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Mafiawesome: The San Luis Penguins


jayseven

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Wait, just noticed something. Jonnas, Eenuh, Cube and Moogle, one of them has a double vote. Up to this very day I'm sure we've never played a Mafia game in which a good guy has a double vote. Personally I think we should be looking at them.

 

I'm sure you have, though. I remember a few double-voters who weren't evil.

 

Plus, there's more than one of them running around. This was seen earlier in the thread (like, first day or so).

And I guarantee I'm not one of the double-voters, as I was the first to vote. I have a strong suspicion of who it is, though, and he/she does not seem evil.

 

Anyway, what's the verdict on Lillster...?

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Yeah I'm pretty sure I know who the double-voter is, but don't know their role/alignment. Plus there's at least another double-voter running around.

 

I wouldn't get too hasty in voting for Lillster guys, give him some time to react or defend himself... if he's even going to come in here. Anyone trying to vote him off right now (like, casting the last few votes) will be seen as mafia in my eyes.

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I love the way Dyson just says... TRUST ME OMGZZZZZ PLEZ TRUST ME. And we ignore him. He's clearly doing something weird. And he said I won't reveal the nature of my role.

 

We don't have any evidence on Lilster but Dyson is acting pretty fecking suspicious.

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Day 4 is over

 

Y'all went and lynched Lillster. He was Luke the Hustler. Once his buddy Pete was killed, he went from a role-switcher to a killer, thirsty for revenge.

 

The 4th Night begins now. Please send in your PMs with your targets.

 

Players remaining: (15)

Coolness Bears

Cube

Dyson

Eenuh

Ellmeister

Gizmo

Jonnas

Jimbob

maddog

Moogle

Mr-paul

Mundi

nintendohnut

Not-So-Tiny

Zell

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Sorry for the length between days/nights. It's... really silly. Next time I do a game, it won't be as silly as this, I promise.

 

4th Night

 

The sky was filled with spirits tonight. Empty eyes twinkling in anticipation. The hand of the old sheriff was, somewhere, slowly turning the wheel on his own eulogy, in between the valhallah and the pits; he was dawdling. He was afraid. He was tired.

 

The rooftops smouldered as steam and condensation escaped from faulty woodwork. Balconies missing posts, or curtained off-white with the garments caught by foolish leaners on protruding nails. Pipes leading to nowhere in particular.

 

Inside the window, paced the man, with his pile of letters. The most cryptic of all his letters. An etch; a print in the shape of a large, squashed U, with two floating orbs between the shape’s ends like two suns overlooking a soft valley. He scratched his head a little, with a smirk.

 

***

 

The doctor was feeling mighty useful, alright. S’been four days and three nights where he’s managed to do little next to nuffin’ to save the lives of his townspeople. He was heading to the watering hole, with half a mind to steal a horse and skip town, when, passing the munitions store, a voice halted him.

 

‘Hey Doc.’

 

The doc fought against the darkness to recognise the shape as man, not beast or demon. When the figure finally doffed his hat in greeting, he could place the voice to a face. Dirk.

 

‘What do you want Deputy? Huh? Had enough of locking up the useless folk so now you wanna lock up a doctor?’

 

‘Somefin’ like that, boss. Come with me, ok?’

 

***

 

A small dog* finished urinating against the watering hole, and pedalled his way down into the backstreets; rummaging food, jumping cartons, scratching piles of dirt about the place. It stopped in the alley behind the coroner’s place. A pale-hued figure was moaning, not in pain but in defeat. The shifting, hunched like-man eased, then pained, then eased its way towards the pup.

 

‘B… Brai..’

 

A large boot swept the mongel aside. A few seemingly-dozen feet above the clod foot a voice boomed a warbling spell. If the dog believed in God, he would’ve sworn by him to all his other stray friends that the air sparkled for a moment.

 

The hustling figure ceased its anything, dropped to his knees.

 

‘This time was closer. You lucky.’ The chief, certain without checking, left the way he came; into thin air.

 

Barbar stood up, and brushed himself down. He was not three doors down from his bar, restocking his ‘special’ liquors, when the urges began to take over. But now, feeling fine and dandy, he found himself right outside the coroner’s office, watching the pale figure, that he himself wasn’t too dissimilar to a few moments before, get spliced and made gutless in the name of science. Barbar found his breath again, and quietly gripped the handle and went in.

 

Connor was busy frantically writing notes down; they seemed to get longer every night. He didn’t notice Barbar had come in until -- schlankshh – the whiskey-esque liquid had been plonked onto his worksurface, splashing his hand as well as the cadavers.

 

‘I fuckin’ hate blood.’ Barbar said.

 

***

 

The other end of town rung clear with the bells for 1am. Clark wasn’t aware that it was half past two in the morning. He stood by the door, twitching nods and shakes.

 

‘Ding dong!’ he said aloud. Then opened the door. There, stood squarely looking at him in the doorway, was the horse. Looking right at him.

 

‘Come in! Come in! I have tibbit-tea and grouch-biscuits. Some timothy hay? Finest alfalfa between the bells and the cross.

 

Harumph, the horse said, apologetically, and left the clockman with his grin.

