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.
On his way back to the bed, Roland felt Alexandra's warm hand on his chest. Perhaps she wanted to play masquerade as well. She already liked dress up and she was definitely playing a role here in the Infirmary. He looked down at the hand briefly, his head rising to meet the disgruntled face of Nurselicious. “Roland…The files were not deleted from the computer. The X-Men know about what I’ve done.” His eyes sparkled with curiosity and wonder. Perhaps she was just insane and not as dense as he had once surmised.
"Now leave." Yes, she was definitely insane. Roland had tried his best with her to be charming and pleasant about this business, but it seemed at every corner, she only wished to shut him down and shoo him away. The sparkle went out to sea, replaced by the dark tides of a new moon. Allowing the hand to remain in its place, he attempted to spell it out for her one last time. If reason didn't work, there were other avenues. There always were.
His eyes remained in constant combat with her own. " I'm going to assume that you were in Romania so long that the English language is beginning to become foreign to you again. I'll speak slower, if it helps. I know you work for the Kabal. Someone else does as well. If you kill me or I leave without Streak, you are ruined, as I will not return with you and him as I am ordered to. Your only hope to keep your secret lies intact are to go along with what I say." His hand slid around her wrist and violently pushed it aside. " Good girls keep their hands to themselves."
He turned his back on her, clearly provoking her if she so felt the need. He was really quite done with her games and it was time to move out. " Here's the news. You are going to call Streak and tell him to meet you somewhere quiet. The Library will work fine. You will keep him busy and unarmored until I can put this tranquilizer dart in him. After that, you will help me carry him to the hangar. We are leaving by air." He turned to face her once more, his eyes as solid and serious as the business end of a pistol. " Don't play games with me, Alexandra. Or I will forward the files to Interpol and you can just go to France with me for conspiracy to commit genocide. Maybe we'll get shot on the same day. Now call Streak."
She approached, her hips slinking that sweet nurse uniform in his direction. Her hand reached toward him. Would it be a caress or a strike? Roland didn't so much as flinch, anticipating the former. " No smoking in the Infirmary." It caused a slight shiver, her forceful intentions and her quick grasp of his smoke. He watched her put it out, his eyes glued to her movements. He sincerely hoped his obvious ogling only turned up the heat.
"And put that away."
He looked over at the kukri and pulled his shirt tails out, sliding the blade back manually beneath the tape on his back. Standing now from the bed, he offered his apologies." Sorry Love, I didn't mean to offend. We've just enjoyed such a tumultuous relationship. Fortunately we will have plenty of time to spend together today. Consider it a date if you like." She was in no way amused, but it was alright. They did indeed have plenty of time together today. There would even be a memento of the occasion.
"I am not going to kill you… in the mansion.” Roland smiled and winked at Nurse Sexy. " Well, I would hope not, that would ruin our date. Also, it's fair to mention that I am not the only person who knows about your dirty little secret, so killing me, while perhaps satisfying your ego, won't save your secret. The only thing that will save you is complying to my instructions." Roland stepped past Alexandra and fished out the wet cigarette butt, putting it in his pocket. No reason to leave DNA for someone to use against him later.
Returning to his spot on the bed, his eyes caresssed her form brazenly once more. " I guess you want that little flash drive back that I got from you in Romania. It's waiting at the final destination of our date. Should you perform as requested and not deviate from instruction, it will be returned to you at the end of the evening. Now, how are we going to go about getting Streak? I brought a tranquilizer dart gun to shoot him with. You have to come up with how he will not show up covered in that pesky silver skin. Any suggestions?"
Roland's shoes clicked against the hardwood floor of the landing once he arrived at the top of the stairs. No reason to be wary, as all the children were playing outside as they should have been. Only adults were to be indoors today. He recalled the location of the Infirmary from his tour given by dear Nehandra so long ago. It would be nice to run into her again. Nostalgia aside, there was another beautiful face from the past he was about to see again.
