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 Jul 14, 2011 2:07:15 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
The chimes told them goodbye. They left a mess behind. A few broken limbs. A few broken noses, too. And a concussion. For good measure. Not to mention the store looked slightly wrecked. But that was behind them. The chimes said: Goodbye. With hugs and kisses. And favorable waves of energy from the Himalayan unicorns. Martin was quite satisfied.
So off they went. Around the corner, a block away there was a small cafe. Well more of a bar. Well more of a slightly dingy bar. It was a backstreet. The bar was of wood. As was proper. The barman was tired, had rings below his eyes. And it was not fancy. Martins Id was fancy though. It was also fake. But it gained him and Drew two glasses of amber liquid. One was extended to the promise keeper.
“To breaking limbs.” He said with an earnest tone. Everyone needs earnest. Everyone loves him. Because he has no unicorns. He has an alcohol problem. His alcohol solves problems. Like inhibitions.
Posted by Andrew Leroy on Jul 14, 2011 2:30:09 GMT -6
Omega Mutant
1,155
1
Jun 4, 2014 22:48:52 GMT -6
Away they went to the tones of the chimes. Drew did his best to put the store and the mess they'd left within out of his mind. They'd dealt with the situation as was suitable, if a little harshly on Martin's part. Now for drinks. Andrew supposed that if he was going to go out for drinks with a stranger for his first real drinking experience that Martin would do. Sure he dressed oddly but that didn't matter in the long run. Martin led them to a bar that Andrew would classify as a slightly less than seedy dive. It was nothing fancy. Just a place for people to get drunk.
Martin procured the drinks and handed one of them off to him. He eyed the amber colored alcohol for a moment before responding to the offered toast of sorts. He raised his glass.
"And lessons learned."
And then he drank. Drew tried not to cough after finishing the drink he'd taken. There was still three quarters of the glass left.That would have to be remedied. Whatever Martin had got them didn't taste too bad, he just had to get used to the alcohol.
"So..um, what brought you to this neighborhood?"
Andrew didn't think that he lived anywhere near here. He just didn't quite seem to fit with the rest of the harmless sheep in this portion of town.
Posted by Martin Stein on Jul 14, 2011 3:13:36 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
It was a good drink that he poured into his mouth. This was a dingy bar. In the better side of town. So even the moderate drinks were better than most anywhere. And more expensive. The first was good, the second not; neither was a problem. A problem was getting Andrew drunk. Again: Solving inhibitions. A minor obstacle.
“I was going to meet a client.” He answered truthfully. He had been going to meet one. Without mob. And torture. But this was ok too. Torture he had needed to practice anyways. And the job was secondary. Much too secondary. “Found a mod instead. Not a bad deal.” Not really as these things go. The mother was safe, the world a better place. Maybe. And he had his claws into Andrew. Nearly. Dearly smiling, dutifully his face. In your face the smile. Beaming. “And how do you occupy your time?” Just smalltalk. Maybe another toast.
Posted by Andrew Leroy on Jul 14, 2011 10:37:04 GMT -6
Omega Mutant
1,155
1
Jun 4, 2014 22:48:52 GMT -6
Wait, Martin considered a mob a fair trade off for a job? Another something odd about him, though Andrew did suppose it was a good job that they were there. Otherwise the woman would have gone wanting for help and they'd probably be reading about the murder of her and her child in the paper this time tomorrow. He was considering taking another drink when Martin's question reached his ears.
"Mostly I work. Over at the Xavier's Sister School for a guy named Sam. It's mostly just paperwork honestly, though I do get to run the occasional newcomer through the greeting process."
In other situations he might not have said so much. In other situations he might have listened to that nagging sense that told him to get the heck out of there. But, as with all times that he got himself in trouble over his head, he didn't listen to it. He hadn't said or done anything against him yet after all. Besides, it would be rude not to at least finish his drink since he'd already accepted the invitation. With that thought he brought the glass back up to his lips and tipped some more of the liquid down his throat. This time he was prepared for the alcohol in the beverage this time so when he set the glass down there was barely a fourth of the glass left.
