Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Series : Resident Evil (Post RE6)
Rating : PG/T
Pairing(s) / Character(s) : Ada Wong / Leon❤Ada
Word Count : 791
Summary : Day in and day out, every morning in front of the bathroom mirror, she paints on a mask, hiding a tired and empty face. Every move has to be motionless. Every breath has to be silent. For years, she's honed the art of becoming a part of her environment, a chameleon, with no face.
The water is hot and soothing as it pelts against her skin, alleviating wary muscles. Her eyes drift close. What had happened in the last 72 hours, still feels like a dream. She shakes her head, a lazy smile ghosting her lips. Leon's eyes had been enough to make her want to wait one minute longer on that roof, inviting him to chase her.
"Still," she breathes aloud, "it's safer that you didn't... especially now."
Simmons, Radames... all that mess, and more.
It was no question that they would have been dispatched even if Ada hadn't taken care of them. However, the damning evidence Carla had left in her wake wouldn't have been wiped clean. Regardless of her skills and their need of them, Ada knew for a fact that they wouldn't have risked their neck to clear her name. Not that I would want them to.
Trust and truth are something of fallacies in the game behind the curtain, the real game. She'd been dancing to this deadly song all her life. Being born into Hell is quite the eye-opener. There is no room for error, only enough room to learn one thing, death. After a while, numbness takes over the heart, slowly, quietly.
Ada throws her head back, letting the water push her bangs out of her eyes.
They'd no reason to trust her, and despite that being an inconvenience for her, Ada felt it very wise on their part. Gaining even an ounce of their trust had been damn near impossible.
She smirks. The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.
Her hands move along her body slowly, massaging away the exhaustion of a 72 hours she'll never want to live again. What Simmons had done to her... What he'd done to Carla Radames... He deserved worse than the end he'd received, though Ada isn't complaining. He is gone, as is the evidence of her own violation. Sick bastard.
Her jaw tightens and she glares at the cinnamon-colored shower tile. It stares back at her, blank and empty.
If she'd ever told herself that she wasn't tired of this game, she'd be lying. Even the most battle-hardened player succumbs to their humanity. It isn't the missions, or escaping death, or even the boring, black room, microphone meetings. Her breath comes out in a rush, cold against her lips. It's the deceit, but most of all, it's the loneliness of that deceit.
Day in and day out, every morning in front of the bathroom mirror, she paints on a mask, hiding a tired and empty face. Every move has to be motionless. Every breath has to be silent. For years, she's honed the art of becoming a part of her environment, a chameleon, with no face.
She blinks the water from her eyes. "Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate." Her whisper hangs in the steamy air, poised... waiting.
Even most heroes couldn't brave the fires of Hell's game.
It was after Raccoon City that she'd chosen this. It was after--she jerks her head away as if averting her eyes, and water sprays from her hair. Swallowing thickly, she grabs her shampoo, hastily lathering it in her hands, and working it along her scalp. She focuses on the lulling sensation, trying to ignore the onslaught of memories.
After years of being heartless, after years of pretending love--just a means to an end, a calculated action to exact a preferred reaction. Though, when his eyes--steely blue--when they looked into hers as he'd fought to stay awake, she couldn't look at him. Not anymore. The wound had wept with his blood, and it had all been for her.
Sacrifice.
After years of being empty, Ada Wong had found something that night, something that, still to this day, frightens her... and exhilarates her.
"Wouldn't it surprise you, handsome, if you knew that it wasn't you chasing me, but it was me chasing you?" She smiles nostalgically. "Wouldn't you laugh, if I told you that it's you that scares me the most?"
Confessions to an empty wall. Ada sighs and rinses her hair.
Ten minutes later, the bathroom mirror is hazy with steam and the pumpkin spice candle she'd lit has been snuffed out by overflowing wax. After drying off with a towel, she wraps herself in a cotton robe and starts for the door; however, she pauses just before the mirror.
Her reflection is a formless ghost, faceless.
"When you see me, Leon..." she trails off as she steps forward and wipes away the condensation with a towel. "... What do you see?"
