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week 7 and on
"I can't believe Rhys is so creepy" and other stories
"I can't believe Rhys is so creepy" and other stories
[ Elizabeth wanted to be alone. Not in the way that Rhys had been. Not with the hopelessness that he felt inside but in hopes of peace. In hopes that she can deal with her feelings - her longing for Jason, her worry for Yuno and Luke - it was silly but he ruins that. He's quick to come to her with hope on his face, of course, it's because of Jack. Something Jack had done. She's not sure she can stomach it but he hurts her when his hand snaps against her wrist. She protests, screaming at him and batting his arm only to find her struggle useless. They're back to in front of the monitors before she can guess and all she sees is Jack in his madness.
He stews, exploding in a fit of frustration and it's bittersweet. Elizabeth's eyes dart from screen to screen - watching the different expressions and angles of his features twisting. She both hates that she made him feel this way and feels uncomfortable by the sudden self-motivation. Hearing him talk so vividly about being a hero - as if she's just some maiden needing to be saved. As if this was some obligation that he needs to do - not because it's right, but because he's the only hero here.
Elizabeth feels so uncomfortable watching the vulgarities and seeing his expression change. Grief, sadness, anger, frustration. ]
No.. that's not -
[ Had her death triggered this? Truly? Elizabeth believes Jack to be of many things, but this - she never has seen this motivation on such a forward, bold level. It makes her breath quicken and her thoughts conflicted. It pains her to know she caused this and she'll glance at Rhys every so often, watching as he just... idolizes him. Elizabeth takes a step back, shaking her head. ]
He's not a hero because he - because he has a personal stake in this now... [ She honestly feels this is a man snapped, who knows his last chance to revive Angel was gone. That's all she can think of. The motive this week - it means nothing because he's not the one who killed her. Angel won't be revived. Elizabeth's eyes shut and a few heavy tears roll down her cheek soon after. ] I don't want to be here. I don't -
He can't erase the things he's done just because he's doing ask I asked for him to - to save them.
[ At this point, she has no clue if he's seen her letters, but Elizabeth turns her back to Rhys, feeling as if she's talking to a brick wall. She feels more alone than ever. ]
...Let him be your hero, but he's not mine.
[ And with that, Elizabeth exits with a soft cry. ]
He stews, exploding in a fit of frustration and it's bittersweet. Elizabeth's eyes dart from screen to screen - watching the different expressions and angles of his features twisting. She both hates that she made him feel this way and feels uncomfortable by the sudden self-motivation. Hearing him talk so vividly about being a hero - as if she's just some maiden needing to be saved. As if this was some obligation that he needs to do - not because it's right, but because he's the only hero here.
Elizabeth feels so uncomfortable watching the vulgarities and seeing his expression change. Grief, sadness, anger, frustration. ]
No.. that's not -
[ Had her death triggered this? Truly? Elizabeth believes Jack to be of many things, but this - she never has seen this motivation on such a forward, bold level. It makes her breath quicken and her thoughts conflicted. It pains her to know she caused this and she'll glance at Rhys every so often, watching as he just... idolizes him. Elizabeth takes a step back, shaking her head. ]
He's not a hero because he - because he has a personal stake in this now... [ She honestly feels this is a man snapped, who knows his last chance to revive Angel was gone. That's all she can think of. The motive this week - it means nothing because he's not the one who killed her. Angel won't be revived. Elizabeth's eyes shut and a few heavy tears roll down her cheek soon after. ] I don't want to be here. I don't -
He can't erase the things he's done just because he's doing ask I asked for him to - to save them.
[ At this point, she has no clue if he's seen her letters, but Elizabeth turns her back to Rhys, feeling as if she's talking to a brick wall. She feels more alone than ever. ]
...Let him be your hero, but he's not mine.
