Delusions Of Grandure

Cause I’m obviously finding all the things to do other than write, now. So let’s play a game. Password is: vindictivepotato

"Oh. Okay." He said it because he had no other words to produce. How was he supposed to react initially? But then, given a moment of thought, he proceeded with bits of information and his own interest.

But the man said he was fascinated with Jonathan’s type…and to Jonathan, no one else was quite like him. He was the best…and so that meant the man was fascinated with him specifically. Another mark to tally up.

"The Den has provided Rapture with many useful things, mathematically and pragmatically. I find my interests specifically with matters in intelligence, such as artificial intelligence, along with various forms of coding, mathematics, and a few sciences.

I also teach.”

Unusually Fitzpatrick took some comfort in Jons direct words following a single coherent train of thought. It was so unlike his own jumpy and nervous exchange which was likely to go from subject to subject a mile a minute as his thoughts clumsily cascaded from his lips. The pianist had started to drift from the conversation mentally as Jonathan went over his interests, having gathered the basics of them. However one word brought him jolting back to the current time.

"You, teach?" It had come as a bit of a surprise for reasons Kyle couldn't quite place his finger on. The man hadn't seemed like the sort who would be teaching. "As in, the... math t...that you speak of, you can explain it...it to others?" That had caught his interests most certainly. 

He'd always found math a tedious and useless activity to pursue but there was something oddly alluring in them too. A sort of unusual rhythm to each formula and aspect. He was certain that if he had even a basic understanding of some of the more advanced maths he would be able to contrive something from it which could contribute to his life. Of course, Kyle wasn't certain, but he still felt it and would be driven mad if he didn't at least try.

His story has no beginning, for no myth truly can. In the end there is a father who was no father, and the blood of said father that flows to the son like the ebbing of the vast ocean.

"Jonathan Blackwood." He didn’t extend a a hand to shake, either. Something about the nature of it all felt too connected. Something making such contact was not in his decided best interest. 

Maybe some would have known the name Fitzpatrick, but Jonathan knew nothing of the Fort or what it bred. Names, starlets, attempted actresses, and lyricists. In fact, if asked, Jonathan only briefly knew the moniker of Sander Cohen. Everything he had heard had been unpleasant. Crazy, even, but mathematicians found faulted logic in plays of fancy. The rare breed that truly appreciated both felt lost under the sea; a hybrid, even. Music could be a tool to pass time. A way to push on through equations, but it hardly went both ways. 

There was no look of comprehension or dawning over the mathematicians face at the use of the name 'Fitzpatrick'. The young-man concluded that he was ether not as well known as he believed himself to be (which was a rotten thought completely) or this Jonathan fellow did not make his way to Fort Frolic nor any other art district much. Deciding to go with the latter he pushed it from his mind, what was one less mildly enthused expression out of the masses after-all? 

"I've never been one en...en..tranced by numbers myself." Kyle admitted, looking down, first to his coffee before his gaze shifted to the others hands for a moment. He tried for a smile that came out looking like an expression on the face of a trigeminal neuralgia patient. "My enthusiasm h...has always been directed towards the..e a...arts you see, music to be specific." The pianist glanced up to Jon, making eye contact briefly before hurriedly looking just over his shoulder. For fear of being thought an ignorant fool who merely spent his time wailing on a piano he added "Though I have heard once you master the.. language, of n..numbers, it can become rather like reading letters in a book.. Notes fr....from a page. I've always been fascinated w...w...with those who have such a gift.. the, endless possibilities to u..unlock.". He was slowly becoming certain that if he didn't seem unworldly before, he looked it now. There was never a proper way for the man to express his thoughts through words; no longer certain why he ever tried in the first place. 

"I was finding fault in different levels of binary code, along with different mathematical equations that I could feed to the central processing computer in Minerva’s Den.” Did the man in question know what Jonathan spoke of? Did he know about the RODIN project or the Den or anything?

Passion? Yes, there was passion. Passion in the work. Passion because he had nothing else. A man nearby practiced lighting his cigarette with the latest burst of Incinerate!, and yet he only seemed to burn the top of his hairline. Keeping his eyes on the paperwork, Jonathan grabbed a form and handed it to the side. He waited for the man to take it from him, but he spoke further. 

"I work close with the system that runs most of Rapture’s most basic functions, along with higher systematic orders. Oxygen levels, automatic door openings, flood detection…all of it is run by a single based Artificial Intelligence.

Does that answer your question?”

This was to the extent that he often found himself, like the most basic of animals, living in a 'world without time' where he could go weeks, once even two months without ever knowing the date. That was a glorious event where the young-man felt freed; that the fabric of space could have been stretched into eons then crushed back into moments, yet he wouldn't have known in his blissful ignorance. It was to that point that Kyle attempted to distance himself from anything so ridged and set as time, the only numbers he felt a fondness for being the small ones that indicated the proper tempo to the sides of his pages.

However there was still interest in the mans words; even if he did not much care for the subject matter (never having the proper exposure to it) he still wished to hear more. Since he was merely a babe to the grandiose city he was oblivious to the existence of a place called 'Minerva's Den'. That name too held an air of mystery, the word 'Minerva' he could devise to be, coupled with other names of importance in his life, coming together to become a Cantata, complete with vocals. 

