The mansion needed a strategizer.

Someone with the weapons, the plans, the rituals, and the guts. That person was you; Mz. Hyde You were two-faced, an ex Vatican phenomena investigator with a tendency to lean towards the sensual and macabre.

Your differences were easier to hide than everyone else in the mansion. Jeff had a Cheshire grin and bleached skin, Ben was a poltergeist, EJ was a demon, and so forth. You had Stigmata, which was shown off beneath a tight denim vest and baggy black jeans.

Jeff always had a fascination with Stigmata, though he had dropped his Catholicism at the young age of 13 and opted for being an agnostic.

Aside from your affliction and similar past to his, he had a fascination with your room. The strange occult paraphanila, the band posters, the red and black walls. Especially your weapons wall. He loved the collection of daggers, the spiked mace, the shelf of poisons, and explosives.

Everything a serial killer needed to have a little fun.

You two were inseparable. Jeff didn't really get along well with anyone; he was too snarky, abrasive, and generally an asshole to be around. Cocky, arrogant, bitchy and sadistic. He first bonded with you over a shared love of My Chemical Romance, then over his interest in your previous occupation.

He loved that he you would just let him play with your weapons, that you would teach him the things he wanted to know. That you let him just lounge in your room that was his teenage dream.

He had to admit, he found you strangely attractive. Maybe it was the stigmata, maybe it was the two faced persona you always had; that not even Slenderman trusted you to go on missions alone. He had only seen you kill once, and it was worse than he could have ever done. It was a fucking bloodbath, and it honestly scared him a little. He respected you deeply after seeing you take down 9 people with that spiked mace on your wall, the way you laughed and took your own injuries like they felt good. Like they egged you on.

It was late, around midnight. Some were out on missions, others were asleep. But Jeff? He was going to his favorite place. It was a particularly warm night, so he took his shirt off and let his jeans hand low on his waist, taking his hair down before he walked to your room. He shut your door behind him and ran his fingers across the blades on your wall before flopping down on your bed, watching you light candles in whatever ritual you were doing with that same fascination.

The flames, the smell of the candles and the incense burning, the way you were dressed like a mob wife. How your nightgown, black as night- had a slit that went up to your waist, leaving your pale thighs marked with never fading Stigmata on full display. The way your crimson silk and feathered robe splayed across the ancient carpet, hanging off of one shoulder so he could see your tattoos.

God, he was so fucking fascinated by you. How could you be so calm and collected; spending your time planning missions, tracking targets, giving orders and strengthening the mansions spiritual defenses at the same time as hiding such a vicious and bloodthirsty feline dark side.

"Any orders for tomorrow? If so, don't send me with Toby. That fucking kid is pissing me off." He muttered, before sliding off the bed and leaning against your desk, watching you do your ritual with curiosity.