That had been inexcusably close. His prey may be stupidly naive, but Sinn'ous knows better. He should not have been caught off his game like that. It’s disgraceful.
12
SINN'OUS
“Levis is interested in that new inmate, Jasper. Just thought you would want to know.” Cunningham’s voice is low and clear to only Sinn'ous. His warning coming on the cusp of the loud cafeteria filled by the sounds of dinner consumption.
Guards are posted in pairs by each door, the same as they are every meal. Inmates clumped on benches, and squeezing around each table as they walk, trays in hand. If you were enochlophobic this would be your worst nightmare. And while Sinn'ous prefers his own space, he has no problems meshing into the clusterof society. It’s easyenough to ignore them. And when they move out of his path, it’s easier still to block them out of his conscious mind.
Even still, he’s not unaware. His senses are still tuned into those around him, any too sharp movements instantly grab his attack response by the balls and ramp up his adrenaline. But he can separate the two, his environment and possible dangers, from the everyday monologue of his thoughts. This allows him to focus on what is important. And right now, it’s standing at the front of the room serving inmates their lunch trays.
When you cowthe prison population it gives you certain privileges. One of those being his nonobligatory requirement to wait in line. He cuts right to the front, grabs a tray, and lets his eyes roam over his prey. The flush to the boy’s cheeks pairs flawlessly with the nervous flutter of his throat bobbing as he swallows.
Sinn'ous bites back what he really wants to say, and goes with a more straightforward exchange. “I’ll take the potato, and whatever pasta you think tastes the best.”
For all the attention he is paying to what he’s served, it could be dog food and he’d be clueless. Everything in him is honed in on each neuronof movement coming from his prey. The lost look of panic in his eyes, the tremor in his shoulders that only grows with each passing second.
It’s no surprise when the words are a jumbled mess. “Yes, sure thing, I can do that. That’ll be fine.”
Even in a flustered statehis prey’s voice is melodicand soft spoken. Timid and yet unwavering. Almost as if under it all he is a collection of boisterous energy and unspoken wants.
Satan, give me strength.
The potato mash is just that, mashed to within an inch of its life. A consistency that is both watery and clumping in a gooey pile. Jasper’s trembling hands place it delicately onto the tray, slotting it without overlap into any other sections.
Pasta is next, only this time the boy hesitates, his eyes flitting from one dish to the next. And back. And back again.
“I actually don’t know what’s good. I’ve never eaten any of these.” There’s a lengthy pause where his prey scrambles to find a more substantial explanation. Sinn'ous leaves him to his fretting, eating in the fear. “I’m new here—” the boy gestures to his orange shirt as a visual example of that statement, “—I haven’t tried all the foods the prison cooks.”
“Whichever you think would be best.”
Jasper’s nose scrunches up as he studies the pasta dishes, like he blames them for not telling him which is the best choice. It’s mildly adorable—
Sinn'ous schools his features, dumping that thought six feet under. Because why would he think that word?Adorable?
He’s revolted with himself.
Jasper’s mumbled rambling pulls him back from his tailspin of what the fuck.“Alright . . . But if it tastes like shit, just letting you know, I warned you. I also didn’t cook it, so there’s that too.” He adds on the last quipunder an air of darker intent. The inmate who pales out next to him has Sinn'ous’s curiosity peeked. There is something there.
Why are you throwing others into the flames?What did they do?
A decision is made, and red slopping pasta is added to Sinn'ous’s tray in the same methodically careful way as the mash. Nothing mixing, nothing spilling. He half expects his prey to whip out a hand towelto start wiping the plastic tray of any invisible spillage.
His prey is very peculiar and Satan-damn delicate with the servings. Like he’s scared the food will take offence, report him to the guards, and throw him in The Hole.
“Would you like a drink or cookie?”
I would like for you to follow me somewhere private so that I may take my time to meticulously take you apart on the tip of my blade.
“Chocolate. And water.”
“Perfect.” The boy looks to mentally kick himself after the word leaves his lips, if his wince is anything to go by. Sharply turning away, and pretending to busy himself entirely in collecting the cookie and water.
His prey is so open it’s almost comical how easy to read he is. This whole hunt might be over before its truly begun. It’s very likely to be a simple feat to get the boy alone.
~~~
Sinn'ous lingers while the cafeteria empties. He hasn’t seen his prey leave and after Cunningham’s warning he’s reluctant toleave Jasper alone.
