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.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Feb 23, 2013 18:45:07 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
Alma fussed with the unfamiliar piece of equipment—which, in its disuse, had gone into sleep mode. She wasn’t a technophile, or any sort of professional when it came to operating things such as cameras… but her fingers managed to find the power button, despite the trembling that limned them. The screen flickered to life, a little green light switching “on” beside the viewfinder, showing that the camera was ready to be used. The lens focused on the frayed edge of Almas’ jeans.
Now… how to open up the photographs on the memory card…
She sharply demanded where the hands and the camera had come from, to which the creatures replied with an ambiguous, “Outside!”
Alma groaned and looked towards the window, sighing. What if this belonged to a tourist, and these imbeciles had commandeered it from them? That was stealing. Boy, that would be awkward to explain. Alma’s slender fingers found a button that looked like a triangle standing on a point, and pointing to the right. A play button? It sat at the center of four buttons, so that’d make sense. She pressed the button and the first image arose.
Oh look, Andy! He lived up the hall. The owner of the camera had snapped a picture of him through a window of the Sanctuary, from afar. Alma hit the left arrow. There was Julia—Clive—Jon—Melissa—all Sanctuary residents, whose pictures had been taken through windows or at the front door of the Sanc. A very particular kind of person would take these kinds of pictures.
“For once, you brats did something right,” Alma murmured, “Good squishies. Good—“ What was she going to do with this, now? Alma breathed a sigh, and closed her eyes, “Dios mio.”
Something flew through the window and made a loud shout, the final “o” in her sentence becoming a loud scream.
“Ooooh!” Alma yelled, scrambling to her feet, “Oh my god!”
The hands flew forth from the closet as Alma got up and stumbled into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it from within. She hadn’t quite registered what she’d seen, but her hands had fastened in a death grip on the camera, which was now locked in the restroom with her.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” the young woman muttered to herself, though not imperceptibly, “That was a head. A head. A flying head. Oh my god.”
As a force of habit, the woman set crossed herself before setting the camera on the counter.
Outside of the bathroom, the bodachs reacted instantaneously to their mistress’s alarm. The closet flew open as the hands sprang out, exposing clothes and shoes discarded haphazardly within in. The bodachs, inclined to retaliate, grabbed what their hands could find. The larger ones pitched shoes and shirts at the intruding head, while the smaller ones were clambering onto the bed in an attempt to get closer to the levitating, disembodied body parts.
Alma heard the first shoe hit the wall, and threw the door open, her inclination to chastise them overriding her fear.
“You’d better not break anything!” she snapped, bringing an abrupt halt to the attack. Shadowy creatures froze with shoes and shirts and underthings in-hand.
Alma then saw the head, and the hands, and slammed the door again, re-locking it.
“You’ve got ten seconds to explain yourself, head,” Alma snapped, “Or else I’m snapping the memory card. I saw your pictures, head.”
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Feb 16, 2013 21:46:50 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
Alma hummed as she pulled her hair back, her bangs escaping the hair-tie in which the rest of her was bound. She let a messy ponytail fall as she strolled back into the main room, humming to herself.
All the while, the human-sized bodachs were migrating across the room, unperceivable to anyone but their mistress. One drew towards the window, poking its head out. It did so thoughtlessly, sighing to itself as it looked around. A little one clung to the full-sized bodach’s leg and scurried up it, before leaping onto the window sill and peering out.
“Ooo!” the tiny squeaked, leaping and pointing downward. The bigger one looked down, and spotted the disembodied head and hands lingering in the tree, the masculine gaze tilted patiently towards the window. But what drew their attention was not, in fact, the head and hands that seemed to be floating, independently conscious, outside the window. What snagged their attention was the shining lens of the camera.
“Oo,” the bigger one agreed. Such a shiny thing would surely please their mistress. If it did not please her, it was still shiny—which meant that the bodachs would like it. In an instant, the two bodachs at the window rippled into the human range of vision, at which point, the larger bodach was already reaching for the camera. It fastened onto the technology, hands-and-all, and pulled it inside, leaving the head behind.
