Jack’s heart stopped for, what felt like, a full minute. The nausea he was already feeling increased tenfold as he heard the familiar voice. He had spent a lot of time convincing himself he was no longer afraid of Fontaine after he, you know, killed him. However, now that the man was before his eyes again he couldn’t help but feel every bit as powerless as he used to for a small moment. Jack moved away from his wall, attempting to appear sturdy as he took slow steps to the bar. He wanted to say something to scare the man away, bit inside his intense sickness he could only muster one sentence.
"You can’t be here." Way to state the obvious, Jack.
Jack was right, in a way. fontaine couldn't really be here. what is dead stays dead and there was no possible way of changing that. fontaine curls his lip and scoffs in utter amusement, heavy blue eyes staring straight at jack. it was a face he was all too familiar with, but now now that liveliness from before was gone, and it looked like this kid hadn't slept in weeks. fontaine doesn't feel bad for him in any sort of way. he did this to himself, really. he'd been too power-hungry and he fell into addiction far too quickly. it was jack's own fault. not fontaine's. his lips curl into a wide grin, and he takes a slow, long sip from his glass cup. he hisses at the washed-up, stale taste of the alcohol, but it's better than nothing.
❛ well, i apparently can, because here i am. what are ya goin' to do, huh? kill me? go for it, jackie. really. entertain me, would ya kindly? the sight of you is makin' me fuckin' sick. you coulda' been somethin'! you really coulda'! and now look at you, you pathetic little baby. why not jus' put yourself out of your misery, huh? ain't you got a gun with you? end it, boyo. ❜