#priceforeverything

[anthologicals]

❝  this  isn't  an  invitation  to  keep  talking.❞  a  searing  breath  behind  the  mask,  vexation  palpable.  he  loathed  being  in  this  predicament.  but  orders  were  orders.  the  attaché  case  is  safely  bound  with  the  contents  they're  both  responsible  for,  not  rushing  his  steps,  two  beats  behind  @priceforeverything.  it's  not  submission  but  calculated. ( smoll thing . . . )

[hopewrought]

♡

Send ♡ to see what my muse thinks of yours | @priceforeverything

○○○○○ | ATTRACTION ●●○○○ | AFFECTION ●●●○○ | INTEREST ●●●●● | LOYALTY ●●●●○ | TRUST

Bethany is very fond of Jake, and finds him interesting - as his own person and on individual merits; not as Wesker's 'legacy'. In fact, in her mind it's quite easy to detach the two due to their distinct and strong personalities and greatly differing attitudes. Plus, she has had her own issues with getting wrapped up in and suffering the consequences of her father's past and so there's a level of understanding and empathy there. She's loyal to him due to all of this and absolutely would not sell him out, but he gets dinged a trust point for being a mercenary sorry. There's always that slight question when it comes to those who work for the highest bidder (blame HUNK for this tbh)

[vicarispa]

@priceforeverything liked for a starter

"First, I would like to offer you some condolences. I hear your mother has passed. It has been some time since then, but I'm sorry to hear it." He walks around the table, setting down a bottle of wine, and coming to the other side, sitting across from the titular Jake Muller.

"My..." He took a pause, forgetting himself, and correcting what he was about to say. "My friend, as a child, he lost his mother when he was young. They said, she died of a broken heart, after her husband died. I... My friend, he resented her for it, very deeply. He felt, as if, he didn't matter enough to her. That she'd rather die than be with him."

"I don't mean to imply anything, these stories have nothing to do with you, I'm merely reminiscing... What good are fathers, really?" The sound of the cork is sharp, a pop, like a sigh, and he fills a goblet with wine, for himself, and his guest.

"I'll cut to the point. I know you've been harmed by the specter of a man once dead. I empathize. I understand this might be opening up a wound you want to stitch shut, but I needed someone to do something for me, and I'm afraid, quite literally, you are the only man in the world for the job."

A sigh. Vicari looks Jake in the eyes, his green eyes are like jade, pale and dull. "When the Vicari Corporation assisted in cleaning up the Kijuju Incident, some of the remains of your father was found."

"I need you to help me transport it."

[hopewrought]

Bull isn’t obvious in how he watches her, but watch her he does. You never know when you need to keep an eye on a mage.

@priceforeverything

The subtlety of a spy would find its match in the hypervigilance of a lifetime apostate.

Bethany is keeping mostly to herself, nursing her ritewine peacefully in a spot not too close to the bard - she's not untalented, but only seems to have maybe five songs in rotation, bless her - when that familiar prickle at the back of her neck starts. The sensation of being watched. Her gaze sweeps around for its source, subtly at first, though it does not take long to be drawn to the qunari's watchful eye a couple of tables away. His demeanour is one of practiced languidity, in her estimation. It does not fool her.

When her own stare is acknowledged, Bethany raises an eyebrow.

"I saw that pamphlet of yours. Less wordy than Anders' old manifesto, but no more likely to make you any friends, in case you were wondering."

[hopewrought]

“ What do you want from me? ” Jake.

questions!! | @priceforeverything

As always, he is direct. Bethany likes that. People who say what they mean and don't waste time are a rare blessing in the circles she moves within, where diplomacy and negotiations are king. Politeness is one thing, and courtesy is something she extends as a default to everyone unless they demonstrate she need do otherwise of course, but there is an exhausting artificiality to the politics of it. The world could be drowning in threats to the human race and there would still be rich men hesitating, tying themselves in knots with double-speak and demanding their egos be pandered to.

"Who says I want anything from you?" She shrugs lightly. Transactional thinking is understandable, from what he has read of his file. From what she has experienced of mercenaries, too, though Jake doesn't quite fit the profile of those she has known, either.

Bethany raises her right hand, gesturing to a frosted glass cabinet against the wall opposite her desk. Though obscured, bottles of various clear and amber liquids can be seen. "Help yourself, if you wish. Consider this a social call. I'm curious about you Jake, and I'd like to get to know you better. Is that close enough to wanting something?"

The demeanour of warm politeness offered to him is genuine enough. Bethany lifts her own glass from the desk, a Galway crystal cut in the distinctive Longford pattern, its contents a neat whiskey she has been nursing over the course of the afternoon. Self-medicating, of course. "How about an easy one to start - why did you change your mind on that 50 mil?"

