human
Desmond had found that he quickly remembered how soft and sweet Amanda was to him. What with how she looked like she wanted to reach in his stomach and pull out his organs so she could tie them to a truck and drive off. Always so nice and pleasant, the screwdriver of course had helped her look like she didn't want to jam it in his other eye socket and have fun making him completely blind. It was times like these that Desmond thought about the decision he made and how there were obviously no regrets or negative feelings at all.
It also was probably best that he didn't know about the thoughts going through John's head, as it would've made him quite self conscious about how he was. However, he wasn't looking forward to being around Miklosa, as something just didn't sit right with him about that guy. "Alright, sounds good." Running a hand through somewhat damp hair, he was relieved to know that he was slowly being put back together, so at least one thing would feel familiar. Though the opportunity of being put in a room with Amanda that happened to contain a trap of any sort didn't sit to well with him at all. He assumed that she would either bash him over the head till he bled out, or she'd give him a 'hands on' experience of how it works. It made him wish he took more wood shop and mechanical classes so he wouldn't have to spend time with someone who obviously hated his very presence.
"W... what are you talking about?" He asked, nervously laughing, pretending that he wasn't in fact singing exactly like a girl does into her hairbrush. "I wasn't singing anything." Desmond didn't bother to make eye contact with Amanda, he knew better than that. Hopefully she would at least let him get away with lying this once. "I won't sing anything, anyways. Especially Astley." He was expecting John to defend him in some way and try to quell the anger that was common to this woman, but at hearing no form of that, he realized their dislike for his singing was mutual. At least they didn'tseehim in the shower, as much relief as that was.
"I'll pay attention though, don't worry. I'll listen to everything you have to say, Amanda." Which meant: 'I'll be quiet so you can't find a reason to become angered with me in any way possible'. It was really a safe thing to do, as opposed to just blatantly making an ass out of himself. After all, she knew the building better than he did, and knew where to hide. Also, he didn't really feel like making conflict and making this all the more difficult for John.
gpt
John remained where he was, lingering at the workshop table surrounded by his careful blueprints, his deft fingers digging into the mass of gears and springs while Amanda turned fully, regarding Desmond the way a particularly cruel child eyes the ant they have centered beneath their magnifying glass. She tossed down the screwdriver she'd been holding then, and it crashed against the table and echoed through the room,
"What, aside from the fact you just rickrolled the entire fucking building?" Amanda snapped, and then irritably waved Desmond over to her, heading towards an adjacent room, her combat boots stomping along the cement floor, causing a surprising amount of noise for someone as small and thin as Amanda. The room she led Desmond into looked as though it may have been a drama room at some point, an enormous room with a vault ceiling, double doors, and a single desk that was sitting off to the side. There was an enormous steel beam that ran across the roof as a part of the rooms reinforcement, and a ladder had been set in the room to reach it; what appeared to be part of a hydraulic engine had been painstakingly lifted to the beam and bolted into place while a long thick chain held two long, thick steel bars that still needed to be bolted into place on the hydraulics.
"Those," she said, pointing to the steel bars, "Have to be bolted to that."
She pointed to the hydraulic engine,
"Normally Hoffman would do it, but he's been working, so -" she shrugged with her mouth and held out a pneumatic torque wrench for Desmond, "You're gonna do it. And try not to fall off the ladder, it's kind of a long way down and I'd hate to have to tell John that's how you died. Put a little muscle into it too, huh, those bars probably weigh more than you do."
And, back in the other room, John was working quietly on the arm piece of a future trap, one that he had initially named the Rack, but Amanda was much more creative with names, so now he mentally referred to it as the Twisting Crucifix - he had already tested out the leg pieces with the dead flesh of sheep - their bone density was more akin to a human's, even if the pig flesh was closer. The trap didn't so much snap the bone as it slowly wound it around itself, causing it to slowly tear at each joint, and he had just down the arm piece to test it, when he realized there was blood on the metal.
Suddenly muzzy, John looked down at his hand; he was bleeding - not a cause for alarm, the medication he took to manage the symptoms of the cancer had caused his skin to become thin and easily marred, the chemo had made his blood flow heavier, so even the smallest cuts looked worse than they were. He dissappeared into the medical room to clean up the cut, and in his dizziness, failed to notice the thick streak of blood that had followed him across the room.
human
Of course his shame was quite apparent. He looked as though he had been caught naked in the middle of a highway. It was just an awful feeling, and he was really beginning to hate Amanda for easily making him feel this way. For once, the girl was the bully at the playground, pulling everyone's hair and kicking dirt in their eyes. "Y.. yeah. I guess I did." He meekly mumbled, following after her. As they were leaving though, he had glanced back at John, wishing he could stay with him instead. After all, he was nice, he wasn't so awfully cruel and rude.
As those boots slammed to the ground, he had flinched with every step. Apparently the young man was finally realizing what it was like to be completely whipped by a girl. It wasn't exactly the most comforting feeling in the world. "Y.. Yeah, I don't want to fall." He spoke softly, looking up the ladder. He wasn't entirely comfortable with climbing up that ladder when Amanda could've easily pushed it over and killed him in a moment. Something in her tone, also told him she would hardly be sorry about him dying in such a silly way. Nah, she'd be the one encouraging such a death.
Grabbing the tool, he started to climb up the ladder, shaking a little every now and then. His glance kept falling to the floor, looking at Amanda as if he was constantly preparing for that long fall. When he had finally reached the top, Desmond sighed loudly. This was a bit more work than he was prepared for. Within moments, he was already exhausted with bolting down the beams. "Dammit..." The former thief sighed, continuing this annoyingly long job.
