The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Aug 3, 2014 20:38:13 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
The guy at table seven. Yeah. That guy. The one in the clean, quietly fashionable but unpretentious clothes. The one leaning forward just the right amount to show concern, while leaving distance; the one with his elbows on the table, and his hands clasped as if begging for understanding. That guy. That guy was breaking up with his girlfriend.
The girlfriend, for her part, was checking Reddit on her phone under the table.
It's not you; it's me. Ash Ketchum calls into Local Christian TV show. I wish I could give you a better reason than this, you deserve so much more, but it's like there's this distance between us-- Which actor/actress duo would make Fifty Shades of Grey the most cringe worthy? Please say something. Anything. AC/DC's -- Thunderstruck [Country] A Finnish Hillbilly Cover.
"Ten points," Margaret said, through the window from the kitchen.
The redheaded waitress gave her a look; that look.
The cook upped the ante: "Twenty-five for the pair."
"Table fifteen wants a BLT, hold the L, sub the B with vegan cardboard. Think you can manage?" That look continued.
"Forty if you make it a trick shot. That's the highest I'll go. Come on, a pair that disgusting? You were already thinking of doing it for free."
That smile grew on the waitress' face. She reached into her pocket, and unclipped a pen. The action was hardly necessary. The tricky part, after all, had been making the pen hold still in the first place.
The cook slid a plate across the window's ledge. The waitress caught it, and turned on her heel. With a little shimmy of her hips, she strode back out into the isle. Table twelve: numerically, a girl wouldn't think it would end up that close to table seven. But on the manager's hand-drawn layout of the restaurant, with its cheap plastic cover, a big M was scrawled over the teens. And table twelve happened to line up on the self-same isle as the heart-rending couple. She dropped a pen going past; clumsy, clumsy her. Dropped off the plate. Went back for her next order. Carried a BLT (hold the L, sub the B), took orders, carried precarious trays full of coffee cups. All right past table seven.
"Come on," the cook hissed. "That coffee was a golden opportunity."
That was about when the crash came. It was, in a word, uproarious. There was smashing, there was crashing; there were at least twenty-three individual crashes if one had the finally trained ear to distinguish each dish and cup from another. There was, most importantly, the remains of potatoes au gratin and at least five different dredges of coffee splattered on shoes, pants, under-table phones.
There was a sweet smile on the redhead's face, and a look of awe on the cook's.
"What did Will ever do to you?" The cook asked, of the downed bus boy. The clumsy man had tripped on a pen; his foot had gone right out from under him, sending his whole stack crashing down on and about table seven.
"He stole the tip off table fourteen," the waitress said, checking her immaculately painted nails. "Thought I wouldn't notice."
"Those come out of his paycheck, you know," the cook said.
Oh, she knew. "Good thing he pocketed a little extra, then."
"You are a special piece of work, Ralls."
"Forty points," the waitress said.
"Forty points," the cook agreed. And with that, Maxine had taken the lead over every other disgruntled employee in the cafe. Spitting in a cup, baking hairs into pizza crusts: those little puerile pranks were five points, max. Unless someone else pulled a trick shot in the next hour, she was officially Bitch of the Day.
The redhead didn't take a bow; she just smiled. That smile. She was wearing lipstick, a designer tank top, a pleated shirt just modest enough to give imagination some room to play; black stockings, three inch heels, and a boxy band around her left ankle that would squeal to the NYPD if she took a single step outside of Manhattan. She'd put rhinestone stickers on its outside. A belt of paperclips wrapped around her waist; eight strands of paperclips, if anyone cared to count. It was a little hipster, but the silver metal set off the simple black scheme of the rest of the outfit neatly.
All in all, she gave exactly the impression she was going for: she was too good for this place, and she knew it.
Maxine Rawls, formerly of Wolf News, was on probation. Honestly. A girl incites one little riot, and suddenly the city's up in arms...
