[Jack doesn’t know what Rapture is to him. It’s been a nightmare, for sure, but now that it’s come to light that this where he was “born”... He has to look at it in another light. He doesn’t have anything else, and he spent more time shooting people that he did at marveling at the feat it is to be under the ocean. Sorry, Atlas, he’s goong to be slow as fuck.
He doesn’t want to stay here, but he doesn’t want it all to collapse. He stops under one of the trees, just observing what his father tried to destroy with neither a smile or frown.]
Can you... get your people to put my mother to rest?
[Atlas doesn't stick close - no offense, but there is an odor, and he doesn't want to be in arm's length if Jack abruptly loses it from all that ADAM he's been shooting up. He leans against a different nearby tree, arms folded again, gun still in hand. Patience, he reminds himself. Patience. The long con has taken thing long - what's another fifteen minutes?]
Can they bury her, do you mean? Have yourself a funeral? Sure, boyo, there's no harm in puttin' the ol' girl to rest somewhere proper. She was a fine woman. [Personally, she was very helpful to Atlas!] I'll see to it, while you get yourself cleaned up. Supplies're up ahead, under the roots of that big oak by the wall. Might have to push some dirt around to find the crate.
[He'll go make a radio call while Jack puts on something clean. Burning the lady's corpse would be a better way to take care of that evidence, but he knows the boy won't go for it. A burial in Rapture - that is something else.]
[The way Atlas keeps talking about his mother like he talks about everything else - too much, like it's business - is unsettling, but Jack knew he'd be dealing with that when he made his way here. He tunes him out when he knows it'll be done, wandering off to find that crate. After getting even dirtier to get clean clothes, he hauls it up and strips here, in this park, behind nothing. That's fine.
The shirt is nice, but it's not his sweater. He stands there, staring at the disgusting piece of clothing like he can rewind time to when he thought it was still comfortable. When his mother wasn't someone who sold him and had the audacity to make him feel terrible about her death.
Without looking up from it, he raises his voice:] I don't know about a funeral. I just... I don't want her to linger around like the rest of them.
[Well, Atlas is going to wait over here and fiddle with his gun once he's done with his important call. Sooner or later some people will show up with the body; that's what Jack wants, and Atlas is in the business of keeping Jack happy as long as "happy" goes hand-in-hand with "pliable."
Anyway, the shirt is a huge improvement. He will tolerate being ten feet from Jack now.]
What do you mean, like the rest of 'em? Nobody's down here but us and those Splicers, and a few good men left to move supplies.
[Atlas has... heard a rumor or two, but what the fuck?]
[Jack stands over the hole that's probably going to serve as a grave pretty soon, but he's relieved Atlas will at least stand near him now. It's nice having someone... there, even if that someone is an enigma.
Then, slowly, it registers he doesn't get it. He's pretty sure being a modified baby didn't give him some weird ghost sight, so... Surely he is joking...]
The... the figures. [He gestures towards an empty bench, like somehow this will help his case.] They come and go, but... they're still here... I heard couples, doing... things... and... and my mother.
[Atlas looks at the bench. Atlas does not see shit on this bench, which is yet another pat on the back for himself, choosing never to shoot up with some gunk from inside children.]
You been hittin' the nose candy, boyo? Didn't think the snow fell in Rapture, at least not where you'd get your hands on it.
[Fun prank: ask him if he's been doing lines of coke while getting dressed.]
[Jack just kind of stares at him for a moment like he’s the one that’s done a line of coke if he thinks he knows what that means, then he just looks back at the ground as he grabs a belt.]
Snow can’t fall in the ocean. [He says, a bit matter-of-factly.] You’re just blind, I guess. Stared at a screen too long.
[Look, Fontaine gets high, Atlas is probably more respectable than that. It's very nuanced. Accept his drug slang. The face he makes when Jack says snow can't fall in the ocean is actually sincere surprise - then he laughs again, and this time he claps Jack on the shoulder like they're both in on this joke.
God. Can't snow in the ocean. Jesus.]
