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 Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
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 Martin Stein on Jun 20, 2009 4:50:38 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
It had been several days since he had left the prison cell after a night of encounters and he was turning the pages of his book trying to get the events in order again. Why had he written them down anyways? Parts had already turned fuzzy in his memory and he was glad about it. Why had he written it down? There had been both good and bad ones. Actually the only one that had made that evening worthwhile had been Vega. A true Lady she was and did not even know how preciously sparse those had become during the last years. And she lived at the Mansion, which told him something about her ideals. The notes of his thoughts on the matter were extensive. The ideals of Masonite's. Dividing fact and fiction had been no trouble at all. Not with someone like her helping him to do so. She had confirmed everything he suspected by even cuffing herself again after his fight with the officers. She despised violence, though he had met people from there that did not. A good thing mostly. But apparently with her it went as far as to getting herself hurt. Self denial was a bad thing. Slowly the pages turned. Yes. Vega had not at all been happy with him when he finished off the last guards that were threatening to injure them. Well him actually, as she had been as ghostly figure. Her nickname was well earned at that. If she just were a little scarier.... He stopped the train of thought to focus on what he had been meaning to do for the last few days and has sadly not gotten around to doing yet. So that was the reason. A good one.
He wanted to find the person responsible for their encounter with the police. Te person truly responsible for the murdered body that had been found in the alleyway. If the media were to be believed the police was still unaware of anything helpful. And helpful in this case also meant helpful for him, since he apparently was the prime suspect for the case. The fact that he had dispatched two officers on his own did not help that view at all. So Martin Stein was out and about trying to catch his first criminal in New York. The old memories that flashed like disarranged movie in his mind did not help at all. Pictures of blood. Pictures of places devoid of live. Green and blue. Brown and Black. Deserts they were. He blinked. He was in the street where it had happened, walked down the same path again. Here it was. The opening lay before him and even though it was day it still looked like a way one did not want to take. The garbage and soot were truly giveaways of that. He breathed in deeply catching some of the smells of the city, before walking forward with a heavy step.
Here he had turned into the alley. The rain and thunder had washed away some of the smell, but now that it had dried again it was back with all its odorous force. He was sure that any officer would not have lasted here a very long time. Not with a body lying around. Officers made mistakes. Mistakes he was about to correct. The shadows greeted him readily, as if welcoming an old friend they closed in around him. He was almost invisible to the naked eye now. He knew it and memories tingled at the back of his mind, making random shadows look like hands and fingers. Bad memories they were. He reconstructed his path carefully, unwilling to take even one wrong turn he sometimes waited minutes before choosing the way to go on. There were only minute traces on walls and on the ground. Displaced rubbish showing the ground colored side up or little specks of red among the black of the waste. He followed them. Followed them inward. Here one could get lost so easily. Even in the full light of the sun that was shining now, barely a glimmer reached the paths he was walking now and the intensity even decreased with time it seemed. It did not matter. Arms wrapped around him more and more, dragging at him, dragging him along the ways. They were the paths of memories.
…..
The scene of the crime presented itself unremarkable. It was not clear to the untrained eye that anything had happened here at all, though to him certain points were a dead giveaway. Dead. Like the woman murdered here. The smell of her blood lingered on in the air and in the ground, mixing with the smell of the garbage bins that had not been emptied in a very long time, mixed with the buzzing of flied that had followed it here. They were still lingering though they had been betrayed their reward. The body had been long gone when they arrived. The place was cleaner then the rest of the ways he had walked. Another bit of memories he did not like. Cleanliness in places where it should not be clean always made him sit on edge. It was the scene of a crime and he was intent on finding out the reasons behind it.
He started by simply sitting down on the dirty ground.
Posted by Martin Stein on Jun 22, 2009 17:23:51 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
Breath after breath. Slowly. He was taking his time as he examined every bit he could see from his present position. He waited until it all looked like a well known place, a living room, a place of your childhood. He did not even try to compare it to the little things that he still knew of the alleyways, those fragments of similar places he had gone through before the encounter. A futile attempt it would be, as this was a new place, an unwritten story. He simply waited for things to start looking out of place, for the story to tell itself.
All the little secrets that were hidden in the details of this place in between the words. This scene. Who had been its narrator?