"I enjoy it for the most part. So what do you do then?"
The liquor was beginning to affect him, making that nagging sense that something wasn't quite right and that he needed to get away lay down for a nap. Maybe that was Martin's plan? If he were some kind of super villain bent on world domination anyway. He couldn't be one of those, to be one of those you needed stupid minions, a hero to battle against regularly, and a really cool outfit that probably has a cape. Martin didn't have any of that, though the outfit was debatable because it seemed less out of place with a little bit of booze in him.
Posted by Martin Stein on Jul 16, 2011 4:49:55 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
>> "Mostly I work. Over at the Xavier's Sister School for a guy named Sam. It's mostly just paperwork honestly, though I do get to run the occasional newcomer through the greeting process."
Martin nearly breathed in the sip of liquor he had been about to take in. He worked for him? What are the chances? What are the odds of meeting someone that cannot only be forced to be a perfect minion, but also to be forced to be a useful minion? Meeting him while beating up people and then going for a drink, inhibitions slowly failing. His smile, it had been about to falter, was firmly glued back into place, a bit brighter even, maybe. Just some parts...
Can I really do this? The answer was obvious. He had killed people. Plural. And could still quite comfortably look into the mirror. It made for a good living really. People paid well if you solved their little problems. But the Mansion... they were not most people there, if ever found out, his ties with them would be more thoroughly severed then any time before this. And they being what they were the chances of being ferreted out were higher than normal. Very much higher. A high stakes game he was about to play. Very high stakes. He was about to try to do something really very nasty in case you had not noticed. For he could need a minion. And maybe even a cape.
That smile beamed at Andrew. “I do odd jobs. I think we are going to pass one of my workplaces tonight... I'll show you then.” He was. Very much. There was not a hint of regret in his mind. Well maybe just a little bit.
* * *
The bottle in his hand felt right. He had used one tonight already, had held one. Had done some things with one. Bottles were good this way. They did not question. They were sturdy. This one already held bloody streaks form where it had done its job. In his other hand was his cane. Tip also coated in a thick substance that had taken to gluing some of the ways grime onto the top.
Andrew was half-standing before him, supported only by the things encircling his arms. He had been tied to a rusty fire-escape ladder with pieces of pink female clothing stolen not half an hour ago from the showcase of a shop a few blocks away. Andrews arms were bound tightly above his head. In pink. The same went for his legs. Only that they were tied below. In his Thankfully that had not been pink. It had been questionable for other reasons though. Martin listened to the boys voice with a trained ear. His breath stood in odds against the other. One was very calm, almost meditative. In and out... in and out.... The other went fast and was ragged. Inandout cough inandout.... The breath of someone who had run a few miles and then decided he was not fit enough to go any farther.
A quick grip it had been, compressing the arteries on the neck, coming in the guise of a friendly hand on a shoulder. Not taking much strength. Martin had not much strength t offer. But he had both experience and skill. Deep unconsciousness had come to Andrew within the space of a minute, blanketed out the world. And made him ready to wake to sharp pains. That had been then. Now:
Andrews clothing supported multiple red blotches, hinting at things that were wrong underneath. There were darker ones where Martin had not been bothering with striking again soon. Brighter ones from more recent encounters with the sharp end of his stick. Or the blunt end of the bottle. Or both. Andrews face though was still quite perfectly in order, not a speck of grime on it. Martin had seen no need to mar it and announce to the world what he had done to this young one... I have destroyed a youth. Maybe grown him up. And I was a very bad dad. Some thoughts that idly floated in his mind. He had lost the tophat most conveniently in a dumpster. Was now looking quite calmly from three eyes at what he had done. Was doing. And then removed the bits and pieces that had once been a female undershirt from Andrews mouth. “I want you to promise me something.” Martins voice said in cold and decided notes. As if this had already been agreed upon and Andrew was just not fulfilling his end of the bargain. Slightly chiding even. The Germanic accent he had not bothered to loose completely gave the words sharp edges. Ready for cutting. For emphasis his walking stick ground deeply into one of the patches on Drews' shirt. One could hear the bone grating against wood. Martin knew what he was doing. Hurting people was something he was very good at. He really was. This made a part of himself a bit afraid. That part he had not been bothered to listen to for quite a while.
