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

[goatsongs]

I don't really want to talk even with the door.

[So Zoe should consider herself lucky I guess?? (no.)]

[requiemed]

God, you sound like him.

[She doesn't remark on just who that is, though, moving on quickly.]

You can't stay in there forever. You're worrying me.

[goatsongs]

We don't need to eat or drink anymore so technically I can stay in here forever...?

[requiemed]

I will totally get Patience to open it if you don't do it yourself, and that'll just be embarrassing for all three of us.

[goatsongs]

I don't think she's been embarrassed in her life.

[and he absolutely will continue to avoid the subject at any opportunity.]

[requiemed]

Okay, then the two of us.

[goatsongs]

Embarrassment won't kill you. And even if it would we're dead already.

[requiemed]

[...]

Chuuya. Open the door.

[goatsongs]

Go away. You can just pretend I was never here.

[requiemed]

I'm not going to do that. You're scaring me.

[goatsongs]

I'm a scary person.

[That's not what Zoe means and Chuuya knows it.]

[requiemed]

Not like that.

[Gathering up all the authority she can in her voice:]

Open the door.

[goatsongs]

...I can't.

[He sounds afraid more than anything else.

It's impossible for him to willingly let anyone see him like this. It's impossible just to talk about it. The thought of anyone being witness to this weakness is terrifying.

Of course she knows things aren't okay, but in the back of his mind, as long as she doesn't see it, he can still cling to the remnants of his pride.]

[requiemed]

[That frightens her more than anything else he's said, her mind immediately jumping to the worst possibility. She presses a hand against the other side of the door, unseen to him. Her voice comes out more gentle.]

...Yes, you can. I'll be here no matter what's happening in there.

[goatsongs]

I can't. [He's choking up.] If no one sees me like this, I can still- still-

[-still tell himself that he's okay, even if he knows he's not and they know he's not.

Like a child hiding a dagger in your chest.

If she doesn't see him cry, then it's okay.]

[requiemed]

...I can promise you that it's going to freak me out worse if I don't see it, whatever it is.

[Her voice is hushed, imploring, just loud enough to be audible.]

tw: suicide mention

[goatsongs]

[His thoughts turn to Dazai, of all people. If he was having this conversation from the other side with Dazai... he would instantly assume there was a noose hanging from the ceiling.

His stomach turns at the thought of doing that to someone else.]

...okay.

[Slowly, carefully, he comes over to the door, unlocks it. Cracks it open.

It's not open wide enough to see far past Chuuya, but it's obvious he's been crying.]

[requiemed]

[From the relief on her face when she sees that he's unharmed, it's clear she wasn't exaggerating. She lets out a breath, even if she still looks incredibly concerned.]

Can I come in for a second?

[goatsongs]

Yeah. ...Watch your step.

[There's glass shards on the floor from where he threw his empty wine bottle at the wall. But other than that, there's nothing especially worrying in the room itself.]

[requiemed]

[She steps carefully around the glass, looking at him as she shuts the door behind her.]

Do you want to sit...?

[goatsongs]

Yeah.

[He'll sit on the edge of the bed, leaving plenty of space for her to sit next to him.]

[requiemed]

[She comes to do just that, her eyes not leaving his face as she does.]

I'm not going to force you to talk about it. But - you can, if you want to. I'll listen.

tw: alcohol abuse

[goatsongs]

[How does he talk about any of this? Where does he start? And if he doesn't talk about that, then what does he say?

Things were easier when all he had to do was drink and drink and hope he would stop feeling things. It never worked, but it was easier than talking.]

...I've talked more about... everything here in a month, to strangers, than I've told my coworkers in two years. Even the people I knew when I was alive. Especially the people I knew when I was alive.

[requiemed]

...You know, I could probably say the same.

[Not that it's about her, right now - but it's an attempt to make him feel more at ease.]

I guess we've had to trust each other more quickly than we would have in almost any other situation.

[goatsongs]

I wouldn't have said any of this at home even if you gave me ten more years.

[god, he hopes he doesn't have to do this for ten more years.]