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
An effort of will has Chihiro keeping her chin level, looking out into that dark. Her eyes seek familiar shapes, finding the corner between wall and flooring, tracing it forward until her eyes struggle to see. A chill breeze wafts by, tugging at the loose locks of hair by her ears, pulling at her ponytail with a playfulness that leaves goosebumps breaking out over her body.
She's being silly! It's just a draft, but the darkness, the damp scent that seems to creep all around them, the sound of wet, sucking footsteps that start behind them has her picking up her pace and bumping into Jack. ]
Maybe the next hall will have one. I don't know why the doors are all spaced so far apart, but I can't see any more in this hall. Can you?
[ She really wants to hurry out of this area, if they can. ]
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The cold breeze is unexpected, and it sets the hairs on his arms and at the nape of his neck prickling uncomfortably. His own footsteps are quiet, muffled by the thick carpet lining the hallway floor, but in the dead silence, he almost thinks he can hear other footsteps--
--He jumps sharply when Chihiro bumps into him, and freezes in place while he tries to decide if the racing of his heart is just an unprecedented amount adrenaline and unease, or if he's having a heart attack.]
Uh.
[He gulps, looks down at his feet, then to Chihiro, and back to his feet. It's just as well she startled him into stopping when she did, because now that he is stopped, he can just make out the edge of a step, and a hint of a banister...a staircase leading down.]
No. But there's stairs...
[He hesitates briefly, and in the silence he's very, unpleasantly certain that he's not imagining those footsteps, wet and squelching and deliberate. Maybe it's the owner of the hair from the bath, looking for a dry towel? The former seems likely...the latter, doubtful.]
S-stay close, okay? You can hang on to my jacket if you want to.
[He lowers his pistol, aiming it and its light at the ground, which thankfully brings a small but helpful amount of definition to the steps in front of him. He reaches gingerly for the banister with his free hand; it feels normal under his fingertips, like smooth, dry, polished wood. He only hesitates for long enough to make sure Chihiro's on track to follow him, before stepping down.]
no subject
She steels her shoulders, resolutely continuing to move forward. When Jack hesitates, she pauses as well; his offer is one she takes up with a: ]
Mm!
[ As her fingers found the material of his jacket, fisting into it. She's not sure if she's anchoring him, or herself, as she looks around, the squelching sounds of unrelentless, off-beat footsteps coming ever closer. ]
That's a gun, isn't it.
[ Her tone doesn't quite hit "questioning," though she does mean it as a question. Taking the steps as he does, she opts to look back, seeing a glimpse of a pale face that reminds her of a mask. It has her tilting her head to the side, less frightened in that moment than confused.
It's strange, being reminded of those she doesn't think she was supposed to have seen again for some time yet. That wasn't No Face, she knew, but something in their manner reminded her of his movements within the bath house.
Chihiro shivers, taking another step down and sticking close to Jack's side, now looking forward. The stairs extend down into darkness, but it smells better down this way, as if the draft that had chilled them in the hall above came from some sweet place down below. A hint of baking bread and honeysuckle is an odd mix; made odder still as a soft humming emanated from the darkness below.
Behind, the gurgling of a brook, or of someone washing their mouth out slowly with mouthwash, grew steadily louder alongside the footsteps. Chihiro swallows, telling herself that whatever it is, they can handle. Though possibly not with a gun. ]
Is that a light?
[ She's looking past them into the dark below, not asking about the light thrown by Jack's gun so much as the diffuse, gentle purple-reddish glow that grows stronger in increments the further down they go. It comes from underneath a door down the length of the very dark hall they're descending into, from a crack underneath the door, outlining the sides. It's warmer down here; humid, she thinks, and she swallows again as they move further down. This is a very strange house, and she's not so sure she needs to bother with finding a bathroom anymore. Not over getting out of this place as a whole! ]
no subject
[His answer is frank, if a little terse. He can't quite bring himself to be sarcastic at a little kid, even though sarcasm has become his refuge over the years, and right now he really, really needs a refuge. One with a cat to pet, maybe. That would be nice.]
I, uh, don't think it's going to be very useful here, though. Except as a flashlight. A crappy flashlight. Just….Just putting that out there.
[He's still working under the assumption that he's dead, and as the minutes pass and things get creepier and scarier, he's drawing some pretty grim conclusions about his own personal afterlife. Except he doesn't get how Chihiro fits into the scenario. As far as he can tell, she's just as human as he is, except younger, and also probably not a shit-stain of a mass-murdering jackass. He definitely belongs here. She'd fit in better in some scenario involving rainbow fields and frolicking baby animals and home-baked cookies and --
-- is that baking bread?
It's also definitely getting lighter. For a given definition of "lighter", anyway. That is to say that their only source of light is now not his trusty Maliwan pistol, but the gentle and sort of ominous reddish-purple glow that seems to be growing stronger as they descend.
Based on the insane level of creepiness displayed by this place, he's pretty sure they're moving away from one horror and directly into the heart of a new one, but he has no idea what to do about that. Obviously they can't go back, and staying in one place is out, so the only way to go is forward.
When they reach the base of the stairs, he picks up his pace a little bit. He doesn't yet hear the sloshing footsteps on the stairs behind them, but he also doesn't want to wait until he does. The glow around the edges of the door frame intensifies as they draw nearer, as does the humidity, and...the heat.
Swallowing hard, he reaches for the latch with his left hand. He bites off a swear and jerks his hand away almost instantly; the metal is burningly hot to the touch. This doesn't bode well at all for what's on the other side of the door, but they need to keep going. So he uses the muzzle of his gun to push the latch down, and pushes the door open with the toe of his boot.
He's never actually seen a brick oven before, but he's pretty sure the room beyond looks like one - complete with leaping, cackling flames climbing the walls on either side. There's a narrow, stone aisle down the middle of the room - the baking surface, he presumes - and another door just visible in the distance, through the heat distortion and the smoke.]
What the...?
[There may or may not be a quiet squelch behind them. It could just be his imagination. But if it's not, he's willing to bet the bathtub horror probably won't want to follow them through this blazing inferno.]
Shit.
[He mutters the curse quietly, not intending for Chihiro to hear, and resists the urge to look behind them.]
How fast can you run?