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.
Zinnia had apparently been studying too hard (according to her housemates). They hadn’t seen her dating anyone in months (because she hadn’t found anyone interesting enough to bother with). She needed to get out more (apparently). Take more risks (or so they said). It was for this reason they had signed her up for a speed dating night. Put money on it even, and by that they meant they had bought her a ticket.
She fidgeted in the cab the whole way there, smoothing her purple dress spattered with large white butterflies. Her shoes were too daft to walk in for a prolonged period, and she didn’t want to be late. For something that was more or less forced on her, she was partly looking forward to it. She had been having some trouble nailing down her type. And what better way than getting a cross-section of a bunch of available males. A heterosexual partnership would be easy. A homosapien heterosexual partnership easier still. No need to try and juggle mutations, a high chance any future babies would be x-gene free and no judgements from random passers-by. Yes, if she could just find someone she was interested in, that would be ideal.
She had had boyfriends before, a couple of girlfriends too, but none of them had really stuck. She had liked them well enough, enjoyed her time with them. But they just hadn’t meshed well enough to be ‘serious’. Was she ready to be serious?
The taxi arrived and she paid and tipped the driver. She paid careful attention to the gutter and the footpath before she exited. Falling on her face and skinning her knees was not an option. Her heels clip-clopped on the pavement with purpose. She was going to do this thing.
After the instructions had been given Zinn moved to the closest available man’s table. At first glance he was reasonably good looking, on second he was a little gangly. He smiled nicely, though, and Zinn smiled back and started on the napkin questions to get herself rolling. She tried not to ‘umm’ too much, and he laughed pleasantly whenever she did. Nice guy. Not her type.
Bzzt.
Sweaty guy (well dressed) was up next, and she dipped her head and introduced herself. He was pretty blunt, she was good looking, but his parents would kill him if he brought home anyone less than napkin-white. Well, that was awkward. The two minutes seemed to drag at this table, and when the buzzer sounded she was grateful to move on. She didn’t even consider leaving her number, and he didn’t offer his.
The next table was occupied by a man with very pink hair. Not her type either, yet she felt like she knew him from somewhere. She introduced herself as Zinnia, with a smile, and tried to place the face. Had she stitched him up some time? Served by him in a café she frequented? Perhaps he had given a bystander’s viewpoint on the news? Ah, picturing him on the TV did the trick, and she had a flashback to a night filled with popcorn and alcohol and movies. He was from the Dusk movies, the girliest girlie movies ever.
“Before the first question- can I take a selfie with you? My housemates will lose their minds.”
Good payback for them sending her on this stupid trip in the first place, her meeting their swoon-maker.
"Sure. Thanks for asking first, you'd be surprised how often that doesn't happen."
Well. Rude people were rude.
She snapped the photo and tucked her phone into her clutch. She wouldn’t waste the two minutes trying to send a group text, she would save that for intermission, if they had intermission, or for the time swapping between tables. Besides, she should give it enough time for him to escape afterwards unbeset by her housemates coming and fangirling all over him, offering themselves as the perfect girlfriends. He could probably have gone on some celebrity dating show and been treated like that, a piece of meat to be haggled over with promises of footrubs and the like. He had chosen to do this quietly, without a song and dance, which meant that her housemates were almost certainly terrible matches for him. On to the first question.
“So, where are you from?”
She was sure she remembered something vague about ‘accents’ and ‘foregin guys being so hot’ from the movie night, but his accent wasn’t that strong, as far as she could tell. He sounded a little like her dad, just a little, could be British? South African maybe.
“I was born here, my Dad is British, but my Mum lived here all her life and now so have I.”
He commented on her accent and she glanced down at the napkin. She was New Yorker, walked like a New Yorker, talked like a New Yorker. Occasionally she would pop out a British-ism, but on the whole she was rather vanilla like that, living in the same city she was born in her whole life.
“I’m guessing whoever wrote these questions didn’t know they’d have a movie star in their mix, so let’s skip ‘what movie role would you like to play?’, and go straight to ‘What is your favourite movie?’, if you say your own I’m obliged to punch you, just so you know.”
Not that she would. He was a pretty big dude. Not the biggest person she had seen lately, but the biggest in skin. Was that a weird thing to think?
"Damn that's a hard one. I'm going to have to say 'Guardians of the Galaxy'. Heck of a blend of comedy, action, and sci-fi. Artistically 'Lord of the Rings' is pretty brilliant, great score, stellar acting, perfectly shot. Off the top of my head those are my picks, what're yours?"
