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 Welldrinker Cult
A shadowy group is gaining power, drawing in people who are curious, vulnerable, or malicious, and turning them into Mystics. They are recruiting people into their ranks to spread the influence of magic in the world, but for what end goal?
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 call went out to any x-man in the area. There was an aggressive mutant causing trouble downtown and the police needed backup.
They didn’t say what kind of mutant. The didn’t say who it was. All they said was you’d be able to see them from a mile away. You would be able to tell.
August saw them. He paused in his walk, and stopped to look. Up, up, up.
“You are so totally not Giant’s Bane.” He muttered.
For one thing, the coloring was off. Which is to say, giants bane never wore a yellow and black jumpsuit over his entire body. He never had discus-shaped shoulder guards. And he certainly never wore a mask like nacho libre. Whoever he was, the person who’d shouted had been wrong.
“Welp.” August turned and started walking away. After about ten steps, he heard a big boom. He glanced over his shoulder, dead certain what he would see.
Yep. There macho nacho was, following him. Like a puppy. He pointed at the mocha, like a child that wanted something he could not have.
“No. My iced mocha,” August said petulantly. Then he turned and started aggressively power walking away.
Boom boom boom. Guy was loud and had a big stride, but he was not fast.
Why had the police been called about him, anyways? Oh right. Probably because he’d been stealing everyone’s food.
With one hand, he maneuvered the Nokia so it was open. Turned the whole thing horizontally, and triggered the minor illusion he had set up. The beeps and blinking ceased.
An image appeared above the horizontal flip phone. It was small. Probably a hands height. Was dressed in a white robe with a black belt. Had red hair done up in twin buns. And was approximately Oli-shaped. Its voice was straight out of a new hope, with some minor edits. Because it said:
“Help me, Zero-L-One Kenobi. You are my only hope.”
If he’d been majoring in the illusion school, the message might have gone on or been better than the grainy, pixelated, slightly blue hologram he had given them. Instead, it maintained cohesion for a second, then fizzled out in a burst of static. He felt a little drained. For his skill levels, getting sound and picture had been pushing it.
“Huh,” August drawled. “Guess you actually can teach old tech new tricks.”
A bomb. They thought it was a bomb! The look of amusement rapidly vanished as Oli said they’d call the police.
Voice dead, listless, August said: “No. stop. Don’t. It’s not a bomb, just.”
He was moving, towards the backpack. He reached in, and while his hand was hidden, did a quick gesture and palmed the Nokia. He pulled it out and showed them. It was the source of the light and sound.
His smile was a little sickly, but they couldn’t see it. Their camera was focused on the Nokia phone.
“Don’t call the police. I think someone... just left you a message?” He said weakly.
Okay, so technically, technically, there were mystics out there that hated mutants. The cult itself, the well drinkers, had maybe sorta kinda been founded on it. Predicated on it? They had a predilection, a predetermined penchant for hate. Problematic? Probably. If August had not been someone who had fallen ass backwards into the order.
August was not into the cult or its views, not religiously. He was decidedly atheist, somewhere between neutral and ambivalent regarding mutants. Maybe even altruistic. He has mutant friends. He had mutant enemies, or at least folks who didn’t like him for him, which was their right. He didn’t care too much, either way. Mutants were like everyone else. They could be good people, they could be bad people, and they could be a fine upstanding mix of both worlds. They made choices. Like he’d said before, everyone makes choices. You choose to be awful. Just as you choose to be outstanding.
He didn’t get the hatred thing. Bigots. Against mutants, against races, against people who loved someone somebody objected to, or felt some way someone else did not understand. He didn’t understand that. If he disliked a person, it wasn’t on account of any defining trait. Other than maybe being an asshole.
Maybe he had mixed or contradictory feelings regarding mutants. He was mortal. Some mortals can be bad. Some good. With Mutants, it was the same. He did not have a prevailing wind, either way. Nothing that pushed him entirely in one direction. When it got down to it, he supposed he was selfish about the whole thing. Me-centered. What can this do for me? How do they treat me? Are they going to harm me? Was he flawed? Yeah sure, you betcha. Bit of a narcissist. Totally! Did he avoid the hateful people he knew in life? As much as he could. Would he stop them, if they wanted to do something that made him feel uncomfortable. Look. Not everyone is wired to be a hero. You’d have to ask August in the moment what he was feeling. What he was thinking. Would he do a counter protest against, say, the Westboro Baptist church? Or the church of humanity? Maybe. Or maybe he would turn a blind eye. Would he have strong feelings? Of course. But actions and how one feels don’t always line up. It would be a constantly shifting maze of cause and effect, for his morality. Thing, and response. Because he was chaotic neutral.
