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 Welldrinker Cult
A shadowy group is gaining power, drawing in people who are curious, vulnerable, or malicious, and turning them into Mystics. They are recruiting people into their ranks to spread the influence of magic in the world, but for what end goal?
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.
Eisen’s move was... pretty good! Yeah! That is play of the game material. And the way he shouted fudge really cemented his place in the badass brigade. Such a shame he passed out after all of that. Someone needed to wake him up. But who?
—
Meanwhile, back at the ranch.
>> "Isn't that like, cheating? Hiding outside the bounds or whatever?" miss Juniper said.
Elliott arched his hairless eyebrows.
“What? You think I would cheat. Yes. It is. And I would. Eh.” He shrugged.
He didn’t look to see if she shrugged. He just assumed they all shrugged. Bella shrugged for sure, yeah? He thought he’d seen her out of the corner of his eye, agreeing it was better to cheat than to be dead.
They did not dwell on whether cheating was okay or not (though bella was familiar with cheating, so. Totally in her wheelhouse). Tez arrived!
Juniper did not seem on the same page as the other two. Had she received the script?
Tez seemed happy to see Juniper. Then he talked about joining the baddies and tagging them. Elliott had no idea what that was all about, but he did not like it.
“Look. I don’t want a fight but—“ In the distance, gunfire cracked. He spun to face in the direction from which it had come. Taken aback, he said “ l hope that was one of our guys kicking ass and taking names, and not one of you hunters...”
Bella sighed. “Today could be over any time now...”
—
Yes. It could. Smithers kept plodding, slowly, steadily. Taking his time. But there was a smile on his face.
"I dunno, keep your guard up and try and get a bead on him again.... what was with that crazy helmet?"
Juniper stopped, and calmed herself. Focusing on her breathing. Hyping herself up. Probably sounded a bit like ‘okay juniper! You can do this! You’re cool! You’re number one! Yeaaaah!’ The side effect of this self inspiration? She didn’t hear the follow up answer to one man’s question. Or the follow up statement.
“You fool!” Thing 1 said to thing 2. “Haven’t you ever heard of Cheshire? He goes around the city, fighting muggers n crap.”
Thing 2 gasped. “Cheshire?! Isn’t that the guy who cuts off peoples’ faces?!”
“No....” Thing 1 eyed him. “That is... someone else. Some guy in white.”
“Moon—“ He got cut off as something. Some body. Crashed into him from behind. “Ah crap!!” He shouted as he fell. As he fell, he almost fired off a wild shot into the ground. His hand closed. If those fingers had been on the trigger, he’d have released some frantic panic fire by mistake. Luckily for everyone involved, Thing 1 had exercised excellent trigger discipline. So the boat did not get shot. Nor anyone else. Then, He lost the gun. Which made him sad.
As the gun got phased right out of his grasp, a little sound escaped him. A very disappointed “a-aww.” Followed shortly by a “Aw, crap” as the gun went bye bye. Chunkified by his mysterious assailant. He still had some payments on that...
What would he say to Gary?!
Thing 2 eyed the person atop his friend. A mutant. From his vantage, it appeared as if she had grabbed the man’s gun and disintegrated it with a touch. Thing 1 was busy trying to paw at the remnants of his weapon. And the woman? She was within range. On top of his friend, sure. But he was certain she had already given away the game by showing her hand. Her power. She would not be able to stop this.
Thing 2 shot at the woman. And watched as the bullets went right through her, into his friend.
Thing 1’s focus drifted away from the remnants of his gun, like smoke floating out of a smokestack. Towards a light at the end of a long tunnel. And he thought no more.
“Oh.” Thing 2 said. For extra emphasis, he added. “Oh, shit.”
And then, someone flew out of darkness to kick him in the face. Down, he went. Cheshire landed from his flying jump kick, turned towards Juniper, and dusted himself off. He was still soggy. Which lessened the cool factor, slightly.
The helmet grinned at her manically, tongue lolling out from the jagged smile.
“Well. Guess that’s two grunts down and more grunting to go.” He noted wryly. “I missed the mission briefing. I take it these are some of the bad people Crimson samurai lady wanted us to whomp?”
Surely, more baddies would be appearing shortly. But for the moment, they had a second. The calm before the storm.
“God I hope not...” Elliott said distractedly. He was still running. The possible situations ran through his mind, too, but... he didn’t want to think too much on them or his head would explode.
Really, who joins the bad guys?
His attention waned as Juniper turned her focus to Bella. He casually overhead this exchange:
>> "... did you all purposefully theme all of this after the books? Please don't tell me Jacob only married you because of the kid you will eventually one day have. That's creepy and I didn't bring my ass-kicking boots."
“Sniff. Would you, like, drop the book thing? I really don’t get it... and we’re kind of in a thing here.”
Ouch.
Quite rightly, juniper switched her focus back to him.
“Good questions. All of em. I’d said, my plan was to run to the edge of the compound and hop the fence. But— if they catch up, I’ll fight em. As for speedo Eisen... hopefully he was speedier than that... well just have to wait and see...”
And he ran some more, hopping over roots on the ground as they started approaching forested area.
—
As for Eisen, and what he was actually doing. He was avoiding lethal buckshot like a boss. As far as avoiding a painful fall off a rooftop went... less so. He was hanging on, sure! Jacob couldn’t really get a good line of shot on him, right! But if he fell... well. That’s all she wrote.
He opened his mouth, ready to pound another insult towards the man as he fell. Adding that to the injury the guy would surely face. And— well his jaw went slack and dumb as things did not go according to plan.
Something shattered and he took several stunned steps back. Brought his gun up, to aim at the suddenly much closer man. He’d avoided most of the shrapnel from falling rock, but there was a nick on his cheek that bled red. He was mad now. And there he was...
He cursed at Eisen, and tried to aim at the kid point blank. It did not go as planned. That seemed to be a recurrent theme today.
Ugh! Argh! Why couldn’t he— shoot! And— shoot!
