[incomplete - open]
Who: Wesker and whoever feels like dropping by
When: Sometime today
Where: The river
Rating: TBA
Warnings: TBA
Summary: Those without money were still dependant on the river. Or at least Albert Wesker was.
If there was one particular thing that Wesker hated about Purgatorium, it had to be the lack of what he felt he absolutely needed. He had gone without things before, many a time, especially when Umbrella collapsed, but the things he had wanted had been out there and obtainable. Right now, they weren't.
He amended that in his mind a minute later. They were out there, it was just that one crazy man knew where they were and he didn't. He didn't mind Hojo's insanity. Wesker was relatively sure that he stood pretty deep in sociopathic territory himself. He'd dealt with Birkin to get what he wanted, and he could deal with this Hojo. Everyone had their burdens to bear.
Right now, he had other things on his mind. Working his way towards the river, Wesker kept an eye on the area around him. Those monster things liked to jump out of anywhere at him. He did have to wonder if they were attracted to him for some reason or if they attacked anyone. Money wasn't something that Wesker had much of. In fact, he had none. Therefore, instead of buying his water, he was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way. The idea didn't bother him much. The ice in the stream was probably cleaner than the water they were selling.
Rats weren't that bad either. He'd lived on worse during his SEREs training for Umbrella and S.T.A.R.S.
Reaching the stream, he eyed it thoughtfully. This would do. Taking off his leather longcoat and gloves, he carefully hung them from the tree, his suit jacket joining them. While he could feel the cold and knew it was there, he chose to ignore it for now. Wesker walked to the edge of the ice tapping it with a foot. Solid. Damn. Oh well.
Making sure that no one was in his immediate area, Wesker drew off his sunglasses, folding them and sliding them into his shirt pocket. If anyone came up, it gave him time to get them back on. Having his only pair slide off his face and break while he did this would not make him happy. Getting a good stance on the slippery surface, Wesker pulled back his fist and hit the ice as hard as he could. Surprisingly, the crack heard was the ice and not the bones in his hand. Drawing back, he hit it again. He could just see Chris Redfield's face there, and that made it so much more enjoyable.
When: Sometime today
Where: The river
Rating: TBA
Warnings: TBA
Summary: Those without money were still dependant on the river. Or at least Albert Wesker was.
If there was one particular thing that Wesker hated about Purgatorium, it had to be the lack of what he felt he absolutely needed. He had gone without things before, many a time, especially when Umbrella collapsed, but the things he had wanted had been out there and obtainable. Right now, they weren't.
He amended that in his mind a minute later. They were out there, it was just that one crazy man knew where they were and he didn't. He didn't mind Hojo's insanity. Wesker was relatively sure that he stood pretty deep in sociopathic territory himself. He'd dealt with Birkin to get what he wanted, and he could deal with this Hojo. Everyone had their burdens to bear.
Right now, he had other things on his mind. Working his way towards the river, Wesker kept an eye on the area around him. Those monster things liked to jump out of anywhere at him. He did have to wonder if they were attracted to him for some reason or if they attacked anyone. Money wasn't something that Wesker had much of. In fact, he had none. Therefore, instead of buying his water, he was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way. The idea didn't bother him much. The ice in the stream was probably cleaner than the water they were selling.
Rats weren't that bad either. He'd lived on worse during his SEREs training for Umbrella and S.T.A.R.S.
Reaching the stream, he eyed it thoughtfully. This would do. Taking off his leather longcoat and gloves, he carefully hung them from the tree, his suit jacket joining them. While he could feel the cold and knew it was there, he chose to ignore it for now. Wesker walked to the edge of the ice tapping it with a foot. Solid. Damn. Oh well.
Making sure that no one was in his immediate area, Wesker drew off his sunglasses, folding them and sliding them into his shirt pocket. If anyone came up, it gave him time to get them back on. Having his only pair slide off his face and break while he did this would not make him happy. Getting a good stance on the slippery surface, Wesker pulled back his fist and hit the ice as hard as he could. Surprisingly, the crack heard was the ice and not the bones in his hand. Drawing back, he hit it again. He could just see Chris Redfield's face there, and that made it so much more enjoyable.