Posted by Andrew Leroy on Jul 16, 2011 15:52:49 GMT -6
Omega Mutant
1,155
1
Jun 4, 2014 22:48:52 GMT -6
Consciousness was slow to return and it brought with it sensations and feelings that he would rather not have faced. Confusion and pain warred for dominance as his primary concern. His body hurt, breathing hurt, and the more awake he became the more it hurt. He was becoming aware of a number of injuries that he didn't remember having before he'd blacked out. On that subject he was having a little trouble recalling just how it had happened. Martin and he had left the bar and began walking. That much he remembered. He remembered Martin putting a hand on his shoulder and then dizziness and nothing.
It felt as though he was hanging from something. His arms seemed to be tied over his head and his legs felt like they were bound as well. He finally opened his eyes to discover the ground of what seemed like an alleyway. A hand removed something that had been blocking his mouth and making it difficult to breath. Before he could question it a voice spoke. It sounded like it should be familiar but the cold hard tones made it difficult to distinguish while his head was still swimming from unconsciousness and questions. A promise? Why would he make a promise to someone who'd done this to him?
His answer came in the form of a cane jammed painfully into one of his wounds. It took a fair amount of effort not to let himself scream over that. Andrew's eyes followed the cane upward to the hand that held it and the shoulder and arm that was attached to. He needn't have bothered with it. He'd known who he'd been at the mercy of when he'd seen the cane. However his eyes continued upward to lock gazes with Martin.
When had he let himself be so comfortable, so complacent, as to forget that there were people that would do this to him? Sure he could blame it on the alcohol or the friendly smile that had hid the monster that was Martin so well. However it was letting himself trust that had ultimately brought this on. And now something he'd feared since the day he'd realized just what he was and what he could do was happening. Andrew fought back a rising tide of panic and diverted it instead to anger. Anger at Martin for doing this, anger at himself for letting it happen, and anger at the situation itself. He gritted his teeth and glared at Martin. Through the gritted teeth he gave the man his reply.
Posted by Martin Stein on Jul 17, 2011 9:11:30 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
Martin gave Andrew a smile as the pain was evident on his face. The smile was very much unconcerned with it. In fact it liked like the smile could be meant to woo someone. It was not so. The cold edges around the mouth, the hard set of the eyes and the walking stick still mercilessly digging pronounced intent quite clearly. Martin was out to get what he wanted and no amount of cheek was going to make him back down. His smile said so. His quiet purpose did. Outwardly Martin seemed untouched by any motion of Andrews. No shred of humanity, of pity was there to be seen. Inside? Something was cringing. Had been at least, until the ice had swallowed it with a satisfied creak.
Martin stepped closer to Andrew in an almost intimate motion, seemingly ready to give him something of a hug, both hands extended. Stepping closer, ever so slowly. Edging near, near the edge we are. His hands on Andrews skin did move mechanically, like a doctors they had no shred of intimacy to them, just cold purpose. Andrew was being manhandled in true fashion. His hands, Martins hands, touched those of Andrew, him standing very, very close. Much too close for comfort. Idly they fiddled with Andrews hand.
That had been a finger being turned in a wholesomely unnatural direction. Delicately. Intimately. Scream for me. Martins eyes were cool pools of steel and ice. “You will give me a promise tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that.” Martins voice was nothing but a cool whisper at Andrews ears. Lips almost touching the lobe, so close they were. He would be able to feel the warmth radiating from his skin, smell his deodorant, notice, maybe how his hands fiddled again. His hair was brushing over Andrews cheek.
Posted by Andrew Leroy on Jul 17, 2011 10:07:07 GMT -6
Omega Mutant
1,155
1
Jun 4, 2014 22:48:52 GMT -6
Martin didn't even react to his glare, his anger. There was nothing but the cold smile of something inhuman pretending to feel. That made him feel more helpless than the bonds or the wounds did. To be treated this way by something that didn't care what it was doing was worse than something done in anger, fear, or anything other passionate emotion. He could understand those emotions. He'd acted on them earlier. This he didn't understand. It somehow made everything hurt more to come to the realization that this had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the curse that he called his mutation.
