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[UMINEKO SPOILERS] Heart (Scored) - Kyrie, Rika, Ange
"when the seagulls cried, none were left alive"...
But this isn't such a sad story.
This is a story about love.
"when the seagulls cried, none were left alive"...
But this isn't such a sad story.
This is a story about love.
For a moment, it's dark. You can't see anything around you but you know that you are in a room. A room with four walls, a ceiling, and a firm floor you stand atop. The sounds of a lock being thrown, of chains rustling through the space are really the only things that give you any hint as to how big the space is before a cold metal locks firmly around your throat. Reaching up to your neck, however, reveals nothing is actually there. You can't feel it with your hands, just by the weight of it settled right against the skin when you breathe or swallow. Only once that weight's in place does the room illuminate--
It's a bedroom. Or rather, a guestroom. A western styled guestroom with two beds, a nightstand, and wardrobe sitting out on the floor. There are windows on one of the walls, doors on two other walls. One leads to a bathroom with a toilet, sink, and tub with shower head. The other is the exit, locked as evident by the chain lock firmly in place on the door.
You know instinctively: <in order to get to your goal, you must find a way out of this room>.
Fortunately, it's a pretty comfortable room. The sun is streaming in through the window, illuminating it in a pretty cheerful atmosphere--if not for the ominous clouds in the distance. And the purple thorny vines pressing into the room through the cracks of the window's framing. But the room's so comfortable, surely there's no real problem or need to rush…
It's a bedroom. Or rather, a guestroom. A western styled guestroom with two beds, a nightstand, and wardrobe sitting out on the floor. There are windows on one of the walls, doors on two other walls. One leads to a bathroom with a toilet, sink, and tub with shower head. The other is the exit, locked as evident by the chain lock firmly in place on the door.
You know instinctively: <in order to get to your goal, you must find a way out of this room>.
Fortunately, it's a pretty comfortable room. The sun is streaming in through the window, illuminating it in a pretty cheerful atmosphere--if not for the ominous clouds in the distance. And the purple thorny vines pressing into the room through the cracks of the window's framing. But the room's so comfortable, surely there's no real problem or need to rush…
It's a bedroom. Or rather, a guestroom. A western styled guestroom with two beds, a nightstand, and wardrobe sitting out on the floor. There are windows on one of the walls, doors on two other walls. One leads to a bathroom with a toilet, sink, and tub with shower head. The other is the exit, locked as evident by the chain lock firmly in place on the door.
You know instinctively: <in order to get to your goal, you must find a way out of this room>
Unlike the previous room, however, there seems to be a growing clutter of objects strewn around the room, as if quickly stashed into the space without real thought to their places. A pile of casserole dishes that seems to have claimed a corner, some swords propped against a wall, a lute next to the first bed, a sharpened stick with a wet tip on the floor, a notebook with a feather quill left on the nightstand, some tarot cards left strewn underneath the notebook, a flower crown dangling on the curtains' rod, a dragon plush that seems to be staring at you ready to spring to life at a moment's notice half under second bed, with a bird-like monster with a witch hat laying right next to it.
Probably there are more things under the beds but you might be distracted by what's on them, instead: a collar hanging on the bedframe of the first bed, a red dress crumpled and thrown carelessly onto the first bed, a gun's holster that's half on the nightstand and half falling onto a pillow of the second bed.
Fortunately, the room is still… fairly comfortable. The sun has been swallowed up by the dark clouds rolling in. Outside, the wind is picking up, causing trees and flowers to sway harshly in its grip. The low rumbles of thunder in the distance signals the arrival of the storm, reverberating throughout the room, bringing some unease and foreboding to the heart.
