so my tablet finally came! and this scratchy abomination is my first try at doing anything tablet related„, need to get a hang of that pressure thing
"I never stopped bein’ your King, kid. This has always been my palace,” he spat at the ground after a brief hiss, missing the boy by mere inches.
The first step out of the bathysphere had been Jack’s very first step into his domain; it was only a matter of time for the takeover to become official. Now that it had, all that was left to do was decide the fate of the whelp at his feet, the one who’d helped him achieve all of this yet couldn’t say he was feeling all that grateful towards. Why praise a weapon for killing a man when it had been designed solely for that purpose? Might as well give the oven a round of applause for providing each meal.
Yet … this weapon, It was different — sentient, for one.
What an awful waste of money it would be to have him put down, even if he deserved nothing more for attempted regicide.
"Tell y’what, behave like a good lil’ mite for the next few hours an’ I’ll see if you’re worth keeping alive or not," he leant down with a sharp toothed grin dominating the rest of his features, pressing a thumb to the underside of the kid’s lower lip. "That sound fair to you, huh?"
"That’s more like it — see, I told y’ there’d be a bright side t’this," Atlas grinned and uncoiled his fingers from where he’d wrapped them tightly around her throat. Not completely, just enough that she might breathe again.
Truth be told, he’d begun to fear the worst for Moira. In the light of a few nasty revelations that saw an array of dangerous objects thrown at his head before he’d managed to restrain her, his first instinct had been to snuff out the light of her life like he had intended to in the first place, only much later on in the game. Yet her proposal had made him falter. His large hands stilled about her neck, a dramatic arch to his brow as he leant back to observe her.
Power was no fun when shared, though he could see himself making an exception for the fiery haired lass. Families always played well with the saps, he’d always said. Why not grab himself a real one while he had the chance?
A queen for his kingdom.
"This is somethin’ that rottin’ corpse of a husband could never have given ya; aren’t y’glad y’got me instead, sweetheart?”
"After all y’said about me? I’m touched, darlin’, I really am.”
The choice was hers to make and she had done so sensibly. Her support didn’t mean a whole lot to him, to be brutally honest, yet it was better than having her as an enemy, as she had more dirt on him than he could possibly fathom. Having her run off in Ryan’s direction would be… problematic indeed, therefore the freedom to do as she wished to whomever she wished would be hers, wholly and absolutely.
He was a giving king, after all.
"Help me topple the old one an’ I’ll do my best t’see that I do become your King.”
In truth, she’d had no idea whether the suggestion was either practical or achievable. Business made little sense to Brigid. So often, the most logical course of action was abandoned in favorite of something overcomplicated, all in the name of profit. If it worked, it worked, but the biologist would be the first to admit that she didn’t understand how. Watching the smile on Fontaine’s face stretch into a grin, she knew that, for once, she’d made a good guess.
Hearing the man actually deign to praise her, now that was a surprise. For all her exhaustion and all the annoyance his impromptu visit had caused, she couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow and allow her lips to turn up into a coy smile.
"Respect?" she asked, "I will remember you said this. Is not word I hear commonly out of your mouth, Fontaine. Danke.”
She dragged the last little bits of life out of her cigarette and watched her employer over the smoke she exhaled. Her eyes narrowed. With the exception of Andrew Ryan himself, there had never been an individual who had considered her lack of morality an admirable trait. Frank, however, seemed to take a quiet kind of delight in having snatched her up into his employ. She wondered, as she had several times before, just what the hell had happened to him. Good people didn’t like women who turned orphans into drug factories. Fontaine was as quiet about his past as Brigid was, but she knew instinctively that, wherever he had come from, it had not been an easy life.
The tobacco sizzled down to the filter. Feeling the heat of the burn against the pads of her fingers, she reached over the desk and stamped the cigarette out in the cracked ash tray.
"Will not make you popular with Ryan," she warned. "But then, I do not think you are caring. Perhaps you are even taking joy from this. Is good. Does not take genius to see that his ego is larger than his intellect."
Fontaine rolled his shoulders in what was likely meant to be a lazy shrug. He’d meant what he said, disregarding that it had come from him in a particularly rare moment of enthusiasm. The prospective plans that would see him make more coin than anyone in Rapture could ever dream of having had brought out in him no small amount of giddiness, ignoring that he was about to make a profit on the ruined lives of children. What sort of a future did they have to look forward to anyway? Might as well start making themselves useful before they were doomed to a long and empty nothing at the bottom of the sea. They were helping the city thrive – what sort of parent wouldn’t want that for their kids?
