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 Mar 8, 2017 0:23:30 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
>> "Sis is Noo 'ork. No'ody cares unless 'ou ged somesing in re'urn."
"Not s-run New York," Jack said simply. Who said she wasn't getting anything out of this? She was getting clothes on the back of her doppelganger and saving herself the trouble of dealing with the repercussions of his lack of clothes.
>> "You seen ok noa. Nouh? NOW-UH. Of duh dwo secons we kno'n each o'er."
This earned a sharp, amused exhale from the prawn, a smile tilting on her lips as the kid walked past, carrying the clothes with him into the bathroom. Good. She was so glad to seem "okay" by the standards of a kid.
>> "So'as your s'ory?" Moments later, the robotic voice chimed-in, <What's your story? Only if you want.>
It was weird to be on the outside of this, of her speech impediment, of her mutation-- to see someone else struggle with what was the day-to-day for her. It was alsmost like having a kindered spirit, except Jack had no way out of what the kid was now experiencing. This was her life. The prawn sat quietly, for a spell, listening to the sound of running water from within the bathroom.
" 'e-cane a nyu-tant 'en I 'uzz a kid," Jack explained, " 'ad to leaze ny house. House 'uzz no good. Ran a'ay. On streets sore... long tine. Get in gang. Get in trou'le. Instead uzz going to jail, sun hero sorts sined nee. Take nee in to dis nyu-tant school in San Srancicsco. I lizz dere sore a long tine. Stay outta trou'le, graduated. 'ork construction. Ol' gang catch nee. Ran a'ay again. Cun here. 'een here sore nanny years now. No gang. No trou'le. Just... lowkey."
The prawn stretched. It wasn't detailed, but it was enough. Besides, he didn't need to know the nitty gritty. That was Jack's background in a matchbox. Jack chirred absentmindedly, looking at her hands. He had already declined giving his name, so she hesitated asking other details.
"You?" that was non-invasive enough. He could be as vague or as detailed as necessary.
Jack returned her attention to the dance floor, her own thoughts confused and vague. The friendliness of strangers was still a novelty, for her. And this one seemed genuine about it. It was a slow night, a quiet one, she hadn't been called to any other part of the club, which was not a standard evening. Thus she was afforded the opportunity to keep Agnes company.
>> ”Do you dance?”
"N-no," the prawn said simply. Last time she'd danced, her partner nearly burnt down the jazz club that Jack had been frequenting. One handcrafted table and a brief exchange later, and Jack still hadn't been able to return to Looking Glass.
Of course, it hadn't been the dancing that'd burnt the place down. It'd been the subsequent fight. Victor had only been defending her. What a night it had been. Jack had never been given the chance to dance with someone bigger than her.
She glanced down at Agnes, a hesitant smile touching her eyes.
"You go ahead," she assured the young patron, "I has to 'atch duh dance s-loor any'ays."
>> ”Absolutely no trouble! Just remember to give me your number before the night is out, okay? Everyone deserves a nice night of classical music.”
Jack nodded dumbly, the heat remaining in her cheeks. Now, Agnes's invitation was seeming more genuine-- phone numbers seemed slightly more committal. (The shut-in in Jack's heart argued, however, that she could still slip-off silently and not leave her number with the young brunette.)
>> ”Oh my god, that is where I went to school! That’s so crazy that you work there. I mean, it’s a great school and they always have good people working there. When I was a teenager I used to go to school there and I had a part-time job as the school gardener. I planted those gardenia bushes along the back wall. Please don’t tell me someone removed them?”
That was only slightly surprising to Jack. Xavier's was a renowned mutant school that a number of mutant children attended (on the East Coast, at the very least). She listened attentively as Agnes explained her own experience with Xavier's, nodding her head up until the inquiry about the gardenia bushes along the back wall.
She didn't know what gardenias were. There were definitely some bushes, though.
"Don't know 'ut gardenias are," Jack admonished, "Dere are... 'lants... 'y duh 'ack wall, doh. Night 'e your gardenias?"
Jack just didn't pay attention to plants in general.
>> ”Here’s the deal…I get you into the philharmonic to catch a show and you give me a tour of the mansion."
