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.
Looking around at the area they had currently driven into, Mat couldn't help but feel a little puzzled. He had expected Mute to drive towards some expensive, inner-city penthouse. Something with an absurd rental price and a spectacular view, perhaps. After all, with the car she drove, it made sense. So when she had taken them towards an industrial area lined with warehouses instead, Mat's found himself rather curious.
They pulled up around the back of some nondescript warehouse, one of dozens. Mute hopped out of the car and pulled the door open. Not sure what the place was, or what she was actually going to do, Mat remained in his seat. As Mute returned and drove the car into the building she turned to him with a smirk and welcomed him to her garage. An empty garage, save for the unusual feature of several alarm clocks on pedestals, arranged in a square.
As Mute grabbed her things from the car, Mat wandered over to the clocks trying to discern their purpose. As he scratched his head trying to figure it out, Mute had unlocked the door and was bidding him to enter ahead of her. With one last glance at the clocks, Mat gave Mute an tip of his imaginary hat and strode across the threshold.
The other side of the door was as comfortable as the garage side was barren. Stylishly done up, it was impressive to say the least. Had it been twenty stories in the air rather than tucked away in a warehouse, it could have easily passed for a penthouse. Sleek and modern, it looked like a place one could comfortably pass their years in. Impressed, Mat let out a long, low whistle.
“Very nice.”
Trip would have loved it here.
Mute gave him the grand tour. Both doors. With a chuckle, he strolled around the area, looking over every little detail. The design of the room was aesthetically pleasing to Mat's sensibilities. He paused in front of the television and gave it a long stare. It had been so long since he had actually watched TV. And the last he remembered, they didn't come so wide. He rubbed sheepishly at his neck. Had he really been out of society's loop so long?
Making his way back towards the woman, Mat couldn't help but smile. Despite everything that had happened today, he was happy. He had a luxurious place to stay the night. Giving Mute a quick once-over, his smile grew a little wider.
The company wasn't half bad either.
He took the his newly pilfered coat off and threw it gently onto the floor, near the wall by the entrance door. Smoothing the suit jacket, he could feel the cash notes he had hastily stashed in his pockets.
“You know, I spent a year or so living in a warehouse like this. Not as nicely done up, mind you, not by a long shot. But still, brings back some memories.” A warm nostalgia began to well up in his chest as he remembered the first time he had met his second family. He had woken up after a week and a halfs sleep, confused and lost. But he had met the man who was soon to become his closest friend. The man who gave him a new name, and welcomed him into his home, his world. A pang of regret passed, and Mat briefly wished he and Trip hadn't gone separate ways.
“So,” he started, perking back up, “what's with the clocks?"
She told him to make sure he didn't get in her way, and Mat could only smirk. That much, he had figured out already. So had the cop, for that matter.
As she drove, Mat's roving eyes settled on Mute. Despite the misgivings he now had about this woman, the initial curiosity that had caused him to partner up with her in the first place still lingered in his mind. She didn't seem much older than himself, a few years at most, yet she seemed totally at ease with murder and death. How did that happen? How many people had she killed before? Was it a hobby for her? Or was it simply the cost of business? A thought crept into his mind.
How many people had he killed?
The ambush he and his fellow mutants had sprung on the humans that burned down the commune had gotten so out of hand, that none of them had been entirely sure of who did what. The collective toll was visible for all to see, but the individual toll? Mat still wondered how many of the deaths had been caused by his hand. Well, the hands of his golems at least. He bit his lip and gently shook his head. These were not thoughts he wanted to linger on. He needed to think of something else, something more positive. It was then that Mute commented that, while it was unwise to go to a bar, a sentiment he agreed with, she did have something to drink at her place.
Yep, that would do nicely.
She mentioned that he would be the first guy that she'd ever brought to her place. For the first time since the heist had gone sour, Mat let out a laugh. Somehow he wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Another careful inspection of the woman led him to believe it was a good thing. A very good thing.
“Well then, I guess I'd better make it memorable,” he smirked, catching her eye.
She had caught Mat off-guard twice today. Once with a kiss, once with a corpse. He would make sure she didn't catch him unawares again. Settling back into his seat, he made himself comfortable for the car ride to wherever they were headed.
She smiled and patted him on the cheek, as if killing a man were nothing. Mat, who usually prided himself on being able to read a person, couldn't tell if she was patronising him or not. Closing his eyes, Mat took a long, slow breath. He had come to America to get away from the deaths he had caused, not to create a new pile of corpses. Killing in self-defence, that was justified. Killing for revenge, it wasn't necessarily justified, but it was something Mat could understand. But killing somebody because they happened to be in the way? That was a line Mat didn't want to cross.
