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.
Xavia was not going to die on this day, and nor would she be stuck in a coma again. She was not about to go with those men either… Even as she began to fall, she could hear the two goons explode with cursing, and begin to scramble toward the trellis to get down from the top of the steep roof. She could feel the sting of a rope or string hit her, but didn’t have enough time to react and grab it.
Falling, falling, faster and faster, yet it was as if the moment was being played in slow motion. Just when one would have expected to hear the sickening crunch of a body hitting the ground from so high in the air, though, the only sound one could hear was the flutter of the sheet as it pooled in the low grass.
The wind picked up and the rain began to fall in earnest, sending the sheet blowing for a moment before becoming water logged and coming to rest at the feet of the interloper, the young lady who had ran into the fray to help. There was no sign of the woman who had occupied that bed sheet, save for the scent of roses which lingered in the fabric like an afterthought. But where could she have gone in the blink of an eye?
Seconds ticked by and turned into moments, to leave one wondering what happened to the gutter clinging mutant. Even when the meatheads, huffing and puffing from their quick descent and sprint toward where she would have fallen, came running into the scene like a pair of ugly ogres, they almost skidded to a halt within inches of each other and looked around in confusion. The bigger of the two men, his face scarred up and one of the ugliest mugs one could have ever seen, turned then and gave an accusing look to the Kit, and then it turned into a sneer as he spoke. “Where’d she go?”
(Necessarily short so you all can have a chance to get some action in ^_^)
Somewhere near the stone arch in the Ramble at Central Park, perhaps a short walk from the path and into the wilds that surrounded the romantic structure of stone parapets, the lone figure of the plant mutant sat. Somehow she had made her way through the streets of NYC into Central Park during the night, not really the best time to be in the park, but she had needed the walk.
Xavia sat, this time wearing actual clothes that she had swiped from a clothesline that was strung between two buildings, high above her head. She had sent a vine upward to pull a gingham dress down, which fit her much better than a billowing sheet, indeed. The faded floral print material rested on her form in folds, indicating that it was maybe a few sizes too big for her slender body. But it was clothing. Did she feel bad that she had to resort to thievery in order to clothe herself? Only a little, she thought, it wasn’t as if she had swiped a Gucci from a store, she had swiped a worn out article of clothing from the streets.
Her hands smoothed over the yellowed gingham as she walked through NYC, bunching the fabric more nervously the more she walked, until she found the Ramble. It was dark and one could barely see through the woods that surrounded the arch, and she sat there alone for awhile, listening to the chatter of the passerby and the random bum, and had even had to shut out the sounds of fighting between criminals and the general scum of the city.
She did not know when she fell asleep, but she woke herself up just before the sun made its appearance in the early morning hours. It didn’t seem to be a cold morning, which was unusual in October as it was somewhat balmy and reminiscent of the hot summer that had left New York a short time ago. Xavia was happy with this, and felt more alive than usual.
After she had eaten some dead foliage, and yes, she loved it for some odd reason, she began to play around and see what she could do with these powers of hers that she had fought for so long. In the middle of the small clearing she started to touch the ground in random places, tufts of dormant grass standing up and turning a vibrant green again, tiny flowers sprouting here and there.
She got into the act of making plants grow so much that she began to do so with joy on her face. She stood and began to raise her arms, tall sunflowers bursting from the earth and blooming with their bright yellow petals. Laughing loud enough that anyone could hear from the path to the archway, she touched a tree here and a bush there, in awe of what she could accomplish now that she was beginning to accept her power…
Eventually, Xavia collapsed to the ground with her arms flung open, and a smile curling her crimson lips. Daisies, which were quite common earlier in the year, shifted with the autumn wind to kiss her face. Her tangles of dark curls were spread around her head, riotous tendrils curling around the stems of said flowers.
Unaware of the fact that she was being spied upon from below by a younger woman, the dark haired woman in the chair slowly began to relax, closing her eyes and drifting into serenity. She hardly felt as her body began to transform from its natural form into that of a plant. Glossy leaves began to sprout and cover her, the sunbeam caressing along the green surfaces like tendrils of hair. Xavia sighed as the peace of this transformation engulfed her.
She had never transformed this way before she had come to solitude many months ago, never felt it transition so painlessly and smoothly since becoming what she was. It was as if she was beginning to accept, rather than fight the mutation. The warmth of the sun comforted her as she sat alone in that dusty chair in an equally dusty attic. She simply awaited the rain that was to come within the next hour, or so she had surmised by the clouds that were looming on the horizon.
