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Entry tags:
Betrayal - sensitIV
[ You spill out of the elevator onto a Bloody Room— the elevator is gone when you look back.
How . . . how appropriately named. It looks like it used to be someone's bedroom - a child's, perhaps, from how the walls have bright colors and animal print, although the colors have long since faded and the animal print is peeling. Now it looks creepy with all of the blood - and there is a lot. Did a murder happen here? Did two? Three? No matter the number, it seems like it's not enough to explain the numerous bloody handprints that claw up all four walls, reaching even the ceiling, and after a certain point below it seems like the whole room was flooded with blood, matching mid-waist on average. That's really concerning!
Aside from . . . all the blood, there is a twin sized bed - the mystery, really, is how this bed ended up not being so bloody; although there are stains against the wood that indicate handprints, the sheets themselves are mostly clean and white except for one handprint on the corner. It's also entirely too big for a child, sized for an adult; across it, there is a vanity and several full-length mirrors aligned to allow someone to look at themself in every angle. Sitting on the vanity is a white veil, flowery and sheer; hanging on one of the mirrors is one near-perfectly intact bridal dress, completely in white - except for the bloody handprint square against the chest.
You can't help looking at the veil, the dress - and feel a tightening in your chest and a flood of emotions overwhelms you briefly - jealous, ugly, and lonely. Spiteful-- fine, so unwanted were they? Then this would be the end of it. A death that would marr the happiness the other sought to obtain by abandoning it, and the letter penned at the desk would make certain everyone knew whose feet to lay blame out. A knife in the drawer ready to be buried in the wrists and soon everything would be done— none of those feelings are yours. They exist like reading a letter, a record of someone else's thoughts, someone else's life tucked away inside an envelope. You could open it again, read it until you could imagine it real, but why would you want to? But if you lose your sanity, or are damaged too far, that envelope will open and it will be read again, loud enough to drown you out.
A ring sits on the vanity, with Exael's hologram sitting backwards at the chair there facing towards you and reflecting in none of the mirrors. If you have questions and she's not busy with hosting or another unit, she'll appear here to answer them.
A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (bring someone to the altar and murder them, or otherwise make out with them and then kill them) as well as the item that you've been given (ring). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.
There is one exit: West. ]
How . . . how appropriately named. It looks like it used to be someone's bedroom - a child's, perhaps, from how the walls have bright colors and animal print, although the colors have long since faded and the animal print is peeling. Now it looks creepy with all of the blood - and there is a lot. Did a murder happen here? Did two? Three? No matter the number, it seems like it's not enough to explain the numerous bloody handprints that claw up all four walls, reaching even the ceiling, and after a certain point below it seems like the whole room was flooded with blood, matching mid-waist on average. That's really concerning!
Aside from . . . all the blood, there is a twin sized bed - the mystery, really, is how this bed ended up not being so bloody; although there are stains against the wood that indicate handprints, the sheets themselves are mostly clean and white except for one handprint on the corner. It's also entirely too big for a child, sized for an adult; across it, there is a vanity and several full-length mirrors aligned to allow someone to look at themself in every angle. Sitting on the vanity is a white veil, flowery and sheer; hanging on one of the mirrors is one near-perfectly intact bridal dress, completely in white - except for the bloody handprint square against the chest.
You can't help looking at the veil, the dress - and feel a tightening in your chest and a flood of emotions overwhelms you briefly - jealous, ugly, and lonely. Spiteful-- fine, so unwanted were they? Then this would be the end of it. A death that would marr the happiness the other sought to obtain by abandoning it, and the letter penned at the desk would make certain everyone knew whose feet to lay blame out. A knife in the drawer ready to be buried in the wrists and soon everything would be done— none of those feelings are yours. They exist like reading a letter, a record of someone else's thoughts, someone else's life tucked away inside an envelope. You could open it again, read it until you could imagine it real, but why would you want to? But if you lose your sanity, or are damaged too far, that envelope will open and it will be read again, loud enough to drown you out.
A ring sits on the vanity, with Exael's hologram sitting backwards at the chair there facing towards you and reflecting in none of the mirrors. If you have questions and she's not busy with hosting or another unit, she'll appear here to answer them.
A readout on your phone tells you the rules and displays the sanity goal (explore rooms) and your traitor goal (bring someone to the altar and murder them, or otherwise make out with them and then kill them) as well as the item that you've been given (ring). It looks like nothing is stopping you from committing the traitor goal even while you're sane, if you wish to.
There is one exit: West. ]
Session 9 Discussion
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His t-shirt has a similar problem: a bloodstain spreads down from the neck to his chest. It’s on his sweater, too.
Also, the problem with white hair is that it does nothing to conceal the mess of dried blood at the back of his head. He reaches up to touch it, and sighs.]
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[ hugging him ]
Yo, how long've I been gone? You're all kindsa fucked up.
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[hugs her with one arm, resting the other gently on her head.]
I'm... not sure. At least one round?
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[ cups his mouth, slight awe ]
Are you alright?
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[ time to fucking get covered in robot hi hi hi hi ]
You didn't leave us after all!
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Santa-san.
[ quiet, clipped ]
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nah he's leaving you fools now. ]
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Well, it seems to have all healed...? My clothes are ruined, though.
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You really came back. [ well of course he did. none of them can actually escape.
but Anubis is here now. and he can't run away anymore. not really.
any guilt in his eyes is thinly veiled by another distant, gentle smile. ]
How do you feel? [ also he's... soaking wet, for some reason. ]
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he doesn't even remotely try to dodge or stand his ground. he stumbles back, his back hitting the vanity, probably knocking some shit over.
... he holds his cheek, stunned. ]
Wh... what did I do?
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... .... . ... oh. this is he understands. he understands this very well. ]
Santa..... [ he pushes himself from the vanity. and comes over to pull her against him into a hug. ]
I'm sorry.... I did leave you alone, didn't I? Even though I promised I wouldn't..... it must have been lonely. I wasn't thinking right at all.
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[unlike last time he said Loki's name, his voice sounds normal and not, you know, full of pain and tears.
in lieu of answering, he sits down on the edge of the bed and pats the empty space next to him.]
Sit with me for a moment?
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actually somehow that response is setting him more on edge. he feels like a guilty child being scolded?
............. sitting... ]
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which is to say that when Loki sits down, he climbs into his lap, straddling him. despite the wet clothes and everything. his hands cup Loki's face and he leans in so that their foreheads gently touch. that last part, at least, should be familiar.]
I do understand why you did it.
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you can probably feel his breath catch. it's not unlike fear. but then isn't that what love feels like? ]
... you do?
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