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.
It was sunny outside, yet the grounds looked rather empty. The explanation? It was the weekend, and most of the kids were off in the city. Free tickets to events had that effect. Cafas was still at the mansion. He'd had paperwork, homework, and taxes to do. Now they were done, he decided to spend some time doing something he enjoyed.
Cafas dug out his practice sword, his shield, and his spare training sword, the blunter one. He lobbed one right in front of Calley. "How's your sword work coming along? Don't give me any junk about not training in front of me yet or something, I need a sparring partner, the danger room has become predictable." Plus it refused set itself to a level that could compare to him. He suspected foul play. Just because he had come out with a broken nose, cracked ribs and countless bruises and cuts once. DocProf had clearly ratted him out.
Hopefully Calley's good. Though teaching does make good training... Apparently.
Oh, and it was hot outside, sunny, and training was hard work. Surely that shirt would get far too hot to wear. Maybe they could do some hand to hand, he hadn't done much grappling work recently.
Posted by Cheshire on Aug 17, 2012 11:07:47 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
"Why does no one trust me with sharp objects?" Calley asked, scooping the practice sword off the bed where it had fallen.
Don't. Answer. That.
Outside, the day was all bright and cheerful. Winter was gone, summer was nigh, and the first of Manhattan's many heat waves was upon them. Calley had three days before summer school started up. What better way to spend the time than getting publically humiliated on the Mansion lawn?
Still. It wasn't like his free time was going to waste itself. On bare feet, he padded after the pink-haired Aussie.
"Fair warning," the Italian said, settling easily into a low-guard stance, "I still get my butt handed to me by prancing ponies."
Honestly, it felt like he was getting his butt handed to him even more regularly over at Sebastian's. Sure he could give Noel a run for her kitten-punching money sometimes—especially when she'd been on a forgetting-everything-and-the-kitchen-sink bender—but Sebiroth seemed to actually expect him to hold his own. When the guy got tired of poking holes in his guard—very, very literal holes—his idea of a break was to put Calley in charge of training the new kids. The ones who watched too much anime, and thought white-haired guys in flowing coats with long swords were the coolest thing ever. At least them, he could beat.
Bright side: he was over the not sparring in front of people thing. Really over.
Cafas merely chuckled at Calley's suggestion that perhaps trust was lacking. The truth of it was, though Calley may be able to heal himself nicely, Cafas could not. You only got so many near misses before limbs came off, and he wasn't sure that was within DocProf's scope. Even the worst beginner got a lucky shot occasionally.
A short wander later Cafas and Calley were outside. Nice enough day for a bit of training. Calley took his guard. He seemed at ease, in his stance, not the situation. Though Cafas could not name a situation Calley seemed at ease in.
"You started how long ago exactly? Took me years to get any good." That being said... Cafas lost the shield, (No point starting with unfair advantage) set himself in position. Shorter opponent, lower guard, which was going to make going on the offensive a pain because he was going to telegraph like all hell, unless he altered his form, but that would mess with him later.
Just focus on form and fluidity, don't get hit, aim low.
"En garde"
That still sounds stupid... Shut up it's polite.
Cafas stepped in,swept overhead and came in with a swing off the backhand. Not too much force, they were only sparring, after all. The plan was to go into a forehand to keep with the momentum, downward swing so it would run diagonally down, spin (dangerously showy work, but he needed it for the combo) end with a thrust and go back to guard. He didn't know quite how strong Calley was though, so this had potentially to end in a jarring block.
Lets hope parrying isn't his strong suit, This would be a lot of momentum to stop, and that guard would be down long enough to hurt.
Posted by Cheshire on Sept 2, 2012 18:41:11 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
"Couple months," Calley answered, with a shrug. And then he was moving forwards, in a quick low movement, because Sebastian wasn't the sort of teacher who said 'en garde.'
Sebastian's style wasn't any kind of form, or school—it was a medley of Greek and Roman, ancient orient, and Kind Arthur's Europe. Calley had no idea what half the moves he knew were really called—not all of them had names in English, or names the elder immortal could recall.
He didn't try to engage Cafas in a test of strength: the more he could avoid locking blades, the better. It was pretty obvious who would win at chopping wood. Calley was smaller and lighter: his strength was in speed.
And in outright recklessness.
