#heprotector

Confrontation Starters

"I'd love to tell you, Chris, I-I really would, but I can't. I can tell you everything, I can talk your ear off about everything else, but not this. I can't. This is something fucked up. This is something that puts you at risk, with a massive target on your back, and we're not about to face that. We're not about to do that." Guilt and lies were festering down in Vale's stomach, burrowing down deeper and deeper until they felt like they were gonna pass out. How could they just do this? How could they stand there and lie to someone who wanted them to be safe? To someone who would protect Vale just as much as they wanted to protect him.

ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE.

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MY MUSE’S OPINION OF YOUR MUSE. That depends on the muse but honestly, none of them have had much interaction with him to really have a strong impression so far. Abbey however is happy to get free food from him so that's a bonus.

MY OPINION OF YOUR MUSE Idk much about Chris. I will admit I used to think he was a douche 'cause all my knowledge of him came from RE7/8 but it has long since changed and is ofc still expanding. I love what I've seen of your Chris and I hope to see more of you and I am excited for all our threads. :)

MY FAVORITE PART ABOUT OUR MUSE’S INTERACTIONS. Chris feeding Abbey. Chris stuck in the zombie house.

A WISH/PLOT I WANT TO WRITE FOR OUR MUSES. Maybe Chris getting involved in the whole Alpha Corp. thing. Maybe he was there after Diana died birthing Chelsea and now he's stuck with this babbling bioweapon baby. I think about this far too often.

A WAY YOUR MUSE HAS MADE MINE BETTER. Not enough interactions rn.

Distress calls, reports, newspaper clippings. Talks and murmurs of missing people and a victorian house on Edmund Street that was supposedly connected to all of this. Granted, the missing people were mostly scum and not innocents, they were men from the criminal underworld, no one that would be particularly missed, except by their hierarchies. 

The old house was rather spacious despite being filled with antique furniture which had been collecting dust for centuries. Even the materials looked rotted and the cushioning of the chairs looked as if they may disintegrate at the slightest touch. 

Scratching could be heard in the distance, it was quiet yet audible enough to be picked up in the otherwise dead silence. Little could be seen inside the house and the only light that was being provided was the dim glow from the moon pouring in through dusty old curtains. There was soft quiet snarling and a struggle then eerie silence where even the drop of a pin could be heard.

No matter, the investigation must continue, even if it meant immanent danger. He could endure that, right?