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.
Sonya nods smugly at Calley's recitation of ice-cream flavors... somehow she'd figured that he would have a large supply.
"What, I have to choose? Ice cream is best when flavors are mixed up!" She grabs the mint chocolate chip to start with and scoops a scoop of it into a bowl, then gestures for Calley to pass the Neopolitan when he's done with it. "What, no hot fudge?" she adds, only half-serious.
She eats in silence after adding chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry to her bowl, methodically arranging to get a little bit of each on each spoonful. She's always eaten ice cream this way, ever since she was a little -- she pauses with a spoon halfway to her mouth and shivers slightly at the realization that no, she never used to eat ice cream like this.
Teresa did.
It's not the first time this has happened, some fragment of a template's personality showing up when she doesn't expect it, but it's been happening more often lately, and it's creepy. But this isn't the time to worry about it, she decides, and empties her bowl methodically and quietly.
She stays silent after that, thinking about the situation for a while, watching Calley finish his own bowl. "Yeah," she finally says, "ice cream helps." She still can't think of any brilliant ideas, though... at least, nothing beyond maybe coordinating Rupert and Syn, which she'd rather not tell Calley and his entourage about. "So, this Hunter guy. He was clever enough to keep his team from getting nailed by those robot things... you think he's clever enough to find a way to break folks out? The way Syn talked about him it's hard to be sure."
Sonya raises both hands in the face of Calley’s defensive fork pointery with respect to his girlfriend. “OK, OK, I take it back. You are loyal and true. And humble and lovable. Speed of lightning, roar of thunder, fighting those who rob or plunder. Sorry. None of my business, anyway.” Privately, though, she’s not entirely convinced. Not that Calley’s loyalty to his girlfriend is a particularly high-priority issue at the moment for her… no, not at all. They have more important things to talk about, like the Resistance and how hopeless everything is.
> “It seems to be getting run by some young businessy-looking guy in a suit. > With a ponytail. I wasn’t all that impressed, to be honest.”
“Is that Hunter Whatsizname? Antonescu? Syn said something about him leading some other group, and them being all working together… but I have to admit, I can barely tell the players without a scorecard, let alone keep track of who’s in charge. But if he managed to keep his team from being attacked by the cops, he gets points for competence in my book, that’s for sure.”
Calley’s summary of the state of the Mansion only reinforces that feeling. “Well… so much for that idea, then. Damn.”
> “So, umm, what do you think you’ll do? For the Resistance, I mean. > Is there anything you’d be good at? Though I guess I should ask first: > are you planning to join us? I mean, no pressure.”
That gets a laugh out of her – a bitter one with no trace of humor in it. “Yeah, no pressure at all. Just, you know, the government puts me and everyone like me in concentration camps if we don’t find a way to stop ‘em. Other than that, it’s all just pancakes and jam, right?” She sighs. “Yeah, of course I’ll do whatever I can. I just don’t know what that is. It was good to finally get back in touch with Syn last night, but, well... ah, the hell with it. We’re just going around in circles now, aren’t we? And we’re out of pancakes. You have any coffee? It’s always easier to think with a cup of coffee.” She stops and considers that plan more carefully, then shakes her head. “No, on second thought, never mind – I don’t think I want to see you on caffeine. How about ice cream? That’s a traditional depressing-situation food, isn’t it?”
> “To be honest, I’m not sure how much we’re going to get done. > It’s great having a ton of people in one place, but our goals have been rather... fuzzy.”
Sonya laughs for just a second at the image of Calley with fuzzy goals, then frowns. “That’s a damn shame. Seems like with that kind of power in one room you ought to be able to do something, you know? Who’s running the show up there?”
> “To be honest, we weren’t really that close—we’d just hung out a little. > But it would still be nice to get her out of the camps. What about you? > Are you close to anyone in the camps?”
Sonya blinks at that. “I thought you said you were dating? Or are you more the love-em-and-leave-em type?” She sighs… Figures. She was probably dating some other personality. This is one guy it’s going to pay to be careful around. “Anyway, no, nobody in particular. Hell, I don’t even know if they’d remember me… I mean, Syn introduced me around and I sat in on some group stuff, but…” she shrugs, “well, you know how it is, being new. But like you said, I still want to get them out.”
