The sharp silver almost sparkled in the lighting that the caravan had to offer. Blaine was acutely aware of it as he laid out the roll of fabric that kept his knives safe while they weren’t in use. There had only ever been this one set, which might have been why they were so important to Blaine. When he had fallen victim to his dark impulses, he had scrambled to compose himself. He hadn’t felt like it was possible until he came across these knives. They drew him in more than once. There they had been, laying in their case behind the thin sheen of glass. He’d been looking to get something for his father, some kind of hunting accessory, and there they had been. He made up excuses to go back, until he felt like he couldn’t come back without arousing suspicion. Seeing those knives was like looking upon the calm that he’d felt before these thoughts had driven him to murder. So he bought them and he never returned.
They had sat in his room untouched for quite a while, until they felt like a fixture in his room. Of course they were hidden, obviously, but it felt like they were out in plain sight. The tremble he felt in his heart as he fell asleep every night was indescribable.
When he had finally used them, he knew he would never use anything else if he could help it. They sliced so cleanly, and they felt right in his hands. And the red of blood looked divine on them. It spoke to him. They were practical too; easy to clean, easy to transport, easy to hide, and if things got too dangerous to have them anymore he could throw them out. He never touched them with bare hands, and he always cleaned them thoroughly before putting them away.
There had come a time when the investigations started piling up for his murders and he felt like he’d need to get rid of his knives. It felt like if he did, he’d be throwing away his composure. But the truth was, he was already losing it anyway. So when the carnival came into town and drew him in, he couldn’t help but feel the pull. The shows were spectacular, the audiences were riveted, and it just seemed so glamorous. Blaine had always been around money, but this was different.
Once he joined the carnival, his knives became his trade. They stopped hiding in closets and under floorboards. That’s when they started to glisten like this. It was like holding them under the carnival light had cast a spell on them. Or maybe it was the fact that they didn’t have to hide anymore. They got to share their glory with audiences in cities around the country.
His bare fingers traced over the cool metal and he imagined it being Patrick’s hand on them. Would he know their true importance? Obviously, the other man wouldn’t know why they were so important, but Blaine wondered if he’d be able to feel it. Since his first performance, part of him had wondered if other people saw his knives as magnificently as he did. When he performed, he wasn’t the star of his act. His knives were like the magician and he was the assistant. He was sure that everyone could see how glorious that they were, but he was relatively sure that he was the only one that they spoke to. That just made them even more important. He was as special as they were. Maybe that was why he spent literal hours cleaning them almost every day. Maybe that was why he was so obsessed with them.
Maybe he’d go into town after the show tonight and check out the townies. It wouldn’t be smart to kill again so soon, and he never went into anything without a plan, but it would be a good idea to get to know the feel of the town and it’s inhabitants. The jitter he felt after being ruffled by that anonymous blog had made him eager about the planning and the process, which was only intensified by imagining Patrick touching his knives. He was sure they would adore Patrick and the feel of his soft fingers upon their smooth surfaces. It felt like electricity flowing through his veins. If Patrick touched him tonight, he was sure they’d both be prickled with static shock.
Was that…Too much? Probably too much. Shit, I’m sorry. You are too, ya know. Course I won’t. Nowhere else I’d rather be, than right fuckin here.
No, no, it wasn’t too much. Don’t apologize. You’re persistent. I hope that stays true. Didn’t you say you were doing something else? Did I pull you away from something important? I can’t believe you’re still here.
I try not to get worked up. Because if some shit does go down, if you’re already hopped up, you’re already at a disadvantage. The worst thing you can do is go into a combat situation already hopped up. You can’t think clearly like that. You can’t move forward with a good plan. It’s like stickin a wolf in a henhouse, you’re inviting chaos. It’s alright, babe. I’ve got you. I wouldn’t say that. I’ll fight if I gotta, don’t mean I wanna. Got enough of that to last a lifetime already.
I’ve faced down worse, guaranteed. I don’t mean it doesn’t mean anything. I just mean…It was a social media post, yeah? I’ll look into it, I just don’t think there’s a reason to panic here. Not yet at least. I ain’t gonna worry much about some pansy hiding behind a screen name, playin fancy computer tricks. If somebody’s got some shit to say, either to you or to me, they can come out and say it to our faces.
You’re so calm about this. Usually I’m the calm one in situations. Get it together, Blaine. Get it together. So you’re a fighter, then? Tough guy.
A warnin about what? And even if it was, we can be ready for whatever. Don’t mean shit unless you let it. Of you? Nah. Not at all. Why ask me that?
That it could happen to you next. What do you mean, it doesn’t mean anything? How could it not? There are a bunch of answers I could give you for that question, starting with the fact that we’re being stalked and ending with the vague threat.
Hey, hey, calm down. Let’s sit, right here, just like that. Look at me, in my eyes. Breathe with me. In for four, out for four. I’ll do it with you. You gotta breathe for me. There we go, just like that. Everything is gonna be okay. I’m here, I’ve got ya. We don’t gotta talk about this.
This is so fucking fucked. What if that was a warning? Aren’t you afraid of me?
I’m real sorry, Blaine. I’m sorry you lost someone special like that, someone close to you. I know how rough that can be. But I’m sure you didn’t do nothin. You can’t blame yourself, whatever did happen.
I can’t do that. I can’t pretend I don’t know he truth. I can’t pretend I wasn’t there. I can’t breathe. I can’t explain it. I can’t watch it happen again.
Patrick: I'm sorry. I'll see what I can do about figurin out where it came from, if you want. I don't want you upset.
Patrick: You don't know if you're okay or you don't know if you want me to come find you? If you don't know that you're okay, I'm comin. But I don't wanna like...I dunno. If you don't wanna see me right now, I respect that.
Patrick: You're right about that, yeah. But I figured one of two things happened- either you didn't know either, and it's just some kinda cryptic shit that neither of us have time for, or, if you /did/ know, I figured if you'd wanted me to know, I would. So, either way ain't none of my business until you make it my business, if you do know.
Patrick: I'm not a huge fan myself. Probably just someone pullin a prank, I'd imagine. We all been cooped up together for too long.
