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“Leave me!”
That was the message Aesop had left on their communicators, and judging by the chorus of “Sorry…”’s he received before watching the other three escape, he can only guess the Photographer must have went to storm the gate. They wouldn’t have left him behind, otherwise. The three of them were a horrifically self-sacrificial bunch…
But, they had all gotten out. Despite the fact that he was the last one there, a sense of relief fell over his shoulders.
The gate was halfway across the map, as was the Photographer, then. So long as he could find the dungeon, a four man win would be a cinch.
It shouldn’t be hard.
It really shouldn’t be.
The sound of a picture being snapped resounds across the playing field, and a pang of fear strikes Aesop’s heart.
Not that he cares whether he makes it out or not. But the Photographer was a hunter he particularly hated being caught in a game with.
The man (Could you call him that now?) wasn’t exactly subtle with the interest he took in Aesop, though he showed it in unsettling ways. Aesop had noticed that if the Photographer caught sight of him, it wouldn’t leave him for the rest of the match. Even when Aesop ran by other teammates in the midst of decoding, the Photographer stubbornly chased only him anyway. He lost count of how many times he would be sent back to the manor, his other teammates securing an easy win.
He doesn’t mind dying. What he does mind is being targeted so specifically.
Still, he steels his nerves and continues on his search for the dungeon, doing his best to avoid stepping too close to any of the cameras nearby.
Not that it does him any good.
By the time he feels his heart rate increase, it’s already too late.
Cold, unfeeling steel presses straight through his gut, and he feels the Photographer right at his back.
Caught like a mouse.
Were it not for the sword through his stomach, he might feel nauseous at the thought.
The sword is taken out cleanly, blood immediately gushing from the wound. Knees hit the ground, and gloved hands uselessly press against the wound, but it’s not stopping there’s so much blood oh god oh god oh god—
Somewhere in the haziness in his brain, Aesop can’t help but register this as very odd. The Photographer’s blows were often a great deal more mortal— Through the heart, across the neck, all finishers that made Aesop an easy target to chair.
Was he just toying with him? Maybe he should surrender.
“You’ll have to forgive my brutish methods, but I knew you’d run any other way.” A voice is sounding through Aesop’s muddled thoughts, the Photographer? Aesop wasn’t even aware hunters could talk to them during a game.. How long had he been speaking, anyhow? His head is spinning. It’s almost impossible to focus.
“All I want is to talk to you… You know. I’ve been thinking about you quite a bit, outside of these games.” A rapier is pointed at his throat, but no matter how much he desires mercy, the Photographer doesn’t slash it, merely using the point of it to tilt up Aesop’s head so he can look at him properly.
As if Aesop could make eye contact anyway. His typical anxiety-ridden inability to aside, his vision is going black at the edges. He wouldn’t even be able to hold his head up without the Photographer’s help— Help? This is torture!
“It’s… hard to talk. Like this.” Simple and to the point, as always. Though it’s a great deal more labor to get even that out.
“Ah… That’s fair. We are in a game, aren’t we?”
I’m dying, is what Aesop wants to say, but it’s ultimately too much effort, so he remains silent, hopefully communicating that the hunter should say what he needs to, and kill him already.
“I want to get to know you.” The hunter rushes out, and Aesop’s eyes still manage to widen in surprise.
Why him? And why now, of all times??
The hunter’s rapier draws back, and Aesop’s head hangs, waiting for the final blow.
“My name… It’s Joseph Desaulniers. In time, I’d like to learn yours as well, Embalmer. There’s a way we can speak civilly, you know? If we met in the manor’s adjoining garden…” Joseph trails off, and Aesop debates if he should start beating his head against the ground. Is he aware of the pain he’s putting the other through? He’s holding a conversation so casual it’s like Aesop’s sipping tea in front of him!
A familiar boot is placed on his back at this point, and balloons tied around him. Too tired to struggle, Aesop lets Joseph carry him to a chair… But he’s gently deposited next to the dungeon.
“I’ll see you again..?” It’s almost pitiable, the tone the other takes. Hopeful, though it’s tinged with a sense that he feels he’ll be rejected. While normally unmoved by these things… Something in Aesop’s stone heart is touched, and he weakly nods before jumping through the hatch, and losing consciousness.
After a game, one always wakes up in their bedroom in the manor, healed of all wounds as if by magic. Whether win or lose, there isn’t any escape. A sick purgatory, or maybe hell? Who knows. Aesop prefers to just do as the owner tells him, and leave the questioning to the more philosophical sorts.
