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 nodded wordlessly, shifting her weight. Perhaps now that she had mozzerella sticks, Jack could take her leave and let the young woman eat. Becca seemed to be doing just find, and Jack needed some medical attention. (Or at the very least, she needed a bandage instead of a paper towel.)
>> ”Ow… tho hot… bit thae guid…”
The prawn smiled. The mozzerella sticks were pretty fantastic. She gave another affirming nod. The girl reclined in her seat, the weight of her head barely registsering against the carapace-lined midsection, and the prawn shifted her weight slightly, expression slackening in confusion.
>> ”Ah’m jist totally dumb taenight…”
The prawn's brow's knit. Becca was... very... inebriated.
"E'ery-un nakes nis-stakes," the prawn murmured awkwardly, unsure of whether or not the young woman was actually referencing the mozzerella sticks, or if she was referencing something else.
The DJ crooned something over the mic about taking it slow, for a moment. About how he wanted to give the patrons an opportunity to share the dance with someone special. Jack's stomach knotted. Agnes was drawing-in.
>> ”Okay. After this song?”
Jack tensed slightly as Agnes moved closer, her maxillae curling timidly as Agnes placed her hand upon her thin, chitinous waist. Her massive hand occupied the entirety of her waist. The heat in her face grew, and as she'd done many times that night, Jack thanked her lucky stars that the chitin betrayed none of the flush in her cheeks.
She wasn't used to gentle demands. Usually inebriated girls were much more demanding, and it was easier to get rid of them. But Agnes was more polite.
"Sure," the prawn said gently. If the usual upbeat songs put the prawn out of her element, then the slow songs were really jarring for her. Though she'd occasionally been coerced to dance to the usual hypnotic beats, no one-- and she really meant no one-- had coerced her to slow-dance. Hopefully Agnes didn't expect anything flashy.
The prawn remained stonily silent, quickly nodding her head as Zinnia fished-out her phone and proposed a tutorial video instead. The engine was killed, and Jack surpressed the urge to sigh. It wasn't fair to be so critical-- Jack couldn't even drive an automatic. But the fact of the matter was, it'd been ages since she'd been in a car, and when car moved in a way that it wasn't supposed to, it was enough to put the prawn on-edge.
Jack didn't even unbuckle her seatbelt as the video played. She merely rested her hand on Zinnia's leg, watching the ViewTube videos over her girlfriend's shoulder. Conceptually, it made plenty of sense. Zinnia was ready to try again. She started the car.
A quiet chirr betrayed her-- it was an involuntary, anxious noise.
>> "See, no sweat."
As a bouncer, it was Jack's job to be observant-- to pick-out who was high, who was plastered, and so-on-- to separate the good from the bad, to keep the clubbing experience optimal. She noticed Zinnia's iron grip on the steering wheel, the clenched smile and, well, sweat upon her girlfriend's brow.
"You're a natural," the prawn agreed. She realized she'd had a death-grip on the passenger-side door, which she released. She let her hands settle in her lap, trying to be the image of calm.
Jack timidly exchanged a glance with her girlfriend, cracking a smile at the gaze.
"What?" she laughed. One one hand, she didn't ride in cars often because she didn't fit, yes-- but on the other, not a lot of people owned cars in the city. The last time she'd tucked herself into a car was probably when she'd gone to Zinnia's parents' house for Thanksgiving.
>> “You are a genius my dear. And I am an idiot. I haven’t driven with gears before.”
The prawn gave an amused burble, flapping her hand dismissively.
>> “Still, no time like the present! Onwards! To victory!”
The car began rolling forward, and the prawn breathed a sigh. They were accelerating.
"See, not too sha-" Jack began reassuringly. She was going to say "shabby", but once they pushed the accelerator past a certain speed, the car seemed to hiccup and lurch, seesawing awkwardly in-place before settling. The prawn swallowed her reassurance and leaned forward, expecting that they had hit something.
