The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Welldrinker Cult
A shadowy group is gaining power, drawing in people who are curious, vulnerable, or malicious, and turning them into Mystics. They are recruiting people into their ranks to spread the influence of magic in the world, but for what end goal?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
Posted by Cheshire on Oct 25, 2008 20:43:04 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
Calley was not suicidal.
It was October 25; a scant week until Halloween. It was about a month since he'd fought Hunter, and he'd stopped measuring everything in days since that encounter. He was fully rested. Well fed. And not suicidal.
Calley paused outside of the Sanctuary, straightening the collar of his red dress shirt in his reflection on those golden doors. Those golden doors... seriously, he couldn't believe that no one had tried stealing them yet. He took a step back, and gave himself the most serious of serious look-overs, from bottom to top. Shoes: black tennies. Good for running. Pants: black, dressy, and comfortable. Made for longer strides than jeans, and looked better, too. Shirt: pirate red and awesome, though it looked a bit orange in the reflection. Face: presentable. They'd discovered that Slate's healing shifts could take care of acne. Which, for the record, made his mutation not just the best mutation ever, but unquestionably the best mutation ever. Hair: a little tussled, but looking quite regal under his cheap plastic-gold crown with the fake black gemstones. It was clearly a prince's crown. 'Cause on this October 25th, Calley was walking into the Sanctuary to reclaim his princess. The only girl who'd ever gotten underage tipsy-drunk with him, fought a werewolf, then had a footrace from the police that ended up at a B-rated horror movie theatre. Their particular brand of maturity had been made for each other, just like hamsters had been invented to be put in plastic balls. Not to say that either of them was immature: his Isabel was a tried-and-true Stabtress, and he was a Something-Something of the highest order. They both knew a fair bit about the world. They just didn't get all cranky and stupid about it, like everyone else seemed to.
Calley took a deep breath in, a deep breath out, and gallantly pushed open the golden doors. In stormed the Prince. In one hand, he held a bouquet of red roses with a single black one in their midst; under that arm was tucked a pumpkin-shaped box of awesome marshmallow chocolates. That were, for the record, shaped like stakes. Or--if you used your imagination--like bone-knives. Under his other arm was a little orange box that screamed 'gift! gift! open me! gift!' After maybe-kind of avoiding his girlfriend for prooooobably a few months, Calley was back. And he'd brought goodies. Lots of goodies.
Because his girlfriend stabbed people, and he was not suicidal.
He marched gallantly up to the front desk, where he puffed up his chest and met the deadpan look of the Receptionator with his own heroic blue gaze. With all due boisterousness, he dramatically demanded of the wench: "Umm, could you call Issie for me?" And lo, the woman did stare at him until he fidgeted in his good-for-running black tennis shoes. For she was Lisa. And she'd never really liked this twitchy scrawny boy that Isabel had dragged in, anyway.
"Would a Miss Isabel Duskmoor please report to the front desk. There is a visitor here for you."
After the initial cringe from hearing her last name broadcast throughout the Sanctuary, Isabel's attention focused more on the message as a whole. She recognized Lisa's voice immediately, and would have known it was the prim and proper woman even if she couldn't have picked the voice out of a crowd. Lisa was the only one that ever used her last name, and she never seemed to listen to Isabel's requests that it be forgotten. With no sense of urgency she searched the floor briefly for where her bookmark had landed when it had dropped out of the back pages of her book. Well, technically it was the Sanctuary's book, but she'd conveniently forgotten to properly check it out of the Library, just as she'd forgotten to return it. Finding the scrap of paper half hidden under her bed, she picked it up and placed it between the two pages she'd been reading before the announcement had sounded over the intercom. Honestly, Lisa had her cell number. She had the numbers of all the Order members. It was just as easy to call or page her on that. Sometimes Isabel suspected the receptionist just did these kinds of things to get back at her for dripping blood on the clean floors. And just for this little inconvenience, Isabel would let Lisa entertain this guest of hers for a little while longer. The receptionist was supposed to be polite and cheery to the people who entered the Sanctuary anyways. It was part of her job. Isabel was just helping to be sure she made her money's worth. Placing the borrowed book in her bookshelf, she grabbed her cell phone from on top of the same bit of decor and slipped it into a pocket that was hidden in one of the pleats in her short skirt. And after making sure she was presentable enough, she left her room, closing the door behind her and head off down the corridor to find out who this visitor was.
As she rounded the corner into the Foyer, her pace hitched for a step or two before she came to a stop. Lisa gave her a look as if to say 'I think this belongs to you, Miss Duskmoor' before turning from the youth fidgeting in front of her pristine desk and returning to her work. Isabel's gaze traveled from one parcel to the next, two boxes and what looked to be a bouquet of flowers, then to the young man himself. He was dressed rather nicely, in black pants and a red shirt, and had apparently topped it all off with a crown. Halloween was still about a week away, though she'd already seen a good number of people walking around in various states of costumed dress. This kid was apparently one of them. The youth was very familiar, she was certain of it, but the subtle changes that had become apparent over the past few months made her doubt for a moment who it was that had requested to see her. Pretending that it wasn't the sight of him that had surprised her enough to cause her to stop, she easily took up her casual gait once more in order to bring herself closer to Lisa's desk and to the boy as well. She was trying to decide if she was angry about the rather sudden disappearance of the boy she'd had an amusing little adventure with, or if she was just happy to see him again. It proved to be a difficult decision. After all, she was a brat when it came right down to it. She didn't appreciate it when people brushed her off with any amount of ease, and some that had done so had certainly learned their lesson from her. However, she was usually glad enough to see old friends that her bratty impulses were suppressed in favor of friendlier reactions. In the end, she decided she'd remain neutral. For the moment, at least. "Hello, Calley," she greeted, speaking with seeming indifference as she stopped only a short distance from the package-laden youth. "Decided to stop by for a visit, have you?"
