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.
For curiosity's sake, Linc's finger scrolled through a list of black gemstones he pulled up on his phone. Black Cairngorm, Cassiterite, Garnet, Spinel... all the way down to Moissanite. A rare, man-made gemstone that is known to be nigh-indistinguishable from Diamond. A seemingly popular choice for engagement rings.
The amulet flashed in the fluorescent light of the restroom, as if to say "Yes, that's the one."
Linc reattached his gaze to the deep abyss that stretched into the gem's obsidian facade. If it weren't for the skittering of legs against his neck and the sound of a sudden, intense surge of buzzing appendages, he might have gotten himself stuck inside the amulet's gravitational pull, a handheld black-hole attached to a golden chain.
Insects of the household variety, squirmed their way onto the few tiles in front of Lincoln's Black Converse. Some sluggishly meandering, others skitter-like and jittery, as if impatient little hounds tied down by an invisible leash. Of course, a single glance was enough for Linc's adrenaline to rocket upwards like a firecracker on the front porch of a hick's lawn on the Fourth of July.
"Holy Sh*t!" He clutched the amulet to his chest and dropped his phone onto the mass of insects, sadly crushing a few. Though, it did not seem to hinder the rest from reforming over his phone, absorbing the handheld device into its neatly worded message.
"Not... Now." Lincoln closed his eyes shut, but it felt almost too late for him. The sudden surge of Surprise exacerbated a chemical response akin to Fear in his body, triggering the onset of his mutation. His body underwent a trembling, an imperceptible vibration to anyone observing from afar, but almost akin to the contractions of child-birth, had Lincoln the emotional vocabulary to impress this connection.
He stood up from the toilet as his body zippered into two, his left and right halves undoing from each other in a mitotic formation. Just like that, there were two of him, one still clutching the amulet and the other initiating a deep inhale that would eventually form into a scream.
Lincoln had the wherewithal, with his now phone-less hand, to reach forward and clasp his Surprised Motus on the mouth, and with his amulet-garbed arm, pulled his clone tightly to his chest in a Jiu-jutsu esque grab. The clone's own reflexes initiated, and pressed his knees against the wall of the stall, pressing the original Lincoln against the other side of the stall's wall. They were now both pinned against each other.
The two of them paused when the crack of their phone against the linoleum floor sounded, as one of them had stepped on it in their scuffle.
"Stand down, now." Linc removed his hand from the clone's mouth. The one benefit of his mutation, was that he often, as the original, remained the clear headed one.
"B-bugs! You've got to be kidding right now." The Suprised Motus, shivered with alarm.
"Stop. Breathe. Don't trigger anything else, Surprise." Lincoln released his grip on his clone and sighed in relief as they both slowly released the tension in their system. They took a sage-stance and coordinated their breathing until the two of them both relaxed and merged back into each other.
With a more-level head, Lincoln sat back on the toilet with his eyes closed. Then opened an eye-lid to see just how much bug splatter existed on the floor.
"Return Me" etched in living and non-living insect guts was sprawled out on the tiles with his phone screen cracked like a frozen-lake.
"Oh, you mean this?" Lincoln held the amulet in his hand and stared deep into it. The amulet refused to glimmer for Lincoln this time. He took this as a sign that the insects were not connected at all to his precious new artifact.
"Show yourself, bug whisperer. Why do you seek to threaten me and this object?" He tucked the amulet in the pocket of his hoodie and reached down through the bugs to pick up his shattered phone. As much as he wanted to give into Disgust, Linc's little meditation session with Surprise left him enough will-power to stand up, ignore the splatter on the floor, and make his way to the bathroom sink to clean the carcasses off his device.
He remembered his girlfriend's nickname for him and repeated it to himself in front of the mirror.
Lincoln straddled the side of the small spa bed with his eyes, holding onto the image of him soon lying naked and bare on a table fit for an operating-room and labeled as a spa bed. The sterile, white ceiling held spiral patterns offsetting a subtle beige-brick background that laid against the walls of the establishment. Everywhere he looked a candle would sprout its incandescent flame or a mirror would peer back at him, subtly inclining him to take another glance at the spa room's artificial take on luxury and relaxation.
His feet itched to slide out of the fuzzy-white slippers they had him change into as he walked in, so that he could quicken his pace towards the exit and out of this rehabilitative establishment. He cursed his absent girlfriend, who always seemed to have an excuse to not accompany him to the tantalizing and pseudo-traumatic therapeutic activities she signed him up for in advance against his will.
