Dawn Chorus (Proxies x Reader)

Circles and Circles

Masky sets my nose. I think he enjoys it a little too much, the way the corners of his lips twitch towards a smile when it cracks and I whimper. We settle into a delicate peace within only three days. Masky or Hoodie watches me, often with Toby in tow picking fights and stirring shit (trying to). Often one of them is gone, sometimes two, but never all three and none of them are gone long. Only Hoodie wears his mask in the house. Masky usually cooks and is often pretty mad about it; actually, we are all mad about it. Masky is like a den mother, in the sense that he is like a mother bear who wishes she just ate her cubs. I try to keep from acting out, from earning a second warning or setting off Toby again. It's difficult.

I try not to be alone with the hooded man. It's easy to get Toby to stick around. I can talk about nothing in particular with him and hold his interest for long stretches of time. But Toby is gone today, left early this morning before the sun rose. Masky swaddled me in blankets as I slept and deposited me in my fluffy prison on the sofa. He patted my head and told me to stay put before leaving as well. Now I'm alone with Hoodie and I can't even move. He is right in front of me, a gloved hand gently tracing the bruising on my face. I snap at him several times, teeth clacking jaw rattling snaps, but he always just rightens my position on the couch and started tracing again. Sometimes, in the corners of my vision, barely the edges, I see the weird ferret-like bodies moving in what is shadow or an odd light. Not delusional and scared in a dark basement this time. The stress is tearing into me, the collapse of sitting here and doing nothing is dragging them up. They aren't the same, not even that similar, but close enough, close enough it has to be stress and guilt.

I jerk my head to the side, cut even the very edges of my visions away from the movement. Hoodie must think I am pulling away from him, because he freezes in his tracing. His hand is still uncomfortably close to my face. He tilts his head to the side too much, an exaggeration of examination. I'm meant to feel like I'm on a slide under a microscope. He lowers his hand slowly at first, before he is ripping the blanket cocoon off of me. I almost scream, at the sudden movement, at the blanket pulling tight before it loosens, at the cold air rushing against my skin. Instead, I contract, pull my body into itself, into a defensive position.

"I'll give you until the other two get back," he says.

His voice has never sounded as haunting as that first night. I thought he was throwing it, a ventriloquist's trick, but I doubt it the more I'm around the odd man. He's haunting. Even as I watch him take several steps back, I can't hear the noise of the movement, can hardly track him with my eyes. It's like he is there but isn't. It's mostly that I don't want to look at him and really don't want him looking at me, but the fear drenching my brain and flooding my system says he can just do that, disappear as you stare at him. He gestures toward the door, slowly as to not startle me. The living room is empty, the door slightly open. I can see the bit of open space out through the window, and no one is there. I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I'm hearing hooves and thinking moose instead.

I unfurl. I test the ground reluctantly. It's cold and the wood is rough, sanded for remodeling then abandoned. This whole place abandoned. I make my way to the open door, side stepping so I can see Hoodie and the front of the building through the window. Neither moves. They are faster than me, and I don't know these woods, but I'm being given a head start and one thing I am good at is running. The instant my feet hit the cold wood of the deck, I'm off, leaping across it, skipping all the stairs in one bound. I hit the dirt hard and sink almost all the way down. I shoot back up, pivoting to peer over my shoulder, check to see if I am being given the head start he said he'd give me.

Hoodie stands on the porch. In seconds, less than that even, he has left the house and positioned himself against the railing to look down at me. His mask and hood are off. It's jarring to see such a human face on him. His hair looks more like wet sand than a really light brown in the brighter light. His lips twist into a lazy grin when we make eye contact, showing off a slight gap between his front teeth and not reaching his hazel eyes. He twirls a knife in his gloved finger. Hazel eyes always made me think of the woods, and I'd rather be looking at the trees now. I turn back the way my legs are carrying me, throwing my arms up to shield my face as I burst through the brush.