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.
“I can,” the teenager answered, as he picked him up from the ground. The woman’s work had been quick, effective, and altogether impressive. It left him blinking. It was almost too much for him to process at once; multitasking was Calley’s forte, not his. Baby blue eyes darted around the scene. From the red line stinging on Lee’s side, to the bodies littered around the square; to the slump of her husband, to the man whose neck had just been broken. The world seemed to narrow down as these things feel into their proper places in his mind. Priorities. He could explain later. He looked to Lee once, meeting her gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. There was no time for more.
He did not even glance at Tarin again as he ran to the ponytail man’s side. A broken spine. He had dealt with broken spines before. Specifically, he had dealt with his own broken spine before, after Calley’s car accident. A broken neck was instantly lethal, yes. But this was not the same as instantly fatal. Not in the world Slate lived in. The man had a scant few seconds of brain activity left. Tarin had several minutes, at least. Priorities.
Slate put a hand against the man’s forehead, and healed him. The state his mind was in was as good as unconsciousness; Slate needed no permission to enter it. When he let his hand drop, he left a little something behind.
The man stirred. His eyes blinked open; he started to get up. That patience from earlier was gone; his eyes jolted across the square to his killer. “You filthy wh—” He began to spit.
“Sit down,” the scrawny teenager ordered sharply, “and be quiet.” ‘Priorities’ did not mean that Slate liked the man, or that he had to tolerate insults to his companions.
The man’s body obeyed long before his mind had caught up. He fell back to the ground, the look on his face like a surprised toddler who had just fallen on his bottom. There was something very wrong here, but in his mind, it felt perfectly right. Why couldn’t he stand? Why couldn’t he speak? Why did he feel like a rewarded dog, for obeying those commands? There were so many curses appropriate for this situation, but he found his desire to say any of them waning. The ponytail man’s mental strength was on the lower end of the human norm; he had never stood a chance.
Slate was back at Tarin’s side as fast as it was humanly possible to move; he was acutely aware of just how slow that must seem, to Lee. He knelt at Tarin’s side, one hand reaching the injured medium. “May I heal you?” He asked. If that permission was given, Tarin would be every bit as whole as their torturer, within an instant, and distinctly less restrained.
So. It was, perhaps, time for the teenager explain himself.
Posted by Tarin Brooks on May 12, 2009 20:58:37 GMT -6
Omega Mutant
1,277
4
Apr 19, 2024 13:16:21 GMT -6
Tarin was tired, he was really tired. The wounds in his shoulders were bleeding into the dirt now and even though he was so tired, he struggled to get up, pushing his hands against the ground and only coming up with bloody colored mud. Lee’s name beat in time with his heart and the throbbing pain of the knife wounds, and Tarin noticed that at some point time had slowed down. He could see feet moving around in the dirt, kicking up dust, bodies hitting the ground and kicking up more dust. Tarin exhaled and his breath kicked up dust. There was so much dust, it was so dry, but Tarin was cold. Tarin could feel the sweat running down his face, dripping off his nose, but he was cold.
One pair of feet came closer and dropped down beside him and as the sound continued to fade in and out, Tarin heard Lee’s voice. Then hands were on him, moving him, and it hurt. Tarin looked up and his blurred vision focused on Lee’s face. She was okay, she was holding him, Tarin’s brain was processing more and more slowly, but that had to mean that she’d won. Against all those guns, against all those men, Lee had won?
His eyes more focused now, Tarin turned his head and saw torn fabric, and blood. “You’re hurt!” he said, trying to sit up but failing as a wave of dizziness washed over him and he fell back into her lap. Lee was talking, somewhere in the distance Tarin heard Slate’s voice, he apologized. Did that mean he couldn’t heal Tarin?
Well, Tarin had known that getting hurt was a risk when he’d agreed to come to Colombia, and at least he’d managed to do something good. Tarin looked up at Lee and smiled. Even with tears in her eyes and dirt smeared on her face, she looked so pretty. “You know…” he said wincing at the pain Lee was causing by putting pressure on the wounds in both his shoulders, “I’m glad we did this..” he added, slightly disjointed thoughts working their way into words and falling from his mouth, “I love you…” and most importantly, “Why did you wear that for this?”
The last was a little slurred and Tarin’s eyes were getting droopy, then someone else was filling his field of vision. Slate, and he was speaking. Tarin blinked hard, trying to pull him into focus and realized that the teen had just asked for permission to heal him. “Please…” Tarin said, wondering if asking would be even more effective than granting permission.
