Inbox - Prismatica

[manufactured]

Inbox

video ⬤ audio ⬤ text ⬤ delivery

albert wesker ⬤ resident evil
residential district ⬤ level 2
moonblessing ⬤ iris

info ⬤ permissions ⬤ kinklist

Comments

3/22

[greatestcool]

[If one positive thing can be said about Ryuunosuke Uryuu, it is that he is really damn persistent. He isn't the sort to give up easily. Or at all. Even if his attempts over the past week have not had the result he wants.

In other words, Ryuunosuke's been staking out the weird apartment down the hall that someone seems to live in, but never actually leaves. He isn't constantly watching it, but it's super weird that he's literally never seen the owner come or go, or see anyone else drop on by. Naturally, Ryuunosuke's curiosity has won out, so for the past week he's been attempting to get the owner to answer.

It started simply enough, he knocked on the door. This yielded no results, and from there he's been trying increasingly strange things to see if he gets a response. He wrote a note and slipped it under the door, he left food out, he left coffee out, he left tea out, and absolutely nothing has worked.

Today has been oddly quiet. Absolutely nothing left outside or under the door, no obnoxious knocking, nothing. If it were anyone else, perhaps they would have given up. But as previously stated, Ryuunosuke's one good trait is that he's persistent.

So at approximately three in the morning on an otherwise normal and quiet night, Wesker gets to hear the lovely sound of absolutely horrible dubstep playing very loudly right outside his door. This is the most metallic and screechy dubstep you have ever heard in your life. It's awful. Who allowed this. That isn't even music, it's just obnoxious noise.

>Investigate?]

[manufactured]

[...Wesker has noticed the progressively stranger attempts to entice him out of his apartment like he's some sort of wild animal, and honestly he's content to ignore it; it's not like he sleeps much and he doesn't particularly need to go out, and as such it isn't as though any of this is anything he particularly needs to deal with.

The dubstep at three in the morning is...bad, but he's further back in the apartment and it actually takes him a while to register it; he isn't asleep - he sleeps for a few hours during the day, usually, because old habits die hard and it's always been easier for him to get more work done at night - and as such he isn't even precisely bothered. It's just noise, and it's not going away, and he may as well go see what it is because as it is it sounds like someone is trying to murder their roomba by throwing it in a trash compactor and he might as well tell them that he doesn't know what their roomba did to them but there's got to be a better way to dispose of it.

(Worst-case scenario, there is a person in the trash compactor? At which point someone should probably notify the police, even if it's probably not going to be him that does it.)

Either way, he's fully-dressed and seems rather awake and weirdly untroubled by this whole thing; he's dealt with worse at three in the morning. In...vestigating, he supposes.]

[greatestcool]

[The noise is definitely coming from outside the door, in the hallway. You can likely place it as coming from directly outside your door, so uh. That's a thing? That's a thing. Are you going to go out into the hallway to check to see if any roombas and/or people are being shoved in the trash compactor??]

video because he's a special boy

[torsion]

[ There's a light sheen of sweat on her forehead and the room isn't well-lit, but it still looks like a home gym and not somewhere out in the wild. She's sat on an adductor machine in tanktop and leggings; shoes made for moving fast. There's a moment before her voice finally comes, but her tone is as neutral as she can make it. Her eyes are like sharpened daggers, pointed at his jugular. ]

Nice to know I've been missed.

[ But what she really wants to say is "fuck you, I'll take you on a date where I snap your neck," but she doesn't. She wants to know what angle he's playing at, here. ]

he's flattered, truly

[manufactured]

[Oh, this is charming. He'll actually deign to return the favor, though the background is likely as one would expect - as nondescript and difficult to place as possible, with low lighting and very little visible that might indicate his preferences as a person. The sunglasses are ever-present and the suit is dark, with occasional holographic details that might flash into visibility when he moves but likewise otherwise nondescript. Nice enough to indicate that he's obviously not hurting for Chroma, but neutral.

His response is even, though there's the usual sense of detachment behind it; that's never quite left him regardless of situation and it doesn't seem likely to now.]

Said as though you're surprised.

