jigokulogs | June 2022 Event

June 2022 Event

1. SWIMSUIT TROUBLES (1 POINT)

As the city goes through its daily motions, the heat bears down harder and harder while bringing out some increasingly overheated behavior from the local population. Summer is here and the natives are flocking to the shopping district: both as a respite from the scorching temperatures and to stock up on the needed supplies to beat the heat.

That means one noticeable problem: the bathing suits left on the racks aren’t the most fashionable at this point! Suits are scarce and what is left over are the skimpy, the oddly-patterned, a size too small, or all of the above. Then again, you are probably just feeling lucky you aren’t in the Shuten Clan, who have been provided their own precious supply of freshly laundered tiger stripe bikinis. And nothing else.

You may be able to borrow around within your own faction, where the pickings might not be so slim, but are still unlikely to match your personal style. Better hope you ran out to buy something nice when the Daitengu first announced the party.

2. BEACH GAMES (1 POINT)

The indoor beach facility that the Alliance has provided is extraordinary. It’s massive! It seems to extend to the size of an entire soccer field. With the combinations of Kappa tech and Tengu magic, the experience has been made as close to a natural one as anyone could ask for. The heat of the beach feels true to the real world, the sand is white and pure, and the waves rolling in and out are just like the mortal realm. Even the palm trees and beach scrub seem entirely authentic. The vibe is immaculate.

Each faction has their own area set up for meeting and mingling but everyone is welcome to let loose and interact among all the groups.

SHUTEN CLAN

The Shuten Clan has set up their beach fort with food and drinks. The drinks on offer are a particularly strong Oni beer and a few spirits (especially sake). These drinks have been mixed so that anyone who imbibes them will feel a heightened sense of competition and the need to prove themselves!

There are plenty of opportunities to show off:
Learning surfing with a few knowledgeable Oni.
Volleyball matches.
Shoulder chicken tournaments.
Beer pong.
Drinking contests that never seem to stop.
And friendly scuffles with some of the Shuten who are feeling more rowdy than usual.
In particular, the volleyball matches appear to be the Shuten Clan’s sport of choice. They’re taking these matches deathly serious. With all powers allowed in play, the game is truly deadly with how powerful, how fast, and how fierce those spikes and volleys are. Hold nothing back and leave it all in the ring!

Toraguma himself is here in his tiger striped best! He’s observing the games and taking note of which Shutens do well and which ones shame the clan with their defeat. He’ll give out rewards to those he thinks are exemplifying the pride of the clan. Don’t worry though, if you’re not up to snuff you won’t be punished; except with Toraguma’s obvious disappointment.

TAMAMO CLAN

The Tamamo Clan doesn't disappoint either. Their tiki bar is set up with a far greater variety in stock than the Shutens. Every drink seems to be made to that Lost Soul’s exact tastes. Watch out, this may compel you to pound them back more quickly than normal. The drinks will make you feel much closer to those around you — either in camaraderie, or something more intimate. The Tamamos have arranged a number of floats, inner tubes, and water wings lounging in the water. Enjoy your time together!

When you aren’t relaxing, the Tamamo Clan has also arranged huge buckets of water balloons and have filled their water guns. The instructions are clear: whether sniping from afar or going in on a full assault, go nuts. Especially against the Shutens. Lady Tenkohime herself has a high-caliber, sniper-grade water rifle with her at her lounge chair. She will occasionally pick some unlucky soul to fire off devastating rounds against. She is not soaking them in just water, of course. This is the Tamamo clan’s patented ‘perfume’, which inspires the most amorous feelings.

Finally, the Tamamo have also inspired a spicy wet t-shirt contest. It’s essentially a sexy beauty contest, but given the variety of bodies and hidden ‘talents’ tucked away under everyone’s clothes, it should prove interesting! Tenkohime has described the simple rules:
One must wear the provided white shirt and only that shirt.
The crowd will soak them down.
And the crowd will judge how well they pull it off.

