Jill Valentine

Just one night of peace is what she wants. She was tired of living off of stuff from the cornerstone by her apartment. The beer wasn’t strong enough when the phone just keeps ringing and no one answers, because you know they all left you behind.

“Everyone is dead.” Her words are harsh and angry. She’s come to accept she’s not living in a nightmare anymore, but instead trapped in something far more sinister and real.

She doesn't want to say that, because not only does it make her spine squirm, but a knot of... dread had been forming in her stomach as things were getting worse, and worse. She couldn't sleep lately. The summer heat was half of that, and the other half was this horrible "flash" of something that kept pressing itself on the backs of her eyelids alongside the feeling of something bad coming.

Thus, her eyes were sunken and there was no rest for the wicked.

"Sorry," she sighed out, hailing the bartender again with a less blitzing approach and fishing a billfold out of her pocket.

"Ill pay her tab as a friend."

And after the first couple bills were foisted over and a drink was in her hand, Alyssa turned to her.

"I'm not writing about you, Jill. I'm not writing about anybody. I'm trying to catch up to you guys and I've been rooting up what feels like a monster-- But Warren just disbanded S.T.A.R.S. Ryman got put into S.P.F. under Irons, but he's alone, and Irons tried to kill me the week before-..."

She exhaled.

“Yeah, I know about the disbandment.” She had gotten in Irons face and had to be ‘removed’ from his office. And the premises. Didn’t even get the time to clean out her fucking desk. They probably already tossed anything and it wasn’t worth possibly getting arrested to dumpster dive.

Once the new drink is in front of her she swaps, takes a sip before answering. “I was serious, everyone is dead, or gone.” Would they just let them go, pretend that the handful of survivors didn’t witness the horror of the mansion? It’s the new reality Jill is struggling with as each lead goes a step farther and farther- she’s untangling a mess of something she’s not sure she can comprehend. Her head is hurting, not that defeaning pulse it was for the first couple of days after the mansion.

" either way, you're gonna' wanna' stick close. "

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

If Jill was a crueler woman, she would have shot him as soon as the gun was holstered. But shes too honorable for that, and she’s 95% sure thats a plate carrier the masked figure is wearing. If its an old ceramic plate carrier she may get through by the third round, but if its new- its not worth the chance. Jill seems genuinely surprised by the fists, but she she wont look a gift horse in the mouth. Her own gun is held out, keeps movement slow and controlled as it’s slotted into the holster on her thigh.

Very well.

It seems the silent question is met with a silent agreement. She is right on her assessment of him, she's faster than he is by far, and wild -- in those movements he watches. He expects the feign, but she drops, and catches him off guard. HUNK shifts back, but her foot still knocks into the bottom of the gas mask, even if it doesn't strike the nerve in his chin and jaw.

In those movements, he starts to understand. Something fast, something wild, like an untamed horse. She wasn't trained through war, not by instruction. She was trained by survival. She fought to live, not to kill.

As Jill brings her leg back towards her, she attempts to rebalance from kicking so high in the air. The moment she brings her leg back, HUNK keeps his feet flat, shoulders squared, and punches, hard, with his right fist, aiming for the stomach.

ㅤ"  wait— wait, please, i— "  she's trying her best to keep up, but between the stamina of an elite task force member and a scientist, the odds are stacked against her. it feels like they've been running forever, and her heels, fashionable as they may be, simply aren't up to the task. "  i just need a moment. " 

"You'll have to excuse my brazenness. I usually don't do something like this, but I hate to see you out of commission."

They are somewhere public, some crowded cafe on the streets of Roma, he knows better than to corner people like Jill Valentine, or invite her somewhere secluded, so it's open. The day is bright, the sun hits the cobblestone streets that have been there for a thousands of years, the heat haze warping the distant buildings into mirages.

The weather is hot, so Vin orders something hot to drink, the cup of espresso sits on a small saucer, he takes sips of it carefully.

"I was hoping things would be going a bit more smoothly for the BSAA, but I understand the leader has gone AWOL." He continues. "I don't mean to rub dirt into that wound, I just know it's causing some complications." He knew very well about Chris Redfield's sudden absence.

Tongue runs along her teeth, trying to hold in her temper. Choosing to speak ill of Chris is a choice, she’ll give him that. “Don’t bring him up again.” Her words are firm, short and to the point. Sometimes it still feels like she struggles to access her voice when she feels that burning rage pulsing through her. The scars on her chest itch and she’s grateful for the high neck of her top, despite the weather.

Jill picks up her iced coffee and rattles it to make it colder, much to the dismay of several people around her. It’s hot, this guy is needling her, and she’d rather be looking for Chris.