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.
Wednesday evenings at the Pax Community Center, 'Resistance to Telepathy' always attracted an interesting crowd. There were the typical community center attendees: a diverse crowd that chatted easily amongst itself. They'd lived through the worst of the Haywire Epidemic with each other's support, right in this very building. Some of them had worked together side-by-side for days before learning each other's names, restraining out-of-control loved ones or easing their passing. Sitting next to each other at the front of the room, their body language hummed with familiarity. A few rows back, in the room's middle seats, sat the newcomers: college students and retirees, mostly, they shifted in their chairs every other clock tick and responded with nervous jolts, smiles, and laughter when the community center's regulars turned around to talk to them.
Skip two empty rows.
The back of the classroom was silently stocked with the zealots. They'd come for the class title, and they'd stay for the lecture, if it was useful and if they damn well pleased. They had arrived punctually, in singles that sat awkwardly in their own island of chairs or in groups that didn't know where to glare. This was the Pax Community Center, well known for its tolerance. Tolerance of religious differences, they supported heartily, for the most part; tolerance of gender and orientation differences, they mostly supported, they supposed; but tolerance of species differences? Some of them only sat for a few minutes before they broke, and stormed out the door. Others sat the whole class through with the shrapnel-laced silence of land mines. Others... came back again, and did not look so angry at the next class period. The glares came with a good reason, though. This was the Pax Community Center and anyone--anyone--could be a freak.
Especially the teacher.
The Irish wolfhound padded easily in through the open door. Someone in the very last row was unconsciously reaching out to pet its gray flanks when it quite simply stopped being a wolfhound, and started being a twenty-eight year old Italian man in a light blue dress shirt and khaki pants. There was a gray scarf slung loosely over his shoulders, in clear defiance of the early September heat.
"Sorry I'm late," Slate stated simply, continuing his easy walk to the front of the room while the zealot who had been reaching to pet him turned an unhealthy shade of red-green. The Santa Claus Special, as the Community Center's Evangelical pastor had dubbed it: one part wordless throat-closing rage, one part honest physical urge to vomit. Slate got that a lot in this classroom. "I was booking a plane ticket," his apology continued, "and I could not stop until it was done. Unfortunately, I was put on hold."
The middle of the room laughed as their teacher reached the whiteboard, thinking this monotone explanation was a joke they didn't get; the front of the room laughed, because this was Slate, and they knew it was true: he could have been on hold for hours without hanging up. The back of the room did not laugh. More than that, they Did. Not. Laugh. They had seen what most in the middle section had missed and what everyone in the middle section was used to: the Italian man's lips had not moved while he 'spoke'. Particularly astute members of that deathly silent area had noticed that the sound was coming from the silver necklace he wore; in truth, his voice was a permanent sticking illusion provided by his girlfriend, Katrina. Much like the illusion that he was wearing clothes.
Others were not so astute.
"You're using telepathy on us!" One woman accused, standing up with a clatter that sent her chair rocking dangerously back. Her face was a true Santa Claus special.
The black-haired Italian man reached the front of the room before turning fully to face her. He had to reach the front of the room before turning to face her; one thing at a time, and everything in its order. Especially things he had not had advance time to prepare for. One eyebrow arched easily on his face as he met her gaze. He observed her closely, marking well the look of a woman who had failed to thoroughly read the course description.
"No, I am not. I will be, though. To clarify in advance: my telepathy is non-invasive. It is not a matter of morals: I truly cannot read minds, unless I am permitted to. Not every telepath has this limitation, as I suspect you well know, and not every mutant is an ethics scholar. On that topic: this is an applied course, not a theory one. You will actively be working on your resistance to telepathy. Participants of this class must be co-registered with the Community Center's Zen Meditation course, which I also teach. To be entirely clear on the subject before we begin: 'Resistance to Telepathy' is not about developing a weapon against mutants; it is about developing your own mental strength. My name is Caleb Swartz. It is my honor to be your teacher."
Slate gave a simple bow, something he had picked up from the Zen Master who had taught him and something which he admired the simple sentiments of. The regulars in the front rows bowed easily back. Some of them were in his Zen class already; some of them had children enrolled at the Pax Academy, where he taught Math and Science to the upper-level students. Some of them had pushed him up against a wall during the heat of the Haywire outbreak nine years ago, and asked what the hell good a healer was if he couldn't heal the sick. The middle rows caught on, and bowed as well. The back rows Did. Not. Bow, though the accusatory woman had sat grudgingly back down.
