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 Locke N. Tori on Mar 13, 2010 23:11:31 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses.
How did I let myself get talked into this? Locke was forced to ask himself, Especially since the ones who want suvioners and pictures are all the way on the West Coast, and two of them can't even write all their letters yet. Of course he knew how exactly he ended in New York City again, surrounded by thousands upon thousands of vibrations coming from thousands and thousands of people scuttling about, and freezing his Californian butt off. Chris and Mai wanted to see what he saw, wanted to know that their protector, and more importantly, big brother, had not left them because he didn't love them. Even if Locke lived a thousand life times he felt he would never be able to make it up to them. Getting them a little gift, and sending pictures of what had greeted him when he got off the train would only help a little with the guilt. This was for the benefit of the two five year olds who no longer were getting piggy back rides home. And his insane friend who threatened to torture him with chat rooms with girls his age should he forget where he came from.
Sometimes it didn't make a difference what you did or tried, your plans had to give way to bad luck and sucky timing. If there was anything Locke was an expert on, it would have to be bum luck, though the argument existed that he was just being a pessimist (a realist was his rebuttal). Rather than looking at the good fortune, like say, escaping from a car crash with his life, Locke had a tendency to look at the negative. Maybe it was just part of his grounded nature. If you got too caught up with the high and happy thoughts and emotions, the second anything bad happened you'd be shaken, and shaken badly. The fact that such thinking would make him an excellent target for Jigsaw from his favorite movie series was conveniently overlooked. So of course, because Locke had such rotten luck, the sky would decide to profusely spit on him as he took his long walk around the city.
"Really?" he asked stopping where he was standing and looking up past the skyline. If he believed in anything this would be a perfect example of why whatever ruled the universe must hate him. Checking the weather report probably would have been a good idea. He was cold, and now that he had been caught out in the storm, wet. Mud had taken over the bottom of his jeans, almost halfway up to his knee, and even was making a claim on the hem of his shirt and jacket. As usual there had been a nice layer of dirt that clung to his clothes, eager to be worked with, but too scattered and light to do much of anything, but not all of the mud had originally been part of his wardrobe. Some of it had splattered up onto him as he continued to walk. Locke was too stubborn to let the rain get the best of him. There was a rumble from the heavens at his act of defiance and Locke nearly jumped out of his skin. Not because he was afraid of thunder and lightning, for that had lost its power over him when he was seven, but because the roll was so loud he could feel it vibrate the ground. For a second the earth vibrations that he was constantly aware of jumped up, like someone had turned a radio's volume up higher, and he wondered what he had done. Well, this could possibly be another good thing about rain and thunderstorms. All the rain hitting the ground and the roar of thunder made those vibrations a little more clear. Now if he could just figure out how to keep together one of those things...
He dashed into the closest door that had a lighted sign in it, and slammed the door behind him, trying to keep the cold from getting into his bones. Locke just stood there, dripping and flicking the water out of his hair.
Posted by Tarin Brooks on Mar 13, 2010 23:51:35 GMT -6
Mutant God
DodgerBlue
Straight
1,568
4
May 12, 2024 22:07:15 GMT -6
Jules
When Tarin had first arrived in New York, days like this had made him retreat inside like someone made out of…something that water could melt. Sugar was simply going too far…nobody had ever accused Tarin Brooks of being made out of sugar. He was used to them now, but looking outside and knowing for a fact that the rain was freezing cold on a cold day still made him shiver a little bit. Lee had taught him how to deal with weather like this, with rain coats over sweat shirts and shoes that were more water resistant than a pair of Vans. If nothing else, Tarin was a more practical dresser than he’d been in warmer climes.
Lee was out of the shop, now, and Tarin sighed as he looked around. The dull throbbing that seemed ever present when he was at the shop resided in its usual place behind his eyes and he ran a hand through hair that was already standing practically on end. Working here just didn’t hold the same joy it once had…not that it had ever been the highlight of Tarin’s life. That honor went to Lee. He’d sent her home for the day when it became obvious that they weren’t going to have many customers. It made sense, especially considering the fact that most of their business came from walk-ins. Still, Tarin sighed, he hated her not being where he could see her…where he knew she was safe.
Working at all had been difficult when they’d come home from Romania. Every time he used his powers he flinched, and half the time he hadn’t been able make a connection that had been worth anything. Lee had understood…she understood better than anyone…she’d been there and done that. Then there were the nightmares. What had happened when they left the camps was something that Tarin hadn’t talked about with Lee…something that he wasn’t going to talk about. It didn’t need to be spoken about…but that didn’t stop the memories.
