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.
One of the key aspects of any moderately successful escape is an element of alacrity; a heightened tempo, a sense of limited time accompanied by a continuous feeling of impending doom. This is what causes the blood to pound in the ears, the adrenaline to surge through veins, muscles to tense and breath to catch. It could almost be called a sensation of anticipation as one waits with baited breath for fate to make the next roll of the dice.
It is an experience which is somewhat hampered when one is required to stop every several feet in order to allow a lilliputian minion with noticeably shorter limbs to keep pace. What was generally called for in such situation was an application of suitable motivation, typically through the medium of impetus or possibly calidity should appropriate tools be available. In this particular instance however one needed to take into consideration the skills of the minion in question; namely the ability to replicate the concussive force of a dozen or so cannons.
While Hull's thoughts may still have been somewhat jarred his subconscious survival instincts were still functioning well within acceptable parameters and thus acted as a rather effective stranglehold on the anarchists instinctual action of delivering a calculated blow to the upside of First mate Fausts head, instead forcing the Canadian killer to hesitate and consider an alternative solution accompanied by the rather entertaining mental image of a shoulder mounted cannon.
It was simply too good an opportunity to pass up.
"Captain, where are... I mean, arr, cap'n! Where we be findin' this crew yer talkin' about?"[/color]
Without waiting for athirst ingénue to finish phrasing her query the twisted traveler's travelkers hand abruptly snaked out, snatching the svelte child by the back of her shirt and swiftly drawing the girl off her feet in order to whirl her through the air and onto the demented wanderers own back before he then deigned to reply to the surely shocked gamine. "If you've time to yammer me hearty ye ain't mov'in fast enough."
Having delivered his nugget of piratical wisdom Hull allowed his impromptu passenger a brief moment to secure herself before he once again began his rapid descent down the stairwell; gripping the inner railing of each flight and deftly vaulting himself over the narrow gap separating each case of stairs before then landing on the balls of his feet and almost instantly repeating the maneuver so the overall effect was that he spent more time in the air than on the ground.
It was in no time at all therefore that the swashbuckling pair found themselves down in the poorly lit depths of Sanctuary's subterranean levels traveling at a somewhat more sedate pace where Hull had taken the opportunity to shift his first mate to a somewhat more comfortable position atop his shoulder before beginning to whistle a suitable shanty to set the mood. The sound carried an impressive distance, becoming somewhat distorted as it traveled until it reached the point where one could easily believe there were at least dozen individuals supporting the song.
Eventually though Hull came a stop before a pair of rather heavyset metallic doors emblazoned with a rather garish exclamation mark, below which was inscribed a rather crude warning the writers mother would most likely not approve of. Hull likewise took a rather dim view, though his face had shifted into a malevolent grin at the thought of being able to utilize his shoulder mounted armament as he raised an open hand pointed towards the offending barrier.
"Gunner Faust! Ready yer cannons and blow this bilge cursed door ta Davy Jones!"
'Concussions arise when ones skull is introduced to sufficient impetus so as to jar the brain, possibly bruising and the tearing of blood vessels. In quotidian cases, dealing with mere human minds, the effects of such trauma can often last for days. This simply goes to show how poorly designed their fragile little minds truly are, their frail psyches never developed the necessary flexibility required to adapt to the sudden shift in perspective accompanied by such blunt head force trauma.'
'I, however, have always made it a point of ensuring my ruminations adopt perpendicular paths in a world of rectilineal thoughts, it permits for rather entertaining experiences, even in my less than lucid moments.'
"Aye, cap'n, sounds t'be a most agreeable offer. Ye c'n call me... Faust. Where we be headin' to?"[/color]
The child had failed to accept the concussed anarchists hand yet she had made no move to hide her own and thus the demented grasped the child's undefended limb with almost zealous enthusiasm; one hand latching onto the redheads shoulder whilst the other entirely engulfed the girl's significantly smaller palm in a tight grip which was not quite crushing and eagerly pumped the girls arm as though it were lever.
"Yarr! That be what I wish'n to hear lass, ye shall be me gunner and first mate."
Abruptly as the grip had been administered it was released and the malevolent murderer swiftly drew himself back to his full height in order to stare down at the apparently amenable child before him, a deranged glint in his venomous eyes as his addled mind endeavored to piece together the next likely step of action in this implausible performance.
"Gen'r'lly t' first order o' business be to commandeer a suitable vessel, in t'is case though we be havin a mite case o' badluck."
A meaningful glance was given to surrounding wrecks to emphasize this point before the twisted traveler continued in a more boisterous cadence to assure cynosure as he quickly ushered his first mate towards a desolate staircase which would lead them back towards Sanctuary proper.
"Still, there be a silver linin' t' our troubles say's I, for now we has time t' rope some hands and get a proper crew full o' sea dogs, and I be knowin just where's to look. Pick ya pace girl, this be no time for lollygagging."
With a somewhat forceful tug Hull jerked unwitting accomplice into the barren stairway and behind the door just as the faint 'ping' of the elevator announced the arrival of what was likely rather distressed vehicle owners, or soon to be once they took stock of the damage. In anycase there was little time available to dwell on the problems of others, no matter how amusing they might be. A crew needed to be assembled!
...well, perhaps crew was something of a stretch; technically they'd be following the Canadian killer's wishes but , in general, most animals are inclined towards chaos when abruptly released from captivity. Especially alligators and monkeys and gecko's and spiders and snakes and kangaroos and, well, pretty much everything sitting in the jury rigged menagerie down in the basement. Admittedly most of the creatures would need some encouragement to evacuate their dwellings, but that was fine as, by rather happy coincidence, he'd stumbled across a little girl who was ever so skilled at clearing a room.
Lounging indolently within one of the thread bare lobby seats Hull idly inspected the fruits of his dilatory labour as he ran a single sterling tipped finger over the faint etchings inscribed into the entire pallid surface of human bone. A series of stick figures locked into a farce of combat, each ones death more inventive and ludicrous than the one before it. Classical art had never been one his strengths, modern art however, well...
