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. ] |
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Kristoph Gavin | Ace Attorney
[ Kristoph looked down at the spectacle before him. He's had to deal with many things in the recent years, but this oddly took the cake. He's seen his share of strange and baffling murders and trials. Hell, he's taken his part in some of the most baffling if he could say so himself. The very nature of his world was that the law was a strange beast that couldn't be tamed by the faint or sound of heart.
The difference was he at least REMEMBERED the murders he committed.
This butler was dead. He's seen more than enough dead bodies (did this count as a real dead body?) in his time to look at the scene before him and know what's happening. Looking further to his hand he refrained from rolling his eyes. Guitar string? How horrific. Instead of unwinding it, he held it taut between his hands to examine the string. This had to be the weapon. The way the string's clear color tainted towards the middle could have only meant it was.
Kristoph brought the string up to his ear, plucking it once in curiosity. It was G. Of course, it was G. He's not even sure what's happening and it's already shaping up to be a tiring day.
People were at the doors, threatening to come in and spot him at the scene of the murder, and Kristoph couldn't space an ounce of care. He's already been in jail. Going back for something he didn't do wasn't much of a concern. It was a nice cell. To the newcomer, he turns and smiles pleasantly at them, still plucking at the guitar string. ]
I was beginning to think I was alone here. Good evening. Do you happen to know who is here at my feet?
((PHASE II))
[ Oh, this was fun. It reminded him of home. Who didn't love being interrogated by no names with no business questioning him about foolish things?
The questions and accusations continued to come at him and Kristoph could only offer a smile and a couple of sighs. It was a valid interrogation, at least. It didn't ring with the wild and far-fetched methods of his friend and most hated person. He could let all of these roll off his back easily enough until the portrait of one Zak Gramarye laughed at him.
Kristoph stopped in his tracks, the cool look in his face cracking with an irritated twitch in his lips. It wasn't a question, an accusation, or anything. It was a laugh. That man came to make fun of his misfortune as per usual. It was so slight, so small, yet the blood boiling in his body was evident in the glassy look in his eyes. This bloody bastard. ]
My, I didn't know the dead could laugh so loudly. I must be losing my mind in the midst of this foolishness. That must be my cue to rally out the killer and make my way out of his miserable mess as fast as possible.
((WILDCARD))
[ Find Kristoph walking around trying to solve a murder, or in the afterward where he's calmly telling anyone who approaches him that he will kill him if they so much as touch him. Some people just can't take a joke at their own expense, you know? ]
Phase I
It's none other than the wicked defense of the west himself, and with a freshly dead body no less.
That's enough to leave him still with surprise and a vague sense of dread for a moment. After all, it's been a long time since he assumed the role of having a perpetual poker face. With his badge back, he's gotten more used to acting like his old self again.
Still, after a moment, he manages to find some chill and smiles as he slides his hands into his pockets while regarding his old "friend".]
Good evening, Mr. Gavin. [A small glance towards the dead body.] No, I don't believe that we've met. Would you care to introduce us? [At this point, he is assuming that this is some sort of a set-up, but the last thing he wants to do is to give Kristoph an easy time.]
no subject
For now, he could push any lasting feelings he had against the lawyer down. There was still a dead body at his feet and guitar string in his hands.
Kristoph unwound the string from his hands, gathering it all and holding it out to Phoenix. He's openly holding out the murder weapon for Phoenix to examine himself. He knew him. There was no way he wasn't going to be curious. ]
I haven't the slightest clue myself. I woke up not very long ago here and there is already a murder afoot. Someone wanted to make sure I felt right at home, clearly.
no subject
Our hosts can be very accommodating. Don't you think? [He hides his worries as he acts casual with Kristoph. If this really is him, then anyone could be in danger. At the same time, he does realize that Gavin might be less likely to act with everything that they have on him. All that he can do right now is to play along with Kristoph and see what he can ascertain.]
Let's see what we can find out. [He takes a moment to look over the guitar string before he leans over the body to try to examine it.]
SCREAMS
The mansion was twisted and winding, every time he thinks he's making progress, every time he thinks he's made his way closer to the front door, he finds himself back in the middle and on a different floor. It's frustrating, but he carries forward nonetheless, because what else can he do? He's not sure what will be behind the current door he's standing at, but he doesn't think it could be any worse than any other room he's come across.
He's wrong.
He's so very wrong.
