BETRAYAL AT THE HOUSE ON THE GAME TOWER - END

[idolpro]

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. ]

Comments

[unbr8kable]

I don't understand.

[crossmyheartandhope]

The marker ran out, so I thought - origami.

But the paper gets soft. F-folded too much. Like. Like cloth.

[unbr8kable]

Hurricane...

[crossmyheartandhope]

So I tried... you said it, right?

I can figure it out if they could way back when.

...you said that, right?

[unbr8kable]

[it comes to her, slow, as if from a different lifetime]

...Weaving? What's that got to do with anything?

[crossmyheartandhope]

[He's shaking harder, now, the hands holding onto her jacket so hard the knuckles are white.]

I r-ruined them.

I did them and undid them. And then I did them again, and they were just - paper. Paper doesn't - doesn't last.

[unbr8kable]

[running her hands up his shoulders, back down]

What-- It's paper. It doesn't need to last. It's fine.

[hesitates, something in her gut churns]

What happened to you?

[crossmyheartandhope]

I kept one. I didn't - undo them all. I made myself stop, in case - in case I needed something, later.

[He doesn't pull back, or let go with his right hand. But his left slips down into his pocket to come out with something. When he opens his hand there's a strip, about two inches long, of paper woven together. The weave is tight and neat, meticulous, but the paper itself is old: brittle and faded, bright colors overlaid with black sharpie, sharpie rubbed away to show the original colors again in places.]

[unbr8kable]

[stares]

...How long did this take?

[crossmyheartandhope]

I don't know.

I-it was early, so like.

[His voice breaks, and he gives up on the sentence. They're probably close enough that she can feel his chest heave when his breath hitches in, sharp and unsteady.]

[unbr8kable]

Jesus.

[Reflexively she squeezes him closer, attempting to be a solid anchor against his trembling. Jesus. She thinks about the hours she spent alone in that house. She thinks about just how old that paper looks.]

I'm so sorry.

[crossmyheartandhope]

[His breath hitches in again, and he lifts the left hand back up to hold onto her, crushing the strip of paper still in his palm.]

[His forehead drops onto the crook where her neck meets her shoulder, just resting there.]

So is. [He hesitates - swallows.] Is this like - ?

[unbr8kable]

[She sucks in a breath; leans her head against his. Breathes out.]

We're out. --I mean, we're still in this shit place but not in that damned mansion.

[Another harsh breath]

You're out. This's real.

[crossmyheartandhope]

[Oh.]

[That's.]

[He has been needing to hear those words for actual, literal decades.]

[His face just crumples.]

[unbr8kable]

Hurricane--

[crossmyheartandhope]

[Nnnnope, sorry. Tears are incoming.]

[At least chances are good that they're tears of overwhelming relief?]

[unbr8kable]

[Better than many alternatives, but still--]

[..."Still" nothing; 100 years in a mirror deserves a good cry if anything does. Even if it didn't, she still wouldn't do anything but cling to him and try very hard not to think about the horrifying implications of all of this because she doesn't want her voice to wobble.]

It's okay. It's over. This was so, so shitty, but it's over now. You're out.

[crossmyheartandhope]

[He's too busy holding on for dear life and breaking the hell down to try and answer right now.]

[The words are making him cry harder, honestly, but mostly that's because they sound too good to be real.]

[unbr8kable]

[She'll just hold on, then, forcing her breaths even and her back straight. In the house--she couldn't (didn't) do anything back then--she can't undo what's already happened--but she can support him now. The stream of murmured assurances continues, even as her voice breaks and they become more repeated apologies than anything else]

[crossmyheartandhope]

[It takes a while for him to cry himself out.]

[It's loud, and messy, and borderline hysterical. Probably the shoulder of her jacket is soaked by the time he's done.]

[But eventually - eventually - the out-and-out sobs give way to unsteady, hitched breathing and he just leans there, up against her.]

[unbr8kable]

[By the time he's done she's long since run out of words. The soft, shaky strokes through his hair continue though, waiting for his breaths to calm]

[crossmyheartandhope]

[And eventually they do. They're not smooth and even, but at least he doesn't seem like he's going to shake himself apart anymore.]

[unbr8kable]

[Good. Not that she wouldn't try to hold him together but it's much less terrifying not needing to. In any case, she does not pull away]

[crossmyheartandhope]

[He takes a breath in. Another.]

[Eventually, hoarse and kind of shaky:]

...sorry. Your jacket's kinda. Kinda gross.

[unbr8kable]

[soft, like her throat feels hot]

...Been a gross night. Wire'll just have to scrub harder next time.