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.
Isabel gave a soft sound of surprise at the sudden commotion among the black robed figures, carefully making sure she steered away from them, and the GM as well. The Dark Lord's minions already seemed eager enough to see her. She didn't need to be making it any easier for them to be getting acquainted with her brain as well. Needless to say, she made no protests when Calley shifted their pace from brisk walk to jog. After all, jogging was much more efficient, especially in the face of the shuffling hoards. The shuffling was definitely a plus. Isabel could easily outmaneuver a shuffle, especially when mutations were allowed. Non-fatal mutations, of course. Hearing Calley's reply to her suggestion of weapons bartering, she just grinned back. "I'm sure the zombies will love my brains just as much as you do, though they'd love them for dinner, rather than for my ideas. So let's keep 'em unzombified," she replied, knowing full well that eventually everyone in the game was going to be a zombie before it ended. However, that would not prevent her from aiming to be one of the last survivors and making good use of the provided paint.
Unfortunately, she still didn't know where the weaponry was. Worse yet, the ammo and the weapons were in separate warehouses. Hopefully, the zombies and other players didn't know where those items were, either. If her and Calley managed to get their hands on one or both of the stores, then they had a good amount of leverage, and could provide the other players with a bit of troublesome fun. She also didn't know her way around this particular area of the city, since she'd never traveled this far toward the outskirts of New York on her own simply to explore. But, if she ended up getting lost, chances were she'd be able to keep out of sight of the Infected for a short time, and perhaps have some sort of chance at remaining human for a bit longer. "Let's try this one," she said, ducking off toward the first warehouse they came across, careful to keep an eye on those that had gone from skittering to shuffling this way and that a short distance off. "Even if there's no paint ball equipment in here, there might be other stuff. Like empty boxes. Empty boxes that other people might think contain ammo, but really don't," she commented as she squeezed through the doors. Strategically placed empty boxes made for good distractions. Because everyone loved being tricked into pausing long enough to become zombie food and donating their share of reserves to the other survivors.
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
>> "Let's try this one. Even if there's no paint ball equipment in here, there might be other stuff. Like empty boxes. Empty boxes that other people might think contain ammo, but really don't."
Calley followed her into the warehouse with a grin. It was dark inside: the only light came from the moon filtering through dirty windows, high overhead. Because, children, nothing said "unexpected death from all angles" quite like a dimly lit warehouse. On the bright side: this early in the game, the chances of a zombie having shuffled this far were next to nothing. Unless they were a teleporter, shadow-jumper, space-warper, wormhole-creator, or any of a multitude of technically-they-never-ran mutation-based loopholes. But really, what were the chances of that happening?
...Human eyes really weren't adjusted for the dark. One shift later, things came into perfectly paranoid black-and-white focus, and his shoulder gained a passenger so royal it did not need a crown. He was walking behind Isabel. He didn't bother pointing out his new friend. He suspected that the next time she looked at him, his new friend would quite distinctly point itself out.
On Calley's shoulder, serenely watching the scene with baby blue eyes, was a small tom cat. A small white tom cat, with black spots here and there. Isabel may or may not have been acquainted with the innocuous feline.
There was no time like the present to exploit the "no questions" part of this date. And honestly, if she was going to stab him, it was probably best that she try it before the rest of the players caught up with them.
On that note: "You know," Calley said, innocently glancing around with his own set of baby blues, "I think we've got material, here. What do you want to do?" The feline's nose wasn't catching any whiffs of fresh human scent through here, so it was unlikely that this was where the ammo or the guns had been set up. That didn't mean that there weren't a whole lot of boxes, though. Boxes had potential.
"By the by, strategy-wise: usually there're two groups of people. The ones that huddle together until the end, and make a grand team effort," he flashed a grin to nothing in particular, as the cat flicked its whiskers in the opposite direction; "and the people who make sure they're going to be the ones who live the longest. If you catch my drift. And you know, somehow I'm getting the impression that you and me might be on the same page about that last one."
