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.
Posted by Memo on Jun 21, 2016 12:15:22 GMT -6
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Aug 9, 2017 15:44:55 GMT -6
Bowen
His 48 hours were up, according to the landlord and "moving support" bruisers at his door. Memo took one last run through his very nearly bare now-former apartment under their impatient eyes and not-particularly-quiet comments about how mutants made the worst possible tenants. Nothing else he remembered needing, nothing else he could carry. His bed was sold, and his chairs, and his table and lamps. Most of his instruments were gone too, sold for way less than whatever he'd originally shelled out for them. His keyboard was in its travelling case in the hallway, with his two clothing-stuffed backpacks. He'd used some of the cash from all the stuff he sold to run out and get them, and then sold all the clothes that wouldn't fit into them. Well, most of them. Some were left over, and he guessed he'd have to leave those behind.
Along with the remains of his dishes and utensils - he had two mugs crammed in with his clothes, but the rest would be too heavy - and the viny plant in the window. Hadn't that been his roommate's anyway? And some cool decorations no one had wanted to buy, not even for free with some other stuff.
He left his work boots and just wore his toe shoes. He didn't need any more weight. His phone said he had a hefty walk ahead of him, and he was used to taking the bus when he took his keyboard to music things. Plus he didn't usually carry all of his remaining belongings on his back.
August Summers, more known as Memo, gave his door key to his ex-landlord and started walking.
Posted by Memo on Jun 21, 2016 12:06:52 GMT -6
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Aug 9, 2017 15:44:55 GMT -6
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Memo slowly sank to the floor, barely feeling the wall against his back. He'd made it inside, somehow, numb as if he were a moment away from death again. A slow death, with blood spreading wide around his limbs.
He couldn't say how long he crouched there, curled around a miserable white knotted ring gleaming between his collarbones. Little spikes coiled towards its centre, spiny thorns digging into his flesh and soul. He'd never had so much torn away at once. Never.
Eventually, he faded into exhausted sleep, and though it didn't last long he did feel better when he woke. But he hadn't forgotten. He didn't forget everything. Some things had claws in such a range of places and thoughts that they were hard to shake by will or accident.
It took two tries to get back to his feet, stiff and weary, and then he dully tottered to the kitchen to make tea. On the way, he intentionally touched the spray of flecks by his left eyebrow. A headache flashed before the drunkenness of that memory overrode it, and before long he was belting out White Rabbit and I'm Blue at the top of his lungs while he posted quick pictures of his stuff online.
Please sell, please sell, please sell-
Before long, he had replies and people knocking at his door. He'd stuck some of his everpresent sticky notes on things he couldn't bear to part with (and could carry. he was capable of being productive and practical). There was one such sticky note on his pile of sticky notes. And his camera. And his keyboard. He'd figure out a way to carry it to.... wherever.
In a lull between people interested in emergency-move-out-sale-prices, he poked around on his phone. Where to go when you have nowhere to live.
Big long list of support groups and shelters from across the country. Way too big to be useful.
Where to go in NYC when you have nowhere to live.
Same size, apparently, just more specific??? Still way too big. Plus some of these were human-specific shelters. That might not be a safe option, even for an immortal.
Where to go in NYC when you have nowhere to live and are a mutant
Posted by Memo on Jun 21, 2016 11:47:15 GMT -6
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Aug 9, 2017 15:44:55 GMT -6
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In hindsight, if Memo were to manage to remember all of the details leading up to this, he probably would have seen it coming. Or at least some of it. There were kind of a lot of things going on.
Step One: a message waiting on his phone voice mail when he got home from volunteer first aid demonstrating. A message from his HR manager at work. A message informing him that his job abandonment that day crossed the line set at his last performance review meeting, and as such he was terminated with cause, effective immediately.
He... had been... fired?
Step Two: a paper waiting on the outside of his apartment door when he got home from running that night. A paper from his landlord. A paper informing him that his lack of employment, paired with poor payment history, voided the terms of his lease, and as such he was to evict the premises within 48 hours.
