#ofrequiem

"Saw this and bought it for you!"

"Perfect timing, señorita." @ofrequiem

Jill had been surprised to hear that they were getting a new recruit directly into S.T.A.R.S. The going rumor was that the new hire was originally going to be a beat cop for the R.P.D. but Captain Wesker must have seen something extraordinary in her. It wasn't unprecedented—Wesker frequently did whatever he wanted—but it was rare enough that it had caused a bit of a stir in the weeks leading up to her arrival. Everyone was anxious to see what was so special about Grace Ashcroft, but Jill was more concerned with making sure she felt welcome.

The R.P.D. had a number of women among the ranks, but S.T.A.R.S. had always been a bit of a boys club. They were good men at heart, especially Barry and Chris, but at the end of the day they often didn't understand that it was simply different for Jill and Rebecca, and now Grace. Jill had initially planned on offering to give her a tour of the station and make a show of taking Grace under her wing, but that had changed the moment the other woman had stepped through the door to the S.T.A.R.S. office for the first time.

There had been a chorus of "Welcome!"s and introductions but Jill had been struck silent by the sight of her. There was definitely something special about Grace Ashcroft. She was visibly anxious as anyone would expect of someone on their first day on the illustrious task force. But there was also a quiet intelligence hidden beneath her awkwardness. On top of all that, Grace was simply too damn cute that it practically hurt and Jill couldn't stop staring at her.

Jill hadn't even realized it was her turn to introduce herself until Chris elbowed her in the ribs and hissed, "Earth to Jill!" She desperately hoped Grace hadn't noticed her staring, or the slight blush she felt warm her cheeks and she halfheartedly said, "Jill Valentine, welcome to the team." She offered her hand for a weak handshake accompanied by an even weaker smile. As Grace moved on, guilt coursed through Jill's veins. She had been no better than a typical guy, oogling Grace like a slab of meat and she hated herself for it.

Over the next few days, Jill's inner mantra became, "don't stare at the new girl, don't hit on the new girl" but before she realized it, that had accidentally turned into avoiding Grace altogether. Admittedly it wasn't that hard because it was Grace's first week and she was busy all the time. By Friday, Jill knew she had to put a stop to it, and she'd already been chided by some of the other members for being "aloof" all week. But more importantly, it wasn't fair to Grace, and Jill did want to offer to show her the ropes. What did it matter that Jill thought she was attractive? Grace probably wasn't even into women.

It was turning out to be a lazy day in the precinct, dominated by paperwork and admin. It was the perfect kind of day for a long lunch break. Most of the officers were in more casual clothing, and Jill was wearing a blue, cotton shirt with the S.T.A.R.S logo and a pair of fitted black trousers, her gun holstered on her hip. Jill couldn't believe how nervous she was as she sidled up to Grace's desk. She didn't usually get nervous, at least not from something as simple as talking to a coworker.

"Hi, Grace," she squeaked, because of course she did. "Jill?" she added, gesturing to herself because the blonde had probably forgotten her name considering she'd been a ghost all week. "It's pretty dead today, I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch?" Good, perfectly reasonable. "There's a good burger joint a few blocks away, and maybe I could you show some of our favorite haunts around RC?" Jill groaned on the inside because while that had sounded good in her head, out loud it definitely sounded like she'd just asked Grace out on a date. The slight waver in her voice and the flush in her face weren't helping either.

@ofrequiem's text led him to a quaint little coffee shop outside of Wrenwood that evening. This was his first extended visit to Chicago since an undercover op in '08. But his main reason for sticking around rather than returning home to D.C.? It was one Grace Ashcroft, FBI. Then there was also the fact that the BSAA wanted to run extensive tests and gather more data on the antiviral before it was approved to be released to the public. Chris didn't want to take any chances and Leon was in agreement. He was the only known person aside from Emily who had been inoculated with Elpis; they were permitted to use him as they saw fit if it meant the poor girl wouldn't be a lab rat any longer. She was being treated while he was being prodded. The blood work, he was used to—it was part of his regular screening at the DSO—and the rest he could deal with. No big deal.

Leon parked his SUV across the street and made his way inside, shouldering past exiting patrons with muttered but polite words. Grace was easy to spot. Sitting in a corner near the back, he noted. Away from the window. Could hardly blame the woman after she was stalked and photographed for months. In jeans and a plain black t-shirt, his appearance was casual like any other civilian, muscles hidden under a well-loved motorcycle jacket left unzipped. He lowered himself into the chair across from her and rested his forearms on the table. A smile slowly worked its way across his mouth, like he was remembering that it was something he could do off-duty. The scent of vetiver clung to him—the base note of a cologne he favored. It faded once he was still, the smell of coffee beans more prominent.

"Hey, Grace."

Hannibal knows each time he ventures out there is a risk that wouldn’t return. There was a reason he was a lone wolf, having departed with his last companion. It was an amiable departure. The small hollow it left behind had surprised him. But survival had a way of filling empty spaces with more pressing concerns: the particular quality of silence that meant danger, the low persistent ache behind his ribs when his stores ran thin. That was precisely the reason why he found himself at this gas station, cars littered around the pumps that held not a drop of gasoline inside. Most of the area had been stripped clean of anything. He wonders if there are any Twinkies wedged between shelves. Those never spoiled, a little dry.. perhaps.

He sighs, slowly closing a car door with little effort so as not to make much sound. The first holds a body reclined in the driver’s seat, seatbelt still fastened, the wound in its midsection long dried to a dark stain the color of old wine. The second car holds nothing at all. This place held nothing. With the outside now cleared he shifts his focus to the door; the bells that used to clang when any visitor entered were cut down. Inside, the shelves have been wrenched from the walls and left where they fell, their contents scattered across linoleum that was once a cheerful yellow. He steps over a crushed box of crackers, a dented can of something without a label, and a child’s sneaker.

