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 5, 2009 0:01:52 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
He kissed her hand, and went down on one--
>> "... no kidding."
Oh. Well, maybe the one knee thing wasn’t as chivalrous as first assumed. Still: the kiss was more than enough to bring a blush over her cheeks. Her freckles stood out in dark spots. This one was a keeper; he even seemed to be taking Rex’s attack well. All things considered.
>> "Ya know, there are two ways to go about takin' out an octopus. One, you gotta bite them between the eyes."
Yeah. Good luck with that. Maxine had always wondered where Rex’s “eyes” were, too.
>> "... Two, ya gotta play nice."
There was a distinct air of befuddlement in the room, as his fingers started... petting the octoclip. Scratching, even, like there was just a particularly limber puppy wrapped around his knee. Maxine gave a speechless blink.
Pet. Scratch. Pet.
Rex stilled. Completely. Every clip in his mesh came to an absolute, unnatural stop.
Then, slowly, his grip loosened back to non-crippling levels. One tentacle reached out towards the hand that had reached for it. As if experimenting with a new thing it had learned, Rex returned the favor:
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Dec 4, 2009 21:17:33 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Never underestimate the human (and mutant) ability to only give a passing interest to someone else’s day. Mutterings? Sure: there was a paperclip octopus attacking a bubble, and being attacked in return. That was mutter-worthy. There were mutterings over by the quick-sketching man down the path and the scruffy guy with the guitar on the street corner, too. A couple of people—mostly the younger ones—pulled out cell phones and sent pictures to their friends. Then they walked on. New people took their place. Mutterings: anyone doing anything out of the usual could expect mutterings.
A little boy laughed and pointed at them: his mother frowned, and hurried him on. In a city were a good percentage of mutants took mutterings as intensely personal, Maxine couldn’t blame her. She did shoot the kid a quick grin over the last bite of her cone, though.
>> "I don't really think he wants to be kept. He looks rather unhappy being in a bubble."
“Doesn’t he just?” Maxine replied, with all due satisfaction. Rex seemed oblivious to the face in front of him: the bubble was his foe, not the man.
>> "I can only assume that you’re a mutant?"
“Nope,” Maxine replied, popping the last of her cone in her mouth. Crunch. Chew. Swallow. “I’m a product reviewer. That’s Sony’s latest attempt at an animatronic pet. It rather fails the cuddly test, don’t you think?” She took a napkin out of the dispenser at her feet, and wiped off her mouth.
Rex had figured out his adversary’s weakness: by focusing his tentacles on one area, he could start to break through. Suffice it to say that an octopus made of paperclips didn’t need a very big hole. As soon as he was out, the bubble attempted to escape him by collapsing. The octoclip was not to be fooled by such a trick: it latched onto the tendril that had originally attacked it, and sought it to its source.
The mother of all bubbles.
For a moment, the octoclip paused. Its tentacles explored this new surface: gentle nudges and slides. The bubble gave slightly before its clips; little indents were formed by the pressure of his explorations. That was all he needed.
At a furiously renewed pace, the octoclip climbed up the surface of the man’s bubble, until he reached its pinnacle. There he sat, tentacles writhing, as he searched both the bubbly surface below and the empty air above for something he could properly punish. As to the man, whose head was about a foot below him: Rex did not seem to understand the connection between biped and bubble. That was probably just as well.
“Name’s Maxine,” said the redhead on the bench. “You?”
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Dec 4, 2009 20:41:57 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
A horse ran by with—was that her Mirror on its back? She kept her squee on the inside, but got a close-up for future framing: hot cakes, he was cute when he was terrified. With any luck, a whole nation of girls would soon be getting the urge to ruffle that hair.
>> "Why hello."
“Hello, Sir,” Maxine replied, with a grin down at her feet. She offered the man a hand up; it was hard to get both him and the epic battle in the screen, otherwise. Once he was standing, she made sure to position herself so he was in one tiny corner of the screen, and Cthulhu v. the raging rug-rats filled the rest.
“Maxine Ralls. Wolf News. Could you tell me your name, age, and mutation?” Considering he’d just attacked Cthulhu with a glowing sword—after attacking it with a battle ax—after bracing ax and shield against the ground—she was working under the ‘not human’ hypothesis.
