ataraxion | seventh tear ♫ video;

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seventh tear ♫ video;

Hello? I hope this is working... I'm never really sure.

[ Elizabeth, looking much more cheerful than during her last broadcast, smiles brightly for the camera. ]

Well! I've been having some strange headaches lately, so I thought it might help to focus my attentions on something. I was given a few things from home in my locker after the last Jump and put them to good use.

[ Voilà! She reveals a painting. Elizabeth beams at it as she turns from the camera, then chews thoughtfully on her lip as if looking to fault it. ]

I only had red, so it isn't as... vivid as I might have liked, but I'm hoping that the next Jump will have a few more colors. [ She huffs shortly, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. ] If anyone else has any art supplies and wouldn't mind sharing, please let me know! It seems a little morbid, almost, just using black and red.

And... I can do some sketches or paintings for anyone, if there are any requests. I'm far from any kind of proficiency, but it does help to take my mind off of things.

[ private to Booker DeWitt ]

Where are you? You are on this floor and I wanted to show you something!

[ private to Murphy Pendleton ]

I wanted to apologize for-- well, everything. You know. [ She flushes, clearly fretting. ] I can't tell you how... mortified I am.

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[ He doesn't scare her. He had when they'd first met out of pure shock, he had when he'd begun his display of... proficiency in killing. But since then, he'd been the protector, not a threat. She doesn't believe for a second that he'll hurt her.

Not physically, anyway.

It isn't news that surprises her; Elizabeth hadn't gotten the impression that her "partner" had known much about the job aside from "bring us the girl and wipe away the debt." He'd been open about his lack of knowledge, hadn't seemed bothered by that, but... more than that, she'd never gotten a nefarious vibe from him. Hard-headed, persistent, violent, but not scheming. ]

You did those things, Booker, that was ages ago. I know what you meant for me originally, but things have changed! I know you would never trade me away now.

[ Another person, someone with less faith in people, might have added a tentative "right?" at the end. Elizabeth doesn't. He pushes her away and she pulls back, calm and confident in her assertions. ]

[ Ages ago? He barks out a laugh, sharp and bitter. ]

It hasn't been that long.

[ A few months, even considering their time on the ship - and even with Elizabeth's unflagging efforts to drag him out of his room and show him around, they haven't been spending nearly the same amount of time together here as they had during their short time in Columbia. Is that what she's basing this on? Those few short days?

She's right, of course. He'd never hand her over to anyone now; he'd fight to keep her out of the grasp of those who might hurt her. He had done just that.

Fought...and failed. There are things she doesn't know, because they had never happened to her. He looks down, staring at nothing. ]

None of that changes anything.

[ It hadn't erased what he'd done, all the lives that he'd took. Nothing can erase that. ]

You should be running away from me as fast as you can go.

But I'm not! [ It's louder, more frustrated, and she curls her hands into fists at her sides. ] I'm not running, I'm obviously doing the opposite. I'm not afraid of you and you won't be able to convince me that you're more of a bad influence than you are good. Yes, you've acted with questionable judgment more than once and I can recognize that, but you've also taught me to be more careful. You taught me that sometimes you have to make hard choices.

[ The extent of which she still doesn't realize; for now, she's still never taken a life. ]

I know so much more now because of you. And if you hadn't been there after that monster attacked me, I would be dead.

[ It's true, isn't it? She'd put them in danger and he'd gotten them out of it. She'll admit to it freely if it'll get him to concede with her point. ]

If I hadn't been with you, I would have died. Isn't that enough?

You shouldn't have been out there at all!

[ His voice is rising, too - not quite yelling, but threatening it. ]

I've taught you to be careful? Really? The only reason I was there to save you at all was because you threatened to go alone if I didn't. And look at what happened anyway!

[ This whole conversation is more than he's said in a long time, and he falls silent for a moment, seething. When he speaks again, his voice is low. ]

Pendleton told me what you did, Elizabeth. He told me that you went out into the hallways alone.

Don't tell me you've learned to be careful when we both know it's not true.

I couldn't just sit idly by and watch as those people were left there; they could have been killed, or worse--

[ And one of them was, she thinks, trying to recall the details of what had happened to the one member of the shuttle party, the one who'd been shut behind some mysterious door.

He knows. She worries at her lip, guard brought down momentarily. ]

... He tricked me. [ She said quietly. ] I thought he--that thing--might know something about... about this place, or...

[ Why had she followed Smiley into the corridors? It seems so silly now. Her stomach knots up and she finds she can't quite meet his gaze. ]

It was reckless, I know that. I made a mistake, but... well, that's living, isn't it? You do stupid things and you... you hurt people that you care about, and then you learn from it and you grow.

[ She looks to him, subdued. Sad. ]

I'm trying, Booker. I really am.

It's not your job to save everyone.

[ Or anyone - Elizabeth has a big heart, he knows that, but she just doesn't have the skills or experience to put herself out there that way. Feelings like enough to get her killed. Is it any wonder he worries?

But even he isn't immune to the sorrowful, chagrined look on her face, and he sighs, his anger evaporating. ]

I know...I know you are.

