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.
"Yes. Good. Didjoo put the water in the kettle? Mom gets sadmad when the kettle is on wif no water. Good. And now we go in the pantry. Yes."
The constant chatter was sweet, and her mind touched again on the thought of having her own kids… Sadmad was an excellent description, and there was in fact enough room in the pantry for them to go in – it had a light in there and everything. She guessed that with that many young mutants hanging about it was pretty important to have food of all types readily accessible, she knew how stroppy her little brothers got on empty tummies and they didn’t even have any mutations to keep under control (that she knew of).
She poured the water into the cups and logic’d her way to the milk which she added liberally to her own cup and Rowan’s. She hesitated as the swirl of white mixed in to form a light brown.
“Can puppy people have chocolate? I mean, coffee with marshmallows?”
She was certain what the three (and a half!) year old’s answer would be, but she wanted to check in with someone a little less influenced by the thought of minimallows. She left the milk out so Jude could choose his own coffee strength and retrieved a bag of cookies she had noticed while they were in the pantry. Snickerdoodles, surely fine for the most canine among them. From what she could see his hand was completely healed. Neato. Perhaps she could convince him towards a healthcare profession, a healer would be a massive boon. Or maybe not, if he picked up powers in passing… The hospital was often the first port of call for mutants who had had a misfortune. She had worked on several – as well as the people who got in their way.
“Can you store people’s powers?”
She offered the open bag of cookies to Rowan and lifted him up onto a stool so they could all sit at the bench together. Once everyone was set up with their beverages she presented her forehead to the teen.
Her skin was cold from the air conditioning blasted on the bus (probably to limit as much sweating as possible and reduce their cleaning bills) and the warm air was like a hug. Then she was enveloped in huge solid arms and it was exactly like a hug. The face pressed into her neck was warm like a leather couch that had been toasting in the sun. From what she remembered of her friend she didn’t usually output heat, so she must have been waiting in the shimmering air for an age. Her own arms wrapped around the huge shoulders, careful not to squeeze too hard and poke herself on a spine. She was highly aware of her skin, as goosebumps skittered across it as her external temperature shifted to match the air.
Yes. Temperature.
“No need to be sorry.”
For the hug. For anything, it was Zinnia who had shipped out for six months after all. She stepped back from her friend so she could look at her. She looked good, just like Zinn remembered. A cheeky grin spread across her face as she held out her duffle bag.
“but, if you want to make it up to me…?”
Her plan was to go back to her parents for the night but she had a few hours to kill, and nothing like the company of a good friend to get back into the swing of the city.
“So how have you been? Work ok? Nobody giving you any trouble?”
She was talking too much, she knew it. It was just so good to see her again. Their hands touched as the massive shell of muscle took the bag with ease and another thrill of goosebumps ran up her arm, this time there was no excuse.
Zinnia twisted in her seat, stretching her back as best she could without disturbing her sleeping rowmate, a lanky teen that reeked of unwashed band shirt and Colorado good times. The first two hours of the bus ride he had been chatting non-stop, but in time he had drifted off to sleep thankfully slumped over his own chest and not resting against her. Her butt had gone numb, and she had been using her phone sparingly to ensure there would be batter when she arrived, sure there were charging ports on the bus, but her cord was buried somewhere deep in her duffle under the bus. The bus had been playing the radio stations, roaming through the waves to bring music’n’news and she started tingling once it became about NYC. It wasn’t just the pins and needles.
Once the bus finally pulled into the station it was almost dark. She prodded the teen into semi-consciousness enough that he shuffled down the row ahead of her with little complaint. Her bag was swiftly retrieved from the underbus, or as swiftly as can be expected after four hours tumbling around with other peoples luggage. She swung it over her shoulder and took a deep breath of city air. It smelled like hot tarmac and stale takeaway. It smelled like home. After six months placement in a far off hospital she had almost forgotten what the city smelled like, she had missed it.
