[ Apparently the operation concluded not long after the second dose of morphine: some time around the four-hour mark, Wesker's subordinates started trickling in: dressed like him, visibly distraught, carrying flowers and cards Birkin had to resist the impulse to roll his eyes at. Like that was what Albert needed right now, as opposed to them going back in time and being competent.
All of it was eyeroll-worthy, really. They didn't know what they were to Wesker and to Umbrella. What bothered William more, however, was their insistence on seeing him—as though they had any right to—though at least they yielded when sharply reminded that people need sleep following any kind of major surgical procedure.
On the whole, though, he made a point of being exceedingly civil in their interactions despite his own boiling vitriol, just a stranger they could all assume was a brother or cousin or something. The less interaction he had with them, the better: this was Wesker's ongoing, overarching project, and William did his best not to interfere. Even if that project was likely to be over now, God willing.
When Wesker stirred and came to, the sun had already set, though the full moon and the room full of monitors and the bar of golden light under the door to the hallway made it easy enough to see in the semidarkness. William, true to his word, was still there, having at least chosen to finally sit down; he turned when the movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention.
It was a relief, having him awake again, no matter how much they claimed he'd stabilized. ]
The members of S.T.A.R.S. came by. You have cards. [ He nodded in the direction of the bedside table, where a few of them were set down next to a plastic pitcher of crushed ice. ] I informed them that you were sleeping.
no subject
All of it was eyeroll-worthy, really. They didn't know what they were to Wesker and to Umbrella. What bothered William more, however, was their insistence on seeing him—as though they had any right to—though at least they yielded when sharply reminded that people need sleep following any kind of major surgical procedure.
On the whole, though, he made a point of being exceedingly civil in their interactions despite his own boiling vitriol, just a stranger they could all assume was a brother or cousin or something. The less interaction he had with them, the better: this was Wesker's ongoing, overarching project, and William did his best not to interfere. Even if that project was likely to be over now, God willing.
When Wesker stirred and came to, the sun had already set, though the full moon and the room full of monitors and the bar of golden light under the door to the hallway made it easy enough to see in the semidarkness. William, true to his word, was still there, having at least chosen to finally sit down; he turned when the movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention.
It was a relief, having him awake again, no matter how much they claimed he'd stabilized. ]
The members of S.T.A.R.S. came by. You have cards. [ He nodded in the direction of the bedside table, where a few of them were set down next to a plastic pitcher of crushed ice. ] I informed them that you were sleeping.