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.
There was only pain in the vast empty void behind his eyes. Vicente groaned, his own voice echoing in his head like as massive cave that caused a spider web of pain to ring throughout his skull. For a second he did not know why he couldn’t see, or why there was so much pain but as the seconds ticked on, he slowly began to remember something. Flashes and images fluttered before his eyes as he remembered looking at a woman in an eye patch, Reaper, as she told him…something that just utterly pissed him off. He tried to control himself, he really did. But the rage and bloodlust were far too much to control. All he knew was that whatever she was saying, he wanted her dead because of it.
Then he remembered the topic. His father. His father was dead. And Reaper was the one that told him. Startled by this revelation, finally found the will to open his eyes and sit up with a gasp.
Sitting up, an immediately grogginess filled his mind, as well as a pain that radiated up from his neck. Reaching up, he touched the spot on his neck with his bare hand and winced at the soreness on his skin. He didn’t know why but it felt like his skin had been on fire and it was only now just started to cool down. Rubbing his tired eyes, he turned to look about his surroundings…and realized that he was in a bed.
Confused, he looked down to realize that he was shirtless. Throwing off the blanket he saw that he still had his jeans on but his shoes were taken off as well. What the hell was going on here? He turned and made to move to get off the bed when suddenly someone filled up the door frame.
“Nope, you get back into bed,” Reaper said as she walked in carrying two mugs of coffee. One of which she left on a table near the bed.
“Wh-What happened?” he muttered hoarsely.
Reaper sat in a chair near the bed and shrugged. “You tried to attack me. So I tasered you.”
“Tasered me?” Vicente asked as he reached over and touched his neck. “Felt like…you put a entire god damn lightning storm down by throat.” He coughed harshly.
“I did what I had to.” Reaper shrugged. She then took a sip of her coffee before she nodded to him. “You still feel like killing me?”
Vicente paused and took a breath. He was no longer filled with the bloodlust nor did he feel like throwing all his anger at Reaper. This was still an issue he was going to have to handle later, but for now, he no longer felt like smashing in the head of the nearest person. He cleared his throat as he looked at her closely, paused again, then shook his head.
“No, sorry,” he muttered his apology as he reached over to take the coffee. But just before he could grab it, Reaper snagged it back. “Hey, what the hell?”
“I poisoned it. In case you were going to try and kill me again.” She shrugged nonchalantly as she wandered out of the room with both mugs. “I’ll bring you an unpoisoned one. You stay there. Need you to get your strength back for the hell we’re about to go through…”
Vicente walked the woman leave the bedroom and he finally decided to get up, despite her advice. He reached up and brushed his fingers across his neck again and immediately winced at the feeling of where she had jammed the taser prongs into his skin. He could already feel that that particular spot was going to be as sore as hell for the next bit. As much as he did not like the idea of it, he knew that Reaper had gone easy on him. If he had really attacked her out of rage, she could have easily killed him. After all, that was what she was trained to do.
Standing up in just his jeans, the assassin groaned as he stretched out his back and felt the satisfying crack of his vertebrae. His hand still brushing up the side of his neck, he slowly prodded the spot, trying to get used to the sensation of the pair there. Doing this, he left the bedroom and followed the smell of coffee. A glance to the window and he already could see the rising dawn. Had he really been knocked out for that long? That was a strong taser.
“Hey,” Reaper’s voice suddenly called out.
“Huh?” Vicente turned to see that Reaper was half hanging out of one of the doorways. She nodded her head for him join her.
“Reaper,” he asked as he stumbled towards the stronger scent of coffee. “Where’s my shirt?”
As he stepped through the doorway, he saw that he was now in the kitchen and Reaper was sitting at her table, the information on their target laid out as she sipped from a familiar mug of revitalizing coffee. She nodded to the empty chair and steaming mug across from her.
“I threw it away. It was bloody and sweaty,” she announced. “Don’t worry, I got someone for you to wear.”
Inside he saw that the kitchen was fairly small but there was so little personal details that it really seemed to make it seem far bigger than it actually was. The basics were there: fridge, stove, coffee maker, microwave, dishes, pots and pans, but nothing that really made the kitchen sound like home. Again, further evidence of Reaper’s cover.
He nodded gratefully as he took a seat across from her. Taking up the coffee, he sighed as he took a warm sip and felt some of the tension relieve his shoulders. Then he glanced up at Reaper as she sat, reading one of her files and looking particular engrossed. He sighed as he cracked his neck and grumbled silently to himself before cleared his throat.
