my unpopular opinion of the day is that hating rebecca/wesker for their ages but liking chris/wesker is hypocritical as fuck. chris is only a few years older than rebecca. they have the same power imbalance bc of wesker being captain. if you talk abt how you love doomed toxic yaoi chrisker but hate rebesker youre kinda lame
ok ok this is the only negative thing i’ll say: i really wish they would suck the character drama juicy out this eddiechris conflict a bit more. we missed their first meeting, they refuse to talk about the kimshannon shaped elephant in the room, and they seem to be too afraid to actually draw out actual tension and carry actual emotional weight in conversations
like a ripped rock, he freezes. he holds his breath, equivalent to multiple breaths in an above average man, fanning out like a pissed. off. cobra.
no one has been this tender with him, even while balls-deep in marissa edelstein when she let him hit in ninth grade. okay, yeah, that’s crude, but he’s feeling sensorially greasy and ticklish down in his soul, like he can smell the roses or feel the wind with his wings, it’s a mindfuck.
he works it out: is he emotionally cheating on ads? fuck, he usually only cheats on women physically and with good reason, like meeting someone hotter. this one he feels bad about. he can explain.
first, he nods back stoically. second,
❝what’s with the voice?❞
it’s hypnotizing. sounds like the post-weed one in his head when he was a kid in a chrisis in the bathroom when his dad was looking for him to beat the living shit outta him.
TIMING: The night of February 25th
PARTIES: Chris @chrisgates & Daiyu @bountyhaunter
LOCATION: The woods
SUMMARY: There's a bounty on Chris' head and Daiyu has come to collect! After tracking him for a fair while, she lures him with a dead fox and attacks. Things don't go as planned for either party
CONTENT WARNINGS: Gun use, animal cruelty (for the fox), parental death
The trouble with hunting a particular werewolf was that it took some planning and besides that, a whole lot of luck. To simply hunt any and all werewolf was easy enough (obvious issues of hunting a feral, ferocious creature aside) but to try and find a specific one … well, it took a little more care. And so Daiyu had done her homework. She’d gathered some intel on spots the wolf with the golden coat had frequented, where the hunter it’d killed had perished and where werewolves tended to gather in Wicked’s Rest. She’d spent the last two nights of the full moon tracking the creature and now felt she was properly prepared to claim its life and with it, the bounty attached to its name.
It was hard not to think of her siblings, of the wolf head that had decorated the family home’s living place, of the hunting trips on full moons. The Volkov pack against the vicious wolves — but they’d never been much of a pack, with the spirit of competition too sharp in the air. Daiyu preferred to hunt alone, now. She preferred the weapons she’d bought herself, not those legacy pieces. She preferred who she was without competition, her sister breathing down her neck, always wondering if Inna had set up a trap for her — because that’s how low they’d both stoop, those days.
So she was alone, squatted behind a fallen tree, eyes focused on the trees ahead of her. Between those and herself lay a dead fox. Daiyu had felt bad slitting it open, letting its guts and meat spill out to attract the wolf. Somewhere her brother Vissa told her she was silly for caring. Are you gonna cry, runt? She readjusted her hunting rifle where it lay on the fallen tree, checked if her silver knives were still strapped. There was a branch snapping, far in the distance. Something in her stomach tugged. It was close — if it was the wolf she was after. She steeled herself, hoping it’d take to her lure.
—
With little pressure at all, snow crunched beneath cracked, worn toe pads. White, icy flurries became entangled and melted within the wiry, golden fur that lined the wolf’s back and shoulders. Tired, aching muscles rolled under the skin with each lumbering step it took through the forest; its goal was simple that day: it needed food, but it wanted an easy day. Fast food, if you will. Mentally, neither Chris nor the wolf were doing particularly hot as of late, and truthfully, it would have slept the rest of the night away if it wasn’t for the moon and those pesky instincts.
