feistytrader | IC INBOX for recolle

How do you keep that air of authority? Is it all in the posture, or do the sunglasses do the trick?

[Wesker, bearer of wisdom regarding all things.]

...Act as though you know what you're doing, and everyone will simply assume you do. It's the one thing everyone lies about, while assuming that no one else is.

[...i mean, he is not wrong.]

[...Is that it? That's really it? Adults don't really have anything together, but act like they do all the time?

Wait, he's an adult. And some of his friends think he knows what he's doing.]

I feel like I've learned the secrets of the universe.

[He looks up at Wesker in awe, although there isn't much room to pay attention to where he's walking in the process. Namely, off a curb and onto the street...]

It does something for perspective, at any rate - no one truly knows what they're doing, it's simply a matter of pretense.

[Into the street it is, then; he's...admittedly not paying full attention either, though that's more due to general familiarity with the surroundings than anything else.]

I'm not sure if that's comforting or not. You'd think that-

[All is well and good for another few steps, and then anything they were doing or talking about is completely lost to the sound of a horn blaring. Namely, the horn of a rather large vehicle; it's difficult to make out the details of it due to the bright blaring lights being a complete contrast to the total darkness, but the strange square shape of it starts to give it away as a bus, which would be really useful if it wasn't already closing in.

Oh, shit-]

Edited 2018-01-24 23:10 (UTC)

[It takes Wesker a brief moment to realize what he's looking at - and while the lights aren't pleasant, they're dimmer than they might be for others because seriously, he never takes those stupid sunglasses off, and if anyone had told him that would be at all useful to him now...

Well, he'll think about that later, assuming he has time.

For the time being Silver's got his bag and it's easier to grab that than it is to have the presence of mind to do anything else, it's easy for his hand to find purchase on it and it's leverage to pull him back, use the force to move him and let gravity do the rest and get him out of the road.

The movement is quick and immediate and not thought through at all, the sort of thing that his body does before his conscious mind really has any say, and it's followed by a sudden moment where everything suddenly goes weird and blank and there's just...nothing.

It's probably the moment of impact, if he had to try to reason it out; in all honesty, at first it doesn't feel like anything. There's the ground, though, and he's on it, and moving seems like the worst idea he's had in a while and he vaguely registers that he probably couldn't get up even if he wanted to, there's a good amount of pressure and something's on his chest and there's the pain, it's like being impaled, something sharp and jagged stabbing through his chest and -

And he's trying very hard to stay conscious and try to figure out what the hell is going on, that's what he's doing, though that's likely not going to last terribly long.]

[You'd think that with everything happening, the sight of what's transpired would be the most difficult part to bear witness to. He has a front row view to an unimaginably large piece of metal on wheels bucking Wesker over and crushing him, wrapped in the packaging of that being the only thing visible when everything is dark with the exception of its bright blaring lights.

Even so, it's not the sight that sticks with him and makes this whole thing such a horror; if anything, what he's seeing feels strangely distant and impersonal, like a scene from a movie. What brings the horror alive is the crunch, the unmistakable sound of something so easily snapping and caving in in ways it shouldn't. It rings in his head and eventually spurs him to stop staring dumbly with his mouth slightly ajar and make his way to his feet.

The bus driver is equally in shock. The bus won't move. He should call out, probably, say something until Wesker is no longer being crushed, but words never really were his strong suit, and his body reacts much faster than his mouth does. He moves towards the front of the bus and tries pushing it first, as if that's going to accomplish anything, then settles for pounding on its windshield with his fists until it finally backs up, which leaves Wesker, still partially crushed and on the ground.

Silver drops down to his side. Some rational part of his head acknowledges that he probably shouldn't move him too much, but it's completely overruled as he tries to prop up Wesker's head and gently shake him.]

H...Hey.

[He swallows harshly, then tries again, a little more firmly this time.]

Stay with me.

[Being moved just sends another round of sharp, stabbing pain through his system, and that's the point at which it dully seems to register that he's not being impaled by anything external, what he's feeling are his ribs -

There's a sudden intake of breath that accompanies the sensation, and it drags through his system like knives.

He should say something, but he can't force himself to speak; words don't happen under stress on good days, and this is about as dire a situation as one can manage to end up in, isn't it? Perhaps it's no surprise that he doesn't have words - for Silver, for Elda, for Jaeger, for anyone; drawing breath is difficult and his lungs are getting heavier and while the pain is still there, there's something distant about it, something that's ebbing outward and vanishing and staying gone once it's lost, something that's ensuring that in the end, he's not feeling very much at all.

He's cold. He can feel that. He's cold, and it's dark out here, and he's not focusing very well.

It's easy to lose focus, because the lack of focus eases the pain further; it's easy to slip into simple, cold, black nothingness, because ultimately that's where he finds he wants to go. To follow the urging of whatever's tugging at the edge of his consciousness.

I'm not sure if this will help, but... Good luck.

Were he still capable of lucid thought, of any sort of reasoning, perhaps there would be guilt in the notion that his last thoughts before fading out weren't given to anyone in this world, nor were they given to someone who deserved it more. As it stands, his thoughts go to Birkin, to that compound in the woods -

- Welcome to the Arklay Mountains -

- before they fade into nothing at all.]

