Alec really wasn't paying much attention when he walked into the elevator. He was paying more attention to his lighter that refused to light. If he had, then he probably would have waited for the next one.
But he didn't.
And so only once the doors had shut and the elevator started to move did he look up.
Where upon he went "... Oh... great..."
Not only that but his lighter still wasn't working.
There are a million things to think of in a minute-- sitting idle is for suckers. The idea of company in the elevator doesn't strike Frank as a possibility. Most saps have the self-respect to leave him to his thoughts, harnessing the energy of what would be a conversation into affirmative action. They're cogs in a machine.
Then again, this scruffy-looking brat isn't most people.
Frank gives a quiet sniff of a laugh at Alec's inability to contain his opinion. Keeping his stance in the middle of the elevator, making no secret that it is still his space, he leans his head back to speak to the ceiling as the elevator ascends from the ground level of the tuna-can city where anybody would give their first-born child for a taste of home.
"What's wrong, daddy bought you a fluke toy? Some guys got all the bad luck."
Really, considering the arguing that Alec and Andrew had been having lately, bring up his father was not the best of ideas, as the scowl on Alec's face shows. He's never been very good at hiding his emotions wearing them and his heart on his sleeve. But then again, even if that wasn't true, Fontaine would probably know about it anyway.
"'Daddy' doesn't buy me anything," he said, trying to focus on the lighter. The lighter was everything.
Just calm and the lighter.
Get the damn lighter to work... and ignore the man next to him.
The elevator decided at that moment to give a groaning jolt and then stop, the lights flickering briefly.
In the spirit of being open with one's emotions, Frank lets the smug look of satisfaction shine through on his face. His hands lace nearly in front of him, prepared to wear the grin with the same satisfaction and credentials of a choir boy who had gotten away with murder.
The moaning of metal earns an uneasy glance around, mostly based on simple irritation.
"Goddamn rust bucket," he stands in place, assuming this is yet another gross oversight and inconvenience from the jackass who brought the world the first cracked snow globe at the bottom of the Atlantic.
"I oughta file a complaint while I've got you here."
Alec's look of unease is less on irritation and more on other issues that he's not going to think about.
"You could if you'd like," he said, trying to sound like he didn't care he was stuck in a small space with someone who his father hated and would likely take advantage of anything that happened. "Though I'd be surprised that you would trust any work done by our people. Since, from what I've heard, everything you do is better."
Meanwhile, he did what lots of people would do in the situation and jabbed at the button to try and make it go again.
"My amenities speak for themselves," he plugs with false modesty. It's short-lived and, frankly, a little trite for his tastes as far as conversation goes. The bias here is obvious, but testimonies never lie...even the ones padded with a little green or a little portion of bread.
"Looks like we're sitting tight. Guess you won't be needing that lighter anyway."
"Lack of ventilation does. Thought you'd have some sense in that big melon of yours."
That doesn't stop Frank from reaching into the pocket of his jacket, fingering his own lighter thoughtfully. After a minute he smiles to himself. He's got plenty to do, plenty people to see and places to go, but what's making the most of a shit situation? Nonchalantly he produces the lighter from his pocket, flicking the case open and closed.
"But a few minutes won't hurt. I'm sure the greatest minds in Rapture are working on this right now."
The flame of the lighter stirs to life and, in a single, practiced flick of his wrist, is shut instantly. Sorry, buddy. No freebies.
Alec really never picked up on Andrew's poker face. Really. And so he just scowled and shoved the lighter back into his pocket. It's not like it was working anyway.
"Oh, yes. I'm sure they are," Alec grumbled a bit, crossing his arms. He didn't mean for it to come out like that, but the elevator small interior is making him antsy and so he's saying things he really shouldn't be saying.
The subtext is very easily read as "I hate this place and I want to go home... as in back to New York city".
Yup. Frank can easily see that he has this young man's full attention-- no easy task, considering the kid seems to live in a world all his own. He closes his fist around the lighter, lowering it to his side as his eyes wander from the button panel to the roof, trying to force a connection. He's alright for now, but somebody's gotta notice before long.
"Tough break, Dorothy. Maybe you can catch a ride on one of the supply runs-- you'll be smelling exhaust fumes and that city stink before dawn."
"Whoops," Frank replies with a half-hearted sense of surprise, "must have slipped my mind entirely."
It's no secret that the fisheries bring in more than just the catch of the day. Having his name attached, the mutterings of comforts from the surface painstakingly are half attributed to himself, half attached to a ghost...nay, a saint. An innocent smile surfaces as he dusts an invisible scuff on the face of his wristwatch.
Alec rolled his eyes and rubbed his arms absently. "Oh. Yes. I'm sure."
There's a few pacing steps, as he glanced at Fontaine constantly. His mind is whirling around into different directions. He wants to ask what Fontaine wants from him, but he's afraid of getting a 'nothing, you're not worth anything' from the man. Which, why should he care what this man thinks of him...? But he knew that if one of his father's biggest rivals thought he was worthless.
