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.

GY 101 Main Nav

Comments

[antline]

[Sariel wakes up.]

[And there is nothing in his eyes. He's somewhere far, far away. It's like a switch has been flipped, and it's sheer instinct, like an animal, a machine, that makes him stand up stiffly and murmur, monotone, under his breath.]

I have failed. I have been accosted by the enemy. I must return. I must return. Returnreturnreturn. Rerererere.

[Like a damaged audio log, the words spilling out of his mouth are disjointed, with no distinct pattern. There's no recognition in his eyes at anyone who approaches. He simply stands in place, staring at nothing. There's no definite hostility, but maybe there is the sense to...tread lightly. A heaviness in the air.]

[Talk to....him?]

[allrounder]

[ Ah, that heaviness. He hates it.

Sariel didn't deserve this. He's too kind for everything that transpired and everything that G'raha couldn't see as he was bleeding out elsewhere.

But he can see the state that Sariel is in now, so he approaches. Cautiously. ]

Sariel.

[antline]

Sariel. Sa. Elelelelel.

[More babbling. As if all he can do is just repeat the sounds over and over.]

[But he does raise his head to look at G'raha, and for a moment the sounds stop. He stares.]

[allrounder]

[ He reaches his hand out tentatively, carefully. Will Sariel let him place a hand on his arm? ]

Indeed. Sariel. It is G'raha.

[ He tries to smile, but... it's not particularly successful. ]

'Tis good to see you awake, friend.

[antline]

[He's as tense as tense can be - and the hand actually makes his whole body flinch, like he's been wounded.]

...I didn't.

[He can't even say anything. The realization is filtering in past sheer instinct. It burns.]

Protect. Y. Yyyyy. You.

[allrounder]

But you tried, Sariel. You did all you could. I know it. I witnessed it.

[ He heard it, too. Heard the chasing and smelled the blood and—

Part of him feels ill, just for a moment. ]

[antline]

...

[Hot tears start to pool in his eyes.]

Wasn't. Enough.

[siffriend]

[ Yeah, talk to him.

Sorry. This definitely going to be after G'raha, by principle, but you are first on flatview. Siffrin'll watch him for a moment, sensing the need to tread lightly -- the way an animal exercises caution -- before ensuring his steps are heard despite the grass beneath them. Swish, swish, swish.

Of note: not wearing the cloak. Very slight, with a sleeveless black tank as the only thing keeping them modest on the top department. ]

Hi, Sariel. Can I have your hand?

[antline]

Hand. Hahahaha.

[Not a laugh. Not an emotion in it. Simple babbling.]

[But the steps draw his attention, the eyes focusing on black. No white.]

[...]

[He stares, the sound dying down in his throat, but he hasn't reached out, yet.]

[siffriend]

[ (... Oh.

Maybe.

He doesn't recognize you, without your darkless clothing?) ]

Didja ever make another ant?

[ That sort of line worked last time, as a knife. ]

[antline]

...

[Ants. Ants. Lines of ants. A warm hand on his. A knife. His friend. Tea for two. A knife. Blood. Ayaka is screaming again.]

[He clutches his head like it's about to pop open.]

S. Siffsiffsiff. Siff. I. No.

[siffriend]

It's okay. Breathe with me.

[ (That's how you handled Mira, too.)

Siffrin doesn't take his hands, but they step a little closer and offer their own. Gentle and patient. ]

In, [ and they go with it, ] one, two, three, and out, [ exhaling as they continue, ] one, two, three.

[ Like that, calm and present. ]

[antline]

[The hands are offered.]

[Deputy Head. He remembers, him, suddenly. A cunning smile, and hands that did so much.]

[Vanis had...soft hands, too.]

[Siffrin with working hands, guiding him, holding his knife.]

[He reaches forward. One two three in. One two three out. And so, he follows it, as he does well for most orders.]

[Siffrin is his friend, though. A friend doesn't give orders.]

Siffrin.

[And with that name, he starts to cry.]

[distain]

[She will.

She's dead. She isn't afraid of anything. Maybe if he lashes out at her, she'll experience what it's like to spring back. Get used to that, too.

Andrew has washed up. She's washed up perhaps a little too long. But at least she isn't covered in mud and blood and whatever else.]

Sariel. [He is too silly and too fond of life to have learned a lesson about love from someone whose ideas of it are as twisted as hers.]

There's no battle. You are not an executioner any longer.

[antline]

No.

[Comes the word - almost strangled, here, bursting from his throat as his pale-eyed stare veers towards her like a lighthouse onto a dark shore.]

Longer. Lolololo. [And another noise, like he's trying to pull it from himself.] I. Am.

[distain]

[She's not good with empathy, with considering others' feelings. That could be a good thing here, or it could be a failure.

Still, she presses on, her expression neutral. Maybe that will worry him less.]

You're Sariel. I'm Andrew. The last time you saw me, I was a capybara. How do you feel?

[antline]

An...drew.

[Is there recognition? He stares at her, still, with those eyes that aren't gentle, that are those of a killer.]

[How does he....feel?]

[Deputy Head is sitting next to him in some past watercolor memory, hand around his shoulders. How do you feel, Sarry?]

....Bad.

[distain]

[It's difficult to tell. She really doesn't see any flash of recognition in those eyes. Is it normal for his kind? Will this happen every time now that he's likely... one of them?

But he can articulate how he feels, after a moment, which gives Andrew a little bit of...

...Well, she isn't really capable of hope. She can't quite call it that.]

You were hurt very badly. You died. But we'll be getting out soon. [She pauses.] Am I not being kind enough, perhaps?

[...She thought he might appreciate this better.]

[diel]

You'll return.

[ once the others have given sariel a little space, yoru will approach him. he's not afraid to give sariel a slap on the back if he needs it. ]

Hello again.

[antline]

...

[His mental state is delicate. It unravels and twists upon itself. The Astrals only ever wanted a weapon. There's no need for thought, for feeling.]

[He might be clearer now, but he flinches in the whole of his body at the touch like he's been shot.]

[(He was shot.)]

Ag. Again. I. Hell. Hell. Hello.

[diel]

Oh, that didn't help.

[ well oops. ]

What do you need to... [ he gestures. ] ... fix that?

[antline]

...

[He's shaking his head. Over and over. Like this is a buzzing bee in his head he can't be rid of.]

I. Don't. I don't. Know.

[diel]

[ he reaches out carefully this time, slow so sariel can step away if he wants. this one isn't a danger to him, so it's probably fine to just... take hold of his face. just hold it until he stops shaking.

if sariel steps away before yoru makes contact, then yoru will back up also to give him space. ]

Stop. Wait a moment.

[fillintheblanket]

[He waits, patiently in the background, while the others bring Sariel back around from his fugue -- it's not unheard of, among swords or warriors, but it's probably a little different from that, too. Those with some kind of connection will have an easier time of it than the equivalent of a total stranger.

After all, Sariel doesn't even know what he looks like.

Eventually, perhaps when Sariel is by the gardener's cottage, he speaks up:]

You'll return soon. All of you. They're very close, next to us.

[Well, you'd normally be able to see them in the sky, but everyone over there is stuck in the execution dimension right now, so Yamanbagiri merely gestures at the empty garden in the sky above their heads. Sariel would recognize it more than this garden, and more than Yamanbagiri himself.]

[antline]

[He's finally calmed down, thoughts settling towards something more stable. His emotions are still all over the place, but after something like that...]

[The man is unfamiliar. But the voice, the general energy...he looks up as the man gestures, and his eyes widen.]

They're up there...?

[A beat, attention moving to the man.]

You were...the umbrella.