#everythingheard

Ben had been alarmed when Arthur, the current Quartermaster, suggested he spend some time away from London now that his protege was confident enough to explore the city on his own. Despite all of Ben's arguments against such an extreme move, he found himself on the plane and then standing in the little apartment that would be his home while he was in the US.

Settling into his temporary role was, thankfully, a lot easier than Ben had expected; everyone seemed to be far too kind and didn't mind the almost constant blank looks but they were long in their jobs and older than Ben appeared. That was how he had ended up working in a room with Peter.

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tuesday, july 25, 2006 4:45am (stateside local) mild rain, gray morning skies, humid

the screen is eerily blank for multiple seconds, the sounds of clattering items all that's emitted above the gentle static. muttering comes next, a woman's frustration coming through with no visual to accompany it until a silhouette appears, out of focus.

'come on, come on, yes! it worked!'

emits the voice, hushed but triumphant as what can be assumed is keys of what might be an old keyboard by the heavy sounds of it are pressed in the audio. the picture is grainy, as if there's some kind of interference yet it does finally come into focus to display a woman looking at the camera and addressing an agent with a name hunnigan hasn't come across before. the name is typed into a second monitor upon her station though a voice on the phone she's balancing on her shoulder halts her. tells her to wait and watch. the woman on the screen looks a bit worse for wear. there's a small gash on her forehead that looks as if it's scabbed over and the scrubs she wears look wrinkled and disheveled as if they've been worked in a while. it's not what's shocking about the video. hunnigan has seen a lot both in her own field experiences before she'd taken a desk job and in the displays from messages from various agents she aids who are in the field.

she's seen kennedy a hell of a lot worse for example.

what's shocking comes from the words which emit from the woman's lips. she speaks quickly, to the point, an attempt to relay as much information as possible in an efficient manner. hunnigan appreciates it. a final stage of a virus is synthesized and will have enough produced for the final stage of an attack within forty-eight hours. possibly less, most likely less. she's only piecing together what she's been able to hear and catch glimpses of. she's being monitored constantly but one of the other scientists speaks to her as they work, whenever they get the chance to, and he seems to be an ally. the process appears to be faster because of the nature of vampiric materials.

vampiric?!

the camera is shifted, loses focus for a moment when it's lifted and redirected over a blurry file that hunnigan already knows is going to have to get sent for enhancement. she can just barely see the name claire red.field on it though ingrid isn't sure if she actually saw the name clearly or if it's her brain piecing it together by virtue of the fact the woman voices the name a moment later. the camera pans too quickly over a separate video feed, camera on camera distorting the picture with lines-- yet, some can be made out. maybe the worse of it is the sound.

there's screaming. wild, scared, pained.

there's frenzied movement on the screen of the screen. there's what ingrid thinks is a woman attacking a man in scrubs and then her being forced back down and injected with something and she thinks the woman cries something to the effect of 'not again' after some profound swearing in-between. maybe that's really the most shocking part because ingrid has never met redfield but she's seen agent kennedy's file and seen claire's picture in it because the girl and leon had escaped raccoon together and as distorted as the picture may be, ingrid understands in the pit of her stomach what she's seeing is the same woman.

the camera pans back once more to the woman sending it with her rattling off something about redfield having been the key to the virus and a location. about something being wrong. she shouldn't have been able to get to this terminal let alone send this video she's not sure where the guards are but she's uploading the communication now and praying they get it. to please send the bprd or anyone they can. there's a sound, a groan really, which emits somewhere in the room the woman is in and she looks away before turning back and starting to say to 'tell leon...' something... but it's cut off with the transmission going dark and somehow, that's when something else connects in ingrid's mind and she chastises herself for not having realized it sooner. she's seen this woman's picture in leon's file too. it's his cousin that survived the attack on their family when agent kennedy was a child.

okay. ingrid thinks. okay. okay.

