It was with watchful dismay that Theron observed the two men before him. The blasted black coat with his obnoxious intervention on the doctor’s behalf, as if he didn’t relish in the thimble of power he retained over them. As mere citizens by day it was best not to have the whole damned Church breathing down their necks. Anonymity was a rare thing in these parts and the interrogations led by the Ministry were legendary by anyone’s account. It would have only been a matter of days before one of them were named. Best to leave it. Give them what they wanted, play the role of subordinate diligently and remain quiet. The sooner they were on their way, the better. It was with this resolve that Theron gave them a hunter’s salutation, “As you wish... ” He watched as the hunter made his way to the ledge and left him alone with the squirmy white robe who introduced himself a Jaufre. As if introductions were to make any difference between them at all.<br/><br/><br/>Theron remained absent of name himself as a crisp breeze whipped the fragrant stench of that censer through his scarf but nodded his head with apt compliance. “I prey he be deft of foot then... for surely someone must be tasked with escorting you home before daybreak.” His fingers itched for his spear which now rested a mere foot to his right against a spire, though he doubted it as a necessity to dispatch the lone doctor. A simple push would likely suffice, as close as he was to the edge of their current perch. Of course, that was only if the black coat failed in his mission. Curiosity filled him as the hunter charged onto the main road just as a beast and one of his workshop brothers came scraping and skittering into view. The beast was large, matured. All wickedly curved claws, gnashing blood soaked maw and wild, rolling eyes. Viewed for but a moment before it crashed through the rickety planks into an oil slick pit full of urns.<br/><br/><br/>The faint glimmer of a thrown Molotov arched through the moonlit street before exploding mid air, her flaming essence spent prematurely on wet cobblestones. “Ah, it seems your companion is a rather good shot.” He chuckled in Jaufre’s direction. Where would a hunter of beasts need such a skill? Perhaps he was just a bit overzealous in his training. “Such a waste of a perfectly good trap.” He mused with quiet distress, offering a gesture towards the nearest ladder when the doctor voiced his request of favor. It required all of his fortitude not to kick the man from it as they descended. His long barreled rifle was slung low on his back and spear taken up in hand again when they reached street level and made their way as quietly as possible to the rendezvous. “It’s a wonder every beast in town isn’t drawn to all of that noise.” He mentioned of the man’s shuffling utility belts. “A testament to the repelling incense one might presume... or blind luck.”<br/><br/><br/>When they finally emerged from the shadows, Hamish had arrived as well, possibly moments before, pushing passed the smaller hunter in fire kissed cloak to confront the black coat. “Bless the Church and ALL it’s wretched ilk. Jus’ like one of her lot to come ruin the fun.” He growled in a voice that was low and scratched with smoke. A molten flame emanated from the small furnace in the head of his hammer, charged and ready for dispersal, it’s arm crooked and bent from so many powerful swings. He looked as if he were begging for a reason and Theron was almost certain this stranger would give him one. It was with a mild sigh of relief that Jaufre interrupted so that the pale wraith could find his partner’s side. “Perhaps it is wise to allow the Church their work?” He stated openly to the group, but his private gaze was beseeching. Only Hamish new the details of his secret, and it may have been that alone that ceased his tongue from wagging further.<br/><br/><br/>He watched the two men drag the sad corpse into a nearby alley to pick it apart like the vultures they made themselves out to be. This handful of Powder Kegs begrudgingly removing themselves from the open street, some whispering curses and others in furious uproar as another explosion issued in the distance. At least the white worm had the decency to thank them for their contribution. Where as the other mimicked the incessant clucking of a mother hen. Theron sneered and slipped his rifle free of its straps to lift it skyward, both eyes peering down its barrel. When the firing hammer fell it blazed with a bright flash and the muzzle issued a resounding blast accompanied by a thick plume of sparklingly gray smoke. The hallmark of quality bone marrow ash, meant to send his bullet further distances. Wasted now, as was his trap. The urns exploded, one by one, spilling like hellfire into the pit which itself erupted in a geyser of flame. All from a single quicksilver bullet.<br/><br/><br/>He turned to them one last time, rifle lowered, and pulled the hem of his scarf down so that they might hear him over the roaring fire. “A gift. To keep the beasts at bay ... while you finish up your work here.” With a wink and a rather charming smile he departed quietly to join his brethren, already on their way to the next large kill.<br/><br/>-<br/><br/>The hunt ended for them at dawn, and with remarkably few losses. They mourned one in particular. A huntress lovingly nicknamed Ember who had fallen under curious circumstances. Gouged deep by a strange, half rotted beast that barked and vomited puss from lesions in its mouth. Even when the administered blood vials stitched over her wounds, she continued to scream and froth, eventually choking to death on her own vomit. They had burned her corpse in a pit along with the beast, coughing from the acrid smoke their remains issued.<br/><br/><br/>Theron made his way home shortly after, slipping away without so much as a farewell. Shutters began to open and peeping eyes peered out from dark windows, squinting at the amber light that creeped over the horizon. He darted down a long alley and through the breaking morning mist up a few decrepit and vine strangled stairways to the modest apartment he now called home. Chosen because it overlooked that quaint little chapel from a poorly retrofitted balcony that clung dangerously to the facade of the main building. Getting a fire started in the hearth took little effort, what with all of the loose flint and strikers littered about, to heat some water for a much needed bath. It was out on this balcony that he stripped himself of the blood encrusted trappings of the hunt, caked blood and ash flaking off each article before climbing into a steaming wooden basin.<br/><br/><br/>Once clean it was easy to fall to slumber. He would sleep most of this day away while the others celebrated their survival or mourned their losses, recovering what they could from the thrashed remains of their miserable corner of Yharnam. The following day he would emerge, just another citizen volunteering to help clean up the mess those blasted trigger happy hunters had left behind for them. As if they weren’t grateful at all that many of their lives were spared because of those same people. He stuck to the more obscured areas, away from the central church and markets. There were sure to be Ministry officials there to document the carnage and clean up what cadavers they were able to run tests on. His focus was more towards the general destruction, unboarding windows and doors, disarming and removing unused traps left behind by the workshop, all done surreptitiously of course. He would visit Hamish around midday, just to check on him. Most of the time the man was already passed out drunk, a binge that could last throughout the following week as life normalized again.<br/><br/><br/>Theron was not without his own similar decompression tactics. Nightly he would huddle up by his oven with each of the unused blood vials from their hunt. It was euphoric, the piercing of the needle into flesh, the sparkling wash of scarlet life pushing into his dying veins. Since the departure from his true home, a banishment he never truly recovered from, he could feel his body aging. Almost as if a slow rot had set in. He could not wrap his head around that fact that it was a normal condition of life, to live and die and even if this paltry excuse for blood was all he could get his hands on ... it awoke some memory in his flesh. Of strength and boundless energy. Something powerful and courageous and ... vicious. His eyes would roll, and with no wounds or ailments to mend, the blood would merely course through him, existing as an extra heartbeat within, as just a whisper of that former bloodlust while he writhed on the floor.