Good ol Chaotic neutral, if he were using dnd terms. Not operating on a code of laws and morals that is entirely lawful, or good. In the moment, living on a case-by-case basis. Focused on what makes them tick. But able to be swayed. He’d been swayed to help when the creep had been bad, after all.
The creep had shown poor content of character. Negative content. And so August had responded with negativity. Our actions are important. August’s response to the phone doing glowy things was— nonchalant. It didn’t really define him at all. Or maybe it did. He was neutral. He did not make a big deal about it. Didn’t even say “already knew that.”
He followed the Tao of Wheaton. “Don’t be a dick.” He thought he was chaotic neutral, but maybe he was selling himself short.
—
He saw the phone’s glow, saw the glow flow. Saw the show, ‘fo sho’. And didn’t applaud or squeal with joy.
It was very cool, the phone thing. The awakening. Even the avatar, which appeared, then stretched. A nice touch. Red hair. Youngish. Hoodie. Sweat pants. ‘Still androgynous, he thought. ‘Still a CELLPHONE’, he corrected himself. Who was he kidding? To say anything else would just be silly.
>> "Golly! It's nice to be back in a modern phone! Old tech puts such an ache in my back!"
“Gives me hives,” he agreed. “It is the worst!”
They thanked him, and introduced themselves. He watched the screen, watched them smile up at him, and decided now that they had a camera, they had a visual on him. Which meant if he wanted, they could probably see a pretty fun gag. First things first, though.
“Nice to meet you, Zero-L-One.” He said easily. “My name is August.”
He would have waved, but he still had the Nokia in hand. So, he said “Excuse me,” and bent to set it in their bag. As he did, the better phone, Oli’s phone, sort of got swinging casually as he unconsciously lowered his arm in the motion of putting away the Nokia.
Before he brought the phone back up to eye level, to right things, he did a quick series of gestures and finger swivels with his now free hand. He looked at the phone, and turned away from the bag, smiling.
Behind him, a red column of light started blinking in the darkness of the garage. Directly above the bag. He acted like he hadn’t seen it. But the cellphone had a clear visual.
“Sorry about the shaky cam. You’re probably used to it though. Do you— wait.” He stopped. “Do you hear a beeping?”
He wiggled his fingers out of sight of the camera, and cast another minor illusion. It beeped in time with the red columns flash.
“I’m a pro,” he said with pride. “Music major in college and everything.”
He had gone through the hoops you go through to be able to market yourself. Got the certificate of authenticity and all of that. Not to toot his own horn or anything.
... why did he like that phrase.
—
He unzipped the bag. Or started to, then realized it was not zipped. Felt foolish. Got into the bag. Found a phone. A good phone. In an adorable phone case. Like something a teenage girl might adore. Or a teenage boy, who liked rotund anime-eyed animals. Or whatever.
Hey, boys can like cute things too. He had gone through a phase in college, involving lace. Because, turns out back in the old old days, fine lace on men’s clothing was a sign of fashionability. At least, according to those friends who’d been way into fantasy and gotten him RPIng dungeons and dragons and don’t ask.
He did not wear lace much these days. But. Yes. People can enjoy whatever the hell they want. He would not judge a book by its cover. The cutesy cellphone could have belonged to Al Gore for all he knew. Just as easily as Hillary Clinton or Cardi B.
He held up the phone, and just took a moment to admire it. That was a nice phone. Probably even better than his own. And he didn’t even have a cute case.
>> "Alright! We made it! If you'd be so kind as to set the Nokia in the bag that would be lovely!"
He got ready to fulfill their request to the letter, but their next comment caused him to pause, mid-motion.
Cool? Was he cool? Was this phone going to try and sell him drugs? Because if they were a cop and he asked them, they would totally have to tell him. That was the law.
... ha. What to say, what to say?
“Suuuure?” August said. More seriously, he stated: “I can keep a secret, yes.”
I didn’t tell you I was a wizard, did I? Oh? I did. Well at least I didn’t talk to you at length about my cult...
... Yet.
“Why?” He asked innocently. Was there some dramatic secret you wanted to share?
Apparently, his hobbies made them excited. They’d taken the bait.
Not that he had been baiting or anything...