the voice on the phone begins speaking again, giving ingrid little time to recover even as she begins opening various windows at her computer station. it reveals more information to her. information about the bureau of paranormal research and defense. of an outbreak in a polish village the year before, about redfield being part of the bprd-- which doesn't exist on paper except as the fbi's special operations division. it tells her mara a kennedy was an informant in a company run by fucking vampires. vampires! it tells her a select few members of the bsaa, valentine and the other redfield have been contacted and are deploying with bprd on route to prismya where there's been some strange reports of attacks in the last twenty-four hours. they'll meet agent kennedy there and she needs to relay all this information to him and get him on a military flight leaving in two hours. it's a lot. it's chaos. but it's a chaos she can handle. she has to. first, however, she needs to finish dialing agent kennedy's number.

she does and takes an unusual step further, tells him he needs to get to headquarters immediately, with no delays. she needs to meet with him in person. and someone needs to meet with him, a bprd agent myers who'd be going on a mission with him, reinforcements already on-route to meet them there. she doesn't tell him why but her vocal pattern shows the seriousness of it. she greets the bprd agent in a room off the corridor of the building where the light always flickers and the work order for it has gone into the abyss of low priorities. when agent kennedy gets there she tells him all she knows, she shows him the video, and she lets the bprd agent tell him the rest of the pertinent information as she goes to gather more information for herself to aid them in the field.

'leon, be careful.'

she calls out to him as she watches him and the other agent leave for the military base (that transport would get them to europe faster than other means). ingrid, rarely calls him by his first name but this was uncharted territory. this was personal territory, at least for him. almost twelve hours later hunnigan has some communication with the bsaa, redfield and valentine, helps them navigate a nightmare on the ground that they'd flown into. she's not usually involved with the bsaa but this whole mission was.. well, there was a lot of players in the game at once and they all had the same ultimate goals. she had the feeling she'd be patching them all into each other the whole time.

fifteen, almost sixteen hours after leon leaves, when hunnigan gets word from that leon and the bprd agent have gotten separated after they'd gotten to one of the companies' facilities where he thinks the outbreak started (an outbreak that wasn't part of the main plot and shouldn't have happened) and that they'd found indications mara and claire had been moved to some location in the countryside but then leon and myers had gotten separated after a car crash outside a local village she's not surprised so she helps him navigate as far toward the castle facility as her access to sat feeds will allow. somehow, this feels a bit like spain all over again. she certainly thinks the stakes are just as high for her agent in the field. this wasn't the president's daughter but it was his family and his friend and a hell of a lot of innocent people's lives at stake.

wednesday, july 26, 2006 8:13am (prismya local) prismya countryside, mountain valley filled with small villages and an expansive castle complex which used to house the local ruler of the region. has held an increase in activity, construction equipment, and people to the area in recent years. also many disappearances. rainy and dark gray skies, foggy, cloudy, low visibility

she's cold. then she's hot. both make her hurt like a fucking train is chugging through her blood stream and making her want to tear into something but they've taken everything away she could possibly break after she'd managed to turn a part of the bed into something she could stab with. it'd been a blunt edge but she'd still managed with a spirt of strength to impale one of the people that'd come into the room to sedate her with it. her mind is scattered, hair messy and in all directions around her shoulder's when she awakens in a new place. mara's no where in sight but claire is sure she'd seen her. she's positive. she wasn't losing her mind. she wasn't. she'd seen her. she had! metal surfaces are around her, there's a camera too. she attacks it with her bare hands. they come into the room. she can't remember what happened after that. she thinks she drew blood. or they drew her blood? no, she'd hurt one of them. she's sure. the feel of a badge, a key.. she'd hurt him, the man injecting her, but he'd slipped her something. why? she doesn't understand. was he the one mara said was a friend? is she imagining it? but he hurt her. did he have a choice?

