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zutraeumen · 1 year

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Unshackle Me

This is a part of my one-shot book about Gehrman called: Even the doll, should it please you… You can find the whole book on these platforms: FanFiction, AO3, Wattpad or Quotev.

Bloodborne belongs to its respectful owner.

Unshackle Me

―︎

"You're sure to be in a fine haze about now, but don't think too hard about all of this."

―︎

Clueless as you were in your role as the Hunter of the Dream, you felt like you were on the right track for once, and the feeling only grew as you traversed further into the macabre Forbidden Woods; in search of Byrgenwerth.

Beyond the many lurking dangers of the tangled woods, past the massive graves and its three shadowy figures, stood Byrgenwerth College. A research building of older times, it overlooked a lake, the building itself standing serenely as if gazing at the reflection of the moon.

You had just about enough of the Moon, thank you very much.

Several scattered scripts led you to this place. Yet in the end, it had been Alfred's words that convinced you to take a closer look into it - sounded promising - and thus raised your overall expectations. It was supposed to be a place of higher learning, of teachings most obscure that delved into the mysterious secrets of the Chalice Labyrinths, the Arcane knowledge of the Cosmos, and the Great Ones that inhabit it.

In this sense, you connected the dots that everything sacred in Yharnam could be traced back to the college, and therefore, saw it as a potential treasure horde of answers definitely worth dying a few times.

The Byrgenwerth spider hides all manner of rituals, and keeps our lost master from us. A terrible shame. It makes my head shudder uncontrollably.

The lost master mentioned in this note that you had found in a library on your way to Oedon Chapel was Master Willem, the very same Master Willem you had only gotten a glimpse of through the vision granted by touching that enormous beast skull at the altar of the Grand Cathedral. Hearing about him, he seemed significant to you, but meeting him in person was underwhelming, for there was little left of his mind.

The spider hides all manner of rituals, certain to reveal nothing, for true enlightenment need not be shared.

The 'spider' must have him trapped here, for there appeared to be some pale fungus growing on the back of his head. His eyes were covered, and you joked that he might have it there to hide pairs of bulbous yellow-tinted eyes alike the insectoid foes you had dispatched of all across the college's grounds.

You could still hear the rustling of many legs just under the terrace where you now stood. That THING you had not enough creativity to name, as well as deemed too pointless to trifle with.

"Our eyes are yet to open."

You remembered hearing the old man say to Laurence. You were not entirely sure you understood the full scope of his words, nor prevailed in you any true desire to discover his thoughts about how to achieve eldritch enlightenment. You would not let curiosity kill the cat.

Perhaps he was still waiting for that to happen to him in this creaking rocking chair of his, with a mind-robbed hunter donning robes of the Choir guarding the entrance to the terrace. The smell from the Rosmarinus still clung to your attire and you loathed it as much as you did the blood of the beast you killed on a daily basis.

The Provost breathed almost imperceptively. He WAS alive, you saw the small rise of his chest despite the thick layers of robes. Yet, there still came nought a sound from the old bugger (look who's talking, old hag), and his silence unnerved you because there was no way forward from this point; your trail came to a halt here.

Small traces of anger began to bubble up in you. Standing here in silence, in spite of the magnificent view, albeit without answers bothered you all the same. Age should have taught you by now that patience was a virtue, but you didn't come all this way for a knitting lesson with this coffin dodger!

Your feet carried you closer to him, and thoughts of knocking off his headwear to get him to wake up crossed your mind. Distantly reminding you of the way unruly children would disturb that lanky, old - what was his name? - farmer back in your small village by knocking off his straw hat whilst he dozed off in his chair. Once discovered, they would skip away in equal fright and laughter, a spring to their steps that only youth could give them.

Holy shit, you actually remembered something! Before you could indulge in a short episode of self-celebration, the unexpected happened.

Provost Willem spoke. Correction, he released a couple of unintelligible sounds that sounded as if his jaw and tongue had gone lax, but that was not all from him. You watched him raise the sceptre you failed to mention, and stepped out of the way as he slowly swung it towards the edge of the terrace.

What was he pointing at?

Captivated by this new development, you inched closer to the edge to see if there was anything suspicious. Surprise, surprise! There wasn't.

"I swear if this is supposed to be some sort of joke-"

Whack!

No sooner than you registered the scorching pain upon your back, did you realize that you were sent flying towards the moon-side lake. Expecting to be met with freezing water, you curl into a protective ball only to be met with hard ground, and not even cloth would have muffled the scream that tore from you.

Fucking hell, that fall must have positively shattered the entirety of your backbone (Oops, clumsy you!). Possibly worse. Despite your reservation about the consumption of healing blood, you didn't hesitate to inject a vial into your right thigh.

The pain ebbed away with the administrated dosage, but it still took you a while to pick yourself up. Old age and such. Rolling on your side, you tried to stay calm at the fact that you were standing on literal water, surrounded by a thick fog that stifled your senses.

As far as you knew, there was nothing around, until you turned around. Blinking away the mist in your gaze, you recognized a shape decisively not human. Was that the spider that was mentioned in the leftover notes?

Picking up your trusty Saw Cleaver, left discarded on the watery floor from the fall, you mentally prepared for a fight. Scrutinizing your enemy with each step you took.

If you didn't know any better, you would have never associated it with arachnids. More like a gigantic pillbug with numerous tiny legs holstering its weight. At its end, it had a silverfish-like tail and a bulbous body on which there appeared to be a garden of Coldblood flowers. Its face, on the other hand, resembled a chunk of pumice covered in multiple eyes, which might (or might not) suggest its connection to the Great Ones.

Overall, it seemed like easy prey, considering your previous encounters with such monsters. A bigger body to hit. Strangely enough, the alarm bells remained dormant, as if your instincts didn't recognize an immediate threat, even when you were a foot away from the 'Spider'.

Still nothing, it remained harmless like a butterfly.

Some part of your brain decided that it was a good idea to try and touch it, and stupidly enough, you did end up laying a tentative hand upon the creature's body. Patting as if it was a mere cat, you thought about your next course of action.

This situation was so different from what you were used to by that point that you had no clue how to proceed. Up until this confusing encounter; hostility from everywhere, from everything, from everyone was a given. For a monster to be this docile, well, that wasn't in the Hunter manual.

You had a feeling no other Hunter would vacillate as much as you did right now. As your cool kinswoman Eileen would say to you: Enough trembling in your boots. A hunter must hunt.

Some hunter you were! Slaying beasts was part of your job! Your contract! (signed against your will, mind you) Looking at yourself right now, in an inner debate to spare a monster, she would regard you with much disappointment. As would the rest of them. Alive or dead.

