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GRAVEYARD
THE MUSEUM
So, you’ve met your end and regardless of your beliefs, the expectation is that is where things end. Rebirth. Damnation. Salvation. A simple black screen… None of those things happen; how (un)fortunate for you. How jarring it must be to have your last moments not be your final moments. On the bright side, all the injuries you’ve sustained are no longer present. You’re as good as new!
Now, whether you’ve met your end violently, peacefully, or something between the two, you’ll find yourself sat in front of a sprawling behemoth of a wall tastefully covered from floor to ceiling (where is the ceiling?) with various objects on display. All of them carefully and neatly framed or kept safe within a box attached to the wall. Not only that, but there are cages hanging from the “ceiling” that contain even more objects for viewing. However, other than the walls, the hanging cages, and the bench—there is no padding on the bench; only a cold, hard surface that does not give—you find yourself sitting on, the rest of this room is completely empty.
At least, after giving a survey of the area, it will be obvious that it isn’t an enclosed space. There is an opening to a hallway—hopefully. Only one way to find out. Spoilers, there are many, many, many other rooms that make up this place.
Oh, but just what is all out on display?
Well, it varies and depends on who is looking. The hanging cages contain skeletons of creatures from home. Whose home? Your home. It’s the same story for everything that has been framed. They’re all images, items, objects—things—from home. Your home. Fortunately, not everything is familiar as unfamiliar items are included in equal parts. How did they all get here? What are they all doing here?
Have you considered the similarities between a museum and a graveyard? Both are places where the living go to marvel at the dead.
Now, whether you’ve met your end violently, peacefully, or something between the two, you’ll find yourself sat in front of a sprawling behemoth of a wall tastefully covered from floor to ceiling (where is the ceiling?) with various objects on display. All of them carefully and neatly framed or kept safe within a box attached to the wall. Not only that, but there are cages hanging from the “ceiling” that contain even more objects for viewing. However, other than the walls, the hanging cages, and the bench—there is no padding on the bench; only a cold, hard surface that does not give—you find yourself sitting on, the rest of this room is completely empty.
At least, after giving a survey of the area, it will be obvious that it isn’t an enclosed space. There is an opening to a hallway—hopefully. Only one way to find out. Spoilers, there are many, many, many other rooms that make up this place.
Oh, but just what is all out on display?
Well, it varies and depends on who is looking. The hanging cages contain skeletons of creatures from home. Whose home? Your home. It’s the same story for everything that has been framed. They’re all images, items, objects—things—from home. Your home. Fortunately, not everything is familiar as unfamiliar items are included in equal parts. How did they all get here? What are they all doing here?
Have you considered the similarities between a museum and a graveyard? Both are places where the living go to marvel at the dead.
EXHIBIT #04 - COMFORT
Likely the first room that you’ll come across after moving from the initial room. This room feels just as grand and just as empty as that room, but at least the walls aren’t covered in things from (your) home. 
Instead, there will be surfaces to claim, if you wish. Beds, sofas, couches, chaises lounge, bean bags, you name it—if someone could consider it comfortable then it will be present in all shapes, sizes, and variations. The only real catch is that each surface will be displayed individually and cannot be moved. Obviously.
Against one of the walls is a very small plaque that reads:
[ FOR DISPLAY ONLY – DO NOT TOUCH ]
Oops.
Instead, there will be surfaces to claim, if you wish. Beds, sofas, couches, chaises lounge, bean bags, you name it—if someone could consider it comfortable then it will be present in all shapes, sizes, and variations. The only real catch is that each surface will be displayed individually and cannot be moved. Obviously.
Against one of the walls is a very small plaque that reads:
[ FOR DISPLAY ONLY – DO NOT TOUCH ]
Oops.
EXHIBIT #09 - VIEWING
What’s a museum without some sort of media installation, hm?
For this room, there is only one thing and one thing only—a projector. For much of the time the projector being on (you can’t turn it off. In fact, where is the projector?), it won’t be displaying anything but a white light on the blank wall opposite of it.
However, while the wall is blank, every so often it’s possible to hear faint voices coming from above. Especially during the night before—you know.
For this room, there is only one thing and one thing only—a projector. For much of the time the projector being on (you can’t turn it off. In fact, where is the projector?), it won’t be displaying anything but a white light on the blank wall opposite of it.
However, while the wall is blank, every so often it’s possible to hear faint voices coming from above. Especially during the night before—you know.
EXHIBIT #03 - GARDEN
It’s here that you can finally see the ceiling even if it’s still more of a “sky” than a true ceiling. 
Those with keen eyes will be able to tell that it’s an artificial sky, and, for those who are less aware, then how it randomly flickers should help with that. Or not. Regardless, the presence of a “sky” isn’t the only surprising thing about this room—it might not even be the first thing that goes noticed. Despite all the expansive and seemingly never-ending hallways that lead to rooms that are void of anything living, this room is alive. Somehow.
