#ch1 trial

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Post-Trial 1.2 》 Dread the Day When Dreaming Ends.

The scene of Ruri Futamata’s dead body is replaced with that of The Conductor, who sits back in his chair, cap low over his face.

Still - maybe it’s in his voice -

“That is all, dear passengers. I needn’t say it but, Miss Ruri Futamata is our Accuser this time, but she is not our Culprit.”

— but you can almost swear he’s smiling.

“And so we shall continue. But I will not start the clock just yet. Your Countdown will reset when the clock strikes midnight.”

He lifts his head.

“In the meantime, I recommend you rest. You all look like you need it!”

He laughs and the jumbotron flickers off, fire in the lanterns extinguishing in sync, leaving you in momentary darkness.

And then the lights hit your eyes, blindingly bright.

You are at the end of Car 7, no sign of the strange hallway to “Car 8” behind you. All of you, together — except one, of course.

12 Passengers remain.

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trial 1 | execution reaction | flick

Ruri disappears from underneath her fingertips.

(Ruri stayed mostly slumped.  Mostly quiet.  Flick twisted a tiny braid, meant to be hidden under most circumstances, by the nape of her neck, pulling a bit of green string from her shirt to tuck in with her hair.  Ruri reached for it and their hands touched, fingers looping together for a moment.  Flick didn’t linger, she didn’t want Ruri to feel her hands shake.  Her voice would be hard to hear even without ringing ears, it’s so low -- maybe only Tali heard when she approached with her own boon.) They take half a step back from Ruri’s chair, where they’d walked minutes before.  Their fingers are still flexed, eyes newly widened.  They’re not left wondering where she went for any time at all; they look when the screen all but screams at them to.

Their mind wanes at first, going where it’s easy to go. Where is this room?  Is this a deepfake?  It’s gotta be, how else would she change so fast?  Why else would she be playing right now?  This sounds sorta like how her voice sounded just now, though?  This sounds like how she plays? Oh, she’s speeding it up.

The first string splits, and Flick’s hands dig into the back of the chair first.  Ruri keeps going, and the heels of their palms jerk upwards to press into her eyes. They’re swaying so slightly, some hideous instinct entraining their movement to Ruri’s tempo.

Their thoughts snag with Ruri’s labored breath, a flood of harder questions with no answers, all whys and what ifs.

The realization comes calmly, like the truth often does: all of their wondering doesn’t matter.  Ruri’s continuing, for whatever reason.  She’ll die, leave, and disappear like Sou and Conan and -- maybe -- Lucky, too, and her thoughts and answers and feelings and memories will all die with her.

(Their fingers dig into their hairline.  They have nothing of hers, nothing at all.)

Her hands peel away, wet, when Ruri’s playing first stops, and her breath ratchets when she finds she’s not finished. Three final questions arrive, all with an answer this time, and the same answer, at that.  It’s so blissfully simple that an amateur could pluck it from an out of tune piano hidden backstage, that a virtuoso could manage it with most of her blood on the floor she’s standing on.

Could I have done more? But should she have lived? Are we friends?

They shouldn’t have looked.  Their hands grab at the chair in front of them, unstable with its emptiness, and their head jerks down, trying to stand, trying to hide their face.

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execution react | cross | hot cross buns

The next several moments were a blur. The confetti, the shock and mumblings of his club mates, the announcement of The Punishment with a capital “P”.

So riled up in his anger and hurt, Cross doesn't even bother to look at the monitor above. He wasn't interested to know what was about to happen next, consumed by his emotions, that it isn't until the first pang of notes drew his attention to look up. Wait, what was going on?

He looks around to his friends, but most of them have their eyes glued to the screen. There was no bother in trying to whisk their attention away even for a second with how bizarre this situation was, so he decided to join them in observing as well. 

Her playing is beautiful, Cross will give her that. They've played a duet before at their school's public piano in the Commons, so he's familiar with her skill level. But this performance was nothing like he's ever heard before. 

PLINK!