On the surface, a day trip to one of New York's semi-luxurious, at least above average, spas ought to make anyone salivate at the thought of a first-world self-care privilege being made available to a Mr. Nothing Special like Lincoln. Yet Lincoln was no longer at the surface portion of this experience. He was about to be asked to disrobe and to display his hidden flesh to strangers. All due to the one he trusts' recommendation.
"Sir, if you could step into the comfort room. Once you are done changing into a bathrobe that fits you, please make your way back out to one of the many stations we have available. Should you require a reminder of the many treatment options open to you, any of our wonderful staff can provide what you need." The female worker who sported a sterile, yet fluffy outfit herself gestured toward the chamber of porcelain appliances which would seem to be yet another dead-end.
"Ok. Sure. Why not?" Linc drooped his head and shuffled his white slippers into a wall of warm air. There must have been a hot tub somewhere in the vicinity, for sweat droplets began isolating themselves on his forehead, eager to then drip down his already nerve-wracked face.
The thought of strangers smiling at him through spurts of steam rising from beneath them, mirrored that of a horrific notion that if he somehow died in any of their hot tubs, his body would begin the slow process of being boiled like a potato. The white fluffy bathrobes loomed at the other edge of the room, as if perfectly poised artifacts awaiting to be worn by an emperor seeking to make love to another one of his concubines at a hidden chamber beneath his castle.
"That's it. I'm out." Linc spun himself back out and clutched tightly to his black-skinny jeans and Adidas sweatshirt.
"Sir. You seem troubled. Let us take care of that for you." An employee stopped him, and body blocked his advance toward the exit. A couple other employees seemed to be alerted almost telepathically to Lincoln's plight.
"That would be because I want my-my-my money back. Yes! Correct. My money back." Lincoln stuck out a slippered foot against an employee, almost threateningly.
Unfazed, the lady and her compatriots began a penguin like huddle and ushered Linc to a room further back.
"Why don't you sit down here for a moment while we inquire about your monetary deposit."
"That's ok. I forgive you. Keep the money, I can just go--"
"Sir, please." This time the woman's tense tone caused a shiver of obedience to ripple down Lincoln's spine.
"Yes. Ok. Ok. Fine. You can give me my money back." Linc allowed himself to be ushered one more time to a room with a singular TV, a futon and no other furniture.
"Odd." Was the last word he spoke before the lights turned off and a single hypnotic image manifested on the television screen.
Lincoln's eyes dilated and his consciousness dissipated.
Lincoln held his breath standing amidst tourists breathing heavy in the mineral exhibit of NYC’s American Museum of Natural History. The combination of free and readily accessible drew the swarms into the wide halls filled with items one wouldn’t normally bump into during their stroll through New York’s metropolitan scene.
The glass displays stood erect, illusory in their durability. Any well timed strike could have procured a crack onto their foggy facades. The fog came from the breaths of the little-sized tourists with grubby hands and lack of self-restraint. Their adult counterparts saw very little wrong with allowing their little ones to interact with the displays despite the “do not touch” signs splattered professionally throughout the museum. They too were part of the problem which could not be eradicated at the moment.
All of this to say, Lincoln placed as wide a distance he could from anyone and anything, a foot length, a leg length, even a whole comatose corpse-length away from the warm bodies that swarmed around with the mind of a schizophrenic beehive.
Shiny rocks hid behind the transparent barriers, unearthed ages ago and incorrupt in their illustrious adornment. Topaz, aquamarines, diamonds of various cut and cut varieties, schist, heavy metals, soft surfaces, rough edges, all now above the ground they had been incubating in for centuries if not millennia.
Lincoln held his Canon EOS E3 camera with trepidation. Unlike the valuable minerals behind display cases, he had only his elbows and tepid, polite speech to protect his own treasured object. The shifting shadows of the individuals around him distracted his ability to take the perfect shot without interference. So much so that after multiple takes in multiple locations, he was ready to send his grief to the the assorted gods and goddesses of the Universe and conjure up a formal complaint for their permissive benevolence towards the chaos of tourism.
In his disorientation, his eye caught the glimmer of a gemmed treasure not stolen and confined behind crude glass. A multifaceted amulet of pearl-like obsidian lay deserted between the busy Nike’s and New Balance sneakers zooming about, smack dab in the center of the exhibit’s space. Not one to normally perform an act of charity, it was as if the amulet beckoned him to reach for it. So, as one who obliges to royalty should they present themselves, Lincoln bent down to reverence the object.
