THE GRAVEYARD

[divus]

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."

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!

full navigation.

locations ♦ taken ♦ profiles ♦ weekly curfew ♦ murder proposals
ic rulebook ♦ temple offerings ♦ private convos

Comments

post-trial... to sunday...

[goatsongs]

[During the trial watch, Chuuya goes quiet when it's revealed who killed Ray, and stays quiet for the remainder of the trial, even when Entrapta wakes up.

When the TV stops playing, Chuuya grabs a large bottle of something from the minibar - he doesn't care what as long as it's alcoholic - and retreats to a bedroom.

The bedroom remains locked for... well, actually it's still locked the next morning. Maybe that's a little concerning?]

[requiemed]

[She figures he needs space, but when several hours have passed on Saturday evening and he hasn't emerged...

She heads to the bedroom he's locked himself in and knocks on the door.]

Chuuya?

[goatsongs]

Go away.

[Chuuya's speech isn't slurred. He's already run out of alcohol. Should have brought more.]

[requiemed]

[After a moment:]

Not until I know you're going to be alright.

[goatsongs]

It's fine.

[Yeah, that's believable.]

Don't worry about it.

[requiemed]

I'll believe it when I see it.

[goatsongs]

You can't. Don't bother.

[requiemed]

[After a pause and a sigh:]

I'll leave you alone if you open the door.

[goatsongs]

...Do I have to keep it open?

[He's fine with opening it for a microsecond.]

[selfimmolates]

[you fucker

ray's knocking on the door?? loudly??]

Chuuya, what the hell are you doing!?

[goatsongs]

[Slightly muffled through the door:] Doesn't matter.

[selfimmolates]

We are not doing this again, Chuuya. Open the fucking door!

[goatsongs]

You can just leave. Again.

[Why Ray insisted on interfering the first time is still beyond him.]

[selfimmolates]

[...

there is suddenly a loud bang that does not quite sound like someone knocking on the door.]

[goatsongs]

[please don't hurt yourself child

...that said chuuya isn't opening it willingly]

[selfimmolates]

[that's cool because RAY IS KICKING THE DOOR DOWN]

[goatsongs]

[Well. Here we are.

The remains of the wine bottle are in pieces on the floor. Not much liquid is there, suggesting Chuuya drank the whole thing in a couple of hours - and it wasn't a small bottle - before ending up throwing it at a wall with enough force to shatter it.

Chuuya himself is on the bed, curled up tightly with his head in his arms.]

...Watch your step, there's glass.

[He doesn't look up at Ray.]

[in_a_bottle]

[Ai knocks and stands at the door.]

Chuuya-san, please stop this. If you need anything...

[goatsongs]

I don't need food or drink here, so there's no reason to come out.

[Except that he's scaring everyone.]

[in_a_bottle]

Chuuya-san. ...It's how everyone keeps betraying each other, isn't it? Targeting the most vulnerable or the most dangerous, not caring who they hurt. It's wearing so badly on the living that they're constantly infighting when they should be working together, like we all used to in the beginning. I think we understand you, too, just like they do.

[goatsongs]

It's not about that.

[Sorry, Ai.]

That's terrible, but that part isn't my fault.

[The unspoken: something else is.]

[in_a_bottle]

What could possibly be your fault?

[Aside from drinking like it's his first high school party, except sad.]

[goatsongs]

I couldn't do anything. I couldn't save anyone, and...

[Chuuya goes quiet.]

[in_a_bottle]

...My power was All-Nighter. I could have interfered in any of those deaths. But the first week, I just holed up in my bed, afraid, and the rest of the time, I didn't find anything. I just stayed up, practising until I collapsed in the dance studio.

Other people tried to find justice, too. But we're all here. We've all died instead of being able to work to an ending with no bloodshed. Chuuya-san, you're not at fault here.

[goatsongs]

That's different. You're not -

[A parent trying to at least be able to help one child. Just one single child.]