One of the violin strings snaps, lashing at Ruri's body. Cross physically recoils, staggering a few paces back. It's strange. He was surprised, yes, but with the going-ons of this train, he's not pained to see this happening. For a moment, he feels bad for “not feeling bad” that Ruri is receiving this punishment, but so what? Did she feel bad for murdering Lucky? With that ghoulish laugh of her's, probably not. So why should he?

Rather than continuing to watch the rest of the performance, he turns himself around as an act of defiance towards Ruri specifically. She didn't deserve his attention, this “final goodbye” to them all when he didn't even get a chance to see Lucky alive one last time. 

Then a pause. The music is no more.

“Guess it's finally over…” Cross thinks to himself as the music stops, exhaling the breath he didn't realize he was holding in. He begins to turn around. So now what was ne–

—

“▇▇▇▇▇-kun, how was your first piano lesson at school today? Mama is so proud of you for being so brave and trying something new! Here, I even got you another piano book with some songs we can try out together.” 

Delicate hands flip through the pages of the children’s piano book until it finds what it’s looking for. A rosy painted finger taps on some words. It’s pointing at the title.

“I know you can read what that says, hee hee! I picked it out just for you. Let’s practice reading it together, ready? Slowly now–”

—

Hot Cross Buns.

His blood runs ice cold as the strings pluck the familiar tune. His eyes are wide, brimming with tears that came out of nowhere. How could she do this to him? Making a mockery out of him? The simple song was like a siren call to Cross, his head whipping back to face the monitor. Burn his stare one last time into her. 

But ah, it was too late, Ruri was no more.

Silence. A bow with no applause. 

No flowers thrown onto the stage.

Just the pooling of blood, drip drip dripping down.

Farewell, you.

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la historia oficial | jake | exe react

When he said goodbye to his sisters at the airport, he'd not said it with the intention of it being the last. Perhaps, when he goes to sleep tonight and he bids goodnight to one of them, it will be the last. (Was it the same when his grandfather parted with his family all those years back? Or did he know that time would be final? He wishes he'd met him, so he could ask how a man is supposed to contend with death and the possibility that no one will know where, how, or why you died.) But he's not scared. This was, for all intents and purposes, what was written on the box. There should be no surprises that in a game that taunts you to discard your mercy, the consequences are merciless. He watches the spectacle without looking away. He shouldn't-- because these are Ruri's last moments. And someone has to remember what happened to her. Every detail. And record it. Her smile. Her radiance. Her pain. ...Even in the seconds that build up to her death, she... ... As if to contradict the whole point, his eyes tear away from the screen the moment her body slumps on the floor. The hollow thunk of the violin, and the remnants of the ringing in his ear from the last few words she spoke when she was still sitting beside him, they're the only things his mind will so helpfully remember. Even as her lifelessness announces the color of the future days ahead, he's not scared. No, he's not scared. He's not scared of anything. (Well, he's scared of one thing. But it's not going to happen--because as long as one of them lives, and he's sure someone will, then they will live with the haunting memory of everything that transpired.)

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jules | folie à deux | exe react

Jules thinks that Ruri might be the closest he’s ever been to optimism.

There’s too much rain on the east coast anyways. And the snow - ugh, who wants to scrape ice off their windshield every morning? I can’t imagine spending another winter there.

And that’s maybe too generous of a word to describe what it was. It was nonsense. It was pure delusion. It was lying to each other, because hearing someone else tell you what you want to hear makes it a little bit easier to believe. And Jules didn’t ever really believe it - he knew what he was, and where he’d rather be, and no amount of moaning about the misery of January in New Hampshire ever really made him feel differently. 

And the tuition, especially when you’re coming from out of state! The quality of education really isn’t that much different, you’re just paying six times as much to do the exact same work. It’s barely worth it.

Maybe what actually helped was having someone to moan about it with. Maybe it was the feeling of having an ally, someone willing to lie to him and let him lie back, and had nothing to do with what they were saying at all. Maybe the thing that he was confusing for optimism was just the reassurance of having some kind of companionship.

It’s fine, you know? Like, this is fine. This is a good school. Aren’t Ivies overrated?

