closed;

[washitaway]

Characters: Booker and Elizabeth
Date: Way backdated to the start of the console crash event!
Location: Starting in Earth Sector; possibly moving elsewhere.
Situation: Booker got back from his mission just in time to see the city going up in smoke. Naturally, he's kind of freaked out and needs to find Elizabeth.
Warnings/Rating: None as yet! Will edit this if necessary.

Booker doesn't know what to expect as he makes his way through the city. He'd only stopped long enough to make sure the dignitaries they'd been escorting were safe, and now he's striding with purpose, his gun out and ready for a fight, just in case.

He has no idea what's happening, but he knows he needs to find his daughter.

"Elizabeth?" he calls as he approaches the suite they share. It's undamaged. He hasn't really been paying attention to what's damaged and what isn't, too closely, but all the residential buildings around them appear to be untouched - at least for the moment.

"Elizabeth!"

Comments

[washitaway]

"And that dragon," he points out with a shrug.

"What's a Chaucer?"

[beunbroken]

"And the dragon," she conceeds.

"Chaucer? Geoffrey Chaucer? He's only the greatest poet of the Middle Ages! He wrote Canterbury Tales."

[washitaway]

"Oh, I see," Booker says without any recognition. Obviously he has no clue who Chaucer is. He only went to school until he was thirteen, after all.

[beunbroken]

"It's about a bunch of people who make a pilgrimage to Canterbury. To make time go faster, there's a game, about who can tell the best story."

[washitaway]

"Well, I wasn't tellin' any stories on that mountain," Booker points out with a shrug.

[beunbroken]

"Maybe you should have," she said, taking a seat on the couch so Booker can ready the tea.

"It would make the time go faster."

[washitaway]

"Most of my stories aren't worth hearin'," he says with a shrug. "Not for those kind of people."

[beunbroken]

"I'm sure you have something. Some funny anecdote. Or a story you heard somewhere on the road."

[washitaway]

"Most of the funny ones aren't fit for polite company."

Army stories.

[beunbroken]

"I'm sure if you thought hard enough, you would find something."

[washitaway]

"Too busy fighting," he points out with a shrug. "Besides, the folks we were escorting didn't really care to hear anything we had to say, unless there was trouble we had to get 'em out of."

[beunbroken]

"Sounds like someone else I know." Elizabeth smirks just slightly at him. Already having her father home made her feel a thousand times better.

[washitaway]

Booker shakes his head, but it's (mostly) affectionate.

"Look, you wanna keep helping, that's fine, but I'll be going with you, okay? Who's to say where this'll end."

[beunbroken]

"You're right," she relents. "That's fair. And I've seen what you can do. They'll-- we'll need you."

[washitaway]

"Eh, maybe, maybe not," Booker says immediately, and then: "But - I'll help."

[beunbroken]

"Every little bit helps," Elizabeth informs him. "Now how about those bandages?"

[washitaway]

"Yeah," he says with a nod. "C'mere where the light is better..."

[beunbroken]

She obeys wordlessly, moving closer to him, taking a seat at one of the chairs in the kitchen.

"How bad do I look?"

[washitaway]

"Now that you've washed up a bit? Not so bad. Just a few scrapes," Booker says honestly. "You were a mess earlier, though, about gave me a heart attack."

[beunbroken]

"I know," she admits sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

[washitaway]

"Not your fault."

He dabs some of the worse-looking scrapes with some cream stuff that he's been told cleans wounds, then applies some bandages.

"You should get some more rest."

[beunbroken]

"You should, too. I can't imagine you got much sleep."

[washitaway]

"I will, once you're all settled," he says with a nod. "We'll both rest, and then we'll be more help tomorrow."

[beunbroken]

"Alright." She couldn't argue with that. She was exhausted, emotionally, physically. "Tomorrow."