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.
((ooc: Sorry for the delay! Been in a writin' funk, I has been.))
Both Slates required more time to think: both of them did not even think of the effect continued blatant silence might have upon Teresa. They both quickly realized that they were out of their depths of experience. The true Slate, for instance, had indeed found a strange little pit in his stomach that would be unhappy if the woman--one of the few who even knew of his existence--left. Without the many simultaneous thoughts and opinions of Calley and the clutter, he was left to work something through on his own: did it even matter that she had learned another faucet of their power? Calley had certainly believed so. Calley would have killed her, then called in the Triforce to shampoo the blood out of his carpet as he went wandering merrily around the city. Without the clutter to take up that alternate train of thought for him, Slate found himself side-tracked with another question that had to be answered before he could answer the first: how was it that he was so divided from Calley on this issue? Slate knew his place, though he habitually avoided admitting it. He was just another part of Calley. A particularly loud-voiced element of the clutter; he always had been, and he always would be. They only had one body, after all, and it was very distinctly Calley's. Interestingly, Calley had never displaced him from control of their body; had bargained and tricked him, yes, but had only rarely forced him out, and never succeeded in locking him away to the degree Slate had just locked Calley away.
Slate got distracted by a third thought: was he the dominant personality in their mind?
The copy of Slate, dwelling in Teresa's head, had an entirely different set of problems. Not the least of which being that the clutter seemed a truly pale copy of itself: he hadn't heard a coherent thought from them yet, just a low buzz of noise that occasionally carried words. They were sufficient to hold the stray trains of thought he came up with as his main course of thought played out, however. It allowed him to temporarily divert his own side-tracks to a later time.
His main problem, as he saw it, was Teresa herself. The knowledge he had gained of her would be of great interest to his other self. Now: how to get the message across? Calley, meanwhile, had maliciously started a game: every third spot of discolored sidewalk gum the woman passed, he tried to trip her.
You know, telling our other selves all sorts of fun information is all well and good, but I'm thinking we have a more immediate problem.
Hmm?
Yep. If this lovely lady's brain-mush gets twirled out the side by a bullet, we're dead, too.
He would not kill us for this. He would simply--
First off, never start off a sentence ending in "torture us horribly" with "he would simply". Second: I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about us. Kapeesh?
...Ah.
They had reached the doors of Vina, the small Vietnamese restaurant, by the time either of the Slates spoke. Then they both spoke at once. Slate politely held the door open, and stated simply; "I do not believe Calley will be of any further threat to you." Hunter, however, was another matter. How to get across the seriousness of that issue without giving away everything? Unknowingly, he was taking care of that problem for himself.
Miss Teresa: please be informed that the necklace our body wears is itself a bug. If you mention what you have learned, you will die a very prompt death. Our employer is under the impression that we would not be as useful were others to know of our true abilities. Which raised an interesting thought, actually: did it really matter if anyone knew?[/color]
Slate had already worked through that question, to the same conclusion his copy would soon reach: no. No, it really did not. After all, it would be highly impractical for anyone--the X-Men, the Order, or any other faction that might yet arise or even now be in hiding--to be suspicious of every animal in the world. That was the true depths of their power. They could be any animal at all. They could be the family dog, they could be any pigeon strolling on the sidewalk, they could be that fly who had been circling the house for the past three days. They could be the smallest of red spiders, sitting motionless under the leaf of a houseplant.
No, it really did not matter if word of their abilities got out. Truly paranoid people were prone to exploitable mistakes.
Slate goes radio-silent – both of him do, in fact – and Sonya lets him think, concentrating on putting one hung-over foot in front of the other without stumbling.
It’s harder than it seems like it should be – it feels like her feet are periodically trying to trip her! Still, as long as she pays attention to her steps, she doesn’t seem to have a problem… it’s only when she gets distracted that she stumbles. She makes a mental note to herself to avoid drinking that heavily in the future.
Of course, her primary distraction is rather compelling – she’s about to have breakfast (lunch?) with a mutant split-personality who has just admitted that one of his personalities wants to kill her. And after yesterday’s ballistic adventure, she’s quite certain of one very basic fact about her life: she wants to continue it.
Which doesn’t exactly come as a surprise, but before yesterday it had always been more of a theoretical issue for her. Having her spine shot out and waking up in a pool of her own blood seems to have changed that. From now on, job 1 is keeping herself alive.
> Hmmm?
She startles a little at the thought, obviously foreign – which, now that she thinks about it, is in and of itself odd. She’s pretty sure she’s picked up thoughts from her templates from time to time before, but it’s never been like it is with Slate, never been like talking to a separate person in her head. She supposes it’s because Slate has a lot of experience with being a personality in someone else’s head, but it’s still a little creepy.
> He would not kill us for this. He would simply— ah.
It takes her a second to realize she’s eavesdropping on Slate’s conversation with Calley again, and she wonders who it is that wouldn’t kill them, and what he would simply do instead. Calley had expressed fear about Syn, but Sonya had already been fairly sure that was a lie, and Slate's choice of pronoun leaves her pretty certain of it. Abyss, maybe? Kaz? The mysterious Hunter? Too many candidates.
On the plus side, she’s getting better at not letting the mess in her head show on the surface. Of course, it helps that Slate – meat-Slate, that is – seems pretty caught up in his own head, anyway… at least until they reach the restaurant. She wonders if brain-Slate is just as aware of her own thoughts.
> "I do not believe Calley will be of any further threat to you."
Sonya/Teresa looks puzzled at Slate, not sure how to respond to that. Whatever it is she was about to say is derailed by the other Slate’s message, though.
