Rebels & Mutineers is set in modern day New Orleans, Louisiana. R&M is fueled by player's plots and group input.
Supernatural people have always had their place in society, hidden in plain sight or locked away for their own protection. New Orleans, a haven for the strange and mysterious and a magnet for the supernatural.
Established: Oct. 27th, 2018 Recently Updated Posts && Recently Updated Threads
05.11.19
As the community reels from the untimely death of Lucia Lovelle, life has to move on. Primrose readies for the annual Prom celebration! Keep your eye out for a event board and have fun!
02.27.19
It's not too late to vote for February's OTM winners! The winners for January, keep an eye out on your messages for your winner's graphics for your signature. Already voted? Make sure you check out the Mardi Gras event board! Party up, have a good time, and enjoy!
Post by Elijah Noel Cartwright on Nov 24, 2018 5:35:43 GMT
Monroeville.
Eli hadn't even heard of it, and honestly he had no idea how he'd ended up there. It had happened so quickly-- his life had changed so quickly.
He was seventeen years old when he was brought there, his eyes wide with fear as he'd scanned the halls leading to the cafeteria. The last thing on Earth that he wanted to do was walk into a crowded room. Evidently, he had little choice in the matter.
Taking a seat at an empty table, he just wanted to be invisible. People walked around him with meal trays and he wondered how anyone could possibly have an appetite in a place like this. He didn't know where he could get a tray, but his stomach told him that he didn't care enough to find out.
Staying invisible seemed to work for a bit, however he eventually noticed someone approaching him. He looked up quickly, his muscles tensing. He opened his mouth quickly but it took a few moments for something to come out. "Am I sitting in your space?" he asked, putting effort into sounding as clear as possible. "I can move," he added, probably before the other person even had the chance to respond. "They just... told me to come in here-- I'm not even hungry. I asked them... if it matters where I... And--" he stopped himself when he realized that he was rambling. "And... you probably don't care. Sorry." He cleared his throat, feeling his face heat up as redness spread from his forehead to his neck.
Post by Garrett Lee Whitford on Apr 24, 2019 6:55:19 GMT
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A few minutes before five pm the door to the cafeteria opens, like it does every day. Garrett takes his sweet time getting there. He knows what they’re serving, anyway, and there’s no reason to rush for it. There’s enough of the cardboard they’re trying to pass off as meat for every patient in the place and some left over. Garrett’s not really an aggressive person, but he’d fight someone for an actual hamburger- cooked on a grill, toasted sesame seed bun, and all the fixings. That’s what Monroeville does to you.
But today there’s nothing to savor over, and no one to fight- only monotony and only the smell of overcooked meat and wilting lettuce as he gets up to the counter. He took his tray with barely a glance at its contents and scanned the room for a place to sit. His usual haunt was in the far right corner, out of the way and generally unoccupied. On the way to it he passed by a kid he didn’t recognize.. newbie, from the looks of it.
And he stopped. And he sighed. Garrett had been there a few years, long enough to know the routine, know to keep his head down. But he remembered the first time he walked through that hall; young, terrified, guilty as all hell… and it wasn't like much had changed. Atonement.. that was the shit they mentioned in his stupid therapy session. The theory that if he did right by this one kid today, he might be able to sleep without seeing the face of the one he killed later tonight.
It probably wouldn’t work, but it wasn’t like he had something better to do.
He set his tray down on the opposite side of the kid and he didn’t even get to swing his leg over the bench before he was being rambled at. ”Sit.” he interrupted, putting his hand up to stop him from talking. ”You’re fine. The only tables with names on ‘em are the one’s closest to the food. Nobody else really gives a shit.” Or if they did, the context in which the shit was given was so random and unpredictable that there was no use trying to avoid it. Not even for him.
”I was new once, had to figure out a lot of things the hard way. If you have any questions, I won’t bullshit you.” Volunteers and orderlies were fine when you needed directions but they weren’t going to be much help with anything that mattered.
Post by Elijah Noel Cartwright on Apr 24, 2019 16:19:12 GMT
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Eli was honestly relieved as fuck that he wasn't punched in the face right away. The man didn't look all too approachable and so his mind raced long before the man even spoke.
He sighed, sitting when the guy said so, not having gotten the word but able to figure it out as he saw Garrett's raised hand. He tensed, keeping his eyes on the guy's lips as he continued.
