"Oy, Djura," you say as he gets to his feet. "Ye got the kill, so I'mma let ya explain this one. On my honor, I won't call out a lick o' yer bullshit."
Sadly, the old man gives a rather bog standard after action report, accurately highlighting yours and Simon's contributions without bothering to exaggerate his own. You try to throw him a bone or two by exaggerating the Orphan's height and upgrading his physique from scarecrow to beefcake, but he corrects your corrections and plows onward.
"So the Nightmare is gone," says Eileen at the conclusion. "Weight off my shoulders. Not that I wasn't going to see this through to the end, regardless, but it's nice to know that's not waiting for me if something gets lucky."
"Never met a fucker that lucky," you reply, "and my nationality makes me somethin' of an expert in that field." I am genuinely curious what kind of Irish stereotypes are going to develop here thanks to you.
"Steffon still upstairs?" asks Djura. Eileen nods and the old man takes his leave.
"They're gonna be arguin' over who's got the better trophy for hours," you say to her.
"I'm in the same boat as Steffon. I'll step in if he starts losing." She turns to you, cloak on her shoulders and mask on a table nearby. "That was the last step before Rom, wasn't it? That your next stop?"
"Eh, not quite yet. Wanted ta do another quick sweep o' Central Yharnam."
"That works. We need a bit more time to get everything fortified, anyway; some of the Kegs' old guns are misbehaving. Do you mind if I tag along?"
"Be honored. First, though, got some packages ta drop off." You walk over to Iosefka, who's watching over the Church healers while they get Simon ready for his chest-unfuckening.
"Got those prosthetics from Gehrman," you tell her. "Where should I put 'em?"
"On one of the unoccupied beds, if you don't mind." She pulls another set of gloves from her robes; considering how many she's used tonight, that outfit must be downright sleevian. You oblige and wave goodbye as the scalpels and drugs come out. Eileen follows you out the door, passing by Agatha teaching the girls some sort of dice game, and you step back into the Yharnam evening. Despite the gargantuan quantity of violence your crew has inflicted, there's only the barest hint of death mixed in with the breeze. Hopefully, the air freshening service will stay bundled in once you turn on the metaphysical alarm clock.
As the two of you make your way back to the urban semi-sprawl, you ponder some appropriate prayers for Ludwig, Maria, the Orphan, and the others swallowed up by the nightmare. Something comes to mind right about the point when the ghost of incense rejoins the city's fucked-up gumbo of scents.
"For we are well aware that when the tent that houses us on earth is folded up, there is a house for us from God, not made by human hands but everlasting, in the heavens.
And in this earthly state we do indeed groan,
longing to put on our heavenly home over the present one; if indeed we are to be found clothed rather than stripped bare.
Yes, indeed, in this present tent, we groan under the burden, not that we want to be stripped of our covering, but because we want to be covered with a second garment on top, so that what is mortal in us may be swallowed up by life.
It is God who designed us for this very purpose, and he has given us the Spirit as a pledge.
We are always full of confidence, then, realising that as long as we are at home in the body we are exiled from the Lord,
guided by faith and not yet by sight;
we are full of confidence, then, and long instead to be exiled from the body and to be at home with the Lord.
And so whether at home or exiled, we make it our ambition to please him.
For at the judgement seat of Christ we are all to be seen for what we are, so that each of us may receive what he has deserved in the body, matched to whatever he has done, good or bad."
You knock on every lit door you pass, some that once rebuffed you and some you'd yet to interact with, and offer as many variations of "come with me if you want to live" as you can. Even with Eileen to assure them that they can definitely trust the gigantic guy describing their imminent demise with more gusto than is warranted, you're rebuffed at every turn.
"Tough crowd," you say.
"Dead crowd, before long."
"Can't help those who won't help themselves, I guess, 'less ye think I should just kick their doors in and drag 'em out by their feet."
"Yharnamites are stubborn. They'd probably try a coup in the Chapel if you gathered up enough of them."
Twenty minutes of effort yield only a handful of willing pilgrims, including a young couple, two widows rooming together, and an old man who somehow got his hands on one of those badass Gatling wheelchairs you've been dealing with. You make a mental note to ask him where so you can get one for Steffon. He and Djura would probably have treads and an automatic grenade launcher on it within a week.
You do a headcount and produce an appropriate quantity of crosses to avoid a repeat of the gargoyle incident. "Ye mind escortin' 'em back?" you ask Eileen, handing her the lot. "Gonna go check on a guy named Gilbert I met when I first got here."
"Will do." She turns to the group and starts passing them out. "Everyone, stay close. There shouldn't be any trouble, but if there is, stay near me and I'll handle it."
You leave her to her safety briefing and get to backtracking. The boards on the window you threw a dead guy through are hanging on for dear life and, because you're still a petty asshole, you hop up and pull one of them down, enjoying the ensuing screaming as you zip towards Gilbert's window.
His burner is down to its last dregs and you can hear his coughs through the grate, awful wet things as red in sound as they assuredly are in color.
"Ye alright there, mate?" you say.
"Father Anderson?" he manages. "You're still alive?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Most people who say they're going to single-handedly fight a massive theological institution tend not to last long."
"Most people ain't me. How ye holdin' up?"
"Bad," he wheezes. "Very bad, in fact."
"Well, if ye don't mind walkin' back that 'accepted yer fate' thing, we've got a nice setup in Oedon Chapel. Doctor Iosefka's there, plus some Church defectors. Gatling gun on the roof and a shitload o' weapons, too."
There's a pause that you're sure you get the gist of.
"I won't tell anyone ye changed yer mind if you don't," you say.
"Oh, thank fuck," he replies. "Get me out of here."
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