After a few moments the sinister slaughterers hand abandoned its listless tracing and trailed back to handle of the quotidian switchblade which had carved the inane inscriptions. A faint coating of alabaster dust obscured the knifes tip and the point itself seemed to have dulled somewhat after its introduction to the osseous matter yet the twisted traveler determined the weapon could still serve some use in the nearby future as he flicked a thumb over the release mechanism and retracted the blade and then engulfed the remaining handle with his hand .
A split second later the Canadian killers hand reopened, revealing a gleaming silver knitting needle, the item was treated to a brief frown before it began to twirl between deft fingers. Then, abruptly, the miniature spike was grasped between thumb and forefinger and driven towards the anarchists ear, seemingly plunging into the depths of the killers skull, an assumption which would only have been supported by the manner in which Hull's head limply fell back and collided with the wall.
The reaction such an action received was not, perhaps, what one might expect. There was no sudden gasp of surprise, no shocked exclamations or curses, or even any attempts to ascertain whether or not the foreign fiend truly had passed on. Instead there only an short intake of breath which swiftly turned into an annoyed sigh from the sanctuary receptionist as a low chuckle escaped Hull's lips and he lifted his head back to its proper position withdrew an now empty hand from the side of his head, treating the woman to a mocking smirk as he did so.
Giving the Canadian killer to a tight smile in return Lisa directed her attention back to the papers before her. Although she rarely ventured beyond Sanctuary's lobby Lisa's position allowed her to keep abreast of all the residents comings and goings, thus she was well aware of Hull's feigned fatality performances. In fact he had pulled that precise act when he'd first been given the paperwork to secure his residence; the moment Lisa had left to fetch one of the residents healers the malevolent murderer had quietly slipped away, though not before taking the opportunity to insert a number of pins in between the keys of her computer keyboard.
Hull?
Shifting his toxic gaze down the expansive corridor leading towards Sanctuary's residential section Hull swiftly caught sight of a girl who was little more than child, older than the precious Katrina certainly, but still far from being a grown woman. The gamine was adorned in what could be best be described as a hodgepodge of miscellaneous uncoordinated attire, yet what truly drew the malevolent murderers attention were the scattered specks of crimson decorating the girls face and chest. Hull had more than enough experience with the human body to recognize blood when he saw it, and if that wasn't a human thigh bone in her left hand he was the next Captain Planet.
This was promising.
Rising from his seat the demented anarchist offered the girl an overly theatrical bow as he prepared himself for an afternoon of over the top eccentric showmanship. Such dissembling tended to annoy most people, which was entertaining. Sometimes it encouraged them to play along, which was also entertaining. Indeed the only time such affectations failed to provide amusement was when his audience attempted to ignore him, such efforts rarely lasted long however.
"Alexander Damien Darling at your service, you may call me Darling."
As he had suspected the girl was indeed the one he had been waiting, though she declined to give to any authentic alias and simply stood by her moniker of "Aura". The origins of such an appellation were readily transparent as the gamine's form was coated with a roseate shaded luminescence which pulsed slightly to some invisible beat. If not for the feminine colour the overall effect could have been quietly intimidating, as it was though the sight was somewhat laughable until one once again considered the flecks of crimson blood.
"I'm guessing you understand this job, can be violent at times?"
A shadow of amusement flickered across the twisted travelers face before his features swiftly resolved themselves into a somber expression. "Oh dear, that is... disappointing." The merest ghost of a grin tugged at his lips. "I do so hate sharing you see."
Boredom is an abysmal affliction affecting approximately all of humanity at some point or another. Inflicted by lackluster routines and the overall absence of variety it has caused it is a most lamentable condition which bears a double sided edge as potent as that of any blade. For in seeking a remedy to ennui the mortal mind has, over the course of history, managed to manifest both moral horrors and benevolent miracles.
Hull was bored.
The sinister anarchist had at last exhausted all possible avenues of entertainment within sanctuary at the current moment. Theoretically this should not have been possible, any location which houses a significant number of mutants should possess an unlimited opportunities for chaotic entertainment yet somehow the oversized mutant shelter had become dull.
Therefore, against his better judgment, he had allowed himself to be volunteered in the next round of neighborhood 'collections'. If only for a change of pace and the chance to loot the occasional storefront under a semi official authority. The idea amused him on some level and thus he found himself waiting just inside Sanctuary's infamous golden doors, reclining somewhat lackadaisically in one of the provided chairs as he idly carved a repetitive inscription into a length of alabaster material which looked suspiciously similar to human bone.
The small but significant pile of pile of shavings his efforts created seemed to annoy the blone haired receptionist to no end for she continually directed annoyed glances in his direction which, for some reason caused the sinister anarchist a strange sense of satisfaction. Sadly though he was quickly running out of carving material, however his mind was already beginning to consider other alternatives activities he could implement to further distract officious secretary, a small can of burning sulfur perhaps? Or maybe launching a burning paper plane at her inbox? He'd be doing her favour really, the thing looked awfully full.
Pipe bombs, all he'd wanted were pipe bombs; a device to inject a measure of vim and vigour into others lives... before then abruptly snuffing them out of course. Instead he'd received a crimson haired infant more volatile than a handful of hand grenades. It was a most fascinating turn of events, albeit rather painful, in fact if he tried to raise his lower back... yes, those were his kidneys, limited movement would likely be advisable for the next few moments.
"Are you... okay?"[/color]
Raising his head slowly over the edge of his twisted metal coffin Hull's unfocused emerald orbs slowly traced the intermittent ebony streaks of rubber along the cracked concrete floor to the prone child staring up at him with wide hazel eyes before his head promptly fell back with none to kind 'thud' which did nothing to ease the disorienting maelstrom of his thoughts, yet vaguely the addled anarchist recognized that he'd been questioned.
"Arr matey! Ye blew me away like'a cannonball!"
A disturbed grin decorated the foreign fiends features as he concluded his swashbuckling statement with a low chuckle before then slowly extracting himself from the remains of the van. He'd found a new game to play and he'd be a sorry excuse for a bilge rat before he allowed something as trifling as pain to distract him.
