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goneawayworld2020-12-01 08:29 pm
piper90npcs) wrote in goneawayworld2020-12-01 08:29 pm
HERE, HAVE SOME SPIRIT
Who: Three Ghosts and the little New Hires
What: Sharing the Christmas Spirit
Where: Good question
When: Post-Rose Tattoo
Warnings/Notes: Possible violence, angst, likely visions of death.
Are you sleeping?
Maybe. Maybe not. It's hard to tell. This could be another ARE, after all. What you can tell is that the halls are filled with mist, the smell of pine, and the sound of jingling bells off in the distance.
And then comes the wailing.
Tearing past you, screaming like a damned soul, skeletal figures flood through the halls. Some of them wear business suits, weighed down by chains crafted from ledgers and money boxes. Some of them are soldiers, bound by their own twisted weapons. Police, politicians, no one seems spared. Someone whispers, warning you, begging you to pay heed. For you will be visited by three ghosts who are on an errand of great import.
And then something charges with a howl and all goes white. Slowly, the light dims, and the mass of spectral entities is gone. Instead there stands a figure, or maybe two or three of them. For each person, it's different, as they'll have different messages and purposes for each.
One is neither male nor female, the only certain features being a well-muscled, well proportioned body, wearing a white tunic and a beautiful belt of pearl. Its hair is long, white, as if ancient, but no matter how its face changes, there's no sign of age upon it. There seems to be an aura of white flame around its head and, in a voice that belies nothing but charitable warmth, introduces itself as the Ghost of Christmas Past. It will show scenes of someone's past, offering enlightening details with little judgment.
The middle one is a large man on a veritable throne of food, tantalizing and delicious, wearing a fur-lined red robe and a crown of holly upon his head. The Ghost of Christmas Present is a big man, with brown hair, and a booming, jovial voice that can turn blisteringly harsh and back in a single sentence. He'll show what the character was doing immediately prior to their arrival upon the rig. Perhaps what they're doing right now. But he'll also be content to walk either the character's home world or this Gone Away World, viewing the sights and people enjoying Christmas with the character.
And the final one, a phantom in a dark, green robe, green smoke billowing around it. Its skin is pale, pulled gauntly around whatever body part it exposes. The gaze underneath the hood is as cold as the grave, and it would be wise not to try to match that for too long. It remains utterly silent, simply guiding its guest through the Christmases Yet To Come with a pointed finger. It will show how a character dies and how they'll be remembered by others after. It acts cold and merciless, but this very visit is a mission of mercy, one it silently prays will succeed.
The surprise, though, is that they aren't showing the character that history. Instead, they'll be guiding their guest through someone else's life. Maybe just a fraction of it, maybe a full span. But when it's all over, it's as if no time has passed. In fact, no. The characters are returned to an hour before the ghosts visited them.
[[Remember, this isn't your typical memshare. The ghosts are NPCs, but they'll be controlled by the players. They will not show characters their own histories, presents, or futures, only those of different people. They can show the same scenes to different people or different scenes to different people. One person might not even see all three of the Ghosts.]]
What: Sharing the Christmas Spirit
Where: Good question
When: Post-Rose Tattoo
Warnings/Notes: Possible violence, angst, likely visions of death.
Are you sleeping?
Maybe. Maybe not. It's hard to tell. This could be another ARE, after all. What you can tell is that the halls are filled with mist, the smell of pine, and the sound of jingling bells off in the distance.
And then comes the wailing.
Tearing past you, screaming like a damned soul, skeletal figures flood through the halls. Some of them wear business suits, weighed down by chains crafted from ledgers and money boxes. Some of them are soldiers, bound by their own twisted weapons. Police, politicians, no one seems spared. Someone whispers, warning you, begging you to pay heed. For you will be visited by three ghosts who are on an errand of great import.
And then something charges with a howl and all goes white. Slowly, the light dims, and the mass of spectral entities is gone. Instead there stands a figure, or maybe two or three of them. For each person, it's different, as they'll have different messages and purposes for each.
