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.
God, would he just… stop following her? Her eyes shot to him as he planted himself next to her. The caramel was not warm in her gaze, but chips of frozen amber instead as she let him talk to her... And then she watched with widening eyes as the weirdo drank the piece of paper she put in his drink. Lovely!! She stood and her gaze went heavenward for a brief moment. She grabbed for his hand then, attempted to haul him up to a seated position, and then gave his back a couple of thwacks intended to dislodge the paper without being too hard.
“I guess because you decided to literally eat your words, I should forgive you…” There was no laughter in her voice, though there was certainly some surrounding them at the amusing display. The whole bar had been watching them since her arrival and his approach. Yeah, nothing to see there, folks, she thought.
“Up and Adam,” she said with a sigh. He had been mean to her. But she hadn’t come to this place to look for a fight. All she had wanted was to have a few drinks. If he let her, she would help pull him up, though he would have to do some of the work too, of course. At the proximity in which he was, he would be able to smell a subtle scent, it was like roses. But not actual perfume, you know, the kind that simulated the smell? No, it really did smell like roses, and it was a natural smell.
She regarded the detective with a quiet and somewhat tired expression, remaining serious. The singer listened to him with a guarded air, it was kind of hard to trust in people after all the things she had to deal with. “Ask away, detective…” she said flatly, though not rudely. “I just… want to heal.” She’d tuck a blonde-in-a-box strand behind her ear, and he would be able to catch a glimpse of faint scars on the back of her hand. That was definitely a good indication of her telling the truth about her life.
Xavia Worshaila had lived a nightmare. “Please, sit down…” she shook her head at herself, “I do not mean to be rude, I am just… Tired, yes?” She gestured toward the couch as she, herself, sat in an arm chair. She then did that one pose where she brought a hand up to her mouth while propping her elbow up on the arm of the chair, slouching in an uncharacteristic manner, an indication she was still jumpy.
He wouldn’t know about the phone calls. She would tell him though. It never seemed to end. She looked over his shoulder and fixed her gaze on the wall. “I am willing to open up now. Just… ask away.” Before he would have a chance to sit, though, if he had not at that point, the phone lit up again. She didn’t notice because she was staring at the wall. If he picked it up to move it, and it was still ringing, the screen indicated that the caller was unknown, the number wouldn’t even flash.
The phone was turned to silent; her thumb quickly pressed the button to make it so. She couldn’t help but shake her head in bewilderment as she stared at it and then tossed it halfazzardly onto the cushion of one of the arm chairs. She began to pace the room then, hands wringing as she talked to herself, “This is crazy…”
The woman from the front desk had a bellhop escort Jorge up to the second to top floor where her new suite was. When they got up there, there were TWO body guards this time. One of them was new, and the other was the one who had been conked on the head. They both looked stoic, arms crossed, one chewing the end of a toothpick while the other chewed gum. They both recognized the approaching pair and did nothing to stop them. News papers and tabloids were pretty useful for some purposes!
Xavia jumped about a foot when she heard the rapping on the door from the bellboy. A sigh was given and she immediately went to admit them into the room. “Detective…” she said with a nod. “Andrew….” To the bellhop… Andrew bowed slightly as if she was royalty, winked, and went off to do his work.
Regardless of whether Jorge entered from that point or not, she would resume her pacing around the room, pausing only to ask, ‘How may I help you tonight?”
Layla swallowed heavily as Martin moved, gooseflesh dotting her skin everywhere when she felt the heat of his body even though he never touched her. There was a familiarity about him, was it his eyes? His face? Crimson painted lips parted slightly, and pink tongue darted out to lick the sudden dry feeling away. “Who are you?” she whispered somewhat huskily, troubles swimming in the sticky caramel gaze that seemed to drink his face. Her hand lifted and reached out, stopping short of touching his face. She only touched a thin line of air. No, he had never been her lover, she was sure of it. Somewhere in the broken pieces of her mind was someone else, and he didn’t match up with the face in front of her. Still, she could easily let her guard down with this one… She knew him somehow, but… She couldn’t…. Grasp the situation.
She didn’t back away, though she was clearly shaken. She wanted to call him “Stone,” for some reason. Stone was a silly name, she thought, so why did she want to call him such a thing? The singer didn’t remember that he had given her that name to call him, she didn’t remember that he was her pretend husband in Romania. Hell, she barely even remembered being in Romania, save for the part where she had awakened while recovering from her harrowing experience.