Lee felt a wave of relief wash over her when she heard Slate say that he could heal Tarin. She had seen Tarin in bad shape before, had seen him bleeding, but nothing like this. She was really, truly, scared seeing how pale Tarin's face was, seeing all the blood on his shirt, in the dirt under them. The tears in her eyes were threatening to spill over, but Lee fought to keep that from happening; she needed to stay strong, keep pressure on Tarin's wounds to try and at least slow down the bleeding until Slate healed him. Even if doing that was pulling at the cut in her side and hurting.
And then Slate apologized, and all Lee was able to do was stare at him in confusion. Hadn't he just said that he could heal Tarin? He'd said that, Lee knew he did. So why was he apologizing?
The confused expression changed to one of horror when Lee saw the teen getting up and moving over to the man who had just stabbed Tarin. What the hell was Slate doing? He had just chosen a murderer over Tarin.
No longer could Lee keep the tears at bay, and they spilled over and started to run down her dirt smeared face as she heard Tarin's voice and felt slight movement in her arms. Looking down at him again, Lee shook her head, the tears still falling freely. "I'll be fine, hon," she said, her voice rough because of the tears.
Tarin didn't stop there, though his voice was soft, quiet, the thoughts somewhat random. Even as he lay there bleeding to death, somehow Tarin still thought that this had all been a good idea. "I l-love you too, Tarin," Lee said, the tears running faster now.
But then he asked about what she was wearing, and even through her tears, Lee smiled. "For you," she corrected Tarin. "I was waiting for you to come back..."
His eyes were drooping, looking even more unfocused, and Tarin's breathing was growing more and more shallow, laboured. How could this be happening? After everything that they had managed to live through, to survive, why now when there was actually someone there who could heal him? A healer who had chosen to go to a murderer instead. Not that it mattered if Slate managed to heal that man since Tarin was dying...
So Lee just blocked everything else out as she looked down at Tarin, trying to see his face clearly through her tears. It wasn't easy.
And then Lee heard Slate's voice, right by her shoulder, asking if he could heal Tarin. Oh, so now he was interested in healing Tarin? What the hell? Lee glared daggers at Slate, even with tears still falling, as Taring said please. His voice was so quiet. And, while Lee was currently furious with Slate, she also knew that he was Tarin's only chance at that moment; she highly doubted Tarin would have the time left to be able to even have a hope of finding Sebastian. So other than the glare she was directing at the teen, Lee didn't try to stop Slate.
And with that permission, Tarin was healed. It was a mere matter of setting hands on him. It was different than the first time Slate had healed the spirit medium—at that time, the man’s body and his mind had been separate things, and the disjointness of the situation had made the healing itself into something odd. Now, as soon as his hand touched Tarin’s skin, the familiar sensations came with it: the roiling turmoil, the rush of memories. A man stood over a young boy’s bed—except he could not be there; he was dead. Chaos and blood: the Camps, the night of the breakout. Their body—its body—was moving, killing, but all he could do was watch. What would Lee think of him now? A chapel in Las Vegas that some might think tacky, but nothing could be tacky when Lee was in that dress. Slate was growing more experienced at this: he extracted himself from the memories, and found that baser area of the man’s mind, where the man’s body remembered how it should be.
When the teenager dropped his hand back to his side, the memories washed to gray in his mind, forgotten. And Tarin was healed. And Lee hated him. And how could he possibly explain his priorities to a man he had nearly killed, or gotten killed, so many times?
“I’m sorry,” Slate repeated again, this time to Tarin. “I should not have brought you down here. I did not expect... I should have predicted that things would go wrong like this. I should have planned for it. I had no right to put your life in danger again.” Again: because he had nearly killed the man the first time he had healed him. When Tarin’s mind reunited with his body, the stress of it had stopped his heart.
Blue eyes turned to Lee. “Thank you,” he said simply, “for saving my life. I...” He was finding it strangely difficult to meet her eyes. “May I heal your wound?”
Back where he had been thrown, the ponytailed man was still sitting quietly, in complete obedience to the teenager’s orders. Slate waited for the questions to come. But first, he wished to heal Lee, as well. Priorities.
Posted by Tarin Brooks on May 13, 2009 7:43:45 GMT -6
Omega Mutant
1,277
4
Apr 19, 2024 13:16:21 GMT -6
Lee was crying, aw hell, Lee was crying. That’s not how this was supposed to be happening. Lee was supposed to be happy too, supposed to realize just how great her powers could be if they used them constructively. Now he was bleeding and getting tired, and he was cold. Aw shit, was he actually going to die in the dirt? After Lee had put that spandex thing on for him? This was starting to suck, the noble fade away was really starting seem cliché. Living would definitely be better. Tarin was just about to point this out when Slate asked his permission, which Tarin gladly gave.
