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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Even if he were boasting, Sinclair would be glad to hear it. When it comes time, he's probably also going to make Jack carry that gun. You know. being the stronger one and all that.

And Jack says it's good, but.

"You sure you're okay to go back there, sport? I know it can't be your favorite place."

Jack's not a natural liar. So he has to buy time to answer that one, sucking thoughtfully on his sleeve.

"I'm gonna choose to go back," he says at last. "He's dead, he doesn't scare me."

(Which is true; Andrew Ryan isn't frightening in a physically threatening sense.)

Suggesting that he once did.

It's amusing, in a way. Somebody of Jack's size, Jack's sheer brutal strength, to be afraid of another person. To be afraid of anything.

And then in another way, it's really very sad. Sinclair's sure that Jack's afraid of quite a lot, actually.

He smiles sympathetically at him.

"It's just a place, son. There's nobody there anymore, just your memories." And a splicer or two or fifty. "I figure if we get started early enough, we ought to be able to at least locate the submarine and figure out what kind of defenses we're gonna have to work around in order to make a successful getaway. Once we get that figured out, we can get our things together and make a break for it. Best case scenario, we'll be out of here in a day and half."

"A day and a half?"

He's hopeful; it sounds just as plausible as 'a day' did before they set off in that bathysphere. Jack can sometimes be a slow learner.

Why, for the surface in a day and a half he'd go to Hephaestus five times, probably.

Sinclair's narration is glad to hear you say that! Now no one is limited to just a one time visit, it'll be great.

"If we're very, very lucky. I think it's possible, but I'm not making any promises."

End scene.

Sinclair might have flagged the morning as their departure time, but to Jack it's barely night. He's been doing a relatively great amount of sleeping over a relatively short amount of time. Sleep isn't coming for him.

So he tosses and turns for a while on the couch -- then gives up and sits, running the wrench across his hands. Turns on the radio and slouches there, restless, listening expectantly to blank static until morning.

In the next room, Sinclair fulfills his sleep quota in about four hours. He wakes up feeling mostly refreshed, but never as rested as it seems like sleeping at night should make you feel.

He puts a robe on and sets out to make a pot of coffee. Jack being awake doesn't surprise him; the kid slept a good while that evening and Sinclair wouldn't be able to sleep again after that either. What does surprise him is the way Jack sits, hunched over the coffee table, staring at the slow blinking light on his transmission radio.

He's waiting. There's nothing but static, but it's like Jack expects someone to talk to him. The only person that could be is Doctor Tenenbaum and. Well. That's...probably not going to happen. At least not tonight.

"I'm sure she's asleep by now, chief," he says, voice still thick from sleep.

It's been so long -- and hours feel like days when you're waiting for something that might not come -- that Jack is almost glad to be interrupted. His eyes ache from too much staring. He realises it when Sinclair comes in; rubs them slowly.

"I don't think she sleeps a lot," he says, just accepting that of course Sinclair knows who he's waiting for. It's got to be obvious.

That's plausible. Sinclair's sure nobody really sleeps very well in Rapture anymore.

"Come on, why don't I make you a cup of coffee? You look like you could use it."

Because he doesn't look tired in the sense that he needs sleep, but waiting...it's exhausting. Waiting and not gaining anything from it. Waiting and being disappointed. And he certainly looks disappointed.

He chews slowly on his sleeve, nods gratefully.

Maybe he should say what else he got up to last night, after retrieving the chemical thrower. It feels bad to be keeping it secret. Like something's off-balance. But then with all the secrets Jack is keeping already, that's nothing new -- maybe it's just how normal people go around feeling.

He'll tell it, he resolves, when he finds out whether it was right or wrong.

"I didn't sleep either," he says to the radio, just to feel less like he's lying by omission.

What is that, like a nervous tic or something? Sinclair just washed that sweater, stop that.

He ignores it though, too hazy from sleep still to bother questioning him about something as unimportant as why he keeps sucking on his sleeve like a toddler.

"That's alright," Sinclair says over his shoulder as he puts on the water. "You rested earlier, least you got some sleep." Then, turning back around and leaning on the counter, "What is it you need to talk to her about so desperately, son?"

Whoa whoa whoa asking him a clear, direct question is cheating. Jack opens and closes his mouth like a fish for a second or two, while battle rages between honesty and secrecy.

A truce is reached:

"She knows some things I don't know."

