#redemptioninterlude

@redemptioninterlude said: “[ lean ]  your muse inviting mine to lean into their side while they’re sitting or laying together . ( rue ) ” {♚ x NON - SEXUAL   ACTS   OF   DOMINANCE . || Accepting x}

 Ever since Long Zhi had to justify himself in front of his grandfather for the incident at the club, things had gotten a little more tense. He knew why that was: because he had, for the first time, dared to openly voice his frustration and anger. He usually just swallowed it down, knew it was useless and would only result in further disciplinary measures, but... He'd slipped. Lost control. 

 As a result, tasks and assignments were being piled on top of him. What little sleep he'd been getting had only gotten less. He might've been able to function perfectly fine on three to four hours, but two? That was pushing it, even for him.

 Still, he refused to sacrifice his time with Rue in exchange for a couple of more hours of sleep. It was a foolish thing to do, but he was afraid he'd gotten addicted to her the same way she was addicted to drugs. Would he ever admit that? No, of course not. But the similarities were there, and there was no denying it. 

 But the funny thing about sleep and the human body was.... Eventually, the body would claw it back one way or another. So, as soon as there had been a few moments of silence between them, Long Zhi's eyes had drifted shut. It wasn't until he heard his name that he shot back up, immediately insisting he was awake. But he wasn't entirely sure that was true. Because when he turned his gaze towards Rue, she was holding out her arm—an invitation.

 Long Zhi just sat there, stunned, for several moments. The question 'are you sure?' burning on his mind, but he was too afraid to ask. Too afraid that she'd change her mind if he dared to ask it. His heart was pounding against his ribcage and he swallowed, hard. Relax, it means nothing. Right?

 Slowly, he inched closer, then let himself lean against Rue's side, his head coming to rest against her shoulder. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. "Sorry. Didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

@redemptioninterlude

A few weeks off from their tour, and Leo was still mourning the early end. Just as he hit a runner's high, they finished off in Tokyo. He could feel this itch of boredom creeping in as he remembered the fireworks, the smoke, and matchless adrenaline of their final performance. Now, with an abundance of free time, he’s taken up learning chess. A weak attempt, at best, to win a bet. Even he knew Jade’s victory was inevitable, but stubbornness was hereditary in Wonderboy.

He's having drinks for a late dinner, having found a hidden gem. Toned lights illuminated enough of his checkered board, and a face that only sort of favored someone famous. Seated towards the back, he wasn't entirely in the mood for all of the attention in case he was spotted. Still, it beat practicing in a hotel room.

From the corner of his eye, Leo swears he spots her walking in. Or he hopes he does. A double-take to confirm, yes, even by accident, he and Alice crossed paths. What luck! He whisks his rook downstage left, dead set for black's king. She was just what he needed.

High-stakes invitations to death games were a treat and a half. It had been a bit of a climb to resurrect the kind of muscle she used to have, and even then? She didn't need a lot of corporate push and pull, and liquid asset to do the kind of broad scale damage usually reserved for myths.

Ahab's plans had been as wide-spread as a catch net. She never really took an idle place in her own schemes either, preferring to work the front line, and thus, she was here.

With a knife at her throat that smelled like it had been used a few times before it met the strange, velvety flesh of her neck.

Ah. There was her twin, pulled from whatever nook she'd been comfortable in. Carla let herself go slack in place, the knife at her throat less of a promise and more of a two step into the second act of a ballet. As was when they met, Ada was late. She didn't know if The Other Her had any issues with punctuality prior to them meeting, but it seemed every single meeting they had, face to face or otherwise, Ada had been too late.

Carla tilted her head as the rumbling of the plane, and her stolen quarry hummed in the background. A lot of guns. A lot of guns. Heavy artillery. Anti-aircraft measures. Short range ballistics. Drones with heavy payloads. There were several weapons pieces on this aircraft.

Including the person holding the knife, though she doubted, looking at her in an elongated period of silence, that calling her inventory would go over well.

Carla clicked her tongue, pressing her skin against the blade with a step forward, "Well, well, you got me."

It was a sharp blade with care taken into making its edge a weapon. Carla turned her head, the long muscle in her neck forcing the tension, and cutting her enough to spill blood onto the blade. Her skin split strangely, and when it did, it steamed as if at a boiling point.