The smell of the city wasn’t the only thing she had missed, and her eyes scanned the area as she approached the station. There were people ahead of her, and others waiting, but one stood out from the rest. Head and shoulders out from the rest actually. She felt a thrill down her spine which could have easily been explained away as a good stretch. Or nerves. Her steps quickened.
The tiny pies were quickly down the respective hatches and she brushed the imaginary crumbs from her dress. Jac seemed to approve, and she hoped the pumpkinny pie was along the same level of yum. From what she had snicked (taste tested!) of the filling it should be.
“Nuuuuuu!” She fake gasped, “my mom needs to taste that pie to make up for all my childhood kitchen failures!”
And a few of the adulthood ones too, but that didn’t need stating. She grinned at her friend and the knock at the door broke off whatever witty thing she was going to say next. She swirled over (this dress made her feel particularly swirly, or perhaps it was the company) and opened the door to let her Dad in. He dipped under the doorframe, although he didn’t have to- his height was less than Jac’s- and smiled at the pair.
”Hi girls, ready to go?”
Zinnia passed him the whipped cream and scooped the pie up in a pie carrier her Nan had knitted her. It only got used once or twice a year, but she kept it out of respect for the hours gone in to knitting the little pumpkin patterns. It was all in all the most Fallish thing she owned.
“Ready when you are.”
She glanced at Jac to confirm her readiness, and noted again just how cuddly that particular cardi made her look. She sectioned off those thoughts into the ‘not now’ part of her brain, and smiled at the two taller occupants. She wasn’t a shortie, but right now she felt like one. Once everyone was ready and the pie was carefully balanced in the holder she led the way downstairs, excited and a little nervous for the upcoming feast.
She stopped dead when she saw the car. She hadn’t thought to ask if he was bringing her Mom’s van, she just assumed. Her assumption had not been that he would bring his cute, tiny, adorable, tiny, yellow, TINY punch-buggy car. The pie swung beside her, all the suddenly halted forward motion Newtoning it’s way down her arm and into the dessert. Thankfully it stayed in the holder. She turned to her father, who seemed to not have grasped the logistics.
“Did you get the passenger seat fixed?”
He rubbed the back of his head, like he was being chided.
“No, but there’s plenty of room in the ba-“
He glanced at the massive form of Jac beside him.
“Oh. Well, it’ll be a mite squashy, but you’ll manage.”
With some tetrising they managed to get Zinnia, Jac, Dad and the pie all into the tiny vehicle, and with a shuddering grumble it started up the street. Zinnia was blushing under her light layer of makeup. How embarrassing. Jac smelled nice though, which was a boon. And as she suspected, the cardi was indeed cuddly where it brushed up against her bare arm.
The costumes inside the Haunted House were much more to her taste than the ‘slutty xxx’s outside. Zombies shambled, a corpse fell out of a propped up coffin, and a convincing skeleton jumped out with a familiar ‘Blargh’. She jumped and squeaked and made all the appropriate ‘oooh’-ing noises at the assortment of corn-starchy gore. When her friend’s massive hand closed around her bicep she nearly jumped right out of her skin, once it was there though it was nice. They were in this together. Girly squeals and all.
They made it out the other side without injury to themselves or to any of the costumed workers which was a relief made of equal parts nobody-jumping-out-and-yelling and nobody-punching-anyone-and-getting-in-trouble. Her heart was thumping with a side of flutter. Only most of it was because of the scares. The other bit had something to do with the hand around her arm, or more specifically the person it was attached to.
“C’mon, lets blow this place and go watch movies.”
They’d made an appearance, had the appropriate noises made about them and got some good photos. Now it was time to head on to somewhere a little more comfortable and less populated.
<<<◊>>> She peeped through the hole designed for that purpose before opening the door to get a proper look at her friend. She looked great.
“You look great! Not nerdy at all.”
Not that she would have any leg to stand on should she accuse her friend of being nerdy. What with the batman underthings she was sporting. Jac swished back and forth and she mirrored the motion, careful not to be too enthusiastic, she had slipped the dress on over her head, but it was not yet fastened. She could manage it herself, but it was so much easier if she had an extra set of hands. And Jac had two sets, albeit one pair contained under the sweater that looked particularly cuddly. She turned her back to her friend.