Ah yes, Guardians was much more up her alley than Dusk had been. Lord of the Rings was alright, but she had never made it through the extended editions, she always fell asleep.
“Guardians had definite space-explosion appeal, I’ll give it that. I like the newer Disney Princess movies, yay black princess!”
She gave a mini fistbump to the air. It had been a sad moment in her childhood when she had gone to a birthday party dressed as Cinderella and been told she was too brown to be her. She was glad that had now been rectified for future generations.
“Ok, last question- why are you here tonight? I’ll go first – my housemates think I’m a sad sap who can’t get a date for herself, and needs to be set up with a total stranger that she met for 2mins.” Wry grin. “You?”
Maya must have been his friend, equally as tricksy as her housemates. She couldn’t see the woman through the dimness, but she believed him. An open mind was a peculiar promise to be making, and the ghost of a memory of the girls sighing about him being gay flickered in her mind. Perhaps he too was trying to figure out his type.
Despite not being a person whose bones she immediately wanted to jump he seemed interesting enough to be a friend candidate, she jotted down her full name. If he added her on BookFace there were a bunch of pictures of her housemates which he could browse if he found no one that suited him tonight. She felt no qualms about treating her housemates like pieces of meat in this way. They would be thrilled that they even had a glimmer of a chance.
“You should add me, I think we’d be friends.”
That was all that was expected at these things – right? Make some acquaintances, go on a few real dates to figure out if you really liked them. Surely nobody was expecting to go home with someone tonight…
"Will do. Nice to meet you Zinnia, catch you round."
“Nice to meet you too.” And she was telling the truth.
The ten second buzzer sounded and she took the opportunity to send the selfie with a bunch of emojiis to really rub it in their faces.
The person standing behind her had a permit. Her brain moved fast, ticking away at what type of mutation he could possibly have that required a permit. Her body was slower to catch on to the fact that there was a person behind her and slammed into his as her brain helpfully supplied a myriad of terrifying options. Shotgun hands? Exotic animal generator? Street-vendor powers? None of these things were things she wanted to be slamming bodily into. Much less knocking to the ground and spilling hot coffee all over.
“Sorry,sorry,sorry. My bad.”
The giant robot bearing down on them through the crowd was momentarily forgotten as she frantically dabbed at the widening stain on the man’s shirt with the solitary napkin she had. The napkin was soaked in an instant and her eyes fell on the gun at his hip. Oh. Probably what the permit was for. Probably don’t want to knock someone over and spill coffee on them when they’re carrying a gun! Not least of all because that was not a tool you really want soaked with a hot, (and in this case) sweet, liquid. It didn’t look like she had got any on the gun itself though, mostly on his jacket, but then again, the metal and the leather holding it tight against him were very dark.
“Remain calm. I will detain you. Remain where you are and prepare to be subdued.”
She didn’t want to be subdued. She had seen the shock-cuffs on the news. Specially designed to zap mutants trying to use their powers while restrained. She couldn’t turn hers off, she needed to breathe. She didn’t want to get zapped!
“Turn it off! Stand it down! Something!” She struggled to her feet from the tangle of coffeestained gent and her own (slightly skinned) limbs. The police officer seemed to be trying, shouting something into his shoulder-radio and frantically pressing buttons on a remote. The robot seemed to take that as encouragement.
“Mutants hostile, armed, mutations active. Permission to use lethal force? Granted.”
It could give itself permission?! Well, that was just a poor design choice, asking for trouble. Zinn felt like there was a massive delay between the moment she decided to sprint, and when her legs started moving. In realtime it was just enough time for her to squeak “run!”
Posted by Zinnia on Oct 17, 2015 21:23:20 GMT -6
Jiri O'Leary likes this
The Syndicate
Soldier of The Syndicate
179
29
Jun 20, 2020 5:09:16 GMT -6
It was a pleasant enough day. There was a chill in the air, but she had a scarf, and a hot coffee. She had left the nursing home behind and was headed home. Nothing more than a nap and a good book planned for the afternoon. She sipped her coffee and navigated the bustle of people on the street. It was New York, there was always a bustle of people on the street.
Today there seemed to be an excessive bustle though, the closer she got to the police station. Perhaps there had been a shoot-up. Or the team had nabbed a high-profile rabble-rouser. Either way, it seemed like people were in equal measures heading to and from that street, so there couldn't have been anything dangerous going on at that particular moment. Plus, there would have been more sirens.
