Time rarely advances on the night of the hunt. The Paleblood moon was emboldening to the blood of the Great Ones, as evidenced by the beastly scourge.
The space around the great ones warps Yharnam itself, making the hunt near unending. For the first time, the Hunter is thankful for it.
The past month has been pure bliss. Now with someone to love, he is spurred on, whipping through beasts like a tornado. He has come to enjoy the hunt; thanks to the Doll, he has a new outlook. Even death was no longer a curse; upon being struck down, he would awaken in the dream to be comforted by his own personal angel. He would then race off to face his foe once more, never failing to cut through them.
Her love could even quell the pull of beasthood. The Hunter could use beast blood pellets and copious amounts of blood vials without feeling a hint of temptation to let himself go.
Truly, her love was an incredible thing.
As the Hunter had moved through the land, he began to collect more and more items fron the ruins. Chairs, books, lumber, clothes, all taken back to the dream. It was beginning to look like a luxurious lord's home, with a wooden platform at the bottom of the hill of the great tree, looking out into the distance. Quork and Adam each had a small dwelling of their own, built by the Hunter and ornately painted and sculpted by the Doll. For the lovers themselves, the Hunter had constructed a small room behind the Caryll rune altar, silk and satin sheets tossed over mounds and mounds of pillows to make a heavenly bed.
Even Gherman enjoyed new accommodations; The Hunter had built an awning at his favorite napping spot. During the hunt the Hunter had collected a boundless supply of sedatives for him as well, so the retired old hunter was happy to change the weather every day.
At first, the Hunter had been uncomfortable supplying him with so much, but the Doll assured him no harm would come to Gherman, being the ethereal source of the dream. This made the couple happy; Gherman's mood improved substantially. Now that he could sleep peacefully and gain a reprieve, his waking hours were much happier. He would laugh and sing over supper, crooning wonderful ballads for the couple. The Hunter had even taken to calling him 'Old Mossback,' a popular term for elders when he was a boy.
Gherman even let out a hearty laugh upon hearing it for the first time.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Hunter sits down and wipes his brow, currently working on a large scale messenger bath, set in the ground in the field of the great tree. He has faint wisps of memory of the warm summers of his childhood, and how delightful it was to soak in a pond or a lake. He wants to share that joy with his little family.
"Lazing about so soon, my love?"
The Doll's voice emnates from behind the Hunter. "How I could yearn so for such a sloth of a man, I shall never know."
The Hunter smiles at her teasing. "You could help, you know."
She presses her fingertips above her chest in mock suprise. "Heavens, no! I am but a fragile lady, not fit for labor requiring strong and manly muscles such as yours," She says sultrily. The Hunter's heartbeat quickens.
"Oh please," he grumbles. "We both know you could toss me into the clouds with one hand, if you wished." She ignores him, pouring herself a glass of wine from the cabinets on the overlook, another addition by the Hunter. She sits down on a lounge chair, calmly observing the Hunter while she swirls the wine and takes a sip.
"Well?" She says. "Remove your habit!"
The Hunter's jaw drops. While the Doll is becoming more outspoken and comfortable expressing herself, this is quite the leap. For her to so easily express such a desire shows she has come far.
"M-my habit?" The Hunter stammers, still not believing his ears.
"Yes," she says impatiently. "Starting with your habit of resisting me. Then the one you wear." The Hunter gulps, blushing furiously as he removes his shirt, not daring to disobey. The Doll watches, hand resting on her palm as she swirls her wine.
The Hunter goes back to digging, toiling away under the gentle sun while his lover surveys him.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Tell me, good Hunter."
"Hm?" The Hunter looks up from his dinner of pork and calamari. An odd combination, to be sure, but one must take advantage of the food that presents itself during the hunt. "What is it?"
"What is your favorite color?" She asks, tilting her head.
"What's yours?"
"I asked you first."
"Ladies first."
The Doll growls, not ready to back down.
"You will tell me," she snarls.
"Yes. After you tell me."
"No."
"Yes."
"No!"
"Yes!"
"NO!"
"YES!"
They both sit back, panting, neither stubborn lover willing to back down.
"Very well. I have been meaning to test your mettle. Let us see if you are a good hunter, good Hunter. Let us Duel!" The Doll cries. The Hunter gasps. "Karina, you know I could never fight yo-"
A segmented hand appears at his chest, hitting it and sending him hurtling through the workshop doorway. The Hunter rolls, once, twice, before skidding to a halt on his feet, his right hand trailing in the dirt. The Doll sashays through the doors, wielding a threaded cane in her left hand and a church pick in her right.
Her hair sways in the breeze, uninhibited. She had forgone her usual garb, opting instead for her corset without her trademark shawl. She wears long, elbow length gloves, thin and flexible. Her Yharnam hunter boots, polished to a mirror sheen, clack across the stone.
It is now that the Hunter has a sudden realization. The Doll has been here from the beginning. She has had decades or more to train and gain proficiency with the weapons of the workshop if she so wished. But no, that is impossible. She is not the sort to do such a thing.
The Doll tosses the church pick into the air, extending as it twirls. With a flick of her wrist, the threaded cane splits into a whip, and she sends it flying to wrap around the pick. With a mighty heave, she smashes it down where it leaves a small crater in the brick. She walks sultrily towards the pick, hefting it as if it is a mere toy.
The Hunter's jaw drops. "Oh, bollocks."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Two minutes in and the Hunter could already tell he was in for the fight of his life. He dodges to the left as an untransformed church pick flies past him, burying itself in the great tree.
"Come now," the Doll chides. "How do you plan on winning if you only run away and show that delectable bottom of yours?"
The Hunter blushes, then quickly shakes his head and concentrates on the fight. She was doing this on purpose; trying to embarrass him to draw his attention away from the fight. He had a funny feeling that her outfit was formulated to do the same. Not that he was complaining.
The Hunter jumps as the Doll yanks her chain, sending her church pick flying past the airborne Hunter and into her hand. The Hunter lands, and quick as a flash she darts forward to pinch his bottom. The Hunter squeeks, jumping back.
"Wha- Karina!!!"
She giggles, twirling her pick around lazily.
"Better stay focused, darling," she coos sweetly. "Or you'll die."
A.N. It seems the Doll is becoming more and more human-like...Especially when it comes to her libido. I feel bad for the poor Hunter; he has his work cut out for him.