Its golden chain slinked around his fingers as his face displayed in a miniature reflection looked back at him from the amulet’s core. He swiveled his head for a moment with hope that no one noticed him pick it up. Seemingly, no one paid any mind to the photographer standing idly with an expensive piece of jewelry in one hand and an expensive camera in another.
Lincoln did what one would likely do in this situation— he rushed to the nearest restroom to stare at the amulet in the privacy of a public stall. Seat down, pants on, of course. And with his phone in hand to take pictures that he then sent to his girlfriend, who was on a trip in Cali, too busy at the moment to respond right away.
“I wonder who you belong to.” Lincoln asked the amulet, and it was almost as if he heard the gem respond back to him with the whisper of his own reflection.
Linc and his Motus slumped to the ground. They bear had gratefully turned a way, but for some reason his Fear Motus' dead body disappeared at one moment, then ended up flying through the sky at another moment. Way way up over the head of the running Polar Bear.
"Take me back, Linc. I can't do this anymore." His Shock Motus pleaded, as he rolled on his side on the sticky carnival floor and grasped his chest. Almost as if he were having a heart attack.
Linc hesitated, hovering over his Shock Motus, realizing that all the trauma that he just witnessed but hadn't felt would all jump back to him the moment he reabsorbed his Motus.
"Don't you dare. Take me back now!" His Shock Motus reached forward and clung onto Linc's leg.
Linc was so tempted to let the Motus die, just so he wouldn't absorb all that gunk. He kicked his Motus' hands away from his feet. "Let me go."
"I'm so... shocked. I can't believe you would just let me die! Fuck! Do you even know how twisted that is? Let me back! Now!" The Shock Motus stood up and leaped onto Linc, bringing him to the ground. The two of them quarrelled, and even rolled over a stick of unfinished cotton candy.
"You can't make me!" Linc grunted, managing to get free for a moment.
"I saved your life!? I can't even right now." The more surprised his Shock Motus became, the stronger his grip became until it was Motus on Linc, hugging the original to the ground.
The few passersby that had hadn't run away from the bear looked on at the two in confusion.
Linc allowed himself to be carried by his Moti, his feet picking up speed as he walked backwards. The fact that his Fear and Surpise left him allowed him some clarity to survey the scene as the Polar Bear thrashed about, snout sniffing the air and paws flailing as if it had been summoned in a stupor. Whoever was stuck in that booth before must have been crushed at this point, since he didn't see a body. So, he was happy to be carried away by his Moti who both shared the same thought. 'Run!"
But then of course, six feet were not as effective as two, so they tripped. Upon falling to the ground his Fear Motus' instinct was to clamber on top of Linc, the self-preservation side of Fear sacrificing himself for the original. While the other worked to yank him off the ground.
The polar bear's jaw snapped down and connected onto the Fear Moti's head. Linc watched and pure Horror seeped through him, causing the Moti to immediately go unconscious before its head snapped off, and the rest of its body fell limp onto the ground. Lincoln's Fear suddenly subsided as his Motus's death prior to its reabsorption triggered an emotional death in Linc. He fell back to the ground and instead of getting up to run away, he watched paralyzed.
"Ack!!! We gotta go boss. We got. To go!!" His Shock Motus pleaded as it too watched in horror but with the Shock factor renewed in his system, gained a short spurt of adrenaline. At the same time, the trenchcoat wearing dude tossed a ball in their direction, which connected to the now headless body of Linc's Fear Motus, causing it to disappear.
"What was that for?" The Shock Motus shouted then proceeded to struggle to bring Linc to his feet. He wasn't one as quick to throw himself into the Jaws of the Polar Bear as the Fear Motus was, so to run was his only agenda. Slowly, the two turned to limp away in emotional pain, for the sake of their lives.
Sadly the man did very little to help Linc. Furthermore, his Motus didn't help either, probably overcame by the fact that their other them was still running around the carnival, most likely disturbed by everything and anything. His Shame Motus ran away, hiding his head behind his hands, doing his best to hide despite being easily seen.
Now, Linc was starting to get angry. All his emotions were out of whack, but he truly did not want to summon Rage. Rage would have easily helped with lifting the downed john, but he already had two of him missing and a situation on his hands. Everytime he tried to touch the porta potty, his hands began to sweat and he had to pause so as to not feel disgust at the foul stench emanating from the john. Then, Linc shut his eyes and took deeper calming breaths so he would not get mad at himself. All of which to say, Lincoln was stuck in stasis, trying to keep himself together.
