Chapter 32: There's The Cream Filling
The sun has sunk. The moon has risen. On the beach, the soft waves glisten. Two teams camp apart, with tents and beds. While visions of Resident Evil 5 dance through their heads ok that's enough of that.
Chris Redfield gets down and brown, fluffing his pillow excitedly. He is wearing a green t-shirt and comfy pajama pants. Chris makes himself comfortable on his sleeping bag and looks around the tent.
Barry Burton is combing his beard whilst seated upon his own sleeping bag. He is wearing a red tank top and polka-dot boxer shorts. Tucked beside his pillow is his ever-present squirtgun, freshly filled. Barry is definitely a no-nonsense man's man tonight.
Leon Kennedy seems to be asleep, but every so often he opens one eye and peeks around. He is wearing a blue t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms because that's how he rolls. So fresh. So alert. With his dinosaur print sheets and triceratops sleeping bag.
Billy Coen plays a harmonica softly, ignoring the dozen or so boots that have been thrown at him over the course of the last half hour. He is shirtless, because it's laundry day. Thankfully he's got his 'I Love Lucy' boxers. And for some reason he's wearing his handcuffs dangling from one wrist again.
Josh Stone has procured a copy of the Resident Evil 5 game manual, and is skimming through it while he lays on his boat and helicopter themed sleeping bag. He is wearing an olive-green set of pajamas. Every so often he lets out a chuckle as he turns the page, shaking his head in bemusement.
"I'm hungry," Barry grumbles. Everyone just kind of ignores him. "I'm going to order a pizza." Out of nowhere he pulls out a rotary phone, clutching the receiver to his ear as he carefully dials a number.
Josh looks up from his manual for a moment, furrowing his brow. "If we do not have the money to purchase Resident Evil 5, then how is Barry able to order a piz-"
He is interrupted as Chris crawls over and plops a hand gently over his mouth. Josh glances at Chris, raising an eyebrow as the other man softly watches him and then begins to shake his head just slightly. After a moment, Chris gradually retreats to his sleeping bag, leaving Josh to stare worriedly at the ceiling of the tent.
"Yeah hello?" Barry grunts into the phone. "I want a pizza pie. ...Gimme da pizza pie." An uncomfortable silence passes. "Pizza pie, with toppings. Deliver it to the manly man tent on the beach. I'm the one with the beard."
The tent flap pops open, and a pizza man who looks suspiciously like Salazar enters. "Wan peetza for a meester Barry Burton," he announces, struggling to hide the malice and sadistic giggling from his voice.
"Oh boy," Barry grunts, reaching for the box. Leon wordlessly slaps it out of his hands. "Wuh?" Barry grunts, this time in a tone of surprise and betrayal.
"GET LOST," Leon yells at the pizza guy. Salazar shrieks and runs off, his 'Bominoes' hat flying off his head. Calming down then, Leon turns to his ol' partner. "Barrykins, you must be cautious. This close to the end of the story, they're gonna do everything in their power to stop us from winning and- BARRY!"
In the time that it took for Leon to speak his mind, Barry has already stuffed the entire pizza into his mouth. Leon narrows his eyes. "Barry, did you just put that whole pizza in your mouth?"
Barry's cheeks are ridiculously puffed out. He can't even close his mouth all the way. "Woh," he mumbles, shaking his head.
"Barry, spit that out this instant!" Chris pipes up, and swats the bearded man on the back of the head.
Stunned, Barry's eyes widen. He draws in a slow, long breath through his nose, wincing... and then releases a steady, rising cry which plateaus at a loud volume and then tapers off into muffled, broken sobbing, followed by a shrill gasp and more crying. Tears trickle down the burly man's cheeks as large bits of pizza fall from his quivering lips.
"Oh for Pete's sake," Chris grumbles, rolling his eyes. Leon sighs and folds his arms across his chest. Billy plays his harmonica louder over the din. Josh just puts the RE5 manual over his eyes and tries to sleep. Shoving aside his exasperation, Chris drops to a knee beside the seated Barry and gently pats his friend on the back. "There there, Barry. I know this has been stressful on all of us."
Barry slowly and gradually calms down, his mouth still full of half-chewed pizza and not a little slobber.
Josh plucks the manual off of his face just then, lifting his head to look at the others. "Uhh, was there poison in that pizza? You know. Poison that kills people?"
Chris, Leon, and Billy look at each other, considering this.
