[Session 2] 'You wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me?'

[subject_013]

Who: Albert Wesker and... You.
What: November Catch-All.
When: Early November
Where: The courtyard garden of Arklay House, Lumenwood; the Farmlands beyond Trench; other locations listed in prompts


Content Warnings: Event-typical weirdness, vivisection in one Sleeper Farm prompt.


[Mushabooming - OTA] Through November till the 21st


Winter is clearly on the way, as evidenced by the dropping temperatures, and the streaks of white starting to show in Cypher the Weasel Omen's fur. Given the peri-industrial nature of this place, he doesn't doubt food will be scarce over the winter, something that, with his high metabolism, concerns him.

But the local ecology, or their Pthumerian hosts, or some combination of the two, seems to smile on them and blessed the town with a sudden fruction of mushrooms of all kinds all over the town. He's found a few baskets and when work at the Lumenarium doesn't keep him busy, he's scouring the city collecting mushrooms and putting them up to dry on the porch of Arklay House or strung on long strings in the courtyard garden. Cypher often darts ahead through the streets or along the roadside in the farmland, sniffing out likely specimens.

An embarrassing encounter with a Walking Terror that transformed the surrounding forest into a nightmare of walking trees and moving boulders, as well as his own brief work with the Mold in his world of origins, has him "borrowing" Locrian's balaclava and beaked mask over a sturdier, rougher version of his usual black suits. The Floaters he encounters during a late evening search amuse him more than they have any right to: He's taken to walking right into them and letting them grab his arm before thwapping them into the nearest hard surface and removing the cap.

The Blue Cheeks impress him. Poison isn't his usual method, but the Hunters in Prufrock may well appreciate them, thus he turns up there with jars of the jam for their consideration. And Locrian can always use a jar or two to treat his blades.

Cypher darts ahead through the bracken, pausing to sniff the air and emit a chirp of excitement. "I've got one!" He pounces on a spot and proceeds to dig. His "boss" approaches, face hidden behind a crow-like mask, and takes a knee beside the Omen.

"Allow me, Cypher?" He takes a trowel from inside his coat, kneeling to dig at the spot where the weasel started digging.

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[Magic Lessons - Closed to Samatoki] Early November


Wesker readily admitted to harboring an open-minded skepticism toward the magickal and supernatural. However, to assure his survival in this place, he'll need to expand his skill set. Thus, when the Black Parade disperses and the weather started to cool, he has a sense that the coming months will try him even more.

He'd crossed paths with a particular gruff youngster, in Never Mind's realm within this realm. Given the confidences they'd exchanged, he can't help feeling a commonality between them. Also, the other's patience in his open transmission gave him some confidence that this one could make an excellent tutor in these things.

And so he drops a line to Samatoki, early in November. "Shall we start the lessons in magic which we discussed last month? There's a Lamp behind my house in Lumenwood. My evenings have been free as of lately, to which he adds the coordinates.

When Samatoki arrives, perhaps some evening, he'll find the fire pit in the courtyard garden lit, the blaze feeding off some bundles of trash and leaves which the master of the house has gathered up. An incense burner hanging from a bare tree branch sends up a spicy-scented cloud of smoke over a heavy work-bench table on which Wesker has laid out the cards of an odd-looking nature-inspired oracle deck, which he pores over while Cypher perches on his shoulder.

"If yer tryin' ter be a wizard, does that make me a familiar?" the weasel asks.

Wesker looks up from the deck, nodding to Samatoki and rising from his bench. "We're about to find out the answer that question. Greetings, Samatoki."

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[Sleeper Farm - OTA]


I - November 21st - The Stalls

The past few days, he'd been catching himself dozing off at random times, and having to shake himself awake. It comes as an especial nuisance at the Lumenarium. On his way in and out, he spots strange, twisted figures out of the corners of his eyes, as if they watch his every movement.