[ And he isn't going to convince her, he realizes. Booker scrubs a hand over his face, feeling old and tired. ]

Your heart's in the right place, I ain't arguing that. You just don't know what you're getting into sometimes.

I wasn't trying to save everyone; I just... I couldn't live with myself if I stood by while other people worked to help. If I did nothing.

[ She thinks of Finkton, of Shantytown, and seems even more crestfallen. ]

... Teach me to fight. [ Elizabeth speaks up suddenly as if she says it without any consideration, as if the second the thought emerged, she voiced it. ] Or else, to defend myself.

[ Booker recoils, staring in something like vague horror. All he can think of is Elizabeth standing over Daisy Fitzroy's body, blood on her clothes and scissors clutched in her hand. ]

No.

[ He shakes his head with a jerky motion, taking a step back. ]

No, I ain't - I ain't gonna help you become that.

"Become that?" [ Now she flushes in an angry fluster. ] Do you mean, you won't help me to fulfill my violent destiny, is that it?

[ Elizabeth knows that it isn't, but misuse of words or no, it still stings. She shakes her head firmly. ]

You won't help me to protect myself, but I need to be more careful, and at the same time, I can't be around you; short of hiring a personal bodyguard, the only other option is to lock myself away.

[ That is, there are no real options, as she sees them. Elizabeth's frustration is hot and tangible, unlike the cool disdain of her soulless counterpart. ]

What, Booker? What do you want me to do?

[ That's not exactly it - not in the way she means - but in all honesty, it's close enough. He frowns deeply, frustrated and maybe a little hurt at her reference to locking herself away. She doesn't have to spell out the parallel for him. ]

That's not what I'm saying.

There's plenty of other people on board this ship who manage not to get themselves nearly killed on a regular basis, without knowing how to fight or asking someone else to do their fighting for them. Kids, even.

[ The message is clear, if unspoken. Why can't you be more like them? ]

I'm not a child! [ She drops her arms, exasperated. ] And you know how dangerous it can be whether you look for trouble or not.

[ "On a regular basis," really? It's another sting; as far as she's concerned, her good intentions made up for whatever had befallen her... or, at least cancelled it out. ]

I could at least learn some kind of self-defense.

[ He just looks at her, his face drawn. He's feeling ten years older than he is.

Rationally, what she's saying makes sense. She's not a child, much as he'd like to preserve the innocence of the girl he'd found in the tower. It's unfair to expect her to hide herself away forever, and it would be better for both of them, in the long run, if she had some understanding of how to take care of herself without needing him to rush to her aid.

But the thought of teaching Elizabeth how to throw a punch - or, worse, fire a gun - makes his blood run cold. He half-turns away, muttering a barely audible excuse. ]

That ain't the kind of thing for women to learn.

[ It's a weak argument - one that even he doesn't really believe - and he knows Elizabeth won't swallow it for a second, but it's all he has. ]

[ She considers hitting him. Not seriously, of course, but an irritated pounding of his fist against his chest and arms (or wherever she can reach, assuming he tries to fend her off).

She doesn't, though. ]

Are you really not going to help me?

[ It's a little hurt, but mostly tired and resigned. It also isn't defeated; he should know better than anyone that, if met with resistance, she'll simply find another way. ]

This is important to me. Please, at least consider it.

[ Booker closes his eyes, feeling his headache return. This isn't how he had wanted the day to go at all. I shouldn't have said anything. Maybe if he'd just withdrawn gradually, slowly slipped out of her life without her realizing what was going on...

But she's probably too sharp even for that. And now...she won't give this up, he knows. If he tells her no, she'll probably just go to someone else. ]

Are you sure you want to do this, Elizabeth?

[ He opens his eyes and looks at her. His vision is swimming a little; it's hard to focus, and he knows it's stress as much as...well, whatever else is going on. ]

Defending yourself means hurting people. Sometimes badly. Are you sure you're ready for that?

[ After the way she'd run from him after the first time he'd shot someone in front of her...but it's not even that, not entirely. He knows she's capable of killing when she has to, or she will be, and the thought of bringing her even one step closer to the girl who'd stabbed Daisy Fitzroy in the back forms a sick, guilty knot in his stomach. ]

[ Truthfully? She isn't sure. Elizabeth reaches again for the thimble, relying on old methods of dealing with her anxieties. She doesn't know if she could bring herself to hurt people when it came down to it, let alone kill them, even if her own life were on the line.

But, for others? Her expression falls a little, and then... hardens, somehow. Maybe she couldn't do it for herself, but if protecting her friends on the ship meant losing sleep at night, she could let her own innocence take the hit.

Or so she thinks. ]

... Yes. [ It's the kind of conviction of someone asked the question "any last words?" There really isn't a choice, Elizabeth realizes suddenly. This is something she has to do sooner or later, whether she likes it or not. ]

You don't have to... teach me. [ She adds quietly, lifting her gaze to meet his. ] I know this must be strange for you, and I wouldn't-- I don't want to impose.

[ The way she's been imposing all day. All throughout their time together since they met. ]

[ That look of determination, of whatever it takes - Booker sees it, and he doesn't care for it. He reaches a hand out, as if to stop her, perhaps, but draws back before he can get close. ]

Damn it, Elizabeth.

