Omake Week 2024, Day 7

And with this, another Omake Week comes to an end, featuring yet another of Balyn's jobs. He may not be the most expert Hunter in Yharnam's history, but he did manage to survive the Blood Moon and bring and end to the night of the Hunt, so he should be able to put those skills to good use!

~X X X~

"It's something that only the skills of a hunter can do."

Balyn patted the saw cleaver that hung, folded, at his belt, glad that he hadn't yet resorted to pawning it to pay down his medical debt owed to Iosefka's Clinic for the transfusion. (Really, hadn't Yharnam heard that health care was supposed to be a right owed to everyone?) Now, perhaps, that saw might even help earn him something while letting him keep it.

"In that case, I'm the perfect man for the job!"

The tall, pale clerk of the Yharnam Employment Agency regarded him for a long minute, her face so still she could have been mistaken for a life-sized doll. The thought sent a tremor of nervousness up Balyn's spine for some reason, like something out of a half-remembered dream.

"I find that extremely unlikely," she at last concluded, "but still, you do appear to be the best of a number of bad options, unless…" She glanced over towards several other job applicants, and watched as one of them fell over with a crash, probably after one too many blood cocktails taken to chase out the aftertaste of last night's dreams. "No, the job's yours." She handed over the commission page.

"If the job requires a hunter, it's got to be something serious. Wish me luck?"

"I always do. It's the only way that I might be able to close out the account without receiving customer complaints."

Balyn decided he was probably better off if he didn't think about that too hard.

The good news was that the job wasn't too far away, just a quick hop across the aqueduct bridge to Central Yharnam which took him right to the warehouse district. His client was waiting for him at the door, a lean, bearded man wearing a white shirt, mud-brown vest and trousers, and a battered, shapeless hat. He held a sickle-like boat hook in one hand and a clipboard stuffed over-full of ledger pages and manifests in the other.

"Finally! You're the hunter?"

"I am."

He squinted at Balyn, looking him up and down.

"Are you sure? You look more like a plague-ridden rat."

"Well, I am carrying a lot of extra throwing knives."

"Fair enough. I'm Isadore, but you've probably guessed that."

"I did." The sign reading "Isadore's Incense Inventory" had been a clue, as was the name on the job listing. As a hunter, Balyn was used to extracting vital information from these subtle environmental details. "What can I do for you? The listing only said that it was urgent and required the specific skills of a hunter."

Isadore bobbed his head up and down three times.

"That it is, that it is. Do you know what our business is? We make the finest pots in which to burn beast-repelling incense. You see our wares all over the city, with designs ranging from the most modern art to works inspired by the ancients. But I have a problem!"

"What's that?"

"At three o'clock this afternoon, two bales full of pressed incense blocks are going to arrive at this warehouse. Our night shift will break them down into powder form and fill two hundred urns to be shipped out at dawn."

"That sounds like a pretty tight schedule."

"And it is, but one we can stick to, just like we've done for forty years, Except!"

He threw open the warehouse door, and pointed to row after row of waist-high urns.

"Two hundred pots, and the idiot running the kilns left the hole for the wick out of the lids!"

"Isn't that kind of important?"

"You're darned right it's important! It's the smell of the smoke that repels the beasts; they don't run away from a jar of potpourri! We had to get a whole new order of pots ready to replace it! They're bringing them up from the pottery in…" He shoved the clipboard under his arm so he could fish a brass-cased pocket watch out of his vest pocket. His bloodshot eyes bulged in alarm. "Twenty-three minutes!"

"So what's the problem? Where do I come in?"

"Where is someone going to put two hundred incense urns with all these in the way?" Isadore exclaimed.

Balyn still didn't quite understand where he came in on this process.

"You need help moving them?"

"Moving them? Moving them!? There's nowhere to move them to. And they're complete junk anyway. No, I need every one of those pots smashed to dust, the way only a hunter could possibly do! So stop flapping your lips and get to rolling!"