#withpcnache

       He  could  hear  them  scuttling  about,  fingers  restlessly  flexing  on  the  barrel  as  he  weighed  the  options.  There  was  that  Nea  creature  working  on  a  generator,  slick  with  grease  and  freckled  by  sparks.  Then  again  there  was  also  that  eldritch  abomination  Vittorio,  he  didn't  like  the  man,  but  he  had  to  admit  he  was  a  fine  specimen.  A  good  hunt. 

       Speaking  of  fine  specimens,  lifting  the  rifle  to  tuck  the  butt  into  his  shoulder,  Caleb  realized  he  knew  exactly  who  he  was  going  to  take.  Body  jolting  as  the  rusted  spike  launched  itself,  he  grinned  hearing  the  pained  cry  before  giving  a  sharp  yank  to  pull  the  young  thing  out  of  the  other's  path.  He  could  hear  the  grinding  of  teeth  over  the  sound  of  the  chain's  rattling  as  he  began  to  reel  her  in. 

"C'mere  you  lil  shootin'  star.' 

       The  man  was  still  absolutely  obsessed  with  his  old  life,  and  that  just  wouldn't  do.  Had  a  new  life,  a  better  one,  the  woman's  scream  was  music  to  his  ears.  Stepping  back  as  the  hungry  thing  that  had  kidnapped  her  reached  out  of  the  sky  to  pull  the  sacrifice  upwards,  Caleb  turned  with  a  crooked  smile  on  his  lips  feeling  the  outrage  prickling  like  sparks  from  a  campfire  against  his  back. 

"Too  slow,  lamb.  Maybe  next  time.'

@withpcnache's wesker has been called to tourney

           ❝   i thin you are confusing the gods, darling                ❞           there was a thread of amusement in his voice, subtle but unmistakable. who in their right mind would mistaken hades for one that mended what was broken ? what a waste of belief. he was the one that took what was shattered and if need be, broke it further still. yet curiosity lingered in the back of his mind, a quiet hunger to understand what had planted such a thought in the others mind. why would anyone imagine he came here to heal ?

@withpcnache asked: 'I'm fine. It was barely a scratch….you worry too much. It's adorable though.' - Ellarin to Emmrich

'But the fact remains that you were injured.'

The severity of said wound was deeply understated, long fingers sorting through medical tools more often used on the dead. Sterilization, turning to pour water into a bowl only to find that Manfred was already doing so. Oh... It was so nice to see him put into practice the skills that Emmerich had taken time to painstakingly teach. He hadn't even had to ask!

'And instead of having young Ms. Harding apply her healing touch you decided to wander about with an oozing wound that could have attracted all sorts of nasty creatures that would delight in nothing more tha-'

Lips pressed together, nostrils flaring briefly as he forced himself to stifle the tirade. Ellarin was a grown elf, he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself without Emmerich's nattering. And if his look took time to warm it was because concern choked him, stress strangled him. The idea of losing the charming fool was too much to bear.

'Please don't wait until you've returned to have your wounds looked after. For me, darling.'

"No, I guess most wouldn't. We don't get paid to be personal."

The empty wrapper that once contained more than a handful of brightly colored sweets (before he'd inhaled them, that is) is folded over and over. He is quiet otherwise, but the missing words are still there. Floating in that uncomfortable, hollow feeling that resonates anytime he interacts with anyone who worked for Umbrella. They did not talk about the things they liked because that did not matter. That was not work.

Of all the recurring tendencies that he has found himself sharing with his former colleagues, being difficult to fully grasp is common. A sensible thing, really. Although he can't say an outsider would describe it that way, or share his sentiment.

"That weird, huh?"

@withpcnache said: “Can I kiss you?” ( from James Sunderland )

' should you not be privy to what it is i'm doing ... i would suppose it's very unimportant , in that case. or maybe very important indeed. ' flie in the face of his rotten ego while not all together destroying it. that'll surely lead to no confrontation at all. @withpcnache

It was still odd, arm lifting to stare at fingers spread wide. They were used to many moving pieces of themselves, dictated by the crushing hurt of others. Toes wiggled, unable to permeate through concrete that wasn't formed by an extension of self. Something had torn them from the what and made them a who. Were it not such a novel experience they'd be furious, hunting down that audacious being that had somehow managed the impossible.

At the very least the form didn't tire, though time was... an odd concept they were still attempting to properly digest. Why didn't it simply loop? That was the proper way to do things, a cycle that spiraled and coiled, tangling all in the living's memories that sought to bleed them dry.

"Hello, murderer.'

The words are murmured, as if tasting them for the first time. Delightful, actually, that they were the first words they spoke, head turning to follow the familiar form. One that they'd wrapped around and shrouded in the cloying fabric of dread he carried inside him, coaxed it out from the rich soil of madness threatening to smother his mind. They knew him, would always know him.

"Murderer...' Bodies jerked away from them as their form rerouted, following the familiar that had been pulling them for miles. "You look well, how pretty your veneer.'

@withpcnache's James' been invited to tourney

@withpcnache said: stay with me tonight. (from james sunderland)