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.
August parsed the translation. Blame it on his family. His sibling had a bird.
Clearly, chirp chirp translated to
>>> ‘Thank you stranger! Because of you we have saved the day! I shall grant you a favor one day. Call on me and you shall once again bask in my beauty!’
Or something like that.
“Yes, or course, great gryphon: thank you for your patronage,” he patronized. Smiling all the while.
That had been insanity. That had been wild. Hey why he done that? Oh well.
Was the Asian x man handling the kid? Yeah? Did anyone even care why his power had acted out and he had done everything he had done? No! Everything was resolved, he paid his bill, dropped a check to cover damages (100 dollars worth, what the hell). Then he left.
A few minutes away was great, yeah totally. But right on top of his location would have been closer, better. One street over, even. But beggars and choosers. He would take the thing that he got. It just meant he had to run strong the block without dying, and play evade. If only he had more damage spells, He could stand his ground. Spells like a rock dog, or… God. A rock hand? A hand made out of something else, anything else?! He just needed a helping hand!!
He saved that idea for later.
August turned, and puffed himself up. He rolled up his sleeves and prepared himself for battle.
If he couldn’t hurt the guy through damage, the best he could do was last. Will resisted most of his spells, though. At least, the suggestion one. He had hit with the vicious mockery. He had not tried the cutting words. Maybe the person just hated suggestions. Would a command work? Like, with a dog? Hmmm….
Footsteps caused him to turn his head in the direction of the sound. Carefully, he pulled out a glyph card and made direct eye contact, just as Will stopped to glower at him.
“Finally found you. Coward.” Will spat.
“It took no work to find you. You use a lot of thunder in your magic. Seems your thighs are also pretty thunderous.”
He burned part of the card away as he cast the spell. 1/4, to be exact. With pure focus and concentration, he slammed the insult compulsion and the illusory migraine home. No need for wild magic.
“Ack!” Will staggered back, with a curse. A couple curses, actually. Flavorful ones.
August rushed past him, feet going tmp tmp tmp as he ran. The man was clutching the sides of his head in pain. Okay. So that one had worked.
He turned, and burned another 1/4 the card to throw another insult. “I nicknamed you Will, because I thought you had some. But I think I was wrong.”
“Huh?”
Oh. Guess he had to be smart to understand some insults.
“Ow.” He heard, from behind him.
Well, at least the pain part of the spell had worked… he ran some more.
Have to stay within the area I told him, have to stick close, and— the scent of ozone caused him to turn and hurl out another insult. Just in time.
“How are you even casting, You're so dumb you couldn't even spell book!” August spat out the cutting words. Another 1/4 of the spell card down.
The thunderous punch missed him by inches. His hair drifted in the air, disturbed by the force of the blow. Pavement cracked as the attack connected with street.
“You are a background character in your own life.” August muttered. That wasn’t a vicious mockery, it was just mean. And just for August. He smiled a little. Poor timing for it, though.
WHAM!
A punch connected with his stomach, and sent August staggering backwards clutching at his gut.
“Owwwwwweew.” He mourned. “My intestines…. I need those.”
That had been mostly mundane, but maybe there had been some magic in the punch? He felt a little tingly. Like static electricity in the area of the punch. Or a foot that fell asleep. Pinpricks of sensation, and— he glanced up from his doubled-over position to look at the mystic. Will was punching the air in a sort of whooping dance.
“What are you…?” He started. He didn’t get to finish. The punch-dance shifted into a rapid series of hand signs. Will was muttering stuff like boar and rooster and pig. What the hell? When he finished, he pointed at August and shouted—
“Silence!!!!”
August opened his mouth, and— no sound came from his lips. Wait. Had he actually been silenced?!
Shit. Most of his spells were verbal. In fact, like… basically all of them. This was not good. He would have to address that at a later date. Maybe the helping hand, or a cool hamster ball or something… or a big shocking zap like this jerk did. He had some ideas.
He burned the last bit of card, and formed the minor illusion of a big dog in front of him. Made of rocks. Rock dog, yeah! As Will stopped to examine the rock dog, August turned and ran past him down the alley, back where he had just been.
“H-hey!” Will shouted. “Stop running away!!!”
But he had to… he needed to burn ten minutes. So August started tromp tromp tromping up the metal fire escape. Hopefully Will didn’t bzap it with lighting and send a shock up the stairs. His goal was the roof, ain’t that the troof.
