buriedabove

[buriedabove]

❯ WHICH SYMBOLIC FRUIT ARE YOU?

POMEGRANATE

The pomegranate is most famously attributed to the Greek goddess,  Persephone.  Though versions of the story differ:  with some saying Persephone was tricked into eating pomegranate seeds to be trapped in the underworld, and some saying she willingly chose to eat the seeds.  Pomegranate's have a hard exterior that is tough to crack.  Your hard shell is a natural protectant and keeps you safe from those that only wish to use you.  Internally you are rich with bounties. You believe in living your life passionately and vibrantly.  The idea of surrendering to a fate of being confined to anything,  whether it be a relationship,  a job,  or family dynamic where you are not happy  &  lack agency is a terrifying prospect.  It is fears like this which also prevent you from opening up and showing vulnerability to those around you.  However,  like the pomegranate whose seeds sparkle like gemstones,  you hide inside you incredible beauty that only the most worthy deserve to see.

TAGGED BY: @primalcompanion ( mwah ) TAGGING: whoever wants to do it, steal it!

#drinks are on me. ❯ dashgames.

[buriedabove]

The benefit of the doubt underlined many of his connections in life,  be it those short-term and those far more long-lasting.  It rubbed him the wrong way whenever people were seeing him through the prism of that one thing.  He was not as anonymous as he wanted to be.  Saving the president’s daughter granted him another heap of notoriety,  for as secret  &  covert the mission was supposed to be.  Atop the medals and ribbons donned on special occasions,  there were layers upon layers of labels.  Many complementary,  the rest  —  not so much.  Kennedy was not letting it phase him nor affect him,  but it was easier said than done.  Strutting down the white house’s halls,  the rigid smiles vanished the second he passed by them and that was when the commentary followed each clack of his dress shoes polished to perfection.  People would keep talking,  no matter what.  He just did not wish to become like them,  and so he silently hoped Kira knew how to mind her business.  The most important skill of all.

“  Who,  me?  Bored?  In such thrilling company?  ”  He fiddled with the earpiece  (  no signal;  they really were on their own  )  and peered back at the infected corpses they left behind,  resisting the self-amused grin threatening to shatter the jaded pretence etched across his features.  “  You’re fine too,  I guess,  ”  the agent clarified in jest.

Working by himself was less of a hassle and a headache as he did not have to look out for anyone else except for those in need of saving.  But an extra gun he could not say no to.  They did not have to be friends.  In fact,  he tended to avoid forming such amicable relations on professional foundations.  The moment she returned his inquiry,  the man was caught by surprise.  Positively.  Somebody did not do their homework.  Thankfully.  An impartial shrug jolted his shoulders as they marched on.  Leon had the chance to be as elusive as he desired.  Yet,  he felt compelled by honesty.

“  From the day Raccoon City got razed to the ground,  ”  he confessed without a hint of mordancy he normally used as a shield between himself and the stomach-twisting acidity of guilt.  It did not necessarily sound like she had a choice to go down this path either.  “  They…  recruited me and that’s all I’ve been doing to pay my bills.  Dull story,  trust me,  ”  a quiet snort;  a vigorous pat on her shoulder.  “  But you would know a thing or two about that,  wouldn’t you?  ”

there were a handful of things she could have called her job [ most of which were not exactly pleasant, and she had since been reprimanded for using such vulgarity before ... not that it has ever stopped her ] but at the very least, she has come to met some very interesting people because of it. whether they made it out of the encounter dead or alive, however, was entirely up to the cards she kept under her sleeve. leon, she was beginning to think, was one of them. though, considering the amusement he elicits from the ravenette when he speaks. it was a miniscule comfort to know that she was dealing with someone who hadn't learned about her from a file like she was another case study. besides, she wasn't sure he would want to stick by her even for the sake of survival if he knew what lies behind the black marker lines that adorned most of those papers that had her name written down. she wasn't sure she would exist if not for those scraps of information.

❛     don't waste your time. it'll be a boring read. i'm just a simple lady, can't you tell?    ❜ the end of her sentence is punctuated by the click of her gun as she pulled back the barrel to check the chamber before allowing it to snap shut. an amused tone lifts her voice to let him know she had been joking. anyone within their right mind would never have been found anywhere near this place. she keeps her hand wrapped around the firearm, swinging idly at her side without a care for improper stance. it wasn't something she would tell him, but she wasn't a very good shot. the gun was just for show. she'd have been better off without it ... that was what the knife strapped to her hip was for.

the corner of her lip curved upwards sharply, into the faintest sliver of a smile. ❛     what, don't tell me you're getting bored already, kennedy? already looking for games to pass the time?    ❜ she prompted. when he asks how long she had been doing this for, she did not need to count how many years since raccoon city. it was a number she continued to keep, almost religiously. but she instead offers, ❛     longer than i'd like to admit, long enough to become good at it. believe it or not, this mess wasn't exactly a popular career choice. how about you, since we're playing twenty questions now?    ❜

#sorry to barge in like this. ❯ responses. #wistrea #him unintentionally making it seem like he knows Something while being blissfully oblivious

[buriedabove]

Constricted pupils betray his depravities going beyond booze and tobacco  (  if she fails to catch that,  there’s another clue glaring from his inner forearm  —  a tiny prick in between the furcation of his veins  ).  Prescription painkillers seemed to have been enough up until now.  Worse comes to worst,  and hydrocodone gets switched up for morphine ampoules.  Just a little pick-me-up once in a while.  Coincidentally,  also today.  The blade swirls around in his guts  &  he can only give a mirthless half-grin.