Not that it matters now. Not that companionship means anything when he feels like his back is against the wall, apparently. He couldn’t even look at her after he voted; he just squeezed his eyes shut and waited to hear her head hit the floor. That’s what he was expecting. It’s not until he hears the first few notes of the violin that he opens them, realizes that it’s not going to be as simple as that. And there’s a small part of him, one still clinging to what’s left of their shared delusion, that thinks it might not end with her blood staining the stage. 

(It’s not the first time he’s heard her play. It’s beautiful, he’s probably told her as much before. That was never a lie. This is no different.)

He doesn’t look away. Not even when he feels that needling pain start in his temple, and the ringing in his ears crescendos with the sound of her song, and the sight of blood even on the other side of a screen starts to make him feel dizzy. He watches, because he owes her that much. Attention, an audience. Someone watching, thinking it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay, even though they both know that it isn’t. 

And then it’s quiet - and Jules doesn’t realize at first that it’s quiet, because to him it’s still so fucking loud - and she’s gone. And he wonders, with his eyes burning and his head throbbing and his mind scrambling desperately for some comforting nonsense to latch onto: who is going to lie to him now?

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Rory | Execution React | Art Destroys Silence

(MUSIC)

Rory’s head was still spinning from the events of the trial. She had said her piece but she was worried that maybe there was more to be said. But she knew, deep down, selfishly, she just didn’t want Ruri to hold it against her. But that was Rory’s punishment, knowing she would have to live with this on her hands, because Ruri could not.

Then the room changes and the monitor lights up. It only seems fair that Rory’s eyes are assaulted by light only minutes after having her ears split. Its a beautiful sight, the stage, the clothes, the performance, it would be wonderful if Rory didn’t know it was all so wrong. But she knew she couldn’t look away. Her promise was to take responsibility for voting for Ruri, for participating in this cruel game. Someone had to do it.

Then the playing starts, and the singing. Its haunting and Rory can feel the song right down to her core. As the bow travels across the strings, she can feel it like sandpaper on her skin.

Suddenly the first snap occurs. Rory flinches, she wants to look away, she wants to cry, but she can’t. If Ruri can be brave, so can I. She stands perfectly still, watching, seeing the pain. It’s the kind of music you need no higher education to understand, because as soon as you hear it, you can feel it. Pain.

The next string goes and shes swaying just a little. Hang on, hang in there. You can hold out till the end. Is she thinking that for Ruri? Or her own benefit. Rory knows that the abdomen wounds can cause some of the most painful reactions. It feels like you are dying but your body will keep pushing through it, squeezing every last drop of life to keep you up.

The last string goes and Rory winces again, biting her tongue. She feel the hot tears welling up on her face but the show must go on.

“But Damn I wish it could stop.” her thoughts feel like a symphony. “That Ruri could come back and we could talk and laugh like nothing happened. Like you didn’t kill lucky. Like I didn’t condemn you to your death." 

Silence greets Rory with the roar of her thoughts, but before she can compartmentalize any of them she is taken aback by the grand finale. She doesn’t understand, but that’s how its always been for them huh? She knows for Ruri in her own way, this was all important. She just wishes she could’ve made it up to her, someway that felt right.It’s over. Ruri collapses, the lights go dim and the screen turns off. Rory stands still and gives it a moment. She doesn’t know whether to cry, clap, or pound her fist against the table. All her emotions mathed out equal to 0. All she can manage to say is

"I can’t believe that was the first classical performance I’ve ever seen.”

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you great unfinished symphony | fox | execution

Fox doesn’t think he’s ever been afraid of death, himself.

All of his fears were wrapped up in other people, in their thoughts, the things that they concerned themselves with, their opinions - and, yes, their deaths. His sister complains he drives like a ninety three year old man who has yet to realize they’ve moved on from horse and carriage, but when he looks at her in the passenger seat, he only sees the scar shaped like a magic rune on her leg, running knee to shin, or the stitches on the back of her head. His mother tuts and says he worries too much, but every night, when she’s at work and the google alert on his phone notifies him there’s been an assault, a robbery, a murder, he calls her within seconds to verify she’s okay.

