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 Dec 8, 2011 20:23:11 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Vincent had his grumpy-face on. Poor guy—that camera really was heavy. It was a standard shoulder-mount, with a tripod folded up in one side of its bulky bag, and a growing teen in the other. She would have offered to help, but... well, stars don't help the help.
Sorry, Vince.
As they walked down the hall, the man with the monkey tail was nothing but smooth manners. "How are you enjoying our fair town, Ms. Ralls?"
"Oh please, Mr. Vice, just call me Maxine." The floors were polished concrete—easy to keep clean and tidy, cheap to put in. The hall was well lit, and lined in closed doors that didn't have windows looking out, or in. No decorations, no tastefully bland abstract paintings, broke up the monotonous white of the paint.
"Right through here, Maxine," he said, with a flash of sharp teeth and a bow over his arm, holding the door open for her. He stepped inside on her heels, letting Vicente the deal with the rapidly shutting door himself. The second man followed behind Vicente, making a sort of idle humming in the back of his throat—a familiar tune, just below hearing, too quiet to really recognize.
The room was tastefully decorated, with two beige arm chairs and a low coffee table between them. None of the furniture looked like it belonged here; the room was too empty around it, and the floor that same polished concrete.
She stepped over a dark stain on the floor as she entered. Ignored the smell of fresh paint on the walls. She hadn't actually stopped to wonder before what this building was used for. A slight oversight, perhaps.
"How does our humble stage suit your fancy, Maxine? I must apologize—you gave us rather short notice." The sleek monkey-tailed man said, flashing another smile.
"This'll do fine. Why don't you set up there, Vince—we can start with the sound checks." They could get at least fifteen minutes out of that alone.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Dec 8, 2011 17:38:53 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Running. Maxine and running had a love-ice cream relationship. It was necessary, even symbiotic: she ran, therefore she could eat ice cream. Cookie dough and cookies and cream, Reese's and moose tracks, Snickers bars and Neapolitan ice cream sandwiches (strawberry side first); if she was feeling especially catty, maybe she'd even mix in gummi bears, or find a shop in town that didn't bat an eye at doing it for her.
She ate ice cream when she failed that Bio test in high school. She ate ice cream when she graduated college, with her official degree in BS. She ate ice cream when it was that time of the month and when it wasn't, when she got new fan mail and new death threats and a cute cop sent to watch outside her apartment for three days after she'd publically humiliated the NYPD's most wanted bow-wearer. She ate ice cream when she was miserable and dateless and sitting in her ugliest sweat pants and her frumpiest shirt and watching the Nature channel wondering why she couldn't just reproduce asexually like any sensible amoeba.
She ate ice cream, therefore: she had to run. Every morning, since she was thirteen.
Besides, it wasn't like her powers let her sleep in late. Five o'clock every morning, weekends and holidays: octoclip to the face. Cold metal tentacles ruining her bed hair before she'd even had a chance to appreciate it.
Said tentacles were currently draped over her head, toying with the fuzzy balls that dangled from her new hat, making them wiggle up and down like wings. She turned onto a side path, a yawn cracking her lips.
There was someone directly in front of her. A woman, about her age. Taller than she was, the show off. Nicer hair in the morning, newer running shoes, and no paperclip octopi crawling all over her cranium. And she was going that awkward, just-a-hair-slower-than-you pace; the one that meant Maxine would either have to slow her own pace down, or put on a burst of speed to get around the human obstacle in her path.
Maxine didn't slow for blondes.
With a smooth lengthening of her stride, she drew even with the woman, fully intent on blowing past her in that way that all joggers loathed: the Gingerman breeze by.
Run run as fast as you can, You ain't even half as in shape as I am.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Dec 4, 2011 17:44:32 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Screw up? Her? Time to watch a professional at work, part-time ladies and elderly gentlemen.
Maxine parked the van on the street across from the place. She paused a moment to recheck that Gawain was snuggly in his mirror, and the mirror itself was snuggly in the camera bag’s pocket, with a bit of foam packing peanuts around it for safety and comfort. They hadn’t really gone over what would happen if that mirror broke, but she assumed it was a bad idea. Putzing in the camera bag had another purpose: it gave Vicente time to have a breather before they went in. Poor guy seemed to handle car rides about as well as planes. When it looked like he had his land legs back, she flashed him a grin. “Off we go, teamster.”
From the moment her heel hit pavement—from before that, even—they were being watched.
On the bright side, this meant that two fine gentlemen met them at the doors. They looked quite upstanding, in their suits. Not at all like members of a successful mutant criminal organization. Especially not the one with the slicked back hair and the monkey tail. Who ever heard of a mutant criminal with a monkey tail?
“Ms. Ralls?” He inquired.
“In the flesh.” She offered her hand, as if for a kiss. The man laughed and shook it.