[ And with that, Elizabeth exits with a soft cry. ]
ECHO DIARY ENTRY #9: TWENTY-EIGHT WEEKS AFTER THE FALL OF HELIOS
[ this video is once again set in the atlas office, which looks cleaner than before -- more polished, more put together. rhys, on the other hand, doesn't. he's not covered in blood this time but his hair is in a loose mess, fluffy and layered, and he's in that worn hyperion sweater of his and a pair of boxers. he's sitting in his armchair, legs crossed under him and a tablet in his lap as a cigarette hangs between his lips but unlike the last late night video, he doesn't look like he's on the verge of crying -- just... tired. he's been working really hard.
when he looks at the camera, he reaches a hand up to rub at his forehead and pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, blowing out some smoke. ]
What the hell is the Crimson Lance? I feel like this is a thing I should know but I don't and apparently I, like, own them or whatever?
[ he looks down at the tablet, scrolling across the screen with a brush of his thumb, holding the cigarette between two fingers of the same hand. his other hand, the flesh one, moves up to his mouth so he can bite at his thumb and he looks a little frustrated. ]
They look like a military force? Disbanded, I think, but I have all their records -- what they've done, where they've gone. Missions and crap. This is... nuts? This is fucking nuts. They're probably related to that bandit group now though, the Crimson... something or other. Rovers? Raiders? Something with an R.
[ he drops his hand but the anxiousness seems to move to his foot next, wiggling nervously as he considers his options. ]
I was thinking about -- about going to Sanctuary? Reaching out to those Vault Hunters but I dunno, they scare me. That Siren of theirs, Lilith? She's super terrifying and will probably kill me though buuuut... but they're the Crimson whatevers now, aren't they? Would they -- would they work for me? Nooo. Maybe? I don't know.
[ a tired sigh leaves him and he reaches a hand up to rub his face, groaning. okay, right. what next? ]
Atlas has... a lot. I should have realized that since, well, they were bigger than Hyperion at one point. Weight of the world on their shoulders or however the story goes, that kind of thing. I'm kind of surprised Jack even took them down? It seems less like they were finished and more just sort of... put on pause, honestly. There's just so much here! It's really fucking overwhelming.
[ and then a pause as he sort of considers his options, looking away and focusing on his cigarette as his foot taps again and again and again. ]
... I don't...
[ he falls silent again, continuing to think. ]
Maybe...
[ he doesn't want to say it. ]
I was just thinking...
[ fuck, he's going to say it. he groans, head dropping back against his chair and thumping a few times before he reaches to drop his tablet on the desk. a hand goes back to rubbing his forehead because again, he really doesn't want to say this but -- ]
I think I need Jack? Or... someone, I guess. I don't know if I can do this alone. I've been thinking about how to approach this, about what Hyperion did. Hyperion was so focused on Vaults, right? But who cares about Vaults -- you need product, you need customers. I want to nix out the whole Vault thing and focus on just business. I'll go back to what I know, guns and crap like that but maybe... robots too? Ever since Jack wiped out the Claptraps, there hasn't been a good sort of servant-class AI on the market. I could do it better, I think -- less annoying too. There's probably some old records on Gortys, right? If I can find the notes on her programming, maybe I can recreate --
[ he pauses then, looking kind of surprised at the babble he went on before shaking his head and taking a breath. the cigarette goes back between his teeth and he lifts both hands to scrub at his hair before uncurling from the seat and standing up. his head and shoulders are off the shot now, camera focused on his middle and he reaches over to grab the mouse. ]
I need to take a walk.
[ he ends the video. ]
[ this video is once again set in the atlas office, which looks cleaner than before -- more polished, more put together. rhys, on the other hand, doesn't. he's not covered in blood this time but his hair is in a loose mess, fluffy and layered, and he's in that worn hyperion sweater of his and a pair of boxers. he's sitting in his armchair, legs crossed under him and a tablet in his lap as a cigarette hangs between his lips but unlike the last late night video, he doesn't look like he's on the verge of crying -- just... tired. he's been working really hard.
when he looks at the camera, he reaches a hand up to rub at his forehead and pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, blowing out some smoke. ]
What the hell is the Crimson Lance? I feel like this is a thing I should know but I don't and apparently I, like, own them or whatever?
[ he looks down at the tablet, scrolling across the screen with a brush of his thumb, holding the cigarette between two fingers of the same hand. his other hand, the flesh one, moves up to his mouth so he can bite at his thumb and he looks a little frustrated. ]
They look like a military force? Disbanded, I think, but I have all their records -- what they've done, where they've gone. Missions and crap. This is... nuts? This is fucking nuts. They're probably related to that bandit group now though, the Crimson... something or other. Rovers? Raiders? Something with an R.