And then one night, as he walks through Cellar Door after calling on a professional donor, a rather fetching red-haired Nightwalker who serves as a self-described Blood Courtesan whom he crossed paths with during the Black Parade, one night as he's warm with fresh blood and her company, a hook on the end of a chain catches him through the shoulder and hauls him off his feet. He has just enough time to scream when the sound catches in his throat...

...He awakens, shackled to the bars of a stall, laying on the greasy floor, stripped to his shirtsleeves, barefoot. He growls and tugs on the chain, expecting it to snap like a single strand of embroidery floss.

"Huh?" he rasps and tugs again on them. No effect, other than rattling the chains. "Who are they and what have they done to me this time?" He braces his feet as best as he can on the greasy floor as best as he can and yanks the shackles as hard as he can.

"Damn."

II - November 27th - Blood Harvest

Beyond the door with the Vileblood stone, among the tables bearing the vivisected subjects stands lays a tall male figure, limbs strapped down securely, intravenous lines taped into his neck, his torso cut open in the archetypal Y-incision, his rib cage removed, leaving his viscerae exposed like an anatomical mannequin. A living one, his beating heart, his inflating and deflating lungs visible. A haze of Vileblood scent hangs in the air above his supine body.

A tube connected to a vein in his leg links to a slowly filling transfusion jar. He lays quietly outside of the meaty sounds of his organs. Then he manages a low wheezy chuckle before speaking in a low, rasping voice.

"The scientist becomes the experiment. The one crafted to be a god becomes the sacrifice." He says this almost if he mused or meditated out loud.

Wildcard

((Lyrics nicked from "Running Up that Hill" by Placebo - Got an idea for another prompt? Throw it on here or tap me on ye plotting thread.))

Comments

Mushabooming

[demonicbeauty]

There was something rather soothing about going out to collect mushrooms. On the rare occasions when she had a bit of time to spare, Ariadne would often go out with the palace healers in Valeria, collecting herbs and flowers and remedies. Generally, these outings were accompanied by pigs, digging for truffles. As a girl, Ariadne would get somewhat competitive with the pigs, trying to outshine them.

Possibly in her mad desperation to prove her worth.

Older now, and more comfortable in her skin, Ariadne still found a shivering thrill when she knelt down in the underbrush and managed to find one.

Alastrians didn't need pigs to sniff out treasure, thank you very much.

She dropped the third she'd found into a basket, when a noise and unfamiliar scent caught her attention. Sitting up straight, she turned over her shoulder, catching sight of an omen running straight after her, followed by a stranger in a long coat and mask.

Well, that wasn't at all foreboding.

Ariadne remained still as a statue. Except for her fingers. She flexed them straight. The last thing she wanted to do was fight, but she was always ready. And when you couldn't see a person's face, you had to be ready.

Re: Mushabooming

[subject_013]

The Omen skids to a stop a few feet away from Ariadne, looking up at her, whiskers wiggling. "'Untin' mushromps, too?" the creature asks, paws clasped before itself.

The Oeman's Sleeper pauses a few paces away, basket on arm, reaching up to adjust their mask, almost as if they're facepalming without actually doing so, and letting out a muffled sigh. "I apologize for my Omen's familiarity. They do this with everyone. Especially young people," the tall Sleeper says, bowing their head, their throaty baritone voice only slightly muffled by the mask.

[demonicbeauty]

The tension eased out of her muscles. People who were coming after you rarely took the time to apologize first, especially for the behavior of a weasel.

Another Sleeper.

While that didn't automatically make him a friend, as far as Ariadne was concerned, it just made him a potential friend. Then again, pretty much everyone Ariadne met ultimately fell into that particular category.

"I don't mind," she said, smiling a little at the weasel with his way-too-cute whiskers. "Although I'm not sure I qualify as terribly young." She was twenty, after all.

[subject_013]

The weasel sniffs about Ariadne's feet. "Beggin' yer pardon, Miss, but yer standin' on a truffle. Mind steppin' aside to yer right, so I can dig it up?"

