Atropa Belladonna [M - Mature]

[CrimethinkRebel]

Atropa Belladona
A Literate Role Play
GM: CrimethinkRebel
Rated M for Mature:
Excessive violence; strong/controversial themes; sexuality; harsh language; gore
Please be 18 or older!
Or a very mature 17...
[ OOC (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=1402) ]

Slants of sunlight splintered the air like arrows, raining down onto the dead, corroded world below. Years ago, this populous area was known as the Urban Jungle and now more than ever did the name apply. Half-eaten skyscrapers stood in stubborn refusal to let the past fade. Streets of tar and concrete were consumed by grass and weed, the battle lost long ago. Animals traversed the landscape without fear, immune to stabbing memory of something that once was great but now is nothing more than a fallen empire. This was New York City, or, as it was more often called out of necessity, Zone TM5.

A war had been waged and won; humans were not the victor. The splendor of their marvelous cities was conquered by Mother Earth. The multitudes of people were decimated with biblical proportions. Their history was burned to the ground and from its ashes grew forth a new era where Nature's Kingdom held illimitable dominion over all. In the aftermath, the humans found that their new tyrant was a kind one. The technologies which were fueled by the sun and other renewable resources thrived, still used by the pitiful amount of humans left alive. The underground structures that escaped the destruction provided a safe haven, away from the clutches of Gaia. Life was a blessing, taxed by the new monarch of the Earth. There was no hope for rebellion here. The chance for survival came at a high cost, but Man took what he could, respecting the awesome power which now controlled his existence.

There was a certain schedule the vast majority of survivors adhered to as it proved the safest and most efficient way to live: You traveled as fast and as far as you could. When you arrived, you made camp. When camp was made, you gathered food and replenished your supplies. Then you'd sleep. For most, this was 3 to 6 hours, before rising only to begin the cycle again. There were a few brave and lucky fellows that found homes in the subways and bomb shelters of old. The airtight regions available were sparse and often passed over. Not many wanted to risk being caught amidst the Nightshade.

As the sun warmed the air, its rise having long since passed, a small fleet of ships took port on the coastline. Captained by leaders of various nomadic clans, they were the mobile homes of what was left of Homo sapien. Gaggles of people rushed off the boats, scouring the land for food, water, clothing and shelter. There were a numerous injured and several who had fallen ill. The latter were forcibly exiled, being killed upon site if they refused to leave. The last people off the boats were the leaders, filling each other in on current events. There were three new pregnancies.

In this dire world, the chance at new, untainted life was the last glimmer of hope that humans allowed themselves to indulge in. True, there was pressure among the women to reproduce and families as they were once known had begun to dissolve, but the children were revered. They were the future of the race. Crimes against them were punished by the worst of fates: Exposure to the Deadly Nightshade.

Unique to this voyage across the sea, one woman had bartered her way to the continent and was now taking her leave from the secretive and judgmental fleet. They had not taken kindly to her request, but she offered them critical health care supplies that they most desperately needed, and thus here she was.

Her name was Talia Lawson and she hailed from Zone TZ, what was once known as England, London specifically. Her unique situation was hastily explained to the inquisitive passengers, though she gave them a highly revised version. They believed she had been living underground for a few months and her home was compromised so she needed to begin migrating again. She told them about her background in sciences, but limited it to nothing more than a hobby. Miss Lawson made no mention of the journals in which Dr. Monroe had detailed the various discoveries he'd made regarding Nightshade.

There was nobody she could trust amongst those barbarians. They were too far gone. They had forgotten the old ways of civilization and culture. They wouldn't understand...

[Ophelia]

In the dark, the embers of an end of a cigarette flickered, then faded. A pause, then smoke that billowed lazily from a relaxed mouth filled the air.

"Smoking'll kill you." Jimmy twisted his head disdainfully to look at the half-naked woman slumped against a wall. The type that had once been pretty, but now looked double her age and continually exhausted. She was staring back at him, a tired half-smile covering her face. A sudden feeling of repulse coursed through Jimmy's veins.
"Yeah. It will. I'm just planning on the Nightshade getting to me first." The blunt tone was unmissable.
"Come on Paul, it was only a joke." The woman spoke placidly, pulling the filthy blanket over her shoulders, covering her dignity. She called him by a fake name, not that she knew it, but one that neatly hid his trail.
"It wasn't very funny." He spoke irritably.
"Paul, please, don't be like this..." Her pleading voice faded into the background as Jimmy walked away, leaving only the discarded end of the cigarette on the floor.