> Miss Teresa: please be informed that the necklace our body wears is itself a bug. If you mention what you have learned, you will die a very prompt death. Our employer is under the impression that we would not be as useful were others to know of our true abilities.
Oh. She’s not really sure what to say to that, either… but it makes a number of other things clearer.
A very polite waiter leads them to a table, and she is spared the need to respond to either of those assertions while dealing with the mechanics of ordering a meal. Finally, she looks Slate straight in the eye. "That’s good to know, Slate. Though honestly, I don’t know why Calley was so freaked out. I mean, it’s not like changing his fur color is such a big deal." She keeps her expression fixed and deadpan and doesn’t look away. "But, I guess that’s his problem. I may report to Syn, but that doesn’t mean I tell her everything I know. Especially now that we're no longer being eavesdropped on."
Privately, she tacks on to that Thanks for the warning. Who’s your employer?
Slate returned her deadpan expression with one of his own, blinking only occasionally. Her words... were certainly unexpected. He tilted his head the slightest bit to the side, unable to understand what had occurred between the apartment and now. Of one thing he was certain: he was not working with all the information available here.
His less corporeal self was. In fact, he felt he had too much information. He needed time to reflect on it all, but felt it more prudent to continue speaking with Teresa.
To be blunt, Miss Teresa, our employer is our own affair. We will not be employed much longer.
That we won't. Think we can take her over? I'm havin' some good luck with the making-her-trip stuff. Two bodies and four-ish minds against Hunter kinda makes our odds better, if I can get complete control.
...In any case, there is something else you should know, simply to understand our other selves' actions this morning: Calley did not wish to kill you. He wished for our employer not to kill you. Do you understand this distinction?
...She'd hear you if replied. Right. So... "Hmm" for "no", "Ah" for "yes", kapeesh?
Ah.
So: take her over, or not?
Ah. Perhaps that would be more prudent at a later date, Calley.
...Ooo. I think I know where you're going with that. Because she'd learn to fight us if she knew what we were doing, right, but we'd be able to maybe pull it off for a bit if she never saw it comin'?
Potentially.
Ah. Heh. So... I'll just stop messing with her coordination, then.
Ah.[/i][/color]
After long moments of contemplation--broken briefly when he ordered eggrolls with mock duck sauce as an appetizer--Slate realized a very simple fact: he needed Calley. Right now. He needed the clutter, as well. Something had happened which he entirely did not understand, and it had apparently happened while he was walking right next to the woman. He had simply missed it, no doubt because he had been focused upon other matters. Slate let down the mental barrier. Immediately, Calley surged forward. He was not happy.
What did you--?![/i]
They did not have time for him to be unhappy. Be quiet, and look at our memories. Calley did. He came to the same conclusion Slate had:
...We missed something.
Indeed.
You're kind of right about it not mattering that she knows, though. It's just Hunter knowing that she knows. Hey, Slate.
Hmm?
Don't ever do that again. We can't deal with each other at the same time we're dealing with Hunter.
We will deal with each other afterwards.
Yeah. Yeah, we will.
"To clarify my earlier statement," Slate stated, concentrating his full attention on the woman before him. Calley did likewise, but it wasn't for the fine conversation. "Calley is in agreement with myself that his earlier thoughts were... rash. He has retracted his threat." The clutter split its attentions to any number of places, and any number of thoughts. Most of them went back to analyze every second of memory from the start of this morning. What were they missing?
> To be blunt, Miss Teresa, our employer is our own affair. We will not be employed much longer.
Well, as long as we’re being blunt: your employer became my affair when he became a threat to my life. The only question is, do we help each other or not? Your call.
> In any case, there is something else you should know, simply to understand our other selves' actions this morning: Calley did not wish to kill you. He wished for our employer not to kill you. Do you understand this distinction?
Sonya has to think that one through somewhat carefully before answering, although she’s beginning to realize that time spent chatting inside her own mind doesn’t quite work the same way as time spent doing things in the world. No, I don’t think I do. You’re saying he figures I’m dead either way and he’d rather clean up his own mess?
> Ah. Ah. Perhaps that would be more prudent at a later date, Calley. Potentially. Ah.
None of which precisely fills Sonya with confidence. Sharing an apartment with someone who wants to kill her is bad enough; sharing her mind with him is something else again.
The whole exchange is making her increasingly anxious the more she thinks about it. Granted, she’d never quite been foolish enough to think she could trust Calley, but it’s beginning to seem like they’ve somehow become enemies… she hadn’t expected that. All of which makes her relationship with Syn and the Order suddenly seem far more important… not that she can really trust them, either... and she's slowly beginning to understand how much she needs to be able to trust someone.
Maybe I’m just not cut out for this life, she thinks despondently, before realizing with some embarrassment that she’d thought that “out loud”. Oh, hell. Forget I said that, Slate.
> "To clarify my earlier statement, Calley is in agreement with myself that his earlier thoughts were... rash. He has retracted his threat."
"Well, that’s reassuring," she returns drily. "Gotta say, though: ‘I’ve decided not to murder you after all’ still isn’t the greatest basis for a relationship I’ve ever heard of. My mom always warned me about boys who get all weird once you sleep with them, but there are limits, you know?"
Slate simply shrugged. "It is not the worst basis, either. At the least, you now know where we both stand. You cannot say that of every person you will meet; particularly if you are known to work for the Order to others, as well. Are you aware of the position that affiliation has placed you in?" He gazed at her levelly. There was nothing more to do, until Calley and the clutter were done with their analysis.
