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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!
no subject
So, that's what she does.
That's... that's all she does. ]
no subject
...
With a quiet hum, he just settles gingerly onto a wall nearby, arms crossing loosely over his chest, a complicated sentiment flickering in his eyes but with no other apparent judgment visible from his overall expression and demeanor.
He'll let her talk if she wants to, or. Not, if she doesn't. ]
no subject
Thank you for your letter, Julius.
...
It - it's really good to see you.
[ And yet, she still can't make herself look up. ]
no subject
[ He sighs, quietly, pushing himself off of the wall to approach her. Given her current posture, he probably towers a little over her... but there's little to be done about that right now, even as his tone gentles.
Well. No. There is something to be done about it, and it's this: he drops down to a kneeling position beside her such that he can try to look her in the eye. ]
Estelle. Are you happy with what you accomplished, at least?
no subject
No.
[ It's squeaked out somewhat miserably, that single no.
Her hands bunch into her skirt, holding it tight. Her expression threatens to crumble. ] I mean, if Guy keeps his promise, then - I believe it's worth it - but - [ but right now she's miserable, an electric currently still crawling painfully through her veins ]
no subject
[ Julius is, on the whole, not a very tactile person outside of a select few. He is always just that little bit removed, for all his soft, easy smiles and platitudes. That said- he will straighten up, a little, and gently pull her into his arms if she'll allow it.
Whether she does or not doesn't change what he'll next say, though. ]
Shh. I can't tell you it's all right, or that it'll all be okay. I won't lie to you like that. But whatever your reasons, you made that choice. You have to believe in it.
[ ... and what right does he, of all people, have to say that? But Julius has long known he's a hypocrite, so that's fine. ]
Doubting yourself will only make that decision mean less. And I'm sure that no matter the circumstances... it can't have been an easy one.
no subject
You're right.
[ It's hiccuped out, but some steadiness seeps back into her voice. ]
It wasn't easy at all, but... It's over now. [ And she'll be fine. No matter what, she always is. ] - I'm glad we got to see each other again.
no subject
Hey.
[...his feelings on what she did are complicated, so he doesn't say anything. Instead he sits on the floor next to her.]
no subject
... hello.
no subject
Do you want to hear some poetry?
no subject
[ actually that might be kind of nice ]
... alright. Is it more, uh - English poetry?
no subject
no subject
So it’s inevitable that she’ll find Estelle on one of her trips there. She stops in the doorway and regards the deafening silence in the profile of her back.
...
At length, she simply moves to the bookshelf, searching with memory’s efficiency for a volume. Once she has it cradled in her arms—]
Hello, Estelle.
no subject
Hello, Luna.
[ she doesn't make any move to get up ]
How are you?
no subject
I guess Guy didn't end up showi --
[And sees Estelle. And flails, stumbling back.]
What's going on?
no subject
[ Ai might be the first person to startle Estelle into standing. She quickly jostles to her feet, reaching out. Why? Presumably, to keep Ai from falling back, but the gap between them makes her reach a bit ineffectual. It just ends up looking silly. ]
What's wrong?
no subject
[Ai looks around as if to spot them. Estelle might notice that she's covered in roll bandages and looks a little more, uh, undead than she did in the game.]