Upon regaining his feet a momentary stumble overtook him as his limbs readjusted themselves to the lay of the land. When balance was restored however the twisted wander sauntered over towards the decumbent gamine before crouching down and extending a hand.
"A talent as yours t'be prized for sure, I be captain Darling o' th' intergalactic house o' pancakes, what say ye to joinin' me crew? I gives ya me affadavia I gives ye a cut in any loot we take."
The child cringed, hunching her shoulders and firmly shutting her eyes as she leaned away from the obsidian axle shaft which was nudging her upper ribcage and leaving a lovely trail of grease soot on the fabric of her shirt. All things considered the girl was doing a rather passable imitation of a timorous tortoise which could only truly be ameliorated if she were to crouch down and duck her head, two simple corrections which could easily be applied by, say, the use of an axle shaft.
Said instrument swiftly stroke up, then down with a simple flick of the wrist to connect with the child's cranium, uttering a dull 'thunk' which was practically inaudible amongst the continuous wailing of surrounding alarm systems. Still it worked in the demented anarchists favour for the diminutive redhead slowly opened one eyes, squinting cautiously out of the corner of her vision. Then, in a sudden sweep of movement, Hull's found that gravity had chosen to take a rather abrupt vacation.
Blasted from his feet by an invisible wave of concussive force the sadistic slaughterers form gained rapid velocity as it sailed backwards through empty air, such a gentle journey could not last long however and twisted traveler quickly collided with the warped remains of an achromic van, his mid air journey coming to an utter halt as spine and skull met distorted steel with a most unhealthy sounding thud before the rest of his body fell back under gravity's influence and slowly slid down the wrecked vehicle until only his feet were in view.
Concussions tend to impede certain activities such as consciousness and rational thinking. Fortuitously for Hull however the latter have never truly factored into his thought processes in any overt manner, and as for the former well, the constant, incessant throbbing in his lower back and head were rather good indicators that he'd somehow managed to retain a form of cognizance if little else.
Glancing around in a bleary manner from his inverted position the morbid murderer took note of a slight gap between the floor and the metallic wreck he was resting upon. Squinting slightly he was just able to discern a narrow pair of legs wrapped in worn jeans and tennis shoes; the precise same attire as the petite gamine he'd been so inquisitively poking. Connections slowly began to form.
It's been said that curiosity killed the cat, clearly in that case the felines error was the lack of a properly sanctioned poking stick. Clearly, had the cat possessed such a valuable implement it would have easily survived the rebuttal arising from instinctual inquisitiveness and then, being the haughty creature it is, sought swift revenge against its aggressor. Sadly though due to the lack of opposable thumbs such vengeance has never been achieved, thus it became clear to the demented, concussed, wanderer that his latest mission was to act in the place of curious felines everywhere and seek retribution, starting with tiny red haired girl.
Focusing for a split second against the constant pounding in his cranium Hull raised a solitary sterling tipped hand and watched with narrowed emerald eyes as argent skin glowed briefly and an object abruptly flickered into his grasp out of thin air, he tightened his grip and....
'Phweeeaak!'
Hull blinked and stared at the lemon shaded toy resting between his fingers, his features utterly deadpan as he gazed silently into the obnoxiously over cheerful eyes placed upon the things head granting the toy an overall expression which could have easily been attributed either dementia or pot. He squeezed once more and, on cue, another 'phweak'[/i] escaped the canary coloured rubber ducky.
Closing his eyes Hull lowered the toy from view and instead raised his other hand, focusing somewhat harder this time as he endeavored to picture clearly the item he wished to summon. Once again an argent glow surrounded the fingertips of his free hand which swiftly died the moment another, thinner, item flashed into subsistence. Slowly Hull opened his eyes and a malevolent grin stretched across his lips as he stared at one of the pipe bombs he'd constructed previously.
'Alright ambassador slim Jim, you'll be representing me on the floor, now get out there and work your magic. '
A quick glance through the narrow gap at the floor revealed that the child had remained motionless, making her a conveniently accessible target. A moments play with a lighter was that was required to light spark the weapons fuse and then send it rolling gently along the floor towards the apparently immobile gamine. At the same time the explosive was sent on its way the rubber ducky made another, rather abrupt appearance, over the tops of the cars wreckage.
'Phweeak!'
3...
2...
1...
...Nothing
Somewhat puzzled by the lack of any type of detonation and still somewhat disoriented Hull carefully raised himself into a more practical position on his elbows before hesitating a moment, opening his mouth, hesitating once again and then finally speaking in a resigned and somewhat sulking tone.
Katrina wasn't responding, that was... disappointing.
With a muted shake of his head Hull lay the gleaming steel knife back upon the tray. Children were so soft these days, whining and crying about the smallest things. Back in his day kids learned how to take a beating or two, normally at his hands but there had been the odd occasion when the morbid menace had failed to become the victor of a brawl and during those times he'd learned a few things about pain himself.
In any case the rather disagreeable fact of the matter was that he'd over estimated his young charge and pushed her beyond her tolerance for pain, leaving her crying like... well, a little girl. It was quite a deplorable situation but there was little which could be done about it at this stage. Truly the sinister slaughterer was faced with only two choices; he could set his tools and immediate source of entertainment aside in order to give the sobbing adolescent a chance to recollect herself. This would undoubtedly take a significant amount of time and likely cause him no small amount of boredom.
Alternatively the twisted torturer could instead abandon his initial idea of tormenting the child's psyche and instead choose the more urbane but immediately rewarding option of simply using the girl's body as a testing ground for his newest tools, hmm...
Not much of a contest really.
With a cheerful clap and rub of his hands Hull abruptly pivoted and reached down to select the exquisitely designed sable carving pen. A brief moment was taken to connect the drilling device to the jury-rigged power source above and malevolent hum quickly cascaded throughout the tunnels narrow confines. This was drill which could pierce wood, stone and, in a few short seconds, bone.
Once more hovering over the quivering adolescent a sturdy hand was again placed at the girl's neck to keep her still whilst another more precise hand was carefully lowered the carving pen towards the revealed plate of bleached bone until the diamond stud connected with surface of the osseous matter and easily ate through to the tender nerves buried beneath.
