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.
Posted by "Chief" on Aug 31, 2017 22:27:12 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
- MRO!verse New York –
The manager at Chrysalis was an obese man, whose visage was rather like a pufferfish. The chair creaked with strain as he leaned forward in his seat.
“It saddens me to hear that you’re leaving us, Jack. You’ve been with us for so long.”
The prawn rocked forward on her feet, smiling wistfully.
“I has a sull-tine jo’ wiss ‘ene-sits,” the prawn said, “And I sink I’ll ‘e staying wiss it. Nan-age-nent is ‘etter nun-ey dan just workin’ security…”
She ran a hand over the top of her head. “No hard seelings.”
“Of course not,” the manager coughed, “Just a damn shame. Don’t suppose I could convince you to come back every now and again.”
“Like an on-call security guard?”
“Yeah.”
“You know it.”
The manager rose from his seat, extending a hand.
“It’ll be sad to see you go. But, don’t think you’ll get away that easily.”
The prawn clasped a firm primary hand around his own, meaty hand, shaking it firmly.
“Ex’ect nuh-sing less.”
Then like that, she was gone. Descending the stairs from the managerial office, crossing the dancefloor. A janitor was mopping up the floor after a long night of clubbing, and they waved at Jack as she passed. Jack saluted them, and continued out the doors.
In two weeks, she would walk out those doors as a regular employee for the last time.
The prawn always undulated between moments of alertness and distractedness during the walk home. For the most part she walked in a lull—landmarks that signified turns only blips on her radar. She might perk up if someone walked towards her on the sidewalk, but only enough to assess if they were a threat, or not. Her walk was mostly quiet, in the wee hours of the morning, carrying her down 10th Avenue then over to 58th Street. Though entirely unnecessary, Jack also, often, veered through Central Park. She enjoyed the quietness of an unoccupied public space.
As Jack left Columbus Circle and entered the Park, silence enfolded her. Grecian statues perched in the fountain glanced at her over their shoulder, or stretched their arms out as if to ask her to pause… the prawn paid them no heed. The tree-lined path beckoned to her. Despite her lumbering gait, her footfalls were soft against the sidewalk. It felt irreverent to plod through such a tranquil space.
Her breath came out in small puffs, lavender eyes skimming sleepily over all the shadowy corners near the walkway. There were some encampments of homeless people here-and-there, the occasional other pedestrian, but… nothing noteworthy.
Something snagged at her attention—heavy footfalls, almost a gallop, of someone running on all fours. The prawn turned towards the approaching runner, only to be plowed off of her feet.
===
Blue tore through the Rip, barreling past innocent bystanders and security guards alike. Some people tried to stop her, but the prawn was undeterred. It threw obstacles aside, snarling and frantic. Very much like a creature driven into a corner.
On the other side of the Rip, Dyo and Tria had sprinted after the creature, flashing their badges to the security guards and hurriedly explaining their intrusion. In the wake behind Blue, the guards allowed them past without too much trouble. Seconds after Blue had bolted out the doors in the real-world, the two fair-haired agents crossed the Rift between worlds.
<<The signal is still good.>> Tria reported, <<It’s heading down 5th Avenue.>>
<<Like hell if I’m losing it just because it crossed-over.>>
Blue tore through the doors just as Dio and Tria crossed-over.
===
Jack murmured churlishly, pushing the unseen aggressor roughly away from her. They had to be big, to knock someone like her off of her feet. They weren’t attacking, though—it seemed to have been an accident. At least, it’d better be.
Jack’s gaze flicked to the attacker, before abruptly halting. It was as if looking into a skewed mirror… Jack was looking at herself… only a… scantily clothed, haggardly breathing version of herself.
“J… Jude?” she rasped incredulously. Who else could it have been? There was no one else like her, in the world. As far as she knew—a giant cockroach came in as a near-miss, but there were no other iridescent prawns. Her expression brightened, “Jesus, Jude, you gaze nee a s-right, running into nee like dat. Can’t say hello like a nor-nal ‘erson?”
The boy had stayed in her apartment for a few days, rising and falling as she did. It was like having a roommate… or maybe, a son. And then one day he just didn’t come back. Oh, to be a traveler. Regardless, the prawn was glad to have him back, now…
Jack’s twin wheezed raggedly, making no indication of understanding her. One of its eyes was covered by a film. Jack leaned forward, to lightly shake the shoulder of her twin, to break the trance.
