Acanthus82

My Dear Canilo

Oliver drove the rusted pickup truck over the rough terrain. He bounced and jerked over every bump, but his face remained calm, an affect of the pot he smoked before heading out. The Diesel deal went bad again. His contact brought three other men and they had tried to change the terms of the agreement: less fuel, less food. Joke's on them. He glanced back at the three bodies in the bed of the truck. He'd stop at the butcher before heading home. The fourth got left behind for the Buzzards because he stank of the greater Canilo.

Oliver had lost two good men himself. Tom was in the passenger seat beside him, his head lulling from side to side. The bullet wound in his side was tied tight with the torn sleeve of his own shirt. Oliver was almost sure he could get him back to the clinic before he would succumb to the wound. It didn't look like any organs had been hit. Tom had screamed like a child when he pulled the bullet out to look inside the hole, shame it didn't go the whole way through.

He would've buried Holly and Jax if Tom hadn't been so critical. They too were left for the scavengers. Oliver couldn't bare the thought of eating his own friends, better strangers do it. Still, the thought made his stomach turn.

Despite all the bad turns, it wasn't a total loss. He got the fuel, the food, kept the chem and got the truck as a bonus.

The truck back fired as he slowed down, but Oliver didn't flinch. The cloud in his head barely registered the loud clap. As he entered the Mile High encampment, some of the sentries stared him down, but they were familiar faces and didn't cause a fuse when they recognized him. First stop, the butcher. Second stop, the clinic.

Sci-fi MxM (Adult/18+/Mature)

AzTech Corp terraformed and colonized Mars Centuries ago. They reserved all rights to the planet and built a eutopia based on statistics and civil structuring, regulated by a super computer. Through genetic engineering and biological nanotechnology, the Martian populace lead long healthy lives.

Earth, on the other hand, maintained its citizens' God-given freedoms. People rejected the medical advances based on religious beliefs. Wars continue to ravage civilizations. Money made the world go round but the bottom line continued to undermine Mother Nature.

Now things have become critical for Earth. Its ability to support life will cease in a matter of years. An ambassador has been dispatched to negotiate an exodus of the dying planet. You are this ambassador and your task will not be easy trying to find a compromise between one culture that values its freedom to choose their own path and the other hellbent on maintaining the perfection of their world.

You'll face your own demons and uncover secrets that could threaten both worlds. Among these struggles an unexpected love will bloom that could make you vulnerable to your adversaries.

My Dear Canilo

Hello! How do I get started, bubble?

My Dear Canilo

-Basics-
Name: Oliver
Age: 24
Gender: Male

-Survival-
Faction: The Mile High Club
Gear/weapons: An old fashion shaving razor, drug bundle (syringes, metal spoon, lighter, rubbing alcohol, gauze), homegrown weed, smoking pipe
Skills: Medicine (major), Selling (alt), Sneaking (alt), Hiding (alt), Crafting (alt)
Powers: Enhanced Senses (smell & sight)

-Appearance-
Written Appearance: He's a slim man of average height with a fair skin tone (pale, if we're being honest) and hands that are smooth with long bony fingers. His hair is always cut down to stubble, but one can tell it would normally be black. He has pale green eyes with dark circles and a scar that runs down the left side of his lips.

-Other-
Personality: Some call it cynicism, others sarcasm... Deep down it's apathy that comes off as a dark sense of humor. The high is the only thing that feels real to him anymore. When he's sober, he's an ass. When he's on something, it can range from energetic to complacent, depending on the flavor of the day.

History: Oliver grew up in the Mile High Club. His mother wasn't much different from the low rung, whoring herself out for what chem she could get. She has no idea who his father is. Growing up was no parade. He spent his days scavenging for food on the streets and his nights tending to his stoned out mother.

When he was sixteen, he caught the eye of a doctor that frequented his mothers's bed. By then, Oliver was strong and sharp, having not partaken in any drugs by this point. Seeing the rise and fall of his mother's sobriety left him fearful of trying anything. Dr. Hicks was old enough to be Oliver's father. He was tall with blonde hair, blue eyes and a trimmed beard.

Dr. Hicks chose to take Oliver away to a better part of the settlement. He was high up on the food chain of drug suppliers and you can't get more luxurious than that in the Mile High. Of course, Dr. Hicks wasn't necessarily feeling charitable when he made the offer. People would pay high for play time with the young man and Dr. Hicks intended on taking some of that time himself.

Seduced by a better life, Olive accepted his place as a kind of consort for the doctor. It was here that he was truly exposed to the ways of the world. Eventually, he gave into the temptation of intoxication and, to date, has probably experienced every drug available. He also learned that he had a knack for concocting and identifying drugs through smell and sight. He became a sort of blood hound for bad trades and quality checks. As time went on, he learned medicine with Dr. Hicks applying his supernatural senses to diagnosis and treatment. Just by smelling a persons blood, he could determine what they were on. His eyesight helped with surgeries and autopsies.

As his career ascended, his soul descended. Practicing medicine with the good doctor was an evil thing. He experimented with new drugs on live subjects and then testing their limits for physical sensation, sometimes in very gruesome ways. At first, Oliver couldn't stomach it and often had nightmares (he still does sometimes). However, getting stoned will make that all go away.

Eventually, he left Dr. Hicks, turning to drug running and dealing. Quality control was his specialty and building rapport with his clientele was essential. The Diesel trade good when you're good to them and they know the best comes from Oliver. Granted, he's had to be harsh with a few bad eggs... They returned to the faction insane or physically twisted.

He isn't as pretty as he use to be. The drugs stole his youth and left him thinner than he should be, but he still has a charismatic air about him.