The purple thorny vines pressing into the room through the cracks of the window's framing have spread even further, creeping along the walls. You want to think everything will be fine, you'll fix things and get out of this intact and with no one the wiser that there was ever a problem, but steadily, the doubt creeps in…
You know instinctively: <in order to get to your goal, you must find a way out of this room>
Unlike the previous room, however, there seems to be a growing clutter of objects strewn around the room, as if quickly stashed into the space without real thought to their places. A pile of casserole dishes that seems to have claimed a corner, some swords propped against a wall, a lute next to the first bed, a sharpened stick with a wet tip on the floor, a notebook with a feather quill left on the nightstand, some tarot cards left strewn underneath the notebook, a flower crown dangling on the curtains' rod, a dragon plush that seems to be staring at you ready to spring to life at a moment's notice half under second bed, with a bird-like monster with a witch hat laying right next to it.
Probably there are more things under the beds but you might be distracted by what's on them, instead: a collar hanging on the bedframe of the first bed, a red dress crumpled and thrown carelessly onto the first bed, a gun's holster that's half on the nightstand and half falling onto a pillow of the second bed.
Fortunately, the room is still… fairly comfortable. The sun has been swallowed up by the dark clouds rolling in. Outside, the wind is picking up, causing trees and flowers to sway harshly in its grip. The low rumbles of thunder in the distance signals the arrival of the storm, reverberating throughout the room, bringing some unease and foreboding to the heart.
The purple thorny vines pressing into the room through the cracks of the window's framing have spread even further, creeping along the walls. You want to think everything will be fine, you'll fix things and get out of this intact and with no one the wiser that there was ever a problem, but steadily, the doubt creeps in…
The moment the chain lock is removed, the door swings open without issue. The lights flicker. The sound of chains moving echo in the room again, and you can feel the weight on your throat get heavier, the pressure tightening. Reaching up to your neck still reveals nothing is physically there.
You exit the room. Whether you intend to just now or not, there's not really an option. There's a pull against your neck, the invisible collar attached to an invisible leash. The sound of chains is so loud as you're dragged forward--you made this choice to continue, you chose to go further and deeper, and it's getting difficult to breathe.
The lights go off again. You can't see anything. But you know you're now in another room.
You exit the room. Whether you intend to just now or not, there's not really an option. There's a pull against your neck, the invisible collar attached to an invisible leash. The sound of chains is so loud as you're dragged forward--you made this choice to continue, you chose to go further and deeper, and it's getting difficult to breathe.
The lights go off again. You can't see anything. But you know you're now in another room.
It's a bedroom. Or rather, a guestroom. A western styled guestroom with two beds, a nightstand where an old turn-style phone sits, a dresser, a table with a basket of candy sitting on it and a couple of chairs pushed under, and wardrobe sitting out on the floor. There are windows on one of the walls, doors on two other walls. One leads to a bathroom with a toilet, sink, and tub with shower head. The other is the exit, locked as evident by the chain lock firmly in place on the door.
You know instinctively: <in order to get to your goal, you must find a way out of this room>
That might prove to be a little difficult when the room you're standing in the middle of is covered in blood. Puddles of the red substance pooling in various locations throughout the room. It looks just like a crime scene of some mass murder--including a dried out corpse sitting cozily on a bed--y'know. If there wasn't streamers in black and orange spelling out HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
What a relief, it's just a Halloween party.
Except there are words written in that same red substance on the wall where the purple thorny vines have spread to, covering some of the words with loops and curls that seem to resemble letters of their own:
They owed their fortunes to the Golden Witch.
They were cursed by their own greed.
The culAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
It's uncomfortable. The darkness growing deeper outside as the wind howls and the rain can be heard beginning to fall, the backdrop to this scene that you don't want to believe is real, know is real, can't accept as real, forced to remember always as the reality--you don't want to be here, you don't want to be here! The feeling of someone, or something watching in through the windows, taking such delight in the scene before you, is oppressing and you know that the only way to escape it is to leave the room.
