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... it's been a while..." the principal had remarked, "From what we had heard, we'd assumed you were dead."
Jack had divulged most of her motives for hiding-- the death of her alt!universe self at the hands of the SUPER agents, and the subsequent destruction of her apartment had made it necessary for her to lay low for a bit. The prawn had intentionally excluded the part about how her apartment had been decimated. But this, too, was a factor-- she'd been practicing with her explosive punches ever since they'd come to fruition. She was learning the antecedents, and the repercussions, of using her powers. And it had finally gotten to the point where she felt safe bringing that power around Xavier's again.
"You were scared," the principal had summarized, closing his eyes with understanding, "What brings you here now? Are you ready to come home?"
Then it was settled. Jack would once again rejoin the security staff as a routine fixture on campus. She and the principal had exchanged hugs, and he advised her that he'd be in-touch with a new schedule shortly.
The prawn now milled the halls, pausing periodically to greet students that knew and greeted her. She'd fist-bump, high-five and wave her way past the kids, all smiles. But she was on the evening shift, and now the halls had gone quiet. Curfew was in effect, and most kids were asleep, if not in their rooms. Even here, there was magic in the air-- Christmas Eve. All the littles were talking about it. Jack smiled wistfully. She missed those days.
She was just passing the kitchen when she heard an enormous *CRASH!* from within. The noise sent a thrill of fear through her, the bioluminescent pores on her arm glittering with the burst of adrenaline. What the Hell is that?! Jack ducked through the doorway, and poked her head into the kitchen, a steadying primary hand on her chest.
"Hello? We all good in here?" she called out, skimming for the unfortunate source of the noise.
>> "I try to be prepared. Especially when I'm planning a date for a beautiful lady that I want to impress."
Even though Jack might look the part of a confident, capable romantic partner, in some ways she was just like a bumbling high schooler in their first real relationship, especially when the romance was as new and uncharted as this one. Emma's remark earned a quiet, bewildered look. This was a date? A real date? Underneath the chitinous scales of her face, Jack began to radiate heat.
"I'n hardly ss-unctional, so it's easy to in-ress nee, I sink," the prawn mustered a modest response. Any further rambling excuse was quelled when Emma nestled her face against the prawn. With the shell and the layers of clothes, it was impossible to tell that Emma was kissing her. (The poor thing might have came up to Jack's sternum when the prawn stood fully upright, so any kisses would have found sleeve- clad arms or chest.)
>> "It was good, but not as good as getting here and seeing that you decided to come. My heart leapt with excitement when I saw you sitting here, waiting for me... Oh hey, look the ferry's here."
"Hmm..." Jack said distractedly. She wasn't looking at the ferry-- she was watching Emma, the look of confusion never really diminishing. The prawn nursed another sip of tea, carefully shedding the blanket-- Heaven forbid the blanket snag on one of her spines on the walk over. Jack draped the blanket over Emma's shoulders, nuzzling the side of her face with a quick, "Duh tea's real good, sank you... wanna head o'er dere?"
Posted by "Chief" on Oct 13, 2018 0:53:50 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 had nodded back at Devon when he winked her way, smiling beneath the swathes of cloth. She raised a saint, brown-painted hand in salutations. This costume was the best idea ever-- the saucer-eyed looks from the two young women were priceless, absolutely priceless.
The delight was short-lived. Something was off. The light… something was wrong with the light, something seemed tense about Devon, which raised alarms for Jack. She had to get closer, she had to protect him. She had to be sure he was ok--
Something snapped. That was the best word They had for it. One moment, They were not entirely themselves. But now… now They were. A skeletal hand tilted the great scythe downward, gliding down the hallway. Wherever They were, was in an absolute uproar with a sundry of beasties. Many of them were, however, mortal. Death surveyed the rings of light, invisible to mortal eyes, with detached intrigue. Who might they escort tonight? It was written in those unseen halos, in a language unknown to man.