Totally sucked, but his mom would take him in -
Step Three.
Another message waiting on his phone voice mail. His mother had a new job in another city and had to move immediately. Today immediately. She'd been in such a rush to get everything packed and into a rented vehicle that she hadn't sent the message until she was already on the road. She was very sorry, but it was a very good opportunity in a far more affordable town.
Posted by Memo on Jun 20, 2016 23:48:56 GMT -6
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Memo has decided he could be lured to Sanctuary if there are active cool people there. Please hire the airhead and give him somewhere to live because volunteering for first aid education demonstrations is kind of getting fired and he was already barely holding on to his apartment
Plus Tempest could even accidentally fry him with a lightning bolt and it'd probably all be good!
When the student headed back to her desk, Memo found himself smiling at how her tail curved so naturally as she moved, and then ambled behind Juliette to fish the teacher's chair away from the desk with his foot. He deftly repositioned it near the wall, out of the way and behind Juliette while she worked, but where he could see the class and be ready for the next step.
In the meantime, he prodded at the bandaging with his gloved hand. Had it gone away yet? Not with him waiting and watching it, it wouldn't. Worse than waiting for water to boil. But both of them went and got going as soon as he stopped paying attention! Oh hey, blood had run down his arm. Up his arm? Towards his elbow. At least he was wearing short sleeves. No blood on his clothing for once - nope, he'd managed to rest his elbow against his hip. That was where the blood had gone.
Oh, Juliette was done with her next minilesson. What did he feel like...?
Oh right first aid demos. "Nothing lethal, right? I don't think they should be seeing that. Errrrr...." Nothing was springing to mind, no matter how he scrunched up his face. So be it. He held up a single finger to Juliette to wait a moment, and then tapped a fingertip from his bandaged hand on his forehead. Each of his markings flickered white in turn before fading to matte black while his eyebrows wrinkled in concentration and the occasional rapid flash of emotion.
He snapped his fingers, the bare skin briefly desensitized to memory-triggers. "Heat stroke and dehydration?" he offered cheerfully. "Actually got me into a hospital once so that occasion is here." He gestured to a small swirl on the inside curve of his left elbow.
Memo nodded along in energetic agreement, vaguely passionate as if this were positively the most important philosophical moment ever or at least this year. Definitely this week. He sure couldn't remember any more significant discussions. That wasn't saying much, though, so maybe he should just go with today. Today was as safe guess.
Not that he was ever conservative, exactly, but this was philosophy, not politics!
And then she was leaving, and Memo was waving energetically, and glanced at his phone to remind himself of her name before he put it away with a smile.
And then he continued walking, casual and relaxed and simply enjoying himself. Maybe he'd forget most of this, maybe some would linger to make him smile (or wince). Such was life, and Memo preferred to lounge on the cloud rather than blunder around with it on his head. Although it would probably make a good pillow. Or hat. Second best hat!
Juliette was talking about something or other, something about simulation and pain. Not simulated pain! But it wasn't as if she had picked up a knife and driven it into his hand, or his back. For all that he'd come out of it just fine, it might be a little too traumatic to the students for her to murder her assistant in front of them, with little to no warning.
Plus it might not send a good message. 'It's okay to for human-looking people to kill mutants! They just get back up!' or some such. Most mutants died when stabbed. Really, most mutants didn't have any abilities that made them more resistant to casual stabbing or shooting or whatever. In a way, Memo wasn't more resistant. He just totally forgot what happened and went about his business.
The renewed pain was starting to subside into a deep throb now, muffled by the grip the girl had on his hand. She was doing good at not accidentally triggering anything else too. It was good for a class to be successful that way.
