Elizabeth DeWitt (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
once_janus) wrote2017-08-11 04:30 pm
once_janus) wrote2017-08-11 04:30 pm
(no subject)
{Who:} Ares (Hercules/Xena) and Elizabeth (Bioshock Infinite: BaS)
{Where:} Fantasy Ancient Greece
{When:} Early on in Ares' cannon, Post BaS for Elizabeth
{What Happens:} A chance meeting, mutual intrigue
{Warnings:} TBA
She didn't exactly drown, but Elizabeth had died under water. As she sunk into the dark, lulled by a little girl's lullaby, Elizabeth realized there was some grand poetry to it. Booker had drowned Comstock. She had drowned Songbird. And finally, as much as she didn't want to, she drowned Booker too. It was practically fate that she would die beneath the water, even in a city under glass at the bottom of the sea. Rapture was a city slowly crumbling; the ocean intent on taking it back. Eventually, the room where she died would be flooded, and it would mean the final period at the end of her story.
It had to be this way. She had to make up for what she did. Even if it meant dying, and staying dead. Maybe that wasn't so bad; who was she really living for now?
The last thing Elizabeth expects is a sudden knife of pain in her chest, as her lungs cry out to breathe. The need for air is completely disorientating, and for a split second she almost panics-- but doesn't. It takes her a few moments to find the direction of the surface as the waves paw her around, and the first real breath she attempts gets cut half way by a sudden small wave. Instinct forces her to keep moving; she should be dead, she should be... but she isn't going to lay here and drown.
At least no one's holding her down. It feels like ages until she crawls onto the shore, coughing up water as she pulls herself just far enough to lay in the dry sand. 'What the hell,' is one of the first coherent thoughts to stumble through her head (despite the headache cleaving between her eyes). Seeing a woman fully dressed wash up on the beach would always be strange enough, but Elizabeth's striking clothes probably put her a little farther from the norm; her fashion is completely different with sharp black heels, fishnet stockings, a form fitting white blouse and knee length black shirt creating her outfit; but the dirt and blood and tears that pepper her clothing certainly look native enough.
Her startling blue eyes crack open and gaze at the crisp sky. She takes a long deep breath and contemplates getting her hands under herself. It probably is not smart to lay around for too long in an unknown place; knowing her fantastic luck, it would probably be incredibly dangerous. But she'll hear is anyone is approaching, or so she thinks, trying to get her senses fully in order before she picks herself up off the sand.
And again, what the actual hell is this? Well at least her makeup didn't run, because if Rapture-made make up is anything, it's water proof.
{Where:} Fantasy Ancient Greece
{When:} Early on in Ares' cannon, Post BaS for Elizabeth
{What Happens:} A chance meeting, mutual intrigue
{Warnings:} TBA
She didn't exactly drown, but Elizabeth had died under water. As she sunk into the dark, lulled by a little girl's lullaby, Elizabeth realized there was some grand poetry to it. Booker had drowned Comstock. She had drowned Songbird. And finally, as much as she didn't want to, she drowned Booker too. It was practically fate that she would die beneath the water, even in a city under glass at the bottom of the sea. Rapture was a city slowly crumbling; the ocean intent on taking it back. Eventually, the room where she died would be flooded, and it would mean the final period at the end of her story.
It had to be this way. She had to make up for what she did. Even if it meant dying, and staying dead. Maybe that wasn't so bad; who was she really living for now?
The last thing Elizabeth expects is a sudden knife of pain in her chest, as her lungs cry out to breathe. The need for air is completely disorientating, and for a split second she almost panics-- but doesn't. It takes her a few moments to find the direction of the surface as the waves paw her around, and the first real breath she attempts gets cut half way by a sudden small wave. Instinct forces her to keep moving; she should be dead, she should be... but she isn't going to lay here and drown.
At least no one's holding her down. It feels like ages until she crawls onto the shore, coughing up water as she pulls herself just far enough to lay in the dry sand. 'What the hell,' is one of the first coherent thoughts to stumble through her head (despite the headache cleaving between her eyes). Seeing a woman fully dressed wash up on the beach would always be strange enough, but Elizabeth's striking clothes probably put her a little farther from the norm; her fashion is completely different with sharp black heels, fishnet stockings, a form fitting white blouse and knee length black shirt creating her outfit; but the dirt and blood and tears that pepper her clothing certainly look native enough.
Her startling blue eyes crack open and gaze at the crisp sky. She takes a long deep breath and contemplates getting her hands under herself. It probably is not smart to lay around for too long in an unknown place; knowing her fantastic luck, it would probably be incredibly dangerous. But she'll hear is anyone is approaching, or so she thinks, trying to get her senses fully in order before she picks herself up off the sand.
And again, what the actual hell is this? Well at least her makeup didn't run, because if Rapture-made make up is anything, it's water proof.