i got you a thing son
i made it myself
She can’t do anything with them- What’s the point of leaving those brats alive…? He’s watching her then; perched well above her person. On a balcony, as it were- Watching her enter the welcome center and presumably poke around for food or something of the like without even having had noticed him just yet. Seemed she had an affinity for helping out little sister when need be- not unlike Mama Tenenbaum, but a great deal more brash from what he’d observed. Another? This woman wasn’t all that careful, for one.
"You… Look…. Lost.”
Of course it’s immediately after he swears on his life that he’ll slaughter Atlas that he just can’t seem to catch a waft of his particular aroma of pestilence; One that has wrought death and destruction in his past life in Rapture.
What can he tell Ryan? That he’s just unable to catch him? No, he’ll have to lie. A little white lie, really— Because Jack knew that he’d be able to catch up to Atlas if he tried hard enough. But nonetheless, Jack didn’t doubt his father would irate come knowledge of that news.
The boy had never addressed his father; Never bothered to pick a name and test the waters of his patience. So he’s stuck there, waiting at the entrance to his office with down turned irises; Gilded and dull, awaiting the moment when Andrew Ryan would inevitably return.
"Oh, so is that it then?" He proclaimed in a manner that suggested he finally had it all figured out. Carelessly loud because what did he have to fear? Certainly not this little nothing, who could beg until he was blue in the face and not win even the tiniest shred of the older man’s mercy. He gripped the scissors tight and began to walk.
“Everyone else can get hurt but you. Why ain’t I surprised by that? That’s you all over, that is. All a wee bit hypocritical of y’as well, boyo, y’got t’admit — take a good look back on all th’things you done down here and get back t’me if y’still think y’deserve a damn medal for it.”
"I’m not saying I don’t… deserve it…" He knew that he did. He knew that he deserved much worse. Sometimes it made him want to die; But he knew there was no means by his own hand that could do the job properly. In the end though? He was too scared even to do it himself. Perpetual fear blocked his every motion, every action and thought. He would’ve brought the very stars from the sky if Atlas would open a door for him. Anywhere but that same, dark, useless room in his mind.
Mercy from him might serve to mend him. Maybe that’s what he was hoping to get out of all of this; Even if it was an entirely lost one.
As Atlas walks on by, Jack could feel his lips instinctively draw together in a tight line. Childish, really- But he can’t help it. This is all making him… Uneasy.
He can smell it on her; Sisters, dozens of them. They must’ve had an affinity for this woman who’s stench of those little rodents is only twinged with the slightest waft of perfume.
She wasn’t from here; He can tell. Mostly because she doesn’t smell like death. But all the same, she has something that he wants.
"There’s no… Use… Hiding.”
I wish I cared about
the things you care about,
but I don’t.
/offers starters bc new followers tbh
/just like this post and ill write a random thing or message me if u wanna plot
It would grow back, wouldn’t it? He hadn’t a clue in the world why the boy would be afraid of something so trivial. Anything the Irishman chose to hack off was but a temporary malady for the kid, already making him luckier than many others in that respect, namely Atlas. Half down to his gross ADAM consumption and the unique strands of DNA he’d ordered up specially for him. And did he ever get a single word of gratitude for that? Did he hell.
"What was that, lad? C’mon, speak up. If you’re that attached to that tongue’a yours then y’might as well use it while y’can."
He looks downwards again; Unable to meet the eye of the man that he mutilated and tortured, although in his defense said torture was long overdue. In the end it hadn’t made him feel better though. After all that, he’d just found himself even less satisfied than he had been from the start; Only this time with the Irishman even more displeased with him than usual. To prostrate himself, or to come off more domineering— He couldn’t figure out which would work. Which would just make Atlas love him—
“Please… Don’t…" How does one muster up courage that oe does not have? Jack would’ve liked nothing more than to drop these falsities and admit that he would accept everything Atlas threw at him with opened arms. His words are meager, and so is he. Pain is fleeting, but he would endure it for eternities if it would only serve to put him in the Irishman’s favor.
"I don’t… Want it to hurt—!”
❛Now I know who I am. I am free. After everything that Mother has
done to me I am alive and sane enough to be curious about the sun.❜
→ indie rp blog for bioshock 2’s Eleanor Lamb
→ blog is multi-fandom & multi-ship friendly
→ ocs and crossovers welcome
→ mun has yet to get her hands on infinite, but is more than willing to - and has already done - a tonne of research on the game and its characters.