It was comforting to know there were others like her that had been roped into - whatever this was. A little less comforting to know that she'd been confused for some kind of killer. Granted she may have flushed a fish prematurely once in her life, but come on, the thing's eyeballs had popped out of its head and it freaked her out.
People were different.
You couldn't flush a person, and Honey didn't really want to.
Of all the people ready to lose their last marble, Honey was not one of them. And even if she were to consider hiding them, she wasn't quite sure she knew how to act like a blood frenzied loon. She'd never fought anyone, thought about it sure, but never actually threw a punch and forget about looking tough. She weighed about 90 pounds soaking wet, no matter what face she wore she'd only look adorably annoyed.
Honey had other abilities though, like baking and not getting stung by bees. Both equally as useless in a field of murder. She often wondered about the bees though - after they'd killed her great grandfather.
It wasn't his fault, the murders sure, but being murdered himself? That was on his killers, so deeply set in their apartheid.
Of all the people to deserve death, Honey had agreed with theirs. Maybe she could use that to her advantage, she thought, no one knew her lineage and surely her grandfather wouldn't mind her borrowing a few lines of his history.
She padded off from David's refuge, trying to recall the stories her parents had told her and all the people she'd ever gone to school with.
"Oh!"
The Trapper's contour lumbered back into view, a hematic shawl about his shoulders. Honey raised a hand in greeting and hurried to meet him halfway.
"How'd the murder go?" She asked.
"The other one. Where did he go?" He asked.
"Ah...I'm not sure," lied Honey.
He snatched her up by the throat and pulled her in close, eying her through the peepholes of his mask.
Honey let out a tiny "eep," but didn't betray the lie.
The Trapper stared into her, an unsettling glean that lasted far too long for Honey's liking. He seemed to accept her answer though and set her down.
"Watch your feet," he gruffed and moved past her back towards the spluttering generator.
Honey looked down realizing she'd almost stepped directly into a bear trap, perfectly lost to the fog were you not looking close enough. Which Honey wasn't.
She stepped around it, "I was right wasn't I?" she said into his back. "About the- the Entity - or whatever." A creaking in the sky made her flinch. "You kill people to satisfy her. Sacrifices."
He led her back to the generator, inspecting the scratch marks in the dirt around it in the silence between her speaking and it chugging along.
"She brought me here to help you, huh?"
He paused, feeling the dirt between his fingers.
"Needed another killer on the roster, eh? Someone who could really get the job done?" Might be a bit much.
The Trapper's masked effigy silent turned over his Estate. He stood and didn't bother to brush the dirt from his hands.
"You're making a fool of yourself," he said.
"I haven't even BEGUN to make a fool of myself," she assured.
He turned his attention back to the generator and gave it a swift kick. It coughed up smoke and sparks.
"So, any magic words I need to know for this - ritual?" She asked.
Nothing.
"Any secret hand signs?"
Nothing again.
"Or is it just, ee-ee" she punctuated with a few stabbing motions of her knife, "blahhhh" and then the universal gesture of so-much-blood-spraying-out-of-me.
Not even a glance back.
He moved about the equipment and stalked off once more.
"We use the hooks," he finally said, pointing out the macabre decorations to his home land. "Now be quiet."
"Classic," said Honey not-being-quietingly.
