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.
Gates had been faking the fight. None of his attacks had hit. He needed to fight smarter, not harder. Super speed was great, but it wasn’t faster than thought. Sun Tzu would say that any time an opponent knows you’re going to do something, do something else. So, he did.
Benji ran off. Gates was laughing, until Benji came back with a trash can lid. Before Gates could figure out why the man had a trash can lid, Benji burst forward with a whoosh and a clang. The lid hit Gates full in the chest.
“You’ve been blocking with tiny portals, Gates.” Benji smiles. His helmet was already smiling so it was a smile within a smile. “My attack is bigger.”
He went for another attack, and left the man reeling. One more attack and Gates would probably be down. Benji rushed at him, and— Gates fell through a portal on the ground where he’d been cringing. He appeared somewhere else. Benji turned, looking for him, and felt a sudden tug at his head. Two arms had appeared on either side of him, each reaching through a portal. Without preamble, they tore the helmet off.
He was exposed. The cameras rolled. Before a second had passed, Benji hauled his jacket up over his head and hunched over, covering his face. Had they seen? On the big screen nearby, he was visible, hunkering down. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. A second passed, then another. He felt disgusted. He could see where Gates lay, arms retracting through their portals. He could still take him out. Then he’d run.
Benji gathered up energy for another burst. He covered his face with one arm, and lowered the jacket. Blurred forward, and— went between worlds.
Gates had the last laugh. At the final moment, he had opened a portal leading into the rip. Benji had burst through, onto the other side. Disoriented, he glanced around. A woman with a bob of brown hair spotted him, and rushed towards him with all the vigor of a security guard. Benji didn’t think. He ran. She chased him, which made him feel better about running, but not any less paranoid. He was in another world, and he wasn’t sure how he’d evade the woman to get back to his own.
There were guards stationed all around the rip. She hadn’t been the only one. As they watched, a motorcycle helmet flew out of the rip like it had been spat out of a mouth. Across time and multiple dimensions, one might have imagined an accompanying burp. It must’ve been the wind.
Many thoughts passed through Elliott’s mind at her response. She was like dry ice. Cold and solid, ready to burn the careless. There was a mild interest beneath the layer of emotionless cool. She wasn’t sending him away, but she didn’t dig him. He could dig it. At the same time, his thought of helping her hadn’t been entirely dismissed as a lie. She did appreciate the thought, though it had been unnecessary. He read in her someone very interesting. Someone he didn’t want to upset... though he was kind of intrigued about how that would look. The words “divine wrath” passed through his mind. He blamed it on the angelic blonde hair.
Elliott nodded at the mild thank you, watched her eye him, then down her drink in one go. He hadn’t been sent off. She didn’t hate him. She didn’t like him. He was interesting. She was interesting. He was average, he could take a seat over there. He was getting mixed signals.
The seat was comfortable enough, and the thoughts in his mind weren’t betrayed by his face. Like always, Elliott tried to keep up a cool facade until he figured a person out... unless they were ridiculously cute, in which case he stumbled all over himself like a fool, and wasn’t very cool at all. Or if they were a bro. Really, the cool factor was more a ‘reserved’ nature than shades and smirks and leather jackets. He wasn’t going to punch a jukebox any time soon, eh?
His smile never faltered as he considered her. In response to the question, ‘are you good for it’, the green man got the bartenders attention with two upturned fingers— basically, his entire hand, sans thumb. Two more drinks, mon ami. Gracias. Cheers.
Again with the mixed signals. She gave her name, but her body language screamed restraint. Indifference.
“My name is Elliott,” he said. The fact he wasn’t giving out aliases any more made him feel proud. You don’t really need to when you aren’t working for bad guys or doing bad things. Except breaking the law by punching muggers. And stealing their stuff.
The two drinks came, more of the same. He took one at random, and raised it briefly. He didn’t expect her to clink glasses with him. He just did a little drink salute, and knocked back some alcohol.
“I’ve got a philosophical question for you, Brook.” Elliott swirled his scotch in the glass. “If a roommate paints so much, the living room isn’t livable, because it’s covered in canvas, but brings in rent money with that same crazy art... how should one feel? Because I felt like getting out of the house tonight to avoid paint fumes, and maybe talk to a pretty woman, and I want to see if that’s the normal reaction, or an alien opinion.” He did not bat an eyelash at the word alien. He was almost over that.
It wasn’t quite a pickup line, his statement. He’d figured she’d be expecting that. And doing something someone is expecting is so... boring.
Modeling, huh? Benji nodded thoughtfully. “You’ve kind of got an Adonis look going on, which is popular. Even though snake man makes me think more of the Medusa side of the Greek myths. But she wasn’t handsome. Though I guess not being able to check your hair in the mirror makes it hard.” He joked.
