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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Phase III and OMG?
Which is when he comes across a sight he hadn't expected. Gilles de Rais. Talking to a portrait about...
Well, that was a bit uncomfortable, to put it delicately. The first demon from home to appear before him and it was Gilles de Rais on an magic staircase.]
...you really never change.
Hello!
[Gilles breaks off in the middle of his current charming anecdote and turns at the sound of William's voice. He raises his eyebrows.]
Hm? Oh, it's you. Are you meant to be my competition?
[He's been thinking there must be some kind of battle involved here, but so far no opponent has appeared. Gilles studies the shadows behind William, as if looking for someone more interesting there. But he doesn't find anyone. He shakes his head, then holds up an extended pointer finger, wagging it again.]
That isn't true! I once changed quite a lot, you know. The stairs are very interested in my personal life.
[But who can blame them, really?]
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[Are they supposed to compete in vulgarity? Is that it? Because even William can admit he would lose in that situation.]
Is that a fact? I guess being trapped here means they are desperate for any story.
[William's never known how to deal with this man, so after a moment, he just sighs, placing a hand on his hip.]
Are you here alone? No other demons?
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I have excellent stories. You're jealous, I know. And isn't this a game?
[In any case, Gilles isn't taking whatever-this-is very seriously.]
Other demons? Not that I know of. If so, they're keeping out of sight, which is very dull of them. You can can come out now, if you're here!
[He pauses, but no, nothing.]
In a proper game, there should be a fight. But you're not much of a challenge. Unless—
[Gilles, not worried about not knowing how to deal with William, leans forward and taps on his chest, as if knocking on a door. Cupping a hand to his face, he calls out, as if calling down into a well.]
Hello? Are you in there, darling?
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[And he isn't jealous of a guy died in his previous life, though he realizes that hardly bothers said guy.
But it's a bit disappointing to realize that there is no one with Gilles. He would have expected a certain fallen angel to have accompanied him at least. And that also means that William really is alone. With Gilles. Ugh. It's like being stuck with your least favorite great aunt if they were a serial murdering demon.]
What are you doing?
[He takes a step back, leaning away. He does know exactly what Gilles means. Isaac had mostly filled William in about that particular black out and there were impressions here and there that filled in the gaps.]
...and don't bother. He's not going to come out and talk to you. He's not been in the mood lately.
[Though lately, he had felt something stirring, probably due to CERES latest hijinks. But Gilles didn't need to know that.]
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And William needs to improve his taste in great aunts. Gilles adjusts his hat, thoughtfully. He's thinking more about hat positioning than his current predicament. He is irritated at having been pulled into this pointless little show, when he had better things to do, but that doesn't mean his appearance isn't important.]
Then if it's a game, there should be an entertaining battle. So I can exercise my might and blow someone to pieces.
[Gilles is mostly interested in war games, but he's not even going to bother attacking William right now, unless something makes it worth his while. He would kidnap him, but he can't seem to get back to Hell. So there's no point in that, either.]
Ah—that's no fun! Can't you make him come out? He seems so much more interesting than you.
[By which Gilles means, defeating him would be a real coup. He's leaning in toward William again, beckoning by curling his pointer finger repeatedly.]
Come out, come out... Wouldn't you like to meet the famous Gilles de Rais?
[He's (pointlessly) trying to talk to Solomon again, but also intentionally being annoying.]
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...there isn't going to be a lot of blowing people to pieces. Unless one of the npcs catches up to you. Then I suppose there will be some blowing up.
[When he thinks about it, ViViD has the potential to be really good for this guy, assuming he's okay with killing mere simulations instead.]
...he's not that interesting. He's actually rather depressing. What is it they use in this time period, 'a sad sack?'
[William crossed his arms as he looked up at the paintings. He had passed some pictures of his own family a bit of a ways and had just soldiered on, because what was the point?
But that sure was a lot of dead french people up there. Some he probably recognized.]
But, there is a way to talk to him perhaps. If we can get down to the kitchen. There might be something there that could help, but I would not make any promises.
[If they had some herbal tea down there, that could work. Hell, maybe just being near a spice rack would. He's not going to mention that though, but merely hope the promise of such might be enough to motivate Gilles.]
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You're telling me I'm not supposed to blow you to pieces? You would say that. You'll have to tell me when an NPC arrives, so I can blow it up, because I don't know what that is.
[He considers, tapping his finger against the side of his face, as if considering whether he should attack William anyway—but no. It still doesn't interest him. He considers attacking the dead medieval French people gazing down on him in disapproval, but no, there doesn't seem to be much point in attacking them, either.]
