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 Locke N. Tori on Mar 22, 2010 21:47:21 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
”I don’t believe in miracles,” he stated. Strange how as he was gathering himself back together the adult was falling apart. Neither one had meant to bring the other past their breaking point, but it had happened. Locke was sure that someone would claim that it was for the best, and that both of them needed this to happen. They had not wanted it to happen, which meant that they would have been glad never getting what they needed. ”Anything good comes through your own actions, and miracles mean that there is something that actually gives flying rat crap about you. Give me one explanation for any higher power that can't be used to justify another religion, or can't take down the belief that it belongs to.”. The teenager may share the same name as a great philosopher, but he was not into the big profound thoughts. All of his theories on life were set now, no need to question them. Weeks could pass in which his deepest thoughts were whether or not to use fabric softener. Not thinking about things meant not having to deal with complications or issues that he wanted to avoid.
”I’m willing to bet that your world still is not complete, that part of it is still broken,” It was risky thing to say. Just look at what his few innocent comments had brought about already. Tarin looked like he was either going to make a run for it or crumple behind his counter. ”My little brother and sister helped a bit, but one life isn’t the same as the other. Can the same be said when it is the same person?” Locke had gotten pretty close to near death, and he had changed from it. Maybe not for the better, but for good. He had not even met Tarin’s wife, but she had to be different in some way.
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 22, 2010 20:01:12 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
Maya was hindering Locke more then helping him as she tried to free him from the hands that were keeping him from being pulled away. The concrete might not be as shifty, but that meant that it was harder for him to get to move. And with Ms. Csendes pulling away the fingers, Locke found it hard to keep the hands holding tight. One hand released its grasp on him, and the tentacle that was wrapped around his leg jerked him backwards so hard that it felt like his arm was going to rip out of its socket. He might have spoken up and let her know that the hands were helping, had his mind not been so focused on getting the hand back around his. His vacant expression probably wasn’t helping much either. The lights were on, but nobody was home. Soon enough he was finding it very hard to keep the hands period.
Sirens started up, fire, ambulance, police, and air-raid. Add to that noise cat howls, and a strange wet gurgling noise, all fluctuating in volume and pitch so that you could never get use to it. At times the noise was so loud you’d think you would you were going to go deaf, but at other point so soft that you forgot that it was even there. Locke could keep it up, but the lights started to flicker, as if replaced with strobe lights, and strange colors played upon the way. His focus wavered, and both hands dropped back into the earth. His body was violently pulled back, one leg going into the hole in the wall where the tentacle had come from. Crab like creatures poured out from another wall bubble. The ground sizzled and hissed as if some sort of acid had been dropped onto it.
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 20, 2010 21:09:54 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
"That's why they close the eyes when someone dies," Locke hazard to guess, ”If people really do have souls, and eyes are the windows to it, then when the soul isn’t there, you know nobody is home. Even on a fish, dead eyes make people feel uneasy.” By dead eyes Locke had meant the eyes on a fish that was dead. You might say it was a Freudian slip that made him express how he was sure people saw himself. Even he found his useless eye revolting. As far as the topic of souls went, Locke was not sure if he had one or not. Having one was a frightful thought and a dreadful responsibility. Could you have a soul if there was no higher power? “That weird fogged but clear look. Like an empty water bottle.”
Locke did not know what to say to Tarin in regards to his wife. He had not particularly shown any interest in how Kendra handled his dad’s death. Granted when the grief was the freshest for her he had been on pain medication so strong that he didn’t feel anything physically, and he had problems staying awake. The father issue he could relate to, but seeing as Locke had only one girlfriend, which had been a disaster, anything relating to romance would be and sound fake. About the only thing he could think of was his dad, who for years did not bring up his mother. If he knew why she had stopped being a part of his life, then maybe he could think of what to tell Tarin. ”Mostly dead is still partially alive.” was about all that he could think to say. It was also the most positive thing he could think of. Was she still alive? ”You said you thought you lost her… does that mean that she…”
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 19, 2010 23:35:39 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
Psychologists had asked him before what would he say to his dad if he had the chance, Locke always just stared at them until the question was skipped over. That was something too personal to disclose to someone paid to scrutinize his every thought or action, convinced that there was something wrong with him and that they knew the solution. Tarin was different in a way. He had seen his father suffer and if he was really able to see spooks and ghosties, probably more aware of the otherworld then Locke would ever be. It took awhile for him to answer. Not because he was unprepared. Locke had spent the first couple of years thinking of exactly what he wanted to say if his dad had not died, or in the very least if he had been able to attend the funeral. "Sorry. There's a million things to say sorry for. For being so obsessed with a stupid game that he wanted to take me to see one, for not letting him know what was bothering me, for not realizing he knew that something was wrong, for the year I got angry he sent me to band camp. For not being able to say good-bye." The air was becoming hard to find again, forcing Locke to fall into the patterned breathing that he was taught.
