Mafia IX Game Thread - St Valentines Massacre - Night 6

[Ganurath]

Too tired to make a proper IC post. Point at ThePhantom for half-orc solidarity.

[Jontom Xire]

I'm struggling to keep up narration of UG IV even with a co-narrator (and let's face it, Trixie is doing all the work right now). And now this game and Grave Robbers 2 have started up simultaneously, AND I've been assigned to a special investigatory team for this week, which means work is goign to be a bit manic (as if it isn't always).

So I've skim read so far (I'll go back and read Helgraf's post properly if I get a chance later) and for first day point I point at Murska.

Someone PM me if it looks like Murska might actually get lynched and I'll consider changing my point. I did briefly notice he had a couple of points already.

Anyway I'll try to get a spreadsheet going when if I get a chance. It might prove useful. In the meantime, bad guys I plead to you once again, please let me play this game this time. I think I was killed night one in the last two games, and if it wasn't night one it was close enough that I never really got to play. Cut me some slack this time, ok? If you must kill me night one, do it in some other game.

[Mountain_Faerie]

(Early morning point at Queenfange - because of the silent "e".)

[Murska]

Fin. For the fight against first day lynching.

[The Neoclassic]

I point at Murska.

[Dirk Kris]

Celeste was a nice girl deep down. She really was. Hard times, the Great Depression, and two dead ex-husbands had forced her into this life she now led. She hurried down the street, her head down, her long auburn hair blowing with the breeze of her passage. She kept a hand at her throat, hiding the long scar there - a gift from her first husband. It was why she'd killed him. She usually wore a scarf to hide it, but she must have left it behind at her last job. She cursed silently. Oh well, she had more.

She got to her small studio apartment and let herself in, shouldering the door closed because it liked to stick. She bathed herself and got dressed, selecting a long, silky black scarf that set off her blue eyes nicely. She slipped into a matching nightgown and sat at her vanity table to curl her hair.

She glanced over at the telephone and smiled proudly. Now that she had one of the new devices, she was sure business would pick up.

Now she was the city's only official "call girl".

((Helgraf for stealin' mah scarf! Untie yourself and give it back, why dontcha?!))

[Shishnarfne]

The weather was miserable... cold, wet, and entirely the right atmosphere for the opening of a mystery novel... If only I could still write.

It had been my profession, my livelihood, my passion, to write up grand stories of trust, betrayal and suspense... Until the accidents in the last gang war had driven such thoughts too deeply into my head... The scars were too deep.

There might be some people who remembered my name, had heard of a fresh, new mystery writer, some even thought that I had had a career ahead of me. Me, in my pride, thought that I had more. But, it just seems too real to write anymore.

Suspicious doings were about again... Bad news, at least for anyone who wanted to live. Or even those who wanted to choose how they died. Me? Under a park bench in the cold would do as well as any... Like the one I slept under last night. No jobs for an out-of-work writer who can't write anymore. But the benches are comfortable, and the police usually don't bother me, as I don't bother folks more than I need to in order to get my hands on some food, and to stay warm enough not to freeze. Not that I mind the alternative, but if I can ever write again, maybe someone will remember me in a hundred years.

Some folks just don't want to wait for immortality... like that Cynan Machae... There just seemed to be something ever so slightly off about him...

[Flabbicus]

Can you make sandwiches? I'm looking for help here, and whatever, if you can just learn I can give you a job. Flabbicus

Rilik tosses another cigarette onto the ground and grinds it with his shoe. He then takes a small swig from his flask. His ears perk up at the sound of his name, invoked in the sacred RED typeface. He glances around for several seconds before noticing the small little echidna pointing its long tongue in his direction.

"Why is this little electric echidna accusing me?"

He then notices the other guy pointing at him. Some sort of strange wanna-be Cookie Monster/monk that has gone rogue.

"I haven't done anything worthy of suspicion besides being the lush I normally am."

He takes another swig from his hip flask.

[Trixie]

So many suspicious targets, oh, so many...

Trixie mused to h**self. Being the best private detective in the city certainly wasn't easy; paranoia came with the rest of the perks of the job. So many suspicious people, and so little time to hang them all...

And so, Trixie preyed to h** gods, asking them for forgiveness for being unable to destroy all evils of this world in one swift strike, then pointed at the definitedly the guiltiediest man around.

At Fin.

Mostly because the whole "shortest name" idea was dumb, and besides, "Al" Capone had the shortest name of them all.

[Supagoof]

Fate was a cruel mistress. Sure, they were able to remove the bandages left by that unholy process of mummification. But that process had left me looking ragged. Even the hookers wouldn't let me near them. One sight of me, and they'd run off screaming in the other direction. It wasn't the screaming that bothered me, or even the fact that dogs whimper when they catch the sight of me. It was the knowledge. Knowledge that my glory days have been reduced to a pile of dung. Forgotten were the days I saved this city. Forgotten were the times I brought cheer to the masses with one spectacular bout after another. Erased because of the mind control of one crazy high priest. Dragged down with him and his group lof low-lifes. Then cast away as an example of what they could do. I still get glimpses of the horrors he presented and the control he had. Thankfully my pills help keep those terrors away.