He was fully okay with calling a handsome man handsome. Sometimes one just needs to call a spade a spade. He didn’t even question whether or not anyone would get the wrong idea from that sort of compliment any more. People tend to enjoy flattery. As long as it isn’t creepy. If it’s creepy, you need to stop.
The waitress came, and he paid with cash. He added a five and a couple ones to help with the tip, too.
Al was really a helpful, friendly sort.
“I appreciate the tip,” Benji said. “And thank you for the offer. Guess I can look you up in the phone book if the mansion doesn’t work out.” He paused. “They have those over here, right? And phone booths? Heroes are always hiding in phone booths and coming out in costumes, on the other side. Only to get arrested by police for public indecency moments later. I really have no idea how it got so popular.” He was silent for a moment, then clarified. “I’m kidding, by the way. Nobody uses phone booths for that any more.” Certainly not him. One cannot get much costume change done in 3 seconds... even if it is just a matter of slipping on a helmet.
Dinner had been a bust. He’d tried his best, but there was just something to the recipe he hadn’t mastered. Some trick of seasoning he hadn’t done right. The food hadn’t tasted exactly as he’d wished. Also, he’d made enough for his roommate. Way too much for a single man. Then he’d been thoroughly snubbed for his efforts. That left an even worse lingering bad taste in his mouth. If they’d eaten together, at least they could have shared in its badness. Or, well, it’s average-tasting blandness. In order to get the taste out of his mouth, Benji had decided to go Heroing. Which was a word, dammit.
Benjamin Park, also known as Cheshire, donned his black biker helmet with the manic grin he had painted. He shrugged into the black leather jacket and the gloves and shoes. Not boots. Boots are miserable to run in. Heroes needed sensible running no shoes. Then, he went to the street and found his motorcycle from another world.
The motorcycle was otherworldly. Otherworldly, not because it could fly or was faster than the wind. Otherworldly, because it had come over through the rip in the fabric of space and time. Benji had traveled back, in order to get his things together and tie up loose ends. Without family to speak of, and no girlfriend (or even X-men ties), he hadn’t had much keeping him stationary. The motorcycle had been the last thing. So, he’d smuggled it over past security at the rip.
Getting the motorcycle past security sounds like it would have been an eventful trial, but he had made it as boring as possible. He’d known a guy who could temporarily shrink nonliving objects. His friend Scott had helped him out. He’d simply carried the bike along with him in his pocket. The only worry was that a year in reality might affect the power and make the bike grow to normal size sooner, rather than later. He’d hurried to get it out and in a big enough space after he’d come over. Everything had gone fine. He’d even talked with people at the DMV afterwards, and got the thing licensed legally. Apparently, there were forms for that now!
He mounted his motorcycle and drove into the night. After about ten minutes, he heard the sound of sirens. Those, he followed on the principle that they’d lead him to danger, where he could help most. Eventually, he reached that danger... and got more than he’d bargained for.
The sounds of the city flowed around him as he stood perched above it, on the ledge of a rooftop. His black visor caught the light from below, and reflected it in a small glint. Behind said visor, Elliott’s eyes were closed. He was listening. He didn’t have any heightened senses or anything, so for him it was just the city sounds he was listening to, and nothing else, but sometimes... sometimes one might hear a cry for help.
It was unlikely. Unlikely that a cry for help would carry far enough that one might hear it over the background radiation of sound pollution in a busy city. Unlikely that they would be near enough, and loud enough, as well as have the opportunity to cry for help. So what Elliott was doing, standing high above the city, listening, wasn’t immediately clear. Especially since his eyes were closed, and he was on the edge of a rooftop. One good shove, and splat. His guilty hero career would be over. Still, he listened. There it was. It wasn’t a cry for help Elliott heard. It was the sound of sirens.
Elliott Thomas, AKA Cheshire, sprang from one rooftop to another, following the sound of police sirens. The ground and the rooftops fell away beneath him. In each leap, he ate ten, twenty, thirty feet. If he didn’t have the distance, he cheated. He caught himself, either by prehensile hand tongues, or by his ability to cling to walls. Barefoot, the entire while.
It had been strange at first, forgoing shoes. He’d tried clinging with his feet, with shoes. No dice. He’d had to strip off the shoes. Thankfully, over time and training he’d seemed to grow a tough layer of skin over the soles of his feet. It was sturdy enough to make running across the city not torture... and hard enough his kicks didn’t lose much power (unless he was trying to kick metal and brick). He really needed to find a good substitute for steel toed boots, sans shoes.
A wide grin slid across Elliott’s face as he watched the whole scene. It had been subtle, beautifully handled, and left the big man pale and scampering away towards, Elliott presumed, the nearest bathroom so he could clean himself off.
Unlike Brock the rock, Elliott did not slide into the seat across the table from the blonde woman. He did, however, stop to one side of it so he could talk to her.
