[IC] ◈ 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒 | Κάθαρσις ◈

[Tlazolteotl]

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒 | Κάθαρσις

━━━━━━ ◈ ━━━━━━

Between one breath and the next, the world became somewhere else.

You don't know this place. But somehow, you do. The feeling sits wrong in your chest—unfamiliar and familiar at once.

Details refuse to hold still. A doorway becomes an archway becomes a curtain of light. The floor is wood-then-tile-then-something that gives slightly under your feet. You catch a scent—smoke? incense? coffee?—but it's gone before you can name it. Sound washes over you in waves that don't match: laughter and static and the scrape of a chair and silence, all layered wrong, like a dream that can't keep its own story straight.

There are figures scattered throughout the space.
But one figure remains constant. Real in a way nothing else here is.
You find yourself moving toward them without deciding to.

They look up as you approach—or maybe they were already watching. A nod. When they speak, their voice cuts through all the noise: "Welcome to Catharsis."

It lands like a key turning in a lock.

The walls stop shifting. The light decides what it is. The sound resolves into something you can finally hear. The space exhales and settles into a concrete shape.

The Keeper—that's what they called themselves—gestures to the room. "Please, take any seat."

[silver21]

It felt like her body was rippling, just like the lake by her home did with a light breeze. But in her body? That didn't feel right. Sirpa did not like that.

The lights were harsh and bright. Sirpa shielded her eyes with her arm. It was dizzying. The ground beneath her was unstable. The sounds, the smells, all of it was too much. She felt like she was hungover in the middle of Walmart at an ungodly hour of the night.

After a few moments, her inability to control the situation angered her. She gritted her teeth, willing the swirling feeling to stop. If anything, it felt that the room got brighter and all the sounds more confusing. It began to feel stuffy. As soon as she began to feel like she'd have to labor to breathe, everything calmly came to a stop.

She hadn't realized she'd moved. She sensed a figure in front of her. Sirpa removed her arm from her eyes and looked up. The being was 3-4 times her size, but it did not frighten her. She noticed seconds later that it had spoken to her. Sirpa hesitantly looked around the space. It was a room. There were sofas and chairs near tables, similar to a small business coffee shop. Sirpa thought that it should have felt welcoming, and in some ways it was. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she was unsafe here. She suddenly became aware of her posture: hunched with her arms wrapped around herself. Sirpa avoided eye contact with the being and eyed an armchair near a fireplace. It had a round pillow in the seat. It was pleated and green. Sirpa warily glanced at the being before walking toward the armchair and sitting down. She held the pillow in her lap and pulled her legs up onto the chair, leaning away from the being as she sat. She still felt a bit woozy from her arrival. For a second, it seemed to be a familiar feeling. But this location? Not so much. Sirpa held the pillow closer to her body, making herself smaller in the seat.

[Tlazolteotl]

Sirpa's Catharsis

@silver21

The coffee shop hums with low conversation and quiet activity. A person in a business suit types furiously on a laptop. Someone stares into their mug like it holds answers. In the corner, a figure sketches in a worn notebook, and near the window, two people speak in hushed tones over shared pastries. All of them are absorbed in their own worlds, too focused to notice the Keeper beginning to move.

The Keeper shouldn't be able to navigate the coffee shop—too large by half, maybe more—but they do, weaving between furniture and beneath the low ceiling as though size were merely a suggestion. They carry a tray: a simple wooden thing with a glass pitcher of iced water and a single cup.

When the Keeper reaches Sirpa's armchair by the fireplace, they place the cup on the small table beside her and lift the pitcher. The water fills the cup to just below the rim in one smooth pour, which seems to please the Keeper.

"Would you like to order something?"

[silver21]

Sirpa's Catharsis

@Tlazolteotl

Sirpa hadn't noticed there were others in the coffee shop. It must have been a coffee shop the whole time. Sirpa was starting to be able to sense where the confines of her body started and ended. She could have sworn the place was empty just moments ago. Was she really that far gone? She contemplated before the being returned. She didn't notice they had left. But they must have, for now they were coming back. Sirpa dared herself to glance at it---they---what was this creature standing before her? It looked like they came straight out of a Studio Ghibli movie. She felt oddly comforted and frightened by the creature---being?

