Hunted: Hollywood Burning
You look out of place in this bar, as usual. It's not really an 'Otaku' hot spot. Tough guys in the corner leer at you, sniggering mirthlessly, snarling like animals. Their heads are shaven, with barcodes tattooed on the sides of their skulls. Whether it's a crude joke, a gang insignia, or something altogether more sinister, you're fully aware they could kick your ass. Keeping your head down, you adjust your faded 'K-Off!' anime t-shirt, and scratch mindlessly at your acne scars.
The man has never been late before. Indeed, he was usually there by the time you arrived, as drunk, foul-smelling and hairy as ever. But today is different. You've lost weight since he last saw you - indeed, you could almost believe you were 'good looking'.
Well. Relatively speaking.
All things are relative. Right?
Your hackles rise, and a second later, an ice cold hand grips your shoulder like a vice.
"...I didn't smell you coming..." you shudder, your whiny nerd voice completely ruin
The Old Man and the Manx Im going to the ruined temple to find my daughter, Manx, said the old man.
It had been a chance meeting between the two. The Manx had loped over a rocky outcropping on the veldt just as the weathered old man had sat down in its shade, preparing to camp for the rapidly descending night. They had stood face to face for many long moments before the old man spoke, and now the two regarded each other with a strange mix of curiosity and suspicion.
The Manx was about the size and shape of a large, tailless dog, with patchy, straw-coloured fur that was speckled around his face and feet with the frosty white of age. His legs were long and ungainly, and their joints were knobby from years of malnourishment. At one time, the Manx had obviously had beautiful tattoos of dancing flames branded into the flesh on his sides and shoulders. Now, however, they simply hung like sad ribbons on his gau