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 Cheshire on Nov 11, 2012 19:50:20 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
There were footsteps outside of the truck; the steady crunch crunch of boots over a decrepit parking lot. The dog's ears pricked. The truck's hatch opened, and the overhead light switched on. Inside the cage, the dog lifted its head with a growl rumbling out from the depths of its chest. The red pit bull was anything but happy to see its new owner.
By now, Calley should have known to be more careful. The first few days in a new form... those were the key ones. The time when he was at his most vulnerable. Until he mastered a new form, he was trapped in it—he couldn't shift back to human, no matter what was going on around him. Not even if he was getting picked up by the local thugs.
He should have known to be more careful by now, but he'd gotten so used to being safe around the Mansion no matter what his form, it hadn't even occurred to stay within the gates.
The noise inside the old warehouse hurt his ears; the barking of dogs, and of people. He folded his cropped ears back against his head. Everything was too close, pressing in, the smell of sweaty bodies too strong for this nose—he lashed out, only to find himself uselessly lunging against the end of his leash. And his collar. They'd gotten a collar on him. It was a solid leather thing; too tight to shake or scratch off. They gotten a collar on him.
It was hard to think in this form. Something about dogs and him had never meshed well; feline forms were where he felt at home, but he'd wanted something that would be useful in a fight without screaming 'Look at me! I'm a mutant!' His tiger form just didn't cut it for that, but a pit bull? They were bred for fighting. This one was, anyway; he'd copied it from death row at the local animal impound. As soon as the abuse case it was a part of was cleared up, it was slated to be put down.
"Rags!" The thug had shouted, when he'd spotted Calley sniffing at a stop sign's pole. There was something disgusting and highly informative about all the scents there; he couldn't seem to tear himself away without figuring out what each of them was. When the voice called to him, he looked up, his hackles rising. This form didn't like people very much; half the reason he'd left the Mansion grounds was so that the kids would stop putting their annoying hands all over him. This form did not want to be petted.
"That's my cousin's dog, man. I thought they hauled him off. He's a mean mother—"
Back in the present, they were pulling him towards a ring in the center of the warehouse. Another pair of dogs was being dragged out of it; one with a slight limp, and one that wasn't walking itself.
They were going to put him in there?
Heh. Good.
Ever since they'd gotten that collar on him, he'd felt like killing something. Never mind that he'd never fought in this form before. He was a dog with a human's mind—how could he lose?
A white van with several rusty spots on it was parked near the warehouse. In it's trunk was two metal cages with partition, one was empty and it's door was open, and the other's door was closed and it had an animal inside. Light colored, striped pitbull was laying in it, with it's head on it's front paws and eyes open. It's ears moved catching sounds from the outside. There was a steel choke collar on it's neck, and from there was hanging a leash which's handle was outside the cage. She had been laying there for a time that felt like eternity.
And then she catched familiar sound of steps coming closer. Both of her ears pricked up and when the door opened up and the light came in, she first raised her head, and then lifted herself on the sitting position.
Black, bloody and panting pit bull mix jumped in trunk with a leash on, and immediately female stood up and growled warningly to another dog who just quickly lifted it's upper lip baring it's teeth, and headed to cage which's door was open. Striped pit bull cooled off a bit. Also a tall, middle-aged, bearded man with glasses and cap on got into the trunk to close cage door and leave a winner dog there, and then he turned to look at the striped one. He was familiar to her. Troy. "Okay bitch let's make it double win today", man said and grabbed the leash, opened the cage door and jumped out from the van, striped pit bull following with ears pricked and tail raised high. She was pulling a little, not too much because choke collar felt quite nasty.
Yeah. It was Stokely's turn. Or should we say, Strikebite's turn. She hated it how she had to act like other bloodthirsty mutts on leash - choke collar didn't feel good. But she had to act to look like a real fight dog.
Her previous wounds had healed well and were now just scars among other multiple scars. Strikebite's amber eyes catched another dog on yard, being pulled towards the ring inside warehouse. Pit bull took deep breath and gave a few sharp and loud barks and growls to make sure her opponent knew what was coming. Intimidation and acting aggressively sometimes made a mentally not-so-strong opponents insecure and easier to beat.
