Sunday, July 25, 2004

   I am....

...really, is that me? Hmm... Those that know me say I'm not mysterious at all. Odd. What did you guys get?

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Saturday, July 24, 2004

   Yeah....

Take my Quiz on QuizYourFriends.com!

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   Feh...

Lesse, I just got home from shopping and spending "quality" time with my Family. If you ask me, it was more like awkward time with the Family. But whatever. It was irritating, having to leave the shade of my lovely house and into the evil heat outdoors. EVIL!! Uhm... I'm like, so bored. [plays with Ozz] And I think there are a few guys in my class that have a crush on me now o____o;; Ja Ne! [leaves pudding] BOING! Sounded wrong... ;_;

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   A Tribute to Perfection II

Typical schedule. Alarm rings. That loud, electronic buzzing sound that nobody in or out of their right mind can stand. A hand, curled into a fist, slammed down upon it. No effect, it kept going. Another two vigorous pounds and Wesker finally hit home at the snooze button, anything to end that cacophony. He sat upright about then, glancing at the clock. Still groggy, he had forgotten what time he set the thing for. The hands pointed at seven, and the sunlight pouring through white linen near the windows seemed to agree. Wesker was awake, and surrounded by lavish alabaster walls and paintings that he found tasteful. The room was divine. Sunlight. Horrible, horrible sunlight. His eyes always had been especially sensitive to that particular element of being diurnal, but it seemed especially prominent lately. Almost as if burning his eyes, he could imagine the pools of black that were his pupils coming to a boil when being presented to rays of natural light. And so, as tradition dictated, he unclenched his right fist and rummaged around the end table near the king-sized hotel room bed. Pad of paper, no. Pen, no. Another pen, certainly not. Chocolate mint wrapped in some sort of paper-foil combination, maybe later. Ah, there they are. Shades. He immediately closed his eyes and donned the things, unreflective opaque lenses of the blackest shade with rims to match. He'd had them ever since... No, best not to think about that. His mind seemed to be struggling with the events that took place at that wretched Spenser Mansion a short time ago, and even trying to delve into his near-photogenic memory archives resulted in something almost painful. Never having been one to wear much whilst sleeping during summer, Albert Wesker threw off the white bedsheet without hesitation and placed his feet on the carpet. Soft carpet. Very pleasant to one's feet first thing in the morning. It always paid to shell up the cash for the nicer suites that these establishments had to offer. He reached down into the duffel bag at the foot of his bed, and produced five objects. A tannish-khaki sort of shirt, pants of the same coloration, simple black boxers, and two socks. All of which were quite comfortable, only the best would do for one as rich as he. One who had worked as hard as he to get that rich in the first place. After changing, he strolled over to the room's mini-kitchen area, passing a decoratively framed mirror on the wall as he did so. Couldn't help but toss a glance at his body, and upon doing so, a thought floated through his head. "Another fine day to be Albert Wesker," he stated aloud before another thought occurred to him. This one resulted in a very miniscule frown. "...may be subject to change." He added in after a pause, knowing that the day's assignment wouldn't be a pleasant one. They rarely were. Whilst treating himself to a Danish complete with some sort of peach filling, he glanced over the file he had open on the thin, black laptop on the table. A powerful, efficient, and light machine provided by his employers. "I really don't see why you people have to monitor me like you do," his voice muffled thanks to his violation of that don't-talk-with-your- mouth-full rule every mother enforced when he was young. "I don't think you'll get much from watching me eat." His unseen gaze was directed towards the tiny square of especially smooth black plastic towards the top of the computer's monitor, knowing the technology of his employers he had figured it to be a camera perpetually transmitting when it was open. This conclusion arrived at out of paranoia. Paranoia that had, without a shadow of a doubt, saved him countless times. He skimmed over the text idly. "Blah blah, enter facility, something something, find source of outbreak, and..." Ah, now here was something new. The makers of this particular Umbrella Corp. facility were smarter than the average bear, and had designed a measure of security more discreet than a giant explosion that almost always failed in some way or another. He grinned as his eyes went over the next part of that sentence: Activate flow of acidic gas through the entire facility as to purge all within. Now there's something clever they came up with. That Umbrella, always thinking of my convenience. Of course, he wasn't working for Umbrella any longer, and his new client had more in mind than simply destroying the facility. "But of course. The ulterior motive." He scrolled his gaze over the true objective they had in mind for him, which was surprisingly without detail. "Find and retrieve object within the 'safe room' at all costs..." Must be yet another damned virus sample. He found himself questioning the practicality of all these viruses, a good bullet to the head typically does the trick to rid one of their enemies. Then again, bullets didn't self-replicate. Either way, the document mentioned something about getting there before Umbrella agents and cleaning up the mess before they could salvage anything. Should they have gotten there first, he knew his task's difficulty would multiply exponentially. He closed the laptop and shut it off, no longer wishing to be observed by his clients. Tossing the rest of breakfast down his throat along with the contents of his glass, that being milk. Nothing wrong with milk, it does the body good. He somewhat ran over that thought in his head as he traveled to the window, passing the mirror again along the way. He had no choice but to admire that body, those muscles of his. Capable, but not overbearing. He looked like a tough guy, an assassin, but certainly not a bodybuilder. They seemed stronger lately, or maybe it was just his mind shamelessly complimenting himself. No matter. Albert Wesker parted the curtains, and pushed the windows open. Resting his hands upon the sill, he leaned outside slightly, and inhaled a deep whiff of that smoggy air. The view of the cityscape from the twelfth floor suite was amazing, to say the least. Los Angeles would never know that Umbrella ever existed, thanks to his future efforts. Or at least that was the idea.