[He can almost appreciate the attempt at neutrality, though he isn't missing the look in her eyes. That's likewise appreciated, although for different reasons entirely.]

[torsion]

[ It wouldn't have surprised her as far back as STARS. Now, though, she understands him better than he thinks -- at least better than she'd like to have known him. Everything about it feels impersonal, but that's just how he is. She can't pin anything small and secret about him, anything he might hold onto like it's precious. Perhaps his own M92F? He was sentimental about his Samurai Edge, even if he'd claim otherwise. Even if it was only to eventually off herself and Chris. He still held onto it.

She lifts one leg over the weights between her legs and run a hand over her thigh, bending over to reach her knee and calf, taking her time at the ankle like he's not present or waiting. He's on her damn time now. ]

Funny that you can't stay away. [ Like she's talking to herself and not him, trying to twist his own bullshit inward toward him. But it's effortless. Ponytail over her shoulder, it almost obscures her expression as she lifts herself to sit upright. ] What are you playing at.

[ She doesn't expect an answer, let alone one that's straight. ]

text; un: professeur

[sycamour]

Up for a chat?

[Bonjour, Wesker! Hopefully you aren't busy.

(at least he's checking. although warning; a lack of response will only encourage him, rather than the opposite.)]

[manufactured]

[Don't worry, he generally doesn't ignore his messages; his response is a prompt one.]

Yes, of course. Is there something in particular on your mind, or...?

[He's used to conversations having some sort of purpose, but he's aware of people sometimes just checking in, at least. Accustomed to it, even; Excella used to quite a bit.]

text -> video

[sycamour]

[...you know, Wesker, checking in on you does count as a purpose...

...but anyway! Time to switch to video; Sycamore is sitting at his dining table, his (smiling, of course) image framed perfectly. Almost as if he's used to talking on a video feed - fancy that!]

There is, actually! Although it is nice to hear your voice in general, of course.

[...or, at least, it will be once you turn on your video, etc]

I'm thinking of hosting a dinner at my apartment, but with a particular guest list. Interested?

action -> june Iris period

[sycamour]

[In hindsight, Sycamore probably should have called ahead to let Wesker know he was on the way; he didn't have any intention of taking up more of his fellow scientist's time than necessary, however, so he just...decided not to worry about it. He'd spent a large chunk of the afternoon perusing the many alcohol stores that Lunatia had to offer, looking for gifts, and had come across a particular bottle that he believed Wesker would like. So the plan was to pop in, drop the bottle off, and leave him be, ready to await his opinions.

No problem, right? No problem at all. When he knocks on the door, it's cheery; likely enough to identify the caller without Sycamore adding-]

Salut, Wesker! Are you home? I won't stay long, I just have a gift for you!

[Not for the first time today, he wished his new pair of strange ears were capable of actually hearing, but it seemed they were simply meant to be decorative. Alas...]

[manufactured]

[On the one hand, it's probably for the best that Sycamore isn't trying to make good on that date today, seeing as today is...not precisely a good day for it; on the other hand, it's not particularly a good day for much else, either. He'd been blessed with mild traits for the past couple of months, but he likely should have expected that his luck wouldn't hold out forever, and Iris hit him...rather hard, to put it gently.

When he replies it's through the closed door, at any rate.]

You didn't have to bring me anything, though I appreciate the gesture.

[sycamour]

[Hmm. It's...certainly odd that Wesker has chosen to answer him through the door, rather than opening it first; logic would decree that there's a good reason he's choosing not to do so, as he's never exhibited this manner of worrying behaviour before. Curious...could it have something to do with Iris? Surely not...]

Do not worry yourself, I enjoy treating my friends! What is the purpose of a high chroma balance if not to spend it, no?

[Besides, this really does look like excellent wine. It would be a shame if he wasn't able to deliver it. As it stands, however...]

Is everything alright in there?

action -> late June

[sycamour]

[Sycamore never really needed a concrete reason to drink; he was far from an alcoholic, and he'd never really seen the need to deny the indulgence when the mood struck him. It was always in the company of friends, or with a particularly suitable meal, or just to privately celebrate some manner of achievement - never to cope with anything emotional. That was a line one should not cross!

