Delta Catch All

[daddy_topside]

Who: Subject Delta (daddy_topside) and pretty much everyone!
What: Delta v (small) Civilization
When: Varying times of the day!
Where: Varying spots but mostly around the outer edges of Pumpkin Hollow!
Warning(s): Canon typical violence (Bioshock). Will add anything if they come up!


Open - In Town! (Daytime)

Subject Delta was created for the sole purpose of attending to the protection of a singular Little Sister. When he wasn’t doing that, he was hunting for leaks and doing repairs on a megalomaniac’s underwater hell city.

Figuring out mundane things like housing and groceries isn’t… quite in his repertoire. You might as well have thrown a tortoise into a lake and gotten about the same level of drowning incomprehension.

Typically, Delta would commit to the fine art of simply disregarding everything anyone tried to tell him and forge his own path. It’s just this time he’s so far out of his depth, he doesn’t even have the familiar to fall back on.

In the end, stunned by the endless be-clouded skies and the sheer shock of it all, Delta simply parks himself on a rocky hill and contemplates insanity.


For Grace - Downtown (Daytime)

Money, at least, was a familiar concept to Subject Delta. Cash to be traded for goods (and services, but you didn’t exactly get service between the splicers having the run of the place and just plain being a Big Daddy). You didn’t crawl out of a libertarian’s wet dreams without at least learning that.

The question is just what to spend money on. Deprived of his weapons, Delta instead muddles about Downtown, accumulating frightened and wary stares from the sparse populace as he contemplates the window of a woodworking shop.

Comments

[deepbluerevue]

It’s a motion she’s performed a thousand times, leaning into a flame and cupping it protectively, filling her lungs with warmth. She’d almost forgotten what real tobacco tastes like. It settles something in her chest, and she breathes out a long stream of smoke.

Grace rubs a hand over her eyes one last time, leans back on the bench, and, for the first time since running into him, really takes a good, appraising look at Subject Delta. At the charmingly casual way he sits against the wall, the slate and chalk and holder resting in his lap, the courteous offer of a light.

“I had no idea you were such a gentleman, sir,” Grace says, amused by the very thought. It’s better than feeling melancholy about these things surviving Ryan’s meat-grinder, anyhow.

[daddy_topside]

Halfway through lighting his own cig, Delta barks a strange, bestial laugh, something that wouldn't be remiss coming from the mouth of a hyena with its head in a bucket. It's a startled noise more than a humorous one.

Delta pops one of his air hoses out of its sockets with a well-practiced motion and sticks the butt in through the hole. The line hisses with escaping pressure for a moment before the stopper mechanism kicks in.

Cigarette secured, Delta wipes the words off the slate and scrawls new letters in their place.

news to me

[deepbluerevue]

Grace watches the whole rigmarole with morbid fascination. She understands a craving for a smoke, but this seems like a lot of effort.

“Well,” she replies, a smile still dusting her face, “I suppose you’re just a natural, then.”

The air between them softens into silence as they meditatively enjoy their respective smokes.

“Alright,” Grace sighs, once she’s smoked her light all the way down to her fingertips, “I’ve got one more stop, sir. If I have to stand around in this getup for one more second, I might just lose my mind.”

[daddy_topside]

looks good, Delta opines, lifting the final dredges of his own smoke away from the port and exhaling as he writes. Gray wisps out of the hole.

Still, he's already stubbing out his cig on the ground and pushing onto his feet. As he waits for Grace to get ready, he screws the airline back into place and tucks the slate board into the gap between his tank and back, the chalk into a pocket.

[deepbluerevue]

“I appreciate the effort,” Grace says dryly, “but there’s no need to fib.”

---

Grace does not exit the clothing shop in a different outfit. This is what she gets for getting all giddy about being able to shop like a civilized person again.

“Well,” she sighs, trying on a rueful smile. “Serves me right for not budgeting. I suppose I’ll be heading to the tavern.”

[daddy_topside]

A lot of a big daddy's life is waiting. Waiting around for their little sister, waiting around for maintenance techs, waiting around for supplies. Delta finds even now, awoken from the chained mindlessness as he had been, he doesn't half mind it, watching the clouds roll on by and leaning against a lamp post.

How much of him as he is now is who he is? How much of that nature is what he was created to be? Is there a difference at all?

When Grace comes out of the shop without anything for her troubles though, he draws out of his head. There's a little moment of him distantly contemplating her. And then he pulls out his bag of brass, holding it out for her to take.

[deepbluerevue]

Grace stares at the clinking bag of coins. “The slate was a gift, Delta,” she says, raising a brow at him. “I haven’t yet shaken the notion that I owe you my life, sir. You’ve got to get yourself set up as well.”

[Internal thoughts]

Ordinarily, she’d already be batting her eyes in gratitude, but he’s being almost unfairly gracious. But oh, would she ever love some proper clothes…

[daddy_topside]

Delta snorts. He's got his food and he's got his smokes, and if the town doesn't keep their word regarding the stipends and labor, then they're getting a temperamental big daddy on their hands.

Right now, this cash is surplus and he's got nothing else to use it for. Delta's hand does not retract.

[deepbluerevue]

Grace wavers for one more moment before her will buckles and she takes the bag. “I’ll accept your charity just this once more,” she cautions, but there’s a good-humored tone in her voice as she withdraws twenty-five brass from his bag before pushing the sack back into his hand. “But I’ll be repaying this loan, understand? I’ve had enough of Family-style communal funds for a while.”

[daddy_topside]

No arguing against that. Delta takes the sack back and gives her a thumbs up of acknowledgement.

