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.
It all happened so fast. Sudden, and oh so unexpected. Mat had prepared himself for the inevitable strike. The blow that would come the moment Saphirus had an opening. Except...this wasn't what he was expecting. A punch? Yes. One of those crushing sledgehammer punches this guy was capable of? Most definitely yes.
But not this. Not the crying, and the weeping.
Andrea, for her part, seemed as confused as he was. For a moment, Mat was sure she was going to let the other man have it. Had he not preempted her with his wailing, she probably would have. Mat could only stare dumbfounded. And yet...he didn't buy it. He tensed as the man shuffled towards Andrea, his hand edging towards his blade.
>>>"YOU! You... You... look familiar... Oh... Sh- Wait you're leaving me for him?!"
It seemed the penny had dropped.
Then, the weeping. Like the synchronized fountains he had seen outside some casino, first the man, then Andrea, after falling to the floor. He stared from one, to the other, to the first, to the second, to Andrea, to Saphirus...
Clearing his throat, Mat moved his hands away from his pocket, into plain view. Saph was near Andea now, but that also meant he was within striking range. Mat took a deep breath, rubbing his hand down his face. Then he gave himself a tiny slap, to make sure he was actually awake.
"Um...right. Now that we've got that out the way...can we, maybe...I dunno...
He winced as his eyelid began to twitch, and smooshed the heel of his hand into it. He felt a series of tics run down his spine. His mind was heavy, confused. How could the sleepless hobo be the only one with a grain of sense here?
"Look... I haven't slept, in like...four days. So can we talk about this? Like adults? Before we have another... His gaze fell upon the man in tights, and he felt his glare harden, his jaw clench.
He loved these lazy Saturday mornings. At least, he thought it was Saturday. Time had a habit of getting away from him. For now, though, he contented himself with the idea that it was, in fact, the weekend. Not that it mattered to Effigy. For him, every day was a weekend, and no day was the weekend. Hobo time ran differently than regular time.
It felt like a Saturday.
The riots, it seemed, were finally dying down. The streets were once again becoming inhabitable for vagrants like himself. Still, that hadn't stopped Mat from coming across to what he had been assured was mutant friendly territory. After all, it was better safe than sorry. Besides, he hadn't stayed in this part of the city before. His face wasn't recognised around here. He couldn't remember much of what had happened during the riots, his memories of the time fogged and clouded. But the scrapes, bruises, and pockets full of mystery cash had indicated....something.
It seemed a prudent idea to lay low, in the likely event his body had decided to be naughty during his mind's absence.
So he found himself...here. Sitting at a bar on a Thursday morning, ordering a shot from the pretty barkeep. Knocking it back with a smooth, practiced hand he gave a manly wince and set his attention back onto his beer.
>>>“Hello, are you Melissa? A friend suggested I should come here.”
Speaking of pretty things, another had somehow snuck her way into the bar. He wasn't sure when. Possibly when he was staring at his drink. Or maybe the micro-naps were kicking in. Either way, she looked interesting enough. Being the gentleman he was, he didn't stare like a lecher. He may have been a hobo, but he still had principles.
Principles that allowed him to watch out of the corner of his eye, and listen in on the two lovely ladies.
>>>"I don't know how the hell to dance to this sh*t! Can't we just skip the dancing and get to the drinking already?"
Mat sighed to himself. "It's easy, look..." He stepped out with his right foot, and made to lead Charlotte around with him, slow enough that she should be able to get it. Unless she was gifted with two left feet. "It's a waltz, so all you gotta do is step, turn, and keep counting threes. Onetwothree, onetwothree, onetwothree... See? Easy." Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted the couple, still glaring daggers at them.
"Seriously, we just gotta do this once. Otherwise I reckon Baron von Danceshoes is just gonna keep hassling you until you dance with him..."
That, and Mat was finding some small amusement in making Charlotte dance.
He did his best to get her around the floor. It didn't have to be classy, or even tidy. Just passable enough that they could slip away having done what Mat said they would do. After all, Dorian van Trip was a man of his word, and a subtle snub is more socially acceptable than a blatant snub.
