Booker DeWitt isn't father of the year (dewitt) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2015-11-08 20:46:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, booker dewitt, elizabeth comstock |
do you like me?
Who: Booker and Elizabeth
What: Booker goes to help Elizabeth
When: A few days ago
Where: Elizabeth's grandfather's house
Status: complete
Rating: Pg-13
Elizabeth lived in a two story house close to the beach. There was a palm tree waving in the front yard and a handicapped van sitting in the driveway. Elizabeth herself was inside making pancakes, because that was what she was in the mood for. The inside of the house still faintly smelled of death. All the windows were open and the warm breeze stirred the frumpy lace curtains.
There was no sign that anyone but an old man lived in the house. Elizabeth’s room was in the basement, and that was a whole different story. She had the door open and the sound of an old record drifted up the stairs, filling the kitchen with the sound of Ella Fitzgerald.
It was a really nice house, Booker thought. His was pretty nice too, but then the only reason he lived in it was because Logan had basically given it to Rogue and he’d pretty much just ended up living there and no one had bothered to kick him out. He stood at the door and stared at it a moment, the music the only sign anyone was actually home. Fuck. He could see a hundred ways someone could break in and murder them in their sleep.
Sighing heavily, he knocked. Then knocked again.
The second knock was loud enough to get Elizabeth's attention. She futzed with her pancake for a moment longer, then flipped it onto the plate and went to answer the door.
She was wearing a conservative white sundress. The skin that was visible was nearly as pale as the fabric from lack of sun exposure. She was tired and still feeling emotional, so her hair was hanging loose around her face, making it look even paler. She opened the door and looked at the man who was, supposedly, her father. “Hello.”
She looked just like he remembered from the dreams. A little more tired, maybe. But it was definitely her. He didn't need any tests to tell him. Elizabeth was as familiar to him as his favorite gun, from the moment she'd thrown books at him to the moment five of her had drowned him. And the moments where he was Comstock, both of them, though he hated to think about that part. Booker felt a wide gamut of emotions, then closed his mouth and stuck his hands in his jean pockets. "Hey. Elizabeth."
Booker didn’t look like anyone she’d met before. He was handsome, she supposed. She found herself trying to narrate what he looked like in the style of her grandmother’s romance novels. It was doing a good job of distracting her from her problems. “Would you like some pancakes? I think there might be syrup left, but we’re- I’m out of butter.” SHe shook her head, annoyed with herself for forgetting she was alone. Her grandfather wasn’t going to dig his way out of the ground and fix things for her anymore. She had to rely on others or do things for herself.
Jeans, a button up black shirt and a matching vest. Booker liked vests. He could blame that on the dreams though. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw and tried to reassure her. "I don't usually do butter with my pancakes," As long as it was slathered in syrup that was all he needed. He wasn't actually all that hungry but she was clearly a little lost and he didn't know what to do to reassure or help her. "So, just syrup is fine, if you want to give me some. Ain't gonna turn down pancakes."
She nodded and turned toward the kitchen, figuring Booker would follow. “I don’t even know where to begin,” she admitted as she took plates out of the cupboards and set the table. “You’re the first visitor I’ve gotten to meet beside the police.” She still distrusted the police, but that wasn’t important to say at the moment.
The syrup was real maple and Elizabeth smothered her pancakes in it once she’d served herself.
"The police?" Booker didn't trust the police much either but that was because he'd been on the other side of the law. On occasion. Then he realized they must have had to help with her grandparents. The entire house looked like something that had gotten stuck in time. He was pretty sure if he could find a TV set it would be from the 80s. "Oh. Right. Have you lived in this house your whole life...?" How had she ended up here, who had taken her, had her grandparents even known she'd been kidnapped?
There was no tv and no computer. There wasn't even a radio that picked up broadcast frequencies. Elizabeth shook her head, sighing softly. “no, we lived in Arizona until my grandmother died. The house was too big for just two of us and grandfather wanted to be close to the ocean. I wish I had been allowed to go see it with him.”
Booker had a fork half way to his mouth, and it seemed to freeze there as he looked at her and stared. "The ocean is just over the ridge there an' he didn't let you go see it?" His estimation of her grandparents suddenly got revised lower. "They... really kept a close eye on you didn't they."
Elizabeth nodded, ducking her eyes down to her plate. “They said if the police caught me with them I’d be taken away. I was terrified of it as a kid, but now I just want to go. I tried to leave on my own after grandfather died, but I don’t know anything about the world.”
"You've...got a lot to learn." And he didn't think he could teach her alone. But maybe the network could help her a bit. She'd need friends her own age. People who weren't fuck ups at least. "What are you gonna do with this house?"
Elizabeth shrugged. “What happens to houses when nobody lives in them? I can’t stay here alone, that much is certain.” She hated how quiet it was. It felt like there were ghost watching her, even though she knew that wasn’t true. “Do you like it? You could have it.”
