ioculus | //TESTDRIVE15.EXE

Entry tags:

!test drive

//TESTDRIVE15.EXE

//testdrive15.EXE

The clock strikes twelve. The gong of the grandfather clock in the foyer tolls out the time in slightly unnecessarily obnoxious loud noises. The ambiance of this old mansion demands respect, care, awe --

Okay, no, wait, why are you even in this stupid dusty house?

No reasons are forthcoming, because everyone knows that people just end up in places like this sometimes. That's just how the narrative device works. The hows and the whys don't matter -- all that matters is that you're all here, so you'd better get cracking and start exploring, because it's not like you can leave yet.

Or ever, maybe.

Good day, sirs and madams. Might I interest you in a nice glass of blood...y mary?

//SCENARIOS.EXE

PHASE I

[ 0215 ] All you see is white. The crash of thunder hits your ears next, punctuated by the piercing pitch of white noise in the background. After a few blinks, your vision comes back to you. Oh good, glad that you’ve joined us in the land of the living. Unlike the nondescript corpse at your feet – it looks like… a butler? Oh dear. You’ve already killed Murder Suspect Number One in most situations. How terribly ironic.

After all, who could’ve killed him but you? You might not remember, but there is definitely a murder weapon in your hand. It’s probably a knife or a poisoned glass of wine or-

Wait, is that a toaster? A full on toaster? Or maybe it’s a taser. Maybe you bludgeoned this poor guy with an entire encyclopedia. Either way, it looks like your murder weapon is a little unconventional, whether it’s a stranger’s pair of underwear or a hair curler. Are you really supposed to believe you committed a murder with these? (Yes.)

That said in the next second the double doors will be opening up. It’s pretty clear you’re not alone. Think quick!

PHASE II

[ 0600 ] Exploring more around the compound, you’ll find plenty of those tall, oil portraits of people hung around the walls. When you start walking, they’re all strangers. However by the time that you feel like you’re wandering around for an hour, two hours, they might start looking a little bit more… familiar? Mom? Is that you?

You don’t have time to think about that, though. You were clearly framed! You don't’ have a motive for killing some random NPC –

“Or do you?” a portrait will ask.

Oh. Holy shit. Well it’d just be rude to leave, right? Whether you stick around for conversation or not, you’ll find that was just the beginning. The portraits are going to start grilling you. Welcome to CERES Central’s Roast of You. What was your motive? Don’t you know you should respect the servants? How would you feel if you were caught like that? Careful turning your back on them though, because if you ignore them for too long, the subjects in the portraits may just reach out and snatch you to join them in their portrait world.

At that point, the only way to get out is to swap places with some other poor, unsuspecting soul wandering around.

PHASE III

[ 1045 ] You know what makes me hungry? Murder.

What’s the point of making a mansion this big anyway? Who’s even here? Either way, whether you’re looking for the kitchen to make a fine post-homicide sandwich or just trying to escape, you’ll eventually make it to a stairwell. The most finicky stairwell ever. Is that a trail of bloody footprints leading up the steps? What? No. Stop it, just climb.

Or well – don’t climb too quickly now. The staircases apparently have a mind of their own, swapping from one doorway to another. You definitely haven’t seen this before. It would seem that these stairs might even be interested in keeping you in a circle forever, no concern for whether or not you’re hungry or, god forbid, need to use the restroom.

However the portraits in the stairwell will provide a little tip: “The stairs are gossips, you know. Why don’t you tell us a little something about yourself? Make it good!”

Weirdly enough, sound advice – that is, if you’re interested in shouting out your most embarrassing secrets into the void so a mansion can keep talking shit about you. Oh well. Your alternative is just being a stair golem. There are worse fates.

PHASE IV

[ 1430 ] This hall is oddly quiet.

Well, until you hear it – the soft sniffles coming from down the hall, the broken sobs. It sounds like someone’s crying. For one reason or another, your footsteps take you forward – there’s really no point in going back now after all, right? Yet as you continue to walk… walk… walk… the crying becomes louder and louder. More desperate, more despaired. In time, it’s clear that this person is wailing, screaming, “How could this happen?!”

Within the span of a breath, all the lights in the hallway go out, leaving you in pitch black.

It occurs to you then that you hear a second set of steps. When did you stop walking? A cold chill runs down your spine and you find yourself running then, despite the fact that it feels like this pitch black hallway goes on forever. The other footsteps pick up, remind you that you’re not alone. No, certainly not.

Best hope that you find some assistance soon – otherwise it looks like the Butler Association is going to ignite some righteous vigilante justice on your ass.

BONUS

[ why o'clock ] You’re in the grand ballroom now, ready to present your case. Armed with a cob pipe (don’t smoke inside, it’s rude), a detective hat, and a single spotlight aimed right at you, you now have to explain how you came to the conclusion about the True Killer that is Obviously Not You. Rather, it’ll just be the character of whoever tags into this prompt – yes, you are suddenly so very sure that they’re the ones who are the ultimate mastermind of this entire game and… you’re just going to have to bullshit the reason why even if you know virtually nothing about them. It’s a dog eat dog world out there, you know?

Sorry about that.

Should you actually provide enough of a compelling case or they take pity on you, having a villainous breakdown for the sake of the plot, you’ll be awarded with a coupon that’ll give you three free scoops at your local ice cream parlor! (Note: you must buy the first two scoops in order to qualify.) Of course, if you’re not able to nail them down as the killer, you are obviously the killer yourself (citation needed).

From there, you’ll be dragged off to face your punishment: for six grueling hours you will be tickled mercilessly.

[ Remember to apply proper warnings on threads with sensitive or inappropriate material and do let a mod know if your thread careens off into maiming or canoodling so we can lock the log. ]

//RUN.EXE

Welcome to Cerealia's fifteenth Test Drive Meme. For your convenience, we have compiled a post detailing everyone's arrival experience and a FAQ that should explain everything in more detail. Please read them thoroughly before playing. Thank you!

Threaded | Flat

PHASE I (tw minor gore)

[There is a knife in his hand, and there is a corpse at his feet.

