Chapter Text
The hunt was unnaturally slow tonight. Of course, beasts still roamed the streets, and so hunters still purged, but the hordes they were accustomed to were few and far between. A pyre's worth, if even that. Hunters tiredly swept Yharnam's empty streets, some desperate to find some great monster to get their blood pumping, some thankful the plague had seemingly subsided, and others just waiting for the sun to rise. The sun was distant, sadly, and so they trudged on and on. But, compared to most hunts, where the air was filled with smoke and the scent of iron, where fresh-faced hunters were gored by tooth and claw, where veterans were forced to put down their fellows who's hunger for blood outweighed bonds, it was a mostly welcome reprieve.
Things were even stiller when it came to the Cathedral Ward. The few beasts that found their way up into the Church's district never made it far, put down by any number of the things prowling about, from Hunters to giants to doctors. Church doctors prepared for morning business, eagerly anticipating the funnel of injured hunters and civilians alike. It was Thursday, and the city's priests were already prepared for the waves of the grieving and the regretful that would surely grace their doors come daylight. The Healing Church was a church, after all, and the people of Yharnam craved its guidance above all else.
But, after a while, this activity died down. Preparations were finalized, no beasts wandered the streets, and hunters returned to their homes, whether they be a house or a workshop. After such a long while expecting nights of frantic bloodshed and tears, it was strange having one so relatively calm. And so, whether fearing or relishing in the silence, Yharnam slept.
Vicar Laurence did not.
Far above the city, above even the Cathedral Ward, nestled aside the city's famed Astral Clocktower, lay the Vicar's office and quarters. The wine red blinds were neatly shut. but light still peeked through the curtain's gaps. Beyond those curtains was the Vicar's study, built and decorated in traditional Yharnam style. It was as neat and refined as the man that it belonged to.
Speaking of that man, he was very hard at work. His stringy black hair contrasted with pallid skin and the snow white and blood red garb of a Vicar. He was thin, with little muscle to speak of. After all, his place was in the laboratory, not out in the field. No matter what happened, what came, whatever vile beasts lurked within his city, Laurence could always find his place through pen and ink. And through that ink came order, and through order came salvation, and Laurence would have it no other way.
Especially now. Laurence sat hunched over the ornate mahogany desk, stacks of paper piled atop it like the city he made. Grey eyes checked over every word he wrote, twice, thrice, sometimes more before he was satisfied, moving it wherever it needed to go. He'd gotten into quite the rhythm, and something as silly as nightfall wouldn't deter him from getting work done. Not at a time like this.
Another signature, another document set aside, another filed away or folded into an envelope for delivery. Reappointments, ordainments, typical fare. Then came the more personal sort. Things reserved for acquaintances: congratulations on the marriage, how was your holiday, that kind of stuff. Truth be told, this was normally his least favorite part. But it was a distraction necessary, after all. Keeping up appearances had let him get this far, and maintaining that appearance let him stay there. Once he was finished with that, he moved onto what he was saving for last. What he was dreading. He removed a envelope from one of his desk drawers. Blood red, with silver embellishments. Meant for messages to confidants, his inner circle. But most of all, they were high priority. He had only one he needed to send, but it didn't make it any easier. He took a breath and, with one last dip of his pen into his inkwell, got to work.
Dear Curate Amelia,
I hope this letter finds you well. Throughout our time together, I have been very impressed with your work as a member of the Choir. Your experimentation with coldblood was truly fascinating. The insights gleamed through your tests on mixing different varieties were truly invaluable to our shared mission.Through blood and sweat (though mostly blood), you earned your place as Curate. But, I believe your true station may rest even higher than that.
As you are well aware, we have unfortunately lost our Caretaker of the Upper Ward. Her position was central to the Church's continued growth and research, and without a suitable replacement, such operations cannot function with their full potential. I have looked over many candidates, and after heavy deliberation, I have decided you are best suited to take up the mantle. The testimony of your colleagues, your devotion to our cause, and my own personal evaluation have decided such.
Due to the circumstances and sensitivity of this matter, the rites of ordination will unfortunately have to be canceled. Instead, it has been combined with my sermon this Sunday. I hope you understand. After that business is finished, you will begin your new duties as soon as you are available.
