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.
Nobody turns down free alcohol. Her smile didn’t tell him if she appreciated the drink, or appreciated him. All it told him was that she had more manners than the last woman, and a good dental plan. Elliott was just about to get up and speak with her, when someone far larger and with a much thicker neck than him suddenly appeared at her side.
The man didn’t appear out of thin air, though that isn’t always out of the realm of possibility. He was bulky, with a mop of brown hair and a scraggly beard. He looked like he would have been at home on a motorcycle, or on the set of a medieval themed television show about kings and succession.
Big guy smiled at blondie, and he didn’t have a dental plan like her. His teeth weren’t like broken piano keys, but it was a close thing. He looked like he’d lost one too many fights. Without preamble, he accosted her with lame pickup lines and bad breath. He was bold, and brash, and Elliott gave him a minute to break Christ his brain cells before he fully expected him to be turned aside by a polite refusal to go elsewhere and get comfortable, or by a nice bar bouncer. Somehow, his thick refusal to understand the word No didn’t surprise Elliott one bit. Brock the rock was dumb.
It was as a fairly average night, which was nice for a change. He hadn’t gone out to patrol, or looked into criminal enterprises he could attempt to either stop, or put a spotlight on for some accommodating police. It was a Tuesday evening. He’d gone to see an early movie. Then, he’d gone to a bar.
Tall and green, with red eyes and black antennae that stuck out of the top of his head, Elliott cut a unique look. Dressed in a black leather jacket and blue jeans, with a red shirt on underneath the jacket, he wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t change his plans.
Not all women like a sharply-dressed green man with a nice sharp smile. His love life was sour proof of that. Still, he’d never stop trying. That was a quitter’s attitude.
The first woman he hit on tossed a drink in his face. That was a mood killer. He got even, by using his hand tongue to lick himself clean. That got her to get up in a huff and leave. Hag. Once he’d excused himself and gone to clean himself up best he could in the bars bathroom, he tried again. This time, he was a little less blatant. Elliott sent the blonde woman in a red blouse and black slacks hanging out at a table another of what she was having, and followed it up with a friendly smile upon delivery. Then, he played the waiting game to see how she would respond.
His alias received approval. His parents choice of names? Disapproval. Which was in line with his own opinion, which was good. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but the fact they were talking and agreeing was a positive sign. Yet still, he had to let his mouth run and let her know his cards were all on the table. He didn’t have anything else he was holding back. It was all on what she was holding. That would determine the outcome.
She frowned, and asked why she’d do anything like that. Elliott frowned too. He pointedly did not say ‘because it’s the right thing.’
“Some people are like that,” Elliott said far more mildly than when he’d given his little speech. He almost sounded wounded, like Lee had dismissed his entire world view. “You’d be surprised.”
She looked to where the Asian was, and Elliott glanced that way too. The guy had been on the phone for an awful long time. He could only guess the things the Asian had in store for him. Maybe some of them were even in line with that questionable world view.
The wallets. The woman wanted the wallets. Now, usually he would have disposed of the wallets after pocketing the cash. Pickpocketing 101. You don’t keep other people’s personal property, like IDs and credit cards. Things that can be traced back to the victim. Identity theft is far too blatant a crime. It leaves a trail paper money just does not. He’d been sloppy and had come straight from the scene to the bar. In this event, it hadn’t hurt him. He’d have to be more careful in the future.
The green man fished in a pocket and pulled out two wallets. He pressed them down in front of the woman grimly. There was no cash in them. He’d already used what they’d had to pay the barkeeper. It hadn’t been a huge sum. They were trying to rob people, after all. Money management was not their strong suit.
“ID and cards are all in there,” Elliott said. He glanced at the Asian. “Please.”
"The X thing," Elliott said patiently. "Is more insane. I'm not doing this as a full time job." Or working with police. Or getting paid to do so. No healthcare or dental. He'd been serious about that.
Personally, he thought being an X-man brought about more problems than it actually solved. He hadn't looked much into the X ... men... thingy... but it seemed absurd to him. They weren't even helping people. They weren't keeping the streets safe. They were running around in costumes, responding to police radios about crimes. Police already did that. "I'm more street level than them." Elliott added. "I'd rather patrol than respond to police scanners. Feels like that's more helpful than jumping whenever there's a bank robbery or a treed kitty cat. See a mugger, stop them." He smiled weakly, and emphasized the words "Neighborhood watch."
He didn't fly. He had no super speed. He didn't want a nice car or fancy jet. Those things draw attention wayyy too easily. Why would he be a part of a rich person team with a "feel good" mission to make mutants look good? Okay... maybe he'd looked into what it was more than he'd let on. It pays to know details that might bite you later on. Just like the Asian was trying to do, now. They worked with the police. How soon before the police turned on them, too?
