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 prawn listened and, as the boy spoke, its antennae lifted. Bad people… bad people had hurt him? The prawn extended an index finger, and pointed at its own chest. Tap, tap. Her too, Chief was trying to say. Bad people found her too. Chief paused and tapped her chest again, for emphasis. She pulled the tablet back towards herself again, clearing the digital canvas.
When the boy mentioned Jude, though, the reaction was much more enthusiastic.
"Ah!" the prawn proclaimed, an almost human interjection. Her hand flitted over the screen, hastily jotting another message. Chief held the tablet for the boy's consideration.
Me too! Jude found me!
She'd written so hastily that the letters seemed almost cursive but not quite.
If the boy knew Jude, that meant he was an okay boy. And he understood that this place was too loud and too smelly and too crowded with unfamiliar people. The prawn nodded. He understood! He was Chief's people.
The prawn wiped the table clean, and wrote a little more calmly. Thankfully, he seemed to be the patient type.
I hide in closet. Dark, quiet.
There was space beneath the the first response. At the bottom of the screen were two words.
"Chief."
This was circled and written bigger than the word that followed.
"Jacquelyn "Jack" Dyer.
This had a line drawn through it. She preferred "Chief".
The prawn remained hunched out-of-sight as the boy addressed her, his tone sympathetic. It helped somewhat quell the nervousness in the prawn's throat, which was rising like a bile. Chief couldn't bring herself to stand, though.
His apology was simple. He hadn't meant to scared her, and if he wasn't in the midst of cooking something, he'd leave. When the boy made the observation that she was probably there "because she didn't want to run in to anyone", Chief breathed a low, affirmative hum. She lifted her head, rolling onto her forelimbs so as to peer through the doorway from a lower vantage point.
The boy was at her level now. The prawn recoiled slightly, her antennae flattening against her cranium. A persistent chirr was rattling in her chest, a nervous and involuntary noise-- almost like a cricket chirping. The noise only stopped when Chief swallowed, hard, and then continued.
When he spoke, though, she managed to quell the noise. Her head poked imperceptibly further around the door's frame. Then Chief nodded. Yes, she was hungry. And she was hiding.
Round, lavender eyes drank in the boy's appearance. First, Chief noticed the ears-- the Doctor wouldn't employ someone with rabbit ears. Then, she noticed the old wounds that lined his body-- the burns and bruises that punctuated the surface of his skin.
The prawn made a woeful noise, crawling on all-fours into the kitchen, its gaze sweeping for anyone else that might be in there. She sat on her haunches when she'd drawn closer to the boy, and she extended a hesitant hand towards his injured arm. If he let her, Chief might even nudge his arm. Any sudden movement or sound would send her scurrying against the cabinets though.
The two-pronged benefit and detriment of having a carapace was that wounds didn't show. So even if the prawn was clearly damaged by the time she'd been under the Doctor's "care", even if she'd taken a beating and the likes, nothing showed.
Chief removed the tablet from beneath her arm, opening it as Jude had showed her. Her motor control was still too rough for speech-to-text typing, but she could write words with her fingertip. It was almost like a glorified whiteboard.
The prawn set the tablet on the ground, opening the painting app and tracing letters with her fingertip.
W... h... y...?
Chief held the tablet up for the boy's consideration.
It had been many days and nights since Jude had left Chief at this unfamiliar holding-place for children... how many days and nights, though, was unclear. And sufficed to say, the prawn did not like it. It was loud. Everyone was friendly. It felt... fake. There was a real and tangible danger beyond the gate, beyond these four walls, and they wanted to play mutant-school. They wanted to play family. At any moment, the Bad Doctor Lady who had tortured Chief could come waltzing through the gates and they'd be none the wiser.
The prawn had steeled herself in the safest place she could think of-- firmly in the corner of her closet, nestled amongst sheets and blankets that she had peeled off of the bed.
That was when they sent Miss Grey.
