Capo di Tutti Capi IV [Concluded]

[Montmorency]

To slap a ghost one must be a ghost. Have you died this night?

[TheLastDays]

I can slap anyone I wish! Also, we should stop the spam, I guess.

[sturmhauke]

Ask fubbleskag or sturmhauke how much fun this can be.

Heh. I keep a spreadsheet with relevant data. If you want a real data crunching challenge, go play EVE Online.

[thefluffyone93]

I can slap anyone I wish! Also, we should stop the spam, I guess.

[GeneralHankerchief]

"I was born
Six-gun in my hand
Behind a gun
I'll make my final stand"
...Bad Company


Tenth Night -- The Streets of Fatlington

scottishranger had departed the Committee for the night, ruminating about the rather mundane execution and what was in store for him in the future. Things weren't looking good, he knew that much, but scott had been through worse. He was a grizzled old survivor after all. This was nothing new to him.

He checked his surroundings, more out of habit than anything, and froze. He saw the setup. There was a silhouetted figure nearby with what looked like a syringe gun, ready to flush him out and get him moving somewhere else. Tracing the line of escape, he found two more people up high, carrying what looked to be a flowerpot (with geraniums) and another with some type of falcon. Obviously they were going to drop that on him. There were two other routes of escape. One was being manned by a suspicious-looking person with an umbrella. The other had a guy who was fingering what was quite obviously a grenade. This wasn't good.

All of this ran through scott's head in less than a second. The syringe man would flush him out any second now, and he would be a dead duck. But then something happened.

The syringe man flushed him out, but soon stopped - because he himself was under fire from a different, unknown source. Scott still ran though in direction #1 (flowerpot and falcon) - but nothing was dropped on his head. While fleeing to safety he took a moment to glance and saw both of his would-be attackers wrestling with his saviors. scottishranger would live to see at least one more day.


thefluffyone93 was jauntily strolling down one of Fatlington's lanes, without a care in the world. Well, this wasn't quite true, as there was always the threat of death, but fluffy was in a better place than most. He had made it known that he would make a run for Director the next day, and there seemed to be a pretty strong dark horse movement brewing around him. Yes, fluffy had it going pretty good.

Which is why it was such a shock when the attacks came. fluffy was hit from three directions at once, with no chance to sprint for cover or even fight back. As he lay on the ground, bleeding out, he remained conscious long enough to hear his attackers closing in on him and catch glimpses of their conversation.

"You brought the knife?" said Voice Number One.

"Yes," said a second. "Remember, this is in addition to the coins. Otherwise the Donna won't be happy."

fluffy moaned. All three heard this and chuckled. "Still with us, eh fluffy?" came Voice Number One. "I'm impressed. You've got a lot of starch in you. Or a lot of... fluff... if you prefer. No matter, we'll be taking it out of you soon enough."

fluffy remained conscious just long enough to scream.


Slash and Earn sat morosely on the curb of a poorly lit street. The dim lighting corresponded well to his mood. Why did this have to go on for so long? Why couldn’t everything have just solved itself by now? It wasn’t fair! This had officially been the worst birthday ever. No gifts. Not even a single acknowledgment from the commissioner or anyone. And so he sat there, head buried in his knees, taking a peek back to his watch every few minutes to keep track of how long he had left.

11:57 P.M.

Slash gave a sigh. But then, his ears perked when he heard two pairs of footsteps approaching. His head turned on a swivel, and he spotted two folks in trench coats, almost completely cloaked by the night. He sat, frozen. The two pulled to a halt next to him. “You know,” the one on the right said. “Not everyone forgot.” Slash’s eyes lit up. The one on the right pulled out a photo from a pocket and handed it to Slash. It was a beautiful, scenic mountain, dotted by pine trees. At the bottom, in neat cursive, was written, “Seward’s Folly”.

“A trip to Alaska?!” Slash questioned excitedly. “Is this my gift?”

“No,” the one on the left answered. He pulled a hand gun from inside his coat with lightning speed, and held it to Slash’s forehead. “This is.” His partner looked at his watch. “11:59. Looks like we were just in time.” Just seconds before the stroke of midnight, the man on the left squeezed the trigger. They left Slash and Earn on the pavement, still clutching the photo in his right hand.

The two figures walked off, nodding to the other two figures nearby who were ready in case the first pair failed.


qlyphz would be spending his night in the penthouse suite at the Hotel Abbatoir. He had made these arrangements sometime prior, reasoning that, if this was to be the end for him, he may as well spend his remaining days in luxury. And so he enjoyed the finest of comforts that Fatlington had to offer, drinking fine liquors and lounging in comfort.