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Aug 4, 2013 19:12:43 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Maxine would like that, too. She really, really would. She didn't have many friends in her life. Really, there were more people she could count on in the apocalypse than there were right now. Allison was a friend, but Allison was a friend because of who she could be, not who she was. Celeste was the same way. The British mercenary was a boy, which made him potential boyfriend material, but not really friend material; besides, he was playing the lofty and elusive card a bit too hard. And then there was... there was...
Well, Mirror, primarily.
She wasn't lonely. She didn't need friends, didn't miss their stunning absence in her daily life. She had goals, and friends got in the way of those. Anyone who doubted the truth of that need look no further than the X-woman standing next to her.
"You don't understand," Maxine said quietly. "You just... don't." She shut her eyes as Maya opened the door.
The Alpha surged forwarded, a wolfhound sized tornado of paper. White sheets of printer paper fleshed out the bulk of its form; blue lines of loose leaf highlighted its haunches. Yesterday's newspaper headline formed a spot over where its left eye would be, if it'd had more than gaping holes for eyes.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jul 31, 2013 18:12:06 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
The Queen thing had been an exaggeration, in the future: she remembered that much, though other details from that night that lasted a lifetime were faded around the edges. It had been just a joking title that one of the girls had used, one night while they were planning a raid. It was before they'd had the bone castle. When they'd still been living day to day in the fester of New York's corpse, fighting for territory with a half-dozen other bands of survivors. She'd been the farthest thing from a Queen, but the title had made her laugh. She'd kept it because it had a good ring to it.
It sounded even better, back in the present time. The real time. She could get used to being called a Queen.
"I would like," she said, with the loftiest of tones, "...Do they have any of that butterscotch ice cream? The kind with those big chunks of toffee in it?" The Queen's hands pantomimed those bits of toffee in a most regal of manners.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jul 30, 2013 19:05:47 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
"The Mansion," Maxine said. "Right. Because hiding in a schoolhouse makes the world a better place. It's very reassuring to know that the X-Men have a solid strategy in this."
The redhead didn't push it, though; deadpan commentary aside, she moved her tush like a lady who didn't want to be slung over a knight's shoulder and carried. She went inside with head held high and shoulders squared.
And this is what Maya would see:
Inside, the elevator was out. Riots can have that effect on power lines, sometimes. Maxine's apartment was on the fourth floor. She began the trudge upwards, very determinedly not glancing back at the knightess who followed her. Her pace was slow, and she had to stop at the landings now and then, a hand to her ribs, her eyes squeezed shut as she caught her breath. But she made it to the top, any offered help be damned.
And this is what happened:
It wasn't Maxine's ribs that hurt. That pain, and the aches in the rest of her body, smoothed out to a mellow tug at her consciousness.
She needed time, so she stalled. An overnight bag? Four flights of stairs for the hobbled Queen? That would do.
She needed Rex to understand that Maya was a threat, so she feed the octoclip every cinder of betrayal burning behind her eyes, every icy finger that touched her spine. The mirrorwalker had brought a full quiver of arrows. A knife. Who the hell was she planning to use those on? Certainly not a friend. On the lamppost outside, the octoclip's tentacles became still.
She needed her dogs. But they didn't exist yet; they were part of her future.
She could fix that.
Maxine had been holding her power back since she was seventeen. She'd slammed in every mental ward she could, walling that part of her power off in a little room where she didn't have to be afraid of it. What she hadn't understood then was that there were worse things in the world; that Riding Hood needs the Big Bad Wolf around, if it's the Huntsman who's stalking her up the stairs to her own damn apartment.
It was surprisingly easy; like taking a deep breath, and jumping over the side of a cliff. The pain in her ribs was nothing but waves lapping at a lakeshore. The real pain was in her mind; she took that mental jump, and it was like her skull split open.
They were at the top of the stairs. The redhead paused with her knuckles curled white around the railing, and drew in a ragged breath. The pressure on her mind eased. It was done.