“Wow!” He said brightly. “Nicely handled.” Quieter, he leaned forward slightly and added “Didn’t see a thing. So either you scared him off with some sort of mutation, or.” His red eyes almost glowed with enthusiasm. “You have a piece.”
“I was going to help you out if he got any more annoying,” Elliott continued. “But you sent him crying and didn’t even break a sweat. So once again. Wow.”
Why was he enthusiastic about a hot woman with a gun, again? She could be a cop or a crook or even a serial killer? If he had to dig deep into his past to uncover buried issues, it probably had something in common with the whole “crush on Aura thing”. Even if she was so dangerous it was scary, and even if he disagreed with the whole murder thing (and might actually be morally opposed to it now, what with the vigilante “hero” thing he was doing)... one cannot fault a man for liking the look of a strong, confident woman. Even if such a relationship would most likely be doomed for failure.
Up close, he got a better look at her. Elliott realized something. She was even more pretty, and also— probably in her thirties. That, he had no problems with. It only made the badassery more pronounced. Yes, that is a word. No, it’s not in the dictionary.
Benji most certainly did not try slurping his coffee, so that he could finish up sooner, rather than later. He did not, though the thought certainly occurred to him.
“I think I’d like that,” Benji said. He kept his cool, kept it best he could. It is decidedly uncool to act too eager, especially when cute girls are flirting with you. His voice may have had a light undertone of a throaty growl to it. Purr, meet growl.
He drank his coffee. Steam did not come from his ears. As he drank, his eyes fell to the pink glow in her hand. Benji idly spun the index finger of his free hand at speed, twirling a trail of blue light around for about three seconds. A small whooshing sound accompanied the action.
“I can feel a connection already,” he joked. “We both like to paint the air with color.” They were both such colorful individuals.
He liked that reply. He most certainly wasn’t going to skate before he found out more about her. Because she, was interesting.
As far as interesting replies went, hers, once they’d gotten their coffee and she’d deigned to answer him about things she liked to do for fun, was quite interesting. But she had teased him, so- turnabout was fair play.
“Ah, I see.” Benji smiled, and nodded significantly. Like he got it. After a beat, he added “I don’t think the NSA has bugged the coffee table so your leet haxxoring on the internet and illegal torrents are probably safe.”
Benji laughed at her joke. Just because she did. If it hadn’t been a laughing matter, he wouldn’t have taken amusement from the idea of her eating sick changing her hair. Nope. Not at all. It is important one is able to laugh at ones self, he reasoned. Nod nod.
Smiling, Benji took the woman’s arm. Together, they ventured out into the rain. He escorted her like a scholar and a gentleman.
The walk took a few minutes. He talked small talk. They decidedly did not talk about the weather. That topic had already been done.
“So, I paint-“ he concluded, as they stopped in front of the coffee shop. He had been talking about what he liked to do for fun. He let go of her arm as he stepped forward to hold open the door. “After you.” Benji said. “Then maybe you can tell me what you do for fun.” He followed Skye into the coffee shop.
((OOC I know it’s been a while. We can probably hand wave how this one finishes up or finish it in a couple posts! Either way. Yummy coffee. No rain. I just wanted to end it on a good stopping point.))
He hadn’t meant to be such an ass. Really, he hadn’t. He’d meant to give Benji crap about the mess, then help him clean it up. Most likely, it would have been edible. He’d eaten worse. The probing about his monetary situation, along with the simple button-pushing effect Benji had on him, had... pushed his buttons. And the result had been him becoming a butt. Although honestly, that was less a transformation than a simple unmasking these days.
He had wanted to go home, eat, and sleep. Now he was committed to storming off with his ass butt self and making himself scarce for a few hours while he sought out actual food. Or did something else. Elliott sighed. He was still not used to rooming with other people.
When Elliott had lived on the streets with his gang, they hadn’t really shared a studio apartment. They’d had warehouses and abandoned buildings. There had been plenty of room to be a loner. He’d never had to fight anyone over dirty dishes and careless toilet paper roll replacement scenarios. He’d never even known those could be a thing. How incredibly domestic... and awkward.
Outside the building, Elliott took a left. He went to his hiding place, a secluded area he’d found by the building with an alcove that had loose bricks. Why were they loose? Well, he had kicked them a little and worked at them with a screwdriver until they were free. And he had found them behind a bunch of trash cans he’d had to move aside. All in all, it was hidden enough nobody could find the hiding place for his costume. Big enough to hide his lime green motorcycle helmet with its painted on manic grin, and even large enough for a pair of three-fingered gloves and a wadded up jacket, in a jam. He would have preferred stuffing his stuff in his room, but roommates. What can you do? Thus, hole in wall. This, concrete dust and cobwebs. Ew. Donning his costume in the alley way, Elliott got to work.
