ioculus | //TESTDRIVE15.EXE

Entry tags:

!test drive

//TESTDRIVE15.EXE

//testdrive15.EXE

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?

//SCENARIOS.EXE

PHASE I

[ 0215 ] 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. ]

//RUN.EXE

Welcome to Cerealia's fifteenth Test Drive Meme. For your convenience, we have compiled a post detailing everyone's arrival experience and a FAQ that should explain everything in more detail. Please read them thoroughly before playing. Thank you!

Threaded | Flat

PHASE II

"Oi! Where or where not my mother is s'got nothin' to do with you, ugly bastard!"

[A deep inhale as Narancia's patience was tested. His bottom jaw jutted out like a monkey as an indignant finger pointed across the hall at another painting. A woman, hands folded over her skirt with grace.]

"'Sides! That's technically her over there! Why don't you ask her where she is if you're so much smarter'n I am, asshole!?"

[What he hadn't expected was for the conversation to actually open up into a three-way affair. In the interest of roasting him further, the woman took on a cruel expression with a saccharine smile. The only word she'd spoken:]

"Dead."

"......................................
......................................."

[Narancia's expression blanched, the pit of his stomach filling with a heavy, oppressive air. His finger drooped, the corner of his left eye jumping up and down in annoyance.]

"Would you like to hear about his father as well? Or, rather, from? A luxury Narancia hasn't been afforded in nearly six years...!"

[He was rolling up invisible sleeves now, digging for the switchblade in his pockets.]

"You wanna say that again, bitch!? I'll rip a hole right in your--"

"Now, is that any way to talk to your mother, young man?"

[He froze, his hand abandoning it's search.]

"S--Sorry, mama..."

[There hadn't been a picture in the room that wasn't laughing at him by now.]

PHASE I;

[this is ridiculously familiar. ridiculously, ridiculously familiar. everything from the entrance--seeing her home city a destroyed wasteland--to finding herself clutching what appears to be a murder weapon, with absolutely no recollection of how it got in her hand and the person in front of her got killed.

it's almost funny. she almost wants to laugh. almost being the operative term both of those cases.]

N-No, oh n-not this again--!!

[she grumbles under her breath, staring at the large, hardcover novel in her hand. fitting. only syo uses scissors. she shudders, staring down at the body--and it's plainly not syo's handiwork. therefore, not her problem. she shudders at the blood, fighting the nausea that tries to rise in her throat, but it's been a while since bodies have affected her that badly. so, obviously, someone is trying to frame her.

after a brief moment, she drops the book, rolling her eyes and kicking the body for emphasis before grumbling.]

I-I don't have the time for this b-bullshit. Seriously.

-- PHASE 1

[the only unusual thing here is the dinner fork she's holding. oh and— that dead body. right. dead bodies are probably important too. yet Murasa seems more fascinated with the utensil than the corpse, brows scrunched together in confusion and the body ignored for now.

in fact, she's quick to step right over the victim, still turning the bloody fork over in her hands as if there's supposed to be a secret code hidden in the metal. the doors open right then— her head snaps up, and she lowers the incriminating weapon with the body still behind her.]

... Wasn't me.

[yep. she shrugs.]

-- PHASE 2

[arguing with a bunch of portraits sure seems like a productive way to pass the time!! which is why she's doing her best to ignore them. sort of.]

"You were caught redhanded!" "Why are you so nonchalant, you monster?!" "How could you! He did nothing wrong!" [etcetera. etcetera. etcetera.

yet Murasa only scowls and brushes past them, only taking the briefest moments to respond with the same phrases muttered over and over again as she passes each portrait:]

Right, right. Sorry for your loss. Yeah, sorry 'bout it. Too bad for him, right? A real tragedy.

[she's not even defending herself?! though it looks like her patience is steadily wearing thin as the portraits continue to yell at her all the way down the hall. when she spots the first real person, not portrait, nearby, she rushes up to them.]

Hey, you. How do you get 'em to shut up?

PHASE I:

[Karl doesn't even really need to think about it—he tosses the encyclopedia in his hand to the side (... this also begs the question of why the heck he'd use that as a weapon when he has a halberd in his other hand), rushes to Mr. Nondescript Corpse, and tries to check for a pulse.]

Hey! Are you okay...!?

[WHO'S THINKING OF MURDERS AND SUSPECTS someone might be dead here :c]

PHASE III:

[Yeaaaaah, no. Karl can't even tell his closest friends his secrets, let alone shout them to a bunch of staircases.

After a lot of futile running, Karl decides that he's had enough. After pressing a hand to his forehead for a moment (because seriously, what is going on and why is it going on)... Well, this is probably one of the most inane things that he's used this power for, but frankly, he's not in the mood for games right now.]

Come out, Felneus!

[A magic circle forms, and then, as per his decree, out comes Felneus, hovering in the air and looking like it's ready to kill something.]

For what purpose do you— [And then it pauses, because wow, there's no enemy to be had here. Karl just points to a doorway up above.] You require my legendary power for something so menial...!?

[Karl, to his credit, at least has the decency to look sheepish.] ... Yup. Sorry about that. Just help me out here for a bit, would you?

[And that's the story of how Karl ended up on the back of a legendary sea dragon so that he could reach a doorway. Before he and Felneus start to move, though, he'll turn to you and smile.]

Need a ride?

