The Murder Game: Day 001.5
[You sit in your room, perhaps having introduced yourself to your partner, perhaps having broken down completely or perhaps you’re just numb from the shock.
Doesn’t matter, the game continues.
The doors of your rooms open, a clear indication that you should move outside. It really would be in your best interest. The blood that once covered the floors and wall is now gone though a large crimson X has been painted over door Number 5.
You look around the faces that match yours; tired, on edge, red from tears. Some people cling to each other, others stand away from the group as some of them remember that two among this group are trying to kill you.
This thought is brief as the television flickers from snow to that same blindingly white screen and then stark black text.]
Discussion: Clue # 1
[The screen fades into a very warm scene. The hues of the sitting room are rich and warm and the golden light of a fireplace washes over the velvet chair set in the middle of the shot. There is a man sitting in this chair, a book open on his lap, his blond hair short and messy though his smoking jacket is prim and tucked.
To his right sits an open decanter though it does not bare resemblance to any wine and bares a remarkable resemblance to brandy though, knowing this man, it is something much stronger.
And you do know this man. Arthur Kirkland looks up, as if noticing the camera for the first time and smiles at it, slowly closing the book, his fingers tracing over the cover of the tome.
“Why hello there.”
By now you can’t believe what you’re seeing. Arthur? That British author? What’s he doing there, on the screen? Can he see you? More importantly, did he do all of this? He puts the book aside, instead reaching for the decanter, pouring it into a crystal glass next to the bottle.
“Welcome to the Murder Game; a brand new-”
There is a sound to Arthur’s left, something akin to an opening door and then a voice. “Artieeeeee, we’re out of butter again.”
The Brit’s eyebrow visibly twitches. “Alfred, you buffoon! Get out of here, I’m trying to do some work!”
“Hey where’d you get a video camera?” And then Alfred appears on the screen with Superman logo pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt while in his hands he’d holding to pieces of bread, half of a sandwich made. “What exactly are you doing in here? Are you drinking? It’s barely noon.” Alfred disappears off-screen, leaving his sandwich on Arthur’s book.
“None of your bloody- Why are you putting-- No, no! Get back to your room! Don’t touch that!”
The camera shakes slightly. “I’m not five Artie, you can’t just tell me to go to my room. Besides you look like you’re doing something fun!”
Arthur’s arms are folded over his chest. “It’s nothing. No fun at all oh no.”
“Are you filming a porno? Never mind, I don’t want butter anymore.” The view suddenly turns the room upside down and you’re treated to a close up of Alfred’s nose.
A voice off camera sounds absolutely livid. “You have till the count of three before I bludgeon you to death with this decanter.” Some of you shiver. Violence that once seemed funny is now all much too real.
You see Alfred’s eyes roll and he puts the camera back. Again, movement as the American drags a chair over and places it next to Arthur’s, picking up his sandwich and starting to eat it, eying the decanter.
“Can I have some?”
Arthur snorts. “Alright, if you think you can handle it.” He passes the glass over and now, presented with a challenge, Alfred takes the glass and throws it back in one swallow.
A pause. Then Alfred nearly starts to choke on his lung. For a moment, you think he’s been poisoned or choking or dying but he straightened after a moment, smacking his lips, trying to rid himself of the taste. “That’s worse than Ivan’s vodka.” Handing the glass back to the satisfied looking Brit, Alfred settled a little lower in his chair “So what are you doing?”
Reaching over into his pocket, Arthur withdrew a small card. “Someone sent this along with the camera. Said it was for some kind of… Whodunit game they were to have on the BBC. They wanted me to narrate one of the clues.”
Alfred nodded quietly. “Sounds kinda cool! What’s the show called?”
Green eyes squint to read the card. “The Murder Game.”
“Lame title.”
“Well why don’t you call up the BBC and give them one of your brilliant titles!?”
Alfred stuck his tongue out. “It could be…” he searched for a moment while Arthur poured himself more of the strong drink, not even blinking an eye as he swallowed it. “Got it! Whodunit: Extreme!”
The Brit rubbed his face while Alfred smiled at him only to receive a flick on his nose. “Hey! Don’t do that!”
“Just shut up for two seconds and let me record my bit.”
“But I wanna-”
“Are you the world famous author in this house? No, no you aren’t.”
“When I write a bunch of books-”
“I’m sure I’ll see them next to all the other westerns. Now shut up.”
Alfred huffs but quiets down, stuffing his face with the sandwich. The Brit takes a deep breath, glancing down at the card. “Alright… Clue room number one: Brittle, hard. Pauling: 1.8. Mass: 5…8? 58 point… something- damn I spilt on it and I can't read it-.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” Alfred snatched the card from Arthur who immediately lunged for it. A chase begins around the sitting room, Alfred with a sandwich in one hand and the clue in the other, Arthur hot on his tail absolutely livid. Then Alfred’s foot catches on something and he tumbles forward. The camera is knocked, you see the roof and then static once again followed by the white screen. Black text pops up.]
Discussion is now open, feel free to talk amongst yourselves.
The Clue Floor, located up the stairs, will be open at midnight for 24 hours.
Be sure to try and find the correct room.
If you do find the clue room, more specific instructions will be given to you inside that room.
Good luck.
[static]
Discussion is now open. Talk to whomever you wish, discuss the clue or anything for that matter. There are no rules for the discussion, just be aware that whatever you say can be seen. If you figure out the clue, perhaps best not to announce it outloud, or even think about it for that matter. Instead, try figuring out who's trying to kill you.