All at once, they spring into action. Billy lays Barry flat on his back, Chris props his feet up on a pillow, and Leon grabs a glass of milk with one hand while dialing poison control. Meanwhile, Barry swallows the enormous mouthful of pizza with one gulp.
"Aaah.. don't worry guys," he assures them. "I don't think there was any poison on that pie. I would have tasted it." Barry smiles softly. "No, just tomatoes and cheese and...uh oh.. cheese.." He begins to wince, his face scrunching up in an expression of emotional discomfort.
"What is it, Barry?" Chris asks, petting his teammate on the head. "What's wrong?"
A long, steady noise that sounds sort of like a solitary trumpet fills the tent. "Aaaah..."
Everyone screams bloody murder as they barrel out of the tent in a frantic stampede.
ooo
In the ladies' tent, Jill Valentine is non-stop chugging beers. She snaps open another can, downs it with a bland, unenthusiastic expression, and then belches horrifically. As the others do their best to ignore her, Jill tugs yet another can from the twenty-four pack and licks her lips. She is wearing blue boxer shorts and a blue tank top. For some reason, she refuses to remove her blue beret. Her sleeping bag is also blue. In fact, the beer she's drinking is blue, too.
"That's not beer," Claire Redfield mutters in stark exasperation, ignoring the crumpled can that bounces off of her head in response to that statement. "It's soda pop." Claire is wearing black pajama pants and a pink 'Made In Heaven' tank top. Her sleeping bag is motorcycle themed. She is currently polishing her crossbow which I completely forgot about until now.
"HAH HAH!" Ada Wong bursts out laughing, turning to stare in bewildered amusement at Claire. "You call it soda pop?!"
Claire glares at her. "I'll POP you one if you don't be quiet."
Ada's smile goes upside-down. She turns back around, sulking quietly. By the by, she's wearing a satin red nightgown and red cotton socks. Her sleeping bag. It is red. She is currently busy sulking.
Sheva Alomar, meanwhile, is listening to some tunes on her walkman. It's the orchestral cover of the original Biohazard soundtrack! Very nice. She's wearing a BSAA t-shirt and violet boxers. Somehow she is laying in a hammock.
Sherry Birkin is peering quizzically at character bios from RE6. She is dressed in a formal set of soft yellow pajamas, and laying on a comfy futon. Her pillowcase has a big knitted duck on it- a gift from her mother, no doubt.
Suddenly, Annette's head bursts into the tent. "SHERRYKINS!" she calls gleefully, "Are you enjoying your sleepov-"
"GET OUT MOM I'M NAKED" Sherry screams. Annette yells in horror, backing out of the tent like a rocket, continuing to yell as she trips over a nearby sand dune. Everyone in the ladies' tent kind of awkwardly looks at something or other as Annette's broken shrieking echoes into the night, scattered curses following pained grunts as she slams into various sand dunes the entire way down the bank, ending with a shrill half-cry and a hard splash as her body slaps the ocean.
"WILLIAAAAAAM. WWWIIIIIILLIIIAAAAAAM."
"BE SILENT, DEVIL WOMAN."
"WILLIAM YOU BASTARD. YOU BASTAAAARD."
"SHUT UP. I'M TRYING TO DO MY SCIENCE."
"LET ME BACK IN THE TENT."
"NO YOU'RE ALL WET. GO 'WAY."
"YYYYOOOUUU BAAA-HAAA-STAAAAARD."
Claire gives a sympathetic look to Sherry. "Your parents still haven't gotten used to you suddenly being twenty-five, eh?"
The former 12-year-old shakes her head. "No, they really haven't. It's beginning to irk me."
Sheva bites her on hand to keep from laughing aloud. Everyone turns to look at her as she silently wheezes in her hammock, tears forming in her squinted eyes.
Suddenly, a shadowy figure bursts into the tent! Jill immediately reacts by smashing a can of soda against its face. The figure collapses violently to the floor. As the other ladies watch in antici-, Jill nudges the figure with her foot, turning it onto its back. "...It's Hunk. He's been pecked to death."
Ada walks over, looking down at Hunk. "Hunk, what are you doing here," she says blandly.
The grizzled mercenary opens one eye, wincing at her. "I love you. We have a thing."
"Don't be that guy, Hunk." Ada shakes her head. "Don't be that guy."
Grumbling, Hunk gets up and runs out of the tent. "I used to be COOL in this story!" he yells.