"It isn't the things that I didn't get to say, other then the good-bye that makes this such crap," he said picking at the thin soles of his shoes. Forgiveness is precious, but how effective of a balm can it be when the person who can give it is dead and you can't really accept the forgiveness? "It's the things undone, and unsaid by him. Isn't that how it always is when someone dies? What hurts the most is knowing that you don't get to hear them say things, or see them do something simple like pour a glass of water? The tiny things that make up a person can't really be matched just by a memory because you know it will go away."
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 19, 2010 23:02:02 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
Locke had never been particularly claustrophobic, though he did fear the dark and silence closing in on him at night, but with the walls making him act and move like he was playing Twister, he was starting to feel the fear. On top of that he was getting frustrated, knowing that there wasn't really anything there, but at the same time it had to be. They were now operating in un, sub, or super-natural forces, which meant that logic was no longer a factor. He hated the lack of logic and made a mental note to avoid anything to do with Lovecraft and Cthulu in the future.
A rapping noise now accompanied the random bulging, and despite what Maya had suggested the Californian stopped. For some reason he was compelled to stare at one bulge. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a bead of perspiration slid down his face, getting caught on his upper lip as he held his breath. This isn't real, this isn't real... Locke had to keep reminding himself. Eyes still glued to the one wall bump he started to back away. A tentacle burst through one of the lower wall bubbles and wrapped around Locke's legs, pulling him onto his stomach and dragging him. The whole "this isn't real" thing was a little hard to keep up when he was getting a pink belly.
"No way," he grunted, throwing himself into the earth. Locke had to think fast. He was too tired and too inexperienced to make another one of those things big enough to fight off the tentacle, but maybe there was something else he could do. His palms were getting scrapped raw as he was dragged backwards, so he did the first thing that came to mind. Two misshaped hands emerged and wrapped around his wrists. It kept him from going backwards, but he was too focused on keeping them there to make an escape.
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 19, 2010 12:42:46 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
"I didn't run away because I'm a mutant," he clarified for what felt like the millionth time, and let slip the fact that he was no normal teenager, "Ok, so Kendra didn't want to bring the issue up, but even if she did that it wouldn't make a difference. I had nothing left there other then my little brother and sister and a mountain worth of..." A strangled noise came out as he tried to get past the restrictions he had put on what he could say. This amount of talking about anything felt wrong to him, but he couldn't keep it from happening. "Five years of pain, silence, bad memories all closing in on you, trying to take away the last scrap of good you have and you'd want a vacation wouldn't you? I had to come here, because there wasn't anything..."
Locke drank more of his coke, and poked his mind about the mud he brought in with him. It clung to him in such a friendly way that he could almost picture it trying to comfort him. Experimentally he tried to make a little person thing again, but he was so shaken up all he made was a head that peeked up at him briefly. He took an unsteady breath. Tarin knew the experience he had gone through, it would be alright to tell him. "I was eleven and we were going to go to a ball game, just Dad and me. He didn't know I didn't like Kendra, so I'm guessing he thought I was upset about becoming a big brother. There was a..." he gestured not trusting his voice. Traitor tears still poured out, and when he tossed his head a little, the hair slid out of the way revealing a dead eye and a scar from a wound that had not healed well. "By the time the pain meds wore off, he was..." another useless gesture as the word 'dead' got choked up. "Gone" Hugo offered his son. "Gone. I didn't get the lucky break you did."
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 17, 2010 19:42:43 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
He was trying, very hard, to keep together even the smallest scrap of composure, but Locke's walls were drying up and crumbling down, and it was inevitable that he would break soon. The only question really was would he remember how to breathe again before that. As he tried to get back the layers of denial getting the scraps of air that actually found its way into his lungs were becoming scarce. His eyes grew wider, a few of the tears leaking out. Not having control over himself scared Locke and brought back the terror from his nightmares. Locke was going to get back in control or else. Tarin ushered him towards an armchair, and Locke would have argued against it, knowing that he would get mud all over the place and soak the chair, only when he opened his mouth a honking sort of noise escaped followed by a wheeze.
