Project W Subject 013 ("Albert Wesker") (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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deernet2021-09-01 10:47 pm
subject_013) wrote in deernet2021-09-01 10:47 pm
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[Transmission 01][Early September] Wow, what a mansion!
[The Omni clicks on showing a view of a Queen Anne-style house looming up against the murky night sky that threatens rain, as it stands between two smaller houses of a similar style. While candlelight and the light of lunar orbs show in the windows of the neighboring houses, the windows of the larger house stand dark.]
[The viewer pauses in the middle of the cobblestoned street, looking up at it for a long moment. Then a baritone voice speaks, perhaps familiar to some.]
I torched this place, or at least, I torched its twin in the town which proceeded this strange new realm of blood and salt and sea. Dear Jezebel, you encouraged me to commit it to the flames and burn my last ties to Sodder's Nightmare, but it seems this world between worlds is no more finished with this grand pile than it is with the one who claimed it as a home.
[He approaches, climbing two steps to the door, before the view angles up at the fanlight above the door, bearing a red and white wheel-like symbol in stained glass and the name "Arklay House" in Gothic script.]
That's rather on the nose, though if this world is anything like its predecessor, it no doubt delights in its pranks on its guests.
[The view angles down toward the doors.]
One way remains to see if it's inhabited... [His half-gloved hand moves into view and he tries the latches.]
[The viewer pauses in the middle of the cobblestoned street, looking up at it for a long moment. Then a baritone voice speaks, perhaps familiar to some.]
I torched this place, or at least, I torched its twin in the town which proceeded this strange new realm of blood and salt and sea. Dear Jezebel, you encouraged me to commit it to the flames and burn my last ties to Sodder's Nightmare, but it seems this world between worlds is no more finished with this grand pile than it is with the one who claimed it as a home.
[He approaches, climbing two steps to the door, before the view angles up at the fanlight above the door, bearing a red and white wheel-like symbol in stained glass and the name "Arklay House" in Gothic script.]
That's rather on the nose, though if this world is anything like its predecessor, it no doubt delights in its pranks on its guests.
[The view angles down toward the doors.]
One way remains to see if it's inhabited... [His half-gloved hand moves into view and he tries the latches.]
Video: UN - Runeseeker
Please. Do you honestly believe that we would be free of such ironies, Albert?
[VIdeo[UN:A_Wesker013]
I should know that the only thing predictable in this world is the unpredictable. My intellect knows that, but my ego is slow to accept it.
[He tests the latch, finding it locked. He turns it hard enough that something snaps inside it. He removes the handle, pushes in the remains of the shaft, then pushes the door open.]
Cypher, could you kindly emerge and shed some light on this situation?
[A soft white light springs up, much like - yep - a light box. Then the snoot of a small brown weasel peeks into view, wiggling its whiskers.]
Oy, boss, this th' cute burd I've seen yah thinkin' about? Hallo there, love!
[The voice, vaguely masculine and with a touch of a Cockney accent, clearly came from the weasel.]
Cypher, she can hear you. Remember your manners.
no subject
[There was a pause. A blink. A ... did that weasel just talk?!?]
Well well. Who's your friend? I don't recall a talking weasel when last we were chatting.
[The thought occurred to her that it might be one of these Omen creatures she'd heard of, though hers wasn't quite so talkative.]
no subject
[He chuckles and the weasel wiggles its whiskers.]
He's an Omen and mine in particular. I've been accused of being a weasel, but having one as a projection of my spirit takes that to the ridiculous. He's quite useful when he's not tiring people's ears.
[Cypher peers slightly out of frame.]
You call me ridiculous, but I think we're handsome.
Preening aside, shall we go on with this? [The weasel snoot scoots back, and the critter's master pushes the door open slightly before peering inside. The light reveals a foyer with a staircase to the second floor, a marble-topped iron table in the middle, covered with a thin layer of dust.]
...I know borrowed that table from another empty house in the Flatlands back in the day.
no subject
[That was how she was. She despised being told what to do. And now that she wasn't in charge of anything, she was just going to do as she pleased, thank you very much... though she'd get to Gaze eventually.]
mmmm, mine has taken the form of the Absol that lived in the home I shared with the Doctor. Sharona. She doesn't speak still, but she's good at communicating without. Susan did not come with, and Winfield returned to his master. Personally it is probably for the best with Susan. She was ready to go back to our world.
