clever trick there, changing her looks. Now where had he heard that one before?
The ginger-and-cream tom was large; he took up well over half of the bench, when he stretched out like this. The temperature was getting a little brisk as Fall crept on, but his winter coat was starting to come in nicely, the more time he spent in this form. Also: sunbeams. Oh happy day, when sunbeams coated glossy fur in brilliantly warm rays. But sunbeams, of course, were not the point.
The point was that nice businessman who was just here, petting him. The point was the woman who’d bumped into him when he’d stood up (after one last scritch under the tom’s chin). The point was that by the time he’d realized his wallet was gone, the woman who took it was gone, too. Or, rather, onto her next face.
Calley, in the vast majority of his forms, had little use for a pigeon’s wallet. But he had other uses for them, and he did not like to see them harassed. A harassed pigeon might not come back to roost. Calley’s chin did not scritch under itself.
The shifting woman.
She had to go.
Imperiously, the cat stood up and stretched, his back arcing high into the air, sending little static cracks racing along the fur of his spine. He hopped down from the bench, and went over to the woman. Looked up at her. And maROAKed loudly, not unlike a dying seagull. Anywhere she went in this park, any face she took—the ginger and cream tomcat would be following.
This was Calley’s park. These were his petting-patsies. And his version of shifting was way cooler than this woman’s. Be gone, ye copy-cat!
The worst part was the looks. They noticed the uniform first. Most people saw the official blue and moved aside without thought. She could have had a toucan nose and they'd still move aside just like they would move aside for a street sweeper or other lesser public employees.
The slightly more observant saw the crutch and then immediately went to her face to see the kind of person determined and stupid enough to use a crutch in a crowd. From there people differed in the shades of horror, surprise, interest, or derision.
Distracted as she was by the little creature that had decided to announce her every move, it wasn't until the officers were mere feet away when the theif noticed them. She pulled a Deer in the Headlights, tensed and her mutation flicked through a series of faces and clothes.
And then she ran.
Terra's eyes met Diggit's over the girl's wake. They always had to run on days when Terra had only one leg.
The cat was nearly punted back from whence he came. The girl, a very young Asian in pigtails now, ran flat out. When she bumped into people, her appearance made them shrug her off. Just another kid taking the turns too fast. Terra was humping it via crutch to catch up.
The girl was crazy on the turns and dodged through people like a swimmer in water. Of course she was out in a crowded public forum if she was out for wallets, but dang. People were everywhere.
"Police! Coming through!"
It wasn't like she didn't know they were there. Diggit and Terra kept as wide a berth as possible to best close off an escape. But there was only so much ground two people could cover. The girl dashed through a clump of Orthodox Jews and Terra never saw who came out the other end.
"'Scuse me."
>"Zol dich chapen beim boych!"
Unsure of what was being said of her, Terra set out her crutch as she passed the group of men. As fulfilling as it was to hook one of their ankles and cause a minor stumble, the perp and Diggit were quite lost in the crowd now.
>"Shlemiel."
"Same to you, pal." Terra leaned on her crutch and attempted to use it to get a little more height to better see. She was down a leg and short to start out. Seeing over people wasn't really an option.
Yeah. Yeah, punk. You’d better run. And don’t come back, lest he watch cops sic you again.
There was clear victory written in every line of the tom’s fur as he strutted over towards the remaining officer, tail held flagship high. His whiskers were held at smug angles to his cheeks. As was a cat’s right, he claimed her leg for his own twining and attention-seeking purposes. It was a bit odd to just twine the one leg, actually; therefore, he twined himself around her crutch, as well, with all due merrowing.
A very curious thing, this one-legged cop. Not to say that there were no one-legged cops in the world: he was fairly certain there were, somewhere. One did not generally find them still out and about on active patrol, however. Since his last petting patsy was long gone, he officially bestowed the honor of his attentions upon this monopedal curiosity.
