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.
It was definitely not the accent - she fell for bad boys more often than hicks. However, the classy charm and playful banter gathered her trust quicker than Mag liked.
That settled it then, every time Ty insisted on calling her Darlin’ she could call him Babe. This showed the promising beginnings of every dysfunctional relationship. “Goodie two shoes,” she mumbled teasingly after he buckled, slipping her own belt into its lock for the sake of appearances. Her fingers slipped over the ignition, then found their way down to the shifting stick. Deciding to take it easy on the poor guy - he’d buckled up for heaven’s sake - the Jag never broke first on its way to the stop sign.
“My name’s Mag,” the truth came out smoothly, rolling over the edge of her tongue like every other lie she’d fed gamblers tonight. There was no need to lie here, when she was still certain he was harmless. “I would take you to the races and show you what a real underground looks like, but they’re closed tonight. So, where would you like to go?” It was an open offer, but one that would tell a lot about the person sitting in the seat beside her. Wherever Ty chose, Magnum would know more about him.
The Latina couldn’t help it - she scoffed at Ty’s flirtations. His methods were enough to cause a rare occurrence on her lips: Magnum smiled.It wasn’t very often some could make her smile, and anyone who could do that (even using idiotic come-ons) was a step ahead of everyone else. This lasted only a moment before she was moving along in the conversation again, hitting back: “Only if you settle for Babe.” Seeing Ty’s posture shift, she felt it was relatively safe to relax her own, if just slightly. In truth, Mag missed playful banter between partners that she’d held with Blaze before…. her mind trailed off, refusing to visit that in public.
Rolling her eyes, she slid into the smooth leather the Jag offered. Then, she lifted her eyes to meet his. Her gaze was relatively deadpan, save for the small glint hiding behind the facade. “Look, if you swear not to jack up my car, you should come.” It was an offer, but it was much more than she usually made. Half of Magnum thought she was crazy, the other half didn’t know why she’d offered but was along for the ride.
The man - Ty - turned down her pack. This was completely alright with Magnum, seeing as one less cigarette shared was one more she could smoke in the future. At his comment of the big leagues, she had to laugh. “Aww, babe… you think this is the big leagues? Nah, the men in there just carry bigger guns. They don’t have any real power, especially if you can keep them distracted.” However, as if to contradict her previous comment, when she bent back into her baby to stash her box a deep voice rumbled over the parking lot. It carried an ominous threat with it: "Well, you made it, punk." The very first thing that crossed her mind? Oh sh*t, I don’t have time to deal with another fight. This was made worse by his jab at her - the one that assumed she was Ty’s girlfriend. Yeah, that one pissed her off more than anything.
Magnum reached under her dash, clicking a round into the chamber as the two boys started their fight. Whoever this objectifying bastard was, he’d selected the wrong person to stereotype. She stepped out, expecting to find the scrawny man on the losing side. Instead, speed seemingly won this fight, as he was pressing whoever had instigated this into the asphalt. What came next unsettled her.
“What's the matter, Jim? Sad a little runt like me just took you down? Or is it finally getting to you that the drinking and gambling habit finally drove your wife to leaving you?” Magnum would’ve usually assumed this was a bluff and allowed it to fall under the table, but his words seemed to catch the attacker’s ears. For some reason, at least part of this was accurate. Either Ty was an epic stalker or there was something mutant going on here. The latina wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
Luckily, she didn’t have to: in a few more short exchanges, Ty had the man running for his life. Or, rather, shuffling quickly. Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned back to her. “Sorry about that. Where were we?” Magnum looked amused, if anything. “Hang on a second,” she mumbled, aiming to the guy’s left and pulling down on the trigger. It sent him from a brisk shuffle of wounded pride into a run. “Don’t call me someone’s b****, ever,” she growled under her breath.
With a smile, she slid the gun back into its holster and tossed it into her baby. “Alright, now that he’s handled… I believe we were discussing your career.”
Again, the blonde’s demeanor shifted without explanation: one moment she was angry, the next they were smoking together, and now she straight pissed. "Well, of course you chose to do it.. that's kind of how powers work, right?" The thought appeared, proposing the idea that Charlotte was experiencing PMS. How else would one explain such erratic behavior? Just as Magnum opened her mouth to give an argument, she was speaking again: "Maybe you could just leave, or something. I don't need any attitude."