“Reaper. I’m…I…” he sighed. He hated doing this. “I …apologize for trying to kill you last night…”
Apology? Vicente had never before heard the world. Sure it was used on him by people who begged for their lives, but it was never something that the assassin had ever dared to utter himself. After all, what did he ever have to apologize for? He killed under orders and if someone angered him, it was their fault that they got hurt. Certainly not his. But now the young assassin was really beginning to feel bad as he looked across the table at Reaper. He really had tried to kill her last night. Her words had proved too much for him to handle at that moment.
He hated to feel weak. And in that moment, he felt weak. At least for a second.
Reaper looked up from the reports, her lips twinged into a half-smirk as she shook her head.
“Wow,” she said with mock sympathy. “Seems like that apology really hurt ya,” she laughed as she set down her papers. “Forget it. I didn’t know, you didn’t know about your father. So let’s move on.”
Vicente nodded with a quasi-smile of thankfulness. He had half-feared that Reaper would take his apology the wrong way and hold it against him. The last thing he wanted right now was to make an enemy out of her, especially considering everything that needed to be done to get his mission completed. As much as he hated to admit it, he was really going to need the help.
He closed the deal with a nod. It was time to move on.
Vicente then nodded to the papers that she had returned to looking over. It seemed as if some kind of interest had overtaken her.
“You find a way in” he asked.
She looked up, grinned at him, and nodded. “We have a way in…”
Vicente had to chuckle as he sat back and watched as Reaper began to lay out her plan. It was just so far out there that he had no idea that this was going to work. As a matter of fact he was more than certain that it wouldn’t. The unfortunate thing was that this was the only plan that they had. And for as crazy as it was, it really seemed like it was the only thing they had to go on. It was going to be either this or getting their hands on a fresh nuke and simply bomb the entire mansion. But despite Vicente’s resourcefulness, he doubted he could get his hands on a nuke.
Reaper said she could. But honestly, Vicente assumed that she was talking out of her butt. Though he didn’t tell her that in person.
He shook his head as he looked at the map.
“So…that’s your big plan?” he asked as he stood from the table and wandered over to poor himself some more coffee.
“It’s a good plan,” Reaper reiterated, despite the sharpness in Vicente’s voice. “Are you doubting me?”
Vicente poured the dark contents into his mug and turned back around to face Reaper. “No but, really? You want us, to show up, as husband and wife entertainers?”
The plan was laid out like this. Jackson Castillo was confined to his house. He had a band of mercenaries who’s only purpose was to make sure that he was alive and well. But having so much wealth and being unable to go outside were never a good mix. Instead all it resulted in was a bored home life. That of course would mean he would order in for everything, including food and entertainment. And that was Reaper’s plan. For the pair of them to be a husband and wife band.
“Look,” she said noting the amusement in Vicente’s face. “He’s been particularly bored lately. He is going to order out tonight and work is he is looking for a pair of musicians. Can you play anything?”
Vicente shrugged. “Guitar. I can’t sing worth *explicative deleted*.”
“Well, I can sing. And that’s our way in. Because I’m telling you right now, Vicente,” she said seriously. “This is our only plan into that mansion. So…are you in…or are you out?”
Vicente sighed. She wanted to know if he was in. As much as he disliked the idea and was sure that it was going to get them killed, he slowly began to realize that they really didn’t have a choice. They needed to do this if they wanted to get close enough to Jackson. The man had pretty much built a fortress for himself in that bayou and the mansion was hard enough just for general staff to get into. The fact that both he and Reaper had to get in, two trained killers, that only made it so much harder. They were the living embodiments of Jackson’s paranoid fears. It was because of people like them that he had locked himself away in a house and never saw the light of day.
They needed a pretty damn good plan to get in there. Or at least one that made from the depths of utter madness. And this plan was just damn foolish enough to work.
Still though, the idea made him cringe. They were going to be fairly exposed. Up on a stage or in an enclosed room with the man. Rumor was that whenever he had performs, they performed for his whole staff, guards and all, and as soon as they were done, they were ushered out by heavily armed men and women.
But what other chance did they have to get this done? What was he going to do, shift into his alligator head and drift along the water and into the backyard? That was an even stupider plan.
His eyes locked onto Reaper and he watched her as she stood her, her hands on his hips as she waited for him to make up his mind. He knew that if he had said no, she probably would have figured some other way into the mansion. But unfortunately, as of right now, he knew that she needed him. Sure she could do it herself, but that would greatly raised the risk of what was going to have to be done. So long as he came along, there was at least a chance for them to get out of that mansion with their skin still intact.
