[And as soon as everyone's said what they need to say, the lights go out almost immediately; it happens all at once, abruptly, as though the power to the room has been cut, enveloping the entire courtroom in darkness. It's disorienting, perhaps, the suddenness of it – but it isn't impossible to see why it happened, in hindsight.
After all, there was a majority vote put in.
The darkness lingers for what feels like several seconds too long, suffocating and heavy, before the pit begins to illuminate itself in the center of the room. Red light after red light, occasionally punctuated with white, sending a dim and eerie cast over the walls of the arena. It's almost enough to look like blood, cascading down from the light sconces beneath the podiums; it's more than enough to make it clear that Kyrie is no longer among you in the circle, having disappeared from the courtroom entirely without a sound.
As usual, the pit isn't empty at the start; Hilda is waiting down there, beneath Podium 2; she's keeping an eye on the space beneath Podium 4, though, and when the door starts to open she makes her way to the center to wait rather than remaining where she is. She folds her arms low across her body as she does so; she's still got that white baton from earlier with her, and she's tapping it idly against her arm as she waits.
Kyrie enters the pit after a brief moment; her eyes are narrowed a bit, but she's keeping her head up, and she pauses after she's out in the open. And after a moment, she reaches into her coat for something – that long coat where she's been concealing all of her weapons.
She finds the knife she'd brought with her into the courtroom – the one she hadn't thrown, the one from the kitchen, the one she'd grabbed in the half-second before she was sent down here because old habits die very, very hard. She pulls it out, and she makes sure Hilda sees it, making eye contact with her for a long moment before she moves.
And then she shifts her grip on the knife and casts it hard to the side, throwing it to the ground and sending it skittering up against the wall.
Her next movement is a bit of a flourished one – not overly polished or flashy, just enough to get her coat to spread open a bit as she moves, walking briskly into the center of the circle to join Hilda there. Hilda, for her part, seems to comprehend what's going on; it's not a submissive display in the least, but it is one that brings with it an understanding. Kyrie doesn't have anything else on her, and she doesn't intend to attack.
Kyrie stops a few feet away; her hands are tight fists at her sides, though she does keep her head held proudly high. Her gaze doesn't dart from that baton, but she does hold still; she doesn't have anything to say to Hilda, it seems, but after a moment her head does tip down in a nod, the movement slight but decisive. She tenses up noticeably when Hilda's hand moves, bringing that baton up with it; her breathing catches, falling jagged despite herself -
"A 1% chance is still a chance - " "I'm going to drag every last one of you out of hell!"
She doesn't close her eyes, or try to look away.]
Good night, Pragmatic.
[Jericho's words can be heard a split second before Hilda moves; the blades don't materialize in the air this time, but rather out of the ground, a tight formation of ten or fifteen forming and erupting forth from the tile at a sharp angle to Kyrie's body, piercing through her abdomen and forcing their way out of her back, near her shoulderblades.
Her eyes widen as she jerks forward involuntarily, the movement sharp but halted abruptly by the blades stabbed through her, the faceted crystal surfaces stained a deep red with blood; when they retract they do so roughly, with a spray of crimson hitting the floor, and when she drops to the floor it becomes that for a few brief, mildly horrifying moments she's still alive – she curls in tightly on herself, the movement instinctive and involuntary, her arms folding up against the spot where the blades had entered.
Hilda shifts a bit, forming another one of those blades out of the air; she leaves it at one this time, and it follows her as she paces around Kyrie where she's lying on the floor. She stops in front of Kyrie's face, pausing for a long moment there; she twitches that baton a bit once she's gotten a good look at her.
Because maybe Sayaka and Alex would have appreciated that.
The blade arcs forward, sinking hard into Kyrie's throat. Severing arteries as easily as a machete launched at high speeds into a girl's neck.
Jericho can be heard again after a moment, once Kyrie's bled out onto the floor; he sounds mildly weirded out, as he goes, though not uncontrollably so.]
Holy shit, okay. Good to see you guys resolved that? That was an experience. A totally fair-play experience, though as far as the rules are concerned – you might want to watch out for that in future.