She spreads jam on another pancake as Calley plays with the fork, and starts methodically eating around the edges. She’s hungrier than she remembers being… she’s not sure if it’s depression or the example Calley is setting or what… and is definitely appreciating the existence of food.
After a moment of chewing she adds, somewhat despondently, “I guess there’s not much a healer and a tiger can do, though. And any support we get from the Sanctuary folks, well, I guess Syn’s already working on that.” She feels a little bad keeping her other powers, and her inside contact, a secret… on the other hand, she’s not sure what difference it would make. “Hey,” she adds brightly as the idea occurs to her, “what about the place you were taking classes at – the Mansion, you said? – is there anybody from there who could help?”
> “There was another place for mutants—it was called the Mansion. I took some classes there”
Sonya nods in recognition – she’s heard the name before, the other group not run by this Hunter fellow. Though she hadn’t realized Calley had been affiliated with them. Interesting.
> “I got the impression that Issie really didn’t like the Mansion, so I don’t think I > ever told her that I went there, sometimes.”
Sonya is starting to get the hang of interpreting Calley. In this case, she concludes that the evasive language and the shifty body-language translates roughly into: Calley didn’t want his girlfriend knowing about it. Maybe the Mansion residents and the Sanctuary residents don’t get along? Shades of Romeo and Juliet!
> “It’s just kind of weird, having her be in the camps. > I mean, I don’t know at all what’s happening. Do you > know anything about them? The camps, I mean.”
“Some,” nods Sonya, “but not much. They have some kind of bracelet things they put on the prisoners, that zaps them when they use their powers. At least, that’s what they say it does. Don’t know what they’re like inside, but I can imagine, and it isn’t pretty, y’know? And with those robot things working for them… it’d be one hell of a fight breaking in, or out. But we’ve got to do something.” She sighs. “I asked Syn about it last night, but, well… I don’t know. This ‘Resistance’ of hers doesn't sound too organized, really. Though maybe it’s just that she didn’t trust me with the details… guess I can’t blame her for that, I am pretty new. If they’re the same llama-kidnappers you’re hanging out with, you probably know more than I do about that.”
She considers telling Calley about Rupert, then decides against it… too much can go wrong if that information gets out, and she has no way of knowing what other personalities are spying on their conversation, and besides she doesn’t even know if Rupert will turn out to be reliable.
“I guess what we could really use is someone with invisibility or something like that to sneak in and check the place out. I never met anybody like that at Sanctuary, though. Least not as far as I know; the truth is I still don’t know what half of those people’s mutations are… like Syn, for example; she seems to be in charge, but what can she do? I’ve got no idea.”
She shrugs. “Sorry I don’t have better news. It must suck knowing she’s in there and not being able to help.” Privately, though, Sonya is beginning to wonder. Calley seems concerned, admittedly, but he doesn’t seem particularly desperate-boyfriend concerned. She wonders how close the two of them really were, after all.
> “Well, yeah, of course there’s more. But they’re just the clutter. They don’t come out and talk, or anything.”
Sonya blinks at that. “Um… right. OK, then.” She’s not at all sure how to take the explanation, other than as yet another symptom of MPD, and resolves not to let Calley’s charming goofiness lull her into complacency… who knows what’s going on in there.
But at least for the moment he no longer seems quite so possessive of his pancakes, and that’s something. She spreads some jam on another, rolls it up into a little tube, and takes a bite off one end.
> “Issie is amazing! She’s nearly as fast as me, and she has a > green ribbon in her hair. We were both trying out fake IDs > at the same bar, and we ended up catching a monster movie > together, and then she brought me back to the Sanctuary. > It was fun. She’s in the camps right now, though. Probably > tried to stab one robot too many. She likes to do that. Stab > things, I mean.”
Oh!, thinks Sonya. So he really isn’t associated with Sanctuary himself, then… I was right about him being the tagalong boyfriend. That explains a lot.