>> "Hello, Calley. Decided to stop by for a visit, have you?"
The youth in question straightened up quite nobly, before cutting into a regal bow that nearly put his upper body parallel to the floor. Drama. Drama was distracting; distractions distracted from the pre-mediation of any stabbings. His plan this evening was to keep his Ribboned Lady thoroughly distracted. The fact that she was feigning disinterest right now seemed to be a good sign. If it was him, he wouldn't do that unless he actually somewhat cared.
He straightened out of his bow, with a smile that leaned mischievously off to one side, and blue eyes that twinkled in a distinctly non-innocent manner. "Isabel," he began in all seriousness; "I challenge you to a date. Do you accept?"
There was no hint of apology about him. No apology, and no explanation for his absence. They might get to all that later. First, however: his challenge stood. She may have had trouble recognizing him at first; intend, he had changed. Quite a bit. But it was clear that the constantly twitching seventeen year old who'd challenged her to that footrace from a scene of a crime was still there, in an eighteen year old whose crown glittered in the Sanctuary's lights as he waited on her reply with an easily relaxed set to his shoulders.
Isabel quirked a brow curiously at the young man as he bowed to her, playing the part of the prince she assumed he'd dressed as, judging by the crown that somehow stayed securely on his noggin despite the change of posture. He'd obviously lost none of his dramatic flair since she'd last seen him, though she couldn't particularly complain about the lack of loss. It was just one of the things that had interested her when she'd first bumped into him during her illegal drinking escapade. The over exaggerations, the dramatic gestures, the seeming enjoyment just to be out and about. It was all very refreshing compared to most individuals who moped around all day and did nothing but sulk about the little things. Now, Isabel did her fair share of sulking and pouting. She was quite good at it. But it was usually only when she wasn't getting her own way, or when she was trying to guilt someone into giving her what she wanted. It was nice to have the refreshing carefree attitude of the young man around again, even if only for a short while. During, and shortly after, the Camps there was very little of anything but timidness and hopelessness, though mercifully it had eased away once more as time progressed. It was bittersweet to run into someone who seemed to be so unaffected by those scarring months, but despite the bitter aspect of it, she still appreciated it. However, she would not let her hurt feelings and vindictive streak ease away from her just yet. She still had questions she needed answers for, and she would not allow the boy to wriggle out of their focus for too long.
With his next batch of words, Isabel just stared at him for a moment, partially in curiosity, but mostly in disbelief. The kid disappears for months on end, and then just shows up one day asking, no challenging her to another date? The kid had some guts, she'd give him that much, though she was unsure whether to chalk it up to bravery or just common stupidity. While part of her wanted to rise to the challenge, another part of her wanted to just turn right back around and leave the boy standing here by himself to deal with Lisa and go back to wherever he'd come from. It would serve him right. Him and his stupid crown, his stupid packages, and his stupid gall. However, being the brat that she was with a bit of an ego, she was not one to just blow off something like a challenge. Besides, she reasoned with herself, it would give her a chance to find out exactly what the young man had been up to in his absence and would leave her more time to try and get the answers she wanted from him. "Challenges are usually issued by knights, not princes, aren't they?" she commented, looking pointedly at the crown he wore for a moment before letting her attention drift away from it once again. She would let her initial want to walk away slide for now. After all, there's no saying she couldn't do so at a later point in time, if she so chose. "Fine then, I'll accept," she finally answered. "What are the terms and conditions of this challenge?"
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
Hark, the eyebrow quirk! Gather now, children, and listen closely: in that Autumn silence, where the flame leaves fell from the trees outside and were reflected in the golden doors; under that innocuous building's roof, where the floor was polished to a perfection nearly as complete as that receptionist's desk, that sole movement was speaking loudly. Its voice carried undercurrents of anger in a riverbed of sulk, with a rising tide of outrage that swelled and overflowed the banks of That's Right, Issie, You Got Challenged. Challenged, indeed. There was nothing normal about Isabel Duskmoor: therefore, it simply would not have done for him to ask her on a normal date in a normal fashion.
>> "Challenges are usually issued by knights, not princes, aren't they?"
Calley reached up a lone finger, and gave his crown a push of readjustment that it did not need. Hair clips: surprisingly useful creations for keeping all your princely accessories in place. And they could be quite cleverly concealed under the rest of your hair, as well. And they had rabbits on them! He almost went for the cat clips, but the cats had looked mildly lobotomized, whereas the rabbits had sparkle-glitter worked into their plastic. ...He had mentioned that he'd made a point of making sure aforementioned sparkle-glitter rabbit clips were hidden, right? Right.
As to her actual comment: he lowered his arm again, with a smile but without a word. He'd almost gone for Knight. But Knights tended to have Lords that bossed them around; Princes, on the other hand, where in the habit of offing their old men for a chance at sitting on that throne a few years sooner.