In all honesty, it was likely that Zinnia had forgotten to change gears as the car accelerated. But Jack's knowledge of cars was perhaps even less extensive than her girlfriend's, and as such she just looked owlishly in front of them, before glancing wordlessly back towards Zinnia.
>> "You see any f***ing cats round here? Suppose could be anything on your left there, eh?"
The quivering demand, the shaky laugh, and show of smarmy confidence did nothing to sway the hulking shadow. The prawn sat upon its haunches, listening to the man prattle on and on, expression unwavering. When he gestured to the creature's left, it's gaze flicked, the sarcasm seemingly lost on it, before returning to the man.
>> "See I don't to s*** fer fwree, end I don't see no pockets on you. Hunting fwalls unda anything."
The prawn straightened its posture, a glimmer of understanding registering in its eyes. An exchange. No services for free. A soft growl emanated from its mandibles. He'd done it for free the first time, the only thing that made it any different now was that instead of putting the dead cat to waste, the slaughter was happening for a reason. All of a sudden it was a service for which he needed to charge a fee.
"You... scared..." the prawn clicked, calculating, "I'll go... a'ay... iss... you do... again."
The man slipped on a bottle, legs flying out from under him. He lost the offensive-smelling thing that had been tucked in his mouth. The creature rose off of its haunches and ambled towards the man, closing the distance between them. It made no motion to help him to his feet, but instead sank onto one of its primary arms, its face drawing close to his own. As it planted a steadying arm, it squelched the smouldering cigarette beneath its clenched fist.
"Cat... or... sun-sing else..."
That was the deal. Food for freedom. The creature let the implications hang in the air. What would it do if the man didn't comply? Linger? Follow him? Eat him? And what kind of food did it want, anyways? Cat? Beef? Churlish young men who blew smoke in the faces of apex predators?
Like the young man before her, Jack also had a distaste for interview questions. Was there such a thing as someone who could use these questions to get a feel for a person? In the prawn's experience, she could get a good feel for a person just by being around them. But treating someone to coffee in order to assess if they were good for your business was not a typical approach to interviews. The prawn listened politely as the young man spoke.
>> "Well I'm from Virginia. Moved to New York cause I want to be a Broadway actor someday. I love music and dance. I'm pretty much just a simple generally happy guy. Life's too short to be miserable right?"
Jack's posture was open, one primary arm draped over the back of her chair. She cracked a smile hesitant smile from behind her surgical mask. He was an endearing kid, she'd give him that, but the information he provided was sort-of tangential. It had nothing to do with his job. His pleasant demeanor would help with being a server.
The prawn inclined her head, "Yes, you should al'ays nake duh 'est outta lice."
"'at sorta 'ackground do you has in acting and duh likes?" Jack asked politely, "I'n not one sore duh line-light, so I'n not sure 'at sorta skill it de-nands."
Here, she was giving the kid the opportunity to toot his own horn. Perhaps, should he see an advantage in doing so, he could even connect skills in performing arts to skills in being a server. While the prawn had a script, and while this was not necessarily part of it, it felt like an organic way to propel the conversation. Jack wasn't into the stilted feeling of interview questions, anyways.
Posted by "Chief" on Apr 23, 2017 16:55:58 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
>> "I 'ight s'eal all yoo s'uff. I 'ight 'urder yoo in yoo slee."
Jack exhaled sharply, a genuine smile breaking across her inhuman features.
"Nuh-sing worse stealing," she assured the kid, her lavender eyes glittering. She clapped a hand on the kid's back, thinking very little of the threat, "Do ya sink I nade it on duh streets sore as long as I did, jus' to get killed in ny slee' dy sun kid who's crashing on ny couch?"
It wasn't that she doubted his abilities, but to let your guard down enough to get killed in your sleep would take a degree of unawareness. Despite having her own abode, Jack still slept with an awarenesss of her surrounding.
"Get oss uzz 'ork at 4 a.m.," Jack said coolly, "Iss you 'ant a 'lace to crash sore duh night, neet ne out sront. Ny lunch ends soon."