Sou, on the other hand, was one person he never thought he could lose. And ever since his trickle broke the dam, it hasn’t stopped coming.

Fox thinks Ruri’s blood might be on his face, but when he reaches up, dazed, to touch his cheeks with fingers that feel cold without her hand there, he finds the liquid is clear. Strange. He’d think maybe she had odd blood, like Lucky, but he’d seen it for himself. Or maybe it was an elaborate play, meant to punish them for willfully turning on one of their own, for proving they’re willing to play the game. Their ethics debate could only go so far. They could only faff about for so long.

…

Are they still here? He turns his head slowly to the side and stares, uncomprehending, at the empty chair beside him. Was she coming back? Did she just go to the other room, like when you’re a toddler and your mother may as well go to another planet? Did she say something to him- was he listening?

Oh.

It doesn’t matter if he was, does it?

He can’t hear anything.

(That’s an overstatement. By tomorrow, the ringing will subside. But when he lies awake in the dark tonight, eyes wide open, body still, a part of him will wish-

-that it wouldn’t, so that this final evidence that Ruri existed wouldn’t disappear when he woke up.)

Good morning, everyone. I hope you’ve all been recovering well. I have some news to impart regarding the boating incident which took place…

“W-Where’s her body?”

Fox asks Barnaby, he thinks, but he can’t quite hear it.

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trial 1.6 | execution react | lily

Ruri’s funeral dirge is probably beautiful; Lily wouldn’t know. 

She figured out this trick years ago, see, of dulling out sight and sounds. Someone could be standing right in front of her, talking right at her, and she could look through them as if they were nothing but mirage, a vaporous wavering of light. It works wonders so long as Lily is expecting to tune something out. So when Ruri flickers onto the screen, Lily takes that as her cue to withdraw. She unfocuses her eyes, and searches for a humming rhythm to latch onto. It could be anything: white noise, the ticking of a clock, the scratch of pen on paper, even her own pulse. She sinks beneath that hazy veil, and waits, and waits, and waits, and— 

Ruri’s bow screeches on the last string, and jars Lily out of herself. She registers the blood first. It bathes her in red, dripping down and pooling on the stage as she sways in rapturous silence, plucks out a few tentative notes. Caught in morbid fascination, Lily can’t find a way to pull herself back: she watches blood continue to seep out of the lashes criss-crossing Ruri’s body. 

Ruri is a beautiful violinist, Lily will give her that. She’s heard her play before — where, she can’t remember. Probably at some department event, some meet and greet. She probably had turned to someone else and whispered behind a cupped hand, Wow, okay, literally who carries a violin around to one of these? But Lily used to play, a hundred years ago, it feels like, and she was never any good, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t recognize talent when she heard it, even — especially — if it pissed her off. Ruri’s music is lovely. First chair material. Ruri’s music was / is / was / is / was / is— 

Hot Cross Buns. The thump of her body hitting the floor closes out the song. Lily’s eyes flutter as she tips her head back. Her eyes are hot, itchy. She’s about to choke on nothing but air; her throat keeps flexing in resistance as she forces out steady breathing. Throughout all of this, she doesn’t make a sound, so at least she has that under control.

But every time she blinks, she sees a flash of Ruri. In the dark behind her eyelids, she sees a dark head of hair slumped against the table. Cradled in her arms. She hears a voice, howling and whipping like winter wind. A rising pitch like pressure in a kettle; the shrill whistle of something about to burst. 

“Why can’t you guys do anything right… I try so hard… Just… For once.”

Lily could always tell how hard Ruri tried. At parties, in class, in this stupid fucking club — she tried obnoxiously hard at everything. Lily had considered the visibility of this effort to be a sign of failure already. If she was any good at it, she would be swanning through through the crowd instead of hovering in the corner, gangly and giggling. Lily registers, dimly, that she won’t be seeing any Ruri in any dim-lit corners or lecture halls again soon. 

Another failure to add to the list, yeah?