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Friday, July 23, 2004

   A Tribute to Perfection

He raised the simple black pistol's alloy sights up to level the barrel with his oncoming foe, a shambling monstrosity that some chose to call a 'zombie'. He'd soon be calling them relatives. Of course, all of this was unknown to Mr. Albert Wesker, whose task at hand was simply to stop this once-human in its tracks. It was perhaps ten feet away at this point, and Wesker's train of thought was still at the station. Yet to leave for its destination, which was the idea of concentrating on pulling the trigger to end this thing's semi-life. Hmm. My, it is ugly. The aquiline nose was rotted, and a pale shade of whitish-green. Looked as if it were to fall off at any second, in fact. Seven feet away. And my, what ugly facial features. The left half of its face had been clawed right off; from the way the marks started at four fingertip-sized gouges towards the top of its cheekbone and dragged down horizontally towards its mouth, Wesker half-suspected the stupid thing had been eating itself. At five feet of distance betwixt himself and this putrid excuse for an enemy, he took note of its clothing. A near-intact laboratory coat, stained with brownish splotches here and there. Dried blood, no doubt. From the smell however, he had guessed that somewhere along the stages of pseudo-decomposition this thing's bowels had lost all control and fallen out along with its waste. Disgusting at best. Two feet away, and nearly ready to grab Wesker's arm, the thing almost grinned. Or perhaps that was just the left half of its cheeks being gone that gave the effect. Wesker was too busy concentrating on the tiny details of those teeth to really notice the big picture, it was hard not to notice how they jagged in all different directions. It looked like a yellowish rock formation, with all sorts of chips and dents here and there that resulted in some of them being blunt and others being razor-edged. Either way, it looked to make for a nasty bite wound. Bite wound? Oh, yes. Bite wound. What would happen if he didn't do what he did. Wesker somewhat decided that the thing was too close to waste a perfectly good .45 ACP (Automatic Colt Pistol) round on this sack of flesh. In compliance with this, he removed his left hand from the pistol and lowered it. Rather, he simply used its sheer snail pace to his advantage quite well. Darting forth whilst ducking forward a bit as to avoid those bony fingers, he did what nobody ever would do to a zombie - move into melee combat. The thing opened its jaws in anticipation, a long pillar of semi-acidic saliva holding up between its upper and lower jaws. Wesker, who slammed his right foot down before him to cease his advance, immediately swung his right arm up, bending the elbow towards the monster's jaw. The pistol in his hand added a good deal of extra weight, which came in handy when he slammed the butt of the thing into the poor creature's chin. Underhanded pistol whip, literally as well as figuratively, seeing as the creature was too ensnared by its own infected condition to stand a fighting chance against it. Now Wesker didn't know his own strength, because he found it a bit of a pleasant surprise when the entire lower jaw drove itself upwards through the roof of the zombie's mouth, ridged teeth protruding right into the stem of its brain. The sound effect to accompany was rewarding, something reminiscent of a pile of bones being smashed to bits over a giant wet sponge with a sledgehammer, maybe a few ketchup packets