The kid did some slick move to kick him, and suddenly he was on the cold hard ground. SHOOT!!!!
For a moment, Jacob’s vision went dark. That had been when he had impacted the ground with the back of his head, and closed his eyes. He opened them. Then, it went red. With fury!!
That rat! What was he doing? What was he thinking? He didn’t hardly notice the gun hover situation. Or the bat babies. Just focused on the guy himself. Furious.
Mad. He was so mad. That— Bonk.
He went from mad, and seeing red, back to seeing black, and unconscious. Joy.
—
The bat babies watched the whole encounter. Gurgle laughed. Then reevaluated. Their prey now had a projectile weapon. This boded well not at all! They fluttered off to plan their next assault, and— vanished.
—
Back on the Tez front...
Tez had said something witty about blood types. Hezekiah had replied with something. It didn’t really matter what he had said. In the moment, it had been good. Possibly scathing. But Tez had probably been more interested in his massive beverage than in what the man had actually said. Which was a shame. If he’d been listening, he might’ve actually gotten a laugh out of it. Oh well!
Slurp.
When Tez actually finished his cocoa, it was a certainty he’d have to go like a racehorse. But for now.... slurp. Speaking of racehorses.
Zek, having realized he was basically alone, and cackling to himself at imagined delights... he summoned a friend. Was it a human friend? Nay.
He did some horse whisperer stuff that would have made a certain special someone at the mansion mildly impressed. Then he did some stuff that would have made her roll her eyes. That accomplished, he ‘hi ho silver’ away’ed.
It didn’t take long for him to reach the woods. He arrived shortly after Elliott and the girls. Immediately, he found the going much harder, due to roots and trees. Horses are large animals with delicate legs. Traveling at full tilt through a forest... the horse wasn’t all that thrilled with the prospect.
It let out a loud neigh.
Elliott spun, 200 feet away.
“Oh s%^#! It’s Tez. And he brought a ... a horse. Jesus Chrysler building. How gauche is he?” Or had he meant to say gaudy? Garish? Guileless? Galoshes?
Gosh!
Bella said some very unladylike things about Tez and what he could do with his horse, then self consciously glanced junipers way snd said “not literally, of course. That would be weird.”
—
Back with Eisen, he had probably made it about halfway to the forest snd the rest of the group by now. On foot, he would have been slower than Tez and that horse. Probably traveling at an angle that has kept them from running into each other. Which was good, because they both had guns.
Where was everyone, he was likely thinking. Where is the British man, the weird bat things? Anyone?
Well we will get to those questions shortly. As he was moving away from the house and towards the horse... we cut to Smithers, walking through his mansion, covered head to boots in guns and ammunition sashes and belts with compartments and pockets enough to make a grown woman weep.
He looked up, in his entrance hall. Noted the now absent chandelier. In a very posh, highly British voice, he noted “Oh motherf#^%##r.”
He continued, out the door. Noted the holes in his ceiling, and his roof. Said some more things, more coarse and salty. Saw the unconscious Jacob on the ground. Sighed.
No doubt, he was the cause of all this property damage. Well. Now he was out of the fight.
A low rumble cut through the silence of the snow-covered grounds. He looked down at the downed man, thoughtfully. Then, he smiled to himself. A thing had been decided.
“First blood,” he muttered. Looming over the fallen man. And— fade the screen to black.
Another jump cut. Oh yay!
Lesse! The main body of the party was busy with the horse and Tez. The result? Uncertain. And Eisen was separate. Working on reforming the split party. Would he succeed? Or would something happen the hit pause on that whole thing? We can save you all some trouble and answer decisively. He got stopped.
The bat babies fluttered down in front of him. One was on his right, one his left, and one dead ahead. Cutting him off. A laugh like rocks being gargled. They held up clawed hands. Clawed hands that dripped vibrant green.
“Alllll alllooone.” They trailed, in triplicate. “Neverrr splittt the party. It always ends well. For the monsters.” They licked their lips. Then, they attacked!!
Would Eisen win? Or would the monsters feast! Only time would tell. He had a shotgun, it is fun to note. And that did give him some edge. Though those claws.... what WAS up with those claws?
So he had more people in his side. Would this make it less of a hunt, or more? The thrill of the idea, of the hunt itself, surged through him.
Wonderful.
He would allow it. He would see. And if he, Smithers, grew bored... well. They would see where time took them. Because time changes all things. Of that, he was more than aware. He was Certain.
Three strange brings that spoke as one. Yes. With wings and beady little eyes, large heads, and sharp teeth.
He took inventory as he awaited the three minute mark. The end of the head start he’d oh-so-generously granted these worms. Would they run, would they join, or would they hide? There was also fight. The hidden fourth option. To fight back was always on the table, to attack him, to kill.
As of killing him were a possibility. Smithers was amused at the very notion. Oh, what fools these mortals be. To quote... something. Old Bill’s show. The one about the dream.
He nodded at the blonde girls question, and gripped his rifle firmly. “The pool is for winners,” he confirmed in the most dry of British accents. Dry enough he maybe needed a moist towelette? No. But dry enough, Fo Sho. In the modern hippity hoppity vernacular.
Ugh. Moderntalk . All one word. A word which he detested, along with all the doublespeak and idiotic slang that had replaced phrases of yore. Yore these days, even, was just a word used by yokels who did not know how to properly spell your order you’re. And don’t get him started on—
You’re right. He was getting distracted, now wasn’t he? But he felt positively ancient with his things had changed in his lifetime! A little forgiveness needed to be extended to cover up his bitter eying of the betrayal of language, itself. And if he laid it on a but thick with the hunting and the allusions regarding his views on words and their changes over time, well then! Maybe that was just another writer’s weaknesses in prose showing on through.
—
The blonde said one more thing before leaving. Something about banging one of his compatriots ex-wives. The man in question twitched, then thrust a finger her way snd shouted:
“I’d like to see you try!!!”
