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 Cheshire on Sept 30, 2012 12:51:41 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
par•tu•ri•tion/ˌpärCHo͝oˈriSHən/
1. The action of giving birth to young; childbirth.
i.e.: Parturition can sometimes proceed more quickly than anticipated.
dis•so•ci•a•tion[dih-soh-see-ey-shuhn]
1. an act or instance of dissociating.
2. the state of being dissociated; disjunction; separation
3. Psychiatry. the splitting off of a group of mental processes from the main body of consciousness, as in amnesia or certain forms of hysteria.
4. A perfectly healthy reaction in which big words fill in the gaps where thinking doesn't want to happen.
The panther man slid across the floor as the result of Ghosty's parturition disassociated with her incubator-organ and accelerated at 9.8 meters a second, thank-you-gravity, towards the titled restaurant floor. It was a surprisingly clean floor, his brain pan processed, during said slide. So clean you could conduct an accouchement upon it.
ac•couche•ment\ˌa-ˌküsh-ˈmäⁿ\
1. the time or act of giving birth
2. Another big word that was not helping, where were these even coming from, he wasn't going to make it he wasn't going to—
Something warm and wet and a little squishy plopped into his arms. It was not nearly as clean and fresh as babies were in the movies. But after a wheezing, coughy, face-screwed-up start, it certainly started crying just as much as expected.
Ghost squeezed the *** out of that door frame. If she moved, there was no telling where she would end up. She wanted to go somewhere, but there was no where to go that wouldn't hurt. Leaving wouldn't make this better. Only birthing could do that.
So she focused on giving birth.
The pressure built and built until finally, suddenly there was sincere relief.
Ghost kept her face firmly smashed against the wooden molding that separated the kitchen from the hall and became vaguely aware of the matriarch of the restaurant.
"—will take you away. So many health code you are breaking. You hear me? Go do that outside!"
More important than that was the hoarse cry of a newborn with clear lungs. She wanted to hold him. She wanted to take him away from here and put him in clean clothes and a respectable bassinet like any self-respecting new mother should. She also was so ready for this all to be over.
Instead, Ghost felt that pressure building again. Suddenly it seemed amazing that the wooden molding hadn't yet splintered under her hands.
The second twin in a delivery usually comes within 20 minutes of the first, and most mothers report that delivering Baby B is a cinch compared to Baby A, considering that Baby A has already paved the way.
Most surrogate fathers report a time-dilation effect; a stretching out of light and sound. The detail of fingers pressed firmly into plaster, until the two become one; of a Chinese woman whose face was more contorted than the mother's.
There is an interval between the birth of twins like the pause between stars; the darkness seemed ready to engulf him, but he knew, somehow, that light would come in the end.
Light, and the juggling of Baby B into paws already quite occupied with Baby A.
The panther man wanted very badly to faint, but Johnny had already beaten him to it, and he was no copy-cat. Also, though his thoughts were getting rather fuzzy around the edges, it was imperative that he not fumble his new charges onto the floor. Ghosty had entrusted them to him. Him and his stubby-fingered paw-hands that had never been much good at knitting, much less holding two squalling infants. Baby B was slipping, its little fists balled up to its chest—
Miles did the reasonable, completely well-thought-out thing: he shifted to his human form.
"It's okay, I got you," Calley panted, as his purple glasses slid down his suddenly smaller nose. "I got you."
They were so small. So... pinkish. Especially Baby B; it was smaller than its twin, its cries more broken with coughing and gasping, though no less loud.
He was smaller than his brother. "They're boys, Ghosty." Calley said, blinking baby blue eyes upwards. "You had two boys."
"Two? How many you have in there?" The matriarch interjected. "No more! That is it; I get you towels, I get you take out boxes. You leave now!"
Goosebumps marched up her arms. She was shaking and she wasn't sure if she wanted to sit or fall down or start dancing. No... actually, more than anything else in the world she wanted to hold those babies, but she couldn't seem to loosen her grip on that door frame.
>"You had two boys."
Two boys. And they were perfect. They had fingers and toes and Miles. Miles was so... "Ohmigod, you're Calley."
He had no idea the chemical cocktail that was flooding her system at this moment in time. It was Calley. She was so happy and so terribly pissed off. The cherry on this cake was the matriarch who was hustling them to leave.
"Stop it!" The woman responded to the bite in Ghost's voice and hesitated before she handed over a towel.
