12/03/2020 01:25 PM  A family dinner. { Rain's Gif Challenge } Spencer didn't have a clue what was coming for him, not really. Sure he knew that Albert would find him--what he thought he wanted, but he didn't know exactly what Albert was now. Not like Alex did. Not like Alex did. Spencer had always been blinded by his ego, when it came to his 'children', sure when they were younger...and the true horror of what he'd created and fostered had began to bloom in front of him as Alex and Albert had entered puberty? He'd taken steps to cull the worst of the madness out of the pair of them. Sent Albert, arguably the more socially adjusted one, off to Arklay to strengthen his weaker scientific skills under Marcus' tutelage. He'd had Alex's growing mental instability treated, and sent her to medical school among others to hopefully socialize her a bit better before it was too late. He thought he had broken the pair bond he initially allowed to grow as part of the Wesker Project. However, all he'd done was make two very clever enemies. They had been fostered in a cold house, given wealth, privilege, but there had been no love there. No real guidance. As the pool of candidates dwindled from 13, the pack mentality remained. When it was only two of them? It had not been healthy to allow it to continue. The amorality, and codependenc would have been disastrous in the real world. Project Wesker was as much a social experiment as eugenics program. And both of his surviving wards hated him more than words could say. Despite Alex hiding it for decades, and Albert cutting off contact in favor of his own goals. Though in one goal, both of them, twelve and thirteen, were in utter agreement. The old man had to die. Well, more aptly, he had to be killed. They had to close the circle to be whole. That was the thing about kings, they died eventually. Even tyrants died, though Albert never liked that analogy once he branded himself one, once he became one. No, Spencer had no idea what was coming. It brought Alex such joy, to know, and to watch Spencer make his plans. Futile ones. No, his plans would be dashed, and supplanted with their plans. Alex had requested something quite special, quite...poetic and appropriate. They were going to eat his heart. They were going to consume him. She even had a recipe picked out for the occasion, taking into account his age and infirmities. She just rather hoped that Albert didn't bruise the meat too much in his removal of it. He was...quite excitable in his anger, sometimes he just couldn't quite reign it in. Not that she blamed him for that, of course. It made perfect sense. The Nemesis had similar problems at the time of it's inception. Quelled with the parasite into docility...the more...powerful the tyrants became, the more active their metabolisms, the more fueled with anger and rage they became. It was the nature of the beast pumping through her brother's body. Alex, however, had more to do yet tonight to prepare for their little reunion. So when it came time to see to Lord Spencer's afternoon medication, she found him sat in his wheelchair at the piano, plucking away at the keys with shaky, but admittedly still talented hands. The man had been able to play for as long as Alex could remember. She used to admire that about him. "Lord Spencer, I've brought your afternoon medications." Alex murmured, not wanting to startle the old man to his death bed before the main event, that just wouldn't do. Spencer turned his wizened features to Alex and smiled, something he meant to be kind, she was sure. All she saw was a grinning skull, over yellowing teeth. Little more than a bag of bones at this point, a bag of bones and a stubborn will. "Ahh, Alexandra, yes...the time got away from me." Alex nodded and approached with the tray in hand, settling down on the piano bench that hadn't been moved fully away from the keys for Spencer to play, and the tray ended up on top of the grand piano. "...oh do play for me, dear." He stated, Lord Spencer never asked for anything, but it was expected of her that she agree. After all, it was only a little request. The rage that seethed under her skin was an old friend, at this point, and none of it showed in her crystalline blue eyes as she placed her hand over his, gently squeezing. "Of course, what would you like to hear?" Most of the condemned got a final meal...a final song would do just as well, as far as Alex was concerned. 0 Comments  Report Post

04/19/2020 10:55 PM  Modified history - Currently: 1960-1983 1960-79: The Spencer Manor, England Shortly after birth, the 13 children that had been 'selected' (it is unknown if the children were conceived naturally or not) for the Wesker project were 'collected' from their birth parents and moved to a manor house owned by the Lord Spencer in England. This large manor home was part home, part academy, and part medical facility. Here the children would be raised in such a way that their development could be closely controlled and observed. Despite being 'wards of the Lord Spencer' the children treated each other for the most part as siblings. Taking their cues from the staff at the manor. Between 1965 and 1973 eleven of the thirteen would die. The sicknesses that took them were unexplained and varied, sometimes lasting a few very intense days, to several weeks of gradual decline. The children all received an inoculation before their sicknesses began. The notes on the Wesker Project are lost at this current point in time, their whereabouts unknown. 1968: Alex puts ground glass into one of the nanny's breakfast for not allowing them to have ice cream for breakfast. The nanny survives, but only after hospitalization. 