“  Hmph,  tickles.  ”  The cigarette stubbed out on the wall and dropped to the ground.  Index finger darts out and digs into her shoulder,  mocking tints seeping through his voice,  “  Since you’re so much smarter than a kindergartener,  go figure.  Why wouldn’t I tell you shit?  ”

In case anyone finds out Kennedy is anywhere but six feet under,  hunting season will be back on.  Target on his back,  many more wishing they could take Miriam’s place right this second and stab him instead.  She’s one of the reasons why he has gone off the grid overnight.  As much as he wanted to alleviate himself by escaping the responsibilities he would have to face up to if he stayed,  he knew she would be better off without him.  Apparently not.  But his reason is too cloaked with the mixture of substances to see her.

I thought you loved me.  Followed by blood trickling.  I taught you better.  Followed by a spreading splotch.  I fucking love you.  Followed by white noise.

Head hangs low,  not in shame but to make the damage out in the bleak blur.  Well,  he will live.  Disappointing?  Maybe.  Those past few weeks he watched the live self-portrait of himself with the muzzle pointing down his mouth,  the frigid steel warmed by his quickening breathing.  Never had it in him to pull the trigger.  Forging his death certificate and dismantling his two phones as far as he could go.

“  I can tell,  ”  he finally speaks,  scarlet staining his teeth as the metallic aftertaste pours across his taste buds.  If she had felt indifferent about him,  she wouldn’t be ripping him apart.  Leon trusts her with the knife.  For once,  he trusts her.  His hand rests atop hers,  which clutches the handle for dear life.  “  How ‘bout…  I fix you a drink and you fix me up?  ”

@buriedabove

            𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗰.  the  quiet  beep  of  various  machineries  keeping  her  alive.  the  silent  footsteps  of  nurses  in  crocks  and  doctors  in  sneakers  going  from  one  side  of  her  bed  to  another.

          is  it  er  or  is  it  mental  ward,  miriam  wonders  as  she  stirs  underneath  the  chlorine  smelling  sheets.

          ❝  i  didn't  try  to  kill  myself,  ❞  is  the  first  thing  she  says.

          ❝  yeah,  sure,  ❞  the  doctor  responds  —  a  nurse  by  her  side  changes  the  medicine   going  through  her  iv.

          miriam  falls  asleep  again.

          ❝  would've  been  here  sooner,  ❞  she  seethes,  burying  the  blade  deeper.  ❝  your  little  riddle  could  be  solved  by  a  five  year  old,  idiot.  ❞

          grey  eyes  open  to  fluorescent  lights.  with  that  much  money  one  could  think  wulf  would  be  permitted  in  the  room.  he  isn't.  just  another  shrink  —  another  and  another  and  another  —  none  of  them  believing  it  wasn't  suicidal  attempt.  erik  doesn't  necessarily  believe  miriam  either.

          she  just...  started,  couldn't  stop.  remembers  very  little  other  than  finally  calling  for  help  upon  realizing  she's  bleeding  too  much.  new  scars  added  to  her  growing  collection.  new  scar  added  to  kennedy's  art  exhibition.

          ❝  how  could  you  tell  hunningan  but  not  me.  how  could  you  do  it  all  without  me.  i  would've  played  the  role  of  a  widow  perfectly.  ❞

          miriam  twists  the  knife  in  leon's  guts.  won't  fuck  with  his  sanity,  will  fuck  with  his  health.

          ❝  how  could  you  do  this  to  me?  i  thought  you  loved  me.  ❞  she  throws  the  accusation  in  leon's  face  with  the  calmest  and  most  emotionless  tone  —  she's  the  master  of.  ❝  how  dare  you  drink  again.  how  dare  you  live  like  this.  i  taught  you  better.  ❞

          her  tone  plain  still  stings  like  venom  injected  underneath  one's  skin  —  acidic  burn,  itch  that  cannot  be  scratched  devouring  flesh  &&.  melting  bone.

          stroking  her  ego?  more  like  insulting  her  intelligence  &&.  betraying  her  trust.  miriam  cannot  believe  leon  has  chosen  someone  else  to  help  with  the  idea  other  than  her  —  the  master  in  planning  and  manipulation,  pretending  and  scheming.