The things he’d done when the Resistance had breached the camp security were things that left a taste in his mouth similar to the time Rupert had found him standing in the doorway to his apartment bathed in blood. It had been murder, no matter what the motivation was…Tarin had killed in cold blood….again. He’d also watched Lee die.
Just thinking the words made his stomach clench and a small sheen of sweat appear on his forehead. She was alive. The one time a merge had actually worked out for the best had saved Lee’s life. Tarin stared at the bookshelves in the shop and admitted that it had probably saved his too.
Then the door opened…and slammed shut.
Tarin’s head jerked from where it was staring to the mud and water soaked teenager who’d just burst into his shop. People didn’t usually rush into a Medium’s shop that way. Usually they were either meek and a little embarrassed to be there, or they floated in as if they were ethereal as some of the things sold on the shelves. This kid was neither, he was in a hurry…and he had a spirit with him.
”Can I help you?” Tarin asked, dropping his forearms onto the counter and leaning forward, brown eyes earnest under a raised eyebrow.
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 14, 2010 16:58:30 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
Normally Locke liked his hair being wet, because it did not slide about and was slicked to his forehead, keeping his dead eye hidden. This was not the kind of wet hair that he liked. For one thing it kept him freezing, not to mention that it was probably not the most hygenic or clean water, but the wind had whipped it about into a dreadful mess. One hand proved to be insufficient for getting everything settled, so Locke slung his busted up backpack off his shoulder, placed it on the ground, and wrapped his ankle in the one good strap. Both hands free he sorted his hair out into it's normal place. "Sorry, I got caught in the storm. I'll leave in a minute." Locke apologized when asked if he needed help, his voice a low raspy rumble. He knew that he must look like some young homeless runaway with the ductape backpack and clothes that were so worn and muddy, but why should he throw out something that still was functional.
Locke turned to face the person who had addressed him, shivering and looking miserable. "Anyone who's out in that is off their rocker. Sorry about the mud, I'll clean it up before I go." And he meant it, both the comment about the insanity of going out into the freezing rain and the mud. It wouldn't be that hard to gather up the mess he made before leaving. The store was interesting to say the least, and the teen wondered for a minute where exactly he had dashed into. A counter, some book shelves. Figuring out what the sign said took some time, given that a) the sign was too bright for his sensitive eye, and b) people usually don't read things backwards. One eyebrow arched up and Locke turned back to face who he was guessing was the only employee, and therefore probably the manager. The typcial skeptic face, which was just Locke's normal expression was there. "I thought this sort of place only existed in TV and movies."
Posted by Tarin Brooks on Mar 14, 2010 19:03:04 GMT -6
Mutant God
DodgerBlue
Straight
1,568
4
May 12, 2024 22:07:15 GMT -6
Jules
Tarin wasn’t the type to kick anyone out of his store, especially not a kid who’d gotten stuck in the rain. He shrugged his shoulders and gave the younger man a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, ”Take your time.” he said, tilting his head a bit to the side. Strange coincidence that the storm had brought both boy and spirit into a medium’s shop.
The spirit was, as most were, attached to the teen at the hip. Upon closer inspection, the physical resemblance in the two was striking. Tarin decided he wouldn’t bring it up unless the kid asked, especially if he hadn’t come in here looking to reach out to the other side. This was a relative…it had to be with only a nose and spectacles to set them apart. Tentatively, Tarin reached out to the spirit with his mind, this specter wasn’t particularly strong and the link snapped into place with relative ease.
As always when he linked with a spirit, images flooded into Tarin’s conscious, drowning out the boy’s exploration of the shop. It had been a car accident, a nasty one that had taken this man from the world of the living. He wasn’t incredibly melancholy though, just concerned about the boy…his son. Tarin winced internally, he definitely wasn’t going to bring this one up without prompting. Empathy surged through him though, if there was one thing Tarin understood, it was what losing a father could do to a young man.
The first statement brought a truer smile to the medium’s face, and Tarin chuckled a bit as he nodded his head. ”Truer words were rarely spoken. he said ”I moved here from Texas. I was pretty sure I’d die during my first winter.”
The second, questioning statement was more difficult to deal with than the first had been. It was the type of question that always presented a moral dilemma. In a way, things had been simpler during the registration. Necessity had forced him to lie to everyone, convince them that he was a swindler. He shrugged his shoulders now, ”So did I.” he said, running his eyes over the different occult books and trinkets that lined the bookshelves.