[In reality? Vira-Lorr didn't say that, but she thought Susan was probably just a memory of the Luijt that she'd raised, not an actual, living breathing creature. It was a little sad, but for the best. At least the little litwick had survived the journey.]
So. This home seems to have been drawn here with you does it? Any surprises it might hold in it we should know of?
no subject
At least you'll have some space with less of a menagerie to account for. [An affectionate chuckle.]
Be thankful your companion seems a creature of few words. This little rascal talks enough for the both of us.
[Off link: Oy! I resemble that remark!]
[The view tips up toward an unusually large and heavy-looking chandelier, following a slack chain hanging from it.]
The security device I'd rigged for the front door is still in place, though someone has disabled it.
[He ventures to the left, through an open set of French doors, into the porch room parlor. A horsehair sofa stands in the middle before a hearth, just a few embers glowing in the midst of some charred logs, and before it, an Eames chair with a pillar table beside it.]
I'd chatted over the network from that chair. But the question remains... [The view pans up toward the corner of the sparsely furnished room, and lingers.]
Show yourself, you old fool.
[Nothing happens.] Well. The spectral guest who used to haunt that corner hasn't followed me here. That's a welcome surprise/
no subject
[She watched him as he moved through the whole house, looking it over. one step at a time, until he addressed... nothing. No voice, no ghost. Nothing. It was a reminder that, for all that had followed them? In reality only a few glimmers had. the dream was done.]
A shadow of a memory then. The dream is not here, not in the way it once was. May I ask who the shade was?
[CW: Bloodstain, implied intruder death in the past, canonic character death referenced.]
[He ventures down the hallway, past a smaller dining/sitting room, then peering into a kitchen, boxes and jars scattered over the table.]
Hm. Someone's been eating in my kitchen and they didn't clean up after themselves. I suppose I cant expect this place to have preserved the house in amber.
[He crosses the hallway and tests a door, opening onto a study. Several black-covered journals lay on the desktop,]
Hm. They didn't disturb this. Interesting intruders...
[He comes to the back door and pauses, looking to the floor, where a second iron chandelier lays on the floor atop a faded reddish discoloration on the floor.]
No body, but someone triggered this one.
[He approaches the staircase, climbing it slowly.]
No sign of the vague shade that used to float up and down these stairs, either.
The shade in the corner *was* the spirit of my former guardian and mentor, who died just before I quit my world of origin for the first time. I will admit, I killed him in a cold rage after he'd hijacked our last conversation, though at his age, one might have counted it as a mercy killing. For his crimes, he wouldn't be missed, but his shade followed me into Sodder's Nightmare. I suppose it was meant to prick my conscience or what remains of it, but I saw it as doing that world a favor.
Oswell Spencer, you won't be missed.
[Off link: Boss, remind me not to make you angry...]
no subject
[She watched his progress, studying. she'd actually never really been to his house. It was obvious though that someone had. But what it looked like, hmmm...]
It may have been a brief squatter, just there for the food and to dash.
no subject
My enemies turned colleagues would disagree with that assessment, as they wanted him for questioning with ab aim toward prosecution for his own crimes. However, they were able to claim a better prize when I awakened, though it came with some... negotiations.
[He roams down a hallway, passing an empty glass case against one wall, testing doors, opening them and peering inside. Some are empty or sparsely furnished. He pauses on the threshold of one more thoroughly furnished room: a bed, a desk, a typewriter, a bureau and a wardrobe. On the desk, beside the typewriter lays a copy of Franz Kafka's "The Metamorphosis"]
You never did come to call at this house's predecessor, did you? Though I suppose we had a lot on our minds that made social calls a challenge. Once I've set up a Lamp, you're welcome to visit any time you wish: If there's a light on, I'm likely within.
no subject
[A quick nod followed. She caught sight of the book. Fitting. She'd read it. It was a rather ... odd tome, and she was surprised it never really happened in the nightmare.]
I would love to see it sometime. As you said, you and i practically lived in our labs and offices those last several months, didn't we? I should come visit, and you should do likewise.