She forgot that she was spoken to. Sirpa glanced at the tray the being was holding and quickly patted her pockets. No wallet, but how would she think to bring it with her if she didn't even know where she was going? And the fact that she was going anywhere at all? From where she was going, Sirpa couldn't quite put her finger on. But someone was speaking to her. Sirpa looked at the glass of water on the table next to her.

"Just water is fine, thank you," Sirpa said in a small voice. Was this safe? It felt like it was. Sirpa reached out to hold the glass of water close to her chest. It was cool in her hand. The sensation brought her an ounce of clarity, which was fighting with the lingering feeling of cotton in her ears. Then, in a moment of sudden confidence, she asked, "Where am I?"

[Tlazolteotl]

Sirpa's Catharsis

@silver21

The Keeper tucks the tray under one arm, steps back, and lowers into a squat. "You're lost. That's why you're here." Their free hand traces a slow circle through the air. "Nowhere, but scattered everywhere." Completing its arc, the hand settles at their side.

Then, the staring starts.

For an awkwardly long time, the Keeper remains silent. Eventually one of those large, round eyes slowly blinks and the other follows suit. A wide, toothy smile breaks across their face.

"How did you get lost?"

[Stanifly]

The pivotal moment. It was a thing of inevitability in every hero’s life. That moment when everything fell into place, when the right choice bled into clarity, when the person in that moment knew exactly what needed to be done.

That moment for Teresa was now. Or–it had been. Teresa stumbled to a stop, sword in hand, breaths hot and heavy. She blinked once. Twice.

The bar around her didn’t go away. The wood beneath the soles of her boots remained. The faint scent of fireplace smoke tickled her nose. The soft chatter of other patrons drifted around her. None of them seemed particularly bothered at her sudden appearance.

She knew this place, but it was... off. For one, it didn’t usually have a fireplace. For two, she didn’t recognise anyone here. Not the bartender, not the patrons, not the server wandering through the space. Her mind raced with questions – what happened how did I get here who did this – only to settle on the most important thing: she needed to get back.

Now, if anyone were looking at her, they would be greeted with a sorry sight indeed. Her silver costume coated in soot and dust; the fringe of her turquoise hair plastered to her face with sweat; and a cut slashed across her right bicep, splitting flesh and fabric alike. Clearly, she had come from somewhere far from the idyllic nature of this apparent bar she found herself in the middle of now.

Despite the panic racing in her veins, Teresa allowed a tense, neutral expression to slide over her face as she sheathed her sword into the hilt hanging off her belt. No matter where she had been before, there were civilians here. She couldn’t cause a fuss. She just needed to leave, get back to where she needed to be and everything would be okay. They had to be. It was with this thought in mind that she strode over to the bar’s entrance and pulled open the wooden door.

Cosmic colours greeted her. Not space, exactly. It was more akin to an abyss, a deep, gaping maw of black lit up by ethereal trails of hot and cold hues. There wasn’t much else Teresa picked up; hard to do that when she immediately slammed the door shut. She looked out the windows. They showed nothing but the same street she’d always seen. She looked around the bar, wary. Nothing had changed since she had appeared here. She was in a place that she should know – and yet, everything felt off-kilter. Her gaze fixed onto the server by the fireplace, drawn by their jarring solidity. In a few quick steps, Teresa approached them and drew her sword, pointing its tip at their neck. She paid no mind to the patron they were addressing. There was no need to.

‘Your illusion,’ she says, voice low. ‘Undo it. Now.’

For what else could this be than a distraction?

[CyclingTortoise]

Little Miss Princess

Crack.

There was a regular at Catharsis. None of the other patrons knew her real name. So they called her Little Miss Princess.

Not because of how she dressed.
Not because of how she acted.
But it was because of the doll.

She was never without it: a small doll in a princess dress, painted eyes and a plastic smile. Princess Gina, she called it.

“You must really love that doll,” someone mentioned once, watching her cradle it.

