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.
A swig, he'd taken a swig. Elliott didn't make a habit of drinking girly-sounding cocktails that supposedly tasted like iced tea, but he knew enough to realize that even if it did, and he wasn't entirely sold on the idea, it still had several different kinds of alcohol. You don't swig liquor. You swig beer. Liquor has a higher alcohol content. Alcohol can burn. His new friend learned that the hard way.
The spiny man coughed up a lung and commented on the strength of the drink. Elliott smiled at him. The smile faltered slightly as the guy asked if they had anything stronger.
"Double-fisting tonight, eh?" Elliott asked. "Maybe you really do want to get knocked out. Well then, let me think."
He could definitely aim for something stronger. It seemed to him this guy was in a rough mood, and needed some alcoholic cheer. He'd been happy to buy a drink for him to share the birthday cheer, but apparently birthday cheer in the form of a single drink was not enough. His gift horse had been examined, and had been found wanting. Any further drinks would also be on his dime. Therefore, he had to find something strong, strong enough he wouldn't have to buy three more drinks just to sort it out. As a side note, he didn't want to overlubricate the spiny man, as alcohol poisoning is neither cheerful, nor knocked out. It's kind of dead.
"I don't advise it, but if you want strong there's always everclear. Though it's kind of bland. And if you've got a death wish..." This had lost some of its fun. "Absinthe."
Absinthe had less alcoholic content than everclear, true, but he couldn't imagine a situation where one would drink it in this day and age. That was some Old Man and the Sea bull there.
"Maybe you'd prefer something that actually tastes nice?" Elliott asked hopefully. "Man... I didn't catch your name."
Elliott's half smile showed teeth. Jagged, zipper-like, but friendly. Pleading the fifth? He didn't want to incriminate himself over some potential crime? He chalked that up to a joke, and moved on, never for a moment considering what crime the man could possibly have committed in loving leakings, probe or otherwise.
Wet dog, he could see. Maybe better than his suggestion of probes. "Maybe that works better," Elliott commented wryly. It was certainly rough enough.
He didn't get why the guy drank slow, sipping. It gave the beer time to get warm. Warmth made the flavor more strong for the hops. Americans like cold beer because it's refreshing, but most of the true beer countries drink it room temperature because they want to savor the flavor. Elliott didn't think the man wanted to savor wet dog grunge. Then again, he himself wasn't chugging his beer down. It was kind of sitting there, mostly untouched.
Jay the bassist introduced himself. Elliott smiled. "Elliott," he said. "And I'm afraid I don't. Though I think I saw some band fliers posted on the brick wall on the way in." Who knew? Some could be hiring.
He took another drink, and only mildly regretted it. Maybe it was an acquired taste? Or maybe his taste was going to hell.
Reverse pickpocketing, snake man asked for confirmation. Benji confirmed.
"Yeah." His voice still held a note of confusion.
While it was true that it didn't seem like a bad thing, it still begged the question of who, what, when, and why. Not so much where. He knew that. And that was more several questions, than it was one. Was the money stolen? Counterfeit? Was he being set up? He was happy, yeah, about potential purchases. But he had more sense on him than to not look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe said gift horse was responsible for several murders in the area and would soon require being put down. ... bad example.
"All true things," Benji agreed. He smiled a little at Al's joke. "Though I doubt a person who went to the trouble of stealing my empty wallet and filling it would undo what he did. Though who knows? He could really be THAT capricious."
He slid the wallet away, to a front pocket this time, not a back. Front pockets were harder to infiltrate. One tends to notice encroachment on that whole front area.
"Anyways," Benji changed the subject. "We nearly there?" The fight with the portal guy had made him hungry.
Elliott looked up as the sudden interjection into his inner monologue. It was a girl. She looked a little tired. Exhausted, fresh out of the cold. What was she saying? Some sort of commiseration? He opened his mouth to reply, and shut it. Because something strange was happening.
The girl's mouth opened wide and long, and he monetarily had the mental image of a snake dislodging its jaw in order to eat something bigger than its head.
Her words were snarky, and confusing. It sucked he couldn't feel how much it sucked anymore? He wanted to ask what she meant, then realized his stuffiness had started to ebb. And her mouth was wide, like a snake's. He could put two and two together, but he just had to ask.
She interrupted him, mid-question. Again, he closed his mouth.
