Remember that Sherry fanfic I was talking about months ago? I finally finished it. I wish I could have done a cleaner job with the chess metaphor, then I remembered that this is Resident Evil and doing that is completely acceptable.
This is mostly a self-indulgent piece about my RE2-babies. It was mostly inspired by Ada in RE6 running around saving everyone's asses. I joked with a friend that she probably breaks into the other characters houses and leaves them gifts.
Why chess? Because you spend a good deal of time in RE6 picking up bloody chess pieces.
-I mention Ada as having both Green and Brown eyes. Both are canon. I am being Capcom-consistent.
New chapter of Real or Not Real will be up soon-ish.
-B
Chess Rules.
The King can move to any of the squares pointed to by an arrow in the diagram on the left. The king is the main chess piece. The side whose king is captured loses. This capture is called 'checkmate'. Checkmate happens once the king is under attack, cannot move and cannot be helped by its own army of chessmen.
The Queen can move any number of squares diagonally and also in horizontal and vertical directions. The Queen, however, cannot jump over any pieces.
The Bishop can move any number of squares diagonally only. The Bishop, however, cannot jump over any pieces.
The Knight can make a move that consists of first one step in a horizontal or vertical direction, and then one step diagonally in an outward direction. The knight jumps: it is allowed that the first square that the knight passes over is occupied by an arbitrary piece.
For you growing up involved white walls and endless tests. The tight space and lack of sun made you small and pale, but from what you've heard, Birkins (like some bonzais) thrive in such conditions.
Books were your escape mainly. You read constantly. Some fiction, but mostly scientific journals and histories. You had memorized War and Peace by age fourteen. You read how-to manuals on everything from programming Software, to playing Chess, to Molecular biology.
The biology came to you the easiest. Cells formed patterns in your mind that bonded and formed new life. Viral life.
You decided to stop reading biology textbooks. For the good of humankind.
But, the chess stuck. There were over 16,000 ways to open a game of chess. The thought fascinated you. It was like chaos theory. Just by playing one game you were opening yourself up to thousands of different universes and outcomes.
You began to see the world through chess metaphors instead of strands of DNA. The limited connection to the outside world via laptop just led to more games pitting yourself against the computer. That and the news, you were always on the lookout for the next big outbreak.
You even began to see the people in your life as chess pieces. The nurses and guards checking you were merely pawns in your life. The big pieces were reserved for your many parents. Those who saw the scared girl in Raccoon City and thought, 'Yeah, I'm gonna adopt the shit out of that.'
Each parent vying for your affection was just another shift across a board.
A scarf from the White Queen. Warm, soft, safe. It still smelled like her and you kept it wrapped around your pillow for comfort. The thick blue material provided not just a barrier from cold weather, but a cold world.
A slim photo album courtesy of the Black King. You kept it hidden beneath your mattress. It wasn't often that you took it out to look at the waxy faded pictures of your dead mother and father. In a rare moment of sentimentality he had even thought to include some grainy video camera footage of that night in the labs. The black and grey blobs were like static that you remembered with perfect clarity.
From the Black Bishop, you were re-gifted an item that you thought was lost. In reality it was stolen, by her. You felt your jaw clench and your lip wobble as you stared at the round golden locket still attached to its chain. With shaking hands you pried open the clasp to see the picture of your family still there. Inside was a red post-it note. You unstuck the little paper and read.
"Sorry."
-A (and a kiss)
The White Knight brought you presents the most often. Childs' things, girls' things when you got older. He brought you stuffed bears and expensive perfume. He tried really hard to be a father to you. The knight just never properly stopped being a boy. He was gone most of the time, and when he was there would be spent staring at the wall with tears behind his eyes. You would hold him as wept, and then smile pleasantly when he's promise to visit for the next holiday.
The strange thing is, you've never stopped loving any of them.
Things got better when you reached maturity and were given a house to match your new salary and gun. It was easier for family to visit when you had a home.
Also easier for the family members on the shadier side of the law. Your boss saw fit to install security cameras outside of your house for 'safety purposes'. They were never going to trust you. Growing up with that had given you a chip on your shoulder and the need to prove yourself to authority figures.
They were traits you inherited from the heroic parents, and ones you were proud of.
Moving into your new house was a lonely affair. Claire would be visiting tomorrow and Leon whenever his Protection Detail let up. Last text you received from him was a warning that he'd be blacking out communication for an unspecified amount of time. That was almost a month ago.