What had he killed? One minute? Two? Three? By the time he was done climbing, Will rattling the metal frame as he followed him up the escape, it had to be at least five.
How close was Rex again? What had he said? A couple minutes? Hmmm… could he speak yet? He tried. Nope.
He got to the top of the building, and threw a minor illusion 20 feet in the air. It was a big bright red arrow pointing down. Maybe that would help Rex find him. He hoped. Then, he turned to stare at Will.
The man punched. Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed. A bolt of electricity crackled from the fist to the spot August had just departed. If he had not taunted the guy then dove for cover, He would have died!
The mockery was new. It was fun. A bit of illusion, a bit of compulsion, Ashe’s you had the makings of an illusory headache you felt compelled to feel. Complicated, yeah. He was really good at invocation though. The compulsion even made the insult hurt more, made it have weight. No damage, though. How was He going to stop this evil wizard again?!
He’d confronted him a few streets over, when the man had looked up from a spell book to cast lightning and blow out a store front window. It was 10 at night, most places were closed. The street was mostly dark. The attack had made it seem day for a moment. Really hard to miss.
August had been coming home from a bar. He had been in a foul mood. No dates had left with him. No luck, just whisky. This putz seemed the perfect outlet for his frustrations. One suggestion to go on home, and He would be a a hero with a story for the mystics back home. Only… superior will had made his spell fail. Multiple times. He was going to nickname this man superior Will. Damn it.
The robbery had been interrupted. Will had been seen. Duty required he kill the spotter, then finish the task before police arrived. Orrrr … opposite order. He moved to break in and take the joint. Go inside. Rob it. A brick hit his Assz
“Magic Missile,” August quietly said. He had a second brick in his hand. He was getting it ready for the next shot. Hefting it. Not a whole brick. It was more a half brick, or rubble. First one, too.
Will turned.
August threw.
The rubble became shrapnel with a will-placed thunder punch.
“Well…”
August ran.
Will followed.
The next ten minutes were a hot game of cat and mouse. During the chase, August dodged and cursed and thought back to a day not too long ago, when he had been practicing a spell…
This had been almost a month prior. He had not been able to figure out how to create a portal that would open up in front of a target, and give them a sweet invite to a location. Such a spell would be very expensive, and it would probably involve several linked mystics, and knowing the target… maybe even the target’s location? Then there were other types of teleportation that could go long distance, but would have a chance of failure unless you had something or knew the final destination very well, but—
Kracka BOOM
A wall exploded behind him, about ten feet behind him to be exact. He was still fleeing a mad man. Right.
August fumbled for his cellphone, and pressed the shortcut to dial Generator Rex.
Waiting. Waiting. Deadly waiting. He slipped into an alleyway, and pressed his back against the wall for a moment. Sighed.
Someone answered.
“Hey, um. Rex.” August spoke fast. “Where are you right now because I am at the corner of—“ He shot out of the alley way, past the street sign, and down another street, just as lightning blew up the sign post. He spoke into the phone, stating The Next street’s address. “Hope you aren’t too far away because it’s not like I can open a portal to you and pull you through to me, dog.”
His eyes trailed through his notes to another detail. The words he read were as follows:
“the effects can truly be random (the Invocation hedge witch sprouting demon horns and oozing yellow slime after trying to make everyone in her neighborhood suffer a mass hallucination). A single unmastered spell is all it takes to become corrupted.”
Oh. He could make people suffer mass hallucinations?!
The lines before that also mentioned compelling trees to grow?! What couldn’t invocation do? It kicked ass!!
Further reading, backwards in the paragraphs…
“Magical Corruption The longer a person is exposed to too much energy, whether it’s solar, thermal, nuclear, etc, or the more intense the exposure, the greater the chance of them being changed by it.”
Wow, he had been in danger during the mansion battle. Everyone had, around all that magic. And the cataclysm, hey, was that why he had changed forms?! After he, August, had suggested he burn through all his magic. Had HE done that to the man?! He had not meant to, but… well wow, what even would compulsion magic do to visually or physically change a person? Make them sexier and more charming? Make them look like a siren? Had that perhaps been where those creatures of myth had been conceived? Nooooo, couldn’t be. Corrupted people. Silly. Next, you’d be saying the Minotaur was just someone who really liked flesh shaping spells. And— he mentally winced at the thought.