With eyes still shut, the low growl of a bear soon woke him up from his self-induced trance. He started to back away from the porta-potty as a giant mass of white fur burst apart the plastic seams of the porta potty, spurting debris everywhere. ROAAAAAR
Linc had no time to keep up with his emotions. Surprise. Terror. At the same time.
"Noooooooo!" Linc screamed as two Moti split from him, this time causing a searing pain down his shoulder blades and to his feet. Shock split to his left and Fear to his right. That was four within the past ten minutes. Linc himself slunk to the ground as the shadow of the polar bear grew closer, and his two Moti grabbed him both each by the arm.
"Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope." They both said to each other as they tripped over the strewn pieces of porta potty, holding exhausted Linc in their grip.
Just then, Shock tripped and the three of them tumbled down as a heap onto the Carnival floor, just as a giant polar bear paw came swinging at them. After a dazed moment, Shock yelled out at the guy who had pulled out a chair to sit on.
Linc leaped off the bench and slid his earmuffs off his head. The portapotty that Bill went in was still upright but no sight of Bill. He did complain of stomach cramps earlier. If it weren't for the foul stench he would have pitied Bill, but the person trapped in the potty seemed like more of a victim. Poor thing, the door part of the potty was the one underneath. Just imagining the person inside covered in blue-stained fecal matter almost made him feel another twinge of disgust, but he remembered.
If I lose it now, shits gonna go down if that Motus goes unconscious. Linc did his best to calm himself. Beach sands. Freshly washed bedspreads. The smell of mom's cinnamon rolls baking in the kitchen. All of these images flashed drowned out the sound of the trapped person banging on their plastic trap and the sound of mischevous laughter coming from some kids in his periphery.
Think, Linc. Calm. Then either wait for Bill or help this guy out yourself. Just. Breathe.
Just then a voice sounded to his right, a question aimed at him.
>“Hey, can you do that again?” A dude slightly older than Linc with cotton candy in his hand and even more cotton candy on his face stood there, calmer than Linc was trying to be.
"Excuse me?" Linc took a moment to recognize what the person was trying to ask. "I didn't topple this guy dow-- oh." Suddenly Linc felt self-concious, almost embarassed.
Perfect. I can summon him! Linc tried channeling the feeling of utter embarrassment-- then coupled the thought with the idea that his Disgust Moti was probably making a fool of himself in public.
This time, a slow zipping noise sounded as hesitantly, another copy of Linc popped off of him, this time hiding behind Linc with cheeks all blushed and pink.
"This is so awkward... Like, can we go home, please?" His Motus of Shame squeezed Linc's hands tightly.
"Here's the burner phone. Go. Find him, please." Linc handed his Shame Motus a flip phone that had only a few numbers in it. The most important one being his.
"Are you just gonna keep standing here? People are starting to look." The Motus grasped the phone, but kept his gaze on the passersby laughing and pointing at the fallen porta potty.
Linc ignored his Shame Motus, knowing eventually he would do what he was told. Thankfully that was one of his more obedient Moti. As for the dude with the cotton candy, Linc turned his attention to him and pointed at the toppled potty, whose bangings turned into screams.
"HELP ME! PLEASE! I CAN'T BREATHE!"
"Uh. We should probably help." Linc steaded himself beside the toppled potty and got ready to push. His Shame Motus was still standing, staring at all the people staring back. Linc almost grew angry, but now was definitely not the time to summon Rage.
The screams of children echoed. Everywhere. The screams travelled through the sidewalk cracks, up the barks of shedding Pin Oaks, and most of all, the screams tore through parent's wallets like an overweight child in a tight pair of pantyhose.
There were cotton candy booths, candy wrappers all over the floor. Stuffed animals with smiles sown shut, dangled on hooks way above the reaches of grubby little hands. Tickets were being tossed about, left, right, above, around. Slobber on t-shirts. Snot dangling from little nostrils. A candy apple, half-eaten sticks on the ground. Flashing lights. Corn on the cob. Extension cords hidden under rubber walkways. Parents being tugged. Kids being scolded. Capitalism soaring.
All the children screams everywhere. Adults past their prime pretended to care while some forgot their age and ran through the fun house anyway. Yes, this was a carnival and carnivals should not ever exist 'just because' but here one was. In the middle of New York streets.
