[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?
[Aw, that's... that's something, his attempt to smile. Atlas gives him a look for it, wry, almost amused; the kid's got more moxie than he gave him (real, actual, not fake) credit for. Even if he's just making awkward faces and making snide remarks.
That counts for something in the psycho revolution club.
He has about six places, but give him a moment to take another drag and pick the one that's the least damning—] Sure. After your old lady's last rites, we'll go for a stroll.
[He's spent so much time just looking at Atlas, who he doesn't know how he hasn't spliced if he looks this nice, that he nearly forgot why they were standing around here. Right. He takes a drag of his own cigarette, averting his gaze to the ground.]
... I don't really know what you're supposed to say for these things. [Concept? Nice. Execution? Uhhhhh, well,] She... just wanted to make her own way. I don't think she'd even like me.
[Oh, that's nice... he doesn't try to smile again, but he does look slightly less sad than seconds ago. How easy it is to make him a little happier, with his low standards.]
You can call me Jack. [Yeah, he's getting in deep now. Oh well.] I won't be long.
[Yeah, thanks for not trying to kill him in like three different ways. He appreciates that he's still alive most of the time.
Jack does take a little longer than he expected, because the whole ordeal is much harder than he expected. He went back and forth with himself, trying to decide whether or not it was a good idea to bury his fake family with her, and then the audio diary with that. It was a horrible thing, to put together that he was what she spoke of with so much regret. But it was almost equally horrible that he doesn't have any other way to hear her voice.
Atlas' voice is nice enough to get him by, he concludes. He plays the diary back once, twice, three times, but it's nowhere near as comforting as the one that's kept him alive all this time. If he needs to forget Andrew Ryan, he also needs to forget Jasmine Jolene. He'll be just fine. Atlas will have his back if he stumbles through Rapture without them.]
Atlas? [The door to Arcadia shuts behind him as he delicately places some flowers into his bag. He didn't bother leaving them on the grave.] It's done.
[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...]
[That's a lot of genuineness at once, and Jack doesn't really know what to do with it. If he were in a less despondent state, he might have had a reaction that better reflects the way it warms his heart. He might put into words that Rapture is cold and bleak and if he could, if he didn't mind, would Atlas please keep his hand on his shoulder for just a while longer?
Instead he hums in acknowledgement, falling into silence as they make their way to the apartments. He was paranoid nearly the entire trip, looking over his shoulder every other minute and clenching his fist to keep himself from activating a plasmid. He's still paranoid when they enter, but thankfully, the sight of a couch is enough to let the lightning at his fingers die out.]
I suspected it'd as messy as everything else. [He's going to collapse on that. There's no reason for him not to believe this is Atlas' apartment, and if there is... he doesn't care right now.] I hope you didn't drink everything...
[Strange, that they've both been into the bowels of Rapture and where Jack sees bleak and cold, Atlas sees an opportunity. Must be some kind of upbringing thing.
He watches Jack collapse on the couch, then sighs as he puts his hands on his hips and surveys the bottles of booze that are just... everywhere... he nudges one lying at his feet, making it spin. Okay, so that's empty-]
I can't honestly say I remember, boyo. [there's just so much junk in here, god!!] If you find a bottle that's not seen better days, it's all yours.
[He'll go... put his gun down on the coffee table, he supposes. There's probably a chair; he'll sit there. Does Jack... require his presence, or can he go do work... give him a sign.]
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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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That counts for something in the psycho revolution club.
He has about six places, but give him a moment to take another drag and pick the one that's the least damning—] Sure. After your old lady's last rites, we'll go for a stroll.
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... I don't really know what you're supposed to say for these things. [Concept? Nice. Execution? Uhhhhh, well,] She... just wanted to make her own way. I don't think she'd even like me.
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Well, I like you, boyo. [Atlas, he's your pal!!] So let's get this done and take this show on the road, huh? I'll get outta your hair for a minute.
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You can call me Jack. [Yeah, he's getting in deep now. Oh well.] I won't be long.
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Jack it is. I'll be waitin', when you've had enough.
[You know, as usual? Except that he doesn't need to anymore, so that part is different.]
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Jack does take a little longer than he expected, because the whole ordeal is much harder than he expected. He went back and forth with himself, trying to decide whether or not it was a good idea to bury his fake family with her, and then the audio diary with that. It was a horrible thing, to put together that he was what she spoke of with so much regret. But it was almost equally horrible that he doesn't have any other way to hear her voice.
Atlas' voice is nice enough to get him by, he concludes. He plays the diary back once, twice, three times, but it's nowhere near as comforting as the one that's kept him alive all this time. If he needs to forget Andrew Ryan, he also needs to forget Jasmine Jolene. He'll be just fine. Atlas will have his back if he stumbles through Rapture without them.]
Atlas? [The door to Arcadia shuts behind him as he delicately places some flowers into his bag. He didn't bother leaving them on the grave.] It's done.
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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...]
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Instead he hums in acknowledgement, falling into silence as they make their way to the apartments. He was paranoid nearly the entire trip, looking over his shoulder every other minute and clenching his fist to keep himself from activating a plasmid. He's still paranoid when they enter, but thankfully, the sight of a couch is enough to let the lightning at his fingers die out.]
I suspected it'd as messy as everything else. [He's going to collapse on that. There's no reason for him not to believe this is Atlas' apartment, and if there is... he doesn't care right now.] I hope you didn't drink everything...
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He watches Jack collapse on the couch, then sighs as he puts his hands on his hips and surveys the bottles of booze that are just... everywhere... he nudges one lying at his feet, making it spin. Okay, so that's empty-]
I can't honestly say I remember, boyo. [there's just so much junk in here, god!!] If you find a bottle that's not seen better days, it's all yours.
[He'll go... put his gun down on the coffee table, he supposes. There's probably a chair; he'll sit there. Does Jack... require his presence, or can he go do work... give him a sign.]
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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