#⌠ V. SEJM – I just wanna go home. ⌡

[barrysbaby]

i waited and hoped and prayed you'd return. | have a worried tm dad, Barry.

"YOU CAME BACK FOR ME!" PROMPTS

She hadn’t had the chance to hug him earlier, when they first reunited, given they were too busy running for their lives from that gross abomination that was Alex Wesker.

But now that the chopper landed, now that they’ve safely entered the B.S.A.A. HQ, now that she’s alone with her dad in the infirmary, waiting for the medics to come examine her… it’s about time. So she wraps her arms around him, squeezing him as tight as possible, burying her face in his chest, holding him for a long moment, before pulling back to look up at his face.

“So did I,” she murmurs, tears welling up in her eyes. “I missed you, Dad.”

[barrysbaby]

“Oh my God! Is that blood? Holy shit, since when have you been coughing blood?” It doesn’t take a doctor to know that coughing up blood is bad. Just bad. She just… never realized his condition was this bad before.

Concern floods Moira’s eyes in seconds before the roar takes her attention off the old man and to the monster that’s become alerted to them. Forget about the deer, Moira’s not going to risk his life. They’re better off just leaving. Surely they’ll find another deer again at some point. Maybe. If they’re lucky. But before she can even nudge the old man to go, he’s running off, straight toward the monster, luring it away.

“Wait!” she shouts. “Where are you going? Get back here or you’re gonna go extinct, you dinosaur!”

Moira bolts after the old man, though before she can catch up to him, another one of those monsters stumbles out of the woods and into the dirt path in front of her, blocking her way. She comes to an instant halt. The longer she stays out here, the darker it gets, the harder it is to spot these things in the woods.

She backs away, though the monster has already spotted her, and it heads in her direction.

Before she wastes any bullets on this thing, Moira tugs out her flashlight and aims it at the monster. But it does nothing. Shooting at it barely makes a difference either, other than making the outer layer of its flesh explode. Still, Moira keeps firing as she watches the monster flip around and move in unimaginable positions, its limbs twisting and turning.

And to make matters worse, two more of these sick monsters show up. That’s when she decides she should run. This isn’t a fight she can win on her own. Not right now. Not without knowing how. Instead she opts for trying to stay hidden after creating enough distance between her and the monsters, remaining quiet, until the growls are far, far away from her. Then she comes out of hiding, slow, careful steps as she weighs in her options.

She can try and go in the direction the old man went, or she can trust that he’ll be heading back to their hideout and meet up with him there. If it weren’t so late in the day, she’d go with the former. But for once, she decides to listen to him.

By the time Moira arrives back in the sewers, it’s quiet. Too quiet. And when she walks into their hideout, it’s empty. Her heart sinks. He’s not here. He didn’t come back.

She leaves the room after grabbing some more ammo, intending to go look for him, but her legs don’t carry her too far. She’s tired. Exhausted, in fact, on the verge of collapsing.

Maybe he’s okay. Maybe he just took one too many wrong turns and it’s taking him a while to find his way. Maybe he ran for too long and needed a minute to catch his breath. Maybe he’ll be back any second now, and she has to stay here so he doesn’t worry about her and go looking for her.

Or maybe he’s not okay. Maybe those monsters caught up to him. Maybe they ripped him to shreds. Maybe he’s dead and never coming back. Ever.

Moira slumps against the wall and drops to the floor. Her eyes sting and her lungs constrict. She brings her knees up and wraps her arms around them, buries her face in them.

Please…

Don’t leave me.

I don’t want to be alone.

And then the distant sound of footsteps echoing through the tunnels reaches her. The heavy breathing and panting. The creak of an old door. Moira lifts her head and blinks her tears away. She pushes up and, hesitantly, makes her way back to the room.

Her heart nearly leaps out of her chest when she spots the old man through the barred window.

“You made it!” She gasps, then, in a hurry, rushes around the corner and opens the door, barging into the room. Tears still burn in her swollen eyes. “Jesus, I thought you were dead!” But he’s not. He’s alive. He’s so fricking alive. Moira steps toward him, intending to give him a hug, but instead she shoves him. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. What the hell was that? What happened to keeping out of sight?”

