[Closed] Mortician, Watchmaker, and many other names
[ Characters ] Tir McDohl, Sylvan
[ Location ] The Clock Tower
[ Date/Time ] Sunday Morning, April 4
[ Warning ] No idea. 8D;
[ Content ] Tir decides he wants a few things answered, and who better to ask than the first Roleholder he met?
( Because it's all lies despite the truth. )
[ Location ] The Clock Tower
[ Date/Time ] Sunday Morning, April 4
[ Warning ] No idea. 8D;
[ Content ] Tir decides he wants a few things answered, and who better to ask than the first Roleholder he met?
( Because it's all lies despite the truth. )
It was frightening, admittedly, the thought that he could revive people like that. Though, in a way, he didn't really feel all that afraid, maybe nervous, and slightly uncomfortable, but not entirely afraid. He didn't seem particularly pressed with the idea of the game, and in fact, judging by how he put emphasis on this, he certainly seemed like he was just fulfilling whatever role has been given to him. Strange.
Was it out of choice? Did he even have a choice?
Tir was curious, he wanted to know how Sylvan even came to this role he has taken, but it had nothing to do with what he wanted to know now. Perhaps another time when he wasn't trying to get answers, when he just wants to understand him more. He supposed that must have been why he couldn't feel anyone's soul. Did they even have one anymore, or was it also taken alongside everyone's hearts?
However, first things' first.
"There were those who picked those watches up before. What were those?" He can ask for the reasons the game was created later. It was a concern, yes, but it didn't seem as immediate as this one.
Reply
No. He could only laugh wryly at that.
He had long accepted that he was to be hated. Perhaps it was part of his Role to be hated and despised. And thus he didn't expect anything else but disdain. No, he simply wondered what his thoughts about it were. If he had realized that their very life is within the hands of strangers who pulled them into this world, leashing them and forcing them to fight.
After all, destroying those very clocks were the same as murder. Destroying one's life.
Nothing.
He paused, looking down once more at the clock. Almost done with this one.
"Afterimages. They are what is left of those who die here in Wonderland, a lingering existence on this world, you could say," he replied as if this was the most obvious thing.
And it's a perfect description of what they were. Shadows of those who lived once, despairing for another taste of life and thus helping each towards the goal. That was why they return the clocks to him for repairing. Once more, they were Roles. It somehow pained him to think that there were still Roles to be played even after death, though death was impermanent here.
"They return the clocks to me to be fixed. Think of it as their way of helping others come back to life while waiting to be revived."
Reply
But no, that wasn't what he meant to ask. Something else, something more pressing, had to be answered first. After all, there were some things he wanted to confirm first.
"... Could you tell me more of how these factions work? You mentioned that if one speaks of their faction, they are asking for a quick death." He never clarified it from the start. That had been his mistake. He should have known there was a reason for that statement. No, he had been too focused on learning where Gremio was, and thus he overlooked important details. Details he should have tried to learn from the start.
Reply
"They're residents. Although you foreigners will turn into one as well if you die."
He really wondered now what had happened.
He didn't often keep tabs on the activities of the Queen and the others. It was never his business, whatever their definition of amusement was. He had his own work, own Role. And whatever they did was a part of their own Role itself. Still it was his business when afterimages start pouring in, clocks being constantly dumped on his desk. Work piling on top of the other.
It wasn't that really. It wasn't because of his work.
It was because people were dying.
Sylvan stopped at his second question, lifting his head and gaze back to the foreigner. He stared at him on top of his glasses, eyebrows furrowed. These questions, he was becoming more and more suspicious. It was enough that there was around five clocks dumped on his desk the night before that, all of which were from foreigners. But this--
"The potion triggers the contract you made with a Roleholder. You'll be forced to kill anyone who reveals a faction different from yours," he replied flatly. He already mentioned this before, hadn't he?
Reply
Like ghosts? Spirits? He wasn't sure, but that was the closest comparison he could conjure at the moment. Did that mean they lived in an endless cycle like this? Then there was that other matter.
The potion. The letter. The revelation of factions. It wasn't a homicide then? No, he already suspected it wasn't. It didn't make sense if it were. How could mentioning a faction trigger a killer instinct though? Did it have something to do with the clocks? It didn't make sense why she couldn't remember who they were. In fact...
"What happens after you win? You lose?
Do you remember your opponent?" This one was said carefully, as if he was threading on dangerous grounds. He didn't know what Sylvan was capable of, whether he merely was an observer or a combatant, and not having a weapon nor his rune puts him at a disadvantage if it were the latter. He didn't think he'd hurt him, though, but it was never wrong to be cautious. He didn't know him very well, though the impression he got was that Sylvan wouldn't want more of those clocks around. He didn't seem like the type to attack unless he needs to defend himself, at least.
Reply
It was a sick game but those were the rules at hand. And the rules were the law governing all actions, all activities, all free will. And like their own roles, these laws were not to be defied. It was how things went on in this world, whether they like it or not. It was how this world amused itself, whether it cost a limb, a life or more than that.
Not even the Roleholders would be able to do something about it, now that the game has been laid out.
Although admittedly Sylvan was amused at the tone, the way that question was asked. Hesitant. But then again, with a trigger-happy Hatter and an equally dangerous Queen, it was normal to be cautious around them. And after all, he was the Watchmaker. He was the one who stood between life and death, making the decisions.
He didn't finish the clock just yet, but set it aside and picked up another one. He didn't think the foreigner would like to see people get reborn.
"You're one of the Madison's, aren't you?"
Reply
A question has been asked though, and he might as well be polite enough to answer back. After all, he shouldn't expect others to willingly answer his queries without tossing back some of their own.
"The Hatter? Yes." MAFIA. An odd name, and one he has never heard before. The Hatter was strange, but then, that wasn't a surprise. He was like the Queen and Perry, and he didn't like it one bit. Altair was right, this world was mad, and it was definitely run by people of the same caliber.
"... Tell me. Why do you do this?" Revive people. A role, he knew, but then, he also wanted to know if this was also by choice. The others seemed to enjoy their roles, though Sylvan didn't emit the same enthusiasm for his. He wonders if he chose to continue to do this because it's what he wants, or because he can't stop.
Reply
Leave a comment