GAME OVER.

❛         HA     —-    O’  COURSE  NOT  !                there  is  much      –  ᵉʰ   —–   much  for  us  to  discuss   .         ❜              their  worlds  meet  &  crumble  as  they  collide,   clash  in  more  ways  than  one:           the  woman  is  thin  but  sickly  so ,     nearly  tucked  away  into  all  the  layers  she  is  swathed  in.   copia,    awash  in  tight  black  fabric  and  red - crimson  bottom  shoes,   is  all  but  extravagant .          he  is  thin,  too, but  he  speaks  with  his  hands  and  keeps  his  chin  in  the  air,    even  as  he  takes  a  whiskey  and  downs  it  in  one  swallow. the alcohol does little for him but warm his gut,   courage aplenty already brimming up from behind his teeth.      the  man  sucks  in  a  sigh ,         exhales  and  lays  a  hand  on  the  bar.       

there  lies  something  in  the  air,  unknown  to  the  mundane  population  they  were  surrounded  with.      despite  his  boisterous  nature  the  man  did  not  cause  a  stir  in  the  group  of  people  that  surrounded  them.                      ❛           i  would  be  a  liar  if  i  said  i  was  here  for  my  own  selfish  desire  ,      cara  mia  ,      believe  me  . surely you understand a thing or two about cosmic duty,      no ?     ❜          

copia  gazes  down  at  the  woman  from  his  long,  thin  nose.   his  mouth  puckers  at  the  after - taste  of  the  golden  liquor.     moustache  slightly  jumps,     wiggles.      ❛    you  are  much  more  beautiful  than  he  said  you  would       —-     ᵉʰ   —       be.     ❜

He stinks to high heaven. Rotting meat, fever, and cologne waft from his miserable coattails, and the scent of alcohol does little to obscure the stench of deceit on his breath. Ignoring the  COSMIC DUTY ,   Amanda turns her head and fixes her solicitor with a scrutinous gaze.    “ John said I was  BEAUTIFUL , huh? “  —-----  BULLSHIT.    A genius little piglet, she leans her elbow on the bar and chin rests in hand, faux interest obscuring her true expression like a lazy veil tossed onto a cyprian bride.   “  I’ll bite. What  else  did he tell you? “

“ not at all. “  Hannibal reclines in his seat, his smile quietly withdrawn, professionally distant but charming.   “ You seem of plenty sound mind – There’s a difference between being captive and feeling a sense of gratitude to someone who changed you.  Life is precious and often underappreciated … “ 

She’s tense, drawn taut like the string of a bow.  Ready to let arrow fly.  She’s DANGEROUS – but Hannibal isn’t concerned with that.  ( He’s dangerous, too.  She doesn’t see it yet. )  She is suspicious, though – arms crossed over her chest, eyeing him like he’s an insignificant nuisance.    “ I can tell you are overtly concerned with judgement … you find judgement here, Amanda.  Not in the form you’re imagining.  I am not here to judge you.  I’m here to listen, and to help.  You’ve already been declared unfit – they can’t try you for your crimes again.  Perhaps you can’t be honest now … but you have no reason not to be. “  He pauses before he breaks it down, lets into the more intense things he sees that he knows will award him snarling discomfort. 

“ Except of course, that your honesty is the only thing you can control.  You must feel as though you’re roiling on a black sea – John is dead.  You are free and clear, but you didn’t expect to be.  Withholding your truth from me is the only simple way you can claim a sense of power.  I can help give you power, Amanda.  I can give you control. “ 

Hannibal leans in and lays out his cards, but most of them are   FACE - DOWN .      Amanda gets the feeling he's done this dance so many times before the steps are of a memorized elegance. He knows what to show, what to play close to the chest. His hook is baited with understanding and promises of a renaissance, a return to the studied art.   SHE  IS  BEING  REELED  IN  LIKE  A  RARE  FISH .