The tall Sleeper glances down at the Omen, shaking their head slightly, slowly. "I suppose age is relative, particularly in this place where we are all reborn as cephalopods, to say nothing of the fact that some of us are immortal in our respective worlds of origin," they note. He glances about them. "You've not seen any of those terrible walking fungi in the vicinity, have you? This mask, while useful, is a little close and I probably sound as though I'm talking through a bucket."

[demonicbeauty]

Ariadne quickly lifted her foot, taking a step to the right for the Omen. A good truffle was nothing to waste. And he had asked politely.

Unlike those pigs back home.

She'd never really understood why the Elves kept pigs. They were vegetarian, and pigs didn't provide a lot of services, other than disposing of waste and occasionally finding truffles. Really, they were quite rude animals, otherwise.

Shaking her head a little, she glanced back up at the Sleeper. "No, I haven't," she said. "In fact, I've kind of been avoiding them. I think it's perfectly safe for you to remove your bucket, sir."

magic lessons.

[deathrespect]

"Hey, man. What's up?" his greeting is casual as ever, though he feels some degree of anticipation at the lessons ahead. Samatoki isn't much of a teacher, but for a homie he will try.

Samatoki rather likes Wesker, even if their meeting circumstances were strange and grim, to say the least. His own Omen, a snow leopard named Daichi, prowls alongside him.

"So what d'you wanna start with? I'm game for whatever you need help with."

Re: magic lessons.

[subject_013]

Seeing Samatoki's Omen, Cypher scrambles up his "boss's" shoulder and nestles against Wesker's neck. "Are you striving to be an ermine collar, Cypher?" Wesker says, gently scruffing his Omen and setting them back onto the workbench. "You got my message, Samatoki. Greetings this autumn night.

He stands back on his heels. "I'd suggest we start with something basic. I'm getting the sense that if one isn't born with the talent, it's a matter of learning how to convince natural forces that it's a wise idea to pay attention to your will?"

Sleeper Farm

[delilahs_death]

[He'd escaped his own shackles several moments before, thanks only to luck and the slenderness of his wrists. Jezebel wandered amongst the stalls with a dazed look, trying to calculate the path to the exit -- until he heard a voice speaking. A familiar voice.

Jezebel strode over to the stall, glancing in:]

Wesker?

Re: Sleeper Farm

[subject_013]

[The other peers between the slats, his eyes on the verge of flaring, though the sight of Disraeli takes sone of the fire from them]

Disraeli? At least misery has company.

[He tugs on the shackles.]

Have you seen a pair of bolt cutters about?

Re: Sleeper Farm

[delilahs_death]

Hello, Wesker. Apologies for dropping in at such an inconvenient moment.

[His voice is light even as he approaches with his eyes scanning the scene intently. At the question, he shakes his head, before pulling out a long hairpin from behind his ear.]

No bolt cutters, I'm afraid. But I do have this little pin that is rather adept at picking locks.

Re: Sleeper Farm

[subject_013]

I must apologize for our host's terrible choice in décor, but one can't help what one has no control over.

[He says this with the driest of chuckles. The best way to stay on top of a situation? Make fun of it. But on seeing the hairpin, his eyes brighten (not that way, not yet).]

A master of lockpicking, then? Better still and less tricky to manage in a tight place like this.

[delilahs_death]

'Master' is a strong term. But I am far more likely to unwork your cuffs this way than with strength.

[He says the words with a bemused tone as he crouches next to Wesker, sliding the pin into the lock. As he works at it, he glances at the other man.]

Do you remember at all how you got here?

Mushabooming

[onerthes]

She happened upon him while he was looking over the blue cheeks. Under her arm was a planter of some sort festooned with grey oyster mushrooms. Vira-Lorr had been trading her services for an ever increasing quantity of planters like these. She couldn't duplicate what the farms could produce, but with enough she could create a sort of long-term stock of additional protein. She'd learned not to take these things lightly.