The Infirmary doors opened wide, finding Alexandra in a nurse's uniform. How did she know? Had she been peeking into his room at night? He just couldn't help himself. In the time it took for her to stare at the mess she had made and ask him the same old tired question, he had his arms around her, his lips pressed into hers. Drawing away quickly, he still carried her scent on his clothes and her taste on his lips. He took a seat on one of the beds and pulled a cigarette.
" I didn't know you wore contracts, darling. So many secrets you keep." A Zippo appeared in his hand and he lit his cigarette, drawing in the fresh burn that only a Dunhill International could. Exhaling and blowing the smoke out, he looked her over, the kukri taped to his back appearing next to him, just in case.
" I've got some work for you to do. You are going to help me kidnap Silver Streak. Today. If you don't, everyone will know who you are. Any questions?" He couldn't be more excited. Well, maybe if she'd get out of that damned uniform.
Screams. They weren't coming from inside the shop nor down the street. They were coming from behind Roland. As he turned, his mouth turned to a grin. There was a verifiable creature attacking the police. Her legs skittered over the car, his eyes widening in pleased amazement. Unfortunately for the police, they were all distracted and looking at her. Who wouldn't be? He watched as her scorpion stinger pierced one and sent him down for the count. next it was a gun being knocked from a hand. His savior then took a moment to give him that nod that criminals tended to give each other. He returned it, feeling he should do his best to repay the favor.
The gun knocked free never actually hit the ground, finding Roland's hand a more suitable sanctuary. All he had to do was squeeze the trigger a few times. Double taps in the torso and then the head. It finally got quiet again. He reached down and picked up his bag of sparkling loot, walking toward the great creature still mounting one of the cars. The guns went into his waistband as he tossed the heavy sack on the hood. His free hands now clapped slowly. " Very nice. Take your pick out of the bag. You certainly saved me from a long boring day in an interrogation room. Roland Pruitt's the name. And yours?"
As she could choose to grab loot or not, Roland noticed the remnants of her skirt on the ground. He bent down and began to strip the female officer of her pants and gear. His head craned into the open police cruiser and various items followed his gaze until they sat in a neat pile before him. Shotgun, shells, police scanner, taser, handcuffs. So many toys, it was quite exciting. He looked behind their vehicles to the old Ford Bronco in the alley he had borrowed on the way here.
Looking up at her, assuming she had taken what she liked, he put his new toys in the bag with the loot. Standing, he passed her the officer's pants. " I suspect there will be more of them here soon. Why don't you get in the back of the SUV over there as you are and you can change into these pants as we drive. Deal?"
Roland had made a dire mistake. In order to find new contacts and erase old threads, he had chosen to take his dry cleaning to a new shop. It seems they had lost his favorite coat. Lost it. He was on the phone explaining the sentimental and financial attachment to the coat to the store manager, who seemed to believe he was talking to just any other disgruntled customer.
" In the bag. All of that. Keep your hands above the counter as well. I may not be able to hear a silent alarm but I damned well know what the motion to push one looks like." His attention returned to the man on the phone, who now seemed confused, silence interrupting his explanation of store policy. " Sir? Are you robbing someone right now? What's that noise on the other end?"
" You're robbing me with your incompetence. Don't point fingers so soon, Sir." He saw the motion out of the corner of his eye, the telltale attempt at misdirection as the jewelry store owner waved one hand while the other one retreated beneath the counter. A long sigh left Roland's lips. " I'll have to call you back. Find my coat or you're next." The phone closed and disappeared from his hands, the gun on the counter replacing it.
"Any good stories you want to tell me before I shoot you? About why it was so important to blatantly ignore my warnings? If it is a good enough story, I might just shoot you in the arm or leg, give you a chance. Though, I must admit, my aim seems to tend toward arterial wounds." The old man just looked at him, hands raised and face frozen in horror. yeah, yeah, the victim. Had he not done what Roland told him specifically not to do, his face might be frozen in fear rather than death.
The smell of fresh gunpowder was in the air as Roland stepped over the body into the back, finding the vault. The lock disassembled itself piece by piece, a practiced routine by the man. Many times over. The locks disappeared from each box, uncut stones pouring into the bag along with the pieces from the front. The alarm was already going, albeit with no clanging and lights flashing, so he just opened the door into the alley and stepped out into the light.