Meanwhile, Claire confronts Sherry. "Sherald, I think it's time I gave you 'the talk'," she informs. Sherry just starts screaming, and Claire starts screaming too, and Jill grits her teeth and plugs her ears while Sheva turns her music up louder and Ada dives under her sleeping bag.
ooo
Elsewhere, past William and Annette's tent, an even smaller one-man tent is rustling on the beach beneath the moonlight. Let's be horribly nosy and see what kind of hanky panky is going on in there.
Inside the tent, Anthony Mihovich is constantly scooting toward the wall, even though he's already up against the wall. He's wearing an RPD t-shirt and some hand-me-down pajama pants from Leon. His sleeping bag is gray.
Rebecca Chambers lays opposite him, propped up on an elbow, wearing her gym uniform from that secret picture in RE2. Her sleeping bag is green and has a giant print of a marijuana- uh I mean 'herb' leaf on the front.
"Why do you keep trying to push yourself into the corner?" Rebecca asks, raising an eyebrow as she watches Anthony huff and puff.
He pauses for a second, sighing uncontrollably. "It's because the author has seen fit to pack the two of us into this ridiculously tiny one-person tent, and I'm trying not to be all up in your business and whatnot." He grunts and shuffles some more, but can't quite seem to not be touching the young scientist/field medic/basketball aficionado in some way or another.
Rebecca belts out a short, soft sigh of her own and closes her issue of 'Doobies Weekly'. She looks Anthony dead in the eyes. "There is only one way to resolve this," she states.
He blinks several times, his expression somewhat blank with a smidge of surprise. "Are we going to make pork sandwiches."
"No dummy, we're gonna hug it out!" Rebecca clarifies, popping him one across the jaw. Anthony rubs his face, thinking thoughtfully while nodding in submission.
"Ok. I got it. Ok. I am cool with this."
He lays on his side and opens his arms. Rebecca shuffles over, wrapping her arms around his torso. Anthony closes his arms around her, and thus, hug-mode is complete.
"There, see? Isn't this better?" Rebecca asks, her voice slightly muffled.
"Aha, I see," Anthony begins. "Now the readers are confused as heck. Are we just two comrades sharing a platonic embrace? Or is there something more.. A glowing ember sparked by the warmth of two bodies, the smell of your hair intoxicating me to near drunkenness, the sensation of a growing passion winding curiously as does the stem of a flower from the hearty foundation of mutual friendship-"
He pauses as he hears Rebecca snore lightly into his shirt. Anthony just gives an 'aw heck' smirk and closes his eyes, going to sleep as well.
ooo
"GAAAAAY!" Kamesen yells from across the beach.
Brad Vickers scowls at the ceiling of his tent, shaking a fist. "Keep the noise down out there!" he whimpers angrily. Brad is wearing bright yellow sweatpants and sweatshirt, complete with yellow wool socks. He has a racecar bed.
Sharing the tent with him is Steve Burnside, who is tucked halfway into his Linkin Park sleeping bag and reading a Goosebumps book. Steve is wearing a Blink 182 band shirt and Barney the Dinosaur boxers? What the hell.
Also in this tent is Ashley Graham, because it was mutually agreed that she wasn't allowed to share a tent with Leon. Ashley is wearing a pearl white slip, spun from the finest silk. Laying across her luxurious down sleeping bag, she idly teases the hem of her slip, smirking dangerously to imply that she may not even be wearing anything underneath-
"HEY." Kamesen bursts into the tent, pointing a finger at the young lady. "Let's keep this PG-13!"
Ashley sighs, rolling her eyes. "Are you SERIOUSLY interrupting your OWN story that YOU are writing at this VERY SECOND, in metaphysical fashion, to remind ME, a CHARACTER that YOU are writing, to keep this PG-13?" She shakes her head. "That's absurd."
"YOU'RE absurd!" Kamesen counters, his biting wit silencing the tent. Brad and Steve look on in uncomfortable terror. The author gestures with a hand towards Ashley. "Alright, let's see 'em."
Ashley's eyes widen at the request. "Excuse me?"
Kamesen gestures again. "Come on, I need to make sure that you're wearing underwear."
She can hardly believe what she's hearing. A flush rises on her cheeks as she balls her fists by her sides. "You're unbelievable!" she yells. "You're the author; you're writing this RIGHT NOW! You KNOW I'm wearing underwear!"
