Vice Director (
vicedirector) wrote in
sevenvirtues2016-04-19 07:55 pm
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
(no subject)
You awaken to blackness. Frightening, although familiar--this is the same terrible thing you narrowly avoided during your first trip into Lebensbaum. The pain of your death is still real, echoes of the wounds you suffered appearing on your skin. Inspecting your surroundings will tell you that you've woken up inside of the cooled, empty bonfire pit....and the town as it was is nowhere to be seen.
The sky is a whirlwind of blank, dark void. What previously acted as roadblocks on either side of the town seems to have moved upward, blocking out most of the sun's light. The street is barren, filled with piles of broken concrete, shattered glass, and smoking craters where many of the buildings used to be. Old bloodstains dot the pavement, mixing in with overturned cars and crumbling brick walls. Lebensbaum is a dead town, in more ways than one.
Except for the hotel. It stands, as dusty and abandoned as it ever was, but no worse for the wear. Scorch marks can be seen on the ground around it in a clear border, as though it had a barrier protecting it from whatever destroyed the village. If you venture inside, everything is in its place, as though the outside wasn't completely obliterated.
The living can be seen walking around, going about their daily lives, and if you concentrate, you can even see the buildings as they once were--in working order, clean, and in one piece.
As of Monday on Week 10, however, there is a door, seemingly pasted into the middle of the street. As the days tick by, the doors will increase in number, one for each victim.
The sky is a whirlwind of blank, dark void. What previously acted as roadblocks on either side of the town seems to have moved upward, blocking out most of the sun's light. The street is barren, filled with piles of broken concrete, shattered glass, and smoking craters where many of the buildings used to be. Old bloodstains dot the pavement, mixing in with overturned cars and crumbling brick walls. Lebensbaum is a dead town, in more ways than one.
Except for the hotel. It stands, as dusty and abandoned as it ever was, but no worse for the wear. Scorch marks can be seen on the ground around it in a clear border, as though it had a barrier protecting it from whatever destroyed the village. If you venture inside, everything is in its place, as though the outside wasn't completely obliterated.
The living can be seen walking around, going about their daily lives, and if you concentrate, you can even see the buildings as they once were--in working order, clean, and in one piece.
As of Monday on Week 10, however, there is a door, seemingly pasted into the middle of the street. As the days tick by, the doors will increase in number, one for each victim.
no subject
no subject
[His shoulders immediately retract in supplication though his arms are still flung out. Come back to life. They're words that Takao hasn't let himself actually think this whole time - it sort of makes sense that he can't stick around here forever or get murdered for real, he's worked as hard as anyone else to cheer on the living and there's that assumption it'll work out in the end. These people were in some cases friends and all at the very least presented themselves as in control of whether they killed or not (THOUGH NOT ALL OF THEM WOULD NEVER KILL, LOOKING AT YOU, RHYS), these supposed secret agents never had their hands in any murders, and yet they protected their secret at all costs - it's almost immediately obvious that these were arranged by people close to Miata, who has always impressed Takao in her strength to support the villagers and subvert Katerina.
He immediately asks her with reciprocal seriousness, though it doesn't sound as composed, this revelation has shaken him--] How sure are you that it could work? [In Japan just as much as Europe "trying to make sure" is a phrase that a genuine, earnest person does not exactly use to convey complete confidence]
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject