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]

In the silence that ensues, Sinclair finally has a chance to think about what just happened. The bathysphere plan was a bust, but it's just a minor delay. They've got a backup plan of sorts, or Sinclair does anyway. They can still track down a sub and take off that way, this isn't the end of their escape.

He just has to remember that. Use it to stave off the staggering disappointment of having to once again stay in Rapture for an indeterminate amount of time.

"If we're going back to Olympus," he says, following Jack to the sign post, "we're gonna need a better game plan than last time. Don't know what I'm gonna do if I take a splicer hook to my other leg."

[did_unkindly]

"Maybe... I should find the torpedoes. Blow them up."

It's basically a fetch quest! He's good at those.

Most of the business names on the sign are unfamiliar, but Steinman's on there of course, and so is the main atrium. Perfect, no sarcasm. He starts to trot along at that easy loping pace he's developed, the one where he isn't stealthing or fighting just yet, but could switch gears to either at the drop of a hat.

A glance back at Sinclair to make sure the guy's following.

[modestman]

Alright, that's the answer to a question nobody's asked yet, but he'll bite.

"And just how do you expect to do that, chief? Even if you could find them, how do you plan on destroying them without taking out half of Rapture? Maybe you can't die, but some of us don't have that luxury," he laughs, following behind Jack as well as he can.

[did_unkindly]

Well, it was relevant, gosh.

Jack thinks about it, while he marches along with the inexorability of a Big Daddy. What if... they exploded outside the city... telekinesis them into one another? No, with his luck they'd probably all crash straight into Olympus Heights. Hack them? Hmm, if a mis-hacked vending machine zaps him in the face then a mis-hacked torpedo would probably straight up explode it. Hmm.

"What if... I stop them from firing?" he suggests. Man, this whole thinking for yourself business is hard work, he hopes it's paying off.

[modestman]

Sinclair nods. "It's worth a shot, I s'pose. We probably ought to track down something with a little more muscle than a bathysphere this time if we want to get anywhere. I imagine Andy stashed a submarine for himself somewhere. Don't believe he'll be using it any time soon."

[did_unkindly]

Jack wouldn't have taken Ryan for someone with an escape plan from his beloved city, but he figures Sinclair knows better. He's spent a few more years around the guy than Jack has.

Left turn, coast still clear. But there's a splicer talking loudly to himself somewhere off to the right, so Jack keeps his voice down.

"Do you know where?"

[modestman]

"Not for certain, but I would put my money on Hephaestus somewhere," Sinclair says back, lowering his voice accordingly and reflexively reaching for his gun. There are plenty of things to hate about Rapture, obviously, but ranking in the top two or three is having to constantly fear for your life. It gets old fast.

[did_unkindly]

Of course that's where it is. Of course he's going to have to go back to the general area of Ryan's office. Reluctance enters Jack's expression when Sinclair mentions Hephaestus, but he's not going to argue, not if it's necessary. He's used to doing horrible but necessary things.

He just kind of nods and lets that conversation die for now, and concentrates on leading them to the elevators up to the atrium.





Uh, to the rubble. The rubblevators.

Those things aren't taking them anywhere.

[modestman]

Sinclair notices your expression there Jack, and he starts to open his mouth to say something but--

those are the most useless elevators he's ever seen.

"I don't suppose you know where the stairs are?"

[did_unkindly]

"They should be nearby."

And this corridor is a dead end without the elevators, which leaves...

...the corridor with the noisy splicer in it. G r e a t.

Jack takes the opportunity to put his back to a solid wall and refill his revolver ammunishit it's wet inside. Wow. How did this thing even fire straight earlier? He's been walking around Med Pavilion with a glorified water pistol.

You know what, he's just going to casually switch to the wrench. Let's stick with the basics until his other weaponry is no longer a plankton hotel.

[modestman]

Of course.

Of course the stairs would be in the only room they've come across in this wing so far with a goddamn splicer vacationing in it.

"You wanna take this one, sport?" Sinclair offers helpfully, joining Jack on the wall.

[did_unkindly]

Jack takes a long deliberate look at Sinclair's leg, and then his gun, and then his face, and says simply, "Yes."

That was meant to be humorous. Maybe.

He pushes himself away from the wall with a sigh. Then he snaps his fingers to spark up a little lightning, and tramps off around the corner.

A few moments later, the aimless splicer ramblings are neatly interrupted by a zap and a meaty thwack.

[modestman]

You're getting better at this, keep trying.

Sinclair hears the thudsplash of a body in a puddle and determines that the coast is probably clear.