But Lysandre appearing out of nowhere had shaken him, badly, as had their ensuing conversation. They were now neatly trapped in that time period they'd both negotiated, in which they didn't speak while they ascertained how to proceed with their relationship, and Sycamore was not enjoying it whatsoever. He didn't need time to come to the conclusion that he wanted to see Lysandre again. Perhaps a moment to plot out how best to approach him, yes, but despite what his friend had said, it was hard to ignore the possibility that he might just decide it wasn't worth trying.

Attempting to process said possibility made Sycamore feel ill, so it was fortunate that he'd scheduled his bar crawl with Wesker when he had. The distraction would be nice.

They'd arranged to meet in the heart of the city, and decide on a venue once together; he'd had left his everpresent labcoat at home (finally), instead choosing something a bit more appropriate for a decent night out. He looked good, and he knew it; the coat was something he imagined Lysandre would approve of.

...best not to go down that road. Besides, he could see Wesker approaching; the man had excellent timing.]

Bonsoir!

[manufactured]

Bonsoir.

[It's something he'd done since he met the man, really, a reflex more than anything; if he's greeted in a language he recognizes then damn it, he's going to reciprocate whether he really thinks about doing so or not. Either way, his spirits seem fairly high tonight, inasmuch as such a thing can be said about him at all; he still isn't terribly expressive about it and he's still fairly severe in the face, but he's seeming relaxed in a way that he usually doesn't. If they're going to do this, it would appear this is a good night for this.

He's never really been one for Lunatia's fashion, the bright colors and shiny textures something he'll generally take a pass on; tonight isn't an exception, he's in the usual black-on-black suit and gloves, but occasionally a brief flash of a dark, holographic accent will make itself known - at the pockets, at the lapels - and that's about the most concession he'll give this place in terms of shiny things on his person.

The sunglasses are still on, despite the hour; whatever they're surely doing to his vision doesn't seem to be explicitly bothering him right now, and the streets are bright enough for it to be a fairly moot point.]

Good to see you, as always.

[sycamour]

Likewise. You look good!

[And he does, despite how Sycamore's brain keeps wanting to link Wesker's affiliation for black suits and gloves with another friend who likes black suits and gloves. At least there are no red accents to be seen.

Lysandre also wouldn't be caught dead wearing sunglasses at night, and Sycamore resists commenting on the fact that Wesker is; he'd long since come to terms with that particular quirk. It was weirdly endearing, at this point, and to be fair...Lunatia was rather bright, regardless of the time of day. It makes him grin.]

Shall we make our way to the first venue? I'm happy to let you choose; the first round is on me, remember, thanks to my rather lacking arm-wrestling skills.

[Have a wink, you.]

7/5

[greatestcool]

[It doesn't take Ryuunosuke long to knock on Wesker's door after their brief exchange on the network. Like always, he waits patiently after knocking; he's never really in any rush, anyway. Sounds like Wesker's got something pretty cool today, though, so that's exciting...]

[manufactured]

[God, okay. Thankfully he'll let Ryuunosuke in without requiring anything stupid, like loud music at three in the morning; he's awkward about it - he generally doesn't let Ryuunosuke inside, most moonlacing is done at Ryuunosuke's, though he's come in a few times. It's still boring in there, incidentally, the same nondescript walls and lack of decorations or anything that doesn't serve a purpose, though there are a few flowers set up on the table. Asters, if you know anything about botany. Fucking orangeish-red things, if you know nothing about botany.]

We could have spoken just as easily over the network, you know.

[He doesn't sound annoyed, though.]

[greatestcool]

Well yeah, but that's kinda boring, isn't it?

[Or maybe that's just him. Anyway, Ryuunosuke doesn't really need to look around but he does anyway. Unsurprisingly, Wesker's still fond of living in the most boring apartment imaginable, except for those flowers...]

Flowers? Didn't take you for someone who'd care for them.

[Time to go get a closer look!! It seems Really Weird for Wesker of all people to keep flowers...]