Lifting your weapon over your head, not much left to do to complete a swing other than let gravity do the rest, you willed yourself to initiate the fight - to do what hunters do.

Yet... you couldn't. It was against your nature, even despite them being everything that humans so feared. Cautionary tales parents told their children during bedtime.

Ah, you truly weren't cut out for this.

―︎

Gehrman POV

The old Hunter startled awake after yet another uneasy dream.

No, he didn't dream, he RELIVED.

The fiendish sins he had committed against the people of the Fishing Hamlet, albeit done at the behest of his Master Willem, were continuing to haunt him with avid precision. To a point where he could sooner recall them rather than his own name!

And Maria, oh the beautiful Maria that had never been his to begin with. He should have forwarded another to come with him, but the Provost personally requested both of them - Master and his best student - to assist his Byrgenwerth scholars to investigate the village.

Having been under the Master's servitude for a while now, trusted and respected, he was the one who armed the Tomb Prospectors with his crafty weaponry or tinkered with their attire. And was sometimes even asked to accompany them into the deep labyrinth under Yharnam, where he had gotten quite the experience fighting misbegotten creatures. After each kill, they would cleave them up and put the smaller pieces into containers to be brought back for research.

He realized that he had thought about the transformed people of the Fishing Hamlet the same way, and ushered cruel death upon them with his Burial Blade like one would a measly insect ready for dissection. Without sympathy for human life, hanging their mutilated corpses, they violently clawed their eyes out in search of a connection to the supposed Great Ones - until they carved a path towards one the villagers revered as Mother Kos.

It was there that their greatest blasphemy was committed...

At the end of a long, sodden tunnel was a beach, and ashore, a dead Great One. But that was not all they had found lingering there, for, during the act of desecrating even this corpse, they had found the greatest discovery yet - an unborn child.

They were foolish, blinded by the flame of greed. By separating the fetus from its mother, they murdered an infant in their search for advancing humanity and invoked the wrath of Kos. A curse that not even Flora could lift from him.

The old Hunter wouldn't have known at the time, but he had become the very same monster he had so prided himself on killing. Many who would hear his punishment would say it was a deserved one, and he thought so too, from the moment it drove his beloved Maria away from him. From being a Hunter altogether.

Together with Laurence, when the Scourge of Beasts was becoming too much to handle even for Ludwig and his Holy Blades, they beckoned another Great One through the umbilical cord of the very child he had cut from the belly of its mother.

Life without Maria held no meaning for him. He wasn't even strong enough to protect the citizens of Yharnam against the beast that multiplied like rats. It wasn't difficult to consent to Laurence's idea.

The times when he would indulge his hobby of making adjustments to his everyday clothing and tools seemed so very distant to him now. So far, indeed, that after Lady Maria's death and his subsequential confinement to the Hunter's Dream, he would not ever craft something of brutish nature ever again.

Guilt, loss, and uselessness paved the way for the depravity of thought, morals, and reason. Concepts of purity like love would deteriorate into an obsessive mania, as proof that he couldn't move on from Lady Maria's passing.

So, in the image of the only person he thought he ever loved, he made the Plain Doll.

Designed to perfection, down to the most minuscule detail, no facet was left different from its role model. And then Flora brought the Doll to life, and Gehrman, misguided as he had been, indulged himself in his carnal desires despite knowing that the porcelain doll could never live up to the real thing no matter how he wished it.

Bitterness and anger came first, where he would grow distant and indifferent towards the Doll as if he wasn't the one who created her with tender affection. Her mere existence was perceived as an affront towards his genuine - even if unbecoming - feelings for Lady Maria.

Then followed days upon days of loneliness with no one else to keep him company other than his own voice. With his future sealed, the present a repeating cycle, he was left with no choice but to seek refuge in the past.

Hours of self-reflection brought great shame to overcome him, he felt disgusted with himself, his actions, and even cried at the mere notion that he had defiled something so pure and innocent as the Doll. What would Maria think of him, he dared not to imagine, but he doubted it would be any different from what he already thought of himself.

A monster, that was what he was. One that absolutely deserved to be trapped in this gilded cage.

He knew not what to expect of the Great One when they had struck an accord with it. How it would uphold its end of the bargain, but that changed when the first hunter came into the Workshop.

Most of them came young, and knew little of the skillset necessary for the hunting of beasts, and it was then that the old hunter realized his purpose in this new plane of existence - this Hunter's Dream - a guide for new hunters.

The mantle of mentorship hadn't been new to him. The nostalgia of his days before the Scourge of Beasts had hit him hard, and for a sweet moment, he had forgotten his pain until this too, became part of his monotone existence.

For the Hunters of the Dream quickly began to grow disinterested in him and eventually, he of them as well.

But never the soft-spoken Doll, who jumped to serve their every need just like he once done himself. He couldn't care less, she meant nothing to him at this point, any superficial affections he might have held because she was the spitting image of his love interest disappeared long ago.

They were all of a piece until the time came when they had outgrown their use, and Flora brought them to his tree, and he would give them a choice. A choice he would never get to have - to be freed of this Dream and walk in the waking world once more. Even when they resisted, far too lost in their drunkness for blood, he would grant them mercy.

Any other outcome wasn't allowed.

He would not have it any other way. Gehrman would never let another take his place, to condemn someone to this nightmare he had brought upon himself. His burden was never one to be shared or given away.

And so new gravestones sprouted from the earth, with each freed Hunter...

... until you came.

You were inherently different than any other soul that had bound itself to the Dream, there was that air about you told him on itself.

For starters, you were old, possibly the oldest Hunter of the Dream yet, however, you carried your age well and he suspected you must have been a fair maiden back in your days.

But for now, you matched his mouse-grey hair, but he thought they suited you much better than him. The cropped strands barely peeked out of your Top Hat, it was strange to see a woman wear one, but the round, silverly spectacles complimented your striking grey eyes the most. They gave you an academic aura that reminded him of his time working for Byrgenwerth and often not, would transfix him in their lingering wisdom.

For a woman your age, you were quite tall as well. Or perhaps it only appeared so because he sat in his wheelchair, who knows? The Doll seemed to favour you the most. Although she held past Hunters in high regard and treated them with deep respect, out of all of them, you openly engaged her during every given opportunity.

To you, she would never be just a tool.

Conversing with her as if the knowledge that the Plain Doll was a mere inanimate object eluded you. Without a will of her own, Gehrman disregarded the Doll long ago because of that same aspect, but you, on the other end, he watched you take your time to listen like a grandmother would to their grandchild.

The Doll loved you for it.

