same as ever, despite it all || aileen mcintosh ft. KAT
Life works in predictable patterns. There is logic behind every illogical thing that happens. It may sound like a complete paradox, but it’s true. There is no true randomness in the world; things happen, and people react to them, and the world reacts back.
That is, at least, how Rough Gem has always seen things. A leads to B, which leads to C and D, perhaps E should things really pick up. It’s simple, it’s easy, it’s practical. You may not be able to predict the future, but you can predict the outcomes, and that’s enough. Of course, sometimes, the least likely possibility ends up coming to pass. Your father dies. Your husband, too. These things are tragedies, but they’re hardly unprecedented.
This was, naturally, all uprooted the instant that she found herself in an office building where her manager told her to kill someone. It only went downhill from there.
Now, she lives in a world that she knows God is real and made clown-animals that are actually angels, and wishing stars are real, and people can be dead but not really, and it’s all really very confusing and quite a lot to take in, and she has decided that she will simply not care enough to think too deeply about it because, well…
What has changed, really?
The world worked like this before. It has always functioned like this. She just didn’t know it. This is still the same world. A will lead to B, which leads to C and D, perhaps even E.
God just might be a horse while it happens.
It doesn’t have much bearing on her reality.
What does have a bearing on her reality are the two beings attempting to kill her after she just spent several months attempting to stay alive during a literal killing game that they were running, and she really is quite tired of it at this point. The only thing they can do is wish for joy, is that right? That’s the solution?
She can understand the appeal of wishes. Who wouldn’t? Something magically coming true? There are hundreds of thousands of thousands of things that she could wish for. But does she truly want them? There is, after all, a difference between wishing and wanting–a nuance to be considered.
Some days, she would wish that she had just one last chance to say something to Dennis. She wishes she would have noticed his absence from the cafeteria. She wishes he would have called her. She wishes she would have called him. She wishes she could have run into him on his way out of the building. She wishes she could tell him just how much she loved him, just how much she truly could not care less if things grew financially difficult for them because having him around was better than any sort of stability.
Aileen McIntosh does not wish for that right now.
The dead are dead. This is something she has always said in this place. The dead are dead, and they cannot return. She will smile and be joyful for anyone here who finds solace in just one more moment with their lost loved ones, but she will not be among their number. She knows he understands. They have always understood each other.
Their story is done. He wrote the ending. She will mourn and find sorrow in it for the rest of her life, but she will not return to him now. No, now, instead, she finds herself surrounded by people in the moment that still have stories to tell.
A quick glance over to one of them reassures her of the fact that there is a time and a place for everything, and they will find time later for whatever words they may have for each other. Neither of them are public people; words can be exchanged when it’s just the two of them.
As for the others, she can see they have themselves well in hand. Every person here has always had their own strength, their own unbending will. She will not stand here and presume that they need guidance or support in these moments–her role as a steady voice is over. Now, she sees plenty of room for screaming and proclamations and vows of violence, whatever might bring them joy. That’s the point of this whole venture, isn’t it?
Out of the corner of her eye, she spots two figures she has kept her attention on this entire time, and one of them falls to his knees. It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it? Even for one of the strongest people she has ever met. But, as always when it comes to these two, she moves without thinking, without hesitation. She kneels beside Keith, shifting him so his arm slings over her shoulder, and she looks at him.
“Keith, now isn’t the time to rest. We can take as much time as we need after all of this has been settled and done, but right now, we have to focus.”
Others may have more traditional words of comfort, but bluntness and direction has always been her approach to soothing tensions. Her comfort comes in the form of paths forward, of promises to stay steady by his side however long he should want her there. Besides, the other figure on Keith’s side fills the gaps that she leaves–still just as goal-oriented, A to B to C, but complimentary to her own directives.
Keith Achilles and Tegan Rue are, without question, the reason why Aileen finds herself capable of standing here today. They have been here since the beginning. When she felt no desire to grow closer to any colleagues here–proven time and time again to be a poor idea that never ends well for anyone involved–they managed to convince her to try just one more time. And, against all odds, each time a tragedy could have befallen their little team, it did not.
