Bazmund "Good girls gather....gather...gather..."
The low, dull, ringing CLUMP, CLUMP of two massive metal-bound boots upon the tiled floor killed the conversation of the opulent Rapture citizens in Siren Alley. Tuxedo-clad men and women in long cocktail dresses shuffled warily out of the way of the massive, out-of-place beast that trudged across the halls of the reputably naughty area in complete silence.
On the shoulder of this beast sat a small girl in a white pinafore, white socks and shoes clean and sparkling for a good presentation. Her face plastered in white facial make-up, that barely touched the neat and tidy brown hair that was tied back into an immaculate ponytail. The only thing unnerving about the child were her eyes, glowing a sickly yellow and devoid of irises or pupils. She gave the Big Daddy an affectionate pat on its cold, slimy metal helmet.
"Mr B, I think there's an angel in the pipes. I can SMELL it. Are we going to get it?" urged the child, rising and falling with each heavy, burdened step of the Big Daddy - a Bouncer, clean and sparkling and devoid of blood or rust. Only the occasional barnacle and algae patch ruined his appearance, giving an unnerving appearing to the maintenance worker - as if the hulking muscles and power drill weren't unnerving enough. He, too, was wearing a white suit - something that would inevitably become ruined in time.
Her presence brought out some scantily-dressed people from the Pink Pearl, faces appeared in windows for fleeting moments like little flickering lights, men and women spoke in hushed, gossiping voices about the duo. The girl looked like a porcelain doll, the Big Daddy was like a white-clad submariner from the depths of the sea. No-one asked what their work consisted of, no-one got close to them. "My Phillip tried to kick one of the girls once," the whispers embracing Poppy's ears. "They couldn't find a piece big enough to bury..."
Of course, the voices slipped away when they reached Pumping Station 5. Poppy stirred restlessly on the shoulder of the Bouncer, and slipped off, skipping forward. "Angel shining, angel shining..." sang the girl. The Bouncer let loose a groan, reverberating around the metal helmet, and paced after Poppy.
"We're always so clean before I fall into the rosies, aren't we mr. B? I don't want to fall into the rosies again, though." idly commented Poppy. She took her white ADAM syringe off her back, approaching a filthy, rotted corpse. A couple of flies buzz around the puckered, rotting flesh that drooped off of the splicer's face like saggy leather. Clutched helplessly in his bony fingers was a half-empty plasmid bottle, and his clothes hung off the body pathetically as if they too want to fall off the splicer's form.
Poppy approaches the corpse, kneeling down. "Hold my hand, Mr B...it's scary when I do this..." she whimpered. The Bouncer grunted and obliged, stomping forward and holding out a massive gloved palm. Poppy held on to his finger while the white cloth comfortingly enveloped her hand, and she plunged the ADAM needle into the body of the splicer.
Poppy let loose a choked gasp, looking around the pumping station in fear. What was she doing? Why was she here?! Why does that man look so ugly, she had to get out, she had to-...Poppy pulled out the syringe, filled with ADAM, and stood up again with a little peaceful smile on her face. "Thanks mr B! That bit always scares me, but I don't know why..." chimed Poppy, wiping the needle off with a cloth. She stepped over the splicer corpse, getting picked up gently by the Bouncer.
"I'll drink my ADAM in a minute, mr B! Don't rush me, I'm not that hungry yet..." whined Poppy, despite the Bouncer not saying anything. The residents of Siren Alley looked at her with wide, frightened eyes and tried to ignore the dark red on her knees. Perhaps she just tripped. Perhaps she just fell over and hurt her knee. Maybe it wasn't even blood at all.
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athanshadow said
I feel somewhat threatened now that there is a little sister but also happy
Ooooh, no, don't feel threatened! I hope I'm not munching on your RP idea; I do believe James hasn't got any mental conditioning? There's massive differences between us both.
The urge to make a rapture post has to be held back by the fact Rapture still stands as a good city, not a massive broken glass sieve letting in all the water. Time for some playtime with Mr Bubbles. And I might bump into James.
