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 one burn, one red, one grin, open
Alex Wesker
 Posted: Jul 24 2017, 08:39 AM
Quote
Neutral_Evil
13 posts
51 years old
enhanced human
underground dueling arena proprietor
5'10" | 132 lbs
resident evil
Alex Wesker
Ysa [she/her] is Offline




chunks of you will sink down to seals Blubber rich in mourning, they'll nosh you up Yes, they'll nosh the love away but it's fair to say You will still haunt me

She appears out of place. Blacklight is dark, grim, a stain hidden by the Upper Districts. It is where morality goes to die. She is pristine despite the surroundings. White on white on white. A slash of green on her wrist. A black book. Blonde hair they do not know used to be brighter. It's very late. Or very early. Depending on your glass. A group of men nearly done with not-quite daily clean up. Cleaners. Not great ones, but good enough for a district like this. They had passed enough blood on the streets: what would a pool of it underground change.

She looks younger than she is, but there is something off about it. An appearance that picks, nags, whispers unnaturally. False, it says. But her eyes cut unnaturally, blue flecked with gold, and most look away then. They call her Alex. They call her more colorful things. They will not call her Messiah or Savior or Holy Lady. Not like the others. Not like before. She no longer has the luxury of time to spread the deception that she is here to save Kadath before she takes a knife to it. Her plans are in ruin. Her research gone. Her body is failing her, even as Progenitor growls incessantly at the ash in her blood.

Her hand squeezes irregularly on the book in her hand. Above it, a wristband still glowing green. They asked, only once. She had slipped it off, put it on one of their wrists, and flooded his veins with T-Phobos. Blood dripped art down the back of her hand when she'd taken it back. Red to green instantly, a stoplight confirmation that she did not feel the same fear they did at the spectacle. They do not ask anymore. There is a syringe on the table as a reminder. Empty. They will look at it, will talk about it amongst themselves when she is gone. But they are paid well to keep their mouths shut. Men will always pay top dollar to take out their primitive aggressions. Allowing them to kill each other is a lucrative if inconsistent business.

One of the men, a leader by his lack of assistance on the sidelines, swaggers to her. Jams hands in his pockets. Stands beside her, tries to be level with her, watching the men work as she does. "Good enough haul, ma'am?"

Her fingers squeeze on the book and do not release. Her jaw works for half a second before she manages to release a word that is not simply a snarl. "No," she says, burying irritation that will grind her teeth later. They follow, they listen because she is calm, controlled, because they cannot smell the decay on her. He cannot see her hand on the book, though the white of her grip is hardly noticeable on her pale skin. "If I wanted corpses, I'd rummage the streets." She turns her head toward the ring leader, self-appointed, and does not smile. "The point," she reminds him, cool for lack of empathy, "is to keep them alive." Her eyes move over the men before them. "Where is the doctor?"

"He was out of commission last night." She hears just like you in the pause and wonders if she is strong enough now to flatten his neck in her hands. "You're just going ta kill 'em anyway."

She smiles now. It's the word for it, but her face simply twists, curves her lips to an appropriate angle. Replicating emotions they question if she understands. She says nothing. In her silence, she studies him. Skin pallor normal. Breathing a little deeper for exertion but normal. She counts the beat of his heart in the silence. Twenty in fifteen. 80, minus the small level of effort that elevates it. Concludes that he is healthy. Concludes that he may delay Phobos with anger.

Assessment: an ideal candidate.

"Hey, wha --? Don't think I'm gunna -- "

The curl of her lips shifts to bare teeth as she breaks her silence. "Get them out of here." She interrupts. There will be time for it later. She will make time for it. Alex looks away from him, back to the men heaving another body onto a cart. "And find a new fucking medic."

"I'll call him --"

Her look cuts him off. The turn of her head, the gold in her eyes brighter. Progenitor purrs. "You will need a new one," she promises him. Another twist of her mouth that lacks joy. Alex heads for the door, curls the book to her chest. Tries to ease her mood with Kafka, vent with words that pierce her. But she does not know whether she is free or wrapped in chains.

Her heels echo dully on the walls.


open || notes alex runs essentially a fight club in blacklight. unlike the tarisian dueling arena, this place is fatal by design.

BY MITZI
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Diavolo
 Posted: Jul 31 2017, 09:48 PM
Quote
Neutral_Evil
10 posts
33 years old
Human
Boss of Passione
6'4 | 185 lbs
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure
Diavolo
Kabal [He/Him] is Offline


N/A


user posted image
DIAVOLO
He doesn't walk forward with malice as he steps through the world he's just destroyed. If sound could still carry to Alex's ears, she would hear his steps heavy as they were with purpose and intent-- but they were calm, measured. He didn't stop maintaining appearances just because no one else would see.