I shuffled down to Lucky's. The run-down bar full of the best, and worst, this city had to offer. I duck down the back alley, no sense in scaring the clientelle by going in the front. Walk down the right alley in this city....

Bouncer is throwing a Tired N' Drowzy man out the door. And keep your hands offa Thessie!

...and you could find anything. I step over the bum and walk up to the door.

That coat looks like horse manure. So does your face. Take off!

I jab the bouncer in the eye and push him backwards into Lucky's.

Urrrghh... aaahhhhh! Ahhh!

I shove him into a corner.

He's new here Goof. He didn't know. says Mauve. I nod hello to her and take my usual spot on the rail. Lucky's was dark, and here nobody seemed to give a damn about anyone, and that was fine by me.

[Istari]

Flabbicus to go against the bandwagons

[Dallas-Dakota]

Trixie. seems dangerous, because she doesn't have that much experience it seems, but is still very good.
My compliments.

[Alarra]

(points at Dirk Kris for stealing my role, scarf and where I was supposed to be last evening )

It was mid-morning by the time I managed to peel my eyelids apart. The sun slanting through the blinds was razor blades to my retinas and it was all I could do to hold my head up. I glanced around the room, disoriented as always. A threadbare red rug covered the scarred wooden floor, the bed I sat in was a creaking, old four-poster that had clearly occupied the same space for years. The sheets were faded, but soft and clean and I was wrapped in a warm, grandmotherly quilt. Dresses and shoes were strewn haphazardly in piles about the floor, and the battered wardrobe that stood open at the end of the room held more empty hangers than gowns.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I was home, a place I rarely woke anymore. Sliding off the bed and moving over to my purse, I dumped the contents: an id, 37 cents, a small pearl handled pistol, and a couple of crumpled pieces of paper. Clearly last night had not gone the way I'd intended it to. I only had a couple of days before rent was due and 37 cents was not going to cut it.

I dragged myself into the small bathroom. The face that greeted me in the mirror was haggard, with bloodshot eyes and my usual golden curls pasted in a matted crown about my skull. I turned the tap, needing to wash the evening's festivities from my pores and was greeted with......nothing. I hadn't paid the water......again.

Yeah, this was going to be a great morning.

[KerfuffleMach2]

Woot! We play again!

Random point at Istari.

[Noir_Cat]

First day random point: Dr. Bath

[Andre Fairchilde]

Day ends in less than 24 hours.

[Shadowcaller]

((Erhm... Dirk Kris, I never got to point at you in catfight.))

[Madmal]

(aaaand...Helgraf's post just discouraged me a little. yay.

anyways, pointing at Fin for now, will try to add some roleplay later.

[Helgraf]

(aaaand...Helgraf's post just discouraged me a little. yay.

anyways, pointing at Fin for now, will try to add some roleplay later.

:blinks: Qua?

[Supagoof]

After what had seemed to be hours and many brews, I get tired of waiting. I don't know what I'm getting so fidgety about, it wasn't like I had any better things to do. Maybe it was the crowd and their frantic cries about some thin man. Maybe it was all this talk about garlic or rosemary or wolfbane or some crud like that. The noise was gettin' to me, and had about all I can stands.

I get up, and watch the bouncer shrink back into a shadow. I guess he's learned his manners. I head out the back alley, and into the cold rain. My coat ain't doin so hot. It's full of holes that the water just pours into. Still, it's better then nothin. I'm walking along for a few blocks, when I hear the patter of footsteps sneak up behind me. I turn to see who it is, but

*THUNK*

Something hits me and knocks me out cold.

-----------

I awaken a few hours later. The room is light poorly by a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. I hear a voice in the darkness.

You're looking for trouble. It's found you.

Who'se der? I say. My heads ringing from the bludgening I had received earlier. Rooms spinning a bit. As I start to blackout, I catch a glimpse of some shiny shoes.

Don't forget to take your medicene.....

[Andre Fairchilde]

Four hours until the end of the day.

[Thes Hunter]

I tumble the glossy card in my hand.

The Exachix club spelled out in shiny silver letters shines the light into my face as I twirl the card in my hand.

On the back, written in a careful hand is one word. Supagoof. I don't know what it means, but I plan on finding out.

I step out into the street in red heels and a red dress. No one recognizes me as the boyish boxer 'Tommy Dynamite' when I wear the heels.

[Amplify]

((I point at Fin, simply because I checked for this thread on the 8th and didn't see it, checked now again to find I'm almost out of time for pointing so just picking the first name off the list, it's 5am and havn't even read the thread content yet :/))

[Aemoh]

*hello point at Amplify*

Also, note to the narrators, I'm a bit away. I should still manage to make a point every day phase, but I may miss one or two. Hopefully things will be settled soon-ish.

[Andre Fairchilde]

Day ends.

Agent Fairchilde slowly regains consciousness in the hospital, under protective custody.

The hospital smelled sterile, and there was a nurse in the room readying his next batch of medicine.

He was just about to let the nurse a question, when his protective guards burst in the door and shoot her dead!

"Sorry boss, we had a tip she was in the mob."

