Blood In The Water | Pillarmen x Fem!Reader

2 | Whet, Whet, Whet

(very short, my apologies)

--

One always knows when they're being followed. Whether it be that they see the obvious signs initially, or just have a lurking feeling in their stomach, the idea of it is always there.

(Y/n) wonders if the weirdos on this island even know how to stalk properly, as she looks directly at the poorly-hidden man tucked behind leaves, convinced he's invisible to the naked eye.

She whets her knives to pass the time, as help won't be coming anytime soon; somewhat hoping that the shrill cry of the blade running along stone might ward off that somebody hiding in the shrubs. It, unfortunately, doesn't.

"Y'know, you're not too good at this." It was an 'in the moment' type of sputter, where she spoke before she thought. "It's so pathetic, I'll even close my eyes and give you ten seconds to hide yourself better."

The greenery shakes a bit in response, and seeing her offer was taken up, the marine sticks to her word and, though she doesn't shut her eyes as promised, she peels her gaze away from the lining of the jungle and returns to whetting her knife.

But those ten seconds pass by too quick, and as she whets, and whets, and whets, she fails to notice that there seems to be a new character she hasn't been acquainted with. 

As far as she knew, he could've been the fellow hiding behind the flora, for his hair and skin weren't given away with the shade at his aid. However, it was still a possibility that he just walked in on this, and the stalker in the bush had fled.

Unkept. Horribly savage-like; Is what she would've called the stranger if he weren't the exact opposite.

 His hair, while (Y/n) expected it to be matted and rugged, perhaps even uneven, was shiny and in perfect condition, the waves in those purple locks being as lovely as those of the sea-- and while he seemed approachable enough, emerging from the thick trees with but only a bit of clothing, something bit the woman in the back of her mind and told her to be wary.

In a single long swipe, she whets her knife again, perhaps the sharpest, and largest, one she has in her company. It lets out a chilling cling as it meets the stones end, and for those that know, it typically says that they're prepared to use it if necessary. The islander takes a step back.

"You don't want to try and use that." They snickered, almost mockingly. "I assure you."

"If you believe that I fixed up my knife for the likes of you, then you're one self-centered son of a bitch."

"What big words coming from such a little thing. Aren't you a shy bit tiny to--"

From the looks of it, he was probably only a handful of inches taller than she were-- which she opted to make clear to him when she stood to her full height, the bowie once loosely laying in her hand now gripped in a tight fashion. 

"You want to repeat that, mister?"

The mans eyebrows flew upwards with surprise, his tanned and impossibly toned body shifting to allow his arms to fold across his broad chest. He didn't speak, nor move; and neither did she. The meeting quickly turned to a standoff, who would back down first under the sharp gaze of the other, and admit defeat.

It wouldn't be (Y/n), she assured herself-- though it didn't seem like it'd be the peculiar stranger with the strange jewelry either.

"Kars." He spat. "And you are?"

"(Y/n). What is it you and your little friends want, assuming you know the people from last night?"

"We're just curious is all. The people from Maidou don't wear clothing like that."

"Maidou? What the hell are you talking about?" (Y/n), for a moment, let the tenseness in her body go slack, but the moment Kars neared, her guard was back up. "I'm from Maine, dipshit."

"Then how did you end up here?"

"None of your business."

"Alright, then where's this 'Maine'?"

"If you don't already know, then you don't need to know."

"If you're not going to tell me anything, then how do you expect me to help you?"

"Oh, help me, is that it? Is that what you're here for? 'Cause you looked awfully sketch walking out here." (Y/n)s eyes narrowed. 

"I assure you, you're not even worth the time of day to kill. All I was doing was trying to offer my services--"

"Go take one in the ass, fucker. I don't need your help."

"That so?"  Kars grinned. "I don't think I've ever known someone who likes to sleep on the beach."

The marine cringes a bit; could he have been watching the other night, too? Among those creeps pacing along her thin sleeping bag and pitiful fire? If he was, then the good lord knows he's about to eat bullets.

That thought seemed to reflect onto her face in a scowl, and thank goodness, Kars seemed to take a hint.

"It seems you really aren't in the mood to talk." He started, slowing turning away to face the jungle again. "So, when you are, just call my name."

And then, just like that, he was gone, and she was left to return to her whetting with a mind swirling with questions.

Because yeah right, as if she'd ever need the help of a conniving bastard.