#Wesker has an accent you can hear it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nekrosdolly · 4 months

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feline delight (18+)

albert finds you on the streets. too cute to pass up, he takes you home against your will.

a/n; sorry this took so long! hope it was worth the wait :D

cw; half-alive dove maybe eat, cat hybrid!reader, afab!reader, owner!wesker, kidnapping, captivity, stockholm syndrome, drugging, dubcon/noncon, body betrayal, leashing + collaring, reader doesn't wear underwear, manhandling, breeding kink, wesker likes seeing you in pain sorry, no prep (please prep irl), unsafe sex (p in v, clitoral stimulation, creampie, implied multiple rounds)

tags; @4inchfae @thatgirlgames @whiskers-my-beloved @icecream596

albert never had a penchant for pets, let alone a hybrid like yourself. bringing you in may have been the best thing he'd done in years. you needed a home desperately, regardless of how much you scratched and clawed at him when he'd carried you off to his research facility without so much as an introduction. you hear him rustle around in his pockets with one hand and then, the uncapping of something. before you can look at what it is, a fine needle pierces right into the muscle of your neck. your vision fades within seconds, and you stop scratching.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

you didn't know what to expect, but waking up in a cage clean and clothed hadn't been on your list. you thought you'd surely be dead. but, there you were, with a black long sleeve shirt and skirt, thigh-highs adorning the better half of your legs, and a black leather collar around your neck. looking around, a small bell attached to your collar rings. not moments later, you hear footsteps. you look up at the man who has taken you in- tall, blonde, and very intimidating.

albert crouches before the kennel you're cowering in and looks you over as if he didn't get a good enough look when he bathed you. you hiss quietly and shrink into one of the corners furthest from him, cool metal digging into your back with each attempt to get further away.

behind his shades, his hazel eyes thoroughly examine you. the fear you give off is aromatic with a faintly sweet undertone of something more. gratefulness, perhaps. he did bathe you, clothe you, and put you in a very nice kennel of your own. your collar is a perfect fit, no less, and even though you didn't ask for any of this, it's more than you know what to do with. you've no bruises, no gashes, no injuries. how strange.

he's pondering what to say to get you to calm down. to trust him a little. maybe come out of the kennel, but that would be for later.

"hello." he places a gloved hand on the kennel's top rather carefully, so as not to startle you, and leans in just a bit. his voice is nicer than you would think. a bit nasally, sure, and the accent is cheesy, but he could read you the yellow pages and you wouldn't mind.

"…" your silence makes his jaw clench by a fraction. he'll have to fix that. for now, he'll ease you into things.

"what's your name, little one?"

"haven't got one." you rasp, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin atop them. ears flat against your head, your tail swishing- cautious and afraid, you are, and well within your rights to be.

he nods.

"we'll have to fix that, won't we?" he forces a little smile on his lips when you nod. you're not sure why you do when, two seconds ago, you'd have run off if the kennel door was opened. he's smart, he's thought this through. you're not leaving the kennel until you trust him, unbeknownst to you. your tail is ramrod stiff on the cushioned floor of your captivity, and at least he was kind enough to furnish it for you.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

it's hard to trust him even though you know it would be smart to pretend.

he only lets you out to feed you, and from the start, he'd made it clear that if you tried to run, you'd be dead. at the same time, twice a day, he opens the cage for you to crawl out of. he extends his hand to you, looping his gloved fingers around your collar and guiding you to sit by his feet. he links a leather leash through the d-ring attached to your collar and walks you through his home, the environment sterile and hardly lived in.

it's when he puts you in his lap at the dining table and force feeds you that he fills the tense silence. the food itself is good, and you wonder if under different circumstances, you'd want him to be your owner. as you eat, he talks. you are, to some extent, grateful that he feeds you, even if he is only doing the bare minimum.

"have you been good, dear?" he asks, and you nod as per usual. it's rare that you decide to talk.

"good girl." he scratches the spot behind your ear, forcing you to lean into his hand and purr. he chuckles quietly. as he pets you, his stress melts away. you're so cute. a meek, naive little thing that he loves taking care of.

as dinner finishes, he picks you up and keeps you in his arms as he cleans up. you're silent, sedated by the drug he's put in your food, and you're bodering on falling asleep in his arms. a swell of pride of warms his chest as a little snore escapes you, followed by your tail wrapping around his arm.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

day by day, bit by bit, you miss him. he keeps you company when he's not at "work" or whatever that is, he talks to you, he pets you the way you like, and it's nice when you forget about how you got here. the only thing you've come to dislike is the lack of underwear. it's not that he can't afford some, it's that he enjoys your discomfort to a worrisome degree. he likes its easy access, even if he hasn't taken advantage of it (or you) yet.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

he comes around and you find yourself less defensive, thanks to your breeding cycle. you press your face against the bars of your enclosure.

"owner," you whine as he walks past, a spark igniting in your gut. his scent is stronger than it was this morning, and you're hyperaware of the growing warmth filling your body.

"yes, dear?" he stands at his closet, his back to you as he strips himself of his work clothes.

"can i come out?" you paw at the door of your cage, ignoring the rattling noise it causes.

he doesn't respond immediately, letting you stew in your silence for a moment as he finds something more casual to wear. you don't normally ask to come out- this is progress, proof of your trust.

"in a moment. let me get dressed, darling."

it's enough for you to stop whining. your tail swishes happily and your ears perk up when he approaches the cage in grey sweatpants and a black shirt and crouches down to undo the lock to the cage. you practically jump into his arms, purring loud when he wraps his big arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

"thank you." you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. his smell, like poison, makes you dizzy with desire. the warmth is growing uncomfortable, your ears pinned flat against your head.

he hums in response as he strokes your hair, a purr emanating from the depths of your chest. the heat spreads the more he touches you, pooling between your thighs. he tries not to notice when you rub them together and mewl pathetically.

"is something wrong?" his voice is a match to the flame in your gut.

it's your turn to be silent, trying to even out your breathing despite the overwhelming urge to lean in and take a nice, long whiff of the pheromones he gives off.

"darling, answer me. you know better." he says in a more stern tone, looking down his nose at you.

"… i'm in heat." you state quietly, avoiding his gaze. if you could see his eyes, you're sure they'd be wide and a little bit dark.

"are you, now?" he hoists you up in his arms as he stands, his forearms just under your ass. you're bent slightly over his shoulder. "we'll need to remedy that, won't we, pet?" he chuckles. a chill runs down your spine. just what have you gotten yourself into?

he's not a mean lover, just a little rough. he sets you on his bed and pushes you down with a cold hand to your chest as he moves on top of you. anxiety cools your blood, makes it like ice pushing through your veins.

"wh-what are you…?" he presses a finger to your lips, silencing you, and kisses your cheek.

"i've been waiting a long time for this, darling. it would be wise to avoid making me wait more." there's a threatening undertone to his voice, the burn of discomfort making itself known in your shoulders. he wedges his knee between yours, forcefully parting your thighs so he can trail his hand up them, pinching here and there just to see you flinch, and smooth two fingers along your weeping slit. a hint of a smile makes itself known as you shudder, thighs parting wider to accomodate his hand. his cold digits stop at the very top, feeling for your puffy clit, and rubs slow, tight circles around it.

you hate that it feels good, and you hate yourself for having a breeding cycle. a soft moan leaves you at his light touch, your eyes locked on the hand rubbing your clit. he presses down a little firmer, eliciting a whine from you.

"look, doesn't that feel much better?" he croons, his voice low with his lips so close to your ear. reluctantly, you nod, and that earns you the reward of his fingers rubbing you a little faster. you squirm a little, trying to get more than just surface-level pleasure.

"words."

"y-yes. that feels good, thank you." a hint of malice laces through your tone, but you're grateful for what he's giving you. your face is on fire as only the pathetic wet noises from your cunt fills the air, and you (try to) hide your face in your hands, only to be met with a sharp slap to your cunt. you flinch, the pain subsiding after he continues playing with your cunt. your hands come down from your face and instead grab the sheets.

your stomach tightens, twists into a coil that winds tighter with every pass over your hardened clit. but you can't cum like this, not when your breeding cycle is ongoing.

"owner- p-please, need more." you whine, and albert kisses your cheek as a response, denying you of what you need.

"such a needy thing. fine. you'll get what you want." he takes his hand from your pussy and to the waistband of his sweats, pushing them down rather impatiently, as well as his boxers. weeping, his cock is bright red at the tip from want (how long has he been hard for?) and large. you're worried.

he chuckles at your fear-stricken expression before grabbing your legs and pressing them against your chest.

"be a dear and hold these for me, hm?" he says, and you do as you're told. you hold your legs by the backs of your thighs, pressing them so your knees hit your chest. he strokes himself once, twice to the sight of you spread out for him, your cute cunt drooling. slick drips down your perineum, inviting him.

you watch him slot himself in place, the tip of his long cock dragging through your folds to bump your clit, making you gasp. your entrance clenches around nothing, a pitiful whine leaving you.

"greedy." he shakes his head softly as he lines himself up, and without warning, thrusts himself entirely inside you.

the stretch is worse than you imagined. you flinch away from him, but he grips your thighs and tugs you right back onto his cock. it hurts, and the burn is something you hadn't accounted for. tears prick at your lower lashline. he leans down, his frame practically engulfing yours, and kisses your cheeks.

"don't cry. struggling only makes it worse, you know." he coos, tapping your jaw. you nod softly and wrap your arms around his neck for support, sniffling as the tears trail down the sides of your face. to ease your discomfort, his hand works itself between the two of you again and thumbs at your clit, dulling some of the pain. another moment, and your tears have disappeared.

"y-you can move. m'okay." you mumble to albert's delight. he starts slow, mostly on your behalf, and hisses at just how tight you are around him as he thrusts shallowly into your aching cunt.

the moment you make a noise, he grips your thighs tighter and starts bullying his cock into you quite intensely. the tip of his cock kisses your cervix with every single harsh, downright mean, thrust. he's not doing this for you, and that becomes readily apparent. still, you can't deny that it feels good to be fucked.

albert's quiet, aside from small huffs and hisses of enjoyment. you're so wet, it's making a mess of his lower abdomen and thighs. the lewd slapping of skin on skin combined with your precious mewls and whimpers of pleasure spurr him on, his nails digging into your thighs. his cock brushes against the spongy spot inside you, making you cry out and arch your back off the bed.

"there- a-again, please!" you grab the hand not rubbing your clit and lace your fingers together as the pressure in the pit of your stomach builds and builds, leaving you dumb on your owner's cock. he complies with your request, if not to feel you cum then just to see your pretty face when you do.

he bullies that spot relentlessly, to the point where some of his hair falls in his face. gummy walls squeeze and suck him in more, a loud cry leaving you as you reach your peak. slick gushes from your already crying pussy, thoroughly coating the both of your lower halves. it's dripping from you as he continues pumping into your hole, the schlick noise amplified now.

"w-wait- wait-" you grab the hem of his shirt, but he ignores your protests.

"we're not finished until my precious girl has her cunt filled with cum." he moves your hand away, forcing yourself further into the mating press he's got you in. you can feel every single inch, and how the throb of his dick indicates his climax. a few more sloppy, mean thrusts and he's spilling his seed into you. decidedly, it's a good feeling, and you need much, much more. your heat ceases momentarily, however, as he keeps his cock inside to ensure that nothing leaks out. your tail wraps around his thigh, the end flicking happily.

"i mean filled in every sense of the word, darling." he gathers some of your slick that's coating his lower abdomen on two fingers and pushes them in your mouth, watching with delight as you kitten-lick them clean. a dark grin forms on his pale lips, his length twitching at the sight. it's then that you really give in, that you decide it's better to be this way- fucked full of his cum and brainless. a familiar heat flares in your gut once more.

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hostica-a · 9 months

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𝓦𝖊𝖘𝐤𝖊𝖗 ; Voice & mannerisms.

I'm REPOSTING about this due to being displeased with Wesker's new VA: while Wesker is 100% American ( I HEADCANON ) he spent a fair proportion of his late childhood probably from 12 up until he was about 16 in Britain on and off. This was HIGHLY intentional -references to Spencer-

So no, Wesker is in no way British. Although its common for people to assume he is based on his ‘accent’ and the fact he also tends to use very British / English sayings and phrases, furthering the illusion / confusion as to where he is actually from. Wesker’s “accent” itself is actually very "transatlantic” which was an accent popular for the upper class of America in the older days which is cited as a hybrid between American and British vernaculars.

This is something Wesker picked up “naturally” as he is American by origin but due to his environment and being surrounded by upper-class brits, equally in some of his formative years, it just kinda happened, not to mention Wesker's childhood took place through the 60s and 70s when this was still common in upper society and was in fact still a thing through the 80s and 90s. Ultimately, perfect etiquette and “proper” speech was highly expected of him so Wesker’s not exactly trying to sound like a snotty pompous fuck, he just is one. He was raised this way.

Don’t worry though, you can def bring out the vulgar, slang happy American in him. He tends to alternate depending on his mood / environment. This is more common when he's alone / or just not giving a single fuck about who he's with / talking to. It usually happens when he's not planning to entertain an ongoing relationship with his company.

S.T.A.R.S being a much less formal environment got a SLIGHTLY less “proper” version of Wesker. Slightly. While he def maintained a strong sense of professionality this was the time you were most likely to hear Wesker drop a curse in casual convo. ( though it probably wasn’t even noticed given the speech on the REST of the usually VERY “unrefined” S.T.A.R.S members. )

Also despite typically using “proper English” he's a lot less formal and polite than some people think because TBH Wesker has a limited circle of people he respects. If you don't mean anything to him / cant do anything for him, and he just feels the need to be an ass for either of these reasons, he’s quite rude and short. Actual vulgarity is less common but man is it in him and can JUMP out depending on whether or not he's mad / frustrated.

TYPICALLY I imagine its pretty fucking “scary” experiencing breaks or slips in Wesker’s snobbish, proper vernacular since yes, the demonic vibes are real and if Wesker starts getting snappy and crass it means you’re in danger, the mask is slipping, so run ! As I mentioned on Wesker's page, this is the elite Wesker voice to me.

#⊰ ° ‧: ｡* ⚘ 🥀 ━◞ Out Of Character ⊱#⊰ ° ‧: ｡* ⚘ 🥀 ━◞ 𝓗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘 ↝ Albert Wesker ⊱#⊰ ° ‧: ｡* ⚘ 🥀 ━◞ 𝕱𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 ↝ Resident Evil ⊱#Wesker headcanons #⊰ ° ‧: ｡* ⚘ 🥀 ━◞ 𝕼𝖚𝖊𝖚𝖊 ⊱

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malviral · 5 months

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Voice and mannerisms.

#⊰ ° ‧: ｡* ∞ 🕶️ ━◞ From The Mun ⊱#⊰ ° ‧: ｡* ∞ 🕶️ ━◞ Headcanons ⊱#Headcanons

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malviralaarch · 2 years

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I’ve posted about this before but as usual I’m posting about it again then going back to discord bc I got REPLIES to finish BUT : while Wesker is 100% American ( I HEADCANON ) he spent a fair proportion of his childhood up until he was about 16 in prestigious boarding schools & universities across Britain, hence he picked up a vague “”British accent”” ( When I say British accent what I mean is he speaks with "Royal English" / "Aristocratic English" / the "Queen's English", this is HIGHLY intentional -references to Spencer- )

Despite the fact that he is in no way British. Although its common for people to assume he is based on his ‘accent’ & the fact he also tends to use very British / English sayings & phrases, furthering the illusion / confusion as to where he is actually from. Wesker’s “accent” as a result is p much the “trans Atlantic” accent popular for the upper class of America in the olden days which is cited as a hybrid between American & British vernaculars. This is something Wesker picked up “naturally” as he is American by origin but due to his environment & being surrounded by upper-class brits, equally in his formative years it just kinda happened. Further Perfect etiquette & “proper” speech was highly expected of him so Wesker’s not exactly trying to sound like a snotty pompous fuck, he just is. He was raised this way. Don’t worry though, you can def bring out the vulgar, slang happy American in him. He tends to alternate depending on his mood / environment. This is more common when he's alone / or just not giving a single fuck about who he's with / talking to. Usually happens when he's not planning to entertain an ongoing relationship with his company. S.T.A.R.S being a much less formal environment got a SLIGHTLY less “proper” version of Wesker. While he def maintained a strong sense of professionality this was the time you were most likely to hear Wesker drop a curse in casual convo. ( though it probably wasn’t even notice given the speech on the REST of the usually VERY “unrefined” S.T.A.R.S members. ) Also despite typically using “proper English” he's a lot less formal & polite than some people think bc TBH Wesker has a limited circle of people he respects. If you dont mean anything to him / cant do anything for him, & he just feels the need to be an ass for either of these reasons, he’s quite fucking rude & short. Actual vulgarity is less common but man is it in him & can JUMP out depending on whether or not he's mad/frustrated. TYPICALLY I imagine its pretty fucking “scary” experiencing breaks or slips in Wesker’s snobbish, proper vernacular since yes, the demonic vibes are real & it means you’re in danger.

#⊰ ° ‧: 🕶️ * ● ∞ ° ━◞ OUT OF CHARACTER ⊱#⊰ ° ‧: 🕶️ * ● ∞ ° ━◞ HEADCANONS ⊱#headcanons

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uniquevocashark · 3 years

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A Good Servant Part 3

Content Warnings for:

murder, blood, slut shaming, implied/referenced mutilation (nonconsensual glossectomy), smoking, mentioned domestic abuse

The blood on your shoulder starts to itch by the time the cousin is gone, and Lady Dimitrescu finally deigns to acknowledge either you or her pet. Daniela has long since disappeared in a cloud of buzzing insects and you’ve kept your hands busy by doting on the Lady as she sees fit. It doesn’t help, and her odd silence annoys you.

She lounges comfortably on a chaise lounge, mulling over a single bottle of wine, a book she isn’t reading propped up on a lectern before her. The room is hazy with cigarette smoke, muting the redness of the walls and blurring them into a dark maroon. She points at you with her chin, and you clean away the stain at the corner of her mouth.

Lady Dimitrescu tilts her pet’s head up by the chin too gently than she usually does in front of an audience and her tone is thick and syrupy in the cold silence, “Where were you, pet?”

Her pet doesn’t speak.

“You want me to believe you were attacked,” Lady Dimitrescu muses, and you take the cup from her, “You want me to believe you weren’t down there for a reason. You want me to believe you didn’t have a secret room. So many wants but you won’t speak. What rules are you breaking, pet?”

Lady Dimitrescu had postponed dinner, which meant that you had to hole Rachel up in the communal bedroom rather than bring her out immediately, so now you were understaffed. You suppose, technically, that they are the Lady’s staff and if she wishes to have less staff members she is entitled to do so. You just wish it wasn’t so bloody inconvenient.

Lady Dimitrescu leans forward, cupping her ear as if she was straining to hear something, “Speak up, dear. I can’t hear you.”

Her pet still doesn’t speak.

The Lady sighs and she has you hold her wineglass as she drinks. An action she only lets her pets do. She closes her eyes for a second after you pull the glass away, and her pet cringes back a step.

Lady Dimitrescu extends her claws and sends you from the room without a word.

…

Dinner is served at 12:30 in the morning and Lady Dimitrescu still has not spoken to you.

The only food that could be properly warmed in time, by sheer coincidence, is the broth you had insisted upon. The Lady’s pet, you’re surprised to find, is still alive but Lady Dimitrescu has never been one to kill her pets on purpose. For as long as you have worked for her, at least. The only caveat is that Mihaela has to spoon feed her carefully and her bloody drool and tears must be wiped away after each spoonful. Her pet has already ruined the front of her new dress.

You positioned Rachel nearest to the Lady and she practically vibrates with nerves while she fills Lady Dimitrescu’s wine flute. She isn’t as nervous as you think she should be. She doesn’t know that her husband is currently with Miss Daniela, though. Or that the Lady knows of her extra martial activities. The stringent adherence to the supposed sanctity of marriage is the only hold over from her protestant upbringing.

Other than the broth, there are a series of rainbow-coloured jellies shaped like butterflies and flowers, arrayed together on their plates to form a meadow. There are a range of cakes; cheesecakes and pound cakes, red velvet and the ever-present chocolate cake that Miss Bela has already smeared all over her sleeves. Miss Daniela’s favourite, pineapple cake, remains untouched near the candelabra.

It isn’t until two in the morning, once the main course is served, that you bring Rachel’s husband into the dining room and Daniela forces the gardener next to her mother. Lady Dimitrescu kept intensive records on all families under her duty of care; she knew the time and date of all births, deaths and marriages of her subjects. She knew when they ate well and when they starved, she knew when they prayed and to whom, she knew when their children came of age and when their adults reached old age.

The Bradley’s were what she had deemed a trial group. Given special privileges to inspire a new flavour. But that was rather tangential. What mattered was that Lady Dimitrescu found their taste unsuited for any palate; Rachel’s indiscretion was merely the icing on the cake.

Lady Dimitrescu rubs the drool off her pet’s chin, “Mr. Bradley.”

Rachel’s husband has a voice that sounds strange with how quietly he talks, his accent slurring the ends of words with the start of the next, “Yes, my Lady?”

She smiles, her teeth stained pinkish. She pulls Rachel’s corpse forward with a finger hooked around the collar of her dress, and it falls forward and splatters a bowl of broth over him. Her throat is a mess of bitten out tendons and mangled vocal cords. You are impressed, as always, that Lady Dimitrescu has not one drop of blood on her dress. “I believe you lost this.”

He breathes through his nose, “Rachel.”

She drags her finger through the weeping hole and licks a drop from her finger.

“Why?” He asks with an emotion you can't identify. He doesn’t try to run, or freak out, or even go for the steak knife sitting pleasantly on the table next to his plate.

“She was an unfaithful whore,” Lady Dimitrescu sneers, “You didn’t beat her hard enough.”

He doesn’t blink, “That’s barbaric.”

“Don’t lie to me, Mr. Bradley. Your face isn’t suited for it.”

A muscle feathers in his cheek when she looks away from him. He isn’t old, but he isn’t young either and he’s missing fingers from frostbite. He has a ruddy complexion, but you suppose he’s handsome. In the way that stuffed elk heads are handsome.

Daniela, blissfully unaware, picks up her blood covered cake. “Oh, I love pineapple cake!”

…

“You were nervous earlier,” Lady Dimitrescu says, after the table has cleared, “Why was that?”

“It’s already been corrected.” You reply.

She sighs out a long string of smoke, “Has it?” You don’t answer and she laughs, a quiet chuckle that’s more a sigh than anything. She flicked the ash from the end of her cigarette. “Mother Miranda wanted to speak to you. A call will be coming through later.”

You nod. “Very well, Madame.”

Lady Dimitrescu looks at you, and you look at her. She blows smoke in your face and you squint against it. It means you don’t see her hand as it comes to stroke idly at your cheek, or the way her pet looks at you from under the table.

You frown at her, “You’re upset with me.”

She doesn’t answer.

You lean into her hand a little and she twirls a strand of your hair around a finger, pursing her lips. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” She mumbles, and you lean towards her to catch her next words, “I just hate not knowing things.”

You step away from her and head towards the door. “Don’t look at me like that. I told you to get used to it.”

She doesn’t speak again, the usual banter she responds with lost in the vague expression of disdain on her face.

…

The phone rings late the next day, while you’re busy scrubbing at the dishes to help keep everything running on schedule. You end up taking the call while folding the loose clothing that hadn’t been folded in a week.

“Dimitrescu residence.”

“Finally,” Mother Miranda sighed through the phone.

“Mother Miranda.”

“Wesker.” She replied.

You pause, wrestling down a sudden lump in your throat and settling the phone between your ear and your shoulder. “Hello.” You say unevenly.

Mother Miranda’s laugh is no less lovely through the speaker than it is in real life, “You’ve been well, I take it?”

“Very well, Mother Miranda,” You flex your free fingers, then grab another pair of stockings, “You wished to speak with me?”

“I did. Have you had any relapses?”

“No, Mother Miranda.”

“You're healing properly?”

“Yes, Mother Miranda.”

“Excellent. Vanessa wanted me to inform you that she’ll be there on the morrow.”

You drop the shift you were folding. “Excuse me?”

“Did Alcina not tell you?”

“It must have slipped her mind.” You say lightly, placing the shift back into the basket.

“Vanessa will collect more data, but your condition is promising. I’ll call again in a week with the results.”

“Thank you, Mother Miranda.”

She laughs again and you can imagine her clearly. The dark red velvet of her armchair, the hewn strength of her face, the glimmer of her dark eyes. “Take care.” She cooed and hung up.

You place the phone down gently and stand there in silence until Mihaela calls you to the Lady’s room.

…

You try to keep your temper in check when Mihaela leaves but struggle with it to a point that you have to look at her pet instead. Even that doesn’t help, because her pet has dropped all pretence of being meek and glares at you from her spot. She isn’t near the Lady, curled instead behind the bed with a glare towards you.

She should be grateful that she only lost her tongue.

It takes you a moment to realise that you’ve let the silence drag on too long to be polite and that Lady Dimitrescu has abandoned her own charade of being engrossed in a book of poetry she hasn’t touched in years. You flex your fingers.

“Madame.” You say but forgo a bow.

“You’re upset.” She observes mildly.

“God forbid I have a temper.”

The room goes silent again, but you aren’t in a hurry to smooth it over, cataloguing the shock that twists her face. Her eyes are wide, and her smile shows too many teeth, but you’ve never been one to shy away because of a few fangs. She rises from her chair, stepping over the bloody stain in the carpet as she looms over you.

“I beg your pardon.”

“I could ask the same.” You snap.

She raises a brow.

“How dare you,” You snarl, jabbing a finger up at her, and you struggle with your words, “How fucking dare you!”

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #resident evil 8 #A Good Servant #my writing #little more disjointed but whatever #mother miranda makes an appearance

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chiauve · 5 years

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Aquarius 18

The heat beat doubly on Wesker as he wandered down the boardwalk: from the late afternoon sun above and the reflected heat from the concrete and wood below. The summer months were waning and Raccoon City had one last surge of tourists before things began winding down again, though the heat would trail well into September. It was at its worst now, so Wesker bought an ice cream cone from a street vendor to cool his innards.

Off duty and out of uniform, few paid him mind, save a local or two who gave the STARS captain a hello or ‘good afternoon’. Wesker just nodded in response and walked on. He hoped he could get this over with quickly and not have to walk up and down the boardwalk like a fool. Fortunately he barely made it past the old wooden stairway down to the beach before he saw him.

A tall man in a black overcoat leaned against the rail, back to the sea and watching the crowds of people. He wore gloves and dark sunglasses, a hat and folded umbrella at his side, completing the ridiculous ensemble. He didn’t acknowledge Wesker, who stopped near him, watching the sun glitter off the water and licking at his melting ice cream.

“You are embarrassing me,” Wesker finally hissed at the man, not making eye contact, “Could you be more of a stereotype? You even have an umbrella.”

“It could rain, then where would I be?” the man grumbled and Wesker winced at his accent.

“There’s not a cloud in the sky, you are just being more obvious.”

“Stop wasting time and give me your report...” the man made a coughing noise followed by clicks and it was his turn to wince.

Wesker glanced at him. “Human throats cannot handle our language, that’s why we have code names. Use Wesker. You are...?” Wesker trailed his hand in the air, as though waiting for the other man to give him something.

“Sergei.”

“Ah yes, that doesn’t stand out at all.” Irritation was making him bold but he didn’t care. He’d spent years training to understand the surface world and assimilate and then idiots like the Wielder took some T and then bungled about with no concern to the effects of their presence. Luckily the people who did notice the other man just seemed to laugh, assuming he was dressing up as the local monster to amuse the tourists.

“I do not care, Wesker. The name is suitable. Now what have you been doing up here that is taking so long?”

“My mission. Infiltration requires I perform my human role acceptably in order to keep it which takes time and effort. I even managed to guide the hunters to an injured whale for easy harvesting that will feed us all for weeks, it’s not like I’ve been sitting on my ass. And your accent is atrocious,” Wesker snapped, “Speak the Old Tongue if you can’t handle English.”

Sergei glared at him through his shades but switched anyway. The Old Tongue had once been the language of the first humans who had settled on the bay centuries ago, and the People learned it to ease communications between them, but through the ages it had absorbed new words and phrases to adapt to a changing world and became something else entirely. Wesker was certain a pure version of the Old Tongue was preserved somewhere in their archives but that was of no concern to him.

Freed from linguistic restraints, the Wielder could make his annoyance known. “Your status, Wesker, and quick with it, I don’t have all day.”

“You really don’t,” Wesker smirked, “and there’s nothing new to report. My place in the RPD is maintained but I do not yet have access to the targets or the water supply. That’s all you need to know; the details go to Spencer alone.”

“You are taking too long, you think Spencer is pleased with you?” Sergei sneered, stepping into Wesker’s space. “You think he wants to hear about your little adventures as a surface grub eater?”

Wesker did not back away, but took a long lick of his ice cream before it melted onto his hand. “We knew this was going to be a long game when we started and Spencer promised me time. We have one shot at this and we have to do it right. If we fail, we are done, there is no other chance! I am the only one who can fully bond with the Stairway of the Sun.”

“Truly? Have we already removed your offspring as a possibility?”

Wesker’s back itched with his instinctual need to raise his spines and dorsal fins into an aggressive display. He bared his teeth instead, well aware of how pathetic it looked as a human and tried to play it off as a yawn.

“At least I’ve produced viable offspring for the clan. What have you done?”

That did it. Sergei’s hand snatched the collar of Wesker’s shirt and twisted it upward, lifting Wesker into standing his full height and tightening it around his neck. Too much more and he’d cut off blood flow of the carotid artery and Wesker would be unconscious before he even knew it.

“You forget your place, you little eel,” Sergei growled, his voice dangerously soft.

“You’ll get your hands off me before you make a scene. People know me here, do you want to risk humans trying to intercede?”

Slowly, and with one last twist, Sergei’s hand released Wesker’s shirt collar and dropped back to his side, though he did not back up. Wesker continued:

“You may be Spencer’s right hand but this is my mission and I make the decisions, understand? I answer to the Ruler, not you, and I will take as long as I damn need to do this right. I will not fail due to your impatience after all this. Do you think you can replace me? How long can you keep those legs, anyway? An hour? Even that?”

Sergei snort in disgust and leaned back against the railing, glaring at passing humans. “You are swimming along a volcanic vent, and when it erupts in your face I will be there to see it.”

“Of course. I will be returning home soon, my supply of T is low and I will give Spencer a full update then, if you must tell him something.Be sure Willful has a new supply for me.”

Wesker didn’t need to see Sergei’s eyes to know he was rolling them. It was an odd trait the People shared with humans. “You will get what you get. He’s barely been able to look away from his G project.”

Wesker sighed at the reminder. G was to be an improvement over T but it was incomplete and untested. He knew if Wielder had his way then Wesker would be the one to test it and he did not relish that idea. “Then remind him what’s at stake. Perhaps you need a reminder as well. We ignored the problem for too long and now look at us.”

“The only mistake we made was getting involved with humans,” Sergei grumbled before pushing away from the rail and walking away, vanishing down the boardwalk to whatever secret space he used to transform.

On that, Wesker couldn’t disagree. But hindsight and 20/20 and all that, or whatever the humans said. He shoved the last of the ice cream cone into his mouth and swallowed it whole, soothing cold sliding into his gut.

#resident evil #albert wesker #sergei vladimir #aquarius #mermay #fanfic

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pixelgrotto · 5 years

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The horrific Resident Evil playthrough, interlude three

I just finished watching all of the Resident Evil movies I could get my hands on. When I told people I was doing this as the last part of my great year-long playthrough, they all let out groans and said something along the lines of, “Ugh, don’t you wanna end on a good note?” Undaunted by these words and fueled by my ability to tolerate crappy cinema, I moved forward, courageously making it through nine of these suckers...which, to be fair, ranged from surprisingly enjoyable to just as terrible as everyone warned me about.

Before I begin, it’s important to note that we’re dealing with two separate film series here. There’s director Paul W.S. Anderson’s Resident Evil Hollywood films, which are the ones that most people know about. Then there are three Japanese-made CG movies that are canon and co-exist alongside the stories of the games. The Anderson movies are...mostly ass. The Japanese ones are okay.

Let us start with the ass first.

Resident Evil - The first RE film came out in 2002, which means that what little CG it has is laughably dated and it’s refreshingly small-scale when compared to its sequels. The movie’s a fan fiction remix of some themes from Resident Evil 1, except with none of the characters from the games present. Instead, we have Paul W.S. Anderson’s wife Milla Jovovich taking center stage as Alice, the former head of Umbrella security in a secret base called the Hive that goes to hell when some dude tries to steal viruses. The entirety of the action takes place in the Hive, and we get a surprisingly tiny number of monsters, with just your garden variety zombies, a few Cerberus and a single Licker showing up. Even though she does run up a wall and kick a Cerberus in the face, Alice is at her most realistic here (she turns into a dual wielding mutant with the ability to make the camera go into slow-motion whenever she wants in all the other films), there’s a nifty laser grid scene that all the sequels keep referencing when they want you to feel nostalgic, and the Hive’s sentient AI, the Red Queen, is compelling enough that Capcom eventually stuck her in Resident Evil: The Darkside Chronicles. Aside from this movie being full of British actors who do REALLY awful American accents, sounding like they all have mouths full of sausages, Paul W.S. Anderson’s first take on Resident Evil is probably the most watchable one he made.

Resident Evil: Apocalypse - Okay, this one is watchable too, but in more of a popcorn-munching “lol, this shit is dumb” way. It steals the general plot of Resident Evils 2 and 3, with Raccoon City getting infected, but ups the cheese by a hundred. Alice is now a thirteen-year-old boy’s version of a BADAZZ woman, with lots of guns and a bare midriff, and she teams up with Jill Valentine, who resembles her game self in looks but not exactly in personality. Together, they’ve gotta escape Raccoon City along with Carlos Oliveira, who is possibly the only character from the games who is done a great service in these Anderson movies, which make him much more likable even if they couldn’t find an actual Hispanic actor to portray him and had to settle for an Israeli instead. Oh, and Nemesis shows up, because one of the dudes from the first movie who accompanied Alice into the Hive gets experimented on and turned into what honestly looks like someone’s Halloween costume. The writers commit a cardinal sin at the end of the flick by humanizing him, having him suddenly remember his TRUE SELF and help the good guys, but aside from that screw-up I admit that I had a goofy grin on my face throughout several parts of this movie. After Nemesis blows up the Raccoon City station and murmurs his one line of dialogue- “STARRRRRSSSS” - I even kinda felt like clapping. So yeah, Apocalpyse is idiotic fun.

Resident Evil: Extinction - Here’s where the movies stop being mildly entertaining and become varying degrees of either “meh” or just plain bad. Extinction’s biggest problem is that it makes the weird decision of having the entire PLANET be wiped nearly completely clean by Umbrella’s virus, giving the franchise the most generic setting imaginable for a zombie flick - a post-apocalyptic world. And even though this film features Claire Redfield and actually has Alice fight a Tyrant that looks the part, I feel that by turning the environment into Mad Max the filmmakers missed the entire point of the franchise. Resident Evil isn’t really about a “what if” scenario with mankind dying and zombies taking over the world. Instead, it’s about how humanity manages to cope in a time where zombies are used by corporations for terrorism purposes - hence the franchise’s “bio-organic weapon” catch-phrase for its creatures. It’s about how brave people live on in an era that just happens to feature biopunk monsters as a deadly fact of life. It’s about the evil that resides within a world that is pretty shitty, but hasn’t completely gone to shit. By turning the whole planet into the same ol’ zombie playground that we see in most popular fiction starring these workman-like horror tropes, Extinction - which probably thought it was upping the stakes - instead just feels sorta dull, and anyone who views the film today is probably going to see it as a weaker version of The Walking Dead. Oh, and it ends with Alice discovering clones of herself, which will only serve to screw with the loose continuity of these movies as they go on.

Resident Evil: Afterlife - This one starts with Alice’s clones raiding the Umbrella facility in Tokyo, and the whole sequence - which feels like it should be the finale - is reduced to a few minutes of special effects in the beginning. (This is foreshadowing for the next two films, which both end with hints of giant, climatic battles that mostly happen off-screen, if at all.) The first thing that I noticed when watching this was how slow-mo kicked in every five minutes and how the camera seemed to linger on bullets, and I eventually remembered that this film was released during Hollywood’s obsession with 3D during the early 2010s. This explains Afterlife’s IN-YOUR-FACE-IN-THREE-DIMENSIONS action scenes, which are initially pretty in a music video sort of way but become overdone and tiresome as the movie goes on, kinda like a Zack Snyder film. (I place Paul W.S. Anderson in the same “style over substance” category of director as both Zack Snyder and Michael Bay, by the way.) Anyway, Afterlife deals with Alice teaming up with more survivors to try to find a secret ship haven free of zombies. Along the way she runs into Chris Redfield, who looks more like a janitor than the jacked BSAA agent that he is in the games, and Chris and Claire Redfield have a quick sibling reunion and fight Wesker in a scene with choreography shamelessly stolen from Resident Evil 5. It’s pandering fan service and sort of diverting, but ultimately none of it matters. Chris disappears after this movie and is never seen again, and Afterlife is more interesting as a specimen of 2010 3D excess than it is as an actual narrative.

Resident Evil: Retribution - Retribution amps the pandering fan service that Afterlife dabbled in to new levels. Ada Wong is here, played by Li Bingbing but dubbed by her original voice actress, Sally Cahill, probably because Li’s English isn’t that great. Leon Kennedy and Barry frickin’ Burton show up, both looking pretty much like their in-game counterparts. Even Michelle Rodriguez and a few other faces from Paul W.S. Anderson’s first Resident Evil flick make an appearance, thanks to the fact that this movie has clones up the wazoo and uses them to handwave away any series inconsistencies you could think of. So you’re got fan service for the people who like the games and fan service for the folks who liked the first movie, and on top of it all the film has the extreme 3D that its predecessor possessed and a buttload of battles because it all takes place in a giant Umbrella simulation facility full of stuff that can easily be wrecked. By now the plot to these things has gotten more scrambled than my eggs in the morning, but I will say that thanks to its inclusion of classic characters, Retribution is more or less tolerable. There’s even a bit of characterization this time around, thanks to a little hearing-impaired clone girl who Alice takes under her wing and begins to care for, and the movie ends on an okay cliffhanger in a Washington DC under siege, promising epic things to come in the next movie. Unfortunately... Resident Evil: The Final Chapter - I really did not enjoy The Final Chapter for a myriad of reasons. First of all, the Washington battle promised at the end of Retribution never happens. Instead, we fast forward to several months later, when Alice is (big surprise) the only survivor, and EVERYONE she was with in the last flick - Ada, Leon, the little deaf girl - is gone and never mentioned ever again. Wesker, who Alice was working with in Retribution, is back to being a bad guy for poorly explained reasons. Another bad scientist dude that Alice killed in Extinction also returns for even worse reasons, because supposedly Alice only offed his clone three movies ago. But wait, this “real” bad scientist dude is also revealed to be a clone as the TRUE bad scientist dude shows up in the movie’s last act! AND THE ULTIMATE TWIST (look away now if you actually care about spoilers) is that Alice is HERSELF a clone of the original daughter of the Umbrella corporation’s founder who died of a degenerative disease and served as the basis for the Red Queen AI. The idiotic thing is that this daughter was said to be the progeny of Dr. Charles Ashford in Resident Evil: Apocalypse, but this movie retcons her to be the spawn of Dr. James Marcus. The Final Chapter, in fact, screws with continuity to a degree I have rarely seen before in a long-running film franchise. Yeah, the framework tying this series together got weird as soon as clones were introduced, but previously it seemed that Paul W.S. Anderson at least cared about his own messy fan fiction. Here? It’s like he forgot what he’d spent the last 15 years building up to and ended on one sloppy fart. If this weren’t bad enough, The Final Chapter is edited in that god awful “shaky cam, lots of fast cuts” way that I hate. In fact, I counted something like twenty cuts in a scene of a few seconds when Alice is attacked by a creature, which means that this film won’t just baffle you with its disregard for continuity - it’ll give you a headache too.

Resident Evil: Degeneration - After watching an array of live-action flicks that took random Resident Evil threads and mashed them together with the elegance of a splattered turd, it did feel good to switch things up and move to the CG movies that were actually put out by Capcom. This 2008 offering takes place in between Resident Evils 4 and 5, stars Claire Redfield and Leon Kennedy, and deals with a virus breakout in an airport and some of the pharmaceutical company backstabbing that occurred in the aftermath of Umbrella’s destruction. It’s all stuff that feels like it could have come from a lesser gaiden game - perhaps in the same vein as the first Revelations title - and it kinda gives off that “so-so anime movie” vibe, especially because the dubbing always sounds a tad off. Nevertheless, Degeneration’s still a breath of fresh air compared to the Anderson series, and there’s a nice gag where Claire’s searching for a weapon in the airport, someone hands her a physical umbrella, and she looks at it and is like, “Hm, didn’t see this coming.” (Lollerskates.) The main issue I have with Degeneration is how “plasticky” everyone looks - it’s hard to realize how far computer animation has advanced in the last decade until you look at Degeneration’s stiff visuals and compare them to the other CG films. Also, Leon’s characterization is terrible. He’s meant to be a super serious badass, I guess, but he mostly just looks like someone rammed a Samurai Edge up his sphincter. I prefer my Leon Kennedy to be the “Don’t worry Ashley, I’m comin’ for ya!” version from Resident Evil 4, or at least a dude with a little sass to him. The guy in Degeneration is about as interesting as a board. Resident Evil: Damnation - Damnation is a noticeable step above Degeneration, both in computer animation, which really got better from 2008 to 2012, and in all-around presentation. The dubbing’s still somewhat wonky with that same anime movie vibe, but the characterization is on point, and Leon, who’s taking center stage once more, is just like his RE6 self. Speaking of RE6, this movie channels that game’s themes of international terrorism with a plot that involves rebels in a made-up Eastern European country using Lickers and Las Plagas in an effort to fight for their freedom, only to learn that lo and behold, the nefarious female president who’s seized control of their nation has her own B.O.W.s - in the form of Tyrants - at her disposal. Leon’s caught in the middle of this mess and ends up befriending some of the rebels, and Ada Wong’s also infiltrated the country to manipulate the president. Ada and Leon’s interactions are as insubstantial as they’ve been in pretty much every game that isn’t the recent RE2make, but we do get a cool fight between Ada and the president, who for some reason knows substantial knife fu. There’s an even better battle between Tyrants and Lickers in a city hall square, and Leon gets throw against pillars, regularly takes hits that would kill a normal person and pilots a tank alongside one of the rebels who looks a lot like Chris Redfield but isn’t Chris Redfield. This dude serves as the film’s sympathetic character - a guy torn from his peaceful existence thanks to political wrangling and is tricked into using B.O.W.s to try to achieve a brighter future. It ends with the fella severely injured but learning how to live and move forward in a world infected with nefarious bioweapons, which is the very theme that the Anderson flicks ditched around movie number three. So good work for side-stepping previous failures and recognizing what Resident Evil is all about, Damnation.

Resident Evil: Vendetta - If Degeneration’s a so-so anime movie, and Damnation a good anime movie, then Vendetta is just a good movie in general, with no “anime” distinction needed. The dubbing’s finally pretty decent, for one, and the story takes place in between RE6 and RE7, teaming Leon and Chris Redfield up with - HOLY CRAP - Rebecca Chambers, who’s been AWOL since Resident Evil Zero. They’ve gotta stop an arms dealer from bio-nuking New York and doing nasty things to Rebecca, who resembles his dead wife, and along the way Leon pilots a motorcycle on the freeway with his feet while shooting at Cerebrus with his hands. Nearly all of the movie’s considerable action segments are punctuated with rapid fire John Wick-style gunplay, and it works. It’s like the folks who made this film realized that the coolest part of Resident Evil 6 was the point where Leon and Chris point their guns at each other for a few seconds before deciding that they need to put their differences aside and cooperate, and even though you could conceivably fault Vendetta for leaning heavily towards the “action” side of Resident Evil rather than the “horror” side, it’s a well-paced film that finally gives us a substantial interaction between two series mainstays beyond the one minute they shared with each other in RE6. Also, people are still posting GIFs from Vendetta’s action sequences all across Tumblr and forums whenever arguments break out over whether Chris or Leon is TEH COoLER Resident Evil protagonist, so Capcom obviously did something right. If we get another computer animated film, I imagine it’ll lean more heavily towards horror since that’s where the series has gone recently...but hopefully the path of improvement that we’ve seen from Degeneration to Damnation to Vendetta won’t be broken.

And with that, whew, I’m done with RE movies, at least until the rumored Hollywood reboot that’s supposedly drawing inspiration from Resident Evil 7 comes out. (It can’t be worse than The Final Chapter, I suppose.) I can’t say that my friends were wrong when they warned me that half of these would be shite, but I also can’t say that I ended on a bad note, because Vendetta was pretty good.

After all this, my grand playthrough and consumption of all Resident Evil media is about to finish Next post I make will be a last look at the franchise as a whole...and what a year’s worth of zombie headshots taught me. All screencaps taken by me.

#pixel grotto #video games #now playing #resident evil #biohazard

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citywatcher · 7 years

Text

The cashier at the bakery extends a blueberry muffin for four of Valerie’s bronze hexes and flashes her a smile that would’ve been cute if the mouth wearing it wasn’t missing a front tooth and the eyes glued onto her didn’t have the texture of dried raisins in the sun.

“Uh… thanks! Looks sweet,” she says in an effort to turn the conversation, snatching it from his hand and backing away from the counter.

“Made ‘em myself,” he tells her. “My hands are good with sweet things.” There’s a wink from one of those raisin eyes, and Valerie notes that he mustn’t have combed his straw-colored hair in days.

Her tongue is ready to bring an end to the conversation when she hears someone calling her name down the street. Valerie turns, thankful for the respite from the conversation, and sees Tanya rushing up the cobblestones. A few tube runners, standing out from their crowd with their khaki shorts and tubes of oxygen strapped along their shoulders, are unfortunate enough to get close to her. They barely avoid toppling over, head-over-heels, as she passes by, barreling through the crowd.

“Tanya!” Valerie waves, heading down the steps. She holds the tip of her skirts in one hand and the muffin in the other, performing a mock curtsy as her friend arrives. “Here, I picked this out for-”

“No time for that,” Tanya cuts her off, slowing to a walk - but her wide steps mean that Valerie has to almost jog to keep up with her. “I’m heading to the precinct. Flats are back at it again.”

Valerie’s miffed that Tanya has completely ignored her offering, but she pulls her cap down and walks alongside her friend. “Ooh, where?”

“Down on the Entresol,” Tanya answers, cutting a right on the street corner to duck into an alley. It’s a shortcut they’ve taken many times to get to the department office. Not many people think of going through the tailor’s shop to avoid the promenade traffic that piles up during this hour. “Told Joakim, there’s a lot more mags ‘round the square today. Said I bet that the Flats are planning something. Usually it’s just Roland and his goons hoping to shove some of the clubbers around.” They pass through aisles of clothes and fabric, taking a flight of stairs to the second story. After that, they’ll end up on a rooftop on the level just below the department.

Valerie hadn’t visited the lower districts until a couple of years ago, when she met Tanya. She’d always taken the thoroughfares, until her friend had told her that any Piltie worth her weight in gears can climb a scaffolding to get up a story.

“Let me guess, then: the Sharps took a stand?”

Tanya offers a hand as they make it to the level of the precinct. “Yep. Dunno how it started, but there were fists flying and silver drawn. Something’s not right. Mara’s usually got a good leash on her boys.”

Valerie nods. “Surprised you aren’t down there, knocking some sense into them.”

There’s a thin streak of blood on Tanya’s bare shoulder as she turns. Valerie’s eyes widen, but Tanya just grins. “Course I didn’t leave without clouting a few of those louts. But I saw the mobs. People flooding in faster than the Sun Gates at noon. Had to back out of there and run up here. Though I’m sure,” she adds with a scowl, “that Silversnipes has already heard about it.”

Valeris reaches for an iron bar of the scaffolding separating the building they’re standing on from the higher level of Central Avenue. “So why’re you up here if you think Officer Farleigh’s already on the case?”

“Because she thinks it’s just some street scuffle,” Tanya answers, climbing up behind her. It’s an easy route for the two now, having climbed through dozens of times, and Valerie offers Tanya a hand when they reach the top, arriving on one of the street corners. “She’ll just send out a couple of her officers and think the gleam of some shiny badges will stop everyone from slicing each other up. We need Caitlyn herself.”

They waste no time heading up to the sidewalk. Valerie can see the glass half-dome, made up of hexagonal tiles that shine in the sun like a kaleidoscope, that marks the headquarters of law enforcement in this precinct. “You’re planning on just strolling in there and demanding to see Caitlyn?”

“It’s worked before, hasn’t it?” Tanya asks.

Valerie raises her eyebrows. “You were pounding on the doors so hard that you almost got arrested!”

Her friend just shrugs in response. They approach the front doors, the sunlight illuminating the stone in front of them like a carpet. Constructed apart from the crowded lines of apartments and stores that populated the area, the station had originally been an armory, when Piltover was still one of the independent cities of the Cape. Caitlyn had moved the new headquarters of the precinct from a rundown office building three blocks away when she was appointed sheriff of this area. It was a tough project to pitch to City Hall, but Caitlyn had never lacked for persuasion.

“Don’t care for the pomp and ceremony the baysiders are so hung up on,” Tanya says. “File this, petition here.” She rolls her eyes. “Especially the floozy at the front desk whose face looks like a half-baked pretzel. Next time she tells me ‘sign here’ I’ll take that pen of hers and shove it up-”

“Ah, Miss Knaveci,” a voice cuts in. Valerie whirls around - she knows that voice, an Eagles’ Bay accent as crisp as a morning over the blue wharf waters.

“Candid as ever, I see,” Caitlyn observes. Instead of the uniform she wears on duty, Caitlyn’s dressed in an ascot cap and a red coat, but Valerie’s learned not to take much stock in correlating the sheriff’s clothes with her work. As far as Valerie was concerned, Caitlyn always had her eyes on Piltover.

“Officer Farleigh!” Valerie exclaims, but Tanya steps forward, her arms crossed. Her face is twisted in a severe frown that Valerie’s seen before. If Caitlyn wasn’t a warden then Tanya would have looked to throw down right there and then - in fact, Valerie feels that a part of her is still considering it. And Caitlyn’s returning the favor with that smirk of hers. That doesn’t look good.

“Huge mob by the Entresol, Snipes,” Tanya begins. “Are you going down there or what?”

“Oh, really?” Caitlyn asks in mock surprise. “A splendid time to go for a walk.”

Tanya’s mouth twitches, but Caitlyn pulls back her coat to reveal her signature rifle. She unfastens the strap attached to the inside of the coat pocket and takes it in her hands.

“Heard all about it, actually. But I’m not about to send the boys down there unprepared.”

Tanya blinks, her head tilting forward. “What do you mean?”

Caitlyn turns to Tanya. “Tell me, Miss Knaveci, which road did you take up here? Whitecliff’s the busiest street this time of day, so that’s no good.”

“Right,” Tanya’s mouth curves as she thinks. “Knew the Flats would be watching the main street corners, so I had to get out through the side. I crossed Wesker, and then ran up Taranto…”

“Which means that three of the main avenues heading into the Entresol are no good,” Caitlyn realizes. “But where did the mobs file in from? The east or the west?”

“The… west,” Tanya answers. “Huh. But that’s odd. Roland never takes the long way around. He always comes ‘round from Delphino.”

“So the east is no good. And by the route you took to get here, I can tell that the entrance from the north, at Oxford, and Whitecliff, at the south, are being watched as well.” Caitlyn hums, tapping the hextech radio on her belt before nodding.

“My team will approach from the west, then, too. Down Kingston.” Caitlyn’s about to head out, but then she realizes she still has to account for the two.

“I ain’t standing on the sidelines for this,” Tanya tells her.

“I never expected you would,” Caitlyn says. “But this is more than I’ve bargained for.” She looks at the two of them for a few seconds, and then her jaw squares up and her eyes flash a determined blue. “Still, it’s better that you work with me here. Go through the way you came, and get as many people as you know out.”

“Huh?” Valerie asks. “What’s going on?”

“Explosives in the market square,” Caitlyn says. “And along at least three avenues heading down there. They’re looking to flush someone out. It’s why they’re herding the people along, with the mobs on guard near the biggest avenues.”

“They’re going to blow up the whole Entresol?” Tanya’s already begun running down there, but Caitlyn doesn’t stop her. Valerie wants to follow, but she still feels the sheriff’s gaze on her, and the spotlight paralyzes her. She turns towards Caitlyn.

“No, no, that can’t be right? You’ve gotta explain this, Officer!”

“Non-combustible explosives, I’m guessing,” Caitlyn says in a lower voice. “Not meant to result in a lot of casualties, but a large crowd’s panic can easily make it worse.” She cradles the rifle, pressing another button on the hextech radio. “Team one. Move in.”

“I’ve not got much time to explain, Val, but you might as well know as much as I can afford to linger,” Caitlyn says. “I received the reports twenty minutes ago. Movements like this aren’t done with much warning before the damage is done. But because I knew something had to be up, I couldn’t just send the force down there. That would be tantamount to suicide.”

Valerie nods.

“But I’m sure Miss Knaveci is always up-to-date with the day-to-day behavior of those around the Entresol. The streets down there are a real labyrinth, confusing to navigate. It wouldn’t do for me or one of my lieutenants to go down there and scope the area. It’d waste too much time.”

“So instead of bringing yourself down there,” Valerie realizes, “you waited for the news to reach you!”

Caitlyn nods. “I was expecting Tanya to arrive here. She’s a smart girl - she knows which routes to take. Between her story and the way the city is laid out, I could finally fit the pieces of the puzzle together. And it’s a lot more thorough than I expected.”

Valerie’s eyes widen. “Is that bad?”

Caitlyn moves her lips as if to answer, but then she snaps them shut. “It’s complicated. But we’re left with this: Kingston’s the only road that’s safe to travel down, if you want to reach the Entresol from here. Everything else will succumb to chaos. You best be careful out there, Valerie.” Caitlyn lifts her rifle up and heads down the street.

“Hey - wait, Caitlyn! You can’t just leave me up here! I’m going down there, too. Somebody’s got to watch Tanya’s back,” Valerie insists, running in front of Caitlyn.

The sheriff considers for a moment, before nodding. “Your parents are going to have a fit if anything happens to you when you’re with me.”

“I know what I’m getting into,” Valerie assures her.

“You don’t,” Caitlyn retorts, and her gaze lingers on her, “but circumstances doesn’t allow us to pick and choose. Stay close to me. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

#drabbles.#this isn't even a drabble it's so poorly executed that it's fanfiction #o well #some interesting worldbuilding by me #long post

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