did_unkindly: (; it is raining in rapture)
Jack Ryan ([personal profile] did_unkindly) wrote in [community profile] weathertop2013-03-24 10:03 pm

a soviet defector and a test tube baby walk into a bar

Jack is really looking forward to getting out of here.

Maybe he'll visit his parents. The farm seems like a beautiful dream compared to the broken, bloody awfulness of Medical Pavilion. He's pretty sure he never walked around in fear of drowning any second back in Kansas. Nobody tried to put hooks in his liver at all. It was nice!

He sits behind a reception desk, shaking. He knows he's got to push forward, he's going to keep pushing forward, but... give him a moment, okay? He's just been swarmed by splicers; he's found out that he has to detour around and find some kind of mad doctor just to reach Atlas's submarine. Boy. That's going to be... great. He's going to die, isn't he.

So he's regrouping behind this reception desk -- the receptionist's still here, give or take some of her head -- with the wrench in one hand and a creme cake in the other.

Munch. Munch. Munch.

Breathe, Jack. It's aaaaall gonna be okay.

Probably. Maybe.

Index, Why Not?
Scene One: He Blinded Me With Science ~or~ Stop Giving Yourself Brain Damage, Asshole
Scene Two: Telekinosis ~or~ Been Around Rapture And I, I, I, I Can't Find My Baby
Scene Three: All I Wanna Do Is [Bang Bang Bang Bang] And [Big Daddy Noise] And Take Your ADAM
krasotamozga: (Default)

[personal profile] krasotamozga 2013-03-28 09:50 am (UTC)(link)
"Sofia is like Ryan," Kostya notes, heading to the door. "Interesting."

"Now." he looks back once again, hand on his hip. "You're coming?"
spliced_irish: (went and sterilized the bitch)

[personal profile] spliced_irish 2013-03-28 10:10 am (UTC)(link)
Are you fucking kidding Fontaine right now. They just had this conversation.

He paid too much for you, Jack. He paid way too much for you.
krasotamozga: (Default)

[personal profile] krasotamozga 2013-03-29 06:11 am (UTC)(link)
"Well, molodoi." Kostya's pilfered shoes click against the damp tiles. "I am looking for someone." The flickering lights as they pass throw colors on his hair and shoulders. "What you're looking for, I don't know."
krasotamozga: (Default)

[personal profile] krasotamozga 2013-03-29 07:24 am (UTC)(link)
Kostya watches the young man over his shoulder as he disappears into the bowels of the halls.

Well, maybe company like that for much longer was too much to ask. Besides. Just as he'd distracted the molodoi from Steinman, he'd distracted Kostya from his own search.

But good luck, he thinks, despite himself.
krasotamozga: (Default)

[personal profile] krasotamozga 2013-03-29 07:32 am (UTC)(link)
Well, well, well. Look who the doctor's found again.

He watches from the shadows of the upper levels, careful not to get involved. Yet. He knows the boy's in danger, but he's confident. Only if the water gets too hot will Kostya throw him a first aid kit.

But he's careful to keep his other eye on the perimeter. He knows the lumbering beasts don't go around without their wards. And if the girl looks even a little like the one he's looking for, well... Jack'll earn his fate, either way.
krasotamozga: (Default)

[personal profile] krasotamozga 2013-03-29 08:02 am (UTC)(link)
Kostya takes a quiet breath of relief. Good. One more health kit for himself.

And now the moment of truth. He hears the little footsteps, for a minute something pulling at his heart, and...

... Black hair. Slava bogu.
krasotamozga: (Default)

[personal profile] krasotamozga 2013-03-29 08:55 am (UTC)(link)
There's something about what he's observing that makes Kostya's blood run cold. And this in a man who's seen what he's seen, and does what he does. The boy he's been speaking to and the boy he's just watched harvest are making for a powerful dissonance.

Wrong choice, molodoi. Good thing it wasn't his --

?!