          ❝  you  deserve  to  bleed  out  on  this  fucking  floor,  kennedy.  ❞

          black  underneath  her  eyes,  sunken  cheeks,  grey  skin.  hair  of  twice  the  volume,  nails  broken.  stench  of  decay  following  after  her  as  she  stormed  through  the  door  (  now  closed,  locked  ).

          ❝  but  i  brought  fucking  first  aid  kit.  you  hear  me?  i  bought  a  first  aid  kit.  for  you.  to  patch  you  up.  because  i  fucking  love  you.  ❞  another  twist,  another  push.  ❝  but  you  left  me  there  to  die.  why?!  ❞

#sorry to barge in like this. ❯ responses. #facesblind #substance abuse tw #suicidal ideation tw #self harm tw

[buriedabove]

THE MATRIX 1999 dir. The Wachowskis

#story of my life. ❯ muse. #leon with hunnigan on the line

[buriedabove]

Since he does not feel like he can fully rely on his memory to be truthful and accurate,  he has developed a habit  (  or a peculiar hobby  )  of collecting souvenirs.  They vary from little things such as a dead colleague’s favourite pen or someone’s coffee to those more directly connected to what he’s trying to reminiscence such as dirty dog tags,  a blood-stained notebook he tore from an already stiffening grip,  personalised weapons  —  and all of those come from both friends and foes,  the majority of them dead.  Most of the mementoes are from Raccoon City because,  after all these years,  it is that one day that will never stop dragging behind him.  He sees this particular event as defining and given how he was not really given a chance to grasp and process it,  he feels like his memory slips here and often distorts his idea of what happened.

It started with a box.  An old chest with creaking hinges.  He put his ripped and grimy uniform down there,  but first,  he packed it into a plastic bag and marked it with the date and a short description.  RPD uniform.  He repeated it with a few other things he still had on himself.  Keys,  maps,  letters,  film rolls.  Each was categorised like evidence.  That very system he maintains.  Pack it,  add a note,  place it on the designated pile.  A dichotomy.  He needs to remember and keep tangible reminders,  but at the same time,  he has to detach himself from them.  If he treats it like evidence from a case / mission,  it will not feel that real.  Even with his own uniform,  he has to remove himself from it.  There will be a distance.  Between what he remembers and what parts he only wants to remember.

He can look through it,  touch it,  feel the weight in his hand,  but he can try to push away everything else that the relics bring upon him.  The feeling of guilt,  sorrow,  grief.  Leon does not always manage to stay aloof and indifferent towards it.  More often than he would like to admit,  he will just rummage through the keepsakes and torment himself with the memories while he attempts to justify it as a glorified form of reminiscing,  when ultimately,  all it does is send him into the downward spiral,  where it only gets worse from there.

Before he knew it,  a single box was not sufficient for the expanding collection.  There are around a dozen of them.  Some stored in the garage,  some in his car trunk,  the rest at his place.  They are not sorted by importance but by dates  (  if he can recall them,  a few bags have question marks scribbled over them  ).  Like evidence.

#condor one out. ❯ headcanon. #after months of being all up in my “i need to write it” bs i finally did #i'll probably... add onto it.... someday.....

[buriedabove]

Disembowelled carcasses  &  stick symbols repeated on walls in blood that he met along the way do not grace him with much hope for what is about to come.  Maniacal mantras droning through the air and going with the ritualistic behaviours he thought people had already abandoned in the middle ages pull the red thread across the evidence board hanging at the back of his mind and pinpoint it to a single conclusion.  If they’re a cult,  they must have some sort of a leader who guides them…  but towards what exactly?  A remote village inhabited by recluses,  having a deity  (  built from flesh and blood,  he deducts in the meantime  )  they are directing their prayers to.  Earlier,  just when the horde dropped their torches,  sickles and hatchets altogether and shambled towards the chiming bell as if it was calling them to come home,  there was a name he overheard amidst the mindless chanting.  Could that be his—  their lead?

“  Those aren’t the best circumstances to meet in.  Not a bar in sight or whatsoever,  ”  he sputters the cynicism with a dash of jocularity,  mirroring the gesture and taking her hand in his for a decisive shake.  “  Leon Kennedy.  ”  His last name the dead giveaway why he is so damn unlucky.  But maybe good fortune will smile at him again.  Somehow,  in the end,  it very often did.  Being hours late for his first day at work saved him more than he reckoned it would.  No great efforts at trying to make sense of that night will ever help him come to terms with that.

He lived,  so what?  Many others were not so lucky.  The rookie,  back then,  did what he could,  but he still could not rub away the phantom feeling of crimson seeping into his palm lines.  Everyone he treated to a dose of lead to the head was a person at a certain point.  Someone with a life—  a life ruined.  When the city was blown up to the skyline and he was dragged aside by men in pristine suits contrasting against his torn  &  dirty uniform,  he gained a new perspective.  It is always about power,  and now he is a pawn thrown in the middle of it.

