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Entry tags:
- !event,
- 2064 rom: turing,
- dangan ronpa: hajime hinata,
- dangan ronpa: kiyotaka ishimaru,
- dangan ronpa: kokichi ouma,
- dangan ronpa: shuichi saihara,
- elsword: clamor ventus,
- elsword: noah ebalon,
- fate: sherlock holmes,
- hanako-kun: nene yashiro,
- mo dao zu shi: meng yao,
- my hero academia: shoto todoroki,
- red dead redemption: arthur morgan
May event/tdm
Golden Week (closed to current characters)
On the 28th, Aiko Okane's body is returned to the auditorium, rotten and still thawing when the first student walks in upon her and screams themselves hoarse. She is swiftly removed and the auditorium is closed for the rest of the day for deep cleaning, the smell of disinfectant lingering for days after. In honor of the late student council president, a gorinto is later set up on one of the windowsills in the art room, stones perpetually damp and causing those who touch it to experience vivid flashbacks of flashing strobe lights so bright it's nauseating, a spinning room, hands covered in soot, a shadow moving from behind a bookcase, sharp pain in the back of the head—-
The school empties out for Golden Week starting on the 29th, and just like during spring break, the faculty office and nurse's office are locked and unavailable without the staff present. The library and club rooms remain open, but what supplies there were at the start of the school week won't be replenished until the end of break two weeks later— and there are many more mouths to feed now. At least those mouths don't include two cats, both of which make themselves scarce on the morning of the 29th and cannot be found at school for the remainder of break, possibly spooked and in hiding due to the arrival of a dozen repairmen who phase through the front doors to repair the ceilings and pipes. Faces obscured with gas masks, carrying bags of plaster and lugging toolboxes, the repairmen work tirelessly from six in the morning to six in the evening over the next three days, appearing not to see the others in the school— they do not hear anything said to them, and, if somebody tries to touch them, their bodies pass through one another like the shadow students through the doors. But the school looks a lot better by the end of the three days, the ceiling tiles secure so that they're no longer in danger of falling and must be forcibly pushed through to access the crawlspace, and entire sections of pipe replaced from underneath the fourth floor bathroom and the clog with it, resulting in slightly clearer water, though still very very lightly tinged pink.
The repairmen finish and leave the evening of the 1st, and that night, the sound of hissing can be heard just before the usual midnight silence. Even through gift fairy or homemade gas masks, the air smells slightly sour, heavy and hard to breathe, a white mist seen hanging around the school and in the courtyard outside that doesn't dissipate with the sunlight the following morning. Those unprotected start to feel ill, cold and feverish, uncomfortably bloated despite empty bellies. Out of the corner of their eyes they see glimpses of the person they miss the most, but nobody is there when they turn around. Their heads fill with whispered accusations of all their shortcomings, chiding and blaming and mocking in the disembodied voices of the people dearest to them until the constant white noise finally tapers off and disappears on the fourth night, and the mist lifts with the rising sun the morning of the 6th.
Skittering can be heard in the ceiling overhead. The rats are still alive.
The school empties out for Golden Week starting on the 29th, and just like during spring break, the faculty office and nurse's office are locked and unavailable without the staff present. The library and club rooms remain open, but what supplies there were at the start of the school week won't be replenished until the end of break two weeks later— and there are many more mouths to feed now. At least those mouths don't include two cats, both of which make themselves scarce on the morning of the 29th and cannot be found at school for the remainder of break, possibly spooked and in hiding due to the arrival of a dozen repairmen who phase through the front doors to repair the ceilings and pipes. Faces obscured with gas masks, carrying bags of plaster and lugging toolboxes, the repairmen work tirelessly from six in the morning to six in the evening over the next three days, appearing not to see the others in the school— they do not hear anything said to them, and, if somebody tries to touch them, their bodies pass through one another like the shadow students through the doors. But the school looks a lot better by the end of the three days, the ceiling tiles secure so that they're no longer in danger of falling and must be forcibly pushed through to access the crawlspace, and entire sections of pipe replaced from underneath the fourth floor bathroom and the clog with it, resulting in slightly clearer water, though still very very lightly tinged pink.