All it would take from him would be a touch and he, as a person, would come flooding back to her… But neither she, nor Martin, knew this little detail. Time only slowed, not stopped, when he touched her. She was different to him, someone he could touch. If she only knew this information, things would be different, yes? But she didn’t. Still, why didn’t she touch him, even not knowing who he was at the particular moment? Nothing was stopping her but herself. Or was it that she had the deep seed of knowledge locked within her head and just didn’t realize it?
People were beginning to stop and stare, some murmuring that they made a handsome pair, others gossiping and speculating. One person in particular glowered. The good Doctor was most assuredly not a happy camper.
Why must he always be so… so…. Irritating. It was clear he hadn’t cared a wit what she had spoken, so why, then, did he have to bother following her? And then… Oh... then… he pushed her buttons by insulting her while giving her a compliment. She threw her hands up in the air and turned on him, “You don’t give a rats ass and you know it.” She stalked toward him and lowered her voice, “Every time I see you, you insult me and then have the audacity to get pissed off when I say something –you- don’t want to hear. And then you want to keep in touch with me? You weasel.”
She grumbled and snatched the card, placing it into his drink. “If you cared a wit about me at all, Anthony, you would know more about me, would you not?” She lowered her voice even more, “You would know that that scum bag tried to kill me first, and that I have had people after me for quite some time for that little ‘magic show’ or so you say, that I put on for you. And furthermore, you would know that I ran away because I don’t want to be some effed up lab experiment and feel another needle jab me in my veins.”
“But you are probably not even –listening- to my rant in any case.” With that, she stalked away from him and back to her seat, ordering a shot. She then spoke to herself, “And I bet you lied to me about being beautiful too.” She snorted and took the shot when it was given to her. She really didn’t care what men thought of her looks, to be honest. Xavia was not a vain creature at all. It may seem like it to him, but she only dressed the way she did because she was a rising star and it was part of a code of conduct. Also, she changed her hair because she wanted to, not because she wanted to be a blonde bombshell, but because she just…. Wanted a change.
Xavia blinked a few times and turned face to look at him, lifting a hand to tuck a stray lock of the shining blonde-in-a-box. Her crimson lips curled upward in a half smile as she regarded him with a cool stare of her candy brown eyes, and she gently lifted her shoulder in a shrug. She took a sip of her Apple-tini, and set it back down on the bar. “What’s it to you?”
She turned around in her stool and slowly eased a leg over the top of the other, amused by his obvious disappointment that she was not a strange bombshell who wandered into his drinking hole. “Layla is now just my stage name, Anthony. I know who I am and where I come from, and I am all me again.” Well, more than who she was, actually, she was this new girl. Sort of.
The lounge singer sighed then, and leaned back against the bar. Her eyes closed as she cradled the glass in her palm, and she tried not to think about the events that played out over the last few days. Her foot tapped at the air, and she hummed to herself, eventually to crack her lids apart and regard him with a sidelong stare.
“Look, I am sorry for having hurt your feelings. I wasn’t myself. I haven’t been since before you even met me.” She closed her eyes again and downed the rest of her drink. Xavia was like this for a few moments more before her small frame eased off of the stool and she moved to set the glass on the countertop. From there, she moved over toward the jukebox, attracting some admiring stares. She hardly paid heed to said gazes, merely pulling out a quarter and inserting it into the machine. She punched a button and some classic rock started to play over the speakers.
She caught sight of the hand raising and stopped, halfway through the door. Ever so slowly she turned her head, the lounge singer, and met the stare of the young man who vied for her attention. She stared back, blurred images flitting through her brain as if she was about to remember something important… He was… Familiar.
Now, Layla was sure she had never met the man before in her life, but there was something so familiar about him. She felt drawn, and moved in his direction, ignoring the rest of the room. She walked toward him, shouldering passed people here and there, weaving through until she was in front of him.
Caramels gazed intently upon his form, moving from head to toe, and back up again. Ruby lips parted as if she was going to speak, but nothing came out, save for a sigh. She lifted a hand to touch his face, but stopped herself, shaking her head and puckering her brow. “Who…?” she asked softly, his visage fading out as she saw blurred images again. Sweat beaded upon her upper lip and she saw a man’s face… The face was different, but not by much, it was the eyes that pierced through the fog and into a memory.
Blinking, she dropped her hand and furrowed her brow again, backing away a little. The woman looked around in a bewildered manner. She was leaving, wasn’t she? So what was she still doing in the lounge? Oh… Oh yeah, there was a man, a handsome, mustached man standing in front of her, and there was definitely a connection. Romantic? She wasn’t completely sure.