Spoiler

Show

Fin was lynched. Fin was a member of the Capone Mob (Mobster).

Day 1 ends -

Night 1 begins!

Get your inputs in to Andre Fairchilde and Zar Peter.

You have 24 hours, unless we get the inputs in sooner.

[SweetLikeLemons]

((Oops. I'm really sorry I missed the first day. The internet was down all over town last night, and I guess I didn't get home soon enough tonight))

Cecily James careens into town as darkness falls, the top down and the wind tossing her glossy bobbed hair. She had been supposed to arrive hours before, but it was probably just as well, as she would draw less attention in this part of town under cover of darkness. Just another fashionable young thing out slumming it for a night. This delivery business was much less of a lark than she had hoped. The flat tire was bad enough, but then it had taken ages for someone to come by and notice her looking pretty and helpless and offer to help. Just her luck. Fortunately she'd been able to bat her eyelashes and keep him from asking too many questions.

Now where was the place? Ah, there. The back door. Hopefully there would be some strapping fellows to unload the stuff. She was all for keeping her local speakeasy well stocked, but not at the cost of her manicure.

Anyway, late or not she was here. Hopefully this would get rid of most of her debt to that awful man, and daddy wouldn't have to find out she'd been gambling again. Not that she thought that he would really follow through on that threat to cut her off, but he did get so tiresome when he was upset with her. Besides, this way was much more fun. Who knew rum-running was such a thrill?

[The Bushranger]

((eek...didn't see the thread! But I'm here now!))

Liriel sits down on her front porch again. The plants had withered and died due to no one watering them for some time, and musty newspapers were strewn across the yard. She had spent most of the day cleaning and waiting for The Bushranger to come.

She wanted to talk to him...

And that night, after the lights are out and the city has gone to bed, a man comes walking up the street. He looks like an ordinary, normal, plain man making the transition from youth to middle age, except there's something...off about him, somehow, like he's slightly, ever so very slightly fuzzy around the edges?

This would be because he is dead. A ghost. He's learned to attain tangibility and a solid form, yet if you stare at him long enough you still notice that fuzziness.

And so Patrick O'Connell, a/k/a The Shadow, sometimes known by the alias "The Bushranger", walks up the drive to Liriel's house.

[Supagoof]

I awaken, still tied up in the chair. Whomever that mystery man was he's gone. I slip the knots and look around. Just a room with a door. The ceilings low, so I must be in a basement or something. I make my way out of the room, follow the hallway along, and find a set of stairs. They lead up to a door, which is locked.

*Scene from outside. Door is blown off it's hinges*

I step out into the street. The night's as hot as hell. I'm in a lousy part of a lousy town and I glance up the street - I'm staring at a goddess. I sniff the breeze that passes by her. She smells like angels ought to smell, the perfect woman... the Goddess in the red dress. What a dame like that is doing in a part of town like this is beyond me. I catch myself staring for too long, she notices. I hide my face and stammer out an introduction.

Sorry, er. I couldn't help but notice you there. I'm Goof. You shouldn't be alone in this part of town at this time of night. Can I walk you somewhere?

I glance up, trying to keep my ugly mugg as covered as I can. She doesn't seem afraid.

[Amplify]

Having missed the boat for day 1, a young Spaniard in his late 20s arrives into town on the midnight express while attempting to maintain a low profile.

Spoiler

Show

With a list of the town's residents in hand, he makes his way out of the station, with only a handful of people present at the time.

"After much training, I am finally ready to take my on my father's killer. This 'Atreyu the Masked Llama' shall pay dearly, I swear this."

"Now, I need only seek him out and exact my revenge, this cannot be that ha..."

((*Mentally imagine the sound of a record needle scratch across a vinyl LP here*))

"Wait, wait a minute."

"Aemoh, right"
"Alarra, okay"
"Amplify, lookin' good"
"androgial, sure"
"Cynan Machae, yeah"
"dallas-dakota, I guess"

"But, Atreyu, where's Atreyu?!"

The Spaniard takes a seat on the station steps in the early morning dusk.
"Oh for crying out loud, NOW how do I take my revenge upon the six fingered llama that killed my father?"

[Andre Fairchilde]

He was eating in a diner after work when they came for him.

They’d fingered him for his involvement with the Nurse’s shooting, and whether they were right or not he was the man out of this scenario.

As he sat eating his chicken noodle soup a strong armed goon shoved himself into the booth next to him. Another goon sat in the seat opposite. These were hard men, having served hard time. Dressed expensively, they still had their cheap tastes.

Goon #1 grabbed his right hand, and Goon #2 grabbed the left…

…Leaving a clear shot for Goon #3 who strode in with a shotgun, executed the target with a BOOM! and walked out again.

The two goons also left, leaving change on the table for the mess.

The assassination less than one minute.

Of course no one in the diner saw a thing either, leaving no witnesses for the police.

Spoiler

Show

Ganurath was killed by the Capone mob. Ganurath was a Citizen.

Night 1 Ends!

Day 2 Begins and will end in 48 hours!
(Midnight Central Standard Time U.S. Friday Feb 13th)