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.
“Humans,” the red head started, tossing a sheaf of papers onto the desk. They spread out in front of her in an untidy wave. “Plus one.”
She started to relax in her chair; her back barely touched it before she was leaning forward again.
“Let me qualify that: American humans. Don’t get me started on the Romanians. American humans, be proud: another country is following your fine example. And look at this!”
With a false smile, she picked out one of the papers, and made an elaborate show of reading it.
“Jessica Samson.”
She tossed the paper aside, and picked up another.
“Jerald Everett.”
She went through the stack, her plastic smile firmly in place until the very last name.
“Jaxon Kane.”
Ms. Kane's paper got tossed over her shoulder; perched on the back of her chair, something metallic and many-armed caught it, and began the slow, steady job of methodically crushing it between paperclip tentacles.
“These are the names of American citizens who were in Romania when the Registration Act was passed. Let me repeat that: American citizens. They are currently missing; their families and friends turned to us out of fear that they had been arrested by Romanian authorities. American citizens, there on vacation or work, breaking no laws except being born. Some of them, not even that: some of these people are human. To all the zealots in the audience, let me make sure that’s clear: humans have disappeared, as well. The State Department was surprisingly unavailable for comment. According to our sources, they haven’t been too keen on returning the phone calls of worried loved ones, either.
“American citizens are likely being detained, arrested, or made to simply disappear by a foreign power, and our government is doing nothing.
“Plus one, humans. Plus one.
“And to all the American mutants, smugly watching this: you are no better. If you don’t speak out against an injustice, you are condoning it. Plus one, until I hear about a wide-spread mutant lobby fighting for US intervention.”
The wire mesh on her chair back had crumpled the paper as tight as possible: bored with its toy, it let the white ball drop to the floor. It continued to sit behind her, its clip tentacles moving in a pantomime of life.
“Until next time, remember: though our genetics may differ, we’re all equal in stupidity. Some of us are just more equal than others.”
The red head was massaging her temples as the shoot started. Her eyes were closed, as if in a migraine-induced grimace. A school of wild paperclips swam past the camera.
“A cupcake shop,” she said, dropping her hands back to her chair arms. “Seriously, mutants? A cupcake shop?
“Earlier this week, a pair of mutants went into a cupcake shop—an upscale cupcake shop, mind you—” her fingers gave a well la de da wiggle “—and picked a fight. I call it ‘picking a fight,’ because when an employee asks a woman with knife-bladed arms to leave, the appropriate response is not assault and multiple homicides. Here’s a newsflash, mutants: if a human walked in with that much lethal metal, they’d be asked to leave, too. How about you try wearing long sleeves next time, hon. Instead of, say, the blood of your victims.” The red head gave a little shrug, and a smile between women. “It might be a little more attractive.”
She leaned back again, one hand combing through her hair; a pen fluttered out of its path, then resettled over her ear.
“The point I’m trying to make here isn’t about mutant thugs and violence, though. The point I’m making is this: a cupcake shop.
“A pair of mutants picked a fight. In a cupcake shop.”
The red head leaned back in her chair, and stared at the camera for a long moment. The school of paperclips swam past in the background behind her chair, heading in the opposite direction. Slowly, she began to clap.
“Congratulations, Swiss Army and Rocky: you have hit a new low for our species. Plus one to the mutant score. And to the human thugs who stepped up to brawl a sentient can opener and got themselves opened: plus one to the human side, too. Remember, kids, it takes two to fuel a massacre: the psychopaths, and the idiots who run towards the psychopaths.
“Yet another reminder, from the Big Apple: though our genetics may differ, we’re all equal in stupidity.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Feb 19, 2010 3:06:14 GMT -6
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((ooc: "Equal in Stupidity" is a five-minute opinion segment, aired every Friday as part of the nationwide conservative news show, Wolf News. It debuted in August 2009. This thread shall be the ongoing chronicle of Maxine's wish for hate mail and death threats. ))
The red head was in her very early twenties. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, a few strands flying artistically loose. Artistically, mind you: not unintentionally. Not inflicted by a hurried run from the intern’s offices. Dark freckles littered her nose, clearly unhindered by any and all make up attempts. A black pen sat perched above her right ear as she leaned across the desk with a grin. The camera rolled.
