The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
The store was a swirl of sensations; colors in every hue from scarlet to fuchsia and back again, textures from smooth plastic to kitten fur soft, and countless sounds from mechanized barking to model train whistles. And smells. Children always picked up the most interesting scents and trailed them along like a security blanket.
Jonny lived on a farm, but was visiting his grandparents for the weekend: cow manure, fresh cut grass, stale airport, earl gray tea, prune juice, doilies.
Janie's parents worked at an Indian restaurant, her older sister was home from college and taking her out for the day: curry, movie theatre pop corn, Insomniac's Annonymous signature dark roast and a hot chocolate, girl's dorm room. Jocelyn sneezed as the older sister passed by in a could of peach body spray. Blech.
Jocelyn turned back to the display in the front window after she had finished glaring at Peach Spray's bobbing ponytail.
Yellow rubber ducks lined the front of the display, forming a cheerful yellow border. A gigantic tiger stuffed animal and a life sized toy soldier stood sentinel at each side. Three model airplanes hovered overhead, suspended by invisible threads. The main attraction, though, was the ornate doll house that stood in the very center. It was five feet tall, Victorian, pale blue with white trim, and it looked exactly like a real house. It almost wouldn't have been surprising if it had working lights and running water. The windows were dark now, though.
The house that little Daisy Price had vanished from had been dark, too. A little after one in the morning yesterday, Daisy had wandered out of her bedroom, down the stairs, and out the front door, gotten into a car, and disappeared. So far, that was all the evidence they had been able to piece together about what had happened.
Jocelyn was determined to find out more. Armed with a photo and a scrap of clothing, she was tracing the girl's footsteps backwards and forwards as far as she could. Forwards had led her only to the end of the driveway, to some untraceable car that had been waiting for her. Backwards had led the sleuth here, to the toy store where mother and daughter had shopped the day before the disappearance. Daisy had stood here, admiring the doll house, but that didn't really tell Jocelyn anything.
Up at the counter, she pulled out the photo of the girl with curly blonde hair and baby blue eyes.
“Pretty as a doll, isn't she?” The clerk mused. “I don't remember seeing her, though. There are so many children that come through here each day. They all kind of blend together after awhile” He smiled at her through his bushy white mustache. “I'm sorry I can't help you.”
Jocelyn thought she smelled a lie. If he did remember the girl, why would he hide it?
“Thanks for the help,” she muttered perhaps a bit too sarcastically to be strictly professional.
Up above the counter, an entire row of dolls smiled down at her, their glass eyes cold, unfeeling, and dead.
Maybe this was just a dead end.
If only toys could speak. These, and those in Daisy's room, might be able to explain what had happened.
Rain fell, the type that washed away colors, and smells, and even the solid boundaries between the night and the people that walked through it.
High heels clicked on the wet pavement. Business shoes, when business meant looking good without drawing too much attention. A woman who wanted to get ahead had to pay special attention to maintaining that precarious balance, so she seemed neither like a slutty intern nor a cold, asexual business drone.
Wind blew, tossing leaves across the dark path that was a shortcut through the park and tugging at umbrellas until the people beneath them were so wet that they decided the flimsy rain protection devices were more trouble than they were worth.
A young woman shoved her hands deep into her pockets, lowered her head against the rain, and kept walking. Click, click, click went her heels, audible even over the chorus of the raindrops splashing down. She was almost there.
Something tripped her, invisible in the darkness. She cried in pain as she landed hard. Her ankle was twisted at an unnatural angle, her shoe lost somewhere in the darkness.
“Sh**,” she swore through clenched teeth as she grasped the twisted limb with her hand.
“Such ugly words from such a pretty mouth,” came a gruff voice. Right beside her. Impossibly close.
The woman gasped and groped in her purse for a can of pepper spray, looked up.
The man was gone.
With wide eyes, she glanced around, every direction, trying to see through the shadows to wherever he had gone. Her aerosol can followed her gaze until it was suddenly wrenched from her hand and it too was gone, eaten by the night.
“Who are you?” She shouted at no one.
No one answered her with a kick to the ribs. She doubled over, gasping for breath as no one chuckled.
He was back. Standing over her, reaching down to brush a wet strand of hair from her terrified face, “Like you care who I am,” he spat. “You're just like all the rest. You never really see people, do you? You only see tools that you can use to get ahead.”
He backhanded her, and when the stars cleared from her vision he was gone.
