Capo di Tutti Capi - III (Summaries and Notices)

[Seamus Fermanagh]

Hello darkness my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left it's seed while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

-- Paul Simon "Sound of Silence"


Evening Session, Day Eleven


Discussion at the session had been laconic at best. Though nearly 40 people remained on the committee's roster, only a very few spoke, and fewer than half voted. Nobody even bothered to toss chits into the Director ballot box until the session had nearly ended. Just before the final tally, slashandburn cast his own selection for Director and exited the Convention Center.

The tally did not take long. Beefy187 had been chosen by a wide margin. He walked forward with a slow and measured pace to accept the business card for Club30, peered briefly at the travel directions printed on the back, and then turned to face the committee.

"In Hiroshima....the eternal carp; golden....ever triumphant."

The committee stared at Beefy, askthepizzaguy rapidly making numbers and calculations on a pad, not quite sure what to make of his comment. Beefy simply sniffed in mild disapproval and walked purposefully from the Center towards Bayside and Club30.

As he crossed Atlantic Avenue -- strangely empty of traffic -- he heard the whine of a diving aircraft. Director slashandburn nosed the f-82b into a shallow strafing run, lighting up the machine guns as he lined up on Beefy. Ma Deuce executed the sentence of the committee.

Another night had begun in Fatlington. Would it be as quiet as the day?



OOC

Orders for n11 are due by 2200 Eastern on 9/11/9 (that's 0200 on the 12th gmt).

My prayers for the families of those slain on 9-11-1.



Tallies:

Lynch


1st Beefy187 = 10 (Andres, Centurion1, Crazed Rabbit, Joooray, Sasaki Kojiro, spL1tp3rsonality, TinCow, Twilightblade, woad&fangs, YLC)

2nd Ichigo = 4 (askthepizzaguy, LittleGrizzly, SSNeoperestroika, Tratorix)

3rd abstain = 1 (chaotix)


Selection


1st slashandburn = 3 (Centurion1, LittleGrizzly, slashandburn)

2nd askthepizzaguy = 2 (Jooray, spL1tp3rsonality)

[Seamus Fermanagh]

Keep your eyes open and prick up your ears ---
rehearse your loudest cry.
There's folk out there who would do you harm
so I'll sing you no lullaby.
There's a lock on the window; there's a chain on the door:
a big dog in the hall.
But there's dragons and beasties out there in the night
to snatch you if you fall.

So come out fighting with your rattle in hand.
Thrust and parry. Light
a match to catch the devil's eye. Bring
a cross of fire to the fight.

And let no sleep bring false relief
from the tension of the fray.
Come wake the dead with the scream of life.
Do battle with ghosts at play.

 Ian Anderson “No Lullaby”


Summary of Events, Night Eleven


Andres had left quickly after the meeting, heading out into a dark and windy February night to catch a jitney – picked at random – and head down-island to his newly rented bungalow.

Normally, the bungalows in that little neighborhood weren’t rented before May, but Andres was facing a personal housing crisis. He’d barely walked the first of three blocks from the Jitney stop when he saw a huge gout of flame shoot up in the sky a few blocks further toward the beach. He trotted forward a few steps and then slowed to a stop. There was no doubt now as to which bungalow had just been immolated. Heading further to try and collect what few miserable belongings remained to him would have been a pointless gesture.

He looked around himself and gulped slowly. There swirled on the ground were tendrils of glittering gold powder interlaced with rivulets of a whitish silver powder as well. He looked to either side, noting the patterns repeated on the ground and cars all around him. He started to edge backwards, hoping that Twilightblade would be too busy at the house to have seen him. No such luck. From behind him whirled a pair of kunai, slivers of silver in the dimly lit night. Each struck a carefully placed handle and began the spraying of strategically placed fire hoses perched on the roofs of the largely vacant bungalows amid which Andres had stopped.

The water flashed the gold powder into flame, creating a strangely liquid splash of fire that leapt up and consumed everything around Andres. The silvery powder ignited into a painfully bright flare as the magnesium burned brightening everything beyond the brightest of August afternoons. Andres collapsed as the blast of heat struck him, wincing from the brightness of the burning light – so bright that closing his eyes wasn’t enough until his hands had covered them. After 30-40 seconds of intense heat and flames, the conflagration died back – settling to only a few slower burning bushes and the burning interior of a convertible 20 yards off.

Twilightblade strode up to the huddled Andres, gleaming in his black leather trench coat and eyes protected by thick sunglasses. His ashenderei had a thick porterhouse skewered on the end of the blade, the steak now singed to a gentle medium rare. He pulled off a small bite and ate it with obvious pleasure.

“I’ll miss Beefy,” said ‘Blade. His gloved pinkie reached under his sunglasses as though brushing away a gentle tear from the corner of his eye. “But one does have to…go on.”

’Blade strolled gently toward his Triumph, parked a few blocks clear of things, occasionally pausing to bring a bit of steak closer so that he could continue his snack. It would probably be days before Andres’ eyes stopped seeing after-images along with whatever he was looking at, but it didn’t stop him from heading back uptown for a Duvel…or six.


Stray thoughts pop into your head at the oddest times. askthepizzaguy’s first thought was that the rabbit really looked like crap. It might have been a better idea to skip to the second thought – <> – but the rabbit really was in sad shape.

Hair matted with dried blood and gore on the legs, arms blackened with powder residue and missing tufts of fur all over, the rabbit suit was pretty dinged up. The headpiece was the worst with most of the fur missing from the left side of the head and the left ear torn and hastily repaired with duct tape. The wearer had even drilled a hole through the huge toothy smile of the mask, from which a cigarette now dangled. This was all accessorized with a pair of cracked sunglasses crammed down over the bulging rabbit eyes of the suit.