[ he drops his hand but the anxiousness seems to move to his foot next, wiggling nervously as he considers his options. ]
I was thinking about -- about going to Sanctuary? Reaching out to those Vault Hunters but I dunno, they scare me. That Siren of theirs, Lilith? She's super terrifying and will probably kill me though buuuut... but they're the Crimson whatevers now, aren't they? Would they -- would they work for me? Nooo. Maybe? I don't know.
[ a tired sigh leaves him and he reaches a hand up to rub his face, groaning. okay, right. what next? ]
Atlas has... a lot. I should have realized that since, well, they were bigger than Hyperion at one point. Weight of the world on their shoulders or however the story goes, that kind of thing. I'm kind of surprised Jack even took them down? It seems less like they were finished and more just sort of... put on pause, honestly. There's just so much here! It's really fucking overwhelming.
[ and then a pause as he sort of considers his options, looking away and focusing on his cigarette as his foot taps again and again and again. ]
... I don't...
[ he falls silent again, continuing to think. ]
Maybe...
[ he doesn't want to say it. ]
I was just thinking...
[ fuck, he's going to say it. he groans, head dropping back against his chair and thumping a few times before he reaches to drop his tablet on the desk. a hand goes back to rubbing his forehead because again, he really doesn't want to say this but -- ]
I think I need Jack? Or... someone, I guess. I don't know if I can do this alone. I've been thinking about how to approach this, about what Hyperion did. Hyperion was so focused on Vaults, right? But who cares about Vaults -- you need product, you need customers. I want to nix out the whole Vault thing and focus on just business. I'll go back to what I know, guns and crap like that but maybe... robots too? Ever since Jack wiped out the Claptraps, there hasn't been a good sort of servant-class AI on the market. I could do it better, I think -- less annoying too. There's probably some old records on Gortys, right? If I can find the notes on her programming, maybe I can recreate --
[ he pauses then, looking kind of surprised at the babble he went on before shaking his head and taking a breath. the cigarette goes back between his teeth and he lifts both hands to scrub at his hair before uncurling from the seat and standing up. his head and shoulders are off the shot now, camera focused on his middle and he reaches over to grab the mouse. ]
I need to take a walk.
[ he ends the video. ]
[ After receiving a series of messages, Jack sits back with a sigh at his desk. He reaches up to massage his brow lightly like he's tired, but he leans forward again to grab his glasses off the desk as he opens the drawer that contains Rhys's hard drive. It's not quite alone anymore, since it's become something of the place where Jack has started storing sentimental things, though that wasn't quite his intent. He hesitates, but only briefly before he grabs the letters that Elizabeth had written for him. He looks between the two, the sighs as he picks up the crumpled one first. ]
So, uh— [ He starts awkwardly, since he's aware now that people could be watching him, which is... An odd realization to have. He looks up to the ceiling, though he doesn't even know where he'd be looking to look at-- Whoever could be watching. Jack shakes his head and looks back at the papers. ]
Look, kind of weird to just... talk. Knowing someone is maybe listening? Watching. Jesus. [ He frowns and shakes his head. ] And Rhys, if you're listening, since, who am I kidding, I know you are, just— Christ.
[ He runs a hand through his hair, then leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh. ]
Okay, look. I just know from- from the friggin' picture that I'm... I'm gonna get upset. So, I dunno. Don't... mention it. I have feelings, you said it's not weird, et cetera, just pointing this out because screw you.
[ he's sensitive, aubrey
Which is to say, Jack is rather defensive at the prospect of showing any kind of emotion he perceives as weakness where people might be watching. He makes a discontent noise, but opens the first, crumpled up letter to read it— ]
So, uh— [ He starts awkwardly, since he's aware now that people could be watching him, which is... An odd realization to have. He looks up to the ceiling, though he doesn't even know where he'd be looking to look at-- Whoever could be watching. Jack shakes his head and looks back at the papers. ]
Look, kind of weird to just... talk. Knowing someone is maybe listening? Watching. Jesus. [ He frowns and shakes his head. ] And Rhys, if you're listening, since, who am I kidding, I know you are, just— Christ.