Their comment actually made him laugh out loud.
“Oh. That’s funny. Me, a dead end job with my violin.”
Though technically the only place up from second chair was first, and first chair was REALLY good! But he was not telling Nokia person that.
“I am a concert violinist with the New York orchestra.” August explained. “I make a lot of people happy when I play. As opposed to my violin playing being bad and trapping me in woe.”
He looked around the parking garage.
Hope this isn’t a setup~~~~~ His heart practically sang.
There was the backpack.
Ugly ax murderer steps out of the shadows in 3 2 1
The sound quality on the old phone was terrible. Like 50% muffled, 50% static. The cadence of the voice was higher, sure, but the voice was still androgynous. The only thing he could be fairly certain of, was that the voice was not robotic like Siri or Alexa. This was no skynet. It was human-ish. Though not humanoid. Aside from that, he was making no assumptions.
Until further notice, he was referring to the cellular person as they and them. Unless they gave him an actual name or an update. And they could have their privacy if they wanted it. He wouldn’t dig... though their backstory intrigued him. Were they really a cellphone, like he thought? Inquiring minds wanna know. How would that have happened? He knew mutants could become many things. For instance, his biological father was... is... a mass murdering, mind controlling, psychopath. But they weren’t talking about his... ick... family tree just then.
Still felt gross that his snap spell, and his fathers power, were in the same ballpark. That was between him and his therapist, though. And his dad was not a cellphone... man.
She finished and he frowned.
“Yeah. People... they could be anything. But they choose to be like that. I’m always sorry for their poor decisions. Sorry I have to be around them.”
He shook his head, but smiled a little. “No need to thank me, but you’re welcome.”
“I suppose we both have things we’re good at.” August said. After a moment, he said: “I’m good with people, and with music. And you’re good at IT.”
“Real talk? Me and my violin was kind of about feeling trapped.” The topic was deep, but his tone was wistful. “We’re almost there, by the way.” He added, as an afterthought.
”I know I misbehaved And you made your mistakes And we both still got room left to grow And though love sometimes hurts I still put you first And we'll make this thing work But I think we should take it slow~!
We're just ordinary people We don't know which way to go 'Cause we're ordinary people Maybe we should take it slow Take it slow, oh-oh This time we'll take it slow Take it slow, oh-oh This time we'll take it slow~”
The pianist had been reluctant at first to give up his seat to August, but after a few cited credentials and a surreptitious hex, he had been convinced. August had seated himself gingerly, and proceeded to play beautifully. He had sung with the playing, less beautifully, perhaps. But quite serviceable, really. If he had to toot his own horn, so to speak, he would have given it an 8/10. Maybe even a 9, if he were being NPD. Maybe if the pianist liked his presentation enough, he wouldn’t have to toot his own horn at all. Someone else could compliment him and do that. The party was quite droll. A little escape would do wonders for his mood.
It was a cocktail party at a gallery opening. He’d come to support a friend. They had a vested interest in the gallery’s success. Their partner also had art on display. August had seen the art. He’d thought it looked like two hippopotamuses mating. But it was abstract enough to almost be a Rorschach test. What did that say about the state of his mind? Perhaps that he thought the artist had shown talent and would go far. ‘Good chops, kid.’ And all that.
He finished up the John legend song. Ordinary people. Stepped away from the piano, to a few scattered applause. Not resounding. Maybe it had been closer to a solid 7.5, after all? The Violin was more his speed. That was why they pay him the big bucks for it, after all.
The pianist did not approach him.
He needed a drink. Dressed in black slacks, blue shirt, and charcoal grey silk vest, he strolled across the floor to a man holding a tray.
“Thank you,” he took the offered glass of white. Took a take sip.
When the Nokia switched from all caps to all lower case, he couldn’t help but smile a little and mutter “Cheeky” in appreciation. Followed by “Yes.” Out loud. “Better.”
If they could hear him, he didn’t have to text everything. He could state innocuous things. Just not all the time... lest someone think there were a crazy person wandering the streets of New York.
Oh noooo, not a crazy person. Like, another one. Since there were plenty. But he could honor the request for some privacy, for now at least. Certainly there was a reason for cloak and dagger. Somewhere.
From all the slip ups, August had a hunch the cloak and dagger was more because she needed every bit of help she could get, and the secrecy act brooked no argument. The room to wiggle was negligible. And for a phone with no face, it helped cover for her total lack of a poker face. Well. He could play.
