Below Rebirth's Rise, Eastern outskirts of Yharnam – Farren and Torquil
Torquil flinched away at the flash of light and heat that accompanied the loud bang of Farren discharging his rifle, sending the quicksilver projectile across the street, where it found a new home as it buried itself into the man's chest. But it was strange. They both saw the bullet cut into the man, producing a small spurt of blood as it doubtlessly found its way into lungs or heart inside... but not only did the man who had just gotten shot not even flinch, the whistled lullaby continued uninterrupted.
While Farren discarded the piercing rifle and armed himself with the Blades of Mercy, the beast claw seemed to slip out of the man's hand and disappear behind him. A moment later the Yharnamite started moving forward out the door, though rather than walk, he seemed to simply glide, his legs hanging limply below him and his feet dragging over the ground.
The reason for this became clear but half a second later, as a second figure stepped out from just within and to the side of the doorway, his left arm outstretched and latched onto the shoulder of the first man. He continued to hold the nerveless Yharnamite in front of himself like a human shield, all while whistling his ominous tune.
No longer hiding, Farren and Torquil got their first good look at who they could only assume to be Skinner. A giant of a man, well over two meters tall, with immensely board shoulders and chest and every part of his body, from his neck to his arms to his legs, bulging with rippling muscle. They could tell because the man was mostly naked; his feet and pelvis were wrapped in some kind of leathery material, but otherwise the only thing he wore was some bizarre wreath of layered dangling appendages he wore like a poncho. The appendages were also weirdly mismatched... but it would likely not take long to realize that these were all the patches of skin he had stolen. Hairless human skin, the fur-clad hide of beasts, feathered skin from some manner of avian creatures... some old enough to have started decaying, some so fresh that they were still dripping with blood.
Skinner peeked over the shoulder of his meat-shield, a look of amusement in his dark gray eyes under a mess of tangled blond hair. His right hand now held the beast claw as he, still whistling, stepping into the street and approached Torquil and Farren.