“Pie’s done, just needs to cool a bit before we pack it. Can you zip me?”
If her friend’s large primary fingers couldn’t manage to grasp the metal butterfly hanging on a short chain attached to the zip-pull she could do it, there would just be a short interval of not-quite-contortionism.
She smoothed the front of the silky material self-consciously, all of a sudden aware of the fact she was bringing her friend to meet her family. They were sweet people, but very intense especially if you weren’t used to the traditions. She suddenly realised she had no idea what colour Jac’s skin had been before it turned to shell. Not that it mattered in her interracial family, but the thought was an interesting one.
She slipped into her flats, a far more sensible shoe than the killers she had paired with the dress last time. A quick rummage in the fridge and she had the Tupperware container of whipped cream on the bench next to the pie. She also retrieved the only two mini-apple pies that hadn’t burned. She offered one to her friend and popped the other into her mouth. They weren’t bad, it was a shame she had burnt the rest.
Outside a bright yellow beetle pulled up outside the apartment and Zinnia’s tall, lanky, very white and very British father emerged to ascend the stairs to the apartment. Their lift had arrived, with no one thinking about the back-seat logistics of a giant prawn.
She never had to adjust to her power per se, she had no big dramatic coming of age where her X-gene burst forth, but sometimes even now she had to remind herself to keep breathing. There wasn’t really any way to tell whether her power was ‘active’, seeing as how it was technically always active, so unless Jude knew what it felt like to breathe the different gases he probably wouldn’t be able to tell. She hoped if he had adopted her power that whatever wacky biology was going on in her lungs, which meant she didn’t suffocate while breathing Carbon Dioxide, would come across too. When they had gone through all the tests the doctors had advised that they didn’t know how her lungs converted the gasses ‘backwards’, and that the only way to tell was to do a dissection.
They had decided that option wasn’t really an option.
The development of from-birth powers was something that fascinated her, that a person could aesthetically be so clearly a mutant, but not yet have special abilities manifest until later, if ever. The shift to the unknown wasn’t something they were going to delve into today, though. Probably safest to grab some friend or other with a known power to borrow from, just in case. Perhaps one of the children scattered about, or the teens that stalked the edges of the grass like cats who didn’t want you to think they were embarrassed. There were adults who lived her too, they had said, but she hadn’t seen any yet.
Rowan’s guesstimations on the age of her imaginary children brought a smile to her face. When she had kids, if ever, she hoped they were as cute as this one. She made a non-committal noise about bringing them to visit. Her brothers were young but that was the closest she came to kids outside the hospital. There hadn’t been a baby in their family for many years. A fact that her mother liked to pointedly bring up every now and then.
“A fair reason for trouble if you ask me. Wrap it before you tap it Y’all.”
It just made sense. Too many teenagers wound up in the ED with a myriad of symptoms that could have been avoided with just a little bit of sense. And latex. Pregnancy was one of them, but at least that wasn’t really transmissible.
He hid the code from her and she looked away politely. She probably wouldn’t have remembered it, but it was the same courtesy as turning your head when someone put their pin into an ATM. It was just rude to look. The buzz-click of electricity recognising the code and letting them in signalled her to turn her attention back to the path. It was important to keep an eye on the terrain, as they were now racing across it. Kitchen ho! To snacks and hidey cabinets! And possibly also to icepacks for certain punch-lumps.
Their race was slowed a little by the sweeping staircase at the front of the building as Rowan’s chubby little legs had to navigate each step individually. The thought of stepping up the dozen steps if they were as high as her knees as they were for Rowan slowed her further. That gave her a chance to catch her breath, then they were off again. They dashed past doors, open and closed. Sidestepped people moving at a less break-neck speed. They were both puffing and giggling when they finally arrived at the kitchen. It was simultaneously massive and cosy. She hadn’t expected anything less. She kept one eye on Rowan as she bee-lined for the fridge, although surely anything he shouldn’t be allowed to grab would be in a high cupboard, or have kiddy-proofers. Hello icepacks. They had a whole pile of them, and after a little drawer rummaging she had one wrapped in a tea-towel and pressed against her forehead. The kettle was flicked on and she utilised the small one’s familiarity with the place.