Your contributions to the otherwise furnished apartment could fit into two small boxes. Gifts, clothes, and your gadgets. The phone your work had issued you and a laptop. Wireless came with the house. The first night of freedom was sadly, rather boring. Instead of having a night on the town, or throwing a party, you ended up watching CNN in your underwear and eating pasta.
Ada was the first of your parents to visit. You were lying on your side listening to the thunder when you heard your window rasp open. Your fingers slipped effortlessly to the grip of your pistol as you heard the sound of a body slip in. Memories of throaty groans and wet mouths begging for flesh flooded your body with adrenaline. Cold hands snapped around your wrists before you had the chance. You turned your head to see lightning reflected in jade coloured eyes.
"Hey Kid." She said.
Then she rolled off you to take off her shoes and jacket.
"What are you..." You trailed off.
Long, chilly limbs wrapped around yours and you felt the blade of her chin tuck over your head. It was a surreal experience, but she smelled of Chanel No. 5, gunpowder, and fresh rain. You wondered if it was a compliment that she trusted you this much. You felt nervous about even breathing different, until fingers kneaded themselves against your skull. Having your hair finger combed was incredibly relaxing. Your eyes began to droop almost instantly.
"Goodnight, Ada, or whatever your name is." You said.
She was gone in the morning. In her place was a copy of 'A Man Called Intrepid' for your collection.
"You can't have a proper housewarming without a roast." Claire said.
You wanted to tell her about Ada crawling into bed with you, but something held your tongue. As a child you had watched the two women dance around each other. They were the able-bodied adults of your sad foursome. Neither had much experience with teamwork or getting along with other women. Their communications were exasperated and biting. However, you couldn't help but see the way Claire adjusted her posture to mimic Ada's whenever she wasn't in the room. They both looked like they wanted to run away most of the time. But, it was their responsibility to save you and Leon. To save each other. They were too proud to admit their mutual admiration or need. You wondered if Ada ever broke in and spooned Claire in the dead of night.
"Hey Sher-bear, why so quiet?"
Pale fingers lifted your chin so your head was leveled with a grey-blue stare. You bumped her hand into a nuzzle.
"Sorry Claire-bear, moving is exhausting."
She fixed you that almost-scary smile and head tilt that looked felt yourself shrink under her stare, you'd spill any secrets to get her to stop that. Instead, she just laughed her loud laugh and said.
"Oh, Sweetheart, you didn't even have to move any furniture."
Her patronizing tone made you pout, but she brought you cake and roast. That and she's Claire and she would personally remove the head of the president with bare hands in order to keep you safe. She loved you, she was just a snarky person. It's genetic from what you've heard via Leon. He's had to deal with both Redfields from time to time.
Claire tugged you into a warm embrace. As a child you learned quickly that your parents and blankets could not keep you safe from thing that went bump in the night. Claire on the other hand, had a superior track record. Her arms were and always will be your oasis. You soaked up the shelter of her strong arms and thick waist. Claire smelled like motor oil, fresh air, and pine. Like how you imagined an old-timey log cabin would.
"Are you wearing Chanel?" She asked.
Your go-to 'caught in a booboo' response is to gawk wordlessly then say,
"What."
"Sherry."
"What? Oh look at that the roast is burning."
"No it's not."
"Distraction!" You shouted.
You tried to duck under Claire's outstretched arm, then tuck and roll out of the kitchen. However, Claire was aware of your tactics and used to your bullshit. Instead, she knocked you on your back and proceeded to sit on you.
"You're crushing my organs!"
She rolled her eyes at you.
"You can end this by just spilling the beans, Sherry. Come on. I know we all get a little lonely sometimes. I make no judgements about trolling hotel bars for drunk girls and then going down on them in the bathroom. Taking them home even, I guess it's a good way to break in the new house. I just hope you changed your sheets afterward. Good hygiene is always important."
"What." You raise both brows.
"Say 'what' again, Motherfucker I dare you."
"Seriously, what the hell was that about?"
Too late did you realise you had just said 'what' again. Claire exhaled loudly through her nose and tugged your shirt up.
"No! Claire please stop!"
Wet lips connected with your stomach and a rush of air exploded against the sensitive flesh. You wailed and tried to wriggle away from the weird, ticklish sensation. Raspberries, your biggest weakness.
"Ada broke into my room and cuddled me!"
Claire rested her chin on your stomach and stared up at you. She blinked; once, twice before nodding and getting up onto her knees.
"Okay."
"You seriously believe that?"
"Oh yeah. Sounds like something she'd do. One week I was feeling super down and phantom pudding cups kept appearing in the fridge at work. They had these little red post-it notes on them and said they were for me."