Opening his eyes, he kept his eye on Mute as she explained why she had killed the man. She even chuckled a little under her breath after she had finished. The cool, calm way she had explained it, as though it were an obvious matter of fact, confirmed the suspicions that Mat had had in the store.
She probably did this a lot.
With a heavy sigh, Mat spat out onto the road. The worse part about it all, she was probably right. It only took one cop calling for backup. A few choice words into a radio and the pair of them would have had police swarming all over them. Mat didn't fancy a stint in jail, nor did he wish to be sent back home. And if the police had discovered that he was a mutant, the one responsible for all the chaos and destruction out front, well, Mat had seen how quickly they opened fire on something they assumed was a mutant...
“I get it,” he finally replied. “I get why you did it, I understand. Doesn't mean I have to like it.” He lifted his stolen tie from his chest and inspected it, fingering the smooth silk. Who was he to judge, really? It wasn't like his hands didn't have blood on them.
Still, it all seemed a high price for some new clothes.
Dead was dead. You don't come back from that. Lily, Sarah, Mat knew that he would never see either of them again. Never see their smiles, never hear their laughter. The last memory he had of his sister was of her laying in bed, struggling to breathe. The last memory of Sarah was her screams, and the screams of the rest of the commune, mingled with the crackle of fire.
With another sigh, Mat banished the thoughts from his mind. Too late to worry about any of it. There was no reset button for any of this. So he would do what he always did. Survive, and move on. He turned his head and spat out on the road once more, the saliva ripping free in the wind. He faced Mute and, not for the first time today, wondered just who this woman really was.
“Well, I don't know about you, but I need a drink”
Cursing under his breath, Mat looked up at the buildings that loomed above him, trying to find some clue as to just where the hell he was. A landmark to guide him back to where he was going. Anything! As far as he could tell, he had been circling the same few alleyways and streets over and over. Frustration starting to set in, Mat swore once more and hugged his arms around himself, trying to ward off the cold.
He usually had a good sense of direction. Once he had spent some time somewhere, the location usually imprinted itself into his mind. Living on the streets, one soon learned how to navigate themselves around a city. Problem was, Mat hadn't been sleeping. And when he didn't sleep, he got tired. And being tired made him less observant. Made him stupid. Hearing the rattle in his pocked, Mat pulled the bottle of caffeine pills free, opened the top, and chewed on a few, spitefully. The whole reason he had gone out tonight was to buy them, his last batch having run out. Seemed that recently he was going through them like they were candy. They just didn't have the kick they used to have. He briefly considered looking around the city for something...stronger. Quickly, he dismissed the idea. He had left all that behind after meeting Bloom, and Trip and the others. It was probably unwise to go back to it.
So he kept walking, and hoping that he'd find where he was looking for soon.
Mat had met up with several other denizens of the street, after spending most of the money he had. Business in the world of selling art on the streets having been slow the last few days, and the nights having grown colder, his new acquaintances invited him to share the residence they were currently squatting in. Some burnt out apartment that had been lost in a string of arson attacks. It wasn't the safest building in the city, or the prettiest, but it was dry at least, and relatively warm. Now, if only he could find it again.
Entering some alley, the smell of fish and chips lingering in the air, Mat's attention was grabbed by the shrill cry of somebody yelling 'stop'. As he tried to gauge which direction the cry had come, a scream, this time more urgent, came from around a corner. His curiosity piqued, Mat went to investigate further.
Three thugs were grabbing at a girl, blocking her from all directions. Another guy, two backpacks at his feet, stood apart from them. The girl was struggling to get away from the group, visibly afraid. Not that Mat could blame her. He noticed the clothes she was wearing. Patchy, torn and threadbare, and visibly filthy. Signs he recognised. Signs of a street kid.
Mat hesitated. It would be easy for him to walk away. He hadn't been spotted yet, and it would be easy for him to slip away and forget that he had seen anything. It was a dog eat dog world, right? Bad things happend all the time, especially if you were not careful. Especially if you lived on the streets.
He looked at the girl once more. She was younger than he first realised, only a teenager. A wave of disgust washed over him. She reminded him. Of another time, a different life. Of a girl with grass for hair.
