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.
As he lay there, still chuckling away to himself, Mat became aware of the laughs and stares that were directed towards him. All from New York’s mindless, faceless drones, who thought that their derisive laughter allowed them to rise above everybody else, as though it made them better. Allowed them to look down their noses and mock and scorn, as though they were untouchable. As though they weren’t cast from the same mould everyone else was. Mat knew better, though. That was why he could lay there laughing, even after making an ass of himself. He knew that the rain still pissed down on them just the same, no matter how better they thought they were. Dirt stuck to their boots just as easily. So Mat could ignore the guffaws, the points, the snickers.
>>> “Are you okay, sir?”
Oh?
The girl. The cute one. Before Mat knew it, he was back on his feet, albeit unsteadily. Peering through the grog-haze in his head, Mat smiled at the girl, the only one in this establishment nice enough to actually come help him. A rare thing in New York, judged solely on Mat’s time here.
>>> “Would you like to come sit down there with us?”
Mat glanced over to where the woman indicated, where the man who had joined her was watching. He didn’t look overly happy about the situation, but wasn’t making any real attempt to stop the invitation. He even waved Mat and the good samaritan over. It was probably more directed for the woman than it was for Mat, but that was too late. With a wide smile, Mat gave his answer.
“Love to!”
Staggering to the other end of the bar, Mat perched himself two stools up from the man, leaving the middle stool for the woman. She was much more interesting, so it seemed prudent to sit next to her. Still, not wanting to be rude, Mat extended his hand to the bloke.
“How’s it goin’, mate? I’m Mat.”
Glancing over his shoulder, he caught the eye of the bartender and grinned to the man. With a visible sigh, he made his way over. Having survived a fierce battle with gravity, Mat needed a drink.
After all, he was a survivor!
“So, what brings you kids to the watering hole this eve--HIC!--ning?”
>>> “Yeah, yeah you can keep telling yourself that…I will admit that this was a genius idea, though, using your power like that.”
“Tell me about it. Managed to rake up a decent profit doing absolutely nothing. Easier than trying to sell them.” Though it wasn't as satisfying as seeing people fall in love with his creations, it certainly had been less work.
>>> “This is nice handiwork, not gonna lie. So I take it this is your thing? Making these stone minions? How do you make them move?”
“Pretty much. I can make my sculptures from more that just stone. Metal, glass, ceramic. Bunch of different stuff, Mat answered. “As far as I know, I can leave a mental imprint whatever material I'm using. That's how I can control them.” Not being bothered with a demonstration or full explanation, Mat gave her the condensed version. The fact that this girl had skipped the obligatory inquiries as to whether Mat was a mutant told him all he needed to know.
She was either a mutant herself, or had some dealings with them.
He watched as the girl approached his sculpture, inspecting it with her eyes and hands. A proud grin tugged at his lips, and Mat felt his ego inflate. He couldn't help it. It was a natural reaction to anyone taking an interest in his creations.
“Name's Mat. He gave his money filled hat a shake, coins jingling cheerfully inside. “Wanna go get something to eat, or drink? I kinda owe you for making you slip over, and making you spill your drink, and all.” Even though it'd been her own damn fault. Still, she was cute.
>>> "Oh, the insurance is money is good, but it's not enough to run an establishment like mine. It's M that brings the real revenue."
As he listened to her answer, sipping on his own bottle of beer, Mat looked at Lori with a renewed interest. All veneer of the ditzy blonde club-girl had now been stripped away, revealing something much sharper, much shrewder underneath.
Something...dangerous.
Living on the streets as long as Mat had, it was hard to avoid dealings with those who worked within shadier employments. Back when he had first taken to the alleys, when he was still wide-eyed and innocent, Mat had found himself scared of the junkies, the dealers, and the thugs of the world. Time had allowed him to take whatever they said with a grain of salt. For the most part, he had found, if you made it clear that their business meant nothing to you, that you weren't morally or ethically outraged by what they did, then getting along was easy.
Going with the flow. It had saved his life more than once.
