Finally, someone with reasonable standards.
"Yes, all barkin', bayin', and bloody beasts have been slain. Would ye mind openin' this thing? There's probably a lever somewhere; we've got a crusade of righteous smiting to get on with."
"No, that's for the front gate. One second."
A series of bangs and crashes rings out from behind the doors, followed by the familiar Yharnam sound of a ridiculous number of locks disengaging. Eileen rests against the nearest wall, looking thankful for the continued reprieve.
Finally, the doors swing ever-so-slightly outwards. You catch sight of a thin person of indeterminate gender just before they slam them closed again.
"Bloody hell, you're the lunatic that's been ruining everything," you hear.
"The same. And this is my co-lunatic, Eileen."
"Good evening," she says.
"We're human, though. That was the deal, wasn't it? Come on, be a good chap and let us in."
You hear tapping feet.
"What happens if I don't?" they ask.
"Well, I'd probably just explode the doors with this here laser I scavenged from the head of the giant-arse abomination I killed and then beat yer face in until ye said ye're sorry."
More tapping.
"Fuck it, it's not like you could make things any worse."
Eileen gives you a glare before you can advise them not to underestimate you. She knows you too well.
They reopen the doors and you give your internal compass a gold star; you are, indeed, right back at the front entrance. Through the gate, you can see the murder of crows from before, which considering their general apathy is really more of a negligent homicide, going to town very slowly one the smorgasbord you left them. The room itself has all the fixin's: creepy hooded statues, circular designs on the floor just itching to ravage someone's shins, and some tasteful drapes hanging from the partially-open ceiling.
The lever taunts you from just before the gate.
Your host, whom you notice appears to be swaying slightly, is covered in splotches of dust and scrapes on their few bits of exposed skin. The cap on their head is torn and ragged enough to reveal close-cropped blonde hair and slightly bloodshot eyes. Once you're in, they chance a look through the doors while Eileen seats herself on the stairs that serve as the only other exit.
"Left a bit of a mess, didn't you?" they say before closing and re-locking them. "I really liked that chandelier."
"Don't think of it as a mess, think of it as an opportunity."
"To do what?"
"I dunno. Come up with a new aesthetic and bond with yer mates?"
"Gonna be hard, that, considering they're splattered all over the foyer."
Before you can quip back, they extend a finger, pull a bottle from behind a statue, and drain a good portion. "'s not blood," they say, wiping their lips halfheartedly. "Wine. The good stuff. Got it for practically nothing once the whole town got hooked on blood."
You shake your head when offered, as does Eileen. They shrug and drain the lot before letting the bottle roll morosely into a corner. With a sigh, they take a seat against the aforementioned statue and lean their head back.
"This isn't all your fault, to be fair. Maybe eighty, ninety percent, yeah, but they were already mad. You killing the Lesser Amygdala and the Bloody Crow just set them off. I mean," they continue, pulling another bottle from nowhere, "they shoved the phantasms into their own heads. I don't care how screwed you think you are, who does that?"
Another pull. A good portion of it winds up on their robes. They look like they're starting to cry.
"You know the phantasms, right? Little slug things. Bishop Euthyphro, he had the idea. 'Put the familiars of the Great Ones in our minds so we may better know the will of Ebrietas. Her wisdom will guide us through this trial.' People's brains kept breaking when they talked to that thing, so obviously the solution was to cram those things into our skulls. And they bought it, too. Most of 'em, anyway."
You open your mouth to ask for clarification, only to be rather forcefully shushed.
"I'm pouring my fucking heart out here. You don't get to talk right now."
"Just wanted ta say we found one guy with his head on straight. Skinny chap, about yea high."
"That'd be Evan. What happened to him?"
"We helped him win a fight, then he shot himself in the head when we tried ta question 'im."
"He fucking would," they grumble. "Should have had the good sense to run right when Euthyphro pulled that idea out of his ass, like I did. The chickenshit shall inherit the earth."
You've thrown off their rhythm enough that they just sit in silence, taking slower drinks with the apparent intent of savoring it.
"So the tentacle things were Euthyphro and the other idiots. What about the wolves?"
"I told them. I told them. It was my job, you know?"
"I didn't know."
"I studied the phantasms. All the different species. 'Official Phantasm Researcher Gale,' that was my job. None of them are intelligent. These things are just relays between us and Ebrietas, and not very good ones at that. Their only independent instincts are the pursuit of brains afflicted by extended exposure to the Great Ones. Shoving one in your head won't beam Ebrietas' thoughts into yours, it'll just let the little bastard eat your brain and pilot you to eat everyone else's. We knew that. This isn't even the first time someone's tried it."
"And the wolves?"
"I'm getting to that. Removing that part of the brain without allowing a phantasm to replace it basically serves as a lobotomy. People afflicted by the," they give a pair of massive air quotes, "'plague' suddenly lose the willpower to fight it off and they succumb."
"That is all kinds of fucked up."
Gale shrugs. You turn towards Eileen, who seems fairly well recovered but has yet to replace her mask, and point to the open area behind her.
"So what's up there?"
The bottle stops halfway to Gale's mouth, and while they have the presence of mind to just set it down rather than let it fall, you can tell it was a close call.
"You don't know? I thought that was why you wanted to kill us in the first place."
"Don't know what?"
The tears are flowing freely now. Gale's next sigh peters out into a long, drawn-out "fuck."
"I only joined the Choir because they asked. I didn't have any part in this, I just studied the godsdamned phantasms."
You step over to the dribbling figure and shove their head back, forcing them to make eye contact with you. You're almost certain they couldn't possibly lie in this state, but it helps to make sure.
"What. Is. Up. There?"
"That's the Orphanage," they mumble. "The Choir tried to uplift abducted children to create emissaries to Ebrietas. The things outside were the failures."
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