>> "Fine then, I'll accept."
And Knights won battles, whereas Princes won wars. His victory had passed its first test.
>> "What are the terms and conditions of this challenge?"
With a half-bow, Calley extended the flowers to Isabel, followed shortly by the pumpkin box of chocolate. Bowing he might be, but his blue eyes stayed mischievously on her face. "The challenge has but two terms, my Lady. And," his grin turned distinctly Cheshire, "one condition. The first rule: until Midnight, you may ask no questions of me."
Still in his bow, he offered out the little orange box to her. "The condition: you must wear this." Inside, she would find a simple crown, quite like the ones little girls wore on Halloween to turn into princesses: it was in the shape of a spiraling cone, about a hand high, with a thin veil that would hang down the back of her hair. Unlike those pink and gold little creations that were so popular, however, this one was an understated black with silver highlights. The veil was that tastefully dark red of fresh blood, beginning now to dry.
He straightened up, fluidly extending a hand out to her palm-first in the same motion. "The final rule: come with me." He quirked his own eyebrow her way, his hand holding steady. "Lady Isabel of the Sanctuary, I ask you plainly--dare you accept?"
Carefully, and almost with a hint of confusion Isabel took the gifts as they were handed over to her, thankful that the plastic wrapping the roses was thick enough to prevent the thorns from poking through. She wasn't used to getting gifts that weren't then meant to be used to cut someone down or to protect her from being the one riddled full of holes. On several occasions the Order members had been given a good variety of weapons as well as some Kevlar for their more dangerous missions. More casual gifts were a rarity. "Well I doubt I'll be able to keep from asking you any questions at all until Midnight. Conversations do usually include questions. Though I suppose I can let you weasel your way out of the important ones until then. And I'm sure you know which ones I mean," she replied. She should have known it wouldn't have been all that easy with this particular boy. He had good methods of putting things in the way of objects he didn't want to deal with at that moment. Like her beating him in a race on their last outing when he'd called down the powers of darkness. She wasn't much surprised by the assumption that they would still be out at such a late hour. Calley was dramatic. Note the crown, theatrical bows, and equally as character-related bits of speech. Unless, of course, it was just another way of evading the questions if he planned on the evening ending before the set time, in which case she would break her word a little early. It was only fair that she at least know what he'd been up to since he'd disappeared, after all. An there was more, apparently. Carefully she maneuvered the packages already in her hands in order to take hold of the third box, lifting the lid a little awkwardly because of the number of items in her arms. Inside the box was a small crown. She should have known. And a dare on top of it all. The kid was thorough, she'd give him that much. "Just let me put these thing in my room," was the simple reply she gave, turning and heading back down the hall, leaving the boy to contend with Lisa for a short while. Isabel always did like to have her cake and eat it, too. She'd go with him, yes, but not before leaving him on his own for a moment. It would at least satisfy the earlier urge to do so for a short while.
With another slight bout of awkwardness Isabel pushed through her bedroom door, dropping the two boxes on her bed and heading toward the bathroom. There she placed the roses in the sink and let the water run until the bottom portion of their stems was submerges, not wanting the flowers to wilt while she was out. She would scour the Sanctuary later for a nice vase to put them in. There was probably a few in the kitchen area, or maybe some in the Cathedral. She would check later on and see what she could find. They would probably look nice on her bookshelf, or maybe her dresser. And speaking of that dresser, that was her next stop. Lifting the top off of the box with her crown in it, she moved over to her dresser, taking full advantage of the large mirror it had attached to it. Expertly she removed her bow and other pair of ribbons from her hair, tucking the former into the pocket hidden in the pleats of her skirt where her cell phone also rested. Quickly she brushed her fingers through her hair, smoothing it out and ridding it of the part that was created while she usually wore it in pigtails. Lazily she tossed the other pair of ribbons on the dresser's top as she switched them out for the crown, pleased to find that it already had a pair of bobby pins sewn onto the inside. Carefully she arranged the accessory atop her head, making sure the pins found a good purchase in her hair so the thing would stay put at least for a while. At least the thing wasn't pink, like they typically were. She wondered where her personal Prince had found this one with greatly improved color usage. When she was satisfied with the look of her new accessory, she headed back out to the Foyer to find her escort. "Now, where exactly is it we are going?" she asked as she approached, extending her own hand, palm-down, in the boy's direction since she'd been unable to take his offered hand earlier. "Am I going to end up finding that you've brought a noble steed with you as well, or are we taking the more common route and walking to wherever it is we're going?"
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
There were three pieces of unfiled paper work on Lisa's desk. She opened a drawer and removed a red stamp, bearing her signature at the day's date. Slam slam SLAM! ...Those papers considered themselves signed. Two more drawers opened; one hand returned the stamp to its proper location, and the other--without looking, mind you--sent the three papers into three different hanging manila folders.
"So... new hair cut?" Calley asked lightly.
Lisa looked up at him. She looked, as one hand opened another drawer. A spray bottle and an immaculate white rag came out. Lisa looked at him. Gave the desk a spray. Began polishing its perfect surface with the rag. Her gaze never left his. This time, Calley could see her unblinking stare and his own habitual smile reflected in the surface of her base of power. The drawer opened, and the rag and bottle disappeared. Then it was just him, and Lisa, and a stare he didn't feel comfortable breaking without an excuse.
