entrancelogs | (no subject)

Delta was the same way. He found himself drawn to the ocean despite hating it. Maybe he was trying to get over his painful memories. The sea was just the sea, nothing more. The old creature wanted to make himself see the ocean as just a body of water.

He plodded into the beach's area, but stopped suddenly when he spied Jack smoking a cigarette. Maybe it would be best if he left Jack be, but likely he was noticed already.

Delta was hard to miss. A lumbering seven foot tall Alpha always tended to stick out of the scenery.

And Jack was prone to noticing anything unusual in his immediate environment; he turned around as soon as Delta was in earshot, placing his cigarette between his lips for safekeeping, his hand brushing over his wrench.

He didn't draw it, though. He'd seen all of two Alphas during his time at the Mansion, and neither had harmed him. This was likely Johnny, Sinclair's friend. Jack recalled hacking his feed and dropped his eyes guiltily even as he raised his hand in greeting.

Delta lifted his hand in greeting, returning the gesture. He felt distinctly awkward around Jack, and knew that the younger man hacked his feed. Of course he didn't comment on it. The glowing gaze of his faceplate focused on Jack, but soon shifted to look out into the ocean.

It was only a body of water. He told himself that it was, but he knew clearly what dark things the ocean held within it's indigo jaws. He turned away from the surf again and took a few steps towards Jack. Was his presence unwanted? He couldn't tell.

Not unwanted, exactly, but greeted with wariness, and something else, too, a little harder to pin down, that made Jack shift his weight and look away.

"Hi."

It came out almost a mumble, though not a frightened or angry one--Jack was shy of Delta.

The shyness mainly went unnoticed. He couldn't pin it down. Regardless he moved closer and sat down with an audible thud, lowering himself next to the man. Delta felt a sense of comradery with the other, mainly because of his situation back in Rapture.

He took his communicator out from the makeshift holder he fashioned. This painstaking way of speaking was the only one he had, really. Maybe someday he'd get his vocal chords straightened out.

He passed the device to Jack, it read: Hi. How are you?

Small talk? Why not.

Edited 2010-06-23 20:56 (UTC)

Jack took the communicator with trepidation; had Delta noticed him accessing the feed? Was he angry? He smiled with relief upon seeing that the message was friendly.

"I'm fine. How about you?"

Delta wasn't angry that Jack accessed the feed. He figured Jack was simply curious, nothing more. There wasn't a reason for him not to trust Jack.

Quickly he took back the communicator and wrote again. It was strange, he found expressing himself in text comforting. After a few moments he tipped the screen towards the other.

Fine. I'm still..recovering from the last event. This place is both crative and cruel, with its deciding to wed me with Sofia.

He relaxed and stretched his legs out against the sand.

"Yeah, tell me about it. That wasn't even the worst of the events. I sort of...liked having Sinclair for a father. It sounds silly, but..."

He shrugged.

"It was weird having Steinman for a brother, too, after I..."

It was a weird event, wasn't it? He wondered why no one thought something was up. They were all related to another like a bunch of hicks. Everything here was bizarre.

He tilted his head slightly inside his helm, which inadvertently made him tilt a bit to the left. Delta knew next to nothing of Steinman, but naturally was wary of Steinman because he was a doctor in Rapture.

I don't know much about Steinman, but I'm glad Sinclair became your father during that. He's a good man.

"I killed Steinman," Jack said bluntly.

"...Sinclair is a good man. Or he tries to be, which is all any of us can do, right?"

Delta drew back and instantly started typing after Jack's first phrase.

Why?

Jack didn't strike him as the kind of person to kill without reason. Jack was a lot like..himself, from what he'd heard of the younger man.

He leaned forward in a sharp nod after Jack's talk of being a good person. They could only try their best to do what they believed was right.

"Well, he shot at me. He was completely insane. He's so different here, I can't understand it. I had to...I had to get the key from him."

He shrugs tightly.

"I had to kill a lot of people. Some innocent people, too."

