#prohdigal

his palm is flat against the wall in an attempt to hold himself up, having to pause to catch his breath once body shaking coughs subside. leon can feel the warmth of his own blood staining his lips, the copper taste coating the inside of his mouth. a certain nausea that follows the unmistakable flavor is swirling within his gut. they're almost out of here. only a little bit further and [ grace ] is safe. he isn't sure what awaits his body on the other side, but AT LEAST HE CAN SAVE HER. that will always be enough. even when that notion is placed alongside the thoughts of home. . . and what all that entails. saving a life won't necessarily be enough to forgo it, but instead it will give him the ability to find peace within the decision.

Attention was peeled away from the constant running of codes and vitals and security that took up the monitors before them. Such a bold choice of words. Head canted curiously at @prohdigal. Bright hues gleaming through the dark shades that shaped his features. Zeno's unable to stop the slight curl at the corner of pallid lips as he studied her. What hell she had been dragged through. Pinned against such horrors of their creation. Yet still she stood; bloodied, shaken, lost, grief ridden... but still stood.

"You say that as if I've told you anything but the truth." Or perhaps that was the source of her turn. A lie might have been easier to swallow, but it wouldn't have changed a damn thing. Everything he has worked towards for all these years, finding Elpis, uncovering it's truer purpose— all the answers resided within her. "I've been honest with you, Grace. You've brought yourself here. Not me." Zeno lectured, taking a short step forward, "A part of you believed in what I told you. You wanted answers. Too see your true purpose. Did you not? Why come with me so willingly?"

This  night  had  to  have  been  hard  on  her.  That  much  the  captain  can  see.  He  doesn't  know  her  and  only  just  learned  her  name  but  what  she  lived  through  has  earned  her  his  respect.  "That  looks  like  it  hurts,"  he  says  calmly  as  he  gestures  to  the  obvious  bandages  that  are  starting  to  seep  red.  She  comes  back  with  its  not  that  bad.  and  its  about  what  he  would  have  said  too.  Downplaying  injury  to  just  appear  stronger.  “You  gonna  be  okay?” 

claire's arrival on site comes in the early morning, her way to camp made difficult by the seemingly endless sea of reporters and tv vultures ready to interview anyone available on the spot - and while she can't really flash her terrasave public relationships officer badge anymore to cut the queues, there are still a couple strings she can pull ... namely tagging along to the second squad coming along to meet up with chris' using different paths.

when she finally spots grace sitting in a corner, thermal blanket still on her shoulders probably from a previous meeting with paramedics, claire can see why leon had been so adamant on her meeting the younger girl - you guys have a lot in common. she figures it must be the tendency to get involved into fucked up stuff, but even then there's a certain curiosity ... paired with the knowledge of a little girl waiting somewhere for rescue.

"i ... yeah, let's go with that." claire is not that sure that she ever really knew alyssa now that a daughter has suddenly come to the picture. "she was extremely pivotal to me. for my career path," hand gestures vaguely, her reporter badge has been forgotten somewhere in the car as she always does, and she's never really been the type to self compliment her work. "we were sharing notes about an investigation for a while, then didn't hear from her anymore." a kinder way to imply she's aware of alyssa death. "i'm really sorry about that."

                        the office of agent kennedy could easily be mistaken for an abandoned unit, if not for the simple fact that he happens to be inside. otherwise, the space bears no personal effects, or signs of being frequently used. the only thing claiming it as his, is the narrow nameplate afixed to the desk — leon s. kennedy. leon himself stands behind the desk, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, as he sorts through a stack of documents. his office is a pit stop, and nothing more, to collect whatever's been left on his desk, choke down a cup of what the d.s.o insists of calling coffee, and move on again.

he slides a handful of papers into a manila folder, intent on leaving in the next few minutes, when there's a soft knock at the door ... and grace's voice that follows. ❝ hey, you.   ❞ he looks up, tired eyes softening as a small smile tugs at his corners. ❝ you've got great timing, i was just 'bout finished here.   ❞ the folder in his hands is tossed onto the desk, forgotten for now. the bureaucrats can wait. grace, on the other hand, has his full attention.