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.
Strange, the man thought. A voice from nowhere. A ghost, perhaps? As master of the undead, he felt such things should fall within his purview. His command, if you will. But maybe that was not fully in-line with the lore?
Lore? What was he even talking about.
He could not see something which had made a noise. He stood up, and looked around. If something unseen had made a noise, the most logical answer was that he had not seen it.
>> "Which one of you blood sacks said that?" He asked in an absurdly calm manner. Why should he fear the unknown? He was an immortal. It most likely had been one of the passengers. To think it had been some shade who did not accept his command was— unthinkable.
>> "The one who's going to send you back to Transylvania, or sesame street. Or wherever you came from." An unseen voice cut in. Again.
His brow furrowed. It was all one piece, this brow. Like a very hungry caterpillar. So the caterpillar bunched up, perplexed.
—
In the other car, Amelia hurried past a skater boy on the way to the door. Her leg bumped into the knee of a woman with brown hair, who had bunched up in on herself, sleeping. She turned and snapped off a quick apology. As she hurried on to the next car, she compartmentalized the thought “Kind of cute, maybe talk to after issue is resolved…could be interesting.” But there was no time for that currently.
As she surveyed the scene in the next car over, something whispered in the back of her mind. The ghost of a memory. A nagging feeling. Face? Something about a face. Familiarity? She dismissed it as unimportant. The ghost of a memory stomped its foot in annoyance, in the back of her mind.
There was a man, absurdly dressed. Her wore an overcoat, a few centuries out of style. Not like her overcoat, which was stylish. Even in this New York heat. Oh, the sacrifices we make for fashion.
The man had blood on his face, around his mouth and chin. A woman behind/beneath him had a hand on her neck and was cussing him out about biting her. He was not looking at her, though. He was looking at air. Then, he spoke to it. He did not have an affected Dracula accent or anything. No wait, he totally did. It was horrible, and obvious.
“Sesame Street,” He wiped at his mouth with his sleeve. “Und vhere ist dat?”
Amelia blinked at him. What in the what now?
“Where the air is sweet, Robert?” She said calmly, approaching him slowly where he could see her. She stopped before she would have walked through the nothing that wasn’t there, pink and holding a not-baton. The one she could not see. “I can tell you how to get there, if you’d like. But Robert… you need to come with me. You’re off your medi—“
He interrupted her violently. “Dracula!!” He said, around very real, pointed fangs. “Lord of the undead! Master of darkness!!”
Quietly, she replied. “You’ve got blood on your white cravat, Robert. You’ve been drinking again… Dr. Acula wants you come home. Come home, Robert… don’t do this.”
“Please, don’t get violent.” Amelia wished.
The woman on the ground scooted away. People in the car were leaving. They gave them a wide berth.
Robert “Dracula” Drake stared real hard at the nothing between them. Then, he chuckled to himself. And got a very serious look on his face, almost psychotic, like he was trying to force his will upon the universe.
“Transient spirit, come to my aid. Rid me of this troublesome woman.”
If it didn’t, he was gonna punch it. Wherever the voice came from next.
He was over 500 years old. His father had been a lord in Transylvania. He had tried to follow in his footsteps, expanding their rule and strengthening borders in Wallachia. He had intimidated many, with a pike and a body. Sometimes, he did not even need a body. Sometimes a wooden stake in the ground would suffice, in place of the pike. The important thing was using a head. Not one’s head. Never your own head, but… someone’s head.
He had fought against many. Magicians in France, insane people who claimed themselves lord of the undead. Hunters, who chased him for simply living his life. They found him, killed him, and he survived. They wrote a book, bragging of their success. It had been greatly exaggerated. Since then, several writers had come and gone, using that mythos. His legend. Extolling the virtues of garlic, the power of a wooden stake. Laughable. One did not turn to dust. It was a pause. Held in place, no movement, no healing. In time, he might either and decay. But remove the stake, and he would revive. So long as he had a head. To kill with a stake? Laughable. Also, his kind never glittered in the light of the sun. He had sent letters. No replies.
