weathertop | darling it's better down where it's wetter

darling it's better down where it's wetter

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

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Okay, well at least it proved as enough of a distraction to get one splicer down. That's an accomplishment, right?

The second splicer hoists over the railing and launches himself up to a lower part of the ceiling, gurgling curses over the clanking of hooks. Sinclair steps back out into the center of the room, where the splicer will have to drop down to the floor if he wants to get anywhere near him.

He's got to hit this one. He can't miss. Sinclair aims his gun, but as soon as he does the hooks come flying. He tries to keep moving, make himself harder to hit, but one grazes his arm and he accidentally fires, almost slipping in a puddle. Where the shot goes, he's not sure.

At least not until he hears the crash and sizzle of a now busted vending machine. Nice one.

The splicer lets himself fall from the ceiling, cackling wildly and pitching one hook after another until he decides to go ahead and charge him.

At this point, Sinclair's life is flashing before his eyes and yes, he's absolutely certain this is the end. But as a last ditch effort, he fires a shot--

the splicer freezes in place, going completely rigid, eyes rolling back in his head and convulsing for a few of the longest seconds in Sinclair's life before he falls limp onto the wet tile.

His eyes follow the puddle...back to the vending machine, sparking away just a few meters from where the splicer now lies, totally lifeless.

"HA HA HA HA HAAAAA," the warped recording sounds off, skipping and tone wavering. "COME BACK WHEN YOU'VE GOT SOME..."

And with that, the lights flicker, there's a popping sound, and the machine dies.

You did your duty well. Godspeed, soldier.

Edited 2013-03-23 00:07 (UTC)

When the vending machine is a better shot than you, Sinclair, you've got a bit of explaining to do.

Tenenbaum aims her gun at the crawler, but with limited bullets she can't justify taking the shot unless she's reasonably sure it'll hit. And with crawlers, once they get going with their acrobatics, you can never be reasonably sure. Maybe Sinclair can take care of himself-----

He shoots the vending machine. Tenenbaum knows he can't see it, but she still deigns to throw an 'are you serious' kind of look in his direction.

Well, either he'll spontaneously evolve firearms skills or he'll wish he hadn't entered a firefight without them. In either case, Tenenbaum has a houdini to look out for.

A second later, there's a shriek of anger and the scene becomes a literal firefight, flames coalescing out of a red cloud and shooting straight at Tenenbaum. She dodges -- but the houdini caught her off guard and her cheek feels scorched, she has to pat out a flame on her sleeve. More fire follows and she breaks into a run.

Survive for the girls. Come on, Tenenbaum. Anything less is not an option.

She shoots behind her as she runs, and from the shriek of pain and the cursing she gets a hit -- but the fire keeps coming.

And then -- it stops.

Sinclair snaps out of his stupor in time to turn around and watch the houdini splicer volley fireball after fireball in Tenenbaum's direction, but if a spider splicer is hard to hit, a houdini's going to be impossible. She teleports from spot to spot and Sinclair aims but there's no way, she won't stay in one spot long enough for him to even attempt a shot. With his luck, he'd end up shooting Tenenbaum and then all of this would have been for nothing.

And then the fire stops. There's the sound of air, like suction, and then it's just quiet. Which is one of the more alarming things that could happen during a fight with a splicer.

Sinclair looks to Tenenbaum, as if she might know where the splicer is going to pop up next. But of course she doesn't. Neither of them do. At least not until he hears it again, the whoosh directly behind him. He spins around and fires.

The bullet expertly dodges the splicer and shatters a wall lamp behind her, showering glass and sparks onto the tile. She doesn't even flinch, but a wicked grin spreads across her face and Sinclair can see the heat in her fists crawling up her forearms.

He pulls the trigger again, with the gun more centered on his target--

click

...It's empty.

And now she knows it. Her grin spreads even wider and she cackles, amused at first but the volume escalates until she's screaming laughter and she takes a step toward him.

She's going to kill him, she's going to burn him alive he's going to be fried on the spot if he doesn't do something,

"I know where she keeps the ADAM," he says, loud enough for her to hear it over her own barking.