“Oi! Tough guys,” Mat yelled, stepping forwards before he could stop himself. “What the f*#k?”
The thugs stopped what they were doing, turning to face the newcomer. One of them, a male with an ugly sneer plastered on his face, strutted over to Mat, stopping a couple of meters from him.
“Fool, what the hell do you want? Keep walking before you get yourself hurt.”
Mat turned his head and spat on the ground, a sneer on his face. During his years on the streets he had come across all sorts of punks who put on the tough guy act. In front of their friends, more often than not. Mostly it was empty threats and big talk, but every now and then there would be the ones who went that step further. Packs made big men out of cowards, and seeing a lone, scrawny hobo tended to make them even more arrogant.
“What're you gonna do, mate?” Mat taunted. He kept the smirk on his face, showing the thug that he wasn't afraid of him or his little gang.
The thug stared at him for a brief moment, disbelief on his face. Then he reached behind his back and pulled a handgun from his pants. Pointing it at Mat's face, he took a couple steps forward. “Whatcha think I'm going to do?”
Oooooh, right. America. Guns. Second Amendment. The right to bear arms, and all that.
Sweat began to gather on the back of Mat's neck. During his time on the streets, Mat had had a knife or two pulled on him, but never a gun. Gun control laws in Australia meant that he had never really had to worry about them before. And if there was one thing that made a coward braver than a group of accomplices, it was a gun.
Mat raised his hands, showing that he wasn't a threat. He flicked his eyes to the barrel of the gun, to the thug, then to the ground. Chances were he would only have one shot at this. He brought the image to mind, ready for what he had to do.
As quickly as he could, image ready, Mat stomped on the concrete ground. As soon as his foot hit the pavement, he could feel the reaction begin. And as quickly as he could, faster than he had ever done so before, Mat willed the matter at his feet to spring to life. Almost instantaneously, a concrete fist sprouted up from the ground and drove itself between the thug's legs. Hard. A concrete uppercut. The thug's eyes bulged. There was a clatter as the gun fell to the ground, and man dropped to his knees, wheezing and spluttering. Mat allowed himself a smirk of relief.
The right to bear arms. And fists.
Mat's gaze drifted to the remaining two thugs, who stared at him with jaws dropped. He gave a small shrug, to them, and to the girl.
No point worrying about it now. Now, he was committed.
The distraction was working. Outside the shop, Mat had made his golem climb on top of a cop car, one that didn't have a shop door impaled in it. The golem was stomping its heavy feet, one after the other, caving the roof in in a scene that bizarrely resembled someone crushing grapes to make wine. The order for lethal force must have been given, because it hadn't taken long before Mat could hear gunfire open up. Not that it was going to do the police any good. The statue at the door was doing a good job of acting as a deterrent, and no police had yet approached it or the windows. Which meant they still thought it was alive. That was good, it would buy him even more time.
Bullets ricocheted off of the golem, chipping the marble, causing tiny showers of debris. The car underfoot now totally demolished, Mat commanded the golem to jump off. He saw one bullet lodge itself into the golem's face. A twinge of pain flared up in Mat's head, a microseconds worth of a headache. He was probably using his powers too much. He needed to leave soon. The longer this played out, the more likely it was that the cops would figure out what was really going on. It was time to end things.
With a final command, the golem lunged towards a kneeling police woman who was firing her weapon. Too slow to react, she let out a scream as the golem wrapped a massive hand around her arm. The other grabbed her leg. With very little effort, the golem lifted the woman in the air. Mat heard someone shout out an order and the gunfire stopped. From where he stood, Mat could vaguely make out the fear etched onto the woman's face.
The golem held her up in the air. And held her. And held her...
Breaking the connection to his golem, Mat ran for the back door as quickly as he could manage. It would take a few moments for the cops to realise that nothing more was going to happen. With any luck, Mute would be waiting for him out back and the pair could make their escape. With any luck...
Bursting through the doorway and out into the alley, Mat stopped dead in his tracks. A police officer lay dead on the ground, eyes glazed over. A single wound in the man's face told Mat all he needed to know. A chill ran down Mat's spine and he felt the bile rise from his stomach. He wondered briefly whether the man had a family.
His awareness coming back to him, Mat glanced around for any sign of Mute and a car. He spotted her at the end of the alley, sitting in a very expensive looking convertible. He spared one last look at the dead policeman, frowning down at the corpse, before he turned and ran to the car. As he neared, he felt his head spin and stumbled to the side. Creating two golems that large had fatigued him more than he had realised. It'd been a while since he had needed to do that. Dragging himself to the car, he hopped into the passenger side and slumped back into the seat. He gave Mute a look that made it clear that he wasn't thrilled about her killing the man, but said nothing. There was no point. What was done, was done.