Ugh. Smithers sighed. He didn’t even have the remotest clue what he had said, did he?
“Are you absolutely certain,” he muttered, voice absolutely withering. “You have no desire to join them in our little hunt?”
“Huh.” Jacob responded fully, then snorted. “Chuh! Yeah right.”
Ughhhhhh. Maybe three minutes had been too long of an arbitrary allowance in headstart time? Smithers was certain he could shoot someone just then.
The triplets tittered, and clasped hands. They, at least, were enjoying this.
“And another one down, another one down, another one joins the hunt.” Smithers drawled the Freddie Mercury line, and paraphrased as Montezuma chose to join them. And pelted him with questions. Joy.
Badges? Special snacks?
“Will the blood of your enemies suffice?” He smiled coldly.
—
Elliott was good at running. His mutation... made it kind of his thing. Strong legs. Running and jumping. Kicking ass. Taking names. Okay, maybe the last of those had zilch to do with his mutation. Still... his speed made his efforts to slow his stride, in order to stay within a fair distance of the woman following him... difficult. But appreciated, by the woman herself. She gave him a nod of affirmation as she rushed to get into lockstep with him, running at Elliott’s side.
He was all about not dying himself but that did not mean he would leave anyone behind. His d ceased roommates voice echoed in his memories. That’s not what heroes do. Benji’s ghost would haunt him till he died.
—
“There. Three minutes are up.” Smithers looked to his allies. “Go hog wild.”
The triplets looked at each other. They were in agreement. They had watched as He had run off. To urinate. But had never returned.
Nod nod nod.
They shot out the window and went airborne, taking to the skies to hunt their prey! They saw people below as the climbed vertically, people running towards the woods. But none were in neon pink and yellow. None, Him. Perhaps if they went higher?
He had left from the front of the mansion. They had exited the side, by the window. It was the only thing that kept them from immediately locating their prey. As they floated up the side of the building, towards the roof, someone else stumbled out the front door.
—
He was in a dark hunting jacket now, with a shotgun and a black ear flap hat and a canvas duffel bag full of ammunition and other things slung over one shoulder. He ogled the grounds, then sniffed.
Cut back to a minute prior.
He had opted to leave through the halls, rather than a window, as would any sane mutant. He had found the brightly colored pants. He had smelled them. He had taken in the scent.
Cut to now.
Jacob turned, and glanced up. Up. Up.
The coat billowed dramatically against the backlight of the sky. “Oh son of a—!!”
Jacob reeled back several steps and took aim. Took a few seconds. Fired.
It seemed he had found the man named after a dead president first.
The thing about shotguns is, the shot spreads. So maybe he had chosen a poor target, one that was distant. He certainly got the front of the building and some chunks of roof. But Eisen?
“Shit!”
Maybe he shouldn’t have screamed before he’d shot his load. Hastily, Jacob fumbled a couple shells free of the duffel and put some more shells into the gun.
—
The triplets spun, towards the sound of the shotgun. A sound like three throats gargling pop rocks escaped them. Was that a laugh?
They hovered in place above the roof. The hunt, it was on. Slowly, like stalking tigers, they drifted in the direction from which the sound had come.
—
At the sound of the gun, Elliott glanced over his shoulder. What he saw was—
“Hi juniper,” he said breezily. “So nice of you to join us. Where’s Montezuma?”
That was her name, right? Juniper? And Monty. Tez?
—
And speaking of Tez. Rifles, shotguns, pistols, and all the ammunition he could stuff in his pockets. They had hooked him up. He even had been given a badge with a large L. It stood for Hunting Party cLub (and nothing else). Although the butler had smirked when he’d offered it to the man. What was up with that? More importantly, what was up with him?
With him, with Montezuma? With Zek? What was up with that?
And what was up with Hezekiah? After the hunt had begun, Hezekiah Smithers had strolled amiably out the door to the room. But he had not rushed to the front of the building. Not had he rushed to the side, out a hidden side entrance or something. He had simply... vanished. Which was strange, considering how nefarious and eager he had been about continuing the hunt. Almost as if...
His servant did exactly as was expected regarding anyone nosy enough to actually root through the contracts small words. Smithers was all too happy the facilitate the clothing of the man in the pink bathing suit.
He directed a servant to get a pair of hunting pants in the man’s exact size, with the polite British excuse given that in a past life, he was a tailor and knew a thing or two about inseams.
As Eisen waited, he might’ve noticed tall, dark, and brooding in the scarves glancing his way. Then again, he may not have.
Elliott was busy watching the other people in the room. What was with the guy who had the giant cup of cocoa? He hadn’t seen him bring that in. And why had that guy gotten naked?
“Ahem. Now that you have been given your pants.” Smithers said, a couple minutes later, after Eisen had put on his new clothes. “Perhaps, we can begin?”
Eisens pants were a neon hot pink with yellowish green reflective lines on them. He looked like a 90s track suit.
“I’ve taken the Liberty of bringing hunting gear out for each of, which was brought in with young Eisen’s pants.” He smiled. “It is equally bright and reflective should you wish to stand out.”
There was a pile of jackets and pants, as he had said. In links and neon greens and yellows and oranges. Not all at once, Mind, but as a selection. Elliott stayed at least ten feet back, lest it burn him. Or his retina.
“The closet in the entrance hall has gear for you. If you wish for something more plain. And there is hunting gear on the way. Should you desire to wait. Shotguns and rifles... Now then!” Smithers clapped his hands cheerfully. “Dusk is three hours away. You all have a three minute head start! As the contract said, the goal is to evade capture (or death) until nightfall, after which the real fun can begin!”
“Wait,” said Elliott. “WHAT?!”
Smithers smiled, and chuckled to himself. He swung the rifle down off his back, and checked that it was loaded. “It was all in the contract, little one. You should have read the fine print as I suggested. Nevertheless, you’ll have a three minute head start before I begin the hunt. On your mark, get set, g—“
The person in the overcoat and scarves stepped up beside Smithers and placed a hand on their shoulder. In a voice like three, in tinny tones, it said:
“The contract stated options. For the hunt, we were able to flee, hide, or join.” It shifted, and the coat fell to the floor revealing... something.