She turned the corner and was surprised to lay eyes on a slightly raised stage with a massive robot atop it. She had heard about the METAs on the news, but hadn't expected to see one in person so soon. A banner hung above the stage, ruffling in the slight breeze. “Meet and greet a META” it proclaimed, and as she drew closer she realised there were people going on to the stage to touch and admire the robot, and talk to the police officer standing near it.
She was fixed in place, just watching, when the robot seemed to look straight at her.
“Mutant detected. 75% certainty.”
She felt a little uncomfortable, and a few people in the crowd chuckled, but it was just showing off really, just doing its job. She shrugged her shoulders inside her light jacket and lifted the cup to her mouth to take a sip of the coffee. It was right.
“Mutation active. Mutant armed. Stand down mutant. Intercepting to arrest. Do not resist.”
Wait, what?
The robot drove itself off the platform, coming straight towards her. The human officers were reaching for their belts. She did the only sensible thing a person in her position could do, she turned and bolted. Her mutation was active, she could feel that the air puffing from her lungs was oxygen. But it wasn't an offensive power. She wasn't armed.
The woman indeed indicated an Earth location as her point of origin and Zinn dipped her head in understanding, New York was similar to all large cities more or less, but it was said to be scenic. It’s why there were always tourists flitting about. Personally, having lived there all her life, Zinn didn’t really see the appeal of the city as a tourist attraction. It was just a city, after all and as her friend noted, all big cities seem the same.
She was getting the hang of Jacquelyn’s accent (speech impediment?), the more she said the more Zinn understood. It was a little tricky with no lip-reading to smooth the process, but from what she had seen in the bathroom, Jac didn’t have any lips. Which was a peculiar thought. She couldn’t verify up close, though, because now she was wearing a mask over her mouth. Hopefully out of modesty for the aforementioned lack of lips, than for anything contagious. Surely if she had something catching she wouldn’t be swimming in a public pool.
The crunchie mutant held up her hands to illustrate her point, and Zinn got a good, albeit quick, look at her hands. Fascinating. They looked a little less armoured than the rest of her body, but still tough. Zinn’s brothers owned an assortment of scaley pets, and this was the feeling Zinn assumed Jac’s skin would have. The inside of her hands looked like it would be strong and smooth, something like a snake, where you can feel all the muscle coiled up beneath the scales. The backs of her fingers (digits? Was one of those a thumb? Yes, a thumb.) seemed to be more armoured, like the rest of her, and Zinn was reminded of the shingle-lizard one of the school friends of the young ones had brought over, it’s scales had been hard and generally it felt like an unopened pinecone. That is what, by looking, Zinn decided that Jac felt like. She had already walked the line of social appropriateness by asking her to coffee in the bathroom, she wasn’t now going to turn the line into a dot by being grabby and touching her new friend’s skin. That was definitely weird.
The phone was set on the table and Zinn spared it a glance, she was not against phones on coffee dates, as long as the person she was with wasn’t scrolling through updating their social networks instead of chatting to the real, live person that was occupying the table with them. Jac indicated that this was her translator and Zinn shrugged, she didn’t mind deducting the meaning behind her new friend’s sentences, but had no problem with using the phone either.
“Whatever is easier for you.”
It sounded like there was a lot of effort being put in to make the words understandable, like a person with a stutter, desperately trying to communicate over their impediment. If it was easier to talk through the phone, and practicing wouldn’t make speech easier in the long run, why bother making such an effort for what should be an effortless chat.
“I’m a New Yorker, born but not bred, my Dad is from Britain.” Somewhere near London, but it wasn’t so important. “So if I’m using weird words, I blame him.”
She grinned, it was easier to blame someone else for her turns of phrase, especially when they made people cock their heads in lack of understanding. It happened less now that she was no longer living at home. But still the occasional ‘crisps’ would slip out.
She made an effort not to jump straight into the personal, mutation-related questions. Because it would be impolite. Instead she decided to opt for a far safer, more vanilla question.
“Have you been swimming long?”
Most people she knew that swam dabbled, a few laps here and there when they felt the iiggle on their middle, but mostly more like ‘hang out in our swimmers and chat’. Jac seemed like someone who had a lap target, went, swam them, then went home. A swimmer with purpose. A lane swimmer, not a free area splasher.