The name thing... was all about protecting himself and others from people turning on him. Or attacking him. She still wanted that little detail? Fine. If she just wanted to beat the dead horse, the least he could do was help her move on and bury it. "Cheshire is the alias I've been considering," He noted carefully. "On account of the crazy smile on the helmet that sticks to other you long after I'm gone. If you want a real name." He paused. The Asian was going to dig it up anyways. What the hell? A touch of wry humor crept into his voice. "Elliott Thomas. E.T. Because my parents watched too many damn movies."
"Better?" He asked. "If you want to turn me in now, or stab me in the back or make life hell for me and anyone I care about, now you've got the full package deal. All The ammunition. The criminal underworld would love to know who has been taking down their street level thugs and disrupting their dealer's trades."
He didn't even care now if he was being snarky about it. He needed her to trust him. If anyone in the bar were listening, he'd be dead before the week was up. Place of living, full name, alias, personal description, description of what he'd been doing, and MO. Felt like grade school with all this show and tell! And the mean teacher wanted to give him detention. Or put him in the bad boy corner to make him think about what he'd done.
"Helping people out," Elliott repeated, stressing the words "helping" and "people." "I meant what I said when I told Shin they were on the receiving end of mugger karma. Maybe if they learn their prey can strike back... or maybe if they learn there's someone out there making business unprofitable for them, they'll stop."
Did she get it? He was going out on a limb here, explaining it. He was holding a bike helmet, too. He'd figured she'd connect the dots.
Elliott continued carefully. "Cities like this aren't easy to live in. People take advantage of others. I've been trying to, uh. Help thin out the predators in the city. Protect the herd?" Sort of? He felt like adjusting his shirt collar, but held the urge back. "So I guess what I'm trying to say is I am that guy. A vigilante. Kind of like the xmen but with worse fringe benefits and no healthcare." He smiled a smile at her that showed off his pearly white teeth. Jagged, sharp teeth in a zipperlike smile. "No dental, either." Elliott said.
If she brought up the wallets again, he would probably roll his eyes. What is it with these people and their obsessions with wallets?
Elliott took a deep breath. Well. He was bound to have to explain it some time. Better to her than the police. Though if the police got involved, would they really mind? The damned Asian did the same basic thing. He just got a pass because he wore tight leather pants with a great big gold X stitched on the butt while doing it. Elliott wasn't sure if that was the real X-man dress code, but it seemed plausible.
He started slowly. "Have you heard about some guy going around, helping people out while wearing this crazy grinning motorcycle helmet?"
Surely, it had gotten mentioned in newspapers or on the news. He'd left enough thugs tied up or coherent to spread rumors (if they were dumb enough to confess their crimes). And the people he had saved... they sure needed to share their stories. He hadn't done every helmet man rescue. There was a copycat. But he'd done most of them. Hopefully, she had heard.
He was holding the helmet in question in the crook of one arm. He could spell it out, or she could do some addition herself. Secret identities are there to protect not just the hero, but the people around them. He was trying to be discrete, not shifty. They were taking it as shifty. All because he'd taken some unconscious criminal wallets after doing his evening's good deed.
Posted by Elliott on Mar 21, 2018 10:46:06 GMT -6
Kalos likes this
Beta Mutant
621
48
Nov 7, 2024 15:16:03 GMT -6
Mugen
As Elliott passed overhead, he winked down at the little "mermaid" and gave her a mock salute. That made two who'd gotten by her makeshift barricade. Had to feel good.
He didn't quite believe she was a real mermaid. She didn't look much like the Ariel from the kid's movie. Much in the same way he at one point had considered himself an alien (and maybe he still was, dammit), she could continue to think that she was a mermaid from Atlantis who had lived underwater. If there was a real Atlantis, that was cool. Deep sea mutant communities could exist. It sure was impressive their children and their children's children all developed mutations that allowed them to exist underwater at those pressures or whatever, but it didn't make them supernatural. It just made them different. He could have said unique... but the massive amount of people who could survive underwater just like each other made that word a tough sell.
He wished her luck with her hall monitoring racket. He may have seen some happy bribery happening! That was cool! Kids these days needed to learn their criminal enterprising early! He fully supported the education of the youth. So long as it didn't lead to mugging and murdering, that was. That was where he drew a line. Good luck, little hallway guard, and Godspeed. He vanished down the hallway, to the kitchens. A thoughtful smile was on his face.