SUTOKU CLAN

The Sutoku Clan has been given free reign on a fleet of jet skis and paddle boats; perfect for two. There are boogie boards and larger inner tubes ready to be attached to different jet skis. Just be careful, ok?

A large snack bar has been provided with cheerful yokai behind the counter ready and willing to serve up your heart’s desire. There are some strange candies towards the end of the bar, they taste a bit funny but once you eat one you’re compelled to have a few more. These sweets will give you the power to breathe underwater. What is the meaning of this power? Well, you’re in the Alliance, after all, you figure out what’s under the waves.

Sutoku games include things like kan jam and frisbees, but Sutoku Souls are also very much encouraged to participate in the Shuten Clan’s volleyball tournament. Much to Toraguma’s frustration, the Alliance has planted a Tengu referee who seems to really favor the Alliance players over his own. Use your powers liberally.

The Daitengu is in attendance with sunscreen marks on their mask, for some reason. They’re being a total busybody, as usual. They’re really taking the time to chat up Tenkohime and Toraguma, even if the two want to rip each other’s throats out. Could a resolution to the turf war be on the way? One can only hope!

ENMA DEPARTMENT

The Enma is instructing the members of the Department to volunteer (aka voluntold) for lifeguard duty. The shifts are short — it is ultimately a party — and participation will net you both free food and drink from any of the vendors, as well as license to let loose for the rest of the party! The fare provided by the Enma vendors is pretty staid, but it does fill you with the odd need to run down the beach shallows in slow motion. Not sure what that’s about.

There is one further task that is expected of the Enma Department: suikawari. It is a big deal and to be taken seriously! This is the Enma’s favorite beach activity and the only diversion that he cares about. Your guess is as good as anyone’s, but it’s probably because the game resembles a form of execution. Regardless! Every officer is expected to do at least one round of the game as a form of initiation to the Department itself. Captain Shiki hosts the game in the absence of the Enma. Someone should tell her to chill out with that whistle, though.

3. BONFIRE (1 POINT)

As the hosts of the event, the Sutoku Alliance has set up a massive bonfire as the sun begins to set and stars light up the magical sky. There’s a romantic feeling in the air. Things seem as chill as they ever could be, there are no Haniwa in sight! Things feel peaceful for the first time in a while.

A final happy hour is declared, with free libations for everyone to close out the night. It’s time to finish this party in style. For anyone particularly watchful, they may spy the extraordinary sight of Toraguma and Tenkohime together. Off in the shadows while the party rages on, they are sitting together and watching the waves roll in. What could they be discussing? It will remain a mystery, getting any closer to them would be a deadly mistake.

The evening closes without any major incidents. Nothing seems like it could spoil the mood. It almost feels too good to be true.

4. AND THEN... (2 POINTS)

As all the party goers change back into their clothes and exit the facility, there is a rumble of thunder over Jigokucho. The stars are quickly swallowed by a darkening sky and the ground shakes. A minor earthquake? That’s not unheard of but the sky above is looking threatening. Evil. Darkness washes out over the entire city, none of its many bright lights able to cut through. Something is wrong. Something is happening.

A warm rain begins to fall, spattering across you and your surroundings. It becomes quickly apparent that you are not doused with water, but with blood.

The silence is shattered suddenly when a scream cuts across the whole of Jigokucho. An accursed miasma pours out from every direction. Then you see them: the Haniwa. They are everywhere, gazing from every direction, pressing in. Something has gone terribly wrong.

Captain Shiki is the first to act. She makes a call to Kaigo no Bou, but what she hears is enough to freeze her in her tracks.

The containment center deep beneath the tower where the Haniwa were being stored has been compromised. All of the cursed energy that was stored there has leaked out into the city from below. The guards below are dead. No one is answering their radio. It is not just the containment center that has been compromised, but all of Kaigo no Bou.

Captain Shiki struggles to remain calm as she gives out orders. Her entire command structure has been decimated, but she has to keep these people safe. She urges everyone to seek shelter, immediately. Everyone needs to partner up and stick together.