"You could sell it if you don't want it. That would give you some more money, and you could stay somewhere a lot cheaper." He set his fork down. "With me if you want. I don't think my room-mate would mind all that much. She's pretty laid back about that kinda thing."
Elizabeth shrugged. Money was a somewhat foreign concept to her. “Okay. That sounds good. I just. . . I need to be able to go out and see things. I don’t want to be stuck inside again. I don’t think it’s normal, from what the police were saying.” She frowned a little, annoyed that the police were the reason she’d had to hide in the first place. “How did things turn out like this? Why didn’t I stay with you and my mother?”
And there it was. Booker frowned, then rubbed at his chin. "I don't.. I don't know why things turned out the way they did. Your mom...she... we lost her a few days after you were born. Complications. I barely knew which way was up an' one day someone snatched you right from the crib." And maybe if that hadn't happened he still would have sold her, but that was a what if. He'd been in a dark place.
Elizabeth didn’t know how to feel about that. She set her fork down and pushed her plate forward. Everything was so new and so crappy. “I wish I had known her. You don’t think my grandparents took me, do you?” It was the simplest explanation and Elizabeth thought it was likely, if their daughter had died, that her grandparents had wanted to keep her.
"I don't know. Maybe they did. Maybe someone else took you an' gave them to you." Booker barely remembered his in-laws. He wouldn't at all be surprised they'd decided he wasn't a fit father. But there were other, more legal means of doing that, and if he was honest with himself he wouldn't have had the heart to fight for Anna. Not then. "That's not an answer I got."
Elizabeth shook her head, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know what to think about all this. Maybe I should just focus on right now.” It was hard to see her grandparents as villains, but wasn’t kidnapping something only bad people did? That seemed correct to her.
She stood and collected the dirty plates, setting them in the sink to soak off the syrup. “I don’t need much, give me a few minutes and I can pack up my clothes and art supplies.” She would just have to pick a few books and maybe a record or two and of course she needed to bring her violin and- “I might need help deciding what will fit in whatever we’re moving in.”
"We can make more than one trip, but we can fit a lot. Focus on clothing and anything important. Furniture we can come back for." Booker got up as well, and put a hand on her shoulder. "You know have to throw away everything to start over. If it's important, we'll figure it out." He glanced around. “An’ worse case, could probably do an estate sale.”
Elizabeth nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Then just. . . I guess I just need to get some luggage.” Which meant going into the room where she’d found her grandfather. She didn’t think she was up for it. “Um, maybe I’ll just take some garbage bags instead.” She set to finding the bags, trying to do anything to distract herself.
Booker watched her, guessing there was a reason she didn't want to get the luggage. Assuming they had any, anything involving 'getting out' probably wasn't allowed. They'd done the modern equivalent of locking Elizabeth up in a tower and throwing away the key. No knowledge of the outside world, no contact, locking her into a different time period, and whatever books they'd allowed her. "... want help?"
Elizabeth nodded and led the way down to her room. She took the needle off the record and unplugged her turntable. That was coming for sure.
The entire basement was finished and the walls were painted with large murals. The colors were bright and cheerful, depicting gardens, jungles, and even an underwater scene. On top of the painted walls were numerous paintings, including a portrait of her grandparents.
Elizabeth went to her dresser and opened it, shoving things out of drawers and into bags. “I’ll need help carrying things at least.”
Following her downstairs, Booker tried to take in the basement. He knew she was an artist, so he assumed she'd painted those items herself. "Too bad we can't take the walls with us. But that ain't gonna fit in my truck."
He picked up the turntable. "Gonna squeeze this in the cab..." It seemed kind of fragile.
Elizabeth looked at the walls, sighing softly again. She’d have to do all that work over again. In a way it was probably a good thing. She was a much better artist now than she was even a year ago. “Thank you. What kind of music do you like?” She hoped he wouldn’t mind her taste in things.
She shouldered her bag, grunting a little under the weight. “What kind of truck? I’ve read a lot about auto mechanics.”
“Don’t really listen to music. Least not anything recent. If it’s on the radio an’ it ain’t aggravating I’ll leave it be.” The things Booker did in his free time weren’t generally things that many people would find entertaining, but Rogue managed to get him into watching netflix, somehow.
“Oh,” Elizabeth said with a small awkward laugh. “That’s good, I guess.” She gave him a small smile. “Maybe you’ll like my stuff?” She hoped he would. She felt like she had to impress him, to make him like her.
“If you got any cassettes or CDs, we can play them on the way back to my house.” Somehow, he doubted she had something as ubiquitous as an ipod or MP3 player. He wasn’t even sure she knew what an MP3 was. Booker wanted more and more to strangle that old man. But he was already dead, so that was pointless. Didn’t change the feeling. He watched Elizabeth, trying to figure out what she was feeling right now.
