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File 154125098321.jpg - (35.37KB, 600x450, Dark Room.jpg) [iqdb]
199505 No. 199505
Vents, Door, or Window.

Either option will suck, but that’s al you’ve got in front of you at the moment.


[] Vents

[] Door

[] Window
Expand all images
>> No. 199510
[x] Door
>> No. 199522
[x] Door
>> No. 199523
[X] Vents

Less things we can't see
>> No. 199528
> I honestly have no idea how close we are to the autosage

Autosage is around 250 posts IIRC, so it was still another hundred-odd posts away.

[x] Door
>> No. 199536
Any way to check how many posts have been made on a thread? Could never really figure that out.
>> No. 199872
File 15424699212.jpg - (40.54KB, 1920x1200, Door.jpg) [iqdb]

Vents are tricky. Never know where the next dead end or fan will be. A door is predictable. Not exactly subtle, but predictable. You float over to said door and peer through the keyhole. It’s a limited view, but you can see the edges of wings and frilly skirt on a fairy standing just in front of the door.

Quick and quiet, just like before.

You charge up a laser, letting it build until it’s barely strong-enough to punch through the door without making too much of a sound and levitate to the fairy’s center of mass.

The splintering and pi-chun~ of the fairy getting hit by the laser are still loud, but a quick glance after floating through the new hole in the door, and you see nobody else reacting. You make a mental note to practice your control, though. The opposite wall as a small circle burned into the wallpaper from your attack.

You only hope the maids won’t be too pissed. They’ve cleaned up worse messes, after all. That much you’re sure.

The question now is where do you go. To the left is a stretch of hallway. Whatever lies beyond there you don’t know, but to the right you see a dead end. On that wall is one of the few windows you’ll see in this place. Most likely it’s only there because of it’s out-of-the-way location, and it’d certainly be a convenient shortcut for the maids flying to the garden outside.

No. that’s a stupid question. Your goal lies inside the house, after all. Gotta find him. Gotta find him.

Floating down the hall yield nothing but doors, however. You can’t just blast every single one open either, but the ones that are ajar you freely peek inside.

It goes about as one would expect from a dreary setting such as this. Clean bedrooms, glass cabinets, a tea room here and there.

Exceptions include an armory of medieval weapons (some of which you recognize), a room of torture devices (only few, thankfully, you recognize), and a veritable arsenal of firearms.

You’re about to leave the room when something glints in the sunlight pouring in through one of the few windows in the hall. A glint you recognize.

“What the fuck?”

Silver-inlaid but visibly worn. It’s a flintlock pistol of generic design, said silver most likely having been added to give it character by the owner, only identifiable by what was once a stylized letter, but the silver here and small shards of wood had chipped off in places and made it difficult to read. Still, it’s something you make a note to come back for later.

You’d like nothing more to take it now, however you’re still lacking in the bodily department for the time being. They can tell you what *that* gun in particular is doing in their armory.

You continue along the hallways until you see a door at the end.

It’s large and left ajar. A glance inside reveals a group of fairies engrossed in some conversation, and across from that is another door.

[] Blitz. Don’t let them react.

[] Sneak. Don’t let them know you’re there.

[] Leave. Maybe you can find another way.
>> No. 199896
[x] Sneak. Don’t let them know you’re there.

Sneaking through fairies should be not be hard
>> No. 200016
Just wanna let you guys know that if there's no other votes by the next month, I'll stick with the one above.
>> No. 200018
[X] Blitz. Don’t let them react.
>> No. 200024
[x] Blitz. Don’t let them react.
>> No. 200147
File 154502620815.jpg - (180.03KB, 850x1133, __sekibanki_touhou_drawn_by_miata_miata8674__sampl.jpg) [iqdb]
So just an update. It was midterms these past few weeks, but we're almost done and assuming I'm not dead in a ditch from caffeine overdose, the next update will be up soon!