Zinn was staring at the page, not taking in any information. She had read this chapter already. Mostly she was thinking about whether she should have invited a total stranger to have coffee with her. They were in a public space, and Zinn had invited her, not the other way around. Still she felt just a tickle of stranger danger. Also excitement. This was the mutantest mutant she had ever seen. Perhaps X-genes came in different strengths, hers while useful a mild ‘case’. If her gene was stronger might she have gills? Lungs on the outside? Who knew?
It was these thoughts that distracted her from the entrance of her new acquaintance. There were a few subtle nudges about the café, but nothing outward, nothing said. These were good people, for the most part. Jacquelyn deposited her duffle and Zinn smiled up at her and closed her book. No more vascular system today.
“I’ll go… uh, get sun-t’ting. You want… mmm… any-t’ing?”
Zinn glanced at her empty iced coffee glass and nodded. It was a warm atmosphere in here, and iced coffee season would soon be well and truly over. Plus, she had a free coffee on her card, couldn’t let that go to waste! (Couldn’t let her new friend pay for her either, seeing as how she had invited her after all). She dug in her pocket and pulled out the little piece of cardboard with holes the shape of coffee mugs punched in it.
“If you point at me when you order they’ll know what to make.”
Perhaps she spent a little too much time here. And a little too much on coffee.
As she passed the card she noticed the hands of her large friend. They were fascinating, nothing like any hands she had seen before, and again she was astounded at the lack of mutant-related medical research. If Jacquelyn had had an accident and arrived with an amputated finger, would they even be able to re-attach it? Could sutures pierce her… crunchieness?
A small part of her brain hoped that her mutation didn’t include any mind-reading. Because that was a little bit of a freaky and morbid thing to think about someone you had just met. But the questions swirled around her brain, some not so bad- what blood type could she be? How would her ‘skin’ react to weight gain or loss. Some a little odd – could she get a rash with skin like that? Did she lay eggs?
She kept silent until her new friend had returned. The wait staff would bring the coffees to them if they were at their table. Or pass them over the counter if she waited until they were finished before returning. Either way, her conversation starter was the same.
“So, where are you from?”
She meant what area of the city. She was pretty sure she would have heard about it if aliens had landed. Pretty sure.
The rainbow-crunchie-lady, Jacquelyn, seemed hesitant, and Zinn realised she might have been coming across a little too strong. Was it weird to invite someone to coffee in a bathroom? When you’ve never seen them before and then immediately seen them naked (even if you didn’t actually see anything)?
It was kinda weird.
Jacquelyn pointed out her unfinished (unstarted!) workout, and Zinn was about to back out, retract her offer, apologise for being weird. While she was trying to think of the right phrasing for ‘I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable in the bathroom’ though the larger mutant offered an alternative, a rescheduling. An hour was cool, she had her textbook in her locker and was supposed to be studying anyway.
“Sounds good. There’s a coffee shop just around the corner The Roasted Bean, do you know it?”
It was close enough to the gym that it was her regular stop, but far enough that she hardly ever saw any other gym-goers frequenting it. Plus it had an excellent iced coffee, sweet but not too creamy. It was mostly frequented by young people. Open-minded conversations were far more interesting to tune into randomly than the general coffee-shop-nonsense touted by the oldies. Added bonus – no babies. Zinn liked kids, and babies too, but they made it hard to concentrate. With their goo-ing and gah-ing and tiny little fingers and toes. Definitely better to not have them around while reading about all the things that could go wrong for them during birth.
“I might see you there.”
It was equally as non-committal, and more importantly non-pressury. She would be there, but Jacquelyn might not feel like coming after her workout- therefore, maybe she would see her, maybe she wouldn’t. The Roasted Bean was also far enough from the gym that you couldn’t see it, so if the rainbow mutant wanted to escape un-coffeed she could do so unwitnessed.
Zinn scooped the contents of her locker out and swung her bag over her shoulder. Study-time. On her way out she made a complaint to the front desk about the gymbos. They noted it, but didn’t make her fill in any paperwork. Sweet. Onwards! To iced coffee goodness and an hour of studying/wondering if Jacquelyn would show up.
Zinnia’s head popped through her T-shirt just in time to make eye contact with the head that was poking above the stall. Wow, she was really tall. And apparently frequently bullied for her appearance. Unfortunately this didn’t come as that much of a surprise. She often saw the nasty end of fights based on differences, be it religion, race or x-gene, when she was stitching the fighters up.
