Project W Subject 013 ("Albert Wesker") (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
subject_013) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2021-11-07 11:10 am
subject_013) wrote in deercountry2021-11-07 11:10 am
Entry tags:
[Session 2] 'You wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me?'
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.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[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."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[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.))
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.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[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."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[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.))
no subject
"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?"
no subject
"I certainly wouldn't put it past this place to make something that colorful that dangerous. Aposematism, like a brightly colored tropical poison frog, sending out a message: 'Here I am, but don't even think about eating me. I do not taste as good as I look'. Mushrooms are infamous for being poisonous, some by nature, some because of what they grew from; I'd be more shocked if there weren't any poisonous species."
He recaps the jar, making certain to have the lid on tight before slipping it back into his coat. "Oddly enough, one of the last specimens I was studying in my world of origin, before I was summoned into Sodder's Nightmare, was a parasitic black mold found only in one remote valley in a mountainous country. It seemed to have some potential for cell repair, however... fate had other plans. And yet there's another fungus to catch my curiosity."