The scent of copper lingers. The body is warm. The blood that has pooled still shines in the minimal light this place has to offer, instead of growing sticky with age. This kill was recent. He takes note of these details and understands the image he is presented- it would seem he is responsible. Death is not an unusual occurrence in the shinobi world, and by extension, this would not be Itachi's first experience at having caused it. It is however, the first time he will have done such a thing and then forgotten it.

Experience tells him it is unwise to linger long before the interruption of double doors.

He takes the knife, and proceeds through the halls until he is able to find a place to clean his hands.]

PHASE II

[By the time he locates a portrait of his mother and father, he has already both suspected and ruled out genjutsu.

He has found the explanation provided by CERES to be lacking. Itachi had understood what it meant to serve a purpose. When he had been informed that he was expected to assist their organization in order to earn his keep. It is not Konoha, but the system is one he knows. A shinobi is a tool for peace. He would not presume that he would be looked after by the limited resources of a group with its own population to consider.

But their business here- either arrival or deployment, has come with no explanation. There has been no statement of terms or notice of objective. Instead he has been involved in a murder and has located portraits that challenge the boundaries of reality. His mother and father are dead. Knowing this truth, Itachi can direct his questions to the situation at hand, addressing the figures as what they are- representatives of this environment and nothing more. That they call him murderer and ask him to explain his crimes are cries that go unanswered.]

PHASE IV

[The plunging darkness is a welcome reprieve. The wailing figure is clearly moving throughout the building- cries and moans that have increased in both volume in speed. They are making no attempt to disguise their footsteps. It's only reasonable to assume that the murder has been discovered by now and that some sort of authority is searching for the person responsible.

A silhouette himself, Itachi steps backwards into a doorway, slipping from the hall and its haunting occupant before they have the opportunity to glimpse one another. If you're unfortunate enough to be nearby and thus considered a threat to his position, you can expect to be brought along for the ride- with a hand closed over your mouth if necessary. They have enough problems, please don't begin shouting and invite more trouble.]

Edited (coding) 2016-07-01 04:39 (UTC)

PHASE I

[Well, this jar of pickles is ruined. And, by the looks of it, so is the back of the old butler's skull.

A Pimp Named Slickpack looks properly aghast for a few moments before dropping the jar of pickles at his feet.]

Aw, hail naw. This some Fuller Park shit, and A Pimp Named Slickback is not a Fuller Park man.

[What to do now? Maybe - someone can help get this man's skull un-caved in. He cups his hands around his mouth.]

Ah - honkey down! We got a honkey down here, errybody!

[On second thought - maybe it'd be best for him to just get going while the getting is good, yes? With that in mind, he tucks his pimp cane under his arm and swaggers - not runs - to the nearest exit. He's almost there when the door opens. He turns, and-]

PHASE IV

[Let's get one thing straight - A Pimp Named Slickback does not run except in the direst of circumstances.

-which this qualifies as.

So running down the hallways he goes, clutching onto his pimp hat. He's surprisingly fast - long legs helps.]

Nigga, if you after money, I'm like a 7-11! No more'n $20 on me after midnight!

[It's true - most of it is split between his Swiss and Panamanian bank accounts.]

BONUS

[Well. Looks like he'll have his day in court after all.

He's never been in court before because he's never been arrested because he's a smart pimp, but it can't be too hard to figure out. They show all this on Law & Order, right?

He clears his throat, squinting into the spotlight.] Bitches and gentlemen of the jury - A Pimp Named Slickback believes there has been a most egregious miscarriage of justice in this here, ah-

[Shit. What is this place?]

-mansion?

[He waves his hand. It's not important. What is important is that, with a dramatic flourish of his pimp cane, he points to somebody.]

This is the crazy bitch who done in that ol' honkey!

Edited 2016-07-01 04:14 (UTC)

Phase I
[Elise doesn't like houses like these. They remind her too much of the old buildings the necromancers like to hole up in, and, well, her feelings on the necromancers are markedly not positive. Which is possibly why, when she comes to with the murder weapon in her hands, her expression is more disgruntled than anything.

Not this shit again.

The murder weapon, for the record, is... a human arm. A human arm torn clean off the victim, who was then bludgeoned to death with it, apparently. Which, while not inconceivable for Elise... Why wouldn't she just go for his throat instead?

It's while Elise contemplates this plot hole that the door begins to open. She has mere seconds to choose what to do, so she does what comes naturally to her: jaw unhinging to reveal rows of strong, nasty-looking teeth, she shoves the stump that used to be an elbow into her mouth and begins to chew, splintered bone and all.

Nailed it.]

Phase III
[Unfortunately for Elise, her limited memory makes it pretty hard to come up with juicy secrets to share. She ran out of good material, like, three doors ago, and she still hasn't found the kitchen.]

I've literally eaten ass before? Come on, I'm hungry.

[Half an arm barely counts as a meal, jeez.]

Wildcard
[Or anything else you can think of to do with a zombie!]

phase i

[So first of all, he has no idea why there's a dead body on the floor. He's not as concerned about that as some people might be, just confused. And he's about to take a closer look and try to investigate what might have happened when he realises he's holding something and...

...........................

What in the world is he doing with Eiji's underwear?]

Huh?

[So if you happen on this scene, you will find him not paying attention to the corpse, but instead giving a highly incredulous look to the ridiculous pair of boxers in his hand.]

phase ii

[He sure did just ignore the paintings and get himself in trouble. As you're walking through the halls, you may notice a portrait on the wall that seems especially flashy. Interesting hair. Or maybe you don't notice and walk right on by, in which case, don't mind the arm reaching out behind you... and failing to grab you because you got too far away.

Dammit, get back here!]

Oi! You!

[And now he's just a harmless talking portrait again trying to get your attention. And maybe have a conversation as opposed to the continuous heckling some of the other ones are doing. Yes, that's it, come closer.]

Phase I:

It was bright, way too bright, Seras had to shut her eyes to keep from being blinded. Though before she even opened them the smell of blood gave her an idea that something had happened. Peeking a single eye open she looked forward to make sure she wasn't going to be blinded by that light again. After a moment she blinked before looking down to where the smell came from, her gloves were covered in crimson dripping with blood and holding a fork. At her feet was a butler who had obviously been on the wrong end of the utensil.

"W-wait what happened?"

Had she blacked out and lost control? But why a fork? She could have tore through him with her bare hands if she had wanted to. Before she could answer anything though she whirled around at the sound of someone coming in.