...had he and Juliette done this before? He couldn't remember any traces of previous classes, and there didn't seem to be any overlap to what had happened so far. First one? Probably. Maybe. He should probably check in with Juliette afterwards. Or check his phone. But not right now. Right now -
Memo wibbled. Alcohol in cuts hurt waaaay more than the cut itself, and had a certain tendency to make him make miserable puppy eyes at whoever was mean enough to go and put booze on his skin. Wait, time to focus on the pain and not get drunk. Ahem.
"The alcohol always hurts more than remembering the injury," he said sadly, scuffing the ground a little bit with one shoe. Wait, had she grabbed stuff with her tail? That was awesome! Oh right, he was working. Ahem. Working working working, this was his working face and not his overexcited borderline squee face.
But it was super cool.
While the student went about collecting the next stage of supplies, Memo waved his injured hand around lightly, finally free to try to shake the misery out of it. And also keep the gash from winking out of memory; this way, he could see it. The rest of the class probably could too. Hopefully they learned a solid, memorable lesson out of this. That was the whole point. He'd probably had basic first aid classes in school, but he didn't remember one moment of them. This ought to be a much stronger memory.
Who knew? Maybe it would save a few lives.
He turned his hand for the girl as she finished wrapping it, trying to make it easier for her to work without making skin contact. His hand wasn't that heavily marked, but any of them would be kind of distracting. Getting sucked into the past in your head was, well, distracting.
"Looks good!" he said when she was done, looking over his bandaged hand and extending it towards Juliette for Official Inspection. "One of the best jobs I've received, as far as I remember!"
Paramedics all wore gloves, so their work tended not to be especially memorable. But this was well done!
Oh cool, this old dude seemed to have things under control, and didn't even seem fazed by the whole strangers-showing-up-at-the-front-door-covered-in-blood-and-vomit dealio. That was good. It was much easier to get people help when other people weren't freaking out instead of working. Freaking out and panicking just got more people more hurt, ye?
Oooooh pretty gold light. Memo watched the glow for a while, borderline hypnotized and definitely sinking into a mental state that didn't involve nearly as much mental chatter as normally occupied his brain, and almost pouted when the light faded. The shifter kid seemed to be breathing more easily now, which was good. Not being able to breathe was super nasty. Not the worst, in Memo's experience, but definitely nasty. Was the healer guy looking at him now? Why him? He wasn't hurt!
Well, he had been before, but that was a simple matter of forgetting details. He raised his hands to fend off the healer with his palms. "I'm okay, I'm okay! It takes more than murder to stop me."
That seemed like a really bad thing to say to a healer. He should fix the situation. He raised a mostly gloved hand to point to the dark markings gleaming on his face. "Mutant of airhead proportions. Er. Airhead of mutant proportions. I've already forgotten everything they did away, so you can do whatever it is you do for the kid. Can you do more than heal? The guys who went after him might go after him again."
"Totally! I haven't actually come across very many mutations that are clear-cut and definable. They all seem to have subtle impacts on the person, or subtle impacts from the person. Am I an airhead because my power uses memory, or does my power use memory because I'm an airhead, or are they completely unrelated?" He was at risk of running onto a totally unintended tangent, wasn't he? Yes, yes he was.
"Reliving it with every fleck of detail, even if you didn't fully notice it the first time around. Sometimes my focus is a little different, I guess." Had he ever been able to just chat freely about his mutation before, bounce ideas around and so on? Not that he remembered, especially after his mutation made itself actually noticeable. Wait, no, he'd tried once, but that got him kicked in the if-only-nads.
Silver linings.
Still hurt, but he had to stop thinking about that before he remembered it too accurately. "It's most dramatic with pain, but I think I have gotten drunk without drinking anything that day," he quickly continued. "Which is nice on the wallet, I guess, but I had to work really early the next day."
WHAT SHE HAD TO GO
oh right she had work coming up, didn't she? That was fair. "Send them every five minutes if you like!" he said cheerfully, raising a hand in farewell.
