Old Nightmares

[just_a_doll]

PSL for hunter_marked_soul


[ Being the product of a lonely old Hunter's obsession and eventual mania paired her with the memories of her likeness. Memories of someone who looks like her; sounds like her, but who's personality is far removed from her own. Even when she felt the proverbial shackles release, the dreams remained; and when she followed the Good Hunter into the waking world, she felt closer to them than ever.

Everything became more vivid, when before, there were only brief flashes and muffled voiced. The blood had stronger scent, a stronger taste; it was intoxicating and empowering. The blade in her hand felt heavy, real and the screams felt close. Too close. She could feel the splash of blood against her cheek, the slimy chunks of skin and viscera that stained her coat sleeves up to her elbows after prying open something hard. Bone, perhaps? Yes, it must have been. And she had been searching for something...

Something to help her see… No, no. To elevate her mind. Eyes to provide insight. But she had yet to find any in all of the slaughter.

The scent of salt and brine is suffocating; the ocean must be close… She sees the face of a pale creature; she can smell her blood and feel her skin. It’s unnatural, scaled and slimy. She holds something in her hands that is so coated in blood that she can’t discern what it is. Somewhere far away, in the background, the distinct sound of weeping can be heard and over it all, a voice calls out in desperation:

Curse the fiends, their children, too... And their children's children, forever, true.

The remorse weights heavily on her chest, the salt and brine makes her nauseous and as the bloodlust fades, and she looks out at the massacre before her, a tear slips down her cheek.

Suddenly, the Doll’s eyes shoot open and a breath catches so abruptly in her throat, it makes her cough. She sits up when she finds that lying flat only makes her feel severely winded, lifting a hand to grasp the fabric of her nightgown at her chest until she can finally breathe again. Once she can breathe again, she lifts her other hand to her face, finding it to be streaked with tears.

The nightmares are getting so much worse and giving her far too much insight into a life she'd never lived, but… what can she do when she is connected to someone and their memories even in death? Therein lies the question of how to move on; how to separate herself from this guilt-ridden Hunter. It's far too late to think too deeply on it, for even as she is a doll, she feels the effects of exhaustion and benefits from a good night's rest.

Unfortunately, she already knows that sleep will not come so easily, now. Sighing softly, she wipes the tears from her face with the end of her sleeve and reluctantly slips out of bed. To the kitchen, then. A cup of tea would help. Food and drink weren’t required for her survival, but… the smell and the warmth had a way of calming her.

She doesn't think about whether or not Nathaniel is awake, but even if she did consider it, well... modesty is something she is still learning. She is only garbed in her night gown; her nightgown that has a wide neck and tends to maintain a constant state of being off one shoulder, revealing the old ball joint and small scattered cracks in her porcelain arm. At least the sleeves are long and wide, and the general length of the garb falls just above her ankles. ]

Comments

I hope this works!

[hunter_marked_soul]

[Where they had emerged, in the Waking World, the Hunter--Nathanial--had no idea. Nor was he entirely sure what had called him, or the doll. His mind had been rapidly readjusting and trying to recall being in this...form. This shape. Human. Or at least human-shaped and imprisoned? A shell.

Memories were missing and spotty; he was having trouble recalling details of his life before. Before being a Hunter. Before the Dream. His name had taken the longest so far to recall, when he had been "Good Hunter" from his only companion for who knew how long? Or called far worse, among those in the other area of the Waking World. But he thought he remembered enough. To at least blend, somewhat, among the others.

Except that he and the Doll stood out in this new part of the Waking World they found themselves in. Their clothes, their hair color, it was a curiosity. Polite curiosity for the most part, but a curiosity nonetheless. This area was different in scents, sounds, people--they were for the most part dark-haired and dark eyed. Shorter too, with flowing garments wrapped around them at times as opposed to what had been in Yharnam.

In all, he was vaguely reminded of another Hunter--one gone mad in his ramblings, who had worn similar garb. Had been from the Far East... Were they now, in the Far East as well?

The houses did not match the style he had seen in Yharnam too, all structures of wood and thick paper with occasional metal use and work. Few structures taller than two stories to a building, and the town seemed flat and all of a level compared to Yharnam as well. Would it too prove to be built upon another city's ruins?

While the prevalent styles had seemed to be foreign to them both, there was also a mix of that which was more familiar to them. A blending, as this town seemed to have been invaded. No, not invaded--not quite. Opened--and forced to start becoming less isolated.

