Capo di Tutti Capi IV -- Information and Story Summary Thread.

[seireikhaan]

Post #2830 of main thread.

"And now the whiz-bang gang from uptown, they're shootin' up the street
And that cat from the Bronx starts lettin' loose, but he gets blown right off his feet
And some kid comes blastin' 'round the corner, but a cop puts him right away
He lays on the street holding his leg, screaming something in Spanish, still breathing when I walked away
And somebody said, "Hey man, did you see that? His body hit the street with such a beautiful thud"
I wonder what the dude was sayin', or was he just lost in the flood?
Hey man, did you see that, those poor cats are sure messed up
I wonder what they were gettin' into, or were they just lost in the flood?"
...Lost In The Flood
...Bruce Springsteen


Seventh Night -- The Streets of Fatlington


Cecil XIX stood with his back to the wall of an old brick building, scuffing his foot on the ground. He was looking down the poorly lit alley. It was as he was pondering the improbability of the day’s events when he noticed a pair of folks approaching him. Raising an eyebrow, he started to slink the other direction.

A loud bang signified the shot that went through the back of his knee, sending Cecil staggering to the ground. The two walked up to the struggling Cecil, grinning. The one on the left, still holding a handgun, pointed it at point blank range at Cecil’s head. With the second gunshot, Cecil’s struggle came to an end in a bloody mess. The gunmen on the left flipped Cecil over, and left a silver half-dollar atop each eye, before joining the partner in stalking back into the night.


Looking back, Choxorn realized that in spite of everything, he was lucky to be alive.

He had been driving home when all of a sudden, a car veered in behind him, its engine roaring. Before Choxorn could do anything, his rear right tire had been shot out. He swerved around wildly, trying to both keep control of the car and maintain speed. Obviously, this never had a chance at working, and Choxorn finally lost control… right into the petrol station.

The two figures in the other car looked at each other, the passenger gripping a silver knife he intended to leave at the scene. They then saw Choxorn’s car get closer and closer to the pumps, its fuel starting to leak.

“Get out?” one asked.

“Not worth the risk,” the other replied, and the two drove off.

Meanwhile, Choxorn knew what was about to happen. He managed to force his car’s door open and started crawling away as fast as he could, ignoring his bleeding leg. He used the minute and a half before the station ignited wisely, clearing the blast radius. When all of the debris hit all of the ground, Choxorn finally laid down on the ground and waited for the ambulance to arrive and take him to Mercy. He was happy to make that trade.


For Jolt there would be no such miracles.His sat in his car, idling at a traffic light that had long-since turned back to green, deciding where to best spend the night. In the end, he never made the decision. It would all turn out the same anyways. Jolt was feeling the symptoms of a condition that was quickly becoming known as “Fatlington Malaise”: The loss of hope.

A car horn from behind him broke Jolt’s haze. Evidently it was an annoyed driver who was tired of waiting at the green light. Jolt rolled open his window and motioned for the driver to go around him, too distracted to care. The other driver did so, but stopped as his car was right alongside Jolt, who realized all too late what was about to happen. "They really need a faster way to roll these windows back up."

The passenger in the other car quickly uncorked three grenades, one right after another, and tossed them all into Jolt’s car before his driver sped off. Even if Jolt was able to get one out of his car, he never had a chance with the other two. The concentrated blast blew his vehicle apart from the inside. One of the largest fragments from the scene was actually a picture of Alaska, with the words “Seward’s Folly” scrawled in the outline.


Visorslash drove past an abandoned warehouse, taking a sharp right around the corner. As the vehicle whipped around the corner, the car shook violently and began to struggle along the ground. He pulled it up to the curb, cursing his luck to have a tire blow out. He stepped out, barely containing his rage. A lone man in a trench coat was standing on the street edge, hat tipped down.

“Seems you’ve a flat,” he pointed out. Visorslash scowled at how obvious the statement was. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said, pulling a knife from his coat in his left hand. Alarmed, Visorslash wheeled backwards. With a smirk, the man in the trench coat quickly pulled a pistol from his trench coat, and scored a direct shot in Visorslash’s chest. He bent down to Visorslash, who lay struggling in his own blood. “You’ve got too much ragged tire,” he said, sliding a finger along the knife. “You need to cut the bad rubber from the rest. Then, you can get to the real work.” He grazed the knife along Visorslash’s neck. “Here, let me show you what I mean….”


Dcmort’s house was built to well beyond general Fatlington standards. Standards generally didn’t concern themselves with warfare. But woe is the unprepared, he thought. With Fatlington’s “rich” history, he had its walls well-fortified above specification.
He was sitting on his doorstep, perusing an old newspaper when a vehicle pulled up the street. Sensing imminent danger, he immediately scrambled to open the door. Five tommy guns peeked out a window, spraying across the front. Dcmort was in the doorway and attempting to roll behind a wall when several bullets struck his right shoulder. Despite the impressive wound, Dcmort managed to flop behind the wall, and slammed the door shut. He immediately barred the door shut, and lumbered over to the phone. With a quick dial, the ambulance was soon on its way...