“I-I don't understand.”
A hand smashed her face downward, into a puddle at the edge of the sidewalk. “Don't you? Well, understand this; girls like you have no feeling, you trample over little people with your high heeled shoes without even noticing that they are there, because you are so busy trying to reach the top. You don't deserve to live.”
He let her go. She rolled over, gasping for breath.
“You killed those other girls,” she accused the night air. “Mindy Skyes and all the rest.”
A low chuckle floated on the air, “Yes.”
“You made them disappear with you, so they'd never be found.”
She could almost hear his smile bend the night air as she put the puzzle pieces together for him like a pretty picture. “Yes.”
“Because they reminded you of her.”
The chuckling stopped. No one rushed forward. No one grabbed for her throat.
She was ready for him, with a sharp stiletto heel to the groin.
The man toppled off her, falling backwards against a tree trunk with a look of shock and pain twisting his face. She got to her feet faster than he did. Her gun was drawn, aimed at his heart.
She fired. He disappeared. The night was quiet, except for the woman's own panting. She waited.
Waited.
Ventured forward.
She found nothing. No scrap of clothing, no bullet lodged in the tree, nothing. Even his sour scent was gone. His trail hadn't simply grown cold or washed away. It simple stopped existing, right here in this spot.
Just like Mindy's had. And Evelyn's... And Ruth's...
Jocelyn put her gun back in her shoulder holster and straightened up. She retrieved her lost shoe from the puddle in which it had landed and put it back on her foot. It was time to go home.
The one with the...tail? Jocelyn blinked. They had taken in four people. This man, farm boy, the pale and bleeding man, and the sulking dark haired teen that had been sitting next to pale bleedy-face in their shared cell. None of them had tails. She would have remembered a tail.
Sketchy.
As for the others at the scene of the crime: he didn't know them. That was all. No description of what they looked like or what their actions were at the time, nothing.
Even more sketchy.
Jocelyn glanced up from her notepad where she had just written a big fat question mark to catch his gaze. He was glaring at her. The police woman held back a sigh. This wasn't going especially well. Maybe she was asking the wrong questions. Maybe he was purposely evading answering about certain things. Either way, she wasn't getting the details she needed.
“Mr. Stein, the more cooperative you are in giving your answers, the sooner we can be finished. I still need a few more details from you. The other two at the crime scene: what did they look like, and what did you see them do?”
“Also, what is the nature of your mutation?” His description made him sound like a psychic, but he didn't smell anything like one. “I know that can be a rather personal question, but it may be an important fact in this case.” Her eyes were wide, showing kindness. She tried to convey through her gaze that she was one that could be trusted, that she wouldn't misuse any information that he gave her.
And... now he was asking her questions. This wasn't really supposed to be like a friendly conversation either, but if it really would make him feel more at ease to have a bit of information as well, she didn't mind giving him a little.
“I'm in the Mutant Related Crimes division,” she provided, “The title pretty much says it all.” She smiled, again, trying to put him at ease.
Martha had worked in telecommunications ever since the fall after he eighteenth birthday. The financial aid package for her college had arrived in the mail and informed her that her assignment for student work was with the campus phone service. September seventh, she had made her first call to one Mr. Seymore Baxter. He had donated a considerable amount to the alumni fund last year, and would he please consider donating again to support his alma matter? What a nice voice she had, and of course he would donate again.
Martha had found her true calling.
In three and a half years (she had graduated a semester early) she had managed to set several records in the telecommunications department. No other employee had ever gotten such a high success rate with alumni donations (over 85 percent). No other employee had ever had over a hundred donation streak (112 to be exact). No other employee had ever actually managed to dial a random number in Alabama and managed to convince the redneck on the other end of the line, who had never been to college and didn't even know what an alma mater was, to make a small donation to the college ($5.00). Though, they didn't officially keep records on that last achievement, it had still earned her the status of a campus legend.
After college she worked for a short time as an intern answering phones for NPR. Then she worked a short a stint for an insurance company.
Finally, after months of filling out job applications and applying for jobs she landed her dream job.
“911, emergency. How can I help you?”
Her bright and cheerful voice was answered only by the sound of gunshots followed by an explosion before the phone cut out. The location from which the call had been made still flashed on her screen.
Martha picked up her phone again, “Dispatch, we need a response to an explosion at 8th Avenue and West 49th Street, south of Central Park. No other details yet, just heard an explosion.”
