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.
>> "The easy answer is 'Yes it's bad. I should be rid of it immediately. Will you help me?' ...However, that isn't the way my story unfolds. Indeed, at first, I was quite mad. The two parts dueled for control. It's been a living nightmare really. I finally got on top of things, or so I thought."
So Garrett considered himself dominant, as it were. Slate and Calley both remembered that time: when Calley's control was a more given thing, though the power struggles were constant. Now, it was Slate who was 'on top of things', as it were, though he did not frequently choose to exercise that position without Calley's consent. He was less than two years old, but he had learned much about life in that time. The more recent lessons had been concerned with just what came of being 'on top of things'.
The way the man spoke was curious: 'the two parts dueled for control', he had said, as if he himself were outside of the situation. It spoke of at least three personalities, with at least two of them distinct; whether the man's non-shadowed personality had self-awareness and a voice of its own was the unclear point. Whether the man's shadowed personality had self-awareness and a voice was likewise unclear, but about to be made abundantly apparent.
>> "I'd never part with my other. You probably know that the essence of life is survival. It seems obvious, but even at our very beginning, we are two. The dominant self devours the other, but it remains. Deep. Perhaps I am gifted in more ways than I had imagined, having the knowledge of my shadow."
Slate could not help but think that the man's reasoning carried an inherent flaw: a foundation in the belief that the duality of a human nature was accompanied by an actual rift. It was more of a sloppy smear between two colors of paint, in Slate's own experience. Duality was an illusion. Singularity amongst contradictions was the truth he had seen, and much harder to grasp for it. Calley, himself, the clutter: none of them had split sides; they were an altogether mess of morals. Geo, Raina, Emerald; everyone he had ever met was the same. Garrett was no exception, judging by the manner in which he spoke: his fascination with the topic of shadows pointed to his own grayscale nature more than it pointed to a separate entity that magically contained all of this darkness for him. Perhaps Slate's suspicions were wrong: perhaps the man did not have multiple personalities. Perhaps he simply liked to wax eloquent about his internal conflicts.
It was not a matter he felt needed voicing. He merely listened and thought, as the man continued to speak.
Or collapse to his knees. Whichever he fancied, really: Slate had no particular opposition to either. He watched, slightly curious: where was the source of those small blood drops? Had the bald teenager bitten his lip during his sudden collapse?
Then he was standing again, and finally accepting Slate's offer of a handshake by extending his own hand.
>> "Pardon my earlier rudeness, Brother. I don't have a name. I do like Seizure though, so call me that for now. My opinion is that the boy is much too contemptuous and ornery. He shirks at his abilities and looks down on them when he should be realizing his true potential. My true potential. It is his birthright as Homo Superior, as it is yours and mine as well, Brother."
Slate shook the teenager's hand, his face neither losing nor gaining degrees of composure from when he had been speaking with Garret. Likewise, his tone remained equally level. "I have a brother; his name is Calley. You and I share no blood." The concept of a spiritual brother ship was not beyond Slate, but it was not something he had consented to with this teenager. The assumption of such a relationship was not something he shared. Empathy for position was not the same as an actual spiritual bond.
"Both you and Garret share the same abilities, then? May I inquire as to how long you have been both distinct from Garret's personality, and self-aware enough to realize the distinction?" They were clinical questions: he was diagnosing Seizure's experiences against his own. He suspected that the Seizure personality was much younger than he was. Slate could remember when he still talked like that; it seemed like a very long time ago, now.
>> "Well, there's a part of myself that I assume is me. Maybe it isn't. It was formed during my time in the camps and then it was further nurtured and nourished by the Haywire attack. It is a version of myself that is quite....sinister. It wishes to use my abilities only for their negative aspects. Torture and death are high on the list of its priorities. I had to fuse it into my mind at the end of the Haywire attack as it tried to kill me. I can keep an eye on it now, though it seems to be unwilling to leave. Hope that doesn't sound too odd."
Slate's face remained composed; a slight tilt of his head was the tell that he was thinking, however. "No," he said simply, before the time between Garrett's reply and his own stretched out to inappropriate levels; "that does not sound particularly odd at all. Not to me."
