[III.] [Have you ever suddenly been made aware of how monumentally you may have fucked up?
Wesker is first alerted to this when the words he's written down - Tell your story, young one, he'd been told, like that wasn't going to encourage him to do exactly that - leave through that door in a swirling mass; he's still holding that book pressed up against his chest as he does, watching what his own words have created take form and life - and the courtyard he's created is very dark and the silhouette of a mansion rises up in the darkness, settled into the trees like it belongs there, and this is...
Well, it certainly is, anyway, and it really needs to not be? Or at least it could stand to be a little less.
You're welcome to find him making his way up the steps to that mansion in the woodlands, still holding the book close to his body and...trying very hard to disregard the sort of unholy growling noises coming from within.]
[IV.] [He doens't know why he keeps allowing himself to be drawn north.
The north and the west are two directions that almost never bode well; just the same, north is where it occurs to him to go, and the cold in the castle is unpleasant but it's bearable - far more bearable, perhaps, than plenty of other places he's been, more bearable than Magatus and the wolves, more bearable than those fever-marks that refused to go away, blossoming like Uroboros' cores over his chest.
No, this is...empty, and the emptiness isn't nice and honestly, he could do without the weeping but all of this is tolerable, and it will remain tolerable until the end of that hallway, and the man is... Wesker doesn't quite know where he goes off to because his own reflection is suddenly sitting right in front of him, dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes but just the same Wesker can tell there's something about this person that isn't...right.
There's a chair that he's sitting in, high-backed and almost regal in appearance, his legs crossed idly at the knee and his hands folded in his lap; when he speaks, his words are just as cold as the rest of this place.
"How quaint it is, that you think you can save the others from this place."
The shadow, the former reflection, tips his head a little bit toward whomever's with Wesker now, whomever else is seeing this; his expression shifts a little into something almost vaguely amused.
"I had to give up everything for what I have. My humanity, any chance I may have had for a normal life; even my beautiful members of S.T.A.R.S. weren't worth keeping in the end. Not when compared to what I stood to gain in the end.
"If you want your freedom, you're welcome to it. All you have to do is leave your little friend with me. I'll take better care of them than you ever could... And who knows? Perhaps I'll give them a higher purpose. After all, if you like them, perhaps that means they can still be worth something."]
[Bonus.] [It feels...strange, knowing the ghosts are gone again.
Wesker is fine, of course, because he almost always is; he doesn't tend to let himself be affected by very much. One keeps moving forward because they have to, rather than because they want to; it's just sort of the way of things.
However, that doesn't mean he won't be found in the cemetery from time to time for the last bit of the month; there's one grave he keeps coming back to in particular, spending long periods of time there and not leaving until the sun is settling low on the horizon.
He doesn't seem sad; just...distant. Sometimes he has flowers with him; not the ones that Jaeger used to leave at the ofrenda, but bright yellow asters of some sort. Trixis, maybe.
Asters have been weirdly important to him lately; he imagines his father would understand.]
[Wildcard.] [If there's anything else you want to do, feel free to either throw down a starter here or hit me at InstantEternity; I'm flexible. o/]
no subject
[Have you ever suddenly been made aware of how monumentally you may have fucked up?
Wesker is first alerted to this when the words he's written down - Tell your story, young one, he'd been told, like that wasn't going to encourage him to do exactly that - leave through that door in a swirling mass; he's still holding that book pressed up against his chest as he does, watching what his own words have created take form and life - and the courtyard he's created is very dark and the silhouette of a mansion rises up in the darkness, settled into the trees like it belongs there, and this is...
Well, it certainly is, anyway, and it really needs to not be? Or at least it could stand to be a little less.
You're welcome to find him making his way up the steps to that mansion in the woodlands, still holding the book close to his body and...trying very hard to disregard the sort of unholy growling noises coming from within.]
[IV.]
[He doens't know why he keeps allowing himself to be drawn north.
The north and the west are two directions that almost never bode well; just the same, north is where it occurs to him to go, and the cold in the castle is unpleasant but it's bearable - far more bearable, perhaps, than plenty of other places he's been, more bearable than Magatus and the wolves, more bearable than those fever-marks that refused to go away, blossoming like Uroboros' cores over his chest.
No, this is...empty, and the emptiness isn't nice and honestly, he could do without the weeping but all of this is tolerable, and it will remain tolerable until the end of that hallway, and the man is... Wesker doesn't quite know where he goes off to because his own reflection is suddenly sitting right in front of him, dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes but just the same Wesker can tell there's something about this person that isn't...right.
There's a chair that he's sitting in, high-backed and almost regal in appearance, his legs crossed idly at the knee and his hands folded in his lap; when he speaks, his words are just as cold as the rest of this place.
"How quaint it is, that you think you can save the others from this place."
The shadow, the former reflection, tips his head a little bit toward whomever's with Wesker now, whomever else is seeing this; his expression shifts a little into something almost vaguely amused.
"I had to give up everything for what I have. My humanity, any chance I may have had for a normal life; even my beautiful members of S.T.A.R.S. weren't worth keeping in the end. Not when compared to what I stood to gain in the end.
"If you want your freedom, you're welcome to it. All you have to do is leave your little friend with me. I'll take better care of them than you ever could... And who knows? Perhaps I'll give them a higher purpose. After all, if you like them, perhaps that means they can still be worth something."]
[Bonus.]
[It feels...strange, knowing the ghosts are gone again.
Wesker is fine, of course, because he almost always is; he doesn't tend to let himself be affected by very much. One keeps moving forward because they have to, rather than because they want to; it's just sort of the way of things.
However, that doesn't mean he won't be found in the cemetery from time to time for the last bit of the month; there's one grave he keeps coming back to in particular, spending long periods of time there and not leaving until the sun is settling low on the horizon.
He doesn't seem sad; just...distant. Sometimes he has flowers with him; not the ones that Jaeger used to leave at the ofrenda, but bright yellow asters of some sort. Trixis, maybe.
Asters have been weirdly important to him lately; he imagines his father would understand.]
[Wildcard.]
[If there's anything else you want to do, feel free to either throw down a starter here or hit me at