--
“Geez, every time there's an explosion they assume it's mutants. It could have been a gas leak,” Jocelyn smacked her hand against her handle bars. She was grumpy because people in this city didn't know how to get out of the way of an emergency vehicle. Were these idiots deaf and blind?
“There, finally,” she screeched past the final oblivious mini van mom who was trying to touch up her mascara in her rear view mirror. Jocelyn refrained from flicking her off. She was a cop and she was going to remain professional, dammit. She killed the sirens and the lights once there was no left between herself and her destination and a few moments later parked her bike. A moment later two squad cars arrived from the other direction and parked a safe distance away from the explosion site.
It wasn't difficult to discern where the explosion had taken place. Rubble and plant parts spilled forth from the blown out front of one of the stores. There was some sort of activity still happening inside. From across the street Jocelyn jogged into a place where she could actually see and smell what was happening.
A tree bark knight assisted by waving vines battled a glowing pink firefly of doom over shards of broken flower pots.
“****.”
She turned her jog into a full out run towards her colleagues that were approaching from the other direction. They needed to know exactly who they were up against.
Rena Whilver.
Also known under various aliases and nicknames such as the Pink Lantern and Aura, she was practically number one on the most wanted list and a known cop killer.
Her colleagues were perfectly happy to let her approach first and promised to provide her cover from across the street. Jocelyn nodded and began her approach from the side, keeping what remained of the building's wall between herself and the pink force field manipulator.
She could already tell this was going to be just peachy.
If he wanted to stand, that was fine with Jocelyn. Comfortable people spoke more, usually. This one seemed to be most comfortable in straight standing military posture. Also fine. The detective remained in her seat, table and yellow legal pad between herself and the soldier turned gardener (for who else would be using such large amounts of herbicide).
His statement was in part perfectly detailed; it was almost as if he was in a trance as he looked back into his memories. Then suddenly he came to a black hole in his recollection. Jocelyn was not fond of black holes and disapproval tugged down slightly at the corner of her smile.
“I have a few additional questions for clarification. First, would you describe the others who were at the scene with you: if and how you know them and what their movements were?” He was very precise when it came to objects, but completely nebulous when it came to the people involved in the crime.
“Second, explain to me your hypothesis as to how you came to black out?” He was the best one to tell if he experienced that sort of thing often or if he had received a head injury of some sort during the events of that morning. Perhaps he had a lump on the back of his head or something.
Kid gloves, always with kid gloves when mutants were involved. At least, that's how this division treated it's prisoners. Actual gloves, too, were now a standard part of the NYPD uniform since Jocelyn had started here. One never knew when skin to skin contact would turn someone into a very nice marble lawn statue or a pile of green slime to be wiped up by the late shift custodian or a mind controlled zombie that turned her gun on her fellow officers. Not that Jocelyn had ever witnessed anything like that in Los Angeles or anything.
It was better to be safe than sorry.
The next suspect entered. Again Jocelyn smiled warmly. Being polite was a big part of the kid gloves mentality. It didn't always work to put people at ease, but a percentage of the time it did. She hadn't had anyone try to rip her head off, at least not yet.
“Please have a seat,” she motioned him forward to his chair with a gesture. “I have a few questions about the events of this morning for you. It shouldn't take a terribly long time if you cooperate,” she promised with a sneeze. He smelled like some kind of chemical that killed weeds or insects. The rest of his scent was slightly more difficult to discern under the strong smell of the poison. He was a mutant of some kind, but that was about all she could tell.
She hid her nose behind a handkerchief under the guise of wiping at a runny nose, “First, what is your name? Then, please describe the events that led you to be standing outside the house on Payson Avenue this morning.”
Farm-boy's description fit pretty well with suspect number four. His 'all funny' made it sound like the other suspect was an unidentified mutant of some kind. Please God, not a reality manipulator, Jocelyn secretly prayed. Probably he wouldn't be, those things were almost as rare as they were deadly, thankfully.
Unaccounted for number two was apparently some kind of worker at the school across the street, just another nosey do-gooder civilian.
Jocelyn stood up, “That's all the questions for now. We'll have to keep you here for a little longer I'm afraid.” She made her way to the door and opened it for him. Deputy Perham put his hand on farm-boy's elbow to lead him back to his containment cell.
“Next time, remember that it's best to call the police and let us deal with things like this. Vigilantism is both dangerous and illegal.”
The detective went back to her seat to finish a few more of her notes before the next suspect was brought in.