If there are any further concerns about your elevation, you may request a meeting with me personally.
Congratulations and best regards, Vicar Laurence
You'll give regards to her replacement but not her. Curious.
Laurence tried to ignored the quiet pain that grew in his skull as he quickly double-checked the document. Amelia was certainly the best fit for the position, but diverting her focus from research was an unfortunate (if necessary) sacrifice. He set the letter aside so the ink could dry and got up from his desk. He pushed open the stained glass doors to the balcony. As much as he would like to, spending all his time inside was unsustainable. He needed some fresh air. Maybe that would help alleviate the little annoyance thrumming in his brain.
As expected, it was frigid outside. The pale moon cast its haunting glow onto the city, distant yet somehow affectionate. Distant plumes of smoke reached up to it, yet fell as short as the spires of Yharnam did. They were fading with the hunt, it seemed. He watched from his post as the last remaining Hunters dispersed, closely bundled lights breaking off from one another before fading completely.
Normally, a night in Yharnam smelled of smoke. Of burning flesh, and faintly of blood. Screams echoed, distant and close by. A sudden, frantic war without borders or tactics. The most organization found in one was usually a workshop staying close together as they swept one of Yharnam's many districts. One being so quiet, so tranquil, so...normal seemed wrong in comparison. But not unwelcome. Laurence was no fool: he knew that, like any plague, the Beast Scourge ebbed and flowed like the tide. Those nights would return in time. But, before then, he might as well enjoy it while it lasts.
So the Vicar leaned over the balcony and gazed upon his city. One long, long, look. At his city. At his life's work. And, despite it all, despite the Scourge, he only felt pride.
He recalled how Yharnam looked a mere twenty years prior. Ramshackle, run down, and utterly forgettable. And the people knew it. So when Laurence founded the Church of the Good Chalice, they flocked inside, desperate for something to give their lives meaning. They listened, they adored, and most of all, they accepted the potential of the Old Blood, unlike those old fools at Byrgenwerth, too obsessed with superstition to accept it for what it was; a panacea.
So the people didn't care when the Healing Church dug its claws into their city. They expanded, saved lives, brought business, and cleaned the wretched town into something reputable. Something renowned. Yharnam went from hell on earth to holy land in a matter of two decades. Even when the plague struck, their faith in him drowned out all of the naysayers and charlatans who preached the 'evils' of his Blood. Yes, the plague was an...unfortunate side effect. But with time every little flaw in the process would be countered and subsequently eradicated. Already the wheels of progress were turning, and with every experiment and every bit of knowledge gleamed they got that much closer to mankind's apotheosis. A shame not everyone would get to experience that perfect world, but sacrifices must be made.
Ahh, and you know that well, don't you?
Laurence gritted his teeth. There was a horrid ache behind his left eye now. The headaches wouldn't stop. Maybe it was an issue of hydration? He could admit that he didn't keep track of matters like that. He had a tendency to get lost in his work. He quickly returned inside and walked to the kitchen. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. As he drank from the glass, he could feel the tension alleviate. Yes, that had been it, likely combined with the general stress he had been feeling lately. He finished the glass in under half a minute, which really only proved further how parched he was. As Laurence cleaned the glass and put it away, he took the time to think on what he would do next. As much as he would like to return to his work, he could still recognize that he was in dire need of a break. If any of the others were here, they'd surely agree with that assessment.
His course of action decided, he retired to his sitting area, reclining into a plush settee after retrieving a bottle of scotch, a tumbler, and a book he'd picked up a few years back. In spite of what certain parties might think of him, he was something of an aficionado for the finer liquors. 'And this was surely a fine liquor', he thought as he sipped from the glass. A good mix of sweet and grainy, not strong enough to dull you to the taste quickly but still present to leave an impression. He let out a sigh of relief. there was nothing that could beat a hard-earned relaxation. And Laurence had certainly earned it.
All in all, today had been a rather productive one so far. He still had a small amount of work left to do, but nothing too major. The hardest parts were already over and done with. Despite everything, the future of the Healing Church was surely on the up.
Laurence wondered if his compatriots felt the same.