The search for a meal gave it the opportunity to check its territory. Aside from the faint stench of wandering humans and a few passing deer, there was not much else but snack sized bites. The last bear it encountered was many moons ago and the other wolves? They made sure to steer clear from the area. There was no reasoning with something so feral.
The stench of blood grew strong. It was an older blood, one that had been sitting for some time, but it was fresh enough that it caused the wolf’s mouth to wet with saliva. Worth it? Maybe, they’d have to see. The smell came from a small corpse, a fox, from what Chris’ memories relayed. It was brown surrounded by a darkening of the snow — blood, from what its nose told it. The wolf paused at the base of a tree, its mismatched eyes fixed on the clearing in front, only darting to the edges, wondering if there was something else out there. It made sense that there were no other predators, nothing to grab the morsel up, but why not? Did it do so good a job at marking its space and scaring everyone else away that even a gutted fox would remain untouched?
It seemed unlikely, but there was nothing, nothing but silence and the occasional bird that chirped up amidst the falling snow. The wolf, egged by its empty belly, made the executive decision to step forward.
—
Her mother had been a werewolf hunter. Daiyu didn’t know a lot of her, as she was an often unspoken topic at home, but that she had known. Above the fireplace at home had hung a stuffed werewolf head that she’d chopped off, forever looking down on her brood. She used to sit there, on the ground, staring up with her legs crossed and imagine that Xifeng was looking at her through those eyes. Sometimes she’d ask something, but she ceased eventually. Especially after someone pointed out to her that the eyes were merely marbles.
The only time Alexei Volkov had spoken of his late partner was whenever the moon was full and the hunt had finished. He’d spoken of her viciousness. Daiyu would channel that tonight. (Her mother, after all, would always be her favorite family member — in death she was perfect, an absence that she could pretend would otherwise have been filled with love.)
She exhaled quietly as the wolf appeared, squinting through the scope at her prey to check for the details that should prove this was the one she was after. Mismatched eyes, a golden coat. It approached the dead fox with a certain care. She had expected viciousness as it turned to its meal, for it to devour it with a hungry rage. Especially after the tales she’d heard of this one — rumored berserker. A plague on their community. Murderer.
As the wolf sank its teeth into the marred flesh of the fox, she switched off the safety of her rifle and let out another quiet breath. Daiyu took aim, her finger dancing on the trigger as she waited for the perfect moment. She’d let it have one last feast. She wasn’t a total asshole, after all.
—
The last few months had left them both reeling. The wolf was not as confident as it once was thanks to Chris’ more ever present mind, but that too left the man just as much in a state as his canine half. It was a problem for the wolf’s want to sink its teeth into something supple and alive, to defend its skin and eat to its heart content, to take in the entirety of its freedom. It meant hesitation, even when presented with a juicy hunk of fox flesh.
There were lots of reasons as to why such a find would be left alone in the middle of such an open clearing. Fear, accident - it would do no searching for answers, not when it knew the taste of fresh meat would be bliss. Ignoring its newfound trickling consciousness for the worm of hunger in its gut urged it onward, the wolf moved quickly, suddenly, and snapped the small, limp body into its maws. A crunch could be heard immediately when teeth crushed down into bone, a stark and gruesome sound compared to the silence of the snow flurries that drifted down around it.
Its eyes kept themself busy on the treeline, its body on the brink of either fight or flight, like a tightly wound coil under immense pressure. Another time, the wolf would have taken the kill somewhere a little more covered - not claustrophobic or limiting in any way, but just somewhere they didn’t feel too open. There were too many eyes in the woods. But it assumed, maybe wrongly, that it could swallow what wet fur and meat it managed before something interrupted.
—
The wolf was large. This would prove to be troubling if Daiyu had to go head-to-head with the creature, but that wasn’t the plan. That was why she was hidden far behind a tree, where she had room to bolt should it be needed, where she could take quiet aim and watch the wolf devour the fox. She looked through her scope, heard the crunch of bones and spilling of flesh with her above-average hearing and clenched her jaw.