PHASE IV:

[NOW WOULD BE A GREAT TIME TO HAVE A GLOWY—

Unfortunately, Karl doesn't happen to have a glowing blob on him, and so he can't see much of anything in the dark. Halberd tight in his grip, he runs. The paranoid feeling doesn't leave him.

When it reaches its peak—or when the footsteps sound a little too close (same difference, really)—he turns and swings his weapon, in turn sending a small torrent of water and bursts of ice down the hallway.

... Yeah, sorry if you also happen to be in that direction. Look, he really can't see anything, okay.]

PHASE I (he's an idiot)

[A box of crayons. There's a dead body before him and he's holding a box of crayons. His heart drops.]

[There's no possible way he could be responsible for this, is there? The crayon box isn't even bloodied (as if that mattered), and here this butler is soaking in a pool of his own blood. This guy was already beyond saving. He could tell that from looking at him alone, his chest gored out enough to show all of his insides— but the more immediate issue is that the killer could be anywhere. Leon drops to one of his knees, using his free hand to close the butler's eyes just as the doors open.

Honestly, he's more worried about the person who just entered than appearing guilty himself. He's holding a crayon box, for Christ's sake. So he's back to his feet in an instant, reaching for the gun he keeps at his waist.]

[Yes, this is what you do in this situation.]

PHASE II (lots of yelling)

real

[Oh, sorry, were you trying to use this hallway? Unfortunately, Leon is busy arguing with every portrait in the hall. This might be easy to walk by at first, but as it heats up and he shouts more nonsense about the real murderer, insists that he did nothing wrong, that he's a detective, it begins to get even more rowdy. His attempts to shove past these nosy paintings is met with them reaching out to grab him.

He's not going in so easily, grabbing onto the wall and forcing himself out of its grip only to stumble across the way and into another one. Eventually, he spots whoever happens to be nearby.]

[ Phase I. ]

[ This is a predicament that Trucy Wright never expected to be in. Everything's happened so fast; literally she'd been in one place, and now she's... she's here. Wherever here is, holding onto a single Ace of Spades card that's got, ironically, a single drop of blood on it. There's blood spatter all over the place and that guy on the ground sure is dead, a slashed throat it would appear. It takes her a few moments at first to really take in her surroundings and the fact that she's holding onto... a murder weapon? A card. She killed someone with a card.

There's no way. She finally makes a rather loud startled noise and drops the card, backing away from the lifeless figure on the ground. She can hear the doors opening with a creak, and she can feel herself starting to panic. She didn't do this. They defend people like this all the time at home, but this isn't home and she's got no idea what's going on. ]

This isn't what it looks like!

[ Phase IV. ]

[ This is way too odd for even her, and that's saying a lot. The talking portraits were kind of cool, but now... now it's just silence. Or rather, it was; someone's crying somewhere and she's got the urge to go and see if they're alright. She freezes at the screaming, though, and then she finds herself in the dark. It takes a lot to scare Trucy, but this is definitely doing the trick.

She's got goosebumps, because she can hear footsteps. She's got no idea where she's going, but she's certainly not sticking around to find out. So off down the hallway she runs. Someone may want to give the magician a hand. ]

[ Bonus. ]

[ This day just keeps getting better and better. Trucy stares at the detective; she's told her story over and over, how she's got no idea what the heck is even going on, but he just keeps finding flaw after flaw in her story. She's nervous, but she refuses to even give a single twitch; she's on her own this time and now she's going to have to take what she's learned from her dad and Apollo and use it to the best of her abilities. ]

Objection! [ Trucy takes the time to point a finger dramatically at the detective in question. ] There's evidence to back up my claims, and I'll prove it right now!

[ She's bluffing probably. That's the best thing she's learned from daddy and Polly. ]

Edited 2016-07-01 01:25 (UTC)

[ PHASE II ]
[The portraits are absolutely relentless. Unfortunately so is Jessica herself. She's already thoroughly frazzled from finding herself standing over a body clutching onto a statue that looks suspiciously Slime-like. The lovely jaunt about the compound shortly after hasn't helped either, particularly when the only thing she has been able to find has been rows and rows of paintings that slowly looked more and more familiar.

Anyone will hear the redhead long before they come across her. Her hands are planted firmly on her hips and she's giving this oil painting of some random old man an absolutely livid look. Her voice is firm and sharp in it's bit of a British accent.]

I told you already I had nothing to do with it! What in the world would I gain from killing some random servant?! I wasn't possessed or any such, I would at least remember that! So just lay off already.

[She's very firm about those last words, thank you very much. She huffs out an indignant breath as she straightens up, then turns to walk away.]

What a weird place. First the butler, now the paintings...

[ PHASE III ]
[Then the paintings and now? Now the stairs. And more paintings of course. Jessica is quickly losing her patience after the fifth or so time of going round and round these staircases. She's dead certain they're moving now and stops in her tracks to glare up at the stairs themselves as if she can intimidate them into working properly. And that's when a nearby portrait starts chattering again, though this time with advice

"The stairs are gossips, you know. Why don’t you tell us a little something about yourself? Make it good!"

She pauses, blinking a bit at the portrait.]

Gossips? So what then, I have to tell them some really juicy news?

["Absolutely! The more scandalous and juicy, the better!". Jessica looks quite dubious at this enthusiastic reply.]

... And then they'll behave?

["It's worth a try," states the portrait. It's not really the answer she wants but she doesn't really have a lot of choice here. The redhead stands a moment, trying to fathom up what could possibly be the best bit of gossip about herself. Then she blushes just a little.]