They drifted, unphased by the calamity around them. Periodically the darkened good would pan left or right, scrutinizing the light that wreathed each denizen’s head. A particularly devilish man nodded at Them. Death returned the gesture. It was not his time. Thus his name continued to swim just out of reach, amongst infinite others.
“Good evening, child,” the reaper crooned. All beings were children compared to Them. The hood lifted marginally, as if it was surveying the man's horns, “It is not quite your time…”
Their voice was immense, like the collapsing of an ancient tree, or the thunderous wave of an ocean. And yet… somehow familiar. At one point, everyone would become familiar with Them. They hummed, and bobbed away, as if pulled by an unseen the. Someone's hours were winding down… and, naturally, it was a call that Death had to answer.
Posted by "Chief" on Sept 29, 2018 8:43:40 GMT -6
Warlock likes this
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
Three prawn was not a fan of parties. She had also never been too big on Halloween. When you looked like some scifi extra in the day-to-day, dressing up as some sort of spectacle wasn't exactly a priority. But money was money, and Devon was paying her. So the prawn stood at a respectful distance from her rather devilish boss, wholly unrecognizable.
Jack had painted her shell, up to her elbows and knees, a muddy brown. This coordinated with the swaths of dirty black robes that concealed her, a great hood pulled up around her head, and concealing her face. At her side, a plastic scythe. She was the grim reaper
And perhaps Devon should've disagreed to such a costume, because anyone could draw their hood and try to get close to him-- but no one was as massive as Jack. Shear size alone would distinguish her from any imposters. She slid past her friend/employer, and the apparent child he'd handed an alcoholic beverage.
"Hm."
The "grim reaper" chose to stand a few yards off, where she could give the two their privacy, but could still keep an eye out on the crowd. The great thing about the costume is that people only gawked at her for being tall and hooded, rather than looking like some hellborne cricket. It was totally within character to stand around and stare quietly, too. The downside was that it greatly reduced her field of vision, so Jack would probably turn her head to the left, then to the right to survey her surroundings. At least her arms were free.
The prawn nodded dutifully. "Let her know" when she finished. As if they'd see each other again after this happenstance meeting at a bar. Riiight. The prawn did as she was told, taking her seat at the table with the redhead. If she sat with someone else, the likelihood of some wacko joining them was narrowed by one.
"I'n Jack," the prawn offered, briefly.
If they were going to sit together, the lady might as well know her name.
"I work at a nightclu'," the prawn explained, "Not dis one... hence how I can read wiss all duh noise. I'n used to it. Nake sense?"
The prawn stood with her arms tightly crossed, eyes squinted off in the direction of the stationary ferry, her back to the approaching blond. How the Hell was it this freezing at this time of the year. She did, however, here the other woman's approach, and turned first her head, then her shoulders, then altogether, to face the other woman. An involuntary chirp of delight escaped the creature.
"Not long," Jack clicked. That was a lie. A soft, delighted look crept into her lavender eyes, as she surveyed the proffered blanket and beverage each, in-turn, "I'n okay, honest." Another lie. But the prawn was drawing the blanket around her shoulders, which was evidence to the contrary. And there was Emma, so close, so petite, so warm. Freshly warm from the taxi-ride there. A flush crept into Jack's face, and the prawn glanced towards the water again, bashful. Carefully she brought the beverage to her lips, and was greeted by the taste of a very strong tea. This earned a pleased hum.
"You really sought uzz e'ery-sing," the prawn complimented Emma, using her free primary arm (whose hand presently clasped the blanket), to draw Emma in to enjoy the heat, "I shoulda had a 'lanket already."
Jack saw Emma's gesture, but the effect was like someone smacking a tree trunk. The prawn straightened, her eyes following the offending hand. She was spiny all over, and wanted to be sure that Emma hadn't given herself a stigmata by slapping Jack's rear.
