A/N: Yes I know, I'm supposed to be working on Something Worth Saving. Yes I know Halloween was days ago. But this was just running around in my head, and I needed to put it down. Think of it as something to tide you all over till I get that next chapter out for my main story.

Cheers.


She should have left the basket. Yes it was great for esthetics of the costume but it was way too clunky. She'd had to apologize to the umpteenth person for bumping them with it as she tried to pass by. Claire had never been much of a woman for purses. After all, what did you really need it for? If you were out doing something that would ruin your hair or make-up, then having a brush or kit on you was really kind of moot. That was probably why she was such a poor hand at maneuvering around people with the large wicker picnic basket.

"Oh, sorry!" She winced reflexively when the basket caught an Ace of Spades in the back of his knee. The painted and masked face glanced over a black and white clothed shoulder to smile at her sloshily. The party was in full swing by this point and everyone seemed dreamily tipsy. It was almost like she was the only sober person left in the whole place.

Three, maybe four, hundred people gathered together in a large English estate, getting drunk for a good cause. It was almost chafing. The rich and tasteful doing their part for the poor and oppressed by having a huge Halloween Masquerade party. Just because every plate of food sent $300 straight to TerraSave and their cause did little to make it easier to stomach. In Claire's mind, helping people meant more than just shelling out money. It meant hard work, sweat, tears and, all too often, blood.

And so for not the millionth time, she wondered why the hell she was even here. She should be in South America, or the Middle East, or Africa, working with the people she'd joined TerraSave for. And for the millionth and first time she reminded herself that without funds, her organization's hands were tied. Fund raisers like these were TerraSave's life blood. Being Not-for-profit had it's price, and tonight, its name was "Little Red Ridinghood".

She knew she should have looked for something else, something with pants. But when she'd seen the red peasant dress, with it's fall-off-your-shoulder sleeves and black ribbon corset lacing, and she had to have it. Yes it was trite and over done, but this was the first rendition of the costume she'd ever seen that didn't look like something a stripper would wear for a set. It reminded her of the real fairytale, which had always given her chills. And wasn't that the point of Halloween, to let yourself remember what makes you shiver?

So she'd given in to impulse and bought the costume, complete with clunky basket. With which she'd now become thoroughly frustrated. And the masses of drunken party-goers was doing little to improve her mood. She needed a break. She waded through the crowd, apologizing out of hand every few people as her basket rammed into legs of groups clustered up so close it was hard to slip through. It wasn't hard to slip out of the ballroom into a quiet parlor. Places like this were littered with rooms.

The room was softly lit and well appointed. Bookshelves along one wall, a chaise lounge facing a well tended fireplace. There was a chess table near a corner, and the hard wood floor was covered by a large soft rug of swirling, soothing colors. Everything you could expect from the rich and European.

It was a comfortable room, good for catching her breath. She'd have to brave that forest of drunken costumes again, so she took her time to breathe. She crossed the room to the mantle casually, listening to the soft swish of skirt and cape. Above the mantle was an oil painting of a path leading into the woods. It was well done with many subtlties. At first it seemed the path was bright, lit by a warm morning sun, with flowers growing cheerily along side. But as the path wound into the woods, she could see how twilight fell over the scene. The flowers were thorn bushes and eyes of things wild and dangerous peered out from behind tree trunks. It was an excellent piece of art.

"Hello, little girl."

The resonate voice startled her. She spun around, her narrow heel slipping on the hearth step, she lost her balance, stumbling dangerously close to the blazing fire. But before any of her could so much as brush the flames, strong hands came around her. One held her by a wrist, the other around her waist, resting intimately at the small of her back.

Her heart felt like it stopped beating as she looked up into a face, covered with a black dominoe mask, but one she'd never forget. And the eyes, the eyes would always give him away.

"Wesker!"


A/N: Originally, I was gonna make this a one shot, but it's turned into a ficlet, I felt like I needed it to be in little chapters. So there you have it.