The repairmen finish and leave the evening of the 1st, and that night, the sound of hissing can be heard just before the usual midnight silence. Even through gift fairy or homemade gas masks, the air smells slightly sour, heavy and hard to breathe, a white mist seen hanging around the school and in the courtyard outside that doesn't dissipate with the sunlight the following morning. Those unprotected start to feel ill, cold and feverish, uncomfortably bloated despite empty bellies. Out of the corner of their eyes they see glimpses of the person they miss the most, but nobody is there when they turn around. Their heads fill with whispered accusations of all their shortcomings, chiding and blaming and mocking in the disembodied voices of the people dearest to them until the constant white noise finally tapers off and disappears on the fourth night, and the mist lifts with the rising sun the morning of the 6th.
Skittering can be heard in the ceiling overhead. The rats are still alive.
05/06 06:00 (open to all)
You open your eyes.
Whether you're standing in the middle of the locker area or sitting up from under one of the classroom desks, the school feels a lot... brighter... than you remember in the last handful of years (years? somehow, it feels like years) that you've attended this school. Bright sunlight shining through the windows is almost nauseating to look at, as if on the cusp of a migraine, and words swim on textbook pages and is twice as difficult to understand. Maybe it's just back-to-school jitters, the nurse sympathizes if you visit the nurse's office, offering a mug of ginger tea to settle the stomach and a soft cot to lie down on for a few minutes, but break is over and there is so much to be excited for at school, especially the charity auction coming up in the next couple of days.
Donations are displayed in glass cases all around the auditorium, including items and services, a box of """cursed chalk""" that's surprisingly garnered a lot of interest, and a human body that unsurprisingly has not garnered much if at all. A skinny black cat can be seen lounging on top of the lattermost case, staring down at the students milling around the auditorium as they check their PDAs for merit points and murmur about it being too late and that they'll have to make do with what they have until the auction date on the 10th. More information about the auction can be found on the bulletin board, which also displays a new poster announcing an open seat in the student council in which all are encouraged to apply starting the 10th, and to run their campaigns until the 31st when an assembly will take place for approved candidates to debate.
Also updated on the bulletin board are the class rankings, current as of the start of the month, with class 1-B leading the pack and 2-C following close behind. With the weather as nice as it is, students of these two homerooms occasionally hold their classes outside in the courtyard this month, seated on the grass or on blankets around the wisteria tree as they balance chalkboard slates on their laps and listen to the lecture in the fresh air and warm sunlight. As long as they're with their teacher, characters in class 1-B and 2-C are able to exit into the courtyard this month, although if they stray too far out of the courtyard towards the pool area, their consciousness will start to fade until they leave the courtyard and black out completely.
For everybody regardless, there are classes to attend and quizzes to take and blood to pour out of your shoes because— uh?? You're in the middle of a quiz and pick up your eraser, but it's been replaced with one so dry and hard that all it does is smear the graphite and tear a hole in your paper. You get up from a long hour of class and nearly chip your teeth on the edge of the desk falling over because somebody's tied your ankle to the desk leg with quadruple-knotted twine. You're washing your hands in the bathroom and instead of liquid soap, the dispenser pours out silver glitter all over your hands and pants and shoes to coat for the rest of the month. You open your locker and are met with a face full of bees that burst out and causes everybody to evacuate the area until the janitor can coax them all outside. You're walking up the stairs and feel a tap on your shoulder but there's nobody when you turn around- nothing to explain the hard shove against your back or why the handrail is slicked with oil. All the while, snickering can be heard from somewhere behind you, little shadows darting away in the periphery of your vision, just out of reach.
Somebody has it out for you, but be glad it's just little things and not... well.
Whether you're standing in the middle of the locker area or sitting up from under one of the classroom desks, the school feels a lot... brighter... than you remember in the last handful of years (years? somehow, it feels like years) that you've attended this school. Bright sunlight shining through the windows is almost nauseating to look at, as if on the cusp of a migraine, and words swim on textbook pages and is twice as difficult to understand. Maybe it's just back-to-school jitters, the nurse sympathizes if you visit the nurse's office, offering a mug of ginger tea to settle the stomach and a soft cot to lie down on for a few minutes, but break is over and there is so much to be excited for at school, especially the charity auction coming up in the next couple of days.