“What sort of establishment do you have? he asked. “I'm assuming it's mutant related in some way?” After all, it stood to reason that you didn't sell X-gene drugs unless you had invested interests in mutant affairs. He wondered if it was anything like the Mansion or the commune, and felt his stomach clench.
Honestly, he had had just about enough of mutant establishments recently.
>>> "Oh, it's not permanent. Even if they don't know exactly what they're in for it all wears off in the morning. Besides, for all the snubbing, sapiens just can't seem to resist. If you didn't already, wouldn't you want to know what your genes had planned for you?"
“You got a point there.” Novelty was the main reason people took drugs, wasn't it? The chance to experience things in a different light, whether that meant seeing things differently, thinking differently, or just feeling differently. M, Mat supposed, was the ultimate form of 'something different'.
He took another swig of beer, and glanced around the room once more. Then, he let out a chuckle.
“Well, this is certainly one way of advocating mutant awareness and equality. I bet some of the comedowns are a bitch, though...”
The bartender shuffled down the bar, looking as bored moving as he did standing still. He approached the couple several stools away and let them know that their next drinks were taken care of. The woman turned, smiled and waved to Mat, allowing him a perfect view of her beautiful face. Then she mouthed her thanks. The man looked from Mat, to the bartender, and back again, as though he couldn't believe that a man in Mat's shabby condition could afford to shout a few drinks. He gave a curt nod, and that was the end of it. Mat raised his own glass to the couple, sparing a smile of his own for the woman.
'You're welcome,' he mouthed back to her.
Chuckling to himself, Mat imagined how amusing it would be to try and steal the bloke's woman away from him. After all, what could be more embarrassing than losing your girl to a hobo?
Tilting his head back, he poured the remaining contents of his glass down his throat. His hands and face had begun to take on that pleasant numbness that let him know he was getting nicely drunk. His muscles were relaxed, and his problems were melting away with his sobriety. Mat was so relaxed, and not to mention distracted by the cute girl down the bar, that he failed to realise that when he leaned back on his stool to finish his drink, he had forgotten to straighten back up.
The room began to fall away.
“Oh shi--”
THUMP
Luckily for Mat, the floor broke his fall. Fully aware of how drunk he actually was, Mat let out a small groan and did the only thing one can do when falling arse-backwards off of a bar stool.
He laid there and started laughing. Hard.
After all, if you couldn't laugh at yourself, what could you laugh at?
The strange girl blushed at Mat's words, her face flushing crimson. Fingers lifted to her lips, giving her a shy, demure demeanour. All that after one cheesy line. Mat couldn't help but laugh to himself and admire the woman in front of him.
>>> “You, sir, are drunk.”
“I am, but that's beside the point,” he grinned back.
Mat racked his brain, trying to place this mystery woman who knew his name. Still no clue. No hints or inklings, no hunches or gut feelings. Even though he had said it as a cheap, throwaway line, Mat honestly felt that he would remember a face like hers. She was gorgeous, after all. A unique beauty, a one of a kind type of beauty. Not the skanky, shallow attractiveness of many of the women here. There was something charming about her, about her bashfulness.
>>> "Oh! How rude of me... I have a table, with a friend.. would you, erm, care to join us... Mat?"
Mat glanced over to where the woman had looked. He spied another attractive woman, a little blondie. Nice looking and all, but his eyes drifted back towards the girl in front of him. He could swear that he heard a trace of an accent in her voice. Before he could answer her though, she had stumbled back into someone and nearly lost the battle against gravity. Luckily, she caught herself before the inevitable tumble.
“You, madam, are also drunk,” Mat teased.
She reached for his hand, and Mat, having no objections whatsoever, took her delicate appendage in his own. This action, this one simple gesture set Mat's heart racing. This one simple gesture reminded of someone he hadn't though of in some time. The last girl he had gotten close to. Shy and timid, and oh so adorable. This girl in front of him, Mat knew why she seemed familiar now. She reminded him of...
No way...
“Andrea?”