“Murrr,” the large tom said; “murr, murr, purr. Purr, purr,—It would not be unappreciated, if you would scratch behind my right ear—purr.”
Soft rubbed all up on her leg in a way that said that soft had a mind of its own. Terra looked down in time to see the stupid creature circling her crutch. It couldn't even tell the difference between leg and metal and it didn't seem to care that it was rubbing hard enough to slip the support out from under her pit. Good thing her balance wasn't dependent on it. Terra rolled her eyes.
>“murr, murr, purr. Purr, purr,—It would not be unappreciated, if you would scratch behind my right ear—purr.”
She could have sworn she heard it talk. But through the din of people sounds, it was easily explained away as someone else talking for the creature or it could have been Terra thinking out loud. 'I coulda thought that is what a cat like that woulda said.' In fact. That seemed like a much better option than a talking cat.
"I'm disappointed in you. You let her get away. No ear scratching."
Since she had talked for the cat the first time, this time she imagined the cat not being entirely too happy with the lack of scratching. 'Too bad, personified imaginary cat friend, too bad.' She took a step without the aid of her crutch before she settled the uncomfortable support back in place.
A portly girl with freckles walked by with stiff arms. People didn't walk with stiff arms without reason. They were natural unless they (attempted) to hide something. Terra shuffled her one foot around the cat not realizing that her bagged leg of sand plopped out of her pants pocket from the fast turn.
"Excuse me, Miss?"
She hesitated. Terra thought she saw her hair color darken slightly as she continued to walk in her obvious way. 'Did Little Miss No Face come back?' Terra casually (Well, as casual as a One-Legger can) worked on closing the distance between the girl and herself.
>> "I'm disappointed in you. You let her get away. No ear scratching."
“Mrack!” The cat protested, head tilted back up at the woman so very far above him. Really, why did humans have to be so tall? It was like they were overcompensating for something—the lack of fur, perhaps. Or whiskers. Underdeveloped, ingrown tail. Stubby little claws. Poor night vision.
Really, a cat couldn’t stay angry with them for very long. It would be like laughing long and hard at a cripple.
Instead, he sat down, and began grooming the back of one paw in complete and utter disinterest. Never mind that the puzzle of the one-legged cop was right next to him; never mind that she hadn’t even blinked an eye at the talking cat at her feet. These things were, perhaps, still curious—but his fur needed proper attention. And she, perhaps, needed proper punishment for her unwarranted disappointment. The pigeon-picker had left his park; that’s all he ever—
A familiar bundle of scents walked its way back onto his turf.
A curious fact about multi-shifters like himself: when they acquired a new form, they could indeed change their scent, as well. But the old ones lingered on for a moment. In the case of a human-shifter, wrapped up in clothing... the scents lingered distinctly longer. The cat sneezed as the odiferous onslaught. Pidgey was back.
The good Officer, even with her limited olfactory capabilities, also noticed this fact. She turned—something dropped in front of the cat. A curious something. A little sandy-powerdy-bagged something. Now now, Officer Stumpy, was it really appropriate to carry that around on the job? The little cat sniffed at it. The result was disappointing enough that he started paying attention again.
>> "Excuse me, Miss?"
Heh! Naturally, the shifter ignored the cop. But she did pick up her pace, just a tad: the one-legged wonder hobbled along after, in a chase that would no doubt be of epic proportions.
The cat did the only sensible thing. He picked up the bag of sand in his teeth and, with head and tail held high, crossed in front of the cop—then began to walk in a direction completely different than the face-shifter.
His ear, it still itched; she would rue the day she ignored its humble needs. Or she would, if this odd little baggy was of any import. More important than catching the bad gal, perhaps? The ginger tom's tail flicked in his wake.
Terra reached out an arm toward the young lady. So close.
Then a little fur caught her attention. A little fur that had HER FREAKING LEG!
"Hey!"
Terra let go of her crutch and turned it in her hands to place it firmly in the four-leggers path. It cut off the flow of foot traffic, but if she could manage to scoop him up somehow with her crutch, more's the better.