“  Politics,  ”  snapped out from the reverie,  he claims tersely.  What else could abducting the president’s child be about?  “  The question is,  what do they want in return…  if anything?  ”  Leon muses aloud before looking away from the stilled havoc to glance towards Lara and consider her following inquiries.  If he had the time,  he would probably ponder on another concern,  such as,  what business does she have helping him?  Altruism has a price.  Perhaps not for him,  but he would not bet it all on the hunch telling him that she might be sharing the sentiment.  She is not here for a getaway,  obviously.  For once he chooses to believe that the less he knows,  the better.

“  I eavesdropped and caught a Lord Saddler,  whoever that is,  ”  he reveals eventually;  fingers wrapped around his own pistol.  “  They don’t strike me as welcoming to let us in on the fun.  ”  Gazing at the old reinforced door adorned with the insignia across from them,  a pensive hum buzzes at the back of his throat.  The mark on the map he found.  Lago.  Hunnigan mentioned a windmill,  too.  Cautiously stepping down the square,  he discerns a path going around the building.  “  The only way to go is forward,  huh?  ”

lara's brows rise to his less than bemused statement, but she doesn't respond. if she were anyone else, she'd see the grace of it, she always has. need's always been the mother of innovation, lara's observed that over endless times, countless cultures. but there was no need in this macabre reality, only hunger. a hunger for power, a hunger for control. misplaced in the wrong hands, all it did was bring about destruction and agony over innocents, and to the puppeteers that commanded that stage, collateral is only just that. her spine still stiffens as she thinks back to her unfortunate encounters with biological weapons, crackling limbs and guttural growls that wanted nothing but to rip into her. at least that time, it was trinity soldiers, lara spilled their blood without second thought. this is different, these ... people, were just that, people. in the wrong, at the wrong time. she pretended each pop of her gun didn't spill acid into her chest and flip her stomach a million ways.

he announces his employer and lara's head cants to the side, she glimpsed enough of the badge to corroborate his claim, though he doesn't seem to eager about it. point for him, her stance relaxes a little. the dots connect right then and there and her eyes linger where the photo is now hidden, ❝ that's the first daughter. ❞ she realises out loud, head shaking in confusion as to why the president's young daughter would be anywhere near this mayhem. she doesn't have the luxury of time to dwell on it, and she's sure he doesn't either. his ties make her squirm in discomfort; if he were as mindless as any soldier she's met in the past years, he would've tried to gun her down already. he wouldn't have divulged what she's sure is sensitive information on his presence. lara decides then to let her arms relax at her sides, blowing air into her cheeks as she nods, more so to herself than anything.

❝ lara croft. archaeologist, grave robber, call it what you want to call it. ❞ she finally introduces herself, and extends a hand. ❝ i'll help you find your girl. ❞ she announces surely, if there were any traces of the origins of the divine source here, lara doesn't want it in the hands of whoever orchestrated this nightmare. and she certainly doesn't want to risk its discovery by a foreign government agent. the only way she could make sure of it is to ally herself with him, be where he is, and hide what needs to be hidden. ashley's picture flickers into her mind, she must be only nineteen, twenty ? when lara was nineteen, she was well into her studies, her life still made sense. she conceals a flinch at the shattered reality this girl must be experiencing, and she holds back empathy. she's licked her wounds and made her peace. time to save someone who can still be saved.

❝ you think whoever's responsible took her ? why ? ❞ lara's hands get busy with reloading her weapon, adjusting the strap of her quiver, and warming against the harsh weather. ❝ do we have any idea who the good doctor could be ? or where they hid her ? ❞ she speaks while her eyes scan their surroundings, and she's already thinking what she's hoping, he's thinking to. the only way to get down to the root of this is to go where the infected went. normal people would run the other way, but normal is not a word she'd use to describe this unlikely duo. more questions linger, master ? failed experiments ? all in due time.

#sorry to barge in like this. ❯ responses. #croftborn #who would he be without his nuggets of wisdom

[buriedabove]

Years ago,  the word unworldly stopped being enough to fill in the blanks whenever he did not know what else to say.  This house is something else.  Closed spaces always made him more distressed  &  alert rather than being out in the open with a gun and a fistful of good luck.  Hardly anywhere to run in case they are met with a being a rain of bullets won’t bring down that easily,  and so far,  there have been quite a few like those.  Not to mention whatever thing insists on putting their sanity and mutual trust under an askew question mark scratched into wood.

Impossible they would head off in completely different directions.  In the spur of the moment,  the agent rushed to assumptions that were doubting Chris’ expertise,  but maybe that one was on him?  Even if he were to swallow the gulp of hubris lodged in his larynx,  he knows he wouldn’t lose track of the man in a blink.  Kennedy heard Redfield behind him the entire time,  Redfield heard Kennedy behind him the entire time as well.  Could they have been followed by the same perpetrator or is there more keeping an eye on their each step imprinting into the house’s floors?