She was taken directly to the ring made out of plywood, there was large piece of plastic mat on the floor inside the pit, making it easier to clean the blood out of it. There were people talking loudly and making bets which one will win the fight. Stokes felt her heart racing as adrenaline pumped into her veins. Soon. Very soon it was her fight. She was pushed into the ring from a little gap between two plywood panels which was closed immediately. No way out. Get in here, opponent. Get in and face me... From the safer side Troy was keeping the leash thigh, and she felt little trouble breathing, being pulled against the plywood panel so she wouldn't have any chanses to lunge for attack before it was time...
Once she saw the red pit bull entering the ring, she started hotheaded barking and growling and tried to lunge again and again, but she couldn't - the leash was too thigh. Acting. Again. Acting out to be a mad dog. And she was good at acting it. Even though the thigh choke collar felt awful, she knew normal dogs would act like that in that situation. She had to act like normal pit bull. They didn't sit silently and wait for command - she could've done that, but no. This was reality. And reality was dog-eat-dog.
Posted by Cheshire on Nov 13, 2012 22:32:16 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
He heard her before he saw her. She was being led around to the other side of the ring—legs and plywood boards blocked his view, but her bark burst over the noise of the crowd like a firecracker.
Cats didn't bark. Neither did humans, birds, horses—any of his usual forms. He hadn't imagined how good it would feel, to take in a lung full of air, and push it all out as solid noise.
She barked: he returned the greeting, thunderclaps crashing out from between his teeth.
A man by the ring's edge started to jockey a board to the side. The gap opened inch by inch—too slow. He lunged for it, his muzzle pushing through, his paws scrabbling at the ground for purchase, until finally the space was wide enough for him to dart through. The other dog was being let in at the opposite side; patches of white and creamy brindle met his eye, with scars cutting through them. Some old, and some freshly healed. A veteran fighter. He leapt for her, and got cut short at the end of his own leash. The red pit bull danced, now on four legs and now on two, trying to break free of its collar.
She was right there. She was right there, and he hadn't felt this strong in a long time. Maybe he should try dogs on for size more often.
A hand slipped in at the base of his neck; he felt fingers brush his scruff. He heard and felt it at the same time: the snap of the leash, unclipping from his collar.
Tightened leash made the choking piece made of chain, that was her collar, so tight it actually gave her some trouble breathing. Her inhales were grunted and wheezing, and the following exhales were loud and grumbly. Adrenaline was running wildly in her veins and made every thought a little fuzzy. After all that waiting she wanted some action. Now.
Her opponent seemed to have as high fighting spirit, the red pit bull tried to tried to attack but it was pulled back from it's leash. Strikebite's teeth were bared and eyes open wide burning with hatered and intention to kill. Leash was tightly pulling her against the plywood panel, and at the same time other dog's owner reached for his collar, Troy did the same and striped pit bull felt her chain collar being pulled upwards to get it loose--
And then Strike dashed backwards and smoothly shagged off from the chain loop, immediately bringing her full attention back to the red dog. People around the circle were being loud, but she didn't hear them anymore. They were moving around, waving their hands, but she didn't see them anymore. Only her opponent. Only a dog whose throath she should tear open.
Strikebite tensed her hindleg muscles and pushed herself forwards in strong exertion straight towards another pit bull. Everything felt like happening faster than she could keep track on, all she was able to think of was good grip from his throat and that was where she was aiming for with her strong jaws equipped with sharp white teeth. Straight for the throat. If he'd dodge it, cream colored stripe fur would immediately fall back to avoid getting her neck onto the range of his jawset.
Posted by Cheshire on Nov 20, 2012 17:57:03 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
((ooc: Sorry for the posting delay! Got myself a bit sick in RL...))
She gained a second on him. He didn't know how—no, that wasn't right. He knew exactly how. He'd watched it happen, but hadn't understood it until she was off her leash a split second before him. She'd bucked into the collar, as it was being unhooked, instead of mindlessly lunging forwards. She'd worked with the hand trying to unhook her, instead of against it.