The rabbit cut loose with both barrels. Time, from Pizza’s perspective, did that curious dilation it seems to do in instances of crisis. Pizza’s rapidly cycling brain went from considering the sartorial problems of rabbit to a rapid evaluation of his chances. He was standing at his table, which therefore provided little cover, the retizina he’d acquired a taste for was slowing his reactions just a touch, his heavily armored coat was still on the back of the chair, and the plate glass windows of the taberna would not create much of an impediment. He was toast.

But when the shot impacted the glass, the glass won. Starred and cracked though it was, both blasts had been absorbed by glass that was apparently bullet-proofed. <> Pizza didn’t pause too long, making his way to the back door in a hurry. He paused at the threshold, stunned to hear firing from the alleyway to his right.

“Move it pizzaguy,” called an indistinct voice from the right. “I don’t have enough ammo to keep the other pinned for too much longer.”

Sometimes you just have to trust. Pizza sprinted out of the door and down the alley to his right, shouting a quick “thanks” to the faceless man on the fire escape above him. Pizza did not stop running until he was well clear of trouble. The second shooter only got off one shot at the fleeing askthepizzaguy, just as he was turning the corner and exiting the alley. Fired a split second late, the shotgun blase never touched pizza, but Cowhead418 took several pellets in the head and neck, bleeding out before ambulance crews could reach him.


Kukrikhan was sitting at the bar in the tappy, hoisting a few brews with a couple of brothers-in-arms – he did not talk about Anzio with those who wouldn’t…who couldn’t understand—when a masked man leaned through the door and shot him in the shoulder.

Surprised by the fact that it was some kind of dart gun and that it barely stuck into his coat, Kukri didn’t do more than get to his feet by the time the man had retreated. Then, because he’d had a few too many beers in memory of those who hadn’t gotten past Anzio, he managed to trip over his own feet and sit down – crisscross style – while managing against all the odds to NOT spill the rest of his beer.

Luck was with him in more than just keeping his suds safe, as he quickly discovered. Moving through the spaces where his head and chest should have been were a pair of thirty-ought-six rounds. The first shattered the bar mirror, while the second blew Veronica Toluso's pretty face all over the face and upper body of the fellow she'd been busily seducing at a table on the far side of the tappy from Kukri and company. Windows on either wall of the bar had been smashed as the rounds entered, but they didn’t mask the whine of high velocity rounds to the ears of that particular crowd. The sound of sniper fire was not one to be forgotten by either Kukrikhan or his mates. Within seconds, everybody at the taproom was low on the ground and behind hard cover and every light bulb had been smashed or switched off. There would be no additional chance for the snipers…this evening.

Oddly enough, when he got around to looking at it, Kukri noted that the dart had a little note attached which read ‘and the mome-wraths outgrabe.’ That called for a whisky as well as another beer...at home behind well locked doors.


Ichigo [I]was almost back to his apartment when the trashcans came hurtling down at his car from the roofs of the buildings above. One missed outright but caused him to swerve, while the second landed on the roof over his back seat. The greatest damage was when he couldn’t regain control quickly enough and slammed into the Studebaker he usually parked next to.
It rapidly got worse as two Tommy gunners opened up on him, one from either side of the vehicle. The armoring held, but the car was quickly a mangled wreck and it was almost impossible to see out of the windows. Ichigo never saw the satchel charges, only hearing the dull thumps from the roof and from the hood. Once they blew, he never heard anything again.


Andres was just putting down the glass, having finished only seconds before the 6th of his Duvels – the bartender always stocked them just for him – when the man in the car coat walked over to the table.

“Tough night?”

“’Blade is driving me crazy,” said Andres, still blinking from the annoying after images. “It’s not like I don’t have other things to keep me busy these days – as you well know.”

“You should take a break, maybe go on vacation.”

Without telegraphing the movement at all, the man in the car coat brought ought his .28 Beretta and rapidly shot Andres twice in the left eye. Andres was dead before the crisp taste of the Duvel could even fade away. The bartender, working alone this late, stood stunned where he had been cleaning tables only a few feet away. A second pair of bullets removed the witness. The shooter gently placed a violin bow on the table where Andres’ head now rested and walked quietly from the bar.


Morning Session, Day Twelve


“It was not our worst night, folks, but I don’t think our troubles are ended.”

Fermanagh shifted through his notes.

“The most recent after-death investigations are mixed in their results, but ultimately reveal what I would call a very positive trend.”

“Diana Abnoba was an honest townie, working to protect us even as she died. On the other hand, DisgruntledGoat’s death at the hands of vigilantes – not that I approve of such things mind you – was a huge success as he was one of the mafia Dons threatening Fatlington. In addition, your lynch choice was another good one.”

“DJGingivtis was also a Don! You’ve dispatched two of those evil slime and another has been killed by vigilantes. We’re on our way to crushing this menace.”

Fermanagh was all smiles and positive nods as he made his way to the door. Director slashandburn smiled as well while reviewing the voting and procedures they would use later. This day seemed brighter for Fatlington than had many a previous one.



OOC

Lynch voting will conclude at 1000 Eastern on Monday the 14th. From there on we will cycle in 24 hour segments pretty reliably – barring whackiness of the unforeseen kind.


The Fate of the Fatlings


Attacked (31): Beefy187 (n1, n6), DJGingivtis (n2), Gaius Scribonius Curio (n2), Beskar (n3), Double A (n3), Lord Winter (n3, n5), Andres (n4, n9, n11), Diana Abnoba (n4), Reenk Roink (n4), Iskander3.1 (n5), Proletariat (n5, n5, n7, n7), TinCow (n6), Shinseikhaan (n7), Centurion1 (n8), Sasaki Kojiro (n8, n9, n10, n10), Moros (n9, n10), Pannonian (n9), Sigurd (n9), askthepizzaguy (n11), Kukrikhan (n11)