>>"I hope that wasn't TOO forward," she said.
Okay. Now he could ask. "Did you just, uh, eat my cold?" Elliott stared at her. "Not that I'm complaining, of course." He hastily added, after a second. "Thank you."
He felt better now. But aside from 'better', he wasn't sure how to feel. Re: grossness of swallowing a cold... a little grossed out, maybe? Like he wanted to climb up a wall. But he wasn't grossed out by the curly-haired blonde girl. As far as he was concerned, she was cool. Unless stealing diseases served some nefarious purpose or--oh her nose looked like it might have started running. He dug into the right pocket of his leather jacket, and pulled out a tissue. Right pocket was clean, left was used. Elliott held it out to her.
It was weird. Like, super weird. At first, he'd thought something had felt off. Maybe starting around the time the first guy had bumped him. But he hadn't been able to place it. And then, the second had come along and he'd made the mental leap from accident to pickpocket. Either the first, or the second. One of them. Because at times he was way too trusting, and people running into you in a New York crowd could be all sorts of shifty. The weird thing was, after he'd stopped and patted himself down, the pocket his wallet had resided in hadn't felt lighter. Quite the opposite situation, in fact.
Benji held his wallet in front of him, blinking as he leafed through it. Same brown leather wallet, no cards missing, but where he'd only had a couple of ones before, now...
"I, uh. Seem to have been the victim of a reverse pickpocketing." Benji said, confusion evident in his tone. "I sure as heck didn't have this many twenties when I came over."
---
Somewhere in the crowd, the green man smirked to himself. He hunched forward in his hoodie, and pushed on through the cold.
The guy who'd stolen the Korean guy's wallet hadn't seen it coming. And that poor Korean kid. He'd been broke. Apparently, he'd momentarily turned into Robin Hood, because he'd seen the stolen wallet, got the idea, filled it and returned it. Then, got on with his life. His good deed for the day was done.
Whatever he thought would knock him out? He got the disinterested sarcasm, got it loud and clear. He smiled another zipper-toothed smile. "Okay buddy. I hear you." The man didn't care what he got? He knew nothing about liquor, just wanted something to put him out? Elliott could work with that, and have a little fun, too. "A nice iced tea, it is." He said quietly, and to himself.
Elliott plopped down by the bar again, and asked the bartender for an iced tea. Bartender got it, too. A mixture of Tequila, Vodka, Rum, Gin, and Cola. A classic. Kind of girly-sounding. It had enough good stuff it'd knock the guy out soon enough. It wasn't as fun as his first thought, a punch in the face... but that drink wasn't as good.
If the guy didn't fall over after a couple long island iced teas, they could try the Four Horsemen, a New Orleans Hand Grenade, or maybe a mixture of Gin and Vermouth.
>>"Hrm. Happy Birthday." the guy said. Might have actually been closer to a 'hmmmm' than a 'hrm', but the guy's natural ray of sunshine personality showed through.
"Thank you!" Elliott beamed.
The bartender plopped the tall glass of liquor down in front of Elliott's spiny new friend. Elliott caught his attention and asked for a Jack Daniels. Then, he downed one of his shots. The chocolate shot had been good, but birthday cake? MMMM. Happy birthday to him.
Benji fell into line behind the snake man. Dnd campaigns told him that if this guy had been a gal he'd also be a lamia. The fact he knew that made him a lame-ia. Now wasn't the time for obscure nerd lore. Even if it was hilarious.
The not lamia made his own path through the crowd, the way only mutants and celebrities could. People scattered and shifted. Some even tripped.
He made a mental note of the name. Aleksandr. Aleks. Al. At first, Al had been intimidating. The friendly factor, however, was changing that opinion from intimidation to charming. Not many were this helpful, mutant or not. Especially for some guy off the street.
He fell behind for a step, as his eyes wandered around his surroundings. Someone bumped into him, and apologized. Benji took it in stride, and was grateful they hadn't flipped him off in standard New York fashion. Maybe this side of the universe, people were more polite?
As if sensing his thought, Al asked him a question in a similar vein. "So far, so good." Benji commented. "Minor differences. For instance, on this side I've heard you all have a better view on mutants. More friendly. And there's a mansion--"
While Benji was speaking, he didn't notice another collision several feet behind them. It wasn't noisy, wasn't flashy, was hardly noticeable at all. Someone hunched forward in a black hoodie passed the man who had bumped into Benji, and nobody was the wiser. Except the guy himself. He stopped for a second, and fumbled for something in his pocket. Looked around. But he hadn't noticed what the man who'd bumped into him looked like, and he'd vanished into the crowd.