Kostya leans over the railing and stares in at the smoke. What the hell is going on over there?!
Edited 2013-03-29 09:00 (UTC)
spliced_irish: (some very clever doctor)

[personal profile] spliced_irish 2013-03-29 09:39 am (UTC)(link)
He's been waiting by the phone.

"You still with me, boyo? Thought I heard that big lug gettin' a few hits in."

"I'm here," says the kid. "I won." He sounds relieved -- definitely in pain, but relieved and is that a hint of triumph? Great, why not. If the kid's warming up to the place, he can have a fun few final hours.

Fontaine nods impatiently. "Good job, y'should be proud. So you're all stocked up?"

"Well..."

Oh my god. Are you kidding Fontaine right now. What could've gone wrong?

"Well?" he repeats, keeping his voice kinder than his thoughts.

"I've got... one of the slugs."

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, that's not something gone wrong. That's not something gone wrong at all.

Fontaine can feel the smile creeping up the corners of his mouth. Kid really is warming up to the place. So much for Mother Goose's little morality play.

"Good work, boyo," he says, slow and -- okay so maybe he's laying on the approval a tiny bit thick, but the kid's gotta have a carrot as well as a stick. "I knew ye had it in ye. Go on then."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. Then Jack's voice comes through again, uncertain. "...What do I do with it?"

Ha. Haha. Kid, you're gonna love this part.

Fontaine grins.

"Y'eat it."
spliced_irish: (just to kill an unborn child)

[personal profile] spliced_irish 2013-03-29 10:06 am (UTC)(link)
"Let me know when it starts working," says Fontaine.

The request falls on deaf ears for a while, though there are noises of activity near the radio, so that's something. Fontaine can't wait to get hold of that security system in full, though. He dislikes working blind.

"Boyo?" he prompts after a few more seconds.

The response this time is favourable. It's the noise of someone shifting, half-lost in static -- and then the kid's voice, dreamy and double-toned, the kind of sheet-iron two-tone you only hear in Little Sisters and in people who've just spliced right the fuck up.

"I'worked," says Jack.
krasotamozga: (Default)

[personal profile] krasotamozga 2013-03-30 07:09 am (UTC)(link)
And Kostya can't... help but cringe to himself as he sinks to the floor and listens.

Chyort, he swears, at Jack's out-of-body voice. It got to the dopamine receptors.

Didn't he discover a treatment years ago? Back in '56, by accident. Of course he did. Kept it to himself, like the rest of his research, as Ryan pounded at his pneumo with letters. Letters about how knowledge was wasted if it was hid under a bush, not to quote the Bible, of course, though he had just quoted the Bible.

Interesting man.

Interesting just like Jack. He still hasn't decided how to approach the boy in his altered state, and he's not fully sure he wants to.
Edited 2013-03-30 07:47 (UTC)
krasotamozga: (Default)

[personal profile] krasotamozga 2013-03-30 09:29 am (UTC)(link)
All right. This circus has gone on too long.

Kostya stands and relies on the echo to carry his voice down a floor of rubble.

"Molodoi!"

God, what is the poor boy going to do to himself? Walk off a ledge? Fall down a bathysphere tunnel?
krasotamozga: (Default)

[personal profile] krasotamozga 2013-04-05 09:31 am (UTC)(link)
He's not close enough. But he's seen some ADAM overdose patients in his day. Being wheeled down the halls and coughing blood up on his doorstep...

All right, he tells himself, heading down the stairs. The first order of business with a drunk is not to scold them for drinking. Just ride out the euphoria... he rounds the corner - and see what happens.

"Mister Jack!" Like hell he's trying that last name with his accent. "You look... ehm..."

An eye up... an eye down.

"... Cheerful."
krasotamozga: (Default)

[personal profile] krasotamozga 2013-04-05 09:55 am (UTC)(link)
"Yes." He quips. "Well." His hands fold behind his back. "I'd hate for a splicer to come and sour your day."

And he steps out into the open. He's not afraid Jack will hurt him. For now he's proven himself... well... if not an ally, at least the boy knows he won't knife him in the back.

"I don't suppose you found your doctor?" He asks, pacing and stroking his neck scar.

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