“Tonight’s topic: the police department’s deputization of vigilante mutants.”
A paperclip tentacle slid over the edge of her desk; the red head pushed it back down, without breaking eye contact with her unseen audience.
“When yours truly called to ask the fine NYPD whether the mutants in question had completed any sort of actual training to warrant their new status, the department declined comment. If you can’t beat ‘em, give them a free pass to enforce their own views of the law. Plus one, humans. Weekly tally rises to humans 5, mutants 4. Until next week, dear viewers, remember: our genetics may differ, but we’re all equal in stupidity.
“Oh, and to the two mutant kids who saved the day at the orphanage massacre—next time, try to look less like Ice Man and Child Porn Boy. And hey, how about you try catching the murderer next time. Make that mutants 5. Goodnight, folks!
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Feb 1, 2010 1:50:00 GMT -6
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>> "Ooops indeed. ...Maxine, we need to talk. Um, probably not right now."
Maxine ever-so-sweetly batted her eyelashes at the injured knight. "Anytime, Sir Gawain. You know the place." He just better not come by while she was actually using said place. A lady's bathroom could be distinctly treacherous grounds, for an indecently minded mirrorwalker. Clearly, though, a knight would have no such problems. Particularly not the Prince of Orkney himself.
>> "Hey pyro, letsss go home. Equally ssstupid you are welcome to come with usss, talk out whatever thisss isss."
"Aww, I didn't recognize you with your clothes on." Maxine grinned, one hand reaching out with clear intents to ruffle Child Porn Boy's hair. "You watch my show! Do you want an autography?"
All mockery aside, the offer to go home with them surprised her. It surprised her enough that she almost pounced on it, before she reminded herself of one little fact: her footage wasn't safe yet. Priorities, Ms. Rawls, priorities. Besides, she was fairly certain she knew where they were from, if they were all headed back with the naked ninja. The ninja hung out with the ice man. The ice man showed up on TV a lot; Maxine would know. He was part of the Grown Up version of this do-gooder gang. She had very clear suspicions about where that group was based.
Another time, Mansionlings. Another time.
"As fun as that sounds," the red head said with a little smirk, "a girl's got to get her beauty sleep. I've got a party to go to tomorrow." Which reminded her: she still needed to buy the batteries for Clark's present. Also: she needed to find Polly. The red pen was likely lost, somewhere between here and her apartment, carrying the battery for her camera. Those suckers were expensive.
With one last gleeful wave, the intern reporter wiped the stray clay drops from her bicycle seat, and made a classily wheeling exit.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Feb 1, 2010 1:48:12 GMT -6
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>> "I'm sorry, Lady Maxine. I don't date. ...Although once in a while I get really tempted."
Maxine smirked, leaving her head comfortably on his shoulder for just a little longer before straightening back up. "Mmm, well as long as you're tempted. A girl's got to feel a little love."
That was that, then. He wasn't on the market. At the moment. Which, of course, officially resolved her problem: he wasn't dating material. He'd said so himself. For now. Give him a year or two--he looked like he needed more time to grow into those shoulders, anyway. Or a few decent meals. Speaking of which...
Belly poke.
"When was the last time you ate? You look like a string bean. Sir Knight." Dignified title somewhat belated, and somewhat grinning. "Let's get you fed. How spicy did you order yours, anyway?" Maxine leaned forward to hover over her own curry: a prelude to lady-like devouring.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jan 28, 2010 2:10:45 GMT -6
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Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
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>> "You wound me, fair Lady Maxine. Is that the best you've got? I hardly believe you would be in the position you are in right now if you truly believed I have a girlfriend."
“Mmm,” Maxine mulled, a nefarious sparkle in her eyes. “I wonder.” He was warmer up close. His cheeks were so smooth. Was that just a well-done shave, or was her Knight still questing in his own mirror each morning for traces of baby fuzz?
Mmm, arm.
>> "So, what's your boyfriend's name?"
Touché, Sir Knight. Maxine wrapped his arm around herself a bit more snuggly, and let herself enjoy the cuddling. Just for a sec. Just until she risked spoiling it.