The little white and black cat's tail gave a little black-tipped flick. Innocence fairly radiated off of it, as Calley spoke. Innocence like a newborn cat. Or--dare he say it?--a Kitten.
Human eyes were indeed ill equipped in dealing with dimly lit areas, such as a warehouse with dirty windows at night. Isabel's face was slightly screwed up in a light squint, trying to make out at least some details of her surroundings to keep herself from tripping on something that may lay on the floor, or from missing something that may be lurking in the dark. She knew that they had moved faster than the growing zombie hoard, though her and Calley may not be alone in thoughts of black markets and betrayal. When zombies strike, people tend to have an 'every man for himself' kind of mentality. Panic and threats to their mortality will do that to someone. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Isabel was fairly cool and collected in the face of the hoard, the cowled members included. Alright, maybe not so much in the face of her friends from the theater, but being fearless in the face of most of the zombies was better than nothing, wasn't it?
Upon inspecting one of the larger boxes for any goods that may be inside, Isabel cast a distracted glance at Calley as he spoke before turning back to the box. The dim lighting effectively outlined one side of the animal that had perched itself on his shoulder, though it took a moment for her mind to move away from her inspections and catch up with her eyes. Quickly her head snapped back around in a double-take, though this time her gaze stuck, her eyes firmly fixed on the feline that had joined their little duo. "That's my Kitten," she stated, a sort of dumbfounded look melting away her previous squint. How the hell had her little black and white cat ended up here? With Calley? And on that note, why where the color of their eyes so very similar? Had the horse-out-of-nowhere had blue eyes, too? She couldn't remember. She'd been to preoccupied with not falling off of the beast. But she did know that Calley had something to do with it. "What is my Kitten doing here? On your shoulder, and in the middle of a zombie invasion?" she questioned, momentarily forgetting the rules she had agreed upon at the beginning of their evening out. Letting her inspection of the box go uncontinued, she closed the few steps distance between Calley and herself in order to reach out and pluck the feline from its perch. She knew cats didn't tend to like such treatment, but she did feed this particular cat when it was at the Sanctuary, just as she allowed it free reign in both her room and the rest of the building, so she figured it would forgive her of this permission-less atrocity in time.
"You are in so much trouble later on," she said, addressing Calley as she shifted the feline's body in her arms, pulling its legs up under its body and supporting them with one arm as her free hand moved the scratch behind its ears. Turning from her unzombified date for the evening, she continued a little deeper into the warehouse to return to her inspections. "Now, as for your separation of people in this game; I never was much of a team player. Now boxes, they have potential," she said, peering over the top of another large one. It didn't appear as if there was anything in ways of intended weaponry to be found here. Not that she had really suspected otherwise. "Blockades, distractions, unintended ammunition. They have so many uses. Especially the heavier ones with all the junk in them. Now those make for some good road blocks. Especially for those without any mutations that could easily get rid of them. These windows are also helpful. Boxes drop so nicely from the sky. If we could get up onto the roof somehow, we'd not only have the advantage of height, but we could share unnatural cardboard disasters with everyone. What do you think?"
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
Double-takes were fun to watch, but grinning at them was ill-advised. Both Calley and the small cat managed to maintain their composure. What followed involved less stabbing than he had expected.
>> "That's my Kitten. ...What is my Kitten doing here? On your shoulder, and in the middle of a zombie invasion?"
Calley remained silent; his only answer was an elaborate twitch of his eyebrows; a little reminder of the "no questions" agreement. Since she was breaking it by asking those, he was in his full rights to leave them unanswered. Clearly.
>> "You are in so much trouble later on."
"I had no doubt," he grinned back. Woah. Really. No stabbing? That was excellent. It boded well for "later on", when he got to tell her how many times "Kitten" had maybe kind of seen her undress. And then she did a very ill-advised thing. She took the small cat off of his shoulder.