Neither of which Jack was keen-on. She couldn't fathom being a welcomed fixture at the orchestra... nor could she fathom being neccessary to give Agnes a tour. If she went there, they'd just let her in, right? There were people whose job it was to give tours, why would Agnes want to get a tour from, of all people, a big lug like Jack?
>> "Deal?”
Agnes's hand was outstretched. The prawn eyed the hand, her own hesitation churning behind her gaze. There wouldn't be any harm in it. Besides, most people who made the arrangements never followed through, once they sobered-up.
Posted by "Chief" on Mar 7, 2017 15:31:34 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 kid ran a hand over his antennae, and asked--
>> "Hyy do you care?"
Why did she care? The prawn surveyed him, her expression unreadable. On the most practical level, she felt responsible for the mimic. He'd copied her power and, as the result, shredded his clothes. On the other, since he'd mimicked her, now he looked like her and was waltzing about naked. Which wouldn't reflect well upon her. Then, on the deepest level, Jack had inklings about the kid's background-- he was sitting in an alley, and was looking for a shower. Perhaps these were of little consequence. On the other hand, Jack couldn't help but see some of her younger self in him... from her street-dwelling days. If he had a home to go to, he wouldn't be asking for a shower at a nightclub-- he'd just go home and change.
The prawn shouldered a shrug, eyes cutting sideways in a noncommittal way. She turned to go back to her locker, breathing a trilling whistle. She could tell the kid what she thought, but you shouldn't assume that about a person. Maybe he just like sitting in a dark alley and asking strangers about showers.
"'y 'ouldn't I care?" Jack finally retorted, flopping onto a beat-up couch at the corner of the room, "You didn't 'lan on turning into nee. Now you're naked. Need close. I ha'en to has close. And nost solks don't ask sore showers at nightclu's." The prawn fixed the kid with a knowing, unflinching look. She didn't say that she was onto him and she didn't say what she assumed about his living situation. But something in her demeanor said that she knew.
"You re-nine'd nee uzz ny-sells," the prawn said with finality, " 'eyond just looking like nee, you re-nine-d nee uzz ny-sells. I only doing 'ut nakes sense to nee."
Jack tilted her chin down at the mimic, leveling a look of "Are you f#$%ing serious?" at him.
"Listen, kid, dis a nightclu'," Jack intoned, "Not a hotel. Do you sink dere'd 'e shower here?"
Jack saw the look he made at the proferred clothes, at which the real Jack gave a soft huff. These were her own clothes, bought with her own money, that she was giving this young man without so much of an expectation of him returning them. And they were practical! You could only get stretch-knits over the massive primary arms and much more fabric beyond a tank-top ran the risk of snagging on the spines along your shoulders and arms. The same went for the spines on your legs. You had to wear baggy pants (Jack preferred cargo pants and shorts, for the sake of practicality) to accommodate the strange morphology.
"Geez, kid, Just 'ut duh close on," Jack said with finality, unceremoniously dumping the clothes towards the young man. It'd be up to him whether he accepted the deposited clothes or let them fall, "Iss it's so terri'le, you can change later, yeah? I don't care 'ut you do as-ter. Just care now."
"'est 'e has is a sink," Jack said, "You could 'ipe down 'iss a 'a'er towel."
It was better than nothing. Jack remembered, during her time on the streets, there was many an improvised grooming in a park bathroom, during the wee hours of the morning when no one was likely to come-in.
Agnes lightly touched Jack's arm, a gesture largely unnoticed due to the thick carapace. In fact, Jack didn't notice the sensation at all. She only noticed when she looked back and saw the ivory skin of Agnes's arm against her own, iridescent carapace.
>> ”Well, Jack, if you ever want to go, I can get you a ticket.”
A flush crept its way into Jack's neck and, for the moment, the prawn thanked her lucky stars that her physiology would hide any inkling of a blush. Her heart stuttered.
>> ”Trust me, the more people we have there, the better we look. But I’m serious, you ever want to go, just tell me.”