Once the permission was given, Tarin felt Slate’s warm hand touch him, then sensation like nothing he had ever felt before rushed through him. Slivers of memories like nothing Tarin had ever seen in his life flashed through his consciousness like pictures in a flip book. Riding in a truck with his brother, flying through the air, healing wounded after wounded here in Colombia , the fear at nearly killing Tarin at the mansion…they all flowed together into a blur that Tarin couldn’t concentrate on beyond the physical sensation of the healing.
It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head, no, like someone had submerged him in ice water and Tarin gasped as he felt, physically felt his skin knitting back together. Almost instantly his breathing eased and the darkness that had been creeping into the edges of his vision receded. His ribs almost felt like they shifted, and Tarin realized that one of them must have been broken.
Slate pulled his hand away and the myriad of images faded, leaving only the incredibly odd sensation of feeling…absolutely fine. The throbbing in his shoulders was completely gone and Tarin took a deep breath. Everything was fine. Suddenly, he smiled up at Lee, who was still crying and looked scared to death. She was also pressing down so hard where the wounds had been that Tarin was slightly afraid that she’d break the bones. Tarin picked up his hand and placed it over Lee’s, “Lee...I’m fine…really…you can let up.” His voice even sounded better.
Tarin looked up and over at Slate, still content to stay where he was sprawled in Lee’s lap. Now Slate had saved his life twice. Sure, Tarin had feeling that his position this time was at least partially the kid’s fault…but the fact still remained.
Slate was apologizing now, and that reminded Tarin about the first apology. Where had Slate gone? Tarin’s eyes scanned the area and he saw the pony tail guy sitting in the dirt several yards away looking like someone had kicked him in the head. Tarin was confused, and he shook his head.
“Stop apologizing Slate…you just saved my life a second time. Even if you did take your damn sweet time doing it.” Then the second part, about how Slate shouldn’t have asked him here, Tarin shook his head emphatically.
“Slate…don’t say things like that. This is the first time in my life I’ve felt like these stupid powers were good for something other than hurting people. I wouldn’t trade it, besides, everything’s fine.”
He wanted to heal Lee now, and Tarin remembered with a jolt that she was hurt. Lee was hurt and here he was lounging in her lap like it was a lazy Sunday afternoon. Tarin saw the glare on her face, saw that it was directed at Slate, and was suddenly even more confused.
Tarin sat up, shrugging Lee’s hands off and turned around fully to look at her. If she’d doubted his health, those fears would definitely have been abolished by now, “Lee…” Tarin said, warning in his tone. “You heard Slate. You need to let him heal you.” Then Tarin turned to Slate.
“When that’s done, you can go ahead and start explaining what the hell just happened, and what exactly it is we’re actually doing here.” Tarin said, the words weren’t angry and they were phrased more as a request than a demand. Tarin was grateful, but he did still want to know exactly what he’d almost lost his life over, then he’d decide whether it was a cause worth continuing to fight for.
Lee just sat there, her hand pressed against Tarin's wounds, as Slate got closer, a hard glare making it out through her tears at the teen. He reached out, touched Tarin, and then a few seconds later pulled his hand away. That was it.
And then Lee felt Tarin's hand on hers where it was pressing against his shoulder, heard his voice. It sounded normal as he told her he was fine, asked her to ease up on the pressure she was applying. So Lee did, but she didn't fully pull her hand away. Instead, she just moved, tearing open the top couple buttons of Tarin's shirt - what did it matter if she ripped some buttons off, the shirt was already ruined - and then pushed the bloody material away, to see that Tarin's shoulder was, while stained red from the blood, completely smooth and uninjured.
It really was amazing, when she thought about it. Not even a minute earlier, Tarin had been bleeding, barely conscious anymore from the blood loss, and now there was no sign anything had been wrong other than the blood itself; there wasn't a single mark on Tarin's shoulder.
Then Lee heard Slate's voice once more, and she turned her eyes to the younger man, her look hardening as soon as Tarin's form left her field of view. "It wasn't you I was trying to save," Lee pointed out, her voice scathing. Sure, at the time she had been wanting to save Slate too, but her main reason for doing what she had done had been Tarin. If Tarin hadn't been involved, hadn't been there with Slate, Lee probably wouldn't have done a thing. No, she hadn't been there to save Slate, it had just been done the same way as saving Tarin.