A small plaque on the wall will describe this exhibit as an “interactive” medium with gentle suggestions to not be too rough with anything. This exhibition will be a picturesque garden full of all kinds of flowers and plants with a small pond with lily pads and lotus located towards the center of the room. The only physical structure within this room is a very small and simple gazebo containing two chairs and a small table. Perfect for having afternoon tea—if that’s your kind of thing. However, if you were hoping to listen to any bird song, look at what animals have taken residence in the pond, or generally any other kind of life then you’ll be disappointed.
Those with keen eyes will be able to tell that it’s an artificial sky, and, for those who are less aware, then how it randomly flickers should help with that. Or not. Regardless, the presence of a “sky” isn’t the only surprising thing about this room—it might not even be the first thing that goes noticed. Despite all the expansive and seemingly never-ending hallways that lead to rooms that are void of anything living, this room is alive. Somehow.
A small plaque on the wall will describe this exhibit as an “interactive” medium with gentle suggestions to not be too rough with anything. This exhibition will be a picturesque garden full of all kinds of flowers and plants with a small pond with lily pads and lotus located towards the center of the room. The only physical structure within this room is a very small and simple gazebo containing two chairs and a small table. Perfect for having afternoon tea—if that’s your kind of thing. However, if you were hoping to listen to any bird song, look at what animals have taken residence in the pond, or generally any other kind of life then you’ll be disappointed.
EXHIBIT # — ???
Nothing is on display in this room; all that is there is just empty walls, empty “ceilings”, empty floors…
The only thing that can be found is a small, simple white card free from any kind of writing. A completely blank card. If you try to take it out of the room, it will instantly disappear from wherever it was stored and return to the room.
The only thing that can be found is a small, simple white card free from any kind of writing. A completely blank card. If you try to take it out of the room, it will instantly disappear from wherever it was stored and return to the room.
W4 Monday (cw: suicidal ideation)
No. Nononononono this isn't what he wanted, why is he still HERE he wants to die he wants to rest he wants oblivion no no no why does the world hate him so, why does nothing he wishes for ever come true--
The air he just inhaled all comes right back out in a sound halfway between a scream and a strangled sob as he rolls onto his side and just curls in on himself, as if by doing so he could make himself disappear. In the hollow of his mind, his last conscious thoughts are stuck on a horrible loop, the realization that the others were trying to save his life not for his own sake but so that Nala would not face punishment for what she had done to him...
(He's sorry he's sorry he's sorry he's only ever asked for one thing in his life, please let him have this please it's such a simple wish please just)
Every breath feels like a condemnation all over again; he would take being stabbed by Nala ten thousand times over this. And he just lays there, unmoving, the weight of reality pressing down on him so hard that it threatens to crush him.]
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She is curious, but... it doesn't seem like the time to ask him questions. Maomao leaves to find some tea before she comes back to place it down next to him on the floor.
Then she'll move away, giving him her back to provide some privacy during his moment. Go ahead and fall apart ]
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Eventually the scent of the tea wafts to his nose, and he stirs slightly, uncurling just the tiniest bit like a hedgehog to try to find the source of the smell. It doesn't take long for his eyes to fall upon the teacup, and...
... ah.
He's not sure he can manage to pick up the cup right now with how badly his hands are shaking, but... it's appreciated more than she knows.]
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But tea has always been something he has found calming, so if she is listening closely, she might also hear that movement gradually begin to decrease as he sips at it.]
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She hears a gasp in a familiar voice, the wretched scream (sob?) only confirming her worst fears; Seymour is here, and he's...absolutely not taking this well. Amaya's more than concerned enough as it is, but the gentle click of her boots hits the tile as she steadily walks toward Seymour, her steps slow and gentle. She doesn't know how he's going to react, truthfully. She doesn't know if anything she can do will help in any sort of manner. Not when he's broken down to this level; not when he's in despair like this.
...But Amaya isn't going to let Seymour face this alone, and so, as close as she can get to him without risking him fleeing on her, Amaya kneels and sits on the ground, her gentle voice trying to reach him.]
...Seymour. I'm so sorry.
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He can't. He can't. He can't hurt her again when this is all his fault. She'll hate him, he knows she'll hate him and it's fine because it's what he deserves (he was a fool to ever think he could have anything else), but if he looks at her face and sees what he knows he's going to find, he'll--
His limbs still feel numb and leaden after Nala's deadly blow, making movement difficult, and for a moment when he pulls himself up onto one arm he's afraid that it's going to give way beneath him. But he manages to catch himself with a hiss, his eyes remaining firmly averted as he tries to find anywhere to look that isn't in her direction.