1974: Alex's immune system begins to fail. Over the course of two months, she progressively weakened. During her time spent in the medical wing, the decision to inject her with Progenitor was made, to attempt and salvage her. The strain did not appear to have any effect at first, and she eventually succumbed to her illness and passed away. Alex was dead for approximately six minutes. When she revived, her immune system showed rapid improvement and within days her white blood cell count was back to within normal tolerances. Shortly there after, Lord Spencer begins to take additional interest in Alex's development. 1976: The two final remaining project children, Alexandra and Albert, no 12 and 13 respectively, were separated. Due to issues of increasing codependency, mental illness, and the intense isolation from peers being deemed detrimental to their continued development. The pair had displayed intense amorality, and overt sadistic tendencies towards others. Their science project for the semester had been working on Necrotizing Fasciitis, the flesh eating bacteria, and they had invited one of the children of their nearest neighbor over for tea. The boy had to have quite a bit of his flesh removed by the time it was caught. Despite the deaths of the other children, their education continued. Albert was sent to the Executive Training Academy at Arklay. 1976, cont: When the pair were separated, Alex was deemed 'unfit' to be allowed to mingle among others. As a result of this diagnosis she was subjected to almost a month of rather intense psychiatric treatment to attempt to 'cure' her of her psychosis. After this round of treatment, which included standard practices at the time--electroshock was deemed unnecessary beyond an initial round of treatment. Mostly, she was medicated, sedated through the worst of her grief. Eventually, she did manage to convince them that she was 'better' and return to her schooling. 1979: Alex graduated with two undergraduate degrees, one in Pre-Med, and the other in Organic Chemistry. 1979-1983: Med School, Oxford, England Alex lived off campus while she went to Medical school at Oxford. She did not have room mates, and spent most of her time focused on class work. Her flat was upstairs from a trusted Umbrella associate, so she was always well monitored. Especially having been deemed mentally unstable a few years prior. She maintained a distance from her fellow students, aside when absolutely necessary for classwork. Few people paid her any mind, and she kept to herself. She had a few acquaintances, but most found her far too off putting to really get to know her. Graduating First Class, or the equivalent of summa cum laude, she didn't have anyone there to attend her graduation...however she did write Albert to tell him of her graduation. 1984-1988: Residency @ Spencer Memorial In Prog 1988-1995: Return to Umbrella Intelligence 1988-1991: Alex is placed under Sergei Valdimir's direct supervision while the Intelligence wing is being built. Beginning with the collection of every piece of project documentation that could be salvaged. In the attempt to bring the company into the digital age. Alex begins doing data entry, but moves into the Monitor program when it launches due to her expertise in medicine. She excels at this, her team of Monitors rapidly rising to the top percentile of all of the teams. Endearing her to her men, and causing a rift with the others. She is beloved by her men, but derided by the others. She is the only female in her position. 1991: Reunion with Albert. Albert's transfer to the Intelligence wing after leaving Arklay marks the first time that the siblings were in close contact with one another after the Separation. 1995-1998: Head of Intelligence Division In Prog 0 Comments  Report Post

04/14/2020 05:57 PM  Borderline Personality Disorder & Alex Okay, this whole post is OOC, and a lot of Meta knowledge about Alex. To start with, a bit of a disclaimer: I'm intimately familiar with this personality disorder. Mine does not manifest in the exact same ways, and I've been in therapy for a very long time to break down my disfunctional thought patterns. I have yet to have anyone say anything to me about my portrayal of this particular mental illness, but on other platforms there are those who like to say if you don't have it then you can't write it. Gonna head that off at the pass, cause...well, it's kinda mean? Symptoms: (I'm listing all of them for completeness, but bolding the ones that impact Alex specifically) Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by extremes between idealization and devaluation (also known as "splitting") Identity disturbance: Markedly or persistently unstable self-image or sense of self Impulsive behavior in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating) Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-harming behavior Emotional instability in reaction to day-to-day events (e.g., intense episodic sadness, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days) Chronic feelings of emptiness Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights) Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms Borderline Personality Disorder, or BPD, usually comes along with massive amounts of /drama/, because there's a lot of dichotomous thinking (black/white, all good or all bad) as well as fits of idealization and devaluation. It's a very cyclic personality disorder. It's treatable with therapy, establishing a sort of 'breathing room' between external stimuli and reaction. It's a lot of mindfulness, really. Retraining the brain's habits a bit. Alex didn't get therapy. Her main coping mechanism was to only care about her brother. That's it in her eyes. Mainly because he's the only 'equal' she has. The only person that truly knows what cold hell they