One is neither male nor female, the only certain features being a well-muscled, well proportioned body, wearing a white tunic and a beautiful belt of pearl. Its hair is long, white, as if ancient, but no matter how its face changes, there's no sign of age upon it. There seems to be an aura of white flame around its head and, in a voice that belies nothing but charitable warmth, introduces itself as the Ghost of Christmas Past. It will show scenes of someone's past, offering enlightening details with little judgment.
The middle one is a large man on a veritable throne of food, tantalizing and delicious, wearing a fur-lined red robe and a crown of holly upon his head. The Ghost of Christmas Present is a big man, with brown hair, and a booming, jovial voice that can turn blisteringly harsh and back in a single sentence. He'll show what the character was doing immediately prior to their arrival upon the rig. Perhaps what they're doing right now. But he'll also be content to walk either the character's home world or this Gone Away World, viewing the sights and people enjoying Christmas with the character.
And the final one, a phantom in a dark, green robe, green smoke billowing around it. Its skin is pale, pulled gauntly around whatever body part it exposes. The gaze underneath the hood is as cold as the grave, and it would be wise not to try to match that for too long. It remains utterly silent, simply guiding its guest through the Christmases Yet To Come with a pointed finger. It will show how a character dies and how they'll be remembered by others after. It acts cold and merciless, but this very visit is a mission of mercy, one it silently prays will succeed.
The surprise, though, is that they aren't showing the character that history. Instead, they'll be guiding their guest through someone else's life. Maybe just a fraction of it, maybe a full span. But when it's all over, it's as if no time has passed. In fact, no. The characters are returned to an hour before the ghosts visited them.
[[Remember, this isn't your typical memshare. The ghosts are NPCs, but they'll be controlled by the players. They will not show characters their own histories, presents, or futures, only those of different people. They can show the same scenes to different people or different scenes to different people. One person might not even see all three of the Ghosts.]]
no subject
Over by the press, Kokichi gets to his feet with a great deal of effort. Like this, his own injuries are more obvious – there's a small puncture wound on one upper arm, and a matching one in his back responsible for all the blood trailing across the floor. It left a streak down the whole back of his uniform, intense against the white fabric.
He makes it as far as the steps up to the catwalk before swaying dangerously. Grabbing at the railing to steady himself and scowling at his own weakness, he says, "Kaito."
The other boy, Kaito, looks down to him and curses softly before moving to help. He catches Kokichi under the arm and helps him up the stairs, supporting him until he's standing in front of the control panel and the camera tripod. Kaito leaves him there, leaning against the railing, and heads back down to the hydraulic press. He takes off his jacket and lays it across the metal surface of the press.
Up on the catwalk, Kokichi fusses with the angle of the camera, aiming it down at the press and frowning. "Leave that one sleeve hanging out. With the hole in it."
Kaito follows the instructions, arranging the bloodied sleeve of his jacket to hang off the edge of the press. And then, horrifyingly, he lifts himself up onto it and lays flat, careful not to disturb the jacket's placement.
Again checking the scene through the camera, Kokichi gives a weak chuckle. "Scared yet, Kaito?" he says, adopting a grin. "You can't react at all if this is gonna work. No chickening out or pissing your pants!"
On the press, Kaito makes a face. "Just start it up." A pause, and then his expression levels into something determined as he looks up at the massive metal plate hanging above him and closes his eyes. "I trust you."
Kokichi's grin fades, smoothing over into something blank and unreadable. Wordlessly, he hits a button on each the camera and the control panel, and the hydraulic press begins to close.
no subject
Even knowing it's just a vision, Dan lurches forward, tries to get to the catwalk- the railing disappears through his hand, intangible. This is "the present", this is happening somewhere, and there isn't a thing in the world Dan can do about it.
Dan's seen too many teenagers die in horrible, bloody ways. Anyone who's ever seen even one teenager die horribly has seen way too many.
"You have to be able to intervene in some way," he says to the Ghost, but he doesn't look away from Kaito. It's not just out of horror. Dan believes, deep down, that people should be able to have their deaths witnessed, not be alone, and to do the dignity of watching is the closest he can do to that for this kid he's pretty certain is about to be turned into paste by the press.
no subject
But almost as if in response to Dan's distress, the press does stop.