Just because something happened often didn’t mean that it was ok. Being told the same hurtful thing over and over could still hurt the hundredth time. The mutant thanked her and returned to scrubbing. Her accent was interesting, Zinn couldn’t place it. Perhaps English was her second language, perhaps her vocal cords were too busy being in a body of awesomeness to slide words out smoothly. Zinn was so focused on her inner thoughts that she let the thanks hang just a little too long. Thankyous are like comebacks, or pun battles, you sort of have to respond in three seconds or it just feels weird. Zinnia didn’t mind weird.
“No problem. Muties need to stick up for each other.”
Even if they didn’t know the person they were sticking up for. Or that they were a mutant.
“Actually, if they’re not putting themselves in danger everyone should stick up for each other. Bullying is bad.” And mean. And thankfully not something she had had to deal with much with herself as the target, but she knew others had it much harder, her younger brothers included.
“My name is Zinnia.” Beat for reply of her name, push on if no response. “Would you like to get a coffee after?”
After her swim, after her shower, whatever, Zinn had a whole day off. Well, off in the way that is she had studying to do, but this was a much more fascinating scenario than anything in the textbook. She had questions, only some of them medical.
She would also understand if the woman just wanted to be left alone. The needle could swing too far the opposite way to loathing, and fascination could be just as hurtful. Be cool Zinn, be cool. She dried first one foot, putting on sock then trainer before placing it on the damp floor then the other. Super cool.
The woman looked something like a crab, something like a beetle, and she was totally awesome. Zinn did her best not to stare, but she was Just. So. Shiny. Something childlike wanted to grab her, and rotate her under the light to see if she changed colours like a beetle, or duck feathers. Something adultlike told her it was inappropriate to grab people in a bathroom. Whilst clad only in towel to the power of 2.
She was staring. And her mouth was open. Smooth.
She snapped it shut as the shiny lady unashamedly swapped boxers for swimmers. Yep, there would definitely be no proving today. The NoisyLady, for once, was silent, it was her lacky that made a long vowel sound. It was either ‘e’, or ‘u’. Difficult to tell. The eyes that turned on the duo were purple (Purple!), and filled with something like loathing. Or something like cuddles, who could tell with eyes so different to the norm? Zinn guessed loathing. That was the emotion she personally felt towards them.
“Excuse 'e,”
The massively tall woman sidled past Zinnia and made no apparent effort to avoid the gymbos. They did their best to skitter aside, but it was a narrow passway and there were two of them, and she was huge. The vowel changed pitch to somewhat higher and morphed into words.
“It’s crunchy!”
The pair, deciding that there was distinctly too much weirdness snatched their bags from their lockers and disappeared into the adjacent restroom, which had a door. Probably so they could rant and squirm and make overdramatic shuddering motions without retribution. Or to put on their stuff and get out. Either way was fine by her.
It was at this point that she noticed the other woman in the changeroom, silently tying her laces with a distinct look of this is too weird on her face. She made eye contact with Zinn.
“Yer drippin’.”
So she was. And her neatly arranged clothes were in the shower cubical next to the one with antennae poking over the top. She gave a hurried towelling and struggled into her sweatpants. Damp skin and grippy cloth made this much harder than it needed to be. She briefly envied the crunchy one her smooth swish into the swimmers. But then again, it would be super hard to be a visible mutant. Having non-visible mutation meant she mostly went unpestered by small minds such as the ones in the restroom. “Are you alright? People suck.”
Crunchy seemed tough, but sometimes tough on the outside meant soft and vulnerable on the inside. Where the feelings are. She wished she had been reviewing mental health that week, and not snakebites.
Swimming was always a peaceful, meditative activity for Zinnia. The changing rooms afterwards, not so much. She was in the shower, rinsing away the strong scent of chlorine when NoisyLady started talking. It was impossible to tell without a visual if she was talking to a person or on the phone. Either way there were far too many “and then I was like… and then he was like…”s for the other person to be getting much of a say.
Zinnia lathered with a cinnamon and cloves bodywash. It was unapologetically targeted at women of her colour, on the verge of being racist, but it smelled so good she just couldn’t resist.
Scrub scrub
“…And then I was like, ‘well, if you didn’t want him to park his car in another garage then you should have been focussing on your glutes not your career...’”
Ugh, Gymbos. Like Bimbos, but with more kale and crossfit.
“Then she was like ‘you should know better than to sleep with a married man’ and I was like ‘beeeeach, I’m not the one who’s married, he should know better’, y’know?”