You know instinctively: <in order to get to your goal, you must find a way out of this room>
That might prove to be a little difficult when the room you're standing in the middle of is covered in blood. Puddles of the red substance pooling in various locations throughout the room. It looks just like a crime scene of some mass murder--including a dried out corpse sitting cozily on a bed--y'know. If there wasn't streamers in black and orange spelling out HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
What a relief, it's just a Halloween party.
Except there are words written in that same red substance on the wall where the purple thorny vines have spread to, covering some of the words with loops and curls that seem to resemble letters of their own:
They owed their fortunes to the Golden Witch.
They were cursed by their own greed.
The culAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
It's uncomfortable. The darkness growing deeper outside as the wind howls and the rain can be heard beginning to fall, the backdrop to this scene that you don't want to believe is real, know is real, can't accept as real, forced to remember always as the reality--you don't want to be here, you don't want to be here! The feeling of someone, or something watching in through the windows, taking such delight in the scene before you, is oppressing and you know that the only way to escape it is to leave the room.
The moment the chain lock is removed, the door swings open without issue. The lights flicker. The sound of chains moving echo in the room again, and you can feel the weight on your throat get heavier, the pressure tightening. Reaching up to your neck still reveals nothing is physically there.
You exit the room. Whether you intend to just now or not, there's not really an option. There's a harsh pull against your neck, the invisible collar attached to an invisible leash. The sound of chains is so deafening as you're dragged forward--you made this choice to continue, you chose to go further and deeper, you chose to lose those precious seconds to get air and start to choke. You're running out of time. At this rate....
The lights go off again. You can't see anything. But you know you're now in another room.
You exit the room. Whether you intend to just now or not, there's not really an option. There's a harsh pull against your neck, the invisible collar attached to an invisible leash. The sound of chains is so deafening as you're dragged forward--you made this choice to continue, you chose to go further and deeper, you chose to lose those precious seconds to get air and start to choke. You're running out of time. At this rate....
The lights go off again. You can't see anything. But you know you're now in another room.
It's a bedroom. Or rather, a guestroom. A western styled guestroom with purple thorny vines covering everything, making it impossible to really engage with any of it except for one of the beds and the wardrobe closet. It's all so difficult to make out, but what's impossible to mistaken is that this room is for a specific purpose, a specific reason, and those vines are digging into the walls, the floor, anywhere they can get to take root there. Twisting, distorting things to suit their needs. They're growing in from the window where it's pitch black out, the rain pounding hard against the glass while the wind howls and shrieks. Staring out for too long, you can almost swear there is a pair of eyes staring back at you from the deepest of the night.
There's a thrill of horror down your spine because you know instinctively: <the witch is out there, watching, waiting, grinning madly wondering what you'll do.>
You also know instinctively: <there is a murderer coming for this room in particular, and if you do not hide, you will die>.
((You have 10 comments from each person (minus runner) to pick a place to hide. Do what you will within that time frame or perish :) ))
There's a thrill of horror down your spine because you know instinctively: <the witch is out there, watching, waiting, grinning madly wondering what you'll do.>
You also know instinctively: <there is a murderer coming for this room in particular, and if you do not hide, you will die>.
((You have 10 comments from each person (minus runner) to pick a place to hide. Do what you will within that time frame or perish :) ))
The moment the chain lock is removed, the door swings open without issue. The lights flicker. The sound of chains moving echo in the room again, and you can feel the weight on your throat get heavier, the pressure tightening. Reaching up to your neck still reveals nothing is physically there.
You exit the room. Whether you intend to just now or not, there's not really an option. There's a strangling pull against your neck, the invisible collar attached to an invisible leash. The sound of chains is a roar of noise--blood thrumming in your ears, as you're dragged forward.
You made this choice to continue.
You chose to go further and deeper.
You chose to lose those precious seconds to get air and start to choke.
You're running out of time. At this rate…
You're reaching, desperately grabbing hold--
You lose your grip.
You gasp for air even when you know you shouldn't.
You can't breathe.
Your eyes sting.
Your lungs and throat burn.
You're screaming her name.
