tushanshu_logs | [closed; a catch-all]

Entry tags:

[closed; a catch-all]

Characters: Booker DeWitt; Elizabeth Comstock
Date: This'll be various threads throughout the month. This is just a catch-all to prevent spamming.
Location: Various, but probably mostly in their suite.
Situation: Various.
Warnings/Rating: Possibly some discussion of violence/trauma/child neglect. Will update as necessary (thread headers may be used for more specific warnings).

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[She nods, stepping further into the kitchen, the light from the streets giving her enough to see by.] No, I just- I thought I heard you screaming. [Screaming her name.]

I came to see if- oh! Booker! You're bleeding! [She reached for a towel automatically, handing it to him.]

[His fingers go up to his nose, and come away red. It's not the first time, by a long shot, but it's the first time it's happened since he's been here, on the turtle, and that is disconcerting. He'd been hoping he'd left all that behind in Columbia.]

Dammit. [He takes the towel, dabbing at it, and pinching his nose to stop the flow.] Thanks. Sorry if I woke you. It was nothin', just a dream.

[The exact same thoughts are going through her mind. He's not supposed to have nosebleeds here. That was all behind in Columbia, as they got used to the new realities. It had never happened to Elizabeth, but she chalked it up to it being part of her abilities.

But here...?

She shakes her head.] No, no, it's okay. You didn't wake me up. I just heard you, thought I should come make sure you're okay.

[She pauses.] Do you want some tea? To talk about it?

There's nothing to talk about. [Booker says it automatically, because as far as he's concerned, it's true. She knows enough - more than enough - she doesn't need to know all the details.

But that's abrupt, he knows, and she doesn't deserve that from him, not now and not ever. He sighs.]

If you wanna make tea, go right ahead. [He won't be sleeping anymore tonight, regardless.]

[There are easier ways to deal with tea. Time to just... concentrate and... there! Two mugs of steaming hot tea. She hands him one, before taking the other and closing the Tear.]

Booker, I'm not a child. I've seen things... been through them. You can tell me what you dreamed about.

[She leads him back to the couch, urging him to sit.] You called her name.

[He'll never get used to all of her mundane pulling things through tears like it's no big deal. Oh, Elizabeth.]

It's not that. I just don't remember much of it. [Half-truth. It was very vague and foggy in his mind.] Don't worry, all right? I didn't have a vision of the turtle on fire, or anything.

[It's normal to her, okay? Now shut up and drink your tea.]

Well, what do you remember? Because I'm going to worry, Mr. DeWitt. You worry about me and take care of me with my nightmares, and now it's my turn.

[She frowns slightly.]

[A sigh.] You call me that just to irritate me, don't you?

Look, all I remember was being in my apartment back in New York, okay?

No, it's... become a term of endearment. [She smiles softly, reaching behind them to grab the blanket and drape it around Booker's shoulders.]

Your apartment. And that was it?

That's all I can remember. [And the voices. The girl, for the debt. But he doesn't think that makes any difference.]

And no, I don't know why I got a nosebleed just now.

[Elizabeth nods, leaning against him slightly.]

I wasn't going to ask. Maybe... I don't know. It could have just been a nosebleed, without any insidious reasoning behind it.

Maybe. [He accepts the contact, though he only relaxes incrementally.]

I've never been prone to them before. [Which is his way of saying that while it would be nice to believe it was just a nosebleed, he's pretty sure it wasn't. But it's a tired kind of response, because frankly, Booker is sick of it. He's sick of the headaches, and the nosebleeds, and all the rest of it. He knows there's something not quite right, like a space where something should be, but isn't, and it's tiresome.]

Then... something's not right, Booker.

Maybe because we're on the back of a giant damn turtle! How the hell should I know?

[He doesn't mean to snap at her; he's just frustrated with it all - the world-shifting, the confused memories, all of it.]

Look, I'm sorry. I don't know what to tell you.

[It's a good thing her tea isn't in her hands, or it would have fallen all over her. Instead, at his words, she winces away from him, shutting her eyes tight. There may even have been a small whimper. Not because of him. Just...

Well, she didn't want to talk about it, either.

After a moment, she tries to speak again, her voice tight.] Then... I don't know what to say, Booker.

[Well, great. Now she's upset. He didn't mean to make her upset.

Carefully, he wraps an arm around her and pulls her close.]

Look, it doesn't matter. Not here. Right? Things are the way they are. We made it out, Comstock can't hurt you anymore, that's what's important. We don't need to worry about anything else, right?

[She shrugs out of his arms, disguising it as reaching for her tea.]

It does matter. Because it still hurts you. Whatever it is.

It doesn't hurt. Nosebleeds don't hurt. They might be a bother, but I've dealt with worse.

[He rests his hands on his knees, letting her do as she pleases. He'd never force her into contact.]

The nosebleed isn't what I meant.

[She looks at his left hand, at the raised scars there.]

Look, Elizabeth. The mistakes I've made, the regrets I've got - I've been livin' with them a long time. Nothing you do is gonna change that. Nothing anyone could do will change it.

[He reaches out, hesitates, then touches her hair, the lightest brush of his fingers before he drops his hand again.]

You're a decent sort, I know. But the past is the past.

[At his touch, she looks up at him.]

I know. I just want to help you the way you've helped me.

You think you haven't helped me?

[Booker shakes his head, frowning slightly.] Trust me, you have.

Not in the ways that you've helped me.

I don't know. I just... I think you bottle so much up, Booker. That can't be good for you.

I live with it, that's all.

[He sighs a little.] I don't think it's a bad thing, that we help each other in different ways. I do my best to make sure nobody can hurt you, and you cook and... knit warm sweaters.

You bottle it up, and it's eating away at you. That's what dreams are. The subconscious.

[Best pep-talk ever, dad.]

I know. But I want to be someone you can talk to, too.

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it's his right hand lol ;)

with AD? I totally could have sworn it was the left

http://bioshock.wikia.com/wiki/File:The_False_Shepherd_sign.jpg

Damn. Somehow I got it into my head that it was the left. I AM THE WORST DAUGHTER EVERRRRR

pfft

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