In the larger frame, a man punched a tree. A tree. You better believe that tree moved.
“Is this monster the work of mutants?”
Full-body man-sheath bubble boy was back in her life, with anvils. Anvils from the sky. Screw the kid in front of her: Maxine zoomed in on Juka as he sent an anvil crashing down on Cthulhu’s head.
And then the griffin screamed, and the green girl looked so heart wrenchingly, helplessly lost. A true human interest moment, in the midst of the mutant royale.
Maxine kept her gleeful jig on the inside: celebrations, champagne, and backslaps from the other interns later. Right now: she kept her little camera steady. As far as she could tell, no one else was filming. Not from this great an angle, anyway. Ladies and gentleman: the morning newscast was all hers.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Dec 4, 2009 7:52:54 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
>> "What the f***?!"
The death of that cocky smile was heartbreaking. Truly. She’d seen it before, on many a face before his. Two minutes ago, they’d met: ten seconds ago, they’d met face-to-face. Now, their relationship was already at its first trail.
She could see the understanding dawn in his eyes.
>> "Um... Is this thing a pet of yours?"
Kinder words than some had used. Rex returned that kindness by sending two tentacles out to grab the hand that was poking at him, attempting to pin it against the kneecap he’d already conquered.
It was hard to ignore an octoclip that was defending your honor. Maxine gave a toothy, sheepish grin. It matched her boxers.
“I’m Maxine,” she said, offering her hand. She strategically offered it so that he could shake back with the hand he wasn’t battling an octopus with. “That’s Rex. He scares off boys.”
“And you are?” Yes, she was trying to hold a cheerful introduction, while her pet paperclips tried to cut off the circulation to his leg. Yes, she was succeeding.
Yes and yes: she’d done this before. Many times. Really, she should thank the overprotective heap: most girls had to rely on their own judgment to filter out potential suitors. She just had to latch herself on to the ones who didn’t run.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Dec 4, 2009 7:19:32 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Aww, and then he went into shock. That was adorable.
Then he stepped out of her mirror, and into her life.
Maxine blinked, eyes wide.
>> "Well, I don' know 'bout other mirrors ya've dated, but I wouldn't mind knowin' your name first."
Definitely mutant. Or dream. Or, if this was a hallucination, it was the cutest one she could have hoped for. Her lips pressed down together; quivered a moment; then split into a grin.
“You are so cute!” She squeaked, her hand pouncing for his hair. If it landed, there would be ruffling afoot. Cute, and taller than her by a good few inches—she could wear heels around him. Small heels, but still: heels. That was always a plus.
“How old are you? Are you legal? What kind of power was that? Are—Rex! Down boy!”
Well, that ruled out hallucination. Rex didn’t usually attack the kneecaps of those. From behind. With eight tentacles, very determined to wrap themselves on. Her ever-vigilant, ever-disapproving chaperon.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Dec 4, 2009 6:41:03 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
>> "Ya know, Rose Red, your sister knew better that to wash her teeth into the wishing well."
Two things. One: her mirror was talking back.
Two: her mirror was back talking.
Maxine picked her toothbrush out of its cup, and pointed it like an imperial scepter. “Don’t you sass me, Mirror. I’m the one asking the questions, here.”
She resisted, with all due force of early morning lethargic will power, the urge to look over her shoulder. She could see the bathroom door: still shut. She could see the edge of her tub: Rex, trying to open her shampoo bottle again. If anyone had actually been there, he’d have noticed. If any man had actually been there, he’d be a lot less hospitable than he was being to that shampoo.
On closer inspection, Maxine wasn’t sure that ‘man’ was the word she was looking for. ‘Cute’, ‘tempting’, and ‘jail bait’ came to mind, though. Yummy. Mutant, right? She was going to go with mutant. Hallucinations weren’t allowed: she was putting her foot down on that issue, and that was that: no hallucinations. Not until after her coffee.
Maxine poked the end of her toothbrush against the little treat’s reflection. Against his forehead, to be precise. She leaned in closer, her stomach pressing against the sink.