Sighing, the man stared at Reaper closely before he finally nodded his head. “Fine. What do we have to do first?”
The newly renamed Castillo Manor stood on a patch of land that overlooked the bayou. Its tall structure was once white but now was so vastly shaded with dirt and grime that it was starting to look more gray than anything. It was a sad sight to see such luxury go down in quality. Once this manor used to stand for wealth and power in this city. Now it was little more than a grimy shadow of what it used to be. Slime clung to the edges of the foundation while the gnarled trees were a mixture of unkept and sickly. It truly looked like a stereotypical haunted house that had been lost to the ravages of time.
Across its lawn, if it could be called that, was a wild forest of uncut grass. It clawed and reached to the sky, nearly has high as a man’s knee and hid a variety of traps, both natural and man-made. Snakes slithered happily through the damp soil, hunting rodents that attempted to see refuge in the greenery. On top of these natural distractions, there was also human-made traps that littered the area unseen. Trip wires, spiked ground, even a frag grenade or two were laid out, ready to decimate anyone who dared sneak into the house.
Cutting across this wild lawn was a brick laid pathway for cars to drive up, park in front of the house. But even this was starting to become overgrown. Grass shot up between the weak mortar that held the stones together and again only added to the appearance that this place was completely disregarded. But this area was not free from human traps either. Several cameras had been lashed to the trees so that the driver and passengers could be seen as they came up to the mansion. As well as several guards stood post along the driveway, armed with the most devastating of handguns and rifles.
Even the very back of the house, which overlooked the bayou, had a large chain link fence that cut the house off from the water. Surges of electricity ran through that fence and electrocuted anything that dared to get too close, as evidenced by body of an alligator that lay there, half in the water, half on dry ground. Its body, long since deceased, had been picked over by various scavengers.
It was obvious that this man, having stolen a vast amount of wealth from one of the more powerful cartels in Texas was paranoid of reprisal. And he did have every right to be scared.
Both Vicente de la Sangre and Reaper were coming after him. And they were going to succeed. Where many others had failed before…
Down the street from Castillo Manor sat a van. It was white, smooth and clean and had decal on the side that pictured a pair of skulls sitting over a guitar. The name written around the design said “Sugar Skull Beats – Music for Parties and Celebrations.” It was a little on the nose for what these two people actually were, but ironically it was the only vehicle that Reaper was able to rent on top to get the Castillo’s function tonight. They both figured that it would have to do and they would snicker about the irony later.
The street was still and quiet around the van. The night was pressing on and the hour was drawing closer for Castillo’s little party. Thankfully his mansion had such rumor about it that few, if anyone, actually dared to pass in front of it. Instead most people ignored this street all together. That was good news for Vicente and Reaper.
In the darkness of the back of this van, the two voices of the two assassins rang out in a muffled tone. Nobody passing by would be able to understand the words. Which was good since the pair of them still needed to dress for the event.
“I still can’t believe you talked me into this.” Vicente grumbled.
“Oh shut up and quit bellyaching,” was Reaper’s response. “You swear I’m making you dress like a girl.”
“You might as well have! These parts are too tight!”
“That’s just the style you great, big gorilla!” The sound of a smack of the back of someone’s head was heard followed by a lament of pain. “Shut it. You deserved that.”
Riiiiiip!![/b]
“Gah! Damn it, these shirts are too tight.”
“It was the biggest the store had, Vicente. It’s not their fault you have the chest of an oil drum!” she sighed and growled in response. “Just, put on the jacket. No one will see the tear.”
Vicente growled. “Fine.”
“Okay, turn around,” she announced. “I still need to slip this skirt on.”
A snort of laughter followed.
“Screw you.”
…
…
Another snort of laughter. “Really, Reaper? Polka dot heart panties?”
The van pulled up to the gate that separated Jackson Manor from the rest of New Orleans. As the vehicle drove up, a pair of guards stepped forward and eyed the two drivers within. One of the guards, a muscular, dark-skinned man, raised his rifle up and kept the barrel trained on both the drivers as the other man, blonde and crew cut, stepped up to the driver’s side window and nodded to the woman who was driving within. He held his gun down but he was obviously trained to the point that he could snap up his weapon and blow a hole through someone’s skull before they even had time to blink a second time. It was enough to put anyone on their guard.
Not Reaper though. Her hand merely reached out and offered the man a card.
