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.
Jack smiled—a sad smile, really—as Sveta explained the situation. In any other situation it might sound funny, two people magnifying powers forever and ever. But something bad most have come of it. At least how Sveta was talking about it.
Jack chuckled at her own encounter with a power copier.
“Heh, duh kid who co’ied nee, he was so snall,” the prawn chuckled, “Gangly little guy. Den he all uzz a sudden shot-utt. Ri’ed all his clothes.” A genuine laugh escaped her. Everyone was tiny, to her, “Sank-sully I’s at work, had a change uzz clothes I could lend ‘in.”
The prawn sighed, “He’s a good kid. Lizz’d wiss nee sore a see-ew weeks. Got ‘ack on his seat. Good kid.”
She trailed off for a bit, “Gaze nee dis real cute caw-see nug too… said “World’s Greatest Dad.” Cutest sh*t.”
Then Jack really trailed off, methodically running the whittling knife over the sculpture. It was really starting to take shape now. It vaguely had the look of a howling wolf, tail and all. Now it needed some detail work. She seemed lost in the sculpture, her mandibles moving beneath the surgical mask. She really hoped he wasn't dead.
Jack nodded as Sveta slowly pieced the carapaceous woman's rationale. Yes. She'd rather Jack-from-another-universe die rather than Jude-from-this-universe. That was precisely where she was coming from. She'd rather lose part of herself, than someone she considered to be her family.
Sveta's rational was slightly reassuring-- Super wouldn't kill a copycat, because they'd want to use them. And then she offered an "out" from this dismal hypothetical conversation, towards something more natural for two people to discuss-- exes. Jack smiled, welcoming the distraciton.
"Did dey ni-nic your nyu-tation, or did you an-li-sy de uzzer nyu-tation they were carrying?" the prawn inquired. It was a valid quesiton-- how did Sveta's power interact with powers that copied other powers, "Or did dey co'y a lotta nyutations at once?"
The prawn was quiet as Allegra protested, a low chirr escaping her. She didn't get anything out of being "judgy", as the girl had so artfully put it, but where was the lie? Allegra also realized this, so the prawn rested her case.
Allegra tried to work her way through the prawn's m.o. How wasn't she scared? That was the first misconception. That Jack wasn't scared. When your mutation was always on, you always carried a fear that someone might attack you for simply existing. You saw that kind of thing all over the news. It went beyond just being self-conscious, like Allegra was describing. Every day, you took your own life into your hands by leaving the house.
"Don't has dat luxury," the prawn said, "Uzz always 'eing scared."
For perhaps the first time that night, Allegra was actually looking Jack in the eyes. Lavender eyes with feline pupils stared back.
"Cun on," the prawn urged, "It's late."
She wasn't going to stand holding the door to the office all night.
The prawn nodded slowly, without lifting her head.
"I nean, I night has 'een ny... do'elganger..." the prawn mused, "Dere's no way uzz knowing, dey didn't say too nuch..."
"I sought... I nean, I only ezzer net one 'erson dat looked like nee, and it 'as sun hone-less co'ycat kid dat lizzed wiss nee sore a while..." Jack's explanation came out haltingly as her brain tried to articulate the already jumbled thoughts, "So I sought, when I sound sun-one who looked like nee... it has to 'e hin, you know?"
The prawn stopped her carving, for the tears were welling-up in her eyes again.
"Who-ezzer it was, dey were killed dy doze guys in ny a'art-nent," Jack said, an edge creeping into her voice, "Iss dere's... e-zen duh slightest chance dat it was... nee s-run duh uzzer side, and not hin... dat'd 'e good news. Great news, e-zen."
Jack inhaled and sighed shakily, setting the carving and the whittling knife down. Her hands were trembling. It didn't change the fact that she'd killed someone in self-defense... and in a way, it'd be sad to think that her doppelganger died in the company of its twin. But it meant that Jude was out there, somewhere-- maybe not-dead. And that was profoundly reassuring.