“Yay!” the little shadowy creature shouted, jumping from the window sill to the hardwood floor.
“Yay!” the other little ones chimed-in, gathering at their cohorts call. The bigger bodach surveyed the camera in confusion, its hand fussing with the lens in an attempt to free it. The little ones leapt around its feet, trying to get a hold of it, while the bigger ones gathered around the camera, perplexed.
“What do you guys have there?” Alma inquired, stalking closer. She lightly pushed one of the bodachs aside, so as to get a look. When she spied the hands which grasped onto the camera, she let out a sharp cry of alarm.
“Shi-ny~” the big bodach that had retrieved the camera articulated, looking at her, “La-maaaaa… for La-maaaaa…”
Ever since Alma had been meeting-up with Akshay more, the bodachs had adopted his tendency to call her “Alma”.
“Thank you!” Alma said, though her voice was slightly frantic. The bodachs perceived this, but the one that held the camera permitted their mistress to snatch it up. Quickly, Alma pointed the lens towards the floor, careful not to touch the hands as she ran for the wardrobe. Her only lucid thought was to remove the most bizarre element of the equation, which was the hands. The presence of the camera was also bizarre, but the hands gave her the biggest scare. Alma threw open the door of her wardrobe, pried the hands free of the camera.
Oh god, they’re warm. Like, alive-warm.
With a whine, she tossed the hands into the wardrobe and slammed the doors shut, entrapping the hands within. As soon as the door shut, Alma sat in front of them, using her bodyweight to keep them shut.
The bodachs watched their mistress with quiet intrigue.
Fantastic—she had disembodied hands in her closet, and a camera from God-knew-where.
“Where did you get this?!” Alma demanded, opting to utilize French.
“Out-side,” the bodach said softly. This was answered by a chorus of “outside” from the smaller ones.
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Feb 16, 2013 21:16:13 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
Alma wandered past Dorian slowly, waiting a few stairs up from the ground-level for him to catch up. They strolled for a while before he finished writing his message to her. Alma nodded her head slowly, to show that she understood. “Future dream phenomenon” sounded like a book you would find in the New Age section, amongst books about heightening your intuition and getting in-touch with the spirit world. She imagined that it would only attract a narrow clientele.
The articles about mutant issues, however, bore the sound of a worthy cause.
“Akin to an activist?” the young woman inquired, as a conversational question, “Or more to inform…?”
In other words, was he rallying people to a cause, or just reporting things? These inquiries were pieces to a larger puzzle, though all responses were taken with a grain of salt.
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Feb 16, 2013 20:09:20 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
Akshay flicked on a flashlight, for which the young woman was grateful. With the darkness illumed, the alley seemed a little less scary than before. Akshay shyly informed the person that they were just there to help… There was a ripple in the darkness, and Akshay aimed a light at it. Alma gave pause, her eyes widening faintly. It was a fish-woman, blue scales glinting in the darkness. She was curled against the wall, and had suffered a beating. A mutant-woman.
While Akshay quickly moved forward and asked questions, Alma fished into her pocket for her own phone.
“I’m calling 9-1-1,” she announced, loudly enough for the fish-woman to hear, before addressing Akshay specifically as she said, “We need to get her medical help.”
The woman hollered, and swung a badly-damaged arm at Akshay, and Alma soon joined him, standing to the other side of the woman as she panicked. They couldn’t have her running, not while she was in such bad shape. By how irrationally she was screaming at them, it was entirely possible that she could try to bolt, even in this condition.
“Madam, calm down, please,” Alma said tersely, “We will not hurt you. We’re here to get you some help. If you don’t stop flailing about, though, you’re going to hurt yourself more.”
Alma was a little freaked-out, which meant that she was becoming rather businesslike in her interactions.
“Maybe not 9-1-1,” Alma murmured to Akshay, “Is there… any mutant-specific medical places in the City? I don’t think she… is entirely present, mentally. Other mutants may be safer.”