When he was sitting Locke bent over so that his head was between his legs, knuckles scraping the floor. Breathe in for three seconds, hold for three, breathe out on three. Lather, rinse, and repeat. Air started to flow back in. His chest felt s if a large stone had been placed on it and was slowly crushing him, while at the same time it was being ripped open. His eyes still were leaking and he dug into them a little with the palms again. Tarin offered him a coke, which after checking to make sure it was unopened he accepted. Locke took a few sips before trying to speak, his voice squeeking and cracking worse then it had when it was changing. "I am on vacation," he insisted, taking each word slowly to let the weight be felt. There was a hiccup in his chest followed by a sob, his body still shaking. He clenched a fist, pissed off at himself and the mud stirred lazily.
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 16, 2010 22:21:09 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
His eye was on fire, straining under the pressure of holding back five years of tears unspent, while the dead eye just stung. Locke brought his hands up to them, digging the heel of the palm into his eyeballs to get rid of the pressure. ”I’m sorry, the lights are too bright,” he said, meaning the lights of New York City in general rather then the lights inside the shop, which he could stand other than the neon sign. He did not even know that he was making an excuse for his action until he pulled his hands away and felt the moisture on them. He was going to loose control, and for some reason Tarin’s conversation with him wasn’t functioning as a distraction. Things that should be getting him back in control wasn't. There was a low soft groan that did not come from Locke as he grasped for the threads of his life that had been arranged in a careful and delicate way. A spider could re-spin a web, but can a human when the web is their life?
How long was he on vacation? Well, when he had jumped on the train Locke had for the first time approached something without some sort of plan. Even with the chaos of that session in the Danger Room he had some idea of what he was going to do. There had to be a time in which he would go back to San Francisco, but as of this moment, that time seemed light years away. ”I’m not sure,” he answered with a level of honesty that he had not intended, and had to wince at how pathetic his voice sounded. Smoking grandpa sounded like he was getting his throat pinched off. ”Locke,” he managed to say before all air was taken out of his lungs. Fresh grief can be strong, but it’s worse when it festers. He pounded a hand against his chest, trying to get the bubble out of him and the air back in. All that happened was a few wheezes. The ghost father did not look worried about the Californian's sudden problems with the most basic human function of breathing. If anything Hugo looked relieved.
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 16, 2010 15:28:10 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
Did I choose badly? ”Only if you have issues with gods of chaos and insanity that are too terrible to look at or describe,” Locke was not entirely sure what exactly Cthulu was or what he did, but he knew that when it was about only bad things happened. Right now he was preparing to face a world ending doom. This was not a basic obstacle course by any stretch of the imagination. The pit wasn’t that odd or out of place he supposed, but the random noises were. There was a conflict in his six senses, which meant that there was conflict in what he should trust. On one hand the earth sense had not lead him wrong before, and it did warn him about the pit. On the other hand was sixteen years of being just a normal human.
Being lifted up and over the pit was an experience that Locke did not particularly enjoy. There was nothing solid for him to stand on or comforting vibrations. He was quite literally out of his element that left him blind-sided. The brief time in which he was in the air made him feel as defenseless as a newborn kitten. When his feet finally touched ground, not all that gently, he understood why people kissed the ground in movies. Being able to stand on his bare feet felt more right then anything else short of being in the earth itself. ”I’m not sure if any of this is real,” Locke said, in references to the noise. He leaned against a wall for a short moment to get his legs back, and to nurse his elbow that got banged on re-entry. Suddenly the wall bulged outwards near him and he stepped away from it. ”That wasn’t me.”
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 16, 2010 1:06:13 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
The Californian nodded to everything that Tarin was saying, the FAO Schwartz, the choosing not to believe in the whole spirits thing. This was the first time he had felt unable to actually look an adult in the face. Even those dreadful doctors had gotten him to tilt his head up towards them. With his long hair Locke had a curtain to hide behind when he was intimidated, a security blanket of sorts when dealing with his peers. Adults had always been different, he connected to them better. But for some reason Locke just could not look up at Tarin. Nor could he stop his body from shaking, and it wasn’t just being wet that did that. Five years can be a long time, especially if in those five years you suffer in silence with grief, and do everything in your power not to deal with it. An incredible amount of moisture stayed in his eyes because Locke was too stubborn to let them out. Hugo looked at Tarin but not accusingly as most parents would do when they see their child has been upset. “Help him” he mouthed.
”Y.. yes,” Locke managed to strangle out past the lump that was in his throat. What the hell? Why was this bothering him so much. He had gotten along just fine up till now. Even those head shrinks had not rattled him this much, and that was their job. This person had only mentioned their own incident with their father, nothing to do with his. Was the thing that stung how he had been asked if he had eaten lately? Locke couldn't remember the last time someone who wasn't in medicine showed an interest in his eating habits.”V-vacation. I-I ate oatmeal th-this morning.” Why are you stuttering Locke? He doesn’t know anything and you’re coming across as some whiny little kid afraid of a storm. Just suck it up and put on your big boy pants.