"On my side, there isn't as much public support. If you were to go out and help people, they'd try to arrest you, and--" 'if your identity got discovered, you might do better on the other side of a rip in the fabric of space and time' he finished mentally, recalling something someone had said.
Another person bumped into Benji, as he wove around the line for a vendor. He caught the briefest flash of green and black. No apology this time. People weren't all polite, it seemed.
As he stared at the back ahead of him as it vanished into the crowd, Benji got a sudden sinking feeling in his gut. "Hold up a minute," he called out. He started pawing at his pockets.
In, he walked, like it was frigging Halloween or something. Someone who almost looked more alien than himself. Elliott, in a bout of inexplicable camaraderie and goodwill towards NonMan, instantly took a liking to the random off the street and decided that since it was his birthday, he was going to buy someone else a drink in the hopes that maybe someone might benefit from the day.
Elliott rose from his seat at the bar, swaggered over to the quip-covered mutant, and smiled.
"Hey guy. You look like you're searching your soul for the right answer to some vague but all-defining question about life, the universe... and something else similarly zen. Is the question, by chance, what will get me the most drunk? Because I have some knowledge in this topic. And it being my birthday," and me being a bit tipsy already, "I thought I'd share the joy and buy someone other than me a drink."
It certainly never helped that he was overly friendly when he was drunk. It was the opposite of his usual paranoid, not-outgoing self.
It was true. Elliott did not like the weird bat crystal things. Any more true, and he'd feel dirty for oversharing. He didn't like her glare, didn't like her power, and if they were being honest, quite respected her very reasonable (if misinformed) reaction. He didn't like it, because of its direct involvement of him, but he respected it. So many idiots lack the healthy paranoia true city life requires. He'd met quite a few, and robbed them blind. He wasn't repressed enough to consider it s public service announcement that taught them a lesson, but they'd certainly learned a valuable life experience from the whole matter. Most of the time.
She was willing to listen, because he was a mutant. Well okay. He'd take advantage of her very generous offer. Even if she didn't know how wrong she might be. His alien status was a matter of debate in many circles. Some said alien, some said mutant, some said human with a really bad skin condition and some missing digits. He discounted the opinions of the last group. The other two, however, were fair game. He didn't correct her with his own opinion on the matter. It didn't matter.
"I'm reaching into my pocket," Elliott announced. Slowly, he slipped his hand into the pocket of his black hoodie and withdrew a phone. He unlocked it briefly, then brought up the pictures in his album. He showed the phone to the woman.
"It's a little slideshow of him following you, and reaching towards your purse." Elliott explained. "With a bit of him at the end as he turned to look at me. See the motion blur? Then I hid my phone. Then he tried to rob you for real. And vanished. And left me staring at your pretty face." She knew the rest. If she flipped through, she'd see it as it had played out till the bit at the end. It was really unfair. He'd of reported the guy to the police for her. Maybe even stopped him if things had gotten violent. Though picking fights with pickpockets is a great way to become noticed and hated on the street.
>>“Yeah… I hope so. I feel pretty tired now, honestly. Do you think... They'll try to hunt us down or something? Or do you think they're pretty... Well, done for?” Celeste asked.
Elliott thought about it for a second, then frowned. "I think their egos are bruised almost as much as their heads," he said. "Hopefully that means they won't try again. With anyone. We pretty thoroughly handled them. Hope they decide picking fights with people smarter and better-looking than them is a recipe for disaster."
Why would a human decide it was okay to pick a fight with a mutant in the first place? Or an alien. Someone who literally had some sort of advantage over them, before they'd even begun. Had they thought numbers and weapons would prove equivalent to his fighting skills? They'd thought wrong.
>>“I’m sorry about your helmet, by the way..." Celeste said. "I… I kinda just did everything instinctively. How's your head?”
He tilted said head, tapped his temple once, and didn't notice any ugly rattling. "A few screws loose," Elliott smiled. "But nothing I can't fix. Don't worry about the helmet. Easily replaced. Ah, there's the waitress with a first aid kit and an ice pack." He turned to accept the things, then shifted his focus back to Celeste with a polite 'thank you' towards the help.