Emma returned with the clothes, and Jack gingerly took them. They were still warm from the dryer.
The prawn nodded appreciatively, and began to saunter towards Emma’s room for some privacy to get dressed. She wasn't modest, but she wasn't going to put clothes on with an audience, either. An inquiry floated after her down the hall.
Jack had dropped her clothes onto the bed, and was presently wriggling into a pair of boxers, when Emma spoke.
“Ny nun’der?” the prawn echoed, “Like… my cell sone?”
Now came the cargo shorts, which were work in a familiar kind of way.
“Don't see why not.”
And then the shirt, over her head. Jack sighed. In a way it was a comfort to be in her own clothes, just like a certain kind of solace came from a protective shell. Jack padded back into the hallway, pulling her phone from her pocket. She smiled at Emma. There was something to be said about being vulnerable to someone else, too. Something honest.
Jack stood at the docks, sitting casually atop a thick beam. It was one of many, between which thick ropes were strung as a makeshift partition between the boardwalk and the sea.
She'd been summoned here by a text, innocent enough, from one blonde power-swapper-- summoned to Montauk Point, where she was presently freezing her ass off thanks to the sea breeze that cut through her hoodie. The docks for the ferry were nearby. Ironically, very close to where Jack had caught the ferry to Devon's Plum Island Facility. They weren't heading to that island today, however. They were going to Block Island.
It was Jack's own fault that she was freezing her ass off, really. She'd been anxious about being late, making Emma wait, or missing a transfer, so she'd taken a bus two time slots earlier than necessary. Much to her chagrin, there was no cafe to hole herself up in or take shelter from the coastal breeze within.
So she was there, sitting on the docks, looking like a fool.
Most people were giving her a relatively wide berth, but she did not mind. She was carefully skimming the crowd for the familiar head of wavy blond hair. She then glanced down at her phone, quadruple-checking the text that'd delineated their rendezvous plans. Meet at the docks at 9:00 for the 9:30 ferry to Block Island, for a day full of cutesy, touristy things.
Was this a date? It felt like a date. Jack was no good when it came to this stuff. She huffed and re-pocketed her phone.
Posted by "Chief" on Jul 15, 2018 15:28:35 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
Hey guys and gals, I hope you're as pumped for this plot as I am!
Here's the deal, I want to push Jack to Inner Echelon, badly-- and this plot feels like the perfect opportunity to do so!!
I think Jack would be very well-suited for a rescue mission. I just am not good at/don't typically enjoy solos. SOOOO if you would like your character to be either be part of the rescue mission (rescuer with Jack or rescued by Jack and co.) hmu.
I could see the partner being either a possibility for IE or someone already belonging to IE and therefore scouting Jack while working with her. > w > *elbows people already in IE*
HMU if you're interested.
Once the thread's going, I'll erase this and post the thread link here.
Something about this felt wrong, so wrong. Now that Jack had surmounted the "Not Zinnia" panic, something else was nestling in the pit of her stomach, and that was, "Conned your way into a random woman's house for-" the prawn felt her face heating as Emma kissed the interlocking spines of her Jack's knuckle. She melted a bit, at that. Romance always had a way of making her weak. But still, the return of Jack's carapace-clad figure was prompting her to want to leave.
The prawn rose gently from the couch, touching her muzzle to the crown of Emma's head.
"Sorely ten-ting," the prawn rumbled. But intimacy between two human woman felt a lot less taboo than intimacy between someone as horrendously mutated as Jack and anyone else. She'd have to get to know Emma better before possibly agreeing to that. A massive hand smoothed down Emma's hair as the prawn voiced what they were botht hinking, "'ut I gotta go hone sooner or later."
Despite that sentiment, Jack lingered for a moment, as if contemplating kissing the smaller woman again.
"Should 'ro'ly get outta duh dress," she agreed, "I'n likely to rit holes in it at dis rate."
