"I'll take yer word for it." You crack your neck and roll your shoulders. "Wanna fuck 'im up?"
"Love to. Shall I shoot him through the bars?"
"Nah, let's be sportsmanlike about it."
"I could wing him, at least."
"Temptin', but I don't think we should give 'im time ta use whatever space-time bullshit he was plannin' on killin' us with."
"Agreed."
"Whatever you're blabbering about," Brador says in the tone of a couchbound roommate asking you to grab him a beer while you're up, "I'm sure it can be discussed elsewhere. I need my rest."
You take several steps back and motion for Simon to do the same. "Apologies; Simon and I were just wonderin' about that bell ye mentioned. I think we've made a breakthrough."
"Oh?"
Your munitions thud into the lock somewhere between the "h" and the question mark. You can just about hear his well-oiled monologue engine grind to a halt before they detonate.
"Ding-dong, ye heathen fucker!"
Brador scrambles desperately off his bed as you give the door a mighty boot and charge in. He tilts the frame up to block your advance, then slams home a blow to the shoulder through the decaying wood. You grab the weapon before he can retract it, shrugging off the front kick he rams into your knee.
Huh, those are really nice shoes. What's the point of giving a guy nice shoes if he's just going to sit around and be ominous at people all day?
With one arm stuck in the bed sandwich you two have made, he's in no position to stop Simon from putting an arrow through his chest. Brador staggers back, only abandoning his weapon when you give it a hearty yank. He pauses to rip the shaft out of his torso, an act of impressive bravado somewhat undercut by your smashing him upside the head with the bedframe.
Somehow still conscious, he fakes a dive for his mace and cracks you in the chin with a headbutt. One of the antlers catches you just under the eye, stunning you just long enough for him to make an actual dive.
Simon's next shot gets him through the neck.
Implacable as ever, Brador drags himself towards his weapon, even as two more shafts bury themselves in his ribs. You push the mace out of his reach and deliver a vicious soccer kick, giving femur another win over jaw in their eternal rivalry. He finally slumps down, unable to support himself, and gives you a baleful and bloodsoaked grin.
"You wouldn't be in the Nightmare without some sins of your own. Think killing me gets rid of them?"
Before you can reply, Simon puts one final arrow through his brain. Brador spasms once, then dissolves like so many of his fellow dreamers, leaving only his mace and an oddly-shaped bell. You turn towards your companion with a frown.
"Ye stole my moment! Had a quip planned and everythin'!"
"No, you didn't," says Simon. "You were still trying to think of one."
"How d'ye know?"
"Your lips were moving."
"I could have been rehearsin'."
"Who are you trying to convince?"
You scoop up the bell and mace, wondering whether the middle finger managed to evolve in Yharnam. You suppose you do owe him for not listening to him during the siege, and at least he hasn't taken up the habit of expressing his annoyance by stabbing you like everyone seems so keen on doing.
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