clubgambit

[clubgambit]

What's this? A piece of the interrogation was ripped away? Well, we can't have that...

{ ✦ } Has anything peculiar caught your attention — a whisper, an object, a note or a text,... — that might illuminate the identity of our culprit? 

“When no one is looking, I’ve noticed a certain… levity around Nico. He doesn’t seem angry enough, and we should all be angry about this. In fact, I’d say he seems relieved.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “I get it’s a competition or whatever, but I can’t imagine reveling in someone’s death like that, unless you considered it a ‘mission accomplished.’” Heavy shoulders shrugged lazily, and he rolled his eyes. He hadn’t heard anything, and his accusations came off rehearsed and disingenuous, just like he’d planned. These games were just getting started- why not make the puppet-masters believe that Lachlan Summer already had an agenda against one of his most obvious rivals? Why not let them think he’d lie? Why not go for Nicolai’s throat, but aim for the back of someone else? “I’m not necessarily saying he did it, only that he’s someone to keep an eye on. Just one guy’s opinion, though.” 

A bemused smile played on his lips, just as it had when he’d entered the recording room, but there was a new fragility in his eyes. Not fragile like a teacup, but fragile like a grenade- like he’d take someone out with him, if it came to it. Lachlan’s jaw clenched, and he broke eye contact, looking anywhere but the woman’s eyes for a long, heavy moment.

{ ✦ } Where did you last see THE TRAGEDY? Or when did you last hear of THE TRAGEDY?

“The night before, in his apartment,” he stated matter-of-factly, wondering if there might be a trap laid, wondering if he should prepare to chew off his own leg. “We’re old friends, I’ve known him longer than anyone else here. Hell, I've known him longer than most people. We had a couple drinks and talked about our respective shit shows. It had been a while, so it was nice to catch up.” Fuck. There was no reason to offer anything beyond the bare minimum of what she’d asked, so why did he keep talking? Didn’t he know better? “I left his apartment around, uh,” he knit his eyebrows, searching for the specifics of the memory. Obviously, at the time, it hadn’t occurred to him that he should pay attention, and he’d avoided thinking about the specifics of the night since he’d heard the news of Vince’s death. “God, I don’t know. Could’ve been midnight, maybe? Knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I took a walk after, to think. Got to Cass’s around two AM- give or take.”

  { ✦ } Where were you at time of death of THE TRAGEDY? And what were you doing?

“Sleeping,” he said curtly, overcorrecting from his previous mistake of offering too much information. His smile had faded. He was behaving… wrong. Probably appearing slightly erratic. He knew that. But Vincent’s death was a soft spot in his flesh, an open wound that he didn’t know how he was going to start to heal, and this interrogation was poking at it. 

{ ✦ } Who can attest to your alibi? (You may pick other characters, even without discussing beforehand.)

“Cass. I didn’t feel like walking all the way back home, so I just crashed on his couch. Heard him snoring like hell in his room when I walked in, and he was gone when I woke up. Left a note on the counter though, so I know he saw me there on his way out.”

{ ✦ } The SOCIETY requires your verdict on THE TRAGEDY's demise: Was it the calculated hand of murder? The cruel whim of accident? Or the final, desperate act of self-annihilation? (Pick one option. No explanation needed.)

“He was the best of us,” he mumbled, visibly agitated by the question. “Of course it was murder."

[clubgambit]

Sometimes I Think About Dying (2023) dir. Rachel Lambert

[clubgambit]

Marianne Sheridan and Connell Waldron NORMAL PEOPLE (2020) | EPISODE 2

[clubgambit]

KRISTEN BELL as ELEANOR SHELLSTROP THE GOOD PLACE (2016—2020) S02E03: Team Cockroach

[clubgambit]

A bemused smile played on his lips, just as it had when he’d entered the recording room, but there was a new fragility in his eyes. Not fragile like a teacup, but fragile like a grenade- like he’d take someone out with him, if it came to it. Lachlan’s jaw clenched, and he broke eye contact, looking anywhere but the woman’s eyes for a long, heavy moment.

{ ✦ } Where did you last see THE TRAGEDY? Or when did you last hear of THE TRAGEDY?

“The night before, in his apartment,” he stated matter-of-factly, wondering if there might be a trap laid, wondering if he should prepare to chew off his own leg. “We’re old friends, I’ve known him longer than anyone else here. Hell, I've known him longer than most people. We had a couple drinks and talked about our respective shit shows. It had been a while, so it was nice to catch up.” Fuck. There was no reason to offer anything beyond the bare minimum of what she’d asked, so why did he keep talking? Didn’t he know better? “I left his apartment around, uh,” he knit his eyebrows, searching for the specifics of the memory. Obviously, at the time, it hadn’t occurred to him that he should pay attention, and he’d avoided thinking about the specifics of the night since he’d heard the news of Vince’s death. “God, I don’t know. Could’ve been midnight, maybe? Knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I took a walk after, to think. Got to Cass’s around two AM- give or take.”

  { ✦ } Where were you at time of death of THE TRAGEDY? And what were you doing?