lived through. The most stable relationship that she has ever had. Everyone else is utterly worthless and expendable, while he is family and can practically do no wrong--unless it's to her, which she finds /wildly hurtful and tends to make her lash out/. What this looks like in some instances of BPD is usually called 'favorite person', usually the person that is currently being idealized. Putting someone on a pedastle well above anyone else. BPD suffers usually go through phases where their favorite person can shift between the white and black sides of their thought processes--which is what happens if Albert does something to hurt her. On the topic of hurt: Hurt can be lies, aggression/violence, but mostly non-planned abandonment, such as when he 'died' in Raccoon. Depending on how the SL is played, if Albert never told her that he wasn't dead? Their relationship later on would be very different. This is a part I leave up to any Albert's who may want to write with her to figure out.  Since she doesn't care about anyone else, she seems nearly sociopathic, which she's only a few steps away from at any rate. However, it's in essence that the only place she has positive feelings is in relation to her brother and herself. You don't feel any emotion when stepping on an ant--and the only other not ant in her world is Albert. Of the two, she is the more passive one, allowing him to lead if they are working together, but don't mistake that for weakness. Alex is probably the more likely to kill someone than her brother, as she doesn't tolerate insult to either of them. He's far better at blending in than she is. Alex is content to help her brother along with his plans, than start her own. Especially if set in the era of Raccoon. When she was younger, if you've read the other blog posts, you've probably noticed that she's far more volatile in the past. The difference in her behavior comes from distance and time. At 16 they were seaparated, then when we really pick back up with the Wesker's they're in their late 30's, so over half their life they've been apart.  Alex has bouts of depersonalization, where she doesn't feel quite real, or that she doesn't fit in the world. She can't empathize with all the small problems of the people around her that she feels quite alien and empty a lot of the time. As if her insides have little Umbrella Logos stamped on them and she wholly belongs to the organization that created her. (I have her learning at a young age that she was property, though she doesn't confrim this as objective fact until much much later in life.) Her tolerance for failure is low, and her tolerance for actively going against her wishes is non-existant. She considers herself quite fair, she does explain the rules to those who work under her, she lays down her expectations, and will answer any questions anyone has about them. Once the rules are clear, she follows them, to the letter. Her punishments can be quite severe, as she sees any purposeful rule breaking as almost a betrayal. Though, if truth be told, she does enjoy punishing people...especially when she's already angry. It's very cathartic for her. Sadism is her catharsis. Really I can go on and on, but I'll stop there. Grats if you've read this far! 0 Comments  Report Post

04/10/2020 05:16 PM  ❝I think about it, all the time. I'm volatile & afraid to cry.❞ {England, 1975} It had rained the night before, a terrible rainstorm that had shaken the manor with thunder and left the grounds verdant, but deceptively marshy. The ground had been far too wet for Alex to spend the day outside, despite usually being very adamant about keeping Albert's times for him. It was just another tiny ritual in a life of little rituals that would look very strange to outsiders. Not that she cared what outsiders thought. She didn't even think about them, most days. The outside world seemed like so far away a concept--she'd rarely even seen it. It wasn't as if the outside world cared about them. No, she kept her focus on the things around her, her brother and the things she could control. While Albert had been determined to run the course, even in the mud, Alex had decided to stay in and read the day away. It was Saturday, so she didn't have many classes scheduled, just some lab time for her chemistry course. She would be assisting with cooking the evening meal later as part of her Etiquette and Domestic curriculum as well. She was getting quite proficient in the kitchen, able to cook most simple things without a recipe, and working into more complex dishes. Chester, the head of household staff, came in around noon; bringing with him a tea service with a light salad for lunch. He waited until she looked up from her book, placing a home made book mark to mark her spot and closing it to give him her full attention. "Miss Alexandra, I've brought you some lunch. Mr. Albert's will be waiting for him when he returns from his time on the course, but I thought to bring yours now." Chester was in his early fifties, and despite appearing quite benevolent, he'd been through the Second World War. His placid features had seen all the awfulness of war, as well as watching most of his charges all die since then. Alex aspired to be able to do that some day, to be able to tuck away all the awfulness she had seen and stride forward. "Of course, Chester. Thank you. If he's not back in another half hour or so, I'll go and fetch him for lunch. He's bound to be hungry." She glanced out the large window of the library at the gray sky, the clouds had hung on despite the storm from the night before. Since she'd gotten sick, despite being better now, she'd been very hesitant to go out in bad weather for any length of time. Always concerned that she would end up back