darling it's better down where it's wetter

[did_unkindly]

It's been a day, it's been a day, it's been a whole damn day -- as near as it's possible to tell in this soggy excuse for a city. It's been a day since he killed Fontaine. And Jack is no closer to getting out. He's still down here. He did everything he was supposed to do and he's still down here.

All he's found is locked-down bathyspheres. Broken submarines. Even the goddamn boats are out of service. Where's Tenenbaum? Where's his fucking rescue?

Jack stares about into the greenish gloom, checks the ammo in his pistol, and then kicks and yanks off the rusting panel of a vending machine. His hands are soon full of little wires and pipes. A few seconds later, he straightens up with a grunt, and the machine gives him a tidy discount on a couple glowing hypos of EVE.

With his visit extended indefinitely, he's begun to wonder how many of them are left.

Now arbitrarily divided into chapters!
Part One: A Scene at the Rapture Adoption Agency ~or~ You Found [Pot of Ham]!
Part Two: Come On-A My House, I'm Gonna Give-A You Candy ~or~ Sinclair? More Like Sin Pantalones!
Part Three: Dream Sequences are a Fresh New Concept in Fiction ~or~ It's My Existential Trauma and I'll Cry if I Want To
Part Four: Southern Education Jokes ~or~ Engineer, Engifar, Engiwherever You Are ~or~ The Grave Escape
Part Five: Golfing Accident Memoirs ~or~ Mom... Dad... I'm Immortal ~or~ How To Make Friends And Immolate People
Part Six: Is It A Pie? Is It A Plane?? ~or~ Two's Company, Three's a Row
Part Seven: Escort Missions! In Rapture! Council's In An Uproar ~or~ Bioshock: Cheesecake Edition
Part Eight: Bread, Milk, BATTLE! ~or~ Pleasant Conversations, How They Bore Me
Part Nine: Choices, Schmoices ~or~ Baby's First Moral Philosophy ~or~ Go Away I Want To Take A Damn Bath
Part Ten: A Man Snoozes; A Slave Delays ~or~ The Four Second Rule Applies To Drugs
Part Eleven: A Hearty Meal ~or~ Skeletons In The-- That's Not A Closet
Part Twelve: We All Live in a Secret Submarine ~or~ Plasmids: Not Even Once
Part Thirteen: Paging Dr Tenenbaum To Surgery ~or~ Bribery And Deduction
Part Fourteen: The Prodigal Son Returns

Comments

[modestman]

"Well tie it back," Sinclair says. Duh, that's the obvious choice. It was one faulty knot, the rest are solid as a 9 iron.

What, they are. He swears it.

[did_unkindly]

Even from two storeys down, Jack is able to give Sinclair a very eloquent 'are you serious' kind of look.

"I don't want to break my back."

[modestman]

Exasperated sigh.

"Well what do you suggest then, I'm all out of ideas."

[did_unkindly]

"Find a real rope."

He says it like it's obvious.

[modestman]

"There's nothing else up here, kid," he tells him, slightly frustrated. The sheets rope thing was a good idea, in theory. And it's annoying that they just went through all of that, again for nothing.

This is not a pattern Sinclair particularly likes.

[did_unkindly]

Yeah well, a Laissez-faire city under the sea sounded like a great idea to someone or other, and look where that one ended up.

"Then I'll look down here."

He makes as if to move, but holds up, waiting for Sinclair's response.

[modestman]

"I'll just wait here then," he says, tone not entirely void of indignation.

They could have probably looked while they were still down there, that might have been a good plan. But then again, it's not as if plans have served them well so far. Everything's been a little hit-or-miss, no matter what they do. And it's aggravating, for someone who usually knows exactly what he's doing, and doesn't usually fail.

There's been a lot of failure so far. Too much. And he's sure it's not over yet.

[did_unkindly]

Well maybe if you stop letting Jack make plans.

And here's the nod and vanishing act that I'm sure Sinclair has come to know and love.

Tata, papa!

[modestman]

And he's alone again, with every echoing drip of a leaky pipe and Jack's very distant footsteps.

At least there's no through-door upstairs, at least not one that's unlocked. He'll be mostly safe from splicers, as long as he doesn't make himself noticeable.

Sinclair leans back against the wall and slides to sit on the tile. When they get back to his apartment, he's going to take a very long, very hot bath, and then he's going to collapse on his mattress and go into a coma for as many hours as he possibly can.

Now there's a plan.

[did_unkindly]

Jack hunts all around, and on a whim he heads for the Big Daddy with the vague idea that its suit might have something they can use. You know, if it hasn't been completely plundered in the hours since it died.

