imeeji_frontstage | BETRAYAL AT THE HOUSE ON THE GAME TOWER

BETRAYAL AT THE HOUSE ON THE GAME TOWER - END

Who: Traitors and Survivors, Exael
Where: The Game Tower, and leaving it
When: Day 25, morning-- it appears that game lasted the bulk of day 24 into the night.

[ Abruptly, the nightmare ends.

You, in the rooms you kept restarting in, awoke. Before you can even panic, before even despair, the elevator doors were open in front of you to take you downstairs again. It could be a trap, sure, but your head is quiet— those fucking ghosts are gone. You also appear to be wet like someone dumped, perhaps, a bucket of holy water on you while you were asleep. All your wounds are gone, and you have been left bereft of any physical damage from your ordeal.

Unless you choose to take some with you. Nothing prevents you from taking any of your spoils downstairs with you, if you wish it, though all revolvers will have no ammo.

On the screens as you descend back to the lobby, Exael is clapping on screen, broadcast showing her in the mansion's entrance hall. "And so close the gates to this forbidden garden, and so closes this chapter of our story! Just as—" her hologram flickers as she doesn't seem to notice, chattering still to the cameras, "so too will—" fzzt, fzzt. Static, flickering, and then back into focus, "So give them all a hand! Everyone, you've done well! You stand before us still, ready to present us all with more marvels after having survived such grisly wonders with—" "—in the balance!"

As she speaks, she doesn't notice a figure approaching behind her. He's in a slick suit with both hands in his pockets, and you've seen him before— his portrait is in the foyer. His shoes are utterly silent as he walks across the marble floor, till he's right at her back.

"Audience and actors alike, we've been blessed with—" Her hologram doesn't flicker this time, but she stops speaking. Her eyebrows furrow as she tries to figure out what's amiss, and only belatedly begins to slowly look over her shoulder.

"Exael," he says with a friendly hand on her solidifying hologram shoulder, the effect spreading beneath his touch, "We need to have a chat about your requisitions paperwork."

She tilts her head, eyes wide with a finger tapping against her cheek as she thinks, "I didn't do any!"

"Yes," he agrees, smiling with all his teeth. "I know."

The broadcast cuts. The doors open to let you leave. ]

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[Finding Hiryuu wasn't the first thing on his list of things to do. He wants space, wants to give others space to work out the fucked up pile of horror that's just happened to all of them.

But then he sees her, sees Abi, and just kind of. Drifts quietly up to them in spite of himself. He doesn't speak, because he doesn't want to interrupt. They're unitmates. It isn't his business to bother them right now, but by the time he finishes telling himself that he's already too close to stop.]

[ What's a personal space when you haven't had to worry about it in a century? For such a big man, Shuten manages to move quietly, and she's distracted enough by Abi that she doesn't see him, either, until he's practically hovering over them. The sight of another new color, green, out from the corner of her eye catch her attention. She's not prepared for who she's facing, though.

Not a day has gone by that she hasn't thought about him. She thought of a hundred conversations and rehearsed all of them in the mirror, with different inflections and anticipated reactions. Of what she would say, how she would explain her actions. None of those matter now, or even make sense--because she's no longer insane and she can actually see her actions for what they were.

So she doesn't know what to say. She doesn't know what to say, and she can feel her eyes beginning to tear up even though she desperately doesn't want to. ]

Shuten? Are you really...?

[ Real? She's reaching for him, as well, the same as Abi. ]

[he catches her wrists, gently, but doesn't let her in too close.]

Careful, dear.

[of what, is probably the question. his voice is soft, a little stilted, like he's not used to speaking anymore. but his hands are warm and solid and calloused, familiar as ever.]

It's me.

