pandatreasure (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pandatreasure) wrote2017-12-24 12:44 am
pandatreasure) wrote2017-12-24 12:44 am
GRAVEYARD
[You know you must have died—nothing is ever easy around here, certainly not quick, so you must remember burning, bleeding, falling, dying?
And yet. You're waking up.
Do you recognize it here, once you pick yourself up off of the hard floor, maybe half-strewn across a couch or beanbag chair? This room died, too: you're in the library, good as new and maybe better than that, only barely smelling of burnt paper and you only sometimes kick up ash, just like those old wounds that finished you off only ache every now and again, dully.
The book selection isn't quite the same as you remember it—all the bad erotica that didn't die is missing here, sorry to say, but so are the books on everyone's home worlds. Snoop around enough and behind the librarian's desk, you'll find tablets: one for each participant of the game, and with enough experimentation, you'll find the one that reacts when you press the button. You're already logged into your Recyclr account and can read the feed, but the same rules apply: 140 characters, one tweet a day. The voting app is gone, replaced by a sort of security monitoring kind of app. Characters can view different rooms of the school, or even place a few side by side so they can view a few at a time, and they'll be able to see the living go about their day to day lives. There's even an archive of recordings, but only the important ones: murders, executions, investigations, trial highlight reels, and major events like libraries being burned down. Was watching yourself die once not enough? Boy have I got good news for you!!!
It's kind of exciting that you can go around touching stuff, probably, despite being super dead and vaguely transparent in a way you notice like your own breathing; you don't and then you do and it's all you can think about, but your tangibility only extends to the inanimate: try to touch any of your fellow deceased and you'll find that you just pass right on through like touching cold air.
The windows aren't bolted up with those big metal plates on this side of things, but look out of them anytime and it's just pitch-black and still outside, so that's demoralizing. There is, of course, the door out of the library—but for now it's locked up tight. Whatever is a ghost to do?]
((Recyclr
Offerings/Letters
Day 11
Day 14
Day 16))
And yet. You're waking up.
Do you recognize it here, once you pick yourself up off of the hard floor, maybe half-strewn across a couch or beanbag chair? This room died, too: you're in the library, good as new and maybe better than that, only barely smelling of burnt paper and you only sometimes kick up ash, just like those old wounds that finished you off only ache every now and again, dully.
The book selection isn't quite the same as you remember it—all the bad erotica that didn't die is missing here, sorry to say, but so are the books on everyone's home worlds. Snoop around enough and behind the librarian's desk, you'll find tablets: one for each participant of the game, and with enough experimentation, you'll find the one that reacts when you press the button. You're already logged into your Recyclr account and can read the feed, but the same rules apply: 140 characters, one tweet a day. The voting app is gone, replaced by a sort of security monitoring kind of app. Characters can view different rooms of the school, or even place a few side by side so they can view a few at a time, and they'll be able to see the living go about their day to day lives. There's even an archive of recordings, but only the important ones: murders, executions, investigations, trial highlight reels, and major events like libraries being burned down. Was watching yourself die once not enough? Boy have I got good news for you!!!
It's kind of exciting that you can go around touching stuff, probably, despite being super dead and vaguely transparent in a way you notice like your own breathing; you don't and then you do and it's all you can think about, but your tangibility only extends to the inanimate: try to touch any of your fellow deceased and you'll find that you just pass right on through like touching cold air.
The windows aren't bolted up with those big metal plates on this side of things, but look out of them anytime and it's just pitch-black and still outside, so that's demoralizing. There is, of course, the door out of the library—but for now it's locked up tight. Whatever is a ghost to do?]
((Recyclr
Offerings/Letters
Day 11
Day 14
Day 16))
no subject
In the end, I still want him to be happy no matter what. I was willing to take all the blame for him and I did all those terrible things at our school just for us to be friends. And now we don't even talk anymore, and I probably won't be able to talk to him again because I'm dead and I deserve to die for everything I've done then and now and I--
[ huh, he didn't realize he's already crying till now ]
no subject
Is there anything nearby Rin can hand Tsumugi? To dry the tears.]
no subject
but he's just going to weep softly ]
no subject
But. Well. There's not much else here.
So sure he'll grab a piece of paper and offer it up to Tsumugi.]
no subject
he takes the paper, taking off his glasses for a sec before wiping his eyes with them. ]
Th-Thank you.
no subject
[Maybe 'afterlife karaoke' can wait a bit, then.]
no subject
[ he doesn't expect rin to understand though; dazai already told tsumugi about the poor boy's attempts to talk him out of it that one time. ]
no subject
It sounds tough. But you don't have to face it alone, you know? There's people here who you can count on to help you. They might not understand that pain, but they can see that you're hurting. And they want to help in any way they can.
no subject
R-Right. [ wipes off more of those tears ] It's just hard for me to believe sometimes... But thank you, Rin-kun. And I'm sorry for being so frustrated. I... really want Will to -
I. I don't know. I don't want to wish too much harm on him, yet I can't ignore the fact that he'd do something like that to me. To all of us.