[ He runs a hand through his hair, then leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh. ]
Okay, look. I just know from- from the friggin' picture that I'm... I'm gonna get upset. So, I dunno. Don't... mention it. I have feelings, you said it's not weird, et cetera, just pointing this out because screw you.
[ he's sensitive, aubrey
Which is to say, Jack is rather defensive at the prospect of showing any kind of emotion he perceives as weakness where people might be watching. He makes a discontent noise, but opens the first, crumpled up letter to read it— ]
...So. Here we go.
[ It almost sounds like he's psyching himself up to read these, because in a way, he absolutely is. In truth, Jack hadn't been sure that he would be able to read them at all, or at least not for quite a while. There was something in the idea of doing so that, to him, felt like it would be accepting Elizabeth's death. It's irrational, and he even knew that, but there was some kind of insane hope there that it could still be fixed, as if there was just a way he could reach out and defy death.
So, when it turned out that was true? It absolutely made these something he could tackle. Not easily, since the pang of dread seeing Elizabeth floating by the viewport was still fresh, as was his madness not long after. For better or for worse, her contacting him had asserted the latter.
He reads the crumpled letter, and it doesn't take him long at all to smile. "You've shown me nothing but kindness," it says, and that smile is tinged with a distant sadness. It's dated, so he knows when this letter was written, but right away, that line really makes the contrast sink in. He knows that without even having to read the other, since it's been clear since Elizabeth learned about Angel that she wouldn't say this to him. Not anymore.
In fact... There's so much here as he reads that he has to wonder if she would say it at all anymore. That innocence and brightness is so clear in these words that it's almost painful, because ever selfish, Jack's thoughts here turn to himself. He'd noticed how she had changed, since it was hard to miss, but now, having this sharp of a contrast in mind, he can't help but wonder— Had that been his fault, in some way? Surely not completely. The alien, killing her friends, maiming them, that was most of it, he was sure. But still, she speaks so warmly of him here that it's impossible for him to dismiss that possibility, even though he'd certainly like to.
When he gets to the point where the picture is pointed out, he looks to it, since unlike the letters, that's been sitting on his desk. If he could, he would absolutely frame it just as he had the real thing, since it was now precious to him twice-over. But in lieu of that, it simply has its own place of neatness among the organized chaos of the rest of Jack's desk. It sits alone without anything around it, a tiny spot like a shrine among all his work and machinations.
By the time he gets to the end, Jack sighs, and the letter is neatly folded up again to be put back in the desk. ]
Guessing- the rest might, uh. Not apply. But, yeah, I like the drawing. Thanks for...
[ Jack pauses, then takes the time to try and smooth the wrinkles out of the paper before it's set back in the desk. ]
Thanks for not getting rid of it.
[ It almost sounds like he's psyching himself up to read these, because in a way, he absolutely is. In truth, Jack hadn't been sure that he would be able to read them at all, or at least not for quite a while. There was something in the idea of doing so that, to him, felt like it would be accepting Elizabeth's death. It's irrational, and he even knew that, but there was some kind of insane hope there that it could still be fixed, as if there was just a way he could reach out and defy death.
So, when it turned out that was true? It absolutely made these something he could tackle. Not easily, since the pang of dread seeing Elizabeth floating by the viewport was still fresh, as was his madness not long after. For better or for worse, her contacting him had asserted the latter.
He reads the crumpled letter, and it doesn't take him long at all to smile. "You've shown me nothing but kindness," it says, and that smile is tinged with a distant sadness. It's dated, so he knows when this letter was written, but right away, that line really makes the contrast sink in. He knows that without even having to read the other, since it's been clear since Elizabeth learned about Angel that she wouldn't say this to him. Not anymore.
In fact... There's so much here as he reads that he has to wonder if she would say it at all anymore. That innocence and brightness is so clear in these words that it's almost painful, because ever selfish, Jack's thoughts here turn to himself. He'd noticed how she had changed, since it was hard to miss, but now, having this sharp of a contrast in mind, he can't help but wonder— Had that been his fault, in some way? Surely not completely. The alien, killing her friends, maiming them, that was most of it, he was sure. But still, she speaks so warmly of him here that it's impossible for him to dismiss that possibility, even though he'd certainly like to.