“Jude?”
The doppelganger snarled at Jack’s touch, causing the prawn to recoil. When she flinched, Jack’s hand came away sticky. Sticky? The prawn turned her hand over, dark blue palms slick with something darker.
“…you’re hurt,” Jack observed, wiping her hand on the grass before rising to her feet, “Who did dis to you?”
No answer. Her doppelganger stared into the darkness behind it, and Jack followed her doppelganger’s gaze.
Jack coughed. “We need to get you sun hel’. Nedical hel’.”
The doppelganger swiveled back to face Jack, and the prawn offered an uneasy smile back. Finally, a reaction.
“Sane,” the doppelganger rasped.
“Huh?”
“You… nee… sane…”
It didn’t… sound like Jude… what’d happened to him?
“…l…let’s get you cleaned utt,” Jack said, gesturing for the other prawn to follow. In the dim light, it was impossible to tell how bad the injury was. It’d be best to go somewhere well lit, like her apartment… and she lived close to the hospital, besides.
Posted by "Chief" on Aug 28, 2017 20:54:45 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 prawn crouched in the alleyway, long enough for a dull ache to set into its limbs. Lots of people, tonight. Its stomach yowled, at which the iridescent creature pressed a primary hand into its gut. Tonight it would be difficult to hunt. The seeing-eye of the prawn’s lingered on the glow of the street. Faces of passerby’s were smeared, to it—the only thing it thought of was the gnawing pang at the pit of the stomach, and the men who’d attempted to apprehend it. Perhaps, if it walked with the crowd…
A raucous group of young men jostled too close to the homeless man at the maw of the alley, and he shouted unintelligibly after them. This earned a chorus of laughter and a kicked bottle. He was the gatekeeper to the prawn’s hiding place, and had seemingly forgotten it as soon as it had slipped into the shadows. The prawn glanced in the opposite direction from whence it’d come, towards another bustling street. On all fours it ambled towards the opposite opening, only rising onto its hind-limbs at the opening. Regardless of how it walked, it was an eyesore, but if it hunched on all twos—it might stand out a little less. It shambled down the sidewalk, away from the waterfront. The other pedestrians gave it a wide berth—this mattered not. It needed to find a way back into the underground, it needed food.
===
Dyo slammed a hand against the side of the “animal control” truck, swearing wildly at the rotten luck. Tria, less overt about his displeasure, merely opened the door to the side of the truck, accepting the tablet from En without a word. He didn’t need to say a word, though—Lundquist Tria’s irritation was palpable through the telepathic link the three brothers shared.
<<It’s on the move,>> En reported, <<I recommend we intercept it, covertly.>>
Tria clambered into the cab of the truck, adjusted the seat… then Dyo clambered into the passenger’s seat. Tension spread between the three as En started the car. Tria relayed a visual of the GPS visual. It hadn’t ventured far—down West 10th Street, where there were a number of restaurants and bars and far too many onlookers for a covert apprehending.
<<Follow a few blocks back.>>
The idling truck rolled away from the curb, joining the other traffic on West 10th Street.
<<It’s veered onto 7th.>> Tria reported.
<<The Rip.>> Dyo interrupted.
En gunned the engine, the truck jerking around a taxi that had applied its brakes. Between the brothers, a wave of uncertainty rippled, replacing the prior tension. They had to apprehend it before it reached the Rip. If it crossed—there was no telling if the signal would remain.
===
The prawn moved as if pulled by a string, its gaze fixated on a man with a cart before it. The savory pang of meat roiled off of a grill long shut-off, enticing the creature to follow. Hot dogs. They weren’t a glamorous meal for most individuals, but to the prawn it smelled otherworldly. The scent enticed her to follow, trancelike, deeper into the city.
A van hopped the curb. Pedestrians shouted, scattered, swore. The prawn’s attention snagged.
No. Already, familiar fair-haired men were vaulting out of the doors of the white work-truck. Their gazes fixed on the prawn. Bang! A shot was fired, burrowing into the thick muscle of the prawn’s neck. It burned. Run. The prawn ran despite the blinding white pain in its shoulder, charging into the park. It had to hide.
No trees. No cover. Just grass. Not safe. Move, people! Move! Pedestrians yelled in alarm at the sight of the barreling prawn, stumbling out of the way. The blond men were also yelling. A tent! Maybe it could hide. Could sneak away. It barreled through the doors. The lights were too bright. Metal structures, lines of people.