Benji paused. The humming stopped. “I’m cooking?” He asked.
Elliott glowered at him. “I couldn’t tell. Why don’t we just order things from restaurants like normal people?”
“I’ll clean.” Benji said.
“You’ll clean.”
“And finally not forget.” Benji clarified.
Elliott nodded. “Right.”
“And it’s so much cheaper than ordering out every night. I don’t know how you can afford that, on your salary, but—“ the Korean man frowned. “I can’t.”
It was hard being new in town, just getting established. New from another universe, in point of fact. He hadn’t had anything going on for him on the other side... and his uncle had died. He’d missed the funeral. Family wasn’t an issue. He’d really just packed up and changed realities. It was hard. The last thing he needed was a whiny green man complaining about healthy food. Especially one who stayed out late and rarely came in before he went to work. The mysterious absences and occasional bruises really made him question why the roommate plan was a good idea.
“Fine,” Elliott threw up his hands. “I’m going out. I’m gonna go get real food.”
“See you...” Benji said. As the door slammed closed, he added “Ass.”
Elliott turned the key in the lock, and found that there was no resistance. It was unlocked. If he’d been living alone, that would have triggered alarms. It still triggered alarms, but alarms of a different sort.
If the lock were unlocked, either his new roommate had left the door unlocked, or he was home. Either had the potential to be dangerous. Cautiously, Elliott pressed onwards, into the apartment.
It had been about two weeks since he’d started sharing space with another person. He’d put out feelers at his new job, to learn if anyone knew anyone who was searching for a leech. A personal space invader. A living hanger-on. Some sort of friendly parasite who would share a living area, and chime in with rent and money stuffs, for electricity and the like. Was that a parasitic, or a symbiotic relationship? Who the hell knows! The restaurant folks had found someone. That was the important thing.
The roomie his restaurant coworkers had found was a musician who spent a lot of time at home, working through the internet. He was kind of a recluse... like he didn’t feel as if he belonged in the same zip code as normal people. But he didn’t want to talk about it. And Elliott never asked. The guy liked to paint, and Elliott would constantly come home to projects... such as the canvas spread across a tarp on the floor in a sea of paint cans, which he skirted on the way to his room.
The apartment was nice. Far nicer than anything anyone living off a restaurant salary in New York ought to be able to afford. It was a studio apartment with a loft, and a couple converted bedrooms. There was a makeshift living space, and a big bay window overlooking the city. If the location were near a giant billboard that blazed in through the windows day and night, and the neighborhood wasn’t the friendliest, that wasn’t the end of the world. It only explained why they’d been able to afford it doubled up.
He stalled by the kitchen alcove, and stared. What a mess. A pot was boiling on the range and there was the detritus of a meal planning session scattered around the counters. He could cook, barely, but whoever had cooked had been far, far too ambitious. It also smelled spicier than hell. Thai, if he wasn’t mistaken. Or at least, the attempt at Thai. Elliott held it against the man that he’d attempted to cook at all. These things simply aren’t done in New York. Not by bachelors. The man in question hummed as he worked by the stove.
He smiled. Apparently, she had no problems with robotic animal life. Even more interesting, she didn’t think the costume choice and theme were strange.
“I stand corrected,” Elliott chuckled. “Nothing weird at all.”
With mutants around, maybe steam powered robotic constructs was what people these days deemed as “tame”? What was weird, then? Flaming lips and weird awkward squirt gun concerts in the nude? Yeah. Probably. Though even then, that was probably just somebody’s Tuesday.
“I’ve mainly heard them do covers. The band. But they have their own songs, too. Honeybee is both beautiful, and tragic. About a bad breakup, with all these robot references and stuff— well, you’ll just have to hear it yourself to get the gist.” Elliott said. Words really couldn’t describe. Some things one just has to experience first hand.
He’d have to call her the next time they were in town doing a concert. Or just call her.
His phone buzzed. A text message from a friend. Elliott frowned down at it.
He thanked her gravely, and then Elliott left the bar. It was unlikely he’d find a new job. A new, non-vigilante job. He needed the good karma to make up for the bad. And he needed the bad to make up for the good, too, if he was being honest with himself. Vigilantism costs loads but pays in bruises and dirt. He’d make an effort to stay off the woman’s bad side, however. It’s bad business to repay kindness with crap. Crap is far too plentiful, and kindness, too rare.
The mansion was an okay place. He would want to find another place, one that wasn’t just his dive hideout hole in the wall. Maybe he would find a real job and find an apartment. Maybe even a roommate. But that was a problem for another Elliott on another day.
He vanished as quickly as he could into the night, and felt thankful for the kindness of strangers... even if the vanishing act probably made him look guilty as hell to the Asian X-man. Knowing his luck, after the guy evicted him, he’d call the cops.
