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.
“Yes Sir, Mister Johnson Sir,” the pretty little kitty replied, with a smart salute. “Uniform straight, ironed, and eyelashes unbatted. I’m sure you won’t regret this, Sir.”
Absolutely not. Sincere cat was sincere.
“Thanks,” Calley flashed a grin, at Cafas’ assessment. “I basically thought ‘how do I avoid that question?’, and just fleshed it out from there. With a couple of human interest sob-tears for extra diversionary flavoring.” The shifter made sprinkling motions with his fingers for emphasis. Sincere cat. Continued to be sincere.
Another good diversionary tactic was totally ignoring things. Like Cafas’ comment on his harshness to the X-Men. The NYPD didn’t have enough of a mutant presence, or enough trust built in the mutant community at large, to do its job. They needed the X-Men to keep providing backup. Calley knew it, Cafas knew it, and the upper brass at the NYPD knew it. But he’d curled up on enough station window ledges and purred in the laps of enough normal officers on their coffee breaks to know that a lot of people were not happy with the leaps those X’s could make up the command chain, just for being muties. Out on the streets, officers were supposed to listen to their genetically superior advice when it came to mutant-related crimes, and that could rankle people used to working their way up one ladder rung at a time. Especially when the X-Men on scene were barely old enough to be out of the Academy, if they’d been normal officers.
The point about Kealey was valid, though. She would kill him. Break him, then kill him, then bury him in something classy and non-spandex-y just to bring the point home.
“...I’ll cut that line out,” he demurely agreed.
“Next,” the Italian said, leaning back in his chair, “I was thinking... sexy nurse?”
I'm good to go on this whenever; just send me the link when it's up.
If I may make a suggestion on posting order, something that's worked well in the past with big threads like this is to have a "one or two posts per day per character" rule, rather than a "A posts, the B posts, ..., then Z posts, and repeat the cycle" style of normal threads. Then nobody gets left behind, but slow posters don't hold everyone up, either. (And people that want to move super fast can always break off into a separate thread, as desired.) Does the one-or-two-posts per day with no posting order work for peeps, or would we like to handle the posting a different way?
Kittens make acceptable stair-running velocities slower. Much slower. Unless one wishes to acquaint oneself, at even greater speed, with the floor far below. Leg-twining-mode: engage!
In the library, the refined gentlecat in the ginger-stripped suit leapt lightly across to another bookshelf. The spacing between them was really quite convenient, as was their elevation. He paused to comb a paw through over one ear, and asked a very pertinent question of his dinner guest:
"How high can you count?"
The ginger tom splintered. With a bit of a shivering shake, a gray queen sat beside him. Tom and Queen picked opposite directions, and cheerfully bounded in flanking pursuit. Should the birdie get close enough, such bounds might even be vertical.
As it turns out, stray cats can jump quite high. Would the ever-so-smart bird like to see?
The young mutant leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped in his lap, his eyes the most reformed of blues.
"Officer Johnson," he stated, "I know I'm not the sort of candidate you're used to seeing here. I only just graduated high school; I have a past of living on the street, in homeless shelters, and wherever I could find for the night. The reality of it is, though, is that I'm a mutant. For a decent part of my childhood, it was illegal to be what I am; police could arrest me on sight, just on suspicion of my being what I am, and they could do a lot worse when the blood tests came back positive. In the mutant community, that distrust still runs deep; a lot of people don't think the police are on our side. They think we need to take things into our own hands.
"What I did to Officer Drake was inexcusable. But I'm glad I did it. It changed my life; after that arrest, I got back into school. I turned myself around. And when the riots broke out, I stood up for the side I've come to believe in; I stood by the Officers of the 19th Precinct, and I did everything I could to offer my help as a civilian.
"I could join the X-Men, Sir; you and I both know how quickly they can jump the ranks, with the deputization program. I'm not saying I don't agree with that," that's exactly what he was saying, "All I'm saying is, I want to do this the right way. Mutants are not outside of the law. It's great that the Mayor is so open about allowing mutants into the NYPD's command structure, but until we're treated like regular people, we're always going to be... different. I don't want to get a crash course, and be on the streets in spandex; I want to work my way up and earn my rank, earn your respect, like every other Officer who goes through this Academy. I don't want to special treatment. I just want to be able to look Detective Drake in the eye and thank him for how he changed my life; I want to shake his hand, as an Officer of the NYPD.
"So do you think you could find it, way deep down in the bottom of your heart, to give me a chance, Mister Officer Johnson Sir?" The shifter asked, with a final bat bat of his thick brown eyelashes.