If only this dilemma was something he could leave to the others. Awake now, with complete function of his mental faculties, he can’t believe he agreed to meet the other.
Sure, the hunters aren’t supposed to harm survivors outside of the games. But it doesn’t mean they can’t, and it doesn’t mean they won’t. God only knows what’s going through the Photographer’s head. What if stabbing each other is a form of greeting for the hunters? Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. Maybe Aesop should feign sickness and stay in bed for the day.
But the thought of what the Photographer may do in their next match if he doesn’t show has him rise nonetheless, hastily getting ready so he can see if the other has even shown up yet.
He wonders why they didn’t set a time, and then realizes he didn’t exactly give the other a chance to do so. In Aesop’s defense, he wanted to get out before he really did die.
He opens his door cautiously, peering into the hallway to make sure no one else is around. It’s not as if he really has to worry about being conspicuous. This behavior is commonplace for him, and he’s certain the other survivors are used to this from him. A liking for being alone often led to him taking these sorts of measures.
Luckily, it is empty. As expected. The others are certainly gathered at breakfast right now-- He was the only one hurt enough to be unconscious for the length of time he was, anyway. Heading in the opposite direction of the dining room, he slips out of the manor, heading towards the garden.
He sees the Photographer-- Joseph before he can spot Aesop, sitting alone on the edge of the fountain. From a distance though, the Photographer looks like he does in the camera world. No longer dripping black from his eye sockets, no longer monochrome with cracked skin… A deceptively delicate looking man, white curls and elegantly dressed.
His sword is missing, Aesop notes. So he truly did come in peace… It’s at this thought Aesop steps forward from his hiding place, earning Joseph’s attention at last. His face breaks into a rather brilliant smile at the sight of him. If it weren’t for his eyes, and his claws, one could almost mistake him for a human.
“So you’ve actually come!” He says it in a way it’s all too obvious he expected the opposite, and Aesop just nods, taking a seat next to him. He’s always been the quiet sort, and he’d like to hear more of the Photographer’s intention anyway.
“I’d like to apologize again for how I’ve treated you in our games… I’ve been sorting out a few things on my end about you. An extended interest in you left me rather frustrated.” Is that his justification..?
“It’s fine.” Aesop didn’t care anyhow, as long as it stopped. “Moreso, I’d like to hear… about why it is you’re interested in me. Out of all of us survivors I…” don’t think I’m worthy of any sort of attention, nor do I want it. “... simply can’t understand your reasoning.
“That might be why, in fact.” It’s difficult to see where Joseph is looking, lacking pupils as he is, but his face is cast skywards, and Aesop lifts his as well. A brilliant blue sky, picturesque fluffy clouds rolling by. Beautiful, really. “Always wanting to stay out of sight… Not just from me, either. You scurry away from hunters and survivors alike… Isn’t that right? For some reason or another, that behavior intrigues me.”
Aesop doesn’t respond, keeping his gaze on the clouds. That’s how it is, huh. Wanting to get to know him because he didn’t want to get to know anyone? How he wished this simple sentiment could be respected.
“Your mask too… You know of my trade, yes? A photograph of one can keep them immortalized forever… But. You’re always obscured. I have yet to have any proper proof of you, you know?”
Insane babbling aside, Aesop thinks he gets the picture. A short sigh is heaved, and he decides it’s about time he speaks.
“A secret to be unravelled… Is that how you see me? I don’t…” I hate being treated that way, he wants to say, but he can’t say it honestly. That intent is how Eli had approached him as well, and he’d grown incredibly dear to Aesop. “There’s nothing exciting I’m hiding, if you’re expecting something like that. I’m a man who likes my solitude… Plain and simple. If you are fine with merely that…”
“I’m not! Not at all.” The offended tone Joseph takes shakes Aesop, making eye contact with the other man at last. “I told you I want to get to know you and I meant it! Your philosophies, your ideals, your favorite color-- For god’s sakes, I don’t even know your name yet!” Aesop blinked several times in the force of this outburst, waiting for the Photographer to finish. “I’m not so shallow I’ll be satisfied with just that little tidbit. Non, I want.. to be... “ His eyebrows are knitting in frustration. “Ugh. We can’t exactly be friends on opposing sides as we are. But I can’t help but feel like I want to be. Tell me you disagree, so we can get this over with and I can go back to stabbing you guilt free.”