Well, I made some calls, so you just wait a little while and your old lady'll get proper taken care of.
[Maybe Atlas will go get fucking high in the meantime and laugh about this moment again, who knows where the day will take him.]
[He winces when Atlas just decides to put a hand on him, both from the fact his entire body is probably sore from you know, Rapture, and the fact he just didn't expect it to be so friendly. Sure, his family made harmless contact with him, but they're definitely fake and he's spent a day feeling like death whenever he encounters anyone. Don't ever go crazy and splice, Atlas, please thanks.]
... Thank you. [But like, that reminds him, can you feel him getting more bitter by the second.] While they're at it with cleaning... Leave "Papa" Suchong where he is.
[Don't worry, that seems like a silly thing that he would never do. Jack isn't totally bonkers after splicing up, but it's been long enough that the idea of it seems... pretty dumb to Atlas.
So he'll probably never turn into a literal Atlas holding the world statue, good job everyone. He doesn't pat Jack's shoulder again but kind of whaps it - not hard! - with the back of his hand, as he turns away to wander a bit. He can't hold still with all this victory in the air.]
Suchong! That sanctimonious prick can rot for all I care. Maybe he's got something worth taking out of that pit he calls a laboratory.
[He definitely does, but it's fun to pretend he doesn't know.]
[He says it quickly, then immediately wonders if it's too quickly. Sure, he doesn't trust Atlas entirely, but he doesn't want that apparent... and he still wants his company, for now. There's a brief moment of panic at how eager he is, but he thinks quickly, frowning with greater displeasure than what he actually has as he picks his camera back off the ground.]
Later, after any plans you have... I can take pictures of whatever's down there.
[Pictures... well, that's something. Atlas doesn't know how much of Suchong's place is wired to destroy his genetic signature by now, so - great, Jack still wants(?) to do stuff for him without being asked. He gives the camera a look, considering.]
Sure, sure. Take your radio and I'll help you out, boyo. [Don't say it, do not--] Just like old times.
[Just like old times... Jack finally shows he can be anything other than miserable: he raises his brows in amusement before he looks back at his camera.]
Yeah, you didn't leave me... what, twisting in the wind? [He says, like he didn't hang onto every single thing Atlas told him.] Where would I be with you?
[Living somewhere... happily... It's fine. He raises his camera towards the trees, then turns it on Atlas.] I didn't take any nice pictures with this... Can I?
[Aww, the kid's got a personality somewhere in there. Atlas has turned away to fiddle with his radio; he is a patient man by necessity, not choice, and loitering around here waiting for his people to find a years-old corpse and bring it to him is something that makes him fidget. Ugh.
So when he looks back at Jack and sees the camera pointed at him, he pauses, surprised.]
My face is pasted over half of Rapture already, and you want a private show. [Ridiculous...] Sure, kid, fire away. But I'm not givin' out that many freebies, so make it count.
I can't exactly take the posters with me. [They're all gross and torn up and honestly too propaganda-y, even if he did think about it for a second. But Jack is delighted at this opportunity, moving closer so he can get a good angle of his face. It isn't even to a shot of him standing in this nice park, it's just... Atlas.
He's wasting the last of his film on this. It's ridiculous. He takes the shot and waits as it prints, anxious it might not have turned out, and sighs with relief once it's revealed just fine. He didn't ask him to smile, and it's probably not even that pleasant, and yet...]
It looks good. I... don't want to forget your face, so... [It's going in his wallet, watch him remove his parents,]
[The picture is a good enough distraction for the next, hmm, few minutes; Atlas will tolerate this, although the face he's making when Jack comes closer is skeptical at best. That the kid wants to fuss over his camera and take pictures of Atlas is a little odd, but okay.
Still, he makes a point to stop making this face and manage a winning smile(tm) for the picture. He doesn't make any move to look at it, though, going back to his radio once the moment is done.]
You goin' somewhere in a hurry, boyo? Coulda waited a while for a memento instead of pointin' that thing at me like I'll disappear.