I do like the occasional romance novel now and then. Not often of course but the fairy tale sorts are rather sweet.

[She admits as much in near a mumble and the portrait just sighs in near disgust. "That's juicy to you?"

Jessica's flush spreads as her anger spikes immediately. Once again she's near shouting at a portrait.]

Well pardon me if I don't have any amazing exploits to share with the stairs, you daft bit of canvas!! Why should I be telling either of you anything anyhow?! Just let me through already!

[ WILDCARD ]
[Feel free to throw prompts at me. PM with any questions.]

PHASE I;

[ ophelia is found standing next to her deceased butler friend with a paint roller. a really soft, harmless paintroller. of course she also has a tome with her, but it could be mistaken for any kind of book, couldn't it?

she eyes the roller for a moment (what is it???) before dropping it upon sight of the dead butler. ] Sir!!

[ she drops down to his side, searching for signs of life. ]

Oh no! A foul tragedy has befallen my comrade. Mayhaps it has something to do with that strange item... [ it doesn't even occur to her that she's a suspect. because she stands for goodness and heroes only!!

as the doors begin to open, she cries out with a dramatic hand gesture. ] If you are friend, approach and give me aid! If you are foe, come no closer! I will vanquish all who stand against me with the power of my ultimate move: Luminary Uppercut!!

PHASE III;

[ later on, she's wandering the hallways looking at the portraits — some who strangely look like her parents and others from back home but are being awfully rude — still completely oblivious to the fact that she's supposedly a murderer. all she knows is that she needs to get out of here and fast!

the best way to do that is to make allies! ] ... Tell you something about me? Well, alright. I've been working on my lines, so prepare to be amazed!

[ she clears her throat and then continues, gesturing wildly as she speaks in the mightiest tone she can manage. ] I am she who is descended from chosen heroes, daughter of starlight and darkness, a champion of justice and evil-vanquishing! I ... am Ophelia Dusk!

[ so, how was it? the portraits don't have to be the only audience! of course this may just be an embarrassing reminder of a certain someone else she kinda resembles... ]

WILDCARD

feel free to fill in any blanks!

Edited 2016-07-01 01:44 (UTC)

phase i;

[Okay, there are several things wrong with this picture.

One can forgive Jonathan for some level of reasonable confusion, after being pulled into these circumstances so suddenly, but he can't decide whether he should be more distressed at the current moment, or outright perplexed. His initial reaction to the body laying in a heap at his feet is panic and intense concern, crouching down and wondering where on Earth he should feel for a pulse. He's immediately worried that his memory of the past few moments is uncharacteristically blurry, but as he comes to realize he's holding a murder weapon in his palm, the situation only becomes further complicated.]

What is the meaning of this?!

[It's an egg.

He's holding an egg. An unboiled, perfectly intact egg, at that, aside from a blood splatter staining the surface. He may be an archaeology major, but he's been educated enough in physics and the sciences at large to know this situation is just about impossible. And yet...

He's about to further voice how perplexed he is when the doors open up behind him, and he spins around, still holding the bloodied egg and failing to realize this may look somewhat incriminating.]

Is someone there?

phase iv;

[To say that Jonathan is on edge would be a gross understatement. Every step he takes is made with great caution, glancing around the empty hallway for any kindred spirit who isn't about to pronounce him a vagrant or a murderer. His own quiet, rhythmic breathing punctuates the near-silence, and for a moment he thinks he's alone, until--]

S-Someone is crying!

[His footsteps immediately gain purpose as he bounds down the corridor, looking for the source of the noise. In this moment, he has little concern for himself. Whoever else is in this mansion is almost certainly frightened, could be hurt, and he's not about to let any other murders take place.]

Whoever you are, stay safe! I'll be there as soon as I can!

[Then there's a wail, the lights go dark, and Jonathan realizes that he is certainly not alone.

It's at this moment that he's grateful for his years playing rugby in university because his legs are moving underneath him like pistons, and he has a feeling it will be a while before he stops running.]

bonus;

At last, I have uncovered your heinous plot. I can scarcely believe this, and yet...

[The spotlight snaps to Jonathan as he takes the pipe between his fingers. The detective outfit is really quite befitting of him, actually. He paces around the ballroom with his back to you, seeming tense yet conflicted, before turning around with a flourish, his glare burning holes through whoever is unfortunate enough to be his chief suspect.]

All this time, you must have been working against us!

Edited 2016-07-01 01:45 (UTC)

phase iii;

[Navigating this stairwell isn't easy, navigating this stairwell with a Charizard proves to be even harder. Left and right...up and down. Is there any end to this? Probably not, no. That was way too easy. Alain finds himself growing more and more agitated with each step.

The suggestion of the portraits? To share gossip with the stairs. As if. No one could ever pay him enough to share a single thing about himself to an inanimate object.]

Tell the stairs something? You have to be kidding.

[No, the portraits are not kidding. And yes— he is definitely being unnecessarily stubborn. He is also definitely trying to doom himself to becoming a stair golem for the rest of his life.]

wild card;
[Bring me a prompt!]

Phase I

[Jokes on you, evildoer, waking up to the crash of thunder and ringing in his ears is old news. However, he probably shouldn't have had that last martini if all he's seeing is white.