She rose her voice as she addressed the woman. Sensing the tension that ran through Alma’s form and voice, the invisible bodachs were drawing closer, murmuring amongst themselves.
“Ma’am,” Alma said her voice soft yet businesslike, “What is your name? Do you remember what your name is?”
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Feb 16, 2013 19:53:49 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
The boy beside her spoke freely on why he had chosen his major. He liked kids. Aw, that’s cute. A very sensitive thing for a guy to say. Unnatural, even. Alma smiled and uttered a faint chuckle. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with it, exactly, Locke confessed, but it sounded like some sort of therapist.
“Akin to a counselor?” Alma inquired, intrigued, “Or more similar to a social worker? Either is a very noble aim.”
Locke was rummaging into his pocket to pull out his wallet, and all the while, Alma was directing a small fraction of her attention to the front of her room. the boy made his inquiry. Would they study mutants, he wanted to know? Locke frowned, Alma sighed faintly.
“It would make sense if we did,” Alma mumbled, looking towards Locke as she spoke, “I mean, we talk about genetics and DNA… chromosomal defects…” She flipped through the syllabus, just to be sure, “Not that mutations are chromosomal defects, but… it’d make sense. I’ve heard they’re genetic.”
A larger bodach milled past unseen in front of the two, looking at its mistress as she spoke. The corner of Alma’s mouth tilted upward slightly at the sight of it. A few smaller ones stumbled over feet and onto the next row of desks and seats, coming into focus as they pried into a female student’s purse and began to rummage through it. All of this, unseen, because nobody was focusing on the floor, but on the teacher.
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Feb 13, 2013 18:58:52 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
The heels of Almas’ boots clicked sharply against the sidewalk as she strolled towards the Sanctuary, ripples of invisible shades following closely behind her as she went. She’d been job-hunting, that day, and was rather worn-out. She wanted for nothing more than to fall onto her bed and lay there until dinner. She slunk inside, said a brief “Hello” to Lisa, and strolled back towards her room. She snagged a few stares, courtesy of the fancy attire and relatively human appearance, but Alma quickly navigated the halls regardless, without being stopped to converse.
She made it to the door of her room, unlocked and went in. As soon as she crossed the threshold, she kicked off her heels and padded across the room in her nylon stockings, standing before her window to take a look out. It was sunny, though the light was sinking in a late afternoon arc. Alma leaned on the sill and sighed, pushing a hand through her hair. She’d earned some frumpy-clothes time. She drew away from the window and wriggled out of her skirt and blazer, dropping them in a pool on the floor. The blouse underneath was shed and replaced with a tunic-styled t-shirt, and after the nylons were shed, cut-off jean shorts took their place. Alma had earned this.
She strolled into the bathroom and sighed, grabbing her hairbrush and a Scrunchi. She proceeded to brush her hair out. As she did so, the bodachs began seeping in from under the door, bubbling up like a cup that was overflowing with water. They were murmuring incoherently amongst themselves, and as soon as they spotted their mistress, they drew towards her.
“Hey, monsters,” Alma sighed in Spanish, capturing all but her bangs in a ponytail at the crown of her skull, “Couldn’t leave Mama alone for five minutes, could you?”
She tightened the ponytail and sighed, surveying herself in the mirror. Even with the casual attire and her hair pulled back, she was an attractive woman. Alma smiled and strolled back into the main room, humming as she looked around for something to do. Read, or just nap? Read, or just nap? Either way, she’d earned it.
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Jan 28, 2013 19:51:22 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
“You have been here longer than I have,” Alma said with a shrug, “Perhaps you can tell me about where all of the best haunts are?”
Speaking of haunts… Alma looked around… where were her spectral little stalkers? A few rows back, she could hear the little ones giggle, but she couldn’t see them. The big ones must have still been outside. Oh, well. It wasn’t like having pets that you could lose easily. They always seemed to be in-tuned to where she was, regardless of Alma’s best attempts to shake them.
