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.
Mariusz emerged from the bathroom at the end of the hallway. It was the one furthest from his room in the Mansion and, in truth, wasn't his first choice for cleaning for exactly that reason. Still, when he had come in from his afternoon workout he had discovered that all of the bathrooms, except for the one at the farthest end of the hall were occupied. His feathers were still a bit damp, it was rather hard to get completely dry with just a towel.
He padded down the hall clad in a pair of shorts, still rubbing the water from his head and not paying super close attention to where he was going. At least he wasn't paying close attention until he bumped into someone. He quickly pulled the towel from his head to see who it was that he had walked into and spotted Maya.
"Terribly sorry Maya," he said quickly, offering her a hand up if she needed or wanted it.
"Mariusz Kasparek," the Czech man said, sketching a slight bow in the direction of Paige. He approached the two women, though he stopped short of stepping onto their blanket. The last thing he wanted to do was tear holes in the blanket with his taloned feet, that wouldn't be very nice. As nearly as he could tell the two women were simply out enjoying a friendly lunch with one another. He would never have guessed that he was interrupting a lunch date.
"I find myself in a bit of a predicament and, it occurs to me, that one or even both of you might be able to help me out," Mariusz began, shrugging his shoulders. Since he'd met Chloe once before that would make this process somewhat less awkward. In truth he always felt awkward asking these kinds of questions, but it was a bit easier when it wasn't practically a complete stranger.
"I think I told you, Chloe, that my father is the Czech Ambassador to America. Well, in a few weeks he will be hosting the Embassy's major summer event, a Masquerade Ball on the Summer Solstice. Quite the big fancy party. I will have to go and he has told me I have to bring a date. Would either, or even both, of you women be willing to attend the party with me," Mariusz asked, rocking on his heels a little bit as he asked the question. "I am not asking as a... well, as a romantic date. I just need someone to go with so that my father will be happy."
"Of course I could," Mariusz said, casting the dark-haired woman an appraising glance. "I hope you will forgive my saying so, but you do not seem to be such a... well, to be blunt, such a large woman. With your own abilities, coupled with my own wings, carrying you would not be a problem at all. That is, of course, provided you do not mind being in close contact with a man that you truthfully barely know. I admit though that I am not dressed for such an excursion at the moment."
The Czech mutant fished in a pocket for a moment before drawing out a business card and passing it to Maya. "This is my contact information. Let me know a time that is convenient for you and we can work something out for you to meet me at the Mansion."
"As for my problem, my father is the Czech Ambassador to this country," Mariusz began, making a somewhat expansive gesture with his arms as a way of indicating America. "In a few weeks time he will be hosting the Embassy's major summer event, a large party. Rumor has it the President himself may even be in attendance. Of course, I am required to attend but I have also been told to bring a date. Preferably an American date. I am not, at the moment, seeing anyone. Still, one does not lightly turn down one's own father... I do not suppose you would care to attend the fancy masquerade ball?"
I think I tend to agree with both ways of thinking I propose this, please offer your opinion:
1. Party will BEGIN in a unified thread
You will introduce your character(s) to the party in this thread. You can begin to mingle and do whatever else you would like to do there. If you begin interacting with someone else (private chat, a dance, advance mayhem plotting, etc.) then you can branch that out into a separate thread, if you like. To keep the big thread from running away from the slower players a post limit of 2 posts per character per day will be imposed in the big thread, but there will be no set posting order (for example Mati could post 4 times a day in the big thread, twice with Evelyn and twice with Tses).
2. Once the unified thread has started players may split off into more personal and smaller threads if they want
Are you having a private chat during the party with another guest? You can do that in a separate thread, just link to it in the Main Thread. Are you dancing, schnmoozing, mingling, etc. and wish to proceed at your own pace? You can split off and do it in your own thread, if you wish... again, just link back to your separate thread in the main one.
3. Once the Chaos begins we'll all merge back into the main thread.
Once I give the green light for the chaos and/or violence to begin everyone should condense back into the main thread since most of the chaosy things that are happening will be (I imagine) big things it makes sense that everyone should be responding to them, thus one big thread. To keep the big thread from running away from the slower players a post limit of 2 posts per character per day will be imposed in the big thread, but there will be no set posting order (for example Mati could post 4 times a day in the big thread, twice with Evelyn and twice with Tses).
