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.
The young man known as Zephyr sat on his bed with his knees pulled up to his chin, and wept.
5 minutes earlier
Beep. Beep. Beep. "George Lafayette speaking." "Daddy?..." "Who is it?" "Daddy, it's me... Lily." "This is not funny, son." "No, I'm not joking, Daddy, it's me..." "Listen. I don't know who you are, young man, but if you don't stop this I'm calling the police." "No, Dad, listen..." Clink.
20 minutes before that
Jewel collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling through eyes that definitely did not belong to her, with another heart beating like crazy to match the panic building inside. How did this happen? What was going on? Where was she? How did she got there? Who... or what... did this to her? Why was she still referring to herself as 'she'?... Her mind was racing; she couldn't think straight. Possibilities flashed through the haze, each one of them bringing with it the image if a more dreadful future... Maybe it was her powers. Someone told her mutations can evolve. Change. 'Kick in'. But she had to admit, changing into a... this was as far from shaping gemstones as one could get. Maybe it was someone else's powers. Her mind threw in the word 'shapeshifter'. But doesn't that mean one shifting her own shape?... She sat bolt upright. Powers. She pressed her palms to his forehead to calm down; nope, none of the cool buzz that usually meant precious metals nearby. She looked around - there was a silver watch on the table. That should do. She stared at it, focused on it, poured every drop of frustration into nudging her powers awake... And nothing happened. Except that the watch got caught up by a gush of wind (wind?! in the closed apartment?!...) and slammed against the wall. Definitely not right. Panic returned in waves.
And even earlier...
Jewel was staring at the complete stranger in the bathroom mirror of a completely strange bathroom in a completely strange apartment. After long minutes of deafening silence she slowly walked over to the toilet, and threw up. Then she returned to the mirror and stared some more. Yes. She was definitely a guy. Actually, she found out that part right after she woke up in the strange bed. It was kind of obvious. It was also kind of... what's the word? Appalling. She was never going to be able to erase that from her mind. Not like her mind was her mind was her main concern right now. The guy holding on to the sides of the mirror was someone she has never ever seen before. He definitely didn't look like her, didn't even resemble her. Plus he was shirtless, which made her feel weird and exposed. She crossed his arms over his chest. "Holy Mary, Mother of God..." The voice was even worse.
And back in the present...
Jewel rocked back and forth, hugging herself. Er... himself. She squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it would all just go away... it didn't. More tears ran down his cheeks. What now? What now? What now?... Get a grip, Lily. When the tears started to dry up, the young man that used to be known as Zephyr slowly got off the bed and started rummaging through the room...
(OOC: Jewel switched bodies with Zephyr. Obviously.)
The knock on the door was loud. It repeated precisely twice, then stopped. Paused for five seconds, then came again. If the young man who used to be Zephyr made the unfortunate mistake of answering his door, there would be no turning back.
Outside waited a nineteen year old boy, dressed cleanly in a black two piece suit. Italian. Under the suit was a dark blue dress shirt. Silk. There was a pair of black sunglasses in the suit’s breast pocket. Short brown hair was slicked back. Blue eyes were cold.
“Put on a suit and come with me, Zephyr. I’ll explain on the way.” As an afterthought, the Kabal’s young leader added; “Don’t bring your gun.”
The knock on the door made Jewel jump. Who could that be?... When she saw the boy in the doorway, she crossed his arms over his chest instinctively, and blinked. Stared. She'd never seen this person before. Of course, that could be said about the one in the mirror too...
“Put on a suit and come with me, Zephyr. I’ll explain on the way. Don’t bring your gun.”
And she blinked again. Zephyr? Was than another one of those weird code names?...Suit?... Gun?.... GUN?! She stepped back from her mysterious visitor. "Um... excuse me..." she cleared his throat "Do I know you?" she asked timidly.
As expected from Zephyr, on the first time Slate had called on him since they had renegotiated the man’s contract. In the end, his fellow teenager had stayed on the Kabal—but barely. Slate had feared their discussion on wages was not yet over: here was his proof, with a perfectly deadpanned look of timidity and innocence attached. Slate had a sudden image of his fellow brown-hair, blue-eyed teenager practicing that look in front of a mirror. Really, it was a wonder that the door had even been opened this promptly.
Slate gave his own deadpan in return: a level stare. “We don’t have time for this, Zephyr. I’ll pay triple the usual commission. Just get changed, and met me out front. I’ll be in the red Ferrari.” Yes: the red Ferrari. It was not the flashiest car in the Mondragon Labs hanger, but Zephyr would know it was far afield from Slate’s usual simple tastes. Before the man could mock him—or demand an extra hundred thousand or so—Slate turned on his heel.