[CW: Zombie violence referenced]
[He steps back and crosses the hallway. He pauses before the door, then opens it, stepping into what's clearly the master bedroom and his chamber: four poster bed with silvery grey curtains, a steamer trunk at the foot, wardrobe, desk, an armchair in one corner. He checks the wardrobe, finding it empty, then sinks onto the chair, propping the device on a nearby nightstand. Cypher scampers onto the chair back, proceeding to groom their fur.]
I'm gathering that a squatter may have taken shelter here for a time: nothing's been rifled, though there's things missing. I suppose those modern suits I favored would stick out like a sore thumb in this place. Some things may simply have not come through.
[He reaches into the black leather Welcoming Bag at his side, taking the journal out and jotting something. At the same time, one of the Lamp Friends creeps out, emitting its soft crooning moan as it clambers up his arm to his shoulder, nestling in their master's neck. He glances in its direction, reaching over to stroke its back gently with a fingertip.]
I was literally living in the lab up to and including those last two weeks when I'd put in my notice. If I wasn't in the lab, I was sleeping in the bunker. Reminded me of crunch time on a project at Umbrella or Tricell, with a far different sense of immediacy. I'd be honored if you came to call here.
[Stowing the journal, he rises, taking the device with him.]
One more thing to check indoors, then to check the grounds, such as they are. There's less land to call my own, but the land itself is different here. No doubt it's parceled out differently.
no subject
It was understandable. At a certain point, even ignoring Ramona's influence, the bunker was one of the only truly safe places left in the nightmare. It withstood everything up until the end.
I suspect you're right about the squatter by the by. The video footage is bearing it up. My home was abandoned for a very long time by the looks of it, so I suspect that squatters are a thing in this community. Probably a need to reuse the property.
[she nodded, making a note that she absolutely was going to check in on him in his home rather than just a lab these days. In all likelihood they'd both be in support and research after all.]
A lot of what I'm seeing is very survival focused despite how well built some of the structures are. There's not a lot of space to spare is there?
no subject
In a sense, we're probably all squatters until we put down roots, and... I have reasons to suspect I won't be quitting this place any time soon. If there's any living long enough to age and fade away here if I'm not permanently returned to the sea by some other means, that may be my fate. [Something almost thoughtful in his tone, though it soon passes.]
[He rises, tucking away the journal and taking up the device.]
One more area I need to inspect before I take a look at the grounds. [He steps out into the hallway, ascending what appears to be an attic staircase.]
The architecture is certainly designed for keeping things out and the twisting streets make it easy to get lost. It's as if the denizens of the town meant it by design. Probably to create easy choke points to corner Beasts and whatever other threats may emerge here. So far, this September has been deceptively tranquil.
[Opening the attic door, he'll put one foot tenuously on the floor.]
Hm. One improvement: the floor up here isn't a death trap for someone my size, though I did have some little rat of a man find his way into the prior version of this space. If not for the floor, I would have throttled him and dropped him out a window, but I had to give him high marks for ingenuity in finding his way up there. [A note of amusement as a tiger might display regarding an especially stupid antelope blundering into its hidden den.]
no subject
[she listened for a while as he went to the attic, considering his assessment of the layout of the town. It felt accurate enough.]
I almost feel as if the world breathes a sigh of relief to see us arrive, but that will not last for long. As you said, the town is built to withstand internal assault. It's compartmentalized far too much to be otherwise.
Heh. So your house is a bit more 'sound' than it was in the nightmare? Good then. But no mouse fellow I take it?
no subject
[He stomps the floor, then looks to the ceiling.]
Much sounder than it's former incarnation. No sign of the mad mouse who invaded the attic. I believe he's here, as I met him down by the edge of the water. I trust he found his way here, but time and keeping an eye out for him can tell.
[He turns on his heel and descends, down to the back entryway.]
The lack of street signs and numbers on the buildings was another give-away. The better to confuse any stalking predators, though hopefully the prey can remember their landmarks or the locations of the Lamps.
[Stepping around the iron chandelier, he opens the rear door, letting himself out onto a rear piazza and thence into the rear garden... which is a good deal different from the rear yard of 13 Niebolt Street: brick walls and gravel, hedges and wisteria that could use some pruning, a string of lunar orbs over a rustic table that could double as a work bench.]
Hm. No sign of the ruinous gazebo. The space is smaller but it's large enough to refresh the spirit. I could make this space my own. [Toward the rear of the space is a firepit] Recent ashes and charcoal. Another sign this place had company. This will be fine on cool nights.