When he gets to the point where the picture is pointed out, he looks to it, since unlike the letters, that's been sitting on his desk. If he could, he would absolutely frame it just as he had the real thing, since it was now precious to him twice-over. But in lieu of that, it simply has its own place of neatness among the organized chaos of the rest of Jack's desk. It sits alone without anything around it, a tiny spot like a shrine among all his work and machinations.
By the time he gets to the end, Jack sighs, and the letter is neatly folded up again to be put back in the desk. ]
Guessing- the rest might, uh. Not apply. But, yeah, I like the drawing. Thanks for...
[ Jack pauses, then takes the time to try and smooth the wrinkles out of the paper before it's set back in the desk. ]
Thanks for not getting rid of it.
[ The second letter is the one that he knows will be harder. That's pretty obvious just from the length, because he hadn't scanned any of the others for content, but it was easy to tell that this one was the longest. It's not a surprise, not really. He knows that her thoughts about him have to be as complicated his were for her. Though it does dawn on him that there's a difference there. He doesn't think he would have ever put those to paper, or to his datapad, or anywhere at all. But that's a thought he doesn't want to dwell on. At least, not right now.
He reads, and his smile quirks slightly as he sees that very set of thoughts relayed, but it's short-lived. His posture tightens defensively as he reads, because her words aren't new to start, but just as when she had told him as much in person, there's a defense, an excuse waiting. It is for the greater good, he thinks, it is something to take pride in. Just as he's justified to himself a thousand times before, it's just a lack of knowing his vision. But the mention of Rhys brings back the memory of a video and the beginnings of the realization that had come with it.
It gets that tension to abate, physically, but also mentally. Those excuses and defenses are harder to hold up in that knowledge that if not now, then one day, Helios would be no more. That may seem like the wrong thing to focus on, but for Jack, Hyperion was opportunity. It always had been. It's why, in the face of many a board member not so subtly implying that the name was stupid, Jack had insisted on his first step to that idyllic world bearing that name. As soon as he'd realized that he was inside Rhys's head and what he had become, or was, or whatever, then it was obvious. Return to Helios, and there, he'll find his way forward.
So, without his path forward, what did he have left? It wasn't his friends. He'd long since abandoned them or even killed them himself, because they couldn't be trusted. Even a friend was an obstacle if they got in the way of his goals. And, as he continues forward, his expression finally falls. When he reads Angel's name, it's a reminder that it wasn't family either.
He was at the point where all of that was lost to him. He's not sure when that happened, and he doesn't really want to know, either. Maybe it'd been lost for a long time, back when he first realized that he had no option but to keep his daughter away from the world. Maybe it was when the thought had crossed his mind that she could help him, because surely she'd want to do that. Or maybe it was just recently, because was nothing more than a copy of the person who these memories and experiences belonged to. That was hard for him to decide, and much like the when, it's not particularly something he wants to know.
For every day of his life, as she says, he might wonder, if only for a moment. But that moment will always be brief, because it'll always be buried away. Whether it's an excuse, a justification, or a simpler want to not think further on it, it'll never be considered again as much as it is now. Jack can have a realization that strips some of his delusions away so that he has to look at the truth in all of its ugliness, but it'll never stop him from picking up masks to obscure it. Some things can never change.
For now, though, there's not a mask to collect.
It's easy to see how his jaw tenses and his posture stiffens, but it's in a different way from the start. It's subtle, the kind of difference that's hard to put into words, but at the start, it was like Jack had been bursting to try and explain, to let something out, but now, he's keeping something in. "Jack... she was your daughter," and it starts to crack, just a tremble and glassy eyes, but it's as he reads Elizabeth's explanation and experience that it shatters. It's a sharp intake of air, a hoarse, harsh sound, and Jack puts down the letter as he bows his head forward into his hands.
Even with his face obscured, it's easy to see that there's nothing short of anguish on his face, but this isn't the sort of mad, manic energy that he'd shown at Elizabeth's death. It's a true grief, and it's all mixed up so deeply that he couldn't pick it apart even if he had a want to. It's the grief of ambition at the death of his dream, of a hero for moment of doubt where he's truly failed by not making that dream a reality, and most of all, for a father who had lost his only child. The circumstances didn't even matter, because he'd never allowed himself that moment to grieve at all, being promised her life by so many people.
