"You know, Djura, when you get right down to it, the whole problem you have is marketing," Balyn announced.
It was easy to tell that the two ex-hunters perched on stools at the bar were outsiders to Yharnam. Both of them had ordered a beer and a shot, not uncommon among the patrons, but their chasers were whiskey rather than pungently spiced, properly aged human blood. Truth be told, with all the craziness of the night of the hunt, it hadn't been until Balyn had seen his first sunrise in the city that he'd realized just how weird everyday normal life in the place was.
"I'm not trying to sell something," the ashen-clad man said.
"Sure, you are. You're selling an idea. You're trying to get people to buy in to the concept that beasts, on account of them formerly being people and all, ought to be left alone in that burnt-out hulk of Old Yharnam. And I sympathize, I really do. I mean, with Yahar'gul being the next chunk of the city over, it's clear that Old Yharnam is definitely the less troublesome part of the valley for the rest of the city."
He took a swig of his beer, then noticed that his glass was empty and waved for another. Probably he shouldn't be running up a tab, but he'd just completed a successful salvage job in record time once he'd realized he could hop down into Moonside Lake from Byrgenwerth and just walk around retrieving lost cargo instead of having to swim and dive for it. With a hefty bonus from the grateful client in hand, he'd been able to make his monthly payment on his medical debt, catch his rent up to date, redeem his rifle spear before the pawnbroker sold it, and still have some pocket change left over.
"But still," he continued, "you're going about it all wrong."
Djura tossed back his whiskey, perhaps finding that he wasn't quite drunk enough for this conversation.
"What do you mean? I gave you the facts."
"Right, but it's how you gave them. You tried to appeal to me on a moral and philosophical level. You appealed to my sense of right and wrong. And that's the thing. Moral philosophy and sociopolitical theory are fine to talk about when you're snug and secure indoors with a drink in your hand and an incense-pot burning to keep the beasts outdoors. Or, well, actually they're not fine to talk about, because they're kind of boring, but at least it works. Scholars sitting around, chatting into the wee hours of the night, that kind of thing."
The bartender slid his fresh beer down the counter at him. He reached for it, fumbled picking it up, batted aimlessly at it for a couple of seconds, then managed to clasp both hands around it at last to salvage about two-thirds of the drink. As an added bonus, the spillage dripped off on the bartender's side of the bar instead of into his lap.
A man has to take his victories where he can get them.
"Is there a point coming up?"
"The point is, moral philosophy doesn't help convince a guy to leave alone the beast who's trying to chew off his leg. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is. You've got to appeal to people on a different level if you're going to get them to be okay with beasthood."
"And what level is that?"
Balyn drank more beer.
"Greed."
Djura stared at him in bewilderment. Balyn thought it was meant to be one of those stares that suggested that the staring one had never conceived of something so inane in their life, but it failed to have any quelling effect on its target. And Djura really should have known better. He'd been a dreaming hunter once. He should have known that Balyn was used to getting much better quelling stares from the Doll than that weak-sauce attempt.
"Not for money, of course, but the idea that there's something of value for your audience. Something that would put them ahead if they adopted your world-view."
"Bribery to get people to leave the beasts alone."
"Okay, you're skeptical, I can tell."
"Skeptical, and definitely not drunk enough for this."
"But you're missing the point. Morality is only going to catch people who put their ideals above their own self-interest, and if a beast is trying to eat their liver, you have a lot of self-interest to get above. You need to hit them with something that's going to make all this hunting stuff seem fundamentally counter-productive."
"Maybe it's the booze, but you're starting to make sense."
Djura was definitely a big softy. Balyn had never gotten that kind of response from the Doll.
"The problem," the ashen hunter continued, "is that I can't readily think of a reason why sparing the victims of the scourge actively helps people. There's good cause why they say virtue is its own reward."
"Yeah, that's a tough one." Balyn stared into his beer. It didn't have much of a head on it after the spill, unfortunately, and he preferred it with a nice, foamy top. "Wait a minute!"
He snapped his fingers loudly.
"That's it! Head!"
"What?"
"The answer!"
He reached out and yanked off Djura's cap.
"Just look at yourself in the mirror." Balyn pointed behind the bar.
"What am I looking at?" Djura growled, sounding not a little bit like a grumpy beast himself.
"Sparing flesh-hungry beasts who want to chow down on our internal organs, that's a tough sell, I agree. But it's a different thing, isn't it, to spare a sure-fire cure for male pattern baldness!"