Graveyard

[lesmodsalouette]

Graveyard

The garden is still sprawling and green – despite having entirely lost all its riotous flowers and colors, along with any sign of wildlife or birdsong – though one thing stands out more than anything else: from Monday to Thursday, you can’t see the castle anymore. All that remains where it once stood (or perhaps, usually stands) is an incongruously large tree that towers over everything else and somehow looks larger and more imposing than the castle ever did. The tree’s branches are bare, without any hint of life nor leaf – however, on the weekends (that is to say, Friday through Sunday) a faint projection of the castle appears around it, cradling the only things that the denizens of this alternate garden can see in detail from the other side: the flurry of activity around the investigation, the circus-like dimension that holds the trial, and the mirrors and the grassy dimension that display the execution.

For those curious what the land of the living are up to, a mirage-like and upside-down reflection of the castle garden in its original arrangement can be spotted occasionally overlaying the sky. This strange illusion may sometimes show those in the garden on the other side, flitting in and out of view like stray clouds; but much like the weather, their appearance is mercurial – they cannot be reached and cannot be heard.

Water, Flower, Everywhere

The fountains remain active somehow, though their features seem to have eroded, obscuring the identities of the deities and the wings of the birds, cracking pottery down into nothing but worn shards and handles. At night, only maybe half the lights work (and here they are real candlelight, rather than magical), plunging most of the garden into crepuscular darkness. The trellis walkway looks quite overgrown (mysteriously, bamboo is taking over), entirely covering some statues and other features along its length, and it’s no longer walkable – a miniature canal runs the whole length underneath the arches, feeding into other new waterways around the garden that cut off footpaths seemingly at random. There are small footbridges here and there, but the lack of logic to the whole arrangement makes falling into one of the streams or canals a real hazard.

The waterways do all manage to converge at the pond by the pavilion – neither of which are all that soothing or classical anymore. The pond is only half-full, and entirely lacks water lilies or any dragonflies; its banks sit jagged above the dark waters, and perhaps that’s why the pavilion, too, is half collapsed down into it all. Gone are the curtains and ivies; only dead curling vines and half-collapsed columns are left, but there’s still someplace to sit if you put your mind to it.

Most of the flowerbeds sit fallow or overtaken by weeds – there’s signs here and there that someone might have tried to clear them out, but the bulk of the effort seems to have gone to the orchard by the gardener’s cottage. It might be more accurate to say cottages, given that there are a few of them dotted around that area for some reason. None of them are locked, but all of them have only minimal furnishings apart from the original; they’re also all provided with the full complement of gardener’s tools. Next to them, there are new saplings and half-grown flowering trees: some pear and apple, but also some not. There are new shoots in the kitchen orchard that have just barely taken root, the dirt recently turned.

Hedge Maze(?)

The other most eye-catching feature is what once was an ornamental hedge maze: instead of being a tame height here, it has seemingly grown wild and completely unchecked, towering above the rest of the garden almost like its own overgrown mountain. The hedge walls go up and up and up, making it entirely impossible to see the center or even how far it goes despite the fact that sections of the hedges have also died, reduced to the branches underneath, bristling with interlocked thorns.

Part of it had even spilled over into the garden itself, huge gnarled branches spreading out like burnt-blackened fingers all the way to the edge of the pond – wherever the branches touch, even the greenery is withered, and any statues look more ruined than those in the rest of the area. As of the end of Week 3, however, the branches have retracted entirely and the way into the hedge maze has opened even more. However, there is now a storm brewing over what might be the center or the general area of it. Getting close to the hedge maze or any of the hedge(?) branches is... unpleasant, though it doesn’t usually go beyond a buzz of wrongness and a slight headache.

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Comments

[distain]

[Hell continues to not look like she expected it when she once again opens her eyes to an unfamiliar place. Pain is more familiar than the absence of it, and so the jolt of feeling none of it at all is like being dunked into frigid water.

Mm, well, that might be the snow.

Her eyelids flutter; she takes in the deterioration and the regrowth. Inhales.]

Damn it.

[Because she's a little tired, and it would have been nice, even if she longs for one more chance to see...

Andrew will be closing her eyes for at least a couple minutes longer, thank you.]

[siffriend]

[ Good that she is, because it gives Siffrin time to come over with a bottle of wine and a moment to sit in the lessening snow, to school their expression into something other than the ecstatic happiness they're feeling at seeing her again

and exhale. ]

Hi, Andrew.