The guard arched his eyebrows as he picked the dark from her black painted hand and fled it up to the searchlight. His lips pursed in thought before he turned to a guard station that manned the gate.
“Sugar Skull Beats? They have an appointment?”
The guard inside the gate station looked down at a clipboard that he had situated on his desk. As he flipped pages, it looked for a second as if he were about to say no. The other gunman with his weapon raised smirked a little. He was obviously itching to squeeze that trigger. But before anything like that could happen, the guard suddenly confirmed with a “thumbs up” gesture.
Crew Cut eyed the driver again and handed the card back to her.
“What’s with the make-up?”
“Theatricality,” Reaper’s voice responded from the blackness of the van’s interior.
He could see the black make up covering her face, as well as the white skull that was painted over it. Reaper had done a fairly good job of hiding her identity except for the easily recognizable eye patch over her eye. But that did not seem to trigger any recognition for the guard. Instead he stepped back and nodded his head for them to enter as soon as the guard inside the station raised the gates that lead to the manor.
“Hope you’re good,” he muttered as they prepared to drive off.
Reaper smirked as she responded. “Better than that.” With a wink (which looked more like a blink considering one eye was covered up) and slowly drove the car into the driveway the second she saw the gates open.
The van drove through the winding drive, trying to maneuver the tall grass that reached from the edges and sprouted up through the brick layout. A few of the guards watched them but as soon as they were about to pass, he listened to a crackling in their ear pieces. It was a notice from the gate that these were the entertainers for the night so they instance calmed and nodded for the van to continue on towards the mansion. Cameras swiveled from the trees to watch them as they drove on. There were eyes everywhere so they needed to be extra careful.
As soon as they passed the last guard, Vicente smirked slightly as he cast a glance over at Reaper. He was still surprised that she had picked this out to be their disguises.
Reaper was dressed in a long, flowing skirt that looked like it was homemade of lace and light material. For her top she wore a shirt of similar design but it was black with various touches to it that made it seem more authentic and traditional. But it was not so much the dress that was odd, it was the make-up. Her skin and her face was completely painted black except for white bones that were painted onto her arms, fingers, and the skull painted over the black make-up. She looked as if she had just wanted out of a Day of the Dead festival.
Vicente was dressed in much the same way, only he had only slightly tight white pants, a white lace tunic which was slightly torn in the back and a brown jacket over it that had intricate designs and patterns that matched Reaper’s top. Over his own face and arms, he had the same make-up that Reaper had, black skin tone with white skeletal accents.
The irony of these getups was not lost on him in the least.
He chuckled as he looked ahead. “You do realize that we’re walking into a lion’s den looking like this, aren’t you?”
Reaper shrugged. “They’ll never make the connection. For all purposes, we’re just a Spanish singing duo that has a flair for the theatrical. They won’t get the irony.”
“Obviously,” Vicente said with a shrug. He silenced himself as he saw that they were getting closer to the front of the mansion. More guards were positioned outside. It was time to slip into character.
Once the van pulled to a stop, a pair of guards came up onto the scene with guns pointed. Though they had already received confirmation that this band was supposed to be here, it was understood that they could never be too careful. As the disguised Vicente and Reaper climbed out of the van, they held their hands up, showing that they carried no weapons. They were still patted down and checked but upon finding nothing they suspiciously, they ordered them to stand aside while they searched the rest of the van.
The clanging was loud as they opened and closed cases, looking through the various sound system, empty food wrappers and instruments. When it was sufficient that there was nothing for them to fear, the guards climbed out and finally let their guns hand from the straps that had situated over their shoulders.
“You’re clean,” the guard said with a nod as he stepped forward.
“We could’ve told you that,” Vicente said with a joking grin. With the make-up on it looked slightly diabolical but the guard got it.
He grinned and nodded. “Can’t be too careful. Go on up the stairs and in through the door. The others will lead you to your performing area. Do you need all your equipment in the back?”
“No,” Reaper joined in with a grin. “I wouldn’t do that to you or anyway else considering the size of this place. Just the items that have the red piece of tape on them. That’s all we require for tonight.”
The guard nodded, whistled and summoned a pair of other guards to help him to unload the identified items.
That exchange done, Vicente exchanged a look with Reaper and the pair of them climbed the steps to the manor. As they did so, they could feel their hearts want to race, but managed to keep it under control. This was the farthest that anyone had ever gotten to Jackson Castillo. They were going to have to keep sharp and keep their wits about them. After all, it was a no man’s land.
