9 1/2 days
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Capcom (except Albie and Quasimodo). But oh how I wish Wesker belonged to me.
Wesker took a well-deserved hot shower that turned the bathroom all Silent Hill (if less invaded by monsters) within just a few minutes. He happily hummed Monty Python's "always look on the bright side of life" tune while taking the time to scrub his trusty shades clean with a manly bath pouf.
It had been a great morning so far – Claire was still sound asleep and hadn't had the time to bother him yet. Little did he know that she had dreamt some crazy, confusing stuff about him being an elegant black-clad torero with a rose between his teeth, waving Ada's red dress in front of Chris...who looked suspiciously like a horny, raging bull. She had spent the better part of that dream though trying to figure out whether Ada was running around stark naked in the meantime – or maybe even flashing Leon! – while Wesker had borrowed her practical yet disguising bright red spy attire to toy with her brother.
He himself on the other hand had slept surprisingly well, considering that the creature from his worst nightmares, namely the Redfield girl, was sleeping just a few feet away in Quasimodo's dog bed – as if he subconsciously knew that his suffering was only taking a short break before the shit-storm would hit the fan.
One incredibly lucky bitch of a piece of soap slid over his steaming, hot skin and all the body parts and organs that enclosed when Wesker finally began scrubbing himself instead of his stylish shades. The tiny cleansing bar was totally oblivious of the fact that it was being envied by pretty much every living human being in heat and existence. No, really! It had absolutely no clue whatsoever. Blame it on the fact that it had never seen the internet before, let alone knew how to look up adultfanfiction dot net.
But, it foamed like crazy at the fact that Wesker hadn't even paid any attention to it – let alone asked for its name or even permission before he began. And now it had all kinds of hairy situations to face – literally. The unhappy little bar of soap felt so used, and all Wesker did in his ignorance was musing over the latest developments while scrubbing and rubbing even harder down there.
Our foamy friend got really scared, too, when he was unlucky enough to find out that Wesker had the will - and means! - to firmly hold it in place without even having to use his hands, teeth, knees or armpits. You do the math. Truly, it had seen unimaginable places no man had ever set foot on, let alone any other limb – pathfinder had absolutely nothing to him.
It shuddered violently in revulsion for a moment, and for a minute there Wesker almost thought he'd forgotten to take his cell phone out of the back of his pants, when he remembered he wasn't even wearing any pants to begin with. As was the custom, whenever he showered.
While a poor orphaned piece of soap was silently cursing its harsh, cruel fate, Wesker's mind was on his work and how smoothly it had been progressing lately, thanks to a certain bimbo's absence.
Excella had been gone for weeks now to pursue a side-career in a vacation job that would hopefully pay for her latest boob-job. What did she need bigger jugs for anyway? It wasn't like she owned a single dress to cover up even half of the pair she already possessed as it was, so why bother if she couldn't afford a proper dress in the first place? He'd never understand this woman. But at least no one was pawing all over him while he was trying to get his experiments done. Life was good. Almost bearable.
He was just one Complete. Global. Vegetation. away from being a happy little tyrant.
No. Wait. That didn't sound right…try again.
Complete. Global. Frustration.
No, no, no...something was still amiss.
Complete. Global. Constipation.
Yeah, that sounded about right. He smiled smugly at this stunning proof of his superior intellect. He was just too damn clever for this world.
Satisfied with himself, he turned off the water and put his shades back on. With a sucking sluuurp they greedily adhered to his temples until the next time he'd have to take them off.
In the little dish it called home, the sad remains of a formerly proud soap bar secretly sighed in relief. Thank Wesker! Good riddance…he had stopped just in time - one more day to live for our spent, soapy little friend.
The tyrant stepped out of the shower, offering way too much fan service to be healthy for all the depraved fangirls and fanboys on his way to the towel rack. The rack didn't mind at all and enjoyed the view while it lasted.
Unfortunately, Wesker got himself and his godly goods wrapped into a fluffy, stark black towel way too fast for any human eye – or that of a sex-starved towel rack. Disappointed about missing its chance, it blinked - desperately wishing for instant replay in slo-mo, but it had no such luck.
Meanwhile, Wesker was completely ignorant of his quiet, towel dispensing admirer – and had he known, he wouldn't have cared since he was already planning out the remainder of the day. Thoughtfully, he combed through his already perfect hair.
