Afterwards - Wraith X Nurse -

Afterwards

A/N: 'First he bangs the bell, then he bangs your lady as well.' - Dead by Daylight forums.

The cover art doesn't belong to me. I hope this isn't too horrible of a one shot. Also, I tried my best to keep both characters in character.

Enjoy reading!

If it weren't for his fifth trial, Philip would've called it quits by now, his breathing is ragged- more then usual, his weapon is a bloody mess. Something that has to be constantly cleaned during a chase and after a trial, and above all of this- his poncho is crooked- something he doesn't tolerate. It was that survivor that did it... Meg, was it? Oh, yes. He knows their names, nearly all of their names.

It isn't something to forget but that means nothing when hunting down his prey. The scepter is caked in both dry and fresh blood. His grip faltering as soon as the latest trial ended, his snarls soften- replacing them with heavy breathing. He's called back to the bonfire, the familiar limbs of the Entity wisp up and round his form. Like a serpent, it envelopes him completely, a dark mist surrounds him as his entire world around him dissipates.

He takes a seat on a log far away from the others and stares ahead into the burning flames. The others know not to bother him, the wrath beneath his mud caked skin is a thing that not even their god would want to provoke from the being. Something that has been suppressed from a time that's been forgotten, only small fragments of his memory bubble beneath the surface. Even Philip can't discern between what was real and what this Entity has replaced, he loathes the time between waiting here for the next trial. Whenever he's pulled from the fire and brought forth into another killers domain, he grins in the darkness.

For now, the warmth of the fire calms him, its embers rise and fall around the flames. His breathing has softened to a contented purr- something akin to one. The One Who Floats- a brave one she is- makes her way over to his log. She says nothing, her head lolling downward towards her neck and the stare she gives him is typical behavior. Curling his fingers around the scepter, his grip tightens once again, not deterred from harming her if she dares to get too close.

His mouth opens in a silent growl, she raises her hacksaw, as if to challenge the other. The strike never arrives, they stare each other down, their glowering faces unwavering. Bringing the weapon to his side, he lets out a signature snarl, and that sends her away. Her form disappearing in a blink as he watches to ensure she doesn't return. Evan- the one who traps his prey, also stares ahead into the fire.

His eyes dart between the fire and Evan, fingers digging into the rotting wood beneath him from the tension. These two have challenged each other ever since they've arrived in this realm. He wonders how long he's been here, time has no meaning, and he's long since abandoned the thought of time here. Setting the weapon down beside him, he stands, his bones making a sickly crack, and the wrappings below sway with his movements. His cloak ruffles against his skin- if that truly is what's left of his humanity, then he's unsure of it.

The Wraith reaches for the storage pouch on his right side, opening it and grabbing a small vial of paint. The aged glass no longer holds a reflection as he brings it towards his face and examines it. A ritualistic white paint, something that has been long forgotten. It's to hopefully aid him in his trials, one thing the Entity finds to be a tedious and useless task. Placing bony fingers over the topper, he twists and gently tugs at the thing.

It easily opens, taking his seat back down on the log and dipping both index and middle fingers into the bottle. Scraping along its edge to bring forth a long strip of the paint, he brings the paint to his face and examines it again. It both fascinates and excites him, opening his mouth to let out a few excited chitters. The One Who Traps watches him with interest- no matter how many times he's seen the spectacle before him, he's always watched. Dragging his fingers along the entirety of his face, he swipes the paint from forehead to below the chin.