Perhaps he should think a bit more about this. But really, it was a better lead in than he had ever received before. Slowly, somewhat tentatively, the Italian teenager with the gray scarf around his neck extended his hand across the space between them. "Perhaps I should introduce myself," he said, quite neutrally, and carefully. "I am Slate. Calley is... not with us, at the moment."
"May I ask," he continued politely, "whether you think that this other you is bad? Would you do away with it, if you could?" The thought disturbed him; perhaps that much could be read, from the way his forehead crinkled slightly, and his tone remained perfectly unassuming, and the fact that he could not help but add; "I think he may have an opinion on the matter himself, if you choose to ask him."
If you put this handy link into the sig area on your profile, you'll get a nice link back to your character's profile, like the rest of us have: [url=http://theultimatexmen.proboards26.com/index.cgi?board=charactersprofile&action=display&thread=3222&page=1] Wallrunner/Blake Harolds[/url]
And I'm sure Sennyo, our newest Attribute Mod, would love to help you figure out how to put that Attribute Profile into numerical terms. Wouldn't cha, Sennyo? *grins*
There was much laughter at the expense of his Biology class. Slate could not help but wonder if that was a good thing or not.
>> "I'm in my Final Year of Marine Biology. Goes well with my Powers, if you ask me. Ever since I got them, I had a passion for Oceanology."
Slate gave a surprised blink. "Your final year? You are in college--a senior in college?" Well. That... was certainly impressive. He had forgotten the strange gap that existed between grade school and college; it was as if those four years of higher education created a gulf. He felt suddenly... slightly intimidated. Perhaps his comments about superior male intellect had been slightly hasty. For himself, his courses were mixed; in Math and Science, he was in his senior year of high school; in English and other areas, he was in the eleventh grade. This was a fair advancement from last year, when not only had he and Calley not been in school at all, they had actually had only an eighth grade education under their belt. He had studied quite diligently since then. Outside of Mathematics, he was quite distinctly below her own college-educated level.
>> "Actually, that fits my schedule pretty well. I have to work next Saturday all morning anyway."
She smiled at him, and he felt his lips slightly twitching up in response. "Indeed. A date, then. To the orchestra."
He tried to ignore the strange feeling in his stomach. It was alarmingly like Calley had felt, the moment before he had crashed that car.
((ooc: Shall we adjourn this thread for the date? )
As expected, the wolf girl had summarily demonstrated how very little she had learned during her violent acts this evening; as expected, the music teacher did not seem to fully grasp this. As to this line:
>> "...However, you were still kind enough to actually come in here and ask to heal me so You aren’t to bad of a person if you look deep down in yourself.”
Slate had but one thing to say. He looked the girl in her dark blue eyes, and replied, "I wish I could say the same for you." Slate did not believe that everyone was good on the inside. Everyone was merely the depth of their morals measured against the weight of their actions. In the X-Men meeting months ago, the girl had shown her morals to be blood-stained. Her actions, at least, were honest to that; it was too bad that her words and thoughts were still trying to rationalize her behaviors. Slate could not help but think she would be accepted in the Order for the same reasons she was argued against in the X-Men.
>> "I don't know how good a teacher I am... Since I haven't been able to have a full class yet! But maybe we'll get a musical in there somewhere!"
The inane laughter and insipid words rolled off of Slate; he did not acknowledge that the music teacher had spoken, by word or gesture or slightest flick of his eyes. Infinity reached in both directions, positive and negative. She truly was exploring the negative end of the number line, as far as his esteem was concerned. Each ill-timed laugh and burst of white noise in the form of small talk only sent her lower. Perhaps that was why the wolf girl liked her: the music teacher was nothing but a little balloon of helium on a thin string. Who did not like balloons? They were such cheerful, useless things.
>> "But for now... we should get you some food and we should both get to bed. All three of us rather."
The music teacher looked to Slate. Slate did not look back. He simply stared at Emerald a moment longer, the anger and distain slowly relaxing from his face. "If you wish to be good, but you do not know how," he said simply, "then you are not alone. But please, do not confuse evil deeds done with justification as being good. Evil concealed is still evil. You are part of the X-Men. Please remember that: it means you are not alone, unless you choose to be. Good night, Emerald Lupin."