The murmered agreement made her more confident that there was another person, and this was not a phonecall. Zinn rolled her eyes and rinsed off. She was wrapping a towel around her hair, another already around her body, when the fussing started. And the giggling.
“This is the ladies room. You can’t be in here. GuyFreak.”
Now, bullying was something she simply couldn’t abide. Everyone deserved to use the bathroom in peace, and she was sick and tired of people making it their business to give trans people a hard time. She huffed out of the cubicle, showershoes slapping on the floor dissaprovingly. From where she was standing she couldn’t see the woman the Gymbos were mocking, but in her mind’s eye she had a clear image of someone just months into their transition. God she hoped they were wearing pants, otherwise her whole argument would be invalid.
“Can you see my bits?!” The gymbos looked at her, startled. “Can I see your bits?! No? Well, since no one can see any bits, who are you to say she’s not a girl? Sod off and take a STI test you grot.”
She seemed to channel her British dad when it came to scolding and insults.
She caught sight of the object of the bullying now, past gymbo 2. Ah. Well, it would seem the problem wasn’t that she was trans. Just that she was a hugemongous mutant, with two sets of arms. Still… no reason to call her a GuyFreak, even if she was taller than any lady Zinn had ever seen.
((OOC: Sorry guys, didn’t realise we were waiting for META to hit the scene, but of course it makes sense >.>)) ((Zinnia has left the thread to escort Ty home, this post is all META))
ATS00053 and his copanions were the first badges on the scene. There was a knight on the way too, but there had been come difficulty loading it into the vehicle. From the continued updates over the shoulder-radios of the human officers it was apparent they were still having difficulties loading it into the vehicle. It was up to ATS. If he could have felt, he would have felt proud to be out serving the citizens he was assigned to protect. As it was, it just trundled out and into the park on the instructions of its handler. It could operate itself, but the boys in blue wanted to play with their newest piece of tech.
The group of three arrived at the park to find a gaggle of bystanders around a messy scene. Three, no four casualties scattered about the park, and the perpetrator nowhere to be seen. Catching sight of the law, people began to point, and garbled accounts of what happened and the way the mutant went were volunteered. The police proritiesed, clearly this was a volatile situation, and while they had conflicting information on what the mutant looked like; some were sure it was a small, pale girl, others suggested a young black woman, one particularly vocal witness insisted it had been a figure made up entirely of the path gravel, all the accounts were clear on two things: 1, This was a mutant, and 2, it went that way.
The main handler gave ATS some instructions while his partner moved to cordon off the area and throw privacy bankets (unzipped body bags) over the casualties. There were kids staring for Christs Sake.
“Ok At-Zeus, you’re up. Mutant with unknown ability, hostile, 4 casualties. Hiding somewhere in that corpse of trees.”
The morbidly apt description of the trees was lost on the officer, who was scanning the assembled witnesses with his hand-held scanner, looking for mutants to be aware of. It was entirely possible that the perpetrator was part of a group of attackers (four casualties and all within such a short space of time that the cops were called only once the noise began, it was possibly gang related), and while one had split, it didn’t mean that the area was secure.
ATS00053 zoomed off towards the trees, his specialised feet navigating the tricky terrain (path edge, garden bed, discarded tangle of kite-strings) with ease. This was what he was designed for. The inbuilt scanner swept over the shrubs and bushes, in between the trunks and the last of the stubborn summer flowers. He was searching, searching for a mutant who had caused so much trouble. If he could feel, he might have been scared. He couldn’t feel fear. He was designed not to.
On the shoulder of junior officer Stevens the message came through that the knight, and assorted other uniformed back up, was finally on the way. It didn’t distract him from his task. There was a killer to be caught.
Character's full name: Peter Sanderson Alias/ Nickname/ Code name: Sandman Gender: Male Age: 56 Nationality: American Ethnicity/ Cultural Heritage: There’s British and Irish in there generations ago, but otherwise nothing particular.
Appearance
Hair color and style: Light brown, verging on blonde, streaked with gray. One might say ‘sandy’. A receding line of hair is combed back away from his face, it needs cutting but is not so long as to be called ‘long’. Skin Tone: Lightly tanned Caucasian. Eye Color: Watery blue. No, actually watery; looks like he always has something in his eyes. Height: 6’2”. Build: Slender. He had been a runner in his younger years, and he kept his build, if not his definition. Visible mutation: When active, his tears glisten with pearlescent light. Scars/ Tattoos/ Piercings: None of note. Other features: Thick, black-rimmed glasses which he is always removing and cleaning with his handkerchief. A large faced watch. Face claim: Bill Nighy Most commonly seen clothing: A blue button-down shirt, no tie, a navy blazer, grey pants, brown shoes and belt.
