A breeze blew through the hunter's dream, cooling the residents on an unusually sunny day.
It had taken quite a few amenities from yharnam, but the Hunter was finally able to bribe Gehrman to part the clouds and bathe the dream in sunlight. It was quite the odd juxtaposition, however, with the large moon sharing the sky with the sun. Exhausted from the task of changing the dream, Gehrman had taken a bowl of sedative soup and promptly fell asleep, his rest undisturbed by nightmares and muttering for once.
The Hunter rests against the trunk of the great tree, wearing Yamamura's clothes. He is quite fond of them, wearing them whenever he spends more than a moment in the dream. The hakama is soft and loose-fitting, the haori large and comfortable, leaving his arms bare.
The Doll sits nearby, her legs together on one side. She is wearing her Cainhurst dress; perhaps a bit grand for relaxing in the feild, but still cooler than her shawl. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, her bangs framing her gentle face.
The Hunter stares at her, entranced. Through her hair he can see her bare back, remarkably detailed. It looks no different from a back made of flesh and bone.
A quiet "quork," from a nearby crow draws the Hunters attention to the odd pair in the feild with them. Quork (for indeed that was her name, thoughtfully given by the Hunter) Had Adam (a name the Doll had taken to calling the lone messenger) upon her back, ambling around the field.
The Hunter looks up in thought. A name...
Neither he nor the Doll had one. He didn't much care; there were not very many people to talk to, and when there are only two sane people around, you know the other person is talking to you. The Doll would likely call him 'good hunter' regardless, and she was the only one he cared about.
She would never insist on a name, though. Subservient and humble as she was, she would care little about being callously referred to as 'Doll.' In fact the Hunter refused to call her such; it describes what she thinks she is. A mere doll. Equivalent to adressing a human as 'Human,' as if to say that they are not worthy of possessing any distinguishing features.
He shuffles over to her.
"Those two have become fast friends, have they not?" She asks, nodding towards Adam and Quork.
"I don't know..." the Hunter replies as the two slowly make their way across the field. "More like slow friends."
The Doll stares at him flatly. "I am but a Doll, and do not understand human attempts at humor," she says, looking away. Ouch. The Hunter had seen her laugh before. Though he knew she was lying, it didn't make her quip sting any less.
"I call them by name," the Hunter says. "But they cannot speak, so we chose one for them. What about you? Wouldn't you like a name?"
"It does not matte-"
"It does matter," the Hunter snaps. "It matters to me."
They sit in silence. "Then what shall it be?" She asks.
"Whatever you want."
"It matters not to me. You are the one who cares, so I shall have the name you choose for me."
"Rrrgh," the Hunter mutters. "Fine."
*
Having rested in the field for several hours, the small group begin to notice the sun dipping low iin the sky. It makes sense, the Hunter supposes. He would have no reason to bring Gehrman bribes if the weather behaved as it does in the waking world.
He stands up to gather firewood for a
cook-fire. "Leaving so soon?" The Doll asks, dismayed. She outstretches her hand, ready to say something, but quickly thinks better and says in a vitriolic tone, "Have fun in the waking world."
"Wait a minute. You... You were going to stop me from leaving, weren't you?!" The Hunter asks, a saccharine smile on his face. "You wanted me to stay that bad, huh?"
"I-I-I... Do not be foolish. I am here to aid hunters, n-not cling to them," she stammers.
"If you are truly here to aid me, then you would cling to me. Normally the only time someone clings to me is when they are about to bite through my shoulder. A change would be most welcome."
"...Whatever..." She mutters, seizing his arm and pulling him to sit next to her. The Hunter is shocked; for the normally stoic beauty to use such a colloquial and dismissive term! She must be incredibly unsettled.
The two sit in silence, arms pressing against each other. The Doll sits in a rather peturbed silence, unused to this peculiar feeling in her chest. After a while, the Hunter speaks.
"How about... Karina?"
"What?" The Doll asks.
"Your name. How about Karina?"
"Karina..." The Doll repeats, the ghost of a smile on her face. "Is this a name from your homeland?"
"Yes and no," the Hunter replies. "I don't remember where I'm from, but the Yharnam literature I have read says it is used in mant countries. In some, it means Beautiful. In others, it may mean pure, beloved, precious, or kind."
"And is this why you chose this name?" She asks, curious.
"I..." The Hunter pauses. "You still haven't answered. Do you like it?"
"If I am to like it, I must know why it was chosen."
He sighs. "Yes."
"Yes what?"
The Hunter growls. "Yes, that's why I chose it! I chose it because you're beautiful, pure, kind, and precious to me! Do you like it or not?!"
The Doll looks taken aback. "Yes," she says quietly. "Very much." Her voice breaks, and she presses her lips together hard to keep herself from crying in joy.
"Good hunter?"
"Yes?"
"May we skip supper?" She asks.
"I suppose so," the Hunter replies. "But why?"
She pulls him closer, pulling up the blanket they are sitting on and wrapping it around them both. "Because I want to stay like this," she says, her voice thick with emotion.
"Of course," the Hunter replies, pressing closer to her. He lowers his head, making sure she cannot see his lips, so that he may whisper four words. He does so, saying the fourth word aloud.
"-Karina."
Ever so slightly, she grows warmer.