“Now,” she stated, “we’re going to try this again. This time, you answer, or it’s to the flea market with you. Kapeesh?”
“Mirror Mirror on the wall, Ditch the sarcasm once and for all. Tell me once and tell me true: Can’t I just go out with you?”
Sign of desperation #42: hitting on your bathroom mirror.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Dec 4, 2009 6:02:29 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Maxine had bags under her eyes. Not little bags: not carry ons, or those purses you’d shove a little dog in. Oh no. Duffel bags. Extra-wide. Military grade. Jump on them a few times, and maybe you could zip them shut.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, toothbrush hanging from mouth. Her red hair, wavy and frizzled on one side from falling asleep on the couch, was tied back in a loose morning ponytail. Her PJs were a proud set: blue boxers with sheep, and a loose button-up shirt she’d stolen from James McDonalds when they’d broken up. She had his coffee cup hostage, too; ransom, for when he decided to man up and give her pillow cases back.
It hadn’t been a pretty breakup. Which was too bad: Rex had liked him.
Maxine set her toothbrush in motion again: spit, gargled, washed her mouth out. Then, without much hope, she splashed water on her face and toweled it dry.
The result: she still had bags under her eyes.
“Mirror mirror on the wall,” she asked, looking directly into her own pale green eyes as they looked back out at her, “when am I going to get a date?”
It was the sort of question she didn’t expect an answer to.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Dec 4, 2009 4:25:39 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Crap. Crap buckets with duck burgers and ketchup. Locust-infested ketchup. She’d forgotten to get batteries to go with Clark’s Christmas present. If there was one rule that had governed Christmas mornings in the Ralls household from time immemorial, it was this: you did not make someone run out and buy their own batteries for their own Christmas present. She could see the look on her older brother’s face at breakfast tomorrow, that anal retentive crease starting between his eyebrows as he tallied the omission on her record. He wouldn’t say anything, oh no. Not about the batteries. Much worse: he’d give her the ol’ “Thank you, Maxine”, and set it to the side, on top of the sweater mom invariably bought him. Oh no, Maxine was not the type of girl to stand for that. She would not submit to being thanked. Instead, she would run out in the middle of the night—the night before Christmas—and try to find a gas station that still had batteries in stock, after the other last-minute shoppers had picked over their displays. She needed four triple-As. So help her, if she had to buy one of those remotes that had ‘batteries inside!’ and scrape the still-charged innards out of its plastic husk, she would. She would not be thankthulhued.
Thankwhozzits?
Oh, right. Thankthulhued.
This is approximately the time that Maxine’s gawking crashed her bike into a lamppost, just outside of the parkthulhu.
She was fine, she was fine. She was okay. She was standing: stroking the caps of alarmed BIC pens to assure them she hadn’t broken anything. Picking back up purses, as they crawled their way to her feet. Staring.
Slightly, slightly eye twitching.
Cthulhu. Slowly, the innate horror in Maxine’s gut drifted upwards: from small intestine back to large, then into her stomach. By then, it had become delightfully buoyant. A little bouncy.
She grinned, and stretched her hand towards her paperclip-covered purse. A long arm untangled itself from the whole, and rummaged: in a moment, a handycam was nudged against her waiting palm. Maxine flipped its little screen open, and brought it to bear on the epic holiday fight starting before her eyes.
Screw Clark and screw batteries. She was about to do some reporting, thank you.
You better not shout, you better not cry You better not pout, I’m telling you why: Maxine’s gravy train is coming to town.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Dec 4, 2009 3:38:09 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
There was a man. In a dress. Molesting her octopus, with a tendril from his full-body man-sheath.
what. + tf?
The obvious display of powers didn’t put Maxine at ease. The notion of mutant camaraderie wasn’t beyond her; she’d heard of it, all right. Half of her hate mail threw that notion into her face, while dripping betrayed venom from every poorly-punctuated sentence. Basic grammar: something ninety percent of those who sent hate mail seemed to lack, be they human or mutant.