Reaper was the first to push the doorbell. A loud RING[/b] resounded from inside the manor. Vicente glanced back and saw that the guards were carrying out the equipment with the red tags on them. One looked up and waved in a friendly manner. Vicente, arching a brow, waved back before he turned back around to face the door. There was a moment when an unfortunate thought passed through his mind. None of those men and women knew what they were getting into tonight. It almost made him sad that he was going to have to kill them.
Unless they were smart, that is, and ran for it. But with the amount of money they were being paid, he highly doubted that option.
Shaking his head, he glanced to the door when he heard that click of it being unlocked (or rather several clicks of several locks being unlocked) and stepped back. With Reaper at his side, they looked in to see a smallish woman, probably no more than 5’3, with curly silver hair, wrinkled skin, and a nice smile. She nodded respectfully to the two of them.
“Oooo, well don’t you two look nice. Here to perform for the master, eh?” she cackled as she stepped aside to allow them entrance. “Well come on, come on. No need to be shy.”
Reaper and Vicente shared another look. Mentally they sighed but they walked in nonetheless. As they passed in, the older woman, dressed in a respectable maid outfit, dusted off their backs with a feathery duster. She smiled and chuckled as she walked ahead of them, very slowly, and gradually made her way towards the front of the pair in order to lead them.
“I guess I better leave the door open so that Toby and his people can carry in your stuff. Follow me,” she said kindly. “Do you want anything to drink? Water? Chocolate milk?”
Vicente cleared his throat and shook his head with a small, yet thankful smile. “Not right now, thank you.”
“Oh, SO polite,” she beamed as she lead them deeper into the mansion. “Well then follow me.”
In walking through the mansion, Vicente had to actually marvel at the opulence on the inside and compared to the exterior. There were no signs of the decaying façade, and instead all Vicente could see was wealth and money. The furniture looked brand new, the art and décor and sculptures were all well taken care off. Maybe the reason he had left the exterior the way he was did was to prevent people from actually knowing that someone lived in this house. That was the only reason that Vicente could think of to let the outside go to complete hell.
It was obvious that Jackson found ways to spend Los Lobos’ money. No wonder that they all wanted him dead.
Being led throughout the house, Vicente watched the old woman as she led the way. She seemed rather spry for her age and very sweet. It was almost a cliché to have such a nice woman actually working in this mansion, and also a little cruel. After all, it was unfair that the woman should have to take care of the entire household on her own, especially at her age. It was also unfortunate in that she was going to have to be counted among the body count.
Oh well, he’ll live.
“Here you go, dearies,” she said with a slight nod and led them into a large and open room. It was obvious a room for entertaining. It was expansive that had a row of seating against one wall, while in the center of the room was a small stage for their performance. This man had definitely stolen enough for himself to live in wealth.
Stepping across the fine, oriental carpet, Vicente smirked as he nodded. “Thank you. This place looked just fine.”
“Oh, of course it is,” the kindly maid grinned and began to head to the entrance again. “The rest of your equipment will be up soon. Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable. The master would like his performance to start at 7pm exactly. Have fun.”
She then slipped out the door and left it open for the grunts to bring in the equipment.
Vicente looked around the large room and then glanced to Reaper. The pair of them shared a gaze for a second, arched eyebrows and odd looks as they looked around this extremely expensive room. So far there were no signs of guard stationed in here to keep them company. Maybe they were just beginning to trust them? Maybe they did not see the significance of recording people within the house when they had such grounds outside to keep them safe? Whatever the case, Vicente turned and was about to address Reaper.
“Hey,” he was about to say when suddenly she silence him with a single look. Her eyes darted up to the roof before she pretended to wander the room.
Casually Vicente looked up and spied that there were several blinking red lights. They all came from the ominous glow of surveillance cameras. Many of them all followed their movements and Vicente sighed, as if pleased with his stretching. So much for trusting the house.
Cracking his neck to the side, Vicente turned away from Reaper and began to wander the room again, looking bored. In reality, as he wandered, his mind raced as he attempted to figure out the rest of this plan. They had made it inside but since they could find nothing that could tell him what the inside was like, they were winging it at this point. Vicente did not like going into this situations without a plan, he simply didn’t.
He wanted to make this known to Reaper but talking was obviously out of the question and if they were being watched, passing notes was definitely out as well. No, they needed to keep up the disguise. So he was going to have to follow her lead in this.
Footsteps echoed out from the halls and Vicente turned to face them. In the doorway came the guards, each of them carrying musical equipment, all with red flags on them. So on the charade went.