"Just tea for me, thank you," Mariusz called over his shoulder as he continued working on making pancakes for everyone. Within a few minutes he had produced another small stack of pancakes. He slid them onto a plate with some of the skillet concoction on a separate plate and then slid both of the plates in front of Megan. "And here we are," he said.
Returning again to the skillet he quickly flipped the sausages and then produced a stack of pancakes of his own before tipping the breakfast onto plates and setting his own plates on the table before seating himself. There was a pensive look on his face as he began to eat. He was trying to work out, in his head, the best way to approach the question he wanted to ask. In truth, he wasn't altogether sure he wanted to ask it of Megan but there was no way to ask Andrea without also asking the other woman. To exclude the brunette from the question would be rude, after all.
It was shortly after lunchtime and Mariusz found himself out and about on the Mansion grounds wandering around. Today he had decided to check out the grounds on foot today. He had to admit that seeing the grounds from this angle was vastly different than seeing them from the air. It wasn't a bad way to see everything, but it was different.
As he wandered among the trees on the grounds he spotted a couple of women out having a picnic. One of them, Chloe, he recognized from previously but the other one was foreign to him. Mariusz was aware, well aware, that he had not had much luck yet in finding the required date for his father's upcoming party. Maybe one, or both, of these two women would be willing to help him out. It wasn't like he was looking for a romantic date, after all. Just someone that would please his father.
"Good afternoon," he called out to the pair of women, approaching the blanket where they were seated with what appeared to be a picnic lunch. "Would it be terribly burdensome if I joined you for a few moments," he asked.
Vidar clop-hopped up to the door of the building that held the office of his commanding officer. The crutches were a significant hassle and he was quite relieved to know he'd be getting a walking boot tomorrow from the hospital in Bagram. The doctors had wanted to keep him in the hospital until the boot was on, but Vidar had refused to allow them to do so. There were others that needed a bed in that hospital far more than he did. Putting his back into the door he pushed his way through and clop-hopped over to the stairs, taking them slowly up. Stairs and crutches were never a good combination and it took the big Norwegian a good five minutes to work his way up two flights of stairs. Still, slow and steady was infinitely preferable to a backwards tumble down the stairs.
At the top of the stairs he turned and moved down the hall in the direction of his commanding officer's office. A few moments later he was standing before the heavy wooden door. Leaning a bit more on one of his crutches, so it wouldn't clatter to the ground, Vidar raised a hand and knocked sharply at the door. "It's open," his superior's voice called out through the door. Vidar grabbed the handle, twisted it, then pivoted and put his back into the door to go through it. He didn't need any help and he didn't want any help.
Once he was inside the office he clop-hopped to the middle of the room and came to the closest thing to attention that he could get in his current state. "Please seat yourself, Sergeant," the Lieutenant Colonel said quickly, gesturing to one of the seats opposite his desk. Vidar clop-hopped to the proffered seat and lowered himself into it, laying his crutches down on the floor next to the chair. "How's the recovery coming along?"
"Get a walking boot tomorrow, play it by ear after that. Lucky was just a flesh wound, recovery will be faster," Vidar replied succinctly. His feather's ruffled slightly and he suddenly realized he was still wearing his cap inside and quickly reached up and removed it from his head. When he had entered the office his sharp gaze had quickly noted the two medal boxes sitting on the desk. No doubt these would be two undeserved commendations. He had done no more than was expected of him and he'd done it too slowly to keep all the members of the team alive.
"I'm sure you noticed these when you came in. They are both for you, one compliments of our American allies. Ordinarily we would present these with a bit more pomp and circumstance, especially the award from our country. But, I convinced the higher ups that you would prefer to receive your awards this way. I know you don't think you deserve either of these, I read your report and I've talked to the Ranger sergeant. However, you're the only one that feels that way."
The lieutenant colonel took up the smaller of the boxes on his desk, opened it, and passed it without much ceremony. Inside the box was a small gold star attached to a small red, white, and blue ribbon with red being the predominant color of the ribbon on the outside. In the middle of the central blue stripe was a small bronze V-device. Vidar accepted the ribbon and looked down at it.
"I must say I was rather surprised the Americans sent you anything at all, given the way they and their government tend to view mutants. Apparently that Sergeant recommended you for something a great deal more prestigious, though I was not told exactly what. Still, the Americans have awarded you a Bronze Star with a combat V," the officer said. As he was speaking Vidar had removed the cover of the box and placed it back over the medal before sliding it into a breast pocket.