Vaguely remembering the route to the laundry room, Jack padded in that direction, carefully hiking the dress up around her ankles, then her knees, carefully maneuvering it around her jutting hips. The chest would be the wors part, perhaps stretched-out beyond future use. Emma could do as she pleased-- retrieve the dried clothes, watch from afar-- but Jack was halted in front of the laundry room (where there was ample room to move), untangling herself from the maxi dress. Underneath, the prawn was altogether unclothed-- but, in this form, modesty was not a concept Jack was familiar with. After some wrestling with the chest and shoulders, Jack finally was free of the dress, looking rather harried by the ordeal.
She glanced towards Emma, her eyes pinching in a cheeky smile.
"Lots nor iridescent like dis, don'tcha sink?" she said, striking what Jack imagined to be a model-worthy pose.
The prawn was slowed-down by the closely-bunched pub tables. She had to turn sideways to squeeze through, despite the fact that most of the seats were unoccupied. The last thing she wanted was to up-end a stool or a table. By the time she hefted a glance towards the vicinity of where the book had fallen, she had noticed that the redhead near whom the book had landed was getting to her feet, and had retrieved the paperback from the floor.
The woman was a conventionally attractiv lady, very slender and of middling height.
"Ah-" Jack began to say something as the woman retrieved the book. Something to the persuasion of, "That's mine," but the protest died in her throat. She was very pretty... and very pretty. The woman didn't miss a beat, extending the book towards Jack in her gloved hand.
>> "There you go. Is it any good? Or is it so horrible you just had to throw it?"
Jack looked sheepishly aside, a smile tinging her lavender eyes. Behind her surgical mask, mouthparts seemed to chew on her words.
"Sorry," the word slipped out of her mouth in a tone honeyed with humor. A careful primary hand plucked the paperback from the other woman's grasp, and the book was then hugged close to the prawn's sternum, "Ny sone scared nee. It 'uzzed on duh ta'le, lots louder dan ex'ected."
She knew the girl was teasing, but... attractive ladies seemed to make her more chatty. The girl asked if "it was any good" and it took another few moments for the prawn to address that question. Was what any good? Oh, the book? Jack glanced at the cover.
"Don't know," Jack replied. It was a book that was new to her-- one about a wizard and his misadventures with a tourist and their enchanted luggage. It was her first venture into this series and, since she was still in the midst of the first book, it was difficult to say whether or not it was good, "I just, uh, al'ays intended on reading it, is all."
The prawn could see just fine in the low light of the bar. She sat away from the main bar, at a small table close-ish to the corner. A petite redhead with a bob had swooped in and snatched Jack's preferred seat-- the corner-- so the prawn had settled for something else, a couple tables away and against the wall. Jack hunched over the table, a well-worn paperback pinched between a thumb and forefinger of her primary hand. Her other primary hand idly swirled a bottle of beer, which she occasionally took a swig from.
Not only was the back corner a practical vantage point for the rest of the bar, but it was also a bit darker then the rest of the bar. Jack could unhook her surgical mask and nurse her beer in peace. The prawn hundred to herself, a smile on her tone.
Over the top of her paperback, she could see the redheaded neighbor rather clearly. A nervous thing, perhaps, or fastidious. She drank some fruity cocktail with gloves on. Pretty, though. Rather pretty. Jack dropped her timid gaze back to the book, and realized she lost her place in the page. Maybe if you weren't so busy thirsting after random chicks...
Her phone gave a churlish buzz against the laminated pub table. And, with a squeak of alarm, the prawn released her hold on the book, tossing it involuntarily in the direction of the redhead.
"Sh*t," the prawn muttered, pocketing her phone and getting to get feet to retrieve the felled book.
The girl demanded that Jack assist her, her question sounding more like a thinly-veiled command. After how the chick had just been treating her? And help with what? Facing-off with a robot? Yeah f***ing right. Jack shook her head mutedly. Nope, Jack had warned this b***h about the METAbot's, and did she listen? Noooo. This was the opposite of the prawn's problem. This was the "I fight everything that moves" chick's problem.