Some distant part of him (one he would never admit out loud) adored you for it as well, that the two of you shared anything, no matter how small, in common. It made him feel connected to you, it made him feel happy.

From your words alone, he had gathered that you were a kind soul. Far too kind to exercise such an unsavoury job. Back in the day, many would have misjudged you for your lack of necessary violence (Valtr, for sure). Being the most experienced of them all, he wouldn't do you wrong by underestimating you.

He hadn't done so when recruiting young Maria from the Knights of Cainhurst during times when the Healing Church resided in its infancy. She didn't count among the last to be recruited to his Workshop, but her potential was the one Gehrman had wanted to realize the most.

And in the end, Maria had proven herself in the eyes of every doubter, how deadly of a hunter she had become. With her delicate expertise of the Rakuyo, which required great dexterity to wield, and the mastering of his Quickening.

If he strained his memory long enough, he could recall how proud he had been. Of the way she had blossomed into a stunning lady until one day, while fighting every day, side by side, he came upon the realization that his feelings had changed.

There was no chance of him to pinpoint the exact moment Maria became more to him than his most accomplished apprentice. But it happened so seamlessly that Gehrman easily convinced himself that he never felt anything else for her from the very beginning.

Despite that, he had never found the courage to confess his feelings towards Maria. He had read books, of course, detailing the ways of wooing and courtship, but... Inexperience led to illusion, and there hadn't been a more heartbreaking day than the day he realized that the enchanting beauty would never reciprocate his feelings. That they would never exceed anything other than admiration for her mentor. Just like it always should have been.

By the Gods, he had known for a long time. From the way they had interacted, from the way she looked at him, from the way she talked about him to others.

It was he who was in the wrong, he who had hoped for more, he who had lied to himself.

Never his Maria. Never his Lumenflower.

Then, he had lost her. And so his last chance to tell her the full extent of his amorous feelings.

But you... you... you...

You were nothing like her. There was no potential to draw out from you. His keen eyes spied not a drop of talent in you. Might he have been younger, he would perhaps have found ways to fletch you into a somewhat acceptable hunter still, the toll of his existence made itself known in many ways.

There was very little he could offer you, yet you still came to him.

You actively searched him out of your own volition, even bypassing the Doll in some instances.

Unbelievably enough, even his moments of weakness never deterred you. You probably thought he wouldn't catch onto this, but he sometimes awoke to your touch, soft and harmless, that made him slowly forget what he dreamt about within the next seconds.

Your presence calmed him, he might even say it brought him some measure of peace he had not experienced for far too long. It did not stop the nightmares, but you would be there to soothe him should he awake from them. Your tenderness drew warmth into his being once again, syphoned feelings into his heart, and inspired thoughts back into his decaying brain.

Life.

Just as Flora had done to his Plain Doll, you had planted a seed of life into him, one he was unsure if he had the strength left to nurture. Gehrman was confounded, you have been part of the Dream for some time now, even if his perception of time was somewhat unreliable, they had formed a bond of sorts.

And as much as he wouldn't like to acknowledge it to himself, he had come to rely on you and anticipate your return with fondness.

―︎

In the end, you found out there was no other way, no matter how far you walked, the mist churned endlessly around. No Hunter Marks to make use of.

Left with no other choice, you engaged the Spider with a heavy weight in your stomach.

Following your victory, you approached the ever-wailing Queen Yharnam when suddenly, a red Moon began descending. You had never been more sure of your impending doom, so much that you have not even attempted to run away, but in turn, found yourself transported to a forgotten church; a nook of the Upper Cathedral Ward you have had yet to discover.

And it was then that you witnessed TRUE HORROR; in the form of an alien beast outside the designs of nature you had no name of. With seven arms and a lean, almost branch-like body with an opening in the chest. Intrusive thoughts imagined how its six clawed fingers would strike with frightening speed like a mantis, or crush your feeble form in one of its massive palms.

If the sight alone didn't inspire enough fear for your legs to move, then it must have been the prickling sensation in your head. Something was attempting to reach you - your thoughts. You didn't give in, even as you hightailed past its many enemies and towards the safety of the Oedon Chapel.

Gone was the blue of the sky, and the Moon appeared larger than you remembered it. Everything was bathed in sickly orange light and there was an unending cry of a newborn babe resonating in the air, with no clear source to be determined. A new, stifling atmosphere had taken over Yharnam and you feared for the survivors at the Chapel.

Your thoughts were racing at impossible speed - falling into a perpetual cycle of why's and how's. You should have never searched for answers you weren't ready for because there was one thing that had become blatantly clear, killing the Spider set off a change that put dread into your very soul because you hadn't meant it. You were as unprepared for what awaited you as the day you have gotten into this mess.

Regardless, you raced as quickly as your tired feet could carry you, taking every possible shortcut there was at your disposal to get there.

You made it past the giant, imposing gate and down the long set of stairs that would lead you to the corner Eileen would occupy. You only needed to round the wooden carriage and-

"Miss Hunter!"

You tensed in surprise before a small body came barreling into you. It took you a second too long to realize who it was, then didn't hesitate to scoop her up by her armpits. Frantically, your eyes searched for anything that might indicate bodily harm and a stone dropped from your heart when you found none. Gascoigne's daughter was okay, your head shot up when you heard another pair of smaller boots; both were okay.

With a wail of relief equal to that of a worried mother, you shoved the girl into your embrace, small fingers clutching into the lapels of your coat. Sobs wracked through the child in your arms, and you barely gulped down the tremble in your voice when you tried to shush her with soothing words.

The kid brought you immense comfort, but still, there were numerous eyes continuing to watch you and it unnerved you. With clammy hands, you shifted one daughter into the cleft of one arm while reaching out for the smaller hand of the other. You didn't expect her to actually take it, but she did and so you steered them back into the safety of Oedon Chapel.

Your body relaxed from its hypertonic state when the familiar waft of incense made it to your nostrils, "Is everyone safe?"

Your voice resonated within the gothic structure, loud and clear, which seem to startle the old lady on her chair, but surprisingly, she didn't begin her usual judgmental ravings but remained oddly quiet, muttering unintelligibly to herself. The man, distrustful as he was, continued to at his corner, seemingly fine and completely unbothered to give any sort of response. Adella seemed to be faring well too, at first glance.

Gascoigne's younger daughter calmed down by the time you reassured yourself of the wellbeing of the group, and began tugging at your hand incessantly, "Lady Arianna, Miss Hunter, she is not feeling well. She is groaning and clutching at her tummy as if she had a tummy ache. I used to have those when I ate too fast..."

Arriving at the lamp, it was as the small girl said, your friend was hunched over in obvious pain and you waste no time approaching her chair with great concern. You said her name and watched as she closed her eyes shut in response.