Donations are displayed in glass cases all around the auditorium, including items and services, a box of """cursed chalk""" that's surprisingly garnered a lot of interest, and a human body that unsurprisingly has not garnered much if at all. A skinny black cat can be seen lounging on top of the lattermost case, staring down at the students milling around the auditorium as they check their PDAs for merit points and murmur about it being too late and that they'll have to make do with what they have until the auction date on the 10th. More information about the auction can be found on the bulletin board, which also displays a new poster announcing an open seat in the student council in which all are encouraged to apply starting the 10th, and to run their campaigns until the 31st when an assembly will take place for approved candidates to debate.
Also updated on the bulletin board are the class rankings, current as of the start of the month, with class 1-B leading the pack and 2-C following close behind. With the weather as nice as it is, students of these two homerooms occasionally hold their classes outside in the courtyard this month, seated on the grass or on blankets around the wisteria tree as they balance chalkboard slates on their laps and listen to the lecture in the fresh air and warm sunlight. As long as they're with their teacher, characters in class 1-B and 2-C are able to exit into the courtyard this month, although if they stray too far out of the courtyard towards the pool area, their consciousness will start to fade until they leave the courtyard and black out completely.
For everybody regardless, there are classes to attend and quizzes to take and blood to pour out of your shoes because— uh?? You're in the middle of a quiz and pick up your eraser, but it's been replaced with one so dry and hard that all it does is smear the graphite and tear a hole in your paper. You get up from a long hour of class and nearly chip your teeth on the edge of the desk falling over because somebody's tied your ankle to the desk leg with quadruple-knotted twine. You're washing your hands in the bathroom and instead of liquid soap, the dispenser pours out silver glitter all over your hands and pants and shoes to coat for the rest of the month. You open your locker and are met with a face full of bees that burst out and causes everybody to evacuate the area until the janitor can coax them all outside. You're walking up the stairs and feel a tap on your shoulder but there's nobody when you turn around- nothing to explain the hard shove against your back or why the handrail is slicked with oil. All the while, snickering can be heard from somewhere behind you, little shadows darting away in the periphery of your vision, just out of reach.
Somebody has it out for you, but be glad it's just little things and not... well.
05/08 16:27 (open to all)
After school on the 8th, when Clamor is headed up the second floor stairwell to the clocktower, he'll find that the door doesn't push in easily, as if there were something blocking it. A harder push and he dislodges something heavy, dark red blood pouring out from the open door to soak through his shoes and those of anybody nearby as the world spins and pitches and falls apart.
The vertigo passes and you open your eyes. You're standing in an old schoolhouse with scorched walls and broken floorboards that creak as you walk through the halls, breathing air so cold it constricts your lungs and leaves in visible puffs. The body on the ground has turned wispy black, unmoving, while those around you— there were other students around you in the hallway, you swear, but aside from one or two, the rest have all turned into shadow, faceless and intangible as they move silently down the halls and through the walls. Two of them approach the body on the ground and lift it up by the armpits to drag away down the stairs towards the auditorium—- what's supposed to be the auditorium, but instead the doors open to reveal a gaping void, darkness as far as one can see as if nothing else exists past this door.
You were looking for a way out, weren't you? ...
The body is unceremoniously tossed into the void, never to be seen again, and with the creeping dread that comes with staring into the darkness for too long, you get the sense that the same will happen to you if you step past the threshold to nowhere. It's dark and quiet enough already in the rest of the school, with the lights off and the sky a perpetual dusk. This school evokes the same feeling of nostalgia as it always has, the same old building but so much older: books in the library prone to falling apart in your hands, all the food in the home economics room rotten and overgrown with mold, the wisteria tree in the courtyard gnarled and completely barren. But the water in the bathrooms and drinking fountains run clear and fresh, and in the mirrors hanging above the sinks you can see somebody else's face— you can see familiar people washing their hands or chatting with one another or smoking a joint or getting caught smoking a joint- you can see them but they can't see you, gazing through this portal to a normal high school life.
The glass feels warm when you place your palm against it. The glass tears and burns when you put your fist through it, painful enough to make you wince.
You open your eyes.
You're standing where you last remember before the world turned to darkness, floor sticky with blood but there is no body at your feet. Edgar? There is no student called Edgar Valden at this school, just like there is no Abel Nightroad or Makoto Naegi, their names not showing up anywhere on the class roster and their seats filled by another student that has always been part of the class. You're overthinking, or maybe you're just tired or hungry. Luckily for you, there is a lot of fresh meat stocked in the home economics room this month, thick rich slabs that cook like beef but taste like a mix of veal and pork and hope.