Killed (26): Quintus.JC (n1), The Stranger (n1), Death is Yonder (n2), pevergreen (n2), Yaropolk (n2), Myrddraal (n3), Jolt (n4), Craterus (n5), johnhughthom (n5), Leet Erickson (n5), Psychonaut (n5), Iskander3.1 (n6), Khazaar (n6), Kommodus (n6), scottishranger (n6), Aggonyduck (n8), Beskar (n8), Cultured Drizzt Fan (n8), glyphz (n8), shlin28 (n8), Diana Abnoba (n9), DisgruntledGoat (n9), Moros (n10), Reenk Roink (n10), Andres (n11), Ichigo (n11)

Lynched (12): Factionheir (d2), CountArach (d3), GeneralHankerchief (d3), discovery1 (d4), atheotes (d5), A Very Super Market (d6), Kagemusha (d6), Rhyfelwher (d7), Ironside (d8), DJGingivtis (d9), Lord Winter (d10), Beefy187 (d11),

Wogged (9): Nole4694 (n5), Truepraetorian (n5), Dutch_guy (n6), Warmaster Horus (n7), Greyblades (n10), Skooma Addict (n10), Cowhead418 (n11), Gaius Scribonius Curio (n11), Veronica "Trouble" Toluso (n11)

Still Alive (30): a completely inoffensive name, askthepizzaguy, Caius, Centurion1, Chaotix, Crazed Rabbit, DoubleA, El Diablo, gibsonsg91921, Haudegen, Joe Monks, Joooray, Kukrikhan, LittleGrizzly, Pannonian, Proletariat, Ricera10, Sasaki Kojiro, Shinseikhaan, Sigurd, slashandburn, spL1tp3r50naL1ty, SSNeoperestroika, TinCow, Tratorix, Twilightblade, White_Eyes:D, woad&fangs, XehhII, YLC.

[Seamus Fermanagh]

...pull you close
Feel your love
Then I push you away from me
Protect myself
I’m not safe when my boundaries are violated
And its kill or die
So I choose me
Over you

A.D.D. is my excuse
With my excuse I shot you down
I know I’ve got to change
But I can never work out how

How can I say I’m sorry when I know I’ll do it again
Do it again
I know what I did but I still don’t know the reason
I wanna say I’m sorry but I know I’ll do it again
I’ll do it again
I’ll do it to you
I don’t wanna hurt you anymore

Lash out in anger
Hit the wrong target
My little sister
No matter what I say
I love you so much I cannot leave
But when family gets too close
I always find it hard to beathe

-- Daniel Bedingfield "Sorry"



Summary of Events, Night Twelve


Pannonian had been distant and withdrawn for days, almost completely uncommunicative in the meetings. He walked home alone when the meetings drew to a close, always stopping for a quick bite at some restaraunt or cafe, but never the same one twice in a row.

After finishing tonight's meal, he'd returned to the sidewalk for the last couple of blocks walk when it happened. A masked face, sheltered under a broad fedora, stepped out of an alley in front of him holding an old style 'western' revolver with an incredibly long barrel. Pannonian jumped to the side, putting a telephone pole between him and the revolver as partial cover and turning rapidly around to face what he guessed would be the second threat.

He' guessed correctly. In front of him, startled into near immobility, was a masked man holding a long black umbrella as though it were some form of sword. The tip was sharp, almost needle like, and something glistened on the tip of the umbrella. Pannonian went for his gun, but not before the first attacker fired his Buntline Special.

The heavy soft-lead slug took Pannonian high in the left arm, mushrooming outwards as it splintered the bone and spraying blood from the wound. The impact also staggered Pannonian forward, whereupon the umbrella man jabbed the point into Pannonian's upper leg.

Pannonian got off two shots despite the poison coursing through his system, though neither hit as he was unable to stop the shaking and had diffficulty focusing. He never fired a third shot because the Buntline slammed a second round into the middle of his back. Armored or not, the impact put him on the ground and the poison ensured that he would never get back up. Did the neurotoxin kill him or did he bleed out from the pumping arterial wound in his upper arm. All in all, for Pannonian, the question was rather academic.


El Diablo was only a few steps from home and the quiet evening he had planned. A six-pack of beers from the tappy, along with the cheeseburger and fries (just beginning to grease through the brown bag in which he was carrying them) would take care of sustenance and he was one of the few with a television in his neighborhood.

The two Tommy gunners stepped out of his front door and onto his stoop, shattering his quiet reverie with long bursts of automatic fire. The beers dropped and smashed, along with the burger, as he quickly dove to the side, rolling towards the alley between his brownstone and the next.

It was his only obvious route of escape, and even as El Diablo ran up the alley he expected to encounter more gunfire. It would be hard to know whether the first two shooters or El Diablo were the most surprised when he failed to run into any obstacle at all, making a clean escape from the scene.


spL1Tp3r50nality sat at the counter of the cafe, stirring yet another cube of sugar into his already sweetened tea. Though it wasn't raining, the night felt raw and he enjoyed the warmth of the sweet beverage. The counterman came over.

"Something to eat?"

Before he could respond to the counterman, a quick double sound came from just behind spL1t's ear. The counterman tumbled like a marionette with it's strings cut. Spl1T spun quickly on his stool. As he completed the turn, only to find himself staring into the muzzle of a small caliber Baretta, a heavy shot crashed out from the door to the storeroom.

This bullet missed Split's would-be executioner, but managed to clip the hammer of the small pistol as the killer moved the gun level to fire, rendering it inoperable. Two further shots slammed into the masked shooter, knocking him towards the door but failing to penetrate his armor or take him off his feet. Rather than continue a gunfight unarmed, the would-be executioner let himself stumble through the door and headed straight out into the night.

Split never got a good look at his savior, but had an interesting story to relate to Fermanagh's micks when they showed up in due course. A decent sort, spL1Tp3r50nality paid for his coffee before leaving.


LittleGrizzly Huddled in the sand, tucked low and tight against the wooden stairs leading down from the boardwalk onto the sands. Bullets zinged off the metal railing of the stairs or thudded into the sand nearby. Whoever the shooters were, they had some talent, so despite using Tommy guns they were doing a pretty good job of keeping him pinnned. Griz' did manage a few shots back with his pistol, but was certain he hadn't done more than make them duck...and he could only make one of them duck at a time. If they'd had a 4th shooter on the beach, he would already have been dead.

In between the quick, disciplined bursts that kept him pinned, LittleGrizzly heard a dull thud. The volume of fire grew less. A few moments later, he heard a brief scream, followed by the sight of a body being pitched over the railing of the boardwalk and out onto the sands. The body didn't move. Now the firing was even less, and it didn't seem to be directed at him. Griz thought he saw a quickl flash of something coppery in the light on the boardwalk, and then everything grew quiet. Slowly, he stood, just in time to see someone walk to the top of the steps.

"You okay," asked the man at the top of the stairs.

"Yeah," said LittleGrizzly, "I never expected to owe you my life, but thanks."

"You're welcome," said the man, as he shot LittleGrizzly with a tranquilizer dart. Griz looked up, incredulous and woozy, the drug already starting to rob him of consciousness.

"So, LittleGrizzly," said the stranger with a satisfied smile. "What's your favorite number?"

They found LittleGrizzzly's arms, legs, and head the next morning, sitting on the steps to a police precinct-house, carefully arranged to form the number five.


Morning Session, Day Thirteen


"...so anyway, that's how things wrapped up, at least to the best of our knowledge."

Fermanagh looked out at the dwindled committee. It was a sight he'd seen before, and feared he was doomed to see again. He turned back to his notes.

"As to the deceased: Moros was a a wiseguy and known small-time criminal. We had no indication however, that he was working with the mafia. Reenk Roink was an innocent townie, and other for his last attempt on Sasaki, is only known to have killed at the bidding of this committee as it's Director. These losses clearly did not help the town."

"On the positive side, we've been able to confirm the success of our lynching efforts. Lord Winter, according to our sources, was a made gangster in one of the crime families we're facing. His death has brought us one step closer to our success."

Fermanagh quietly left the podium, turning things over to slashandburn who reviewed the lynch procedures and reminded the committee that it was time to select a new Director as well.



OOC

Lynch voting will conclude at 1200 Eastern on Wednesday the 16th. You are also voting to select a Director for days 14 & 15.



The Fate of the Fatlings


Attacked (34): Beefy187 (n1, n6), DJGingivtis (n2), Gaius Scribonius Curio (n2), Beskar (n3), Double A (n3), Lord Winter (n3, n5), Andres (n4, n9, n11), Diana Abnoba (n4), Reenk Roink (n4), Iskander3.1 (n5), Proletariat (n5, n5, n7, n7), TinCow (n6), Shinseikhaan (n7), Centurion1 (n8), Sasaki Kojiro (n8, n9, n10, n10), Moros (n9, n10), Pannonian (n9), Sigurd (n9), askthepizzaguy (n11), Kukrikhan (n11), El Diablo (n12), LittleGrizzly (n12), spL1Tp3r50nality (n12)

Killed (26): Quintus.JC (n1), The Stranger (n1), Death is Yonder (n2), pevergreen (n2), Yaropolk (n2), Myrddraal (n3), Jolt (n4), Craterus (n5), johnhughthom (n5), Leet Erickson (n5), Psychonaut (n5), Iskander3.1 (n6), Khazaar (n6), Kommodus (n6), scottishranger (n6), Aggonyduck (n8), Beskar (n8), Cultured Drizzt Fan (n8), glyphz (n8), shlin28 (n8), Diana Abnoba (n9), DisgruntledGoat (n9), Moros (n10), Reenk Roink (n10), Andres (n11), Ichigo (n11), LittleGrizzly (n12), Pannonian (n12)

Lynched (12): Factionheir (d2), CountArach (d3), GeneralHankerchief (d3), discovery1 (d4), atheotes (d5), A Very Super Market (d6), Kagemusha (d6), Rhyfelwher (d7), Ironside (d8), DJGingivtis (d9), Lord Winter (d10), Beefy187 (d11), Centurion1 (d12),

Wogged (9): Nole4694 (n5), Truepraetorian (n5), Dutch_guy (n6), Warmaster Horus (n7), Greyblades (n10), Skooma Addict (n10), Cowhead418 (n11), Gaius Scribonius Curio (n11), Veronica "Trouble" Toluso (n11)

Still Alive (27): a completely inoffensive name, askthepizzaguy, Caius, Chaotix, Crazed Rabbit, DoubleA, El Diablo, gibsonsg91921, Haudegen, Joe Monks, Joooray, Kukrikhan, Proletariat, Ricera10, Sasaki Kojiro, Shinseikhaan, Sigurd, slashandburn, spL1tp3r50naL1ty, SSNeoperestroika, TinCow, Tratorix, Twilightblade, White_Eyes:D, woad&fangs, Xehh II, YLC.

[Seamus Fermanagh]

Everybody tries to put me down
They try to make me drown
And everybody has a reason to kill me
They've got the art of murder down to a tee

There will never be an end for me
Why can't you see?

That I'm...
Hard to Kill
I always was...
Hard to Kill
I'll always be...
Hard to Kill
Hard to Kill
Hard to Kill
Yeah

And I know the end will never be near
I'm always gonna be here
You may work and try to end what I've done
But I have already won

--Bat Dude (lyrics available at killermovies.com forum)



Summary of Events, Night Thirteen


Sasaki Kojiro was walking along Atlantic towards the Abbatoir, collar turned up to deal with the wind from the Northeast. It would bring a Nor'Easter in a day or two, but for now it was bitingly dry and more than a little chilly. It was then that he noticed the wet sidewalk and puddles at his feet...on an otherwise dry evening. A glance up near the third story revealed bottles suspended over the sidewalk, faintly gold in the dim light.

Sasaki did not hesitate, but kicked it into high gear and ran. He covered the next block rapidly, happily on dry pavement, and then turned off and slowed down once he reached Seaside Park. He caught his breath, walking carefully on the paths and keeping clear of the darker areas underneath the pines. As he neared the fountain at the center of the park, all of the sprinklers went off, drenching everything nearby with a gentle mist that hung in the chilly air. <> The answer that leapt to mind was not pleasant, and a quick look near the fountain seemed to reveal large glass bottles perched on the edge.

