Taffer Notes: February 1st: Joy - Let's start off with a dramatic moment: Your characters are celebrating a victorious battle!
Fandom: Resident Evil | Characters: Chris Redfield, Piers Nivans
#Alive Below his feet, the black depths of the ocean hold on tight, and Chris feels his stomach lurch. They want him back. Want them back. The emergency pod jerks. Tumbles up and up and up and up, the bullhole all bubbles and green and black water rushing by.
When it hits the surface, they're both torn off their feet.
Pies falls with a strangled, strained laugh, and Chris knocks his head against a stubborn wall. Sees stars. Sees hues of red, gold and soft pinks where a dawn floods the pod after he yanks the hatch release down. Fresh air. Salt. Seaweed. Sweat and gun oil and dirt when Piers slings an arm around his shoulder trying to keep himself upright as he staggers to the hatch.
The grip tightens as the waves tosses their ride, sends them bobbing heedlessly across the an endless sheet of roiling mirrors.
"We fucking made it," Piers says, and Chris can't find words. Just nods. Smiles. Still can't believe it, but that'll come with time.
And when the ropes and pulleys descend from the evac chopper, they're sitting with their eyes turned to it. Exhausted. Spent. Done.
Alive.
Bonus: Fandom: Dying Light, Resident Evil | Characters: Kyle Crane, Chris Redfield, Sadja Shielding
# Spoilsport Sadja is quick. He gives her that. Too quick almost. And she absolutely never plays fair. Kyle is okay with that, with the elbows and the clicking teeth. Not the unfortunately placed knee in his lap thought. That one's just not right, especially not when it digs deeper because she's trying to climb over his head to get to the TV remote he's holding out of reach.
But two can play that game.
A roll of his shoulder under her, and she's upside down. Her GNAH gets muffled when her face hits the couch, and tapers off when he stuffs a pillow over it. "Not fair— " he thinks he hears her grunt/moan/state, but he's already sitting on her back. Good luck lifting those 171 lbs of Crane, you little shit.
She tries. Fails. Tries again, and he smushes the pillow down a bit harder.
"Tap out," is what he's got to advise her with.
"Vaaguu."
He snorts, grins, and shift his ass on her spine in a happy little victory dance. Wiggle-Wiggle-Wiggle, while the remote gets a quick, triumphant flick through the air.
Except it doesn't come back down. Kyle's eyes cut to Redfield walking past, his prize now in the fucking bastard's hand, who's already channel surfing on his way down on the couch next to the squirming, wailing bundle.
God damn spoilsport, Kyle thinks and pouts. So much for Thursday evening Archer re-runs..