He stared at her a moment, peering through his drunk-hazed vision, trying to make sense of his sudden epiphany. Now that he had had his realisation, it was obvious. Her delicate features. The accent. The white scarf which, upon closer inspection, had scales. The blushing! It was her alright. Except...
>>> "Look, these things have been in my way a lot lately... you can't be leaving them out everywhere, especially in places of high traffic... So... I dunno.... I'll let you off with a warning for now, but don't leave any more of these... thin-"
Oh, so that was the problem.
Made sense, Mat supposed. This guy was older than most he had seen at the mansion, and as he spoke Mat figured he must have been a member of staff or something. Though, that said, if this bloke was staff then he was setting a pretty crappy example for the kids by being drunk and yelling at people. Still, he had calmed down now.
“Sorry mate, I guess I didn't think of that.” Which he really hadn't. It was easy to forget that not everyone appreciated having random statues show up at random, even if they were art. And the guy had a point, he supposed. The ones on the basketball court may have been in the way, just a tad... “Next time I'll...I'll...” Mat trailed off, watching as the man was suddenly entranced with the statue of Andrea. A rush of pride filled Mat.
And quickly died when the man turned, grabbed Mat's shirt, and slammed him into a wall.
>>> “Where did you see her? Tell me now!”
Mat felt like a ragdoll in the clutches of a bad tempered little kid, being shook around and screamed at. Still in shock with the suddenness of it all, Mat simply stared, as he was treated like a can of spraypaint. Finally, the indignant anger began to rise, and Mat began struggling back, trying to push the man away.
“The fu--!? What the hell is your problem, d***head?” Seriously, this guy had flipped. He was nuts. Touched in the head. A few beers short of a six-pack. And with the smell of alcohol on his breath, it was easy to guess where those metaphorical beers had gone...
It started as a chuckle. Then a giggle. Soon Mat was laughing. And laughing. And laughing.
And laughing...
Blame it on the sleep deprivation, but the girl's reaction amused him to no end. His knees shaking, his ribs aching from laughter, Mat strolled to the hat on the ground and picked it up. Fishing through it, he grabbed a twenty dollar bill. He had no idea how much she had actually put in the hat, but Mat figured this was ample compensation. He held the money out to the girl.
“H-Here you go,” he said, still chuckling to himself. Seeing the girl run her gauntlet of expressions, Mat burst into yet another fit of giggles.
“You have to admit, I got you good,” he smirked. And during all of this, Mat had noticed that the girl was still here. She hadn't screamed, she hadn't gotten angry. Not at the fact that Mat was a mutant, anyway, which she had to have realised by now. And that meant...
Maybe she was a mutant too?
“Sorry for taking the piss. This was just too amusing an idea to not do.”
“You know, for a hobo, you sure are putting a lot of money behind the bar.”
Mat paused, holding the rim of the glass just before the lips. “What can I say, I'm a supportive patron of the drinking arts. Besides, not like I have rent to pay, right? Gotta spend my dosh on something.”
The bartender simply looked at Mat, then shrugged. “Your money.”
“That it is. The bartender's insinuation that Mat shouldn't have that much money, for he was sure that was what the man was insinuating, was somewhat insulting. Not enough for Mat to get angry, but enough to warrant a comment. “I'm homeless, mate, not broke. I told ya, I still work.” The half truth. He had been working.
Right up to the point he realised robbery was much more efficient.
As if to prove a point, Mat pulled a small wad of cash and slammed it down on the bar. Glancing to either side of him, Mat checked out how many people were sat along the length of the bar. Not too many. A couple of barflies, and that good-looking couple. “Here. Drinks for anyone sitting at the bar. Whatever they're having.” The bartender glanced down at the money, then gave another shrug.
“You're the boss,” he said before moving down the bar to take the young couple's order.
Mat finally brought the glass to his lips and drank. “Damn straight,” he smirked.
