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.
[ 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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['People who'd kill for me if I asked 'em to' - that is awfully morbid. The guy would fit right in with the rest of CERES, Chibi thinks. The other part of him thinks it is even sadder, for this ponytailed fellow, that it is his boss showing up as the important figure.]
It will shut up if you walk away. That is, assuming these paintings do not follow us. [Chibi turns to walk away, but looks behind him after a step to beckon Pritchard to follow.] It is not the real... Whoever that might be, as I am sure you've gathered.
[Though one can never be sure...!]
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Pritchard's two seconds away from tearing into Chibi for letting his only line of defense get sucked into a talking painting of his boss, but… His curiosity gets the better of him. Sounds like there are some answers to be had here. At the very least, this guy seems more comfortable navigating the mansion than he is, and Pritchard is more than fine letting him lead for now (looking back over his shoulder every couple of seconds to make sure that the paintings aren't somehow following them!)
Sarif, in the meantime, props up the bloody mop alongside a display of baseballs in his office behind him like some sort of trophy. He wins this one.]
Why put so much effort into "getting to us," if we're supposed to be helping these people's cause? [Assuming, for a moment, that this isn't actually just some strange fever dream of his (brought on by a bad combination of coffee, energy drinks, and stress.) He'd still be back in the parlor with the butler's corpse if he'd stopped to consider every possible explanation for what's going on.]
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[I see you cannot solve this, either, brother, one of the paintings jeers, deep and rumbly. Chibi whips around to face the source of the noise: a black dragon, with a white beard and eyes glazed with cataracts, sits in the middle of the frame. Just like you ran from the end of the--]
[Chibi knocks on the frame, heaves a heavy sigh, mutters it's not real. It never is.] In any case, as I was saying. [Let's just... Walk away from that.] CERES isn't exactly... Benign.
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He jerks a thumb back behind him, in the direction of the now-silenced canvas.] Now, would you like me to just pretend like I didn't see that, or…?
[Because what that was was a fucking dragon. With a beard, no less.
Like, it's just… There are limits to what he can put up with in a single day, and most of his tolerance got exhausted in the first five minutes since he found himself here. If his new companion is going to turn out to be a loony who thinks he's got magical animal companions, Pritchard kind of wants to know sooner rather than later. Preferably before the guy flips out on him or whatever.]
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[It's not real, he reminds himself mentally, with an easy wave of his hand for Pritchard's benefit.]
What we know of CERES' function, as of now, is twenty kinds of complicated, but-- [Chibi clicks his tongue, wondering how to phrase it] --They told you about the Flamines, yes? Really strange masked fellows, but CERES had a contract with them, ostensibly to destroy worlds in exchange for payment.
[Dryly, the eye-roll not on his face but thick in his voice:] So. There are politics. And so I am not surprised by the peril involved in these simulations.
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Besides, his odd new friend appears to be a wealth of far more interesting tidbits of information than that.]
Ah, well. There was this powerpoint presentation... [Pritchard trails off and sighs, folding his arms. See, people tell him he's "just being paranoid" all the time– but it's hard to justify not being that way when it pays off so often... Like it's doing right now.
Still, these are bold claims– and none of it is information he dug up himself. So naturally, it's suspect. Pritchard gives Chibi a skeptical look.] Who exactly is "we," and how did you find all this out? I can't imagine any of this is info they put on their brochures.
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The barest touch, the right cut-- [he snaps his fingers, like he's crunching the invisible yarn between his fingers] --and they unravel. You might be surprised how many stupid missteps a group can make, if you look. Of course, I hope that is truer of CERES than our little ragtag group from other worlds, here.
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[Because while that answer's full of sentiment (this guy's full of something, that's for sure) there's not exactly much substance there, is there? Arms still folded, Pritchard arches a brow.]
Believe me, I'll be looking once I get the chance. [Once he's out of this stupid simulation and has something more than a mop (RIP mop) and a few lines of poetry to work with.] Do copies of these alleged contracts exist? Any other sort of documentation? Hopefully you're implying our [air quotes!] "little ragtag group" meets the barest standards of competency, here?
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This guy is starting to remind him of someone from home, really, and not just in the hair and long build.][Chibi shrugs it off as easily as it came, though.]
