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.
The prawn shrugged one shoulder noncommittally. It was true-- the room had close quarters even for a pair of standardly-sized people. Jack's eyes pinched in an apologetic smile. Finally, she finished reading the back cover, after what seemed like an eternity of stumbling over the first line. She'd survey the first few pages outside of the alcove. The girl stepped out, Jack followed her, ducking her head through the doorway.
"Dat nay 'e duh way we has to do it," she agreed, "You can go ahead. Gonna see iss I like dis one."
It'd be easier to read just outside of the room anyways, where she wasn't distracted by the young woman who was accompanying her.
"Nayn's Jacquelyn, 'y duh way," Jack introduced herself, "Iss ya 'e-cun a regular here, you'll see nee around."
There were a few other people, mostly retired folks with too much time on their hands, who were also regular fixtures at the store. After momentarily checking the price on the front cover, Jack flipped to the first page and began to read. She casually leaned against the wall, breathing a sigh. It was a lot less cramped out here, than it'd been in there.
Why she'd elected to use her whole name was beyond her. Heat rushed into the prawn's face. Even if she deigned to admit it, the prawn knew why she'd chosen to identify herself right off the bat. She was wearing her usual casual ensemble-- a pair of tan cargo shorts, a tank top, a hoodie gathered at the elbows, and a black, fabric surgical mask. She looked like a guy. And this girl, was... well... that was probably Jack's pre-shed impulses talking, but the girl was cute.
Jack clenched her eyes shut and shook her head. Stoooop, Jack, stop, she told herself. You're just two people, getting books. Seriously. What the f***.
"Oh," Jack said simply, at the girl's confession. She didn't so much... mean that it was uncommon to the bookstore, itself. Just that Hannigan was a popular author, and wouldn't be common in any used bookstore. Especially not at this price. Maybe the girl was just nervous to be in such close-quarters or perhaps she wasn't as well-read in this genre as Jack was. Either way, the prawn did not correct her.
The girl tried to make room for the prawn to pass, but it wasn't enough. Jack smiled at the gesture and then, of all things, laughed. She appreciated it but, if anything, the two of them would have to altogether leave in order for there to be enough room for Jack to exit. The doorway was that small.
>> "Oh! I...sorry...I thought I could..."
"Don't worry 'out it," the prawn reassured her, the burble of a laugh still riding on her tone, "I take u' a lot uzz s'ace."
She looked up from the book, "Just le' 'e know when you want to get o'er here, I'll get out duh way."
The girl's bumbling helped, minimally, to put the prawn at ease. Jack once again returned to that first line on the back cover.
The tinkling of the beaded curtain announced that someone was joining her, long before the head with the bobbed haircut ducked in. Of all the rotten luck-- Jack froze, her lavender gaze lifting from the second page of the book. The owner of the bobbed haircut was a petite young woman, whose face was ambiguously young. Their eyes fixed-on her, light flickered around her palms.
If it were possible, the prawn would've shrunk into her corner, but she couldn't. She was cornered. By a mutant with glowing hands. All the while, in her own hands, an incriminating book. They didn't seem to mind that the prawn was there-- in fact, they found a book of their own, and began to read. Right in front of the freaking door out. Jack's pupils, wide in the low light, constricted with each flash of light. She was twenty-seven, for god's sakes. Twenty-seven and seven-and-a-half feet tall. She shouldn't be frightened of a five-and-some-change-foot girl with a bobbed haircut. She also shouldn't be embarrassed about being caught red-handed reading "adult" books. And yet, here she was, embarrassed and immobilized.
"I could..." the prawn began to murmur, "Get outta duh way."
Her low alto voice cut through the tense silence that stretched between the two of them, "-iss you wanna get to duh uzzer hass uzz duh shel'ss, dat is."
Not at all because she was embarrassed! Just to let the other woman get to the rest of the collection! Yeah! And the prawn said nothing about the light flickering from the girl's hands, or her color-changing hair. She closed the first paperback-- it had a solid start, she'd definitely get it-- and freed another Hannigan paperback from the shelf. Someone had to have cleared-out their old Hannigan collection, what a gold-mine.
