Elizabeth DeWitt (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
once_janus) wrote2018-11-08 01:55 pm
once_janus) wrote2018-11-08 01:55 pm
(no subject)
WHO: Booker & Elizabeth DeWitt
WHAT HAPPENS: Between life and death, for souls too grey to judge, there is Purgatory. Post game and post Burial at Sea, Elizabeth and Booker find each other there, and emotional chaos probably ensues.
WHERE: In the woods of Purgatory; Exact location unknown
WHEN: Grey and dreary afternoon
WARNINGS: Probably light violence, blood. Eventual Incest.
The tangled, fog choked woods are dangerously silent under a light dusting of ash-like flurries. The wind murmurs like lowly spoken threats and despite the daylight, shadows lay thickly between the stagnant trees.
Elizabeth DeWitt not supposed to be out here alone, and she knows it.
Hunters are supposed to travel together. To say the woods are dangerous would be the greatest understatement of all time and space, so it only makes sense to bolster safety with numbers. It’s not as though the company of her fellow Hunters is unpleasant-- they had been working together at Settlement Salem for what seemed like weeks now.
But this isn’t the first time she’s slipped away from the group. Sometimes, the company of five or six others can feel claustrophobic, especially when she’s been conditioned with so much time spent alone. Maybe seeing the others smile and laugh just feels too alien. Maybe it’s because she can’t fully shake the melancholy that settled inside her from the moment she woke lost and alone in the woods.
Thankfully, the Hunters of Settlement Salem found her, and now she’s one of them, too. There are people there in need of protection-- not everyone can survive the threats that invade from the woods after dark. If she can do some good, she doesn’t see why she shouldn’t; it leaves a bad taste in her mouth to sit idle; too close to how she had treated (abandoned) Sally.
This time, Elizabeth finds her excuse to trek off alone in tracking something large and potentially edible through the trees. It’s surprising the things people will eat in opposition to starving to death; and the woods are not always kind enough to yield venison or poultry.
A smear of old congealed red on white bark points her closer to her target. The blood and garnet lining of her cloak flashes beneath the black exterior as she moves with swift stealth, following the gouged claw marks in the cold dead earth. It isn’t long before she spots the massive scaly reptile, who is currently contented chewing on what appears to be the carcass of an unnamed, many-limbed beast.
Keen eyes comb the surroundings and she’s quick to pick out the most ideal vantage point. Fluid practiced motions take her hand to the grappling hook at her hip, which is not quite the same as a Skyhook (Air Grabber?) but close enough to serve the purpose. Within seconds she’s perched on a branch and flickers out of sight, concealed by one of the Plasmids in her arsenal. Beyond that, she’s got a crossbow and a hand cannon, which only work so well via full frontal attacks.
Frosty Lizard Popsicles it is. Flickering back to visibility, Elizabeth turns her focus to wielding a bantam blizzard around her pale hand; sharp spikes of ice lance out from her fist as she readies the charged attack. Maybe she can freeze one of its legs, shoot it, shatter it? Her best bet is to disable it quickly-- one false step could be fatal. Maybe the recklessness of it is what helps numb out the somber feeling that simply refuses to leave her be.
It’s simple, when she gets right down to it.
She misses him.
She doesn’t imagine it will ever hurt any less than it does.
Her focus squares on the spot the mutant reptile’s massive clawed foot sinks into the ground. She exhales and flings the explosive icy storm, but at the very last moment an unexpected sound distracts her. There’s something else moving through the trees--
Is someone else here?
Meanwhile, the tossed blast of Old Man Winter makes a frozen dinner of the monster’s meal, and he wheels around to the direction of the attack and releases an enraged roar. Elizabeth presses herself to the trunk of the tree and flickers invisible once more, but the beast is sniffing around and tasting the air with his serpentine tongue.
Damn it. The sturdy trunk trembles as the mutant creature digs in its claws and stretches it’s massive body upwards, growly softly as he inspects the branches. With tiny increments of silent movement, Elizabeth’s hand moves to the gun strapped to her thigh. If he gets close enough (too close) maybe, maybe shooting between the eyes…
Her heart hammers inside her ribcage as the tree shakes again, and the deathclaw gives an angry bellow. Just a little closer...