Slate could shift to a wolfhound form: an annoyingly necessary reminder of his link to a brother who was seven year's dead. He could send and receive telepathic messages; another irksome reminder that if he hadn't existed to separate that power out, Calley's little information empire would have risen to unheard of heights. Slate was--he was, he himself--was a healer. Physical injuries only, but it was his own power to use, and always had been. He was also a dead hand at mental barriers. Suffice it to say that he'd had sufficient practice to claim that skill as his own.
Several of the back row dwellers drifted glaringly out the door as the class began. Some hesitantly moved forwards. This was Slate's class, and even after nine years of being on his own, he still felt a fierce pride in ownership that sat his students on the edge of their chairs. His students. His class. His powers, and his life.
His world, to shape and create into something he and those he cared for could take pride in.
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Sept 1, 2008 8:56:03 GMT -6
Haven
Member of Haven
Bi
822
9
Aug 29, 2018 17:15:00 GMT -6
Calley
The release of the Haywire Virus was the best thing to happen to Rupert's life. This was being clearly proven by the rock aimed at the back of his head.
"Okay, just like that. You've got him in your sights, right?"
"Yeah..."
"Perfect. Okay, now... throw it! ...You were supposed to throw it, right then. It's called a 'cue'."
"Are you sure he's a zealot?"
On the park bench, Rupert Kelley casually turned a newspaper page as the two boys--one who sounded young, and one who he knew was sixteen--kept up their scheming behind the bushes at his back. The news from Europe was sounding positive--the government remained hopefully that their latest scheme to restart the Gulf Stream stood a 47% chance of success within the next two to eight years.
"Oh, definitely. This is the biggest zealot you're ever going to find. He eats mutants kids whole for breakfast."
"Really?"
"No, not really. He's got to kibble them first. Trust me--this will be the best rock you've ever thrown. It's like... it's like... a big earth-fist of justice."
Page turn. News from Asia was conspicuously absent. It was hard to get a good article, when both Russia and China were stifling reporters. Australia was dynamic enough news to make up for it--local human police had uncovered a mass graveyard. Of humans, of course. Rupert's breath hissed out through his teeth. Those mutants down there... something had to be done.
"Okay. Are you ready?"
"I'm ready."
"You sure you're ready?"
"Okay. Okay okayokay--"
Rupert tilted his head to the side. The badly thrown rock careened harmlessly over his right shoulder. Thus ended the morning news. He neatly folded his paper, and stood to face his two young assailants.
Assailant One: a sixteen year old in a bright yellow Back to the Future T-shirt and jeans. His power: dream manipulation.
Assailant Two: a nine or ten year old in a T-shirt with a moose. The black caption underneath: "PWN them like a Canadian, eh?" Power: unknown. Eyes: very wide. He'd just gotten his first good look at what his target was wearing. With a strange chocking noise he turned on Assailant One, and punched him in the arm.
"You-- you-- you had me throwing rocks at a preacher?"
"Correction!" Assailant One replied with a hearty dodge to the side. "I had you throwing rocks at my preacher. Heya, Pastor Rupert. How's your Saturday goin'?"
Rupert's eyebrows furrowed into a deep trench as he tucked his newspaper under his arm. "It had been going quite well, Philip," he scowled.
Assailant Two crumpled like a wet sheet of paper. "I'm so sorry Sir he told me you were a zealot and and I--"
Rupert's scowl turned upwards into a smile that was nothing less than disturbing. "Oh, did he. Well," he said, leaning over to put himself at the boy's eye level. "He was right."
This proved to be a poor idea.
"Eep!" The boy's reaction was instinctive: in a moment, a thin bolt of electricity cracked through the air between them. Both Rupert and the boy were tossed back on their respective rears.
"Kenny!" Assailant One yelled. "Pastor Rupert, are you okay?"
" 'Ine." Rupert gave a cough. "Fine." He climbed back to his legs, with the slightest wheeze. "Electricity manipulator?" He guessed.
The boy on the ground gave a whimper by way of apology. Philip grabbed him under the shoulders, and put him back on his feet. "Unfortunately," the older boy confirmed. "Pastor Rupert, meet my cousin Kenneth. He lived in Canada until he ever-so-geniusly shocked a Telekinetic Moose. The thing demolished his house. His whole family is crashing on our couches until they can get a place."
"I didn't mean to!" The boy protested loudly, squirming out of his older cousin's grip. "It surprised me! I went to put out the trash and--BAM!--it was standing right there, chewing on our lawn!"
"Was anyone hurt?" Rupert asked calmly.
