Starter for @irxnsteed with Excella!
Excella has contacts that still keep in touch with her despite her issues with Wesker, TriCell, and, by extension, Umbrella, and it isn’t difficult to sniff out new places of interest to her. Or, in this instance, old places of interest. A hidden village in Romania, mentioned only in remnants of Ozwell Spencer’s journals she had paid a good price to get copies of, and from there her research uncovered a goldmine of information.
She knows better than to make herself up as glamorous as she might usually do, opting instead to keep her hair down and wear a simple pair of jeans, a tank top, and a long, hooded robe to act as a covering as well as to blend in a bit better with the fairly drab ensemble the people here wear. Whatever it takes to get what she wants, she’ll do it.
The village is divided into sections. It makes sense, considering the Lords and their territories to match their personalities and needs. Excella has done her homework, knows where she wants to start. Of course, the woman and her daughters in the castle initially appealed to her, particularly compared to the hideous monster that is Salvatore Moreau and the doll-loving horror show that is most likely Donna Benevienot (dolls never bode well even in the best of circumstances), yet it was Karl Heisenberg in his factory that caught her eye. Not simply because she fancies herself an expert manipulator of men, but because he also, with his abilities, has an entire army at his command. What she can get through espionage, she can get through force.
It takes work, but she bypasses the gates blocking her path, resulting in not just a few cuts and bruises, and walks the path towards the factory.
A large field greets her before the opening to the factory does, and she takes a few minutes to scan the area to check for traps, hidden bodyguards or weaponry, anything that might make an attempt on her life before she can make it inside. There’s nothing offhand that she can see, but she isn’t sure how much she trusts it. Still, the large scar across her abdomen aches and she craves to sit, so she crosses the field and goes inside, tense the entire way until she’s safely inside. Well, the inside may not be safe at all, but she feels like she is.
“Salve, signore Heisenberg!” she calls, waiting for a voice or a figure to greet her back. There is nothing, so she moves to a work desk with papers and photographs pinned to a board behind it, and leans against it, the pressure taken off her stomach and more onto her legs. While waiting, she picks up a sheaf of paper and begins to read through it. Some notes about Mother Miranda with ideas for a new design scribbled in the margins. Avvincente.