The first paperback was tucked under one of Jack's primary arms, and she began to survey the second. "Began" being the operative word. She surveyed the young woman over the top of the paperback. The bioluminescent pores along the prawn's arms and ocular ridges glimmered faintly in the low-lit alcove. So faint were the flickers of light, however, that one would really need to be paying attention to see them.
"Dey's got sun Lauren K. Hannigan stu'ss, here. Dat ne'er hat-tens..."
She finally dropped her gaze, reading the back cover. How many times had she read that first line, now? Three?
"Solks are... too 'usy stayin' in dere own lane, to look around," the prawn declared. It was true. She'd seen some video about the prevalence of small talk in different regions of the United States. How in some areas, it was more polite to create small-talk and treat service people like people... but in places like New York City, it was rude to waste a service person's time, and you were supposed to cut right to the chase.
So, while there were infinitely more people around... most of the time, people weren't looking beyond the tip of their own nose.
A pregnant pause had settled between the two of them. Jack quietly watched her friend work. The prawn's own observation about people "staying in their lane" had made the stretch of silence only serve to make her realize how really, truly lonely she was.
"Wanna..." the prawn trailed quietly, "Get sun tea as-ter you sin-ish utt here, today?"
Even if she was just keeping the company of a friend, Jack didn't want to be someone who just "stayed in their lane" after they finished up today.
Alternative Title, "One Woman's Trashy Novel is Another Woman's Treasure".
Jack's favorite bookstore inhabited the first two floors of a five-story brownstone. It seemed uncomfortably wedged between a high-rise apartment complex and the Ortiz Funeral Home. Inside, it was not much better, shelves and walkways choked with used books, pushing the used bookstore well out of ADA Compliance. A rickety staircase led one up to the second floor. Somehow, the owners had managed to divide certain shelves and alcoves into genres, and the shelves were (for the most part) sorted alphabetically by the author's last name (or by subject, where appropriate).
It was a sort of organized chaos that Jack thoroughly enjoyed... but it also meant that Jack had to visit during off-hours, and step very lightly. She was massive, and had more than once accidentally brushed an entire shelf free of its books. She always cleaned up after herself, though-- and since she was a regular, the booksellers were very understanding.
Jack walked with the certainty of a regular, weaving her way past shelves and displays towards the back of the store. In a low-lit corner, was a small doorway, blocked by a drape of fabric and a beaded curtain. The only implication of what lay beyond it was a handwritten sign upon a sheet of binder paper, which read "18+ Only".
Though Jack would be quick to insist that she bought an array of books from this business, its inclusion of adult-themed novels was a huge plus. The alcove was cramped beyond the low doorway, with enough room for two average-sized customers, the three full bookshelves of books, and that was about it. Jack trailed a massive index finger along the spines of the books, eyes combing for something good. She was getting ready to molt (if the dullness of her shell was anything to go by), and she needed some literature to tide her over until she was finished shedding. The prawn's index finger continued at a fairly clipped pace, finding nothing of note, and then-- whoa, Lauren K. Hannigan? Her hand unfurled and carefully dislodged the novel.
The prawn carefully pried the paperback free of its spot on the shelf. This author, in particular, was renowned for their supernatural "romances", and a favorite of the prawn. Their most renowned series featured a polyamorous young woman, whose adventures (and misadventures) were fraught with her romantic (and Jack used that term loosely) encounters. It was very rare to find her stuff in the used bookstore because of its popularity, not only among the LGBT community, but among the mutant community as well. Jack was no exception, in either case.
Lavender eyes devoured the back cover of the book. It looked good. The spine wasn't broken and overall it seemed to be in great condition... the sampling on the back snagged her interest. The prawn opened to the first page, searching for the price written at the top right corner... not a bad price. Carefully, Jack flipped to the beginning of the first chapter. She always read the first few pages of a new book she was considering, to see if the writing grabbed her. Not that it was necessary, given Ms. Hannigan's notoriety, but it was still a force of habit that the prawn was disinclined to break.