None of the faction leaders present arguments and they enforce this ruling with their Souls. They direct everyone to make their way back to their home base. Shuten to the Arena, Tamamo to Mizukume, and Sutoku to Konoha. There, their faction leaders can protect them.

As for the Enma officers: they are on rescue duty. You will be heading out into the city to rescue as many people as possible from the nightmarish effects of the cursed energy on the city. Captain Shiki will act as their point of command at the indoor beach.

Good luck, everyone.

5. IN THE CURSED NIGHT (2 POINTS)

A rain of blood is sprinkling all around you. It pings off sign posts and garbage bins, it splatters wetly onto the concrete and your face. The scent is pungent and thick; spoiling. It is soaking in to your hair, your clothes, your skin. It is driving you mad: your pulse spinning, breathing short.

There are noises in the impenetrable darkness. Fox feet on the pavement, crow wings shifting on a perch, a stranger's cruel laughter. The dark energy that has swallowed you is bemused by your smallness, is lurking at the edges and waiting for the moment to strike. Hold tight to your fellows, lest in the darkness another hand be placed in yours. Do you know who you walk with? What you walk with?

The Haniwa are watching you from every surface; crowded together as one with their empty eye sockets and open mouths. Their dark eyes turn to follow where you go as you stumble through your nightmares and your delusions. They breathe in your suffering on the air.

Beware the onibi, they will lead you astray.
Beware the grasping hands in the trees.
Beware the whispers in the distance.
Beware the slope to the river.
Beware. Beware.

Welcome to the June event!

Art by astrono77153462
Special shoutout to vandalisto for coming up with the meat of this event; the beach party. They approached us with this as a player plot, and it was good enough that we made it into the full event for the month. Excellent work, Vandal!
If you have any questions about event content, please ask them here!
If your character participated in the volleyball games, see here! If they participated in the wet t-shirt contest, see here!
If you have questions about the game itself, please check out the premise, FAQ, and rules pages.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ The darkness of the second door collapses like a supernova, and lights up like the star-studded night sky. The explosion gives way to clarity that gives birth to a foyer. It is homely and safe, with birdsong in the background and the smell of fresh baked bread hanging in the air. Still, there is no life. Though flowers rest on a dining table, they do not feel like they could exist or grow. They simply are. It's no different from the wooden effigy of the woman still missing— maybe she is dead. Emily stands with a coin in her fist: she took the payment. She is the ferrywoman.

Ferrywoman, the flowers sigh, do you want to know a secret? There's a roll of film on the table, and in the light she'll see the movie play out frame by frame. Inside the wooden doll's mouth, pried open by clumsy, uncaring hands, is a bundle of flowers. There is no next step, but the door is still open behind her. She can go back and continue the gruesome work— if she wants to know what happens when you feed the body.

On the other hand, there's a coin donation box. In childish scrawl there is a label. "Memory donations."

Two options, but neither of them for the living. ]

Edited 2022-06-29 08:21 (UTC)

[good thing she's a dead woman many times over then. this place feels as artificial as the laboratory, with how dead it is - and one thing seems more straightforward than the next. the coin she puts in her pocket, to keep it safe. she could give it, but she nearly lost it once already. it would need to go back, in the end. it cannot be left to memory and chance. but those that need to give memories away may do so all they like.

she takes the flowers and returns to the body. to pry seems so brutal, and so she will coax, slowly. careful, deliberate. there you are. there's no rush with this. if she does not do this, someone much less kind will. that man laying his hands on her...

she won't allow it. instead, she puts the flowers into the body, as instructed. like the world's worst sort of art piece, truly.]

[ The effigy seems a little appreciative of the meal, it seems. Her belly bursts open, and from it comes a hundred needles or more. All of them used, all of them dented, all of them dirty, and all of them a memory of a shot. There's a key, silver, easy to miss, tumbling out of her gut, too, and a number of doors back in the foyer for trying.