[ His hands are so warm. And the texture is--she gasps out loud. She'd forgotten. She'd forgotten what it felt like to touch a body that wasn't her own, to feel--heat--that came from something other than herself. She turns her hands within in his grip so she can--feeling his own wrists, softer uncalloused skin, and the warmth there.Her fingers curl and then straighten, repeatedly, pressing the pads of her fingers against him. It's probably inappropriate but--she simply can't help herself? ]

It's been so long. I'd forgotten. I held myself, sometimes, but I still forgot.

[It's absolutely inappropriate. He wants to be angry. But the rage that had consumed him for the past century is just... gone. And he's adrift without it. He doesn't know how to measure up to the grudge that ghost had helped him nurse, when on his lonesome he only wants to ease her pain, only wants to be gentle and kind to her. How is he supposed to handle this?

...He lets her manhandle him without resistance, because he missed the warmth of touch too. All that time alone... really damaged them both. That makes sense.]

You're so warm...

You're warmer.

[ Her voice has dropped to a whisper. She feels--like she can't breathe? It is inappropriate. She knows it is. That ghost made her take for granted the liberties she could take with others, but alone, she remembers. And it's not the only thing she remembers. ]

I'm sorry. I'm so--I'm so sorry.

[ For touching him now? For lying to him? For killing him? All of the above. She still can't seem to stop though. ]

--Stop. Hiryuu, I can't--

[he sounds desperate, voice cracking. he stops. tries to steady himself. and finds in himself pretty much anything but the rage he's looking for.]

It's... not as though I don't know. That you wouldn't have done it on your own. Okay?

Okay.

[ That sounds--so pitiful, and so stupid, but.... What... should she say, if she can't say she's sorry? If the only words that come to mind only seem to cause him--is that pain? She moves her free hand and--unless he stops her--she's going to touch his face, brush her thumb against his cheek. ]

Edited 2018-08-10 12:00 (UTC)

Okay.

[he echoes her, just as pathetic, and nuzzles into her touch when she reaches for his face this time. lifts a hand to press over hers and keep her there.]

I've already spent a hundred years mad at you about it. I'm too tired, now.

[ A hundred years. So him too; AlcheME--the spirits possessing AlcheME....

She can't imagine what that must have been like, to spend a hundred years feeling that way, the way he rightfully deserved to. She was sad, too, as she should have been--but not for the right reasons. Not that she could consciously understand; everything was scrambled up in her head, a complete mess that was a poor and broken imitation of the person that she is now and was before everything. If she had spent the entire weight of her guilt for a hundred years--could she have survived that?

She could try to tell him what was there-- but he's so tired, and she has no right to burden him with her troubles after everything she's done. So she won't today, and not ever, unless he asks her too.

She uses the hand he's pressed firmly to her face to guide him down to her, close to her neck, so she can move the hand still in his possession to cradle the back of his head. ]

You don't have to talk about it anymore, Shuten. You don't have to think about it anymore.... if you're tired. You can rest.

[ Like this, she can brush her face up against his, too, savor the feeling of soft cheek against cheek. ]

Just rest, now.

Edited 2018-08-10 13:04 (UTC)

[it only takes that little bit of encouragement for him to wrap her in his arms, predictably touch-starved. he presses his face to hers, breathes in her scent shakily, desperately confirming ways in which she has to be real.]

.... Then. You too.

[ How about the way her heart is beating frantically in her chest, is that confirmation enough? If not, then-- maybe gust of air expelled from her mouth next to his ear, or maybe the eager way she presses back into his hold, tightening her own hold, mirroring the way he's breathing her in with a deep inhale. ]

Okay. Okay.

[ she might be relaxing too much, though; her legs feel like they're giving out. ]

Shuten. Please--talk to me.

[ she doesn't care what he says? And she know she has no right to make requests? But ]

I want to hear your voice. I missed it.

[ she missed everything, really, but if she can only see the back of his hair then she wants another sign that it's still HIM, that it isn't a cruel trick. ]

[he huffs a soft, shaky laugh. it's a sound he hasn't made in a long, long time.]

I don't really know what to talk about, dear.

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