A brisk walk: the cure to most things you do not wish to hear.
"No wai... oh hell." Jewel muttered as she closed the door. "Now what?..." She looked around in the apartment. In the last half hour before the mysterious visitor, she did a good job searching through it (or at least she thought she did, considering she was a beginner in that field). She found a whole bunch of IDs with different names of them, none of them sounded familiar, not to mention real. That made the panic return momentarily. She found a set of keys too, but she had no idea what most of them opened. She wasn't sure she wanted to know either. Now, as she walked over to the closet where she found clothes earlier, one thing was clear: whoever she was right now, did have a name (more than one, actually), a life, and apparently a boss too. That ruled out the theory of suddenly manifesting shapeshifting powers... Talking about the boss. Jewel was not sure if that was what he was, but he certainly acted like one. Red Ferrari? Seriously?... He must have been the same age as she was right now, which was a bit younger than she was the day before. Not comforting at all. But then again, that teenager with the red Ferrari was the only one who knew this man called Zephyr, and thus her only clue to her new life. So. Jewel never had a boyfriend before; at least none that she shared a room with. Her only clue to male behavior was her father. Well, she decided, she'll just have to figure out things for herself. Himself. She needed to go to the bathroom, for a start; now that raised a whole series of very technical questions. Once she got that mission over with, she felt like she could take on anything else to come. She found the suit and other necessary pieces of clothing. Armani. Sweet. Fashion was the least of her worries right now, but still, it could have been worse. She was very grateful that her excellent education included tying ties (one of the skills of a well prepared future wife). She never did it from this perspective though. Watching the young man in the mirror, she nodded. So far, so good. She collected the IDs, the keys and the wallet, and the cellphone, just in case. After some thinking, she put on the silver watch too. Even without her powers, the touch of silver felt like meeting a friend. It took her some time to find the key to the apartment door; once she locked it, the only thing left to do was walk down to the front door and find the red Ferrari with the mysterious teenager inside.
All right, Jewel, you can do this. Everything's going to turn out just fine. ... Who am I kidding?!
Zephyr took his time coming down from the apartment. Slate spent this time repeating a name to himself: Tyler Holmes. Tyler Holmes. Tyler Holmes. That was his name, for the next few hours.
“Glad you could join me, John.” He levelly stated, handing a plain manila folder to the young man who used to be Zephyr. “Memorize that, please. You have thirty minutes. Your accuracy in this task is appreciated: I would prefer to heal only a minimum number of fatal injuries before lunch.” The slick-haired teenager promptly fell silent, his lips working silently over his own information. It was clear that he expected Zephyr to work in silence. One does not break their employer’s concentration.
Inside the folder, Zephyr’s newest IDs were waiting: a student ID and a driver’s license. He was John Christianson. Nineteen. A trust fund baby, like his friend Tyler. They were both weak mutants—Tyler a self-healer, and John a very unpracticed wind elemental. They were both Freshman at New York State. Majors: undecided. Tyler was on academic probation. They’d met through an underground campus club that espoused mutant rights, but did nothing about it except talk loudly. In other words: they were rich brat posers, with enough money to make up for their lack of street smarts.
They were going to a black market auction, run by anti-human extremists.
Slate expected trouble.
“The key points, John,” he said, as they pulled up outside of the ritzy hotel that would act as the auction’s front, “are that your control over your mutation is poor at best—you barely know what you can do—and that you’re largely clueless in life: I’m simply dragging you along. Do you think you can handle that?”
Everything seemed to be happening so fast. Suddenly Jewel had a name, apparently a fake one, and a whole fake background to with it, and the young man whom she only knew as Tyler seemed to be expecting her help in some kind of obscure dealings with other mutants. Oh my dear God, she thought, turning pale as the realization hit her like a brick wall,I must be in the Order. It all made sense now. After she was in that fight with Meld and Aura, they must have planned some kind of revenge. It must have been some cruel way of dragging her into their dangerous world to teach her a lesson. She was probably going to die. Survival instincts kicked in. "...your control over your mutation is poor at best—you barely know what you can do—and that you’re largely clueless in life..." Wind elemental. The image of the watch crashing against the wall flashed in her mind. So she did have some powers after all. Good to know. She drew a deep breath and decided to play careful. She looked at the guy currently called Tyler. "Listen, you have to know something before we go in. As a result of some unfortunate events connected to my mutation... I have a mild case of amnesia. I might not be in full control of my powers, and frankly, I have no idea who you are. I am wiling to follow your instructions the best I can. But I will need your help afterwards. Instead of a payment, of course." She held her breath, waiting for his reaction. The wind picked up outside, lifting pieces of newspaper off the pavement.