Moments ago, Alex Wesker approached a door she intended to open. Seconds later, she would open it, step through it and close it behind her. More precisely, she would have-- had Diavolo not seen fit to intervene. When the low scarlet of erased time vanished and the events Diavolo had forseen unfolded, she would find herself unexpectedly and abruptly outside . The Boss had considered what her reaction would be. Scared? Surprised? Or would she immediately turn and confront him? You could learn a lot about a person through small exchanges like that.

Tonight, Diavolo was certain he would learn a lot about Alex Wesker.

"Rather hard to find good help these days, isn't it Alex?"

Spat out from the shadows, Diavolo's deep bass voice sank deep into the brick walls of Blacklight. He let the night obscure his face, his body and movements, with nothing but his pitch black eyes clearly able to be addressed. No more than two meters from Wesker, Diavolo was very deliberate with regards to his presentation. For one, his heavy footsteps had stopped, and he didn't intend to walk another stride forward. Two meters was within his effective range, in the event she got violent-- any further movement was unnecessary, and certainty was important for first impressions. His voice, deep and low, was purged of all but the slightest accent, stressed with American pronunciations, wearing them tightly as a mask. No hint of origin or weakness-- only power, certainty.

Even in moments where he held all the cards, Diavolo was determined to never blink first.

"I'd like you to accompany me for a time. Leave your weapons, communication devices, and anything else of similar note on the ground. Fail to comply, and I will kill you here. Obey and there will be...benefits. Do you understand?"

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Alex Wesker
 Posted: Aug 12 2017, 09:15 AM
Quote
Neutral_Evil
13 posts
51 years old
enhanced human
underground dueling arena proprietor
5'10" | 132 lbs
resident evil
Alex Wesker
Ysa [she/her] is Offline




chunks of you will sink down to seals Blubber rich in mourning, they'll nosh you up Yes, they'll nosh the love away but it's fair to say You will still haunt me

Fear is an emotion Alex may have understood only once. Would have, had Kadath not intervened. Had she been left a half-second longer, had Kadath not locked her off from it spreading through her blood as the bullet tore through her brain, it would have triggered T-Phobos in that last second. It was to be an end that would have disturbed her later, when she was conscious and back in control in the only form of herself that had been meant to survive. But Alex will never know that mercy, the hand that guided her from madness. Instead, she feels only the rot in her lungs.

But lacking fear blocks most unfortunate reactions to surprises, even in a place like Kadath. She feels a semblance of things going wrong, things deviating off course. But from a world of empirical logic, Alex is not still very far from attributing these oddities to magic and mystery. It is, simply, something she has not accounted for. Still, the dislocated time is worrying, if anything. Alex's delay in responding to him increases as she debates the countdown that ever lingers over this washed out corpse of her form. There are worse implications of her forgetting time. If her mind too, was leaving her ...

It is not a crisis she will have in front of him.

Alex lifts a hand, fiddling with the cuff of her suit jacket, before she turns toward him. Still too tight. The sensitivity Progenitor allotted her dying skin made it difficult to adjust to even the common necessities. Content that her wrist has a moment of freedom from the incessant scratch of the fabric, Alex's eyes flicker to find his face, seeing more perhaps, than he intended her to. He has led with help and Alex feels a foothold, even as the demands pour. Progenitor is quiet. They debate.

The considerations are short. "What convenient timing," she says simply, the implication far from subtle. She twists the wrist of the hand that holds her book. "I have nothing else." No gun, not even the phone that had no saved contacts. She can see both of them on the kitchen counter. The regret is brief: they would not serve her now anyway. She is not fool enough to think this coincidence. He is, however, not watching her so thoroughly to know that much of her at least.

Alex's arms shift, empty hand latching loosely to the other wrist in front of her. The pose lingers somewhere between comfort and compliance. Decades of Spencer's demands, of working in secret: this was not a new conversation. How could it be, with her fingers threaded so deep into Umbrella. Her blood manufactured there. She would smile if she was confident it would be less terribly forced. Between the debacle downstairs, the lingering implication she was not in a state to deal with this, and the irritation of being caught off guard, she knows it will be easy to see through. She is placid instead, a flicker of well-timed curiosity to counter the lack of fear or whatever emotion he had intended to rile out of her with his threats. "You have me at a disadvantage," she starts before anything new is added. "However intentional, it will make." A brief pause. "Conversation difficult."