(OOC: So we could either end it after Jack goes back to work, or we could time-skip write Jude going to Jack's apartment after her shift ends. Your call!)
>> ”Thenk ye, baith ay ye. Nae need tae thenk me. He was a jerk an’ yoo’re not. Too many jerks tonecht.”
Jack gave a casual shrug. It was all part of the job. She kept one hand clapped to the paper towel that was stopping the bleeding.
>> ”Ah’m Becca.”
“Jack,” the prawn said simply, “Or Chief, de’ends on who ya ask.”
The /f/ in Chief was breathed with a sharp exhale, not quite an f. She took the proffered hand as an invitation to fist-bump. Handshakes were awkward and unwieldy. She lightly tapped her knuckles to Becca’s, and let her lavender eyes swim towards the floor. She spied a waiter with a plate-full of mozzarella sticks. They locked eyes, and the man began to make their way over.
Jack gladly accepted the plate, and slid it towards Becca. There. Placate the patron. Not that she seemed out of sorts, as it was.
The prawn watched the slowly-gathering crowd, a quiet chirr roiling in her throat. She saw herself in the unkempt faces and ragged clothes. She’d lived on the streets for a few years of her youth, and only got off of the streets by virtue of the fact that a San Francisco-based mutant school had taken her in and rehabilitated her. She didn’t feel the same sort of kinship with the older folks as she did with the young ones. Jack made her way back towards the kitchen, retrieved the next flask, and sauntered back out. The prawn cut through the gathering crowd, many of the patrons giving her wide berth. It came with the stature. She was at the table in no time.
>> "Just place it next to the first one."
Jack chirped affirmatively, carefully setting the pot onto the table. The slamming of the doors drew the prawn’s attention, and the prawn gave an alarmed whistle. She assumed it was the wind, until a churlish and grizzled-looking man stormed in through the door. The prawn’s shoulders stiffened, and her mandibles tightened. Though outside of bouncing she tried to avoid conflict, this situation was unique. She was responsible for a number of the volunteers here—her students. Her kids. And her intuition was throwing some pretty strong signals. In her line of business, those signals weren’t
A low growl rumbled in the prawn’s throat, and her eyes cut towards Linley. Could you get in trouble with the law when a cop wasn’t on-duty?
“Getting horri’le seelings a’out dat guy,” the prawn murmured, “’at’chu sink his ‘ro’lem is?”
The prawn had asked if the boy liked living on the streets because she knew of people who chose the lives of travelers. That was how she’d gotten from Washington to California after all. She met a bunch of hippie travelers who didn’t particularly mind physical mutations, and didn’t believe in settling down. They each had their own vehicle out of which they lived, mostly vans, converted school buses, and the like. They traveled wherever there was work and made money under-the-table.
Jude did not appear to be of that population. In fact, he said he hated running away, and mostly only did so for “important reasons”. The prawn lowered her head at the kid and arched her eyebrows.
>> "I guess I get ano'ser yob. Noo 'ower. 'ind a slace. I nake do."
The prawn closed her locker, and latched the lock into place. Jack shuffled to the kid, and held her receipt out to him.
“Ny sone nun-der,” she explained, “I get oss in duh early norn-ing. Iss you want to get sun-ting to, or a ‘lace to lay your head sore a see-ew nights, ny door is o’en.”
Whether or not the kid wanted to take the phone number, Jack pushed the folded receipt towards his primary hands.
“Got a shower and sun good sings to eat, a nice couch,” the prawn rumbled, “Iss you really are nee, duh usual sh** dat hu-nans eat is gonna taste like gar’age to you. No sast sood. No soda. All dat just tastes like nud. Don’t know why.”
Besides, having a place to stay would help minimize some of the stress of getting back on one’s feet. Getting a good night’s sleep was nearly impossible on the streets. She didn't want the kid falling in with a bad crowd, either.