"No," she answered his question, long after he'd forgotten what it was. "It's not."
Calley gulped.
Ye, it twas the sound of footsteps that saved him from the Receptionator. Calley was given his excuse to look away. Lo, did he take it.
>> "Now, where exactly is it we are going? Am I going to end up finding that you've brought a noble steed with you as well, or are we taking the more common route and walking to wherever it is we're going?"
"Heh." The sound left Calley's lips as they curved into another Cheshire grin. He took her hand and--sweeping it upwards, while he bowed down to meet it--sought to give it the faintest brush of his lips. When he straightened up, it was with a blush on his face. But there was a lot to say for staying in character. And maybe, just maybe, he'd get a blush out of her, too. "That was two questions, my lady. Come, come--you'll see."
Keeping her hand quite captive, Calley attempted to guide it to a spot on his offered elbow. Then, with a great air of regal dignity, he escorted the fair Lady of the Gleeful Bloodshed out of the golden doors, and into a New York City evening. The traffic blared and honked its horns, screeched and slammed its brakes, and generally did everything in its power to run down any sense of magic in the coming twilight. Naturally, it was a Prince's job to fix such matters.
With a sly No Questions glance over at his princess, Calley stretched out his hand, as if to tell something unseen to stop in its tracks. And then, quite suddenly, there was something there to be stopped: a white horse, with the barest dapples of gray along its flanks. He'd stolen this form from a petting zoo, but Issie reeeally didn't need to know that. It might somehow make the scene less dramatic. Because dramatic it was, or at least, that's what he was going for: the horse pranced in place with a toss of its head, coming to a full stop that radiated energy, its chest pressed against Calley's outstretched palm. The horse at the petting zoo hadn't been nearly as spirited. That was its new mindset, showing through.
Calley ran his hand along the horse's side, leading Isabel as he went, if she would allow him the honor. The horse had no saddle or bridle. Suffice it to say, he wouldn't be needing them. He finally released Isabel's hand, so that he could wrap it into the base of the horse's mane: a quick kick upwards and he was mounted, with a hand reaching back down to offer Isabel an aid in joining him. "You mentioned something about a noble steed?" He asked coyly. That was all the explanation she was going to get. This date... was much more 'show' than it was 'tell'. And since he'd already shown this much, there was no turning back now. The horse gave a snort, breaking the normal noises of the New York City evening, and quite enjoying doing so.
And he was grinning again. Isabel didn't trust that grin, especially when it came in response to her questions. It was a very distinctly trouble causing grin. One that said 'guess what kind of surprise I've got planned for you now'. It was nearly enough to make her step back and press a few more questions to the youth. She had, after all, only promised to keep from voicing the questions she really wanted to ask. However, before any such reaction could be executed, her offered hand was taken and she was effectively distracted by his display of chivalry, which she assumed was another act of staying in character as the Prince he was pretending to be. And despite her being able to realize that it was an act of his character, she could not keep the light dusting of pink from finding its way to her cheeks. Even after her run-in with a certain individual that had been making his flirtations obvious to her from the first few moments of their meeting, she was still not entirely used to being subjected to such treatment, obvious or more proper and viewed as somewhat old fashioned, in Calley's case. She was much more used to being shot at and hated by a good portion of New York's population. She was still learning to find her ground when it came to kinder actions directed at her, aside from the general friendliness of most of the Order members. Her hand, however, was not released after her escort's display of gentlemanly behavior. It was instead brought up to rest on his elbow, which she allowed. Knowing Calley, it would be near useless to fight against whatever her had his mind set on. Though she didn't really mind the look of what this evening could be shaping up to become. She gave Lisa a little wave as the two of them headed to the doors in order to get to the street beyond. The receptionist seemed to care very little for the gesture.
Isabel gave an innocently clueless look at the glance she was shot by Calley, playing like she hadn't the faintest idea of why such a look would be necessary. She had only asked a pair of very simple questions, ones that were common enough given she didn't know where they were supposed to be going. She just wanted a bit of insight into what was going to be happening on this particular evening, especially with all the theatrics and a deadline like midnight. Curiously she watched as Calley stretched out his free hand, as if attempting to keep something from passing any closer, except for the were nothing there to halt. At least for a moment. That was, of course, before a horse appeared, filling the previously empty space and amiably pressing a portion of its body against the boy's hand. For a moment Isabel could only stare, her lips parting as if to say something, though she remained quite silent. Her little Prince would definitely have some explaining to do after that little trick, but for now she was content to let that inquiry slip to the back of her mind with the rest of them and simply take in the sight of the animal. Of course there was a noble steed. Why wouldn't there be? And she was probably at fault for putting such an idea into his head, too. As she'd noted before, Calley was thorough in his escapades. As she was again coaxed into motion as she was lead around to the side of the horse, she attempted to give the animal a decent amount of space between it and herself. It wasn't that she was afraid of the animal, it's just that it was big and had been prancing before, and that she'd never really had any kind of experience with such creatures. She was more wary of it that truly afraid. It had, after all, appeared out of nowhere and it didn't have a saddle or reins or any other means with which to control it. And she was, of course, expected to get onto its back along with her escort.
