( DEPARTURE )

[abhoth]

SURVIVORS: 42 At 6:00 PM on the dot, everyone who has died during the ritual will awaken in their respective beds. Whole and unscathed, it would be far too easy to say that everything has been nothing but a fever dream. But the truth, as always, is far different from what the heart yearns for. For the first time in five weeks, night falls over the City of Yuggoth. The sun no longer hangs over your heads, its presence dark and oppressing. Instead, a soft, blue light shines down from the sky. It's not quite the moon, no. The Unclean's avatar is still visible in the sky, after all. But it's comforting. It's the promise of new beginnings, of newly forged bonds, and pacts that neither heaven nor hell are capable of tearing down. Does this singular moment in time make everything they've been through worth it? No, probably not. But this is the end. Their journey is over. Now it's time for forty-one (41) individuals to choose their destination, while one (1) is left behind. The unmarked room between the Kitchen (still wrecked — thanks, Tsurugi) and Laundry room is now open. Faceless men will be giving away baseball caps, pens, keychains and all the splendor of Yuggoth, as well as glossy photos taken throughout the ritual... for most, it will be a photo of their dead body and the manner in which they died. Yikes. A toy machine has also been left here, with a sign that reads TELEGRAM FUND: DEPOSIT YOUR CLUE TOKENS SO EVERYONE CAN CONTACT THEIR FRIENDS. THIS DOES NOT INCLUDE ANDERSEN, SO DON'T ASK. - ABIGAIL. Manning the Curio Shop won't be the only duties the faceless men have been relegated to, however. They'll be hunting down everyone but the new facilitator in order to give them a bus ticket. The destination and time of departure will be blank upon initially receiving it, but as soon as one thinks of where they want to go? Both fields will be filled in, and will be adjusted accordingly if anyone has a last minute change of heart. It seems like, in the end, it's up to the residents to decide whether to return home or to catch a ride with one of their new friends. Starting from 6:00 AM on Tuesday morning (a fact only discernible thanks to the Grandfather clocks, as the sun refuses to rise again), double decker buses will roll by the motel to pick residents up. There will be several buses, each one remaining at the entrance for fifteen minutes and the next one arriving after an hour long interval. Bus tickets will refuse to change after the first bus has arrived, so try not to be too indecisive lest you wish to remain in this realm or strike a deal with the Unclean. On the bright side, there are at least two to four days before everyone has returned home. May as well get those final goodbyes over with, right? It's a wrap, everyone! Thank you for the wild ride, and don't forget to check out the Love Meme and TL;CR Meme. You can use this post to thread out those last goodbyes. ( quick navigation ) ic rulebook | locations | statuses | room assignments private conversations | ic profiles | graveyard | full navigation

Comments

[disinterested]

Should've tried to kill me before this, then. I would've stabbed you and you wouldn't be in this position.

[disinterested]

Probably. Still, after you approached me with that first deal, I thought I would be outed much sooner than I was.

[Though maybe he can't say anything, when he didn't bother to mention his suspicions towards Andersen to any of the other Prophets.

He enjoyed Andersen's company, after all, even if Andersen was most likely convinced at the time that Girge didn't care. (It's almost funny, how the tables turned weeks later.) That was worth more than surviving another week or two.

And maybe he's the one should regret not killing Andersen back then, but as much as a struggle living through last week was... it's not a bad feeling, being able to walk out of here with the fact that, for all of the crimes that he's committed in the relatively few years he's been alive, he's never taken the life of someone he considered a friend.]

[disinterested]

[Ha. In the back of his mind, Girge wonders—if it hadn't been for that deal, he would've told the truth when Andersen asked if he'd sold his soul. Would Andersen have outed him that week and left him to the mercy of the populace? It would've been the logical choice, after all.

But it doesn't matter now.]

... I thought authors aren't supposed to get too invested? Shame on you.

[Then again, neither are facilitators for murder. No wonder the Unclean had looked down on him for his "poor attempts at loyalty and morality".]

[disinterested]

[...]

Which one: the flowers or living?

[disinterested]

[ARE YOU SURE]

Oh, that. What's the book about, anyway? Just in case I don't finish it in time, since I probably won't understand the language when I return home.

[Things he probably shouldn't do: hand the book over to linguists and go "Hey, translate this for me. No, I can't explain how I got this random book written in the language of the ancients (presumably), just do it."]

[disinterested]

[There's a pause, as Girge watches Andersen's increasing embarrassment, before he lets out a laugh—quiet and brief, but genuine.]

... Charming story. [Was there. Something Andersen was trying to tell him with this??] Well, I could always throw the book at someone's head as a distraction.

[disinterested]

[It's endearing!]

On the off chance I'm ever cornered, no promises. Otherwise, though, I'd rather not throw away a gift that someone put thought into.

[disinterested]

[No.]

I think my life is already a useful gift, though that depends on how much use I make of it.

[Because a part of him is aware—uncomfortably so—that perhaps, nothing will change, and he'll find himself regretting this decision.]

But no. Or, if I am, I'm probably far into the future of any Earth you know.

[Based on what they know of the "ancients", and the kinds of technology that people seem used to here.]

[disinterested]

[NOW WHO'S THE COWARD]

... Heh. Well, greenery doesn't thrive well where I'm from, especially once you leave civilization. It's a pretty bleak landscape, in that way.

[So yes, the flowers are nice.]

[disinterested]

[Wow, Andersen, he thought he was done with you asking a million questions about his life.]

Partially.

[disinterested]

[If it were anyone else, Girge would drop the subject and refuse to touch it with a ten-foot pole, but... it's nothing Andersen doesn't already know in some form, so there's little point in avoiding it.]

Nostalgia, I guess. Being away from traces of people reminded me of the hikes I used to take...

[With my father is the unspoken end of that sentence.

Until the first major fracture in their relationship formed, and leisure steadily declined on Girge's list of priorities.]

I wasn't lying when I said that I hated the place, though.

[disinterested]

A book I can't read, and dying flowers. Are all of your gifts this strange?

[He appreciates them, though.]

Though everything's on its way to meet its end, sooner or later. Not much lasts even a lifetime.

[disinterested]

[...]

Would it kill you to give a straightforward explanation for once?