Kazan simply stares at Olsen.

Suddenly, he picks the stalker up; grapples their body against his, grabs their head, presses it against his chest, increasing the pressure until there is a wet snap and drops them to the floor.

Mikaela slowly pokes her head out from around the base of a statue. “Jesus what are you?” she mumbles as she looks at the very large....man?

Here comes Dredge making grabby hands for the doggo.

The Trapper and the Trapped

💜 For @dexdbydxylight ‘s Evan! 💜

The MacMillan estate proved a difficult place to navigate. Dacia had only ever been here a handful of times for hunts, and she found it an undesirable place to be certain. There was too much man-made material that polluted the air and made tracking by scent impossible; too many places to get run around and knocked with pallets if she wasn’t watchful. The structures of man were a faded memory. An estate like this wasn’t her domain to master. The wild was.

Normally, she wouldn’t even think about coming here outside of a trial. The estate held no reason for her to come by and visit. It didn’t house any prey, even domesticated ones like cattle that she could pick off. It didn’t house any garbage for her and her pack to sift through for food. In fact, the traps that lay scattered around the place were a good enough reason to avoid the estate. Yet in a cruel twist of irony, a trap was the exact reason she was here.

Again, she found it difficult to find a scent to follow. So she relied on her sharp night vision and her keen hearing to lead her to her intended audience. It wasn’t too hard to follow the sounds, and as soon as she came across the one she assumed to be The Trapper, she leaned down and slid the wolf she’d be carrying on her shoulders onto the ground between them. Golden eyes flickered between the trap solidly locked around its leg as it whimpered and panted, and the man who had designed it. Just two words:

@dexdbydxylight SAID: He could feel muscles and tendons ache as he trodded forward, low groaning bubbling within his throat. His body screams for rest, but instinct drives him forward. His sluggish steps eventually stop and he's forced to plop down on the ground where he stopped, unable to keep going.

To say the least the Big Daddy is frustrated and lets anyone within earshot know by a frustrated bellow and a small of his drill on the ground.

In response to the sound comes the pitter patter of little feet. A Little Sister that had just awoken has heard his cry of frustration and, in response, plops herself down in front of him. Delicate little fingers gently press themselves against the metal caging around his porthole with measured delicacy. “What’s wrong, Mr. B?” She speaks softly, worried that perhaps he is injured in some way. She brushes her hands over his arms, acting as though she can truly support all of his weight on her frail little shoulder.

When she realizes he has no intention of getting up, she sighs and opts to sit with him instead. She has no ADAM to offer him. She’s not run across any angels to harvest any from and her syringe is empty. All she can do is offer him comfort. She pulls the stuffed bear she carries from the band in her dress and offers it up to him kindly. She thinks now that maybe this Protector is just tired. She figures he deserves a well-earned rest. “Here, Mr. B. If you’re feeling tired, you can hold onto him. He’ll help you fall asleep and keep you safe. And I’ll stay right here too.”

        SHE HUM, QUITE content with the new face paint she’s added to Philips face. A new design for sure contouring around his cheeks and bringing it down his chin. Really putting focus on the sunken-in eyes.