there, feeling her life draining away bit by bit. At least Albert understood why, and didn't seem to mind overmuch when she stayed inside. He didn't want to see her fall ill again either. "Yes, and also, your lab time has been rescheduled to tomorrow, since Lord Spencer will be joining us for dinner this evening. He's requested to see your Odette from Swan Lake as well." Which meant that in all honesty, Alex wouldn't be eating a heavy dinner, if she ate anything at all. Not that it was any large concern of hers, her appetite was as skittish as a newborn colt. Alex managed to nod her way stiffly through the rest of the conversation, but everything had gone incredibly cold. By the time Chester had left her to her food, she was practically shivering in her chair, her long sleeved blouse doing little to stave off the chill. She tried to eat part of the salad, got a few bites down, she wouldn't be eating again until much later...she should eat something, but she was so cold that it was almost made it impossible. She hadn't performed Odette for some time, she needed to practice. She only had a few hours. She stood up and glanced at the mostly untouched food, time enough to sneak something if she managed to do so later. Soon enough she was in her own little dance studio, the barre mounted up on the wall opposite the wall of mirrors. She moved to the armoire on the far wall, along with an elegant art deco room divider that she used as a changing screen. She pulled out an outfit that she could practice in, but looking at her pointe shoes? She felt sick. She wasn't fresh on this variation, she had no hope of perfecting it, and she wouldn't be able to perform it...she'd disappoint. The idea of the looks on their faces, Albert's concern over her stumble and the failure it represented, and the look of Spencer's disappointment that promised worse. She reached into the large standing cabinet, rummaging as her thoughts started to quicken, her anxiety rapidly ramping up. She had to be perfect. Anything less was unacceptable. If she'd known he was coming she could have spent a few days practicing until she was refreshed. To do that in a few hours was hopeless, she was hopeless, shouldn't even bo--, why was she even trying? Round and round her thoughts spun until she found the perfect thing...fabric shears. Seeing the silver wink at her in the light she couldn't help but laugh, and it sounded strange. Hysteric. Distorted by the room. It didn't sound like it came from inside her at all. Frantically Alex pulled every single one of her costumes, all of her shoes, her tights, her leotards for practice. All of it. If she was just going to be a disappointment, then it just didn't matter, did it? Failure wasn't acceptable, and it'd just be taken away from her after she failed. It was better to cut it out yourself than to have it taken. Better to do the breaking than to be broken. The laugh got louder, more pitched, and then when she took a breath to bring the shears into her slippers and they caught on the leather soles she screamed in frustration. Most of the staff knew better than to go into the room, despite the open door, they could just watch as she started to cut through the shoes. Nettie, one of the newest staff to the house, a scullery maid went to head into the room to try and calm her down, but Chester's thick hand grabbed her arm before she could properly cross the threshold. He shook his head. "Nettie, go and find Mr. Albert. He's out on the course somewhere, tell him that Alex is very upset in her studio. It should bring him right up." He said in a low, urgent tone to her. She hadn't seen this sort of behavior from the usually mild mannered girl yet. After Alex worked through the leather sole of one shoe, she went to the next, one after another, through three pairs. And then moved on to her tutus, which also were not cheap. Every one of them was specifically made for her, had tiny little crystals sewn into the tulle so they sparkled in the light as she danced. Some were dyed so the color seemed to shift with movement...but all of them ended life in tatters. Her silver shears went to everything, leaving an utter mess around her on the floor bits of tulle sticking to her blouse and legs. She didn't hear the sound of Albert running up the stairs, nor the nearly snarled "Move." he gave the staff cluttered in the doorway, nor how curtly he shut the door in their disgustingly curious faces. As if they were not so secretly enjoying her suffering. She had managed to pull her hair loose from her bun and was holding a fistful of it in one hand as she stared at it and brought the shears up to start in on that. Perhaps /he/ wouldn't want to see her like this at all. He'd leave her /alone/ if she wasn't perfect. (Her mind was too spun up to think what that would mean for Albert, about the insidious threats that had been implied if she didn't comply, she was incredibly easy to manipulate once you saw her weak point.) Albert was just /there/ seemingly all of a sudden, like magic, all muddy, a little winded and gently pulling the scissors out of her hand as he sat down. He looked quite ridiculous surrounded by all the tiny bits of very girlish tulle in his muddied shoes and sweats. Where one of the staff would have gotten a nasty slice if they'd touched her? Albert was rewarded with a pair of shears, from her semi relaxed hand. Next he got the hand out of her hair, taking both of them and simply keeping hold of them for her. Alex tried to pull one of them away only once, little more than a reflex, but he shook his head as he held on to them a little tighter til she relaxed again, and reason started to swim back into her eyes. They just sat there, until she was still, her breathing was normal, her eyes were clear. At Nettie's pestering, Chester did call and make their excuses to Lord Spencer, claiming Miss Alexandra had gone outside and caught a bit of a chill while her brother was running the course, and perhaps he should visit in a few days when she wasn't feeling so under the weather if he wished to see her perform. 0 Comments  Report Post