As for Ryan… well, any that came from him or any of his employees that held even the slightest chance of pissing off the big guy was instantly queued for approval. Pressing his buttons whenever he could had become a never ending delight for Frank, fearing nothing in retaliation for Ryan was far too much of a coward, obsessed with public image, to do anything about it. Free from the restrictive regulations that had held them back and what the great man himself referred to as ‘petty morality’, here at Fontaine Futuristics there was no reason at all for anyone working under the company name to hesitate when it came to cooking up research methods and productivity plans that would have the average topside businessman’s eyes watering.
“Gettin’ cozy with his crowd’s the last thing I wanna do,” he followed her example and deposited what little remained of his cigarette in the ash tray, waving away the last of the lingering smoke with a slow hand. “And you’re right about that intellect. That’s what livin’ a life’a luxury gets ya – makes y’nothin’ but soft in the head.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help but keep her focus on Atlas, her own attention rendered completely incapable of drifting elsewhere. Upon returning to the place where he had once stood over her, and had taken the part of her that would not be returning, the girl couldn’t help but tense up — it’d been painful before, and while the idea of pain had changed drastically for her, she certainly couldn’t have been looking forward to anything else the man might have to dish out at her.The woman blinked, completely mesmerized by his gaze; everything else simply seemed to drift away. She might not have even realized that he’d finally removed the needle if he hadn’t decided to wipe it clean in front of her.
She’d almost forgotten — he was speaking to her. At risk of missing something, perhaps having to face further punishment, she put the thought of paying attention at the forefront of her mind. Now, Elizabeth was certain that she was still capable of looking at something and determining how it worked; while her own knowledge had been tampered with from the start, at least anything that didn’t have an emotional aspect tied to it had been retained. Still, the girl couldn’t see herself capable of doing much, having barely escaped the wrath of Ryan’s machines in the past. Seemed as though they’d hit a wall, but somehow Elizabeth couldn’t allow herself to think like that. It’d disappoint Atlas. It would anger him. All she wanted was to escape this place, to make sure he was satisfied so that she might never be bothered again. She didn’t understand why she should be tasked with coming up with an idea, but the woman would attempt it nonetheless.
Elizabeth had to close her eyes for a moment, and focus. She knew where the ace was. She’d just let her words flow, and they gave him everything he could have hoped for. If it were the only way to deliver the information, she might as well just let it happen. No judging what might come out of that mouth, but at least the girl can be certain that it’s the honest truth. ”I go, Mister Fontaine.” she told him, glancing upward. “You don’t get hurt, then. It works.” Elizabeth searched for some form of approval in his face, absent-mindedly tugging at her binds once again.
The abrupt change in attitude had certainly come as a surprise, though Atlas would be lying if he said he didn’t prefer the ‘new’ her. Finally, a girl who listened to what was being said, what was being asked of her; the poster child of compliance. When compared to the sharp tongued terror of a woman she had been less than an hour before it was easy to decipher which version, if you will, Atlas would find more joy in speaking to. He regarded both her and the bindings that trapped her with a cool and calculating eye, only half concentrating on the cleaning of the pick that’d pierced the walls of her mind not too long ago. Why, it was almost like magic. Developments in the medical field had truly been a God send for people like him and her. Wasn’t it nice to have that burden of free will and individuality lifted from her shoulders in a cruel world such as this? Much easier to simply drift along with the mind and body of a finely strung puppet, existing only to be spoon fed orders given by those infinitely their greater. A trouble free life stemming from the initial acceptance right up until the day they died. People like her couldn’t possibly ask for anything better end expect to receive it.
Atlas chuckled and turned his back on her. He would box up his tools once again before he provided the girl with a response, mulling over the idea in his head before any rash decisions could be made. How well could she really perform in this state, having just recently suffered a very special bout of head trauma; was giving her a gun and marching her off in Suchong’s direction really the smartest step forward from this point? It wasn’t as though he had very many alternative options. In the few seconds that he stewed in silence he couldn’t come up with a single one. He swallowed, ignoring the name she’d used to address him with, cutting across the room back towards her, proceeding to work on unfastening the ties on her arms personally.
“Well if you think you’re up for th’task love, y’won’t see me holdin’ y’back,” as he spoke his lips began to form a deceptively wry smile, the first hand done with and swiftly moving on to the second. “Jus’ keep in mind th’brat you’ll be lettin’ down if y’manage t’feck everythin’ up. If I don’t get me ace by th’end of th’evenin’ she’s getting’ thrown to th’wolves, y’hear me in there?”