There's no sound at all.
The lights go off again. You can't see anything. But you know you're now in another room. And you can breathe just fine.
You exit the room. Whether you intend to just now or not, there's not really an option. There's a strangling pull against your neck, the invisible collar attached to an invisible leash. The sound of chains is a roar of noise--blood thrumming in your ears, as you're dragged forward.
You made this choice to continue.
You chose to go further and deeper.
You chose to lose those precious seconds to get air and start to choke.
You're running out of time. At this rate…
You're reaching, desperately grabbing hold--
You lose your grip.
You gasp for air even when you know you shouldn't.
You can't breathe.
Your eyes sting.
Your lungs and throat burn.
You're screaming her name.
There's no sound at all.
The lights go off again. You can't see anything. But you know you're now in another room. And you can breathe just fine.
There's the clattering sound of chains, more as though they're dropping to the ground.
Finally, the oppressing pressure at your throat is gone.
You can breathe again.
You're freed from whatever that nightmare was.
You vow to never go back to it.
But there is a metal collar and chains laying before you, the silver metal glittering in an unseen light, sending fragments of light into an otherwise empty space.
Do you take them with you? (Each individual running must make a choice.)
Finally, the oppressing pressure at your throat is gone.
You can breathe again.
You're freed from whatever that nightmare was.
You vow to never go back to it.
But there is a metal collar and chains laying before you, the silver metal glittering in an unseen light, sending fragments of light into an otherwise empty space.
Do you take them with you? (Each individual running must make a choice.)
You climb into the closet just as the door is forced open, the sound of tape separating giving away the reason you could not leave this room on your own even if you wanted to, even if you tried everything within your own power.
Ah, that's right, you remember.
You chose this, too.
The footsteps draw closer and closer.
Even when you hold your breath, you worry that you've made the wrong choice.
The footsteps move away, but you know better than to make a sigh of relief. Especially as there's the sound of the bed being turned over and a cry coming from a distinctly feminine voice. One of frustration? One of triumphant?
It's hard to say.
And luckily, you won't have to find out as a hand lands on your shoulder from behind, from beyond what should have been just a wall, and pulls you backwards.
Right, you remember... magic was the solution.
Ah, that's right, you remember.
You chose this, too.
The footsteps draw closer and closer.
Even when you hold your breath, you worry that you've made the wrong choice.
The footsteps move away, but you know better than to make a sigh of relief. Especially as there's the sound of the bed being turned over and a cry coming from a distinctly feminine voice. One of frustration? One of triumphant?
It's hard to say.
And luckily, you won't have to find out as a hand lands on your shoulder from behind, from beyond what should have been just a wall, and pulls you backwards.
Right, you remember... magic was the solution.
Edited 2023-02-11 19:16 (UTC)
It's a bedroom. Or rather, a guestroom. A western styled guestroom that is in utter disarray. Everything in the room has been torn apart. The beds, the nightstand, the bathroom, even the windows with shattered glass laying on the floor, letting the howling winds and rain of the typhoon into the room.
It's freezing. Far colder than it should be. Possibly because with the windows broken and the door is already open, the cold air from outside stabs inwards. The chain lock hangs freely, even swinging slowly back and forth as if someone had just unlocked it and left in a hurry.
There's the unmistakable sense that something is desperately, desperately wrong.
It's freezing. Far colder than it should be. Possibly because with the windows broken and the door is already open, the cold air from outside stabs inwards. The chain lock hangs freely, even swinging slowly back and forth as if someone had just unlocked it and left in a hurry.
There's the unmistakable sense that something is desperately, desperately wrong.
You find yourself at the entrance to a garden. The sky here is blue and calm, the weather warm with a nice breeze like it's the height of spring ready to bleed into summer. The garden is bursting with various flowers and colors, red roses, gold roses, blue forget-me-nots--or ordinarily it would be. Today, they all seem to be struggling under the weight of those purple vines with thorns which wrap and wind their way through the garden as if trying to strangle out every last flower there.
