entrancelogs | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who: Mirror!Jack (

worldentire)...and Subject Delta (

thinkin_man)!
Where: Sinclair's room
When: Not long after Jack's...arrest.
Rating: R+ for animal cruelty/death. You have been warned.
Summary: Sinclair comes home to an unexpected visitor. Delta drops by later.
the Story:

Sinclair's room is not as he left it. It's visible from the outside--the door hangs just slightly ajar, the wood around the lock and one of the hinges splintered.

But before even that becomes apparent, there are the noises. Inside, the dogs are yelping, and it's a different sound from their usual excitement, far more urgent, punctuated by crashing sounds from within the room.

Jack's mirror was annoyed at first when he arrived at the room to find that Sinclair wasn't home, but seeing what was inside has been a steady improvement on his mood.

Except...well, it's taking longer than he thought. You wouldn't think, but puppies can find all sorts of places to hide and dart behind in a room this size.

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When one comes from a city named Rapture, they tend to be very paranoid. Whether or not this is a driving force in their lives is entirely up to them. In the case of Augustus Sinclair, he often isn't plagued by thoughts of watching Irishmen or psychiatrists, nor is he often looking over his shoulder.

However, he can indeed tell when something isn't right.

Before he sees the door he can hear his pups, though, so he's already jogging down the hallway, skidding to a stop at his doorway.

"What in God's name-" he starts, and then he sees Jack.

He's just in time to catch Jack--or Jack's mirror--wringing the neck of something smallish and fluffy, which lets out one final, desperate yelp. The poor thing was already bloody from previous attacks, and Jack leaves a rusty red streak across his forehead as he draws his hand across it, straightening to look at Sinclair.

Judging by the state of the room, this isn't the first pup he's gone after.

And then, in a completely normal tone, he says, "Hi, mister Sinclair."

The remaining pups scramble over to him, yelping and whimpering and looking generally terrified. He steps forward, over what's left of his little pack, glaring up at Jack.

"What the hell d'you think you are doin'?" he hisses, and it's very, very obvious he's pissed.

He picks up his wrench in his right hand, which is missing its bandage, and tosses it lightly up and down, flipping it so that he alternates between catching the handle and the bloodied head. His left snaps restlessly, hardly allowing time for the plasmid to activate before he switches to the next one.

He can't seem to stand still, but he looks Sinclair right in the eye, and his gaze is steady.

"I thought I'd come by. But you weren't home."

"So you come in and start killin' my dogs."

His voice is a deadpan, but he's still glaring viciously. There's a pistol in the holster on his side, but it's slightly obscured by his arm, and his hand twitches ever so slightly towards it. He doesn't ever break the gaze between he and m!Jack, and something dawns on him.

"..You're not Jack."

He laughs, softly and incredulously, just as if he hadn't been killing the dogs, though the evidence is all over him--as if Sinclair is simply being ridiculous.

"What a weird thing to say. Of course I'm Jack. Jack _{Ryan

I'm thinking about changing my name}. By the way, don't pull that gun."

"No. You aren't." His voice is soft, and he raises an eyebrow.

"You've got two choices. You can either slither back t'where-ever you came from, or I can shoot your goddamn knees out."

Jack laughs, the sound coming from way down in his gut, and there's that unhinged grin that Sinclair's counterpart on the other side has learned to dread.

"I can't, mister Sinclair. It's too bad. I really can't. The Queen isn't done yet."

Chuckle.

"So you've got one choice: you can try."

His hand flashes out, aiming a stream of fire at Sinclair.

He just barely avoids it, shifting his weight and letting himself stumble into the hallway. The dogs follow him, and he whistles loudly. They scatter down one end and he jogs down the other, throwing his weight against a door and breaking into a nearby room. The closet relinquishes an untold amount of bullets, spilling out around his ankles, and he growls under his breath and pulls out a legitimate box, and then an old-school grenade launcher.

Three grenades go out into the hallway, aimed carefully at doors, and wood splinters shower the hallway. In the smoke, he shifts to one of the rooms, as quiet as he can, and then there's silence.

Jack darts out into the hallway after him, and hits the floor, covering his head as half the hallway explodes around him. He's on his feet again, coughing and squinting against the smoke.

"Don't run from me! Don't fucking run from me! Where did you go?!"

Sinclair doesn't respond. He knows that voice, but the words coming out are strained and hoarse and terrifying. He's had enough nightmares about it to know exactly what kind of person m!Jack is.

He can see the splicer through his sights, his pistol replaced temporarily with an upgraded machine gun. "No, thank you, Chief," he murmurs under his breath, shooting the second the splicer's head turns away.

Jack's head snaps around the instant before Sinclair pulls the trigger, as if he can smell it coming, and he tries to run just a moment too late, catching most of the spray in his leg.

He makes it out of sight, his breath coming harsh and fast, vision blurring with pain as he drags the injured leg along the floor. He doesn't make it far; twenty or so yards away, he slumps back against the wall, fumbling his shotgun from its place across his back and loading it with trembling fingers. He drops the ammo several times as his vision greys.

And then he opens his mouth and begins...sobbing. He doesn't weep like the real Jack does, with his shoulders hunched and his teeth clenched together; his head is tipped back against the wall and he's wailing, openmouthed like a child.

He rips the emptied clip out of the machine gun and replaces it with a new one, walking down the hallway slowly, gun in front of him and aimed directly at the mirror. As far as he sees it, there's no reason to keep him alive, but he still can't bring himself to pull the trigger. Damn it.

"Now, it seems you've got yourself a bit of a problem here, sport," he hisses, keeping his distance, refusing to lower the gun. "Do yourself a favour and scoot those guns right on over this way."