It seemed that he'd literally won the jackpot in running into this particular patient.
He turned to take a look at the tables closest to the food, taking a mental note before turning back to Garrett quickly. "Thanks," he said, furrowing his eyebrows in surprise.
"I--" he started, shaking his head and dragging a hand down his face. "I didn't even know about this stuff like a year ago," he admitted. People having powers-- it wasn't something he'd had any knowledge on. "And then last week... I didn't even know I was doing it," he said, not even sure why he was coming out with this but... he hadn't had anyone listen to him thus far so he figured he needed someone to hear him. Being locked up... everything had happened too quickly for him to even process.
"My name's Eli," he introduced, feeling a bit embarrassed over it initially (did this guy even care what his name was? They weren't friends just because he'd allowed him to sit with him and eat his lunch).
Post by Garrett Lee Whitford on Apr 24, 2019 19:06:07 GMT
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Garrett was relieved too. He had no way of knowing why this kid was here. He looked innocent enough, but Monreville was full of a wide mix of personalities. There were decent people, sure, ones like him who hadn’t had a lot of control in what they did, but there were also people who slaughtered their families and laughed while burning houses down. For all he knew Eli was serial killer.
Serial killers didn’t usually say ‘thank you’ though, did they? Garrett was making the conscious choice to tell himself that they didn’t.
”I.. I didn’t even know about this stuff like a year ago.””Yeah.. it sucks.” he acknowledged. Finding out you had an ability.. finding out you weren’t the only one. It was never an easy thing to digest, especially when it put you in here. ”What’d you do?” In a few years, he’d know better than to ask that question to other patients. It was the kind of question that could get you punched in the face (or worse). But there was no rule book on prisoner etiquette, and if there was, he hadn’t bothered to read it. He was curious.
He nodded when the kid introduced himself as Eli. ”Garrett.” he replied in kind.
Post by Elijah Noel Cartwright on May 3, 2019 1:18:58 GMT
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It did suck. A lot. Like, so much that Eli wanted to wear his vacuum sucking pun t-shirt in protest. And what made it worse... he didn't have his shirt. He didn't have anything, really, that he'd found comfort in at home and starting life over again had not been something he ever figured he'd be doing.
What'd you do?
Well, damn, no need to sugarcoat it.
He hesitated, recalling the incident. Thinking about it did not come without stress, though logically he couldn't think of a reason not to share the information with the man.
"I... don't even know, I mean, not completely," he admitted awkwardly. "I made a lot of people fall to their knees. I think it was a high pitched noise or something... really loud. I was looking at clothes-- I didn't even know I was doing it." So... that sucked.
"What'd you do?" He'd shared-- it was only fair. He needed to know if he was supposed to be afraid of this guy.
He always felt stupid for introducing himself. I mean, it was practically asking for the other person to follow suit, and he never knew what name people were saying. And then it became a conversation that he was really sick of having, but there was no way to get around it. If he didn't explain, it looked weird.
"Could you... spell that... on the table? With your finger, like you're writing," he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I can't hear," he mumbled in explanation. "Not good with names."
Post by Garrett Lee Whitford on May 3, 2019 4:26:23 GMT
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”I.. don’t even know. I mean, not completely.” Yeah, that was about what he had expected to hear, judging from the guy’s initial demeanor. And he could empathize. Garrett had spent years not really knowing what he could do, and even now, things still managed to surprise him. If the world were a fair place, they’d have been given a damn instruction manual before all this shit hit the fan.
”What’d you do?””Car accident,” he said simply, and it was the truth. Granted.. the circumstances leading up to the accident were what landed him in Monroeville over a regular jail… or asylum. He’d elaborate if the guy asked him to, but he usually tried to keep ‘I can see shit that’s not there yet’ out of his introduction. People found it.. weird.
Garrett found it weird that he was being asked to spell out his name on the table — and he gave the guy a look at the request. ”What?”I can’t hear. Not good with names.””Oh.. yeah- that makes sense.” Now it was his turn to feel stupid, not having picked up on any of the cues in their conversation before. ”I’ll do you one better.”
