As soon as Ethan is able to spot the village in the distance, he makes a strange sound not wholly unlike a wounded animal. Breathing heavy, he staggers back, just a step or two, and wide-eyed looks around at woods before stumbling and sitting down on the side of the road. Head hanging down between his knees, he works on steadying his breathing - count to four, breathe in, count to four, breathe out.
Walking down the road toward the village is what he needs to do.
It's what he's going to do.
He's just not able to make himself do it just yet.
Starfall.
At the village, Ethan keeps his distance. He's polite, but wary, and pays close attention to whatever is done or said. Maybe this really is just a nice little village that welcomes outsiders who arrive by mysterious means, but what are the odds of that?
No, he's pretty sure that he is or was dead and either this is some particularly awful flavour of afterlife or some loathesome bio-organic weapon company found his body (...spores?) and jumpstarted him back to life.
Still, no need to be rude until it becomes necessary, so throughout the evening he'll offer to play cards, carry food and drink, and when the locals go to bed, he'll chip in for cleaning.
↪ "Deal me in?"
↪ While sweeping, he turns to another person that appears newly arrived, "What do you think of all this?"
ooc.
Questions, comments, want a special starter, have a wildcard idea that's burning in your breast? hmu and let's gooooooooo.
[ Said by a man who looked like he was freshly arrived from a cosplay meetup. Maybe a ye olde timey medieval reenactment group. Actually, Ironeye looked like exactly what someone wouldn't want to encounter in the woods -- scaled mantle, hood, light plate, with weapons strapped to his body like he was expecting a dragon to wing its way out of the sky. He had a torch in one hand, his single source of flickering light.
Of all the things to be worried about, an escapee from Medieval Times Tournament and Dinner, isn't high on Ethan's list of concerns. If anything, it makes sense in a 'sure, why the fuck not' kind of way.
"I...you know, I left the cabin and didn't think to check." Ethan blinks once or twice and does a quick check. It's a practiced movement that suggests he's fought in the past and knows how to do a pat-down to find injuries that were missed due to an adrenaline rush.
"Nothing new." Another deep, unsteady breath, and he runs a hand through his hair. Still missing two fingers on the one hand, and plenty of odd, deep scarring over both his hands. "Are you local?"
I doubt it. [ What, he wasn't sure? Well, one could never tell with these things... ] It's night, and yet it's not raining. That would be very unusual for Limveld.
[ He took note of Ethan's systematic self-accounting. Curious how efficient he was if indeed it was merely fear that had taken hold of him. 'Nothing new'. Meaning that old injuries were nothing out of the ordinary? ]
Some things are so ingrained that even in the edges of a full-blown panic attack, Ethan can do them unprompted. Checking for injuries? Easy. Reloading his gun? You bet.
Walking towards another damned village?
...eh, maybe not.
"No. I'm ...last I was in Romania, but I grew up in Oregon." He's never heard of Limveld, but it sounds South African, maybe? Or is that just the veldt?
"Suppose I ought to." What else can he do, really? Stay in the cabin? Learn how to fish or hunt and slowly go crazy by himself in the woods? Let himself sink into the earth and just go be a mushroom?
Ethan stands, brushes his hands over his thighs, and makes his way back to the road.
"Good to meet you, Ironeye. I'm Ethan Winters." Ironeye is an odd name, and if he's never heard of Oregon, that is also a bit troubling. Maybe this is some sort of afterlife? Or his new traveling companion was wholly grown in a lab?
"I don't think I'll need to have a break on the way there, but I guess we'll see."
[ Once they got moving, two things became obvious: (1) Ironeye was clearly comfortable negotiating himself in the dark through the middle of nowhere, and (2) he was making a concerted effort to slow down, as improbable as that might seem. ]
You don't wander the woods for your living, I take it, or you'd have a hatchet in hand.
Signs of civilization are a conflicted revelation, for Arcade's part. On the one hand, lights might mean people, and people might mean answers, directions, a way back to sanity and the familiar. On the other - well. He's not on such great footing with the familiar, either.
So he's cautious, as he makes his way down the road. Meandering, really, as he tries to decide how much to risk, just showing up out of the blue— And moving slowly enough as he goes to notice that's... not a boulder, sitting on the side of the road, but a man. Breathing heavily and seemingly some kind of unwell.
He keeps his distance, offering a cautious but not unkind, "Hey - everything all right, over there?"