Things were really starting to get out of control. She was actually willing to kill police? Had she done so before? Now that Mat thought about it, she had no hesitation in asking him to attack the police in the first place. She had even started smiling the moment the cops had left the building, as though she thrived in situations like this. Did this happen to her often? Had he partnered up with some kind of smiling, crazed, cop-killing professional who...
Oh... Oh... Well, that certainly changed things, didn't it?
She had kissed him on the cheek. With a wink and a smile, Mute turned and headed for the back of the shop. Mat watched her as she left, unable to take his eyes off her, a goofy grin on his face. Well, if she wanted him to act as the diversion then he could put on one hell of a show. He wasn't one to disappoint. Especially when it came to a beautiful woman such as Mute.
As she left the store, Mat noticed that Mute made no noise whatsoever. Not even a footstep.
Alone now, not counting his two marble comrades, Mat began taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He would need all the focus he had to pull this off properly. Commanding the golem holding him to release its grip, Mat took one more deep breath. For luck. His line of sight clear, it was now or never.
With a speed that contradicted their size and composition, the two giants began to run for the door, long strides carrying them swiftly. Each footfall of the sculptures left the smooth, gleaming floor cracked and scuffed. The sound of marble smacking against marble echoed loudly through the room. With a great crash, the lead golem charged through the door, causing glass to shatter and metal to buckle. Its momentum at full, it barrelled into the policemen directly in front of the door, knocking officers aside like bowling pins. The second golem brought up the rear, pausing at the threshold. It lifted the twisted remains of the door frame from the ground. Twisting the upper half of its body back, frame clutched in both hands, the golem swung the frame and released it like a discus. The frame wobbled and spun in mid-air, before planting itself through the windshield of a police car. As officers ducked for cover, the golem in the doorway planted its feet, stood up straight, and stretched his arms across the threshold, barring the way. Mat broke his mental connection to it, and his makeshift barricade was now complete.
Mat quickly rushed to the side of the room, finding a spot where he could see the action through the window. Now all he had to do was keep the attention of the police on his remaining golem. Sending his mental command across, the golem lifted an officer and threw him into his squad mates.
Now all Mat had to do was create complete and utter chaos without killing anybody.
Mat had to admit, she was good. In the blink of an eye, she had taken his cue and transformed from the smiling robber into the scared, helpless little girl. Her expression, her posture...were those tears? If he hadn't been the one to take himself hostage, he might have fallen for her act himself. With unhappy glances to one another, the police slowly backed out of the store and began clearing the area out front. They were going to be in this for the long run. Which meant that Mat and Mute needed to act fast, while the cops were still distracted. Almost immediately after the police had left, Mute had made her way back to Mat and his 'captor' with a plan.
Mat raised an eyebrow and threw a curious glance in the woman's direction. True, he was a robber. True, he was a petty criminal at times. But attacking the police? Things seemed to be getting out of hand, real quick. Problem was, time and options were limited. His eyes flicking from the woman, to the door, and back again, Mat scratched his head and let out a quiet sigh.
“I've only got a 30 foot range, or so. I can keep them busy for a while, but once I run for it we're going to be on our own.” Unless he could find another suitable source to make more golems. He decided not to phrase that thought. If he couldn't find one, then they'd be left high and dry. If he could, well then she'd soon figure out that he could.
A thought crossed his mind. “I can use one of these guys,” he inclined his head towards the golem in front of him, “to block the door while the other attacks. That might buy us some time, or at least give you a chance to bring the car closer.” He didn't like the idea of having to split up. That would give her a chance to flee and leave him holding the bag. Not that he didn't trust her but, well, he didn't really trust her. Yet if it was his only chance at escape, then he needed to take it.
There was something simple and elegant about the name. And in one word, she had made it all clear. She was a mutant too. That was good. That was very good, in fact. Mutants knew the score. Birds of a feather, and all that.
Mute.
The name, being what it was, meant that she more than likely had the ability to control sound in some form. Whether in an offensive capacity, or some other supplementary fashion he wasn't entirely sure. The good thing about mutant names was that they gave you an idea of what powers lurked behind the face. The bad thing was sometimes these names misled to the specifics of a power. It seemed to be an unwritten law in the mutant world. First and foremost, your name had to be cool. Accurate description came second.