But what he has to know is that she isn't like every catch he's wrestled with. A hook in her lip means nothing. She won't play this game on his terms. ( He hasn't won her respect. It still sits somewhere deep and dark, ensconced in a silken web of her own design and carved endlessly with John's name. Flies have tried approaching it at all angles, but the truth is only another spider can find it's way to her core. )

Unique just means alone. @piigsaw​

     Glancing up from his perch, the tip of his blade halting the attempts to clean the grime out from under his nails. Shrugging lazily at her words. “ You’re only as alone as you let yourself be. ” he replies after a moment. Frank was never alone, not with his found family, The Legion. They may all be trapped in this endless trial of cat and mouse, but at least he had what mattered to him. “ You’re not alone now, are you? I’m here. ” he reaches up, tapping his mask “ Plus, looks like we have some shit in common. ” he leans back, finding a spot against the wall, posture relaxed. As if to show he was comfortable in her presence. 

—— @piigsaw liked for a starter.

                     Her hum radiates loud, the song that she cherished, EVEN WITH THE LITTLE GIRLS SHE WOULD “ ADOPT “ & CLAIM AS HER OWN. A song that went back centuries – she vaguely remembers her mother singing the very same song to her before she died. Small axes dangle on makeshift leather belt loop. The mask weighs on her face, white pupils flickering around her surroundings. A HUB OF THEIR OWN, FOR THE KILLERS ( & considering they were often times left alone in their corresponding “ worlds, “ it was a delight to figure out who each other were ). 

                          Anna didn’t know most of their language all that well, Russian descent & tongue most prominent. Dirtied, bloodied hands get wiped with dirtied blue cloth, hung just at her hip, tucked halfway inside pants to keep it in place. Her humming stops – The Huntress listens, mostly falling on halfway deaf ears ( she’s thankful, however, that the HIGHER UP gave her some sort of ability to understand the language most speak, the ability to try to speak it, when the time came for it ). Anna naturally radiates to killers she’s known to be FEMALE ( more comfortable, more in her zone, more … at home ). 

                       ❝ Мисс Пигги [ Miss piggy ], ❞  Arms cross at her chest, her head tilted downward to properly set white eyes onto the other, the first victim of her chatting.  ❝ What … new? ❞ A simple eye flicker up & down says enough, the new attire causing a brow to raise, somewhere underneath mask. Uninvitedly, a hand comes away from herself to lightly touch the material at the shoulder, curiously. ( She’s never been one to be a stranger, after all ). 

Marked for her temper, many killers have suffered a nick or two at the hand of the Pig for getting too familiar.   TOO  CLOSE .  But here... Amanda has no issue letting Anna touch. She may tower over the piglet like the rest of them, dwarf her in a way she’s historically taken as a silent challenge meant to win.  And yet the air remains free of the tense electricity that always sparked from her while in the shadows of mammoths like  MYERS ,  CARTER ,  or  MACMILLAN .  The truth here is that the Huntress has an unearned pass for one devastatingly simple reason:  SHE’S  A  WOMAN .

“  PIG  LEATHER , “ she answers with a nod. “ I’m not the same person I was when I wore the red - coat. Truth be told, that coat wasn’t even   MINE .  The leather jacket and boots have better functionality. Keeps pallets from scratching me up. Helps me feel more ..... stable. “

❛        JOHN  SAYS  HELLO   ,            ❜              it  is  innocent  enough ,     said  with  the  charisma  of  one  simply  commenting  on  the  weather   .          there  is  little  to  be  read  from  his  BLANK  expression  but  he’s  said  it  ,      clearly.         

papa  holds  his  strong  chin  high  .           he  looks  younger  from  this  angle ,      albeit  the  slight  salt  &  pepper  of  his  side  burns  are  a  quick  give - away  that  he,  too,  is  also  not  immune  to  the  rot  of  mortality .      the moment starts like this:      :     with  a  hand  along  the  bar  and  black  leather  gloves  gripping  it’s  absinthe  like  it’s  the  last  it’ll  ever,  ever  have.                     ❛          tell  me  ,          DID GOD ABANDON  YOU  ?        are  you  alone,        do  you  like  being  alone   ?        ❜       

@piigsaw​ ​​  -  a  manipulative starter  call

Dark eyes dart in their sockets to stare at unwelcome company, discolored where they sit by a lack of sleep that buzzes in her skull, long since ignored. She should kill him for saying that name. Cut out his tongue, burn off his lips. Or maybe strap him down and funnel hungry   RATS   to those fleshy bits since he's so eager to flap them.

