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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Sinclair rises to his feet with her, extending his hand. Handshakes are...usually on the cheap side, when it comes to business with him. But in most places it's still considered a gesture of goodwill, and if Tenenbaum will accept it, that's a gesture he'd like to offer her. Whether Jack does what he set out to do or the opposite.

"I'll send him right over," he agrees. "Don't forget your groceries, doctor."

For someone who's worked with Fontaine, empty handshakes are familiar. She engages his hand without smiling. Though to be fair, she does a lot of things without smiling.

"Thank you." It's a useful phrase to end a difficult conversation.

"Do you have a... bag, or a basket?"

"I ought to, somewhere," Sinclair says, making his way back out to the kitchen, heading straight for the cabinets. They're stocked, all of them, with cans of fruit and vegetables, preserved meat and spreads. It might occur to him to be embarrassed at having so much when everyone else in this city has so little, but it doesn't. Not when there's so much else eating up his thoughts.

About three cabinets down he finds a decent sized paper bag, which he takes down and empties of its contents (alcohol, mostly) and gives to Tenenbaum.

"Anything you like," he reminds her. "I've got some picking up to do before the kid gets back, so I'll leave you to it." Mostly true; if he doesn't do what picking up he can now, it'll only get worse when Jack returns.

There's a little bit of frank envy on Tenenbaum's face as she starts opening cabinets. Maybe even a raised eyebrow. She doesn't say anything, but goddamn, so this is where all the food has been sitting while her girls have been going without. You know what, she can make peace with having bought it a little bit questionably. This'll do more than just help them scrape by -- this stuff is practically luxury.

She doesn't pick up the pleasant small talk. All she's doing here is stuff the bag with the best she can find -- meats and beans for protein, canned vegetables, thick glass bottles of clean water. At the back of her mind she's aware that she's taking from Jack as well as from this douchebag over here. But said douchebag seems confident enough that he'll be able to get more, so she doesn't hold back until the bag and her pockets are full.

Sinclair waits in his room until he hears the door shut behind her. Once the silence settles in again, he goes out to survey the damage.

It's amazing how much you can fit into those little paper bags, his cabinets look at least 40% emptier than when he walked away just a minute ago.

He smiles to himself. A successful interaction. He accomplished most of what he needed today and did his part to ensure that there would be further interactions in the future. The rest is on Jack, even if he doesn't know it.

So for now, there's not much else to do but wait. Anxiously. Whether Jack comes home looking refreshed and satisfied or whether Jack comes home looking high as a goddamn kite, dripping the green of some little girl's life force is going to define whether or not today is a good day for Augustus Sinclair.

And Jack...

...

. . .

...Jack takes his sweet time getting back.

An hour passes.

Sinclair has picked up the same book about ten times and read the same page over and over about fifty without ever actually taking anything in.

Another hour, and Sinclair starts wondering whether he ought to go out looking for him. The answer to that is obviously a resounding No, but he does wonder how much longer he's going to wait before he really should go out looking.

But there's no reason for that, it's not as if Sinclair is worried for Jack's safety. He's just...a little nervous about Jack's decision making skills. Going out and looking for him won't accomplish anything. He'll be back. Eventually.

In the mean time, Sinclair lies down on the sofa and tries to rest. Sleep won't happen, but he can at least try and kill some time recharging a bit.

The moment Sinclair's head hits the cushions, there's a crackling static noise. The radio whines as a signal tries to get through.

And the moment he hears that, Sinclair bolts upright, fumbling for the short wave.

"...Chief?" he says into it, a bit over-eagerly. Tone it down there, guy, you were just relaxing at home. Everything's cool.

Oh, good, he finally got the right signal. Jack had never thought he'd need to particularly remember his own radio's frequency, but here we are.

He keeps fiddling for a moment longer, though. Not reluctant to speak, no. Not unsure what to say, not at all! Just, you know, fine-tuning the signal. Can't, uh, can't talk over a crackly line. Yep.

"Yes sir."

Sinclair clears his throat.

"How's, uh. How's it going out there? Everything alright?"

Jack stands there with his jaw set, picturing all the ways it can go wrong from here. Has -- has he really done anything bad if nobody finds out? It's such an arbitrary order anyway, to rescue.

But it's been impressed on him that if you mess up, you have to tell someone in charge. After all, the last thing anyone needs is a war machine that decides to start keeping secrets. And you can second-guess your instincts, sure, but without another point of reference you can only second-guess them so far.

He's on the radio to Sinclair, isn't he? That must mean he's already made up his mind?

"No, I, I... did something wrong."

Well. That's it then, he guesses. Unless Tenenbaum thinks she needs him for groceries so badly that even something like this wouldn't stop her, this probably marks an end to that endeavor.

Sinclair breathes out and relaxes back into the sofa.

