#ghostmeg

Two braids fly behind her head, lightly smacking her on her shoulders as she whips her head around in every direction, eyes narrowed, ears straining as she cautiously pads. Not quite a walk but not a run either. Gathering her strength, saving it for a boost when she’s startled and needs to bolt.

Amanda tilts her head, squints her eyes. Now she can see the never-ending comparisons to a red hare that Danny loves to make. The constant glances in every direction, the footsteps, angled and poised, ready to bolt at the slightest rustle. She can practically make out a pair of lopsided bunny ears on top of her head, twitching in every direction with the way she keeps a keen eye out. 

The other giveaway is the mismatched hair ties holding both of her braids; one a dark brown color that nearly blends in with her hair, the other a shock of bright, teal blue. A glaring constant to the rest of her clothes, and a wonderful pop against the red strands of her hair. She doesn’t need to ask to know which ones is her usual style, not with the way Danny had practically skipped into the Ormond Resort after he’d returned from a trial weeks ago, fresh blood splatters darkening his clothes from a round well done; spinning a hair tie on his finger with too much delight and giddy excitement for the man’s usual energy. 

She’d sighed and finally placed down the knife she’d been sharpening when his almost giggling had started to give her a headache, rubbing the wrong way on every nerve she had left as she monotonously asked where he’d got it. 

The bastard had grinned back at her, mask long since taken off and leaned in close. Close enough for his breathe to waft over her face as Amanda grimaced. He tilted back out of her personal space before she could shove him- or maybe even stab him- and given her a cheeky grin. 

“Secret,” he’d winked, annoyingly, pressing the hair tie fondly to the corner of his mouth.  

Amanda had held back an irritated sigh (if only to not delight him with how much of an effect he had on her) and returned to sharpening her knife, imagining how it’d look if she jabbed it into his eye and twisted. (Not that that’d bring much relief when he’d come back alive and well, thanks to the favoritism of the Entity, no point in it if he didn’t stay dead.)

She shifted closer, careful to avoid any rustling branches as she readjusted her hold on her knife. She couldn’t kill her, despite how much more annoying Ghostface had gotten since his budding obsession over her, but she could certainly have her fun. Even knew how to kill two birds with one stone and save the rest of the survivors for herself with no clashing competition. No giddy killer to splay himself over her back afterwards to brag about the kills he’d stolen from her. 

She pulled into herself, inhaled, quiet, quiet so they never heard her- and lunged. Typically the move would catch one of the survivors off guard, lucky to only escape with a knife wound and panic thrumming under their skin, tripping over themselves fearfully. The redhead was faster, wide eyes snapping to her pig mask before she bolted, feet slamming against the dirt only a moment before Amanda’s knife cut the air where she’d been, bloodthirsty and locked onto her. 

She growled, pivoting on her feet to keep her momentum as she missed, lurching after the redhead sprinting away from her. She had to give it to her, the girl knew how to run, dodging at every last moment, ducking behind a pallet before the pig could strike. 

But she wasn’t quite good enough. Not when there were two killers in the match, not when Amanda had a plan. 

She doesn’t see him, too focused on glancing back at her, ensuring the steady distance, searching for another route to try to shake her off. But Amanda does, has since the hunt started, since she nudged her in the direction. 

Meg didn’t notice the root until her foot snagged in it, yelping as she went flying, arms pinwheeling as she desperately tried to keep her balance. It’s a losing fight against gravity with her momentum however, and she certainly would’ve been eating dirt had a pair of dark, gloved hands not lashed out to catch her, yanking her upwards to collide with a broad chest instead, stepping backwards to catch her energy. 

Amanda slows her pace, snorting as she places her hands on her hips and catches her breathe, regards the view in front of her with a glow of self satisfaction. Meg is splayed against Ghostface’s chest, feet scrambling for purchase as she gapes up at him with horror stricken features. She shoves against his chest, desperately clawing, scrambling, like a prey caught in a snare. 

Amanda tilts her head up. She doesn’t need Ghostface’s mask off to feel the smug satisfaction rolling off of him in waves, arms lashed across her back to keep her pressed to him, leaning backwards to keep her scrambling on her toes, unable to kick or find enough purchase to leap away. He coos something to the survivor that makes her blanch and renews her desperate efforts, dull nails scratching at his arm as he shakes in laughter at her response. 

Amanda shudders, a shiver running up her spine as she fights to keep the bile from traveling up her throat. She couldn’t hear what he’d said from her distance, nothing more than the tone. But she’d live a happy life never knowing, nor hearing that sappy, nauseating, lovesick tone he’d taken on ever again. 

Amanda easily spins on her heel, tossing her knife between her hands as she stalks through the grounds, keenly eyeing her surroundings. Now with Ghostface perfectly subdued, she was free to have her fun with the other playthings. A win-win scenario.