deercountry | [Session 4] "And on the white meadow I look for deer’s footprints"

((OOC: Lyrics nicked from various cuts from Schubert's Winterreise (because of course this guy would be into emotional German classical songs). Got something to toss at him? Feel free to reply to this comment!))

Edited 2022-02-15 04:11 (UTC)

Vira-Lorr was at 'Winters' office, knocking on the door during the mid-month. She'd been dealing with the pain that she'd been experiencing from time to time with some difficulty, but thankfully there hadn't been much to confess... or at least she'd gotten much better at her confessions.

However, she wanted to check in on a certain someone, one of two that she had a proposal for in the midst of this month. She was aware of the risks, particularly considering who it was she was thinking of offering this to, but she was still doing it.

The door opens and he looks out, a vague hint of the annoyance of a man who's been dealing with interruptions all afternoon about his impassive face, but it gives way to a hint of a smile as she approaches. "Vira-Lorr, greetings and come right in," he says, stepping aside and pulling the door open. The office has a more lived-in look: an ordered snarl of glassware dominating one wall, a bowl of red and white roses floating in water on the desk amidst the ordered clutter of books and papers.

"And what brings you here today?" he asks, drawing up a chair for her before his desk.

"A social call. I can't imagine that you haven't been inundated with requests lately with Mother Superior's latest curse." She refused to call her Mercy just yet. She really hadn't changed much. Settling into a chair with a light flop, she breathed out and pinched the bridge of her nose. "But I wanted to chat with you about something. Though first... how are you managing?" She was clearly not in too much of a rush as long as he wasn't pressed for time.

"I might have some interesting samples for research purposes."

"There's been a painful procession of those, to say nothing of the hideously damaged when they held their regrets too close and could barely be saved," he says, looking away. Some of those may have come across his slab at Soma. "I've yet to explore the root of it, though it interests me, given my... prospective on the Zealots after the way they sported with me.

He'll pull up another chair, perching on it, leaning slightly foeward. "What manner of samples? You know I'm always looking for that which may unlock more of the mysteries of this place.

"Careful with those ones, friend. As much as you have a knack for studying the enemy very closely, I worry for their influence on you." She wasn't going to hide it. She trusted Wesker implicitly, but she also worried that the zealots were the sort who might cater to his darkest nature.

She held up what looked like a vial of black ink and winked at him, placing it on the counter. "Squid ink... or to be more specific? My ink." A cough and a dark chuckle followed. "It seems we can indeed produce it. I've been thinking of looking into researching the old antidote formula, seeing it can be produced here."

"I will admit, their understanding of Corruption intrigues me. I'd pick their brains or their archives, given half the chance. Their control over it could lead to reversing the effects of it, or curing it entirely. For that matter, if this place does indeed work on Blood sacrifice, there has to be a better channel for it," he says. This isn't him becoming noble, simply more pragmatic than the Zealots' resorting to kidnapping their subjects.

Seeing the vial, he raises one pale eyebrow. "Hmm! A viable substitute for the Antidotes. We'd certainly need that in this place." Peering at her over his lenses, he gives her a slightly sidelong look, and asks, slightly teasing in the manner of a younger sibling zinging their elder, "A project to keep me off a dark path?"

"I suspect it might be better to say that they embraced it and found a way to exist within it," she said with a twist to her grin. "The ability to exist and maintain your ability to think, to act with some level of control despite being mad as a march hare has ... merits to some. So I don't know that I trust their method."

She nodded afterwards and smirked at him. "And yes. You could definitely say that your assisting in seeing if we can make this work? It's a good excuse for helping you not to corrupt yourself to see if you can find a way to stay yourself in the process." She worried a little. "And also a benefit to all of us."

Ariadne knew it wouldn't last. Which meant she had to make the most of it. Which meant, in turn, that she seemed to be doing as much as possible to keep her feet from touching the ground.

Alastrian wings were black as velvet, but reflected rainbows, like an oil slick. Ariadne's were as wide as she was tall, maybe even wider, and she stretched them to the absolute limit, soaring over Trench. By the gods, she'd missed this! She missed the slap of cold air in her face, wind flowing through her hair which had fallen from its neat braid. She missed the feeling of the clouds seeping through her fingers. And the sense that all things were possible, and even Trench was beautiful from this high above.

