"So," you say, admiring the craftsmanship of the still-intact bedframe, "I've got somethin' of an odd question."
"I may have something of an odd answer. What is it?"
"What kinda rude gestures does Yharnam have? I'm somethin' of a connoisseur in the field back home."
"I never would have guessed."
You put down the frame and cock an eyebrow. "Ye've gotten a wee bit sassier since we left the Kegs behind."
"You have a rapport with them that I didn't want to interfere with. Plus, it took a while to get used to you. Getting on your wavelength is not a journey for the faint-hearted."
"Fair enough. Anyway, local obscenity?"
"I might not be the best source," he says as the two of you head back into the hall. "You'd have to ask Eileen or one of the others in the Chapel about recent developments. In my time, at least, we had this." He holds up both index fingers and both middle fingers, then crosses them in something of a plus sign.
"So where'd that come from?"
"Not sure, honestly.. Some Byrgenwerth alumni brought it into the Church and it picked up steam."
"Weren't ye an intelligence operative?"
"Some things are beyond even me."
Ascending the nearby stairs brings you to a large room lined with relatively luxurious hospital beds, each with its own laden nightstand and candlestick. A stone block similar to the one hiding Old Yharnam sits behind the entry hatch and you can see an altar of some sort at the back. The whole arrangement brings to mind a mishmash of the Grand Cathedral and the current state of the Chapel, complete with blood IVs near the beds.
"Fancy digs."
"The Church had something like this around the time I left. Anyway, back to what we were discussing: what sort of gestures did your home country have?"
"Oh, loads. Tell me if any of these ring a bell." You hold up a middle finger.
"Saw it here and there. Didn't Ellis the gunner give Liam that one when we first got back?"
"Oh, yeah. Good call." Index and middle finger.
"Not familiar with that one."
Index, middle, and pinky.
"Not that one, either."
Index and thumb pressed together into a circle, other index finger rapidly entering and exiting said circle.
"We do have that one."
"Thought as much."
A heavy sword swing precludes any further exploration of shared experiences, shaving a few tatters off of Simon's outfit and slightly improving his overall look in the process. The impromptu fashionista, a black-clad woman wielding the same weapon the Messengers gave you after your spat with the goatwolfgorilla, takes a chop at your legs with the follow-through.
A quick backstep takes you out of harm's reach, but she's on you with furious abandon. To her credit, she does an excellent job of keeping you between her and Simon and her attack is relentless enough to force you to defend with a bayonet in each hand.
Unfortunately for her, she's massively overestimated Simon's unwillingness to put you in the crossfire. The bowman catches you in the chest on his first shot, then puts one through her head when she hesitates. She vanishes before she hits the ground, taking any and all potentially groundbreaking intel with her.
"That's another thing," you say as you pull the arrow out of your ribs and toss it to Simon. "How come most of the Church is wearin' those robes while Brador gets ta play dressup?"
"The perks of careful spending," he replies. "As far as I know, Brador was a miser of the highest order. Slept in one of the side rooms of the Grand Cathedral, ate from a soup kitchen, and just bought new clothes whenever his current set got too much blood on it. Besides that, all I can ever remember him spending anything on was commissioning that mace of his from the Workshop."
"The higher-ups give 'im any grief for bein' out o' uniform?"
Simon opens his mouth, then shuts it firmly while you walk towards the aforementioned altar. "I was going to say 'would you give someone like Brador grief' before remembering that you would and did. The higher-ups weren't you, thankfully."
You let that one slide. "What's so special about the mace? Looks like a regular one mixed with a hat rack ta me."
"I was pulled into the Nightmare before I could get any definite answers. One of my informants said he saw Brador stab himself with it, but decided to get as far away as possible rather than stay and observe."
"Reasonable man."
The altar shows three stone figures standing over a body, its face and legs covered in cloth. Chains run from its base to somewhere high above, another passage shining from just below the far-off ceiling.
"Is this thing a fuckin' elevator."
"I do believe this thing is a fucking elevator."
Your search for a lever proves surprisingly fruitless, leaving the two of you to scour the tasteful artwork for some sort of clue. The body itself has a hole through the top of its head; discussions with Simon confirm that the Church was never big on trepanation, leading your investigation there. Below the cloth, you see that it's missing an eye and, remembering that weird pendant you grabbed from Extra Spicy Goatwolfgorilla earlier, figure it's worth a shot.
The lift clanks to life.
"Why did that work?"
"I have no idea," says Simon with genuine pity.
As the entire altar slowly ascends, you remember that you still have an outstanding piece of bullshit and turn to Simon.
"I really did have a badass quip, ye know."
"So you've said."
"I'm serious. I was all set ta say 'nah, but it gets rid o' you' and then ye ruined everythin'."
He shrugs. "Not your best."
"Philistine."
"I don't know what that means."
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