Alma sighed, accepting a syllabus as it came her way, and passing an extra packet onto Locke, peering at it speculatively. As per the norm, the class information came first, followed by the description thereof. Alma set the packet down in disinterest, leaning forward slightly on her elbows.
“Hm?” Alma inquired, as Locke murmured a seemingly nonsensical phrase. The young woman turned it over in her head a few times, before she fully understood. He wanted to know what her studies were going to be focused in.
“Undecided,” Alma said casually, “You see—I really wanted out of Quebec, so I moved in with some family down here… and my Uncle said to me, ‘Alma, if you are to live with us, you must either be working full-time, or a full-time student’. Either way, I should probably have an education. So until the point at which I find a employment, I am only at school. I do not know why, but I am.”
Alma smiled, tilting her head at Locke, “Why are you studying children and family?”
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Jan 28, 2013 19:40:48 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
Alma walked in-step with Akshay, smiling and allowing herself to glance around as the two of them strolled along. It was so nice and peaceful, so relaxing. It was exactly the kind of evening out that she needed. Even the bodachs seemed to be in a lull. They bobbed behind Alma in their semi-transparent forms (which would be wholly invisible to the human observer), their luminous eyes swimming about as they murmured to themselves.
Everyone was at ease. They walked in a comfortable silence until the Ducati was within their line of vision. Alma released Akshay’s arm as he dug his keys out of his pocket.
>> “Having fun so far?”
“Having a blast,” Alma assured him, grinning, “I’m especially enjoying the Ducati.”
The last word drifted off uncertainly as Alma also caught the sound of someone crying, from just behind her. Akshay turned to glance at her, and Alma shook her head minutely. It wasn’t her…
>> “You hear that?”
Alma nodded.
“Sounds like crying,” Alma said matter-of-factly, glancing over shoulder, before allowing herself to turn completely to glance behind. She listened intently, a few moments, then looked back towards Akshay. A crying person at this hour of the night seemed sketchy to Alma—normally she’d just hurry on by and hope someone else would take care of them—but Akshay seemed genuinely worried. Alma gestured towards the alley from which the sounds was emanating, pointing to it quietly.
“Shall we investigate?” Alma whispered. Her feet were already taking the first few steps towards the alley to show that she meant it. As she drew closer to the alleyway, her steps grew more assured, until coming to an absolute halt at the maw of the alley.
“Good evening,” Alma greeted uncertainly, eyes squinting in the low light in search of the source of the noise. She spied a huddled form a short distance in, but hadn’t the bravery (or stupidity) to venture any closer, “Excuse me…? Are you okay?”
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Jan 27, 2013 14:10:38 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
Locke, the young woman repeated to herself, smiling impishly as the boy first mumbled his name to her. The inquiry seemed to give him pause, yet his reply was still evasive and slightly thoughtless. Alma hummed, and leaned back in her seat. He was smiling, sure, which meant that he was at least partially relieved she hadn’t asked how the scar had come into fruition, but it still wasn’t a real answer. Not a thoughtful one, anyways. Maybe he was just one of those boys who didn’t know how to talk to pretty girls. Alma would give the kid the benefit of the doubt.
On the bright side of things, he did answer the follow-up question. That had to count for something. She even got a smile out of him.
“Alma Elizondo,” Alma introduced herself, partially extending a hand for a handshake, “It’s nice to meet you, Locke.”
They shook hands, and Alma turned to face the professor. He waved syllabi in the air, instructing the kids to pass them around and follow along. Syllabi were nothing to pay attention to. Alma could continue conversing.
“Are you from here?” Alma whispered, “I just moved here. I was living in Quebec.”
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Jan 25, 2013 22:16:34 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
>> “Then it’s settled! We shall have ice cream! Check please.”
Alma had argued that point. It was only democratic that, as friends, they both pay for their portion. It wasn’t a date. It was an evening out. If Alma wasn’t a woman, she’d argued, Akshay wouldn’t have wanted to pay for her. Yet, decorum required that he pay, and what more, Akshay was insistent. So Alma swallowed her protests and gave him a tired smile. She’d get him back at Coldstone. Whether he liked it or not. It was only fair.