But, he's always selfish.
Because that grief is just as much for the feeling of being alone in this moment and for that realization that all he had was what was here before him.
For once, his pain isn't split by a smile or by a laugh. For a while, and certainly longer than he would personally like, Jack is simply overcome by that anguish of such a great feeling of loss, self-centered as it may silently be. He sobs in a way that's probably uncomfortable to watch, since it's so seemingly strange for a man like Jack, but eventually, he stops. Yet, it's probably no surprise that it seems to exhaust him, because it's only two quickly downed drinks and Jack heads to his bed to essentially pass out. The letter is left laying out, meant to be finished later. ]
He reads, and his smile quirks slightly as he sees that very set of thoughts relayed, but it's short-lived. His posture tightens defensively as he reads, because her words aren't new to start, but just as when she had told him as much in person, there's a defense, an excuse waiting. It is for the greater good, he thinks, it is something to take pride in. Just as he's justified to himself a thousand times before, it's just a lack of knowing his vision. But the mention of Rhys brings back the memory of a video and the beginnings of the realization that had come with it.
It gets that tension to abate, physically, but also mentally. Those excuses and defenses are harder to hold up in that knowledge that if not now, then one day, Helios would be no more. That may seem like the wrong thing to focus on, but for Jack, Hyperion was opportunity. It always had been. It's why, in the face of many a board member not so subtly implying that the name was stupid, Jack had insisted on his first step to that idyllic world bearing that name. As soon as he'd realized that he was inside Rhys's head and what he had become, or was, or whatever, then it was obvious. Return to Helios, and there, he'll find his way forward.
So, without his path forward, what did he have left? It wasn't his friends. He'd long since abandoned them or even killed them himself, because they couldn't be trusted. Even a friend was an obstacle if they got in the way of his goals. And, as he continues forward, his expression finally falls. When he reads Angel's name, it's a reminder that it wasn't family either.
He was at the point where all of that was lost to him. He's not sure when that happened, and he doesn't really want to know, either. Maybe it'd been lost for a long time, back when he first realized that he had no option but to keep his daughter away from the world. Maybe it was when the thought had crossed his mind that she could help him, because surely she'd want to do that. Or maybe it was just recently, because was nothing more than a copy of the person who these memories and experiences belonged to. That was hard for him to decide, and much like the when, it's not particularly something he wants to know.
For every day of his life, as she says, he might wonder, if only for a moment. But that moment will always be brief, because it'll always be buried away. Whether it's an excuse, a justification, or a simpler want to not think further on it, it'll never be considered again as much as it is now. Jack can have a realization that strips some of his delusions away so that he has to look at the truth in all of its ugliness, but it'll never stop him from picking up masks to obscure it. Some things can never change.
For now, though, there's not a mask to collect.
It's easy to see how his jaw tenses and his posture stiffens, but it's in a different way from the start. It's subtle, the kind of difference that's hard to put into words, but at the start, it was like Jack had been bursting to try and explain, to let something out, but now, he's keeping something in. "Jack... she was your daughter," and it starts to crack, just a tremble and glassy eyes, but it's as he reads Elizabeth's explanation and experience that it shatters. It's a sharp intake of air, a hoarse, harsh sound, and Jack puts down the letter as he bows his head forward into his hands.
Even with his face obscured, it's easy to see that there's nothing short of anguish on his face, but this isn't the sort of mad, manic energy that he'd shown at Elizabeth's death. It's a true grief, and it's all mixed up so deeply that he couldn't pick it apart even if he had a want to. It's the grief of ambition at the death of his dream, of a hero for moment of doubt where he's truly failed by not making that dream a reality, and most of all, for a father who had lost his only child. The circumstances didn't even matter, because he'd never allowed himself that moment to grieve at all, being promised her life by so many people.
But, he's always selfish.
Because that grief is just as much for the feeling of being alone in this moment and for that realization that all he had was what was here before him.