“Mirror Mirror at my side, Courtly evasions I shall not abide. Once more I seek answer true: Can’t I just go out with you?”
A grin danced playfully at her lips: that could have been a joke. If it needed to be a joke. Her green eyes were carefully inexpressive. The music kept playing, over them. The pen that had been following them flittered up from its perch on her purse, and landed on the edge of her curry plate; its cap pointed towards them, with a curious twist.
Did she actually want to date him?
No clue. He was cute, he was a modern sort of gentleman, but she wasn’t sure if she was actually attracted to him. Even if she was, she wasn’t sure she wanted to date him: it was hard to lower her standards from college boys to errant Knights. Not to say there was anything wrong with not going to college. It was only a problem if you wanted to date her. Still, though.
Did she want to see him again, with more cuddling?
Mmmm yes. She had mentioned he was warm, right? ‘Cause he was. Very.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jan 27, 2010 2:07:59 GMT -6
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>> "Sweetest Maxine, I am so very happy to provide you what small enjoyment I could. And you can be certain as soon as your heart desires it, I will gift you with the skies and the clouds once again. ...Though perhaps your Octoclip might prefer to sit the next trip out?"
“I would like that very much, my lovely Juka,” the red head grinned, her freckles dark across her nose after that distinct dose of excitement. Rex, for its own part, rose its mesh head from her hair. Its sides slowly boiled and quivered, flexing in and out, like an old man sucking his teeth. Tentacles slid slowly across her forehead. Seven years living with it, and Maxine still wasn’t sure whether the octoclip understood speech. One thing was quite clear, however: the octoclip was Not Pleased. She let that be the answer to Juka’s second question.
Alas, but all lovely days must come to an end.
“I fear, my dear, that the demons of homework call me away,” Maxine mimed a forlorn swoon, hand to her forehead. “Goodbye, my lovely Juka; until next we meet, be well.”
And that was that.
As she walked away, one question still remained: how many balloons did it take to make an octoclip fly?
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jan 26, 2010 5:49:30 GMT -6
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Was Maxine serious about this? It was a good thing no one was asking Maxine that. In all honesty: she had no idea.
Pros: Gawain was cute. Had a sense of humor. Could ballroom dance. And he was self-proclaimed legal in the eyes of the New York State justice department.
Cons: Hobo. Likely high school drop out. And that reaction of his earlier hinted at some serious baggage, somewhere in his closet.
But he was warm. And he didn’t talk like a high school drop out. In fact, he was currently talking like someone who pre-dated high schools. If high schools hadn’t existed yet, than it wasn’t such a bad thing that her Knight hadn’t finished his, right?
These are the things we convince ourselves of, when the boy is close, and the curry is coming. Their waitress set their food down with a smile, and went her way again. Indian music danced through the air, from a dusty old speaker in the other corner. This was okay, right? Even if she had no idea what she actually wanted—wasn’t that fine? This was fun. He was fun.
And Rex liked him.
Maxine lightly tipped her head against his shoulder, red hair falling against his neck.
“Hey,” she asked innocuously, with a sweet bat of her eyelashes, “What’s your girlfriend’s name?”
The curry could wait a second. She already knew what she wanted out of it.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jan 26, 2010 3:13:30 GMT -6
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“Sinbad?” Maxine asked, touching her hand over her heart. Shocked, Sir; she was simply shocked. “My lord, you should not be associating with sailors. Particularly not that one. Why, the stories I hear of him...” She trailed off, with a meaningful shake of her head.
When she relaxed out of her acting, she adjusted her seating just a smidge. A smidge closer to him. He was cute: this was public. Was it not her right as a woman to be seen in public sliding up close to a cute boy of legal age? It had been awhile since she’d had the chance. It felt nice. Even though they weren’t touching, she could still feel the heat of his body. Boys: nature’s space heaters.
>> "Ya're not gonna make the plates attack me or somethin', are ya."
