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.
>> "I, well, I'm a returning professor. I was away for a while. I live here now. Sorry for any misunderstanding."
Jack shook her head dismissively. If Nate was telling the truth, Jack was astonished that there'd been no announcement or memo, especially if he was a former teacher. Jack supposed that people came and went pretty frequently. Maybe it really was an oversight.
"Sorry to hassle you," Jack said, " 'as any-unn here to greet you 'en you got here, 'ister Hollo'ay? Who knows you and knows you're here?"
In other words, a non-Nate person who could confirm that he was who he said he was. Jack was giving him the benefit of the doubt, for now, but she was still going to make sure his story checked-out. The prawn's expression softened.
" 'ere you headed to get sun-ting to eat or...?" Jack said, with a quick nod in the direction that Nate had been walking. She could follow him to somewhere that wasn't the hallway and, if it were to the kitchen, she could use the phone to make an internal call to whoever might be able to confirm Nate's identity. She had a walkie-talkie, of course, but it only connected her to other security personnel.
The man smiled winsomely at the prawn. The prawn did not return to gesture.
>> "Well then, good afternoon Miss Dyer."
Manners were always deeply appreciated. Something in her expression relaxed, and Jack bobbed her head in acknowledgement. Her stance was still drawn taut. Formalities didn't mean he was supposed to be there. Formalities didn't mean he wouldn't turn on her the second she let her guard down.
>> "Nate Holloway. You might have heard of me?"
"No sir, 'ster Hollo'ay," Jack replied, echoing the formality, "Can't say I has."
Was she supposed to know him? Jack rubbed her jaw, humming faintly. It was probably an oversight, honestly. But a damn stupid oversight, given the guards and the massive fence surrounding this goddamn school.
"Who are you?"
He had no visitor's pass. And if the stubble was any indication, he was a little old for high school.
Jack came to a halt as a man rounded the corner. Cropped hair, groggy expression, and an unfamiliar face. The prawn's memory for faces was air-tight-- she could recognize every student and staff-member on the campus, and knew at least half of their names. And this guy... she didn't know this guy. He also did not have a visitor's pass.
Her shoulder's squared, and the prawn peered down at the guy with pinched lavender eyes. Then again, if his first instinct was to greet her, and not to book it, maybe... she shouldn't rough him up? Besides, he wasn't exactly dressed for the elements-- this was New York in January, he was wearing sweats and a t-shirt, slip-on athletic shoes. He looked like he had just rolled-out of bed rather than broke-and-entered into the Mansion.
"Aster-noon," Jack intoned, "I'n Jacquelyn Dyer. I'n on security."
The prawn let her posture relax, marginally-- she tucked a thumb into the pocket of her jeans, and ran a free hand over the front of her tank top. Her gaze, however, never left the unfamiliar fellow. She was watching him, blatantly and unflinchingly.
" 's'your nay-n?" Jack pried, "Hasn't seen you 'e-sore."
Despite the goings-on of the world, Jack's gig as Mansion Security wasn't particularly high-stress. Then again, when deescalating confrontations involving muscle-strapped (occasionally super-powered) men whose rages were often fueled by alcohol and God-knows-what-else, it was easy to be underwhelmed by a great many things.
"Hey, Dyer!" a young tenor voice called up the hall, from a gaggle of mutant kids, "We're gonna play some video games, wanna join?"
"You know I no good at doze t'ings," Jack hollered back.
"That's why we asked you!" was the singsong reply, which was accompanied by a smattering of laughter. Jack smirked. Those kids could be such little imps.
"Hnnn, nay'e on ny lunch?" Jack proposed, "Iss you're still going?"
"We'll still be going," the kids confirmed before scurrying off. Jack hummed, smirking from behind her surgical mask as she continued up the hall. She wasn't particularly competitive, so would mind getting stomped at a video game by some ankle-biters... but she doubted the other security personnel would take well to it if she slipped off the radar for any amount of time.
Speaking of the others... the bone mic had been quiet for a stretch of time. Not uncommon, but she was curious about what they'd been up to.
*riiiiiiiiiises from the ashes of post-baccalaureate studies* I've got a winter break and some idle time! And am thus on the prowl for threads~ (sorry for my inactivity! D: I will try to post in the threads that I already have going but make no guarantees...)