Still, if he had to hazard a guess...she made things nice and quiet?
She giggled as he twirled, and complimented how the coat looked on him, which caused him to grin. Always nice to have an ego-boost in the middle of a heist. She then mentioned that it was probably time to call it a day, lest the police show up. Sound advice. He walked back over to the counter where she was standing.
“Good idea, we can --” Before he could finish his sentence, a shrill siren cut through the air. Flashes of blue and red light alternated through the window, and Mat felt his stomach drop slightly. A distorted voice crackled from a loudspeaker and confirmed his worries.
“Mutants, this is the police! Come out with you hands in the air. If you do not comply--”
Mat didn't bother listening to the rest. He knew what would follow. He had seen COPS once or twice in his life. He knew that American police didn't screw around. Sparing a quick glance at Mute, Mat began trying to think of a plan.
“Get down, they probably haven't seen us yet,” he half whispered, half hissed. It was at that moment however that Mat saw a group of dark uniforms gathering outside the door. If he got caught, chances were he'd be in a lot of trouble. Not only was he in the midst of a daylight robbery, he was an illegal immigrant with no identification, and ties to a massacre in his home country.
His options seemingly decreasing, Mat finally reached out to his golems. One took point, a few meters in front of the sales counter. The other, Mat made stand directly behind him. As the first police officer broke through the glass of the door, the electric chime ringing absurdly, Mat compelled the golem behind him to wrap a thick marble arm around his neck. The action was a little rougher than Mat would have liked, but it had to look genuine. A few bruises were nothing compared to deportation or prison. He glanced once more at Mute, and prayed she knew an escape route.
It was a desperate plan, Mat had to admit.
“Don't shoot!” he cried, as police began to file into the room.
“Hold it, men,” came the response. “They've got a hostage.”
As the screams began and the panic set it, Mat silently congratulated himself. Not only had the plan gone perfectly, it was hilarious to boot. Patrons and staff alike all scrambled for the door in a rush of hysteria. He spotted the store woman, plastered face twisted in fear as she struggled to push through the crowd, attempting to save her own skin. Mat felt a pang of disappointment. It would have been fun to mess with her a bit...
Still, he had achieved what he had set out to achieve. The store was empty now, and he was free to pillage some fancy clothes. He hadn't even needed to do anything with his golems. The mere sight of them had been enough to clear out the store of every, single...
Wait a second...
Mat stood rooted to the spot for a moment. This was something he hadn't expected. Turned out he hadn't emptied the place. Mat watched, dumbfounded, as a woman began to rummage through fallen wallets and purses, unburdening them of any and all cash that was contained within. He gave a small chuckle, thrown by this unexpected turn of events.
There seemed to be only three explanations as to why she had not run like the others. She was either incredibly brave, incredibly stupid, or was no stranger to mutants. Like, say for instance, someone who may have been a mutant herself? Or at least somebody who spent a lot of time around mutants.
She turned to face him once she had finished her looting and asked him if he wanted to split the share, fifty fifty. Then she smiled a smile so bright that it was impossible not to grin back. And what man could resist an offer from a such a beauty?
“Sure, why not,” he replied. Although his original plan had simply been acquiring a few new clothes, it seemed a bit hypocritical of him to not take the cash as well.
After all, if you're going to do something, do it properly, right?
He made his way over to the cash register, which had been left open mid-transaction. Stuffing as much as he could into the pockets of his pants and jacket, Mat sat the rest of the money on top of the counter for the woman to take. As long as had enough to keep himself set for a while, he wasn't too concerned over whether it was an even split. If she ended up with more, so be it. The money was merely an added bonus to his first objective.
Eyeing off the warm, handsome coat he had spotted earlier, Mat made his way over to it. “Name's Effigy,” he said over his shoulder, as he slid his arms into the sleeves. He had given her his mutant name. Regardless of the fact that they were now comrades-in-larceny, he wasn't so naive as to give his real name to a klepto-inclined stranger so early in the relationship. Besides, if she really was a mutant herself, she'd recognise his name for what it was. And if she gave one of her own, well that would clear up some of the questions he had.
Coat fitting snugly over his suit, Mat held out his arms, and turned to the woman, as if asking for her opinion on how it looked. The twirl he added was for his own amusement. He had to admit to himself, there were certainly worse options for an accomplice. A lot worse. He noticed that she did seem some years older than him.