Really, he didn't know why he hadn't thought she'd do that. It was her Kitten, after all. But this did create a small problem. Calley had not yet learned to make splinters that could remain alive once they left physical contact with his own fine self. Not for long, anyway. Everyone's favorite Kitten had about thirty good seconds of heart beats left. It was already, ah, rather unresponsive to her grip. Though it would have appreciated the way she kindly supported its legs, if it had any sense of self-awareness. And was breathing. Err...
>> "Now, as for your separation of people in this game; I never was much of a team player. Now boxes, they have potential. Blockades, distractions, unintended ammunition. They have so many uses. Especially the heavier ones with all the junk in them. Now those make for some good road blocks. Especially for those without any mutations that could easily get rid of them. These windows are also helpful. Boxes drop so nicely from the sky. If we could get up onto the roof somehow, we'd not only have the advantage of height, but we could share unnatural cardboard disasters with everyone. What do you think?"
"I think, ah..." he replied, rather distractedly flicking his eyes between her face and the cat in her arms, "that's a lovely plan. The throwing things. From the heights. We should, ah, do that. You could probably attach spikes to them, even, for that extra-friendly D 'n' D trap look. Umm... ah... and I could probably show you my amazing abilities to make it rain marine life." But no whales. He might have an entire fleet of them stored away, but if you dropped them from a height, they were pretty much one-time-use-only. In a word: splat.
"But ah, first: would you mind handing Kitten back to me? Let's just say that until midnight, he's with me." Or he was dead. Her choice. Calley really did like that form, though.
While Isabel was interested in seeing exactly what kind of useful items this particular warehouse could hold for them, she wasn't so absorbed in her explorations that she didn't notice the sudden shift in Calley's demeanor. Confidence seemed to drain away into uneasiness, though she couldn't make any connections as to why aside from the sudden appearance of her Kitten. Puzzled, she turned her attention back to the young man, that confusion reflected in her expression as she regarded him. His sudden change in speech throughout his speedy agreement to her offers made her nervous. She didn't like this shift, especially since she didn't think it was zombie-related. She knew that Calley was quite capable of pulling pranks on her. He had done so in the past. However, somehow she didn't quite think he was trying to pull anything this time. His comment about raining marine life only distracted her enough to allow a few connections to be made in her mind concerning how he was not solely a tiger shifter like he'd told her during their first outing. It also helped to explain the sudden appearance of both the horse and her Kitten. These mental connections only took enough time to form before he seemed to get to the route of his anxiousness.
How had she not noticed that the cat had become dead weight in her arms after she'd separated him from Calley? Really, she wasn't that wrapped up in her explorations, was she? Apparently she had been. A sudden wave of panic washed through her when she finally registered the lack of any kind of movement from the cat she held, that feeling only magnified by Calley's request that it be returned to him. Quickly. As if suddenly in possession of her own ability to move, rather than just look between Calley and her Kitten, she immediately worked to get the cat back to her companion, moving to swap the animal from her arms to his. Once that was accomplished, she pulled her hands back just as quickly, as if something so simple as making contact with the feline was a bad thing. "I'm sorry!" she blurted, taking a step or two back away from the blue-eyed pair, hands still raised in the air in front of her at about shoulder level, her eyes wide with her alarm as she focused more on the cat than on Calley. "I didn't mean to do it! I don't even know what I did! What did I do? That's never happened before! Is he okay?" she spoke again, her speech coming out in a bit of a rush. It seemed as if she wasn't very good at keeping up her end of the bargain when it came to keeping her questions to herself. But this was probably good enough reason to allow a few more to slip. After all, she had almost just killed her Kitten, and she hadn't much of a clue as to how. "So, uh, boxes! Let's go almost kill someone that's not my cat."
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
((ooc: Kudos on Mutant of the Month. You deserve it! )
Kitten was shuffled back his way, in rapid order. The look on Isabel's face would have been almost funny, if Calley hadn't had about the same look. He wrapped the kitten in a tight hug as she shoved it back in his arms, then lifted up her arms like she was surrendering.
