(no subject)

[once_janus]

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...

Comments

[alternate123]

The day was at its most precarious time; morning critters were heading back to their nooks and crannies, daylight monsters soared through the grey skies above with a particular whistle that came more from their feathered wings, but the nail-like teeth scattered between a sharp beak which opened every now and then to taste the air as the beasts glided through it. Booker wasn’t fond of those creatures, they had a taste for flesh, without prejudice. So long as it was warm blooded and moved the birds of prey took delight in hunting it down.

Three months back Booker had hooked up with a traveling group, a nomadic tribe (to be specifically ironic) who had more than once saved his skin. They didn’t know him and by the look of one from the other they didn’t know one another for too long. They all had their different shapes, sizes, colors, and stories behind their eyes that accounted for the constant life of fear since. The only confidence they shared as a group was when they were all hurled under rotting husks, or marinated in piss of a large predator which most creatures avoided.

Before he’d come into the welcoming arms of this group he was one of the wandering few in a larger group of struggling cattle moving with the direction of the wind, at best. He couldn’t recall exactly how long he’d been in that haze. Anywhere from three days to a week. It just so happened a large predator came trampling through the plains and broke up the scattered misfits and he’d just been lucky to find himself with this group a few days later.

Booker was following the line of three hunters, his job was leading up the rear. He had a familiar piece in his arms but it wasn’t quite the old buck he was used to. The semi-automatic was metal rather than wood, and it had an impressive kick-resistance to it that almost made shooting it feel too good. To say his first couple of times hunting with these familiar but updated weaponry was delightful was an understatement. He’d found real sport in it and real joy in pulling the trigger.

However, their outing today could go very wrong very quickly and though he was reluctant to say the adrenaline made the hunt more thrilling it was far too close to the truth. His heart palpitated in his chest, the blood pumped excitedly through his veins, and his breath was elevated.

They were still without sight of their target by the time they heard a rustle and roar ahead. Something disturbed the beast and the order to investigate came with a whistle. Each man ascended the sound, using the thick trees for cover as they came closer to the ruckus. Soon enough they could see the wild beast agitated and afflicted with a spell. The second man in line took a shot at the beast’s rear. A particular vulnerable and cruel spot to send hot lead into. The first man flanked to the left and Booker took to the right. The leader whistled, the two men took cover, then a shot was fired. The next to shoot would be Booker, he was gunning for this all morning and he was going to make that shot count. He gave off a whistle of his own, then ducked to his knees where he took aim and shot into the neck.

[once_janus]

Funny, she almost thought she heard a whistle? It was hard to make out over the rasping rancid breath of the beast as it became far too close for comfort. Damn it, it could smell her, couldn't it? Silently, Elizabeth's dexterous fingers curled around the polished wooden handle of her gun. It wasn't too unlike the one she had used in Rapture; wood and metal, small enough that she could handle the kickback. Ammo had always been so scarce, Elizabeth had gotten fiercely adept at headshots. Not even her cloak whispered as, draped in invisibility, she lifted her arm and took aim.

But the sound of a gunshot ripped the air before she pulled the trigger. Her first thought was that it must be the other Hunters in her group; two out of three of them favored guns, so it wasn’t impossible.

But she didn’t exactly have time to linger and meticulously scan the trees with the deathclaw far too near. When the mutated monstrosity whipped around toward the direction of the attack and released a near deafening roar, Elizabeth used the sound as cover and made a quick jump to the ground. She had to get far enough away that it couldn’t just crush her with all too much ease. Clearly, someone had just wounded it enough to make it very angry, and it meant more than likely, she could too. Her footsteps barely made a sound as she moved, maintaining her invisibility and feeling it drain her in the particular way that only Plasmids (and Vigors) could. She had to be tactical with her reserves; she could only do so much before needing something to recharge.

Eve Hypos and bottles of Salts were not exactly common, but coffee? Cigarettes? Those things often turned up in scavenging and for that she was extremely grateful.

As a convenient (though intentionally naughty) addition to the stealthy Plasmid, she could see the golden glint of three other bodies through the trees. Not the three bodies she had been expecting though; the members of her group all had fairly distinctive silhouettes, and these were certainly not them.

Well, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Hopefully, no one would be shooting at her by the time this was over. It occurred to Elizabeth, under the tactical coldness she’d developed, that she could simply attempt to leave. Let the monster have the distraction… and while she understood it might be smarter, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

She didn’t want to abandon anyone ever again. So she found a decent spot of cover on the ground, behind the crumbled remnant of a once massive boulder.

This time, the grim young woman was sure she heard a whistle before a second gunshot; whoever these people were, they were clearly organized. Experienced. Good, maybe no one would eaten today. Meanwhile, the murderous mutant inhaled through its slitted nostrils in attempt to sniff out the other attackers. Well, that could be problematic. Thinking quickly, Elizabeth summoned a fistfull of blizzard and slung it at the monster’s face, and this time she hit the target. For a few valuable moments, the beast would be unable to smell-- unable to see, too. The cycling of abilities caused the cover of her camouflage to fade away, but the shadow of the rocks wasn’t terrible cover. Now, how to communicate to these people that they should shoot the ice without shouting and giving away her position? How about leading by example?

The coating of ice on the deathclaw’s face sharted to shatter bloody as Elizabeth unloaded quick, brutal consecutive shots. Again and again the bullets hit the same point with precise aim, driving the bleeding cracks deeper and deeper through the clinging frost. Blindly the beast lashed out with claws of unreasonable and nightmarish size, leaving the young woman with no choice but to make a hard dodge to the left as the stones are cleaved into pieces. The shredding claws very narrowly missed her, only cutting the tails of her cloak.

[alternate123]

The closer they got and with the advantage in their favor they could see the trace of magic much better as they circled in on the beast. There was tactic in how they handled the big monster, tightening the perimeter with shots and spiraling the proximity so the barrage came from different directions. This time, instead of whistling, they listened for each other’s shots, they watched as the beast began to bleed with each new piercing. Hot lead melted into the monster’s skin and they gripped the area waiting for a final assault to bring the beast down.

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.

[once_janus]

The deathclaw's temper made it vicious and thoughtless as it attempted to strike in the direction of the attack-- but the hail of hot lead kept shifting and the mutant creature couldn't seem to hone in on a single target. The severe damage to its face dampened its smell and blurred its sight, but the beast was not about to buckle.

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.

[alternate123]

Just like that, Booker was picking up what Elizabeth was throwing down. Her hints were a guide to his movement and he found himself easing back into the flow of their partnership of aide and attack. Hell, by the end of it, she proved ruthless in her own right — if it wasn’t by guns firing off from her own hand it was those very same hands bring in a wind-tunnel of doom.

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.