Not dead XD
Not... that anyone on here cares XD At this point, anyway. Most of you have my IM names, so XD
ANYWAY
Stolen from: th3newblack
What is says about you: You are a proud person. You appreciate the roughness of nature. Friends count on you for being honest and insightful. You feel closer to people when you understand their imperfections.
Find the colors of your rainbow at spacefem.com.
ETA: I have no idea how to make that space go away. It just won't. Fucker
Also~
Fandom: Resident Evil
Client: Iris GET A DAMN LJ D:<
Title: Therapy
Rating: T
Character(s): Wesker, Birkin, Sherry, Chris, Sheva
=-=
Looking at Sherry sometimes gives Wesker the allusion of breaking his heart. She might have Annette’s hair and temper (bless her), but she has her father’s eyes and smile. William just didn’t smile enough. Grinned wildly, laughed hysterically, but very few regular, pleasant smiles. So when he did, Wesker thought of it as a little bit of a rare occurrence. Little, teeny-weeny memory to tuck away.
Sherry, however, wares that smile like default and it’s killing Wesker’s nostalgia. At first he’d been a little excited (almost… happy?) to see it so regularly. But in doing so, he’s realized it’s begun to cheapen the ones William shared so sparsely.
It’s kind of bringing him down.
So he sends her out to the bazaar to go buy… whatever. Just to go and not waste the smile in front of him anymore. Sherry is… special. On lots of levels. To him and otherwise. Of course, as fate would have it, the one thing he honestly treasured about William would be what she inherits the most clearly. And squanders most actively.
He drums his fingers along the table top, scratching the back of his neck. The neck of his shirt has elastic along the hem and it’s cutting into his skin. It itches.
The smile almost taunts, him, too. Or maybe it’s haunts? It’s like William’s there. But he’s not. William’s not anywhere. Not anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. Just as Wesker about to just stand up and leave, look for Sherry, something to distract himself from the fact that he’s feeling sorry for himself over something that isn’t involved with his mutations, the front doors of the hanger are kicked open.
Light and heat explode into the room, tiny, earthy debris rush up and plum out with the force. Through the cloud of dust, dirt and the dried blood on it comes Chris Redfield and his new bee-eff-eff.
Wesker blinks, slightly surprised (impressed?) before that cold smile starts to crawl along his lips. Standing, he places one hip on the table, half sitting on it, as the red laser sites grow shorter as they come closer.
“Wesker.”
“Why are you always growling, Chris?” Wesker looks at him over his glasses. “Doesn’t that hurt your throat?”
Click click shihck
They’ve taken the safeties off. His eyebrows raise in mock surprise. “Oh dear,” he drawls. “Sensitive subject?” Nothing but evil eyes, although Wesker does notice that Sheva keeps casting Chris a sideways look ever four seconds. She’s playing off of him. The cold smile grows. There’s teeth showing now. How lovely.
Wesker unclasps his hands that are resting over his thigh and stands. “You know, Chris,” he starts. “I was feeling really down just now. Lamenting a lost friend-you’d know a little something about that, right?” He beings shrugging off his jacket as he makes a frowny-face at Chris’ deepening scowl. “I was just thinking I needed to cheer myself up. And then, BAM!” He says it very loudly as the leather trench coat slides down his arms. Sheva just short of jumps and Chris flinches around the eyes. He breathes, “You walk in!”
He lays the jacket on table and begins walking around it. “I swear, Chris, it’s fate.”
“Wesker-“
And without any warning or signal that Wesker can decipher, Sheva launches herself at him, knife out. If he had time, he’d roll his eyes and give a loving sigh. He grabs the arm with the offending weapon and twists. He can hear Chris begin to pull the trigger. Another loving, parental sigh. He yanks the silly girl around--into Chris’ line of fire. It takes a moment, but Chris lowers his gun. It’s only when he holsters it that Wesker takes Sheva by her neck and tosses her backwards over the table, into some (sharp) farming equipment.
He has Chris by his neck before the former STARS member can retrieve his weapon. Wesker brings his face very close to Chris’, letting his sunglasses slide down his sweaty nose to reveal the eyes that have shifted and shape shifted. The grin is large and toothy and just so goddamn happy.
“I am going to punch you until candy comes out.”
--
When Sherry returns with a bag full of jewelry (Ada wanted something), she finds a dark skinned woman struggling to breath, impaled by several rakes and machetes and sickles to her right, and the broken and mangled corpse of a dark haired man to her left, past the table.
Wesker’s breathing heavily when he turns to her. “Sharon!” he calls joyfully. He’s not wearing his sunglasses. She sets the brown paper bag on the table top, slowly. He nods, looking past her. “Do something about her, eh?”
She turns back to the woman. Walking up to her, Sherry can see the red along her lips where she spat blood up, and the tears in her eyes. Either from pain, or having to watch what happened to the other guy. Or both.
Sherry gently takes the poor lady’s head in her hands before pulling it up slightly.
The woman’s breathy and nasally, “No, nonono, please!” is not taken into consideration before the hardy snap that follows. She wipes her hands on her red jeans.
“What happened, Wesker?” she asks innocently, as she walks back up the table. She places her hands around the bag, waiting.
Wesker shrugs, coming around. “Therapy,” he chuckles. “Now what did you buy?”
She pushes Annette’s hair from her eyes. He casts a glance over Chris’ corpse.
When he looks back to find her flashing William’s smile, he doesn’t give a damn.