Clever dog. He'd have to remember that trick for next time. Not that there would be a next time, of course—he was out of here, as soon as he could shift again.
Until then, someone had to put Clever Paws in her place.
Dodging never crossed his mind; it wasn't what this form had been breed to do. He met the brindle pit bull's charge with his full force behind it. Instead of trying for the neck, though, he turned at the last second. He ducked his head to make his throat a harder target, and aimed to crash into her. If it succeeded, his full weight would come slamming against her shoulder. The aim was to knock her down, and leave her vulnerable.
On the very last moments before contact the red pit bull ducked his head and made it hard - if not impossible - to get a grip of his throat. Brindle let out irritated growl and still tried her luck to bite him on neck. Their heads went past each other almost like in slow motion, and Strike opened her deadly jaws wide open and tried to bite on the side of his neck-- but she failed. Her teeth barely even touched his red fur, and then there was just a loud clack of her teeth biting air.
They collided like two small bullet trains. He crashed against her shoulder and made her attack miss. The strenght of the impact made her dash backwards, but with her strong hindlegs she was able to stop the movement, and lunged forwards once again.
Attacking directly didn't seem to work. She probably would have to tire him out or make a nice plan which would work well. At first it seemed like she was going for his neck again, but she didn't. She jumped to the right side of the red pittie, and swooped to dive under his belly to get a grip of his left hindleg. If she was able to do it, she would withdraw biting his leg and with quick pull try to make him lose his balance and make him fall down on his side.
//I think I forgot to mention, that if my grammar get's way too horrible please send me PM and ask if there's something you don't understand...so I can try even harder.//
Posted by Cheshire on Nov 23, 2012 16:04:29 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
((ooc: Back at you—if I screw up something about dog fighting, please let me know! You obviously know way more about this than I do. I'm loving the details you put in; they really set the scene. ))
Success! Almost. She didn't fall, but he did force her back. There was something satisfying in that; in hitting another living thing with sheer brute force, and feeling them move. It wasn't his usual style: in a mutant-on-mutant fights, he wasn't in the ranks of heavy hitters. His forms gave him the element of surprise and a nice dash of intimidation—who doesn't have a gut reaction to a tiger roaring at them?—but at the end of the day, they were all just animals. Compared to someone who could light the block on fire with a snap of their fingers, or topple a house with their fist, he was small fry; he either had to get in for a crippling hit fast, or get out faster. He would never try just hitting someone, and expect it to work for long.
But against a dog? A simple, single, simpering dog? Brute force felt good. Brute force felt like he could win. Bru—
She was pushed back: it took her only a moment of bracing to surge forwards again, and not in a way he expected. He thought she was going for the neck again, and set himself up to counter; instead, she slipped under, and—
Yelp!
The red pit bull went down, its leg dragged right out from under it. It was flipped onto its side by the sudden motion. Clever bitch.
Never mind. He was down, but the fight was far from over. The red pit bull didn't try getting back up yet; his jaws snapped forwards, aimed at returning a little karma to her right foreleg; he kept one of his own forelegs in close to his neck, making it that much harder to get at his throat while he was still down.
Something about the shouts of the crowd around them seemed to be changing, at least at the back of the warehouse. The people near the ring were still focused on the fight. The red pit bull certainly was.
Cream brindle was able to flip the red down. Good! Take that, b*stard! Now she just needed to hurry to keep him down and beat him up! She let go off the leg and rushed closer a dog on the ground, stretching her left frontleg over him so he would literally be under her - and at that moment she saw from the corner of her eye red pit bull's head move, and before she was able to pull her right frontleg out of the way, she felt sharp teeth clench around it uncomfortably. It didn't hurt so badly now that the adrenaline was running high - actually, it was irritating her even more! She couldn't stop here, she couldn't let him see even slight wince of pain. She was a pit bull. She'd kill this Fifi!
Harsh, grumbling growl welled from her throat as she moved into better position over the red pitbull and once she was able to, her amber eyes met his dark ones-- And then she tossed her head down towards his head with mouth wide open and white teeth bared. Growl grew into a gruff roar as she tried to sink her teeth somewhere near to his forehead, neck, or somewhere near them. She wouldn't be letting him get up easily! If she got a grip somewhere, she would start immediately shaking her head to get more damage.
