Örümcek

Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, How You Can Love...

The shotgun was ready and aimed with a single click. He had learned to be fast.

“I’m jus’ walkin’, lady. What are you doin’?”

Elif perked up a tthe sound of the shotgun, though she made a point to not look too threatened. It was more than likely that she could outrun his shotgun blasts.

"I am hunting."

With that, the woman bared her teeth in a sickening grin-Her mouth seemed to stretch further than it should have, making her look more like a starving wolf than a woman.

#are you okay

“Turkey? Never been, but I’ve been around Europe quite a bit,” he said. Was her born there? He grew up in a theater, that much he remembered, but where exactly he started off was a mystery. Where the theater was in the first place was its own mystery,

“Seamus is my name. Seamus Kelly, like I said.”

She chuckled somewhat, and fidgeted with one of her hooks. "It is not'ing special, but it has its charms."

This was a lie. Elif knew next to nothing about her homeland, aside from a few fleeting flashbacks.

"Seamus Kelly is an interesting name as vell. Irish, yes?"

Giving the hook a shake, careful not to puncture his palm, he grinned. "Yer name's quite interestin'," he said with a strand of thoughtfulness.

She shook her head. "Elif is a common name in Turkey. It is not'ing special. But Atlas, dough it is not your real name, it is an interesting choice, yes? De myt'ical Titan holding de vorld on his shoulders... I suppose it is symbolic."

He nodded, but then grinned. If she was going to be civil, then he could be suave, yes? Approaching, he stuck out a hand. He wasn't going to waver away from an ally or a decent conversationalist if he could help it. "Put 'er there," he said, his hand extended to her in the most gracious way a man could.

Elif eyed his hand, before looking back up at him. Though she admired the man, she knew that he couldn't be trusted-If he tried anything, he would pay for it, no matter who he was.

Nevertheless, she held her hand out. Her hand didn't let go of the hook, however, but he could shake that if he so wished.

paranoidcop

The bible fell to the ground right in front of Ducky’s foot, surprising him. He whirled around, trying to get a grasp of where the book came from. It was dark, easy for some parasite to hide in.

“Huh!? Who’s there?!”

#oh shit elif won't miss next time

Elif cackled like a hyena. It was apparent that she'd missed, but at least she'd gotten his attention.

The woman grabbed another bible and waved it from her perch far above the rest of the world. "Hello! Hold still, vill you? I'm aiming for your head!"

With that, she flung the bible at him.

"Names are creations of the self. I could say my name is Atlas...I could say it's a persona. I could say my name is Seamus Kelly. I've had a lotta names and a lotta personas." He shrugged. "I prefer this one."

"A persona is, how you say, simply a reflection of one part of de self." she mused. "De more personas you have, de more in touch you are... Or de more disillusioned. But it does not matter now."

Standing before her was Atlas, the leader of the rebellion against Andrew Ryan. She'd be a fool to make an enemy of him now-Heaven only knows what he had waiting in the shadows. Elif bowed low, in an attempt to show respect. She was still a bit rusty at that. "It is an honor to meet you, mister Atlas."

“Territory? Rapture’s a piece o’garbage. What’dya want any territory fer, anyways?” he snorted, arms crossed even further. He wasn’t afraid. Fear wasn’t something to experience for a man in his position. He kept his ground. He kept his way, but most of all…he kept looking at that picture.

#ooc #help me out here kids

"Same reason you vant it. A place to sleep, a place to hide, same reason any animal vants territory." she growled. Ever so slowly, Elif rose to stand at her tall height, and glanced over to where he kept looking.

Finally, it dawned on her. "You are Atlas."

#agreed

askswagatlas replied to your post: askswagatlas replied to your post: an irishman and...

…

i can see i've said to much

#askswagatlas #ooc

askswagatlas replied to your post: an irishman and a turk walk into a bar and get...

I make out with the cute Irish girl because that’s my wife

funny that's not what she told the two other people she made out with

granted at the time she was either drunk or couldn't speak english but

#askswagatlas

an irishman and a turk walk into a bar and get into a fight over who gets to make out with the cute irish girl there

wait that's not funny

“…Seamus Kelly.” He glanced over at the poster that bore his symbol, almost giving it away without quite giving it away. “I’m here ‘cause none of yer business.”

#always a good thing to be doing

"It is my business." she growled, dropping down from the ceiling. She stayed in a crouching position, as if debating whether or not to lunge at him. "Dis is my territory. Vhat are you doing here?"

He had a feeling someone was following him—it was always one thing or another in the world of Atlas. Turning towards the way he felt the offender was stationed, he stopped and crossed his arms with a crinkled nose and arched brows. “Yes?”

#not much #rping turkish spider splicers #and oh man #tis both a blessing and a curse

The woman narrowed her eyes at him. "Who are you, and vhat are you doing here?" she asked. It was not in a hostile tone, or even questioning-She simply wanted to get the inevitable out of the way.

Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, How You Can Love...

A man whistling could be heard from the end of the corridor. The squeaking of aging boots gave him away easy as he turned the corner and kept forward. He only toured the area because he never got to come up here. It was always the rich who were allowed access.

But the scuttling was unmistakeable.

“Hello?”

#nah man you're better than me

Damn, he'd heard her. Well, perhaps he couldn't be too much of a threat.

The splicer dropped down from the ceiling, though she did not make her whereabouts know to the stranger. "Who are you, vhat do you vant?"

askswagatlas started following you

Something about this man was strikingly familiar.

He was famous, and Elif knew it-And he was a bad man. Someone she admired greatly. But she could not, for the life of her, recall his name.

The splicer followed him at a distance, clinging to the ceiling as best she could while her focus was elsewhere. Perhaps she would speak to this man, find out who he was and see if he could be made an ally. Or perhaps she would simply slice his throat.

#askswagatlas #heyyyyy man whussup

Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, How You Can Love...

It was 1960, now.

He had counted the years over and over again, making sure he was right. He came here back when Rapture was first built. Not a special man, but a citizen all the same. He wanted to help Ryan’s Great Chain of Industry. He wanted to be a hard worker so idolized by the ideal man. But no.

No, that was an impossible dream. Ryan only made a utopia with no rules and hoped that it could run itself. The workers soon began to smuggle in what the Creator didn’t want. Bible. Alcohol. Atlas rose from the ashes and challenged the Great Man with his own people.

He won.

Now he was just a man with shotgun and a slight drug addiction.

Black boots squeaked against the wood of Olympus Height’s apartments. He was still in the outfit he wore when he started splicing. Pants, suspenders. They were now hanging loose around his waist. The weapon was always ready.

And he was alone.

Easy target.