The vertigo passes and you open your eyes. You're standing in an old schoolhouse with scorched walls and broken floorboards that creak as you walk through the halls, breathing air so cold it constricts your lungs and leaves in visible puffs. The body on the ground has turned wispy black, unmoving, while those around you— there were other students around you in the hallway, you swear, but aside from one or two, the rest have all turned into shadow, faceless and intangible as they move silently down the halls and through the walls. Two of them approach the body on the ground and lift it up by the armpits to drag away down the stairs towards the auditorium—- what's supposed to be the auditorium, but instead the doors open to reveal a gaping void, darkness as far as one can see as if nothing else exists past this door.
You were looking for a way out, weren't you? ...
The body is unceremoniously tossed into the void, never to be seen again, and with the creeping dread that comes with staring into the darkness for too long, you get the sense that the same will happen to you if you step past the threshold to nowhere. It's dark and quiet enough already in the rest of the school, with the lights off and the sky a perpetual dusk. This school evokes the same feeling of nostalgia as it always has, the same old building but so much older: books in the library prone to falling apart in your hands, all the food in the home economics room rotten and overgrown with mold, the wisteria tree in the courtyard gnarled and completely barren. But the water in the bathrooms and drinking fountains run clear and fresh, and in the mirrors hanging above the sinks you can see somebody else's face— you can see familiar people washing their hands or chatting with one another or smoking a joint or getting caught smoking a joint- you can see them but they can't see you, gazing through this portal to a normal high school life.
The glass feels warm when you place your palm against it. The glass tears and burns when you put your fist through it, painful enough to make you wince.
You open your eyes.
You're standing where you last remember before the world turned to darkness, floor sticky with blood but there is no body at your feet. Edgar? There is no student called Edgar Valden at this school, just like there is no Abel Nightroad or Makoto Naegi, their names not showing up anywhere on the class roster and their seats filled by another student that has always been part of the class. You're overthinking, or maybe you're just tired or hungry. Luckily for you, there is a lot of fresh meat stocked in the home economics room this month, thick rich slabs that cook like beef but taste like a mix of veal and pork and hope.
OOC
- ✽ This event log doubles as a TDM, with new characters experiencing the recurring feeling of drifting in (school life) and out (canon life) of sleep up until they "open their eyes," after which they will have full awareness and come to their senses. Pre-established cr is possible to some extent, as a varying degree of familiarity may remain, but all characters will be strangers to one another unless they know each other in canon.
- ✽ A new closed prompt will go up on the 10th for auction results and body investigation, and on the 31st for the student council assembly.
- ✽ After the 8th, any blood spilled in the school will result in characters in the vicinity seeing its transformation into a dilapidated version of the same building. Nearby npcs turn into shadows, while nearby pcs are brought into the other world together. Finding a mirror and breaking it will return the character to where they originally were, as if no time had passed.
- ✽ The layout of the transformed school is exactly the same as the original, with inaccessible locations remaining inaccessible. The exception is the auditorium which has been replaced by a void, and fully stepping into the void will result in permadeath and a drop from the game. TDM characters may step into the void as their "exit" any time during the month, but if they are apped into the game, that death will not be considered canon.
- ✽ Applications are always open on a rolling basis. The player cap is currently set at 40, but will lowered to 30 in June.
kirigiri kyouko / dangan ronpa (dr1-dr3)
⚖ I. THE BLOOD. (05/06)
potential spoilers for the dangan ronpa series as a whole.
