Leon S. Kennedy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
governmentninja) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trans_92010-02-07 05:00 pm
governmentninja) wrote in trans_92010-02-07 05:00 pm
The Right Tool for the Job [Open]
The Nightmare King had been, more or less, taking it easy on Leon. Not that he had to do much. All he had to do was let Leon know that he was in his head. Considering that he never really recovered from being possessed by a plaga, just knowing that he wasn't alone in his own head was more than enough to get to him. For Leon, an occasional flash of something dark moving through the veins just under his skin, or glancing at his reflection only to see a pair of red eyes looking back at him, was more effective than any elaborate nightmare. Even the feeling that his clothes were contracting against him despite his having gotten rid of that godforsaken plant suit, or that damned itch on the inside of his chest were starting to get to him.
At first, he just resorted to ignoring and pushing past the sensations, going colder to get himself through the day. Slowly, though, the Nightmare King was chipping away at that defense.
But Leon would be damned if he was going to end up helpless against this thing. "Sigmund," the Seer's droid assistant had given him a list of ways to 'bless' and reinforce his weapons to make them more effective against daemons. Leon tried a few, mostly on the weapons he didn't normally carry while back home. It worked, to a minor degree. At the least, it made it so those weapons stood out in his waking dreams. The discontinuity of having them there was usually enough to make him realize that he was dreaming. Well, that, and the fact that he scrawled the words 'WAKE UP' on each of those weapons.
But he was hoping to find a more effective way of taking on the Nightmare King. Which is why, for once, Leon was in the sensoriums.
He usually avoided the sensoriums, only bothering to step in if he had business with someone in there. There was something about a hyper-realistic virtual reality that annoyed him, and he found the way some crew members buried themselves in a false reality to be worrisome. Even more so, considering that not even that was a refuge for them from the Nightmare King. But for right now, the room's ability to conjure up whatever he wanted trumped his discomfort with the place.
His brain was a bit too fried to focus on a list, so he had the room bring interface with the W&P inventory list to bring up the "infinite armory". He stood in the middle of countless rows and racks of weapons and armor, and what could be seen was still only a fraction of what they had on board. He moved them easily and effortlessly, rearranging them with the aid of several holographic screens.
He looked at the specs for several groups of weapons, hoping that somewhere in that haystack, was a needle that he could use to stab the Nightmare King in the eye.
At first, he just resorted to ignoring and pushing past the sensations, going colder to get himself through the day. Slowly, though, the Nightmare King was chipping away at that defense.
But Leon would be damned if he was going to end up helpless against this thing. "Sigmund," the Seer's droid assistant had given him a list of ways to 'bless' and reinforce his weapons to make them more effective against daemons. Leon tried a few, mostly on the weapons he didn't normally carry while back home. It worked, to a minor degree. At the least, it made it so those weapons stood out in his waking dreams. The discontinuity of having them there was usually enough to make him realize that he was dreaming. Well, that, and the fact that he scrawled the words 'WAKE UP' on each of those weapons.
But he was hoping to find a more effective way of taking on the Nightmare King. Which is why, for once, Leon was in the sensoriums.
He usually avoided the sensoriums, only bothering to step in if he had business with someone in there. There was something about a hyper-realistic virtual reality that annoyed him, and he found the way some crew members buried themselves in a false reality to be worrisome. Even more so, considering that not even that was a refuge for them from the Nightmare King. But for right now, the room's ability to conjure up whatever he wanted trumped his discomfort with the place.
His brain was a bit too fried to focus on a list, so he had the room bring interface with the W&P inventory list to bring up the "infinite armory". He stood in the middle of countless rows and racks of weapons and armor, and what could be seen was still only a fraction of what they had on board. He moved them easily and effortlessly, rearranging them with the aid of several holographic screens.
He looked at the specs for several groups of weapons, hoping that somewhere in that haystack, was a needle that he could use to stab the Nightmare King in the eye.
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"I wouldn't ask you to risk yourself like that. I think its safer if we just leave the mystery of women alone."
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"Speaking of the mysteries of women, how's Miss Redfield, anyway?"
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"Claire is..." he wanted to say she was fine, but he knew that was far from the truth. "...she's hanging in there. She's more worried about Sherry than anything else right now."
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He was surprisingly good with kids, it seemed. "Quite the little girl you guys picked up. I'm sure she'll be okay." For a given value of "okay" dependent on how "okay" everyone else was after all this.
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Long pause.
"Right?" he asked, suddenly getting the sinking feeling that comes before the moment when you find out if you're going to be punched in the face.
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"Not that anyone would even care," he admitted, "but there's far less explaining that way." Which was good, considering there were no legal documents and lots of time-displacement involved.
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"So you know, she looks convincingly like you. It'd take somebody digging into her medical records to notice anything funny."
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"She's a good kid, but she's been through a lot for someone her age."
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He sighed a little thoughtfully at the observation. Sherry certainly didn't remind him of any other twelve-year-olds he had ever known-- and not only because she was mature for her age, either. "She seems attached to you, and I'm sure you're doing your best for her. You're all the father she really needs."
That was a little uncharacteristically sappy for him.
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"Are you feeling alright?"
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"Operating on even worse sleep than I normally do," he admitted wearily, "But I'm serious. I could make a joke about breasts if it would put you at ease?"
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