Miss Grey-- redheaded, and very nice-- had tried to assure the prawn that it was safe to leave the closet. Miss Grey had tried to entice the prawn with promises of food and friends. But Chief was resolute.
Miss Grey-- or Becca was fine, as the woman soon yielded-- began to bring Chief food, but never stopped singing the praises of the world beyond the bedroom. The prawn wouldn't even lift the tablet to contradict her.
Miss Grey talked about classes, and games, and the nice, hot shower.
The prawn wouldn't budge.
That was when Miss Grey's visits stopped... as well as the food.
Over a day had passed.
The hunger in the pit of Chief's stomach grew more insistent until it was un-ignorable. She would have to go outside for sustenance.
Chief waited until the house was silent before venturing out. The room beyond the closet was bright. Too bright.
The prawn crawled on all fours, the fabric of her clothes catching on the spines of her legs and shoulders. She was dressed simply, in jeans and a sweater, two sizes too big-- that was all Chief would have until they received more donations.
She crept towards the door, slowly drawing it open. No reaction. No noise. She stepped out, lavender eyes casing the hallway.
As an afterthought, she retrieved her tablet, and then Chief made the slow progression down the hallway, crawling in the opposite direction from whence she'd been brought in. (She hadn't passed a kitchen the night she was brought to the Mansion. So she assumed it was on the other side of the house.)
For a while, Chief wandered the Mansion on all fours, scurrying into some safe nook each time she heard footfalls. Then her slow search would continue.
Finally, the scent of food brushed her antennae, and that was when the prawn knew that she was close. Chief sidled after the scent, rising onto her hind legs as she approached the brightly-lit doorway. She peeked into the kitchen-- and was met by the dark eyes of the chef.
Chief ducked her head again, her heart leaping into her chest, eyes flitting nervously as she weighed her options. She was hungry... but there was some random person there! Was he even a safe person? How would she know?
"Errrrr..." the prawn groaned anxiously, the sound reverberating in her chest. She was too hungry to turn back, but too scared to go in. The creature hunched on the floor, wrapping its arms around its legs.
The prawn followed the young man, lavender eyes wide, keeping close to him. Her look was something bewildered-- after all this time, she'd finally found someone she knew...
The two took a seat in the bus shelter, side by side, and the boy wrapped his arm around the creature. Chief nestled as close as her shroud of rags and blankets would allow. She rested her chin upon his shoulder, and watched with wonderment at the device in his hands.
She'd never seen anything quite like it. It glowed, bright as day, on its own volition, and seemed to be divided into tiles. Clicking a certain place on the screen dictated where it could go. The prawn clicked a few times, then whistled, pointing at the smartphone inquiringly.
Jude carried the conversation, thankfully, but it was still mostly drivel to the creature. She didn't know what the Honeycomb Collective was-- a residence, allegedly-- where they had potlucks.
Chief sighed. At least she understood the word "potluck". Food... food sounded good. The gathering crowd of people was regarded with darting eyes-- the prawn looked around for the Doctor, the Dangerous Woman-- saw no one. Jude was pulling her to her feet.
The creature made some pitiful, reluctant noise, almost like a mewl. While the bus had sounded like a good idea, in concept, it was now proving to be quite daunting. Jude would be met with more resistance when Chief was urged onto the bus ahead of him. She wouldn't walk too far ahead of him, dragging her feet, chirring in confusion.
They would find a seat towards the back, Chief nestling herself against the window, Jude taking the seat beside her. He surrendered the device to her. The prawn cupped it in both hands, as if inspecting a small creature or fragile curio. She'd seen Jude touch the screen, and mimicked his gesture.
An entire keyboard appeared on the bottom half of the screen. The prawn gave another low whistle. She thought she understood the boy's intentions now. It was like a computer's keyboard, but contained in the breadth of a backlit screen. She could type to him.
With one, cautious finger, the prawn typed a message. Despite all of the care with which she wrote, however, her massive hands still flubbed words here-and-there. She hit "Enter", and a robotic voice dictated her message.
"Where sare wwe goin?" the device intoned "To tjhe boss? To the hokneycomb?"