Sasaki left the park at a run, making for the boardwalk and skipping a trip to the Abbatoir's hotel bar in favor of getting home as quick as he could. It had been years since Sasaki had run this hard, but sometimes you just wanted a little distance as quick as you could manage it.


Chaotix was taking things much more slowly. He'd enjoyed a good steak at Felix's and then began the brief walk home. The street was wide and well lit, and there were plenty of people around. He had on his vest and his "equalizer" was in his pocket. All-in-all, he was as ready as a Fatling could be.

He was still surprised when the masked figure stepped out the front door of the shop maybe 40 feet away, leveling the long barrel of a Buntline special in his direction. The shop had been closed for hours, nobody should have been there at all. Chaotix ducked backwards quickly, spinning to check if there were any other threats. There was only a man with an umbrella.

That's when things got interesting. The first attacker had squeezed off one round from the Buntline, which hammered into the mailbox Chaotix had spun behind. He was pinned there, with the umbrella man slowly advancing. Chaotix went for his piece.

At about that same moment, a length of weighted fishing line snapped down from the window of the apartment above the store, the lead weight crashing into the Buntline Special, knocking it from the shooter's grasp. In the street itself, a pckup truck with two occupants pulled up just behind the umbrella man. On the back of the pickup, the second masked occupant was operating a huge Hollywood style wind machine. The instant gale from the immense fan snatched up the umbrella, tearing it out of the umbrella wielder's grasp and leaving him facing Chaotix unarmed and unsupported.

Chaotix fired, striking the umbrella man in the midsection and driving him back. The man grunted, but did not fall, turning and smashing through a storefront window to get out of the line of fire. The first attacker dove for his Buntline, grabbing it while rolling, and continued his roll into the alley. Suddenly the odds didn't look so good. Both attackers made their escape, as did the rescuers. In seconds, Chaotix found himself alone in the street. Shakily, he made his way to the nearest precinct house to report the incident.

Sasaki was almost home now, just coming up on his new bungalow in North Oceanside, opposite Greek Town. He reached the walkway to his door...and stopped. Running through the seam at the bottom of the front door was a thin rivulet of water, adding slowly to the puddle on the front stoop. Sasaki was off and running again.

This time, he didn't stop until he'd stiff-armed his way through the revolving doors of the Hotel Abbatoir and made a sharp right turn, striding into the hotel bar.

"Welcome, Mister Kojiro," said the cocktail waitress. "You're expected. Please follow me."

Sasaki was stunned. After a brief pause he decided he might as well get it over with, and followed the waitress. Normally, following her would have been a pleasant distraction -- Sasaki never ceased being amazed at how many directions women could move at the same time -- but tonight he was a little worried. She led him to a table whereupon a tumbler of scotch already sat, waiting.

Also waiting was Twilightblade, [I]leaning casually against the back wall of the bar, his gleaming leather trench coat glimmering in the dim but friendly light. One hand held the huge polesword of which he was so inordinately fond.

"Hello, Kojiro," said 'Blade with a grin. "Have a drink or three on me."

He dropped a twenty on the table, tipped his hat, and walked from the bar. As he walked away, there were a quick series of three gouts of flame accompanied by small explosions. Sasaki was grimly certain that they came from spots on Atlantic Avenue, the Seaside Park fountain....and a little bungalow North of here. He paid serious attention to his drinking.

As he brought the fourth tumbler of scotch to his lips, a kunai flashed through the door to the bar shattering the glass onto his table. A second blade flashed into the semi-darkness above him, severing a small bottle of golden powder. This smashed on the wet table and caused an instant eruption of flame.

Sasaki fell backwards from the explosion, singed a bit but unharmed aside from the lump on the back of his head from where he'd hit the floor. His hat, however, was no more. He'd left the fedora sitting on the table....


Ricera10 moved warily along the street. Things were quiet, but there was nobody in sight. He still moved cautiously, checking potential threat points and scanning the rooflines. It didn't help.

The sniper was 435 yards away, quite invisible to Ricera10 at that distance. Courtesy of the Springfield '03's scope, however, the sniper had an excellent view of Ricera. A single shot slammed into Ricera's left knee, dropping him to the pavement and crippling him. A few instants later, the second shot took the long-barreled Buntline Special right out of Ricera10's hands, amputating his index finger into the bargain.

Cursing and in pain, Ricera10 rolled to put a car between himself and the direction of the shots. That's when he saw the rabbit. Gore spattered and gruesome despite the inane plastic smile, and holding a double-barreled shottie. The rabbit looked down at him, pulling a long puff on the dangling cigarette.

"What's up Doc?"

The rabbit then pulled both triggers, the double slugs taking Ricera10's head almost clean off. He quietly pulled an object from the pack on his back, dropping the violin bow on the corpse.

"B'dah-b'dah-b'dah -- that's all folks," said the rabbit as he faded into the dark Fatlington night.


With caution and a little planning,woad&fangs had made it safely back to his apartment. Checking the 'tells' he'd left on the door, he made his way inside. Locking up, he quickly tossed off a 'night-cap' and got ready for bed.

As he began to drift off to sleep, he got a sudden wake-up call. Tommy guns are not, after all, the subtle way to get into an apartment. Dozens of rounds tore the door to fragments, knocking it off its hinges, while woad&fangs shot off his bed and went to the wall of his bedroom door.

He'd spent time re-making the interior walls with bricks -- they'd hold off anything short of a bazooka. His bedroom door was trashed quickly, but woad&fangs was now armed and ready to greet whoever came through the door.

Nobody did. Instead, a couple of bulky chemical grenades came through. 'Willy-Pete' was a coloquial name that was all too gentle for labeling the white phosphorus weapons that they were. The intense heat and smoke were stifling and the few flakes of phosphorous that landed on woad&fangs seemed to be burning through his tee-shirt like granular fire. The pain was intense.