More interesting is the reference to being fast and stabbing things, though, which sounds awfully familiar. “Wait… is she the girl with the boney knife-things coming out of her body? I saw her once, though we weren’t exactly introduced.” It’s strange thinking of the half-crazed blade-wielding mutant Sonya had seen in the registration line doing something as normal as trying to sneak into a bar or watching movies with her boyfriend, but on further thought Sonya supposes that’s exactly what drives this whole anti-mutant thing.
“Guess that must be, um, interesting for you. Dating a girl who likes to stab things, I mean. Does she make an exception for you, or are you into that sort of thing?”
> “Where are you from? If I may ask. How’d you end up at Sanctuary?”
“The Bronx,” Sonya answers honestly, figuring it can’t do any harm… besides, it’s easier to remember a cover story if she sticks as close to the truth as she can. “Though I haven’t been back there in a while. Probably won’t ever go back. My family, well, they’re happier thinking their daughter isn’t a mutant, you know? I doubt they’ve even noticed I’m gone.” Which is true enough, as well… primarily because the real Sonya isn’t gone; let alone the real Teresa. She laughs a little bitterly at the thought.
“As for Sanctuary, well… I left home when I realized I was a mutant, and came to the city… I thought I could, I don’t know, find some way to live here on my own. Didn’t work out too well at first; I lived on the streets, slept in the park for a while… stole a few wallets here and there, when I could. Then I heard about a place where mutants don’t have to hide, and I went looking for it, and found Sanctuary.
“Though from what you said before, it sounds like there’s more than one, right? Or there was, before the cops came tearing it all down.” She doesn’t need to fake the angry expression on her face. “That just isn’t right, y’know? Nobody there deserved to be treated like… criminals. Or monsters. Lucky for you, you weren’t there when it happened… I’m really sorry about Issie, though. Do you miss her a lot?”
“No, of course not. My mistake. I should have recognized hiding under the table as the mature, sophisticated conversational gambit that it was. I won’t do it again… and neither will Squeaky here.” She gives the hedgehog a couple of additional squeaks before putting it back down on the table.
She nods noncommitally as he explains… or, well, at least talks about… his multiple personality disorder. She doesn’t really have much to say about it… but she is curious. “So, is it just the two of you in there? Or are there other dwellers in the body of TigerBoy I ought to meet? After all, it is kinda rude of me to hang out in their apartment without at least being introduced, don’t you think?”
> “Slate was really really rude to you. I’m sorry. Sorry about your boyfriend, too. You don’t have to worry about me, though. There’s no way my mom would have approved of drugs, so I’ve never done them. Ever. You dumped his butt, right? You deserve better than some drug addict.”
Sonya grins at the last line. “Yeah, I did. Well, eventually. It took a while… mostly because I was stupid and I was sixteen and I was stupid. You know? I thought I could fix him.” She shrugs. “Learned better. People fix themselves. Or they don’t. And man has this conversation gotten depressing!” She laughs and reaches for one of Calley’s pancakes, prepared to pull her hand away if he demonstrates any equally twitchy pancake-protecting habits as his alter-ego, and decides to change the subject. “So, speaking of boyfriends and girlfriends… tell me about this Isabel you’re dating? I don’t think I’ve met her.”
> “Now see, that just makes it almost impossible to not say – ”
Sonya doesn’t quite get around to picking up the jam-pot to make a threatening gesture with before Calley changes direction.
> “Sorry. Ah, sorry. Yeah. Umm, would you believe severe mental disorder?”
Which is at least responsive, even if Sonya isn’t entirely sure she believes it. The whole “look at me, I’m so harmless and shamed I fold up under furniture” routine, while adorable, doesn’t do wonders for Calley’s credibility.
> “Not that I’m crazy. Not crazy-crazy, like hurts-people-for-giggles crazy, > or... other... crazies. Umm, that was... that was Slate. He says hi. So, yeah. > You can probably keep up the fleeing now. I really should be hiding under > the table, what with the admitting-to-this and all”
“Oh, for Lord’s sake, straighten up before your spine curves that way permanently. And eat your pancakes before they get cold.” Sonya can’t believe she actually said that. That’s her mom’s line… and come to think of it, she’s more or less been channeling her mom ever since she put her shoes on, and not in a mutant-power kind of way. Wow. Didn’t see that coming.
