Much to the Trapper's chagrin, Honey was back, and he announced his annoyance as such, "You're still here?"

"Yup. Turns out the Legion doesn't have enough room for a McKeever," said Honey, flopping down on the couch. It was much more comfortable than she remembered it being, though this time she hadn't fallen onto it from out of the abyss. "Looks like you're stuck with me."

The Trapper leaned out from one of the rooms, maybe a kitchen, Honey couldn't tell from the couch, but she could make out the glower on his face. He knew she was lying, and she knew that as well, however, neither mentioned it.

"Thanks though," Honey said.

"For what?" there was obvious defense in his voice as he returned to whatever work had previously occupied him.

A warmness touched the air and with it the scent of spices. Dinner maybe.

"Nothing," Honey folded her arms behind her head. As much as he tried to not give a shit, he obviously had gone out of his way to find someone she might be more comfortable spending the night with. He must have figured that spending it with a strange man wasn't particularly appetizing, despite the ease in which she'd earlier dozed off. Still, it was probably best not to mention the kindness he'd afforded her. Not many killers liked their softness put on blast.

"She seemed nice," Honey called to him, "Susie."

"Mm."

"She said they sometimes have little get togethers after the trials. How come you don't go?"

"Not interested."

"Not a bad thing to socialize every now and then," said Honey.

The Trapper dried his hands with a towel as he came out of the probably-kitchen, "Why would I want to do that?"

"Maybe I want to do that," Honey said through pursed lips.

"I'm not stopping you," he said.

"But I'll be all alone?" Honey said.

"Susie will be there." The Trapper ignored the obvious bait and changed the subject, "You let someone go - again," he said.

"You heard that?"

"You're not quiet."

"Hm. Well I did kill someone too. So in your face."

"In my face," repeated the Trapper, "Don't be surprised if you see The Shape lingering around the Estate again. He's never failed a trial before."

Honey sat up and immediately regretted it. "Oof," she grunted and wrapped her arms around her torso, positive she had a perfect indentation of the Chevrolet's grill across her chest. "Don't try and freak me out," she said, "I just survived buddy-copping him, let me have this," she flashed him a smile, "what're you cooking anyway?"

"Dinner," said the Trapper curtly, "What happened?" He gave a jerk of his chin, indicating the bruises Honey clutched. "Run into a pallet?"

"A car."

He chuckled.

"Har-har. Do you need help?"

"No," he said, "We still have warm water here, it'll help with the bruises and the blood on your face. Shower's upstairs. You can...borrow anything you need," he said completely aware he hadn't anything to spare that would suit Honey's small frame. She was resourceful he figured, she'd manage something.

"How long until dinner?" She asked.

"Long enough."

"Alright," she got up, "You have towels and stuff?"

"Yes."

"Can I borrow a shirt?"

"Yes."

"You'll beat up Myers if he comes to get me?"

"No."

"Damn. Thought I had you," Honey laughed. She started for the stairs. She felt a little bad for imposing on him and lying to him too, this was his space, one that hadn't been intruded on in all the time he'd been in this realm.

"Hey," she peeked over the railing, "the whole thing with Susie," she said "It's cool if I stay here...with you...right?"

The Trapper's gaze slowly followed her. Though she expected him to rebuff her intrusion, he didn't, "There's plenty of room," he said, without admitting her company wasn't ALL that bad.

"Can I call you Evan?"

"Outside of trials."

"Cool. You can keep calling me Honey," she winked.

Not that she'd given him any other name to call her by.

"Thirty five minutes," he said.

"Got it," she bounded up the stairs with a smile.

The photographs on the wall had been straightened out, the grime on their glass wiped somewhat clean. Within her trial it seemed the Trapper, Evan, had taken it upon himself to pick up a little more around the place. Honey wasn't sure why, the place might have been a bit in disarray, but it wasn't completely off putting. She lived out of a one room apartment after all, even if the floorboards creaked with every step and the wallpaper had yellowed so much you couldn't see the designs, this place was practically a mansion.

She poked back into her borrowed bedroom. With the grace of her host she dug into the drawers, pulling out a few options of shirts and not even bothering with pants. She knew they'd never fit and anything that fit over his torso was practically a dress for her.

"You'll do," she said to a black and red flannel and neatly tucked the others away. Her knuckles scraped a spiraled bit of metal hidden deep within the drawer.

"Hm?" She tilted her head and fished about, looping her fingers between the rings and tugging. The drawer birthed forth a 5x7 Canson sketchbook. Its cover had been folded over in Evan's hasty effort to hide it, the edges curled from months of use, graphite thumb prints pocking every corner.

Heavy footsteps from the living room reminded her this private almanac of art didn't belong to her. So she tucked it away and locked it back in darkness with only her imagination to fill the pages.

She folded the button-up over her arm and went to find the bathroom.

It was certainly nothing to write home about: a sink, a toilet, a shower. Everything a bathroom needed set within classic tiling and white walls. She flicked on the light and closed the door behind her. It was weird to barrel bolt a bathroom door shut, but who was she to judge, she was just happy there was a lock at all.

She slid it into place and gave the door a good rattle just to make sure.

Unfamiliar bathrooms were always a crash course in rocket science. No one ever had the same faucet handles, so Honey spent some time fiddling with the dial to get the water to warm up. It took longer than she'd admit to, but she'd finally found a direction to point the little arrow in that didn't spit out freezing cold water.

She yanked over the curtains and arranged her flannel and towels for easy grabbing, then finally peeled off her dirt and blood spattered clothing.

Yep. Perfect imprint of a car grill right over her sternum. She poked at it just to make sure it hurt. It did and it would for another couple of days.

She hopped into the shower, steam already rising up from the bowl of the tub and obscuring the mirror's reflection. Evan was right. The warm water was definitely a welcomed reprieve, soothing each and every ache as long as she didn't poke at them.

Little travel bottles of shampoo and conditioner sat on the shower shelf alongside a red bottle of cherry blossom body soap. She popped the cap and recognized the scent from Susie. Either she had left it on her first trial or Evan had asked for them on the off chance Honey didn't take Legion's offer.

Whatever the reason, she couldn't complain, because a 2-in-1 shampoo-bodywash wasn't going to cut it.

She washed up to the hum of some Hall&Oates without the Oates while steam choked all the cool air out of the Entity's realm.

Life as she'd lived it seemed so far away, detached almost, as if it no longer belonged to her. Late nights at her computer playing video-games, skipping breakfast just to eat two lunches, desperately trying to correlate time to see friends who were just as busy as she.

She ran her fingers through her tangled curls.

It wasn't so bad here, a bit scary, but not bad. She didn't have any bills to worry about, that was definitely a plus, and Evan was much more likable than her landlord.

Evan was a stone cold killer with a penchant for rusted hunting materials, yet under all that blood he was ... surprisingly human: preparing dinner, cleaning house, soft soaps, and notebooks.

It wasn't exactly appropriate to call it a front, because he did his duty without question. When Meg cowered before him, he hadn't hesitated, not like Honey. He could murder someone and go about his day like it were any other menial chore.

Honey still thought about David.

Maybe she could apologize their next trial - if she didn't see him around the campfire first. Oddly enough she felt more uneasy about being invited to the grounds of the ones she was supposed to - and had killed. It wasn't partnered with any sort of expectations, just a free floating feeling of disquiet that suggested 'maybe not.'

She agreed.
Maybe not.
They weren't going anywhere anyway and neither was she. Plenty of time to change her mind.

Dirt and grime pooled at her feet, a tinge of red swirling into its kaleidoscope of color. The day washed away beneath her taking with it all the trials and all the murder, until all that was left were cherry blossoms and -

"Honey."
Evan shouted up the stairs.

Honey smiled into the rain.
Dinner sounded much nicer anyway.