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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no subject
[He taps his chin for a moment.]
Maybe if we just flip him around. That way he could take a nice nap.
[The gentleman's attitude bespoke of someone who needed it anyways.]
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[ He shrugs, and then moves to take a corner of the portrait. It's a bit heavier than he'd expected, so he glances back at William.
All the while, painting-Jakob is scolding the two of them intensely. "Such cheek! Is this how you treat your own father?" "You lazy layabout! Was killing that butler your way of eliminating the competition?" ]
...Even if it's probably not him, it sure does a good job at mimicking his attitude. Would you mind giving me a hand? It's a little heavy.
[ By now, he's confident that it's not his father, due to the murder accusations. Jakob has more faith in him than that, and they both know it (but will never verbally admit it). ]
no subject
[William took the other corner as they proceeded to try and pivot it.]
Is your father really like that? If so my condolences.
[Must be difficult. The most William has to deal with is an Uncle who likes to gallivant around the world and occasionally get amnesia.]
I think if this doesn't work the only other choice would be to paint a muzzle on him.
no subject
[ What he does have: tea leaves, coffee beans, maybe even a cup or two (somehow), and some hidden daggers. What he does not have: paintbrushes, paint, his dignity. ]
Tell me about it. Of course, I don't hate him, but he can certainly be aggravating.
[ Like now. The occupant of the painting is of course, making a ruckus (this is quite rude, Dwyer must admit, but he's willing to do this for some peace of mind). William is also completely free to notice that Jakob looks quite young (around mid-twenties) to father a son of ~17 years.
Deeprealms are weird shit.]no subject
Family is complicated, I think that is the best that can be said on the subject.
[William had noticed that, though it's not unusual back home to see people like that. So he does have to ask...]
Is he a demon by chance? I am asking seriously and not as an insult.
no subject
[ He manages to maintain his composure for all of 5 seconds before he has to turn his face away to giggle. Too bad it was a genuine question, but it was also unintentionally hilarious to Dwyer. Just...give him another few seconds to recollect himself. ]
Forgive me. I understand that you wanted a serious answer. My father is perfectly human, although his countenance and general attitude can lead people to believe he's a demon. Why?
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I was just wondering because he looked rather young to be your father. And while it's possible that there are some time paradoxes going on here, I just assumed he might be a demon. They tend to look rather young where I am from, being nearly immortal and all that.
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Demons actually exist where you're from? Sheesh, and I thought they were just children's tales.
[ Then again, they have also fought invisible mind-controlled soldiers and Faceless, so...what's creepier: the devil you can see, or the devil you can't? ]
It's...a long story as for why father looks like he could be my older brother instead. ...Do you really want to know? You're not too far off the mark.
[ It's also kind of dumb. Even Dwyer thinks it's a bit dumb. ]
no subject
[To go back to the time of not being so casual about that sort of thing. Or rather just not caring. It was a blessed time in someways.]
I would like to hear that, if you don't mind. It might be a good story to fill in the time while we try to leave this place.
[Don't worry Dwyer. William's whole existence is a bit of a dumb story too.]
no subject
[ It sounds...interesting, to say the least.
And with the painting successfully pivoted, Dwyer dusts his hands and turns to walk away from the portrait, unaware for the moment that there may be a painting-hand emerging from a corner of the portrait and slowly sneaking its way to William's shoulder. Even if his painting-father is turned away from them, he'd rather not spend time in this hallway. Who knows who he'll see next? His mother? Gunter? Flora? Felicia? ...The Nohrian royal family? ]
no subject
Let go now!
[William tries to shake it off, but damn, it's strong!]
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[ In one smooth, practiced movement, he draws a dagger, previously hidden beneath his cloak, and slices the painting hand with it, causing it to shrink away. ]
Looks like it was just as petty and stubborn as Father too. Bleh. But he's not the only stubborn one around here.
[ He's got your back, William!! ]
no subject
Thank you.
[He rubs his shoulder for a moment, looking down the stairs.]
We should probably be on our way before anything else like that occurs.