Chief made a startled noise and dropped it, withdrawing her hands. She had never heard a machine talk like that before. The prawn held her hands to her chest as if it had stung her, looking to Jude for answers.
Posted by "Chief" on Jan 15, 2020 21:44:19 GMT -6
Jude likes this
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
The name Jacquelyn didn't call anything to mind-- and the addition of a surname did little to help. Chief burbles faintly at that. If he knew her, then he had to know her name, right? But it didn't fit just right. It was like trying to wear someone else's shoes. Even if they were the right size, they were worn in all the wrong places.
The hug felt good, though. The boy crumpled in Chief's arms, his voice cracking as he spoke. Jude. Jude. What a beautiful name. She didn't know it, but she liked it. And whatever he was, he was something to Chief at some point. The prawn pushed a grubby hand into the boy's hair, patting his head. Her eyes couldn't help but well-- in relief of having found someone, out of the frustration of not knowing who.
Yes, Jude, but who was Jude?
Someone important. Someone who'd been looking for her. Everywhere.
But who?
And then the hug was over, Jude mopping his face, Chief lingering uncertainly. She nibbled her primary finger, wiping away tears with her free hand. She couldn't remember. She just couldn't remember anything.
When he spoke again, Chief lifted her gaze. He wanted to go elsewhere, somewhere warm. It sounded too good to be true. Chief scrunched her eyes shut tight, trying to keep the tears from overflowing, and she nodded her head. A sorrowful chirr escaped her.
She wanted to tell Jude everything, but it was so cold. She didn't think her hands could hold a pencil. But then he proposed taking a bus… to what the prawn assumed to be a safe-house. She nodded emphatically. The Doctor couldn't find her, or hurt her, in a safe-house. They'd sooner be shot by the other gang members that lived there.
Chief nodded. Hidden in the folds of her makeshift sleeping-bag winter coat was the messenger bag that Andrea had given her. So she had all of the possessions she owned. Not knowing how far the bus stop was, though, and not knowing if the Doctor or an ally of theirs was near, the prawn drew her hood again.
She nodded with finality to the boy, burbling softly. Chief pinched the sleeve of his coat so as not to lose track of him, and looked up at him, eyes still wet from tears, but smiling.
The creature waited patiently, clasping its hands together. It took the information in-stride. New York City? November 4th, 2019? It didn't know when or where it was supposed to be. Although it wondered how it had gotten to New York. Also, why it was in New York-- that was another mystery. It closed its eyes. Flashes of a silhouetted figure wielding a syring dances behind its eyes. Maybe the Doctor knew why they were there?
The creature shook its head. No, it did not know why it was there. The notepad was returned, and the creature clasped it in its hands, bowing its head. Andrea was rightfully concerned by this development. The woman spoke of a school, and the prawn only turned its head sideways, looking at Andrea out of the corner of its eyes. If it had a mouth, it might have frowned skeptically, but instead it just tilted its chin up at her.
How had the Doctor gotten a hold of her? Was it with promises of a school? For people like the prawn? A place that could help her, so to speak? The creature tucked her head, rubbing her muzzle with a hand. A warm place to sleep, and a source of food, sounded like a dream come true. But it also sounded too good to be true.
The creature shook its head again, more emphatically, and wrapped its arms around its sides. It wouldn't write, not about this.
Despite the woman's gesture, and her greenness, it didn't change the fact that the creature was scared.
After a few stubborn, silent minutes, the creature finally compelled itself to write.
'I'm can't stay in one place,' she wrote, 'It-'
She lifted the plastic pen, tapped her mouthparts with the cap.
Posted by "Chief" on Jan 14, 2020 20:18:36 GMT -6
Jude likes this
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
She expected the man to swat at her hand. Why wouldn't he? A stranger was tugging at his sleeve on a bustling city street. The creature was wrapped in rags, besides which, and double-bent and distinctly inhuman. He didn't recoil, or lash-out. His hand grasped for hers, and another reached for the makeshift hood covering her head.
