Disclaimer: I don't own Bloodborne. I wish I owned a game though.
"Do you drive to Yharnam, sir?"
The driver looked at the young man who inquired that with surprise. "That's a very long way, sir. I need a considerable amount of money in order to make such a trip."
Pity that carriage was the only way to reach the grand, old city. One would figure such a renown city could be accessed by railway now.
The other man pulled out a bag of money. It was a bit modest in size compared with the others that possess much more, but with how earnest his eyes were, it would be hard not to accept it. "Here."
The driver eyed him up and down. The clothes on his back were rather plain-looking and drab, yet the young man stood up with a pride of sorts, as if he was wearing a Sunday's best outfit. He seemed not to have any luggage at all. "That all you have?"
The young man nodded slowly. "I still have a few left, but I'm saving that for when I get to Yharnam. They don't have a different sort of currency, don't they?"
The driver chuckled and took the money. "No, it's all the same, although they barter and trade more than anything like our commerce. Give me a couple of minutes, and I'll be with you. Seeing as you have nothing on you, I'll get you some provisions as well."
True to his word, at around a quarter of an hour he came back with a sack of necessities. He set it down at the back of the carriage and offered a hand to the young man, who refused firmly. And attempted, attempted to climb into the coach himself.
The driver wasn't sure to make of this pitiful sight. Here he was, simply standing and watching a young man, who moved like he was 80 years old, who refused any help at all slowly, and painfully, hoist himself up into the carriage. It seemed as if the gods had struck his limbs, cursed them to a frailty that only the elderly should dare suffer from. Still, every time he tried to offer his help, he shook his head and attempted to hoist himself up. The driver wasn't sure if those were tears of frustration or a sparkle of pride in his eyes. Maybe an odd mixture of both.
The afflicted man was finally able to enter the carriage, and the driver closed the door for him before he could protest against so. He sat onto the driver's seat and lightly held the reins in his hands. With scarce the need for much of his instruction, the horses began the two-week long trek to this miraculous city of Yharnam. Hopefully, the man now still inside the carriage can receive the healing he needs.
The stranger looked out of the window and waved at a figure that the driver didn't register before, who was waving back. As the city slowly disappeared from their sight, the driver sighed. His poor horses were being overworked and malnourished, with how he saw them heave their breaths with every step, how their eyes looked dead and lifeless. It chilled him to the core, and he swore to himself that he will feed them something nice and warm and rub them down properly.
His customer was rather quiet, having yet to say a word once he entered the carriage. He heard nothing inside the compartment, and with the little luggage he carried, it took a bit of a mental strain to remember that he had a paying man that he and his poor steeds had to serve for a bit of a while.
They stopped for the night at a village a ways out. The early autumn air chilled the driver's bones as he neared the local inn, doing his best supporting his rather stubborn customer who did his best to refuse the help in as well. He has already paid, and the horses situated well enough that their hooves won't be frozen off by daybreak and are still well-fed and well-rested. The two-week journey won't do any of them much good in the way of health, at least for the driver and his horses. Hopefully, the stranger can fair better once he reaches Yharnam.
After a fairly warm meal in a neighboring tavern, the driver rose with the other man, pushing their seats in and thanked the people who took their dirty dishes away. That dinner had been spent in silence, no sound coming from either of them save for the various noises of food being eaten and drinks being drank.
It was probably because his customer was so tired that he allowed the driver to support him back to his room.
"Your key?"
"It's on me. Don't worry about that." The arm that was previously slung over the driver's shoulders detached itself. The stranger, although quiet, smiled at him. "Thank you, and goodnight."
Just before he closed the door, the driver just realized that he had never gotten his name, for some odd reason. Maybe his quietness had made him forget such a basic form of courtesy? "Excuse me sir, but I believe we have yet to introduce ourselves. My name is Nereus Sullivan."
The other looked back, leaning on the wall. "Chase Schovajsa."