He had torn off his dirty, stained clothes as quickly as possible. Sliding into the trousers, and throwing the shirt on, Mat didn't bother to tuck it in. He slipped his arms through the jacket. Picking up the tie, Mat slung it around the back of his neck, both ends dangling over his shoulders, ready to knot. Not enough time, his minute was nearly up. In his mind, Mat found his image, and hoped that his timing hadn't been off. And that he had used enough force. Closing his eyes, he focused on the point where he had stomped his foot. As he felt the familiar sensation of the marble beginning to multiply itself, shifting and forming into shape, a smile tugged at Mat's lips.
That was the easy part.
Pushing the door to the changing room open, Mat stepped out and strolled casually to a mirror that hung on the back wall. Whistling tunelessly to himself, he began to knot his tie, using the mirror to check out what was happening behind him.
On the spot where he had had his stomping fit, a large marble hand began to sprout, attached to a thick marble arm. Another came up from the floor, right next to the first. And then two more, just behind that. The arms bent down, stone hands resting flat on the floor. They pushed against the floor and soon two hulking bodies began to rise from nothing. As they straightened themselves up, their full size was revealed. They stood around 10 feet tall, with broad shoulders, thick limbs and carved muscles. Mat had made sure that their faces were not left blank, giving each a unique face. One had a large hook nose, the other a smaller button nose. Heads were shaped to look like both had slicked back hair. Both wore severe scowls and expressions that brooked no argument.
To Mat's eye, they seemed to be a successful pair of creations.
As he turned to face them, the corner of Mat's lips curled into a smirk. The knowing smirk of a father, amused by the mischief his children were about to get into. Taking a deep breath, Mat forced his face to drop. Now it was time to play it serious.
“Oh my God!” he screamed as loud as possible, his voice filling the store. As eyes once again turned his way, Mat pointed a trembling finger to his massive creations. Struggling to keep an expression of fear, and to not burst out laughing, Mat let the silence that followed his exclaimation linger for maximum dramatic impact. Now, the final stroke. With any luck, this would be the catalyst that created the panic and chaos he was after. He took another deep breath.
God, he was tired. It had been what, one day? Two days since he had last slept? Three? Old habits were beginning to come back, and the days were starting to blend together into one big haze. He wasn't even sure what day today was. Monday? Tuesday? He knew it was November, but that knowledge did little to help.
Say one thing for Mat McGuire, say he was one tired man.
The cold weather was beginning to set in good and proper now, and for all of Mat's love and ideals of freedom, he had never had to brave a winter with snow before. Melbourne got cold. Melbourne got wet. But Melbourne didn't snow. Hell, Mat had never even seen snow, save one trip to the mountains with his family when he was a whole lot younger. Young enough that he could barely remember it. The realisation that he may soon be stuck in the type of cold that kills, without any shelter was beginning to set it. And the stress of that had brought back his somniphobia.
So Mat didn't sleep.
How he had ended up in the park, he wasn't entirely sure. Still, he was here now so he would make the most of it. By watching the people go about their business. He spied a blonde teenage girl light up a cigarette next to a woman who was trying her hardest to eat. Idly, he wondered whether or not the girl noticed the dirty looks that were thrown in her direction. Truth be told, she probably didn't care. The woman soon left and the girl took her seat.
Glancing around the rest of the park, Mat checked to see who else was around. Sitting on the grass, alone as he was, he wasn't close enough to anyone to eavesdrop on their conversations, though he did catch snippets. 'Drugs' and the name 'Jessica' floated to him on the cold wind, but that was all the information he could glean.
Another girl caught his attention, this one seemingly closer in age to himself. She almost looked like a gypsy, with her bright assortment of randomly coloured clothes, trinkets and pieces of fabric. Long black hair flowed elegantly down her back. She seemed to be leisurely strolling around, observing the park's denizens. Mat had to admit, she was certainly the most interesting thing to sight in the park so far.
Deciding he might try his luck for a cigarette, Mat pushed himself from the ground and brushed off the new suit he was wearing. Not that he smoked in particular. Still, it was something to do. Something to keep his mind off the need for sleep. As he made his way towards the blonde teen, he kept one roaming eye on the raven-haired beauty.
Suddenly, the gypsy lady stopped and turned towards the blonde. The blonde was hesitating to pick something up off the ground. When she finally did, she held it up in the air and a glint of light shone from it. A piece of jewellery, perhaps? The dark haired one approached the blonde, and as Mat got closer he could hear their conversation.