Character
Personality: Peter had always had a love of teaching, even from a young age he would tutor the children in the classes below him. He progressed through highschool and University and soon was teaching in schools all over America. As he became more and more experienced he became first a vice principle, then a principle proper. He continued to share his knowledge with and encourage both students, and also the more junior teachers. He was respected by most and obeyed by all. Even the most rebellious teens seemed to mellow after a few one-on-one sessions with the principle. Hobbies/ Interests: He enjoys needlepoint and reading. Job description: Mansion Headmaster.
Mutations
Mutation description: By concentrating hard on an individual Peter can make them see their potential, their dreams, altered by his direction, of course. While he usually shows students their good dreams – eg, study hard and you can become the successful engineer you wish to be, look, look at the wonderful bridges you’ll build, he has been known to show the nightmares too – eg, continue along this path and you are shortening your future, look, you disappointing your parents, see, you living on the street to fuel your drug habit. Peter opens the door to the dreams, and can pick and choose what to bring to the person’s attention, to elaborate and warp the dreams to illustrate his point.
Strengths: There is something inherently more powerful about being shown your potential, good or bad, rather than simply hypothesising on it. Peter can dreamonstrate to up to thirty individuals at a time if the dream is all the same – eg, a violence-free school. For individual dreams he is limited to three separate dreams running at once.
Weaknesses and Limitations: Peter must concentrate on the person/people and doing so causes his eyes to water, so much so that the luminescent tears will stream down his face (think glowstick, not flashlight). While effective in showing how deeply he cares about the future of the person, it also means he needs to carry around several handkerchiefs, and after multiple repetitions his eyes become irritated and he will need to rest them (total five dreams per day). When engaging in a group-dream he cannot target the specifics which would surely make an individual alter their path, it is more of a general sweeping dream, some might be more moved to action than others, some might not be moved at all.
Zinnia watched as a tall, slender woman with shiny white hair crossed the lawn to let her in. It was almost a guarantee that this woman was a mutant. Idly Zinn wondered what her power might be. And if her hair was naturally like that or chemically assisted. White hair was in. Then the woman was greeting her and smiling and Zinnia was smiling and confirming that yes, she was the instructor coming to teach first aid.
It wasn’t until they reached the extra-large door that Zinn realised the lady wasn’t wearing any shoes. Perhaps it was mutation related? Or perhaps the mansion was like her grandmother’s house, where visitors were instructed to ‘leave your dirt at the door’. She glanced about for a tell-tale shoe rack, and instead spied a group of children walking past in shoes. She kept hers on.
“Aren’t your feet cold?”
Perhaps it was a rude question. If her power was shooting icicles from her toes or something.
The woman led them on to the library, there was one shoe on the way, but no other. Perhaps some kids had been kicking it down the hall. It seemed unlikely that someone would take of their shoe, walk far enough to be out of sight of it, then remove the other. But then, stranger things have happened.
The Library was clearly marked as such, and a glance inside showed her that her space had been cleared, and the assorted bags and boxes she had sent ahead were neatly in a pile. Good, it wouldn’t do to not have any dummies to CPR when the time came. She smiled at a child occupying one of the seats. It was an excellent idea to start young. Even if a child didn’t have the strength to depress an adult chest, having the knowledge to try was so much more empowering than standing and watching helplessly. If not for someone teaching her the basics of first aid, her brother might not be alive today. Well, the training and the mutation.
“Welcome to First Aid training. I think we’re a little early, so I’ll give it a bit of time in case there are others coming, but let me introduce myself…”
She wrote her name on the provided whiteboard, and began her brief introduction; her background as a nursing student and the critical moment when she knew how important first aid was. Recounting the story of her brother's near-drowning at the beginning of her career had made her shaky and upset and she remembered the feelings of powerlessness. Nowadays she felt empowered by the story, and wanted to share that power with others.
