#pigsawed

[ubcs]

❛ you can’t save everyone. ❜

hit 'em where it hurts. || maybe accepting.

"Hey, I'm not a fuckin' idiot, lady."

Back at the campfire, where the brutalised huddle around the warmth and play normal for a while, Amanda experienced a nuance of Carlos very different from the one biting back at her now. The delicateness of not only his words, but his hands. Searching for hidden wounds on all the survivors, otherwise offering squeezes to a shoulder or a touch to the wrist. In those hours ( hours? minutes? days? time moved capriciously in the Realm ) of ignorance, Carlos treated her as someone trusted and deserving of his care.

Since learning her identity, that nuance had never made a reappearance. Her pessimism reminds him of the trials, he can practically taste the rust of her traps and, oh, does that access the anger in him.

"I'm not takin' advice from any sick fuck that hides behind a mask and hurts people." How many people had Carlos hurt, in pursuit of rights that he and his people had been so denied? But not like that. Not hunting them down like dogs. Not to those that had never wronged him or his. "So if this is you trying to convince me to stop helping everyone? You're gonna be real disappointed. I know I can't save everyone," he lives with that guilt, affording a moment of silence to it in deference.

"But that's not gonna to stop me from trying."

[fantasywritten]

@pigsawed asked: “Is it fun for you? Nitpicking every little thing I do?” // for hoffman !!

VERY MUCH SO. Hoffman wouldn’t say it to her face; she likely already knew. He gave his fellow apprentice a look, the typical condescending one. As if she didn’t nitpick everything HE did, too.

“Maybe you should focus on WHAT YOU’RE GOOD AT. You do your job, I do mine.” Mark’s expression was slightly amused. He DID enjoy riling Amanda up. He found it entertaining. “That way, I won’t have to NITPICK.” And now he was just being a dick. He flashed her a smug grin.

[pumpkinstabs-moving]

@pigsawed asked: ❛   patch .   help  my  muse  patch  up  a  wound .  // right after michael's trap, mayhaps? 👁

michael thinks whoever put him in this over-the-top trap underestimated him heavily.  maybe they’ve realized that now,  too.  sure,  he’s not a cop like one of the others he killed to get the key for the next room.  he doesn’t have prison time under his belt like the other one.  but none of that mattered because when it came down to it,  michael didn’t hesitate to do what needed to be done so he could live.  morals mean nothing to him--  and the strange puppet on the screen acknowledged that.  you’ve always been a man of neutrality,  it said to him.  it obviously isn’t aware of the thoughts inside his mind--  though it knows of his background in smith’s grove,  the killing of his sister.

fresh air hits him like a train when he finally exits the stuffy meat processing plant.  the exhaustion and blood loss overwhelms him almost immediately,  both from the loss of his eye (his eye which he didn’t hesitate to stab out to grab the key placed behind the nerves),  dehydration,  inhalation of toxic fumes and several burns over his arms and even his face.  he thinks he’ll be able to shake it off and find whoever did this to him,  but when he takes a step,  he collapses down onto the concrete,  falling unconscious the second his head hits the hard floor.  seems the games did take a toll on him,  but he’s still alive and the others aren’t.

the feeling of cold stinging on his open injury where his eye used to be jolts him awake,  massive hand reaching out instinctively to grab at the source of the pain.  baby blue opens as fingers curl around a thin wrist,  and when he sees a pig faced mask leaning over him with a first aid kit in her grip,  confusion settles on his face,  albeit subtly.  he realizes he’s on the floor and he assumes this stranger has something to do with his entrapment...  but she didn’t work alone.  clearly,  she doesn’t have the strength to move him around on her own.  head tilts at her,  not a word leaving his mouth.  he simply waits for her to explain herself.  for her own interest,  it’d be best if she does it quick. 

[hcnted]

         he points , eyes bulging .          ‘  THAT’S BLOOD ! you’ve got BLOOD on you !  ’

@pigsawed​  

[pumpkinstabs-moving]

@pigsawed​ asked: stands up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to the lips of michael’s mask. does amanda care that it’s covered in blood? no, not really.

though amanda and michael did not start off on good terms--  what with him being thrown into a trap that nearly killed him,  that made him lose his eye and left him with a nasty scar.  now,  though--  she saw something in him no one else has ever seen.  she gave him another chance,  took him under her wing.  their relationship has developed since then into something...   deep.  intimate.  michael is protective and extremely fond of her,  so when she moves onto her tippy-toes to kiss his blood-stained mask,  he pauses for a moment before wrapping a large,  strong arm around her waist,  tugging her into his chest.  they have maybe half an hour before the new victim wakes up in their trap.  he doesn’t mind killing some time with her before. 

[pumpkinstabs-moving]

@pigsawed​ asked: her last trial had been … rough. nothing amanda couldn’t handle, by no means, but still — when david had stuck her in the neck with that little glass shard trick of a certain blonde’s, it had hurt like a bitch. amanda is used to pain, used to dealing it out to herself and others, but this particular little move hadn’t been expected and it had thrown her off for the remainder of the trial. currently, she’s in her room at the meat plant, her box of supplies on the table before her as she works on patching up the injury — but it doesn’t take her long to realize she’s not alone. michael myers may be silent, may be undetectable, but so is amanda. she knows the signs, knows how to sense his arrival. “hi there,”  she murmurs, glancing up from her tools long enough to cast a glance in the other masked killer’s direction.  “come to keep me company, stalker?”

up until now,  michael has not watched any of the trials of the other killers.  he had no reason to--  not like he felt like he had anything to learn from any of them and he certainly didn’t care if they failed or not.  it’s changed with amanda;  a killer so similar to himself.  quiet,  keeps to herself,  finds comfort behind a mask.  they’ve bonded in complete silence,  and when the entity has paired them together against six survivors,  they’ve wiped out all of them easily,  have worked together perfectly.  he’s grown...  fond of her,  or so he thinks the word for his feeling is.  it’s resulted in him stalking her relentlessly,  in and out of trials.  his obsession has led to him following her to her realm--  the only realm besides haddonfield he’s willingly stepped foot into because he knows she’s here,  knows she’ll likely be patching herself up after david struck her.  a trick he learned from laurie...  seems like she’s been teaching all the survivors that move of hers,  one similar to the one that resulted in michael becoming blind in one eye.

the boogeyman roams through the meat plant until he reaches her room, standing at the doorway until she acknowledges him.  he doesn’t enter,  though,  simply watches her from this distance.  under the lights,  his eye can be seen looking at her injury,  her bloodied hands,  the medical supplies.  he tilts his head at her,  as if silently asking if she needs help.