To say that Alec is insecure would be like saying the ocean was damp or Fontaine was a little bit of a jerk.
"I'd ask if you're going to try and get any information out of me but I doubt you'd get anything useful. Which I'm sure you know."
It's not the first glare he's stared down, and so long as he's breathing, Frank sure is it won't be the last.
"Hey, look who's thinking ahead now. Maybe that lighter conking out on you is doing you some favors."
He leans against the opposite wall of the elevator, enough to see out one of the glass panels and into the ocean landscape just outside the city walls. It's barely freedom, but seeing those wide-eyed, slack-jawed fish swimming around, clueless, is a reminder of why he's here.
"I don't want anything from you, kid. What I wanted was to make my meeting and snag a cup of coffee on the way in, but it looks like we're both out of luck."
Alec doesn't have to feel safe, but the lackluster approach to conversation might get him to ease up on that pacing a little.
Alec's glare kinda sucks anyway. It's like Ryan lite. But then again Alec himself is sort of Ryan lite in general. What Andrew Ryan might be if he had self esteem issues and a great deal of insecurity.
Which Frank isn't helping with at all. Nope.
Good job!
Calling him kid doesn't help either. His father treats him like a kid after all. Oh, sure he says that Alec should be independent and do his own thing... as long as it doesn't go against Andrew.
It does get him to stop pacing and return to a corner. He doesn't look out any of the windows into the ocean. Unfortunately this means that he's got to look at Fontaine.
The kid is more like his old man in name-- Frank can see more of a forced impression there, some kind of wax sculpture shaved down into someone's likeness rather than natural similarities. He doesn't think about either of them too much, honestly. That happens with a busy schedule. When one plasters their face across a whole city, the most harm you can do is say it's hard to recall why the name rings a bell at all. Bigger ideas.
"Don't tell me you're a fan," he doesn't conceal his sarcasm at all, laying the drip on thick.
"Look at us, two peas in a pod. We're gonna come out of this with our arms linked, skipping down the streets!"
Not that Frank is experiencing any irritations of his own. Oh no.
Fontaine's people had contacted her. It was all that she told herself, over and over again as she made her way over to his sprawling complex of laboratories and offices. She hadn't had to audition for this; he had chosen her. She couldn't ask for a more resounding endorsement, and for once she finds her burning need for validation temporarily quelled. Plasmids were going to be big business, she could feel it. She knew very little about them - no one really knew much yet apart from Fontaine himself and the top scientists he had working on them - but she knew without a doubt that they were the future of Rapture! And everyone would see the posters she was to pose for and advertisements she was to record, even Andrew Ryan himself would recognise her after this. Ruby Flint, the plasmid pin-up!
She poses in the position the cameraman has indicated to her, curls flipped over one shoulder, hand outstretched as though she was shooting flame from her hands to heat up a steak. They'd add in the effects afterwards, they told her. And maybe they'd call her back for another shoot once the final products were ready.
The redhead that he chose for the ad is a bombshell. Frank is a certain kind of man himself, one that considers doubt to be the one luxury that he has no desire to acquire. The way his men not only hound around the set of the photoshoot, but have decided to show up early for work, only reaffirms what he already knows. He stands along the far wall away from the rush. He doesn't need to be in the spotlight to make his own observations. This gal is going to take plasmids places.
"Look who's a natural firecracker," he smiles around the cigar set in his teeth, clapping his hands as he finally steps forward. There is a part in the crowd that his presence seems to force rather than come naturally. As the bulbs flash and the shutter clicks, he invites himself to stand ahead of the photographer, moving closer to Ruby in order to speak to her directly.
"Someone's ready to knock Rapture flat on their asses."
"You bet I am!" She grins openly, proud of herself and adoring being the centre of attention. "When do you think these'll be ready? I just can't wait to see the finished product." The thought of her face plastered all over the city was too much for her.
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But he didn't.
And so only once the doors had shut and the elevator started to move did he look up.
Where upon he went "... Oh... great..."
Not only that but his lighter still wasn't working.
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Then again, this scruffy-looking brat isn't most people.
Frank gives a quiet sniff of a laugh at Alec's inability to contain his opinion. Keeping his stance in the middle of the elevator, making no secret that it is still his space, he leans his head back to speak to the ceiling as the elevator ascends from the ground level of the tuna-can city where anybody would give their first-born child for a taste of home.
"What's wrong, daddy bought you a fluke toy? Some guys got all the bad luck."
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"'Daddy' doesn't buy me anything," he said, trying to focus on the lighter. The lighter was everything.
Just calm and the lighter.
Get the damn lighter to work... and ignore the man next to him.
The elevator decided at that moment to give a groaning jolt and then stop, the lights flickering briefly.
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The moaning of metal earns an uneasy glance around, mostly based on simple irritation.