“Excuse me, sir—“
The prawn snarled, clenching its mandibles around the unsuspecting guard’s forearm and hurling them over the conveyor belt. Sensing an opening, it charged through the metal detectors, paying no heed to the shouts of the employees. Patrons screamed. More officers were unholstering weapons, but already the prawn sensed an opening—a doorway, a tear. It barreled towards the bystanders, hissing to clear them before charging across the rip. All that it left in its path were shaken civilians and a trail of blood from the steadily bleeding wound in its shoulder.
Jack looked drolly after the young woman as she finally, finally went inside. Five f**king years later. Jack closed the door behind her, and gestured up the hall, towards the front office. There was a quiet grinding sound as the prawn clenched her mandibles, biting back her words. She wasn't going to debate this. This girl got caught, she was getting detention, and no amount of whining was going to change that. End of story.
"Security can-eras," the prawn said simply, "Saw you. Sent nee to get you."
Honestly, this girl had to be daft to think that a school-full of mutants wouldn't have extensive security measures.
Jack listened, lavender eyes unreadable, pensive. She tapped a bent index finger against the base of her mandibles (her "chin", if you would) as Alice explained the situation. What the hell did "help her discover that she liked girls" mean? Did it mean what Jack thought it meant? Did they hook-up and then the other girl asked her out? Kids were so backwards in their courting behaviors... the prawn burbled as Alice wondered aloud if this made her "the bad guy".
"Don't sink so," the prawn assured her, "As-ter all, she asked you out... right? It's lucky dat you two seel duh sane way a'out each uzzer... 'etter dan longing as-ter sun-one who isn't interested in you at all." Her eyes glittered faintly, and she breathed a huff, "It's a whole uzzer layer uzz diss-iculty when you're interested in uzzer girls."
That... was an insight that only someone who was interested in other girls would have. The realization prompted Jack to straighten her slouched posture, lift her gaze from the spot on the carpet it'd fixated on, and give a low, mournful trill. Most of the staff was aware that she was dating Zinnia, but it wasn't something she broadcast to the kids. She also wasn't the kind to gush about her girlfriend, despite the fact that Zinnia was one of the best things to happen to her... love didn't need to be broadcast to be genuine. Especially at work.
The prawn ground her mandibles with quiet uncertainty.
"I'n not exactly an ex'ert, doh," she added hastily.
The prawn idly bounced her foot, humming softly when Alice protested that it was "different" than what the prawn might have been thinking. Different how? As Alice explained the situation, Jack's brain still plugged along the heteronormative stereotype-- oh no, they liked the same guy? The friend didn't like anyone? O- oh... her friend came out. The prawn's foot stopped bouncing. Her antennae, which normally rested flat against her skull, raised slightly. Sometimes kids had difficulties reconciling non-heterosexual relationships, especially if they came from a narrowminded family.
But again, Alice surprised her. Now her antennae were upright and at full attention. Ooohhh. Some of Jack's smaller mouthparts began grooming her mandibles, creating a sort of wordless motion beneath the surgical mask. A brief silence settled, so the prawn took that as her cue to speak.
"Did you know she 'uzz gay 'e-sore you had dat talk?" the prawn pressed gently. She waited for Alice's answer, before continuing, "So how could you 'e taking ad'antage uzz her is you didn't know?"
The prawn rested her hands, one over the other, on her stomach, and resumed bouncing her foot, her antennae settling. That brought some of Jack's own worries up to the surface of her mind-- it was something that her and Zinnia frequently discussed. But it was more of a mutant thing than a lesbian thing, most likely-- Jack was worried that she'd somehow coerced Zinnia into a relationship, that she wasn't there by choice, that sort of thing. To which Zinnia often reminded her that she was the one who'd asked Jack out.
The white animal-control truck glided down West Street, veering onto the sidewalk at an unoccupied crosswalk. Given the hour of the night, there were very few pedestrians in the park, but a few denizens—some drunken revelers, a few homeless people, individuals commuting their own business—flitted about. As the truck crossed onto the walkway, it flicked on an orange dome-light, carefully flipping a U so that it faced the street once again. Then, it came to a halt.
One man disembarked—Lundquist Tria—and the tablet was forfeited to Lundquist En, who had remained seated in the driver’s seat. Tria pulled the seat handle, allowing Dyo to unfold himself. Though most pedestrians tended to mind their own business at this hour of the night, if one looked closely, they would notice the unique tools that Tria and Dyo were arming themselves with—the tranquilizer gun, an actual gun, a catch pole like the ones typically employed against animals (but bigger).