"Oh, yeah, great," Arcade replies, in similarly exhausted tones. He could complain, and he definitely will, given the opportunity. (But he's also a little relieved, because the guy doesn't sound feral or insane or dangerous, really, at least for the moment.)
"Just wondering whether or not it's worth finding out if the locals are friendly, or if they hunt strangers for sport."
"You know, if they're the sort that'll hunt us, they've probably got traps in the woods. So we might as well get moving and meet them properly." Ethan stands and does his best to reel in his 1000 yard stare so he can pass for a somewhat normal person. "I'm Ethan."
Probably not. But it's not like Arcade can blame him. Or like it's anything he hasn't heard, before, that joyless sound.
"I guess you have a point." Though making it through the woods in this darkness entirely unscathed seems to indicate otherwise - that also means it's just as likely they're not dealing with a town full of psychopaths, out there. Which makes Ethan right, either way. No use in standing around.
"Arcade. I'd say it's nice, but, you know." He shrugs. He'd be lying.
"Likewise." Ethan takes another steadying breath, shudders once like a dog coming out of the water, and gestures that they might as well walk onward to the village. Waiting around in the dark isn't going to really help either of them.
"Romania." He's never heard of a New Vegas, but there are plenty of smaller American towns that are really only well-known to those fortunate(?) enough to live there. "But it wasn't really home."
"I, ah, lived outside a small village. It turned out to be a less welcoming place than I'd hoped for." Maybe that will explain a little bit about his previous concerns? Maybe. Still, the understatement is plain, and Ethan hopes that Arcade picks up on it and doesn't press too strongly.
[Cleaning's a force of habit for the young martial artist. He hates leaving places in a mess... that don't have to do with his fights, cause sometimes a wall or two gets smashed to rubble when dodging attacks that'd turn his bones to sawdust. Even then, he usually helps clean up!
Often.
Occasionally.
When the festivities comes to its conclusion and the locals hit the hay, the pigtailed teenager's out and about getting the area squeaky clean. He's wringing out the soapy water from the rag — fortunately the curse only triggers when most of his body's wet so he doesn't worry about that for now - in the bucket when the other guy playing cleanup addresses him.]
They know how to throw a welcomin' party, I'll give the folks here that. It wasn't boring, and the food's pretty tasty too.
[Somehow I doubt that's what Ethan was referring to, Ranma...]
Ethan gives Ranma bit of a look, but sure, he can roll with it. Why the hell not?
"It's good to look on the bright side of things. I've been told that's a useful skill to have." He can't deny it: there was a party, the locals didn't sacrifice them to some sort of cthonic horror deity, and there was food.
[Seeing that Look™ — oft a tell of silent judgement he sees too many times to recall in full — the older man's shooting his way, Ranma's face drops to a moue. Come on, it isn't like he's 100% buying this warm reception!
Dryly:]
What can I say, I can be a glass half-full kinda guy now and then.
[Optimism comes in clutch once in a while, but it pays to be realistic too. None of the folks organizing this gettogether have tried to get into a brawl with them, set up some elaborate scheme for the sake of finding a spose, or some third option. The cynical half of his brain tacks 'Yet' at the end as an addendum.]
They got a funny way of invitin' people to their parties, but there's worse reasons for snatchin' up a bunch of people out of nowhere to the middle of nowhere. Would've been a lot more convenient if they just sent a letter or whatever.
Here's another watchful one: Michael mingles with the crowd and lends a hand to the villagers, even savors the odd glass of wine, but never abandons himself to the spirit of celebration. Ethan may have noticed he's as intent on gathering supplies as he is the festivities, bartering for a palm-sized can of fuel, a whetstone, food likely to outlast the luminous fruit. Or may have seen him bedding down under a tree for the night—within reach of the inn's lanterns, but never taking a room inside.
If not, here's a man wearing a battered, too-large coat (the cuffs rolled back) over the remnants of a suit. He has a smashed-in left cheekbone—an old injury judging by the color and the lack of mind he pays it.
“What's the game?” he asks, with undisguised curiosity. The prospect of cards by the dim glow of a lantern is almost familiar enough to be comforting.
"They've got a name for it like Stumpers, but it's close enough to a game I know called 'Ratscrew'. The rules aren't too hard, and it's mostly all chance, so it's a good learners game." Not as skill or rule heavy as something like poker or whist, and it's good to slap the cards and have a nice hoot about it.
