Post by Deleted on Feb 13, 2021 14:45:35 GMT -6
jed doesn't always kill every survivor. nobody does. there'll be a period when a killer first arrives, and no one knows quite how to deal with them — but sooner or later, they adjust, the versatile bastards, and the playing field is evened once again. facing off with the one and only ghostface is a matter of acuity, of keeping one eye on whatever you're doing and the other over your shoulder. he's one with the entity's perpetual night, and he revels in it. stealth invokes surprise, and surprise invokes fear. that's what the entity wants, and it's what jed wants, too. it's a lot harder to stay alive when you can't see death lurking all too close behind you.
at this point, though ... stealth isn't going to help him much. this part of the game is about the chase and the chase alone, about whether or not the last survivor will be able to outsmart him and slip off to find their way out. meg usually succeeds in this, with her knack for prolonging the game of cat and mouse until its very conclusion; and out of all the people who jed has found himself facing off with, she has to be one of his favorites. it's more fun when it's more difficult, after all, and she's one of the most difficult there is.
one of the last palettes is slung down in passing, and jed is forced to a sudden halt, boots skidding in the thin layer of snow and his frustrated growl sounding so much more like a sigh as he looks down at the obstacle in his way. for a moment, he thinks about breaking it, but that would give meg far too much time to get away. he looks to the left, and this just so happens to be the correct direction. she's still running, and he resumes his pursuit, ribbons flaring with what almost seems to be their own form of sentience (and they, unlike jed, are purely angry in their bloodlust).
meg, it seems, has chosen the wrong direction this time. she couldn't have known that he already chased someone through here, that the palettes are already rendered into broken shards of wood on the cold ground. she tries to vault in an attempt to increase the distance between them, but he was too close for it to work — the hunting knife is buried into her back when she's only halfway over the makeshift window, and she falls limp onto the other side, motionless in the bloodstained snow. he decides to go around instead of following her through it, because it truly doesn't matter either way. she's lost, after all, and much faster than she usually does, disappointingly enough.
it's when he gets back around that he reaches a moment of pause. she really isn't moving. usually, she attempts to drag herself as far away as possible, even when it's completely futile. it's like she wants to spit in his eye one last time, deliver a final "fuck you" before he kills her and starts the cycle over. now, for the first time, she's not even trying. she's still. they're not on a timer, and the snow falls gently, peacefully onto her back. it almost looks too serene, and he almost hates it.
instead of picking her up, jed crouches by her side. he tilts his head, though it's still neigh impossible to tell what the hell he's thinking under that mask he always wears. the entity's whims pull at his brain, tell him he should be sacrificing her and ending the trial ... but his game is winding down, and in a rare moment of clarity, he's more focused on this human being (is he still one of those anymore?) than he is on the pseudo-god which subjects them all to this cycle. "you," he says, voice rather hoarse. it's harder to talk here, and yet, he tries his hardest, tilts his head a little further. black gloves come down to the ground, leather leaving handprints in the snow which he hasn't quite lifted from yet. "giving up already?"
at this point, though ... stealth isn't going to help him much. this part of the game is about the chase and the chase alone, about whether or not the last survivor will be able to outsmart him and slip off to find their way out. meg usually succeeds in this, with her knack for prolonging the game of cat and mouse until its very conclusion; and out of all the people who jed has found himself facing off with, she has to be one of his favorites. it's more fun when it's more difficult, after all, and she's one of the most difficult there is.
one of the last palettes is slung down in passing, and jed is forced to a sudden halt, boots skidding in the thin layer of snow and his frustrated growl sounding so much more like a sigh as he looks down at the obstacle in his way. for a moment, he thinks about breaking it, but that would give meg far too much time to get away. he looks to the left, and this just so happens to be the correct direction. she's still running, and he resumes his pursuit, ribbons flaring with what almost seems to be their own form of sentience (and they, unlike jed, are purely angry in their bloodlust).
meg, it seems, has chosen the wrong direction this time. she couldn't have known that he already chased someone through here, that the palettes are already rendered into broken shards of wood on the cold ground. she tries to vault in an attempt to increase the distance between them, but he was too close for it to work — the hunting knife is buried into her back when she's only halfway over the makeshift window, and she falls limp onto the other side, motionless in the bloodstained snow. he decides to go around instead of following her through it, because it truly doesn't matter either way. she's lost, after all, and much faster than she usually does, disappointingly enough.
it's when he gets back around that he reaches a moment of pause. she really isn't moving. usually, she attempts to drag herself as far away as possible, even when it's completely futile. it's like she wants to spit in his eye one last time, deliver a final "fuck you" before he kills her and starts the cycle over. now, for the first time, she's not even trying. she's still. they're not on a timer, and the snow falls gently, peacefully onto her back. it almost looks too serene, and he almost hates it.
instead of picking her up, jed crouches by her side. he tilts his head, though it's still neigh impossible to tell what the hell he's thinking under that mask he always wears. the entity's whims pull at his brain, tell him he should be sacrificing her and ending the trial ... but his game is winding down, and in a rare moment of clarity, he's more focused on this human being (is he still one of those anymore?) than he is on the pseudo-god which subjects them all to this cycle. "you," he says, voice rather hoarse. it's harder to talk here, and yet, he tries his hardest, tilts his head a little further. black gloves come down to the ground, leather leaving handprints in the snow which he hasn't quite lifted from yet. "giving up already?"