#asks . trapper

Rumor Mill || Accepting

Trapper's head cocks to the side - a slow motion, not one born of confusion but one that marked his focus as he zero in on the source of the sound.

Interesting.

He stands there for a long moment, weighing the options present to him. There was, as he had long ago learn, no use in attacking the faces within the fog. Figments of his imagination - or perhaps the entity herself playing games with his mind. Regardless of the source, there was nothing that would change how effective what he did next was going to be.

He lunges forward, swinging his cleaver at the figure - it dissolves into fog around the blade, dropping towards his feet as his weapon instead dug into the tree behind it.

Old Meme Bin

He knows this one.

She's seldom the last one left in his trials - the altruistic ones rarely are. He's too willing to give them a hit another survivor has earned if they prove willing to take it. Altruism was a game of high risk - especially when the enclosure for the trial was such a small one.

It had been a disaster the moment he'd been unleashed - hook after hook in the basement hidden under the boat and not one generator had got done. Uncoordinated Cooperation as a downfall.

She pleads with him.

He ignores her.

He flips his cleaver in his hand, and brings it up, the flat back of it is brought down against the back of her head - hard enough to stun. Hard enough to send her sprawling.

He stops - just long enough to take a deep breath. In the quiet that follows, he realizes can hear the hatch towards the center of the arena - past the wreckage of the boat to their left.

Spicy Asks || Accepting

It might be hard to find the laugh in the sound he's just made - with the way it drags itself from his throat like it's raking over gravel and sputters out almost like he might be gearing up for a coughing fit - but it is there. His eyes narrow behind his mask as he eye up the figure half hidden in the fog.

Spicy Asks || Accepting

There's no answer they're getting that's verbal, but he does reach to grab them by the collar, a twist of his hand ensuring it was pull tight around their throat as he lift them up, holding them above their head. His head cocks to the side slightly, the crooked toothed smile of his mask an eerie sight as it tilt to the side.

He hasn't got hooks between trials - but there was more than a few places he could hang someone by on the estate - many of them rebar.

Lina..... .... .... therapy. jesus. self love. literally anything, but don't let her and trapper near each other.

His eyes narrow as he looks over not his bingo card, but Evan's. The most important squares on the board weren't mark off. Only one centered around being good to Evan was mark off - and it was the one that gave her opportunity to be confrontational with others.

"No."

i did both of them for funsies

He looks over both papers with the energy of someone eyeing up a resume, comparing the two of them and even overlapping them - holding them to the light so he could see both of them overlaid... He isn't certain about her not having fill in his own 'prey animal' square, but he still nods.

on the back, in elegant script: 'Enquiries to Sir Tarhos shall provide the best references for such claims.'

[Dare - Go throw an open bear trap at the Unknown]

Truth / Dare || Old Meme Bin

The hands scraping wired brush over metal to scrape away rust pause, masked face impassive and still. For a moment, it seems as if the question had shaken him enough that he'd forgotten what he was doing. His grip on the brush shifts, and he begins scraping away the rust again.

Evan has never really been okay with this sort of thing. It was hard to talk about the things that his father request of him - Evan seldom remembered the doing, only knew that they had gotten done.

One way or another, they had always gotten done.

Trapper seems lost in the rhythmic motion of wire brush over metal, a steady back and forth that was done in longer strokes now than it had been moments ago. A sudden comfort found with the jaws of the dismantled bear trap that had not been quite so present before.

Just when it seems he won't be answering the question, a scarred lip curls behind his teeth, crimson eyes staring out from behind the open, empty holes of his mask.

"Trust him."

That was what it came down to - wasn't it. Every punch thrown, every miner tossed to the stone, ever murder he'd ever commit at Archie's command. All of it had been because Archie ask him to trust him. Ask him to trust only him.

Had made sure he could trust no one else.