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WEEK ONE: EXECUTION
EXECUTION | |
| ▽ FULL NAVIGATION ▽ LOCATIONS ▽ STATUSES ▽ IC PROFILES ▽ IC RULEBOOK ▽ MURDER PROPOSALS ▽ PCS ▽ CURFEW ▽ AUDIENCES ▽ CAMP STORE ▽ REPORTING |
Good morning, Camp Gatonina. The weather continues to be... okay, actually? Sunny skies as far as the eye can see. Not a single stormcloud to be found. Hardly the right environment for this grimm sort of occasion. At 9AM, two hours after the bugle call for breakfast, you will be drawn to the bonfire. Your body will move of its own volition, giving you little to no time to pick up any sort of protection. As you approach the bonfire, you will find that you are not the only one. The Camp Directors and Ogata seem to be marching to the same rhythm as the rest of you, their movements stiff as they approach from the direction of the Isolation Cabin. Once everyone has gathered in the same location, you will hear a voice that is recognized by none. "Haha, that was a trainwreck. Ogata Hyakunosuke, get over here." Ogata will be forced to approach the fire, as everyone else takes several steps back to form something of an impromptu fighting ring around the bonfire. "As for your opponent... Beauregard Lionett, why don't you give us a show?" Similarly to Ogata, Beauregard will be forced to approach the fire. Those in the audience will find themselves rooted to the spot, and the participants of the execution will hit an invisible barrier three feet away from the rest of the group if they try to escape. In her dominant hand, Beauregard will find a 20-sided dice... though one of the sides is now blank. You're all old pros at this. It goes without saying that it's time for the execution to begin. |
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[ She hasn't looked away, but her voice gentles a degree. Or it perhaps it just becomes fainter, as if she's dying inside. ]
This entire weekend has been one wrong thing after another.
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her voice... how things have been for them this whole week.
...
....
he reaches out and oh-so carefully takes a hold of her hand—fingers tentatively and gently wrapping around her wrist more than anything. he isn't sure this will bring her comfort but if it at least provides any kind of reaction that differs from what is happening before her, then that would be just as fine. ]
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I don't—
[ She sounds like she could almost cry, and then she slams a door over that, her features becoming as still waters as how he used to hold his heart. ]
... That's not where my hand is.
[ It's the weakest insult she's ever given him. ]
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well, she doesn't sound as sad but there's something off by the way she speaks. it doesn't sound right to him, and he can't pin point what it is. shame he doesn't have time to think about it. not really when there's the rest to watch. (does she want him to hold her hand? isn't he holding her hand..?)
he doesn't know what words to use or if he should let go—she isn't telling him to—so he just keeps his grip firm. gentle, but firm. (comforting?) ]
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She doesn't have the emotional bandwidth to be tender right now. That doesn't mean she doesn't want it. It doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate it, but— ]
Whoever is guilty must not be forgiven.
[ Her words are as sharp and as piercing as the sword sheathed at her side. ]
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The guilty and whoever is responsible for toying with us like this.
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The one behind the rules of all of this is abhorrent, and a murderer still lives. No one must forget that.
The truth must be uprooted.