Snap.

She bent the arms backward, twisting them at angles they were never meant to reach until the joints gave way with a sound like breaking twigs.

Crunch.

The head caved under her palm until the plastic split and the painted face cracked down the middle.

Thud.

She dropped it. Her heel came down.
Again.
Again.

She picked up what was left. Twisted an arm until it tore free from the socket. Ripped a leg off at the hip. Pulled the head clean away from the body.

Then she hurled the pieces into the air. They clattered against the mountain of discarded dolls, the only solid thing in her Catharsis.

Every time she visited, she broke the doll in a thousand and one ways.

From somewhere in the dark came a whisper. “Who’s Gina?”

Little Miss Princess didn’t turn toward the voice. “A con artist.”

Another visit, another voice. “Why you doing that?”

This time, her gaze shifted past the mountain.

“Because I don’t forgive her.”

Crack. Snap. Crunch.

Once more, after who knows how many visits, she tossed the broken pieces onto the pile.

Turning, she faced the wisp she knew as the Keeper.

“Another Princess Gina.”

As always, the wisp materialized another doll, set it within reach, and left her alone.

She never noticed the fragmented wisp that entered Catharsis. Or even the silver one that blazed across the void like a shooting star.

Crack.

[silver21]

Sirpa's Catharsis

@Tlazolteotl

Sirpa shuttered as the creature stared deeply into her own eyes. She blinked and looked away. She thought that maybe this thing would appear charming, silly, or even adorable under other circumstances. For now, it was unsettling. How did she get lost?

"Um, I-" Sirpa was about to say she didn't know. She didn't know how she got here, whatever here meant. Sirpa could appreciate a vaguely poetic response to a somewhat existential question, but it didn't quite clarify where she really was. As in, what did it mean to be "scattered everywhere?" Was she dead?

Sirpa didn't get to finish her sentence as she was abruptly interrupted by the sight of a weapon. The blade appeared at the neck of the creature. From where Sirpa was sitting, she couldn't see who wielded it. That didn't matter. A weapon meant danger. Should she be afraid of the wielder, though, or the creature? Sirpa returned her gaze to that of the creature's. She held it steadily, as uncomfortable as it was, as if to ask what was happening. The armchair beneath her softly vibrated, her anxiety seeping into its structure.

[Auragreedia]

The Cull

@Tlazolteotl

A shoot-out. Men dying. Children screaming. A bomb was set-off at his position.

Morgan was a dull man; cow-boy's hat to keep the sun from his eyes, cybernetic arms to replace the old, shaggy brown hair and tired eyes with bags from too much drinking. He could use a drink, maybe a bourbon, maybe a cigar. His body crashes into Catharsis--for him, it's a rusty bar, a bit run-down and downtrodden--it's only made worse with the human-sized hole in the wall. He groans as he plucks wooden chips from his chest, surveying the insides of the bar and it's inhabitants.

Surprisingly, he isn't dead.

"This is gonna be a mess."

Unsurprisingly, he wished he had died instead.

[Tlazolteotl]

Sirpa's Catharsis

@silver21

Head tilting slightly, the Keeper watches dust motes drift lazily through sunlight above—apparently finding them far more captivating than the blade at their throat.

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Teresa's Catharsis

@Stanifly

The server, a lean guy with sun-bleached hair pulled into a messy bun wearing a faded tie-dye shirt, steps back and lets out a low whistle as he eyes the blade.

"Duuude, that's a sick sword. I totally get why you'd wanna show that bad boy off, Silver Lady."

With two fingers, he gently pushes the blade downward.

"But hey, unless you're like, done with the whole hero gig and going full villain mode now, maybe chill with the pointy stuff? Someone's gonna lose an eye, y'know?"

A jerk of his chin toward the bar, and he's already drifting that direction with a loose, easy stride.
"C'mon, lemme grab you a drink. Whatcha want?"

━━━━━━ ◈ ━━━━━━

Morgan's Catharsis

@Auragreedia

Once the dust settles, a heavy-set darkskinned woman with a colorful headscarf looks up at the Morgan-shaped hole in her wall. "We got a perfectly good door, sugar. Didn't need a new one."

