ph_logs | Event Annex - The Senate Room

CRY HAVOC, AND LET SLIP THE DOGS OF WAR.

elcome, esteemed guests, to the Senate Room.

The rules of the game are simple. You have a word over your head that you cannot see, and the same word written on a piece of paper in an envelope that also contains a key. There is a door out of this room. Each key opens the door for only one person. You can see the words above others' heads, but you cannot say them, nor can you say any direct synonyms that might give it away too easily, nor can you spell the word or its synonyms. You must find other ways to describe it to allow the other person to guess. More abstract. Get creative with it.

If you believe you know the word, speak it aloud and open your envelope to retrieve your key. If you are correct, you can leave without incident. If you are wrong, your organs will immediately fail and you will die.

Here are the words each participant has been assigned. Players can use them to refer to other players' characters to help them guess, and you can use them to check your answers when you guess, but you can also OOCly know your answer provided you don't use it to ICly cheat. Good luck.

Agent Connecticut

Fickle

Agni Azimar

Traitor (there is an additional document contained in this envelope)

Aloy

Obstinate

Ancient Fuelweaver

Ruined

Anzu Menelikov

Deceitful

Artemy Burakh

Tainted

Capochin Bastone

Inadequate

Cassandra de Rolo

Cynical

Dahlia Leeds

Insatiable

Daisy Tonner

Merciless

Elias Coldwood

Discarded

Ethan Winters

Insufficient

Felix Gaeta

Imprudent

Hector Monaque

Covetous

Jonathan Sims

Hubristic

Lev/Lyubov Morgenshtern

Weak

Luo Binghe

Alone

Marik Ishtar

Megalomaniacal

Mr. Ant Tenna

Histrionic

Papyrus

Ineffectual

Sasavachi Chunome

Misanthropic

Shen Qingqiu

Pretentious

Simon

Selfish

Violet Vespertine

Cowardly

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Heart hammering in his chest, it's hard not to feel suffocated by this room, Jon thinks to himself. All of these vicious words bearing down on everyone, with god only knows what above his own head. Too much potential in his hands to hurt someone— himself, any of these people he cares about, any of these beloved town figures, or even those who just got a new chance at life. It's enough to make him feel sick.

What else is there to do besides try to help, though, and fight off the desperation as best as he can?

(The Eye bids him to look, but he cannot See here. The potential of bloodshed feels closer than ever before. He keeps his back away from anyone he can.)

"Best to try to get this over with, then," he offers to someone looking as directionless as himself. "Would you like me to try to start?"

"Go ahead." Artemy says. He hasn't met this man yet, seen him around town though, surely, "We're all here to help each other out, I'm glad to oblige."

In comparison to Jonathan he seems distant, impassive, stoic. Like none of this matters to him in the slightest.

Well, that's strange, but everyone's got to handle these things differently, don't they? Jon tries not to think too much of it, and glances up to the word above the other man's head.

Pursing his lips, Jon drums his fingers gently on the table, before speaking again.

"This is... a difficult one. I'll be honest with you. To think of, yes, but also to, ah... explain. It sort of means... impure. Or touched by an impurity. Possibly corrupted?"

Impure? What is he, a defenseless maiden? He purses his lips. His eyes flit up to Jon's word, and then back down at him again.

"Are you often accused of being a know it all?"

Yes. That is a hint. Delivered in a very deadpan Artemy way! But it's a hint!

Daisy makes a noise, eyes flicking from his word back down to his face and her head tilting to the side. "They put blinders on you?"

"That obvious, is it?"

Jon doesn't take any offense to the question, of course, bitter as he might sound. His attention skims the room periodically, as if he's supposed to be able to see anything beyond it, and his tight-lipped frown fails to disappear at any point. Absolutely nothing, and it's written all over his face.

"I can't tell if the Eye isn't able to see here, thus neither am I, or if it's simply... choosing not to look. Possibly drawing more fear out of that. Same effect either way. I'm cut off. I don't even know if getting these open without dying gets us properly out."

Daisy sighs, already exhausted and trying to seem less frazzled by the implications of all this than she actually is. Usually how damn hard to kill she is would give her a bit of security but it's never that simple, here, is it? Not with the demons.

"I'm going to guess no. Too easy if there's nothing on the other side of that door. But it's that, or die, so."

"...Bit worse than that, I'm afraid," Jon admits quietly. A quick glance skims around the rest of the table, to everyone else lost in their own conversation, trying to figure out each other's worst traits. He'd planned to keep it a secret, but if there's anyone he could tell...

He turns bodily towards Daisy, trying to hide it from the view of anyone else, as he passes his envelope over. His text is just a bit different. And beneath his hand, a sharp glint of silver.

"I can't be the only one who's gotten another means of escape," Jon mutters, quickly and quietly as he can. "And I don't know who else has one. No one's made it apparent yet. But— I'm worried. Anyone could die at any moment, because they failed, or simply because— because someone else saw that they should be the one who escapes, at the cost of someone else's life."

"Oh, jesus—put that away!" she hisses a little, pushing it back, a prickly awareness already raising the hairs on the back of her neck. Not good. Most of the people in here aren't who she'd class as heavy hitters, but you don't have to be to get the jump on someone with a knife they don't know exists.

(There's a part of her that can't deny it's tempting. How long did it take her to decide to live? Is she meant to just chance that? But— no. Don't.)

"...the old man really can't resist."

"Sorry, sorry—!" Jon fusses back, stowing the blade away in his sleeve once more, before busying his hands with his envelope again. The worrying of his brow only deepens.

"It's obvious what he's meaning for us to do with these, but, I—" He lets out a shuddering breath, bringing a hand to scrub over his mouth. "...I can't. I couldn't. I've already done so much to these people. Even if I've not met a few of them, everyone would know. I'm running out of chances that people are willing to give."

"Not sure how many people are going to be left to give 'em. If this means anything about where everyone else is."

Not even half the rough estimate she's got of the otherworlder population in town in the room, by her count, and she doubts the rest are in better conditions. Different, but not better. Who knows how many people are actually going to die, because of this?

"But. You're right. It's... not the right play." Even if it takes some effort to say.

Jon nods, shallow and quick, as if cementing the idea quickly will keep his mind from wandering back to it anymore. It doesn't. And, in fact, one more bleak one crosses his mind, which he murmurs over to her as well.

"If, by some means, I'm... not around anymore, to make use of it. It's yours. I won't ask what you'd do with it, nor will I judge, but— better that we don't let it fall into anyone else's hands. Someone we can't predict, who might hurt someone we care about here. Right?"

"Right. Yeah." Her gaze flickers over to Dahlia. That Eligos brought even her here... raises even more questions about his behaviour, actually, she's not sure what to make of that. But they don't have much time for the big picture, right now, do they? "I'll... keep hold of it. If it comes to it. But it won't. Okay? We'll get the stupid words."

"Think you should take a crack at mine, then? And I'll help you with yours," Jon offers. He doesn't love playing into whatever fucking game this is, but if that's what they have to do to make any kind of escape, even if into something new, then so be it. "I know you'll be brutally honest with me. So, ah. Let me have it."

"Mm. Well. I'm pretty sure I've torn into you for this before, actually," she muses, brow furrowing a little. "It's... wilfully getting in over your own head. Over and over again. And thinking you'll be fine. And not being told otherwise."

Event Annex - The Senate Room

Jonathan Sims | The Magnus Archives | OTA

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