Chapter Text
He liked death. Looked like death. Smelled like it, some even said, like formaldehyde and wilting carnations. Well, Joseph thought, he would believe it when he saw it. And he had yet to see the new survivor with his own eyes- or his camera.
The photographer, being a bit of a veteran at the manor, had developed somewhat of a tradition when a new survivor arrived.
- Send a cordial letter inviting them to the garden to get to know each other better, like the gentleman he was.
- Wait for hours.
- Leave.
His attempts at getting to know his fellow “players”, no matter how good his intentions, were never truly taken seriously. He assumed the 17 other letters he had sent were now laying in some crowded drawers, long forgotten, or perhaps more likely, at the bottom of wastepaper baskets. That’s how it had been every other time.
This new survivor, ‘the Embalmer’, wasn’t it?
Well, he was different.
“Mr. Desaulnier?” Joseph jumped slightly where he sat, his surprise clear on his face. He looked up (though he didn’t have far to look, hunters being unnaturally tall and all. And the survivor being rather short.) to see an unfamiliar face, partially obscured by a white medical mask.
Joseph stood up at once, a little too fast, as the embalmer took a small step back, doing his best to keep a polite- yet comfortable- distance between them.
“Ah. You must be the newcomer, if I’m not mistaken.” He offered his hand, only then noticing the box the other was carrying. It was silver and black, with a handle on top so that it could be easily carried about. It looked like it had been carried around quite a bit, as the edges were scuffed and dented from use. The photographer didn’t recognize what it was, he never was good with things more modern than him. Mary would poke fun at him for that, though, to be fair, she would poke fun at him for anything she could.
The survivor shifted the box to one hand to shake Joseph’s, though he seemed reluctant to make contact. The handshake was brief and stiff, but it was the first Joseph had shared with a survivor. Perhaps this newcomer had not been tainted by the hellish games of the manor yet, and thus didn’t share the same fear as the rest of the survivors did towards the hunters- though Joseph preferred to think of himself as a gentleman as opposed to a monster, and if preserving his self-image meant ignoring that prior fact then he would gladly.
“I suppose I am. From what I’ve heard, I could not be more excited to be here.” With the man’s deadpan speaking patterns it took Joseph a moment to catch the sarcasm in the survivor’s voice.
“Of course. Well, the games may be… well, something, but I’m sure there’s something good about this god-forsaken place. I just have yet to find it,” he muttered. A silence fell over the garden.
“I don’t believe I caught your name, monsieur.”
“Carl. Aesop Carl.” Joseph gave a short hum in response, as if he approved.
The silence fell once again, and this time Joseph took the moment to examine the new survivor- ah, or Aesop Carl.
He wasn’t a rescuer, he certainly wasn’t built like one. Probably not a container either. A decoder, perhaps…? Well, he’d find out soon enough.
He had silver hair pulled back neatly at the nape of his neck, the just-too-short front parts left out and swept aside. His hair was about the same shade as his eyes, a monotone grey colour. All of the grey and black would have made him look boring to others, the photographer assumed, but he of all people knew that pictures in black and white could be just as interesting, if not more, than the ones in colour.
He was taken out of his thoughts by Aesop’s voice.
“Is there anything you’d like to discuss? You said in your letter that you’d like to get to know one another better. I will say, there’s probably not much to know about me, besides what you’ve inevitably heard.” Rather curt, wasn’t he?
“It was simply to be friendly, mon cher. Just small talk, really. And, besides that, I highly doubt what you say about having nothing to know about. Everyone who comes here has some reason they came. Something they want.”
“I do not.”
“If you do not wish to tell me, you can simply say so.”
“I meant it. I did not have a ‘want’ that brought me here. I simply came here to return something for one of my clients.” Joseph opened his mouth to speak, but felt the words die in his throat.
“What?” Aesop looked reluctant to repeat himself. How different from Joseph, who would probably talk just to hear himself speak (though he wouldn’t admit it).
“I came here to return a letter. Nothing more.” Joseph was about to press more in disbelief, but he didn’t want to push his luck. Someone had finally answered one of his letters, and he wouldn’t risk ending the interaction now. Besides, Aesop was already looking more uncomfortable, gripping the handle of that box of his tightly. Joseph was sure his knuckles under his gloves were white. Why such a closed off person would be the first to respond to his invitation he didn’t know. Perhaps he was just that curious. It was his curiosity, after all, that had brought him to the manor, if what he had said about that letter and his ‘client’ was really true.
“I-I should probably be going. It was.. nice. Talking with you. Mr. Desaulnier.”
“Joseph. Please. And thank you for coming.” Aesop nodded slightly.
“Well, goodbye.” He hesitated. “Joseph.”
“Goodbye, mon cher.” With that the embalmer made his way back to the manor, leaving Joseph even more curious than before about the newcomer.
Well, they did have a match coming up quickly. Then Joseph would find out more than a name and a curt backstory.
He’d find out how well this survivor could survive.