No, seriously, S.O.S., he's a doctor he needs his eyes, he... can see again! What a miracle. Of course the miracle doesn't extend to the dead and corpsey guy at his feet. Hawkeye reaches a slim finger over to poke at the body and yeah, he's dead, no need for the. Yknow. Theatrics.] Excuse me, do you mind telling me where I am?

["...." says the dead man. Hawkeye nods in understanding. He figured as much.] Uh-huh. So d'ya mind telling me who you are?

[Still sitting, he puts a hand up to one ear and leans a little forward, and nods. Okay, okay. That's... definitely a dead guy he's talking to. That's also definitely somebody entering the room. Quick, Hawkeye, think sharp--! Turning his head to the door, it's obvious what he has to say.] He's dead.

[And don't ask about the half-full martini glass in his hand. He knows nothing, but he's still nodding along.] He is definitely dead. I would know. [--waitnonotlikethat-] I'm a doctor. [Now onto the important part of Today:] Now, would ya mind telling me who you are? Where I am? [Also the martini glass in his hand is of dire importance because-] Where can I get another?

Phase III

I lost my pet rock in the third grade!

I took advice from a squirrel in med school!

I sang opera to a nice Korean family! I gave away my pony! I sang opera to my pony!

[He pauses after that one-- obviously leaning against the railing and bleating out those silly things isn't working in his favor. Which obviously means it's time for a different approach with more leaning and more bleating. But first! You. You there. Pal. Buddy. Friend.]

Are there any kids here?

[His strategy depends on that being a "no". Don't let him down.]

Wildcard

[Hit me with anything, get a loudmouth surgeon in your inbox, ??, profit.]

PHASE I

[ Okay, something weird is happening again. Status check: Not dead-- oh hey, it's a dead body.

Togo looks over the butler, but it doesn't take long to figure out what happened to him - there's a medieval longbow embedded in his back. That's when she realizes that she woke up holding an arrow.

Really? A bow and arrow? Also, isn't this backwards somehow?

When the door opens, she immediately realizes that she's being set up, in the most absurd way imaginable. ]

...Ah.

Before I defend myself, I'll go ahead and ask: Do you really think there's any way I could be the culprit here?

PHASE IV

[ Oh good. Just what she needed, more impending death. I mean, that's what's happening, right? In a scenario like this, they're obviously not just going to give her a stern talking-to.

So, time to run. Or at least, time to roll. Unfortunately, that's one of the downsides of being in a wheelchair - having to propel herself, her top speed is significantly lower than a crazed butler seeking vengeance. As she pushes herself down the dark hall, her imagination helpfully lights up with various horrible fates that could be about to befall her.

Sweat gathering on her brow, Togo calls out. She can't see anyone, but... ]

Hello? Is anyone there? I'm-- [ Glance back - whoever's chasing her, they're definitely getting closer. ] I need help! Now!

WILD CARD

[ Make something up! I'm up for basically whatever. ]

II

[there's something to be said for the strong, silent type, they do tend to fare better when ignoring taunts. Given that he's never seen this place before, not to mention the lovely presentation beforehand, Law has already logicked out the conclusion that this is all an illusion or someone's Devil Fruit trying to mess with him, and thus, he's getting through just fine. He's investigating with zero fucks given for the portraits' attempts at morphing into various figures from his life, and all things considered he's doing fabulous around the Doflamingo one, which happens to be stationed at a junction of hallways where it can repeatedly harp on his failures every time Law backtracks and tries a new path. In fact, one might witness him give that particular portrait a very hearty middle finger as he passes.

It doesn't last forever, though. At one point he can be seen leaning on the wall next to a portrait that somewhat resembles the previous one, but not entirely - and some who've been in Cerealia a long time might recognize that fellow. He's not asking questions, though, he's just as silent as the tall, dark figure leaning next to his image. Law seems completely oblivious to the hand reaching out from the portrait, stretching toward his shoulder, ready to grab him and pull him in....]

III

[Whoever you are, you must be enjoying the stairs, certainly! Mazes are fun, right? And then, all of a sudden, this guy appears out of thin air next to you. Hopefully he didn't accidentally swap himself with some item belonging to you, good luck finding it.

Law looks startled for only half a second, and then really pissed.]

How the hell did I end up back here? Oi. [you, person] What floor is this?

[Whether he gets a satisfactory answer or not, he's going to try again. He makes a small gesture with his left hand.]

Room. [and then!] Shambles.

[He's disappeared from beside you, but he's now at the top of the set of stairs you were climbing. Only Shambles'd himself about ten feet, and now there's a floor rug where he was standing next to you.]

DAMMIT!

phase i;

[ the trouble with being a sword is that you are conveniently already carrying something that would make an excellent murder weapon. there's really no doubt as to what the what the instrument of death truly was...

if it wasn't for the fact that the sword is sheathed and yamabushi is holding a large, wooden spoon that's broken from what seems blunt force trauma. ]

It seems as though something unfortunate has happened!

wildcard;

[ hit me with your best shot ]

Phase I

[Thunder cracks, and his eyes clear from what must have been lightning. He's holding something kind of heavy. It's... a pumpkin? And one side is all red?

When he looks down his breath catches in his throat. He can't have killed someone. He's not that kind of person. What will mom think? If everyone else finds out, they'll start to actively shun him. He'll never have friends again.

The door starts to open and he takes a few quick steps away from the corpse, turning the bloody side of the pumpkin towards himself. Good thing he's wearing black, it won't stain too noticeably.]