"THE WORLD NEEDS TO KNOW!" Kamesen bellows. He shuts his eyes, exhaling quietly through his nose. "Miss Graham, if you please."
Steve squints in thought. "There's a word for this.." he starts.
"It's called 'entrapment'," Ashley growls out of the corner of her mouth.
Brad is pretending to be asleep.
"Miss Graham," Kamesen repeats, his voice tinged with petulant impatience.
Suddenly, Ashley smirks. "Quid pro quo," she states. "If I do this deed, you owe me one. One which you will commit to performing directly after I choose to go forward with fulfilling your request."
Kamesen shrugs. "Ok."
The smirk drops from Ashley's face. "Oh. I didn't think you would approve of that so quickly."
He shrugs again. "Yeah well anyway. Show 'em."
Ashley rolls her eyes for the three-thousandth time in her life and takes hold of her slip, tugging the material upwards to reveal-
"-silken pearl white lace panties entrenched between two chaste creamy thighs just as a pair of Christmas hams would embrace a bowl of stuffing, yes thanks for that," Kamesen intercedes, motioning with his hand. Ashley shakes her head in disbelief and drops the hem of her slip, letting it fall into place one more.
After taking a moment to gather the shreds of her dignity, Ashley nods to Kamesen. "Alright, now you."
"What?"
"Show me what YOU'RE wearing under there!" Ashley demands deviously, nodding once more and gesturing gracefully with a toss of her fair hand.
Kamesen shamelessly drops trou, revealing that he is wearing the same underwear as Ashley.
"GAAH!" Ashley shrieks, clutching at her eyes as she turns away. Brad dives behind Steve, sobbing, and Steve just shrugs.
"I think it's mondo sexy."
Kamesen makes a dismissive noise towards him. "No one cares what you think, Steve," he grunts, shuffling out of the tent with his pants around his ankles.
The trio just looks after him, Ashley shaking her head in utter disbelief. Finally, she sighs in relief and turns to look at Brad and Steve. "Well," she starts, smiling, "one lady alone in a tent with two men.." She lowers her tone slightly, while raising an eyebrow. "Any thoughts on what we could do?"
Steve grins. "You bet! We could make COOKIES!"
"NO!" Brad interjects. "We could make.. CUPCAKES."
Brad and Steve hop up and down and laugh excitedly while grabbing each other's arms. The smile on Ashley's lips remains. The smile in her eyes has died. She slowly turns around and crawls headfirst into her sleeping bag, where she lays motionless.
ooo
On the bad guy side of the beach, our villains have set up camp as well.
Ol' Albert 'Pesky Wesky' Wesker has distanced himself slightly from his cohorts, choosing to isolate himself in a black one-man tent. Every once in a while, maniacal laughter can be heard from within.
Hunk is in the process of proudly retreating to his own tent in the meantime. He shoves aside the entrance flap with one bold motion of his arm, and politely kicks off his shoes before stepping inside. He is wearing black boxer shorts and a black tank top. "Mission..failed," he grunts to himself as he sits down on his tactical black sleeping bag.
Carlos Oliveira looks up from his comic book. "Ya didn't get the girl, eh?" He shakes his head sympathetically. "That Ada's a slippery trout, she is." Carlos is wearing Banana Republic boxers and he's shirtless, because why not. Also, his sleeping bag is shaped like a banana? Ok.
Jack 'Funnypants' Krauser nods once in vicious, cold understanding. "I've worked with/fantasized about her before," he contributes, to everyone's uncomfortable surprise. "That bee-hotch wouldn't give me the time of day. And yet she's apparently had some sort of fling with a southern plantation owner in RE6."
Kamesen pops his head into the tent suddenly. "Krauser, crank your misogyny dial down a few notches. Also, quit talking about RE6; you all are still out to buy RE5, ok?" He vanishes.
Oh, by the way, Krauser's wearing uh.. I don't freaking know. Facepaint and red long johns. And his sleeping bag is a bunch of leaves he found on the ground.
Salazar is strangely quiet, meanwhile. His somewhat foiled attempt at poisoning Barry Burton with a magical fart pizza has left him quite tuckered out. He has fallen asleep in his Power Wheels jeep.
While Carlos messes with the radio in Salazar's jeep and tries to find some good music to listen to, Krauser full-on confronts Hunk about Ada The Spy.