One door seems to go into a garden.

The other is up the stairs.

Another is on the cupboard beneath the sink.

A clock tick-tocks, but from where? Who knows. ]

[her heart aches to see the needles, wondering only how many bruises it would leave on someone if administered. the ghost of the shots comes to her, and she winces in sympathy. too many, far too many. there had to be other ways to be. this shouldn't have been like this, this shouldn't have even been considered. the key comes out, and she picks it up, careful to not prick herself. even if she's being watched, they can excuse how her hand touches the effigy's cheek - a silent apology for all of it.

back to the foyer, and considering her options, she decides to go upstairs and try it there first. right now she's cautious, nervous, and Emily can't let her guard down for a second here.]

[ The key slides in without issue, but when the lock turns, it breaks. Unless she gets crafty, this door better solve the equation.

As it is, when the room is unlocked, she'll find herself staring into a child's bedroom. It's got a little toy box in the corner, open. She can inspect it: the title is "What Is Mako?" by Professor Gast Faremis. Within it, she'll find walls of text with very little in the way of diagrams; this scientific textbook is far too advanced for a little girl, and yet... here it is. Dense as it is, she'll get the gist. "Mako" is a condensed form of liquid from reservoirs of energy within the planet called the "Lifestream". Emily may envision it as oil, perhaps, or something else, but the description is far more fantastical. Downright supra-natural, one might say.

There's a yellow, childish little radio. It's on. The plastic contraption is filling the room with the tinny, filtered sound of man's voice. He's reciting scripture. ]

"We who are born of the planet, with her speak. Her flesh we shape. Unto her Promised Land shall we one day return. By her loving grace and providence may we take our place in paradise."

[ Suddenly, a familiar voice. Aerith speaks from the machine, a recording. A ghost. ]

"You know it!"

"Yeah, well... Honestly, I thought that part was just a fairytale."

"Shinra thinks it's true. They've been searching for the Promised Land for a long time."

"And they must think you can lead them to it... Can you?"

[ Aerith never gets to answer; the radio stutters and the recording ends. Maybe she's starting to get the picture; a man who wants to pick apart a woman for hints to the Promised Land. A religious scripture implying it's existence. How Aerith could fit into that.

Inside the book, she'll find a rusted scalpel. What do you cut with this, Doctor? ]

[it's confusing, but there are connections she can draw, things she can start to understand. something about a stream of life, a promised land...an energy source to be drawn from it.

The Promised Land seemed to close. But with her DNA, we can do anything!

a woman torn apart for the answer. she thinks more of grave robbers, violating what should be a peaceful decay for a scrap of gold in their pockets. it turns her stomach, and she shudders, glad again that she didn't leave the woman behind. the scalpel, she takes, for it has no place in little hands. the book, placed softly back in the box. now she's afraid, afraid - has to hurry down the stairs, to peer back out into the operating room to make sure that man didn't come back, to take her, use her.

nothing. just her and this useless tool. but, looking at the cupboard beneath the sink, she thinks of something. her own sighing as one of the youkai in the clinic quietly confess they can't find the key to the cabinet, and her sending them off to look again. and a scalpel in her hands, a schoolmate from her faraway past showing her a trick to pry open the filing cabinets while she worried and fretted about being caught.

bending down to it, she puts the scalpel in the cupboard lock, pressing upwards and trying to trick it into moving. come on...]

[ The body is, if only for Emily's peace of mind, still accounted for. It's waiting, patiently, for the next step in it's autopsy. Blood and guts traded for information, for stories about the deceased. She's hushed, still, unseeing. The perfect image of a corpse.

The scalpel works, but barely. It undoes the latch, and Emily will be able to swing open the cupboard. If she checks the medical tool, she will see it is dulled, the tip no longer sharp, but still in tact.

