Albert Wesker (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
manufactured) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
recolle2017-10-04 09:13 pm
manufactured) wrote in recolle2017-10-04 09:13 pm
[OPEN] There is a dream inside a dream
WHO: Albert Wesker, whomever chooses to join him (presumably you!)
WHERE: Various
WHEN: Throughout October
WHAT: Nightmares and fog, featuring reunions with "friends."
WARNINGS: Violence, murder, child abuse, a basement full of corpses, medical experimentation, tentacles just goddamn everywhere, body horror, a veritable ball of leeches, other delightful things one would expect from the Resident Evil villain's memories? There is a blanket warning for "this is gonna suck" over this whole thing, though the child abuse warning is only relevant for those who pursue the Spencer prompt; the rest are clear of that sort of thing.
[NIGHTMARE – OSWELL E. SPENCER]
( cw: violence, murder, child abuse, a basement full of corpses )
[The mansion you find yourself in is large.
It seems like it used to be opulent once. You're standing in a foyer that held some sense of grandeur to it but now seems to have fallen into disrepair, and the long arching staircase greeting you dead-center is crumbling in several places. The massive chandelier which once hung above the center of the room seems to have crashed down at some point long ago, lying broken on the glossy marble floor, all shattered crystal and twisted metal and lengths of chain; it seems a bit of a visual nonsequitur – nothing overly important outside of the fact that there was a chandelier hanging in this room, and something sent it crashing down – but as you walk past it, you can see slight movememt beneath it out of the corner of your eye, something tense and slow and pained, almost as though there's something pinned down underneath it.
You probably don't want to know what's pinned down underneath it.
Watch your step as you're moving upstairs, though it does seem you want to move upstairs; you don't know why, seeing as everything is in disrepair and that includes the staircase itself and the exposed hallways leading in either direction off of it, but sometimes dreams are just like that. Aren't they? You move and you move and there's no real reason behind any of it – it's all a little nonsensical, a little surreal, and it seems this one isn't going to be any different.
A door down one of those hallways is lying slightly ajar; pressing on it will get it to swing open easily. However, if you reach out to do so, a voice can be heard from inside; it seems to belong to a man, though it's high-pitched and cracked and withered with age, but either way the words that are spoken seem to be aimed, somehow, at you.]
...You came back...
[Proceed?]
[NIGHTMARE – WILLIAM BIRKIN]
( cw: medical experimentation )
[It feels almost like it's the end of the world.
The place you're in is dark, all steel and concrete, with the oppressive air of something that's far underground; maybe a bunker, maybe a facility of some sort, definitely somewhere that you aren't supposed to be. The hallway you're in is long, dimly-lit with fluorescent lights that seem to flicker and dance in and out of existence despite how strong the walls in this place seem to be.
It's silent. And then, suddenly it's not.
The sound starts up quiet but soon builds immensely, a sharp wail, a moan, undercut with a chilling rasp that sounds almost like a death rattle. A series of loud banging noises that may or may not be restraints against a metal table. All of it emanates from somewhere just around a bend in the hallway, behind a door that's just out of sight from where you're standing but comes quickly into view if you move toward it.
Before you can open it, the sound starts up again, the screech, the keening noise, something that sounds undeniably like death; there are voices, too, beneath it, a pair of people speaking without paying any mind to the cacophony that surely must be happening near them.
If you listen long enough before opening the door, it sounds almost like whomever is making those ungodly sounds is screaming for their mother.]
[NIGHTMARE – EXCELLA GIONNE]
( cw: violence, some degree of body horror, tentacles just goddamn everywhere )
[The stars above are beautiful, constellations in full view; it's almost enough to make you disregard how very cold it is tonight. There's the soft sway of a ship's movement beneath your feet as it cuts through choppy seas, the metallic sound of a tanker's deck reverberating underneath your every step; despite the amount of work it must require to keep a massive ship like this running smoothly at sea, there don't seem to be any actual people on board – it seems that you're alone, and you're empty-handed, and the only indication of whom this ship might belong to is a logo that's present here and there on the metal walls you pass that ultimately doesn't seem to mean anything.
As you make your way to the bow of the ship, a voice sounds out – distorted, unrecognizable for all the static obscuring it as the ship's public-address system relays it through the night air; the words are difficult to make out, but you can surely hear a few.
"But it's too late for you...you won't live to see – "
"Sorry, Excella, but it seems – "
"...One last task for you."
"Farewell, old friend."
In the distance, a woman screams. And something massive seems to connect, then, hard enough to rock the ship, to dip it down hard from the center.
Perhaps you move forward to the bow of the ship to find the source of the screaming – after all, it sounds as though she's really suffering, wherever she is. Or perhaps you choose to stay put to see what happens; there's no sense in rushing into a dangerous situation. Or perhaps you do the reasonable-person thing and try to run from it all, because whatever just happened on deck is large enough to fuck with the boat and that probably isn't anything you want a part of.