The moment of truth. She had to let go sometime. "You just..." Her eyes started to water and the iron in her voice wavered as she accepted the white fluff. "Just... hold on." The tension started building again, but this time there wasn't any baby to engage. She just felt crampy and ineffective and panicky and angry. On top of all of that was a layer of love. She was glad it was Calley and not a stranger. Her sons were delivered by... a friend. Kind of.
Standing was starting to feel like she was an awkward filly fresh into the pasture. She dropped the towel and sat on it before she started pulling the boys over into her lap one at a time.
"So... you were... the whole time?" She wanted a coke so bad.
"Yes?" The not-so-panther man said. "That is to say, I mean... err, yes?"
He was. The whole time. Yes.
He surrendered Baby A, then Baby B, and joined Ghosty in sitting with his back to the wall. Not exactly right next to her; he discretely included a don't-be-angry gap between them. Goosebumps stood out on his arms. He straightened his vest, getting it settled tidily back over his shoulders. It wasn't quite so warm of a clothing option, now that he didn't have the fur coat to match. The restaurant's venerable old AC unit chugged steadily from a window just down the hall.
"Your sons are beautiful," he said, by way of directing this conversation towards what was clearly the most important thing, here. "Do you have names picked out?"
They were actually a little more squishy than beautiful looking, currently, but most mammal babies started that way. Especially the ones that were born hairless and pink. Calley wouldn't hold it against them.
The important thing was that they were Ghosty's. And mother and babies were safe. That was all that really mattered, right?
They were so perfect. It was one thing to have this idea in her head of what they would be like and another thing entirely to be holding them. Loving them. Feeling the sudden weight of two lives entirely dependent on Ghost.
Names? "I was hoping to get Sebastian's input..." She had thought of a hundred million different names and she was sure her husband wouldn't mind. Having thought that, Ghost couldn't help but become upset. He should have been here for this. He should be here now. Where was he?
Twin A and Twin B weren't the only ones crying now. "They don't have names." That was more of a lament than a declaration of fact.
Matron came back with cloth napkins, pins, to go boxes, a spatula and scissors. Someone had to cut the umbilical cords. Matron scooped the after birth into the to-go containers and helped fold the napkins on like diapers without more of a fuss. Maybe A and B were growing on her?
Posted by Cheshire on Oct 12, 2012 21:10:03 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
Approximately a half hour later, Calley knocked on the door of Lori's office, then pushed the door open without any further ado.
His brown hair was mussed even past its normal bounds; a pair of purple eyeglasses was half-consumed in its locks. His purple vest was too big. So were his pants. His shoes? Non-existent.
He padded on bare feet over to Lori's desk, and placed a Chinese take out box square in front of the CEO.
"Your buns are done." He said. It was still April First; the day had started that way, and though it seemed like a long time had passed, April First it remained. His words were not April Fooling. He could not say the same of the takeout box.
Her buns were done. The box was leaking. Hopefully those were not her buns.
"And how are they?"
To her credit, the disgust was kept to a minimum. Her nostrils hardly even flared. Lori took a single pencil from its holder and pushed the "takeout" away with the eraser side until the box was sitting at the far side of her desk, a mere jab away from plopping into the trash.
"You should see the transcription of your message." Lori had her secretary transcribe her messages for the safety of all electronics everywhere. The blonde tapped a typed memo that sported a fair amount of caps lock and raised her eyebrows at Calley.
And it was a bit strange that it was Calley, not Miles that stood before her. Even stranger, he was a Calley in Miles clothing. "So I'm guessing she found out?"
Posted by Cheshire on Oct 21, 2012 19:40:02 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
"Oh, the kids are great. Healthy, kicking, screaming. Can't say for sure what their mutations are yet, but given their parents, I'd say 'give them til puberty.' She's still working on the names. I dropped her off with one of the doctors and left her to it." Calley reached down, and picked up the transcription for a nice casual perusal. He tilted it left and right, helping himself to a chair in front of her desk.
>> "So I'm guessing she found out?"
"Yeah. A bit. She reacted pretty well, actually." He started to put his feet up. One of his bare toes came into contact with Ghosty's leftovers; his feet retreated back to the floor. "Too well, actually. This entire situation... she's been reacting way too well, don't you think? The whole 'my husband went crazy, I was kidnapped, collared, and brought to a cell, and one of my friends had been lying to me the whole time'?"
"I don't think she can keep those babies safe," he said. With a final squint at the transcript, he handed it back. "You'd better have a chat with your secretary. I remember saying a lot more pound signs and ampersands than that."