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GY ENDGAME POST
GRAVEYARD - END GAME
It's been a long stay.
Seven weeks have elapsed since the gates to Aira Niluc were opened to guests of various worlds, and for seven weeks a game of trust and betrayal have whittled the living's numbers down until only a mere third remained on that side. And in exchange, the population of the dead grew as they continued their story on this side.
But the story is coming to a close, almost as if the world itself demands it.
Because sometime Friday morning, oddities start to become apparent within the fabric of this space: buildings starting to deteriorate as their colors start to fade, foods beginning to molder and rot, trees and mountains far in the background flickering briefly show sketch-like outlines before reverting back to normal. While most of the main locations remain fairly intact, there is no area on this side that lays untouched by the sense that this place is starting to unravel, bit-by-bit.
Still, the walls that separate you all from the living hold fast even now, not allowing any of the dead to cross through into the other side.
Perhaps that's not the point here, though. After all, you all still have your own ending to write, here and now.
[Welcome to the Graveyard's Endgame post! The previous posts for Weeks 2-5 and Weeks 6-7 have been linked above.]
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[ EXTREMELY UNSURE. also what if i just use this icon for this entire thread bc uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ]
Most of the things that we seem to have run across involving B [ what even is that name, god ] seem to either involve dolls or insects of a sort, so I would say... congratulations on the consistency?
[ dry humour is apparently the Way To Cope here ]
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[Honestly, he's pretty sure B isn't a name, but that's about all he's got and it sure is far shorter than mirror monster or void creature or even mistress of the mirrors, which he's still fond of using for context because he is a ludicrous individual at the best of times.
Jack is still watching the investigation and his expression is still rather blank, though he glances over occasionally as Moriarty converses with others. There's a small smile, a little rueful, eventually.]
I wonder just how much of this group is adopted nobility? There seem to be rather fewer of us who were actually born into it...
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[ thoughtful. also you know what, jack, that is entirely fair. there is power in names, after all, and knowing b's true name might given them some sort of advantage in fairytale land, hums. ]
More than I would have expected, actually. [ it's actually accompanied with a faintly amused smile. ] I suppose we have our ways of finding ourselves in such situations.
[ "we", because he's totally assuming that jack is counting himself among the "adopted by nobility" group due to the phrasing of that particular sentence. ]
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[Something that only reflects -- given the amount of things here that have turned out to be insects (and he only knows about some of them, so it actually is even worse than he's imagining, somehow), it really is plausible.
He's quiet for a moment before quirking a slight smile. Looking away from the room helps.]
Hamelin has used only mice for as long as I've known him. Wherever the rats come from, I doubt it is his doing. [something rueful slips into his next words, after a pause where he seems to be turning Moriarty's over] Oh, if you mean the amount of murder, I would say that is more a staple of the higher classes in general; if you mean this specific situation, I would be truly impressed to see a similar one.
[Is he going to bother clarifying the rest. Eh.]