"H-hate to trou'le you," the prawn grunted, though a smile flickered in her eyes. If Agnes was serious, what seat did they have that would fit a behemoth like Jack? The operative word was "if". Jack had recieved many-a promise from people at various degrees of inebriated. Anything from taking her on a cruise to making her some sort of mutant fashion-model. Typically the only proposal that usually got followed-through on were business arrangements. The sort of arrangements where big-wig mutants needed a bodyguard that looked like they could rip a phonebook in two, whose business dealings may or may not be entirely legal. It wasn't Jack's responsibility to assess the legality of it all, however-- she just liked the payment that accopanied such services.
>> ”Oh, not very long. About four months or so. I used to work for a traveling orchestra for a couple years and then when I saw that the New York Phil was having open auditions, I couldn’t resist. So I moved back and am making a go of it here.”
So she played for at least a few years. Jack gave an impressed and warbling whistle. She had no musical skill, thus gave musicians major props for what they did.
>> ”What about you? Have you worked here for long? I tell you, I last I lived in New York I was nineteen and I don’t remember this place being around. Is it recent?”
"Don't know how long dey 'een here," Jack admonished, "I 'een here in New York and at Chrysalis sore a see-ew years. Cane sun Cali-sor-nia 'e-sore, did construction dere. Lotsa... jaweds 'iss duh hands."
"I 'ork at Xa'ier's, too!" Jack rambled. Agnes seemed genuinely interested, which encouraged the prawn to speak a little more than she was typically inclined to, "You know, duh nyu-tant school? 'een dere sore a little too. On security."
Jack shrugged. No, he didn't have to say. She could just give him a name. Hm.
>> <<I don't want to go back right now.>>
Didn't want to go back where? Didn't want to go back and get changed? A series of annoyed clicks escaped Jack.
"You're al-nost naked," Jack retorted, uncertain of what the mimic meant, "Need close."
Jack was not about to explain to management why her doppelganger was running around the club in boxers. She was wise enough to lightly reclaim her phone, lest the boy really didn't follow her in. The prawn then disappeared into the dressing room with a sharp jerk of her chin, letting the door begin its slow swing shut. Whether or not he chose to follow was up to him.
The prawn found her way to her locker, the agitated clicks dulling to a quiet "urrrr". Given the poor quality of her fine motor skills, her lock was one of those that you could slide up, down, left and right in a particular pattern to open. She fussed with the lock then, with a click, sprang the mechanism. She undid the lock and fished-out her bag. A quick-search procured a pair of cargo-shorts with a belt and a wife-beater. That would have to do-- Jack certainly wasn't parting ways with her hoodie for the sake of an unfortunate copycat. She replaced her bag and refastened the lock, returning with an armful of clothes.
This earned little more than a loud huff and a dismissive shrug in reply. Jack didn't have to do anything. She could just as easily left the boxer-clad mimic out naked on the street! No skin off of her back! But she felt at least partially obliged to give the fool some clothes. He could thank her later.
The mimic trilled at the "cousin" remark and Jack smirked. She remembered the earlier days of growing accustomed to the vocalization. She hardly noticed the stares though, if she had, she would assume that it was because there were two Jacks now instead of one... or that the other Jack was showing-off a bit more chitin than what would be considered publicly acceptable.
>> <<Why the mask? Please don't tell me we are poisonous.>>
Through the double-doors they went, into the pulsating beat of music. Neon lights bathed the club and were accompanied by the run-of-the-mill effects that one would often find in such a classy club as this. Reassuringly, Jack shook her head, lightly prying the phone free of his hands to type her response. It was no use talking in the din of the main room, they wouldn't be able to hear each other.
Jack typed as they walked, expertly dropping her shoulder to cut through the revelers as she bee-lined towards the staircase to the employee area. She handed the phone back to the copycat with a new smattering of text written in the dialog.
<It's mostly just for modesty. People like to stare.> it read blandly. Now at the staircase, the prawn released her newfound companion. She jogged halfway up, pausing to look back at the mimic, and gestured for him to follow. Just upstairs and down a short hall, they'd find the locker-room. Jack clambered up the remaining stairs and strode down the hall, stopping just outside the door to the locker area. The hall was cramped and, again, poorly lit, with old band posters and some grafitti adoring the walls.
The music had faded behind them once again.
"Dis 'ay," Jack called, "Lockers in here."
She keyed-in the code and, once the door unlatched itself, she slipped inside, holding the door open for the mimic.
