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.
The teen murmured thanks as the water was deposited before them, watching in silent wonder at how precise Bob's tentacles were. The rose the glass to their lips and sipped. A close observer would note the condensation near the rim of the glass as the teen drank, and the marginally lower water level when the cup was replaced. Cas sighed. Even though it was freezing outside, the icy water did their nerves good. At least, for the moment. Erik waffled around an explanation.
>> "Right. Superpower.. er mutation. Bob! The kid wants to know what I do. Care for an assist? Butcher cleaver should do nicely I think."
Would he make it disappear, Cas wondered? Absorb it into his skin? Throw it? Maybe he'd transform into some cleaver-armed B-movie flunky? The teen leaned forward again, surveying Erik's arm for any indication of a mutation activating. They were so Erik that they weren't watching Bob. At least, until Erik shouted, "Go!" And the cleaver made its downward arc into his splayed hand.
The horrified yelp that escaped Cassidy was as involuntarily as their backwards reeling out of their chair. The second blow to his head pushed the teen back further, out of the path of her friend as he was sent sprawling.
On seemingly its own accord, the teen's water glass shot off of the counter towards Bob. The cook caught the glass in one of his numerous tentacles, at the expense of a sip of water and a few ice cubes that sloshed over the sides.
The sleeves of the invisible teen's flannel shirt bent at the elbows, revealing that their hands had been clapped to their mouth. They were shaking every so slightly. Bob nodded wordlessly at Erik's motionless form. Cassidy's gaze followed. Erik stirred.
>> "Bob you a$$, suppose I earned that.."
The teen watched as Erik roused himself from the ground and, for lack of a better word, reassembled himself, clambering back into his seat. Bob, without missing a beat, tossed a bar rag to Erik. He set Cas's glass back down, noticed the blood spray that had tainted the glass, and went to retrieve a new one. Erik turned on the teen, who hadn't moved from their spot.
>> "That is about the extent of it for the most part. Sometimes I turn into a 9' red cannibal monster."
They lowered their hands from their mouth, watching as good head-trauma finally corrected itself.
"Th... There has to be less traumatizing ways of showing that," the teen said. They were trying to go for their usual droll tone, but a quavering note betrayed them. It had been a real, however momentary, concern that they'd watched their newfound friend get brained to death by a cleaver.
They shuffled back to their seat at the bar, and tried to laugh it off, but were noticeably shaken by the entire scene. Their seat was wiped clean, their water glass was replaced, and with a shaky hesitance the teen sat down once again.
Cas wasn't even sure they were hungry anymore.
"So you can heal yourself and shapeshift," the teen murmured, trying to talk their way out of their nervousness, "That's really practical."
Cassidy wondered follow an underground business ever got enough business to stay in-business. Especially if only visible mutants frequented the establishment. Prior to taking up residence at the Sanctuary, they had only seen visible mutants once or twice in their life. They didn't imagine that there were enough visible mutants in the world to keep the business afloat.
Nothing prepared them for Bob. Bob... barely looked human. Blue, to start-- and with tentacles instead of legs. Perhaps being invisible worked to the teen's benefit, because they gaped at the mutant man that now strolled in. Their clothes rustled as the teen followed Bob with their gaze. Otherwise, they were both silent and vigilant while Erik did the talking.
>> "Bob! Two breakfast specials. The works. Water for me and uh... you want a milkshake or something they are pretty good. He has juice and pop and all that jazz as well."
Cassidy cleared their throat, adjusting their weight in the chair. They really wanted a soda, but if Erik wasn't having soda, they couldn't either. They were raised better than that.
>> "Figured it would be something like that. He is right though. Got all the usual breakfast choices as well as what you would get from any old normal diner."
"Water would be great," Cas chimed-in, resting their arms on the counter and leaning forward, "Please."
They seemed to have finally found their voice, at least enough to place an order. Cas assumed that Bob would be too preoccupied with meal prep to converse with his patrons, however, so Cas turned towards Erik. The chair squeaked as it rotated.