Three purple skinned demon babies with tiny bat wings, standing on top of each other’s shoulders. “Weeee would wish to joooin you.” They said. Their eyes glowed with an Eldritch light.
“Us too!” Jacob stepped forward, eagerly. He grinned at the rest of them, especially Juniper. “I’m all too happy to play a dangerous game.”
“You don’t speak for me,” a small voice piped up. Elliott turned to see Bella. “You always do this!” She said, voice gaining strength. “Talk over me. Speak over me. SHOUT, over me.”
“Those are the same things, darling. Maybe you’re not thinking this through. It always takes you a minute, just—“
“Forget you, Jacob!!” She yelled. “I’m not stoooopid! I’m not dum! I don wanna be a murderer! And—“
“Bella,” he said. Honestly sounding hurt.
“Can it, Jake! Maybe we shouldn’t have even done this. Got married. ‘M having buyers remorse.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying!”
“Besides,” she shook her head and tossed back her hair. “I’ve been doing your brother. Edward Edwards is a real man’s man! More man than YOU!” She pointed at him. He pointed back.
“You WITCH!!!”
There was a crash as the sound of breaking glass interrupted their quarrel. Cold air swept through the room. Elliott stood breathing hard by a freshly broken window. The room was down one chair. “You all need help!” He stated. Then he hopped through the window.
Smithers sighed heavily, and checked his expensive watch. “Back to business, then. You have a three minute head start. Three, two, one, go!”
Bella grabbed a bright winter jacket off the pile, turned and used it to brush the broken glass from the edges of the window frame. Then, daintily, she climbed on through after the green man. She left the jacket hanging in the frame. She did not want, or need, it.
From his perspective, he was in one place one moment, and in another the next. And all because he’d touched that jerkwads hand.
Those goddamn balls. he’d forgotten. And the ass had used them on him?! Some people have no respect. That rat bastard. Because of him, he completely missed aaaaanything red woman had said. He was a little busy, fighting for his life.
Or, at least. He thought he would be.
Because Zek’s balls were timeless, he’d lacked the time to think those thoughts “in the moment.” So, he used his plethora of time spent falling to think the thoughts. Because one really cannot fight gravity. And as the thoughts blazed, he summed them up in a single word.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuu—“
There was nothing to hold onto. Nowhere to go but down. Zek, that ^*##*# #^#}^% had thrown him clear over the harbor. He pin wheeled his arms, took a deep breath, then fell. Into the water.
Oh god it was awful. He was going to murder Zek. There was sludge, and stinky, and pollution... his jacket would be ruined. But, struggling, he made it back to the surface. He lame-ass doggie paddled to the nearest dock. He found a rope ladder, and hauled himself up. Got to the sanctity of the wooden dock planking. Dripped, and crossed his arms.
“HMPH!” His helmet may have been smiling, but him? He was not!
He stopped. Something funny was going on here. He looked up at the boat by the dock he’d climbed up onto. Made direct eye contact with a man in black lifting a crate. A man with a visible sidearm holstered at his waist. And another man, who pointed at him and shouted— twitch.
“CRAP!!!!!!”
He lobbed the fish that had found its way into his pocket all the way into thug 2’s hairy face. Effin Zek, that blue-tongued Cheeto Bandito. He was gonna make him pay.
The fish had been the funky thing, but these guys? There were pretty funky too. Soggily, he ran for the cover of a few nearby crates that had already been unloaded. And that was when the wild gunfire began.
((OOC sorry of this skips juniper. Wasn’t sure on the posting order. L can run into Elliott whenever she makes her way to the docks!))
Elliott was dreaming of the eyes emoji. 300 stories tall, and winking on the side of a skyscraper. There was also a mouth. Two disgustingly human lips. It made a chomping motion, smacked its lips, then exploded into a million million fragments of glass.
He leaped away from it all, flipping end over end in the air. He had been running up the side of the building. Dressed in a leather jacket and a yellow smiley face motorcycle helmet with a darkened visor. Why had he been running? He didn’t know. But he was falling, now.
In desperation, he reached towards a nearby building, hands outstretched. Towards a flag pole. Two pinkish tongues shit out from the hands as he drew close. 5 feet, 8 feet, 10. They caught the pole and wrapped around it. His body jerked to a halt, but he swung with the sudden change in motion and lessened the strain on his shoulders. Up, and around. He landed on top of the pole in a crouch. His yellow smiley face helmet reflected a cityscape on fire in its visor.
“My works on fire. How ‘bout yours~?” He sang wryly.
Such is the life of a hero.
In the distance, two giant monsters wrecked ^*+t. One of them was a green lizard. Modzilla. The other was a giant bear with the words pro boards painted in green on its back. Maybe he shouldn’t have watched that kaiju movie last night?
Music bled in through the walls of the stairwell. Somebody’s neighbor listening loudly to a song. The same song he’d been singing, magnified until it bounced off the walls of his dream.
How was he going to take down the legendary pro boards bear? Even as he watched, it destroyed another building. The skyscraper shattered into hundreds of words which drifted off, and were lost.
A brick. That was the thing the guy had patched onto. The brick?
“Fair.” He chimed in, stuffing hands into his pockets. A moment later, he realized he might have been mimicking the other Elliot’s movements.
He went whole hog and mimicked Elliott’s body posture and mannerisms, too. Elliott yawned. Wasn’t there something someone had said, about people tending towards trusting people more if they mimicked posture? Yeah. Probably a load of horse manure.
He hadn’t actually planned to brick his brain. Too easy to go too far. The comic book character could recover. He had special abilities that helped with that. Elliotts particular grade of nonsense did not aid in injury recovery. It only made him jump good.
Apparently Elliot had looked into things, but gotten nowhere. He should try sleeping, Elliott thought. Maybe then he wouldn’t yawn so much.