“Is there Cocoa Mix?”
As long as the children of the Mansion didn’t eat it with a spoon like her brothers did. Like she used to. She wouldn’t be mad, just disappointed. With the puppy-kid’s help there were three mugs set up, one coffee, one cocoa and one empty awaiting Jude’s preference by the time the aforementioned would arrive.
The pie was starting to smell delicious. Part of her wanted to get changed already, the other part of her warned against leaving the kitchen when something was in the oven. She had learned that The Hard Way. The confirmation text popped up in the top of her screen and she left it, it didn’t need a reply. Judging by the time Jacqueline would be heading over shortly if she was travelling by foot, or a little later if she was going to cab it.
Once the pie dinged she removed it from the oven and set it on the bench to cool a little while she changed. The weather had a little autumnal nip to it, but it would be warm in her parent’s house, with her relatives piled in and the over cranking all day. She would wear a short sleeved dress with tights under, she had a shawl to toss over her shoulders for the outside moments as well. Somehow it seemed important this year compared to others, and she had decided on the same dress she wore to the speed date, but put more effort into her hair. It swept back from her forehead in one fell swoop then turned to a complicated series of swirls. It felt strange to wear it so done while still wearing a pair of daggy track pants and an oversized T-shirt (the neck-hole needed to be large to get her head through without messing aforementioned hair), so she donned the dress with something like relief, even though it was less comfy than the shirt and slacks. She was fussing with her makeup to get the perfect cats-eye when the knock at the door sounded. Thankfully she had just applied (the fourth try to) her second eye, and wasn’t lopsided when she answered it. Because there was nothing worse than lopsided.
<<<◊>>> Jack’s mask was lopsided. The elastic had clearly been a little too loose, or the pattern they had based it on was factoring in hair to cling to, rather than the smooth hard shell of a mutant’s head. She sidled up to her friend and checked in on her. This party was lame enough as it was, how much moreso it must have been to someone who didn’t know anyone. The only thing that really made it worthwhile was the way she occasionally caught her friend looking at her. Like right now. She called her a little closer, and the proximity made her hold her breath. With the way Jack had been looking at her, and with the tingles running up and down her arms it seemed like all they needed was an excuse.
Her fingers brushed the cool hard shell of her friend’s head as she straightened the already straight mask. Her chin tilted up, just a little. If there was anything there, Jack would lean in too and it would be all over red rover. She waited, just a beat too long, as her friend didn’t lean in. She could have died from the wave of awkward moment that rolled over her. She slid around to next to the towering form, instead of standing face-to-face, hoping the blush she could feel tingling on her skin wasn’t visible through the green paint. She needed a diversion. Just in case.
To the haunted house!
The blood was remarkably well done really. The jump-scares less so. She might have grown accustomed to people behaving unpredictably, making the shambles, or the dropping-out-of-poorly-hinged-coffins less unnerving to her. More so to Jacquelyn. Maybe because it was Zinnia’s job to care for erratic people, and Jack’s to remove them from the premises. Either way, there was no leaning in in the haunted house, just the occasional squeal and hand-grabbing of a frightened patron. Not naming names.
Ah, a power copy-cat, that could be a little issue. She could control the shifts now with relative ease, and had grown used to not breathing for a minute or two at a time while the shift happened, but if it was suddenly thrust on someone that could be a real issue. Surely he would shift to a puppyteen as he had held Rowan’s hand since she had copped his fist to her eyebrow. Still, keeping secrets that could endanger the teenager was not really fair.