And with Slate's request to heal her, Tarin was sitting up, turning to look at her. Telling her she needed to let Slate heal her. With the adrenaline fading from her system, the pain in her side from the cut was becoming more and more pronounced, breathing becoming more difficult since expanding her lungs was tugging at the wound. And since Tarin was up, no longer laying there across her lap, Lee moved her hands, crossing one arm across her body so her hand could be held over the cut. Damn did that hurt, and Lee bit the inside of her cheek as she tried to not show just how much it hurt.
"No, I don't have to let him heal me," Lee stated calmly and slowly. Her tears had stopped by this point, but her face was still damp; with all the blood on her hands at the moment, wiping the tears away wouldn't do a damn thing. "There is another healer around here somewhere, in case you've forgotten, and if all else fails, I'll patch myself up."
Even just thinking about that, Lee winced. If it came to that, she figured she would have to get rid of Tarin, for at least a few minutes. And find some liquor or good pain killers of some sort, cause stitching her side up was bound to hurt a lot.
And Tarin wanted explanations from Slate after he healed her, but since he wasn't going to be healing her, there really was no reason to wait, was there? "Or, more specifically, what exactly are you doing here?" Lee asked. "And why the hell did you heal him before Tarin? Why the hell did you even heal him, and why's he just sitting there now?"
>> “Stop apologizing Slate…you just saved my life a second time. Even if you did take your damn sweet time doing it.”
“That’s not good enough,” Slate replied, simply. The teenager was still sitting on the ground; now, his hands clenched in his lap futilely. “Nothing is good enough. I should not have to save your life. I nearly killed you when I brought you out of your coma; you could have died in the forest because I brought you here; you almost did die because of my mistakes today.”
>> “Slate…don’t say things like that. This is the first time in my life I’ve felt like these stupid powers were good for something other than hurting people. I wouldn’t trade it, besides, everything’s fine.”
His head started to shake, from side to side. “But it is not. Is it?” A glance to Lee’s expression made him avert his eyes again. No. No, everything was not ‘fine’.
>> When that’s done, you can go ahead and start explaining what the hell just happened, and what exactly it is we’re actually doing here.”
How could the man still sound so friendly? Did finding a use for his powers mean that much to him? More than his life? He did not think he understood. And yet... a part of him did. There was a meaning there he could not fully grasp, but he felt it.
>> "It wasn't you I was trying to save."
The teen flinched from Lee’s words, but gave a nod. That, he completely understood. Of course. How naive of him, to think otherwise.
“No, I don't have to let him heal me. There is another healer around here somewhere, in case you've forgotten, and if all else fails, I'll patch myself up."
Another nod. “Sebastian is a very good healer,” Slate stated calmly. “He is much more experienced than I am.” For himself, he certainly would not press the issue of healing the woman. It was the least he could do for her.
>> "Or, more specifically, what exactly are you doing here? And why the hell did you heal him before Tarin? Why the hell did you even heal him, and why's he just sitting there now?"
He took in a breath, and let it out. Slowly, he raised up his gaze to meet theirs’. Levelly. With equally level tone, he began to explain. “I had to heal him first,” the blue-eyed teenager stated, “or it would have been too late. His neck was broken. I... I judged that Tarin would not die before I could return to him.” Yes, he had made a judgment concerning her husband’s life. And it had not particularly favored him.
His eyes glanced to the pony-tailed man. Still sitting, still content, but still confused at that contentment. Slate looked back to the couple. “As to why I healed him at all... that is the same question as ‘what I am doing here’. I am not simply rebuilding the school.” He cringed slightly from Lee as the words left his mouth; of course she was smart enough to have seen that for herself, already. Tarin would have, as well.
“What I am doing is rebuilding the country itself. I... Do you recall that my healing works through the mind, Le—Mrs. Brooks?” He was not so certain that she would wish him to use her first name so familiarly anymore, so he defaulted back to politeness. “That is because I am not simply a healer; I am a psychic. The reason I am in this village myself rather than rebuilding from afar, the reason that I am offering my healing services to everyone without question, is because I have been searching out the members of the drug factions. And... I have been making them mine.” A shrug. It was, perhaps, an inadequate description. He did not know a better one, though. Not just now.
“This country has been tearing itself apart for decades.” His eyes flicked to Tarin’s. “You have met some of its victims. I am going to put an end to that, using the people that started it in the first place. I... am sorry for misleading you. I did not intend for you to become involved in my true plans. None of you; Sebastian and WereCat also know nothing of what I’m truly doing here, and my Kabal members only know of their own missions. I don’t want any of you to be involved more than you have to be.” The bodies around the square, and the scent of fresh gunfire on the air, was enough of a reason for that without adding in the blood on all their clothing.