Note to self: practice makes perfect, don’t deviate from the plan. Keep it simple, stupid. But he was still going to personalize the hell out of this spell. That being said, August spent the next several hours, the next several days, working with his hamster guinea pig to learn how to make a dog portal…
Yep.
He practiced variations in size. It took less energy for a doggie door-sized portal, and a reasonable amount for a person-sized portal. He could not make a gate. He could not make it last a profound amount of time. The hamster had to be baited to go through the tiny hole in reality, and it had to go fast. It was not even a hedgehog.
He learned stuff about the dog portal. Yes, it in fact did require somewhat intimate knowledge. Very much like “this is my pet” knowledge. He could not make it work for a friend, even if he hung out with them often enough. Ever. The distance and size deferential made the costs far and away higher than an intermediary spell ought to be. To get the pet summon from across the city to be reliable, you would want a ritual spell. A sort of Gate. It might take great time, or it could take great investiture of power. More than his current levels. Maybe with some more mystics helping him. But to s u m m o n a d o g…
A different spell might be required for a long distance portal with strangers, or a short distance one for anyone. A distance portal for anyone would definitely not be intermediate. It would be
A d v a n c e d
He could do it. He had the technology. He could downgrade the distance, up the cost to compensate for the potential kickback and reverse the jelly baby neutron flow, but—
He could use it to make a door that worked to take him, and maybe one other person, across a distance of about 500 feet. He could do it, in theory…
August got to work practicing something that didn’t involve a hamster in a ball at all. Although that might be an idea for a future spell….
Before he began preparations for the spell practice, August went over what he knew.
Invocation Magic that summons or calls something to a location. This also allows for the creation of objects, and potentially even animation, but both require magical focus to maintain.
That was his best school of arcana. That was what he did. His element of it was the “call,” the “compel,” the siren song compulsion effect. It built to all the best magicks, but didn’t lead directly to Jedi mind tricks to influence and trick. Not immediately, at least. But if he was clever…
The main purview for August in this school was mind control, siren songs, and compulsions… those were invocation.
Jefi mind tricks, whispers in the ear, making someone susceptible to suggestion… that was metation. Illusion could also mess with minds too, if he made a person think they heard a different command and act accordingly, but that was less effective.
Those were the main things. He had considered learning metation, but the pamphlet had been… really weird. Lotta focus on dancing pants. He liked his pants not to dance. Whereas Invocation, that had high level animated rock dog. Hell yeah, rock dog! Also, portals, what he was focused on here and now. Teleportation of a dog, from a nearby room. Low level stuff. Should be able to be tweaked for his own personal usage if he were clever. And compelling a dog to arrive from another room. Those were listings on the pamplet he was studying. All useful. All about dogs. But he had a hamster, and— he was distracted.
It was a very cute hamster, your perfect hamster. Browns and golds and whites and blacks and spots. Yes. He had named it Hamtaro. Yes. He was a loser. Try and keep up.
Compulsion into suggestion… yeah, he had figured that out without delving into metation. It was meta, tweaking the spell like that. Hell. He had snapped with that spell. He had not even tweaked it, honestly. He had thought it was metation for the longest time until he started making new spells, and realized they were more invocation, more
c o m p u l s i o n
Than they were a mind hex. You live and you learn. His compulsion to Carrick to fly faster, that had been inspired. And he had learned to compel people with single-word tasks, since suggestions required concentration unless he wanted to use them briefly, then discard the spell for a new version once the result was achieved. Doable, but costly, Spell mechanics and energy-wise. Ate glyph card spell focuses like nobody’s business, and—
The dog was his guinea pig. Literally and figuratively. He needed to know, to understand. The dog, was it important, or was the play the thing? Was the spell what mattered most. Or could they do substitutions?
He had once read a book series about magicians, where they practiced 1000 different spells for pounding in a nail. They practiced for at high elevations and practiced for low, for casting when Venus was in retrograde, or casting on the moon. Variations upon variations. Then they learned to pull nails out, because the teacher wanted their fucking nails back. The whole point had been when you can do that shit 1000 different ways, with any variable, the magic is in you, ingrained. You can adapt it on the fly. Or just cast the spell. So with that in mind, did mystic magic need 1000 spells to hammer a nail… or could one spell get tweaked on the fly to achieve a slightly different result?