Despite missing two fingers and having some pretty wild scarring on his hands, Ethan is able to shuffle and deal. Nothing flashy, but it works well enough.
Grace was not used to walking long distances. The poor woman looked like she had been through hell. Her shirt was dirty and there were bloody bandages peeking out from her collar.
She sat down, mimicking Ethan by trying to breath deep and slow with her head between her own knees. The girl was not made for long distance travel by foot. She was barely made for the office that she worked in. And she especially wasn't made for everything she had just been through.
At least she was still breathing. Her lungs were on fire, but she was breathing.
Ethan could ask if she was okay, but it's clear that she's not, and frankly, neither is he. Might as well break the ice some other way.
"You too?" As awful as it is, it's a little easier to have someone else just there. Hopefully not someone that's about to eat his face, but you take the companionship you can find.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cyndanemods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
cyndaneooc2026-04-05 12:00 pm
Ethan Winters | Resident Evil
As soon as Ethan is able to spot the village in the distance, he makes a strange sound not wholly unlike a wounded animal. Breathing heavy, he staggers back, just a step or two, and wide-eyed looks around at woods before stumbling and sitting down on the side of the road. Head hanging down between his knees, he works on steadying his breathing - count to four, breathe in, count to four, breathe out.
Walking down the road toward the village is what he needs to do.
It's what he's going to do.
He's just not able to make himself do it just yet.
At the village, Ethan keeps his distance. He's polite, but wary, and pays close attention to whatever is done or said. Maybe this really is just a nice little village that welcomes outsiders who arrive by mysterious means, but what are the odds of that?
No, he's pretty sure that he is or was dead and either this is some particularly awful flavour of afterlife or some loathesome bio-organic weapon company found his body (...spores?) and jumpstarted him back to life.
Still, no need to be rude until it becomes necessary, so throughout the evening he'll offer to play cards, carry food and drink, and when the locals go to bed, he'll chip in for cleaning.
↪ "Deal me in?"
↪ While sweeping, he turns to another person that appears newly arrived, "What do you think of all this?"
Questions, comments, want a special starter, have a wildcard idea that's burning in your breast? hmu and let's gooooooooo.
The Village
[ Said by a man who looked like he was freshly arrived from a cosplay meetup. Maybe a ye olde timey medieval reenactment group. Actually, Ironeye looked like exactly what someone wouldn't want to encounter in the woods -- scaled mantle, hood, light plate, with weapons strapped to his body like he was expecting a dragon to wing its way out of the sky. He had a torch in one hand, his single source of flickering light.
But he did seem calm. ]
no subject
"I...you know, I left the cabin and didn't think to check." Ethan blinks once or twice and does a quick check. It's a practiced movement that suggests he's fought in the past and knows how to do a pat-down to find injuries that were missed due to an adrenaline rush.
"Nothing new." Another deep, unsteady breath, and he runs a hand through his hair. Still missing two fingers on the one hand, and plenty of odd, deep scarring over both his hands. "Are you local?"
no subject
[ He took note of Ethan's systematic self-accounting. Curious how efficient he was if indeed it was merely fear that had taken hold of him. 'Nothing new'. Meaning that old injuries were nothing out of the ordinary? ]
And you -- you aren't from around here, either?
no subject
Walking towards another damned village?
...eh, maybe not.
"No. I'm ...last I was in Romania, but I grew up in Oregon." He's never heard of Limveld, but it sounds South African, maybe? Or is that just the veldt?
no subject
Never heard of those. Planning on heading out there?
[ He motioned to the village in the distance. ]
They might not be keen to see strangers. But either way, it seems like our best bet for answers.
no subject
Let himself sink into the earth and just go be a mushroom?"You going that way?"
no subject
[ And even if they were hostile, they'd learn something. ]
Ironeye. And you are?
no subject
"Good to meet you, Ironeye. I'm Ethan Winters." Ironeye is an odd name, and if he's never heard of Oregon, that is also a bit troubling. Maybe this is some sort of afterlife? Or his new traveling companion was wholly grown in a lab?