Lincoln sat on a crusty bench beside the porta-potties criss-cross applesauce, head-phone in his ears blasting heavy metal. He couldn't believe he signed up for this, and it took his entire will power to wait in peace. A coworker had invited him, and he felt that saying no would be too lame so he came.
He kept his eyes closed, trying to stay as calm as he possibly could. He was erupting with disgust and he knew that if he stood up before Bill came out of that stall, something in him would burst.
Just as Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" started to play, a loud gust of wind accompanying a dull thud plopped in front of Linc.
He opened his eyes to see a porta-potty toppled over, its insides leaking out onto the floor.
Linc's chest leaped out of his body and a replicate of his jean and sweater wearing self zippered out of him and flipped over the back of the bench.
"THAT IS FUCKING GROSS! UGH" Lincoln's Motus of disgust grabbed the original Linc with both hands and yanked on his sweater. Now that Linc's disgust was personified, he could notice that a person was banging on the Porta-potty's wall from the inside.
"We should probably help that person out." Linc said to his Motus, who kept yanking at his sweater, and then stopped, let go, and ran in the opposite direction to get away from the leaking Porta-potty.
"Hey-wait!" He turned around, but his Motus was gone. And there was still a person trapped inside. Great
I know I didn't spend much time here when I was present last, (s/o to the peeps who threaded with me!) but this time I hope to be more present. I have a better grip on my character Linc now and would love to get into more adventures.
Linc put down the camera then smiled back at her. He closed his eyes again and breathed slowly.
Think neutral thoughts, Linc. Name the emotion and let it go. Let it be. He didn't try to hide his silence now. This happened more often than he wanted it to, lately. The smallest things would catch him off guard and he'd have to self-regulate. Yesterday, he had run out of coffee, and he almost got mad at himself, but he gave himself a chance to breathe and walk out to the nearest cafe. Luckily his job allowed him to leave whenever he wanted, but even then, he couldn't keep walking out whenever he started feeling his cheeks flush or his chest palpitate.
Linc looked at Zoe in his peripheral vision. He remembered why he had decided long ago to keep all his relationships professional and work related, just so he could avoid personal topics, like those surrounding his family. This morning, he had made an exception, which was so unlike him now that he had started to really think about it.
He missed having friends. He couldn't avoid that fact.
He rested his head on the rail in front of him, and tried even harder to cleanse his mind. He counted down from ten. Then he looked up before doing it again, just in time to see one of the zebras topple over in his exhibit.
Linc sat on the asphalt. The warmth in his butt seeped out and cold replaced it, making him want to stand. The cold was uncomfortable.
>>"You can't reel your own clones in?..."
Linc groaned and instead of walking toward his clones, made his way to the woman. He straightened
his clothes and slicked back his hair. Women liked it when he slicked his hair back, right? He tried his best to smile. He slung his camerabag over his shoulder and walked up to the woman, holding a hand out in front of him.
>>"Sorry. I should not have punched you. I... overreacted."
"I'm sorry too, I hope. I'm Lincoln... My gut is telling me that they'll eventually tucker out. You seem smart, if SUPER is after you and all. I don't suppose you know what to do with them?" Linc managed to stifle a yawn. Yawning was rude. Nothing could be worse than him breaking apart at this moment, but he didn't want to be rude. He also hoped that holding out his hand for a handshake was the polite thing to do. He had trouble recalling how important handshakes were supposed to be.
"I don't get why we're still fighting," One of the other Linc's let go of the camera and lowered his head. He looked at his hands, staring long and hard. He then began to hold himself in a tight-hug.
That clone's voice sounded familiar to Linc. While he meditated, he'd try and sort out different voices carrying different emotions. The voice that questioned everything or tried to prevent bad situations from occurring was the voice of anxiety. The voice of fear. Mentally, he could come to that conclusion. As much as he tried to remember feeling afraid during his meditation, however, he couldn't stir up the same thoughts of anxiety or fear in his own chest. Nor could he feel anything else. Yet, that clone was obviously and pitifully afraid. He, Lincoln McKeller, was afraid. To see his fear embodied was intellectually intriguing, yet Linc didn't feel any pleasure for his discovery.
"I don't f***ing understand, either!" The other clone grabbed the camera and in finally holding it in his arms, stared blankly at its glowing screen. "F***! Literal, F***! Why can't I stop swearing my f***ing face off!" He stared back up at the woman, swinging the camera at her face.