What? He had only been a mystic for several years now. He was not a master wizard yet. He was pretty sure most everyone else already had more powerful spells than him, anyways. He had loads of questions, and experimentation was really the best option, other than begging another mystic to help him understand magicks (specially when each school varied, and was personal for each mystic).
Yeah.
So, long story short, he bought a guinea pig. Wait, hadn’t it been a dog earlier? What gives?! Well. Dogs are a lot bigger, and a lot more work to take care of. You have to walk them, pet them, love them, play with them, feed them, clean up after them, clean them, and… a hamster was way easier.
It changed again.
Yes. Yes it did. Guinea pigs are big and stinky and aggressive. Hamsters are smaller, and much cuter. August thought the anime Hamtaro, for instance, was freaking kawaii desu. He opted for the smaller animal, the smaller cage, and the thing that could fit in a ball and push itself around. Much cooler than a big chonking Guinea pig. For his spell, he used a hamster as a guinea pig stand-in for the dog. Please try and keep up.
“Offer a portal to summon your dog that got lost in the city.” August read from the pamphlet. Yes, the music library had informational spell pamphlets. “Intermediate level, invocation Arcana. Details are as follows…”
Hrm.
He would need to tweak this. Was it intermediate because it was one target, or because it was a dog? Was the description a simple example, to give the idea… or did it need a dog as a spell component? He did not have a dog. Did He need a dog?! Was he supposed to have a dog, as an invocation master? Was it a pet class?! He needed a pet, right?! Or was this a question of intimacy, closeness. F r I e n d s h i p . Would any friend do? Human friend? Acquaintance? Man off street? Man on street? Hobo?! Did he needed to buy s as hobo to practice this spell?!
August jotted down the data, and left the library.
He scooped up a noodle monster. Threw it. Went at another with chop sticks. Skewered a pork bun. Laughed as Carrick devoured it. Threw a minor illusion of another one, which Carrick could not eat.
This was insane, he could have just kept eating. Why had the kid even done this, the one the Asian x-man had been talking to, they’d have to sort that out. Make sure this never happened again. That would be the x-man’s job, though. He was just here to get rid of this junk so he could go back for more food. Or leave with a clear conscience, and go get dessert.
“I wish I knew what had even been the reason behind this.” He muttered.
August didn’t understand mutants. At least when mystics caused chaos, it generally was intentional. Mutants could just activate and bam. Chaos.
August went at the graffiti, artistic in the way only an artist can be, which is to say— eh. Art happened. There really was no explaining it.
His art was removing the old art. It got removed. The area got a uniform coat of paint. Stuff happened.
Rex asked him what it was like being a concert violinist.
Good question.
“It takes dedication and a very great deal of work,” August told him. “You have to do a load of practicing, daily, and study music history, theory, performing, all that jazz. Have to sacrifice a lot of free time for it. And before any of that, you have to get the right degree for it. I worked my butt off.”
He looked away from the wall he was painting, back to Rex. He bit his lip a moment, thinking, considering what Rex might possibly be thinking. Pay grade maybe?
“I make a good amount, with the orchestra’s yearly schedule. I do some gig work at weddings and stuff if I want to make extra money. It beats the 9-5 grind. Get to play a lot of good music. Remind me some time to play a Star Trek riff for you, that I practiced once for a Klingon wedding. John Williams has good ones, too. Never done a Star Wars wedding though. Wonder why.”
Yeeeeeep. Was that Campbell’s, because it sounded like it had come from a can. But yes… it was a good reason for club penguin.
>> "Honestly, I can't really tell what the purpose of it is, other than keeping mystics connected. Which is good enough, I suppose. Don't really know what other people are doing,"
August did not say stripping.
They finished trash pickup in amiable silence. Then Rex presented him with choices.
“I feel artistic.” He said, then clarified. “Destruction of art is also art. Though it’s a shame. This tagger, Claremont, does good work. Looking at that fuzzy blue demon with a Bible, and that white-haired black woman riding that storm cloud. It’s uncanny.” How’d it all fit on the slide?
He took the napkin off his neck, and dropped it to the table as he rose. He had been eating. This has interrupted his meal. And then the gryphon, and the memories. Urp.
Really. His appetite. August had absolutely not needed the reminder.