[hopewrought]

Nikolai gently cups her face. “You are far more doomed than you already feel.”

She's standing stock-still, artificially rigid, not pulling away from the contact but visibly uncomfortable. Discomfited. On a knife's edge of anxiety and distress.

"And just when you think you've hit rock bottom, along comes a Russian to make everything even worse."

[replicae]

The break in happens during shift change from night to day, it’s still dark and he knows its their best chance. Voice is muffled by a standard issued mask that doesnt fit as nice as his custom gear. Should have expected the Alphabet agency’s to cheap out. The keycard is swiped and he tosses a helmet and mask in along with a recently swiped vest. “Put it on if you want to get out.” Wrist watch is checked. “We have three minutes before the cameras stop their loop so lets go.”

None other than Jake Muller appears as he tosses the helmet behind him into the back seat once they’re out of the holding facility. “You hungry?” Theres gotta be some shitty diner nearby right?

Zeno flinches at the sound of his cell door opening. It's a sound he should have gotten used to by now but it usually meant armed figures hauling him out for interrogation, a process made none the easier thanks to the anti-BOW sedatives they force him to take three times daily. They make him groggy, tired and nauseous - something his captors really don't appreciate when they want answers but it's their main safeguard to keep him under control. He doesn't look up at whoever is on guard duty today, keeping his head bowed and eyes low until told otherwise. He does note that it's strange there's only one here to retrieve him but he supposes they're confident enough he won't try to escape. Can't really, not when he can barely think. Standing up when addressed, Zeno quietly shuffles along, mentally preparing himself for another gruelling round of questions he can't answer. Not without fear of retribution from the Connections, and fear that once these people knew all they wanted to know, they'd go ahead and dispose of him anyway. His attention is drawn back to the masked figure with him tonight. Even in his current state, Zeno can tell this one is new. He's not pushy like the others, hitting and shoving him aggressively when he can't move as fast as they'd like. He also notices when they start walking in another direction, one that leads away from the interrogation room. His heart almost skips a beat at that realisation, thinking that maybe they've decided they're not getting anything and they're getting rid of him now but instead of seeing a gun, Zeno's eyes widen as he sees... "Keycard...?" He utters hoarsely, mouth as dry as his tongue. God, it's hard to speak but the person he's with responds back in a muffled voice. Whoever he is, Zeno beginning to suspect he shouldn't be here and his suspicions are confirmed when the other man pulls out a helmet and mask, along with a security vest he's grabbed from god knows where. Zeno doesn't stop to argue, to think if where he's going next might be even worse than here. He can't stay, not for another minute and he bites the bullet, putting on the vest as best as he can manage in his current state before donning the rest of his disguise. They manage to make the rest of the journey without difficulty, the clone following along after the masked figure until they reach the car and hop in. It's about all Zeno can manage before his energy gives out, slumping against the side door after he snaps his seatbelt into place. The sedatives are still doing a number on him but should start wearing off within the hour now it seemed like he wouldn't be getting any more forced down his throat for the time being. Exhausted, he turns to acknowledge his saviour, unnaturally golden eyes widening when he recognises that signature scar crossing his cheek... "Jake? The hell are you doing here?" Zeno manages to get out, focusing on the twin sets of faces staring back at him after his helmet is tossed into the back. It's not that he's not grateful to be out of that place where they were practically torturing him for information regarding the people who quite literally own him but the fact this was Albert's son, a man rescuing his father's clone from the authorities is a darkly comedic twist he had to admit he never saw coming.

"No idea. Never been to a diner before but I sure could murder a cigarette right about now..." Zeno replies, head lolling back against his seat's headrest as he tries to make sense of the last ten minutes that just occurred. Jake Muller was one of the last people he expected ever to see again, let alone risk his own personal wellbeing springing Zeno out of what would surely have been a grisly end eventually.

[thxgrxmrexpxr]

🍉- the food market from Nikolai

He's going to pass out. The boredom is eating away at him on the inside like some carnivorous insect. Every time he thinks it's almost over, something is spoken, and the conversation begins anew.

While he can't understand more than a few words being exchanged between his "colleague" and the stall owner, he presumes that it's purely tedious. There's something about the way it does not end that draws his patience towards the limit. Every once and awhile, he glances around, half tempted to turn and simply abandon Nikolai to his own devices.

When the stall owner momentarily turns away, he takes advantage of the distance and sharply turns his head towards the other man.

"I'm not standing here all day while you make noise. Get whatever the hell you're here for already so we can leave."