ooc: Sorry, reddustwander, my ask published the damn thing before I could respond. So here is the response in a thread.
He hadn’t seen her coming. Hadn’t hear her. Hadn’t smelled her. She had appeared like the faces of the dead. Without warning--in the blink of an eye.
Max wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted with him, but it seemed violence was the only way she planned on getting it. A brawl had broken out and Max fought, no longer questioning why the attacks happened. It might have been for his car, his supplies, a way to blow off some steam, it didn’t matter. The female, her face covered, had sliced again and again at his throat. He jumped backward again and again, feeling the air quiver with each slice. After than, Max only remembers slipping on some loose gravel and sudden blackness.
He awoke to see the covered face leaning over him, her fingers pressed firmly on his lower rib cage. His body felt like lead and his head pounded. “What the...hell are you doin’?” He croaked out. Her blue eyes were watching, examining something on his skin.
“That tattoo you got. You some sort of slave?” The blue eyed girl asked.
“No. Blood bag. But,” He shifted upward, earning himself a knife pressed against his throat. He laid back down. “not..anymore.”
“You got a lot a scars.” the stranger commented.
“Why did you let me live?” He asked.
“You were not the enemy I thought you were. These,” She traced a few of his scars. “These tell me that.”
“They tell me you were a victim too.”
“Victim?” Max echoed. Despite the fact that this mysterious women had probably gone through his things, and was looking at him half naked, he felt more exposed with her looking at his scars. Her eyes, the only feature he could see, had a look of knowing.
She nodded. “Trust me. I know scars.”
