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“Oh!! I really like watchin’ the Addams Family, sure it’s a bit old looking with the monochrome but watching their family love each other despite how ‘strange’ they are...”

“Ah....Ah dunno, never really thought about it.”

Max spends this time pondering to himself with a hand on his hip and the other stroking his disfigured chin. His mind went over the various farm equipment he was used to, it would very easy to convert them into things that could hurt others. After all, what difference was tilling the ground compared to tilling the meat on people? He didn’t like killing folks however, but it was the job he was saddled with.

“I just- I can’t… The survivors are all just trying to live… and the struggling, the sounds, the blood… I-It’s one thing being on the receiving end b-but I find being a killer even worse… I just miss my friends…”

It didn’t matter if the survivor was his friend or not. A killer turned survivor was still a survivor. He struggled to do as The Entity commanded no matter who it was or how hard he tried to detach himself from the situation.

Fancy looked guiltily away from The Hillbilly at the mention of Pizza. There wasn’t anything he could have done but somehow he still felt like Pizza’s corruption was somehow partially his fault. “I… don’t want to kno-ow what he went through to- to turn into someone like that…” He fidgeted, rubbing his neck and looking around at various objects that weren’t the killer in front of him.

“Heck, none of us were even interested in f-fire before but now he loves it. He’s practically a different person…He… He doesn’t get scared anymore.”

Fancy paused for a moment “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know you and I’m t-telling you these things…. I, uhm, didn’t catch your name? If that’s alright?”

Despite The Hillbillie’s outburst he hadn’t become violent or aggressive. Fancy was still a little on edge but hoped he could at least make some sort of acquaintances with him.

“M-my name’s Dwight but most people call me Fancy.” He offered his hand to shake, really hoping he wouldn’t regret letting The Hillbilly get close. If he even wanted to.

Max took a step back and regarded the claw offered in greeting with suspicion, sure the Dwight didn't do anything, yet. Max had been burned before by trying to make friends with the others as they were brought in after Phillip, hopeful in thinking they were going to be as put together as the Wraith. Much to his displeasure, they were not; so he made sure to keep his distance these days.

However, he decided to give it a shot with how remarkably polite this 'Fancy' was. Taking a step forward, he took a tentative reach and took the offered hand into his; he blanked in this next part, what was he supposed to do now? Max thought back to his memories of being tied up in front of the television, showing people meeting each other with a firm shake of the hand; which is what Max did, along with something else he watched, his other hand covering the backside of Fancy's hand as he shook.

"Uh..." Started Max before saying his full name of, "Max Thompson Jr, but uh you can call me, Max. Nice 'ta meet ya, Dwi-..uh, Fancy."

It's been a while since she left a present at the Thompson house. Hopefully Max doesn't think he's been forgotten, this one has just taken a little extra time to put together. Mostly to collect the materials. Glass marbles are rare, and wire is precious; finding enough of both was a trial in and of itself, but she got it.

The marbles hang in little spiral-shaped cages of copper, delicate things that allow the most light to shine through, suspended on fishing line in a helix pattern. The cascade appears to float from the metal hoop when she holds it up, and it spins slowly in the soft breeze that flows through the property. Each captive marble glitters like a star as it throws light around in little rainbows.

Perfect. Now she just has to hang it up somewhere. It's too risky to leave it on the ground with how delicate the construction is, and she'd be heartbroken if it was destroyed the same day it was delivered.

There's an ornamental hook on the corner of the porch roof. It's perfect, although she'll have to climb the railing to get to it; not a challenge, even with something delicate in one hand, and she perches there to watch the display for a moment, a giddy smile on her face.

It falls as she turns her head, turning to fear and concern.

The owner of the house has returned and she's missed her window to make a clean get-away.

Every time he looked at the little gifts that had been left meticulously in places where for sure would catch his eye, it filled Max with confusion on to who would’ve left them. It wasn’t Phillip nor it was Evan, good relations with the other killers other than the oldest two was by far...none. Same with the survivors, which to be honest, he couldn’t blame them on how he was made to terrorize, maim, and kill in the most violent ways imaginable. It also didn’t help that he was an ugly son of a bitch, and if the television had taught him anything; was that people’s number one focus was ON appearance.

In a way, he wished to know who it was and the same time, he didn’t. There was always an overwhelming fear that plagued his mind constantly on which he’s sure that the Entity loved to gobble up. Max didn’t want this to be a mean prank, he was used to and preferred that people would be aggressive in their hate; what way for sure he in return could hate them back. It was too complicated otherwise, filled with a swirl of feelings that he was never taught to deal in a healthy manner.

He shook his head of all the negative thoughts, instead turning his attention to the gifts again. Focusing on the positive, dissecting how carefully they were made and how beautiful it looked. The ramshackle nature of them was a comfort to himself, because if ugly broken things could be made into something lovely; then maybe....maybe....

The rustle of corn from the fields snap him out of his reflections, he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his upper legs and hands clutching his knees tightly as he watched the first red-headed survivor with the braided pigtails scuttle up the weathered railing. Placing another gift dangling by a string or wire; turning with the breeze, the glass in it catching the fake sun and giving a soft twinkle in the light.

Turning way from her creation, the proud smile on her face falls into expression that Max was all too used to: fear.

Stifling summer heat led to the most heaviest and pregnant pause in the air, neither of the two made a move; both shocked and afraid of the other. Then Max got up quietly, hobbling with his signature quiet gait that always caught both survivors and killers off guard. Stopping a couple yards away from her, staring, mouth agape; that is til his mouth closed a little, then gaped again. Mind tripping over itself trying to come up with something.

“....why?”

There was a shift in the wind when the visitors to his farm stepped foot upon the dusty tilled ground, this piqued Max’s interest for but a moment. Shrugging it off as they were probably loitering in a part of his land far enough away for him to not care.

That is unless, they came straight to where he was.

Max gaped in the direction that the heavy footsteps and the constant rumble of earth being parted through like a hot knife through butter. The dread in the pit of his stomach weighed heavier and heavier when he recognized the unforgettable rusty metal helm of the Executioner. Eyes widening with fear as the red pyramid thing drew closer and closer, his throat dried up, not even a gulp of spit through his windpipe moistened up.

He yelped in surprise, arms protectively thrown over his head and eyes as the Pyramid Head’s charge spoke up.

A long drawn out silence followed after.

Nothing happened.

“Uh--uh-uuuum...” stammered out Max as he peeked through the crack in his arms and looked down to Alessa.

“You’re more than alright, Missus. Just-just don’t set your red pyramid thing me, I don’t want to get hurt.”

"Biscuits!" Fancy.... cursed? Nearly jumping out of his shoes from the hillbillie's yelling. Even with Fancy as a killer now there was still some residual fear held towards the other man.

Who knew the Billy had such a mouth on him "Wuh... What do you mean?" Fancy was still unfamiliar with a lot of the killers, he had no idea if he should be on the defensive or not. He decided he would just to be safe. The big guy did have a very painful chainsaw after all.

Just who the hell was this guy? Screaming out biscuits like one would use a curse? He reminded Max of those kiddie shows where they would use euphemisms like this guy did. Well, at least Max knew now that this new killer could talk.

“Have ya seen yourself? You look like some-...” with that Max looked up and around before continuing his sentence uttered in a hoarse whisper, “-fucked up cactus thing wif dem Spider whiskers growing outta ya.”