Old friends never fade (Kilik and Wesker)

"Hells bells..." A voice rang out in a gruff manner. He pushed his sunglasses to his nose as he entered a small pub. The male was wearing a long black trench coat, that reached down to his ankles. The rest of his outfit was black as well. Maybe it was a trendy taste for him? The entire coat, shirt and trousers seemed rather expensive. As well for those sunglasses. He placed a hand under his chin as he scanned the pub. It seemed like a place he wouldn't care about. Wesker wasn't one to be in a place like this. It was rather drab, plain and well...

"Such a sty... Why would anyone be in a detestable place like this?"

The tone of his voice sounded rather irritated. His expression remained stoic as he walked over to a bar stool, only to dust it off with his leather bound gloved hand. Pulling his hand away, the middle-aged male stared at the glove of his. Only to see a layer of dust on it. Being rather disgusted, he pulled it off his hand and stashed it in his pocket. Reaching inside his coat, he pulled out another glove to slip onto his hand.

"Places like this should be more cleaner. It is not what I wished for, but I have a feeling a good friend of mine is here..."

Wesker was basically talking to himself as he took a seat on the bar stool. He crossed one leg over the other as he rested a hand under his chin. The people around him in the pub did not pay attention to him. They pretty much were use to his appearance to were some of the common folk left the pub. Perhaps it was the fear they had in this male. Hearing about him on various medias such as the telly and the news paper. After all... Albert Wesker was known around the world. A young Bar Tender nearly dropped a mug he was cleaning off when the male entered the bar. He knew of this in famous Albert Wesker. He knew he had to serve him. Wesker was somewhat a daily regular at this pub since he set foot into this country.

"Ah! Mister Wesker!" The burly, yet nervous bar tender said in a nervous tone. "Would you care for your normal?" He asked. "Chardonnay wasn't it?"

The nervous bar tender slunk off to the back of his wine cellar, only to pull out a bottle of Chardonnay for the man. He set the bottle before him as well for a wine glass.

"Eh heh... Enjoy! Sorry for the mess here! It's all the younger people who make a mess here! Forgive me!" He bowed his head as he placed his hands together, hoping Wesker wouldn't pull out his hand gun on him. Or worse, inject him with something strange. His nervous chuckle didn't phase the middle aged man as he uncorked his bottle of wine and poured it into a glass. He took a sip from it. Then a smug, sly grin appeared on Wesker's face.

"Jin.. no, is it Jeff? Or was it Jon?" Wesker asked in his tone. "Oh yes.. It was Jim.." His tone sounded so coy, yet calm. The rough sound of his voice would send shivers and goose bumps up anyone's spine. He ran a finger around the rim of his wine glass as he laughed in a hoarse manner. "Why do you act so nervous around me? You got to remember... Remember one thing..."

Wesker would extend his arm out and pull Jim the Bartender as he was apply called close to him. He held him at eye level. He kept his dark, slick shades over his face as he leaned a bit closer.

"You don't anger me or even pose a threat. Just anyone who sees me wet their pants at my presence, if you know what I mean."

Jim chuckled nervously as tried to wriggle free from the middle aged male's grasp. He did not know what to do with Wesker or how to handle it. This was normal, though. It always happened. Before he could say anything, Wesker let go of the young male before grabbing his bottle of wine. He placed the cork back on it as he stashed it inside his coat. Pushing up his sunglasses again, the tall, blonde male kept that creepy smirk on his face as he got off his coat, pushing it back in place.

"By the way, Jim..." Wesker started to say in his tone. He was reaching for something inside his long coat. "I been meaning to giving you a present. You know..."

Oh how cold his tone sounded. This caused everyone in the pub to stop clamouring. All the music stopped, as if someone pulled the plug from it. People stopped playing billards, poker and other bar games that thrived in this sad, little pub. After fiddling around in his coat for a while, Wesker pulled out a small syringe. In it was an old coloured liquid. A green, off colour.

"It's been good knowing you. How long did we know each other? Three days? A week? A month? Doesn't matter..." Wesker said to the male. He pulled the syringe closer to the male as he held it to the side of his neck.

"After all, we are best of buds, right?" He leaned closer, injecting the needle into the flesh of the male. Afterwards, Wesker pulled away, walking off. Not a word was said after the male left the pub and entered the city, in search for his friend. Kilik.