04/01/2020 11:27 PM  Separation, England, 1976 “Albert?!” Alex called, running up the stairs of the manor, her steps rapid, but delicate, an envelope clutched in her pale hand. She had just gotten the tickets for her ballet performance. She was to perform at the big recital hall in two weeks, she’d been working so hard to get it perfect...and the tickets had finally gotten there! “Albert! They’re here! You’ll be right up front for my performance!” She was doing a variation from Don Quixote, the most technically difficult piece she’d ever done. She was so excited, she’d gotten permission for him to go along! Her loose blonde hair fell around her face in waves when she stopped at the head of the stairs, having come loose from her bun. Where was he? He wasn’t set to be in classes...perhaps he was out back? He liked to run the course in his spare time. Sometimes she’d read in the shade of one of the tress and keep his times for him in a little notebook. She frowned...and turned to pad back down the stairs, heading out into the expansive grounds that their home was situated on. Part mansion, part school, part medical facility, the place was huge. Especially considering it had originally been designed to house thirteen of the best and brightest of the future of Umbrella. Now that they were the only two left, the place was massive. They’d all played hide and seek as a child, making Hans count and come find them. Alex had always hid with Albert, the pair of them in the same room, splitting their spots so that one could be a distraction for the other if needed. She had always burst out and run before he could be found, though. They didn’t play such childish games any more, but they were one of the fonder memories that she had of them when they had all been together, before the deaths had started. She couldn’t remember all of their faces anymore...just lots of blonde hair and big blue eyes. The back yard, was almost a forest in parts, but the obstacle course was clustered in a few acres, wouldn’t be too hard to get to. She kept hold of the envelope and searched for him there. He wasn’t there. She checked the firing range, the library, the dining room, the kitchen, the medical bay. He wasn’t anywhere. It took her two hours before she headed back to his room in defeat, her earlier excitement turning into frustration. He had bested her at his impromptu game of hide and seek...and she was not pleased about it. “Albert! How did you managed to get—“ she said as she opened the door to his room without knocking, her bun having come utterly loose in her search. His room was empty. “Wha—“ she said, her emotions swinging wildly away from her control and into extreme panic and fear in the span of two heartbeats. No, he hadn’t been sick...they all got sick before they died! It was never this quick! She’d been sick for weeks before...he’d been here this morning! She’d said she’d see him later when she got back from the tailors for...for her costume. He’d said he’d be here. Now he wasn’t....what had happened?!? She didn’t even realize she was crying as she headed back towards the front door. Only to see Lord Spencer standing there, unbuttoning his suit jacket and looking at her disheveled state with utter contempt on his face. “You’re a mess, Alexandra. Put yourself together and meet me for dinner in twenty minutes.” The tone in his voice was scathing, and she immediately went still, her whole being coiling back in on itself like she’d been burned. She nodded, and turned to run—walk back upstairs. When she got up there, she went back to her room, putting the crumpled envelope in the drawer of her vanity and closing it softly. Her panic had ruined the ticket inside, she knew...and that cracked her again. She pressed at it compulsively, trying to smooth out the damage she’d done, her jaw clenching tight in attempts not to cry again. She’d ruined it. She’d...she’d ruined it. Eventually her mind screamed at her that she needed to get downstairs and she looked at the mirror as if her head had been yanked up by a string. Her posture totally stiff, proper, as she’d been trained with her jaw parallel to the floor. Mechanical. Fake. Unreal. Alex sank back into her unreality for a moment, letting it wash over her and calm the raging storm that kept threatening to spill out of her in a torrent. After precisely one blink, one moment of utter stillness she began to get herself back together, patting dry her face. Then she quickly picked out a suitable dress and put it on, zipping it up and then putting her face back to rights, a little foundation. Lord Spencer didn’t like her too made up, but she had gotten blotchy with her crying and she needed to smooth that out. Her hair was resorted into a tight bun, pulled back tight enough she felt it may rip itself out of her scalp if she sneezed. After a light bit of gloss, she stood...and headed back down to dinner. Dinner with the man....who...dinner with their father and their benefactor. Her steps were silent and her posture was perfect as she came into the dining room, Spencer already sitting at the head of the table. She walked to her chair and waited for his nod. It took five whole minutes of him examining her, his gaze going lecherous by the end, but nothing so obvious that someone else would see, no, but she could see it. He was trying to crack her again. She wouldn’t break this time. This was a test, and she was very