ablankpage | Apponitments

[Booker hefts his shoulders up unhelpfully, looking like a schoolboy caught without any paper or books.]

I'm stuck on 'how to say it' and every step thereafter.

So...maybe we could start there?

[It's weird asking for his help. Especially since the last time he asked for any kind of help from Robert Lutece - it was for a debt.]

[They've sat across from one another before.

As much younger men.

Men who were hungry. One who was proud, one who was desperate.

Both of whom had something the other wanted. Both of whom didn't understand the stakes with which they were playing. Both of whom couldn't know how badly the house would beat them.]

Then the question is:

where to start.

[It's a suggestion, not a demand. Not an insult. Just... the place where he sees "the beginning."]

At a baptism in the river?

[At a river. Where two different men walked out. A sinner and a born-again man.

Booker sighs. The weight of different lives - so many different paths - tangible on his shoulders as he looks to the floor for approval.]

As good a place as any, I guess.

[Booker is an obvious bundle of nerves and warring thoughts. It's clear that he didn't come to Robert for actual advice or council. He needed someone to talk to.

Robert's probably the closest thing to a friend he has.]

[A man desperate to forget and a man desperate to thrive.

A man to be preyed upon and a man to do the preying.]

Whiskey?

[He manages to make it a question. Just barely.

Because he's already opening his drawer and pulling out two glasses. Usually reserved for he and Rosalind, but...

He fills them about a third of the way each with the amber liquid from a good bottle of whiskey and puts one in front of Booker, raising his just a bit.]

Yes.

[He answers so quickly it's like he hasn't had a drink in days. But he has. He just feels the urge to have another so much more when he's thinking about these things.

Booker happily takes the glass and rolls it around his palm, looking at it as if he can glean some kind of answer from it too.

He soon gives up and pours it down his throat, savoring the burn and the distraction it provides.]

I keep thinking she's too young for this.

And when would she be old enough?

[Robert, for his part, just takes a sip of his whiskey, savouring it a moment before swallowing.]

I don't know. I haven't exactly been doing this 'parent thing' a long time.

[He wants to say when he's dead and in the ground but that's already a thing that's happened. More or less.

Booker holds out his glass for another pour of whiskey.]

[Robert pointedly ignores the extended glass.]

She's a smart girl. She's... old enough.

[As much as he doesn't like saying it, he knows it's true.]

We just... have to let her go.

[That was hard to say. He has to pause after the words and bow his head briefly, pulling together all the thoughts threatening to go in every direction.]

But I just got her back...

[He means only to think it. It comes out so broken and sullen its obvious his filter has disappeared with his sudden grief at the idea of just...giving her up.

At least he's ignoring his empty glass now. All he can see right now is the baby he didn't get to see grow up and suddenly Booker isn't sure if he's breathing right because he missed everything. Even Comstock missed everything and somehow that hurts worse too - that the bastard had her and wasn't there for her, with her, loving her. Doing things a father should do.

He puts the glass down because his hands are shaking.]

Edited 2014-08-04 04:48 (UTC)

[Robert takes a deep breath, folding his hands together for a moment. Because it's strange for him, too. He'd watched the girl grow up, but, now, he's powerless.]

We...

You have to let her decide. How far to wander.

[He smiles. A strange, uneasy smile.]

We can't keep her caged.

[Like hell we can't. Some dark part of his mind shouts out and Booker has a hard time keeping his stomach from rebelling when he hears it in his head. It's wrong, it's so wrong and he can't help but wonder exactly how far off he is from Comstock. Maybe not as far as he thought.]

You're right.

[He bites it out. Forces the words to come as if saying them will negate his thoughts.]

She's not something to be kept.

[His chest aches as he says it.]

[Robert smiles a little. Because he knows that dark thought. Because it creeps around his. She is something he wants to keep and protect and shut away from the world. Not for the reasons Comstock did, but that doesn't make them better.]

Besides, she cares about you, Booker.

You aren't losing her. Just giving her a little room.

[He doesn't voice the paranoid idea that Elizabeth will stop caring, that she is just going to run off with Gai and he'll never see her again.

A bit like someone else he knew ...

And that thought doesn't help either.]

She needs it.

[He says what he wishes he meant. He wants her to be happy, that's honest enough. But he can't get rid of this fear that he is, in fact, losing her.]

["The bird or the cage?"

And Booker always suggested the bird. The coin was always heads, and he always encouraged her to choose the bird.

He knew. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew.

The girl needed to be free. She needed to spread her wings, fly far from Columbia. Where she could be safe. Where she could be free.]

She does.

Apponitments - [ IC ]

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