If Poppy wasn't "aww" worthy that I would have to completely re-do the CS. You must adore her unconditionally because the moment that sea-slug is out of her belly, she's going to be nigh-useless. I'm hoping it'll all play out and she'll get some strength, though!
Name: Poppy Hartwell
Age: 5 (And a half?)
Gender: Female
Bio: Poppy Hartwell was born to a family of seven siblings, herself the youngest. Her biological father, Jon Hartwell, was a simple worker in Pauper's Drop. Her mother, Lucy, a waitress in the Fishbowl Diner. They owned a small room in The Sinclair Deluxe, in which the family found themselves quite cramped...Poppy only knew her family for a few short years as she grew up among the cigarette smoke, drunken yells and overall nastiness of the slums of Rapture. Her older brothers were smugglers, her older sisters were drug addicts, and her parents were losing hope on the Hartwell Family ever seeing sunlight again. They slowly started looking towards ADAM splicing in their moment of need, harnessing used syringes and falling quite ill from them. There was no amount of plasmids in the entirety of Rapture, however, that could quench their long streak of bravery and their will to spit in the eye of death itself - something that was inevitably passed down through the generations to little Poppy, too.
When the Little Sister's Orphanage was opened, her parents chose to give away their youngest in the hopes that she will have a better and brighter future than her older brothers and sisters. It was the best they could do for the little girl, but fate intervened and the horrible process of mental conditioning started immediately.
After a year's worth of constant torture and mental programming, Poppy was a Little Sister like any other. She saw Rapture in this "fever dream" vision and she dutifully extracted ADAM-rich splicer blood from the corpses of splicers, drank it, and regurgitated the ADAM like any other Little Sister was bound to do. But she differed, ever-so-slightly, from the rest. She had an odd personality, some kind of curiosity and spark that made her special.
She was not personally part of the quantum physical experimentation programme to make "tears", but the Orphanage was mighty close to the lab holding the victims, and every so often she had to deliver ADAM from her stomach to the scientists working there...and she had seen the horror through the misty "fever dream", and she knows of the pain and suffering and fear that breaks through her conditioning to show the 'real' Rapture.
She's seen the nightmares, but her ADAM addiction has to be removed prior to being able to help. Inevitably, she will run into the Knights of Songbird, who will hopefully be able to cure her of her ailment...and Poppy will find a new "Daddy" to follow.
"Good girls gather, gather, gather..."
Vigors/Plasmids: None.
Weapons: ADAM Syringe, Box cutter, and anything else she can get her hands on.
Faction: Soon-to-be Knight, right now considered "Neutral"
Other: The supposed "immunity" of a Little Sister (and, consequently, of Poppy) will be removed when someone cures Poppy. From there on it's up to others on whether or not they should give her vigours, plasmids or new weapons. Her attraction to Big Daddies will switch to a general admiration of the Knights, replacing them with the Big Daddies programming in her head.
There we go! I had a quick chat with the Lamb to see if a Little Sister role was alright, and there's what I came up with. Coincidentally, I'm going to need someone who step up to the mark at some point and 'cure' Poppy. Any takers?
Is it too late to join?
Heh, it's fine! I think my next post will really move the story on and we'll (finally) wake up.
There was another, louder and more prominent rumble. It ripped through the dream like an earthquake, tearing through the white landscape like a massive sheet of paper. Bits of the sky crumble down, revealing the inky darkness which Sera was trying to get to originally. Sera herself, however, is close to hysterics; She seems to be doing the opposite of her original ideas, and trying to patch up the dream with large fabric patches stitched into the air and floor.
It wouldn't take much effort to figure out that the dream was falling apart at the seams, and by the panicked look on Sera's face as she leapt impossible distances, trying to fix what is being broken off in the unnatural stillness just after a tremor of that magnitude had shown rather clearly that she is distressed about all of you waking up this time. Perhaps the moment they wake up, Sera ceases to exist? Is she going to hold them hostage in a dream forever?
As she skidded to a halt by the others, Raphael spoke about electric guitars and metal. Sera just gave him a Look that shows -exactly- who doesn't like his music. But then she smiles, and laughs. "Okay," she agrees. "Okay, we need a distraction anyways."
