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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[Wandering around in a spooky manor with at least one dead body and probably more is not Kashuu's idea of a good time, that's for sure... He skirts through the corridors at a moderate pace, moving quickly but trying not to make it difficult for Chihiro to keep up. He casts a glance backwards over his shoulder.]
—Yeah, I'll... tell the police once we get out, okay?
[...He'll just explain the whole "it wasn't real" thing once they actually get out of here. Easier to do it then with a concrete example, and there's no reason to make this poor kid worry about something so confusing when things are probably already bad enough.]
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It's reassuring to hear, either way, that this person intends to tell the police once they're out. Pause aside, she doesn't do more than give him a contemplative look and make sure to keep up, keeping track of where they're passing as they go. ]
How often does stuff like this happen?
[ She makes a small gesture, realising her hands have come to fist in the material of her shirt. She forces herself to let go, smoothing out the edge of her shirt. A portrait of a heavyset man wearing frills looms to their right, his surprisingly lovely eyes tracking them as they move past.
It's really creepy. She suppresses a shiver, a whisper behind them both sounding awfully like "Murderer." ]
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Preeetty often. Like, definitely often enough for it to be a real hassle.
[Often enough to make him TIRED!! He may be old, but he's not actually supposed to feel old, good lord.]
People get dragged into this place about once a month, I think? It used to happen more often but it's never totally stopped. I&mash;
[Ah, but he's interrupted by the gentle accusation from behind them. While he's pretty unaffected by it, it does make his nose wrinkle a little in reflexive displeasure. He glances over his shoulder once more before calling out down the darkened corridor with a biting:]
...Don't be rude!
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[ It's not a defeated oh. Not an excited one, either. More an accepting "oh" of "oh so this is the new normal" and "oh then I need to get used to it." Oh.
Chihiro turns to look back where he's calling, catching sight of a face moving in the portrait to their side. It's enough to be startled, and in reaction, she takes two steps further, squinting at the portrait behind them.
Looking forward, she spies another frame hanging in this part of the hall, but it's the first frame that starts serenading them as they walk. ]
Twinkle, twinkle, little man,
How I wonder at your plan.
Murderer so fair to see
Walking down the hall past me
Twinkle, twinkle, little lass,
Running might your life make last.
[ Chihiro frowns, pressing her lips into a thin line before continuing right along as if the portrait hadn't started singing nonsense rhymes at them. ]
So this happens once a month? We're all in places like this, or, um... it's different than where I first was. Is this what we're supposed to help fix?
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[Is he going to pick a fight with a portrait? He is 100% going to pick a fight with a portrait... He jabs a finger at the one that sings at them, scowling now.]
You're gonna be the only thing around here that gets murdered if you don't cut it out!
[It isn't even the accusation that irritates him?! He kind of is a murdered, just by virtue of being a sword spirit... But rude! He'd never kill anyone with a Bop-It, and he doesn't target innocents! An irate sigh follows, and he sets his hands angrily at his hips before looking back to Chihiro.]
...Eh, I guess we should keep moving. [No more yelling at paintings.] It does, yeah - once a month. It's different every month, too. This part we just have to leave though, 'cause there's no point in fixing any of the stuff in here.
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Murder? Murder. Murder has definitely been the theme. She'd prefer neither one of them to get caught up in that any more directly than they already have. Thus she falls in step again, catching up while resisting looking back over her shoulder. She's not sure she follows what he's saying, so she thinks over it. What makes this part different? Or is it this part of the mansion? She feels like it should be clear. ]
How do we know what we're supposed to fix, then? Why isn't this stuff worth it?
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...But he'd rather not antagonize the paintings if it means keeping things a little safer, so with a (very huffy) sigh, he tries to keep his attention on Chihiro alone.]
Eh... [...Well, lying about it is stupid, honestly. Even if he wants to keep things easy to digest, he's not going to make up some weird elaborate ruse, anyway.]
—'Cause the things here aren't actually happening, so anything we try to fix or change or escape or whatever won't even be here in like... I dunno, five minutes? Twenty? It's hard to predict how long people get stuck in these levels. I guess you could think of it as a dream! Just... without the sleeping part.