The man chuckled to himself as he boarded the subway. The memory of his firm looming over the author, his feast after tracking her down. It was sweet. But now, he hungered. It was after dusk, around nine on a Monday. The car he entered was half full. Many attractive women were on board.
His black suit was musty. Like the grave. The cowl of his cape was pointed, inner lining, red. The soles of his shoes were thin. He flexed his toes in them. New shoes were needed. 100 years was a long time for wear to enter into a shoe. Maybe he would take from his next victim. Yes. He liked to take. Deserved. After all, he was a count.
—
Some blocks away, police were standing by the broken front window of a shop that sold costumes. Earlier that night, someone had broken and entered. The owner said the only theft had been—
—
“… count on you to send your best agent?” Doctor Acula had a nervous cadence to his voice. His accent was thickly European. Hungarian, Romanian, maybe? No. With the way he put emphasis on the second to last syllable, pronounced certain letter sounds, and changed others… polish.
“Yes.”
“Prisoner 666 is dangerous, absolutely. A mutant with supernatural strength and endurance, he is a man child. A psychopath,” pronounced psy kopath. “Meester Drake thinks he IS the title character from the bram stoker novel. Yes. He thinks he is—“
—
D R A C U L A. The cover on the young woman’s book read. She looked up, and saw one.
“Freak convention in town,” she sighed. “New York is so weird.”
—
One minute later, Amelia looked up from memes on her phone. There had been a sound, a scream from the next subway car over. Her work phone buzzed in a pocket of her long leather duster. She slid her personal phone away and glanced at the work phone as she moved towards the second car. From the sounds of people in the car, it sounded like someone had gotten bit.
“New York is so weird,” Amelia muttered to herself. Then she read the work text, and the color drained from her face.
The fire mystic had landed right in her. Serena had not dodged in time. As Amelia rushed forward, the flames stayed the exact same color to her. White. She braced herself for the heat, and tried a shove. It… was not as hot as she would have thought.
“Magic,” she sighed. Then she went back to shoving as hard as she could, smacking the mystic again and again. They were huge, though. They hit back, and sent her tumbling several steps back, onto her ass. Just in time, it turned out.
Water crashed along the battlefield, putting out fires and forming walls as it went by. The water rushed over the flaming mystic and Serena. It would have hit her, if she had not been moved. Then, Hercules appeared seemingly from out of nowhere. She had completely missed him being tossed through a building. There was drywall dust in his hair.
The big tattooed man backhanded the formerly flaming mystic across the courtyard. Amelia approached, just as he asked Serena how bad she had been hurt.
“He fell out of the sky onto her legs, on fire. And then she got hit by a wave of water. Which is hell on fabrics if you haven’t enchanted them against it. Here,” She offered the woman an arm up. If her legs weren’t broken, she could still fight. Use help, but still. Fight.
“Probably cold. I can lend you my leather jacket. It’s mostly fire and waterproof. Some force, too.”
Amelia had not seen the shot miss Rebecca and hit somebody else. She had focused on the mystic, who kept blocking their shots. Then someone shouted at him, saying he had missed. Wha—? Oh good.
Hercules landed nearby. With. Turret guns. Then he flew… jumped… with one of the guns as a club. Engaging the mystic. She holstered her gun. Maybe he would have better luck. His was bigger.
Something dropped onto the lawn next to her and Serena. Amelia stared at it.
“Hallelujah,” she muttered to the fashion mogul. “It’s raining men.”
Amelia left the boss man to the heavy hitters for the moment. She spent the next couple of seconds shooting giant blue hand constructs at falling mystics, redirecting them so none hit either her or the woman, Serena. She couldn’t hit hard, but— at least she could shift them with a shove or a punch, as long as they were wearing clothes. Until one wasn’t.
Her coat billowed as Amelia spun towards the nearby mystic.
“Serena, watch out!” It was falling right at her, wreathed in magic flames. And nothing else. Nudity. Her only weakness. “I can’t stop them!”