“Sir Knight, would I do such a thing to you?” Maxine fluttered her eyelashes, and took a delicate—a lady-like—sip of her water. Really, no need to mention that she couldn’t do such a thing to him. A proper sorceress must have her secrets. “You haven’t even made me angry yet,” she added, with another innocent sip.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jan 26, 2010 2:07:19 GMT -6
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Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
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Maxine took the offered hand. Steadying... yes. She could use a little steadying. Her feet touched pavement again, but it was like getting out of the ocean after a long swim: you could still feel the waves in your body, for hours afterward. In this case, the waves were causing the world to spin. Just a little.
>> "Are you ok my dear? Was it everything you expected?"
If there was one thing Maxine was sure of, it was that Juka liked an audience. They certainly had one: some of the admirers of their aerial acrobatics had gathered around, with that same whispering, approving silence that ringed jazz men as they played their heart out in front of an open case on the street. Juka knew that ride had been everything she expected. And a lot more. Juka was a performer. Juka wanted the crack that performers lived on: public recognition of just how fabulously and wonderfully talented they were.
The red head grinned, and addressed herself to their crowd. “Ladies and gentleman,” she said, “that was exactly as fun as it looked.” She laughed, then snuggled herself against the great Juka Miami’s arm. “We’ve got to do that again, some time.” Idly, she picked at a paperclip tentacle by her ear. It was a little tight for comfort.
(Rex’s opinion begged to differ. Rex was wrapped, very still and very tight, around Maxine’s head. It looked very much liked a paperclip mesh hat. It did not twitch a single clip.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jan 25, 2010 2:45:47 GMT -6
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Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
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>> "Hold on tight."
Maxine returned the grin, giving his hand a playful squeeze. Oh sure, she’d hold on tight. She—
Didn’t quite remember when she’d flung her arms around his shoulders, or why her head was pressed against his chest. She peeled herself back (just an inch or two or—woah).
Woah.
“Ha!” Maxine laughed, a sound of breathless exhilaration with a healthy dose of fear. In Chicago, she’d heard that there was some building you could climb—on one of the higher stories, they had a balcony made entirely of glass. Nothing but a translucent barrier between you and the city, very far below. She’d never been there before. She imagined it was a lot like this.
Except the glass wasn’t pink. And it was held in place by architecture and physics, not the will of someone’s mind.
“Oh wow.” She said, looking back up at him. “This is a little—”
‘Freaky’ turned into a squeal as the somersaulting began.
She wasn’t quite sure when the screaming turned into laughing, or she opened her eyes again.
This.
She needed to get her some of this.
How many paperclips would it take to make a magic carpet?
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jan 25, 2010 2:43:02 GMT -6
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Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
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>> "Here we are."
Here they were. His hands were out of his pockets; she crossed hers, tucking her hands against her side. Because they were cold, obviously. She didn’t have gloves. Obviously.
>> "Um, look, I'm sorry, I don't usually snap at people like that... It's not you, it's me. C'mon, let's get somethin' to eat."
Smirk was returned for smirk. “Sounds like a worthy quest, Sir Gawain. Count me in.”
He got bonus points for opening the door.
Inside, the place was adorable. That being the appropriate word for a restaurant that blended ‘hole in the wall’ with ‘cozy.’ It smelled good, too. It seemed to be a seat yourself sort of establishment; Maxine dragged her magic mirror off to a booth in the back corner. It was made for more than two, but it wasn’t like the place was overflowing with customers. And come on: it was a booth. She’d already mentioned cozy, right?
“Hath thy travels brought thee into the Indies, fair Prince?” Maxine asked, snuggling up somewhat closer than she needed to, given the size of the booth, but somewhat less close than she would have before their little spat. She wasn’t on his lap: just next to it. She picked up a menu. “They’ve many a spice not found at the court. I recommend this one most highly.” Her finger tapped on the curry. And not the baby’s curry, either. Maxine ate with the big boys: if your tongue wasn’t bleeding at the end, you were doing it wrong.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jan 22, 2010 19:10:14 GMT -6
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Two new girls arrived, in news van style. Maxine had a flash of instant dislike. Not for them: for the news van. Rivals. She knew, though—knew—that her footage was better than theirs. She was the only one who’d been here from the start. She was the only one who’d been so close, at such a great angle. Now, the trick was just to get it out of here. It wasn’t an issue reporters were unfamiliar with. World changing images often came from the heart of oppression itself: in Photo Journalism, she’d just done a report on the tank man. A convergence of trickery and bravery had gotten those images out of China, and told a story that became iconic overnight.