The creature froze, its eyes wide. An uncertain chirr broke out of her throat.
And that one syllable-- "Chief?"-- it rung in her ears like a bell. Familiar.
"Chief?"
Was she Chief?
She saw flashes of a gang battle on unfamiliar city streets, someone was screaming "Chief" over and over. Gunshots. The creature was running scared. Her throat was raw from scream-crying. The creature was holding someone in her arms-- who was it? Who was it? Her gang. Her family. Where was her real family? Everyone had families... who cared. Her gang was her family.
And who was he? Someone safe. Someone who knew her name. Chief.
Chief breathed a few inuisitve clicks, angling her face away from the hand that grasped her hood. Chief allowed the hood to be pulled back. Wind whistled past her spiny cheeks, her antennae stirred in the breeze.
She rose a hand towards his face, as well, reaching for an answer. Who was he? How did he know that name?
If the man would let her, Chief would pull him into a hug, grasping for some sense of familiarity. Her large, three-fingered hands would curl into the fabric of his coat, and her head would tuck into his shoulder. She felt like she should know him. It was a feeling that went beyond memory-- it was instinct. Her body knew to hug and trust and take care of this person, even if her mind was lost somewhere in the wind.
In a way, winter was a more sympathetic season to be homeless during. Christmas was a time of giving, which meant even the prawn could get some handouts from benevolent strangers. This did nothing to improve the pervasive chill in the air and the constant fear of snow. The prawn had cobbled together a decent makeshift winter outfit-- feet wrapped in rags and duct tape, a ragged coat and sleeping bag, a hat and scarf. With the shear degree of layers, it was enough to keep warm so long as she stayed dry.
She sat huddled in a storefront, her legs folded up against her chest. The afternoon was filled with a lull of half-sleep and gnawing hunger. She looked like little more than a pile of fabric. Most people knew well enough to leave her alone. The creature half-watched the passerby's, who paid her little heed.
Someone passed, a young brunette man, whose eyes seemed to be canvassing the area. The creature sat a little taller… his face… there was something about his face (the top half of it, at least)... that was familiar.
The prawn unfolded herself from the ground… hesitated… what if he worked for the Doctor? If he hauled her back. Her feet moved reflexively.
No… his face was… too kind for that.
The prawn trotted after him, trying to get a better look at him, but the scarf was in the way. She stumbled over an icy patch, nearly slipping-- she was so distracted.
He was getting away-! She had to stop him! But how?
Prawn-y fingers clasped the hem of the young man's sleeve and tugged insistently. A confused burble rose in her throat. She couldn't let him get away, not before she figured out who he is.
The way the woman reacted to the prawn's remark caused the prawn to straighten its spine, and drew its lavender gaze fully onto the woman beside it. Being in one place long could make you a target. The prawn nodded to Andy, slowly at first, then more emphatically. So she understood the dangers of the world!
Andy offered a pen and paper, to which the creature nodded again. The two utensils were taken awkwardly into the three-fingered hands. The plate was set aside, and the creature busied itself with adjusting the pen in its hand. When it finally managed to grasp the pen alright, it looked towards Andy.
The creatures' eyes flickered over Andy as she spoke. She and her friends visited specific locations on specific days and times each week. The prawn nodded, tapping the pen against its mandibles, before putting the pen to paper.
It's writing was big and feminine, distinctly immature. Something you would expect to come from a high school student or thereabouts.
'That sounds nice but I don't even know where I am.'
It paused, and skipped a few lines.
'Or when I am.'
It handed the notepad to Andy, so that she could read the messages. And so the first pieces of the puzzle were in play-- the creature didn't know where it was, or what the date was. It had witnessed strange technology, totally foreign to its early-2000's sensibilities. None of the buildings looked familiar, none of the people looked familiar, either.
All it knew was the Doctor. And the Doctor was dangerous.
Had her Dad sent her to the Doctor? He was also the type to think mutations were a thing to be cured…
The grain of truth, of coherent understanding of the past, made the prawn's expression pinch.