> The woman smirked, and Amelia smirked right back. Then, her mind finally placed the face. Ho-ly shit. Serena Lockhart, CEO of — Amelia followed fashion. She liked the clothes the woman’s company put out. Maybe couldn’t afford them, but— she had just been saved by a fashion mogul. > > ‘God Bless Clothes,’ Amelia thought to herself. Then, she watched a fiery explosion in black and white. The portal went down. And distantly, she heard a second explosion simultaneous to the first. > > Her joints ached. Back, throbbed. Later, there would be painkillers. Body armor does not block all, but for the moment— Amelia wiped the bloodied corner of her mouth clean and got herself prepared for battle. Only to hear a howling in the air. A figure trailing fire flew onto the scene. From a distance, he had a handsome face and tattoos, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was not only did he have fire, he had wind. He used it to break his momentum, and she did not even have time for breaking wind jokes because dust was everywhere and she held up a sleeve to cover her face. > > “Portal down. But. Incoming big mystic in courtyard, Sabine.” She coughed into her comms. “He-“ She stopped as he raised his hand, said bang. And— Amelia did not see what happened to the redhead (black and white in her vision, but Becca all the same). “He just shot a force blast at Becca, that bastard.” Her voice lacked flavor, as if she could hardly think enough to put emphasis on any of the words. > > Mind = recalculating. > > “I am going in.” She muttered into the comms. She made to rush the guy, and figure out strategy later. A blast of stench several yards ahead gave her pause. Amelia staggered back, and coughed some more. Her throat felt red. > > Again, recalculating… > > She drew her side arm, and trained it on the mystic. This probably wasn’t going to work but he shot at Becca. Play shit games, win shit prizes. Amelia attempted to shoot a mundane bullet at 5th supreme . > > The Fifth Supreme smiled as he saw some woman in a big coat draw a gun at him. With a flick of his hand, he moved the winds to whirl around him and tossed a bit of fire into the vortex. The shot was redirected upwards in a spiral of air and heat. This move had the added benefit of pushing any air-based attacks, like, say, a stinking cloud, away from his person. Up up and away.
Bubbles, huh? And they were in a club? She made a mental note of that, alongside the real name. Madison.
Amelia nodded. “Pleasure to meet you.” Some smiled, and drank. It was good.
As her mind compartmentalized various details of the day, a familiar face drew up and sat nearby. The comment about “bubble butt” suddenly made a whole lot of sense. Stage names. Jokes. Fun. Were these two something, with the teasing?
Hm.
Scotch was always a good choice. Another note.
And world domination, huh? All this domination talk. Yeah. If they weren’t an item, yet, the key word there just might be ‘yet.’
Amelia’s eyes drifted over to Aura, in her new face and her bloodstained camouflage hoodie, coated in a thin pink aura. Like battle zone Hello Kitty. It was a look, for certain. And oh hey, she could see colors again? Yeah? She hadn’t really noticed that in the background until that moment. The curse had faded.
She nodded to Aura. Raised her glass. Then her hearing snapped to something. Serena had made a comment about tentacles, and yes. Amelia could not help herself.
She mumbled something about “Yeah. Tentacles are a whole different type of domination.” She realized herself, and added. “Um. Yeah. So anyways.” Coughed after a hasty sip of her drink, blushed. Looked at the two of them, embarrassed. “Sorry. Been a long day. I’m Amelia,” she nodded to Serena, suddenly very self-aware. “Not sure if I introduced myself when you saved my sight earlier. Thanks for that. All better now.” She tapped her head. “If I looked in the mirror right now, I am sure I would see, ohhh, so much red.”
>> "How about a cocktail? We've got all night.” The woman said.
“Yeah, how about one?” Amelia chuckled. “That actually sounds really nice.”
She fell silent while the woman made her a drink, but opened her mouth when she asked her a question.
>> "I'm guessing this was a bit more than a typical day at the SUPER office, right?"
Hmm.
How to handle that one. She closed her mouth and nodded. Received her drink gracefully.
