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.
Plastic pokéball: five dollars on Ebay. Pink Fairy Armadillo form: a tightly curled fit. A true Pokémon-from-ball experience: well worth being thrown through the air.
The ball broke open on impact, and Calley tumbled out under guise of the illusionary lights show, shifting to his proper battle form.
From the light emerged a black silhouette. It bounced lightly on the trampoline, tucking up into a rolling pinwheel of tails before landing on four large paws its body would eventually grow into. Light and silhouette faded, giving way to soft red-brown fur and a line of six tails that marched down its spine. The fox kit braced its legs on the trampoline, and gave a mighty battle yip towards the opposing team.
Yeah. That about summed up why he hadn’t gone. The double bagged, single toweled ice was accepted with dubious hands. It was rather chunky and stuffed and solid. His nose was rather soft and un-solid. He was unsure how advisable connecting the two would be.
>> "Besides the fact that we libertines were sorely needed... I actually went to bargain. The Order did the smashy, smashy as we so often do and the rebels paid us back in the form of a few brilliant scientific minds and some machinery that isn't exactly legal in the states."
Calley flashed a small grin. “Nice, Boss La—”
Expletives deleted, and ice bag removed from nose. Oww. Just... oww.
>> "Why didn't you go?"
The nineteen year old straightened himself back up, with all due self-deprecating wince-smiles. “No one told me the cool kids were doing shadow-dealings.” It was something he should have known on his own. It bugged him that he hadn’t. He’d gotten so used to the Order doing nothing nefariously new that he’d clearly stopped paying as much attention as he should.
“So what you got planned from here, Boss Lady?” Shameless unsubtly: it was an art.
>> "Just so you know, I have a horrible record for keeping things alive."
“S’okay. If he dies, the mourning will be delicious.” Still: Calley preferred to keep it alive. It wasn’t the lobster’s fault it had been used for a tactical strike.
The tank: it required him to stop poking at his nose with the ice bag, to lift. That, he could do.
“Mind carrying Lobenstien?” He asked over his shoulder, to Cook Mook No. 2.
His quiet threat produced quite the effect, for what it was. Was that smart, or not? If it was him, he’d likely have taken that warning as his cue to start screaming as loud and as long as he could. Then again, he had a long track record of being shown the error of his ways. Henrietta was a very different sort of person than he was. He wondered if that was good. One thing was for sure: if she was more like him, she’d probably be on this side of the kidnapping efforts, not... the shaking, fearful side.
The van came to a stop, and Silent Lenna led the way. The girl looked at him like she was expecting something so, with a properly shameless grin, the panther man lightly offer her his arm. He wouldn’t force her to take it. It seemed like the thing to do, though. When kidnapping young ladies, the panther man saw no need to be anything but a gentleman. If she declined, he’d just walk behind her, in proper shepherding fashion. He hadn’t heard anything from Lori about this girl having super speed: between himself and the Adapted, they should be able to handle any escape attempts.
The nondescript underground parking area lead to a nondescript metal door. If Henrietta was playing nice, the panther man would kindly open the door for her and gesture her inside. If not... well, if the Boss Lady wanted her through that door, then through that door she’d be going, one way or another.
On the other side was a nondescript white hall, leading to a room best described in two words: holding cells. He’d doubted the girl would play nice all the way into one.
Posted by Cheshire on Apr 26, 2010 16:37:09 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
o.o Kat. *wibbles for passwords* *has sworn to never ever password protect her own legit wifi networks, due to how good unprotected ones have been to her in the past*
For MotM banners: if you make them on your compie and email the file to the Mod account, one of us should be able to get it posted for you.
Remember to clear your work browser's viewing history. >.>
Meowed questions and mroowed accusations were met with defensively raised claws. The crustacean deferred responsibility: this was not his power. Despite all surface similarities—the animal shifting, for instance, and the fact that the cat before him looked suspiciously like a certain form of his own—he remained resolute in his innocence. He could only shift himself(ves).
No; for this, the crustacean could claim no responsibility. Clearly, this was some illusion. In which case: he did not appreciate being dropped.
With insulted pride, the mighty sea warrior gathered his eight legs (two of them held stiffly aloft), and paraded himself in a tack-clacking circle around the littler-than-usual illusionist. His inspection was carried out from all angles. Hindquarters were wiggled at with long antennae; a tail tip was brushed over by three pairs of high-stepping legs. Finally, facing front and center again, he gave a deadpan lobster stare. This was not funny. Just because his black eye beads could find no flaws in the illusion did not change one simple fact: she was poking fun at him. And she’d dropped him.
With this fact in mind, the lobster reached out a claw towards her face, aiming to pluck off an illusive whisker. With great justice.
With Lori’s kind assistance, Calley installed his new drainage system. Ooo, three times the absorbency. The TV hadn’t lied.
“Why did you go?” Calley asked, in lieu of ‘welcome back.’ He set the lobster down on a countertop where it could gesticulate as to its vehement heart’s content, much to the chagrin of the cooks. They weren’t used to dealing with live lobsters. Not for long, anyway.