>> "Need a hand up? Seriously, no need to run, I just want to talk."
Granted that the historical significance wasn’t quite so high, here, but the point remained:
>> "Reporters like you f***ed up my life once already, I'll not have that happen again."
Purple eyes was a Communist. As oppressive to the press as a communist regime, in any case. What was that—an Aussie accent? Maxine, thanks, was an American. The water in her toilet swirled in the right direction, and she was keeping her footage.
With a smile, she spurned his offered hand. She stood, though, of her own effort. She would have offered Gawain a hand up—
>> "Sorry, are you alright? Is your camera ok?"
—But her right hand was still holding the camera, and her left was still wrapped around the ‘film.’
“It’s just perfect, dear. Thanks for asking.” She smiled, her sweetness an intentional match for the shooter’s innocence. “Mind if I take your names?” She started rummaging in her purse: the camera was shoved out of sight, and a little paper pad (spiral bound. thanks.) and a red pen were extracted. She could feel the pen quivering in her hand, but it probably wasn’t noticeable to anyone else. Unless someone had super senses. Freaking super senses. Maxine made to uncap the pen.
Instead, she neatly tucked the ‘memory card’ under its cap, and tossed it as high into the air as she could, as quick as she could. “Go, Polly! Studio!” She shouted. Apartment, girl. She amended, in her thoughts. The pen took off at a healthy clip: thirty miles an hour, or so. It could probably get up to forty if chased. Without its cargo, it could go almost twice that.
‘Twice that’ was about how sweet Maxine’s smile was turning. She gave a little silly me shrug to the Purple-Eyed Commie. “Oops. I’m sorry—really, my pens just seem to have a life of their own.”
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jan 20, 2010 2:48:02 GMT -6
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Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
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>> "Stop that! I'm not a toy, okay?”
Just like that, the switch flipped from ‘day on the town’ to ‘looming fight.’ It made a warped kind of sense. Usually, she had to wait a few dates to feel this comfortable with someone. If she didn’t have to wait for that, then really, why wait for the fight? Really, they were just living her whole dating experience in fast-forward. Good meeting: mutual approval: fun dates: brooding storm clouds: looming fight: explosive end. The only thing missing was the bedroom trip(s). And Rex.
How was she supposed to know that the Knight had a sore spot for Mommy? He’d left his user manual back in that mirror he’d crawled out of.
Bright side:
>> “I'm seventeen years old, FYI yes that's legal—”
Heeheehee. She was going to have to see ID before she believed that one, but now she had hope.
>> “—and I have been takin' care of myself since I was 13 because I had no choice, so."
Malevolent inner cackling aside, her Knight came with some serious saddlebags attached. Then again, it wasn’t like she didn’t. Hers were just less in the past, and came with more tentacles.
>> "There's an Indian place on the next corner that way. Let's go."
Hands in pockets. Face forward. Cheeks red. Now was not the time to point out how cute his Emo look was. Maxine followed him, swallowing back any and all witty comebacks. Her Knight was (self-declared) legal. She was going to finish off this date without getting dumped.
To the Indian restaurant. To the food. To the laid-back dinner chatting, and sneaking a look at his driver’s license. Even high school drop outs had those. Right?
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Jan 20, 2010 2:46:50 GMT -6
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Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
>> "You'll love it I'm sure! If I might have your hand, dearest one?"
“One moment, dearest Juka,” she replied with a wink. And a step behind him, and a scoop. Rex vehemently protested being picked up: his tentacles flailed wildly, lashing against the empty air and her arm. (Her non-ice-cream-holding arm. Maxine kept that arm fully extended away from the octoclip’s insulted wrath.) Finally, he crawled up her shoulder and neck to sit, brooding, in her hair. The pen in Juka’s hair wiggled, as if in sympathy. The napkin dispenser lay forgotten on the cold ground.
“All aboard,” Maxine smiled, offering her hand to the fabulous Juka Miami.
))