It was odd, but he was here to do a job. The Doll was here because she had wanted to be. To see the Waking World. Whatever Gerhman had considered her or made her to be, to him--she was friend. Companion. Care-taker and helper and much more than just a Doll. Even having met whom the First Hunter had modeled her on, Nathanial--the Good Hunter--could not see the Doll only as an echo. Their natures were different and roles as well. The similarities he found were superficial at best, and so the Doll was her own, to his way of thinking.

The houses here were strange, and it was difficult to move quietly through the wood and paper frame and floors. There were odd customs. The kitchen found on a slightly lower floor, with an iron stove and kettle hung above that. A crude sink and counters, a door off to a small fenced in yard. The beds were large mats on the floor, and the space was cramped in a different way than the pair were used to.

It did not make for easy sleeping, even if he did not have the nightmares of another living in his mind. Or at least, not in the same way as she did. But he did sleep, the human shell and form needing it, needing rest and care and nourishment of food and drink. Blood was not as plentiful here, nor blood ministry--if it was, it was whispered in dark alleys and secrecy. Taboo according to the belief system, though monsters they believed in readily.

The sound of the doll's movement had golden-brown-eyes cracking open. Still, on the fluffy-sleep mat in the other room, as the good Hunter slept lightly. Weapons nearby, though he slept with the smaller weapons belt on just in case. Armor, light though it was, nearby as well but he wasn't unclothed either. Without the heavy coat and mantle, the gauntlets and boots, the hat and concealing scarf. Comfortable, but ready and wary. That moment to assess and confirm their location and surroundings.

A second to re-orient and center himself. The waking world. Not the Dream.

Then he was up on his feet, moving to find the source of the noise. Yes, it was probably the doll--but why she would be up and about he did not know. She was still a mystery to him in so many ways. Quiet steps though, as much as he could over the wooden floors and through paper and wood framed doors. Soft, light, ready to move as needed. The hand-lantern at his belt, lit to provide some light as shadows played down the halls and along paper screens.]

[just_a_doll]

[ For the Doll, the only building she had ever really seen and grown used to was the workshop of which was large and towering and made of strong, sturdy stone. She never would have guessed that homes could be made of such delicate paper and wood. There's definitely a sort of charm to them; a sort of beauty to the way the town was laid out.

The real problem lies in just how much she has to lean down to get through doorways and even traverse rooms to accommodate her height of nearly seven feet. The lovely wife of the scholar that loaned them this domicile had laughed softly at her troubles, speaking in a language she didn't understand. Even still, the Doll found her endearing and beautiful. Very kind when she and Nathanial were very lost.

Making tea took a bit of time, and the Doll found herself a place to sit as the kettle heated over the fire. She hears Nathanial coming long before she can see the light through the thin paper screen. She doesn't raise her voice much more when she speaks in his direction: ]

Did I wake you, Good Hunter?

[hunter_marked_soul]

[These buildings, this town, was unusual to Nathanial too. Nothing in his memories, either those of the Hunt and Dream and Longest Night, or before. Though precious few of those from before had come to him. A life he'd left behind, in more ways than one.

He was not surprised to find she had sensed him. He had not yet learned how to sneak on these floors, nor was he necessarily trying to. Quiet yes, but not in a way that he would be were he preparing for a sneak attack or to get by something without being detected. The softest of breaths in amusement, with her voice and words. Waiting until he had come closer to keep his voice as soft.]

I sleep lightly, especially in unfamiliar places. This being more unfamiliar than many.

[The only light provided was the stove-fire and the hand-lantern at his waist. A moment to adjust, before he coughed slightly. Averting his eyes. She was not flesh, but she was still a woman. A being, to him. Thus deserving of courtesy, since she hadn't worn a robe over her nightclothes. Looking away from her, as he stepped into the kitchen more fully.]

Nightmares...memories, still?

[just_a_doll]

[ The Doll tilts her head at his sudden embarrassment, taking a moment to look around herself to see what might be causing it. When there’s nothing visible that she can see, she returns her gaze to him, visibly confused. ]

Ah, yes… Unfortunately.

[ It’s subtle, but she frowns. ]

What troubles you?

[hunter_marked_soul]

Besides the fact that you're experiencing memories-and nightmares related to them-that don't belong to you?

[The words had no bite, with the soft way he'd spoken. And even though his gaze was averted, he could just barely hear the frown in her words. The Doll was still a mystery to him in so very many ways, but somethings he had learned. He'd always been observant, and it had helped greatly during the Longest Night as well.]

You're hardly dressed.

[just_a_doll]

[ The Doll glances down at herself, the confusion in her expression only fading marginally. She's clothed. A gown is clothing, is it not? Humming softly, she does tug up on the fabric of her sleeve, pulling it back over her exposed shoulder. ]

Forgive me, but... Is this not considered suitable clothing?

