#v;bioshock

[bi0w0lf]

   @rapturerecordssilas continued from x

     Turning around, Thomas glances over Silas, giving a lingering look at his face halved by smoke. He’d forgotten he had been talking to his project, both cursing it and apologizing for being so rude.       “Naw, sugar. Meant this damn thing.” Tom pats the partially assembled record player. “I don’t got my glasses.” 

[bi0w0lf]

–– @lamabilite​ continued from x

        There was only a sliver of light in the dark, eerie glow in a haze of green that ebbed and changed as it fell over Jack’s face. Thomas watched him through the veil of smoke, burning tobacco clinging to the air, thick in his nostrils. It was a comfort, something familiar in a world gone awry. 

      You see them too, don’t you?

Thomas angled his gaze, letting it fall to the weathered floorboard beneath their feet. Debris crunched beneath his boots, bits of glass kicked away lazily with his toe. Of course he saw them too, whispering and rushing through the arches abandoned by most of the worthy living. Howling to him in the night. 

     Without looking up, Tom took the offered cigarette, bringing it to his lips with fingers that just barely shook. The glow of the tip burned bright, casting the scarred side of his face in a momentary snatch of light. “Yeah, sug’.” He answered finally in a rush of smoke, trading the cigarette back, teeth worrying his lower lip. 

      “They ain’t never hush. They scream all night.” The words tumbled from him in a worried murmur, hand lifted and his thumb ran across his brow. “It was a nightmare before; ain’t nothin’ changed. Just a whole lot more bleedin’.” 

[bi0w0lf]

"You know, Tom," he said, leaning behind the smaller male who was stationed at the bar counter. "You need to be a lot more drunk if you want to forget about your worries and troubles."

a siren song ;

        The glass in his hand was near spent, lingering traces of whiskey rolled around the sides of the tumbler. Thomas watched it with a listless look, mismatched eyes glazed and absent. He didn’t notice, nor hear the approach of Atticus, and so when the familiar voice hummed in his ear, he froze.          “Atticus.” Thomas murmured softly, tipping his head just enough to peer at the man, gaze narrowed. He looked aggravated, but there was the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. There were no words he could offer immediately, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth, teeth clamped as he let his sight wander, flickering from the half of Atticus’ face and down the line he could see of the man’s figure. And then, softly, 

         “I’m workin’ on it, sugar. You gon’ help?” 

[bi0w0lf]

Bioshock Verse

     This is loosely written, and still massively in progress! Will be updated as I progress further with the plotting. 

      Arrival

       1949, aged twenty Thomas arrives with his mother Alexius L. a geneticist and his brother. Adriano L, surgeon. Specializing in robotics and mechanical engineering, Thomas was slated to work closely and learn from Gilbert Alexander. He was put to the task in helping maintain and improve security bots, working throughout to maintain them and basic security systems.           Despite Thomas’ interest in this vocation, he finds himself restless, anxious in being trapped in Rapture. He seeks other solace, often able to be found hiding in the gardens, at a favorite location - Rapture Records, or any bar that will have him and his money. 

         Unable to stand the ‘stale air’ and number of individuals, he turns more inward. Thomas slowly loses himself in his drink and music, spending more and more time either alone with his records and guitar, or singing to those willing to listen in the rising tensions before the civil war.               Post-Fall       to be continued~