She felt Calley's elbow slipping out from under her hand, though she payed very little attention to that, as most of her focus was still directed at the large horse before her. She took half a step back as she somehow registered that her Prince and swung himself up onto the beast, only looking back to him when she heard his voice, looking first to his face, then his hand, and back to the horse. She was expected to get on the creature's back and allow it to take her to wherever it was they were going. She was expected to do so without a saddle or reins with which to guide the horse to the proper place. Isabel had never ridden a horse before, saddled or otherwise. "I guess I did," she managed to get out as she tore her gaze away from the horse and placed her attention back on Calley and his outstretched hand. She didn't know whether she was expected to sit in front of him or behind him, nor which was more proper if there was such a thing when it came to riding horses. She knew that she'd be able to keep her balance better if she was able to use him as an anchor, much like people did on a motorcycle. In front of him, she most likely have his arms on either side of her to help keep her anchored, but she'd have little to hold on to aside from the horse's mane. Somehow she managed to remember a bit of info saying that the mane could be used for steering on some occasion. She didn't want to risk her nerves forcing her to grab onto tufts of hair and making some sort of mistake. Making her decision before she could change her mind, she took the offered hand and used it to help her get herself onto the horse, swinging her body up behind Calley's. Almost timidly she slid her arms around his midsection, thankful that he wouldn't be able to see her face heating up a little yet again. "I don't suppose you'll tell me now where we're going," she commented, stating more than asking. Drama was Calley's specialty. She was just along for the ride.
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
"I guess I did," his Isabel said, with an enthusiasm for their mode of transport somewhat lacking. Or somewhat mistrusting, perchance. But now now, really, what cause was there to distrust an unbridled horse that appeared from thin air? The horse itself gave just a little kick of one rear leg as Isabel mounted, its head slanted the slightest bit to the side to gauge her reaction. Not that it was trying to upset her balance. Just that... it was really too tempting to not do otherwise. And while Isabel's Prince might have his royal gaze directed forwards, the horse quite nicely noted the darkening of the Princess' cheeks. Heh. Twice in one night. He'd have to see how many of those he could get.
>> "I don't suppose you'll tell me now where we're going."
"I don't suppose I will," Calley said, with a grin. He clucked his tongue; the horse started forwards at a walk. A brisk walk, that clopped out a good pace against the New York sidewalk. Suffice it to say that many a pedestrian moved out of their way. He was almost tempted to bring them out into the street traffic, but honestly, they'd probably move faster if they stuck to the sidewalks. The streets were rather clogged with people commuting home from work. And New York cabbies were both unfazed by things like horses, and insane. Calley knew who to mess with, and who not to, sometimes.
He probably shouldn't be messing with Isabel. But it was so fun.
The horse turned at a corner here and there, but it soon became apparent that they were moving to the outskirts of the city.
In the city fringes, there was an old warehouse district that didn't see much activity. In that old warehouse district that didn't see much activity, there was a surprisingly well-maintained set of grey buildings. In between those surprisingly well-maintained set of grey buildings, there was a courtyard. Standing in that courtyard was a group of twenty-five or so people. Most notable among them were a handful of Final Fantasy VII cosplayers, several stereotypical college students (most of them looking like com sci majors), three men dressed as LARPers--a sorcerer, a paladin, and an elfin archer, to be specific--and a group of black-cowled warlocks who were talking quietly together in what might have been Latin. They might seem familiar to the ribboned girl, from a certain movie theatre a year ago.
A man in full-body camouflage--face paint and all--was attempting to call the group to order.
"Nice turnout we got here. Didn't know how many people would see the ad at the Black Lagoon Theatre, and didn't know how many people I wanted to see that ad on 4chan. So, welcome to the third off-campus gathering of the NYU Gamer's Society. Guests obviously welcome. I am your Overlord--" there was some hissing from the warlocks-- "okay, I'm your GM, Jeremy. We've got a few choices for games tonight... we can go with board games--" booing from the LARPers-- "we can boo me all evening--" general cheers "--thanks, guys. Or we can play Vampire Tag, Zombie Horde, or Pirates versus Ninjas. Or we can--sigh--Summon the Dark Lord." Latin incantations of dark praise from the warlocks. The camouflaged man rolled his eyes most dramatically.
During that little speech, Calley dismounted the horse--which hadn't seemed to raise many eyebrows from the assembled group as it clopped up, interestingly enough--and offered Isabel a hand down. As soon as she dismounted, their noble steed was doomed to disappear as suddenly as it had joined them.
Camo Man said one last thing, which explained a lot about why the horse had gone uncommented upon: "Of course, the mutants among us are free to use their powers in any game. Larry over there is a healer--" one of the com sci majors raised up a lanky arm in a wave-- "so just try to keep things non-fatal, people. Let's not have a repeat of the Assassins Game when there's not a time warper around to reverse the campus-wide nuclear explosions. Or... well, you catch my drift. So. Who's up for what?"
Calley offered his arm out to Isabel again, aiming to lead her over to the group. He wiggled his eyebrows. "I had to top our first date, somehow. And besides--the Powers of Darkness missed you."
The warlocks had caught sight of the ribboned girl. More than one of them was waving.
