Beyond the Sea

[BaldurAnthology]

This is the RP thread of the Beyond the Sea Role Play. The discussion is found HERE

[SoulofChrysamere]

Charles Meriwether Greenrose: Kashmir Restaurant - February 10, 1959

 

CHARLES'S PROLOGUE

 

Paradise on earth, Barry said...

 

The notion had been replaying itself over and over inside Charles's head ever since the New Years Riot. He and Barry had heard the reports about it coming over the radio news system. He remembered the two of them rushing home to Barry's apartment to try and fortify the place in case the trouble spilled into other parts of Rapture. They had gotten separated just a few blocks from the residence, though. The splicers...those adam junkies had chased them down two different paths. He remembered having to inch down the passages, constantly looking one way and then the other through the sights of his Mac10 and giving any wayward splicers a spritz of 9mm lead. He remembered reaching the still-locked apartment door first and vigorously banging and yelling, hoping that Barry had made it and had sealed it up. After resorting to kicking open the door though, he was horrified to find the apartment empty.

 

Not wishing to leave his friend to the mercies of the splicers, he had ripped open his weapon case and set off in search of Barry with his AK-47 in hand and all the ammo clips he had. He remembered shooting his way through another handful of the wandering crazies and stumbling across the freshly slain body of Barry in that hallway not three blocks from his house. Hell had come to paradise, and it had come full force. The next couple of weeks featured Charles putting every bit of his combat experience to use as he tried to help save the few sane people left in the city. 'Twas all in vain, though. The plasmid overdoses had turned the splicers into hyperactive psychopaths with superhuman powers, even removing all traces of sentience in some. It was horrible to watch the walking shells of what used to be proper human beings aimlessly roam the halls of Rapture, not thinking of or working toward their next adam fix, just like a drunkard with his booze. He didn't feel like just running off and leaving other possible survivors to their fates, though. Perhaps it would be his downfall, but ever since he was forced away from Barry, he had no intention of leaving anyone else around him to die.

------------------------

 

Charles rifled through the paltry sundries behind the restaurant's cashier counter as silently as he could. There wasn't much for it. A couple of empty, crinkled soda cans and some other random items amidst remnants of the place's stock of kitchenware. He pocketed one good box of bandages he found and then slowly rose with his AK-47 ready to fire. After scanning the dining area for signs of movement, he cautiously moved into the cooking room, using the AK's muzzle to steadily nudge the door open. He was hungry, not having had a proper meal in a couple of days and having to ration pep bars and bags of chips along with a cup of purified water every now and then. He thoroughly searched the room for signs of hostility and then set about finding some food after not spotting anything out of place.

 

After opening a few cabinets containing naught but ruined clutter, Charles turned to the large-chambered baking oven. Curiously enough, Charles found the machine to be running. As he neared it though, he could see what looked like a pie inside, but could not pick up any scent. Assuming the heating device to be busted, he opened the door and removed the pastry. It was indeed a pie, an apple pie as he discovered upon poking it open with a finger. Electing to take the blessing and not press his fortune, he decided to wolf the treat and be on his way.

 

Charles sat on a table beside the oven and and softly spoke a quick prayer before emptying the pie pan of every bit of food. He would have preferred a more hearty meal such as some meat for protein, but he knew full well that prissiness was anathema to the survivalist. Even if it wasn't his ideal lunch, it was certainly a better eat then a couple of pep bars. After licking the tin clean, he tossed it aside and got up.

 

Charles decided to keep on heading away from the areas of high activity. He wanted to hit a more distant sector like Arcadia. He reasoned that the places farthest away from the hotbeds would be the most likely place to find fellow survivors. On that notion, he shouldered his AK and started walking.