The prawn regretted the question as soon as it was uttered. There was no way someone could know that-- there were seven billion people in this whole wide world, or something like that... now, to double that and to hope to find one person who was just like you... it was virtually impossible. And yet...
>> "I don't think. I know for a fact. The first person I ever met from the other side was a copy of a friend of mine."
Jack's expression scrunched, as if she was intently focused on something. In reality, she was fighting whatever outburst was roiling in her. Laughter? Tears? It could've been either of those... she couldn't believe it...
>> "I haven't met mine, but... yes. Many people seem to have doppelgangers in the other New York. Sometimes they are different... different face, or powers... but they are the dame person."
It might not have been Jude... maybe it was someone else... maybe it was her own doppelganger... relieved tears welled-up in the prawn's eyes. There was no way to be sure. But even the smallest inkling that Jude might not be dead... was a huge relief.
She returned to quietly carving the sculpture in her massive hands, a sense of calm having washed-over her actions. She worked methodically, refining the edges, smoothing them.
"Dat's good to hear," the prawn said, her voice low. She didn't look back up at Sveta, not yet. She was trying to swallow the raw emotions that were welling-up again. It wasn't safe to let her emotions get the better of her, not with what had happened in the past.
It was better than good. It was the best news she'd hear in a while. But there was no way of confirming the identity of he deceased lookalike.
The prawn listened as Sveta explained, her expression drawn and unreadable. People who tracked and tagged mutants... recruited them... made them disppear... it was a stretch, but... those men had randomly come into her apartment, maybe... maybe they'd been part of this "Super" group. Jack kept a low profile, but she was out and about enough to be recognizable. Mybe they'd decided to track her... recruit her... or maybe...
She looked owlishly at Sveta, a quiet breath escaping her. She couldn't give words to the realization that just crossed her mind.
"It's here!"
"Take them both!"
Maybe they hadn't been talking about her. Maybe those men weren't hitmen hired by Jack's former gang. Maybe they were Super. And if that was the case...
"He was like a son to nee... like san-ily..."
"You have the wrong gu-"
"LIKE A SON!"
What if... no, that was crazy-talk... impossible... The prawn's expression pinched, her mandibles curling beneath the surgical mask as she felt a surge of emotion welling-up within her, threatening to burst free. The prawn looked at the sculpture in her hands, still waiting to take shape.
What if she'd had the wrong guy... like the man had said... What if wasn't Jude, but... someone from the other side?
"Do you sink..." the prawn trailed, her voice small, "Dat dere could 'e udders... like us? On duh uzzer side? Like... du'licates?"
She looked up at Sveta, her lavender eyes almost desparate.
Jack trailed after her host, her one primary hand wrapped around the still-throbbing arm in an almost hug. Her lavender eyes ventured shamelessly. It was the kind of put together apartment that one would imagine belonging to "an adult". Not the mattress-on-the-floor and plastic-drawers monstrosity that Jack used to call her own, but an actual apartment with actual furniture and actual wall-hangings. The prawn's gaze was drawn to the portraits around the room, giving the art the appropriate attention it deserved. It was a classy place.
Surrounded by the framed black-and-white photos, the iridescent prawn felt like a scream of noise from within a quiet place, something unwelcome. Jack was too busy drinking the room in to notice that Winnie was shedding her layers. Jack only noticed when the other woman had gone from the room, and her voice called from somewhere nearby, but muffled by a wall.
Obediently, the prawn claimed a seat on one end of the couch, up against the arm. She tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. Her eyes ventured over the walls, over the furniture, but snapped to attention when Winnie returned.
The prawn began to extend a hand as Winnie came over, as if to take the ice-bagggie from her. She expected her to pass it off, a reasonable expectation-- she'd even begun to thank Winnie for the ice again-- but then, the smaller woman pressed the baggie into the crook of Jack's arm, dismissing her thanks and returning it.