The kit opened, Elliott started pulling out tubes of antibacterial cream and rolls of cloth bandages from their place amid the regular old Mario and Luigi bandaids for kids. He eyed the medical tape, realized that was too much, and held up the box and waggled it at her. "You like green Mario or red Mario?" He asked.
Played, huh? That was cool, he guessed. He'd never been a musician. Not enough fingers for guitar. It hadn't ever bothered him much. His talents lay elsewhere. He liked music, but the fact he couldn't play guitar was nothing to fret over. Elliott's antennae bounced a little as he bobbed his head. True enough. Long-term gigs are better than one-offs. The guy was grumbling, but the way he described the punks he played with almost had Elliott's mouth turned up in one corner, a subtle smile. He didn't. Would have ruined the mood of the bar! But almost.
>>"I think that's all they have here," The blonde guy said quietly. Almost like he didn't want to offend their lovely bartender, Chuck. It was a good point, he'd made. He didn't call it swill, but something a bit more provocative. Elliott mentally replaced that word with swill, though. For the children.
>>"But as long as I'm here..." The man said. "I may as well drink awhile. Even if it is...whatever this is."
Elliott held up his glass in a mock salute, maybe even a setup for a glasses-clinking 'cheers'. "Any port in a storm." He commented wryly.
He drank. Yeah. Swill was a fantastic word for the beer. He pulled a face, and hid it from the bartender by turning it away. "Almost foreign." Elliott joked. Quieter, he leaned forward towards the man, and conspiratorially added "Like alien probe leakings."
Posted by Elliott on Nov 17, 2017 7:26:33 GMT -6
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The pickpocket didn't curse, but he recoiled. He shook his hand, and managed to extricate himself from the Thing that had bitten him. He'd been shocked by the contents of the purse. Shocked and appalled! Where was the wallet? The cellphone? The MONEY?! He didn't want bats. Even ones that looked like they were made of precious stones. When everything went to Hell, he reacted faster than anyone would have had any reason to. As the green man stepped forward to try and catch him and hold him, the pickpocket... flickered... and suddenly, it was Elliott standing behind the woman, and the actual pickpocket was gone.
Oh dammit. God. Frick. The woman spun on him and exclaimed 'How dare you?!' It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize she'd misunderstood the situation, and decided he'd been the pickpocket. He WASN'T. WELL. Not THIS PURSE IN PARTICULAR! It wasn't fair, but it was fitting. Like karma, even. That didn't mean Elliott had to like it. It meant he had to defend himself or he was going to get raked over the coals on a trumped up false accusation.
"Whoa whoa whoa," He held up his three-fingered hands in a gesture of peace. Of stop. Surcease. He spoke fast. "Think we got a misunderstanding, miss. A miss-understanding. Wasn't me. But I got a picture of who it was."
It could have been a cold. Could have been the flu. He wasn't a doctor. All Elliott knew was that his situation was bad. Humans with external noses can sniff and sneeze to their hearts content, burning their nose skin on rough tissue paper and coughing every other minute until their throats are raw. Their ears can get stuffy. Sinuses are connected to your ear somehow. The nose can hold back the gross mucus and do a moderate job of preventing it from dribbling more than it wants to, though not more than it has to. It has to, a lot. For someone with a flat set of nostril slits like a snakes, and ears that aren't visible, housed inside a head, these things are worse.
He felt awful. No fever. But achy. It put a crimp in his vigilante act. One doesn't pick fights with muggers and attempted rapists when one has trouble keeping themselves from falling over without help. Maybe he even did have a fever? Could he be a little delusional. He was riding the subway, after all, but he couldn't remember where he was riding the train to.
He'd been dodging other criminals. He remembered that. Something about a rat, and vengeance...? Some guy he'd ticked off who was trying to tick him off a list. It was foggy, so fever was more likely. Maybe that was why he was on the subway, rather than in his cheapo apartment or at the mansion or in his usual haunts. There was a lot of supposition involved here in his filling in of his own mental blanks, which had to make him wonder if maybe, gee, he was a little drunk? Terrible idea when one is sick. Also not good to mix with cough medicine. Or maybe the cough medicine was the cause of his loop factor? Loopiness? That isn't even a word. Whatever. He wasn't a college scholar. He wouldn't chide himself over proper bocubalry. Vocabulary. Bah!