Slate turned--his eyes passing over the music teacher as they would have passed over vacant air--and began walking from the infirmary.
>> "Species? So you consider us as Birds or Insects?"
His mouth opened to answer, then shut as her question drowned under the wave of her laughter.
>> "Wow Slate, ladies must really like you."
There was that face reddening again. It was not really a pleasant sensation, was it? "I am quite popular among the women in my biology class," he retorted, in a for-your-information-thank-you tone; "...as a lab partner." He generally was left to write the lab report alone, after the experiment had ended. It was just as well: he did not trust them to handle it. Statistically speaking, women began to lag behind men in math and science at around this age, or even earlier. Slate liked how 'A's' looked at the top of those reports, written in red pen; he also liked the comments the teacher would write sometime, validating his efforts with a word or two and a profusion of exclamation points. He liked, also, knowing that the words were entirely for him. His lab partners did not seem to mind him hogging the write-up and resultant praise all to himself.
>> "The Orchestra? Sounds like fun, I've only been to one in my life. I don't even think it was a real one either... Sure, that sounds great."
The clear and bright enthusiasm in her tone told him two things: one, that he had made the correct choice in locations. Two, that it had been too late to retract said location as soon as it had left his lips. The orchestra it was, then. Ode to joy.
"Is this Sunday too early?" He asked her. "Would an evening show be appropriate?"
Several things became apparent rather quickly, about all three people in the room.
Emerald. Emerald Lupin was a young woman like many young women; she had poor impulse control and a temper she thought herself alone in bearing. Her violent past had no doubt contributed to her current view that violence was an acceptable recourse. In the X-Men meeting months ago, she had advocated zealot killings with all but posters and club t-shirts; now, she returned his verbal points with a physical assault. Violence was a part of who she thought she was. It was a much more dangerous affliction than having violence actually be natural. Violence was natural to a cat or a sparrow or a wolf or a rabbit: any animal that actually lived day-to-day with the reality of death knew violence, participated in violence, but also knew when to refrain from violence. Emerald. Emerald Lupin: not a wild animal, but a teenage girl, who wrapped violence around herself like some wrapped security blankets.
Raina. The sort of teacher who preferred her students to address her by her first name, he assumed; at least, he did not think he had ever heard her last spoken by anyone. Just Raina. A teacher, but not an authority figure. An X-Men, but not a moral pillar. A woman, but not an adult; or at least, her frequent giggling fits in this serious situation certainly brought to mind a schoolgirl more than a mature role model. The sort of person who wanted to be everyone's friend, no doubt. The sort of person who was clearly willing to compromise their own beliefs and manner to do so. She had vocally opposed Emerald's violent views in the comforts of the War Room's chairs, but now that she was witnessing the aftermath of those actions, she was doing nothing but making excuses for the girl. A hypocrite with a weak sense of her own beliefs; if he dissected her, he suspected he would find jelly and yellow cartilage were her spine should be. Raina. Just Raina.
Caleb Swartz. Slate. He would not compromise his own beliefs. He did not care if anyone in particular was his friend. He did not use past violence as a free invitation to present and future violence, either. Caleb Swartz. Slate.
When he picked himself up off of the floor, he was already healed. He had been facing Raina when the wolf girl had punched him; therefore, she had punched him in the back. A 'sucker punch', he believed they were called. His first words were not for the red headed young woman. He turned to the music teacher, who had been pleasantly rambling away her intelligence while he had been on the floor. Since he did not think she had known he was a healer, he could not help but lower her still further in his mind. That punch had been powerful. If he had not been a healer, he would not have been standing back up again. The woman would have been rambling to an unconscious and grievously injured student while she nursed the ego of the delinquent who had done it.
How very like her.
Slate leveled a cold blue gaze her way, and spoke. "I hope your music lessons are very good," he stated simply. This seemed less petty than what he would have liked to say: I have respect for teachers, but not for you. I hope your music lessons are very good, because your authority and wisdom are clearly leeches upon the private donors that support this school. With that neutrally worded hope, the woman was dismissed. She would have to show herself possessing of some trait worthy of discourse before he would address her again. Slate had a basic respect for all people. It was quite possible to rise to great heights on that scale: witness Neena, and Katrina. Raina was the first to fall so far down that scale that he could not even see her anymore.