The old Daddy isn't sure what to make of this now. Jack had to kill innocent people? Delta turns away slightly, a bit confused by what he's getting at. He wasn't a stranger to murder, and he doesn't doubt he himself has killed innocent men before he was awakened. Delta's had to dispatch so many Splicers under Lamb's influence. The thought of..all that blood..made him fight down horrific memories. The image of his drill disemboweling the crazed addicts will always stay with him.

It made him ancy, but Jack likely wouldn't notice. He struggled not to think of those times, especially of the poor people dancing in that park.

Had to?

"In Fort Frolic, I had to get a key from Cohen. And he told me that I had to kill these other men, and take their pictures before he would let me out, so...I did. I had orders to get that key."

He shrugged again.

"Sinclair says it wasn't my fault."

And it was quite clear that he put a lot of weight on what Sinclair said.

Cohen? The artist made Jack do that? Cohen had a few choice words to say about Delta, but he didn't take them to heart. He started to type again.

I understand. You needed the key.

He shifted his weight as if uncomfortable. Jack's talk of murder only brought him back to a place he'd rather forget. Delta knew he was justified in his actions, they were all in self defense. He did what he had to do.

But..their screams.

"Now Cohen seems to think I'm some kind of apprentice."

He made a small sound of disgust in his throat, and here was something odd: it deepened and echoed a bit, almost like the groan of a Big Daddy.

"...and after all that, the weird thing is that Sinclair said he stopped himself from killing Lamb because of me."

The sound Jack emitted made him snap out of his mental haze. He gazed back down at the communicator's screen as he typed something new, deleting the past letters on the blank entry.

Cohen had some choice words to say about me.

He paused while Jack spoke more, but took up the device yet again after he was finished.

You don't give yourself enough credit, Jack.

By now the very last rays of the sun were stretching out over the horizon. Night would fall soon. Delta felt safe enough to stay out during the darkness. The fading light then made his flashlight click on for better visibility.

"Cohen's insane," Jack agrees, "I shouldn't let it bother me."

He jumped at the light, but bent over to read the hazy, glowing text put out by the communicator without moving away.

"I think maybe it's the rest of you, giving me too much credit. I would have killed Fontaine, you know. Not under orders, and not to get out or survive or protect anyone. I went to kill him because I wanted to."

And then he looked out to sea, because he was afraid to look at the man sitting beside him, even if he couldn't see the expression on his face.

Delta agreed upon Cohen's insanity. Cohen didn't listen to reason when he spoke with him. The sheer amount of people driven insane by Rapture was staggering. He was glad to be out of that place, even if he wasn't exactly content here.

The Alpha listened to the young man talk. He understood Jack's anger over Fontaine. It was perfectly reasonable for him to want to kill Fontaine. Delta didn't agree with Jack's choice of dealing with the situation though. He looked down at his communicator and wrote: What would that have solved, Jack?

He tilted the screen to the man, posture slightly slumping. Murder and hate only bred more murder and hatred. He too was angry at his enemies for what they did but decided to liberate himself using his own brand of ideals. It was much better this way, at least for him.

Jack looked at the message on the communicator for a long, long time, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth, brows drawn inward in a troubled frown.

"It'd make me feel better," he said at last, lamely.

Delta made a sound almost like a sigh. He didn't want to upset Jack, but he had to raise these kinds of questions. Make him feel better? Delta began to type for quite a while, often deleting words before he was done. He really was thinking through his every word.

But what of the people who come after you? You don't want to leave the legacy of someone who killed because he couldn't recover any other way. Even if you killed him, Jack, would the hurt of what he did to you go away? I..really doubt it.

A thin frown was drawn across his scarred face under his helm. Maybe his way was one out of many ways of dealing with things, but it always helped him.

"Does it matter? The legacy I left wasn't even mine, it was what Lamb wanted her people to see of me," Jack said sullenly, almost throwing the device back at Delta.

"Anyway, I didn't kill him. I came close, but...it was the girls."

And he still couldn't quite get a grip on what that meant.

"To protect me...?"

He hadn't meant it to be a question, but that was how it came out.

Delta's expression was still a saddened one. He saw how upset Jack was. The words to say eluded him, as he was lost in thought. How should he respond without upsetting the kid further?

