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 was like his chest was in a vice, winding tighter and tighter, cutting off his air. His breaths came in shallow, and left the same way, growing faster and more urgent. It was hard to breathe...
Pant. Pant. Pant. Pant. Pant.
>>> “Mat! Mat what's wrong?”
“I can't...I...I can't brea--”
Suddenly, the tightness and weight growing in his chest began to disappear, along with the anger. Like it was melting away like an ice block in summer. Whatever was calming him down, it definitely wasn't natural.
>>> ”Stand up when you’re ready, but you’re not running away from this. You’re not the first one to take a chunk out of a wall because your powers got away from you. You definitely won’t be the last. What you will do…is accept help when it’s offered. Thank people for risking their own skin to take care of you. And you will keep a civil tongue in your mouth when you’re in this school.”
His breathing now back under control, anger and panic subsided, Mat straightened and turned to face the blonde. His brows furrowed as he watched her. The things she was saying, the way she was saying them, Mat knew that he should be getting angry at her. His skin should be prickling, his breath should be growing deeper, and there should have been a rising tension underneath his flesh that would cause him to clench his fists. But there was none of that, and it didn't feel...natural.
Anger, without the anger.
>>>"Now. Do you feel better...or do you need to politely ask Doc if he'll do something to help."
Ahh. Her.
It was a strange sensation, being aware of his anger without having the emotions attached. He briefly wondered if this was how psychopaths and serial killers felt, detached from feeling, but still having a base of hate and loathing. Either way, this woman was becoming a hindrance.
Worse. A self righteous hindrance.
Mat took several slow steps, approaching the blonde, Kealey he recalled, with an eerie calm. He stopped only inches away from where she stood. Close enough to lean forward and kiss her, had he been inclined. He met her glare with his own tired gaze.
“You think I care about your wall?” He meant for the words to come out with some venom, some bite. Instead, they came out cold and flat. That, in a way, scared him. They sounded like they came from a man with nothing to lose. “I don't give a s*** about your wall. That sculpture, that wasn't some kitty that could be ushered out the door. Those things can kill people when I'm not in control, you get that?” Those things have killed people when he wasn't in control.
Mat leant in close, close enough that he could feel the woman's breath on his face. “Now, what I will do is walk away before I do anything to hurt somebody else. I will thank those people that risked themselves by making sure I don't lose control again.” Mat's eyes flicked towards Agnes, lingered, then returned to the blonde's. “And what you will do is get out of my way and let me leave.” Mat took a step back, and let his words sink in.
Normally, Mat probably would have found a friendlier, more tactful way to approach this. But she had picked a bad time to start acting the schoolmarm. Mat didn't owe her anything. He didn't owe anybody anything. He had just cut ties with his parents, and nearly had a repeat performance of his massacre. There were more pressing things to worry about right now than hurt feelings.
“Now. Are you going to let me leave peacefully? Or am I gonna have to get a little forceful?”
And he turned his back on the blonde, a little shocked at his own words. Only to come face to face with Agnes, the girl he had met on the streets. The girl who reminded him of Bloom, of himself, of the number of kids that had perished in the fire. The girl he hoped would find her way, and not sink to his lows. Looking at her, all his resolve crumbled.
“Remember what I told you,” he spoke quietly, almost a whisper. “About not letting the streets get to you?” Mat walked towards Agnes, and made to lift his hand. To place on her shoulder, or to brush a strand of hair out of her face, or whatever. He wasn't sure why. But he stopped himself before his hand had even left his side. “I can't function in a place like this any more. But you...you still had a chance. Still have a chance. Don't--” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue.
Don't what? Don't become like me?
Who was he to give life advice, anyway?
Instead he settled for a sad, shaky, resigned sigh.
“I'm sorry,” is all he could muster himself to say to the dark haired street rat he had found in a dark alley.
>>> “Peoples’ powers get away from them in the Mansion all the time. I can’t tell you how many times I run around here like an utter basket case because teenage emotions are running high.”
