As much as the sound of birds happily tweeting amused her, she bloody hated the flying puffs of feathers. Why? Simply because they ate all her cherries.
Claire: 0, Nature: 1

The cherry tree had been standing there for as long as she could remember; its position in the backyard was the one constant in her life. The family home- now her own- needed to go through constant renovations courtesy of assassination attempts. The attempts on her life were some of the many presents Umbrella gave to the Redfield family, though as with any of their gifts, they were definitely some of the worst gifts she had ever received.

Stepping out from the back porch, that certainly wasn't there when her late parents first bought the house, she felt herself relax as soon as the warm sunlight fluttered over her skin. This was the first real chance she had to relax since the last incident. She accidentally got involved in yet another zombie incident… again… She was surprised that her brother hadn't already locked her in a bunker for the next 20 years, especially after drawing the attention of a certain glasses wearing man…

… But enough of that, she thought. She tied up her silky red hair, it was a type of red that rivalled the cherries, most probably making them jealous. Her smile turned into a smirk, let them be jealous.
She saw something move in the corner of her eye, something black. Probably a neighbour's cat; it moved to fast to be anything human. And Umbrella wasn't stupid enough to try another attempt at her life in broad daylight.

Calming herself down, she walked to the cherry tree, a bucket in hand. Each cherry was carefully examined by her angelic blue eyes before being plucked by gentle yet callus fingers. The collected cherries were placed just as carefully into the black bucket.
As her eyes scanned another one, she was devastated to see a cluster of otherwise perfect cherries infected with mould, just as the world was infected with corruption. All it took was for one to be slightly tainted and all the rest would follow suit. If that happens, the cherries should be removed to prevent other cherries from being "lost".
It was almost a metaphor that seemingly could be applied to any situation she had been in; if your boyfriend decides to join a gang and threaten to stab you if you didn't open your legs, get rid of him with a knee to the groin, or any other appropriate measure which may or may not also include an overprotective brother who happened to be in the Air force. If a subject at school proved too hard for you, drop it and move on to subjects you enjoy, assuming they weren't compulsory, if they were, suck it up and deal with it. If someone was bitten by a T-virus carrier… no matter how minute the wound… destruction of the head was the only option…
… If a corrupt being wanted to create a superior race at the expense of many innocent people, then they should be eliminated and those who became equally tainted should also be removed from the equation… Even if they were conditioned to that way of life from an early age…
Her brother had read the reports and informed her all about Umbrella's intentions- from start to end. Through most of the talk, she had zoned out, but upon mentioning the man in black… She could say that he caught her eye just as much as she did, and if her brother ever found out he really WOULD lock her in a bunker for the next 20 years…

What really frightened her was just how bad of an influence one can have on another. With cherries, when one had some mould on it, it was not fit for consumption. With people, if they were forced to be "evil" since the moment they first opened their eyes… It becomes difficult to be with them. But that was a matter of perspective, wasn't it? Not if you plan on improving the human race by forcing evolution on a fraction of the population and killing the rest. That would just be sociopathic behaviour, in her opinion.
But the impossible sociopath was dead now, so what was the issue?
Shaking the thought from her mind, she continued on the task at hand. More and more perfectly ripe cherries filled the bucket until she ended up with the now heavy bucket on the ground and herself stuck up-side down in the tree. How that happened?... Well… She slipped…
Once again she cursed the rain…
Claire: 0, Nature: 2…

Both arms were on the trunk of the tree to help hold herself up, one leg was wrapped awkwardly around one branch while another one flailed around rather uselessly… and missing a shoe…

The sound of footsteps followed by a deep chuckling interrupted her concentration. She groaned.
"God damn it, Chris! Help me down or I will never bake you cookies again!"
"Hello to you too, Dear Heart." The person, whom was both most definitely not her brother and quite possible dead, replied. She opened her mouth to reply, but found that her voice had failed her…
"It is… quite the story. I thought I'll assist you first and then explain…"
Her reply was a grunt from her now sore arms slipping down the tree. She WAS going to fall…

"Unless you feel partial to that tree?" He smirked. She could hear it in his voice. She was sure his surroundings could feel the smirk resonating through his voice. And the pompous attitude, you can't forget that.
Once more, she tried to ask him for help, only for her hands to slip again. Though there was no more of the trunk to hold on to and gravity did not like her too much…
… Claire: 0… Nature: 3…

She hated when he treated her as though she was made of glass. To think he once bitch slapped her across a courtyard and almost put his foot through her shoulder… And the asphyxiation, though it could be a fetish thing like those leather gloves of his… Definitely a fetish thing…
She may be human, but for him to insist on patching her up and making sure to ice her bruises made her feel as though he was being condescending… She didn't even contact the ground so how bad could her wounds possibly be? She looked down to her upper arm and wondered how a bandage could be so ineffective. The material was already red with her blood and leaking onto her new couch…
… Figures… This is exactly why she can't have nice things…
"So what is your story? I'm out of that infernal tree now and… OUCH!" She looked down to see an almost empty bottle of antiseptic and the bottom half of her scratched up legs- and the new carpet that came with the couches- completely drenched in the liquid.
"… It appears you are out of antiseptic, my dear."
"What the hell was that for?"
"Ensuring your wounds were properly cleaned."
"… Smart arse…"
"As you know, it all started or… ended in Kijuju…"
His tale was short. Succinct just as he always was with her- a story of self-reflection and of understanding how society works. From riches to rags to empathy and changed ways.
They say people never change. Those people probably were never deluded enough to believe they were God before being smacked across the face with a volcano and two rocket-propelled grenades.
They say when fruit goes mouldy, no matter how little mould is on the fruit, you should dispose of it. She knew she probably shouldn't, but in her eyes, if she cut off the mouldy part, the cherry was just as perfect as the rest.