Wesker had never liked manual labour; it was a fact that hadn't failed to overload his brain as soon as he'd been hooked up to the rusty plough by Macintosh. He was a thinker, not a... workhorse, he was certainly not lacking physically but he specialised in pursuits of the mind. Though he supposed that thinking the field ploughed was not a viable agricultural strategy.
Imagine if you could though, Al. You'd be a hero, all the pancakes you could eat!
Wesker could only shake his head at the ludicrous suggestion as he strained on the harness in front of him and slowly began moving forward.
Indeed, Albert... isn't that what a God should be able to do?
Wesker bared his teeth as he strode forwards, tilling the soil whilst he walked, his superiority complex had taken a shattering blow after his defeat at the hands of Chris but nonetheless, he couldn't help but feel like this work was beneath him, is this how a God was supposed to use his power? Even as he said it, his stomach did an odd flip, he was no longer a God and he had assumed that position based on his genetic alterations, now he was just an everyday, average... pony. The implications of this struck him in a way that had evaded him when he had just awoken on the field, Wesker had had bigger problems at the time but now he was fully aware of what this meant.
Your life's work, Albert. Meaningless. Like you.
This moment was worse than when he had reawakened after allowing the Tyrant to impale him, learning he had failed and that the ultimate life form had been vanquished by Jill and... Chris. That time, his brain had put aside the all consuming rage and began plotting and formulating once more in order to recoup his losses, what could he do now? He reached the end of the strip of land that he had been ploughing and used his sudden fury to fuel his strength and turn it around and continue on to the next band of earth, letting out a roar as he did so. It was worthless, pointless; the assassinations, the manipulations, the endless Umbrella dinner parties filled with sycophantic worms and braying, self-important cretins , having to associate with that hussy, Excella. All so he could be a horse and plough fields until his dying day; had anypony been able to see Albert Wesker's face, they would have surely recoiled at the white hot rage that was consuming his features at this point.
Al... You did all of that stuff because you had to. You were in Umbrella's world, programmed by Spencer. You're free of that now; you can be who you want to be.
Wesker nearly blew a fuse, he'd WANTED to be a God, and he'd WANTED to wipe the planet clean of pathetic, snivelling, self-destructive humans and start again with a new master race but the seeds of fate had decreed that what he WANTED meant NOTHING. While those who wanted nothing other than mediocrity and to wallow in their own pathetic concerns and quasi-misery got exactly what they desired! Joy seemed oddly subdued, a fact which gave Wesker a feeling of savage pleasure, until his internal voice spoke again.
That isn't what you wanted, Al. That's what Spencer told you to want, remember? His values were instilled in you on a subliminal level, what do YOU want?
Wesker thought, really thought, and the effect was akin to dunking his head in a bowl of ice cold water. Clarity restored just in time, Wesker mused, and he was almost at the end of the current segment of soil. He mulled it over as he hefted the plough to face back the way he had come, gently biting his lip as he thought, a very un-Weskerlike gesture but hell, Wesker considered; this whole damn situation was 'un-Weskerlike'. He wanted... to find out more about the land he was in, Applejack and Macintosh seemed like good people but hardly scholars, this Twilight Sparkle seemed to be the best port of call. That was the short-term but what of the long term? What exactly did he want to achieve whilst he was here? The call of a deity felt incredibly hollow to him after his previous attempt.
Just think short term for now, Al. For once.
The surprisingly logical voice (it was him, he supposed) raised a solid point, it felt like he was always ten steps ahead of everyone else and every action he took was designed to have implications in the near future, if not the distant future. He couldn't remember the last time he'd 'winged it', as it were.
Uroboros, Albert? You certainly didn't plan that.
That was undeniably correct, and look how that had turned out... though he also conceded that he had been under extreme pressure, was poisoned by his so-called 'serum' and was blinded by apocalyptic rage at that insufferableass, Chris Redfield. He also still remembered what the BSAA agent had said after he had injected Wesker for the second time.
You're just another of Umbrella's leftovers.
He had worked at Umbrella long enough to know that, without exception, their 'leftovers' did not get a second chance of any form, all that awaited was death... if you were lucky, but now Wesker had a second chance, however limited it may have appeared at first glance. The blond maned pony allowed himself a rare full smile; he was never one to pass up an opportunity.
Once he'd finished the fatigue that Wesker had managed to ward off via close mental control hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks and he wobbled unsteadily towards the farmhouse, once Macintosh had unhooked him. It certainly didn't help that he'd been forced to learn to move as an entirely different species, a task he'd undertaken with his typical imperturbable nonchalance but nonetheless he felt he moved normally, rather than with the usual control and minimal effort he was used to. Another task on the 'short-term' list, he felt. Macintosh had been duly impressed with the efficiency of Wesker's work, finishing the ploughing of his allocated field only marginally earlier than Albert, and the pale, former human merely gave him a look which said, 'You expected anything less?' With that, Macintosh had informed Wesker that Applejack had baked apple pies for the two of them and they set off on the short walk towards nutrition.