         "No!" Evgeny's tone is harsh, but his eyes belie his intent. It isn't aggression, but fear that drives this response. Fear more for her sake than his, at that; he'd long since accepted his death. "It is new! We know how to fight others. Not this. Is too dangerous, anyway. Kroshka still young, long life ahead. Should not be wasted dying now. We have food." He raised his sack of caught game, then glances back towards the deer, retroactively considering it. It would feed them far longer than the rabbits. And Moira had EARNED that kill. Worked for it, tooth and nail. She deserved--

         A heavy coughing fit wracked his body before he could conclude that train of thought. Splotches of blood splattered the ground in front of him; in his peripheral, he could see the thing turn. It began bellowing, an unearthly howl, and in what seemed an instant, another emerged from the tree line to join it. Two more appeared from deeper in, where Moira had been prior; likely initially drawn out by the gunfire, then lured further by this thing.

         Evgeny saw two ways out: he could let the kroshka handle it, or he could lead them away. As HE was the one who alerted them, the answer was rather obvious. "No choice now. Grab deer! Run!" He clapped her on the shoulder, and leapt up, rushing towards the creatures himself. He alerted them - it was only fair he drew them away. Two rounds were fired skyward, and, after further bellows, the creatures pursued him, leaving Moira in an abrupt, eerie silence. The sounds of the forest had ceased the moment the creatures arrived, and did not immediately continue following their exit; a sign there may be more.

         Once he was out of sight of Moira, the old Russian did all he could to lose his pursuers, unsuccessfully. His old bones couldn't keep up. He knew he'd tire out quickly, and that would be his end. He wouldn't allow it; it would be a disgrace. It would dishonor his Irina if he fell so pathetically. And, perhaps of equal importance, he would be proving the kroshka correct: that he was just some grouchy, bossy old man. Hmph. 'Rasputin' not die so easy, he thought to himself.

         Her nicknames for him actually amused him for the most part, though he wouldn't let it show. Dinosaur being his favorite. He didn't know much about dinosaurs, truth be told; just a few facts from children's books Irina had read as a girl. Such as how the long-necked ones were Brachiosaurs -- he could still remember her small voice, fumbling the pronunciation. Barchisaurus, she'd called it, a memory that still made him chuckle.

         Now wasn't the time for such sentimentality, however.

         Evgeny ducked into a thicket of bushes, and raised a hand over his mouth to silence his breathing. The creatures, limbs bent at unnatural angles, dead-eyed and hungry, rushed right by him. Not one stopped to investigate, and they collectively rounded a further corner, vanishing from his line of sight. He allowed himself a moment to smile; he had won. Outsmarted the damnable fiends. But still, he had a long, long way to go to return to his makeshift home, and it was now fully dark out. He would have to be exceptionally cautious.

         For a fleeting moment, he caught himself hoping the kroshka had made it back by now. That she was safe. If she wasn't there when he arrived, he would go searching, a thought that didn't exactly appeal to him; but whether he liked it or not, he'd grown somewhat attached. He didn't HAVE to track her down, but he would. Even despite never having learned her name, he still found he cared, and that fact, perhaps, annoyed him more than anything else.

         After all, attachment was a dangerous luxury under such conditions. But he had allowed it thus far; most likely, he would continue to do so.

         It took another hour, trekking through forest and climbing hills. He'd had to dodge many more monsters on the way; some he knew, some he didn't. None held him up for long. At roughly 2 AM, he was finally approaching his makeshift home in the sewers, using the butt of his rifle as a walking stick. He'd clipped his knee on the way there, an injury that would likely only hamper him for a day or two at most. But he was expecting an earful from the kroshka for it, regardless. He did rather break his own rules, today, didn't he?

         Staggering inside, he shut the door as quietly as he could, then fell against it with a heavy thump. Better to let the door keep him standing than to keep dirtying the butt of his rifle. He exhaled through his nostrils, sound born of a mix of relief and exhaustion. He was too old for such escapades. Shakily, his arm moves to rest the rifle against the wall, just beside the door, before finally scanning the room for the kroshka.

[barrysbaby]

“Ugh, yeah, yeah, whatever.” A feigned, frustrated sigh. But he’s not wrong, and she knows it. “Relax, old man. You’re not dying anytime soon. God forbid I actually catch a break from your neverending life lessons.”

She doesn’t even blink at it anymore—Kroshka. Although Moira keeps wondering if he’ll ever ask her name. He never told her his and… in a way, she gets it. When death awaits them around every corner, is it worth getting attached? During such circumstances, even exchanging names is too intimate. Too personal. But at the same time, Moira is getting attached. There’s much about the man that reminds her of Barry. Of her daddy. How he’d call her baby. How she would yell, I’m not a baby! Stop calling me that. And then give him the middle finger before storming to her bedroom.

Memories like those… they leave a bitter taste in her mouth. She wishes she could go back in time, just to hear her dad call her baby in that loving voice of his, and instead of yelling at him she’d give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek and tell him she loves him more than anything in the world.