PMS or not, this was unexcusable. "I’m not the one with the attitude issue, maybe you should check yourself before you start spilling crap," she glowered. Charlotte didn’t care - no, instead of listening or talking back she flicked a f***ing cigarette butt. Really? What the heck? Magnum turned livid, hateful words spewing over her insides like Niagara. Her hand traveled down to to the gun on her hip, only for her mind to realize that she had emptied the magazine into the tree minutes earlier. She swore under her breath, noticing how black the sky had turned.
Caution was to the wind (which had picked up significantly). "All I wanted was some peace and quiet." This was Charlotte’s last attempt at jabbing, but Magnum was already over the edge. As if responding, thunder rolled in the distance. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.
Lightning flashed. The storm had come out of nowhere, only encompassing about a square half mile. Any astrologist in the area wouldn’t be able to determine what happened; it would look as if two pressure fronts had met and started warring. (Scientifically speaking, however, Magnum’s power was creating one of the fronts and causing the mayhem.) They had three minutes to get this under control before the situation turned very bad. A part of Magnum noted that her adversary had moved onto water - her element - and was preparing for a mutant fight. This would have scared her, had she not been so angry. Although she couldn’t control her powers, they hadn’t failed her yet. However, one thing she couldn’t guarantee was that both girls or anyone in the surrounding area would walk away from this encounter.
"Yeah, I was. Couldn't help but admire you back there. Real clean, smooth. You can call me Ty," he extended the greeting. His demeanor made it appear that he wasn't digging for anything, except perhaps tips, so Magnum relaxed her guard. In the light, she had an opportunity to size the boy - Ty - up. Although she didn’t care to fight after a long evening of work, he would be a relatively easy takedown without any weapons. That in mind, her fingers strayed to the pack of cigarettes and their accompanying lighter.
She withdrew, pack in hand. “Men are easily distracted. It’s the lesbians you have to watch for,” she shrugged. This was true in the vast majority of cases, as the males one found in the underground were often narrow minded - or thieves. The females, however, were more perceptive, especially if they received a cut of the evening’s proceedings for helping their gambling partner count cards. “Are you looking to light up or would you like some advice? I’ve never stolen from a man’s perspective, but I know that wearing black is only good in cases of burglary. Everywhere else the lights are so bright that it makes you stand out,” came the offer (with a hint of constructive criticism).
The mutant’s reactions, namely his emotions, were like small feelings in her otherwise flawless head. This way, she could sense inklings of his shame, and later of his determination (which was also testosterone filled male rivalry). However, the icing on the cake was his words."Lady you cannot be more worried about me taking your body drinking than you are that I'm going to use you for a suicide bombing. You cannot," the boy ranted. To this, Magnum responded how she would to any other human who believed they could tell her what to do: “Telling me what to do does not help your case in the least.” As for the actual plea in his words, Magnum swept them under the carpet, making an internal commitment to be slightly more relaxed about what the goodie-two-shoes was planning.
Then the testosterone flared up. Yet again, all males could think about was beating one another up. This raised flags immediately, as Magnum realized that although she was virtually powerless under the circumstances, the boy had full control over something she could barely circumvent herself. "Lady, I make no promises," he smirked, obviously full of himself. "Look, stop calling me 'lady'. My name is Magnum."
His egotism and arrogance were dangerous, very dangerous, but Magnum tried to keep this fact away from her thoughts (as she had just reached the conclusion that if she could read his thoughts, he could read hers). Yet, somehow, she had to figure out a way to keep him calm without ever mentioning that he had stolen her ability to manipulate water molecules.
The testosterone was not helping one bit. Any sort of extreme emotion, especially excitement and fear, caused the humidity levels to fluctuate… but humidity was only the beginning of her powers.
“Can I see? That sounds fascinating,” was the blonde’s response to her relatively nondescript revelation. Of course she wanted to see. Of effing course. As if that weren’t bad enough, her lips contorted into a small pout that would lead the viewer to believe that they were being begged by a young puppy. Except it wasn’t quite that cute - no, Charlotte had an undertone of whininess that Magnum found almost irksome. Apparently she felt it earned her things, because the pleading pout amplified the pitches and dips in her voice. Her saving grace might’ve been the slight moves the blonde kept pulling - from little tilts of her body to drawing her knees upward. To Mag, it signified innocence and weakness. She was always looking for someone to drag around until a better option presented itself. Everything in between was always fairly fun as well.
