Disclaimer: Klonoa and related characters are copyrighted to Namco. Solitary Shadow does not own them. Oh yes, she would love to, but she is not some business person running Namco and laughing at the profits, so she can't ever own them.
Author's Note: Now for a something tad gothic and different. Yes, it's still demented pairing fic, but it's a change.
See, there was this thing that gave me inspiration. And it wouldn't leave my mind. It's a very simple idea, but unique in its own matter. I ain't going to say that this is the most unique idea ever produced, or that this has never been done before. But it sure makes you think.
Have a guess at what the material of my inspiration was.
Look at him - so innocent, bright and sweet. At first anyone would fall for his charm and bright eyes that mirror everything he sees. Anyone would think he was just an innocent young child, curious and alert, playing happily under the sky.
But when you get close it's different.
It's surprising how much a person can change in a mere decade.
It's so easy to forget who he is when he's relaxed, lying on the grassy field, sometimes whistling a tune or napping. He looks just like a young, bright man who's excited to begin a new adventure, who's ready to face the world with optimism.
So easy to envision the ordinary youth when he quietly thanks you for a glass of wine, or a book, or something small and heartfelt like that.
But when you get closer the acrid scent of gunpowder and the slight tang of weaponary polish kills that facade off pretty quickly, does it not? The seemingly ordinary youth suddenly becomes alien to you, someone dangerous, someone horrid. So what do you do? You buy him a small perfume or cologne to mask the smell of gunpowder around him, and pretend for a little longer. It's easier that way. After all, Breezegale is a lovely place full of peace, and he's gentle around you. It's no time to be thinking of who he is, or of work, or of evil.
But it can only last for so long.
Strange, isn't it? You don't know how quickly the scent of perfume will fade. Strange to think that in a few seconds, the teenager next to you could become a dangerous homicidal maniac with knowledge of how to kill you in hundreds of different ways. His fingers that twirl a pen elegantly when writing can form themselves into a rigid position, just right to hold a gun. His eyes, that now shine brightly with love and life, can suddenly change into cold pieces of sapphire with no emotion. His arms can hold you gently right now, engaged in a loving caress, but they can crush another just as easily.
His lips which are, at the moment, gentle and soft to kiss, can be host to words that could destroy you.
It's all so different at night, when the lingering burnt smell of gunpowder's been washed away and you can lie close to him without being constantly reminded of who he is.
He will occasonally tell you what's going on in his life. He has a diary he keeps regularly, you know that, but you never know what he actually puts in there. The usual ramblings and losses of a perfectly normal teenager? But that's almost impossible - he isn't normal, not in that way. The deep thoughtful entries of a phillosopher? Likely, as he thinks a lot in his spare time.
Or does he not bother writing down his personal, trivial matters in the diary, and instead write down people he kills? Does he make a list of all the weaponary he has, how he killed them, and how much money he's looted?
It's almost insane and unbelievable, how someone so young can kill so efficiently and quickly. You can still remember the panicked screams of women, the looks of disbelief on the targets' faces when they find out that their killer is a mere youth, not even in his twenties.
Sometimes it's oddly twisted and funny.
But most times, you being the innocent young cabbit you are, you mostly just feel sick.
So there you go. That's what you have for a lover. A monster, nightmare... everything people fear. Aren't you the best lover ever? You don't make any attempts to change him, do you? Suppose it's not your fault, though - as he's too proud and stubborn to change.
It's whimsical, almost, to see how little power you have but how much power you have over him at the same time. He wouldn't spit on someone if they were on fire, but he'd die for you. If you are in danger he'll risk his own life.
That's love.
You aren't going to get out of it.
God-damn, he trusts you and loves you too much.
But if you decided to wash your hands clean of this particular youth, will he snap and massacre this village before killing himself? Or will he just do himself in out of grief? Or will he just kill you instead? Fun, isn't it, bargaining with the devillish future?
You love him.
But be honest; wouldn't you prefer the second scenario if things ever got that bad?
He isn't a tool, damnit; he's a person. But a person who doesn't act like one.
You shouldn't have, but you've gotten attached to this young man and you fell in love with him. You would do anything to protect him and give him what he desires and deserves; a normal happy life. But that's impossible, so you can only watch over him, fulfilling your role as a lover and dear friend. You can only protect him for so long.
But one day, death will come and haunt you, whether in form of disease, age or your lover.
Ah, the perfume is sweet, of course.
But nothing can fully mask the scent of blood.
The first short intro is supposed to be from Butz's POV. Butz is all-knowing when it comes to his son.
The rest, of course, is directly addressed to Klonoa.
You might have figured out the inspiration for my story. Not yet? It was made into a German film that grossed a fair amount of money in 2006.
Still no? Very well - it was the novel Perfume by Patrick Suskind. I read it about a few days ago and this idea came into my head that just wouldn't leave. The idea that something as simple as scent could define a person - that intrigued me. Guntz uses firearms often, so naturally there would be the scent of ashes and gunpowder all around him.
Personally, on a side-related note, I think Klonoa has a bubblegum scent. Don't ask why. I really don't know.