#myrmecitis

BLOOD & BRUISES PROMPT

@myrmecitis​​

( Don’t say it. Don’t do it. Just leave it alone. Get up and leave. )

He wasn’t certain the level of dickery that Alfred was hailing from today. Was it genuine concern for something? Was it just another farce? Or was it a jab at his blatant problems with handling the viral transformation-- or rather, the CONTROL of it?

Nobody was born into this. Well, except for Alexia it seemed.

Steve had time, decades of it; hearing about the Ashford legacy and name. Even if Umbrella deigned to wipe it off of their abysmal history and now went under a different name, it’s the same song - different dance; the mirrored evil that lurked in the corners of every laboratory that cultivated these psychopaths claiming hierarchy.

He turns his head to look at the blonde, feet thrown up to lazily prop ankles on the coffee table. Blue eyes narrow with a sharp glint, if only for a second, until he’s peering back down dismissively. There’s a laptop set across his knees, the buzz of a live-stream news channel mumbles in low volume. “I should be asking you that.” ( Can’t go back now, can you? ) The bitterness swells inside and he ignores the ache in his gut that’s been there at first light yesterday - he even smiles humorlessly; remembrance of the scar marked from Alexia echoes in the wake of another stint of pain. . . its the only scar that’s stained like another brand on his body.