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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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. ]

[ He rolls his eyes, but nods begrudgingly, spooning up more soup. ]

When I'm finished.

[ In the meantime, she busies herself by whisking away the dishes as they're emptied, including his, once he's finished, and depositing them in the sink. She peers at them for a moment, turning on the water, and then retrieves some dish soap after a moment of searching around the nearby cabinets. Once that's done, she dries them off with the paper towels on the counter; one is the recipient of a drop of blood from her nose and she grumbles, cleaning it again and finally stacking her work nearby. ]

There. [ It'd be rude just to leave their dirty things there for someone else, wouldn't it? ]

Ready?

[ Booker feels a little useless when she comes over and deftly whisks his bowl away before he can offer to help. Just sitting there while she cleans up doesn't sit right with him.

So he looks around for more to do, finally settling on putting away the produce and other food they'd pulled out and hadn't ended up eating. He finishes about when she does, and nods. ]

Ready.

[ He considers offering her his arm...but they're past that now, aren't they? However Elizabeth feels about it, he'd as much as told her they shouldn't be friends anymore. It's unfair to start playing around like they are now.

So he resigns himself to a silent, probably awkward walk back to her room. And then...who knows. Maybe she'll decide he's right about the whole thing after all. ]

[ Even Elizabeth feels the tension hanging between them, thick and tangible like a spider's web, stuck to them both and difficult to remove entirely. She casts furtive glances at him every so often, trying to strike up meaningless conversation, but things are different. ]

... Thank you for walking me back. [ It's common courtesy, after all, though he's still likely deny the gratitude. She shifts where she stands, unsure of what to say, or do. ]

Think about how I should be trained, or... what have you, and then come find me. All right? [ She furrows her brows, and adds: ] If too much time passes, I'll come knocking. You know that.

I'll think about it.

[ He won't be happy about it, but he'll do it. Booker stands there for a moment, just looking at her. He opens his mouth, looking as if he's about to say something else...and then just shakes his head, defeated. ]

Goodbye, Elizabeth.

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seventh tear ♫ video;

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