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Thunk.
The ax blow sends vibrations thrumming through the door, echoing across the cabin walls.
Thunk.
The fragile wood cracks and strains, ready to shatter.
Thunk.
The sound echoes across the campsite, over the twisted, broken corpses of short-lived counselors, some still in their sexy underwear.
Thunk.
The figure in the leering, twisted mask lets out the smallest grunt of effort as she pulls her gore-stained ax away for another blow.
Thu--
"It's open!"
Crash!
A long, awkward pause. An eye covered in a glinting white lens peers through the hole in the door, studying the interior of the small cabin.
There's a girl sitting on the bed inside with her boots up on the sheets, bottle of whiskey in one hand. "Hi," she says, waving. "What's up?"
Silence. The killer reaches out, wrapping gloved fingers around the knob and slowly, tentatively pushing. The door obediently with a somewhat pained creak, chips of wood falling to the floor as the killer steps inside.
"Close it behind you, would you mind?" the girl says, taking another sip of her whiskey. "You're letting the cold air in." The killer obeys without thinking, she’s so taken off guard by the total lack of fear from her...victim? She jumps a little as the door slides shut behind her.
"Come on, sit." The girl pats the bed behind her. "You look tired."
And--well. The killer is tired. Moving slowly, as if in a dream, she slinks across the room and stops beside the bed, looking down curiously.
"I'm Karai," the girl says. "What's your name?"
The killer doesn't use her name anymore. The killer doesn't even have a title; if she is, no one's lived long enough to scream it as she cuts them apart. No one's lived long enough to talk to the killer, to be honest, certainly not the way this girl is.
"Strong and silent type, yeah? I get that." The girl--Karai--shifts a little, making herself more comfortable. "Especially if you've spent so much time around idiots like the ones out here." She huffs. "Frankly, I'm glad you put those douchebags out of their misery. They make my brothers look like goddamn geniuses, and that's saying something. Drink?"
She holds up the bottle and the killer takes a step back, hand tensing on her ax. Karai sighs. "It's fine, see?" She takes a swig and licks her lips. "Mmm, tasty. Not poisoned at all."
The killer cocks her head, keeping her gaze fixed on Karai. Staring at people in silence is usually a good way to start them screaming, but as hard as she tries, it doesn't seem to be working now.
"I'm serious," Karai insists. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead." The killer studies the girl, noting how casually she lies on her mattress. For the first time, she notices the muscles under the girl's dark clothes, the calluses on her hands.
She's pretty sure Karai's telling the truth, and maybe that's why getting a good look at her leaves such a strange, twisted feeling in the killer's stomach. Only it feels a bit too pleasant for fear...she swallows, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.
"Hell," Karai says. "I could have killed you when I first realized what was going on, but where would be the fun in that? I get enough fighting at home." Her face darkens at a memory. "I came out here to get away from all that.
She shrugs. "I didn't even like those guys anyway--bunch of racist, homophobic pricks without less sense than a heap of dog shit. Probably were just waiting for me to get offed. I've got better things to do than wasting my time playing final girl for them."
The killer turns those words over in her head for a few minutes before slowly, carefully settling onto the mattress, tensing as it creaks under her weight. She sets the ax down against the post, within her arm's reach, then reaches to the buckles of her mask.
Everyone who sees the face behind the mask screamed, without fail. This strange girl when she sees, will pull away, and then the killer can murder her, or try to anyway, and everything will be all right. She's not exactly eager for a final battle, but at least it'll be familiar.
She blinks as the lenses come away, tossing the mask aside. Karai's eyes move over her face, tracing the scars and burns, and the killer waits for the disgust, the terror to seep through the air and burn her tongue.
"Huh," Karai says. "I knew you'd be hiding something pretty under that mask."
What? The killer jerks away, bloody gloves clenching on the sheet.
"Whoa, heh," Karai raises a soothing hand. "I'm not making fun, I swear. You've got really nice eyes, you know."
Does she? No one has ever told the killer that before. She looks away, feeling heat creep up her cheeks, then back at Karai again. There's no mockery in her gaze, no cruelty.
Slowly, carefully, she reaches out to take the bottle Karai's holding out. She takes a swig, half-expected the bite of poison, but instead there's the soothing sting of alcohol burns down her throat. It warms her stomach, and that makes her realize how cold she is, has been for a while.
How many years has it been? How many resurrections?
"Your mask is pretty, too, to be honest," Karai says, turning to poke at. "I like the detailing." She traces her fingers over the sharp teeth, the deranged scribbles on the cheeks and forehead, the dead white eyes. "Did you make it yourself?"
"Yes." The word slips out of the killer before she can stop it, warmed out of her locked throat by the praise. Her voice is soft and hoarse, creaking a little with disuse. She freezes, almost--almost going for her weapon to stop this conversation in its tracks.
Karai looks back at her, a smile on her face. "So, you can talk." She takes the bottle back and takes another swig. "What's your name?" she asks again.
The killer looks at her for a few seconds, calculating, thinking. Maybe this will still end in blood, but suddenly, the idea of someone knowing who she is, even for a little while, feels more important than any darker possibility.
"April," she says. "My name's April."
"April," Karai repeats the name like she's turning it over in her mouth, savoring it. "Tell me, April, what do you know about cards?"
"...A little." It's been a long, long time since she's done things like that, human things. She thinks she might enjoy trying them again.
"We'll figure something out," Karai says, reaching to pick up a stack of playing cards. "I haven't found anyone worth playing with since I got to this dump."
The killer...April kicks off her shoes and shifts onto the bed, crossing her legs under her. She could choose this moment to attack, she knows. She could grab her ax and swing, take this girl out, surprise before she finds out where Karai's deadly confidence comes from. She could start the whole bloody cycle over again.
But that's all been played out before, many times. Karai's bold smile, her dark, watchful eyes, her practiced fingers gathering the cards, her voice, now casually chatting about the brothers she left back at home--it's new, different. April wants to explore it, maybe.
She smiles back, as best she can. And when Karai offers her a hand of cards, she reaches out.