“And you must be Vince,” he said, nodding to Vicente. “Come inside. We’ve got a room set up.”
Maxine flashed a grin over her shoulder at the lionman. So far, so good.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Nov 27, 2011 19:17:51 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Oh, he was good. Very good. She would give him that.
She rolled her eyes again, and addressed the helpful church man.
“You see what I mean? Always with the slick lines, never with the straight answers.” For his reward, she caught up his hand in hers, and gently set it on her flat tummy before giving a long-suffering sigh. “You know I don’t want a winter wedding. Ice would be a lot more dangerous for Willard than a maternity dress would be for your father’s sensibilities, hon. But would Fall be too soon?” She waffled. Oh, how she waffled. She bit down on her lower lip, with sincere indecision.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Nov 27, 2011 14:59:59 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
“Aww, you flirt.”
It was just as she was aiming a playful punch at his side that the church official came over. He was an older man; dressed nicely in khaki and a button-up shirt, with understated grey streaks working their way over his temples. Definitely church-officially. Maybe if she went to church, she’d even be able to think of a proper title for him.
“Oh, we haven’t picked a date yet. I am such a Spring time girl, but getting an opinion out of Dio here can be like interrogating a criminal-for-hire. I swear, sometimes it feels like I’m planning this whole thing on my own.”
She didn’t disentangle herself from the Brit; it was more like she gave the appearance of straightening herself up respectably, while entangling their arms more thoroughly. With the greatest of adoration, she fluttered her eyelashes up at him.
“Come on, honey—what time of year would your dream wedding be?”
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Nov 27, 2011 12:03:12 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
“Umm. I’m more of a quality over quantity girl, myself.” In interviews, and reporting, of course.
They entered the church proper, her head tucked up on his shoulder, his chin tucked in her hair. Someone held the door open for them; Maxine flashed a dazzling smile in thanks.
Inside, the church looked newer than it did on its outside. The walls and columns were painted white; the stone tiled floor was polished to a warm shine. Maybe ‘newer’ wasn’t the right word; it looked well tended, and loved, and recently refurbished. The impromptu nine-eleven memorials tucked along its walls and alcoves gave a discrete explanation as to why.
All in all, it was a nice place to pretend to be in love. The red head batted her eyelashes up at her headrest.
“So what brought you to my side of the pond, Dio?”
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Nov 13, 2011 12:44:03 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
The redhead didn’t waste time after stepping out of her room. They were on a time schedule here, people. Chop chop, and all that. She hadn’t wasted time inside her room, either—making the proper impression was half the job.
She only paused once, to look Vicente up and down, appraising his impression. Finally, she gave him a nod. “The smell’s pushing it a little, but not too shabby, Vince.” She gave him a solid slap on the back, and led the way out.
It had taken her a few days to set this up, and Gawain-Maya-Gawain-Maya had spent every minute of it twitching. Not complaining: Maxine gave the mirror walker that. But definitely, every time Maxine caught a glimpse of him/her, twitching.
A few days to set up an interview, though? From scratch? Several states removed from her own reporting turf? Maxine walked down the hotel hall like she owned this city, tossing a set of keys in her hand. Oh, yeah. And she’d talked the local Wolf News branch into lending her a van for the evening.
Needless to say, the redhead drove.
The interview was at an address they already knew, from New York; setting the interview there hadn’t been hard. The hard part had been making her contact think it was his idea.
About a block out, Maxine glanced over at Gawain. “Probably about time for you to get in the bag, right?” The mirror that was in the camera bag, that is. After a moment of thought, she just had to ask, with appropriate concern: “Will that make it heavier for Vince to carry?”
She’d gone with the suit skirt, black nylons, and a teal blouse; the jacket had seemed a little too much, though. She tossed it back on the bed, and tried out a scarf. Definitely not the green one. Red? No. Purple? Had she packed the matching earrings? No, but gold went with everything. In this case: little gold star studs. Let it never be said that Maxine didn’t go in for metaphors.
(Was someone knocking on her door? Psssh.)
Shoes next. The heels went best, but stilettoes? Not exactly good for running from homicidal mutants. Been there, done that, got partial amnesia and a hospital trip. But her flats were brown. Her nylons, if you’ll recall, were black. So was her skirt. Ick—just ick. She settled on her boots. A respectable heel, but platform. She could run in those. She was, after all, a talented young woman.
(Honestly, the knocking? Not going to make her move faster.)
Purse check. Little camera? Got it. Pepper spray? Hadn’t been allowed on the plane, but she’d found a local shop. A girl can’t be too careful; which was exactly what she was planning on telling them, if they searched her and found it. What else… pens, of course. And Rex, with orders to pretend they were on the subway, and just play dead. Lipstick. Cell phone. Compact mirror. A ziplock of paperclips. That was about it.