"Listen," Krauser mumbles, leaning in towards the other grizzled mercenary. "It's no good for spies to fall in love. They'll inevitably backstab each other."
Hunk puffs on a cigarette, narrowing his eyes. "I'm already over her, man," he remarks, reverting to his 'cool/aloof' self.
Krauser's eyes widen in excitement. "Does that mean I can have her?!" he shrieks a little too loudly.
Hunk just stares sidelong at him, brow furrowed in hard disturbance. Krauser shifts his weight from one foot to the other for a moment, then just turns and runs off without waiting for an answer.
Four seconds later, a long cry of pain can be heard from further on down the beach.
Carlos queues up 'Spanish Flea' on the radio, sighing at the author's inadvertently racist overtones.
Kamesen rushes into the tent. "Sorry, sorry about that, sorry," he blurts, fiddling with the radio. 'Morning Bell' by Radiohead comes on. Carlos smiles, pinching Kamesen's cheeks before the author rushes back out, narrowly slipping past Krauser who stumbles into the tent and lands on his face.
"She punched me in my bad place," the musclebound maniac whimpers deadpan into the floor.
"Told ya." Hunk flicks his cigarette at Salazar, who wakes up with a bloodcurdling shriek and subsequently hits the gas pedal, tearing his jeep through the side of the tent.
Carlos sighs and picks his comic book up again.
ooo
Kid Nemesis sits outside of his tent, watching Salazar do doughnuts on the beach with his windows down and the system up. He is wearing itty-bitty striped pj's and a nighty-night cap. "Staaars," he growls lightly. Before him sits a can of beans above a tiny fire. Nemesis licks his teeth in anticipation of the midnight snack.
Inside that tent, James Marcus and Morpheus Duvall are playing checkers. Both of them are wearing light blue formal pajama sets. For some reason, they're sitting on a huge checkered picnic blanket.
"Checkmate," Morpheus says, moving a pawn forward one space.
Marcus sighs, shaking his head angrily as he moves a knight. "Stop saying 'checkmate' after every move!"
"Checkmate," Morpheus chirps, smiling and moving the same pawn forward again.
"STOPPIT," Marcus barks, swatting Morpheus's hand.
Morpheus gets up and runs outside, stumbling into the ocean and trying to swim away.
Marcus just shakes his head and knocks his own king over with a somber motion. "Checkmate," he whispers.
Nemesis is banging on his can of beans with a spoon, yelling and trying to make it pop open.
Five minutes later, Morpheus's body washes up facedown on the beach. He jumps up and runs over to the tent, making squishing noise the whole way.
"I want to play checkers instead," he demands, busting into the small dwelling.
Marcus inhales deeply through his nose and slaps aside the house of cards that he was making. Morpheus just grins.
"Will you two keep it down?!" Alfred shrieks. He is trying to sleep in the corner of the tent. Alfred is wearing regally-adorned suit pajamas and is currently laying in a luxurious four-post bed which somehow fits in their tent.
Morpheus shoots him a dirty, dirty look. "Hush up, Alfred!" he snoots.
"Yes," Marcus adds. "Can two gentlemen not enjoy a game of wits?"
"Over a spot of tea?" adds Morpheus, holding up a small teacup.
"With tophats?" Marcus contributes, putting on a tophat.
"And moustache-"
"SILENCE!" Alfred interrupts with a shriek that rivaled a howler monkey. Marcus and Morpheus continue to shoot the man dirty looks while they continue their game of something or other in silence. Alfred forces a hard smile and snuggles into the covers. "That's better," he murmurs.
From outside, Kid Nemesis roars in anguish and lets loose a horrid, wet fart.
Alfred's smile goes upside-down.
ooo
Finally, in Excella's tent, there are some questionable goings-on going on.
Excella is (barely) wearing an excruciatingly expensive pair of black lace panties, teasingly toying with some kind of equally expensive frilly bra. "Ooh, two men and one woman alone in a tent-"
"I already used that horrible joke," Kamesen states, deadpan.
The sultry seductress purses her lips, setting her fine jaw in frustration. Meanwhile, Irving is just on his hands and knees in the corner of the tent, wheezing and sweating.
"Do you feel no desire as your eyes gaze upon me?" Excella whispers, pouting ever so slightly.
Kamesen stops trying to dig something out of his ear for a second and regards the luscious woman. "I can't afford to. The readers wouldn't let me hear the end of it for trying to get with all the ladies in this story. In other news, I'm amazed that you even know what a bra is, much less where to find one."