Then, things became... interesting.
Pain erupted from the left shoulder, surging along torn muscles, ravaged tendons and split skin screaming for the attention of the conscious mind. That wasn't all though, above everything else was a deeper form of agony from savaged nerves which rarely saw the light of day; a blazing cry of agony emanating from a mutilated scapula which seemed to have been etched with liquid fire along its length.
All perfectly normal sensations for a victim given the circumstances, for the torturer to experience them in tandem however is another matter entirely.
Hull's reaction to the sudden spike of pain blooming in his shoulder was quite simple. He promptly forgot everything he'd been doing and collapsed on top of his restrained victim, his hands swiftly abandoned their prior tasks and reached around to clutch and possibly stem the blood which could be felt tricking down the skin of his back. The crimson jacket emblazoned with coca cola logo quickly vanished as impetuous argent fingers made contact, the alabaster t-shirt rapidly followed until questing fingers made contact with clean, unmarked skin.
'WTF?'
The thought drifted above the layer of pain coating the twisted malevolent murderers thoughts as his searching hands failed to find the injury his mind insistently screamed was there. And in the wake of the confusion which set amidst the burning torment his combat training set in; grasping control of his lungs and forcing deep but regular breaths to ensure a steady flow of oxygen as one of his clamped down to apply pressure to stem the bleeding of the nonexistent wound and also relieve a measure of the pain. Though neither action truly did anything they allowed the sinister anarchist to fall into the mental routine he typically reserved for bullet stab wounds creating space within his mind to think and act.
Rising slowly Hull kept one hand clamped upon the ghost wound in his shoulder as the other found purchase on the edge of the horizontal slab supporting his victim and venomous viridian eyes rapidly focused on the fresh wound he'd inflicted on the child. It took no great no noteworthy amount of thought to make a connection in this latest twist of events, and so didn't pause to ponder the how's or why's of the situation. He merely acted as any demented homicidally inclined individual would by slamming the fist of his free hand down on Katrina's head.
There were, now that Hull came to think about it, a few perks associated with residing in a facility among other mutants whose own moral compasses were, if not fully shattered, then at least partially defunct. For one many of his new neighbors possessed egos which bore a remarkable similitude to oversized paper balloons on a wet day; the merest suggestion that another's mutation was little more than an allegory for floccinaucinihilipilification would spark idiotic indignation in almost any individual.
After they got their hands on a dictionary that is. Cretins.
Verily the sinister slaughterer could almost imagine he were back in high school, there were the same odious quotidian coteries, overlooked by the usual handful of hubristic gubernative individuals. An environment where miscue, parapraxis and plain cruelty occurred on such a frequent basis they were often dismissed out of hand by all except those who believed themselves wronged, thus there was little to discourage acts of revenge or formations of vendetta's.
It was, at its core, potential chaos distilled and Hull had been more than willing to provide the necessary catalyst to change potential into actuality. A mere fortnight after his introduction to 'Sanctuary', an inconcinnous appellation if ever there was one, the twisted traveler had managed to instigate several cafeteria brawls, force an impromptu evacuation of the facility via a simple sabotage of the sewage system, located and unleashed a pair of alligators along with an army of arachnids and other miscellaneous insects from a surprisingly large menagerie hidden away in the basement.
This wasn't to say that the Canadian killer escaped the consequences of his actions every time, he had a number of 'talks' with the petite Barbie doll who'd somehow managed to work her way to the top of the food chain. Despite the anarchist's constant urgings the woman had remained an obstinate iconoclast and simply hadn't been able to see the funny side of things, which was her loss really. In any case the end result had left him banned from the basement and only one hour of access to the cafeteria a day. A sentence the Hull had agreed to with an extravagant bow before promising to instill chaos elsewhere before then retreating at speed as a number of metallic projectiles which launched towards his cranium.
Thus is was that Hull found himself in Sanctuary's rather spacious vehicle bay, his emerald eyes perusing the selection of cars vans and motorbikes whilst another section of his demented psyche pondered precisely where the place obtained the funding required to continue its operations. Housing mutants was not a cheap assignment after all, however the line of thought was eventually dismissed as the malevolent wanderer finally selected a vehicle and got to work.
Carefully crawling beneath the machines underbelly with a flashlight clenched in his mouth for additional illumination the foreign fiend paused as he considered the collection of pipes before him. Most people when scavenging for pipe bomb materials will only consider the tail end of a cars exhaust pipe as it is normally the most readily accessible item. Hull however was not limited in quite the same way others were and so had no difficulty in cannibalizing a variety of components from any of undefended vehicle. Thus with no sense of malapropos the sinister menace reached upwards with glowing sterling fingers and began to dismantle the vehicle above him piece by piece.
A little under an hour after he had begun Hull was situated under his fourth vehicle as his argent fingers went to work on the front axle when things got somewhat out of hand. It began with the activation of a particularly odious car alarm which served as the foreign fiends first notice that he was not quite as alone as he'd previously suspected and led to the following line of thought,
'A Ghost busters themed car alarm? Genius! Why-'
CRACKOOM
A wave of concussive force cascaded throughout the immediate area impacting with numerous other vehicles causing metal to groan, rubber to screech and a cacophonous melody of other, far less imaginative alarms to activate.
Hull himself was considerably lighter than the surrounding cars, fortuitously though the explosive force possessed a rather short range and thus when it reached the morbid murderer he merely found himself skidding a foot or so on his back with the majority of the damage being taken by his jacket thus allowing him to regain his feet relatively quickly, albeit somewhat unsteadily, as with a critical eye, he scanned the newly crafted scene of mayhem which, for once, had not been his doing. It wasn't bad work he finally decided, somewhat confined and lacking in imagination but it wasn't without merit.
Abruptly his venomous gaze landed upon the petite form of a crimson haired child shaking slightly as she stood in what was clearly the epicenter of the chaos, only a side profile of the girl was visible to the anarchist yet he could make out a somewhat distressed expression scattered over features. The kid couldn't possibly have been more than 11, certainly younger than the darling Katrina he'd encountered in Central Park.