Somewhere in the back of the red pit bull's mind was a click; somewhere between a noise and a feeling, it had a meaning he'd learned years ago: this form was complete. He'd finished copying it, and learning how to work it; he could switch to another shape at any time, now.
Like Hell.
Not until he had this girl's between his teeth. That lily white fur could use a little red, for style. He still had the taste of her in his mouth—the satisfying feel of her leg between his teeth, as his jaws had snapped shut over muscle and bone. There was a scent of blood in the air, filling his nose and coating his tongue with every breath. Whether it was hers, or his, or just the smell of the ring, he didn't know. Didn't care. It was a good smell: a real smell. They could use a little more of it.
The red pit bull gathered its paws back under it as soon as her own teeth had let go; his hind leg seemed to move a little slower, but it didn't hurt. If anything, he felt stronger. He waited out the few pounding heartbeats as she repositioned herself to go for her next strike—
Then, as he felt her hot breath breathing down the back of his neck, he pushed off with all four of his legs. Every muscle in this solidly built form helped him to rear back. Hopefully with her still behind him.
The red pit bull was trying to slam the brindle dog into the wall behind them, as hard as he could.
Something else clicked in his mind as he did so: no one was cheering for him. No one was cheering for her, either. There was a lot of shouting from outside the ring, but none of it was directed at the fighting dogs.
// Sorry for making you wait! I was at my dad's place and didn't have much time to spend in internet. //
She was just about to bite her teeth on his face or somewhere close of it, but in the final moment red furred was able to charge forwards and slip from her range very fast. Strikebite tried to tie her frontlegs around him to stop the escape and keep him down, but it failed. 'Okay Mr Mongrel you're starting to get quite annoying!' she thought and intended to jump right after him, but he'd turned back and slammed his body against her - charging her like a bull.
She got hit and pushed backwards. She stood on her hindlegs to jump sideways but was unable to do it-- everything happened very fast and she started to fall down backwards, losing her balance. 'F*ckf*ckf*ck no way!', she tried to get a grip of the red fur with her teeth or paws, but her paws kept slipping from his smooth coat and--
Rumble!
She fell against plywood wall with loud noise - and actually that panel got pushed off of it's place and there was two gaps on the ring, as she fell down on the cold floor. It would be easy to get out since the ring wall was off of it's place, but escape wasn't her intention. She was after blood, not after a way to escape.
Strikebite didn't even notice people acting strange. If red pit bull would try to get on her while she was down, she would kick him with both of her hindlegs to get him away. And then she pushed herself up and took a jump forwards closer to her opponent so she could use her teeth once again. But something stopped her.
A man ran inside the building and started yelling; "COPS!!! F*CKING COPS ARE COMING! EVERYBODY OUT! FAST! FAST!!!"
It was the first sound from the crowd that really got her attention since she had been so into fight that she didn't really notice anything else but her opponent. But those loud words made her snap off of the fight. She gave hateful glare at the red dog and then looked back at the crowd. Everyone paniced and people were getting out, running away. Sound of police cars were getting closer, and soon the blue and red lights were flashing outside.
She kept her attention on the people, it was a chaos. But she was waiting to see Troy, her handler. She wanted to see Troy getting away on his own, but soon he came into the ring and quickly got chain collar on her neck and started pulling her. But she didn't want to go with him. There was a bigger risk to get caught with slow human, with her dog feet she would be much faster. She didn't want to get caught. Many fight dogs got killed if caught and she didn't want to be one of them.
Brindle leaned backwards, insubordinating and Troy was pulling her leash, making it get very tight around her muscular neck. She wasn't able to breath, and uncomfortable feeling around her neck triggered a gag reflex. And then she had enough - jumped towards the arm holding the leash and bit him. It was just a fast snap but it hurt and surprized the man just enough to make him drop the leash. She backed off while Troy was holding his bleeding hand, gave disappointed look at the brindle, and then ran away without her. 'Good boy.'