Sitting in yet another strange bar, a common occurrence the past couple weeks, stained clothes covered in grime, hair matted and sticking at every strange angle imaginable, Mat brought the cool glass brim of the glass he was nursing, and took a long drink of that bitter amber nectar. Not as good as the stuff back home, of course, but crap beer was better than no beer. And after all the drama of the Mansion with Agnes and Kealey, Mat was finding that his appetite for hops and barley had increased dramatically. Still, as he sat, he couldn't help but smile. He looked like a hobo. He looked like a street rat. His filth was a badge of honour. A badge of freedom.
He was back on the streets. He was home.
His time at the Mansion had softened him up, somewhat, and the initial transition had been a touch rough, but old habits died hard, and Mat found himself settling back into his old nomadic existence. It felt great, to be free once more. The incident that had prompted his return to the alleys and squats had cleansed him of many illusions he had held. He had forgotten a vital lesson, one that had been drilled into him by the streets. One that, if he was honest with himself, the commune had made him forget.
Look out for only yourself.
With that fresh new outlook in mind, Mat had found that his financial situation had vastly improved since returning to the streets, as had his accommodation. Golems, he had begun to remember, served well as both a distraction and a force of intimidation. Lucky too, because selling sculptures wouldn't be enough to support his rediscovered drinking enthusiasm.
And so he sat, at a strange bar, making small talk with another strange barman, waiting for something interesting to happen.
Or someone interesting.
Looking over his shoulder, Mat spied someone who fitted that description like a glove. A very pretty someone who he would consider interesting.
After all, what sort of self respecting artist wasn't interested in beautiful things?
And had Mat not currently been locked into a debate with the barman, he might have approached the woman. After all, who didn't like making new friends? Though, that said, he really wasn't in the mood to try for anything further tonight. And it seemed that she already had company. A man had approached her, no doubt with seduction in mind. Mat gave a small laugh and bid the man a silent good luck. Then he turned his attention back to the barman.
“You're telling me that you're not a bum, you're a hobo?” The barman stared at Mat with an incredulous look on his face.
“That's exactly what I'm telling you, mate. Listen, there's three hierarchies of vagrancy, right? Hobos, tramps, and bums. Hobos travel, but they work while they do so. Tramps, they travel but they try and avoid work if possible. And bums, well bums don't work and they don't travel. That's why they're bums. So yes, I am telling you that I'm not a bum. If anything, I'm a cross between a hobo and a tramp.” Mat took another long swig of beer, emptying the glass, and sitting it in front of the barman to be refilled.
“A 'trobo'...”
The barman stared at Mat a while, the gears of his mind grinding away. Then he let out a loud, bellowing guffaw and refilled Mat's glass. “You're an idiot, y'know that?”
Mat raised his glass, sculled the contents, belched, then handed it back for yet another refill. “I'll drink to that,” he smirked.
((Hope no one minds if I join in? If anyone objects, let me know and I'll delete this. Aurum snuck in while I was writing this post...))
>>> "I do. I used to think that way too, that my parents would be better off if I was gone.... but you know... it is not all bad. While I have met my fair share of people who dislike me for my skin, I have met others who think I am the bees-knees because of it. I... have even met mutants who hate me too...I guess we have more in common than I had first thought."
“I think out story is a common one, these days,” Mat replied. “Still, that just means there are plenty of people out there who can understand.” Just as Mat was about to continue, Cricket returned, in a more than flamboyant fashion. Even Mat couldn't help but chuckle at the waiter's antics. He wasn't so bad, Cricket.
Until he dropped the bill in front of Mat.
Mat stared at the small black folder, hesitant to open it. Why had he been given..?
Oh... Right. Man.
Cricket must have assumed that this was a date, a fact Mat himself was still unsure of. And of course, dating etiquette meant that the man paid for the woman. Made sense, except for the fact that Mat had forgotten about that part. He had gotten so caught up in Andrea's invitation that he hadn't quite thought about the economics of such a venture. Opening the bill, Mat gave a sigh of relief. Not the cheapest of meals, but not an astronomical price. Slipping his hand into his trouser pockets, Mat felt the crumpled bills he still possessed. He was sure that he had enough, though it would pretty much be everything he had left. Mat smiled to himself.
Going hungry for a few days was totally worth it.