>> ”You don’t have to thank me. I have to thank you. I mean, you saved my life. I...don’t know how, or if, I’ll ever be able to repay you for that.”
Now it was Jack's turn to dismiss the thanks.
"Any-un woulda done dat," the prawn murmured, shaking her head, "Us nyu-tants gotta look out sore each udder..."
It was easy to be modest when you thought that intervening was just par for the course. Jack was a firm believer in "taking care of your own", and her "own" was mutants. She truly thought that, if a mutant saw another mutant in need, it'd only be natural to intervene.
Jack looked down at Winnie, shifting in her seat, unsure of what to do. She was very close. Super close. The prawn's face was starting to feel hot again.
"I can hold duh ice," the prawn offered tenatively, turning her free, uninjured primary hand over as an offer, "Is you want."
Surely Winnie had other things to do, and Jack didn't want to inconvenience her any further.
Posted by "Chief" on Oct 18, 2017 23:36:33 GMT -6
Tempest likes this
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
Jack nodded her head as Devon spoke, listening carefully. She wrung her hands, unwrung them, then knotted them again. Even her secondary hands were restless beneath the fabric of her shirt. Even if she trusted Devon, everything sounded... surreal. None of what he said sounded real, none of this felt real... at any moment, she might wake up, and this whole thing would be a nightmare. They'd reach the bottom floor, the elevator doors would open up onto the private parking garage and Jack would open her eyes to her own bedroom--
No, it was still Devon's SUV. She wasn't waking up from this one. Jack ducked her head as Tempest motioned to the cab of the vehicle. It was roomy-- which is to say, Jack fit when she slouched. She managed to squeeze her way in, and took a careful seat upon the cool, leather cushions. If she poked holes in Devon's upholstery, she wouldn't forgive herself. (Funny how, after all of this drama, Jack was worried about the interior of Devon's car...)
Devon clambered-in after, pressing a button that sectioned the two off from the front of the vehicle. The prawn sat up a fraction, catching a glimpse of the man up front. Wow, Devon didn't drive his own cars... he had drivers...
>> “Chief, what happened? I’m sorry you’re so upset, but we can figure it out.”
"I dunno, dude," Jack protested, looking at her hands, "I- I really did it, dis tine."
She glanced at Devon, her brow ridge leaping from her eyes. The SUV whispered to life, flipping a lazy loop towards the presumed exit. Jack watched the garage move around them through the tinted windows. Where did she even start?
The beginning.
"Last night, I's walkin' hone," the prawn began. Her voice was level. Almost too level, "And I... well, a while ago, dere's dis hone-less nyu-tation co'ier dat stayed wiss nee sore a tine... and I saw hin in Central 'ark. 'ut he was hurt, real 'ad, so I took in' hone..."
That was the easy part.
"Tink it was a gunshot dat jus' grazed hin," the prawn reiterated, "Any'ays, I's gettin' hin taken care uzz, and...and..." Jack had been proceeding through the story at a very clipped pace, but now-- at the meat of the issue-- she was faltering.
"D-deez guys," the prawn said, wringing her hands again, "Deez guys wiss guns... dey... 'roke in a-a-an' dey... killed hin. Try to kill nee too."
Tears were welling up in her eyes again. She inhaled shakily, her hands clenching into fists around one another.
"I don't know how... 'ut... I s'rew a... I tried to... hit den? And..."
It was getting hard to talk. The prawn dug the heel of a primary hand into her eyes, gritting her mandibles against the tears. She pantomimed throwing a punch, brought the knuckles of her hands together and then unfurled her fingers, pantomiming an explosion.
"... j-just like dat. Just like dat! S'ront uzz ny a'art-nent, gone... and..." Jack looked away from Devon. She couldn't stand to see his face, "One uzz the gun-nen..."
She couldn't finish the sentence. She just nodded her head solemnly. Gone.