Diamondeye’s ex-wife had always told him his smoking habit would be his downfall. Whether it would be from the coughing or from financial stress, she’d say, it would finish him. So, even as he found himself backed against a wall, with three menacing gunmen patiently approaching for a good shot, he couldn’t help but grin that, one more time, she’d be proven wrong.

He took the largest huff he had ever taken in a long career of smoking and blew it all at once, the cloud being just enough to obstruct his attackers' visions long enough for Diamondeye to drop to the ground, unnoticed. From there he winged his lighter at one of his attackers' legs - success. One of them yelped in pain, jumping up and down as the other two completely dropped their focus to see what was the matter. Diamondeye used that confusion to scamper away, and when all was said and done he was too far gone for the attackers to hit. They had blown their chance.

"I do miss my lighter though," he ruminated afterwards.


Meanwhile, across town, Johnhughtom was driving like a madman as he attempted to avoid a pursuing vehicle, from which periodic gunfire was sprayed. He took a sharp left at the last moment in a four way intersection, and saw the other vehicle whiz by. But a stray bullet found its target in John’s rear left tire, and his high speed caused him to spin out of control, the car flipping onto its side.
John was smashed into the windshield, and found a shard of glass embedded in his right arm. But somehow, he had retained his coherence, and slowly crawled out. As he dislodged himself from the vehicle, arm bleeding profusely, he found himself confronted with another car staring him down. Two men emerged from the two front doors, each holding a tommie gun in their hands. John didn’t stand a chance as the two opened fire on him in the open street. One stepped up to his bullet-ridden corpse, and, producing a knife, removed first John's shoe, then his sock, and then one big toe.


What better way to end a strange day than going to the bar. It was never short of weird happenings and strange people. That was the thought process Hero Di Classico took, anyways. He ordered another round and slapped his money on the table. The man next to him seemed to be in an irate mood, as he continually badgered everyone who came by with every petty grievance he could think of. As his drink was served, the belligerent man glared over. “Who gave you the right to order that drink!” he yelled. “That… that’s my drink. Hear that?!”

Over the yelling, neither heard the door open to two folks clad in trench coats. They peered each way before finally settling on Hero, sitting in the middle of the bar. They each reached inside their coats. “Fine! Have it that way!” They saw the belligerent man take a swing at Hero, who was sent sprawling across the floor. A small gaggle of other drunken bar-goers immediately jumped into the fray, some attacking the belligerent man, others going for Hero, others having no direction at all, but only needing an excuse for a brawl. In the chaos, the two folks attempted to wheel their way around the brawl, but missed seeing Hero crawl his way out of the pile and out the side door. Hero didn’t even realize how lucky his black eye was.


Drunk Clown was resting for the moment in front of a small apartment complex. He was unsurprised to see two cloaked people approach from down the street to his left, and another to his right. He extinguished his old cigarette on the cement and pulled a new one out, holding it in his right hand. He stood up and turned to face the two. His terse face hid his nervousness. The two stopped ten feet away, with the third further back on the other side. Drunk Clown reached inside his coat pocket for his lighter. In a flash, the group of two cloak-clad folks reached for their handguns, and delivered several rounds into Drunk Clown, who fell backwards before the third, who shrugged and jaunted off, satisfied at the result.


The two examined the body for a second, and checked the pocket. “He was just reaching for a lighter…” one remarked with a slight grin. He reached inside his own coat pocket, and fished out two silver half-dollars, dated 1951. He placed on each eye, and the two left the silver-eyed Drunk Clown behind on the pavement.


Camikaze was drifting through the streets aimlessly for the night. The clear sky made for decent stargazing, despite the lights of Fatlington intruding. He didn’t the person lurking in the alley. A shot fired in the dark. Camikaze startled out of his spell as a bullet whizzed overhead, and he sprinted farther down the street. The lone gunmen waited, waiting for another gunmen who never showed….


Romanic, having finished his nightcap in the Hotel Abbatoir, was found alone on the boardwalk, arms folded, staring out at the ocean. It was long-since past tourist season in Fatlington and the weather was starting to get cold and windy, but this suited Romanic fine. It drove the other people away. He had more time to reflect, to take it all in.

Two men stepped beside him. Fatlington being Fatlington, he knew that they weren’t also seeking to get away. Their loud, brutish, and somehow still-in-time footsteps betrayed that. Romanic knew he had one chance. Without a word, he vaulted over the boardwalk’s guardrails and landed onto the small dunes below.

There was only one chance to do something – roll away, or attack? He had always tended towards “fight” over “flight”. Gripping a large amount of sand, he righted himself and threw it as hard as he could at his two attackers, who were now leaning over the guardrail, hoping to blind them.

Unfortunately, it was Fatlington in November, and the weather was starting to get cold… and windy. The sand never made it before it got blown away. Romanic’s two intended targets looked at each other and grinned.

Despite all of the wind on the beach, a picture of Alaska was found besides Romanic’s corpse. The legend “Seward’s Folly” was scrawled across it.


