tearmeanewone | SIX + Action / Voice

[VAGUE SPOILERS FOR 'BURIAL AT SEA' BELOW]

Elizabeth Comstock, you have been tried and found guilty of leading this man to his untimely death--

[Booker sits in the gallery, staring coolly back at her, and Elizabeth feels both wet and cold. And bloody--there's blood all down her front. But she doesn't feel shock or even surprise. She knows why it's there, she just can't see the memory. Every time she reaches for it, nothing happens.]

[Words feel unsteady, and she has to chase each one and hold it, own it, before speaking it.]

I was never his! But he… he had to have me! [What choice is she defending herself for making?]

--You have therefore, been sentenced to have your head forcibly torn from your body until you are dead.

[A cord is looped around her neck, Robert and Rosalind almost waltzing around and past her as they do so. Elizabeth scrabbles at the cord as it's pulled taut by one Lutece at each end.]

But he’s right there! He’s right there!! I didn’t kill Booker, he’s right there! He’s been here the whole time! [The cord tightens, Elizabeth’s hands don’t work, her fingers can't get under the cord.] Stop pulling, stop pulling, please! I’LL BE YOUR DAUGHTER!

May God have mercy on your wicked souls, child.

[Action - Locked to Gai and BioShock Infinite Crew]

[Elizabeth writhes in bed, her breathing becoming quicker and shallow as though she were having trouble filling her lungs. And whatever she’s trying to get away from her neck, there isn’t anything there. She’s scratching at nothing.]

[END SPOILER CONTENT]

[Voice – Early, Early Morning of December 1st]

Has anyone here ever had a dream that was prophetic? I know that most dreams are a product of our subconscious thoughts, but… I had a dream and I know I couldn’t possibly have been thinking any of the things that were in it. Not even subconsciously.

I thought that maybe this could be an experiment of some kind. [Read: ‘I’m hoping this was an experiment of some kind.’]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The familiar term gives her pause, and she wonders when Booker had started calling her things like that. But in the next moment, it doesn't matter. If he believed her, if he trusted that she would never do something like what had happened in her dream, that was enough.]

[She keeps crying into Booker's shoulder, vastly calmed by the humming. It sounds familiar, the whole situation feels familiar in some distant and nagging way. But Elizabeth knows she's exhausted, and probably over-emotional as a result.]

I'm sorry Booker, I'm sorry. I'm just so tired, that nightmare had me up all night.

S'alright. I know -- [He stops himself short for a moment, briefly wondering if he should even say it before he finishes, almost reluctantly.]

I know what that's like.

[Nightmares he deserved, but didn't want to face so he drowned them in liquor to let himself sleep. The very few times he tried to stop, out of guilt of what he did to her...they ended with him eagerly returning to the bottom of a glass.]

[Elizabeth's eyes widen as things fall into place. The nightmare had been so terrible, and if it had come back, maybe she would have avoided sleep, or found a way to be dreamless. Like drinking.]

Booker... [She pulls away from him, just enough to look him right in the face.] I know I shouldn't pry, but I just want to help. What happened to you to give you nightmares like mine?

[His face shutters closed and Booker contemplates standing and leaving right then. Aborting the conversation altogether and hopefully never breaching it ever again. He petulantly fantasizes about it, about telling her to drop it and just...leave him be.

But he can't. God help him, he can't just shut her out like he would have when they first met as much as he wants to.

He breaths a few slow times, just trying to figure out how to say it. To say he's never talked about this before is an understatement.]

You know what I did.

[Fires in the grasslands. Blood on his hands, dark hair tangled through his fingers and so many people screaming... Wounded Knee had never left him, despite his having left the field long ago. He'd figured by now that it was the least he could suffer: the reminder of what he had done, what he was. He deserved that much and so much more. But that was what stayed with him, among the rest of the skeletons in his closet and demons under his bed.]

I..Wounded Knee wasn't the only thing I did that I ain't proud of, you know?

[He wanted so desperately to look away. The shame a weight on his neck that tempted his head to drop.]

Nothing happened to me. I did it myself.

[Elizabeth holds her breath as she watches the silent dialogue Booker is having with himself. She can see it, almost, like words written on his face. But she can only read without context--it's obvious he's hurting and keeping something from her all the time. And when they had just met it hadn't been her place to ask. But things had changed. Elizabeth now wanted, desperately, to be his support. She wanted him to confide in her, so he wouldn't be alone in his grief and torment.]

You told me you were there... I let my imagination fill in the rest. [It wasn't hard, given the display they had been in, given what she had seen in Columbia's streets. If it was half as horrific as Finkton, it was reason enough for Booker to disappear into himself.]

[Elizabeth reaches up and rests her hand on Booker's cheek.]

I saw who you saved me from becoming. And I can't... begin to imagine what twisted path I would have had to walk to get there. You should be proud of that. You didn't know me, you could have walked away but you didn't.

[Booker tries not to let something so simple as her hand against his face affect him but he can feel something being chipped away at with the action and decides to let it be instead of recoiling from the affection. It's warmer than he thought it would be, and he shakes his head slowly with a weak, bitter smile spreading as he spoke.]

You did that, you know.

[He knows from the older Elizabeth and the various tears he heard when he was taken into the future that he never made it when he tried rescuing her, really rescuing her, from Comstock. That he had her to thank for that, that Elizabeth was the one to save herself.]

I was just following orders.

No you weren't. [She's not letting him get out of this one. As far as Elizabeth is concerned, they were partners. She relied on his expertise with a gun, and he relied on her tears and supplies.]

A man of character chooses his way, and a mindless slave just obeys the path set for him. I know you covered me when I needed it because, somewhere in there Mr. DeWitt, is a good man. I don't think he's as lost as you think he is.

[His lips thin as she speaks and it's clear he wants to disagree with her but, for some reason, he keeps his mouth shut. Maybe it's out of a desire to just drop the subject or maybe he wants to let her have her say in the matter of whiter or not he's a good person.

Booker sighs as she finishes, his shoulders slumping with the exhale.]

I don't know how you can see that, Elizabeth.

[He felt kind of hopeless, as if he were being presented an impressive math problem and the answer was completely obvious to her where he couldn't even begin to comprehend the basics of it.]

It's easy. [She tilts her head so she can catch his eyes and hold them.]

We're nowhere near Columbia, it's over... and you're still just down the hall if I need you.