>> "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do it! I don't even know what I did! What did I do? That's never happened before! Is he okay?"
"It's okay," he rushed to reassure her, "it's okay it's okay it's okay. See? Living cat again. Just a little groggy." From the oxygen deprivation to its brain. Yeeeah... he'd have to have Slate reset this form later. The small cat with the black spots here and there blinked in the teenager's arms, and raised a head to blink slow blue eyes at Isabel. "I, umm, think Kitten's going to go away for now. But this part's not life threatening, so, ah... don't worry."
He thought the warning was prudent. He gave it a moment to sink in before he made the shift; suddenly, the small cat was simply gone. In the same shift, he'd gained a passenger around his left leg; a tightly coiled snake, of the pit viper family. Infrared vision: just as useful as a cat's nose in picking up unwanted zombie competitors (or living ones, for that matter), but somewhat less conspicuous, what with it being under his pants, and all. Yeeeah... it was probably better to not have Isabel picking splinters off of him. Healthier, all around. She, umm, looked like she might have a little mental scaring, there.
"Really, it's okay," he repeated, one last time; "I'll explain more when question-and-answer times come, but for now, just take my word on that: your Kitten is fine." Just a little zombified himself, was all.
>> "So, uh, boxes! Let's go almost kill someone that's not my cat."
"Yeah!" Calley agreed, quite enthusiastically. "Yeah! Ah, let's do that. The almost killing. That's not your cat." As long as she kept up that attitude all night, he'd be golden, actually.
He grabbed the nearest box--which, fortunately, turned out to be not-so-heavy--and headed up for the roof. Let the almost killing begun. Of the things that weren't him. He appreciated that, from a date.
Oh man. She really had almost killed the poor cat. It's a good thing Calley finally got around to showing her what a bad idea it was to try and carry around her cat when it was with him for the night. But she still didn't understand why. Her Kitten had lived with her for a decent amount of time on his own, without any life threatening drawbacks of her handling him. Just the normal unhappy cat moments. There'd been no problem with her touching the horse, so why was it different with her cat? If it was her cat at all. He had appeared out of nowhere, after all. And not in the sneaky normal cat way, either. Certainly there were more black and white cats in the city, but it just looked far too similar to her own for her to confidently deny that it was hers. Calley had even called it her Kitten, so she couldn't really be mistaken, could she?
Gradually her panic gave way to relief as the little cat started to move again, even if it was a little slowly, Calley's reassurances of its well-being not really convincing her until the feline actually showed signs of life once more. She gave a small nod of acknowledgment and a quick flick of her gaze in Calley's direction as he made it clear that the cat would be tucked away until later on, though she couldn't completely conquer the surprise she felt as her Kitten simply vanished. Yeah, this young man was certainly not the simple tiger shifter he'd claimed to be last time she'd seen him. "God, I cant believe I actually almost killed him," she sighed, letting her gaze finally drift away from Calley's now empty arms, her own hands lowering once more now that there was no chance she could do her Kitten any more harm. She could deal with killing humans, but somehow animals were different. And that particular cat was hers. Or at least, it had been. She really wasn't sure now. In any case, she wouldn't hurt her own pet. She wasn't completely heartless.
It took a moment before even her own words sunk in about initiating their attack, simply watching Calley move to grab one of the nearby boxes before the gears in her mind began turning properly once again. Turning to her own pile of less-than-heavy boxes, she grabbed a pair of them in her hands before spearing a few more with her new favorite trick of growing a few extra spidery bone limbs from her back. And aside from helping her grab a few extra bits of ammo, they would also help keep her balanced when climbing through the window and moving around near the edge of the roof. Slowly her grin was finding its was back into place. A good zombie mauling would be a nice distraction from her small bout of Kitten-related trauma.