Under the sink is a flashlight. The moment she notices it, the whole building will shudder and go silent. The lightbulbs will burst, one by one, sizzling then shattering. Hopefully she ducks. Once it's over, she'll hear the groaning outside the door to the garden.

A dirt-caked hand smacks the window, drags along. Hundreds more follow, an orchestra of agony. Their cries are immutable and deafening. The dead walk the land, among the living (or maybe she's finally crossed over), and they've come for their pound of flesh?

(If she listens, he'll hear the pleas. "Save us! We're all in danger! Follow them... the yellow flowers...")

The operating room has gone dark, and the shuffling has began. The flashlight clicks to life, whether she holds it or not, as if knowing that it's time to do it's job. It's dark like sinking into the water at night, like drowning helplessly.

And yet— ]

Emily?

[ A familiar voice. ]

Edited 2022-06-30 04:15 (UTC)

[she yelps when the lights start to break, cowered next to the sink to avoid the fallout. this isn't good, this isn't good, and she thinks she did the wrong thing, even as her hand grabs the flashlight in panic. it's a good thing too, because she scrambles backwards when she hears the sound, the pounding on the walls. no, no, no, she has to get out of here, before that final door breaks, before something happens, and Emily practically trips over herself trying to get into the operating room. it's so dark, but at least it's not there, and where-]

Aerith?!

[she turns around, using the flashlight to try and look for her. is she really here? is she truly here, now? not some doll of death?]

[ The operating room lights up with diffused light from the torch, illuminating one Aerith Gainsborough, who raises a hand up to block the sudden blinding. Pay attention, closely now, and you'll see it: Part of her left unlit by the light remains wooden, but it is her. Flesh and bone under the searing power of light. Illusions raised, curtains closed. Aerith is here. ]

It's me!

[ Her hand lowers, gaze worried but very, very alive. ] What's going on? Where did you go...? Wh—

[ She coughs. Once, then twice, then a rolling rumble of a hack goes through her as Aerith doubles over. It's painful, and splatters of blood spatter out from her mouth, on the floor. Something is blocking her air way; she struggles to breathe, but it is coming. "It" is in her mouth. She reaches in, agonizingly slow, and shaking, to begin tugging.

A pink ribbon, wet with blood and saliva, trails out of her throat. She tugs on it for a spell, and eventually it all comes loose.

At the end, impossibly... is a crank handle. With stuttering breaths, she looks over to Emily, and Aerith's shoulders shudder. ]

[she shines the light on her, trying to keep her flesh and blood, a person instead of a doll, but before she can say much, Aerith is choking and she has to move, at a loss for how to help other than to put a hand on her back, to offer a steady support. what...is all this? she's bleeding, and Emily is so afraid that she's dying, no, no, if only she could reach the other here, they could stop this, fix it.

the ribbon out of her mouth, and the crank handle falls to the floor in favor of Emily trying to soothingly rub her back, face torn between horror and sheer worry, other hand wiping blood from the woman's face.]

Breathe...just breathe. Does it hurt? You can just nod or shake your head.

[don't talk, if it hurts. it must, right?]

[ The sensation of Emily's hand on her back is soothing for the moments she's aware of it. The presence of another person is enough to keep her stable for a moment longer, and she listens to the calming sound of Emily's voice. Familiar and safe. She stares down at the mess on the floor, bloodied saliva dripping down her chin.

The crank is waiting. ]

No.

[ The monotonous tone that echoes in the cavernous room of the operating theater is booming. She tilts her head, suddenly. It cracks in a loud, wooden manner, and then, robotically, Aerith retrieves the dirtied crank. But Emily is already used to other people's messes, isn't she? She's used to picking up after everyone else, dealing with her own feelings after the fact, or never at all. If you let your feelings consume you, you'll lose.

Aerith holds it out for Emily. The crank is waiting.