The thing is, goofy as Calley’s explanation is, she actually believes it. Maybe because his feet aren’t squirming when he says it.
“So, you have a multiple-personality disorder, or something like that? I thought personalities didn’t usually know about each other…” Though really, everything Sonya knows about MPD she knows from bad novels and worse television, so who is she to say? “Anyway, I’m sorry I jumped down your throat about it. It’s just… well, I dated a guy once who was heavy into drugs. It ended badly. I guess I’m a little sensitive about it still.”
She sighs and sits down across the table from Calley, who is still doing his sliding-under-the-table riff, and picks up the squeaky-toy from where she left it. “Come on, eat your breakfast. Tigers have to grow up big and strong, right?” She squeaks the toy a few times, as if trying to encourage a recalcitrant housecat. “Who’s a good tiger?”
Sonya opens the door to the hallway and resists the urge to turn around… that had already gotten pretty ridiculous by this point.
The truth is she doesn’t want to abandon Calley to whatever it is that’s messing with his head. It’s not like they’re best friends or anything… hell, she doesn’t even know his last name, and he doesn’t know her real name, and probably half of what they’ve said to each other so far has been lies, but despite all that he’s still basically the friendliest guy she’s met since arriving in New York.
Well, except for that detective and his friend. And we saw how well that worked out. She begins to consider the possibility that she just has terrible taste in friends.
But that’s beside the point at the moment. The point is, she doesn’t want to walk away like this. She just doesn’t know what else to do.
He has my number, she tells herself. If he wants help, he knows how to ask. That’s got to be enough, for now. She opens the door and steps out into the hall.
> “Umm!”
She’s not entirely sure whether that’s an attempt to call her back, or just a particularly odd reaction (in a series of odd reactions) to his precious pancakes, but it slows her down.
> “Umm, I don’t do drugs. I said that last night, didn’t I? ‘Cause, umm, I’m bad enough without them. Obviously. So, ah, sorry.”
She thinks about that for a second, and remembers that yes, he had said something along those lines. Is he lying? She’s not sure… but at least he’s not dodging the question anymore. That’s something.
> “You can make with the fleeing now. I’m just going to try and disappear under the table, if that’s all good”
And, she realizes, that’s last night’s Calley talking again, goofiness and all. She almost lets herself giggle when she steps back into the kitchen and sees his little performance.
Instead she keeps the door open behind her with the heel of one foot and plants both hands firmly on her hips, the way Mama always did when she was especially pissed off about something, and fixed him with the fiercest glare she was capable of. “So what the hell was that, if you don’t mind my asking? And I swear to God, if you say ‘what was what?’ I really am walking out that door.”
Sonya’s jaw drops. Literally. About two inches, leaving her mouth gaping open for quite a long time. Then she closes it and nods. Shame. He seemed like a nice guy.
“All right. Enjoy your pancakes. Thanks for breakfast, and for letting me sleep here last night.” She gets up and takes her plate over to the sink, washes it in silence, puts it away.
She gets as far as the door before realizing she left her shoes in the bedroom, and goes back to put them on. She almost says something as she walks past him, and again as she walks back to the door, but she doesn’t. He’d seemed like a nice guy last night, but she’s seen too many of her friends go down this road.
She gets to the door again before realizing she still has his hedgehog. She goes back into the kitchen again, feeling a little absurd, and places the hedgehog on the table.
Then, with some hesitancy, she writes her cell-phone number down on a piece of paper and puts it under the hedgehog. “If you want help getting off whatever it is that’s messing with your head, Calley, call that number. I’m not sure what I can do, but I’ll do what I can. Otherwise, just forget we ever met. Got that?”
She doesn’t wait for a response before turning around and starting to walk out.
For a few seconds, Sonya is left speechless… she just watches Calley methodically eat his second pancake.