" Police!Don't move! Drop the bag and put your hands in the air! Now! You will only get one warning, Pruitt! They knew his name. That meant every boy in blue did. Roland imagined the press conference after, each doughnut inhaler clapping the other on the back. As if they really had a chance. Roland dropped the bag as requested, his back turned away from the officers. Not so much as a drop of sweat rolled over his brow. He could put every single one of these little soldiers in early graves in a moment.
" Don't try any mutie tricks either. We know you have a mutation, judging from reports from the ferry. So keep your eyes facing forward. And get on your knees. This will be your last warning."
Hands went up. Panic and the desire for survival played across the boy's face. Now that the initial shock had passed, Roland's vision focused down the long line of the gun. The face , the body, everything was Slate.
“Calley. Stupid. I, ah, see you’ve met my brother.”
Not Slate. Slate's twin? Lives here at the Sanctuary? What kind of family was that? Did they feel each other's pain, like so many twin stories suggested? It could be a consolation to make Slate writhe in horror in his office for some unknown reason.
" I can give you his address if you want. He’s pretty easy to find. I’m, ah, sure he’d love to see--”
Love to see? Doubtful, unless one counted a tiny room fit for interrogation and a free trip to France. Seriously, why would----
Air covered his face and body. It happened so fast that Roland didn't hear the scream on the other side of the bubble. He felt some wind and then he took his turn at flying. Time seemed to slow down as the table, the girl, and the twin zoomed away. The floor's tile sped by as he looked down at it, his feet pointed at the room's ceiling. Wind. He was a kite, passing by on a spring breeze, weightless. Until he hit the serving line. Then weight returned with a vengeance, as glass shattered and he found himself lying face down in coleslaw.
To kill children or not to kill children? That was indeed the question. Roland could hear giggles becoming cackles as Pumpkinhead and countless others reveled in the vindication of the Big Bad Wolf eating crow. But oh, how they forget. This wolf did not wear sheepskin. This wolf put hot metal in people. He pushed himself back until he was standing behind the cafeteria glass, hairnetted ladies staring at him. They weren't laughing. A towel wiped the muck from his face as he stared at the two children. He felt himself. No gun. His eyes scanned the floor, no gun.
A short vault and hop over the line and his eyes set about to looking for his weapon. The general fanfare died down as they saw this man was not one of good humor. Their eyes seemed to also look for what he was looking for and soon, soon the tables and chairs began to groan against the tile as people started deciding to take their meals elsewhere. " You have just about as long as it takes for me to find my weapon, kids."
((OOC: This thread takes place during the Pokemon Tournament.))
Roland navigated the streets that led to the Mansion, driving a 'Kooky Klown Ice Kream' delivery truck. Sinatra was crooning on the radio and he was singing along as he approached the setting for his most epic of capers.
" Regrets...I've had a few...but then again, too few to mention....I did what I had to do..and saw it through without exemption..I planned each chartered course..each careful step along the byway...and more..much more than this...I did it myyyyyy wayyyy.."
He popped the CD out and put it in a case, hoping that future vehicles had a player for it. The truck rolled into the driveway, more vehicles waiting for the event that was taking place on the grounds that day. Roland imagined the children all dressed up, playing their little pretend game with their gifts. It was really such a waste. they would never be prepared for what was coming. Which was a good thing, but still. It seemed as if the X-Men were really spoiling their next generation.
Popping on his little paper hat with the ridiculous clown face on it, he stepped out of the truck and opened the back doors, vapors spilling out over the ground as the cold interior met the temperate exterior. he was careful to actually handle the dolly and load the ice cream onto it, just in case wandering electronic eyes might be spying. No reason to give his gifts away, as they were the only way to pin him down. This would be the last time he could use his face as a mask, but what a glorious way to do so.
Rolling the ice cream up to the gates, he pushed the little call button. A tinny electronic voice said --Yes?-- to which he replied, " I have ice cream here for the Tournament." A moment of silence passed. ---I don't think we ordered any ice cream.---- Small problem, but not so small considering the audience. " Oh? That's too bad. I have it here as a gift from...Jacobs and Jacobs Security Firm. The note says Good Luck Trainers! on it. You sure you want me to take it back?" Another moment passed and a young man in his late teens appeared, his eyes gleaming over the delivery. The important part was the gates being opened for him.