"It's not what it looks like."

Phase II:
Huh, there was a lot of art. It was almost like the place was a museum or something. At least it seemed that way with all the portraits, though as they became a bit more recognizable she slowed a bit.

"Sir Integra?"

Before she could inspect it any closer though the voice came out accusing her of having a motive, causing the draculina to jump backwards and throw her arms up in front of her.

"It talked, the painting just talked."

Sure vampires and werewolves were kind of something she had gotten used to, even Nazi Vampires seemed kind of novel. But talking paintings.

"It's just another one of those weird dreams. It's gotta be."

Phase IV:
"Really, it wasn't me. I didn't do anything wrong. I don't want to hurt any of you."

Seras was surprise at just how fast the others pursuing her were, even running it seemed like they were actually catching up to her. Though she really wasn't sure just who they were or how many of them there were. The appearance of another figure in the hallway though, mixed with the sound of the sobbing drew her to a halt as she slid for several feet stopping just in front of the other figure, crimson eyes peering through the darkness one hand behind her as she glanced back to access the situation.

"Please, stop this before something bad happens."

PHASE I

[—Ah. There are few places more uncomfortable to find oneself besides standing over a dead body, and yet here he is. As D looks down at the dead man- a butler?- he can only think the man must have deserved it. Whatever he'd done...

He looks up when the door opens, and abruptly he looks startled and definitely not like he wants to be here much longer.]

Goodness— hello. [NOT the best start...] This man is...

[Dead?? What is he holding— it's a... it's a snail? Why is he holding a snail????] As you can see, my companion and I have just arrived and found such a terrible thing...

[????]

PHASE III

[The stairs want gossip, and frankly, there is no way they're getting gossip out of him. He's already taken a seat only a few steps below the top of this particular staircase, where he's just sitting there watching other people try to climb and not helping at all...]

The falcon does not struggle when he is caught. [is that a fucking proverb? yes] How many times do you intend to run up these steps?

Phase I
[Jack was, sadly, no stranger to seeing dead bodies. More often than not these days, he had been the cause of their death, so the sight wasn't unusual at all.

The rubber chicken was a bit strange, though.

He frowned as he studied the thing in his hand, glancing occasionally back and forth from it to the body at his feet. As a bludgeoning weapon, the floppy toy left a lot to be desired. Jack had known more than one person crazy enough - and determined enough - who might have made the best of the situation and managed. Until just now, he wouldn't have considered counting himself among that number. But there was no one else in sight, and the rubber chicken was looking more than a little ragged, so…

Shrugging, Jack dropped the chicken. It bounced and wobbled gently when it hit the floor, before falling as still as the corpse next to it. This was just one more thing to carefully not think about to add to the huge, overwhelming number of things that he had done that he also carefully did not think about. Not a big deal at all; he did it every day.

Helpfully, just as he was wondering what to do next, he caught the sound of someone's approach. Not particularly looking forward to an encounter, but also not having anything in particular to lose by it, he turned to greet the new arrival. Slipping into his employer's charismatic, smart-ass persona was easier than ever these days, he'd been doing it for so long. The voice modulation implant helped.]

He-eeey, how's it going? Don't mind the dead guy, he was like this when I got here.

PHASE I

I—what?

[ Peridot has a pretty narrow experience of humanity. How is she supposed to know what blood is, or even what a corpse is? If she has a bloody fork in her hand, and the butler is covered in blood... Whatever ominous chill might run through someone who has veins at all is completely absent here. He's obviously fine. He's just lying down! ]

Wow... What a clod. Can you believe this? [ She turns to face whoever is just coming in through the doors, using the bloody fork in her gesturing, unconcerned with how this situation might look. ] Who gets that much pasta sauce all over themselves? Even I know better than that!

[ Do you know better, Peridot? Do you really?? ]

PHASE IV

[ When she hears the crying, Peridot hesitates for a moment, but curiosity compels her to follow the source of the sound. She doesn't want to admit it, but she feels pretty lost right now herself, without anyone else she knows by her side. If she could find a kindred spirit, and maybe even help them out—yeah, that'd be cool! They'd be falling over themselves to be her friend if she did that!

But rather than giving her a friend to bond with, this hallway is becoming more and more isolating and frightening. By the time she's running, all she can think about is making her way back to any kind of normalcy whatsoever. She's out of options, except for the one strategy that her hypothetical friend was employing—

Wailing loudly for help. ] ...H... How could this happen to meeeee?!

BONUS

[ Peridot doesn't know what a pipe is either, so she's holding it gripped in her fist more like one would hold a hammer. But she can still plead her case! ]

Well... Let's be clear here. I definitely understand the crime, and everything about it. But because I don't want to run my mouth about such an apparently insensitive topic, don't ask me about that!! The point is, it was—that one! That one did it!! I know for unspeakable reasons!

[ She swings her pipe-hammer to point in the direction of your character, desperately. That's all she's got to say for herself? Apparently. ]

PHASE I

[ Chihiro tries taking stock of her surroundings, which after the wash of white and the crash of thunderous sound that followed, meant blinking and whirling around, wide eyed. She vaguely knew this was to be expected — the sudden change of setting, less so the particulars of where she stood now — but it didn't make it any less disorienting.

She's in a small hall with a set of double doors closed in front of her; the other side is where she believes the crashing, thunderous noise originated. At the far end of the hall, she spies a smaller door, reminding her of some of the out of the way doors set into the panels of the bath house.

All right. Things weren't solved by holding still, unless they were; but with no one around telling her that was a good idea, Chihiro was left with moving forward and finding out what she needed to do in order to get back out of what she was presently mired in.

Only as soon as she opens the double doors she comes across you, whoever you are, standing there. With a body on the floor in front of you dressed in black, and some odd object in hand. It may in fact be an eggplant; or it may be something entirely different. Chihiro's response is the same either way. ]

...! Excuse me! I didn't mean to interrupt, I'm sorry!

[ Before she promptly attempts to close the doors once more. ]

PHASE II

[ Turns out there is such a thing as an accessery to murder, though Chihiro's not sure what that's supposed to mean, and mostly tunes out the accusations that seem to fly from portraits she almost recognises.