The gypsy offered to negotiate for object? Mat scratched his head and rubbed at his eyes. Something about the was she had phrased it seemed somehow odd to him, but he wasn't entirely sure why. Probably just the lack of sleep. Still, whatever the item was now had two women interested in it.
Might be worth taking a look himself. After all, curiosity never hurt anybody. And besides, he could gain a cigarette and a conversation with the dark haired one from the situation.
Two birds with one stone.
Just as Mat was about to approach, a giant crow flew overhead and perched itself in the tree next to dark hair. A crow, about the size of a bloody eagle! Mat paused, somewhat off put by the creature. Then, with a shrug, he continued towards the two.
“Excuse me,” he began as he approached the park bench. As subtly as he could, he rapped his knuckles against the steel armrest, bringing an image to mind. “Could I possibly scab a cigarette off you?”
A tiny steel man began to sprout from the metal of the armrest. No bigger than a few inches high. As it started to form, Mat sat himself on the bench and let the tiny sculpture break free, straight into his hand. Confident that the women hadn't seen it, he slipped the sculpture into his pocket, making sure to keep his mental connection with it active.
As soon as his back was turned, Mat began to giggle to himself. The woman was so uptight, he just could help himself. It was too damn funny. Feigning that he was rubbing his cheek, he covered his mouth in an attempt to stifle the laugher. Probably best not to earn too much attention. He already had nearly every eye in the store on him. Not the most incognito profile there was. Approaching the racks, he made his way over to the suit section.
Mat may not have know a whole lot about fashion. He may not have even known a single thing, truth be told. But there were two things he could do. He could tell when something was designed to look sexy on whoever wore it, and he could read a price tag. Both of these things caused him to grin when he inspected the various garbs in front of him. Most of these suits could have afforded him a few months rent in Melbourne.
Perfect!
As he pawed through the racks, Mat quickly glanced around the shop. Most of the eyes had gone back to the inventory rather than him, which was good. Several still flicked his way, but really, with the way he looked at the moment, coupled with his entrance, it was to be expected. The shop assistant was still glaring at him, but the moment Mat turned and flashed her a wide grin she muttered something to herself and stormed off to the opposite side of the room.
Turning back to the racks, Mat began to look for suits in his size. Well, close enough to his size anyway. The ones he liked, he dragged to the front of the rack. Lifting one of them from the rack, Mat held it against his body, trying to gauge whether it would fit. It was a dark charcol colour, with delicate pinstripes stitched in. Glancing around the room once more, Mat spied the changing rooms at the back of the shop.
Making his way towards them, he stopped to grab a slim-cut white shirt and a tie, with lime green and silver stripes runnng diagonally. He eyed a rather trendy coat that sat alone on a rack, handsome and warm-looking. Shaking his head, he disregarded it for now. Clothing in his grasp, he snuck one last glance around the store. The attention he had garnered on entering seemed to have died down now, leaving him relativly unsupervised. Seizing the moment, he stomped his foot hard against the shining marble floor. Then again.
Three times. Four. Five... He began to notice the attention once again turning his way. With a sheepish grin he began to rub at his thigh with his free hand and an exaggerated wince. “Leg's asleep,” he explained to no one in particular. Six stomps. Aaaaand seven.
Should just about do it.
Starting a mental count in his head, Mat raced into the changing rooms and locked the door. As fast as he was able, he started to change into the suit. A image began to form in his imagination. And he made sure he kept counting.
Thanks for the welcome guys, it feels great to finally be a part of the family.
Special thanks to Shin for holding my hand throughout the application process. And to everyone who helped answer my questions and generally make me feel welcome (so, everybody I managed to speak to) in the cbox.
Although there was a chill in the air, Mat was grateful that the sun had decided to show its face today. Even though he generally preferred being awake during the night, a clear sunny day was always likely to put him in a cheerful mood. And luckily for him, it often meant the same for others. Which is why he had decided to set up shop today, in some park that he had found and slept in several weeks earlier. He sighed to himself, realising he still had no idea what most places he had been to were called. Sure, he vaguely knew how to return to a place once he had been there, but he knew nothing about what those places were, or anything about them for that matter.
One of these days, he would buy himself a city guide.
Sitting on the grass beside a jogging path, Mat stretched his arms above his head, yawned, and leant back against the trunk of the tree behind him. His lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with him, as it always did. He was sleeping better these days, compared to when he first arrived. But it was still miles worse than when he was living in the commune in Melbourne. He reached for his caffeine pills and took two.