<We’ll be in-touch,> En advised the younger triplets, <Be mindful of the civvies.>
<Keep the truck running,> Dyo retorted, annoyance simmering around his telepathic presence. Such was his disposition. He shut the door, and the two brothers retreated into the darkness, leaving the eldest alone in the truck. A few strides away, En pressed against the fluid boundaries of his brothers’ minds, relaying the real-time map of the creatures’ location. Dyo and Tria strode towards the pier, bee-lining for the trees. Dyo holstered the guns, while Tria carried the pole in both hands, their footsteps soft.
===
The water of the Hudson River roiled silently, a dark and nondescript roiling mass in the darkness. Occasionally a wave would lap at the beams that supported the sidewalk, which might prompt a wayward observer to peer over the railings that lined the waterway.
A spiny insectoid creature crested at the water’s surface, lavender eyes blinking. Hearing no footsteps, the creature rose further, whole head peeking above the water’s surface. It had once had the terrible misfortune of startling a bicyclist and, having been so alarmed, the creature had not managed to hunt dinner successfully that night. The creature dipped down momentarily once again, before launching itself towards the raised edge of the sidewalk.
Massive hands grasped at the pavements edge. It waited again. No shrieks of alarm. It hoisted itself the rest of the way, water spilling off of its form. The behemoth picked its way over the four foot metallic fence, swinging its leg over with ease.
In the harsh white light of the streetlamps, the creature was revealed to be a spiny, predominantly blue beast, though its arms and head were a multitude of shades. Its head snapped this way and that, skimming for bystanders. Sensing none, it scampered towards the trees on all fours. Safely concealed by the foliage, the creature prowled parallel to the path, keeping low, scouring for prey. Despite its size, it was silent.
The night was both quiet and loud, its fine senses detecting the sounds of traffic from the nearby street. Pedestrian traffic was a trickle, however. A bicyclist was rolling closer, so the creature paused, lifting its head attentively. It was like a deer in the headlights, antennae erect.
The bicyclist rolled closer—20 feet, 10 feet, 5 feet—and then continued onward. The prawn remained still for a few moments, starting to turn its head back in the direction it’d been walki—
There. There was motion again. It paused, staring into the thicket. There was enough medium-height bushes to obscure its vision. The lack of depth perception, courtesy of its blind eye, also complicated matters. The creature waited, mid-stride… then… it saw… them. A human silhouette.
A growl rose in the prawn’s throat, quiet at first, then louder. Something closed around the prawn’s neck, sending the prawn into spasms. It clawed at the cord, snarling.
“Dyo, the tranq! The tranq!”
Dyo fired just as the prawn rolled in an attempt to shake the collar free, and the dart stuck into the trunk of a tree, avoiding the massive creature narrowly. The prawn turned its head, mouthparts open wide in a display of aggression. It managed to close its mouth around the beam of the catch pole, snapping it in two.
“Sh**!”
“On it!”
Dyo fired again, but the dart ricocheted off of its shoulder. The prawn lunged at the two men, scattering them, and barreled towards the street.
“Sh**! It has a shell, a**hole!” Tria snapped, scrambling back to his feet.
“Can it, Tria, I’m on it,” Dyo also roused himself, running after the beast, “I’m not failing this mission.”
The prawn charged haphazardly into traffic, horns blaring. Those people—those men—men with guns. Men with things that choked and—those men. They hadn’t been in suits like the others. But they were like the others. Evil men. Bad men. Hiding, safe. It needed to hide. An alley. A tunnel. The subway. A few drunken girls shrieked at the stampeding prawn, pressing against the building face.
The creature charged against the signal, a car screeching to a halt to avoid hitting it. The prawn veered into the street again, startled by the sound. It spied an alley, padding past a bewildered homeless man into the shadows. The homeless man shouted something incoherent at the prawn, but didn’t seem bothered enough to move. The prawn anxiously tugged at the snapped catch pole, which was still closed around her neck. After some fighting, it managed to pull the collar off over its head.
If there was one department where Jack was severely lacking, it was social politics. When Alice mentioned “girl trouble”, Jack felt the rumbling uncertainty of someone unqualified to speak on the subject.