Someone had cut down his lunch in front of his face. He was not feeling the happy.
As he walked past gryphon, he spot the monster and endearing smile. Forced.
“Got to hand it to you, Peter. You and your friends always save the day. Eat up. You’ve earned this.”
He glided up to the Asians. He had grabbed enough vocabulary from random Asian stuff to know “stop.” August did the magic hand signs, and suggested it. The boy stopped yammering. The six remaining monsters did not.
“orz,” he told the man. “That usually works. Guess we have to take the last ones ourselves.”
He had bared his soul to the other man. Waiting, patiently, for something, any response to the awkward bits. August was uncertain how the man would react.
Would he take a step back, at the admission?
Would he be disgusted, would he be annoyed, would he try to say what was wrong about him, try to fix him, ask him what was wrong with him, tell him he should get fixed, stay silent, stay loud, or do one of the myriad other options one has when someone tells them something about gender identity that may not be something they’ve ever considered, or been comfortable with.
August sort of held his breath.
Rex chose… Rex chose to grunt, nod, make a comment about focusing on the last part next time. The part about him thinking something was not right? The part about him needing to do something about it? That part?! That part was the least, the lowest, the bottom rung of the ladder, the barest essential reason for someone to do anything!
August was about to open his mouth, and tell him that, because the silence about the meat of his large exposition had been neglected. And one does not neglect— you know what, we are moving beyond that metaphor.
August felt frustrated, and he felt dismissed. The man had cut to the quick of his statements, then smirked about it and gone back to stabbing trash.
August stabbed trash, instead of stabbing Rex, or sharing a cutting word. Then, Rex said something about his father.
August turned, ready for a fight.
The man would not look him in the eye. He disappointed him. By not picking a fight. He chose peace, and said something really nice. The bastard.
Maybe it was all a bit too much, too fast. The confessions, the fact he might be a friend of Dorothy. Maybe Rex was not ready to get swept up in that, this moment. Because he had sent a word cyclone spinning through that rundown playground they were in. And even though Rex had not said anything conclusive upon his opinions of what August had said, they were in a different place now, all the same.
His shoulders loosened. Yeah. He could give Rex a moment to process what he had said.
“Thanks,” August replied. He held the trash spear held aloft, so the crumpled detritus was silhouetted against the body of the sun. He turned, and stuffed it into his sack. “I’m trying. But it can be trying… that’s trite. But true. And I guess we are now part of a special club that goes around trying to help people, and do ‘good stuff.’ In ‘good form.’ Yeah?”
He didn’t need to tell him. Sure. He could do that. This was kind of a confession, after all. Probably an awkward one. He could have simply not gone into it, instead of— what, probably overloading the man with way too much information. Rex thought he was brave, after all. It would be silly to go and ruin all of that… right?
He bit his lower lip thoughtfully, and chewed over his thoughts. “Thanks.” He said, after a second. “For the compliment. And yeah. I probably could stand to learn some new spells for offense and defense… rather than using words as my shield. Hrm.” Now he was introspective about his powers. “But words are pretty amazing, too.” He added.
So. Words. Did he confess? Or was he cool with letting it sit and be an open question, even after he had gone out of his way to pique Rex’s interest. Interest Rex gave him an out on.
He thought about it for a second, and stabbed trash.
“Sooo. Uhhh. Three reasons,” august said. “First is lame. Second is better. Third makes no sense, but it is best. I apologize. This is the information overload route. Are you Ready?”
He had done some thinking on this. Some of his reasoning had been flawed, some selfish, and some stupid beyond recognition, but also pretty valid, all things considered.
He really didn’t want to talk about reason one. It went against baseline personality traits. Those were like the Ten Commandments. Thou shalt not talk about X, thou shalt hate Y, et cetera. Et cetera.
“I don’t really like talking about my family,” August began honestly. Not sarcastic. But maybe with a hint or humor and self loathing. “They have lied to me pretty much my entire life. I thought my real dad was … my grandpa… most of my life. Don’t ask. My real dad, though… never met him. Super villain. Cold steels arch nemesis, private dancer. Makes people dance when they don’t wanna. Wonder why my magic is how it be. This is the lame reason, by the way. Ready? Okay: I thought if cold steel died, my real dad would be sad. Never even met him, but there it is. The lie.”
He waited a few seconds, then continued.