"So what do you do?" they demanded vaguely, "Your mutation, I mean." He lived in the Sanctuary, a notoriously mutant place, and knew about an underground mutant diner, so he had to do something, "Cuz you already know mine."
The teen crooked one arm on the counter, resting their head upon their hand.
Listen to this guy. Do you know where you are? Seriously? Watching him talk was uncanny. Nothing like cartoon animals talking. So Cassidy avoided looking at his mouth, and instead focused on him. He was getting closer, and that was not okay. The invisible teen whirled on the guy, jerking their wrist out of reach. Cassidy squared-up. Trying to coerce a hooligan from defacing public property was one thing. Getting touchy was something else entirely.
"Yeah buddy, we're under a f**king bridge," Cassidy pushed off their hood and unzipped their coat. Underneath the coat they seemed hollow, because the clothes beneath the coat were fitted and therefore invisible and untouchable, "You the troll the lives here? Cuz if you're gonna get all territorial on me, I can find another bridge, I ain't stressed about that."
It was a small design, and they had enough paint to tag at least three buildings, easily. It wasn't worth fighting some dog-faced snitch over one wall.
"First things first, though," the invisible teen went on, "You don't lay hands on someone else, unless you're looking to catch hands. Don't f**king touch me, dude."
They replaced the cap on the spray can, having finished the white base, and dropped it into the backpack. The drawstring was pulled one-handedly. A thick, black Sharpie was withdrawn from their coat pocket, to add lines, but Cassidy didn't start the process. Fluffy was still standing there, glowering. Cassidy surveyed them, their body motionless and still tensed and ready.
"So? You gonna let me finish here so we can both enjoy our nights, Fluffy?" Cassidy implored.
Cassidy was adding legs (yes, legs) to the ghost, when someone gave a theatrical "Ahem" behind them. It made their blood run cold. This is why you worked in pairs, so someone could keep watch. Cas stopped spraying the wall and turned. What their eyes spied cast a nervous and confused smile upon their face, and a laugh escaped them.
"What the f**k?"
Not exactly the most polite introduction. But they were absolutely terrified of dogs, and they were now facing down... what, a werewolf? A furry that lost its furry convention? In the wee hours of the morning, it took Cassidy some mental gymnastics to deduce that what actually stood before them was a fellow mutant.
"Can I help you?" the teen demanded, "I'm kind of in the middle of something."
They fully expected Fluffy to rat them out at his soonest convenience, so Cassidy turned back to their work and continued spraying. Their back wasn't fully to Fluffy, though. They kept him in their peripheral vision, lest he pull anything stupid. Their non-dominant hand slid into their jacket pocket, and closed over the handle of their knife.
Erik asked for Cassidy to be more vocal with their thoughts. The teen couldn't help the laugh that rose out of them. Were they being quiet? Perhaps they were! But this wasn't a question they got very often. People had always been telling them to shut up, to speak when spoken to, et cetera. And now they were being asked to speak-up-- albeit because Erik couldn't read them without facial expressions to go-off of. But still. He wanted honesty. After he rambled about phone call etiquette, Cassidy gave him the honesty he requested.
"I'm still trying to figure you out, is all," Cassidy assured the guy, "Trust me. If it turns out we're simpatico, you won't be able to shut me up."
Thinly, Cassidy wondered if "Red" was a sexual thing, since a girl had given him that name. They kept that question to themselves. The van came to a stop. Cas didn't know the area. They unbuckled the seatbelt and popped open the door, sliding off the seat. There was a hesitance in their steps as they followed Erik. They stayed just behind him, and a few steps back.
>> "You need anything besides a knife and a jacket?"
"Food?" the teen reminded him. Honesty, Cas reminded themselves, radical honesty. "This doesn't look like a store." The elevator dinged, doors crawled open.
