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?
|
PHASE I [ 02 15 ] 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. ] |
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
lancer | fate/stay night
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
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
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
phase I. I lied I can't sleep
He's rewarded with said chicken getting flung into his face, thanks bud. That's not how you deal with evidence at all. He catches it out of midair on reflex, and it flops to a harmless halt while he gets a load of the scene of the crime. Lucky you, Lancer, detective work is actually not at all outside his wheelhouse. Neither, for that matter, is gallows humor. So, y'know—]
Wow. [How very Conan Doyle.] Manage what, missing out on Colonel Mustard and the candlestick?
[For those playing along at home, this makes Lancer Mrs. Peacock.]
sleep's optional, it's fine
So, what can he contribute? A winning personality. Equal and opposite morbidity. A shrug, a sliver of a smile; he'll even play along with pop culture references that he doesn't understand, generous soul that he is. ]
Candlesticks, floppy birds—guess people'll use anything to off a guy these days.
[ He steps over the elephant in the room, careful to avoid blood on his soles. ]
But I wouldn't know. [ after all, this is the very face of innocence. he gestures vaguely to the body. ] I figured this was your mess.
I just couldn't rest until I made the Mrs. Peacock joke tbh
Anyway, sidekicks aren't really his style, but he could do with information. Not that Lancer seems to be swimming in it. What good are you, really.]
Is that an accusation or an appraisal?
[Or both. This seems to be a rhetorical question—he doesn't seem inordinately concerned, either way. Is Jason a killer? Sure. But not a murderer. And he's rarely messy when he can help it. Naturally, Lancer's on the shortlist of suspects by virtue of being the only other person he's run into at all, but he's not stupid enough to take everything he sees at face value.
Besides, there are clearly other things in play, here. Hell, maybe Jeeves had it coming. He'll bite, though.]
What makes you suspect the fowl play? [He hefts the aforementioned floppy bird to punctuate the pun. You were standing over the body with it and everything, but since you're innocent and all—] I'm pretty sure there are easier ways to kill a guy in here.
[Even if gags as murder weapons is something of a familiar theme, actually. That's a very particular MO tho. He ought to be insulted.]
why do you hurt me like this
Sure there are. [ He picks up a vase, letting it hop in his palm a few times to show off its heft. A much more sensible bludgeoning tool. ] But things happen. Not everyone goes for easy kills. [ Speaking from experience and all. There's always crimes of passion and whatnot too, though lovingly strangling someone with a rubber chicken seems a bit much for anyone who isn't a literal clown. (Jason's an expert on this by now, surely.)
Though speaking of—there does seem to be a ring of bruises around Mr. Butler's neck, twinged all green around the edges. ]
Why, this look like a natural death to you?
[ What about this is natural, what is even happening. ]
iv; if i can't play from a different series maybe i can still play a different character
[Comes the reply, in a tone of voice more irritated than fearful. (After a week of having to cancel dates in order to lock himself in a cramped room and spy on some freak suit of armor bumble around and play chess, his tolerance for inexplicable shit has shrunk dramatically. Understandably.)
There's a few faint clicks, then a muttered "C'mon", before a small flame blossoms into life, casting eerie shadows over everything in the hallway. Whoever says smoking is a terrible habit really ought to re-evaluate the helpfulness of having a ready light source at all times.]
You set this whole thing up?
[Guy doesn't look very bothered by all this, as far as he can tell.]
how dare you
Sure, I love watching people sweat.
[ Not actually—like he'd put that much effort into a spook like this. He doesn't so much as light off more flames, because surely this little pea-sized torch would be enough. What he does notice (besides the increasingly less-distant footfalls) is the bitter tinge of butane in the air, tone brightening after his admission of 'guilt.' ]
Hey—you got any cigs to go along with that?
[ Things he hasn't had much time to try: frivolous modern day cancer sticks. ]
i do what i want!!
Havoc leans back, mouth twitching down into a frown at the sight. Despite the casual lilt to his voice, his free hand stays rested on the holster of his gun.]
Depends. Who's asking?
['Cause right now, the skintight suit ain't making the best impression. ]
no subject
Lancer's aware he stands out in a room, but there's little helping it when he's under threat of attack. Armor stays on. Surely his personality is sparkling enough to disarm on its own. ]
Guess this is as good a time to get to know each other as ever... [ He waves idly, finally setting a few new flames in the process. Runes wreathed in fire follow his hand, hanging dimly in the air. ] Name's Lancer. Nice to meet you.
[ There's another broken wail in the distance. ]
—Though I think we're gonna have to cut this date short.
[ Nothing personal. ]
(no subject)
i
Except she has what looks to be like a soft bread roll.]
Unfortunately I did not do it. [She sighs, and looks at her bread roll.] Unless he ate it and died because it was stale.
[LOOK SHE NORMALLY WOULDN'T JOKE ABOUT THIS but they're in ViViD, okay. Sort of.]
no subject
Or maybe that's tasteless, but he grins wolfishly anyway, sidestepping a small, black puddle of blood to approach her. With one quick pinch—he's got a tiny bit of the bread between his fingers, popping it into his mouth. He pauses for some hard detective work, AKA chewing. Or tampering with the evidence. Verdict: ]
Hmm—nah, it's pretty good. [ ... ] But there's plenty of other ways you could kill a man with bread. How do I really know you're innocent? Are you gonna off me next?
no subject
She watches carefully what he does, and oh, there it goes, he's sampling the piece of bread. As soon as he makes his verdict--]
Hmm? [She takes a piece herself and puts it into her mouth. Chew, chew...] Oh, it is! But ah, you are right. I cannot prove my innocence other than saying I did it. [She looks between him and the victim.] And I didn't. As for you, why would I want to kill you?
no subject
Ah, well. I can think of a few reasons.
