Taking Responsibility.

[trustbound]

A while after that space behind and above the game room has been accessed, after things have been looked over, Jericho can be heard over the intercom; apparently, it works over in that area as well. "Wow, you guys really are having a great time going through our stuff, aren't you? Good for you! Seriously, look at all of you go, utilizing Rule Four and everything. It's cute as hell. I'm guessing you want something out of all of this, though – I mean, we absolutely could leave you there to just sort of mull things over until somebody else dies, but that seems like a waste of everybody's time, and believe it or not, I'm not too crazy about wasting tme. So if you're all happy with what you found, go ahead and head down to the courtroom – as always, we'll be waiting for you." And as he's said, the door the courtroom below is unlocked and open when you arrive; as always, feel free to follow that darkened stairwell down to that familiar room made of concrete and steel. There are so few of you now. Kyrie's photograph has joined the others in the circle that have their pictures in monochrome, their podiums draped in black – but notably, the podiums have all been rearranged. There are definite patterns to it, if you look; either way, feel free to find and take your place. The pit in the center of the circle remains darkened, but it isn't as though it matters much for the time being, given that there would be no one in it; after all, the thirty-sixth podium, across from all of you, is occupied. Hilda is standing there, dressed in black as always, a notebook folded tightly against her chest – not the notebook that killed Aligula, but a nice leatherbound one. She looks at everyone expectantly as they walk in; the implication is incredibly clear. It's you against the guilty. Take control of your fate, and hold them responsible. When she does speak, it's simple and straightforward, especially as compared to Jericho's rambling. "Let's begin, shall we?"

Accountability.

[trustbound]

Perhaps there's an expectation of a grand entrance here – something over-the-top and loud and flashy, something that speaks to either ego or a desire for a certain kind of presentation. But the fact of the matter is that nothing like that comes. There's just a light tapping in the direction of the stairs that lead back up to the dorms, like something's entering the room, something small and light and as it comes closer, there's an enthusiastic little jingling noise that comes with it. And then there is catfriend, making its way down the last of the steps and coming to a stop near the door, where it sits casually and calmly until something, inexplicably, seems to shift. It's difficult to say what it is, but it's apparent that something in the room has bent in a way that it shouldn't – it's the sort of jolt that comes with a sudden earthquake, a brief shock down the spine and then there's someone here that quite simply wasn't before. And whatever those in the room were expecting out of Jericho, it...likely isn't the person who's standing in front of them, near the thirty-sixth podium where Rachel has moved easily out of the way to allow the woman who's appeared from seemingly out of nowhere to take her place. Her hair is long and brown, similar to Alena's, done up in a thick plait that she's got pulled over one shoulder; she isn't particularly attractive, and not pretty in the way that Alena and Hilda were. She's just kind of plain, with eyes that are a little too large and wide-set for her head, and though she's fairly tall and well-built for a woman it's not in the same way that Sigrun was – its softer, in a way that doesn't suit the hardness in her expression. She's dressed simply, in the way that the clothes in the closet upstairs were simple – a dress that's well-fitted but plain, with brown knee-high boots under it. She glances over at the cat, which makes its way over and jumps up onto the podium in front of her, where it proceeds to curl up and set its head down as though asleep – though it's very clearly watching the rest of the room. The woman sets her hand atop the cat's back lightly, smiling a bit to herself before looking back up at the group; the smile doesn't leave her, though it seems more than a bit forced – but when she speaks, while her voice sounds different (it's higher, lighter in pitch) it's incredibly obvious that the cadence and delivery are exactly the same as what you've been hearing over the public-address system for the past ten weeks. "Hey, guys – well, I guess you got what you wanted. And congratulations, it's going to be a complete waste of time! Let's not pretend that we're here to make friends or play nice with each other; Rule Five's still in place, but damn if I don't expect to hear you guys whine at me for the next couple of hours until we decide that this is pointless, face-to-face meetings always kind of suck, and the universe is a cold, unfeeling place. But you know what, while we're all here and staring at each other – my name is Lisbeth Larimore. Though I guess for the past two and a half months, you've been calling me Jericho. Let's see what you guys have to say, and how things look coming out the other side." That odd, overly-bright smile still hasn't left her face. "And as always, do your best!" Your hostess for the evening, everybody. Let's begin.