Capo de Tutti Capi [Concluded]

[Andres]

Did anybody see what this was all about?

[The Stranger]

[Caius]

Nothing Andres, nothing

[Stig]

Did anybody see what this was all about?

no, I'm death

[The Stranger]

Are you death or dead? Because... How can you kill death?

[Stig]

Are you death or dead? Because... How can you kill death?

nehnehneh
dead, death all the same

[Seamus Fermanagh]

Night Three Summary

theRTWGuru was walking home after a tasty dinner at the local White Castle. It had been a rough day and the weather – though drier – continue gray and dreary. However, 37 mini-burgers had definitely perked up his mood – even if the coffee had been lousy. As he stepped into the street in front of his apartment building, an old-fashioned Ford V6 zipped in front of him, with the driver’s window rolled down and a Tommy Gun pointing his way! He moved as the driver opened fire, hoping to get behind the cover of another parked car. He needn’t have worried, the long burst fired by the driver/gunmen was more of a religious shooting experience – spray and pray – than well-aimed fire. The first burst missed, the car was past, and Guru had cover and a couple of places to run. The car did not come back for a second pass.


Major Robert Dump was on edge – the murders of the previous evenings had made him wary – so he was ready when “it” happened. His attacker stood in front of him, masked and wearing a trenchcoat. The alley from whence his attacker had come held a few more shadows of some vague shape, but no other threat came forward.

“Your money or your life!” grumbled his assailant.

“You’re going to mug me,” MRD said, almost chuckling.

“I said your money or…”

He didn’t finish because MRD kicked him in the knee and then went for the knife. They struggled, neither one really dominating the other, when quickly turning a corner was one of Fermanagh’s policemen, out walking his beat in the freezing air.

“What’s all this then?” shouted the cop as he ran up, revolver pointing at the two struggling men. “You there, drop the knife or I’ll shoot.”

MRD’s assailant complied.

“Thanks officer,” said Major Robert. “I never thought I’d be this happy to see the cops.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said the cop, raising the revolver quickly to face level and putting a bullet right between MRD’s eyes. “Don’t trouble yourself about anything.”

The “cop” tossed the pistol into the nearest storm drain, stripped the white glove off of his shooting hand and dropped it on MRD’s corpse. The uniform was dumped in the trash nearby as both men faded into the alley and made one with the night.


AggonyDuck wasn’t nearly so lucky. He got home safely enough, but when he hung up his Navy pea-coat a chloroformed rag came out of the closet and square onto his surprised inhale. He awoke tied spread eagle to his own fireplace mantle and hearth, a sock taped firmly in his mouth, barely allowing him to breathe.

His attacker faced him – dressed normally, his identity obvious – slowly flexing a triple strand of 1/8-inch steel cable. It had been braided along most of its length, but the last 8-10 inches were loose strands with frayed ends. Ducky screamed into the gag. As the flogging continued, each slash from the whip would land with incredible power, bruising or breaking bones if the braided portion hit, tearing flesh if the frayed ends hit first. Ducky was a tough character and lasted 20 minutes or so. He lasted through the cracked and shattered ribs, the broken collar and cheekbones; he endured and even managed to stay conscious when the right eye was torn out and left to dangle by its optic nerve and blood vessels. A final slash with the whip crushed his larynx and he, finally, mercifully, choked to death on his own blood.

At dawn that next morning, pevergreen swung open his front door – it moved heavily – and discovered AggonyDuck’s body attached to the door, the braided wire whip under his arms to suspend him from the knocker. He retched uncontrollably, then staggered inside to call the cops. They took Ducky down, finding the following note shoved into the pocket of his pants:

Virtue is unrewarded, death awaits the fair,
Your unneeded kindnesses pollute this rotting air.
Blessed are the avaricious, for they shall inherit Fatlington.


[I]Moros wasn’t sleeping well. He kept having weird dreams about being forced to sleepwalk and of his mom forcing him to eat oatmeal….As first rays of sunlight fell onto his bed, Moros yawned and got dressed, pleased with the ray of sunlight.
Almost immediately he became aware of a strong odor in the air - he couldn't quite place it, but it reminded him of cereal, or oatmeal of some sort. He wondered what the smell could mean. The memory of the recent killings came to him, and he became very nervous, wondering if the smell was indication of some sort of poison. He opened his bedroom door and was stunned to find the smell stronger in his house. He retreated into his bedroom, very worried now. Still, he couldn't detect any symptoms of deadly gas.

Then the phone rang. He swung his head towards it, suddenly extremely suspicious of the phone. It rang two more times before he answered it.[/I]

“Good morning, Moros,” a voice said.

“Who is this?” asked Moros.

“It seems you have a slight problem with the quality of your air this morning”

“Who are you, and what have you done?”

“Relax, please. What you smell is a harmless, natural food product - grain. Nothing to worry about - inhaling it shouldn't be dangerous.”

Moros did relax, slightly, though his voice did not lose its edge, “What are you doing, and what is the meaning of this?”