A unique aspect of his powers was the effect of the cooldown. He'd counted it out. On a normal expenditure he would need about thirteen seconds to recoup the loss, maybe twelve. He'd timed it with a stop watch during the first week... because he was a huge nerd. ... yet if he burst, burst, then waited for about five seconds... it could reset. Not on the first. not on the third. Only on the second, before the third. He had no idea why, but dem's da breaks. So he stalled. Stalled with his fists.
Benji wailed on Gates with brute force alone, fists and legs moving in martial arts grace. The man tried to fend him off, but portals didn't help at this range. He was already well within Gates's guard. It at least, he THOUGHT portals wouldn't help at this range.
The constant assault should have hammered Gates until he'd given up and fallen to his knees. He'd punched and he'd kicked and he'd driven the man hard, but after a minute of hitting the man only to see him still standing, Benji started to get the sick feeling that something was wrong. He tried one more attack, testing his theory. At the very last moment, he drew back the attack as if it were a feint, and watched for... something.
It was small. Very small. If he hadn't been looking for it, he'd never have noticed. Every time he hit the man, a small portal opened, just big enough to absorb the brunt of the force without being obvious. Gates got some of it, but the portal directed the rest somewhere else. Benji wasn't sure where... but it felt meaty.
Benji took several steps back, and glared at Gates. "Oh you bastard," he muttered. "You've been faking it this whole time."
"Like your ex girlfriend, yes." The man replied cheerily. You could almost hear the manic grin in his voice.
Gates' eyebrow rose, in a small moment of question. An 'oh?' What was all this then? Was he going to try and handcuff him and take this little piggy to market? Did he expect it to scare him into going wee wee, then going home? He didn't put a lot of faith in handcuffs. He could easily portal his way free with them in hand, and cut them later. It wasn't a threat. But this guy--
Benji blurred, and suddenly a lash of metal swung at Gates's face. If the portal master hadn't been watching for it, he might've gotten clocked. Instead, he took a hasty step backwards and threw up one hand. A blue portal whirled in the air in front of him, ready to intercept and redirect the next blow.
Benji had counted the seconds between his last burst and his stepping off to get the cuffs. His ability had reset. It was the real reason he'd interrupted the flow of battle. The cuffs were merely an afterthought. Gates didn't know about his limits. Best keep him unawares.
He lashed out again, blue lines trailing behind him as Benji moved to one side of the portal master and swung the cuffs. They clashed against his left side. A howl of rage and pain escaped Gates. Benji closed the distance with human speed, and brought his leg up in a kick to the same side. One blur left... he broke up combat again, and stalled.
Gates laughed at Benji's comment and surged backwards. "Not at all!"
The whorl was still there, whorling. Blocking the whole world from seeing his face. The man passed a hand across his face quickly, snatching something from within the whorl. A moment later, he spun on the spot and placed a new mask over the old. It was a pig's face. The whorl had gone. Benji had not been expecting that.
Oinking sounds escaped the portal maker's mask as he stood there, taunting him
Police were starting to arrive on the scene. News crews, too. The fight had been goin on for a couple of minutes. Cheshire needed to end this, and quick.
He stood for a few seconds. It would take some keen strategy to overwhelm Gates... who was still making pig sounds and looked to be having a wonderful time. His unpredictable nature combined with his quick usage of portals made this a hairy situation.
Benji took one step towards the side of the street, then another. Gates was watching him. What was he up to, the man had to wonder. Sunlight glinted off the motorcycle helmet's dome as he approached the crowd. He addressed one of the police officers, who was starting to direct people back so he could cordon off the area.
"Can I borrow some handcuffs?" Cheshire asked. "Pretty please?" The helmet's painted on grin smiled winningly.
Cops rarely worked with vigilantes. This guy was a one in a million exception. He tossed a pair of metal handcuffs at the helmeted man, then turned back to his work. Benji snagged them out of the air.
He turned to smile at the woman. She was right in her desire to avoid a fight. Bar fights and messy and bad for business. All that potential loss of liquor or business. It just didn't pay.
"I'm not going to lay a single hand on him. I don't want a fight. Something I'm trying to make the kindly teacher know." Elliott said sweetly.
Why ever would they need to call the cops? It was a simple disagreement. The Asian thought he was a criminal for taking some criminals wallets. He disagreed. It was karmic justice. He wasn't going to cause a scene over it. That was so bad for good vibes. It would just completely ruin the mood! He honestly felt like they were spinning their wheels here.
Posted by Elliott on Mar 13, 2018 6:25:33 GMT -6
Kalos likes this
Beta Mutant
621
48
Nov 7, 2024 15:16:03 GMT -6
Mugen
Elliott was HUNGRY and thankfully, he hadn't been thrown out of the mansion (yet). He'd planned on hitting up the kitchen and getting a sandwich, maybe a tiny bag of chips, but he'd caught sight of the annoyed students being turned away by a very interesting road block. The kid was different, that was for sure. He caught the attention of one student as they hugged back down the hall the way they had come.