[hunter_marked_soul]

There is no need for forgiveness here, you haven't done anything wrong.

[Again, it could've had bite to it but for how softly it was spoken. A brief glance after the soft whisper of sound that was cloth moving and then he turned more fully to her.]

A robe would usually be paired along with a nightdress, if my memories are correct.

[A hint of a smile, just at the corners. Memories from his life before... Before even his first transformation, never mind the second. They were precious and few enough in many ways.]

What memories...what nightmare this time?

[Because that was the most important thing to focus on truly. Her, and the reason she was disturbed. That she was still figuring so many things out and learning. Nathanial was not particularly a skilled or suited guide, but he could listen. Attempt to provide the care and companionship she had always provided to him and who know how many other Hunters before him.]

[just_a_doll]

Ahh, I see. I will remember it from this night on.

[ And, in the meantime, try to keep the collar of her gown up over her shoulders, since he seems more willing to look her direction, now.

Before she can ask much more about customs regarding dress, the subject is redirection to her nightmares. Tonight's nightmares, in particular, have shaken her a lot more than the previous ones. ]

They're the same, but... more lucid. I felt everything from the steel of the sword to the blood soaking into my clothes. There were beings... who looked like neither man or Beast. Beings with fins and gills and scales. While they were greater in number than me and my comrades, they were easily overpowered. Their movements were clumsy and sluggish.

[ She closes her eyes, one of her hands gripping the other a little tighter in her lap. The emotions lingered on longer: The horror, the edges of blood drunkenness, the guilt. ]

We ravaged their bodies and cracked open their skulls, in search of eyes and when we found none, we moved onward, killing every being in our path. Finally, we came across a secluded beach on the furthest outlet of a cave. There, we encountered the deceased goddess of the villagers and stole her infant from her womb.

[hunter_marked_soul]

[Considering that feeling such strong and new emotions was unfamiliar to her as far as Nathanial knew, then no wonder it was distressing. Not that she didn't have feelings--again, she was a being. A person, and had shown herself capable of emotion and feeling before though however limited because she had never left the Dream.

He had seen a 'counterpart' of her in the Waking World, in the abandoned old workshop. Lifeless, inanimate. Although there were moments when studying that doll that Nathanial had thought her index finger would twitch. Perhaps it had just been the madness within him making him see things.

The Doll within the Hunter's Dream however had ever seemed alive after a long sleep once he'd gained that first spark of madness and insight. She had changed and reacted as well to things happening in the Waking World, or the greater dream and nightmare... Perhaps all they really had seen was but a dream within a dream. He thought he'd read that somewhere in his old life perhaps.

Certainly he knew of what she spoke; had met Lady Maria and encountered the Hamlet. The deceased Kos and her orphaned child. Or a memory of them perhaps, though solid enough and real enough to interact with and fight and tie themselves to reality. It had been more than enough to be upsetting when he had dealt with--and the Doll had first hand memories from someone who was not her.

Soft steps and a few strides brought him over to where she was, Nathanial folding himself down to sit beside her. Close enough for comfort but not to intrude unduly. Turning off the hand lantern at his waist and stretching long legs out in front of him.]

The subjects are troubling enough on their own, but what in particular bothers you about them so much? Because they are not your own, or is there some other aspect that causes you such distress?

[He'd spoken after a moment or two of thought and kept his voice soft. Listening and attempting to understand. If nothing else he could provide company, though he hoped to help as well.]

[just_a_doll]

[ The Doll's tension slowly begins to ease after Nathanial takes a seat beside her. She opens her eyes and watches the fire, listening to the simmering water in the kettle; it relieves her mind of the things she has just relayed.

His question is given some thought, her brow furrowing as she tries to pinpoint what causes her the most distress. ]

When the nightmare fades, I am left with a heaviness that lingers on for days... A darkness shrouds my mind; ensnares it. It is a melancholy that I have never known, a wound that is deep and bleeding.

[ She sighs. ]

Guilt, perhaps...

[hunter_marked_soul]

[Again, that Nathanial had met Lady Maria meant that he somewhat understood. He himself had not done these deeds, but the Nightmare had remained and he had witnessed the results. Fought to slay it no less and thus end it. For a moment he wondered idly if other Hunters before him had ever made it so far as the Clock Tower, the Hamlet. How many had been slain, over and over and over, if any?

Thoughts for another time, as now was to focus and help his companion.]

Is it because of the weight and strength of the emotion, or that it is so new, that it lingers with you? Because again--they are not your own.