"I don't think I'll need to have a break on the way there, but I guess we'll see."
no subject
[ Once they got moving, two things became obvious: (1) Ironeye was clearly comfortable negotiating himself in the dark through the middle of nowhere, and (2) he was making a concerted effort to slow down, as improbable as that might seem. ]
You don't wander the woods for your living, I take it, or you'd have a hatchet in hand.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
the village
So he's cautious, as he makes his way down the road. Meandering, really, as he tries to decide how much to risk, just showing up out of the blue— And moving slowly enough as he goes to notice that's... not a boulder, sitting on the side of the road, but a man. Breathing heavily and seemingly some kind of unwell.
He keeps his distance, offering a cautious but not unkind, "Hey - everything all right, over there?"
no subject
"Just needed a breather."
Another pause as he tries to pull himself together.
"You? Are you alright? Over there?"
no subject
"Just wondering whether or not it's worth finding out if the locals are friendly, or if they hunt strangers for sport."
no subject
Which might be a sob?
No, it's a laugh. The bleakest sort of humour.
"You know, if they're the sort that'll hunt us, they've probably got traps in the woods. So we might as well get moving and meet them properly." Ethan stands and does his best to reel in his 1000 yard stare so he can pass for a somewhat normal person. "I'm Ethan."
no subject
Probably not. But it's not like Arcade can blame him. Or like it's anything he hasn't heard, before, that joyless sound.
"I guess you have a point." Though making it through the woods in this darkness entirely unscathed seems to indicate otherwise - that also means it's just as likely they're not dealing with a town full of psychopaths, out there. Which makes Ethan right, either way. No use in standing around.
"Arcade. I'd say it's nice, but, you know." He shrugs. He'd be lying.
no subject
"Where were you before you woke up here?"
no subject
At some point before he woke up here, at least. But the ambiguous language leaves more than enough wiggle room for it to not feel entirely like a lie.
He still sounds cagey about it, of course, as they start their cautious approach. But, hey, who doesn't, tonight?
"What about you?"
no subject
"I, ah, lived outside a small village. It turned out to be a less welcoming place than I'd hoped for." Maybe that will explain a little bit about his previous concerns? Maybe. Still, the understatement is plain, and Ethan hopes that Arcade picks up on it and doesn't press too strongly.
Starfall
Often.
Occasionally.
When the festivities comes to its conclusion and the locals hit the hay, the pigtailed teenager's out and about getting the area squeaky clean. He's wringing out the soapy water from the rag — fortunately the curse only triggers when most of his body's wet so he doesn't worry about that for now - in the bucket when the other guy playing cleanup addresses him.]
They know how to throw a welcomin' party, I'll give the folks here that. It wasn't boring, and the food's pretty tasty too.
[Somehow I doubt that's what Ethan was referring to, Ranma...]
no subject
"It's good to look on the bright side of things. I've been told that's a useful skill to have." He can't deny it: there was a party, the locals didn't sacrifice them to some sort of cthonic horror deity, and there was food.
no subject
Dryly:]
What can I say, I can be a glass half-full kinda guy now and then.
[Optimism comes in clutch once in a while, but it pays to be realistic too. None of the folks organizing this gettogether have tried to get into a brawl with them, set up some elaborate scheme for the sake of finding a spose, or some third option. The cynical half of his brain tacks 'Yet' at the end as an addendum.]
They got a funny way of invitin' people to their parties, but there's worse reasons for snatchin' up a bunch of people out of nowhere to the middle of nowhere. Would've been a lot more convenient if they just sent a letter or whatever.
deal me in
If not, here's a man wearing a battered, too-large coat (the cuffs rolled back) over the remnants of a suit. He has a smashed-in left cheekbone—an old injury judging by the color and the lack of mind he pays it.
“What's the game?” he asks, with undisguised curiosity. The prospect of cards by the dim glow of a lantern is almost familiar enough to be comforting.
no subject
Despite missing two fingers and having some pretty wild scarring on his hands, Ethan is able to shuffle and deal. Nothing flashy, but it works well enough.
The Village - WARNING: POTENTIAL RE:9 SPOILERS
She sat down, mimicking Ethan by trying to breath deep and slow with her head between her own knees. The girl was not made for long distance travel by foot. She was barely made for the office that she worked in. And she especially wasn't made for everything she had just been through.
At least she was still breathing. Her lungs were on fire, but she was breathing.
no subject
"You too?" As awful as it is, it's a little easier to have someone else just there. Hopefully not someone that's about to eat his face, but you take the companionship you can find.