The if not for allowing these thoughts to obscure her own trails the humidity would likely have risen, as thinking of having to perform on demand was not a comfortable thought for mutants like herself who spent their life repressing their curses. Luckily, Charlotte came to Mag’s rescue: “Wait…” Her brows furrowed as though thinking were difficult. Perhaps (due to her own blondeness) it was. Then again, as a brunette, Magnum was probably biased. “My hair,” the words came with slight accusation. “Are you the one doing all this? Cause that's just not cool.”
Pain struck, causing a sharp jab that began in her chest and slowly inched its way upward. Guilt joined it the moment sensations entered her head. Against her will, the air thickened, becoming almost like pea soup. Then Magnum became angry. Localized clouds started to appear and block off the sky. “Yes it’s my fault. You don’t think I choose to do it, though, do you?!?” She was angry at the girl for insulting her, angry at herself for not being able to control the power, and angry at her arrogance and unappreciative manners. Years of hiding and developing self control were still worth next to naught in comparison to how overbearing her power was. Mostly, Magnum was angry at herself.
“Hey! You little…” Two men began to scuffle as she strolled casually out to her baby. She didn’t care. It was not harming her; it was not harming business. This was the underground. Whereas people in legal casinos - back in LA - were often easily distracted by flashing lights and twirling colors, people here had been taking drugs to alter their state of mind. There was also no bouncer brigade to keep the peace or table master to blame for your misfortune. Here it was man against man: your opponent was responsible for anything you lost today, and may have to pay for it in his own way. So, fights happened, but being female sheltered her from the vast majority of the action. There was always some knight in shining armor rushing to protect her. Big whoop, as if she actually needed their help.
As she pulled the Jag’s door open, a red light flashed over the parking lot. Magnum shrugged it off, attributing it to a reflection from the red paint catching her eye. She quickly lifted the carpet, pulling out her money stash before slipping into the tan leather driver’s seat while counting her earnings. Her total sat at just below $2000. Today wasn’t the most lucrative day she’d had but it was certainly a good day.
The red headed man approached silently. In fact, Magnum had been rather oblivious to her stalker the entire night. One learned to ignore the eyes when wearing revealing clothing as part of a line of work. However, oblivion in the parking lot was a different matter entirely. Being unaware during some of her jobs meant the difference between life and death.
“Nice work out there,” he commented, causing an inadvertent jump and a corresponding leap in her heart-rate. Her fingers reached for the protection mechanism that was so near and dear to her memories. Seemingly unphased, she smiled at him. “I’ve had a lot of practice. Weren’t you farming the players too?”
In the days of warlocks, Magnum might have been considered a witch. Though this was no longer a socially acceptable term, they had been consistent enough to make its descendant rhyme. Stealing, especially in the amounts she could pull by sliding her hands over some unsuspecting gambler too lost in her chest or the game, was a large crime. She was good at what she did, and knew it. The cockiness sometimes caused her to overestimate, but with a few bats of her eyelashes and a well placed airhead excuse, she could talk her way out of almost anything.
As the night drew on, she noticed a boy in all black watching her. Not like the others watched her, but with a certain draw of fascination as opposed to lust. This fed her ego, allowing her to pull larger moves in a sort of unspoken competition. However, this also meant that her jacket filled up quicker than usual, which meant that she’d have to escape to unload. The Jag held most of her earnings from the night under the floor mats.
She propped next to a rather round man in a tattered suit playing poker. He smelled faintly of alcohol, drunkenness reinforced with the occasional slur and jolliness of his demeanor. “Hey there sugar, you look like you’re having a good night. Want to make it even better?” she flashed him a smile, resting her hands on her knees. That was all it took to distract the entire table, so no one noticed her slip a few $100 bills off the table. This just about filled her up, and she needed a break anyways. Flirtatiously, she slid off the poker table. In other circumstances, there would be no doubt that these pathetic boys would’ve followed her - but this was poker, and to leave the table meant to forfeit the pot and any contributions one had already made. Therefore, free of unwanted attention, she sauntered out to the parking lot to check on her baby.
Magnum didn’t need to go unnoticed. Quite the contrary, she needed people looking. Staring, even, but in the wrong places. While some criminals practiced sleight of hand to steal from gamblers, her tools were slightly more… obvious. Dressed in a tight black strapless crop top with demi-sleeves that wrapped around her lower biceps and a pair of jean capris from years ago, she looked stunning… However, the real money was in the bright red leather jacket. It held her stash, and the keys to her success.