“You nean like… draw-na?” she demanded. Jack stepped around the couch, carefully sinking into a spot opposite of Alice, “I’n duh wrong one to ask. I didn’t talk to udder kids ‘en I ‘as your age. Has no idea ‘ut to do ‘iss gossi’ and ru-nors and all dat… sh-“ the prawn paused. You weren’t really supposed to swear in front of studens, “-nonsense.”
Her mind had ventured towards the bullying “girl troubles”. Catty dominating girls that lorded over other girls (and some boys) with a b***hy iron fist. That type of thing. Her mind absolutely did not venture towards lesbian girl troubles. She wasn’t outed to anyone at the Mansion after all, beyond perhaps Mr. Holloway.
"Can listen 'retty well, doh," the prawn offered, delicately crossing one leg over the other. It was a feminine gesture, despite her stature and masculine attire. Tonight's ensemble was a t-shirt, cargo shorts, and a surgical mask that'd been generously decorated by one of the more artistic students. They were into a subculture more into Japanese punk fashion, and had procured a pink surgical mask, upon which a little cat nose and mouth had been meticulously embroidered. The prawn was enough of a stranger to gifts, and appreciative enough of the gesture, to wear it during the subsequent Xavier's shifts.
Posted by "Chief" on Aug 4, 2017 17:20:27 GMT -6
Noel likes this
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
- earlier that evening, elsewhere -
A white animal control truck sat idling near the 34th Street Hudson Yards, facing the waterfront. On its own, not a peculiar sight, except for the time of day—the sun had nearly dipped below the horizon, the dusk that had now settled prompting the truck’s inhabitants to switch on their headlights. The occupants of the cab—three gentlemen—wore identical khaki shirts and black slacks. Additionally, their faces were almost indiscernibly similar—fair-haired, clean-shaven, and with crystalline blue eyes. They were the degree of handsomeness that could place them anywhere between their late teens to early thirty’s.
The three blonde gentlemen, the Lundquist brothers, comprised the Three-in-One. The shadowy organization to which they belonged gave them the designation of "Alpha 1". This feat, this esteemed title, had been achieved by virtue of Lundquist brothers' mutations—a hive-mind shared between the brothers—and by virtue of their aptitudes, which complimented the others well in the field.
The eldest brother, Lundquist "En", sat in the driver’s seat, his index finger drumming a staccato on the steering wheel. His gaze pointed unwaveringly towards the waterfront, undeterred by the passing cars. The middle brother, Lundquist "Dyo", sat in the backseat, legs spread, methodically cleaning a gun. The youngest brother, Lundquist "Tria", sat in the passenger seat, surveying documents on a tablet. His thumb flicked occasionally to scroll down the page.
Outwardly, there was silence between the brothers, but in the psychic space between them, information hummed, emanating from Lundquist Tria predominantly. He relayed glimpses of the photo links he inspected-- snapshots of mangled house-pets, phrases pulled from reports filed by various civilian witnesses mentioning an iridescent insectoid, and finally, blurred snapshots of the creature itself.
A scowl flickered across Lunquist En's expression, a question surfacing in their shared psyche, <Where are the most recent sightings?>
Lundquist Tria scrolled back up on the tablet, tapping the screen to hold it still once he found the desired information. An image of a map arose, small X’s denoting where sightings of the creature had been. The pins were localized along the Hudson River, on the New York City side.
<Mostly parks, too. Why haven’t they apprehended it yet?>
<Interrupted GPS signal. Might live in sewers?>
Lundquist En puffed his cheeks, exhaling slowly. Though he didn't complain to his brothers, the taste of his indignation was strong. For god's sake, they were Alpha One! And they were being sent to traipse around sewers looking for some subterranean cryptid. Lundquist Dyo interjected.
<So are we bagging it?>
<Yeah. Lethal force authorized.>
The middle brother snorted, <Its first mistake was going after peoples’ pets.>
A dim humor rippled between the brothers. SUPER had been stalking the beast for years. They'd thought it had fallen off the radar, until reports of a "giant bug killing pets and stalking civvies" filtered into their agency. Through diligent investigation, SUPER narrowed the scope of their search to the Hudson River-side of the city-- and were even fortunate enough to tag the pest successfully through a gap in its carapace.
<Most of the data has been collected after nightfall.> Lundquist Tria concluded.
En ceased drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, heaving a sigh. He leaned forward, flicking the radio on. Tria activated the map, which was keyed-in on the creature's tag, and Dyo resumed methodically cleaning his weapons. And now, they waited.