They are all here. They have not quit. They have not retired. They have not transferred. They have not been promoted. They have not “stopped showing up.” They have remained at her side for the entirety of their stay here at Firmament.
Perhaps she would wish for the opportunity to stay with them even outside of this place if she was not so absolutely certain that there was no need for that. They would be here regardless.
No, as Keith gives them all one last rousing speech, one last bright burst of light that always manages to astound Aileen that one person can hold so much of it inside of them, she knows what she will wish for.
Every future vision she sees for herself? She would much rather make it with her own two hands. But here, in this moment, with something standing by her that feels so familiar in its unfamiliarity, she does not have the luxury of time.
At her side, a large piece of equipment forms. It looks something like a cross between a gun and a cannon while simultaneously being dropped right out of any stereotypical sci-fi property. As it thunks onto the ground, she nods in satisfaction, hefting it onto her shoulder as she kneels down on the ground to line up a shot.
It’s simple, really. It’s just a matter of math, of angles, of velocity. And she feels more certain than ever that she can make this land.
In front of her looms two figures that could represent everything rotten in the corporate system. And what would bring her the most joy?
I wish that no wrongful death claim is ever denied ever again.
Because seeing companies squirm? Seeing them have to admit that people were people? That people were more than the numbers on their pages and ledgers? That would bring her more joy than she could possibly express. No one will suffer the way she and others here have. Not anymore. In the moments after a tragedy when all is lost and everything has broken, she can at least rest easy knowing that no one will experience the second wave of grief that she did.
Each family from now on will be given what they are owed. There won’t be any dodging of responsibility anymore.
With this settling her racing heart, she sits here on the ground in a rather undignified heap with the first people in years and years she has ever dared to call her friends, and she, for the first time in months, breathes.
good will must be earned || rough gem || mm.4 || re: i stand with my cancelled fio
It’s tragic.
All death is. It will never not be something to be mourned in some capacity. Card Sharp was a complicated person. She took with her words and feelings and sentiments and plans and machinations that everyone in this room may not ever be fully privy to. They were answers that she wanted, that she felt those with wings and halos deserved to know. Even those whose hearts still yet beat in this place deserved to know what they’d almost died for.
What they still might die for, should so many of them continue their vow of silence, their acts of rebellion.
She has always said that they need to take whatever power they have in this place and use it, but alongside those convictions, she has also always said that they need to do so safely. She will not suffer further loss.
Card Sharp had a plan. She had plans that she took with her. This may very well be part of it, this silence, this hope for them to take a risk and have it pay off.
Her eyes flit between a few figures at the table.
She’d said it before: she never volunteered to put her neck on the line for the greater good.
Rough Gem certainly never agreed to offer up the necks of those she’s grown to care for either. No, she’s quite tired of losing people, thank you very much.
People retire. People get fired. People get transferred. People quit. People simply “stop showing up.”
She will not be someone who simply “stops showing up.”
Her eyes turn to Arrowhead, and she frowns.
“Let’s not be ridiculous. The novarii sees itself as some kind and altruistic being, helping Card Sharp out. Seriously? Fio? If you’re going to pick a distraction…Actually, about that--”
She frowns--perhaps almost scowls, a first for her--and her finger begins to tap against her arm.
“--The novarii will have my loyalty when they prove they’re willing to help us in the same way you’re all willing to help them. To me, you’re all showing far too much kindness towards an individual who has not shown a single, tangible moment of remorse for what they’ve done. What, they cried over notes written after your deaths?”
Rough Gem pinches the bridge of her nose, pushing her glasses up.
“If they truly felt so horrible, they would have done something about it. Do not forget that they were and are complicit in a plot to have us all killed. I don’t care if there was some plan to press a magical ‘undo’ button or whatever deus ex machina they may propose to have had--I did not volunteer to experience death and tragedy the likes of which we have seen here.”
Her jaw clenches.