A look of inquisitiveness gradually crept over the travelers face as he crept forward somewhat inexpertly, a multitude of disjointed thoughts raced through his skull ranging from an approximation of the little girls weight and height to the practicality of a raw egg in a firefight. Within a handful of seconds though he had successfully manage to skulk around and behind the child who had begun to slowly back away from the mild scene of destruction. When she came within a foot of the demented wander he carefully crouched down, reached out a hand and...
Poked her.
With an axle shaft to be precise, the grungy piece of metal caught the lilliputian redhead in her left shoulder with a slow but determined amount of force designed to make the girl pivot in order to face him. He peered at her silently for a few moments under the layer of oil and grime which marred his own features before poking her again and finally speaking.
Many people, if offered a heavily armoured vehicle with which to navigate the multiple lanes of New York will, for some inexplicable reason, refuse the offer. They will state that it is too large, ungainly, inefficient and aesthetically displeasing for their own personal tastes. In short the question they are asking is 'what could anyone possibly do with such a machine?'
This is, of course, the wrong question.
When one is bestowed with the god fortune to direct one such a automobile it should not be limitations which spring to mind, but possibilities. In essence, 'what can't you do with a heavily armored vehicle in the middle of New York?' For the imaginative individual at least a dozen different ideas should make themselves known in but a short few moments; hit and run, drive-by's, multi-car pile ups, playing chicken with opposing traffic , shunting others into fire hydrants and leading the civil authority on a merry chase are but a few of the possibilities.
As Hull was swiftly discovering though, one the element of surprise was lost other drivers and pedestrians tended to give you a rather wide birth which made things rather difficult if you were, say, attempting to play an impromptu game of snooker and couldn't quite manage to line up the white beetle with the blue corvette for a calculated ramming and a handy five points.
Truly, it only went to show how inconsiderate people in this city were.
Still there was a minor upside to the situation; namely that such a wide birth gave the sinister anarchist a clear run to build the van's velocity to its maximum which, when one considered the machines bulk, was actually quite impressive but depressingly was not even close to what the police cruiser had been capable of achieving. It was not a complete loss though, after all open road could not last long in such a bustling urban jungle, eventually the twisted traveler would catch up with another van, car or, if he were lucky, a motorcycle. All he needed was a little patience...
Hull's thoughts paused at this point and then rapidly backtracked as they re-examined the requirements associated with this latest idea, almost immediately locating the inherent flaw before then swiftly seeking an alternative. Vicious viridian eyes abandoned the road as the macabre menace twisted his head and glanced down nearby side streets and into contiguous establishments when, abruptly, a flicker of jade crossed the outer edge of his vision, prompting him to twist his head yet further.
It is important to note that the purpose of a windshield, aside from shielding one from the wind, is to provide a transparent zone through which the driver may observe their surroundings and thus be able to react as necessary to ongoing events. Logically, if a driver were to ignore the view directly before them in favour of another sight, one would expect the aforementioned driver to encounter certain... difficulties.
Logic however, was rarely capable of applying itself properly to Hull, and so the most it could manage was to urge a small newborn kitten out into the road where it was promptly turned into an interesting new form of pâté guaranteed to rapidly circulate throughout the city, garnering considerable attention from those who experienced it.
Five seconds later, Hull collided with a mini cooper.
Given the disproportion in size between the two vehicles it is little wonder that the newly warped form of conglomerated metal retained an impressive amount of kinetic force which allowed it to slide a dozen feet before impacting against store front and enacting immediate renovations to the establishments entrance, much to the misfortune of those who had been residing within at the time. All in all though Hull considered as he gradually pulled his aching body out of the debris, he could have done better; he'd come just shy of collapsing a main support pillar and a handful of potential customers had managed to cluster in a far corner of store.
No, it certainly wasn't his best performance especially since he seemed to have momentarily lost the buxom bonemancer, however amelioration was always possible. A sinister grin snaked across the Canadian killers features as an NYPD pistol materialized in his good hand and was leveled towards the civilians.
It is interesting to note, if one should ever have the time, that throughout the ages numerous religions have risen and fallen, their origins are scattered across the world, among a multitude of different cultures, societies and events. Despite all this though it is almost astounding how the majority of religions shared a basic concept, namely, eternal suffering. Even in this so called 'modern' day and age references of Hell, Gehenna, Tartarus and Jahannam are no less diminished than they were 1000 years ago, indeed in certain areas of the world it could be said that such mentions have increased.
Further, consider that in all but the rarest of exceptions religion begins as nothing more than one individuals word preaching to any who will listen. There will be no proof or evidence of the individuals claims that he is speaking on behalf of a deity or sharing the wisdom of enlighten. No, there is only his word, and as the reader must surely be aware all humans possess the capacity to bedote, beguile, cheat, cozen, deceive, delude... it all equates to the same common denominator; an utterance of falsehoods by the speaker for their own selfish ends.
And what astounding ends they were! Even a cursory glance through the pages of history will reveal that religion is responsible for more deaths on earth than any other cause short of so called 'acts of god' which, due to their very name, could be said to be a subsection of religion. It is truly remarkable to think that so much blood has been spilled on the commands of a select few masquerading under a benevolent guise when truly they seek nothing more than their own personal satisfaction regardless of the overall cost, or indeed perhaps fully cognizant of said costs.
It was thoughts such as these which kept Hull in good humour whenever he caught sight of others praying for hope, salvation or even release for their ignorance was almost beyond measure, and as a general rule the greater ones ignorance the easier they are to toy with. Thus when the sadistic slaughterer glimpsed Katrina's utterly focused expression and noted the minute motions of her lips the Canadian killer grinned, and then released a low chuckled which resonated deep within his throat before emerging into the air. It seemed he had caught a devote Christian girl.
This would be fun.
As his laughter subsided to a mere murmur of its original intensity the malevolent murder gently stroked the gamines injured arm, his sterling fingers gliding upon her skin as his deranged train of thought swept towards its macabre conclusion; idly sifting through the collection of tools and devices resting just outside the ingénue's sight, assigning priorities to each one whilst contemplating which one would be best suited to shatter the girl's silent resolve. Possibly the soldering iron? It had worked well in the beginning to command the adolescents undivided attention, but no, the child would be able to recognize its distinctive hiss and thus steel herself.
