subject_013 | deerington/deercountry Inbox

[Salazar's the obvious reference here, but Leon knows who else he might be referring to.]

Compared to people like you, Simmons, and Spencer, Saddler and his subordinates were pretty small-time. [And now Arias, too. Honestly, if it wasn't for how recently Los Illuminados' bullshit had cropped back up, Leon would've probably forgotten most of the salient details. It's been so long and he's fought a lot more bioweapons and terrorists since then, most a lot worse than some no-name cult in the middle of rural Spain.

Frankly, he figures that if it wasn't for Krauser, they wouldn't have managed to kidnap Ashley in the first place.

He's quiet for a moment as Wesker speaks, watching him with wary eyes. Then:] Pthumerians, huh? So, what, they're reality warpers? Functionally gods?

[Functionally, because Leon doesn't really trust them as higher powers.]

No. First I've heard of a Julia Sodder. Why, she's one of these Pthumerians?

"The neck has too many 'fiddly bits', as a friend and colleague of mine used to put it: too many tendons, muscles, nerves. I suppose vampires wouldn't care much about injuring their victims and potentially damage their ability to turn their head. But I'd rather not risk it with a donor," he notes.

A flicker of recognition crosses his face as she mentions that name. "I think I met her briefly, at the Hotel, in the winter. We woke up in the same small room that kept growing smaller till we found a way out. I didn't see her after that, but I warned her not to bite me, as there's something in my blood, even then, which she didn't need in her mouth. I'm not sure I'd want to imagine what it could have done to someone like her." He looks away into the fire, wincing a bit.

"We're a lot alike that way, in that wanting to know as much as we can about us. I suppose I go a little deeper, in trying to understand our physical natures," he notes. Looking at her, his weird eyes softened slight, he adds, "Something The Doctor said to me, when his younger-looking face followed me to my world of origin: 'We're all stories in the end: make it a better one'. Perhaps that's why we're here now. To keep bettering ours and each other's stories, however we define that."

The inn keep's interloping comes as a welcome break. "Have it for ye in a few. 'Tis a good night for it," he says, going on his way.

Edited 2022-02-01 23:41 (UTC)

"Oh. I guess they always depict vampires going for the neck because it's vulnerable and exposed. But I guess if you were going for practicality, you would want to go for a place where the vein is much easier to get to."

Why did Luz sound like she was making a plan for when she became a vampire anyway?

"Oh, so you did meet her! We met later after that, though she pretty much loathed me afterward, even slapped me for good measure. Last time we met, I was still planning on stopping those cave guys. She had me pause my plan to get the drop on one, and that wound up being for the better, it gave me more of an idea of how to surround them."

Not that Luz was advocating what she did, far from it. It was just a better way to go about it than trying to catch them all half-cocked. That would have probably gotten her killed.

She'd ask about his blood later though, that was something to keep in mind.

"I think that'd have to be it. There are lots of people here, with lots of stories. I tend to want to know all of theirs, so that's why you might see me poking my nose here and there, getting into something. I know I want to keep finding out about people myself!"

She gave the inn keeper a grateful smile, then looked over at Wesker. "It's really cozy here though. I should come by more often."

[With a dry sound like a closed-mouthed laugh in his throat, he responds.]

Simmons. A clever individual, but too caught up in politics and personal affairs. I don't doubt some emotional entanglement will trigger the end of him, but I could be wrong in my prognostication.

[The barkeep returns with a bottle of red wine and a glass, which she sets before Wesker.]

A second glass for my companion? [She obliges.] It's a local vintage: part grape, part mushroom*, nowhere as strange-tasting as it sounds. [He fills one glass, then makes a move as if to fill the other.]

The Pthumerians may seem the stuff of nightmares or the object of awe, but they serve as the guardians or gods of this place. Why they have so genuine an interest in us remains to be seen, but their influence on this place and those who dwell within it touches every fibre and facet.

[He takes a sip from his glass, then pauses, as if weighing his words or bracing for the revelation to come.]

She is. And yet, she is something more. She was the daughter of Roderick Sodder, the mayor of a small town in Maine, and a woman known as Cynthia, the human mask of the daughter of the Pthumerian Queen. She had the reality-shaping skills of her mother's people, and the infinite creativity of her father's kind. Unfortunately, her powers ran out of control, frightening the townspeople, and her parents tried shutting her away in a laboratory where she was put into a medically-induced coma. But to little avail. She started reaching out to the multi-verse, summoning people into her dream. But she was doing more than that: within the dream, she was shaping a world of her own. On her death, that world was born, the world we see around us.