[This is a dream. It's... It's just like October, when all of those horrifying things happened. It's not really happening. He's going to wake up in some cold sweat any minute now, and he can just text Wesker and... Explain himself some other time, maybe.]

No, get up- get up. Get up. Please get up-

[It's a mantra that starts demanding, then pleading, quickly turns into barely audible muttering under his breath as his throat locks up and his face runs hot with tears. He shakes him gently at first, then more and more violently as if it's going to accomplish something, as if Wesker will simply come back if he wills it harshly enough. Only the return of that horrible cracking sound is enough to shock him into stillness, and he hugs onto Wesker tightly, burying his face in his very misshapen chest.]

[There are certain steps that need to be taken to bring a body back from the brink of death; bluntly put, some things are more important than others. The cardiovascular system can't be left to take care of itself, of course, particularly if it's where most of the damage is; sealing it, repressurizing it, ensuring it's not just going to seep everywhere is first priority. The ribs aren't fine but they'll heal once they've shifted a bit; if anything, Silver jostling him has done his body a few favors, moving some fragments out of the way, making others easier to deal with, and the result isn't anywhere near perfect - it's still jagged and unhealed and imperfect - but it'll take care of itself in time, after the first five minutes have passed, because the first five minutes are the most crucial.

What matters in the first five minutes is ensuring that he can breathe. That blood will continue to circulate, that he doesn't suffer any brain damage or extended tissue death as it all hardens up - because once it's hardened up, it can take care of itself. Repairs are easier once the virus is doing it for him; Progenitor is more effective than a normal human immune system can ever be.

It isn't perfect, but it's damn near close, assuming that one can handle it. Shame that most can't.

Fortunate that Wesker can.

When he starts breathing again, when the strong stasis grip of the virus lets him go, it still feels like knives are being dragged across his nerves; his chest is still utterly fucked-feeling but after the initial shuddering breath it settles back into a steady rise and fall, and his heart kicks back into the usual rhythm even though doing so sends painful jolts through his system, registering all down his spine.

And suddenly he becomes aware that Silver is there, and Silver's holding him and he doesn't quite know what to do with that, and he tries to move - not to push Silver away but to sort of push himself up so that he isn't lying so awkwardly on the ground, and...honestly, he still doesn't have much of an idea of what's going on. He knows he blacked out, but anything deeper than that is a bit beyond him at the moment.]

[There's a very distinct presence of breathing and a heart beating that wasn't there moments ago, but it isn't until Wesker actually starts moving that Silver lifts his head.

He's alive.

That can't be right. His chest was- he wasn't- he's alive? Silver slowly pulls away in disbelief, giving Wesker enough room to move and breathe like a living person. Maybe this really is a dream, and all the furious scrambling to refuse that Wesker was truly dead wasn't just for show. But pinching himself near the wrist both hurts and fails to take his attention off of Wesker. It fails to take anyone's attention off of Wesker, for that matter, as a small crowd begins to whisper among themselves in disbelief.]

You're...

[Back. Alive. Possibly a ghost. He can't finish what was barely a whisper to begin with. Instead, he reaches out and pats Wesker's arm to further test his thoughts. At least he has the general presence of mind to keep from touching Wesker's chest instead.]

[There are a few things that are taking a moment to register; Silver's obvious disbelief (why?) is coming through solidly enough, but apparently there are others around, there are people here, clearly there's some sort of spectacle being made out of this and that...okay, he supposes he can see why, it's not every day that someone is hit by public transit, but- ]

...Was I out long...?

[That's...quiet, and god this whole thing is kind of painful, his ribs hurt more than he can really even fully register, he should probably get it looked at by some sort of professional...]

You weren't out.

[Maybe he should simply be relieved, but this is entirely too surreal to digest that quickly.]

You were gone.

Gone...?

[It's something that he can't process right away. Something that's so surreal, so utterly insane that his brain doesn't really want to process it, and it's not the only thing that he's snagging on mentally - even now the pain is dissipating and he can feel something odd shifting in his chest, like everything is repairing itself, and - ]

I'm all right now. We shouldn't...

[We shouldn't what, exactly? Stay here? Think about any of this for too long?

..."Stay here" seems like the most reasonable way to finish that sentence, honestly, people will talk.]

...Come on.

[Just...let him get up, he can manage that much well enough and easily, let's not stay here.]

Edited 2018-01-29 10:08 (UTC)

[Oh, alright. They're going. That's probably a good thing; they really are starting to draw a small crowd.]

Are you really...

[Going to be alright? He pushes himself up onto his feet, looks at Wesker with concern for another moment or two, then shakes his head. He was already at an incomprehensible level of fine when he was breathing and sitting up, so maybe it's best to just go along with it.]

Yeah, sure.

[He'd very much like to leave this scene out of his mind, so he... Waits for Wesker to lead the way, because perhaps someone else might be up to the task of walking Wesker into traffic twice in one day, but that person isn't him.]

[We're not moving toward the traffic, we're moving really briskly away from the traffic, his ribs aren't going to like him very much for it but you know what, they can deal for the time being- ]

Are you going to be all right...?

[It's something of an inane question, coming from the previously-dead guy, but Silver is kind of a mess and Wesker is. fine. or at least he's breathing and that's got to count for something.]

IC INBOX for recolle

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