"I want to tell you what's going on, guys, really. But I can't - any shock that I give you in here will wake you up, and I don't think you want to wake up right now. There's broken glass -everywhere-. I don't think they understand that there's something trying to help you just yet. They think you're the one doing all of the damage. Uhm, sorry about all of the damage by the way." continued Sera, grinning nervously. But before any of them could react, ask questions, make up their own mind on the situation and inevitably wake up, Sera threw one hand in the air in what might be the one of the worst metal poses known to man.
Her conjuration skills, however, show an insight into one of the most brilliant imaginations known in this world.
Before all of you, the white world turns black and from the floor rises a slightly elevated rectangle of obsidian rock, giant warped steel constructs pushing out of the ground like mockeries of thorny vines. The black sky bugles and tumbles with stormy clouds, every so often a flash of dark orange and red giving the illusion of a burning landscape behind them. In the distance, erupting volcanoes litter the landscape and two large metal rose blooms burst forth from the base of the metal thorn constructs, hiding two massive loud speakers in their petals. Appropriate lighting is given by two gaps in the cloud.
Raphael's trusty guitar lands in his hands, with no wires attached to it. Sera hops off of the hellish stage and sits cross-legged on the brimstone floor, peering up at the stage with a childlike innocence. "Play us a song, then!" she urged Raphael, giggling.
It wouldn't take much effort to figure out that the dream was falling apart at the seams, and by the panicked look on Sera's face as she leapt impossible distances, trying to fix what is being broken off in the unnatural stillness just after a tremor of that magnitude had shown rather clearly that she is distressed about all of you waking up this time. Perhaps the moment they wake up, Sera ceases to exist? Is she going to hold them hostage in a dream forever?
As she skidded to a halt by the others, Raphael spoke about electric guitars and metal. Sera just gave him a Look that shows -exactly- who doesn't like his music. But then she smiles, and laughs. "Okay," she agrees. "Okay, we need a distraction anyways."
"I want to tell you what's going on, guys, really. But I can't - any shock that I give you in here will wake you up, and I don't think you want to wake up right now. There's broken glass -everywhere-. I don't think they understand that there's something trying to help you just yet. They think you're the one doing all of the damage. Uhm, sorry about all of the damage by the way." continued Sera, grinning nervously. But before any of them could react, ask questions, make up their own mind on the situation and inevitably wake up, Sera threw one hand in the air in what might be the one of the worst metal poses known to man.
Her conjuration skills, however, show an insight into one of the most brilliant imaginations known in this world.
Before all of you, the white world turns black and from the floor rises a slightly elevated rectangle of obsidian rock, giant warped steel constructs pushing out of the ground like mockeries of thorny vines. The black sky bugles and tumbles with stormy clouds, every so often a flash of dark orange and red giving the illusion of a burning landscape behind them. In the distance, erupting volcanoes litter the landscape and two large metal rose blooms burst forth from the base of the metal thorn constructs, hiding two massive loud speakers in their petals. Appropriate lighting is given by two gaps in the cloud.
Raphael's trusty guitar lands in his hands, with no wires attached to it. Sera hops off of the hellish stage and sits cross-legged on the brimstone floor, peering up at the stage with a childlike innocence. "Play us a song, then!" she urged Raphael, giggling.
Surprisingly better now that I see I have a unicorn for an avatar. I -just- want to wait for RyRy before pouncing a new post on you guys...but the sort of turn system will go as follows:
Everyone posts something, then I post something, and everyone reacts to that post and probably each other's posts if I don't move the story on.
Everyone posts something, then I post something, and everyone reacts to that post and probably each other's posts if I don't move the story on.
...If it's alright with you, then I'd like to ask that you post about everything that's happened.
*peer*
Good god you're right, El Noche hasn't posted! (Now I feel like a horrible person I'm so sorry El Noche if you want I can remove and edit the post for you)
Again, I'll be chilling around in the thread for a while, so... ^-^
Good god you're right, El Noche hasn't posted! (Now I feel like a horrible person I'm so sorry El Noche if you want I can remove and edit the post for you)
Again, I'll be chilling around in the thread for a while, so... ^-^
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