[ she has served her time. from the moment she stepped foot into the sirius observatory, kirigiri kyouko has spent her life serving her time. at first, she believed this to be the duty of a kirigiri detective : to protect and to serve without questioning the innocence of the public. this serving of her time has brought her to ten lifetime's worth of trauma —— starting with the duel noir and ending with her time as the future foundation's 14th director, clinging to the arms of togami byakuya and hagakure yasuhiro as they pulled the survivors out of the shambling hell that the future foundation was and could have been.
she still could remember the way her blood settled in the back of her throat, the feeling of the poison and the clamoring of her body. they thought they had finally killed her, the survivor of four killing games: they were wrong. they thought they had finally toppled the black queen of the kibougamine chessboard: they. were. wrong.
that blood appears again when she is shoved, her rear end landing on the stairs with a grunt. it would bruise, yes, but she had endured worse: she had more bumps and bruises when she went down that garbage chute after naegi. she had more bumps and bruises as a girl, when fuhito pushed her to her limits, broke past them, and told her to keep moving. because that's what a kirigiri detective did. ]
' what in the world . . . ? '
[ she rises to her feet, black gloves stained with the oil on the handrail. disgusting. she removes her jacket, wrapping the corner of it around two fingers, taking a sample. she never could do anything normally, could she? ]
⚖ II. THE BURNING. (05/08)
[ time is strange here. some days her memories are fuzzy, blurry — they are filled with tutoring sessions and catching a walk with her friends after school. others, they are paperwork and alcohol, lips wrapped around a cigarette while naegi tries to convince her to quit and togami offers her a look of disapproval but never voices his concern. some days, she is a student, one being encouraged to try out for student council (you would make such a good secretary, kirigiri-san!), and others she is a grizzled detective, long-since blossomed into womanhood and one familiar with death. she had called out the name of one of her classmates, once, to throw away a bear before it exploded in his hands: these days, she cannot remember what color oowada mondo's eyes were.
the mirror is lonely here, and she turns over her shoulders once after the other after the other as though she is a ballerina working through a pirouette of despair. she is the prima here, watching as her classmates became shadow and bone, blood and disgust: she wants to cry out, wants to beg a god she didn't believe in to stop taking so many people from her. she wanted to be better, to do better, to have hope. she calls out into the void, but her anxiety of losing any more friends or family prohibits her voice from leaving her throat, a mouse caught in a trap, in a blade.
she feels like she's coming down from a bad trip. she's never done drugs before. grandfather wouldn't let her. the mirror is lonely here, and her hands are burning just as they had burned before years ago, during the fire. her hands are burning now, under the cooling leather of her custom-made gloves, just as they had in her innocence, before the world had taken so much from her.
her voice finds itself in the form of a shriek : she cannot take anymore. she cannot do this again. leather-bound fist slams through the glass, letting forth a rage that she has so carefully tempered into a steel-stained tongue. the leather collides with the glass, this she knows, because she feels the blood drip from her wrist. but there is no blood, not really, and instead there are only tears dripping down her eyes. she's lucky her eyeliner is waterproof. she is standing in the girls' bathroom, looking herself in the mirror and wondering how long it had been since pretty violet eyes held hope. ]
she leaves the bathroom, stepping just outside an unfamiliar territory, but the back-and-forth is gone, for the most part. she remembers her titles (good morning, director!) and her skills (how are you today, detective kirigiri?) and her friends (ohayo, kyouko-chan!) but very little more than that she has always known. as she walks down the hallway, eyes overscrutinizing, she cannot decide if this is a comfort or a cause for concern. ]
⚖ III. THE WILD CARD. (???)
( hi! i'm montana, and i'd like to try my hand at writing kyouko for this rp group. my kyouko canonically has lived through the events of dangan ronpa: kirigiri, dr1/dr:thh, sdr2, the dr3 anime, and the like. i am regretfully not 100% familiar with ndrv3 but i am spoiler-friendly and an infamous wiki diver. you can contact me on my plurk
ii. the burning
Ah- I'm sorry- I heard someone- is everything okay?
( if her voice sounds somewhat panicked, please don't mention it. but she's 15 years old and trapped in a strange school in the 90s, and everything is awful. she's 15 and her parents don't even know something is wrong, her hamster is left alone and she hasn't seen her friends in weeks now. she's 15 and her heart is full of so much love it hurts and she just wants to help. so what will you do, kirigiri? )
ii. the burning.
' i'm alright. so sorry to bother you. i was the one who screamed, just now. something startled me, is all. but are you alright? you look like you've seen a ghost, poor thing. '
[ there is a psychology that says if you are looking down at someone, one might find themselves intimidated by your presence. being that kyouko is already taller (and older) than the girl, she squats down, hands moving to press her skirt to her thighs until she is looking up at the other, a gentle smile on her features. ]
' i'm kyouko. kirigiri kyouko. do you mind to tell me your name? '
no subject
she misses hanako-kun so much.and she wants to press, but...wait. something startled her. could it be?
no matter how unsure nene seems, because she could never hide her emotions to save her life, she nods. because even if she's not alright, there's not a lot they can do about it at the moment. )
Did you just... "wake up"? Oh-- um, I'm Yashiro Nene. It's nice to meet you.