"...You're sure it's nothing I could answer? Doctor Tenenbaum and I have a lot of knowledge in common, we shared some business for several years although we never worked together directly."

Really though, if he can put Jack out of his misery that would probably be beneficial to both of them.

Jack shakes his head. If Sinclair knew, he'd know he knew.

He takes his sleeve out of his mouth and turns the wrench over in his hands some more, eyes back on the radio. Says helpfully: "It's okay. I'll make her talk to me."

Sinclair shakes his head and turns back around to pull down some coffee mugs, laughing.

"Good luck to you, kid. She's a tough one to crack."

Wow, unnecessary, he's not going to crack her open.

"...What would you say to her?" Jack recognises Sinclair to be the local expert in conversations. "To make her talk?"

Pray contraband God that the question isn't more correctly 'what DID you say' and let's just leave that thought at that

"Well for one, it helps if she's not predisposed to ignoring everything you say," he says with another laugh. "But it's good to stay patient, even if it looks like she'll never say anything. Don't pressure her. Make your case, maybe ask a question or two, but if you don't keep your temper in check you'll shut her down in a heartbeat."

And even if he follows all of that advice, it's still extremely likely she'll never talk. If she even agrees to stand in front of him long enough for all of that to happen.

"If it still doesn't work," he adds, "let it go. You can try it again another time, and maybe if you prove to her that you can walk away without getting all up in arms about it, she'll start to see things a little differently."

...There's no way Jack's gonna remember all of that. And Sinclair wouldn't even bother, but the kid has no conversational skills and if he runs out the door to track down the doctor and ruins everything for himself, at least Sinclair can say he tried.

Jack feels like he should maybe be writing all this down in a quest log.

"Okay," he says, and this whole time he's been looking at Sinclair attentively. Jack does try to be a good student, you know. Or else he gets the hose again.

"Try again," he mutters, and yes he is attempting to commit this all to memory. "Don't lose my temper, no... armaments..."

"Just don't let your emotions get the better of you. Number one thing to remember, you'll do okay as long as you don't forget that."

There's no way he's going to remember that, this mission is hopeless. But he can't stop Jack from talking to her. He can try, but it's only going to make Jack try and sneak off to talk to her and that's a lot more effort than it's worth. Tenenbaum already doesn't want to talk to him, Sinclair thinks he can't sink much lower than he already is in her eyes.

A few seconds later, the coffee's ready and Sinclair pours them both a cup, taking it back and sitting across from Jack at the table.

"Alright," says Jack a touch uncertainly. Usually his missions are something like 'go to Area A and find Parts B through E to assemble Item F'; this sounds a little more involved.

Well, he'll give it a try. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

When the coffee arrives he starts to drink it straight away (I'm sure you're surprised and shocked) -- then puts it back down quickly when it scalds his lips. Apparently he's way too accustomed to coffee that's been hanging out in a thermos for like a year.

"Hot," he explains.

"Boiling water'll do that," Sinclair laughs. He sips his own coffee cautiously, not wanting to make Jack's mistake.

"I'm still hoping Doctor Tenenbaum will help us out. It'll take some convincing, but I believe there's some common ground between us that we can work on. Now, I can't stop you from talking to her, chief, but just. ...Be careful of what you say, alright? If she gets all bent out of shape because you started pushing the wrong buttons, we're never gonna get anything out of her."

There, now that's on the table. Nobody can say he didn't try.

Hey be nice.

While Sinclair's talking, Jack blows on his coffee to cool it. He's paying attention, though. His eyes are still on Sinclair, and he's nodding. "I'll be careful," he promises.

Remembering the talk he wasn't privy to, though, is making him uneasy.

"What did she... talk about with you?"

"A whole lot of nothing," Sinclair huffs. "I know she wants her girls out of here, I was gonna attempt to combine our efforts. But she won't talk."

Oh yeah, and there was the whole first three quarters of the conversation where they talked about whether or not Jack was trustworthy. Just a minor omission, no big deal.

Oh hey well it's good that that first part didn't happen because that was totally going to be his next question!

"...Did she talk about me?"

He figures that if she'd said... you know. anything big. Sinclair would've mentioned it by now -- so it's not as intense a question as it could be, but it's still something that's been weighing on his mind.

"Well..." he says, nodding his head as he tries to pick his words. "In the sense that you would be a person involved in the escape."

And the less he says on that, the better.

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