good at tests. After she seemingly passed her test, he nodded and she sat down without a word, expertly sitting, with her hands folded in her lap as she turned to look at him, her face serene and placid. The face of the ballerina, grace and poise. A still pond. “Lord Spencer, to what do we owe this visit?” She asked, not catching that she had referred to both of them before the words were out of her mouth. She’d gotten so used to them. “Well, it seemed a shame to waste a meal for two if only one of you was going to be eating. Your brother won’t be joining us. He’s been shifted to another location, he’s going to work with some of our other best and brightest on a secret project.” As he spoke, the staff brought in dinner and set it on plates before them, pulling the covers off. A beautiful pasta dish. Not a full set of courses this time, since the meal had been planned for just the two siblings. They didn’t dine on ceremony when alone really. Alex felt the world fall out from beneath her, pulled away like a rug. What/ How...how come she wasn’t going? She was...arguably more intelligent in some of the sciences than he was. Why couldn’t she go? It shifted beneath her face, showing in her eyes, as she wrangled her whirlwind back into some semblance of order. “That’s wonderful news, I’m sure he’s very pleased. He’ll do—” “You’re not going, Alexandra. You’re not ready to be around people.” He interrupted her, her mouth snapping shut as soon as he spoke, and she nodded in response. Though it wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before...she’d picked up some bad habits over the last few years, and when she’d finally killed that teacher that had gotten Albert beaten for missing the mark on a test when they were young. It was years later, almost a full 8? But she’d done it. She’d whispered about it over supper. Albert had smiled, and they’d talked about other things. She’d done all she could to erase every bit of it, the only time he’d cried. Alex was the crier of the two of them, but she was more volatile. Things had happened to her differently. He’d never made her feel bad about it, and it wasn’t as if she cried at the drop of a hat...she just had more than one instance of it in his presence. Alex still hadn’t picked up a fork, because Spencer had not. ‘Liar. Liar. Liarliarliarliarliar. You promised that he could stay, if I did everything you wanted, if I was perfect. I did everything. I did everything you asked. All of it. I was your perfect little girl, I was your prized pupil. I play your beastly little games. I let you...ruin me. I let you rut on me like some disgusting thing.’ Her mind started to spin away from her again, her thoughts echoing against the frantic staccato beating of her heart. Her hands in her lap were tight fists, tearing the scars on her palms open on her sharp nails. “Well, I’m sure I can be ready in short order, if you tell me what I can improve upon.” Her tone was tight, brittle, close to fracture. She was standing on the edge of an abyss and the wind was starting to howl. She couldn’t fly, she didn’t have wings...and besides, devil’s can’t fly. They can only fall. “We’ll get to that, Alexandra. First...let’s have dinner before it get’s cold. We’ll discuss what you can do to improve after dinner.” Albert never did get to see her performance of the variation from Don Quixote. Spencer had brought a board member he was wanting to impress instead. She had been perfect all the same, but she never performed in front of an audience again. 0 Comments  Report Post

02/21/2020 09:19 PM  Raccoon City, 1990 I always feel like a prop at these functions, Umbrella yearly conventions. Having to show up, stand there and smile for the board and their simpering wives. Spencer totes us both out every year. No matter what our feelings on the matter were, no matter what we had going on. It’s just unpleasant. It leaves me with the familiar feeling that my skin is crawling. That my body is not mine, that it doesn't belong to me. That there’s an Umbrella logo stamped on each of my organs. That I wholly belong to these people. That I am caged. That I’m not /real/. It’s always been a struggle of mine, though Albert has never seemed to feel it…which is a blessing. I look in a mirror and see a ghost looking back at me, trapped, pale, /suffocating./ I would not wish that feeling on him. No. I never want him to feel that. Despite my feelings, I am ever the dutiful daughter, I smile and make polite conversation. I am poise and grace. It's all a farce, though. I don't care about most of them, and some I actively hate. I just don't put my foot down and say "No, I'm not going, I have other things to do." because it's really just not worth the fight it would cause. Also, I always get to see Albert at these things, since he always seems to show up, too. We are both dutiful children, if nothing else. I haven't seen my brother yet, and usually he's quite easy to spot. He cuts a fine figure in a suit, and there are few here that young with a shock of blonde hair. So, I make my rounds, waiting for him to arrive. He's the only person I actually wish to see. "Earl Ashford, it's wonderful to see you! How is the deep south treating you?" I asked the blonde man, who for a second I had hoped was Albert, until I saw the jacket that he was wearing. Albert wouldn't be caught dead in that crazy get up. It was some sort of formal regalia for nobility that had been replaced a while ago. The real power lay in science these days. Alfred Ashford wasn't really the smartest of the bunch...but nepotism is a powerful thing for birth children in noble classes. Some of us aren't quite so lucky. Some of us had to pay a high price indeed for our places in the Company. I hate him for it. The young man