In the center of the garden are two identical individuals with red hair sitting at a wrought iron table in the arbor. They're even dressed the same--or rather, are mirrored--a nice fancy suit with a dark emerald vest and the design on the cape is actually in gold, a single eagle wing. One seems to be content, sipping at his tea and moving a chess piece along the board sitting atop the table as if this is all perfectly normal, nothing wrong. The other… is sweating hard, pale, struggling to breathe. The reason becomes apparent: there's a bloody hole in his chest where those very same thorny vines have stabbed into and pulled the flesh open wide, and his beating heart can be seen struggling in their grip.
In the center of the garden are two identical individuals with red hair sitting at a wrought iron table in the arbor. They're even dressed the same--or rather, are mirrored--a nice fancy suit with a dark emerald vest and the design on the cape is actually in gold, a single eagle wing. One seems to be content, sipping at his tea and moving a chess piece along the board sitting atop the table as if this is all perfectly normal, nothing wrong. The other… is sweating hard, pale, struggling to breathe. The reason becomes apparent: there's a bloody hole in his chest where those very same thorny vines have stabbed into and pulled the flesh open wide, and his beating heart can be seen struggling in their grip.
Edited 2023-02-13 02:22 (UTC)
You enter a room with checker-patterned black and white flooring, a table sitting in front of a curved wall of tall windows. A chess board sits on top of the table, but it looks as if the game has had its pieces put away save for a black bishop, a black knight, and a black rook.
The windows themselves show nothing but a darkness outside. Unlike the other rooms, however, the darkness is almost a comfort, a relieving feeling.
Less relieving is probably how, on the other end of this room, near a lounge seating area, a man and a woman appear to be uneasily watching both the entrance and exit of the room. There's sweat on their brows and their clothes are mussed and torn, more as if they have just been in a fight than anything else.
The fact that some tiles on the floor aren't even and a hint of purple smears on the white tiles may give away just what they were fighting.
The windows themselves show nothing but a darkness outside. Unlike the other rooms, however, the darkness is almost a comfort, a relieving feeling.
Less relieving is probably how, on the other end of this room, near a lounge seating area, a man and a woman appear to be uneasily watching both the entrance and exit of the room. There's sweat on their brows and their clothes are mussed and torn, more as if they have just been in a fight than anything else.
The fact that some tiles on the floor aren't even and a hint of purple smears on the white tiles may give away just what they were fighting.
Edited 2023-02-11 09:53 (UTC)
[oh, this is so familiar and yet so unsettling]
... Rokkenjima?
... Rokkenjima?
[reaching up a hand to feel the weight around her neck and slowly looking around]
Where is this, then...?
Where is this, then...?
[Oh.
Well why would she waste time, she'll go right to the door to try just, y'know, unlocking it.]
Well why would she waste time, she'll go right to the door to try just, y'know, unlocking it.]
[her eyes widen slightly]
Then... this must be Battler or Beato?
Then... this must be Battler or Beato?
[she idly touches her own neck]
... Onii-chan, probably.
[time to go look out the window]
... Onii-chan, probably.
[time to go look out the window]
The windows are firmly locked, but upon touching the windows, you get a feeling of optimism. You should be at the beach with the others right now while the weather's nice, but you're still stuck in this room... hm...
You also have the strong feeling you can usurp this truth with your own red or blue truth.
You also have the strong feeling you can usurp this truth with your own red or blue truth.
[oh mom is here too. the simultaneous feeling of relief and concern]
Be careful...
Be careful...
Is that how it is...? Fine, I'll give it a try.
It's possible the windows aren't locked, but simply stuck because they haven't been opened in a long time.
It's possible the windows aren't locked, but simply stuck because they haven't been opened in a long time.
[she will go inspect the wardrobe then?]
It's quite ominous. Were there really chains?
It's quite ominous. Were there really chains?
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