The young woman's point about Hunter indeed being her affair was... a fair one. Hunter Antonescu keeps us in his employ. His threat to you is minimal so long as he does not suspect your knowledge. He has negotiated some manner of partnership with your own leader. As to the distinction I wished to make: Calley would have killed you quickly. He did not see any way around your death, and he could not guarantee that Antonescu would have done the same. We... have not witnessed the man displaying a large threshold for mercy. To repeat: Calley did not want to kill you, he wanted for it to not be Hunter Antonescu who killed you. Is that more clear?
Think it's a smart thing to give her Hunter's name?
I do not think it is an unwise thing to increase the level of suspicion surrounding the man.[/i] To Teresa, he asked curiously, What do you know of the man's abilities? Our own intelligence contains fatal gaps, we fear.
Maybe I’m just not cut out for this life, the woman thought. Oh, hell. Forget I said that, Slate.
Slate could not help but respond. Again, his tone was quite curious. May I inquire as to that thought's origin? It was not an unfamiliar one. In fact, You sound alarmingly like Calley.[/color]
Hey! You suck, Slate.
Hey, Slate. Have you ever seen Miss Teresa over there trip so often?
> "It is not the worst basis, either. At the least, you now know where we both stand.”
Sonya shrugs. "Do I?"
She’d intended to say more, but is feeling too lost and exhausted to bother. She’d been in bad enough shape yesterday, traumatized by her near-death experience, and it seems like everything has gotten worse since then. She hadn’t felt this alone before, even when she was living on the street.
> “You cannot say that of every person you will meet; particularly if you are known to work for the Order to others, as well. Are you aware of the position that affiliation has placed you in?"
It takes all the energy she can muster not to shout at him… but this isn’t the sort of conversation they can really be having loudly in a public place. She even manages not to break down in angry tears, despite how furious and frustrated she’s becoming.
Instead, she keeps her voice low and calm, her expression blank, her eyes fixed vaguely on a spot several feet behind Slate’s head. "As far as I know our ‘position’ is opposed to the Camps. Anyone who objects to that position can kiss my ass. But from what you’ve been telling me, your ‘associates’ and mine are in the middle of a gang war.
First I’ve heard of it.
Let me tell you what I know about gang wars, Slate: when one is going on around you, the safest place to be is part of a gang. So, yes, I picked a side. And no, I don’t know what ‘position’ that puts me in, except that it beats all hell out of being alone.
It sounds like it’s earned me some enemies, though, and it sounds like you think you’re one of them. Which is a pity, because you seem like a decent enough guy when you’re not acting like some kind of robot, and I’d thought we were friends. "
> Hunter Antonescu keeps us in his employ. His threat to you is minimal so long as he does not suspect your knowledge. He has negotiated some manner of partnership with your own leader. As to the distinction I wished to make: Calley would have killed you quickly. He did not see any way around your death, and he could not guarantee that Antonescu would have done the same. We... have not witnessed the man displaying a large threshold for mercy. To repeat: Calley did not want to kill you, he wanted for it to not be Hunter Antonescu who killed you. Is that more clear?
And it just gets better and better. Oh.
It’s a good answer, actually… almost exactly what she wants to hear, that Calley actually cares enough about her to protect her from being tortured to death. Except that Sonya has gone beyond exhausted and into emotionally numb by this point, and her remaining shreds of naïve optimism just aren’t enough to force her to look past the blatant fact that Calley just doesn’t care very much about anyone.
Then again, there’s no point in arguing about it, either. It just is what it is.
> I do not think it is an unwise thing to increase the level of suspicion surrounding the man. What do you know of the man's abilities? Our own intelligence contains fatal gaps, we fear.
That almost gets a laugh out of her, though not quite. After all that, it turns out that Calley’s mysterious employer is the same man Syn assigned her to investigate. She might have guessed. Rest easy on that score, Slate – I’m about as suspicious of the mysterious Mr. Antonescu as it’s possible to be. In fact, she hesitates over revealing this, then decides to go ahead as a gesture of good will, finding out about his strengths and weaknesses is my current assignment. Not that I’ve learned much yet, but I’ll tell you what I know if you tell me what you know… does that seem reasonable?
> Maybe I’m just not cut out for this life. Oh, hell. Forget I said that, Slate.
May I inquire as to that thought's origin? You sound alarmingly like Calley.
Wow, you’re not pulling any punches, huh? Fair enough. It comes, Slate, from realizing that I actually need friends every once in a while, and all this life seems to offer is allies of convenience.
It comes, Slate, from realizing that I actually need friends every once in a while, and all this life seems to offer is allies of convenience.
The woman's words were... Hmm. Disturbing, perhaps. It was on a level that Slate could not truly identify. Calley's response was a snickering, cynical laugh that put Slate even more ill at ease. It was just as well that the young woman could not hear that. His response was uncharacteristically tentative. There... are friends which you can find. They are simply... hard to identify. A thought occurred to him, and his next words were distinctly brighter in tone. Have you met with Abyss, yet? He is a good friend. We very much like him. His hesitancy returned. I... wish we could offer you friendship. I honestly do not know whether or not I am capable of it, however, and I suspect that Calley is not. He... worries me.
...Thanks, Slate. You know, I can hear you.
The true you cannot.
...Touché.
...As to the matter of Antonescu's strengths and weaknesses: we are mostly concerned with discovering his powers as a mutant. Syn, however, would most likely be more interested by the other powers he holds. Namely, the large wealth he possesses which allows him to maintain a mutant strike force rivaling either the Order or the X-Men. We suspect that he has a degree of immortality that has allowed him to accumulate both this wealth and the experience of how to use it. We have no reports of how complete this immortality is, however, only that he has lived several centuries.[/i] Slate stated that last bit as the blunt fact it was; how it would affect their own upcoming fight, their mind had avoided thinking about. Less than two decades experience to pit against an immortal. In any case: What do you know of the man? Additionally, I would like for the information we find relevant to be passed on to our true selves in some manner. They are the ones who will need it. I can offer you nearly everything we know in exchange, as well as... an alliance of convenience, I suppose. I am capable of that much.[/color]
"It sounds like it’s earned me some enemies, though, and it sounds like you think you’re one of them. Which is a pity, because you seem like a decent enough guy when you’re not acting like some kind of robot, and I’d thought we were friends."