Agnes wasn’t the first inebriated girl to drag the lumbering bouncer out onto the dance floor—and she wouldn’t be the last, either. Something about having alcohol in their system gave girls the inclination to dance with the most socially inept creature within eyeshot. Jack, being a statuesque figure that routinely loomed in the corner during her shift, fit that description to a tee. She wouldn’t admit to the brunette that she secretly enjoyed cutting loose. She was careful, of course, but the music soon sunk to the prawn’s core, and her body loosened.
She was, of course, polite. Nothing like the usual bump-and-grind that usually followed the heavy techno beat. They were just two girls having fun. Agnes was all grins as she twirled, and the prawn tilted a smirk of her own. When the young woman paused and locked eyes with the towering behemoth, however, Jack felt that tightness in her throat. She wrote it off as guilt—she should’ve been watching the floor, not dancing.
The prawn’s gaze cut sideways, towards her comfortable spot against the wall.
“I can’t dance for too long,” she said apologetically. It really was fun, though she’d never deign to confess it.
The yells that followed the prawn fell-on deaf ears. To the prawn, it was like a the yapping of a far-off Yorkie. Incessant and unintelligible. If the prawn were even capable of using such words.
The prawn was halfway through the cat when the man yelled at it again.
>> "Yeah, you're welcome! Big freak, couldn't catch it yourself I bet!"
With that said, the fellow made a hasty retreat. Contrary to his accusations, the prawn was a perfectly adept hunter! But she often had to expend some energy in the chase and the hunt of small city creatures. He had simply made the process considerably less challenging by essentially killing her prey for her.
The gears were obviously turning in the prawn's head, as it watched the young man take his leave. Like a squirrel that'd been slipped one-too-many Cracker Jacks by a multitude of college students, the prawn realized that this man could be a source of easy food. What, with the blue light hands, and all. Maybe he would zap more things that he'd later cast aside and, well, that would be an opportunistic place for the prawn to be.
The prawn made quick work of the cat, dug a hole near the base of a tree, and hastily buried it. She'd comeback to dispose of it more thoroughly later. Given the prawns' long strides, catching-up with the man was an easy task, though for the last quarter mile, the prawn relied on its sense of smell to show it the way. Finally, it made its way into the mouth of the very same alley where the young man was currently taking a placating drag of his cigarette. The prawn rose off of all fours, walking bipedally towards him, before squatting a good ten feet away from the man. She meant no harm, but she also didn't want to be on the receiving-end of harm, either. She also wanted to linger in the shadows, where most passerby's wouldn't spot her.
The prawn made an inquiring click, her gaze unflinching. Anticipating an onslaught of verbal abuse, the prawn's mandibles flexed clumsily into its command/request.
Posted by "Chief" on Apr 6, 2017 22:06:48 GMT -6
Sennyo likes this
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
>> "I-I-I-I'm... Is this your cat? I uh, I promise I din't mean to... It was an accident.. I can't always control it..."
The man quivered in his boots, stammering an apology for the slain cat. The prawn paused, its good eye fixed upon him shrewdly. Mistakeningly, it believed he might be fearful for his own well-being. Rest assured, the prawn would not eat him. It would be a waste of meat. He'd spoil before the prawn was able to pick him clean. The prawn sat on its haunches, primary limbs still grazing the ground as it surveyed him.
>> "What, you too stupid to talk? F***ing disgrace to mutants. Well, you want your damn pet, FETCH!"
Well. That was certainly a change of tune. The prawn followed the dead cat with its gaze, before its eyes cut back to the young man. A chirr rose in its throat. His accusations fell to deaf ears, though the look in the prawn's eyes was indicative of some intelligence, some understanding.
The prolonged chirr became punctuated- uuuurrrrrr-urr-urr-urr-urr. The call paused, momentarily, as the prawn rubbed its mandibles together, before continuing-- urr-urr-urr.
The prawn was laughing at him. A strange, otherworldly laugh.
Even fear masquerading as anger or derision was still fear. Such a sad man. The prawn followed the discarded cat into the trees, sniffing at it. Still warm, but it wouldn't stay that way for long. Facing the man, but remaining in the shadows, the prawn did what she had come to do.
She supped.