tossed in for that extra 'splorch'.The last thing on the creature's mind was it's teeth. Of course, that was easily enough to finish the thing off for good, which Wesker realized when it flew back and upwards a good meter. It landed on its crooked feet for a moment, before slumping forth, rotten tongue hanging out and nearly licking its killer's dulled black boots. Wesker, who was now busying himself by wiping off the butt of his pistol on a piece of cloth he carried around for getting unwanted residue off of his weapons and person, merely arched a dark blonde eyebrow. "Well... Who would've seen that coming," he stated to himself in a dulled monotone, his expression as bland as ever, secretly proud of his accomplishment. Must've been a lucky hit, since he didn't think he was all that powerful. Humans had their limitations, after all. Ah well, no reason to go over the fine details of why it happened, the point is that it happened regardless of such things. Hearing more disgruntled moans and groans echoing down the dim corridor, and now spotting two dark figures trudging down the pestilent halls with rusted metallic walls doused in a mixture of various bodily mixtures, he holstered his sidearm. And what a sidearm it was. A SIG-Sauer P220, a stocky but never-burdensome black pistol possessing an aluminum frame for weight reduction, and currently outfitted to hold a magazine carrying seven of those large .45 rounds he had selected for this task. The man removed his right hand from the pistol holster on the right side of his hip, and instead grasped the single-edge bowie knife handle coming from the leather sheath on the left side of his hip. He simply pulled, and out came the blade, facing the same direction as the smaller knuckles on his hand. The bottom of the handle was near his thumb, in his classic knife-fighting position. It combined power and speed, along with finesse, at the cost of some range. With that, he relieved his body of all tension, arms hanging down by his sides idly. And so he waited for them to come, contemplating the long day that lay behind him, and the longer night ahead.

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Wednesday, July 21, 2004

   AH! [giggling]

Uh, only vivid event in my mind right now is me getting poked on the sides by guys in my Keyboarding class. [giggles] It tickled! And it hurt... [mutters] Some people poke too hard. But yeah. <_<;; WHY DO THESE GUYS DO THIS TO ME?!! AAAAAAAAH!!! LOL! Lesse... Someone took my glasses from my jacket pocket. I ended up kicking him hard on the leg. He just curled up in pain on his seat. [grin] Then this other dude took my hand-made Valentine's Card that I entered in a card-making contest. So, I kicked him on his knee and he buckled. The teacher? She didn't care. [smirks] Uhm, that's all...for now. Toodles! [presents you guys with jelly candy] Squishy and yummy!! P.S. Anyone know where I can download Wesker's Reports? Oh, and I'm not going to be able to visit your sites today. I'm terribly sorry. My Internet Explorer is giving me a rough time as of right now. And MSN...don't even ask.

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Tuesday, July 20, 2004

   Kurse....kurse....kurse... >_<

[sniffling and whimpers] My right temple hurts bad... I think I'm gonna die... Feel so faint and far... And if I do, don't cry... Gotta say good-bye...

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   My Wings

Thanks to Seraphi13 for the link to this quiz. I hope your Father will be out of the hospital and well, my friend! Does that fit me?

