Ancient Gods Like Their Grog.

Feckin... Fe... *UURP!*

Fecking Silk.

Bitch.

Why'd she have to do that. Stupid kid.

We're a dying breed. Old spice and a new romantic.

It's a killing phrase, "I love you". Any kind of electricity between you just gets shot like lightning.

The storm of love.

Bullcrap. I can talk big, but it's just awkward tension. Dead air.

You don't know what to say to one another.

I'm not made for playing nice. I'm a man of action, not words.

I'm a hunter.

One of the old breed, the real old ones of this pissed isle.

But the upper classes saw to my trade becoming little more than sport.

The fox is alone, they dont even get a fighting chance, all they do is run.

That's why I try to even the odds.

Too easy to scare a horse. Even easier to kill a man.

How can she love me knowing what I do?

I mean, I have a certain... gruff charm, but that's just from exposure.

The people I deal with in this line of work.

Al, Britt... the goddamed dragon.

Britt's the worst. She's been an alcoholic since '88. And she didn't even admit that till then. She'd been going since the 70's. Fashionplate though, I'll give her that. Always with the times.

Al's... Al. The guy just oozes age. Doesn't look a day over 163. Can't argue with him though. He cares about what he does.

Theres Ben - anal retentive son of a bitch. Obsessed with time. It'll be the end of him.

Jock's a good sort. Scottish, but what can he do about it?

The dragon... Urrgh. As a species, they're bad enough - but that accent? Makes it worse to listen to.

We're all of the old caste. Barely see each other now...

Need to make arrangements soon.

Can't stop thinking about Silk.

Nice gal. Too nice for me.

Silk and Herne. Kinda fits... But I'd rather not hurt her.

Go knows I don't want to. But I'd end up doing so.

I'm a hunter. All we can do is kill.