Politely, considering she's told at least three portraits accusing her of murder that she needs to keep moving, and she can't talk right now, she's sorry. Which is all well and fine before she finds herself slowing down, catching sight of a portrait of what appears to be her mother looking out, dead eyed, with limp yellow carnations clutched in her hands. The portrait doesn't speak. It just stares.

Chihiro stares back, taking a step forward just as a hand from the portrait at her back reaches out, fingers bending into claws as it tries to snatch at the material of her shirt... ]

Mom?

[ This seems more like something her Dad would have gotten himself stuck in first... ]

PHASE III

[ The problem with moving staircases is they don't always move in ways profitable for the person standing on where two meet.

Which is how Chihiro found herself scrambling to hold on to the railing of one staircase as the other swung out and away from under her feet. A nearby portrait was rating her climbing ability with a placard held in their hands. It reads, "5/10 for Style". ]

Almost... there...!

[ She grunts, jamming the toe of one sneaker between two balusters and continuing to haul herself upward through sheer force of will.

Which of course is when the staircase promptly decides to start a slow roll over. Sure sucks for anyone who doesn't have a firm hold on the railing! ]

Phase III

[That he's Definitely Not in Tokyo Anymore is something Otoha has come to terms with a while ago. Even with the rebuilding, there aren't any buildings like this there. There isn't space for them. And yet, here he is. A dream, maybe? Or is it the other side? He can't see any demons, but really, what other explanation could there be?

But the stairs are going on forever, moving him around with them. Something mischievous lives here. For the moment it doesn't seem malicious, though, so he presses on.

That's when he hears it.

The stairs are gossips, you know. Why don’t you tell us a little something about yourself? Make it good!]

The stairs? [That's...ridiculous. It has to be. Besides, he isn't telling anyone any secrets. He's stubborn that way.

Instead, he stubbornly hefts his sheathed sword over his shoulder, ignores the paintings, and keeps walking. He might be here forever, but at least he'll have his dignity.]

Phase IV

[It's the helplessness of the crying that gets him. Someone needs help, and he's supposed to be the protector, right? Even if his power is locked without Yurine...he still has a duty.

Finding the source is another matter entirely. Each step he takes what he thinks is closer only seems to carry the person farther away. Like they don't want to be found. And yet...it's getting louder and louder the more he moves, trying to find them. He must be getting closer then.

...right?

And then darkness. A trap, then, and he glares, unseen, dropping into a defensive stance, trying to make some sense of the void around him. He can't see anything and it's doubtful that the attackers are in the same predicament. They'd planned for this.

He can hear the footsteps at least, though he doesn't move himself.]

Coward. You won't even show yourself?

I. I'll Burn My Bread

[It's a rather surreal experience returning from the dead once, even moreso when one does so twice, both involuntarily in a manner of speaking.

One might forgive Minato in being slow to rise to his feet, rubbing his temples as his eyes adjust to his new surroundings. He has a lot to think about, really- memories of being here (Something like it, he mentally corrects himself) are blinding him to the current situation even more than the whiteness around him. The crash of thunder is what gets him to return to his senses and focus on the present...

Which brings him to the matter of the corpse on the floor, blood pooling around its former container. Awkward.

He stares at the macabre scene for a moment before looking down at his right hand, having felt something weighing it down. What meets the eye is a toaster with incriminating bloody stains on it, the sound of double doors opening following soon after.

He'll just be kneeling on the floor holding up the toaster when someone approaches, with a Most Serious look on his face.]

Do you know anything about this? [This is followed by a glance at the body, as if he somehow has nothing to do with it. Really!]

III. Gossip Guys?

[Past events notwithstanding, Minato's wandered enough in the mansion that he's wished for the toaster to be functional. But just as toast always lands butter-side down he must make do with the lack of food, ostensibly being on the run from people who might be looking for revenge.

What that means is that he's sauntering through the mansion's many hallways while looking around him, slightly more warily than he might seem to be from his casual pace, quickly making his way to a stairway when he finds one. Of course things are never that simple in a murder mystery and he figures out quickly enough that the stairs has no interest in letting him try out any of the doors, actually taking heed when the portraits mention that the stairs enjoy a gossip or two. Why not? He's got plenty of those.

He's still sitting at the bottom of the stairs five minutes later, expression rather tight-lipped as he tries the next one.]

There's a secret behind my right eye.... [No? That's when he's going to see someone approaching and slide in a remark:] But I'd have to destroy you if anyone finds out. [How ominous!]

Bonus: Turnabout Murder Suspect

[Minato's never been too keen on detective novels, so it comes as a bit of a surprise to him that some kind of pipe and a pretty cool hat are apparently part of the job description. What should have been more surprising to him is that murder suspects can clear themselves of murder by accusing someone else while pretending to be lawful, but honestly that sort of thing really has no shock value any more.

His delivery is deadpan, holding up the pipe for more dramatic flair than what one might expect from a high school student.]

The toaster being in my hand at the time of the murder doesn't prove anything, as there was a blinding light at the crime scene and the killer could have placed it there while I was unable to see anything. The doors also opened instantly after I noticed the murder weapon, which must have been set up by the killer.

[Pause.]

Everything after that was made to delay me from finding out the truth...that would have given the killer enough time to get to this ballroom and prepare for a trial. It's obvious, isn't it? The portraits couldn't have been made to look like people you remember unless the killer knew me in some way and there were bloody footprints leading up to the stairs too. There was also someone who was chasing after me past the stairs, and the killer could have misled this person into thinking that I was the true culprit.

[He glances at someone, with not a trace of emotion.]

You were here before me, weren't you? That means you have to be the killer, since you wouldn't have any other reason to be here right now.

?. Wild Card

[Got something else you might want to play out? Hit me up at

moribundity!]

PHASE III

[Kara is already Done With This.]

Okay, whoever's listening, where should I even begin? There was the time I almost cheated on my late fiancé with his brother.

[Nope, the spinning hasn't stopped. Okay, obviously something else needs to be done. Or confessed. Or whatever the hell is going on]

Uh...I'm dead? Or, I was. How's that for gossip?

Edited 2016-07-01 06:26 (UTC)

Phase I

You've... gotta be kidding me...