She still had leash on, it wouldn't bother her. She took deep breaths and her throat felt awful, but at least she was able to breath. Most of the people had ran out already and noises from the outside were telling the policemen were in action. There was still people getting out and they backlogged the doorways - when there would be a little less people she would run out. But she had to wait even though she felt little panic kicking in. She had to keep her feet in good condition for running.
// Just let me know if you want anything changed! //
Posted by Cheshire on Feb 17, 2013 10:13:21 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
The cops. F***ing cops were coming. The words entered the red pit bull's ears, and caused only a brief stir of something—uneasiness? A feeling like he should probably do something about that, like get the heck out of here?
Something in this warehouse was a hell of a lot more important than cops, though: the cream brindle. As soon as that shout turned the warehouse into complete chaos, she'd hesitated in her attack.
Easily distracted, bitch?
The red had hesitated too—but seeing the same reaction in her refocused him. He knew what was important here. Their fight was far from over. If she thought her handler coming to her rescue with that leash was going to save her, she had another thing coming. The red pit bull charged—
--And found himself standing uselessly on his hind legs, caught in mid-lunge, as his own handler hooked a hand under his collar and hauled him backwards.
"Oh s*** man," his handler was panting. "We got to go. Come on, Rags, com'on, boy, we got to go—"
He felt the metal clip of his leash snap onto his collar; then he was being hauled forcibly backwards and out of the ring. He pulled against the leash a few more seconds, snarling promises at the cream brindle, until the legs of the crowd cut her off from his view.
It was then that the words really sunk in.
The cops. F***ing cops were coming.
The red pit bull pulled at its leash again; but this time, he was dragging his handler towards the doors, not back towards the ring. The cops. Great. Just great. It wasn't so long ago that he'd impersonated the great Officer Cervantes in front of a row of lovely bank cameras. The time that he'd turned Detective Ashton into a lobster wasn't exactly out of memory, either. He couldn't get caught here. Not as a dog, not as a human, not as anything. Why was his handler moving so slow? Freaking bipeds couldn't even run properly; he'd be way better off on his own.
...Freaking dog brains couldn't even think properly. A cat would have realized the solution long ago: ditch the human.
The red pit bull stopped moving forward. His handler tugged at his leash, and was surprised to feel no resistance what so ever. The collar was empty.
Two shifts: first to cat, because the dignified neck of a feline is far too superior (also, far too small) to remain in a dog's collar. Second to human, so he could do something he'd been wanting to do ever since that collar was shoved around his throat:
Calley drew back his fist, and punched the guy square in the face. Now that, friends, was far more satisfying than trying to tear the throat out of some dumb cream-colored dog.
In the chaos around them, no one gave a damn that a naked Italian man shook out his fist with a wince, then hastily liberated shirt and pants from an unconscious man on the floor. He'd need those later; once he was clear of this mess, and ready to blend into the crowd on the city streets.
For now: a third shift. Back to dog.
The red pit bull waited for his chance in the crowd. As soon as the warehouse doors cleared enough, he'd run. For now: the fight dog waited with the patience of an inmate about to make parole. Between his strong jaws was a pair of neatly folded clothing.
Strikebite couldn't care less about raging red pitbull who also had got taken on leash. She had only glared and bared her teeth to him for a second, before she had attacked on the hand of Troy.
Red pit pull disappeared with his owner behind rushing humans. Brindle's tail was pointing down as it looked them going. F*ck. She can't stay here any longer. She had to get out of there, fast. So she jogged towards door, hoping no-one would step on her paws and crush her toes. Near the wall, closer to the door, closer, closer... A little gap there-- Dash quickly out from there. As she was ready to run, someone fell on the ground right in front of her, but it didn't slow--.. Wait what? There was also a man in nude. Brindle put her ears back. ...Oh why was someone in nude. Was he a zoophilist who had been peeking and--..