Interrupted mid-sob, he lets out an almost comical hiccuping sound and squints at Sinclair, unable to bring him into focus. He is dimly aware that he's in pain, but the ringing in his ears and the slow, drifting quality of sounds are much more urgent.

He drops the shotgun on the floor first, then shoves it toward Sinclair, followed by a pistol from his belt.

"...'f you..."

He pauses a moment to gather his wits, squeezing his eyes shut briefly, then opening them again.

"If you kill me, you'll never see him again."

"I'm not plannin' on killin' you. See, that'd be too easy."

He sticks a cigarette into his mouth with one hand, quickly lights it. Never does the gun leave the splicer. "Not t'mention, I have the strangest feelin' you'd get too much enjoyment out've it."

Sinclair moves the cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue, breathing out the smoke through his nose. "Question is, what do we do with you?"

"No. I don't want to die." His voice goes hard and matter-of-fact for a moment. "I'm losing a lot of blood."

He lets his head tilt back again, closing his eyes, already starting to drift in and out. Where is he, again? Back in Rapture...no, the Queen...no...

"_{Gus? It hurts...}" His voice comes out a thready whimper.

Gus? He frowns, slightly annoyed, to himself. With a heavy sigh Sinclair leans over and hefts Jack up, pulling him bodily to his room. He throws the splicer on his bed, keeping the gun pointed at him no matter what. "Listen up, now," he says, glaring. "I'll help you, provided you don't pull any fast business on me. Y'hear?"

"Right. No fast business."

He blinks hard at Sinclair, but he still feels horribly sick and drifty, and nothing makes sense.

"Y'don't sound right, Gus. ...Sound..._{braver. Could I maybe have some bandages?}

Stomping over to the closet, he pulls out a first aid kit and throws it at Jack. From what he can see, the EVE's really working the kid over, and he doesn't worry about being attacked again. Using plasmids would mean draining the body more, and it's obvious the splicer can't take much more of it.

"Stop callin' me that," he snaps, taking a seat across from the bed. "M'name's not Gus."

"Ev'ryone calls you..."

...That's not Gus?

"_Oh. Gus is over there." He points to the mirror and sighs, turning to the painstaking task of bandaging himself up.

"Gus, huh. He lets you call him that?" For as long as he can remember, he's hated that little pet name. Sinclair doesn't stop glaring. "Well, he ain't me, sport. Don't call me that."

"Mmhm. He's my friend." He winces, pulling tight. "So you don't let anyone call you by your first name? Ever? _{I don't get a choice. I've got two first names. The Queen's right, it's a terrible name. Don't want Wynand. Maybe...

Goddammit, Jolene's a first name too.}"

"So why not take Rianofski." He snorts. "That's a nice enough last name. And no, I don't let anyone call me by m'first name. Surname's good enough."

"Rianofski? What is that, Russian? _{Well, maybe. I got some blood on your bed. I hope that's okay.}"

"Yes, it is Russian. But it ain't a first name. I thought that was all you were interested in." He ignores the blood comment, annoyedly lighting another cigarette and shifting the gun from one hand to the other momentarily.

Delta was currently trying to hunt down Jack. He figured he'd check up on Sinclair and see if he had any idea where Jack was. Little did Delta know, things were about to get a lot more confusing for him.

He entered the hall only to see the door open. Hesitantly he peeked inside. Jack seemed..injured? Delta feared for the worst, and he drew his rivet gun at Sinclair. Did Sinclair snap and hurt Jack? He couldn't tell.

It was best to be safe than sorry.

Edited 2010-07-22 03:46 (UTC)

At this point, m!Jack is fairly reassured that Sinclair isn't shoot him. All the fear in his eyes is reserved for Delta, whom he knows from the other side of the mirror as a creature more fearsome than himself. More brutal. More cruel.

He begins to shake.

"_{Sinclair--keep him away!}"

"Put your goddamn gun down, Delta," Sinclair snaps in reply. He's got very little patience after the evening. "This is the mirror version'a Jack. Not the real one. He decided it'd be a good career move t'go after my dogs. You can see what's left've'em." He gestures at the room, still covered in bits of fluff and blood, careful to keep the gun on Jack.

"I'm just waitin' and keepin' him here until the Queen decides t'let Jack go."

He lowered the gun right after Jack looked at him with panic in his eyes. He turned the weapon towards the floor and gave Sinclair the best apologetic look he could muster while being helmeted.

Delta did look around the room. What the hell? Those poor little dogs. Why the hell would any version of Jack simply attack defenseless animals?

Jack, meanwhile, is doing his level best to squish himself into the corner of the bed nearest the wall, using his good leg to push his body further back. His arms curl protectively around himself, one across the stomach and one over the throat.

"_{He'll hurt us. Make him go.}"

Sinclair lets out a long, annoyed sigh.

"You've done more than he'll ever do, sport." Turning to Delta, he raises an eyebrow. "What're you doin' here, anyways?"

Delta tilted his head to the side at Jack's reaction. What had gotten into him? He took a few steps forward and unstrapped his communicator.

I was looking for Jack. What happened to him?

He handed the device over to Sinclair and let him read it. Man, was he concerned about Jack. Maybe Jack was the one who snapped.

"He's on the other side. This-" and he jerks his head towards the mirror on the bed, "is his mirror version. When you go over there your mirror switches with you, see.

The Queen's got him for some stupid goddamn reason."

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m!Jack likes to ramble to himself

he's got no one else who'll listen. XD

and for good reason >.>

true that. <.<

SRY IM LATE TO THE PARTY. :<

To that I can only say: LO. HAM?!

....I'm going to side with her on this one, Lo. Seriously. Ham?

yes, ham. i will soon vape ham.

OH WOW I FORGOT ABOUT THIS TAG, SORRY GUYS

LOL SO DID I MY BAD

LOL I DID FOR A WHILE TOO

OH WELL~