[The body - and it's still hard to think that word right now, but the body is spare feet away from him. Between the corpse and the lightning flash that just lit up the room, his heart is pounding hard in his chest.

And is that- Yes. Yes, it is. The absurdity of it almost pushes a laugh out of Daisuke, something edging on hysteria, but the inappropriateness of it holds him back. But there's no mistaking it - there's a deck of cards in his hand. And several of them are covered in what looks like dried blood.]

It's a bad joke, or a bad dream. Has to be. There's no way...

Wait-

[A warm weight in his lap; he feels it when his legs shift. Looking down, he spots Chibimon laying on his thighs, unconscious but unharmed. Tension leaves his body, makes his limbs loose with relief.

Seeing Chibimon reminds Daisuke about the Jogress connection. Hard to describe, but he focuses his heart and- ah. There it is. Good. Far fainter than it should be, but he can still feel Ken... somewhere. Not here, obviously, but that's probably for the best.]

Ken... Hikari-chan... I need to find them.

[And suddenly, something creaks behind him. Daisuke whirls around, gripping the cards tight as if he can actually use them to defend himself. He spots double doors behind him, one of them slowly edging open.]

Someone is in here with him. But are they friend... or foe?]

Edited (Forgot to add <small> HTML code...) 2016-07-01 06:59 (UTC)

phase i; the butler (still) did it(?)

[ Dwyer can be competitive, but 1. only when his father is involved and 2. he would never take it this far. Besides, what reason would he have to kill a supposed fellow servant? That would mean more work for him, ugh. He turns toward the open door, and holds up a baguette as he shrugs. ]

Don't look at me like that. It's stale, but not that stale.

[ Stale bread only has Mt 3, for gods' sakes. ]

phase ii; daaaaaad whyyyyy

[ Fatherly scolding and arguing is something he deals with all the time since joining Corrin's army, so this is easy enough for him to shrug off. The painting thing? Not so much. This portrait can't possibly be his father because Jakob is truly too damn stubborn to simply let anyone turn him into a talking painting.

(A part of him, the more sentimental part of him he doesn't like to admit, believes, no, knows that Jakob has more faith in him than accuse him of cold-blooded murder right off the bat, even if they're both terrible at showing that faith.) ]

Give me a break...I can't muster the motivation to argue with you when you're the way you are right now. You don't even have a third dimension.

"Of all the—!"

[ Cutting painting-Jakob off, Dwyer sighs, and turns to the nearest actual, three-dimensional person. ]

Do you happen to have a curtain or something I can smother him with?

phase iv; is it time for guard stance???

[ Fortunately, his vision in the dark isn't all too bad; chalk it up to his own living space in the Deeprealms, and how he might have even preferred it that way. He finds the darkness and gloom a bit soporific, which isn't really doing him any favors when the crying is getting louder the farther he walks, and then hears another set of footsteps.

That almost never bodes well. ]

Who's there? You've got a lot of nerve, trying to sneak up on me in the dark like that.

[ (Even if they weren't actually "sneaking"...) He's hoping they're a friend and not foe. If they happen to be the latter...well, he's got some steel daggers under his cloak and in his thigh holster and knows how to use them. ]

i.

[ Before anything else—before she can properly evaluate the situation she's found herself in—Tsubasa's stomach churns at the sight in front of her. A corpse. A dead body. It certainly isn't her first time seeing one, but it's not like it's something she can just "get used to."

The queasy feeling only intensifies upon noticing the bloodied encyclopedia she's holding in her hand. What happened? This wouldn't be the first time she woke up with no memory of the carnage she left in her wake, so she can't confidently say that she had nothing to do with this.

However, she's not deep enough in despair to surrender herself to the consequences of something she still doesn't understand the first thing about. The minute she hears footsteps coming her way, she knows she has to think fast. Her brain is still in a panicked fog and she can tell that she doesn't have much time before whoever it is comes through the doors, so any plan will do, however slipshod it may be.

Isn't this a scenario that shows up rather often in thrillers or mysteries? Someone picks up the murder weapon while they're examining the scene, and a witness walks in and mistakes them for the culprit? If she's going to look suspicious no matter what, then perhaps her best bet is to act as though this is one of those easily misunderstood scenarios. ]

Is this what they used...?

[ Her expression turns grave and disillusioned as she studies the heavy book, a genuine reaction. ]

What a horrible misuse of an encyclopedia.

iii.

[ Tsubasa is getting increasingly cranky. She's hungry, tired, a bit fed up with constantly being goaded and accused of murder (not that she can disprove it), and the staircases are operating in a way that doesn't seem to follow any particular sort of logic. She really just wants to feel like she's making some sort of progress.

"Tell us something about yourself." That's actually an easier solution than she anticipated, though in her bad mood, she feels a little indignant—it's almost like she's being toyed with and treated as someone's entertainment. When she speaks, her voice is a little sharp. ]

I'm not so interesting as to make for very good gossip, you know.

[ That's what she really believes, too. She isn't entirely sure what she can say about herself that would leave this staircase satisfied. ]

Phase III
I refuse to be blackmailed in such an immature manner.

[Or any manner really. But that wasn't the point. Angela's arms were crossed, mostly because she had given up on walking around uselessly and wasting energy. Though arguing with paintings probably wasn't anywhere near as effective either. But it was better than nothing.]

You may as well clear the path because this is one fight you won't be winning.

[Announcing that is pretty much saying that she was on the verge of giving up. Still, for a so called pacifist, she was looking mightily frustrated. At least she wasn't going to lash out against anyone who decided to walk by.]

Phase IV
....hello?

[Yes, she was picking up her pace. After the death and craziness she had seen, being stalked by someone who wasn't announcing themselves wasn't exactly something she was going to consider a good thing. Especially considering that her only method of self-defense that she used was conveniently not with her. No pistol meant that she was in trouble in a violent situation.]

Announce yourself, please, so nothing unfortunate happens.

[Might as well sound intimidating? Self-confidence played a large part in staying safe in the world. That much, Angela was more than acquainted with.]

PHASE I

[ Klavier wasn't having a good day to start with. It's one thing, watching your older brother being lead away in chains for the second time in six months, hearing nothing but Kristoph's loud, hysterical, maniacal laughter. But it's another thing entirely to blink and find yourself on the floor, waking up with a dead body at your feet.