"Who's the hall monitor?" He asked casually, gesturing towards the girl."
The brown-haired boy sighed, and blew a stray hair out of his face. His shaggy mane hung around him and over his eyes. "Kalos," he said, voice guttural. Germanic. "Girl from Atlantis. Mer folk."
"Whoa, really?" Elliott said.
"Yeah." He grunted.
"Cool. I'm going to sneak by her. Want anything from the kitchen? I can nab you a pop tart or something and bring it to the TV room."
"Nah. Thanks."
"Kay."
Conversation finished, Elliott stripped off his shoes. Carefully, silently, he set them aside and started walking up to wall towards the ceiling. He was far enough down the hall that he wouldn't be outright seen, but that would change as soon as he started walking on down the way.
Elliott strode towards the barricade as if he weren't waking on the ceiling, but just out for a stroll. He pointedly didn't whistle innocently as he went.
He'd figured as much, what with the spinning and the sprinting. He hadn't done many side by sides. Whiplash was an actual concern. No magical force fields around to protect people, or speed forces of any kind. Just momentum (and protection for him).
"Yeah," he agreed. "You'd probably get motion sick or something." And that isn't romantic one bit.
His comment on his music had attracted her attention. He supposed women like a man with passion and talent. Or something. It was interesting, at the very least.
He nodded at her comment. So it sounded like she was in college, then. Or preparing to enter college. That begged the question, how old was she? It's hard to gauge age sometimes. Especially when someone is distracted by pouring rain.
His thoughts got shifted by her follow-up comment. A novel proposition. Walk IN the rain? Why, next they'd be singing and dancing.
He'd spotted the cell phone when she'd put it down in between them. The green man wasn't certain whether she wanted him to text her on it then and there, or if it was simply there for the whole world to see. Whether she was daring him to text, or just showing off her pretty phone case. He put the potential psychological girl warfare on the mental back burner for the moment and focused on her question.
He placed a three-fingered hand against his chest. "Me?" Elliott asked. There were a lot of things he did for fun. Vigilante work, some honest thievery, and anything illegal that passed through his mind were not one of those things. Work does not equal fun. He smiled a crooked smile, and gave her an honest answer. "I like to go to concerts and listen to weird music and Indie bands. I also do a lot of mixed martial arts stuff. And the gym. Maybe some time, I could introduce you to one of the bands. There's this steam punk one with people dressed up as Victorian robots with a steam-powered giraffe."
He laughed. It was far more weird than it sounded. He'd met a friend at one of those concerts. Sadly, they had lost touch after he'd gone feral. Poor Ty.
He drank his coffee. Then, he fired her off a text. It said "the band is a lot weirder than it sounds.'
Benji agreed, creating things was good. A passion of his, it was. And fame did not mean skill. It wasn't what he strove for. It wasn't self expression. It was just a paycheck.
"Van Gogh was amazing. But he wasn't famous until after he died." Benji said mildly, after Al's comment. Sad, that. The man had been troubled enough. He'd never seen the joy his pain had brought to people.
Their food came and it looked awesome! Benji thanked the woman and drew his food up close. The sandwich steamed and smelled great. Cheesy and meaty and good.
He paused before his first bite, and answered. "A little. Mainly, I play music. I do some remixing on the side and some minor stuff, but really--" He faded off. Mainly, he played what others wrote. Creative expression? Sure. In a sense.
He hadn't applied for those positions with the orchestra on this side of the tear. He'd applied at home. He wasn't home now. He might have missed a crucial call. There was also uncertainties about whether or not he'd be able to return. Not because of the disturbance... but because of the dramatics with the fight in Times Square. He focused on his sandwich, rather than that. Much more palatable.
"Thank you," Benji said around a bite of sandwich. The compliment was appreciated. "You seem nice too."
If he stayed, maybe he'd make a name... if he stayed.
The sandwich was excellent. It might have been antisocial , but for the moment his attentions shifted to eating in silence. He broke it occasionally with idle questions about stuff in New York Al would have no trouble answering. Geography differences he wanted to know, etc. He asked about the mansion and its address, the one notable thing he'd heard about but hadn't inquired too much on. They'd already hashed out a lot of the social differences. But was Central Park still green? Inquiring minds wanna know.
"What do you do for a living?" He asked, about 3/4 done with his sandwich and fries.
((Sorry I lost this. Baby brain taking all my focus. Maybe we can work towards a conclusion since it's been going on so long. ))
))