He fell silent for the next three minutes. Then, he ruined it by suddenly breaking the silence to ask: “Do you ever feel trapped?”
He was about a block out from the parking garage, now. With the phone held up to the side of his face like he was on an important call.
He dropped his focus away from the woman just in time to hear ping! And see another message appear.
Hm, interesting. It had responded less to what he’d typed than what he’d actually said. The phone had ears... or the ability to listen in, at the very least.
It shot off another reply a few seconds later. About where he could stick the phone.
Oddly specific. And it got in the way of his buying a new phone, too. He liked drama though, had even taken some classes in college. One thing he had learned was, you don’t shoot down an idea when you’re acting. When you’re improvising, you don’t go no. You go “yes! And...”
This was his chance to ‘Yes, and.’ He could always return for the phone. Might not get it, because it was new. There might be scarcity. But oh well. He had money. He could slum it with a phone one iteration behind for a few days more. To humor a Nokia.
He turned and vacated his place in line, typing:
“NOKIA, YOU OWE ME.”
Once he was several feet away from the store, and away from the densely packed crowd... he kept walking. Because this is New York. And there was still plenty of densely packed crowd to spare.
He made a beeline for the parking garage spoken of in lore. He tapped out a comment. “I’m heading to the garage to help you. Is it possible for you to type in lower case letters? I tried typing in all caps like you one time and I felt like you’d get the impression I’m yelling at you. And I’m not...”
A second later, he added. “I would not have tossed you in a toilet BTW. lol that was a joke.”
He heard the exhale. He had good perception. He also caught the awkwardness in the tone of the text reply. It felt like a forced laugh. And a lie.
“One of my exes is in IT.” He typed. “He told me remote access is a thing that doesn’t really work in really old technology.”
Was it true? Maybe. He knew enough about tech to bank on it, with or without a savvy ex. But one of his exes definitely could have been in IT. He had enough to run the odds.
“Well, anyways.” He graciously changed the subject. “What do you want me to do with your phone, now that the client has left? What is your IT firm?”
Out loud, he stated for the record. “Ginny threw Tom riddles diary into the toilet...”
The woman ahead of him eyed him wary. He twiddled his fingers. “You didn’t hear that.”
He stepped forward in line, into the building. As he did, his thumbs tapped out a response.
“Sorry.” They began.
More typing.
“Man you were talking to left. Went home to take a cold shower. He was dirty.”
There was no puking face emoji on a Nokia. What a shame.
“Seems I’m texting myself. You wouldn’t answer to Tom Riddle, by any chance? In his brand new Indestructible Nokia Horcrux. Wizard to wizard, you can share.”
If it wasn’t something mystic, it was something funky. Or something mutant. He had no problems with mutants. They could be useful.
This whole situation was far more interesting than paying attention as he slowly crept forward in line.
Was he the little redhead girl in this situation, about to lose his soul? He always had liked Ginny.
Liked Ginny. Liked the books. Though the author could pound sand.
It was a cool February day. Snow was on the ground, and for many, love was in the air. For August, no such luck. In fact, he was the absolute furthest he could possibly imagine for someone who hoped for love. Or at least lust. For a quarter of an hour, at the very least. He was in line. For a new cellphone. And the line was long. But maybe he could do something about that.
He eyed the person ahead of himself, then said “Excuse me.”
They turned to look at the 28-year old man in the nice slacks and button up shirt, complete with silk vest. He let that all show beneath a trendy black leather jacket. His hair was neat, but curly and a little wild from the wind. Eyes, hazel, smile inviting. Teeth, perfect. He was totally her type. She was not his.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but the woman smelled. It wasn’t her fault, it was in her genes. Somewhere in there, she had been given something, some trait in her fruit girl plant makeup, that took after a durian. So while she was beautiful, like the woman on the Chiquita banana sticker, she smelled. Like durian. What a shame.
He did a small series of gestures with his right hand, at waist level. A little finger flicking. A twist of the wrist. Then, he said: “These aren’t the Droids you’re looking for. Move along. Why don’t you go get yourself a coffee and think about Apples. My treat.”
He did the hex, and hexed her mind, making her more malleable to the suggestion. Then, he gave her a twenty dollar bill. Anything to be rid of the scent that was not love.
He repeated the gesture with the next, and the next. Though these few he didn’t pay. They smelled alright. He just told them to go get haircuts or a new outfit. He got to the man in front of the door and paused. What a weirdo.