Then she shakes herself out of it and slides Calley’s plate of perfect pancakes out of his reach. “Yeah, duh. I know that. So is turning into a tiger without government authorization, in case you missed the news. I could care less about illegal. They’re also damned stupid, far more to the point. Now answer my damn question and you get your pancakes back. Deal?”
> “I do not own pajamas. Typically, I sleep naked. > It seemed like bad form to do so in front of you.”
“Well,” Sonya starts off with a shrug, “it’s not like you’ve got anything I haven’t seen before, right? Guess it’s a good thing you don’t shapeshift in your sleep…” Then she stops, forgetting what she was about to say next, and looks Calley over carefully.
Something wasn’t right.
Calley hadn’t talked like that last night, or when they met at Sanctuary. And he was… standing still. Which sounded silly, even in her own mind, but she’s not sure she’s ever seen Calley stand still before.
Maybe he just isn’t a morning person? It sounds lame even as she says it; he doesn’t seem at all tired or twitchy or grumpy or anything. If anything, he seems more together than he did last night, though oddly distant.
> "If you would like pancakes, you may serve yourself. [..] > Do not eat the ones on the left, please. Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
“Um… thanks…” she responds, hesitantly, and serves herself a few pancakes.
She can’t quite figure out, at first, why Calley is splitting the pile so unevenly… then she realizes he’s separating out the perfectly circular ones from the almost-perfectly-circular ones. Geez… obsessive, much? Is this the same guy who went to sleep on the living-room floor in his dress clothes?
“I slept OK… hope you don’t mind my sleeping here, but it was kind of late, and…” she shrugs. “I went out for a while – actually ran into Syn, believe it or not, and another mutant girl – but didn’t really have anywhere to go afterwards. Seemed silly to get a hotel room just for a few hours, so I came back. I hope that’s OK…?”
She realizes she’s repeating herself, and stops talking as she puts some jam on her pancakes and takes a bite. Not all that great, really, but about as good as you can expect from a box. “Mm… these are good. Thanks…” The fridge is more like what she’d expected from last night’s Calley – no milk, no OJ, nothing perishable, nothing to indicate that cooking breakfast in this apartment is at all a typical operation, and it just reinforces her sense that something is odd.
As she thinks about it – the sudden falling asleep, the goofy and inconsistent behavior, the massive appetite, the bit with the hedgehog -- one theory seems far more likely than anything else she can come up with, and it worries her enough that she says nothing through the eating of several pancakes. Finally she just comes out with it.
“Calley – were you on drugs last night?”
(( OOC: Usual deal… if I’m mis-representing the cat-hair or the fridge, let me know and I’ll fix. ))
Two cups of coffee and a heartburn-inducing Rueben don’t make for the best sleep in the world, and neither do the weird dreams she’s been having lately. She never remembers them, but she always wakes up from them in a cold sweat, afraid of something she can’t name, convinced beyond reason that someone has come to steal her body.
This morning is no different, except she’s not waking up on the street somewhere, or in a cheap motel room… she’s actually sleeping in a comfortable bed, with comfortable blankets, and heat, and… are those pancakes she’s smelling? This has got to be a dream, she tells herself as she climbs out of bed.
Except it isn’t. Calley really is standing in the kitchen in his rumpled, slept-in dress clothes, making what looks like enough pancakes for a dozen people. Though, judging from the number of burgers he put down the night before, it’s possible he’s just making breakfast for himself.
Though, on further thought, even that’s a little odd. He didn’t strike her as the sort who cooked. Not, granted, that making pancakes from a mix was exactly “cooking,” but even that surprises her.
She pads barefoot over to the kitchen, bending down to pick the hedgehog up from the floor, where it presumably had fallen out of his pocket while he slept.
“Calley, you are the only person I’ve ever met who gets dressed up in snazzy clothes to sleep in. Are you going to change into pajamas to go out, now?”
(( OOC: pancakes works for me. and meeting Slate would be fun. That said, any objection to magically declaring "tomorrow morning" to be post-coffeehouse and handwaving away inter-thread continuity issues? Maybe Sonya woke up, went out for coffee, and came back. ))
Sonya watches carefully as Calley drifts off to sleep on the floor of his own apartment.