The prawn surveyed her doppelganger, thinning her eyes in scrutiny.
>> "Mu'int"
Ah, that made sense. The initial shock was wearing-off. You saw a lot of things, working at a nightclub that drew mutants and mutant-allies alike. But this was her first time meeting a "power copier" as it were.
"Dat's sun sucking rotten luck," Jack announced "Your hangout is a nyu-tant nightclu'."
Now that he'd explained himself, Jack seemed to be taking this relatively well. She fished her surgical mask out of her pocket and hooked it back onto her jaw-spikes, concealing her mouthparts.
"Need to get you close," she announced, "You tore den to shreds. No good."
Thankfully, Jack always brought a change of clothes for the commute home. And although the copycat was slightly bigger than her, her clothes were baggy enough to do the job. She reprogremmed her text-to-speech app to a male voice, and pushed the phone towards the copy's secondary hands.
"Hard to talk," Jack said, though she was sure he'd already put two-and-two together, "Use snart-sone, does talking sore you. Sounds less ridiculous."
Offering little more explanation, Jack grasped the copycat by his forearm and led him towards the door by which she'd previously been perched.
"I'n Jack, 'y duh 'ay," the prawn said as she pushed the door open and kicked the brick aside, "Jacquelyn Dyer. Stay close."
The two of them slipped inside, into the far-off throbbing music and dimly-lit avenues of the back portion of the club. The kitchen and guest-performer lounge were on this side of the club. They'd have to pass the dance floor and head upstairs to get to the employee area wherein the lockers were located. Another employee, a kitchen staff who was who was on their break, looked up from their phone, their expression breaking into a grin when they spotted the copycat in tow.
"Hey Chief, who's that you got with you?" she hollered. Of course they knew which one was Jack, because Jack was in-uniform-- her slacks and dress-shirt, tie, and vest-- whereas the mimic was essentially naked.
"Ny cousin," Jack fibbed, saving the mimic the trouble of answering, "He here to 'isit, needs a house key. Sore-got to lea's un."
The prawn left it at that, not even to stopping to see if her coworker had believed her. They continued up the hall, the music growing louder as they went-- just through the swinging double doors, they'd find their way to the dancefloor.
Jack grunted in approval. That wasn't her intention, exactly-- if he'd just said he meant no trouble, she would have let him be. But leaving was A-OK too. Then, she could eat her lunch in peace and quiet. The kid rose, Jack noted, side-eyeing them askance. But as he rose, he contorted-- stretched taller, grew outwards. The sound of ripping fabric drew her full attention. Spines and ridges became defined in the young man's form, until there stood a doppelganger of Jack in his place. The prawn sputtered on her sandwich, quickly stumbling to her feet. Phone clattered to the ground.
"Sh**!" Jack shouted unceremoniously, taking a few steps back, "'at duh Hell?"
An anxious primary hand found the crown of her bald head. He was... that was... her? How the f*** was that even-? Her doppelganger made a quiet trill, before his hands found his face. What the Hell. His attention snapped in her direction, and Jack's antennae dropped, eyes wide and mouth agape. This fas the first time she was face-to-face with another prawn.
There was another confused exclamation from the other prawn.
Jack quickly knelt to retrieve her phone, before returning to her rigid stance at the opposite end of the alleyway. She was totally dubfound.
"No 'ay dis real," she announced, "You looked like a kid just a second ago."
The prawn settled another hand atop her bald head, still firmly rooted in place. She was beginning to wonder if she was somehow contagious.
She typed another message on her phone.
<<Has this happened to you before?>> the synthetic voice asked.
Jack was on her last break of the evening, her lunch, and had taken the opportunity to step outside. You could hear the music everywhere, even in the staff areas of the club and outside. But at least when you were outside, you could drink-in the cold air and avoid the party-goers. Jack preferred to eat out here because there was no risk of someone seeing her eat, too.
The prawn leaned over as she exited, grabbing a loose brick off of the ground and tucking it between the door and the door-frame. No sense in latching it, she wasn't going anywhere. Besides, she'd be locked-out and would have to walk all the way back around to go back in. The prawn huffed, pleased with her quick work, and sank on her haunches. An expert primary hand hooked itself around the surgical mask that concealed her mouthparts, removing it before tucking it in a pants pocket. Jack eagerly undid the paper bag, fishing-out a sandwich that she'd made.