Okay, let's see…get dressed, make sure Miss Redfield doesn't do another bad make-up job on Krauser, have Krauser take Quasimodo out for a walk, keep Claire out of my lap, err, I mean lab…oh, and most importantly, keep the redhead the hell out of my way. Mentally, he added sending Ada to retrieve a gag or something to his list, just to be safe - in case Claire got too talkative for her own good.
In case of an emergency before Ada got back, he could always use a pair of socks or something like that. He'd have to ask Krauser to hand him over the pair of tennis socks he always stuffed his pants with – because that had to be a pair of socks, right?
He sighed deeply. This was going to be a hard, long, work-filled day. Little did he know that things were about to get much harder and longer from here on out - and not just from wishful thinking.
In the meantime, Ada, Krauser and Claire were sitting in Wesker's lobby getting ready for the day. Claire didn't have much in terms of plans aside from staying alive at the moment. She had woken up shortly before, all stiff and with seriously bad hair from her night in the rattan bed. The humming coming from the bathroom indicated that Wesker was taking a hot shower, as was the fog flowing in from under the bathroom door.
She was grateful not having to deal with him right away, not before she had her morning coffee or some other horrible tasting brew to chase away the last remainders of a long, uncomfortable night. Her mouth felt like something had died in there last night anyway.
For the moment she distracted herself with looking through her shopping bags that Wesker and his goons had thankfully brought along. Disappointedly, she noticed that all the ants from Chris' ant farm had obviously gone AWOL through a small crack in the glass. She set the glass box aside to noisily rummage through the rest of her belongings.
Krauser was sitting on a leather sofa in the corner, arms and legs crossed. Finally, his yoga classes were beginning to pay off - but mainly, he was busy sulking and giving Claire the evil eye for his involuntary makeover the other night. The sharpie markings were still clearly visible on his face even though he had scrubbed his face like crazy this morning. He had shortly considered using sandpaper, but quickly dismissed it.
He might be enduring the presence of tartly Ada over there and then some without complaining, but even his masochism knew boundaries he wasn't ready to challenge. It didn't help much that Ada couldn't stifle a giggle when she first saw what Claire had done to him in his sleep. She grinned unashamedly when Krauser gave her a look that would hopefully make her drop dead on the spot, even though he knew better.
Ada sat on the sofa across from him, switched on the large flat screen tv set on the wall and surfed through the channels, looking for a way to pass the time until their boss decided to show up. After zapping through a few boring infomercials that she came across – she cleverly noticed how Krauser leaned forward and seemed particularly interested in a brand-new nose hair trimmer that was being introduced – she happened to come across the local news channel.
By accident, Ada had switched to the news channel just in time for the news anchor to announce the news about some mysterious, disturbing panic breaking out in the mall the evening before after people were being probed by unauthorized and unqualified ants.
Ada and Krauser both turned their heads and looked accusingly at Claire.
"What?" She looked confused, not getting what both were hinting at. She pressed her shopping bag protectively against her chest.
"You don't happen to know anything about this…right?" Krauser asked slowly, his eyes wandering to the now vacant ant farm next to Claire's feet.
"Who is to say that these were my ants? They could belong to anyone…it's not like they had dog tags with my name around their necks, is it?" Claire defended herself weakly.
"Yeah, but only because they couldn't find tags small enough to fit around their necks." Ada commented dryly.
Claire shot her a dirty look through narrowed eyes.
The next bit of news about the "ant incident" though caught their interest again, and the discussion between the three of them ebbed away.
The news anchor had given way to a report from the dolled up news reporter on site. The overdressed brunette stood next to a somewhat disheveled looking man, probably a hobo. The unshaved bum held something in his hand and seemed very antsy and eager to present it to the camera.
"This is Amanda Hooker for Good News Net. I'm here at the local mall where a panic broke out the other day after a sudden breakout of vermin. Authorities are still investigating the source of attack of a horde of rabid ants."
The man beside her seemed to get impatient and tried to push his way into the focus of the camera. Slightly annoyed, the reporter pushed him back aside with her left arm and continued. Unfazed by his attempt to let his 15 seconds of fame begin, she rambled about the fruitless attempts that had been made to find out more about why and where the eight-legged army had come from.
Finally, after a long, long monologue that had the hobo almost pee his pants in excitement and frustration, she presented the man next to her as a possible witness of the incident. Overjoyed that he was finally being heard, the man held up what looked like a burnt piece of toast.