That’s… odd. Trusting, which was kind of nice, but… odd. Surely he hadn’t gotten dressed up just to go to sleep… and he hadn’t seemed that exhausted? Maybe shape-shifting takes a lot of energy out of him… which, now that she thinks of it, might explain why he’s so scrawny, too.
Maybe he’s faking, to see what I do? This whole conversation with Calley had turned into something weirder than she’d initially expected, and she takes a moment to put it all together in her head. It doesn’t form much of a picture, really, and she can’t shake the feeling that Calley, with all his endearing bleariness and toe-tapping anxiety, is withholding a lot more information than he’s admitting to.
Can’t really blame him, she concludes. It’s not like I’ve been entirely honest with him, either. Still, he’s engaged her curiosity. She wants to know where that shape-shifting collar comes from, and whether whoever made it can make her a shape-shifting set of clothes. She wants to know who pays for his apartment and why they pay for it. She wants to know exactly what his relationship is to Sanctuary, and to the secretive little mutant Order that Syn and Abyss have going inside it, and what the Resistance intends to do.
But she’s not going to find out tonight, it seems, judging from Calley’s snoring. Well, all right, then. It can wait.
She considers carrying Calley into his bed – the floor can’t be all that comfortable, can it? – but decides that the body she’s wearing at the moment probably isn’t strong enough. Besides, she’s pretty tired herself, and the bed looks pretty comfy, and she isn’t all that interested in sharing it – not tonight, anyway – even if it is his. And he did invite her to apartment-sit, after all, though she’s fairly sure that was just an excuse.
So she turns the lights off and lies down and listens to the snoring from the other room until she can’t hear anything except her own dreams.
Sonya resists the urge to laugh at Calley’s expressive reactions to her comments, especially the silly grin when she mentions the collar as a fashion statement and his astonishment at the notion of mail. Jeez, he’s a goof. Cute, though.
> “Umm, I know you feel bad about it, but you shouldn’t. [..] > The people who set this up planned it pretty good, and none of us saw it coming.”
Sonya nods slowly, slightly reassured. Not that any of what Calley is saying comes as a surprise, and not that any of it is really all that reassuring, but it’s nice to talk to someone who understands.
> “that place where I’m staying instead of here? It’s where all the people > who ran, or who got away, are gathering. They’re calling it the Resistance.”
Sonya nods again, unsurprised. “Yeah… makes sense. You said Syn and Abyss got out OK, right?” The idea that someone as tough – or at least tough-looking -- as Abyss had to run away from the robots in the end is reassuring, but only briefly. It’s not the same, she reminds herself. They made a stand, then retreated when opposition got overwhelming… I just took off before the fight even got started. Not that she regrets it, exactly – her reasons were good ones, and she would do the same thing again – but it still nags at her. Anyway, that doesn’t matter now.
“So the Order is still up and running, then? That’s a relief. And there was another raid, wasn’t there?” She tries to remember what Rupert had said about the previous raid, beyond the fact that he shot his girlfriend during it. “I heard something about that. So… who all is in the Resistance, besides us?”
It still feels weird to think of the Order as “us” – Sonya still has reservations, deep down – but ever since she listened to that detective arguing for the inevitability of race wars between humans and mutants, it’s been clear to Sonya that she has to pick a side, and she’s getting more comfortable with the idea.
“And is there a plan for getting the rest of us out of the Camps?”
(( OOC: I’m avoiding having her ask too many specific questions because I’ve already established her ignorance about certain things in the coffeehouse thread, which happens later.
Also, I’m totally loving Calley’s foot-twitch “I’m hiding something” tell… nice bit of character continuity. Sonya hasn’t made the connection yet, but given some time she will.
Oh, and congratulations on the student-teaching stuff! If you want/need to put this thread on hold for a while, or bring it to an end, that’s cool… just let me know. Sonya will cheerfully keep talking to Calley all night, otherwise.
Oh, also: remember that Amp and Vibe had a bunch of buff guys from the mall carrying their packages just before the raid.
