"AH! Dere you are you wittle- hic!- bitch!" a slurred voice shouted, and Izzy whipped around, only to see the man with the durag closing in closer, closer. A half- empty beer bottle was in his hand, and a lustful smile upon his lips, teeth yellow with rot and breath smelling of sick alchohol.
Izzy backed up against the mask- adorning man, gripping his jumpsuit in fear with her fists weakly, a terrified whimper escaping her throat as salty tears stained her cheeks.
--
The man, Michael Myers, tilted his head down to glance at the girl. he saw she was afraid, but also noticed it wasn't of him; it was of the other man, just a few yards down. Why she wasn't afraid of him Michael didn't know, but he didn't neccassarily care at the moment. All that technicall mattered right then was helping this little girl and getting her to safety.
Why? God only knows. He's killed dozens of people, mostly those related to himself. So why did he want to save an orphan girl, whom would probaly scream if he touched her.
--
The man grinned a sick, twisted, drinken grin as he watched Izzy tremble and cower in fear, clinging to Michael like a skull to crossbones. "Here, here, ya little half- wit..." he said in and alluring tone, motioning with two fingers for Izzy to come.
She shook her head vigorously, tendrils of curly hair falling in her eyes. She didn't bother to be rid of them, considering she could still see, and clutched Michael's jumpsuit feebley. He remained still and cold, staring at her.