Yes. She'd eaten a chocolate. And while she knew there might be consequences, at the moment, she couldn't bring herself to feel any kind of regret.

She'd always taken to the air as easily as a fish took to water. And this might be her last chance.

Still, even she got tired. And as it happened, she spotted Doct-- No, Albert, below. So slowly, she banked to the right, swooping down lower and lower, ready to land a few feet from him.

Wesker was returning from a house call, following up on a Trenchie woman who'd given birth to a very strange set of twins early in the month, when a shadow falls over him, causing him to duck on instinct. He looks up to spy a humanoid overhead, which looks vaguely like Ariadne at that angle...

...Till she lands before him. He tries not to stare, but it's hard not to gaze on those iridescent black wings.

"My..." he murmurs, impressed.

The landing was neat and matter-of-fact. No more strenuous than taking a light breath. Ariadne dipped into a curtsy, then folded her hands in front of her torso, offering him a playful smile. "I thought that was you I saw."

Up there.

She couldn't contain her joy. She giggled. A positively infectious giggle. All of the true happiness and light that Ariadne carried around inside of herself, spilling over for the entire world to see.

Yeah, she was having a good time.

"I suppose it's hard to miss a figure in black amidst the winter snow." A glance skyward, then back to her. "I saw the shadow... So that was you?

He'll look along her wings, pale eyebrows rising above the frames of his dark glasses. "Dare I ask whence came these wings? Or have you traded with the Chocolatier, the Beast of the Chocolates?" he asks. the hint of a mischievous lilt in his voice, her joy rubbing off even on his stoical self.

She knew she ought to feel guilty about dealing with the Chocolatier. There would doubtlessly be consequences. Still, it was hard to feel too much concern when the world was so bright and she was having so much fun. There wasn't much fun to be had in Trench. You had to find it for yourself.

For better or worse, she'd found it.

"I wasn't expecting the wings," she admitted. "Just chocolate. But look at them." She turned a pirouette for him, glancing back over her shoulder in a way that was nearly coquettish. If Ariadne was capable of such a thing. "Aren't they magnificent?"

Well, she thought so. Blacker than black. So sleek and smooth that it was almost impossible to tell if they were feathers or scales. Probably both in a way. Her people were supposed descended from dragons.

With another twirl, she faced him again. "These are the wings I would have had, if I'd been able to live as an Alastrian back home. I'd forgotten how much I love to fly!"

"I ask, since I'd received some of their offerings. It caused me to sprout cat's ears atop my head. I've been described as feline, but that was stretching the metaphor," he says, stifling a chuckle.

He'll step closer to her, setting down his satchel and closing the gap between them. "They *are* magnificent," he says, with a hush of awe in his voice. "May I touch them?" he asks.

Ariadne would have liked to have seen him with cat's ears. Then again, he was such a serious man. He probably wouldn't have appreciated it much if she started to laugh. But the image was entirely too incongruous not to be at least a little bit funny. Best that she hadn't.

Still, she stood up a little straighter with pride as he continued.

Yes, they were magnificent, in her opinion.

Never one to shy away from physical contact, she spread one of her wings, turning to give him better access. "I never got my adult wings, but they look just like my father's, I think!"

He'll reach out and with a touch like a feather, runs his spread fingertips along the surface of her wing. At the same time, he leans in slightly to get a better look, and in so doing, her may come close enough to breathe in some of her scent. "Magnificent... so beautiful... and the texture... are these scales or feathers, or somewhere in between?" Or does it matter, in the face of a marvelous person like her?

He has sense it may be wiser not to ask why she did not get her adult wings sooner. An accident? Illness? She has them now, better to let that joy alone. But the notion presents itself, the gears turning in his mind: How to make these wings permanent? How to help her retain this joy? Is there some way to tease it from her being and help her generate them?

All right, she had to admit it was a little strange, the touch of someone's hands on her wing. But she'd never let anyone touch her wings as a child and she'd been without them so long, she figured she'd just forgotten what it felt like.

She wondered what was going through his mind. It wasn't revulsion and she was grateful for that. She supposed he was thinking with a scientific sort of mind. That's what doctors did. Or tended to do, anyway.

Certainly, his question was a fair and thoughtful one.

"I always assumed they were feathers," she said. "Childhood wings aren't nearly as sturdy. And they fall away, the same way that Human children lose their teeth." Which was to say, she didn't actually know if they were feathers or scales. She'd never even thought to ask any of her elders.