looks at me, and for a second I think he's seeing someone else in me as well, but he recovers himself and nods, "Ms. Wesker, you look lovely this evening, and I find the climate to be detestable but it's perfect for the studies that we're doing." He offers me his arm, with a charming smile at my pun about the weather in Antarctica. I take it, keeping an eye out for the Lord Spencer, pleased to be free of him for the time being. It's a short calm before the storm, because I know I'll be called to prance for him all too soon. He trots me out in front of donors after he tells them about my brush with death as a child. Every year. "Thank you, my Lord. You're quite handsome as well, dressed to impress. I feel like I should curtsy." He starts to say it's not necessary, but then it turns to a laugh as I do so, seemingly flattered as we continue to move across the room, and I spy Albert at the door, speaking with two people who I would guess are the Birkin couple. "Ah, it seems my brother is here, I must go snag him before he gets swept away from me in this crowd. It was a pleasure, my Lord." I give his arm a gentle squeeze before I'm moving away, skirting the dance floor, towards Albert. Seeing him has been quite difficult as of late, he was always either working in the labs with Will or living his cover life...it's left me quite lonely. We're probably a bit codependent at times, but it's simply a product of our upbringing. He was the only one to show me any kindness when we were young, as I was the only one to show him any. Our bond is the strongest relationship that either of us have. I don't even understand how to relate to other people, they're small and strange...and their lives seem so easy? So uncomplicated. And yet they struggle so with them. I have no sympathy for their troubles, and no empathy to speak of either. I almost make it to the small cluster of three, and I even raise my hand to get one of the trio's attention but then...it's too late. Spencer and his sycophants are there and demanding my attention, as if they sprouted foul and fully grown from the tile floor under my feet. "Alexandra! I was just telling our guests about our miraculous projects in gene therapy, decades ahead of anything else on the planet and they said they simply had to meet you. This is Dr. Amira and Dr. Norannon, they're thinking about coming to do their research projects with Umbrella." Spencer's voice feels likes nails in my ears and I tense like a scared rabbit for one single moment. Telling me with just that last sentence what my role is to be, how I am to perform, what is expected of me. I have been trained well over the years. Albert glances up at the exact moment I tense, almost as if he can feel it from across the room, eyes narrowed and looking for me. I can only hope that he sees me as I turn to face the new trio, smiling my most winning smile and forcing the tension in my back to lessen some. I'm taller than all of them in my heels, and I've been told I'm intimidating when I 'tower'. "Pleased to meet you both." --- "It's amazing, what the Lord Spencer has been implying, they have a way to cure autoimmune diseases? Simply amazing. Good lord!" Amira is an eager, interested sort, and I have a feeling that if I could calm him down, we could actually have a proper and spirited scientific discussion. However, there's a bit of social ineptitude there too, as I get the distinct impression that he's just about to reach out and start groping my joints to check for pain and inflammation. A slow drip of cold anger begins to trickle down my spine. This is when I am at my best, when I'm subtly angry, my thoughts are glittering crystals. Sharp and lethal as any scalpel. It's when I lie my best. "The Lord Spencer plays his cards close to his chest, we have to in times like these...but yes. I did have a terminal autoimmune disorder as a child, extremely rare, but with Umbrella's help? I'm still right as rain sixteen years later. With no further treatment. All because they took a chance on a 'far fetched' research project. Umbrella's still changing the world today." It's perhaps not a full lie, but it's highly embellished and there is a lot omitted. The core is true, but my feelings on the matter do not bring a smile to my face, far from it. Norannon seems the more hesitant, but even he is partially swayed by my charms. I can tell by the way he asks more personal questions. "And you, what have you done with your second lease on life?" There's a reason that I'm the one who sells the dream. Most in the Scientific community are male, over the age of forty, and lead very dull social lives. I'm the charming, beautiful success story, and the fact that, most of the time, their eye line is closer to my chest in heels than my eyes doesn't hurt matters. It's sickening, but the name of the game. Sex sells. "I actually came to work for Umbrella, my brother and I both did. I'm just finishing up my doctorate. My dissertation will be done this year, and I'll be going into research soon after. It's very exciting, and all thanks to Lord Spencer." I give the old man my most grateful look, leaning to press a brief kiss to his cheek, mimicking the feeling that I know he wants to see....all while wanting to dig my fingers into the sagging flesh of his face and tear it free. Let him show his true grinning skull to the world. They'd recoil properly. I hate him. I've hated him for years. The cool drip of anger has started to become ice in the middle of my chest, and it's only a matter of time before I can't keep it out of my eyes any more. Subtle anger is one thing, but a prolonged performance leaves me cold. I only have so much in me to give. Thankfully, I hear a smooth baritone over the surrounding conversation. "Alex?" At