It was troubling, that the wolf seemed on edge. But she’d come this far, offered up the innocent fox for the creature and finally tracked it down. Besides, Daiyu didn’t get scared. She thought herself above fear, ran into everything without her heart beating much faster and didn’t give much consideration to consequences. If she was anything now, it was determined. To get this done in one fell swoop, to succeed with a single shot. A personal victory. She was already imagining dragging part of the berserker to The 3 Daggers, receiving approval and praise and admiration from her fellow hunters. No matter how conflicted she felt about doing right in other’s eyes, she needed some kind of reputation.
So there was just one thing to do. She stretched her finger and hooked it around the trigger, watched through her scope at as the wolf chewed on some meat and took her shot. A silver bullet whizzed through the air, its sound suppressed by the silencer yet not completely quiet and landing in the creature’s chest. There was only one thing to do for the bullet: to find the heart and put an end to this berserkers reign.
—
Chris had never been shot. He came dangerously close way too many times, but he never had the displeasure of ever feeling a bullet enter his body. The wolf, on the other hand, did. It knew what they sounded like, what they felt like. It knew it wanted nothing to do with them. They were both lucky that none of them had ever stuck, that they either whizzed by with scraping malevolence or moved too quickly to become lodged in their flesh. Exit wounds; Chris had experience with their wrinkled and scarred edges and pits, but willfully chose not to believe that’s what they were.
Ignorance was blissful, but only for so long, though Chris would argue there wasn’t much bliss to be found. Not for him; only confusion.
That continued when they both heard a bang ring out and echo between the thick trees; they heard the short before they felt it. And then there was burning. It was an incapacitating burning, one that radiated through their chest and into their shoulder and up their neck. The silver bullet had found a new home beneath the beast’s collarbone, effectively breaking it and sending a surge of pain and anger through them.
What little remained of the fox’s carcass was dropped limply to the ground in shock, leaving the wolf’s bloody maw to fall open with a hurting sound. Hot breath hurried out from flared nostrils, heaving in and out with the onset of adrenaline and fear. Where? Where was it? Bright eyes, wide and staring, searched the treeline with fervor as it lessened its weight on that shoulder and arm. Where? Globs of thick blood dripped from the wolf’s panting mouth as its head swiveled to and fro. A lucky break and there was movement, just a hair, just a millisecond, but it was enough to catch in a blink and off the beast went.
It kicked at the fox carcass in its hurry which sent the body flying into the powdery snow behind it. It didn’t think about the meal anymore. It didn’t even think about the pain that enveloped their left side as they trudged through the snow with teeth bare towards whatever it was that so minutely disturbed the stoic scenery.
—
Fuck. The bullet burrowed its way into the wolf’s body, sure enough, but it didn’t do what it needed to. Daiyu watched the beast let out a sound but didn’t see it drop. There were pants of pain, there was the anger of an animal backed into a corner who opted for fight and most importantly, there was no sign that its most important muscle had been torn.
The realization came to her quick. She knew what a successful shot looked like, and this wasn’t that — it took a second, all in all, for her hands to start moving to reload the rifle, to get another bullet ready in the hope of getting her kill in two shots. Two was better than three, worse than one. She didn’t spend her time berating herself just yet, that would come after. She’d chastise herself enough to keep her from sleep, go over her failure and push herself into the woods again next time to work on her accuracy. She’d always been good at shooting.
She was good with a gun. She was supposed to be good with a gun. She’d learned to reload one as fast as lightning before she was ten, had shot plenty of other creatures down with just one well-placed bullet. But today she’d failed, so today she reloaded with fervor and frustration and aimed once more at the werewolf who’d now spotted her. The bullet was released with haste, lodging somewhere in the creature’s overly muscular body.