Her heart pounded against her ribcage, beating a rhythm in her chest to rival that of war drums. She searched his gaze for answers to questions left silent; who was he? Where did she know him from? Why was he there? Why did he want to talk to her? What did he want from her?
As the room filled up with cops and they surveyed the damage, she sunk further into herself, feeling very frightened at this point. She gave a wide eyed stare in regards to the approaching EMT, shrinking back.
She stared in horror as he pulled on a glove and reached out toward her, a light in his hand. Images of her past flashed through her mind and she gave a cry, “No, please don’t do this!” Xavia ducked and began to crawl away until she was pressing herself tightly to a corner, pulling her knees to her chest. As if to further shield herself, bark began to form over her skin and branches began to sprout, soon to wrap her in riotous tendrils of flora. Long thorns began to protrude, the scent of hawthorn permeating through the air.
Definitely a sign of someone who had been through quite enough if she was going to take such matters into her hands. The EMT looked over to the detective with a questioning gaze, what should he do now?
Xavia peered out from under the leaves she had sprouted, warily. Eventually, she saw that the EMT was just trying to help and let him close. But it still was a trial.
It was some weeks later. The press had a hay day with the hotel, her story was exposed, and she was no longer alone. She was situated in a different room, and had been there since the night after her ordeal. She had a new boss, a new bodyguard, and a new look. She sat on the couch in her suite, waiting for the detective to show up.
As she waited for him, she idly tinkered with her shorn locks, the blonde in a box look kind of looking good against her olive skin. Indeed, there was much about her that was changing by the day because of the things she had gone through. Hell, she even had to talk to a psychologist, albeit reluctantly. Things might be looking up for the lounge singer, some would say, for she looked like the weight of the world had lifted from her shoulders when her past was revealed.
That was not to say that the whole of New York knew her story. Indeed, some things had been left out of the papers, everyone at the hotel being fiercely loyal to the now-blonde bombshell. Nobody had to know why the cops were constantly at her door. It was only a matter of time, she thought, before the public would know. But she had a little time bought for her, and for that she was grateful.
The singer stood and paced, wondering when Jorge was going to be there. Granted, the scheduled time was not for another five minutes, she was understandably anxious to see him. She knew he had many questions to be answered, and she just wanted to get over with it. She hoped he would show up early.
Her phone broke her reverie, and she jumped. Heart pounding, she whirled around and grabbed the electronic up, flipping it open to press the talk button. She put it up to her ear and said, “Hello…?”
An odd crackling came over the receiving end, and she blinked. Then the call disconnected. She frowned and closed the phone. Shaking her head, she stared down at her phone in bemusement, wondering what that was all about.
As Anthony grew short and sarcastic with her, so her temper flared. But rather than sit there and let him continue to insult her thusly, she gave him a measured stare and refused to retort. After all, he was probably fishing for such a thing, right? Looking for a fight. Well, she wasn’t in the mood to fight with the mongoose man. In fact, she was far from in the mood. She planted her palms calmly on the table, a look of hurt kind of flashing across her angry face, and she stood up. From there, she gathered the few belongings she had with her and put them away.
With that, Layla, or Xavia, pivoted and walked away, not looking back and ignoring the sounds of the men who were heckling around her. Red spots formed on her cheeks to show her anger and otherwise, but she remained tight-lipped, her chin raising a notch. When someone reached out to touch her as if to stop her, she gave them a frosty glare, one which would cause a grown man to whimper like a newborn.
The bell over the door jangled to mark her exit.
********
It would be some months before she ventured back into the bar. She was different, though, she had shorn her beautiful locks into a chic cut and bleached it. Dark sunglasses covered her still healing face, and heavy make up was applied to try and hide any green that remained from the bruises that came from the blow she had been handed across her lovely face. Her full lips were gently glossed, rather than red like they would usually be, and no jewelry twinkled at her throat, hands, and wrists.
She wore a black dress, not formal, mind you, but casual. It had a cowl neck and capped sleeves. The skirt reached her lower thighs, and her legs were bare. Her shoes were slingback wedges. Over the dress, she wore a sheer, white sweater to keep what little chill there was to the day from reaching her arms. She had just had a meeting, otherwise she wouldn’t even bother to dress as she did that day.