[The right answer would be yes, because while I enjoy your physical presence you still used me like some fucked up toy soldier and I realize I need space to reflect on that for awhile. But instead, Jack pauses as he smooths his thumb over the leather around the photo, looking up with a frown.]
I don't think I've been able to wait for anything here. [It's still a truth - his feet are tired from walking across Rapture. Get one thing done, go somewhere else. Thanks to his current company.] You know how we kept getting separated. And if something like... if something happens again, and I don't remember, then maybe something like this will help.
[It was for the good of the people, Jack... the people and Atlas' wallet, although he still needs some of these people in order to line his pockets, so there's some financial loyalty left in him yet.
And there's Jack himself, with his feelings and babbling about them. Atlas hums, as if he's really thoughtfully considering this. Maybe he shouldn't let the boy carry his picture around; it connects them, and if something happens to Jack...]
What do you think's gonna happen, kid? [Here, he actually stops fiddling and looks at Jack again, without guile. Well, without any more than the usual Atlas-isn't-real guile.] There isn't a soul left in this world that knows you like I do. Now, as I see it, that means there's nothin' to worry about.
[There isn't regret in immediately saying what came to mind, this time. It's true, and Atlas should know he thinks he he has the right to be a little bit miffed about it. He meets his gaze for a moment, tired and a little dejected, before he puts his camera away in some bag that he's always had, don't question it.
Then, more casually, as he pulls a pack of cigarettes:] I'd... like that to change, when we have time.
Now that's not entirely fair. [Yes it is, but still, he told Jack so many nice things about his fake family. As far as anyone else is concerned, Atlas is as real as he stands here, and Fontaine really is dead; even his followers who know the truth don't actually care. But he supposes Jack is a bit too soft to fit easily into that mold.
Nice camera bag that has always been there. Atlas' gaze flicks down.] Lettin' me borrow a smoke'd be a good start.
[Give him a cigarette, he's losing his mind here.] Think you can light 'er up without burnin' the whole place down, kid?
[Jack isn't exactly lacking them - his bag is stuffed with things he really doesn't need - so he pulls two from the pack and places it back in this pit of wonders. Camera, needles, ammo, god knows what else.]
I think I've done this enough times. [Take this, he's going to do that snap trip... Except his fingers are too slippery to snap them. He tries around three times, then just gives up and lights his thumb without it. Shut up. Don't look at him.]
[This is... so sad. Truly this is tragic. Atlas takes a cigarette and just watches Jack struggle, raising an eyebrow. He's about to just take out a normal lighter when the kid finally lights his thumb without trying to be showy; very cute. He leans in with the cigarette held to his lips to light it, taking a long drag as he turns away again.
Yep, that's a cigarette.]
Y'know, I thought the ADAM would make it taste at least a little different. Guess not.
[It sure is a cigarette... Jack watched every move he made like it's still a marvel Atlas exists, but otherwise, this is normal. He lights his own and shakes his hand to put out the fire, exhaling smoke as he considers his response.]
You don't want it to taste like ADAM. That sounds like something that'd come out of Fontaine's store. [Ha... ha. Speaking it though, he does have some left over... Hm.] I... still have some, if you... need it.
Atlas does not shoot Jack in the head immediately; ten points to Atlas.]
I dunno how you keep your wits about you when the rest of those fools' heads split open like overripe melons, pumpin' all that ADAM into yourself. [Like, alright, don't comment or give him significant looks about how he suggested this was the best idea, he didn't influence every single plasmid injection in recent memory...
Still, a cigarette is a cigarette. ADAM is a cash cow, but it's too much of a risky game. He takes another drag, for drama.] A man knows where he stands with a cigarette. ADAM, now—that stuff's done all this to Rapture, so I think I'll give it a pass.
[He doesn't get point for not murdering him?? No points to Atlas. He's getting a significant look anyway, but no comment on the fact his great ideas almost killed him god knows how many times. He's lost count.]