Another person joined the girl below, and by that point, she lost all human characteristics as she became what looked like a large rose bush. He was just in time to be able to see the buds start to peak through the leaves and unfurl in glorious, crimson blooms. Blossoms reached toward the sunlight and their scent filled the house, and drifted out of the window to fill the entire block with the sweet smell. It did not just mix with the smells of NYC, there were so many blooms by that point, that the scent overpowered the smell of exhaust, garbage, stale alcohol, and other smells that so often permeated through the vicinity.
Suddenly the sound of splintering wood from below broke her trance. Her eyes opened as she could hear the noise coming from the front of the house, opposite of where the two spectators stood. Xavia pushed out of the chair, and the leaves and blossoms began to wither and drop to the floor to reveal the plant mutant in her natural form. A dark haired beauty emerged from the curtain of leaves and blooms, dressed in what looked like a flowing dress, but was in all actuality, an old sheet she had found when her borrowed clothes became too tattered and stained for her to wear, and had been fashioned crudely to resemble clothing.
She barely made a sound as she crept toward the attic door, and only paused when she heard the front door crash against the wall to the entry way. Heart in her throat, she took a hesitant step back as she could hear the sounds of muffled voices from below. Swallowing heavily, Xavia approached the attic door and turned the crystal knob, opening the portal a few inches and peeking through the crack, then tried to get a better look by opening it further.
“She has to be here, I could smell her a mile away. Damn it, the girl had better not disappear again or the boss ain’t gonna be happy.” The sound of a man’s voice filtered through the old house from the foyer, a voice that sounded only a little familiar to her as it echoed off the bare walls.
“Oh, she is here. You bet your life on it, Rod.” Another voice, this one jerking her back to the day she had been kidnapped, found her ears. She shook her head in disbelief and nearly stumbled back. The man from the little park in Kalamazoo, MI. But it couldn’t be, she thought, that man was dead. The man had died in the accident that coincidentally saved her from uncertain fate.
Hardly breathing, she took a step back and closed the door as silently as she could. Xavia was not about to let them take her again, she just could not go back to the lab again, couldn’t be subjected to the torture they had put her through that was obviously bad enough for her to have nightmares about, even if she did not remember exactly what had really happened.
She tried not to panic as she heard them bump around the main storey of the house, and padded toward the window, a quiver of fear and apprehension catching her belly painfully. The woman leaned out the window just far enough to see what her escape options were, only to see a suited figure round the back corner of the house.
Oh God, oh God, she thought and quickly pulled back into the house, backing away from the window. Apparently it wasn’t fast enough, because she heard the man yell, “She’s in the attic!” Shards of wood flew into her face from the window pane as a bullet ricocheted off of it, to imbed itself into the wall!
She could hear the guy grunt as he began to climb the trellis, and she could hear the other men tromping up the stairs to reach her. With little time to act, she mustered up as much strength as she could, sweat beading on her forehead as she summoned her hated powers. The trellis she had created months ago began to coil around the climbing man’s ankle as he was about halfway to his destination. He yelled as he was swept and left to dangle by the limb that had coiled around his ankle. Brambles then formed a thick barrier in front of the door. It wouldn’t keep them out, but it would buy her time. Just as she heard the men at the landing, she ran for the window again and climbed onto the awning above the dangling man.
Xavia did not have time to be amused by the sight of the goon, hanging by his ankle; she had little time to think at all. She reached down to touch the trellis and gasped in pain as she quickly made it grow some more, giving her the rungs she needed to get onto the roof. She was dizzy as she grabbed on to the handholds, and started to scale the flora trellis, and barely made it onto the roof before she summoned the last ounce of energy she could spare to cover the window with the brambles.
She collapsed, out of breath, shaken, pale, and looked around for a way to get out of this mess she was in. Her eyes found the two spectators below, and she made eye contact with both people, only staring for a moment. The moment almost seemed suspended in time, but was quickly dashed away by the men crashing through the attic door and into the brambles. Her head shook and she stumbled to her feet.
Her feet slipped a few times as she tried to climb the steep gables of the roof. Sweat stung her eyes and blurred her vision while she scaled her way to the top peak, wind picking up and whipping her tangled curls around her face. It seemed like there was no way out, except perhaps to leap onto the roof of another house…
THAT IS IT!! If she could just leap onto another roof, and keep going, they would not be able to catch up to her! Boosted by the notion of getting away, she balanced, one foot in front of the other, on the peak of the roof. She looked to the neighboring house, and the gap between her rambling abandoned house and the point of destiny looked like a killer. It was her only option, though.