He runs a finger along the edge of the counter and examines the dust on his fingertip with mild interest before lowering himself to sit on the floor, his back against the cabinet below the register. A rumbling in the distance, he narrows his eyes and inhales the stale air. He picked up the distant rainfall, an excellent chance to churn out some of his empty plastic bottles and collect the rainwater for use later tonight. “Silver lining and all that..” he mumbles, sliding off his backpack to gather the needed materials for it. His fingers find the cigarette carton tucked in the front pocket. He draws it out and opens it. Two left, nested in their foil like a pair of last resort. He regards them for a moment.

A sigh before drawing one free and placing it between his lips without lighting it. “Dinner,” he says to no one, and settles in to wait for the rain.

Raccoon City had been a complicated mess, filled to the brim with corruption at every turn, resilience, and a strange culture she hadn't really found anywhere else.

Alyssa Ashcroft, twenty eight years old, sat at a bench outside Jack's Bar, the interior filled with shadowy patrons that were more a smear of colorless, shapeless energy. She knew some of those blobs in there. There was Will, and Bob, still thinking it was September 23rd, 1998, still enjoying the game, still drinking. She could see the television from outside, constantly static'd and flickering between series of indescribable images.

The woman in a red pantsuit was just... watching from the outside.

There was a real part of her that never left Raccoon City, and never left this week. She was dead. She knew she was dead, and she knew this was a dream. This wasn't her dream. It was a perpetual night here, the city lights and distant noise making the place feel alive still. If this was her memory of Raccoon City, it was very idealistic and nostalgic.

She knew she was dead. The woman beside her, now all grown up, also knew she was dead.

"Hiya Gracie," Alyssa said, voice still crystal clear in memory, "You came to visit..."

Alyssa was a part of this place, and so, her red color and sharp features were occasionally blurred by the light like she was part of an Edward Hopper painting.

It had become more and more frequent, picking up strays on their voyage across Australia. Connections, as Fragile would put it, trusted employees, and family, in her eyes- while he was simply passing through. Disconnect, since the accident with Lou, which brought a loneliness that no one would understand. It was a loss that not even he could bring himself to process, and work seemed to be the only thing to distract him from the pain. Why he would come and go, giving himself little time to sit and process the grief that was set aside for another day. Very little did he see anything that would make him pause, but seeing the door to her room wide open, he couldn’t help but pause as he’d pass by. 

Everyone had their own story to share, their own passions bleeding into the spaces they inhabited- she was no different. Why he couldn’t help but be a little curious, taking a moment to lean in her doorway. More importantly, it was to check on her, make sure she was adjusting to the constant flow and people that moved through this ship they called home. Waiting, until she noticed he was there, a soft clearing of his throat would give warning before he’d speak.

CONTINUED  FROM  HERE   /  @ofrequiem

        ❝   OH,   SHIT   -   !    ❞   In  his  horror,  the  phone  nearly  drops  into  his  drink.  It  slips  through  his  fingers,  &  when  he  catches  it  before  disaster,  his  massive  fist  squeezes  so  tightly  that  the  screen  cracks.

        Fuck.

She  presses  her  thumb  against  the  jagged  lines.  The  relief  is  temporary  when  the  pressure  actually  works.  It  takes  her  to  her  direct  messages,  &  her  panic  comes  flooding  back.  Her  fingers  move  quicker  than  she  can  think,  deleting  the  photo  on  her  end  just  as  the  last  of  Grace's  texts  is  sent.

Frantically,  she  types:

[   TXT:   GRRRACE.   ]  sprry [   TXT:   GRRRACE.   ]  sorry  sorry  sorry

God,  he's  usually  better  at  this  --  even  when  drunk.  Iago  is  always  at  the  very  top  of  his  list  of  contacts,  so  he  knows  to  never,  ever  click  on  that  one  when  sending  anything  that  a  twin  would  definitely  not  want  to  see.  His  fingers  move  down  instinctively.  He  doesn't  really  have  friends  ;  whoever  is  the  second  option  is  always  the  person  he's  talking  to.

Oh,  but  she'd  texted  Grace  pretty  recently,  hadn't  she  ?

(  He  talked  to  her  more  often  these  days.  Almost  as  much  as  Iago,  now  that  he  thinks  about  it.  Certainly  more  than  the  one  that  picture  was  for.  Who  was  that  again  .  .  .  ?  )

There'd  been  a  stray  cat  by  the  window,  &  Puck  thought  she  would  like  to  see  it.  The  text  had  said  something  along  the  lines  of  '  Look  at  thsi  furrrrrrball  hes  so  cutie  :)  '  --  hm.  Maybe  her  phone  should  be  put  in  some  kind  of  lockbox  when  she  drinks.

His  face  burns.  Stomach  lurches.  He  feels  sweat  on  the  back  of  his  neck.  Any  mood  that  he'd  been  in  before  is  completely  extinguished.  Puck's  hands  shake  when  he  lifts  the  phone  again.  Which  could  be  nothing.

[   TXT:   GRRRACE.   ]  pressed  on  wrong  contact [   TXT:   GRRRACE.   ]  i  forgot  i  sent  u  the  kitty  ...

Wait.  That  sounds  wrong,  somehow.

[   TXT:   GRRRACE.   ]  cat  the  cat  i  mean  the  cat [   TXT:   GRRRACE.   ]  The  Cat. [   TXT:   GRRRACE.   ]  mrewo [   TXT:   GRRRACE.   ]  mreow......... [   TXT:   GRRRACE.   ]  im  druhnk  :(((