[ Maybe it's the manipulation of time and space that makes this hurt. It honestly pains her. What if... what if Booker is like him too? What if his debt will never be repaid...? She attaches herself to Jack, his presence on the ship and what he represented to her. So quickly she put faith in him and so quickly it shattered.
She never liked coffee, honestly. When she hears that she 'wasn't always locked up', at least, she thinks, Angel had that blessing. Her eyes divert to the coffee, musing as he spoke. His words fall more informative than passionate - at first, she so coldly believes they've been practiced. A plausible defense before brought to trial is always the safest route, is it not? As the coffee's steam swirls up into the air, she can't help but close her eyes. Think. Of Rhys. The first time they met she spilled the stuff all over him and couldn't stomach the smell. He was so cold - so damn bitter like an old cup of the stuff itself.
The word sirens bring a mythical reflection to her. Elizabeth grew up reading books on the subject - the mythology and how the sea-maidens lured men to their doom. The only misconception was it wasn't on their own accord, but by another being. By the God of Sea. It was a story - but how far was it from the truth?
If there's one thing she can offer him, it's silence. She lets his words flow - noting how he stumbles over some, showing an air of being human. Feeling something. There's a few moments where she visibly flinches and shows discomfort. The first was Angel's first accidental murder. The grief was foreign to her. Lady Comstock... her death, to Elizabeth, was an event in history she read about. Not once had she felt the personal attachment so she can't connect on that level.
It's when he admits how many people he's killed that she glances up. It's not judgmental. It's just... she gauges his reaction. Did he sound remorseful? No, she doesn't get that impression. He's like her - he sees a means to an end. She... can't blame him. Not for that.
Not when she allowed Booker to kill Comstock's men to ensure her freedom. ]
It doesn't have to be that way. There's other ways.
[ Elizabeth lifts her hands up, watching as he finishes his last few bits. Family - it would be nice to know what that is, but she never will. She can't imagine it's something that fuels her, especially here. But the way Jack speaks - the way he knows Angel needs to survive, that she's so important that he'll tear the universe apart... it's a scary emotion.
There's a strain, a slight squint of her eyes. It takes a few moments, but something flickers between them. From nothingness became - something. Her breath hitches and a tear rips open between them. The grayscale static more like some... mirror - a possibility that Elizabeth gives Jack. Right now, the tear only shows the parlour - someone too busy pouring themselves a drink. Her fingers curl, holding it open as she speaks when a thin drop of blood drops from her nostril. ]
You help me. I help you. If Angel is dead - I can... I can bring her back. I've done it before. There's other universes, times... if I can harness this again, she's waiting for you. [ She doesn't care anymore. She wants her goals and is willing to sell her soul for them. ] I can't do much more than what I am now. What you see now - but ... I'm trying to train it. It's gotten better. Longer. More relevant.
[ Elizabeth's strain finally shows - her hands snap back and the tear closes with a thunderous warp. A few things on the table between them shifts with the movement, showing that Elizabeth's power... was much like a siren. ]
If what you say is true - if your feelings are genuine... I won't push the subject any longer. There's no 'greater good' by being prisoner, especially to your own family. However, what Rhys said - [ She's not scared to bring it up. ] - the context of it... if I find it to be true...
[ It hurts to say: ]
I'll steal your last breath by my very own fingers.
[ If she finds out Jack's captivity turned her to suicide. The thought makes her stomach turn. ]
no subject
She never liked coffee, honestly. When she hears that she 'wasn't always locked up', at least, she thinks, Angel had that blessing. Her eyes divert to the coffee, musing as he spoke. His words fall more informative than passionate - at first, she so coldly believes they've been practiced. A plausible defense before brought to trial is always the safest route, is it not? As the coffee's steam swirls up into the air, she can't help but close her eyes. Think. Of Rhys. The first time they met she spilled the stuff all over him and couldn't stomach the smell. He was so cold - so damn bitter like an old cup of the stuff itself.
The word sirens bring a mythical reflection to her. Elizabeth grew up reading books on the subject - the mythology and how the sea-maidens lured men to their doom. The only misconception was it wasn't on their own accord, but by another being. By the God of Sea. It was a story - but how far was it from the truth?
If there's one thing she can offer him, it's silence. She lets his words flow - noting how he stumbles over some, showing an air of being human. Feeling something. There's a few moments where she visibly flinches and shows discomfort. The first was Angel's first accidental murder. The grief was foreign to her. Lady Comstock... her death, to Elizabeth, was an event in history she read about. Not once had she felt the personal attachment so she can't connect on that level.
It's when he admits how many people he's killed that she glances up. It's not judgmental. It's just... she gauges his reaction. Did he sound remorseful? No, she doesn't get that impression. He's like her - he sees a means to an end. She... can't blame him. Not for that.
Not when she allowed Booker to kill Comstock's men to ensure her freedom. ]
It doesn't have to be that way. There's other ways.
[ Elizabeth lifts her hands up, watching as he finishes his last few bits. Family - it would be nice to know what that is, but she never will. She can't imagine it's something that fuels her, especially here. But the way Jack speaks - the way he knows Angel needs to survive, that she's so important that he'll tear the universe apart... it's a scary emotion.
There's a strain, a slight squint of her eyes. It takes a few moments, but something flickers between them. From nothingness became - something. Her breath hitches and a tear rips open between them. The grayscale static more like some... mirror - a possibility that Elizabeth gives Jack. Right now, the tear only shows the parlour - someone too busy pouring themselves a drink. Her fingers curl, holding it open as she speaks when a thin drop of blood drops from her nostril. ]
You help me. I help you. If Angel is dead - I can... I can bring her back. I've done it before. There's other universes, times... if I can harness this again, she's waiting for you. [ She doesn't care anymore. She wants her goals and is willing to sell her soul for them. ] I can't do much more than what I am now. What you see now - but ... I'm trying to train it. It's gotten better. Longer. More relevant.
[ Elizabeth's strain finally shows - her hands snap back and the tear closes with a thunderous warp. A few things on the table between them shifts with the movement, showing that Elizabeth's power... was much like a siren. ]
If what you say is true - if your feelings are genuine... I won't push the subject any longer. There's no 'greater good' by being prisoner, especially to your own family. However, what Rhys said - [ She's not scared to bring it up. ] - the context of it... if I find it to be true...
[ It hurts to say: ]
I'll steal your last breath by my very own fingers.
[ If she finds out Jack's captivity turned her to suicide. The thought makes her stomach turn. ]