Chief is currently my one and only. <3 I can figure out a way to get her just about anywhere, but she does work as a glorified hall-monitor/campus security at Xavier's, and I would love to establish her as more of a presence there~~
Something about the mousey fellow rubbed Jack the wrong way. She couldn’t put her finger on “why” this may have been. Devon continued to make his pitch, to which Jack listened attentively. She rested her chin upon her hand and surveyed the young man through a droll, half-lidded expression.
>> "… Anyway, It'd be great to have you there Chief. Your occupation and reputation here would be nice. I'm hoping the whole club will want to get involved though, sponsor the dance part and server drinks too. Do you think the management would be interested? It's Sanctuary, so a very pro-mutant event. Good marketing too. I'm putting together a full pamphlet and I'd give the club a whole page."
Geez, these boys could talk for ever. What a drag. Expecting a long explanation, the prawn fished out her phone and opened the speech-to-text application and began to type.
“You’d has to take dat u’ wiss duh head honcho, sore Chrysalis’ in’ol’ement” Jack said plainly. Usually it went the other way around, though-- people paid to have certain attractions, and then raise funds and hopefully break-even. This kid had nerve asking for them to sponsor an event. And for what cause? To get their names out there. The Boss might go for it. He was passionate about the mutant community.
As for the prawn… she had her own interests to look out for.
Jack hurriedly typed a reply into the speech-to-text app and pressed play, the synthetic female voice flatly stating, <<As for me, my services come at a price. So if you have a rate, name it. But I’ve established enough of a reputation in the community that I don’t work for free.>>
Maybe that was a little cold. But, as it was once aptly put, “If you’re good at something, never do it for free.”
As the boys chatted, Jack's attention wandered to Linley, JPop and the barkeep, hoping that all was well. Linley seemed to have things under control.
Devon perked-up at the arrivval of an alleged friend, and Jack took to quietly nursing her Old Fashioned, gaze cutting towards Linely, the elf, and the drama that was being quelched before them. She heard her nickname, and lavender eyes slid back towards the quivering leaf of a man. She gave him a single, near-imperceptible nod. He introduced himself. James. The prawn gave another nod, more pronounced this time. She didn't like the way he looked at her-- or rather, didn't.
Of course, it was nothing unusual. People either gawked at her or couldn't look at her. But Chrysalis was one of those spaces where she didn't expect that sort of attitude. People were either mutants or mutant-friendly, or just some bigot who wanted to scream blasphemy at the first opportunity. This shoe-surveying leaf-of-a-man was a singularity.
Jack took another sip of her drink. "Friendly with the cops" because she'd been on the recieving-end of that kind of pinned-to-the-ground before. That was before she'd gotten picked-up by the mutant school and rehabilitated, so to speak. The wariness never leaves, though-- not if you're smart, anyways.
Devon was chattering away to the young man, and Jack let her mind wander. Only the mention of her name drew her attention back to the two men, her antennae perking.
>> "I was actually just about to ask Chief here about possibly helping me with a fundraiser at Sanctuary."
The prawn inclined her head. She was listening.
>> "Ever hear of Sanctuary? I volunteer / work there part time. It's a homeless shelter and community center. We're trying to help make it better, and part of that includes a fundraiser."
"Heard uzz it," Jack grunted. She'd heard the name passed around the club once or twice, but didn't know much beyond it being a homeless shelter. She also heard that some sketchy sorts had been seen around there every now and again, "Whatcha need nee sore? Not exactly lookin' sore connunity ser'ice hours."
>> ".. It's not really all that different. It all comes from the same place, we just use different implements in order to achieve our visions."
That was some pretty academic speak for a kid. Jack felt her before stitch, her eyes pinching slightly as her mouthparts curled into a smile. Maybe she was some kind of nerd with dyed hair. The kind of kid to use "implements" or "visions" in conversational speech.
>> "What do you use to carve them? There are a lot of fine details."
"Whittling kn-ice," Jack said simply, "Its gotta tiny 'lade so it's easy to get tiny sings in dere."
Maybe easy wasn't a good word. But it was easier to detail with a small blade as opposed to, say, a chainsaw.
It was the same song and dance whenever Jack gave someone the boot. They would screw around despite the rules and when a bouncer finally put their foot down, they threw a tantrum. There really was no other word for it.
To the woman's disadvantage, she was tiny. Everyone was tiny against a seven-foot crustacean behemoth. Her flailing, much like her pleading, was ineffectual. Jack lumbered away from the bar, flailing banshee still in-arms.
"Shut it," was the grunted warning, "You brought this upon yourself."
People gave her a wide berth as she crossed the "library" a quieter lounge area that overlooked the dancefloor. Curious (or perhaps stunned patrons) still blocked the stairway, however, and Jack nodded to a pair of nearby staff.