Much to Isabel's horror, the horse gave a small buck just as she was settling herself onto its back, the sudden movement startling her and, not wanting to lose her balance and fall, she wrapped her arms a little tighter around Calley's waist, not tight enough to cause any discomfort, but just enough to make her feel a bit more secure and to give her something to hold onto to prevent from sliding off the unsaddled animal. It would have been humiliating to fall off the animal, especially in the face of Calley's own confidence in riding the mysterious beast. Even more so since she'd only just gotten herself settled. Carefully she let her grip loosen a little once more, fighting back the urge to tighten it instead as their mount began moving with only the smallest indication to do so, and without need of any guidance from the individual that had summoned it. Thankfully the horse could not move too fast in the midst of the pedestrians that milled along the sidewalks, no matter how quickly they moved aside for the animal to pass. She didn't mind going at their current pace. There was less of a chance that she would be jarred from her perch that way, and it gave her more time to get used to the horse's particular way of moving. With a bit more sluggishness than their pace, Isabel was slowly letting her apprehension at riding the animal slip away from her, her natural sense of self-confidence trickling back to her as they progressed through the city and seemingly toward its outer edges. She was trying to focus more on the curiosity she felt in wanting to know their destination. It was better than letting herself worry about anything else. She was on a date after all, challenged or otherwise, and she should enjoy herself rather than being wary of some animal that seemed admittedly a little less than normal.
She didn't have to wait too long before finding out exactly where Calley had planned on taking her, her gaze roaming around curiously from person to person as the horse slowed to a stop in what appeared to be a decently sized court yard. Most she didn't recognize, but there was a frightfully familiar group of figures practically dripping in black thrown in with the group. Gratefully she took the offered hand down from atop the horse after Calley had dismounted during the speech that she was only halfway listening to, trying to at least pick up on the important parts of it. She took a half step away from where the horse had been and toward her date for the evening as the animal disappeared, a little startled and wondering why she hadn't expected it to do exactly that. Turning back to pay closer attention to the man speaking, she was just able to catch the last bit of his little speech. Mutant welcome was certainly a nice change after the whole Camp incident, and she was almost glad these people didn't seem to recognize her as the cop killer she was. At least not yet, anyways. Being able to use her mutation certainly had its advantages, and though some may not believe it, she was capable of non-fatal maneuvers. Perhaps almost equally as skeptical to others was the fact that she didn't care to seriously harm those that she got along with. The police force and those associated were reserved as playmates. The rest of the population fell into either human or mutant in her mind. Mutants were always potential friends, and once an agreeable relationship was established, she would hardly so much as dream of harming them or allowing them to be harmed. She was pickier about humans. They tended to fit into the plaything category unless they proved to be friendship material. That is, if she gave them a chance to prove themselves as such. If she did befriend one, they had a good chance of also earning her protection and a safeguard against her own aggressive nature, though that favorable truce of sorts was likely to be more fragile than those she made with other mutants.
Turning back to face Calley as he spoke, she took his offered arm and allowed him to lead her where he pleased. With his comment about he Powers of Darkness, she blinked slowly for a brief moment before turning to look at the figures draped in black, a slight look of surprise crossing her features at the sight of several members of the group waving in her direction. She gave a small, sheepish smile and waved just as shyly, not having expected any of them to have remembered the girl in the theater that they had startled close to a year ago. She of course remembered them all too clearly by now. "It's, er... nice to see them again, too," she commented, being a little careful of her words as she turned her attention back to Calley, letting her hand drop back to her side. "So do you know the rest of these people?" she asked, letting her gaze drift back out over the decently sized group assembled in this little area of the city that she had been previously unaware of. It looked like a convention of sorts to her, judging by the costumes, though she didn't know if that's what it was or if it was an occasion reserved for Halloween instead. The latter seemed to make more sense considering how close the holiday was, not to mention the names of the games the GM had proposed that they could play. Which reminded her, she had never actually heard of any of those games, and as such she didn't know how they worked or even what kind of games they were. She could at least rule out the board game possibility, since that option had apparently been shot down previous to those suggestions being presented. She was also pretty sure it didn't involve the Dark Lord, of which the warlocks were so fond, and which the GM seemed more than skeptical and dismissive of. "Hey Calley, do you know how those games that guy mentioned work? I've never played them before."
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
>> "It's, er... nice to see them again, too. So do you know the rest of these people?"
The way she said that made Calley snerk a little on the inside. What? Had she expected the horde of black-cloaked warlocks to forget her? It wasn't every day that they got to swarmingly defeat the Forces of Good. As his crowned Isabel clearly and indisputably was. Why, he couldn't think of one single officer of the law that would dispute that point for long.
"I know some of them," he answered, with a grin. "A lot of them saw the poster for this at the Black Lagoon Theatre, like I did. Others..." His eyes innocuously drifted over the three LARPers, who might or might not be on Mondragon Lab security during the day, and might or might not have been involved in the dramatic efforts to tame an errant vampireling a few months back. They kept on drifting, over the cosplayers and the college students and the camo man. "Nope, not so much."
>> "Hey Calley, do you know how those games that guy mentioned work? I've never played them before."