Focus, stupid. You gotta get out of there. So she snapped out of it and started running towards a fence behind the building. That would be a good direction to escape to. If she'd run along the road there would probably be cops everywhere, even animal control people. And she didn't want to get caught. So over the fence and far, far away. When she was close enough, she tensed muscles of her hindlegs for a high jump, to get over the fence. Everything happened like in slow motion, even though it happened fast. Strikebite had to use her frontlegs to push from the top of the fence, so she wouldn't scratch her belly on it or even better, get stuck on the fence from her hip.
All seemed to go just fine, but then.
She felt strong tug on her collar which ruined her landing; as her head couldn't move further because of the jammed leash, her body still did continue going towards the ground. Or more likely, towards the fence. Her leash wasn't long enough to even let him land properly. It was stuck on the top of the fence, and the collar was choking her as she was being hanged against the wooden fence, until she got her hindlegs on the ground. She couldn't get her head through the loop of the chain collar - it was tightly around her neck. And she couldn't get it loose because she couldn't use her hands, and she wasn't tall enough as a dog on her hindlegs to let it loosen by itself.
Oh great. Oh this is just f*cking great! Here she was, already wrapped. Here officer, come and pick me up. DAMN! She tried to struggle to get the leash off, but it didn't seem to work at all. At least she could try everything, the dog couldn't even jump since it couldn't bend her legs. She had to try and stay as tall as she could to prevent herself from choking. Yay. euthanasia here I come!
His chance came as a team of cops cleared the exit, herding the fleeing dog fighters back inside. For a human, it was nearly impossible to get through that chaos. For a pit bull?
It was just a matter of not caring who he bowled over as he ran through their tangled legs. Officer or criminal, he didn't really care at this particular moment: he just ran a straight course towards the door, head down, letting his strong body clear the way. It was a blur of shouting, shoving; maybe even an effort to grab him. Then he was free: past the main line of the officers, and outside the building.
He ran. He didn't think about directions, or where he'd end up: he just ran. The police were more interested in catching the fleeing people than a loose dog; that's what he'd been counting on, when he'd shifted back to this form. It wasn't long before he was out of the way of the main scrabble, and closing in on a fence that separated him from freedom. As a cat or a human, he would have slowed down: looked for an easier route, or planned how he would climb over. In this body? He didn't even slow down. Every muscle in his chest, his shoulders, his legs was telling him to just jump it. What was a fence that size, to a dog with his strength?
He coiled himself, and leapt. His paws touched lightly off of the top, pushing for that last effort; then he landed on the other side, the pads of his feet skidding victoriously across the rough pavement. Yes. Yes. Did you see that? Did anyone--?
The red pitbull was in the middle of trotting in a victorious circle when he noticed his audience.
The cream brindle.
Strung up like a lovely, choking piñata.
Pit bulls couldn't laugh, but the red's brief bark was about as happy as they come. Ha! With tail held high, he turned to continue his trot to freedom.
Then turned around, and took a few steps back her way.
No, bad idea. He turned, and trotted away—
Whine. Damn it.
The red pit bull set the clothes he was carrying in his teeth on the ground, oddly fastidious about the movement. Then, in a blurring of lines that was very nearly instantaneous, it shifted into a naked young Italian.
Said Italian began hastily pulling on a pair of pants, and shoved the shirt over his neck. He'd gotten only one arm through a sleeve hole when he reached for her leash.
"If you get me caught, mutt," the shifter threatened, "I swear, I'm going to donate a pit bull skin rug to charity."
For all the good threatening a dog did.
Getting the leash unstuck was an easy task, when you've got opposable thumbs. He grabbed it, and got back to running.
Suddenly a sound of scratching steps from behind the fence. Not human steps, but it still made her panic a little bit - a dog from K9 unit? ... Then large paws landed few meters from her - oh, the red pittie? Not much better. She was indeed like a f**king piñata there, hanging from her leash and unable to do anything if red one decided to attack. Brindle put her ears back and tried to stay still, not making any kind of noises so maybe her opponent wouldn't notice her.
Then, the eye contact. Damn. She bared her teeth with short grunt as he gave her a bark. He even dared to mock her--- wait, wait. Dogs didn't do that kind of stuff, did they? Especially the ones bred to fight and kill other dogs. Then he turned to walk away and Strikebite felt a little relieved. At least he didn't come here and bite her to death.