The boy made a face. "Just the house. Dad's an electric mutant, too, except he can do this cool force field thing and he totally--"
Philip whapped him upside the head by way of shutting him up. "Anyway. Pastor Rupert, this is Kenny. Kenny, this is Pastor Rupert. Pastor Rupert locked me up in a concentration camp when I was six."
Kenny pffted. "Now I know you're lying."
Over the boy's head, Rupert and Philip shared a look. Philip's bright yellow T-shirt didn't cover up the red scar around his throat. He always wore clothes that didn't hide it, and he'd never let a healer touch it. For his part, Rupert hadn't let any healers touch the scar on his leg that gave him his limp, or the scar on his lung that gave him his infamous wheeze. Remembering was something they'd always had in common; not forgetting was another. Moving on was a third.
Rupert held out his hand to the boy. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Kenny."
"Err," the boy started, "I don't think that's such a good--"
"Just shake the guy's hand, Kenny."
"Urp." Hesitantly, he stuck his own hand out. A static spark of electricity passed between the two. Kenny jerked his hand back. "I'm sorry I--"
Pastor Rupert reached out for the boy's hand, and shook it. "A pleasure to meet you," he repeated.
Rupert didn't hate mutants. It had taken something on as large a scale as the Haywire Virus' release for him to admit that simple fact: he did not hate mutants. He hated the people, human or mutant, who casually made it their hobby to ruin the lives of others. It was those people who needed to be stopped; having an X-gene didn't have anything to do with it. Haywire had taught him that he wanted peace.
That was his one remaining guilt: that he was grateful for the virus' release. He did not know what kind of man he would have become without that. It changed his life.
"A word of advice," he said, letting the kid's hand drop with a wink. "Throwing rocks at zealots doesn't usually change their minds. I'd suggest just talking with them."
"Spoken by the Master," Philip commented, with a roll of his eyes.
"Urp," the electric boy replied, turning a bright shade of red. The rock... riiiiight...
Sara stood at the front of the bonds office. There was an over stuffed pleather couch with duck tape holding the right arm rest together, and to her left was Joey’s reception desk. His receptionist was on a permanent vacation, started by herself. Guess she was tired of dealing with Joey. Sara was lucky that way. She only had to deal with him once a week. Twice at the most.
Joey was a big beefy man. He didn’t stand that tall, but what he lost in height he had been given in thickness, muscle and hair. From the big hair decorated knuckles, to his longer hair that hung down to his shoulders, and his beer belly. He smacked a meaty hand down on a stack of files, On the desk. “Sara I told you I didn’t want to see these still on my desk this week.”
Sara was Sara. She wasn’t in her illusion at the moment, She was just her. Her tail twitched and her right ear flicked. The only signs that she was even listening and bothered by Joey. If you didn’t know her and didn’t know these were the tells in her attitude, you’d think she was either not listening, or completely calm. “I can’t be everywhere at once, Joey. You know tracking down skips takes time.” She had a file open in her hands and a pair of glasses rested over her nose.
Sara never used to need glasses but one too many eye injuries, and she had become far sighted. Just needing them to read pages that were within arm reach. Still it was a reminder that she was mortal. A healer but mortal. Sort of like the Fugitive she was holding the file of. His age read that he was in his fourties, but he looked twenty years older. It said that he had a minor offence. Public intoxication. It was likely he was intoxicated inside a bar and the bouncer through him into the public. It was scary, how true the old red neck jokes could be. The bounty on this guy wouldn’t be much but it would also probably be an easy pick up. The poor guy probably just forgot.
“You try hard enough.”
Sara raised a brow and glanced over the folder, at Joey. “If I tried I’d succeed at being everywhere.”
“This stack says other wise.” Joey tossed the top three folders at Sara, and Sara caught them, swiping them out of the air, with a motion so fast, for a spit second, it looked like her hand had disconnected from her arm. She dropped the stack onto the couch next to her.
“I’ll get to them.” She returned to reading the file in her hands.
“Dam right you will.” Joey received another raised eye brow.
“If you don’t catch up on your skips by the end of the week, you won’t be going outside of this office anymore.” Joey crossed his arms, leaning opposite from Sara against the vacant desk. “I’ll make you my personal secretary.”
“Just because Lela quit?”
“Yeah.”
“You hate doing your own filing don’t you.”
“… Yeah.”
“Then I’ll quit too”
Joey grumbled and swore.
