[ GRAVEYARD ]

[sheriffexe]

GRAVEYARD

So, you're dead. Shame, that. But on the other hand, it's actually kind of nice. When you "wake" in some odd version of it, you'll find yourself lying on a rather plush bed. It's cozy and warm and just soft enough to tempt anyone back into sleep. The room is equally nice, if small, and when you turn and open the curtains to look out the window, you will see... wait, is that the town? It is, actually. The town is laid out quite simply across the window and no matter how many times you may bang or wave through the window, no one seems to notice you. If you're smart enough to give up the venture and leave the small bedroom, you will notice that, of course, you are on the train. The train that, is actually pretty fancy. Moving through it, past the sleeping cabins and through to the main carts, you will find a dining car with fine dishware and meals of all kinds made at a push of a button or a request given to the air. They'll appear, freshly made and ready to eat at the table of your choice with any drink you could want. There truly doesn't seem to be any limits when it comes to the luxury of the meal. There is also a bathhouse car with private bathrooms and saunas to fit up to four. Even one rather large room containing a small pool/hot tub of sorts is available for just about anyone to take a dip. It's kind of outlandish, honestly. Then the lounge car, with its library and plush armchairs and couches. A pool table, a darts board, even a small area dedicated to painting. There's a bar too, fully stocked and ready for anyone who needs a drink. All it would require is a request from the bartender who... looks surprisingly familiar? The Sheriff is there, much cleaner cut than his counterpart outside of the train. He looks up mildly at any arrivals, giving them a nod of greeting before going back to organizing bottles or setting cigars out for a smoke. He doesn't seem to be surprised at all by anyone who appears. Just... ready to serve them, whatever they may wish. It all sort of seems okay for a moment, until you realize you're just here to wait for the game to end. Awkward.

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Comments

[a_sin_for_him]

So you can kill me, but you can't even look at me?

[Lust raises an eyebrow and shakes her head. She has no intention of inspiring guilt, but she paid a price. A steep one. To this woman. She's owed something in return. Equivalent Exchange is the only thing she still believes in anymore. If only because she can't believe in nothing and still go on.]

We made a trade, you and I. My life for a greater chance at whatever it is you played the game for. I just want to know why. I'm not expecting some deep or meaningful answer, just a reason. Even if it was simply that I was there at the wrong time.

[Few deaths really have any good reason.]

[tightly]

[ It's a few moments after Lust has finished does Chane look over. ]

...

[ Very well, then. "A trade." That's how Huey would have phrased it, after all.

Chane mimes writing on the palm of her hand, indicating that yes, if Lust wants her answer, she ought to get pen and paper. ]

[a_sin_for_him]

[Lust wasn't certain she'd get any response. When she does, it almost surprises her. But she nods, and goes for paper and something to write with. She returns from Yuna's Arts and Crafts area with a bit of paper and a colored pen.]

Here you are.

[She offers both to Chane.]

[tightly]

[ She writes comparatively little, in the end. ]

You made it simple.

[a_sin_for_him]

[When Lust reads the explanation, she finds herself chuckling. It's more relief, than anything. She'd been almost certain the answer was something along the lines of 'you weren't important to anyone' or something similar.]

No, I didn't give you much trouble, did I? You were clever, though, to your credit. Thank you, for telling me. And for your...chosen method. There are far worse ways.

[She knows, she's experienced them. It may be a strange thing, to thank one's murderer for their murder method, but as a creature that has killed and been killed countless times, she i>does appreciate it.]

I won't trouble you any further.

[tightly]

[ If Chane had known what was going through Lust's head - (a possibility, self-esteem telling her, "you died because you were unimportant,") - then she might have tried to disabuse the young woman of the notion. Might have. After all, Chane's own kills had been quick and clean, doing her best to painlessly cut a swath through the population before the messier, the crueler, the gleefully bloodstained could have their shot. In return, her head had been caved in with a shovel. That's what happens when someone cares about you, as Eliot had cared about Lust; as Claire cares about Chane.

She had never intended this cycle. She could not have foreseen it as she prepped an inconspicuous wine bottle, what feels like so long ago. What's done is done, and she's not thinking on it, but.

Maybe that's because considering it makes her stomach turn. Then again, maybe not.

Giving Lust her undivided attention and a clear, unflinching gaze, Chane listens, and nods.

... ]