ph_logs | Delta Catch All

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's on this same rocky hill that Gerard decides to stop for a smoke break.

He'd arrived on the island earlier that day, and had spent most of it milling blankly around the town and its outskirts with the intention of getting a sense of the layout. That, and looking for good places to stare into the distance and take contemplative drags from the cigarettes he made a point of buying. This cliffside, sheer and grey as it overlooks the dark blue-green of the sea, scents of saltwater and pine sap intermingling, seemed a fine place to do just that.

But apparently it's occupied. By someone in the biggest goddamn old-fashioned diving suit he has literally ever seen. He hesitates to assume the person is a man due to the lack of visible features outside the suit. It's kind of cool, though. Aesthetic.

Well, whatever. He won't bother them if they don't bother him. He produces a cigarette and goes for his lighter, groaning to find that it's still wet from its brush with sea life. "Oh, goddammit. Fucking crabs," he grumbled, trying to light it anyway. Spoiler alert: it doesn't work.

Old fashioned diving suits weren't typically haunted with a sickly yellow light, but perhaps Gerard was coming in from an angle that obscured it.

He will definitely see that unearthly glow now, catching on the mist rising from the waves below as sparks of neon as the heavy mantle turns towards him in the mid afternoon gloom.

"Wicked," he mutters under his breath, giving a light nod of acknowledgement to the imposing figure.

After a moment's pause, he clears his throat and pockets his lighter. "Afternoon," Gerard says awkwardly. "Don't suppose you got a light?"

You'd get the impression of a curious head tilt here. The mantle obscures the movement but there's a shift in the light from the porthole.

After a moment of consideration the creature in the dive suit extends his left arm and snaps his armored fingers together, sparking a flame between them. The light is held up to Gerard in offering, flickering in the salt laden breeze.

Gerard raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. He didn't seem particularly startled though, and held out his cigarette to the little flame. Once it was lit, he raised his hand in a gesture of appreciation paired with a nod of the head.

"Thanks, mate," he said before taking a drag. He exhaled with a sigh. "Been here long?"

A vague gesture for negative here, followed with a flick of the hand to extinguish the flame. The metal man seems to lose interest then, turning away and striding back towards the cliffs.

He seems intent on something over the precipice.

"Alright, then," Gerard muttered. That's what he gets for trying to be friendly, he supposed. He didn't let it bother him for long, though, and decided to simply watch the stranger a moment.

When Delta stared down at the sea from atop the cliffside, however, his curiosity piqued once more. He took a few steps toward the edge, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse at whatever his silent acquaintance was looking at.

Hey now, Gerard, Delta is being plenty friendly for a Big Daddy! He even acknowledged your existence and everything!

There's a ripple in the air around the metal man, like a mirage forming over hot pavement. He reaches his hand out and that twisting of space condenses, gathering dust and pebbles into the swirling vortex.

From somewhere below them, a rusted pocket knife ascends like a rocket directly into the man's open palm.

Yo what the fuck.

"Cool trick," Gerard remarks smoothly despite being utterly baffled. Sure, a mute in a diving suit doing wizard magic or some shit. Why not. That might as well happen. "What's the knife for?"

The handle is salt weathered walnut with a brass inset that's so worn the maker's logo is completely illegible. The hinge makes a squeak when the tin man unfolds the knife with his thumb, the clip point blade spotted with rust and the blade's edge is so blunt a butter knife would be sharper. It'll take work to make the knife properly usable.

Not particularly useful for this Big Daddy. Refolding the knife, he turns to Gerard and holds it out.

Delta Catch All

The Bluffs?

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rl ate me alive, sorry!

No worries! It be like that sometimes

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