A young immortal can get into very bad fighting habits, when he knows just how quickly he can heal. If a hit didn't look disabling, or if parrying just enough to glance it off his side could turn it into something weaker, he barely bothered to block. Attacking was how fights were won.
Posted by Cafas on May 14, 2013 6:09:37 GMT -6
Verdigris likes this
X-Men
Team Leader of the X-Men Member of AV!Haven
Hetero with notable exception
Cafaya
1,571
114
Mar 7, 2020 21:43:37 GMT -6
Cafas
He'd taken 3 shots to what seemed like 4 he'd hit Calley with, and he was already noticing a pattern. He held up a hand to stop Calley, deflecting one last blow into the dirt. "Stop stop stop. Calley, look, you may heal like nobody's business but seriously, you're deflecting blows into yourself. It works now, but it's sloppy form. What if this healing is finite? Don't waste it on something you could easily avoid with little more effort."
Plus it's super annoying.
Cafas sighed. He spent a while explaining the flaws in Calley's defense (aside from simply not using it). It was all basically right, but he just wasn't going the distance with it, letting things through that he simply shouldn't be.
Harsh
Cafas rubbed his ribs where he'd taken a rather crafty shot off the back of a feint. "You offence though, now that's spectacular, you had me on the back foot there, and I can't really remember taking that many shots from someone before." Which was sort of true, he didn't remember it clearly, because one had straight to his head and everything was kind of hazy.
How the months pass when your life falls into a routine. Calley studying hard, Cafas working all day, and sometimes all night thanks to some crime fighting.X-men call outs at all hours. They almost seemed like they'd just become a mutant SWAT group. He stayed out of the higher politics, so really that's all he dealt with. That and paper work. C.S. acted like he had it all, but Cafas had lost count of how many reports he'd filled out.
So Cafas thought it was time everyone had a bit of a break. So he waited until Calley had been studying long enough to be getting sick of it, then burst into the room. "Alright you've been at that for a couple hours. You're doing yourself no good keeping on going, so up you get, we're going to dinner, and I'm not taking no for an answer, mostly because I already made the reservation. You have an hour to get ready, and try to wear something nice."
God knows if I can manage it you can.
Cafas set about that task himself, quick shower, teeth cleaned, months of facial hair (neatly kept as it was) shaved off, and dressed like, well like the advertising team on The Tale of the Dawn would expect him to if he were going to a high end restaurant. Which he was! So it was entirely appropriate. He didn't bother with cologne, from what he could tell it only upset Calley's frequently catlike sense of smell. Cafas held up an empty toothpaste tube as he left the bathroom, and lobbed it into the bin. "Hey Calley, we're out of toothpaste."
Calley had not been studying long enough to be sick of it. Calley had reached that point days ago, weeks ago; had reached that point around midterms back in quarter one. He was a cat; he was not made for long, excruciating periods of attention. Each new day of schoolwork was as torturous as the mind could possibly imagine; it was dwarfed only by actual torture, and by the look on Katrina’s face after he skipped out on a study session. Even more than that: by the complete silence from Mama T. He knew she was paying attention to his grades. But when they started to slip, she didn’t say a thing to him. Did not hunt him down, did not give him the grades are the most important thing in the world lecture. She had, in fact, barely even spoken to him when he’d passed her in the hall upon the occasion of his walking back and forth in front of her office until she passed him. “How are you, Calley?” was an inappropriate response to a student on the verge of failing his classes. New Guidance Counselor rather sucked at her job; a conclusion he had reached long ago.
He was going to graduate this year, if only to spite her.
Cafas burst in somewhere between his urge to kill the dead white guys who had created Algebra II, and his meditations upon the gestation of birds. A pair of blue jays were building a nest in the tree just outside of their window. How long, exactly, did would those eggs take to hatch? How long after that until the chicks were fuzzy and plump, but couldn’t quite fly? He was pretty sure he could swing that research into an extra credit paper for Bio. That teacher was fairly enamored of Calley’s extra credit projects; as a fellow bird enthusiast, he’d even been so kind as to loan his enthusiastic young pupil a bird watching guide. It made for an excellent menu.
Homicidal cat daydreams. Aborted. By Cafas’ dinner plans.
“We go to places that take reservations?” Calley asked. “Since when?” Snarky conversation on the topic was cut short by Cafas hogging the shower. After the briefest of scuffles at the door--merely for the show of it, mind you, not that he actually cared--Calley allowed his roommate the privilege of running water.