Maxine took a deep breath, and snapped it closed. All right. The lionman should have the camera equipment. Mirror should have his… mirrorwalking. And she should stop stalling.
She opened the door, flashing a brilliant smile. “Ready to go, boys? No wet feet, right Vince?”
It was a few days later, and Maxine Ralls had an interview scheduled for 7 o’clock.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Oct 29, 2011 15:27:12 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
>> "Ya're wicked, you know that right?"
Maxine smiled her sweetest smile; one that had never, ever scared any male away.
“Golly, Sir Gawain. No one’s ever told me that before.” She squiggled off her own bed, and plunked herself down next to him. The mattress bounced. Her little pink-hearted feet slid right up next to his, wiggling cutely. “Such a flirt. I’ve got half a mind to—“
Her hand snaked up behind his back… and gave him the very friendliest of shoves off.
“—Kick you out for the night.”
Smile.
Maxine escorted her dear night to the bathroom mirror, and blew a kiss. Nighty-night, Sir Knight.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Oct 15, 2011 17:04:37 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
He’d gotten his twitch and/or shiver before; the redhead gave a little sigh for variety, and let her own arm drop. No name, of course: it was never that easy. Except when it was, but then she was dealing with the kind of idiots who only merited five minutes of fame. Granted, that fit her show to a T... but she was really looking to break into the “fifteen minutes” field.
So. He definitely wasn’t denying that he’d been hired, which sounded like a confirmation to her ears. But she’d known that, and that wasn’t a new angle—Ms. Olos and her press people had been working that one since day one. She could always bring forward her “key witness, the woman who placed the 911 phone call,” but without anything else, that wasn’t big enough to be worth the inevitable trouble of people finding out that the caller had been her. So short of actual investigative work into Ms. Olos’ enemies—which more experienced reporters than she had already tried—she didn’t have much new here.
Boo.
Eh, it was fine. She had segments backed up until November, anyway. There was no shortage of stupidity in town, even if Dio here wasn’t jumping on the bandwagon. It was actually refreshing to meet someone who seemed to have a brain. Such first impressions could rarely be trusted, though.
“You’ve learned, huh?” The redhead asked sweetly. “So I’m not your first?”
Journalist, that is.
And he was completely right not to trust her—just not for the reasons he was implying.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Oct 10, 2011 16:13:59 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
“Bear pit,” Maxine repeated, as if this were a perfectly normal social function. She didn’t do much traveling in mutant social circles herself, but from her own (mildly biased) reporting: she gathered that it was. Normal, that is. “Did you deserve it?” Because one simply must ask.
To the subject at hand, however: Gawain didn’t protest her noble offer to put her life on the line for his private crusade. Did not say ‘nay, fair lady, I could not sleep at night should ill befall you!’ Did not point out that of them all, she was the least capable of getting herself out of mutant-y troubles (even if she was building up serious clock hours getting into them). It was a far less chivalrous response than she’d expected of the young knight.
A grin twitched at the corner of her lips. Let’s hear it for a brain regularly soaked in nice, sensible estrogen. Maybe those Maya-days weren’t such a bad thing, after all.
“Who said anything about alone? Just... first. If we play that angle, then I’m the hotshot TV reporter.” It was literally in her job description. More of a figurative-literally, maybe, but that was besides the point. “That means I’m the one they’ll really be looking at, the one they’ll really remember. I’ll be the one working connections to get us in.”
She leaned back on her hands, and stretched out her legs so little pink hearts touched the sheets next to Gawain’s thigh. “I hear that hotshot TV reporters have cameramen, though. You—” She paused a second, looking Gawain up and down.
Street chic fashion. Perpetual aura of playing hooky. Barely legal baby-fat.
“—Vicente could do that,” she said. “As for you, I think it’s about time to tell me how that power of yours really works. If I smuggled in a mirror in the camera bag, could you ride in it?”
The lion man could hunker down and paranoia-nap to his heart’s content: it wouldn’t save him from Maxine Ralls. He could call her 'Miss Ralls,' if he wanted. Or 'Boss,' bless his heart.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Oct 1, 2011 17:42:18 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Did Vince just lock the door? He did know about Gawain’s power, right? God, she hoped he wasn’t going senile. Sure, he was old, but she hadn’t pegged him as that old.
“So. How did Vicente get mixed up in all of this? He doesn’t seem like the usual X-Trainee.” The redhead fished for a back story, one eyebrow raised. Not that Maxine actually knew many of Gawain’s friends, but Vince-y boy... didn’t seem like the usual teenager’s choice of buddies. Maybe he was a grumpy uncle that she hadn’t known about? It wasn’t like she really knew much about the mirrorwalker, when it came down to it. Just that he was cute, had a timeshare with estrogen, and turned to her for help. A woman he’d only really met once before all this got started.