Firm grip lingers on his companion’s arm for half a moment more as he finds his footing,  as though to make sure he is real.  Vast blues soon escape his gaze and look towards the flashlight’s beam.  Scanning the location somebody bothered to drag them two to,  he reloads the handgun and shuffles towards,  hopefully,  a way out here.

“  I’m afraid there’s more to that sick joke,  ”  Leon hazards a guess as they approach a decaying ladder leading to the lower floor.  His heel knocks against the edges of the hatch,  examining its stability.  “  Why would they put us together?  With most of our gear,  no less.  Then,  next thing you know,  we’re spied on through fuckin’ cameras.  ”

It might come across as a far-fetched suspicion,  but considering everything that has gone down throughout the past couple of hours,  anything could turn out to be true in the wicked house with even more wicked residents.  Jumping down instead of laying an ounce of faith in the falling apart ladder,  he grunts due to the sudden impact before looking up at Chris.

“  They want us to become each other’s worst enemies.  See who’s going to off who.  ”  Waiting on the older,  his arms form a blockade in front of his chest when his back leans back against the wall.  “  Need me to catch you?  ”

♡  @buriedabove          ⸻          chris  redfield

          the  eerieness  of  this  place  makes  the  hair  on  chris'  neck  stand  on  end.  he's  been  through  his  fair  share  of  weird  and  scary,  but  nothing  of  this  caliber.  usually,  he  feels  like  he's  in  a  horror  movie.  today,  it's  a  haunted  house,  but  said  haunts  are  actually  real.

          floor  creaks  beneath  each  step  he  takes,  combat  boots  leaving  easily  distinguishable  shapes  of  patterned  soles.  with  so  much  grime  &&.  dust  everywhere,  it's  hard  to  breathe  ;  the  smell,  stench  of  decay,  makes  the  older  redfield's  stomach  turn.

          and  he  thought  he's  used  to  all  this  by  now.

          odour  of  death  and  meat  rotting.  sight  of  living  corpses.  sound  of  hungry  groans  and  out - of - breath  moans  let  out  through  damaged  vocal  chords.  he  hears  it  now,  different  ;  his  steps  come  to  a  halt,  hand  gesturing  to  leon  to  stop,  too.

          but  upon  inspecting,  there's  nothing.  and  he  can  swear  he  saw  it,  saw  something,  someone,  a  shadow  in  the  corner  of  his  vision  ;  heard  the  footsteps.

          ‶  did  you—  ‶

          wait.  where's  leon?

          all  of  a  sudden,  the  younger  agent  is  gone,  and  chris  can  swear  the  other  was  right  behind  him.  it  takes  one  turn  of  his  gaze  towards  where  he  last  saw  kennedy  —  and  it's  lights  out.

          a  squint  of  chris'  eyes  and  a  grimace  welcomes  leon  upon  waking.  it's  hard  to  distinguish  in  the  lighting,  but  the  human  battering  ram  deals  with  a  swollen  chin  and  a  bruise  of  his  own.  aggrieved  remark  is  met  with  a  roll  of  grey  eyes  ;  nonetheless,  muscular  arm  helps  kennedy  off  the  floor.

          ‶  whatever  that  was,  it  let  us  keep  some  of  our  equipment,  ‶  chris  notes,  checking  the  clip  in  his  pistol  ;  ammunition  left  untouched.  only  then  his  gaze  is  lifted  at  leon,  brows  furrowed  ;  frown  that  creases  his  forehead,  only  deepening  the  mark  growing  through  the  years  by  worries  and  suspicions.

          ‶  where  was  i?  where  were  you,  ‶  it  sounds  accusatory,  redfield  spits  it  out  with  a  hint  of  anger  before  he  can  stop  himself.  it's  not  leon's  fault.  it's  nobody's  fault.  they  wouldn't  make  mistakes  like  these,  too  expierienced  by  years  of  dealing  with  bow - s.

          ‶  agreed,  ‶  the  older  corrects  himself,  tone  not  yet  calmer,  but  the  vexation  no  longer  direcred  at  dso's  finest.  ‶  and  we  didn't  split  up.  something  did  only  to  put  us  back  together.  nonsense.  ‶

          chris  huffs,  shakes  his  head  ;  checks  the  torch  and  lights  the  surroundings  so  leon  can  take  a  better  look  as  he  already  did,  waking  up  before  the  other.  ‶  wherever  we  are,  there's  no  signal  anymore,  ‶  he  explains,  taking  a  step  in  the  only  direction  they  can,  away  from  the  dead  end  they  were  left  in.  forward.  he'll  punch  the  way  through  if  he'll  have  to.

#sorry to barge in like this. ❯ responses. #dog-paws

[buriedabove]

may 3rd it is.....

what if i do give in and give leon a birthday...