“I just wanted to change things,” he finished, the words feeling too insufficient in his mouth. “I didn’t want to rebuild a school so that it could be torn down by the next attack that came along; I wanted to end the attacks. I... can have your flight back arranged for tonight, if you wish.”
Posted by Tarin Brooks on May 25, 2009 10:52:16 GMT -6
Omega Mutant
1,277
4
Apr 19, 2024 13:16:21 GMT -6
Slate seemed shocked when Tarin explained why it was he needed to stop apologizing for what had just happened. Lee was first though, and she was still fussing about his wounds that didn’t exist anymore. As he laid there, her hands eased up on the pressure and suddenly she was tearing the shirt apart. Buttons went flying and Tarin looked down at his chest to see the same thing he’d felt before. No wounds. Tarin reached out and grasped Lee’s wrist, “Look Lee, I’m fine…it’s fine.” He said, catching her eyes and trying to stem some of the frantic intensity that was there as he sat up and leaned a little away from her to look at Slate and shake his head.
“You don’t get it, kid.” Tarin said, condescension the last thing on his mind as he called Slate, ‘kid’. A hand wave accompanied the words, and Slate continued. This was the first time that Tarin could say that he’d seen Slate disconcerted, and his concern was over the danger that he kept putting Tarin in. Time was stretching, and Tarin shook his head, “Slate, I’d have to take my shoes and socks off to have enough digits to count the number of times I’ve nearly been killed just in the last year, and most of them were as a direct result of something that went wrong with my powers.”
Tarin cast a look at Lee when Slate said that everything obviously wasn’t fine, and her furious look confirmed his words, “Well, maybe not fine…” he muttered, then basically gaped at Lee in shock at the venom spewing from her mouth towards the young man who had just saved her husband’s life. Yes, it was strange that Slate had chose to heal the guy who’d put them in mortal peril first, but he’d come back. Everything was fine.
“Lee…” Tarin said softly, turning his head to give her a look that clearly said that she needed to calm down. Slate was explaining why he’d healed the ponytail guy first, Lee just needed to be…woah. Broken neck Lee had actually broken someone’s neck? Well, of course the guy had been in more immediate need of medical attention, Tarin reasoned a moment later…but why heal him? Apparently they were going to find out.
The more that Slate spoke, the more Tarin’s eyebrows raised until he was wide eyed and staring at the young man sitting in the dirt just a few feet away. Rebuilding the country itself? Using his powers to make members of the drug cartel his? The way that Slate said that made a small shiver run down Tarin’s back. It was Slate’s words, though, the words gave Tarin goosebumps. In the middle of the jungle, soaked in his own blood, sitting in the dirt, Tarin had goosebumps as a teenager explained to him his plans to take over a country.
Slate looked over to Tarin and Tarin looked back as his boss explained that the country had been tearing itself apart, that he was systematically taking over the cartels so that they work they were doing on the school wouldn’t go to waste. It made sense. It almost made too much sense. Tarin just stared back and nodded his head, then Lee’s words filtered in and he physically shook himself, pulling his eyes away from Slate to stare at Lee.
Lee really wasn’t going to let Slate heal her? Then Slate offered to set up airfare for that night so they could leave. Things were happening so fast, so suddenly, and Tarin had, had it. “No!” he said, actually slapping his palms down into the dirt like an angry toddler might. It was rare that Tarin put his husbandly foot down, but Lee was boarding on ridiculous. “We will not need airfare back tonight.” Tarin said, looking back to Slate for a moment before turning back to Lee, eyes intense as he stared at her.
“We signed on for this, and we’re going to see it through to the end. Slate’s right, Lee, did we go through all that with the spirits…are we building this school for those dead little kids so that these drug trafficking assholes can just come back through and kill more of them out of spite? We shouldn’t be leaving, we should be asking him what else we can do to help.”
Tarin was emphatic, and dead serious. And her refusal of healing? Absolutely ridiculous. Tarin moved now, Slate almost forgotten for a moment as he brought his face close to Lee’s, “And Emily Brooks,” Tarin said, knowing very well that he was treading on dangerous ground when he used Lee’s full name, “So help me God, if you don’t stop being stubborn and let this man heal you…I will hold you down until he’s done, I don’t care how many men you just took out, and I will not touch you until this mess is healed.”
