"It wasn't that kind of apology," she says quietly, refocusing on the table. She locks her fingers together, rubbing a thumb anxiously over her knuckles. "I wouldn't wish this place on anyone, least of all..." She gives up that train of thought with a fatigued sigh and slumps forward to rest her head on her arms.
"1958, alternate history from both of ours, I'm assuming, and from the Rift's too. Andrew Ryan is a rich self-serving lunatic who commissioned a fuckin' city on the bottom of the Atlantic. We're near Iceland right now. He called it Rapture, as I'm sure you've picked up. Gross." She gives a dry, slightly hysterical chuckle, muffled into her sleeve. "There's no way out. Of course. At least not until we make one."
Hey, there's a thought. She's not alone anymore. It's not just her serving that piece of shit Fontaine and hating herself. She has her partner in science and violent uprising back. They can do anything. Right?
She peeks up at him, curiously awaiting his response.
no subject
"1958, alternate history from both of ours, I'm assuming, and from the Rift's too. Andrew Ryan is a rich self-serving lunatic who commissioned a fuckin' city on the bottom of the Atlantic. We're near Iceland right now. He called it Rapture, as I'm sure you've picked up. Gross." She gives a dry, slightly hysterical chuckle, muffled into her sleeve. "There's no way out. Of course. At least not until we make one."
Hey, there's a thought. She's not alone anymore. It's not just her serving that piece of shit Fontaine and hating herself. She has her partner in science and violent uprising back. They can do anything. Right?
She peeks up at him, curiously awaiting his response.