She didn't notice the dark-haired teen. Not at first. Most people had the good sense to stay out of dark alleys. Given her size and her ability to see in the low-light, however, Jack was afforded a certain freedom that most people didn't have. The prawn yawned, stretching her mandibles, before taking a bite out of her sandwich. Good sh**.
It was only after the first bite that she let her eyes wander, and only after the first bite that she noticed that she wasn't alone. A kid, perhaps a teen, was lingering up the alleyway from her. A dark-haired boy, seemingly human from this distance. She chewed slowly, fishing out her smartphone while she ate. Jack took another bite of her sandwich, and expertly typed a message in her text-to-speech app. When she finished typing, she pressed play.
<<You have an interesting taste in hang-out locations,>> a synthetic, female British voice remarked from the speakers of her cell phone, <<You'd better not be looking for trouble outside of my club.>>
Humans had no business in dark alleys, unless they were relieving themselves or looking to mug someone, neither of which was favorable. Jack took another bite of her sandwich, gaze trained on the silhouette of the teen.
>> "Well, I'm on ladle duty, and the flasks are pretty heavy, so having someone go back and forth when the students need help will be useful."
Jack followed Linley's gesture towards the flasks in-question. She could probably manage those with a couple of decent pot-holders, lest her massive hands didn't fit in the handles.
"Sink I could handle dat," Jack remarked simply. She worked construction in her younger years, so she was accustomed to having to do some heavy-lifting.
>> "I've gone here for pretty much my entire time in NYC, even before I was a cop. But we haven't always been in this building. They've helped me through some tough times, particularly Mark. We're a Bible Believing, Christ Centered, Church Family. That's the motto."
The prawn nodded politely, giving a mild "hm" or "mhmm" at the approrpiate times. She mostly loomed behind Linley as they crossed towards the flasks.
>> "Think it's your time to shine Chief...."
"Okay," Jack acknowledged. She tread towards the table, clearing her throat as she approached. Ruth had put two burly looking fellows on the flasks, one of whom was an Xavier's kid. They looked up when Jack cleared her throat.
"Ah, hey Jack!" the Xavier's kid greeted, "Did you get recruited, too?"
Jack shrugged, "'ere deez t'ings at? I can hel' you carry den out."
"Back in the kitchen," the kid said, cheerfully. Probably relieved that they had another helping hand. Jack expertly made her way past clumps of attendees, ducking into kitchen. The kitchen staff glanced towards her inquiringly.
"Here to hel'," Jack greeted, "Carry duh..." the prawn pointed at the large flasks of soup.
"There are potholders on the counter if you need them!"
They were all too cheerful. The prawn carefully sauntered towards one of the flasks, testing the heat of it by patting her hands against the sides. It would be doable, to carry it without potholders, Jack tucked her thumbs through the handles and curled her hands around the edges. With unexpected ease, the prawn lifted the flask and lumbered back out through the door, making her way back towards the serving table.
"Just get hin to duh drunk tank," Jack said coolly to Geist, at the woman's reassurance that she didn't want to press charges. The young redhead wouldn't need to stick around, if she wasn't pressing charges, but that didn't mean that Jack didn't want the cops talking to the inebriated man. After all, he assaulted an employee, "Duh cots can get hin dere."
"Sounds like a plan," Geist said, meandering away with a floating drunkard in-tow. Gabber had left, for a moment, but returned with some paper towels, which he handed to the prawn-- to stop the bleeding, she assumed-- a "Wet Floor" sign, and some cleaning chemicals.
"Someone should be up with first-aid kit shortly," Gabber assured the prawn lightly. Jack shrugged a shoulder, tearing a wad of industrial-strength paper towels free and pressing it to the inside of her arm. The redhead eagerly took a seat at the bar, keen on the offer that Jack had extended, so the prawn followed her over.
>> ”If yoo're offerin'... a daiquiri soonds guid. OOH! Ur mozzarella sticks. Diz thes place hae mozzarella sticks?”
