REESE

- 0.1 -

        "Well," a familiar voice muttered in a rather coy manner. "how are ya feelin'?"

         Billy yawned, "I could be better."

         "Oh?"

          Without bothering to give anyone any sort of verbal and/or non-verbal warning whatsoever, the male in question, Billy Loomis, a.k.a Ghost Face, let a string of obscenities fall from his lips, the injuries that had left him bound to a bed since his hospitalization about a week or two ago protesting his every movement as made, and pushed himself up, up in a sitting position. <I know,> Billy absentmindedly bit his tongue to stifle a scream. <I know.> It was moments like this moment, for example, where Billy considered accepting the pain killers offered, but... his pride wasn't and wouldn't ever... ever... ever be on board with that idea. 

            Whatever. 

            Billy allowed his eyes to wander, taking-in the scenery that he's come to despise. White walls, devoid of decor. Monitors that beeped all hours of the day and the night. Wires snaking around every corner. A small, wooden chair that lay nestled beside the bed, currently occupied by... her. 

            Locks of thick, jet-black curls framed her face, her one blue eye and one brown eye glued to the newspaper on her lap, her doll-esque lips far from still as she spoke to herself. It was a habit of hers. Dressed in an oversized, black sweater with an Image of Jason Voorhees' iconic hockey mask on the front and a pair of torn, denim blue jeans tucked into her signature black combat boots, she was all Billy could focus on. It was a habit of his.

            Not that he would admit to it.

            From the moment that he broke into her home with the Intent of making her his latest victim at the time, he, for some reason unbeknownst to him even now, realized that it wasn't to be the case. 

            Billy wanted nothing more than to hold her, to kiss her, to help her wash the blood of their victim and/or victims out of her tresses after another successful night of bloodshed, but... until he was discharged and in a far more preferable, a far more stable condition... all of that would have to wait. Well... almost... all of that. Almost as if having had read Billy's mind, the woman in question stood up, tossed the newspaper on the chair where she once sat, and quickly, yet carefully, climbed onto the bed and into his waiting arms, making sure to avoid disturbing the many wires and tubes attached to his noticeably bruised and battered body in the process.              

            Better.

            To claim Billy resembled that of a mummy would be a bit of an understatement. Cuts. Scrapes. Bruises. Bullet holes. Scars from past procedures, soon to be joined by scars from future procedures... and future sprees. All of these carefully concealed by an assortment of bandages and gauze and stitches. 

             However... the woman in question wasn't fazed in the least -- it all comes with the territory. <Man,> A small smile crept upon her lips. <go scare me like that again and it will be war. > All-Out war. Almost as if having had read her mind, Billy shot her a look that practically dared her to follow through with her unspoken threat. 

             Billy sighed, "Hey... do you know what sounds so good right now?"

             "Movie night?"

             "Yes, but no."

             "A nap?"

             "No, but that is tempting."