Possibly the mallet? Blunt force trauma was generally effective no matter the victim, yet it was so unoriginal; the common tool of your quotidian thug. It could have its place to be sure, but not at this precise moment. It simply would not be an adequate introduction to the second act after this brief interlude no, something more deliciously arcane would be needed here if he wished to decimate her determination and rend her will.
Venomous viridian eyes slid slowly across the makeshift metallic tray, appraising each individual item until, abruptly, an almost inaudible scratching sound reached the demented anarchist's ears causing his gaze to shift to the sewer floor and a sadistic grin to light upon his sinister countenance as his attention centered upon the meager rodent he had stumbled minutes earlier. The creature, in spite of its close contact with electrical current, had revived and was taking time to test the dimensions of its new prison, which was in fact little more than a bucket.
Rats and other vermin had been quite a prominent feature among the many mediaeval torture tools. The creatures were, by and large, omnivores and so with relatively little coaxing mixed with mild starvation they could be persuaded to gorge themselves on the flesh of creatures they would instinctively avoid. A particularly imaginative innovation Hull had encountered some time ago involved force feeding the live rodent down the throat via a metallic pipe and a hot instrument. It was supposedly quite a gruesome death and the one the malign anarchist had been wishing practice for quite some time.
Then there was, of course, the carving pen; a most ingenious device who original purpose was not so far removed from Hull's own. Little more than a miniscule diamond tipped drill the tool had been designed to etch artistic carvings in dense, unyielding materials such as wood, stone or bone. The only slight flaw with the pen was that liquids or softer materials could clog its inner working and thus any surface it worked on had to be properly cleaned and treated beforehand...
Scarlet stained hands hovered momentarily over the equally crimson fillet knife which had been used near the beginning of the session. Already the florid fluid had dried, coating the once sterling steel with a layer of faux rust, yet the killer knew with certainty that this would do nothing to dull the blades edge for it still had a task to complete.
Indeed the new hue seemed to grant the weapon an even greater sanguinary slant as the twisted torturer grasped the handle and held the metal up to the tunnels dim lighting whilst his free hand ghosted over the adolescents lacerated shoulder, tracing the still damp edges of the three sided incision before bringing the tarnished knife to bear on the pale skin; deftly severing the tender tissue and causing another scarlet stream to spill steadily across the gamines arced back as the square of flesh was lifted and placed, almost reverently, besides Katrina's head.
Muffled sobs continued to rack the girls diminutive frame as the blade almost immediately returned to task on the newly skinned section of shoulder. With one hand continuing to hold the child in place Hull gently eased the metal into the muscular fibers resting above the agonized gamines scapula, slowly and carefully dissecting the twitching tissue until the alabaster bone beneath gleamed in the pool of fresh blood and the juveniles arm rendered all but useless.
Only then did Hull turn away, idly withdrawing a bleached cloth from thin air and nonchalantly running both sides of the blade along the smooth material until argent steel was once more visible. "I hope I have you're full attention Katrina, there's a new game we're going to play; it's called truth or harm."
Shifting back into the gamines line of sight the macabre menace knelt until he was at eye level with the child and tenderly wiped away her tears before continuing. "Here's how it works, I'm going to ask you a question and as long as you give me a truthful answer I'll stay away from my toys. Does that sound good?"
After allowing Katrina a moment to concentrate and comprehend precisely what he was offering Hull abruptly abandoned his amiable facade and allowed a malevolent grin to snake across his lips. "If however, you refuse to answer or I feel you are lying to me, I shall return to my original entertainment, do you understand?"
The moment Hull departed the unimaginative confines of his ineffective prison the malevolent anarchist promptly abandoned his morbidly cheerful facade. It was not a subtle shift for it affected his entire posture; his legs were reduced to somewhat shorter more careful steps, shoulders hunched slightly as his body lent forward to a noticeable degree and his recently healed arm hung stiffly against his side, carefully immobile to limit the aggravating bursts of pain which shot up and down his newly crafted bones. Broken limbs he'd suffered before, but this was something completely different; the bone had been restored yet it was somehow felt scarred and as such brought with it an entirely new flavour of agony, despite this though a grim smile occupied the macabre killers features.
He would enjoy learning to inflict such pain in others.
Given the twisted travelers slightly awkward pace Hull had fully expected the driver of his otiose prison to emerge from the vehicle before he himself made it to drivers door and so undertook rapid precautions to deal with what would likely prove to be an inimical individual. Slipping his good hand inside the folds of his bloodied jacket the sadistic slaughters fingers glowed for the briefest of moments before his undershirt vanished and reappeared in the blink of an eye hanging loosely off the barrel of the gun now clutched by sterling fingers. A further second was taken to furtively wrap the bloodied shirt more firmly around the weapon just before it was flashed upwards to meet the officer existing the drivers seat and a bullet lodged itself in the man's throat.
Annoyingly however the malevolent murderers slipshod preparations utterly failed to muffle the retort of the gunshot by any significant degree and so as Hull's latest victim collapsed screams were already breaking out among the more dimwitted drivers present while other, more savvy, characters conserved their breath and focused on vacating the area as swiftly as possible. The Canadian killer himself though merely lowered his head and sighed despondently before giving a half hearted shrug before shaking the scrap of cloth off his firearm and swinging the weapon to point towards remaining imbecilic drivers .
Bullets were fired almost carelessly; seemingly with no point or purpose yet each projectile succeeded shattering glass and then in lancing flesh and, if not entirely robbing said flesh of life, at least impose a certain amount of... inconvenience into the vacuous victim. All too soon though the ammo was exhausted and the weapons hammer clicked on hollow space causing a glum expression of disappointment to decorate the anarchists physiognomy before he shrugged once more and shifted his attention to the fresh corpse lying at his feet.