For the last month, he had been living with Magdalena DeSouza and her friend, a redhead whose name he had never cared to remember. It was longer than he normally settled down for. He had been drawn in by Magdalena's looks and the promise of safe shelter, and had been kept there by the regular offerings of engaging conversation. However, discussions that spilled long into the night, followed by sex that carried on far into the morning was still not enough to hold his attention for a sufficient amount of time. He was beginning to get too comfortable. Not to mention how shitty a name Paul was.

He gathered his few possessions from the adjoining room, and stuffed them in the worn backpack that was his sole constant companion. A few changes of clothing, half a bar of soap, a few items he had scavenged from the remains of what had once been New York City. Jimmy was low on cigarettes. Shouldn't have thrown that last one away, could have got a good few more puffs out of that... Still, a dramatic exit was needed. He'd have no problem in securing some more. All he needed to do was to find a black market again, offer to do a few favours... not that he had found a black market in the last four months.

"Where are you going, Paul?" Magdalena asked, now fully clothed, from the doorway. The question was resigned- she already knew she had lost him.
"My name is Jimmy. Jimmy Porter." He admitted, shouldering the bag. Magdalena merely smiled and nodded. "And I think you know."
"Wherever you can." She followed him up the stairs to the top of the bomb shelter that had once belonged to her parents. Jimmy slowly heaved open the door and peered outside. "Don't worry about me, you know." The female voice spoke from behind him, with a hint of both hurt and anger in its otherwise neutral tone. "Me and Jess'll have a fine time on our own. This place is really only built for two anyway." He pushed the door open a little further, and stepped out.
"Bye, Magdalena."
"Fuck you." The door swung shut behind him, closing with a dull metallic clang. He ran a hand through his hair, began to laugh but stopped quickly. He found himself staring at the door for a good few more minutes, before slowly pulling himself away and pacing down the street.

[CrimethinkRebel]

It was a warm spring day outside and the air was a welcome change to the stuffy quarters she shared with unhygienic roommates. It occurred to Miss Lawson that this was her first visit to America. She had always wanted to go to the New Year's Eve parties and the Thanksgiving Day Parades, but most off all she wanted to go shopping in the high end stores. 'There's a time and a place for everything, Love. Might as well try to enjoy yourself while you're here...'


A Short Time Later

"Oh bloody fucking hell!" Talia massaged her now sore and throbbing wrist. She had been walking in an abandoned sporting boutique searching for new clothes-- There wasn't much to eat while migrating and she'd lost a bit of weight-- when her foot slipped on broken glass. A hand had been thrown out to break the fall but she fell hard. A quick check of things said nothing was broken. She'd get over the pain eventually, although the venture was in vain. The clothes had long since been ravaged by desperate wanderers. All she managed to find was an undershirt with the most unsupportive shelf bra ever sewn by man and hiking boots. "Well, waste not, want not." She snatched both and shoved them into her military style duffel bag.

Tally had meandered further into the city, looking for either a place to stay or a way to travel. Most of the vehicles had been taken or left broken. There were usually some kept safe so that others may have safe passage but it seemed New Yorkers weren't so kind. She was about to change her game and look for shelter when the unmistakable sound of a metal door clanging shut resounded across the way. The acoustics of the city could sometimes be misleading and these particular reverberations offered no direction to run to.

"Hello? Anyone there?" She hadn't the slightest idea what was to be accomplished from this. So there was a person walking around. Big deal. Truth was, Talia hated being alone. After spending so many years in the company of Dr. Monroe, the sudden solitude was unsettling.

[Security of Mem]

Simone was wondering around the alleys. Sticking to the shadows. It seemed suspicious, but then again in these times nothing seemed that suspicious. Or ever to suspicious. Maybe he was just being cautious. What he wanted right now and what he needed right now were two different things. He needed to find himself some necessaries.
He was looking around, everyone would be in buildings to busy and crowded. All he needed was a slip up of someone from outside. Then he would take it. He would take it and then it would be his.
It seemed like a greedy way of dealing with things. But one for one. He had no partners, he had nobody.
He hadn't had a person in ages by now, he didn't remember what it was like to be with people. Though he still needed to know people. So he could win them over with charm and wit.
He needed to be sneaky and hated. You needed to be hated enough where people knew there was a threat.
But you needed to be charming enough so that way you didn't become the threat. He spotted a bag and a person[talia]. He decided that would be his mark. So he started heading out that way. Less suspiciously and more \
causally now. He put on his hood and followed not to close so she wouldn't spot him. She dropped something on the ground and for the brief second she put her bag on the table and picking it up. Now was Simone's chance. He ran for it and grabbed the bag.
The girl was now alert.