What? It was just too hard to keep a straight face, with Cafas on the other side of the table. A pinked-haired Aussie playing a gruff New York cop? Someone needed to pitch this idea to his agent; there was clear movie potential, here. Maybe even a spin-off comedy show.
Ms. Sara Nobes, in an unbridled affront to manners and the etiquette that existed between lady and gentlecats, made a greedy grab for the golden bangles which engaged both of her arms.
So shocked was he by these faux paws that, truly, all he could do was...
...Stretch out his own hand, and pluck the unguarded cat statue out of her grasp. He wrapped it up in his own grip, with quite a bit more care than she had taken.
"If all you wanted to do was trade, you could have simply asked," the panther man sniffed, tapping one claw of a now bangle-less hand on the head of the stone cat, "there was no need to be so... catty."
Posted by Cheshire on Jun 4, 2013 17:21:45 GMT -6
WereCat likes this
Mutant God
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Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
She explained it. She actually explained it. Now see, that just took all the mystery out of the thing. An old term for mutants? Or simply an old term for cat-faced mutants? Next she was going to say it was an old term from Egypt, a la their mutual heist; she had seemed awfully informed on the subject of their gods, back in the shop.
As her claws oh-so-deliberately pricked at his skin, he aimed a purrfectly prickful smile at her. If she would not provide a proper mystery to this affair, perhaps he could construct one. Life was so much more engaging when one lived from one shadow to another.
“Now now, Ms. Nobes, you make the term sound positively out of circulation.” His tail tip curled into a loop. “One would expect that you, of all people, would know that old things have a way of... returning.” He reached out his hand, and gave the statue under her arm a claw flick directly to its forehead. The stone gave a single solid thack, and fell silent. His tail tip uncurled, and swish-swished sedately behind him as he turned again to leave. He ignored her hand on his shoulder, as he had from the beginning, and as he most certainly had since she’d brought claws into the matter.
“Well then, as I said, it was quite a pleasure seeing you again.”
He paused after a single step, ear tips briefly flicking back towards her, as if troubled. Or... concerned.
“Oh, and--I would be careful, you know. Comparing yourself so boldy with them. Not everything old is fond of the new.”
((ooc: Nico!bird is the best!bird. Having seen his feathers, none can deny. ))
The kitten sat in the doorway, veritably shedding sweetness from its soft black coat as it watched the girl ‘oh no’ and twirl and ice. Oh, burrrrr. Whatever had it done to deserve such a look?
Claw, clip, climb: in the library, the ginger tom reached the top of the bookcase, and took a well-deserved moment to groom his fur back into place. Mmm, it was quite nice up here. The view; the feather-brained breeze; the falsely victorious company.
“You know,” he spoke conversationally, in between licks as he groomed his fur back into its pristine earthbound appearance. “Your vocabulary is really quite limited. What do you say we find a dictionary, you and I?”
Dear, he hoped it wasn’t getting tired at all, the poor little cage-kept dear. What a shame it would be if he, say, groomed himself until the little morsel looked like it wanted to settled down on a perch... and then jumped over there, himself. With a casual pounce, the tomcat cleared the gap between one shelf and the next, and settled down near where the birdie’s victory circle was going next. Mmm, yes. Those feathers were the best feathers; he would simply encourage them to an encore lap. And another. And another~
Part of him--a certain very fuzzy part--knew that they might not have enough time for that strategy; but a ginger-stripped part of him was having far too much fun to care.
Kiss accepted. Slightly more than accepted. Okay okay, hallway door was still open and they were still standing directly in it,, kiss should probably stop now.
Aaaand done.
“So, am I going to meet this Allison before the premier?” Calley grinned a grin that could not possibly be good for anyone. “You think you're getting good publicity now; what would happen if we tossed another man out for the papers to see?”
Had he just suggested a publicity stunt threesome? Why yes, perchance he had. Because it was not the tabloid rumors that Calley minded, per se; it was the ‘not orchestrating them himself.’ Two years, and Cafas still had a lot to learn about Calley-psychology.
Oh god Cafas looked like he was going to cry. Big muscle-bound metal-working Australians built in the approximate size and shape of a doorframe should not cry. How was Calley supposed to--? That was not a fair reaction.
In four words: the bristling was immediate. His hand stiffened in the Aussie's, as the pink haired man expressed his love.
The same as he had been saying it. For two years. Without fail.
"Are you saying I have trust issues?" The shifter shot back.
He made sure to shoot off the rest, before Cafas could open back up his man-trap.
"Because I do. So the next time a movie studio asks you to make out with a pregnant girl for a publicity stunt, could you please warn me ahead of time? I get it. That you've got a life. And you're some kind of... successful actor now, and people are going to ask you to do stupid things. I don't give a **** about the publicists. I give a **** about you."