Mat heard the words as they left the blonde's mouth. They floated through the air, danced around him a while, close enough for him to take stock in what they meant, but not close enough to truly take them on board. He felt deaf to what the woman was saying.
All that mattered was the destruction in front of him, and the memories of his last phone call.
>>> ”The infirmary is a long ways away thought…and Doc made the long trip up here to make sure you were alright. The least you could do is let him do his job so his trek wasn’t for naught. I know how guilty you feel right now…but you won’t be any use to the cleanup effort if you’re not completely healthy…”
Mat felt a tightness growing in his chest, an iron grip squeezing his lungs, restricting his oxygen. His conscience, maybe? He sniffled, and clenched his hands into fists, willing them to stop shaking.
”I’m Kealey by the way. I don’t think we’ve met.”
He couldn't shake the anger. The anger that had caused this whole mess in the first place. He could feel it boiling under his skin, threatening to spill over. His guilt was only fanning the flames, his anger at himself doubly intense. His breath started coming in shallow, desperate gasps. His head was swimming, the world beginning to shift and keel. His knees felt like they would buckle at any moment.
A hand gently patted his shoulder.
Mat jumped at first, like a skittish animal, not expecting any contact. The he saw Agnes standing next to him, an expression that told him that she understood. Slowly, Mat began to relax a little, until he wasn't so tense. He turned around, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the hole in the wall.
“Mat,” he replied to the blonde.
He wandered back towards the group, and sat on the bench next to the wall. “I'm sorry for before, but I'm fine, really,” he said to the old man, who was supposedly the doctor here. “It's happened before.”
The doc made his way over to the bench and settled himself down next to Mat, groaning as he did so. “Still, better safe than sorry, right? How many times?”
“Twice, before this.”
“Any side effects? Repercussions?”
“I was in a coma for about a week and a half the first time. Second time...not so long.” The doctor frowned at this.
“Okay, well, I'm going to do a preliminary check, see if everything is alright. Don't be afraid, this won't hurt. Lift your shirt, please.” Mat obliged, and lifted his shirt. The old man closed his eyes, put his hands to Mat's chest, and immediately a golden light began to emanate from them, followed by a soothing warmth. After a moment, he lifted them and told Mat he could pull his shirt down and stared at him with his knowing, doctorly expression.
“When was the last time you slept?”
“About two minutes ago,” Mat replied, not missing a beat.
The pointed glare said that the doctor wasn't amused. Mat couldn't help but relent. He'd already upset enough people.
“...I'm not sure. Four days? I don't keep track of these things.” Mat noticed his leg was now bouncing up and down, unbidden. The questions were starting to get old, the guilt, his barely repressed anger at himself...they were all beginning to come back.
The doctor fixed his glare on Mat. “Young man, your body needs sleep. Without it, systems begin to shut down. Like the ones that regulate powers, for instance...”
“I know.”
“...not to mention what it can do in the long term...”
“I know”
“...your insulin, your immune system, your blood pressure...all of these thing can--”
“I know! I f*****g know, alright!”
So much for being civil.
Mat jumped to his feet and swept his gaze across the group. Now his hands were shaking again, the tremors more intense this time around. A wash of vertigo swept across him, and Mat swayed on his feet. His eyes landed on Agnes, and all he could offer her was an embarrassed expression.
So much for being her street savvy saviour, with all the answers. As it turned out, Mat was nothing more than a sleep deprived joke, afraid of his own pillow.
With only one option left in mind, Mat turned and began walking away, desperate to get out of the building. He had known it was a bad idea to live here from the start. The world spinning, his chest tightening, Mat had to pause and double over. He was left shaking and struggling to breathe, as the world closed in around him.
“Young lady, I tend to the sick and injured, I don't run marathons. If you want to run ahead, then by all means go. This, I'm afraid, is my maximum velocity.”
Runkle gave a huff and a sigh, trying to urge the old doctor to move faster through example. Unfortunately, her example was falling short, and Doc Prof continued moseying along. It wasn't quick enough for Runkle, she wanted to pick up the old man and carry him, racing down the hallways. Maybe then the unconscious man would be okay.