The look of profound confusion deepened on the prawn's face. She really had been living in a hole for the past few months... and her avoidance of anyting that threatened her formerly-normal life meant that she'd likely blocked out any talk of "interdimensional portals" out, and had written any such nonsense off as "the latest sci-fi movie to be released in theaters".
"Duh what now," the prawn intoned. Jack stared at Svetlana for a hot minute, then looked away, pressing a primary hand against her brow.
"A nudder New York?" the prawn repeated. She rubbed at her face now, "As iss... one isn't e-nuss." Jack gave a humorless chuckle at her own remark. It was taking her a while to process this.
Finally, she said, "So dere's a-nudder New York, and in dee uzzer New York, dere are deez Su'er guys dat like... strong-arn nyutants into... whate'er?"
This set the prawn to muttering about how foolish it'd been to come to a big city in search of a normal life, and how there couldn't just be a boring moment in NYC.
The prawn nodded bashfully, her silence only growing more profound as Winnie interacted so casually and sympathetically with her. Sure, Jack had been carrying her earlier, but that was more out of necessity than anything else. Little flickers of reaction ghosted across her features-- a smile, a half-hearted chuckle, but very little else. Did Winnie make a habit of inviting strangers into her house? Or was Jack a special exception because she helped decimate a META Bot?
Winnie quickened her pace towards a bakery with a few floors above, motioning for Jack to follow-- and follow, Jack did. She did not quicken her pace, however. She lifted her lavender gaze, drinking the building in. It was a brownstone, just like hers... then again, there were so many round the city, it was hard to avoid them, really. The prawn paused at the base of the stairs, still surveying the building before foll owing Winnie uncertainly with her eyes.
>> "Cone on, honey. I don't bite."
Again, Jack followed, her steps heavy. It was as though she was fighting the pull of weights to ascend towards the doorway.
"Really, I can't sank you e-nuss," the prawn said politely, her face hot. Her heart was climbing into her chest, mostly out of nervousness. Her and Winnie had literally just met, and she was inviting an absolute stranger into her house. An explosive stranger. What the heck. Was this normal for her?
Once inside, the prawn's lavender eyes swam around the entry hall, relieved to see that it was different from her own former apartment building. She wouldn't have been able to handle it, if they'd been too similar...
The prawn stopped with her woodcarving once again, the confusion clear in her eyes. Even before her two months of being on Plum Island/being a recluse, the prawn had never kept very close watch on current events. For as street-smart as she was, she was clueless when it came to the world at-large.
"What's duh Rit?" the prawn pressed-on, watching Sveta luminously. Part of her was inclined to believe that the lady was messing with her, but the other part of her was intrigued. What reason did the blonde have to lie? She gained nothing from dishonesty. Unless she was crazy, that was always a distinct possibility.
The guy behind the desk chuckled at that and shook his head, not really in response to Allegra's question, but in a "kids say the darnedest things" sort of way.
"Hone-work," the prawn said in response to her question, "Sun-sing to work on."
The prawn nodded her head as Allegra tried desperately to make her case. She really, truly, didn't think she was a bad person. Sure, there were "bad people" in the world, but a lot of the time it was just "normal people" who made bad choices.
>> "I'm sure you're a nice guy but it would just be weird if someone like you went to the beach or went shopping with my crew back home. And if I tried to be friends with someone like you, they would just make fun of me and cut me out. Then I'd be more lonely than I feel right now."
"Dey don't sound like great s'riends," the prawn murmured, her tone devoid of judgement. That was very passive-aggressively mutantist, and also nothing new.
Then the kid just went to rambling. She was starting to sound like a scratched CD with all of her protests. Jack took to shepherding her out the door, not-so-subtly prompting her towards bed.
>> "I bet it's hard for you too, huh? No one else looks like you. And I bet people are afraid of you when they first see you. Isn't that really lonely?"
A wry expression flickered across the prawn's features, particularly through her eyes.
"You sink?" was the prawn's droll response. She "bet" people were afraid of her? She screamed in Jack's face! The prawn shook her head, "Got it all wrong, kid. I's got a good network uzz s'riends. Nost solks who don't gizz nee duh tine uzz day, dey aren't worse ny tine."
The question earned a quizzical look from the shelled woman, which was directed at the sculpture in her hands. She breathed-out sharply, the expression like a spurt of air suddenly being released from a tire.
"I dunno what dat is," Jack said, "Dey's just guys wiss guns."
Her response may have seemed terse, but it was honest. She didn't knew were they are. All she knew was that they broke into her home and killed Jude right in front of her... but... at least she got one of the- no. No, it was still wrong, and she should feel wrong for viewing the murder as some sort of retribution. "Blood for blood" was how her old gang had operated... she was different.
Right?
The prawn grimaced to herself at the thought.
"What's a S-Suitor Agent?" the prawn asked of her newfound companion.
>> ”Oh I’ve done this and that. I’ve waited tables to make ends met, but my real passion is my camera. I freelance as a photography. Sometimes for newspapers. Sometimes for magazines. Took portraits down at the Target-Mart down on 64th for a little bit. But then the manager tried to grab my *** so I slugged him and quit. I guess you’re supposed to suffer for your craft, you know?”
"Oh..."
That's right. Winnie had mentioned being a photograper, hadn't she? If Jack had a human-mouth, she would have cracked an awkward smile at that. Instead her mandibles took to grooming her maxillipeds from behind the surgical mask. Internally she chastised herself-- so what, you pull a Houdini on your girlfriend (ex?) for two months and suddenly you forget how to talk to girls?
"I'n sorry, I'n still a little--" Jack made a vague gesture at her head, as if to signify that she was "out-of-it", "I sore-got you said you were a so-togra-ser."
Jack rubbed her head, trying to find some avenue of conversation that she could run down. She took to awkwardly digging the fingers of her primary hand into her throbbing arm.
"Dat sounds like nee, 's... suh-ssering sore your crass-t'," sometimes the prawn really loathed her speech impediment... particularly when f's were involved, "Sun-tines I's gotten really nice shiners, or sun guy cuns at you wiss a 'ottle... I dunno... I guess it's diss-erent dan sexual harass-nent."
The prawn's gaze skimmed her surroundings for people who were playing too close of attention to them, then to the building-faces, trying to predict which one might be Winnie's apartment, never really settling on any one thing for too long.
Jack's tone treaded in the direction of wary. She'd never heard of Plum Island before. Devon hadn't mentioned it to her before this, and "his business" was a just-vague-enough descriptor to send the prawn's mind reeling for a moment.
"What's..." she couldn't say the word "Plum" very easily... "D'is island you're talking a'out?" Her mind immediately ventured towards visions of run-down sanitoriums or psych-wards or... the prawn shook her head, trying to dislodge those thoughts that'd glommed onto her psyche, "I'n not exactly... looking to go to a resort or any-sing."
It was the prawn's attempt at humor, but the frailness in her voice made it sound kind-of pathetic. She mopped at her eyes, and took another cleansing sip of water. Whatever it was, if it meant she was out of the public eye, she'd look into it. At Devon's pronouncement, the prawn nodded complacently. Devon was a friend, and he'd take care of her...
... Jack couldn't shake the paranoia that, at any moment, however, the gun-men would somehow miraculously locate her and try to take Tempest out, too. She couldn't stand to lose two friends in one day. The thought brought another surge of tears to the surface, and the prawn took another swig of water. The prawn hesitantly left her cup upon the bar, and trailed after the smaller man, wringing her hands as they went to a small and (in terms of the grandeur around them) fairly nondescript door. She tried to reassure herself that, if there was anywhere where she'd be "safe", it'd be with Devon. He was a public figure. A rich guy. He'd have protection of some sort in place, right?