I was plucked from our world and into that dream, from the rocks under the window of Spencer's estate. Why she summoned me still remains a mystery. She didn't exactly win my approval.
---------------
((*This is a thing.))

Edited 2022-02-03 04:59 (UTC)

"I always took it as symbolic, but I started studying medicine very young, which admittedly wrecked a few stories for, till I grew up and stopped taking it so seriously," he says, drily, clearly amused by his teenaged self.

"Keep doing that. Keep learning people's stories and helping them to write them better." A thought ticks through his mind, to consider her a potential source of information, a second pair of eyes. But no. This isn't the place for that, and somehow, even in his dark heart, he knows that would damage something valuable, this connection between them. Whatever schemes he might concoct, he knows better than to pull her into them.

"If I'm ever down by the shore, I'll make it a point to stay here as well," he muses, his eyes warm in the firelight, as he tucks into his meal. "If there
are more places like this in it, think I could call this world a home."

((OOC: Shall we leave them there??))

"I'm sure it would! Fantasy is pretty fun, but once you start seeing the stuff happen in real life, what actually goes down is actually pretty different. In those instances, you either get to survive, or your luck runs out."

She knew that she was specifically relating that to fighting actual monsters, which was probably not the best comparison, but it made the most sense for her in relation to fantasy and what was actually happening.

"Oh, I try. People actually do have better stories than you'd think though, especially here!"

There were far too many stories of dystopia and sadness and struggle than Luz had ever thought she'd be ready for, and the worst was when they came from kids that were her age, maybe a little older.

"I think that was what Cynthia had hoped for in the first place, that we would find ourselves comfortable here. I was starting to feel that way at first, but. There are just some things you find you won't leave behind, no matter what happens."

((OOC: That's fine))!

My brother Savage wishes to meet with you since you are now kin.

[Even moreso than Maul, Savage understood the bonds of brotherhood that were bound by emotion and circumstance more than just blood. That's what made up the Nightbrothers at their core. So Maul agreed it would be good for his two brothers to meet. But he wasn't going to just spring Savage on Wesker without giving the latter a head's up.]

[The Wesker who responds, in an especially shadowed laboratory space, looks a bit different: somewhat diminished, a shade shorter and consequently somewhat proportionately slighter though still robust.]

It's about time that the new child met the rest of the family. I'm not hard to find, the times that I'm out of the laboratory. If I'm not in the Archives, I'm at The Red or a small tavern called The Hunter's Rest - or I'm at The Gate training or patching up clumsy Hunters and people in training.

Be informed, though it's likely obvious: my patron, Bausphomette seems to have decided to sport with me, or at least my appearance.

He'll appear when you likely least expect it. He also might bite you.

[Or punch Wesker to test his toughness. The Zabrak brothers are always a little feral like that.]

Interesting. I had noticed that. No changes yet to the mind, I hope?

[He chuckles in his throat.] I'd advise that he doesn't: I don't taste very well. Unless, perchance, he is another Vileblood?

No changes to my mind. I'm learning to abide with the changes to my form, but if my mind is affected, then I shall be cross. If you've wondered how I looked when I was still human, this would be the man I was.

In fact, he is.

[So that biting may indeed happen.]

I see. So it has been a number of years since you were in such a form.

[The feed comes to life without warning, but it's no place in Trench on the other side of it. Instead, it reveals a small, stone-walled room without any windows. A fire is crackling in the fireplace, throwing light and shadow over a spare setting: Two small cots, two nightstands, a table with two chairs, and a little girl sitting on the floor, wrapped up in a wool blanket.

It's obviously Ariadne, with her long blue hair and her mint-green skin. She's watching the fire like it's an animal she doesn't quite trust. After a moment, the wooden door opens, iron hinges creaking. A stunningly beautiful (Human?) woman with black hair and regal bearing, wearing the livery of a royal servant, walks in. She takes a look at Ariadne and smiles fondly.]

The Elves invented these contraptions centuries ago. They're called "fireplaces" and they keep the fire trapped, so it can't get out. I have something for you, Airy.

[From behind her back, she produces a brown paper package, walking over to set it on the table. Curiosity gets the better of the younger Ariadne. She stands up and walks over, shedding her blanket. Beneath it, her whole torso is wrapped up in tight bandages. In the front, they're clean and white, but along her back, there's the faint pink tinge of blood.]

What is it, Aunt Lysia?

[The woman--Aunt Lysia--opens up the package, pulling out a small, cotton dress, just the right size for Ariadne. Ariadne's eyes widen in surprise, and she lets out a yip of delight.]

That's for me?

It is. You're all healed up. Which means that very soon, it'll be time for you to go to school. Come here, let me help you put it on.

[Ariadne rushes over to Aunt Lysia. Lysia dresses her, taking care not to touch her back. Which makes lacing up the dress a little slow, but she finishes in due time, Ariadne squirming eagerly with impatience by the end.]

Now, let's do just like we practiced. Make yourself look Human.

[She wriggles her shoulders, and then allows the change to come over her, her skin turning pink, her hair turning brown.]

That's my girl! Come, let's take a look at you!

[Lysia leads her over to a small mirror against the wall. Ariadne looks at herself. She's shocked and amazed. There's a perfectly ordinary Human girl staring back at her in the mirror.]

What do you think?

Am I really going to get to go to school? And be with other children?

Yes. You are.

Well. I think it's wonderful!

[Ariadne smiles. It's a familiar smile. The smile she always reserves for the things she finds wonderful. It brightens up the feed, until at last everything fades to black.]

Edited 2022-05-29 04:41 (UTC)

In which case, less risk for him, though I'd be the first to say I'm a selfish wretch who doesn't like to share. [He says this with a proud little smirk.]

About nine years, barring some time discrepancies between my world of origin and this world.

I'm sure you two will get along just fine. Savage is used to having other brothers about, there is a reason they call my species Nightbrothers after all.

[They were a communal lot. While there were rivalries and such, the Nightbrothers knew to survive they had to rely on one another as a full community or all would perish.]

Exactly what happened to turn you into your present form? You've never given me specific details, only the full picture.

[Wesker is lounging in bed from the look of things, given the corner of the grey silk-cased pillow behind his head, the tousled state of his hair and the black short-sleeved tee shirt he's wearing. For once his usual impassive expression has given way to one of quiet wonder tempered with a note of professional concern, as he notes her back.]

First day of school, every child's first big step out of the creche and into the world. I'd say I remember mine, but... it could trigger an involuntary memory transmission.

[She answers, looking puzzled.]

I'm sorry? First day of school? Albert...where did that come from?

[It seems completely arbitrary until...until she scrolls up.]

Oh.

Oh. That's...unexpected.

There's a spate of that going through: we're not certain the cause of it, but it hit my device late last week, hence why I'm on an undefined account. I take it you didn't see the transmission which went through, which was probably just as well... It revealed a bad moment in my world of origin.

I'm afraid I haven't.

[She pauses, tilting her head.]

Would you rather I didn't go looking for it?

[He tips one hand, fingers upward.]

The rest of the entire town has seen it by now. Another pair of eyes on it shan't change it. I tried removing the transmission, but the system locked me out. [A small pause] I wouldn't mind if you saw it, though be warned, one part is terrible, while another is personal.

I don't think I'm just "another pair of eyes."

[Not to him. She knows that they have a special sort of relationship. She can't quite put a name to it but...

Instinct. Instinct tells her that.

Although she hopes it doesn't seem self important.]

Tell me what you wish.

[He smirks a little, his weird eyes narrowing slightly.]

Yours certainly aren't. And you may seek it out. Though I must warn you, I was not the man whom I am now. I had yet to become a patient and student of our mutual friend The Doctor.

[He reaches in, tapping at the edge of the screen. A link shows up in her inbox.]

[She's quiet a moment, going off to watch the video.

Her expression never changes the entire time. She's placid and neutral. Almost serene. Almost, except for a slight, occasional flicker in her eyes.

When she comes back, she regards the camera thoughtfully.]

Who was Enrico?

[He should have expected she'd ask a probing question, and for a moment, she catches him up short. Dissembling isn't an option: she's seen the climax of the Arklay Mansion Incident as he'd lived it. And like the Doctor, she deserves transparency. The question remains, how shall she react? Will it sever whatever this is which he feels forming within his heart?]

He was a colleague who'd suspected what I was and the things I was hiding. That creature which slew me was the Tyrant I'd helped to create. Enrico saw through my scrim of affability and marked me as one of the creature's creators. I couldn't allow him to compromise my persona. And so I killed him.

[He falls silent, bowing his head slightly, bracing for anything, including the snuffing of the small flame in his heart.]

[She's quiet for a moment, her face unreadable.

Of course, there's a lot going on beneath the surface. Ariadne isn't educated, but she isn't stupid either. She understands many things: war, betrayal, lies, and the fact that a person can change. Perhaps most of all that much.

When she speaks again, it's soft. Gentle. But not a whisper.]

Are you sorry you did it?

[A flicker of something like relief flickers through his eyes, then then impassive look returns.]

Do you want the long answer or the short answer? Neither one will be easy for either of us.

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