Zack had started his car up after the day’s events, and drove down the beach-side street, enjoying the view. He kept it at a fairly leisurely pace, until another car came up beside. Several tommie guns sprayed into his car, but he floored the pedal to top speed. He blew past the other car, and took a hard left, weaving in and around corners. It seemed the other car had not given chase, busy dealing with still another car that appeared that had two people inside intent on ramming it as much as possible. By the time the attackers shook *that* car off, Zack was long gone. Zack groaned in pain from a stray bullets in his right calf and shoulder, but it could've been far worse. He sped away as fast as he could towards the hospital, praying he didn't pass out before he got there.


09:01AM, Thursday, 5 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey


“….Which wraps up our discussion on last night,” Commissioner Fermanagh finished. “Now, onto the post-mortem results.”


Fermanagh took a moment to re-organize his notes.


“It seems we had great success with our lynch! We discovered evidence that Ishmael was helping organize a cell of communists trying to overthrow Fatlington! His death will surely be a great blow to their efforts. As well, it seems that Bow-wow-wow was a very ordinary, innocent person. Similarly, Slysnake and Lord Brennus were innocent.


Fermanagh scowled for a moment as he continued down his notes.


“Unfortunately, we discovered Suburban Plankton to have been one of Fatlington’s investigators trying to help us uproot the mafia menace. We can’t keep losing our best and brightest if we’re to topple the threats against us!”


With a short sigh, Fermanagh welcomed Captain Blackadder to the podium, indicating that the time for lynch was at hand.


OOC

Day Eight, lynch votes and selections, begins:

Phase ends:


Thanks for the patience, everyone. We'll do our best so you can too. Good luck, and thanks once again for bearing with us. Results will be out as soon as we can.

Remember, do NOT edit a post with a vote in it; post the change in a separate post.


Attacked = 41: a completely inoffensive name (n2), Ameranth (n3), Askthepizzaguy (n1, n2, n4, n5), Cahoma (n2), Camikaze (n7)Cecil XIX (n3, n6), Chaotix (n2, n3), Craterus (n3), Diamondeye (n7), Diana Abnoba (n6), Drunk Clown (n4, n5), Earthling (n1), edse (n5), El Barto (n2), Erebus (n5, n6), Hero di Classico (n7), Ishmael (n4), J.D. (n6), johnhughthom (n4), Master Necromanver (n2), Montmorency (n2, n4), Psychonaut (n5), Raskolnikov (n1), Sasaki Kojiro (n4), scottishranger (n4), Secura (n3), Slash and earn (n1, n6), slysnake (n1, n3), Suburban Plankton (n4), taillesskangaru (n3), Zack (n6)

Wounded = 10: Choxorn (n7), dcmort93 (n7), edse (n5), Erebus (n6), Lord Brennus (n3), Psychonaut (n6), Slysnake (n1, n3), Tratorix (n4), Zack (n7)

Killed = 26: Ameranth [wiseguy] (n4), Arjos (n3), Bow-wow-wow (n5), ByzantineKnight (n6), Captain Black Adder [townie] (n1), Cecil XIX (n7), Drunk Clown (n7), El Barto (n3), ELITEWARMAN8GINGYBREADMENMILK [townie] (n2), J.D. (n6), Johnhughthom (n7), Jolt (n7), Kagemusha (n6), Lord Brennus (n5), Lord Winter [wiseguy] (n4), Moros [luca] (n2), Nictel (n6), Pharoah [townie] (n2), Raskolnikov (n6), Romanic (n7) slysnake (n5), Suburban Plankton (n5), TinCow (n3), Tratorix (n6), Visorslash (n7)Xenoneb (n3)

Lynched = 6: Earthling (d2) [townie], a completely inoffensive name [townie](d3), Subotan [wiseguy] (d3), Major Robert Dump (d4), Ishmael (d5), Montmorency (d6)

Wogged = 4: bestrfcplayer (n6), cpdwane (n4), Master Necromanver (n4), taillesskangaru (n4)

Added: Autolycus (d4)

Active:

AggonyKing, Andres, Askthepizzaguy, Autolycus, B Ray, Backwards Logic, Beefy187, Believer, Beskar, BillMc, BSmith, ByzantineKnight, Cahoma, Camikaze, Captain Blackadder, Chaotix, Choxorn, Clitsome, Craterus, Crazed Rabbit, DaveShack, dcmort93, Death is yonder, Diamondeye, Diana Abnoba, Double A, edse, Erebus, Frozen In Ice, fubbleskag, fyremarble, GamezRule, gibsonsg91921, gnarleycharlie, God Emperor, Guiri, hero di classic, Ibn-Khaldun, Ironside, Ishmael, Jarema, J.D., Johhog, kennigit, Khazaar, Krill, landlubber, LazyMcCrow, Lewwyn, Memnon, Monk, Neri, Nictel, Nightbringer, Niklas, O!TheLastDays!, Peasant Phil, Populous Romanus, Psychonaut, qlphz, Renata, Riedquat, Robbiecon, Sasaki Kojiro, Scienter, scottishranger, Secura, Seon, shlin28, Sigurd, Silver Jan, SisterCoyote, Skotsko, slash and earn, Sprig, sturmhauke, Thefluffyone93, The Stranger, ULC, White_eyes:D, Winston Hughes, woad&fangs, Xehh II, Yaropolk, Zack, Zim