Hesitantly he typed again:

Maybe Lamb corrupted your ideas to the Splicers, but what about the girls? You didn't answer my other question, either. Would the pain of what he did just disappear with his death?

Jack certainly didn't seem to be getting less upset. His hands were curling into fists at his sides, and he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from the sand. His cheeks burn with a combination of shame and confusion.

"I don't know."

And then he shook his head.

"He is dead, and it still..."

Delta was only trying to help, not trying to upset him. It sort of went hand in hand during this situation though, sadly.

I know. Jack, the only way to let yourself go is to try and forgive him. If you don't, the hurt of what he did will just repeat itself. It doesn't matter if he was "worthy" of forgiveness or not. I know this from experience.

He did, didn't he? Delta was no stranger to rage and cruelty. He was accused by Stanley, sold out by Sinclair, stuffed into a suit by Gil, and forced to deal with Sofia to get Eleanor back.

He forgave, not for them, but for himself.

Jack gritted his teeth, unbelieving.

"Forgive him? Forgive Fontaine? No. No."

He shook his head. The thought almost made him sick to his stomach.

"I forgave Tenenbaum. Not Fontaine."

You need to try, or else you'll never get over the pain. It'll haunt you, Jack. It'll be a parasite sucking away your energy. I'll try to help you. It isn't easy to forgive. It wasn't simple for me to forgive the wrongs people held against me. When I managed to forgive them, I no longer felt so bitter in regards to my past. I was set free. It was an uphill battle, but I was set free.

Delta had a strict policy about forgiveness. He firmly believed in forgiveness. He also thought recovery could not fully happen unless one forgave and accepted. Maybe he was too much of a nice guy, too good in his perspective. However, it served him, and it made him happy.

"I appreciate it and all, but I don't think I can..."

And then he thought of his girls at home.

"They watch everything I do, you know, my kids."

A heavy sigh.

"I'll try."

Try. If I can do it, you can do it. If not for you, do it for your kids. It's the only way you can begin healing.

Hesitantly he reached out to pat Jack's shoulder. It was an awkward movement, but he meant well. He felt bad for Jack, even if Jack could take care of himself. Delta simply didn't want Jack to suffer over his horrid past. Dwelling on such things really did suck your energy out, but also sucked one's ability to love.

"I don't know what will happen if he comes here."

Jack flinched at the touch--he flinched at all touch that didn't come from his children, his nerves still more accustomed to being attacked, and Delta's hand was heavier than most--but didn't wrench away. He glanced sidelong at Delta and tried to smile.

If he came here, now that would be a problem, wouldn't it? Fontaine hadn't shown up yet though. Delta knew Jack would try to get revenge against him, at least by the way he was acting now.

Delta returned his hand to his device after sensing the other's discomfort. He wasn't offended by Jack's flinch at all, really. It was a natural response.

Neither of us know if he'll ever show up, but we'll cross that bridge if we come to it. You need to start getting your life back, regardless. You deserve to be happy and not plagued by the things you experienced.

But where to start? Forgiveness was an elusive term, and it's methods were just as difficult to grasp. Delta found himself capable to forgive the unforgivable because of his ideas on being set free. He refused to rot away and live in the past. He never forgot, and he never condoned the actions of his foes.

He simply decided to stop inflicting pain upon himself by wallowing in his old wounds.

"I didn't think about it so much, back home."

This was a bit of a lie. During the day, he was able to focus on learning the ropes of living on the surface, talking and interacting with other people, and raising his children. But Rapture still haunted him at night, and sometimes the rage toward his enemies--Ryan, Fontaine, Cohen, and even Suchong--still boiled up, although there was nothing he could do to assuage it.

"It's just that there's less to do here, even with Cindy and the dogs, and I'm still confused about so much of it."

Talk of Cindy brought a smile to his face, but along with it came memories of that man who was just like him. Meltzer wasn't so lucky. Jack wasn't alone in his nightly problems either. Delta did try to look forward to the future with hope, but Rapture came back in the form of terrors. He dreamt of the carnage often. Sleep too felt like death, which reminded him of the time he spent in the grave.

Yet the metallic giant chugged on.

Delta didn't sense Jack was lying one bit.

Cindy's lucky to have you. I'm glad she's being cared for.

