...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Pannonian had been distant and withdrawn for days, almost completely uncommunicative in the meetings.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.