First came the obvious things. Those that were most likely the ones the police had already found. Yet there was always the chance that they had not seen them, had not judged them for what he thought them to be. He was interested in first, second and third. Everything was part of this story. There were spots in the grimy covering of the bricks that made up the sidelines of this little world. Places where the smear had been rubbed off, rubbed on to something else not long ago that had soaked up part of it, as the white marks were still fresh and uncovered the red heart of the stones as well as the little pieces of cloth that were still sticking in them. So it was probably a fighting scene. All on them pointed in the same direction, too. Coincidence? Probably not. But the materials on the ground, those bags and plastic pieces, those containers and little boxes. They did not match a fighting scene. Too little had been upturned, far too little for a violent fight, displaced from where it had hit the ground.
He lifted himself up and changed position. Then the process of breathing and viewing started all over again. It continued that way for some time. Even the little beams that illumined the narrative were getting fainter by the minute, when he finally found part of the puzzle. Just a little drop of blood that had been left behind by whom he supposed to be the attacker. A quick grin flashed over his face as he carefully gathered up part of the blood on a piece of glass that was vaguely reminiscent of a slide, but a little broader, before storing it in a little black box stuffed with wool that was in turn carefully placed within his pocket.
It was the beginning of the first chapter. Feeling. Smelling. Walking. He was not done for the day, but was tired from searching with his eyes, so he went out for a little walk. A way the police had marked with the tires of cars, with heavy boots that had left deep impressions in the then malleable ground. They had ruined every chance of finding a visual clue here. He just went a little farther. Out the way the killer had gone maybe, but unsurprisingly also a way that lead him near to the place where he and Vega had first met.
Gee whiz, she was a real store manager now! After her run in with a certain green-eyed wandering monster, CS had insisted she get a cellphone. They weren't the fancy egg shaped and smooth things with dancing mascots and bells and cameras like in Japan, at least, the phone Ghost had chosen wasn't like that. It did do some fancy sliding thing. At first it had confused her since it appeared to have no buttons. But now she was a pro. Well, a pro at talking on it. She still didn't know what the full keyboard was for.
"Aurum, I'm not going vigilante, I just think they could use my help."
Whatever he said did not please her. Ghost's pale cotton candy lips formed a tight frown. "I promise to stay out of their hair. They won't even know I was poking around. Promise." She held up the scout's honor sigil as if the man at the other end of the phone might be able to see her action. "And uh... thank you for talking to them for me. I had no idea you had such a silver tongue, sir."
Something cold slithered her spine as Ghost pulled the phone away from her hear and searched for the off button, the specter of guilty conscience. It hadn't been Ghost's fault that the girl had died. She hadn't even seen the girl until it was too late and she certainly didn't kill the woman, but... but she still felt guilty. Someone should have saved her, and since Ghost felt like she was the last one with a chance to do it, it should have been her. Guilt is a many splendored thing.
Ghost had been healed. From the wanderer's encounter and from her brief visit to jail, but that didn't stop her fingers from flicking nervously around her neck. She didn't like the threat of a collar, nor did she enjoy the threat of someone else's hands around her slender bottle neck. She slipped the phone into the front pocket of her khaki pants and looked around. Walking and talking was not her forte and she had walked right past a certain jailmate to stand at the opening of the alleyway. Assuming it was the same alleyway. Ghost smoothed her skirt and peered into the darkness . Now that it was summer and she had a day off, there was no excuse not to don her favorite garment again.
Posted by Martin Stein on Jun 26, 2009 15:13:50 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
Still standing in the deep umbra smiling because of his first sucess of the day-night-whatever- in the alley he looked down the very street where it had happened. His meeting with the unfortunate woman to be mistaken for a killer. The man who was blinded by anger and hate. Anger and hate fueled by the death of someone very dear to him. He almost felt sorry for the human. For the man to be exact, yet his feelings were shallow at best. Not only had he attacked without reason or reasoning – he disliked the loss of control that man had allowed to happen to him. It was a disgrace to any sane individual- but also for no other reason then death. Death. Another word they feared mindlessly. Another thing that set him apart. He sometimes brought it, but it was not the thing itself that he dreaded, but the way he brought it. The fear of death did not hold supremacy over him. The flickering light seemed to mock his opinion as it was slipping from him with every passing second, shrouding the street in the very treacherous thing he had found himself blanketed in. Darkness.
The fluttering of a piece of cloth in the corner of his eye stole his attention away from the street and put a smile on the face of a seeming teenager. Long legs connected to a body that was somehow familiar.... Rose into action on its own, before he even had had a chance to think through the implications. It would be just any girl. Could it be? Maybe! The coincidence would be too great. No its not. See! Feel! Stupid me. Illogical. While silently following her, approaching her more and more, taking little steps, through the shadows, his had lifted up and finally came to rest in a tight grip on the womans shoulders.