I guess I'm just used to my head being split open. It still hurts, but now I know it's coming. [He tries to crack a smile, but it looks as uncomfortable as it feels to force it. He's still bitter. But if he really broaches just how much he doesn't actually have his wits, that his head is still spinning, then that'll probably break this little thing they have going... Whatever it is. He enjoys not having to worry about getting shot, and he really enjoys Atlas' smile.]
Real kick from a mule, like you said. But I'll keep it safe. [Hm, what a smooth subject transition from him keeping this addictive substance... not this, but:] Do you... have a place here?
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He doesn’t want to stay here, but he doesn’t want it all to collapse. He stops under one of the trees, just observing what his father tried to destroy with neither a smile or frown.]
Can you... get your people to put my mother to rest?
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Can they bury her, do you mean? Have yourself a funeral? Sure, boyo, there's no harm in puttin' the ol' girl to rest somewhere proper. She was a fine woman. [Personally, she was very helpful to Atlas!] I'll see to it, while you get yourself cleaned up. Supplies're up ahead, under the roots of that big oak by the wall. Might have to push some dirt around to find the crate.
[He'll go make a radio call while Jack puts on something clean. Burning the lady's corpse would be a better way to take care of that evidence, but he knows the boy won't go for it. A burial in Rapture - that is something else.]
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The shirt is nice, but it's not his sweater. He stands there, staring at the disgusting piece of clothing like he can rewind time to when he thought it was still comfortable. When his mother wasn't someone who sold him and had the audacity to make him feel terrible about her death.
Without looking up from it, he raises his voice:] I don't know about a funeral. I just... I don't want her to linger around like the rest of them.
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Anyway, the shirt is a huge improvement. He will tolerate being ten feet from Jack now.]
What do you mean, like the rest of 'em? Nobody's down here but us and those Splicers, and a few good men left to move supplies.
[Atlas has... heard a rumor or two, but what the fuck?]
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Then, slowly, it registers he doesn't get it. He's pretty sure being a modified baby didn't give him some weird ghost sight, so... Surely he is joking...]
The... the figures. [He gestures towards an empty bench, like somehow this will help his case.] They come and go, but... they're still here... I heard couples, doing... things... and... and my mother.
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You been hittin' the nose candy, boyo? Didn't think the snow fell in Rapture, at least not where you'd get your hands on it.
[Fun prank: ask him if he's been doing lines of coke while getting dressed.]
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Snow can’t fall in the ocean. [He says, a bit matter-of-factly.] You’re just blind, I guess. Stared at a screen too long.
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God. Can't snow in the ocean. Jesus.]
Well, I made some calls, so you just wait a little while and your old lady'll get proper taken care of.
[Maybe Atlas will go get fucking high in the meantime and laugh about this moment again, who knows where the day will take him.]
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... Thank you. [But like, that reminds him, can you feel him getting more bitter by the second.] While they're at it with cleaning... Leave "Papa" Suchong where he is.
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So he'll probably never turn into a literal Atlas holding the world statue, good job everyone. He doesn't pat Jack's shoulder again but kind of whaps it - not hard! - with the back of his hand, as he turns away to wander a bit. He can't hold still with all this victory in the air.]
Suchong! That sanctimonious prick can rot for all I care. Maybe he's got something worth taking out of that pit he calls a laboratory.
[He definitely does, but it's fun to pretend he doesn't know.]
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[He says it quickly, then immediately wonders if it's too quickly. Sure, he doesn't trust Atlas entirely, but he doesn't want that apparent... and he still wants his company, for now. There's a brief moment of panic at how eager he is, but he thinks quickly, frowning with greater displeasure than what he actually has as he picks his camera back off the ground.]
Later, after any plans you have... I can take pictures of whatever's down there.
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Sure, sure. Take your radio and I'll help you out, boyo. [Don't say it, do not--] Just like old times.
[SEVERAL HOURS AGO,]
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Yeah, you didn't leave me... what, twisting in the wind? [He says, like he didn't hang onto every single thing Atlas told him.] Where would I be with you?
[Living somewhere... happily... It's fine. He raises his camera towards the trees, then turns it on Atlas.] I didn't take any nice pictures with this... Can I?