Martin stepped forward and closed the distance between them until they were very nearly embracing. It felt nearly as intimate as a lover's embrace but with none of the warmth or care. This was far more clinical and detached which made the fact that right now his senses were swimming with him somewhat more disturbing. Hands touched his and Andrew tried to brace himself for what was surely coming. A snap that seemed to echo in his ears trumpeted the arrival of more pain. He tried to strangle the scream that threatened to rip out of his throat to no avail. It was a half scream, partially throttled by his effort at keeping it at bay.
The glare, the anger that he'd manifested from fear didn't last in the face of the pain delivered by those cold clinical hands. It ebbed away to lurk at the back of his mind and resurface once this ordeal was over. Martin was as good as saying that he intended for him to live through this. However if the man was willing to go to these lengths just what did he want him to promise? He sought Martin's gaze only to flinch.
Those cold unfeeling eyes would give him the shivers if they bore into his for too long. They receded for a moment and were replaced by a voice whispering things that made dread and bile climb his throat in equal measure. Andrew hadn't counted on Martin being willing to keep this up for days on end. For one brief moment his mind imagined him a lifetime of torment. It was condensed into a few brief seconds, that one lifetime, but it almost broke him. There was Martin again, another snap, and this time he did scream. This wasn't pain endured for the sake of another. He had no reason to try and endure in stoic silence. So he screamed. In full voice, nothing of the strangled version he'd made earlier. It took a long minute of gasping for breath he didn't need before he could lift his voice in question. Pain and the barest hint of fear and tears laced the words as they issued forth.
"What..." an awkward pause, a stutter cause by pain, "What promise do you want?"
He feared the answer, just as he feared the man he was asking for it. Oh yes, he feared Martin. Feared what he would do and that cold gaze so full of ice.
Posted by Martin Stein on Jul 17, 2011 13:14:23 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
Martin hand lost the bottle and his walking stick as he had gone so close. As he had deliberately taken a measure of control form the boy. Your personal space. You wanted it respected, wanted it intact. Martin had broken that. And more. Physical integrity. Your body wants to be whole, you want it to be whole. Having another take that from you was a form of violation. Just as the tying up had been. Martin was quite confident that he could deal with all things this one could throw at him if he were to turn feral. No, the binding and gagging had been cold and deliberate. Another way... another violation. The scream echoed in his ears, rang in them. Almost music, but not. Loud it was and unwieldy. He had heard screams of agony before. It opened no dark places in his mind – that had not been explored already.
>> "What... what promise do you want?"
And now, as Andrew was speaking, Martins hands went down from the hurt fingers, meandered down his arms in snaking movements, touching skin here, there, at random. He left warm spots on colder flesh. He had been hanging for minutes already after all. They would feel almost scalding to Andrew, the points where he touched him. Until he reached the face with one hand, the right incidentally, and began casually stroking along Andrews cheek. It was a personal movement. It was a movement form another place. That touch was not hard. Love? Surely not, but it was the movement, they were the movements. It was a violation. As deliberate as all the others. And with about as much emotion behind it. But bodies were things, machines. Sometimes they reacted in ways your conscious mind did not want them to. Forcing this... upon him, Martin was. His blue eyes were. Watching.
The voice was analyzed carefully for hints of emotional and physical state, was taken apart by a mind that had hours time to ponder upon the little shades of meaning, the pauses between breaths. Was taken apart and refitted. Or maybe not. Martin judged this deficient yet. It was an unbroken voice. There was terror in there, of course. And pain swinging on careful notes. But there was no submission, no hint that Andrew had broken yet. A part of Martin actually found this to be a good thing. Useful. Especially if one could train Andrew properly later. Then he might one day even make a good soldier, fighter.