He began pushing the dolly along toward the Mansion, the sounds of cheering and laughter drifting from the grounds in front of the structure. " Do you have a freezer I can put this in?" The young man nodded and walked him to the side opposite from the fanfare toward a service entrance. When asked what flavors he had, Roland passed him the fake manifest. The original had the actual delivery stops on it. This one had the entire contents of the truck going to the Mansion. Eyes lit up beside him as the kid realized it was all coming there." Very good. I'll wait here."
Of course, when the kid returned, only the dolly waited. Roland was on his way upstairs to the Infirmary to greet dear Alexandra.
"Roland, I called you here today. Not a clone. Not Isabel."
That pretty much summed it up. Roland appreciated brevity. If she wanted to shoot the breeze, it was done best over drinks, preferably a nightcap. It seemed that she was ready to give him his job, so he listened carefully. As much as he wanted to sit quietly and listen to what she had to say, the things she was saying seemed to scream out for interruption, as he apparently had more intel than she imagined he did. The small lump in his breast pocket wanted to get its two bits in as well.
"Alexandra Kettler. Her father was pseudo responsible for the Romania fiasco. I met her in a pool of the blood of her enemies in Romania. I found out she's an X trainee of all things. I think her talents would be better suited for our purpose. For this purpose." she tapped at the science reports. Roland smiled and shared his version." She works for Slate as well. I know her well. We've had many run ins and I always one up her. One of these days she is going to succeed in her attempts to kill me. Or kill herself. I like applying pressure to that one. She manipulates molecular bonds, but I assume you knew that already." He actually dug into his pocket, the action of his fingers doing the walking making more of a statement than teleportation.
Placing two flash drives on the desk in front of her, his fingers tapped them slightly. " I was surprised that you never asked for these. You did send me to Romania to pick them up, didn't you? Well, you wanted me to pick one up. The one with the surveillance footage. The other one is a gift. It contains various files concerning the funding of the camps and other things I wasn't particularly interested in. I got that one from Alexandra. She was unconscious, so I assumed it was alright."
He looked forward to hearing more about his service, but instead came the second half of the job. Roland fingered the photo of the silver man. " I remember watching this one fight Isabel at the mansion. I was doing a documentary film for Slate at the time. I don't see why he would be a problem. It is especially nice to actually steal their security head. Good form." He smiled and winked at her, omitting his plan to deliver an even larger blow to the X-kids. That would have to be a surprise, like the camera and the extra flash drive." I believe Alex will want these files back and she probably won't want the X's knowing her affiliation to the Kabal. So, sour or not, I think we have ample leverage to use." He had no opinion about the no names. That's why they were no names.
Roland had slid the shirt over his shoulders and was in the process of buttoning it while he watched the little scene before him. Poor Circe, it seemed that sometimes God only could put so much into beauty. other things, like brains, had to suffer. He knew what was happening already. He had failed to notice her injury, being more interested in uninjured parts of her body. Now it was clear she had taken some lumps of her own. He could have probably simply tackled her moments ago. Oh well. The files were still being copied. As he worked on his tie, he could see the failed motions as they occurred. He still had interest in the man. She didn't. He would have bled him out the moment the files were finished downloading. Maybe it was the mental and physical fatigue that caused her to be stupid. Or God.
Once she was standing, the flash drive in her hand, Roland could see the fatigue take its toll. She wavered and wobbled on unsure legs. The man who had donated his suit took the opportunity to kick her. Hard. And then another one in her injury while she was down? While appreciating the cruelty, Roland also didn't think it was very fair. Good thing he was there to referee. Fat man started running blindly. Maybe he really forgot about the man wearing his clothes. He stopped short, the muzzle of the gun pressed firmly into his forehead. Immediately came the wavy hands and the gobbledygook of Romanian. The gun smacked him firmly in the forehead. " Speak English or die."