Jocelyn blinked. Bleeding hearts? Like a whole pile of... oh, the plants. Got it. He was being very detailed now. Perhaps overly so, but that was an improvement over lack of details. Sometimes the smallest things could make the biggest differences.
“You have a good memory,” she encouraged him. This one seemed to be a natural talker, and his words floated by easily;m he didn't have to put a lot of effort into inventing these details, whether they were the truth or a lie. Most likely the truth, considering how trivial some of them were. The distance of the bushes from the house, really?
“Alright, so you entered and there was already someone inside. Can you describe them?” So far he had only accounted for two out of the four people they had picked up. How did the other two fit in?
It smelled and sounded truthful, his statements simply lacked a lot of details. Jocelyn nodded, jotted down two or three quick notes, then took her own breath to ask for a bit of clarification.
“Perhaps you could add some details for me. How did you enter the house and who and what did you see inside?”
She tapped the paper, her face carefully contemplative. Actually entering the house didn't look good, but the fact that he admitted it so easily meant he probably didn't realize what he had done wrong.
Jocelyn inhaled, letting the pattern of his scent build a picture of who he was in her mind. Mutant, elemental of some kind. Earthy, like he spent more time surrounded by nature than wandering around in city filth. Nervous, lots of adrenaline pumping right now, but that was pretty normal for an interrogation even if someone was innocent. Fairly clean, though he had been fairly active since his last shower. Cereal for breakfast, multi-grain cheerios with milk.
In short, he smelled like a simple farm boy who didn't really belong in the big city.
“Kai,” she nodded a greeting. He'd seen a Hollywood movie or two, from the sounds of it. “You do have a right to have a lawyer present if you like, however, the process will move along more quickly if we can simply get your statement now. Your cooperation will help us get you out of here sooner if you are indeed innocent.”
“Would you please explain from your point of view the events of this morning?”
“Any idea what their mutations actually are?” Jocelyn frowned into the air over her desk. Honestly, these days when there was the slightest whiff of a mutant everyone cried for MRC. She could barely even get all her paperwork done with all the cases she was handling these days. The detective sighed and responded again, “Alright, I'll be right down.”
Fifteen minutes later she had shrugged back on all the gear she had shed for what she thought was going to be a quiet couple of hours in the office and stood outside the two cells that held the four suspects. As a group they were a potpourri of different scents: nervousness and anger, sweat and blood, mutant and human. She'd have to see them separately in order to separate whose scent was whose.
“Has anyone called a medic for this man?” Jocelyn tapped her foot impatiently while the young officer Perham stumbled through an excuse. She continued to wait with raised eyebrow until he had scuttled to call one. He'd learn.
“I'll question them one at a time. Elias, if they get chatty make sure you are listening to what they say. That said,” the detective pointed at each prisoner in turn, “1, 2, 3, 4. I'll see them in that order.” Number one was the brown haired teen who had supposedly attempted to assault someone with a table lamp. Jocelyn led the way to the plain interrogation room. Deputy Perham nervously unlocked the cell and escorted the handcuffed teen after her. Each took their places; Perham waited by the door, Jocelyn sat on one side of the table with a pen and clipboard ready, the boy... it was highly suggested that he sit down in the offered chair.
Jocelyn smiled at him as pleasantly and professionally as possible. In her experience most people spoke more freely and honestly when they felt comfortable. “I am Detective Banks. I'm going to ask you a series of questions about today's events. Please be as honest as possible.”
It had been a week, give or take a day, judging by the smell. The doctors back at the morgue would be slightly more accurate. A week in the sewers had washed away much of her previous scent. The slight hint of a particular flower was nearly gone. Her shampoos and hand lotions and deodorants, too, were washed away by sewer waters. What was left of her smell was deteriorating rapidly.
Ick.
“Good find, Bloodhound,” Deputy Cinnamongum clapped her on the back. Jocelyn frowned at him and his whole yellow taped scene; she didn't feel like it was a particularly notable accomplishment.
“Just keep me informed of what you find when you get her autopsy results. Okay?” She was technically off duty, and didn't envy in the least all the dead trees Cinnamongum was going to have to fill out. “I'm out,” she informed him, one foot already up on the ledge of the culvert.
The flash of the crime scene photographer's camera illuminated a very confused expression on the deputy's face, “Out. Where?”
“Of here. I'm just going to take a look,” Jocelyn's voice echoed back to him. The best part of being off duty? No partner around to complain about getting his feet dirty.