"Good. 'cause she mails me presents all the time and I've been hiding them from you guys."
"You mean like the picture albums from Wesker?"
"What."
Memories of the Black King were twisted and juxtaposed. He was an evil terrorist and horrible man altogether. He was also your Uncle Al. He took you out for ice cream on Fridays and spent more time with you than your own parents. When he and your Daddy were together they would speak in almost complete scientific gibberish before leaving on long walks. Your house was on the outskirts of town, close to the Arklay Mountains. Now you knew why.
"Hold still. This shan't take more than a minute." He said.
The needle slid under your skin easily. Unlike other girls your age, needles didn't bother you. You had seen enough of them as a child and recognized their value. Uncle Al was giving you a vaccine against the bite of a human. Rumour was that there was cannibals loose in your neighbourhood and the human mouth was a filthy thing.
Of course, from what you've learned since then, he was dosing you with tiny amounts of t-virus. Still, in all the years since then, he has never ended contact with you. Even when you were locked up and treated like a guinea pig in a Government facility, he still found ways to make you aware of his presence. It was eerie and also comforting.
The older you got, the less of him you really remembered. It was just old photographs you had to go on. His eyes were no longer the colour of rainy days. He likely didn't smell like English Leather and thin mints. The hands that gently held yours were stained with innocent blood.
It was like pieces of a puzzle that didn't match up properly. Uncle Al. Bioterrorist Albert Wesker.
But you were getting used to duality. Your loving (citation needed) parents were virus-breeding monsters. The mayor couldn't lead and the police chief was a known rapist. Raccoon City was the set up to an offensive joke. You sucked at humour though.
You got up from your laptop and journal entries to get a bowl of yogurt from the kitchen. You had the bowl on the counter and your head in the fridge when you felt the air around you shift.
If it was Ada you were going to demand pudding cups.
Slowly, you closed the refrigerator door and straightened your spine. Damn, it wasn't Ada.
"Wesker." You said.
The path of your eyes flicked to the block filled with kitchen knives. With his speed and your healing this could be an interesting fight. For the first time that evening you properly looked at him.
He was in a navy T-shirt and grey jeans. Sunglasses, as usual, were present on his face. In his hands he held a parcel. His mouth was curved downward in an expression you recognized as calculating.
"Sooo... what are you doing in my house? Let me rephrase that, what happened to doors?"
"I'd like to be able to talk without the United States Government busting through the windows." He said.
"A little late for that. They have my house bugged."
You watched his eyebrows raise above his shades. In a blur he ran around your apartment-sweeping for bugs.
He returned with a trio and dropped them into a glass jar.
"That's taken care of."
There was a tense pause of you pursing your lips and contemplating hitting the 'PANIC' button on your phone. He seemed to be measuring you up for it. Instead, you asked,
"Do you want some tea?"
His nod was slight, like the tip of his lips,
"Yes, thank you, that would be lovely."
Your hands shook as you searched through the many jars, tins, and boxes of tea you had in your cupboard. You remembered he had a fondness for either a Ceylon blend or Lemon Chamomile.
"Herbal or black?" You decided to just ask.
"Herbal, please. I've had quite a lot of stress to deal with lately."
"I would imagine trying to destroy the world would create a few ulcers."
"Careful, dear. Let's not say anything we can't take back." Wesker said.
It was Claire's influence that kept you talking.
"Or you'll what? Choke me and alert the US Government of your presence. Sure. Send a whole squad here. That would go over well. Why are you even here if you're going to make death threats?"
There was an impressed silence hanging between you. The kettle huffed and whistled, yet neither of you said anything. You poured the tea into cheesy mugs, because you couldn't afford a good china pattern (yet) on your allowance. You pushed the one that had the Capricorn horoscope on it over to Wesker. He nodded and thanked you quietly before licking his lips and changing the subject.
"Did you get the necklace I sent?"
"Yeah."
You stood with your ass against the kitchen counter. The cupboard's handle was just to the left of your head. Back against the wall, you were in your power stance. The queen of your own home.
"Why aren't you wearing it?"
"I don't like having my neck weighed down by diamonds while I'm lounging around the house. Not really the place for it. Might get some Kraft Dinner stuck in the chain."
Wesker looked almost curious for a second, before you heard a familiar and almost soothing rumble erupt from his chest. His shoulders shook with the surprise laughter. His sunglasses bounced down his nose as the chuckles abated into occasional giggles.
"Yes, I can see that's a rather silly question. What I meant Sherry," He stood and walked toward you, "Is why you're here of all places? These living arrangements are pedestrian. A woman of culture and class such as yourself should be living with the elite. High above these peasants at the height of luxury."
