"My name is Cynthia," the woman began. "The creatures you see around us..." She referred to small blue bats that flitted about the inside of the mountain. "...are called Zubats. They are one of almost 500 known species of Pokemon."
"Five HUNDRED?" the man exclaimed as the young woman looked up from her adoration of the creature cradled in her arms. "The books I read when I was little said there were far more than five hundred different kinds of INSECTS. I guess this isn't one of our worlds." she commented.
"Hmph. Think I'd remember the good people of Columbia siccing their dogs on us instead of tryin' to blow my brains out." the man agreed. The woman looked at them strangely, but said nothing. "Okay, guess it's time to even up. Name's Booker DeWitt, and this is my...daughter Elizabeth."
"Don't worry about him; he's a bit slow on the uptake." Elizabeth interjected with a smile. He sighed in mock-exasperation and continued. "She and I just spent the better part of two days (least I think it's two days; try as I might to sort it out my head just keeps on spinnin') runnin' from cops, soldiers, Patriots, the Vox..."
"What he's trying to say is that we're here on vacation. He said he was going to take me to all sorts of new places, and while this wouldn't have been my FIRST choice..." She gave him another smile. "I've never gone spelunking before, so that's one promise he's kept."
"You know you could stand to be a little more grateful. I lost count of how many bullets I've taken for you." Booker grumbled with an exaggerated wink at Cynthia.
"I've got a list if you want it!" Elizabeth said teasingly. She took her hand from the Flareon, which let out a disgruntled mutter, and reached for Booker's pocket. "Why the hell'd you keep it in there?" he asked as she withdrew a crumpled scrap of paper.
"Does it look like I have pockets in this thing?" she asked, doing a slow dramatic turn for his inspection. He rolled his eyes, and she began struggling to unfold the paper with just one hand. As she managed to do so, a tentacle flew out of seemingly nowhere and knocked it from her grasp. She yelped and tried her best to catch it as it fluttered away, all the while still trying to hold onto the Flareon. "Huh. Can't imagine how that happened." Booker said, hiding his sucker-covered hand behind his back. Cynthia chuckled. His daughter stuck her tongue out at him as she hurried to catch up. "It doesn't matter," she confided to the older woman. "I remembered all the good ones. Numberrr...73: shot himself in the foot while trying to reload a pistol..."
"In my defense, one of the crow bastards did just try to take my head off." he said grumpily.
The banter was interrupted when Booker, busy gazing at his daughter, missed his footing and found himself teetering on the edge of a hundred foot drop! His brief yell of panic was interrupted by Elizabeth grabbing him by the back of his shirt and pulling him away from the cliff; unfortunately, she misjudged her own strength and sent him sprawling to the floor. Cynthia rushed over. "Goodness! What happened?" she asked.
"I'll be fine," he mumbled as he stumbled to his feet. "Just got a little careless is all." His daughter glared at him, her face almost exactly mirrored by the Flareon nestled against her chest, which seemed upset its grooming had been interrupted. "Booker..." she said ominously.
"I know, I know. It was an accident, promise." he assured her. Elizabeth still looked suspicious, no doubt remembering the last time he'd fallen off a cliff, and a fragment of song darted into Booker's head almost unbidden. "If you should ever leave me..." he began. Her face lit up and she replied in kind: "Though life would still go on, believe me."
As the trio made their way back up the ledge and out onto the windswept mountain once more, DeWitt and his daughter continued to sing, first alternating and then uniting on the chorus. "The world could show nothing to me..."
"So what good would living do me?"
"God only knows what I'd be without you, without you..."
