(no subject)
His arrival had been nothing more than a disappointment. While he had been fed some information by Mr. Headroom, he knew it in his bones that behind all the jests, the electronic life-form was hiding something from him - something important. And that would just not do. So, Albert decided to take things into his own hands; if no one was going to tell him exactly what was going on here, he was going to just have to pry it out, whether by force or otherwise. He decided to start out leaning for the latter.
Deciding it would be better to make an impression in a suit rather than prod around the complex in his usual tactical uniform, Wesker took to the elevator looking as elegant as ever. Why cause more panic than needed? While, yes, the suit wouldn't be as functional as the uniform, he had no choice but to play the diplomat. With little information about who was residing in the fast halls of the complex, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
The elevator ride was a short and pleasant one - it gave him time to muse over what he would say and how he would approach anyone he happened to find while he stalked around the complex. Truly, he would have to play it down a bit and keep his temper in control. He knew he had blown it with Headroom and he would be sure not to make the same mistake again. Not unless he could keep his victim quiet the next time around.
One of his two remaining cigars was plucked from the inner pocket of the fine velvet jacket he had adorned for the evening stroll. He held the large cylinder of tobacco between his gloved fingers, waiting for the doors to snap open. Only then, would he light it, as not to waste any of its delicious flavor. But he also had another motive - he wanted it to permeate the rooms he walked through to leave his mark where ever he went. It was an egotistical move at best, but wasn't he just that?
A chime sounded and the doors opened, allowing the Tyrant to pad out into the lobby of the hotel. Funny how the terminal came with its own living quarters - it was almost as if someone was expecting people to be stranded here. Albert made a note of this as he flicked open his zippo lighter and carefully twirled the tip of the cigar over the flame. Once it was lit and once the silvery-blue smoke came dribbling out of his nostrils, Wesker flicked his wrist, closing the lighter. It was then that he headed on his way.
It was time to find his first victim.
Deciding it would be better to make an impression in a suit rather than prod around the complex in his usual tactical uniform, Wesker took to the elevator looking as elegant as ever. Why cause more panic than needed? While, yes, the suit wouldn't be as functional as the uniform, he had no choice but to play the diplomat. With little information about who was residing in the fast halls of the complex, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
The elevator ride was a short and pleasant one - it gave him time to muse over what he would say and how he would approach anyone he happened to find while he stalked around the complex. Truly, he would have to play it down a bit and keep his temper in control. He knew he had blown it with Headroom and he would be sure not to make the same mistake again. Not unless he could keep his victim quiet the next time around.
One of his two remaining cigars was plucked from the inner pocket of the fine velvet jacket he had adorned for the evening stroll. He held the large cylinder of tobacco between his gloved fingers, waiting for the doors to snap open. Only then, would he light it, as not to waste any of its delicious flavor. But he also had another motive - he wanted it to permeate the rooms he walked through to leave his mark where ever he went. It was an egotistical move at best, but wasn't he just that?
A chime sounded and the doors opened, allowing the Tyrant to pad out into the lobby of the hotel. Funny how the terminal came with its own living quarters - it was almost as if someone was expecting people to be stranded here. Albert made a note of this as he flicked open his zippo lighter and carefully twirled the tip of the cigar over the flame. Once it was lit and once the silvery-blue smoke came dribbling out of his nostrils, Wesker flicked his wrist, closing the lighter. It was then that he headed on his way.
It was time to find his first victim.