#elizabeth threads.

[gravesung]

@crywhale // cont.

❝ you sure like telling me what to do, huh? whatever. ❞

he stares hard at her, her cerulean blue sight meeting his harsh green. a lot of people think i have blue eyes. they're wrong.

❝ and what do i get out of this? taking you with me? — like, sure ... you're pretty hot, but what does that do for me? as far as i can see, though, you're in a pretty fucked up position. that lighthouse isn't gonna save you, you know? i can't promise i can, either, but i'm probably a better bet, huh? n'prolly the best you got right about now. ❞

DESPITE THE FEAR COURSING through her bloodstream, elizabeth's gaze does not leave his. stubborn eyes. his are green, something in the back of her mind notes, though she does not know why that caught its attention so.

what does he get out of this? of course. want to make it in the world outside the tower? lesson one: nothing is free. if she can't get him to agree, she will be stranded here, alone, in an unfamiliar world. i think you know me, she doesn't say, i think you've seen me just as i've seen you. his type won't respond well to that.

instead: ❝ i-i don't know. what do you want? i can pick locks and break codes. i'm fluent in french. i can make useful things appear right when you need them. does any of that strike your fancy? ❞

[gravesung]

@crywhale // cont.

❝ yeah? pretty common. just a 9mm. ❞ nathan is shrugging her off. what, does she want a closer look? he snorts. ❝ i got it to protect myself. ❞

because he's feeling cornered. everyone sees him; everyone is watching him. ALL EYES ON NATHAN PRESCOTT. he recoils, putting the gun away in his waistband. the safety is luckily on.

❝ you ever seen a gun before ... like, at all? ever? you don't look like the type. ❞

❝ 9MM? ❞ SHE ECHOES. CURIOUS tilt of the head, birdlike — normally, if someone soured on a subject so quickly, elizabeth would move on so as not to upset them. but every topic seems to sour nathan, so she's come to believe he's just a bit of a puckered individual.

which means: no holds barred on questions. until one of them gets her hurt, at least. at his question, elizabeth crosses her arms and blows a piece of dark hair from her face with an indignant little huff. ❝ i've seen plenty. hand cannons, machine guns, shotguns... my companion used to cycle through them mercilessly. but pistols in my world don't look like yours. who do you need to protect yourself from? is someone after you? ❞

[gravesung]

He glances at her — THE LAMB; THE GIRL IN THE TOWER — but she is not in her tower. She is with him. He has a gun, sure, and a few Vigors to show off, but he’s no DeWitt.

Still, he stays by her side — Prescott watching Comstock’s Child — LION with LAMB. Because lions walk with lions, Nathan.

For now? He treads with this lamb.

“Where are you trying to go?” he finally asks. “Where is there a place for you in the world but here?”

HE'S NO DEWITT, THAT MUCH IS TRUE, but nathan prescott is a lion in his own right. he's honest, for one. upfront about who and what he is. who and what he isn't. something elizabeth has come to learn about this world: nothing is free. not truly. someone is always profiting from the offer they make to you, no matter how beautifully it's packaged. at least nathan doesn't pretend otherwise.

the fact is, he and elizabeth can help each other survive. no more, no less. he has no interest in turning her in to comstock, nor she to his father; he's well-enough equipped to battle, and she has something of a knack for tending to wounds.

besides, its... nice to be able to talk with someone her age for once.

❝ in the tower, there wasn't much in the way of information about the rest of the world, other than paris. it's always been my dream to escape from columbia and go there. now... i'm not so sure. everything's gone to pieces. ❞ she lifts her hands together, fidgets with the thimble covering her missing pinky. ❝ what about you? were you to escape this place, where would you go? ❞

unprompted // @crywhale

[gravesung]

@crywhale // cont.

A FLINCH FOLLOWS THE crack of the gun and the subsequent thump of the crow's body upon the earth. when elizabeth was first freed, such a sight may have been more shocking. but with lady comstock's bird-men around, the loss of a crow is more of a welcome sight than she'd ever have anticipated.

the young man before her — prescott — seems a bitter soul. something about his words sets her the wrong way, has her face twisting up indignantly, but she lets him finish speaking and mulls over his words before chancing a response. it's the polite thing to do, after all. though he seems not to have heard of the concept.

❝ well — good. ❞ at least he isn't one of comstock's men. elizabeth perches on the nearest park bench and slips off her heeled shoes to rest her feet for a moment. does everyone else feel this way and simply hide it? granted, her shoes are comfortable enough that she can walk around the tower most days, but this—jumping on and off of skylines, running after booker's long gait—was surely not what they were manufactured for.

❝ i wouldn't care for it either, so i'm glad we're of one mind. but let's get something straight, mr. prescott: being shut up in that tower was not my choice. whatever preconceptions you have about me looking down on you, i suggest you re-examine them. ❞ a pause, her prim posture straightening back up. ❝ what are you doing out here, then? surely it's safer inside, what with the soldiers and all. ❞

[gravesung]

@crywhale ( nathan — rapture verse. )

FOR SOMEONE WHO LIVES in the dark, such a bright flash of light may feel like an explosion going off. a tear in the fabric of reality isn't much better, but hey, at least there isn't an enemy coming at you. in nathan's case, there are splicers around that could be considered enemies under a more contentious circumstance; they are all, however, trained on the otherworldly sight before them.

and then, when tear becomes body becomes girl, they rush forth to attack in their mindless frenzy.

she's lucky that frenzy is mindless. in moments like this, when she is overwhelmed out of her mind, elizabeth's powers come to her as easily — and uncontrollably — as a tidal wave. one of the beasts manages to beam her across the face with a metal pipe and she skids backwards with a shriek, flinging her hand out, another impossible light-maw opening below the scurrying group to swallow them into the belly of another world.

when all is said and done, it's quiet but for elizabeth's quick, terrified breaths and the shuffling of another, slower set of footsteps. her eyes find him; she shrinks back, a hand held out in warning. he doesn't look frenzied, but her mind still hasn't caught up to what in the world is happening. is this columbia? where's booker? the air is thick and dark and moldy. ❝ don't — don't come any closer! ❞

[gravesung-moving]

reviewing images of her childhood art: decapitated teddy bears, very disturbing drawings... ❝ huh. was i destined to be a murderer? ❞