Phase III

[He's starting to get really sick of these talking portraits. It's almost as bad as being followed around everywhere, despite them being locked in their frames. It takes a while after the suggestion that he offer up something about himself for him to start seriously considering, and he even starts to speak- ]

I...

[ -before grimacing and moving on. What if there's someone else out there who'd hear? There has to be an end to these moving staircases. Somewhere. Eventually.]

Phase IV

[It's dark, darker than night. The darkness doesn't scare him, but oh god what if whatever's chasing him catches him? Something that big would be a lot more dangerous than a slime. For all his talk about the end being inevitable, he doesn't want to die yet.]

Bonus

[The appearance of the hat and cob pipe were sudden - the spotlight even more so - and he knew it was time to place the blame on someone else, much as he'd rather play a wizard than a detective. He stuffed the pipe in a pocket of his hoodie and lit a cigarette instead, hoping it'd calm his nerves and not really caring that he was inside the murder mansion of some stranger. This whole confrontation business was really not his cup of tea, but he wasn't going to go down in history as the famed butler murderer of Rich Asshole Island.

With his empty hand, he points at the accused.]

Confess.

[ phase i ]

( Sol has always been a sort of magnet for ridiculous situations, but this is a new one. He may get into fights on a daily basis--not his fault, of course, as people are always asking for it--but he knows for sure he wouldn't kill anyone he doesn't recognize and for no reason. He is doubly positive that he wouldn't kill someone using his vinyl LP of Queen's Sheer Heart Attack. )

...If I didn't know better, I'd say I must have gotten black-out drunk last night.

( There isn't enough booze on the planet to get him to black out even if he wanted. So there are undoubtedly shenanigans afoot and he wants nothing to do with it. So, the best thing to do to wash his hands of this situation would obviously be to bend down and inspect the body closely. Searching the body and trying to figure out the real cause of death is the logical thing to do. Nothing suspicious about it at all.)

[ phase iii ]

( There certain things that make Sol angry without fail. Okay, that would actually be almost anything, but there are certain things that make Sol extremely angry without fail. The number one thing is asking about him or his past. Between how the day started and the fact this is haunted house schtick is getting old, he has absolutely no interest in cooperating. )

This bullshit is getting old. I'm willing to bet a haunted house would burn to the ground just as well as a normal one. So, keep pushing your luck.

( His blood pressure is rising so fast that he has a migraine. He really is weighing the pros and cons of setting everything on fire. Regardless of what he decides, he is definitely not spilling anything about himself to a bunch of spirits, real or not, regardless of how much these stairs may be screwing with him. )

[ bonus ]

( With as impulsive as he is, once Sol gets the gut feeling that the next person he sees is the culprit, he doesn't question it. )

Fess up so we can get the hell out of here already.

( He points a finger at the culprit. )

Edited 2016-07-01 03:02 (UTC)

PHASE I :

[ Of all the ways she’s managed to wake up from a dead sleep, as of late, without her vision is a new step. However, in the odyssey of strangeness that’s been her life in the past few months, she’s learned that rashness does not often pay off, and since this could just be another Proxy trick designed to keep them confused, instead of going stiff, or beginning to raise her voice as Re-L was always apt to do – she stays put, focuses on breathing - -

In. Out. Blink. In. Out. Blink. And on until, almost like a blindfold has been lifted, she can see. Scanning the room before she sits up comes up with nothing but –

Then she sits up, and comes face-to-corpse with the butler. Well… maybe they’re back in Romdeau or something. At least until she happens upon a very bloody, large philosophy volume not too far from her hands –

Oh, great, this again.

She pulls herself to her feet as the other person enters the room, taking a moment to get her clothing back in place – yes, this is a great plan to not look like a murderer - ]

What a waste of a good Voltaire volume….

PHASE III:
[ Re-L Mayer : Stair Golem. That will more than likely be what the dark haired girl ends up being, considering how very tight lipped she is when the portraits encourage her to give up secrets. Instead, anyone near her on the stairs will just hear a repeated, and always venomous chorus of

“Mind your own damn business!”

Seems as though Re-L is more content to wander than to give up a few interesting tidbits in the interest of moving off of the staircase. Partially because if she’s stuck here, she might as well explore – and well…

Her job title was inspector, so why not try to find out what all this blood is about, too? ]

PHASE IV:
[ Well, all that running for her cardiovascular health under Daedalus’ careful watch had finally amounted to something. There’s a darkly dressed young woman bolting down that endless hallway, not stopping to see if she was being followed, not stopping for anything. The sound of her heels on the floor is thunderous, even through the carpet under her feet.

Just keep running a little longer – there has to be an alcove somewhere that she can stop and take a shot from.

At least.. that’s what she’ll keep telling herself. ]

PHASE: CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE
Have a situation you’d like to meet up with Re-L in? Then throw her in! :)

Phase I

A flash of lightning wasn't enough to scare Makoto. She was, after all, the Senshi of Earth and Nature and had already died a time or two. (No, no one needed to know that.) The brightness was unexpected, however, but it soon passed. When she had her eyesight back, she spent a few minutes trying to figure out where she was. And how she'd gotten here—wherever here was.

Nothing looked like her apartment. In fact, this sort of reminded her of Professor Tomoe's house, the one where they rescued Hotaru from. In a way. But, mostly it just reminded her of a parlor in some old movie set in some old European countryside where something was bound to happen. The dusty, unkept room reeked of mildew, dirt, and that 'old house smell' that she just couldn't pin down exactly.