“Good evening.” He finally rasped out breathlessly as he wrested control from his instincts. An unpleasant experience on is part it was.
Ghost yipped and was incorporeal before Martin could finish his creepy greeting. Only her shoes, modest leather thongs, remained on the ground. Her heart was in her throat and the pressure increased around Martin's face before she finally recognized him and backed off the barometric pressure. "M-Mister Martin." She sighed in relief. Even if he had harmed others, he had never directly threatened her. Even his previous actions against the guards could be construed as defense... kind of.
"You surprised me. You touched me..." That action in itself was surprising.
Ghost wafted into the alleyway to start the process of becoming solid again. It wouldn't do to have someone on the street get curious and poke at her while she was condensing again. That would displace her particles and hurt very, very much. She knew from experience.
After regaining her solid state, Ghost scooped up her sandals and slipped them onto her long feet. All of her was long. Long legs, long arms, long fingers and toes. She was willowy in every sense. Even her face was long, handsome rather than beautiful or pretty. "Fancy meeting you here of all places." She glanced back at the alleyway. So it had to be the right one if Martin was here. "Were you perhaps looking into the ah--event that spurned our meeting? If so I would very much like to accompany you. The unresolved nature of the misdeed has left me somewhat ill-at-ease."
She rubbed her hands along her bare arms. Her skin was always cooler than most other's, but that did not explain the goosebumps she was soothing away.
Posted by Martin Stein on Jun 27, 2009 6:37:41 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
One second his hand was tightly gripping onto a shoulder, such a slender shoulder he wanted to loosen his grip, when suddenly there was no shoulder any more. A peculiar sensation he had not felt before. His fingers dug through the air aimlessly, as if still unsure about what had happened, and finally condensed into small balls in realization. She had just faded away. But the mist in front of his eyes was real. Very real. So his instincts had been right after all? Or maybe this was just another mutant, another face he did not know. Improbable. So the one thing, the one result of the math that he did had to be drawn. But before the wide grin of recognition could even fully open up in his face it was... compressed. The very ether around his brains protective shell were squeezed by a giant hand intent on cracking open his little refuge. The time manipulator raised his hands to cover his ears in which the continually raising pressure provoked clicking sounds.
And within the space of a heartbeat that feeling too was simply gone, only to be replaced by a faint wind blowing in bis face. Wind that spoke a title he enjoyed hearing. Somehow his hearts pace quickened a little at hearing it. Blink. She gathered herself together very quickly. Her method of recompilation erased all remaining doubt. It was her.
“I did.” His tone was apologetic. Of course he was wearing gloves. Always and ever. Well not ever seeing that he had not when they met, but normally he did. “I'm sorry, but I had to make sure.” Sure that you were who I thought you were. Sure that you were solid and not some by product of an unchanging mind. Some glimpse of the past in the present. His eyes were downcast, until she had completely regained her... solidity, as he was feeling like peeping in on some intimate process. Illogical. You had no trouble when you were in jail with her. Maybe its just to make both of us more comfortable? Yes. That must be it.
“But first: Good evening to you Vega. It is nice surprise to meet you here.” Politeness was a necessity not convenience. A little courtesy could go a long way when it came to preventing unhappy events. Courtesy like not simply touching someone else unless you knew him well enough to do so. And he was most assuredly not nearly close enough to Vega to be allowed to do so. But it was also no surprise. It was only natural that she would come back to this place. Just as it was natural that he would. He could even smell some light perfume coming from her. Interesting choice. He stepped back a few steps. Just to make sure.
“As a matter of fact I am.” His tone was neutral and friendly. Accommodating and inviting one could call it. “We cannot allow that, can we?” If he could only have such simple reasons as feeling good. Sometimes it was just refreshing to meet people like her. People with little problems. “I already searched the crime site, but I am unsure as where to go to next.” He pointed up or down the street. “Where do you think the culprit might have gone?” He would leave the choice to her.
A dip of the head acknowledged Martin's greeting. Politeness engendered politeness. How much better the world would be if everyone at least pretended to be polite. So Mister Martin had already been to the scene? Ghost took a step back to turn and face to cool shadows of the alleyway. "Did you find anything glaringly obvious?" Her methods no doubt were much less refined than Martin's. It wasn't her typical behavior to sleuth or nose around in official business.