Maxine reached up a slow hand to her hair, and took down the black BIC pen that had been perched there. Her ice cream was down to the cone, now: with all due feminine grace, she shoved it in her mouth for safe keeping while she scrawled a quick note on the back of her hand: equal in stupidity—hate mail morons. That was a segment, right there. She capped the pen again, and let it go. It flew back to her ear.
Cone: removed from mouth. Green eyes: returned to the man in the dress, who was molesting her octopus.
Initially, Rex had ignored the tendril’s approach. Then, mistaking its aim as being for his napkin dispenser, he’d attempted to attack it: he’d tumbled forward in an angry burst of speed, and latched all his arms around the oncoming intrusion. Imagine his surprise when it... bubbled him.
Maxine took a bite off her cone, observing this scene. Crunch. Chew. Chew.
Rex scrapped his arms along the bubble’s inside, making clear his intent to destroy it. Once he figured out how.
Crunch. Chew. Chew.
Swallow.
“Can you keep him in there until I’m married?” Maxine asked, with only the driest traces of humor.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Dec 3, 2009 3:45:32 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
I'm pretty sure staplers are going to be ninja-like. Everyone keeps mentioning them here and on the Cbox, and yet, the profile is conspicuously lacking in--
*they find her body three days later, mouth stapled shut* *the note attaching to her body reads "Thanks for the comments, everyonetherearenostaplers"*
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Dec 3, 2009 3:36:54 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
The attack had ended: Rex had clearly won. Anyone watching could have easily followed the paperclip octopus with their eyes, from red-faced hot dog vendor, across the browning grass and roughly paved park path, straight to Maxine.
The red-head was eating her ice cream like a combat veteran.
Briefly, her gaze met a quizzical jogger’s. To say that she glared wouldn’t be right; there was nothing angry or violent about it. Her pale green eyes were simply written with one word:
what.
Lowercase.
Period.
The jogger gave an almost instinctive ‘nothing, nothing’ shrug, and picked back up her pace. Maxine licked her cone, and kept assertively crowd-watching as the octoclip played with its shiny new toy at her feet.
If her green eyes happened to meet those of a certain Japanese singer’s, that same word would greet him. Yes, she had a land octopus. Yes, it was made of paperclips. Yes, it had attacked the hot dog vendor. So.
Posted by Maxine Ralls on Nov 30, 2009 5:52:09 GMT -6
Gamma Mutant
379
3
Jul 27, 2018 20:37:07 GMT -6
Calley
Maxine Ralls was enjoying her ice cream, and that was that.
It was a rather chilly day: definitely more towards Winter than Fall. No snow on the ground, yet, but all of Autumn’s leaves had been raked away; there were only bare branches and park benches. The sunlight seemed pale.
(The hotdog vendor was not screaming. She was enjoying her ice cream, that was that, and the hotdog vendor was not screaming.)
Maxine licked her cone, and turned it expertly to a new side. An amateur may tilt the cone in all manner of unspeakable directions, or—worse—simply eat one side at a time. This was the eating technique of a pro.
(The vendor was hitting something metallic with something else metallic, now, and cursing in fluent Italian. This, however, was no problem of hers. She was enjoying her ice cream, and that was that.)
Today’s menu: soft serve, raspberry and orange twirl. She shivered inside of her black fleece coat. Ice cream on chilly days: it was simply—
A passing jogger slowed down to that gawking-at-a-car-accident crawl. Above Maxine’s ear, a pen twitched against her hair with some sense of urgency. The red-head’s neck disappeared into her black coat collar. She was enjoying her ice cream, and that was—
CRASH.
“That’s right! Get outta ‘ere! Shoo! Scat!”
CLUNK draaaag CLUNK draaaag CLUNK draaaag
A paperclip tentacle proudly slid over her shoe, curling in her shoelace for attention. Octosaurus Rex was back from his adventure. Maxine stared down at the octoclip, her eyes rapidly narrowing.
Rex was babying a napkin dispenser in his arms.
This was all right. This was okay. Because Maxine Ralls—age twenty, Scorpio, blood type O, perpetually single—was enjoying her ice cream. That was that. She took another lick, and turned her cone. On the ground, the proud octoclip did nearly the same with his napkin dispenser: stroke, turn, hug.
Limit of two, please!