The night was silent. Whitley slept curled up in his blanket. Doug remained awake, sitting on a fallen log a little ways away, Scroll in hand. The bluish light from the screen illuminated his face.
On the other end of the call, his son Josh's voice came through, excited and a little too loud:
"So he really is Whitley Schnee?! Like… Jacques Schnee's son?! Holy shit, Dad! That's crazy!"
"Keep your voice down, you idiot. The kid's sleeping right next to me."
"Okay… okay, so what are you going to do?"
"Alright, alright. But seriously, Dad, that's insane. What are you going to do with him?"
Doug let out a long sigh and rubbed his forehead.
"I wanted to send him straight back to Atlas…"
"But the kid is stubborn as hell. He doesn't want to go back to Atlas under any circumstances. He keeps saying he wants to participate in some stupid competition, that he's going to make money, and God knows what else. I try to convince him to go back, but he won't listen."
"And to make things worse… besides being hunted by Spider and Raven, he's also being hunted by the White Fang."
"So… he's screwed?"
"No! I'm getting him out of Anima as soon as the competition is over. And when did I raise such a pessimistic son?"
Josh rolled his eyes at that.
"Think about it, Dad. The kid has lived his whole life in a mansion. He definitely doesn't know how to fight. I doubt he even knows how to fry an egg. And sooner or later, he's definitely going to run into Raven. From everything you used to tell me when I was younger, she's never going to forget what he did."
"If Raven doesn't kill him, he'll starve to death or get eaten by a Grimm."
He paused dramatically.
"Either way, he's definitely going to die."
Doug knew there was some truth to that, but he wanted to believe the kid would be okay. That way, he could get this problem off his back and go back to living his own life.
"I don't think it'll be that bad…" Doug replied, trying to sound confident. "The kid seems to have been managing pretty well so far."
Before Josh could answer, Doug narrowed his eyes.
"By the way… why are you awake at this hour? Don't you have work tomorrow morning? You irresponsible brat…"
"You're the one who called me!"
"Are you talking back to me?"
CLICK!
Doug stared at the black screen, his mouth hanging open.
"Did he just hang up on me?!"
When he got home, he was going to beat the hell out of that kid!
He let out a long sigh and put his Scroll away. He looked at Whitley sleeping and shook his head.
"Fuck."
.---.---.---.
The shattered moon was still in the sky when Doug got up.
He looked at Whitley, who was still sleeping soundly, curled up in his blanket.
Doug sighed, picked up the metal bucket he had used to collect water from the nearby stream, and walked over to the boy.
"Wake up."
Without waiting for a response, he poured the entire bucket over Whitley's head.
Whitley shot upright, completely drenched, his white hair plastered against his face and his eyes wide with shock.
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT, YOU IDIOT?!" he screamed, shivering from the cold.
"ARE YOU CRAZY?!"
"I'm hungry. Let's go hunting."
Whitley looked at his wrist and saw the pink watch he'd bought from a homeless man for fifteen liens.
"It's five in the morning, you psychopath! Go back to sleep!"
"I need a good meat stew to start the day."
"Then go hunting by yourself!"
Without waiting for an answer, he turned his back, lay down again on the wet ground, and pulled the soaked blanket over his head.
Doug shrugged and said:
"Fine. Go back to sleep. Just be careful. The crows get really agitated this time of year."
It was possible to see Whitley's body stiffen beneath the blanket.
Then, very slowly, he lifted the blanket and sat up. His hair was still dripping with water, and his eyes were narrowed in irritation.
"I was actually getting hungry."
"I thought so."
.---.---.---.
Doug expected he'd have to teach the boy how to hunt, but when he tried to give him some advice, Whitley simply dismissed him with a wave of his hand, saying that he already knew how to hunt.
Doug doubted that at first, but Whitley explained that, ever since he was twelve, his shooting instructor had taken him hunting once a month at a private hunting reserve in Atlas.
So Doug decided to give him a chance.
At the moment, they were following the tracks of a rabbit.
Doug walked ahead, keeping his eyes open for any threats that might appear. Whitley followed closely behind, his rifle resting on his shoulder.
After a few minutes, the soft sound of running water reached their ears. A small spring emerged between the rocks, forming a clear pool in the middle of the clearing.
And there it was.
The rabbit drank peacefully, its ears standing upright, completely unaware of the two men.
Whitley didn't hesitate. He crouched down, placed one knee on the ground, and brought the rifle to his shoulder.
He calmly adjusted his iron sights and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The rabbit dropped instantly. Its death was quick and clean.