And this is what she did:
Her hand shook as she tried fitting the key into her own door lock. It wasn't an act; that trip up the steps had exhausted her. Just... not for the reasons the mirrorwalker might think. She dropped her keys; they came to a jangling halt on the carpeted floor.
"Damn it." The redhead leaned against the wall next to the door, running her hands through her hair. Her tone was imperious as ever. "You open it."
"It doesn't have to be like this. It's not too late to just... go off, and save some pedestrians. You can save the world your way, and I can save it mine. We could... we could still be friends." She said, her senses crackling with awareness of what was waiting on the other side of that door. The Alpha was awake, and displeased with life.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jun 6, 2013 17:27:30 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
The mirrorwalker wanted her to fight. She did, didn’t she? Maxine could see it in her eyes, in her ready stance; could hear it in the spaces between her words. The mirrorwalker wanted this fight.
The brave Lady Maya, Knight Errant of the X-Men, wanted to fight an unarmed woman. A woman who the mirrowalker--even on her ‘better half’ days, as it were--outweighed, and certainly outmuscled.
A woman who’d thought they were friends. That had been a nice thought.
...She needed Rex. No, not Rex. Rex knew the mirrorwalker. She could feel the octoclip nearby, curled at the top of a lightpost, methodically running its tentacles over the shattered fixture, seemingly unconcerned with the events below. It would take time to change that. She wasn’t sure she’d have that time.
Her dogs. She needed her dogs. But her dogs had been a dream; back in the real world, paper still hated her just as much as it hated anyone else. She could only control it as individual sheets. Even bringing a small amount to heel took time.
There was that word, again. But what else could she do? She was no fighter: even in that dream of the future, it hadn’t been her fighting skill that had held together her girls. Hell, she’d even been captured by a brat of a kid--
The Queen let out a breath, and held up her hands slowly.
“I surrender,” she said. “On one condition. There’s no way I’m sharing wardrobes with you; I am not wearing sports bras for the rest of this riot. Let me go back up to my room, and pack a bag.”
Just one little bag; it was hardly the end of the world.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jun 5, 2013 19:54:55 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
"For a man in a bug suit," the redhead said, her fork daintily poised with leafy greens, inches from her lips, "you are charmingly naive."
He also hadn't seen much of her segments. She was a joke. It might not be where she pictured herself in ten years, but it was building a decent foundation for her career. A much more solid one than she could have made working her way up telling the truth and caring.
Seriously, did he think modern journalists thought like that? Next he was going to walk into a Catholic school, looking for people who believed in God.
She also found it cute that he'd advocate that she seek truth, justice, and the journalistically ethically way... and follow it up immediately with "What proof do I have? None. I don't need proof."
"Mr. Samson," the ginger said, lifting her napkin from her lap, "I'm afraid we've had a fundamental misunderstanding. You see—" she wiped slowly, sweetly; a thin trail of raspberry dressing and red lipstick was left behind on the pristine white fabric; "—my people consist solely of me."
She dropped the napkin on top of the remainder of her salad, and stood. She was done. He just hadn't listened when it came to the petty insults, now had he? Maxine Ralls did not sit and listen to assaults on her character; she wasn't interested in news old news.
"Until you have something to actually offer me, don't waste my people's time. Just a suggestion," she said, with an endearing crinkle of her freckled nose.
She slipped their waitress a bill on the way out; the girl deserved a tip, for having to stay behind and deal with that.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jun 4, 2013 17:24:29 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
“Our definition of ‘silly’ may vary, Mr. Samson,” the reporter said simply, to the cockroach with the porcelain cat on his head. The waitress soon returned with her salad; she couldn’t have asked for more prompt service, and she gave her best smile and a quiet thank you..
“I’m a reporter because I’m an ambitious attention whore with a passable face.” Anyone with delusions to the contrary had clearly never seen her show; quality investigative journalism was not what she provided. Really, where else could a ginger-haired girl with a useless but highly public mutation command national attention? She could have hidden in an office supply firm, like her brother; could have married a nice human man and hidden in the house, like her mother. Or she could go on live TV, and own this city.