Everything felt off and her instinct for fight or flight checked heavily into fight. Just as she considered if she should transform into her senshi form or not, she raised her arm and an unfamiliar object weighed it down. Looking, Makoto saw a...dumb bell, black and heavy with shiny spots on it. What?

"Wait, where'd this come from? Where is this place? Hello, is anyone there?"

She went to take a step, before she realized that there was something on the floor in front of her. Not something. No, someone. A dead someone. The butler of this place from the uniform, with what appeared to be his head bashed in. Brutually. She was guessing at the gender, because the victim's face was gone. Just gone.

And, oh god, was that blood that shined so brightly on the dumb bell? Was she holding the murder weapon?

She didn't scream, but she did have to bite back the bile rising in her throat. This was worse that most of the victims she'd seen during the fights with the enemies that came after the princess and the Silver Imperium Crystal. Way worse. And the fear and disgust she felt just made her want to transform anyway, but that was dangerous without knowing exactly what was here—besides her and the dead body.

Carefully, she stepped around the body without actually looking at the victim's missing face and top of the skull. When Makoto cleared that, she set the dumb bell down like she was putting down a baby or handling a souffle before it settled. The coppery smell of blood hit her nose and she gagged, but somehow managed not to throw up.

"What do I do?" she asked between clinched teeth before putting her hand in her pocket. Her fingers grazed a scrap of cloth and she pulled it out, relieved to see her handkerchief. Without thinking, she wiped the handle of the murder weapon and got ready to leave. However, just as she was standing, the doors to the room flew open and someone else stepped into the entrance.

Phase III

Somehow, she found her way into the kitchen, but the sight of the dead body was still too much for the girl to consider food. The paintings in the hallways had talked and tried to snatch at her, and she'd only escaped them by running down the hall as fast as she could.

"This place is crazy." Her voice was breathless and wild. Her hair was falling out of its normal ponytail and parts of her school uniform where torn from grabby, painted fingers. She finally reached a set of stairs that decided to move every time she put her foot on the bottom. She'd been on this particular landing three times already and was getting tired of the old woman with the weird hat and the bird. She as she was about to try the stairs again, the painting stop tittering and offered some advice.

"Gossip? About me?" She scratched at her face and thought a bit. "I think that Umino is cute, even with his thick glasses!"

Phase ???

[Pick your own adventure! I'm ready to roll with anything!]

Edited 2016-07-01 02:50 (UTC)

Phase I.

[Well, being in the presence of dead bodies wasn't exactly uncommon for the young dragon, however this time it actually wasn't his fault in any way at all. Or was it? Oh well, didn't matter.]

Oh, is this yours? [He walks towards the new arrival, shoves the lamp into their hands.] Sorry for the inconvenience, and the blood stains, but I am certain you will find something to get that out with.

[He shoves the lamp into the poor unsuspecting arrival's arms, pats them on the back, and tarts walking away... just in time for another group to come bounding up the hall. And once again Wrathion pins the blame on someone else. Good luck trying to get him to help you out of that one.]

Phase II.

[Thus far his adventures through the odd house had proven rather dull, even with the odd paintings. He didn't pay them much mind until one in particular caught his eye.]

F-father?

[And he's just going to very carefully flip that portrait around so it's not staring at him all evil and judgemental-like. There! Now that that was out of the way he went back to his stroll down the hall. Then there's a horrific wall shaking roar from the portrait, and is it leaking lava? yes it's leaking lava.

Cue Wrathion stumbling from the surprise and then gunning it down the hall, watch where you're going, because he's sure not.]

Phase III.

[This place was simply turning into a regular fun house... almost. The stair ride got old ages ago, and watching others try and bumble over secrets was only making it all so much worse.]

Here, allow me. [He clears his throat.] I murdered my family. All of them. And they were my family.

[He leans down towards the stair rail with a mischievous grin, and gives it a light pat.]

So I would be careful about who you decide to inconvenience.

[Aaand that stair's a-movin' again. Now for the awkward silence as those in his company have to deal with what he just admitted.]

Edited 2016-07-02 02:51 (UTC)

phase one

[ When Rhys wakes up, he wakes up hard.

He's expecting to find himself crumpled in some weird position in an escape pod, which should be buried halfway into the ground by now. The last few seconds he can remember the thing spinning out of control after clipping...what had that been? A mountain, maybe? The last minute or two of his return trip to Pandora had happened so quickly, he couldn't remember much of anything, other than the white hot glow coming from the outside of the pod as he returned. Rhys had been falling, and then he hit, and then nothing. Blank.

With a groan, he finally comes around, opening his eyes. Just as quickly as he opens them, he squeezes them shut with a small sound of protest. Bright light assaults his eyes, making his return to the conscience an absolute eyesore. Literally. He turns his head to the right, tries again. Still way too goddamn bright. Is he dead...? Third time he opens his eyes, Rhys can notice things outlining. The white light fades to show some kind of room. Oh, good. So he's not dead.

No, wait a second. Not good. Something isn't right.

It's not like he landed in Pandora's greatest hotel; even though it was spotty, Rhys knew that he crashed somewhere rocky. Dirty. Not in a place like this.

Rhys stumbles to his feet, which is something he regrets. Pain shoots up his left leg, enough to make him curse and stumble. Unfortunately, when he does, something catches his leg hard enough to bring Rhys right back down to the floor. Cue swearing fest, round two.