She pauses, looking at him for a moment, clearly trying to decide if it's worth listening.

"I know where the doctor keeps her ADAM," he says again. "I can take you to it, she's got buckets of the stuff. More than you've ever dreamed of. You couldn't run out of it if you tried."

Oh god please let this work, please, please let this work.

What the shit is Tenenbaum listening to right now.

A bluff -- maybe. But Sinclair runs with Jack now -- Jack, who knows where her girls live, who she knows she cannot trust. If it is a bluff now, can she be sure Sinclair cannot and will not make good on it if pressed?

Good thing she was planning on killing this splicer anyway, really.

The houdini is staring at Sinclair with greed written all over her face. The thought of a bluff hasn't even crossed her mind. A reality has to exist in which she gets her ADAM.

"Three down," she cackles, "and more for me!"

And now, she's stood still long enough for Tenenbaum to get a bead on the back of her head.

Blam! Blam! Blam! and the splicer lands in a puddle, what's left of her face bleeding weakly onto the floor.

He watches the splicer drop and after a second of staring at her dead, bleeding body, he exhales.

"You," he says to Tenenbaum, laughing a bit nervously, "are one hell of a shot."

Seriously, that was too close for comfort. He can improvise all day long, but when it's a matter of life or death it changes the game a little. And not in a fun way.

"Remember it," she tells him flatly.

Uh... complement taken? I guess?

Tenenbaum carefully wipes some blood from her cheek, then starts to reload her pistol. The whole time she's watching Sinclair closely.

"Perhaps next time, you learn to shoot before you enter a fight, yes?"

It's probably a little late for that, if he hasn't learned how to shoot straight yet then he'll probably never learn. He shrugs in response, then decides to take the conversation a somewhat less embarrassing route.

"What are you doing out here? You're gonna get yourself killed." He keeps his tone amused, although he figures the information could be useful. Tenenbaum's flat is in Olympus Heights, but nowhere near his. She's got to have some reason.

Yeah, because she's just going to straight up tell him she was trying to case his joint.

"Food is growing short. And I have many mouths to find it for."

A long, steady look. She's wondering how he'll answer. Sinclair might know something about those mouths, if he's inferred the right things from news articles, or if Jack has given them away.

Sinclair knows about the mouths. It's been mostly rumor, but it was plausible enough for him to believe. Really it didn't matter to him one way or the other. The Little Sisters weren't, aren't, his department. The Big Daddies who protected them...a little more so, but he has other priorities. And really, he can't say he disagrees with her cause, even if he wouldn't ever care enough to take it up himself.

"I was just heading back from the grocer myself, I didn't realize there was another one in this wing," he says with a wry tone.

"Hah," says Tenenbaum. "Not all of us have goods to trade. Or are welcome among the traders."

Downside of inventing a drug that helped lead directly to the downfall of civilisation? If someone recognises you, the cost of a head of lettuce will mysteriously skyrocket before your very eyes.

She gets it. It's a huge pain, but she gets it. She just wishes it didn't do harm to the children as well.

Sinclair nods. He's dealt with that a couple times, but fortunately he's got the money to be welcome just about anywhere. Doctor Tenenbaum is, apparently, not as fortunate. But she seems to have done okay for herself so far.

He pauses, about to say something, but this isn't the place.

"Well," he says finally, reaching into his pocket, "I don't know about you, but after all of that I could go for a cigarette." He pulls out the box and opens it, offering it to her. It's a peace offering and an invitation. They've got a few things to talk about.

Tenenbaum accepts a cigarette, and lets him light it, too.

"Perhaps somewhere more safe," she suggests. Together, if he's up for it. There are a few things Tenenbaum's curious to know, and while Sinclair himself is here...

Ladies first, of course. He lights his cigarette after hers and pockets the rest again, taking a few steps back to where he left his groceries around the corner where he'd been hiding.

"The kid's asleep right now, if you want to you're perfectly welcome to come back to my flat," he says, already starting in that direction. "Do you drink? You strike me as a vodka woman."

"He is staying with you?"

She'd suspected as much, if they were trying to escape together, but confirmation is... something. Tenenbaum can't help but wonder how much Sinclair knows about what he's getting dragged into.