She was not a criminal; she was a magician. Over many years, she had learned that the art of deception was made significantly easier when one possessed what the audience wanted to see. So, like all good magicians, she presented to the audience just enough of what they desired to keep their attention while working the real magic just out of sight.
Nights that the street races didn’t run, the latina found herself down here among all of the other pickpockets brave enough to run in the gambling business. Half of the time it was for fun and the other half for business. Tonight was a fun night, one that would fuel her adrenaline addiction, provide her with free rounds, and slip cash into her bank account. She had learned the ways of thievery quickly in her younger days: dress nicely, attract the attention of someone with money, steal some, rinse, repeat.
Its emotions were like wind breezing by. Overarching emotions of being who had stolen her body transitioned from confusion to disbelief, and then to ridiculing mockery. “Allah protect me,” it began, with an accent heavier than before. “The infidel is on to me! Give me the strength to survive this wretched race, for here I can only kill dozens, but by evening's end thousands shall burn in the hell that awaits their capitalist souls--” Fear caused this string of unholy words to cease, overriding everything else but the need to save people that might hurt her baby. Logic started to kick in, stating that although he had issues running over people, he was completely prepared to blow them up.Was a death not a death unless it involved fire and bombshells?
While Magnum contemplated this ideology, her possessor managed to slide the Jag to a halt without damaging it - or any of the crowd. For some reason, though, he was panting like he’d just run the 2 mile race. She didn’t understand why her captor was so flustered; it was just a race. (Then again, she had been doing the same sort of thing 6 nights a week for the past month or two.) As soon as it caught its breath, it was on to thinking about how cool blowing up people would be. That’s when it clicked: he wasn’t a terrorist, just an aspiring terrorist. Stupid kids.
Much to her regret, this was not the lowest he sunk. No, after moving on from how awesome it would be to kill people, he thought about getting drunk. Brilliant idea, Sherlock. Even better was the fact that he could drink a vast amount more in her body than in his own - a rather sad fact attributed to years of practice and tolerance building. “"Are you legal to drink?" he asked. "I'm not, but I'm pretty sure no one's checking my ID."
She couldn’t contain it, she burst out in laughter. The irony of it all was too great. First, he’d just contemplated ways to murder people. Second, he’d just participated in an illegal street race. Third, he hadn’t collected her money from illegal gambling yet. And while all of this was going on, all he could think about was if she could legally consume alcohol. Her laughter lasted for at least thirty seconds, but was closer to a minute before Magnum was able to provide a response without breaking into giggles again.
Breathlessly, she managed, “You’re concerned about legally consuming alcohol? First, you need to go pick up the cash from the guy in the back left corner. While doing that, you need to avoid getting laid by all of the horny guys outside this car. Last, you need to not drink, because you’re underage. Also, try not to get punched by the guy you just beat; some of them get really mad about losing to a girl.”
Dumbfounded, Magnum said nothing more as the cigarette wilted away. The fire that produced such lovely drugs was slowly disappearing, not that this was of the utmost importance at this very moment. Notwithstanding, she took another, smaller puff to keep it lit - one does not simply allow drug-bearing gifts to become extinguished from negligence immediately after receiving such a beautiful present. “Do you have any secrets?” The question drew her back down to earth, setting off tiny panic alarms in her mind. Did she have secrets? Holy Jesus, yes. Did she know how to use them? Good God, no.
The question hung in midair for a few moments. To proclaim that one did not have secrets was a lie for anyone above the age of 5. To proclaim that one did have secrets was to invite others to listen. A catch twenty-two, for certain. Magnum knew she was not reacting as societal norms dictated, which likely made Charlotte suspicious, but nothing else could be done. In character, she blurted the first answer that came to mind: “Yes.” Such comitance was sinful to proclaim and then not explain. “I mean, we all have our secrets, don’t we?”
Intense desire burned in her blue eyes, pressing Magnum for answers. It seemed that generalized answers would not fill the empty space and force the conversation onward. No, Charlotte had given her something very dear and now it was on her shoulders to return the favor. She swallowed heavily. “I can manipulate water. Not in the ways you can, but I can create it, destroy it, and to a certain extent maneuver it - but that works better with gases than liquids.”
With her confession laid bare on the table, the latina hoped with all her heart that the blonde didn’t ask for a demonstration. Aside from being terribly dangerous due to how little control she possessed, Magnum didn’t actually know if she could make it occur on demand without triggering the memories or if the effects would be as strong when forced as they were when she didn’t want them around.