[ But the words are soft, and more resigned than angry. How had she done that? This had started out with him telling her she shouldn't see him anymore, and now he's all but agreeing to teach her how to fight?

He sinks into a chair, resting his head in his hands. Fleetingly, he wonders if she's right about the food, if eating something would ease the pain in his head, but even the thought of heating up more soup seems too much effort right now. ]

You aren't imposing.

[ That's not it at all. The reason he'd tried to pull away...it had had nothing to do with feeling imposed upon, or not enjoying her company. There are very few bright spots in Booker DeWitt's life, and Elizabeth is by far the brightest.

Not that he'd ever say as much. He wrinkles his nose, smelling copper, and fishes his handkerchief out just in time to keep from dripping blood onto his clothes. ]

[ He sits down and, as if this had been her plan all along, she pushes the bowl of her own soup back toward him before moving to the stove to make more, herself. ]

I just think it would be best, in the long run. [ Maybe if she's known a thing or two, had been able to take care of herself, at least, she might not have lost her soul. Elizabeth sighs, wrinkling her nose as it itches briefly. Slowly, she raises the back of her hand, drawing it away with a few dots of red. Calmly, so as not to draw his attention, she reaches for a paper towel and wipes the blood away. ]

... What is it that you're so afraid of?

[ She still remembers when he'd first arrive, drunk and calling for her, talking about her hair... What do you know, Booker? What is it that you won't tell me? ]

[ Booker sighs inwardly, finally capitulating and pulling the soup closer. It's cold by now anyway, and starting to congeal. Better to let Elizabeth heat up more and eat that.

Cold soup is good enough for him, though. He starts to eat slowly but steadily, shaking his head. ]

Nothing.

[ The lie comes easily, without thought. He hesitates, looking over at her, just in time to catch her crumpling a paper towel up in her hand. ]

I just...don't think you'd much enjoy learning self-defense.

That's all.

[ They both know that it's a lie, or... that it's an excuse. He's right in that she doesn't enjoy violence (she can't imagine anyone enjoying it, though she knows those people do live and breathe. But she does want to be able to protect herself and the people she cares about. She didn't much enjoy losing her soul to a dog-monster, either.

In the silence of bubbling soup, she tries not to burst into a flurry of more questions. A quick glance over her shoulder tells her that he's eating, at least.

Before too long, she walks back over and pours out a second bowl for him (or third? Whatever it is, it hadn't been enough) and one for herself before settling down. ]

I wish we could have a loaf of bread. Something really fresh.

[ It would go well with the soup! ]

What kind of food do they have in New York? I mean, is there something that they're more known for?

[ Booker pulls the bowl of hot soup towards him without protest this time. The more he eats, the more he realizes just how hungry he's been. And Elizabeth has soup of her own to eat, so that's all right. ]

I suppose wheat would be hard to grow...

[ He eats in silence for a moment, considering her question. ]

Depends on where you go. There's people there from all over - everyone brings something of their own from home.

[ He shakes his head. ]

I don't know that it's known for anything particularly, but there's always something new to try.

I suppose... [ She thinks of the fruits and vegetables and glances back toward the shelves briefly, considering. Finally she looks over at Booker, spoon in hand, brightening a touch more than she'd been. ]

That sounds really wonderful. "Variety’s the very spice of life that gives it all its flavor," isn't it? [ Or so they say. She takes a thoughtful sip of soup, then a drink of water. ] If you could have any one... meal, say, right now, then what would it be?

[ Booker eyes her. He's not normally the type to indulge in daydreams and fantasies, and he doesn't really understand the point. Describing his perfect meal won't change anything - they'll still be eating canned soup.

But he indulges, for Elizabeth's sake, frowning in thought. ]

...There was an Italian neighborhood, near - back in New York. [ He shrugs. He never claimed to be good at this. ] I wouldn't mind eating pasta again.

I'm glad that I asked. Otherwise I might have expected something a little more robust, but now I know better.

[ She would have guessed something particularly American, like grilled meats and beer and something made with potatoes. The answer brings another smile to her face as she finishes off what's left of her soup.

Then, she chews on her lip briefly, realizing that she finally has to admit defeat. ]

Thank you for lunch, or... [ Elizabeth gestures to their surroundings; I really don't know what time of day it's meant to be. ] I should, um... I wanted to touch up a few things on my painting.

[ You know, the one she'd been putting together at the beginning of all this. ]

[ Booker shakes his head. She doesn't have to thank him for anything. ]

This was all your idea.

[ He'd still be sitting alone in his room if she hadn't tracked him down. And he's grateful she had, despite everything. It shows on his face, hopefully, even if it doesn't occur to him to say as much. ]

I'll see you back to your room.

[ Because all his admonitions about how she shouldn't spend time with him and should learn to take care of herself aside, he's not about to let her wander the halls alone. ]

When you're finished! [ She wouldn't ask him to hurry his meal on her account; she'd sooner just head back by herself, but she knows, especially given their conversations today, that he'll argue.

She doesn't want to encourage more fighting just yet. ]

seventh tear ♫ video;

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