Do remember that I am watching. We don't want any early eliminations now do we?
Doesn’t matter, the game continues.
The doors of your rooms open, a clear indication that you should move outside. It really would be in your best interest. The blood that once covered the floors and wall is now gone though a large crimson X has been painted over door Number 5.
You look around the faces that match yours; tired, on edge, red from tears. Some people cling to each other, others stand away from the group as some of them remember that two among this group are trying to kill you.
This thought is brief as the television flickers from snow to that same blindingly white screen and then stark black text.]
Discussion: Clue # 1
[The screen fades into a very warm scene. The hues of the sitting room are rich and warm and the golden light of a fireplace washes over the velvet chair set in the middle of the shot. There is a man sitting in this chair, a book open on his lap, his blond hair short and messy though his smoking jacket is prim and tucked.
To his right sits an open decanter though it does not bare resemblance to any wine and bares a remarkable resemblance to brandy though, knowing this man, it is something much stronger.
And you do know this man. Arthur Kirkland looks up, as if noticing the camera for the first time and smiles at it, slowly closing the book, his fingers tracing over the cover of the tome.
“Why hello there.”
By now you can’t believe what you’re seeing. Arthur? That British author? What’s he doing there, on the screen? Can he see you? More importantly, did he do all of this? He puts the book aside, instead reaching for the decanter, pouring it into a crystal glass next to the bottle.
“Welcome to the Murder Game; a brand new-”
There is a sound to Arthur’s left, something akin to an opening door and then a voice. “Artieeeeee, we’re out of butter again.”
The Brit’s eyebrow visibly twitches. “Alfred, you buffoon! Get out of here, I’m trying to do some work!”
“Hey where’d you get a video camera?” And then Alfred appears on the screen with Superman logo pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt while in his hands he’d holding to pieces of bread, half of a sandwich made. “What exactly are you doing in here? Are you drinking? It’s barely noon.” Alfred disappears off-screen, leaving his sandwich on Arthur’s book.
“None of your bloody- Why are you putting-- No, no! Get back to your room! Don’t touch that!”
The camera shakes slightly. “I’m not five Artie, you can’t just tell me to go to my room. Besides you look like you’re doing something fun!”
Arthur’s arms are folded over his chest. “It’s nothing. No fun at all oh no.”
“Are you filming a porno? Never mind, I don’t want butter anymore.” The view suddenly turns the room upside down and you’re treated to a close up of Alfred’s nose.
A voice off camera sounds absolutely livid. “You have till the count of three before I bludgeon you to death with this decanter.” Some of you shiver. Violence that once seemed funny is now all much too real.
You see Alfred’s eyes roll and he puts the camera back. Again, movement as the American drags a chair over and places it next to Arthur’s, picking up his sandwich and starting to eat it, eying the decanter.
“Can I have some?”
Arthur snorts. “Alright, if you think you can handle it.” He passes the glass over and now, presented with a challenge, Alfred takes the glass and throws it back in one swallow.
A pause. Then Alfred nearly starts to choke on his lung. For a moment, you think he’s been poisoned or choking or dying but he straightened after a moment, smacking his lips, trying to rid himself of the taste. “That’s worse than Ivan’s vodka.” Handing the glass back to the satisfied looking Brit, Alfred settled a little lower in his chair “So what are you doing?”
Reaching over into his pocket, Arthur withdrew a small card. “Someone sent this along with the camera. Said it was for some kind of… Whodunit game they were to have on the BBC. They wanted me to narrate one of the clues.”
Alfred nodded quietly. “Sounds kinda cool! What’s the show called?”
Green eyes squint to read the card. “The Murder Game.”
“Lame title.”
“Well why don’t you call up the BBC and give them one of your brilliant titles!?”
Alfred stuck his tongue out. “It could be…” he searched for a moment while Arthur poured himself more of the strong drink, not even blinking an eye as he swallowed it. “Got it! Whodunit: Extreme!”
The Brit rubbed his face while Alfred smiled at him only to receive a flick on his nose. “Hey! Don’t do that!”
“Just shut up for two seconds and let me record my bit.”
“But I wanna-”
“Are you the world famous author in this house? No, no you aren’t.”
“When I write a bunch of books-”
“I’m sure I’ll see them next to all the other westerns. Now shut up.”
Alfred huffs but quiets down, stuffing his face with the sandwich. The Brit takes a deep breath, glancing down at the card. “Alright… Clue room number one: Brittle, hard. Pauling: 1.8. Mass: 5…8? 58 point… something- damn I spilt on it and I can't read it-.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” Alfred snatched the card from Arthur who immediately lunged for it. A chase begins around the sitting room, Alfred with a sandwich in one hand and the clue in the other, Arthur hot on his tail absolutely livid. Then Alfred’s foot catches on something and he tumbles forward. The camera is knocked, you see the roof and then static once again followed by the white screen. Black text pops up.]
Discussion is now open, feel free to talk amongst yourselves.
The Clue Floor, located up the stairs, will be open at midnight for 24 hours.
Be sure to try and find the correct room.
If you do find the clue room, more specific instructions will be given to you inside that room.
Good luck.
[static]
Discussion is now open. Talk to whomever you wish, discuss the clue or anything for that matter. There are no rules for the discussion, just be aware that whatever you say can be seen. If you figure out the clue, perhaps best not to announce it outloud, or even think about it for that matter. Instead, try figuring out who's trying to kill you.
Do remember that I am watching. We don't want any early eliminations now do we?