"Hmm. There's evidence in my world of origin that birds descended from great lizard-like or dragon-like creatures we've called dinosaurs. Those were covered, it appears, in scales very like feathers, or something in between," he says, leaning in a little closer, close enough that. if allowed. his cheek might brush her hair. "Even before your wings appeared, there's something bird-like about you.

"I wonder... if you asked your Patron, if they would restore these wings permanently. Barring that, perhaps some matter of blood magick could help." Seeing her happy warms something in him and he wants this happiness in her to linger.

Ariadne was a bit sensitive about her hair. For a second, she nearly tensed. But it was Albert. He obviously didn't know about Alastrian hair. Just an accident. She stopped herself before she could embarrass either of them.

"I know dinosaurs," she said, smiling probably more fondly than she should have. "We saw them in Deerington once. Or...well, not in Deerington. I guess...because of Deerington?"

That seemed right.

"Because of Deerington. One almost ate my friend Sam." Which, she supposed, was beside the point. But it was important to her to talk about Sam. About all of the friends she'd lost. To keep their memories alive. And happy memories. Not the sad ones of their disappearances or departures.

As for asking her Patron... "Actually, I have a friend here named Varian. He's something of an alchemist. He said he would do some experiments on the chocolate. To see if he could recreate the serum." It would be convenient. Wings when she wanted them, none when she didn't. "Although...he's not sure it's possible."

He backs away slightly, sensing he's strayed too close into her space. "I should apologize, I didn't mean to narrow the space between us that suddenly," he admits.

"Ahh, in one of the sinkholes that appeared in November? It's hard to say if they were part of the town or caused by the town, but I suspect the latter is closer to the truth. I was a bit preoccupied with processing the strange bones which turned up. The good folk at F.E.A.R. had me analyzing them, which took a good deal of my time," he adds. "Outside of the threat to your friend, it must have been an exciting journey." It may be clear someone needs to get out of the lab more often.

"If Varian wouldn't mind an assistant, I'd be honored to help him. We'd worked alongside each other during the attempted portal construction," He adds with a small smirk, "He seems rather proud and protective of his work."

She shook her head, ready to tell him that apologies weren't necessary, but he was already moving on.

Humans--even those who were vaguely Human--had some funny ways about them.

Particularly the scientific ones. Ariadne actually laughed at little about Varian. "He's very proud of it. And protective. But if there's one thing I've come to learn about alchemists, it's that one of their favorite things is talking about alchemy with anyone who will listen."

Even people who didn't understand what they were saying. Maybe especially people who didn't understand what they were saying.

"Although I don't know that there's any reason to fuss over wings." She said it a big reluctantly, but with her thoughts on the practical. Although her eyes strayed to her beautiful feathers. "I suppose there are probably more important projects that need to be done."

"So was I, at that age," he says with a small, amused, even fatherly smirk. "And the same is true of bio-chemists like myself. I suppose alchemy is, as it were, the ancestor to the scientific research which I engage in.

He emits a soft snort of amused derision. "Nonsense. Your having your wings back is important to you and your integrity as a person. They clearly bring you happiness and wholeness." And while he generally puts his own happiness over that of others... he can't keep from wanting to help her to continue in some measure of this delight.

Her integrity as a person?

Ariadne couldn't say what he meant by that. But she knew he was trying to be kind. And she appreciated it. There generally wasn't enough kindness in Trench for her liking. Every little bit helped. Every little bit made a difference.

Who was she to discourage him?

At the very least, there was something to his remark about 'wholeness.' "I guess we all like the idea of going back and erasing some of the bad things from our pasts," she said, running a finger along the tips of her feathers. "We just usually don't have the chance."

And kindness is something that doesn't factor much in Wesker's mind, let alone his worldview, or at least not a genuine kindness that doesn't come as a component of tending a patient. Spencer and his other keepers had bent his mind to view kindness as a weakness. But here, he has escaped that reach and that influence. Here, he can rewrite his future, if not his past.

"I'm not certain we can erase the past; for some of us, the past has rewritten us. But one can always write a better volume to follow them," he says, reaching out and if allowed, running his fingertips up her wing to her shoulder, then gently cupping her chin, tipping up her face to look her in the eye.