It's still there, unmoved and unmoving, defaced with rude graffiti by some splicer who probably wouldn't have the nerve to go near a living one. He fails to spot the body of the Sister. Unaccountably, he's glad that he does.

That relief lasts until he finds a finger over here, and a scrap of dress over there, and realises that he hasn't just failed to spot the body.

Well.




Well, it's not a surprise. It's not a surprise that the (other) splicers would've descended on her, it's not like she was even running away, let alone defended. Whatever. It's not like she was alive. Or even human. It's stupid to feel badly for something you stabbed through the stomach with icicles. He already put this out of his head like five seconds after the harvest, and rightly so.

Jesus, this is why he shouldn't backtrack.




For all his trouble, the Bouncer doesn't even have any ropes or cords. It's carrying mad cash -- maybe the splicers were too preoccupied with the Sister and her traces of ADAM to loot it -- but nothing that'll lift him two floors.

Jack sighs in annoyance and starts to traipse back to the staircase, taking the scenic route and restocking bullets and EVE with his newfound riches.

The malaise is back, a combination of hangover and worries and the constant setbacks they've been having. He sure hopes that Sinclair's had a more thorough rummage around.

[modestman]

Jack sure is taking his time. Sinclair's not really used to sitting around idly when there's something that needs to be done, but he's not really sure what more he can do. He's already searched every drawer and cabinet and room, and...

Well not every room, he supposes, but that one was locked.

But it's just a doorknob, and at the risk of attracting unwanted attention, perhaps he can cure that door of its desire to keep them out.

Sinclair gets to his feet and wanders back into the reception area, drawing his gun as he approaches door number three. He stands back a ways to avoid potential door shrapnel, aims the gun and fires.

Splinters go flying, a good sign. But when he looks at the door, there's a hole through it but it appears to be just as locked as before. He approaches it, cursing under his breath, and shoves at it

and it gives. It's open. Jesus god, it worked.

He steps inside, grinning shamelessly at this wonderful accomplishment and sweet christ what is that smell?

The room is just as identical as the previous two except for the rotting corpse tied to the operating table.

Sinclair buries his nose in the crook of his elbow and walks up to the body, looking it over. It's missing most of its teeth, all of its fingers, and it appears to have been scalped. If Sinclair looks to his right, he'll find a tray full of bloody surgical tools lined up meticulously next to nine decaying digits. He's very sure he doesn't want to know what happened to the tenth.

Clearly the kind of surgery intended to save a life. You bet.

But for all of revolting brutality of the scene laid out before him, he got what he came here for. The body is tied to the operating table with a rope, bound again and again around its torso. Poor bastard wasn't going anywhere.

He works out where he can begin untying it and, once he's got that figured out, takes a deep breath to hold while he gets it undone. It requires a few breaks to step out and breathe before he comes back to it again, but a few minutes later it's over. Sinclair has acquired one rope with bonus blood stains. Now they're in business.

[did_unkindly]

Jack brains a couple of splicers on the way back, but his heart isn't really in it.

Beside the ruined staircase, he frowns upwards, searching for his lovely assistant.

"Mister Sinclair?"

[modestman]

Hearing his name, Sinclair hurries back to the balcony with his grossly earned prize.

"Looks like I was mistaken," he says, dropping it on the floor and getting to work tying it around the banister.

[did_unkindly]

"Great," says Jack, with just the slightest flavour of I-told-you-so.

Turns out this is just what he needs to bring his mood back up a notch. They're totally getting ahead after all!

Now he just needs to stop thinking about... everything, ha, what a time to start thinking about things. He could really do without these Fontaine name-drops if it's all the same to everyone. They should've put that on the adverts for ADAM: guaranteed to stop you caring that everyone you knew and loved might as well be dead! End creeping discomfort, or your money back!

Anyway.

He plays with the rope a bit while Sinclair ties it, checking for any obvious fraying. He's not hoping for another tumble. But as it turns out, the greatest danger might be slipping on all this... stuff, this kind of nasty covering that smells exactly like some of the older corpses he's plundered.

Dang, Sinclair, you didn't find this in a store-room, did you.

Well, Jack has smelled worse.

[modestman]

Looking down, Sinclair notices the face Jack makes at the rope. He found something solid for you to climb up and what, now it's not good enough? I see how it is.

"Hope you don't mind," he says, "I borrowed it from our friend up here. Not exactly the most, uh...hygienic fella."

It had to be a rope, after all.

[did_unkindly]

"I've seen worse," he answers, repeating the sentiment of the narration honestly enough.

Once it's done being tied, he gives it the same experimental tug he gave the first one, then pulls a 'welp here we go' kind of face and hauls himself onto it.