And he is dead. Klavier's seen enough dead bodies working as a prosecutor to know this for sure.

His first instinct is to scramble away, but after a deep, steadying breath, Klavier moves closer, his curiosity and duty as a lawyer overriding everything else. There's no obvious wounds on the body -- no gunshot holes, no bruises, no blood, nothing. He briefly considers that Herr Butler has perhaps died of a heart attack or other such natural causes when he realizes has something gripped tightly in his hand.

The bottle of nail polish falls to the ground when he opens hand.

He has just enough time to think poison, just enough time to think Kristoph when the door opens. He shoots to his feet. ] Bitte, [ he interjects before the other person can get a word in. ] Please. I'm not sure what's going on here. Can you help?

PHASE IV

[ The mansion he's in is very large, and despite the fact that he has a fairly decent sense of direction, he's having trouble finding his way out. He feels like he's walking in circles and he tugs at his tightly coiled hair in frustration as he finds himself down yet another hallway that looks absolutely identical to the last. It's not identical, of course not, not when he hears someone crying in the distance. ]

...Hello? [ He calls out, hesitant. The entire situation has him on edge, but if someone needs his help, he'll do all he can. ] Is everything alright?

[ That's when the lights go out.

He stops, and even if his musically trained ears weren't able to notice slight differences in the world around him, he'd still be able to hear footsteps. The next thing he knows, he's running. Is he running towards the footsteps? Is he running towards whoever was crying? To both? To neither? He doesn't know for sure, he just knows he needs to get there, fast. ]

BONUS

[ He doesn't know where he is, he doesn't know how or why he got here, but if there is one thing Klavier Gavin knows how to do, it's to how argue in court. And it's strange, being on the defense side of the courtroom instead of the prosecuting, but he can work on it, the situation being what it is.

There's a wall behind him, and he slams his fist against it in order to help emphasize his point. ] Ach, how hard you have tried. However, your statement has an obvious contradiction!

[ Is there? Is there not? Either way, Klavier knows he isn't the killer, and the answer must be somewhere in the evidence. He simply needs to find it.

~~Is this how Herr Wright and Herr Forehead feel all the time? It is exhausting.~~. ]

i. "i swear this body was just here"

[ It's the perfect crime scene. The butler, dead, on the floor. The young lady standing beside it, looking .... incredibly confused and holding what seems to be a giant casket over her head. Where did she get that thing? It clearly doesn't match the scene at all! The casket comes in later, at the funeral. And how the hell is she holding it up? It looks incredibly weighty, something six men may need to carry together but she doesn't seem the least bit strained. ]

Ah... ah, um. Oh dear.

[ She's looking down at the body and then up again, so so flustered, and feeling incredibly bad despite the fact that she doesn't even remember... hurting this person! ]

It looks like I've made a grave mistake...!

[ THIS IS NO TIME FOR PUNS, COLETTE. Panicking, she steps back, accidentally smacking the casket into the wall. Oh dear. ]

I'm so sorry, I don't even—um, maybe he's just sleeping? He could be sleeping, right?

ii. "are they supposed to do that??"

I—I'm not sure, actually, but I think I've been framed.

[ The paintings aren't letting her off so easily, though. You're not framed like we're framed, they shoot back, and she flails her hands up and down. ]

Of course not! I'm sorry, I'm not a painting, it was wrong of me to use that phrase. But I really don't think it was me! Gosh... maybe it was me. I'm so, so sorry.

[ Catching someone else approaching out of the corner of her eye, she waves her hands and tries to flag them down. ]

Excuse me! Excuse me, um, could you please arrest me for murder? Is that how it's supposed to work here? I feel terrible.

iii. "please act like you didn't hear that"

My most embarrassing secrets? Ah... w-well, if that's what the stairs want, then I should... do that, shouldn't I?

[ Clearly her throat lightly, she leans over the railing of one of the stairs and cups her hands over her mouth so that they all can hear. ]

Hello! My name is Colette Brunel and—telling you some of my secrets!

[ This is so terrible, goodness. Blushing, she presses her hands against her cheeks. ]

I... oh. This is harder than I thought.

Okay..! I've never had a first kiss!! Um. I... sometimes, I pretend I'm a dragon! And—sometimes I'll tell people I'm allergic to bell peppers when I actually just hate them.

[ She's so sincere and everything is terrible. ]

iv. "holy guacamole"

[ Suddenly, it's dark, and she's running. Terrified. Somehow the hallway keeps winding on and on with no end. What's going to happen? She's still not sure if she actually murdered someone but still. She has duties; she can't die here!

Those are more or less her thoughts when she runs straight into someone. ]

W—Watch out...! I'm... I'm a ... badass! So please don't try to kill me!

[ She sounds not at all convincing. ]

A potential spoiler appears! If you haven't seen Voltron/plan on watching it unspoiled/love secrecy in all its forms, please let me know and I'll adjust my tags to match your preference.

phase I - holy shit it's CLUE (or someone's been reading bungou stray dogs A+ prompting goddamn)

[ It's not Pidge's first time using a taser. But usually when the kid uses it, it's with good reason, like a teammate who won't shut up, or... you know, self-defense.

Kneeling down to check the butler's pulse and finding nothing, the sound of the door opening is full tilt reason to panic. ]

I- I- It's not what you're thinking, I swear!

[ Yeah it's really easy to hide a taser behind your back when you're hunched over a dead guy. ]

phase III - ain't lion about this

[ The bloody footprints give Pidge a full-body shiver, something cartoonish and almost comedic. ]

Me? Why would stairs want to know about-- Woah, woah--! [ and the poor thing is tumbling head-over-heels down a moving staircase, thumping down a few steps before finally regaining balance. ] I'll never find anyone at this rate.

[ ...but is it true? Will the stairs cooperate if you talk to them? If Pidge can't hack them, at least trying to talk would be beneficial.

A suspicious look left. A suspicious look right.

There's nobody here.

The quietest of whispers. I'll share mine if you'll share yours. ]

I sweat a lot.

[ The stairs laugh heartily. ~~This means war.~~ ]

BONUS - let's get phoenix wright/dangan ronpa up in this murderhouse

[ Pidge thrusts the taser out at the cob pipe as if to say Objection! ]

It couldn't have been me!