Slate at least, if not her husband, seemed to realize the fact that not everything was alright, and that it was Slate's fault for putting them in danger. And at least Slate didn't push it when she said that she didn't need to be healed by him; in fact, he even pointed out the fact that Sebastian was a much more experienced healer than he was. That was it, that made up her mind, she was going to wait until she could find Sebastian to get him to heal this stupid cut on her side, and she tightened her hand over it to try and stop the bleeding faster, which only made Lee wince more.
Then Slate went on to explain why he had to heal the other man before he had healed Tarin. It took a moment or two to start sinking in, then Lee just blinked at the younger man before her eyes went over to the wall she had thrown the torturer into. The wall that was now cracked and crumbling slightly from the impact.
Looking at the man who was simply sitting there against the wall now, glancing back up at the wall, Lee really wasn't sure what to think. She hadn't really been caring too much what happened to the guy after what she had seen him do to Tarin, and she definitely had not been holding back, but...She had actually broken his neck? And she hadn't even realized that she had done it.?
Swallowing was difficult as she turned her eyes back to Slate as he started speaking again. But even as he was speaking about taking over the country, Lee was still shocked about the fact that she had actually broken someone's neck. She knew that she could be strong, really strong, when she had energy, but even though she had known that, Lee hadn't even thought it was possible that she could break someone's neck like that.
But how could Slate possibly think that he could 'take over' Columbia? It was a great idea wanting to make sure that the school and medical center they were here to build wouldn't just be destroyed again, but how could Slate really expect to be able to do what he said he was trying?
And then he was offering to have their flight home arranged for that very night.
Before Lee could even try to respond, Tarin was already answering, Telling Slate in no uncertain terms, that they wouldn't need a plane home that night. Before he rounded on her. And if Lee wasn't in pain, and wasn't losing blood like she was, she probably would have realized that Tarin was making a very good point, that they couldn't just leave the drug lords in control to come back again and again, like they had that day.
That was far from the end of it, though, and Tarin actually used her full name as he continued to talk to her. Lee honestly couldn't remember a time that Tarin had actually called her by her first name; he knew that she hated the name, and as he had said to her brother, he only knew Lee, he didn't know an Emily.
That was it, that was just too much for Lee. Keeping her one hand clasped against her side, Lee started pushing herself up from the ground, and managed to get herself up onto her knee, with her left foot planted on the ground in front of her, before the dizziness set in. Closing her eyes, Lee dropped back to site on her foot under her. Ok, so maybe going to find Sebastian was not such a manageable task after all.
"You'll hold me down?" Lee questioned Tarin's threat now that she had given up on standing, her eyes still closed. "Fine," she finally gave in, opening her eyes to look at Slate once again. "I'll let him heal me."
There were many things happening at once, here; too many. And all of them unplanned. Slate was, simply put, not at his best when a situation began stacking like this. His attention collapsed down to one point: Lee.
Lee, who was not even able to stand. Had her injury been that bad? He had not noticed. There were so many things to notice.
>> “And Emily Brooks, so help me God, if you don’t stop being stubborn and let this man heal you…I will hold you down until he’s done, I don’t care how many men you just took out, and I will not touch you until this mess is healed.”
Like the fact that he was sitting as the awkward third party to a husband-wife war of wills. And that he himself could not actually do anything; Tarin’s threat was a hollow one. Without Lee’s consent, Slate could not heal her. Even if Tarin did, ah, hold her down. He sincerely hoped that the man did not actually try.
>> "You'll hold me down? Fine. I'll let him heal me."
The words were spoken as if he wasn’t even there. Not ‘you can heal me’, but ‘I’ll let him heal me’. Slate swallowed. Quite curious, how scary Lee could be, even with so much blood loss.
Still, the permission was there. He carefully moved towards her, setting one innocuous hand on her arm. Images tangled between his own mind and his aim, again--convincing her brother that no, Tarin wasn’t abusing her; cleaning blood from their apartment floor again; stars in Texas. When his hand dropped a moment later, she was healed. He took that as his cue to move a bit further back.
With Lee safe, his mind was free to focus on the next pressing topic. Something Tarin said had lodged itself in his mind; ‘We shouldn’t be leaving, we should be asking him what else we can do to help’.
Since the beginning, he had been trying to do things alone. The take-over of the Labs and the Kabal; the take-over of Colombia. Yet he’d nearly been killed by Tris during the take-over, as little as he would admit it, and now... now, there was nothing to admit. It was a fact: without Lee, both he and Tarin would have died. Even with her here... that had simply put her in danger. And it was all because he had failed. He had not been good enough, alone.