Xavia didn’t even care if she was recognized, she just wanted something to drink. She moved easily onto a stool and raised her hand to grab the attention of the bartender, “Apple martini, on the rocks. Stirred. Open a tab please.” When he set off to do the task, she set her handbag on the counter and then pushed her shades upward, blinking to adjust to the light of the bar.
She didn’t look around, didn’t respond to anyone who might be trying to flirt with her, she just... wanted... a drink... End of story. This was the only place she knew, at the moment, that she wouldn’t be bombarded with questions regarding the incident at the hotel she had been staying at. Naturally, she had moved herself out of that hotel and into another.
In the time being, she received her drink and was sipping it thoughtfully, staring off into nothing.
He asked her name and she looked at him over her kneecaps, regarding him with a wary look. She couldn’t tell if he was asking just to ask, or asking because he didn’t believe her. The unfortunate truth of the matter was that she was not lying an iota. She really HAD been kidnapped and everything else she had mentioned. She even had witnesses. But she wasn’t about to scream at the man, not while he was still trying to help. He didn’t know.
“Sah-vee-ah,” she murmured softly after a hiccup. The young woman seemed almost childlike as she enunciated her name. Her eyes kinda closed as she imagined herself elsewhere, back at the greenhouse, back when she was a carefree kid who had all kinds of hopes and dreams, back when the world wasn’t as cruel as it seemed to be now... Whatever happened? She wanted to know what prompted the changes that happened over a decade ago.
For some reason, she sort of leaned against Jorge, more as if he were a father typed figure, though she doubted he was even that old. She found comfort in his presence, protected. Her temples throbbed visibly as the tiredness swept over her, if she had been standing at that second, she probably would have collapsed. Luckily, she was still planted on her butt. Xavia gave an oh so weary sigh, and lay on the floor after a time.
She hadn’t really reacted when the other officer came in, she didn’t jump up with fear or nervousness, she was obviously not an evil kind of being and nor was she going to fly off the handle. She was much too... Weak feeling to even consider running off as if she was in trouble.
Wait... She had killed a man... The sudden thought caused her to pop up and she gave him that look that would cause a grown man to cry, “I killed someone, didn’t I? I am in trouble...” With a resignated sigh, she offered her wrists, ones that were visibly scarred all the way around, as if she had been shackled for quite awhile. In fact, if he looked closely, he would be able to see faint tracings along the backs of her hands, wounds that had long since healed over quite some time.
“I need a lawyer, don’t I?” she asked softly, her eyes downward as she spoke. She wasn’t dense, but she understood little about how the law worked. She knew if she was in Hungary, where she had been born, the law wasn’t so kind. Self defense would get her out of trouble here, but she didn’t know that. She thought for sure that she was going to sit and rot in prison for the rest of her life because she shot a man and killed him.
It would be just her luck anyways, she thought. She got out of one jam only to get stuck in another. Such was her life and she should have known better by that point in time, to think that she would ever be free from trouble. Her face kinda took on a neutral expression, though her eyes were easily read as ohmygodwhathaveIdoneworryworryworryohmygod.
It was a long silence. She didn’t seem to hear Jorge speak to her, at least at first. She sat there and stared at the wall, a myriad of expressions crossing the bruised and swollen visage of her face. She could taste the copper of her own blood as it wept from the crack in her lip, some dribbling down her chin unheeded, and the smell of the gunman’s blood was strong on her hands and clothes. If one were to crouch down and look into her eyes, they would see that she was in a state of shock, not surprising. Her breaths came in gasps, and she rocked a little for a moment before it registered in her mind that the detective was asking her a question. No, not her, Layla.
Xavia slowly dragged her gaze upward toward the face of the cop. She stared blankly for a time. It was the cop from before, the one who had dressed as Santa some months ago. She blinked a few times and tried to focus on him, but it took quite awhile. Her chin quivered some as she forced herself to get back into reality. Blink, blink.
“Layla?” she asked, canting her head, her voice coming out as a hoarse croak. “Layla isn’t real. He made her up.” She pointed toward the dead man. When she sighed again, it sounded as if she was as tired as they would come. In fact, she was tired. Her eyes were wary and full of pain, and the bags underneath were testament to the fact that sleep was not a word in her vocabulary at the moment.
The woman giggled a little, hiccuped, and then began to weep. Her arms pulled her legs closer to her body and her face pressed against the cradle of her knees. She knew it wasn’t over, not by a long shot. He had no clue what he was walking into when he decided he needed to help her. Or did he?