[ "because I am still holding the murder weapon" is not how that sentence was supposed to end. Whoops. ]

Edited 2016-07-01 21:39 (UTC)

🌟PHASE I

The dull sensation of something being terribly wrong had swiftly turned acute and piercing, niggling around the backs of his eyes. Keigo shook his head once, twice, clearing out that indescribable hindrance to his vision... only to swiftly regret it.

He had thought he'd smelled blood, but actually seeing it right there, below his feet, pooling and dark and sticky, made his heart jump into his throat then promptly sink into his stomach. Like it was on a bungee cord, unable to settle. It was about that time that he realized his hand was clenched around something heavy, and tearing his eyes away from the corpse beneath him revealed that he had equipped himself with...

...what appeared to be a blade from a fan. Blood was still dripping off the metal piece, dotting the floor crudely at his feet. Not more than a moment after that realization, Keigo's brain flickered and immediately compelled him to drop everything and skitter backwards. A compulsion, as if it would somehow make whatever situation he'd found himself in disappear. Pressing a palm to his forehead, Keigo laughed sharply and jerked around, looking for someone—anyone—to show up and tell him how swiftly he fell for the obvious—yet cruel and demented—practical joke that was clearly set in motion.

🌟PHASE II

Something just wasn't right. Any idiot could have come to that conclusion, but for Keigo, it was a little more than just "waking up in a strange place." He'd been there, done that before, and therefore he had come to expect a certain chain of events to unfold. Something dealing with the supernatural, Shinigami, more specifically. But he couldn't sense any nearby... Walking around a musty old mansion didn't really fit the theme, either. The initial fear had waned and been replaced with a muddled uneasiness, leaving Keigo on alert, but at the very least, somewhat calm.

Until something brushed against his arm. Something that felt like a hand.

"Gah!" Keigo jerked and bounced backward, rolling back onto his heels as he frantically looked around the area, expecting to find someone alongside him. He couldn't sense normal humans, after all, and getting surprised was still a very real possibility...

But there was no one. Not a single person. Just rows of portraits...

...portraits that looked like his family members. Keigo rubbed at his eyes, staring deeply at a painting featuring an elegant and regal woman sitting poised and proper, like a porcelain doll. She looked like his mother: sharp features, dark, piercing eyes, silky hair... and a familiar frown. Disappointment, disdain.

"You shouldn't dawdle, child," a voice rang out suddenly. Keigo jumped, but he couldn't place the source. It sounded like it came from, well... everywhere. Swallowing roughly, he glanced back at the portrait, only to find that the woman's lips were now curved upward into an almost fiendish smirk. Sharp, judging. A cold sweat ran down the back of his neck as he backed away, spinning around to call out into the hallway.

"Who's there? This isn't funny! I didn't do anything!"

🌟PHASE IV

He was losing his damn mind. He had to be. Nothing was making sense. The howling of wind and the occasional crack of thunder were the only things keeping him tethered to a sense of reality. Storms were real, storms were tangible things. But the disembodied voices and the dull sense of dread were not, and Keigo wasn't yet a seasoned enough medium to properly parse everything. It felt like a jumbled blur, like someone speaking too fast to decipher. The hallway had been filled with whispers and husky laughter until a soft sobbing broke through it all. As if allowing that voice center stage, the ambient chatter died down until nothing remained but that sobbing sound.

And it was getting louder.

Keigo covered his ears and grit his teeth. What now? The lights were beginning to flicker and he'd be damned if he was going to be left in the dark alone. Cussing angrily, he spun back on his heels and sought out the closest person. Hopefully they'd be real. Or alive. Nevermind the apparent blood on his hands; the darkness was serious business.

"Oi! You!"

🌟WILDCARD

[ hello friends! feel free to throw prompts/scenarios my way if any of these don't work for you! also note: i'm totally cool with action brackets and i don't expect anyone to match length! go forth!! ]

I

[ The darkness isn't so foreign as to be unnerving for Murasaki. Being a shut-in, she's very much used to the dark. What's more, she's so used to it, her sense of smell has gotten much better than her vision, so before the lights flicker on again, the iron scent of blood hits her nose. Worse still, it's all over her dearest friend, the stuffed bear cradled in her arms. ]

Oh...B-Bebe-tan...you're covered in blood. [ And that's when it hits her. Blood. A corpse on the floor. From the look of things, she killed them Bebe-tan? But that's impossible! Bebe-tan is nowhere near hard enough to kill someone by blunt force! Ohhhh, where's Imu when she needs her? ] It's impossible...

Phase I (gore)

[The body on the floor, Nic looks at it silently as he tries to piece together just what happened. It was hard to remember but he knows what those wounds are and the cause of them was in his hand clear as day.

Holding his hand up he looks to the knife, the strong scent of copper filling the room and his sense. It was both a blessing and a curse to have heightened sense from being deaf. For this case it didn't really matter...since killing was nothing new to him. He's sure if the body was there then something must have happened to cause him to fight.

Unable to hear the doors as they are about to open, stabs the knife into the floor as he crouches to look over the body. There were a few stab wounds on the person front, the main cause of death probably the one to the neck. It was going to be hard to explain without Worick here but he better start to figure out how he's doing...especially as he looks up to see the doors open.]

Phase II

[It was hard enough to get away from the scene he seems to have caused but now it just gets weirder. As he stands in the hall way he looks at the portraits as they seem to keep talking to him. Nick was good at reading lips but the amount of questions they were asking...is a little too fast. So as he signs for them to slow down he speaks as well.]

Slow...down. [His voice sounds very muffled, in the sense that the sounds are off, but the words are audible.

Even though he asks them to it seems they have no plans to slow the questions so he starts to roll his eyes and walk away, not really looking around.]

Wildcard

Edited 2016-07-02 03:46 (UTC)

phase i.