”Until the movie walked off the screen and into my bedroom when I was twelve.”
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 14, 2010 20:00:14 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
"I got you beat distance wise," Locke mumbled as he shifted from one foot to the other, feeling a little odd in a place that dealt with things he didn't believe in. The sensation of not belonging was there every time Kendra managed to drag him to a church for Christmas or Easter. People were looking at him, studying him, asking in a non-existant voice "Who do you think you are?". Locke hated people looking at him. If not for the earth sense filing in the blind spot, or those little things he made he'd gladly swap his mutation for being invisible. "San Francisco". The teen showed no signs of being aware that ther was a spirit clinging to him, let alone it being the one person that was missing in his world. And the thing is, when one person is missing, it can feel like everyone is. Just how long Hugo Tori's spirit had been hanging around his oldest son? Did it make a difference? The only one who was aware of the other was already dead.
"Yeah, sure," Locke said not believing Tarin one bit. Even in a world where people could fly and walk through walls, logic had to exist. Chalking up things like seeing ghosts was too... good for him to believe in. How did the guy know it wasn't just some mental re-run of where they were, or an illusion of what they wanted to see, either option placed upon them by some outside person. Hugo shrugged a shoulder at Tarin. Even in death he knew his son, and he knew that it would take a lot to convince him that ghosties existed. "He won't believe a word you say," the spirit mouthed, doing that parent talking over their child's head thing. Locke pulled out a camera and held it up, not noticing that the spirit was trying to muss with his hair but failing. "You need a haircut" Hugo told Locke. "Mind if I take a picture? I've got a little brother and sister back west who want to see what New York looks like."
Posted by Tarin Brooks on Mar 14, 2010 21:15:56 GMT -6
Mutant God
DodgerBlue
Straight
1,568
4
May 12, 2024 22:07:15 GMT -6
Jules
The younger man was correct, he had Tarin beat in mileage, but Tarin had been to San Fancisco before, and the climate there was far more temperate than the climate in Texas. The north-eastern winters definitely would have been a bigger shock after Texas than from the Oceanside climes of the Pacific coast. Tarin didn’t argue, though, he’d just met the kid and that would be rude. Besides, the antics of the spirit were far more interesting.
Sometimes spirits had a tendency to lean toward maudlin, and that had a tendency to be irritating. This one seemed pretty comfortable in its spiritual shoes, though, and content to “parent” the boy, even if he didn’t know it. Tarin nodded when it told him that the boy wasn’t listening and raised an eyebrow at the boy’s dismissal of his power. The shop owner chuckled, and shook his head.
”Nobody wishes I was BS’ing more than I do, kid. Trust me. The last thing I asked for when I was twelve was to come home from my father’s funeral, go to bed, and wake up with him staring down at me in the same clothes he’d worn in the coffin. You’re not the first skeptic I’ve met.”
Tarin paused, wincing internally again. Bringing up his dead dad probably wasn’t the best idea. He didn’t know details, but if the kid’s dad had died in a car wreck, it was probably still a stinging wound. Usually he’d have shown the teen exactly how his power worked…probably using the spirit he’d brought in. Something about the spirit being the kid’s dad made that impossible though, Tarin wasn’t that kind of asshole.
Could he take a picture, ”Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to be rude, I just get the skepticism a lot. You want a picture? Of the shop? Sure, be my guest, though the view from the top of the Empire State Building is way more awe inspiring.”
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 14, 2010 22:09:44 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
A rock. That was what Locke had been, which meant that he had to remain steady and solid all the time. As much as Locke linked emotions to the dirt and earth, he knew that it did not feel things. Not the way that people do. Which kind of sucks since all he could really do is shove anything painful aside until someday it turned into a tumor that he could have removed. Even when he was young he was like that. So when the shop keeper randomly mentioned being twelve and seeing their dead father after the funeral, the Californian felt as steady as an earthquake. Tarin winced inwardly, Locke outwardly, trying with all his might not to do so, and to pretend that he had not heard.”Lucky,” was the small whisper as the teen wound the camera up. It hurt to have something so familiar brought up in justification of something as ridiculous as ghosts, and hearing that Tarin had been able to see his father at least two more times made the pain all the much worse. Locke had been eleven when his world splintered and he did not get a chance to say any last good-byes. All that he had been offered was “He didn’t make it”. The spirit looked upset over his son's sadness, but there was a certain amount of patience there.