And surprise! The stairs are little more than a rock slide. Totally decimated. One frag grenade too many. And then perhaps three or four more. Sinclair walks up next to Jack and surveys the area for an alternative.

"Don't suppose you could telekinesis me up there and I could track down a rope for you?"

[did_unkindly]

"Only if you were a dead body," says Jack.

His voice is maybe too casual considering Sinclair did almost for real die not long ago, but that's because he's in problem-solving mode. Emotional outbursts have no place in problem-solving mode.

[modestman]

Ahaha...ha...haha...

Oh, he's serious. Sinclair exhales, marginally uncomfortable. Jack in problem solving mode can be a little disquieting.

"Alright, so what's Plan C?"

[did_unkindly]

While they talk, Jack crouches beside the dead splicer and starts going through his pockets like it ain't no thing.

Ooh, a creme cake.

...And an idea.

"Hold onto a dead body?"

Or, you know, something inanimate but slightly less gross.

[modestman]

Sinclair watches Jack dig through the dead splicer's pockets and laughs.

"Nothing against our friend here but if it works like that I think I'd just as soon find something else to hang onto."

[did_unkindly]

Well holding onto the creme cake is right out; that thing vanishes down Jack's gullet in seconds.

Hmm.

"I can lift..."

He looks around the crippled room for inspiration. What's nearby and big enough to maybe hold a human?

"...Trash cans?"

Jack stop talking with your mouth full.

[modestman]

The closest trash can is just a few paces away, and Sinclair looks it over, stepping around it, trying to decide the best way to hang on. He takes the lid off and dumps out whatever trash is inside, puts the lid back on. He crouches down and hooks his fingers around the edge.

"Give it a try," he says. "Not too high up, just a test run."

[did_unkindly]

Okay, let's do this.

Jack calls up the plasmid and flexes his hand, compensates for what he guesses is Sinclair's added weight, and sends the trashcan shooting off the floor. Too fast. Way too fast. Fast enough to rip it out of Sinclair's hands, possibly or possibly not lifting him a few inches with the thing. Jack is accustomed to firing things off at the speed of sound, and apparently... didn't quite... recalculate enough...

The trashcan missile ricochets off the ceiling and cracks a few tiles on the wall. Then it lands and rolls. It's slightly crushed.

Jack stares at it, hand still raised, like it's a cookie Sinclair's caught him sneaking from the jar.

Shit, that was embarrassing.

[modestman]

Sinclair lets go of the trash can almost immediately and ends up sprawled on his back, watching it vault across the room. It lands mercifully by the opposite wall and rolls back out to the middle of the floor.

"How about a Plan D?" he says, a bit breathless as he tries to push himself back up into a sitting position. You know. Preferably something that doesn't require him to be quite as athletic.

[did_unkindly]

"I can do it," he says quickly. That was totally just a setback man give him another chance.

"I don't... I usually move things faster."

That's supposed to be an explanation or an excuse, but it probably doesn't come out all that reassuring.

[modestman]

"Uh huh," Sinclair says, leaning back against the wall, still trying to catch his breath. "Well why don't you...give it a few test runs without me, and...and let me know when you want to try again." He waves a hand vaguely at the trash can and then uses the other hand to rub at the small of his back.

Jesus, he's getting too old for this.

[did_unkindly]

You're never too old to be thrown around telekinetically by a toddler.

Jack picks up the trashcan again, keeps it levitating for a moment, then experiments with tossing it around and catching it again. Usually when he plays with this power it's to throw things harder and faster, a challenge in breaking as many things as possible, so a more controlled form is an interesting change. Not as instantly gratifying or hilariously destructive, but interesting.

For about two minutes.

Then he gets more adventurous and pulls a couple other pieces of debris in. Now that's more like the frantic pace he's used to. He can only control one at a time, but how many can he keep in the air? Three? Five? Seven?

This is completely not the slow repeated practice he's meant to be doing.

Crash! Crash! Clatter!

...Also seven was too many.

[modestman]

He watches on for a while, amused at first when Jack begins his juggling act, but they're wasting time. And he's tired.

He's not even sure what time it is, but he is damn sure that it's time for him to get some rest. He's going to be more useless to Jack as a travel companion than he already is if he's too exhausted to even walk.

Then again, he's not sure how appealing it would be to wake up in a room full of splicers. So he's not really sure how much of a choice he has.

"Hey, kid," he says, raising his voice in hopes of being heard over the din. "If we're not gonna make it back to Olympus soon, we ought to find a place to rest for a while. I don't think I'm good for much more tonight."

You know. Not saying that you're taking forever or anything.