[distain]

[Oh, Siffrin's here; it might be Hell after all (many things this could mean).

The time in between her lying here, Siffrin's approach, and their speaking offers her a similar buffer. No twinkling starts or screaming birds to give away her surprise or frustration.

But she is also a little tired of deciding which sides of herself she likes giving away every day.]

Hello, Siffrin.

[Andrew remains abundantly still.]

Not quite "the other side of the mirrors," is it? But they were close enough.

[siffriend]

Not quite at all.

[ But it was a nice thought, there. They'll pour a cup and set it gently in the snow, because they aren't a heathen who makes people drink from bottles. ]

... It's hard to explain. We're... before, or after. I think after. The weeks drag weirdly though. It was snowing for a whole other here after the one we had there.

[ So the renewal is nice, really. They like it. ]

Can I hold your hand?

[ Just like before, a simple and selfish wish. ]

[distain]

I defer, as always, to your expertise in these matters.

[Before or after... she wonders what that means regarding to the bubble and how time does or doesn't pass. Ah, would that mean...? She doesn't want to think about it, though.

Andrew flops her arm out to the side, wordlessly, palm-up and lax, and then reaches the other across, too, this one open to receive an item, not another another hand.

She is bizarrely neutral in affect and energy, which is fairly easy for anyone to notice.]

Unless you want to feed it to me.

[siffriend]

[ Cup to one hand, their own to the other. Gentle as ever. ]

I'd be afraid of drowning you.

[ (You

have something you want to ask so badly--) ]

It's quiet here. Without everyone around.

cw a little death ideationy just in case

[distain]

[She laughs when they say they're afraid of drowning her, as if to say, "Seriously?"]

Good.

[Just. Directly.]

I thought death would be peaceful and a relief. I'll take one of the two. [She finds a way to sip while still mostly supine, then does, extremely grudgingly, sit herself up.]

You like being around others much more than I do.

[frostlight]

[Tia's steps are quiet on her approach. She stands there, allowing Andrew a moment and then two before leaning forward.]

How do you feel?

[distain]

Tired. [A few other things linger in there, too. Frustrated. Weak. That after all she'd done to be free of her cage, she was just a scared and stupid little girl trying to outsmart giants.

She opens her eyes to see Tiamat leaning over her. There's a second of hope, but it's the same as always. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Wrong.]

Are we still calling you Tia?

[frostlight]

That's right. After all, it's my name.

[Anna is . . . well.

Tia extends a hand with her palm upturned.]

Can you stand?

[distain]

Yes, but I like it down here.

[Let her play dead for a little bit longer, Tia.

That does mean she will somewhat rudely ignore the hand for... well, long enough that this moment does look incredibly awkward.]

You fought because you didn't want to wait, right? [She's been thinking about that a lot, lately, that Tia had said it - humans like to wait for things to happen.]

[frostlight]

[Okay. A beat after Andrew's answer, Tia drops her hand.

Is this about why she's here? As much as she'd like to say that she did, because she would have . . . ]

I fought, because my pride was insulted.

[distain]

[It strikes her that Tia only met her when she was playing the dutiful Duke's daughter, shaking and scared. Most of them know a slightly different version of her; Andrew never once showed all of herself to any one individual. She might not even know what that person entails entirely.

But Tia, in particular, might not know of her spiteful determination or blunter demeanor. And now that she's here, Andrew might as well act however suits her.]

Your pride? As a... [not fairy] spirit?

[thesharpestroy]

[After the adventure in the maze, Shiv sees that more people have appeared. The men can wait for now; there's somebody she wants to check in on more right now.]

Andy. Not how I was hoping to run into you but...welcome to the club. Me, you, and Tia should get matching "murdered by crazy men" jackets.

[distain]

[As much as I wanted to watch Shiv on-sight Hickey, this is good, too.

Hearing that nickname - the one she's longed to hear fall just one more time from Herta's mouth before she dies - makes her go very still. It's a little coiled.]

Most people don't call me that, Siobhan, [she explains. She doesn't hate it, it's just...]

Good if my plan worked. [Please don't tell her how the discussion went - but please do.] I wanted to hide something that couldn't easily be found or cleaned.

[We'll get to Shiv's crazy man in a moment.]

[thesharpestroy]

[Shiv's eyebrows scrunch up in light surprise and amusement at the nickname statement followed by her own full name.]