Martins fingers tightened around Andrews jaw enough to be painful. Tightened directly at the joints, where pain of pressure was most profusely felt. As his hand was moving, his mind was also moving, part of him that reached out into the difference, the otherness... through his third eye. He violated something there, on the other side, too. Something broke into sharp bits and pieces, fell apart at his touch. This time though it was not the breaking on that level he was looking for, but the change in his eyes that had before been only an annoyance. A mild annoyance. As he shattered the integrity of time around him, Martins eyes underwent a strange transformation. Midnight black, light- and lifeless welled up in one, dark things coming to the surface from below. Another one faded to white, complete white like drawing a veil before them, pulling them to obscurity. The third one finally was swallowed by an extending iris, turning it a steel-blue color all the way. This was what he was looking for.
His one hand reached up again, one other digging deeper into Andrews face. Making him face it. The transformation.
“You do not even begin to comprehend the things I can do to you.” Martin stated matter-of-factly. The hand holding Andrews face let go, let almost go. It stroked the places it had hurt. Stroked them! Martins glove was smooth on Andrews cheek.
Snap.
The other hand had found another finger. And even as the convulsion of pain went through his victim, Martin leaned forward again, leaned into Andrew. “I want you to promise me your utter, your perpetual and your unquestioning loyalty in all things...” Martins face went back and looked over Andrews. “I want you to promise me your body, your mind and your heart. I want you to promise me yourself as completely as you can.” Why the heart? Because loyalty without fervor was dead weight and not useful at all. And why three times three? Because of the fay. Martin was cultured after all. His hand was snaking idly down Andrews chest now. Just breaking borders.
Posted by Andrew Leroy on Jul 17, 2011 17:00:51 GMT -6
Omega Mutant
1,155
1
Jun 4, 2014 22:48:52 GMT -6
His arms were cold now, except where that man touched him. It was the only warmth those appendages possessed, that which his captor had afforded them. Andrew wanted to flinch away. He wanted to scream for help. He wanted to run and not stop running until he was safe in his room at the Mansion. He wanted to call Jorge. He wanted to talk to Sam, or Kealey, or maybe even Gemma. He needed to be away from this...this madman. But he could not. No amount of desiring, hoping, screaming, shouting, or anything else would save him from this. Andrew was alone and being cruelly reminded just how helpless he was in the face of other mutants. He could not, would not, be a human and yet neither could he match his brethren.
If Sam were in his place he could freeze the bonds solid and shatter them. Kealey could mess with what passed for Martin's emotions to get him to let her go. Jorge could call up the water and use that to get rid of Martin. Andrew? All he could do was hang there. Hang there in the face of torture from something in human shape. He would not cry, not here and now. Martin would not have that from him. He would save the hurt and the fear for later. Andrew summoned the anger up again but it failed to meet his call. He was still too frightened to be angry. He shivered involuntarily and this was worsened by Martin's new approach.
These touches, they were not painful. They were soft. They made him shiver and try his bonds for the first time. He would not let Martin take such kindness from him! He did not want to remember this alleyway and this day every time Tasean touched him. Andrew could cope with pain. His mutation had seen to it that he was somewhat inured to it's effects. But how cruel would it be for Martin to take away these tender touches and replace them with memories of fear and pain? He struggled and the fear and anger commingled into a very powerful emotion for which he had no name. Even as Martin's hand tightened in a decidedly painful way around his jaw he struggled.
He watched, was forced to watch, in horror at the display Martin's eyes put on. In another time and place he might have called it beautiful after a fashion. In another time and place it would not have held such terror for him. Here and now though it only made Martin seem even less human than Andrew was already convinced that he was. Andrew believed his words. There seemed no depth to which Martin would not sink to obtain the promise he desired from him. Then the soft touches resumed and Andrew's struggles gained renewed fervor.
Only to have yet another finger crumple at the man's touch. His scream was not long. It was a short thing in which his pain, fear, and anger found an all too brief outlet. His breathing quickened, became harsh and ragged as his body made known its state of disrepair. Andrew shook in repressed fear as Martin leaned into him. It reminded him of the kiss he'd shared with Tasean in the park had the positions been reversed. That simple action made an irreversible link between one of Andrew's best recent memories and this horror and Andrew was appalled. Only his determination not to let Martin see him cry kept him from sobbing at the taint now staining that memory.