“and you’ll not only have to do your own filing, you’ll have to step back into the range of fire. That is until you find the next person willing to step in front of a loaded gun, and most are smarter than that.” Sara finished scanning the first file, and picked up the next. Her brow furrowed. The second file was more serious. This Fugitive had pulled a knife, then set fire to a car.
“Just find these skips, and get them in. You know how these bond work. I’ve only got a limited amount of time to get them in and get my money back. You get that? I don’t get paid if these guys are still out on the loose by the end of the week. I don’t get paid, you don’t get paid.” Of course Joey failed to mention the fact that criminals were still out in the public. That fact bothered Sara more.
“I’ll make a few phone calls.” Her eyes flicked up and she studied the clock. “I’ve got class soon.”
Joey let out another set of creative course words. “You mean you’re jut going to make a few phone calls then go to your class?”
“No. I’m going to my class then making the phone calls.” Sara put the stack of files together, tapped the stack against the arm of the couch, to make the stack all neat and tidy, and shoved them into her brief case.
“F***! What is it with you and that stupid community center. If you ask me, you’re wasting my time there.”
“But I’m not wasting my time, and I didn’t ask you, Joey.” She shut her brief case, then gathered the rest of her things. “What is a waste of time, is not showing people what potential can be. You know that. You’d be loosing less money if public did that in the first place. Rather than waiting for someone to do something wrong so they can be punished.”
Joey stood there, glaring at Sara. “Yeah but I wouldn’t be gaining money in the bond business either.”
“The world will never be perfect. Even if it was, there would always be someone messing up.”
Joey grumbled again while Sara leaned over her purse, digging through the condense till she found a gold locket at the bottom. The clasp clicked open, then shut securing the necklace to Sara, and she tucked it under her shirt. Where her hands touched it, the illusion had started. Traveling from her finger tips up her arm, and from the front of her collar bone. The fur dissolved like a wave of water over the sand, looking like skin. The change disappeared under her clothing, then came back at her tail, as that slowly became invisible. Dissolving from the base of her back, so that for a moment it looked like it just floated behind her, to the tip. Then it was gone.
Who Stood in Sara’s place was the new Sara. A sweetish looking girl, with long blond hair, and light skin. The glasses were folded and placed into an orange case, that was then dropped to the bottom of her purse, where Sara would have to dig again, net time she wanted to read something. “I’m off.”
Joey let out a sigh that had a lot of gravel in his voice. With the grumble. “Watch yourself out there.”
The drive to PAX community center was half an hour long. Sara was there fifteen minutes early, and there had already been a small group at the door, waiting to be let in to their first art lesson.
There was a mi of different students. Some human some mutant as always with the school. This class was of ages 13 to 18. They shuffled into the class, and took their seats. Sara at the front corner. Students that were closer to the same ages, seemed to sit gather together for comfort.
“I understand that there are rumors going around, that I am a new teacher. There are also rumors going around that I am a mutants.” Sara glanced around watching the different degrees of reactions. Those that had been to the classes before had already accepted the fact that there were mutants as teachers beside humans. Two of the school’s first timers scoffed. “Both rumors are true.”
Sara began busying herself with a large wooden easel at the front of the room. “The beautiful thing about the classes held here at this center is that you have a choice. You don’t have to be here, but it would be a missed opportunity if you left us. For all of us.”
“Now then. We need introductions. My name is Sara Nobes. I am the art instructor here at PAX, and I think our first project should be a lesson in self portraits. You may use your choice of media, so have at it, and dig in.”
Posted by Iris/Rayne on Sept 1, 2008 17:30:10 GMT -6
Mutant God
1,558
0
Nov 20, 2008 23:33:20 GMT -6
”MommyMommyMommy! I wanthaone! I wanthaone!”
“Oh, Markie, sweetie, I don’t know. Isn’t he a bit big? And.... hyper?”
“Hyper? What’s hyper mean?”
The frazzled mother looked down at her jumping little boy, and his animal double behind the kennel door, in the form of a tail-chasing and yapping border collie. She then turned her helpless frown to the animal shelter’s manager. Rayne successfully stifled the laugh building in her throat, giving the harried mother an easy smile and a wink instead. She kneeled down to eye-level with the energetic boy.
”Hey Markie, I bet I can find an even cooler dog than this one.”
”Even cooler? You can do that?” The six-year-old’s breathless inquiry may have had less to do with the woman’s claim, and more to do with her hair, which was currently in the process of changing from yellow-green to a brighter yellow. Surely someone with such awesome, magic changing hair could find an even cooler pet for him to have fun with! Rayne nodded solemnly.