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   Albert Wesker

[blinking] I dunno... I'm so weird. I have a fetish for fictional characters. Albert Wesker of Resident Evil, for example. Total...badass character. [giggles] I'm watching clips right now. He's fighting off a few zombies in the Code Veronica X game with a wicked rocket launcher. SWEET!! Except, watching and hearing all of these moaning zombies isn't going to help me sleep right now... (21:13 PST here...) ;_;

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Monday, July 19, 2004

   Long-awaited....FIC UPDATE!! WOO-HOO!!!

Soft grass licked at his elegant face. The feeling of life surrounded him. /I’m not…there anymore. I’m…somewhere. Just not there./ With that realization, he was jolted wide awake. Blinking, Kuja got into a sitting position. Slowly, he got up, feeling some pain in several limbs. But they soon ebbed away, leaving him completely re-energized. A breeze began to blow gently, toying with his metallic colored hair. His silvery tail flicked around a bit, not used to be revealed to the nature. Looking down upon himself, he saw that his old outfit had been replaced. He no longer was scantily clad. He still had his shoulder armor and his prized boots. But his silky skin was covered with a new outfit. Hugging his lower body was a pair of cashmere pants, the color of a deep blue. Revealing his slim figure was a shirt with a dark violet hue, made of a fabric he wasn’t quite able to comprehend. To his delight, the sleeves were adjusted to his former wear; they flowed about his slender arms, a silk lining around the hems catching the early sun. And there was a cape, connected to his pants with a finely carved leather belt that wrapped around his waist like a snake. It was a nice change. /It…feels good to live again./ Turning, he looked at his surroundings. It looked like a field. There were trees. There were animals. There were birds chirping and flying. And there were people milling about. Small houses were strewn here and there. /The border town… Dali…./ The sorcerer was there. Kuja was on Gaia. -Chapter 2: To Alexandria- Upon entering the quiet village, Kuja had immediately sensed an aura of peace. But once he stepped a foot in, panic rose. It was like a punch to the gut for him. He saw parents stare and as they their kids away. He watched as grown men backed off slowly. It seemed as if they were all afraid of him. And he couldn’t blame them. Stories of his wickedness must have spread during the time he was temporarily dead. /Mayhaps I should say something…/ Kuja went against his thought. Besides, everyone had pretty much fled already. /Some welcome…/ Sighing, Kuja turned to leave the village. All attempts at explaining to the inhabitants would probably result in failure. /Alexandria…/ He should’ve thought of it sooner. It was time to pay his Little Brother a visit. - He traveled by himself, with no weapons, but his own magic. He didn’t mind, though. Most of his past life, he lived in solitude. And then, suddenly, Kuja paused. A tingling feeling had enveloped him. From previous experiences, he knew the sensation. It was all-too familiar… Without surprising him, a thick swirling mist swarmed around the warlock. /…a battle…with a monster…or something else?/ He was slightly amused. As if right on cue, a low growl echoed through the barren field and a huge shadow loomed over him. Kuja turned, almost melodramatically to greet his new companion. Eyes traveling upwards, he realized it was a dead dragon he was facing. *Sorry, forgot the enemy names, lol…* It was nothing for him to handle. It was undead, a zombie. If the massive monster were alive, that’d be a completely different story. However… The dragon snapped at Kuja, a whole second too late as a Full-life spell was conjured and cast. It froze its mighty neck merely a few inches away from its prey. And just like that, it started to break down as the Holy spell flowed through its body. It gave one bellow of defeat as another death crept through it. “Pathetic,” Kuja spat. He pressed forward, walking briskly through the dying beast. But fighting the dragon sparked up a few memories in the warlock’s mind. /…I wonder if there are any Silver Dragons around for me to tame?/ he thought, slowing his pace just a bit. It made Kuja feel sad thinking of his old friend. /Maybe he was reborn again like I was? Hmm…/ He continued his random thinking, as on the horizon, the majestic castle of Alexandria made its mighty appearance. *Ah! …I thought I’d give Kuja the little “I’m a baddie” character in this chapter. It’s sorta corny…not as bad as my first try, though. I need to play the game again. I apologize for the delay and poor descriptions in this snippet :(*

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