(OOC: Definitely no British accent. Slight traces of Southern drawl kept to a minimum.)
The young man currently known as John looked at him. What proceeded to fall from the wind elemental’s mouth resulted in a long, long silence.
>> "Listen, you have to know something before we go in. As a result of some unfortunate events connected to my mutation... I have a mild case of amnesia. I might not be in full control of my powers, and frankly, I have no idea who you are. I am wiling to follow your instructions the best I can. But I will need your help afterwards. Instead of a payment, of course."
The British arrogance was gone. Gone, too, was the British accent itself—there was a hint of something else, but Slate could not place it just now. Amnesia. Zephyr, his sole backup, had amnesia. And apparently the mercenary had not really been British at all. Had he thought the accent made him sound properly lofty? There was a word for this. Slate’s mind made grating noises as it sought for the correct one, in its extensive vocabulary. Ah, yes.
What an ass.
There was a back-handed knock on Zephyr’s window. Outside, there was a rather bulky man. Dressed in an impeccable suit, of course. Slate rolled down the window a crack.
“I’m going to need you folks to move on. No parking.” He said, with a stone’s sense of humor.
Slate slapped on his best Calley-brand imitation grin. “We’re here for the auction, though.” His tone was still a little dry. With luck, his acting would pass as an attempt by someone with Zephyr’s sense of self-worth to lower himself to speak with common folk. Common folk, of course, being defined as the rest of the world.
The man drilled hard eyes into them both. Then he jerked his head around to the parking garage at the hotel’s side.
Slate drove.
Can you hear this? He asked, directly into the young man’s mind.
Jewel was good enough with people to tell when they didn't like what she was saying. Or implying. This moment was one of those occasions. The popular girl she's always been, not being trusted or liked always hurt her. Being confused and scared didn't help at all; she almost instinctively pulled the 'I'm so sorry' looks out of the Innocent Young Ladies' Unwritten Guidebook to Getting What They Want... then she just stopped herself in time, glancing into the rear view mirror and reminding herself that such a look might not work that well on a young gentleman's face. Quite the opposite. She took a deep breath and wanted to say something apologetic, when the bulky man knocked on the window. That made her jump a bit; she just stared at the fellow while Tyler talked to him, and really hoped they were not getting into trouble already. Who are you kidding, Jewel dear, you wouldn't recognize trouble if it bit you on your pretty nose. She remembered that. The cocktail bar, the jazz band, and her self-declared best friend Sylvia looking at her with a smirk. "Gentlemen are boring, sugah. What you really need is a bad guy. Someone who can get you into some sweet trouble..." Thanks a lot, Sylvia. I've got myself a bad guy. I'm in one.
Can you hear this? And then she jumped again. Holy hell. The guy named Tyler was talking in her mind. "Y-yes." she answered, trying to look calm while she was trying to arrange her racing thoughts. One particular thought emerging above the rest. If he can read minds too, I'm finished.
((ooc: Having Slate hear that last thought. If that’s a problem, let me know!))
>> "Y-yes."
Slate winced. In general, he began, the strength of telepathic communication is its stealth. Do you believe you can speak back to me in—?
>> If he can read minds too, I'm finished.
Ah. He heard that. It answered his question. He... tried not to let it open up other questions. They were, after all, in the parking garage already. Slate parked the Ferrari between a Porsche and a Hummer. The hopeless yellow lights overhead did very little to lift the shadows. The blue-eyed teenager stared straight ahead for a long moment, at a concrete pillar of particular interest. A black security camera stared down at them.
It is too late to go turn back now, he assessed, again speaking into her mind as he made a rather inadequate show of fumbling his seatbelt’s catch open. It would be too suspicious for me to enter without you at this point, and I do require backup. And I must get into this auction. Lives are in danger. Will you come with me? I will explain what I can on the way. He asked, slowly stepping out of the car door, his eyes seeking the other teen’s.
And no, he answered, with something of a small grin, I cannot read minds. Unless you are thinking particularly loudly.
To be honest, Slate did not know when he could read minds. Or if. He also did not know when—or if—his telepathy would fail tonight. Fortunately, his initial plans had kindly announced their amnesia to him; there was no doubt they'd failed already. He was now pleasantly improvising. This was clearly one of Slate's stronger points.
Jewel took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment to regain her composure. She'd always preferred to think of herself as an independent, balanced person who does not panic easily. After all, what other personal traits could excellent education and caring family provide for a fortunate girl like her?... She drew another deep breath. Yeah, right.