Deliberately, Alex blinks.


ozwell sp Diavolo

BY MITZI
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Diavolo
 Posted: Aug 26 2017, 02:46 PM
Quote
Neutral_Evil
10 posts
33 years old
Human
Boss of Passione
6'4 | 185 lbs
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure
Diavolo
Kabal [He/Him] is Offline


N/A


BLOOD RACK, BARBED WIRE
POLITICIAN'S FUNERAL PYRE
Most criminals were like rats, Diavolo had come to reason. Thieves and plunderers, consuming even their own kind without regard, dwelling in the dark, dank sewers of the world. If left unchecked they fester, but feed them too much and they grow fat, collapsing under their own weight. When confronted, they also had an unfortunate tendency to squeal. When Diavolo had come to ambush Alex Wesker he had imagined for all her reputation, she would be like any other criminal. She would scatter, squeak, and flinch away as the common vermin do-- a sign of weakness, uncertainty. It would show she could be easily manipulated, mastered, and domineered.

It was fortunate however, that she could surprise him. Obtaining a weak willed subordinate was easy. But no matter how powerful that subordinate was, they would always be less preferable to a strong one. Letting himself meld with the cool night shadows, Diavolo let a cold breeze pass the alley by.

"I doubt I need to explain as to why I'd rather not hold a conversation outside your doorstep. I'm certain it'd inconvenience you as well, should one of your...'subordinates' catch wind of our discussion." His response was measured and pointed, but he was certain the tip was too dull to draw blood.

She was too stern a person, too focused and ironclad. He had no intentions of trying to knock her further off balance, but Diavolo seriously doubted he could with words alone if he deigned to. There was little hesitation in her actions, no wavering in her voice or demeanor. Obviously, she was used to be in charge-- that'd have to change. But Diavolo was impressed by her commitment to staying on balance. If he had to guess, she'd make a formidable boxer.

"Continue down this alley to the street. A black limousine will be pulled over for you. Courtesy of...Passione."

There was an invisible 'or else' hidden within his statements, something that circumstance purposefully packed into every directive he gave. Reaching out with his mind, King Crimson killed time again. Two seconds precisely. Using it's imperial strength to bound high above the alleyway, Diavolo would silently find his footing on the rooftops, glaring down at Alex from on high. Time resumed again, the lightest rumbling of gravel the only tell of his movements.

A stones throw away, a car sat waiting to pick up it's preordained cargo. From above, thunder began to growl nestled within the clouds and rain wearily began to fall. For a moment, Diavolo's thoughts drifted to the obvious-- the danger of allowing a woman with such vile capacities and strong will any ground in his organization. Could someone like this challenge him? Overthrow him?

Maybe. Possibly. Absolutely not, if he was cautious. She was the kind of person who was most dangerous to men of power.

But fate was on Diavolo's side. Destiny. Nothing could challenge that.

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Alex Wesker
 Posted: Sep 9 2017, 12:29 PM
Quote
Neutral_Evil
13 posts
51 years old
enhanced human
underground dueling arena proprietor
5'10" | 132 lbs
resident evil
Alex Wesker
Ysa [she/her] is Offline




chunks of you will sink down to seals Blubber rich in mourning, they'll nosh you up Yes, they'll nosh the love away but it's fair to say You will still haunt me

It is not the unspoken 'or else.' It is not the inferred danger he believes he is putting her in. It is not the foreshadowing of a deal she will likely have no recourse to openly decline. None of these things are what keeps her paying attention. It is, in truth, the curious assumption that he holds some holy position she has never witnessed.

It is not a kind interest. It is the type of attention one gives when watching a man die for the first time. It is the morbid curiosity of wondering how it would feel to slide a knife into another's throat with the perfunctory motions of cutting into a cake. Because she has played this game. It is in the implication that his is a presence to behold. That she should be honored to receive the words he offers. That he is doing her a favor by stepping into the narrow window of her life to offer a salvation she had grasped and nurtured in her hands, only for this world to strip it from her.

Alex has met far too many self-proclaimed gods among men in her life to feel reverence.

She is silent. She is still. She is calm and unphased save the sliver of manufactured gratitude she lets shift her face when he tells her his presence is too valuable, too implicating for rabble to see them together. It is old in the guise of the new. And when he gives it a name, she tries to distance the assumptions to avoid feeling the fool later. Passione. She does not quite catch the arch of an eyebrow. Her Italian is rough, harsher for the years of blue-collar Russian, but the word is not so different to be lost. It offers more questions that it would have had she not understood it but Alex starts to nod, accepting the terms. By the time she finishes, there is no one left to see the motion.