“As mutants” {she felt she was making a fair assumption, given their location} “we sometimes have an advantage to first aid. And sometimes we don’t. It is good to remember that the person you are working to help may be a mutant, and it is important to keep yourself safe. If they are awake, ask them questions- if they are unconscious, look before you leap in. It’s all well and good trying to help someone, but giving mouth-to-mouth to an acid spitter is putting yourself in harm’s way. Can you think of any other examples of how mutations might affect the way you perform first aid?”
She took a sip of her bottled water and opened it up to the class.
He tried to censor himself and somewhat failed. She smirked. She had heard much worse at the hospital when prying out bits of bullet, or giving needles. She gave him a hand up and offered a shoulder to lean on. Laying down seemed like a good idea. As long as he didn’t fall asleep.
“As long as you don’t fall asleep.”
She guided him gently along until he told her to stop. Someone held the door open for them and with his guidance they were standing out front of a door she assumed to be his.
“Is there someone to watch over you for the next couple hours?”
Not that she was volunteering. But someone had to make sure he didn’t fall asleep or start throwing up uncontrollably. Head injuries – they need to be treated with caution.
Zinn’s heart was still racing as she exited the park, scanning the area for Ty. While the fact that he ran when the cops got called weighed on her mind he was pretty injured, and running about got all the blood pumping and with all those broken blood vessels, he was sure to be one big bruise. Big bruises don’t travel very fast.
Sure enough she could see his limping, stick-clinging form hobbling alongside the road. She kept an eye on him, and waited for the light to change so she could cross safely. He stopped and rested. The light changed and she crossed. He hobbled off again. He stopped and rested. She was gaining on him now. He face planted into the asphalt. Oooh, ouch. Right next to a big bag of trash too. Gross.
She arrived to standing above him as he moaned out more swearwords. He had quite the vocabulary of those now. Sirens and general city noise blared. She hoped by now the cops had arrived to clear up the messy scene they had fled. And that no one had swiped her textbook. Fat chance.
“Are you OK?”
She felt like she was repeating herself. A little bit of De Ja Vu.
“Do you need a hand?”
She was reminded that he was a mutant and she was cautious not to overstep her boundaries. But he was equally human and hurting, and that was kind of her thing. The road rash on his face looked painful, but as far as she could tell nothing was broken. Blood welled up in the deeper gashes though and she frowned.
“Is there somewhere I can help you get to to wash that out?”
Because faceplanting next to a puddle of questionable bin-ooze was rather unsanitary.
Zinn was by all accounts a clever person, she had done well in school, was still doing well at school, picked things up quickly. She felt out of her depth here. Her brain was going around and around. Technically the girl was injured, she should be helping, winding a bandage around the injury, elevating it until it could be properly cleaned and stitched if needed. Instead she was turning, watching the packet of information getting away. The packet of information that was worth dying for apparently.
It was the shove that decided her. Her feet were moving after the folder. Away, away from the mutie kid who thought it was fine to shoot people in the head in broad daylight in front of families in the park. Her phone was in her hand again, her textbook forgotten.
“Hello, yes this is Zinnia again from the park, I was speaking with operator 907 before. He said to call back if things escalated?”
She was now jogging behind the folder guy, trying to keep him in sight without being too obvious that she was following him. Things had escalated for sure, now there were guns involved. And mutants. She was no athlete, and already she could feel her heart pounding against her chest. If this was a water-based chase she maybe had a chance, but in a running match when she’d already drunk half a Grande Frappe, it was a sure thing that she would lose out.
“Yes, at least one dead, he shot the kid in the leg so she’ll be wounded. She has some sort of bullet mutation – she shot him in the head with his own bullet… I don’t know... I didn’t see. There’s another guy fleeing the scene with a folder that the kid had. He’s headed towards the Umpire Rock. Should I follow?”
The operator advised her against it, and she was relieved. If they had told her to keep following she would have, against her better judgement. But with the reassurance that officers were closing in on the situation, and that it was too dangerous to follow an unknown man fleeing a crime scene she slowed to a walk and then stopped entirely. Doing her best not to huff and puff down the phoneline too much she described the fleeing man, the child and what she was wearing, and their respective locations when she last saw them. After she had done so she slid her phone back into her pocket and went to try and find Ty, he probably shouldn’t be shaking himself around too much. He really should be sitting somewhere icing his injuries.
~~~~~~~~~
At the station there was a flurry of barely concealed excitement. This was it, a confirmed mutant-related crime. They were going to debut him, and in the middle of the bustling park no less. In the back of the speeding car ATS00053 waited patiently. They would arrive on the scene in moments.