Elliott yawned. The Nyquil. Maybe it was starting to work? He’d specifically taken the drowsymaking kind.
Elliot did not think it was a person. But Elliott thought it was.
He slouched some more.
“Eh. Thank you. none taken. So. You think it’s a God? Who knows... maybe! Or maybe it’s just some sort of magic cult thing... Hah! No way that would ever happen.”
He was so funny making jokes for himself.
“Thank you for the suggestions, Elliot. I think I got this. Have a nice day.”
That said, he turned and walked away. Towards the stairs.
Elliott went about 2 flights up, turned, and sat down in the stairwell. Then he closed his eyes and slumped down.
He’d probably wave at anyone who went back upstairs. But for the moment, he focused on doing a quick awkward stair well power nap.
Just when he thought there couldn’t be more people, another arrived in a whoosh of air. God dammit.
She asked if they were here for good reasons, or trouble. And samurai said something. Elliott caught ‘not triad’ and ‘firearms’ before his attention was snatched up by the sound of plastic slapping against brick. Windy woman’s question ringing in his ears, he turned to stare at the disturbance.
As if in cue, a raving lunatic sprang from the nearby dumpster and told them all to get off his lawn or something.
“We’re here for a good time, not a long time...” Elliott sang. It was the first thing to pop into his head . Crazy person, screaming at a bunch of costumed loonies? Dumpster diving in the bad part of town. Had he found those puffs in there? That hardly seemed sanitary.
Sanitary and sanitarium sound similar. The guy was wearing the same thing as mob girl, and Elliott felt... he really felt that at least one person here would be better off in a sanitarium. Maybe it was him. But the whole world seemed crazy. So maybe not? At least Red the Ref was trying to sort it out, and had not tried to kill him, so... progress. Probably. She was growling an awful lot. Hadn’t he been the first to suggest settling down?
She stole my lines...
Well. He could live with that. And her sword being sheathed of course.
He tilted his head towards the sky, as if expecting more people. None came. Okay good. Then, he glanced to hoodie blonde girl, who was saying something. And— hey! He thought he knew her! Had dumpster guy said— June?
And yes, he knew him, too. They were... he searched his memory. The girl liked... butts. And mobster the grouch was... montezuma... no, Zek. And— had Juniper thrown the mob girls scrawny ass at Zek? Because she was up in the dumpster with him, now.
You know, there’s only so much one can see while wearing a motorcycle helmet with a tinted visor. Really limits perception. He must’ve missed the girl getting chucked, what with tens of other things going down. Or up. Or over.
And when had Zek gotten shades? Shit. Too much too fast. Was it his turn to react and be outrageous yet?
Juniper had said something, then Tiny with the flan shades. Now... yup. By his math, he was up. Quick, something something—
Had Red woman said something about ugly? Elliott said “I know a thing or two about ugly. Wait.”
Yeah. There we go. Freaking perfection!
“This isn’t my first rodeo. I bombed a triad once before. I’m in. Also—“
He took a quick running leap, and tumbled through the air over Juniper into the dumpster with Zek and the girl. As he flipped, he tried a bit of verbal acrobatics as well. I’m juniper and I like butts,” he tried to say. What actually escaped his diaphragm, and what everybody heard, was —“butttttzzzzzz.” Thump. Ding.
He stuck the landing, arms outstretched, in the dumpster next to the girl and Zek. Hey. Trying to talk and do flips n shit simultaneously is hard. This was no comic book. He was lucky he hadn’t landed on his face.
Elliott was right next to the little girl and it would be absolutely rude to ignore her when he’d just done a flip and landed a foot or so away, so he glanced at her.
“Are you functionally immortal or did you stick the landing too? Either way, nice.”
Then, he spun towards Zek! Thrust out his hand! And demanded “Zek! Chocolate! Also, how’s the horse?”
Voice muffled by the smiling alien helmet, it wasn’t a sure thing Zek would even connect the one time at manhunt camp with him. And that was exactly what he wanted. Because it would. Drive. Him. Mad. Or, you know, he’d roll with it for laughs.
There. Was that outrageous enough, people? Had he done good?
The whole Cheshire persona was all about looking ridiculous and smiling about it, so people might underestimate the man behind the mask. Kind of like how he’d thought Zek was, once upon a time. So hamming it up was just part of the act.
The blonde introduced herself, and Elliott was childishly amused. Butts, huh? Nice.
She said something to one of the honeymooners.
Bella looked at the butts girl and smiled. “Actually. I had it legally changed. My old first name was Elenor. Which is so incredibly archaic, can you imagine? It’s like, wasn’t that one of the presidents wives?” She laughed. It was a strident laugh.
Was she serious? Elliott wondered. Or else just effing with them all. The possibility was unlikely but he liked it. Two newlyweds whose entire game was to mess with people by portraying themselves as dense like pound cake, when really they were nuttier than a fruitcake and laughing to themselves.
The woman laughed some more and told Juniper she didn’t know what the smut book she was talking about was, but it sounded WONDERFUL and could she remember the name to recommend? Her husband looked in with rapt amazement.
Or maybe they’re just idiots, Elliott decided.
>> “So, you’re the honeymooning Eds. I.D.K. what you called yourself, Scarfy. Elliot the yoga dude. Junie. I guess I’ll go next, Smithy.”
Romeo stepped forward. Seemed he had a nickname for all of them. Well... his could be Romeo.
Smithers didn’t seemed to mind the alias. Sometimes rich people get touchy about their storied last names being disrespected. Something about family lines going back for generations. But he just smiled indulgently. And beckoned , ‘pray continue.’
Romeo was also part president and all telephone line fixer. “Neat,” Elliott chimed in. Mildly impressed. Seemed they both both Daredevils of sorts.
He joked about matching colors and that indulgent smile on Smithers grew a shade less indulgent. But he did not stop smiling. It was more what was behind the eyes that changed. Like a gps, recalculating. That was what the minor change in composure felt like to Elliott. Mechanical.