>>> "No... Thank you, Mat...You... have made me happy, at a time when I did not have much hope.... God has a funny way of bringing joy into your life when you least expect it. When you feel like you have hit a wall, and there is no where left to turn. I cannot thank you enough, for being here.... for being you."
“My pleasure. And thank you, Andrea, for being here. For being you.”
This girl. Mat was glad to have met her.
Mat heard the footsteps of their approaching waiter, craning his head to see him approaching. As he began to face Andrea again, his face was introduced to a wad of flying cash. Smacking into his cheek, Mat sat, stunned slightly. Once he realised what had assaulted him, he felt his face grow red and warm. Of course.
He looked like a bum. So it was only logical that she would assume he was a bum.
Which he kind of was...
Still, his manly pride was wounded slightly. Gathering up the bills, Mat folded them together and slipped the bundle into his pocket. Then he reached into the other pocket and pulled his own crumpled currency, slipping it into the folder, under the table. He still had some pride, after all. Belatedly, he slipped his last note into the folder, almost forgetting that you were supposed to tip in America.
Crazy yanks...
Cricket gathered the bill and the dishes, then told them to stay put while he fetch a camera. Mat wasn't sure that he liked that idea. The tightening knot in his stomach seemed to be in agreement. He looked to Andrea, and she had a sly look about her.
>>> “We should run, while he has his back turned.”
Mat grinned in reply. She just kept amazing him. “C'mon, let's go,” he giggled, standing from his chair and taking Andrea's gloved hand. He made his way swiftly to the door, stifling his laughter, keeping an eye out for Cricket. Making the exit, after some strange looks from the blonde hostess, Mat pushed the door open and felt the cool caress of the air. He stopped just outside the door, peering back into the restaurant. Cricket was standing there, camera in hand, and exasperated look on his face. Mat could hear a muffled chirp coming from inside.
“Hang on, I feel bad. We should leave them something...” Stomping on the concrete footpath, Mat tuned to Andrea and grinned. Pulling themselves from the pavement were replica's of himself and Andrea, though Mat had left their faces blank. He had the feeling that was the reason Andrea didn't want her picture taken. After all, it was the same reason he didn't want his on the wall either. Taking control of his creations, Mat commanded them to walk to the door and enter the establishment. Once they were inside, Mat could see through the window that he had gotten the attention of the entire restaurant, people craning from their seats, Cricket standing dumbfounded. With a final command, Mat had his sculptures stand back to back, while the concrete Sloth wrapped around the pair, pulling them into an awkward serpentine embrace. The final product.
A concrete replica of how Mat met Andrea.
With a wave to the stunned patrons, Mat held out his arm, to escort his new friend away. Reaching into his pants pocket, he produced the wadded up cash that Andrea had thrown at him, holding it in a way that it looked like less money than it was.
“Oh, by the way, Cricket gave me some change...” He gave Andrea a wink and a cheeky grin, hoping that she'd take the money. Not because he didn't want her charity, which he didn't, but because he truly wanted to make this his treat to someone who had been kind to him. Someone he was glad to have met.
It took every ounce of Mat's strength not to lose it. To stop himself from laughing uncontrollably.
The girl's reaction was priceless. A shriek of protest and accusations of cheating. Cheating at what, he wasn't entirely sure. Obviously cheating at whatever game she had created in her head. Mat continued to stare at the girl, struggling not to break his straight facade.
“How is that cheating? All I did was ask him politely. Maybe you should have tried that?”
Mat turned back to his statue. If she was freaking out this much over a perceived slight, then how would she react to the fact that Mat was a mutant? Suppressing a smile, Mat put his hand on his hip, as though her accusations had bristled him. “Mate, can you do something for this chick? I'm getting the blame for something I haven't even done.”
Taking control once more, Mat forced the golem to take a step forward and extend it's hand for the girl to shake. When, and if, she took the appendage, she would soon realise that the statue she had been taunting was in fact, a statue.
A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of Mat's lips. This one, he let slide.