And as he heard Martin's request, the promise he would have him make, his heart sank further. Thoughts of Sam, Kealey, and to an extent Jorge rose up. He wanted his loyalty. And the way he phrased it gave Andrew no hope for breaking it easily. The fight was out of him as that hand snaked down his chest. He was aware of the effect those soft touches were having on his body but he could not find the strength to be mortified or continue to fight. He slumped tiredly against his bonds and when he spoke again it was in a whisper.
"Please, stop."
He didn't want to make that promise. He didn't want to owe his loyalty to such a man. But he would almost do it if Martin would just stop taking such tender caresses and turning them to foul purpose. If there was a god that cared to listen at that moment he would beg and promise them anything to simply make the man before him go back to simply causing pain.
Posted by Martin Stein on Jul 18, 2011 9:12:22 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
Martins hands made no stop, they continued their way, unrelenting. One up by the hands, one below on the chest. One up. One down. The upper hand closed around the broken fingers. Closed around the hurt places. Pressed them together, bones grinding. “Promise me.” His voice was whispering now, caress for the ear. There almost was emotion there. Positive emotion. “Promise me.” He stated again, upper hand grinding the bones of the hand even harder. The hand below now... “Promise me and I might stop.” Might. Might not. There were no certainties. Only Martins will that he would see enforced. He was not in the habit of lying to his tools. Because he was a cold bastard. Because his emotions were usually absent. The cries... he listened to them. Judged them into his plans. But he did not like them. Neither he disliked them. They were variables in an equation.
Posted by Andrew Leroy on Jul 18, 2011 10:03:08 GMT -6
Omega Mutant
1,155
1
Jun 4, 2014 22:48:52 GMT -6
He didn't want to do it. It felt like betraying those people that had earned his loyalty without having to resort to things like this. However Martin had made it abundantly clear that his wants and needs had no bearing on this at all. The man didn't stop and Andrew's breath came in short shuddering gasps as he tried to cope with the conflicting sensations. A promise would end this. A promise would make it stop.
But he had said might. That meant it might not stop.
And a promise would mean he was weak. Weaker than he'd thought. Useless really.
But he hurt. His body, his mind, his heart. All the things that Martin wanted him to promise to him hurt.
This promise, it wouldn't be so bad. After a while he wouldn't even be angry about it. If he promised as Martin wanted him to eventually he'd be content serving him. That wasn't much of a comfort though. Enjoying service to a man that had tortured him was not much of a comfort at all. However as empty and smacking of Stockholm Syndrome as it was it was the only clear means of escape afforded him. And he could break it. He'd done so before.
"Alright. I'll promise."
He hated himself for saying that. He'd wanted to be strong and he'd failed.
"I promise you, Martin, my utter, perpetual, and unquestioning loyalty in all things. I promise you my body, my mind, my heart, and myself as completely as possible."
An all too familiar feeling swept over him as his power awoke at the new promises. The two new promise bands that were closing around his arm felt more like shackles than mere pigment to him. Shackles though could be taken off. These could not. These would endure for as long as Martin let them endure.
"Now, please, let me go. You got what you wanted."
He wanted to go and be alone. His feelings were at war with one another as the promise began its slow process of taking root. Though the desire to remain and do whatever Martin might ask was small for now it would grow. The pain, anger, and fear much outweighed it for the moment but that would change. With time.
Posted by Martin Stein on Jul 18, 2011 10:47:21 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
Even now, after the promise, Martins hands did not stop their movement. Pain from above. Pleasure, or something akin to it, from below. His eyes fell back to their normal colors though, the separation of the colors draining away. Becoming usual again, insofar as emotionless eyes were usual. His smile was more earnest now. More honest.
He had broken a man. A boy-man really, but that was what he was too. Outwardly. He had broken someone. Completely and utterly. And he had forced his will upon him. These were things that had edges in his mind. Sharp edges. Promises. And disadvantages. The part of Martins mind that disliked such dealings would need a firm talking to in a dark corner after this. It had actually objected to most of the things he had done tonight. Objected! Treasonous mind.