Either way, it doesn't really matter; you're going to be intercepted by Wesker, grabbing your arm or...wherever's immediately available like an unreasonable person and pulling you in a different direction entirely, up a metal flight of stairs to a higher deck.]
We can't stay here.
[His words are sharp, rushed despite the fact that he doesn't seem to be doing much with his face; things are...not going well, clearly.]
[FOG – SERGEI VLADIMIR]
( cw: violence, body horror everywhere, a veritable ball of leeches )
[It probably isn't the wisest decision, being out late at night in the fog like this; just the same, at this point...well, this seems like a far better option than sleeping, given the dreams that have been plaguing Wesker's sleep.
This, incidentally, was a highly incorrect assumption.
If you're out tonight in any of the business districts – anyplace that the buildings tower high above, anyplace that has high walls and streets winding below them, you may find yourself grabbed and pulled over toward someone, your back pressed hard against one of those high walls, and when Wesker speaks from where he's got ahold of you his words seem calm enough but there's an undeniable sense of pressure behind them when he speaks.]
If you're armed, draw your weapon. And keep your gaze high. It's not safe here.
[...So that's something that's happening tonight.]
[ANYTHING ELSE?]
[Feel free to hit either my plotting comment or come find me at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
InstantEternity if you want to plot something out with me; I'm here for anything and everything, and if there's something specific that you want for the sake of either getting memory regains for you or just...going on an adventure, I'm willing to custom-tailor nightmares and experiences for you! Resident Evil runs a large and fairly messed-up gamut, so pretty much anything is fair game.]
WHERE: Various
WHEN: Throughout October
WHAT: Nightmares and fog, featuring reunions with "friends."
WARNINGS: Violence, murder, child abuse, a basement full of corpses, medical experimentation, tentacles just goddamn everywhere, body horror, a veritable ball of leeches, other delightful things one would expect from the Resident Evil villain's memories? There is a blanket warning for "this is gonna suck" over this whole thing, though the child abuse warning is only relevant for those who pursue the Spencer prompt; the rest are clear of that sort of thing.
[NIGHTMARE – OSWELL E. SPENCER]
( cw: violence, murder, child abuse, a basement full of corpses )
[The mansion you find yourself in is large.
It seems like it used to be opulent once. You're standing in a foyer that held some sense of grandeur to it but now seems to have fallen into disrepair, and the long arching staircase greeting you dead-center is crumbling in several places. The massive chandelier which once hung above the center of the room seems to have crashed down at some point long ago, lying broken on the glossy marble floor, all shattered crystal and twisted metal and lengths of chain; it seems a bit of a visual nonsequitur – nothing overly important outside of the fact that there was a chandelier hanging in this room, and something sent it crashing down – but as you walk past it, you can see slight movememt beneath it out of the corner of your eye, something tense and slow and pained, almost as though there's something pinned down underneath it.
You probably don't want to know what's pinned down underneath it.
Watch your step as you're moving upstairs, though it does seem you want to move upstairs; you don't know why, seeing as everything is in disrepair and that includes the staircase itself and the exposed hallways leading in either direction off of it, but sometimes dreams are just like that. Aren't they? You move and you move and there's no real reason behind any of it – it's all a little nonsensical, a little surreal, and it seems this one isn't going to be any different.
A door down one of those hallways is lying slightly ajar; pressing on it will get it to swing open easily. However, if you reach out to do so, a voice can be heard from inside; it seems to belong to a man, though it's high-pitched and cracked and withered with age, but either way the words that are spoken seem to be aimed, somehow, at you.]
...You came back...
[Proceed?]
[NIGHTMARE – WILLIAM BIRKIN]
( cw: medical experimentation )
[It feels almost like it's the end of the world.
The place you're in is dark, all steel and concrete, with the oppressive air of something that's far underground; maybe a bunker, maybe a facility of some sort, definitely somewhere that you aren't supposed to be. The hallway you're in is long, dimly-lit with fluorescent lights that seem to flicker and dance in and out of existence despite how strong the walls in this place seem to be.
It's silent. And then, suddenly it's not.
The sound starts up quiet but soon builds immensely, a sharp wail, a moan, undercut with a chilling rasp that sounds almost like a death rattle. A series of loud banging noises that may or may not be restraints against a metal table. All of it emanates from somewhere just around a bend in the hallway, behind a door that's just out of sight from where you're standing but comes quickly into view if you move toward it.
Before you can open it, the sound starts up again, the screech, the keening noise, something that sounds undeniably like death; there are voices, too, beneath it, a pair of people speaking without paying any mind to the cacophony that surely must be happening near them.
If you listen long enough before opening the door, it sounds almost like whomever is making those ungodly sounds is screaming for their mother.]