[That, to him, was in some ways the important part. They may be part of her it was true. Certainly he had the blood echoes of who knew how many others running in his veins. And with those echoes, countless micro memories and experiences, though none so strong as to trouble him as he was.

But it was one thing to have another's memories be apart of you, and another to recognize still that they were not your own. Acknowledge them, learn from them, but do not take any pain nor grief nor joy nor much from them as your own experiences. They were echoes...]

You are not the one who did such things. You are your own being.

[Quiet for another moment, while he thought of how to craft the words he wanted.]

Gherman may've created you in Lady Maria's likeness, and I can not say how he did nor why you are alive in the Waking World now. I have seen your counterpart, not Lady Maria, in the Abandoned Workshop which the Dream reflects. It was inanimate, a thing, and lifeless.

[Though again, its fingers had twitched as he'd examined it... Madness perhaps, or part of the Nightmare that had lain over Yharnam and kept them all trapped within that longest night. The Hunter couldn't say which; perhaps it was both or perhaps neither and something else was at work.]

But you are alive within the Waking World. You exist, and are yourself. Echoes of Lady Maria's memories and life you may have, just as I have countless echoes of various lives of hunters and more within my veins too. So...

[Turning his head towards her, pale golden brown eyes studying her own pale eyes.]

Recognize them, acknowledge the memories and emotions. But try to not let them trouble you so greatly. Whatever connection you may have had to Lady Maria, or still have, you are your own being. I view you as your own being, for what it may be worth.

[just_a_doll]

[ She smiles; it's a subtle thing, as every expression she ever conveys typically is. ]

Thank you. Because of you, I have been able to accept my sense of self.

[ His encouragement aimed at helping her find her own sense of identity is not new in concept, and she appreciates how steadfast he has been in his efforts. Waking up one night to find herself existing was as curious as it was troubling, her only knowledge being that of love for her creator and then love for the Hunters. Love that she barely understood; love that she was only now beginning to understand. ]

... I feel that it may be weight and strength of these emotions. Even when I am well aware that they are not my own, they are still so very real... She felt them often; every waking moment and, for far too long, death would not grant her relief.

[hunter_marked_soul]

[She had been always been a 'being' to him. Her own being, well before he'd met the Old Hunter she had been modeled after. It had been a shock, in the Waking World (or was it the Longest Night?) in the Abandoned Old Workshop to find a version of her there, lifeless. As she had been before he'd gained that small spark of madness or insight into that which was so much more. He had not flinched then, though it saddened him. Meeting Lady Maria however, had made him flinch. Countless horrors he'd faced and slain, and it was the visage of one so familiar yet so foreign to him, that had made him flinch.

The Doll however, had always been her own being, her own self to him. They were both free of the Dream now, no longer tied there for existence although it still existed because they wished it to perhaps. An anchor for them, tied at points to the Waking World; but their own world and realm. His own sense of self had shifted in a far greater way than it had after his first transformation (or was it transcendence?) with that first transfusion and contract. The Hunter--Nathanial--felt he could do no less for his most stalwart companion--THE most stalwart companion to countless Hunters before him--than to encourage her to be herself. Whomever she might choose to be.

So he shook his head, not to invalidate her thanks but in an attempt to convey that they were unneeded. She had no need to thank him, as this was something he could do for her. To return the care and guidance she'd given to him and so many more. Companions in strangeness, attempting to find their way anew.

Letting her speak, and listening attentively. Quiet after her last words, while he organized his thoughts. Attempting to make sense of the inscrutable, and to share it coherently.]

She was, for far too long, not dead--as in that state of existence when a being is no longer animate, sentient, or conscious. Like others, she was trapped in a Nightmare--perhaps one of her own making in its way, but not her own.

[That sort of made sense to him. Layers and layers of reality. All that seemed or was seen, was but a dream within a dream. Turning his gaze to the fire at the stove, thinking carefully.]

You felt a liberation from heavy shackles--that something within you had shifted. Once Lady Maria was freed. Gehrman slept peacefully, once the Nightmare was truly slain. I will not claim to understand it all, for it is madness.

[A wry smile found itself blooming, as he stared into the fire.]

Perhaps it's simply that you are not used to feeling things so intensely. Furthermore, they are new sensations to you. These factors alone would be enough to cause distress even without the content of the memories.

[just_a_doll]

[ The Doll watches him intently, taking in his words. Soon after, the water has come to a rolling boil and she gets up to retrieve the kettle, carefully lifting it off of it's hook. Still very much getting used to even the simplest of tasks, she's even more cautious when she pours the water into the cup, still managing to splash a bit outside of it.