For once, his pain isn't split by a smile or by a laugh. For a while, and certainly longer than he would personally like, Jack is simply overcome by that anguish of such a great feeling of loss, self-centered as it may silently be. He sobs in a way that's probably uncomfortable to watch, since it's so seemingly strange for a man like Jack, but eventually, he stops. Yet, it's probably no surprise that it seems to exhaust him, because it's only two quickly downed drinks and Jack heads to his bed to essentially pass out. The letter is left laying out, meant to be finished later. ]
Ahhhhhhh fuck...
[ Jack wakes with a groan the next morning, immediately reaching up to rub at his face tiredly. It's not the alcohol (he's not that much of a lightweight), but simply a heavier weight that has him waking up feeling like shit.
When was the last time he was even that upset? He thinks-- Probably when Angel actually died, but he doesn't remember that. It just seems to make sense. But before that... Jack sighs and pulls at his face as he thinks about it. He can remember being that upset when Moxxi, Roland, and Lilith had betrayed him, but he hadn't had time to express it, really. So before that... God. It had to have been his wife, but that's an intensely unpleasant thought. Luckily, that memory is far too vague for this Jack to even latch onto.
He sits up and runs a hand through his hair, making his bedhead all the worse, but looks over to his desk tiredly. He remembers that he hadn't finished the letter, but goddamn. He's not even sure if he wants to, all things considered. Jack shifts and gets up and instead rubs at his neck, and he mumbles seemingly to himself, but it's clear that's not who he's speaking to. ]
Jesus, kiddo... Didn't pull a goddamn punch, did you? Guess I deserved that, but... Cripes.
[ He groans again, but after a moment's consideration, he goes and takes a seat at the desk again. The way he flops into the chair is tired and heavy, but he picks the letter up again. He flips the letter in his hand, and it's clear that he's really putting off finishing it, but eventually, after a lot of consideration, he just goes back to finish it. There's a twist in his expression as he skims over it again to find where he'd left off, but it's clear that he finds his place again when he sighs.
Though at the very least, the rest is... Easier to get through, which he's glad for. Not without any difficulty, because he murmurs to himself: ]
I'm not a liar, Liz. Not about stuff like this.
[ Maybe part of him had entertained thoughts about how he could clip her wings too, about what Elizabeth could do for him more than who she was, but he hadn't been able to be that distant with her. He'd almost done so when she spoke to him just after she had been exorcised of the alien within her, but speaking more... He knew he couldn't do that. His care is twisted, and it can be too intense for someone else to bear, but it was the sort of care that was surprisingly steadfast all the same. So there's a sting when she questions that, even calls herself a fool for allowing it, because she's right. He doesn't get it, and he never will. Because in Jack's mind, it's not power he's necessarily pursuing. The power was just a piece of a greater puzzle.
And so, the rest of her points, as they had before, fall on deaf ears. Because no matter what, those masks he takes on are an inexorable part of him now. Whatever man Jack might have been where these words could have reached him and made him realize he was wrong-- That man is long since gone. So reading the rest is something bittersweet to him. He knows they'll never come to understand each other, not on this. But he thinks it's because of her, not him.
Though the advice is at least something he can read with a softer expression that looks almost regretful. It's not what he's feeling, not really, but it's what it looks like. In truth, that, along with Elizabeth's faith, just pulls out that part of Jack that's so "heroic," though tired. Jack's drive and ambition are both qualities that people tend to notice about him quickly, and it leads to the very conflicts that Elizabeth has been struggling with. If there's a possibility for something Jack wants, he'll be the one to find it and take it. That's the sort of person he is. But he's also the sort of person to step on the throats of anyone that might be in the way of that goal. So, putting your faith in Handsome Jack... It's a dangerous thing.
After all, he takes it completely seriously.
The letter is folded up, and Jack sits back with a heavy sigh. His arm is brought up to cover his eyes, but not for something painful this time so much as tired. He may portray one thing around others, but of course, privately, he's not untouchable or infallible. Jack laughs, but it's soft rather than something manic or uncomfortable. ]
Saving 'em... Kinda easier said than done.