“Sleeping,” he said curtly, overcorrecting from his previous mistake of offering too much information. His smile had faded. He was behaving… wrong. Probably appearing slightly erratic. He knew that. But Vincent’s death was a soft spot in his flesh, an open wound that he didn’t know how he was going to start to heal, and this interrogation was poking at it. 

{ ✦ } Who can attest to your alibi? (You may pick other characters, even without discussing beforehand.)

“Cass. I didn’t feel like walking all the way back home, so I just crashed on his couch. Heard him snoring like hell in his room when I walked in, and he was gone when I woke up. Left a note on the counter though, so I know he saw me there on his way out.”

{ ✦ } The SOCIETY requires your verdict on THE TRAGEDY's demise: Was it the calculated hand of murder? The cruel whim of accident? Or the final, desperate act of self-annihilation? (Pick one option. No explanation needed.)

“He was the best of us,” he mumbled, visibly agitated by the question. “Of course it was murder."

[clubgambit]

a hard shell case, in a metallic grey. dented and scratched and banged up, but still holding up. one faded sticker for a 'coffee shop' in amsterdam. space for a lock, but he doesn’t use one. its pretty light, and it appears that he just brought the basics.  

LEATHER JACKET

Soft and well-worn, with a few visible repairs. He’s worn it almost daily for nine years, and it has warped and molded to his shape, slipping on like an extension of himself. There are some old receipts and a sleeve of Nicorette gum in the pocket. 

BOOK

A generic copy of Crime and Punishment. The spine is cracked, and the front cover is half-torn but taped together. his high school's library stamp sits on the front page- this book was stolen. no annotations, but 'lachlan summer' is written in pen on the corner of the title page.

TUPPERWARE CONTAINER OF COOKIES, HALF-EATEN

Made by a fling that he’d kept around for a few weeks longer than usual, to relieve some stress in the lead up to the trial. She insisted on making him something to bring on the plane, and despite Lachlan’s objections, she arrived the night before with the cookies in hand. They’re really fucking good though, so even though he feels guilty for ghosting, he is slowly chipping away at them.

A PLAIN ACCORDION FOLDER

holds his birth certificate, passport, and a half-finished project for his work at summer pharmaceuticals that lachy has no intention of completing- among other things.

A WATCH

gold plated, with a burgundy face and a dark leather band. slim and understated, but expensive. an engraving on the back: Sit. Feast on your life. - L

[clubgambit]

having waited to boot up the phone until he was safely in his new accommodation, lachlan sat on his bed and stared at the little plastic box as its screen lit up without much fanfare. his fingers fumbled at first, but it didn't take long to readjust. it was like riding a bike- albeit a very slow and inconvenient bike. he turned on t9 texting, and with a deep sigh, he sent his first three texts:

Cass (@undecadent)

-> they gave me a new number btw, its 8008135 

Lucia (@arcaris)

-> hey sweetpea. put some gruyere in my kraft mac n cheese and it’s like 200 orgasms. come and get some b4 i eat it all 

Fiona Summer

-> its lachy. can you tell dad to cool his shit. dont have my phone anymore.  -> don’t give him this number btw. can’t deal w/ that rn.

[clubgambit]

Lachlan sauntered into the room, offering the woman a lopsided smile, his eyes sparkling with a curiosity that was hard to smother. He stood in front of the microphone, looking to the woman for his cue. “I, Lachlan Summer, willingly accept my invitation into the Trial of Hearts.” The anticipation was evident in his voice, but so was a nearly imperceptible measure of fear. His body tingled, and his voice shook ever so slightly, but he blamed it on the adrenaline. 

“I enter with the full understanding that this is a game of absolutes: high risk, high reward.” He almost choked on that last, dreaded word. That was the goal, so why did it scare the shit out of him? Why was he so terrified of the best possible outcome? He knew he deserved it far more than the others. Maybe he just wouldn’t know what to do with victory. And would he even be able to recognize it, or would he still find some way to torture himself?

“I acknowledge that the Trial of Hearts may result in injury- physical, emotional, or psychological- and by speaking these words, I seal my fate.” He wasn’t worried. What more did he have to lose? It was then that the realization dawned on him: it did not specify that he would be hurt. Is he willing to put others in harm’s way for his own gain? And if he is- how is he any different from the people he claims to despise? Panic clawed up his throat, but he forced it back down, begging the carefree smirk to stay steady on his lips as he spoke the next words. "By continuing, I forfeit any right to retreat or regret." 

His facade of amusement curled into something more genuine, something that reeked of satisfaction. This next part was true. He had never been more fucking sure of anything in his life. “I accept that only one will rise victorious, and I declare myself worthy of that title.” Fate clamped its hands down on his shoulders, pushing him down, threatening to pull him under. He rose against the weight, straightening his back, winking at the woman, and walking silently out of the room. Only once he was out of view, did he let the heaviness win.

[clubgambit]

I have lost the immortal part of myself,

and what remains is besital.

LACHLAN SUMMER the gambit, the king of clubs, the son of a pharmaceutical empire. participant in @trialofheartsrpg. observed + written by bunny

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