#ryanindustrxs

[f0ntaine]

it's hard to tell where ADAM stops && he begins. from his mouth it drips: having pooled beneath him, soaking into the fabric of his shirt && staining his flesh a deep, red color. his eyes are open, but they see very little, fontaine only vaguely aware that he's laying on his back. something is digging into his chest― uncomfortable, but not quite painful. like when the position you're sitting in causes your keys to dig into your thigh. so a hand lifts to feel blindly for it's source, feeling cool metal at his fingertips. ah, it's one of those brats' needles.

grasping at the offending object, frank pulls it from his flesh with a pained whine. more red begins to stream from the hole, fontaine realizes now that it's been his own blood this whole time.

there's a horrible, gurgling sound as he takes in a sudden breath, coughing the fluid that had begun to pool in his lungs out. the residual adam in his system moves swiftly to repair damage, determined to keep it's doped-up host alive. ❛ ... alright, ❜ he manages to rasp out, looking blearily up at @ryanindustrxs ❛ alright ... you win. ❜

[sugarsouth]

@ryanindustrxs liked this post 💕 for a bioshock starter - ft. subject delta / johnny topside !!

NEPTUNE'S BOUNTY ALWAYS seems to stink to high heaven of salt, stale air and rotten fish guts. It’s that pungent kind of odour that lingers into your clothes, sinks down into your pores, so that even miles away in the comfort of a cushioned bathysphere, the smell is still stuck to your coat. Least, that’s what Adele thinks, and avoids coming down here for as long as utterly possible. During her years as a child, she utterly despised sea-food, which was unfortunate considering that being so far down in the ocean, it was, and remains to be, the city’s main resource regarding food. Though time has passed, and her tastes changed somewhat, there is still certain fish she can’t help but loathe, be it taste or texture, she isn’t sure. If she’s being brutally honest, Adele hates it down here. It’s cold, fishy, and she remembers as a child traversing this far on little feet, having to find entertainment while her father chatted boring old man rabble with the likes of Peach and Bill, yapping while their fishes for that week’s supper sat wrapped up in fresh pages of the Tribune, tied up with string. She is unaware that this is the capital of the city’s smuggling ring, and as she approaches Fontaine’s Fisheries, she speaks with one of its most proficient members. 

“Afternoon, Adelias. Your pa too busy t’come get his fish, nowadays?” She knows Peach means well, but Mogul can’t help but wrinkle her nose as she’s assaulted with a fresh wave of fish, the man’s orange rubber gloves stained with blood. 

“Oh, y’know he’d come if he could, but he’s busy, Mister Wilkins. Important Security stuff, y’know.” It’s said a little nonchalantly, small hands lifting to smooth out her curls, and the fur of her coat. 

“Busy keepin’ this fishbowl protected… I know. What’ll it be, then?”

“Y' got some sea bass or crab? Crab’s his favourite.” And pricey – but with her tips from dancing, she wants to reward her father for all his hard work, give him a good meal and something to look forward to, since his limp got bad again.  

“Not a problem, I’ll be with y’ as soon as I’m done with Mister Topside, here.”

Topside? The name strikes sudden familiarity, like a bolt of lightning – she whips ‘round, a sudden flurry of blonde curls and rose perfume, blue eyes darting about to get a glimpse of the man in the flesh. The Johnny Topside, here, in Neptune’s Bounty? So far from the hustle and bustle of the main city? She can scarcely believe her ears, or eyes. He’d done the impossible, or what some thought was impossible. Not on purpose, of course, but to find what was supposed to be a concealed secret gem at the bottom of the ocean, to be hailed a celebrity for an accidental discovery, well, he was the first of his kind. An actual rarity. Her vision rests on him, scanning up and down, as if trying to commit every detail of his face to memory. It's not every day you brush shoulders with a celebrity, of course, especially around here.

“You’s Mister Topside?” It’s blurted out before she can stop herself, words curled with curiosity. “I mean — that ain’t your real name, of course, sorry, that was rude. I’m Adele,” She offers one perfectly manicured hand to shake, going a little pink in the cheeks. “My pa’s part 'uv Ryan Security. What’s y'real name, unless y'don’t mind folk callin’ you Mister Topside, course? This is all probably still real strange f'you, I'll bet. Bein' underwater an' all.” She hasn't seen the sun properly since she was ten years old, and can't help but wonder what the world up top is like.