No word on the vodka, but after a moment of thought, she does begin to follow him. She was looking for his safehouse anyway, so here's a shortcut.

(Sinclair she thinks she could take in a fight if she has to. Jack... she hopes it wouldn't come to that; he didn't seem bent on revenge when they ran into each other before. It's a calculated risk.)

"As long as he doesn't start eating the furniture," he laughs. "I don't believe he's ever not hungry."

But there's a risk there too, he's not sure how happy Jack would be to wake up with her there. After their last run-in, he was...pretty upset. He's bringing her back with relatively high stakes in acquiring something in the process, whether it's help finding a way out or just an ally. Anything is useful at this point. But if Jack wakes up and Sinclair has nothing to show for it, he's not really sure what's going to happen.

Something flickers at the edges of Tenenbaum's mouth. The massively accelerated growth did interesting things to his metabolism; if only it were so easy to get the girls to eat their vegetables.

She pushes it down; it wasn't a smile. If anything, if Sinclair is even looking, she might appear a little sick.

"You are not wrong about that."

Hey, it's no secret that she and Jack know each other.

Whatever face Tenenbaum is making, Sinclair definitely smiles. A small one, but there's no mistaking it. Apparently Jack has a reputation.

He lets them walk the rest of the way in silence, partly because he's got nothing to say and partly because he would rather not attract any more attention than absolutely necessary.

Once they get to his door, he motions for Tenenbaum to wait a moment while he goes in and adjusts his turrets to let her pass, and then reappears to motion her inside.

"I've got a study in the back, we should be able to talk there without disturbing him," he tells her.

After a brief pause -- the time it takes to wonder if this is a huge mistake, and then dismiss that as emotion rather than logic -- she follows him in.

Jack is there, fast asleep, tossed around a bit but still curled around his wrench. He hasn't eaten the couch but he has drooled on it a bit. Maybe that's a preliminary warning sign.

He lies there like a living, breathing accusation.

Tenenbaum's glance is subtly pained, and goes on for maybe a few seconds too long. Then she gathers herself. Her face returns to normal.

Once they've made it to the study, she says quietly, her voice as dry as Rapture isn't: "You have given him a bath at last. My congratulations."

"He took it willingly too," Sinclair laughs, closing the door behind them and heading straight for the liquor cabinet. "Was it vodka? I'm a whiskey man, myself."

He pulls down the bottle for himself and a couple glasses, filling the bottom of his. There's nothing wrong with having a routine. This is how he executes most of his business conversations. Only this time, there's a little more at stake. Which, with as long as he's been doing this, is saying something.

"I will take whiskey."

She raises an eyebrow at the fact that Sinclair literally has and maintains a liquor cabinet. There aren't many with the means for that in Rapture any more. Well, she won't look the gift horse in the mouth.

"Who knows what disgusting thing he will next find to roll in," she muses, as if the Big Daddy pheromones weren't entirely her idea.

Sinclair nods and fills her glass the same as his, passing it and he sits in an armchair across from her.

"I'm curious," he says, dropping his cigarette into an ash tray. "He's only been in Rapture for a few days, how is it you know him so well?"

It's okay, she thought he might ask that.

"We have been in communication."

Her tone gives nothing away, if you don't count habitual iciness.

"The radio."

"Seems to me you're not particularly fond of the kid," he offers. If he has to pry information out of her, that's alright. Sometimes that's what needs to be done.

"Now why would you keep in communication with him if there's so much bad blood?"

"Why should the blood have always been bad?"

She takes a sip of the whiskey, shudders briefly. Wonders whether to elaborate on what Jack's been up to with his moral choices.

"What makes you trust him?"

Sinclair shrugs casually, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip.

"I wouldn't say I trust him exactly, but I don't reckon he has anything to gain from stabbing me in the back. I'm his ticket out of this dump, he knows that."

That's part of it anyway. The rest of it was gut instinct. He's not usually wrong about people when he meets them. First impression is everything, and Sinclair's met some really crooked people in his time. Jack just didn't fall in with them.

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