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THE GRAVEYARD
THE LANDING
You’re having an out of body experience. That’s how it starts, dying. There isn’t any pain anymore, and for a moment, not much of anything else. Your thoughts are a dim hum in the back of your brain, the tips of your fingers seem miles away. Despite that, you find yourself moving, moving, moving from the last place you were in your own body and forward, until you reach a door that you haven’t seen since the beginning of the game. A door that wouldn’t open. A door cold to the touch and seeping with mist. It opens before you, and as if of someone else’s design you walk through it. As it closes behind you, you get the distinct feeling that if you turned around, you’d find it vanished.
What takes up most of your attention, however, is the tolling of church bells. They clang in rhythmic, almost maddening persistence--seems you’re just going to have to try and ignore them, as they show no signs of slowing or stopping, wherever they are.
Once the cacophony becomes easier to manage, the bong, bong, bonging evening out to a pulse inside your ears, you realize that where you are seems to be a world that's incomplete. The floor is nothing but a landing of invisible matter, a spooled red carpet leading you to a few rows of pews and a lone confessional.
You will notice, immediately ahead of you, a cute little mailbox fit for a suburban home. It bids you welcome, though the cheery paint job is a bit muted in this dark place.
Simple and neat furnishings dot the edges of where the landing seems to be: railings mark the unseen edges and draperies and sconces float in the void, giving an illusion of walls. Be careful, however, because they can easily be fallen through if leaned against. Fortunately, someone seems to have kept that in consideration, as a helpful sign warns just this.
On one side of the confessional, a room with bookshelves, a writing table, and pens and paper has been provided: a minimalist study for when you need a bit of privacy to think. On the other side, a wing of dorm-sized, lockable bedrooms provide another bit of space to oneself. There may not be enough for everyone, but nobody really has to sleep--so just take turns!
To the left of the pews, it looks like a miniature bar has been crafted with a small but decent selection of drinks. There's a small television seated on the counter, but it only seems to ever work two times a week: the week's opening announcement on Monday mornings, and Saturdays, tuning in at the beginning of the trial and tuning back out again at its conclusion. There's also a piano to one side of the bar, allowing anyone to provide musical accompaniment to their drinking.
Perhaps most interestingly, an ornate black doorway at the far end of the room leads to a curving hallway that ultimately leads to what appears to be a temple. It's similar to the altar room they'll remember from the living side, but there are no power inscriptions, and the only furnishings are wavering, grayscale candles on the walls that never seem to burn low and great sculptures of leaping rams. The two black-marble statues meet in the center, curved horns joined above a platform, decorated with nothing but a lone offering bowl. The dark marble of the item is cracked, but it seems like it'll still get the job done. Try sending something, if you wish!
Maybe this place is meant to be more. But for now, Patience is the only notable figure you have to place your attention on, and she comes forward to welcome you immediately.
"Welcome to my dominion," she greets in her usual, cheerful candor, and points at your hand, where you hold your godly token. "Now that you've been eliminated, I'll take that back and return it on your behalf. Don't worry, though, I'm not leaving you empty handed."
What takes up most of your attention, however, is the tolling of church bells. They clang in rhythmic, almost maddening persistence--seems you’re just going to have to try and ignore them, as they show no signs of slowing or stopping, wherever they are.
Once the cacophony becomes easier to manage, the bong, bong, bonging evening out to a pulse inside your ears, you realize that where you are seems to be a world that's incomplete. The floor is nothing but a landing of invisible matter, a spooled red carpet leading you to a few rows of pews and a lone confessional.
You will notice, immediately ahead of you, a cute little mailbox fit for a suburban home. It bids you welcome, though the cheery paint job is a bit muted in this dark place.
Simple and neat furnishings dot the edges of where the landing seems to be: railings mark the unseen edges and draperies and sconces float in the void, giving an illusion of walls. Be careful, however, because they can easily be fallen through if leaned against. Fortunately, someone seems to have kept that in consideration, as a helpful sign warns just this.
On one side of the confessional, a room with bookshelves, a writing table, and pens and paper has been provided: a minimalist study for when you need a bit of privacy to think. On the other side, a wing of dorm-sized, lockable bedrooms provide another bit of space to oneself. There may not be enough for everyone, but nobody really has to sleep--so just take turns!
To the left of the pews, it looks like a miniature bar has been crafted with a small but decent selection of drinks. There's a small television seated on the counter, but it only seems to ever work two times a week: the week's opening announcement on Monday mornings, and Saturdays, tuning in at the beginning of the trial and tuning back out again at its conclusion. There's also a piano to one side of the bar, allowing anyone to provide musical accompaniment to their drinking.
Perhaps most interestingly, an ornate black doorway at the far end of the room leads to a curving hallway that ultimately leads to what appears to be a temple. It's similar to the altar room they'll remember from the living side, but there are no power inscriptions, and the only furnishings are wavering, grayscale candles on the walls that never seem to burn low and great sculptures of leaping rams. The two black-marble statues meet in the center, curved horns joined above a platform, decorated with nothing but a lone offering bowl. The dark marble of the item is cracked, but it seems like it'll still get the job done. Try sending something, if you wish!