A handful of seconds was all that was needed to relieve the cadaver of its keys and other pertinent personal affects, after that a judicious kick rolled the cooling carcass into an adjacent lane of traffic and allowed the Canadian killer to absently stroll towards the car door and then situate himself in the vehicle which had so recently confined him. A low hum began in the back of the of the foreign fiends throat as he idly started the ignition and shifted the machine into drive.
"She'll be skinning furry monkey's when she comes She'll be eating little puppies when she comes
She'll be skinning furry monkeys She'll be eating little puppies She'll be drowning newborn kittens when she comes"
Allowing the words to die off the sinister slaughterer resorted to merely whistling the inane tune as he floored the accelerator and forced the vehicle to shift into a higher gear while his viridian eyes darted back and forth across the road, scanning for opening in the traffic. Upon finding none the morbid wanderer frowned and removed his good hand from the steering wheel resulting the van to swerve alarmingly for a moment before Hull's questing fingers flipped an innocuous switch and an all too clichéd siren split the air causing the vehicles ahead to part in a manner akin to a bald man's comb.
Needless to say the sinister anarchist was none too pleased with such a lack of performance and made his displeasure known by crudely ramming the front of the SWAT van into the nearest car he could find. A delightful clash of metal upon metal echoed far too briefly as Hull allowed himself to fall back before picking up speed once more and ramming his target again. To the drivers credit it only took three such collisions before the battered car managed to move into a contiguous lane, thereby proving that women were not complete incapable at the wheel.
Surprisingly after the first few demonstrations of impetus the road ahead became surprisingly more cooperative, yet this did not prevent the Candian killer from occasionally swerving into nearby lanes at little to no notice of others. This was done partially for the twisted travelers own entertainment but also because... well, no it was done purely for entertainment which, it should be said, was only heightened by the knowledge that back seating area of the van possessed very little in the way of seatbelts.
---
My apologies for the prolonged absence. I have been able to write for quite some time but I am working on changing that. Feel free to have Hull stop anywhere you wish, be it a parking lot to obtain a less conspicuous car or Sanctuary should the fancy take you.
Technically Kaz you would be correct, if a group of scientists were organized in efforts to try and bring about a predetermined change in a genetic structure they would require a lab with special surveillance and monitoring equipment to document each steps success and/or failure.
Now assuming that Faust pharmaceuticals has already done all the necessary testing and created the needed enzymes and viruses, all of which is currently possible with todays technology, I see no reason why the enzymes and retroviruses cannot simply be packed into convenient vials which can be distributed to customers who are willing to inject the concoction into their veins.
There would of course have to a slight time delay as the retroviruses infection would have to spread throughout the body, but that is a minor point really. Additionally to add a further sense of realism we could have the drug prove fatal in certain instances as no drug is perfect and since this 'unnatural evolution' is not being overseen in a lab there is a possibility it will not be compatible with everyone.
Overall though I feel that that the proposed drug would be perfectly feasible with today's technology, it would by no means be safe or healthy but it would be possible. The only element of fiction involved from my point of view would be the insertion of a synthetic X-gene which would itself mutate as it acclimatizes to its host.
Technically I believe that today's technology does possess the capacity to alter an individuals DNA. It mainly just isn't done because the research and equipment necessary are excessively expensive, that along with legal red tape means that scientists today are largely limited to working with plants.
Anyway before I head off on a tangent I'll get back to the issue at hand, the ability to alter an individuals DNA requires three steps: 1) The means to cut the existing DNA, this is done today with specialized enzymes which eat through the genetic coding, thereby leaving a space for new DNA to be inserted. 2) Inserting the new DNA; this is done through the use of retroviruses which pass through the cell wall and inject the necessary DNA code into the gap. 3) Once the new code has been put in place it then needs to adhered or "glued" to either ends of the existing DNA strand to ensure that the cell simply doesn't unravel, this is accomplished through the use of more enzymes which bond the new structure together.
As I said before all the technology to do this readily available all that would be needed is the time and research spent to craft the special enzymes and viruses.
And buckets of money, can't forget that.
Anyway that's just my two cents on the issue, if you want a little more detail try this site.
A self satisfied smirk shot across the sadistic sacarian's sinister visage as he listened to the impotent bonemancer gasp for breath as he slowly crushed the air from her lungs, his venomous viridian gaze alight with malevolent exhilaration as he watched the brunettes own amber orbs gradually lose their focus, her struggles steadily growing weaker... another pound or so of pressure was all it would take and the temptation to act raced through slaughterers veins like lightening causing adrenaline to surge through his system in expectation , dulling the continues burning ache within his mangled arm but not extinguishing it entirely and so when the stricken shrew finally managed to cough her confirmation the former soldier smug countenance became even more conceited as he silently reigned in his bloodlust and removed his weight from the brunettes prostate form.
Moving in a deft, if somewhat stiff manner the Canadian killer spared a moment to balance himself against the reinforced walls of his current cell before bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet to redistribute his weight, equilibrium thus achieved the twisted traveler began to whistle a cheerily inane tune as he bent down and grasped the comatose guards belt with his good arm, dragging the senseless officer off the buxom bonemancer and towards the back of the van where the man's life was ended rather unceremoniously in a manner similar to his partner. Precious moments were then spent reliving the freshly created corpse of any practical and valuable items, firearm, radio, handcuffs, pepper spray and other such objects were adroitly appropriated.
Having liberated the cadaver of its unneeded worldly possessions the malevolent anarchist pivoted to face his oh so cooperative companion who, unsurprisingly, had barely moved a muscle since she had been relieved of her dead weight so to speak. No the corticated female seemed somewhat more focused on the simpler things in life, breathing for example, the brunettes lungs were clearly working overtime as the girl rapidly gasped for air, apparently heedless of the fact that her rather ragged shirt had ceased any pretense of modesty some time ago and thus each ragged breath caused the girls ample endowments to librate in a most appealing manner. Alas however such a sight could not persist indefinitely and gradually the buxom bonemancer's breathing eased into a gentler rhythm as she attempted to raise herself on her forearms, eliciting a juvenile wolf whistle from the foreign traveler, earning him a heated glare in response yet the former soldier remained unabashed as he wordlessly stepped forward; eye candy was all well and good however it wasn't worth a crippled arm, still though there was no reason he couldn't have some fun with his end of the bargain.
