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Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who: Jack Ryan (

kindly_done) and Subject Delta/Johnny (

thinkin_man)
Where: The beach
When: Anytime, really.
Rating: PG. This is Jack and Delta we're talking about.
Summary: A CONVERSATION. Can you imagine?!
the Story:

Jack hates the beach. It bears repeating, because he seems to spend an awful lot of time there for a place he hates. It's like a scab--he picks at it.

So here he is, on the beach at sundown, staring out across the water and squinting into the blazing orange half-circle drifting slowly down into the ocean. Naturally, he has a cigarette in hand. He isn't doing much, just teasing himself by making himself look at the sea without shuddering.

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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.

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