A blushing nymph? “Thank you,” she smiled. Then, conspiratorially she added “Actually, I wasn’t even supposed to be here today, at work, I mean. I sort of snuck back in and got on the comms. I don’t think my boss even expected me to join, but—“
She had been looking for someone. She had not seen them. That was kind of a downer.
“It was too important to ignore.”
They were either dead, or had left the mystic cult (and probably the country), hopefully the latter.
She took a sip of the drink, and grinned. “Really good.” She said. “Thanks again. My name is Amelia. What’s yours?”
It was kind of weird for her to have been searching for one specific mystic after all this time. Especially one who had ghosted her. So whatever. Moving on.
And suddenly, Amelia was in a strip club. In a battered, war-torn trench coat. Sitting at the bar, holding her shot by the rim between fingertips. A pretty girl had poured them out for everyone, and said something about magic.
Amelia sighed. She felt tired, bruised, and burned. But the place seemed nice enough, and the girl who had poured them shots had a smile that certainly screamed “Magic.”
How had this even happened? She’d brought in the leader of the mystic cult, handing them off to Sabine. Then, she had wandered off, pulled in by a siren’s song. Someone was making lots of suggestions, like “everyone, over here!” “Come on!” And on the bus, “shots shots shots.” She did not think it had been mind control. The suggestions were certainly ones she would have taken, on her own. And she was off work, it wasn’t her shift. So— she had followed. And now, here she waaaas~
She knocked back the shot. Then, she smiled at the girl who had poured shots.
“Hey, can I please have another?” She said. “Psychically kicking the Cataclysm in the nuts takes a lot out of a woman.” She held up her empty glass.
That’s what they were calling the guy, now, the one who had destroyed the mansion. A cataclysm. A walking disaster, he was. She wore a smile, but really, she was masking a lot of pain. ‘But that’s what the shots are for,’ she told herself. Also, she was definitely going to try and get the bartender’s name.
Blind, moved on her own. Almost helpless. She felt like a baby. To her senses, it all started with a sloshing, swirling sound she struggled to place, Amid the screams and … and what she could only describe as stock sound board “space laser”… also, explosions and gunfire. It almost sounded like when ice cracks when plopped into a soda glass, only on a grander scale. Several times. Then, a familiar voice from a long time ago, someone called Neptune, had her. Calling for help. Which arrived in short order.
The voice was feminine. A Quick murmur, incantation? And then a hand over her eyes. Sight came back, but like the lady had said, different. Tweaked. And she saw—
As vision returned, Amelia Mellitus saw a very pretty middle-aged lady dressed to the nines in black. And white. The whole world, in fact, was a contrast of blacks and whites and grays. She smiled a crooked smile at the woman.
“Thanks, pretty lady. It’s grayscale now. Whole world is in a Snapchat filter, but that is worlds better than what it was…” She could almost kiss her. But— battle. Danger. In fact. Amelia raised her left hand up past one side of the woman’s head, and opened it. Closed her eyes for a second, and let a construct -pulse- into the black glove. It flew off her hand, in a straight line, closing as she opened her eyes to control it.
Now that she could see, she could fight. A construct in a physical form could interact with the physical world, beyond clothes. Amelia fired a glove rocket punch straight through an incoming minute meteor. It came out the other side, as the Missile several yards away scattered into sparks and ashes. The glove swung back around, and slid back into her left hand. It was only slightly worse for wear.
“Thanks again. Whoever you are. You too, 🐹Neptune.” They HAD said Neptune. One name was good as any right now.
Sabine spoke to her, and Amelia took the notes in stride. Watch Ass, check. Incoming to courtyard. She ignored the X leader comments. Rude.
Across the lawn, she saw the sprinklers come on. A guy in golden lion armor got soaked. He was standing right over one of the sprinkler heads. Body language said: pissed.
Fire guy, edit: Rex, did his thing. Some woman shouted about hexes. Amelia snapped her focus to searching for wherever that would have been coming from, unsure how she would have managed it in any event. She needn’t have bothered. The flaming sword went snicker snack and Rex claimed another win.