Sigh. Well, at least that was better than the time before. She carefully sets the kettle down on the metal gating, and reaches for another cup, opening the container of ground tea leaves to fill it. ]

Yes... They would be.

[ Taking a breath, she picks the kettle up again, managing to pour the water over it a bit more successfully the second time. Aiming correctly is apparently a little trickier when it comes to boiling liquid. She picks up the cup and carefully hands it over to Nathanial. ]

Although, I have never felt them as strongly as I have since our awakening here. I find it... odd that the memories should become so vivid, so suddenly.

[hunter_marked_soul]

[As soon as she was on her feet again, he stood up as well. Manners but also in case she required assistance. Moving to be nearby, but not insisting--she would likely protest. Any words he would've spoken to say he didn't need a cup as well were lost as she moved automatically to prepare another. A nod of his thanks, and he let the warmth of the cup ground him. Take in the feel of the heat, the faint scent of the leaves mingled with wood and wood-smoke. Were it not for his gloves, he would focus on the feel of the pottery in his hand.]

I have an idea for why that might be. As my memories are stronger here as well, or at least more easily recalled. Of my life before I was a Hunter. They are still precious few, but those I have are more vivid and come more easily.

[Another moment while he thought, bringing the teacup up and letting the scent of the boiled water and leaves focus his thoughts. A sip as well, with the heat on his tongue and in his mouth. The slightly green flavor.]

It could be precisely because we are in the Waking World. Reality has far more layers and dimensions to it than most could ever conceive and stay sane, with the Dream still being simply that. A reality for the two of us, but still a dream--simply another layer. One that may be an echo and memory of other times. While within the waking world we are grounded in this reality and layer. It is more tangible and solid and real, and more vivid because of it.

[just_a_doll]

Ahhh, perhaps that is it.

[ The Doll takes a long few moments to pick up her cup and simply enjoy the smell. Eating and drinking is so new to her and she can't help but savor every sensation these human necessities afford. Despite wanting to focus on herself, a small part of her wonders if Maria enjoyed it too. ]

The memories are planted here in this world, unable to be dulled by the higher planes.

[ She finally raises the cup to her lips, taking a careful sip. Her tongue is still slightly sore from a couple of days before she attempted to drink tea for the first time. ]

With time, I trust the dreams will diminish... Until then, I cannot say that I unhappy to experience the waking world. I hope the same is for you... and that your fondest memories return to you.

[hunter_marked_soul]

[The Hunter, Nathanial, didn't respond right away while he listened and thought over her words. Over their situation. There was still so much he did not know, for all that he'd transcended humanity itself. Was it because he was in a human shell and form? Would he even be fully capable of understanding all the unknown and unknowable, with that limiter placed upon him?

Then there was the Doll. She had come to the Waking World--and was that only his doing? Or hers? Or some combination of them both or something else entirely? Studying her, head tilted very slightly as pale golden-brown eyes watched her. Another sip of tea to anchor himself and focus.

She was not flesh, nor bone and blood, muscle and sinew and tissue and all the things a living body usually was composed of. Her fingers wrapped around her own cup were still jointed and made of porcelain, her form and features still impossibly perfect in that way only a 'doll' could be made to be so. He knew she could feel 'hot' and 'cold' as sensations, and pressure in terms of touch--but how was she tasting? Was she? What senses did she possess and where might they be the same or similar to a human's?

Reality was so much more vast and fluid than could be easily comprehended without falling to madness. More eyes to see allowed one to glimpse what lurked at the edges of what was reality for that moment though. To make sense of the incomprehensible, to see that which was unseen and to try to see the whole of it. That was madness and perhaps that was what allowed the Doll to eat and drink, to live in the Waking World when such a thing shouldn't be.]

If they do not diminish, it's likely you'll grow more used to them. They will not seem so vivid and shocking. Nightmares becoming old and comforting friends, as the devil you know. Until you come up with dreams of your own.

[The Hunter's voice was thoughtful, soft. Pondering on many things.]

Did you ever ask others before me, about their lives? Did they remember, before the Longest Night?

[just_a_doll]

[ The Doll is a mystery even to herself, being that of a human wish and a porcelain vessel breathed to life by a Great One. She is cold to the touch, with a faint underlying warmth beneath her ceramic. She bleeds a pale, white substance that is unlike any Blood in Yharnam.

A mystery that only a Great One could explain and few could truly understand. Apart from this vessel that contained her very soul, there is likely something far greater lurking beneath. Perhaps she could free herself at time and explore this world and the comos at any given moment, and yet... she chooses to remain a steadfast companion to her Hunter.