Carefully she headed out onto the roof after Calley, making sure she didn't knock any of the cardboard from any of her limbs before setting them down once she'd made it out the window. She decided she'd be taking her companion's offered suggestion of giving their little game a D 'n' D twist. Smoothly the bones of her hands twisted up out of her skin through her flesh and curled into a ball in each hand, melding together to create a smooth surface. Placing each in two of the closer boxes, she quickly caused both to erupt into spines, making sure they grew long enough to pierce all sides of the box and protrude about half a foot past the cardboard. Casually she repeated the process for the remaining four boxes she'd brought with her. They had a good amount of room to maneuver around up here. And with her new favorite aid in transportation, she could easily get herself from one rooftop to the next. Calley as well, if he didn't mind her methods. She could think of a few black-draped, Dark Lord enthusiasts that she wanted to get back at. If she could find where it was they'd gotten off to, that is.
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
>> "God, I can't believe I actually almost killed him."
Yeah, Calley had a hard time believing that, too. It was pretty hard to understand why he hadn't seen that coming, though. It was one of those rare situations were he was willing to admit it was his bad.
Her take on D&D traps was both terrifying and better than he could have ever imagined. He poked at one of the spiky boxes, suddenly really happy he wouldn't be on the receiving end of one of these. Not until the end of the game, anyway.
Speaking of the game: it had caught up with them. A low groaning and moaning and brainssssing rose from the ground below; there was considerable running, too, and the flash of what might have been a fiery sword of black-cloaked zombie repelling glory. A few buildings off, the sudden sound of a paintball rifle popped its way into the night. Apparently someone had beaten them to collecting the goodies.
Calley looked to the noise then grinned over at Isabel. "I think someone did our footwork for us. I think we should go thank them, don't you?"
Of course, he was thinking of a more ground bound route. But then, he didn't know about Isabel's newest trick. It sure would make the boxes a lot more fun. Nothing said "thanks for finding our guns and ammo, guys!" like a D&D sampler from the sky.
((ooc: Permission to God Mod flying Calley elsewhere granted, if you'd like to use it. )
As if on cue, the theatrical moans nd bingo! They weren't all that far at all. A small group perhaps five or six roof tops away, and what looked to be a few more slinking around along the ground. Those on the ground would be zombie snacks soon enough. She'd team up with Calley in thanking their fellow players for doing their work for them, though she doubted she'd be doing it in any method Calley would have come up with.
However, she'd grabbed too many boxes to take with her if she planned on taking advantage of one of her newest modes of travel. It looked as if there was nothing to do but be rid of them. Grabbing up two of the spiked boxes, she hurled them over the roof, leaving them to land on whoever they happened to land on. All the while she was quickly converting the four spines in her back into wing-like structures, careful to make them much larger than she'd don in her trial run. She would be carrying an extra person, after all. While hollowing out her own bones, she carefully shaped the wing-like protrusions in a crude imitation of the wings of a bird that was capable of gliding longer distances. Gliding was about as close to actual flying as she was able to get for now, but it worked out well enough for her purposes. Tossing another pair of boxes over the edge of the roof, she scooped up the remaining two with an extra set of spidery spines, and made a dash at Calley. Fair is fair. Mental trauma received, possible trauma given in return.
Wrapping her arms around the teen's midsection, she spread her makeshift wings in order to catch a breeze, grinning as she pushed herself and her date off the edge of the roof in the same area as she'd tossed the boxes, carefully angling her gliding tools to catch the wind and force them up higher into the air. She couldn't help but laugh at the feeling, at the same time careful not to let Calley slip any dangerous amount in her grip. "Personal thanks coming right up," she said, grinning as she angled the wings again in order to allow them to head in the direction of those with the paint ball guns. She'd bring Calley in close enough to set him down on the top of the roof before finding a patch for her to land on as well. The boxes were sure to be lost in the process. Though perhaps 'lost' was not the best term to use. She knew exactly where they were going to be.
