[Jill + Wesker] They took for granted your soul (and it's ours now to steal)

[shit_itsbroken]

Comments

[albert__wesker]

Pain was... relative. The body's response to harmful stimuli, a cascade of firing nerves and overly-interpretive neurons.

Pain was for lesser people.

The impact Wesker felt. It had been beyond even his capabilities to do anything for those first long few moments; there was just the disorienting, twisting plummet through rapidly misting air and the feel of Jill's slighter weight holding onto his. Wesker could tell how tight her grip was and the thought that she was afraid now was vaguely amusing

[shit_itsbroken]

At first, Jill felt only disappointment. She wasn't surprised--if she'd survived the drop, then of course he would, too--but that last shred of hope she had, a desire for the (low) possibility that maybe he'd happened to snap his neck on the way down, vanished at the sound of a heavy footstep nearby, and she'd only closed her eyes in grim acknowledgement. She opened them again when he stopped beside her, her defeated glare meeting those discolored eyes without hesitation.

And then came the anger. He'd escaped again. His demise wouldn't even make hers easier to bear--Chris was going to lose her, already had, but he'd still have their enemy to face. Now without her. Her irritation only escalated as Wesker gradually disarmed her, a move to which Jill could only attempt stopping; as slow as he was, she was ridiculously slower, hardly seeming to get her hand off the ground before he was finished.

But for all the disappointment at chance, all the anger at him, and even as she quite literally looked death in the face, Jill didn't feel the

[albert__wesker]

The words stopped Wesker's hand from its fieldstrip of Jill's person and he raised fingers to his eyes. His gloves were chuck--a shame--and his fingers underneath were raw and bloodied but there was already fresh, pink skin where flesh had been torn away by rock. He used the back of his wrist to rub the bridge of his nose and laughed as it drew back streaked with blood. "I am indeed. Does that give you comfort, Jill? Or does it bother you to know that you can't call me an honest monster?"

He grabbed her throat and hauled her, bodily, feet up the strand. It was no drag and drop--Wesker leaned over her prone form, her chest and leg bleeding, her left collarbone swollen and purple under her shirt. He leaned over her, digging fingertips into the cartilage of her throat. "You won't have to worry about it for very much longer," he murmured. "I think that I'll send Chris your last regards. Any final words that you'd like me to pass on?"

[shit_itsbroken]

Try as she might, there was no denying him the truth of just how much that hurt. Jill's body spasmed and her good hand clutched at anything--his wrist, his sleeve, his shirt, trying to do something to get him off, but as weak as she already was, that rough assault seemed to sap the last of her energy completely. She was only granted just enough power to cry out, the sound raw and breathless and seeming nothing like the woman who had just willingly thrown herself out a window into certain death

[albert__wesker]

Time passed quickly in sleep and the relief of unconsciousness was short for the suffering

[shit_itsbroken]

Sound, of all things, was the first to register

[albert__wesker]

Wesker had hardly expected her to sing a hallelujah chorus at the sight of him.

He turned in his seat at her broken groan and was facing her, legs crossed and elbow over the back of the chair as her blue eyes focused on him. Good morning dear, sleep well? Wesker smiled at her as she exhaled and rolled her head away. He tapped his pen against his thigh and then stood, walking across the concrete floor to the table and Jill. His sleeves were rolled up and arms braced on the side of the metal gurney near her shoulder. For a moment he only looked down the length of her, to toes and then back. Finally he spoke. "How are you feeling?"

[shit_itsbroken]

Jill would have let out a bitter, skeptical laugh at that, had she been anywhere near capable of forcing one in his presence. "...Like I fell off a cliff and got smacked around by some bastard," she replied dryly, a little hoarsely, before looking up at him. There was nothing but pure disdain in the glance.

Automatically wanting to put some distance between herself and Wesker, Jill started to sit up by moving away from him--only to come to an abrupt halt as her arm caught. She quickly looked over, thinking he'd grabbed her, but then she realized that she was tied down. A downward glimpse showed her the four restraints, prompting an irritated frown.

Damn it.