Red one stopped and turned back. Oh sh*t. And then turned to walk away again. Phew... And then turned back to her again. F*cking moron, make up your mind! Noices on the other side of the fence were at least unnerving, and now that she was going to become a chew toy to another dog. Great way to die.
She kept her glance on the red pit bull, letting silent growling out, as it put clothings on the ground from it's mouth. What the heck was he doing? ... WHAT THE--?!... .... There wasn't a pitbull in front of her anymore, but a naked man, of somewhere around her age. Disturbing. Very, very disturbing. So disturbing that she had shut up immediately and even lost her balance, finding herself hanging tightly on the leash with the choke collar, staggering to find her hindlegs on the ground properly again. Okay, another shape shifter in a place like this. And suddnely a man in front of her, naked. A pit bull had shifted into a naked man in front of her. She was shocked, but was able to support herself again.
While she had been practising hanging herself, young guy had got some clothing on (thank god) and now reached for her leash. The whole situation was overly confusing.
"If you get me caught, mutt, I swear, I'm going to donate a pit bull skin rug to charity", she heard him saying while he grabbed the leash, helping her to get back on her four legs. Breathing felt so much easier, but she didn't have time to enjoy it. Strikebite followed the boy, running first beside him, but then in front of him. She could have done the same thing to him as she did to the previous person holding her leash - bite him, and take off. But this time she had a reason not to do it. So for a little time she could be a nice doggy in a leash.
The nice doggie on the leash behaved itself surprisingly well, for the hurried blocks it took to reach his apartment.
He played it cool, of course. Once they were out of the immediate area of the warehouse, he stopped running. He also finished putting on his shirt, pulling his other arm through its sleeve. Some zipping up and buttoning of his jeans also happened, along with a brief pause to pull a piece of glass out of his bare foot. Socks and shoes: he did not have them. Why were human feet so wimpy, anyway? A few miles walking on concrete wouldn't leave him limping if he'd been in cat form, or even—bleh—dog.
...Had he actually enjoyed being in that form? Because now he just smelled like a dog, and that demanded an immediate bath. He looked down at the scarred dog next to him, and could only scowl. He hadn't liked it: his stupid dog mind had just been too... too stupid and doggy to realize how much he'd hated it. He'd been violent and mindless; he'd nearly gotten himself arrested because he'd rather tear another dog's throat out (or get himself killed trying).
And here the brindle cream dog was, following him home obediently, even though every human it had ever known had probably been a horrible person. Did it really think he'd be better, based on past experience?
Dogs.
Seriously.
"You are so lucky I'm not a horrible person," Calley said. "...Mostly not a horrible person."
What was he going to do with the dog, though? He couldn't just drop it off at the Mansion like he'd done with his last rescue case. A pit bull trained for fighting wouldn't play well with the Mansion's kids.
It was something to worry about in the morning. For now: his apartment building was in sight.
It was a ritzy place. A lot ritzier than his current fashion sense hinted at. The building faced Central Park. As he approached, the doorman thought twice before holding the door open for him. Fortunately, this was not the first time he'd come in wearing either strange clothes or bringing with a strange pet. He paid his rent on time, he didn't bother the neighbors, and he came home late enough that the other residents didn't have to be offended by the sight of him. What more could the building's managers hope for? The doorman let them in, with a minimum of upturned noses.
They took the elevator, and got off on one of the middle floors. The elevator and hallway were as nice as the building itself had looked. The apartment... was also nice. But it was clear that no one actually lived there; not really. The furniture was too new; the white carpeting was too clean; the countertops too empty. The daily activities of life did not go on here.
It was Calley's apartment, but it wasn't where he lived. Or, more precisely: it was just one of the many, many places he lived. He only came here to practice new forms, or when he didn't want to get yelled at by the Mansion's guidance counselor about coming in after a late night at the dog fights.
He unclipped the cream brindle's leash. "Right," he said. "I'm going to shower now. Don't destroy things. Or pee on them. Or make them smell like a dog. Got that?"
He gave it one last critical stare. Then, for the second time that night, he started getting naked in front of it, shirt first.
))