#tbd. #this one’s for the astrology girlies #anyways about to do some writing now c u l8r chat

[buriedabove]

what if i do give in and give leon a birthday...

#where’s everyone going? ❯ ooc. #tbd. #softie this is ur fault /lh

[buriedabove]

" either you talk benford out of the tiktok ban or we're moving to europe. " she can no longer watch her favorite james sunderland from resident evil thirst traps.

@facesblind

Tic Tac ban? That’s news to him.

“  Why would he be banning the candy?  ” But he likes it here... in Silent Hill.

#your right hand comes off? ❯ crack. #in my restless dreams there’s an alternate timeline where he didn’t kill benford and it comes to this #leon vc: okay so remind me what’s the capital of europe

[buriedabove]

D.M. Aderibigbe. from “Letter from My Father, Odysseus“

#story of my life. ❯ muse.

[buriedabove]

It wasn’t that he didn’t wish for the moment to last because he did,  but no amount of looking death right in the eye and feeding hundreds of heads with lead could make him any braver in front of intimacy.  A kiss may not seem like much.  To many—  perhaps to most.  He wondered what it meant to her.  Soon enough,  after the innocent remark painting his cheeks even redder  &  coating his calloused palms with cold sweat,  the trajectory in which Sylmae’s monologue started going filled him with apprehension.  If it didn’t mean anything,  he reckoned,  she wouldn’t be dropping it out of the blue.  Leon’s shoulders squared as he sat up straight,  back pressed against the wall as his expecting narrowed gaze didn’t dare to leave the other while she went on.

Cult?  For fuck’s sake.

“  Now that you put it that way,  I do have some doubts about your involvement,  ”  he observed,  trying his best despite the sizzling disquiet to give his words a facetious flair.  “  That’s,  uh,  one cult I haven’t heard of.  Yet.  ”

The agent visibly tensed up,  restlessness nearly prompting him to leap to his feet and pace around the room to walk it off,  although she had barely disclosed anything so far.  Fingers picking at dead skin around his nails,  dark eyebrows drawn into a perplexed furrow.  They had never gotten a chance to actually talk,  hadn’t they?  Wiping damp hands down his jeans,  he turned to her and caressed her arm gingerly.  Kennedy was ready to hear something he didn’t want to hear,  still,  he refused to be that jerk who refuses to listen  (  fair share of those kinds of fuck-ups under his belt already  ).

“  What is it?  ”

     her dark heart fluttered against her rib cage as the kiss was returned. in those few moments, the bhaalspawn could've sworn that the world stopped turning. she was swept away in a current of emotion she was not expecting to receive from a prodding action. as their lips met, she wanted nothing but to lose herself in the agent. drown in this sweet ocean of molasses that she knows will only lead to tragedy and broken hearts. sylmae's hand gently cupped his cheek, moving some of his blonde hair out of the way. she leaned forward upon her knees to gain better access, only to be met with him suddenly pulling back.

     their ruby eyes opened just in time to see his features glow with a beet red hue. she fell back upon her knees, already reminiscing the taste of him upon her tongue. even with a small sample from the other, she found her craving more. her lips curled into a knowing smirk, amused that he tried to cover his growing nerves.

     "do i make you nervous, leon?" sylmae questioned teasingly. "how sweet."

     she shifted back to her original spot upon his mattress and leant back upon her palms. sylmae internally debated if she wanted to ruin such a warm moment between them. unfortunately, she wasn't rewarded with the luxury of time and her movements were being watched from multiple entities.

     "you might need one after i tell you why i'm here . . . besides, actually wanting to see you of course." she regretted speaking as soon as the words left her mouth, but he needed to know. leon deserved to know. "there's a lot you don't know about me and i-"

     her breath hitches in her throat, as if her wretched 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 gripped onto her lungs with his talons in hopes she stops speaking. "have you ever heard anything about the cult of the absolute? before you ask- no. i'm not part of it."

#sorry to barge in like this. ❯ responses. #crookedredemption #leon vc: it's a tax evaders club isn't it.......

[buriedabove]

Leon would much rather handle it on his own.  Not because he does not trust them enough  (  because he does,  probably more than he will ever admit if he could find the right words  ),  but for the fact he turns out to be a bother slowing them down in the face of danger the investigator  &  agent duo will certainly still stumble upon along the way.  It might be quiet for now,  but rarely is it an uplifting sign.  He sees himself as such an inept rookie—  as if he has not been doing this over and over again,  every single day,  for years upon years.  Though he always carried the suspicion that the routine would kill him instead.  Almost,  he allows his mind to wander into that abysmal sphere where his covert brooding resides,  yet he pulls his thoughts back just in time.  Thanks to Leitha’s witty commentary,  which often seems to be yanking him away from slipping off the tightrope stretched above the bottomless pit riddled by worst case scenarios.

