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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no subject
[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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?
no subject
The Radish spirit had been a helpful sort, as it turned out, and Kamaji, and Lin, and the frogs and slugs at the bathhouse by the end. Some regard is freely given. In other cases, it's earned. Not even necessarily fickleness so much as having their own minds and priorities and thought processes that may be significantly different from her own.
Ink splatters from the severed wrist, which proceeds to flail around before being abruptly pulled back into the portrait tv. Chihiro scrubs the back of her hand against her cheek, rubbing at a splotch of ink she'd felt land there. Outside of a blink at how swiftly Kashuu had moved, she doesn't seem surprised; which isn't a lack of surprise, but instead a reprioritisation. He struck, there's a hand and ink on the floor, and the ink is moving even as the hand is twitching and then, ah. Flipping him off? M U R D E R E R scrawls out in several languages in the wet ink on the near wall, on the floor, and on either of them where it hasn't been smeared. ]
Uh, yeah.
[ Do they get anywhere to bathe actually, that would be nice. City please don't be a let down! Or too unaffordable... oh goodness, that's something she'll worry about once out of here. ]
Kashuu-san, are you a swordsman?
[ She's moved back toward the main hall, ready to book it if needed. The ink she's smeared on her cheek is traveling slowly toward her upper lip and giving her a most dastardly, pencil thin mustache. ]
no subject
[He yells down at the hand he severed like a Truly Rude Punk, as if he expects it to actually listen...]
Besides, I didn't even murder anything. Talk about oversensitive! S'not like you need that hand anyway if all you're gonna do is snatch at kids.
[MAYBE THAT SHOULDN'T BE HIS FIRST CONCERN OR RETORT but hey, too late now. He scrubs off some ink on his wrist guard, but any of the blackness on him mostly blends in with his outfit. Small blessings, since he can't see the crude drawings they're inking out...
But! Turning his attention back to Chihiro while stepping awaaay from this grody hall mess. Time to leave this new crimescene.]
—Oh - kinda, yeah. I'm a sword! A tsukumogami. [And there goes her new dastardly mustache, which Kashuu eyes for a second before making a little "pff" sound and tapping his own upper lip.] You've, like... got a little something.
[Meanwhile, some ink drips down from his hair and decides to give him a fashionable unibrow. Excellent.]
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Huh?
[ She reaches up to rub at her lip, managing to smear the ink from a thin mustache into a great big bushy one. She looks up, looking for a sign from him that it's gone.
... And instead sees his attempt at Freida Kahlo. ]
You're kind of connected, up... [ she gestures between her eyebrows ] ... here.
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Eh? Here? [Raising his hand up to touch the spot... Which smudges it, of course, and now he just looks like his unibrow is growing a little Christmas tree in the center. When he pulls his fingertips away, they're covered in ink, too.]
Gross! [Which he promptly wipes on the wall, because clearly he has no respect for this level of ViViD whatsoever.] Scratch that first plan, we need to find a bathroom stat. No way can we go around looking like this!
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Do you know where one is?
[ This is blood ink this is fake blood ink but it's real enough that even while it's fake it's also real? ViViD is complicated when she's wanting it to be simple; regardless, he has it right.
This is gross.
She holds up her hands, shifting from foot to foot. Almost dancing, but this reminds her of stepping on a certain slug — ]
Kashuu-san, engacho!
[ Yes, she's definitely holding her hands up, index fingers touching, and thumbs touching. Only because Kamaji-san had done this in recent memory does she turn to a sword spirit and expect he'll understand to chop his hand down through her fingers to wash away the grossness — a favour she'd intend to return — but hey, watcha gonna do? ]
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[And he will DEFINITELY FIND ONE, because his exit-finding skills may leave a lot to be desired, but he has a sixth sense for finding things like bathrooms. When a person touches up their makeup or fixes their hair as often as he does, that's a necessary extra sense...
But before he can turn to start hunting one down, SUDDENLY ENGACHO-- which Kashuu actually does recognize, if only in a "it's a game kids used to play" sort of way. That's a bit antiquated, goodness... It earns a little laugh, but he raises his hand obligingly anyway.]
Engacho, huh? [And CHOPPING THROUGH THE CENTER.] There! All clean. ...Well, you're still gonna need to wipe off that mustache.
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Either way, she appreciates that he actually knows what engacho is, because for the most part she herself only knew due to a transformed spider who ran a boiler and her Dad on one of his Dad Moment days. She nods again in affirmation, agreeing that real washing needs to happen, but it's taken off some of the creepy this-is-ink-blood-and-it-is-on-me feeling. ]
Yeah, though I hope we find a towel along the way. We'll both need to wash up.
