The morose rain pelted the city scape around Wesker, he intently watched through the yellow glow of the window. The rain itself slicked down his body, soaking his clothes. The freezing rain with its fat drops and the occasional wind was uncomfortable even for him, but he ignored it. He was in no race to leave. The person of interest left his sight.
Sirens blared as they searched for the problems beyond him; their cries floating to the ill begotten Heavens. He adjusted his shades, his vision was so strong he neither cared about the constant flow of water down the lens nor the darkness it must cause to a normal human being. Wesker knelt down on the railing of the fire escape to the adjoining building.
His target came into view; he clenched and re-clenched his gloved hands. The pretty Redfield girl decided to reappear, finally. His patience was starting to wear thin. If he were to be honest, he felt he had started this plan for what seemed like ages ago. In reality, it had been three days and it rained the whole time. As well the spry Redfield girl was never alone. It tried fairly on him, he was just tempted to just walk out and take her. But, no, he had to do things right.
She smiled a big toothy grin, her brownish-red hair glowed in the warm light. She grabbed a piece of platter from a blonde man. Leon Kennedy, he believed, if his intel was correct. They survived the Raccoon incident together, so it only made sense they remained in close contact.
Looking on the scene he noted a second man in the apartment. A broad shouldered man, hair a similar shade to Claire's. Chris. No question about it, the smug bastard stood in the apartment smoothing back his shaggy hair. He was laughing now as he passed on a piece of china to his sister. He'd pay, but not at this particular moment. He had gotten away in the Antarctic two months ago, but once Wesker got the right chance Chris would be pulp.
Wesker would love nothing more to go in there and snap the little prick's neck- that was not to be. He would get to lure him, in time. Right now he had to focus on getting Ms. Redfield. She would be needed dearly if the plan were to work. He didn't mind, it wasn't his first time escorting women, and this time the female in question wasn't too hard on the eyes.
With a small sigh- his breath came out in white puffs- looked to his cell phone. 10:37, a late dinner for Redfield's and friend. So, to pass the time he answered emails via the phone 'till 11:36, when he looked up the two men, finally, looked as if they were to leave. Chris with his hand on the worn copper knob, and looking happy despite the things he has seen. Wesker was fraught with anticipation, but the two buggers wouldn't leave. Too caught up in their meaningless talk.
He had followed this girl from Chinatown and back, matter of fact all over New York it seems. And the only thing separating him from her was these half-wits. He groaned, backing off the railing, opting to lean on the wall. He crossed his arms, tapping his fingers impatiently.
Then it finally happened, they left. His gut un-wound, he smirked. His time was now, with all the grace of an agile cat he leaped from one fire escape to another landing lightly. Claire didn't seem to notice, she was too busy washing her dishes. He crept over being bathed by the light. Not minding it at all, his eyes adjusted. Being in the light was okay anyhow, she wouldn't see him. He wouldn't let her, and no one else would too. He was wearing all black, plus with the ability to run superfast; he could get out of sight with no problem. And the plus side of New York is most people minded their own business, but in case he wanted no witnesses.
He ducked under the ledge, Claire had turned to look out the window, eyes filled with longing. He listened for the tiniest of movements. A mother cat and her kittens mewing behind the dumpster, cars driving by, puddles being splashed, some idiot's T.V. a tad too loud, and Claire's soft footsteps across the plush carpet to what must be the living area.
He looked up-close- it was her bedroom slash living area. She laid reclined on a brown sofa bed of some sort. A ranch bottle still set on the bed; it was littered with magazines and some old recognizable clothes. Dinner in bed; how quaint he thought sarcastically. She rolled over the bottle, then her face looking a bit agitated to be getting up and putting away the fresh ranch. He could understand, she had a long and hard day, he had to watch every second of it. She slumped up, then practically leaping out of bed to put away the ranch. Claire yawned stretching, her cotton pink tee riding up to show her tan stomach, a sparkling belly button ring glinted. Wesker wasn't fond of piercings on most women, but on her it was well suited.
Claire knowing nothing of her little voyager slipped out of her jeans, they went flying next to her bed. Standing now in her tight black Hip Huggers, she kept looking about until in an excited fashion found what she was looking a for-grey pair of sweat pants under her bed. She put them on, in the process taking off some unnecessary accessories. They landed on the bed side table in a very audible clunk.
In a rare scene Wesker was probably never to witness again, Claire un-did her pony; slipping the black pony tail on her wrist. Her pretty hair dusted over her sloped shoulders. She fell back on the bed, spread eagle in perfect blissful ignorance.
He smiled a wolfish grin, despite himself, he knew this job would be a fun one. Without much effort Wesker grabbed the sash, lifting it like a knife in butter. He let it shut on its own diving behind the counter.
Claire didn't even look up, he peered over the counter, listening to her breathe. Nice, deep breaths. This wasn't much of a challenge; he made a face of disproval. He'd half expected her to notice. But then again, he wasn't allowed to bring much attention to himself. He stood in the tiny kitchen area, getting a better view of the sleeping girl. In the light she looked so much younger, it would be like taking a sleeping infant from the couch to her room. He crept forward making sure not to step on the loose floor boards. Heaven forbid he'd make even a creek.
He came upon the bed, her eyes flitting in the earliest stage of Rem. "Why isn't she just the sleeping angel?" His remark fell on deaf ears. It was a soft whisper in a dead apartment. He also noted the little line of drool; going down her chin, cute.
Wesker mounted Claire's midriff. When the cold wet leather rested on her stomach her eyes shot open, he covered her mouth with a meaty hand, "Hello, sunshine."