She didn’t spend any time watching where it landed, but in stead switched on the safety of her rifle and swung it over to her back. There was no hunting a werewolf if she was dead, after all. Daiyu started running, her short legs carrying her over the forest floor — no use in keeping down, now: it had seen her. Blood on its maw already. Her body a perfect next meal.
So she ran, her ears focused on the sound of the wolf’s paws hitting the ground, knowing she wasn’t fast enough, knowing she had to get somewhere to gain the upperhand again. Her hands reached for two knives, strapped against her sides, and got them in her hands for a feeling of … what? Safety? Power? She wasn’t sure, but they were solid in her hands as she continued to sprint past trees, moss and fallen branches. Daiyu wasn’t going to be bit tonight, of that she was certain.
—
The first bullet was bad. With each and every huff and puff, it felt like it burrowed in deeper. The heat that seared into their flesh was excruciating, but the wolf’s anger pushed them through the pain. They ignored it, ignored it as Chris did with the wolf, becoming blind to it for the sake of the goal in mind. Right now, that goal was to chase the thing that so easily broke their skin, wounding them.
Chase it and tear it apart.
They could see the figure ahead, their eyes now locked onto the flurry of movement that kicked up from the treeline. There was no point in sitting, they would find it — by scent, by sight, by hearing. They would try and they would be eager to bury teeth into ribs or skull. They wanted something large, something they could fit their mouth around and bite down. They wanted the satisfaction of that crunch and the stillness of death. Their prey, however, had other ideas.
The second bullet was also bad, but it could have been worse. It didn’t get stuck like the other one. It didn’t choose to move in and start paying rent, but it was close to the first and tore through even more muscle. It was a clean shot, lucky for the wolf — lucky for Chris — so they only needed to worry about the one, really, but it hurt. It left the skin feeling raw and red. Down a limb and with adrenaline rushing its body, the beast hurried through the thick, cold snow. They could see the figure ahead of them, practically smell the fragrances that wafted off of their clothing and long, dark hair. They noted her hand movements and where she ran, but not what she held or if she was heading in a specific direction.
They just wanted to bite into her flesh.
—
Someone once told her that she’d be able to piss off an inanimate object if she tried. Daiyu wasn’t sure who it had been, but the sentiment had stuck with her — the idea that one of her skills was setting people off. (Of course, this worked both ways: an inanimate object could also piss her off without little effort.) This trait brought her plenty of problems in life, namely a lack of friends and a large amount of past fights.
Pissing off humans was one thing, however. That sometimes lead to a fight in a parking lot or being cursed out. Pissing off a berserker werewolf, however? That was next level stupid. In her defense, she hadn’t meant to piss it off. She had just wanted to kill it. (If that somehow made it better.)
The beast was fast, even with the two bullets that had pierced its skin. She coursed through the forest and found her solution eventually. Daiyu bit down on one of her knives, freeing one of her hands, and slammed the blade of another into the trunk of a tree. Hoisting herself up with her empty hand (now wrapped around a branch, she got up higher, using her now-stuck knife as a way to get up higher. She thanked all the time she’d spent bouldering, climbed up the tree further. Her lip split slightly on the blade that edged close to her cheeks but it mattered little. She would not be bit. The thing she despised most about the knife in her mouth was her inability to cuss out the werewolf.
—
The pain was a hindrance for sure, but the sheer audacity, the gall, for her to interrupt the meal, to even be in their presence, ran into the red, angry, static portion of their brain and fueled it. Her attack sent them alight with fury; the blood that streamed out of the puncture wounds was a reminder of that. It made them want to move faster, to snap their teeth and catch the hem of her sleeve or pant leg and finally feel the weight of her body between its jaws.
Unfortunately she was faster. And unfortunately, still, she had use of both of her arms. The wolf watched as she started to hurry up a nearby tree with a desperation that seemed to match its own rampage. The snow was slick, so as it neared the thick base of the tree, it couldn’t get enough traction to slow down. It smashed its good shoulder into the trunk, but the crash didn’t stop its momentum of trying to snap up to its intended prey.