"Y'know what," he said quiet enough that only Charlotte would hear, "F*$& this... Let's get that drink."
Mat shook his hand out, as the throbbing pain set in. He became vaguely aware of the gathering eyes. More'n'likely, he probably could have handled the situation a little more delicately, but in his eyes, pushing a little old lady down to the ground was more than enough reason to get dropped in return.
Pity his hand didn't agree.
Ignoring the shopkeeper, he turned around to face the fallen woman. She looked in pain, and he didn't blame her. Hopefully, she hadn't broken a hip, or whatever it was old people broke. Rushing over to her, he knelt down beside her. He snuck a glance around to make sure no one was stealing the woman's strewn possessions. He could pick those up for her after he helped her to her feet.
If he could help her to her feet.
"Hey lady, are you alright? That was a pretty shitty fall you took there."
He cringed inwardly.
You're not supposed to swear in front of little old ladys...
>>>"One could say you'd be in the gutter without me, dearest~"
Mat laughed. Charlotte had a sharp bite to her, her tongue a venomous sting. The sort of person who makes a night interesting, engaging. He wondered briefly if he was passing the audition she had set up for him. Hopefully, he wasn't crippling his chances for the main event.
"She's not even joking,you know, I would be!" he exclaimed, and the laughter continued, both Mat's and William's. He had to admit, old William was a pretty cool guy for a richo. Even if he was trying to hit on his date. Mat chuckled at the old man. "Careful what you wish for, sir."
And then the strangest thing. The old man offered him a card. A business card. A genuine grin creeping over his face, he shook the man's hand as he excused himself. Mat tipped his own hat in return, bowing his head respectfully to the man. "Thank you very much, sir, for the privilege of your company. He held the card up, before placing it carefully in his interior coat pocket. "I look forward to our next chat. Please give my regards to Mrs. Johansen."
As the old man left the building, it took every ounce of his strength not to scream in excitement. Mat's mind was not clear at the best of times. But he knew exactly what this opportunity meant. Even one piece of sculpture could set him up for the next....
How much could he swindle from this gig?
The warm glow of increasing greed filling him, he felt his date whisk him away to what appeared to be a dance floor. Only, not the sort he was used to. Mat got a kick out of his own waltzing golems, but he didn't think this really qualified. He turned to mention to Charlotte that he was far too sober for this part of the night, when out of the aether, a couple appeared. The man made to take Charlotte, and as Mat's eyes fell on the...woman, he felt a gripping horror approach.
>>>"Let's dance, sugar!"
As he struggled not to show his disgust, he pointedly ignored the woman and promptly took Charlotte by the arm, stepping between her and Pouncy McPansy. He tilted his head back ever so slightly, and made sure to look subtly down his nose at the man, his best smartarse grin in place. "Excuse me, my friend," he began, his tone pleasant, yet firm. "But surely you wouldn't deny a man his first dance of the evening with his own lovely companion?"
Without waiting for the man's reply, he dragged Charlotte towards the dance floor. Pulling her close, he slipped an arm around her waist, and leaned in to whisper in her ear.
"One circuit, to lose them, then we slip away and find the bar. Deal?"
Mildred, it had to be said, was a shrew. Sour-faced, rude, tactless. The exact sort of person Mat had been expecting to meet at this shindig. William, for the time being, seemed like a halfway decent fellow.
>>>"Good to meet you, Mr. Tripton. Would you humor an old man in his curiosity for a moment?"
"Well, if you could find me an old man, I'd be happy to!" Mat made an exaggerated gesture of looking around the room, before grinning and offering a conspiratorial wink to William. He figured it wouldn't hurt to appeal to the old man's vanity. Mildew, having decided that she didn't want to be here, excused her self before leaving in a huff.
Stuck up cow.
>>>"You'll have to excuse her, menopause and all that, you know."