Then he put the ball in redcoats court.
“The British are coming,” Elliott murmured glibly.
It was then that he noticed the unicorn floaty had vanished. Strange. He wondered what had become of it. Maybe it had gotten left behind but he’d been fairly certain it had made it off the bus... he’d seen the blonde, juniper, pass it off.
Eh. His memory could have just been flawed.
The guy... didn’t immediately speak. No he was in his own little dimension.
Elliott had no idea what names bring taken meant, but he said he was montezuma. Or Tez. And he had candy.
“Okay Zuma. Thanks.” Elliott smiled, showing off a zipper like set of pearly whites.
Why had he been reminded of a show he’d once seen with a psychic detective who took things seriously very rarely? One who played the fool in order to psych people out? His girlfriend had liked it. He’d liked it too. So, he reserved judgement about this person. Because of a tv show he liked. He felt foolish doing it the whole time!
“Alright,” Smithers said, nodding. “Now that we’ve handled that, we can get on to our business. Please, come inside my home so that we can discuss the waiver, and get everyone set up best we can. I see some are already prepared. I like your initiative. Others, we can see about gearing up...”
He eyed Juniper and the other less dressed individuals. Then, grinned a wide grin.
“The hunt isn’t very entertaining if some are ill prepared. And I wish this to be great sport! Who says I’m not fair?”
“Sure,” Elliott said slowly. “Sounds fine...” In the cold, his breath puffed visibly in front of his face.
Turning, Smithers lead them inside.
The mansion was not as magnificent as they would have thought from first glance. The entry hall was modest. No huge room with marbled floors and sweeping staircases. A diamond chandelier hung above them as they stepped into the main entry hall, but that was probably the most gaudy part of it. Mostly, it was tasteful dark wood floors and wall paneling, with creme colored wallpaper.
The large picture windows on either side of the front door let in muted winter light. There was an umbrella stand by the entrance hall, but no coat rack. Coat closet, yes. A big one. Open, visible, full of more hunting jackets and fine coats than one man could possibly need, in a variety of colors and sizes and styles that went back years.
The servants who greeted them did not offer to take their coats. They did offer warm beverages from their beverage trays, though. The servants were pale-skinned, but had kind faces and real smiles that made their eyes shine. They looked slightly tired, but perhaps they merely worked hard and lived to serve. Elliott took a mug of something steaming, and warmed his hands on it. A glance inside revealed—
“Chocolate.” Elliott said. He side-eyed their resident chocolate fiend, Montezuma. “Hot.”
The main butler, a tall British gentleman with a sallow face and a nasally cadence to his voice said “But of course, sir. Though, tea or coffee are available, if you should prefer?”
Elliott sipped at his cocoa, in response.
They were lead down a side hall, and another, past several closed doors. It was straightforward, hardly confusing. It would not be too difficult to get back to the entryway when the time came. But still, he was glad for a guide. With all the closed doors and the few turns they took, he felt he might have still managed to get lost. Finally, they reached a large study.
It had bookcases on the walls, several large tables, chairs set out for them, and one big mahomes by desk with a lamp. And those little balls you send clock clacking against the selves when you’re bored. Brass ones.
“Thank you, Renfield.” Smithers said. “Please get us the papers.”
“Yes, sir.” The butler returned a minute later with several stapled sheets of paper for them to sign and read. Preferably in that order, of course. If read at all. The butler said as much, then smiled wryly at his little joke.
“Thank you, Renfield. That is all.”
The butler left. Smithers turned to address them with a welcoming smile. “Please, sir and read then sign.”
Elliott sat in one of the numerous chairs arranged in front of one of the tables. Set down his cocoa then picked up the papers. He took one look at the long contract, read the first sentence and got lost in legalese. Then, he decided he knew enough about the whole situation to just sign without reading the, what, seven pages? Small script. Full of to whom it concerns and the signer of this contract and the Hereto aforementioned... Ain’t nobody got time for that.
Ew? Well that was friendly. The guy in the aviators was no beauty pageant princess either.
He hastily apologized but the damage was already done.
Tactfully, Elliott said “Sure. It’s fine.” But really, he was speaking in code like what his girlfriend always used. And it wasn’t.
Elliotts antennae twitched twitched twitched as he watched the guy avoid looking at him. Sort of like the tail of a perturbed cat.
Elliot and Elliott. Well. Could be worse.
Guy yawned again. Sleepy. Sleepy. Sleepy. Something about that. And he had always lived there?
Ok.
The guys suggestion to just go to sleep and investigate... sort of made his skin crawl. Why? Who knew? But it made sense.
“Honestly. I was just going to knock myself unconscious somewhere like this guy in a comic I once read. Kid complains of nightmares so he hires a mercenary to investigate it for a dollar. He wants to figure out what monster is messing with the kids dreams so he does. And a dollars a dollar.”
He paused and let the story sit a second, then began again.
“Knocked himself out with a brick or something. Real comic book crap, for something licensed off a real superhero here in New York. But whatever.”
“Guy went to the realm of dreams. Morpheus’s domain. The sandman. Not the Neil Gaiman one. And he thought that master of nightmares was the monster. Long story, short? The Sandman wasn’t the one responsible for the kids bad dreams... it was the kids’ next door neighbor. The creep. Which just goes to show... sometimes the real monster isn’t always what we think first. Oh,” he caught himself before THAT ominous but of messaging could sink in. “I also read one with mold ghost nightmare demons and a haunted lab experiment!”
“Some guy got injected with psychotropic brain mold that kept growing after he died. Because the mad scientist killed him for some reason and stuffed him under the floor. So the mold released psychic spores that invaded people’s dreams snd made them insane. As a sort of psychic call for help. From beyond the grave. Do you think it could be that?”
Elliott sure as hell didn’t. That was just trippy cover up for the first one in case something weird about it resonated with sleepy and put him off.