“I will not be one of you who sits here and waits and hopes that their good nature wins out and they fly in to rescue us. If they want to save themself, they can save us alongside them. So be it.”
Her eyes turn to bore directly into Cloud Nine’s.
“Are you honestly, truly telling me that you did not question for a second that Card Sharp of all people either knew how to apply clown makeup and came over ahead of time with it preapplied and ready to go? For when you both headed to the party? Or did you apply another layer of clown makeup on top of her normal makeup and just…not notice you were putting makeup on makeup?
Genuinely. Explain the clown costumes to me. I’d love to hear it.”
Some might see this as bootlicking. Some might see it as bowing down and complying. They’re welcome to. However, she will not--not even for a moment--regret choosing to throw to the very literal lion someone who has done nothing to prove any intent to protect them. If the novarii will not keep those dear to her safe, then she will.
just because you can || rough gem || mm.3 || re: clown sharp
There it is, then.
The answers they’ve all been searching for all of this time are laid bare in front of them, and…it’s so mind boggling--clowns and God and angels, no, Baalatro and misery and horses and chicken managers and a woman standing before them, removing one coat of paint to reveal another--that it…
Well, it loops back around to the same tired exhaustion that consumed her by the end of the last trial.
What is she to do about all of this?
What could she have done about all of this?
Card Sharp--Sunday--says that this is simply the way of the world, that this was all inevitable, that they or some other random group of sorry suckers were destined to become the next flesh ground between the mechanisms of this bloodied calliope. Firmament consumes, the Baalatro feed, and humans are also there. Just there.
It’s all so…familiar.
Does it make any difference if the uncaring eyes staring down from the C-Suite have cheery makeup applied around them or shadowed wings sprouting from their backs? It’s all just the same. The minions in the lower ranks are just numbers. They’re just profit margins. They’re just assets. She and the people she cares about and even the people she could take or leave when they’re in that stupid conference room? They’re just assets.
It’s comfortable.
“I thought fantastical things like this were meant to be impressive. I suppose corporate monotony and apathy is the same whether you’re in Dell or Headquarter City.”
She says with a sigh, picking at a pill of fabric on her sleeve. There is none of the usual attention she would give to a member of their group during a discussion. Sunday has not earned that from her. If nothing else, her time here has taught her that your respect is allowed to be withheld, even to those in charge.
“Why a killing game specifically? It seems wasteful. You can have hundreds upon hundreds of employees and implement ways to keep a baseline level of misery at some perfect level. You’ll never reach the peak of misery a murder would cause, maybe, but I’d think that the sheer number of people producing misery would make up for it.”
Her fingers pause in their work.
“So, did you grow tired of being the manatee that you decided to turn to making others the thing in the tank instead? Your misery isn’t the manatee’s fault, you know. You don’t have to bring it to the fiftieth floor just to prove you can.”
You don’t have to grind us up just to show you could.
i just think that's interesting || rough gem || mm.2
What a mess. Honestly, in a situation like this, Gem can’t even bring herself to care about asking people to temper their words or voices. It’s whatever. DNA expressed the sentiment she figures a not-insignificant portion of their group shares right out of the gate. Besides, these are the parties who they’ve all been clamoring to have answer for their actions since the beginning.
If they can’t handle a little vitriol, then maybe they shouldn’t have helped with a murder game, regardless of secondary intentions.
“We’re looking for someone who’s more than a little disenchanted with the state of things, perhaps even with the world at large. I would argue that’s a rather broad brush at this point in our time as a group, but, at the beginning, I would say that the number was at least a little smaller. People’s opinions changed over time to become less favorable. This individual started off disliking it.”
She pauses for a moment.
“They could, of course, have been hiding their feelings, but a resentment that drives you to run from your family? I would say that something that powerful would be difficult to convincingly conceal.”
Gem considers her next words carefully. As much as she may not like who she’s discussing, as much as she may not care how others address them, she refuses to fall prey to the temptation of lashing out. She’s an adult. She can sit here and discuss things with a clear and even voice without needing to throw mean words around.
