Chapter Text
“You’re still here, Miss Wint?”
Chris looked up from the damaged anemometer she was so desperately trying to fix. She couldn’t recall the last time she moved from her desk, or how long she’d been holding the same screw in her left hand. All she knew was, based on her mentor’s expression, she was not a pretty sight to behold.
“Dr. Harcourt!” she exclaimed, hopping out of her chair and ignoring the tingles in her feet. “I thought you’d gone home, as well.”
“I’m afraid not. It seems we’re both getting our last bits of research in before the Hunt.” He gave her a brief, gentle smile, tiny crinkles forming near the corners of his dark eyes. “The sun has nearly set, though, and you should be getting back.”
“But-”
“You’ve no reason to impress me, Miss Wint. I am well aware of your work ethic. However, it should not put you at the mercy of Yharnam’s darkened streets. You know as well as I they’re none too kind to outsiders.” He gestured towards the door. “Get some rest, dear. We’ll continue this after tomorrow’s Hunt.”
She sighed, but conceded and gathered her things from her messy workspace. Her gaze lingered on the anemometer, blue eyes lowering into a glare. She would return to fixing it with a vengeance once the town’s habitual massacre was over. After shuffling her notes into a neat pile and tucking them in her bag, she bid Dr. Harcourt good night and set out into the imminent darkness.
Although she knew a handful of natives would be on the prowl for “strange folk” at any moment, there was something comforting about the lamp posts in the distance, lighting up one by one as the sun dipped further beneath the horizon. Chris wandered past the first set. Perhaps the populace would be too busy preparing to harass nighttime stragglers. Despite her short commute, it would be nice not slipping between houses for a change.
Where there were not common citizens, though, there were Church officials. No doubt scouring their routes for last minute Scourge prevention. She held her breath as she passed a pair, all donned in black. Though she loathed their tendency to off innocent, healthy people, there was a certain fear she acquired not long after moving to Yharnam. It was hard not to fear them. The terror they left was nearly as infectious as the disease they so violently culled.
Chris turned a corner and breathed in relief. There was the tiny house she grew to know, hers and hers alone. It was nothing to boast about, what with some of the bricks losing their luster and the steps to the door perpetually stained with blood, but it was still home. She glanced over at the house to her right and smiled. Steam wafted from its one open window. She caught a whiff of beef stew and stopped herself from salivating. It would be hers soon enough.
Chris unlocked her front door and stepped inside, the slight chill in the entryway seeping through her dress. She set her notes down on one of the end tables. One of the pages slipped off of the pile and down to the floor. She bent down and picked it up, eyes skimming her hurried scrawl in the dimming light.
Temperature: 10 degrees Celsius
Pressure: Stable
Wind: N/A. Dumb thing won’t work.
Notes: Conditions have been calm in the days leading up to the Hunt. No unusual fluctuations to report, although there have been rumors of beasts congregating in the southeast section of the city. Air tends to be cooler down that way due to the increase in elevation. Might be worth looking into once the Hunt has passed.
A knock on her door startled her out of her thoughts. She set the page down and opened the door, greeted by a bright, familiar face.
“Evening, Nora,” said Chris, smiling. “Is it that time already?”
“Of course it is,” Nora replied, matching her grin. “You know mum always has supper ready by the time you’re home. Did you just arrive?”
“Not two minutes ago.”
Nora frowned. “Did that geezer keep you late again?”
“No!” Chris exclaimed. “This was all my own doing. I was trying to fix an instrument.”
Nora clicked her tongue, then turned and meandered down the stairs, dark curls bouncing as she walked. “Fancy excuses don’t ease a weary soul, Chris.”
Chris rolled her eyes, but kept her smile as she followed Nora next door. She was a fun girl, that one. No older than fifteen, yet her wits were on the level of some of the finest scholars. Combined with her sharp tongue and her mother’s short temper waiting in the wings, it made her a difficult young lady to cross.
Nora pushed their front door open, its hinges creaking with the sound of age. Chris listened to their surroundings, ignoring the squeaky floorboard she just stepped on. By now, she would normally hear Theresa, Nora’s mother, humming a jovial tune. There was only the gentle bubbling of stew coming from the kitchen, as well as some labored breathing. Nora picked up her pace, but Chris lingered behind, continuing her normal stroll. The breathing could be due to Theresa having a coughing fit over some chopped onions. It happened in the past. As she entered the kitchen, something squelched under her boot. Chris looked down and gasped.