“Who runs the Order?” She asked back, drizzling a healthy dose of raspberry vinaigrette across her greens. “Off the record, of course. I may pick on your more visible members,” like Isabel, Meld, and really, anyone who took such pains to throw themselves into the limelight; “But I’m not on that market for a full exposé.”
Plus, it was a boring story. A mutant housing racket? Probably some weapons, women, and drugs, too. Oh no, the horror to society’s fair morals. She’d rather someone else stuck out their neck on that one, so she could show up to report on how the NYPD was bungling the arrests. There was a reason she always rooted so hard for those poor boys in blue:: when it came to arresting mutants, and making charges stick--nevermind keeping them in jail in the aftermath--they really were such underdogs.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jun 4, 2013 17:22:38 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
“To stop me.” The redhead parroted hollowly. A forest of dark freckles began to stand out on her face, one by one, as a red flush rose to her cheeks.
Maya had taken a step back, furthering the distance between them. She’d unfolded her arms. The classic signal of Now the talking is finished. Now this is really going to start.Maxine could read body language was well as the next reporter, but she did not want to read this. In fact, she refused to. This was Mirror. This was the kid who she’d dragged out of a mirror and taken ballroom dancing; this was the friend she’d gone to Washington with, to find a lost mother. He--she--wouldn’t--
Would she?
“And if I don’t want to be stopped?” The redhead asked, quietly.
For the first time, Maxine realized she was alone. Her Amazons were off god knows where, doing devil knows what. She was alone: it was just her, and Maya. Maya, who’d brought a full quiver, a bow, and a knife to this talk, right from the beginning.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jun 3, 2013 12:22:32 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
What was the difference? God, the mirrorwalker could be such a child.
"It's the difference between running from emergency to emergency, slapping patches on things and hoping they'll hold," her green eyes made sure Mirror knew exactly who she was referring to, there, "and starting with a clean slate. It's not about stupid humans and stupid mutants. It's about carving out a place where we can pull mutants together, and give them somewhere safe; somewhere they can try living up to all this damn potential they've got bottled up. We're not made for the old way of things, Maya. Do you really think mirrorwalkers and ice manipulators and office supply animators were made to work nine-to-five office jobs? We're something different. New. We don't have a place in their world. We need to find a place of our own, or they are going to kill us. One hate crime, one registration act, one police brutality incident at a time. Most mutants want peace, so they put up with that s*** every day of their lives, thinking 'one day it will be better'—but it never will be better, not until the people who give a damn stand up and make it better. That's what's happening, right now: we've got everyone standing up. All we need to do is channel that energy into something greater.
"What we're doing here is nothing more than what Egypt did, and Syria is doing; hell, it's what the United States did back in seventeen-seventy-whatever. We're living under a government that actively oppresses us, most certainly does not represent us, and which does not have any intentions to change."
The Queen stood up; slowly, stiffly, she stood up; her green gaze fell imperiously down on the Knight.
"Why did you come here, Maya?"
The young mutant had brought a bow and arrows. She'd brought a hunting knife. She'd come straight to Maxine's doorstep, in the most literal manner possible, but it wasn't to join the mutant's side in this fight.
The reporter wasn't stupid. She revised her question; and for a moment, something else showed in her eyes. Something a lot more hurt.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jun 2, 2013 14:36:53 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Maya didn't join her on the steps. Maxine didn't miss the symbolism, but she continued speaking. Trying to reason with the knight.
"What you do is noble, Maya," the Queen replied, almost soothingly. "You save lives, one at a time. You have for years. You're a good person. But you change nothing; not in the grand scheme of things."
"Do you really think this riot is about me? I'm flattered, really, but my Amazons—this whole city—why do you think they listened to me? It's because they want this. They don't want to be saved by the knight in shining armor; they want to change things." There were echoes in her voice of the last time they'd had this conversation; the day they both woke up from a dream of the future. A dream where Mirror had died valiantly, and Maxine... Maxine had survived, dirtily. No. No, she didn't want that again. She wanted something better. They were on the cusp of things right now; the fire could burn itself out, it could burn the world down, or it could be harnessed for something good.