His question brings a small, but fond smile to her face before she takes another sip from her cup. ]

Of course... I learned to hold those memories close to my heart. I remembered for them when they were hopeless, and for many, reminders of their past became their reprieve.

[ Her gaze becomes wistful as she gazes back toward the fire. ]

... One taught me to dance, and in those rare moments... I felt his spirits lift and saw the sadness in his eyes ease. [ She closes her eyes. ] Our last dance was many moons before the longest of nights... That night, he spoke not a word. He kept to himself, eyeing the moon as it loomed large and low in the sky. He had told me before that he felt himself fading... Startled awake by nightmares and, at times, unable to recognize those he held dearest.

I offered him a dance. How curious that something so small should melt away one's sorrows so quickly. He smiled more that night than he ever had before.

[ A single tear slips down her cheek, the sting in her eyes causing her to blink them open. Shifting her cup into one hand, she lifts the other to wipe it away. ]

Gehrman released him just as dawn finally broke. I often find myself wondering what ever happened to him. What ever happened to... so many of them.

[ She pauses and looks over at Nathanial again. ]

At least... there is one I will never have to wonder about.

[hunter_marked_soul]

[Nathanial just let himself chuckle, lowering his head a bit and eyes to the cup of tea in his hand.]

I don't blame any of them, you know. I don't pity them, or really have any emotions other than simply understanding. It was not an easy choice to make, to refuse Gehrman's mercy. After all the nightmares fought and slain and all the despair and hopelessness pressing down on one...

[That left out the 'dying'. Even if it wasn't a true death per se, because of the Hunters ties to the Dream. Perhaps in a way they simply had left their body behind while their mind was elsewhere? Or shifted layers of reality? There was no way to tell truly but Nathanial was sure he was not the only Hunter to have died, often painfully, many many times while attempting to survive. Even without poking around and exploring and figuring out the secrets of the past and how it all tied together.]

Were any of them dying, when they came to Yharnam? Making an impossible choice between what was almost certain death, and what was also almost certain death?

[just_a_doll]

Mm... The Hunt took its toll on countless Hunters.

[ And she learned to recognize the ones at the end of their rope by a mere look. Something in their eyes began to fade and dull, esepecially as the nights grew longer. There were few who retained any semblance of optimism, yet still retained stalwart loyalty to their causes.

Eileen had been one of those. One more soul that she found herself wondering about. ]

Many, yes... Their travels saw them from nigh across the lands for the fabled miracle cure in Yharnam's Healing Blood. Many more stood unprepared of what they might face, as they described finding their way into Yharnam a matter most difficult. The night of the Hunt was their only chance.

What I found the most curious was a woman born with white hair and red eyes. All she told me was that her rare condition caused her to be treated poorly in her homeland. Her body was healthy, but her vision was poor. She hunted for a long time and then disappeared. I trust she must have left Yharnam...

Another young woman brought her child who had... ah... scarlet fever, I believe. Unfortunately, the boy passed away shortly before she reached Yharnam's gates. However, she had contracted an illness herself and accepted the Blood ministration in her child's place... to save the life of her unborn one. Even still, she hunted and with a certain... ferocity that I had never seen before.

[ You want stories? Oh, she has stories.

She pauses to take another sip of her tea. ]

I found the strongest of Hunters were those with great determination to live. Your sickness left you so frail... yet you are still here with me.

[hunter_marked_soul]

[Like his father, Nathanial was often quiet. Although he was more inclined to talk than the other, just not as much as his other siblings or their mother. The doll had caught him once, when he was frustrated and somewhat despondent, writing in the journal after periods of reflection. Then ripping the page out, balling it up, and throwing it in the fireplace in the workshop. Unsatisfied and finding no outlet for his emotions that way. She had learned that he, like his elder brother, was insatiably curious--and that was part of why he had delved as far as he had, perhaps why he had succeeded where others had not.

Perhaps, if Reginald had made the trip, and the contract, instead of him--his elder would've have succeeded. Especially since Reginald was not always the wisest or most cautious in how he pursued answers to his curiosities. Perhaps the elder Brownhill boy would've succumbed more to madness and fallen that way.

Not too lost in his thoughts however, to pay attention. He was curious about those who'd come before him, but had often not known how to ask. Nor had much time to ask; the Dream was a respite of a sort for Hunters, but there was still a job to do. A contract to fulfill, and the horrors wearied one and stole the energy of body, mind, and soul with despair.]

I would have liked to know their names, and I hope that all those before me--I can not say with certainty. But I hope that they also would value your remembrance of them as much as I value it.