"Okay, people, move it!" one of the men shouted, "We need to get downstairs."
A stern command went-out over the walkie, which each bouncer could hear courtesy of a bone mic. It was the boss, who was now in the room with the security cameras. His instructions were brief, but unwavering.
"We're gonna have a talk. Bring her up."
((Ooc: Lemme know if you want me to change anything, or feel free to add your own spin on the plot. Idk what I want to happen!))
Posted by "Chief" on Sept 26, 2016 22:58:53 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
There was a crash at the bar, arising from J-Pop and some rando at the bar. Honey had shied away from the altercation, obviously startled or at the very least trying not to get caught in... whatever it was. Jack remained seated, watching the fight unfold from over the rim of her Old Fashioned. She was off-duty, and thus had no authority to intervene, unless another club employee asked her to hop in.
>> "Either of you know either of those guys?"
"No," Jack replied sonorously, lowering her glass. Like that, Linley dropped the act, dropped the slurring tone of a drunkard and finally shifting into all-business. Well.
>> "Thanks for going along with the charade Chief."
Jack nodded wordlessly. Linley seemed to have it under control. She shifted her gaze to Devon and cleared her throat, now caught in a flagrant lie. Beyond that, it was a flagrant lie in defense of a cop's identity.
"Is good to stay on duh good side of cots," Jack said cryptically, flapping her free hand. By "cots", she meant "cops" of course, and Devon was welcome to interpret taht commentary in whatever way he chose-- whether it was beneficial for a mutant that looked like her, or if it was beneficial for someone with a record to slip under the radar. She didn't notice the bookish man who had made his way upstairs.
"What did you want to talk a'out?" Jack asked, now that the two of them were finally on their own. She took another sip of the Old Fashioned, her eyes sharp and scrutinizing. He'd been so eager to get to some peace and quiet, and yet Jack had insisted on staying inside, where the din could drown them out and eyes would see them, lest Devon be up to funny business.
Posted by "Chief" on Sept 21, 2016 20:35:58 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
This guy didn't give up. He also didn't shut up. Good grief. If he didn't look the way he did, she'd think he had been put to the task of talking to her by a friend as a joke. People didn't talk to her like that. For that matter, why was this guy talking to her, in the first place? Bumbling over his words and fidgetting and... acting all nervous-like. It was weird. This guy was weird.
>> "Ah, yes, that is an issue, isn't it! Of course! My name is Gregory Samson! A pleasure to meet you!"
Jack reached the other side of the street and stopped on the curb, fellow pedestrians rushing around them like a stream around two insectoid rocks. Even if this guy-- Gregory, as it were-- was super f---ing annoying, social convention wouldn't let her not shake his hand.
Begrudgingly (but carefully-- he had tiny hands!) Jack clasped her considerably larger hand to his, gave it a single decisive shake, and and even more abrupt reply.
"Jack," she replied, "Nice to neet you."
The latter sentiment was unconvincing but not overtly frigid. Having her hand grabbed had been off-putting, and had she not been so affronted by it, she might have given him a poke with her whittling knife. Nothing immediately life-threatening, maybe just a jab at the palm. Then she wouldn't be there, being held captive by small talk with Gregory.
>> "It's such a small city! It's a wonder we haven't bumped noses in the past! I do wonder where we are headed, though?"
Her face crumpled in confusion and mild dismay. The city wasn't small. And "we"? Where did this "we" come from? What the f---, Gregory?
"I'n going to duh grocery store," Jack explained. Emphasis on the "I". Not we, "Don't know where you're going." Not with her. Somewhere else. To grab someone elses' hand.
Posted by "Chief" on Sept 21, 2016 20:14:53 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
Fears assuaged, the girl opened up like a fount of words unspoken rattling on about some parrot-girl and getting to know people for who they really are, and appreciating differences, yadda yadda. Jack nodded with the attentiveness of a teen in their weakest subject. The lights were on, but no one was home. But she managed to keep-up with appropriate emotional responses, so that was good! She reflected the smile with a noncommital chuckle and smile of her own.
Finally, Heidi dropped-off of from her description, and the prawn pocketed her hands. She supposed now would be the time to verbally respond. Jack rocked on her feet, "I'n glad dat you did. And I'n sure dat your sss-riend was sur'rised and delighted dat you weren't staring in an unkind way."