”I sure think I can. How ‘bout you and Mommy wait in the playroom, and I’ll bring him to you?”
”Okay! C’mon Mommy! HurryHurryHurry!” Markie began tugging his less-than-enthusiastic parent to the side room, where potential animal families got to know their prospective members.
A now white-haired Rayne followed them several minutes later, holding a big, blanket-covered basket in her arms, nearly as big as Markie. Mommy eyed the basket, and Rayne, warily. She’d been hoping for something.... smaller. Even as she approached, the shelter manager’s hair rapidly began to turn yellow again, as did her nails. She set the basket down, and knelt next to Markie.
”Okay, first you have to close your eyes really tight.” She chuckled, as he hadn’t even waited for her to finish before clapping two chunky hands over his eyes. ”All right, on the count of three, you open them. One.... Two.... ..... Are you peeking?”
The little boy gasped, and squeezed his eyes tighter. Rayne grinned, and pulled the blanket back. ”Three!”
A little Jack Russell terrier jumped out of the basket, yapping and barking. Markie squealed, and immediately began jumping and clapping. It quickly became hard to tell who was chasing who around the room. Mommy, incidentally, didn’t seemed awfully thrilled.
”Well,” she sighed. ”At least he’s small....”
Rayne smiled, and sat next to her. As she did, her hair began to turn a bit greener, like a yellowing autumn leaf. ”Trust me, Mrs. Ellis, Reno there will be perfect for your son. He’s only riled up like this because he hasn’t been walked yet. He’s energetic, true, but as long as you walk him at least twice a day, and let him run in the park for a while, he’ll be an angel at home.”
”If you say so....”
”How ‘bout we take him for a walk now, and I’ll show you?”
Mommy sighed. ”Well, I suppose it can’t hurt.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Twenty minutes later a much mellower Reno sat calmly beside a grinning Markie, while a smiling Mrs. Ellis pulled out her checkbook
”I can’t thank you enough Mrs. Srisai. I didn’t think it was possible for an animal to calm Markie down so much. When his father promised he could get a dog, I nearly passed out!”
Rayne laughed easily. ”You’d be surprised how much peace an animal can bring to your life. If you find the right one.” She marked the check appropriately, and printed out the receipt.
”Oh! I meant to ask you, Mrs. Ellis,” she asked as she handed the paper over. ”We’ve got a new student transferring schools here and, well, she’ll need a place to stay while she’s here.”
”Oh?” The woman tilted her head curiously. ”She’s transferring to Pax? How wonderful!”
Rayne nodded. ”Yes, she’s about Tina’s age, and I thought the two might get along. Janet is lightbender, just beginning, and her family is..... well....”
”Stupid?” the mother finished bluntly. Rayne smiled and shrugged.
”Well, it sounds like they may have a lot of common interests, like art and jewelry and such. And I thought with Tina’s blindness, she wouldn’t mind such a bright roomie. If you have the extra room, that is-“
”You’d better believe we do!” Mrs. Ellis shook her head and rolled her eyes. Next to her, Markie watched in quiet amazement as the Cool Lady’s magic hair began to turn from yellow to yellow-orange.
”Honestly, I just don’t understand this intolerance people have nowadays. Narrow-minded fools, that’s all they are. I’d love to just put all of ‘em in a boxing ring and just let ‘em go at it. Let them wipe themselves out and leave the world to the rest of us decent folk.” She nodded her head sharply, as if that would settle the matter. Markie’s jaw dropped a little further, and he reached over to tug on his mother’s skirt.
”Mommy! Her hair is orange!”
”Not now, Markie. I’ll go home right now and start getting ready. You said her name was Janet? When will she be coming?”
”Probably in less than two weeks, its looking li-“
”Tell ‘em to send her over in a week.” Rayne tried hard to hide a smile, and winked at the little boy. He tugged again.
”Mommy!”
“Not now, sweetie. Let someone who can give her a real family take her in,” the woman continued to rant. ”And you tell those racist yahoos that are pushing her away, that if they can’t get over their own pigheadedness, then they aren’t welcome to the Monthly Family Picnic, either!”
“Mommy!”
“What? What is it?”
Markie pointed, his eyes as wide as dinner plates. Mrs. Ellis blinked and looked, and immediately blushed a shade similar to what Rayne’s hair and nails currently sported. ”Oh dear, I’m sorry, Mrs. Srisai, I guess I got a bit carried away. I forgot-“
Rayne simply grinned and waved away her emotion-induced colored do. ”Don’t worry, it’s no different than wearing a mood ring. I don’t even notice anymore.” She laughed easily. ”I’m just glad Janet will have someplace safe to stay while she’s here.”