( if only it were under better circumstances. )
no subject
[ she doesn't move, nor rise just yet, if only to save her knees the trouble of getting up and down again. after all she's been through, she feels like a forty-year old woman in a the body of someone in her early twenties. life is hard when your mind and your knees both have trauma, she guesses. ]
' i don't know what you mean by just 'waking up', though i will say that i don't really remember being here prior to now. and somehow, also, i do. it's very strange, but this isn't the first time i've had memory issues. do you mind to tell me a little bit more about what you mean by that? do other people wake up like this? '
no subject
( but she's more than welcome to confirm that information herself- shoto had to, too, and it does sound unusual when told for the first time. it's just life for nene at this point, though, having been here since the start of spring break over a month ago... it's an unfortunate fact of life.
it must have been an awful awakening, to garner such a reaction. just what was it from home that she saw last? )
no subject
' transfer students. '
[ well, that explains how she, a twenty-some year old woman, is donning a school uniform again. she really wasn't ready to deal with the psychological effects that was going to have on her in the long term. she stands up, dusting off her gloves, and looks around at the decrepit nature of the school before her. ]
' well, i'm a detective - a very good one at that, according to the DSC - so. do you mind to tell me what you do know, yashiro-san? no detail is unimportant. '
by all means u dont gotta match nenes been here from the start shes seen a lot
does she know i love her
she loves you too!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
⚖ I. THE BLOOD. (05/06)
[ She jokes of course, shes just being annoying. That all shes ever here to be. Thats all shes ever allowed to be. ]
Re: ⚖ I. THE BLOOD. (05/06)
[ kyouko looks up from her investigation, unaware of what kind of oil this could even be without further deliberation. ]
' i don't need to be saved, thank-you. i've got this quite handled by myself. though, i cannot say i am not relieved for some semblance of lucidity in this place. your name, please? '
no subject
[ The joke is, she is fourth wall breaking with the implication. Regardless, she gives a little huff with her hands pressed upon her waist and a little hop as she adjusts into place. ]
Call meee your beautiful Kouhai~ ★ BB-chan~~!!!! ★ ★ ★ So are you gunna stay detective-chan or are you gunna leave with me?
no subject
' i... do not know where else there is to go, unfortunately, so... i will need a guide, if you are willing, bb-san. i feel as though it simultaneously know and do not know this place. '
no subject
[ BB says out loud, though again her hard ass will completely miss the joke. Understandably, even so the joke and gesture is made. BB speaks plainly. ]
Several of the areas are closed off however, it looks like youll have to hit a certain plot point to get there though~~~★★★ !! I heard there was a foul stinky smell once at the clock tower - yuckky!! Maybe if you go there you'll find out more stuff.
ii. dr everything spoilers
You.
( he calls out, his eyes falling behind someone that's coming out the bathroom, and their pace much faster than his own. they probably have somewhere to go already, and komaeda can understand considering how different this place is. he finds it very close to the simulated world he had trapped himself in accidentally, he figures that it's happening to him again — it's why people are kind to him, why he's surrounded by a mix of talent and the untalented, but he plays along. as long as hope can be birthed by their efforts, nothing truly matters outside of that and nothing matters outside of this. this person's talent makes his heart beat faster and faster, and because of this, he finds himself calling out again. )
You shouldn't go any further.
( because moving forward is bad luck, considering there's good luck komaeda has found by stumbling upon an ultimate. he doesn't say that, but this world seems too flimsy, of course it would be when the floorboard nearby seems to have cracks sprouting from it, and they're hard to see considering everything looks so rundown. )
Re: ii. dr everything spoilers
' komaeda nagito-kun. '
[ she breathes his name like a prayer: he isn't togami, or naegi, mind you, but the fact that she is not alone - that there is someone who knows her and her reputation and what she is capable of; someone she knows and knows his reputation and what he is capable of, in the same breath - relieves her. she goes no further, as he advises, and her hands lower down to her sides. this is not kibougamine, that much is for certain: jin's legacy would not have allowed such ruin. ]
' you speak as though you're familiar with this place. do you know where we are? '
no subject
Kirigiri-san, it's a pleasure to finally meet you face to face.