You didn’t seem guilty last time, words Aesop allows to remain unsaid. The Photographer is right. Even meeting up like this is a bad idea, really. It’s not like it’s forbidden for the hunters and survivors to be friendly to each other. But the hunters have to play their part as much as the survivors do, and attachment will only complicate things.
Still.
Aesop used to consider himself a cold man. Before coming to the manor, the idea of merely speaking to someone filled him with cold dread. After being here for a bit, he came to enjoy the company of others. Emma’s cheery smile, Eli’s gentle voice, he’d even come to find the sound of Mike’s raucous laughter ringing through the walls to be rather endearing. Human contact turned out to be not as terrible as it seemed… That cold heart of his had been thawing quite a bit, during his stay.
So a thought such as “This will only make things difficult.” didn’t make him want to stop. The Photographer was their killer, yes. But he was doing his job, the same way it was Aesop’s job to attempt to thwart him. But he sought Aesop out. Clumsily as he did, in the only way he knew how, he put his feelings on the line to speak to Aesop.
Simply put, that fact pulled Aesop in as well. He couldn’t help but feel a bit of sympathy for the other man, to try so hard even while knowing it’s fruitless. He could at least try a bit himself. A more clinical part of him thinks it would do him well to learn more about him, to deal with him more effectively in their games.
“I can’t say that… I don’t disagree.” Aesop says, after wracking Joseph’s nerves for a silent few minutes, lost in his own musings. “I… don’t think being friends is a bad idea. I think we can handle ourselves accordingly in games… Right? I won’t treat you any differently, so you shouldn’t hold back either.” The other just nods, eyes wide in surprise. “... My name is Aesop Carl, by the way. I’m glad to be meeting you properly, Mr. Desaulniers.”
“Mr. Desaulniers… You’re very formal, aren’t you? If you’re going to go to that length, I’d at least like to hear a proper monsieur…” Aesop tilts his head, about to correct himself, but Joseph speaks before he can. “I’m joking. Just Joseph is fine. We’re friends, after all.”
“... Yes. Friends.” Maybe Aesop should mention that he’s not very good at this whole friendship thing. The other most certainly already knows, though. Chances are, Joseph’s not the best himself, given the approach he took… But he seems satisfied enough with this answer.
“I have one more request for you.” Or not. “I mentioned how I detest that mask of yours, yes? I’d like to have a photo of you without it. Perhaps we could do it while outside of a game..?” The request would make Aesop’s blood run cold from anyone, let alone a murderous photographer.
Absolutely not, is what he wants to say. It’s never going to happen, so give up now.
“Give me time to think on that.” is what he says instead, and while Joseph’s brows furrow in frustration for a moment, he shrugs, apparently deciding it’s a fair answer.
“I won’t give up on this so easily, Aesop… But I’ll leave it at that for now.” Ugh. “But anyhow…”
The rest of the day was spent passing idle conversation, thankfully mostly carried by Joseph. The Photographer was wonderful at rambling on entirely contained by himself, which suited Aesop’s preference to listening just fine. Apparently, the hunters got on very well. There was something odd about hearing personal anecdotes about the people who he mostly only knew from the feel of their weapons, but it was heartwarming to hear that the hunters were just as much of a family as the survivors were.
Joseph bid a rather grandiose farewell as he noted the sun was going down, saying something about how he wanted to ask Michiko how her match had gone. To see if she’d won, he said, as if he wasn’t speaking casually about the deaths of Aesop’s friends.
Well. It’s not like death means much in this place, anyway.
“I want to meet with you again.” Joseph says before he leaves, eyes trained on Aesop. “I won’t have a match for at least another week. And for you..?”
Aesop could sign up for another match whenever he wanted. If he truly wanted to escape the Photographer, he could go tomorrow and not have to worry about it at all.
… But.
“If you’re asking if I’m free tomorrow, I am." He can’t say he dislikes Joseph’s company. In fact, he’s been having fun listening to Joseph prattle on about this and that. Joseph’s face entirely lights up at hearing his words, and Aesop can’t help but feel a warm sense of fondness.
“I’ll see you then.” A flourished wave is all he gets before Joseph pulls out a pocketed photograph, then disappears as soon as Aesop blinks. Truly, he does have a penchant for dramatics. Aesop himself has a very mundane walk back to the manor, the moon full behind him. It’s not terrible, the idea of becoming friendly with Joseph. What worries him is what continuing this will bring in any future matches.
Ah, well. May as well worry about it when the time comes.