“Mkay. He’s good.” Amelia muttered quietly to herself.
A moment later, a line appeared in the air, and— she saw trees beyond the portal. She saw two humvees. On top of them were—
Shitshitshit!!!!
“Take cover!!” Rex shouted, and Amelia tried. She really tried. But— someone managed to target her and send her flying.
If she had been a vanilla human, she would have been toast. But she was a mutant. She had enchanted her overcoat and her gloves with multiple layers of protection. Kevlar, for ballistics, fire, and heat, and ceramic plating, against slashing and bludgeoning. Big impact force. High temperatures resistance was double-dipped. She could only empower up to five separate articles of clothing at once with her enchantments, and— gloves (2), duster (1), pantsuit top (1) and pantsuit bottom (1). She was wearing the full kit.
A burst of heat and kinetic force sent her flying, but she was well-armored against such an attack. Her hair may have gotten a little charred before she forced her will into animating the hood of the duster to snap up over her head, and hunkering down with her arms in front of her face, but— aside from Intense heat and the impacts from the initial blast, and from landing after wards, she was alright. Bruised, but alright.
As she cursed and pushed herself up off the ground, a dozen people poured through the portals following the humvees. Armed with guns, staves, swords, fists, and— another red streak flew towards her and the area around the mansion steps. She assumed a kneeling position again, arms up, head down, braced. But this time it was not fire. It was not electricity (which she had a minor degree of protection from). It was not acid or bludgeoning force. It was another hex.
The hex passed over over her softly, without disturbing anything at all. The world went black.
Into the comms, she said: “Dozen people and two humvees with guns just portaled into mansion grounds in front of entrance. Armed to teeth, and— I’ve been hexed. I cannot see.” She cut the comms, and took several uneven steps backwards, towards the mansion (and where she thought she remembered Rex being). He wasn’t. He’d dove towards the fountains. But
“Argh!” A stray bullet hit her chest and sent her stumbling backwards. She was fine. Bruised, but fine. It hit the duster. She still shouted out— “I’ve been hit! And hexed! I cannot see!!!” She shouted to anyone who could hear.
She lobbed the white shield construct blindly at where she hoped people might be- a mystic flinched as it hit him dead in the head, and passed through, kept flying, dissipated into nothing.
Amelia constructs can only interact with clothing! The mystic laughed and laughed, sword swinging by his waist. Was the corner of her mouth bleeding? Or was it her nose. Her sense of balance suddenly — wasn’t. She fell to one knee, bracing herself against the ground. Hooded head bowed, Amelia started to wonder if maybe she had been hurt more than she had first thought…
Whale go boom! Club go thump, thump! Sam go wheeeeee, Hawaii Hercules go whooo! Light Saber go bwimg bwoom as whale go pfrt! All of that happened rapidly in very little time. Amelia would have flapped her hands and made the sound effects herself with manic glee, if asked to describe events to her boss. Good thing she did not have to. And had Sam said hi to her before he’d been tossed—- as he’d been getting tossed?! “Heeeeeey,” she had called after him.
The whale falling apart was pretty hard to describe, too. Who was fire guy with the white sword? Time enough for questions later, mystics were flying and some were appearing near her position by the doors. Fireballs streaked from fire man into the squad, boom boom boom. She thought, maybe, a few had fallen before the assault. Unconscious, like they had been hit with a sleep whammy? Or maybe a dart sticking from one neck was a clue.
“Someone has a tranquilizer gun around these here parts…” Amelia muttered.
Some distance away in a tree, Lenna looked up from her sights and smiled.
Amelia snapped her gloved left hand to her side, and formed a construct shaped like a circular shield, the exact shade of white as fireman’s sword. She hauled it back like a frisbee and chucked it at the remaining members of the squad. Amelia moved her left hand as she directed it, so that it hit people dead in the chest, bowling them over, then seemed to bounce from one mystic to the next. That ought to even odds.
