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

✦Return to Event ✦

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Mmm. No, it's more like... a verb, but past tense in such a way that it becomes an adjective, if you know what I mean. Something that happened to you," Dahlia explains, thinking. "What about mine?"

So he was correct in not just jumping at his first instinct... Something that happened to him? He seems to be mulling that over, so it's not something he's done to others? Not a Murderer? That truly has him stumped.

"Ah, no, yours is an adjective as well. Current tense." Artemy says, trying to bring himself back to the present, "It's a word I find very unbecoming of a young lady of your status." He says, and maybe it's a bit too honest, but truly what do any of them have to lose right now?

That earns a tired laugh from Dahlia. "So I've heard." Several people now have made a similar remark. "Well, if it was picked by my grandfather, he... knows me well, so I'm imagining something perhaps a bit more cutting than is fair but not entirely off track."

She sighs. Gods, she's tired of this game.

"I've actually been wondering about something," she says after a moment. "Would you mind if I took a look at your envelope for a moment? I won't open it, I just want to see if there's any significant differences between them that might be a hint. Maybe something on the wax seal, or markings that can be seen in the light?"

"I think if it's even a little true then you've earned the right to be that way, from what I've heard of you." Artemy says, "I know we don't know each other very well, but truly, your reputation does precede you."

Burakh gives her a cautious glance. Wondering if he can trust her with his envelope. The Jersey Devil, the Cannibal, the Flower Queen, the Woman who chose the Town over her family legacy...

Artemy takes out his envelope and passes it to her.

Dahlia takes it, and goes to grab her own from her robe pocket. Runs her thumb along the apparently identical wax seals with care, inspecting them carefully, studying them for any discrepancy. Holds them up to the light.

Then she stows her own with a sigh, and moves to hand Artemy's back to him.

Her hands are so delicate and deft that it would be next to impossible to notice the ever so minuscule act of sleight of hand that allows her to take a small, thin blade out of a tiny pouch sewn many, many years ago into the hip of her nightgown, from all those years where she felt she couldn't fall asleep unless she was armed in a dozen ways. And before the envelope can reach his hands, she redirects her own to jam the blade resting between her middle and ring finger between his ribs. She knows all the vital spots. What's left of the Dark Feast that lives within her can still smell them.

"I'm sorry," she whispers earnestly. "Someone has to go to the children."

Then, in one motion, she uses her thumb to flick open the top of the envelope and push the paper that reads TAINTED out of the envelope and onto the floor, key sliding into her hands. Then she stands up and lets out a gasp. Feigning helplessness, she turns to the room. "I--- I-I don't know what happened, he made a guess and opened the envelope and---"

People will come to check the body. When that happens, she needs to get away. Fast. She doesn't have much time until the truth gets out, and she needs to get the key to Tenna.

He feels a pain- ah. Well. He suppose he should have seen this coming. He was too trusting, had related to her a bit too much.

It was a good run. He would die with regrets, angry and bitter, but everything to be resentful about was his own fault. Not hers. She simply played the game better than he did.

He slides back onto his chair, and on floor- the chair clatters, surely causing a scene. Dahlia knew what she was doing, she had severed a line that was irreparable, broken forever, internal bleeding, organ damage- Honestly, Artemy's rather impressed.

The Haruspex makes a quick choice. 'Only what is right is willed, that's the truth of it. Before she can make her quick escape he slides another, smaller open envelope into her hands.

He closes his eyes and doesn't resist what happens. The Butcher, Menkhu, Man who has chosen Love lets himself slip away into the dark.

There's a wordless exclamation of alarm, and Azimar hurries over.

"Move back, let me --" he's saying, holding out a hand, but it's immediately clear that it's too late for a healing spell.

Sasavachi had been nearby when the blonde woman approached Artemy. He didn't think anything of it. Everyone, from what he's seen so far, has done little more than converse in fretful, anxious tones.

But something goes wrong. Artemy falls. The woman is speaking, helpless, but Sasavachi doesn't register her words. He appears right after the horned man to crouch by Artemy, the world falling away to focus on him.

(He does not forget kindness, nor does he forget to repay his debts.)

Vitals? Signs of magic? Sasavachi examines the man who had helped him with gentle hands, searching for hints of his demise...

He's laying flat on his stomach, but still, on his left side, on the side Dahlia was sitting on, there's a thin line, a wound placed strategically in between his ribs. Blood is steadily dripping out, making a puddle on the floor, but most of the damage is internal bleeding.

He has no pulse. His death was fast, his skin is already fading to that yellowish pale tint that's fit for a corpse.

Ironic, that a murderer finally died being murdered. Or perhaps it's a fitting death.

Dahlia uses the kerfuffle to flee the scene immediately, making a bee-line to the TV-headed man she's been seen with throughout the night, the one who lives with her. No one would think anything of her running to her friend in her distress, and no one's looking at the two of them right now...

(Unless they are.)

It doesn't take a very close look to see the blood.

"Well." Azimar straightens, his expression a touch grim. "I suppose organs do fail when someone's stabbed, but somehow I don't think that's what was meant. Unless there was an enchanted knife in his envelope? -- Where's his envelope got to?"

Artemy's envelope and the slip of paper, reading Tainted are a few inches in front of him.

The key that should be in his envelope, however, is missing.

Marik says nothing, only watching what events unfold before everyone, a look of panic betraying the fact that he doesn't budge from his seat. His hands remain close to his body.

The man before them is dead. He's been killed.

Permanently. He won't... come back...

But that's...

He slowly rises up. Shift into the crowd. Hiding. Becoming part of the background. That's what he needs to do. He needs to survive at all costs.

Sasavachi has killed enough to recognize the neat deliberation of the wound. This was not an act of sudden fury and impulse. It was done with careful intention, by someone who understood how to rend a life. His hand hovers over the injured chest - the body heat yet remains - and he whispers, "See him to his proper place, Thal."

He stands up. Turns on his heel and scans the room, immediately looking for the woman from earlier. Without looking at the horned man, Sasavachi says to him:

"Where is she?"

His tone is clear: We can't let her go.

Event Annex - The Senate Room

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cw: murder by stabbing

he dies in this one

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cw dead body description

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/drive-by comment

cw: brief mention of wounds