"Oh, hello there. Forgive me, I'm a bit out of sorts. So, no blood today, okay?"

Shaking your head while taking down your hat, you gave it to the older sister to hold while you tried your best to inspect the hurting woman before you. You were no doctor, but you were a fellow woman, if you could elevate your friend of any semblance of pain, it would ease your heart considerably.

"Wouldn't dream of it, talk to me Arianna, what's wrong?"

Another groan, deeper than the rest, escaped the woman of pleasure, as if it required considerable effort to form a reply. The girls stayed quiet behind you.

"I don't know deary, my stomach hurts so terribly."

You reached for her hand, finding it shaking and clammy, "Is it your moon cycle?"

"Impossible, I am not bleeding."

Your sense of smell agreed with her. There was no blood on her person that you could sniff out.

"Would a blood vial help?" you asked, fishing out one out of your many pockets. Your right thigh tingled in anticipation, as if it waited for you to inject yourself in a reflexive response to a fatal injury.

You, with practised precision, jabbed the needle into the next best place that wasn't covered by her gown. You held onto her as she experienced the familiar rush of ecstasy. Invigoration at its finest, there was no wonder the residents of Yharnam preferred it over alcohol.

"Ahhh... I am afraid it didn't work darling. Oh...there's something wrong with me..."

Helpless, you scrambled in your brain for alternatives. Despite it being some time after your last moon cycle, you remembered distinctly what you used to do, one simply couldn't sever himself this easily from an experience that went on for the better half of life.

"What is wrong with Lady Arianna, Miss Hunter?" The girl with a white ribbon asked, her childly voice carrying innocent confusion that would never fail to grow in your heart. She was too innocent for this world.

In lack of a suitable white lie, you shifted your attention towards the Dweller, whose spindly arms were lighting another pot of incense. You knew he'd help the only woman - second to you - who would speak to him from time to time. A kind soul through and through.

"Yes, kind hunter? How can I be of service to you?" There was an adorable tilt of joy in his frail voice, excitement at the prospect of being useful.

There was nothing but softness as you addressed him, "We need to get Arianna from this chair to a more comfortable place. Do you have a few pillows for her, a blanket preferably as well?"

"Certainly, Miss Hunter, but I'm afraid I am out of blankets." His head dropped and his expression fell rapidly.

That was when the Gascoigne's older daughter cut in, "I can give her mine. My sister's big enough for us two."

You smiled and nodded in satisfaction, it felt wonderful to have the support of others for a change. With that settled, you worked together to create a soft corner for Arianna to lie down and rest. You also inquired if he would be so kind as to make a kettle of tea and serve it to the pained woman in hopes the warmth might make her feel better.

You turned and knelt in front of the kids, taking each small hand into your own with care, "Listen kids, let Lady Arianna rest and listen to the Dweller while I am away, can you do that for me dearies?"

"Of course, Miss Hunter. We'll be good, but where are you going?"

Your thoughts steered towards Gilbert and his decaying health, "To visit a friend and see if he's alright."

"Okay..." she went in for a hug, "we love you, Miss Hunter, and we will miss you!"

You kissed the top of her head and squeezed her sister's hand, although you weren't as close to her as to her younger counterpart, you came to care for her too. You would be back before they knew it.

Or so you thought, until you arrived at Gilbert's window.

The light that usually shone behind the barred window was extinguished. The iron bars you used to speak through to your friend were bent open, as if something was trying to get in...false - get out.

Your ears picked up irregular steps, heavy breathing and menacing growling. A beast lurked about, just around this corn-

It jumped you with the ferocity of any other beast in Central Yharnam, only this didn't resemble any of the usual prey in this area. With a werewolf-like, thin and elongated body that was covered in bandages and ripped cloth, exposing its fur. Sharp nails sought to pierce, cut, sink into paper-thin skin, but found no other than the sharpened metal of your Saw Cleaver.

With the strength of many blood souls, this enemy which you first encountered in Old Yharnam, was no serious threat to you. And it fell to one precise strike with a yowl, laying dead about your feet.

Your breath calmed, your heart slowed, your mind cleared... and realization followed.

"By the Gods, GILBERT!"

The beast you have just slain was your outsider friend, who at the precipice of his affliction, turned into the very same beast you hunted. His mind fully succumbed to the hunt for the blood of humans.

"No, no, no, this isn't real, no, no, no..."

This was not your Gilbert that you connected with at the beginning of your Hunt. This was not the Gilbert that gave you useful information whenever you failed at navigating the monotone streets of Yharnam. This was not the Gilbert you'd share a cup of tea over words.

This was not the Gilbert you knew, yet why did it hurt as if he were?

"Why... me... why? Dear gods, what have I done? Save me."

Tears flooded your eyes as the full brunt of emotions crashed into you like a tsunami. The strength in your legs left you, you didn't even register the painful way your knees crashed against the hard, wet concrete.

Your heart felt as if wanted to squeeze the life out of you, while your throat tried to suffocate you. You felt immense pain at the loss of your friend. He had considered himself lucky to be unharmed by the plague of beasts. He felt happy at the prospect of keeping his humanity at death's doorstep.

But his sickness robbed that from him, and you grieved for him, and blamed yourself for not ending his life before he could turn. You should have been here for him, to the end, what have you done instead? You went gallivanting into the woods because of some stupid sense of curiosity.

Glancing at the corpse, you couldn't stomach the sight and its implications any longer and reached for the lamp. You NEEDED to get away, IMMEDIATELY.

And so as if to answer your wishes, the Messengers whisked you away into the Dream.

―︎

Gehrman POV

It was all the same.

The same air. The same smell. The same sights. The same dreams.

All tied into a repetitive loop. A ring with no end nor beginning.

Then he opened his eyes and saw you.

And all was well again.

The air changed. The smell changed. The sight changed. The dreams ended.

And he was alive again.

The old hunter lifted his head, tipping his hat to properly look at you. He had never braved to open his eyes at your caress, fearful he would be caught by your silver orbs. But now that you were fast asleep, his bravery shone through and he dared to dip his toes into the waters of uncertainty.

He watched as you leaned against the side of his chair, your posture slumped. It looked uncomfortable as the position had you bent your spine strangely, limbs hanging loosely. Gehrman took the liberty of gazing at your face, from this angle, getting a full picture was impossible without leaving his chair, but it was enough for him.

Worry etched his aged face as he spied the puffy redness around your eyes, and nose. Paths of dried tears slowly faded away, and there was no doubt in his mind that you had been crying recently. The world out there was cruel and unforgiving, that was never in question, but to see it have an impact on you - on such a beautiful soul - upset him.

