the nightingale tells his fairytale of paradise where roses bloom - psychoenough
Once they actually get into the bathysphere, Littlefinger has to remind himself that he was the one who offered to accompany Annie into Rapture. (The truth of the matter is - he does feel a certain thrill, if only because going under might mean a certain kind of unease that isn't really found upon the island proper. While he isn't the type to risk his own personal safety in the process of pursuing said disquiet, as with most things on Tabula Rasa, he doesn't seem to have much choice in it. That said, if it turns out that he can't really handle whatever awaits them, the girl is expendable. It won't garner him any friends, he knows, but there's always some way of spinning a story to squeeze out some sympathy somewhere, anyway.) Despite his misgivings, though, his attitude's quick to change given the fact that the air itself seems to change (in the metaphorical sense, not the literal, as that's a given) as soon as they're deep enough below the surface of the water.
Actually navigating the city doesn't turn out to be particularly difficult. There are other islanders there, not that he recognizes any of them by name (yet), but that's irrelevant. There's some small comfort in numbers, although, even with how much of a samaritan everyone seems to be, he wouldn't trust any of them with his life. (He's never trusted his life to anyone but himself. It's worked out well so far.) The dagger he's carried down with him hangs just at his hip, innocuous enough in a sheath that, in color, doesn't stand out against what else he's wearing. As relatively small as his frame is and as unassuming as his demeanor may be, he no longer possesses the boyish sort of haplessness that he had back in his days at Riverrun. He's sure of himself.
If pressed, he'll admit to not having any particular agenda. For the most part, he simply wants an excuse to get away from the island, as well as an excuse to exercise his curiosity. (And he heard there might be the occasional spare bottle of liquor. While he isn't by nature a heavy drinker, he suspects he might have use for some good spirits should he care to spend some quality time washing away his general sense of ennui.) Following Annie is a fairly easy task - following here meaning that he keeps pace but doesn't really break off from whatever path it is that she's taking.
"Is there anything in particular you were seeking?" he asks, as they keep walking. "Or is this solely an exploratory visit?"
Actually navigating the city doesn't turn out to be particularly difficult. There are other islanders there, not that he recognizes any of them by name (yet), but that's irrelevant. There's some small comfort in numbers, although, even with how much of a samaritan everyone seems to be, he wouldn't trust any of them with his life. (He's never trusted his life to anyone but himself. It's worked out well so far.) The dagger he's carried down with him hangs just at his hip, innocuous enough in a sheath that, in color, doesn't stand out against what else he's wearing. As relatively small as his frame is and as unassuming as his demeanor may be, he no longer possesses the boyish sort of haplessness that he had back in his days at Riverrun. He's sure of himself.
If pressed, he'll admit to not having any particular agenda. For the most part, he simply wants an excuse to get away from the island, as well as an excuse to exercise his curiosity. (And he heard there might be the occasional spare bottle of liquor. While he isn't by nature a heavy drinker, he suspects he might have use for some good spirits should he care to spend some quality time washing away his general sense of ennui.) Following Annie is a fairly easy task - following here meaning that he keeps pace but doesn't really break off from whatever path it is that she's taking.
"Is there anything in particular you were seeking?" he asks, as they keep walking. "Or is this solely an exploratory visit?"