redfieldos:

There was this quick snort of indignation. Claire rarely felt uncomfortable. She mostly just felt like she was going insane. Maybe the pressure of running the convoy was starting to get to her. That’s something she doubted, though. It’s why she ran the convoy. Claire was always level-headed. 

Her hands twitched around the gun; tightening, then loosening. The way she put the gun back in it’s holster was cautious — but like the caring individual she was, she wasn’t being cautious for herself, but for the other. Didn’t want to suddenly startle the woman that had walked out of the mirror. With blonde hair. 

“You can start off with a name. How about that?” There was actually this soft, warming smile. Claire’s hand twitched again; partly out of habit, mostly for the pure fact she wanted to reach out a hand to even see if this was some paranoid dream, or if someone drugged her can of food. Although, when people meet, the normal thing to do was to shake hands and Claire Redfield made sure, that even in this anarchy of a world, normalcy and humanity still existed. Even through the hardest of times. 

“Niki. Niki Sanders.” Her hand extended in greeting, and she cast a glance from habit over her shoulder. But her head turned back to look at Claire, and there was a light concern to her look. It was nothing new, however. The woman had spent too much of her life in fear not to live in it.  

A pang of sadness hit her heart – she had thought of her son. When all this had gone to hell, she hadn’t been with him, and she doubted that he had survived. And even if he had, this world was so cruel, she doubted she would find him while he still lived. If she found him at all.

However, now wasn’t a good time to think of Micah. Living in the present was important and all she could really do to stay sane – what little bit of sanity there was left, anyway – and she wasn’t about to slip back into old patterns. This woman, who looked unnervingly similar to herself, wasn’t doing anything wrong, and she would have hated to black out and find herself waking up to blood again.

“Do you have an explanation for this?” She asked, taking her hand back and pulling her shirt down around her waist. Damn thing was starting to rip and tear and it was threadbare and worn through with holes. She probably should have looked for another one back in the city, but she had been too busy trying to keep herself alive. She hated the way things always came down to one thing – how morality would lose it’s meaning in the face of peril, and people would do anything just to stay alive – it would always, always, become kill or be killed. Survive, or perish.

redfieldos:

A deep, pointless sigh. Exhaling, then inhaling dust and dirt. Eyes shut momentarily and Claire would have lifted two fingers to pinch the bridge of her nose, but she wasn’t about to do so and risk moving her hands from her gun. Her other hand removed itself from the cupboard, empty. This hotel served as a roof over their head — nothing else, nothing more and nothing less. In all reality, it meant nothing. 

She was just about to move that free hand to the radio, to ask if Carlos or L.J. had found anything, but — creak — head suddenly spun to the right, towards the doorway. The leader swallowed thickly, before slowly straightening up. Both hands moved to the gun and Claire moved to the doorways slowly, cautiously. Just a hunter with the upper hand, ready to stalk the prey that was just in her way. The war of the undead made her so damn callous. 

The woman spun around the corner, towards the sound.

The fact that her gun faltered slowly; wrist moving downwards very rarely happened. The shock was evident in her deep pair of eyes. That’s not a walker, that’s —

Claire pulled the trigger. That is, though. The slow moving, quiet paced undead that had just lurched from a near-by room was permanently dead, the remnants of a soft, decaying skull now littered all across the wall next to an actual woman and not a mirror she thought it was for a second. 

“Thank y-” Her heart skipped a beat. Jessica — But within only seconds it occurred to her that it wasn’t a mirror but a flesh and blood person in front of her. With red hair. A set of grey eyes flicked over the face that should have only been in a mirror, and her brow furrowed.

She stood back, almost timid to approach the woman who had essentially saved her life. Post-human or not, she had really good aim, and it was strange to see someone here in this hotel, randomly.

Her eyes surveyed the doppelganger’s face with suspicion. It made her wary to see someone else who could have been her twin, especially after spending so long looking in mirrors and seeing herself stare back, but not herself. She wasn’t sure if this was just her mind — I have a tumor or something — or just a crazy coincidence.

“This is uncomfortable.” She moved her hand away from the gun it had been resting on, and swallowed hard. Letting her eyes take in the altered mirror image, she ran a hand through matted blond hair, breathing softly. 

She didn’t know what else to say.

“Get off!” Honestly, it wasn’t hard to get the dead person off of her. Just a push and it went flying. But, she was left covered in blood and dirt, and it was a feeling she hated above all else.

Setting her jaw, Niki swallowed hard. I haven’t seen another living human in who knows how long. She rubbed her hands on her upper arms, to keep her warm. The night air in the desert was cold. 

Her footsteps were soft on the floor of the old hotel. And the gun at her hip kept good time as she walked. She walked slowly, hoping that her footsteps wouldn’t alarm any other night stalking (and day for that matter) creatures to her presence, but the floorboards weren’t exactly stable and one wrong step could result in a – 

– creak–