“That lame lie got my feet moving out the door, but it wasn’t why I went. I’ve met CS once. One time. I ran away. Reasons 2 and 3 are as-follows: Cold Steel is a fracking masterpiece. He’s really hot, and I would be sad if he died. I worried he was gonna. Which makes no sense, because he’s strong. And brave. And noble, and does good things like a goddamn storybook knight. And I don’t know him, and these things are all laughable, and why would he die if he’s so tough, yeah? Such a stupid reason, a crush… but he did.” August looked Rex in the eye. “Need saving. And I did. Me and Carrick seized him out of the sky. When he fell. So I guess I helped. Heh. Oh, and I also really thought mystics attacking a school was poor form and had to stop them because it wasn’t right. So, um. I’m not radioactive, man, I’m just blushing alright?!”
He stabbed something. He had not meant this to be a confessional. This man was religious, wasn’t he? What with the burning crosses?
‘Forgive me, daddy. I’ve been bad.’ Wasn’t that what you said to priests?
“I suppose this makes me decidedly less impressive…” August sighed. But maybe it was good to lose his illusions. Definitely more honest. And his family had made him all sorts of screwed up when it came to the honesty game. None, or too much, too soon. This was… the latter. He fell quiet. After that monologue, he kind of needed a drink of water before he would feel like talking more.
Needed to be done. Again, good answer. The goodest. Wasn’t even a word. But he’s make it one.
There had to be more to it than that, some ulterior motive. He was really that good? No ‘wanted to get into cold steel’s pants’, or ‘some X man owes me a lot of money.’ Just ‘needed doing.’ Okay.
He looked down from a brief, admiring, but also skeptical, look. Stabbed and bagged more trash.
The question gif turned back on him, and his answer was not as good. Not as noble. He let Rex drop the compliment first, then prepared to disappoint him.
“I almost didn’t go…” He said, frowning. A plastic bag got stuffed into a plastic bag. “When I did, I did it sneaky-like. I had been told by the mystics what was going down, and told them I would have no part in helping them do it… then I snuck into their gathering before they teleported in… and just ran through the back ranks, using suggestion magic to tell people they probably ought to go home. It was going to be much safer if they went home. I can’t really make people do things that will bring them harm… had to prey on their cowardly natures to get them to leave… just like I preyed on the big flying mansion destroyer at the end. Told him he would have to expend all of his magic if he wanted to win…. He did. He lost. But… those are all great descriptions of what I did. Why…?”
August got quiet for a minute, and just fell into the pattern of stab, sack, stab, bag, stab, sack. Finally, he turned back to Rex.
“It’s stupid,” he had a silly half-smile. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
A firefighter. August arched an eyebrow in surprise, then nodded in acceptance. Once again, something for the hood of others. Not what he himself would do. Rex showed his colors again. Fire and passion. Helping others.
“It is unreal how much I respect that,” august stated soberly.
It was unreal, because old august would have had other things to say. Few would have been respectful. That had been before he worked with Rex and others, sacrificing time and a whole load of energy. On a whim. To protect reality. But mainly because he had gotten word something would happen. Something bad. And he had the hots for one of the few who would be affected by the bad. He was still unpacking how his life had changed, all THAT baggage. It was his bag, but he wasn’t going to unpack it on Rex’s floor.
He just followed and walked and carried. They got where they were going.
The gates were noisy. Did they have oil for that? Oily magic? They ought to call Herc. He was probably magical when he was oily—shutthef^*%upaugustchrist. He mentally shushed himself. They weren’t objectifying friends today. Especially ones with complicated romantic histories.
The whole place needed a coating of magical love and attention. More than an oil cans worth. He put on the gloves and took up the spear. He had no magic for cleaning. Good old fashioned elbow grease would have to do. Ugh. He was wearing nice clothes.
“Towards thee I roll,” August held up the spear, and with a slightly crooked smile, he continued the speech, voice lowered dramatically. Ironically. “Thou all-destroying but unconquering whale; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee…”
He skewered a piece of trash, and stuffed it in the bag.
Cleansing this place better not be the death of him. Their all-consuming white whale of a task.
After several minutes of cleaning, he turned to Rex.
“So.” He started, in a conversational tone. Thrust, point. Stab. He jabbed a Greasy Burger box. “Why did you choose to defend the school?”