And, as if the chick couldn't be any more cosmically idiotic, she charged at Jack, at the robot, hands blazing. METAbot turned, ready to detain the girl forcefully. Jack's hands-- practically numb as they tingled with the threat of an explosive punch-- moved on their own. The prawn, once again, sidestepped the girl, an enormous primary hand closing her forearm and pulling her behind the prawn.
This wasn't Jack's problem. Not the METAbot, not this stupid plucky girl, not any of this... but if Jack didn't blow some steam here-and-now, she'd blow some f***ing idiot's head-off. Most likely the f***ing idiot who kept trying to fight her. Once flaming chick was behind her, Jack's moves were almost relfexive. Fist clenched, body pivoted, and she threw one punch across her body pointed at the METAbot.
Kra-KOOOOOOOM!
The sound was impressive, rattling the windows of buildings, and setting off the alarms of nearby cars. The METAbot, which had been mere inches from Jack's fully extended fist, had been thrown a good ten feet, its face caved-in from the force. The automaton spasmed, occasionally spewing sparks. The prawn sighed, an ache creeping into her left arm. Jack clasped her left arm with her right hand, squeezing the aching muscle. The girl wasn't worth all this trouble.
"Dere will 'e nore uzz den," the prawn informed the fiery child, "I'n not staying to greet den."
Her expression was flat, her right arm-- her dominant arm-- still glowing brightly. Jack's head was also reeling from the concussive punch, and the only reason she was really still speaking with the teenager was because her head was spinning too much to run away.
"Iss I were you, I'd sine-d sun-where to hideout, and stay dere," the prawn concluded, "Don't sight nee on dat one."
Jack wasn't going to help her there, and she wasn't going to wait for some smart-aleck remark either. Finally, her head had stopped spinning. With a quick look left and right, Jack bolted across the street and into an alleyway. The safest place would be back at Hadden's building. That's where she'd go.
Posted by "Chief" on Jun 16, 2018 23:55:13 GMT -6
Erik Volkov likes this
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
Jack finished her stretches with a grunt, plodding after the young man. In'gran? She didn't get it, and the gesture skyward did little to clarify what he'd meant. Finally, it clicked. Immigrant. A belated nod.
"I cane here s'run Cali-sore-nia," the prawn said, trying to build some common ground, "I guess dat's diss-erent den... in-igrating, 'ut... New York's like its own world."
Jack had honestly come here for the weights, but Erik had beelined for the punching bag, patting it lightly. He was holding it steady, not taking a swing at it, and he tried to entice her over by asking a series of questions. Punch? Fighter? Hit?
"I an," Jack confirmed, though a trace of hesitance was in her tone. She didn't want to insult the guy, but... the last time she'd pointed a punch at a person, it'd killed them. And Erik seemed like a nice guy, she'd hate to obliterate him. Anxious lights flickered in the bioluminescent pores around her hands. Jack flexed her hands uncertainly. This time was different-- she didn't feel intimidated by Erik. She wasn't fighting for her life. What was the worst that could happen?
"You ready sore nee?" the prawn asked, sinking onto the appropriate stance. She bent at the knees, her back heel lifting ever so slightly, shoulders squared, and primary hands up. Given the cue, Jack moved decisively-- she'd do three sets of three. Jab, cross, uppercut-- jab, cross, upercut-- and again. To her relief, no explosions followed. She hit lightly during the first set, but after the gym wasn't blown into disarray after the first set, Jack relaxed, and no longer pulled her punches. This was fine. She was fine. There was some real power behind her punches.
"You wanna try?" she offered, hopping on the balls of her feet. Jack was perfectly content to whale on the bag some more, but she assumed that the guy hadn't just come there to assist other people on their workouts.
Congratulations.