The corner of his mouth twitched into his habitual smile: that hurt, so he stopped it. “I mean, umm, not to question your psychological conclusions, but I don’t think it was the collars. Trust me. With or without the collar, people are who they are.” He found his hand scratching his neck. He stopped that, too.
Chop.
>> "What do lobsters eat?"
“You know,” Calley blinked (something which also hurt, but was harder to stop), “I have no idea.”
Back at the desk, Lisa was hanging up the phone, her smile still in place. According to the Iris Clinic, Sebastian Csendes wasn’t available today. He was sitting his medical school entrance exam. That was really just too bad.
Posted by Cheshire on Apr 23, 2010 22:03:18 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
((ooc: Very nice, Henri. *wibble hugs, then gets back to kidnapping you*))
The panther man was sitting on the floor in the back of the van, by the double doors. He’d tucked the girl up towards the front, next to their driver and her charming five foot weakening field. Lenna had proceeded to drive off with a maximum of professionalism, taking a road that didn’t lead directly back to Faust Pharmaceuticals. Just in case. So far, there were no signs that any particular New Yorker had spotted their brief scene and taken responsibility for calling the police. They were riding along in comfortable silence, his black tail twitching against the van’s side from the adrenaline build-up, when the girl began to hyperventilate back to the world of the waking. One large, rounded black ear gave a twitch.
There is nothing more awkward than having your kidnapping victim hold back sobs.
>> "What...what is this about?"
He was fairly certain it was a bad idea to talk to said kidnapping victim. Particularly when she was sounding scared and vulnerable, and not much older than Katrina. What was she, fifteen? Sixteen? This, he determined, was why gags had been invented. Gags, and chloroform. He made a note to bring those next time. This part wasn’t as fun as tricking her out of the restaurant. It wasn’t a game of acting and wits anymore: it was just a game of betting when she’d start crying. Or begging for them to let her go.
>> "I don't know what I did. I..I'm sorry."
That didn’t take long.
The panther man was sitting with his arms loosely resting over his knees. He pushed his square glasses higher up his nose with a finger, and turned his head to look out the tinted window. Not to look away from her, mind you: just to watch the traffic. The sunlight came through dimly. The outlines of cars outside were faint. This wasn’t the sort of van people were made to see out of, or into.
“Don’t start screaming,” he advised Henrietta, his voice soft. “If you do, I’d have to stop you.”
Calley appreciated decisive leadership. Within fifteen seconds, his nose was noted and separately greeted, Lisa was smiling a fixed smile while dialing, and they were on their way to get a tank. Calley took his lobster with him. It was an armful of carapace and scrabbling legs. He was happy those claws weren’t very flexible: a taxi ride later, and they were still hungry for his face. Or his jugular.
“Ah’m ‘oing to ‘eed rubber ‘ands, too.” He added to the list, as they strolled companionably along. Just an evil leader, her minion, and his nine pound lobster. Nothing to see here.
“Shou. ‘Ow was Romania?” He asked conversationally. Small talk. The awkward bubbling sounds his nose made when it was quiet demanded it.
>> "Hit my b...est mate again and I'll do more than run ya into a wall."
That hesitance gave Calley another tail-twitching urge. He was rather used to having a tail, minus his unfortunately amphibious days. His body language simply was not complete without one.
>> "Ya've been stuck as a toad?! Man, Calley, ya really gotta practice those shiftin' skills..."
“You.” Calley stated, wishing for ears to lay back. The wish was granted: he shifted, triangular black ears suddenly replacing human ones in an imperious perch atop his head as a black tail covered in kitten fuzz swished down from his scanty clad rear. That tickled. “I do not want to hear shifting advice from you.” The statement was so much more satisfying, with proper ear gestures. He left it at that. Let the Lady Knight explain herself to--
Cafas’ stretch-and-look was about as subtle as a movie theater yawn-and-arm. Calley’s face flushed cola can red.
“Yes. Clothing. Excellent advice. Lady, Princess—I bid you ado.”
Thus did Calley back from the room, his erratically twitching tail clearing the retreat path.
While Calley appreciated the compliment, he did not appreciate the looming threat of watery drowning. Yes, he was a lobster. No, that did not make him a sudden fan of aquatic living. It only burned a little to breathe. He was just fine. In fact, all of his legs were peddling with frenetic happiness—see? This was what a happy, healthy lobster looks like. A happy, healthy, terrestrial lobster. As the tank continued its approach, Calley found his tail curling against his abdomen curling against his carapace. His antennae began to wibble.
Happy happy healthy joyful lobsters cannot hysterically laugh, but they can clack their claws shut around tufts of a fourteen year old’s pajama shirt, and stare up at her with soulful black eye beads.
And they can wish very very much to be any other form.
And they can realize that the shirt they’re clutching is suddenly, inexplicably, alarmingly empty.
Then they can fall a few short feet to the ground, and feel their tasty innards warming with gratitude for the simple things in life. Like tough exoskeletons, and not landing in tanks on the way down.