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 15, 2010 20:18:54 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
"Lovecraft?" Locke had to ask, already falling behind Ms. Csendes. He did not know that it was actually two words when she said it. The name Lovecraft sounded familiar, which meant that he probably had heard it many times before. There wasn’t much time to figure out why as the adult sprung forwards. Something did not feel right with the ground up ahead despite what his eye was telling him. As he rushed ahead Locke did a soft probe of the ground. A sort of empty feeling was there that made him think of missing teeth or when he first opened his eyes and half of the world was not there. Part of the earth was missing. Snapping back to reality Locke opened his mouth and shouted "Wait!", one second before Maya almost vanished.
They weren't alone, or so it sounded. Locke was starting to think that something was living in the walls around them. He smacked his hands against the nearest one, and shut his eyes. Nothing, and he could have sworn that he had heard something from that exact spot. Maya was calling for help, so he crouched down, palms touching the ground. Again, nothing. "Don't freak. It's me," he said wrapping his hands around her wrists and pulling towards him. "You said Lovecraft right? Like in Cthulu Lovecraft?" He pulled harder, hoping that he was strong enough. Now that he had felt nothing there he realized why the name had sounded so familiar. His dad had been big into video games, one of which had been strongly influnced by the famous H.P. Lovecraft story. In the game this sort of thing happened. There were noises that came from nothing, invisible things hurting you, only for you to find out that it was just the game messing with your mind and nothing had happened.
"I don't think I can make that jump," Locke confessed. He had virtually no depth perception and he did not know how close the other side of the pit actually was.
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 14, 2010 22:09:44 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
A rock. That was what Locke had been, which meant that he had to remain steady and solid all the time. As much as Locke linked emotions to the dirt and earth, he knew that it did not feel things. Not the way that people do. Which kind of sucks since all he could really do is shove anything painful aside until someday it turned into a tumor that he could have removed. Even when he was young he was like that. So when the shop keeper randomly mentioned being twelve and seeing their dead father after the funeral, the Californian felt as steady as an earthquake. Tarin winced inwardly, Locke outwardly, trying with all his might not to do so, and to pretend that he had not heard.”Lucky,” was the small whisper as the teen wound the camera up. It hurt to have something so familiar brought up in justification of something as ridiculous as ghosts, and hearing that Tarin had been able to see his father at least two more times made the pain all the much worse. Locke had been eleven when his world splintered and he did not get a chance to say any last good-byes. All that he had been offered was “He didn’t make it”. The spirit looked upset over his son's sadness, but there was a certain amount of patience there.
He held the camera up, the flash making a high pitched whine as it charged. "They're five. A picture of the Simpsons on the side of a bus will send them to the moon," he said, voice straining to hold words and sounds back. Locke's hands shook and he shoved the camera under his chin so that he could rub them together. He must be colder then he thought if they trembled so much, or at least that was what he would force himself to believe. Something had to be said, and before Locke's brain could betray him and tell the secret he held onto so tight, he addressed the man about being a skeptic. "That's just who I am. I don't believe in anything because there is nothing to believe in."
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 14, 2010 20:00:14 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
"I got you beat distance wise," Locke mumbled as he shifted from one foot to the other, feeling a little odd in a place that dealt with things he didn't believe in. The sensation of not belonging was there every time Kendra managed to drag him to a church for Christmas or Easter. People were looking at him, studying him, asking in a non-existant voice "Who do you think you are?". Locke hated people looking at him. If not for the earth sense filing in the blind spot, or those little things he made he'd gladly swap his mutation for being invisible. "San Francisco". The teen showed no signs of being aware that ther was a spirit clinging to him, let alone it being the one person that was missing in his world. And the thing is, when one person is missing, it can feel like everyone is. Just how long Hugo Tori's spirit had been hanging around his oldest son? Did it make a difference? The only one who was aware of the other was already dead.
"Yeah, sure," Locke said not believing Tarin one bit. Even in a world where people could fly and walk through walls, logic had to exist. Chalking up things like seeing ghosts was too... good for him to believe in. How did the guy know it wasn't just some mental re-run of where they were, or an illusion of what they wanted to see, either option placed upon them by some outside person. Hugo shrugged a shoulder at Tarin. Even in death he knew his son, and he knew that it would take a lot to convince him that ghosties existed. "He won't believe a word you say," the spirit mouthed, doing that parent talking over their child's head thing. Locke pulled out a camera and held it up, not noticing that the spirit was trying to muss with his hair but failing. "You need a haircut" Hugo told Locke. "Mind if I take a picture? I've got a little brother and sister back west who want to see what New York looks like."
