[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.]
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branchandroot
I hope this works!
Date: 2023-10-02 12:49 am (UTC)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.]