The Wordsmith (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wordsmithery) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trusthell2017-02-18 12:00 pm
wordsmithery) wrote in trusthell2017-02-18 12:00 pm
Take Responsibility.
| Again, the elevator is waiting for you after the allotted time for investigation is over; it idles almost patiently at each floor, waiting for everyone to be on board before sending all of you up to the courtroom high above. Over a third of your original number is dead. The losses are made all the more apparent by the addition of several greyed-out portraits around the podium circle at the center of the room; Kira, Mercy, Judy, Nick, and Kimbley have all joined the ranks of the deceased, their podiums draped in black. Meanwhile, the lectern above stands empty. The Wordsmith waits for everyone to find their place in the circle before he speaks; once that much has been done, his voice can be heard easily throughout the room. "Welcome back, Apprentices. The past several days have been troublesome indeed, and I need not point out that your number has dropped significantly. But a matter even more pressing requires your attention at the moment. In accordance with Rule Seven, the guilty seeks to leave the university and rewrite history. If you wish to prevent that, hold them accountable and have them take responsibility for the fate of Incendiary." Nineteen Apprentices remain. However many leave here at the end of the day is up to you. |
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Well, Kimbley was found in the infirmary. It was clear that his clothing had been burned. Most of the damage sustained to his clothing seemed to be focused down on his lower half, nearby his legs, and the clothing didn't stand up well to the fire.
[ He'll pause to shift notes. He's got this. ]
There's the burns on his arms as well, I'd say about fairly bad ones too. But, nothing worse than just "bad".
...Also, his clothing is soaking wet.
Finally, Kimbley sustained quite a very bad head injury on the lower back of his head. I believe this is what killed him. Someone seemed to try to bandage it up, but as you can see, last-minute regrets didn't do much good as something like that likely killed him instantly...And I believe that's all for my part.
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Instantly? That's... Were there any other injuries that could have bled? Among other wet spots, I found a puddle of water, leading from the door to the cot. There were small amounts of blood in it.
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Kimbley had broken ribs. He was definitely hit by something hard enough to break them.
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Found these in Kimbley's room. Anyone want to explain what they are?
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Kimbley had written all over his walls in his room. One of them was a molecular symbol I don't recognize.
[She pulls out a notebook and rips out a page, which she'll pass around to anyone who wants to take a look at it.
.....That's far from the only thing he wrote but let's start small.]
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[... But it's nothing he recognizes, so he'll shrug and pass it on.]
What else was there? Did Kimbley have a hot or not list himself?
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When the paper gets to him, he looks at it, and. Nope. No clue.]
...well it's not water, at least.
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MODS
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Orihime and I investigated the chem lab. Some containers were sitting out on the counter; methanol and various solvents, plus copper chloride. [ He whips out his phone to check the picture he took to make sure he got the names right. ] They've all been used.
Additionally, we found some notes. Some of it was written in German and we couldn't understand it, and there was a layman's explanation on making chlorine gas.
[ He'll also pull out this. ]
This was in one of the drawers. It looks unfinished, and the handwriting matches the other notes we found in the lab.
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Concentrated chlorine gas, to be more specific.
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The tablets, Silver said they smell like a pool. Chlorine is used to clean pools, right? Could someone have taken them to use to try and make chlorine gas?
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I think the copper stuff makes blue fire. Kimbley showed me once. I don't know anything else about it, though.
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Whomever messed with the pool should truly be ashamed of themselves. Really, glass outside of the pool? Scorch marks? Not to mention all of the blood in the pool! Absolutely disgusting!
[Culprit, you got some explaining to do.]
Of course, there was blood outside of the pool as well, because clearly no one knows how to clean up after themselves. There was a trail of blood going from the pool, to the men's changing room, all the way to the infirmary. It's rather likely Mr. Kimbley was carried there, if I had to take a guess.
...And no, for the record, I did not go inside the changing room. A good kick to open the door prevented that.
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[ ... Good on you with the changing room though. Elda even gives a little thumbs up from over here. ]
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He locked his door, but left it open, and there was no damage to the lock or anything like that. The key was still on his bed, along with a waterlogged doll that looked a lot like Chiyuki.
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[...]
Did he have it on him or something like that? Why the hell is it so wet?
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CATCH THESE HANDS
Excuse me, everyone! This is a strange request, but I'd like to examine everyone's hands for a bit. Please hold them out, make a fist, and then open up your palm again.
[ That would be a good way to check if anyone's hands are injured, right? ]
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[His words imply being annoyed, but his face is... Blank. Vacant.]
You want to see my hands? Fine.
[He yanks off his gloves with a certain amount of hesitance and difficulty; his hands are completely bandaged underneath.]
Gold and I couldn't sleep and spent the night together. We beat each other up, as we always did. I roughed up my knuckles too much, so I've been keeping bandages in my room.