...maybe the hole in the wall would be forgotten...
Bouncing her leg up and down impatiently, Runkle gave the Doc a pleading look. Seventh time's a charm, right? “But what if he's really hurt? We have to get to him as soon as possible!”
Doc Prof gave a weary sigh. “Rose, we're retreading old ground here. I've already told you, at my age the joints aren't as forgiving as---”
A scream emerged from down the hall, muffled in the distance. Doc Prof let out another weary sigh, and gestured for Runkle to go on ahead.
He woke with a scream, like he always seemed to be doing these days.
Like waking from a nightmare, Mat woke with a start, the fearful yell passing his lips before he was even fully awake. From habit, more likely than not. Anyone watching the waking reaction would probably assume that Mat suffered night terrors. A bad dream, that would be forgotten upon waking and would be overridden with the following night's sleep. Except, Mat's terror wasn't forgotten. It wasn't overridden, or washed away with the next night's sleep. It stayed with him for some time, that lingering dread that followed his sleep phobia. After all, sleep was supposed to be the one place a person can find respite from the waking world.
How could he escape his fear when he was afraid of his own safe refuge?
Once the terror and initial panic had subsided to a less intense sense of dread, Mat took a glance around at his surroundings. First thing that came to notice, he was laying on the floor. Someone was crouched next to him, dark haired and young. Familiar. Not a face that he had expected to see again.
“Agnes? What...?”
Another face was floating around in his vision. An unfamiliar, blonde-haired face. Normally, Mat would have tried to make some joke, some crack to elicit a smile from the beautiful blonde one. On most days, Mat would have probably flirted either out of sincere interest, or bored amusement. Right now though, Mat couldn't have cared less. Memories were flooding back. The phone call. The anger. Punching the walls, and subsequently blacking out...
He wasn't an idiot. He could put two and two together.
Now, on top of the dread and unease that trailed him from unconsciousness, guilt was creeping up his spine. He had had moments like this before. Mat began to push himself to his feet, but a gentle hand rested on his shoulder, preventing him from standing. Mat looked up, and saw that two more people had arrived. Another young girl with fiery red hair that he didn't recognise, standing off at a distance, and an old man who was also unfamiliar, to whom the hand belonged.
“Easy son, let me have a look at you before you start gallivanting around.”
Mat slapped the man's hand away, a touch more brusquely than intended, and pushed himself up. “I'm fine,” he snapped. He wandered down the hall, ignoring the group of people that had congregated, frowning at the chaos and destruction that had taken place while he was out. There was a gaping hole in the wall further down, crumbled marble pieces scattered across the floor. Guilty tears pricked at his eyes.
He had done this. He knew it instinctively. It was just like the massacre, just like when he had tried to protect Bloom.
Had he killed anyone?
Unsure what to say, or what to do, Mat stood in the middle of the hall, back to the group, hands buried in his hair, tugging at clumps of the dark, tangled mess.
She laughed. That was a relief. That meant she had a sense of humour. That meant she was alright. Mat grinned along with her as she laughed. Then she mentioned that she was soggy and cold. A small pang of guilt flicked through Mat's body. Shrugging off his coat, Mat shivered involuntarily as the wind caressed him, and offered it to the girl.
“Here. Till you dry off, at least.”
He could live with being cold for a while. It seemed just, after all. He tightened the scarf around his neck. When Mat pointed out the sculpture's shift, the girl turned and yelled out to it, trying to suppress her amusement. Then she spun back to face him, eyebrow raised and lips curled into a subtle grin.
>>> “You know, I'm not really enjoying getting mocked by him for some reason. Or by you.”
Mat's face became a mask of mock indignity. “Me? I was simply sitting there, minding my own business when I happened to see something amusing. I can't be held responsible for that.” His own lips were curled now, into a knowing, mocking smirk. She still hadn't clued on that he was the one controlling the sculpture.