Up on the catwalk, Kokichi watches the viewfinder with an intense focus. From this raised angle, the closing press eventually hides Kaito from view. As soon as that happens, he simultaneously presses the stop buttons on both the control panel and the camera, halting the closing of the press just inches above kaito's face.
There's a long beat of silence. Then Kaito heaves a relieved breath from inside the press.
"God, I was starting to get nervous," he says.
"Aww," Kokichi answers, a weakly teasing tone. "I thought you trusted me?"
"Trust wouldn't help me much if you dropped dead up there before you could stop it." Kaito carefully extracts himself from the press, leaving the jacket where it is.
Kokichi abandons the control panel, managing to make his way back down from the catwalk alone. He tugs off his checker-print scarf and pulls his bloodied shirt off with a grimace, fabric scraping across his injuries. Shirtless, he's scrawny and pale, but at least he looks a little less young without all that baggy fabric dwarfing him. It's maybe a small comfort in a strange, disturbing scene.
He tosses the bloody fabric aside. Kaito arches an eyebrow at him, and Kokichi says, "Stuff that down the toilet when we're done here. It'll confuse them even more."
That established, he turns to the press. Taking a steadying breath, he leans against the edge and begins trying to climb into it.
no subject
-the press stops. The press stops and the following exchange is even more difficult to follow, but Dan starts to get an idea of what he thinks might be the case here.
"They're trying to throw someone off their trail. Who? That something you can tell me, Ghost?"
no subject
By the press, Kokichi begins to heave himself off the ground before faltering. His injured arm gives out and and he drops to his knees by the side of the machine, gripping at the metal with shaky hands. He grits his teeth, forehead pressed to the side of the press as if frustrated. "Kai–"
But Kaito is already there. He lays a hand on Kokichi's head, almost comforting, before scooping him up with ease. Kaito hesitates a long few moments before he leans in and very carefully slides Kokichi into the narrow gap in the press, laying him out on the spread jacket.
The lining of Kaito's jacket has a spacey print, a bed of galaxies and stars.
Kokichi heaves a labored breath and drops his head back against the metal. Kaito's still lingering there, like he too recognizes how fucked this whole scene is, so Kokichi forces a grin and a thumbs up. Kaito frowns, but moves away back towards the catwalk and control panel.
From Kokichi's position, he can't see much beyond what's immediately beside the press. Just that, and the massive metal slab hanging just above him. Kaito disappears from his field of view, and the grin quickly fades. There's just the soft sound of foots ascending the catwalk. Kokichi idly fingers a bandage on his ring finger and tries to pretend he isn't trembling.
"Your script is over by where the camera was," he says, and it almost feels like it's just for the sake of saying something.
"I know," Kaito answers from somewhere beyond the press.
"Shuichi's actually pretty good at surprising me though, s-so you'll probably need to improv some of it."
"I've got it."
"If you screw this up, I'll haunt you for eternity."
A choked sound from Kaito. "D-don't say scary shit, man." A beat, and his voice steadies some, determined but still almost gentle. "I got it, okay?"
They lapse into silence. There isn't much left to say. Still, Kaito doesn't move, and after a moment a weak laugh escapes Kokichi.
"Y-you'd better get on with it. If the poison finishes me first, this is all for nothing."
"...Yeah." Kaito doesn't sound too enthusiastic, but he nods.
Kokichi exhales a breath, and closes his eyes.
"...Bye, Kaito."
"–Ah," the Ghost interrupts, not unkindly. "This is the part where you might want to look away."
Kaito hits the start buttons on both the camera and press.
no subject
He knows that most people would; he knows that for his own peace of mind that he should. But he believes, truly believes, that people shouldn't have to die alone. And since up there at the buttons, Kaito doesn't have a good view of Kokichi, someone has to be there as much as possible, even if that's as an unseen spectator.
He still has no idea what's going on, this talk of poison, of scripts, although he suspects that maybe Kokichi's about to die in Kaito's place to forge a murder tape, an unrecognizable body on top of a very recognizable jacket lining.