”You’d better believe she will, and for as long as she wants to stay, too. Come on, honey. Let’s go tell Tina about her new roomie.”
“A new roomie! Cool! Does that mean I’ll have another big sister?”
Rayne watched the trio depart, a content smile gracing her features. If only everyone could be so passionate about the proper issues....
Posted by rainewater on Sept 1, 2008 21:04:51 GMT -6
Guest
ooc: wow way to rock the posts ladies and gents
ic:
Raina stood staring at her reflection in the teachers washroom in the lounge at Pax. Her eyes were sunken deep into her sockets from the nights of restless sleeps. She'd taken to sleeping on the couch- not that she didn't love her husband- but she was terrified of keeping him up all night. The dreams didn't seem to be anything in particular, they ranged from giant carnivorous vegetables, telekinetic moose, grocery shopping to memories of the old days. She couldn't make heads or tails of them until she started getting sick. It crept up on her and though she wouldn't admit it to anyone she initially thought it was the Haywire virus. She raged that little battle all on her own without telling a soul. In fact, up until this morning she was telling herself to see the doctor and be checked for it in case... that was until she got sick in the Pax washroom on her way to a meeting with a parent and she started counting.
She was still counting- despite the fact she knew it was too late. She'd been counting several things since she entered the very small bathroom. Wasn't this supposed to be a lounge for teachers? Why was it so small?- of course she knew she was only trying to distract herself. She felt another wave on nausea worse than the earlier ones and she propped herself over the sink splashing cold water on her face. She was still counting. Counting 15 seconds- that's how long it took. Counting weeks, cycles, trying to remember specific dates.
She toweled off her face and mentally lectured herself for not noticing it had been so late. Though to her credit she was very nervous about this semester- it being the first one she and her husband we co-teach a subject together. She hadn't paid that much attention to the calender. Now it seemed like the most important thing in the world as she stared at the opened pink box sitting on the counter.
She took it in her hands and re-read the instructions. She'd already taken the second test it came equipped with despite the instructions telling her it was for 48 hours later. The first test discarded poked through the wastebasket looking up at her. She turned her head away and looked to the second test sitting on the closed toilet seat. She took it in her shaking hands not looking at the results. She sat herself down and took a big breath. "Ok Raina Kelley. You can do this. Big girl now. You'll be 33 in the next few months. You're married, you have a career, and these are peaceful times..." she took another big breath and felt the warm tears trickle from her eyes and her face grow hot before her mind caught up with it.
It was a plus sign. The test- both tests- were positive. By her calculations Raina Kelley was now 9 weeks pregnant.
Posted by Sebastian on Sept 7, 2008 23:28:32 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
730
0
May 18, 2013 11:53:12 GMT -6
Sebastian placed his quill back in the ink bottle, blew the ink dry, and added the sheet of paper to one of the growing stacks that were neatly arranged, but nevertheless covered a significant percentage of the desk. Also on the desk was a nameplate that read “Headmaster Csendes” but the last name had been covered by a piece of paper with “Blinky” written in a childish scrawl. Sebastian had been too busy to remove it lately. Sebastian swiveled his chair ninety degrees to face the red laptop that sat on the opposite leg of the “L” shaped desk and touched one of the keys to “wake it up”.
It was the beginning of another school year, the busiest yet for Pax Academy. It was the first year that the Academy offered classes for all levels kindergarten through twelfth grade. There were all sorts of arrangements to be made for the senior class trip, as well as the usual new students and new teachers to get settled in. In addition, there were constant emails from London, where Pax' sister school would be established in just one year.
Sebastian had almost enough to do to distract him from the fact that he would soon be taking the first airplane ride of his life- but not quite. The thought of hurtling through the air at hundreds of miles per hour in a flying piece of metal thousands of feet over an ocean did not sit well with the headmaster. Flight was for those lucky enough to be born with wings. Those who were not so endowed should learn from Icarus.
Sebastian's computer had flickered to life. On the plain “desktop” were three “windows”. Sebastian moved the “mouse” toward the one labeled “Firefox” and clicked. His “home page” appeared. Sebastian always forgot the next step. He opened a desk drawer and removed a cheat sheet with steps listed on it. The next one was to click on the “bookmark” labeled “Yahoo!”