[ That's breathed out with his laugh, but Jack shifts to stretch before the letter is put back in its drawer and closed. Jack stands and runs a hand through his hair again, but he's smiling thoughtfully now. He seems tired, but certainly not discouraged, which fits with that unreal sort of self-confidence he is. ]
But, hey. If it can be done? I'll do it. So— Just hang tight. We'll figure this out. Promise.
[ Jack wakes with a groan the next morning, immediately reaching up to rub at his face tiredly. It's not the alcohol (he's not that much of a lightweight), but simply a heavier weight that has him waking up feeling like shit.
When was the last time he was even that upset? He thinks-- Probably when Angel actually died, but he doesn't remember that. It just seems to make sense. But before that... Jack sighs and pulls at his face as he thinks about it. He can remember being that upset when Moxxi, Roland, and Lilith had betrayed him, but he hadn't had time to express it, really. So before that... God. It had to have been his wife, but that's an intensely unpleasant thought. Luckily, that memory is far too vague for this Jack to even latch onto.
He sits up and runs a hand through his hair, making his bedhead all the worse, but looks over to his desk tiredly. He remembers that he hadn't finished the letter, but goddamn. He's not even sure if he wants to, all things considered. Jack shifts and gets up and instead rubs at his neck, and he mumbles seemingly to himself, but it's clear that's not who he's speaking to. ]
Jesus, kiddo... Didn't pull a goddamn punch, did you? Guess I deserved that, but... Cripes.
[ He groans again, but after a moment's consideration, he goes and takes a seat at the desk again. The way he flops into the chair is tired and heavy, but he picks the letter up again. He flips the letter in his hand, and it's clear that he's really putting off finishing it, but eventually, after a lot of consideration, he just goes back to finish it. There's a twist in his expression as he skims over it again to find where he'd left off, but it's clear that he finds his place again when he sighs.
Though at the very least, the rest is... Easier to get through, which he's glad for. Not without any difficulty, because he murmurs to himself: ]
I'm not a liar, Liz. Not about stuff like this.
[ Maybe part of him had entertained thoughts about how he could clip her wings too, about what Elizabeth could do for him more than who she was, but he hadn't been able to be that distant with her. He'd almost done so when she spoke to him just after she had been exorcised of the alien within her, but speaking more... He knew he couldn't do that. His care is twisted, and it can be too intense for someone else to bear, but it was the sort of care that was surprisingly steadfast all the same. So there's a sting when she questions that, even calls herself a fool for allowing it, because she's right. He doesn't get it, and he never will. Because in Jack's mind, it's not power he's necessarily pursuing. The power was just a piece of a greater puzzle.
And so, the rest of her points, as they had before, fall on deaf ears. Because no matter what, those masks he takes on are an inexorable part of him now. Whatever man Jack might have been where these words could have reached him and made him realize he was wrong-- That man is long since gone. So reading the rest is something bittersweet to him. He knows they'll never come to understand each other, not on this. But he thinks it's because of her, not him.
Though the advice is at least something he can read with a softer expression that looks almost regretful. It's not what he's feeling, not really, but it's what it looks like. In truth, that, along with Elizabeth's faith, just pulls out that part of Jack that's so "heroic," though tired. Jack's drive and ambition are both qualities that people tend to notice about him quickly, and it leads to the very conflicts that Elizabeth has been struggling with. If there's a possibility for something Jack wants, he'll be the one to find it and take it. That's the sort of person he is. But he's also the sort of person to step on the throats of anyone that might be in the way of that goal. So, putting your faith in Handsome Jack... It's a dangerous thing.
After all, he takes it completely seriously.
The letter is folded up, and Jack sits back with a heavy sigh. His arm is brought up to cover his eyes, but not for something painful this time so much as tired. He may portray one thing around others, but of course, privately, he's not untouchable or infallible. Jack laughs, but it's soft rather than something manic or uncomfortable. ]
Saving 'em... Kinda easier said than done.
[ That's breathed out with his laugh, but Jack shifts to stretch before the letter is put back in its drawer and closed. Jack stands and runs a hand through his hair again, but he's smiling thoughtfully now. He seems tired, but certainly not discouraged, which fits with that unreal sort of self-confidence he is. ]
But, hey. If it can be done? I'll do it. So— Just hang tight. We'll figure this out. Promise.
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