BETRAYAL AT THE HOUSE ON THE GAME TOWER - Session 9

[idolpro]

Who: Exael and the rest of you lot
When: To be inserted into the timeline after completion
What: Betrayal at the House on the Game Tower

[ The GAME ALERT and map show on the screen of your phones— idols, you know what to do!

The Game Tower elevator doors are open to receive, and close once they have you in their confines and the broadcast monitors click on. You can keep an eye on the city further and further below you, as watch with your host's introduction to today's game.

At the very least it's not Mukuro's face on the screen this time. Instead it's Exael again, pigtails bouncing as she hops up from a grand low bow— it looks like they cut part of her broadcast spiel for you guys. With a showman's flair, she twirls and splays her arms as the camera zooms out to focus on a grand mansion, more Hollywood glamor than anything belonging in Tokyo.

"Summer has come to Tokyo, and so has the season's specialty: The Trial of Courage! Step right up, and charge right in because waiting won't help you at all! Here is a place even angels fear to tread! Azzy's very own, The House of Mirth and Betrayal! This place has a sordid past that casts a shadow as long as the valley of death, and soon our Idols will be adding their own pages to the tale!"

The elevator stops atop the central tower of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government building and then lurches unpleasantly, wrenching itself out of where elevators ought to go. The sudden movement jolts you, and when the doors open you spill out into into a room.

Hopefully, with not too much time missing. ]

Comments

[eatsthecanary]

[ he's eager for the touch, leaning closer, not even bothering to focus on washing the rest of the blood off of himself as he leans in to try to nuzzle at their shoulder. ]

Good. I want you - - to stay here with me.

[deicider]

[They shiver at the shock of warm contact, almost hot compared to the chill of the water. The proximity to the wound Whiskey had left earlier only registers as a sense of anticipation, waiting for the sting of contact. Or something more.

Their hands keeping washing him, using nails to scrape where the blood has dried. It's still distracting, watching the vibrant red scattered to clear, clean water. Hypnotic, but calming: this was the right choice, to clean the house of he stain of violence entirely, bloodlessly, so there would be no record left of their failure.]

[eatsthecanary]

[ there's definitely the danger there -- of Whisky eating again, mouth pressed against their shoulder, dangerously close to where they had taken a chunk out of them before. his lips brush against their skin, warm and still slightly tacky with blood, his face not entirely cleaned off of it yet even as he smears it on their shoulder.

he's shifting his hands, resting them at their sides, nails lightly digging in in that repetitive, kneading sort of motion, just happy with the attention for now, their hands against him. ]

---

[deicider]

[There's guilt in lingering like this, warm and comforted. Traitorous thoughts worm through their mind about betraying one promise to keep another: to stay with Whiskey, and not be alone.

There's so much left to do.

But maybe—

Their pulse begins to thrum. Their hands clutch, clinging to Whiskey with the same urgency that he had held them with earlier. Don't let me leave. They think it again and again, not weak enough (strong enough? ) to say it aloud.]

[eatsthecanary]

[ either way he doesn't seem intent on letting them leave if they were going to make the attempt. he's clinging tightly to them, nuzzling against their shoulder, up against their neck, catlike -- as if he were trying to lay claim to them -- completely rub get his scent on them.

more, more -- he just wants more -- he thinks back to the chunk he's taken already, it's not enough, they're hear now but what if they do leave? his mouth parts, teeth brushing dangerously against their neck. ]

[deicider]

[A sharp, urgent inhale, head tilting back willingly—no, Whiskey would break their resolve with his teeth. Their hands spasm one last time, hard enough to bruise before they let go, twisting around to lock an arm around Whiskey's neck as they kick off the edge of the shallows, plunging them both over the sudden drop-off into deep water.]

[eatsthecanary]

[ he yowls as he's pulled down -- immediately struggling, clearly interpreting this as a sign, they want to leave him, drown him and just abandon him like everyone else has -- he's immediately struggling even while underwater, trying to duck out from in their hold and claw and push back ]

[deicider]

[a couple powerful kicks push them deeper, further away from the dim light so up and down bevecome more and more indistinguishable. Cardigan keeps a vice-tight grip on Whiskey, holding to him with the same needy clutch Whiskey had gripped them with earlier. Don't let me leave, don't let me leave don't let me leave.]

[eatsthecanary]

[ he's not calm at all and he's not rationing his breath, saving his energy like he should be to keep from drowning, but in part it's because he's being held down and he's doing his best to hold his breath but he's exerting energy to try to get out of that hold, he wants to stay with Cardigan and he doesn't want them to leave after they've killed him, his hands alternate between pushing and raking at them but there's only so long he can put up that much of a fight underwater ]

[deicider]

[With Whiskey struggling so vigorously, Cardigan has an excuse to plunge deeper. Whiskey's nails rip out thin streaks of red that trail into nothing behind them. Cardigan knows their own lung capacity, and that they're approaching the limit where they're be able to make it back. They have to turn back—there's so much left to do. Three meters, two...

They break the seal of Whiskey's mouth with their own tongue, flooding both their mouths with water as they hit the limit, and try to kick off of Whiskey.]