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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. ]
EXAEL
Re: EXAEL
.... staring hard at her. ]
You've got an awful sense of humor.
no subject
[ Waggles her fingers at him from behind the chair ]
But this is no a comedy act, tonight.
no subject
It's just Loki.
And you'll have to forgive me for thinking it's some kind of comedy act, considering how god damn ridiculous this is.
no subject
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The guy that owns this house, right? Who is he.
no subject
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So is it just this house that he owns? Or is it more?
no subject
no subject
[ he... tilts his head at her like he's trying to translate all that into something comprehensible. ]
What did you... just. Take it? From somewhere?
no subject
But it didn't spring fully formed from the aether, nor did it sprout from the rib of man; The House of Mirth sits upon the shore, programmed to receive! Here, loveliest of places! A nice surprise for him and our audience to see our idols getting passage to this exclusive VIP experience!
[ her hologram points her finger at him, standing from the chair like she's daring him to contradict her. She! Is so! Sure! It's! A great! Surprise! ]