The gun was a perfect translation device. "OK! OK! I know English! Please don't kill me! I have family and money!" Roland's solitary index finger raised to his own lips, signaling the international symbol of shut it. " Do I look like I care?" The man shook his head, little baby tears welling up. " I want the flash drive and I want copies of all of the surveillance on a separate drive. I do know how computers work. So sit your pathetic ass in the chair and do it.Or no more family."
He was surprisingly quicker about it. He must have not felt that Alexandra was a threat, while rightly recognizing the man behind him was. Once the files were copied, Roland pocketed the small storage devices and turned his countenance to the man, who rose with subservient eyes. " I did what you ask. Now let me go free! I won't tell anyone you were here. I won't ---AAAAGGGHH!!!" One shot for each kneecap. He fell backward like a sack of vegetables. " Good luck with Alex. She's generally a sore loser." He pulled the door closed. No reason to lock it, since fat man wasn't going to be going anywhere anytime soon.
With the files on him, his mission was complete. Roland had heard the general calls of exodus outside, so he took his new face and exited among the other unknowns.
"Shoes." He pointed at the man's feet who happily stepped out of them to avoid getting fitted for the undertaker. The rest was still hanging, so it looked like the usefulness of the babbler was over. The gun leveled off.“Wait. Don’t kill him.” Roland's eyes shifted to the lovely Circe, who seemed quite interested in the man before him. A general chicken rant of what seemed to be Romanian commenced, while she looked over at the gun. It appeared as if they were together as far as this unfortunate was concerned.The gun descended, since this would distract her long enough for him to get dressed in peace.
“Well, Mr. Pruitt, apparently we both found what we were looking for." Not by a long shot, but she didn't need to know that. She could poke this guy for a while with pointy objects. Once she was done with him, Roland would take his turn. He always enjoyed when things worked out on their own, without his constant prodding with gun or other deadly object. The shoes were a little tight, but it beat walking on glass. The clothes were all loose, considering the previous owner's girth. They weren't abhorrent and covered in blood though. They were even pressed, so no worries. He slid the pants on and looped the belt as he watched her lead the man into another room.
Mission accomplished. Her eyes didn't wander, but the red in her cheeks told Roland that she hadn't missed the matinee. She didn't seem interested in getting him pants, though. Maybe she liked him scantily clad and didn't want to ruin the fantasy. Yeah, that's what it was. He watched three of the knives disassemble into nothingness, but his question of clothing must have really angered her, considering the fourth poking him in the jugular.
“So. Who are you?”
She didn't want to be friends. That was a shame. Now Roland would have to resort to more serious requests. His eyes glanced to the mirror and then they looked over at her own beautiful neck. The knife decided it wanted to poke poke poke at her jugular now. Maybe he would get lucky and she wouldn't think, impulsively stabbing herself. Either way, the gun was firmly in his grip now and he walked toward her slowly.
"If you haven't figured it out yet, Alexandra, I am your old friend Roland Pruitt. You may have remembered me as Ronald Turpit, the alias I used while in Slate's employ. Now that we have introductions settled, I am going to walk by you now and look for some pants. Should I feel so much as light headed, I'll empty the clip into you. I don't want to do that. But I will."
Passing her, he stepped to the light switch, his gun still drawn down on her. Giving it a flip, he saw a wardrobe illuminated by fluorescent light. He opened the doors, finding a pressed pair of slacks and a belt. The slacks were a little large, but that's what belts were for. Once the pants were in hand, Roland found something special. A man, seeming none too happy to be discovered, stood shivering in between the clothes.
Tossing the pants to the side, he stepped back from the wardrobe, his free hand beckoning the man from his hiding place. "Ollie Ollie Oxen Free. What would you be doing in there, Sir? Looking for Narnia?" The man had his hands up in front of him, blabbering in Romanian. If he didn't have an interpreter soon, he'd be telling no tales.