The bartender takes in the scene: a woman who'd just pulled a sword on her not a moment ago, a terrified girl making herself small in an armchair. She lets out a long, slow breath.

"It's one of those days, I see."

Her attention drops back to the cybernetic cowboy sprawled in the debris. One hand plants on her hip. "You gonna lay there all day, or you gonna tell me what you're having?"

━━━━━━ ◈ ━━━━━━

Universally Perceived in Catharsis

What Can Be Universally Perceived In Catharsis (If Character Is In A State To Perceive Other Customers):

• The Keeper asks Teresa to sheath her sword, moves it away from themself
• The Keeper asks both Teresa and Morgan what they want to have

[Stanifly]

In the face of the server's imperturbed response, Teresa maintained her guard. Their calm demeanour wouldn't fool her. She had spent far too much time with Caden to think someone was harmless because they portrayed their self as such.

That didn’t change the fact that their words struck a chord in her. When the server nudged her sword down, she went with the motion, though her grip remained unrelaxed. She opened her mouth for a retort, but was promptly interrupted by someone crashlanding through the wall and into the floor. A man with a cowboy gimmick, it looked like. Cyber enhancements too.

Okay. This is a little weird for an illusion.

Was she hallucinating? Had someone gotten her with a dart? Maybe Arts’ blaster had hit her after all and she was dying, caught in the throes of delusion in her final moments. Teresa brushed the front of her suit with her free hand. There was nothing but the faint remnant of ashes crumbling beneath her fingertips. The coarse feeling of plexifibre felt real enough.

Simplest answer, then. If this was real, her priorities were unchanged. The cyber-cowboy was already picking himself out of the rubble; there was no need for her to intervene. The server didn't seem intent on retaliating to the threat she'd made; instead, they were walking away, offering a drink. Slowly, Teresa sheathed her sword. It was then she finally regarded the girl in the armchair and, at the sight of her frightened posture, Teresa’s tense expression fell away to something more contrite.

‘My apologies if I frightened you,’ she said. The server’s remark echoed in the back of her mind. A muscle in her jaw tensed. ‘I’m... needed elsewhere.’ The terseness of her words would have her supervisor throwing a fit if she could hear them – ‘Reassuring, Teresa! You’re supposed to be reassuring to civilians!’ – but right now, her headspace was a million miles away. All she could think of was the hum of Arts’ gun, and pushing Eri out of the way, and if she was here and not there, then–

Focus. That’s not helping anybody.

She swept away, heedless of the girl’s response, quickening her steps to catch up with the server. As she did, she caught sight of another customer breaking a plastic, little doll, tossing it onto a mound of other plastic, little dolls – and then proceeding to receive a new doll. The absurdity of the scene had her turning back to the server without comment.

‘I appreciate the offer,’ she said, ‘but I can’t stay. Do you know how I got here? Can you send me back to where I was before?’

[BaronOBeefDip]

To say Charlie was confused would be an understatement. She was absolutely baffled. One moment, she was on her way to the break room to get a snack from the vending machine and a few moments of peace. Now, she found herself in what she could tell was some sort of bar. Nothing fancy, but not some dingy old sports bar either. Either someone managed to pull some very elaborate prank, or perhaps she had been working too hard and the stress had caused her to hallucinate.

Still, she was a bit hungry and she could use a drink. Prank, hallucination, or something else, Charlie hesitantly took a seat on one of the bar stools and began to survey the menu. There was a mix of apprehension and relief overwhelming her. Though, this wasn't a feeling unfamiliar to her. Her day to day life had become one of research, surviving against whatever B.O.W.s (Bio-Organic Weapons), megalomaniacs, and other pathogenic horrors had run rampant at any given moment. She was a geneticist, after all. In particular, her expertise were in cloning, and it has been public knowledge for quite some time that she had successfully cloned mutations that were once the Umbrella Corporation's results of cruel experimentation.