"Our own government has awarded you something far more prestigious," the officer began, taking the larger of the two boxes and opening it before passing it also across the desk. Inside the box was another medal, this one much larger though it was also on a red, white, and blue ribbon with red as the dominant color. The medal itself was a crown, beneath which there was a white cross sitting upon a gold four-pointed star. In the center of the cross was a gold lion rampant on a red field.
"You've been awarded the Royal Order of St. Olav at the rank of Knight, First Class. Apparently, it was decided that your actions merited something more than being simply a knight in the order. Frankly, I'm surprised you weren't awarded the War Cross. I put you in for one, so maybe it's just still caught up in the bureaucracy. So far as I'm aware you're the only mutant to be awarded the Order of St. Olav," the officer continued.
Vidar considered the award for several moments before closing the red velvet lined box and sliding it into one of the larger pockets on his pants. If there was one thing to be said for military uniforms it was that they were never lacking for pockets. He didn't want either award, though a small part of him had to admit that he was pleased to receive induction into the chivalric order of St. Olav. Still, such accolades should be reserved for those who completed their jobs flawlessly without getting members of their team killed.
"Anything else," Vidar asked in an almost painfully blunt and direct tone.
"No Sergeant, you're dismissed."
Vidar nodded, rose from his seat as gracefully as possible while picking up the crutches and then clop-hopped his way from the office.
In the aftermath of the explosion of the T-62 Vidar got to his feet, spread his wings, and gave a leap to get airborne once again. His feet had just left the ground when he heard a rapid fire staccato burst from a Tokarev pistol followed by a sharp pain in his left leg. Beating his wings hard he fairly rocketed into the air, by his standards anyway, and he began to dodge and weave, flying an erratic pattern that would make him harder to hit. Checking his wrist altimeter the large Norwegian slowed his ascent as he reached a height of a thousand feet. He was still taking some fire but at the range he was at he was somewhat less concerned with it since automatic weapons, especially Soviet era pistols that were practically antiques and knockoff AK-47's, which weren't known for their impressive long range accuracy.
Raising a hand to his headset he keyed the mic. "Guardian Angel to Bravo Lead, the tank has been neutralized but the enemy knows I'm here now. I'm diverting back to knock out the cache now," Vidar said into the mic, neglecting to mention the fact that he'd been hit.
"This is Bravo 2, Lead's dead. We saw what you did with that tank you crazy son of a bitch! Hit those munitions and meet us at the rally point for extract in twenty," an unfamiliar voice said over the headset. While the voice was talking Vidar had used a talon to remove the sleeves from his uniform.
"Acknowledged," Vidar replied into the headset. Taking one of the sleeves he put it in his mouth between his teeth to hold onto it while he took the other in his hands and looked down at his injured leg. Spotting the wound the tied the first sleeve around his leg as tight as he could just above the knee, forming a makeshift tourniquet. Taking the other sleeve from his mouth he tied it over the wound itself as tight as possible so it would help to stem the blood loss.
Winging back over the camp Vidar unzipped his satchel of explosives. One by one he attached detonators to the blocks of C-4 and then dropped them down on the camp. He watched as one landed in the middle of the camouflage netted area where the weapons were stored and exploded taking the area with it. The fireball from the exploding ordinance created an updraft that Vidar rode several hundred feet higher into the air. Circling once over the encampment he dropped the rest of the explosives indiscriminately before unzipping the satchel with the grenades in it and removing them one at a time, pulling the pins, and hurling them towards the Earth far below.
Turning towards the rally point Vidar flew quickly in that direction, using the black smoke from the mess he had made of the encampment as a means of cover to conceal his own retreat as much as possible. As he flew in the direction of where he would meet back up with the Rangers he ripped open one of the pockets on his uniform and pulled out a pair of granola bars which were quickly devoured and washed down with a generous gulping of Gatorade from one of his plastic canteens. As he neared the rendezvous area he saw that the members of the team of Rangers, both alive and deceased, had already assembled and off in the distance he could already make out the shape of a pair of approaching Blackhawks that would pick them up and return them to Jalalabad.
Beginning to feel a bit light headed, the Norwegian tucked his wings and dropped into the little clearing that served as both the landing zone and rally point. Fanning his wings open with a soft snap he pulled out of the dive and landed, his left leg promptly giving way beneath him causing him to crumple to the ground. Several of the Rangers, seeing this, started in his direction but Vidar waved them off with his hand as the first sounds of the thumping of chopper blades began to fill the small clearing.