“Erm, I can swap back and forth between tree-breathing and normal breathing, so if you suddenly feel like you can’t breathe at all you’re swapping over. Don’t panic, it makes it worse.”
So reassuring.
The small one was too small to know it was rude to ask a lady’s age. His estimations of age so far seemed to be three, split by a day to ten, followed shortly after by ‘old’, she guessed that was fair. Without having had her coffee yet she felt old. They managed to exit the bus without incident and Rowan offered her a place to live, which was all in all rather sweet.
“I feel pretty old sometimes, but I’ve still got time before I’m a granny.”
Still time before she became a Mom probably, but her own Mamma liked to point out that clock was tick-tocking. She wanted to finish her exams, become a fully qualified nurse, maybe even move up the ranks a bit before she settled down to [it]that[/i] particular expectation.
“That’s very generous of you Rowan, but Jude is right, I already have a house to live in. Maybe I can come and visit you instead?”
It was an interesting place, where children and adults all lived together in one big communal house, together because of a single gene, a commonality in their biological make up. It had had its share of hiccups from what she had seen on the news, but it was mostly from outsiders causing trouble not internal issues between students and residents. She would keep it in mind if she ever found herself between leases with nowhere to go.
The gates loomed above, having the little form of puppykid next to her made them seem even taller than when she came here by herself. This time there was no Maya to let them in. Perhaps the teen had a swipe pass or an access code to get in. Alternatively they could shout out to some of the assorted figures running about in scarves and jackets and someone was bound to let them in. The chill to the wind was no barrier to playtime. She was pretty sure she glimpsed a shirtless figure sprinting around amongst the jackets, and she hoped that a mutation was involved to keep from the chill causing harm.
“Can you show me the kitchen Rowan?”
She offered the little mutant her hand. It was coffee and cocoa time. Then after that, something for her head, which was starting to feel rather tender.
It seemed like maybe it hadn’t been his idea to do the community service. Something about his tone… or the fact that it was a punishment to minor offenders. Nothing quite like scrubbing ‘muties suk’ graffiti off of assorted surfaces to get you pumped to join a team for fair and equal treatment of all gene types. The minimum age limit made sense, although it was so far away for the little one.
Puppykid confirmed that he was indeed a puppy, and she wondered how that might translate as he grew older, and what, if anything, was homo-superior about it. Perhaps he had doglike sense of smell, or always cried at distant sirens. The powerful bit might take time to develop, or it might never come at all, and he be a dogish person and that was it. The exaggerated panting and faux-bark made her suspect that he couldn’t speak doggish.
“I’d rather not say until I know what your power is.” Oh was that how it was? There was the slightest twinge of suspicion, she wasn’t sure that she had mentioned being a mutant, and he hadn’t seemed to indicate that Maya had told him anything about her when she mentioned the First Aid class. Rowan tried to share his knowledge and the muffling and revelation that he was trying to be suave put her a little more at ease. She was pretty sure that being a coffeemat wasn’t a mutant ability, but the word that sounded like coffee had her hankering for that caffine fix. She had to pull her focus back in to provide an accurate description of her mutation. She almost wished it was coloured air that she breathed, so she could give a demonstration. She didn’t want to reveal her whole hand though, so she settled for just half of the truth.
“I breathe in carbon dioxide, and out oxygen. Like a tree, but I don’t have leaves.”
She winked at Rowan conspiratorially. She would rock a leafy hairdo.
“Suave is like cool dude (TM), so, cool dude. What do you do? Fair is fair.”
She’d told him hers (sort of), now she got to find out just exactly what a coffeemat’s special ability was. The bus shook as it took off from this stop. They were next.
Bloodknuckles somewhat stemmed Zinn zipped her bag and settled it on her lap and dipped her head at the assessment of the type of help provided by the X-men. She hadn’t had any patients whose cause of injury was directly linked to an Xman, at least none that told her so, but she knew others in her department had. Mutant- caused injuries were tricky to treat, as they often broke the rules of standard injuries, and needed innovation to treat on the fly. She couldn’t speak as to the difficulties faced by the construction people.