Before the reporter even had the chance to ask him any questions, he eagerly grabbed a hold of her microphone (even though she refused to let it go) and told his version of what had happened.
"You see, I was sittin' in that diner across the mall having a snack, thinkin' about nuffin' bad an' all, and then shit started. First there was nothing and then there were all these peeps who came runnin' out of the mall, screaming like their pants were on fire or sumfin'. I thought that maybe these lucky bastards had a chili eating contest in there or sumfin', so I thought about goin' over to see if there was sumfin' left for me."
He took a deep, dramatic breath, readying himself for his big finale.
"But then there were these three strange lookin' people comin' out of the mall." He stopped for a moment to increase the impact of the info he gave and squinted his eyes in a conspiratorial manner. "They had a pink suitcase with a cat on it, and something was moving in there. I saw it! It was a woman and two men. One of them guys had a strange looking moustache that looked like my girlfriend's muff." He offered an amused cackle that quickly gave way to a coughing fit.
The reporter patted the bum on his back and tried to use the situation to gain control over her microphone again, but the man caught himself and held the piece of toast a bit higher.
"This is what the fella looked like – I saw him again this morning, in the diner – he appeared on my toast just as I was getting' ready to butter it!"
Ada and Krauser both shot to their feet – Krauser stumbling in the process because he couldn't disentangle his limbs in time.
"Holy Wesker toast!" Ada, Krauser and Claire cried in perfect unison when the camera zoomed in on the sacred piece of roasted bread showing the mug of a certain handsome blond badass tyrant. The resemblance was stunning, including that of Wesker's borrowed pornstache.
They all exchanged an uncomfortable look.
Wesker so wasn't going to like this.
Babysitting Claire was so incredibly boring. Why couldn't someone else do it? Ada had been condemned to watching over the hostage while Wesker took care of the "toast situation". Now the brat just sat a few feet away from Ada on a pile of red-and-white Umbrella cushions that she had picked up from the couch in Wesker's lobby.
The redhead was eagerly watching "Shaun of the Dead" from Wesker's private dvd collection and greedily munched on some unsuspecting nachos - the red-clad spy had gotten her some food and entertainment after Claire had complained about being bored and hungry. She's been here for less than a day and she's already a pain in my backside, Ada thought sourly.
Ada had better things to do, but after some back and forth arguing she had lost a game of "rock, paper, scissors" against Krauser and Wesker. She was almost sure both Wesker and Krauser had cheated - of course she would never say that aloud, at least not when Wesker was within throwing distance and Krauser out with Quasimodo.
Shaking her head, Ada lazily paged through her latest issue of "Ammolicious", not really paying attention to the articles. That was, until she almost chocked on a mouthful of some fine but totally overpriced "jus de fromage" wine that she'd been sipping casually while reading her magazine.
The picture next to a promising article called "my pet weapon and me" in her lap showed the face of a certain well-known dirty blond hunk - without his recently acquired fake bogey trap.
The renegade former army beefcake was wearing nothing but a smile…and a rocket launcher, all while wearing a tiny beret on his not so little mercenary that left little to the imagination. Ada's jaw fell southwards with an audible gasp. Her eyes seemed to almost pop out of their sockets. By use of sheer willpower – and some well-applied pressure of her two forefingers - she commanded them back inside.
Jackpot! her inner voice cackled hysterically. Forget about that fancy snob Kennedy, it whispered seductively. Jackie-boy here might not be so bad after all…who would have thought? He's full of surprises - not to mention fully equipped, loaded and ready to go.
Slowly, she rolled her tongue back up inside her mouth before anybody could notice – or even worse, stumble over the fleshy, pink appendage. The sneaky little beast had indeed quickly realized its chance and gone on a short stroll in a futile attempt at escaping.
She tucked the magazine into her armpit and rose to her feet.
"Be a good girl and stay out of trouble, okay?"
Ada waved good-bye to a very surprised Claire who remained sitting on the floor, surrounded by Wesker's octagonal cushions of doom.
"Where are you going?"
"That is for me to know and for you to keep guessing. I need to take care of…stuff. Don't wait up. Tell Wesker I'll be in touch. Ta ta!"
Clair remained sitting on the floor, stunned and clueless.
What the heck had that been all about?
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