You shook your head at him and pressed two fingers to the bridge of your nose. You couldn't believe you were having this conversation with a freaking madman. A madman who only wanted the best for you and tried to buy your love, like a recently divorced father.
That was a pretty apt metaphor, actually.
"Thanks for the concern, Uncle Al," The name slipped off your tongue without warning, "but I like it like this. I feel like I'm making it on my own, you know? Figuring things out. Going through the collegiate phase of living on instant food and bad TV.
His brow furrowed, but he nodded almost approvingly. He had been a dorky twenty-something at some point too. More murderous though, according to your dad's records.
Your shoulders rolled forward, you had won the argument. The relaxation didn't last, because with a flash he was in front of you. This looming tower of a man leaning and to...kiss your forehead. Wesker put his empty mug in the sink and left.
You sank to the floor and began to laugh hysterically. There was only one thought in your mind,
'How the fuck does everyone keep getting my address?'.
He stood on your doorstep looking as haggard and droopy as ever. You were sure he came as soon as he could. Judging by the cast on his arm, whatever he had been doing was a doozy. God, he needed a haircut. The blonde strands used to just brush his nose, but now was down to his chin.
"You look like Jennifer Anniston." You said.
He quirked that sneering smile. Like he had forgotten how to use both corners of his mouth. The right corner of his mouth puckered into an often-unused dimple. You wished he would smile more.
"Well, I hear she's making a comeback."
You let him in and dragged his bruised body in for a tight hug. He still had the tang of blood and gunpowder hanging around him in a cloud. His body hadn't begun to smell right yet. You pressed your face to his heart, glad to hear it still beating.
"You had me worried." Came out muffled against his leather jacket.
His hand went to your hair. Leon tried to hug you back to the best of his ability, but the sling was getting in the way. It was stilted, but comforting all the same.
You tugged him into your new house by his good hand. Self-conscious of the mess, you began to spot tidy piles of magazines and coffee cups.
"Sherry." He said.
He sounded rougher than usual, like his tongue was a foreign substance in his body.
"Yes?" You said.
He chewed over the words he was going to say before settling for,
"I missed you. I'm sorry I wasn't here for your housewarming. I know... I know it meant a lot."
You took your pile of dirty dishes to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water for him. You were trying to keep from crying. He looked similar and thanked you quietly for the water. He was a good man, too heroic for his own good. It was going to get him killed one of these days.
"Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"
Leon didn't drink tea.
"Nah, hey listen. Let me take you out somewhere. Nothing fancy, do you know anywhere that serves all day breakfast?"
You laughed and decided to humour him. Your paycheque doesn't afford much in the way of 'fun' money, so you took the opportunity to be spoiled. You had been secretly scouting out family restaurants with breakfast menus on Urban Spoon.
"Yeah, I think I know a place."
It was the twenty-seventh of September and you bought yourself a full bottle of Whiskey. The amber liquid stung your throat. Nothing but the light of your microwave clock illuminated the house. You didn't want to remember today.
You were too young to understand what was going on. That's what you told them anyway.
Too young to get what Chief Irons was doing with that girl's body on his desk. Too young and scared to remember being violated by the monster of your father.
It was something Claire tried to bring up once or twice. You shut her down and told her it was something you didn't think about all that much.
Like it was easy to forget the reason why your eyes glowed yellow or why they could take sample after sample of tissue. The only person who could understand was practically a stranger and under heavier security than you.
So, booze.
You huffed noisily in the otherwise silent house and jiggled your knee against the table leg. You considered grabbing your laptop and watching porn or something. Maybe starting a new TV series. You heard that new HBO show was pretty good.
The ring of your doorbell ruined all thoughts of doing anything else. You groaned and dragged yourself up from your seat.
"I'm putting on pants, but I'm not wearing a friggin' bra." You said.
It was a common argument you had with yourself.
You leaned against the doorjamb, looking probably quite surprised to see guests. Claire and Leon stood there. She had him in a headlock and was messing up his hair. He was making a quiet whine in protest.
"Uhh... hi?" You said.
"Hey Sher-Bear. We thought that this would be a great night to hang out. It being the Anniversary and all." Claire said.
Leon was sulking as he texted. A bottle of wine was tucked under his arm. Claire had several grocery bags.
You nodded, speechless and tried not to tear up as you led them in. They remembered you and didn't plan cool adult stuff tonight. You guys were gonna hang out.
Shit, this meant you'd probably have to do dishes.