"Oh dear..." he said sympathetically. "The way this one nags me sometimes, you'd think she was due sometime herself. He laughed and offered Charlotte a grin, knowing he would probably pay for that remark later. "No, no, I kid. I would be lost without my Charlotte. Isn't that right, darling?" he asked his date.
>>>"Now, back to business. What brings a dapper young lad such as yourself to one of Hubert's parties? He's usually such a stick in the mud when it comes to the company he keeps."
"Ah, but Mr. Hubert also knows that if he wants the finest deals on his art pieces, that I am the man to see. And let's not kid ourselves," Mat began, gesturing around the room they stood in, "Mr. Hubert does have very expensive taste."
At least he hoped so.
He didn't know the first thing about this Hubert fella.
She leaned in so close that Mat felt a shiver of anticipation run across his skin. It didn't last long. She said it so calmly, so pleasantly that for a moment, Mat wasn't even sure she had actually said it. But she had. She'd threatened to deck him. And honestly, he had no doubt that she wouldn't actually do it. Maybe not here, at the party, but somewhere.
Wasn't his fault he was such a funny bloke...
Still, her threat gave his smirk reason to grow that bit extra. She was a fiery one. And in Mat's experience, the fiery ones were always the ones that turned out to be the most fun. Besides, from the sounds of it, the fun wasn't going to start until later. So he would be patient. Hobo patient.
"Fine, fine. I'm sorry about the champa--"
>>>"William, what do we have here?"
Mat paused mid-sentence, turning to see just who had interrupted him. Giving the couple a quick once over, Mat let his expression fall into one of cool, yet polite appraisal. After all, Dorian van Tripton was not a man to be looked down upon.
>>>"I don't know, Mildred. I say, have we met before, chap?"
Letting a smile cross his face, Mat extended a hand for the man to shake. He would take care that when he did, he would apply a firm grip, to show this rich bastard that even though Dorian van Tripton was new money, he was still worth twice as much as every person here in both character and net worth. He let the semi-convincing South African accent tinge his voice.
"I cannot say that I have had the honour, sir. Dorian van Tripton, originally of Johannesburg, though I must confess I seem to spend more time in Australia these days!" He gave a snobbish titter, and put an arm around Charlotte's back, letting his hand rest comfortably on her hip. One of the perks of being a fake jillionaire. "Charlotte, dear, I would like you to meet..." He left the sentence open for the man to introduce himself and what Mat assumed was his wife.
Dorian van Tripton, nodded curtly to the doorman, before making sure not to waste much more attention on the man. After all, this guy was 'the help'. And a self-respecting South African kajillionaire does not waste more time on the servants any more than was necessary. Pointing his nose snobbishly to the sky, Mat took his date and strolled through the door.
"Holy &#^@..." he muttered to himself, before throwing a sideways glance at Charlotte. Seemed even she was overwhelmed with the splendor and extravagance of the place. A squeeze on his arm took his attention.
>>> "Lead the way, dear."
Sucking a breath through his teeth, Mat took a moment to try and puzzle things out. Truth was, he had no idea what constituted a party in the books of the obscenely wealthy. Did they get messy drunk and make fools of themselves? If so, he figured he'd have no trouble playing that part. Holding his head smugly high, Mat began to walk forwards. Sooner or later he'd figure out where he was supposed to go. It wasn't long until he spotted a foppish-looking chap in a cummerbund, carrying a tray of champagne flutes. Holding up a hand, Mat clicked his fingers to get the boy's attention.
"Garcon! Oi! Wine boy! Thought you'd get away from me, didn't you?" He took two glasses from the tray, downed them both in two gulps, replaced them on the tray, and then took two more. One, he offered to Charlotte.
"Now then," he began to ask the server, "Where do I find a real drink?" The server pointed off to a room where most of the noise seemed to be emanating, before muttering something about a bar and retreating into a hallway. Chuckling to himself, he turned to Charlotte. "Sooooo.... What the hell happens at these rich guy parties? Do we get pissed, or do we discuss foi gras? Or, you know....do coke in the bathroom? What happens at these?"