Doug approached, looked at the animal, and let out a low whistle, impressed.
"Wow. Nice shot, kid."
Whitley shrugged.
"Didn't want to make it suffer more than necessary."
The old hunter couldn't resist. He reached out with his large, heavy hand and ruffled Whitley's white hair while speaking in a teasing voice:
"Well, aren't you just the sweetest little boy?"
"Shut up! And don't squeeze my head! What if I get even shorter?!"
.---.---.---.
A few minutes later, the two were back at the camp. Doug pulled out a sharp knife and began explaining what Whitley was going to do.
"Take this knife. You're going to learn how to skin it. It's not difficult. You just have to be careful not to tear the meat."
Whitley stared at the knife with an expression of pure discomfort.
"Why would I need to learn this?"
"Was all that talk about traveling across Remnant a lie? Selling animal hides is a good way to make some quick money."
"It'll come in handy when you're in a tight spot."
"…"
Whitley remained silent for a few seconds, processing the answer. Then he let out a long sigh and took the knife.
"…Fine. But if I mess everything up, it's your fault."
Doug let out a low laugh.
"Then pay attention. First, you make a cut here…"
He pointed toward the base of the rabbit's legs and began explaining the process slowly. Whitley tried to follow his instructions.
'I'll teach him how to cook next,' Doug thought as he guided the boy's hand through the first cut.
.---.---.---.
The smell of cooked meat hung over the campsite. Whitley sat on the ground, visibly exhausted, his hands dirty and his hair a mess. He watched Doug expectantly.
Doug took a spoonful of the stew Whitley had prepared, chewed slowly… and made a strong grimace.
"Well, this tastes like shit."
"What?! Impossible! I did everything right! Let me taste it!"
Doug pulled the bowl away from Whitley.
"No. You only get to eat when you do it right. Now grab your rifle and let's do it all over again."
"AAAAHHHH!"
.---.---.---.
Hours later, Doug pointed toward a nearby stream.
"You stink of rabbit blood. Go take a bath, and while you're at it, wash our clothes!"
"AAAHHHH!"
Doug suddenly raised a hand, interrupting the drama.
"Wait. Better idea. I'll come with you. I'll take a bath too, and I'll teach you how to fish!"
Whitley stopped in the middle of his scream, staring at him with an expression of pure horror.
Then he screamed again!
"AAAHHHH!"
.---.---.---.
A day later, Doug handed Whitley a piece of wood.
"Today! You're going to learn how to make a fire."
"AAAHHHH!"
.---.---.---.
"Traps!"
"AAAHHHH!"
.---.---.---.
The next day, Doug woke Whitley with a light kick to the sole of his foot.
"Get up, sleepyhead. Today you're going to learn how to sew."
Whitley groaned, buried his face in the blanket, and muttered something unintelligible.
"What?" Doug leaned closer to hear him.
"THAT'S ENOUGH!"
Whitley suddenly sat up, his eyes still swollen with sleep.
"You never stop! Hunting, skinning, cooking, washing, making fires, setting traps. I can't stand hearing your voice anymore! You fucking bald old man!"
Doug raised his eyebrows, surprised by the outburst.
"Oh, so you want to stop learning?"
"Learning?! You're making me do your chores! I washed your fucking underwear!"
"Did you hear me?! Your underwear!"
"I thought you were a kind-hearted old man who wanted to help me, but you just wanted a servant!"
Doug pretended to look offended, placing a hand over his chest.
"I'm just teaching you valuable survival skills."
"A VALUABLE SKILL IS WASHING UNDERWEAR?!"
"Of course! You think your clothes wash themselves?" Doug shook his head in disappointment. "What a stupid kid. How did the children of today end up like this?"
Whitley opened his mouth to answer, but the words caught in his throat. He stood there, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with pure outrage.
"You fucking bald old man! You threw a bucket of water in my face, made me carry firewood, kill rabbits, fish, wash clothes—"
"And now you're going to learn how to sew," Doug interrupted.
"I'M NOT LEARNING HOW TO SEW!"
"Yes, you are."
"NO!"
"Yes."
Doug stopped halfway through his sentence. His eyes traveled up and down the boy, and he began scratching his chin thoughtfully.
"Hmmm…"
Whitley frowned suspiciously.
"What? What do you mean, 'hmmm'?"
"Hmmm…" Doug repeated, more slowly, as if savoring the idea. "So you want to stop doing these 'chores'?"
"OF COURSE I DO!"
Doug scratched his chin a few more times, narrowing his eyes.