Walking up as he and his companion were looking down at that one, she raised an eyebrow. "Well, that one's different, isn't it? Magical properties, I wonder?"

Re: Mushabooming

[subject_013]

Wwsker looks up then looks up and down the planter Vira carries, with a small smirk. "You've found a tasty-looking specimen there."

Cypher, sniffing around the roots of an oak tree, looks up. "Boss, you eaten recently?"

"According to the locals, they're called 'Blue Cheeks' for the condition they cause in someone unlucky enough to eat one," he replies, ignoring his Omen for the moment, kneeling beside a likely specimen on a fallen log.

[onerthes]

"I'm definitely finding that, if you season them right they can be a ... ok, I'm going to get very sick of mushrooms eventually, but I'm trying to keep up the variety." Oyster mushrooms were good and useful at least.

She raised an eyebrow as he ignored Cypher, glancing in the talkative omen's direction before back at him. It could wait, but she'd make sure someone took a break afterwards. "Blue cheeks, you say? What, do you mean they make someone choke?" Because she had experience with choking hazards around here.

[subject_013]

"I've been looking for recipes that mask the fact that the protein comes from fungi. A blend of the right spices and herbs and the proper cooking technique cam work miracles," he says. "I could cook for you, if you don't mind test-tasting my latest discovery." There's not a lot of difference between working out a formula in the lab and cooking up a recipe in the kitchen. Cypher, in the meantime, starts to dig at one spot, very intent and not interposing for the moment.

He reaches inside his coat, taking a specimen jar from one of many pockets and carefully removing one of the blue mushrooms before dropping it into the jar. "It could involve choking, it could involve suffocation. For all we know, it could turn the pigment in one's blood blue and thus make one's skin turn blue." He looks up at her. "That happened to one family, with no other side effects."

[onerthes]

"Actually, being a guinea pig for taste testing sounds like an excellent idea, though I will insist on sharing recipes for the good ones." It was one of the best ways to really develop a good pallet with the limits they had here. Of course, there was a lot of 'gastro' to what could be done aaround here.

"Hmmm... I'm going to assume that it's much more likely to be the sort of thing that chokes or cuts the air off more often than just turning blood blue. Much as we might wish otherwise. Have to be a few dangerous ones, yes?"

blood harvest

[kingofsarcasm]

Stiles found himself back here completely on an accident of his own making. Finding his way through to an exit has been a harrowing and slow experience as the trauma from the last time he was in the Farm is still fresh and crippling.

A while ago he'd found a wolf in the stall he'd had a panic attack in after stepping through the black hole after the Zealots he recognized. But was separated from the wolf not too long ago and now runs through the final level in a panic.

He didn't even notice the door he ran through, but what he does notice is a man he recognizes with his pumping organs exposed. He skids to a halt, feet slipping in the slick blood on the floor and sending him to the ground. The injuries from when he was tortured by the Zealots scream at him and he groans in pain.

At Wesker's feet now, he looks up and the last thing he needed was to see it at that angle. He turns to puke and even when he's done hurling, he's not really able to find his voice, fully dissociating for the moment and unable to move beyond the traumatized and shocked shaking he's doing on the floor, eyes trained on his own sick.

Re: blood harvest

[subject_013]

"Awful, isn't it... in all senses of the word?" Wesker rasps. "I don't blame you for the emesis." He at least can move his head, lifting his head to peer past his hip at the youngster.

Something small skitters around in the shadows, under the tables. "Boss... oh Boss, where the divil are yer?" a small voice with a Cockney accent calls.

[kingofsarcasm]

"The- … the what?" He gets straight As and all that, but emesis isn't something most people use in their every day vocabulary and right now that's all the vocabulary his brain has access to with how fucked everything is.

Then he hears and sees out of the corner of his eye the skittering and then that ridiculous voice. He scrambles over to the nearest solid thing he can grab onto, which is the base of the rack Wesker is on and makes to hide behind it a bit.

"The fuck is that?!"