He stood patently, smiling enthusiastically at his namesake. Elliot and Elliott, haha! That was kind of funny. He really needed to chill with the paranoia. Guy was probably just some nice kid trying to be helpful. Years of being involved in organized crime just got in your head and set up shop. Kind of like the brain mold.
Weird.
((OOC those are real comics. 2019 Deadpool, and the Ellis moon knight run.))
Posted by Elliott on Jan 3, 2021 18:26:46 GMT -6
Juniper likes this
Beta Mutant
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Nov 7, 2023 13:20:52 GMT -6
Mugen
Years ago, Elliott had picked a fight with the Triad. Or maybe it had been the Yakuza? He had tried to blow up their headquarters. Well. The place they met. Look. It might have been their headquarters. He had been young and stupid. Part of an evil organization he wished he could just sweep under the carpet and forget.
He had ultimately tried to organize chaos. Tried to leash the unleashable, in order to focus them on doing good. Because what is more chaotic than a group of bad guys taking out bad guys and helping out the little guy? Well. He had unleashed them alright. All over a warehouse floor. It had been messy. And had nothing to do with this situation other than the fact he had thought of it when he’d heard something about the triad while investigating some recent crimes in the area. Bit of an embarrassing background. To remind people he wasn’t always a really cool guy. And didn’t always succeed when he tried to be helpful.
He’d never really had anything happen due to the Triad situation. Other than fighting a bunch of ninja with a guy who could walk on ceilings, back before he had been capable of walking on ceilings. If only Max could have seen him now. Striding down the side of a building to investigate something funky.
He hadn’t really gotten most of the crumbs others may have followed to lead him to the triad. He’d heard tell of some group calling themselves a triad something. He’d noted maybe some people trying to consolidate something. Power. The crimes he’d been following at the time may or may not have been connected. Look. We already established Elliott was not the best at the things he attempted to do most of the time. He tried o hard! But he was not a detective. So how had he tracked people down to a big meet up event? Good. Question.
Elliott had. Followed. People. Who had followed the breadcrumbs. And mostly he’d gotten some dumb luck.
Someone had centuries of hunting someone under their belt. But they apparently did not have centuries of blending in.
Red armor. Very obvious. Very gripping. Demonic face mask. Very scary. Very intimidating. And a katana. A freaking samurai sword. Very... intimate? Elliott didn’t know. All he knew was that he’d caught sight her someone in red armor with a demonic face plate heading cautiously in the direction of the docks. The direction one of the few crumbs he’d actually found had pointed him to. And she. Looked. AWESOME! Also shifty, scary, intimidating, and suspicious as F. He had followed HER.
Clearly, a scary samurai swords person would know where the big booty B*%*%es be at, to use a phrase that nobody uses anymore. Don’t judge, please. He was a little put off by the sheer terror of stalking someone in a mask.
For comparison, his costume had no sword or mask. He wore blue jeans, and an intricate set of armored shin guards that covered parts of his feet to maintain warmth, while exposing other parts to allow him to grip the walls. One could see green skin under the Kevlar plating and black, if they looked hard. Ultimately, it looked like really crappy geta with soccer grade shin guards. Geta missing the soles. He wore a black shirt and a black leather jacket and black fingerless gloves, that left the fingertips of his green three-fingered hands exposed. And he wore a black helmet with a sneering alien mouth with a jagged toothsome smile and a dangling long tongue painted on it. Dark-tinted visor, painted like white alien eyes. Slits for nose. Something terrifying, this way, come. He had not worn this helmet for a while. Usually, he wore a green alien face helmet with a macabre smile. But it was mainly black and he wore black and he wanted to blend in. So. So there.
He followed the red armored woman, hoping to see something of note. He did.
She drew a blade on a little girl dressed in a mobster outfit. Yeah. She was scary. The red woman. Not the young woman. He watched the whole scene from his perch about thirty feet above them, crouching on the alley wall. So he was in a good location to see the young woman draw her weapons.
Guns. The young woman had guns. Elliott reevaluated. Maybe the young woman was actually just a very short person. A little person, if he were being politically correct. Right? The alley was kind of dark, so... she could have been anywhere from a little person to a very short person. He reserved judgement until he knew more. Though he did arch a hairless eyebrow beneath the helmet.
There was also another person next to the young woman. In a hoodie and sweats? Huh? Man this alley was beginning to grow crowded.
He watched the hoodie woman drag the monster kinder with the blonde hair up, bodily. And tilted his head. Which, crouched at the angle he was at, stationed on the wall he was on, put his head at a normal angle parallel to the ground.
This looked to be getting sticky. Well. Best he could do to break up a nasty situation was paint a target on himself to draw attention away from the two haphazardly dressed people, onto himself, an even more haphazardly dressed vigilante. And draw the attention of the potentially murderous red armored person. Wow. Those were some long drawn out sentences.
He decided to make the mental narrative easy from here on out.
Elliott, AKA, Cheshire, started walking down the wall. He walked completely upright, body straight and parallel to the ground. It took some core strength, but he had trained for just such an occasion! As he walked, Elliott spoke amiably. Casually. Using his careless tone to oversell his charm and courage. His charm and courage, which had retreated somewhere up inside his navel at some point during the little altercation downstairs.
“Heyyyy Red. Easy there. Easy.” Elliott said, strolling down the wall. “Take it easy. No need to hurt them. What’s with the drama anyways? Been following you for, what, twenty minutes? Half an hour? You seem on... edge.”
He landed on the floor of the alley, about 10-15 feet behind her on the word ‘edge.’ And purposefully did not stare nervously at the finely honed killing weapon in her hands.
“Where’s the fire?” He added. “To get you this jumpy. Almost as if you were worried you were being followed. Gee I hope you’re one of the nice vigilantes or this whole bit of banter I’ve got going on will go down like the Hindenburg and boy won’t my big dumb smile make me look stupid?”
He prepared himself to jump away if she so much as moved funny. Jump away, and back onto the wall.