He wondered if she'd put two and two together.
“Besides, you're going about it all wrong. If you want a real reaction from that guy, you're gonna have to do better than just slipping over. Trust me, I've been watching him. He's like a real sculpture. Seriously.” Hopefully she'd go back and keep messing with the 'performer'. After all, this girl had fast become a great source of entertainment for a dull winter's day.
>>> “What on EARTH is going on here? People are trying to sleep.”
Seriously?
Seriously...?
“Well excuse me lady, but some of us happened to find ourselves face to face with a giant stone monster! So sorry if dealing with that inconvenienced your beauty sleep. Next time I'll make sure to destroy the damn thing quietly! I might even let it rampage around a little more, let it kill a student or two. Would that suit you better?” A word was muttered under Runkle's breath, one that rhymed suspiciously with 'witch'.
Seriously, what was this woman's problem?
>>> “Is he unconscious?”
This woman. She was getting on Runkle's nerves.
Runkle decided the best course of action was to ignore this woman, and radiate waves of indignant anger, like only a teenager can. Otherwise, there would be more than marble monsters going kaboom. Runkle turned to the girl and the fallen man. “Is he alright? Did that thing hurt him?” She crouched next to the girl, checking to see that the man was actually breathing. She saw his chest rise and fall, and let out a breath of her own. He was alive. That was a plus. “What the hell was that thing, anyway?”
A sudden wave of paranoia swept over Runkle, and wandered over to where the monster had been when the clone exploded. Where there was once a window and a pristine wall, there was now a gaping hole letting in the cool air. Scorch marks marred the ceiling, the opposite wall, the floor. Chips and pebbles and chunks of marble were scattered along the hall, all that was left of that...thing. Runkle gaped at the hole in the wall, mouth open, eyes bulging.
Okay...so she hadn't meant for that to happen.
Runkle wasn't a fool. She may have saved the day, but that wouldn't stop her from getting into trouble. She tugged nervously, embarrassedly on one of her pigtail braids. “I'm, ah....I'm gonna go get Doc Prof. Bring him here...” As quickly as she had entered the fray, Runkle scurried off towards the infirmary. She wasn't a fool. She knew a quote for this situation, or perhaps she had made it up. Not that it mattered...
'When it all hits the fan, it's time to leave. That's what winners do.' - Runkle
As if to emphasise Andrea's explanation about Cricket being a mutant, the noise of his chirping flooded through the restaurant. Judging by the tone of it, he wasn't happy. Most of the restaurant patrons went dead quiet at the noise, as if making a peep would bring down the wrath of the waiter with long legs onto them. Mat, however, couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing and, unlike Andrea who was trying to stifle her own giggles, made no effort to hide his amusement. His laughter echoed through the room and mingled with Cricket's chirping. Any brief jealousy he may have felt at the man's earlier appearance had died completely. Cricket, he was alright.
With a sudden jolt of energy, Andrea bounded from her seat, grabbed Mat's hand and skipped, he noted with amusement, towards a wall covered in photographs. She pointed to one, and Mat let his gaze linger on it. A grey skinned man, holding the staff up on his shoulders.
Not your usual restaurant decoration.
Mat's eyes began to roam the wall, inspecting photograph after photograph. He knew that some fancy restaurants liked to hang pictures of any famous patrons that may have dined in, but this? Every single photograph seemed to contain a mutant of some kind. It was unlike anything Mat had ever seen. It was...beautiful.
>>> "This is what he meant. They have a custom here of taking pictures of the guests like us. A show of friendship I think. The last time I came here, they wanted to take a picture with me... but... I turned them down. I suppose this time I will have no choice.. They will surely want a picture of you too."
“This...this is astounding.” The wall had stirred something in Mat. Something he was having trouble identifying, something he had trouble distinguishing. Something that he hadn't felt in a long time. For what had seemed like an eternity.
Hope. For mutants and humans alike.