He hopes that he's about to see the press stop again, against the Ghost of Christmas Present's warning. The kid's scared, and stepping up to fear, and that fear right now appears to be more than justified. Scared and maybe about to give his life so that the other one can get away, when Kokichi, poisoned and injured, might not. Kids shouldn't have to do that, no matter how noble an idea it might be.
cw: death, implied gore
It's quick, at least. Already mostly closed, there's no awful anticipation of watching it slowly lower. It starts to close again, and within seconds there's the thud of metal connecting with metal, a wet cracking sound, and a massive splatter of blood. It seeps out from between the plates, almost more than one would expect to come from such a small body.
Mercifully, there's nothing to see but that blood. The most gruesome part remains in the hydraulic press.
A silence follows. The Ghost lays a sympathetic hand on Dan's shoulder. Kaito remains unmoving for a minute or two before he finally seems to remember to breathe again and slumps against the control panel. Wearily, he picks up the camera and rewatches the footage, making sure the result is at least what they intended.
It is. As Dan suspected, it's a brief but wildly misleading video. To a viewer, the press appears to shut on Kaito's body, with only the briefest stutter near the end to suggest any shenanigans.
Kaito sighs and closes the camera. Packs up the tripod. Returns both to a bag in the corner. Grabs Kokichi's abandoned clothes and follows the trail of blood to a bathroom in the back with them. Returns shortly after and stands before the press, surveying the scene with slumped shoulders. His own jacket sleeve still dangles out of it, the only hint at the victim's identity.
Then he grabs the thick power cable running to the machine and rips at it with a sudden intense effort. Despite its girth, the cable tears in a spray of sparks, and just like that the hydraulic press is useless. No one will ever open it again.
Kaito staggers back with the effort of it, a cough wracking his body for a long minute. It's a wet, pained sound, distinct in the silence of the hangar. He covers his mouth with one hand, and it comes away bloodied when the coughing subsides.
He doesn't seem surprised. Just stares at it grimly for a second before clenching his fist and softly hitting it against the side of the press.
"...See you soon, Kokichi," he says softly, and turns away.
Kaito retrieves the bag of supplies, heads to one of the stationary robots at the side of the hangar, and climbs up into its cockpit to hide. Finally, the scene is empty and quiet aside from its unseen observers.
The Ghost gives a quick squeeze at Dan's shoulder and looks away. "Gruesome stuff," he says after a moment, and chews distractedly at his peppermint bark. "I know the point of all this is bringing people closer together, but...don't dwell on it too much. That's not the sort of thing you should have in your head at this time of year."
cw: wow more gruesome child death talk
Dan's seen worse, in terms of dead children, and it's in his head all year long; as brutal as the hydraulic press is, it was, in fact, too fast to be torturous for poor Kokichi. When Dan's siblings all got picked off one by one, they suffered, their bones liquefying or their organs shrinking or their blood turning aciding and burning through every tissue. By comparison, this is merciful.
Which doesn't make it right, or pleasant, or kind. That doesn't mean that there isn't a dead kid as a pool of fluid dripping down the side of the hydraulic press, or another sick one who may well die if they cough too loud inside the cockpit they're hiding in.
"Kokichi's the one onboard the Rig, right?" If this is the "present", then he has to find this kid and let him know. That's the only way to honor the sacrifice that just happened here. "I'll have to meet him."
no subject
"...Someone should see it," the Ghost admits finally, popping the last bite of the bark into his mouth and licking the last crumbs from his fingers. "This is a season for togetherness. It's important to understand each other – and some people won't make that easy. Still, that doesn't mean you need to suffer excessively. Be kind to yourself as well."
He wipes his hand on his robe before jovially thumping Dan on the back. If the smile is anything to judge by, he approves of Dan's plans already. "You aren't wrong," he says, though about which part is unclear. Maybe all of it.
no subject
Maybe it's that instead of cruel chance that brought him here to watch something that'll be giving him nightmares for weeks, that stoked up old images along with a fresh hell.
"Be kind to myself." Dan makes a mirthless sound, here on the Rig where so many ways to enjoy himself are restricted or gone entirely. He raises an eyebrow at the Ghost. "You got eggnog? Or those festive adult hot cocoas?"
no subject