You appeared vulnerable, and he couldn't imagine why you would go to him in such a delicate state. Surely the Doll would have gladly accepted you into her arms? He could ponder over your illusive reason all he wanted but in the end, Gehrman felt privileged, honoured even.

But the real issue was here, how would he go on about comforting you?

He wasn't short on ideas, but of confidence to execute them. Offering someone emotional support didn't count among his strong suits, but he felt something about you, so it made it easier. You were past being strangers the moment you sought him out in the back garden. The moment you first connected through touch.

"Just follow your heart you old fool, before she wakes up," he thought and conceded. His movements were deliberate, led by what his hopeful heart perceived as best, the old hunter's hand left his cane and moved over to where you were.

That wretched muscle behind his breastbone thumped as never before as his hand hovered over your head. Doubts over his actions forced him to hesitate once more, but he wouldn't be deterred, and after a slow, dry swallow of his own saliva, the first finger skimmed over the short blades of your mouse-grey hair.

His breath involuntarily hitched. It was soft, barely perceptible and he wondered how long it has been since he had touched something of that texture. Too long, apparently, for he chased more of this sensation with the rest of his hand and it wasn't long until his whole hand rested on your angled head.

He could hear the beat of his own heart in his ears. Touching you was thrilling in ways that resembled a hunt of a beast in the late nights in Yharnam. Gehrman couldn't remember an instance where he had been that close to a woman before that wasn't his mother. What did she look like?

Gehrman felt invigorated like never before! Vitality seemed to exude from him in spades!

Until he felt you twitch, then he went really quiet, as if the beast he hunted caught his scent. His petting ceased to a mere touch without pressure. Fearing that he might have inadvertently woken you up with his newfound enthusiasm, his hand was about to recoil when you slumped even further against his wheelchair, head pressing into his palm.

And only after moments of pause, to reassure that you have fallen back into the lands of dreams, resumed his tender, affectionate, mitigative caress. It gave him something to resist the iron pull of his depressive thoughts.

With you by his side, he could escape the cruel reality of his existence and find refuge in your measured breathing.

And once again, hidden from the only set of eyes in this dream, stood the Doll. Hands intertwined in front of her, with a kind smile on her vestal face, rejoicing in the slow entanglement of two lost souls.

#bloodborne #gehrmanxreader #gehrman the first hunter #romance #fluff #oldermen #olderwomen #the hunter #the good hunter #x reader #reader insert #nightmare #self concept #self healing

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lauvrehaus · 9 months

Text

Welcome to the LAUVRE!

Greetings! I'm so happy to find you on this side of the internet. This is the LAUVRE and welcome to my Haus. Before anything else, I would like to share first the inspirations that birthed my Haus. LAUVRE is a term coined from three words: LOUVRE, the famous museum in France popular for displaying hundreds of artworks and spanning throughout history including Leonardo Da Vinci's THE Mona Lisa, LAURENCE, my name, and LOVE, which is how it is pronounced.

Aside from being one of our academic requirements, this account is also dedicated to be a museum that will house my life experiences, personal point of view and a portal to share the things that I love and I am passionate about for the world to see.

Now, for my first exhibit, I'd like to formally introduce you to the *artist* behind this account- ME! Hi, I'm Laurence (he/him), the eldest of three siblings and I recently just turned 18 years old. Yes, another virgo just jumped into legality ready to conquer the world. Recently, I also found out that my MBTI personally changed from INFP-T to INTP-T, which I don't know if it's a good thing or no. Anyways, I grew up in a very energetic environment wherein families from both my parents are well represented, which equally influences my culture growing up.

Ever since I was a kid, I have been mainly surrounded by strong female personalities and relatives, which honed my feminine side more than the masculine side. I have always known it in myself that I am bursting with colors from deep within. I am slowly navigating my queer life through surrounding myself with mediums of art, predominantly with pop culture, music and movies. Speaking of which, my friends also know me as the biggest Lady Gaga stan in any circle. How can you get any gayer than that? I am also a long-time campus journalist and it has become my passion to be truthteller and a medium to amplify people's voices through journalism. I'd like to think of myself as a frustrated artist and a visionary trying to express myself in all ways possible.

I have spent my formative years in the hustle and bustle of the metro in Taguig City. There, I built the foundations of who I am now. I was born and raised in a highly-urbanized and competitive environment where everyone is competing to be on top, but I can tell that I have enjoyed every bit of it. That's why I found it hard when we permanently moved to Borongan in Eastern Samar where I currently reside. It is complete opposite of what I've been used to for the first 14 years of my life. It's like my world took a 180° turn. It felt had to leave everything behind and start all over again.

Soon enough, I have learned to love my new home without the need to forget where I came from. Borongan game the balance I didn't know I needed. It was in Borongan that I saw the serenity and simiplicity of life in the province. That big move gave me a chance to look for ways to improve myself in more ways possible. More opportunities came my way especially in academics. Ihave bren to national competitions and other multiple recognitions inside and outside the academe. I also met new people that aided me in adjusting and building a new homr for me. Maybe, Taguig was becoming too small for my ever-growing being, and I am meant to cross the sea to really expand my world.

Now, I am currently taking up Bachelor of Arts in Communication as a freshman in Eastern Samar State University and taking every step I take as a learning opportunity and an invitation for the betterment of myself, including this blog.

This is just the beginning of everything. I hope to share more moments with you and grow together as I take you with me on my journey. That is all for now. See you next time!

With love,

the LAUVRE.

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rhianna · 1 year

Photo

ACT I

A Chinese Studio with windowed walls of woodwork and oil-paper. At back of centre a dais, and behind that a picture showing an interior opening into a garden. In the foreground of the picture appears a hanging lantern, and below it a mandoline and a jar holding a spray of plum-blossom. To the right of the stage a sliding door opens into street: to the left stairs lead upward to interior, forward of that a door also to interior. It is morning: six or seven students squat painting. Between every two of them is a small stand for paint-pots, brushes, etc. All are very lazy and desultory at their work: the only industrious one is Tikipu, who, in shabby menial attire, grinds colours with weary persistence. The students yawn, stretch, and whine; and resume work in a perfunctory way at intervals upon shop-signs, lanterns, etc. On the dais sits Yunglangtsi, a mountain of indolent fat: sunk[Pg 2] in profound slumber he squats before his easel. Street-criers are heard without calling their wares.

1st Crier. Only ten sen! Only ten sen! Any buy?

2nd Crier. Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-eh!

1st Crier. [Nearer.] Only ten sen! Any buy?

Hiti. The next person who asks me if I’ll buy—I’ll murder!

1st Crier. [Intruding head.] Any buy?

