jinglehellmods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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jinglehells2017-12-30 09:50 am
jinglehellmods) wrote in jinglehells2017-12-30 09:50 am
Trial 2
WHO KILLED CHRISTMAS?
Four hours pass yet again. Thug Dangerzone and Brasco move all the tables together (with no help from Starshine), and once again the dining room becomes a makeshift trial center. Poor Diana's body is carefully laid out on one of the tables. She's covered by a sheet, because frankly her corpse looks a little nauseating, but she's there if anyone needs to look at her.
On each spot at the table is a some cookies and apple cider, and that basket sits remains cheery and present at the center of the tavle. Next to the food is a pen and a small notebook, like the kind they use on police procedural.
After everyone is seated, or at least standing awkwardly around, Brasco stands up on a chair. "I gotta say, I'm pretty disappointed in you all," he says, and you get the sense he honestly means it. "This is way, way more murders than we wanted here! By a significant margin! But at least justice can be served a little. Me and Princess and Thug were looking around some after you guys finished, and we narrowed it down to five different suspects. So figure it out! You've got all day. Go vote when you're sure, and remember: this isn't a joke. Make sure you get it right. When we've got a majority vote, or when it gets too late, we'll decide.
Ready? Start!"
ic profiles | locations | voting
no subject
[His voice is hoarse and starting to crack as tears form in the corners of his eyes. He bangs his palm on the table again in frustration.]
Was it worth it? Are you satisfied?
You're going to end up just like Ries! Butchered by some monster. You...You and Diana both.
no subject
[ this is quite a mess and it's a sad sight for all. ]
Please compose yourself. Rosalind has made her choice knowing the consequences. Now we will make ours.
no subject
[And that's all it really comes down to. She'll die, and Diana is dead, and yet Robert won't be here, so it's fine. She doesn't want to die, no, but she's done it before; it won't be so bad. She'll die, and maybe she'll be resurrected again and maybe she won't, but Robert will keep going.
That's all it really comes down to, in the end.
That's all her life ever really comes down to, doesn't it?
Selling her soul to Comstock. Buying an infant. Building the tower, keeping Elizabeth locked away for eighteen years, performing horrifying task after task after task in that hideous false utopia, always ignoring her own conscience, because it meant Robert would be safe. Robert would be here, next to her, right where he should be, always at her side, loving her, guiding her, giving purpose and meaning to her life as only her work had ever done before.
A thousand memories flood through her as she stares at Shintaro. Robert, bloody and injured, his mind rebelling against him, grasping for her from their shared bed. Robert, smiling and laughing as he juggled for a group of children, eagerly watching her to see a hint of a smile. Robert, sixteen and gasping in joy as he first contacted her. Robert, his face tired and worn, blackmailing her into doing the right thing, hating himself but hating being the villain more.
He wouldn't have survived a place like this. He wouldn't have had the heart to murder an innocent to keep someone safe, no matter that it had to be done. He's too good a person for it.
But Rosalind isn't.
(Another memory, soft and faint: just think of it, Rosie . . . a baby of our own. Not now, not yet, but once you're ready . . . wouldn't that be something? They'll never have that adventure now, and she regrets that. But even she can't accomplish everything.)]
If you don't understand that, you won't understand anything that's happened here. There are people worth dying for.
no subject
[He says it darkly, sadly. He's been irreparably wounded today, this past week. Nothing can fix what's happened. He wonders, briefly, would he do the same for Ayano? For his sister? Kill someone? He doesn't know. It's beyond thought. This is all beyond thought.
He settles down, digging his fingernails into the table.]
I don't ever want to see your face again.
But...I hope that it doesn't kill you.
no subject
A noble sentiment. I might even believe you mean it.