Edited 2022-04-09 04:08 (UTC)

She blinked in genuine surprise at his touch. Most Humans were very, very standoffish when it came to touching other people. Especially around the face. It wasn't surprise enough to make her pull away--Humans weren't a monolith, after all. But it registered on her face.

"I...suppose that's true," she said. "A better volume is always something to seek."

He withdraws his hand quickly, looking down with a hint of guilt and contrition. "Forgive me. I suppose I've been in search of co-author for that next volume, willing to add their pages to it."

Her face split into a grin. "Well, why didn't you say so?" she asked, confused about why he was apologizing for that.

There was no shame in asking for help, after all.

"I'm happy to help you, Albert." It was kind of what she did.

"You'll have to be patient with me. My heart's been trapped in a labyrinth full of monsters, some of my own making, others that were unleashed by another. But perhaps you help me find my way out," he says. "In turn, I will protect you and tend whatever injuries you suffer here."

He might lean in slightly toward her, pausing, as if hesitating and awaiting her next move.

Ariadne honestly wasn't sure what was going through his mind, but she sensed a certain solemnity to his words. A little dramatic, too. But she was used to that. She'd dealt with Lady Adriana's sulky brother from time to time. Also trapped in a...well, not a labyrinth exactly. More like a permanently sour mood.

She tried to be patient and understanding.

When he leaned in, she frowned. Did he expect to shake on a deal with her? Humans liked to formalize things. So she reached out to clasp his wrist, giving him a firm shake. "I hope not to be injured too often!"

We admit, he has a flair for carefully placed dramatics, for all his pragmatism and practicality. The dramatic has its uses and its place even then.

He smiles, tilting his face slightly down before clasping her wrist, and while she'll sense a great deal of restraint and care in his grip, she'll also feel an intense strength held back. "I'll take all due care not to harm you any more than is necessary." A pause and he adds, "Twice a month, every two weeks... Wednesday, in the evening, unless you've other plans?"

"No plans right now," she said. "Although the city may come up with surprises. Which is to say...if I happen to disappear, don't take it personally. It's probably just Trench being Trench."

She felt a certain level of...well, permanence to the place.

True, others had returned to the sea. But Ariadne wasn't sure that she saw herself succumbing to the same fate.

Not any time soon, anyway.

"I've had a woman who was nearly my wife snatched away by the capricious hand of fate. It's taught me to let go lest the pain of separation tear too deeply at my heart." He presses her wrist gently, then leans in even closer, leaning down and if allowed, gently kisses her cheek, a touch so light, she might wonder if her mind made it real.

He surprised her again. For a Human, he was oddly affectionate.

But she didn't mind. She was still Alastrian. She missed the closeness that being part of a pack gave her. So if this Human was going to be part of a new pack well...

Well, all right!

Smiling, she dipped into a little curtsy. "Well, I'm not going anywhere."

"Nor am I. I suspect... my place in my world of origin has been emptied and now... my place is here in Trench." He lets her go gently. Perhaps it's self-conditioning, realizing how hollow it seems, as well as The Doctor's openness to everyone which made him realize what he'd cut himself off from. After all, in the last days of Deerington, The Doctor had told him point blank, "I think you're lonely." The part of him which remains human has retained this desire for closeness, the same part of him which desired to draw humanity up to his level, the same part which the mutated aspect of him despises and cringes at for its vulnerability.

"I'd best not keep you on the ground for long. The sky is yours for as long as your gift lingers." He steps back, giving her space for her take off.

[ knock knock. ]

Dr. Wesker, are you there? It's me, Ahiru!

[A door chain and something else rattle and clink, then a bolt thumps back before the latch lifts and the door opens. Wesker peers out, in his shirtsleeves. The tips of a pair of cats ears might peep amid his blond hair. A scent like roses wafts over his shoulder from the rear of the house.]

Ahh, Ahiru, what brings you here?

Oh, I thought I'd check up on you.

Well, it's much appreciated, especially in this month of affection and connection in all its forms.

[He'll step back, holding the door open wider for her.]

You came at a good time: I've been making rose jam. Some for my own use, some for gifts. Some to trade in Willful Machine.

Rose Jam . . . ? Do you make out of roses?

Fresh roses: they're edible, did you know? People have been cooking with them for centuries.

