Week Five

[stagemanagers]

[Last week, you had your very first minor body pileup! Granted, the Balladeer's death was entirely unrelated to anything, but at least he died as he lived - getting completely fucked up in some kind of carnival-themed hellscape. Only two days later, another terrible accident took Rina and Varian both from you. It's just been one of those weeks, huh? At least you got to add both of their corpses to your weird growing collection!

Again, you'll wake up this morning with another new snippet of memory. You'll also find that the stairs in the lobby are no longer blocked. You can only access one part of the second floor, but it seems like there's some neat stuff up there!

Outside, a few things seem to have changed. For one, the weather has turned - it'll be overcast this week, with periodic rain and even scattered thunderstorms. For another, the bushes around that rock out by the football field have bloomed. That's nice.

Get to it, friends! I'm sure everything will be fine this week!]


Sunday | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday

(( Be sure to submit your memory regain and your AC for this week! As always, Hester's office hours and the merch booth remain available. ))

Comments

[barberic]

[He squeezes her tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head and the other around her shoulders.]

One day you'll be with them again. [His voice is rough, tired and sad. The thought of her dying - or, as she's said before, of being dead - stabs his heart, but... This isn't better. This place isn't a life worth living, either.

He wants to tell her she can join them when she's old and grey, with her great-grandchildren holding her hand. He wants to be able to promise that to her so badly that it hurts. But the world is cold and cruel, and thousands of girls her age - Johanna's age (Johanna, locked away, Johanna, Johanna...) - unfairly die every day, and he thinks about a rag soaked in mercy, sweet oblivion in defiance of a bitter end.

But Farrah is like him; something of his temper, flaring out in her fury, so ready to fight during the trial. She won't go gently, but kicking and screaming, and if that's so then so be it.

He slowly releases her, only to cup her cheeks, so soft and delicate in his hands, rough from fifteen years of hard labor, rough from three graves dug in three days time, and he kisses her forehead.]

But we have a job to do, princess. We have to avenge them first.

[brokeforgood]

[The idea that she'll be with them again... Is a little comforting. Even if it's depressing in itself. She has, unfortunately, had to let go of the teenage notion that dying young is something beautiful and romantic. Instead, it's just tragic, raw, and empty.

She peers up at him, the grief somewhat lifted by shock, because no one's ever called her that before-- not Farrah, whose always been rough-and-tumble, whose always talked back, whose always been short of perfect. She's always thought princess-types were weird and annoying, but when he calls her that, even in this terrible moment-- her heart warms, and she thinks she understands.

There's a glint of determination there, too. She nods, firmly.]

We do. We will.