Ooooh.
I would love to have a chance to have a game kind of like this.
This was written because I'd been talking to Amanda about it, although it's incomplete. Also because I have Dante muses, and never get much the chance to play with them.
[Edit] Also, it's been a while since I played Resident Evil Code: Veronica X, so my scenery details may seem shabby. Well, aside from last night, when infinite ammo!Claire in her wonderful shorts outfit and white boots ran around while I was on the phone with Amanda, pwning all until Nosferatu bitchslapped her from the platform. [/Edit]
The ushering of the soldiers around the island was annoying at best, and had begun to piss him off. He was more than happy when they finally ushered him into a stale office on the base, with quick babblings of how lucky he was to be getting to see things not even they were going to see. It earned them a raised, white eyebrow, but it went ignored as the door shut and he heard it lock. The eyebrow dropped as his eyes narrowed, suspicious.
A soft melody began to chime from someplace in the office that he hadn’t the chance to really locate, before the office opened out to a stone bridge, covered by a gothic awning, and a layer of fog. There was no hesitation to start out onto it, though his steps were slow, with his hands at his sides, loose and ready to move for the pistols on his back.
The end of the bridge opened grounds that looked dilapidated, with a massive mansion just beyond. It reminded him of one of those bad horror movies he used to watch, when he was younger. About the sleazy vampire chicks and that one human chick that screamed a lot (which probably explained the premise of a lot of bad horror movies, but he knew what he was thinking about, and that was all that mattered).
It would’ve been an easy trek, if not for the fog, earning several slams into statues and gravestones (gravestones) that were by his knees, and out of side from the low wisps. This was followed by hobbling and cursing for several minutes, drowned out by the heavy weaponry he carried clanking around loudly.
The kneecap busting path led up to a pair of doors that were banged up, and in desperate need of replacing. Eh, not that he was one to talk about it, considering his shop back home was just as much a derelict as this place, if not worse. Weird, though, considering it was supposed to be the house of the head of the island. The dude had enough manpower to be able to keep this place up to par… unless he really did belong in that bad horror movie.
A shrug. He moved his hand out, and balled it into a fist. There was a perfectly fine doorknocker on the right door, but far be it from the man to use that. The fist collided once with the door, and a loud, hollow bang traveled through the other side. Not that he was much paying attention, as that very doorknocker he neglected to use crashed to the ground and snapped into three pieces. Oops.
Not a bit remorseful, a big-booted foot hauled off and kicked the pieces off to the side, behind a nearby stone pot, and out of sight, just as the door itself unlatched and swung open by invisible means. That was obviously more important than his act of unintentional vandalism, anyway.
The white haired man clomped through the door, sniffing at the air for anything out of the ordinary as he did so. There wasn’t much anything to the island, really. Some spirit activity, but he’d been told demonic--
--and that’s when he actually looked around.
Dolls. Everywhere. Horrific dolls, and that wasn’t just the manly-man in him speaking. They were like murder trophy dolls, in glass cases, on the grand steps ascending from the main hall, on shelves, on the floor, and even hanging from the ceiling. And the ceiling was enough to get him to jerk a little, being greeted by a massive doll, hanging by a noose, right above him.
“Why~” he began, to himself, in singsong, “do I have the feeling this is a case of crazy?” And the money had been decent, too.
“So you must be the mercenary who was recommended to me, eh~?” The words were spoken by a man’s voice, several octaves way too creepily high, and followed by a giggle. His blue eyes lifted up to the second floor tier of the stairs, where a man about his age stood as though he had a broom handle up his ass to make him stand so straight.
A sniper rifle hung off a padded shoulder from behind, and the blond man was dressed in what appeared to be some sort of British army uniform. That was the best guess, between his accent and the fact that he was so damn fruity-looking. “The man who fears nothing? Who will take any job, so long as the price is right~?”
Oh, rumors. “Yeah, yeah. Name’s Dante. Tell me what I need to know, and let me start.”
Another giggle, and the man began to descend the stairs. Dante fought not to take a step back. The freak just oozed molestation issues. “I am Alfred Ashford, Lord of this house, and this very island that hosts the operation you no doubt noticed as you made your journey to this very spot.”
“Ashford,” Dante repeated aloud. Where had he heard that name before? “Good for you. Where’s your demon infestation problem.”
The blond looked taken aback, as he stopped on the last step of the flight, before leaning forward, towards Dante. “Demons? Why, I didn’t call you here for demons.”
Stab in the face. Dante was going to stab Trish in the goddamn face when he got home. She took the call. She took it, and therefore even if they lied to her, she should have known, and Dante was going to stab her in the fucking face (no he wasn’t).
“Not demons at all,” Ashford said, eyes darkening with his broadening grin. “You’re here to help with a test.”
This was written because I'd been talking to Amanda about it, although it's incomplete. Also because I have Dante muses, and never get much the chance to play with them.
[Edit] Also, it's been a while since I played Resident Evil Code: Veronica X, so my scenery details may seem shabby. Well, aside from last night, when infinite ammo!Claire in her wonderful shorts outfit and white boots ran around while I was on the phone with Amanda, pwning all until Nosferatu bitchslapped her from the platform. [/Edit]
The ushering of the soldiers around the island was annoying at best, and had begun to piss him off. He was more than happy when they finally ushered him into a stale office on the base, with quick babblings of how lucky he was to be getting to see things not even they were going to see. It earned them a raised, white eyebrow, but it went ignored as the door shut and he heard it lock. The eyebrow dropped as his eyes narrowed, suspicious.
A soft melody began to chime from someplace in the office that he hadn’t the chance to really locate, before the office opened out to a stone bridge, covered by a gothic awning, and a layer of fog. There was no hesitation to start out onto it, though his steps were slow, with his hands at his sides, loose and ready to move for the pistols on his back.
The end of the bridge opened grounds that looked dilapidated, with a massive mansion just beyond. It reminded him of one of those bad horror movies he used to watch, when he was younger. About the sleazy vampire chicks and that one human chick that screamed a lot (which probably explained the premise of a lot of bad horror movies, but he knew what he was thinking about, and that was all that mattered).
It would’ve been an easy trek, if not for the fog, earning several slams into statues and gravestones (gravestones) that were by his knees, and out of side from the low wisps. This was followed by hobbling and cursing for several minutes, drowned out by the heavy weaponry he carried clanking around loudly.
The kneecap busting path led up to a pair of doors that were banged up, and in desperate need of replacing. Eh, not that he was one to talk about it, considering his shop back home was just as much a derelict as this place, if not worse. Weird, though, considering it was supposed to be the house of the head of the island. The dude had enough manpower to be able to keep this place up to par… unless he really did belong in that bad horror movie.
A shrug. He moved his hand out, and balled it into a fist. There was a perfectly fine doorknocker on the right door, but far be it from the man to use that. The fist collided once with the door, and a loud, hollow bang traveled through the other side. Not that he was much paying attention, as that very doorknocker he neglected to use crashed to the ground and snapped into three pieces. Oops.
Not a bit remorseful, a big-booted foot hauled off and kicked the pieces off to the side, behind a nearby stone pot, and out of sight, just as the door itself unlatched and swung open by invisible means. That was obviously more important than his act of unintentional vandalism, anyway.
The white haired man clomped through the door, sniffing at the air for anything out of the ordinary as he did so. There wasn’t much anything to the island, really. Some spirit activity, but he’d been told demonic--
--and that’s when he actually looked around.
Dolls. Everywhere. Horrific dolls, and that wasn’t just the manly-man in him speaking. They were like murder trophy dolls, in glass cases, on the grand steps ascending from the main hall, on shelves, on the floor, and even hanging from the ceiling. And the ceiling was enough to get him to jerk a little, being greeted by a massive doll, hanging by a noose, right above him.
“Why~” he began, to himself, in singsong, “do I have the feeling this is a case of crazy?” And the money had been decent, too.
“So you must be the mercenary who was recommended to me, eh~?” The words were spoken by a man’s voice, several octaves way too creepily high, and followed by a giggle. His blue eyes lifted up to the second floor tier of the stairs, where a man about his age stood as though he had a broom handle up his ass to make him stand so straight.
A sniper rifle hung off a padded shoulder from behind, and the blond man was dressed in what appeared to be some sort of British army uniform. That was the best guess, between his accent and the fact that he was so damn fruity-looking. “The man who fears nothing? Who will take any job, so long as the price is right~?”
Oh, rumors. “Yeah, yeah. Name’s Dante. Tell me what I need to know, and let me start.”
Another giggle, and the man began to descend the stairs. Dante fought not to take a step back. The freak just oozed molestation issues. “I am Alfred Ashford, Lord of this house, and this very island that hosts the operation you no doubt noticed as you made your journey to this very spot.”
“Ashford,” Dante repeated aloud. Where had he heard that name before? “Good for you. Where’s your demon infestation problem.”
The blond looked taken aback, as he stopped on the last step of the flight, before leaning forward, towards Dante. “Demons? Why, I didn’t call you here for demons.”
Stab in the face. Dante was going to stab Trish in the goddamn face when he got home. She took the call. She took it, and therefore even if they lied to her, she should have known, and Dante was going to stab her in the fucking face (no he wasn’t).
“Not demons at all,” Ashford said, eyes darkening with his broadening grin. “You’re here to help with a test.”