"I... do not consider you an enemy, Miss Teresa." Slate could only offer a simple shrug. Her words left him feeling unsettled, on a level he could not identify. "Additionally, I will offer no excuse for... for the times I act 'like some kind of robot'." Frustration, perhaps? Or bitterness? He did not know what emotion it was that he was experiencing. Nor did he know where his next words came from: "I wish I could be judged without Calley. I... believe you and I are friends, or as close as I am capable of. I stopped him from killing you, did I not? I convinced him that he was wrong to even think of the matter. I try not to become annoyed when you cook things imperfectly or leave the shower curtain five-eighths of the way open. I do not know what more is expected of me." He shrugged again, realizing as he did that he was blushing. That emotion, at least, he could place. It was because he had spoken. He should not have. He did not even know what those words were meant to accomplish. Such pointless things should not be found coming from his own mouth; that was one of the things which separated him from Calley.
Neither of them, actually. But the meat-Slate is the easiest to respond to, and the one who knows the least about what’s going on. Or, well… of the Slates, anyway. (Actually, Sonya is undoubtedly the one who knows least about what’s going on in general, but that’s beside the point.)
"Well, I’m glad you don’t consider me an enemy, at least. And… I’m sorry about the ‘robot’ crack. I mean, you’re definitely… odd, you must know that, and I don’t know what your story is, exactly, but... you deserve better than cheap insults." She smiles a little, the first show of emotion in some time, as she adds "Honestly, I don’t know if we can be friends. But I think you make an effort." She shrugs apologetically and takes a sip of her tea. "How about this: you don’t judge me by my boss, and I don’t judge you by your, um, headmate. Does that work for you?"
In the relative privacy of her own mind, she adds Same deal, if you want it. before taking some time to digest what Slate told her about Hunter. As for Hunter… well, you probably know all this already, but… she runs quickly through what she knows about Hunter and the Kabal from Abyss’s summary and her own experiences with Kaz.
As for your true selves... well, that’s trickier. Do you have any suggestions for how I convey that information without tipping my hand to Hunter?
"I mean, you’re definitely… odd, you must know that, and I don’t know what your story is, exactly, but... you deserve better than cheap insults. ...How about this: you don’t judge me by my boss, and I don’t judge you by your, um, headmate. Does that work for you?"
Slate found that he was still blushing. On an interesting but confusing note, thinking about the state of one's own blushing actually made matters much worse. "That sounds fair," he replied, attempting to sound as level-headed as he felt, even as his face seemed bent upon rebelling against him.
Same deal, if you want it, the woman offered. Slate was taken aback, but had to be realistic about his situation:
Thank you. However, I do not believe it is relevant to my situation. Particularly seeing as you seem unable to hear my Calley, and, frankly, because I am some sort of figment of your own mind, now.
...Unfortunately, it would seem that there is no need to convey any information to our other selves: we already know the larger part of what you know. It was disappointing, but not unexpected. Really, he did not know what he had been expecting. The woman was no deus ex machina from on high, sent to magically make their path clear: she was simply a woman. A woman who occasionally got wasted and tried to seduce them. All in all that made her an acceptable roommate, but hardly a source of salvation. In addition to that, you may add his immortality. Is there anything else you would like to know? It is quite possible that we are simply forgetting to tell you something. We do not often list our employers' abilities, after all.[/color]
Slate's eggrolls had arrived. He was using them as an excuse not to speak: the moment he realized that, he spoke. "Umm..." It was not a well-thought-out speech. "Is there anything you would like to know? About the situation between our two teams, or..." He did not know how to finish that sentence, but he had observed that a shrug could be used to indicate a trialing off of thoughts. He did so.
Sonya is aware she ought to be most interested in the intelligence she’s gathering about Hunter… but really, she’s most fascinated by the fact that Slate is blushing.
She hadn’t actually thought that was possible, and is trying not to stare, with a reasonable degree of success… but it’s a nice feeling, for reasons she doesn’t entirely understand. Nor is she too inclined to question it, since it’s the first time she’s felt anything genuinely pleasant in… well, in longer than she can remember right at the moment.
Meanwhile, she busies herself with her noodle soup as she communes with Slate, a little startled by the sourness of it but rather enjoying it after the first few surprising spoonfuls.
> we already know the larger part of what you know. Not too surprising. Well, I did warn you that was likely. I’ve only been on this case for a little while, and Hunter seems like someone worth approaching carefully. Or better yet, not actually approaching at all.
> Is there anything else you would like to know? It is quite possible that we are simply forgetting to tell you something. We do not often list our employers' abilities, after all.
Yeah, I’ve sorta got the same problem in reverse… it’s hard to know what to ask. After all, I never asked you whether you could shift to any form other than tiger, right? I mean, who thinks to ask that sort of thing? But, OK… let’s see what happens if we tackle this methodically.
I know he’s strong, though not as strong as Abyss, and fast, but not as fast as Kaz. He’s lived for two centuries and looks like a relatively young man, which also suggests he can heal injuries pretty quickly. Seems safe to say that hand-to-hand combat is not a weak area. Any idea what his toxin resistance is like? Does he get drunk or high? Has he ever gotten sick or taken medication or anything like that?