It was a playful vengeance that she intended upon reaping, and all in good-fun. Akshay was a nice guy, which made his paying for the meal feel even more like taking advantage of him.
>> “Mademoiselle…your carriage awaits.”
Alma giggled and accepted his arm, hugging close to Akshay. All in innocent fun.
“To the ball!” the raven-haired woman announced, “To the ice cream ball!”
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Jan 25, 2013 1:05:06 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
Alma was eyeballing the guy, okay? She wasn’t being subtle about it, either. She was staring. Alma could be subtle when she tried, but right now, she really wasn’t. His scar and his weird eye made him different. Interesting, even. How had he gotten it, Alma wondered? Gang fight? No, he was too much of a sweet face to have lived on the streets. Criminal life did a number on a mans’ features. Maybe… attacked on a subway? Horrific accident? She bet it was an interesting story, for sure.
The guy frowned and his brows sank, as did his gaze. Without turning, he addressed her. He was granting her one question, and one question alone. His eyes were lingering in the vicinity of his shoes.
Alma quirked a smile, breathing a faint “heh”. He treated his scar as something to be ashamed of. And, judging by his tone, he got plenty of stares and plenty of questions.
“Alright, Mister…?” she trailed, asking the kid’s name before phrasing her question, “My question is relatively straightforward.”
She let her gaze linger on him casually, as one might glance at a new acquaintance. Polite and reserved, not leaned in intently or leaned out uncomfortably far.
“How often, would you say, do people ask you about it? Not overall, but an estimate of… say, in a month. On average.”
She let the question hang a moment. And, if it wasn’t clear enough, she stated, “That is my one question. And if I’m permitted a follow-up—do they usually get to know much more of you beyond that?”
The kid was too tense. Alma figured some more lightweight questions would be easier for him to handle.
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Jan 23, 2013 23:59:42 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
It was a weird series of event that had brought Alma here—she’d been relocated by her family, through what was more than mere coincidence. Falcone had power as well as money, and used it to find niece. And, having done so, made his wishes known. If Alma was residing semi-permanently in New York City, she would need to enroll in a junior college. Apparently, her education took precedence of laying low. Yet, her uncle had insisted that “his men” would keep an eye on her. Alma wouldn’t even know they were there. Alma groaned and complained—she could figure things out herself, could get a job, didn’t need to go to a college.
Ultimately, Falcone triumphed. An uneducated, young man or woman, he insisted, was not deserving of respect. Alma would grow to be a respectable young woman, unlike her useless father—whether she wanted to or not.
Thus, the meek, raven-haired woman found herself slinking into an entry-level biology class, feeling thoroughly out-of-place. The last place a lady in-hiding wanted to be was in a roomful of people she had never seen before. Anyone could be an enemy. Not everyone was safe. Her hand tightened on the strap of her tote. Perhaps she was a bit too paranoid. Alma slowly descended the stairs, her gaze scoping the room. A few pairs of eyes found her, a boy or two who had happened to have been looking her way when she walked in leaned over to whisper and jeer to one another. Alma sighed. The back of the room would be safer. Not next to someone who was surveying her like a piece of meat, preferably.
Her gaze found a rather shaggy-haired guy sat, with a few empty seats to either side of him. He wasn’t talking to anyone in particular.
Perfect, Alma thought. A quiet one. He’d probably leave her alone, which the young woman found preferable. She descended a few stairs to the row where the boy sat, and stopped at the end of the row.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, to the rather broad-shouldered boy who was blocking the end of the aisle. He slid his chair in, allowing her to pass. This process was repeated until finally, she was by the quiet, shaggy-haired kid.
“Excuse me,” she said quietly, her gaze flicking to the profile of his face. From this angle, she could see a warbling scar over his eye, which tugged at the skin, and pulled at his eyebrow. She averted her gaze quickly, her eyes widening in shock, but in the brief glance, she could have sworn that his eye was white. She managed to squeeze past him, and took a seat on the other side of the auburn-haired boy, setting her things on the table.