His brow rose as Charlotte began giving him the run down on what his cover story should be this evening. He had no qualms about that, obviously whoever this woman was, she didn't want it known amongst New York's finest that she'd picked up a hobo escort. Fair enough, he reckoned. Her idea for a cover, however, were not exactly what he'd been thinking. Blood cashews? South Africa? Stubert? Exports?
"Are you sh**tin' me? Stuben von Bizmark? That's the worst alias I've ever heard... Have you even used a fake name before?" Was she being serious?
Mat noticed that the buildings and houses in the area all seemed to be rising in worth, size, and bearing. Wherever the hell he was, it was a nice neighbourhood. Definitely not one he had found himself in before.
It was far too nice for him.
>>>"This party is hosted by Thaddeus Hubert. He's some bigwig who has a lot of stock, or something. You can expect this place to be fancy.... God, I hope your good at improvising, because I'm your arm candy for tonight, so you will do most of the talking."
"Baby," Mat started, a cocky confidence in his voice, "My improvisation is so good you'll think I'm Louis-bloody-Armstrong!" And if it wasn't, well, that was an issue for later. After all, it's not like he couldn't bail if things went south. She would just have to find her hobo jollies elsewhere.
They pulled up to the gate, and Charlotte removed her helmet before looking back at him. The light caught her eyes, and for a moment he found himself hypnotised with blueblueblue. So much so that the mansion remained unnoticed by him.
>>>"Alright, loverboy... here we are. You ready to schmooze with the best of New York City?"
They cruised up the driveway, and Mat found himself chuckling to himself. It was, after all, not exactly the evening he had envisioned. It was about...fifteen times better. "Born ready, m'dear." They pulled up before the entrance, to the stares of the valets who had been more accustomed to luxury cars and limousines. Mat stood, swinging his leg free, and offered his arm to Charlotte. As she took it, he strode confidently towards the front door, taking the moment to run his hand along the brim of his hat.
Despite everything, the woman was right about one thing. He would need to act the part.
"Gentlemen! I do hope we are not too late! I insisted that we take the Rolls, but this lovely thing here," he nods to Charlotte, "insisted that being chauffeured around was a dull affair." He took a moment to flash a sickly-sweet smile at her, before turning his attention back on the doormen. "And who am I to disappoint such a vision?
The lead doorman, a burly looking man in a very nice tuxedo eyes Mat up and down, seemingly unimpressed.
"Dorian van Tripton," he announced himself haughtily, clipping his natural accent into a vague semblence of a South African accent. He supposed himself lucky. Chances were there weren't many who'd be able to tell the difference. "And my lovely companion, Charlotte. Did you bring the invites, dear?"
He bloody well hoped so.
Because he was fast committing himself to the amusing task of playing the wealthy snob.
He opened his mouth to reply to the woman's 'lumberjack' remark, to give her the run down on the benefits of wearing flannel shirts while homeless, when she warned him to hold on. With barely enough time for him to taker her advice, the words were snatched from his open mouth, stolen by the rushing wind and air. Crazy woman drove like a madman! Mat's heart leaped up to hide in his throat as a car swerved out of the way, and they began their hell-ride down the road. Once the initial shock passed, Mat found himself smiling like a madman, the adrenaline kicking his excitement up. He felt....daring. Like a teenager again. Like his days in Australia, when old friends were not scattered across the globe, or dead.
A numbing, intoxicating sense of recklessness was growing, growing.
In what seemed the blink of an eye, the woman slowed in front of a store, and without giving him time to think, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him inside, quite a feat considering the shoes she was wearing. She thrust him before the shopkeeper, and demanded that he be dressed accordingly. Feeling somewhere between a mannequin and a roast dinner, Mat stood awkwardly as she demanded he be dressed. Mat's brows rose in unison with the shopkeeper's when she pulled a grand in cash out. As the shopkeeper herded Mat towards the back of the shop, he glanced over his shoulder, trying to get a better look at his 'date' for the evening.
This was all getting very...involved, for what he had assumed would be a fairly simple transaction. He supposed that she might be looking for some sort of...'boyfriend experience.'