He shakes his head hard enough to make his head hurt. Rhys frowns, glancing to see what in the hell caused him to fall so damn hard...and screams.

There, right by his foot, is a dead body.

Okay, sure. He's seen more than enough dead bodies. After ejecting the entire company of Hyperion from their space station, he was bound to find a few bodies. And in the past week or so, Rhys has seen enough shooting and shit to last him an entire lifetime or two. But he still screams.

When he tries to crawl away, he notices that there's something clenched so tightly in his hand, it takes him a second or two to get his fingers to uncurl. There, in his hand, is one of his socks.

His heart sinks to his toes. The fabric is stretched far beyond anything wearable, and it's wet. Wet with what, he doesn't want to know. When Rhys looks down, he sees that indeed, his shoe is nowhere to be found (bummer), and his foot is bare. Oh jesus.

Weird.

Okay. Okay, Rhys. This person is probably dead because they crashed their escape pod weird...in this equally (if not more) weird place. There has to be an explanation for this. Of course, he had to worry about finding his friends. And making sure that Jack was completely gone. Helios was out of the question, so there wasn't any reason why not. Okay, Rhys. Breathe.

The sounds of a door opening close by scares him half to death. Opening? Doors? He manages to get up to his knees, squinting as the bright light assaulted his eyes for the third time. ]

H-Hello?

>> PHASE I

[Francis Wendell Pritchard isn't a fighter– much less a killer. You could give this hacker a fire axe and put him up against an unconscious opponent and he'd still probably find a way to cut his own foot off before he so much as nicked the other person. Simply put, the only way he's going to harm someone is with computer in hand.

But right now, the evidence says otherwise.

Er– wait, does it really? Because what he's holding is a mop in one hand and a squirt bottle in the other. Pretty sure this is the exact mop the janitor that comes to clean the tech lab uses, he notes vaguely, as if one goddamned mop is distinguishable from another. It's just that he can't help but hope that being able to identify one thing, no matter how minor, will somehow make the rest of this make a little more sense. There is still, after all, the matter of the dead body.

Never mind how – the way the butler's(?) ribcage has been cracked apart and spread open like a meaty bear trap – there's little chance of anyone pinning the blame on Pritchard and his cleaning supplies. Those double doors are opening all of a sudden, which proves to be a bit too much for his poor frayed nerves, and so (have to make this look convincing!) he panics and does the first thing that pops into his mind.

...Which is to immediately pretend, forced smile plastered on his face, as if it's his job to mop up the small, inland sea of blood pooling beneath the corpse on the floor. Ha ha! Don't mind him! But as much blood as there is, he only really succeeds in spreading it around further, and so he frantically redoubles his efforts and…

Oh, God. There's no way this doesn't look suspicious as all hell, is there?]

>> PHASE II

No, I absolutely don't, and you can keep your commentary to yourself!

[That is the peevish tone of a cybersecurity specialist clearly out of his element and at his wit's end, currently having a heated argument with the portraiture. He could just turn around and walk away if they're really getting to him as badly as they seem to be, but Pritchard's never been one to back down from a confrontation (not unless it's reached the point of blows, anyway!)

That said– it seems, to him, that now's an appropriate time to escalate this conversation. And so he takes that mop of his (still carrying it around, still dripping butler blood) and, with a wet splat, drives the end right into the face of the subject of the nearest painting.]

You. Are. A canvas. [Says he, punctuating each word with an especially savage jab of the blood-soaked mop in the portrait's face.] You shouldn't even be talking to me– Hey!

[This idea seemed a lot more attractive when he'd assumed a painting wouldn't fight back, but seems this stupid mansion isn't going to give Pritchard that victory. Suddenly, arms reach out of the canvas, grasp the mop by its shaft and pull hard, and Pritchard's very nearly hauled bodily into the painting. He's going to be in a couple seconds, unless someone gives him a hand.

(Let go of the mop? Hell no. He needs that.)]

>> WILDCARD

(( Do your worst! ))

[ Phase I ]

[Pino can't say she really understands what's going on. There's a human on the ground and a lot of--blood? That's definitely blood. She knows that much about humans. And that sure is a bloodied wooden horse toy in her hands.

She stares blankly at it for a moment before dropping it carelessly, not seeing the connection here.

She steps up to the body and pokes it a few times before giving it a little shake.] Hey... Hey! Wake up! You're getting it all over the place! [She shakes the body again and then steps back, huffing in annoyance.] Did you power down? Where's your cord, we can just plug you in right?

[Humans work like robots right??]

[ Phase III]

[Who needs rest? Not Pino! She's been skipping up the stairs humming some nonsense song for probably like 3 hours now without rest or breaking a sweat. The portraits seem to be getting quite annoyed, actually, since she's pretty much ignoring their attempts to talk her into gossiping]

Not now! I'm playing! [Sheesh, rude... But they won't give up??

Pino stops at last and puts her hands on her hips] Pino is a companion-style auto-riev! That's all I have to say! [She doesn't really know any interesting gossip about herself, but suddenly she perks up and proudly announces:]

And Pino has a soul! A real soul! I gained one!

[nailed it.]

[ Phase IV ]

[Well, Pino isn't actually scared, but she kinda feels like she shouldbe? Like being terrified and crying or something would be expected of a kid?

