SCP: What fucking if? Open to all Catch-all

[improbablenotimpossible]

-What if X did Murder instead of Y -What if characters were in different rounds? -Servant/Demon alternatives, or Mafia, or Coral zombie AU? Prinnies? Post it all here!

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If Sherlock was murdered ANY other week in r3

[improbablenotimpossible]

The sound of dogs filled the air, whimpering, barking, and whining, and the source of it was a tall, slender man dressed far more casually than the rest of the house staff, in faded, stained denim jeans and flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and akubra hat tilted at a jaunty angle to keep the sun out of his eyes.

It was quite clear even from a distance that his right arm was a wood and metal prosthetic, as he lead a couple of hounds from the kennel and towards the manor, before plopping himself on the steps, pulling out a cigar with his left hand, biting the end off before lighting it. He glances up when he heard the door open, and grins crookedly around the cigar.

"G'Mornin', don't tell the Lady I'm takin' a little smoke break." He puffs, his voice - which should have the Londoner's cant, was strongly tinged with the warm, lazy tones of an Australian.

Regular Joey here just for the reaction

[incrediblystressedout]

I.

What.

[Somehow, this is the weirdest possible reversal of Ruler Sherlock Holmes. I mean, he's always clearly been a dog guy, but why is he cosplaying Mick Dundee?]

[improbablenotimpossible]

[One of the smaller dogs, a beagle wiggles into the man's lap as he taps the cigar, looking at her than himself, seeming to misread her confusion before giving out a sharp bark of laughter]

Ah, this is workin' clothes, One's defo gonna be gettin' dirty when working with dogs, and I don't wanna be on the hook for cleanin' bills for the nice stuff.

[He shrugs his shoulders casually]

Joey | Demonic Resurrection | R3

[incrediblystressedout]

[How did Joey die? It doesn't matter. Perhaps she was an innocent victim, or killed in self-defense. Maybe she was scapegoated, karmic revenge for her own lack of faith in the first week. It doesn't matter...]

[...because aaaaaaaall of that has gone away now! Yes, it's back to fun and games now with Gremory and her friendly hint corner (open Wednesdays)! We're all here to have fun, right? No need to stress out over the Witch of Misfortune's game. This is an island paradise, let's enjoy it.]

[Such is Gremory's attitude as she smilingly floats through the mansion in a rainbow-colored dress, a small crown perched on her head, making sure everyone's wishes and needs are accounted for like a good hostess.]

Hi hi hi! Are you all enjoying yourselves today?

[She giggles, inevitably. This level of saccharine enthusiasm would be terminally embarrassing for any mere mortal.]

Anyone want to go out into the garden and dance? I promise, nothing there will hurt you (this week)! Come hang out, let's go!

What if Ky Vessel?

[zweivoltage]

There was no call to attention, or a gentle rousing for a sermon, or even attacks upon the living – instead, the air was humid, still – stifling more so than it had been for the last several weeks. Blankets and nightclothes clung tightly, and every little movement causes them to crackle with static, making it increasingly impossible to stay comfortable enough to sleep. Hair refused to stay down for those who would attempt to make themselves presentable before the Vessel, bed frames, and doorknobs lash out at anyone touching them with a bright white-green spark that numbs the fingers for a few seconds.

The air was heavy with ozone and charred wood, and the air seems to just grow heavier the closer they came to the living room, giving the impression that they were walking straight into a Thunderhead.
A young man materializes, deep violet lightning dances across his limbs as bluish light seem to strobe over him, almost distracting the inattentive from his white hair or his reddish-purple eyes. Or that his belt plate is blank.

“I am the Vessel for this week,” Ky’s voice was soft, trembling as he clasps his hands together. “There is no escape, no fighting this curse so please do not waste your lives on this. Treat me as your warden, and I will be treating you as our prisoners. If you do not provoke us, you can reduce your suffering.” The tremble in his voice extended to his frame. “However – as you are prisoners, there will be no comfort – this atmosphere will remain as the days go by… and if you wish to be excused from this discomfort and all other punishments for the crime of your existence in our presence, We mandate that one of you will kill another and escape execution for your sins.”

He waits, and once he fielded all the questions given. “Remember what Pandora Left in her box-” Ky’s eyes widened, his hands clamping over his mouth, a muffled noise escaping before he disappeared with a clap of thunder.

---
It was time. Ky gathered everyone who was not currently investigating, his arms wrapped around himself, shaking like a leaf.

“Osamu Dazai is dead.” He proclaimed. “A trial will commence tomorrow at noon – We – I will allow for no absences.” He closes his eyes. "Remember what I said."
-

(Post-Party)

“I can’t take it anymore! I can’t… oh you, you really believe what I said about Pandora’s box? Do you know why Hope was the last thing trapped inside?” The vessel’s lips stretch into a smile that did not meet his tear-streaked eyes. “Hope is the greatest of evils. It’s what makes it possible for despair to exist… if you simply accept your fate and lay down, the pain and suffering would not be enough.” Ky’s voice cracked and almost seem to shatter like glass. “You thought… you thought I was crying earlier? No! I was trying not to laugh at how much you really believe I was still on your side! …Deceit and unfairness are the only rules in war, and I am your enemy. No one is your ally here, remember that for the next Vessel.”