“  How did you know I’ve got it on my wishlist?  ”  Clicking his tongue,  the blond reciprocates the humour with ease that causes his tone to heighten half a pitch and float through the night chill.  Grounded he feels with the reassuring hold atop his shoulder and he gives them a feeble nod,  and a relieved sparkle glimmering deep within his eyes.  “  You won’t be getting hurt…  You’re smarter than me,  ”  exhaling a blithe chuckle,  he picks a spare tissue from the medkit and carefully takes the other’s hand into his, meticulously wiping the crimson away.  It will take more than that to efface the grimy effects of the amateur medical intervention,  however,  he would hate for them to keep walking around with his blood on their skin.  Keeping his alert but softening gaze focused on the lessening dark smudges,  his tone mellow in its curiosity,  “  Something tells me it wasn’t the first time you stitched somebody up.  Unless you’re an expert at everything you try your hand at.  ”

ALL IS QUIET . . . as lithe and swift hands work at wrapping his wound with ease; practice had come from always stitching their own wounds with the help of no one, though that comes from self accord. it is temperate in their lonesome, heightened attention is not deterred by caring for another and only vigilant on their task at hand. they tell themselves that it is easier, simply because it must be - they would rather suffer in isolation than become a burden in ways more than they already are, perhaps a thought process that should be questioned considering they do not extend that same judgement towards the other. it is clear in the way that they work, as if racing against an unknown clock, because the more time that is spent, the more they both have to stare at the open wound and thus, become gripped and dragged down by their looming thoughts. thankfully, he is the one to break the silence.

" - see, i told you i could do it. wasn't difficult at all - definitely was breathing calmly and not thinking about how disgusting it was to do that the entire time. " a jest as always, perhaps an attempt to minimize whatever tension could have been built, to distance whatever burdened emotions he could be feeling. a hand is brought up to clasp down on his shoulder as they meet his gaze, a bit more harshly than someone would expect, a definitive way to end their tentative hospital set up they created & a way to put a pin in what they had to do out of necessity. " do not worry about it, i will be sure to buy you a new jacket. perhaps one fur lined that has cheetah print? it would be cute, trust me. " fingers that are wrapped around his shoulder then give the faintest squeeze, gentle in comradery, as if to let him know that: it'll be okay. then they peel away, a few steps taken back and gaze flickers to their blood stained hands. " aw, but you see - i like where your arms are. you'll need them in case i'm the one getting hurt next time. "

#sorry to barge in like this. ❯ responses. #moonsworn #okay but them going shopping together WHEN

[buriedabove]

@facesblind TO CONDOR ONE. MORBID CURIOSITY PROMPTS.

would you kill for me ?

Can’t she tell?  He already has  &  he would do it again.  The response to the question he deems rhetorical goes way beyond the sudden glint in his eyes bolting through pupils dilating in a blink and the telling arch of his lips revealing the pearly whites.  His head leans towards his shoulder,  and the reticent confession begins.  Scratches alongside his neck and collarbone  (  not from her,  for a change  ),  the palpable sign of struggle one could mistake for a fair battle,  gnarled red marks going faint across his skin.  Against the trained and seasoned agent,  who knows where it hurts the most and how little it really takes to crush the ghost out of someone,  his opponent’s chances were dim.

Leon could’ve made it painless.  Be it by catching the guy unaware and giving him the talk that would encourage him to use his brain before his eyes next time or simply by ensuring there would be no next time.  He went with the latter.  It was a quiet day at the office except for the momentary tumult when Miriam dropped by.

When the lobby hushed down and the clock was ticking closer to five o’clock,  he found the poor wretch at the headquarters’ gym,  throwing clumsy punches at the battered mannequin.  Step one:  pretend to be the cool guy.  Arm slung around the other’s shoulder,  pulling him over to the camera’s blind spot.  Hot chick this,  I wouldn’t let her leave the bed that.  All fun and games until Kennedy put his hand-to-hand combat skills to the test.  Sanguine splattered across the rubber mats and splintered walls  &  on his white collar.  Whistle of a last breath.  He hovered over the body.  Panting.  So he stumbled out of the nook,  covering his cheek and jaw while keeping direct eye contact with the lens peering from the ceiling.  Rushed into the hallway.

Sad bastard…  I don’t know what’s gotten into him,  proclaimed to the witnesses.  

After that,  he went home like it was nothing.  Now he’s here.  The collar and cuffs saying more than his face ever could.

“  What do you think?  ”

#sorry to barge in like this. ❯ responses. #facesblind #mwah

[buriedabove]

as much as i’m open to ask prompts and sending / receiving them without discussing anything about the dynamic beforehand,  i think i may start being more plot-based.  i try my best to reach out to people with some brainstorming because we don’t need to solidify every aspect of our muses’ interactions  —  just a general idea on top of which we build the rest is more than fine with me!  i might also start going through my following list regularly because,  not sure if it sounds harsh or not,  i’m not here to collect mutuals.  if i see no interest,  i see no point.  we don’t need to be throwing replies back and forth at each other,  always take your time.  but even liking / commenting on posts and whatnot is enough of a signal to me.  if i ever break mutuals,  you’re more than welcome to refollow,  but plotting etc…  it’s a two-way road.