((ooc: Lenna and Henri—tell me if I need to change anything!))
She was heading back inside. Simple enough. There was a slight flaw in the brunette’s plan, however: the panther man was still next to the door. A meaningful slide of a claw-tipped black foot against its frame, and the door refused to open.
“Thank you,” Miles said, his ears twitching back modestly. “You’ve been most kind.”
A flash of sharp white teeth was all the more warning she got. Then the panther man was lunging towards her in a tackle that would, with any luck, carry them both across the few short feet from the restaurant to the sidewalk’s edge.
There waited the white van, with its charming black windows, idling engine, and Adapted driver.
Poor little Twyla. That empty table might be even more traumatizing than a naked toad prince.
((ooc: Henri, Lenna—let me know if this works, of if anything needs editing!))
The panther man adjusted his square-rimmed glasses, wincing slightly. In this form, his facial structure was much more cat-like than human. Mixed in with his broad, flat nose was still a bit of human, though, and under his short black fur was a rather fantastic bruise. Apparently his training in other forms with Katrina wasn’t exactly helping his broken human nose to heal. Noted.
In any case, it was his day off from Kat’s regimen. Officially, he was going to check on whether his pet lobster was still alive and full of claw-waving wrath. Unofficially, the Boss Lady had a mission for him.
Calley had always liked missions.
He’d already been wearing his Miles form when he met his teammate at the Sanctuary; so far only Lori knew that two of her Order members happened to be the same person, and he’d like to keep it that way. On a related note, his new teammate’s power had given him a brief heart attack: fortunately, there really was more panther than man in this form, and Lenna’s incomplete nullification still left him with a rather strange facial structure. Not Miles, but not Calley again, either, and still a little furry. No worries.
So she was an Adapted. A weak Adapted. His whiskers were in the habit of curiously pointing her direction, from a cautious six feet away.
Post-meeting, they’d circled back to the Mansion to see what their target was up to. He had a few ideas as to how they could lure Henrietta out, but he was already making up excuses in his head for Kat as to why he’d be missing the next few days, in case they needed more time to plan.
Then Henrietta had thoughtfully escorted herself off the Mansion grounds, bringing only one friend with.
Well then. Here he was: sitting in an Italian restaurant, a few tables away from the hair manipulator and her friend. He’d come in about ten minutes after them. Lenna was outside, likely watching thanks to the girl’s excellent window-front seating. Their play-it-by-ear plan was for him to scope things out. If he could, he’d bring Henrietta out: if he couldn’t, they’d try the capture again another day.
Her friend went to the bathroom. The panther man’s ears twitched to see the poor girl sitting all alone. He rose from his own table and approached, making sure his pawed feet made adequate noise on the floor. Sneaking up on her was not what he had in mind.
He cleared his throat, hesitantly. “Excuse me. This may be out of line, but I couldn’t help but overhearing a bit of your conversation earlier.” His large ears twitched in sheepish apology. “Your friend mentioned ‘powers’? I’m new in town. There’s a place I’m looking for. I wonder if you’ve heard of it?” He reached into his vest pocket, and pulled out a carefully folded sheet of paper; on it was the address of Xavier’s Sister School, as well as its mouthful title: Xavier’s Sister School for Gifted Youngsters. “It’s just that I’ve been trying to find the bus route there, but most people don’t take very kindly to questions from people with... powers.” His whiskers gave a self-deprecating twitch.
The panther man’s tail curled around his leg as he scratched stubby fingers against the back of his head. “If you happened to know anything about it—better yet, if you could point me to the right bus stop—I’d be very grateful.”
Going from swearing to “I’m cool” was a dubious transition. Calley’s brain sent an impulse to twitch a tail he didn’t even have in this form. Cafas could keep the Lady Knight up against that wall just a little longer, if he wanted. There would be no complaints from the sometimes-cat sometimes-toad.
>> "All right, so. Calley. Care to, um, explain?... I mean... what the heck?"
“As I was telling you before you slapped me, Ms. Knight, your girlfriend kissed me.” He took spiteful joy in leaving it at that for a second as he rubbed his cheek. Oww.
Alas, elaboration was in order. “She kissed me on my green, toad lips. I’ve been stuck for a few days.” This also served as an explanation to Cafas on where he’d disappeared to. Incidentally. Not that he owed Cafas an explanation, or anything. “Susan got it into her head to try out the Princess and the Frog on me—“
--Said Susan ran off squealing. Huh. Yeah, that about fit the behavior pattern he’d come to expect. He’d say the red cheeks looked cute on her, if Susan were his type. Not that she wasn’t. She was a girl. Girls were his type. He’d dated one already: that was a hundred percent female track record.
Why was Cafas standing between him and Maya, again? What, was he defending him? ‘Cause Calley was not the girl in this non-existent relationship-that-they-did-not-have. He took a step forward to place himself at the other teenager’s side, on officially equal footing.
>> "Is it safe?"
“I am clad in a pillow,” Calley stated stuffily. It was true.
Standing this close to Cafas made him wish for pants.