For himself, a quick shift to a more elegant form and a thorough tongue bath was more than sufficient for a night on the town. For clothes, though... for clothes, he had to go down the hall, and steal from Slate’s closet.
One business suit later, he was as presentable as he’d ever be. Possibly too presentable. Possibly, giving off the impression that he cared.
By the time Cafas was done shaving, Calley was lounging on his bed in a button up shirt, suit coat, and tie, complete with jeans and mis-matched socks. The cat ears were a bonus: practically obligatory, when dining out. What else would keep Cafas’ pink hair company in people’s stares?
Calley saw the empty toothpaste tube, and smiled a disingenuous smile.
You’ll pay for that and you know it, the smile said, as Calley asked, “Where to, Fancy Pants?”
Cafas made sure his suit was presentable, which it was. He was getting very used to wearing them. He looked over at Calley and smiled. "Yeah well you would not believe how far in advance I had to make this reservation." Cafas walked to the door and held it open. He looked his boyfriend over one more time. "They should let you in like that. C'mon we'll get a cab down. I'd hate to not be able to drink." Cafas called the cab company.
Outside.
"I suppose I should tell you where we're going." Cafas flashed a smile as the cab pulled up. "Little place called Per Se. I know you're kind of big into carbs and grease, but this place is meant to be amazing, prix-fixe menu so no difficult decisions." Third best in the world, but he didn't mention that. "Anyway, this is to celebrate the windfall that was this movie role." Cafas did so enjoy spending money well earned on a well earned treat.
In the Cab.
"Actually, I have something I want to talk with you about, speaking of this windfall. I mean, it's got the potential to change a lot in my life, and... Well, you're in my life. We can talk about it over dinner though, just didn't want to spring it on you." It was a relatively short ride, as far as cab rides through New York, to the Time Warner Center.
Per Se
A short elevator ride later they arrived. In a word, it was stunning. They were seated with only a minimal disapproving glance at Calley's jeans (and Cafas' hair). A short period of stellar service later they were ordering. "Would you like the vegetarian or non-vegetarian options tonight sirs? And can I get you any drinks?" Not even the slightest hint of a shadow of a glance at what was clearly a date, or at the fact they were mutants. It was amazing the difference it made.
"Non-vegetarian for me thank you, and a glass of wine, I'll leave the selection to your judgement." He had no idea about wine, he knew some was good and some wasn't, but he couldn't tell what would go well. The waiter clearly did though, judging by his smile and nod. "And for you sir?"
There was a lot of the... talking thing. The serious-face talking thing. In the room, in the cab, in the—
This. Was the fanciest restaurant he had ever stepped foot in. He had not even scrounged scraps out of trashcans from places so fancy before. He felt his jeans cringe a little closer to his legs as they stepped inside, though the host, waiter, and entire clientele were all so far above noticing such fashion faux pas that they did not so much as glance at his mismatched socks. (His mismatched socks shrunk deeper into his sneakers, and his undone lace would have desperately tied itself had it the means.)
Only his cat ears stood loud and proud: loud, proud, and as entirely ignored as the rest of his horridly out-of-place ensemble. It was clear that there was only one thing that the people in this room actually noticed: money.
Cafas. Apparently had it. ...Since when?
"I'll have the same," the shifter demurely stated. He felt the urge to hand the waiter his menu, but places like this didn't have menus. They just had two options: vegetarian, or not.
His ears had a distinctly foofed appearance as the man left to relay their orders to the chief, and presumably spend some quality time fussying over their wine selection on their behalf.
"...Just how big a deal is this movie going to be, exactly?" The catboy asked. He knew it was based on a book. He'd looked that up, when Cafas had first told him about all this. He knew the book kind of sucked, according to most of the internet (though such claims tended to be followed by screaming fangirl assertions to the contrary). He knew the filming had been over with for months. He'd pretty much stopped paying attention after that; when the thing actually came out, he assumed they'd go to see it, and snarky commentary would be had by all, and then the whole thing would go away for good.
As a side note: if Cafas ever let him wear jeans and sneakers to a place like this again, there would be blood. But that was not polite dinner conversation; he'd save that for the pillow talk.
"...Just how big a deal is this movie going to be, exactly?"