The guy was in his twenties, tapping messages on an ancient cellphone. An old Nokia. He was drooling a little, and august actually thought he heard the guy say “what’re you wearing.” In public, in front of God and country. He had to save the poor person the man was texting. Before it turned into a serial killer wants to meet irl situation.
“You want to give me that?” August said, with a quick gesture and no preamble. “And you want to run home and take a long, cold shower.”
The man did. And he did.
August moved up to the door. He wouldn’t be able to hex his way through to the front desk without attracting attention now. Someone might notice if everyone in the store left, save him. Plus, all the magic was making him a little hangry and reticent. Low blood sugar, perhaps?
He stared down at his “new” Nokia, and decided to text the girl back to let her know her friend was a creep and wouldn’t be bothering her any more. Looking back through the logs, he had not been too racy. From the start, at least. Just a strange exchange where the person on the other side of the screen introduced themselves, some friendly banter... the other person seemed friendly. Almost too helpful?
Seemed like she was talking tech with him, about new phones and stuff, up until... there it was. He started hitting on her. Heavily. For being sooo smart, and probably pretty too. That had actually been the last message. A “you sound hot. Want to meet IRL?” August hesitated. It looked like the person was typing a response. Well. He would just tell them things were fine after he saw how they would reply. He did so love drama. And, wait—
Something was weird. Going back over the (very long) conversation, it had started with different tags. Like different phones. Somewhere in the past several minutes, that had changed. Now it was him talking to... himself? Something was rotten in the state of Denmark.
Character's full name: August Isaac Appleberry Alias/ Nickname/ Code name: Auggie Gender: Male Age: 28 Date of Birth: (mm/dd/year) 2/14/92 Birthplace/ Home/ Place of origin: Greenwich village, New York City, New York. Nationality: American Ethnicity/ Cultural Heritage: no comment
Appearance
Hair color and style: Black, wild. Long, a little wavy. Skin Tone: Gently Tanned. Eye Color: Hazel Height: 6’ 2 1/2” Build: A dancer’s build. Visible Magical Corruption: (Not applicable, yet.) Scars/ Tattoos/ Piercings: na Other features: (if applicable)
Everyday clothing style: He likes to dress nice, in plenty of designer shirts and silks. Suits. Ties. Tight pants. Well tailored. Uniform: He wears a suit to work. Sleepwear: He had expensive pajamas he may or may not wear. Miscellaneous clothing: (if applicable)
Character
Personality: (How your character behaves, social tendencies, quirks, etc.)
August likes drama. Likes causing it, likes watching it, likes being a part of it. He enjoys singing and dancing. Likes the stage. Likes to be the center of attention.
August can be a bit of a narcissist. He does not enjoy admitting fault, or accepting blame. His knee jerk reaction is to explain himself and the situation. To evade, and find reasons why things turned out how they did. And he can overreact. Those are recurring issues.
Some exes have called him out as a liar. It isn’t like its compulsive or anything. Sometimes, it is just hard for him to keep his word. He can be distracted by life. He can screw up. He also gets bored and likes to do interesting things.
In big social gatherings, August enjoys visiting and flitting around like a little bird. Talking to everyone. Flirting. Some people get tired from being “On” all the time. He seems to draw energy from performing to a crowd. It gives him life.
He can be commanding. August likes things his way and won’t hesitate much to insist on things when they aren’t up to par. The man is used to people humoring him. His parents spoiled him as a child, and he is very talented. Because of that, he does not have much trouble convincing the right people to do as he says... most of the time. And he gets his way a disturbing amount of the time. He is selfish... but also thinks for the long haul.
August likes people that give him their full attention.
He is loyal to friends, unless they betray him. He likes to make people happy with his winning personality! And His sense of humor... let’s not get started on his sense of humor.
August goes on the internet too much when he is bored. He feels very strongly about some things! And he likes cats. And celebrities. And expensive things he can buy.
Hobbies/ Interests: Dancing, French. Cooking French or Italian cuisine. Music. Singing, playing piano, playing violin. Night clubs. Gambling. Wine pairings. He has also been introduced to dungeons and dragons by some of his friends, and... dabbles. Fine: he is a huge nerd and he likes bards. They try to sleep with anything. This amuses him. Job or part time job and description: Professional concert violinist, second chair. New York orchestra. Fears/ phobias/ concerns: Special talents: (not related to magic) Can speak French and Spanish, cook various bits of French and Italian cuisine, knows his wines, and plays the violin and the piano. He can also sing.