"Goddamn rust bucket," he stands in place, assuming this is yet another gross oversight and inconvenience from the jackass who brought the world the first cracked snow globe at the bottom of the Atlantic.
"I oughta file a complaint while I've got you here."
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"You could if you'd like," he said, trying to sound like he didn't care he was stuck in a small space with someone who his father hated and would likely take advantage of anything that happened. "Though I'd be surprised that you would trust any work done by our people. Since, from what I've heard, everything you do is better."
Meanwhile, he did what lots of people would do in the situation and jabbed at the button to try and make it go again.
It didn't go again.
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"Looks like we're sitting tight. Guess you won't be needing that lighter anyway."
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And he flicked the lighter... which refused to work. Did technology just hate him today?
With a sigh he closed his eyes and leaned up against the other wall away from Fontaine.
"Lack of movement should facilitate more smoking."
Because nerves.
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That doesn't stop Frank from reaching into the pocket of his jacket, fingering his own lighter thoughtfully. After a minute he smiles to himself. He's got plenty to do, plenty people to see and places to go, but what's making the most of a shit situation? Nonchalantly he produces the lighter from his pocket, flicking the case open and closed.
"But a few minutes won't hurt. I'm sure the greatest minds in Rapture are working on this right now."
The flame of the lighter stirs to life and, in a single, practiced flick of his wrist, is shut instantly. Sorry, buddy. No freebies.
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"Oh, yes. I'm sure they are," Alec grumbled a bit, crossing his arms. He didn't mean for it to come out like that, but the elevator small interior is making him antsy and so he's saying things he really shouldn't be saying.
The subtext is very easily read as "I hate this place and I want to go home... as in back to New York city".
His eyes watches the lighter almost hypnotically.
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"Tough break, Dorothy. Maybe you can catch a ride on one of the supply runs-- you'll be smelling exhaust fumes and that city stink before dawn."
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And that gets a bit of a flinch.
A flinch and a glare.
At least Fontaine's got Alec's full attention.
"There's no way out of the city. One law. No leaving."
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It's no secret that the fisheries bring in more than just the catch of the day. Having his name attached, the mutterings of comforts from the surface painstakingly are half attributed to himself, half attached to a ghost...nay, a saint. An innocent smile surfaces as he dusts an invisible scuff on the face of his wristwatch.
"Guess you'll have to get over it then."
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There's a few pacing steps, as he glanced at Fontaine constantly. His mind is whirling around into different directions. He wants to ask what Fontaine wants from him, but he's afraid of getting a 'nothing, you're not worth anything' from the man. Which, why should he care what this man thinks of him...? But he knew that if one of his father's biggest rivals thought he was worthless.
To say that Alec is insecure would be like saying the ocean was damp or Fontaine was a little bit of a jerk.
"I'd ask if you're going to try and get any information out of me but I doubt you'd get anything useful. Which I'm sure you know."
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"Hey, look who's thinking ahead now. Maybe that lighter conking out on you is doing you some favors."
He leans against the opposite wall of the elevator, enough to see out one of the glass panels and into the ocean landscape just outside the city walls. It's barely freedom, but seeing those wide-eyed, slack-jawed fish swimming around, clueless, is a reminder of why he's here.
"I don't want anything from you, kid. What I wanted was to make my meeting and snag a cup of coffee on the way in, but it looks like we're both out of luck."
Alec doesn't have to feel safe, but the lackluster approach to conversation might get him to ease up on that pacing a little.
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Which Frank isn't helping with at all. Nope.
Good job!
Calling him kid doesn't help either. His father treats him like a kid after all. Oh, sure he says that Alec should be independent and do his own thing... as long as it doesn't go against Andrew.
It does get him to stop pacing and return to a corner. He doesn't look out any of the windows into the ocean. Unfortunately this means that he's got to look at Fontaine.
Welp, that floor looks interesting.
"Of course. Who wouldn't want a cup of coffee?"
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"Don't tell me you're a fan," he doesn't conceal his sarcasm at all, laying the drip on thick.
"Look at us, two peas in a pod. We're gonna come out of this with our arms linked, skipping down the streets!"
Not that Frank is experiencing any irritations of his own. Oh no.
/turns up late with starbucks
She poses in the position the cameraman has indicated to her, curls flipped over one shoulder, hand outstretched as though she was shooting flame from her hands to heat up a steak. They'd add in the effects afterwards, they told her. And maybe they'd call her back for another shoot once the final products were ready.
"I'm ready for my close up, Mr Fontaine."
/picks you up and spins you around!
"Look who's a natural firecracker," he smiles around the cigar set in his teeth, clapping his hands as he finally steps forward. There is a part in the crowd that his presence seems to force rather than come naturally. As the bulbs flash and the shutter clicks, he invites himself to stand ahead of the photographer, moving closer to Ruby in order to speak to her directly.
"Someone's ready to knock Rapture flat on their asses."
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