She points back into the room, takes in a long, long, long, impossibly long wheezing breath, holds it. ]

D̶̲̺̠̈́̎̿O̴̘͓͑͗̀Ṋ̶͖̔'̷̨̳̚T̴̲̹̳̏̍ ̸̤͚̼̇͊̽T̵̜̎Ȍ̶̭U̴̼̬̓̃̌C̷̘̪̿͛̓H̷͖͈̋ ̸̪̻̲̎T̶͕̃̎͝H̷͚̒A̵͇͓͛͘͝T̸̘̭̮͆̀̈ ̴͓̄͒̽Ḍ̸͒̃Ī̸͍̭̈A̷̡̳̰̋̿̀L̴̘̄ ̴̧͈͂̎͗N̶̢̖̑̂̌O̴̺̐͊ͅW̸̭̤͊!̸̖̗̜̾ ̷̨͓̬́W̴͚̭͑̋Ȩ̵͓̿̾̄ͅ'̴̣̫̇͒Ȑ̷͇É̶͓͉͗ ̶̭͓̇̔J̶̧̄Ũ̶̙͎̊S̵̬̰̿T̴͕̖͗́ ̷̺͉̑G̵̗̫̀́̈E̴͖͙͛T̶͕̎̅T̴̹̜̀I̴̹͋͗N̵̺̏̍̈́G̶͎̿͠ ̵̛̱̠̔͐S̵̝͈̥̔͑̕T̷͖͎͛Ą̷̦̈̔R̶̤̗͈̅T̶͙̪̲͗͘Ë̵̛̙̣͈́D̸̳̖̅͛̍!̴͎͍́͆̈́͜

[ Inside the home, in the foyer—

is a music box. And it will not go forward, only backward, once the crank is in.

Just a little more, hopefully. The moans of the dead are echoing, crying out for salvation. It will never come. (But if she holds the illusion breaking light over the garden window, it will break. Sunlight will show. Once, this was a happy home.) ]

[she takes the crank from her, looking out in the direction indicated, but the words make her jump. Emily still holds onto the crank, the flashlight, but she's rattled by it. she nods to Aerith - she gets the instruction, what's required of her, and takes her own breath before she starts walking into the foyer. the light is a comfort, even as the dead cry in her ears, her mind crying out to leave leave leave, and she puts the crank in the box with shaking hands.

it needs to be wound. of course it does. one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and it's tight. then Emily lets go, and braces herself.]

[ Once more, the room mutates. Behind her, the lights go on again. The wails still. Everything goes quiet, as if wandering the graveyard. Though the home remains blanketed in the dark, the operating room is&dmash;

Behind her, Aerith's voice, but distorted. Different, as if chopped up and reversed. ]

When you see me again. It won't be me.

[ Behind her now is a room with a casket at the end, bathed in ambient lighting that hides nothing but isn't harsh enough to be distracting. It's a funeral home's viewing room, and there's only one mourner. No one has come to weep for this body, to pray for the soul that once was inside. The walls are lined with soft blue curtains, the floor is a checkerboard. Black and white. Contrasts, touching, but never meeting, and the mourner dressed in black has her hair plaited in a rope braid.

She looks behind her. ]

Heya.

[ Her voice is the same. Reversed, yet forward, as if a mirror universe is forcing itself to be seen. ]

You probably got questions, don't you?

[ Inside the casket, unsurprisingly... is the wooden mannequin, half-between it's transformation. But it is... asleep. Done. It cannot move. ]

[she walks slowly towards the casket, black veil covering her hair, and shakes her head. of course she has questions, being here, but do they matter, right now? instead, she looks down at the mannequin, finally allowed to rest.

reaching into her pocket, she removes the coin that had led her on this path, and slowly reaches to place it over the mannequin's remaining eye. paying the ferryman, when the new one comes. she's a terrible excuse for one, since she'll always row her passengers back to life if she can. hopefully the next one can treat her with more care.]

Just one. Will she be happy?

[her voice is normal, but that's to be expected - she's a dead woman, travelling to where she's needed now.]

[ The other mourner huffs a little laugh, stunned for a moment. ]

It's not over for her. She still has a lot of happiness to find. For herself... and others.