Hiti. Get out—Mosquito!... Oh, Tikipu, you stagnant fool, do keep them out!

[Tikipu goes to shut door.

Nau. If honourable Shivering-fit has that door shut, long-suffering Foresight will go mad.

Hiti. Judging from its present whereabouts, Foresight will not have to go far.

Nau. Oh, brilliant, scintillating wit! What repartee!

Han. O Firebrands of genius, don’t make it any hotter than it is!

1st Crier. Only ten sen! Any buy?

[Hiti gives long-drawn sigh of exasperation: Tee-Pee pats his back soothingly.

Tee. There, there, Hiti, cheer up! It will soon be over. The Feast of Lanterns begins at noon. Then, on the auspicious stroke, we shut up shop. Mr. Yunglangtsi, how does your august Serenity bear the inconsiderateness of this piffling heat?

[Pg 3]

Lil. Hush! Don’t speak to him! He’s inspired!

Tee. I see—as usual! This inspiration is becoming permanent!

Lil. It is the incubation of the Event, Tee-Pee!

Hiti.

Trust what the starry Oracles foretell:Wait till the chicken taps upon the shell.

The Chinese lantern : A play by Laurence Housman

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/70852

#chinese lantern #lantern #chinese #china #laurence housman #project gutenberg

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ask-elliotgang · 2 years

Text

<< prev.

Elliot gently closes the front door in which he entered from and kicks his shoes off before putting them into a little shoe shelf that has been left near the exit.

He leans through the entrance to the lounge-room, hearing that the television is on, thus presuming the presence of any of his housemates.

ELLIOT: "Hey. Anyone else home?"

EDNA: "I believe they're out to the museum today."

ELLIOT: "Oh shit. I completely forgot about that! I was meant to go with them!"

EDNA: "It's okay. One of Mausa's friends showed up and went with them instead."

ELLIOT: "Oh. Thank god I didn't waste a ticket spot or anything then. Haha. Ah. So uh. What'cha doin'?"

SERENE: "New season of the scary fuckin' show dropped, wanna join?"

ELLIOT: "Ah, no thank you, don't plan on having nightmares thanks."

SERENE: "Your loss then pussy!"

ELLIOT: "Well this pussy is gonna be in his room so knock if you need me."

SERENE: "Got it chief!"

Elliot leaves with a wave and heads into his room upstairs.

Elliot is open to general asks.

#arc 2.5: stop the presses #elliot anwir #elliot the cosplay pikachu #elliot #edna the blaziken #edna #intel kaihagen #intel the raferno #serene laurence #serene the larvesta #burst #burst the swellow #pokemon #pokeblog #pokemon ask blog #mod: @astrogoatz #storytag #ask call #send me asks

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cosmamoon · 10 months

Text

My RTC (Choir and OCs) Designs!!

Including Serenity and Mary- Ann

Notes:

-Mischa, Penny/Jane and Constance all have heterochromia

-Mischa and Ricky are the shortest, Noel and Jane/Penny are the tallest

- + Jane is slightly taller than Penny because of the head

- I rewrote and redesigned Mary-Ann to have died during the summer, hence the uniform

- I have Serenity the jumper because I realised none of the girls where a jumper in the 2016 production

- I went with a very Red theme with Jane and a Green one with Penny

-Noel has naturally brown hair but dyes most of it black

-Mischa, Ricky and Constance all have hair dye too, and got it dyed together.

-Serenity also dyes her hair, most of it is naturally just brown

- Noel and Mary-Ann are the only ones without glasses, Penny just forgets hers a lot

- + Mischa doesn't wear his in his YT videos

- Jane has a different outfit to Penny because Karnak changed her clothing (saw this idea somewhere and liked it ), so now she wears a more doll-outfit esque version of the St. Cassian Uniform

- Saw a HC that they all have Freckles and ran with it. gonna add Freckles to Jane Later.

#ride the cyclone #ride the cyclone designs #constance blackwood #ricky potts #jane doe #ocean o'connell rosenberg #penny lamb #mary-ann watson #serenity laurence #rtc ocs #mischa bachinski #noel gruber

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idv-news-boi · 1 year

Note

I'm very curious! Do you have a canon game? If so, who's in it and what happened?

-> Game Group "Roulette"

Note// You’ve just entered an idv lore zone- I'm warning you, this can be pretty ooc for the other OCs I'm writing for,,, Enjoy your ride~

{Survivors}

Laurence Godfrey {The News Reporter}

Taegan Collins {The Dealer} @/idv-sinful-deities

Connor Morozov {The Bomber}

Sonny Latte {The Barista}

{Hunter}

Cleo {Thrillseeker} @/ask-idv-thrillseeker

Lore

"It's nice to meet you, there! I'm Laurence Godfrey...~!"

The blonde gentleman stretches out his hand to Tae as he flashes a friendly smile. He isn't meant to be participating the 'games', but the thrill and excitement of fear is what he's trying out for now... as a reward that he's doing his job to enforce and establish the media in this old manor-

Here he is, in the dining room, greeting a lady with a suit that he would carelessly interact with, probably not much aware of any shady business the Dealer has before the manor... Unless this silly American already read some of her files, which he did-

"Taegan Collins! I'll be up for card games anytime."

The brunette lady gladly shakes his hand, showing gesture of friendliness in return for the News Reporter's happy mood.

"Splendid! Hope you know how to play blackjack~!"

"I'm up for any challenge."

The manor can be dangerous around survivors, If he finds some connections and see which one is his worst enemies and which one is 'safe enough' to stay close with... He'll be able to make it.

But he's not going to stick with that plan. Since he's already aware that someone wants him alive anyway-

"So,,, what's the news?"

Laurence asks as he turns around to look at his other teammates with his unfaltered grin, almost meaning to give them some "social test".

The man with the headphones doesn't seem to have heard him, however... He's merely sitting there with his legs crossed on top of the table as if he doesn't care about what he is to the manor residents... As if he's the boss...

Laurence can tell he's some unconcerned bastard-

"Nothing much. Besides the rumors of the game being almost like hide and seek."

A calm voice interrupted Laurence's train of thoughts, making him turn towards the man next to the rude one. He has some wavy ends on his hair as he wears a serene look through his light expression that resembles a candle in the abyss... Pretty ironic to be at this dark place.

"Sonny, Sonny Latte. I'm merely a humble barista."

"Good to meet you, Mr. Latte!"

Laurence simply knows this guy. Because that's his personal barista and coworker back at the Dyanthus Republic-

But he plays along, knowing he's around with strangers and wants to perform as if he's nothing connected with Sonny. He can't let anyone know that just yet-

"Hide and seek? Never thought the host would be into nostalgic childhood based for the game! But I'm certain there must be something intriguing if we are here."