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So when he looks back at Jack and sees the camera pointed at him, he pauses, surprised.]
My face is pasted over half of Rapture already, and you want a private show. [Ridiculous...] Sure, kid, fire away. But I'm not givin' out that many freebies, so make it count.
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He's wasting the last of his film on this. It's ridiculous. He takes the shot and waits as it prints, anxious it might not have turned out, and sighs with relief once it's revealed just fine. He didn't ask him to smile, and it's probably not even that pleasant, and yet...]
It looks good. I... don't want to forget your face, so... [It's going in his wallet, watch him remove his parents,]
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Still, he makes a point to stop making this face and manage a winning smile(tm) for the picture. He doesn't make any move to look at it, though, going back to his radio once the moment is done.]
You goin' somewhere in a hurry, boyo? Coulda waited a while for a memento instead of pointin' that thing at me like I'll disappear.
[hmmmm]
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I don't think I've been able to wait for anything here. [It's still a truth - his feet are tired from walking across Rapture. Get one thing done, go somewhere else. Thanks to his current company.] You know how we kept getting separated. And if something like... if something happens again, and I don't remember, then maybe something like this will help.
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And there's Jack himself, with his feelings and babbling about them. Atlas hums, as if he's really thoughtfully considering this. Maybe he shouldn't let the boy carry his picture around; it connects them, and if something happens to Jack...]
What do you think's gonna happen, kid? [Here, he actually stops fiddling and looks at Jack again, without guile. Well, without any more than the usual Atlas-isn't-real guile.] There isn't a soul left in this world that knows you like I do. Now, as I see it, that means there's nothin' to worry about.
[There Were Plenty Of Things To Worry About]
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[There isn't regret in immediately saying what came to mind, this time. It's true, and Atlas should know he thinks he he has the right to be a little bit miffed about it. He meets his gaze for a moment, tired and a little dejected, before he puts his camera away in some bag that he's always had, don't question it.
Then, more casually, as he pulls a pack of cigarettes:] I'd... like that to change, when we have time.
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Nice camera bag that has always been there. Atlas' gaze flicks down.] Lettin' me borrow a smoke'd be a good start.
[Give him a cigarette, he's losing his mind here.] Think you can light 'er up without burnin' the whole place down, kid?
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I think I've done this enough times. [Take this, he's going to do that snap trip... Except his fingers are too slippery to snap them. He tries around three times, then just gives up and lights his thumb without it. Shut up. Don't look at him.]
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Yep, that's a cigarette.]
Y'know, I thought the ADAM would make it taste at least a little different. Guess not.
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You don't want it to taste like ADAM. That sounds like something that'd come out of Fontaine's store. [Ha... ha. Speaking it though, he does have some left over... Hm.] I... still have some, if you... need it.
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Atlas does not shoot Jack in the head immediately; ten points to Atlas.]
I dunno how you keep your wits about you when the rest of those fools' heads split open like overripe melons, pumpin' all that ADAM into yourself. [Like, alright, don't comment or give him significant looks about how he suggested this was the best idea, he didn't influence every single plasmid injection in recent memory...
Still, a cigarette is a cigarette. ADAM is a cash cow, but it's too much of a risky game. He takes another drag, for drama.] A man knows where he stands with a cigarette. ADAM, now—that stuff's done all this to Rapture, so I think I'll give it a pass.
[to his bank account]
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I guess I'm just used to my head being split open. It still hurts, but now I know it's coming. [He tries to crack a smile, but it looks as uncomfortable as it feels to force it. He's still bitter. But if he really broaches just how much he doesn't actually have his wits, that his head is still spinning, then that'll probably break this little thing they have going... Whatever it is. He enjoys not having to worry about getting shot, and he really enjoys Atlas' smile.]
Real kick from a mule, like you said. But I'll keep it safe. [Hm, what a smooth subject transition from him keeping this addictive substance... not this, but:] Do you... have a place here?
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it's him
he's done it
he's the one from the dreams i have
he's here and he's real
me again