( his voice continues to have that same lighthearted tone, acting as if he's never been a stranger and hasn't seen her in awhile. how could he forget someone imbued with so much hope as her, considering she's one of the few that managed to succeed within the mutual killing game with hope himself. ) Well... I'm familiar, but this side of the world, I'm not.
( he pauses, something coming to his mind as he looks towards her, and then down to the floor where he notices a few cracks. that seems dangerous, he thinks. ) Tell me, is this another program orchestrated by you and your friends? ( he means the entirety of this school from start to finish, because she would know, right? sadly, her own question that she spoke towards him moments ago makes his own seem rhetorical. )
no subject
[ it had been naegi's idea, the whole thing, but of course she followed him into the decision. never had kyouko done anything blindly, but he needed her to pull off what it was he wanted to do. they had been so hopeful in their rehabilitation processes, though jabberwock in its entirety left a bad taste in her mouth with what had transpired during and after it. ]
' this is... wrong. different. i'm simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar with this place, though i cannot tell if that is because i remember being here or if this school reminds me so vehemently of what transpired at kibougamine '
[ the weight of hope's peak sits on her bloodied hands moreso than it should: did kirigiri jin get a chance to atone for his sin before he became less than a wrapped up taunt for the surviving detective? sure, where she is from, she has not thought about her father in some time, but just speaking the name of their alma mater pulls that memory out of her like a plucked string. ]
' i can say with certainty the future foundation did not do this. we have all but since sworn off using technology like the neo world program, after makoto-kun's trial. the only people who would know how to use it at this point is myself and alter ego-san. i've yet to find a computer with some personality, though, so... '
[ she jokes. it's funny, see? an AI joke? it's her attempt at lightening the mood. ]
' who all else is here? '
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It's been awhile since I've heard that name.
( he mentions, that was the beginning of his life — everything started there for him, his obsession, his happiness and his hope. the memories though are complicated, but he still smiles at the mention of it. despite what has happened so far, it still sits with him in a different way than it does the detective that's beside him. crossing his arms, he speaks softly, exposing his goal as if it's just came to him. truth be told, he's always been like this. )
With you here, our path to hope will grow exponentially! So I'm not worried! ( he chuckles softly, though, only for a moment as a certain name crosses her lips, and there's hesitance in his actions as he dares to look away. the one who defeated despair with the hell of his allies, one of them being here, but makoto naegi in general is...
he lifts his mechanical hand to start counting names on every digit that he can recall towards ultimates. )
Ishimaru-kun, ( he starts off, already knowing that they're familiar because of the future foundation's black book, and even he thinks that piece of information is a nice place to start with. ) Hinata-kun, ( he taps on a second finger, but there's something different about him, his memories compared to komaeda's doesn't add up properly. ) Ouma-kun, and Saihara-kun. The latter two I don't recall from the book unless they were marked out on purpose, but they are ultimates, their hope is pretty strong so I trust them!
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DECEASED VIA HEAD TRAUMA, hinata hajimeOR, MORE APPROPRIATELY, KAMUKURA IZURU, and then two names she had never heard of before. he claims they are ultimates, which turns her stomach: there should have been no more super high school levels after them. was that not the purpose of their existence? ]' thank you, komaeda-kun. '
[ it is a good place to start rather than any. violet eyes settle onto the mechanical hand, watches it whirr, watches it move. future foundation tech, to replace the horrible thing that had been done to him. it's for the best, she had been told: so long as he has function of both hands, in a way, she supposes it's alright. ]
[ it's a sick joke, really: someone so hell-bent on knowing hope and witnessing it, and someone who had been so close to genuine hope only before having it be taken from her again and again. i was just a girl, she thinks, the first time i felt hopeless. never once did she allow herself to fall into despair, though: she refused to be like those who took the world from her. ]
' and are you well? given current circumstances. if you and hinata-kun are together, that means at least you've had someone to lean on. '
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Oh my gosh! Are you alright?
