The Hunter stands, awakening in front of the gravestone. His coat is spattered with gore, the dirt and bile dripping onto the cobblestone. Despite the injuries he suffers, though, the clothes often hold up unusually well, never needing more than a few stitches. This time however, he might have well been wearing bits of gauze.

The lone messenger at the grave wrinkles the space where it's nose would be, covering it with his new hood.

"Welcome home, goo..." The Doll begins, stopping and covering her nose with her shawl. "Good Hunter... Perhaps you might wash with sewage to dampen your odor?"

The Hunter blushes, his head sinking down between his shoulders. "I removed most of it with a beast roar," He mumbles.

"And how many times must I tell you that hunter tools are not meant for laundering? A perfectly good overcoat lies in ashes because you thought fire paper might dry it faster," she huffs. The hunter replies quietly.

"Fire paper isn't a hunter too-" before he can finish, the Doll seizes his ear and twists it, sharply. "Ow Ow Ow, please!" The Hunter squeaks. Standing more than a head taller than the Hunter, the Doll cuts an imposing figure. Combine that with her plentiful and baffling strength, the Hunter can't help but be intimidated. She herself would make a fearsome fighter, as her physical strength is leagues beyond the Hunter's.

"And why must you traipse about in these rags? Do you not have other garments?" She crosses her arms, waiting for an answer.

"I don't, actually. I died at the hands of another hunter, who took them, remember?" The Hunter replies.

"And you have not yet retrieved them?"

"No..." The Hunter shrinks into himself, upset at the lack of the usual affection he receives upon his return. When one spends so much time among beasts, a thorough spoiling from a lofty, loving madam was necessary.

The Doll sighs. "So you have no spare garments to don while I repair your outfit?" The Hunter shakes his head. "Very well," the Doll sighs once more and heads towards the large coffin used for storage. She kneels down and starts rummaging through it. Curious, the Hunter peers over her shoulder.

What he sees sends him sprinting towards the nearest gravestone.

"Hurkhhh!" The Doll grasps his collar, prepared for the Hunter's escape attempt.

"No!" The Hunter cries. "I'll get my clothes back! I swear!"

The Doll ignores his pleas, smiling wickedly as she descends upon him.

*

The Hunter sits on the floor, freshly scrubbed and clad in a long black skirt, corset, and shawl, à la Doll. Truly, which of them was really the doll?

"Why, good Hunter!" The Doll coos. "I never knew you had such a marvelous fashion sense!"

The lone Messenger snickers, and the Hunter shoots him a warning look.

"Don't you just look delectable!" The Doll leans forward, planting a kiss upon the Hunter's brow. He jumps at the unexpected contact, a pleasurable shiver running down his spine.

And somewhere, deep down, the Hunter can't help but think the humiliation was worth it.