He took a dry erase marker out of his pocket, the thin colorful kind generally reserved for doctors’s white boards. He’d taken it his first year there, after finding out that pens and pencils were on the list of banned materials. He was sure a few people on staff had seen him with it, but he guessed they they figured Garrett’s scrawny ass wasn’t going to be able to kill anyone with an felt tipped, non-toxic ’expo’ marker. He hadn’t tried, but they were probably right.
Post by Elijah Noel Cartwright on May 9, 2019 3:13:37 GMT
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Car accident.
Yanno, normally, Eli would mind his own business. But now he'd told this guy how he'd fucked up so it was really only fair that he returned the favor.
He raised an eyebrow. "Car accident?" he repeated... just to make sure he'd read that right. "You... caused it? Any particular reason why? Or... it was an accident?" I mean he wasn't going to judge if it was for fun but he was genuinely curious.
Honestly, his comfort level grew by ten when the guy pulled out a marker. Maybe this would be okay-- maybe he could work with this.
"Garrett," he repeated, again, just to make sure he was getting it right. "Thanks," he added, smirking slightly as he eyed the napkin.
"My foster parents put me on ASL but it sort of only works when a second person knows the language." And at Monroeville, with his luck, that second person didn't exist.
So all that time he'd spent learning it? That was great. He was so glad it was helping him now.
"Have you been here a long time?" he asked... starting to think that maybe now he was pushing his luck. Still, Garrett had asked what he'd done to get thrown in there. Clearly, personal questions were on the table. Besides, if he didn't want to answer, he could just say so.
"It kind of sucks that we have to eat with this many people," he muttered before glancing around the room. It was honestly too many people for his liking.
Post by Garrett Lee Whitford on May 12, 2019 3:41:02 GMT
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Well, it was good to know Eli wouldn’t have judged him had he chosen to crash into someone for fun. ”It was an accident.” Garrett confirmed. ”I blacked out at the wheel.” If the kid was deaf, maybe he wouldn’t pick up on the monotony in his tone. He felt bad— no, he felt awful about what had happened— but at some point he had just kind of went numb to it. Caring wasn’t going to change anything anyway.
”My foster parents put my on ASL but it sort of only works when a second person knows the language.” He nodded, smirking sympathetically. ”I wouldn’t hold your breath on that here. With most people you’re lucky if you get coherent English.” Monroeville wasn’t known for being a social hot spot. A lot of the residents were assholes, and some of them were too doped up to really be much in the way of conversation. ”A little over three years.” he confirmed, when asked how long he’d been there. It already felt like too long.
”It kind of sucks that we have to eat with this many people.””Not particularly social?” He didn’t blame the guy for that. Garrett had learned to ignore people, for the most part. But it had been one of the most intimidating things coming into the place. ”They think if we bring food back to our rooms we’ll use it to revolt against the staff or kill ourselves.” he said with a shrug. It seemed like a stretch, but apparently some jackass tried at some point and ruined it for the rest of them.
Post by Elijah Noel Cartwright on May 22, 2019 18:08:09 GMT
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Eli couldn't pick up the tone in his voice, but tones almost always revealed themselves through the face, something that he had learned quickly. He was hyper-aware of these clues that he'd never have picked up on when he was too distracted by sound, and now he often wondered how much betrayal often came through his eyes. No matter how much emotion he tried to hide, he figured someone out there was just as good at reading it.
"Yea, I hadn't wanted it either," he offered. He felt bad-- it sucked to know you hurt someone when you hadn't meant to. And it sucked just going numb because there was nothing else to do. Eli knew the feeling all too well. It wasn't fair-- hadn't someone been tasked to come find people like them? Why hadn't anyone helped him before it was too late? People always talked about Phalanx and what it did for people. But they weren't any better than the people in Monroeville-- they were just lucky enough to get found before a fit of emotion spun them out of control.
He scoffed when Garrett mentioned language-- he could certainly imagine he wouldn't have much luck there. He hadn't had much luck out in society... so he definitely wouldn't be holding his breath in a place like Monroeville. "Figured. Probably don't want to understand what most people here are saying anyway," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
A little over three years. His eyes widened. It shouldn't have surprised him... but the thought of being there three years from them frightened him. "Do people ever... get out? Like... get trials or something?" he asked, though he was pretty sure of the answer before he got one.
Not particularly social? He shook his head, his fingers tensing with stress. "Not anymore," he admitted. "You?" he asked, wondering if the guy had friends there... or if they'd ever speak again after that first day.