It's true I don't like "sad sacks", but I'll decide that for myself! Our tastes aren't similar at all. But if I get bored of him, he can go back in!
[Simple enough. Gilles has it all sorted out. But then he blinks at what William says.]
What? You're proposing we go on an outing together? To summon Solomon?
[Nothing like this has ever happened before. But then, William was always more interested in other demons, and the other demons were more interested in him than Gilles was.]
Oh-ho! I see what you're doing! You need me to get you out of this, because I have more than 400 years of high quality gossip in here!
[Gilles taps his head, smugly.]
And you aren't a gossip.
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I will, if only because I don't trust you to make the distinction.
[Yeah someone's going to have to teach Gilles about gaming. Maybe William can blackmail Hiro into doing it. Troll vs troll.]
Outing is perhaps one word for it. Though I cannot make any guarantees. It's a bit touch and go.
[And William had never actively tried before. Normally the barriers between those two sets of memories just ebbed and flowed as they saw fit. CERES seemed to have done something to him when accessing his code that created a barrier. But, that was all the more reason to pierce it.]
But, yes-[William rubbed his forehead as if it had been touched by something infectious]-you have a gift for all sorts of tales like that. I believe they would find it most entertaining. And I cannot afford to engage in such nonsense anyways.
[Would ruin his future political career. Which had limited viability due to the world having been ended, but one could still dream.]
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If something comes along that looks fun to attack, then I'll attack it.
[So it's hard to tell whether Gilles will actually wait for William to identify a suitable target. It could go either way!]
All right... An outing it is. Let's go!
[It's better than hanging around here all day, and the possibility of drawing out Solomon is novel enough to tempt him. Perhaps they could have a rematch.]
I'm an excellent storyteller. Think of what it would like to be stairs, doing nothing but being walked on. And creaking. I'll make them sit up and take notice, the little darlings.
[He smiles at the stairs. Their presumed good taste seems to have earned them his favor, but he shortly turns back to William.]
Do you have any requests, Willy?
Whether or not you're apping, your Gilles is amazing btw
...I will leave that to you then.
[Much as he hates the contracts, William has to admit that they really would have been convenient in this situation. But well, there's no use but to deal with the situation.]
You are going to be talking like that the whole time, aren't you? How lucky for me.
[But anyways.]
Didn't you once do something involving the theater in your human life? Why not talk about that. And don't call me Willy.
Thank you! And I may, if I finish my app in time. If not, maybe next time!
Please do. You can count on me to do it with pleasure!
[Since there's no Baalberith to tell him what to do, he doesn't even have a contract by association right now.]
I have to talk like that, because the stairs like it.
[Yes. That makes perfect sense. Not that he wouldn't enjoy talking like that regardless. When William asks about the theatre, however, Gilles turns to him in some surprise, his eyes widening.]
Willy!
[He has instantly ignored the request not to call William "Willy", sorry. Now that they're on these more intimate going-on-an-outing terms, surely they're on a nickname basis, too.]
You know about my plays? You do care about me!
[Gilles reaches out to put an arm around William and attempts to draw him in close.]
I knew you did. You were just putting on an act around everyone else, isn't that right? So they wouldn't get jealous.
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...any harbor in a storm I suppose.
[Any more snark though ends the moment Gilles tries to put an arm around him. Oh Lord! Give him strength even though he is not a believer! He can pretend! For five seconds!]
It's not caring! It's just curiosity!
[He's pulling away quickly as possible, because oh dear. Why does he always wind up in the vicinity of touchy feely people? It's a curse.]
I just like studying up on historical figures that like to intrude in my personal life. It also helps with essays.
[He knows all about Astaroth and John too, because why not? that sort of knowledge might net him an A one day.]
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If you'd like to go on pretending, that's fine. If it pleases you so much, I don't mind.
[But he winks, as if they're sharing a secret now.]
Le mystère du siège d'Orléans! My play, my splendid play! Only I, the richest man in France, could have staged such a staggering display. The costumes were sparkling, shimmering. The finest cloth and jewels. It told the stirring story of how the ugly, brutal English tyrants were so magnificently repelled from Orléans, returning peace and glory to the fair city once more.
[As caught up in the memory as he is, Gilles blinks at William when William says something else unexpected.]
Did you... write an essay about me? I have to read it!
[As if William actually would have such an essay here.]
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Ah yes, the play that drained most of your wealth. How inefficient! It also sounds like you were in need of an editor very badly. Over twenty thousand lines is not needed for anything.