Technology was a marvelous thing. It allowed students to attend classes from the safety and comfort of their own homes. It allowed people to communicate instantly with others across oceans. It allowed people to carry libraries worth of information in a convenient, travel sized bag. Sebastian had no idea how it all worked.
As Sebastian waited for his email to load, he remembered the first time he had ever seen an electric light. Sebastian's mind was transported back to that time. The memory was so clear, that it was as if he was living it for the first time. He could feel the same sensation of the light burning his eyes with its' surprising brightness and he felt the same sense of wonder and astonishment as the light illuminated the dark night like a miniature sun without any fire or smoke.
Quite suddenly, Sebastian was back in his office again, staring at the ceiling with his mouth hanging open. What had that been about.
“Ahem. Sorry to disturb you,” came a voice from the door. Sebastian turned to see a woman and a very young girl of about six standing in the doorway. He closed his mouth again.
“Not at all, please come in. Sebastian Csendes, at your service,” he stood and bowed.
The woman looked surprised for some reason. Perhaps she hadn't expected the headmaster of a school to look like a twenty-year-old boy with unkempt white hair, the scraggly beginnings of a goatee, and a spiral horn growing out of his forehead. Or perhaps it was because the man was wearing a bright yellow silk hanfu. She got over her surprise relatively quickly, as she recalled the reason for her visit.
“I was wondering if you could help us. My daughter... has a unique gift. You perhaps noticed what happened when we came into the building?”
Sebastian realized that she was referring to the odd vision he had experienced moments before their arrival. He nodded thoughtfully and the woman continued, “We think she is causing memories to be stirred up within people. It isn't a bad thing, but it is very distracting as you can probably guess. And it can be very dangerous to do things such as drive.”
Sebastian nodded again as the woman trailed off, “I can indeed help. You've come to the right place. Our school can help you daughter learn to control her powers and we offer classes for parents as well.” Sebastian handed her a brochure.
The woman glanced at the pamphlet, “So Marilyn can live at home?” Her voice sounded relieved.
“Indeed,” Sebastian assured her, “Most of her classes will be online. And if you don't have computers or holo-projectors and such, we can also provide all the computer equipment.” Sebastian nodded, proud that he remembered the term for the thing that sent real looking pictures across the internet, but hopeful that she wouldn't need all the equipment. Sebastian eyed the doorway to the closet next to the filing cabinet, the closet he usually avoided. The closet was labeled “Extra Equipment” and it was filled to the brim with doohickeys, thingamabobs, and whatchamawhosits. Sebastian would rather knock on the front door of a vampire than open that closet door. Almost.
“That would be wonderful.” Sebastian was afraid she's say that.
Posted by Katrina on Sept 18, 2008 22:22:52 GMT -6
Mutant God
1,654
2
Nov 16, 2013 12:00:06 GMT -6
Tian'anmen Square, the world's largest public gathering place, was was full to the brim with people. There were many more guards than normal, which resulted in much smaller numbers of faux Rollex dealers than normal. They wouldn't have done much business that day anyway, because the guards were also discouraging the usual tourists from visiting the square. There was, however, at least one small group of American students and their young teacher that managed to join the throngs of Chinese people that had turned out to listen to an official proclamation by the Chinese president.
The Chinese president shuffled to the podium set up in front of the Great Hall of the People. Guards in green coats positioned themselves like statues around him. Other guards stood at the edge of the crowd, keeping a wide space between the people and their leader. The president cleared his throat, and the sound reverberated over the loudspeakers the were set up around the square. Three large screens showed projections of his face that nearly rivaled the visage of Mao Zedong, who peered down from his portrait above the Gate of Heavenly Peace, the entrance to the Forbidden City.
The president's voice was high pitched and grating. It wasn't the type of voice that could sooth a child to sleep, nor was it the type of voice that was easily ignored.
The small group of Americans clustered together, each of them discretely touching one another. Amidst the throngs of people in the square, most of whom had a very different sense of personal space than Americans were normally use to, their arrangement didn't seem at all out of the ordinary. Not that anyone was paying attention. All eyes and ears were focused the pudgy bald man who was about to speak.
One of the light haired students concentrated on what the Chinese officiate was saying, and through her gift the members of the group of foreigners found themselves able to understand the words of the president:
“China is great and peaceful nation. We are a people with a long heritage and noble traditions. Throughout our history, we have faced adversity, and though we abhor fighting, our culture has prevailed and even thrived for centuries. Our ancestors built a wall to protect us from northern invaders. That wall still stands today as the greatest architectural marvel man has ever created. Even when western monarchs sitting on foreign thrones thousands of miles away tried to rein in our people with the insufferable leash of addiction, still we have prevailed. We are the longest lived single civilization in the world and our future is bright!