But now is not the time to dwell on the past. It never is.

As the old man goes his way, Moira goes after the deer, remaining crouched as she attempts to get closer, make sure she has a good shot. Looking through the scope of the rifle, she points at the deer’s head. Her hands shake. It’s getting a little colder here on the island these days. All the more reason they need to stock up on food. Before it becomes impossible for them to go out and hunt.

A deep breath in. Hold steady. Point. And shoot.

The kickback of the rifle nearly sends her stumbling backward, but she balances herself quick. The deer, however, runs off deeper into the woods.

Dammit.

“I’m going after it!” she shouts to Evgeny before scrambling to her feet and chasing after the animal. She won’t let it get away. She can’t.

It takes her some time, chasing the damn thing all over the place, hiding behind trees and bushes, fighting against her too fricking shaky hands, but then, eventually, an opportunity presents itself. While the deer is busy drinking from a puddle, Moira takes aim once more. With a precise shot from her rifle straight to the head, the deer drops dead.

“Yes!” A quiet cheer as she stands, coming out from behind the debris. But as Moira approaches the corpse of the deer, as she stands over its limp body, as she looks at its dead eyes, a stone drops to her stomach. Her brows knit together. Such a pretty little thing, was full of life just moments ago and now…

No. She shakes her head. She had to do it. It’s the only way for them to survive. The only way.

And because the old man’s words served as a grim reminder to her: that he won’t always be there to help her. That she has to learn to do things by herself, Moira digs through her pouches for some rope. She ties the deer’s back limbs together before trying to drag the body back with her.

“Hey, Rasputin!” Moira calls for him, a prideful smile stretching across her face. “Look what I got us! You can rest your fragile old bones for a while.” But it’s only moments before the old man is calling for them to head back. Rightfully so, it’s getting late in the day. They probably should have headed back sooner but… Moira was too occupied chasing after that deer to notice.

That abrupt stop mid-sentence has her head tilting sideways in confusion. Something’s not right. Moira follows his gaze. She can’t exactly see from where she is right now, so she sets the deer down and, while crouched heads over to him. That’s when she sees it. A… thing.

“Ah, shit… are you kidding me?” A soft mutter under her breath. “Ew, what the hell is that? It looks so… unique.” In as sarcastic a tone as she can manage. Gross or ugly is more like it.

Moira has never seen anything like that before. Most of the monsters they encountered were fairly human-looking, minus the zombified part. What was it that wackjob of an Overseer called them? Afflicted? Something like that. It was in one of the many notes and documents Moira found while exploring the island. Those, Moira had no trouble fighting, even though the old man insisted they dodge them, that it would only be a waste of precious bullets. Not that she had to use her bullets. Her flashlight and crowbar were more than enough. For the most part.

But it seems the old man doesn’t want to stick around and find out what this new monstrosity is, as he leads them in the opposite direction, toward a longer path.

“Wait, we can’t leave,” Moira whisper-calls, taking the man by the arm, nudging him to stop. “What about that deer? It can feed us for days, if not weeks. We have to take it.”

She’s almost begging. There’s no way she went through all that trouble only to abandon the deer to rot in the forest. No way she’s giving up on a long day’s hard work because of a singular inconvenience.

“Let me…” she starts, hesitant, already anticipating his response, “let me try and take it out. I’ll do it quietly, I promise.”

         Moira had been making long strides in recent weeks. He remembered what she was like after he first saved her. She couldn't hit the broadside of a barn. Her aim had been terrible, but she had the warrior's spirit, the soul of a survivor. He knew she had it in her. And here it was, progress, on display. Confidence, improved aim.

         Less hesitation.

         That he was perhaps the most pleased with. A moment's hesitation meant death on this island, as it was now. He longed for gentler days. Missed the friends he had in the village. His daughter. But those days would never come again. Outsiders had seen to that. At least this outsider was different - and as angry with them as he was.

         Her complaints earn only a grunt from the old man; he saw no need to indulge such behavior. Indeed, he wasn't one to coddle, and occasionally her commentary was amusing. A bit of levity added to a situation never hurt anyone. At least, not that he could remember. He watched her reaction, saw her eyes pop, the flash of excitement.

         Nothing to her. To him, a glimpse of Irina. He recalled her expression the first time she saw one of the western vehicles, a helicopter - it was much the same. The memory pained him as much as it made him want to smile, so it was promptly shoved down, away from his forethoughts.

