#m!a collared

[ask-the-boogeyman]

@lettherebemonsters cont;;

The charred mask continues to stare, the ears on top silvery and pinned down for the time being. the chocolate is gripped tighter as he finally looks off in another direction, the thought of delivering the chocolates still on his mind. But this is far more important. Aggravation clearly shows in his posture as he turns back towards his house and sets the bag of treats by the pumpkin before he unclips the halligan from the loop on his coveralls.

Part of him hates Loomis, the man who made him into what he is, but there is also something else. While he can't readily identify it, the man's mind teeters between the Shape's brutality and Michael's apprehension. Gripping the weapon tightly, he finally makes a few steps towards the 'dear' doctor, eventually standing a few feet properly away, the differences clear in his attire. The bullets holes, burns, stab wounds, and it appears he's missing fingers as well. Far from what one would expect really in comparison to where he just was.

The belled charm had jingled with each step and he tries his best to tuck his chin and mask in a way to hide it... He hates the damn collar.

[ask-the-boogeyman]

👀   //   grab  my  muse’s  jaw   &   direct  their  gaze  towards  yours .

Dwight, you are the only one stupid enough or ballsy enough to attempt this without any proper build-up or trust being earned. His head snaps into the direction, ears flicked back with immediate irritation and the collar jingles in the process. Malice radiates off of his form as he grabs the man's shirt, lifting him up without a care. You wanted his attention, you DARED to touch his face and make him stare at you. You've got his attention now, even as he goes to slam your body against the wall.

Leaning in, his eyes can be seen, one a deep blue with spots of brown and the other glazed with cataracts and scarring. You have three seconds, possibly, before the Shape kills you.

Make it count.

[ask-the-boogeyman]

"Mr. Myers, I finally get to meet you in person! I'm... such a big fan of yours!" The smaller male in the Ghostface mask had to tilt his head up in order to look at the fellow killer. "Please, would you mind if we took a picture together? So I can... remember this moment?" Holding up his camera in both his gloved hands, the excitement in his voice was audible despite the usage of his voice-changer.

Another Ghostface that craves his attention?? He's met one prior to this, which he promptly killed. He also destroyed the man's camera, as he invaded his space without asking. This one, however, is smart enough not to step any closer, the cold eyes beneath the charred visage burning into the shorter killer with malice. Having fans felt wrong, especially considering how he was treated like the devil itself by Haddonfield and everyone around that damned city.

In the realm... It's different. He is what is called a celebrity, and he isn't sure if he likes it or not. Despite this, his head tilts with curiosity as the malice subsides into intrigue, noting the genuine excitement in the man's tone.

One picture, just one.

[ask-the-boogeyman]

How it shimmers, the charm's cheap waxy reflection winking up into his dark eyes, providing a jovial blip of color on the grim Shape. The bloodlust rolling off of him as he is surveyed only adds to the intrigue.

"I trespassed in pursuit of my curiosity," speaking almost as sweetly as his scent. A buzzing, which had been numbly consistent until now, lowered down for his soft voice to be heard over. His speaking has the effect of honey, making time and agitated nerves sugary, and slow.

The charm gave a cheery jingle as it was released. His space was no longer being invaded, but the hookhanded man did not move further away than where he stood. "I apologize for my hastiness."

It's not often that someone can calm him down with mere words, the buzzing dying down to invoke a sweetness of tone. Breathing out a sigh, the annoyance that is the cat ears remain pinned back, but nothing else seems to show true agitation as he continues to listen. His nerves, normally frayed and coiled into a seething rage nearly constantly are slowly uncurled and given the chance to relax.

Is this an effect of this killer? The Shape contemplates briefly as to why he has not gutted this man yet but finds himself growing less agitated and more intrigued the longer he stands there. Sugary honey dripping as slowly as the ticking of a clock on a hot summer day, the effect lingers on until Michael looks the man over with wary curiosity.

With each movement bringing a faint ring from the waxy, cheap pumpkin charm, he resigns to standing there, still as a gargoyle atop a skyscraper. Each breath is slow, his chest rising and falling like thick molasses, but it proves to offer mercy for the bee-keeping killer.

Perhaps it is true what they say about drawing others in with something sweet, rather than something sour.

[ask-the-boogeyman]

[ feed ]  your muse feeding mine something , feel free to specify what . (Harry feeding Michael Valentine's candy. X3)

This was... a first. The other killer had come to Haddonfield, waiting patiently at the entrance of the domain for confirmation that he was allowed, and it brought amusement in some regard. Their bonding has been beneficial to the boredom that is this hellish eternity and Michael teeters on the edge of solitary contentment and the enjoyment of company.

It was odd to begin craving for another's company, but all the same, the larger killer allows Harry to enter Haddonfield without the threat of injury. The miner enters his home, the source of trauma, spite, and comfort, and the silence within the walls. The only sounds were between their shared breathing and the creaking of the wood with each step.

It isn't until they both are sitting in the living room, that it appears the miner has a plan. At first, Michael bristles at the man coming closer and sitting next to him, but when the scent of chocolate hits his nose, his head tilts curiously. It was being offered to his masked lips, a silent gesture that the other man wanted to feed him. Why? Puzzled, the ears flick and twitch before he finally relents and pushes his mask up to the bridge of his nose, revealing scars from burns and a bullet wound in his cheek. Lips purse in minor discomfort at the lack of mask against his skin, but it's soon replaced with a small sigh as he opens his mouth to accept the chocolate. \

he's never been fed by hand like this before... But he isn't going to question it, nor is he going to reject free candy.

[ask-the-boogeyman]

[ jewelry  ] gently. also it's the charm......

Annoyance brings forth rage the moment anyone touches him, and this is no exception. As the other clasps the charm back on, the Shape watches in seething silence, eyes focused and trained on the other as he notes the hooked hand and what appears to be bees flying about. Memory recalls that the other is the same from the mirror, the same killer that had ripped the victim's guts from neck to groin with the same hook.

It must be a sturdy hook, he briefly muses, before adjusting the hold on his knife, leaning in briefly as he readies to strike like a viper. He wants to cut the other hand off for touching him. he doesn't strike immediately, giving the other the final warning of his posture changing to something far more coiled and aggressive.

At least there is a warning this time.

[ask-the-boogeyman]

[ stare ] it's another wild carlos theory. maybe if they're both staring at each other it cancels out somehow. yes he's sweating.

Ears flick before he tilts his head, the collar jingling in the process. Your theory holds some water, though not much as he flexes his hand on the grip of his knife. Maybe if you run fast enough, you'll be fine.

Then again, maybe you can pull some Carlos charm and baffle the old killer, who knows!

[ask-the-boogeyman]

" Has anyone told you you're a bit of a silver fox? Um....handsome. It means handsome. " (Harry to Michael c8)

Ears shoot up, flicking briefly before he looks off to the side. Considering he's never heard the term silver fox, he didn't understand it. That is until the other explains it means handsome. He knows he has a 'pretty face', though he hardly considers it his own these days. The mask is more his face than the empty shell beneath it. Still, there's something about the compliment that makes his shoulders unwind, his posture relaxing as warmth enters his face.

A small shake of the head is offered, hands flexing before he wrings them together to have some sort of movement to properly deal with the muddled feeling fluttering in his chest.

Ever since he met this man, he's respected him, given him gifts, and openly speaks with him... It's nice.