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rebelliontales

               ‘ shitty tavern. ‘ 

HE WOULD KNOW, having frequented just about every tavern under the sun. While this Inquisition might be helping people --- ( he came because of the rumors & the amount of money some nobles are willing to pay for confirmation ) they aren't doing very well with their alcohol. Not nearly strong enough for what these poor bastards have to do everyday. 

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vivyre 

               ‘ it’s just a bug, kill it. ‘ 

THERE’S A SORT of exasperation in his voice that comes from a man who has been a soldier his entire life & had a knife buried in the center of his hand not even two hours ago. He’s looting a dead soldier for ammo, though, so he’s more concerned with that than Elizabeth’s bug problems. 

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oh shit hey like this for a starter maybe

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               ‘ i’d be dead if there wasn’t, wouldn’t i? ‘ 

THE CRACKS ARE canyons on his skin now, hidden only by sheer will of casting shadows over them until they’re sufficiently hidden. The cracks within his skin are even worse. The cracks on his mind have grown so deep he’s almost a pile of shattered glass.

Not for one single moment did she believe him, though she didn’t exactly have a reason not to. But she’d come to see the man as unreliable either way; just that sort of person who wouldn’t want you to see between the cracks.

     “Seems like something’s on your mind.”

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HE HAS LONG since forsaken emotions, so the default mask of emptiness doesn’t shift. 

               ‘ i was making sure elizabeth didn’t find you. ‘

                        “ stop being V A G U E.                         I deserve to know what kept you away so long, Booker. “

               now she’s getting even angrier—it’s obvious in how her eyes change.

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“One thing I’ve learned: if you don’t draw first, you don’t get to draw at all,”

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Booker: making my way downtown

Booker: walking fast

Beach Guy: you look like you're no stranger to physical activity, i'd love to swap stories

Booker: walking faster

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"We called him the White Injun of Wounded Knee, for all the grisly trophies he claimed."

(young?) Booker Dewitt from Bioshock Infinite. I tried painting his army uniform, I TRIIIIED 

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«The Ace. I don’t know what to do, Booker. I— Booker? Booker! No, please! Please, just don’t leave me here…  B o o k e r !»

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Booker DeWitt frightens a young woman

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Favourite Burial at sea moments (1/?) 

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                                DELIVER THE GIRL, DEWITT. 

                                                     written by sleepy mango.

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               ‘ something like that. ‘ 

HE’S NOT PURPOSEFULLY being vague, rather leaning upon second nature to not give specifics to anyone when he’s not paying full attention to the conversation. He can sense the curiosity, though, which is likely what triggers that impulsive response. 

       ❝ which is… being a pinkerton?    or a        soldier? ❞ the words are disguised as idle  smalltalk,  but there’s a curiosity lying just under the surface. everything she’s heard of him  is almost contradictory; he’s bringing her to paris for some reason, and yet he’s some kind   of  soldier  strike-breaker  from  the sodom below? it’s just… odd.

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lutecist

               ‘ lost your reflection? ‘ 

THE WORDS ARE said with a level of apathy that comes only from not giving a damn about anything for years. Elizabeth’s off in a shop getting food for herself that’s not been left sitting around, having used their large amount of coin to actually feed herself. Booker, being who he is, wandered into a bar, only to be faced with a lone Lutece. 

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" Booker, catch ! "

THE HEAT OF fire arching over his head makes Booker duck without thought, wrapped hand pushing Elizabeth down behind a cover before running to slam the butt of his gun against a soldier’s neck, effectively making him pass out nearly instantly. Shotgun rounds are unloaded, guns discarded when the ammo runs out. Elizabeth’s voice reaches him from a balcony, a tommy gun in her hand. The gun’s thrown, & the hand not wrapped in bloodied cloth reaches up to catch it before going back to work, a shouted ‘ much obliged! ‘ tossed over his shoulder. 

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"The debt’s paid. Mr. Comstock washes you of all your sins."