[ Though let's not get into that. He smiles pleasantly enough now. ]
But there's worse ways to go than getting killed by a lady like you. [ nailed?? it???? ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
phase i!
she steps forward; the rubber bird lets out a pitiful squawk from beneath her heel. ]
Lancer.
[ to be honest, she's more surprised by... what he's wearing, rather than the dead body before them. not that she's going to judge him for strutting around in full-body tights if he wants to, but it's just not a sight she's used to seeing. she folds her arms across her chest, her tone authoritative, as always. ]
It's rude to question your master before explaining yourself first. [ both the dead body and the strange get-up, maybe. ]
no subject
Oh——? Sorry, sorry.
[ Not judging this sudden inability to dress himself like a normal human being, what a benevolent master. Of course, he's not sure what she means by that—last he checked, his master's a man of the cloth. Key word being man, because lord knows he's the shittiest priest ever.
But there's something in her step—maybe the way she crushes this poor chicken underfoot—that he likes, so he shrugs. Lancer rounds the corpse towards her, which is definitely the third wheel in the party right now. Better people to train his attention on. He smiles, probably friendly, not quite warm. ]
Where do I start, 'master?'
[ She knows who he is, apparently. May as well see what blanks she's still got left to fill in. ]
no subject
plus, no amount of her scolding could ever shake the casual way that he goes about, well, everything. ]
Why you've chosen to finish — [ an offhanded glance towards the corpse. ] — that off with a toy, rather than...
[ your usual spear, she would say, but finds that she hesitates, forming a thoughtful expression. and while she knows that it's a foolish question to ask, fueled by fears that are even more foolish, she asks it anyway — but through it, she does identify his key weapon. her voice betrays nothing, however. ]
Where is your Gae Bolg?
no subject
But naturally, he turns over his hand. ]
Here.
[ The air goes murky, light bending until it folds itself solid, his namesake lance forming in his palm. Gae Bolg. No barbs, frills, ornaments—just a spear that leaves a viciously red arch when he rolls it over his knuckles, propping it against his collar. His shoulders are slack, no threat in his demeanor to match his weapon. He watches her, even-keeled.
...She wasn't unfamiliar. That's the best he can say. ]
Whole lot better than a chicken, yeah? If I was gonna take anyone out, I'd use this. [ Not garrote some random guy with poultry—this isn't his kill. ] But you seem like you know that much already.
[ His real question is the hows and whys of it. ]
(no subject)
apologies for the delay!
phase i bc it's Maya
[Take that!!]
Manage wh--
[and she notices the corpse, and runs right over. Because that's a completely sane reaction, right?]
WOAH, there's a dead guy here! [thanks for the update, Maya, surely he hadn't noticed]
obligatory murder mystery for maya
Woah. [ Excellent powers of deduction, Watson. ] So there is.
[ He nudges her gently with an elbow. ]
But you don't have to play dumb. Ain't like he was any friend of mine.
[ If she had to cut somebody (with plastic poultry...), he won't judge. It's okay, Maya. Own up to your ruthless murder ways. ]
time to get framed for murder again
Play dumb about what....? [She gives him a blank stare, truly, she is skilled at this]
[and then the truth seems to dawn on her, and she gasps impressively]
Wait!! The butler did it!
As in, you're the real butler! [AS IN... THAT GUY WAS A FAKE??? Or Lancer was trying to kill him and steal his job!!!]
an average day for a fey
for this fey
iii;
[ Don't put this into the hands of a fifteen year old mafioso. Aren't you supposed to be the adult here? Either way Giorno, unlike the portraits, was actually listening somewhat intently to the very, very long winded story. Also, because there's no way that all of it is bullshit, right?
While it wouldn't surprise him for someone to be that delusional, there almost seems like a certain level of truth in all of the stories. Besides it's still not quite the weirdest thing that he's heard in all of this place or in general. Fantastical, sure, but not weird. ]
I'm not certain if there is much that I could say that would be more interesting than what you've already shared.
no subject
Meanwhile—his present company seems like a decent kid. Patient, clearly. Maybe a little too much faith. Lancer keeps perched where he is, but leans in bit with a teasing lilt, smile slanting. ]
Aw, give yourself a little credit.
[ he's set the bar stupid low, okay ]
You've gotta have a sordid detail or two by now, right? Say, a good scar story... Or some family crap? Romance? Give 'em a story about your girlfriend, dusty old people [ portraits? ] get a kick outta that.
[ 15 years is plenty of time to have made some great accomplishments or really, really entertaining screw-ups. ]
phase i.
(What the hell.) ]
Hey, watch where you're throwing things!
[ This is obviously more important than finding out why there's a dead guy on the floor. Also more important: why the guy who threw the chicken at her looks so atrocious. She's almost offended by his style. ]
no subject
I was just returning it.
[ It's not his chicken, he's not that lame. Hopefully. ]
It's yours, right? I found it with this... ah— [ ex-person. ] this guy.
[ Since they're the only two here, process of elimination means she's the most likely culprit. Cute girls could be vicious, fowl-slinging murderers too. ]
no subject
Let's just say that she wouldn't be surprised if someone dressed like him turned out to be a villain. ]
Are you trying to say that I did this?
[ She scoffs, her eyes suddenly narrowing at him. ]
You're the more suspicious one here!