Before she realized what she was doing, Ghost had taken in a great whiff of air, a much longer inhalation than was humanly possible. She was tasting it. Trying to see if anything stood out. There was the taste of Martin, the taste of official business, the taste of ozone and car, the taste of rain... there wasn't a whole lot that was discernible beyond that. If she sat, eyes closed, and concentrated for a very long time perhaps she could pull out all the unfamiliar flavors, but even that did not promise to be a fruitful way to continue.
Ghost exhaled a comparably small amount. Due to her mutation, her body filtered the air, storing abnormal amounts of the pure and expelling the rest through her skin as well as by normal respirations. That kept her body temperature abnormally low so even in the heat of summer she didn't break a sweat.
How could they proceed? "Do we know the woman's name? Or anything about her?" Ghost turned her amber gaze to the streets. She glazed over the patch of concrete that she got to know rather well while being frisked and cuffed. Had there been anything interesting there, she certainly would have seen it. Watching the people spill past the scene did nothing to encourage her. It seemed like something so horrible should touch every life that came close by. How many murders went unsolved in New York? How many Mothers or Fathers lay awake at night wondering what happened to their babies. Ghost frowned a small, tight lipped expression.
She tried to remember the questions they had asked her in the small room. Her eye closed and squnched as she thought back. Honestly, Ghost had been a bit preoccupied by the cuffs on her wrists and their lack of implicit trust. She would have trusted them had they not insisted on the cuffs, but it was a moot point now. "Was it Claire? Or Carry? It seemed to start with a C..." Her darker eyebrows pulled slowly closer together. "A lady of the night, yes, but also she had a child. They showed me his picture to guilt me into a confession." She tried to focus on the slippery details of the image. Dirty blond hair, too young for pimples, too soft a face for puberty, collared shirt. It was a school photo.
Amber eyes flicked open again, pupils spiraling down quickly against the bright sun's fading rays. "We could try to find the child. He must be in school and if this was in her..." Ghost tried to think of a savory word, "territory, would it stand to reason that she lived not too far? And if she lived not too far, then would it also make sense for a child of hers to attend a school in the vicinity? Perhaps a public school..." She looked to Martin for any further insight he may have remembered.
Posted by Martin Stein on Jun 29, 2009 16:46:08 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
When Ghost stepped back, he took some steps in the opposite direction. He even went so far as to get on her height, though facing in the opposite direction. His walk provoked only a minor echoing throughout the street, which did not at all create a scary or oppressive atmosphere. Or rather: If it did, he was inclined not to notice. He looked at her profile from the side, taking in her almost regal composure as she asked him in a manner that was suited for teatime discussion. Whether she had understood or it just was her polite nature he did not know, but he would assume the first for the better. Oh tonight would become a lot of fun. He shot her a mere whiplash of a smile that somehow had the feeling of snake skin to it – not dry, but certainly very sleek- before the timemancer opened his mouth fully and replied in an equally courteous, though somewhat deceptional manner. “Am I really the type to go for glaringly obvious things?” Fake sadness was dripping from the words like thick honey from a wild bees nests. The question was whether he would catch a fly with it tonight or the honey was just some sweet poison for the ear.
Stop that. You're not twenty any more and surely not the type to go fishing in the dark like that. Maybe fishing for a compliment even? He mentally scolded himself for his boyish behavior and quickly silenced all other thoughts regarding the matter of compliments or complimenting. I said NO!
Stepped behind her even, while his eyes were fixed on some point across the street, some unseen point. His hand lunged into his pocket, rummaging through its contents until he finally felt the cold touch of leather on leather. Behind him Ghosts breathing went almost unnoticed, up to the point, where it became part of the background noise, which made Martin look up from the pages he had just begun turning and stare straight at her back with some unquestionable intensity. He wandered around her a little to be able to see her face better, but relaxed visibly when he saw, that she was indeed in good health and not turning blue from hyperventilation. Comforting. He quickly gazed back at the pages, studying something that might just have been hidden between the lines.
The room had been dark and the chair uncomfortable until the fluorescent lamps mounted under the ceiling bathed everything in a pale white shower of photons. Desk. Three chairs. Two empty chairs. One with a non-child on it. Ordinary was the best word to describe the things uncovered by the white. It strongly accented the shadows around his eyes, making his reflection in the two way mirror on the wall look ever more unlike himself. For some reason he had recently started to dislike the darkness, yet the small time they had let him sit to ponder in darkness had really been nothing that came close to being intimidatory. It had made his back hurt though, which in turn made him somewhat grumpy. My was the chair uncomfortable. On the other hand he now saw what had already been suspected. It was a simple plastic chair that looked like it had been discarded somewhere from a school for all the markings that it bore might as well have been those of small children. Sometimes he disliked being right.