In the meantime, have some Banki.
>> No. 200164
File 154543098497.jpg - (174.29KB, 850x1360, __hijiri_byakuren_and_mononobe_no_futo_touhou_draw.jpg) [iqdb]
First time voting on site, bear with me.
[X] Do nothing, that fairy in the corner is already starting a fire.
>> No. 200167
File 154558519833.gif - (2.53MB, 400x273, this image is purely for my amusement.gif) [iqdb]
It’s feckin’ fairies. You’re no pussy.

You [X]blitz right in, firing lasers and overcharged Danmaku. Don’t let them react, let the vastness of the room and the emptiness of the halls keep you undetected to everyone else. You’ve got something you need to do, after all.

The fairies, the first two, anyway, don’t put up much of the fight. They go down to your initial laser volley, leaving three more to deal with.

“Eeep!” they exclaim as a wave of basic danmaku forces you to weave around it.

The other two fairies fall to overcharged bullets straight to their heads, but the third one’s either smarter than her comrades, or much more cowardly. She dashes down the halls and out of your range before you can shoot her down.

“Damn it!” you hiss as you give chase.

The fairy makes it as far as throwing the doors on the other side of the room open, but this confines her in a long, straight hall.

All it takes is one well-aimed laser, and—


No witnesses.

Lots of scorch marks on the walls, but those aren’t your own. They’ll have that cleaned in no time.

Back to your search.

...Empty room.

...locked room.

...Interior marshmallow pit on steroids.

“Who’s been firing Danmaku?! Sakuya’s going to— Dammit! Not again!” somebody shouts in the distance.

They’re coming for the burning room, you realize, and you’re long past the empty room. Everything else is closed and locked. Luckily, there’s a convenient open window that you float out of—

“How many times do I have to say this?! No marshmallow fires inside the—”

Ah. The Gatekeeper’s using it to climb in.

This is gonna h—


The package in your hand is a small one. Small in a sense that it only takes up the one arm that you tuck it under as opposed to the usual haul which necessitates a cart to be tied to a horse. This one’s different, though. It’s valuable, but not as much as an item to sell than something you’d rather keep.

It’s this and a salvaged lantern in your hand that leaves you more tired than you ought to be, but that’s nothing compared to the frustration and promise of suffering reserved for the dead man back at the town when you return.

“No older than six, he said. Can run from here to Boston, no problem he said. Fucking asshole!”

Your scratches look more like scrapes of a quill that ran it’s ink in the dim light of your lantern, and the trees along the path like an old oil painting than being in front of you. Firelight does that, you suppose. Warps what you see and stokes the flames of your paranoia.

It is worsened by the fact that you are alone. The horse is dead, broken from when you were, and still are, racing against your pocketwatch. The air is heavy, but the flame makes it humid because the heat and moisture are a punch than the slap of dry heat.

Worse still is that you’re a long way from the village and with no change of clothes. Your coat’s already been ruined by the fall, and all you’ve left is a shirt. You’re missing a boot.

“Fucking—Argh!” you hiss as a pebble embed itself into your bare sole. Not deep enough to cut, but the small fragment of rock is there, stuck in the dent it formed on you.

What you wouldn’t give for more calluses there. You lose boots often, you find.

A quick sigh is all you can afford as you toss the pebble away and continue your journey. Father gets quite cross when things don’t go his way.

And as everyone knows, when he’s cross, he’s quite the douche.

The night isn’t kind, however. Between the exhaustion from the horse and the heat from the lantern, your mind is playing tricks, you think. Shapes dart out the corner of your vision and whispers come from the leaves. All things considered, the former is more likely to be real.


...or not.

It’s not so much a question of should you help or not than the shreds of decency in you urging you to investigate. You’ve always been too invested in helping people out. It’s not something you’re always fond of doing.