In the doorway of the room was a man Mat didn't recognise. His yell had startled Mat from his reverie, and when he turned to see who had spoken, the bloke started marching his way towards where Mat was standing. None too steadily, mind you.
Whoever this guy was, he wasn't very happy. Or very sober for that matter...
>>> “Thought you could get away with it forever, eh? I gotcha now, punk! Do you have any idea how much work you have given me the past week? Huh?!”
He approached close. Close enough that Mat could smell the alcohol on his breath. Idly, Mat wondered if this guy would get the third degree about being drunk in the mansion, like he had upon his most hungover arrival. Making sure not to back away from the man, Mat stood his ground, and eyed the aggressive newcomer. “Um....What? I haven't got a clue what you're talking about, mate. I don't even know you. I'm just minding my own business.” He gestured towards the sculpture of Andrea. “Just making a few sculptures, to liven up the place y'know,” he explained with a grin.
Seriously. Who the hell was this guy? And what was his problem?
After his little hedonistic walk-about, Mat had eventually slunk his way back to the mansion, tail between his legs. No troubles getting back in, and so far Mat had yet to run into anyone he was trying to avoid. No sign or sight of Kealey and Agnes. That was a good thing. No Andrew or Gemma, too, for which Mat had no complaints. He had managed to settle back into the mansion's pace without garnering any real attention. Even the wall he had destroyed and hastily fixed had been repaired, no visible sign of Mat's intervention. Deciding that keeping his head down was the best way to get along in this place, Mat had spent the last week lurking to the sides, not bringing any attention to himself, not interacting with anyone. Only observing.
And he was bored out of his mind.
The itch to be active, to do something had gotten the better of him. Being incognito was a dull affair, and with all the watching Mat had been doing recently, his creative urge was bursting to escape. So he had decided to to some sculpting.
He figured this would be his compensation to the mansion, for all the art his golem had destroyed. In all the nooks and crannies of the mansion he could find, Mat was leaving behind a piece of memorabilia. A scene from Mat's memories, recreated in perfect detail. Statues of various students, at study, at play, at rest. Mat placed them all around the mansion in secret, drawing no attention to himself. After a while, students began to notice the new additions, flocking around them and speculating on their origin. It was all very amusing to Mat.
And despite everything, it felt great to create again. To bring forth the beauty Mat saw, in creations of stone, and glass, and steel. He had spied an adorable looking gargoyle girl the other day, and made a creation of her perched on the banister of the stairwell, her concrete smile looking down into the main foyer. He had left a scene of a mutant basketball game on the court, each player visibly mutated. The older teens, the small kiddies, Mat left effigies of many he had spied in his return.
And now, his masterpiece.
Mat had scouted a patch of green marble floor in some kind of living room in the mansion, set aside from the main one. A spare one, he guessed. One image sprung to mind when Mat laid eyes on the mossy shade of the stone. A girl he had met once, then met again just a week or so ago. Though, she had spent a lot of time in her 'natural' pink hues that night, trying to hide her emerald skin. A girl who had been nothing but kind to Mat since he had met her, one of the few since he had come to the city. A girl who, if Mat was honest with himself, fascinated and infatuated him. Whose sweet innocence washed away the grime of the world, of his life.
A girl who reminded him of his friends. Mat smiled, imagining what Trip, and Downpour, and Pockets, and Bloom would make of the timid green gorgon.
Mat's hand inched to his pocket, to the stone flower that rested inside. He had accidentally left it in his room when he fled from the mansion, and was relieved to find it still where he'd left it. When he had seen Andrea at that pub, Mat's heart had nearly broken at the thought that he'd lost the flower forever. His gift from Andrea. Her artistic masterpiece.
So, with a slap of his hands on the cold marble, Mat willed Andrea's image to his mind. The marble began to stir, before a delicate hand sprouted forth. Pulling free from the stone, a green and white marble version of Andrea stood up. She looked the way she had looked when first saw her, wrapped up in a raincoat and scarf, Sloth draped across her neck, the other snakes nestled in her hair, her hands clasped together nervously. Her expression was that innocent, shy smile that always amused Mat. He could imagine the golem blushing brown, and chuckled at the thought. The sculpture brought a lonely pang, like always. A desire to see someone he cared about.