"That one's me, but scared. And that one's me but mad." Linc pointed to himself so the woman could see. If he could laugh, he would have laughed. This seemed like a moment where he should be laughing, but none of him were laughing.
The zebras clopped closer and their stripes seemed to leap off of each others' backs, back and forth. Their huge beady eyes looked up at him, eyes of a strange obsidian beauty. As they came closer they nuzzled each other's necks, like two siblings sharing inside jokes about the humans that stared at them from a distance.
"Mala and Jami. I don't know how you can tell the difference. They're practically twins." He brought up the camera to his face and the shutter snapped twice. One shot focused on Mala's gentle face, the other on Jami's.
He then took a glance at the zookeeper. She spoke to the animals the same way he used to speak to his brother. He never raised his voice at him and could always joke with him. It was rare for him to hold conversations like the ones he held with his brother. No one would be able to understand him, anyway. Linc lowered the camera from his face to sift through the pictures he just took, trying to stifle the sudden quivering he felt on his lower lip.
"You're pretty good at that talking thing. I can see why you stick around. If you came over to help out with the animals on my family's farm, we'd probably be making three times as much profit.
"I'm Linc, by the way." He said as he brought the camera back up to his face. He wanted to reach out and shake her hand, but the quiver on his lip stayed as he thought about his family's farm. How long had it been since? He'd lost track of the days.
Their heads both turned at the sound of her voice and they dropped their hands to their sides.
The one holding the camera paused. He ruffled his hair with his hand, scrunched his face and shook his head.
"Sh**. What are we doing? F***. None of this was supposed to happen!" He held up the camera in his hand, looked at the woman, and was ready to slam the camera against the asphalt. The other one saw the glint in his eyes and reached forward to take the camera before he threw his arm down.
"Y-you! Stop! I know that I thought that, if we just busied ourselves with all this photography, then we wouldn't have to blame anyone else but ourselves. But getting mad and breaking things will screw us up even more! The fact that we're even talking right now shouldn't be happening!"
"Shut-up, shut-up, shut-up!" The other one grabbed for the camera again, but the other one squeezed it close to his chest and turned his back to the other-other one. Then he resorted to punching the other one in the back. Muffled screams
"Don't you see what's happening? Stop running for once and face your f***ing problems head on! Give. Me. The. Camera!"
Linc looked up from his cell phone screen, at Sveta, then to his bickering twins. "Oh look. I'm beating myself up. Damn."
"You could say that the wild isn't an ideal place for anyone. Ideal is a pretty tame concept, especially in our use of the word. Plus, if Zebras didn't grow stressed, then they'd grow lazy."
Linc said in response to her spiel. It saddened him to hear about the older Zebra. To him, a struggle in the wild had some greater, inherent value than rotting away in captivity. Maybe it was a result of his conditioning on the farm, being around animals trained specifically to die. Slaughterhouses were a gruesome sight to behold. Animals were treated like gumballs in a vending machine. Living, breathing gumballs. Who's to say this zoo wasn't itself a giant slaughterhouse where the animals bled out in peace, slowly seeping life blood as others watched them suffocate in ignorant bliss.
As his thoughts wandered, two zebras had trotted closer to them. The female reached out with her words, and Linc believed what she said earlier. She was the favorite. Her familiar interaction with the creatures and the friend-like conversation she had with them made the moment more tender when he clicked to release his camera shutter.
"Do they have names?" Linc asked, growing more aware that the two of them hadn't yet shared theirs either.
"Oh, right. I was just curious," Linc said. He hid his face behind his camera and zoomed close to the striped horses. The black on white reminded Linc of prison, reminded him of the clothes of the incarcerated. He then tapped on the fence of the enclosure, and traced the fence as it snaked around the Zebra plains. Confined, immobilized, trapped. The stripes on the Zebras warped into prison bars, and their black noses into images of muzzles. These animals weren't free. How depressing. Sure they got all they could possible think of needing, for animals didn't think much.
"How can you stand watching them frolic in an enclosure like this? I bet that's something you think about, right? What kind of life would these Zebras live if they weren't kept here. Born here. Raised here. Trapped here."
Linc felt his questions weren't too much, or at least they shouldn't be. A zookeeper had to sign an agreement, read the fine print, and submit to tending to these animals needs. They knew what they were going into, being assigned to a zoo and subjected to the routine and restrictions of the exhibit. The only difference between them and the animals was that they weren't on display. But Linc wasn't going to say that out loud. At least, he shouldn't have to.