“I want to go home,” she mewled. “I want to be with Momma and Poppa...” The memories had come flooding back to her after having fled her for over a year. She remembered where she came from and who she was, and what she stood for, but never thought she would see the day when everything came rushing back to her as it was doing now. It was a shame that it took some gunslinging to bring those forgotten memories to the surface...
And then the story came rushing out of her in bits and pieces, “They kidnapped me... They took me from my family... They bring me here to this city... Jab me with needles and test me over and over... Someone took me home and they came back to get me again, bring me back to New York... I escaped... They chased me over and over, but I kept getting away somehow or another, and then I left for another country... Romania...” By this point she was rocking a little on her butt, back and forth. “It was bad there.... We got put in camps... Some got tortured... I... Was one...” She shook her head as if she didn’t want to remember... “I forgot everything. I lost who I was.... Those people from the lab, they found me again... Remember that night? They found me then... They did something to me and it hurt, and I felt sick... But I was so scared to talk because I thought I was going crazy... I am so sick now... Oh god, I killed him... I... I killed the man outside because he try to take me again....”
The other officers were reporting things on their walkies, and one could hear, “DOA on the fire escape. Suspect in custody...” The routine stuff.
“I shoot him with his own gun. He hit me and then got on me and I shoot him in the belly... BANG... He got angry and came at me again, I shoot him in the face over and over, even though he was dead, I couldn’t stop shooting him.” She was starting to sob and shake violently by that point. “So many people die because of me...”
She could hear a distant shout muffled by the door of her suite. Though she couldn’t make it out, she heard the shout of the other thug as he scrambled to get down the first set of steps, “Damn it, the cops! Get the girl down or leave her!” With that, he took the stairs downward two and three at a time, running passed the struggling pair.
The guy with the gun didn’t care either way, Joe was just doing what he was supposed to do and getting out of dodge, he didn’t take it personal. The woman, however, was proving to be a stronger foe than he thought. It was all he could do not to scream as his wrist was impaled on hawthorn sized thorns, his hand going numb around the gun. The weapon dropped and he forgot about it for the moment, he would not let the woman get the best of him. He hauled his free hand back and slammed his fist into her jaw. She crumpled to the grate with him on top of her, dazed, but awake...
He grabbed her hand and tore it from his wrist, red faced, veins popping. “Come on like a good little wench,” he said through his teeth and attempted to grab her by her hair. She was dizzy, but coherent enough to fight back, and even though she saw stars, she could feel her hand brush the cool metal of his weapon. “Oh no you don’t!” he yelled and tackled her. With the gun between them, they rolled around, grappling for said piece, precariously close to falling off of the fire escape.
They fought like that for a few minutes and then there was a loud “Pop” between them.....
He groaned and rolled off of her, his gut bleeding out into his hand. He stared with disbelief and then laughed in the same type of mood... He looked to her then, and she lay there panting. His face contorted into a look of rage, and he stumbled toward her. She raised the gun... “POW... POW POW CLICKCLICKCLICK.” He fell limp, blood, skull, and brain matter streaking the brick of the building as he slumped. Her finger kept squeezing over and over before it registered in her mind that she was hearing the soft clicks of an empty weapon, still pointed at the now, faceless corpse that she had shot at point blank range.
Shaken, she stared at the dead man, shocked by what she had done. She had rescued herself for once. Wait, what? She remembered something? What timing. She scrambled to her feet and dropped the gun on the man, gagging a little at the thought of having killed him. For a long moment, she stood over him, doe eyed, then tentatively moved closer and nudged him with a foot. He made no response... She sighed in relief. It was over... At least for now.
Her face throbbed from the blow, a bruise starting to form along her jawline, lip split at the corner. With a swollow, Layla... No, Xavia Warshalai began to ascend back up toward her suite, legs somewhat watery as they carried her one step at a time. Her fingers were slippery with the man’s blood as they trailed up the railing, leaving a streak of crimson in their wake.
By the time she was halfway back up, she could hear the sound of the cruisers below as they swarmed the area, the wailing of the sirens that echoed harshly against the backdrop of the back alley, and the shouting from Joe as he was attempting to flee the scene. If Jorge had busted the door down, he would step into a room that was filled with chaos, and eventually see her numbly climb in through the window. The room looked trashed, her clothes thrown everywhere. It was obvious they had come upon her, catching her as she was about to run away from the life she was living...
