The Hunter At Home
| The Hunter At Home | |
|---|---|
| Date of Cutscene: | 28 February 2013 |
| Location: | Clayton's Manor |
| Synopsis: | A comfy night at home. |
| Cast of Characters: | Clayton |
Clayton stared into the flames blazing in his marble fireplace, one of the many comforts in the manor he finally purchased from his recent exploits. The name 'John Clayton' was quickly becoming a name among adventurers, mercenaries and hunters, the name of a gentleman of bravery and guts, willing to face dangerous beasts and criminals alike. He eased back into the velvet armchair he managed to haggle a good price for, his feet propped on the ottoman matched with it. He wore a long robe made of fine rabbit hair, cradled a pipe of burnished mahogany and kept a bit of brandy on a side table nearest him. He reached up and touched the bandage on his forehead, each fresh flash of pain reminding him of what went down at the Cloud Nine.
Surrounding him were all sorts of mounted animal heads, stuffed bodies, collected odds and ends such as horns and feet, and numerous trinkets from his travels. This was the first room he fully furnished; other places still had crates of things left. He liked to surround himself with the bodies of his prey. He could look on each one and distinctly recall the when and where, remember the scents and the sounds, the moment where his heart beat the fastest...and most especially, the elation at killing his prey. That was probably his favorite part.
A chunk of Kurt Zisa stood on an iron stand on his mantle. The first trophy taken from fighting the Heartless. Clayton has been getting his fill of them lately. He could feel their stares scratching at his brain. He could not fathom why they took such an inkling in him. He called up a vision of that French thief unleashing his Heartless on him. That bloke is already dead, he thought. He won't control those creatures forever. He could rot in hell with the rest of the Cloud Nine residents. His grip on the pipe tightened. He was in the right, damn them. He offered to take her away peacefully, he had no CHOICE but to open fire. He wished for the days of having soldiers to command, not common rabble. He'd have beaten them and hung them from the trees. The thought of that brought a smile to his face. Strange, he hasn't had such a thought since his last war.
He got up and took down a boar's head mounted on the wall and looked at it, smoking. "What in God's name has been going on lately?" he muttered.
"Perhaps that fellow in the dragon armor had the right of it, old boy," The boar's head spoke at once.
Clayton screamed and fell backward, falling over his chair as he dropped the boar. His pipe went flying, as did one slipper. He slowly rose from the side of the chair as if emerging from the bushes, looking cautious at his trophy, the fires casting shadows over it. A hallucination, that was all. The trauma from the fight, and the opium, must be combining into a bad reaction. "Even if it is, I'm still right," the head said calmly.
For a moment, Clayton didn't speak. Then: "What do you mean, the dragon armored fellow was right? He was just a magical looney." "Was he? They say there's people out there that can sniff the bad right off ya, no matter how good they are at hiding it." Clayton sneered. "Well, everybody has their bad side. No one alive is pure of heart, I've been around, haven't I? If you believe that, you ought to check yourself into the nearest sanitarium and ask for the deluxe straitjacket!" "Too true. But he had you pegged for something, old boy." "But WHAT?" The hunter snapped. "Good question. Maybe you ought to take your mind off things. After you heal up, what about a true safari? No magical rifle wielding women in the desert, no giant armored monsters of darkness, no street urchins wielding demonic powers. Just you, the outdoors, and lots of animals to kill."
Clayton thought about this. "It's been a while since I...just went out and shot a bunch of animals." The boar head seemed to smile. "Now that's the ticket! A man ought to reinforce his place in the food chain, eh?" "Quite right!" Clayton smiled and posed triumphantly. "Soon as these wounds heal, I'm gathering the servants!"
The boar's head remained quiet after that.