Maybe this place is meant to be more. But for now, Patience is the only notable figure you have to place your attention on, and she comes forward to welcome you immediately.
"Welcome to my dominion," she greets in her usual, cheerful candor, and points at your hand, where you hold your godly token. "Now that you've been eliminated, I'll take that back and return it on your behalf. Don't worry, though, I'm not leaving you empty handed."
OOC NOTES
Hello, eliminated competitors, and welcome to the graveyard. Although it isn't much to look at, now, this area will be growing and expanding in time with the help of your characters' actions and participation in weekly events. What they unlock will have an impact on the living side, overarching plot elements, and ways to communicate between both planes!
When it seems like there isn't much to do, there's always one option left: gathering information. So sit back, enjoy the afterlife, and put on your thinking cap!
When it seems like there isn't much to do, there's always one option left: gathering information. So sit back, enjoy the afterlife, and put on your thinking cap!
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[He's not close to either of them, so he's not offended on their behalf, but.]
There are people who don't want anyone to be killed. Strategically it's not as wise as getting rid of the gods, but ethically, that's just how those people are.
no subject
[That... seems to be sincere on her part. For whatever reason. But she has absolutely no reason to cut them any other slack, and so she doesn't bother. At the end of everything, who's counting?]
I'm aware that those people exist here. They may go their way, and I will go mine. It's just unfortunate that we had to meet.
It's all for naught in the end.
[Everything will return to zero. They're simply two ends of the same extreme.]
no subject
[why does dying make some people such killjoys]
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I can assure you, I am a perfectly fine guest at parties.
[And maybe that's why dying can make one a killjoy. After all--]
Would you call this a party, Chuuya?
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[Somehow this doesn't make his opinion of her cheeriness rise...]
no subject
[She's quiet for a moment.]
What would you call it?
no subject
[Also they didn't have bedrooms so Chuuya couldn't bang Julius.]
I'm an alcoholic, but even I won't toast to murder.
no subject
[Any interest leaks right back out of her voice again. Honestly, for the most part, she's over the stupid contest -- which may be either good or bad. It's a mystery right now.
She does lift her head a little to look around, seeming to really take in their surroundings for the first time. She hadn't bothered so much with exploring so far.]
Death is... [she falls silent after a moment] I suppose you'll just call me a ruiner of parties again. Then -- what happened to you?
no subject
Gau was out on the frozen lake at fuck o'clock at night, barefoot, who even does that you'll get frostibite and it was dark enough you could walk right into a hole-
[fussy parent moment.]
I tried to pull him back to safety but we both fell in instead.
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[It's not actually all that disparaging -- it sounds more like herself, somehow, the musing quality that she adopts for a particularly deep question into the meanings of the universe. Or the ability of people to not freeze to death for stupid reasons.......]
Quite strange that St. Germain and Ava's case seems to be unrelated.
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[No matter how stupid they're being. Especially if they're being stupid, really.]
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[???????]
[She peers at him for a moment -- there's a long and unhurried silence while she turns things over and then, bemusedly:]
You take your job as an adult seriously. Is it that children are the potential you cannot achieve in your lifetime?
no subject
[He had children.
Just not for very long.
He can't look at her any more, and so he directs his attention to the opposite side of the landing.]
no subject
At length, because the sound of bells has covered everything:]
Is to achieve not to arrive at a goal?
Some goals, like stars, aren't reachable in a single lifetime when you speak of the definition of a regular human lifespan.
no subject
[If he had a goal as a father, it was to see his sons grow up happy and healthy.
No, he didn't achieve that.]
no subject
[It's just a murmur, not so much a reassurance as it is something almost nostalgic. Not quite concrete.]
But of course, time is not something everyone or every world has, is it? [she curls an arm around her knees, settling deeper into the pew, and regards him thoughtfully] What was your wish, Chuuya?
no subject
...For my sons to be able to live at least to adulthood.
no subject
She doesn't say that.
She's quiet for a little longer, again.]
Did it help? Being a part of this contest.
['Help' certainly isn't the right word. But she uses it anyway.]
no subject
It's something I could never do on my own power, so - at least I had the chance to try.
no subject
[They'd talked once about ghosts, a long time ago. The opinion of ghosts. And here they are giving them, in the middle of the void, bouncing them off each other to probably no avail. It's funny how things come full circle.]
The ability to see a dream, and a possibility, no matter how distant. We still have that.
[...]
And if death walks away from us, then there is a reason. I will keep searching.
[Maybe she's being encouraging, or just sympathizing, or possibly just being uncharacteristically stubborn. Is it uncharacteristic, though?]
no subject
What reason are you searching for?
no subject
I already have my reason. I will make sure that no death can touch anyone in my world, ever again. It's only natural.
[Apparently.]
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