Good job; you're still doing really well. Not too much else for you to do here today, though – probably a good thing, yeah? Go back upstairs at your leisure... And thanks for all your hard work.
ACCOUNTABILITY.
After all, there was a majority vote put in.
The darkness lingers for what feels like several seconds too long, suffocating and heavy, before the pit begins to illuminate itself in the center of the room. Red light after red light, occasionally punctuated with white, sending a dim and eerie cast over the walls of the arena. It's almost enough to look like blood, cascading down from the light sconces beneath the podiums; it's more than enough to make it clear that Kyrie is no longer among you in the circle, having disappeared from the courtroom entirely without a sound.
As usual, the pit isn't empty at the start; Hilda is waiting down there, beneath Podium 2; she's keeping an eye on the space beneath Podium 4, though, and when the door starts to open she makes her way to the center to wait rather than remaining where she is. She folds her arms low across her body as she does so; she's still got that white baton from earlier with her, and she's tapping it idly against her arm as she waits.
Kyrie enters the pit after a brief moment; her eyes are narrowed a bit, but she's keeping her head up, and she pauses after she's out in the open. And after a moment, she reaches into her coat for something – that long coat where she's been concealing all of her weapons.
She finds the knife she'd brought with her into the courtroom – the one she hadn't thrown, the one from the kitchen, the one she'd grabbed in the half-second before she was sent down here because old habits die very, very hard. She pulls it out, and she makes sure Hilda sees it, making eye contact with her for a long moment before she moves.
And then she shifts her grip on the knife and casts it hard to the side, throwing it to the ground and sending it skittering up against the wall.
Her next movement is a bit of a flourished one – not overly polished or flashy, just enough to get her coat to spread open a bit as she moves, walking briskly into the center of the circle to join Hilda there. Hilda, for her part, seems to comprehend what's going on; it's not a submissive display in the least, but it is one that brings with it an understanding. Kyrie doesn't have anything else on her, and she doesn't intend to attack.
Kyrie stops a few feet away; her hands are tight fists at her sides, though she does keep her head held proudly high. Her gaze doesn't dart from that baton, but she does hold still; she doesn't have anything to say to Hilda, it seems, but after a moment her head does tip down in a nod, the movement slight but decisive. She tenses up noticeably when Hilda's hand moves, bringing that baton up with it; her breathing catches, falling jagged despite herself -
"A 1% chance is still a chance - "
"I'm going to drag every last one of you out of hell!"
She doesn't close her eyes, or try to look away.]
Good night, Pragmatic.
[Jericho's words can be heard a split second before Hilda moves; the blades don't materialize in the air this time, but rather out of the ground, a tight formation of ten or fifteen forming and erupting forth from the tile at a sharp angle to Kyrie's body, piercing through her abdomen and forcing their way out of her back, near her shoulderblades.
Her eyes widen as she jerks forward involuntarily, the movement sharp but halted abruptly by the blades stabbed through her, the faceted crystal surfaces stained a deep red with blood; when they retract they do so roughly, with a spray of crimson hitting the floor, and when she drops to the floor it becomes that for a few brief, mildly horrifying moments she's still alive – she curls in tightly on herself, the movement instinctive and involuntary, her arms folding up against the spot where the blades had entered.
Hilda shifts a bit, forming another one of those blades out of the air; she leaves it at one this time, and it follows her as she paces around Kyrie where she's lying on the floor. She stops in front of Kyrie's face, pausing for a long moment there; she twitches that baton a bit once she's gotten a good look at her.
Because maybe Sayaka and Alex would have appreciated that.
The blade arcs forward, sinking hard into Kyrie's throat. Severing arteries as easily as a machete launched at high speeds into a girl's neck.
Jericho can be heard again after a moment, once Kyrie's bled out onto the floor; he sounds mildly weirded out, as he goes, though not uncontrollably so.]
Holy shit, okay. Good to see you guys resolved that? That was an experience. A totally fair-play experience, though as far as the rules are concerned – you might want to watch out for that in future.
Good job; you're still doing really well. Not too much else for you to do here today, though – probably a good thing, yeah? Go back upstairs at your leisure... And thanks for all your hard work.