It was a small puddle of fresh blood.
Her eyes caught another fleck, then another, until a small trail of blood led to the dining room table. Nora sat next to Theresa, who was half slumped in a chair. Chris stepped around the blood and rushed over, biting the inside of her cheek.
“Ah, Chris!” Theresa exclaimed. “There you are. Shame about this sick fit. I was almost done with supper…”
Chris turned her attention to Nora, who held one of Theresa’s hands, biting her lip. “How long has this been going on?”
Nora took a breath. “About a week. We thought she could wait to seek treatment until after the Hunt, but her coughing fits have only gotten worse.” She shook her head. A tear slipped down one of her cheeks. “I can’t lose mum, but...the Church will never take her in. Not so close to the Hunt. And what will they think of an outsider hacking up blood the night before the city shuts its doors? They’ll kill her, is what.”
“Hush, you,” Theresa mumbled.
“They will and you know it!”
Chris knelt down next to Nora, setting a hand on her shoulder. “We have to try. I loathe the practice as much as you both, but transfusions have a high success rate, and there’s no telling how she’ll fair through the Hunt without proper treatment.”
“And how do you expect us to gain access? No one is allowed inside the Cathedral Ward right now without good reason.”
“I’ll think of a way.” Chris stood up. “I’ll take her to the Ward. You stay here and watch over the house.”
“Wha-”
“Please, Nora.” Chris sighed. “I’ll leave the butcher knife here, to be safe. My heels are deadly enough weapons on their own.” That got a short laugh out of Theresa. Chris turned and grasped one of her arms. “Up with you, Theresa. Steady on your feet.”
Theresa wobbled a bit and held onto Chris’ arm for support. “Off to kick some Church bollocks, are we?”
“If I must, yes,” Chris replied with a smile.
Theresa grinned, the blood trail coming from her mouth highlighting her intentions.
“Excellent.”
-----
It was amazing how quickly the locals disappeared at the sound of someone coughing their lungs out in the streets. If she weren’t half dragging said ill woman through Yharnam, Chris would chuckle at their overpowering fear. As it was, they were both lucky she hadn’t fallen over from sheer exhaustion. She let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the Great Bridge.
“Finally,” she breathed. She patted Theresa on the back. “Just a few more flights of stairs. Are you fit to climb them?”
Theresa snorted. “Is the city sane?”
Chris’ mouth pressed into a flat line. “No, but we make do with what we have.”
“Exactly.” She offered a comforting smile. “I’ll manage, dear. Focus on getting us past that door.”
Chris adjusted her grip on Theresa and climbed the stairs, counting them in her head. One of Yharnam’s sickening schoolyard songs briefly floated alongside her mental task.
One little child, sneaking out of bed
Two little children, left for dead...
She quickened her pace until they reached the top of the stairs. A breeze slipped across the bridge, blowing strands of loose hair into her face. Chris pushed them aside and looked straight ahead. A Church official, donned in the black garb so many of them wore, sat on a lone chair at the end, right by a small door. So many citizens thought the imposing gates would lead them up to the Ward, but as far as she knew, it never functioned. A good cover against intruders, she supposed. Chris settled Theresa near one of the railings, then walked over to the man in question.
“State your business,” the man demanded.
Chris straightened her posture as she came to a stop in front of him. “We require entry to the Ward. My neighbor has fallen ill and needs critical treatment before the Hunt tomorrow night.”
He squinted. “I know outsiders when I see them. You lot haven’t taken kindly to Church practices, have you?”
“That is not relevant to this discussion.”
“I believe it is. How am I to know your neighbor won’t turn and slaughter our higher doctors? Perhaps you two have been crafting this scheme for days.”
“I would not set foot in the Ward if it were not required,” she snarled. “This institution’s practices are questionable, at best.”
“And yet here you are, requesting our services.”
“We have no other choice.”
He smirked. “You do. However, I highly doubt you’d take a shine to the alternative.”
She reigned in the desire to dig her heel into his closest foot.