"If I die in this thing, I'm going to haunt your *ss," the teen cautioned Erik, following him in. This was more of a general observation about the apparent integrity of the elevator. Seemed rickety, like those elevators in horror films that, with one misplaced wiggle, went plummeting down the elevator shaft and killed all the occupants within. Even the music was creepy an distorted. Cassidy hadn't thought it possible to make pop music any less appealing.
>> "Stick to the left. Pipes are damned hot."
The teen stepped closer to their escort, saying nothing. If he bothered to ask about it, they'd dismiss it as trying to avoid the "hot pipes". They were in the underbelly of the city, once the doors opened. That was the only way to put it. Pipes everywhere, barely lit, cloyingly warm. Cas wriggled out of the coat and draped it over one arm.
>> "Stick close, could probably lose you for hours down here."
"Trust me, running off is the last thing on my mind," the specter murmured, "This is some Quiet Knoll-level sh**." At any moment, Obolisk Head would come charging down the hallway with his oversized sword and finish them off, Cas was sure of it.
>> "Your not allergic to anything are you?"
"No."
The response was a little terse. Mostly because the place freaked them the f**k out. After what felt like forever, they turned off of the main path, down another hall. The cool presence of a door arose in front of them. Given the gloom, and Cassidy's nearsightedness, they practically bumped into Erik when he stopped to open the door. Cas heard the mechanism of the door handle clanking into place, its heavy metallic groan as he pushed the door open. A fan of light spilled onto the two of them, and Cassidy tried to blink the room into view, only to find--
A diner. It was a f***ing diner in the f***ing underground of New York City.
>> "Whelp this is it. 'Bob's. Bob?! Where the hell are you?!"
"I've finally gone nuts," Cassidy murmured to themselves, rubbing their cheek in disbelief. What the f*** was a diner doing down here? Cassidy lingered in the doorway, surveying the room as Erik went to the bar and took a seat.
>> "What do you think Cas? You like retro stuff? I am not particular either way myself, but some damned good food here."
"It's..." Cassidy reached for the right word, "...unexpected."
The understatement of a century. They finally, hesitatntly, followed their escort's path to the counter, sliding onto one of the stools.
"The aesthetic is cute," the teen murmured, not wanting to offend "Bob" lest they show-up with the tolling of the bell, "But this is... really f**king weird."
The teen was clearly surprised and impressed, their blue eyes wide and glittering as they looked up at the black woman. She canceled mutant powers. That was... so... awesome!
"That's amazing!" Cassidy declared, grinning their gappy-toothed grin from ear-to-ear.
>> "You have been... invisible, all this time? You don't have control over it?"
The teen was less-thrilled about that question. Actually, they were kind-of confused by it. Thew way the lady said it made it sound like Cassidy was out of control, or incompetent.
"I mean, I guess," Cassidy answered drolly, wedging her hands in her pockets, "But mutants can't always turn powers off... right? Like, uh... you know. Ones that always look different." Or couldn't be seen at all. A look of thin annoyance was crossing their face, a tell that they weren't accustomed to having to hide. Droll eyes, severe frown.
"Hey, uh, do you... want help carrying your stuff out?" Cassidy offered, trying to change the subject before they got defensive about their always-on power, "Your arms look full, and I'm kind-of enjoying being here-here."
"I'm not the best student..." Cassidy admonished. It wasn't an outright "no". Not even close to a "no". They were just establishing that teaching them would take a good deal of patience. Even when they gave their best effort, they were always a C-Average student, it seemed. The teen slipped into another quiet spell when Erik confessed that, no, he wasn't really from the other side. They were a little bit disappointed.
They were also quiet as he suggested that they get their GED-- mostly because Cas didn't know what that was. They knew they were too young to get a job, though. So Erik's remark about finding a job earned a half-hearted, but mostly unconvincing, "Haha, yeah..."
Cassidy hadn't been watching when the phone was deposited onto their lap, and the gesture earned some unsuspecting flailing from the teen. Their phone had died ages ago, and it had no service on this side, to boot. They'd been disconnected for a long time.
>> "I am under contacts as exclamation-Red. Other than that it is yours. Think that is it for now. You still hungry?"