He couldn't have stayed longer than he did, the heat and pain were too intense and the smoke was already choking the upper half of the room. Three steps was as far as woad&fangs got, however, as all 5 attackers hammered him with their Tommy guns as he tried to break clear of the bedroom. He was riddled as badly as Clyde Barrow and died almost immediately.

The shooters left the apartment to burn.


Joe Monks snapped awake, feeling a sting in his leg. He was someplace strange. <>

"Wakey, wakey!"

A smiling face loomed into his vision. Monks couldn't seem to move, feeling groggy.

"Math quiz time," said the smiling face. "What is the sum of 2, 2, and 1?"

Still perplexed, not quite understanding things, Joe mouthed the word "five" as though it were a question. He saw the man's smile grow wider...and then he began to understand.

"That's right, Joe! You're reading me five by five...."

The next morning Joe Monk's limbs and head would be found on the steps to Fermanagh's home, artfully arranged to form the number 'five.' The torso was never recovered.


Morning Session, Day Fourteen


"So anyway, that's what we think happened, based on the evidence. Mildred's been admitted to Mercy for observation, which is where I'll be heading after this..."

Fermanagh was obviously flustered, but continued on with his notes.

"Your lynching efforts weren't successful on Day Eleven. Beefy187 was an innocent townie who our sources say spent most of his time protecting slashandburn with various other townies. He is rumored to have participated in the killing of DisgruntledGoat, but as Goat was a mafia Don, it can hardly be credited against him. I think we all made a bad mistake there."

"Greyblades and Andres are both thought to have been Wiseguys, but we have no indication that either was working with the mafia and at least some indication that Andres was involved in what were believed to be vigilante actions on the part of Fatlington."

Fermanagh continued down his list.

"Skooma Addict, Cowhead418, and Gaius Scribonius Curio were all townies, with no indication that any were involved in criminal actions against the town."

"To our good fortune, however, we can take some comfort that Ichigo and Veronica "Trouble" Tuloso were killed that night as well. Both were, according to our research efforts, mafiosi. Tuloso was reputed to be a Made Gangster -- so much for the 'gentler sex' -- while Ichigo was a mafia Luca. Their deaths bring us one step closer to victory."

Fermanagh left the room quickly, headed for Mercy Hospital and Mildred. Shinseikhaan reviewed the procedures for the upcoming lynch vote and dismissed the committee.



OOC

Lynch votes are due no later than 1200 Eastern on Friday the 17th.



The Fate of the Fatlings

Attacked (36): Beefy187 (n1, n6), DJGingivtis (n2), Gaius Scribonius Curio (n2), Beskar (n3), Double A (n3), Lord Winter (n3, n5), Andres (n4, n9, n11), Diana Abnoba (n4), Reenk Roink (n4), Iskander3.1 (n5), Proletariat (n5, n5, n7, n7), TinCow (n6), Shinseikhaan (n7), Centurion1 (n8), Sasaki Kojiro (n8, n9, n10, n10, n13), Moros (n9, n10), Pannonian (n9), Sigurd (n9), askthepizzaguy (n11), Kukrikhan (n11), El Diablo (n12), LittleGrizzly (n12), spL1Tp3r50nality (n12), Chaotix (n13)

Killed (29): Quintus.JC (n1), The Stranger (n1), Death is Yonder (n2), pevergreen (n2), Yaropolk (n2), Myrddraal (n3), Jolt (n4), Craterus (n5), johnhughthom (n5), Leet Erickson (n5), Psychonaut (n5), Iskander3.1 (n6), Khazaar (n6), Kommodus (n6), scottishranger (n6), Aggonyduck (n8), Beskar (n8), Cultured Drizzt Fan (n8), glyphz (n8), shlin28 (n8), Diana Abnoba (n9), DisgruntledGoat (n9), Moros (n10), Reenk Roink (n10), Andres (n11), Ichigo (n11), LittleGrizzly (n12), Pannonian (n12), Joe Monks (n13), Ricera10 (n13), woad&fangs (n13)

Lynched (13): Factionheir (d2), CountArach (d3), GeneralHankerchief (d3), discovery1 (d4), atheotes (d5), A Very Super Market (d6), Kagemusha (d6), Rhyfelwher (d7), Ironside (d8), DJGingivtis (d9), Lord Winter (d10), Beefy187 (d11), Centurion1 (d12), El Diablo (d13)

Wogged (9): Nole4694 (n5), Truepraetorian (n5), Dutch_guy (n6), Warmaster Horus (n7), Greyblades (n10), Skooma Addict (n10), Cowhead418 (n11), Gaius Scribonius Curio (n11), Veronica "Trouble" Toluso (n11)

Still Alive (23): a completely inoffensive name, askthepizzaguy, Caius, Chaotix, Crazed Rabbit, DoubleA, gibsonsg91921, Haudegen, Joooray, Kukrikhan, Proletariat, Sasaki Kojiro, Shinseikhaan, Sigurd, slashandburn, spL1tp3r50naL1ty, SSNeoperestroika, TinCow, Tratorix, Twilightblade, White_Eyes:D, Xehh II, YLC.

[Seamus Fermanagh]

Yeah by get down well you rock and roll
then you roll and rock
then you got to do it
because i don't wanna stop
yes i'm the db breaker,
the heart-taker
com'n fly guy
let's turn it up home boys,
pretty girls you don't stop
cause i'm jovanotti
gonna make you rock
baby baby gonna show you my stuff
i'm gonna tell you the way
to hit the top
hae-you can do it
hou-will you do it
hae-you can do it
let me know wot do ya want
up up up now now now
com'n you can get it gimme five
(clap clap clap)

-- Jovanotti "Gimme Five"


Sunset, Day Fourteen


Shinseikhaan did not leave the room at the last break before the final tallies. Instead, he sat there calmly, stoic in his absence of emotion, as the argument swirled and the discussion shifted. Finally, based on a shouted discussion between Pizzaguy and Xehh II, the votes were re-cast and the time for more changes had elapsed. Shinseikhaan waited as the guards brought him the final tally.