Getting slowly back to his feet Vidar lifted his goggles from his eyes and settled them on his forehead before limping over to join the others, dragging his left leg just a little. The Norwegian was a little surprised to not see any angry or accusatory glares thrown his way since he had expected the Yanks to lay the blame for not spotting the tank completely at his feet. Vidar knew that's where the blame for missing the heavy vehicle belonged since he was the reconnaissance man and it was his job to see those things, his fault that some of the Rangers had been killed. He was even more surprised when the medic moved over to him to check out the wound.
"Not a bad job of field dressing, all things considered," the man remarked in a slow Texas drawl as the first of the helicopters settled onto the ground. "Looks like a clean wound, through and through all flesh." Vidar nodded, that seemed like good news at least. If the round had struck bone things could have been a whole lot worse. "Go ahead and load up, we'll get the others squared away."
"No, load the others first," Vidar said, gesturing to the Rangers' fallen comrades. He was injured, but he could wait his turn. In truth he would have offered to help load the others if it weren't for the fact that the Americans didn't look like they needed the assistance. He watched as their fallen comrades, including Lieutenant Dombrowski, were gently loaded into the first helicopter as the second one landed in the clearing near the first.
Once they had loaded their fallen comrades Vidar climbed, gingerly, into the first of the helicopters to ride back. As the Blackhawk lifted off he turned his gaze outside of the helicopter though his mutation was such that he could also still see the bodies of those that had fallen. He was grateful that the eyes on the bodies were closed since he didn't want to have to deal with what he was sure would have been an accusatory gaze from the deceased lieutenant.
It wasn't long before there was a tap on his shoulder. Turning in his seat Vidar found himself facing the brown eyes of a Sergeant First Class. "Sergeant First Class O'Rourke," the burly man said, not offering a hand for Vidar to shake. "Intel dropped the ball on this," he said in a gravelly voice, pausing before continuing, "This ain't your fault, you saved all our lives by taking out that 62... I plan on recommending you for a commendation from the U.S. Army, not sure you'll get it but you deserve it. I need a final report from you to include in my own report, we can do that now."
Vidar nodded once and then resumed his million mile stare out of the helicopter, leaving unsaid much of what was on his mind regarding who was responsible for the deaths on the mission. The fact of the matter was that, to the Norwegian's way of thinking, it was his fault. It was his job to spot things, like the tank, before they could could endanger the teams he was working with and he had failed in that on this mission. He was thinking on how to formulate his report as the medic knelt at his feet and began to do a more thorough job of dressing the bullet wound.
"The weapons cache is destroyed, dropped a brick of C-4 on it. Made a fireball like you wouldn't believe, guess there was a fair amount of RPG ammo under there. Dropped the rest of the explosives and grenades randomly around the camp... pretty sure I leveled it. Wasn't able to gain any additional intel, not sure if there were any survivors or not, though I assume that there were," he said at last, not turning to face O'Rourke as he made his report. "Nothing further to report," he concluded, lapsing back into a brooding silence to be alone with his own thoughts on the mission.
The medic cut away the pants leg at the knee and the makeshift bandage and applied a fast-acting clotting agent and then re-bandaged the wound properly. "Probably hurts like a bitch and they'll have to treat this at Bagram, you got off lucky though... looks like a nine mil. from a pistol instead of somethin' bigger from an A-K or that damned tank." Vidar nodded and continued to keep his gaze outside of the helicopter.
Once the Blackhawk landed in Jalalabad Vidar and the other injured Rangers were hustled from the Blackhawk and quickly loaded into a Chinook with the clear red cross markings on it that denoted it as a medical transport vehicle. While gurneys were brought for some of the others Vidar insisted on walking under his own power to the Chinook, assisted by Sergeant O'Rourke who had one of the big Norwegian's arms thrown over his shoulder while the other Rangers accompanied their injured and fallen comrades in the same direction. The winged mutant winced with every step until they got to the big twin-rotor helicopter where the Sergeant helped him to ease himself into one of the side seats nearest to the rear loading ramp.
"Sergeant, an honor," O'Rourke said, offering his hand to Vidar.
"Good hunting," Vidar replied, shaking the offered hand before settling back into his seat for the trip from Jalalabad to Bagram where, no doubt, he and the others would be taken to the medical facility that was there. The facility was much nicer than most anything else in Afghanistan and rivaled, in some ways, western hospitals. A mechanical humming sound filled the interior of the big Chinook as the ramp was raised and a moment later the rotors spun up. Vidar leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes as he felt the vehicle lift off from the ground, alone with his thoughts.