The creature watched the woman's deft hands peel the plastic free of the utensils, its eyes luminous. The fork and spoon were handed back, and the prawn burbles its thanks, turning to the tray before it.
The woman was full of questions, but one the lid was peeled free of the food, and the creature was awash in scents, it became very hard to think. Utensils forgotten in lieu of ravaging the offering, the prawn brought the plate to its maw and scarfed the food down. Bits were shed left and right, in the prawn's lap and on the sidewalk around it. The prawn didn't stop until the plate was empty, and its glassy eyes turned up from the plastic tray in a stupor.
It took a few ragged breaths before the creature realized it had fallen into a feeding frenzy, and its gaze refocused. It cast a startled, apologetic side eye towards the woman. Andrea.
Andrea had asked questions, right? The prawn wiped at its mouth with the back of its hand, eyes squinting at the polished plate in befuddlement. What had she asked…?
Was this where the prawn stayed?
The creature shook its head. It drew a hand to its emptied plate, and traced two words into the sauce at the bottom of the plate.
"I move."
Meaning the prawn didn't stay in the same place. It wasn't safe.
The prawn gave a final, contented huff, glad that the woman was following her. It walked carefully over the uneven lot-- taking a few quick steps, turning to make sure that the woman was following, and then continuing. It ventured to the unoccupied curb by the boarded up restaurant. There, it deposited the blanket unceremoniously onto the ground, and sat on its haunches, surveying the container with interest.
As the woman drew nearer to the curb, the creature gave an appreciative trill, a smile in its eyes. The container was cracked open, the lid removed, and a wave of scent and steam roiled into the prawn’s face. Something in its expression pinched, a heartfelt rattle growing in its chest. It smelled so wonderful, and it looked homemade. For a moment, the prawn simply sat cradling the meal, almost in disbelief. Wish I could talk. I’d thank her.
The prawn followed the woman with her eyes, and breathed a low whistle, trying to snag her attention. Once the prawn had her gaze, it would dislodge its hand from the container, and place the hand over its heart, nodding faintly. It couldn’t recall the last time it had eaten a decent meal-- people tended not to look to closely at the homeless, especially homeless mutants. Even it its brief awareness of the world, the prawn had learned that lesson.
There was a set of silverware pressed into the lid, which the prawn freed and tried to unwrap. Its massive hands were clumsy, though, and it struggled to grip the utensils in such a way that they could be released from their wrapping.
It turned to the woman again, leaning over in an almost conspiratorial way. With this proximity, the woman might be able to smell the mustiness that clung to the prawn-- the dust and grime from sleeping in the streets, and not having seen a shower in a long time. Unaware, the creature gave a helpless burble, holding the plastic-wrapped utensils to the green-skinned lady
The prawn stood with hands clasped, still wringing them together, its eyes flickering from the woman, to the cart, and back to the surroundings. Her gasp made the prawn hunch lower, its antennae flattening against its cranium. The second remark made its antennae leap again in surprise. The prawn rose a hand to its cheek, a human gesture. And then there was another outburst, a hasty apology followed by an aimless rummaging through the cart.
The creature trilled in amusement, clasping its hands to its chest and shaking its head. It found no issue with being called beautiful, however unusual the sentiment was. The woman invited the prawn to sit, offering it all of the meals she had prepared. Each tray of food was wrapped in a hand towel to keep it warm, and the scent of food-- oh, the scents were marvelous.
The prawn shook its head again at the offer to sit. They had already been standing in the ope fo too long. It wasn't safe. The prawn hazarded another glance around, for anything worth suspicion, then gestured for the woman to follow.
"N... no," it began, the consonant creaking out of its mouth as if its words were rusted-over, "Naw... say..."
Not safe.
Of course, the meaning of the warning was almost totally lost on its inexperienced tongue. The creature gave a nervous whine, stepping haltingly towards the building again, glancing at the woman with the green skin and nodding its head.