He stops still, hand still on the doorknob, when he sees his older brother. His eyes grow wide and this, he thinks, is probably what shock feels like. His wide eyes fall on the guitar string in Kristoph's hands. A sense of dread fills his gut and he finds himself very certain that particular guitar string is from one of his own guitars. How it came here, how Kristoph got it, he doesn't know.
The bottle of nail polish -- Kristoph's little bottle of poisoned nail polish -- weighs heavily in his pocket. ]
Kristoph....
[ It takes a second for him to be able to say more than that. He'd watched Kristoph be led away in chains, he'd heard Kristoph's hysteric laughter, he knows Kristoph has killed not one, but two people, and he knows he himself put his brother in prison.
He knows he'd do it again, if he had to relive the whole thing over again.
His eyes narrow. ] What are you doing here?
no subject
Still, this was his little brother. For now, bygones could be bygones and he will keep his smile up. Turning, Kristoph faced and started to walk over to him, unwinding the string from his hands. ]
I woke up here. Is this string yours? It's a g. It does seem like the brand I remember you buying.
[ He held it out for him, stopping short to offer it kindly to the prosecutor. It went without saying that he would have had no way of getting to any of Klavier's own strings. Kristpoh very pointedly played the violin and had no purpose for a guitar string. If he were going to do the deed, any of those would have done just as well. ]
By the perplexing look on your face, I will guess you not only are confused by my appearance here, but by your own as well?
no subject
Klavier does not back away when his brother moves in. If anything, he draws himself up taller, straighter, finally letting go of his grip on the doorknob in order to face Kristoph head on. It would not do, despite everything, to make Kristoph think he is frightened of him.
Of course the string is a g. With the universe conspiring against him, what other string could it possibly be? ] I don't know. [ He answers honestly, because gut feelings do not hold up as evidence. He pointedly does not take the guitar string. After all, he is not stupid enough to get his fingerprints all over the murder weapon. (If the guitar string truly is Klavier's, his fingerprints are undoubtedly all over it already. He choses not to think on that.) ]
This, however, I assume is yours? [ He digs out the bottle of nail polish from his pocket and presents to the defense. While the guitar string has plausible deniability, there is none whatsoever with this. They both are intimately familiar with the fact that this is exactly the brand of nail polish that Kristoph not only owns, but has killed with. ]
You are correct. [ He hates to say it, now of all times, but there is no denying that everything about this is perplexing. ] I woke up here not long ago myself. [ He does not mention that he woke up in a room with a dead body, in the exact situation Kristoph is in now. ]
no subject
That bottle was a mild surprise. It looks like they were both set up quite nicely. The bottle of his favorite nail polish and a string to a guitar Kristoph doesn't play.
Unlike Klavier, Kristoph did reach out and take the bottle from him carefully, inspecting it from all angles. Without a second thought, he unscrews the top, pulling the delicate hand up and inspecting the polish as it drops from the brush. No difference in appearance or odor that he could see upon immediate inspection. He was taking this investigation seriously, taking a step away and turning to pace a little with it.]
Do you think it might be a jealous fan of yours? If she can't have you, then you should go down like your blood. [ He laughed lightly like it was a joking matter. ]
no subject
He knows exactly what the tabloids will write about him -- Klavier Gavin: Psychopath All Along? It will detail exactly his rise both as a prosecutor and a rock star, his seven years of fame before describing in detail how Kristoph was arrested, how hard he tried his hardest to beat the defense attorney who imprisoned his brother, how Daryan was arrested for murder and for smuggling, how Kristoph was arrested again, how it was revealed Klavier falsely accused Phoenix Wright of perjury. How Klavier couldn't take the pressure and snapped, killing two men in one night.
He wonders if they'll go to his (now former) bandmates for quotes. He wonders if they'll spin his perfectionistic tendencies into cruelty.
(He wonders if whatever drove Kristoph to kill is hereditary.)