There was only few things that needed to be set up. Vicente helped to set up the equipment where it needed to be set up: he had to play his part, after all. He positioned the speakers, the instrument stands, as well as the microphones. He played his part well and truly looked as if this was the field that he belonged on. Thankfully he had some experience from working his father’s bar when it came to setting up musical equipment. So he embodied the idea of the musician.
Looking up, he watched as Reaper bent over, attempting to adjust the tarima, a small wooden platform from which only she herself would be able to stand upon, to the appropriate angle from the speakers. Her heavy heeled boots shoes would sound perfect on that platform. It was going to sound great, especially given the size of this room.
Not that Vicente actually cared how the music sounded. He did, but it was more because they had to keep their cover. They needed to make sure that Jackson truly saw them as performers so that they could get as close as they could to him. One slip up and their cover could be blown and judging by the amount of guards this man had, as well as the protection he had on his own house, Vicente doubted their chances of getting out of this place alive were very high is something like that happened.
He nodded his thanks to a guard as he helped him to set up the microphone stand.
“There you go, sir,” the man said as he stood up straight.
“Thank you so much. I do appreciate it,” Vicente responded as he watched the man walk away.
Raising his gaze, he spied as Reaper ignored the looks of several of the guards who were checking out her butt while she was in the middle of bending over and fixing the stage. He sighed. He did not want to play this part of the disguise but he was going to have to.
“Hon,” he said as “husbandy” as he could until she looked up. “Can you help me adjust the volume on this thing? I don’t want my guitar to drown you out like the last time when we played at Quetzal.”
“Sure thing, sweetie,” Reaper replied without missing a bit. Sauntering over to Vicente, she grinned and looked back over her shoulder, sporting a coy smile at the guards that had been watching her. As soon as she joined Vicente’s side, she giggled before she dropped her voice but still sported the smile. “If they check out my butt one more time, I’m going to *explicative deleted*-ing kill someone.”
He smirked in response as he adjusted the volume on the speaker and shrugged his shoulders.
“Can’t really blame them. You do have a nice a—“
Reaper quickly leaned in as if she were going to coyly whisper in his ear. Instead though, her hidden hand pinched him, HARD in his hardened bicep.
“Finish that sentence and I’ll slit your throat,” she remarked.
Everything was set up. The music stands, the instruments, the microphones. It seemed a little excessive for a single performance for a single person, but judging by the size of the room and the amount of money he was spending, Vicente doubted that any musician would have turned the opportunity down. Even if there were nothing but gun-totting guards everywhere and a house that looked as if it could be used in some slasher film. But Vicente let none of his thoughts become known. Instead he continued on with the façade of being the impressed, starving musician. Obviously, look at him. He was skin and bones.
He chuckled at his own thought.
Reaper shot him a look.
He immediately silenced and glanced up to look around the room.
The guards had already showed up, about five or six. Three of them sat around a single empty chair while the other two stood at doors that led in and out of the room. They all dressed in a similar fashion of suits, all dark shades, with ties and an arrogant grin across their faces. They looked more like secret service than actually just a militia the man hired to keep watch over his back. Apparently he paid them enough so that they could be dressed in fashion.
Vicente had to smirk at this. The list of reasons as to why Los Lobos wanted the man dead was growing larger by the minute. Speaking of which…where the hell was that guy?
Just then a door opened at the other end of the room. Vicente looked up and saw Jackson Castillo, stroll into the room. The man was larger but still imposing enough to startling anyone that crossed his path. It was funny cause he did not look like an accountant at all, more like some Cuban bar-hopper. But there was a tired look in his eyes that Vicente immediately recognized. It was the look of a man who was paranoid beyond all belief, who was fearful of his own shadow, and yet still confident enough to not show his weakness to anyone.
One look at Reaper, and the man paused to catch his breath. Vicente smirked. It was obvious that Jackson was suddenly smitten with her. Maybe they could use that…
Jackson groaned as he whispered to one of his guards and then took his seat between the other three. Dressed in a nice suit, he adjusted his coat while his many ringed fingers adjusted his tie to look a bit straighter. He smiled, trying to look charming at Reaper and nearly completely ignored Vicente.
“So…you’re the band I ordered. I,” he winked, “didn’t think they would send someone so sexy.”
Reaper smirked and played along, looking just a little shy. “Oh hehehe, you flatter me too much. Um…shall we get started?”
Jackson smirked and shrugged. “Whenever you’re ready, mi amore.”
Reaper glanced to Vicente and nodded. The music began…