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
There were some excellent theatrical screams as Issie's Spiked Specials rained down from above, and one very cool flash of flame as a cultist summoned himself a familiar: a large blue-flamed Cerberus. Sweeeeet. Especially sweet, since he was pretty sure that Cerberus there couldn't fly, as much as the glaring cultist seemed to want him too.
"NOM!"
Oooo, shouldn't have been lookin' up at your rooftop attackers, culty. Heehee. Much more interesting things at your own level.
...The irony of Isabel growing a pair of bone wings while he was looking down was not lost on him. Not lost on him at all, particularly since a pair of warm arms wrapped around his midsection. Now this might have been okay--might have even been sort of a nice experience--if those warm girlfriendy hands hadn't been pushing him towards the edge of a building with alarming speed. This was somewhat undesirable on most dates. Particularly since she didn't know that he could fly.
...Which was fair, since he didn't know that she could fly. Or... glide? After he'd gotten over his terrified Gahhh-! and instinctive turning to wrap his arms around her neck for dear-life dear-Isabel please-don't-drop-me-dear, his wide eyes noticed the bones.
Awesome.
In a mentally scaring way.
Oh yeah. She would be laughing, wouldn't she? Hey now--this was his night for traumatizing surprises, not hers.
>> "Personal thanks coming right up."
"That's great!" He joined in her laughter, his voice a bit too high. Yeah. So... Flying? He liked flying. He loved flying. His bird forms were the only rival his cat forms had for favoritism. This king of flying? This kind of non-flapping, controlled-by-another flying? He did not like this kind of flying. Not so much woooooah that roof top was coming up fa--
He got set down, if that's what you'd like to call it. He survived. Didn't even whimper. As Isabel looked for a landing spot, he found himself point-blanked by several gun muzzles. His hands shot into the air, open-palmed. "Not a zombie! Not a zombie! We're reinforcements with heartbeats!"
"That's the best kind of reinforcements," one of the rooftoppers approved. He jerked his head towards a set of boxes in the center of the rooftop. "Guns are over there. We're down to our last ammo, but another group is bringing the rest of the ammo crates over now. We just have to provide them cover. Then it'll be a shot-until-the-ammo-runs-out zombie free for all."
Calley flashed a grin. "That's the best kind of free-for-all." The rooftoppers had turned back to their pot shots at the zombies below; he could see the people they'd been talking about, lugging quite a nice number of boxes from another warehouse over to this one. Hmm... You know? That ammo stockpile would be pretty convenient to have. It would sure go a long way, between just two people. And you know what? It really didn't take this many people to defend the ammo supply train. This was only the leading edge of the shuffling zombie horde; the main moaning mass was still several minutes away.
So...
Speaking of flying...
Calley's hands found the back of the person who'd greeted him. Whoops.
He noticed that Issie had pretty good aim with those boxes of hers, too. Whoops and whoops again. It was only two stories. They'd live.
Once Calley had safely been set on the rooftop, Isabel went on her way trying to figure out how to perch nearer the edge of the roof. Landing turned out to be harder than taking off. Making a wide turn in the air and heading back toward the roof after her first unsure and unsuccessful attempt, she made sure to get close enough for her feet to nearly touch the ground before folding the wings in to prevent them for catching enough air to lift her back up. A bit of flaring to act as a sort of parachute to slow her down, and she clumsily set down on the rooftop, stumbling only once or twice but managing to keep from falling over. Effective, yes. Graceful, not a chance.
Smoothing out her hair and outfit, she looked on as Calley and one of the guys that had found their guns for them talked a moment, the gun-holder eagerly divulging information that was oh-so-useful. In a zombie raid, people were all too eager to spill their guts to someone with a pulse, it seemed. Moving over to the edge of the roof, she looked down to take note of where the hoard was, as well as where the humans were. The hoard was quite insistent on converting the living, it seemed. And when loaded down with boxes of ammo, those with heartbeats were slower than they could have been. Now that just wasn't right. Here their friends were, wasting ammo while they took their sweet time getting to the roof. Really, it was the least she could do to help them out. Say, by relieving them of their supplies. Apparently Calley had the same ideas in mind. One, two, three and off they went! Have fun playing with the hoard when you pick yourselves back up, boys.
