Disclaimer: Still don't got Bloodborne. Still ain't mine.
Somehow, somehow Iosefka had allowed the old Blood Minister to enter her clinic and let him wait for a new client. She didn't ask him who it was. She just simply, and sadly, sighed and closed the door behind her that lead to the inner workings of the clinic.
He sighed, put his hands together on his lap, and patiently waited on his wheelchair for the newest patient.
An outsider, apparently. That makes the job even easier. At least, that's what he told himself. He had no idea if any more Hunters dream any longer. He just did his best and try to recruit new ones, or else Yharnam would be done for, and that was a result he wished to never happen.
Was it already too late? He suspected the end was already here. His feet tapped nervously, his fingers fondling with the one tool from his past that he still held dear, even after all of these long, long years… These long years of studying, of waiting, although waiting for what he wasn't entirely sure.
There was a soft knocking on the door and it slowly creaked open. There was only one other patient in the immediate vicinity, who was sleeping quietly in the other room, fortunately for the outsider. "Hello?" His accent was very strange indeed. The Blood Minister could only imagine what hell he went through as he traversed through Yharnam to get to the clinic.
"I am here," he announced, wheeling himself into view, hopefully. "Please close the door behind you."
The outsider nodded nervously, doing as he said, and walked towards him. His footsteps were slow, and he suspected it was as such not just because of cautiousness.
He waved his hand towards a hospitable bed (which was as clean as Iosefka could manage), wheeling away to allow the outsider space. "Please lie down. The transfusion will begin shortly."
The bed creaked. Everything about this man seems to be exceedingly slow, from walking, to breathing, to responding.
"What is your ailment?" he asked, out of curiosity. He organized the tools: a blood bag, some bandages, a needle; a finger gently stroked the last tool in his lap.
"Arthritis," the other said without ceremony. He seemed to even be ashamed of his condition, not unlike how a person with leprosy might be in the old, old days.
A man so young, to have an infliction that only the old can bear? He must be kidding. But the way that he said it, with much grief… the Blood Minister could only sigh and shake his head as he neared him. "Very well then. But first… you need to sign a contract, with all of your information included as well," he instructed, handing the man a piece of parchment and a pen. There were more sounds of shuffling, most likely him sitting up. After a few short moments of the scritch-scratch of pen across paper, both were back in his hands.
"All signed and sealed," he confirmed, smiling just a bit as he set everything down. He didn't need much materials: a vaguely clean cloth, the oh-so-precious blood, and of course, his tools. "Whatever may happen next, you may think of it all nothing more than a mere bad dream…"
He felt for that one certain spot, the largest artery, and carely, slowly, pressed the needle deep beneath the skin. He heard ragged breathing, and once the vial was depleted, he set it down and reached for the tools instead. He could still hear its arcane hum, if he concentrated on it hard enough. He pressed the rod on his neck and heard the man hiss, doing a remarkable job in resisting the pain. Once that also was done, he laid the precious tools, worth more than an endless sea of blood to him, in cloth and wrapped it up, then wheeled himself up into an isolated room.
The outsider can take care of himself. He was now a Hunter, after all.
A/N:
They're usually short. Also, you'll never see such quick updates anymore.
There's a theory somewhere that the Blood Minister is actually Caryll. That's what I based this off of. Who else can give you a rune of technical immortality while not being an Old One, huh?
Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.
