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?
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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.
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no subject
So, despite all logic, he marches over to Narancia and the paintings, brow furrowed in a glare.]
Hey! Don't you stupid musty old art farts have something better to do with your time? Picking on low hanging fruit makes you look desperate.
[And he shoots a flat look in Narancia's direction.]
You DO know they're programs and junk, right? None of them can be your mom even if they tried.
these two are either gonna be best friends or worst enemies, no inbetween
[Aaaand, that low hanging fruit comment just sunk in. Narancia's shoulders rolled forward, arms held out by his sides and knotted with fists.]
"I didn't need your help! I was handling myself just fine, you bastard. They're just paper! I could rip them all down if I wanted! I was just being a... a..."
[He squints, eyes rolling to their corners in thought.]
"A gentleman. It's--It's rude t'just run around destroyin' magic paintings, no matter if the owner is just pixels or not!"
[Of course, none of that actually mattered to him at all. He just didn't enjoy being shown up by some punk ass kid.]
i gladly embrace this future frenemy status with the orange 8')
That's not being a gentleman, dumbass, that's being a doormat for a bunch of shady assholes.
Besides, the people behind all this ViViD crap deserve a little property ruining if you ask me. Be a wuss about it if you want, but if you're not gonna take these guys down, I will.
it's undue testosterone time
Glacier tips rolled across his knuckles as he clenched his fists tight. Gritting his teeth, Narancia wondered if it was against ViViD's rules to fucking kill another play--
No, this punk was right. This game deserved a little knocking around for fucking with him like this. He could channel his anger toward a more productive task.
Narancia drove a fist through the nearest painting, tearing it away and dropping it at Yuusuke's feet.]
"Why don't you try doing things instead'a just blabbing about them, asswipe? Guys like you really piss me the hell off."
1/2
Letting out a small snicker, he kicks aside the painting at his feet and turns to the wall.]
What, and do the work for you? No way!
But if you want me to that badly--
[Yusuke pulls back a fist, glowing faintly blue, and SLAMS it into the picture in front of him. There's a decent-sized hole now thanks to that, but he's looking pretty smug.]
That good enough for--
no subject
GAH! What the HELL!?
no subject
[It didn't take a genius to figure out that the trick was to separate the painting from the frame... Especially if Narancia himself had figured it out so quickly. Perhaps it was from his experience facing down other Stand users, and all of their idiosyncratic limitations. He'd gotten in a good laugh before another of the paintings gripped the back of his shirt, hoisting him into the air.]
"...Did I just get taller?"
no subject
[His foot swings up, trying to stomp on the portrait's 'face', while also trying to give himself more leverage to pull himself out.]
Paintings aren't supposed to DO stuff like this! They'd ban museums otherwise!
[But Narancia's next words grab his attention, and he spots the other boy being tugged into the air.]
CRAP!
[Without a second thought, he aims his free hand towards the arm holding Narancia, pointing it like a gun.]
SPIRIT GUN!
[Hopefully this blast will be big enough!! Or at least works on weird painting spirits. He didn't really want to think what would happen if it didn't.]
no subject
[The words had barely left his throat before the blast escaped his companion's fingertip. It was coming fast, fast, way too fast! The hairs at Narancia's neck stood up on all of their ends, and he was sure he'd felt some singe away as he craned his neck in the opposite direction. Suddenly he'd been on his ass, but not before bridging his shoulders in a slope.]
"Do you wanna go!? That goddamn hurt! If you burned my shoes, you'd seriously have to pay! --Aerosmith!!"
[Whether Urameshi had been able to see the tiny plane was a matter that Narancia pushed completely out of his thoughts. Perhaps for a moment it had seemed like he'd begun a sudden list of his favourite 1970s bands from Boston, but the spray of fire across the surface of the painting directly behind Yuusuke painted a different story.]