He turned to the wolf girl. Speeches clearly were not working. Perhaps simplicity was in order.
"What did you learn from your wounds tonight?" He asked concisely. A question that would cut to the heart of the music teacher's primary argument, he suspected. Unless, of course, the young woman could not or would not answer. That would be an answer in and of itself, really.
>> "Okay, maybe it was a good reason for you. You got you're seat now, and a pretty blonde to go with it. If you only want you're seat, I could gladly leave."
She flipped her hair as she said this. He recognized the gesture as being part of a woman's instinctive courting ritual, but he was not entirely certain what the proper male response was. His eyes followed the motion. It was somewhat entrancing, like a differential equation. Chaos theory in motion: if her fingers had been just slightly to the right, how would the path of the hair have changed? Fascinating follicle mathematics.
>> "I know, but no way you were going to ask me! And...Dominant? What, you think men is better? 'Dominent'? Seriously, Women are Waaay tougher....."
Slate gave a small snort. "Statistically speaking, men average at a larger physical size and strength. Women appear to have a slightly higher pain tolerance, but in intelligence, the general population of males and females is matched; however, the vast majority of the more brilliant minds in history--Einstein, Socrates, Da Vinci; need I list more?--have been male. Women," Slate concluded, his evidence stated, "are not 'waaay tougher." He gave her a sympathetic look. "It is not your gender's fault, actually. It is your species. Amongst most birds and insects, females are the 'tougher' gender." And amongst human females, Slate had a statistically better chance of being larger, stronger, and smarter. He was not being a misogynist; he was being a statistician. There were, of course, exceptions. Particularly amongst the mutant subspecies.
>> "Awesome!"
Her voice rose octaves like a musical instrument. He blinked in surprise. He had not been aware that vocal chords could do that quite so suddenly, outside of puberty.
>> "Actually, I was thinking you could decide.... I haven't really gone out with any guy since.... I moved here about three month ago. Basically, I don't know many good places."
Her tone carried a distinct sense of admitting to something embarrassing. Now was probably not the time for Slate to admit that he had never been on a date at all. He had been a bystander to Calley's dates, but that was all. Quantitatively speaking, Leila had much more experience on her side. He felt his cheeks growing slightly hot with his own embarrassment; it was not a particularly 'dominant' feeling.
"Good places," he repeated, with uncharacteristic stupidity. "I..." His mind flashed through recent events, searching for any place he had been, anything he had done, that would suffice for a date. His only experience was Calley's, and he suspected strongly that the kind of dates that Calley went on were not normal. His mind finally grasped onto something that had happened the day before Raina's party, in the middle of the night; he had met the music teacher and a wolf girl in the Mansion's infirmary. The music teacher. Slate did not particularly like--
"Would you accompany me to the orchestra?"
--music. No, Slate did not really care for that noise, mostly. So why had he said that? Why? His face continued to brighten with crimson. There appeared to be an inverse relationship between a man's intelligence and a woman's proximity. He felt like someone should have warned him of that.
The snarling girl tried to jerk her tail away; Slate let her do it, retracting his hand with slight distaste. He did not even know why. Only, was that snarl supposed to scare him? She was a woman, younger even than him. Muscular, yes. Feral, yes. But injured also, and most likely with a bark louder than her bite. What was she going to do, after all--bite him? Even if her social graces failed that completely, he was a healer. Let the puppy do her worst.
>> "Second off, I respect my life damn it I just happen to get into a lot of bad situations I dont ask for. Did I ask to be put in the camps, nope, did I ask to be rammed off the road by the Church of Humanity? Nope! Along with that and a bunch of other crap I have a habit of getting mixed up into dangerous situations. If Anything I'm a surivor a survivior of the camps of these nutjobs of...."
The far-off look in her eyes was not impressing the Italian teenager. His baby blue eyes narrowed even further, if that was possible. Was she recalling further traumas in her list? How quaint.