Did she say 'fancy party?'
As he was ushered into the dressing area, he noticed that the shopkeeper had procured a measuring tape from somewhere. Like it had materialised in his hand. Before he knew it, the man had sized up his arm length, leg length, and chest width so fast, that Mat was sure he could see little dollar signs in the man's eyes. Shoving the suit, shirt, socks, shoes and tie into Mat's arms, the man gave him a quick once over, before adding a new pair of silk boxer shorts on top of the pile.
In the dressing room, as the new threads were slipped on, Mat couldn't help but admire himself in the mirror. The tailor knew his work, that was for sure. The suit fit like a glove. Apart from the light stubble on his face, and his dishevelled mess of greasy hair, Mat felt like he could almost pass for a real person. Not just a hobo in a suit.
He had to admit, he hadn't looked this sexy in a long time.
As he walked back into the front of the store, standing much straighter than he had walked out, he watched as the tailor and his date settled the bill. Their attention was taken, and for the moment he was forgotten. The shopkeeper was too busy gaping at his new found wealth. Which was good. It meant that the brand-new bowler hat Mat was swiping off a shelf probably wouldn't be noticed as missing until they were long gone. Indeed, just as he had put it on his head, the woman grabbed him by the arm again and dragged him outside.
On the woman's instruction, he stashed his bundle of raggedy clothes, before hoping back onto the bike. One arm around the woman's waist, the other holding down his new hat, Mat prepared himself for another death dash. He was moderately surprised when she started driving normally, legally.
>>>"Oh, right... My names Charlotte. What's yours?"
"Mat," he shouted over the engine noise. "Name's Mat." He paused, unsure of what he was supposed to say. "So... What's this party you were talking about?"
As the helmet came away he couldn't help but smirk like a fool. It would seem, he had hit the hobo jackpot. Here he was, being propositioned like some sort of streetwalker, and it wasn't a creepy old guy, another hobo, or a grandma with too much cash and not enough looks. This chick was actually pretty smokin'. Punkish, despite the formal dress. She spoke with a voice whose husky tones told a history of booze and debaucherous fun. A voice that, truth be told, send a shiver down his spine.
She most certainly was not a meek and delicate little flower.
And as she spoke of free food and booze, Mat tilted his head back, and gave a silent thanks to whatever deity may have been listening.
"Sold."
He noticed her check him out. Noticed her lean forward and give a not-so-discreet sniff. He supposed it should have stung his pride, but the truth was he didn't care. Not if things tonight were going the way he was suspecting they would. Besides, she hadn't commented, so he took that to be a good sign. "Caught me at a good time, love. I'm one of the fresher ones." He made his way to the bike, and swung his leg over. His hands rested on the woman's sides, before sliding down to hold onto her hips.
Mat ducked just in time. The mouldy, hole-ridden shoe flew over his head, the laces whipping him in the face. Out of spite, Mat picked it up and tossed it up, up, onto the overhang of the store next to him. Not before flipping the other man off.
"Hey, if you wanted more than one shoe then you should have thought about that before you threw it! I mean, who throws a shoe? Honestly? You're giving the rest of us a bad name, ya bum!"
It only took one hobo to make all the other hobos look like crazies.
Although it could be said that all the other hobos were crazy.
Not Mat. He was awesome. And totally sane.
He didn't know where he was walking to. There was no destination in mind for Effigy tonight. But sitting was dull, and with little else to do Mat figured he might stumble across something interesting. So he walk, walk, walked. After all, it was New York City. Sure enough, it wasn't long until he heard the sound of screaming tyres pulling up on the road beside him. Curious, he glanced over. A helmet in a evening dress. Atop a motorbike. Yelling at him.
>>>"Hey you! Climb on, shut up, and hold on!"
He stared blankly for a moment. Somewhere in the back of his mind, memories from when he was a child and his mother had warned him away from cars and strangers. He took a moment to eye this person up and down, gaze pausing at chosen intervals. A devilish grin began to cross his face. Common sense dictated that he should keep walking. It would be the wiser, safer course of action.
