RECORDING 12: THE FOURTH TRIAL.

[foundationmods]

The worst has happened... and now you're all here, in the living room where all the trials so far have taken place. As all of you enter, the Vessels are there - Flayn in her darkly pious glory, and Haku, ever the perfect shadow at her side.

On one of the tables away from the center is a small enclosed box entitled 'VOTES', with slips of paper nearby and a pen. It's sufficiently away from what will be the 'main' action, but not enough to really give anyone complete privacy as they vote.

Once everyone is inside, the doors automatically shut and lock themselves, leaving you trapped in here with the Vessels...and each other.

One of you is a murderer...however, in this game, the guilty do not need to be voted out. As long as there are enough people voted out that matches the victims...then it will be accepted.

...But, can you really let someone get away with murder...?

The choice is up to you.



VICTIM: Ango Sakaguchi
PEOPLE TO VOTE OUT: 1

WEEK 4 VOTING

Comments

[kaliedoscopes]

And fear in Dazai's case. You would think he just noticed that our situation is as dire as it is, and his girlfriend has yet to make the connection that if I was involved as she thought, then the world would be ending twice over. Mine and Sakaguchi's abilities are similar enough in principal to where it should count by their logic. Even if I likely know more pertinent information about others than he does.

[ It's a testament to his mood that he unfolds his arms and holds up six fingers: that's as many people's memories he's read, though in some cases he's done so more than once. And in many of them they're more significant than sundry unsavory thoughts. ]

At this point it might just be easier to say all of the above. And at this point, I mind less and less about being biased.

[noneforall]

Fear and faith can be two sides of the same coin.

[There's something oddly weighted in that, that perhaps he didn't mean to put there, but it's hard just now to watch where he's putting his things when so many of them are scattered every which way. A shake of his head.]

... Sakaguchi Ango wasn't the absolute ideal target, but he was convenient enough. I said their world was small, didn't I? If it's too small even to see the similarities in your abilities and how they're used, or what their potential is, then it's truly laughable. I'll wager you're far greedier than he is, at any rate.

[There's a blink at Hikage actually counting things out and then a quirk to his lips that's almost a smile in these times.]

All of the above, then, in the absence of reasoned argument. They have their biases, we have ours.

[kaliedoscopes]

[ He glances over at that statement, with a small tilt of his head and a blink. It's something he doesn't have experience with for many reasons, but though he doesn't understand the weight is noted all the same. ]

I am. [ A bold smile, not bright but dark. ] But there's less things that hold my attention, less things that are worth it to me. You can see as much in the company we keep. [ His smile here is knowing but he's past the point of caring after everything that's happened this weekend, in the past few hours. There's a half attempt at hiding it, as he shifts to draw one knee up loosely to his chest, but in the end he winds up leaning into both the expression and his knee, facing the company in question. ]

We do, we do. And I'm not fearful of the "truth" Sakaguchi knows about me.

[noneforall]

[His gaze shifts for a brief moment, a blink, but observes the spread of smiles all the same like several hands of cards fanned out on the table before them -- too many colors and suits and shades for how gloomy the living room is even without the obstruction of the bookshelves he'd used, the darkness of the Vessels' deceptions.

A brief sigh and he shifts his attention again, away from one darkness to another; though by this point he's starting to parse all the layers of them, so maybe that's not the right word anymore. A physical shift to match the mental one and he lets himself recline against the couch, setting his elbows and crossing his ankles like they really are back a couple nights ago.]

... Yes. It's all well and good to get your hands in every pie, but if over time you don't become more discerning, you'll be like those who insist on mixing their drinks. [there's something softly derisive in it; maybe that's wordplay, even at this hour] I did wonder how your powers ended up interacting.

[It's not an outright question, but it is an evaluation of that twist on the worth truth.]

[kaliedoscopes]

[ A bottle of wine, red of course, really would be fitting right now. Unfortunately all they have is its homophone, still filtering in from the huddle some ways away. Hikage does laugh at the comparison though, just like he did then. There'll be no point in a lot of things soon, so for now he's committed to just enjoying himself. ]

They need the mixers to palette the taste. [ He easily matches both, his smile growing more curved. ]

They interact just fine, as far as he understood it. But... [ He straightens up a bit and folds his hands on top of his knee, resting his head there instead. ] I have more experience reading than he does, so it's hardly my fault that his prescription needs tweaking.

[noneforall]

[A final drink wouldn't have gone amiss, a nightcap to send him into the corpse-cold arms of the miasma-borne; but of course this mansion wouldn't be quite so accommodating as to have a bar or anything else in the same room as the execution. Put that way it's almost comical how ridiculous their current locale is, but perhaps they should be grateful for the couches.

Subete doesn't bother to be grateful for the couches, but settles easily more into this particular huddle anyways, shaking his head a little at the drift of all their sleights of word.]

As always, I question the existence of a sense of taste there, or any sense at all.

[Pleasant ridicule is allowed at this hour, maybe even expected from him, but it's just a footnote on the way elsewhere. A hum as he considers this, and other conversations on the way here, ending in that quirk of the lips again.]

There's much more than that which needs tweaking. I wasn't aware it was something that improved over time, though.

[kaliedoscopes]

They'll prove you right shortly. [ Smoothly and matter-of-factly, with just an edge of something else. A small shrug of his shoulders follows as he shakes it off, it's something he doesn't need now or in the future; it really is too bad that thorns can regrow under the right conditions. ]

Most skills do, right? And most people are satisfied with what they see or hear in front of them. But that doesn't mean that there's not anything beyond that, if you really know how to look or listen.