"Glad you could join us at 42,000 feet on this lovely night, threading the needle between not one but two tropical depressions."

Ada looked at her with every measure of disgust, and she couldn't help but let out a quiet little laugh.

"I am so excited you could make it."

Her clandestine scrape through the skies had no body count... yet.

"You know what I heard? I heard that flight regulations have recently been a lot more relaxed."

nate can count the amount of times he's conversed with rue one-on-one with what remains of his digits — which is to say, it's been few and far between. nate gets it, he'll probably always be the bully jock with the narcissist predator father who made her and jules' life hell in highschool. he's remorseful about it, but neither one of them were ever any good at accountability when it called for it so nate's conscience isn't too haunted, because some of that hell was self-inflicted. that goes for the both of them. nate looks like he's been put through a fucking meatgrinder, he's well aware, but rue doesn't exactly look as fresh as a daisy either. nate knows he's not owed her forgiveness, compassion, or even pity. he doesn't even expect it nor want it, but the fact that she seems to be commiserating with him instead of coming at him with animosity was a refreshing change of pace. they've never been friends, probably never will be, but nate's always thought that rue could be one of the most quick-witted people in the room if only she'd stop trying to kill herself. he rubs at the bloom of yellow above his browbone with a soft sigh, meeting her gaze with a dejected look as he shifts his weight to the crutch he's been hobbling around on. "which part? being bent over a fuckin' barrel in debt, or finding out that the path to hell being paved with good intentions maybe isn't as much of a cliché as it sounded?" nate has to laugh about it, find some levity in how fucked everything is or else he'll lose his shit and undo five years of work in one fell swoop. getting out of that goddamn house felt like breathing fresh air, one step closer to the life he'd always dreamed of having, but it was a pyrrhic victory. he doesn't know how rue's been doing, cassie burnt all of her bridges for him — and of course the bridges he's burnt of his own volition with maddy and jules has left him in the dark. "you been gettin' by okay?"

This street seemed unfamiliar. Robert didn’t even know how he’d gotten here.. wherever here was. But he was certain of one thing.. this certainly wasn’t Torrance. Last he recalled, he’d been in pursuit of a group belonging to The Red Ring. One of the bastards had launched what seemed to be a missile at him, and then? He remembered falling. Could still feel the way in which his stomach plummeted and spiralled as his Mecha suit came hurtling towards the ground. And then.. everything went dark.

By the time Robert stirred awake, night had blanketed his surroundings. The street remained eerily barren, saves for the rustling of trash blowing around in the gentle breeze. Just how hard had he hit his head? Was he concussed? Stepping away from the suit, — which unfortunately, seemed to be damaged to the point he wouldn’t be able to fly it for a long while — Robert studied the billboard above which read the words ‘RACCOON CITY.’ Hmph. “Raccoon City..?” Yeah, he’d never heard of this place in his life.

However, before he had the chance to pull out his phone in hopes his map would be able to make heads or tails of where exactly he’d ended up— a noise behind him stopped him in his tracks.

Turning, Robert glanced up just in time to catch a silhouette whizzing upwards towards a rooftop using what looked to be a grapple hook of sorts. “Oh what the fuck..?” Whoever they were, they were either up to no good, or showing off. For all he knew, they could very well be one of Shroud’s goons. Regardless of who they were.. this night just kept getting weirder and weirder.

It's statements like that that make her pause at the contradiction. Ada Wong, renowned superspy, with encyclopedic knowledge on all persons, places, and artifacts of interests, doesn't have a dossier? Or perhaps it's because, it's incomplete. Before HCF, before USS, before STARS, and the US army, there was a girl from southern California. She was the daughter of a retired inventor who invested his fortune in property around town instead of repairing the decaying manor. He died mysteriously in a fire that consumed the master bedroom. And many years later, so did her sister, assassinated in her mayoral office with an explosive device.

Around the same time, Kira was handpicked by Lord Spencer for the dredges of USS as a cleaner, then a coroner, then a spy. Now, as Wesker's loyal hand, the question rings unanswered, much still buried between the lines. Kira leans in, while they're still alone. "Why do you want to know?"