[Bioshock] No Matter the Tune
Title: No Matter the Tune
Day/Theme: 16. lives set in rhythm, deaths carved in verse
Series: Bioshock
Character/Pairing:
Rating: PG
The music hadn’t stopped. While Rapture crumbled and the splicers went mad and little girls were sent out to harvest the dead like ghouls, the music kept on playing. Ryan had used it for his propaganda messages and had wanted the word spread. Now, even when the other systems started failing and the sound went tinny, there was always a speaker somewhere with enough juice getting through to keep playing the songs. Even through the suits, it was audible.
There would’ve been something incongruous about it if most of the listeners were able to give it much thought. The Big Daddies hadn’t shown much appreciation for music. They patrolled and slaughtered no matter what the tune. The splicers sometimes winced when the song changed. Maybe they remembered and didn’t like the memory, or it could’ve been just that their hearing had been amplified too far. The dreamy, lilting music probably fit right in with whatever the Little Sisters were seeing. They sang their own little ditties though, so perhaps it was too much part of the background for them.
It was probably worse for the human survivors. Beset on all sides, trapped in a nightmare and still having to hear the old ballroom music from all around as if nothing was wrong, it must’ve been maddening. Unless it reminded them of happier days, under the sky instead of the sea, before Ryan and Rapture, before all of this. Not that that wouldn’t be maddening by itself. Then again, madness might be the only way out for them, which would explain why it wasn’t just the Sisters weaving eerie little rhymes out of the pieces of thoughts, or why the graffiti had become more and rambling until it had become scratches and gouges in what had been polished, gleaming walls. Scratching out their own tombstones with their fingers, while the music still played.
Day/Theme: 16. lives set in rhythm, deaths carved in verse
Series: Bioshock
Character/Pairing:
Rating: PG
The music hadn’t stopped. While Rapture crumbled and the splicers went mad and little girls were sent out to harvest the dead like ghouls, the music kept on playing. Ryan had used it for his propaganda messages and had wanted the word spread. Now, even when the other systems started failing and the sound went tinny, there was always a speaker somewhere with enough juice getting through to keep playing the songs. Even through the suits, it was audible.
There would’ve been something incongruous about it if most of the listeners were able to give it much thought. The Big Daddies hadn’t shown much appreciation for music. They patrolled and slaughtered no matter what the tune. The splicers sometimes winced when the song changed. Maybe they remembered and didn’t like the memory, or it could’ve been just that their hearing had been amplified too far. The dreamy, lilting music probably fit right in with whatever the Little Sisters were seeing. They sang their own little ditties though, so perhaps it was too much part of the background for them.
It was probably worse for the human survivors. Beset on all sides, trapped in a nightmare and still having to hear the old ballroom music from all around as if nothing was wrong, it must’ve been maddening. Unless it reminded them of happier days, under the sky instead of the sea, before Ryan and Rapture, before all of this. Not that that wouldn’t be maddening by itself. Then again, madness might be the only way out for them, which would explain why it wasn’t just the Sisters weaving eerie little rhymes out of the pieces of thoughts, or why the graffiti had become more and rambling until it had become scratches and gouges in what had been polished, gleaming walls. Scratching out their own tombstones with their fingers, while the music still played.