The claws of its good arm hurried up in a desperate attempt to try and reach the bottom of her shoe at least, to find some sort of purchase on her person, but she was too fast. The wolf snapped at the air behind her feet, tasting the fallen snow and dirt from her tread. It managed to get a decent grip on the trunk once its claws stopped sliding, but without the other arm, there was only so far it could make it before its weight brought it back down again.
—
She continued to climb, figuring that the higher she got the safer she’d be. Even with one shoe gone, the boot having been ripped from her foot, Daiyu was determined to get up higher. It was a sound logic and in her case, that was a rarity — but she had fought herself out of stickier situations. She was not scratched, nor hurt and her prey had been seriously injured. Her sock getting wet was real annoying, but there were worse things. Like being bit by a werewolf.
Once she’d reached a height that felt safe enough, she glanced down, perching on a branch. The wolf was attempting to climb the tree, causing snow to fall of its branches and rain down around them. She took the knife from her mouth and clutched it in her hand, wiping at the trail of blood seeping from her mouth.
“What are you gonna do, huh?” Her yelling was all bravado, but at least up here she felt like there was no way for the wolf to get her. Unless it was strong enough to knock the tree down. Fuck, she hoped it wasn’t. “Just gonna hurt yourself more! Should’ve just –” She twirled the silver knife in her hand, slammed the blade into another branch. “– died and made this easier on us both!” She knew the wolf couldn’t hear her, but that kind of thing had never stopped Daiyu from yelling.
—
What was the wolf going to do? It couldn’t climb up the tree, no matter how badly it wanted to. It tried to climb again — and failed again. In a sudden rush, it bit and gnawed at the tree trunk. Its teeth ripped through bark and gouged deep canals in the wood; its claws on its good arm did the same, as if tearing at the tree would get it somewhere. Naturally, the tree stood at attention, only shaking every so often by the ferocious attack at its base, but it didn’t move. Of course it wouldn’t.
Blood, snow and saliva wet the bark, making it harder to find purchase. There was no chance it would, but it wouldn’t know that. It would have kept trying if it hadn’t been for the blooming pain in its chest. The burn was incredibly intense — and staggering. It did not know about silver bullets before, or at least, never had the displeasure of feeling one personally. Now it had two; at least one of them had the good sense to push through the wolf’s body instead of getting stuck and creating a bigger problem. Maybe if that one went through completely, as well, then it could have climbed the tree. Maybe.
The beast’s large head shook and the movement followed down its back, as if that would help to displace some of the pain that continued to pulse with each pounding heartbeat. It was irritating. Maybe it should have died when it was supposed to — then there would be this problem, this hunger and ever constant anger that didn’t know when to stop. It was why its stomach, not the pain in its shoulder nor the blood that continued to drip from its wound, drew them away from the ball of meat perched tantalizing above them. Movement to its left broke its fixed and hard gaze from the woman above to the deer that foolishly wandered passed at the wrong moment.
From the looks of it, it was thrust from its hiding spot by fear. Its dark eyes were wide and staring and its head hurried on a swivel until it made contact with the wolf. With one last snarl to the mess that was the tree, and the woman in it, the beast hurried after the larger prey as well as it was able to. With a broken clavicle and a couple of bullet holes, the creature likely wouldn’t catch its prey. It would do a good job, give the chase a nice college try, but it wouldn’t get that divine dinner of meat it so desperately wanted after that fox appetizer. At least it would be away from the woman that shot it full of pain.
Chris: You stay out of our buisness Ethan! You're in over your head!
Ethan, who's had to survive a murderous Louisianna family of cannibals that turn into monsters, having his hand(s) cut off multiple times, having to kill and save his wife more than once, and then watch her get shot in their new European home AND have his baby stolen by 2 seperate groups, having to fight multiple zombies, werewolves, vampires, dolls, abominations and fish at this point, and is about 1 more mental breakdown away from just ending it all:
