Chapter Text
“Griddle what in God’s name are you doing.”
“Settin’ up the camera.”
“The what.”
“Well we’ve obviously gotta record this shit.”
“No we don’t.”
“...I’m settin’ up the camera.”
“I hope you die.”
“If I do it’ll be because I was saving your ass. I can see it now; there you are, about to be brutally attacked by some demon, and suddenly! I dive in, tackle the demon to the ground! An epic battle commences, bloody, violent, and in the end I stand victorious, sword in hand, but alas! The demon got a good swipe in. It’s fatal. And I lie there, growing colder by the minute, and you, my Gothic Nun of Eternal Darkness, run up to me, not sobbing because I don’t think you even have tear ducts, but wearing like a super, super sad expression. Total agony. It’ll be the most dramatic, fucking awesome death ever. This is why we need to record this shit, Nonagesimus.”
…
“Nonagesimus?”
…
“Bitch.”
[A camera turns on. The entire bottom right of the screen is filled with a shock of red hair and a pair of eyes that seem gold (as absurd as that is). In the top left of the screen, another figure stands. This figure appears to be dressed in a fashion more suitable for church than the dark, neglected wall that takes up the rest of the image.]
“Oh! It’s on!”
The redhead waves jubilantly at the camera.
“Hey! Hi! Um, I’m Gideon. Nav. And this-” she makes a broad gesture towards the other figure, “-is her majesty, almighty Queen of That Emo Phase You Had As a Teen, the one and only… Harrowhark Nonagesimus!”
The Queen of That Emo Phase You Had As a Teen frowns in a way that is both deeply profound and peacefully violent. “I’m going to sacrifice you to the darkest demon I can find.”
“I think you mean the dankest demon.”
“Sincerely, fall in a pit.”
“And now that we’ve all been introduced! Time to get our ghoost on!”
[The camera sways up and down, accompanied by the sound of heavy footsteps climbing a set of stairs.]
“ Must you stomp everywhere, Griddle.”
“This equipment is heavy okay! And not all of us have the density of a twig, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“That wasn’t a question, I was telling you to shut the fuck up.”
“You know, I’m suddenly feeling super chatty now. Shall we gossip about boys?”
“I’m here for serious work, Griddle, not idle chit-chat.”
“Speaking of boys, shout out to m’boy SexPal! Him and Cam are at the secondary location, viewers. We’re having a bit of a competition, you see. First one to find a ghost wins.”
“That is not even remotely close to what we’re doing. This is a scientific exploration for research purposes. Sextus and I decided to make a friendly competition out of it - a competition with rules, and more at stake than you could possibly imagine. That you are too juvenile to see that does not surprise me.”
A pause.
Gideon snickers.
“You just said ‘sex’.”
“Griddle.”
“Are nuns even allowed to say that word?”
“Nav.”
“It’s a totally serious question.”
“...”
“I’m going to personally meld your mouth shut.”
“Ooh.”
“With fire.”
“Kinky.”
“You will suffer.”
“Well don’t stop there, I think I’m getting a little turned on.”
“...I hope you die.”
[The camera zooms in and out as it pans across a bedroom. The room is dark, the only light source being the large torch shining from behind the camera. Occupying the room is a collection of rotting furniture, and a large canopied bed. The sheets on the bed are aged and dusty, but perfectly made. The pillows lie haphazard against the headboard; one pristine, the other bearing a tattered hole right in the centre, inside which rest a single feather. Above the headboard, an elaborate skull is drawn on the wall in a colour not dissimilar to rust.]
“Well, now here’s a great room!”
Harrow appears in the frame as she crosses over to the bed.
“This is the room of legend.”
“You would like this. Very much your style. Tell you what, I’m open to negotiations on spending our honeymoon here.”
“I’d rather die than go on a honeymoon with you, Griddle. I’d rather die in the most brutal way, be resurrected, and then die again in an even more brutal way, than go on a honeymoon with you.”
“Insert shocked Pikachu meme.”
“I’d rather eat my own limbs, devour myself till only bone remains, and then grind that bone till all I am is dust, than go on a honeymoon with you.”
“Yeah I get it.”
“I’d rather marry Ortus-”
“Okay that one’s too far. And obviously a lie, I mean it’s Ortus .”
Harrow opens her mouth, but whatever retort she has prepared gets cut off by a sudden, piercing, scream.
[The camera jostles into motion as Harrow takes off in a sprint. The image on the screen swings between the ground, the wall, and occasionally two pairs of shoes: one small, the other large, both very worn. Footsteps sound again, this time much louder, and more hurried. Gideon pants and shouts for Harrow to wait. Doors can be heard slamming open. The floor shifts from old wood to smooth stone.
The camera swings up briefly to show an endless stone wall, and a small, dark opening.]
“Harrow don’t!”
[The screen goes much darker, and the smack of the camera hitting stone echoes. A rough, grinding rumble shakes the screen, and the sliver of light disappears on the floor.
The only sound is that of quiet breathing.]
“Shit.”