“Of course,” the voice continued, “In the right grain-to-air mixture, it is highly explosive."

Moros’ mind flashed back twenty years to when he was a 17-year old Marine fighting Sandino’s guerillas. The image of a grain silo suddenly exploding and killing half a platoon vivid after all these years….the adrenaline shot through him.

Why don't you look out your window?” said the voice.

Moros glanced out the window in time to see a flaming projectile arcing through the air…

It lanced through the window of a town home two blocks away, just visible up the street from the window where he stood. Breaking through the window there was a gust of flame, followed by a powerful explosion that gutted the townhome as well as the neighboring homes to either side. It even cracked the window where Moros was standing.

Stunned and worried, Moros glanced at the phone – only a dial tone now – left his room….

“This isn’t my house, it’s just the same floorplan…”

Moros’ house had, indeed, been blown to fragments, he just wasn’t in it at the time. He went down stares warily, his quick search finding the townhome where he was to be empty. Same floorplan, minimal furniture, but essentially empty. On the small table in the kitchen, he found a steaming bowl of oatmeal – the source of the grainy smell in this townhome – with a politle typed note next to it, reading:

Eat hearty, oatmeal is good for your health.

A white glove was found on the doorstep of Moros’ rubbled home.


An hour or so later, a stunned committee took in Seamus’ report of the nights events. Chief Fermanagh looked tired, but not entirely unhappy.

“Alright, me lads…pardon, my officers have been working hard to follow up on our deceased and determine what we could. I have happy news to report. You got one! Kralizec looked squeaky clean on the surface, but rummaging through his accounts and effects we realize that he was another Al Capone – you lynched the Don, the leader, of one of these despicable gangs. Hizzoner may really have come up with a way for Fatlington to live, and you’ve all done your part. Well done folks, well done…”

A short pause.

“Stig too was a criminal. We’d had indications before this, but nothing conclusive. There was, however, nothing to connect him to one of the predatory gangs, so our current theory is that he wouldn’t play ball so he was taken for a ride – well, in his case a bad dinner.”

"Our other losses were, according to all we can find out, both innocent townsmen who committed suicide under the stress of things. Ichigo was distraught for some time, facing turmoil at home, and this appears to have driven him to flights of fancy. He claimed to have attempted a murder, failed at it, and apparently…er…lost his way. Tribesman had enemies – anyone who chatted politics with him would confirm that. They would tell you he knew all the tricks: puns, metaphor, dramatic irony even….sarcasm. Despite which he calmly and deliberately drank himself to death."

"I hope you can continue your previous success today and continue to root out these scum. Good luck.”

OOC

Day 4 voting begins (Lynch only), directed by Redleg. Voting deadline: 1400 hrs EST 1/24/7 -- we'll cycle at 1400 thereafter if at all possible.


Butcher’s Bill, to Date:

Attacked: Proletariat (N1), Sasaki Kojiro (N1), Redleg (N2), Moros (N3), theRTWGuru (N3)

Lynched: Kralizec (D2), Beirut (D3)

Murdered: GeneralHankerchief (N1), Stig (N2), AggonyDuck (N3), Major Robert Dump (N3)

Suicided: Ichigo, (D2), Tribesman (D2)

WoGged: Nobody, and please keep it that way.

[Moros]

I guess I was saved, thanks to those who did it. To bad to hear that the mafia did 2 succesfull kills tough.

[The Stranger]

Not neccesarily mafia though... maybe pro-townies killed a mafia member...

Pevergreen show the results! Luca's can also investigate right. How will you prove you are a detective and no Luca.

How will you explain the fact that you knew (very surely) that Kralizec was a Don. You knew that before the data was revealed and also shortly after he was lynched.

[Banquo's Ghost]

Tribesman had enemies – anyone who chatted politics with him would confirm that. They would tell you he knew all the tricks: puns, metaphor, dramatic irony even….sarcasm. Despite which he calmly and deliberately drank himself to death."

Should've nailed his head to a table.

Vote: Spiny Norman.

[The Stranger]

you vote who?

AndresTheCunning - 2 (Sasaki Kojiro, Moros)
Pevergreen - 2 (Kagemusha,Crazed Rabbit)
luigi VI di Fatlington - 1 (Omanes Alexandrapolites)
Alexander - 1 (Caius Flaminius)
ByzantineKnight - 1 (doc_bean)
Abstain - 1 (ATPG)

[CountArach]

Vote: Andres the Cunning.

Andres, if you show us the PM, then I will change my vote to someone else, or I will Abstain. Also I'm sure that someone will try to protect you.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

AndresTheCunning - 3 (Sasaki Kojiro, Moros, CountArach)
Pevergreen - 2 (Kagemusha,Crazed Rabbit)
luigi VI di Fatlington - 1 (Omanes Alexandrapolites)
Alexander - 1 (Caius Flaminius)
ByzantineKnight - 1 (doc_bean)
Abstain - 1 (ATPG)

EDIT: Added List