"Anything else you want me to do while I'm up here?" He mumbled, looking down at the intimidating woman.
gpt
Amanda watched; she watched each slow, careful step that Desmond took up the ladder, watched his hands shift up the wrungs, and she quietly wished as hard as she could that it would tumble over, that Desmond would hit the ground and his head would splash across the concrete and she could mournfully explain to John that it was an accident without having to lie to him. She hated lying to John, hated hiding the truth from him because he had this way of turning those pale eyes onto her and making her feel like a little girl all over again, make her feel guilty for every white lie she had ever told, made her feel guilty for continuing to lie to John by telling him she had stopped cutting and burning herself. She hated that she kept doing it anyways, even though she feared that one day he would catch her in the act and the trust would be gone entirely - she couldn't lose that, couldn't lose John. She would die if she lost John, she was sure of it.
Her thin face was twisted into a miserable, sour expression, her eyes narrowed.
And now this fucker was in her life, intheirlife. She had gotten used to the idea of Hoffman; he had been in this before she had been, and Miklosa - well, she hated the fat, greasy piece of shit, but he wasn't around often enough to be a problem. He was brought in only when things were desperate, when his surgical skills were called for and John's hands were too shaky for him to do it himself; that was when they called him in, Miklosa, a perverted doctor who had taken advantage of sedated patients. Made Amanda sick. Made John sick too, she could see it every time they were in the room together that John felt queasy just for standing near the man, but being who he was, he reminded himself that a second chance had been given and Miklosa was trying to redeem himself, had sacrificed his own leg to escape the trap he had been put in. He had lived up to the rules.
But this guy, Desmond, he had no use. He was only there because he had no where else to go, and as far as Amanda was concerned it would be a mercy killing to send him to the ground right then, after what he'd done - killing a woman and her unborn child, even accidentally, it mirrored John's own story too closely, after John had lost his unborn son to Cecil's irresponsibility.
"I wouldn't have let you get out." Amanda said conversationally, casually placing a hand on the ladder wrung, "Of the trap. I wouldn't have put in a fail-safe. Would've made the drill take your fucking brain out instead of just your eye."
human
Perhaps it was by reflex, but Desmond felt his knees lock into the ladder a bit as he was up. It was as if his body was already bracing it's self against an attempt to be knocked off of the high ladder. He knew there wasn't exactly any bails of hay or soft pillows to land on. Concrete wasn't exactly the best of places to land when a psycho woman would probably stomp on you the moment you hit the ground. "That's nice to hear." He sarcastically, replied, doing the necessary work he had to up there, hoping to quickly finish the job. "I can tell you're fond of me by the glares you give me every five minutes." Wiping his forehead for a moment, he continued, "It's like you're smiling at me... except it's like you want me to die constantly. I think I'll stick around here longer though, if you don't mind." If he was more daring, he would try baiting her a bit... but he knew better than to do that with a crazy woman who wanted him dead.
When the job was finished, he moved back down the ladder and stared at Amanda, wary of any violence that might be in her. "So what now? Are we going to do anything else, or shouldwego check up on John?" He could tell that she had something for him, it was quite obvious with how protective she was. It was like him being near the man was enough to upset her, so he tried to be a bit passive-aggressive by putting emphasis on 'we.' Oh how he sincerely hoped she wouldn't wring his neck in his sleep. His best bet might be to just crawl in John's bed at night, she couldn't kill him right in front of the man.
gpt
It didn't take a lot to bait Amanda Young these days; now, all it took was a well-placed jab or someone looking at her the wrong way for her to launch into a near-homicidal rage. Most of the time she seemed to be seething with a barely controlled anger at the entire world, and the only things that calmed her anymore were John, and the press of a blade into her skin. But even the latter had been wearing off for her, because she had begun to feel intense guilt every time she did it, thinking of the promises she was breaking to the man who had changed her life and taken her in. He had never asked a lot from her - everything she had done was voluntary, all he'd asked was that she not take drugs and stop cutting herself, he'd told her to be kind to herself instead of abusing her body every chance she got.
And she had failed, and that made her even angrier. All she could do was make up for it through her traps, make them work - make them work damn well. At first her anger had got the best of her and she just hadn't put in a fail-safe on a trap because it had occurred to her that if they lived - if they lived, John might take them in, too.
And after all, he already had enough going on right? He was already sick, and taking in more strays wouldn't be good for him. She was just looking out for his welfare, it was for the best.
Eventually she'd left the option out of every trap; no one was allowed to escape anymore, not when it was her creation - and more of them were hers these days as John became less physically capable of making them.
She hadn't made Desmond's, though. She wished she had.
"Hey," Amanda said flatly, when Desmond's tone dropped to sarcasm, and she kicked her thick boot against the wrung hard enough to rattle the entire ladder, "Fuck you, bitch."
And then she was striding away because it turned out Desmond had a point; they had been in there a while, and she wanted to see John, he always made her feel better. Making her way down the hall, she moved into the workshop and looked around - he wasn't in there, which was weird, since he would normally spend hours inside.
Unless he was so unwell he couldn't keep up with it, that happened some days.
About to turn away to go check if he was in his room, she paused for an instant when something on the ground caught her eye; he looked down, lifted her boot, and found her shoeprint in blood on the concrete floor. Looking behind her, there were droplets across the room, progressively becoming larger; cold trilled down her spine and she grabbed the door handle to access the medical room, only to have her hand come away sticky with blood and there was so much of it that it had crawled across the handle and streaked down the door.
"Shit," Amanda said, "Shit, shit,"
She opened the door and shrieked, because John was on the floor, seizuring violently; she ran to him and put him over onto his side, immediately beginning to sob.