What did that say about the rest of his friends?
Maybe the lion-shifter was someone he’d met while he’d been living on the street. The guy did give off ‘ungroomed and defensive about it’ vibes. Maybe she shouldn’t judge his fashion sense so harshly: maybe he was just a hobo.
>> "I know ya're gonna be there anyway, but... are you sure you want to come? I kind of feel bad for dragging you into this."
The redhead looked down at her socked feet. The socks were white, with pink hearts. The feet were tucked up against the bed’s side.
“I know you’re going to say no, but... would you let me go in first?” She looked up, meeting his eyes if he’d let her. “I am a reporter. I’ve made a big enough deal about coming here that anyone worth their investigative salt can find out that I’m in town hunting for an interview with these people.” She hadn’t exactly broadcast that headline on the air, but she’d filed all the right paperwork in all the obvious places. “Why don’t we try things from that angle, first? If I can get in for a real interview, then I might just be able to get a message to your mom. If we can somehow get her away from the rest of them... even if they’ve got her brainwashed or something, it would still be easier to deal with just her, minus the big bads who want to keep her around.”
It didn’t seem like Gawain had a better plan. Besides going in and getting shot at. As the responsible adult in this group, Maxine would like to veto that idea.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Sept 17, 2011 14:10:06 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
“Aww, you shouldn’t have,” the red head cooed sweetly, accepting Rex with both hands like a precious little parcel. She even stuck in her nose, like they were real flowers.
Real flowers wouldn’t have promptly latched onto her face and crawled up to sit writhing on top of her head, but she trusted that Gawain would appreciate the sentiment.
“You’re trying to get out of sleeping with your friend, aren’t you?” She said, with a grin that said good effort, but it ain’t gonna work. “We can talk again on a Maya night, but Gawain needs to keep himself in the little boy’s room.”
Nonetheless, she stepped aside to let the fair Knight in, and sat herself on the edge of one of the beds. Her suitcase was on the other, spread open but not unpacked; inside, a dressy sweater sat next to a beat up pair of jeans. In the entryway closet, a sharp black suit coat and skirt were hung up to get the wrinkles out. Not knowing what they’d encounter up here, or what she would need... Maxine had packed a little of everything. Hence her second suitcase, flopped over on the table by the TV.
“So, Sir Gawain. What plan you for the morrow?” She let Rex crawl down her back, and disappear under the covers of the bed. She’d dig him out before she actually went to sleep. “Do you have anything planned? Anything the Oracle showed you that could help?”
All she had was an address, and a feeling that her clothes really weren't going to help her prepare.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Sept 17, 2011 13:50:22 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Rex had been stealing a baby. That’s exactly what Maxine wanted to hear. She winced, and followed Nate’s voice.
He looked worse for wear. He was down on the ground, covered in gooseflesh, somewhat glassy-eyed... The adrenaline was clearly wearing off.
Rex had a spider.
Nate had her camera.
The officer had questions. They took awhile. But with no victim around to file a report, no intent for crime by any involved parties that a court would consider sentient, and no harm done by any measurable account, there was nothing much for the man to do. He left them alone, that headshake as he stalked away clearly saying that it was too early in the morning for this level of mutant shenanigans.
Maxine finger-combed her hair back into place, and smoothed down her shirt with both hands.
“So, umm. Can I have my camera back?” She asked, after a pause. “...You can keep the spider.”
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Sept 17, 2011 13:29:43 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Maxine shivered. She didn’t try to fight it, or conceal it: let the elemental have his fun. The red head leaned into the curve of his body, resting her head on his shoulder. One hand reached up, and traced little circles through his shirt.
“Cute,” she whispered. “But I want a name.”
She angled her gaze upward, with a smirk. “Business before pleasure, Dio. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard it.”
“Old stories make the biggest splash, when they get a new light shined on them. You know she’s still trying to make it, right? Even with the tabloids tearing her apart every week, her fans shying away... if I break the story that Ms. Olos was innocent all along—set up by some foul person or persons—she’ll be back in the spotlight, even more beloved than ever. And she’ll owe all her gratitude to a humble mutie reporter.” The redhead leaned her head back a little further, and quirked an eyebrow up at the aeromancer. “Wouldn’t that just make you smile, Dio? Seeing that little bigot owing everything to a little freak? Her managers wouldn’t let her badmouth us. She’d have to smile and say thank you for all the cameras, for the rest of her life.”
Not just to the cameras: to Maxine Ralls, in specific. Being such a big fan of her show, she trusted that Dio would know how much of an ego blow that would cause for the starlet.
“Any tips you could provide, of course, would be kept strictly confidential.” Her hand kept up its motion, moving in lazy figure-eights around two rather sensitive points.