Morality
Good/ bad/ neutral/ other:
August is neutral, and could be persuaded to do things of questionable ethical value... by the right person. As well as good things, sure! Those, too.
He has stolen hoodies from lovers, but would never steal money. Would never steal from a store. Mainly because that’s blatant, and thieves get caught. Plus, he is well off and has funds.
Has he cheated? On tests? Perhaps. On people? No comment.
He has lied, and will continue to lie in order to get what he wants. He is more than happy to use people’s preconceived notions against them.
August is not a murderer, and would probably stop someone from flat-out killing someone... but he is not opposed to shutting down someone rude with a snide comment. Anything beyond a purely verbal slap... really depends on the reasoning. It’s unlikely he would want to be a part of anyone beating the crap out of anyone... but he might appreciate more drama-oriented scenes with less violent acts.
For your run-of-the-mill law-breaking... speeding? He has speeded. DWIs? No. He would just get someone to drive him home, or crash somewhere, or get a cab. Lying to police? Lying, in-general. Maybe. Depends on the situation and how it benefits him.
He is rules-flexible. Self-centered. And open-minded.
Feelings toward Mutants: Ambivalent. They can be useful.
Feelings toward Humans: Ambivalent. They can be useful.
Feelings toward Adapteds: Ambivalent. They can be useful.
Magic
Arcana Praeditus:
Metation
Arcana Initium:
Illusion
Preferred Foci: Hand signs, or glyphs for stealth. If he uses glyphs, he has a limited supply of glyph cards kept in a pocket. They get burned out of sight, out of mind. Sometimes, he runs out and has to burn life energy through gestures. Doing so tires him out and can weaken him or his immune system. Casting Costs:
August has two main modes of casting. The first is somatic gestures. Hands motions. Sometimes, her tosses in verbal with the sound, but mostly he just uses his hands. Sometimes, her plays an instrument. This uses ambient magical energy, or the energy he channels. Overuse starts to dip into life energy, ki, chakra, mana, whatever you call the stuff. Which is why he had a second mode.
The alternative cost for casting is items of monetary value, basically, but it is more complicated. While He can use gold and precious stones/metals, He usually uses gold-leaf painted cards. August takes time to paint them with literal gold. The act also lets August imbue each card with magic, to act as a storage device to pay costs. Using magic while holding a card on his person (hands or pockets) causes the card to disintegrate, or “burn”. There is no physical fire, and even the ash is consumed. It leaves no trace. Small magic does not consume entire cards. Beginner level spells burn half a card, intermediate, a whole card, advanced burns cards, starting at two per spell, and rising. The big suggestion august used on the cataclysm, for example, burned a lot of his remaining cards.
August usually carries a deck of bicycles, 52 in count, and maybe 10 business cards. All imbued, paired with gold. He tried silver as a pairing metal, but it did not work as well. There was less value, which meant greater resource expenditure. A big magic would consume like ten silver cards, or maybe even a whole silver necklace/ring. Gold is better.
Props Deck of 52 cards 10 business cards Jewelry Hand signs Instrument
.
Magical Theme:
Hexes and Mind Tricks. Minor illusions.
Snap Spell: (A spell of your Arcana Praeditus that you learned innately when you became a Mystic)
Mind Hex - August hexes someone, to affect their mind. If their mind is affected, they may be less inhibited and more willing to entertain reasonable sounding suggestions. Suggestions that lead to physical harm instantly fail.
General Physical Capabilities: (Strength/Speed/Reflexes/Stamina/Flexibility) Average strength / Average reflexes / Average stamina / Excellent flexibility. Fighting Style: Many characters have no formal fight training. August is one of them. Fighting Style Pros/Cons: He has a glass jaw. Please, don’t hit August. He will utilize cleverness and guile to avoid conflict, along with honeyed words.
History Of Your Character (Please write the history of your character and explain how they became a Mystic, along with their Snapping experience)
August’s mother, Dahlia, met his father when she was sixteen. He was a handsome young man who loved to dance. She was a strong independent young woman who had a brief fling. Her parents covered for her until such a time as she could pass it off as her mother’s newest child. Then, find some wealthy young man to marry her, and settle.
He didn’t learn of the realities surrounding his birth until he was sixteen, himself. Until then, he was raised by his mom, while thinking she was his oldest sister. He is still going to therapy about that. Or he really should be.