Elliott sat and simmered in his subway seat, arms crossed. Maybe he'd figure out his story as the train rattled along in jaundiced fluorescent light. His eyes roamed the car as he pondered. Pondered as they wandered. He really did feel a little hot in his leather jacket. Also why did he have a black motorcycle helmet with a giant fanged smile on the seat beside him? He didn't have a motorcycle here, there, or where he was headed. Not at point A Or point B. Ah that was right. It was his crappy costume. Even though it was closer to Thanksgiving than Halloween.
Elliott hacked and hacked into the crook of his arm. 'Least he had the presence of mind to vampire cough and sneeze.
"Being sick sucks." He announced, with all the volume and poise of one of the great Greek thinkers of ancient times. It was right up there with cogito ergo sum... which wasn't even Greek, god dammit. Again. No college. Sounded Latin. Which was close enough. Those foreign languages were all Greek to him.
Benji could hear the sea again. Really, though, this time it was quite literally water rushing over his head. He'd slipped up one second, and been drawn in the next. Again. Embarrassing. One would think he'd be faster than this, but he was getting tired, and it was cold. Cold can make one sluggish. Especially with clothes weighted down by rain.
The wraith-like man didn't react to the Korean kid's plight. His focus was on the person across from him in a whole other world.
Bubbles escaped Benji's mouth. And then... he heard something else. A weird voice that seemed to come from everywhere around him, echoing like sounds in a pool. The water creature was talking. Inside itself, with sound vibrations. It sounded like it had already been talking, in fact. The sentence picked up halfway through what could have been a much longer monologue. He sounded mildly British, and highly put off. "-- then, that's better. Really don't see why you don't just listen when i try telling you things. Even if it's impossible to speak without vocal cords. Should be faster than this, kid. Mentally speaking, of course."
Benji said nothing. He kind of needed air to say words. And talking with your head in a body of water isn't as easy as it sounds.
"Yes. So. As I was saying. Mirror man. Behind you. Danger. He's been draining the water from the bodies of victims in the rain, when puddles acted as mirrors so he could briefly interact. Hoping to drain enough energy, life force. Water. To regain cohesion and escape for good. I've been fighting him. Being made of water, however... it's a bit of an undertaking. Probably as stupid as you trying to beat me upside the head with a lead pipe and oh yes, humans need air." He cut off, ejecting Benji from his chest. The speedster took in a ragged breath, and coughed up some liquid. His head was racing, and not just from the lack of oxygen and the blood pounding in his ears. The possibilities.
He turned, to shout at the glass and all that was going on behind him, hoping he wasn't too late. He could see the damned weird guy in the mirror now, talking to the man who had told him to leave. It wasn't entirely intended to be the same exact thing the man had just told him, but-- "Get. THE HELL. OUT OF HERE!" Benji shouted, cupping hands around his mouth so it carried over the storm. Thunder crashed.
The wraith smiled. "I can help you, you know." He said. "Set you free. We don't have to be stuck in this blasted mirror world forever." Freedom was sweet. Sweet as honeyed milk. The shouting from beyond the wall between worlds was muffled by thunder and pouring rain.
The waitress, surprisingly enough, calmed down after hearing the young lady's piece in the matter. It figured. They likely had things in common, other than being waitresses and both female. Although 'girl to girl' was a bond, too. Maybe it was just that he, the obvious mutant, was worth doubting, whereas she, the young blonde girl in need of help, clearly had nothing wrong with her that impinged on her morality. When she calmed down, Elliott calmed down. That was much better.
"Yeah, okay." The waitress said. Her tone said she'd taken what Celeste said at face value. It wasn't sarcastic. No undertones. The girl even smiled at Celeste. "Let me go see about getting you a bandaid then, dear." She said.
Elliott looked to where Celeste was gesturing, nodded briefly, then had himself a sitdown. He slid into place on one side of the booth, and relaxed.
The green man ached. He had a nice bruise, and he'd been in a fight. However brief, fights require a lot of energy (both physically, and mentally). His body was flooded with the chemicals that have helped the human race persevere through countless generations of fight or flight. A delightful cocktail of adrenaline and other things. Elliott let out a little puff of breath, and stared across the table.
"Well. Coffee ought to help." He estimated about 12 cups were needed. And an aspirin.