[He rushes up the stairs to check on the person. The person in question has gotten back up and seems fine, but even so...! And Ishimaru only sees more reason to approach her once he gets a good look at that person, and he is struck by the sight of someone he recognizes! He gives a surprised gasp.]
K... Kirigiri-kun?!
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it couldn't be.
she turns over her shoulder at the way he says her name, lips parted in a look of shock, awe, and self-disgust. he was one of the people she couldn't save. she remembers looking at his corpse, at the head trauma wound. is this some kind of joke, she thinks, a hallucination to taunt her for her own failures? the names play in her head one after the other after the other: maizono, kuwata, ishimaru, yamada, ludenberg- ]
' i-ishimaru-kun. '
[ she approaches him, abandoning the jacket, hands gripping his arms firmly. he's solid. he's real. and he's here. ]
' this can't be happening. you... how are you... you're alive. '
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Even so, he's surprised by her reaction! Perhaps she must just be surprised to see him here, just like Naegi was. Both of them did seem very surprised. He's been convincing himself that it must just be because they did not expect to find him here! He never did get around to asking Naegi about how things have been in Hope's Peak since he left. Ishimaru's memories are a bit fuzzy, after all. He remembers being told about an exit and... having a run-in of some kind along the way. He doesn't want to think much about that memory, though, because it gives him a splitting headache! Instead, he's been content to assume that it must have been resolved peacefully! Yes, he must have escaped from the school successfully and then somehow ended up here...
Here, where Kirigiri is now gripping his arms. He gives a bit of a nervous smile.]
Of course, I am alive and well! Th-there is no reason for me not to be! [He doesn't want to read into her choice of words.]
I know that it must be quite the confusing situation. I must have made it out of Hope's Peak successfully... and now I am here! And even better, now you have joined me! How- how splendid! [This place is far from ideal and has proven to be deadly in its own way, but Ishimaru still will consider it a step up from Hope's Peak at the very least.]
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[ the thought alone makes her want to vomit, but there is a blissful ignorance that he exists in: he is from a world where he believes he made it out of kibougamine successfully, and she cannot help but wonder if he remembers ishida, if he remembers oowada-kun, if he remembers the trauma they have all endured. she chooses to shelve this conversation for a later date, though, and instead she removes her hands from his arms, looking away briefly to pocket her hands in her jacket. ]
' apologies. i've been stumbling through this place, and i have memories of makoto-kun, but there is no record of him here. given where we've come from, i assumed the worst. but you're here, and you're alive, and that's comforting. '
[ she hopes he believes her lie. she's always been a good one, at least. ]
' though i don't want to be too happy yet... what is this place? where are we? '
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I see. I apologize for causing you to feel worried, Kirigiri-kun! [He's not the best at picking up on lies, especially from someone like Kirigiri.]
As for this place... This is a high school called Yogen. We appear to be trapped in its halls, though it seems quite different from... from our previous situation. [He doesn't want to say it out loud, as if saying so will invoke it and summon a black-and-white bear.] For one, there is a faculty and student body here, although it is as if some force is making them oblivious to our plight.
[He also thinks to add-]
I should also say that Naegi-kun was here when I first arrived in this school. But I regret to inform you that he has gone missing without a trace. I have been unable to locate him.
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' makoto-kun? he was here, too? and now he is not? '
[ she forces herself to think logically. in what situation would naegi makoto be here, and then be victimized, but someone who did not survive (such as ishimaru here) is placed in front of someone who has (such as herself)? none of this made sense, and honestly, she hasn't worked through the fact that ishimaru is alive, let alone able to speak to her and interact with her. her hands still tingle from where she grabbed him. ]
' - was he... as you remember him? no, that's a poor question. ignore that. are there others here, then? oowada-kun, fujisaki-san, togami-kun? '
[ she is careful to select from a diverse sample: a murderer, a murdered, a survivor. if she has been cursed to live amongst only those who have died, perhaps she too has died . . . this is not what she imagined purgatory to be like, but she would be willing to believe anything, at this point. someone who was dead is not, now, and unless he was returned from the brink of death just as she had when she died for naegi, there was no logical explanation to all of this. ]
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Are you okay, ma'am? [instead, she's just the kind of hero that shows up afterwards and fishes tissues out of her book bag to hand to people with dirty gloves.]