=-=
The end :3 Happy Birthday, Iris!
ANYWAY
Stolen from: th3newblack
What is says about you: You are a proud person. You appreciate the roughness of nature. Friends count on you for being honest and insightful. You feel closer to people when you understand their imperfections.
Find the colors of your rainbow at spacefem.com.
ETA: I have no idea how to make that space go away. It just won't. Fucker
Also~
Fandom: Resident Evil
Client: Iris GET A DAMN LJ D:<
Title: Therapy
Rating: T
Character(s): Wesker, Birkin, Sherry, Chris, Sheva
=-=
Looking at Sherry sometimes gives Wesker the allusion of breaking his heart. She might have Annette’s hair and temper (bless her), but she has her father’s eyes and smile. William just didn’t smile enough. Grinned wildly, laughed hysterically, but very few regular, pleasant smiles. So when he did, Wesker thought of it as a little bit of a rare occurrence. Little, teeny-weeny memory to tuck away.
Sherry, however, wares that smile like default and it’s killing Wesker’s nostalgia. At first he’d been a little excited (almost… happy?) to see it so regularly. But in doing so, he’s realized it’s begun to cheapen the ones William shared so sparsely.
It’s kind of bringing him down.
So he sends her out to the bazaar to go buy… whatever. Just to go and not waste the smile in front of him anymore. Sherry is… special. On lots of levels. To him and otherwise. Of course, as fate would have it, the one thing he honestly treasured about William would be what she inherits the most clearly. And squanders most actively.
He drums his fingers along the table top, scratching the back of his neck. The neck of his shirt has elastic along the hem and it’s cutting into his skin. It itches.
The smile almost taunts, him, too. Or maybe it’s haunts? It’s like William’s there. But he’s not. William’s not anywhere. Not anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. Just as Wesker about to just stand up and leave, look for Sherry, something to distract himself from the fact that he’s feeling sorry for himself over something that isn’t involved with his mutations, the front doors of the hanger are kicked open.
Light and heat explode into the room, tiny, earthy debris rush up and plum out with the force. Through the cloud of dust, dirt and the dried blood on it comes Chris Redfield and his new bee-eff-eff.
Wesker blinks, slightly surprised (impressed?) before that cold smile starts to crawl along his lips. Standing, he places one hip on the table, half sitting on it, as the red laser sites grow shorter as they come closer.
“Wesker.”
“Why are you always growling, Chris?” Wesker looks at him over his glasses. “Doesn’t that hurt your throat?”
Click click shihck
They’ve taken the safeties off. His eyebrows raise in mock surprise. “Oh dear,” he drawls. “Sensitive subject?” Nothing but evil eyes, although Wesker does notice that Sheva keeps casting Chris a sideways look ever four seconds. She’s playing off of him. The cold smile grows. There’s teeth showing now. How lovely.
Wesker unclasps his hands that are resting over his thigh and stands. “You know, Chris,” he starts. “I was feeling really down just now. Lamenting a lost friend-you’d know a little something about that, right?” He beings shrugging off his jacket as he makes a frowny-face at Chris’ deepening scowl. “I was just thinking I needed to cheer myself up. And then, BAM!” He says it very loudly as the leather trench coat slides down his arms. Sheva just short of jumps and Chris flinches around the eyes. He breathes, “You walk in!”
He lays the jacket on table and begins walking around it. “I swear, Chris, it’s fate.”
“Wesker-“
And without any warning or signal that Wesker can decipher, Sheva launches herself at him, knife out. If he had time, he’d roll his eyes and give a loving sigh. He grabs the arm with the offending weapon and twists. He can hear Chris begin to pull the trigger. Another loving, parental sigh. He yanks the silly girl around--into Chris’ line of fire. It takes a moment, but Chris lowers his gun. It’s only when he holsters it that Wesker takes Sheva by her neck and tosses her backwards over the table, into some (sharp) farming equipment.
He has Chris by his neck before the former STARS member can retrieve his weapon. Wesker brings his face very close to Chris’, letting his sunglasses slide down his sweaty nose to reveal the eyes that have shifted and shape shifted. The grin is large and toothy and just so goddamn happy.
“I am going to punch you until candy comes out.”
--
When Sherry returns with a bag full of jewelry (Ada wanted something), she finds a dark skinned woman struggling to breath, impaled by several rakes and machetes and sickles to her right, and the broken and mangled corpse of a dark haired man to her left, past the table.
Wesker’s breathing heavily when he turns to her. “Sharon!” he calls joyfully. He’s not wearing his sunglasses. She sets the brown paper bag on the table top, slowly. He nods, looking past her. “Do something about her, eh?”
She turns back to the woman. Walking up to her, Sherry can see the red along her lips where she spat blood up, and the tears in her eyes. Either from pain, or having to watch what happened to the other guy. Or both.
Sherry gently takes the poor lady’s head in her hands before pulling it up slightly.
The woman’s breathy and nasally, “No, nonono, please!” is not taken into consideration before the hardy snap that follows. She wipes her hands on her red jeans.
“What happened, Wesker?” she asks innocently, as she walks back up the table. She places her hands around the bag, waiting.
Wesker shrugs, coming around. “Therapy,” he chuckles. “Now what did you buy?”
She pushes Annette’s hair from her eyes. He casts a glance over Chris’ corpse.
When he looks back to find her flashing William’s smile, he doesn’t give a damn.
=-=
The end :3 Happy Birthday, Iris!