“Enough of your nonsense,” she continued. “Either allow us passage or stop wasting our time.”
“And if I deny you entry?”
Chris paused, then folded her arms. “There are other ways of gaining access.”
He let out a short laugh. “An outsider like yourself? You’d be dead before you reached the gate.”
“Not necessarily.” Her eyes swept over him. “You lack a firearm.”
His eyes narrowed. “And how would you know that?”
“I can tell by the way you’re sitting,” she replied. “You would be in a more awkward stance if you had a pistol hiding in your robes. Even if you did catch someone sneaking in, there would be no hope of you apprehending them from a distance.” Chris peeked behind him. “And it seems you’ve left your hunting weapon behind, as well. No doubt preserving it for tomorrow’s culling. You felt no need to bring it on your watch. Such confidence in your ability to overpower wandering citizens.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Your point being?”
A small smile tugged at her lips. “You are horribly under-prepared for a citizen with a butcher knife strapped to her leg.”
He stared at her hard, confusion and anger bubbling behind his gaze. The door he was guarding swung open before he could say anything further. A woman in white stood in the entryway.
“They’ve been granted entry,” she announced.
“What?” He turned in disbelief. “By whom?”
The woman’s facial expression spoke volumes. His snarl dropped into a concerned, almost frightened frown. Chris wished she could savor the moment, but their reactions to this news bothered her too much to cause celebration. The woman looked at her again.
“Gather your neighbor and follow me, miss.”
Chris rushed over to Theresa and tugged her to her feet. She was still lucid, but a fresh trail of blood dribbled from her mouth. She smiled all the same, and started whispering to Chris once they were past the gatekeeper.
“What a bluff,” she mumbled, “threatening him with a kitchen tool you don’t have.”
Chris frowned. “It, um...wasn’t exactly a bluff.”
Theresa paused as they slipped inside and set foot on the first stair. “D’you mean to tell me we left Nora alone without the butcher knife?”
“Yes, and I apologize, but she has an arsenal of kitchen utensils and we had nothing aside from my feet.”
Theresa coughed, then sighed, exasperated. “Lying to my daughter…”
“She has ten pans at her disposal!” Chris hissed.
“Not the point of it, dear.”
Chris rolled her eyes but allowed the argument to drop. Her mind drifted back to counting steps.
Seven little children, turned to a feast
Eight little children, now they’re beasts!
Anxiety gnawed at every last nerve. Now more than ever, she was in the Church’s domain. One wrong word and…
Thirteen little beasties, twirling on the spires
Fourteen little beasties, burn them on the pyres!
She wanted to scream just to force the horrific song out of her head. Screaming would land her in a clinic. Only one of them could afford that at the moment. Chris took a breath, eyes searching desperately for the faint light of lamps.
One, two, three, four
Hide away and lock your doors
Tuck away and hush your fright
Hunters prowl and cull the night!
Fresh air rushed into her lungs the second they reached the top. Within five steps, two more doctors approached and escorted Theresa up a separate set of stairs. The woman from before turned to face Chris.
“We cannot risk potential contamination through in-house visitors” she started, “but you may wait for her at the outlook.”
Before any questions could exit Chris’ mouth, the woman was gone. She hugged herself and wandered over to the lone bench situated between two maple trees. A breeze whipped some stray hair into her face as she looked out at the city below her.
Everything was beautiful from up here. The arching buildings, the puffs of smoke, even the distant yelling, made Yharnam feel more homely. Here, no one could pick out the sickness and hatred. From the Ward, Yharnam was peaceful.
Perhaps that was why the Church neglected the problems right in front of their noses.
Something, or someone, shuffled behind her. Chris ignored it and continued to stare out into the night. If there was anyone milling about, they had better things to do than pay her any mind. She glanced down at her feet. Drops of dried blood dotted her boots.
“Astute observations in the face of disease and desperation. Impressive, to say the least.”
Chris looked up from her feet, but kept her gaze straight ahead. Her eyebrows furrowed. The voice was strangely familiar.
“I do what is required of me,” she responded, her tone flat and unwelcoming.
“So it was required of you to threaten your way into the Ward?”