Approaching the bound brunette with an undisguised salacious air the malicious marauder idly knelt down beside the amber eyed female and adapted an awkward affectation as he attempted to slide his good hand under the hoyden's enfettered arm and across her back, making no attempt at an apology when his arm managed to encircle the bonemancer's form and his hand 'accidentally' came to cup the girl's voluptuous assets as he raised the beaten female to her knees, happily turning a deaf ear to the brunettes indignant protests as he maintained his grasp somewhat longer than was necessary. After a particularly imaginative curse from brunette involving a spear and his own teeth Hull gave an amused chuckle and acquiesced to her 'request', releasing his grasp and shifting behind the girl to examine her restraints.
The cuff's themselves were a simple affair and would require no real effort to remove, the odd shock collar wrapped around the girl's forearm however gave the sinister anarchists a moments pause; having been abroad during the time of the mutant registration Hull himself had never experienced the effects of the mutant nullifying collars, though he had heard of them, after all the peculiar devices were the only reason the government had actually managed to contain the mutants they'd captured, however after the alleged malfunction which allowed hundreds of mutants to escape towards the end of the registration era the machines had decreased in popularity, forcing the manufacturers to reduce prices in order to continue business, thus explaining how the NYPD had managed to obtain the little gem encircle attached to the bonemancer's wrist.
Carefully running the pads of his fingers across the smooth metal bracelet Hull searched for some form of lock, a keyhole, a switch, anything which could be manipulated however the wristlet proved to be an almost perfect ring with no discernable beginning or end. The lack of discovery caused the former soldier to frown as he considered other possible release mechanisms, such pondering though were swiftly dismissed for a later a time as the malevolent wanderer opted for the simplest solution, brushing sterling fingers over the cool metal which immediately gave way to pale skin as the collar abruptly vanished from sight, eliciting an odd shiver from the bonemancer as her flesh became oddly rigid and unyielding, yet the girl made no move to deal with her other restraints and so after briefly testing the new durability of the brunettes body Hull shifted his attention to the shrew's bindings and deftly removed the locking mechanisms and leaving the manacles to fall to the floor.
A minute or so passed as the girl shifted away and massaged her abused limbs in an effort to restore circulation, Hull meanwhile kept himself occupied by attempting to remove his jacket without aggravating his wound, not an easy feat when one arm could barely move, still he managed it eventually and by that time the bonemancer had been ready to uphold her side of the bargain, adopting a domineering cadence which the twisted traveler found rather amusing considering he'd been carting her around like a sack of potatoes for the past hour or so, still he did as she asked and allowed her access to his injury, still the ex-soldier by no means trusted the brunette and thus his other held the stun he had used earlier, admittedly it had lost some of its charge but there a sufficient amount of power left to incapacitate bonemancer should she attempt to renege her side of the bargain.
at least, that had been the plan, in reality though it's rather difficult to concentrate when molten steel is being poured into one's shoulder, or at least something very much like it. Every nerve ending in the his arm seemed to scream in agony as fresh bone carved its way through flesh and muscle, relentlessly drilling down to fill the hollow which had been left behind, yet that was barely evening the beginning; for as the new spike of bone finally concluded its journey it grated against the other bones in his limb sending a fresh wave of agony through his system which the left the sadistic slaughterer trembling, sweating and rather hoarse as the brunette terminated her impromptu surgery with a series of ossein stitches to stem the blood flow.
The pain faded gradually, not entirely; that would likely take weeks if not months yet it did become manageable after a minute or so, allowing the former soldier to gingerly test his restored range of movement, it wasn't much admittedly, his muscles had come close to being shredded during the 'healing' however he could at least raise his hand above his waist and his fingers still functioned and the Canadian killer grudgingly marked the operation as a success with an F in customer service and a recommendation for future retribution. Presently however there were more immediate concerns, primarily the fact that he still resided in a SWAT van on its way to NYPD headquarters. Every problem has at least one solution though and as his mobile cell came to an abrupt stop Hull decided to adopt a time honored strategy employed by various individuals across the globe known as autoschediasm.
In short, he winged it.
Leaping somewhat groggily to his feet the twisted anarchist lurched towards the back of the vehicle, easily bypassing the bonemancers dazed and collapsed form as strode over to the rapidly cooling corpse and gracelessly dragged it towards the van's exit. Upon reaching the doors a swift kick was delivered and when that failed to achieve the desired result an open handed slap was used to remove the locking mechanism thereby allowing the doors to swing freely on their hinges, introducing rays of natural light and fresh air into the vehicle for the first time since it had been locked.
'Ah freedom, could anything smell so sweet?'
Considering two carcasses currently occupied the van the answer was likely 'yes', such a pedantic point was easily remedied though, after all there were two rather desolate lanes of traffic just begging to be filled and, never one to shy away from an opportunity Hull gleefully tossed the first and then the second cadaver into the open, grinning gleefully at the resulting cacophony of screeching tires, emphatic horns and the inevitable clash of metal upon metal which generally resulted when one introduced unwieldy objects into an intersection. Still it was for a worthy cause, the men had needed a decent burial and what could be more fitting for the protectors of the city than a coffin constructed from overpriced sports cars?
With no small amount of satisfaction from the newly crafted chaos the former soldier turned back to his weary companion whilst dusting off his hands in an exaggerated gesture before speaking mockingly sanguine tone. "That's the trash done, now for a new set of wheels, be a good girl and don't get in my way, again." Jumping lightly out of the van the sadistic slaughter began to make his way round to the front of the vehicle before pausing and turning back to the corticated bonemancer once more, his mocking affectation hardly changing as he reached his good hand behind back. "tsk tsk, you really are a mess, why don't you clean up a little it will be good for you." Bringing his arm back round to the front Hull's argent fingers now clutched a small pile of thin emerald fabric which he weighed momentarily before cheerfully tossing the light load towards the weary brunette and departing around the side of the van.