The blonde girl with the pool toys hadn’t even heard of stephen king. But she had heard of inflatable unicorns. Thwap! Elliott felt bad for the person who’d been smacked in the face.
He wasn’t sure what to feel about the guy in reflective clothing. The one who heavy-handededly hit on the blonde. Oh you sweet summer child. Had he once been that awkward? Yeah. Probably. And probably worse. And the guy threw the invitation out the the whole class.
Elliott almost wanted to half heartedly tease the guy, something about whatever floats your boat, big guy. But he didn’t want to be mean. That seemed mean. Kenzi would have told him he were being mean. And she was such a good jomminy crockett.
He didn’t get the chance to risk it. The bus pulled to a stop and the driver told them to all get off. Politely. Except to one uniquely dressed gentleman who had somehow managed to get on the sweet old man’s bad side.
Wow. That last part had really breezed by.
He stood around, waiting. “So. Pool party will be fun.” He rubbernecked. Talking to the blonde and the guy in reflective gear. Sort of giving the trench coat man a wide berth. “This hunting thing, though... kind of lame they want us doing that first. Would much rather it be... the other way, right?”
The bus drove away with a whirrrrrr. Leaving them in front of the mansion, stranded. In the cold. Nobody had come out to see them. Not yet. But surely, they would. He’d give it a minute—
— exactly two minutes later—
A middle aged man with silver at his temples and dark hair stepped briskly out. Locked his arms behind his back. He was dressed in the same vein as reflective man. Hunting gear, through and through. He even had a large rifle strapped to his back.
“Greetings,” he said. He had a British accent. Why do they always have British accents and why does it never bode well? “I welcome you all to my mansion. I am Hezekiah Smithers. Please, in a circle introduce yourselves? And give us something interesting about yourself too! I like to know a little something of who I invite to the hunt.”
He smiled genially.
The married couple were first. “I’m Jacob Edwards.” The man said.
The woman chimed in. “I’m Bella Edwards!”
Elliott did not make any jokes. Oy vey.
“And this!” Jacob said.
“Is our honeymoon!” Bella added.
“Also, I’m an investment banker. And she buys and sells houses. If you wanted anything extra.” He added, since he likely got the feeling their cutesy introduction had not been enough.
Elliott didn’t catch the super leather man’s name. Mostly because it was said in a quick mumble. And more so because the guy had worn a large scarf that sort of covered his face and muffled his words. He was tall. Almost three toddlers stacked on their shoulders tall. Which certainly had no relevance to any foreshadowing or anything.
Smithers said “That truly is a fascinating thing you’ve told us.”
Elliott stepped forward. “My name is Elliott Thomas,” he shrugged. “I like martial arts. Or, the gentle art of folding clothes while people are still in them. Also known as involuntary yoga.” He smiled at the other people in the crowd.
That left the other three to introduce themselves. What would they say?
The flyer had been for a pool party. In December. Which was odd. But get this, the person hosting it had a heated pool. And sauna. And hot tubs. Kind of neat. They must’ve been rich. Like super rich. Location was an estate in upstate New York. A real compound. The only requirement was that partygoers had to contractually agree to go hunting with the owner first. Sign a waiver. That sort of thing. Elliott supposed the person was just lonely or something. Had all the money in the world, but no friends to spend it on. So he bought friends.
Weird. But okay.
Elliott tried to get his girlfriend to go with him, but she was busy. And she felt like he probably should have been busy too, but he told her the art wasn’t flowing and he was bored. And this might just be interesting And unique enough to get those creative juices flowing. Did he know how to hunt? No! But how hard was it to fake being terrible? Kenzi seemed skeptical but whatever.
—
He arrived at the gates of the compound on time. Mainly because they’d offered a shuttle. Which might have been a bad sign. Some universal foreshadowing that maybe, just maybe, this has been a bad idea. What with the multiple people on the bus and the fact they brought them all on property in one big buzzed in group. But then hey, maybe it had been to cut down on the lost folks or the party crushers or the buzz killers who would partake then leave early.
He’d dressed warm, with a swim bag on his back compete with towels and suit. Fleece jacket, ear flap hat, lotta flannel. Jeans and shoes with wool socks.
The compound was heavily forested. No other compounds nearby: and the woods would eat party sounds. Give them loads of privacy. Compound itself was a massive forested area surrounded by fence. Everything was covered in snow. The drive to the main building took fifteen to twenty minutes from the metal gates. On the way, Elliott saw a few outside buildings. Little hunting shacks where people could go and get stuff. Like food or ammo? He didn’t pay too much attention to everything on his way in. Just people watched.
Lot of people. Beyond himself, there were probably six other people on the bus. Plus the driver. There was a married couple. Someone wearing a lot of leather. And others... he tried talking to some of them.
“So. This seems fun.” He said. “Anyone else getting sudden Stephen King vibes?”
Elliott glanced towards the person curiously. And listened as they took the picture and spoke.
The way he spoke, the way he held the picture... something was off about it. More so than how a usual person would be off.
He spoke as if he had close knowledge of the kid in question. And if they lived in the same building, maybe they would. Placed the picture back on the wall. Guy closed his eyes, and— they just stayed that way for a little bit. Like he was tired. Barely hanging on.
Guy asked who he was. Elliott shrugged. “Investigating, I guess.”
Not a lie. Suspicious, sure. But so was a lie.
He wasn’t really in a position that merited a motorcycle helmet or a disguise. Nothing he was doing at that moment required hiding from the law. So, he took off his helmet and held it in the crook of one arm.
Underneath the helmet, his was a green-skinned alien-looking man with red eyes and antennae on his scalp. Totally bald. Hairless. Not even eyebrows.
“My girlfriend thought there had to be more to the story than what the horrorsites post. So I figured I’d do a little digging.” He said.
Really, he’d been considering knocking himself unconscious in order to see what interfered with his dreams. But that seemed so... vague and liable to fail.
“My name is Elliott. You sound like you’re familiar with the guiding. What’s your name?” Elliott asked.