Thus, the enormous mutant stood wedged out-of-sight in the corner of the tiny alcove, the incriminating book pinched open between thumb and forefinger. The lurid cover answered any potential questions that unsuspecting onlookers might ask. It was off-hours, though, so Jack thoroughly doubted that anyone would happen upon her.
The prawn lumbered down the street, a plastic bag clenched tight in one of her massive hands. Though the day was, indeed, unseasonably beautiful, she walked with her shoulders hunched as if it were cold. Though step-by-step each venture out was proving easier than the previous one, she was still on-edge in public. She'd been struck by the strongest craving for bratwurst, however, which had driven her from her abode, and to an old German deli, which resided a few miles south of her current apartment.
Half of Jack pondered getting a potato salad, but the other half was bound and determined to get home as soon as possible.
She was so lost in thought, she did not notice the brindled brown boxer barreling down the sidewalk towards her. In fact, she didn't notice him until he rebounded off of her shins, setting the prawn's knees to clattering.
Jack wasn't one so easily toppled.
"****ing dog," the prawn muttered, her gaze trailing up the street from whence the dog had come. Maybe their owners were not so far behind?
"You sink solks'd 'e etter a'out kee'ing track uzz zere dogs in duh city, eh?"
The prawn stooped, patting the dog's neck. No collar. No tags. Lavender eyes assessed the canine.
"At least you aren't starving."
The question still remained, though-- where the hell was the dog's owner?
Overall, Jack seemed unflapped about the whole thing. A silent affirmation was nodded when Allegra seemed unable to believe that Jack might be scared of everything. Her pupils constricted when the teen snapped a picture of her, but she showed no outward sign of minding. She worked at a nightclub-- involuntary involvement in selfies was all part and parcel for the course. It was only when the kid seemed to visibly regret the impulse that Jack reacted.
Her hand moved on its own accord. A heavy primary hand settled on Allegra's head and ruffled her hair. Kids were stupid, sometimes. But you couldn't hate them for being what they were-- stupid kids. They couldn't do anything about it.
"Slee' well, kid," the prawn clicked. Maybe she should've said more. But what else was there to say? She'd said what she'd wanted to.
"Next tine you try sneaking-out, try 'eing nore... sneaky," the prawn teased. And, with that, she slinked in the opposite direction down the hallway.
Tears welled in the prawn's eyes, and she grit her teeth, heavy head drooping as Devon spoke. She knew what he said was true, but that didn't stop the fear from rising up and clamping around her throat. They were the ones that had broken into her place, they were the ones who'd killed Jude, they were the ones who should be punished.
The prawn pressed a balled fist against her chest. She knew this, but she couldn't shake the feeling that as soon as she was found-out, she'd be turned into some sort of sacrifice. Another one-minute news blurb. Another mutant behind bars.
"What'll I do, D?" the prawn murmured. Her voice sounded small.
Status meant nothing to the prawn. Loyalty, however, meant everything. Jack gave her own, pleased chirr when Javier laughed at her declaration. He was a nice guy. If Jack was straight, she'd almost consider dating him. He was that nice of a guy.
>> "Do you want to talk about what happened with your girlfriend? You don't have to..."
Jack feigned exasperation, and gave a teasing, "Ugh, relationshi' talk? Dude, you're killin' nee."
She ran a primary hand over her antennas, breathing a sigh. There wasn't really a euphemism for "I killed a man and pulled a disappearing act, so that she didn't get involved".
"Just... didn't 'ork out," the prawn explained, giving a shrug, "Gettin' in sights, all dat. Nei'er uzz us 'ere ha'y, so 'e called it oss."
That was a good reason to call a relationship off. Well, so was "my punches make things go boom, and I accidentally made a man go boom", but the reason she actually gave didn't involve... breaking the law.
"'s a dan shane," the prawn breathed, "Was kinda nice has-ing sun-one around." You know... someone who loved you despite, or perhaps because of, who you were.
Jack nodded, confirming that her place of business was, indeed, fancy. When Javier voiced his concerns, though, Jack gave a disappointed trill.
"Iss any-un gaze you a hard tine, I'd kick 'n out," the prawn asserted, "E'en looked at ya weird, gone."
