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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A Pimp Named Slickback | The Boondocks
[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!
iv i am dying and you are beautiful
[usually the youths of today are more generous but we have Kaneda here running alongside him]
NO U also sorry for the slowness I am on vacation ;_;
A Pimp Named Slickback, handin' over his money?! You some crazy sumbitch!
[Get back here, Kaneda. He's going to smack some sense into you with his pimp cane if it's the last thing he does.]
NO YOU FOREVER and i hope your vacay is going well!!
[at least Kaneda can find some humor in this moment, fleeing for his life and his ass]
no subject
NIGGA, YOU BETTER HOPE WHATEVER'S CHASIN' US GETS T'YOU FIRST! IMMA SLAP THE SOUL OUTTA YOU IF IT DON'T!
[IF ONLY HE CAN REACH KANEDA WITH THE PIMP HAND OF JUSTICE...]
no subject
[he'll get him in a bit, but first Kaneda has to jump from each swipe of the cane, er, the Justice and all, a couple of times before he's smacked a bit]
no subject
(Lawd, please pray for the soul of this bitch and guide my pimp hand and make it strong Lawd-)To hell with whatever's chasing them, A Pimp Named Slickback is going to try and make good on his promise to slap the soul out of Kaneda if it's the last thing he does.
It's probably not going to be as grandiose as this, but dammit he's going to try.]
no subject
bonus
[Kara waves a hand nonchalantly. What is this guy on about, anyway? Sounds like he's been reading some real shitty crime novels.]
no subject
Bitch, I'm on the fast track to goin' upside yo goddamn head.
[(He literally never refers to a woman as anything other than a "ho" or "bitch" in canon. Trust us on this one.)
Then, to the...jury?]
A Pimp Named Slickback will prove, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that the bitch present before you today suffers from an all-too-common disorder that drove her into a murderous rage, and that the unfortunate victim just so happened to cross her path in the midst of that rage.
[And now he crosses the room, pulling down a tab to reveal what looks to be Exhibit A, your standard medical-textbook cutaway of the female reproductive system.]
To be specific, the defendant suffers from a severe case of DDS - Dick Deficiency Syndrome. 's when a bitch don't get laid for a while, goes all kind of crazy. Most bitches remediate this with a few vibrators, some chocolate, and a Lifetime movie marathon. Over time, a chronic case of DDS can lead to such things as attending weekly book clubs, crocheting, and collecting housecats.
[He shakes his head, taking off his pimp hat before placing it over his chest.]
Unfortunately for our dear ol' beloved honky - whatever his name was - the defendant suffers from a severe and acute case of DDS, which sent her into a murderous rage upon the sight of him.
he's perfect; i'd be seriously disappointed if she weren't a ho or bitch
Whoa, whoa. I can tolerate a lotta shit-talking, but of all syndromes, Dick Deficiency is not one that I have. [Just ask anyone in the Fleet.]
Slickback? That's pretty cool. Do I get a pimp name too?
Anyway, I didn't murder anyone! If I did, it would be a helluva lot cooler than...uh...whatever happened.
glad you like him! :D
Bitch, you got some kinda selective hearing loss on top of that? A Pimp Named Slickback has not finished layin' out his case!
An' no you can't have no goddamn pimp name! You think we just hand that shit out? Shoot. Gotta earn it.
[And now, with a flourish, he turns back to the jury.] Pay no mind to the protestations of this bitch. The caved-in skull, the weapon of opportunity, the selection of the old and helpless honky - all point to a bitch with DDS! Observe!
[And now he pivots back to Kara on his heel.] Bitch, when was the last time you had some dick?
no subject
I'd say maybe...thirteen? Fourteen hours at most.
[if looking unimpressed were an Olympic sport, she would get the gold.]
So hurry up and finish laying out your case, then. Sounds like you don't have anything but circumstantial, weirdo crap anyway. And what weapon of opportunity anyway?!