Her gaze dropped into a glare. “Seeing as how the gatekeeper was being unreasonably arrogant and rude, yes.” One of her hands twitched. “And I have been cleared to wait here. Who are you to question my methods?”
“Am I expected to take threats against my Hunters lightly?”
Chris’ throat tightened. The familiarity clicked into place. She turned around, glare vanishing upon sight of the man speaking to her. The Vicar himself, mere feet away, bright orange eyes stabbing through her soul.
She stopped herself from screaming curses into the night.
“Your Grace,” she managed to blurt, dipping into a respectful curtsy. Laurence didn’t so much as twitch. Somehow, the light of the singular lamp post nearby made his lack of movement more threatening.
“Defiant for an outsider surrounded by wolves,” he said. “Are you always so harsh towards your protectors?”
Chris averted her eyes, ignoring the snarky remark she wanted to make. “No, sir. Forgive me, handling an unexpected illness makes the mind…” She glanced back at him. “...hazy.”
“Not hazy enough to forego attention to detail, or so it would seem.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. He had her backed into a corner, both physically and verbally. There was still the knife under her dress, but stabbing the Vicar would land her in more trouble. She took a small breath, mind racing with endless gruesome fates.
“With all due respect,” she began, voice clinging to the slightest tremor, “I believe that one can devote all the attention in the world to something, yet still stumble elsewhere. The tasks are not mutually exclusive. The mind is too complex for that.”
Laurence raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t certain if she was meant to be afraid or relieved.
“Complex, indeed,” he replied. “Though this does not excuse your actions, I have not come here for a simple reprimand.”
She took a shallow breath. Would she be slaughtered where she stood, or would silent spies drag her further into the Ward for purposes unknown? Her legs locked up at the thought.
“Then to what do I owe the honor of this meeting?” she asked
“A proposition,” Laurence said, “should you choose to accept it.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “You possess a keen mind and sharp instincts. Whatever your current work, both could be put to much better use within the institution.”
Chris blinked.
“I…” She cleared her throat. “Are you saying I would be a useful Hunter to the Church?”
The smallest smirk tugged at his lips. “Partially.” Laurence walked past and behind her, strolling towards the outlook’s railing. “Every Church Hunter doubles as a doctor of some description. Duality in research and combat is crucial to the survival of Yharnam.” He turned his head to look at her. His dark robes and the dim light shining upon his red hair gave him the appearance of dying flames, enshrouded in swirls of smoke. “You would be doing a great service to your fellow citizens. Perhaps extend the lives of the neighbors you seek to protect. A higher honor cannot be found within the shadows of Yharnam.”
Her hands clutched her skirt. She looked at the ground again, eyes tracing the cracks in the stones. This was an institution she quietly rallied against in every way she could. To become part of this collection of anger and hysteria, after seeing what they’d done to people around her...she swallowed the nauseous feeling rising in her throat. Ideas turned and tumbled around in her head.
“If I may,” she started, “I...would like to make an addendum to your proposition.”
Laurence raised an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”
Chris straightened her posture, eyes flicking away before looking at him again. “Should I decide to accept your offer, I wish to focus mostly on research. I believe my talents more useful in furthering a given field than culling beasts.”
He paused, almost as if he were giving her request some thought. She refused to hold on to any hope in that regard. An outsider had no business demanding things from the Vicar, and yet…
“Duly noted,” he replied. She stopped herself from sighing in relief. Laurence slipped past her, heading towards the stairs. “Your neighbor should return soon. Do think on my offer, Miss…”
Chris curtsied again. “Chris Wint, Your Grace.”
His eyes flickered over her face. He nodded. “Be wary this night, Miss Wint. Such promise should not be snuffed out by prowling beasts.”
Laurence turned and left almost as quickly as he arrived. The last she saw of him after blinking was a swift flick of his robes as he ascended the stairs. Chris waiting a few moments before releasing a shaky breath.
She covered her face with her hands, exhaling through her fingers. Somehow, this encounter was worse than all of the things she imagined would happen to her. To anyone else, she would be an idiot to turn down something considered so prestigious, especially if it was offered by the Vicar himself. But what would it give her? What good what come of it in her name?
Chris looked up at the moon, hanging ever so low over the city.
“Perhaps,” she whispered, “I can turn this in my favor.”