Vidar orbited the site of the terrorist weapons cache and kept an icy blue eyed gaze on the goings on as the sun crept slowly into the sky, though it was not yet high enough to bathe the valley with golden warmth. As he circled in the air he watched for movement and made note of his observations. About ten minutes later he noticed a small plume of smoke coming from one of the tents near the middle of the encampment, light coming out of the flaps of the open tent. There had been no explosions so there was only one seemingly logical explanation. In the growing light he also noticed that two shapes at the rear of the camp that he had initially mistaken for large warehouse type tents were actually camouflage netting, though he could not yet tell what the netting was concealing.
"Guardian Angel to Bravo Lead," he said, keying on his radio mic.
"Bravo Lead, go ahead," Dombrowski's voice said, coming back through the radio headset's speaker.
"Got movement in the camp, looks like the mess tent has begun meal prep. Unknown number of hostiles inside, wouldn't put the number at more than four though," Vidar reported before continuing. "At the far southeast corner of the camp there are two large camo nets, they aren't tents. Can't tell what's being concealed. Maybe weapons, maybe something else."
"Roger that, we're in position and will move in from the east," Dombrowski replied.
"Understood."
Vidar turned his keen eyed gaze on the eastern side of the camp and watched as the two sentries crumpled to the ground. Even with his enhanced vision he wasn't sure where the shots had come from precisely since the Rangers were loaded with silencers and suppressors to hide the muzzle flash from their weapons as much as was possible. Down below he saw the dozen or so figures of the Rangers move out and into the camp. Everything, for the moment, seemed to be going according to plan so there was no need for Vidar to engage yet. Still, he avian mutant held his HK417 at the ready, prepared to engage if instructed.
The Rangers quickly breached the perimeter and then began moving methodically through the site, going tent by tent. Even though he couldn't see exactly what was going on in the tents the big Norwegian didn't need to be a rocket scientist to be able to guess what was going on as the site was cleared. As they approached what Vidar had pegged as the mess tent there was some shouting and then some audible sounds of weapons fire before Dombrowski's voice came in over the headset.
"Guardian Angel, you are weapons free! Hit the mess tent!"
"Acknowledged," Vidar said, pausing in his lazy circling of the encampment long enough to snap off two shots from his silenced rifle at the sentries at the southern edge of the camp.
Unzipping his bag of explosives Vidar removed one of the grenades he had been issues then quickly re-zipped the bag and dove from his position on the building he had pegged as the mess tent. As he neared the tent he yanked the pin on the grenade and then dropped the explosive down the stove pipe, beating his wings hard and using the speed from the dive to make sure he was clear of the tent. Behind him the grenade detonated and then there was a secondary explosion as whatever fuel source had been being used as heat to cook with also exploded. Turning his head to the side Vidar was gratified to see that there wasn't much left of the mess tent, or some of the tents in its immediate vicinity, beyond a small crater.
Climbing back to a height of one thousand feet Vidar turned his attention on the firefight being waged below, his rifle at his shoulder. At this height he knew he'd be rather difficult to see from the ground, even in the growing early morning light, but with his enhanced vision he'd be able to see everything going on just fine. He gazed around the camp, taking shots at several figures as they disappeared under one of the camo nets, but unable to tell if he hit any of them. When one of them came running out a few moments later with a weapon in his hands the winged man's suspicions were confirmed about at least one of the camo netted areas serving as the weapon's cache. He snapped off a shot at the man and was gratified to see that it dropped him before keying his mic.
"Guardian Angel to Bravo Lead, I've located one of the weapon's caches. I'm moving to destroy it with C-4," Vidar said calmly, dropping the rifle to allow it to dangle from his shoulder by its sling as he unzipped the explosives satchel and removed one of the bricks of C-4 and attached a detonator to it.
"Roger that, hit it then cover us! They've got us pinned down, we need what CAS you can give us!"
"Acknowledged," Vidar said, moving into position to dive bomb the weapons area. He had just tucked his wings to dive when he was interrupted by the roar of a diesel engine far below causing Vidar to pull out of his dive abruptly. The larger camouflaged net was suddenly shredded as an old Soviet T-72 roared out of it. Where the enemy forces had managed to get their hands on the Cold War era tank was beyond Vidar since Intel had long believed that all the armor the Taliban government had possessed had been destroyed. No doubt this was a mere statistical outlier, but a highly troublesome one nonetheless.