[And that's that. Right?]
I wouldn't do anything that would get Gold killed. And while we're at it, neither would he.
[He puts his hands down and immediately fidgets with his pants, betraying his blank expression.]
So what exactly are you accusing us of?
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[Varric raised his voice to be heard above the pandemonium. The past few weeks has been nothing but voting for themselves, and he has no doubts that it's going to go the same damn way this week. With their numbers rapidly dwindling, it wasn't a risk he was willing to take.]
This is... this is shit, all of it. Believe me. But we need to make one thing clear before voting. We can't vote for ourselves, this time. We... we need to do this right, because I'm not going to let any of you die.
If you can't vote, fine. Come sit with me. Let someone else take care of it. But please. Think of the people you love here, alright?
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I wish we could just vote for Kimbley instead. This whole mess is his fault.
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SELECTION.
Have the guilty party take responsibility for their actions, and be held accountable for Incendiary's death.
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>MISCHIEVOUS
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1/2
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ACCOUNTABILITY.
But then the pit in the center of the room illuminates itself, and once your eyes adjust to the near-blinding shift in light pouring into the room it becomes immediately obvious that Gold is no longer among you in the podium circle; the realization is accompanied with a soft grinding noise beneath Podium Twelve, and it isn't long at all before Gold enters the circle, walking out to the center in a manner that's both deliberate and quickly-paced.
But instead of taking the time to immediately look over at the burgeoning darkness beneath Podium Eighteen, he looks up, trying to shield his eyes and focus on the rest of the group up above, still standing around the circle. It's fairly clear that he can't see properly, the changes in light are too great between the darkness of the room and the brightness emanating from the walls of the pit, but once he's settled on the place he last remembers a fair concentration of people standing – Lusamine, Watanuki, Hanyuu, Silver - he ducks his head a little, and when he tries to resume eye contact his expression has shifted a bit. It's...bright, smirking a little, colored with the usual confidence he's been trying to wear for the past month in this place, and the vague, informal gesture he offers is brief but assured, somewhere between a salute and a wave, and the meaning behind it is obvious – he meant what he said.
Thanks for everything.
And by now that thick, black silt has poured fairly steadily into the room; Gold remains in the center, though he pivots a bit to try to keep an eye on it, to see where the biggest concentration of it is, where it's most likely to strike from-
And as the shadows and darkness collect themselves in a spot right in front of him - trying to make sure he sees it, to make sure he knows what's coming - Gold's smirk turns determined, and his hand is quick to dart into the pocket of that hooded jacket he wears, and it seems that his bandaged hands weren't the only thing that that large pocket was good for keeping concealed.
The jar is full of fluids and powders, similar in looks to the things Kimbley used to make when he was alone in the chemistry lab; there's a strip of cloth snagged in the opening to be used as a wick, and there's a small pack of matches from the night before and in one quick movement there's fire, and for the second time in twenty-four hours a makeshift grenade leaves Gold's hand.
Unlike the first time, there's not going to be any regret following the action.
The jar shatters as soon as it comes in contact with the entity pooled on the floor, and the flames spread quickly across it; the fire is bright, colored an intense blue as it flares up against the darkness, much like oil will burn over the top of water. The shadows halt their approach on Gold, though it doesn't seem to be retreating, either – it simply halts, freezing up for a moment before shifting, forming a thick, swirling mass on the floor as it burns.
And then it gathers itself up, and it proceeds to shoot out a thick, burning tendril toward Gold, trying to ensnare him.
Gold dodges, the expression on his face turning quickly from determination to concern; whatever he'd expected, this is...bad, it's not stopping it, it doesn't seem to have slowed it down-
Another tendril shoots out; a rolling dodge avoids it.
A third. And Gold's next move sends him directly into the sudden, abrupt grasp of the first, wrapping around his waist and holding him still while the bright blue flames flare higher around him, seeming almost to feed off the shadows and darkness instead of banishing them.]
Goodnight, Mischievous.
[The Wordsmith's voice sounds out, perhaps a bit earlier than usual given the state of the entity; usually he waits until the person is almost completely consumed. Though perhaps it's warranted this time – the shadows don't waste time, nor do they wait; the consumption is mercifully quick this time, even though Gold is struggling against it, trying to get it off him despite the heat and the pain that comes with fighting; it simply spreads quickly and envelops him whole before dropping hard back to the floor, where it continues to burn undeterred.
After a moment, the Wordsmith will speak again.]
You've done well today; you're free to go, there's nothing more for you to do.
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Mikazuki wonders... to compare it to last time wherein the man had said nothing of the sort. He didn't certainly watch this "execution", surely enough. He didn't really need to, nor did he want to, considering the circumstances.
Would many wish to watch a child end up in such a predicament? And see it's closure...? Absolutely not, and well, he does make his departure. ]
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