What about his mind… any evidence of mental powers? Abyss said something about his being influential and I don’t think he just meant money, but that might be a side-effect of two centuries of experience. Then again, maybe not.
What about his agents… is there anyone I didn’t already list?
Thinking about it some more, she adds a potentially far more relevant question: Who does he trust? Or, well, probably nobody, but I mean who can get close to him without raising suspicions?
> "Umm...is there anything you would like to know? About the situation between our two teams, or..."
Sonya smiles. "Honestly, I’d like to know anything you feel like telling me, as long as it’s true. I’d offer to trade questions and answers, but I get the impression you know pretty much everything I do and a lot more besides. But OK, if you don’t mind talking about it… how did you get to be, you know, the way you are? You and Calley sharing one brain, I mean? Or, if that’s too personal… tell me about your classmates? What are they like, what can they do? I’ve gotten the impression they’re all in the Camps now, right? I do get some intelligence reports about what’s going on in there, but I don’t really know who is who, maybe I can find out more about their status if you’re interested."
((ooc: I think I'm henceforth adopting your ">" to mark other-player-speech. *notational swipe!*))
> "...how did you get to be, you know, the way you are? You and Calley sharing one brain, I mean? Or, if that’s too personal… tell me about your classmates? What are they like, what can they do? I’ve gotten the impression they’re all in the Camps now, right? I do get some intelligence reports about what’s going on in there, but I don’t really know who is who, maybe I can find out more about their status if you’re interested."
Slate sat quietly for a moment, pondering a very simple fact: in a conversation with Miss Teresa, he felt consistently... outgunned. Somehow between here and the apartment, she had discovered and acted in accordance with her precarious situation. He did not know how she had gained that information, even though he had been in her company the entire time. She had also just casually revealed that she was receiving reports from the Camps: something they themselves were not.
We could get Camp intel; we just don't care. It wouldn't be hard to get in there.
Hmm. Perhaps we should see it for ourselves.
...I'd really rather not.
In addition to her knowledge base, the young woman also possessed a talent: saying things which Slate did not anticipate. She had asked for his story. No one had ever asked for his story; Katrina accepted him, Abyss' clones seemed to share an odd form of kinship with him, and Hunter had promptly sought a way to exploit his existence. No one had inquired about his origins. Slate found himself wishing it was a more interesting story.
"I am seven months old," Slate began, because he was not entirely sure how a mental disorder traditionally introduced its own history. "Calley... was experiencing an unfortunate series of incidents during which healing would have been supremely useful; he lacked the focus to utilize our healing abilities for himself, however. I... was a member of the clutter back then; one of the trains of thought that are always in our mind. Simply put, I am both Calley's focus and his healing embodied." He gave a shrug. Perhaps he was more than that, as well. How had he so effectively sealed Calley away this morning? Why did he enjoy Mathematics and meditation? Strange. It was not something to think about now, however: one matter at a time. Miss Teresa had raised another interesting topic.
He tilted his head the slightest bit to the side, and appraised the young woman before him with curious puzzlement. "You have had access to reports from the Camps, and you have known that we believe Isabel--Calley's girlfriend--to be there. Why have you never mentioned this matter to us before?" He did not press the point; he simply left it in the air.
"If you could, there are several from the Mansion who we would like to know the status of. The first is Gen--is Michael Shield. He is our age." General Shield had preformed admirably well during the X-Men tryouts by seeking order where others basked in brutal chaos. Slate had enjoyed fighting under the teenager's command. "If you have any word on Ted--he is a form of werewolf, we believe--that would also be appreciated." Also a pleasure to fight alongside of. "Additionally, there is a cat-girl named Nika." That was Calley's request: despite the obvious differences in their powers, he saw himself as resembling Nika because of his affinity for cats. It was foolish of him, but sincere. "Also, a teacher... I believe her name was Neena." Also known as the invisible woman during the tryouts who had petted them, and who liked tarantulas. Those were two very good reasons for Calley to like the woman. "Any information you can find on them would be appreciated."
>Any idea what his toxin resistance is like? Does he get drunk or high? Has he ever gotten sick or taken medication or anything like that?
...I am afraid we have never been in a position to gain that information.
>What about his mind… any evidence of mental powers? Abyss said something about his being influential and I don’t think he just meant money, but that might be a side-effect of two centuries of experience. Then again, maybe not.
So, seems like we can actually tell her stuff. Whatever Hunter did to our real mind didn't seem to transfer. And she asks good questions. Are you seeing anything in it for us if we tell her, though?
Hmm.
Me neither. Let's hold some cards in reserve, I'm thinking. Information's the only commodity we have in here.
...I am afraid this is the first we have heard question of Antonescu possessing mental powers. As a minor note, however, I believe he possesses more than two centuries to his credit; again, I cannot be sure.
>What about his agents… is there anyone I didn’t already list?
...Heehee. You know you want to, Slate. Please, please, pretty please, with a cherry on top.
[/i]Slate found no inherent appeal in the idea, but was not against it, either. Therefore, he bowed to Calley's wishes, and gave a mental nod; There was one you did not list; a manipulator of sound by the codename of Vibe. She has a twin sister; we are uncertain of her allegiance, or of whether she knows of her sister's ties to Antonescu.[/color]
Calley gave a Cheshire grin in Teresa's mind, quite pleased by the opportunity to cause trouble for the twin he called Grumpy. That's what she got for being a cat hater.
> Who does he trust? Or, well, probably nobody, but I mean who can get close to him without raising suspicions?