The tank rolled over several tents, making a beeline for the pinned down team of Rangers. Its main cannon suddenly barked and a round went roaring over the heads of Rangers and Taliban alike exploding well behind them. Making a snap judgement Vidar changed his plans, diving on the T-72. The Rangers had risen from their positions and were waging a fighting retreat against the armor. Intel hadn't indicated that any armor was to be expected and Vidar hadn't seen any of the soldiers lugging around a Javelin to deal with armor. What the winged Norwegian did know was that if someone could get a brick of C-4 on the tank that would neutralize the threat and he had the best chance of succeeding in that endeavor.
He saw, in his peripheral vision, as he dove on the target two of the Rangers take small arms fire and collapse to the ground. There was little he could do for them, other than to try and level the playing field. Fifteen feet above the tank Vidar shoved his wings out and his dive came to an abrupt halt about five feet above the tank. He knew he was very exposed in his current position and he acted fast. When the tank stopped to fire another round he tucked his wings and dropped down onto it, landing in a crouch just behind the turret. His hands flashed out and slapped two bricks of C-4 onto the tank, one on the turret and the other near the vehicle's rear mounted gas tanks.
There was no way he'd be able to fly to a safe distance before the explosion went off so Vidar leaped from the tank and rolled into a standing position and sprinted away from the vehicle, drawing his sidearms in the process as he preferred them for this kind of close in fighting. He never saw anyone to shoot at and, knowing how long the timer on the detonators was set for, hit the ground just a few seconds before the explosives detonated covering his head with his arms.
"Yes, I suppose I can certainly see how it might be hard to hit someone that had turned themselves into something non-corporeal, like air," Mariusz said, finishing off the last of his two sandwiches and turning his attention to what remained of his soup. "Do you not find your food to your liking," he asked.
His spoon chased the last of the soup around the bottom of the bowl before disappearing into his mouth. "As for the missing flying, I think I can solve that. I can carry another person with me, provided they are not too large. I think I could carry you no problem, especially if you created updrafts with your own abilities to help out. I imagine it is not quite the same, but something is better than nothing is it not? Now, if only my own problem in the next few weeks were as easy to fix..."
I think that suggestion works well for me Calley Kitteh. Again, as I noted previously all I ask is that people avoid the chaos until I give the green light.
Mariusz had to admit that it felt rather nice to be out flying in clothing that wasn't a full on three-piece suit like he normally wore when out and about. Since he knew that he was heading to a mutant hangout tonight, on a mission no less, he had been able to dress considerably more casually without worrying that his state of dress, or lack thereof, would be a problem when he arrived at his destination. Tonight he was wearing a simple pair of blue jeans and a New York Islanders T-shirt, clothing he practically never wore.
Spotting his destination far below, a mutant friendly bar called Shadow's Light run by a mutant woman by the name of Melissa Xilx with a penchant for making alcohol, Mariusz brought in his wings and dove the short distance to the ground before landing and walking into the bar. It was a still fairly early in the evening, past the dinner rush but before all the late night drinkers would arrive so the bar was pretty empty when he entered but he quickly spotted the bar's owner at work behind the bartop.
Crossing to the bar Mariusz seated himself on a stool and then tapped the bar gently with one taloned finger to make sure that he wouldn't do any damage to the bar. "A Pilsner Urquell, fish and chips, and a moment of your time when you have a moment, Ms. Xilx," Mariusz said, turning his attention to the playoff hockey game that was on one of the tv's behind the bar.
"I can certainly see, after living here for a few months, why it might be scary to be outed as a mutant. I am actually trying to become one of the X-Men as well. I think I may have even thought up a handle for that: Talon. But that is a long story," the Czech man said, beginning on the second sandwich before taking another spoonful of soup.
"How could using your powers be dangerous for you," he asked, tilting his head slightly to one side. He couldn't understand how anyone's powers could be dangerous to themselves. That didn't make any kind of sense. Why would someone have mutant abilities that they could use to directly harm themselves. Of course, he could kill himself with his powers if he was in mid-flight high enough in the air and broke a wing.
"Do you miss flying," he asked, taking another bite of the sandwich.
I still have several Talon threads to get done for asking various people. One for hiring WereCat. One for everyone to call back. Then maybe various threads to take the women shopping to get dresses, masks, etc. (one at a time to avoid drama). Possibly a one off with Talon's father to get Melissa Xilx hired as the Booze Caterer.
Then the party stuff.
Of course, I can back-post all that other stuff too.