“I...” Words tried to escape him. Mat felt that he needed to say something, anything. That he needed to acknowledge it out loud, in case it disappeared like an apparition, like part some cruel prank, but he found himself unable to talk. Found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the wall. It was everything he had hoped could exist in the world. A mutual understanding between those that were, at once, the same, yet worlds apart. Between humans and mutants. Respect. His thoughts went back, as they tended to do, back to the commune and to his friend Trip. Everything Trip had ever wanted was up on the wall, proofed in photographs. The ability for humans and mutants to live together and focus on something other than powers, or the lack of. And at the same time, the wall was a mocking reminder. Of those who had died in spite of such an idea. Of Sarah, and the others.
Mat gave a cough, and quickly wiped away the few tears that had started to gather, not wanting Andrea to see him carrying on like that. The wall, it was bringing forth strong, conflicting emotions in Mat.
He felt a tug on his hand. The hostess had returned to their table, and Andrea was leading him back to their seats. He followed in silence, trying to shake the sudden melancholy that had begun to blanket him. He was here for fun and company. It wouldn't do to start bringing the mood down. He glanced down at the gloved hand that had wrapped itself around his. The hands that turned life into stone. Earlier, when Andrea had given him his flower, Mat had only seen the artistic possibilities of such a gift. Now, feeling the soft fabric of her gloves, Mat wondered just how much of a curse Andrea's powers were. Could she never touch anything, for fear of what she might do? Had she never experienced the pleasure of running one's fingers along the smooth skin of a lover, a companion? Of even a handshake, firm and safe and secure? Pity for the girl was beginning to rise, and Mat hated it. He didn't want to pity this woman, this beautiful and charming woman. She didn't deserve pity. Pity implied a fault, a weakness or a flaw, and Andrea had neither to his eyes. So she didn't deserve his pity.
That damn wall. It had done something to him. Made him maudlin.
They sat back in their seats and Mat, trying to bring the mood back to what it had been originally, asked her where she came from. She was raising a piece of bread to her mouth when the question was posed, and Mat couldn't miss the pause that had followed. She froze like a deer in the headlights, seeming to debate whether or not to answer him. Deep down, Mat felt something squirm, and he mentally berated himself. He had done it again. Assumed that others who were different could relate to him, like the residents of the commune had. It was like the situation with Agnes all over again. In his rush to be friendly, to forge a bond between his fellow mutants, he had been too forthright, too pushy. And when people thought you were prying, they clammed up. They no longer trusted you.
He wasn't in Kansas no more, there was no commune. It was gone, dead, burnt. Forever.
>>> "I am from Greece, Rhodes to be specific. I do miss home... sometimes. But not for the reasons most do. Home... to me, was not filled with friends. It...was very quiet. Very lonesome at times... but I find myself longing for the solitude now days. This...is hardly the time for sad stories though. New York is a new life for me... right now, with everything going on.. I must look towards the future."
“Or else the past will eat you alive,” he muttered, finishing the train of thought Andrea's words had started. She was right of course, all anyone could really to was look towards the future. “I know exactly what you mean.” Andrea went back to eating her bread, and Mat decided he should as well. It seemed distasteful to break the sullen silence that had descended too early. There was nothing else he could really say.
>>> "Why were you sleeping in the bus?...I find it hard to sleep around strangers...er...well... on buses at least."
Well, silence over.
“I, uh, it wasn't intentional,” he replied. He gazed at Andrea's sunglasses for a moment, trying to peer through the tinted lenses for one more glimpse of those gorgeous eyes. He could easily make up a story about why he had fallen asleep, but what was the point? Lies, especially trivial and pointless lies, helped nothing and no one. “I don't sleep. I stay awake for as long as I can, sometimes days at a time. I guess it just caught up with me.” It had been so long since he had admitted this to another person. The last time he had discussed his somniphobia with someone had been with Trip, when they would work through the fear together, trying to help Mat get on top of his phobia. Trip never needed to sleep. His mutation kept him awake, 24/7. But it also meant he could affect others, stop them from sleeping so long as his powers were active. Many a night, Trip would help Mat ease himself into the comfort of sleeping, would talk him through the terror until finally Mat was no longer afraid. That had been wiped away over a year ago, cleansed with fire.