Anyone within the Kabal, most likely, though it seems a rare occurrence for people to simply go to him; in most cases, he summons people to himself. He is... controlling like that.[/color]
Following two conversations at once is actually a lot simpler than Sonya would have expected, though she suspects that’s primarily a side-effect of the unusual mode of communication she has going with Slate-in-her-head. It’s less like actually attending to a conversation, and more like remembering a conversation she’s had before… like whole blocks of pre-digested thought are being dropped into her mind at once. It’s a little disturbing, really, but also kinda neat.
Following Slate-at-the-table’s story of his origins is a little more difficult, but she can’t tell whether that’s because of the awkwardness of knowing they are being eavesdropped on, or because of the oddness of the story he’s telling.
> “…incidents during which healing would have been supremely useful…”
The reference is almost amusingly oblique, until she remembers head!Slate’s earlier oblique comment about their “employer” being partial to torture. Somehow, it hadn’t quite occurred to her at the time that he might be speaking from experience; now, the connection is impossible to miss. She puts down a half-eaten vegetable roll, suddenly nauseous.
> “…he lacked the focus to utilize our healing abilities…”
Learning that Calley/Slate can heal shouldn’t surprise her, given what she already knows about their shapeshifting talent and the connection between that and self-healing, but it does. She doesn’t have a lot of time to think about it, though, as he goes on with his story.
> “I... was a member of the clutter back then; one of the trains of thought that are always in our mind. Simply put, I am both Calley's focus and his healing embodied.”
She’s fairly sure that this was meant as an explanation, and on some thought she concludes that it’s probably as much of an explanation as she has any right to expect. The remaining gaps aren’t because of things Slate isn’t saying, but because the experience he’s describing is just too alien for her to really understand.
(Not as alien as all that, she thinks to herself quietly, forgetting the thought as soon as it passes.)
(( OOC note: That was Teresa. Sonya herself has a hard time distinguishing whose thoughts she’s thinking, especially when it comes to Teresa, but if you want to further complicate this thread feel free to have head!slate and/or head!calley notice the difference. Or, not.))
The whole idea of describing a personality as nothing but a set of attributes seems wrong, though she has a hard time saying exactly why. It sounds a lot like MPD to her, not that she’s any kind of expert… really, all she knows about it comes from television and the movies, and it’s probably all wrong. Still, a fragment of Calley’s psyche emerging into a separate personality to protect him from the stress of torture seems pretty classic. Suggesting that they see a psychologist seems like a bad idea at this point, but she makes a mental note to read up on MPD.
> "You have had access to reports from the Camps, and you have known that we believe Isabel--Calley's girlfriend--to be there. Why have you never mentioned this matter to us before?"
Sonya responds without thinking: "You never seemed to care. About her, I mean. Or anyone else in the Camps." She’s surprised by the bitterness in her own voice, by the sense of betrayal. It’s ridiculous, really… what had she expected, and what business is it of hers anyway? Nevertheless, there it is.
On further thought, she realizes she’s also being unfair to Slate, and adds: "Actually, I’m sorry. I promised I wouldn’t judge you on account of Calley. I never mentioned it to him, because he never seemed to care. And I guess… well, I guess I haven’t really been thinking that much about you as a separate person, until this morning. On the other hand, it’s not like you’ve ever even mentioned her, or them, either." She shrugs, unsure why she feels the need to defend herself.
She recognizes some of the names he lists, either from her own experiences as Doug or from the MRA database she’d been perusing in her off hours, and takes a moment to organize her thoughts. She has to be careful what she reveals out loud, to avoid appearing to know too much… but she doesn’t have to worry about that with the other Slate, and she suspects that he’ll appreciate hearing what she actually knows, even if she can’t get the information out on the table.
"There’s a Michael Chase, about your age, from the Mansion… is that who you mean? Physically invulnerable, kinda cute? I think he’s doing all right… no medical emergencies, or anything like that. As for Neena…" She tries to suppress a fond smile when he mentions her, but fails, so she continues. "She’s… well, let’s just say she’s suspected for a number of remarkably… unpleasant… acts of vandalism against Camp employees." The smile is replaced by a frown as she continues "She’s been subject to a lot of… well, they call it “disciplinary action”, but I suppose you can imagine as well as I can what that means." After a moment’s thought, she adds: "Or better, I guess.
Mentally, she inserts: Physically, Michael’s in OK shape. The cuffs still hurt him just like anybody else, though. Seems like a good guy… suspicious and controlling as all hell, but I can’t really blame him under the circumstances. Neena’s hurting more… she gets a lot of abuse, though she’s got a talent for payback… I do not want that woman mad at me. They’ve both still got spirit, though… they’re collecting resources, organizing and watching out for other inmates, that sort of thing. I can get a message to either of them, if you want… though they probably won’t believe it’s legit. By the way, what’s the “Gen -- ” thing about?
"And, you didn’t ask, but Isabel... ” another name that had caught her attention, both because of Calley’s connection with her and because of her violent display during processing, "..well, she hospitalized some police officers while being processed, and there’s been a lot of payback for that. She’s alive, and I think she’s not too injured, but… well, I don’t think she’s doing too well.
((OOC: I haven’t been reading her threads, so I don’t really know what records there would be of her. I’m guessing.))
"As for Ted and Nika… hrm." She vaguely remembers viewing an entry about a male wolf shifter, but no details… there were a lot of entries, and the only reason she remembers this one at all is because she’d paid particular attention to shifters. She shrugs. "Sorry, I don't know. The only “cat-girl” that rings a bell is Sara, from Sanctuary. I’ll see what I can find out for you, though. They’re not dead, at least… I can tell you that much." She’d ended up paying far more attention to the lists of terminated mutants than seemed at all useful, and has no doubt she’d recognize a name from them.
