(Untitled)

[soldierunknown]

A good week after HUNK cut his ties with Wesker, he felt a sudden urge to go back. Pale and otherwise frustrated, he took off from the apartment buildings complete in combat gear, including his gas mask and helmet. He also brought his TMP and knife with him, in case he found something other than he boss. But really, he found that entirely unlikely

Comments

[tyrantmaker]

Wesker's been quiet and (mostly) avoiding contact for a week. He's here by chance, looking for an abandoned wrench.

He's aware that severe withdrawal from alcoholism can take a week, so the timeline isn't really a surprise to him when he realizes who's there.

Of course, when the raised shape of a man with a gun came in through the door, he flattened himself into the darkest patch of cover and aimed his pistol.

The tone is wrong, and the question absolutely off. HUNK on a mission isn't chatty. So when he moves to let the light pick him out, the pistol is aimed upwards.

Wesker's face is blank. Oh, round two of "you monster," is it?

[soldierunknown]

HUNK's TMP hit the floor and the helmet and the gas mask came off right after it. He looked tired, bewildered and otherwise not entirely himself. He was breathing harder and he was growling; not angry, but growling anyway.

"Sir. I've come to apologize." The gas mask and the helmet hit the ground with the TMP and he suddenly moved far too fast towards him. His eyes were pale, missing their glimmer, and his lips were slightly dry.

"Making amends. Making.." He knew the gun was there; he knew Wesker would probably shoot him. He didn't care. His knees hit the ground and his head made contact with Wesker's own forehead.

"..Amends."

[tyrantmaker]

Wesker stayed crouched, ready to lunge and put his fist through the man's shoulder defenses. He blinks in disbelief at the rush of mercenary--that didn't look like an attack at all. And instead of a headbutt, there is just. . . resting.

The absolute first rule of being a Tyrant: you are in control. It doesn't matter that the hell's being confused out of him; Wesker needs to get a handle on the situation, now.

He slides the gun back into its concealed holster, drawing his flashlight, clicking it on, and dropping it to the floor instead. He easily half-lifts the mercenary, rolling to lean him more against the wall. Contact is forgiveable, in this situation, so he stays in close enough to watch him. The last he fed was from a stray winged lizard a few days ago. It's not so bad, being this close to something with body heat.

"Amends for what?" His voice holds only a fraction of his curiosity. Otherwise, his tone's cold.

[soldierunknown]

HUNK didn't say a word. His body just curled and his knuckled hit the floor as he murmured something in some Asian language. Perhaps a Buddhist prayer? Who knew.

Again, he wouldn't say.

Alexander's lips parted slightly and he breathed in ever so sharply as he eyes fluttered shut. He hated the feeling, but he couldn't do anything now.