"It's nice having her around. I just wish I could help her, and I can't ."

Jack had gotten over a little of his shyness by now, and was emboldened to look at Delta more steadily, studying the way he held himself, watching his reactions.

"...Do you dream about Rapture?"

Delta tensed slightly at his words and shifted his gaze downwards. His posture change was noticeable, as if Jack had struck a nerve. His nightmares were never pleasant but often frequent. Delta rarely slept, and when he did, he almost never slept well.

Yes, I still

He quickly deleted the "I still" portion of his message. He didn't want to dump things on Jack, nor give Jack information he didn't want or need.

'Yes,' was all it said, but there had been something else there a moment ago, and Jack tilted his head. He thought he understood, though it was hard to be sure without voice or facial expression to judge by.

"You can tell me. I don't mind."

Did he really want to tell Jack? He feared coming across as weak, but maybe that weakness would make him seem more human to the kid. He let out a low sigh, body still tensed, as he typed again:

I still hear them in my dreams. The addicts and their yells. What I did was in self-defense, but the nightmares still come. There was always so much blood.

He showed Jack the device without looking at him, even if his expression was still unreadable under the glowing window of glass.

It was a long time before Jack handed the communicator back to him with a nod.

"Me too," he said simply. "Sometimes when I wake up, I think I can smell it."

Delta wasn't exactly in a good place. The worst was when they got so close to him. He was almost used to the bloodshed, but never entirely got used to the smell of burning bodies and sight of spilling organs.

He glanced at Jack with an understanding expression under the yellow light.

Rapture will never leave us. We can forgive the wrongs, but we won't forget the sights and smells.

He felt distinctly hollow inside, but knew he'd get through it. Delta rarely ever spoke about his dreams.

"...Do you ever feel like they were as wronged as we were? The splicers, I mean."

It was a thought he'd had, but never voiced before. After all, they were insane, could they really be held responsible for their actions? And he'd heard things besides their murderous screams: snatches of song, sobbing, begging.

I saw two of them dancing. When I went into the room, they attacked me. I killed the man, but the woman stopped going after me, leaned down, and cried over the man's corpse. They have feelings. They were wronged.

He choked out that text, squeezing it from his mind with hesitation. Delta always felt miserable just thinking about that. It was so painful just to recall the park.

Jack reached out and touched his arm, though there was no give to the tough material and metal of the suit.

"Can you feel it when I touch you?"

A tactless question, yes, but one asked without malice. And he kept his hand where it was.

Yes, I can.

Delta's suit was basically his skin, but his sense of touch was slightly dulled. The man's nerves were directly grafted into the suit. If the suit was cut, he bled.

Maybe the question was tactless, but he understood Jack's curiosity. He had no qualms giving out information, even if giving some information was uncomfortable. Answering questions made him seem more human to others.

Then he wasn't wasting his time in offering comfort. Jack smiled.

"I'm glad."

Delta nodded in his own fashion by leaning forward. He had difficulty shaking the memory of the couple, but managed. His tilted upwards to look at the dark sky, but returned to the communicator.

Despite that last event, I'm more content here. Life is more comfortable, and I'm not fighting anymore.

It could be worse. He could be back in the city or dead. Maybe the mansion did corrupt memories, but it wasn't all bad.

"Some of the events are even good," Jack noted. "Like the one where we all had wings, and the Mansion turned into a tree. It was beautiful."

Wings? I really don't think I'm really fit for flight.

The wings had to be massive to cart his fat ass around. Nevertheless it might be interesting to fly. Hesitantly Delta shifted his weight.

I should be going, Jack. It was nice talking to you.

Talking? Maybe he really couldn't call it talking, but it was communicating all the same.

Jack nodded, content to return to his cigarette and his thoughts.

"You too, Johnny. And, um...thanks."

He wanted to get back to Eleanor. Delta steadily picked himself off the sandy beach. Sand clung to him, so he dusted himself off the best he could. Jack's expression of thanks wasn't gone unheard, either. A response was given in the form of a raised hand.

Finally he headed back to the hazy mansion in the distance. He hated how the house almost looked like a mirage, even though he knew it wasn't.