#where’s everyone going? ❯ ooc. #i don’t mean to be the local grump but it is what it is #see u later chat

[buriedabove]

@dog-paws TO CONDOR ONE. SETTING PROMPTS.

079. inside a very old house with very old haunts .

Breathing walls,  lamenting floors.  The house beckoning.  Come home.  Shadows taunting him in the corner of his eye and whenever his head snaps towards the moving silhouettes,  there’s nothing to see.  But he keeps hearing it.  Chipped nails that scratch the wallpaper off,  rusty metal dragged down the rug.  Stepping into the living room,  it’s the first time in many prolonged silent minutes that he feels the urge to check up on Chris and confirm he isn’t the only one losing his senses in this bumfuck of nowhere.  The agent comes to a sudden stop behind the sofa and tightens his stern grasp on the assault rifle.  It doesn’t even cross his mind that his companion could be not there.  Because he feels the presence.  Lurking,  looming.

“  Hey,  do you—  ”  Leon’s inquiry gets cut short with a harsh uppercut knocking him out.

Who knows for how long.

He stirs awake in an area they haven’t yet explored on their little trip,  the attic.  Numb fingers trace his jaw and the rest of his face,  bit by bit.  Seems in-tact.  Alloyed blues shoot up and see the other standing with arms crossed.  In the dark,  he cannot quite decipher whether his friend appears more concerned or confused,  or pissed off.  After all,  Redfield always has that stupid look going on for him.

“  Thanks for nothing,  buddy,  ”  he sputters indignantly,  but still,  with dry humour lacing his flat timbre.  Rolling over to his palms and knees,  soon he brings himself back up.  Kennedy dusts off his pants and estimates the damage by checking his pockets,  pouches and holsters.  The oh-so welcoming host must’ve borrowed the rifle.  Exhaling an irked huff,  the Silver Ghost lies within his hold.  “  So?  Care to start clarifying where you were this entire time?  I was sure you were following.  I was hearing your steps,  your voice—  Something’s in the air here,  and I mean it in the worst way.  ”

#sorry to barge in like this. ❯ responses. #dog-paws #them two going on a Boys Trip calls for a distaster (mold on the brain)

[buriedabove]

The agent is no stranger to not getting the answers he seeks straight away.  No badge in sight,  but there’s always this flair about him.  Be it the imprint of the gun peeking through his jacket or the timeworn  &  cracked military boots that could tell dozens of stories of their own if they only could talk.  He doesn’t mean to back the stranger into the corner and squeeze everything he knows out of him,  by any means necessary.  Unlike his colleagues,  it isn’t the style he sticks to.

“  Pity,  ”  with his head canted off to the side,  he feigns a fatigued sigh.  “  Just to be clear,  I have no expectations.  ”

Leon could put the barrel to his head,  shine a sharp light right at his eyes till all he sees are dark blots and stars,  but what for?  He holds his ground and stays afar.  It seems that the other also chooses to play a role.  Can’t blame him,  really.  Gloved hand resting on his hip,  strategically moving the jacket aside just enough to show a glimpse of the holster attached to his belt.  Not to intimidate him,  but to send the man a hint that he isn’t a random wanderer.

“  Anything you know can come in handy…  Any details you may deem irrelevant,  ”  lukewarm smirk dancing across his lips,  a step taken forward.  “  You wouldn’t want me to start asking you what you’re doing here alone in this middle of nowhere.  ”

@buriedabove asked: there's a lot I don't understand. aw2 starters || accepting

"And let me guess -- you're expecting me to fill in the blanks?"

There was a not too distant point in time where Miles would have welcomed an inquisitive ear. Would have indulged someone else in their quest for information as it intersected with his own. But a lot can change in a short amount of time. Months, weeks, days -- sometimes all it takes is a single night to turn everything you know on its head.

His distrust is palpable. He's always been one to keep his guard up, hold strangers at a distance, but there's a measure of necessity in that habit now. Nothing about the guy screams Murkoff, not at first brush. Nothing about him screams totally innocent third party, either. He knows something or he wants something or both. The nails of Miles' remaining fingers press into his palms, hidden in the confines of his jacket pockets.

Undue paranoia is also a distinct possibility, but given history the concern feels justified. Still, playing it too defensive is its own risk. Playing it dumb, though, that's something he can do convincingly.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I probably know as much as you do. Less, even." A shrug, feigned haplessness, but he's still side eyeing the other with a scrutiny that's too sharp for his words. "Wish I could help."

#sorry to barge in like this. ❯ responses. #walriding #leon will start cracking stupid jokes soon enough #he just needs to have this moment first lmao