"Xehh II," intoned 'khaan, "The committee judges you guilty of crimes against Fatlington and hereby orders your death. Guards, sieze him."

Xehh II did not stay still for it, instead, as the guards moved forward, he rushed at them! The first guard took a stiff right to the face and went down like he'd been hit with an axe handle, his shattered nose spraying blood all over. The second was tripped and kicked so rapidly that he found himself rolling into empty folding chairs wondering why he wasn't standing.

The remaining officers switched over to their night sticks. Xehh still fought, trying to kick, hit or rush each of the officers in turn, but their clubs gave them the edge in range. Each savage attack was hammered back and though the officers did take hits, none of them were caught flat-footed like the first two. Slowly, inexorably, they cornered Xehh, who could barely lift his arms from all the bruising.

Though his struggles continued, the result was already known. Eventually, the officers hammered him down and then cuffed him for good measure. At 'khaan's direction, Xehh II was taken to a large wooden crate that had been laid on the sands just below the boardwalk.

Xehh was placed in the box and his arms and legs shackled to the corners. A metual tube, designed to rest on four spindly legs, was placed over his nose and mouth. The officers then began to shovel sand into the box. They continued to shovel sand until Xehh was covered by more than a foot of it, only the metal breathing tube protruding. They then lined the sand with a thick layer of charcoal mixed with kindling. Then the officers and Shinseikhaan went under the boardwalk and put on military issue flame throwers that they'd borrowed from the armory, all five moving to positions on the boardwalk where they could flame the box.

The heat was intense, igniting the charcoal and kindling in a massive conflagration and even coating some of the sand with thin layers of glass. The intense fire managed to consume most of the oxygen in its midst, slowly taking away the very air Xehh II needed to breathe to survive. As the worst pains of suffocation hit him, Xehh inhaled as hard as he could...only to be rewarded with superheated air that scorched his lungs and damaged his ability to breathe. Lungs seared and starved of oxygen, Xehh II took almost 10 minutes to die, but the fire was hot for hours.

"'Khaan did a pretty fair with the pyrotechnics," said Twilightblade as he watched the flames.

"Yeah," said Proletariat, also watching, "But Reenk would've set up a clam-bake as well."



OOC

Orders for Night 14 are due at 1400 on Sunday. Please PM me any questions as to role changes etc. no later than mid-day Saturday so that they can all be resolved prior to final orders going in. Thanks.



Tally


1st Xehh II = 9 (askthepizzaguy, Chaotix, Crazed Rabbit, Joooray, Sasaki Kojiro, Sigurd, slashandburn, Tratorix, YLC)

2nd/3rd Crazed Rabbit = 2 (SSNeoperestroika, Xehh II)

2nd/3rd Haudegen = 2 (Kukrikhan, White_eyes:D)

4th/5th Shinseikhaan = 1 (spL1tp3r50naL1ty)

4th/5th Twilightblade = 1 (a completely inoffensive name)

[Seamus Fermanagh]

You shed a shadow on my life
Shed a shadow on a love
Took the shelter out of my life
Took the shelter of a lie
I couldn't see it in your restless eyes
The truth I was hiding
The truth you could not disguise

But I never thought I'd see the day
I knew I'd need a miracle to make you stay
I knew
I needed
A miracle
And I never thought I'd see the day

-- Sade “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Summary of Events, Night Fourteen


As he made his way home, a completely inoffensive name kept his head down and his mind on his grumblings. <> He didn’t notice that the sidewalk had been modified since he last walked this way, or that he was now more or less suspended over a 30’-wide strip of water. He DID notice the kunai that flashed in front of his eyes.

He jumped back and drew his weapon in one motion. The second kunai whirled from the figure just stepping out from behind a parked van 40 feet distant, and with a metallic clang it knocked the gun from his grasp, spinning it into the water. Twilightblade walked up to a completely, stopping about 7 feet away. His glossy leather coat and hat gleamed in the dim light.

“You have offended me, sir,” said ‘Blade.

“What do you…”

“Your name is so inoffensive that I can ONLY be offended by it. We must now dance.”

Two kunai whirled out, thrown by ‘blade with both hands. They smashed glass bottles on either side, ringing the pair were filled with leaping flames. Small explosions broke the pavement behind each man. They now faced each other on a 4’ by 12’ island in the midst of a sea of flame. ‘Blade reached across his back and drew the ahenderei he so loved. With his other hand he drew a sword, a great kopis blade, tossing it handle first to a completely inoffensive name.

“You might be familiar with such a blade. Let’s dance!”

The two men traded blows in a flurry of steel. ‘Blade’s reach advantage was significant, but ACIN’s blade was heavier and his motivation made up for much of his lack of skill. Still, the conclusion had been foregone from the start. After a few minutes of fighting, the butt end of the ashenderei whipped out and disarmed a completely inoffensive name, sending his kopis after his pistol.

"You have fought well and honorably,” said Twilightblade. “I shall tell you how avoid getting burned by my powder.”

ACIN leaned forward slightly, interested despite his frustration.

“Wear fireproof clothing.”

Twilightblade did a backflip off the platform, diving through the flames without a murmer – he had followed his own advice – quickly emerging on the far side of the flames. A completely inoffensive name waited for the flames to die down, listening to the purr of the well-tuned Triumph as it roared off into the night.


Chaotix, despite his name, was fairly precise in his actions. With things in Fatlington trending the way they were, it was prudent to be aware of one’s surroundings. When the masked fellow with the large umbrella stepped around the corner ahead of him, he quickly leapt to the side and put his back to the door of the closed shop. He was not going to let anyone get behind him.

He noted the second figure, the one who had been shadowing him and prepared to cut loose with the Tommy gun the moment he focused on Mr Umbrella, and went for his gun. While prepared, it seemed unlikely he’d be able to stop one attack without falling to the other.