‘We shouldn’t be leaving, we should be asking him what else we can do to help’.
Slowly, baby blue eyes looked from Lee to Tarin. “Would you help me?” He asked, quite simply. Four mere words did not do the true question justice.
Posted by Tarin Brooks on May 27, 2009 9:40:16 GMT -6
Omega Mutant
1,277
4
Apr 19, 2024 13:16:21 GMT -6
Tarin was getting more and more angry with his wife as she continued to stubbornly refuse Slate’s healing. The look on her face suggested that the knowledge that she’d broken someone’s neck was disturbing to her, but she was still being so stoic, so stubbornly stoic.
Lee moved to rise and Tarin moved to help her or hold her down or something, but then stopped himself. If she was going to be stubborn enough to refuse a perfectly good healing when it was right in front of her, then she was on her own as far as figuring out what to do was concerned. Then Lee stumbled and Tarin moved immediately, growling at her in continued frustration as he helped her sit back down.
Lee looked back at him and asked if he’d really hold her down. Apparently using her first name really had shown Lee that he meant business. Tarin just nodded curtly, words were unnecessary, then agreed to let Slate heal her.
Slate. He’d gone curiously quiet after explaining everything and Tarin had been so caught up in Lee that he’d almost forgotten that the teen was even there. He moved forward as soon as Lee had consented to the healing, though, and did his thing. Tarin could hardly believe how effective Slate’s healing was and after a moment he was finished and moving away again, quiet. It was almost like he was thinking about something, thinking about something as they continued to sit in the dirt.
Tarin was about to speak, when Slate looked up, between him and Lee. Tarin looked over at Lee, obviously thinking, then turned back to Slate and nodded his head slowly. “I will.” Tarin said, then swallowed as he tried to word things properly, “I told Lee when we were in Miami for our layover on the way here that after everything I’ve done, I thought it would be worth it to throw my life behind something that was going to make a difference for the better.” He paused and wondered who he was trying to assure, Slate or Lee, then spoke again.
“As long as you can convince me that what you’re doing is for the better, then yeah. I’ll help you however I can. Though, I’m nothing special…” Tarin looked up and over at the ponytail guy, who was still sitting in the dirt and looking very content with life.
Lee had always thought that she could deal with a lot, she knew that she could deal with a lot, but maybe this was just too much. Maybe having her side cut open like this with a knife, a knife that no one really knew how dirty it was, was just too much for her to deal with.
She didn't even fight with Tarin as he helped her to sit down once more.
From that point, though, things were moving quickly again. Tarin confirmed that he would hold her down so Slate could heal her if she didn't give in, and almost the moment that she agreed, she felt a hand on her arm.
What was even stranger was that a moment later, Lee felt fine. The pain in her side was completely gone, and while she could still feel the blood on her hand she had clamped over the wound, she didn't feel the almost pulsing that she had as the blood pumped.
Frowning slightly, Lee removed her hand from her side and looked down. The blood was still there, as was the cut in the fabric of the bodysuit, but the wound was completely gone. There didn't even look to be a scab there as if it had healed.
Looking up once more, Lee saw that Slate had moved away by this point, moved a little further than he had already been sitting, and was looking back and forth between the two of them.
And then he asked if they would help him.
Lee almost couldn't believe what she was hearing. After everything that had just happened, everything she had said to the guy, Slate still thought that they would help?
But, apparently Tarin was willing, and Lee's eyes shot to his in shock. "You can't be serious," she said quietly before turning back to Slate. "You want us to help you take over the Columbian drug trade so that this school won't be destroyed again?"
>> “I will. I told Lee when we were in Miami for our layover on the way here that after everything I’ve done, I thought it would be worth it to throw my life behind something that was going to make a difference for the better. ...As long as you can convince me that what you’re doing is for the better, then yeah. I’ll help you however I can. Though, I’m nothing special…”
Slate blinked, clear surprise on his face. “Tarin,” he stated simply, “you do things that no one else could ever do. I did not call you to Colombia because you are ‘nothing special’.”
>> "You want us to help you take over the Columbian drug trade so that this school won't be destroyed again?"
“No,” Slate stated, with a small shrug. Perhaps a modest shrug; perhaps simply an honest one. “I... have fairly well accomplished that. I want to make things better. It seems that both the X-Men and the Order make that claim as well, though, yet they often act like street thugs and high schoolers,” the fact that he had not graduated high school himself seemed somehow to be lost on the teenager. “I do not understand why they cannot see how ineffective they are. How hypocritical; how... self-destroying.” The Order’s descent into randomized chaos and blind murdering sprees where a prime example of this, from a group that espoused mutant rights. What purpose did their actions serve? When did their ideals become mere lip speak, and why were they blind to what they had become? It was this clarity of vision that he needed.
