[ she might come. that's what drives him out of his workshop, out onto a patrol. it's not like he has anything better to do.
meg has been an irritation for - a while. he gets it. he understands why she does what she does. that doesn't mean he's going to let it slide. over time he's turned the rage down somewhat, so instead of killing her outright every single time, he tries to make her most irritating behaviors not worth the effort. tries to be a threat with words instead of just in general.
it hasn't played out as well as hacking her to death and letting her stew about it, but it's something to occupy him.
the snap of the trap echoes across his property like a gunshot. her scream follows it, a little fainter. evan turns, recognizes the voice, and heads for the mine.
there's traps everywhere. and they're more cunning out here than in trials. he doesn't have restrictions when the entity isn't making demands. such as, say, making the metal too slippery to properly grasp with wax and grease, and that's not even considering the danger of the jaws themselves.
evan approaches the mine visibly. he doesn't let the shadows hide him. doesn't move carefully through the foliage and ruins. he makes sure meg, scrabbling with the trap to try and free herself, can see him coming. she might free herself and take off running before he gets there, but there's other traps. and this time she won't be thinking so clearly. ]
[ Maybe if she hadn't screamed, she'd still be home free, the snap of the trap be damned. But she's never been as good at gritting her teeth as Jake is, and anytime metal squeezes around her ankle, the pain feels tenfold. Danger. She'll never run again. She'll lose her scholarship. She'll never escape a killer. She —
She's too cocky. Always too cocky, and Trapper isn't quiet when he walks with a heavy gait toward her location. He doesn't even want to hide, and that pisses her off. It frightens her. She's a mixed up cocktail of fury and fear, and her nails scrub impotently around the jaws of the trap, grease making it messy, especially when her nail weasels between the jaws, ripping when she wrenches. Now there's grease and oil and trailing blood, but she is — out?
She stumbles up, ankle oozing, reaches blindly for her flashlight and the boots she tied together by the laces. Then she takes off like a rocket, up the stairs, down the other wing of the building covering the mine, vaults a window and breathes a breath of welcome air and —
[ even from his distance, approaching the entrance to the mine, he can see her fear - and her anger. she's afraid of being caught, of being hurt, of dying. of him. but she's angry, too. angry about being caught and hurt and maybe getting killed, all because of him. it's an endless cycle at this point.
surprisingly, she gets out before he can get to her. that gets on his nerves, sets the fire going in his blood - as if he's ever not pissed off - and evan picks up the pace until he sees her half-sprint and half-stagger toward the other wing. where there's a window, or at least a break in the wall, that he never bothered boarding back up.
the second trap snaps shut, louder for how close he is this time. under the mask, he smirks.
he takes the path around the mine to where she is. it's harder to get the second trap off than the first, he knows. and not just because it hurts a lot more.
he looks her over, looks at what she brought with her - a flashlight, which makes him grimace, and - ]
You really went lookin' for them.
[ the stray pair of boots, cracked and covered with mud and blood, stolen from a dead man, he's sure. he didn't think she'd actually find any if she really did take the risk of coming out here. maybe that'll make it all worth it in her eyes. ]
[ It hurts more the second time, the delicate flesh newly mangled by a fresh bite. It makes the punctured skin around the first wound slide a little, and if she survives, it's going to be a disgusting mess to clean. If she dies, she'll come back whole, but it'll be a phantom ache, adding to the compounded injury and horror.
That "if" seems more likely. When Evan rounds the corner, she must look like a rabbit caught in a trap or a cat eager to chew its own limb off. Another nail has chipped from the desperate scrabbling, and her fingers are bloody when they try to tease the trap open. Her flashlight is a weapon, one to be mindful of. She doesn't go for it yet. ]
Yeah. I don't bullshit. [ She spits out, voice radiating fury. Eyes too, agitated and pained and furious. ] I said I would, and I did. Even found them.
[ Stolen from a dead man. Maybe she should have slid them on even though they're filthy and rank and need to get dunked in the pond. If she had, it'd hurt less, but she'd still be caught. ]
[ she has a flashlight, she has the boots, and she has the tendency to snap and snarl when he gets too close, at least when she's in a trap. out here, she has the freedom to do more damage than she'd be able to in trials, which is one of the reasons he hasn't already stepped forward to grab her and drag her out.
he's not overly concerned about being hurt, though. he has his cleaver, and his skin is rough enough to avoid taking serious damage. still. he knows that a rat in a corner can fight back. ]
Sure you do. Heard plenty of empty promises come outta your mouth.
