Arrival A While the concoction the strange woman in the water had tipped down Leon's throat insulates him from the worst effects of the freezing water, it has absolutely no analgesic effect. By the time he manages to make it to water shallow enough that he can put his feet down and trudge the rest of the way in, his shoulder - seeping red beneath increasingly dingy bandages - is a gnawing misery, and he's acutely aware of each and every nick and scrape he'd previously managed to ignore through stubbornness and sheer necessity.
Hopefully whatever this place is, it has antibiotics by the gallon.
He stumbles as he comes clear of the water, the abrupt lack of resistance throwing off his balance, hissing out a low "fuck" as he catches himself on one knee and his uninjured right arm. He stays there for a few seconds, head bowed and breathing heavy, a weary, gore-splattered spectre in sodden tactical gear that did not remotely make the swim any easier, before shaking off the temptation to sit down in the sand and not move for a while. He shoves himself to his feet, scanning the ice-rimmed beach with an intensity that's three parts caution to one part hope, before picking his way cautiously towards the nearest person who appears to have succumbed to the siren song of sitting down and resting for a goddamn minute.
"Hey, come on," he says, concern clear despite the drag of exhaustion. "We should keep moving."
Because freezing on the beach after the warming potion runs out would suck, right?
Arrival B By the time Leon's been herded into one of the caravans by his familiar, a rottweiler-sized griffin that looks like someone had crossed a whiskey jack with a silver tabby, his ability to register the cold has begun to return. The heating, out of place as it seems in a vehicle that looks like it belongs to the previous century, is welcome - he's still clammy and chilled from being dunked in the bay, but at least he's not actively freezing.
He leans forward to inspect the minibar, sifting through the bottles, making note of labels both familiar and alien, then running his fingers over the mechanism with the absent air of someone who's searching less out of any expectation of the unusual, and more as something to do while the bulk of his attention is taken up processing his current situation.
And there's definitely a lot to process.
His gaze snaps up when there's a hint of movement at the carriage door, and his hand drops back beneath his cloak. The momentary tension bleeds out of his posture when he registers another import, however, and he offers a weary smile. "Come on in. There's room."
Mirror, Mirror A - (prompt is safe, but CW: zombies for this option) The beam of Leon's flashlight doesn't do much to alleviate the clinging darkness of the cave, and between the nature of the test and the similarity between dank, dark cavern and dank, dark concrete passageways, he's tense and braced for trouble long before he hears the scraping, unsteady steps and ragged snarling cry from around the next bend. He slows his already cautious steps, free hand going out to stop whichever adventurous soul had entered the cave alongside him.
"Stay back," he warns, voice pitched as low as he can make it and still be heard by his companion, in hopes of not alerting the thing beyond and rendering the point moot.
Wildcard Feel free to hit me with another prompt if one strikes your fancy, or PM to plot.
Leon Kennedy | Resident Evil 2 (remake)
While the concoction the strange woman in the water had tipped down Leon's throat insulates him from the worst effects of the freezing water, it has absolutely no analgesic effect. By the time he manages to make it to water shallow enough that he can put his feet down and trudge the rest of the way in, his shoulder - seeping red beneath increasingly dingy bandages - is a gnawing misery, and he's acutely aware of each and every nick and scrape he'd previously managed to ignore through stubbornness and sheer necessity.
Hopefully whatever this place is, it has antibiotics by the gallon.
He stumbles as he comes clear of the water, the abrupt lack of resistance throwing off his balance, hissing out a low "fuck" as he catches himself on one knee and his uninjured right arm. He stays there for a few seconds, head bowed and breathing heavy, a weary, gore-splattered spectre in sodden tactical gear that did not remotely make the swim any easier, before shaking off the temptation to sit down in the sand and not move for a while. He shoves himself to his feet, scanning the ice-rimmed beach with an intensity that's three parts caution to one part hope, before picking his way cautiously towards the nearest person who appears to have succumbed to the siren song of sitting down and resting for a goddamn minute.
"Hey, come on," he says, concern clear despite the drag of exhaustion. "We should keep moving."
Because freezing on the beach after the warming potion runs out would suck, right?
Arrival B
By the time Leon's been herded into one of the caravans by his familiar, a rottweiler-sized griffin that looks like someone had crossed a whiskey jack with a silver tabby, his ability to register the cold has begun to return. The heating, out of place as it seems in a vehicle that looks like it belongs to the previous century, is welcome - he's still clammy and chilled from being dunked in the bay, but at least he's not actively freezing.
He leans forward to inspect the minibar, sifting through the bottles, making note of labels both familiar and alien, then running his fingers over the mechanism with the absent air of someone who's searching less out of any expectation of the unusual, and more as something to do while the bulk of his attention is taken up processing his current situation.
And there's definitely a lot to process.
His gaze snaps up when there's a hint of movement at the carriage door, and his hand drops back beneath his cloak. The momentary tension bleeds out of his posture when he registers another import, however, and he offers a weary smile. "Come on in. There's room."
Mirror, Mirror A - (prompt is safe, but CW: zombies for this option)
The beam of Leon's flashlight doesn't do much to alleviate the clinging darkness of the cave, and between the nature of the test and the similarity between dank, dark cavern and dank, dark concrete passageways, he's tense and braced for trouble long before he hears the scraping, unsteady steps and ragged snarling cry from around the next bend. He slows his already cautious steps, free hand going out to stop whichever adventurous soul had entered the cave alongside him.
"Stay back," he warns, voice pitched as low as he can make it and still be heard by his companion, in hopes of not alerting the thing beyond and rendering the point moot.
Wildcard
Feel free to hit me with another prompt if one strikes your fancy, or PM to plot.