Klavier crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe of the room with fake casualness, watching his brother pace and investigate the scene of the murder. He shakes his head. ]
My fans don't act like that. Besides, if that were the case, it would leave many things wanting. [ Like, how did they get him here in the first place? He was in court, surrounded by hundreds of people -- it couldn't have been easy. What was with this labyrinthine mansion? But, more importantly, ]
How did you get here, Kristoph?
no subject
[ He expected this, the apprehension and questions. It was almost like clockwork. Klavier was worried his murderous brother was leading him down a dark road of murder. Sadly, Kristoph had no such plans for his brother. Should he get himself out of this situation or not was a choice Klavier would have to make. Either way, Kristoph was going to at least put in an effort even if it didn't feel it was necessary. ]
If that is the case, I have more investigating to do. [ He's collected the information he wanted from the bottle, twisting it back closed and setting it on a table top so Klavier can grab it without touching him, should that be a problem. ]
You may have this back while I go out finding more evience.
god i'm sorry, apparently i can't not tl;dr
He wonders what that says -- not about their arrival at this place, but about Kristoph.
Klavier pushes off from the doorframe, moving over to the table to get the nail polish. As much as he doesn't want it, he supposes he'd rather be the one to keep it; not only because of the damage he knows could be inflicted with it, but because it's part of Klavier's own investigations. He rolls the bottle around in his palm for a second. The ] Danke, [ he gives is quiet, considering, before he places the bottle back into his pocket.
He brings his attention up and towards the body Kristoph is inspecting, moving a step or two closer so he can investigate as well. There's a thin line around the man's neck that is consistent with the size of his guitar string. He thought he knew Kristoph, knew him well enough that he could say, without question, that this is the type of thing Kristoph would never do.
But that was before he killed Zak Gramarye with a bottle of wine.
If this crime scene is anything like Klavier's, Kristoph will not find anything else useful from the body. And while Kristoph's words are an obvious dismissal, Klavier can't find it in himself to leave. Not yet. ]
What are you trying to find? [ Which, frankly, is a ridiculous question, yet here he is, asking it anyways. ]
I REMEMBER YOU 'SUP!!! also phase I
He does recognize the "culprit" . . . doesn't he?
Huh. No, it's been a while now since he met that lawyer-slash-rockstar from Trucy's Dad's world, and this guy . . . isn't him. Clearly. But the resemblance is uncanny, and it's not a look a whole lot of people have. Not to mention, Leon's pretty sure that's a guitar string now, the closer he gets to the scene of the "crime." Coincidence?
But man, if this really is that guy, he looks like he completely turned his back on any sense of fun in the world at some point . . .
The point is, Leon's more visibly surprised to see Kristoph than the dead body. He steps over closer through the dusty room, gaze flicking back and forth between them, but definitely lingering more on Fussy Maybe Ex-Musician??? over here. But he was asked a question—]
Uh, no? Lemme see . . . but probably not. It probably ain't even a real person, if that makes you feel any better.
[Not that he hasn't noticed that this guy doesn't actually seem upset by this situation or anything. But it still comes out of his mouth like that.]
—Just makin' sure, I don't know you either, do I?
oh hey bro
Not being real was a theory he had. There were certainly issues that didn't connect within this case already. If that were true, Kristoph could see himself getting perhaps a bit mad. He didn't appreciate being used for such low means. This was all going to be pushed down, for now, Kristoph folding his arms over his chest. ]
You must have met my brother Klavier. We've been told we look like twins. [ By people who either had no common sense or only had shallow interests in either one. ]
no subject
[He says, because he is one of those people.
But now that it's out, he eases some. It's a little weird that he'd felt stranger about the lookalike thing than the dead body . . . but he chalks that up to being CERES's fault. There's a lot he's started to get used to that he never wanted to. (Okay, it's not entirely CERES's fault, but they had a lot to do with it.)
Leon picks his way through the room to get a better look at the body. It's probably not going to be too gross if it was killed with a string, right? He's pretty sure of what he'll see anyway, but he's curious now. His attention is only half on the conversation, which he continues, because hey, brothers and all:]
Anyway, I don't think your brother's here anymore, if you're lookin' for him. We only met once . . . I just remember him 'cuz he was in a band and we talked some about that. You're from Trucy's Dad's world, huh?
[He's completely unironic in referring to it that way.]
I knew you couldn't be him unless he left and made some serious life changes, y'know?
[When he reaches the body, he stares down at it for a good long moment, then nudges it with his foot. It's not like he's good with corpses or anything.]
II
[Maya tilts her head at him as the portraits yell various things at him and he manages, almost completely, to keep his cool. Wow, he almost had it!!]
Weeeelll... you'd be surprised at what the dead can do! But in this case, it's just a bunch of paintings yelling. I think they want you to get in grabbing range so they can nab you and make you hang out with them.
[she's pretty nonchalant in face of all this nonsense]