The nagging voice at the back of her head mentioned something very important: One could say Magnum was afraid of her power, and, though they would be right, her ego was still greater. A challenge would force her to try despite the danger.
Terrified. The demon who had possessed her was terrified. It had started babbling in another language between her instructions, the only word of which she actually understood was Allahu which sounded a lot like Allah, which meant God. Except not God. Why would a demon pray to God, unless he was not a demon. Based on this conclusion, Magnum’s thoughts loudly announced the first logical conclusion they came to: “Holy s**t the terrorists have a mutant working for them!”
In retrospect, this was probably not the kindest, most religiously or ethnically considerate comment to make. Magnum didn’t care, a flipping terrorist had possessed her. THAT WAS WORSE THAN A DEMON.
The finish line was approximately seven seconds away, and they were still gaining speed. They were also edging ahead. Magnum bit her lip; if she had the masculine voice continue to press forward they were guaranteed a win. However, he didn’t have the stopping practice required to bring the car to a halt inside a group of people safely and comfortably. If they shifted into neutral now, they would win unless her opponent touched the nos (an illegal move for this race, but one he might make anyways).
“Please don't let me commit vehicular homicide,” the not-demon terrorist pleaded. Well, maybe he wasn’t a terrorist at all… or maybe he just didn’t want to be arrested/die before acquiring his 72 virgins. That was something Magnum could agree to though - even the 72 virgins part. Who wouldn’t want to get in bed with that? Also, the dents that vehicular homicide would put in her Jag would cost too much to repair. At that point, she would have to replace the body and any parts of the engine that didn’t survive a human-at-100-mph encounter.
She was worried that he would strip her gears, he was worried that he would kill someone. With some moral debate, she counted to three, then began giving orders again. The not-demon semi-terrorist could die another day, because her baby was not getting destroyed. “Foot off the gas, heavy left pedal, shift the stick halfway up to where you can move it left and right freely.” This was the most important part of high speed racing - if he didn’t make sure the car was in complete neutral before he started decelerating, he would strip her baby in ten second flat and she’d have to pay to have the drivetrain replaced. That would not be okay in the slightest. While she was panicking and making internal threats if he happened to destroy her car, they crossed the finish line, winning by a few inches. “Hard center and sharp drifting turn.”
The crowd seemed to be closer together than usual, but they held the same distance as always. If anything, they seemed closer because they boy had slightly slower reaction times than she did - he was very inexperienced. “Apply your brake now, gently or you’ll flip us; and don’t touch either of the other pedals,” she coached.
Posted by Magnum on Sept 9, 2015 21:36:57 GMT -6
Jiri O'Leary likes this
Epsilon Mutant
Hel
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Feb 3, 2016 13:31:45 GMT -6
For some reason, hitting on Charlotte had unlocked the door to openness. Although the line had originally been intended as an insult, one moment the blonde had been angry and the next she was handing Mag a brand new cigarette. “Here, hold this,” was the instruction given - it mentioned nothing about to puff or not to puff. So, before Charlotte could clarify that meaning, she took a large drag of the smoldering tobacco roll and relaxed as the presence nicotine-carrying substance soothed her psychologically. After holding her breath for as long as possible, she released it in a gust.
This occurred just about the time that the blonde had begun a strange ritual that made the surface of the water tremble - or it could’ve been her own powers going haywire from the stimulant drug. However, that theory was quickly discounted as the water shot up in response to her balled fists. Then it twisted, spiraling upward and curling around itself like two snakes being charmed. “¡Coño!” she swore under her breath as the pillars slipped out into the middle of the lake. Then, as soon as they had appeared, they were imploding. It created a mass of water droplets raining down through the sky, causing her moisture register to send alerts similar to that of localized rain. As Charlotte took a seat near her again, Magnum couldn’t help but stare a little."That's why I'm here." she said, punctuating her statement with a frustrated sigh. "I need practice."
She’d met few other mutants (including the one that snatched her body the other night), but she’d never seen a water mutant make the news - like the journalists thought that water manipulation was the least-cool of all powers to possess. But sitting right in front of her, real and touchable, was a water mutant. Even if she did claim to need a practice. Her excitement grew, even more than the nicotine had caused. A real water manipulator. Maybe Charlotte could give her a few lessons.
However, Magnum was too star-struck to mutter any of this. Instead, she barely managed to utter a rather pathetic ”Wow”.