Mat took a deep breath and plunged into the freezing pool of honesty. “I have a fear of sleep.” He tore off a piece of bread and chewed at it slowly. "Silly, I know."
It had been such a nice day. Nothing special, just the kind of day where things were flowing smoothly and easily, no potholes or speed bumps to derail it. Until Runkle heard the screams and the sounds of things being smashed to pieces. That, to her mind, was the sound of her day going down the drain. Sighing heavily, and letting a muttered curse drop from her lips Rose Unkles made her way towards the source of the commotion...
...and came face to face with a rampaging stone monster trying to swat a swarm of insects out of the air.
Okay, so her day hadn't gone down the drain. It had gone down the toilet.
The creature was flailing around, stone arms smashing into whatever got in its way. Was it a student? Or was it student made? Runkle had been at the mansion some time now, and had never seen another student like that, but it was a big school. It was possible that she had missed them. Either that, or someone was screwing around with their powers. It seemed a tad excessive for a prank. Maybe someone had lost control? Certainly wouldn't be the first time. Probably wouldn't be the last, either. Still, if she didn't do something, chances are someone would get hurt.
>>> “Matt! MATT! Wake up!”
It was possible that someone already had. She spied a girl with dark hair kneeling next to an unconscious, scruffy looking man. She was trying to slap him awake. Runkle frowned at the pair. Had the creature hurt that guy? Crap...this may have been worse than expected.
Looking up, Runkle squirmed at the site of all those bugs. Now that she was paying attention, she realised that it wasn't just flies and wasps. Cockroaches were scuttling over the floor and climbing up the stone man. A shudder ran down Runkle's spine. It was hard to hear anything, the raging buzz of the insect swarm drowning out most other sounds.
>>> “...going to tear down the school!”
The girl was right about that. This was all getting out of hand too quickly. Deciding on action, Runkle rushed over to the pair, and hoisted the girl to her feet.
“Grab his feet, we have to get him out of here.”
Taking the man's hands, Runkle helped the girl drag the man up the hallway, and into a small alcove. With him out of the way, Runkle shoved the girl into the alcove after the man. “Stay down, I'm gonna get rid of this thing.”
Turning to face the creature, Runkle closed her eyes and slipped her shirt off. Now was not the time for modesty. She felt the familiar sensation, something stirring beneath her skin. A bulge began to sprout from her back, swelling and growing. It started as a blob, a shapeless mass of flesh, but after it grew large enough it began to shape itself, becoming more defined. Legs, arms, shoulders, hips, the mass was beginning to take on the shape of a woman. Runkle gave a pained groan, and the mass broke free of her body. Standing next to Rose was a perfect replica of herself. A flawless, naked doppelganger. Runkle quickly put her shirt back on, and made her way to the alcove, pushing the girl down once more and shielding her with her own body. She was probably being a little rough, but that was an issue for later.
The doppleganger stood still for a moment, watching the golem down the hall. Then, with an expressionless face, it sprinted towards the creature. It ignored the stinging insects who had started attacking it, probably perceiving the clone as a threat. Approaching the stone monster, the clone caught a stone backhand as the creature lashed out. Blood began to pour from the clone's nose, but it gave no indication of pain or injury. Instead, it continued forward, clutching the monster for dear life.
That was about when the doppelganger exploded, destroying the golem in a shower of flying marble.
Sickness killed my muse for a while, and now I've just started a new job, so apologies to anyone waiting on posts from me. I'm still around, but my posting may still be slow coming for a while yet. (Sorry again!!!)
The general idea is that the pheromones can indeed override any sexual preference, but that, I imagine, will be more up to the player's own discretion. For the sake of interest, drama and possible comedy, yes, I did imagine that straight characters could fall in love with someone of their own gender, but was going to leave that up to the individual. So it would stand to reason that, yes, gay characters could fall for the opposite gender.