(He's sorry, he's sorry, he's SO sorry)]
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[Amaya's tone feels thick with something; pain of her own, really. Pain that she truly doesn't know how to help him out of this. She doesn't know what to do. They've talked before, sought comfort in many ways, but he's truly so broken by this. By all of this, because of them, and...
She doesn't want to leave him alone. She chances a step closer.]
Seymour, please. I...know not what I can do, but I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you to face this on your own.
...You've been hurt so terribly and badly, and pretty words and apologies are not going to fix that. This much, I know. But...
If little else, please...know that I do not wish to let you face this alone.
[...]
...May I sit with you?
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Now it feels too much like pity, and revulsion churns in the pit of his stomach. What good is pity now (what good was pity then, when Yuna had leaned over his dying body with something edging on sadness in her eyes?), far too late for it to matter?
He doesn't need someone else to tell him, he already knows that he's
broken
broken
broken (he can't be fixed, a part of him has always known this)
Seymour pulls himself to his feet with a such a sudden violence that he almost loses his balance; then, without a word, he takes off into a run. He doesn't know where he's going, and he doesn't care. All he wants is to be anywhere but here.]
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[Amaya tries to go after him briefly, but she ends up losing him. One too many turns in the museum see her confused, despair of her own starting to fill her and making her shake something fierce. Everything in her is telling her she should give up. Give him space, let him run away. Maybe it'd be for the best if she did.
...
But she can't. Maybe it's the stupid love in her heart that she's finally (finally, finally) realized she has for someone who looked at her and offered her a hand and ear when she needed it that makes her want to pursue him further. And so she does.
Amaya doesn't run this time. There may be endless exhibits, yes, but Amaya's determination is boundless at this point. Amaya is going to check every single one of them, keeping an ear out for footsteps while she does. She doesn't know if he's going to ever be amendable to any sort of company, if she's being too kind. If she's screwed this up too much, by being too human.
But Amaya wants to help, and that's why she'll pursue Seymour to the ends of the museum if she must.]
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Well, he isn't surprised that it's Seymour. Zvei can't begin to guess what about all of that is causing Seymour the most distress, but given how horrid the whole trial and his death were, maybe it's all of it.
It feels wrong to intrude now. They only knew each other for a short time before Zvei died, and it sounds like Seymour's suffering only increased afterwards. But leaving him here can't be the right answer, and more than anything, Zvei wants to help. He doesn't know how to do that, but he has to try.]
Seymour. [Quiet at first, then louder as he approaches:] Seymour.
[He moves to kneel beside Seymour, but he doesn't touch. He's not sure how much it would be appreciated, and it's better to start with this.]
I'm sorry, for everything you just went through. I wish there was something I could have done.
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He doesn't know why this makes him so angry. Not at Zvei - it isn't as though it was his fault - at Lynne, maybe, who is still alive and happy, who had people who loved and defended her and wanted to save her life, not like him, whose life only had value as long as existing meant that Nala wouldn't have to die instead--
The thought draws a low, raw hiss. They're glad he's gone, he's sure of it, they won't mourn him, no one will honor his memory the way people did Zvei and Amaya and Yuki and Reiju, but isn't this what he wanted (no, he wanted an end, just as Thancred had said) because it isn't like he cares about any of them any more than they cared about him--
(What could anyone have done when the only people who truly cared weren't there? He wants to laugh. He wants to scream.)
Instead, he just curls up even tighter, his entire body shaking.]
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He wonders if he should leave. Would it help? Does Seymour need time on his own to process everything? But leaving now seems like an even worse idea - he doesn't want to leave the man alone to deal with all of it. Perhaps it would have been better if he'd waited to approach in the first place, but there's nothing he can do about that now.
Zvei reaches out without thinking - it's something Yuki's unintentionally trained him into doing, and something that provides comfort when he's dealing with confusing and difficult feelings. So he reaches out, and his hand stops just shy of touching Seymour's shoulder. He pauses. Considers.
Then shifts a bit again, this time to shrug off the labcoat and withdraw the tentacles. The usual four, relaxed and at ease so as not to be a threat. Better not to hide them, he thinks, both because Seymour doesn't need him to and because maybe it'll mean more coming from someone who has some semblance of understanding. A physical sign that he hasn't forgotten, and doesn't intend to forget.]
I want to do what I can to help you. [His voice has dropped into a softer range now; it's not gentle, it's never gentle coming from Zvei.] I know it's not much, but I don't want you to be alone here.
[He does touch Seymour's shoulder then. Unlike his voice, this is gentle, cautious - like he's waiting for Seymour to pull back.]
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He'd wanted so desperately not to be alone after Zvei's death, but now having the man here trying to offer kindness burns like the knife Nala had plunged into his back and he's bleeding out emotions that he can't even identify, much less process.
It hurts. It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts it was supposed to stop that was the only thing he wanted and if Ramuda got his wish then why couldn't he, it isn't fair--
He's still shaking even as he moves to sit up, wrapping his arms around himself as if seeking some small measure of comfort, his breath coming in shuddering inhalations. His mind registers the tentacles and clutches feebly at the warmth that memory brings, but it slips from his grasp and spirals away into that flood of emotions that can't be stopped.
It feels like he can't breathe again, only this time there's no knife in his back.]
cw: suicidal ideation
He's quiet for a very long moment, slowly willing himself to relax again. It isn't personal, he tells himself - because the idea of it being personal is simply too much to handle right now - it's just an automatic reaction. Seymour's going through it, and he's lashing out. Zvei's just unlucky enough to be here at the moment.]
Seymour.
[Still quiet, just his name, for now. He tries to gather his thoughts, tries to figure out how to address the issues that are undoubtedly present and going through Seymour's mind, even though he can't quite understand any of what it must have been like. Relating to another person is already difficult even when they have some experiences in common; this is unfamiliar ground that threatens to give way with every step.
But he has to try. He has to. Amaya will undoubtedly help in her own way, but he can't stand the thought of leaving Seymour like this.]
—Were you hoping that you wouldn't wind up here?
[That death by the hands would somehow be different, that maybe dying as a killer would change things, that maybe the messages from the dead were just a hoax and that it really would be the end of everything. Maybe Seymour wasn't trying to join them at all, but rather just put an end to the pain he felt.]
cw: suicidal ideation
... it makes all of this undeniable, real, and despair crashes in like a tidal wave. He'd done all of that for nothing (killed, lied, hurt others, died yet again) because he's here and not in the depths of oblivion and now he's being forced to face the truth that even here, in a world so far removed from Spira, he is just as unwanted as he is there and...
The sound he lets out is akin to a wounded animal. The shaking is back, almost violent in its intensity, and as he moves to force himself to his feet it takes a few tries before he manages it due to just how badly he's trembling.
And then? He's taking off into the exhibits, as if somehow by doing so he can outrun that tsunami of despair threatening to drown him in its depths.]
cw: suicidal ideation
[Too late. He's managed to stagger to his feet in the time it takes Zvei to rise as well, and he's off like a shot. The tentacles writhe, frustration and that weighty feeling (tiredness? is he tired? he hasn't slept this whole time, he's forgotten what it feels like) slowing him down. Maybe he could have easily caught up on a better day.
Or maybe he drags his feet because he's pretty damn sure he just made it worse. Maybe Seymour hadn't even been fully aware of what it was he was looking for, and speaking it aloud made it all the more real. Zvei groans and pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to work out how to proceed from here.]
...Leaving him alone is a terrible idea, isn't it?
[Not just because Seymour might stumble on someone (Yuki) who doesn't want him here, but because who the hell would want to be alone in a place like this? It's why Zvei and Yuki latched onto each other so hard, after all. So going after Seymour makes sense.
But he's already made things worse. Maybe Amaya could help, but she's likely busy right now. Besides, pointing her at Seymour and expecting her to magically solve a problem of his own doing is really not the best way to handle things.
So he follows. He doesn't chase Seymour down, but he follows - never trying to hide out of sight, never trying to sneak up on the man, just being nearby. Just in case. But he won't say another damn word and he won't get close enough to touch, and maybe just maybe knowing that someone else is there will help even the tiniest bit.
The tentacles flick and writhe despite his stiff expression.]
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They didn't really talk, only existed in the same space that night in the church. She's seen glimpses here and there, though, of a man whose words were often so restrained before they swelled into something broken at the end—except it wasn't the end, and now the dam is broken. She wonders what his wish must have been for this to be his reaction upon waking in the museum.
Tired as she is, she crouches down nearby to meet him closer to his level. Her tone is devoid of judgment or anything else as she simply says:] Hello.
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But, in a case like this, that's actually a positive-- she isn't one of those who tried to condemn him for his actions, she never judged him for anything, she simply... existed. And right now? That puts her miles above almost everyone else in this cursed place.
He hears her voice, and he tries to ready some sort of protest, some demand for her to back away...
... only to receive a simple greeting rather than words of condemnation.
He's been holding his breath without even realizing it, but at that word, he inhales deeply, then exhales. There's no verbal response yet, though. He's waiting to see what she's going to do next.]
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She's not his friend—she's nobody's friend here—and he's not her enemy. They're just two echoes of what once was, and so:]
You don't need to eat or sleep here, but there's an exhibit where you can lie down. If that's too open, there are others without the comfort that are farther away.