[subject_013]

A small brown and white weasel skitters into sight, a white glow coming from behind its eyes. It peers up at the autopsy table and gets up on its hind legs to see better, its front paws trembling. Boss... oh, bollocks," the Omen groans and turns to Stiles. "Don't let the damn fool talk when he's in that state. You seen a set o' ribs around 'ere?"

"So certain it's not too late, Cypher?" Wesker rasps, almost amused by the absurdity of his Omen's request

Sleeper Farm II

[survivalthroughhate]

Maul stares at what had once been a humanoid figure, though he's long since realized if Wesker ever was fully human he hasn't been in a very long time, now instead some new hybrid much like Maul's paramour Reaper now was. Still, even he hadn't known the extent to which Wesker could remain alive after experiencing something like this horrific torture.

Maul, for all his toughness, would have long since been dead if it was he hooked up to the table. He just keeps staring and staring, trying to figure out why isn't he dead yet? Death at least would be a relief right now. It would reset Wesker and allow him to escape this dreadful place or at least Maul hopes so. There's been such a small percentage of Sleepers that have died that Maul still isn't convinced they know everything about the side effect of the process.

He manages to move one leg and then the other, coming over to Wesker and standing there. He's got no weapons save his own claws and fangs but even that will be enough to kill him. Perhaps he should. Show some mercy to someone who has been a good ally to him time and again. "Do you want to die?" Maul asks quietly.

Re: Sleeper Farm II

[subject_013]

For a long moment Wesker lies silent, to a point that Maul might wonder if the other heard him. Then he draws in a pained breath and speaks. "Yes. But also... no." A pause, clearly gathering his strength - something as dire as this level of torture can tax even his stamina - and he continues, clearly having weighed the matter, despite the pain fogging his senses. "Death is too familiar to frighten me. But ending me would complete what our captors started. Though at this point, it would be a mercy.

He carefully turns his head, his reddish-gold eyes dulled, despite the bioluminesence starting to kindle behind them. "The decision is yours, old friend."

[survivalthroughhate]

Maul turns away from the sight of Wesker. It’s not at all the first time he’s ever killed someone or even done a mercy killing. He’d performed one on Lance in Deerington towards the end, though that had more been out of a sense of petulance than anything else given Maul was sulking over how he’d perceived people had been treating him But this….ending the life of someone in such a manner, even if it was done to end their suffering, it felt just a bit different than what Maul was used to.

One hand balls into a fist and slams into a wall. This shouldn’t have to be his decision at all. It is unfair to expect him to make it. But there is nothing else he can do. He can free Wesker and hope the man’s natural abilities help him to regenerate enough to make it out of here. But that’s assuming the zealots won’t catch them again. Maybe….maybe death really will be a relief in the end.

He turns back towards Wesker, a look of determination and strength as hard as a kyber crystal coming into his eyes. “Know that I take no joy in what I have to do.” Maul goes over to Wesker, placing his clawed hands by his neck. “Do you want me to tell anyone else what has happened?” He asks quietly.

[subject_013]

wesker lets his eyelids go slack, saving his energy. Blood loss has made talking, even breathing difficult. But he draws in an audible breath as Maul approaches, a small smile hinting at relief and acceptance pulls at the corners of his mouth. He does not even flinch at those claws so close to him.

"Understood. It isn't easy, with someone valued," he says, with a hint that he knows this personally. Dispatching Spencer could have been called a mercy killing, given the old man's condition, but he had done so partly in the heat of the moment, partly after a lifetime of feeling someone pulling on the strings of his life. Cynthia's sacrifice, on the other hand, had hollowed out something in him. "Tell Vira-Lorr, a seer in Cellar Door who's like a sister. Tell Luz Noceda, tell Orpheus the musician, perhaps he will sing an ode for me. Tell the Blood Ministers of the Lumenarium that one of their journeymen strayed too close to something greater." A hitch in his breathing. "Tell Ariadne... she won't be looking into my my library any time soon, however..."