[deepbluerevue]

When Grace reappears, she’s clad in a simple outfit of long brown skirt, linen shirt, light brown vest, and tidy women’s boots, and looking much happier about it.

“I really owe you one, sir,” she beams. With a quick swipe of lipstick, pencil, and mascara, she’s feeling more like herself. “I think I can show myself at the tavern, now.”

[daddy_topside]

Delta has to trust his porthole to keep the direction of his gaze obscure because he'd be a downright rube otherwise, staring at Grace as she applies her makeup. The change in the way she held herself was fascinating in and of itself, but the addition of clean, well-picked clothes made a startlingly big difference too.

Pushing off the lamp post, Delta uncrosses his arms and awkwardly plants them on his hips, suddenly feeling oddly out of place next to this well kept lady and her unstained and as-yet untorn clothes. Then he gestures in the vague direction of said tavern: shall they?

[deepbluerevue]

“Lead the way,” Grace says, grandly magnanimous.

The Oak and Iron looks like a very old, once-sumptuous building that’s been stubbornly maintained throughout the decline of the town. A good thing, too, if it’s now housing a sudden influx of newcomers. It’s crowded inside, and the chatter falters as Grace walks in with Delta lumbering behind. She tilts her chin up and summons a faint, intriguing smile to her lips. This kind of attention can be spun, if Delta plays along.

“Are you the proprietor of this establishment?” Grace asks the older woman in a work dress and apron behind the bar top. At her somewhat unsure nod, Grace leans in with a confiding air. “Thank goodness for that. I only just arrived and I cannot tell you how disoriented I’ve been. You wouldn’t happen to know how I would get set up?” Then, as if an afterthought, she adds, “Oh, and this gentleman is newly arrived as well. Doesn’t seem to be much of a talker,” she chuckles.

The proprietor seems a bit skeptical, but she still marks down their names on an official-looking ledger and hands each of them a room key, with a brief explanation of the complementary housing and meal organization. Thank goodness for that, because Grace banked on that when she blew her entire starting stipend.

Tragically, the rooms are on the second floor. Grace purses her lips.

“Delta,” she asks. “Could you do me one more favor and hold this?”

[daddy_topside]

A distant memory of conversations through smoke. Tailored suits and glimmering dresses, the weight of stares heavy on his back as a little hand guides him though rows of silk draped tables. Delta blinks away the afterimages of candles in his eyes, listening distantly as Grace introduces him.

The stares and wariness aren't new. Grace talking about him like he's not just a freakish background fixture on the other hand. Well. He's not too sure what to make of that, or what to do about the strange intermingling of uneasiness and peculiarly easy trust. Delta doesn't acknowledge the proprietor: he just takes his keys and trails after Grace.

He doesn't even catch himself holding his hand out for her bag and cane until he's done it and Delta finds himself thinking he'd do Grace a thousand favors and be just dandy with it.

It's deeply unsettling.

[deepbluerevue]

“Thank you, sir,” Grace says absently, eyeing the steep, old-fashioned stairs. The banisters on either side look sturdy enough, so she rolls her shoulders a few times, plants one hand on each railing, and keeps her weight braced on each arm as she hauls herself upward as gracefully as she’s able. Her left knee holds her weight when she’s standing, thankfully, but it’s stiff as a board when moving. Best to keep her momentum up.

By the time she reaches the top of the landing, she’s perspiring lightly. Even the Drop had plenty of elevators, and where there weren’t elevators, there were a dozen Family men eager to give Gracie their arms. Just another adjustment to make. At least Miss Leeds mentioned some ground floor lodgings.

“Whoof,” she breathes, leaning against a wall at the top.

[daddy_topside]

Delta nearly puts his boot through the stairs on his first step. The ominous sound of creaking wood follows him the whole way up, even with carefully placed steps.

At the sight of Grace leaning against the wall at the end, Delta pauses to give her a look of consternation, still in the stairwell. She could have asked that he carry her as a favor instead.

[deepbluerevue]

Under the weight of Delta’s unreadable stare, Grace straightens back up. “Thank you kindly,” she says, reaching out to reclaim her belongings and glancing at the number on her key before setting out down the hallway.

[Internal thoughts]

She’s trying so hard to keep all this from feeling odd, but everything together — this tiny, old-fashioned town, that last day in Rapture, the strange, white-haired woman’s deal — she’s not even close to processing it all. To have a Big Daddy trailing her on top of that (a Big Daddy with every right to hold a grudge)… it just feels like one more terribly strange thing.

“The path to her own salvation”? What did that mean? How was she supposed to even know where to start? What kind of “purpose” does that woman intend? If Grace couldn’t figure out the purpose, would the deal end?

“Well,” Grace says, stopping in front of a door. “This here’s mine.” She cranes her head up to look at Subject Delta in earnest, for once at a loss for what to say.

[daddy_topside]

His room was a couple doors over. The fact that it's his room, even temporarily, is a concept Delta finds at odds with his understanding of the world. The big daddy stares down at the comically small key and fob in his hand, feeling strangely at loss.

Raising his gaze up to Grace's face, he contemplates pulling out the slate and chalk and wishing her a goodnight. He doesn't, because somewhere underneath it all there's a jagged part of him that still balks at the prospect of such explicit communication.

Too direct. Too intimate, somehow, and especially in this moment with Grace's dark eyes shining in the orange hallway light.

Closing his hand around his key, Delta straightens up and wordlessly moves past her, the sound of his armored footsteps shaking through the floor.

Wrap!

[deepbluerevue]

Grace watches him go. “Goodnight,” she says belatedly.