He dragged his hand back, and whipped it off in circles in his hair. It was a gesture that looked a heck of a lot more slick when he was in cat form.
"And I kind of overreact, sometimes. So. Don't let me hear things from trashy papers. Especially ones who take photographs like that."
Seriously. Cafas' face did not look that squished when he was kissing. Calley had seen it, plenty of times.
Calley did not go for the window. He couldn't carry a box out of the window. He moved directly in front of Cafas' big lumbering frame and waited patiently for it to get out of his way. Instead, it started talking.
The kid wasn't his.
...Admittedly, that was a good place to start.
Allison was raped. Who was Allison? Oh right, the film hussy. Who maybe wasn't an actual hussy. Also, who looked very familiar; her name rang a few bells, too, but he wasn't going to focus on those right now.
Right now, he was focusing on Cafas' eyes, and the way their shades were changing. He waited until they'd made up their minds. Then he held out his box.
"Hold this," he said, and went to get his decoder. It was in the third box he checked, sandwiched in the pages of a book on rodent anatomy. Rodents, because he'd met Cafas as a mouse. Also, there were all kinds of crazy rodent-like-things in Australia, which is where Cafas was from.
The page read like this:
Light Pink=Surprise – hot pink= anger - Purple=rage
Black=Pain/Any overwhelming emotion, anything completely out of control
Light green= uneasiness/anticipation/excited –
...
Right now, Cafas' eyes were dark brown, and pink pushing purple. Calley spent a moment studying his scrawled notes, then marched back over to the metalmancer, and pointed at the sheet as if it were evidence admissible into a court of law.
"Regret, shame, and surprise?" He stated, his own baby blues narrowed. "Am I supposed to believe regret, shame, and surprise?" Surprise pushing anger. Oh, he knew that feeling.
The catboy stared as Cafas took one steadying sip of his wine. His pink bangs had gotten into his face again. Was his hair pink, in the movie? Calley realized he had no idea. Did Cafas want to keep going with this actor thing? Make an actual, legitimate career of it? Was he going to close his shop (one interview paid more than he made in a month), leave the Mansion, and start being a... a reputable public role model?
Moving out. To their own place.
Cafas took another sip of wine. Calley leaned forward, and kissed him.
"Mmm," he said, when it ended; "That stuff's good. I could get used to this." He lifted his own cup, and raised it in a toast.
The cat had no objections to being a kept man.
"**** you, Cafas." He said. There was no particular passion in his voice: it was a statement, more than anything. His things were already mostly packed; that was good. That made it easy to move back into his apartment. The one facing Central Park. The one paid for on his own dime; contrary to his fashion sense, he wasn't a charity case.
He tossed the magazine on the bed, and went to pick up a box, with no further ado. What needed to be said? Really, what was there to say, that everyone in the Mansion hadn't heard before him? He'd just finished his last final. He'd passed: he knew he'd passed. He'd studied, he'd gone in, and he'd owned that thing. He'd passed all of them. He was going to graduate this year.
It had taken him a long time to realize that the smiles around him, and the high fives behind his back, hadn't been other people celebrating. It had been the ass-shifter who'd finally given him the magazine. Turns out the guy was a better friend than most.
The Dawn of True Love? Rashell and Jamel's Real Life Romance!
Will their child be born before the premiere?
The picture wasn't exactly of a chaste kiss; someone had been enjoying himself, and it hadn't been on a movie set.
**** you. Because apparently someone had, and Calley knew it hadn't been him.
Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes, the stripping happened. Calley didn't take much note of the dog's reaction—the pitbull went wandering off to his living room, and that was good enough for him. He poked his head around the corner to make sure she wasn't doing dog things all over the place, but his suspicious eyes just found the pooch lying on the floor. She wasn't even on the couch. Hrmph.
All right, then. As long as she kept being... sedentary, then this might work out. For the night. No way he was keeping a dog longer than that.
He opened the hallway closet and pulled out a towel; a few moments later, the sounds of running water started in the bathroom, along with a distinct rise in humidity. Ah, blessed hot water...
If by chance a naked lady ever happened to be in his apartment, she'd find clothing, though nothing much feminine. In the bedroom, Calley's closet and drawers came stocked in two flavors: Business Formal, and Poverty Case. He had button up shirts, ties, suits; he had tattered t-shirts big enough to drown in, sweat pants with holes in the knees. He had nothing in-between; not in this apartment.
The Italian was clearly a classy gentleman, with a distinguished taste in... extremes.
He took a nice ten, fifteen minutes in the shower—then he stepped out in a swirl of steam, toweling his hair dry, and headed for his bedroom.
))