He held the camera up, the flash making a high pitched whine as it charged. "They're five. A picture of the Simpsons on the side of a bus will send them to the moon," he said, voice straining to hold words and sounds back. Locke's hands shook and he shoved the camera under his chin so that he could rub them together. He must be colder then he thought if they trembled so much, or at least that was what he would force himself to believe. Something had to be said, and before Locke's brain could betray him and tell the secret he held onto so tight, he addressed the man about being a skeptic. "That's just who I am. I don't believe in anything because there is nothing to believe in."
Posted by Tarin Brooks on Mar 15, 2010 11:12:36 GMT -6
Mutant God
DodgerBlue
Straight
1,568
4
May 12, 2024 22:07:15 GMT -6
Jules
Tarin tilted his head when the kid whispered that he’d been lucky when his father showed up in his room. That was definitely a debatable fact, but again, Tarin didn’t want to be rude. Besides, he understood the type of mindset a teenage boy could get into when parental death was involved. It was better to just leave it. Tarin wasn’t in the business of getting into pissing contests with teenagers over who had had a rougher time of it when their dad had dad.
Speaking of dad’s, the boy’s looked sad. It was understandable.
The kid snapped his pictures of the shop and Tarin nodded his head, memories of another five year old that wouldn’t go away permeating his mind. Alice had been enthralled by crayons and blank pieces of paper. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t turned out to be real…his daughter had still been five years old on the night of the thunderstorm that brought he and Lee back to reality.
”They are really easy to impress.” He thought for a moment, then offered more advice, ”There’s a giant F.A.O. Schwartz on….Broadway, I think. That would be an awesome thing to take a picture of. Kids always like the giant bears.”
Skeptic didn’t really begin to describe this kid’s state of mine, Tarin decided. Then again, he probably would have been as unlikely to believe at that age as this kid was. He shrugged his shoulders, ”If you don’t want to believe. That’s fine. I didn’t want to for a long time either.” That’s all that there really was to say, the only option for proving what he could do was out. Tarin wouldn’t do that to the kid.
”Are you here on vacation then?” Tarin asked, eyeballing the duct taped backpack the boy had brought into the shop with him, as well as the dirty clothes. Again, Tarin Brooks didn’t assume, but it couldn’t hurt to ask, ”And have you had anything to eat recently?
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 16, 2010 1:06:13 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
The Californian nodded to everything that Tarin was saying, the FAO Schwartz, the choosing not to believe in the whole spirits thing. This was the first time he had felt unable to actually look an adult in the face. Even those dreadful doctors had gotten him to tilt his head up towards them. With his long hair Locke had a curtain to hide behind when he was intimidated, a security blanket of sorts when dealing with his peers. Adults had always been different, he connected to them better. But for some reason Locke just could not look up at Tarin. Nor could he stop his body from shaking, and it wasn’t just being wet that did that. Five years can be a long time, especially if in those five years you suffer in silence with grief, and do everything in your power not to deal with it. An incredible amount of moisture stayed in his eyes because Locke was too stubborn to let them out. Hugo looked at Tarin but not accusingly as most parents would do when they see their child has been upset. “Help him” he mouthed.
”Y.. yes,” Locke managed to strangle out past the lump that was in his throat. What the hell? Why was this bothering him so much. He had gotten along just fine up till now. Even those head shrinks had not rattled him this much, and that was their job. This person had only mentioned their own incident with their father, nothing to do with his. Was the thing that stung how he had been asked if he had eaten lately? Locke couldn't remember the last time someone who wasn't in medicine showed an interest in his eating habits.”V-vacation. I-I ate oatmeal th-this morning.” Why are you stuttering Locke? He doesn’t know anything and you’re coming across as some whiny little kid afraid of a storm. Just suck it up and put on your big boy pants.
Posted by Tarin Brooks on Mar 16, 2010 20:37:16 GMT -6
Mutant God
DodgerBlue
Straight
1,568
4
May 12, 2024 22:07:15 GMT -6
Jules
The spirit seemed to be entreating Tarin to help his son, he also seemed worried that the boy was going to hear if he did anything other than mouth the words he was trying to get Tarin to understand. Tarin sucked at reading lips, by the way, and if he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought the spirit was asking him hop the boy in the shop. Tarin did know better though, and after a few moments of confusion he was able to puzzle out that he was supposed to help the kid. How he was supposed to do that, Tarin had no clue, but there it was…a spirit asking him for help. You saw something new every day…not. Wow, even his thoughts were getting sarcastic…which didn’t help matters at all…in fact it just put Tarin in a bad mood. He had a problem to figure out, and someone to help, being a cynic wasn’t going to a accomplish anything.