(Something in the back of her mind tells her she's only angry because she knows how sorely   DISAPPOINTED   he would be in this moment. That she got out of the nut-house and decided to near-immeadiately break a 3 year long streak of sobriety. First, she became a murderer. Second she relapsed back into self harm. This drink clutched so tightly in her hand now is the last seal of her ruin. Amanda has failed everything John tried to teach her)

♠ 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 @piigsaw

     His tongue has the metallic taste of metal. It lingers like a bad shot of tequila. A freshly discarded trap, rattling against the pavement close by, the snap of the jaws ringing against the cement walls.

     Visconti’s cheeks are raw, he knows there is blood. Faint nicks from the trap its self, corners of his grin cut. It is enough for it to sting. The gambler stands rigid on his feet, heavy breaths come out in puffs as sweat wets his hair and brow, eyes set on the woman in front of him. 

     Crooked judgement hangs in the air. He can imagine the arrows pointed at him. Bright flashing neon. 

     “ That head gear is a bitch, cerdita.” An asthmatic laugh, smirk wavering. Adrenaline is pumping sending a tremble to his hands, calling a bluff to his relaxed persona. 

     “ Did braces really traumatize you that much? ” 

They're in a proper mexican stand-off— except the only thing Ace has locked and loaded is a pallet and an arrogant-fucking-attitude. He can't see her face but something about her posture tells of a smile.   ALL  TEETH  AND  NO  JOY .

"  THAT'S FUNNY . . .   I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to deal out the one-liners until you've  WON .  "   The Pig steps closer and pulls a vial from her pocket, pinched between her pointer and her thumb. She gives it a little shake.   " Poor li’l guy.. aw, you never stood a chance. I was worried you were onto me at first, but you didn't even notice that  TASTE  on your mouth-piece.”   Cue gut-drop.

Amanda continues, sickly green bottle in hand as she watches Ace’s expressions with the intensity of a cat waiting for the kill.  “ I've been playing with other killer's methods of hunting. Seeing what I can adapt into my arsenal. You survivors learn quick, I mean- have to keep you on your toes somehow. Adiris was kind enough to lend me her  PLAGUE  for study. And while I'm no bioengineer- after consulting with Dr. Carter and a couple of weeks of mutations I think I've managed to isolate something beautiful here. Stealthy, contagious,  DEADLY .   Let’s call it  SWINE  FLU-ID .  " Almost as if on cue, a sound rings through the realm. Da-ding! Survivor injured.  Now, how could that happen without Amanda being there to injure them?

How long have Pigs been classic prey? The Three Little Pigs comes to mind, or the pigs you count on your toes, all minding their business until SOMETHING AWFUL STRIKES and the last must  wee - wee - wee  all the way home.

Amanda was once the prey. She hid in haphazard housing, nursing her comforts and ignoring her demons in the company of other gutless whelps like her. A boyfriend blew her first house down. The Cops blew down the second. So she made sure the third was a steel trap— unbreakable, unblowable, but that didn't keep the big - bad wolf from getting in. That just forced the wolf to become more clever.  THIS  LITTLE  PIGGY  WENT  TO  THE  GAME  AND  NEVER  EVER  CAME   BACK  AGAIN !

She follows a lone trail of breath as it echoes in the misty night, accompanied by the sound of scuffing footsteps and soon, a clicking generator. Her prey is a victim like her but the difference in them is a desire to   LIVE   that extends beyond the surface level. These people don't want to live, not really. They just don't want to be in   PAIN .  Amanda closes in, coming to a silent crouch behind a box big enough to obscure her form but not so big she can't keep an eye on the livestock.

The best thing about being a pig is that you don't need to huff and puff to get in—  YOU‘RE   ALREADY  INSIDE  THE  HOUSE  BEFORE  THEY  KNOW  TO  DENY  YOU  ENTRY !

She ambushes him with a roar, hitting him once at the generator and giving chase until hitting him once again when he misjudges a vault point. She looms over him as she steps through the window to his awaiting body.

" Hello, Dwight Fairfield. "   There's hands on him before he can crawl away, pinning him in place and injecting something into his neck. This .. definitely isn't a reverse bear trap, that's for sure.