A screaming mystic charged them and she summoned a fist construct right below waist level. He ran straight into the white construction, stopped then fell over holding himself. Amelia shouted to the fierce fireball mystic. “So what’s your name?” “I’m Amelia.” She paused, then spoke into the comms someone had given her earlier. “Sabine, this is Amelia Mellitus checking in. I’m by the front doors of the mansion Fighting mystics that’s just appeared. “Teleported in. Some are flying not too far off. Status fine. With fire guy and Hercules.”
Amelia Mellitus Her face HAD changed. That had surprised me Shinbo.
“It’s a long story. A wizard did it. So this… is personal…” she had said. He had gone ‘uh huh’ and seemed mildly annoyed at the melodrama. Whatever.
It was personal. She’d kissed a mystic and she’d liked it. The mystic had (with her help) changed her entire physical appearance. And then, she had ghosted her. Amelia had never found the woman. Maybe she would be here? So Amelia could kiss her— kick her FACE! And protect the school and all that too, yeah? She had not alerted super. It was her day off, short notice, and it did not fit their MO. Mystics weren’t mutants. So that was her excuse (sorry everyone).
Amelia did not noticed Aura, who she still had not called. She did notice the guy from the night club she had danced with in another life though! The loud shirt man? She went by the doors and greeted him. At least she thought it was him, she had been a little drunk back then. He’d been infinitely more noticeable than aura though, with the shouting.
“Yo. Hawaii right? From the club? Nice club by the way.” Club from the club. She should stop. A burning bush appeared and made her jump. Oh but it was a friend of Hawaii. She put her game face back on.
Coral girl? Nope. Had not met her. Amelia nodded though, as if she had.
Funny, mirror had been just as surprised as everyone. Their dumb shocked face was always worth seeing.
Aura was alright. Good. Her words about mutants being people she would help, up until they started causing undue harm to her people… made Amelia note to be ultra quiet about her day job.
‘Oh yes, I am a police officer type who arrests bad mutants and used to kidnap and tag dangerous elements for science and future avoidance slash location slash preventative measures.’ This comment here, people. This is what would have caused Aura to kill her, if she made it. But she wouldn’t. And didn’t. Instead, Amelia just nodded her head.
Right, aura likes protecting mutants. Checked and noted.
Good she did not kill people, good to know. Yes, mystics did indeed make it hard didn’t they? Was that was they called themselves? Mystics? Okay.
Aura wanted to swim? Long way for a swim. Amelia arched an eyebrow at that. They’d touch upon that subject again, briefly. But first—
More flirtation? More talk. More digesting knowledge.
>> “A mystic stole your face huh? They kidnapped me after i stopped them from kidnapping children and used me as a puppet to kill mutants for bets. And yet without one of them we would not both be here. Strange how fates works my pretty friend.”
Aura talked more about when they’d first met and yeah, that sounded like her. Poor lady, sounded like she had baggage what with the “monstrous ways” comment. Probably not the type to openly flirt with, unless you wanted a bad time.
“Probably a good thing not to eat random animals off the street,” Amelia agreed. “Avoid New York hot dogs if you want to continue the trend. And yeah, mystics, whew. The whole thing—“.
She started walking towards the exit, hoping Aura would follow as they talked.
“It was less ‘stole face’, more— she and I were on a date and one thing led to another and a different kind of magic happened than the one I had expected?” She raised her voice on the last part, trying to play it like a joke. Although truth be told, that Magic had happened as well. Before, she thought. “Really can’t remember the fine details but I think it was a ritual and somewhere, deep down, I was willing. She said I would have had to have been, for the Magic to work. Sooooo… guess my experience was notably more positive than their kidnapping you and torturing you by making you a killer marionette. Because — hold on a second.”
She turned. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride? It’s a long walk underwater to the mainland and I trust him. And if you have any complaints—“
Amelia dug in one of her numerous pocket in her coat, and found a pad of post its and a pen. She jotted something down, then tore the top more off the pad and passed it to Aura.
“You can call the complaint department. My number.” She smiled slyly.