The boy answered that he was in town on vacation, and Tarin’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline, as skeptical about the truth in that statement as the kid had been in the fact that he could see dead people. It was about as believable. At least he’d eaten though, nobody would lie about oatmeal.
” Well, that’s good at least, most hotels don’t offer oatmeal as part of their continental breakfast.”
Something in Tarin wanted to address the kid’s disbelief again, but the longer he stood in the shop, the more nervous he seemed to get, and Tarin didn’t want to send him running back out into the rain. At least not for a while. ”I’m Tarin, by the way.” he said, still grasping for straws and an opening to help the kid who obviously needed it….at least according to the spirit, ”How long are you staying in town?”
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 16, 2010 22:21:09 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
His eye was on fire, straining under the pressure of holding back five years of tears unspent, while the dead eye just stung. Locke brought his hands up to them, digging the heel of the palm into his eyeballs to get rid of the pressure. ”I’m sorry, the lights are too bright,” he said, meaning the lights of New York City in general rather then the lights inside the shop, which he could stand other than the neon sign. He did not even know that he was making an excuse for his action until he pulled his hands away and felt the moisture on them. He was going to loose control, and for some reason Tarin’s conversation with him wasn’t functioning as a distraction. Things that should be getting him back in control wasn't. There was a low soft groan that did not come from Locke as he grasped for the threads of his life that had been arranged in a careful and delicate way. A spider could re-spin a web, but can a human when the web is their life?
How long was he on vacation? Well, when he had jumped on the train Locke had for the first time approached something without some sort of plan. Even with the chaos of that session in the Danger Room he had some idea of what he was going to do. There had to be a time in which he would go back to San Francisco, but as of this moment, that time seemed light years away. ”I’m not sure,” he answered with a level of honesty that he had not intended, and had to wince at how pathetic his voice sounded. Smoking grandpa sounded like he was getting his throat pinched off. ”Locke,” he managed to say before all air was taken out of his lungs. Fresh grief can be strong, but it’s worse when it festers. He pounded a hand against his chest, trying to get the bubble out of him and the air back in. All that happened was a few wheezes. The ghost father did not look worried about the Californian's sudden problems with the most basic human function of breathing. If anything Hugo looked relieved.
Posted by Tarin Brooks on Mar 17, 2010 10:23:37 GMT -6
Mutant God
DodgerBlue
Straight
1,568
4
May 12, 2024 22:07:15 GMT -6
Jules
Tarin didn’t say anything, just nodded his head as the kid pointed out the lights were too bright to hide what he was really doing with the palms of his hands. It had been a long time ago, but Tarin figured this kid was the same age he’d been when he’d had to leave New York. He wondered idly if the kid was here for the same reason. The spirit shook its head, reading the thought from Tarin’s head through the mental link. The medium let out a subconscious sigh of relief. That was good. Tarin hadn’t harmed his family…not that way…after that first merge, he’d spent plenty of time trying to hide his own tears.
”They can get that way.” he said quietly, referring to the lights, but pretty sure the kid wouldn’t hear a word.
The vacation story was starting to unravel, thread by thread…starting with the time frame…and the kid started to break down in front of Tarin’s eyes. He was panicking, and the spirit actually seemed glad for it.
As the kid started to panic, Tarin felt his own chest tighten up. This was too close to mirroring what he’d felt before the day of the breakout. He looked towards the door, then felt like an idiot. There was no way he was about to run out of his own store. There was no way that he was going to let these emotions control him. Tarin took a deep breath and moved out from behind the counter.
”I think maybe you ought to sit down for a minute kiddo. That old armchair over there is good. Take deep breaths.” Tarin didn’t touch the kid, Locke, he’d said his name was. Instead, he made his way to the little corridor between the front and back of the shop. The fridge was still there and Tarin opened it and retrieved a coke, making his way back to the front of the shop, offering it to Locke but otherwise keeping his distance. He was, after all, a stranger to the kid…and this had the potential to get creepy fast if he wasn’t careful.
”Now. Why are you really in New York? Did you run away? I just know ‘cause I’ve been there. Have you got somewhere to stay at least?”
That was enough for the moment, and it was far far away from the things that the Medium had decided to completely avoid. They’d tackle the spirit later…if it came to that.