Nereus blinked and rubbed his head in confusion. "Don't expect me to pronounce that, Mister Chase."
"I didn't even ask you to do so." They shared wry smiles and turned in for the night.
"My father is Czech, my mother an Englishwoman," Chase clarified as they got on the carriage. The window partitioning them was open, allowing them to talk with relatively few obstacles. "He moved to England when he was still a 'young lad' and fell in love with my mother while there."
Nereus smiled to himself, turning on a curve. "You already sound like you have some rich family history."
The other man laughed without humor. "It's just stories of people from a hundred years ago now long-gone, not some old, noble family bloodline. It's nothing remarkable. What about you, sir?"
"I don't know. I've been parentless as far as I know."
Chase's smile immediately fell. "I'm sorry to hear that. Your surname…"
"Sullivan is a pretty common one, and I picked it up to make the business seem more… professional," Nereus explained, slowing the carriage down as they went over a small bridge. "I've been doing this for ten years now." He chuckled to himself. "It's a shame that I'm in my thirties and I still don't have a wife to call my own."
"Oh, don't worry about that. I think being a bachelor is quite splendid. You get to have a freedom that you won't experience if you have a wife," Chase reassured him.
"How old are you?"
"I just turned twenty-one."
Nereus nodded and hummed to himself. "What's your occupation?" he asked, reaching a railroad track. He hated how some of the country roads intersect with the rail lines. It was appalling and unprofessional, as least in his viewpoint.
"I was an artist."
"Was?" He crossed the tracks and continued forwards.
"Once I come back from Yharnam, I'll pick that right back up again."
Over the next two weeks, they had time to be acquainted with each other. Chase liked coffee more than tea, and was once part of a gang, although he left once his older sister had to bail him out of trouble with the police. He made most of his money by selling his art (Nereus had the privilege of looking at some of his sketches in a notebook he always carried) and lived with said older sister on her charity, since their family had kicked him out. His sister was a gunsmith, and her services, while making some men dubious, was very popular, especially with the poorer people.
He wanted to come to Yharnam to cure his arthritis. He wanted to come to Yharnam to get his life back.
Nereus could understand that.
It turns out, Yharnam looked like nothing more than yet another smoke-choked city. He was getting tired of the sight, and he was reminded of his far-fetched fantasy to buy a piece of land far off in the middle of nowhere and live there peacefully with his horses for the rest of his life.
"I expected such a city containing a cure-all remedy to be… better," the driver commented as they neared a tunnel. He looked down next to him, noticing the grim road where he looked. "That's Hemwick Charnel Lane. I've heard that witches live there, so it's best for you to stay clear of it," he pointed out and warned.
"I don't believe in witches," Chase stated flatly, looking out of the window.
"A lot of legends have been founded upon truth. Besides, it looks unnaturally gloomy, won't you agree?" He reasoned, just entering the tunnel. He could feel his horses' apprehension that he shared with them. He wasn't sure about how Chase felt.
Dawn just broke as they reached the gates of the city. Despite the entirety of the world being industrialized, Yharnam was still a shockingly archaic city.
There was something of its atmosphere that made the entire party wary. "Well…" Nereus drifted off, frowning a bit.
The carriage door opened and Chase slowly got off by himself. "Thank you." He looked towards the grim afternoon sky.
"Stay safe," the driver found himself saying. "How about a drink once you get back?"
"That sounds splendid."
They spared one last smile for each other as other people clamored onto his carriage, demanding him to take them to whichever place, village, town, city.
It would be a long, long night.
A/N:
Nereus is a hastily made up OC that you'll never see again. Ever.
Meanwhile, you'll see a lot more from Chase. In fact, this entire thing won't be just about the story of Bloodborne, but also of Chase's story. I quite like how I made him, and it's probably too early to say this since I'm so young, but as of now, I consider him to be my magnum opus.
Any feedback is greatly appreciated.