Xavia tried not to fall as she picked up some speed on her precarious perch, and she made it to the edge, where she took the leap of faith toward the next house over. She looked like a perpetual superhero as her sheet billowed around her while she flew the gap, then landed against the side of that house with a sickening thud, and a white knuckled grip on the gutter.
As she hanged there, the two men from in the house broke through the brambles, and having heard her on the roof, climbed onto it as well to follow her toward the house. They stopped at the edge and peered at her with leering grins on their faces, and the man she had thought was dead, spoke to her. “Give it up. You got nowhere to go but down.”
She could feel herself slipping, and feel as the first droplets of an autumn storm begin to rain down on her. He was right, she thought, this was it. Something inside of her changed with that moment, and a smile crossed her lips. She glanced briefly at the men over her shoulder and said, “Going down.”
With that final utterance, she relaxed her body and loosened her grip.
(Posting may be slow, but please feel free to jump in) She had left without warning. It seemed that nobody missed her, because she was yet alone in the filthy, abandoned hovel in which she took residence. Suited her just fine, indeed, for she needed time to digest the turn of events that brought her barreling into New York. She did not know exactly what prompted her to leave in the middle of the night many months ago, from the infirmary bed where she’d spent her coma. Xavia had taken awhile meandering about, somehow making her way into the heart of NYC, tired and alone, but surviving. It had been like walking through a labyrinth with never ending twists and turns, untold circumstances, and consequences along the way. It turned out that in the center of this imaginary maze was a very real and very abandoned old building. She’d stumbled upon this poor relic of the past with it’s sagging and tired exterior, windows and doors boarded up to supposedly keep the squatters out, and a notice plastered to the boards across the door, “Condemned.” It did not keep her out though, and she slipped in after wondering how she would do so for a few hours. In the end she relied on the one thing she had come to despise since becoming what she was: her mutation. The building was three stories tall, the boards blocking entry through all but the broken out, circular window that marked the attic. There were a few trees clinging to the chipped siding and crept upward in the attempt to take over this old Victorian house, but they were small and she doubted the strength of their branches. Besides, they only touched the bottoms and middles of the second storey windows, and she really did not want to smash some windows and risk alerting people of her presence. It was dark, she was getting chilled, and morning was soon to come by the time she formed an idea. Xavia was determined, though, and hesitantly put her hands, each on a trunk of a tree, two that grew close together. Concentrating hard, and after a few false starts, the two plants began to thicken and branch out. It was a slow, grating process as the branches began to weave and curl around one another to create a natural sort of trellis, with hand and footholds to lead upward. Not stopping to admire her work, she simply scaled the branches to ascend toward, and climb through the small attic window.
Months later…
The sound of a piano hauntingly filled the house with it’s off key tune as her slender digits danced across the yellowed ivory keys. The warble of Chopin did the trick to drown out the sounds of a concrete jungle; the screaming of angry car horns, the profanity of the passerby, the annoying coo of the winged rat… Indeed, as out of tune as the old instrument was, it sounded much nicer to Xavia than New York, New York.
This piano she played so skillfully was old and beat up, left to rot in a lower quadrant of the house. Scratches marred the once, glossy surface of the sad thing. One of the back legs had long since been broken and splintered, and was now propped up by grayed wooden crates, still askew for that funhouse effect. The lid that had once covered the hammers and wires that made the sounds, lay halfazzardly against a wall, covered in a thick film of dust that indicated it had not been disturbed for quite some time. It was as if someone had removed pieces and parts to repair the thing, and simply forgot about it and then abandoned it, leaving it to rot along with the rest of the house.
The occasional person stopped long enough to listen to the spooky sound that trickled softly from the house, gooseflesh forming on their arms as the hair stood up. Everyone in the neighborhood just knew the house was empty, a lost cause indeed. But lately they could hear the sound of the old piano playing, yet see no signs of life. Had some specter taken up residence, and was now trying to scare the pants off of people just for the fun of it?