That hesitation disappears, however, when you see two young girls about to be set upon by a man with a stake. One of them is face-down with a small puddle forming near her head and the other trembles violently. All thoughts of your task discarded, the box is dropped and the man is tackled before he can bring the stake down.

He scrambles away before you can do anything else, escaping you with a backhand to your face as he scrambles for the dropped stake.

You lunge after him, thinking he’s going for the girls again, but instead gasp as something *sharp* stabs at you. You dodge only a scratch along your collar, but the motion throws you off balance and you’re pinned before you know it.

“You…” the man growls. “You’d throw your lot in with them?!”

He’s… enraged. At the young girls. It’s clouding his judgement, you think as he slams the stake towards your heart. You catch his wrist, pushing with all your desperation because tonight is NOT a night you’d like to get impaled on!

You’re tired, though. So very tired, and it’s only the conscious girl’s desperate cries of “w-we didn’t do it!” and her calling out for her “sis” that keeps you resisting.

“Notourfaultnotmenothernotsis!” the girl cries before looking up to you with tear-stained eyes, then to your attacker.

“Leave… us… ALONE!”


You don’t know or care what exactly happened, but you do know the pressure on the stake is gone and you push it away and deliver a swift punch to the man’s side. He’s winded, but standing still. No longer looking at you, but at the girl, who is now a quivering mess.

The package has fallen open.


The man lunges, stake raised.

The girl cries.

Her sister twitches.


Your hand trembles and you thank God your uncle was the paranoid sort who always kept his pistols loaded.

Shaking now, you push yourself up only for your legs to give out when you see that you’ve shot the attacker in the head It’s not pretty, and your hastily-eaten dinner nearly forces it’s way out of you, if not for the gut-wrenching feeling that forces you to swallow at the sight of the girl, wide-eyed and staring. Just, staring.

“O-Oh,” you manage. “Oh God.”

A drop.

The drizzle begins as you drop the pistol and cautiously approach the girl.

The rain picks up.

The sister twitches.

You meet the young one’s horrified gaze

Blood-red eyes stare up at y


You awake with a throbbing sensation in your head, unable to remember what happened after that. You stand up and dust yourself off—

“So that’s what happened.”

You startle at the childlike voice coming from beside you, causing you to stumble until, in your blind flailing, you catch yourself on what feels like a wooden dresser.

“Where am I?”

“...So you’re awake.”

“Awake?” you say, “ Awake. Why would I not be awake?”

You hear the rustle of fabric, followed by light footsteps.

“Viewing memories as always been a problematic art,” a tired-sounding voice explains. “More so when several mental blocks must be bypassed. More often than not, the result is either further mental trauma or loss of sanity.”

You’re disarmed and disoriented still, it’s all you can do to pin down any scathing remarks or further accusations building up in the back of your throat. Not liking where this is going, you force yourself to swallow the words and let her continue.

“—only the satori can see these mental blocks, but even then they must coax it out of the person, as they can not interfere directly with the mind. I suppose that’s why you’ve not any of the usual side-effects. You’re rather lucky.”

Finally, the footsteps cease right in front of you.

“Forgive me for my intrusion,” she says. “My name is Patchouli Knowledge, and you have something of great interest to a good friend of mine.”


The room is dusty, you notice. It irritates your skin and makes you wheeze, but it’s not so bad that you can’t breathe at all.

The room is also quiet, save for the the quiet sniffles of the little girl inside.

How you got inside is something you feel you’ll find out later.

Of course, given your past experiences, you’re wary to approach the girl.

“Remi thinks I’m gonna break you.”

Clearly, your paranoia is well-founded.

“Break me,” you say.

“Pi-chun~ like everyone else.” She pauses as more sniffles escape her. “S’really messy.”

“Then why didn’t you?” you carefully ask. “Break me, I mean?”


The sheer intensity of the voice forces you back and rings in your ears.

“You… You don’t remember, do you?”


“That Night. That night.”


“I was so scared…”

Scared of what?! That man? You?!

