[Atlas finishes his cigarette while he waits, tosses it in a puddle of grime and watches it fizzle out and his lip curls back in a less-than-pleasant smile as he thinks, why, it's just like Andrew Ryan. A used-up piece of garbage, lying in his own filth. Poetic, if one stops to think about it - and Atlas has thought about it.
He needs to work on his next move, he knows, but while Jack is following him like a sad puppy he can't get to work as busily as he'd like. So while he waits he makes another radio call to some of his people, trying to take stock of what they have left (and who, manpower is alarmingly down after everything) and what to do with it. He should start with finding that concoction Ryan used and putting down the rest of the splicers... And someone has to break open an apartment and get him a suitable "place" he can take the kid to.
It's housekeeping, more or less; by the time Jack comes out - with flowers, of all things, the boy picked flowers - Atlas is done and loitering there with the distinct impression that he isn't waiting for Jack, but since they're both still here, he'll keep going with it.]
There, d'you feel better? [Don't answer that. Atlas reaches out to clasp a hand on Jack's shoulder, comfortingly, but really so he doesn't wander off to pick more flowers.] Lettin' go's the right thing to do in a world like ours, Jack. It's best to cut your losses and move on with what you still have kickin' around.
[Twist: he means that one. That's genuine advice.] Now, let's get you someplace to sit down, alright? You look right dead on your feet, kid.
[Jack will see when they get there that it's an apartment in Olympus Heights, a place that is totally insignificant and holds no secret potions; it's not Frank Fontaine's apartment, since that would be too on the nose, but it's an apartment no longer in use by whoever used to live there for... one reason or another... In truth, Atlas hasn't been living here, but his men put in the hasty work to make the abandoned rooms look like somebody has. The bottles of booze are a nice touch, if, uh, not very flattering. Home sweet home...]
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He needs to work on his next move, he knows, but while Jack is following him like a sad puppy he can't get to work as busily as he'd like. So while he waits he makes another radio call to some of his people, trying to take stock of what they have left (and who, manpower is alarmingly down after everything) and what to do with it. He should start with finding that concoction Ryan used and putting down the rest of the splicers... And someone has to break open an apartment and get him a suitable "place" he can take the kid to.
It's housekeeping, more or less; by the time Jack comes out - with flowers, of all things, the boy picked flowers - Atlas is done and loitering there with the distinct impression that he isn't waiting for Jack, but since they're both still here, he'll keep going with it.]
There, d'you feel better? [Don't answer that. Atlas reaches out to clasp a hand on Jack's shoulder, comfortingly, but really so he doesn't wander off to pick more flowers.] Lettin' go's the right thing to do in a world like ours, Jack. It's best to cut your losses and move on with what you still have kickin' around.
[Twist: he means that one. That's genuine advice.] Now, let's get you someplace to sit down, alright? You look right dead on your feet, kid.
[Jack will see when they get there that it's an apartment in Olympus Heights, a place that is totally insignificant and holds no secret potions; it's not Frank Fontaine's apartment, since that would be too on the nose, but it's an apartment no longer in use by whoever used to live there for... one reason or another... In truth, Atlas hasn't been living here, but his men put in the hasty work to make the abandoned rooms look like somebody has. The bottles of booze are a nice touch, if, uh, not very flattering. Home sweet home...]