Me? I work with machines. [That's not the half of it, but Pritchard didn't ask for the half of it. Really, he didn't ask for any of it, but details.] As for the contracts, no copies are in our hands - turns out when you try to take that sort of thing from a heavily guarded room, you face some unfortunate resistance. But-- [He points a finger, as if to cut the other man off at the pass.] There are ocular monitoring implants in our eyes, labeled as being produced by the 'Flamine Federation.'
--Ah, but before you get any ideas about tearing your eyeballs out, I might advise not doing that.
and i quote you: "oh god, here goes"
But something about this man's attitude kicks up hard-wired instincts in him – an old, overwhelming need to not be treated as if he's only the second-smartest person in the room – and before Chibi can have the chance to fully explain why pulling his own eyeballs out would be a bad thing to do, Pritchard's started to do that thing he does so well.
Sarcasm has never been so blatant; it saturates his every word as he speaks, comes off every dramatic little gesture he uses to punctuate them.] So if I've got this right– CERES has gone through God knows how much effort to preserve instances of actual human beings from all these different universes, and is running an elaborate smear campaign on the people who've been destroying them.
But secretly – and again, that's after taking the effort to keep troublemakers like us around – they've actually been in league with our planet-destroyers all along, and their security just so happens to be so lax that people can just [waggling his fingers] waltz right in and find proof of what has got to be the most scandalous cover-up of all time.
[He motions directly at Chibi now, other hand planted on his hip.] Specifically, people who are supposedly capable of breaking into a "heavily guarded room," but who can't manage to seal the deal and come away with actual, useful evidence. [The sneer on his face now is clearly well-practiced.] And even though that's what I have to look forward to working with, you're telling me that I shouldn't want to tear out my own eyeballs?
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[The arrogance in Chibi, though, says he'll learn!]
Abridged version, abridged version. There are better places to give you the long story than here. [He sighs.] And... Well, I did warn you. The last fellow I know sort of, ah... Shorted out the connection to the one in the br-- the seat of his consciousness [he didn't have a brain. there was just space there. there were stars in there. but try explaining that to someone who's already pissy and doubtful], and there was a bit of an explosion. [And Chibi had to clean it up. That sucked.]
[A sadistic part of Chibi considers actually introducing this guy to Saiduq. Good old 'teleports directly into your apartment without warning,' 'texts you before he tears his eyeballs out to tell you to come get implants from his dead body' Saiduq. There are weirder aliens out there!]
If you'd like to try, though, after you die quite the death, you will come back to find what I have told you.
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I'm not going to try, I just meant it as… [Pritchard shakes his head and waves his hand dismissively. Oh, whatever. He'll have to settle for tearing out his hair if this keeps up much longer.
After a few moments' silence, a good part of the prickliness seems to drain from him. Still skeptical, but... Clearly, his curiosity's far more powerful than his arrogance.] The "long story," then. [He jabs a finger in Chibi's direction.] I'll hold you to that, once all this is over.
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besides his ridiculous hatto 'hold him to it,' so...] And so you can, ah, find me - my name is Chibi. A pleasure to meet you.[Despite you being an asshole at first. Chibi finds that the best way to deal with types like Pritchard is to appear unflappable; like water off a duck's back, snide comments can just roll off. They're young, relatively! They'll learn.]
[Still, he steps onto the staircase they've come up on, just a tender step, barely even noticing the bloody footprints - and maybe there's something distinctly inhuman about the way the horns on his hat twitch downward when it starts to rumble.]
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Frank. Frank Pritchard. And it's fine – I've got a feeling that I'm going to have more time on my hands than I'm used to, anyway. [If only because he can't possibly imagine having less of it. Despite the picture his peers had probably built of him in their heads, he actually does try to have a life!
Trailing a few feet behind Chibi, Pritchard's barely got time to react when his weirdo companion reaches the staircase, which starts to grind to life with a low, ominous rumbling. Before he can even think about it, he quickly hops on the staircase before it wheels away so that he doesn't get left behind.
A second later, he mentally kicks himself. Left behind? Like getting left behind is much worse than being taken away by the masonry to god knows where. Is that blood?]
…Is that blood? [Chibi's attention seems to be elsewhere, but Pritchard's focused on the footprints leading up to (and past) where they're standing. That said: not one of his more astute observations, he has to admit.
Clearly, given the earlier mop situation, he's not especially squeamish around the stuff. But then again, this is new and different blood. An unknown.]