His biological father, it turned out, was actually famous. Or at least, he was on the news and his mother recognized him. He had taken a bunch of people hostage, and was making them dance. It was kind of odd. But that is who he was. Or is. That conversation was actually the one where he learned she was his mother. It went a little something like this;
“Auggie, that man... that looks like your father.”
“My... father? But...”
“It has been years since I saw him. But that swagger, that smile. It could only be—“
“Wait, what? My dad is —“ he pictured his much older rich white capitalist father. She shook her head, pointed at her chest, and said
“This ruse has gone on long enough. I’m your mom. That is your dad. And Gregory is your grandfather. Not your father.”
“Moooooom.” At which point, he ran to his grandma and spilled the beans and found everything out. Might have been messier than that. Might have been cleaner. He has spent years blocking out the memory of that conversation.
But parentage aside, August was born into a wealthy family in New York. He was raised spoiled around several brothers and sisters, some much older, one of whom may have actually been his mother. His father, Gregory Appleberry, was a wealthy businessman. An investment banker, or a stock broker, or something. He had never really asked.
His family cut throats and stabbed backs. Sisters were all some degree of demented or self-absorbed. His father was a manipulative bastard. And also his grandpa. One of his uncles/brothers might’ve even tried to hang himself after his father got his boyfriend deported. The only good person was his aunt Emma, and she was caught up in the bad stuff, too.
The second he could leave and make his way in the world, he stayed in his grandfathers good graces instead. Became a musician. Used contacts. Became a professional musician. And generally ignored the nitty gritty details of his family while living his best life.
If pressed, he would never admit to being related to the super villain, Private Dancer. He would never talk about his mother. His grandfather. His mother’s ex-husband, or his family, at large. In short, he would lie. He would make something up. He would only admit to coming from money. And really, that is all that matters. Oh, and that he can play violin well. Besides, his real life. His real family. Didn’t really find him until he was in his late 20s. That was when he discovered the mystics.
Some People go on epic quests to find mysticism. They travel the world and speak to many people. He did not do any of that. His parents did not introduce him to the cult. He pretty much fell ass-backwards into it through some contact at a club. Agreed to do the ritual, though he had sort of been joking. And then, he had gotten knocked out for several days. The first thing he did when he woke up was suggest someone get him an expensive drink... and they did. They rest, as they say, is history.
His family: grandparents (he thought they were mom and dad for 16 years) Ex-Step father - Dick, mom divorced after reality of family twistedness came to light Mother - dahlia. He thought she was an older sister for 16 years Siblings: many aunts and uncles, only 1 is alright. They used to be his siblings in his mind. His mother has no further children(?). Unless he has younger siblings and she does…. Wow. He doesn’t spend much time thinking on his family, he just does right by them for monetary gain.
Roleplay What’s your OOC alias?: Mugen Where did you learn about this site?: Cannot recall. Do you have any other characters on MRO, if so who: Ashton, Amelia, Shin, Elliott, Danny/ Lucien, and Lenna. Sample RP: (Please use the character you're applying for, not a character from another site.)
“When I was a child, my father tried to scare me into adhering to a curfew with an urban legend.” August said, cheekily reciting from an old book he had read probably a dozen times. “It was about an ageless man, who lived in the village, and practiced black magic. According to my father, he was able to open doors into dark dimensions and commune with demons and long-dead spirits. A mystic, my father called him...”
He smiled to himself at what he was going to do next. “As I grew older, my father’s bogeyman lost its impact. At one point, I said ‘eff that. I’m into that shit!’ So I sought the bogeyman out.”
He chuckled to himself. That was not how the story went. That was not how it was supposed to go. The hero was supposed to have said the bogeyman lost its impact, that such a being could not exist outside of an old man’s imagination. That he had stopped believing... And the hero would then admit how wrong he had been. And how he had then sought him out... and how what he had found had been infinitely more unsettling. Of course, August had cut to the chase. Because why beat around the bush?
“D-did you find him?” The man asked. He was curled up on a loveseat with August. Handsome, with short brown hair and eyes the color of a peaceful sky over the ocean. Also, cheek bones to die for. Seriously, they could cut diamonds.
August smiled again, and held up his right hand. He flexed it, did a quick hand gesture, and made lightning appear to crackle over the fingertips. In reality, there was no lightning. Not even a little static. It was simply a minor illusion. Some people are so easily fooled. What mattered was the confidence he used to sell it.