[ yes, because a tiny fourteen-year-old girlchild in a tattered frilly dress is murder suspect zero, the mastermind behind this torturous mansion and the destroyer of all things good...! the most intimidating part of her, of course, is the terrified shaking of her limbs, the sort that starts in her tremoring boots and ends in someone else's, kept together only through sheer force of will and the iron-tight grip on the... dog plushie...? being held between her hands like a prayer.

she hasn't noticed the dried blood on it yet. nope. she's certainly not noticing that, because the all-too-fresh blood on the murder victim is just a little more pressing of a concern at this very moment. the small girl takes a tentative step forward, blue eyes wide with terror and worry all rolled up into one as obligation takes her forward in spite of her fear -- is he dead? is he really dead? there's so, so much blood, but she's seen something similar to this before, and back then--

if you've ever wondered what the sound of a mute fourteen-year-old girl running the hell away was like, it kind of starts like this: a startled, soundless scream, the frantic flutter of a pair of small, white wings beating the air, and the panicked sound of bare feet hitting the wood, 0.3 seconds before those two double doors slam open.

by the time anyone's managed to peer in, nill's already across the room, her tiny wings standing up poised like knives to cut as she jams herself underneath a chair, the dog plush with the dried blood held in front of her menacingly. she's going to murder you with it if you even think of stepping her way, okay, or so her trembling bottom lip promises, her body shaking so badly that the chair itself rattles against the wall.

terror comes in small packages, but in this case, so does the terrified. ]

phase iii.

[ look, in nill's defense, gossip is all good and well, and nill certainly has nothing to hide if it'll get her upstairs and out a door to safety, but isn't this situation kind of disadvantageous for those who're mute...? is what nill would think if she were a little more bitter, a little more annoyed. as it stands now, however, all she's done for the past half hour is give the stairs pleading looks that were, unsurprisingly enough, ignored, and completely and utterly failing to climb those stairs on her own. unfortunately, staircases aren't really known for their amazing powers of empathy, and nill isn't really known for her penchant to give up -- so the stalemate continued. that is, until you came about.

you could be climbing those stairs like a trooper gunning for the last cookie in the cookie jar, three steps away from finally getting out of the clusterfuck that is these staircases from hell, when all of a sudden, and it really is always all of a sudden, the stairs decide that they've been lenient enough, and unceremoniously dump you down the side like a sack of potatoes.

amazingly enough, the first thing you'll see below you is not the creaky wooden floors that will soon become intimate with your face, and instead is a little tiny bird of a small girlchild flinging herself underneath you, her eyes taking on the light of frenzied determination and small wings set into a stubborn line as she-- wait, is she trying to catch you?!

11/10 for guts, one portrait flips a sign, while the other one gives a 0.5/10 for intelligence, would vine again. but dammit, she is not going to let you fall...!

... she probably doesn't have a choice in the matter, huh. ]

choose your own adventure.

[ eh anything goes ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ]

Edited 2016-07-02 04:23 (UTC)

PHASE I

[ An old mansion, a storm, a layer of dust that quakes with the thunder—the corpse seems par for the decor course, but the guy in full-body tights might not. The murder weapon—a long-necked rubber chicken—seems a little out-of-place too, but Lancer isn’t all too concerned. Questionably weirder things have happened. Like sudden mass extinction by alien invasion, maybe.

Instead he squats by the dead guy, watching for the tell-tale rise and fall of the gut, touching his skin by the jaw. Warm, but dead as a doornail. Lancer’s seen a couple bodies now or then, here and there, a dozen or couple thousand times, but usually he remembers if he's the one who took 'em out.

He swings the chicken around by the neck. It squeaks menacingly.

Not ideal. ]

Man—

[ He lets go, sending the rubber fowl flying into someone’s chest just as the doors creak open. ]

I’m impressed, how’d you manage that? [ He didn’t murder him, so… maybe you did. If not, didn’t hurt to dump the ‘weapon’ anyway. ]

PHASE III

[ Lancer sits along the stair rails, kicking a leg at some lazy tempo. He’s been at this a while to no avail, so deeply engrossed(?) in his efforts that he doesn’t seem to notice any extra company right away. Instead, he keeps his attention on a mightily interesting spot on the ceiling. ]

Duked it out with a giant once—or was it a dragon? [ The stairs don’t answer. He continues flatly, disinterested in his own bullshit. (It is, presumably, all bullshit.) ] Anyway, I cut off his head, and he just picked it up and left. The nerve, right? Better than just leaving it there to bloody up the floor, I guess. After that…

[ He pauses, finally looking sidelong with a resigned smile. ]

Ah, whatever. Ain't that interesting—what've you got? [ Wow them all with your tales, stranger, because it's all up to you. ]

PHASE IV

[ Moved as he is by the wailing in the distance, if the ominous pitter-patter of feet is any indication, it probably spells out incoming trouble. Which he doesn’t want. But he trots to a slow stop anyway, considering. To anyone else on the lam from the long, robotic arm of vigilante justice, ]

I bet we could clear this up quicker if we stop running. [ With words, or otherwise. Probably the latter, though his tone stays purely conversational. ] Unless you like bumbling around in the dark... then don't let me stop you.

WILDCARD

[ Hit me up with anything! ]

[Phase IV]

Leia made her way cautiously toward the sobs, her senses on alert. Although she wasn't as in touch with the Force as Luke, she still felt as though something didn't feel right. She really wished Luke or Han were here; she was perfectly able to handle herself, but it would still have been easier trying to find her way through here with a companion rather than alone.

"Hello? Is someone there? What's wrong?" she asked, hearing the crying and screaming grow louder. "I'll help you if I can."

It was getting louder and louder...but she still couldn't actually see anyone.

Suddenly, it was dark, and she couldn't see a thing. She kept moving, nervous but doing her best to keep her fear under control. It wouldn't do her any good to panic, she needed a clear head to get out of here alive.

She could still hear the steps, could tell she wasn't alone. Were they looking for her for help, or were they coming after her? She couldn't tell. SHe wished she had her lightsaber on her, the one Luke had given her.

She wasn't as adept with a lightsaber as Luke, but still, she pulled it, igniting the blade in hopes it would give her at least a little light to see by. As long as she took care not to bump it into anything, it would work fine. And it would also be ready if she needed to defend herself.

Edited 2016-07-02 06:08 (UTC)

Threaded | Flat

Page 2 of 3

Uchiha Itachi | Naruto

A Pimp Named Slickback | The Boondocks

Elise | Original Character

Ankh | Kamen Rider OOO | Current character, just couldn't resist

Seras Victoria | Hellsing

count d | petshop of horrors