Grinning over at Calley for only a brief moment, the wings on her back spread again and she stepped off the roof. Carefully angling her gliding tools, she headed straight for the couple of individuals making their way to the warehouse with the boxes of ammo. She could move quite a bit faster without Calley's extra weight, and maneuvering was a little easier as well. It just made everything more simple as she swooped low and made a grab at one of the boxes, which ended up in her knocking down and dragging the guy holding it for a few feet before he dropped off. "Thanks a lot, kid," she called as she angled the wings again and rose back up to the top of the roof, trying her best to set the box down carefully so as to spill as little of the paint balls as she could. Circling around for another swoop and grab, this time she made it a point to drop one of the spiked boxes she'd kept with her on her newest targets. It made grabbing the ammo easier when the holder was more preoccupied with trying not to get impaled. One, two, three boxes retrieved and dropped off, as well as a few of the initial retrievers dropped into the hoard just for the hell of it.
Once again making her way to the roof and landing with a little less difficulty this time, she took a moment to get a little steadier on her feet before making her way back over to Calley and looking over the edge of the roof. The only thing worse than a zombie? A vengeful zombie that was once one of the humans she'd given a lift. This was going to be fun. "So, are we still going to go with the black market idea for the humans that are still slinking around here somewhere? Or, are gonna forget about all of that and waste all this ammo for ourselves in a defiant stand against the zombie menace?" she asked, turning to grin widely at her partner in mortality.
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
>> "So, are we still going to go with the black market idea for the humans that are still slinking around here somewhere? Or, are gonna forget about all of that and waste all this ammo for ourselves in a defiant stand against the zombie menace?"
Guns: check.
Ammo: check.
Enough femme fatale for any rooftop: check.
"Do you even have to ask?" Calley asked, smirking back.
Below them, the sounds of the moaning grew louder as main horde approached, fanning out from all directions. Cursing that quickly dissolved into calls for the scumbags' brainssssss rose up from the former members of the supply train. Across the dark warehouse-strewn battlefield, those without guns and ammo were inevitably falling before the undead tide.
Calley only wished he had a cigar, a bottle of cheap liquor, and a lawn chair. He'd settle for a sawed off paintball shotgun and his own box of ammo. He crouched at the building's edge, steadying his aim over the building's low brick edging as he loaded his first round and snapped the barrel up. Chink-flick. Calley reached up one hand, and straightened his crown.
Come, zombie horde. Come.
The bonemancing princess and the multi-shifting prince were dressed for Epic.
No, she supposed she really hadn't had to ask. This was Calley. This was also mischief. The two just seemed to follow each other around. However, asking questions even if they weren't necessary was still fun. Especially since she could get away with those kinds of questions without exactly breaking the rules of their outing. If she'd been wearing a watch she probably would have checked the time. She did have a cell phone that displayed the time on the screen, but she now also had a paint ball gun in her hands. The paint ball gun was so much more fun. Interrogations would come later, as Calley promised she could commence, but for now there we a hungry Hoard trying to break into the warehouse and make snacks of their brains.
Quickly claiming her own box of ammo, she set about loading the paint ball gun, occasionally glancing over the edge of the roof to see how far the zombies had shuffled. True, they were slow, but given enough time they could really creep up on you at a decent rate. Like that one fumbling a bit with the warehouse door, and that other one looking to see if he could find a window, each with reinforcements coming to aid them. Tsk, tsk, little zombie dirt-bags. This was her and Calley's warehouse, not theirs. She doubted putting up a 'no zombies allowed' sign would have helped, but then if it had, there'd be no use for the paint, now would there? Leveling the gun and taking aim, she quickly fired off a few rounds into the Hoard, aiming for those by the door and those sneaking around the side of the building trying to find an alternate entry.