Alma slid out a small, one-inch notebook, and after flipping past sections marked by plastic dividers, opened it to the first blank sheet of binder paper. She then fished-out a ballpoint pen, and jotted, “Biology 101” atop the sheet, in the center. In the left margin, she scrawled the French format of the date in tiny cursive. Over the short span of a few minutes, the professor walked in—he was a short, older man with a clean-shaven face, glasses, and grey hair with a few straggling strips of black, pulled into a ponytail and back from his round, pink face cleanly. He walked to the front, and set his briefcase upon the desk.
He balanced his weight on his hands, which were propped on the desk up front, and waited for the class to fall mostly-quiet. When they did, he gave a wry smile.
“Hello,” he greeted. This received a few hesitant “hello’s” in response, “I’m Mr. Mantovani, and this Biology 101. Is this where everyone’s supposed to be?”
This received a chorus of affirmatives.
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Jan 23, 2013 21:34:54 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
Alma read the message that the mute scrawled onto the board. Though his gaze was pointed forward, and focused on where he was walking, his hand flew over the whiteboard. This was at the expense of some tidiness in the penmanship, but it was still legible enough. The translation, however, was an entirely different matter. He wrote that he’d been there for a year, spent his savings on… something, somewhere, after their registration laws had passed. Registration. Alma knew that word very well. Though Canada had dodged a registration of its own, the Registration Act in the United States was well-known by its neighbor. As he was a mutant… he probably was not there in support of the Registration.
Because of this soliloquy, Alma had to skim forward—the words “tortured” and “prison” leapt up at her glaringly. So, he was regarded as a criminal for what he did, and mistreated because of it. Later, he returned to New York, and came to the Sanctuary because…. “miming” (whatever that was) and writing weren’t working, and his sister was not an option.
“I have an older sister,” Alma said placidly, cracking a grin, “I can understand that sentiment.”
Though in a way, his statement was revealing. Was he in the trade because of the money? A lot of dealers got wrapped-up in the drug market because of how lucrative it was… that’s why her family partook in parts of it. The cash. Though, none of her direct relatives were “dealers”. That was too public. Most were suppliers, if the drug trade was the poison that they picked.
“You are also a writer?” she reiterated, “What do you write? A little bit of everything?”
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
Posted by Alma Elizondo on Jan 22, 2013 19:42:33 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
118
0
Jul 14, 2013 10:20:50 GMT -6
>> “No! Stupid motor was completely burned out and there was nothing I could do to get it to float!”
Alma gave an enrapt, “Oh, no!”, but still allowed herself to laugh along with him. It was quite the fiasco, and quite funny.
>> “So when my partner came in dressed like the Emerald Archer, I had to pick up the stupid balloon fish, make gurgling noises with my lips and hurl it at him!”
Alma’s own laughter increased to a giggle, but as Akshay quieted, her own giggles drifted into chuckles, and the slipped off altogether. She watched Akshay a few moments, speculatively, and when her friend looked up and beamed at her, Alma smiled back.
“What a nightmare,” she agreed.
>> “Llama…um, since we’re having such a good time. Why don’t we pick up some Coldstone ice cream? Need something normal to wash down all the fancy French food!”
Alma “ooo’ed” at the idea, almost sighing—there was an ice cream place in Quebec that had “Coldstone” in the name, and she remembered it fondly. Before her father turned absentee, he’d taken her there. It was about three hours away from Saint- Jérôme, in Quebec City, but it was good enough to be memorable. It was immensely unhealthy, as well, but good enough no neglect that small fact.
“Sounds fantastic,” Alma agreed brightly, lifting a clean napkin and patting her lips daintily, “I haven’t had ice cream from there in a long while.”
Profile Link Here Alma speaks in orangered. She also speaks French and Spanish. I don't. Google Translate makes mistakes.