[NIGHTMARE – EXCELLA GIONNE]
( cw: violence, some degree of body horror, tentacles just goddamn everywhere )
[The stars above are beautiful, constellations in full view; it's almost enough to make you disregard how very cold it is tonight. There's the soft sway of a ship's movement beneath your feet as it cuts through choppy seas, the metallic sound of a tanker's deck reverberating underneath your every step; despite the amount of work it must require to keep a massive ship like this running smoothly at sea, there don't seem to be any actual people on board – it seems that you're alone, and you're empty-handed, and the only indication of whom this ship might belong to is a logo that's present here and there on the metal walls you pass that ultimately doesn't seem to mean anything.
As you make your way to the bow of the ship, a voice sounds out – distorted, unrecognizable for all the static obscuring it as the ship's public-address system relays it through the night air; the words are difficult to make out, but you can surely hear a few.
"But it's too late for you...you won't live to see – "
"Sorry, Excella, but it seems – "
"...One last task for you."
"Farewell, old friend."
In the distance, a woman screams. And something massive seems to connect, then, hard enough to rock the ship, to dip it down hard from the center.
Perhaps you move forward to the bow of the ship to find the source of the screaming – after all, it sounds as though she's really suffering, wherever she is. Or perhaps you choose to stay put to see what happens; there's no sense in rushing into a dangerous situation. Or perhaps you do the reasonable-person thing and try to run from it all, because whatever just happened on deck is large enough to fuck with the boat and that probably isn't anything you want a part of.
Either way, it doesn't really matter; you're going to be intercepted by Wesker, grabbing your arm or...wherever's immediately available like an unreasonable person and pulling you in a different direction entirely, up a metal flight of stairs to a higher deck.]
We can't stay here.
[His words are sharp, rushed despite the fact that he doesn't seem to be doing much with his face; things are...not going well, clearly.]
[FOG – SERGEI VLADIMIR]
( cw: violence, body horror everywhere, a veritable ball of leeches )
[It probably isn't the wisest decision, being out late at night in the fog like this; just the same, at this point...well, this seems like a far better option than sleeping, given the dreams that have been plaguing Wesker's sleep.
This, incidentally, was a highly incorrect assumption.
If you're out tonight in any of the business districts – anyplace that the buildings tower high above, anyplace that has high walls and streets winding below them, you may find yourself grabbed and pulled over toward someone, your back pressed hard against one of those high walls, and when Wesker speaks from where he's got ahold of you his words seem calm enough but there's an undeniable sense of pressure behind them when he speaks.]
If you're armed, draw your weapon. And keep your gaze high. It's not safe here.
[...So that's something that's happening tonight.]
[ANYTHING ELSE?]
[Feel free to hit either my plotting comment or come find me at
no subject
[As soon as he heard that thing move Peter had focused to a needle point, but the sheer whiplash of the man who practically forced him into joining him hesitating unnerves him a bit.]
Is that all, or can you write him off as a hostile person or not?
no subject
[...You know, for someone explaining that this person is probably going to throw down, Wesker sounds weirdly pleased to see him; Sergei is...he still doesn't know what he thinks about Sergei, if he's going to be honest? But Sergei is familiar and the memories don't ever really give him the indication that he dislikes the guy, despite the...shooting. thing?
...He's sitting pretty solidly at Facebook "It's Complicated" with Sergei, let's put it that way.]
no subject
So based on your memories it would be best to act before he gets on that?
no subject
[...It's apparently an It's Complicated that errs on the side of "who gives a fuck, not my boyfriend now" when it comes to things that may end up getting people killed. Sergei is fun, but he's not that fun.
Wesker will move to actually shoot at that point; he's not aiming anywhere explicitly fatal, more into the guy's shoulder than anything, and that...
...It gets the guy to stop, but it doesn't seem to have done anything; there should probably be blood, but the fact of the matter is that there isn't, there's just this odd black...substance seeping out of the injury, behaving in a way that blood certainly does not.
Um.]
no subject
It's that and the lack of attachment that result in Peter being quite brutal to Sergei, his target being the center of the chest. More black fluid comes out in a particularly messy wound.]
no subject
That sudden massive chest wound draws some sort of sound out of him, at least - it's what you would expect, possibly, it's breathless and sort of racking, and one of his hands comes up to lay over that injury, though he doesn't drop; it's just a pause, something that's quick to turn into something just short of a laugh as that black fluid congeals and begins to run together, solidifying into odd masses that writhe and spill down onto the floor in heaps, the underside of them forming mouths that gape with entirely too many sharp teeth to be comfortable.
And they look for all the world like leeches.
So, you know, that's fucking disgusting, and probably not something that should be coming out of a human body.]
These again.
[...Wesker, for fuck's sake, that doesn't explain anything.]
...I wouldn't say I've dealt with those before, but I've seen them in another capacity. Likely experimental. Probably not something that you want to be bitten by.
no subject
Duly noted.
[Peter looks down the alleyway.]
But they seem like something we can run past.
no subject
...Shall we, then?
no subject
[Peter moves down the alleyway immediately, because in this specific case it actually seems less polite to not go first.
He tries to maintain a brisk and constant pace, though he watches his feet. hoping that when they reach more open space they see less of things like that and not more.]