[BaldurAnthology]

Siobhan walked down a corridor. She was surprised as to how few splicers were in the area. It was 2 years since she had arrived, hoping to get some extra cash, and other than the telekinesis plasmid, she really didn't get much out of the whole thing. Her main goal was to get out of this hell-hole and get back to Ireland. She rounded a corridor, enjoying the peace... nope, scratch that. She spotted a pool of water with an electric cable, rendering this passage normally unpassable. She also heard some noises near a restaurant just past the danger zone. She looked up, spotting a semi-detached bulkhead. She took a running jump, caught her hands onto the bulkhead, and shimmied upside down along until she saw dry floor below, and dropped. She pulled her shotgun out from behind her back, and jumped around the corner. She saw a man wearing some sort of military vest, a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. He was taller than her, and had pale skin. Semi-cautiously, she approached, her red hair fanning out behind her. She cleared her throat and said, with her accented voice tinged slightly with anxiety,

 

"Hey, you! Are you on of them? Or are you still sane? I warn you, I'm armed!"

[SoulofChrysamere]

Charles Meriwether Greenrose: Kashmir Restaurant

 

 

Charles scarcely had time to partly duck behind a column when the shotgunning redhead dropped down and brandished her weapon. Aiming from the hip, he trained his AK on her legs as he answered her question. She was obviously nervous and exasperated...understandable given the situation.

 

"If by 'them' you mean splicers, Miss, then no. I'm not one of them." Charles said.

 

He released his steadying hand on his AK and let it dangle against his leg as he emerged from behind the column with his free hand held up.

 

"I look like an adam junkie to you, ma'am.?" He queried.

[nethgros]

Dylan's Prologue

 

He loved Rapture and all it had to offer, especially since 'they' had given him the power of a god when they allowed him to choose what plasmid he wished to test. He of course chose the Incinerate plasmid, as fire was somewhat of a hobby of his, if such a thing could be said of combustion. They had even given him a beautiful apartment in the very high class Olympic Heights, which he loved dearly. He was in his apartment during the incident at the Kashmir Restaurant, but he heard the screams before he even heard the announcement. It was simple to him to blame Atlas and his lackeys; as if Ryan had brought this upon himself -preposterous! Of course something had to be done about it, so he grabbed his revolver distributed to him by his benefactors at Ryan Industries -and his pocketknife from home- and headed out the door to get things settled. But the riot had spread like wildfire, and already the splicers and Atlas lackeys were storming the complex here at Olympic Heights. Not that it mattered, since it just made it easier for Dylan to find them, and make them burn...

 

Olympic Heights, Feb 10, 1989

 

It was days like this when he was so glad he opted for that Booze Hound gene tonic: allowing him to replenish his precious EVE with just some delicious alcoholic beverage. He always hated it before the riots, but these days it was all that kept him from ending up a playboy for some splicer.

 

He had burned up the whole hall outside his apartment door, and all the splicers had learned weeks ago not to mess with Dylan Hill. Yet, every once in a while you get a group of crazy guys who figure that all that power must mean a ton of ADAM; so they're drawn like a moth to a flame (or a morphine addict to a free clinic).

 

A few hours ago he heard a real polite voice outside his door asking if he had any food to spare. No way that wasn't a splicer, but he figured he may as well play along -he was in a good mood. As he opened the door he fired his revolver straight between the guy standing right in front of the door, but the two standing on each side of him lunged quick enough to knock Dylan to the ground. The third, and last of them walked over and kicked the gun away. The first two picked him up and threw him against the wall. It would've been simple to just kick them off, raise his hands, and let them all roast, but he hated the thought of ruining his beautiful apartment. Looks like this was going the hard way.

 

"So you got any last words, demon?!" The guy who kicked his gun (and seemingly the head honcho) barked at him.

 

"Yeah. You prefer medium, or well done?" Dylan responded with a swift kick straight to his stomach, elbowed the man on his left, and received a rather brutal punch in the face from the one on his right. As he stumbled from the blow, it gave him a chance to reach into his pocket and whip out his knife, which he gifted to the eye of the one who punched him. He tunrned just in time to catch what would've been a devastating punch to his jaw, and snapped the arm of the other lesser splicer. Turning to the leader, Dylan charged for a seemingly outrageous attack. Though, just as he neared, he stopped in front of the boss-man, which caught him off guard, as he expected something more. But this was right where Dylan wanted to be, and he bent over and picked up his gun, much to the horror of the splicer. He turned, shot the man with the broken arm, and turned back to the last one standing.