Perhaps that was what had brought her here. Something regarding her work had been on her mind nagging at her for lord knows how long. No, not something, someone. Someone who had entered her life thanks to her cloning methods, had become a partner in her work, and, someone she realized long ago she had feelings for. Feelings Charlie longed to confess to him, but felt she could never admit fearing she might hurt him. Besides, she wasn't even sure if he would even feel the same way.

[silver21]

Sirpa's Catharsis

Something about the being's calm response to the weapon was reassuring. Sirpa watched the violent newcomer cautiously and, as the threat seemed to dissipate, the shaking of the armchair stopped. The girl watched as the creature drifted toward the coffee bar with a couple of customers. They were quite odd in the way they arrived. Not that she saw a door that people were walking in and out of, but she could tell by the hint of confusion in everyone's demeanor that they didn't plan to be here either. Was anyone here by choice?

Sirpa sat forward in the armchair and peered around the side, pausing to really take in her surroundings for the first time. There definitely were other people here. There were the two or three that seemed just as misplaced as she did, but a bit more...disheveled? But everyone else acted as if everything was normal. Were they real, these other people? The ones who carelessly sipped their coffee or nibbled on a croissant while filling out the daily crossword? Did people still get physical newspapers and complete the daily crossword in pen?

Her hand felt wet. Sirpa looked down and realized that she was still holding the glass of water that the being brought to her. Deciding it must be safe, she took a sip. When nothing happened after a few moments, Sirpa allowed herself to take an actual drink of her water before setting it back down on the small table beside her. She found that she suddenly had a nice cozy blanket across her lap. No one brought it; it just appeared somehow. Concluding that this was the least of her worries, Sirpa let herself get more comfortable in the chair and positioned herself in a way that she could still see what the big cat thing was doing. Maybe she could try to understand these other people who seemed just as lost as her.

[Auragreedia]

Morgan's Catharsis

@Tlazolteotl

Morgan takes a gander at the bartender before turning his attention to the others in the bar: a girl wrecking up some poor dolls, a hero lady with a turtle-necked dress asking to leave, some kind of scientist, and another girl anxiously huddled up in the corner of the bar. An interesting cast.

"Well, 'scuse me, lady. I don't mean no harm." He plucks the last wooden chip from his chest and picks himself up. "Would've loved to use the door." He grunts awkwardly; a bit of a headache, but outside of some wounds on his chest and the former, he's strangely fine. "You see, there was a bit of a mess outside..."

He considers the earlier shoot-out, the explosions and all, and shrugs. The inside of the bar was populated enough, no real fear outside of a single customer; as far as he knew, the battle was over and he was blasted into the afterlife.

Morgan trails off, dusting himself off with metallic arms.

"'Spose I wouldn't mind a whiskey or two."

[Tlazolteotl]

Charlie's Catharsis

@BaronOBeefDip

A man approaches from behind the bar, wearing a plain white t-shirt tucked into worn jeans. Around his neck hangs a simple cross on a chain.

As he steps closer, the bar's dim lighting reveals what initially looked like shadows on his skin—tattoos covering every visible inch except his face. Saints gazing out from thick forearms, scripture winding around his knuckles, prayers climbing his neck. Religious imagery layered across brown skin like penance made visible.

His expression remains stoic as he stops in front of her, waiting.

After Charlie gives her order, he nods once and turns to begin preparing it. The silence stretches before he speaks, voice low and quiet.

"Rough day?"

[BaronOBeefDip]

@Tlazolteotl

"That's an understatement." Charlie gave a weary smile as she looked up at the bartender, "Work's been exhausting. Will and I have been up all hours working on a new project. Once he's focused on something, it's nearly impossible to get him to take his mind off of it. Don't get me wrong, I lo-I mean, I respect him and his opinions, but I worry his work ethic is eating away at other aspects of his life."

She paused for a moment before looking at the bartender's tattoos. St. Peter, Paul, Michael, and others she couldn't quite place the names of. Charlie wasn't the religious type, but she had nothing against those who were. It just wasn't her cup of tea.

"Those are some interesting tattoos." she said with genuine admiration for the artwork.