wait.. then.. now. then wasn't now. that already happened. key.. badge. her body hurts. she's thirsty but she's not supposed to be. she can't let herself be. remember. remember to fight it. mara had said the longer she does the slower the infection will move through her. she'd said that, back at the other place. where is mara? where is she? her body shifts, rolls over where it'd passed out before. flashes of memories playing at her mind. she tires to piece together her memories. her eyes aren't open but she sees....

there'd been a mission. she can remember that. but then.. so much death. she'd fought. injections.. experiments. she'd fought. she'd screamed. she'd attacked. it hurt. her mind scatters. she remembers a desert. no, that was a long time ago. she remembers a police station. no that was further away. blonde hair.. she remembers a dinner with a child laughing and the surprise on their faces when another person had shown up at their door with pizza from that hole in the wall place she'd taken sherry to and mentioned. it wasn't an every-day thing, the three of them getting to spend time together and so they'd held on to it at the time. a thread, it forms a thread into another string of flashes. a chip. anger... understanding.. an email.

'stop being like that claire, just send the god damn fucking email.' she'd told herself.

the thread.. mission. facility. he'd slipped her something to escape. she'd gotten out. they'd chased her. a crash. something spilled. screams. zombies but.. different, she thinks. had to find a lift. had to find a way up. a way out. metal turned to stone. corridors. maze. castle? they'd found her. blood. she'd stabbed. she'd stabbed them, not bitten. she hadn't bitten. but they'd stabbed her too, she thinks. maybe? find somewhere to hide. hide first. figure out next step after. there'd been a room. supplies in it. boxes. she remembers boxes.. utah had boxes. rebecca had gotten shot. the boxes had fallen. circle the memories back. boxes in front of her. climb. hide on top. she wants to see her brother. she wants to see leon. to not have how they last saw each other be the last... claire passed out.

it's cold against her skin but her body feels hot. sweaty, clammy. dark veins creep along her arms. she's only wearing a thin tank top type shirt with pants, she should have tried to find something but there hadn't been time. it wasn't as much of a concern as escape. the blood across her top is crusty. how long as she been there? there's no wound... it healed. but she'd been stabbed.. she can't think about it. not yet. not yet. find mara. get a cure. escape. no she couldn't.. mara had said something about them releasing it.. hadn't she? or had she imagined it? claire's clearer now then she was, and yet not fully clear either. it's hard to keep a hold of her thoughts, takes effort. she can do this. she has to do this. there isn't a choice. one step at a time.

there's sound. a scuffle. a grunt. gun shots. something had spilled before.. she remembers it.. kind of, sort of. outbreak. shit. she thinks there'd been one before too. back wherever she'd been but now.. had she caused this one? in her attempt to escape? or had it come with them like it had antarctica from rockfort, along with the personnel? shit. shit. shit. another gun shot. wooden door splinter's below, figures move into the dark room, crash across it like godzilla to a city. someone hits the boxes, they all fall down with her with it. ouch. pain radiates and blood fills her senses. someone's bleeding. she knows it like she knows what air is. in a way that unsettles her. it makes her mind go fuzzy, the veins on her skin burn. there's fighting in the low light, another gun shot. one of them stops moving.

claire reacts.

she lifts herself from the tangle of boxes and launches herself at whoever still stands with a sudden fury and strength she shouldn't have. she feels like it's temporary. it's not going to last and some part of her seems to realize the more she exerts herself the more the infection is going to take root but she has to get away. and to do that she has to stop whoever else is there. so they can't take her away again. so they can't hurt her again. so they can't make her veins feel like they are on fire and her so thirsty. it's all nails and desperate punches when she lands as if she's a wild and wounded animal backed into a corner. hair blocking her face as she attacks. she remembers the feeling of the injections. she remembers the experiments. she's angry, it's taking hold. it's overwhelming her, clouding her mind. she can feel it. but whoever she's fighting is strong. they react too and her arms are suddenly being forced to halt, her struggling wildly until some of her hair that was blocking her vision shifts and she sees eyes. his eyes and now a war is happening within her. something inside wants to fight. wants to hurt. but she. claire. she sees his eyes. she sees them. she knows them. she's crying. it burns her eyes. it's his blood she smells. she wants it. no. no. fucking hell no! she's not lost yet. she won't let herself be. this fucking infection wasn't going to take her. she wouldn't let it. she wouldn't hurt him. why is he there? her mind starts to clear, a little. she stops fighting and fear laces her features.