Quickly she found out how sensitive the trigger on the gun was, having fired a few more paint balls than she'd intended. It was very different from the gun she'd fired before, though it had vastly more positive results, even if she was eating up a bit more ammo than anticipated. And zombies really did look quite nice in hot pink paint, those in black robes especially. She sent a little spine dropping in the Cerberus summoner's direction as a greeting. Mutations were allowed, after all. And while they may not have the effect of stunning their opponents as the pain ball guns did, it was an opportunity she wanted to exploit some more. And she had to admit, that exaggerated little flare he created when re-spawning was a nice touch, though the flames didn't exactly agree with all that paint. "Bet I can kill the Messengers of Darkness more times than you can," she commented, grinning over at Calley as she pulled the trigger again.
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
>> "Bet I can kill the Messengers of Darkness more times than you can."
"Pffft!" Calley replied, with a cha-CLACK of reload, "You're on, Princess. You're. On."
Suffice it to say that the Messengers of Darkness saw exactly what hit them. Repeatedly. In an explosion of circular pink. Unfortunately, the thing about zombies? They just keep coming.
And coming.
And braaainnnnnnssssing.
Calley's own mutation wasn't nearly as useful as Isabel's spikes for dealing with the undead. At least, not unless he wanted to resort to dropping heavy rorquals on his enemies. Somehow... the whale trick seemed like overkill. What wasn't overkill? Using an ammo case for a seat, and keeping the pink-popped carnage coming. For awhile, that even worked.
And then the main horde arrived. Moaning. Groaning. Shuffling. Nomming each other in greeting, on the off chance that some stray human was playing dead in their unholy midst. As many cloaked and uncloaked figures as he shot, the rest just pushed on forwards. Below them, a crack-STOMP signaled that a super strength zombie had kicked in the door with the proper theatrical flare. There was great rejoicing: BRAINNNNSSSS. The zombie horde breached the inner staircase as a clock tower somewhere began tolling midnight.
There was a time and place for questions. This? This was the time and place to go down in a blaze of pink. Cha-CLACK: reload.
Isabel could only grin wider at Calley's acceptance of her issued challenge, making sure to pop off a few more rounds in the darkly robed mutant's direction whenever he looked as if he'd re-spawned, though she made sure he wasn't her only target. She found out that zombies in general looked quite fetching in bright pink. She helped show her support by coating their hair, skin, and clothing as much as she could. After all, she knew they wouldn't be obliged to help themselves to the ammo, at least not until both Calley's and her own brains had been thoroughly nommed. Once everyone was a zombie, she was pretty sure she remembered the GM saying the game was supposed to end. However, she didn't really think the young man's words would have total sway over the groaning masses, especially where some fun and revenge could be had.
Her almost careless ammo consumption slowed to a halt with the arrival of the main horde and the echoing sound of the warehouse door being broken down. A super strength mutation. She should have known. She'd entirely forgotten about the rest of the lurking horde in her fun, though it seemed as if they were making sure they would be brought to the front of the few remaining mortals' attention. It was very effective, really.
She cast a somewhat quizzical look over to Calley, barely noting the tolling of the clock as it struck the hour. She'd nearly asked if he'd want to move off to another rooftop, if for nothing else than to annoy the horde in the efforts they'd just made. However, the reloading of his weapon seemed to answer her question effectively enough. With another grin she reloaded her own weapon, resisting the urge to move closer to the roof's edge. She could very well escape for herself and prolong the game if she really wanted to, but running from a mob of zombies all by yourself just wasn't as much fun and losing your mortality in a blaze of pink defiance. Leveling the sights on the gun, she only looked to Calley one more brief moment, as if to check that he was still there with her and that he was still set on his seeming plan of action. The moment the first wave of the horde made their way to the roof, she pulled the trigger and let loose.
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.