 

"Grab that one," he said pointing to the splicer he just shot, "and drag him into the hallway." He walked over to the body with his knife in the socket, retreived his knife, and carried the body out behind the other splicer. They piled up the three body's and Dylan said to the last, "Once again, do you prefer medium, or well done?"

 

"Oh God, please no!"

 

"Yeah... I'm more of and extra crispy guy myself." And with that Dylan pointed his fingers at the splicers, and despite the horrified shrieks of protest, proceeded to cleanse his hallway of the filth -adding another four crunchy souls to the many inhabiting his hall with blackened walls, floors, and ceiling.

 

He walked back inside, sat down, and poured himself a glass of fine champagne.

 

It was days like this he was glad he opted for that Booze Hound gene tonic.

[BaldurAnthology]

Siobhan put her shotgun back into its holder on her back, and smiled slightly.

 

"It's hard to tell sometimes at first sight, you know? Sorry that I'm a bit off kilter today, I get nervous when I don't see too many splicers. You shouldn't go down that passage, I doubt you have the gymnastic skill I do. Ah, yes. I should introduce meself, shouldn't I? Name's Siobhan O'Donnell. What's your name?"

[SoulofChrysamere]

Charles Meriwether Greenrose: Kashmir Restaurant

 

 

Charles eased up and leaned against the column as Siobhan shouldered her shotgun.

 

"Charles. Charles Greenrose. And I'll take your advice about not heading down that passage." He answered. Indeed, since she mentioned it, he had heard the intermittent crackling of what sounded like a snapped electric cable.

 

"Been down here long?" He asked.

[BaldurAnthology]

Siobhan nodded.

 

"Aye, that I have! I been down here going over two years now. I came down here to help test plasmids. They said they needed people who were physically fit and short on cash to assist with the testing of something called 'Plasmids". So I came down here and got injected with some stuff." She smiles and points a hand at a trash can and concentrated. (OOC sorry if that's how it works, I don't know exactly how the plasmid would work, I think this should work fine) The trash can wobbled and then soared over to hover in front of her hand. A slight distortion could be seen between her palm and the can, She pointed her palm to the side, and mentally pushed the can away, sending it towards a thuggish splicer that happened to be wandering over. He jumped to his side, and tripped, falling down in the corridor with the broken cable and water. He never re-emerged.

 

"Hope that isn't off-puttin to ye?"

[nethgros]

After he finished his champagne, Dylan went to his cabinet to grab some more drinks, when he realized that he had only the rest of his half empty bottle of vodka! This would not do, not at all. At All.

 

He grabbed his vodka, tied it with a chain, and tied the chain to his belt loop, ready to set off to the Kashmir Restaurant for some more drinks. He walked out the door, locking it behind him, and down the hall toward the main stairwell that led to the groundfloor and the bathysphere. As he descended the steps to the groundfloor, all the splicers who saw him cowered from his presence, as all the inhabitants of the Olympic Heights knew of the Demon.

 

He reached the groundfloor without incident, though it seemed as though a rather far-gone splicer had taken up residence inside the bathysphere. This was easily remedied with the help of his trusty revolver.

 

Dylan was now on his way toward a grand reunion with his booze, and the Kashmir.

[SoulofChrysamere]

Charles Meriwether Greenrose: Kashmir Restaurant

 

 

Charles watched as Siobhan used her telekinetic abilities to send the bungling splicer to his crispy death. He was without these abilities himself since he had only been in town for a couple of weeks and wasn't on any test subject roster.

 

"Telekinesis. Nice." Charles remarked as he watched the splicer fry. The cable was just out of sight, but its arcs were plainly visible. "Can't really say it frightens me. At least you haven't gone Section Eight like most of the people down here." He said.

 

Charles studied the environment for a bit before suggesting that the pair move someplace else. "This probably isn't the best place to be standing around talking." He said.