[He'll beckon her to follow and leading the way through the foyer and past a staircase, down a hallway leading past several rooms including a study, and opposite, a kitchen cluttered with pots and bowls of roses. On the stovetop, a large aluminum pot bubbles. Cypher, with a tiny chef's toque on their head, stands over it, perched on a box on the draining board, stirring the contents with a long wooden spoon.]

I didn't know that.

[ not surprising. ahiru knows very little in general. she waves at cypher. ]

Are you making it for yourself and Mr. Cypher?

Partly for our own stock, partly to trade some, and partly for gifts for a few friends.

[Cypher looks up from stirring and waves a paw to Ahiru.]

'Allo, Miss Ahiru! Come in out o' the cold?

Hi Mr. Cypher! I'm just here visiting.

Do you make gifts often?

Good to 'ave ye visit! We've missed ye.

[Cypher returns to his stirring. Wesker, meanwhile, has fetched a deep basket of roses in mixed colors and set it on a stool beside one counter as he proceeds to take out one rose at a time, removing the stems and leaves, discarding those and dropping the petals and core into a clean pot.]

Not often, though I do cook for myself quite often. There's considerable similarity between following a recipe and following a laboratory formula. It merely required applying the same process to a gift for those who've found their way into my heart.

[ ahiru gives a nervous laugh. ]

You make it sound like it's a bad thing, Dr. Cypher.

I hope I didn't sound too dour, but the similarity struck me while I was puttering here. I've probably spent so much time working alone that I'm prone to oversharing observations.

[Cypher stands up a little taller, holding up the wooden spoon, on which the jam is sticking consistently.]

Oy! you got me to listen. And right now, I think this might be ready to pot up.

And fortunately, there's some fresh jars in the warm water bath. Ahiru, would you like to remove the green leaves and stems from these?

Uhm, sure.

[ seems easy enough. easy enough for her at least. ]

One of the few weaknesses Wesker would own up to is having a bit of a sweet tooth: having a high metabolism means any sugars get burned off very quickly, anyway. True to his preference for the darkness, his favorite chocolate flavor is dark chocolate.

Except no one warned him what the side effects might entail. Thus he's limping a bit, hunched slightly as well in a bid to conceal his visible state of arousal - And we'll say his arrogance does not stem from compensating for anything.

"Of all the indignities this place could inflict, this has to be the most wretched," he mutters.

Edited 2022-02-21 04:33 (UTC)

[CW: Emotional/psychological distress, religious weirdness, childhood trauma referenced, physical trauma referenced, misanthropy discussed, forced evolution discussed, event-specific self-harm referenced. This is very dark.]

Wesker does not consider himself a religious person, though he does believe that higher powers exist. His prior loyalty to Mother Superior came from a sense of self-preservation in a strange world. Finding her more ruthless than himself and shockingly similar in some ways to Spencer had weakened some of his loyalty. And then she seemingly abandoned him during the debacle which Bill Cipher's portal construction devolved into.

Even still, he ventures into the Pale Sanctuary, seekubg a document which a scribe at Soma pointed him toward, in his quest for information regarding the Zealots. Given Maul's statement that the Zealots must be curbed, he's taken it onto his shoulder. He'd undermined Umbrella Corporation and brought it down, thus espionage is familiar ground. A cult isn't too different from a corporation.

And as so often, this turned into an apparent trap. Guilt and regret he has pushed into the back of his mind. And yet for all that science has given him, for all the mutations and advances he has made, he remains human at his core. That core can still sense guilt.

"I only wished that humanity could share the same invulnerability," he says, kneeling before the image of Bausphomette, bracing himself with one gloved hand on the floor.

"You don't think I can understand pain? I know how trauma can affect a person, If I could help humanity to rise above as I have risen above, if they could heal as I can and be as strong and swift, they could reach their fullest potential.

He raises his head, eyes starting to smolder and glow, even as he reaches inside his coat, taking out a case containing several clean cannulas, selecting one. "If I harmed human subjects in the process, it was to discover what *wouldn't* work."

[Session 4] "And on the white meadow I look for deer’s footprints"

"You must not hear my footsteps" - Wildcard

Knock Knock

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[CW: Misanthropy, poor socialization referenced]

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( visiting . . . )

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Chocola-tier - Dark Chocolate - Female/female presenting characters over 18

"in the stillness feel the serpent within" - Mother's Mercy - February 25th