Men were strange creatures. This one, for example, thought it made for a romantic date to take someone out for over-garlicked Italian and finish things off with a moonlit walk down by the pier. Honestly, didn't he know that this was where the sewage from half of Manhattan washed out to sea? Jocelyn wrinkled her nose. He probably didn't.
Jocelyn shrugged out of his attempt to put his arm around her shoulder by pretending she had a sudden need to put her coat on. It was a little chilly this evening, a big change from the rest of the week that had been stiflingly hot.
The off-duty cop froze, tan trench coat only half on. She wrinkled her nose again. That wasn't just sewage.
“Look, Phil...”
“It's Francis.”
“Right. Sorry. Look, I have to go. Thanks for a great time,” she faked a very convincing smile and added, “I'll call you later this week.” She wouldn't. She had already lost the little corner of napkin that he had written his number on, right after she had arranged this particular outing. No big loss really.
“But...”
Jocelyn was already over the railing separating their walking path from the rocky strip of shoreline down below. Low tide meant that she had more places to step, but the additional footholds were scummy-slick with algae and seaweed. She made her way carefully, following her nose until the floating strands of green tangled with blonde.
Character's full name: Jocelyn Banks Nickname: Josie, Puppy (She is not particularly fond of her nicknames.) Code name: Bloodhound, Lupe (used while with the Order) Gender: Female Age: 29 Birthday: October 3, 1981 Ethnicity/ Nationality: African American Birthplace: New York City
Appearance
Hair color and style: Long, black, and curly Skin: Medium Brown Eyes: Dark Brown Height: 5'8" (1.52 meters) Build: Athletic Visible mutation: None Scars: Small things, nothing notable Tattoos: A stylized wolf on her left shoulder (received here) Piercings: Ears double pierced, hoop through left cartilage Other features:
Everyday clothing style: Jeans, t-shirts (mostly from various rock concerts), sweatshirts, tan trench coat (Warning: call her McGruff while she's wearing it and risk death or worse.) Uniform: On duty, public functions: The standard uniform for the NYPD; either navy blue, light blue, or black button down shirt and pants, black tie, utility belt, underneath; chest armor and flame retardant undershirt and leggings. On duty, investigations: Dress pants, shirt, and trench coat, underneath; shoulder holster, light weight kevlar vest and same flame retardant underclothes On duty, patrolling (motorcycle): same as public functions, with the addition of a black jacket and bullet proof motorcycle helmet (because of her sensitivity to certain chemicals, Jocelyn's helmet has a custom air purifier built into it) Sleepwear: Tank top, panties Miscellaneous clothing: Vest, Helmet (in black), and Ensemble.
Character
Personality: Strong willed, sarcastic, and direct. When she was young her mother called her plucky; her brother called her a pain-in-the-@$$... he still does, actually. Hobbies/ Interests: She LARPed with her brother when she was younger, but once she started working as a cop, playing “grown-up pretend” just wasn't as exciting any more. She still reads manga, though, and often has an issue on hand somewhere. Job or part time job and description: Detective for the New York Police Department, Mutant Related Crimes Division (also known as MRC, pronounced “mercy”) Fears/ phobias/ concerns: She is fiercely devoted to her nine year old son, Felix. Her greatest fear is that something will happen to him. Special talents: Running; every morning. Sometimes in the evening too, if the criminals feel like getting chased. Cooking; her sense of smell makes her taste things that much more effectively. She has gotten good at picking out what is in a dish that she likes so she can replicate it at home. She has also learned which flavors to avoid combining.
Morality
Neutral / good: Jocelyn believes in social order through laws. Without laws and people to enforce them, the world would fall into chaos. The laws may not be perfect, or even just, but the world would be a whole lot worse off without them. Just because she enforces laws, doesn't mean that she follows them all herself. When she thinks a law is unfair, she sometimes looks the other way when someone breaks it or even breaks it herself. In self defense, or in defense or people she cares about, Jocelyn has no trouble killing. On occasion she has also been known to take justice into her own hands. Sometimes a criminal just doesn't deserve free room and board at the state penitentiary while he or she waits for a trial by their peers.
Mutations
Mutation description: Hyperosmia, or super acute sense of smell. She is capable of detecting and identifying a myriad of scents outside of the normal human capacity as well as scents in infinitesimally small amounts. An average sniff would smell slightly more intensely than it would be for a human, but the real strength is in the clarity and diversity of the scents that she can distinguish on one inhaled breath.
