formulaoffear:
Movement.
Wesker turned his head slowly, side to side, trying to pick up what it was. The problem with heightened senses were that you had to concentrate to actually pay attention - the human mind was excellent at ignoring things it that it considered unimportant. Not even the super-serum Birkin had given him all those years ago could change that.
Rust, dirt, oncoming rain a county over. Boots on wood; metal. Could be anything.
You’re afraid. The convulsive shiver went through him. No. No he sodding wasn’t. And to prove it, he took a step forward. It was only a little step because he felt like it. Yes.
Wrinkling his nose, Wesker felt his sunglasses slide down just a little. It took a moment to adjust - but he caught the flash of metal as the hinges on the front door creaked.
The memory came on suddenly, thudding boots, breathless voices, adrenalin and the stink of sweat and fear. Spent bullet casings on a dirty floor. Brief, but clear. Danger. But human danger.Time to take a chance.
Wesker put his hands up, the gesture of surrender. Unfortunately the recollection of the STARs unit did something to his mouth. He was fairly sure he’d arranged the words quite artfully, and in control, but somehow they came out as: “I come with beer.”
Argh.
Bobby carefully opened the door, it creaking slightly as he peeked out, the barrel of the gun pointed out. Whoever this person was, they seemed very suspicious.
And Bobby didn’t like that.
As he watched, his mind reeled to for a name to match the face. This person…he seemed familiar. But he met so many people in his life that it was hard to put a face to a name. And right now wasn’t easy either. But, he swore that he felt familiar…Ah, memory sucks right now.
That’s when those words reached his ears.
Very ,very few say that when approaching a house. Unless they knew the person would respond to it. So now her was sure that this person knew him. But, that doesn’t mean he can lower his guard. Not until he gets a better look.
Opening the door more, a loud creaking being heard from the hinges, Bobby stepped out onto the ground, one foot still in the house. He kept his gun ready and aimed the whole time, and narrowed his eyes at the male.
”What kind?” he said, calling out.
Only a couple knew what kind he drank.
And if the answer was wrong, then that means something bad will happen.
That was mysteriously absent from his training in Umbrella. STARs had made him familiar with drunk and disorderly angry people, but Bobby wasn’t drunk - he was angry. Understandably so - he dealt with actual monsters, and nobody ever sent in help.
It came in a hot rush, somewhere in the vicinity of his toes, across his shoulders. Shame and embarrassment. Wesker’s constant companions of late. He closed his eyes, tried to gather his thoughts, tried to…what? Be in control? Laughable.
“…I lied. The beer is not entirely free. I may need some assistance. But just a few minutes. That’s all I ask you to spare.”