This again. Jayn, as she was known to the few friends she had in England (in addition to her father), was irritated. It had been bad enough when her beloved mother died and left her a letter ordering her to go live with her estranged father in London. (And his territory, Gotham, wasn't even in London!) That meant she had to pack her essentials, say goodbye to the only family she'd ever known, and go live with strangers. Her father and his three children (all of whom were adopted) were kind, thankfully. But Jayn still had to deal with being the only non-White person in the social season, and probably in the whole of the nobility. She also had an accent, she didn't know any of the formal dances, and her hands were slightly calloused (used to chopping herbs and boxing as opposed to sewing). So she wasn't surprised when she went through the whole of the social season without any interested suitors calling for her. She wouldn't've cared if it hadn't been her mother's last wish that she found an English husband (primarily for financial reasons).

It was April again, and Jayn was 21 years old, a year or two older than the oldest debutante. She had the humiliating ordeal of having to curtsy before the Queen again, only for the woman to ask why she hadn't gotten married yet. Jayn told her that none of the Englishmen had opened their eyes yet. Her father was mortified, but her siblings were giggling, congratulating her on her response. That made her feel better for the moment.

Then she had to go to her first ball. She kept telling herself that the first would be the worst, and it most definitely was. Her brothers and father had danced with her to make her feel included, but that was all. She wished she could just go home.

A young maiden of Rohan should never be familiar with grief and despair, but that is what Éowyn experienced when she was seven. Life for the young maiden was not easy as she grew up. Not only did she have to experience losing her father and then her mother just a few years apart, but being raised in an age full of anger, hate, and wars was enough to frighten any child. Despite the dangers outside Rohan, or even within, Éowyn was fortunate to learn how to hold a sword and defend herself. The hardships she faced made it so she didn't fear the cold hand of death or pain, but that didn't mean each day she lived was an easy one.

To add more to her plate, Éowyn constantly avoided the presence of one man when her uncle grew mysteriously ill. Grima Wormtongue, Counsellor of the Court under a weakened King Théoden, watched Éowyn's every move and often cornered her in private speaking poisoned-filled words to her. Even within the walls of Edoras, Éowyn never felt safe with this man working so closely alongside her uncle. She needed an escape for she grew more bothered and even fearful of his presence with every day that passed.

Despite the dangers outside Edoras, Éowyn found riding Windfola and risking her own safety better than being trapped in a cage that was her home. She couldn't remember the last time she genuinely smiled or laughed. Riding Windfola despite the present dangers around her gave her a sense of peace.

*: ･ﾟ∙ * ⁕ * ∙ ✰ THERE'S A SPARKLE IN HER EMBER EYES AT THE SIGHT OF HIM. one of the first to welcome her to the unfamiliar place. she still wore the beads he had gifted her. probably one of her most important possessions. hands tucked behind her as she took a few slow strides towards him. "and what have you been up to? "

Amin found himself in the park once again, taking the time to soak up what sun he could. He was thankful for the warmer weather, the ground no longer frozen from winter. He lay with his back flat against the grass  in a sunny spot, bare feet firmly planted in the ground, knees raised. The grass helping to hide the small roots on his feet that had dug themselves into the soil.

Black mesh clothing covered his legs and torso, along with the layering of some more solid black shorts, just for decency’s sake. His hair had a light dusting of pale yellow pollen around this time of year, giving his usually white hair a more platinum blond appearance.