"Then I have a proposition."
Whitley crossed his arms, still on guard.
"What proposition?"
"Every day, we fight." Doug dropped the information as casually as if he were talking about the weather. "Whoever loses does the chores. Whoever wins gets to eat and sleep."
Whitley laughed.
"And why would I agree to that? You're an experienced Huntsman. I'll never beat you! This is just a bullshit excuse to beat me up and give me even more work!"
Doug shrugged.
"Because then I won't send you back to Atlas."
Whitley froze.
Silence stretched between them, heavy with meaning.
"…What?"
Doug crossed his arms, his expression now serious.
"If you refuse, I'll take you back right now. Even if I have to drag you there by force."
Whitley remained silent.
"Great, then let's go back—"
Before Doug could say anything else, a fist was thrown toward his face.
"Fuck! That hurt!" Whitley groaned, shaking his hand.
Doug rubbed his chin where the punch had landed and looked at the boy with an amused expression.
"HAHAHA! You hurt yourself with your own punch. I guess I should've expected that. Okay, look. This is how you make a proper fist when punching."
Doug raised his own hand to demonstrate.
"You have to keep your thumb outside like this. If you tuck it inside, you'll hurt yourself."
"Oh, now I understa—"
The punch came far too quickly for Whitley to react.
A solid impact struck the side of his face. It wasn't strong enough to knock him down, but it was enough to make him stumble backward, his eyes wide with shock.
Whitley brought a hand to his face, completely outraged.
"Wait, wait! What about the countdown?!"
"Now you want a countdown?"
Doug raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.
"Real fights don't have that. I thought you understood that," he said as he approached.
Whitley took a step back, still with his hand on his face.
"At least tell me when the fight is going to end!"
"When one of our Auras breaks!"
Doug threw another punch at the same time.
Whitley ducked and instinctively closed his eyes. He managed to avoid the punch… but not the knee that came from below.
The impact struck his chest, making him stumble backward with a muffled cry.
His Aura flickered before returning to normal.
"Don't close your eyes in a fight!"
Whitley took a deep breath, his face red with anger and exertion. This time, he kept his eyes wide open and charged forward again with his fist raised.
Doug stepped to the side and grabbed his arm with both hands. He turned his back and pulled Whitley over his shoulder.
Whitley flew through the air and landed hard on his back, the impact making his Aura flicker in warning.
When he looked up, he saw Doug's foot coming down toward his head.
At the last second, he rolled to the side. Doug's foot struck the ground where his head had been a second earlier, kicking up a little dust.
Whitley quickly got back to his feet, breathing heavily. Without hesitation, he pulled a hunting knife from the sheath strapped to his leg. The blade gleamed under the sunlight.
Doug narrowed his eyes but didn't back down.
"So that's how we're doing this now?"
Whitley tightened his grip on the knife, determination filling his eyes.
"You have Aura and you're a Huntsman. You'll be fine."
He suddenly charged forward, the knife cutting through the air in a straight slash.
The bald Huntsman dodged backward. Doug planted his foot on top of the blade, pinning it to the ground with force. In the same motion, he jumped and delivered a powerful kick to the right side of Whitley's face.
Whitley was sent flying to the side, his body spinning through the air before crashing heavily onto the ground. His Aura flashed bright yellow from the impact.
Doug calmly pulled the knife out of the ground.
'He has to learn how to use knives.'
Before Doug could say anything about how terrible Whitley was at it, he was greeted by a barrage of bullets heading straight for his face.
Doug spun the knife through the air and used it to deflect the projectiles, the bullets ricocheting off the blade with sharp metallic sounds. His Aura glowed faintly upon impact.
He raised an eyebrow.
Whitley simply shrugged, still pointing the pistol at him.
Doug charged forward.
As he deflected two more shots with the blade, he closed the distance in just a few steps.
Doug pressed the blade against Whitley's chest. The knife never touched his skin, but the force of the strike made the boy's Aura violently flicker red.
Before Whitley could react, Doug pushed harder.
The boy's Aura trembled violently until it shattered with a sharp crack.
And Whitley fell backward onto the ground.
The old hunter raised the knife he was still holding and examined it with interest.
"That's a good knife. Where'd you get it?"
"…"
"Kid?"
Doug crouched beside the unconscious boy and lightly slapped his face twice.
"Damn, he passed out… Who's going to wash my clothes now?"
--------
Note: Do you guys want his hair to be long or short? My original plan was to make him look like Simo from Record of Ragnarok, with the only difference being his white hair.