Chapter Text
He feels as if he might cook from the stagnant air and harsh sun beating down in the little courtyard of his prison far before he ever goes hollow. It is a dire thought, for he knows it shant kill him, merely leave him roasted and miserable on top of being trapped.
Damn that bald-headed bastard. To be outplayed at playing someone, it burns him up more than the heat, honestly. If he gets out of this, he’ll have that sorry bottom-feeder for all the Humanity the rat has left.
He debates stripping down again for what feels like the hundredth time, but again convinces himself that some poor fool will happen upon him any moment and he doesn’t dare be caught both imprisoned and defenseless, no matter how much sweat pours down his back.
The sound of wood splintering wakes him with a start and he lurches up from the nap he hadn’t intended, straining to hear footsteps. Praying to Fina that whoever it is, they still have enough of their wits about them to be cajoled into letting him out of this ridiculous predicament.
Footsteps do indeed fill the otherwise relative silence of this tucked away little courtyard, but he does not hear the jostle of armor; perhaps a sorcerer? Concerning, he’s historically found the bookish types harder to ply.
But no, what sight greets him yonder is no spellcaster but a perfect little lamb for the tricking. A cleric stares at him curiously across the way, dressed in ratty linens, clutching a spit of stained muslin as a talisman in one bloodied hand and a clumsily hefted mace in the other. He’s clearly surprised to see anything remotely living back here.
Excellent, he’s never known one of these low-ranking Way of White fools to be anything but gullible, he’ll be out of this cell with a mere bit of whimpering, for certain.
“Oh— you there. Still human, are you?” He calls out, clearing his throat and wetting his lips, realizing just how painfully parched he sounds. The cleric stiffens and fully turns his attention towards him. He watches the man nod cautiously, though it’s clear to any with eyes the clergyman isn’t yet hollow.
“Then I am in luck. Could you help me?” He gestures, beckoning the cleric closer and frowns when it takes a moment for this man to decide to approach. More cautious than he was hoping, but perhaps he should expect that. Most of those with their minds still intact have to have a touch of wariness to be capable of getting this deep into the parish. When the man’s form casts a blissful shadow over his sunbaked prison, he gestures openly at his confinement.
“As you can see I am stuck, without recourse,” He confesses with just a hint of manufactured desperation in his tone, shifting and hearing his own armor clink and scrape. It perhaps isn’t that manufactured, the weight of his gear has never felt so heavy.
The silence lingers between them as he takes in this cleric. Young, tan in a ruddy farmer’s way, but with surprisingly good breeding in his features. Hair the color of a dusty rose and eyes so blue he gets caught up in staring at them for a moment. This young man’s clothing in no way matches his countenance and briefly he wonders just what kind of person has stumbled upon him.
“Please, I have duties to fulfill, and I will reward you handsomely.” He tries, growing uncomfortable by the silence; is he mute? It is known fire keepers cut free their own tongues, but he has not seen the practice in the men of the church before.
“I am certain you stand to benefit.” He continues, worried now that he is about to be struck down like an animal in a pen. It would free him, but it would also free him of the large sums of Humanity he’s been steeped in. He’s not all that eager to part with such fuel.
“Someone boarded up the way into this dead end, and locked the other two doors.” The cleric says, finally, and slowly crouches down to rest level with him.
“I wonder what actions led you to being so well entombed?” Ponders the young cleric out loud.
“Patches, that insufferable reprobate! I swear, I’ll have his hide! ” He snarls out, lurching forward and grabbing the bars in his fury. That slimy rat, no wonder he’d been rotting here for days! He jerks and pulls back when he realizes the cleric has leaned away from him with a look of mild surprise.
“I see.” The youth says before he can gather up an apology for his outburst Bloodthirsty isn’t a good look when one is trying to get freed.
“Very sorry—“ He starts, but is cut off by the cleric standing and rustling in his bag. To his utter shock he watches the young man withdraw a ring suffused with keys. A thief’s master keyring, in the hands of a cleric. What a curious friar this one is.
After a few tries he finds the right key for this particular keyhole, and with a heavy metallic clunk the lock disengages and the door swings open with a rusted whine.
He stares at this cleric in surprised silence before finding enough of his own sunbaked wits to offer gratitude.
“T-thank you, yes, sincerely. I am Knight Lautrec of Carim. Truly, I appreciate this and I guarantee—“
“I don’t need it.”
“Excuse me, pray what—“
“The reward, I don’t need it. I know not your reason for being here, but consider mine act of charity as merely me paying forward a kindness done to me. If you would reward me, then do as I have and pay this kindness to the next sorry lot you encounter.” The cleric says, half turned and staring down at him as he places the keys back into his bag.
Lautrec leans back against the wall and watches him. He knew these Way of White devotees could be bleeding hearts, but to be so soft in the head as to turn down recompense? In Lordran of all places?
What a naive little lamb he’s encountered. Perhaps he will stick around and fatten this one for the slaughter.
“Ah, yes, I could do that, heh heh. Of course.” He offers, tickled at the very idea of such a pointless gesture.
The cleric gives him a second glance over his shoulder and nods, leaving down the stairs he’d arrived from. Lautrec tells himself he will follow suit, just as soon as he can gather the strength to stand.