She was the manager. She had that kind of power. But Jack didn't push the issue. Javier was pinning the waistband of her pants, and it wouldn't be fair to try dragging him out of his comfort zone while he was working.
"You jus' let 'e know iss you change your nine-d," the prawn said, "Jus' call nee u', and drinks are on nee."
And that was where she left it. Alternatively, they could just hangout some time. But Jack's apartment was too spare to have company. She was still saving up to refurnish her place.
Jack's nerves began to settle as the drive stretched on... the more distance they covered, the more the prawn was assured that he wasn't going to just... haul her to the nearest precinct of NYPD and let the officers handle her. Of course, "calming down" altogether was impossible, given the situation, but Jack was at least convinced that she wasn't in immediate danger. Migrating from SUV to ship only served to convince her further. Conversation burbled up between the two here-and-there, with casual inquires from Devon, and distracted responses from the prawn. Each answer had a bit of an edge to it.
Though hours transpired between their departure and their arrival, it passed in a blur, for the prawn. Her head swam and it was difficult to make sense of where (and when) she was. Devon's inquiry cut through the haze, and Jack looked up, as if she'd been roused from a very demanding task.
>> “Do you want to talk further or would you rather we found something on TV or something?”
The prawn glnced around the lounge, at the plush chairs and minimalist furnishings.
"Let's... talk," Jack said decisisvely. She was nervous about what they might find on the t.v., if they turned it on. She couldn't bear to see any news related to her or her apartment, for one thing, and watching t.v. would only give her the idle time necessary to spiral into worrying thoughts.
Jack found a nearby couch and sunk into it, resting her forearms across her knees. Her lavender eyes fixed onto a point in the floor. She was certainly quiet for someone who wanted to talk. What would they talk about, though? She'd already told him what had happened... She finally glanced up at Devon again, the corners of her eyes pinching. It was a smile, but there was something sad knitted in her brow.
"Sank you sore sticking your neck out like dis, D."
Though neither mutant was privy to the experiences of the other, the sentiment of a "challenging past few months" was shared between the two. Jack was struggling to reintegrate into society. Though Jack had made great strides through Tempest's rehabilitation program-- she was working a regular schedule, she was paying rent, she was learning to control the shockwave punches and deal-out blows that were only portions of her full capacity-- there were other areas where she was still struggling. Namely, venturing out into public without feeling like the buildings were closing-in around her. She had no social life, no love life, and only ventured beyond the confines of the building to run errands. Even woodworking had fallen somewhat by the wayside.
Rather than confront her issues (or drown them in alcohol, as Jack's companion had resorted to), the prawn instead brushed her issues under a rug, and refused to look too closely at them. She'd take baby steps, the prawn told herself. One of the first baby steps had been getting a new phone, which the prawn was currently tapping distractedly at. It had a bigger screen, which meant that it was slightly easier to operate. It also had a drop-proof, water-proof case. Necessary, in Jack's day-to-day life.
Today was her day off. She sat curled-up on a loveseat, sporting a tanktop and sweats. Artair was there, minding his own business, and Jack was minding hers.
>> "Jack, feel free to say no but I've got an idea. You're probably the only person who's been here more than I have recently and frankly, we could both do with some fresh air. Fancy a short run, to clear the cobwebs?"
"I lizz here," the prawn reminded him, as if that meant she was supposed to be there. She lived there, and she worked there. Jack fixed him with a stare. She knew exactly what he meant, and she also knew that he was right. Though Artair was considered a friend, she wouldn't dignify him with admitting that.
"You sure dat runnin' is such a good idea?" the prawn said mildly, turning her attention back to her phone. She wasn't saying "no"... in fact, Artair's response determining, they could leave rather shortly. It was just... well... Jack managed the bar downstairs. She had an inkling as to what kind of shape her friend would be in, after their... previous night... it was her way of voicing her concern, okay?
She finished tapping away at her phone, powered the screen down, and slid the device into her pocket. A steady, lavender gaze affixed itself in the Scot's own, cerulean gaze. God, Artair had nice eyes, even when each eye was toting its own bags and had seen too much alcohol the night prior.
