Omake Week 2017, Day 1: This year, Omake Week will be dominated by Bloodborne, with days 1, 3, 5, and 7 being "Even an Omake..." segments. Pack your Sedatives, because that's a lot of puns in one week.
~X X X~
Balyn squinted at his companion. She seemed to be a little out of focus, her outlines a little fuzzy. He didn't think that was supposed to be how it was. Maybe something was going wrong in his head? Ever since he'd arrived in Yharnam, that more or less seemed to be the case. Up was down. Dreams were waking. People were beasts and dolls were people.
Definitely something wrong, he decided.
Well, Yharnam was the home of advanced healing techniques, blood ministration and all that, so they ought to have medicine to fix a foggy brain.
"An' I've gotta bottle of some of the finest right here!" he said. Balyn tugged down his mask, lifted the neck of the bottle to his lips, and took a swallow. The pungent flavor hit him like a runaway carriage, redolent of spices and the hot, thick scent of primal passions.
Passions.
The empty flask slipped from his hand to join the eight or so others he and his drinking companion had gone through. The blood pounded in his veins, or maybe his belly. Was she feeling it too, the flush of heat, the almost bestial energy surging for release?
He wasn't used to women who were taller than he was, but hey, if ladies could get a crick in their necks looking up at him, it was fair for it to be the other way around once in a while, right? And the moment felt right! Every instinct told him so!
Balyn leaned in, tilting his head up, and, though his aim was a little off, managed to press a warm, passionate kiss mostly onto her open lips.
"RROAWRR!"
He was barely sober enough to process that this reaction meant she found his conduct objectionable, a moment before she expounded further on the concept with a sweep of her claws that tore off the front half of his skull.
~X X X~
The Doll was glaring at Balyn in disapproval when he woke up in the Hunter's Dream. He wasn't sure quite how he knew that, given that her porcelain face bore the same placid, fixed expression as it always did, but he could feel the weight of her displeasure.
"Look, it was really Djura's fault!" he protested at once. Passing the blame to absent friends was a tradition men had followed since far older times than Pthumerian days. "He kept going on and on about how the beasts of Old Yharnam were really people and no threat to anyone in the city above and how I should spare their lives. So when I got to that ruined church I figured, well, I was only there for that chalice Gehrman mentioned. And she seemed like she was kinda blood-starved, and I had this sack full of cocktails I wasn't using, so I tossed her a couple. And it seemed to work! I mean, she was totally focused on them, not me at all, and then I figured that it seemed kind of rude to stand around watching someone drink alone…"
He hadn't realized that dolls could sigh.
~X X X~
A/N: Readers whose minds have not been too frenzied by the eldritch puns will recall that Balyn celebrated defeating the BSB on his first attempt back in Chapter 12. I think we can assume that this didn't really count as an attempt at a fight. Or that he was trying very hard to blot his embarrassment out of his mind. (Or, although it might be a little too meta, we can always fall back on NG+ as a solution.)