“I think I need someone,” he continued uncomfortably, baby blue eyes drifting to the perfectly content torturer sitting at the sidelines, “if what I am doing is evil.” His hands curled lightly in his lap as he turned back to Tarin and Mrs. Brooks. “Would you be my advisors?”
Someone who could spot his mistakes in advance of his making them would be pleasant, as well.
Posted by Tarin Brooks on Jun 2, 2009 13:51:20 GMT -6
Omega Mutant
1,277
4
Apr 19, 2024 13:16:21 GMT -6
Tarin chuckled and shook his head slightly when Slate looked surprised at Tarin’s admission that he wasn’t anything special. “Well, we saw how useful I was a few minutes ago.” He said simply and shrugged his shoulders, “And you’re not the only one who hasn’t been completely forthcoming about the full extent of their powers.” Tarin gave Lee a sideways glance, then shrugged his shoulders, “We can talk about that later, though.”
Lee seemed better, completely better, just as Tarin had felt when Slate had done the same thing to him a few moments earlier. It was amazing how good a person could feel after feeling so bad. She apparently even felt good enough to question Slate again. Slate replied and Tarin leaned back on his hands in the dirt for a moment, before following the teenager’s blue eyes over to the stunned, blinking man in the dirt. He wasn’t moving, he looked completely content to sit among his fallen soldiers and watch the people he’d just tried to kill talk.
Slate mentioned a need for advisors. Mentioned someone letting him know if what he was doing was, in fact, evil. What he said about the Order and the X-men…Tarin didn’t really understand. He’d worked briefly with them during the resistance, and he and Lee had spent considerable time at the mansion during and around the coma. Besides that, though, Tarin knew nothing of their squabbles. Knowing that some of the, ‘mutant terrorists’ the papers liked to talk about were part of an organization that was supposedly backing mutant rights made him shake his head though. In the grand scheme of things, Slate was right, at least he was working to make things better instead of tearing them apart.
Pushing slowly to his feet, Tarin looked down at his blood, soaked shirt, noting that as the blood dried, it was stiffening. He offered a hand up, first to Lee, then after she was standing, to Slate. As he held his hand out, he looked first at Lee, hoping that she’d agree, then back at Slate. “I’m here to help, as long as you want me to. I can’t guarantee a wealth of good advice, but I’ll do my best.” He looked back at the pony tail guy, “Now what do we do with him?”
Helping him take over the Columbian drug trade wasn't what Slate wanted them to help with? Then what?
Lee blinked in surprise as she heard the kid say that he had already done that. Then she blinked again. He had come to Columbia to rebuild a school, had taken over the drug trade so that the school wouldn't be destroyed again, and was simply shrugging about doing that.
Blink the third.
Slate went on to explain that while the X-Men and the Order back in New York claimed to be trying to do the same things he was trying to do, he didn't see them as being at all successful because of the petty squabbles they got into.
Instead, he thought the solution was to come to Columbia to do what he'd been doing here, apparently.
And he wanted them to help, wanted them to be his advisors, to stop him from ending up doing something evil when all he was wanting to do was help.
Rather than answer, Tarin was pushing himself to his feet, then holding his hand out to her. Wincing as she saw the blood staining her hand, Lee let Tarin help her up, then watched as he also held a hand out to help Slate.
And then he was talking. So much for hoping that her husband would stop and actually think twice about what he had already promised to do. But no, he was still offering to help with Slate, help with the guy's plans, whatever they might be.
Plans which had so far resulted in her husband being tortured.
His next question made Lee pause, though. What did they do with the torturer? The man whose neck she had apparently broken. How had she managed to do that, anyway? All she'd done was grab him by the throat and toss him. Hadn't she done that before, with other people? She'd held Tarin by the throat in a merge before...
Lee was still unnerved by the idea that she had actually been able to break a man's neck. But Slate had healed him, Lee had to assume that he was now as healthy and whole as she and Tarin were after Slate's healing, and yet the man was simply sitting there.
"The same as the rest of the soldiers," Lee said quietly, her eyes on the man sitting in the dirt rather than the two standing beside her, a crease of concern deepening in her forehead. "I didn't have much time, or options, but I tried not to actually kill any of them if I could at all help it. But we can't just let them go, can we? They'll just end up coming back with more soldiers..."