Was this a bad idea? Maybe, but he'd agreed to it and he'd felt worse. He just couldn't think too closely about what had felt worse, or try to distract himself, because then he'd stop bleeding or break a bone or something, and that wasn't the point of this lesson. He had to just endure the pain but OW
Still, he could clench his other hand into a fist and focus on breathing. He had to stay aware of his hand, blood running freely down his elbow now and onto the floor, but with the right balance he could keep from reacting so strongly that the volunteer student wouldn't be able to do what she'd volunteered for.
It worked reasonably well until the student grabbed his hand with her bare hand. Three separate markings, all small ones little more than darker dashes against his skin, blinked white.
A moment of torn skin - the aching muscle cramps of written exams that just kept going and going, always more pages, he'd already killed one pen and his back up was starting to sputter but it was his last exam and then he was free forever - the press of someone else's hand in his, skin on skin with no memories getting tangled in the way, the smell of his first boyfriend, back when everyone said girls had to date boys so he'd tried it with his best friend at the time -
The tangle of overlapping, confused memories faded and Memo opened his eyes with a little shake to his head. What was he- he was in a class. That was that nurse - oh, first aid demonstration. Memo gave his head a slightly stronger shake and shrugged off the disorientation of living unrelated moments in abrupt succession.
Wait, he wasn't bleeding anymore, was he? %^&* that was too early. Where had he been bleeding? Same place as when he'd first met Juliette. Side of the hand, where that panicking would-be-mugger slashed him. Triggering memories from inside his head was hard sometimes, but with a moment's focus he was able to relive the moment, and the remembered wound opened again.
The student was probably panicking by now, wasn't she? Never mind the rest of the class. Memo raised his free hand and gave the class a thumbs-up over his head, and tilted his head to whisper to the volunteer. "You're doing good, just maybe try not to touch any of my other markings with your skin," he said gently, a band of humour woven through his voice with the traces of renewed pain that had his jaw set and all the muscles in his forearm tensed.
"Things I do, that I feel, are a lot easier to remember. Too easy, sometimes. And I remember them way more vividly than, oh, things I've heard or seen. When I do remember stuff like that, it's like I'm reliving the entire thing, with just as much awareness of me as of whatever else is going on." Sometimes cool, sometimes really really hard on report cards. "And so far I don't think I've ever forgotten anything really big. It's usually small things, things that don't have a lot of connections. Fragments. It's actually still pretty new, the stuff I do now, and it's hard to tell what's me and what's my mutation." He shrugged. "Plus my mutation is me."
Rather than being worn down by the conversation, though his energy did settle out a bit into a more human range as he talked about himself, Memo's idle pleasantness fortified itself.
"Ever wished you could remember experiencing something better, or that you could relive it?" he asked slyly, lips slowly stretching into another whole-faced grin as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. There definitely were things he was happy to relive.
Juliette's practiced speech drifted around Memo's ears like the fluff of his hair when he was wearing his favourite hat, since it pressed his hair down over his ears more than it would do on its own. It was interesting, but Memo would be more likely to remember it if it were something he could make effective use of and was doing. Mostly doing. He remembered things he did in so much more detail than things he simply heard, since the latter's memories got so cluttered with what he was feeling or doing at the time. Existing took up a lot of space.
That was his name! His turn was coming up! Memo went to roll up his sleeves, found himself to be wearing a t-shirt but finished the motion anyway, and then carefully peeled off the glove from one hand. He tucked it into his pocket. All ready!
The girl who had stood out stood up when the class hesitated for so long that Memo nearly forgot that Juliette had asked for a volunteer. He smiled at her as she approached, for now still forgetting that he was about to seriously, if temporarily, injure himself and be in severe pain and whatnot.
"Ready?" he asked jauntily. "I'm pretty sure the janitor isn't."
Ambiguous warning aired, Memo tapped his bare hand against a patch of marking-free skin on his opposite forearm. A certain shiny black streak along the side of his hand turned white, and the skin split open as if a knife were just now sliding through it.