         I'll take it, she says. Momentary pride in her is replaced by mild irritation - and simultaneous amusement. He huffs, readying his rifle in both hands. "I help this time. But when dead, hm, kroshka? Who will help then? You must learn do things yourself. I boss around because you need it." His gaze shifted back to the deer, and he nodded to her; the elderly man vanished into the underbrush moments later, going for smaller game, whilst Moira took the deer.

         Rustling and the sound of flesh parting from bone came from nearby bushes. It took time, especially with the intermittent coughing fits slowing him down, but Evgeny was having success! Six rabbits, a single crow, and two rats later, he was turning to return - only to realize how late it was getting. It wasn't like him to lose track. Chalk it up to his age.

         "Kroshka!" A harsh, terse whisper. "We must go! Now! Before--" He's cut off. Eyes locked on a monstrous, bipedal thing lurking near the end of the path they took to get here. If he made another sound, it would find him. A gesture made, beckoning Moira onward, and he began towards a secondary path away from the clearing. It was longer, but it would take them back to their little hideaway...provided there were no other interruptions.

[barrysbaby]

She’s getting good at it; shooting.

And, by consequence, hunting—killing, even though she hates it. She hates how, the more she does it, the more used to it she becomes, the less bad she feels for the animals.

The first time Moira skinned a rabbit (or tried to, rather), she threw up almost on the spot. Had no appetite to eat anything the rest of that day. But now she can skin a rabbit in seconds with her eyes closed if she wants. Without a grimace or a complaint. Hell, sometimes, her mouth starts watering at the thought of cooking the rabbit before she even shoots it.

She could do with some seasoning, but… bland food is better than no food, and she’s learning not to be too picky. When she gets back home, she’s never complaining about her mom serving them pancakes for breakfast five times a week.

If she gets back home.

The truth is, living on this island for months now, Moira is starting to wonder if this is really temporary. If… maybe this is what the rest of her life will look like. The old man isn’t doing too hot. Every day that passes, he seems to be getting worse. Whether it’s sickness or just old age getting to him, she’s unsure. And he doesn’t really talk about it with her no matter how many times she asks him. Regardless, he won’t live forever, and one day she’ll be all alone here. Is it even worth living at that point, without having anyone by her side?

Her thoughts are interrupted when the man comes to a sudden halt and he gestures for her to be quiet.

“I wasn’t even talking?” She huffs, though she does as told and crouches beside him holding his gaze. The mention of “luck” has her eyes rolling at him. “Oh, yeah? Are you finally gonna stop bossing me around? Cause that’d be my lucky day, guarenteed.”

She looks in the direction he points. Moira has definitely gotten better at spotting the animals hiding about, noticing every little movement in the bushes or trees. It doesn’t take her long to spot today’s haul. Rabbits, rats (still gross), birds—and jackpot. “Holy crap.” Her eyes pop. “A deer?”

They don’t come by deers often. And if they can get their hands on it, they’re gonna be stocked for a while. What with them slowly running out of food. Moira’s starting to think they’re better off breeding rabbits at this point if they want a consistent source of food. But then they’d have to worry about feeding the rabbits too.

“I’ll take it,” she whispers to him, confident. “But just a headsup, I am not dragging it all the way back by myself.”

@cannonfullofcanons

         The last few days' hunting had been- what was the English word? Shit? The kroshka used that word a great deal. That seemed correct. The monsters were getting stronger. More bold, coming out in the daylight, no longer remaining hidden. It made the hunts more dangerous, and it led to less game. This hunt in particular would be crucial; they were completely out of food, and would go hungry tonight, if they did not find something edible.

         Evgeny had chosen one of his old favorite spots for this. A clearing in a thicket of trees, one wherein he had never failed to find some animals - usually rabbits, the occasional deer. Anything would suffice. He would rather eat rodents than starve.

         He could do without further pain. Pain brought memories. Memories he was more content not focusing on now.

         Upon their arrival at the clearing, a hand raised, calling for a simultaneous silence and halt to Moira's movement. He crouched down, shifting his rifle to his other hand, held by the grip; glanced back to the American, a small smile forming on his weary face. "Kroshka. We have luck today." His free hand lifted, a bony finger pointing towards a thicket of bushes.

         Rabbits darted in and out of the brush, but they were not all. Birds, perched in a tree; rats close to a crumbling structure; a deer at the far end, grazing. They had their dinner, but would they continue to have such luck? Would it last? For the kroshka, he hoped it would. Whether his did or not, made no difference to the old Russian. He lived well. He would die well, too, in his home, on his island, in SPITE of all that had happened here. In the end, he would rejoin his Irina.

         They would not take that from him.

{ @barrysbaby hit the starter call! }