the first syllable, I could sink into his voice...solace, a balm for the ice in my veins, warmth and all the safety I've ever known. "I've been looking all over for you. Has Lord Spencer been keeping you all to himself tonight? That's not very fair." There's a solid presence to my left and sure enough I turn and there's a pair of slightly darker blue eyes, and a head of blonde hair. Always coming to save the day, it seems. My hero. "Oh, this is my brother I was just talking about. Albert, I've just been meeting two wonderful men who are thinking about bringing their projects into Umbrella. These are Dr.s Amira and Norannon." I place a hand on his arm, and use the other to gesture to the two doctors in turn, the seemingly casual touch a cue that I am not doing well. We have a language all our own, like twins, but it's a faceted thing, a code no one else would be able to break. Body language, touch, a pause in a sentence with eye contact, a series of slight chips in the paint on a door frame or a table top. A language built in a place where we were always watched, but never loved. "Pleased to meet you, but I'm going to have to steal my sister...I feel like I haven't gotten to see her in months." His tone is light and casual, but he doesn't quite pull off the smile. He's a leader, and he is used to having his orders followed. These meek creatures are putty before him, already nodding their goodbyes. Spencer, though? In his eyes is a rage at being disobeyed. Someone may have to pay that price, but for now Albert gently guides me away, and we head for the large balcony and the open air. "Thank you..." I manage in a quiet whisper, one hand a tight fist, nails digging furrows into my palm as I master the anger and do my best to keep the tension only in my hand and not in my walk, shoulders, or face. "It's fine, let's get you a seat and I'll grab us some drinks." His tone is quiet, almost soft. He isn't a soft man, by any stretch. Charming, callous, and firm...soft is not something he shows other people. Softness equates to weakness, which equates to failure, and neither of us can afford to fail. Ever. The balcony is less packed than the ballroom, and there's an empty table by the railing that I sit down at...uncoiling my hand and placing it flat on the table to try and let go of the twisting feeling in my stomach. Without a word more, he's gone to get us drinks from the waiter at the wet bar that's been set up out here and I can finally breathe properly. Free of the miasma that hangs around the old man like a choking fog. I think he knows why I get so upset by Spencer, but we've never talked about it. I don't believe we ever will...because I think that if the words were said? I really believe Albert would kill him. I can't let that happen...it'd be too high profile, and Spencer is why we are allowed as much freedom in Umbrella as we are. Without his indulgence, I fear that things could be far worse than they are at the current time. There's so much anger in us both, but his sometimes translates into physical action. I just have to make sure that I won't be the cause of something so drastic, I couldn't bear to see him in trouble for something I'd said. Not that it wouldn't be intensely satisfying to watch my brother crack the old man's skull on the pavement like an overripe melon. Oh no...that would be very pleasant. Very...cathartic to watch. --- "...Alex." I heard, almost distantly after what felt like a long time of sitting there, lost in my own head. I'd been...distracted by things that were old, and best left dead where they lay. Hidden in basements. Abandoned and sealed shut. "Yeah, I'm sorry." I replied, smiling faintly to reassure my brother that I was fine, when he returned with drinks. Champagne. It was the color of our hair, and still fizzing slightly. I didn't doubt for a second that if there was more light that he would see my smile for what it was, placation. A lie. I was not fine, but we weren't the type to talk about our problems, unless they were fixable. A childhood of varied traumas is not fixable. Not really. You scar up and you move on. You don't let it happen again. You sleep with a knife under your pillow and carry a gun in your purse. No matter what, you do not allow it to happen again. That's how you deal with trauma. It doesn't change anything, neither does hand holding or coddling. "Don't apologize to me, you're fine. As good a reason as any to get out of that ballroom." The words are casual, but I know that he's placating me as well. It wouldn't have bothered him to remain back there, he'd only just arrived. Albert tapped the table twice with a finger, next to my hand that was still laying flat on the table, palm down. Signalling for me to turn over the hand I'd been curling into a fist, knowing better than to touch me at the moment. Perceptive. Kind, in it's own way. He wanted to see the damage. I watched the back of my hand for a moment, deciding if I wanted to rip the band aid off before downing the glass of champagne, or afterward. I decided on afterwards and downed the glass in one go. They weren't large glasses to begin with, but when I set the glass down I turned my hand over for him to see. Four, tiny bloody crescents marred my palm. On which he placed a cocktail napkin, allowing me to curl my hand back up to clean up with. Ballroom dancing may yet happen and I can't go around leaving bloody tracks on people. Wouldn't send the right impression. The impression is that I am happy, that I am smiling and graceful. That I am...pleased to be there. The impression matters more than reality, because this isn't reality. This is a masquerade ball, and the mask is my face. 0 Comments  Report Post

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