The door had opened just to reveal two hard faced men with official looking suits. They were just little details, but he noticed them. Their hands were scarred by long years of work, that had nothing to do with filing. Their backs were a little wider then the usual officers. Bohoooo. The first thing they had done was to throw a pair of gloves on the desk in between them and him and motion him to put them on. The kid had just smiled at them and complied without resistance. Their faces just got a little harder. He had smiled. It had promised to be an interesting experience back then, too.
Her voice carried his conscience back out of the pages into the real world to answer her next question. “Camilla.” Like some royal child from England they had told him with sincere looks. As if that would make matters worse. He could already feel some Camilla and the royal palace tremble in fear and her name patron, who was probably dead two hundred years now, spin in her grave violently. There was probably a mount of dirt being piled up in some old and long forgotten British cementry. Boring. They would have to do a lot better. “And those officers they gave me were not skilled enough to make a nun feel guilty for swearing.” His voice sounded... Unconcerned. Distant. They really had been boring most of the time. “And yes, most certainly a public school.” As was to be expected. Sons like him seldom were admitted into Catholic Private Ed. He started wandering around down the street for a few minutes, strolling aimlessly, eyes darting herer and there, never stopping destroying the illusion if only for those who knew. He stopped only to chat with a girl approximately his age, who was swaying her hips in such an intrusive way, it almost made him forget the near absence of clothing on her. Children. He then turned to Ghost, who had followed him with a little distance. “We're in luck. It's just around the corner.” He pointed at the corresponding street.
"Camilla." Now why hadn't she thought of that? Ghost sighed and tried to commit an extra bit of memory just to the woman's name. Camilla. It was important to remember her until they could find someone who would mourn her properly. Had the police sought a next of kin already? Surely they had. Surely they wouldn't be finding the boy just to tell him his mother was gone.
She squeezed her eyes shut one last time. 'Please let that not be the case.'
On to more pleasant thoughts, "I thought the men who asked questions did a fine job. It's just too hard to make an innocent man sweat for something he did not do." Though they had made Ghost frown and nearly break into to tears at the very frank photographs. The photos had almost been worse than the actual scene. Every mark on her flesh was highlighted in perfect gruesome detail. No coverings, no clean up. They hadn't even bothered to close Camilla's eyes. Another sigh. So much for pleasant thoughts.
And the girl who swaggered up to Martin earned a special frown from Ghost. Maybe she wasn't cut out for all this detective stuff. But they could at least see to the child. If he were safe or, well, they really couldn't ask for much more than that considering the proximity of his mother's death to this day. From there they would no doubt ask the same questions that the police had. If they could find no other clue to investigate then perhaps it was just a random killing. They would have to leave it to the police to handle.
Just around the corner meant strolling down the sidewalk with Martin. He lead by a subtle movement here or a gesture there, but all in all they walked easily side by side, Ghost's skirt a-swishing. It took very little time at all until they were approaching a large brick structure. It was tucked between monoliths in an unfamiliar part of town. She would never have found the shorter, yet still massive structure on her own. It was virtually invisible until you were right upon it.
Suddenly, while admiring the building, it occurred to Ghost that they didn't know the boy's name. At least, she didn't. "How do you propose we go about finding this boy? We could take up posts and monitor the premises, but there is no guarantee that we would see him. Would he even be back at school so soon...?" Ghost drew her lower lip between her teeth mulling over her own questions. If it were her, and it had been her a little more than a year ago, she would have wanted to return to normalcy. At least on the surface, she had. She went to school, she went to meeting and cram sessions and classes, but never anything more. She always ran straight home. Straight back to a zombified dad. He had needed her. Did Camilla's son have a father that needed him too?
"Administration should have identification of every student, social security, address, and even a picture ID. When I was in school every student had to have their ID to walk the halls. Ah- but I'd save stealing information as a last resort. Maybe the front desk lady is loose lipped?" She shrugged toward Martin. One could always hope...
Posted by Martin Stein on Jul 4, 2009 12:21:12 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
The bright red color of bricks was a reminder of older days, when he had lived in a city built from them. Glass and steel were such new parts of Architects repositories, but here in New York they used them in excess. Buildings from glass usually lacked something essential. Their see through environment provided perfect view on what was going on inside, and as this was undesired often, structures were turned into giant mirrors by means of some coating. You could see yourself walk by, your own image being reflected back, inflated, shrunk depending on the curvature. Smiles turned into abnormally large holes ready to eat up a mountain. Maybe just a cloud. Would you please stop smiling? I fear that I'm going to be eaten soon. Personality was what those buildings lacked. Solidity. The county had been wise in choosing a building with a strong foundation for their school. Or it was just for lack of funds to modernize, restructure it into another model building for this street. He followed her words with some sounds of approval. Somehow they made themselves into a little tune, a hum. Maybe there was a reason that he was happy to be here.
