Tell Me - beltway to Bertha
Leave a “Tell Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character confessing something to yours [be it a love confession, a secret, feel free to specify.]
Raccoon City is a cesspool. Bertha can't imagine what it was like before the virus and doesn't bother to try. She takes what good she can get out of the place to try and offset the overwhelming amount of bullshit. In this instance, the only good thing about the entire damn city is the existence of a little hole in the wall bar she never bothers to learn the name of. Spectre is at the roof, keeping watch and reporting if any BOW gets too close. Vector is somewhere. Doing something. He doesn't need medical attention so Bertha doesn't need to know his business. That's for their leader to worry about.
Speaking of, Lupo is with Four Eyes going over what they could do to most effectively deal with the monsters Umbrella has dropped on the city. How better to survive. They might even try to establish contact with Mission Control. Again. Bertha can't imagine they'll really be abandoned. They just need to complete their mission. Take out all the survivors and then they'll earn extraction. Simple. She can't think of the alternative- that they're truly abandoned for a series of events that isn't really their fault.
She's drinking. They're in the dingy basement of the bar and Lupo doesn't plan to move them for at least a day if she can help it. They need time to rest. Plan. Bertha isn't going to let all the booze in crates and fridges that have been off since the EMPs did their job go to waste. She can fight through a hangover if need be. Or inject herself with a little pick me up, but only if it's really needed. She doesn't have an unlimited number of vials. Beltway is with her. Maybe he doesn't have anything to add to the planning, maybe he just wants some down time; the medic doesn't know.
Eventually drinking begets talking and singing. Bertha teaches the demolition expert a few toasting songs from back home. It's a better time than she expects to have given the shitty city they're in and everything that led up to the bar.
Bertha's mask is sitting safely with her apron and belt of medical tools. Her face is a cheery shade of pink, and her grin is wide. The world is soft around the edges and turning a bit too much to slow her to get up and walk. She settles for using Beltway as support instead, draping over him like a happy, drunk blanket.
"Don't tell anyone," she purrs, nuzzling like a cat, "But my name is Michaela." She likes her privacy. Maybe Lupo has been given files on everyone and maybe not; but Bertha has not volunteered her real name to anyone for a long time. She prefers her callsign and everyone else staying at a healthy distance. But Hector's sense of humor, his disregard for safety- he's won her attention. "I will die before I fail my team. So if I don't make it out, make sure you do. And remember me."