Cafas shrugged, he honestly didn't have much experience on the matter, except what he'd gained through studying just how many fans had sprung up. There were quite a few fansites out there too; He knew of at least 3. Still, he had some small idea how well they expected it to go. "They're confident enough to pay me somewhere in the realm of one point two million, after tax. Plus further publicity interviews, which pay as much as my store tends to make in a month or so." Not to mention the spot on CSI:NY.
Two years ago I was nobody. Oh yes, there are no X-men fans at all. Never signed a trading card, have you?
The waiter arrived back with the wine. It was quite clearly more expensive than anything of an alcoholic nature he had ever put in his mouth before. He had a feeling it was likely going to be just as expensive as the meal, at least. Not like he didn't have enough money though. Cafas thanked him and sipped from the glass he had been poured.
Cafas came to the immediate conclusion that money could, in fact, buy happiness. Someone had obviously found a way to bottle it. Happiness, as it turned out, was not the yellow colour his eyes might suggest, but in fact a rich and beautiful red.
"So, yeah, about what I said in the cab... I..." Deep breath Cafas, not like you're proposing marriage, nothing so massive, "I have quite a bit of money at the moment, and it got me thinking, about how I still live at the mansion. Don't get me wrong, the Mansion is great, but I moved there because I had no choice, and now I feel like I don't need my spot there, like it could be giving another mutant run away a home; someone that needs it."
Alright this is it.
"So I've thought about it, and I'm going to use the money from the movie to buy a place in the city. I was wondering... If you maybe wanted to move in with me... You know, in our own place." That had been rather difficult to work up the courage for. Cafas taking steps in the relationship had a mixed history. He took another sip of his wine to mask his nerves a little.
We already live together... Most of the time. It's not like it's that massive of a move. It's just getting your own place.
He would not be heartbroken by a no, he understood, at least to some extent, if Calley didn't want to. He made no promises of not being ludicrously happy if he said yes.
The catboy stared as Cafas took one steadying sip of his wine. His pink bangs had gotten into his face again. Was his hair pink, in the movie? Calley realized he had no idea. Did Cafas want to keep going with this actor thing? Make an actual, legitimate career of it? Was he going to close his shop (one interview paid more than he made in a month), leave the Mansion, and start being a... a reputable public role model?
Moving out. To their own place.
Cafas took another sip of wine. Calley leaned forward, and kissed him.
"Mmm," he said, when it ended; "That stuff's good. I could get used to this." He lifted his own cup, and raised it in a toast.
The cat had no objections to being a kept man.
"**** you, Cafas." He said. There was no particular passion in his voice: it was a statement, more than anything. His things were already mostly packed; that was good. That made it easy to move back into his apartment. The one facing Central Park. The one paid for on his own dime; contrary to his fashion sense, he wasn't a charity case.
He tossed the magazine on the bed, and went to pick up a box, with no further ado. What needed to be said? Really, what was there to say, that everyone in the Mansion hadn't heard before him? He'd just finished his last final. He'd passed: he knew he'd passed. He'd studied, he'd gone in, and he'd owned that thing. He'd passed all of them. He was going to graduate this year.
It had taken him a long time to realize that the smiles around him, and the high fives behind his back, hadn't been other people celebrating. It had been the ass-shifter who'd finally given him the magazine. Turns out the guy was a better friend than most.
The Dawn of True Love? Rashell and Jamel's Real Life Romance!
Will their child be born before the premiere?
The picture wasn't exactly of a chaste kiss; someone had been enjoying himself, and it hadn't been on a movie set.
**** you. Because apparently someone had, and Calley knew it hadn't been him.
Cafas received a magazine. Well, received in the same sort of way pigeons receive your fries. It was tossed near him and he dived on it before it, or the person who had been carrying it, could disappear.
Well, that is a terrible photo.
The headlines were worse. As a side not, are they called headlines in a magazine? Cafas had no idea, nor did he waste any thought on it, but his brain tucked the question away for later, when he was not as busy.
Oh good job dude.
"Okay I'm going to cover the major one first, the kid is not mine. Allison was... Well there's really no nice way to put it, she was raped." He made for the door. His constant training had never come in so useful before. His, all things considered, pretty massive frame, helped as well.
Stunning work, really, I mean it.
"The kiss was part publicity, the studio wants everyone to believe me and her are dating, and partly to save me from the author of the book, who doesn't seem to know that no means no."
If there were awards for blowing a relationship, you'd win all of them.
He could almost predict that the next move would be window. He wasn't sure, but if it was, he couldn't beat Calley there. He might just be able to keep up with Calley, but he really didn't feel like having the conversation that was about to happen in full view of everyone at the Mansion.
We could call them the breakupies!
"I'm so sorry Calley, I should have told you, I shouldn't have let it come out like this. I know it's not an excuse but I didn't want to put you off your study, and... I kind of forgot." He looked just as sorry and miserable as he felt. There was that wave of shame that had washed over him after the kiss back, only... Stronger. Much stronger. "God I'm an idiot." that was mostly to himself.
Calley did not go for the window. He couldn't carry a box out of the window. He moved directly in front of Cafas' big lumbering frame and waited patiently for it to get out of his way. Instead, it started talking.
The kid wasn't his.
...Admittedly, that was a good place to start.
Allison was raped. Who was Allison? Oh right, the film hussy. Who maybe wasn't an actual hussy. Also, who looked very familiar; her name rang a few bells, too, but he wasn't going to focus on those right now.
Right now, he was focusing on Cafas' eyes, and the way their shades were changing. He waited until they'd made up their minds. Then he held out his box.
"Hold this," he said, and went to get his decoder. It was in the third box he checked, sandwiched in the pages of a book on rodent anatomy. Rodents, because he'd met Cafas as a mouse. Also, there were all kinds of crazy rodent-like-things in Australia, which is where Cafas was from.
The page read like this:
Light Pink=Surprise – hot pink= anger - Purple=rage
Black=Pain/Any overwhelming emotion, anything completely out of control
Light green= uneasiness/anticipation/excited –
...
Right now, Cafas' eyes were dark brown, and pink pushing purple. Calley spent a moment studying his scrawled notes, then marched back over to the metalmancer, and pointed at the sheet as if it were evidence admissible into a court of law.
"Regret, shame, and surprise?" He stated, his own baby blues narrowed. "Am I supposed to believe regret, shame, and surprise?" Surprise pushing anger. Oh, he knew that feeling.
Cafas held the box, very confused, as Calley walked away and rummaged through a box. He returned with what appeared to be, especially on closer inspection, a colour to emotion guide for Cafas' eyes. Calley indicated as much.
"Regret, shame, and surprise?" Glare "Am I supposed to believe regret, shame, and surprise?"
Cafas was a little hurt by that; more than a little in fact. He winced slightly at the ground. He knew Calley had pretty good reason to be mad at him. It didn't make him feel any better. Still, he had a question to answer.
Yeah, open your mouth! Do it!
"No, you're meant to believe your boyfriend. It's been nearly two years Calley, that ought to have earned me some trust, shouldn't it?" That convinced Cafas slightly more of his position. He looked up, the sadness still evident in his face. He looked Calley in the eyes. He could see the hurt there. It was all he could do to stop himself crying for shame. He held the box under one arm and took one of Calley's hands in his free hand.
"Calley, I love you, and I promise you, I have never and will never cheat on you. I'm going to come out and tell the truth, that Allison and I have never been dating, that it was an act. Publicists be damned, I wont put their stupid, s***y movie above you."
Oh god Cafas looked like he was going to cry. Big muscle-bound metal-working Australians built in the approximate size and shape of a doorframe should not cry. How was Calley supposed to--? That was not a fair reaction.
In four words: the bristling was immediate. His hand stiffened in the Aussie's, as the pink haired man expressed his love.
The same as he had been saying it. For two years. Without fail.
"Are you saying I have trust issues?" The shifter shot back.
He made sure to shoot off the rest, before Cafas could open back up his man-trap.
"Because I do. So the next time a movie studio asks you to make out with a pregnant girl for a publicity stunt, could you please warn me ahead of time? I get it. That you've got a life. And you're some kind of... successful actor now, and people are going to ask you to do stupid things. I don't give a **** about the publicists. I give a **** about you."
He dragged his hand back, and whipped it off in circles in his hair. It was a gesture that looked a heck of a lot more slick when he was in cat form.
"And I kind of overreact, sometimes. So. Don't let me hear things from trashy papers. Especially ones who take photographs like that."
Seriously. Cafas' face did not look that squished when he was kissing. Calley had seen it, plenty of times.