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| Nothing like a drink and a pipe. [Open]; -- Ryan's Home | |
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| Topic Started: Apr 6 2008, 12:28 PM (104 Views) | |
| . Andrew Ryan | Apr 6 2008, 12:28 PM Post #1 |
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Note: The theories about where Ryan actually LIVES seem to vary. It is suggested that he actually lives down in Hephaestus which is metaphoric and understandable but it seems more logical to me that he keeps his office down there, which is really his most important place for being, and something a bit more home-like elsewhere... perhaps very nearby. Since this point isn't clear I'm just calling it Ryan's Home for now. I kind of see him having a semi-mansion type place near the center of Rapture. Also, I hope you like my Ryan. It's difficult to write a major canon character for an audience. Feedback is perfectly welcome. Andrew Ryan thought in goals to be achieved and solutions to be found. This was simply how he thought and how he had always thought, not something he had trained himself to do out of deference to his philosophies. Rather, those philosophies had partly stemmed from the natural organization of his thinking and the events and obstacles that had been placed in his path throughout his life. If the government decided to take a forest from him after he had refused to relinquish it the solutions presented themselves. The first: He could burn it down so that no one could enjoy it. If he could not have it, then no one could. Why should the parasites of society be allowed to clamp into his skin with their tiny jaws and drain his blood until not a drop remained? The answer was quite simple, they shouldn't be allowed, and he would not allow them. It suited him, for, at heart, he was an old Russian, born of the Russian that gave birth to Peter the Great. Andrew Ryan built. Andrew Ryan reformed. A fire roared in the massive fireplace that adorned Ryan's bedroom. Wood was expensive in Rapture, difficult to obtain in large quantities under the ocean. One day there would be an abundance, already there were those with small tree farms, licking their lips and waiting for the inevitable profit. That pleased Ryan almost as much as his own small field of trees, though he took no offense at not having been the first to plant. It pleased him in a small way. The Great Chain pulled them all. The response had been an inventive one, the substitution of metal and plastic, research into the formation of new alloys and building materials. Thus did the market spark invention and progress. Some on the surface would have said that Andrew Ryan's decision to install a large fireplace in his bedroom and indulge in an hour before a crackling fire that consumed real wood was selfish, that it did not take into account the needs of the people. There was an armchair in front of this in the typical Rapture design with gleaming lines of Art Deco chrome to interrupt the red plush. On a small table rested a bottle of Chechnya Vodka and a small glass. Ryan poured himself a glass and puffed on his pipe, staring into the flames and smiling. This was Rapture. This fire beneath the ocean was a triumph in more ways than one. He settled himself comfortably in the armchair, loosening the knot in the white scarf he wore under his dark red dressing gown. He swallowed the glass of vodka and poured another, feeling it slowly wind its way through his body, taking the raw edge off nerves, quieting unpleasant thoughts. In the bathroom one of the maids was preparing a hot bath. That always felt necessary after a visit to Arcadia. One day it would be beautiful. Now it was a muddy expanse of sea bottom being conditioned so that aesthetically pleasing plants would not die when they came within three feet of it. Andrew Ryan did not like mud, not the sort of mud where you crushed pieces of dead crabs and ancient shell fragments beneath your new wingtips. He stifled a yawn and gave the pipe another puff. It was then someone knocked at his door. |
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1:18 PM Nov 27
