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Betrayal 3: Taisho Roman Revolution
[ You spill out of the elevator into the Revitalization Treatment Center—the elevator is gone when you look back.
It has a clean, well-appointed lobby with comfortable plush couches and bright, natural lighting, and someone who greets you cheerfully when you come in, although apparently there’s a very long wait list for anyone who isn’t a VIP.
On the coffee tables scattered around are binders… each full of slipcovered profiles of young, beautiful people and their credentials and blood types. What kind of spa are they running here?
You can guess, at least… the scent of blood brings you back to that too-long moment, looking at your friend's face over the shaking barrel of your gun. Your parent at your shoulder steadying you, reminding you of the proper form… and that really, this is all your fault, but of course helping take care of each other is what family is for. And then you squeezed the trigger, and there was the smell of smoke and gunpowder and blood, and you felt ill—
It's in the script someone's written for you, in your hand. Now, you have your own history, your own words and you can give those to the audience instead. But enough pain, enough destabilization, and you don't know if you'll want to keep sharing. They've set the stage for someone else, given you a prop, and you feel that. Reality isn't wanted here—no, you need to be larger than life, in this place, to not be devoured by the narrative, reduced to an extra. The script whispers for you to lock that troublesome self away, and try on this new role for size, and you'll be a star.
...but there's no point in casting a top-tier idol like you if you can't put your own spin on it, of course. At the bottom of the script, there's a note someone's written with a smiley-face: "just ad-lib, you're gonna be great :)"
On the table in the waiting room sits a pack of cards—marked ones, although not for any game you're familiar with.
A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the basic goal (explore the rooms of the casino) as well as the item that you've been given (Stacked Deck). Only once you leave your starting room does your phone update to display your role's traitor goal (kill someone after admitting vulnerability to them). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.
There is an exit to the north. ]
It has a clean, well-appointed lobby with comfortable plush couches and bright, natural lighting, and someone who greets you cheerfully when you come in, although apparently there’s a very long wait list for anyone who isn’t a VIP.
On the coffee tables scattered around are binders… each full of slipcovered profiles of young, beautiful people and their credentials and blood types. What kind of spa are they running here?
You can guess, at least… the scent of blood brings you back to that too-long moment, looking at your friend's face over the shaking barrel of your gun. Your parent at your shoulder steadying you, reminding you of the proper form… and that really, this is all your fault, but of course helping take care of each other is what family is for. And then you squeezed the trigger, and there was the smell of smoke and gunpowder and blood, and you felt ill—
It's in the script someone's written for you, in your hand. Now, you have your own history, your own words and you can give those to the audience instead. But enough pain, enough destabilization, and you don't know if you'll want to keep sharing. They've set the stage for someone else, given you a prop, and you feel that. Reality isn't wanted here—no, you need to be larger than life, in this place, to not be devoured by the narrative, reduced to an extra. The script whispers for you to lock that troublesome self away, and try on this new role for size, and you'll be a star.
...but there's no point in casting a top-tier idol like you if you can't put your own spin on it, of course. At the bottom of the script, there's a note someone's written with a smiley-face: "just ad-lib, you're gonna be great :)"
On the table in the waiting room sits a pack of cards—marked ones, although not for any game you're familiar with.
A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the basic goal (explore the rooms of the casino) as well as the item that you've been given (Stacked Deck). Only once you leave your starting room does your phone update to display your role's traitor goal (kill someone after admitting vulnerability to them). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.
There is an exit to the north. ]
Re: SESSION 7 DISCUSSION
. . . I've been through a few rounds. I was with Ao last time...
[ Does that say it all. ]
Re: SESSION 7 DISCUSSION
he sits up on the couch, watching her. quiet. ..... ]
...... you know, I've been thinking lately. I think I misread you before. I said you were weak, right...? I was wrong. I think you're a lot stronger than you look, or even than how you come across. You keep getting hit over and over and you keep getting back up... that takes a lot of strength.
1/2
You're saying that while I'm literally crying like a child.
[ LEO. ]
2/2
But thank you for saying so.
[ . . . Truly. ]
We... don't have any choice but to move forward right now, right? [ Okay... wiping at her eyes again. ] I'll get it together. We have to do our best.
Re: 2/2
[ he stands up... stuffing the cards in a pocket, and stretches... before holding out a hand. ]
This time, I'll be performing at your side... so let's ride out together!
Re: 2/2
Mm...!
[ Taisho will do this together. Somehow. ]
. . . Have you been here already?
Re: 2/2
Nope! I just woke up. Then again, this seems really familiar doesn't it? Though it looks different, like a nightmare twisted itself into something else.
Re: 2/2
Re: 2/2
Re: 2/2