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Mafiawesome: The San Luis Penguins


jayseven

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No miscalculation :)

 

See? Endless twists. It's like an episode of lost.

 

Hahah okayyyyy.

 

Well that leads me to think there's multiple people with double votes, and it's impossible to tell if they're good or bad now. Darn. =P

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I knoiw it's already gone, but i'll vote no lynch for good measure. ive got suspicions of dyson, but lets see what happens with him tonight before deciding on his fate. we dont want everyone to turn into zombies....

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Votes: 10 is majority

No Lynch (11): jimbob, Dyson, jonnas, eenuh, not_so_tiny, nintendohnut, Gizmo, Maase, mundi, mr-paul

 

The 2nd Day is over.

 

Nobody got hanged! Hooray! Get those messages into my face, prrronto!

 

If anyone is particularly unhappy with their role, or think that they don't have anything to do, then let me know and I can fiddle with you your character/ability a little. *looks at several certain people, without them knowing it*

 

P.S. the 2nd Night begins miaow.

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If anyone is particularly unhappy with their role, or think that they don't have anything to do, then let me know and I can fiddle with you your character/ability a little. *looks at several certain people, without them knowing it*

 

Dear Jim,

 

I'm dead. Can you fix it for me?

 

Yours morbidly,

 

Tellyn

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er... so I accidentally deleted all the targets you all sent me when I was trying to move them to a new folder... so could you please send them in again? Preferrably with any response I sent you, too...

 

yeah, I'm rubbish.

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haha :) I was just coming in here to say thanks everyone - I've got all but, I think, two targets. I'm sorry but I won't be able to do the write-up 'til wednesday as I'm packing today and travelling tomorrow. If the journey's not too wobbly on the motorway I may try and get it together, but it's likely to be done on wednesday.

 

I'll try not to make it too epic.

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haha :) I was just coming in here to say thanks everyone - I've got all but, I think, two targets. I'm sorry but I won't be able to do the write-up 'til wednesday as I'm packing today and travelling tomorrow. If the journey's not too wobbly on the motorway I may try and get it together, but it's likely to be done on wednesday.

 

I'll try not to make it too epic.

 

haha :) I was just coming in here to say thanks everyone - I've got all but, I think, two targets. I'm sorry but I won't be able to do the write-up 'til wednesday as I'm packing today and travelling tomorrow. If the journey's not too wobbly on the motorway I may try and get it together, but it's likely to be done on wednesday.

 

I'll try not to make it too epic.

 

Oh god, now we're dealing with time paradoxes :o

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2nd Night

 

The coroner puckered at the last of his cigarette. Moriarty laid on his worktop. He’d already taken the six bullets out, and was stitching the body back up.

 

He peered to his notebook; a web of boxes and markings. He tutted. ‘Well, as if we didn’t already know that…’

 

***

 

Barbar and his token cloth and totem glass hunched over the mould-dimmed counter and offered his form of consoling advice. ‘Another drink, hussy?’ She scratched at the black band around her neck. She was all dried out from crying.

 

‘Sure thing,’ she murmured.

 

She wasn’t seeing too straight, but still Barbar glanced to be sure nobody saw him top her up from a bottle he reeled in from beneath the bar. He slung it her way, aimed with years of practice for the open hand, only this time it was interrupted by a hand smoother than its years.

 

‘I think she’s had enough,’ the Doc stated. ‘C’mon, Scarlett. Let’s get you home.’

 

They stumbled towards the door. ‘Well hey now,’ Luke cried as she walked past, ‘ain’t you forgetting our game, missy?’

 

‘Another time, perhaps.’ The doctor’s ventriloquism was not challenged, and they went on their way out of the bar.

 

‘Sure thing, doc.’ Luke sighed. He was supposed to signal to Pete when this happened, but as he glanced over he saw that wisecrack writer fellow hassling his buddy. Returning his attention to the table, the undertaker seated opposite him had been ill at ease with Scarlett’s stumbling past, but now seemed a little more alert.

 

‘I always told that Moriarty that Hussy would be the death of him. Heh. Deal away sonny, I’ll get another round in.

 

***

The Doc finally got her back to Moriarty’s, falling through the saloon doors practically backwards before slumping her onto a chéz longe. He took his glasses off and patted at his head with a pocket cloth. The doors went again, and he turned his blurred vision to the doorway.

 

‘How.’ The hazy figure said.

 

The doctor quickly placed his glasses. ‘Eh… How… d’you do?’

 

The injun looked to the sofa. Though relieved that he clearly had made it in time, he did not show it. ‘I help her. I help us all.’

 

He knelt besides her, smearing his hands through the air above her, uttering anonymous sounds that the doctor did not understand. ‘She will be better now.’

 

Then he left.

 

***

‘Well, that’s very interesting, Pete. Thank you for your time.’

‘No problem, Ed, have a good night.’

 

As Ed walked out of the bar, he passed Dirk coming in. For the second night running, he was taking someone in. ‘For their own good’, he said. Tonight it was the undertaker, freshly returned from the bar with drinks for Luke. Luke shrugged again at a deflated Pete as the deputy took the Undertaker back to his station.

 

‘So what now, Luke?’

 

‘I guess we have a night off. Aren’t we lucky,’ he hissed.

 

***

The doc was sure Scarlett was safe and asleep now. He plodded heavily down the steps, aiming his feet towards the bar where Moriarty once served, rubbing his temples. As he grabbed his coat from a stool, a voice emerged from the shadows.