His grin developed into a refined smirk as his chin tilted slightly upwards, to be tapped by one finger. "Ah, how to explain... Vampire Tag and Zombie Horde are similar: though of course, in Zombie Horde, you nom your victim's head instead of biting their neck. You start out with two or three vamps or zombies, and the rest are humans... and the vamps or zombies try to convert everyone else. There is much running (or shuffling and groaning, with the zombies), and gleeful death, and turning on your former comrades at a second's notice as you are 'changed'... Though of course, in Vampire Tag, getting staked turns you back into human: in Zombie Horde, there's no way to get changed. Usually that ends with a group of survivors holed up on the roofs taking pot shots at the encroaching horde of hungry death. It begs the question: what's your zombie plan?" Calley narrowed his eyes mischievously at the red-crowned princess. She seemed like the kind of girl who would have a zombie plan. His own involved shifting to crow and enjoyin' the good eatin's as the rest of humanity died off, but in the game, he tended to favor the hole-up-on-the-roof-with-ammo method. The GM usually had machine guns stashed up there. Paint ball machine guns: the best use of a weaponmancing mutation ever. Second only to the paint ball bazooka.
"As for Summoning the Dark Lord: the warlocks start setting up a summoning circle, and the rest of us try to stop them. Kind of a free-for-all. Which is harder than it sounds, even with them being outnumbered." One of the warlocks overheard this description. A cowled face turned their way, and a black-sleeved hand held itself up: in the downturned palm of the hand, a scimitar of white and blue flame briefly flared into life, with all the ease of flicking on a lighter. The cowl radiated smiles. Smiles of pwnage the likes of which the world had never seen. "Yeaaah..." Calley said; "pretty much, we beat them before they're done with the circle, or... actually, it's pretty cool if we don't beat them. They've got a couple of pyrillusionists, and they've had way too much fun designing that Dark Lord of theirs. Of course," he felt it necessary to add, "they're pretty much unbeatable once they summon it, so expect to be visiting Larry the Healer."
"Last but not least: Pirates versus Ninjas." Calley turned a carefully schooled face her way. "It's Pirates versus Ninjas. There are mandatory costumes, and any attack not preceded by 'Avast, ye pansy-cloaked shadow!' or 'Oshininattekudasaimasenka*!' is too lame to count. It's Pirates versus Ninjas... with mutant powers. There is never a winner. Only carnage." Glorious, glorious carnage.
Larry the Healer was sipping an energy drink as he watched the crowd shout its votes to the camo man. Conveniently enough, there was a four way tie between game choices: Isabel and Calley would have the deciding votes. Funny how these things work out.
((ooc: *Translation: "Wouldn't your exalted self, which is raised high above my own lowly position, please do me the supreme favor of becoming honorably dead?"--that's all one word. I <3 Japanese verb conjugation.))
Grin: noted. Mischief: imminent. Isabel supposed it had been a bit of a silly question. The warlocks were here after all, so of course Calley knew some of the people gathered, though he didn't give any signs that he knew any of the others. It wasn't any huge shock that the warlocks were also the only ones that she knew. Apparently a number of fliers had been pasted up in the Black Lagoon. She hadn't gotten around to visiting the theater a second time, and therefore did not see anything that had been stuck up in the building. She wasn't quite sure she would have recognized anyone even if she had been there considering the costumes they were all wearing. Though by the way that Calley kept drawing attention back to the figures oozing black, it seemed like she'd be getting to know them a little better by the end of the night. She didn't really mind that too terribly much. It was the methods of getting to know them that she worried about. The first time she'd ever even seen them they set after her without hesitation at the call of a young man she assumed they hadn't known beforehand. They knew her a little better by now and seemed happy enough to tease her right off the bat. It was unsettling to think of what kind of trouble they could stir up and drag her into. Especially if Calley was there to encourage them again. And knowing him even for as short of a time as she had, encouraging trouble seemed to be one of his specialties.
Grin: shift to smirk. Superiority through knowledge: asserted. She listened attentively as Calley explained the dynamics of each game that had been mentioned by the camo-clad GM a few minutes prior to her questioning. They seemed to be simple enough, though when all lumped together it took a little more effort to keep her facts straight. And then he mentioned summoning the Dark Lord. She had not seen that coming. She'd always thought that it was some sort of ritual, but she hadn't expected that there'd be an actual Lord of Darkness to make any kind of appearance. It was worrying, but also intriguing, especially with one of the cowled folk showing off with his scimitar of flames. Oh yeah. She could tell it would be just so much fun further acquainting herself with them. She gave another sheepish kind of smile in response to the collective grinning of the dark group and quickly turned her attention back to Calley. It almost reminded her of feeding a stray cat. Give it a bit of attention and it's likely to follow you after. The dark summoners seemed to enjoy the attention they got with their less than inconspicuous appearances and their flaming weaponry. They were probably nice enough once one got to know them, but Isabel didn't think anyone could blame her for being a little cautious around them. Thankfully enough everyone's attention was called into focus to vote on which game was to be played. And of course, she was included in the pair of tie-breakers for the votes. Briefly she wondered what would happen if it remained a tie. She figured it would be more likely that another tie-breaker would be held, though she wouldn't put it past a group like this to attempt some kind of hybrid made up of two combined games. However, the longer she dwelled on something so trivial, the longer it would take for anyone to get to the games themselves. With a small shrug, she cast her vote for Zombie Horde.
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
Calley was struck with an almost irrational urge to vote for Pirates v. Ninjas, just to see what the camo man would do. Would there by a revote? Or--or---would they end up playing some glorious game of Zombie Pirates v. Ninjas? Avast, ye maties, he repressed the urge: Zombie Horde got his vote, too. Those paint ball machine guns were just too awesome. So awesome, not even Zombie Pirates could compete. As would probably have been proven, if they'd ended up playing that.