Neither of them were particularly big talkers and both were weary from good, honest hard work, so it was unsurprising to Wesker that they made the journey in companionable silence, he was moderately surprised, however, when Macintosh decided to speak up, "Must say, Mr Wesker, that ploughing was mighty fine, you sure you never done this before?"
Wesker preened subconsciously at the compliment before calmly answering, "I have not." He looked down at the mud splattered across his hooves and forelegs with mild disgust, "I'm sure I would remember... it certainly leaves its mark."
Macintosh let out a soft chuckle, "Bein' muddy's a sign o' hard work, Mr Wesker, sir. Don't let nopony tell y'all otherwise."
Wesker aimed a ghost of a smile towards the crimson stallion, "I'll be sure to remember that, Big Macintosh." He paused for a moment, "Am I right in the assumption that you've done more talking today than you have in a long time?"
Macintosh nodded slowly, "Eeyup. I ain't much of a talker but to new ponies, it can be a bit intimidatin' if I just stand there, all big and quiet, so I tries to make 'em feel welcome first. Don't you worry; I'll be clammin' up once you're settled here."
Wesker let out an inelegant snort at the final statement, "Don't strain your vocal chords on my behalf, I daresay you may need them for something more important."
The red pony chuckled, "Not sure how familiar y'all are with farm work, Mr Wesker, but I don't need my voice for them chores, besides, it ain't like I'm talking ya ear off." That was true, Wesker had certainly experienced his ear 'being talked off' both by actual human beings and internal voices and those experiences shared nothing in common with the relaxing interchange between himself and Big Macintosh. The rest of the walk passed with little to no conversation, only a confirmation that the two of them would be taking some apples to Twilight's library home after dinner. Macintosh didn't seem to want to pry into this mysterious pony's past and even if he had, Wesker was in no mood to share that information just yet, if ever. The smell of apple pie wafting through the window of the farmhouse reminded Wesker of two things: Firstly, that was fallible again and that he was at the beck and call of everyday whims and needs but secondly, and more importantly, that he was absolutely ravenous. He wasn't about to let his composure slip, however, and he calmly accompanied...
More like Accom-PONIED, right Al?
Wesker gritted his teeth. ...Big Macintosh to the dinner table where Applejack was sitting with a beaming smile and where three steaming apple pies were set upon place mats. Wesker and Macintosh sat either side of the ponytailed farm pony, Wesker with a polite nod and Macintosh with a sigh and a hungry declaration of thanks. Wesker instantly dived into the apple pastry, possibly breaking some sort of record, he didn't care, Macintosh tried to do the same but Applejack pulled the pie away from him and held it tauntingly out of reach.
"Uh uh, big brother, what do ya say?"
Macintosh let out a long suffering sigh and uttered, in tones that suggested that this particular mantra had been uttered before, "You're the bestest cook ever in the history of Ponyville and I'm mighty lucky and honoured to have ya as a sister."
Applejack guffawed and slid the pie back into her hungry sibling's reach, "And don't y'all forget it." She then turned towards the devouring whirlwind that was Wesker with a piercing stare, "Anything to add, Al?" Wesker's head snapped up and he gave Applejack a dazed look reminiscent of a bunny caught stealing carrots from the produce shed.
However, as he was Wesker, his inherent nature shone through and he automatically smirked before drawling, "Applejack, if you wish to learn my cooking secrets, then you need only ask." Macintosh stifled a chortle as the orange pony's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline before returning Wesker's smirk with one of her own, "Well, Al, let's see if you're all hat and no cattle. You're cookin' tomorrow."
Bluff called, Al, should have just said the same thing as Macintosh.
"With pleasure, Applejack." Wesker said smoothly, finishing his meal and stepping away from the table at the same time as Big Macintosh, "Thank you for the meal, it was most..." He couldn't help feeling amused as Applejack leaned forwards, eagerly awaiting the end of that sentence, "...satisfactory." He finished with a devilish grin. Applejack scowled and Macintosh let out another gust of laughter, before hurrying Wesker away from the irate mare.
As the two walked towards Twilight's, each towing heavy carts piled with apples. Applejack waited until they were a fair distance before popping her head through the doorframe and shouting, "Y'all had better bring your best, Al, I'm expectin' the best meal I ever had."
For the first time in a long time, Albert Wesker let out a deep, rich but above all, genuine laugh.