"Honey," Jack said politely to the bartender, "Iss you 'ould, a daiquiri sore our dear s'riend? And could 'e call down sore nozzarella sticks? I'll gizz you none-ey aster closing."
She wanted to open a tab, in other words. The prawn didn't keep her wallet on her during business hours. Just her phone, and that was only for communicative purposes. Honey nodded, with a cheerful "No problem, Chief!" before going about making drinks.
The prawn let the din of the club settle around her. Things were slowly trickling back into motion in the upstairs area, now that the brawler had been removed. A more suave individual might start a conversation with the young lady, introduce themselves, ask about what she did for a living.
Jack watched Honey make the daiquiri.
"Shanks sore... uh... gi'ing a hand," Jack rumbled, "Not too nanny guys just go at you like dat."
Jack pantomimed a jabbing/slicing motion, much like the brawler had done to her.
Posted by "Chief" on Mar 3, 2017 8:37:57 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
Welcome aboard! It's great to see more monstrous characters around. (And one that's as big as Chief,to boot.) If you are ever in need of a thread, all of my characters are available.
Jack took a moment to remove her hand from the gash, to roll her sleeve further up her arm and out of the way of the pooling blood. Last thing she needed was to stain a work-shirt. Heaven knew how to get bloodstains out of a dress shirt. Lavender gaze cut between the young woman and the bottle-wielding man. He started to move, Jack was ready to react, but his motions were... counter... to anything natural or expected.
It was as if an unseen giant grabbed him around the legs and flipped him over, so that his head was pointing ground-wards and his feet were oriented skyward. Jack pressed her hand back against the crook of her arm, surveying the upside-down brawler. The change of perspective chased any degree of fight right out of him. With a yelp he was inverted, he dropped the broken bottle which spun uselessly on the floor.
The man wiggled about, grabbing for his feet amidst incoherent sounds of distress.
>> "That's wa bein' an arse tae braw girls an' security fowk is wrang!”
Unphased, the redhead chastised him. It had to be her doing. And, as if to add insult to injury, she sucker-punched the defeated brawler in the stomach. Jack heard the wind go out of the guy and he bent over, pressing his arms to his diaphragm.
"I's just looking for some fun," he whined, murmuring a few explitives towards the "spiteful woman" and a particular "foolish equine" security guard.
Jack lightly tapped the young woman's shoulder (with the hand of the injured arm, the one that was not bloody... because that would be gross), as if to stay her from punching the man again. Her massive hand did not linger long, however (because that'd be skeevy) and in quiet, rumbling tones, she asked, "Do ya sink ya can hold 'n dere sore a see-ew? Udders on duh way to hel'."
Jack looked stonily at the floor. The blood was dripping. They'd have to close the second-floor bar to decontaminate the floor, since bodily fluids were spilled. She'd have to at least get a first aid kit, or go to the doctor's. And report to worker's comp. The prawn swore quietly, and spied the familiar forms of a few of her bouncer buddies trailing up the stairs. What a hassle.
Gabber, a particularly annoying fellow with the ability to augment his voice, hooted with amusement as he closed-in, surveying the upside-down man. His night was going to be decidedly worse than Jack's, since he decided to assault a bouncer with a broken bottle.
"What have we here~?" Gabber sang.
Jack huffed, "A draw-nuh keen. Can 'e take hin to duh drunk tank?"
"Nowhere else for him to go~"
With relief, Jack denoted the second attendee, a telekinetic who was affectionately nicknamed Geist... yes, as in Poltergeist. He was a mild-mannered fellow with grey eyes and platinum-blond hair who honestly didn't look like he should work security. Like Jack, he was used to escort people out when they got too unruly.
"I'd be happy to take it from here," he said to the redhead, with a soft smile. Jack, all the while, took the opportunity to walk towards the bar and grab some industrial-grade paper towels from Honey, who was passing a wad of the blue sheets of towels towards Jack.
"Iss it's not too nuch trou'le," Jack said to the young redhead, her tone still low, "Dey likely to call NYTD and dey'll 'rolly want to hear what ha'ened s-run you. 'ould it 'e too nuch trou'le to stick around?"
Some mutants were cagey about cops, such as Jack.
"Could get you nore to drink sore duh trou'le... alcohol... 'ater... sun-ting to eat?"