[Made to be a companion to Hunters as she was, she may not have had a choice. But that didn't mean it was any less appreciated. Her care and company and awareness and memory of them all. Pondering that a moment before he raised his cup of tea and took another sip, then spoke.]

I was twenty. We had moved to the city five years before--Reggie had started courting and wife-hunting, hoped to be married within a year before he took ill. It spread through the streets and close quarters, and while we were not the first to succumb, we were exposed early. Probably. A few besides me survived, but no others in my family. Mother was first, then my younger sister, then Father, Reginald...and myself. I suppose in some ways, that becoming a Hunter--in hindsight--was a type of death and rebirth.

[just_a_doll]

The pale haired woman was Elizabeth and the mother, Irene.

[ Their names were seldom forgotten, especially those who left such an impact. As she comes to understand love and it's many forms, looking at them in hindsight produces an array of emotions. Of course, just as she was created, she cared for them all... but in different ways. ]

Mm... The Waking World, while beautiful and fascinating, is so very unkind.

[ She rests her hand gently against his shoulder. ]

The Hunt does, indeed, begin life anew in possibly the most horrific of ways. But to have bested it, and to have become reborn again... Your strength is boundless.

[hunter_marked_soul]

[The Hunter listened quietly and attentively. Nodding with the new information, committing it to memory for himself. When she rested her hand against his shoulder though, his head turned to look at it, before up at her while he let his own rest on hers.]

I think I'm just too stubborn and curious, personally. Flaws in my family and blood after all.

[Nathanial didn't necessarily feel strong, though he'd managed what few if any could. It was still something he was adjusting to, learning, adapting... A pause, then more quietly as his gaze turned downward again.]

My mother's name was Elizabeth, though obviously she was not the same as the one you knew. My father was Arthur, and my sister Eleanor.

[Letting a soft and tiny smile come to his mouth, a hint of sadness too. Then his eyes raised up to meet her gaze again.]

As you are becoming your own being, more fully realized too--you should pick a name. A way to identify yourself, to be who you want. The "Doll" was created to be a thing, but you are so much more than that.

[just_a_doll]

That stubbornness and curiosity have served you well, then.

[ Her hand remains on his shoulder, especially when she catches that fall in his expression, her thumb rubbing gentle circles. Affection and touch is something she found herself nigh craving, so she took the opportunities when they arose. Touch was such a comforting gesture, after all. ]

I would love to hear more about them.

[ The comment about her coming up with her own name gives her a bit more pause. She may have considered it once or twice, but never seriously. Going without a name for her was just as well, but even she knew the importance of one's name and the meaning behind it.

Maria is likely the name Gehrman would have given her, had she born any resemblance to her human likeness. And that... doesn't feel right. ]

I will take care in my consideration.

[ She hums thoughtfully. ]

What would you call me?

[hunter_marked_soul]

[His hand still lay over hers, and was squeezed gently in acknowledgement and thanks. Never mind that the digits under his own were cool porcelain or that he could feel the joints of them more easily than a flesh one. She was, and always had been, a being and person to him.

He was quiet as well, letting her ponder and pondering things himself. Then with her question, an eyebrow rose and half of his mouth quirked up in a wry-smile. Dry amusement in his voice as he responded...]

Anything but Maria. Or Elizabeth. Or Eleanor. But absolutely not Maria or any variation thereof.

No chance of Silent Hill 2 MARY becoming a thing, huh? xD

[just_a_doll]

[ Perhaps as she read more and came to know more names and their meanings, she might have an easier time picking one. For now, just being referred to as what she is doesn't cause her any distress. ]

It may take some time and if I never find one, I will never take offense to being referred to as I always have.

[ For now, tea and light conversation is much nicer than the looming feelings of the nightmare she just experienced. Removing her hand from his shoulder, she goes to take another sip. ]

Have you any plans for us come morning?

[hunter_marked_soul]

[Her movement and words brought another soft chuckle, the Hunter sitting back down and turning his attention to his own cup.]

It's odd, to wait for morning, when it's only been night for so long that I remember.

[Musing a bit, around his own sip.]

While the scholar here recognized us in a way, I don't believe that he or his wife know why we're here either yet. We have options, despite that the both of us will stand out among these people. The first, is that we can go scout and explore ourselves. Listen, look for clues, investigate. Hopefully with out something nasty attempting to kill us. Or perhaps hopefully with--as that will give us a lead.

The other option is we let the scholar do his research and that legwork for us. Though I'm not much for waiting anymore, and you've done plenty of waiting already.

[Closing his eyes, Nathanial focused on the tea. The warmth, scent, feel of what he could through his gloves. Pondering, and letting his brain mull things. Try to recall if there was anything in his previous life, before this one and before the hunt, that might help. Perhaps...]

