Brendan walked in to Mcdoogals and saw Reenk Roink sitting at the bar. Brendan walked over to Reenk and said hello... and Reenk said leave me alone I am talking to the bible killer. Brendan said enough talking start fighting for ireland. Reenk said no Brendan hit him with a wine bottle and stabbed him in the neck. Then he drunk the delecious wine in front of him and left a card which said Two Blind Mice.

It was Sunday morning, and as Andres made his way to church he had before him a view of the last smiles of the year upon the tawny leaves, and on the withered hedges, an almost poetical depiction of the extant of autumn, that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness, that season which had drawn from every poet, worthy of being read, some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling, which he would undoubtedly have paid some attention to if he hadn't hadn't had a mind-numbing, head throbbing, nauseating hangover, by far the worst hangover he'd had so far this week. It was so debilitating that he didn't hear the carriage coming up behind him, and was quite oblivious to its presence until the young lady driving it called out to him by name and offered him a lift.

He was delighted to accept, and in his oafish way soon began a series of clumsy, boyish attempts at wooing her, his efforts further hampered by his low class upbringing, which made his gentlemanly airs quite ludicrous. Such a strain of shallow artifice could not impose upon the driver. Its inconsistencies, contradictions, and falsehood struck her from the very first. His professions of attachment were as disgusting as his head was empty, and his demands impudent.

Besides, how could any man be held in anything but contempt by she whose heart belonged to Oswald? Her mind was drawn to the memory of Friday afternoon--two days ago by the calender but far longer when measured in the minutes that seem like hours to those under the spell of Cupid--when he had been the one offering her a lift in this carriage. Oswald drove so well—so quietly—without making any disturbance, without parading to her, or swearing at them: so different from the Irish "gentleman" whom it was in her power to compare him with! And then his hat sat so well, and the innumerable capes of his greatcoat looked so becomingly important! To be driven by him, next to being dancing with him, was certainly the greatest happiness in the world.

Soon they arrived at the the clifftop by the sea where Oswald had told her to meet him. Andres was so intoxicated by her beauty and by the flask of whiskey which he customarily saved for church but had been compelled to guzzle down along the way by the nervous fluttering in his heart that appeared whenever he was in the presence of a lady that he had not, until now, noticed how far from the church they were.

He had just began to think it was his lucky day when he was roughly dragged from the carriage and across the grass to edge of the cliff. Awaking from his drunken stuper, he threw off Oswald's arms and yelled in primal frustration.

"What is this! Who dares keep me from this incarnation of beauty!"

Through his increasingly sober eyes he saw a sworn enemy...Oswald. He began to chuckle.

"Ah Oswald, we finally meet. I'm going to enjoying killing you."

Oswald's eyes widened in surprise, he hadn't expected to come across anyone with an idea of what they were doing, he was just meant to kill anyone that wasn't with him.

"Its not possible...you can't be Brendan can you?"

"Brendan? No...that annoying little fly is always correcting me, always thinking hes better than me. My names Joey. Pleasure to have made your aquaintence, now, shall I kill you?"

While Andres had been on his little speech about who he really was, Oswald took out his handgun and shot him.

"So ends Andres. Two blind mice my arse."

Returning to the carriage, Oswald found the girl sitting with her hands over her eyes, frightened by the noise with which Andres had been dispatched.

"What did you do with him?", she asked.

"I let him know."

As the town got together for another time, they realised that thirteen of them were left. This could be an unlucky day.

The rumour of the town was "I'm not Donney, I'm Davey! Boudica is innocent."

Alive:
Askthepizzaguy
LittleGrizzly
GeneralHankerchief
Sasaki Kojiro
Lord Winter
White Eyes
Seamus
Factionheir
serierkhaan
Diana Abnoba
boudica
Sigurd
El Diablo

Dead:
Publius Aelius Hadrianus
A Very Super Market
Jolt
taka
Polemists
gaelic cowboy
Alexander the Pretty Good
CountArach
Psychonaut
YLC
Captain Blackadder
greyblades
shlin28
Andres
Reenk Roink

Lynched:
Beefy187
F.C is the bees knees
777ares777
Ituralde
yoyoma1910

It is now Day 7.