Alex feels it. Progenitor goes quiet. It takes an effort to keep her expression unchanged. She evaluates.

A solution comes swiftly. Glasp. A byproduct of the T-Phobos. The B.O.W. caused auditory and visual hallucinations that compounded on approach. Nearly invisible to the human eye, the point that mattered. To think what you could do if you isolated it. Her head cocks, lips part. She tastes the air, the coming rain, the spark of electricity. Her vision is clear despite the disappearance. The sound has not shifted. In the place of the beat of wings is the beat of another heart. Above her. An explanation somewhere in the middle. But she will not linger to debate it here.

She walks. Follows the directions as if he had simply stepped to the side and waved her forward. As if she was in line. And as promised, she finds a limousine. She regards it with a lack of enthusiasm.

She enters without hesitance. She has stepped in and out of enough unnecessarily rich vehicles in her life not to be overwhelmed by the decor. Uncountable meetings meant to be secret in places too ornate for someone not to question. She smells her own decay, stonger now that she is enclosed, the 'fresh' air stripped away. A ghost of Spencer that lingers in the seat beside her. It has been a long time. She closes her eyes and breathes Italian leather instead of death. Progenitor like a sated cat. Old recollections with a particularly rancid aftertaste.

Umbrella's memory slinks over her shoulders like a lost lover. It feels like going home. For half a second, she indulges.


Diavolo

BY MITZI
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Diavolo
 Posted: Oct 1 2017, 09:13 PM
Quote
Neutral_Evil
10 posts
33 years old
Human
Boss of Passione
6'4 | 185 lbs
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure
Diavolo
Kabal [He/Him] is Offline


N/A


BLOOD RACK, BARBED WIRE
POLITICIAN'S FUNERAL PYRE
The car started. The cabby floored the gas as on cue. To the side of Alex was a bar, filled with all manner of exotic and gleaming bottles of spirits and alcohol, no doubt acquired at no small expense. The entire back was lit with a sleepy, hazy purple, one that kept the corners of limousine inscrutable and dark.

When Diavolo again spoke, it was clear the voice came from one of these corners. But so dark was the car, it was hard to tell from which one.

"I thank you for joining me with no fuss. You may help yourself to any beverage arrayed here. They are my gift to you, as is this vehicle once we have completed our business here."

A silence filled the car. The windows, tinted black and sealed shut, gave no evidence of where they traveled to. While to some it might seem as a vehicle in the lap of luxury, the darkness added an isolating character to it. In some ways, it might seem cramped even though space were ample enough to seat twelve more men at least. The ride was smooth, as if the car were gliding above the road, and there was no evidence of it accelerating again after it first took off. Nor was there evidence if breaking or stopping at any point int he journey. All there was were humming drops of rain, splattering vainly against the roof, the only evidence that an outside world even existed beyond the car.

All of this was deliberate. There could be no mistakes, no show of weakness. Alex was, after all, to become a business partner for Passione should all go according to plan. Therefore, it was necessary to impress upon her the power of his organization. It was essential to imply it's smooth operation, it's efficiency, all while offering that she join it. Of course, Wesker was less wordly than most he would intimidate and impress with such showings.

...But, thinking back to that brief vision at the start of the evening, Alex Wesker struggling to contain her wrath among a sea of incompetence...perhaps it would not be entirely lost on her.

"Before we begin, I would like to make something clear to you." Uttered the low bass of Passione's leader. "Though I have taken great pains to isolate our meeting, you will not be killed if you answer unfavorably. It is in your best interest to cooperate with us of course...and given that you conduct business in my territory, you will naturally be expected to offer us a selection of your wares-- at a fair price, naturally..."

The first pot hole. The car shook fiercely, as if struck by lightning and punctuating the sentence of the shadowy figure known only as the 'Boss'.

"...But so long as you agree to these things...you do not sell to Passione's enemies nor use your weapons on my citizens without my consent...you will be free to operate here unmolested, a friend to my organization. I hope you can understand this and why I believe it to be...non-negotiable, yes?"

Quiet again. Rain, pitter-pattering above. Diavolo's sentence hung silent in the air, but it was clear he wasn't done speaking.

"However...I would not have appeared in person to ask you so mundane a request. This is not a matter of taxation. Your operations are unique and of interest to me. So, I would ask your interest in a...closer partnership."

"Simply put, I would like you to join my organisation."

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