Cassidy turned the phone over in their hands, testing the power button with their thumb. The phone powered on. Something in their expression seemed pinched-- which, of course, the guy couldn't see. But Cassidy still cleared their throat, and gave a mumbled, "...a little, yeah."
This was hastily followed by a, "Are you sure this is okay? I mean, like, thank you, but-- are you sure?"
This whole situation still seemed bizarre to the teen. Invisible hands unlocked the phone, found the contacts, and located the !Red that Erik had mentioned. Cassidy hummed, "Red, huh? Why?"
Darkness had settled on the city-- and though New York City had aptly earned its reputation for never sleeping, there were still quiet little corners that arose here-and-there. One such quiet place in the bustling metropolis was the underside of the Henry Hudson Bridge. It was a steel arch bridge in New York City that butted-up near the grounds of Xavier's Sister School, and spanned the Spuyten Duyvil Creek. One invisible teen had been drawn to the area by the mention of a "mutant school" from one happenstance encounter with the school's counselor at the mall.
Rather than venturing there for potential education, however, Cas now stood beneath the bridge with other intention. Before them loomed a cement support for the bridge-- shear upright wall, white-grey and untainted. It was perfect.
They dropped their backpack onto the ground, glancing about before unzippering it. Inside lay two cans of Krylon-- white and black. It'd been a while since they'd put up a design. At least since before they'd crossed the Rip. But now that they had settled into a home, they had also found the opportunity to lift a few cans. They were itching to create.
A bandana was hoisted over the specter's invisble nose, and the white spray-paint was fished out of the bag. They popped off the lid, shook the can, and sized-up the wall. They were going to put a ghost up, of course. But how big? Where?
As far as their arm would reach, duh! Right in the center! The ghost chuckled, and began to outline the shape, an upside-down "U" on the wall. The "U" was pinched at the base, before flaring out. The skirt was completed by a squiggly line. Overall it left the impression of an upside-down vase. Cassidy began to fill the shape in...
>> "Heads up, I'm an adapted. I'm assuming you're a mutant? Here, take this."
Cassidy had already reached the edge of the woman's aura and started to fade again by the time she spoke up. The teen turned.
"You're a what?"
Mutations were much more hush-hush on the other side, so the logic would follow that Adapted were virtually unheard of. Cassidy reentered the black woman's field, accepting her proffered mirror. Their hands brushed a little.
"Holy sh**," the teen repeated, "You're doing this?"
Cassidy pulled off their hat, their lips thinning in a frown. They weren't sad, but... in disbelief.
"I got in a fight," Cassidy explained, which was a fancy way of saying that their mom had tried to hit them, "And I disappeared. Haven't seen my face in like six months now."
Cassidy pulled off their hat and tilted the mirror. They could tell from the tickle of hair in their eyes or on the back of their neck that their hair had gotten longer. Seeing it was a totally different experience.
"God, I look like a skater with my hair like this," the teen remarked, pushing the bangs from their eyes with a free hand. Now that they were visible, the ragamuffin look was complete. Dirt on their face and hands, unkempt hair, messy clothes. Well, the coat wasn't messy, cuz Erik had just bought it for them. But otherwise it wasn't any stretch of the imagination what kind of life they lived. The mirror was handed back, the hat replaced.
"Thanks," Cassidy smiled, "It's good to know I still look like me." They rubbed the sleeve of their coat against their cheek, attacking a smudge of dirt they'd seen in their reflection.
"I understand it better than I can speak it," the kid admonished. The sleeve of the jacket bent, propping the elbow up on the window sill, "The aunties and uncles would use Russian to talk around us if they didn't want us listening in."
There was a smile at the edge of Cassidy's tone, an unspoken "I was privy to what adults were saying because they thought I wasn't listening" gloating that only an impish child would delight in. They were bantering, which was gradually opening Cas up more and more. They had mercenaries-- wait, from the other side of the RIP? The propped arm sank slightly. If Erik didn't have their attention before, he certainly had it now.