Excella deals him a withering gaze. "I'm going to Wesky's tent," she mutters coldly, turning on her heel and stalking out of the tent. "At least he's a REAL man who APPRECIATES beauty!"
Frowning, Kamesen considers this. "I'm a real man," he mumbles, scratching the side of his face. "I appreciate booty. Uh, beauty." He glances over at Irving. "Irving how are ya."
Irving glances back at him, offering a creepy smile through streams of sweat. "Can I touch your butt?" he asks.
Kamesen stares at him for a good ten seconds, trying to comprehend the weight of what he has been propositioned with and why. "No," he states firmly, and turns toward the exit of the tent. Wesker rushes in suddenly, panting and even crying a little.
"Don'tletherfindme," he gushes, adjusting his shades with one hand while holding the tent flaps closed with the other.
Kamesen narrows his eyes, his lips forming a response, but he silences himself as the wailing moan of a heartbroken woman is carried throughout the beach.
"WWWEEEESKYYYYY!" Excella cries, gankily running down along the shoreline. "COME BAAAACK."
The sunglasses-wearing evildoer swallows visibly and furrows his brow. "What to do with these troublesome women," he laments aloud.
"Now Wesker," Kamesen tsks, "That's no way to encourage the growing feminist movement."
"Neither is writing an entire scene dedicated to Ashley Graham flashing her underwear," Wesker shoots back.
Kamesen gapes, raising an index finger as if to retort, but he then closes his mouth and bows his head in shame.
Irving pipes up, sweating furiously. "Won't you two just come up with a plan already?!" He offers a lopsided grin as he adjusts his stupid shirt. "Ya makin' me LOOK bad!"
Wesker grabs Irving and hurls him into the stratosphere. He then turns to Kamesen. "Alright, come on, what are we going to do about Excella." He snaps his fingers suddenly. "I've got it! You're the author; you can just write her out of the story or make her fall off a cliff or something."
"No," Kamesen replies gruffly, frowning in deep thought as he strokes his chin. "That would be abusing my authoritative powers."
Wesker's expression slackens. "...Four pages ago you made Ashley Graham expose herself to you."
"Will you drop that already?!" Kamesen shouts, pacing about anxiously. "How do you even know what's happening outside of your scenes anyway?!"
"I know many things," Wesker explains mysteriously, adjusting his shades. "Now help me with Excella."
"Refusal," Kamesen answers firmly. "Deal with it yourself."
"I WILL NOT," Wesker yells, grabbing Kamesen and picking him up by his shoulders. The gangly author kicks and squirms uselessly. "Get rid of Excella, or so help me I'll crush you as a frustrated four-year-old crushes a Capri Sun!"
Kamesen grimaces in pain. "You'll cease to exist if I die!" he counters, grunting.
"No I won't," Wesker counter-counters. "I'm Capcom's property, not yours. The worst that could happen if I kill you is this stupid story will finally end. Hey.." A thoughtful expression crosses his face. "That's not such a bad idea..."
Suddenly, Excella bursts into the tent, jiggling this way and that. "WESKY!" she shrieks, breaking a mirror thirty miles away.
Wesker remains calmly stoic despite the clawing fear in his heart. He football-spikes Kamesen to the floor, lifting his chin proudly to confront Excella. "No respectable member of my cadre prances about in such inefficient gear. Go put some damn clothes on, woman!"
"No!" Excella yells, striking a runway pose. "I'm empowered!"
Kamesen, laying crumpled on the floor of the tent, waves his hand weakly in her direction. Suddenly, Excella is wearing power armor. "There," the author croaks. "Now you're empowered."
Excella gasps, looking over her cool new gear. "WHEEEEEE!" she screams, turning around abruptly and stomping off into the night. Irving falls through the roof of the tent and slams into the floor.
Wesker quietly combs his hair in thought, staring after Excella. "I don't think that's the explicit type of empowerment to which she was referring to," he ponders. "Rather, the implicit sense that she can wear whatever she pleases, while rising above the petty, thoughtless opinions of those who would judge her."
Kamesen stares at the hole in the tent for a full twelve seconds before fainting.
ooo
"I miss Salazar," Saddler laments, chewing on a hamburger. Suddenly disgusted with his meal, he tosses it away from himself. Two cerberus smash through a window and violently ravage the half-burger in seconds, a blurred mess of garbling, snarling violence which vanishes as soon as it had appeared. Saddler blinks at the aftermath of the spectacle, unnerved.