Chaotix then fell backwards into the store. Instantly, the door slammed behind him, a bar lock falling in place and an armored trench coat was thrown over him. He never got a good look at the people who’d done all of these things so quickly…but he was quite glad they had. His two attackers did not try to press their luck.


[B]Crazed Rabbit[B] sat at his table, sketch pad in hand. He was thinking of a huge mural that would hang for a hundred feet along the length of the pier, so his mind was full of ideas and concepts, each one almost leaping onto the paper. What he lacked was a single unifying theme.

Perhaps he might consider the three trench-coated Tommy gunners who were moving up the pier towards him as he sat at the bar at the Angler’s Dangle? But no, they were more of an interruption.

Still, they didn’t interrupt him for very long. The trio had just pulled back the bolts on their Tommies when they heard the clanging and banging of metal on wood. Someone had cut loose a stack of 18” gauge steel piping that now rolled down at them along the angled ramp leading back down to the bulkhead from the pier. Instead of firing at CR, they found themselves diving into the sand and refuse at the side of the pier.

Nor would their fourth shooter – the one guarding the bottom of the pier to close off Rabbit’s escape – be of any assistance. From somewhere near the end of the pier, a hidden sniper started putting bullets into the bulkhead nearby. Given current circumstances, the better part of valor clearly seemed to be discretion. The attack squad beat a hasty retreat.


The same concept, discretion, also appealed to SSNeoperestroika. When the first shooter opened up at him with a Garand carbine from across the street, he dropped behind a car and then did a low crawl towards the alley between the Five-and-dime and the taproom. He’d gotten a good look at his shooter – no mask and the hat had flipped off from the recoil of the carbine. But would he have a chance to confront him later?

You see, unfortunately for SSNeo, that alley was really his only means of escape from the first shooter – and easily turned into a trap by the simple expediency of having one shooter step out of the back door to the tappy. Fortunately for SSNeo, nobody did. He was able to make his escape. Tomorrow, he and Chaotix would have words.


Morning Meeting, Day Fifteen


“So anyway, maybe not a quiet not exactly, but nobody ended up dead.”

Fermanagh shifted his notes.

“Our success in lynching mafiosi seems to be continuing. Centurion1, according to our sources, was a Made gangster in one of the crime families. You are to be congratulated for using Tosa’s system so effectively.

“Efforts at taking the law into your own hands independently however, haven’t met with the same success. Pannonian was one of my hidden detectives. His loss hurts us all.”

Fermanagh stared at askthepizzaguy for several seconds.

“Surprisingly enough, it may be that the maniac killer with his sick love for the number five may have done us the most good of all, at least this time. LittleGrizzly was a Mafia Don and the head of one of the five crime families. We must make sure his killer is brought to justice – in the interest of our own safety – but in this case he helped Fatlington out.”

Fermanagh left the room. Shinseikhaan quickly reviewed the procedures for the lynch vote and for the selection process. The committee then adjourned, knowing that this afternoon’s session would prove…interesting.



OOC

Lynch Voting and Director Selection should be completed by 1500 Eastern on Monday the 21st (1900 GMT). Results etc. should be in your hands before long.


The Fate of the Fatlings

Attacked (41): Beefy187 (n1, n6), DJGingivtis (n2), Gaius Scribonius Curio (n2), Beskar (n3), Double A (n3), Lord Winter (n3, n5), Andres (n4, n9, n11), Diana Abnoba (n4), Reenk Roink (n4), Iskander3.1 (n5), Proletariat (n5, n5, n7, n7), TinCow (n6), Shinseikhaan (n7), Centurion1 (n8), Sasaki Kojiro (n8, n9, n10, n10, n13), Moros (n9, n10), Pannonian (n9), Sigurd (n9), Crazed Rabbit (n10, n14) askthepizzaguy (n11), Kukrikhan (n11), El Diablo (n12), LittleGrizzly (n12), spL1Tp3r50nality (n12), Chaotix (n13, n14), a completely inoffensive name (n14), SSNeoperestroika (n14)

Killed (29): Quintus.JC (n1), The Stranger (n1), Death is Yonder (n2), pevergreen (n2), Yaropolk (n2), Myrddraal (n3), Jolt (n4), Craterus (n5), johnhughthom (n5), Leet Erickson (n5), Psychonaut (n5), Iskander3.1 (n6), Khazaar (n6), Kommodus (n6), scottishranger (n6), Aggonyduck (n8), Beskar (n8), Cultured Drizzt Fan (n8), glyphz (n8), shlin28 (n8), Diana Abnoba (n9), DisgruntledGoat (n9), Moros (n10), Reenk Roink (n10), Andres (n11), Ichigo (n11), LittleGrizzly (n12), Pannonian (n12), Joe Monks (n13), Ricera10 (n13), woad&fangs (n13)

Lynched (13): Factionheir (d2), CountArach (d3), GeneralHankerchief (d3), discovery1 (d4), atheotes (d5), A Very Super Market (d6), Kagemusha (d6), Rhyfelwher (d7), Ironside (d8), DJGingivtis (d9), Lord Winter (d10), Beefy187 (d11), Centurion1 (d12), El Diablo (d13), Xehh II (d14)

Wogged (9): Nole4694 (n5), Truepraetorian (n5), Dutch_guy (n6), Warmaster Horus (n7), Greyblades (n10), Skooma Addict (n10), Cowhead418 (n11), Gaius Scribonius Curio (n11), Veronica "Trouble" Toluso (n11)

Still Alive (22): a completely inoffensive name, askthepizzaguy, Caius, Chaotix, Crazed Rabbit, DoubleA, gibsonsg91921, Haudegen, Joooray, Kukrikhan, Proletariat, Sasaki Kojiro, Shinseikhaan, Sigurd, slashandburn, spL1tp3r50naL1ty, SSNeoperestroika, TinCow, Tratorix, Twilightblade, White_Eyes:D, YLC.