They don't? Seems like a pretty obvious nickname to me. You can call me Shiv, if you want. A lot of people do.

What was it you were trying to hide? They kept circling around if you planted explosives on yourself or if somebody shoved the Bible in your mouth to prove a fucked up point.

They got the right answer in the end, at least. Good news and bad news since we're stuck with a freaky monster man who smells like fish.

[distain]

I'm not close to many people, either. [Even Herta only calls her "Andy" in front of others as part of their ridiculous little performance. It really does feel so far away.

That explosives were not part of her plan is probably obvious in her expression. She moves her head a little too much to the side, brows coming together in the middle.

Though it does at least make her feel good to have been right that there'd be an attempt to destroy evidence.] Mass almost puts me to sleep, but I still know more scripture than most of them. I tried to grab something obvious.

[She rolls over onto her side, doing a fairly good job of avoiding eye contact on this. Despite everything, she really might feel guilty for some things.] I learned from my first attempt. My rashness cost us precious time in your case.

[thesharpestroy]

[She finds that oddly relatable. Shiv can't think of many people she's extremely close to that aren't her family.]

Well, hiding something in your mouth worked. Hickey tried to spin it as a revenge thing, but he fell on his ass about it in the end.

[Shiv crouches down to better have this conversation with Andy, especially when she mentions costing time in Shiv's own case. Were it anybody else, she might be tempted to chew them out, but coming from Andy, the impulsiveness on her behalf is almost flattering.]

Hey, from what Siff told me, the whole thing ended up a shitshow. Richard set the library on fire and nearly killed everybody, right?

:) hewwo

[spotsalone]

[ After both of them have settled into this whole "being dead" thing a bit, Hickey figures he and Andrew ought to... clear the air, maybe? Even he knows that's a charitable way to put it, but if she's gonna make a fuss over the murder, he'd rather get it out of the way sooner than later. ]

It wasn't personal, you know.

[ His tone is even—not gloating, but not apologetic, either. ]

[distain]

[There he is. Andrew doesn't seem ready to launch into graveyard-breaking violence or even primed to react much at all.

Though it seems she can't completely suppress her emotional reaction. After looking at him for a long enough second, letting it sink in that he has, in fact, followed her to hell despite it all, she

laughs. It's cold and cruel. She's pleased he's here, if not happy to see him.]

What a despicable man you are, Mister Hickey. Stabbing a dying child in the back. It was smart to use a cloak I couldn't get you through. Did you try to set up Yoru or Hwylryn?

[spotsalone]

[ HEY? He scoffs. So much for trying to keep things civil. ]

You're not a child. Be angry with me for killing you, if it suits, but you've hardly any moral high ground over me. Or have you forgotten your baseless accusation that got Siffrin killed?

[ Turns out, he actually is mad about that! ]

[distain]

[Oh, so he is.

Andrew lowers her hand from her face where it framed her laugh. Was she being rude? That doesn't register for Andrew, not really. There was a little spite to her words, but she didn't try to jump him for revenge or do more than point out exactly what he did. The same that he's now doing for her.]

I haven't forgotten that at all.

[Knowing what she knows now, she wonders if she would have done any differently.]

I can be mad, but I am surely evil as well. I had only hoped to live a little longer.

[spotsalone]

I'm evil now, am I? Such a black and white outlook.

[ imagine being offended that your murder victim is upset with you for killing them??? ]

If you were knocking on death's door already, I don't see why you were so eager to cling on. I would've given you a quick death if you hadn't been so determined to be difficult.

rattles my cup for last-minute CR

[fillintheblanket]

[There's a blond man she's never seen before, by the steps to the cottage -- it looks like he's industriously using a broom to brush snow off the steps, though judging by the way he's carefully not looking the way of where the garden is newly crowded and getting rowdier by the minute...

(Well, Andrew isn't contributing too much to the rowdiness, but that's neither here nor there.)

It might be a pretext. He's wearing a double layer of what looks like a bedsheet over an old, decrepit and dirty cloak that looks terrible even just with its ripped ends trailing.]

If you try to sleep outside, it'll be a longer nap than you planned.

[Just saying that neutrally after his observations.]

[distain]

[Ugh... she's tired. Let her sleep here.]

Isn't it a little late for that?

[Childish stubbornness does compel her to lie here a little longer, but she opens her eyes to look toward the unfamiliar voice. He looks a little bit like a child trying to play a ghost.]

Who are you, to be so concerned about my wellbeing like this?