That’s what Yui’s here for. And Fio. She would hate to step on their toes.
“They’re also…blunt. Terse. Curt. Any number of words that convey ‘short of words, loose with derision’. They could do with being a bit more straightforward in some of their words, though. It seems they have a selective tendency to flower things up. They say onboarding will hopefully continue all of the way through the roster. So, they meant to kill us all. At least, that's what it sounds like to me.”
She leans back in her seat.
“I certainly didn’t sign up for putting my neck out for the greater good. Just something to keep in mind, I suppose.”
She won’t sway anyone one way or another. She has her opinions. They can have theirs.
i really miss being a boring programmer from dell || rough gem || mm.1
God is a horse.
Not really, perhaps, but in the wake of all that has happened here in such a short amount of time, it may as well be true, too. It wouldn’t surprise her. Nothing can really surprise her anymore, she thinks, but she felt that when Manny turned into a chicken, too, for the first time, and that was clearly proven wrong, so who’s really to say anymore?
Her tolerance for the illogical is truly getting a workout.
“There are two forces at play, but it seems like only one of them has any direct sort of effect within Firmament. I would posit that it’s only the Baalatro who have any long-term connection with the company. I say this because of what’s mentioned within the letters that Sharp brings up. If I remember correctly, the other group--the Novarii--were discussed like outsiders.”
She says, flipping through the notes she’d taken on all that they found. Maybe their ridiculous pattern of insane Mouse Trap-esque murders should have prepared her for keeping track of all of this (she’d never really taken notes then), but there’s “someone tried to make a guillotine” and “angels get really mad if you call them angels.”
“So, for the purposes of the origin of the company and established protocol, we can thank the Baalatro.”
That they just got to get wrapped up in. Wonderful.
he said, she said, we all said || rough gem || trial 5.3 || re: All This Mess
There are so many voices. So many words. There are so many raised, crashing voices. So many blunted, cutting words. Every single trial they happen. You would think she would be used to it by now. You would think she could sit here and listen to these typically perfectly reasonable people turn into perfectly biting individuals. She has been able to. Each trial, she has listened and felt her head pound, but she has not said a word until the very end, until every thread has been tied up and resolved and the truth has been revealed by Manny.
It’s only fair to hold back emotion until the work is done. You can have time for crying and misery later. You can have time for falling to pieces once the body count of this place ticks up by one once again.
This is the only luxury they have: a period of time seemingly designed for falling to pieces once the work is done.
It is not done.
Misprint has not admitted to anything. She will not likely admit to anything because she made a promise to live, supposedly. It’s not selfish to want to live. One could argue anyone who killed for this motive had the least selfish intention of them all, even if selfishly fueled attachment was mixed in there somewhere.
“...why do you all always insist on screaming and yelling and hurling insults like children?”
She asks, hand covering her eyes as she feels a pulse behind them. Her voice does not need to be raised--she doesn’t really want to raise it. She needs her mind to function still for just a bit longer.
“Of course, fight for your life. Fight for the chance to live. But must we resort to squabbling and petty taunts? This feels less like a final stand for survival and more like a middle school mock trial run by a substitute teacher. We’re slinging around ‘Kioko wouldn’t want this’ and ‘Kioko would want that’, so why not. Let’s fling one more around, shall we? Something I can only guess at but can't prove since that seems to be the theme of today's discussion.
Kioko wouldn’t want us all ripping into each other pointlessly. She said we can’t do this again. She was likely talking about murder, seeing it tear us apart. Do you think she’s happy watching this mess?”
Removing her hand from her face, she lets out a long sigh, stretching her throat and tilting her head towards the ceiling.
“Yui. Misprint said earlier you asked her to kill. You’re apologizing now. What the fuck did you think was going to happen? You don’t get to be sorry when you get the homicide you asked for regardless of whether or not it was the main motivating factor. Genuinely, truly, and really, why would you ask that of someone if you didn’t actually want it and weren’t prepared to deal with the consequences?”