She felt just a tiny twinge of guilt once she knew that Maya was a book-herder. She bought most of her textbooks now, after one too many run-ins with scary librarians. She still had a coffee-stained tome at home which she had lied about being lost to avoid the frowns of the librarian she had borrowed it from. Puppykid liked books with lots of words.
“I like the pictures.”
The gruesomer the better, nothing quite like a blown up image of a tumour removal to get you excited to study.
Bad guys beware! A few fellow travellers glanced their way, with a mix of amusement or exasperation on their faces. This was New York, people yelling on the bus was nothing new. At least this was a little kid, not an angry drunk. Still his brother shushed him, and sulkypup set to swinging his feet instead, no doubt pondering the dozens of bad-guys he could catch on the bus.
“I guess kids will always want to be the coolest thing around.”
For suburbia kids it would be firefighters, kids in LA would want to be pop hits or movie stars and for kids who lived amidst a group of costumed heroes, well it was easy to see the appeal. She didn’t completely understand the reference to the requirements, but perhaps he didn’t want to say ‘rules’, typical teenager mentality, call it something different and it loses its power.
“That sounds like they’ve got quite the career progression organised. How young do they start you guys?” She cast her eyes over their little companion, who had been maintaining quite the pout. “Are you a mini X?”
She imagined with proper time to hone one’s skills, they could train the little ones up to be extremely efficient.
“What are your mutations?”
She asked the question to them both, although she was pretty sure Jude had mentioned some form of healing ability. She guessed it wasn’t self-centred, seeing as how the borrowed fabric dressing had a spreading patch of darkness on it.
The bus rumbled on towards their destination, the worst of the car crashes carted off to her workmates at the hospital and out of their way. It was almost back on schedule.
Technical plusses were still plusses in her books, and a chance to pursue an education should never be snorted at, no matter how old you were. The paper mutant confirmed Zinnia’s suspicion about his solubility by digging out not one but two different rain jackets and donning them both. She was prepared to answer the bus fare question when a stranger approached them to offer a lift. A quick glance at his face and she sort of recognised him from assorted news articles. The boring ones. About stocks.
He introduced himself to the young man, and offered to drive her too, as an afterthought. She eyed the claws protruding from the ends of his fingers when he offered his hand to the younger man, and stuffed her hands deep within her pockets. She was all for visible mutations, but less so for getting a handful of talon.
With no real way of telling what age the paper mutant was, only some of her alarm bells were sounding about stranger danger, and most of them were the ‘don’t go with strangers if you’re a visible mutant’ type, although did it really count if the person offering the lift was a visible mutant too? She shook her head politely at the offer of a lift.
“No thanks, I’m waiting for someone.”
The lie came easily. The bus with a dozen strangers was safer than a car with one. Two, if the paper mutant decided to take the offer of a lift. With claws like that she’d be frightened to refuse. She retrieved a crumpled first-aid business card from the depths of her pocket and offered it to the paper mutant. It had her number on it, so he could call for help if things took a turn for the worse. Was it rude to offer someone made of paper a paper object? Was it like someone writing their number on a hunk of flesh and passing it to her? The thought was rather unappealing. She wished she had a coffee to sip on, as she glanced at the paper mutant to see if he would accept the winged man’s offer.
She took getting hit pretty well? She touched her eyebrow delicately. Someone else had told her that once, and she’d dumped his rear in the gutter just as soon as she could. Still, the instinct to not react, to take the hit with a blank look in her face and cry about it in the bathrooms at work later was a strong carry over from that particular mistake of a partner. That was too much to lay out on a kid though, even a kid trying so hard to be a man, so she simply dipped her head in agreement.
“I don’t think you’re certified.”
Oh-ho, was that so little man? She quirked an eyebrow, then immediately wished she hadn’t. The cool air was soothing, but still, moving it around was not the smartest thing ever. She watched in silence as the little pup rubbed his face in his brother’s blood. Ew. The potential for germs, not the blood. The Frenchie seemed to agree and fumbled about to get the worst of the blood off his brother’s face, no easy task with his hand still bleeding. She had bandaids, but she let him rummage for a bit so not to offend his teenage pride.