 

***

 

Two doors down from the defunct Moriarty’s, Ernie was resting up. He looked at all the seemingly useless information he had, and just didn’t know what to do with it. His door, unlatched and open to air the breeze to his putrid, dank corner of the town, the door was voided of light by the figure of the pastor.

 

‘Good evening, my son. You look like a man who needs a confession’ he smiled, like a headmaster with a hand behind his back, as he approached the desk. Behind the pastor could be heard a brief self-exchange emanating from where the pastor entered.

 

‘Heads or tails. Tails. It’s… Heads. But I called heads! Did not. Too. Fine. We’ll stitch his lips. You’re doing it though.’ It started singing, in high, then low tones.

 

Oh, sweet sheep,

I know you not well,

but a‘fore we meet,

‘Tween guts and fleece

Lies a brief smell

Pray your piece

I have a tale to tell…

 

Ernie let out a cry, all the while the song continued, until, with exhaustion, he watched his door close behind them.

 

***

 

The hussy’s heart felt less empty as she heard the tune that walked in the air of the promenade. The voice came closer.

 

‘My, now! Fancy you, lookin’ like that with a tune like that?’ she put her arms around him. ‘Got a buck?’

 

***

 

The pastor felt closer. He could hear God better when other people cried for his name. He was gripping his head, obscuring his vision, stumbling the backstreets fearing no pile of garbage as obstacle, in comparison to his own barriers.

 

He walked straight into its open mouth. It didn’t even have to make a sound. No grunts. The pastor – a smile? – feels it – feels his life force

 

The undertaker stands, and just watches. From the distance, he holds up a pencil, first vertically, then horizontally, with pursed lips and notching his thumb measures from the top of the scribe, he nodded in concentration. He smacked his tongue; calculations complete. With mild groans behind him now, he walked home, dusting his cap, muttering in feet and inches.

 

***

 

Rap. Rap. Rap.

 

The Postman jolted awake. His glasses bent under his forehead, scraps of paper stuck to his face. This hour? Really? The train’s not leavin’ for days, may as well deliver it in the mo—Blam blam blam blam! Blam! Blam!. A cackle.

 

Mundi is dead. He was the postman, reading letters addressed to the sheriff. He was good.

 

Outside, a horse chewed on some grouch biscuits, ears aloft.

 

Day 5 begins now

Players Remaining 14. 8 is majority.

Coolness Bears

Cube

Dyson

Eenuh

Ellmeister

Gizmo

Jonnas

Jimbob

maddog

Moogle

Mr-paul

nintendohnut

Not-So-Tiny

Zell

 

*the dog is not a new character, or anything, so ignore it.

Edited by jayseven
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Sorry :( I'm not very good at being informative. Though I'm pretty sure that if all the write-ups are gone over, there'd be a crapload of information there.

 

Well, that's okay. My last mafia game wasn't that informative in the write-ups, because I wanted people to talk more...

 

Which means we have to follow hunches! Let's see, I believe the following are good:

 

Cube

Nintedohnut

Jonnas :D

Probably Moogleviper

Maybe Dyson

Maybe Ellmeister

Maybe Eenuh

 

 

Currently, what do we know?

 

-Gizmo chose to be evil, but it was never proven that he was good;

-Maddog had info on Dyson, though that info seemed to contradict the write-ups;

-Dyson isn't revealing his power, which is very suspicious;

-"Charlie" may be detrimental to the town. If anybody knows who he is, please say so *sticks Wanted poster on the wall*

 

Personally, I think Gizmo is a good lead. Vote: Gizmo

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I want to hear how you know this really, I'm not just going to go on what might be a hunch.

 

Incidentally, I found another goodie last night but it doesn't help us much right now so I won't reveal them.

 

I am also concerned about Dyson going days and days being suspicious and yet we still haven't pressed him for any answers. We need to know more about him!

 

Finally - do we know who the zombie guy is? And if not did someone say he was investigated last night? Who investigated him? Come forward! Otherwise your information might never be brought forward (if you were randomly killed tonight or whatever, your info would die with you and we'd have no idea who the zombie is!)

 

Basically, I feel that we need more information before I'm going to vote.

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Right, for now considering Gizmo isn't even around I don't think (haven't checked, just assuming since he hasn't replied), I think we should put some more pressure on said slut. We have no idea who he/she is or what she can do, and frankly, she has contributed nothing to daily discussions. We need more info about him/her frankly.

 

Also: no offence to you Ell, but just being a horse doesn't make you instantly good. The croc boots guy rode in on a horse and he's the killer.... again, I'm not accusing you at all, just saying that being a horse doesn't necessarily make you good. I just want to hear how you know this really :)

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We have no idea who he/she is or what she can do, and frankly, she has contributed nothing to daily discussions. We need more info about him/her frankly.

 

Yeah thats it, get me to reveal everything about me to the mafia so I'm completely in harms way...no.

 

I'm not an investigator but I know stuff. You don't have to trust me, but Cube also said it, thats 2 people.

 

What, and yet you expect me to reveal everything so I am? Bullshit. That makes no sense. If you knew my role you'd understand why I can't say anything.

 

Last night I targetted mr-paul.

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