"Are you from the other side?" Another pause. There was a rustle of fabric as Cassidy shifted their weight and sat a little taller, "I, uh, know what it's like."
>> "I won't force you to share, but what about you? Have any dreams and aspirations? A dream job if you will and then something you think you could realistically attain would be a good start. It most likely seems lame to you, but you can learn alot about how a person sees themself by asking something like that aaand it would be helpful. And since you hit so light you should think about carrying a knife. Good sharp knife doesn't take much to get to the good bits."
A shrug.
"I mean, I'm just trying to get by, right now," was the honest response that followed, "But I'm, er, pretty good at baking. I'd love to be a baker."
It's not like thieving was a lifelong goal. Tagging was something they did for a thrill, they could never do it for work. But baking... Cassidy had loved the cooking class they'd taken freshmen year. Baking for a living would be a dream.
A laugh. It felt so far away, when you were just trying to make it from one day to the next.
The specter lifted their gaze as a woman, whose arms were positively overflowing with bags, stopped at Cassidy's bench to adjust her grasp on her collection of stuff.
"You buying gifts for a small army?" the teen teased. It was a cheeky thing to say but, Jesus, that was a lot of crap. Cassidy would be surprised if she didn't get robbed on the way out to her car. Or god forbid she use public transportation to get around.
The poltergeist was not aware of the shift beginning to take place at their fingertips-- a gradual change from nonexistence to actual, physical freckled hands. Unannounced to the teen, this woman's aura was exercising its power over them.
"Hope you gotta car," Cassidy concluded, "Cuz I wouldn't put it past someone to try and jump you."
In Cassidy's own way, they voiced their concerns. By now, the shift had crept up their neck and into their cheeks, and their nose. Cassidy could see their own cheeks and nose in their peripheral vision.
"What the f**k!"
That was an understatement. Cassidy had gotten to their feet, and was surveying their hands frontwards and backwards.
"Holy sh**. I'm back!" the kid gasped, a radiant smile breaking across their features, "I need a mirror."
They did not put two-and-two together. Their head was reeling with excitement over the prospect of seeing their own reflection again, and they were so distracted by this idea that they stumbled a bit over their own shoelaces.
The teen sat quietly in their seat. They shifted their weight, their clothes rustling as they sat taller. They re-buckled their seatbelt. A careful observer would see their breath fogging up the glass of the passenger side window. They didn't like feeling so transparent, and not in the literal sense. Cassidy had no one. In that way, they were kindred spirits.
"So you like to help people," Cassidy reiterated. Which made them a charity case. Cassidy couldn't help but wonder if there was a catch.
>> "Suppose that is the gist as you Americans say. Also I am not guy, I am Erik Vokov, nice to meet you."
He cracked a smile. He had a nice smile. Cassidy glanced back out the window.
"Cassidy Sokolof," the teen murmured, "Nice to meet you."
They weren't so uncultured that they couldn't deign to answer him. They could at least give him a name. The teen hummed as Erik explained how helpful he'd been to another kid at Sanctuary, how he'd "taken care" of their Dad.
Cassidy folded their arms.
"No way," Cassidy challenged, "So you're like, Robin Hood or some shit."
There wasn't any hostility in their voice. They sounded more bemused than much else. And they were pointedly trying not to talk about themselves.
Friday evening, the mall was bustling with last minute Christmas shoppers. People's arms were overflowing with bags, there was a periodic shriek from children. It was pure chaos. Everyone seemed wrapped in their own world, so much so that no one noticed the figure sitting in the food court. Cassidy was bundled up snugly, knit cap pulled low on their head, winter coat pulled tight around them. They weren't really hear to shop as much as they were here to soak in the ambience.
They wondered if it was Christmastime in the other universe. Their home universe. They wondered if Grandma was going to make ham this year. Ham sounded really good. The Sanctuary was doing a Christmas dinner, but if they had ham, Cassidy doubted it'd be as good as Grandma's.