I can do this.
It was both an answer for Tyler and something she knew would be her mantra for the following... minutes? Hours?... She sat in the car, fiddling around like Tyler did. In her case, however, only half of it was for the show.
Lives are in danger.
Jewel froze. This was getting more serious than 'serious' had ever been for her in her life. Also, this was something she didn't expect from a member of the Order - actually, Tyler's whole attitude was as far from the girls' as it could be. Jewel slowly got out of the car too, looking into the eyes of her strange... what? Boss? Friend? Partner?... once again. He seemed honest. And one thing Jewel had to learn yet was how to not trust people. So she nodded.
I'll come with you.
She was trying to get used to 'thinking out loud'. She looked down at her new body and wondered if she had better chances of survival as a male. Well, she'll find that out soon enough. I'm listening.
I do not know how much you remember, Slate began, truly from the beginning, as they walked away from the car. At the garage’s end was a wash of light: the back entrance to the hotel. A man and a woman stood sentry outside, watching the teenagers approach without emotion. Grunts.
There are three main mutant Factions in this city. The X-Men, the Order, and the Kabal. You are a mercenary with the Kabal.
The grunts didn’t say a word as Slate stopped in front of them. “Is this where the auction is?” He asked imperiously, in his very best imitation of a little dictator who had all the money and resources he needed at his command. Actors worked best when they drew on experience, he had read.
“Got an invitation?” The woman asked, blinking a slow blink at them. There was something off with her eyes. The pupils changed color as Slate watched, shifting from a sharp violent to a scalding red. A sight specialist, perhaps? It would certainly cut down on metal detectors, if the door girl could run her own X-rays. He sincerely hoped that Amnesiac Zephyr had left his gun behind, as ordered.
“Got a knife?” Slate countered. Imperiously. It was more of an on-high monotone, to be truthful; a more snarky form of his usual level speech.
“For you, sugar?” The woman snarked straight back, flashing too-sharp teeth. And far too many of them.
Slate simply unbuttoned his shirt cuff, and rolled up the sleeve of both suit and shirt together, exposing an arm darkly tanned by a month under Colombia’s sun. “I’m a healer,” he stated, with all due bluntness. “That’s not exactly flashy, unless I’m hurt. A little help?”
The woman glanced at her partner; the man gave a do-what-you-please shrug, that seemed to involve a few more joints than usual. Her eyes blinked to a cheerfully acidic yellow. Then, before his mind could quite process it, blood was welling from six long scratch marks on his arm. Her arm was settling back at her side, as if it had merely twitched. Super-speed, and some form of claw mutation, as well as her vision.
“Thanks.” He made sure to smile politely. A moment later, his arm ceased to bleed: the claw marks were healed. A flash of green disappointment blinked over her eyes, quickly replaced by that sharp, waiting violet.
“And your friend?” The man asked, nodding to the young man formerly known as Zephyr.
Slate looked over at his fellow brown-haired blue-eyed teen. “Go ahead, John. Show them what you’ve got.”
Our 'invitation' is our mutation, he explained, fidgeting lightly with his rolled up sleeve. He could not very well roll it down, now: the blood would get on his blue shirt. That, and the fact that we knew to come here at all.
I am the Kabal’s Leader, he added, as something of an afterthought: once they were inside, his explanation would continue, minor interruptions aside.
There are three main mutant Factions in this city. The X-Men, the Order, and the Kabal. You are a mercenary with the Kabal.
Jewel listened intently as they walked towards the door. This first piece of information explained a lot. First and foremost, she wasn't with the Order. Yay to that. Second, the X-men might not be as big a secret as people in the Mansion imagined it to be. She'll think about that later, when she gets back the privacy in her own head. Third, looks like she's a mer... no. No no no no no... Oh, crap. Learning from the mistake she made earlier, she did her best to keep her thoughts quiet and constantly flowing. No need to mind-shout again.
At first, she didn't even look at the two figures standing in the door. She'd attended quite a few elite events in her life, and nearly all of them had security guards. She was used to gliding past them with a slight nod, never noticing their faces or wondering who they were. Or what they were. When Tyler stopped, she did too; only at the voice of the woman did she look up. And bit back a surprised gasp. Of course they are mutants, stupid, what did you expect? She drew another deep breath to calm herself; she trusted Tyler would take care of the rest. Surely he would have invitations, at least fake ones... Got a knife? Oh.