Jack groaned at the businesswoman comment, closing her eyes as if the very thought of it gave her a headache. It kind of did, to be entirely honest. Jack continued to watch Javier work. Once the pants seemed to be pinned to his liking, he moved-on to the shirt, which enabled the young woman to look at his face rather than the crown of his head. Jack bent her knees slightly, to help the shirt be more reachable.
"Swanky 'lace," the prawn said sincerely, "Exclusi'e. Really chill. Li'e nyu-sic. Usually an in'ite only sorta 'lace..." The kind of place that didn't have much trouble, ever, and wasn't packed to the gills with people or thrumming with music.
"Wouldn't 'e any trou'le," Jack assured her diminutive friend, "Since I'n in'iting you."
The question was jarring. A boyfriend?! A laugh barked out of the prawn, something booming and unexpected. In part, because the idea was genuinely amusing-- but also, it was a nervous reflex. Jack covered her mouth with a primary hand, shaking her head. The amusement was shortlived, but the glimmer in her eye suggested that the humor was still there.
"Oh, no," the prawn said, "No, no. No 'oy-s'riend. I'n not... hn..." She exhaled sharply, swallowing a chuckle that was trying to burble up again, "I don't swing dat way." Her eyes were glancing towards the photos on the walls now, very distinctly away from Winnie, "I don't sink I'd has nuch luck wiss guys any'ays. No guy'd wanna date a girl dat could 'ench'ress hin."
The humored look lingered in her eyes. At least when it came to dating women, she didn't have to worry about making anyone feel emasculated by being able to lift more than them. Or just... y'know, "benchpress them" as Jack had delicately put it. Though the idea of setting a guy atop a fridge for his transgressions was an amusing thought. Jack would have to remember that for next time a guy pissed her off.
"Had a girl-s'riend," the prawn murmured, "Real nice. Didn't work out."
Cuz she'd killed a man and went into hiding, and didn't want to drag Zinnia into whatever the fallout entailed.
A familiar knot twisted in Jack's stomach, a twinge of regret niggling at her. Maybe taking off the mask had been too much, maybe she should put it back on, for modesty's sake. Winnie was looking at her, looking at her mouth to be specific, and quiet. Quiet couldn't be good. Was she going to freak out?
The prawn's smile faltered just as Winnie's surfaced. A look of confusion flickered over Jack's features. Why was she smiling? Winnie drew closer, too close, and Jack say rigidly by. Maybe she wanted a closer look? She said she was a photographer, but with the intensity of her attention, Jack was beginning to wonder if Winnie was some sort of scientist.
Close, close, too close-
“ 's real, I assure y-” the prawn began to intone, misinterpreting Winnie's proximity. Her quip came to an abrupt halt when Winnie planted a light kiss upon the facial plate just beneath Jack's eye.
She couldn't feel it, of course, thanks to the armor covering get cheek, but… the gesture alone was enough to silence her. Jack lightly touched the space on her cheek where Winnie had kissed, as if expecting some sort of evidence of the affection. Finding none, her lavender gaze surveyed the petite young woman. Something about Winnie reminded her of Zinnia. Perhaps it was because they were similar in size and stature, or perhaps it was because they treated Jack so kindly. The knot in the prawn's stomach returned.
“I had to,” Jack murmured, “Anyone woulda done duh same.”
I'm nothing special, her remarks seemed to say. Just your average robot-hating New Yorker. She felt like she had marbles in her mouth. Jack peered towards the door, then back towards Winnie, dumbfounded. Her face was hot. A desperate part of her wanted to cleave to Winnie's company, but another similar desperation was compelling her attention towards the door. Maybe it even went beyond “needing company” and ventured well into “needing physical affection” space. Jack grimaced at the thought, chastising herself. That was an indecent thing to think about someone you'd just met.
“Sorry,” Jack said, as if Winnie was privy to her thoughts. The hand that had lingered on Jack's cheek brushed her antennae back, “I’n not used to… any-un 'eing so… s’riendly.” The remark was interspersed with a few clicks, almost like laughter, “You're too kind.”