Battling robots sounded impressive, she wondered if they had had a run in with the Police bots too, or if this was a game that the adults played with him. The name Cafas sounded familiar to her, the repetition of it confirmed it in her mind, this was no common name. Hadn’t she met him at the speed dating debacle? Still the Cafas ownership seemed up for debate, and he had mentioned something about being tricked into it by a Maya. The same Maya, as in their mother the Ghost? And was this Sam perhaps the same Sam who wouldn’t let Jude drive his car? And they were all X-men? Small world.
Jude shuffled his handfuls and managed to tap them on to the bus. Zinn focussed her effort keeping hold of Rowan as they entered the bus and presented her own pass dutifully on her turn. They were on the bus safely now, so she relaxed her grip on him so he could choose a seat. It was clearly not peak hour, and there were several options, including a couple where there were two open seats in a row. She indicated one with her non-puppy hand.
“How about I sit in front of you instead?”
She took the seat and dipped her hand into her bag and fished out a bandaid and offered it silently to Jude as she thought about her job and what it was about it that she liked about it. The vampire comment earned a chuckle. Not an evil I vant to suck your blood chuckle, just a standard one.
“Nope, not a vampire. Nursing is… messy. But it’s a great job and I love doing it. Knowing that because of what you do someone who might otherwise be permanently damaged, or even die, can recover properly and go back to their families… I guess I always wanted to be a nurse really, or an ambulance officer."
Similar, but not exactly the same.
“I’m not evil either, to my knowledge… But I do always return my library books late.”
She glanced ahead, despite the traffic the bus seemed to be making ok time. Rowan had already indicated Jude might be an X-man, but she wasn’t certain. Nor was she fully sure what the X-men actually did, except push for mutant rights and turn up at some of the bigger altercations in the city.
“So are you guys both going to be X-men?” (the ‘when you grow up’ was silent) “Do you have to be an X-man if you go to school there?”
If that was the case they surely would have an army by now, the hundreds of students who must have passed through that place… Perhaps they just kept the details of students on file, and called them up when there was a situation that called for their particular mutation. Would she be on their file now? Because she visited and mentioned her mutation to Maya? Did they have mutation scanners at the gate that would take the details down and file them all away somewhere?
She realised she was being ridiculous. Or was she? She really needed a coffee.
The face of the paper mutant (young? old? She couldn’t really tell) shifted before her eyes, reshaping to allow him to speak. It was rather fascinating. The medical part of her wondered if he had lungs, the socially apt part of her decided it would be rude to ask. He seemed a little bashful to be asking about places to stay, but didn’t immediately give off an aura of fear. He indicated his meagre possessions and she dipped her head in acknowledgement. He was like so many others, probably, seeking a life in New York City, a place forced into acceptance through the mistakes of its past. A mutant accepting, if not somewhat friendly, city. On the surface at least.
“The mansion is a school, and many of the people who live there are young, but I have seen adults there too. I believe they would be able to help you short-term at least.”
Plus, she knew where it was, which was an added bonus.
“They will know what options you have, and help point you in the right direction. They have a reputation for taking in…” Strays? Wanderers? “…people with nowhere else to go.”
He indicated his past wasn’t pleasant, and she decided to let it be. If it was not pleasant she probably didn’t want to know.
“Well, then I hope you get off on a better foot in our city. Do you have an umbrella?"
She drained the last of her coffee and binned her cup. It hadn’t been pouring out there when she entered, but there had been a light drizzle, and it was a slight walk to the stop where they would catch the bus from. If he didn’t, there were a dozen or so little airport shops which sold overpriced bits and pieces, like toothpaste, or umbrellas. If he did then she would lead the way. The mansion bus route ran close to where she was going, the wrong direction, but she didn’t mind a little bit of study procrastination.