When the barely visible claws slashed into Tyler's arm, she almost cried out. Almost. The fact that she did not was not really the result of her self-control; more like the result of fear and utter surprise. Blinking, she watched the wounds heal with honest relief. Tyler really was a healer. Good to know. "Go ahead, John. Show them what you’ve got." Easier said than done, boss. Jewel watched the piercing violet gaze of the woman turn to her; the way she was sizing her up was giving her the creeps. Familiar creeps, too. The kind when you know that you could be dead in an instant. I am the Kabal’s Leader. Figures. Who else would show up and drag her out without questioning... Jewel blinked, surprised at the fact that she didn't even find it curious that a teen like him could lead a mutant fraction. She was way past that. Way past. Besides, right now she had the grunts to worry about. She met the violet gaze, and watched it slowly turn into crimson. This time, it did something else to her - it awakened the noblewoman in the body of the mercenary. Staring is very, very impolite, you know. They should take better care of who they hire for a job like this. Jewel raised her chin, rising to the challenge. Here goes nothing.
Wind elemental, he said. That means she should be able to control the air around them. She inhaled slowly, slightly raising her arms from her sides. She recalled the image of the watch hitting the wall of his apartment. Everything in slow motion. Bending metals to her will grew easy during the last couple of years. Gemstones were starting to give in too. She practiced a lot, bit by bit; craft and precision. And, most importantly, she knew everything there is to know about the materials she was dealing with. So, what do you know about the wind?...
For a split second that felt like hours, there was silence. They she exhaled one long breath; the air started to move around her, brushing her cheeks (his cheeks. Good. The wind knows this body.) It picked up as she grew bolder with the second breath - It's working it's working! - making a noise and sneaking under their shirts and suits. She looked back at the woman, whose eyes were now a sparkling, curious blue. Maybe she could... Probably not a good idea. The wind picked up, twirling around her a couple of times, sweeping up dust and pieces of paper from the ground - then it all ceased with a harmless puff, and Jewel drew another breath. And gulped. This should do it.
“The key points, John, are that your control over your mutation is poor at best—you barely know what you can do... do you think you can handle that?” Piece of cake.
Come amnesia or the apocalypse, one thing would always stay true: Zephyr would always be Zephyr. Below the odd surface of the mercenary’s new timidity lurked the imperious confidence of the old.
Zephyr’s chin rose. So did a wind, and the edges of all their shirts. The curious blue of the woman’s eyes seemed to miss a vital fact: Zephyr’s own eyes had flicked at her.
For a carefully composed eternity, Slate regretted that he knew so little of religion. Perhaps, with more study, he would have known the proper god to pray to, to avert wind blade-induced wardrobe malfunctions.
Wind, confidence, and Slate’s fears all passed. The young man known as John gulped. The woman gave a nod, her eyes shifting to a case-closed white.
“Welcome to the Auction,” the man said, politely enough. “Take the elevator to the second floor for the pre-showing. Bidding will begin in a half an hour, in the ballroom. Don’t worry about the hotel staff: they’re ours for the day. The drink bar is complementary.” There was a certain special emphasis on ours that made Slate suspect a mind controller was afoot. Ah.
“Thanks,” Slate answered, still fidgeting with the cuff rolled up above the drying lines of blood on his arm. “And the bathroom?”
“You’ll see the signs.”
As Slate moved through the doors into the hotel, he caught a purple swish behind the man. A lion’s tail. It was not as elegant as a certain other man’s lion tail that he knew, but then, it did have several less millennium of practice. Or so Slate presumed. The woman pressed her hand against something in her ear. “Doctor House and Puff coming up. They’re clear.”
Slate pressed the elevator’s call button, and stood patiently above his own reflection on the hotel’s marble floor.
The Kabal has made many mistakes in its past. They are not widely known: our Faction has always refrained from parading its business, as the others tend to do. He continued his explanation. Since I became Leader, I have been seeking to rectify matters in the most discrete manner possible.
As if this explained everything, he stated without preamble:
This time it took a lot of self-control from Jewel to not sigh a minor windstorm of relief. She listened to the welcome speech without even glancing at the man - honestly, she just wished they could leave the guards behind already, but then again, keeping up the attitude of superiority probably couldn't hurt either.
“Doctor House and Puff coming up. They’re clear.”
Extremely funny. Duh. Jewel felt a pang of indignation in the name of the unknown man called Zephyr. I'll show you puff... Before she could act on her newly found bravery, fortunately, Tyler started to speak into her mind again. She listened. She listened some more. His language curiously resembled that of Daddy and his business partners. What a coincidence. "We are here to purchase a ray gun."
Jewel blinked as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. Um... a what? Well, at least he said 'purchase' instead of... whatever. Good sign.
)