"I miss Alfred," Alexia contributes. She purses her lips then. Her shoulders begin to bounce, and soon she is laughing heartily. "Hahah, no I don't. That's dumb. Anyway.." the mad queen mashes a giant button on her throne, summoning a huge screen. The screen crackles to life, featuring an old zombie butler standing in a room somewhere in the bowels of the fortress. "Zombie butler," Alexia addresses sharply.
The undead servant wobbles a bit on his feet, coming to attention. "Yes, Queen Alexia," he mumbles.
"Bring me Kamesen, immediately!" Alexia orders.
"Er.. yes, Queen Alexia."
"And call me empress!"
"As you say, Empress Alexia."
"GOOD."
Twelve years later, the zombie butler shuffles into the massive throne room at an excruciatingly slow pace.
Saddler has died of old age. Annoyed, Alexia hurls a plagas needle at him. The zombie juice flows through Saddler and he jumps up in his seat, looking around. "Gah what, I'm awake, what!"
Meanwhile, Alexia glares at the zombie butler. "Took you long enough. Now, where's Kamesen?"
The zombie butler stops in his tracks, looking confused. "Kamesen? Who's that?"
Alexia smiles slowly, the kind of smile that she does with her mouth but not her eyes. Her eyes are full of furious, burning rage that is hotter than the sun.
Two seconds later, the zombie butler is launched out of the window via catapult.
ooo
Kamesen is sitting in his tent, playing 'flapjacks' with Irving and Excella. Excella has grown tired of her power armor and has returned to wearing somewhat revealing undergarments. Kamesen and Irving sweat profusely and do not dare judge her.
Suddenly a zombie butler smashes into the sand outside the tent. Kamesen runs outside, squinting in the night to see what the heck is going on. He surveys the crumpled body of the zombie butler. "Oh great, Alexia wants to talk to me." He sighs and starts walking towards the ocean.
Thirty-seven years later, Kamesen walks into the castle, sopping wet. He wrings his shirt out on the floor and ruffles his hair.
Saddler has died eight more times, but Alexia keeps reviving him with zombie juice. "KAMESEN," she yells as the author approaches her throne.
"Yes Alexia," Kamesen answers, taking a knee and then standing and turning around three times before curtsying, as is custom when approaching Alexia.
The deadly woman regards him with obvious distaste. "You are a horrible little man," she states.
"Yes I am," Kamesen answers firmly, standing tall.
Alexia waves her hand. "Get out of my sight; you disgust me."
Kamesen shrugs and turns around, walking back out of the castle.
Five minutes later, Alexia is eating a soup but she remembers something and spits it out. "WAIT, SH(car horn)T I WANTED TO ASK HIM SOMETHING." Concentrating, Alexia holds her arms parallel to her face. "TELEPORTATION~"
ooo
Back on the beach, Kamesen is poking at the fire outside his tent, when Alexia suddenly appears above him in an explosion of flame and mystery. "HOLY CRAP!" Kamesen yells, falling on his ass.
Alexia stares down at the author, waving her arms and hands and making ghost noises. Wesker walks out of his tent for one second but then quickly and seemingly without emotion turns and walks right back into his tent, zipping it up.
"KAMESEN," Alexia booms. Alfred squeals at the sound of his sister's voice, runs for the entrance of his tent, but trips and knocks himself out.
"WHAT," Kamesen cries, throwing himself to his knees before the incredible spectacle which is both awe-inspiring and really scary.
"Why isn't this stupid filler chapter over yet?" Alexia demands.
"I DO WHAT I WANT!" Kamesen insists, punching the sand before him.
Alexia summons a fireball and aims it carefully at his groin.
"OK, CHAPTER'S OVER!" Kamesen yells immediately.
Next time, on Resident Evil: Super Quest! The groups reveal their booths to the general public! Whose booths will raise the most money? Bring in the most bread? Rake in the most revenue? Frighten the most children? Will the good guys succeed in raising the five dollars necessary to buy Resident Evil 5 before the bad guys beat them to it? Pulse pounding action! Sappy romance! Disgusting sexism! *Alexia aims another fireball at my groin* Toned-down sexism! *Alexia makes the fireball larger* Zero sexism! Er, tune in next time to see how everything turns out! G-goodbye, folks!