A loud, sharp knock on the door brought qlyphz back to reality. Clearly, some people were trying to break in.

One of the other things qlyphz liked about the penthouse suite at the Hotel Abbatoir was the relative solitude, in which a person had a lot of time to construct an elaborate means of escape if they were so inclined. qlyphz was so inclined, and his quickly made his way to the window where a crude zip line had been set up with the building across the street.

Just as the door burst open and three figures came in, machine guns raised, qlyphz smiled, waved, and zipped along to safety. The best part was, his reservations at the Hotel were still good for another day.


Skotsko had met his end much more comfortably. Like qlyphz, he was enjoying his moments drinking a bottle of a particularly fine whisky - Chivas Regal, 25 year - that he had saved for a particularly special occasion. He figured that his impending death would qualify.

The burst through the door came, and Skotsko found himself face-to-face with two attackers brandishing machine guns. Thankfully, they did not fire immediately.

"Two of you, eh?" Skotsko asked them politely. "Mafia hit, then, I presume. Tell me, which calling card might you be?"

The two mafiosi looked at each other in confusion. "King of hearts," one of them said, finally, breaking the awkward silence.

"Ah, yes. I'm glad it's you," Skotsko said, taking another sip. "Classy. Elegant. Not vulgar like the coins or 'Seward's Folly' or God forbid the amputated toes. I'm glad it wasn't them at least. Come, take a drink with me. Oh don't worry, it's not poisoned or anything," he noticed them still looking at him oddly, "I just want all of us to talk like gentlemen, to prove that they still exist even in situations like these."

After some conferring, the two mafiosi agreed, and after they finished their whisky they put Skotsko away professionally, leaving the King of Hearts behind as promised.


In contrast to the other two, AggonyKing was spending his night in squalor. More concerned with survival than anything else, he had decided to spend the night huddled in a dumpster. Not the best decision as his suit was ruined and the smell was already starting to get to him after thirty minutes, but King kept his eyes on the prize: life. Life was surely worth this.

The dumpster muffled a lot of the outside sounds, and as a result King did not hear the car slowly pulling up alongside his hideout. He did not detect that anything was wrong until the lid opened up and somebody stuffed a fistful of grenades in. The grenadier hightailed it back to the car which was probably a good move as the force of the explosion blew the entire dumpster apart.

"What about the coins?" the driver asked.

"Shotgun can get 'em," the "grenadier" replied, as he was sitting in the backseat. "I've done enough."

"Oh, fine," the person riding shotgun said, and flipped two 1951 half-dollars out his window in the general vicinity of the former dumpster.


It was a relatively quiet night at the tavern, but Diana Abnoba had at least found someone to play cards with. She was pondering a hand when a pair of strangers came up behind and started observing. She was holding a two, four, and five of spades, a jack of diamonds, and a king of hearts. She went to discard the king and jack, but a harsh tsk from behind her made her pause. She looked back at them and gave them a curious look.

“Never get rid of the king of hearts,” he whispered. “Go with it until the end.” Diana just shook her head and deposited it in the discard pile anyways. At that moment, she saw her opponent finally break his poker face. She turned around, just in time to see the advice giver swinging a bat down at her. She ducked just out of the way, and the bat came on the table with a vicious thump. Diana scrambled for the door. The batmen lunged at her with a mighty swing, but in the chaos created by the assault, a small gaggle of people had flooded towards the door, and the bat made contact with the back of a bystander, who fell in pain, but otherwise was fine. But in the flood, the two had lost sight of Diana, and when the room had cleared, she was nowhere to be found.


The end was extremely violent for Diamondeye. He had been running for a while, first being chased by one, then three, then four, then finally five armed attackers before he was cornered in an alley. The attackers seemed hesitant, as if looking for one or two more, but the leader of them signaled to go anyway.

"WAIT!" Diamondeye panted. "...why?"

"Time's up, scum," the leader said. "Time to die." And they emptied no less than 154 shells in Diamondeye's body, evidently making absolutely sure before finally heading off into the night.


The two attackers expecting a similar result on Oh! The Last Days! found their expectations quickly crushed. Not only did they not quite have their full contingent of numbers but when they cornered TLD they found three armed figures waiting for them.

The attackers debated opening up anyway, trying to kill the entire lot, when another figure swooped in from the side and aimed his gun at the two attackers. "Ready!" he shouted and clicked his gun, and this was the two attackers' cue to hightail it back to their cars, dropping two 1951 half-dollars in their midst behind them.


