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superhell2023-03-25 10:49 pm
hellscapes) wrote in superhell2023-03-25 10:49 pm
Entry tags:
WEEK SIX: EXECUTION
Hello, deadlings.
We gather here today for the most somber occasion. The weekend "fun" isn't over just yet.
On Sunday morning, you'll soon hear a sound coming from the dock. There's a large ferry waiting for you, and even if you resist you'll eventually find yourself compelled to climb aboard and set off on a short voyage. The islands around you look fairly blurry, but you don't go very far before you stop at a slab of land with two large buildings stationed. You won't be able to look at the one on the right now, the one you've come to know as the trial bar. Instead, your feet navigate you to the building on the left as the door creaks open. On your way in, you notice some posters hung beside the door, advertising today's event.
Inside is a bar. It's pretty swanky in comparison to the others you've seen, tables and chairs arranged comfortably for everyone to have a seat and spread out however they'd like. The bar is fully stocked with all kinds of alcohol along with an arrangement of bar food for anyone who's feeling a bit peckish. At the head of the room, there appears to be a stage washed in red lights with a wide area for performances.
At a table in the corner all six demons are gathered around. All of them appear to have left behind their work uniforms and are clustered together in a dark corner, watching the stage with various ranges of interest.
As you find your seats and get yourself something to drink, darkness begins to fill the bar and a banner unfurls over the stage.
FILBO
10AM
Enjoy the show
No matter where you look, you will find that Filbo is not amongst you. But there isn't time to look further before the lights dim and the curtains draw.
no subject
His shadow writhes, beginning to flake apart. Everything on Filbo begins to melt, losing its strength on him -- they're not needed anymore, after all. Rynlan is the one constricting him. And as sturdy as Filbo is, suffocating him by crushing his shadow is darn effective.
While his shadow is falling apart...a third memory comes.
'The party is next week. I gotta decide what to do with myself but maybe I'm hoping for too much when it comes to what may happen. Come on, there's gotta be something that'll make things better...!'
The sound of a glass is picked up. A drink, there's Lu Bixing in the background, inintelligible. Filbo's voice aloud says something along the lines of he not remembering exactly what this one has, but that it had the Doing Just Fine one, that he was sure of, but surely anything else he added was going to be a funny effect. And he took the drink, not remembering he had mixed that one with the Strange Medicine.
For a moment, his thoughts turned off, like it had all gone dark. Silence. And then...slow at first, voices nobody recognized. Voices that were being dismissive of him. Every single one grinding him down. Things that had been said to his face, things he had heard about him. Reminders of all his flaws, of everything that was wrong with him. Filbo's own was among them, echoing them.
With every passing second, the voices were louder, sharper, and faster, and soon, there were others -- the voices of everyone in hell. The demons and the fellow tortured souls, countless conversations in chronological order, sped up to the point nobody in the audience knew for sure what it all said.
At first, everyone's voices sounded weirded out. Filbo's own voice sounded resigned. But in matter of seconds, the more memories replayed, the voices seemed to take a lighter tone. More amicable. And Filbo himself sounded happier. Then when the conversations seemed to be around the time of the memoryshare week, everyone's voices kept the same uplifting tone, but Filbo's began taking a nosedive into melancholy. The more the memories kept coming to the present, the less and less happy Filbo sounded.
The moment it reached present time, it all looped again, faster, more frantic, over and over, three, five, eight, twelve times, and it was faster every time, and it felt like something was creaking, maybe it was the stage under Filbo's dying self, maybe it was his psyche back then, the carefully compartmentalized feelings and thoughts beginning to shatter and mix together and crumble apart to overwhelm him with the weights accumulated throughout the worst year of his life, his death, and two months in hell. Filbo's voice began sounding louder the more times it all replayed, deviating from the conversations and instead drilling a few sentences over and over:
'...what's the point.
Going back to my life holds nothing for me. I will be alone.
I couldn't do anything for anyone before I perished. They died because I wasn't enough.
Staying in hell will only hurt. There's no future here.
I can't go with anyone. Living somewhere else would be pointless.
Everyone I cherish here will leave and go back to their lives. I'll be left behind.
In a week and half this will all be over.
If every option that awaits me is a dead end, then...
There's no point in any of this anymore.
Someone tell me what to do.
I really don't know.
I will be alone
I'm not enough
There's no future anywhere
I'll be left behind
I can't do this on my own
I know nothing
Because I'm just me.
That's the problem, right?
No wonder I'll be alone.
No wonder I'm not enough
No wonder I have no future
No wonder I can't do anything on my own
No wonder I know nothing
What am I supposed to do now?
It kept going, loud and relentless, until after a long minute of cacophony, it all fell into silence. It was only a minute, but to Filbo it must have felt eternal back then. Lu Bixing's voice is still there in the background, and Filbo does respond, a bit dazed, but gives no indication of how in just one minute he had a total meltdown. "Wow...I think that one did nothing. Weird, eh?"
Wheezing, Filbo is almost immobile, on the brink of death, most of shadow sloughing off him except the bits covering what had already broken apart from him, and then there's in front of Rynlan, thankfully grumpus shaped, small and powerless, Filbo's shadow.
Time for the final blow, Rynlan. Do your worst.]
no subject
You still have time.
[It's all he can think to say, in response to all of that. He'll go elsewhere, and he'll still have the time to figure this out for himself, if he decides to.
The figure of Filbo's shadow forms before him, and he lifts a hand, the shadow roiling and writhing around him, tendrils forming and dissipating and forming again somewhere else. Curls his fingers, and they tense, ready, the whispering quieter for a moment.
He flicks his wrist, and they shoot through.]
no subject
----------
'What would someone who isn't me do?
I think I know.
If I can do something to solve everything went wrong, I should take it.
It doesn't matter what happens to me.
Everything that went wrong around me was my fault.
Someone who isn't me would take responsibility for their failures.
But...
...killing someone for just a chance? I can't do that.'
The noise of the water intensifies. The pleading of everyone he knew who had died are gone.
'...should I...?
Anyone who isn't me would do it.
If it's for a small chance everyone I tried to save will live.
If it's for a small chance I can make up for not having been enough.
If it's...for them then it's worth it, right?
Right?
Anyone who isn't me would take the chance to go back to life.
Anyone who isn't me would do anything to help save others.
Nobody else seems to have even a doubt about any of that.
So I should too.
I'm not needed but everyone I should save are needed, so...'
His willpower is far from solid, but the idea is there. As hesitant as he felt, in the end he would do it...he had to do it.
It was almost curfew time.
'Yeah, no, I see why I'm in hell.'
-----------
Filbo Fiddlepie is dead.
no subject
the applause tapers off and the shadows stand upright, fluid movements enhanced under the lights. filbo's shadow scoops up his body, and without another word steps back into the darkness to take him away.
rynlan's shadow, meanwhile, begins to shrink little by little, returning to its original size and settling behind him once more. it looks like it's back to normal…but who's to say?
the lights are raised in the bar and the door swings open. the table of demons seem to be watching before they all begin to move once more. all six of them seem to gather themselves, taking their leave without another word. this is your time now.
as last week, the last ferry of the day leaves at 5pm. everyone is free to linger around the island for the rest of the afternoon if they'd like. there's alcohol and food available all day, and while the trial bar isn't open the island has space for anyone who wants to find a quiet place to relax a little. you've all lived to see another day…enjoy it, for now. ]