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 17, 2010 19:42:43 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
He was trying, very hard, to keep together even the smallest scrap of composure, but Locke's walls were drying up and crumbling down, and it was inevitable that he would break soon. The only question really was would he remember how to breathe again before that. As he tried to get back the layers of denial getting the scraps of air that actually found its way into his lungs were becoming scarce. His eyes grew wider, a few of the tears leaking out. Not having control over himself scared Locke and brought back the terror from his nightmares. Locke was going to get back in control or else. Tarin ushered him towards an armchair, and Locke would have argued against it, knowing that he would get mud all over the place and soak the chair, only when he opened his mouth a honking sort of noise escaped followed by a wheeze.
When he was sitting Locke bent over so that his head was between his legs, knuckles scraping the floor. Breathe in for three seconds, hold for three, breathe out on three. Lather, rinse, and repeat. Air started to flow back in. His chest felt s if a large stone had been placed on it and was slowly crushing him, while at the same time it was being ripped open. His eyes still were leaking and he dug into them a little with the palms again. Tarin offered him a coke, which after checking to make sure it was unopened he accepted. Locke took a few sips before trying to speak, his voice squeeking and cracking worse then it had when it was changing. "I am on vacation," he insisted, taking each word slowly to let the weight be felt. There was a hiccup in his chest followed by a sob, his body still shaking. He clenched a fist, pissed off at himself and the mud stirred lazily.
Posted by Tarin Brooks on Mar 19, 2010 11:08:59 GMT -6
Mutant God
DodgerBlue
Straight
1,568
4
May 12, 2024 22:07:15 GMT -6
Jules
It was still a little painful for Tarin to watch the kid fight against tears that were obviously not going anywhere. Tarin didn’t spend a lot of time crying, by any means, but the truth of the matter was that sometimes you just couldn’t help it. Being stoic and manly faded in those situations and a person had to settle for simply being human. Again, the Medium had to remind himself that he was practically a stranger to this kid and keep his mouth shut. It just wouldn’t do to bestow words of wisdom. Not like this. So Tarin stood, and waited, and basically ignored the pantomimes of the spirit. Why wouldn’t the thing just speak to him?
Locke, but it didn’t seem to be helping. At least not immediately, even when he cracked it open and took a couple of sips. He insisted he was on vacation…by himself…at what couldn’t be more than sixteen. Tarin raised an eyebrow, but nodded after a moment. The kid really was in a bad way, Tarin turned and walked the few feet back to the counter, busying himself with paperwork. There was no reason to hurt the kid’s dignity anymore than it already was. After a few moments, he spoke again.
”Look kid, I don’t know your story, or you, but it looks to me like you could use an ear. I remember when I took a vacation….like yours. I came from a place where they didn’t take too kindly to what it is I do. “ That was a slight untruth, but Tarin was trying to help, little white lies hardly ever hurt anyone, especially when they were made with good intentions.
”I’m not saying you’re the same. Just that I wish someone had asked me what they could do to help when I was…on vacation. If nothing else, I‘ll call a cab to take you back to where you‘re staying. Nobody should be out wandering around in this weather.”
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 19, 2010 12:42:46 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
"I didn't run away because I'm a mutant," he clarified for what felt like the millionth time, and let slip the fact that he was no normal teenager, "Ok, so Kendra didn't want to bring the issue up, but even if she did that it wouldn't make a difference. I had nothing left there other then my little brother and sister and a mountain worth of..." A strangled noise came out as he tried to get past the restrictions he had put on what he could say. This amount of talking about anything felt wrong to him, but he couldn't keep it from happening. "Five years of pain, silence, bad memories all closing in on you, trying to take away the last scrap of good you have and you'd want a vacation wouldn't you? I had to come here, because there wasn't anything..."
Locke drank more of his coke, and poked his mind about the mud he brought in with him. It clung to him in such a friendly way that he could almost picture it trying to comfort him. Experimentally he tried to make a little person thing again, but he was so shaken up all he made was a head that peeked up at him briefly. He took an unsteady breath. Tarin knew the experience he had gone through, it would be alright to tell him. "I was eleven and we were going to go to a ball game, just Dad and me. He didn't know I didn't like Kendra, so I'm guessing he thought I was upset about becoming a big brother. There was a..." he gestured not trusting his voice. Traitor tears still poured out, and when he tossed his head a little, the hair slid out of the way revealing a dead eye and a scar from a wound that had not healed well. "By the time the pain meds wore off, he was..." another useless gesture as the word 'dead' got choked up. "Gone" Hugo offered his son. "Gone. I didn't get the lucky break you did."