You ushered them in and decided to continue forgoing the bra. They had both known you since pre-pubescence anyway.
Claire set about creating a motherly warpath of your small suite. She flicked the lights on and began gathering dishes to distribute snacks into. Leon plopped himself into a chair and continued texting. You couldn't help but be annoyed by his disengaging attitude.
"Nice to see you too, Leon."
"Huhm?"
He looked up. You looked to Claire who rolled her eyes and tossed her hair. You guessed his attachment to his phone was her reason for attacking his hair.
"Do your windows have any locks?" He asked.
"She already knows that. Tell her to use the front door."
You guessed by the nature of question who he was talking to. He nodded and pursed his already pouty lips as he typed out a response.
You went to the kitchen counter to help Claire. You nudged her shoulder with your chin. Her response was to bump against your hip and hum. She was wrist deep in soapy water and playfully flicked suds at you.
The house was small, but typically felt big and empty when you were alone. You got lonely, being used to enclosed spaces, you didn't really know what to do with your apartment. Such attempts usually ended up with you digging through your second-hand board games to find your old chess set and talk to it.
Bishop to E9.
There was knocking on the door. You could hear Leon leap up and skitter across the tile like an excited puppy. A minute later he trailed into the kitchen following a red cheeked Ada. She dropped a paper bag on your counter and waved almost shyly. Claire grabbed the waving hand and pulled the taller woman into a rib-crushing bear hug. Bright brown eyes blinked helplessly at you from over Claire's shoulder. You were pretty sure she was sending you SOS in Morse code. Instead, you joined the hug.
Leon completed the group hug. You felt the warmth of his arm around your shoulder. Your head was tucked between Claire's neck and Ada's shoulder. Ada seemed to have stopped playing dead and reciprocated Claire's affection. You could hear Leon snuffles as he nuzzled her jaw. The hug was warm and safe. Something the four of you weren't comfortable enough to do eleven years ago. You were glad to have them all here. Your saviours. You all saved each other that night.
"This is getting warm and mushy. I'm going to start going limp again if you don't stop." Ada said.
You laughed, but disengaged. As did Claire. Leon however, had the idea to behave more like a koala bear. Ada just sighed and handed you a box.
"Happy Not-Dying Anniversary, Kid."
"This should be a thing. I'll make tea so we can toast." Claire said.
This was the precursor to you being splayed across your couch with tea cups and an assortment of blankets. You felt heartbeats matching your own. It made you feel sleepy. It was comfortable here, safe.
You had a meeting with Derek that morning. Everyone hated Derek. (Claire insisted more than once that he had sneaky feet and could not be trusted. Saying his name made Leon shudder and Ada resemble a startled cat.) He was officially your adopted father, but he had no more clout in that role than the three you were cuddled against. However, he was also your employer and general payer of your way. Being a government-owned viral mutt sucked that way.
"We should do something exciting." Leon yawned.
Ada and Claire were engaged in an intense conversation about the current political situation in Vietnam and Laos. There had been several small viral outbreaks in the past three months.
"...I just hope it doesn't affect the mangroves more than Agent Orange did." Ada said.
"Mmhm, a lot of the economy depends on the fishing territories."
Leon folded into himself and settles for the night in.
They played Scrabble without the rules. Claire won the game with 'Bonerlicious' which they all deemed an acceptable word. Leon's looking for extra tiles when he stumbled across her three different chess sets.
"Derek get you these?" He asked.
"No. I like collecting them." You answered.
"You never told us that." Ada said.
You turned to see the three of them looking a little startled and let down. As if all those nights spent agonizing over your birthday could have been solved by board games.
"Sorry."
After ordering in Chinese food that you all ate on the couch, your companions made to leave. Ada had the decency to say goodbye and dip Leon for a passionate kiss before using your window for an exit. (Checking your pockets that evening would show that she somehow managed to slip three hundred dollars into your jeans.
Leon huffed unpleasantly after Ada left and made some noises about having to write a report. You and Claire exchanged a look before shooing him from your house.
Then it was just you and her. She played with your hair a good moment before shouldering her leather coat.
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay the night?" She said.
"Go, spend time in your fancy hotel. I need some private time to get down with my bad self. I suggest you do the same." You said.
"I feel slightly uncomfortable knowing that information while having known you in pre-pubescence."
"Says the woman who told me it was okay to go down on strange girls because this is the experimenting period of my life."
"Game and match. Checkmate is the metaphor you'd probably prefer. I get the hint, I'll go. Meet at Rosie's for brunch around 12:30?"
"Wouldn't miss it." And you kissed her cheek.