WHAT HAPPENS: Between life and death, for souls too grey to judge, there is Purgatory. Post game and post Burial at Sea, Elizabeth and Booker find each other there, and emotional chaos probably ensues.
WHERE: In the woods of Purgatory; Exact location unknown
WHEN: Grey and dreary afternoon
WARNINGS: Probably light violence, blood. Eventual Incest.
The tangled, fog choked woods are dangerously silent under a light dusting of ash-like flurries. The wind murmurs like lowly spoken threats and despite the daylight, shadows lay thickly between the stagnant trees.
Elizabeth DeWitt not supposed to be out here alone, and she knows it.
Hunters are supposed to travel together. To say the woods are dangerous would be the greatest understatement of all time and space, so it only makes sense to bolster safety with numbers. It’s not as though the company of her fellow Hunters is unpleasant-- they had been working together at Settlement Salem for what seemed like weeks now.
But this isn’t the first time she’s slipped away from the group. Sometimes, the company of five or six others can feel claustrophobic, especially when she’s been conditioned with so much time spent alone. Maybe seeing the others smile and laugh just feels too alien. Maybe it’s because she can’t fully shake the melancholy that settled inside her from the moment she woke lost and alone in the woods.
Thankfully, the Hunters of Settlement Salem found her, and now she’s one of them, too. There are people there in need of protection-- not everyone can survive the threats that invade from the woods after dark. If she can do some good, she doesn’t see why she shouldn’t; it leaves a bad taste in her mouth to sit idle; too close to how she had treated (abandoned) Sally.
This time, Elizabeth finds her excuse to trek off alone in tracking something large and potentially edible through the trees. It’s surprising the things people will eat in opposition to starving to death; and the woods are not always kind enough to yield venison or poultry.
A smear of old congealed red on white bark points her closer to her target. The blood and garnet lining of her cloak flashes beneath the black exterior as she moves with swift stealth, following the gouged claw marks in the cold dead earth. It isn’t long before she spots the massive scaly reptile, who is currently contented chewing on what appears to be the carcass of an unnamed, many-limbed beast.
Keen eyes comb the surroundings and she’s quick to pick out the most ideal vantage point. Fluid practiced motions take her hand to the grappling hook at her hip, which is not quite the same as a Skyhook (Air Grabber?) but close enough to serve the purpose. Within seconds she’s perched on a branch and flickers out of sight, concealed by one of the Plasmids in her arsenal. Beyond that, she’s got a crossbow and a hand cannon, which only work so well via full frontal attacks.
Frosty Lizard Popsicles it is. Flickering back to visibility, Elizabeth turns her focus to wielding a bantam blizzard around her pale hand; sharp spikes of ice lance out from her fist as she readies the charged attack. Maybe she can freeze one of its legs, shoot it, shatter it? Her best bet is to disable it quickly-- one false step could be fatal. Maybe the recklessness of it is what helps numb out the somber feeling that simply refuses to leave her be.
It’s simple, when she gets right down to it.
She misses him.
She doesn’t imagine it will ever hurt any less than it does.
Her focus squares on the spot the mutant reptile’s massive clawed foot sinks into the ground. She exhales and flings the explosive icy storm, but at the very last moment an unexpected sound distracts her. There’s something else moving through the trees--
Is someone else here?
Meanwhile, the tossed blast of Old Man Winter makes a frozen dinner of the monster’s meal, and he wheels around to the direction of the attack and releases an enraged roar. Elizabeth presses herself to the trunk of the tree and flickers invisible once more, but the beast is sniffing around and tasting the air with his serpentine tongue.
Damn it. The sturdy trunk trembles as the mutant creature digs in its claws and stretches it’s massive body upwards, growly softly as he inspects the branches. With tiny increments of silent movement, Elizabeth’s hand moves to the gun strapped to her thigh. If he gets close enough (too close) maybe, maybe shooting between the eyes…
Her heart hammers inside her ribcage as the tree shakes again, and the deathclaw gives an angry bellow. Just a little closer...
no subject
Booker was, unknowingly, coming closer to the beast’s first attacker. That was, until he was five feet from the illusion of her. It was enough to shake him, they always were, but much like the other sights he took five seconds of breath before a mumbled plea for her to leave and eventually he would be free of the facade.
