#dullkey

The Boogeyman is used to being taunted, to being mocked and poked and prodded constantly. When not in the Realm, it was the same in Smith's Grove. The doctors would look at him like an experiment, a puzzle to be solved. But they felt safe messing with him because of how heavily sedated and drugged up he was the entire time. Here though, there is no sedation. No numbness. It's just him, and it's just the damned Hell Priest. Michael did a good job of ignoring him at first -- until he no longer could, fed up with having his toes stepped on and his every move watched in such a taunting manner.

They are neither foes not allies - but something that falls in between.

The unfathomable dark of the Priest's eyes is like gazing into a void without any end to it. When they approach Wesker's first compulsion is to assume it is to ask him something. He watches the way they move with a curiosity that goes unspoken, wondering without asking outload which world a creature like them would stem from.

"I am not in the mood for guests. Say your peace quickly."

Two hands that are whiter than snow grasp him with softness that makes him inwardly grimace. He lets out an low hiss before he is violently pulled forward, pressing painfully against the metallic pins that protrude from every inch of the Priests face.

The taste of blood is his own. A byproduct of the punctures that inflict his skin. Cutting the surface as the Priest's tongue slips between his teeth as teasingly tastes the warm red liquid. Heat pools deep within him. A familiar, rage-laced sensation that thrums through his entire body before a gloved hand extends and wraps around the pale creatures throat, steadily shoving them back.

Herman:

put a ship in my ask

vomit / don’t ship / ok / cute / adorable / perfect / beyond flawless / i will ship them in hell

Priest:

put a ship in my ask

vomit / don’t ship / ok / cute / adorable / perfect / beyond flawless / i will ship them in hell

( @dullkey asked: [ palm ] ( Michael for Danny ) / sender places a hand on receiver to stop them from doing something / nonverbal prompts )

danny's gloved fingers tighten around the knife's grip, the sound of his breathing a little too loud against the latex mouthpiece of his mask. it's forbidden to mass slaughter the survivors around the campfire and yet, following his last trial, frustration nearly boils his blood. temper flared, fingers itching for a massacre, he stops before it begins as a hand touches his shoulder.

the silence, the size and the palm against his shoulder doesn't startle him. his suspicions are confirmed as he turns his head back, lifting his gaze to the other killer's.

there's probably good reason to stop him and he inhales a heaved sigh, because he understands. ❝ it'd feel so good though. ❞

Through the eerie corridors of Lery's he walks with purpose. Fully intending on a quick escape if he has to. The realm is among few that Wesker avoids outside of trials. Even if the plethora of equipment laying around has often cried out to him. It's main resident is amongst the more...touchy of the killers. Herman is unpredictable at his best and Wesker has never felt invested in getting within his striking reach for this reason along.

What he wants is small. Easy to carry off and unlikely to be noticed. But as he reaches for the microscope the clatter of trays being tipped over rouses his immediate attention.

As soon as the Doctor comes into view he braces for a fight. Because it is all he knows how to do when faced with most of the other killers. Like wild animals in a cage much too small, all of them radiate a feral violence towards each other.

So when he feels himself being slammed backwards into a wall, a set of large hands grabbing onto the front of his coat like a vice, Wesker can't help but feel the quick impulse. He has always, always been a fast thinker.

Before Herman can even begin to question him, the man presses his mouth against him. Feeling the initial startle that the unexpected gesture provides.

[ blood ] sender notices that receiver is bleeding

"Don't."

He pulls away. As he always does whenever someone becomes a little too curious. It's not a secret. Not one that anyone has never known before. Though his side of The Fog rules over trials like vicious overseers. Powerful, and insatiable in their task of inflicting harm, most know they're not immune to damage by now.

The Mastermind can bleed. As much as any survivor. Though when he does, he bleeds in silence and never shows it. The black of his clothing perfectly masks the stain of blood that would have oozed through. When he was distracted they'd rolled the sleeve to show the gaze that hadn't even been properly bandage and his glowing gaze narrowed defensivly.

"It always heals."

Even death wasn't the end in this place.