“I guess we'll just have to find the papers.” Here the tendency of keeping records of everything was not adhered to as rigidly and with much less traditional incentive than back where he had come from. But even here there were lists and records. Not keeping them was foolish, and stupid administrators rarely survived their first weeks in the job, much less so over the years. He gave her a sign to enter the grounds first, before falling in behind her. “I suggest you simply look for them in your incorporeal form. I will take care of any personnel present myself. Lets meet back here in an Hour.” It would give her ample time to sight all the data there was and do some recon if it was necessary. He just had to figure out a way to give her the time she needed. His mind was already racing back and forth, rummaging through all the possibilites. With that he held open the door for her to enter through into the bowels of what would be his first mission in enemy territory.
Just that the enemy here turned out to be a stone faced clerk with horn rimmed glasses looking at him like an unwanted insect that had just found its way unto his very desk by some whim of fortune. From a desk on which papers were arranged in such orderly stacks that they promised cuts to anyone bold enough to touch this mans sanctuary. “Hello.” The word was barely audible. Barely legible, carrying some accent sounds with it. The man raised his head. Staring. Staring back. More staring. His back started to tingle. There. Legs started to itch for movement, just some form of relief. Came. Hands started rubbing, kneading. No. He had done this all before. Answer. It was not that he was uncomfortable, but rather, that he acted the way he was supposed to. It was what was to be expected of a student, to feel unsettled by this herald of efficiency, who spoke with every shred of his state payed being: You will be properly dealt with. Filed. Stocked. Resistance would be futile. Finally there was a simple motion of a hand to a wooden chair -of course without any kind of cushion on it- that allowed the teenaged culprit to take a seat. “Why did you come?” He was not cold, just efficient. He was as predictable as the officers, as he was fundamentally the same. The same as those glass towers. Characterless.
Did Martin prefer she find a paper copy of the information they needed? Ghost decided not to ask. She also decided not to inform him that while incorporeal she was rendered essentially sightless when it came to reading and viewing things that depended on contrast rather than texture. It wasn't that she didn't trust Martin, implicitly she did. The problem was that she trusted most everyone. And some of those she had trusted recently had not been the people she would have wanted to know all of her weaknesses.
They approached the building together and Martin held the door for her. "Be careful." She ducked her head a bit to hide the encouraging smile. What they were about to do here was technically illegal. The police would be able to do as much legally. So why was she helping Martin in this case? First and foremost, to know that the child was safe would help her rest easier.
The interrogators had made her feel more guilty than she should have. And eventually, there might be something they could not handle. She just wanted to know a little bit more about things before she could let it alone. Aurum had promised her to stay as clean and clear as she could. And so she would. Did that mean she usually wasn't careful? Hmm. Maybe.
Following Martin's lead through the crowded between class scuffle, they parted ways as soon as the school's office came into view. Martin disappeared behind the glass door and Ghost went into the closest girl's restroom and tried her hardest to ignore the conversations taking place there. She found herself a stall and closed the door without locking it. Poof. She was incorporeal nearly as soon as she'd thought it. She spread herself out and drifted upward along the wall and into the airway.
The office was across the hall and down to the right some and she leaked out of a vent that she thought might be in the office somewhere. Ghost tried to remain as inconspicuous as a roil of smoke could be against a mostly white ceiling. Ghost surveyed the scene below her. Someone at a desk. One desk in the room and two chairs and papers... principal or maybe a vice. There were filing cabinets in there and a computer. She was betting on the computer.
But how to get the person away from their desk... or how long before they would naturally leave. Would Martin find a way? For now... Ghost remained where she was. If this one did not leave soon then she would look for an alternate place to access files.
Posted by Martin Stein on Jul 19, 2009 11:49:18 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
== Im sorry it took me so long==
As in most instances of stress, that being when his blood filled with the rich flavor of noradrenaline rather then the thick musk of fear, his time slowed down conveniently. Or rather inconveniently if the other person talked, for the words became drawn out snakes that slowly wound their way in his mind. Speed was of the essence here maybe, as the clerks brows already burrowed their way up his skull, disappearing behind a curtain of thinning non-color that could not keep the black of the brows to reappear through little moths holes. It was only a matter of time before this one would loose his patience. Or rather deem him unworthy of his attention dismissing the reason of his visit. After all it was a clerk he was facing. And clerks never ran out of patience. Waiting for form 24B-3447 to be delivered to you shortly would else wise be a difficult ordeal.