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 14, 2010 16:58:30 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
Normally Locke liked his hair being wet, because it did not slide about and was slicked to his forehead, keeping his dead eye hidden. This was not the kind of wet hair that he liked. For one thing it kept him freezing, not to mention that it was probably not the most hygenic or clean water, but the wind had whipped it about into a dreadful mess. One hand proved to be insufficient for getting everything settled, so Locke slung his busted up backpack off his shoulder, placed it on the ground, and wrapped his ankle in the one good strap. Both hands free he sorted his hair out into it's normal place. "Sorry, I got caught in the storm. I'll leave in a minute." Locke apologized when asked if he needed help, his voice a low raspy rumble. He knew that he must look like some young homeless runaway with the ductape backpack and clothes that were so worn and muddy, but why should he throw out something that still was functional.
Locke turned to face the person who had addressed him, shivering and looking miserable. "Anyone who's out in that is off their rocker. Sorry about the mud, I'll clean it up before I go." And he meant it, both the comment about the insanity of going out into the freezing rain and the mud. It wouldn't be that hard to gather up the mess he made before leaving. The store was interesting to say the least, and the teen wondered for a minute where exactly he had dashed into. A counter, some book shelves. Figuring out what the sign said took some time, given that a) the sign was too bright for his sensitive eye, and b) people usually don't read things backwards. One eyebrow arched up and Locke turned back to face who he was guessing was the only employee, and therefore probably the manager. The typcial skeptic face, which was just Locke's normal expression was there. "I thought this sort of place only existed in TV and movies."
Posted by Locke N. Tori on Mar 13, 2010 23:11:31 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
566
2
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses.
How did I let myself get talked into this? Locke was forced to ask himself, Especially since the ones who want suvioners and pictures are all the way on the West Coast, and two of them can't even write all their letters yet. Of course he knew how exactly he ended in New York City again, surrounded by thousands upon thousands of vibrations coming from thousands and thousands of people scuttling about, and freezing his Californian butt off. Chris and Mai wanted to see what he saw, wanted to know that their protector, and more importantly, big brother, had not left them because he didn't love them. Even if Locke lived a thousand life times he felt he would never be able to make it up to them. Getting them a little gift, and sending pictures of what had greeted him when he got off the train would only help a little with the guilt. This was for the benefit of the two five year olds who no longer were getting piggy back rides home. And his insane friend who threatened to torture him with chat rooms with girls his age should he forget where he came from.
Sometimes it didn't make a difference what you did or tried, your plans had to give way to bad luck and sucky timing. If there was anything Locke was an expert on, it would have to be bum luck, though the argument existed that he was just being a pessimist (a realist was his rebuttal). Rather than looking at the good fortune, like say, escaping from a car crash with his life, Locke had a tendency to look at the negative. Maybe it was just part of his grounded nature. If you got too caught up with the high and happy thoughts and emotions, the second anything bad happened you'd be shaken, and shaken badly. The fact that such thinking would make him an excellent target for Jigsaw from his favorite movie series was conveniently overlooked. So of course, because Locke had such rotten luck, the sky would decide to profusely spit on him as he took his long walk around the city.
"Really?" he asked stopping where he was standing and looking up past the skyline. If he believed in anything this would be a perfect example of why whatever ruled the universe must hate him. Checking the weather report probably would have been a good idea. He was cold, and now that he had been caught out in the storm, wet. Mud had taken over the bottom of his jeans, almost halfway up to his knee, and even was making a claim on the hem of his shirt and jacket. As usual there had been a nice layer of dirt that clung to his clothes, eager to be worked with, but too scattered and light to do much of anything, but not all of the mud had originally been part of his wardrobe. Some of it had splattered up onto him as he continued to walk. Locke was too stubborn to let the rain get the best of him. There was a rumble from the heavens at his act of defiance and Locke nearly jumped out of his skin. Not because he was afraid of thunder and lightning, for that had lost its power over him when he was seven, but because the roll was so loud he could feel it vibrate the ground. For a second the earth vibrations that he was constantly aware of jumped up, like someone had turned a radio's volume up higher, and he wondered what he had done. Well, this could possibly be another good thing about rain and thunderstorms. All the rain hitting the ground and the roar of thunder made those vibrations a little more clear. Now if he could just figure out how to keep together one of those things...
He dashed into the closest door that had a lighted sign in it, and slammed the door behind him, trying to keep the cold from getting into his bones. Locke just stood there, dripping and flicking the water out of his hair.