"Like an adult version of hide and seek?" The Dealer questions to test her comprehension.

"It could be, but no one can picture what kind of hide and seek would it be like at this moment of reflection,,,- the host doesn't seem to be likely to tell us either." The Barista confirms, as he cleans a glass of champagne cup before putting it aside with the other cleaned cups he dried.

...

For a few hours after, 3 of the guests proceeded to talk more but at the living room. Until they had to go back to the dining table for dinner time... Which is eventually served by the suspicious butlers sent by the manor's host.

Even more suspicious is that the food isn't exactly served directly by them-

"Food! I've been waiting for a while."

Tae exclaims happily as her now bright eyes are stating at the food that is not revealed by the metallic dish cover.

Laurence smiles as he inspects the now newly decorated table for the welcome,,,, flowers on the vases, name tags on the assigned seats, and plates neatly plac-

Wait a minute,,, there's something unusual here.

The plates may be all neatly covered by a similar material dish cover... But once all the plates are uncovered, all of them have a slight wrinkled fold on the handkerchiefs that are underneath the dish covers... And two of them have it peeking from the cover since the beginning... Which was Tae's and Lau's

As a man of moderate perfection in organization, The News Reporter has to jump in. Stopping the Dealer from trying to eat what's from her dish.

"Hold it, Tae- there's something out of the place in your food..."

He gently points out as he takes out one of his trusty tools(aka a spyglass) from his infinite pocket and inspects the factors of the dish. The Dealer is confused, but slightly let him inspect it with a suspicious glance.

"It may be invisible... But it won't run away from this-" as soon as the Reporter says this while taking out some sample detector- Connor finally starts speaking.

"What's the matter? We can't eat our food just yet...?"

"There's no way they missed such little mistakes as they were serving the food in the table-" Laurence starts, "Half of the handkerchiefs are not proper folded into a 45 degrees cone like the other two...- there must be some shift or alteration change in the dish."

"Mmm... Or they're probably in a hurry." Tae points out in thought.

"That may be possible,,,, but then, that would mean we aren't the only guests here..."

The room went silent at the statement in question.

"There's no way they're also serving someone else- besides the host.... Or they just made the handkerchiefs on purpose, they must have not like the Dealer at all-" The artist starts.

"Very rude form your part, Sir..." Sonny frowns.

Nonetheless, Laurence didn't hesitate to take a small sample of Tae's food. Then take sample of his food for safety since the handkerchief of his dish was also strangely folded... But in case, he also took a sample from Sonny's after asking for consent.

"So. Mr. Detective? What are you trying to look?" The Barista asks genuinely.

"Proof that there's no poison on the dishes...- and please, I'm just a Reporter who received a degree in my second major, forensics-"

Laurence briefly explains, remembering the fact he went to college twice before just because he was changing majors in the middle of those years-

"Poison????" Now Tae is surprised.

"How did you got into that conclusion?" Connor asks in an interrogative manner.

"Simple... It becomes common to see such scenarios... When reading unusual murder records." Laurence responds,

"If these 3 test bags show different results... Blue for positive and blank for negative...

Someone is attempting to poison one of us tonight."

A thunder then strikes after.

"What? Are you attempting to scare us???" Connor says as his eyebrows are furrowed. Sonny may not be seen we comfortable by this- but he also seems to get serious by this precaution.

"D*MN it, tere's no way- that the butlers must have done th-"

"Look, two of them are turning blue..." Tae points out. Making the 3 men look at the 3 test bags.

Sonny's food Is safe, but Tae's and Lau's however -

"As expected...." The Reporter calmly says as he inspects the test result to see if it's from the exact dishes. He puts his dish away from him.

"Good thing i lost my appetite... Or else I would have been poisoned by positive arsenic."

"Arsenic????"

Another thunder strikes against the dining room's windows.

Tae widens her eyes. Sonny, feeling sympathy for Tae not getting to eat anything safe, offered his dish to her instead.

"Here,,, i ate dinner early anyway." He softly say with a kind smile.

"... Thanks!" The Dealer gratefully accepts, a bit hesitant to take it at first until the man explained about his appetite.

Laurence silently starts thinkigng to himself... it won't be unexpected that the suspicious manor would do such thing... Unless...

He then looks at Connor from the corner of his eyes... He'll have to check his filed more than twice tonight.

...

"Mr. Morozov?"

Connor stops in his steps.. slowing his pace as the floor of the halls are echoing his boots' footsteps.

"Would you kindly give me some of your time? I would like to have a word with you..."

Somehow, the long hall has gotten cold, almost cold as branch leader Sastre's judgement.

...

They both find themselves outside... Not definitely outside the gate but is indeed in the manor's big courtyard.

"Connor Morozov, right?" Laurence asks for confirmation as the Russian artist.

He took a step closer... Shoulders coming to contact in a deadly manner.

"Never thought we would bump into each other like this~ How does it feel like after overthrowing latin nobles with no mercy, mm?"

He then leans into the Russian's ear, whispering the last sayings on the culprit.

"...It's your mistake for hiding away in this manor... Being a coward snd trying to hide from others after all that~"

"..."

"You'll no longer burn down hospitals and poison any random people... Not on my watch....

This is the end of your page for this world, Molotov...~"

A sheriff shot can then be heard, but no one was there to see a body fall.

"Goodbye~!"

...

The next day, everyone is now sitting at the waiting room... No one knows what's up.

Is it a card game? Because 3 people are sitting here... But wait, where's Mr. Morozov? Must be oversleeping since he wasn't seen as eager for the game the last night they saw him-

Yet, Laurence knows the real meaning of the 'game'.... A violent cat and mouse chase.

Conclusion at the game

Laurence went missing after attempting to rescue Taegan. He was encountering Cleo after he saved the Dealer and started kiting . The atmosphere was actually cold and serious between the huntress and the male survivor despite of the silly, flirtatious words the News Reporter threw on for funsies- he was never seen after the game.

Taegan was seen to have successfully escaped the manor with Sonny, who seemed to have something to do with Connor's disappearance before the match along with the News Reporter... But never brought it up about it.

Meanwhile, Laurence stopped appearing around the manor's halls yet the signs of media system expanding around it are going faster than before... Until he was then called off to depart with his partner with his finished goal....

Yet no carriage arrived to pick them up. While his room is now empty as before in its original state.... As if he was never there in the first place.

#idv oc #identity v oc #idv oc ask blog #identity v #idv ocs #idv askblog #idv #// ask #📰// headcanons #idv headcanons

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yharnamopossum · 2 years

Text

paperwork | the research hall i | laurence | 1334

There’s a patient loose in the sick ward.

