[At some point when Elizabeth returns to the house, she might - if she returns to her room - find a box of ribbons in varying colors and textures on her bed. A last minute gift if ever there was one, and a note in Booker's scratchy, unpracticed handwriting of: Happy birthday.
The only reason she even has the note and box is because she's made a post in the journal. Booker has been stewing in his own misery for a few days now, because this day in particular has always been rather awful. Some of it spent mourning her mother and some spent mourning Elizabeth and what he'd done to her. Either way, it was a day that never resulted in good choices. The brand on the back of his hand was proof enough of that.
The present might have been given out of guilt, but Booker would rather be reminded of his mistakes and have her here than anything else.
He'll be at the bar of Good Spirits, soaking in the very same whiskey she's picked out, should Elizabeth want to see him.]
/so late it's not even funny.
The only reason she even has the note and box is because she's made a post in the journal. Booker has been stewing in his own misery for a few days now, because this day in particular has always been rather awful. Some of it spent mourning her mother and some spent mourning Elizabeth and what he'd done to her. Either way, it was a day that never resulted in good choices. The brand on the back of his hand was proof enough of that.
The present might have been given out of guilt, but Booker would rather be reminded of his mistakes and have her here than anything else.
He'll be at the bar of Good Spirits, soaking in the very same whiskey she's picked out, should Elizabeth want to see him.]