"It's alright, son," he says. Cut your losses, don't dwell on things you can't take back. "Why don't you come on back now? It's been a long day."

"Don't tell Tenenbaum," he says quickly.

I mean, what's the first instinct of a kid with the feeling he's broken the rules? Don't let mom find out!

Sinclair shakes his head, unable to help the frown that passes across his face. He forces a smile into his voice, though, as he answers.

"You've got my word."

But Tenenbaum is expecting a little girl to crawl through her vent, how long before she gives up waiting? Sinclair's not sure he'll even get to find out, chances are she's going to assume the deal is off and he'll never hear from her again. And if that happens, it's probably in everyone's best interest for him not to pursue her.

It occurs to him to be upset with Jack, there was a lot depending on his choices, but from what Sinclair's learned, having a choice period is pretty new to Jack. And honestly the drive to be angry or frustrated just isn't there. The overriding emotion here is, well. He supposes the best word for it empathy. Not quite as sorry as pity, somehow it grips his insides a little tighter than any sense of pity has ever managed to do. He feels like there's more he needs to talk about with Jack, but that's probably not the best idea. Not right now anyway. Probably not for another twenty years or so.

Right now he just needs Jack to come back to the flat so he can be sent straight to the doctor. Deal or not, Tenenbaum showed an adament interest in checking up on Jack's health. And although Jack may not be the best go-between in these circumstances, that's at least one last lifeline he has to her. Maybe it's not the end of the world, let's not jump to conclusions. Right? Right. Come on, chin up. We can work around this. It'll be fine. It has to be fine so it will be. That's the only way these things ever work out.

"Just get on back here, we've got a few things to take care of."

Edited 2014-02-25 19:54 (UTC)

"What things?"

That probably doesn't sound ominous to anyone other than Jack.

But to be fair, Jack's the one who's been getting smashed and ruminating on Sinclair's discovery of that room. So.

His tone is challenging suddenly, daring Sinclair to try something.

His eyebrows go up at Jack's tone, intense suspicion like that was not something he was expecting. Apparently even the high of splicing one whole Sister-worth of ADAM isn't enough to override Jack's lingering feelings about today's events.

But...how to word this...

"Doctor Tenenbaum wants to talk to you, wants to make sure you're good and healthy. I confess, I may have mentioned to her that you were feeling a bit faint earlier today and she just wants to make sure everything's tickin' the way it's supposed to."

Oof. Not to make you sound like a machine or anything.

Edited 2014-02-26 02:30 (UTC)

The high only made him feel like he could punch Sinclair through an airlock if he tried anything. The funk of coming down isn't doing him any favours. He can't shake the oppressive feeling he has: now Sinclair knows that Jack's a sad joke of a golem, and it's only a matter of time till he starts treating him like one.

He tells himself it's not true, but there's always a part of him saying: Atlas, Ryan, Fontaine, Cohen, Langford, Tenenbaum. You're only as good as the orders you can follow.

Jack shakes himself, and focuses on the most important part of what Sinclair said:

"Tenenbaum'll talk to me?"

He's not even mad that Sinclair was telling her stories, if it means she'll talk to him. He thought he'd ruined his chances.

Uh, well. He can't guarantee the topic of conversation, let's not give out any false hope here.

"She asked me to send you her way, that's right. Come on and get yourself cleaned up, then you can be on your way."

Because apart from smelling like the rest of Rapture, it would be probably be best not to have Sister Juice on his sleeves when he finally gets to try and make a better impression on Tenenbaum. That proooobably wouldn't go over too well.

Jack would probably go to prom covered in Sister Juice and not think anything of it, so all things considered it's probably lucky that he has Sinclair around to make the fashion decisions for him.

And speaking of making decisions for him...

"Yes sir." Jack sets off, and there's a whir of machinery in the background as a few friendly turrets turn to watch him go. Broken glass crunches underfoot, and some way off in the distance, there's a whistle of birds. Three guesses where he's been holed up.

Jack's okay with doing what Sinclair asked for now. It's comforting to just do what he's told.

With his mind elsewhere, as it is right now, it's not even horribly depressing with its implications.

It takes Jack a considerably shorter amount of time to get anywhere than it does Sinclair, for obvious reasons, and not twenty minutes later Sinclair opens the door to let him in.

He looks...well, he's looked worse. There's that at least. But the Sister Juice is definitely present, green smudges along his collar and sleeves like she's tattling on him from beyond the grave. But the jitters are gone, his color is better. A bad decision with somewhat preferable outcomes. Not everything can be cut and dry, Sinclair just wishes the consequences weren't so looming.

"Why don't you give me that old thing," Sinclair gestures at Jack's sweater. "I'll see what I can do about getting the stains out. Hungry?"

Edited 2014-02-27 23:08 (UTC)

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