[Tlazolteotl]

Morgan's Catharsis

The bartender lets out a rich, throaty laugh as she reaches for a bottle on the shelf behind her. "Hun, outside's always a mess. The day it ain't, is the day I'm out of business."

She pours two fingers of whiskey over ice into a tumbler, the amber liquid catching light from the dusty windows. The glass lands on the counter in front of Morgan with a solid thunk, and the ice clinks inside.

"Drink up."

━━━━━━ ◈ ━━━━━━

Sirpa's Catharsis

The Keeper leans over the bar toward Morgan, interest clear in how their pupils expand. Bending at an odd angle to peer at him from the left, then rotating to examine the right side before straightening. They look at Sirpa, and then Teresa.

"You can perceive each other?" It doesn't sound like a question, despite being phrased as one.

"Interesting... Multiple first-time customers perceiving each other at once... That doesn't happen often. Usually, they're far too lost in their own catharsis—" Long talons point to their head and chest simultaneously. "—to notice anyone else."

━━━━━━ ◈ ━━━━━━

Teresa's Catharsis

The server gives an easy shrug. "You guys are here 'cause something's weighing on you. Heart stuff, mind stuff, whatever. That's kinda the whole deal with this place."

He grabs a rag and wipes down the counter in front of him.

"As for sending you back... I mean, technically I could, but not gonna recommend that. You'd end up a husk of your former self."

Another shrug, palms turning upward. "But hey, you can totally bail anytime, Silver Lady. Like, no one's stopping you. So if you're stuck here?" Tossing the rag over his shoulder, the server says, "That's 'cause deep down you don't wanna leave."

━━━━━━ ◈ ━━━━━━

@silver21@Stanifly@Auragreedia

Universally Perceived in Catharsis

What Can Be Universally Perceived In Catharsis (If Character Is In A State To Perceive Other Customers):

• The Keeper serves Morgan a drink
• The Keeper notes that Morgan, Teresa, and Sirpa can perceive each other, commenting that this is unusual for first-time customers
• The Keeper explains they are all here because something is weighing on their hearts and minds: they can leave whenever they want, but if they can't, it's because deep down they don't want to or aren't ready to leave

[silver21]

Sirpa's Catharsis

@Tlazolteotl

Sirpa startled, not expecting to be addressed. She had planned to just observe from afar. Her blanket had disappeared, and she yeared for something that felt like a barrier between her and the others. She hugged her pillow tighter and pulled her legs in closer to her body. How uncomfortable it could be to be perceived. She almost wished she too was "far too lost," just to escape the discomfort.

A single ant crawled across her skin. Sirpa flicked it away, only to feel another one appear in the same spot on her arm seconds later. She flicked it away, and another appeared---with a friend this time. Why did she have to feel that she needed something at the same time as others? To take up space when someone else needed it too?

In that moment, it hit her briefly. She desperately wanted to be seen and overlooked at the same time. "Too intelligent for her own good" is what the last therapist had said. The thinking and logic that persistently blocked any further growth. That feeling like she was locked in fight-or-flight. Like she was too much and not enough all at once. Like she was running out of energy fast as she treaded water, uncertain how far down it would be before her feet could push off from the bottom. The ants suddenly swarmed to thousands, crawling over her arms, lap, chest, neck, face, and head for just a few moments. Sirpa quickly inhaled through her nose and shook herself, a series of 2-3 short twitches that cleared all but five of the tiny insects. The ants are not perceived by anyone except Sirpa and the Keeper. She sat quietly, trying to redirect her attention to the small group ahead of her as the ants roamed across her skin and a static, buzzing feeling throbbed in her chest. Don't draw attention. This is embarrassing.

[Tlazolteotl]

Charlie's Catharsis

@BaronOBeefDip

A brief nod. "Thanks. They're reminders... For things I need to make right."

Adding the final touches to her drink, he slides the glass across the bar. His face remains stoic.

"When you say his work ethic is eating away at other aspects of his life, are you one of those aspects?"