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So this is a game that doesn't matter. Like a test run? Or a practice test you take before the final test.
[ Where mistakes don't matter for the end result, but they do matter in how they instruct those taking the exam. Dreams don't follow that kind of logic, so she dismisses the idea of thinking of this as sleeping. Her dreams have been rooted in fears of a different sort, and she has a feeling that the ones she'll remember will probably be nightmares for a while. She'll handle those.
Now, when he says levels? That gives her the game thought, and following through on it, she can better understand. No, she wasn't a big gamer like some of the kids in her former school, but she does know what's out there, and leveling is, well, something people do. ]
What do the places where we have to actually change things look like? I mean, is this similar at all?
[ Is this an introductory level, an introductory test, from which she should be learning from and applying those skills as needed in the future?
Yes child you figured it out, this is indeed... a test drive.]oh my gosh i laughed...
Bingo! This place— Well, this place- [A pause as he gestures around them, indicating the hall and thus the mansion on a whole.] -isn't much like the real city. The colony looks like... just a regular big city, I guess? But! Y'know how dangerous stuff happens here? [Like wild Bop-It murders, apparently...] That kinda stuff can sometimes happen outside, too. So I guess you could say that places like this give you a taste of what the city's like when it's at its worst.
[Except the murders are REAL. Except also not quite real. Ah, that part will probably be extra complicated to explain...]
There're lots of nice people out there though, so you don't have to worry about being left on your own or anything, 'kay? And if you ever get into a bind, just look for the Sword Army! We'll give you a hand. —My name's Kashuu, by the way. Kashuu Kiyomitsu.
accidental meta: a reckoning /laughs into hands
Spare this poor child, Kashuu. Somehow.
Meanwhile she's been listening attentively, since he seems to understand this system and is telling her part of how it works. Having learned to listen when people are trying to tell her what she benefits from knowing, she nods, unaware that as he speaks she's digging her fingers into the material of her shirt. It's partly nervous habit, partly her thinking over what he's saying when he says it. ]
Thank you, Kashuu-san, I'll remember. [ She bows as she says as much, letting go of her shirt, not quite dropping her hands to her sides. ]
I'm Chihiro. Ogino Chihiro. It's good to meet you.
[ Striking that note of both meaning what she says and also, well, being a bit overwhelmed and trying not to show it. Lots of nice people is a good, promising statement, particularly as it's dawning on her that the fight to get back to anything close to a life with her parents and a new school and all the rest of growing up has been sidelined into this, first, to even have a chance at any of that. ]
I'll pay attention and learn everything that I can. Here too, even if it doesn't matter the same way.
[ Convinced that it is indeed a test, she feels she cannot allow herself to fail without first trying to succeed. After all, that's a means of improving, and she won't give up in the face of fruitlessness or hopelessness simply because that's what things appear to be in the moment. Cry sometimes, sure, and that's a healthy way of expressing emotions when the world hits a threshold into too overwhelming to keep locked up inside. ]
a true blessing tbh
He can, at least, give her the most reassuring smile he can muster, reaching out to pat the top of her head briefly.]
Nice to meet you, too. You're pretty good at picking this stuff up! That's good, that sorta thing will really help you out a lot while you're here.
[Adaptability is definitely at the top of skills he'd say are most important to have in wacky jamjarland, anyway... The ability to accept weird things without getting too used to them or growing to expect them is a pretty rare find.]
A-ny-way! I guess paying attention here isn't really a bad thing. Even if these levels are different each time, they do have some things in common.
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Levels just reiterates the whole gaming idea, and while she reaches up after the fact to smooth out her hair (and end up pulling out her ponytail to then regather her hair in the same exact ponytail), she questions his meaning. ]
What kind of things?