[Kneeling behind the firepit, he lets down the lamp creature, which bubbles into smoke, which clears, leaving a Lamp and its accompanying creatures in its place.]
[He rises, looking about him.] Yes, here I'll stay.
no subject
[There were a few possibilities that came to mind, but she was curious. She had, after all, never actually invaded his home. Part of it had been a perception that even with their closeness as colleagues, he was a man who needed and deserved a certain amount of space at times.]
It seems a good choice. Familiarity has its value, and there is little enough here that is familiar other than in October and ... that is a familiarity I'd rather not encounter again.
no subject
[Taking up the device, he carries it back into the house, roaming back to the parlor, his Omen peeping from the collar of his Robe.]
I don't doubt October here will be no less mad than it was in Sodder's Nightmare. At the risk of cursing it into existence, it may even be more wild than that. I have to admit, I started that month aroused by it, but by the end, it was almost more than my senses could bear. ...I have a vague memory of responding to one of your roll-call posts while still half Blood-drunk. It was not my finest moment.
[The weasel on his shoulder stifles a giggle. The master's gaze ticks into the corner of his eye before he rolls them.]
Wot? I didn't larff too loud. [The Omen says innocently.]
Cypher, you either contain yourself or you remove yourself to my head.
no subject
I... saw the Doctor briefly, but I haven't seen him since. I think one of the locals mentioned that he had gone back into the water. That he'd... changed back. It's something I hadn't imagined possible, but I suppose it makes sense. As for Luz, she is still here.
[She snorted.]
I am already assuming we should be ready for October. The last week of the month, someone should really speak to the network about the danger.
(OOC: I'm going to go with a 'return to the water' element with the Doctor as more of a rumor. I think that will help give a contextualization there if that's ok.)
no subject
If I might hazard a guess: he exited stage left, pursued by a tall gent in black with red skin and horns? I turned the intruder out, but I was gracious.
[He steps into the parlor, but pauses before the unlit hearth. While the lower half of his face remains impassive, his gaze may fall thoughtfully for a moment before lifting and resuming his full impassivity, as if he let himself grieve for a moment before internalizing and resuming the conversation.]
I see. Well. Perhaps it is for the best for him. He was a traveler. Moving among time and the stars was his preferred mode of living, and changing back would have brought him back to the place between places and the time between times where he belongs.
[An in-breath and then he moves on. The weasel nestles into his neck, gently nuzzling their master.]
It would certainly help the neophyte Sleepers who may not have passed through the font of Sodder's Nightmare before they arrived here. And it would refresh the minds of those who... may have conveniently forgotten how dark it can and will get.
((OOC: Works for me! Seems the most logical way to
no subject
And perhaps it is. His journey, his travels are far from over. In some ways I was finally at a point to begin settling down in my world, so perhaps there is a difference there. [She sighed sadly and shrugged.]
They will remember soon enough, but if we can minimize tragedy, that's for the best.
no subject
[He slips off the Robe, and steps into the vestibule to hang it on a mahogany coat tree in the shadows.]
In which case, I should start stocking provisions here, along with fetching what I'll need to settle into this place. And as I think the connection to my world of origin is severed, that means making a life for myself here, completely unplugged from what went before.
no subject
...
I think that both our connections are at least partially severed. So, it might serve us well to prepare as if we were getting ready for a rough winter at home, yes?
(I, Have had. A week. I am so sorry.)
[He roves back to the kitchen, the Omen still snuggled against his neck.]
I'd better start preparing soon, then. I shall have to acquire at least a few of everything this place and its new master will need.
I'll keep in touch as best I can. Perhaps these hosts shall prove more willing to shield us, but one can't bank on that hope.
No problem
Stay safe, and we'll speak again soon.
(OOC: no worries. Life's life. You've had a rough week or so. We can wrap this one up as things get started for the next month. It seems a good, logical stopping point.)
Re: No problem
Oy, I live yer 'ead. Not like it can do anyfing to me.
[A wry but slightly amused smirk from the host and master.]
Safety and I haven't had a close relationship, but I know how to stay one step ahead of harm. May our parting be brief.
[He reaches in and cuts the feed.]
((Aaaand, scene!))