"The moaning death has it!" The GM declared, now that all votes were in. "Okay. Remember the rules, everyone: zombies can only shuffle, not run. Humans, if a zombie touches your head, you've been brain-nommed, and immediately become a zombie. Powers are fair game, on either side. Paint ball guns are stockpiled on the roof of Warehouse 14, and ammo is in the basement of Warehouse 3. Zombies, if you get hit in the chest or head with powers or paintball guns, you're dead. Count to sixty before you re-spawn. Don't worry about property damage--Garry is a housemancer; he'll fix everything after we're done."
"Unless you blow it up," a man dressed a Yuffie from FFVII spoke up. Garry, presumably.
"Unless you blow it up," the GM repeated, sternly. "Now everyone, come pick a card. Black cards start as human. Red cards--that's the ace of diamonds and the ace of hearts--start out as zombies. Once everyone's got a card, I blow the whistle. Once the whistle is blown, zombies may nom, and humans may run. Com'on, folks. Let's train for the zombie apocalypse."
They got into the shuffling, disorganized line; at the front, Calley drew a face-down card from the dwindling deck in the camo man's hand. He snuck a furtive peek at it before slipping it into the hand of Larry the Healer, who was standing next to the GM, collecting.
The Jack of Spades. Calley was human. He gave a toothy smile to Isabel. "So. Any bets on which of us will last longest?" That was, of course, assuming that his princess was a human at all. This waiting time was really the best, from a Psychology major's point of view: standing close to anyone, even your girlfriend or best friend or cousin, was a distinct hazard to your very humanity.
Once the last card was drawn, the whistle blew: the desperate battle to survive until the bitter end had began.
And Zombie Hoard came out on top. She couldn't help but grin at Calley as his vote ended up being the deciding one. She'd almost expected him to go for another game simply to mess with her. He had been the one to sick the Darkness on her on their first date, after all. She wouldn't put many tricks past him. Speaking of the Darkness, she didn't particularly expect that they'd think their Summoning would have been decided upon, judging by the reluctance to even mention it from the GM, though she didn't think they'd be particularly pleased about it, either. She couldn't help but picture a zombified Lord of Darkness as her mind wandered a bit, though she readily shook the image away as the GM moved on to explain the rules of the game a little further and to give instructions on where to find weapons and ammo to fight off the encroaching hoard. She hadn't known they'd be fighting off the zombies with paint ball guns, nor had she ever used such equipment, but it sounded like a total blast. "Bet I can get more head shots than you can," she commented, smiling smugly at Calley. She had good enough aim with her personal weaponry. A paint ball gun couldn't be all that much harder, now could it? Contests seemed to be a continuing component in their little get-togethers, not that she particularly minded or that she remembered what their score for winner vs. loser was. It was just all in good fun.
Obediently she proceeded to get into the disorganized line to pick and rid herself of her card once more. Black. Human. For now, anyways. From the sound of the descriptions of the game she'd been given, it seemed like the game only ended once everyone was a zombie, since the infected individuals just respawned once they'd been shot. The permission to use powers certainly put a twist into it, too. Anything Isabel put to use would have to be uncharacteristically dulled down so as not to really injure anyone, even if there was a healer present. Casually she glanced over at Calley as he directed a question at her. It was hard to say, really, though of course Isabel's own pride confidently piped up in her mind to say that she would be the winner when it came to pitting her survival against his own. She had taken down a werewolf on their first date, after all. How hard could a few zombies be? "I suppose that all depends on how fast you can run and how quick your trigger finger is," she replied, deciding on not giving any definite answer. "Come one, let's see if we can find those warehouses," she continued, tugging lightly at his hand as the whistle was blown for the game to begin. "Maybe we can barter with what we find or something," she added as an afterthought, unable to resist adding her own brand of mischief into the mixture.
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
"Ha!" The crowned prince chortled. "Beat I can get more hilarious shots than you." Not even he knew what that meant. But now that he'd said it, he was dead set on living up to it. ...And yeah. Yeah, Issie was probably going to trounce him at the head shot count.
>> "I suppose that all depends on how fast you can run and how quick your trigger finger is. Come one, let's see if we can find those warehouses."
The whistle blew; immediately, off to their left, one of the warlocks descended upon his cowled companion's heads with an exaggerated, "NOM!" Not too far from that, the men dressed as LARPers were running from an enthusiastically shuffling Com Sci major. He even had his hands outstretched in front of him, in traditional zombie style.
"Brainsssss..." Came the moan. Others, particularly of the cowled variety--those who hadn't been quick enough to flee their undead companion--picked up the chant.
"Brainssss... brainssss.... nom their brains.... brainssss... brainssss..."
"Urk," Calley said eloquently, following Isabel's hand tug and kicking it up into a jog. That whole 'zombies can only shuffle, not run' rule was quite helpful. It never changed the outcome, but it sure gave the initial survivors a chance to set up some wicked defenses.
>> "Maybe we can barter with what we find or something."
Or set up some wicked pre-death black markets for arms and ammo. Heh. "Isabel," Calley grinned over at his fellow teen; "I love your brains."
Warehouses three and fourteen: he didn't know where they were, either. On the bright side, neither did anyone else, given the GM's penchant for relabeling the buildings before each game based on dice rolls.