He was pulled from his thoughts as one of the patrons attempted to light his cigarette. Eyes widening in fear for a moment Kyle dug his hand into the soft flesh of his leg, biting his tongue. Those, plasmids, everything about them he was willfully blind towards, not wishing to understand it's inner workings seeing as it frightened him so. That people would truly mar their flesh in any way, even if it were reparable, horrified him. Especially their hands; their beautiful, delicate hands. Each finger specially crafted with taught skin, tendons that worked in tandem to help them move. It was marvelous really.

The intellectually-intimidating man didn't seem put off by the sudden stirrup of flame, instead going about his conversation in much the same manner as before. Kyle was glad he'd bitten his tongue, or he was certain his mouth would be held slightly (and embarrassingly) agape. 

"Th- T" Kyle commanded his mouth silent rather then face a stutter, knowing his tongue would find itself in a train of 'th-th-th' that would infuriatingly seem to never end. He took a strong breath "That you did.. I'll not lie, I've always tho..ught those closely associated with number must... be brilliant. So you w..work with the.. automated, side of Rapture?". 

He wouldn't admit it to this man for fear of being thought a fool, but he'd hardly even thought about those who created everything down here. Who continued to create and make sure it ran smoothly. Oxygen levels, of course, since they were underwater without that they would surely die. It made Fitzpatrick feel tiny in comparison, having always held a narcissistic and childish view that the arts were the 'peak' of Raptures enormous grandeur. Clearly that was not the case as there were others with talents he couldn't possibly dream of whose work benefited the city in ways Kyle felt he never could.

"Thats'amazing.." He was shaking his head a little "You're a mathematician then? Good one I expect.. 'course, else we wouldn't be here..". He bit his lip. Kyle felt as if he'd only found the tip of the ice burg to a wealth of information that previously was unbeknownst to him, and the young-man was ready to careen his metaphorical Titanic into the solid water if that's what it took to discover more. They hadn't even gone over introductions yet, Kyle wasn't aware of the array of colors that represented the man he was now faced with. 

Jonathan was a primarily office bound sort, but he was never against eating at the Central Square Bistro for a change of scenery. He had become a regular and often had a hard time pulling himself away to head into the Den. When he felt that he was being productive, he never wanted to relocate. 

He never paid attention to faces. His body was hunched over as his pen scratched along different lines of binary code. There was a mistake in his work with the Thinker, but it was proving difficult to pinpoint. Finally, however, he located the error and circled it furiously. 

His coffee was hardly a coffee so much as it was steamed cream and a small portion of the dark beverage. For a moment, as he paused and leaned back to stretch out his muscles, he let a finger trail along the rim. He was an elongated sort and covered in a pea-coat and slacks. His hair was lacking the normal gelled up appearance and his eyes were large and a watery sort of brown as he took in the situation. 

A man that had settled next to him seemed hard at work, though the exact nature of his business was not something Jonathan knew of (or even cared for). Jonathan was hardly one to read body language, so whether the man was pleased or not with his own results was not clear. 

He returned to his steep looking position, keeping to himself when he was brought back to attention by a voice. The man next to him seemed to require something. 

No, as much as he learned during those little excursions he had more pressing matters to attend to; an infuriatingly simple ditty that he had been meaning to write out in its entirety for some days now. As he made his 'great escape' the young-man found that he didn't exactly wish to return home, or otherwise settle down somewhere in the neon-lighted Fort Frolic. Lips in a small frown he wandered into the Bistro he looked absently at the above menu. If he decided to make a temporary haven of the cafe he might as well at least pay his dues as a proper patron. 

There was some difficulty in ordering, his voice catching terribly somewhere in the middle of the order, something simple and soothing, Tea. Once it was concocted passed over and the monetary exchange was at last finished Kyle turned hurriedly, nearly spilling the hot beverage all down his front in his haste to terminate the social interaction before any more words were spoken. His blue eyes flitted from seat to seat, searching for one that might pose the least threat. They fell upon Jonathan and immediately the pianist recognized the movements of a man hard at work writing something. 

Curiosity flared and he tried to tame it 'Let's sit next to him, he could be a musician like you..'. Fitzpatrick immediately looked to the others hands. Those were some finely tuned fingers, he decided, whether they be musically inclined or no he could not tell, but hands had always intrigued him and so he sat down, leaving a respectable amount of space between.

It was time for business so the young man began to make staves across his page, easily setting the time signature for the music was already created within him, it was a simple matter of writing it out. The melodious harmony went from one that obliterated all other thoughts, to gentle elevator music as his mind slipped once again to wondering about the man to his side. Kyle opened his mouth to speak, eyes on his own page, but nothing came out. 

He shook himself mentally, seeing as this man could be a potential asset, and if not then there was no true harm done. "Excuse me.. but, you wouldn't happen to..." his tone nearly rose high enough to strangle itself but he calmed it. However the pause was long enough for the other to have noticed he'd spoken, and, unknowing of what the man had said, he responded with '...what?'. 

His voice was deep and Kyle felt panic rising. Perhaps this was a bad idea, he should back out now forget ever leaving his apartment or Cohens side, stop trying to communicate using words with people and stick to conveying himself through notes. "You're writing.." He attempted to take the nervously taut elements from his tone, but to no avail "You seem to be working with such passion.. I can't help but wonder, what drives you so?". Immediately he regretted all actions and had he still been a child would have run away or hid his face. Instead he simply allowed the red to consume his cheeks, creeping down his neck in spider-like tendrils "I apologize if I ask what I aught not too, I am curious, and for something to have captured ones attention the way this seems to have yours, it must be of value..".