[ Is it the portraits, because another one just started reading him his Miranda Rights. Handcuffs are much less imposing when they're so firmly stuck behind the far side of a portrait... which only seems to frustrate the short officer in the frame's confines. He lifts a whistle to his lips, seconds away from blowing into it to try and attract their criminal
ly lackingattention. ]no subject
[And that's about as far as he gets before the shrill shriek of the whistle cuts through, prompting him to look pointedly over in the direction the noise had come from.]
Would you cut it out?! I'm trying to have an actually important conversation, here!
[Ah, he's far too easily distracted for this...
But at least he's aware of that, since he's turning back on his heel and reaching for Chihiro's hand, walking at a brisker pace.]
I'll explain it when we get outta this dump. I can't stand these guys!
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Maybe a test on concentration? If so, there's not enough chaos here quite yet to compete with the chaos in the bath house when up and running (or begging from supposedly rich customers). She kept up, trying to scan her memory for any likely exits.
... She hasn't come across any so far, but considering they've just been in one room (with a dead man, and wait, wasn't that a police officer? or did any of this mean what it might have in another time and place?) and down a few halls, the lack of spotted exit wasn't incongruous. ]
Is there a way out out? Other than waiting for this to end?
[ Give her a window or a door that leads outside and she'll take it, gladly. Even if this whole place is and isn't real, avoiding the noise and the elements that made it dangerous (presumably) would be better if they could manage it. ]
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[His tone definitely flattens out as he explains that, as if he ages just by remembering it... He's seen A Lot in his time here. Too much.
But he's certainly keeping up a good pace now, at least - not too fast, but much speedier than before. He's quite experienced with keeping an eye out on the battlefield too, so he can sharply sweet the hallways for any signs of potential exits as they go.]
Just look for anything that stands out! Big, weird doors or open windows or-- I dunno, blank portraits or something, maybe?
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What about big old tvs?
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[Waving his free hand dismissively, even though that part is probably important?!]
Why, did you see one?
[His steps slow momentarily so he can take a look around, just in case he missed anything bizarre.]
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[ She uses her hand to gesture to a painting (portrait?) hanging at the start of a hall they were passing. Instead of a person, or animal, or someone identifiable as an individual of potential interest, it hosts a giant, blank television.
It is, indeed, a portrait of a television.
In the snow.
Which is well and good and probably worth investigating, but at the same time, what he's said is a little curious too — ]
I know it's not modern, but people can have old style stuff no matter when they're living. [ Some people delight in exactly that, tbh. ] Kashuu-san, what time period are you from?
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Well, if nothing else, it can't blow whistles or angrily shake handcuffs or call him a murderer... Probably. Anything is possible in this place, he supposes. But!! He'll slow down near the portrait before coming to a stop so he can examine it a little more closely.
As for her question:]
Mm, well! It's 2205 for me right now, but I guess you could say that I came from a time period waaay before then.
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... wait, is he from 2205 CE?! What era is that even?! She looks surprised, and opens her mouth to blurt out: ]
As in two hundred years in my future?! Really?!
[ Though, wait... her fists come up to press against her cheeks. Chihiro makes a frustrated noise. ]
Or was I in the past? Is this like the Spirit World, and time passed differently for everyone?
[ ??? The TV doesn't help by remaining blank, and, well, for the moment, neither joining the Persona ranks nor trying to invite them all into a Ring marathon. ]
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Eh? But you're a human, aren't you? [Leaning forward just a little to get a better look, as if he might somehow notice some sort of ghostly appendages or something that he missed beforehand...]
—Oh, but - yeah! Yeah, that's basically it. You could consider this place kinda like a bubble! People from aaall over different places and times end up here. You could end up meeting, like, a king from the 1300s or a future space rockstar from 4500! It's confusing at first, but not too hard to get used to. If you know how things work in our world, it'll probably take you even less time!
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I'm human. We ended up on the wrong side of the river at night.
[ And her parents had complicated matters, and things had been frightening, but she'd had support and friends and her own self to rely on to get them all through and not, you know, served for dinner. Or lose her name forever. Or be stuck forever and have her parents eaten.
... Anyway, it makes the focal point of so many different people from different times ending up in one place, similar but also so very different from the bath house, something to capture her imagination. ]
Mm! I'll pay attention. I'm a fast learner.