She continues to stare at the lights above. Her vision dances with fluorescent stars as she feels her eyes drying without the relief of blinking.
“Let’s just all admit this room makes us terrible people--and that continues to be true in varying degrees outside of this room.
Don’t say anything the you three hours from now will regret. It feels good in the moment, but really consider if it will feel just as wonderful later on.”
She knows for some that it will. Of course it will. Maybe everyone will feel exactly the same when they leave as how they do now.
But, for the few here who may need the reminder that the world exists outside of this vile, constrictive room, she will provide it.
Theories come rolling in, and Gem listens to each and every one of them. It’s important to understand the beats of the case, naturally, so any insight someone can provide is vital. The explanation of the name, the details surrounding the gate, the point of all of the traps…
She could do without people doing all of that during a murder trial, but she truly has given up on expecting anything from anyone during one of these things and the hours surrounding them, so whatever. They have someone who tried Trap Part Three It’s Going To Work This Time walking around right now, there’s other problems to deal with.
“I would note that the handwriting of the note in the suit of armor was difficult to place.
In all honesty, I don’t think it really matters if Kioko was in on the plan or not. I could see an argument being made that she was, in fact, simply lured to the location specified on the map and killed there using the map and note as incentive. After all, other than the amount of furniture moved, the use of ‘our’ in a note, and the two handwriting samples, there’s really only evidence of one person’s actions as both attempts at forced entry could be from the same person.
If it was two people, then we need someone capable of masking their own handwriting that has been vocal about wanting to get one over on the people in the C-Suite while also likely having a vested interest in keeping the dead around. Like DNA said, we all have reasons for wanting them around, but I would argue some would be less willing to let go than others.
If it was one person, then we again need someone with an outspoken tune towards those in the C Suite but who also would be the type to set and plan traps as well as write with two different handwritings easily. They, like the other theory, would also likely have more of a reason to not let go of the dead than others.”
She looks towards Misprint.
“You’re the resident expert on forgery. Do you have any thoughts?”
lets find the trolley before we debate the damn thing || rough gem || trial 5.1 || re: No
Everyone’s an animal now. Sure. Whatever. Who even gives a shit anymore, who even cares. Maybe they can just put Manny in a bird cage and be done with it, wouldn’t that be lovely?
Whatever.
Breathe, Gem. There’s other business to attend to.
Of course this murder would be complicated. Even without the everything directly involved with it, there was everything indirectly involved as well. It was always going to come to this, and it was always going to be, to put it kindly, an absolute mess. A mess made only messier by the fact that the dead are welcome to participate in the proceedings, so every discussion about the killer’s intent…
Well. They had to be said right to the faces of the ones who were affected most.
And, naturally, of course that’s where it begins. Gem can’t really say she’s surprised; she had a feeling at least one person would bring it up.
So, she replies evenly.
“Yes. We do need to be here. Someone murdered Kioko. She’s dead. She no longer has a life on this Earth the same way that those of us still with beating hearts do. We’re here to solve a murder, not debate ethics at the moment. If we want to continue the discussion of whether or not we should vote, let’s do it after we actually have someone to vote for and not waste time arguing hypotheticals.
As for leaving it to chance, you’re implying you’re fine with a completely innocent life being taken in exchange for the life of someone who did plan to--very elaborately--kill someone. I’m not convinced by that argument.”
Their task was to solve the murder, not solve the trolley car dilemma, after all. That’s just a fun, optional extra credit opportunity at the end, if they’re interested.
“I think it’s important to note, though, that there are, specifically, multiple small stab wounds all across Kioko’s back. I would hardly call the cleaver knife stabbed in her back ‘small’. We can get around to the potential implications of that later, though. Instead, it should be noted that the cleaver knife had string tied around its handle--meat twine, if you want to be specific. There was a loop tied on the end not attached to the knife.”
And here, she begins to pinch the bridge of her nose. Those seated by her can see that she has begun to take deep, long breaths, not unlike the ones she’s taken during stressful moments during the last few trials. Seems they’re making an early appearance.