“There is a dark cloud on the northern horizon. From the same direction that so many of our troubles come, there has arisen a new threat. Our people are even now standing in the shadow of the approaching storm, a storm that threatens to roll over everything in its wake. We will not allow this storm to overtake us! As we always have, China will prevail, and what's more, we will stop the advance of the storm before it spreads.
“The first raindrops have already fallen, and the thunder of tanks can be heard in the distance. Truthfully, the lighting has already stricken us. Several of our citizens have been kidnapped. Russia, the bringer of the storm, has already tried to cripple China in preparation for the coming war. Our mutant citizens, who once peaceably worked the lands of their forefathers, have been forcibly taken to Russia and not allowed to return to their homes. Who could have foreseen the famine that would follow? The Russians could; they planned on keeping the very people who could help us to grow all the food we need to feed our starving children away from their homes and their farms.
“Russia is a selfish country. Once they claimed to believe in equality for every individual, but now the whole world knows they were lying. The leaders want only to benefit themselves, and they are willing to trample over anyone in their way to become the primary power in the world. They even have resorted to slave labor.
“Chinese mutant citizens are forced to work their fields to feed their armies. Chinese mutant citizens are forced to develop new weapons to demolish their own homes. Chinese mutant citizens are slaves in a foreign land and it is time for our Chinese mutant citizens to come home! We will protect our citizens' right to live in their own homes, no matter what the cost!”
One of the American students snorted and quietly mumbled, “That's rich considering China kicked out all its mutants during Haywire”.
“Shh.”
The president's speech reached a crescendo and his face was now red with passion, “The Russians will not listen to reason. Already they have mobilized their forces. Armies are marching toward the border, tanks are rolling on, and Russia's leaders sit poised over the switches that can launch their many weapons of mass destruction. China is only the first of many dominoes they plan to topple. They will crush countries, turn fertile land into mass graves, leave economies crippled, and destroy entire cultures. They plan to steal mutants to harness their power and aid their own advances. Humans they will simply slaughter along the way.
“China won't let that happen. China will not topple! China will be the wall that halts the advance of the storm! We will be prepared, and when lightning begins to strike, China will strike first! Even if it means war, we will fight for what is right!”
“That's not right!” blurted one of the students. His eyes were blazing, and his blood was pumping with adrenaline. The crowd, likewise, was growing restless after the president's proclamation.
An anguished roar split the air, like the thunder that foretold war. Someone in the crowd gasped, and in one motion the people standing in Tian'anmen Square turned toward the Gate of Heavenly Peace. From behind the massive red gate, from the heart of the Forbidden City, rose the a serpentine ribbon of red and gold. The sunlight flashed off of scales and fur fluttered in the wind as the symbol of emperors and of the strength of China wove its way through the air. The flight of the dragon was slow as it twisted and twined through the air. It shuddered like a golden ribbon being torn apart by gale force winds. Even the president was watching as the labored progress with with his jaw hanging open, struck speechless for once by the awesome sight right out of legends. When it was directly overhead, the dragon roared again, but this time the roar was cut off by a strange gurgling sound.
The dragon gave one last shudder, then plummeted downwards, crashing into the expanse that separated the president from his people, making a sound like a thousand pound bag of meat hitting pavement. A crimson puddle spread slowly as blood dripped out of its mouth and the several places where the body had been broken open by the impact oozed and added to the growing stain beneath the dragon's lifeless form. The terrible grimace on the dragon's face widened as its lips turned black and began to wither away from its teeth. Once golden scales flaked off and the dragon's skin peeled away from its wounds revealing the shriveling black flesh beneath. The serpentine corpse writhed as rotting meat shrank away from white bones to form slimy piles beneath the skeleton. Empty eye sockets glared accusingly at the leader who wretched behind his podium until gradually the the black ashes of the decayed flesh disintegrated into nothingness and even the white bones crumbled into powder and were gone.
The stillness and silence that had fallen over the crowd for the brief minute it had taken for the dragon to appear and disappear once again was broken, and everyone stirred at once. Voices rose in anger and a few sobs broke through the din. No one payed any attention as the guards attempted to calm the crowd and the president yelled at the microphone. The small group of Americans slipped out of the square unnoticed in the excitement; two of the students supported their teacher, who had nearly fainted after the vision of the dragon had vanished. Already the people in the square were wondering what portent of the death of the dragon could mean.
))