If he didn’t bust in by the time it was over, she would open the door for him and let him in. Either way, the sight wasn’t pretty at all. Either way, it ended with her sinking to the floor on her backside and staring off, teeth chattering a little, her bloodstained palm cupping her cheek and cradling it while she tested the bones. Nothing had been broken, thankfully, she was just not going to be on stage for awhile.
Whether he was there or not, she didn’t care, she was remembering. She remembered the abandoned house, her lover, Jupiter, the thugs that were after her then, her mom and dad and family, Romania, the creepy old man, the torture... She remembered everything. She was Xavia, not Layla. She even remembered the things she had forgotten before her full blown amnesia, the sweet sixteen party, the lab, the old man with the needle as he drew her blood and took samples, and used her for a lab rat. That was the whole thing, what all of it was about.
She was a piece of meat for some lunatic professor of fringe science, and that did not sit well with her. So many people had died because of and for her. They wanted to know what made her tick and they wouldn’t stop until she was in tiny little pieces for the microscope if they had to go that far. All because she had a gift. Or was it a curse?
The phone rang. Everyone looked over at it, but the thugs chose to let it go unanswered. They had done their homework, having asked around about the woman’s habits. She never answered her phone, according to the rumors that floated around the hotel. Thus it rang until voice mail picked up.
The man with the gun grabbed her by her arm after a few minutes of silence, and jerked his head toward the fire escape. “You may as well forget your suitcases, you won’t really need them... It was just a coincidence that we stopped by when you were about to leave. Seriously, let’s go...” He snorted again and shoved her toward said escape route. “Joe,take care of the piece of crap and then catch up.”
Joe smirked happily and cocked his gun, causing the fat little toad that was her boss to squeal again. “Ah, shaddap, you old fart. Nobody likes snitches... Why did you go and do a thing like that? Such a pretty lady, too. Tisk tisk.”
“We had a deal! I would bring you to her and you would pay me for it! You didn’t say anything about killing me or hurting her... Don’t kill me, please, have mercy.”
“We didn’t say anything about how we were gonna pay you... Now shaddap.” Squeeze, POP................................................. Silence. “God, what an idiot.” He then stuck the gun in his belt and walked after the pair that was now out on the fire escape, a few stories below.
Down in the lobby at the same time, the maid from the penthouse came down with her tote of cleaning supplies, and went to exchange keys. She saw the clerk at the desk talking to a cop and glanced over curiously, the clerk being on the phone... That one settled the phone on the cradle and gave a soft shrug, “Sorry, sir, she never answers her phone anymore. Been like that for months.” She turned her head in time to see the maid wandering toward the elevator with her tote and the keys to the penthouses... “Hey, Betsy...?”
The maid looked up and gave an inquiring, “Humm?”
“You seen the singer at all lately? There is a visitor for her..” She gestured toward the badge.
“Yeah, she told me to clean up later, I figured I could do it before I clocked out. Why, what is going on?” The redheaded maid moved closer to the pair and looked between the clerk and the cop, worry in her gaze...
“I dunno... Since you are headed that way, why don’t you show the man the way? I don’t think she will let him in, either way, but I don’t think the boss wants any trouble with the cops, so we should probably cooperate.”
Betsy shrugged gently and then gestured toward the service elevator... “Come on, then.”
If he followed, she would take him all the way up to the top floor where he would be escorted toward the first door, where the security guard was slumped over, knocked out cold. The maid dropped her cleaning supplies and ran over to the guard, kneeling down, “Oh my god! Charlie!” She felt for his pulse and her shoulders sagged with relief when she felt it, strong as ever, “What the hell happened to you?”
As soon as the question was out of her mouth, one could hear the loud pleas of the fat, bald man who had hired “Layla” a year before, and then the report of the gunshot as it killed said old fart.
Outside, Xavia flinched as she heard that, and she started to struggle against the grip. “Let me go...”
“Honey, I would reconsider trying to get away....” He shoved her down toward another flight of the metal stairs. She stumbled a little, and then stopped in her tracks, curling her lip and snarling at him.
The man grabbed her arm again in a death grip, and she reacted with her fight or flight instinct by now. Thorns protruded from her skin, and he yelped, “You little b****!!” He lifted the hand with the gun, not letting go of her arm, even as much as the thorns hurt when they pierced into his palm. She hauled her hand back and let it fly, larger thorns protruding from her finger tips and heading for his gun hand, causing him to send a shot flying wildly upward into the NYC sky.