Strengths:
Distinguish an individual's unique smell: body odor, breath, scented products, pheromones, and other factors create a unique scent for each person. Blood relatives share a scent similar enough that Jocelyn can detect the familial relationship.
Detect particular substances: Jocelyn has trained to be able to recognize the scents of weapons, explosives, corpses, drugs, and currency, to name a few scents in particular that she has found useful to know in her line of work; there are many others.
Tracking: Atmospheric conditions depending, Jocelyn can track a scent up to a month after it has been laid.
Detect basic emotions: Combinations of adrenaline, sweat, endorphines, hormones, and pheromones give her clues as to whether a person is happy, sad, angry, aroused, nervous, or scared. She can sometimes tell if people are lying, based on the changes in their scent, but it is a very inaccurate method.
Detect mutants / mutations: Mutants have a scent that sets them apart from humans. Different types of mutants also smell differently. Thus far, Jocelyn has begun to categorize the various mutant scents into some basic groups. She can distinguish the following types: psychics, elementals, shifters, physically enhanced mutants, and the ever allusive other.
Detect adapteds: Particular chemicals that aid adapteds' brains in sending out their mutation canceling brainwaves also slightly alter their human smell, so they leave behind a slightly different odor trail. Up close, of course, they don't smell much at all.
Weaknesses:
Skunks and other malodorous things: Sometimes being able to smell really well just plain stinks.
Colds and other nasty viruses: Runny noses pretty much nullify her mutation.
Inhalants and unhealthy-to-breathe things: Jocelyn feels the ill effects of gases and fumes even before the canary in the coal mine. She is hypersensitive to certain chemical fumes including latex paint, perfumes, cigarette smoke, and other unknown substances. When she has a reaction to one of these substances, she either has uncontrollable coughing or sneezing fits or quickly gets dizzy and soon afterwards passes out without access to fresh air.
Secondary mutation description: Nearly perfect scent memory. This is similar to photographic memory, but for smells rather than pictures.
Strengths: Jocelyn never forgets a smell once she's learned it. Her brain is capable of distinguishing and remembering the particular combinations of odors that make up an individual's scent as well as those of foods, particular locations, and various types of objects and substances.
Weaknesses: The witness stand: No, she does not remember what the criminal looked like. Would a description of his smell suffice?
Fighting Style
Explanation: After having trained to be a cop and spending several years on the late shift in Los Angeles, Jocelyn is well versed in surviving in a variety of combat situations. She can throw punches with the best of them in a bar brawl, or pick off a target at range with a hand gun. (Formerly, she also participated in “step combat” during outings with her brother.) Pros for fighting style: She is a natural improviser, which sometimes throws off opponents that have a set style. Cons for fighting style: She's not the biggest, the strongest, or the fastest, just a rough and tumble girl who wrestled with her brother as a kid and grew up to be a cop.
Weapon: police issued handgun with a smiley face sticker on the bottom of the handle so anyone standing behind her while it is holstered would be able to see it. The sticker is slightly worn from use.
Faction Allegiance
Unaffiliated.
History Of Your Character
Jocelyn was born to William Banks, a New York City police officer, and Lucile Banks, former housekeeper turned homemaker. She had a brother, three years her elder, named Nigel. The family didn't realize that Josie was a mutant until she entered kindergarten and created her first ever art project. It was a white piece of paper, scratched, wrinkled, and smeared with dirt.
“She said it was a painting of her house,” the concerned teacher raised one eyebrow as if expecting some sort of explanation from the parents.
“It is our house,” little Josie protested. “It's a smell picture. Down here is the grass, over there is the irises,” she pointed out the different parts, stopping finally at a grease stain, “and that's the apple pie Mama puts in the window.”
Mr. Banks took the picture from the teacher's hand and held it up to his nose. He inhaled deeply and thoughtfully. “Ahh,” he sighed with satisfaction and understanding. “It's a beautiful picture, Josie.” His daughter simply grinned at him.
Growing up, Jocelyn's parents instilled values of hard work, equality, loyalty, and a certain sense of justice in their children. Or rather, they tried. Josie and Nigel, though, were more interested in getting into trouble. They got in more than their share of fights, much to the exasperation of their mother. There was always some excuse, “...but Mama, he deserved it. He was picking on someone half his size.”