> Hmm. Perhaps we should see it for ourselves.
Sonya is beginning to get a feel for the difference between thoughts Slate is directing at her and those he’s directing at, she assumes, Calley. It’s hard to describe – no, actually, it’s impossible to describe – but it’s a little bit like knowing when someone is actually looking you in the eye.
And there seems little point to poking her nose into their conversations, and she supposes it’s annoying in the way people asking questions about your phone conversations are annoying, so she lets it go by.
> I am afraid we have never been in a position to gain that information. > Hmm...I am afraid this is the first we have heard question of Antonescu possessing mental powers. As a minor note, however, I believe he possesses more than two centuries to his credit; again, I cannot be sure.
OK… that’s a possibility, then. If he’s a physical powerhouse, maybe what we need is the right kind of mentalist to take him down. I know of one, at least… an Inuit mind-controller name of Naveed… but for all I know he’d be more inclined to work for Hunter than against him. She gives the mental equivalent of a shrug and reminds herself, for the thousandth time, that a lack of evidence is not evidence of a lack. The truth is she simply doesn’t know what Hunter is capable of.
> There was one you did not list; a manipulator of sound by the codename of Vibe. She has a twin sister; we are uncertain of her allegiance, or of whether she knows of her sister's ties to Antonescu.
That catches her attention. Oh, crap. That’s… that’s very bad, Slate. Vibe is one of Syn’s agents, and Syn is not great about keeping secrets. Which means anything I report to her, Hunter might find out about. Which… is bad. After a beat, she continues Well, OK. At least now I know. Which means I have to assume he knows about my real abilities and that I’m looking into his weaknesses.
It also raises a question: should she let Syn know? Without proof, Sonya doubts Syn would believe her… and certainly wouldn’t believe Calley. Granted, Sonya wouldn’t believe Calley, either, but she’s inclined to trust Slate. That wouldn’t convince Syn… but it might be enough to keep Syn from sharing sensitive information with Vibe while they investigate.
Ultimately, she decides the thing to do is discuss the situation with Abyss, and set it aside for now. The truth is, she’d already known she had to keep a low profile during her investigation of Hunter; this new information just gives her more reason to do so.
(( OOC note: Just confirming: Calley just made that up, right?))
> it seems a rare occurrence for people to simply go to him; in most cases, he summons people to himself. He is... controlling like that
Yeah, that’s about what I figured. OK, well… I’m a long way from wanting to face him, anyway.
> "You never seemed to care. ...And I guess… well, I guess I haven’t really been thinking that much about you as a separate person, until this morning. On the other hand, it’s not like you’ve ever even mentioned her, or them, either."
Slate returns her shrug with one of his own. "Until this morning, Miss Teresa, I was unaware that mentioning any of them to you would serve a purpose."
> "There’s a Michael Chase, about your age, from the Mansion… is that who you mean? Physically invulnerable, kinda cute? I think he’s doing all right… no medical emergencies, or anything like that. As for Neena…"
Interesting little smile she's got, there, don't you think? I'd say she knows Neena.
Hmm.
> "She’s… well, let’s just say she’s suspected for a number of remarkably… unpleasant… acts of vandalism against Camp employees. She’s been subject to a lot of… well, they call it “disciplinary action”, but I suppose you can imagine as well as I can what that means. ...Or better, I guess."
[/color]...Now what do you suppose that last bit was aimed at?
...That would certainly depend upon what other information she has gathered upon us in recent moments.
...She might be psychic,[/i] Calley ventured, even as about half a dozen clutter-bound opinions were scoffing at the idea, and several more were panicking.
...Her timing seems off. Additionally, she seemed honestly unaware that you had designs to kill her this morning. Slate left one of his points uneasily unspoken: he had been in charge of their mind while Teresa had gained her information. They had hoped that the focus his part of their mind was capable of, combined with the startling chaos of the clutter's information storage, would protect them in large part from physics who were doing less than a thorough job of things. If that hope was false... They would have to reconsider their plans quite completely. They had been assuming that surprise would be on their side: considering Antonescu had at least one psychic in his employ (and was very likely a psychic himself), that would quickly fall apart if they had no defense against telepathic entries.
Slate simply nodded during Teresa's run down of her other information, or lack thereof. He had distinctly more pressing matters on his mind. It was not that he did not care about the people in the Camps, particularly those he knew. He simply was inclined to agree with Calley: if they themselves were dead, the troubles of others would not be of much concern.
"May I inquire who your source is?" Slate asked off-handedly, simply to have something to say. If they had no defense against psychics, there were quite a few things that they must modify in their plans. The most important being their goal in the upcoming encounter. They had hoped to survive it, somehow. That hope might have to go.
Are you prepared for that, Calley?
...Just as long as we take him down with us.[/i]
That, at least, they were reasonably confident of. The man himself had provided them with the only tool necessary.
"Miss Teresa," he asked in just as off-handed of a tone, "are you psychic?"[/color]
> Physically, Michael’s in OK shape. ...Neena’s hurting more… she gets a lot of abuse, though she’s got a talent for payback… I can get a message to either of them, if you want… though they probably won’t believe it’s legit. By the way, what’s the “Gen -- ” thing about?
...Heh. We tried out for the X-Men together, some time back. Some of us, namely, Slate himself, call him "General Shield".
Hey, Slate. Why do you suppose other-you just asked if Teresa here's a psychic? Think they're trying to figure things out?
Most likely. Perhaps that could be expedited.
Nice. I'm on it.