His hands did not stop. They did not. His voice was there again, in Andrews ear. More honest this time. A cold order, perfect cadence, perfect intonation. Sharp and crisp. “Take your first oder then: You will think the dealings of this night were the best thing that ever happened to you.” Both hands underlined the words with pain and fire. One last time, both hands, before they left Andrew alone. Martin stepped back, the satisfied grin on his face moving away with him. Draining away until he looked quite normal again, just like a passerby. “You will also contact me in three days time.” Martin bent down to retrieve the bloody walking stick and proceeded to clear it on the bindings on Andrews hands with a few swipes. “I will leave my Address in your mail at the Mansion. You will keep our dealings a secret. You will not talk about my secrets. Ever. Oh and get rid of the clothes.” He pointed down to Andrews bound legs for emphasis. And with that the bindings of Andrews arms loosened. Martin walked out of sight, melded with the shadows, was gone. Only a bloody bottle remained on the ground. Behind. And a bloodied Andrew.
Posted by Andrew Leroy on Jul 18, 2011 11:59:06 GMT -6
Omega Mutant
1,155
1
Jun 4, 2014 22:48:52 GMT -6
Martin didn't stop. The pain and that cruel mockery of pleasure didn't stop. Andrew viciously strangled a sob. Those eyes that Andrew had grown hate receded back into something resembling human. He just didn't stop and the voice came again. It was sharp and commanding now and that part of him that the promise currently controlled leaped to obey it. The very first order out of Martin's mouth was so abhorrent to him he physically recoiled from it. The best thing that had ever happened to him?! That was Sam, or Kealey, or Jorge, or (and this one was the most probable) Tasean! Not this travesty of a night! Anger surged to the fore and a sharp cutting glare focused in on Martin.
He was ordered not to tell anyone. He was to keep this a secret. Now would be the easiest time for him to break it. In the few days between now and when he was supposed to meet Martin again it would get harder and harder to talk about.
But Andrew wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it anyway.
How did you tell someone that you'd been tortured? That you now had a vow of loyalty to that torturer? As much as he knew that now would be the only time his power would allow him to speak Andrew was already struggling with himself. Not because of his power. No, but because of what had happened here. It was humiliating, degrading, and felt altogether too personal to share. The mere thought of telling someone about it felt uncomfortable and wrong and the promise latched onto this feeling.
Martin finally loosened the binds on his hands. It didn't take long to work his hands free, though the jostling hurt his broken fingers. Andrew fell to his knees and did not move. Not at first anyway. Blood began to rush back into his arms as they lay still at his sides. His motions were mechanical as he loosened the binding on his legs and slid them free. It had been somewhat difficult to manage, what with one hand sporting a few broken fingers. For several minutes Andrew simply sat there, on the ground of that alleyway. His eyes staring fixedly at the bottle that was stained with his blood. Slowly he reached forward and grasped the neck of the thing and stood.
A quick motion with the arm that held the broken bottle and it flew through the air and shattered against the opposite wall. Pieces of bloodstained glass winked in the dim light. Andrew collected the bits of clothing that Martin had used to tie him up with. He'd discard them in a dumpster. Andrew staggered toward the exit of the alley to go find such a thing. The streets were quiet. Nice neighborhoods were like that after dark. It left Andrew to bleed in peace.
Some small distance away Andrew found a dumpster and opened it's lid to be rid of these things. There, with of all things a banana peel resting on top of it, was the top hat that Martin had been wearing earlier in the evening. Andrew traded the dumpster the clothes he held for the hat. It got to keep the banana peel so over all it was a fair trade. Some part of Andrew wondered why he had taken the hat. Andrew wasn't sure but he clutched the thing anyway as he returned to the streets.
He trudged along the sidewalks, ignoring the horrified looks from the few people that were out and about, until he reached an area that had some traffic. Andrew hailed a cab and and all but threw himself into the back seat.
"Xavier's Sister School please."
He said no more during the entire ride. Andrew used the money he'd intended to use to buy Tasean a gift to pay for the ride. The gates welcomed him home and Andrew slowly made his way inside to his home, to safety, and to DocProf.