 

‘Sorry to startle you, Doc’. A white hat and crocodile-skinned boots shook off the grey shade as they came two steps closer. The Doc, once he regained his composure, asked him what he was doing there.

 

‘My brother. He was here last night. What he did –’ he waves his arm at the floor next to the stoo’, ‘- ended up down there, six shots later.’

 

‘I-I… I wish I could help you, Bub.’

 

‘I don’t expect nuffin’. See you around.’ And with that, he left.

 

‘Sheesh. Wadda night.’ The doc grabbed his bag, and placed his hand on the saloon door—

 

BAM! Shukka shuk shh.. The door whammed against the Doc, hurtling him back almost horizontal. His head shunted against a cabinet, and he passed clean out.

 

‘See sally?’ Charlie uttered, pointing to the unconscious, wheezing Doc, as he stepped into Moriarty’s, ‘The Doc does snore. You owe me a dollar. Yes you do! We did shake on it. Twice. No, crossing your fingers doesn’t count. SHUT UP!’

 

Outside, the horse harrumphed.

 

***

Clark pushed open the door to the old jailhouse. His spindly fingers hesitated to close it. The laughed that emancipated from the cell made him wish he had worn a different pair of shoes. Dirk, locking the cage door, turned to him.

 

‘Howdy, Clark. What brings you down from your tower?’ He smirked.

 

‘Uh, not much, sir. They told me—Sorry, I mean I thought it would be nice if Mr. Undertaker would care to join me for a tour of the tower.’ He cowered.

 

‘Sorry, fella, he’s serving his night’s sentence a-lonesome.’ Dirk plucked his thumbs into his pickets, and swung on his heels.

 

‘Ss… S’ok, sir. I knew you’d say that. Never mind.’

 

As the door pulled shut, Dirk turned to the undertaker, who was making a circle shape in the air next to his temple over and over again.

 

‘That boy ain’t right.’

 

***

 

As he stood outside the back of Barbar’s saloon, Pete sucked on his filter-less roll-up. On the one hand, he was awful sorry they hadn’t finished the night as they usually would, but on the other hand was the fact that Scarlett was wearing that black neck-tie for a reason, and he didn’t really want to lay his hands anywhere near that. The tales he had heard… a blue spectre, whose kiss embalms you; converts you.

 

He blew smoke rings, and smiled to himself, not seeing the blue figure approaching him in the darkness.

 

***

Clark returned to his clock tower, and hastily bolted the doors. One of the lamps was swinging. He took on the shape of a man afraid, and skulked his way along the bottom floor. From the walls, he swore he could hear…

 

‘Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy—’

 

‘Who’s there? This is definitely happening?’

 

‘Oh, uh, hullo!’

 

‘Bless you, son. Don’t be afraid…’ the voice said, with a hint of masquerade.

 

‘Are you God?’ Clark mused.

 

‘Not quite. Do you wish to confess?’

 

‘I do… I do. O Voice from the walls… I am afraid. Who can I trust? Can I trust you? I don’t know. People come to visit me and people… People back away from me, afraid, unable to speak until their memories of me are gone. Voice… Can you help?’

 

The pastor, struggling to untwine himself from the trap he had fallen into, wasn’t even sure if he could help himself…

 

***

 

The postman had been staring at the next envelope all day. To The Sheriff, it read, once more. The steady, handsome handwriting almost repelled him. But he had to. He opened it.

 

I am evil.

 

The postman smiled.

 

***

 

His horse stayed patriotically still. He dusted his black hat off, smirked, and headed down the side of Barbar’s. He heard laughter, and found the sad soul he came for.

 

‘My hand… it bit my hand… Not my hand…’ The creature was huddled, childlike and hysterical; ‘how will I ever play again? My life… It’s over…’

 

‘Well gee,’ The snake-skin-booted man, smirked, ‘I’m sure I can help you out some…’

 

***

Six shots rang out. The occupants of Barbar’s emptied onto the streets. The dust was already misting into the air; the culprit long gone.

 

Luke approached the body, lopped into a foetal position. He carefully reached into a pocket and pulled out the poker chip.

 

in his own hand. His fists started shaking, his teeth gritted. Everyone else had their hands to their mouths, shocked. Luke couldn’t think about cards. Not anymore.

 

He turned to the direction the killer went off in and screamed; ‘NO! Noo… You bastard! Not Pete, not Pete… No…’

 

Dannyboy-The-Dane is dead. He was Pete the Piano Player. He was Neutral.

 

***

Wyatt turned in his sleep, his pockets getting heavier by the day. The gunshots had woken him up. He fussed, turned his pillow, and returned to the land of the grateful.

 

List of Survivors: 18 left.

 

Coolness Bears

Cube

Dyson

Eenuh

Ellmeister

The Fish

Gizmo

Jonnas

Jimbob

Lillster

Maase

maddog

Moogle

Mr-paul

Mundi

nintendohnut

Not-So-Tiny

Zell

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I´m gonna come forward as the postman, I target a player and it appears in the write-up what alignment the player wanted to be before the game.

I do not know if the alignment you picked influences your alignment but there is only one way to know.

I targeted Gizmo

 

The postman had been staring at the next envelope all day. To The Sheriff, it read, once more. The steady, handsome handwriting almost repelled him. But he had to. He opened it.

 

I am evil.

 

The postman smiled.

 

Vote: Gizmo

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