[just_a_doll]

Indeed… The moon is so much smaller here, too. I grew accustomed to it hanging so close, especially on those longer nights.

[ And her poor Hunters had to suffer the longest of Hunts, returning to her weary, yet full of Blood and adrenaline. Not the greatest combination given the intoxicating nature of the Hunt.

The Doll moves to pour herself another cup of tea and then takes her seat again as she listens to Nate’s response.

While she doesn’t doubt that she could survive an ambush, her body could easily be cracked and broken. She certainly means to take care of it for as long as she can. A part of her wonders how hard it would be to create a vessel of her own, but now is hardly the time to even go about attempting it. ]

Our host must surely have his own matters to attend. We may find more success in venturing out on our own.

Perhaps… if time permits, finding a weapon to protect myself with might help us both in the future. This vessel, while imbued in arcane, is fragile… and I wish not to be a hindrance to you.

[hunter_marked_soul]

[Nate was fine with the one cup, and especially with the company. Even if he'd originally come to keep her company, instead of needing it himself.]

Perhaps he does, but I'm also curious as to how he seemed to recognize us. Or at least, a Hunter. For all that I believe I've encountered one of his kinsman driven mad on his own hunt, I had not thought that the Hunt was that well known outside of Yharnam. Certainly I'd never heard of it before venturing there.

[Musing to himself, and there was still so much they did not know about their host and his family. Mostly because of the language barrier being the biggest problem. Not insurmountable, but annoying and making things more difficult. Her continued words had him turning to her though, with a soft smile.]

I doubt you are as fragile as you think, nor do I see you being a hindrance. You are, perhaps, taking the idea that a Hunter is never alone in a new way.

[That might've been an attempt to joke, from his tone of voice.]

We will absolutely get you a weapon if you wish. If not from here, returning to the Dream certainly gives us options.

[just_a_doll]

He may have an idea, then, of how widely that knowledge spread, and how much time has passed since then.

[ Time is strange. Normal time, that is. Normal human time. She's still coming to get used to it, herself. The nights never last long and neither do the days, for that matter. ]

We were lucky to happen upon him.

[ The Doll is still a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to jokes, but his smile earns him one in return. ]

Of course. Though, your strength far exceeds my own-[ In the body of a doll, that is. ]-the need for its use may yet arise. After all, Hunters and gods alike have fallen to a mere blade.

[ She reaches out with one hand, gently stroking his cheek with her knuckle. When she's speaks again, it's slowly and emphatically, even through the usual softness of her voice. ]

I will not have that.

[hunter_marked_soul]

Perhaps.

[Was all the Hunter, Nathanial, said in response to her musing about their host and his family. There was a wry smile with her next few words, eyes closing after a moment with a soft laugh under his breath. Those eyes opened again with her touch against his cheek. Unconsciously leaning into the cool porcelain just as if it were flesh. Pale golden-brown eyes looked to meet her own.]

I am not so fragile as to die completely. Arrogance would be my downfall though, so an abundance of caution and preparation will not be amiss.

[just_a_doll]

My thoughts precisely.

[ Her hand lingers for a moment on his cheek, the way he leans into her touch causing the odd, fleeting feeling of warmth to bloom in the center of her core. It isn't new, but she finds that it happens far more frequently as of late. The way he smiles at her causes it, as can a mere touch, and when he laughs, she feels strangely weak.

Behind the warmth is the tug of yearning, soft and subtle for now, but stronger than it used to be. An emotion she doesn't quite grasp and cannot name. Nonetheless, the smile she returns comes naturally as she holds his gaze. ]

[hunter_marked_soul]

[If he had any hints of her thoughts, he didn't show it. Nor did Nathanial let on any of his own. Just savoring the kind touch, that it was affectionate--and not designed to bring pain. Smile turning less wry to more tired, but still a smile. Bringing his own gloved hand up to cup hers and hold it against his cheek for a moment.

Then encouraging it away from his cheek as he got to his feet. A second more to hold her hand, a soft squeeze, then he was pulling back.]

It's far too late, or far too early. If you're feeling better, you should return to resting. We both should.

[He did not say sleep--for that was still an ever tricky state of being where he was concerned.]

[just_a_doll]

[ The Doll slowly pulls her hand back to rest on the side of her cup, taking a slow sip from it and showing no signs of getting up. ]

I would prefer to remain here. The fire is warm and I'm very much at peace.

[ And not in danger of falling asleep again. She turns her head to look up at him. ]

Rest well, Nathanial.