Dating Zinnia, the prawn was steadily growing familiar with kind stares. Not only "kind" stares, but loving ones. Most times the prawn would tilt a grin her girlfriend's way and go, "What?"
Sometimes there would be laughter, maybe a shrug, but it was always the same-- it was always a game of catching glances and conversing with their eyes.
Jack gestured to Heidi, and started to meander up the hall, beckoning her to follow, "Don't wanna 'lock duh hall."
"Dat's really cool, dat you do art," Jack commented, seeing an avenue of conversation she could actually engage in. She dug into her pocket, fishing-out some of her tiny wood sculptures. None of them were larger than a few inches, most were a little rough around the edges and rather unfinished looking, "I do woodcar-zing and such like dat. Which I guess is really diss-erent, 'esides duh naking sings."
She held the sculptures in an outstretched palm, casually. She wasn't one to exactly go around showing her projects to everyone, but she kept some small trinkets or works-in-progress in her pockets should she ever need them.
Posted by "Chief" on Sept 17, 2016 23:19:37 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
The tension in Jack's shoulders released when it was Zinnia who answered the door. She was nervous that it would be Mr. or Mrs. Hourig right off the bat... having it be her girlfriend instead instead was much better. Heh... it felt nice to think that. Jack stooped down and Zinnia kissed the prawn's nasal bridge, and Jack smiled back. A primary hand lightly squeezed Zinnia's shoulder in greeting. Any opportunity to see Zinnia was a gift.
>> “Come on in, Dad’s already got the grill running.”
"Okay, sank you," the prawn rumbled, following the young woman in. The house was filled with smells and the kitchen sounds. Zinnia extended her hand, at which the prawn carefully offered her own. Jack scarcely offered more than her thumb and forefinger, however, given that one of her hands was larger than Zinnia's head.
They were a few steps into the house when the brothers intercepted the, filled with the same enthusiasm as the first time Jack had met them.
>> “Jac! Jac! Have you seen MrMan? You are as tall as he is!"
"Who is Nister Nan?" Jack dared ask. Was he a neighbor? A family friend? Was she supposed to see him? The prawn looked towards Zinnia, befuddled.
>> "So Jac, how does it feel to date a shorty like Zin-zin?”
>> “What is it with you guys and height. Go on!"
"E'eryone's short to nee," Jack laughed at that inquiry, "I sink your sister is duh, uh-" she clicked contemplatively, "-right size."
Already, the boys were on the retreat however, so Jack turned her attention back to Zinnia.
>> "They’ve been like that. All. Day.”
"It's endearing," the prawn reassured her, all smiles. Jack took advantage of the momentary privacy and nuzzled against Zinnia's cheek. Her version of a kiss on the cheek, perhaps, "Al-dough I'n not sure who dis Nister Nan is..."
Posted by "Chief" on Sept 17, 2016 21:59:41 GMT -6
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
When the projectile crystal feathers were let loose, there were a few shouts of alarm and people cleared the bar, but didn't flee. Something about the bystander effect and wanting to see drama unfold, plus most people here were either mutants themselves or mutant-positive.
Jack had almost made it to the door to the employees-only area when the page went out over the radio. <We've got an altercation in the library, young woman with dagger-wings threatening a bartender for not giving her a drink,> it was one of the security personnel who was in charge of watching the cameras. His nickname was Big Brother, as dubbed by one of the more academic Chrysalis employees. <Roadie's on door-duty, so Jack? Do ya mind?>
"Shouldn't be a 'ro'len," she reiterated to herself, before pressing the mic portion in her ear and saying, "Sure t'ing, hasn't clocked-out yet."
Like that, Jack was returning to the floor, cutting through the throng of dancers with practiced precision. She turned her shoulder sideways, keeping towards the edge, and bee-lined to the stairs to the library.
"Security, cunning s'rew," she murmured, weaving her way up stairs. She navigated the crowd and saw her, the plucky French b----, trying to intimidate her way into a beverage. The bartender was nowhere to be seen.
Jack moved quickly-- there were feathers stuck into the wall liked daggers, gotta be careful-- she dropped to a knee, wrapped her arms under and around the wings and tightened her hold, barring the child from further retaliation.
"You were told to go," Jack snarled, "And now you're trashing ny clu-d. Not cool..." <Bring her to the back, Jack,> Big Brother instructed, <We're gonna assess the damages and then decide where to go from there...>
One of the sharp-tipped feathers had sliced the leathery flesh between her upper and lower arms and stung against the cold air, but Jack's expression was unwavering. It wasn't nearly as bad as being electrocuted.
