blanca & blair, tragedienes.
it was quite the volte-face, even blair could admit that. he was such a good actor that he sometimes even surprised himself, but why should it? all he ever did was act. he played the nice, ordinary small town boy for nearly everyone in his life. he helped old ladies walk across the street, held doors open for moms overwhelmed by several toddlers, volunteered his services whenever someone needed their lawn mowed or get their cat out of a tree. blair made southern hospitality his creed, at least outwardly. internally, he cursed every person he came into contact with. the sweet old ladies that pinched his cheeks and teased him because he didn’t have a girlfriend (until blanca, of course), the authoritative dads around town that tried to impart fatherly wisdom upon him as if he didn’t already have a dad, useless as mr. winesap may have been. the kids he had went to school with that ignored him or judged him, the ones that sneered at his ratty sneakers or piece of shit car and called him trailer trash barely behind his back, then begged him for help on their essays they put off until the last minute. nobody knew who blair really was, not even his own twin brother, but right then… well, he felt like his true self.
blanca had obviously been scared, screaming and crying and pleading, but he only felt elation. he was animalistic, nearly foaming at the mouth. how wonderful it was to finally feel seen! he pouted and tutted at his girlfriend’s sobbing, unable and unwilling to hide his amusement. “oh blanca…” blair softly mewed, standing contrapposto. he was all too relaxed for a murderer, head leaning back to rest against the door, watching as she futilely backed away. blanca, poor girl, was a lithe, little waif. it wouldn’t take any kinetic energy for him to pounce and collect her easy as a treed up raccoon. he was the hound dog. he was the one that decided whether she lived or died. he had never felt so gleeful in his entire life. “it’s easy, baby. i needed to.” it didn’t take too much of a push for blair to become a spree killer, but he would’ve done anything he had to in order to fulfill the demands of the ritual. barely even a waste, their ‘friends’ were stupid and vapid and just like everyone else in town: in his fucking way.
“i want you to die, obviously!” blair cackled, finally taking a step away from the door. his relaxed posture quickly changed, growing taut, pushing his shoulders forward and bending his knees. he had expected her to try to run. “i mean, seriously, did you think we were in love or some shit? do you think i was gonna propose to you? i can barely fuckin’ stand you! you and all your fuckin’ whiny ass friends, god, i have to tell you that i certainly won’t miss y’all.” he laughed again, using his free hand to brush sweaty curls off of his face. “just make it easy on yourself, darlin’. don’t try to run away or fight me off, just let me do what i need to. it’s inevitable… it’s a fait accompli!” blair declared cheerily, head cocking to the left. “now shut up and stand still.” brandishing the knife, he charged forward.
blanca wasn't tough, but she wasn't a fool either. or, at least, she'd never been the fool before. with an older brother who people crossed the street to avoid and what felt like a million big brothers once his grave was patted full with the business end of a shovel, she hadn't experienced a lot of the things her friends had when it came to men. either they were scumbags she wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole or they were too afraid to date her. it was the worst part of her family being in an mc. she didn't get to play their reindeer games, but she was stuck with a scarlet cucuy following her for the rest of her life.
that's why she'd thought blair was so different. he wasn't some california burnout or would be prospect who hoped fucking a legacy's sister would get him somewhere. he seemed ... nice. he cared about her opinions and didn't mind when she regaled him with reality show synopses. he held her hand and opened the door for her. he did all the things nice boys were supposed to do until he killed every one of her friends and planned to kill her next.
so blanquita wasn't tough and, maybe now she was a fool, but she wasn't a sacrificial lamb. she wasn't going to be led to slaughter by some white boy who'd seen jennifer's body too many times. she felt sick and jittery and terrified. eyes darting around the room looking for something to help her out of this. wishing something would light up like a video game to indicate to her it was ready for the taking. "i don't even know that that means, asshole." she said, annoyed. her perfect bookstore boyfriend, covered in blood and pretention, was revealed to her for the first time as good as being hatched from an egg and he was a fucking monster.
no other avenues in sight, she did the first thing she could think of as he readied himself, and forced a desperate smile at the dark space behind him. "oh, my god, steve!" she called, "you're alive!" she hadn't even seen steve's body, but it was the first name that came to mind and she hoped he wasn't left too mutilated that the distraction wouldn't work. she prepared herself to run.