She considers this a moment while listening to the footsteps. It's like a game of tag or hide-and-seek, only, you know. Creepier.

So she runs down the hall and, er. Yells?]

Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh.

[The yell is loud enough, sure, but it's entirely monotone, like someone who knows they should be screaming and what a scream, generally, sounds like, but there's no emotion behind it at all.

If she runs into anyone, she'll definitely feel a lot heavier than her tiny frame would make you think, and there's a soft 'oof!' of surprise.[

Oh! Are you 'it' now? It's hard playing tag in the dark!

PHASE I

[The... fine piece of art Korra had been holding clatters to the floor as she kneels down next to the body]

Hey, are you- [Oh, no, he's not fine. He's not fine at all, now that she gets a better look at him. It's only then that she realizes how sticky her hands are, the smell of blood sending her jolting back. She looks around, her mind racing to find something to do about... something. Her fingers twitch anxiously as if she could rub the blood off of her skin before she recovers the figurine from its spot on the floor, the gaudy purple glitter just barely visible beneath the blood and... other pieces.

She's standing still, staring at the object with an incredulous look on her face before the sound of approaching footsteps snaps her out of her thoughts.]

It wasn't me! [She nearly yelps as she whirls on the spot, sending blood splattering onto the unfortunate person. Ah.]

PHASE II

[There's a young woman having a yelling match with several portraits at once. Impressive enough she seems to be keeping up with them, although she seems to be responding to some criticism with just flat out insults.]

You're Tenzin just as much as I'm the Earth Queen. [She snaps to a portrait of a man with an arrow on his head and an impressive beard, which he twitches in response.]

Can't you do anything right? First your actions lead to the Avatar cycle being destroyed, and now you've become a murderer! [A woman in metal armor all but snarls from her frame.]

You're such a brute-

Resorted to violence to solve your problems, as usual-

Aang was a much better Avatar-

[There's a frustrated yell, and oh- her hands are on fire. But she's not panicking, so that must be normal for her. She also looks like she's about to turn the paintings into a pile of kindling.]

WILDCARD

[Pour some sugar on me.]

PHASE I

[It's not like her to be caught like this - open, vulnerable, with no idea where she is or how she got there.

The man at her feet is definitely dead, make no mistake - but even she is a little puzzled as to how she managed to do the deed with what looks to be - a pair of sweatpants?

(They're dry, at least. Maybe she strangled him with one of the legs.)

As the door opens, she drops the pants, metalbending the bracer on her bicep down to her wrist to form a razor-sharp sword. She's not hiding anymore.]

PHASE II

[It's a sharp turn at the end of a long hallway, and suddenly Kuvira is face-to-face with someone she'd never see again.

The resemblance is there, of course - in the cheekbones and hair most particularly, and she stops in her tracks, gawping with wide eyes and slack jaw - then those eyes narrow, her jaw clenches, and she sucks in a breath through her teeth.]

Mother.

[She chuckles, soft and short.]

Come to judge me for what I've done? You forget - I've no use for you. You showed me as much when you left, remember?

[Then the portraits start talking, and she begins to whirl around, frenzied.] Who said that?! Which of you-

[Their voices grow louder, and louder, and louder, and soon she can barely hear herself think.]

What is it to you if I killed him?! [She clenches her fists, bares her teeth - there's a manic look in her eye.] You know nothing of what happened! Nothing! Nothing! NOTHING!

[There's a shik as the bracer moves down her bicep to her wrist, forming a large sword. Some of these portraits gon git fucked up.]

phase i.

Impossible.

[ Blunt protestation instantly flees her lips as her purple, feline gaze flickers from the victim’s sprawling, unconscious body to the hair curler clutched in her hand. His flesh is seared with burn marks, most likely from the very ‘weapon’ she’s holding. Bishamon realizes how this situation looks, however — ]

I don’t even know what… would be the use of such a blunt weapon. [ Bishamon turns up the dial on the heat settings, and begins to wave it around like a sword.

That is when the door swings open, revealing a dead body covered in burn marks, and a tall blonde woman slashing and clamping the air with a round curling iron, unplugged from any heat source. ]

phase iii.

[ Excess pride prevents from Bishamon to announce her secrets to the portraits, lined on both sides of the wall, their presences feeling so much closer than they actually were. ]

You know, I can stay here all day. [ She didn’t need food, at least not for some time.

Her proclamation is the opposite of hollow. They’re filled with recklessness, just like the rest of her. ] But before that, maybe I’ll find a way to tear all of you apart, limb from limb…

[ A few steps towards the stairwell portrait closer to her. Raising the blunt point of her curling iron, the fury of her face would be terrifying, if it wasn’t for the complete and utter powerlessness of her situation. ] Don’t act as if you’re not one of the responsible parties in this. Let me go, or you’ll regret it.

phase iv.

[ Somehow, most likely with the help of another more level-headed, Bishamon traces her way out of this infernal setup.

When the lights flicker away, she quickens her path down the length of the corridor. Battle is no stranger to the war god, so when she feels the presence of multiple opponents, as well as one newly arrived, Bishamon decides to literally take matters into her own hands. Embarking on a titanic effort to render her foes unconscious, a certain neutral party may also be on the receiving end of some misplaced wrath. ]

Threaded | Flat

Page 1 of 3

NARANCIA GHIRGA | JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE

Touko Fukawa | Dangan Ronpa

minamitsu murasa | touhou project

karl | brave frontier