Xavia was glad to keep it that way. Her frustration and anger with society, normal or mutant, was so great that all she wanted to do was disappear from the minds of others. It sounded so simple, and became the foundation for her decision to stay. She could care less if she scared someone who could not see her. Hah! People were so stupid with their traditions, superstitions, and random folklore. Their imaginations, in her opinion, got the best of them and let them feel things for no apparent reason at all. That bothered her so damn much.
What angered her even more, though, was having to rely on her weak abilities to survive, while all those people who walked by could go out and do whatever the hell they wanted, and go home to their loving families and soft beds… Hot showers… Just the thought popping into her head caused her to slam her fingers down to create a disgusting sounding chord, then to stand abruptly. The stool toppled over and landed with a satisfying crack on the uneven floorboards.
She did what she never did, and kicked the thing away from her in disgust, before tromping through the dim room toward the staircase. The floors creaked and groaned under foot to mark her passage, a rhythm of off beats touching the dingy floor until she reached the stairs and began to climb. With every step upward, she mumbled in her native tongue, pretty much speaking to herself the whole time like a madwoman. Up the two flights of stairs she went, rambling while stepping over the broken steps, griping about life in general.
By the time she reached the attic, she was rambling about something else that must have ticked her off. Surely the young woman had a few screws missing… After all, she was talking to herself, carrying on and on in rapid Hungarian with every step she took. She did not stop until she hit the sunbeams that filtered in through that back window in which she had climbed to make her home.
Motes of dust were kicked up by her feet, sparkling in the bright beams as particles slowly drifted through the air, making for a fantasy effect that surrounded her with its dim glow, cutting off the stream that was her rambling.
Stepping up to the window, Xavia kept as much in the shadows as she could to watch the normal city activity that took place every day. Every day was the same: the cars, the trees, the faces, the sidewalks, the same damn thing every day. When would it end? She wondered this as she watched a cyclist whiz by gridlocked cars and one or two drivers flip the guy their Hawaiian good luck symbols, and heard the report of a horn coming from an SUV.
With a snort, she walked away and plopped into the seat of a legless armchair. Curse these people, she thought, curse them all. As she picked at the threadbare fabric that encased the overstuffed frame of the chair, sitting directly in a sunbeam for comforting purposes (after all, she’s a plant!), she watched through the window as storm clouds brewed in the distant sky.
Dearest MRO Friends, As you may know, I have been a bit absent for a long while now. For that, I am sorry, and I miss those of you whome I have come to enjoy talking to and posting with. However, there are things in my life that I have no control over, and one is disease. I have suffered a less common disease, PCOD, since I was a teenager, so I have had it pretty much half of my life and learned to live with it for as long as I could with treatment. Once I lost my insurence, though, I had to make due with no treatments at all. Over the past two years I have been losing quality of life. The drs do not know why I keep getting infections, and nor do I. I can't pay for a biopsy to see if there is something more going on, and I cannot afford the surgery that would fix everything, so for now, all I can do is bide my time. My mind is just too clouded lately to be creative, I am scared, and kind of heart heavy. I have to put one foot in front of the other and keep going, though. This is nowhere near over, and the only way I can get through this is to have strength, some kind of prayer, love, and support. My friends and family have been so very supportive throughout this week, after another visit to the emergency room. For that, I am so lucky and grateful, and I know that with them standing by me, I have all the more reason to try and beat this. I wasn't going to write this post because I didn't want any of you to feel like crap on my behalf, and I still don't. So please don't feel sad from reading this, because it wasn't my intention. Any threads that are still waiting for me, if any, please don't hesitate to write Dryad out as I do not know when my next post will be. If I can't make another update, I know Were or Ayesac wouldn't mind filling you in for me if I asked them. For now, I will come in when I can to say hi in the cbox and let you know I am still kickin like an old goat... Joo can't get rid of me, joo juss can't. Much love, K. "Dryad"
I am still absent for now, but I never got a chance to announce my departure, due to my laptop dying. Things have been really rough here, but I am okay. I hope everyone else is okay as well!
As Ghost left their presence, Xavia stood for a moment more at the window. She slowly turned toward the other girl and gave a feeble smile, “Thank you…” She said, then frowned as she saw the woman’s hand. She reached out to touch the scar, wishing she could do something.
Her brow knit as she considered, and then her eyes lit up as she had a brain fart. Closing her eyes, she concentrated hard, sweat popping from her brow as she held her palm up. A whimper escaped her as roots moved through her skin, once again, and plant life began to grow slowly from her palm. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to continue concentrating until the spiny limbs of an aloe plant slowly un furrowed from her palm.