Let the games begin. “I'm a foreign student and was asking myself, whether I could tour this school.” His accent was thick, but the language legible. The clerks yes widened slightly at the opening. Not something he had expected, was it? Something that got his attention? Posing as a foreign student would lead to several beneficial effects he hoped, yet the main reason behind this choice was the simplicity of getting accepted as well as avoidance of certain precautionary measures that people usually took when facing grown ups. For example the simple reason behind a foreign student coming to this school of all available. After all it was clearly visible when walking the thin carpets in the hallways that this was a state financed building and not the pinnacle of local educational facilities. Yet a foreign student offered certain benefits, he hoped at least.
The clerk laid down his pen on the desk among the meticulously placed other ones and examined him from head to toe. Summing him up in his single parts and his whole appearance. It equaled in what some people, people like him, who wore the exact same thing sometimes, would consider a smile. A twitching of the cheeks and thin, white lipped line appearing in the middle of the face. A smile. Somewhat. “Well welcome then. I will consult the principal first concerning your query.” He spoke cordially and slowly, yet did not manage to banish the dryness from his voice a single bit. Noted. Filed away. Due process finished. For some reason the boy was unmoved by the expression, did not flinch, nor did he back away as so many others did when they faced people as a clerk. It was a slip. Major? Minor? Who could tell? The thin line became even thinner and finally the student started showing signs of sweat on his forehead. Inside Martin his pulse was raging. Someone depended on him here. The pulse of the clock. Pulse of time. Afraid of faliure, dear Martin? Self doubts? Never? How is that?
In some office, maybe just a few doors farther down the hallway, maybe half the school away, a telephone started ringing, while the gray eyes of a near-teenager's scanned the room of the clerk for anything. Anything that might help him keep the ruse up a little longer, for he feared that he was under suspicion already. When the ringing of a reciever being put in its proper place finally reached his ears, there was nothing left for him to do, but clench his fists tightly on the clerks table. For once he did not have to fake.
Ghost watched the office occupant and willed him wit her every thought to do... something else. Go get coffee. Visit the loo. Anything but sit and stare at the screen she needed. She pondered whispering quietly in the person's ear. Anything just to move them. Just when she thought she'd have to visit a different office the phone rang.
"They what!?" The receiver slammed down and the room was quickly vacated. Ghost took the liberty of closing the door behind him and becoming solid enough to make sure it was locked. Considering his keys were sitting atop the desk, she felt pretty secure when she sat down at the computer to try and make sense of whatever program she needed to use. She wasn't all that great at computers anyway, but it looked like windows to her. Just crappier.
It took her a good fifteen minutes of clicking to figure out what program she even needed to use, another fifteen to manage all the right fields and narrow down her search and figure out how to display the pictures. Then it was only a matter of looking through the list like a book of mugshots. Simple really.
Ghost ran her lower teeth over her upper lip as she scrolled, her concentration was so great that when the office's occupant jiggled the handle, she jumped. There was the distinct sound of a head leaning against the wood of the door and a soft 'Aww man. You have got to be kidding me.' Ghost looked back to the computer with her heart in her throat and scrolled faster. She very nearly scrolled right past the same picture the NYPD had showed her. Nearly.
His name was James. Camilla's son's name was James. A thrill of excitement went up her spine. And then she saw his attendance record. He hadn't missed a day until the day after his mother's murder. Ghost rolled her lip between her teeth and tried to find the print button. There wasn't time to read the whole report. Ghost tried to remember what window was where and closed up things after herself before she bounced in front of the small laserjet printer.
Key jingling outside made her nervous and still.. nothing was coming out of the laserjet. Ghost had no idea how to check print settings. Someone had showed her once, but... the door was opening. There was no time. Ghost went incorporeal and slipped back into the vent she slithered from. She hovered there listening to the vice principal thank the janitor for saving their life and still no printout.
Meanwhile, at the main copier that sat firmly behind the battlements of the secretary, a student report was being printed out.