“Remi couldn’t help me!”

She was knocked-out, wasn’t she?

“...and I thought you wouldn’t too.”

A flood of memories flashes through you, most prominently the night in the woods. Dark. Hot. Humid. The clink of chains and the odor of rusted meat hooks.

No, no, there were no meat hooks. There was only the girl and her sister. Those two, and a corpse.

Your eyes itch as you look upon her in the dull brown dress and discarded boot.

The clinking continues as she turns to face you, eyes wide and fearful.

“I thought you’d kill her.”

Was it you, then, Little one? Were you the one responsible for the rush of black that night?

“But I know better now.”

Can you fill the void, please? What happened after the gunshot?

“But I know better now.”

The calm-yet-melancholy tone does not match her fearful eyes at all. The clinking gets closer and closer as the little girl approaches you, as though bound with loose chains.

“What do you know?” You whisper to yourself.

“I know that bad things happen, things that even Remi can’t change.”

She stops in front of you, but she stares at you with renewed horror, sounding so perfectly content that it doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

Did you do this? Was she afraid of you, who had splattered another man’s brain that not stains her dress?

“I know that we don’t always know what really happened, and we do stupid things because we don’t know any better.

Stupid things… is that what you’ve been doing while blindly stumbling for the contents of your head?

Things you don’t know… how long has it been? How long has this girl been living with uncertainty? How long did she believe that everyone was out to get her because you didn’t say anything? Didn’t offer reassurance?

“I couldn’t do anything then like I can now. So many good things happened because we made it this far.”

Patchouli comes to mind, her words before taking you to the room. You’d asked her what it is she saw. “Not the same as you,” she’d said.

No, your actions were clear that night you saw. If you had wanted them dead you would’ve done nothing. Why then?

Why do you still feel so damn guilty!?

“What do you know,” you say, louder this time.



“...I know I owe you a lot. I know what you think you want to know, but it’s already there, isn’t it?”


“I… Patchy said I can’t tell you. I can’t show you. You’ll be like I was. Alone. It wasn’t fun.”

You… are getting tired of all the cryptic bullshit.

“But!” she exclaims as the clinking suddenly renews itself with s vigor, and a light weight crashes against you. Small arms wrap themselves around you. “I can still thank you.”

You… feel warm. It’s slow, but you feel light. Lighter, at least, and the ache in your eyes trickles into nothingness. Unconsciously, your hand lowers itself onto her head of messy hair, but you don’t feel the hair. The cloth. A mob cap.

Your other hand, reciprocating the hug, brushes against something. Stiff, protruding from a hole in her red shirt. A crystal, bright like the others hanging beside it, glints in the candlelight. For the fleetest of moments, you see her. Blonde hair in a side ponytail, red shirt and skirt, the black growths with the crystals (wings, you realize), and her teary-eyed smile, fangs poking out.

“And… we’re sorry about your friend. We were too late to stop him.”

Just before your vision fades, you see him. Devoid of glasses and roughed up, standing at the gallows. That’s all you see before he flashes the biggest smile as the first shot of the night rings out.


What do you wake up to? (Write-In whatever you guys feel would be interesting. Merry Christmas!)
>> No. 200174
If nobody wants to offer any write-ups, I’ll just post the usual choices.

That cool with you guys?
>> No. 200176
Yeah, that'd be nice. "What do you wake up to" is a little too open ended for me.
>> No. 200180
>> No. 200181
You... are getting really, really, REALLY tired of waking up to different things. Hell, you can barely remember when was the last time you’ve woken up feeling nothing but the bed beneath you and the morning sun on your face.

Well, in the bright side...

[] You can feel the sun, but no bed.
[] You can feel the bed, but no sun.
>> No. 200182
[X] You can feel the sun, but no bed.
>> No. 200183
[X] You can feel the sun, but no bed.

I'm no good with write-ins, I always vote one of the presented options.
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