A blanket he had acquired was laid out beside him, displaying his latest batch of sculptures. As he looked down at them, with pride of course, he couldn't help but wonder if his self-inflicted insomnia hadn't finally addled his mind. They were impeccable, as usual, but the design choices he had gone with were...well, eclectic was the word that sprang to mind.
A fat man made from brown ceramic. Not just fat, but faaaaaaat, gut hanging out of from the front of his shirt. A horse, standing on it's hind legs like a person, a fedora hat on its head and a cigar clamped between its teeth. That one was made from aluminium. A...something. Mat wasn't entirely sure what that one was meant to be, but it was made from clay. A cheetah, ready to pounce, made from yellow-stained glass, with indentations to indicate spots. Why he had made a cheetah sculpture, he really wasn't sure. And three other random sculptures that made absolutely no sense to him whatsoever.
Man, there was no overriding theme here at all. Just a bunch of random concepts.
Mat gently shook his head and laughed to himself. Oh well, art was art. And if it sold then it will have served it's purpose. Resting his head against the tree, Mat kept his eyes out for any approaching bodies. He spotted a woman in the distance, with a head of luscious blue hair. She seemed to be making her way over to where he was sitting. A grin grew on his face, and he jumped to his feet, flattening his hair with his hand.
By the look of the buildings and the people that surrounded him, Mat had managed to stumble his way into a wealthy part of the city. Natives strolled the street with their confident, some would say arrogant, strides. Noses turned up, chins held high, and draped in designer clothes. Contemptuous glares hidden behind hundreds-of-dollar sunglasses. Well, so he assumed. After all, rich people all reserved their glares for the commoners and the riff-raff, right?
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Mat tucked his arms tightly against his body and shivered as a cool breeze slapped him in the face. The warmth of summer had given way to the chill of autumn, and now winter was peeking its ugly head around the corner. He had always thought that Melbourne winters were cold, but if the weather was going to continue the way it was going then Mat was going to find himself in some serious strife.
Since his arrival to the City in summer, Mat had managed himself alright. The temperature had been warm enough for him to sleep outdoors for the most part, allowing him to make his home in the various parks and alleys of NYC. With the summer weather, people had flocked outside to soak up the sunlight and warm air. And when people flocked outside, that meant more potential customers for Mat to sell his art. That, combined with the fact that there was an abundance of new sights for Mat to be inspired by and to recreate, meant that his sculptures had been of a higher quality than usual. And that meant that his art had been a more reliable source of income than usual.
The problem with being a person who wasn't accustomed to having money? Not being accustomed to saving money.
Thus, Mat was broke once again after blowing everything he had earned. Not that it bothered him of course, he was used to that. But still, it would have been nice to be able to buy some warmer clothes now that the seasons were changing. Perhaps a trendy suit? Not that a suit was a practical choice for the streets, especially with the cold weather on its way. But practicality was for chumps. And hell if he didn't want to look good for the first time in... Mat's mind drew a blank. And if he couldn't remember the last time he looked classy, then that meant it had been far too long. Which meant it was about time to rectify the problem.
The street he was on was lined with an array of boutiques. Each looked expensive, and each bore a name that meant nothing to him. Stopping in front of one window, Mat peered inside. The store was split down the middle, menswear to the left, women to the right. The cashier's desk was perched neatly in the centre. It was a large store, racks spaciously spread out from one another. It must have been a popular store because there was a decent number of people strolling from one item to the other. That was good. It would detract the attention from himself. And, most importantly of all, the floor of the shop was made from beautifully polished marble.
Yes, this would do nicely.
Dusting off the front of his hoodie, doing his best to ignore the stains and grime that had accumulated, Mat pushed the door open and strolled into the shop, head held high. Like he actually belonged there. Glimpsing the dirty looks that greeted him as he entered was almost enough to make him lose him composure and break into fits of laugher. Let the snobs glare.
“Ahem, can I help you, sir? Directions perhaps?” A middle-aged woman spoke to him through her clenched jaw. Mat idly wondered if she hadn't tried to mortar the wrinkles on her face with concealer. Did she use a trowel as an applicator?
“No, thank you, ma'am,” Mat smirked, smugly, “Simply here to browse your wares. Your assistance will not be necessary.”
Before the woman could say anything else, Mat had turned his back and began wandering towards the suit section, the shop assistant's glare burning into the back of his head.