[ The Lifestream, after all, is just another form of life. She thinks of Harry's words: After life, death. After death, life again. ]

I don't think that's what you want to really ask, though. You already know that about her.

...Then I don't know what I want to ask.

[and that is the truth. because her heart right now, for the other woman, is buried in sorrow. she'll give the blood from it to her, if she needs it to live, and be happier.]

[ The room is devoid of mourners, aside from one. The woman in black next to her, Aerith, wonders if she can be counted as one. They never prepare you for attending your own funeral, she supposes, and though Emily has graciously paid the price for her passage, something feels wrong about the whole ordeal. ]

You worry too much. About others, and not yourself.

[ Simply, Aerith says that, before continuing that same distorted tone. ]

I'm sorry about all that. I have a lot of locks up for protection. [ A beat. ] But now you know. About me, and my mother, and what we went through. Don't be sad about it. I'll see her again. And I'll see you again, too.

As yourself, or as someone else?

[when you see me, I won't be me. she clasps her hands in prayer, and bows her head. at the least, she can mourn her. she can hold her memory near. she can say she was loved, and that she was lost.

(distantly, there is the sound of a flute playing, but Emily does not move. one of the curtains rustles, and the song moves with someone's breath.)]

[ Whoever is watching is not removed from the scene, but Aerith wonders if it would be possible to move them to begin with. With her hands still crossed before her, resting over her abdomen, she thinks. A clock ticks in the background, unseen. Time moves again, and they are running out of it. ]

I don't know yet.

[ It's the simple. Yet, there is more. With an inhale, she continues. ]

You won't either. What I can tell you is... These flowers.

[ Her hand raises, to grace the petals... just barely. They are damaged, bloodied, horrible. Scarred from their journey, just like Emily always will be. There is no healing or fixing wounds that deep, Aerith knows. You merely live with them, life becoming more bearable eventually. ]

They mean "reunion." I'll find you again. Even if you don't know it's me. I will. Because somebody has to be there for you, even if you don't know it.

[ Tick. Tick. Tick. ]

I'm glad you made it.

[she cannot speak, not anymore. when she wants to protest that she doesn't have to go. don't leave, where she can't protect her, can't shield her. can't care for her. but that's not her choice to make. instead, she weeps silently, tears shed for a fate that could have gone differently. tears to fall on the flowers, because someone was there. it is the only thing she can give right now. the only thing she knows to do in these circumstances.

the flute plays on, slow and steady, still soft behind the curtain. whoever is watching either cannot come closer, or will not.]

[ In the deathly still silence of the room, there is the sound of a woman keening. A banshee's wails against the rhythm of a flute that accompanies her both like a hug and a blanket, something to warm you in the dead of the night when every stone has been upturned and found empty, fruitless. In this wasteland of a world, tipped on it's side and half-between truth and reality, it's hard to tell what's real. Here's the truth:

Aerith Gainsborough is asleep somewhere in Hell. Emily Dyer is asleep somewhere in Hell. Their minds converge on the precipice and meet there to share secrets. In the moments of the early morning before they wake, unrested and uncomfortable, Emily sheds tears for a woman no one can save. Here's the truth:

She learns a little more about Emily, too, and the grief of failing to redeem yourself in the eyes of the people who you desperately need to save.

And for the road, here is the illusion:

She was never meant to be here, anyway. ]

I'm sorry. Really. [ Her hand comes to rest on the small of Emily's back, sliding across to catch her waist in her grip. It's strange, and looking down into her own casket, she watches the one eye of the Aerith-shaped corpse open, a crack in the universe staring back at her. Her expression twists into an ugly, ferocious frown, furious but cathartic in it's honesty.