William was sitting on the cement steps. Watching people go back and forth. Back and forth. To and fro. It seemed sorta boring. But William knew there would be that one person. That one person who would spark his imagination.
And when that happened he would be out of his slump.
He had tried all the drugs and he wrote well with them. But people begged him to stop. Begged him to quit the habit. So he was kicking it. After all you only had one family.
And you only had one chance to fix your mistakes. And you had one chance at their trust.
He really was trying to kick the habit, so watching people was the best bet. He looked like a stalker yes. But at least it was constructive. Constructive stalking, was there even such a thing.
Look how low he had to go just to justify his actions. And then he saw his moment a man, a homeless man sickly walking along the road. William was going to write and then decided not to.
He wanted a better inspiration. A better glow. Something light and beautiful. A muse he could stare at forever. Did this mean he wanted a lover muse? And not a quick relationship muse?
He wondered about the question a bit and then just sighed. Then he continued watching back and forth.

[Ophelia]

Jimmy's battered old brogues scuffed the pavement, sending gravel scattering to the sides. It got caught in the blades of green grass that had forced their way up through the layers of concrete. If he had any interest in Nature, he might have marvelled at the eventual triumph over Mankind. Things being as they were, however, he simply carried on walking, occasionally crushing the odd blade under his feet. As usual, his thoughts were on himself, a subject they rarely deviated from.

"Hello? Anyone there?" A voice echoed softly from somewhere down the street. Jimmy paused. Normally, he would have turned in another direction and walked briskly away from the voice, but the clipped accent, audible even from a good distance away, piqued his interest.
"Hello?" He called back, pressing forwards. British? Interesting. He moved into a light, unenergetic jog, the one-strapped backpack bumping against his left shoulder blade with every movement. As he rounded the corner, he came to a steady halt. "Ah, there you are." He turned towards the dark-haired woman, whom he assumed had been the one calling out. "You're a long way from home, aren't you?" Jimmy teased gently, re-adjusting the backpack strap on his shoulder. "Don't worry, newbie, I'll look after you." The woman must have been at least a few years older than his 20. But then again, everyone seemed to look older these days. "Michael Dunbar." He outstretched his hand with a suave half-smile. "Good to meet you...?" He gestured for her to respond, but before he heard the reply, a figure suddenly jumped out of nowhere, swerved towards them, and then ran, a bag that was not Jimmy's swinging in his hand.

"Hold this." Jimmy pressed his own bag into the woman's arms firmly, then began to sprint after the hooded thief, for the first time regretting buying shoes that weren't that suited to running. "Hey! Come back here!" He yelled after the figure, dodging the fallen telephone pole. Catching him would be a bit of a long shot, but he had just promised to help that woman and would look like a bit of a asshole if he had merely shrugged it off. Gaining a bit of speed, he began to close in on the miscreant.

[CrimethinkRebel]

"Hello?"

Talia flinched at the not-so-far off response. Her head canted to the side in an effort to hear him-- the voice was male-- better. She was surprised to find that her heart rate had increased. Was she nervous? No, it was more excited than anything. Desperate for company, she hoped this rare encounter proved beneficial to her plight. Her eyes were still searching the landscape for signs of life when he turned the corner. Disbelief took hold; half of her had expected the whole thing was a hallucination. Crazy things happened to people who were much too lonely, but this was real.

The boy was pleasing to look at. His was built of bold lines, earned over the years of maturation. The mop of curly brown hair softened him, made him approachable. It also made her self-conscious of her own hair. Like many others, it had begun to dreadlock from lack of proper care. Every so often she was able to brush it out, but even simple luxuries like that were hard to come by.

"You're a long way from home, aren't you? Don't worry, newbie, I'll look after you. Michael Dunbar."

She smiled, her teeth uncommonly white. His outstretched hand was comforting and she gripped it tightly, almost afraid to let go.

"Talia Lawson. It's indeed a pleasure to-- HEY! What the fuck are you doing?!" Her voice rasped from the sudden change in volume. It appeared that some prick wanted to snatch up her belongings. Tally was about to begin the chase when Michael shoved his own bag into her arms and ran. She took a step back to steady herself, jaw dropped. 'He was serious about watching out for me...' It was a few moments before she decided to go after them both. She didn't want to be left behind.

Unfortunately, her body was built for endurance, not speed. While the springy lads booked it, she was struggling to keep up. Her muscles burned as she leaped the telephone pole. "How, in the hell, can they do this?" She gasped out between ragged breaths. The only thing that kept her moving was the fact that the street rat had the journals. They were the most important thing in the world. Probably the most valuable too.

"When I get that bugger, I'll kill him, I swear it!"