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

[dumbface]

[ hey?? he isn't expecting it, so when the sword suddenly plants down it slips right out of his grasp. whoops!

he bends back down and tries to pick it back up, if it'll let him. if it's going to do that, it should warn him first anyway—which he doesn't actually say. ]

Sorry. [ to the sword, not her. though, it was the sword's fault so he doesn't sound very apologetic. since he doesn't have an answer and doesn't have anything to contribute between, "probably not?" he just waits. maybe points the sword at her if it allows him to pick it up again.

he's helping? ]

[fillintheblanket]

[There's a clack of sheath hitting floorboard, but for once there's no protestation from the sword -- perhaps he's already used to the way Chu Wenshan treats blades by now, or perhaps he was just prepared for everything to go off the rails. It's not like this is his first rodeo.

Whatever kind of rodeo this is turning out to be.

The sword allows itself to be pointed, anyway, quiet for a moment as though thinking.]

... I'm not the Witch's ally.

[frostlight]

[Tia shoots Chu Wenshan a glower over the point of the sword. Try it.]

Then what are you? [Her icy eyes back flit up to Chu Wenshan, finally lingering on his visage.] And why are you here?

[The way she sees it, there are two explanations. One would be better than the other, but neither is preferable at the end of the day.]

[dumbface]

[ he glares right back. she still wants to fight, even after the sword said not to (he pointed the sword at her???).

as for him... hm. well, the obvious answer is— ]

I died. Probably.

[ frankly, he isn't sure how much he believes he did? he was swallowed by the sea and saw the shining form of a dragon, but after that the world went dark. he has the distinct feeling that someone had bad breath, but that's about it. ]

[fillintheblanket]

You died. Both of you.

[The sword confirms it in an almost business-like tone.

Sometimes you have to break the news in a straightforward way -- especially in a situation like this, with people like this. Ceremonies are for overly decorated castles and overdramatic sorcerers.

Anyway, the sword seems on alert, as much as a sword can be. It's hard to dispel the tension in the room when you're a weapon and also don't have hands.]

I don't know what I am, exactly. I should-- [there's a pause; perhaps there is some occasion for ceremony, even if it's out of left field] I should introduce myself. I'm Yamanbagiri Kunihiro, a duplicate forged at the request of the Lord Nagao Akinaga, of Ashikaga Castle.

Like you, I'm not from here.

[frostlight]

[Leave Hwylryn alone—

Tiamat's eyes flash again. She gives Chu Wenshan another protracted look before frowning down at the sword's introduction. A sentient blade is hardly surprising—it just means he was crafted by hands of a certain caliber—and so is the news of her death. The sword might have broken to wind up here. It's odder that Chu Wenshan is present.]

That witch . . . ! Is this another dimension of his? He's even disrupting the flow of souls by trapping the dead.

???

[finalmix]

[ somehow during the course of this conversation, if either one of them is paying attention, the face of a boy kind of flickers into faded existence in the fireplace.

not in the fireplace though. on the marble.

he's just watching for now. ]

[fillintheblanket]

Not exactly. The dead are--

[Truly it's a blessing (probably) that those who arrived here first or at all are so familiar with unusual blades. It both saves Yamanbagiri some explaining and gives him more explaining to do, considering who it is.

He's about to go on, but the flash on the marble mantelpiece makes him fall silent.

The sword doesn't exactly turn towards it, considering he doesn't really have eyes in this form, but there's a slight, reflexive shift. Like a cat tilting its head.]

Ah. Well, they've always been here.

[finalmix]

[ he actually does tilt his head like a cat when he realises that he's been noticed. ]

New faces? Haven't seen any in a while~

[ this is fine. probably. ]

[conchy]

Non, non, non—!

[The graveyard was nice and quiet...]

Forget seeing new faces! This eerie silence is stifling! Suffocating! Where is the bird song?! The lamentations of the damned?!

[Talk about priorities. What was actually being discussed here before Lobelia rudely butted in? He doesn't know and doesn't care. This is about his problems now.]

[inefficient]

Silence creates an optimal thinking environment. The lamentations of the damned would be unproductive.

[ Hey it's another member of the weirdo welcome party ]

[dumbface]

[ why does it feel he was just thrown in the middle of a parade.

he understands what yamanbaji's on about, or at least part of it. that he "died" feels right, somehow, despite the fact that he's alive and well (beyond the strange pull and annoying itch), but the names are much harder to follow—to say nothing of the procession of unfamiliar faces that follow them. ]

It's not quiet anymore, though. [ looking specifically at mr. bon bon over there.

also.

pointing directly at the body flickering on the marble. ]

That's a ghost.

[frostlight]

[It's a ghost. Tia's eyes flit over to the fireplace, lingering there before darting back to the sword. The last voice is correct: Lamentations are a waste of time.]

That's enough interruptions. What was that about the dead?

[fillintheblanket]

You're all ghosts.

[Saying this just as matter-of-factly as the death thing -- what else are you if not a ghost after death? You could be other things, but ideally none of those other things are in the cottage with them. Ideally!

There's a brief sigh because it really isn't ever going to be silent again considering how fast the population of the garden has just grown but anyway.

He clears his sword-throat.]

They're not usually like you two. Not... active. [silently tilting at the fireplace] This is the first time they've talked.

[inefficient]

Incorrect. Ghosts are a scientific impossibility. We are humans.

[ Said the disembodied(?) voice to the talking sword. ]

[dumbface]

[ oh wait?? he knows this, give him a sec— ]

Ventriloquism?

1/2

[fillintheblanket]

[]

2/2

[fillintheblanket]

[But like, metaphorically. Anyway.]

.... Are humans not related to ghosts where you come from?

[inefficient]

I do not understand the question. Ghosts are not real. Therefore, they are not related to anything.

[fillintheblanket]

Then, what happens after death?

[dumbface]

[ wow he's definitely not all incorporeal?? or a disembodied voice, or maybe like a chair if someone's a chair (weirdly, bon bon sounds like he'd be a chair). he's half-thinking they're all inanimate objects like yamanbaji. ]

Well, they're loud. [ using the sword to tap the marble, cause apparently he's obsessed with this one in particular. ]

Unless you know any jokes, quiet down. Baji is talking. [ getting his name more and more wrong by the minute. ]

[fillintheblanket]

[.......... who's Baji]

Who's Baji.....

[dumbface]

[ pointing at ya man ]

[inefficient]

[ Jokes. She has the capacity to tell jokes. Nano has initiated humor.exe. ]

What is worse than finding a worm in your apple?

[dumbface]

[ completely flat ]

Not having an apple.