Minutes ticked by into hours, and the radio began to play the same songs over, prompting the brothers to change stations. Maybe this was a bust. As night began to settle, the map on the tablet screen suddenly shifted, a bright dot arising in the Hudson River Park. A low “ping… ping… ping…” filled the cab. The brothers, who had slackened in the transpiring time, rose back to life. Seats were righted, postures were straightened. The youngest pressed against the boundaries of his brothers’ minds with the map, his psychic voice softly announcing the location of the insectoid monster.
<Hudson River Park.>
Wordlessly, headlights flicked on and the eldest shifted into “Drive”. The truck pulled away from the curb, little more than a whisper.
Jack was patrolling the halls tonight… later they might shift her to perimeter duty, but for now she was in the clear. There were pros and cons to working inside. The “pros” were not freezing your *** off and getting to be around the kids. The “cons” were that it wasn’t quiet, and you had to be more of enforcer. It was the hour that most kids had ventured to bed, or at least their bedrooms, and the stragglers needed to be gently prompted in that direction.
Someone forgot to turn the t.v. off in the lounge, if the light filtering under the door was anything to go buy. Jack huffed, pushing the door open. Kids. Upon closer observation, the prawn noticed that it was some sort of video game, at which the player was yelling in frustration.
Hey, didn’t the prawn know that voice?
“Alice?” the prawn inquired. Though the room was darkened, Jack could see just fine. But perhaps Alice couldn’t see the clock that was hanging on the wall. She padded towards the couch, resting a hand on its back. It was, in fact, the blue-haired girl, “It’s getting late.”
Not “you’re gonna break curfew” or “you need to go to bed” or “detention!”, but “it’s getting late”. You didn’t have to be a hard-*ss 24/7. Only when it was truly important. This wasn’t.
Posted by "Chief" on Aug 3, 2017 23:09:07 GMT -6
Neopolitan likes this
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
While common wisdom held that New York was the “City that Never Sleeps”, there were sleepy little seams ripped in the perfect grid of New York’s fabric. Dark residential side-streets with fluorescent lights flickering and humming, accompanied by the occasional lit apartment window. These were punctuated by busier thoroughfares, down which cars rushed by like rapids. A horn would occasionally blare in the distance, some rowdy young denizens might shout in confrontation or jubilation en route from one pub to the next. An ambulance might scream past—but these were merely moments in time.
Between these gasps of sound, silence crept along the dimly-lit streets, furling in through cracked windows. Such were the nights in Harlem.
If one walked down West 138th Street from St. Nicholas Park, they would happen upon Odell Clark Place, a narrow residential avenue choked with parked cars and lined with cigar-box brownstone apartments. These buildings were punctuated by chain-link fences and empty lots overwrought with weeds. But, in a way, it was tranquil. The street sat in stasis.
Some apartment windows, still lit, betrayed some signs of life. The blue flicker of a television, the untimely tik-a-tak-tak of drums. It was a conversation of implied visions and sounds. One apartment, however, joined the conversation with disconcerting commentary.
A light was knocked to the floor, sending tall shadows towards the ceiling.
“No, ‘lease, it doesn’t has to-!”
A scuffle. Shattering Ceramics. Something falling to the floor. Grunting. Bang! BANG!
“JUDE, NO!”
kra-KOOOOOOM!
The wall of the apartment was blown outwards, brownstone bricks flying, glass and wood splintering. Some of the bricks fell onto the cars parked below, tripping car alarms. Sirens from the cars wailed demands at the building, to which the gaping hole in the building responded with cascading pebbles and dust. An AC-unit belatedly fell to the pavement with a less-impressive crunch.
Within the apartment, the dust had altogether eradicated the visibility. A crumpled figure unfolded itself, mostly indiscernible in the haze. Breathing ragged. It coughed, trying to clear its lungs of the debris. As the dust settled, pinpricks of pale blue light became apparent, lining the spiny carapace of the creature.
Jack. Aglow and wild-eyed, she was almost unrecognizable. Her ragged breathing continued, frantic—she looked up the hall—breath caught—her seeming twin laid on the floor. A low, dismaying sound, like the moan of a shot animal, creaked from her throat. How had it come to this? She closed her eyes tightly, trying to swallow back the tilting and spinning of the room. Goddamnit Jude. Tears welled in the prawn's eyes unbidden, and she pressed the heel of her primary hand against them, clenching her mandibles. Goddamnit.
I love the mutation~