The year Jocelyn started middle school and Nigel entered high school, their father was shot and killed in the line of duty; his killer was never apprehended. The family was distraught. Lucile had to go back to work to support them all, and Nigel had to take on the responsibility of keeping an eye out for his younger sister.
“You're such a pain,” was Nigel's motto for the next four years, as Josie tagged along everywhere he went. Rather than join wrestling, or some other sport, Nigel picked theatre because his little sister could sit in the audience. Soon though, she too was up on the stage. The acting helped distract them from the hardships and the stress at home, and the friends they made there eventually started to invite them to participate in their other hobbies, such as Live Action Role Playing. Nigel took to it like a fish to water. Josie did it because her brother and his cool older friends liked it. She was one of the only girls around, and she wasn't about to complain about being the damsel that could kick the dragon's tail all on her own before the knights in shining armor ever showed up.
“You were supposed to wait for us to rescue you!”
“You can still sweep me off my feet,” she compromised. Her would be rescuer usually agreed to these terms.
Her freshman year of college, someone swept her off her feet for real. She gave her heart to ___, a senior Bulgarian exchange student. He whispered golden promises in her ear that made her heart flutter. He bought her the sweetest smelling flowers. He moved back home at the end of the school year and left Josie heartbroken and pregnant.
Nine months later, Jocelyn's son Felix was born. Ever after, she swore that he was the best thing that ever happened to her.
With the support and help of her family, she finished school at NYU, then moved to Los Angeles to train as a police officer. She served on the LAPD for four years, moving up in the ranks from beat cop to canine handler to detective.
Late one night, after a long day of work, she received a telephone call.
“Hi honey, this is your mama. Your brother is in the hospital with a coma. They say a building fell on him.”
Her family needed her. It was time to go home.
Roleplay
Where did you learn about this site?: My (former) roommate Calley introduced me in 2007 and I've been here ever since. Other characters on MRO: Katrina, Sebastian, Calliope (mod account) Sample RP:
(Summer 2009)
Nigel's eyes fluttered open. The first thing he saw were the deep brown eyes of his younger sister, leaning over his bed. Behind her, florescent lights. The first thing he heard was the young, but ever serious, voice of his nephew, “Uncle Geli, are you awake? You were asleep for two weeks.”
“Nnhhhmm,” was his reply.
“I don' think he's ready to talk, honey,” drawled his mother. So the whole family was here then, watching over him like he was some kind of invalid. The matriarch of the family continued, “C'mon baby, let's go for a walk and let him wake up for a bit.”
“'Kay,” came the reluctant reply. The door clicked open then closed again.
“Puppy, nwhu' happen'?” His tongue felt like it was wearing a sweater.
Brown eyes glowered down at him, for the use of his favorite nickname, “You let a building fall on you. That was most careless, brother dearest. I do hope you at least get paid medical leave.”
Jocelyn flopped back into her chair and and began paging through an issue of Negima as if she hadn't already read the same volume three times in the past week, waiting for him to wake up again. Offhandedly, she added, “You should think about getting a safer job.”
“Mthanks for th'advice, Kettle,” came the mumbled reply.
Jocelyn let a grin slip its way silently onto her face, allowing the smile to exist for the briefest of moments only because from his angle in his hospital bed her brother couldn't see it. It seemed that his sense of humor was still intact.
“Speaking of jobs, I got a transfer to New York,” she turned another page without really looking at it. Her eyes peered over it to Nigel's profile on the bed.
“Nwhy'd you do tha?”
“Oh, you know, someone has to keep an eye on you. Always getting in trouble, you are.”
“Right. I'm always n'trouble,” he lifted his hand like he was going to point to himself, but it didn't move far. It was to entangle in intravenous tubes and and he had too little energy to overcome them just now. Jocelyn frowned again at the reminder that her big brother was not the invulnerable impervious being she had always thought he was when they were younger.
“'M gonna go ta'sleep now,” he informed her. She stood to adjust his blankets for him.
“You had better. And hurry up with this healing thing, hanging around in a hospital stinks, you know?” She was hoping to see a smile, but he was already asleep. Instead, she kissed his cheek and showed herself out of the room.
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(Attributes pending approval) Physical Strength: 4 Speed: 4 Mental Strength: 4 Stealth: 4 Senses: 50 / 5 (smell, taste / sight, hearing, touch) Mutated Strength: 0 (covered in other areas) Mutated Control: 0 (ability is always on, she has no choice whether or not to smell)