[BaronOBeefDip]

@Tlazolteotl

Charlie admitted, "I would certainly hope so. Though, I'm just one of them. There's his health, his family..."

She paused for some time as she took a sip of her drink. Truth be told, there was something she had always wanted to confess. And, for whatever reason, despite her apprehension, she felt now would be a good time. She let out a small sigh as she took another sip and contemplated the right words to say.

"His name is William Birkin." Charlie explained, "He wasn't always my partner at work. In fact, he started out as one of my patients. Before then, he was a brilliant virologist who worked for the Umbrella Corporation. He was also a terrible human being. Karma caught up with him and he was left for dead, but he injected himself with his own creation. The G-Virus. It saved him but it turned him into a monster incapable of controlling himself. His actions caused the outbreak in Raccoon City resulting in its eventual destruction."

She took another sip once again contemplating her words carefully. Charlie wanted to make sure her feelings were understood.

Charlie then continued, "Many years later, that's where I come in. I was tasked with cloning him. Initially, it was purely for research. To study the effects of cloning on those infected with viruses. That being said, I never treated the clones as anything less than human. They're still people regardless of origin. Initially, Birkin was deemed a failure. He was just as brutal and instinctive as he was before his death. I don't know why, but I convinced my superiors to give me more time to work with him. I'm glad they agreed, because over the next few weeks, Birkin regained his sense of self."

Another sip. Another moment to carefully find what she wanted, no, what she needed to say.

"I let him work with me in the lab. Initially, it was just as a form of enrichment to keep him from getting bored. For safety reasons, patients are to be kept quarantined in the lab until they're confirmed safe to be out in public. As time passed, however, we began to form a friendship and he became my partner. Those weren't the only changes that happened. It turned out the G-Virus that was inside of him had mutated. The first thing I, and others, had noticed was that he had begun rapidly putting on weight. In only a few weeks, he had put on nearly 200 pounds. Then, his behavior changed. Mood swings, heightened agitation. Turns out he had gained the ability to reproduce without needing to infect others. To say he was shocked would be an understatement."

She paused once again. Explaining to the bartender that she had cloned one of Umbrella's most infamous researchers was probably quite a shock to begin with, much less the reveal that he had somehow become pregnant.

After a moment, she continued, "After some time, he shifted into his fifth form, a massive blob thing, and gave birth. Long story short, his new mutations included a pouch like a seahorse where his offspring developed. It also explained why he had gotten so fat in such short time. That flab acts like both insulation and a protective layer for his children. Birkin does care for his children, in his own way, but his parental skills definitely need improving."

Charlie frowned slightly as though it was starting to become more difficult for her to choose her words. Still, she pressed on.

"I told him about what happened in Raccoon City. How he had killed his own wife, Annette. How he had tried to infect his own daughter, Sherry." she said solemnly, "That the entire city was wiped from existence. Annette was gone forever, but Sherry had survived. I had to break the news, however, that I was unsure of her location and that his prior actions meant a reunion was very unlikely. He took it hard. I think the realization of what his actions had caused resulted in genuine remorse. I'm not sure if it provided him any comfort, but I did tell him that while he couldn't change the past, he could make things better for the future."

Yet another pause, another sip.

"Something changed in me when I comforted him while he mourned his loss. I knew I had always felt something about him, something I had never felt before. And, that's when I realized, I love him. People may call me crazy, but I do genuinely love him. He makes me happy, makes me feel safe. I want to tell him so bad. I want to be able to embrace him, nuzzle against his warm soft belly at night. To be able to kiss him. Perhaps more someday. But, I don't know how he feels. I don't know if he's even ready or willing to form a relationship after all he's been through. It hurts. Wanting to tell him how I feel, how he makes me feel, but also fearing that doing so would break his heart." she finally confessed, "And, worse, I don't know if I will ever get the chance to tell him. The lab where I worked at was attacked by B.O.W.s and we were forced to flee. He had to go into hiding to ensure his safety, and I haven't been able to find him since. I feel so stupid now, I...I should've told him when I had the chance..."

She wiped a few tears from her eyes. Her expression was a mixture of relief, sorrow, and regret.