And Aerith, quickly, covers Emily's eyes, to spare her the sight of it, and the way the wooden mannequin posing as a corpse sits up, coin still in place, the way the universe splits down the middle so the room's lights strobe mercilessly. One hand touches the casket's wooden body, the other: palm flat, facing up. A gesture known the world over. She covers Emily's eyes to protect her from the sound the corpse wheezes out in an agonized moan— ]

White flowers—

[ Chopped up and reversed and spit out with venom and purpose.

( Chrysanthemum flowers bloom in a range of colors in shades of white, yellow, orange, lavender, purple, or red; as well as bicolor flowers. This ancient flower is traditionally viewed as a death flower. )

To spare her the viciousness of her face, as the room spins between lights on and off, dark and light, alive and dead, all while the wooden mannequin shrieks with such intensity, with such righteous fury, that she shakes. The room shakes. ]

Let's mosey.

[ They fall backwards, pulled by Aerith, into their respects minds, their bodies.

The land of the living. ]

Edited 2022-07-01 22:41 (UTC)

[Emily cannot do much more than shudder, shake, the tears that fall from her eyes wetting Aerith's hands, lost to grief and resignation. she cannot do anything here except be a witness, except hold these memories close. she is helpless, unable to break out, gone to the darkness and the void and the ocean of sorrow that exists in her. she is a ghost, come to see the newly made dead.

and they fall, they fall as the dream shakes apart, as the mannequin howls like those countless dead that cried outside of the house, they fall and fall -

Aerith is floating, and something soft brushes her arm, her face. she'll land on her own two feet, and that distant tune is louder now, having been drowned out for a moment there. there is a paper sliding door before her - the world around is a hallway, a wooden house in the older style. like a temple, almost. it's quiet here, save for the musician. sunlight is diffused through the paper, offering a unmistakable glow.

wherever she is, she's very far from a funeral.]

[ She feels like a cat that could lay here for hours, curled up in the filtered sunlight of another dream, or world, or something else. That much feel true, but there's a part of her that is exhausted, and doesn't want to keep moving, to tumblr further and deeper into a life of the unknown.

She wasn't lying; giving up is just what she does best. ]

Hello?

[ She calls out, hand to the sliding paper door. The floor beneath her feels like tatami, but she doesn't bother look to down, to see where she's going. Eventually, she'll move it, calling out once more. ]

Helloooo?

[she opens the door to a room lit by the sun - the door to the outside open, and someone sitting on the engawa, the music they play louder now. it is a simple room, bookshelves filled with different tomes, pillows for the floor, brush and ink on a low table with paper, and a koto set in the corner. items that suggest this is a room for study, but also relaxation. outside, a true forest full of life, the evergreen scent of plants and earth, crisp and refreshing.

this is not her dream. this is not Jigokucho. this is not Emily's dream, for there is no sorrow. this is somewhere else, a place that rings of the past and yet holds no clawing attachment.

the musician sits with their back to her. long, glossy black hair flows down their back, and they are dressed in simple kimono, light gray with long sleeves. they stop when she steps in the room, and though they do not turn around to see her, there is a smile in their words.]

What a series of trials you have lived through, fledgling. And yet you still love the world and what it holds. Despair cannot find a purchase on you.

[the voice gives the impression of smoke, of distant bells, of something older than the body that might contain it. and Aerith, her soul as it is, will sense something more - if before, she touched Emily's heart, this is a different one, more slowly and steadily beating.]

Edited 2022-07-02 06:33 (UTC)

[ The breath catches in her throat, tightening sensation as she feels the presence of a new soul. Somehow, she wonders if it's completely new to her, but never has a voice rung in her head like bells. She doesn't think of church bells or anything of the sort; what comes to mind is the bells you ring when giving up coin to pray to the gods. This is not a kami, she thinks. She still falls quiet with polite reverence— for the oil spill slick hair and elegance of the simple kimono, a robe the color of smoke plumes.

An exhale leaves her without realizing it. She relaxes. The voice compels her to honesty; how? Why? She wonders if it's the state she's existing in.

She thinks to move closer, but can't. ]

Of course not. I'm not going to be held down by anything, not even someone else's grief.

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