Andrea, Mat realised, was the only person he could really consider a friend in this country.
Standing back, Mat admired his craftsmanship and detail, memories of being hugged by a snake running through his mind.
After his little hedonistic walk-about, Mat had eventually slunk his way back to the mansion, tail between his legs. No troubles getting back in, and so far Mat had yet to run into anyone he was trying to avoid. No sign or sight of Kealey and Agnes. That was a good thing. No Andrew or Gemma, too, for which Mat had no complaints. He had managed to settle back into the mansion's pace without garnering any real attention. Even the wall he had destroyed and hastily fixed had been repaired, no visible sign of Mat's intervention. Deciding that keeping his head down was the best way to get along in this place, Mat had spent the last week lurking to the sides, not bringing any attention to himself, not interacting with anyone. Only observing.
And he was bored out of his mind.
The itch to be active, to do something had gotten the better of him. Being incognito was a dull affair, and with all the watching Mat had been doing recently, his creative urge was bursting to escape. So he had decided to to some sculpting.
He figured this would be his compensation to the mansion, for all the art his golem had destroyed. In all the nooks and crannies of the mansion he could find, Mat was leaving behind a piece of memorabilia. A scene from Mat's memories, recreated in perfect detail. Statues of various students, at study, at play, at rest. Mat placed them all around the mansion in secret, drawing no attention to himself. After a while, students began to notice the new additions, flocking around them and speculating on their origin. It was all very amusing to Mat.
And despite everything, it felt great to create again. To bring forth the beauty Mat saw, in creations of stone, and glass, and steel. He had spied an adorable looking gargoyle girl the other day, and made a creation of her perched on the banister of the stairwell, her concrete smile looking down into the main foyer. He had left a scene of a mutant basketball game on the court, each player visibly mutated. The older teens, the small kiddies, Mat left effigies of many he had spied in his return.
And now, his masterpiece.
Mat had scouted a patch of green marble floor in some kind of living room in the mansion, set aside from the main one. A spare one, he guessed. One image sprung to mind when Mat laid eyes on the mossy shade of the stone. A girl he had met once, then met again just a week or so ago. Though, she had spent a lot of time in her 'natural' pink hues that night, trying to hide her emerald skin. A girl who had been nothing but kind to Mat since he had met her, one of the few since he had come to the city. A girl who, if Mat was honest with himself, fascinated and infatuated him. Whose sweet innocence washed away the grime of the world, of his life.
A girl who reminded him of his friends. Mat smiled, imagining what Trip, and Downpour, and Pockets, and Bloom would make of the timid green gorgon.
Mat's hand inched to his pocket, to the stone flower that rested inside. He had accidentally left it in his room when he fled from the mansion, and was relieved to find it still where he'd left it. When he had seen Andrea at that pub, Mat's heart had nearly broken at the thought that he'd lost the flower forever. His gift from Andrea. Her artistic masterpiece.
So, with a slap of his hands on the cold marble, Mat willed Andrea's image to his mind. The marble began to stir, before a delicate hand sprouted forth. Pulling free from the stone, a green and white marble version of Andrea stood up. She looked the way she had looked when first saw her, wrapped up in a raincoat and scarf, Sloth draped across her neck, the other snakes nestled in her hair, her hands clasped together nervously. Her expression was that innocent, shy smile that always amused Mat. He could imagine the golem blushing brown, and chuckled at the thought. The sculpture brought a lonely pang, like always. A desire to see someone he cared about.
Andrea, Mat realised, was the only person he could really consider a friend in this country.
Standing back, Mat admired his craftsmanship and detail, memories of being hugged by a snake running through his mind.
Hi all. So, real life has kind of thrown me a curve. Namely, the death of a family friend whom I've known my entire life. Dunno when I'll get back to posting, but hopefully it shouldn't be too long. Sorry to anyone waiting on posts.