[ Or wash off, more appropriately. She eyes the halls with speculation, hunting for a sign of cabinets or linen closets along the way. Is it rude to make use of linens and things (all rights reserved, clearly) found in temporary locations? Unless it's a rule on this level, she hopes not. Though wait. ]
Will our clothes be clean when we get out of this level?
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Oh— Yep! They'll be totally clean, buuut since we don't really know how long we'll be stuck here, it's best to wash up at least a little. [At which point - good bye, unibrow! He wipes it onto the pillowcase with a sigh, and then holds the clean half out.]
Here! Your clothes'll be fine if we can't find a bathroom, but you can at least clean up your face.
no subject
Chihiro reaches out, startling herself into motion again. ]
Thank you. Um... do we need to worry about eating?
[ Or anything else, if the time in here versus not in here is variable? If none of this level is precisely real, does she need to worry about those things? Chihiro rubs at her lower lip with the pillowcase, leaving a streak of black across its surface. Kind of like a sad, unloved fuzzy caterpillar, the ink resigned to its fate. She manages to get most the ink off her face, leaving her skin rubbed red from the effort. ]
Or drinking water or anything like that?
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After he's handed the towel over, he fusses with his hair and clothes a little more to make sure no sneaky inkblots are hidden, though his attention is still on her.]
Mm? Not in here, really. I think this place might be able to simulate hunger but people barely ever get stuck here long enough for it to be a problem. Out there you're definitely gonna have to eat and drink and get to sleep, all of that good stuff, but it shouldn't be a problem here...
["Shouldn't be". He's a little hesitant to speak in definites for obvious reasons, though...
Reaching out to take the pillowcase once she's done, too! And once she hands it over, he just chucks it back into the room and onto the bed without bothering to tuck the pillow back into it. Rude.]
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... Or he would, but hey, that's one scenario they don't need to work through when Chihiro is instead opening her mouth in silent protest, fisted hands pressed against her stomach. Ah, wait, should they just... she glances between Kashuu and the room he'd tossed the pillow case back into, then steps past him to fold the dirty pillowcase in a hasty square and fluff up the pillow.
It takes all of a few seconds, but she feels better about it once it's done, and she nods to him as she steps back into the hall proper. ]
If you say so. Then we keep looking for a way out in the meantime? Or should we figure out what this um... level wants us to do?
[ There's a small portrait further down the hall that sighs when it hears her question. "Murder, my dears. Figure out the murder mystery. Or gossip, I'm equal opportunity here."
Chihiro jerks her head back when the portrait starts speaking, processing what it says a beat later. ]
That doesn't make any sense. Kashuu-san, that man was already hurt when you found yourself in that room, wasn't he?
no subject
Too good, even. He blinks, looking a little surprised when she goes to fix the pillowcase up a bit.]
Huh. You really are a good kid, aren't you? [So nice, caring about the linens of a house full of things that may or may not want them dead! Or maybe they just want an earful of gossip, ah...
Well, being an inanimate object without feet or hands can make the days go by very slowly. He sure knows that feeling.]
Yeah, it was like that for sure. [Click! The door with its messy pillow gets shut, and Kashuu moseys in the direction of the small portrait. He stays a bit in front of Chihiro though, just in case anything else decides to try making a grab for her... Punks!! This is his kid to look after for now! No more Chihiro-snatching!]
Buuut, an answer like that's probably no good here. You guys are all about the drama, right? Like - oh, that guy's an assassin-for-hire who totally fell for his target and they went off and eloped and then they disguised themselves as waitstaff in a fancy manor! But it wasn't enough, 'cause when you break the assassin code, you're basically dead in the water - and bam! That's exactly what happened to our friend, the butler. Silenced way too soon by his own organization... And while they were at it, they framed an innocent person to take the fall, too!
no subject
Hm?
[ She doesn't catch on to what Kashuu's saying right away. In fact, the portrait picks up on it sooner than she does, except that the portrait loves this kind of story. Within it, the middle age man with the handlebar mustache leans forward, displacing the cards on the table before him as he nods enthusiastically along.
"Of course! Of course! The person they framed was you. And to make sure their duplicity wasn't discovered, the true killer hid in plain sight..." The man in the portrait pointed at Chihiro (SO RUDE, ALL THIS POINT) with a grin. "Her!"
Chihiro's mouth falls open. What in the...? ]
Huh? No! We're both looking for...
[ Uh, she glances back to Kashuu for guidance. She finishes her statement off with: ]
... for the person who killed the butler. Who isn't us. And... framed us both.
[ Is she getting this right she's not good at this making up stories and it's kind of very obvious. ]