Not this time.
It wasn’t as if he wasn’t aware of what was real and what wasn’t, he could imagine something so profoundly that he was near enough in believing he was about to see it before it eventually disappeared. But this was more of a sight than a feeling. His visions were always proceeded by feelings. Which usually came with the drink.
“Elizabeth?” He said though a shot rang just then, his ears only caught the, “El-“ in her name before the gunfire echoed through the trees.
no subject
And unknown to the young woman, her own evasive maneuver pulled her closer to the elder DeWitt. Her thoughts were trained upon survival tactics; where to dodge, when to shoot, when to hide, where to aim. But the moment she saw Booker, all of that flew right out the damn window.
This... had to be some kind of illusion, right? It had been. Booker had been in Rapture with her without ever actually having gone; the voice in her head and the shadowy blurred visions of him were all she had left to keep her company. Would it really be that surprising that her want to see him again could reawaken her mind's old lonely tricks?
While Booker mumbled Elizabeth pressed her smokey eyes shut and held the heel of her palm between her eyes, trying to rien her focus on what was really real. They told her the woods would play tricks, but... wouldn't the cruelest trick to be to see him, and not believe it? Or was that a trace of hope smuggled in hard learned pessimism?
The gun shot shattered her dream-like state and the danger of thier situation crashed around her like ground shaking thunder. Survival won priority by a very slim margin; but maybe that wasn't overly surprising, by the sheer number of times the pair of them had been in peril together.
"Booker, you need to get under it; shoot it where it's got no armour. I'll distract it, be ready." She felt like the world had flipped around, like the wrong side of the mirror. Standing around and gawking was likely to get them killed though, so dealing with the killer mutant lizard was probably the smart thing. Even so, Elizabeth kept his eyes for a suspended moment; just enough to convince herself, a little more, that he was real.
(And suddenly, she doesn't even know where to begin processing everything else, so the deathclaw is an easy place to hitch her focus)
As for a distraction, the tactical young woman was quick and efficient; Her grappling hook took her up the racy skirt of another tree; not a good spot for cover, but that wasn't the point. The line carried her up and she perched like a graceful bird of pray. This time, it was a fog of green (that might look a little familiar to Booker) that circled her lithe hand as she charged what would be her last plasmid attack.
With just enough fuel to get it done, Elizabeth launched the form of a ghostly green specter at the battered beast. The softly whispering ghost damzel crashed into the deathclaw and it swayed slightly on its back legs, seeming drugged. It would only last a few seconds, and the fading of the spell would leave this monster with no remorse; but hopefully it would be just enough.
sorry for the delay, needed to step away from writing for a time.
And, is if Columbia was all around them once again, she flew. He caught a brief glimpse of the way her hair swept behind her like black tendrils whipping at a nearby annoyance. She was beautiful, still so very beautiful. Her curse of the lover’s call was a failed comparison to her tangible body and for a moment an uncomfortably warm feeling lurched in his gut and settled at the top of his throat. Booker had to swallow it down and bring his eyes back to the beast, an effort that was no small feat. All he wanted to do was hug Elizabeth close to him; close like the times she hung tight on him while the both of them zip-lined from one floating sector to the next.
Columbia, a fool’s city and he was all the fool.
The mutant seemed occupied enough in a weird fury of movement and noises, there was no better time than now to place himself closer to the belly of the beast. He ducked in quick, his gun heavy and hot in his hands, a dripping sweat from his brow streamed cool tracks of chilled fear for the possibility somewhere along the way he’s going to severely fuck this up. But he was all the fool, so he took these types of risks proudly. Still, probably the ugliest monster he’s faced thus far was the one in the mirror. So, this confused genetic manipulation wasn’t all too bad. Especially when he got in place and began to blast hot lead into the smooth flesh. He was close enough the spray of his damage hit him with a promising heat of victory.