>> " The reason I got injured was a group of mutant hating bastards were attacking a family of scaled mutants, I couldn't stand to sit there and watch like all the other gawkers so I went in there and Beat the living daylights out of one that shot me when I rushed in and with my high pain tolerance for certain things I kinda blocked out the fact i was being hit by the other to in the legs with scalding Kitchen wear. When I realized it I went over beat the crap out of the other ones and then I came home"
Slate was still in her face. He leaned in closer. "Do you know what you remind me of, Miss Lupin? The little girl who called wolf, except that your wolves are real. Yes, they are in your field, eating your sheep. Yes, it is a terrible thing. Have you ever considered putting up a fence? If one unfortunate thing after another occurs to you, then it may be time to evaluate how your own actions put you in the path of those disasters, instead of yipping about them after the fact like a stepped-on Chihuahua. Or is that going too far? Have I crossed a line? Do you have a traumatic past and a history of family abuse you would like to recount? Do you consider your past an excuse for the risks you run now? If there was a entire group of 'mutant hating bastards', then pick up your X-Men communicator, and call the rest of the team. We would not have been there for the beginning of the brawl, but we would have been there well before the end. We would have noticed that you... that you were being scalded with kitchenware."
Now she was sighing, and crossing her arms in a self-hug; if anything, this show of self-contained consolation made Slate even angrier.
>> "Anything Else you want to know?"
"Yes, in fact. Is there anything," Slate raised up one hand in a fist, and aimed a light knock at the top of her head, under that wild red hair, "in there?" Knock knock. He nearly expected the sound to be hollow.
>> "uh."
The Mansion music teacher chose that eloquent moment to enter.
>> "You sure...?"
Eloquent, indeed.
>> "-I was looking for Doc. Prof."
Slate turned to face her as the woman stammered, his gaze cold; not for her, but for the moronic canine on the bed behind him.
>> "You look a mess Em. I suppose you were just explaining about whatever truck ran you over? ....Well I wont bother you, I'm looking for Doc Prof I was going to give him some samples of the food Im serving tomorrow night... oh... you guys know about tomorrow night right?"
Slate did not respond to this question, with so much as a blink. Some teacher she was. He and Calley were not in her classes; they had only briefly met her at the X-Men gathering Tricity called to order, and from that, she would know this body as 'Calley'.
>> "Be sure to check your e-mails and mailboxes dowstairs. I'd love to see you. You all hungry?"
And now she was setting down food. Was the girl hungry, indeed. Slate picked up the tray. Picked it up, and calmly dumped its pleasantly odorous contents into a trashcan next to the bed. His gaze was still cold, and still on Raina. Now, however, it was all for her.
"Some teacher," he repeated his earlier thought; "Miss Lupin is injured before you, and you joke. She has clearly chosen this unpleasant hour to come to the infirmary to avoid the DocProf's authority, and you invite her to a party. She smells like burned flesh, and you put party treats in front of her. She is a young woman who clearly needs discipline from an authority figure. Will you do it? Or do you not have it in you, Music Teacher?"
Slate was fully awake, now. Awake, and judgmental. He also did not particularly care for music; some of it was pleasant enough, but most of it was just so much unnecessary noise.
>> "I know what you mean. I was there in the middle of it, but I couldn't do anything. I'm not exactly good at fighting yet. I must say I don't even know how to use my Mutation correctly out of water... I don't even know if I have anything I can do out of water."
Slate raised an eyebrow as she continued to speak. And continued. And continued. While it was useful to have nearly complete details of her helplessness on land--or it would be, if he had been planning to trounce her in a fight--it was also somewhat... odd. Where had that rather large confession come from? Did he look that trustworthy? Was it the baby blue eyes?
>> "You know, signs of flirting usually appear when two people fight. I mean, fighting for no good reason, that's not exactly..."
Slate's chin straightened itself authoritatively. "No good reason? You," he pointed a finger towards her chest, "were in my seat." The past tense, actually, was not appropriate. She was still in his seat. He simply did not mind it so much, now that he was, as well. Furthermore, he had the part of the seat which contained the couch back; clearly the superior half of the cushion. Let none deny it.
>> "Hold up, it's my turn to ask the questions! You had your turn... I still have two more to ask."
"I had not been aware that we were keeping track," Slate replied levelly, in a voice that may as well have said, now I will start counting. Her smirk was disconcertingly non-offense: the flirting continued. It was a reciprocal process, it seemed.