The invisible teen sighed. This sucked. Homesickness burbled in their stomach. Maybe coming to the mall had been a mistake. Cassidy turned their attention outwardly again, then only indication they were looking around the turning of the beanie. It was fun to imagine what sorts of delights people had in their bags.
Cassidy strode down the sidewalk, ignoring whatever protest the guy had. They were done, they were so over whatever the guy had to say. He was probably some sort of pervert. And now the pervert was following them, asking for Cas to wait up. The teen's shoulders were tight, and the sleeves that were previously wedged in the coat pockets were now poised, slightly bent, at their side. Cassidy was squaring-up.
>> "Your a pain you know that."
"No one's asking for you to-- hey!" Cassidy's snide remark was abruptly cut-off by the guy grabbing hold of the coat again, "Get your f***ing hands off of me. Motherf***ing... sh**."
They tried to land a blow on the f***er, but their fist ghosted through his face like a breeze. Whacking him with their arms was about as effectual as beating someone with a cylindrical pillow. Goddamn stupid mutation. Where was a good baseball bat when you needed one? Cassidy struggled and spewed insults. It was freezing out but if they could just wriggle free and take off the coat, then this bastard couldn't lay hands on them.
Cassidy looked frantically around, but fortune favored the humanoid. No one batted an eye at an invisible person being corralled into an unmarked van. Probably thought Cassidy was being detained.
>> "You know normally I would try and be diplomatic about this, but needs dictate otherwise. I get a bit irritable when I am hungry."
"Then go get your f***ing food and leave me the Hell alone," snapped the teen, as they were deposited into the creeper van. As soon as they were set down, Cassidy tried to get back up, only to be pointedly buckled in. No amount of bludgeoning the guy with limbs seemed to work. Maybe he kept a Mag Light in the glovebox.
>> "Oi calm down already, you hungry I know a place that makes an amazing breakfast burrito. Big as your head."
Cassidy's shoulders were drawn. Their stomach yowled, goddamn traitor... There was a pregnant silence as they surveyed the guy. He was young. Older than them, but not, you know, old. Brunette. Brown eyes. He seemed nice. "Seems nice" didn't always mean "actually nice" though. Cassidy was still trying to decide what his deal was. He hadn't chloroformed them, so that was working in his favor. They tested the seatbelt buckle. It came undone when the button was pressed. Which meant it wasn't rigged to hold them in place. Cassidy didn't make a break for it. They just looked at the guy, as if studying him would unearth some deeper truth.
"W-what's your deal?" the teen demanded. It was apparent, through their questioning, that they were yielding, if only just a little bit. They were also trying to sweep the growl from their stomach under the rug, "Why are you trying to feed me and buy me sh**? 'cuz I don't have sh** to give you in return, guy."
That guy was still talking, preaching about the kind of people that walked through the doors of the Sanctuary. Perhaps Cas constituted as a runaway, but not by choice. They were an orphan of the Rip. Which, however inconvenient, was probably the best thing that had ever happened-- besides leaving grandma behind. That was the only downside. It wasn't like they did that on purpose.
"Keep talking," they hollered back, without stopping.
And he did just that. As if he needed encouragement. They turned starting at the shoulders, a sort of sarcastic gesture. He was on his soapbox about the challenges of life on the streets. How their life could be so much better, with a free coat, and a job, and money... if they just trusted him, and got in his car. Which... all things considered sounds pretty nice, but Cassidy had a healthy dose is suspicion. Their family was no stranger to crime, after all. The last thing they needed was go get trafficked on this side of the Rip.
"I ain't stealing the f***ing coat, buddy," Cas insisted, "It's like you said, i'm just borrowing it until I get one of my own."
One of the sleeves bent as though Cas had put a hand on their hip.
"And as great as your offer sounds, I'm not getting in your creeper van, man," was the flat addendum to their first statement, the other sleeve pointing accusingly at the idling black van, "Think about it."
They began to walk again. The guy would either have to walk with them or strong-arm them into the car.