[ evan steps around her to where the boots and flashlight are lying. if she gets out, she's not running very far on that ankle. she'll have to take the risk of hobbling to safety through his heavily-trapped property. how many traps can she step in before it hurts too much to even limp?
he leans down and snatches them up off the ground by the laces. they're totally worthless to him, but they were on his property, which means they belong to him. they're not there for some survivor to run off with. ]
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no subject
meg has been an irritation for - a while. he gets it. he understands why she does what she does. that doesn't mean he's going to let it slide. over time he's turned the rage down somewhat, so instead of killing her outright every single time, he tries to make her most irritating behaviors not worth the effort. tries to be a threat with words instead of just in general.
it hasn't played out as well as hacking her to death and letting her stew about it, but it's something to occupy him.
the snap of the trap echoes across his property like a gunshot. her scream follows it, a little fainter. evan turns, recognizes the voice, and heads for the mine.
there's traps everywhere. and they're more cunning out here than in trials. he doesn't have restrictions when the entity isn't making demands. such as, say, making the metal too slippery to properly grasp with wax and grease, and that's not even considering the danger of the jaws themselves.
evan approaches the mine visibly. he doesn't let the shadows hide him. doesn't move carefully through the foliage and ruins. he makes sure meg, scrabbling with the trap to try and free herself, can see him coming. she might free herself and take off running before he gets there, but there's other traps. and this time she won't be thinking so clearly. ]
no subject
She's too cocky. Always too cocky, and Trapper isn't quiet when he walks with a heavy gait toward her location. He doesn't even want to hide, and that pisses her off. It frightens her. She's a mixed up cocktail of fury and fear, and her nails scrub impotently around the jaws of the trap, grease making it messy, especially when her nail weasels between the jaws, ripping when she wrenches. Now there's grease and oil and trailing blood, but she is — out?
She stumbles up, ankle oozing, reaches blindly for her flashlight and the boots she tied together by the laces. Then she takes off like a rocket, up the stairs, down the other wing of the building covering the mine, vaults a window and breathes a breath of welcome air and —
TWACK.
Stupid.]
no subject
surprisingly, she gets out before he can get to her. that gets on his nerves, sets the fire going in his blood - as if he's ever not pissed off - and evan picks up the pace until he sees her half-sprint and half-stagger toward the other wing. where there's a window, or at least a break in the wall, that he never bothered boarding back up.
the second trap snaps shut, louder for how close he is this time. under the mask, he smirks.
he takes the path around the mine to where she is. it's harder to get the second trap off than the first, he knows. and not just because it hurts a lot more.
he looks her over, looks at what she brought with her - a flashlight, which makes him grimace, and - ]
You really went lookin' for them.
[ the stray pair of boots, cracked and covered with mud and blood, stolen from a dead man, he's sure. he didn't think she'd actually find any if she really did take the risk of coming out here. maybe that'll make it all worth it in her eyes. ]
no subject
That "if" seems more likely. When Evan rounds the corner, she must look like a rabbit caught in a trap or a cat eager to chew its own limb off. Another nail has chipped from the desperate scrabbling, and her fingers are bloody when they try to tease the trap open. Her flashlight is a weapon, one to be mindful of. She doesn't go for it yet. ]
Yeah. I don't bullshit. [ She spits out, voice radiating fury. Eyes too, agitated and pained and furious. ] I said I would, and I did. Even found them.
[ Stolen from a dead man. Maybe she should have slid them on even though they're filthy and rank and need to get dunked in the pond. If she had, it'd hurt less, but she'd still be caught. ]
no subject
he's not overly concerned about being hurt, though. he has his cleaver, and his skin is rough enough to avoid taking serious damage. still. he knows that a rat in a corner can fight back. ]
Sure you do. Heard plenty of empty promises come outta your mouth.
[ evan steps around her to where the boots and flashlight are lying. if she gets out, she's not running very far on that ankle. she'll have to take the risk of hobbling to safety through his heavily-trapped property. how many traps can she step in before it hurts too much to even limp?
he leans down and snatches them up off the ground by the laces. they're totally worthless to him, but they were on his property, which means they belong to him. they're not there for some survivor to run off with. ]
Shoulda put 'em on first.