She stood at the corner of the main street and the street she had been accosted on, staring down through the dark lenses of her glasses. A thick swallow marked her unease, and her heart kicked it up again. She shook her head in bewilderment and ventured forward, then crouched down and touched the sidewalk with her hand, wincing as the cold pierced through her glove and into her palm. Her mouth formed a tight little bud as she stared out toward the spot where she had been attacked, no traces left, no bloodstain, nothing to indicate what had happened. Surely none of that which happened was the cause of her illness. It just didn’t make sense! None of it made sense at all.
What was she supposed to do now? The question nagged at her brain and she gave a soft, humorless laugh. Her chin touched her chest for a moment before she stood up and started jogging back toward the hotel.
She had been gone for only a half an hour, but the security guard said nothing as he watched her bolt into her suite. He had long since stopped wondering what was addling her brain... His job was just to watch her door and make sure the bad guy stayed out. As she ran into her suite and slammed the door shut so hard it opened itself again, he turned his head and watched.
Xavia grabbed a suitcase from the closet and dropped it onto the couch, then started to throw her personal belongings into said luggage. In a manner of minutes, the room looked as if a tornado went through it, and she hardly stopped to fold laundry or anything, she merely shoved her things in every open space she could think of, talking to herself about how she was so tired of being Layla and so tired of not knowing who Xavia was.
Nobody seemed to understand, nobody could fathom what was going through her brain. She stuffed a stack of clothes into another suitcase, her costumes, her street clothes, her toiletries... Really, that was all she owned... A lot of it... She frustratingly pushed the lid down and zipped one suitcase, and was about to do another when she heard the pop and pained groan outside of the open door...
She whirled around just as her boss and a few thugs, the same whom had attacked her before. A gun was held to the portly one’s head, and he was sweating bullets as he spoke to her in that voice that sounded much like Danny Davito’s voice, “H-hey sweetheart... Where do you think you’re going? We g-got a contract.”
Her gaze traveled passed the thugs and her boss, and she saw her guard knocked out on the floor across the threshold of the door, blood trickling from the cut on his forehead from the metal knuckled on the uglier of the two. She stopped what she was doing and backed up a few steps, and the prettier of the two gave a smirk, “Guess what? Your boss likes to flap his gums,sugar. You might wanna get a lawyer. Hah.. It’s a good thing you packed though, cause you are goin’ on a little trip.”
“What do you want from me?” She did all she could not to show her fear to the two, and the one laughed a little as he shoved her boss forward to sit down on the couch. The paunchy fellow gave a high pitched squeak and raised his arms over his head, “Don’t hurt me!” The puttz... His fat chin quivered a bit like he was going to cry, and he looked over at her unapologetically.
“We’re not gonna hurt you, old fart,” said the pretty one, and he looked at Xavia, then pointed at her, “Well, unless she causes trouble... Your fate is in her hands now... You should probably be kissing her pretty ass right now and sayin’ you are sorry for namin’ her name.” He laughed a little and jerked his head toward the door... “Go bolt the door, sweetie/ Don’t bother tryin’ to run, either, this gun can pack a mean punch through the walls.”
She could feel her knees buckle a little, but complied, moving to the door and bolting it obediently, then pressed her back against it, formulating a plan in her head as she asked, “What do you want from me?”
“Nothin, sweetie... I am here on business. My boss, however, asked me to come get you and take you back to him, dead or alive/// He would prefer you were alive though. See, you have something he wants..”
It had been a long and trying night... Her head hurt so very much, she was certain that something was off. As she sat in the back of Jorge’s squad car, her vision blurred a bit, sweat still forming beads on her brow. The lights of the city were streaks upon the window as the car drove down the road toward the station, casting a myriad of temporary tattoos upon the glass that seemed to mingle with the cold rain which fell from the New York sky.
Santa cop seemed quiet, and if he spoke, she took no notice. The ringing in her ears overpowered any conversation. Perhaps he would do better to get her checked out medically first before trying to take her statement, she was in bad shape. The dark beauty was quite pale, though it had absolutely nothing to do with the dried streaks of blood that marred her pretty garb. She looked the a wilted flower in a way, which was not odd at all for her when she felt sick.
Xavia closed her tawny eyes, her face relaxing as she felt a familiar darkness envelope her, one that was as peaceful as a summer sunset over Lake Michigan....
--------------
It was months later and Xavia was alone in her suite... She had her forehead pressed against the window which overlooked the city below, dark circles marring the area beneath her eyes from lack of sleep. She had all but given up the search for her identity, though she had been told by another that she was some woman named Xavia Warshalai. She still couldn’t remember.