But what if she didn't follow? Then the food would be gone. The woman was still speaking, offering as much food as the creature wanted-- all of it, as she could get more. The creature whined again, looking around, then looked back to the green-skinned woman.
The prawn had remembered something. About why The Man had been so terrifying, and about why the woman warranted the prawn's concern-- something about "returning humanity to the monsters that walked in their places". Changing people that didn't look entirely human. They weren't safe.
The creature took a proffered meal-- still warm as it held the container to its chest, and the scent-- oh, the scent was dizzying. The nervous whines had resolved themselves to rattling huffs, and the prawn very clumsily grabbed a blanket, too. With a single tray and blanket selected, it returned to the green-skinned woman, grasping at her sleeve.
Lightly, the prawn tugged at the woman's sleeve, nodding towards the building. At least there, their backs would be protected, and any impending attack could be seen.
I have a very tiny bit of input, mostly speaking from personal experience. I have actually been fairly active in roleplaying since bouncing (temporarily) from MRO. The main reason, for me, is that I'm a very character-driven/idea-driven RPer. And I have always found the post count requirement for new characters to be limiting.
I understand the rationale. But by that same token, it's easy for people to get bored or frustrated, especially with a casual posting pace. (Like mine.)
My proposal would be to broaden the number of characters a person can start with. Because then they can get involved with more aspects of the site from the get go. Or, make the post count requirements so minute that anyone can achieve them with ease.
So, for example, 30 post increments for each new character slot rather 150 post increments. Or perhaps the first three characters are free but after that you have to buy slots?
The inside of the abandoned building was an absolute hellscape of disuse-- toppled tables, broken chairs, strewn napkins. In places where registers and LED displays had once sat, outlined in the dust and broken connections remained. A lot of the wiring had already been jerked from the walls in search of copper. Once, this had been a fast food joint, but now it was a relic to bad business choices.
It was also a home. Although all the doors and windows were boarded, with “No Trespassing” signs posted every four feet, a figure had made its nest amidst the detritus. It seemed to be no more than a pile of dusty black rags, lodged beneath a wall-mounted table until it unspooled itself from the floor and padded into the open.
The creature rose its head, hood slipping off of its head as it stood there sniffing the air.
Food. Warm food. Not the musty hints of food that remained in the building, but actual, warm food. The creature could smell it. It crossed the dining area, towards the back door that it had forced its way through, padding along on all fours.
Through the kitchen it went, away from the warm scent of food, and two an employees’ entrance. Near the lock, the door was dented, the vague outline of a fist visible. The prawn had punched the locking mechanism and busted it, opening the restaurant up to her inhabitation.
The light was low in the sky-- in an hour or two, darkness would fall and the creature would once again be on the move. The man was out there, somewhere, and it needed to put more distance between the two of them.
The prawn followed her antennae towards the scent of the food, footfalls quiet. Its eyes darted over its surroundings, scanning for threats. The scent was getting fainter, which meant whoever had the food was retreating.
It was then that the creature spied her. A green-skinned woman, toting a wagon. That had to be the food! The prawn glanced hastily around and, spying no onlookers, trotted towards the green-skinned lady. When it drew closer, it shakily rose to two legs, wringing its primary hands. It seemed wobbly on two legs, but it managed to stagger a few steps.
“Mrrrrrp?” it inquired, in an inquisitive warble. It was trying to get the woman’s attention. Though hunger gnawed at its stomach, and there was a persistent cold in its hands, it wouldn’t steal anything that wasn’t its own. Not from an individual. Only from businesses.
Assuming it snagged the woman’s attention, a series of sounds would trickle out of it.
“Mrrrrp,” the creature declared, the trill dropping in tone as it gestured at the food. There were then two, loud clicks from deep within the creature’s chest as it gestured to itself. If she were willing, the prawn desired some of the food from her cart.
It had to be an unusual-- but not too unfamiliar-- sight. A mutant in raggedy, worn clothes, pleading for a handout. Having a mouth that didn’t cooperate with speech was, of course, a challenge. The prawn would have to make due, though.