His hands, as expected, slip a lot. But he's strong enough to make kinks in the rope for extra grip, tensing his arms and forcing each part he holds to be horizontal.

All things considered, he makes slow but reasonable progress.

He tries not to be too aware of the ground getting further and further away beneath him. Or the way the rope sways alarmingly with his movements. He's just climbin'. Yep. He's mostly lived through Rapture so far, a bit of climbin' isn't too risky. Nope.

Near the top, he loses his grip, tries to grab some rope that's a bit too slick with rotting people juice and slides. With an alarmed little noise, he clenches fists and feet and thighs around the rope and makes the mistake of looking down.

He stalls himself two feet further down, and looks up at Sinclair with the fairly undisguised look of a man whose fake-ass life just flashed before his eyes.

Please let that knot at the top be secure please oh please he will kill you if you make him fall again oh my god.

There aren't any incidents after that, but it's still with a certain amount of relief that Jack scrambles over the banister and onto solid ground. Jack leans his butt against the banister and stretches, quite deliberately not looking down again.

I mean it's not the first time he's done stupid acrobatics, but he does usually prefer to have his feet planted on the floor.

A quick triumphant grin is directed at Sinclair.

And it's worth mentioning that between the extended Bouncer search, and getting up close and personal with dead people rope, Jack smells pretty bad. Worse than the usual Rapture combo of unwashed dude and trashcan residue. His hands and clothes are entirely vile, encrusted with who knows what kinds of grime, not that this keeps him from a dedicated attempt to wipe off the one on the other.

[modestman]

Well one thing's for sure: If something were on fire up here, Sinclair would not want to have to rely on Jack to climb up a rope to save him

Another thing is also for sure: when they get back to Sinclair's apartment, they're not doing anything until Jack takes a bath. I mean really, at least the rotting corpse is only one kind of gross. Jack's got a whole assortment, a menagerie of grossness on his sweater alone, never mind the rest of him.

"I spotted a crawl space in the last room there," he tells him, gesturing at the third door. "Looks to go right through to another room. Unless you've got any other ideas." You know. So they don't have to do any more backtracking.

[did_unkindly]

"I want to look at it."

Blissfully oblivious to the dead horse Sinclair's narration is beating, Jack turns towards... actually, hang on, he turns back again, thinking of something.

"...Should we take the rope?"

[modestman]

Sinclair looks back at the rope dangling helpfully from the banister. If they leave it there, anyone could follow them. So even if they don't take it, they should pull it up again. But Jack is right, they may need it again at some point and nobody wants to have to go through that all over again. Granted, maybe the next rope they find will be a little less horribly disgusting.

He shrugs. "If you want to carry it."

You're gross enough, a little extra will hardly even be noticeable.

[did_unkindly]

Sure, it's selectable so it should come in handy.

Jack spends a couple minutes squatted by the banister, pulling out Sinclair's lame-ass knot and rolling up the rope. It's a nice bit of light work to get the cramp from climbing out of his hands. It's also gross as hell. But the man eats stale cake out of trash cans, he's worn Big Daddy pheromones, he is basically immune to repellant stinks at this point.

All gross as hell comers are welcome in his inventory; he does not judge. ♥

Then he leads the way through the door, opening it just a crack at first to check for-----

Huh. Okay, there's no danger per se, but this is still a hell of a room.

[modestman]

However Jack may feel, the stench of dead bodies is not one that Sinclair thinks he'll ever be able to get used to. His nose goes right back into the crook of his elbow.

"And here's the kindly gentleman who lent us that rope," he says, coughing a bit. "Don't think I care to know what happened to him."

[did_unkindly]

Don't get him wrong, his nose is definitely wrinkling at the smell. It's ripe in here, desensitised or not.

"That was nice of him," says Jack, while he fishes half a pep bar out of the corpse's pocket.

[modestman]

Jack's constant desire to stuff his face knows no bounds. It shouldn't even surprise him anymore, really.

Which reminds him, the goodies he found are still sitting in the reception area. While Jack loots the room, Sinclair steps out for a breath of less putrid air and makes sure to get them before he comes back in.

"Thought you might be needing these," says Sinclair, laying the med kit and two EVE hypos out on the table at the corpse's feet.

[did_unkindly]

Oh man, that is a nice haul.

"Thanks, mister Sinclair!"

(And if the way he says it doesn't make you want to say 'you're welcome, li'l Billy' and pat him on the head then I just don't know what to say to you.)

[modestman]

"Sure thing, sport," Sinclair says back, obviously resisting the pat on the head. It is clearly called for, but maybe another time.

"Crawl space is down there. You want to check it out first or do you think we oughta just go for it? There's no other way out of here that I've seen."