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tushanshu_logs2014-01-30 11:26 pm
beunbroken) wrote in tushanshu_logs2014-01-30 11:26 pm
Entry tags:
the preacher's knees buckled in the heat, so the deacon took over
Characters: Elizabeth & Booker DeWitt (closed)
Date: January 31st
Location: Booker's Suite
Situation: The DeWitts have made some huge mistakes.
Warnings: BioShock: Infinite spoilers. Of course. Probable language, references to child abuse.
It was her story. And her story, as she was realizing, was the story of Elizabeth Comstock. It was the story of Anna DeWitt. She was Elizabeth, but without these two women, she wouldn't be herself. She owed them, these girls that could have been and were, to learn the rest of the story. No matter how much it hurt.
The dream she'd had, the dream where Yin had come to visit, helped her open the doors from her tower, to DeWitt Investigations, to the room she had lived in as a baby, as Anna, had made all of that clear. It was her story.
And here, now, free from Columbia, she could finally take control of it.
She told no one. Not a single person when she left the room she was staying in at Julie's, and retreated to the desk where she'd placed the letter weeks ago. With trembling hands, she removed it, closing the roll-top, before opening the letter.
Elizabeth stood there, reading the letter, once, twice, three times until her vision blurred. The paper fluttered to her side. He… Booker DeWitt loved her. He loved her, and gave her to Robert Lutece, to Comstock, thinking it would give her a better life.
And he regretted it.
Booker DeWitt was not a man who was good with words. She knew that. But this letter… If nothing else, it proved that the pen could be mightier than the, er, gun.
She realized something else, as she looked at the fireplace where she'd nearly burned the letter. That while she could never forgive him for what he did, she, too, still loved him. However complicated those feelings were.
With that thought, Elizabeth tore off, back to Booker's sector, without even bothering to grab a coat.
Date: January 31st
Location: Booker's Suite
Situation: The DeWitts have made some huge mistakes.
Warnings: BioShock: Infinite spoilers. Of course. Probable language, references to child abuse.
It was her story. And her story, as she was realizing, was the story of Elizabeth Comstock. It was the story of Anna DeWitt. She was Elizabeth, but without these two women, she wouldn't be herself. She owed them, these girls that could have been and were, to learn the rest of the story. No matter how much it hurt.
The dream she'd had, the dream where Yin had come to visit, helped her open the doors from her tower, to DeWitt Investigations, to the room she had lived in as a baby, as Anna, had made all of that clear. It was her story.
And here, now, free from Columbia, she could finally take control of it.
She told no one. Not a single person when she left the room she was staying in at Julie's, and retreated to the desk where she'd placed the letter weeks ago. With trembling hands, she removed it, closing the roll-top, before opening the letter.
Elizabeth,
I am not a man good with words and letters. But we parted on bad terms, and it was my fault, so I should be the one to mend things, if they can be mended.
I do not deserve your forgiveness, and I do not expect it, but I must tell you how sorry I am. For everything. My wife, your mother, was as kind as you, and she saw in me good things the way you saw them in me. When she died, giving birth, I was lost again. I was young, and grieving, and I had no family to help me raise a child and keep a job to pay for food and rent. It was a hard time.
When I gave you up, I convinced myself it was for the best. I could not raise you, I could not buy the things you would need. I was no fit father, and I thought perhaps the man I gave you to would raise you well. I realized my mistake, but it was too late, and I forever regretted it. I had no way to find you again. No way to save you, after he took you through a portal – a Tear, like those you make in Columbia. He took you out of my world, Elizabeth, and I had no way to follow.
Until Robert Lutece came to me. Through another Tear, right into my apartment. He told me the words I'd been waiting to hear for almost twenty years – that you were alive, and I might be able to get you back. I followed him through, into your world, the world where Columbia exists, and then my mind got all scrambled up. I don't know why. I tried to contact Robert here today and it seems they are gone from the turtle. Perhaps even they would not know.
I do not mean to hurt you more than I have already. I would do anything to keep you from hurting ever again. I am no fit father, but you are still my daughter and I have always loved you. You're my lovely Anna. Nothing I can do will fix things, I know. I only want you to have a good and safe life, with people who care for you.
Sincerely,
Booker DeWitt
Elizabeth stood there, reading the letter, once, twice, three times until her vision blurred. The paper fluttered to her side. He… Booker DeWitt loved her. He loved her, and gave her to Robert Lutece, to Comstock, thinking it would give her a better life.
And he regretted it.
Booker DeWitt was not a man who was good with words. She knew that. But this letter… If nothing else, it proved that the pen could be mightier than the, er, gun.
She realized something else, as she looked at the fireplace where she'd nearly burned the letter. That while she could never forgive him for what he did, she, too, still loved him. However complicated those feelings were.
With that thought, Elizabeth tore off, back to Booker's sector, without even bothering to grab a coat.
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"I, uh. I'll get this place cleaned up, and... everything."
Sober up. Dry out. He knew she didn't like it when he drank.
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"You look like you haven't had a decent meal in a long time."
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He ate okay. Not as well as with her, though. She was a good cook, and Booker was pretty lacking in that department.
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"I, uh. I've missed you. It's nice, having you around." She made everything much more cheerful and homey.
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"It's nice having you around, too." She still hadn't forgiven him. Wouldn't. But he was her father. And it was clear they both needed each other.
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"Anything you want," he said, and meant it.
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"Thank you."
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"Why? Why are you thanking me?"
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He could use some coffee. Maybe real food, too.
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"Just let me grab a sweater." She excused herself, ducking into her bedroom only to return a few moments later wearing one.
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His daughter.
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