[Sorry Gilles, that kind of excess gives him the heebie jeebies for reasons that should be obvious.]
I do not have it with me and you are only part of it. They like to make us talk about the war you were part of on occasion.
[You have a very small part Gilles. Very small indeed.]
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[Gilles looks as if he's going to get angry, for a moment, but he changes his mind and laughs.]
Why do I care what you think? You don't understand the arts! You can't even come up with a story to interest a staircase. People today have no attention span, anyway.
[Editors. Ridiculous! Some say less is more, but Gilles knows the truth: more is more.]
If you have money, you might as well spend it! You can't take it with you, you know. But you can make sure your grasping relatives don't get their hands on a single livre.
[He seems a bit smug about this, but he isn't amused by William's essay.]
That sounds terrible. I'm giving you a failing grade.
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[He sighed as he rubbed his neck, because why was he even arguing about the artistic merits of a play? Let alone a French play, with all it's horrible... Frenchness.]
...I can agree with you on the relatives part at least.
[There were a number of distant relations and their descendants that were going to be completely written out of his will if William could help it.]
It's too late. I received the top score in class on my essay. You cannot take that away from me.
[Let's not even go down this road. It only ends in stubbornness Gilles.]
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[No expense was spared! Of course, the food and drink may have played a part in adding to the popularity of the play, but that doesn't matter to Gilles.]
You understand? Mm, see, we have some things in common, Willy. We haven't had much time to talk, just the two of us... Willy and Gilly. See, that has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?
[No, it doesn't.]
I'm more of an authority on this essay! I was there!
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[Admittedly, William would have probably attended for the food himself. And then snuck out during the more boring parts.]
No, it does not. And I would rather not spend much time talking with you. Beyond what is necessary for a polite and cordial relationship in a place like this.
[Granted, much like everyone else, Gilles had stopped appearing at random and inappropriate times and that had felt weird...
But no, he mustn't fall into the deadly trap of nostalgia.]
A biased authority.
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[Look, when he sets out to waste money, he doesn't do it by halves. He wastes all the money. And there weren't any boring parts.]
You'll like talking to me better once you get to know me better. Don't worry, I won't tell your friends the secret of how much you like me.
[It's not as if Gilles actually likes William (or intends to keep any of his secrets), but he says this with certainty and pats him on the shoulder, nonetheless. He can certainly be relied upon to appear at random and inappropriate times! He's reliable that way.]
Oh, don't be naive! All authorities are biased. Your English essay graders are just as biased as me, and with less reason.
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...you and secrets are not a combination anyone would trust. Ever.
[He does trust Gilles to appear whenever he is not wanted though. Teleporting in at awkward angles. It's a good thing Dantalion isn't here. The poor man would suffer so much.]
They are the one's giving me the grade, so their opinions are the ones that matter. Besides, I think any grade you gave me would be rather worthless.
[He's praise hungry, but only from the correct sources.]
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[It's really a shame Dantalion isn't here! He'll just have to find someone else to torment.
Maybe I'll get a job as a teacher at your school! Then I'll get to grade your essays. And if I don't like them, I'll give you terrible marks.
[He's not sure how likely this scenario is... but if Baalberith could see some use in making him a teacher, then maybe!]
I'll tell Baalberith that the best way to influence the Elector is through his grades!
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[Granted, they were pretty lax when it came to the student body dress code, what with Sytry running around with ribbons in his hair and that. But that could just be demonic charisma winning the day. As usual, because life wasn't fair.]
Ugh, no one cares about that man's respect or influence.
[Bad, bad flashback now to that meeting and those little bits afterwards that William doesn't remember, but everyone assures him were equally horrid.]
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[It would be hilarious. He supposes he could be a student, but then he wouldn't get to give William bad grades.]
I didn't say anyone cares, I said that was how I was going to get the job! He only has to manipulate the school, not you.
[He suddenly leans in to tap William's chest again.]
Hello! Are you listening in there, dear? I'm going to give Willy bad grades, and it's going to be hilarious.
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[It as hard going without Mathers around, though William didn't miss the innuendo. Though he did wonder how Arthur would fair up against this crazy. Maybe they would eat each other alive. Or perhaps Arthur would win. The man's priggishness was practically a black hole at this point.]
...that is a frightening thought.
[He paused at the tap and sighed.]
You really do not understand him at all if you think he cares about my grades. "Mr. God Gave Me The Awesome Power To Summon Demons So I Am Going To Throw Nothing But Parties" isn't moved by such things.
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