"We can do this," the redhead returned calmly, with every bit as much determination in her eyes as the mirrorwalker had. "We've got nearly every mutant in the city standing up, and doing something. They're idiots about how they're handling it, but you don't need to tell me that we're still equal with humans when it comes to stupidity. That's why they need a leader."
Her green eyes left no doubt as to who she thought that leader should be.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jun 2, 2013 12:31:40 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Even if they were tiny girl hands, the mirrorwalker's grip still felt good on her shoulders. Warm, and solid.
"Of course," the Queen's laugh was short: one part startled, and one part Who do you think you're dealing with? "God, you didn't think this is what I wanted, did you?" How stupid do you think I am filtered into her tone, along with just a hint of It's so cute when you're being naive; if you were a boy, I'd ruffle your hair. "Come on; sit your butt down. I'll explain everything. You're a smart bo—individual; you can make an informed decision."
The Queen accepted her own offer, and sank back down. Sitting felt a lot better than standing. The hug had been worth it, but her ribs really preferred that she stop moving around so much. She motioned to a place on the concrete steps next to her. Regardless of whether the lady knight joined her, she began speaking.
"The violence has to stop, of course," she glossed over, with a shooing off motion of her hand. "We're too disorganized this way; too easy to take down. You've been following the news, right?"
The news. She didn't know if it was the pain pills or sheer unadulterated euphoria, but she still hadn't come down off the high of that realization: she had her Amazons back, but this wasn't the Apocalypse. Outside of the Big Apple, life continued like normal. Electric plants still operated, news feeds continued, and cell phone towers still linked her to the rest of the world. They weren't lost, isolated, left to wander in a dusty haze: they could riot all day, and plug their smart phones into their chargers at night. Z-Mobile didn't care what she did, as long as she paid her monthly bill.
"They'll be sending in the National Guard soon; that will be our first real test. We can harness that to refocus everyone: bring them together under a new goal. A real goal. It was never about a stupid little riot, Maya;" No; that little 'fire' call out of hers had been the post-beating endorphins talking. "It's about building something better than what we had before. I think we can do it."
The redheaded Queen smiled as she spoke that 'we'; a vibrant smile, that promised the world.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jun 1, 2013 9:23:38 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
"Gawain!"
The Queen's face lit up like she was thirteen again. She didn't exactly spring to her feet—it was more of an ache-y hobble. The officers hadn't broken anything, but they'd bruised just about everything.
"Oh, sorry; Maya," she corrected herself, before the mirrorwalker could. Maya looked good; for once, Maxine was willing to admit that the other girl looked better than she did. Not out loud, of course, but... damn.
The bow, the arrows, the knife, the resolute look on her face? She looked all grown up, and ready to kick some authoritarian ass.
The Queen responded in the only way possible: she crossed the space between them, and wrapped the Knightess in a welcoming hug. Some standing on tip toes may have been involved; she'd ditched her usual high heels in favor of some nice, riot-friendly sneakers.
"I knew you'd come around," she said. "God, this is going to be awesome. We've got Allison, Sveta, Aura, Amber—"
It would be just like the Apocalypse, but even better. This time, they'd have a sometimes-Lady-Knight at their backs.
It was so easy. Too easy, really. Everyone always played it up as being so difficult: want to change the world, kids? Start a petition, call your congressman, stage a protest in front of building xyz that not even Wolf News will cover. Sink into the disgruntled masses, and struggle ineffectually for change.
If only people knew: all you really needed was a city full of tinder, and one ginger spark.
New York was changing. For the first time, it was mutants rising up against humans—en masse, not just a scattered handfuls of ill-focused homicidal idiots. Perfectly average, logical mutant citizens were out there right now, breaking windows and lighting things on fire.
Maxine lips curled into a smile; her peasants were so very quaint in their methods.