I'd say it was even more unfair of me to do so with him, but you already know I don't particularly care about cheating. [ He merrily plucks at those echoes with a barely contained grin of satisfaction. ]

[noneforall]

They've been quite diligently proving me right all week.

[Just as smoothly and unflinching, there's no quarter given at all for those he's targeting, but then they've all been so very busy this week running in circles, circles, circles all the way down -- it really is an hour for judgment all around. There's no remark on Hikage's own little detour, though Subete's head cants as he absorbs it like a long-ago melody; still no need for visuals nor any other cues, but he watches it pass anyway.

They've addressed the messier aspects, he thinks, as much as they're going to. An exhale, but there's something amused in it.]

I see Sakaguchi isn't the only one who should have taken lessons from you, but that's water under the bridge. [and they've gone over it, perhaps, but it could use saying again because it really is possible that myopia is contagious] ... There is nothing fair in this mansion, though, nor anything surrounding it. That is the way this game is played.

[There's surprisingly little bitterness to it, the way his voice softens almost involuntarily, but he brushes past it without much fanfare.]

Why was it more unfair with him?

1/2

[kaliedoscopes]

[ There's a lot he can address here even though they have gone over it in different waters, different paths down the same rapids that shake out something else each time. It's been a messy, turbulent journey, but all things good and bad must come to an end. The question is then, what kind of end should that be? He could stay the course, for as much as playing in the current counts as staying, or—

It's quiet at first, that flutter in his stomach that he's felt more often than not as the days and night crept forward. But it doesn't take long for him to start chuckling and then laughing into his hands. They're not as good a barrier as his knee and he cuts himself off with a sharp inhale a few seconds later. ]

Sorry, it's just funny. Stealing from civilians is easy, stealing from the police is something else entirely. Ah, that's not a really good way of communicating fairness, just stupidity. Let's see...

[kaliedoscopes]

Sakaguchi is used to reading others like books with a simple touch—his ability wasn't defective, nor did it malfunction. But in this case, well. He read the book all right, he just couldn't see the actual hollow book inside.

It really is unfair, considering that he's a man who staked his life on memories being truthful, unlike people. But of course, we both know it's not that simple.

[noneforall]

[The person named Kenzaki Subete will choose his own ending.

Words spoken what seems a lifetime ago now, maybe two; seen through the same haze as everything else, they could be about as ridiculous as all the chaos and empty chatter around them, but that is the thing, isn't it? There is no such thing as empty words, when you're the one building your own.

There's no such thing as just staying the course, when the course itself weaves and changes in every color of the rainbow and more.

For now -- for now he stays, absorbing the laughter and its equal and opposite reaction, weaving his hands together in his lap.]

A challenge on both fronts, then. [slow, thoughtful and feeling his way through the tangle of the way memories work in this place, with this particular mess of people] Ahh, wasn't his ability affected by the miasma as well? Some aren't equipped to read so deeply, or even the footnotes.

[And a touch quieter:]

And memories aren't unlike people, are they? They come from people, depict people, and carry all of their lies altogether. Books are an apt metaphor for memories in more than one way.

[kaliedoscopes]

So are mine. [ That's almost like a pout, but there's a measure of pride layered in too. His abilities as nebulous as they are right now are something he's proud of, and though the miasma has affected him in many ways, that's not really one of them. ]

But you said it, it's doubtful he was ever actually discerning in the first place. For everything he was, he was actually a rather simple man. [ He doesn't bother veiling that insult or the confidence in which he speaks; he had observed Ango the past few weeks but he had also peeked in his mind. Whatever page he flipped through it, it's clear he was far from impressed. ]

Hmn, I suppose they aren't. But the written word is generally regarded as more truthful than spoken, so it's much the same. People are liars, but memories are based in truth, or so most people would say. Few people are avid readers, though.

[noneforall]

[The something-like-petulance in the words tickles at his senses, but it's the words themselves that filter easily through -- where there are too many words and too much noise flying in this living room today they shine brightly, refusing to be clouded by the miasma or by anything else.

And while there's no verbal commentary from Subete at this point, in all this company, his raised eyebrow speaks volumes: Yours, hmm? and other undercurrents. He speaks over it all, letting his words slip by like paper-thin leaves in the current, dancing to the tune of what lies below.]

I get the feeling you knew him better than I. But there were plenty of strings he was dancing on without our help.

[A dismissal, a skipped page; a leaf flicked away with an easy motion. He takes a deep breath, muffles a brief cough but keeps his gaze steady, the darkness in it still stormy.]

The written word... takes on a life of its own when it is born, the more it spreads, the more it insinuates itself into people's lives. That is one of the great paradoxes and barriers we contend with. And those who look between the covers thinking only one author or hand is possible in either memories or books... Well. [a slice of irony, thinner than any blade] We already know public perception makes for a poor reading companion.

[kaliedoscopes]

[ "Mine." the hook of his smile answers in return. ]

Maybe that's where the triple agent spy title came in. [ Biting sarcastic and aimed directly at a certain member of the other huddle. It's wishful thinking and will remain that way, but there's a special kind of scorn he has for the man who underestimated him repeatedly while contradicting himself one sentence after the other. A lazy shrug after, tossing it away much the same just with a garnishment of salt. ]

The masses need their color by numbers, and the flock needs a shepherd to return home. We'll see how they do at their next reading.