Were they a gift or something?

text; un: professeur

[sycamour]

[Good morning, Wesker. It's 8am, and you're about to receive a single, vaguely-threatening text from the esteemed Professor Augustine Sycamore, consisting of nothing but an image:

guess_where_we_are_going_today.jpeg]

[manufactured]

[...ohhhhhh you're so lucky that he slept off the migraine he had for a while jesus christ

that said, he's definitely awake at 8am because what the hell do you take him for? someone who sleeps on a healthy schedule? absolutely not. he got his like three fucking hours of sleep and he's good tbh.]

I assume I'm absolutely not getting out of this.

[sycamour]

You're learning! Besides, who could ignore a half-price sale? Especially when you're in such dire need!

[If he does say so himself.]

Meet me in PrismaPlace when you're ready.

action, backdated

[torsion]

[ She didn't exactly ask to be here, so she's not sure how it happened. She'd heard of the possibility of it, but it was something she scoffed at. If she were to go home, what was there to go back to, especially if she didn't have a choice for how long? Get up and kick a majini and be thrust back here? For all her curiosity and desire to return home still remains, the fear of it is more encompassing.

So, being "home," and in this familiar place that haunts her dreams... it's difficult.

The floors are as well-polished as ever; shining to a point of reflection. Low light, mostly by candle, and the sound of distant thunder crashing. It's visible against the large windows on the second floor, cutting through the darkness. Jill pays it no mind and for once she curses the single time she's let her guard down. She's wearing a dark blue bikini with a half-buttoned flannel over it and denim shorts. Slip-ons, at least, but they're certainly no boots.

No guns, no knife at her side. But this place was littered with secrets and whether it's real or a hallucination she'd find one.

It's the company beside her that makes her feel bile rise, however. It's not the "him" from that time period, of that she's certain. He's physically different, larger, more withheld. He's a different man than the one that died in the basement of this place. All Jill can do really is lift her head and stare, hand on her hip like she's in BSAA gear. ]

What did you do.

[ Because of course it's him. ]

[manufactured]

[In the end, he's not surprised that they ended up here; he hadn't lied when he'd told some of those that had been brought to Lunatia that he doesn't really have anywhere specific that he considers "home" - he'd never had patience for the sentimentality of it, for one thing, and he has neither the time nor mind to work out a permanent place where he can be bothered to settle like that for another - but just the same, being here is to be expected. Because all roads lead back to this godforsaken place, don't they.

Fucking lovely.

And now they're both here and decidedly underdressed for the occasion, because never let it be said that this entire jolly excursion doesn't have a fucking sense of humor; perhaps more concerning is the lack of a decent weapon, but those are often formalities for him nowadays.

The words, too, are perhaps to be expected, though that doesn't mean he has to be impressed with them, a soft noise leaving him as they register - really now.]

I don't know about you, but I can think of several places I would rather be.

[Is this his doing? If it is, it isn't consciously so; this place has been on his mind lately, admittedly, simply because the anniversaries that matter tend to stick a little more strongly, but that's neither here nor there and like hell if he's taking credit for this if he doesn't have to. What is his priority is keeping his gaze from settling too long in any one place; he knows this place well enough to not act like a goddamn tourist, but bluntly put he doesn't trust this, and he doesn't trust that there won't be something like Lisa Trevor wandering the place.]

It's not a place I'm thrilled about seeing intact, believe it or not.

text -> after the triple moon

[sycamour]

[It's been a while since Sycamore has heard from Wesker; he realises as much as he cleans his apartment and finds the cupcake-flavoured candle they bought together the other month. How is he going? How has he been? Clearly, it's time to reach out.

(Once he lights that candle, of course. Thankfully, Lysandre isn't here...he'll have to remember to hide it once he comes over....)]

Used any of those candles yet?

[Hang on...this is missing something. Hmmm...

...ah!]

:)

[manufactured]

[...It takes him a little while to respond, not least of all because he's sort of wondering when he became the sort of person with friends that will text him with little smilies.

Anyway.]

I keep the cinnamon one lit in my room sometimes. Kandili tends to like it; she's shy otherwise.

[...Let him send a picture of her. Less because he's the sort of person to do that, either, but more because he imagines Sycamore is the sort of person to do that and god forbid Sycamore thinks he's more of a goddamn weirdo than he already does.

Shit's cute, at least.]