[ Not said as a boast, but as a statement of intent: a look of determination flits across her features, because she won't allow herself to be slow in the attempt of learning. ]
I guess this painting isn't odd enough to be a way out though, huh?
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Huh... Most humans can't even see us. That's some pretty bad luck, isn't it? But you seem like a smart kid, so I'm sure it'll be fine. Just like now! You've got a good eye and you know when to listen.
[A little affirmative nod! All good traits, especially when one is lost in bizarroland.
He glances back up at the painting though, placing his hand back on it before taking a step away.]
...Well, it's definitely weird, but if it was an exit I'd have disappeared by touching it. ...Which means we probably shouldn't stick nearby, 'cause if it's weird in a "not an exit" way, it's probably gonna be weird in a bad way.
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Hannibal Lector would probably be one of the few humans who could wander over and then be amused if he ate pork at the bath house.For her part, mistaken would be a good word, but retrospect wouldn't have her saying she regrets the experience. It'd been difficult. She lived through it, relied on friends and was reliable for them, and she'd not given up. Like Haku had said that first night, it was up to her to do anything about her parents and getting back home, and she faces this situation with that same kernel of truth. Not herself alone, because people aren't alone regardless of "what" they are: spirit, human, god, or whatever else. Herself as responsible for what she does and how she reacts and handles the situation. Not expecting someone else to take care of it all for her.Sure, it was easier last week when she could whine and let someone else handle dealing with things, but that was no longer the kind of young woman she chose to be. ]
I don't think we're supposed to, but sometimes we do anyway. [ A pause as she thinks, shaking her head after a moment. ] When I was really little, the spirit of a river I fell into pushed me to shore when I would have drowned. I didn't remember that, not until years later, when I met him again.
[ Zeniba had been wise in telling her that people don't truly forget; even if you can't remember. (Or had to borrow someone else's memory to fill in your own.) She shrugs, looking happy for a beat; she's resolutely not going to wonder what being here means for everyone she knew on both sides of the world back home. Thus her parents are just waiting, Kohaku has his name back, and his freedom, and everyone at the bath house can live their life in the way they choose to, for reasons of their own. Maybe even regaining their names, too. ]
Even then, I was remembering what my mom had told me. It comes back, though. What we don't remember isn't forgotten, it's just what we haven't remembered yet.
[ ... that said, she's got more pep in her step as her chin lifts up and her eyes brighten and she's ready to move back into the bigger hall and find a real exit. Which is good, because even as she's doing that, and Kashuu is stepping away from the portrait...
... a dripping wet, grey skinned, taloned hand shoots out of the portrait (from the television, of course) and tries to grab at Chihiro. She ducks down with a surprised shriek, scrambling backward to escape the hand of the wide staring eyed unhappy spirit of the portrait-television-in-snow. ]
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But the little story she tells has Kashuu smiling!]
Oh! That's cute... It's not really unusual for spirits to take to humans, I think - or at least give 'em a hand when they need a little extra help.
[This followed by a wink, like he's sharing a not-so-secret secret. After all, if Chihiro has had contact with the other side, she probably knows how true that is herself. They tend to interfere without good reason sometimes too, of course, as fickle things are wont to do - but most of the time, as he's seen, it's been... at the very least, not harmful. Even good, sometimes!]
Your mom sounds like a smart lady, too. [Though being unable to forget things tends to be more of a burden the older something gets--
Which is a thought he'll have to save for another time because AH YES, suddenly they're active participants in a reenactment of Ib! Incredible.
The thing about sword spirits, too, is that they generally tend to... you know, be swords first and foremost, no matter how human they look. So the hand shoots out and grabs at Chihiro, Chihiro ducks, and Kashuu steps forward in one fluid motion. If only he had his Bop-It now... BUT HE DOESN'T, he only has the sword at his side, which rises up in less than a blink and neatly severs that hand at the wrist.
Welp.
On the plus side, it gushes what seems to be black ink, rather than blood.]
Geez— No rest for the weary, huh?
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