Roland looked into the mirror, craning his neck this way and that, admiring his job. The goatee looked proper, though it needed a bit of trimming. He'd have to look for some scissors. He put his hands under the water and splashed his face and reached for the towel. As he did so, a glimmer of sliver entered his vision. His eyes glanced at the pistol but considering it seemed that four knives floated next to his head, he decided against it. He instead wiped his face off, some pink displaying that he hadn't got all of the former mess off.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
He knew the voice immediately. His mouth turned into a smile as he tried to think of baseball. He didn't think he could be too subtle in a damp towel if he actually turned to look at her. " Well, now's your chance, Alexandra." Stepping across the room, he grabbed his boxer briefs, letting the towel fall, assuming the knives followed. Among other things, his history was displayed for her in the form of multiple scars, be they from bullet, blade or burn. Sliding the undergarments over his legs, he turned back toward the vixen, sliding them up until they wer back in place, making a slight adjustment.
" I could have had my gun and shot you in the time it took you to stab me. Let's just be friends, shall we?" Looking at the bloody rags that were his uniform for the past few weeks, he looked past her, wondering if the man who owned the shower also had a spare suit. " Did you happen to see a suit in there anywhere?"
The blade seemed to work like a magnet of its own, pulling Lori back from her icy claws of death. It was back to the blond with the heart of..hmm, electrum? Roland's hand palmed the knife and he manually slid it into his waistband beneath his jacket. The point was made, the reaction assured. If there was a pass/fail, she hadn't made any mention of failing, so that only left the fortunate end.
More of this killing business. Maybe this girl was just that. A lost little girl shoved into the limelight whether she wanted to be there or not. That or she was just as dangerous as Roland, putting out false vibes in order to sucker him into thinking her meek. It was an Oscar-worthy approach, as at the moment he was thinking ditz all the way. "I didn't kill Bacchus. It was Slate." Roland grinned again, his mind returning to Colombia. " Well, Bacchus probably deserved it considering his actions in the jungle. I never thought Slate the killing type." He shrugged it off.
Shortly it seemed that all was well and he had indeed passed. That or perhaps the interview never ended. ""And where do you fit in, Mister Pruitt?" Finally, the question. There was just one opportunity to spell things out clearly. "It's apparent to me that you are in a bit over your head right now. You have too many plates, much less what's on those plates. I know that the clones had a high rank when I arrived, but honestly, where are they now? You are the only one I've seen display any sort of leadership capacity. So, I'd like to be your go to. Simply put, if you want something done efficiently and quickly, I am the one you call. I want full disclosure as far as these various pursuits are concerned. You can sit behind your desk and work on whatever it is you work on, but I am not an office kind of guy. I need to keep myself busy or things happen." She could take it or leave it.
A twinkle came to Roland's eye as he imagine little Lori in a large cargo plane, locked down in some grounding contraption. Must have been a b****, whatever it was. He listened with a vague interest as her own thoughts on Bacchus were voiced. He nodded and grinned when appropriate, though he found the process interesting. It was as if the mask of cold indifference was immediately dropped like a curtain. For a moment, he just watched Lori Faust the woman speak.
"I assume from your tone you disapprove of him in general.He's afraid of me you know." Roland put the marker back on its resting place, returning to his seat before the Order's current leader. " I disapprove of anyone who is coarse in their actions. He has no interest in efficiency. To me, that makes him obsolete. I'm not his or anyone else's conscience." He chose to ignore the comment about fear. What made Bacchus afraid was as interesting to him as the source of a stain. You just clean it and move on.
Be it recognition of Roland's voyeurism of her true face or just a show of strength, he watched as her eyes became glassy, like shark eyes. This was either something very smart or very stupid. Was she actually going to test his resolve? If so, she was in for quite a surprise. While he made sure not to bring any guns or anything else metallic, he certainly didn't meet with a boss unarmed. Doing so would mean failing the many interviews that bosses, especially of the unscrupulous variety, liked to drop on new hires unawares. Her mention of killing Bacchus went unnoticed. This was definitely going to be an interview.
" I don't die so easily, Lori. And I never come to a party without favors.' His hands flourished before him on the table, his Stealth Hawk knife appearing before him there. " Undetectable and untouched by magnetic influence. Enters the throat like slot A and tab B. I'm not Bacchus."
