"That's my job," you say with a shrug. "A man o' the LORD is sworn ta carry the burdens of his flock."
"Am I part of your 'flock' now?" says Yurie. "You have momentum, Anderson. You catch people in your wake and they can't get away." She curls up and buries her head in her lap. "I'm so tired. Fix this. Please."
"I'll fix it. Don't you worry about that. First, though, somethin's been buggin' me for a while."
"Oh?" She uncoils a bit, educator's instincts overriding her weariness.
"See, when I died and showed up here, everythin' came with me. The coat, the bayonets, even the fancy specs I'm certain were smashed ta bits. So what about that thing I had in my heart?" You move forward a bit in your seat. "Ebrietas, do ye feel anythin' from my chest? If ye can't, would ye mind poppin' my heart out and givin' it a once-over?"
Ebrietas hesitates a moment before responding. Father, you promised me you wouldn't abuse your regeneration anymore. And the last time someone pulled your heart out, you died. I don't want to do that to you. For what it's worth, I can't detect anything on any frequency I know and your heartbeat sounds free of foreign objects.
"Fair enough," you say. "I apologize for that."
She nods and you sink back into your chair.
"So what all have we got to wrap up?" asks Simon. "The Nightmare? You haven't exactly left many stones unturned in Yharnam."
"Think it's just the Nightmare, yeah. Fingers crossed Maria'll let us close the book on that one.
"Speakin' o' Maria," you say, "I've got some more questions for her great-great-great-whatever grandmother." You start to rise before a stern look from Yurie sits you right back down. "Oy, Queenie. Ye been listenin' in on this?"
"We've little else to do," she replies, dryly enough to suffocate whatever hardy fish remain in the lake.
"Any thoughts on the whole 'livin' in a dream' situation?"
"We had not suspected. Trapped in a room, interacting with the outside world only secondhand, We had no point of reference. Our own immortal body robbed Us of any way to measure time."
"Yeah, heard that one before. Any idea who the host might be? Ye bragged about that fuckhuge library, after all. Where's that Cainhurst knowledge ye tried ta tempt me with?"
When she remains silent, you put on your smuggest look, one so blindingly irritating that even a foot of iron can't save her from it. "Or was all that just a bluff?"
"You are playing to Our pride. Do you really think that's going to work?"
"Considerin' I'm fine and ye're a head on a table? Yeah, I kinda do."
Her sullen silence radiates the patience of ages, the unflappable demeanor of a born monarch.
"Just talk," says Simon. "I'll throw you both in the damn lake if I have to and, unlike you, he can swim."
"Fine," she grumbles. "Give me a moment to think."
It's actually three or four moments, but you're a nice enough guy to let it slide.
"It may have to do with the source of Our blood: Yharnam, Queen of the Pthumerians. They ruled the catacombs beneath the city in ages past and their writing speaks of her tryst with Formless Oedon, the Great One for whom your chapel is named. She bore his child, Mergo, but he came out stillborn. The collected works of Loran, Isz, the Hintertombs, and Pthumeria offer no better possibilities than Oedon, Queen Yharnam, or Mergo himself."
"You said he died at birth," says Simon.
"In the human sense, perhaps. Great Ones do not die as we do. Their consciousness persists, much like the dreamers of whom you speak."
"Counterpoint: I beat the shit out of a couple o' Amygdalae and they died proper."
"The situations were slightly different, Anderson."
"Byrgenwerth did encounter the remnants of Pthumeria," Yurie chimes in. "Some of our explorers actually acquired a blood sample from their queen, but someone defected to Cainhurst and took the sample with them. As far as I can tell, she's telling the truth."
"Not like she has any reason ta lie at this point besides raw spite and there are better ways ta go about that." You rise again, halting Yurie's own rise with a wave of your hand. "I'm not gonna do anythin' mean; just givin' her a reward for her cooperation."
Scrounging among the building's various chairs, you locate a suitably plump cushion. You heave Annalise into the air, put the cushion beneath her neck stump, and plop her back down. She doesn't thank you, but you take the lack of biting sarcasm as a sign of approval.
"Is that all you need, Anderson?" Yurie says. "Are you ready?"
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