At the sound of the police-woman's shout the perp took off. Terra's squak sounded. Diggit had heard her, but she was feeling a little occupied at the moment. The people were pooling up like a clogged drain behind her out stretched crutch.
Aww, was that for him? So nice of her to notice. The little cat strolled calmly on, taking her baggie of sand for a walk like a good citizen.
Which was about the time the DEATH CRUTCH descended upon him.
“Mrra!” The cat protested, tail fully foofing as he was bowled over, and back towards the one-legged (oddly-well-balanced) wonder. He came to stop in front of her, pupils large, black, and fully dilated.
“Now that,” he said, after spitting the baggie out, “was simply rude. I dare say—yes, I dare!—that I demand an apology.” He sat down on top of said baggie, and curled his very puffy tail around his paws. Apologies first: then—perhaps—he would move.
Terra had fantastic balance. On a typical day nothing in the world could separate her feet from the ground when she wanted them to be there. The problem was that her world did not include talking cats.
Between people complaining about being late for lunch and the second getaway of a face swapping wallet thief, it was getting to be too much. Terra woobled and sat on her ample derrier.
"You're sitting on my leg." So began Terra's conversation with a cat. It was a brain breaking development. The flow of the crowd resumed now that the crutch barrier had fallen away.
Understanding dawned behind the officer's eyes. Understanding and a healthy amount of suspicion. "You're her accomplice aren't you?"
Terra leaned forward and reached for the cat. If she got fur, she would. Uh. Arrest it. If she got her leg back then she'd at least have that.
The tomcat was quite pleased by this development. Namely: he no longer had to crane his neck to properly express his dissatisfaction. They were, mostly, at eye level. His foofed-out tail gave an irate twitch.
“Madam,” he stated, “your leg is gritty under my rear.” This was, of course, another tally on her list of offences. How her leg had become sand was no concern of the cat’s: its slightly disturbing texture, however, most certainly was.
>> "You're her accomplice aren't you?"
The cat took a moment to straighten its posture even more imperiously. “Madam, is there no end to your insults—”
She reached for him. This, of course, simply would not do. Any touching of a cat was strictly forbidden, unless it occurred on the feline’s own terms.
With this guiding principle in mind, the cat dodged under her arm and sought a place in to sprawl in her lap. Her ‘leg’ had been left on the ground in the cat’s wake. Should he be successful, his tail would give another flick. “It is my left ear,” he stated, “which demands your attentions now. I refuse to offer you my aid until my itch has been scratched.” She could arrest him all she wished. Should her partner return, she might find it magical how quickly his powers of speech disappeared.
His madam was as good as a white glove to the face. It wasn't respect. It was mockery. A dignified mockery, but still mocking all the same. She stood by her accusations and was glad to not get a fist full of claws for her efforts.
>> “Madam, is there no end to your insults—”
Another white gloved insult. Instead of claws, she got a fist full of bag. A bag she held up in triumph. A bag that started leaking sand. The dirty claws had already done their dastardly work. It was as good as sinking them into her flesh.
A cat tail flicked her nose and tiny paws stood on he remaining leg.
>> “It is my left ear, which demands your attentions now. I refuse to offer you my aid until my itch has been scratched.”
She grabbed for the scruff of his neck instead. She would carry the thief like a momma cat so he couldn't wail on her. "It's kitty jail for you, Whiskers."
No doubt Terra looked quite crazy. A bag of leaky sand in one hand and a cat plausibly in the other. Her squawk sounded. Diggit was on his way.
“Meow,” the scruffed cat cried, in all innocence. “Meow, meow. Meooooow.” It hung limply in the one-legged officer’s grasp, paws curled up to chest, eyes wide and ever so blue. It hoped, with all due respect, that her arm was enjoying his considerable dead weight.
Worried about arrest? Nope, not particularly. As far as Calley’s cat forms went, Mrs. Madam Officer Lady hadn’t seen anything yet.
