Welcome to Gaia! ::

"Yeah, I consider that a invite." She replied softly, laying up alittle ways at the sound of the T.V being turned on.
"Nothing is still working? Geez, a tower must be down or something." She guessed.

The wind outsode was howling loudly and could be heard from inside the house. "Maybe a storm is coming?" She said sitting up and fixing her hair.
"If so, that would be great weather to come back to." She said with a giggle.
"Well, atleast I have someone to spend the night with." She said looking over at Reeve with a smile.

Forest sat in his apartment, still shaken from the events at the mansion. His entire team didnt even know he was alive, and he sort of preferred it that way, they hadn't even tired to come back for him;he'd barely escaped the explosion that consumed the mansion. He had a few weapons from the police station that he'd stolen, a Striker shotgun and a .50 magnum, but not much ammo. If the virus reached the town, he wondered, was anybody ready for it?

"I'd let you put it in my garage, only I don't have one. And if I did, my car would be in there."

He said with a chuckle, turning around and leaning against the windowsill.

"It's awfully quiet, I mean for this time of night. Everyone must have gone home early today or sometihng.. Normally I'd be able to hear the cars going by every now and then.. By the way, where are you working nowadays?"

He asked, pushing off the windowsill and moving back over the couch. Taking a seat back down beside her, he picked up the mug and leaned back against the couch- taking a sip.

"Really? Better figure out who that is then because if you want to stay here you'll have to pay part of the rent."

He said with a smirk, taking another sip of the coffee.

"Quite dead out though? That makes no sense... This town is usually full of people doing things here and there. It has to be a holiday I completely forgot about or something... Still have some kind of gun?"

"I would if I were you. You never know what b*****d might try to rob you."

He replied, opening one of his eyes and glancing down to the money on the table.

"A bed for two nights, if I'm feeling generious enough. You make your own damn food though, mainly because I have to go to work in the morning. 9, actually."

Drinking a rather large portion, he leaned forward and set it down on the table. He went back against the couch and simply sat in silence for a few minutes.

"I don't remember."

"I'll eat it if you pay me more, otherwise keep your cooking your own."

He said with a laugh,

"While we're on the subject. Do you keep anything from back then? It's pretty clear I kept quite a bit and more."

(( Eep.. :X Sorry.. Can't think of much else right now... ))

Malik sat behind a desk at Headquarters. His room was dimly lit, only lit up by the small, portable light on his desk. It had batteries, and would work even if power was cut to the building. It was currently attached to the wall, though. Swirls of smoke slowly climbed their way towards the ceiling of the room from the cigar that was clenched strongly between his teeth. His body sat lazily, his feet kicked up on the desk, squashing papers under his boots. He wasn't on a mission, so his tattered jeans covered his legs, and his Smithy's Firing Range shirt was also worn across the chest. At his left side was his Colt Python, the distinct handle sticking out of the Holster. He was right-handed, and that's how he drew the weapon. He was a new recruit. The last Alpha Team Machine Expert had died..he didn't really know how, and he wasn't too interested. There were rumors, but he paid those no heed. He'd been working quite hard lately, and had been staying late, just to prove his worth. He sighed again, puffing on his Cigar.

A sigh issued from the lips of the tall, curiously pale young woman who entered the Raccoon City Five-Screen Theatre, a dark green backpack slung carelessly over her shoulder.

"Hey John." she waved in a lazy greeting to the floor manager as she passed the older man. He frowned a bit and waved her away as he took another bite of his hamburger. John was about 55, and didn't exactly look like a theatre manager, but there he was. The girl shrugged a bit and then waved at one of the other workers there. "Hi Chelsea."

"You're early." she commented, tugging at her ponytail. "You're usually late."

"I know, but I make special efforts sometimes." the brunette responded, exiting the otherwise empty lobby to enter the back room, throwing her bookbag down in the corner. She tucked her white buttondown shirt into the waist of her black slacks, and pulled on the maroon apron that everyone unfortunate enough to be in concessions had to wear. A nametag was clipped over it, denoting her as Laura. She deftly tied her medium-length auburn hair into a ponytail and tugged a maroon hat on. With a sigh, she adjusted her glasses a bit and put on the black bowtie that they all had to wear as part of their uniform. With that, she punched in on the time clock and stepped out into the concession booth.