"I can't believe you lost the boy! A boy! A little, bratty, self-centered, snot faced, doesn't-know-a-damn-about-the world boy!"
Rufe backed away from the skinny, bespectacled, five-foot man yelling at him, tripping over a chair. "Mousa-sama, please, there was a demon--"
"Hmph," the Hunter snorted in reply to Rufe's excuses. The thick cloths that completely engulfed its slender, elongated body shifted from black-grey to a pale ash as it stepped lithely out of the shadows. "Surely thou does not believe the legend of Amadi and the Demon Lord?" Its voice was slithering, hissing, but muffled by the scarves wrapped around the Hunter's face.
"But it's true!" Rufe protested. "I saw it! It had glowing blue eyes and wild purple-black hair and the vilest voice that screeched like a blade being honed, and it jumped around like a crippled frog, and it screamed about 'justice' and--"
"You know what I think?" Mousa remarked to the Hunter, straightening his tie embroidered with a winking, super-deformed red-haired sorcereress.
"That mayhap this pathetic specimen of flesh grew lax in his caretaking of the boy?"
"Mousa-sama--"
Mousa nodded, sitting back down in his swivel chair and steepling his bony fingers before him. "What do you propose we do?" Mousa asked, ignoring the pretty boy's protests.
The Hunter extended an arm, slowly opening its gloved hand, and conjured a small ball of light. Then suddenly, it smacked its other hand over the ball, light squelching out of its three fingers.
Rufe shivered, watching the action with wide, numb eyes.
Mousa raised an eyebrow, his face considering.
Rufe fell to his knees when he saw this, banging his forehead upon the floor and his hands clasped above him. "Oh please, Mousa-sama, give me another chance! I'll bring the boy back, I swear!"
Mousa spun his chair around, staring at the "Gohan to Trunks" painting by renowned artist Akira Toriyama behind him. "I don't know, Rufe. You're pretty incompetent, but you are the only errand boy I have left."
"Yes, yes, Mousa-sama!" Rufe interjected hurriedly.
Mousa sighed. "All right, you have one more chance left. Otherwise, I'll let the Hunter here have you . . . and you know how much it likes to play with its victims. Wakarimasu ka?"
Rufe lifted his head off the floor, paling considerably, glancing at the shadowed Hunter out of the corner of his long-lashed eyes. "I understand, Mousa-sama," he gulped.
"That's very good, then. Now shoo, before I change my overly generous mind."
Rufe left a trail of dust in his wake.
The Hunter leaned against a wall, its clothing shifting once more to match The surrounding environ. "I do not take much to that foul creature. Thou should have sent me in his stead."
Mousa began to spin around in his swivel chair, his short legs swinging. "And who said I wasn't?"
"Oh?"
"You'll be going with him, just to make sure he doesn't screw up again. If that boy isn't in our possession, then the Cult will never be able to free Drakess."
The Hunter looked away from the spinning Mousa, feeling slightly dizzy. "It will be as you say, Mousa-sama."
"Good. Now leave me. Oh, and before you go, send my secretary in with that time-travelling SNES game I like so much. You know, the one from Square?"