>> ”It is where one dons colorful clothing or something that grabs the attention of a suitable mate in the wild. Much like the bright feathers of a male peacock.”
“Ah, I see,” Amelia agreed. Basically, magnificent poofs. Though everyone was one at some point so whatever. “Like a peacock, got it.”
As they danced, he intoduced himself and had Amelia heard they right? Hercules?
She had the sudden urge to tell him “surely, you jest!” But he rolled on with the talky talky… and she figured if she had said it, he’d have just replied “I’m perfectly serious, and don’t call me Shirley,” or… more likely, he’d have said “no. You Amelia, me Hercules. No jest.”
More talking. He seemed nice enough. Talking of Hawaii.
“Not in fashion. Just fashionable,” she told him. “And yeah, Hawaii really is a magical place.”
She’d never been. Should have. Maybe if she’d had someone to take, but… most of her relationships had inevitably fizzled. Maybe if business took her.
Speaking of business… “really into Magic.” She continued, trying to be heard over the music. “Used to be a magicians assistant. Designed my own outfit and everything. Still know how to do some of his tricks. You ever see any magic, Herc? Other than that smile, of course.”
She smiled and flattered. Dumb flattery really, how would he even see his smile unless he practiced in the mirror. Nothing magical about that. Why had she even—
((ooc Romulus may be out but we’re gonna wrap up here if that’s cool with everyone.))
The other woman was alright, though it took a feat of mutant strength for her to extricate herself from the hole into which she had fallen.
While she freed herself, Amelia took stock of herself. She was rattled, adrenaline was pumping, ears still ringing, but hearing was rapidly coming back. It wouldn’t be perfect but things were becoming a bit more clear, if dampened. She was bruised, but not injured. The man had escaped. He had not climbed out of the hole to take them on.
Why hadn’t he just fled before while they were dazed, if he could go through walks? Whatever. She shook her dazed head. Point was, they were alive which was better than some could say. And he was gone.
Words came to her and she focused back on Aura. Sorry, Unknown Mutant.
“Um.”
Had the woman just asked for a kiss?
“I’m fine,” she said loudly. Her voice volume was still compensating for her hearing.
The best course of action here was to not comment on the flirtatious woman’s comments… not that they weren’t appreciated, but time and place. Plus, job. Did SUPER wear body cams? No, she did not believe they did. But if security cameras at the prison were operational, she did not want to give them anything juicy. She had only just got off probation for the last juicy thing she had done.
“My name is Amelia. We met years ago. I was Mirror’s girlfriend back then. He introduced us. I probably bugged you with questions. You wouldn’t recognize me now. A wizard changed my face. Well. My everything. And I guess technically, she was a witch and not an ugly bastard like him, but…” She was rambling unprofessionally. It had to stop. In a minute. One last thing. “I bet on them having invited you to the baby shower, like Mirror invited me. Guess I was right. You okay?”
She seemed okay, at a glance. Four limbs, one head, all in proper places, but one can never tell. She could have been injured internally.
Her coats inner pocket vibrated, as if on cue. Amelia tore off her riot helmet, revealing her face. Slightly reddened on one cheek, from where one ear had leaked following the big noise, but still clean and friendly. With brown hair cut in a bob that framed her face. Entirely unfamiliar to UM, but then, she had said that.
She held up one finger on her gloved hand as she pulled out the black disc with a blue X on its face, and held it to her ear.
She was quiet a moment, the said “Louder, please.” More silence. “Okay. Guys gone. One minute while I talk to someone? Stay there.”
Amelia covered the disc, and turned back towards UM.
“UM. That was an X-man named Shard. He’s outside. I called for backup a while ago, and they just arrived. He’s cool. If you trust me, I can arrange a flight back to the mainland for you through him. As a thanks. For the help. Thanks for the help, by the way. You didn’t have to do that.” More quietly, she added. “Not even sure how you got here in the first place, NGL. But it sure was timely.”
She smiled weakly, and hoped UM was still willing to be friendly beyond all of that.
The woman likely needed a ride. They were on an island, for gods sake. How?