Gasping, she stopped concentrating and her head dropped back, breathing heavy and uneven for a moment. IF she wasn’t so weak, it wouldn’t have been so hard!
She plucked at one of the spiny leaves from her palm and offered it to Alexandra, before shaking the other hand and ridding herself of the plant, which flew somewhere or another, LOOK OUT! –Thud.- The aloe wouldn’t heal the wound in a minute, but it would sure sooth it.
Whether or not the aloe was accepted, she gave a tired sigh and leaned against the bed she had been sleeping in for the last few months. “Maybe you help me get dressed, yes? If you want…” She gave another feeble smile and clutched at the sagging blanket. Her gaze drifted off in the direction Ghost went for a moment, from there.
When both of the women spoke, she looked between the two of them. One told her not to call it a curse, and the other was explaining how one would get used to it and that it would become a part of her in time. She did not reply, simply mused and mulled over what they were talking about, considering their words with an expression that bespoke of deep thought.
She watched as Ghost pulled the curtains aside, caramel gaze following her movement. When the woman stepped out of the sunlight, and it started to warm Xavia’s blanket, she eagerly reached long, tapered digits out to touch the warmth in the air, as a houseplant would do. Her fingers trembled, and she closed her eyes.
Sigh. “Thank you.”
Xavia opened her eyes as Ghost went on to speak of getting some clothes, and she was, again, struck by the kindness being shown to her. She was not used to it, and the cracked-in-the-head, plant lady was taken aback. So they were in the same boat as her? They had the same predicament that she had in that they had gifts?
Her lips compressed into a line as she lost herself in thought. She woolgathered the entire time that Ghost was away, up until Alexandra spoke that is. She was about to give a reply to the woman, when Ghost walked back in with the clothing, causing her to give pause.
First, to Alexandra, she said, “I don’t know how I got here.” Honesty was in her voice, which was sounding less accented the more she woke up. It seemed she would only speak very thickly when groggy. She went on, “I wake up here in this bed. Last I remember, I was home with Momma and Poppa, in green house. How did I get here?”
She had completely forgotten about Calley, Kat, and Seizure. It was as if they never existed. Nor did she remember that she had been kidnapped and put into the back of some van to be taken to a lab and studied by the man who made her what she was.
Once upon a time, she had been a normal person. She had been captain of the cheerleading team, and the apple of her dad’s eyes. She had been a spoiled child who lost everything when the experimental cells were put into her body. And then she became a mutant. She had everything, and then, with the blink of an eye, she had nothing but her parents’ love and fear.
It was the type of thing that her parents would not speak of, while sad eyes turned to gaze with pity at their eldest daughter. And now she didn’t even have them. She was all alone and in a strange place with unfamiliar faces and voices that she had never heard, and they, apparently, were just like her.
Xavia wanted to cry.
Swallowing a sob before it even came out, she stiffened and bit hard into her lip. No, no cry, she thought. You will NOT cry. These people were here! They did not know her, but they were being so kind. How could she think that she didn’t have anybody?
“Thank you for clothes,” she said softly, and sat up.
She then wrapped her blanket around her torso to avoid mooning the two women, and turned herself on her bed. Her bare feet made contact with the floor, and she was shakily standing.
Her breaths became heavy as she stood, sweat forming on her brow with the effort it took to do so. That being done, the woman, who was indeed older than a child, took a ffew tentative steps toward the window.
Once there, her head pressed to the glass, and she stared longingly outside, wanting more than anything to be in the greenhouse with her babies. As she stood there, she began to absently talk about what she did know, and that was who she was and where she came from.
“I live in Michigan… I work with my Poppa and Mamma, and my sisters in greenhouse.” She paused for a moment, then went on to amend, “Big greenhouse, with lot of flower and other plant. When may I go home?” Her voice sounded distant as she asked this. She wasn’t even sure she was able to go home. She just knew she was homesick and that she didn’t want to be where she was.
She turned to the other two and relied on the window for support, as she was still weak and shouldn’t have been out of bed. But she didn’t care, it seemed, because the situation warranted her needing any small comfort she could get in a turbulent time.
Xavia moved, then, toward Ghost, taking the clothes that were being offered, and asking tiredly, shoulders squared, “Where is powder room?”
She could simply bottle up the sunshine and keep it for herself, if she so desired… It was one of those lovely days where the birds were chirping, and the breeze was wafting softly northward, bringing warm air from the tropics I the south to dispel winter’s final chill. Xavia felt happy in the midst of her little garden, laying down and feeling like Alice, talking to the smoking caterpillar and singing flowers.