All she did as of late was work, there was no play. She did not enjoy singing anymore, or playing the piano, and she never really enjoyed the audience. Her phone would ring constantly off the hook but she never answered, even if it was the police with follow ups on the incident before Christmas. Her door was always bolted, and she asked security to stay outside and keep watch for weirdos. The woman was slipping into the life of a recluse.
The maid had been in and began to clean, as was her usual routine, and the young miss kept casting glances at the frail looking Xavia, shaking her head in bewilderment.It was none of her business what was going on with the semi-famous singer, but every staff member who knew of her had grown quite fond of the woman and kept trying to pump her for details every time she finished cleaning “Layla’s” room, to which she would always reply, “She looks sad...” and be about her business.
Xavia didn’t know about all of this, and she didn’t care.
After watching the reflection of the other person in the room, she stood abruptly and uttered, “Come back later, I need to be alone...” Her voice sounded so far away to her, and she slipped a twenty into the girl’s hand as that one nodded and reluctantly backed out of the room. When Xavia heard the sound of the click that came from the closing of the door, she sat on the cushy sofa and hugged herself, tapping her long digits against each upper arm as if impatient.
She still wasn’t feeling well, and odd things had been happening since the night she had been accosted. Whatever it was, she hoped it would go away soon because she had too much to do and not enough time to do such things. Her personal life had all but ceased to exist, she hardly even set foot outside of her suite for the fear of something else happening. A hand lifted and raked through her hair, which was growing lank and stringy from her declining health...
She lost herself in thought after awhile as she sat there. There was not a single point which she stared at, only some distance beyond the walls that were formed around her. The soft whir of the heater came to life as it warded off the last bits of wintery cold that clung to the air, forming a halo around the room and slowly building up around her, while the clock ticked away with annoying clicks and pops. Other than these noises, the room was silent and deafening.
Suddenly the phone broke the maddening silence, the ring screaming from across the room for her to pick up. Xavia jumped, her heart kicking a staccato against her ribs. Letting out a heavy whoosh of air, she stood up and meandered toward the offending technology, eyes narrow as they focused on the sleek cell. She curled her fingers around it and stared at the screen, seeing that it was yet another attempt for the police to get a hold of her.
They didn’t seem to understand that she just wanted to be in her own little bubble. She had given her statement even though she didn’t want to, and they wanted more information than she could possibly give. It seemed that she was supposedly a victim in a long string of muggings from the perps that she had been attacked by, so said the voice mail... Granted, the calls were less frequent than they had been in the beginning, she still got the occasional plea for her to come down and talk to a detective that obviously didn’t want to let the case go cold.
Why did they not just find another victim? She didn’t care if she got justice or not, she had way too much BS on her plate for her liking as it was, why did she have to deal with that too? The fact of the matter was that she had no taste for being the center of attention. Hell, she had to deal with it enough during her work hours.
There was another part of her altogether that wanted to shrink away completely and never be seen again.
She shook her head, clearing the cobwebs, and sighed when the ringing stopped. A beep was given to remind her that there was yet another voice mail waiting for her to listen... She licked her lips and contemplated for a moment... Should she listen to yet another plea, or should she just ignore it?
Xavia quickly stuffed the phone in her purse, then hesitantly grabbed her coat and jerked it on. She paced for a moment, staring at the door, the familiar lump of fear forming in the back of her throat. A few minutes of pacing later and she was on her way out, jean clad legs carrying her passed the surprised security guard, and to the elevator. She pressed the down button impatiently, and waited for the long clime of the clausterphobic box.
“When should I expect you back, Miss?” the beef asked, worry in his voice. “Would you like me to come with you?”
“That won’t be necessary... Thanks... I... should be back in an hour or two, but don’t be surprised if I come back much later,” was her reply. She did not look back at the man when she spoke to him, mostly because it was hard to look anyone in the eye anymore, especially those she didn’t know very well at all.
When the elevator reached the floor she was on and opened its doors, she climbed in and pressed the “G” button. It took a minute or two and a few passengers before the box reached the ground floor, and she stepped out into the lobby, shoving a pair of dark sunglasses over her eyes and pulling a wool beret over her head, both of which were pulled from her coat pockets.
Outside she went, through the revolving door that marked the exit of the lush hotel,into the cool,late afternoon. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and glanced over her shoulder, heart in her throat every time she passed someone by... She walked at a medium pace in the same direction she had headed that fateful night without even realizing it..