Like I've said, it's up to you who you want your character to fall for
The golem pulled free of the wall, shining with the same gleaming, polished surface of it's source. To anyone watching, as it stood free and turned its head from one side to the other, it may have seemed that the creature had some semblance of intelligence, of awareness and consciousness. As the golem began to wander down the hallway, ignoring the one who gave it life, now laying unconscious on the floor, it may have appeared to be a sentient being, aware of itself and its surroundings. The first time it ran into a statue that was tucked away in a small alcove, knocking it over, before planting a stone fist into the wall behind it, the sculpture could have been mistaken for a mutant, angry and bitter.
In some ways it was. In many, many more ways, it wasn't.
The first punch the golem threw seemed to trigger a reaction. A need to move, to lash out. It began stomping blindly down the hall, knocking over anything that got in its way, striking at walls and windows and tables and anything else within arms length. To anyone watching, it may have looked like its actions were fuelled by emotion, by anger. And they were, except it was second hand emotion. Second hand anger.
In reality, the golem had no real consciousness. It had no sense of the world around it. The reason it ran into walls and tables and statues was because it was blind and deaf to the world. It had no natural senses, and with Mat unconscious, no one to steer it, to guide it around. Its anger, its violence, none of it belonged to the creature. It had no reason, just a vague awareness brought on by an overdose of Mat's mental energy. It wasn't a living creature per se, capable of sentience. All of it, the anger and the rage, was Mat's. All of it had been transferred from Mat to the stone. Unstable emotions loosened Mat's control, made it easier for him to place his essence into a source. Made it easier to lose himself.
Marble, imbued with raw emotion.
So when a sculpture came flying through the air, and shattered against the golem, it turned towards the source of the attack. When it lumbered forward after the culprit, lashing out, its stone hands swiping through the air, it wasn't because of any emotional decision on the golem's behalf. Simply a reaction due to the emotions that it was infused with during creation.
The attacks, the destruction. None of it was personal. It was simply, for lack of a better definition, instinct.
Not that Mat could blame her, of course. She had just slipped over and had some inconsiderate jerk laugh at her. Had their positions been reversed, Mat probably wouldn't have been happy either. More than likely, he would have been angry and humiliated. Luckily for Mat, their positions weren't reversed. Which meant, instead, that he was amused.
Not the kindest of reactions to someone falling over, but an honest one.
By the time Mat had finished laughing, the girl had picked herself up. If she wasn't cold before, then she would be now. Okay, that Mat felt bad about. Today wasn't the day for damp clothes, that was for sure. He asked after her well-being, and she seemed like she was about to answer him, when all of a sudden she started screeching, like only a teenage girl can.
>>> “You freaking statue, you made me spill my drink!”
She spilt her drink? Awww, now he did feel bad. He took a long sip of his coffee, sugar and caffeine rushing through his body. Yep. Now he felt guilty.
Suddenly, the girl turned and focused her attention to where Mat was sitting, stomping her way over, filled of wrath and vengeance, like only a teenage girl can. He let a nonchalant smirk settle onto his face as she made her way over, preparing himself for the inevitable tirade. As she stormed over, Mat gave his golem a mental prompt.
>>> “Hey you! Thanks for none of your concern! Next time you fall over and nearly split your skull open on ice, I’ll be sure to crack up even louder than you did!”
He couldn't help himself. She had given him an opening, and the smart-alec in him couldn't resist.
“Well, from where I was sitting you landed flat on your bum. So the only way you could have split your skull was if you had ya' head up your arse.” He gave her a grin, hoping she could see the funny side of what had happened. All said, she had simply slipped over. Mat had had worse falls when he was drunk. She'd get over it. If not, she was weak to begin with. His grin widened, and he nodded his head in the direction of his sculpture.
“Your statue man moved.”
The sculpture now stood facing towards Mat and the girl, with its hands on its hips and its pelvis thrust out.