“I have cassettes,” Elizabeth offered, grabbing one on her way up. “How long does it take to decide if you like someone?” The best way to find things out was probably just to ask and risk looking foolish. None of her textbooks covered this sort of situation.
“Huh? What do you mean by liking someone?” Booker pushed the door open with his foot so he could maneuver the turn table out to the vehicle. “Because that can mean more than one thing.”
Elizabeth frowned, trying to think of the best way to ask what she really meant. “do you like me?” She then hastily added, “um, in any sense of the word, I guess.” That like could mean multiple things was strange but she had no reason to doubt what he'd said.
“Uh.” In other circumstances this would be really weird. But he also realized he shouldn’t hesitate and so put on a smile. “Yeah, I do. You seem like a nice lady.” He just wondered if she could be as terrifying as she could get in the dreams.
Elizabeth nodded, a little more relaxed now that she knew she wasn’t annoying him. “You seem like a nice man. Thank you for coming to help me. What do you do for a living?” She piled her bag in the back of the truck and gave Booker a smile. “Um, would it be okay for me to go see the ocean real quick?”
"Used to run a pawn shop. Now I just look for people." He secured the turntable then turned fully towards her. "People that try to skip town when they're in trouble with the law. People who are... bad people sometimes. Not always."
He gestured with his hand. "The beach is this way. Lets go."
His job choices were strange to Elizabeth, but she supposed he must have a knack for what he did. Certainly out was good to let justice run its course, as long as the system was fair. She decided not to brood on his line of work because the ocean was more exciting. She started off in the direction he'd pointed, running for the fun of it.
The ocean looked beautiful. She stared in awe at it, watching the waves crash on the shore and looking out over the vast, seemingly endless expanse of it.
The ocean was more exciting, and his work was dubious at best. Better than things he'd one in the past that he wasn't proud of, and much better than the things Booker had done in his dreams. He still carried that guilt around like an anvil.
Booker didn't run after Elizabeth, choosing instead to walk and taking the opportunity to watch her run across the sand. The beach was gorgeous and he felt a surge of anger. Who would move someone to a place like this and then not let them see it? There was overprotective and then there was.... this.
He liked to think he'd have done better. But it was difficult to say. No on universe did Booker DeWitt ever win dad of the year award, but with hindsight, maybe he could try.
"Probably too cold for a dip." He stopped next to her.
Elizabeth nodded, edging her way up to where the water met the sand anyway. It was just her shoes that would get wet and they’d survive. “It’s so beautiful. I wonder if he even would have let me see it.” She felt very sad, now that she thought about her life and how it had been managed by those around her. She’d missed more than she could possibly know.
She shook her head and poked at the sand with the tip of her shoe. There would be time to learn, to experience. She’d make up for it, of that she had no doubts. Determined to begin her new life immediately she turned around and went back to Booker. “Thank you. Let’s get packed so I can be settled in before bedtime.”
Booker looked at her as she looked at the ocean, then managed a smile when she turned to look at him. It was a smile tempered by a kind of sadness. He knew what she was in store for, and he didn't know how to prepare her for it. Maybe once she'd had a dream or two, that place had been terrible but then maybe she wouldn't think he was crazy for trying to warn her.
"You don't got to have a bedtime, Liz. You're an adult. You can sleep whenever you want. I mean you probably shouldn't get used to whenever, if you had a job or school you'd need to get up at a certain time but..." He rubbed his arm. "Hell. Yeah. Lets go."
Not having a bedtime made Elizabeth pause for a moment. She considered the new anarchy of her life and for the first time she felt a little giddy. “I guess you’re right. I never thought of it like that. I will need to go to college at some point, but not yet.” The thought of having access to all those libraries and different teachers was thrilling. She shivered a little in anticipation of what her new life would be like.
She attacked her packing with great zeal, filling the bed of Booker’s truck (with his help), very quickly. When they were finished she took her grandfather’s keyring and locked the door, pocketing the keys. “I’m ready if you are, Booker.”
"Yeah, I'll ask some people to help you with that."
Once they were done, Booker paused on the front step of the house, glancing back at it. "When you're ready, we'll look into puttin' that up for sale, okay?"
Elizabeth nodded, pursing her lips as she considered it. She wasn’t ready yet, but maybe it wouldn’t take too long. “I hope the next owners enjoy the beach.” She hoped she’d get plenty of opportunities to visit the ocean now that her grandfather was gone. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin, putting on confidence she didn’t necessarily feel. Then she opened the passenger door of the truck and slid inside. “Will I have a room with a window?”
"Yeah." It was an odd question, but one he'd been expecting. He started the truck and buckled up. "Should have a nice view."
He'd have to text Rogue and warn her, too. So she wouldn't be too entirely surprised.