[Selfish Care]
@empathiiquc
"Just remember: if you look in the face of evil, it's gonna look right back. And what are you gonna do do if it likes what it sees?"
A weak laugh left her bloodied lips, what a fucking joker this guy was in all his glory he must have been proud of his accomplishments taking down two of the group by this point with Claudette likely on her way to being the third. She had already said sent the last of their group searching for the hatch while she had been working on the last of the generators that separated the remaining two from the warmth of the campfire. She had been staring in horror from her hiding place and quickly found by him and taunted for it. Only a thin pallet separated them for the moment while he spoke. It would only be moments before the pallet was only rubble beneath his boot.
Her retort to his question is short and almost breathless from how much she had been running.‘Ask him why he’s checking out girls half his age.’ With that short response Claudette turned on her heel and booked it the hell away from the guy knowing that the chase was going to resume until she was on the ground and in a puddle of her own blood.
The situation is practically a spa-day for him when he slaughters two of them quite early in the Entity’s graphic game. Usually a quick and dirty kill was more Bill’s style, but even so—the Trapper wasn’t about to say no to a hand-out, no matter how much the taste of horrible planning on his prey’s part overpowered the initial pleasure of his bear trap puncturing a frantic foot between its snarl before he’d even had the chance to collect the first body he’d reprimanded for the unforgivable crime of mouth-breathing inside a locker. Maybe during another hunt, the one called Dwight would learn his lesson in lingering too long within the paint-chipped cabinets (or at the very least--some relaxation breathing exercises), but for this hunt—the opportunity had already slipped by the nervous man as it so often did. The girl, braids and all, must have thought herself a hero when she’d bolted forward out of her cover to dance a distraction around him, but after she’d danced too close to a loaded trap, he’d gladly shrugged the one fool strapped over his flank in favor of prying the other out of the trap her boldness had betrayed her for. Hanging them both within the minute had left him feeling lighter even though the weight of their blood had joined the thick layer of grime guarding his hide. With how the Entity preferred its servants to cycle through hunts so that its prey would not grow too comfortable with facing any one of them, the Trapper would often collect a stain of stiffness between his shoulders from sitting out and waiting his turn to slaughter Whenever his work beckoned him back into the fray of hide and seek with the Entity’s sacrifices, he’d feel like a pair of his trap’s iron jaws left to rust in the rain until the hooking his first victim slathered his shoulders in a crimson oil so that each murderous muscle rolled effortlessly under their tight covering. With the brunt of the Entity’s hunger sated early on, he’s content to spend the next enviable chunk of time spreading his traps around the remaining generators and the grass that grew skirts around their chrome bases. Keeping one eye honed on the horizon, he watches each yellow light pop out against the Entity’s eternal night, and waits once he notes how straight the spine of gyrating gears they’re building is. How typical--that once the stakes were at their highest, they would make their most foolish mistakes by sticking to the comforts that came of linear action; not even Bill’s spine is as straight of a line as they’re going. All he has to do is follow the trail of lights straight to his next victim, and careless as she is, having led him straight to her with no effort on his part required, she’s awfully plucky behind that pallet.
Not for long. Not if his brutal strength has anything to say about it. A simple stomp would suffice.
“Would you look at that?” The cleaver drips as he lifts its handle high to flick the blood at her over the barrier while gesturing appealingly at the equally crimson streaks caked over his dusty pelt a muddy shade of red clay. “Your friends are already drying off on me. Bout to need a new coat.” And unfortunately for her, she’s the closest supplier of red paint he’s got. Besides blood, she’s got spunk, he’ll give her that much credit. Enough to coax a rough snort out from under his mask at her biting quip that sends him into a fit of teeters as he lifts his leg like a guillotine over the pallet moments before she’s making a move to peel across the junkyard. Smart girl. “Was gonna just borrow a quart off ya, doll-face. But if you're down to smash...well.” The pallet is in pieces within moments, and he lunges forward to chance a swat at her backside seconds before she cuts the corner of junk, leaving a shower of sparks in her wake as his cleaver crashes into the compacted metal. The Trapper spills a snarl. At this rate, the only place he's going to smash her is up and down her precious pallet-town.