That’s what the panicked nurse says the second she’s permitted entry into Laurence’s study, her frantic rapping at the door having cut through the man’s diligent research — his decoding charts and tweaking recipes. His desk looks almost comical in the way it’s covered in papers, some in neat stacks kept in place by small weights — flowers imprisoned in glass — while the rest are hopelessly tossed here and there, upside down and out of order, some threatening to fall while others still threaten the truth. He’s been over them all a thousand and one times, but still, nothing seems right — something must be missing. He’s certain an answer must be hidden somewhere within those charts and notes. Their research has been vast, their discoveries monumental, their survival rates decent…

“They’re armed,” the nurse says, once again cutting through the noise in the Vicar’s head, and he finally ceases his fingers’ drumming on the desktop. “A whip, f-from one of the hunters, they—”

“Shhh…” It’s not a dismissive sound, but rather one of comfort, like a mother shushing her distressed child. Laurence softly lifts one gloved hand as he lets the sound linger, one gentle fingertip tapping his lips like a lover’s kiss. He shuts his eyes, and he nods his head; and when he opens his eyes again, the nurse looks fit to bursting with stress.

Which doesn’t really surprise him. These sympathetic types, far more heart than brain, always seem so distraught when something goes what they consider wrong. But discovery comes with a bit of sacrifice, Laurence well knows by now, although some of these nurses under his employ don’t seem to understand that — that a life is more than just a soul in a shell. The human body is a vessel for enlightenment, and a breeding ground for new hope. It is the bed of dirt within which roots of holy flowers will surely bloom. In the world of knowledge, a human is no different than a textbook, and their very veins themselves contain the lessons. And Laurence is a man who studies more than anything else.

This situation is nothing but a new chapter in this patient’s dissertation. Let us see what conclusions its final paragraph will draw.

“Start from the beginning, please,” Laurence says softly, opening a drawer to move some things aside. “What happened?”

The nurse breathes deep, then exhales in a stressed huff. “Routine maintenance gone wrong,” she says. “A witness said one of the other nurses was switching out fluids when the patient snapped — just… just exploded! Swinging and cussing and kicking — she broke poor Ida’s teeth! She escaped her bed and stole a whip and—”

“It’ll be okay,” Laurence interrupts, reassuring — or, at least, trying to be. He’s entirely too calm, the nurse has already decided. Little does she know that he is brimming with excitement.

From the open drawer, Laurence produces a pen and a small pistol, checking the latter’s barrel for ammunition. He stands slowly, casually, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear as he stretches his aching back. His face is calm, almost serene, the effortless grace he exudes nothing short of mocking in this most dreadful of contexts.

From somewhere down below, there is a scream.

“Let’s go and see together, alright?” Laurence says, the edges of his lips turned up into a coy smile. He extends his free hand for the nurse to take, palm up as if asking someone for a dance. His hips shift slightly left to right, his excitement ever-growing as he plots the words of what he will soon write of this experience — rotates the information he’s already gathered in static circles in his head. He has some ideas, and he has some theories, but only time will tell what is true. Thus is the inherent thrill of study.

Unsure of what else to do, the nurse does as silently instructed.

The barrier between them is more solid than the Vicar’s pristine white gloves as the nurse takes his hand, Laurence’s calm crashing like gale winds against the nurse’s own upset. Ignoring this, he leads her to the balcony overlooking the large hospital’s many corridors, peeking over the edge with little mind paid to the potential risks — gunshots, or who knows what worse. He studies each doorway carefully.

“Where was she last seen?” he asks, hazel eyes scouring every corner. One would think the patient would be visible if she were truly running amok… unless she’d somehow escaped already. Hm. He taps the barrel of his pistol against the railing, impatient.

“Floor three,” the nurse answers quickly. “Th-there!”

Laurence does not wait. He sees the movement out of the corner of his eye — aims, fires, and watches.

“Damn.” He missed.

“V-vicar!”

“Shhh-shh…”

The patient is dressed in her normal garb, a filthy white sheet of a dress stained with the blood and fluid presumably leaked from her hastily-removed IVs. Her strength seems weakened, her legs wobbly, but her hands are strong as they grip desperately to the whip she had stolen’s handle. Startled by the gunfire, and despite her weak knees, she darts with dragonfly speed towards one of the doorways to her right, her bare feet slapping against the floor audibly. Laurence squints as she slams the door shut behind her, a loud crash being heard then as she, presumably, barricades the entrance.

The Vicar studies her every action — mental notes; more items to consider. She doesn’t seem at all disoriented, nor remorseful of her actions, nor really out of her element with the weapon in her hands. What, then, could have caused her to defect? What made her so willing to attack those who care for her — who bring her food and medicine? Was she predispositioned for such an action? Was it madness? Was it the blood?

Hm…

“Tell the hunters they have permission to kill,” Laurence says, reaching into his coat pocket to produce another bullet — almost as if he was expecting this, and had come prepared. “But bring me what’s left of the body once it’s done. We can’t let good work go to waste.”

Pause. Aim. Shoot.

He clicks his tongue against his teeth as the bullet ricochets off the doorway — a threatening sound, and nothing more. The escapee seems to be content with hiding now, at least, trapped within the room she’d darted into. It doesn’t take much more than a bullet to keep someone like that in place, after all — a cat outside a mouse’s hole, claws already splayed. He loads another bullet.

“… Well?” Laurence doesn’t look towards the nurse as he says this. If he did, he’d see she’s gone completely white and wordless with worry at his command. “Go on, then. No time to waste.”

“But… but she’s a patient…”

“She is an experiment.” He says this like it should have been known from the start — like he’s about to teach a young child a lesson. “And experiments sometimes go awry. It’s one of the tragedies of discovery. But all we can do once the smoke has cleared is document, learn, and try again.”

He gives the nurse a sideways glance. “It is a holy process. She is quite the lucky patient. Whatever we find once this is over will surely usher in a new field of research.” He smiles softly — warmly. “Perhaps we’ll even name the branch after her.”

The nurse looks absolutely horrified.

Another shot is fired, blowing out the window of the room within which the patient still hides. There is a small scream as the glass shatters — barely audible. Laurence’s expression never changes. His eyes crinkle at their corners. He’s all aflutter with curiosity.

“Well…?” he repeats himself. Another bullet loaded. Another tapping of the barrel against the railing. “Quickly, before I run out of ammunition, hm?”

And who is she to argue?

The nurse says nothing as she scurries down the stairs.

Another patient lost — another stack of papers for Laurence’s desk.

#i have nowhere else to put this djfnjdjs #drabble

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