Later she would hide the remnants where no one would find them. Perhaps the man stayed, perhaps he did not. The silence of the park magnified the sounds of the prawn's supper, the slick crunch of bones.
>> “As delicious as these ballet flats look, I just don’t think they’d be filling enough for the both of us.”
"You could has duh sake sood," the prawn reassured her girlfriend, nodding sagely. As though this "fake food" would help mitigate the issue of shoes not being enough for the two of them. Jack went to the passenger side of the truck, popped open the door, and carefully folded herself into the passenger-side seat in the front. With some minor adjustments (sliding all the way back, reclining the back) she almost fit. Her legs still lightly bumped against the glove compartment, her head was an inch from the cieling of the cab, but here she was-- in the passenger seat of a car. Jack ran a hand over her antennae. It took her a moment to remember to fasten her seatbelt.
"Hasn't 'een in a car in years," the prawn observed. She'd ridden in a cargo van for a few Chrysalis events, but a normal size car? It'd been at least since coming to New York, she hadn't been in a normal-sized car.
Zinnia slid the keys into the ignition and started the car. She tried to accelerate, and the car sputtered and choked. The prawn trilled in confusion, looking towards Zinnia. It had driven just fine when they'd pulled out of the lot the first time. Jack had watched them drive away, no problem. Jack also had a limited knowledge of cars, even on the most basic, how-to-drive level. She knew it required a key to start... that you could put in park and reverse and neutral...
"Nay'e it's in neutral?" the prawn asked, not sounding entirely sure of herself. Her gaze drifted towards the stickshift, but she wasn't entirely sure of the purpose it served.
The prawn crept through the dense trees on all fours, low to the ground, senses keen on the sounds surrounding it. In the distance, there was the constant, steady sound of traffic like the rush of water over stones. The occasional sharp cry of a horn, like the peal of a wild bird. In the immediate area, the prawn could hear the whispers of wildlife and wandering domesticated animals alike, the footfalls of a pedestrian on a nearby path. The monster was a part of nature, silent and unacknowledged. They would continue-on and ideally never know of the hunt that was happening in the thick of the trees.
Then, the prawn saw it-- a heavyset tomcat, grey, easily twenty pounds-- it was a good find. Most nights, the prawn subsisted on rats and birds and other smaller prey. Though the tom was, of course, still tiny and not enough to tide the prawn over for the night, it was enough for a few hours. A midnight snack, if you will. Mindful of the cats' own, elevated senses, the prawn crawled after it, motions slow and deliberate, carefully stepping past loose twigs or stones. The tom was focusing on its own endeavors, perhaps also partaking in a hunt.
When it was close enough, the prawn lunged-- the cat ran-- the prawn gave chase. The trees were far too dense for it to navigate effectively. The cat serpentined, using its smaller weight to its advantage. The prawn, however, barreled after it. Eventually they would break the treeline, and the prawn would be at the advantage.
The cat did dart from the trees but, when it did, it barreled towards a pedestrian. The prawn realized this belatedly. It skidded to a halt. Still in the shadows. Still time to back up. The man lifted the cat. He was facing the prawn but, in the darkness, his meager eyes could not see it.
It would wait. If it was not the man's cat, the man would put the cat down, and the prawn could continue to hunt the pathetic creature.
The man then illuminated the darkness with arcing blue light from his hands, his eyes pulled forward. Fear registered upon his face. Realization. Attention. A low growl rippled from the prawn, and it grew into a snarl. It could flee, and hope that the man would tell no one of what he'd seen. But the man had taken its meal and revealed its hiding place.
The prawn padded towards him, still on all fours, mandibles curling with the low growl that was still upon them. It wanted its prey. It wanted its prey, and it wanted its park, and this man had taken both of these from it. The prawn did not lunge, but it did circle. It waited. It wanted what rightfully belonged to it. Its one good eye was fixed upon the unsuspecting man. The prawn moved with the grace of an apex predator, slinking around the man as it sized him up. Its attention, however, was noticeably fixated upon the cat.