>> "But since you asked, I can turn into a Dolphin, I haven't done it in ages though.... seriously. So, for my question..."
Slate gave a nod. He suspected what was coming; really, there could be nothing else. Naturally, she would now ask about his own ability. His own ability was healing; yet Calley's ability was shifting, and that was the ability that they were better known for around the Mansion. He would have to mention it. Being a shifter herself--and an annoying one--she would no doubt ask for a demonstration. A demonstration would require allowing Calley to take dominance of their mind again, and when that happened--well, that was the end of that. Slate braced himself for the inevitable.
>> "Are you busy this Saturday?"
"I am a healer--I... Saturday?" This was not what he had expected. This was not what he had braced for. Slate was left blinking, a foreign expression on his face: so this is what it was like to be 'dumbfounded'. Saturday. What did Saturday have to do with anything? "I did not have anything planned, no. There is a thirteen year old that occasionally criticizes for this lack of forward planning. Why do you--?" 'Ask' died on his lips in the wake of a flash of realization. The realization was this: that had not been dumbfounded. This was dumbfounded.
"Are you asking me on a date?" He asked, his tone that stunned stutter of a man desperately seeking clarification. "You did. You asked me on a date. I... You are a woman. I am supposed to ask you on a date. That is what everyone says. You cannot just... assume the role of the dominant sex." A shy music telekinetic in his English class had been asked out by the girl he liked just last week; it had been a thoroughly emasculating experience, judging by the laughing reactions of his friends. Particularly since the boy in question had apparently turned an interesting shade of white and run away without answering the girl. The point remained, however:
"Yes," he declared resolutely, meeting her gaze levelly. "Yes, I am busy this Saturday. I am taking you on a date." Not the other way around. Just to be clear. Slate had enough social problems without having every teenage boy in the school laughing at him like they had laughed at that telekinetic.
"...Where are we going?" He asked, with somewhat less testosterone.
*nods* I think what you're saying makes a lot of sense, Raina, and if some people get attached to a certain NPC, it would be cool for that range of ability to be shown. You should totally do it. With Luke's attribute profile idea, that's now an option that's officially in place, for both NPCs and PCs. Yay!
For the more faceless NPCs, I think it would be easiest for them to have the total nullification ability. Anyone disagree with that simplicity? Again, people can create NPCs that are weaker, as well, if they need/want them for a thread.
>> "I see, well it was quite something. Did you also hear about how it got crashed?"
Slate gave a simple nod. "Indeed. It would be rather hard not to have heard. It is disappointing that I was not able to join the defense." Namely, because his body--and Calley--had been the cause of the offense. They had been in the form of an inelegantly overgrown crow at the time to mask their identity, but it was still tasteless. Why Calley had chosen the day of Raina's birthday party to pull his little thieving stunt was beyond reasoning.
Slate blinked. She had a smile that could act as a flashlight. Or perhaps a mirror. He attempted to see himself in the brilliancy of her white teeth, but her lips were rather interfering with their attempts at speech.
>> "That's good, because quite frankly, I'm comfortable here too."
As she turned to face him, he shifted slightly, allowing both of them to be marginally more comfortable. His questions earned laughter. Curious. Apparently asking a woman her age was the proper way to defuse an irritable situation: this was something he would have to remember.
>> "Okay, slow down. I'm 21, yes I'm a natural blonde, and I think you are... flirting with me. ...Now, it's my turn. How old are you?"
"Huh," he stated simply, with a blink. "So this is what flirting is? I had imagined it would be less like a fight, somehow." Flirting was a very serious topic in the whispered conversations of his Mansion classes; he had observed it many times while taking notes, and heard it spoken of. It was the fact that she had not either hit him or walked off in a huff that had clued him in, and now the fact was confirmed: yes, apparently this was flirting. Apparently flirting allowed him to be rude without repercussions. Slate was learning much about social graces this morning. "To answer your question: I am eighteen." Technically speaking, eighteen. Even more technically speaking, he was less than two years old. Technicalities were best left unmentioned: this is something he had learned at a previous date.
Her face was rather close to his. With her facing him now, the space between them felt somehow... expectant.
"What is your ability?" He asked, in an attempt to fill it.
)