Inside her head, she was composing her next song, a light airy tune rattling around in that active brain of hers and a gentle hum in her throat. Her foot tapped against the air, tap, tap, tap, and she waved her fingers like a conductor for a symphony orchestra. Dadadadum, deedeedadoremifa.
Her eyes were closed as she waved her imaginary baton around in the air, and she knew only content in her dreamt up garden. Her mouth curved up in a smile. This was not a bad dream. This was the first peaceful musing she had ever had while asleep. She did not want someone to pinch her, because she enjoyed this dream.
However, we all know that dreams have the tendency to take a turn for the strange or frightening. Lucky for her, it only became strange from what it was.
She could see herself sit up and look around. The birds suddenly stopped chirping ad the air seemed to grow still. All was quiet. Too quiet. What would she see now?
She then had the urge to get up and run, run as fast as she could away from her little grove of flowers and trees. Her mouth curled downward as she began to do so, getting up ad running as if her life depended on it. She did not know why she was running, why she left her haven. She just ran.
She could feel her chest expanding heavily with every breath she took, her heart beating a staccato against her ribcage, like drums of war. She could see that overhead, the clouds became dark and heavy with the prospect of rain, and thunder began to rumble in the distance.
The wind picked up to whistle through the dense trees through which she ran, faster and faster, a stitch in her side. What was going on with this strangest of dreams? There was no visible danger in front of her, merely the trees whizzing by her as she ran.
And just as she thought it wouldn’t get any stranger, her foot hooked into the roots of a tree, and down she went. And that is when she woke up.
I Nominate Were because she is awesome, and I am happy to call her my bestest friend in the whole wide world. If there is ever a problem that I have had, and I am sure it is with others as well, she has been there with me to be a steady rock that I could lean on. If you are her friend, you would be welcomed into a hug like you were never strangers. So, I think Werecat deserves to be MotM
Xavia blinked a few times, and lay her head down on the rumpled pillow on her bed, frowning to herself. She sighed, and rested her eyes, then, musing about the turn of events that marked her awakening.
She hadn’t realized that the cat lady was blind, which seemed unusual in itself.
Not much more can be said about her situation right now, just that she was silent in her own thoughts. Many, many thoughts that drowned out the talking of the others.
“That girl,” the Doc Prof said crisply, not impolitely though, “Just awakened from a coma. She doesn’t need the excitement.”
The 25 year old looked over toward the girl, then did a double take as………… the cat lady…. From her dream…. Walked in? Xavia blinked a few times, and canted her head.
“You!” She pointed toward the blind cat lady, even if she couldn’t see her, and shook it, “No, can’t be. I dream you up. You are not real.” Her voice was a squeak, and she was adamant as she spoke. Now she had seen everything. Okay, show is over, this has to be another dream.
But was it?
She was pressed down by the Doc/Prof’s hands before he turned to greet the catlady and talk to her. Whatever was said by him was missed by Xavia as she stared at Catwoman for the longest, most perplexed, time.
There was a soft breeze wafting around her. Inside. Inside? How could that be? But then the person who was causing it fessed up to being an air manipulator. She was surrounded by people who had some sort of gift and that bothered her or a brief moment before she reminded herself that she, herself, was odd.
Knowing a moment of confusion, she tried, again, to sit up. This time, she was able to gain purchase, and sat upright while the two others were talking to her. First Ghost, and then Alexandra. Her lips thinned in concentration as she sought to listen to the conversation at hand.
“Some gift? More like curse,” she said to the one who spoke of her gift. Indeed, ever since she had been given the power to manipulate plant life, her life had been turned upside down and inside out. It was of little comfort to know that there were others like her. Indeed, people called her freak and berated her for what she couldn’t help or understand.
She addressed the next person, who was talking about amnesia, and her brow knit in further confusion. “I am Xavia (Sah-Vee-Ah), but I do not know this place. Institute for what?”
Then she turned her head back to ghost, feeling overwhelmed by the conversation. She bit into her full, lower lip, and blinked a few times, trying to form a sentence in her mind in reply to the sunlight issue. Yes, she thought, sunlight. “Sun is good, yes. I like sun.” She smiled the smile of a child, the plant part of her seeming eager to reach toward the life giving rays of the sun.
Thankies