"Take the helmet off, and we'll see..."
He had heard of this. It was a legend amongst hobofolk. A myth. A tall tale. Every story he had heard of it happening generally involved a limo and some wealthy but unappealing and often elderly dowager. The motorbike pointed to a more optimistic outcome.
Mat wasn't sure where the crowbar had come from, but between that and Saphirus' little speech - which was more than a little creepy - he was pretty sure he wouldn't be walking away from this one unharmed. Pretty sure he wouldn't be walking away, period. There was a note of desperation in the man's voice, and Mat couldn't help but think that even if nothing happened now, it would be waiting for him later.
When Andrea was not around.
>>>"Saph, no... Matt... I need to talk to him, let me explain."
She began to turn in his grip, and despite the hesitation in his arms, in his head, he let her go without protest. He would let her go because she had asked. Not because of Tighty McTosspot's little temper tantrum. He let her go, and slumped back on the stairs, keeping his eye on the man. His hand worked it's way behind him, towards his back pocket, where he kept his straight razor.
Not before sparing a glance up, past the gaping hole in the ceiling, to the cloud that sat there. Taunting him. Laughing at him.
The sky collapsed, in a shower of glass and debris.
Too stunned, too drained, too tired to respond with anything else, Mat could only blink as the skylight fell. Could only stare as a man fell through the ceiling, landing at the base of the steps as easily as a person who had just jumped from a couple of steps. Something was screamed, and the sound of it set the hairs on Mat's neck bristling. He felt Andrea cling tighter, and felt himself return the gesture. It wasn't until the sound of broken glass stopped, and the dust began to settle that Mat recognised him.
Any doubt that this man was a threat to Andrea vanished instantly.
Was he wearing tights?
Finally, the screaming, and the words they were meant to represent registered. Let her go. Mat's brow furrowed, and he found himself holding Andrea tighter than ever. He glared at the man, the so called Saphirus, his tired eyes narrowed. Mat held no illusions that this guy couldn't beat the crap out of him. He had proved that the last time they had met. Nor did he have illusions that Saphirus wouldn't kill him. He had shown more than a willingness last time. The safest option, as Mat could figure it, would be to let Andrea go. To move away from her, so as to diffuse the situation. Maybe then, the three of them would be able to talk rationally.
>>>"I... No, he has never hurt me... He would never hurt me..."
He closed his eyes the moment her hands found his. As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn't man enough to watch her cry. She had assured him that the man, this Saphirus, had not hurt her. Despite his doubt, he could hear it. He could hear it in her voice. Saphirus had not hurt Andrea.
And yet, a man like that was bound to hurt her sooner or later.
Wasn't he?
>>>"Matt... I... I am so sorry. This is all my fault! If I had just-.... If I had never-"
He could feel his chest tighten, could feel his breath quicken. Something touched his knee and as his eyes snapped open, he saw Andrea, and her hairful of snakes. There were many eyes staring at him, but the only thing that Mat could register was the mess of dark hair. Too distracted to be fearful of the serpents, Mat released Andrea's hands and placed them gently on her shoulders. As he leaned forward, he let his arms wrap around her, drawing her up so that if she wanted she could rest her head on his shoulder. He thought he may have heard hissing, but that could have been his own breath as he nervously tried to comfort her.
"Hey, hey. Shhh. Don't... Don't you apologise. You haven't done anything wrong. I should be the one saying sorry. I thought he-- When we met, you looked like somebody who was running away from something, or someone. And then when he saw the statue I made, and he knew that I knew you... And he kept asking where you were... I thought you were running away from him."
Everything was a blur, a haze. His mind was fog, his memories vapour.
"We could leave. You and me, we could hop a train and go somewhere. Anywhere. Andrea, if this guy is a threat to you, then come with me. We'll..." He racked his brain, this half-thought out idea pushing it's way through his confusion. "Go to New Orleans! Get a po'boy... His brain winced. "We can drink. And dance."
At this point Mat figured it impossible to stop his own mouth from working.