> Oh, crap. That’s… that’s very bad, Slate. Vibe is one of Syn’s agents, and Syn is not great about keeping secrets. Which means anything I report to her, Hunter might find out about. Which… is bad. ...Well, OK. At least now I know. Which means I have to assume he knows about my real abilities and that I’m looking into his weaknesses. [/i][/color]
Pausing for a snerk, Calley went back to Miss Teresa's control board for a little but of fun. He attempted to have her reach for a napkin. As she picked it up, he was going to have her middle finger touch down last: a semi-covert flick-off directed towards his other self. He assumed his other self was paying supreme attention by this point. That sort of attention-grabber, then, shouldn't be missed.
Meanwhile, Slate was feeling uneasy for voicing Calley's deception in face of the obvious unease it had created in Miss Teresa. Given that Antonescu has been out of contact with the Kabal for several weeks and Vibe has been honestly focused upon getting back her sister, I doubt that the two have had opportunity to exchange much information.
((ooc: head!Calley is going to try to use your hand to covertly mime the following to real-Calley during upcoming posts: "two words", "human", "shifter". Hunter shouldn't be able to piece it together, since it will be miming of the sort Calley will understand. The attempt to flick himself off being an example of Calley's idea of a Calley attention-getter. Naturally, Calley's not too inclined to share that info with Hunter, either. Any protests to the message succeeding?))
> "Until this morning, Miss Teresa, I was unaware that > mentioning any of them to you would serve a purpose."
Sonya nods. "Sure, that makes sense." She wants to add some comment about talking about things you care about, but it all seems rather pointlessly hypocritical, and she'd already opened herself up far enough with her comment about wanting friends. Too much, really. So she leaves it alone.
> "May I inquire who your source is?"
"Hm." Sonya thinks for a few moments about how much information she wants to give away here, both to Slate and his boss, then shakes her head. "No, not really. Not that I think you'd do anything to harm an informer, but, well... if I tell you, then I can't be sure who else will find out, and it's not something you have any real need or right to know. It's someone in the Camps, I can tell you that much, but you presumably already guessed that."
> "Miss Teresa, are you psychic?"
That question she'd been prepared for from the moment she revealed she knew they were being eavesdropped on, and she smiles. "If I were, I'd be pretty stupid to admit it at this point, wouldn't I? I mean, after doing such a great job of acting like an ignorant fool last night." She shrugs. "Honestly, I'm surprised you even asked."
> Given that Antonescu has been out of contact with the Kabal for several weeks and Vibe has been honestly focused upon getting back her sister, I doubt that the two have had opportunity to exchange much information.
Sure, but that's just a matter of time, she thinks back anxiously.
(( ooc: Not quite sure what kinds of "miming" you have in mind. Playing Charades, she would notice, but I gather you have something more subtle in mind.
I've established at this point that Sonya can't easily tell where her impulses come from. She'll be getting better at that, but as things stand Calley ought to be able to do pretty much anything that Sonya would plausibly do, and Sonya will most likely only notice if it interferes with something else she was planning to do, or if it's something really overt (she would experience it as something like Tourette's, much like she did the tripping, but eventually she'd make the connection).
If you can make it work within those constraints, I'm willing to go along. ))
Posted by Cheshire on Mar 10, 2008 18:54:32 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
To each their own.
To the true Slate, a puzzle, and a continuing conversation: "Perhaps you have spent too much time in the company of my other half, Miss Teresa. That answer... did not actually answer anything." His cup of green tea had come; he took a meditative sip of it, and asked simply, "Is this contact someone that only the Order is aware of, or are the rest of us benefiting from this information, as well?"
To the pale copy of Slate, disembodied in Teresa's mind, there was the realization that if Calley succeeded in communicating with their other selves, it could not in any way benefit the young woman. In fact, if might very well hurt her. He did not know why that unsettled him. It would benefit themselves, after all. Miss Teresa, he asked simply, what are morals?
To the true Calley and the multitude of the clutter went the task of observing the young woman's every word, every move; every element in their environment. Red, gold, and white paper placemats with the Chinese zodiac printed on them. Large white bowls, and black plates with dips in their centers. Mid-morning sunlight streaming through an open line of blinds. Evasive--she was always evasive. Evasive in a way that made it hard to read into what she was evading. Of one thing they were increasingly suspicious: she wasn't a mere healer. Too much was not making sense just now. Was she wearing a transmitter in her ear, or something? That would escalate things to uncomfortable levels--not just making Teresa someone they had no clue she was, but also meaning that someone had their own number pegged and catalogued. Recently, though. Whatever had happened, it had happened recently. Had she remembered what happened last night? They certainly didn't--maybe they'd lost their own game, then. No, not an option: they'd be dead right now, if they'd given too much away. And besides, they weren't capable of giving too much away: Hunter had seen to that.
A nod, a shake of her head, a smile, a shrug. Normal movements. A reach for her napkin, a--
She flicked us off.
...She what?
Look! Look at the memory!
...She did not flick us off. She moved her finger, at best. Amazingly, people do that on occasion while moving their hand. She is not you, Calley: a movement of her middle finger does not mean she was attempting to subtly tell us where to shove it. I dare say that would be highly out of character.
...Hrrrrrmurrr... You may have a point there. Maybe. Probably.
To the unheard copy of Calley and the fragmented whispers of the clutter went the fun: communicating across the gap. Napkin retrieval: success! And a little flicker of their baby blue eyes towards that movement. That's right, self. Watch the pretty movements. Phase two, start. They attempted to wipe Miss Teresa's lovely little mouth. 'Cause that's what people usually do after going for napkins. With her other hand, they tried to tap the table. Napkin-hand had served its purpose. Table-hand's orders: tap your first two fingers against the wood. Tap them both twice, then tap the middle finger once. That'd bee more than enough, if he knew himselves.