Posted by Martin Stein on Jul 23, 2009 3:05:32 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
While somewhere a girl was clicking her way through a host of different organization programs, he was familiarized with a host of different people that all unanimously, and with the same generic smile of pleasantry assured him that his stay here would be a wonderful one -it raised the question in him if there had been a secret announcement to the teachers and secretaries that he was coming and how he was to be treated. With silken gloves obviously, as far as the person on his side was concerned, for neither his slips in disguise, not that those were many, nor his obvious disinterest in seeing a classroom was able to stop the inadvertent smiles greeting him wherever the tight hand clasped around his shoulder led him. In fact it was so tightly clasped, as if the principal feared that he might leave any minute. Is he really this desperate or only inexperienced on how to handle guests? If its the first thing then I that would be a very good indicator to leave soon, if the second then this schools run by even worse personnel then I originally thought. Come to think of it, he had stormed into the clerks room and rescued him out of his hands with a smile that was supposed to be reassuring. If that one would stumble over his own feet, then he would not wonder, as the principal carried an air of practiced klutziness about him and indeed, just as he was about to show the visitor the glorious (slightly muggy) gathering hall -students had apparently tried their best at covering up the late 60s designs with their very own creations yielding indeed a colorful, nonetheless dated, environment- he tripped on the stairs and a gloved hand had to grasp his shoulders tightly to prevent his attempt at traveling to new academic heights. Despite this Martin found him to be quite likable. It might just have been memories of his own old school days. Somehow being in a school environment again was refreshing. It had -after all- been a time when his worries and stresses had been shallow at best.
Finally the two of them arrived at a door, that a middle aged man failed to open, going by his frustrated look and flashing eyes the reason for it was not to be sought in too few attempts. “This is our Vice Principal Gordon.” The principal commented, before walking straight past him into his own office, leaving Mr Gordon and the closed door to their own devices respectively. The office itself was divided in two parts. One for a secretary and the other for the principal, divided by a solid wall. He was now led into the inner sanctum of this school. A questionable honor for all students this was, and for him another test to pass, before being finally able to vanish from these peoples lives, never to return again. The walls were littered with posters like a teenagers room, yet these read something about taking charge or academic achievement. Rather flashy all of it. But that leather chair was comfortable.
“I hope you enjoyed the tour. Is there anything else you want to know?” The voice was cordial, the smile bright. Somehow Martin knew that he was in bigger trouble then before.
Ghost made her way back to the Girl's lavatory. She didn't have the papers. Where were the papers she had printed out? What was she going to tell Martin if they came all this way and she saw the information, printed the information, but never actually got the information? Ghost sighed as she seeped out of the vent and rolled across the Girl's bathroom ceiling. She couldn't see what papers were what in this form and she couldn't very well take every paper in the office or even every paper from every printer... what if she missed one? Wouldn't someone realize that was suspicious if all the papers were just suddenly missing?
And then, while she was mulling over her options on the ceiling, something curious happened. An alarm sounded shrill and echoing down all the hallways. Ghost put her hands over her ears instinctively even if it did absolutely nothing for a roil of smoke to fold a bit differently. She felt the vibrations through her entire body. It was the fire alarm. Which was an unexpected stroke of genius!
The sprinklers came on in the bathroom to try to quell the non-existent fire that was making all the thick smoke up by the detector. Even better! Someone shrieked out in the hallway and Ghost seeped very slowly out from the girl's bathroom so that she would not arouse suspicion. It wasn't exactly the most subtle way to get people out of the building, but the kids at least were lining up in rows and marching out to safety.
The hall sprinklers came on after a moment and Ghost recognized a certain lump on the ceiling that she had also felt in the restroom. Ooops. That must be the detector. Shrieks of joy tinged with panic echoed above the ringing alarms. Teachers were doing their best to manage the children, but everyone was getting soaked except the little cloud that stuck to the ceiling outside of the Administrative office, making sure all its occupants were gone before she seeped in the door that the secretary locked behind himself.
It was most amusing to hear the Vice-President who had only just gotten back to his desk mutter about getting work done before he disappeared down the hall to help direct people to the soccer field out back.
Once inside the office, Ghost was able to, at her leisure, check each printer tray for the information she sought. Still completely dry, Ghost folded the papers in her hands and disintegrated into air molecules again before seeping out the door and making her way to the front of the school to wait for Martin. Hopefully he could get free of whatever he had gotten himself into.
From her park bench across the street, Ghost was able to watch fire trucks and police vehicles arrive in a flourish of activity. It was almost humorous knowing that nothing was actually burning in there. She just hoped there wasn't too much water damage, that they would get the sprinklers shut off before the cost for the information tucked into the waistband of her skirt became too high.