That's why they needed their Queen.
She'd let them vent first, of course; get a few years of therapy, crammed into one very cathartic week. She'd indulged herself in similar pursuits after getting out of the hospital. After waking back up, in a city where things were breaking, and her Amazons were waiting at the doors to escort her into the thick of it. There had been... oh, a few little incidents. The police who had assaulted her were already dead, but there was no small shortage in volunteers to take their places. Not to say she had killed anyone; no, that's what a Queen's Guard was for. And really, a good sound beating went a long way, in most cases.
She wasn't even that angry any more. She felt focused now. Cool-headed. Perfectly rational. She wasn't malicious, and she wasn't greedy.
No, Manhattan was all she wanted. A nice little island, for a nice little sovereign nation. Why not take the city, and carve out a slice for just mutants to live in? It was so very easy. They had the manpower for it; if the last few days had proven anything, it was that. The police couldn't stop them. With a bit more organization, a military would be hard-pressed to do so, either. There were mutants who read minds, saw the future—they could know of coming attacks. There were mutants who could grow crops in a matter of seconds, produce water from thin air; all the sieges and trade embargoes in the world couldn't hurt them. Hell, she'd even heard of a bartender in the city who could make booze from water. What more did a budding world power need? Humanity had spent so much time trying to repress them, it had never considered how much potential they had. There was power, here. With the right leader, they could make something, and defend it.
Maxine sat on the steps of her apartment building, enjoying a glass of water and the tingling afterglow of a pain pill. A gentle morning breeze carried shouting from the distance, and stray whiffs of smoke. All around her, though, was perfectly peaceful. This area had been cleared early and thoroughly; a few of her neighbors were still holed up in their apartments, but they weren't the types to come out and cause trouble. The other Amazons were off getting their daily dose of destruction, but Maxine had stayed behind to work on more important matters.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on May 8, 2013 16:20:52 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
The redhead listened to the bug’s speech, her hands still steepled, her smile still in place. When he was done, she took her napkin from the table, and spread it over her lap. Fork, knife, and spoon she lined up in the order they had tumbled out; she knew how to properly set a table, but it wasn’t a skill likely to be appreciated in present company. Or was it?
“Well,” the redhead said, returning her attentions to her fellow mutant, and her chin to her hands. “That answers one of my questions. So there is someone in there capable of holding a conversation. To answer your question: as long as you aren’t wasting my time on petty insults and the crazy act, I think I might be quite interested to hear you out.”
“My turn,” she said. “Why were you rude to our waiter?”
He’d insulted her and he’d gone out of his way to make their server uncomfortable with every word out of his mandibles. From what she’d gathered, burning his bridges before they were out of the blueprints stage as a standard thing for him. Classic confrontational inferiority complex, or did he have something more interesting for her?
She responded to his oh-so-ominous stalker insinuations about as much as she’d reacted to his comment about her shoes. She had no way of confirming or denying his claim, here and now, and she wasn’t about to waste breath on yet another thing designed to get a rise out of her. It was something to deal with later, with her own resources. She didn’t give his spiel on her poor role modeling more than a quirk of her lips, either. That, coming from the bug who acted like a chaotic imbecile, was just plain adorable. She’d have pinched his cheeks if he had any.
Whatever else he was, Gregor Sampson clearly enjoyed putting people off balance; at getting them moving on his terms, not theirs.
One could say that she was quite familiar with the strategy.
She plucked a breadstick out from under his reaching hand, and waited on his answer, her green eyes watching him with the sweetest of attentions.
The Amazons live, for as long as the fires of this riot burn. To get in on the girlie action, A) have boobs, and B) nab either me or Alli on the Cbox, or shoot Alli a PM. We're playing this plot by ear, primarily, so ideas totally welcome.
You can join us immediately if you show up at the hospital in Alli's Echoes Raging thread, or you can meet us on the streets in the heat of the Riots. Let us know, and we shall plot. And where we plot, there they shall find the ashes of their scorched earth. <3