God Emperor was spending his evening in a different penthouse, sipping on a drink of his own and catching the daily news off his wireless. All of it was bad, McCarthy was working his further magic, the Soviets were being the Soviets, general racial unrest. Korea. The economy may have been booming, but Truman was fast wearing out his welcome and there was so much danger ahead, O Discordia.

He turned it off in a rut. None of this was good. Music, music was the remedy. He decided to put on Nat King Cole's hit new single, "Unforgettable". This record was going places, God Emperor could tell. Nice, easygoing tune, it made him reminisce about the times before everything went straight to hell. He put it on and relaxed in his chair.



A banging on his chair. God Emperor sighed. Really? Now? He got up, prepared to fight. Another bang. And then, the door burst open and a silhouetted figure moved in, heading straight for God Emperor. He was fast. The two started punching each other, and the punching soon gave way to shoving and getting whatever hits in they could. People and things were getting thrown around. The penthouse was getting trashed, all set to the tune of Nat King Cole.

After an intense and brutal five minutes, the attacker gained the upper hand, holding God Emperor in a choke grip and hanging him out the broken window. "At least let me know who it is," God Emperor said, and the attacker, after pausing a moment, complied, showing his face. God Emperor gasped. "You? Why?"

"You know why." And then the attacker, instead of just simply dropping God Emperor off, drew a Mauser C96 and pulled the trigger once. God Emperor was blasted out of the penthouse, falling. "Unforgettable" ended. Life went on.


09:12AM, Tuesday, 8 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey

"And that concludes today's report," Commissioner Fermanagh said, coughing. "And now, the postmortem results."

"It looks like, despite some of the Committee's best efforts, we had a good lynching, as landlubber was an out-and-out scoundrel, being a confirmed gangster. We believe he was originally a Made with with one of the families, unlike many of you who were at one time good people." He took another stiff drink and continued.

"The good news continues... for the good people, at any rate. Camikaze was another Made gangster, another starter as well. Frozen In Ice was a minor criminal who may have done some wetwork for the families, but was not too far established when he died. fubbleskag is a great loss, as he was a town doctor who was actually working to protect people, though he may have had some mafia affiliations. Ibn-Khaldun was a straight townie who was doing his best in a difficult time. Memnon was the same, as was robbiecon, although he had some shady associates." He let this all out, pausing to reflect on the sheer amount of carnage.

"Lastly, this is terrible news for all American patriots, as Andres turned out to be a special operative hunting down a certain target. Obviously his mark is far beyond my pay-grade, but the importance of Andres's mission was stressed to me several times. We can only imagine his loss and the possible failure of the mission could be a very grave blow for the country."

Director sturmhauke now took the podium. "Thank you very much, Seamus," he said. "We will now commence with the voting and the Director selection."


OOC

Day Eleven begins. You are voting to lynch and select a Director.

Phase ends:


Feedback PMs will be out in the next couple of hours. I have a lot of RL work to do this weekend so excuse the possible delay. As always, if you are expecting a promotion, please PM me after feedback has been sent. Thank you.

Attacked = 51: a completely inoffensive name (n2), Ameranth (n3), Askthepizzaguy (n1, n2, n4, n5, n8), Cahoma (n2), Camikaze (n7)Cecil XIX (n3, n6), Chaotix (n2, n3), Craterus (n3), Diamondeye (n7, n9), Diana Abnoba (n6, n10), Drunk Clown (n4, n5), Earthling (n1), edse (n5), El Barto (n2), Erebus (n5, n6), guiri (n8), Hero di Classico (n7), Ishmael (n4), J.D. (n6), Jarema (n9), johnhughthom (n4), Khazaar (n8, n9), Master Necromanver (n2), Montmorency (n2, n4), Oh! TheLastDays! (n10), Psychonaut (n5), qlyphz (n10), Raskolnikov (n1), Riedquat (n8), robbiecon (n8), Sasaki Kojiro (n4), Scienter (n8 x2), scottishranger (n4, n10), Secura (n3), Slash and earn (n1, n6), slysnake (n1, n3), sturmhauke (n8), Suburban Plankton (n4), taillesskangaru (n3), Zack (n6)

Wounded = 14: Choxorn (n7), dcmort93 (n7), edse (n5), Erebus (n6), guiri (n8), Lord Brennus (n3), Monk (n8), Psychonaut (n6), Sasaki (n9), Slysnake (n1, n3), Tratorix (n4), Zack (n7)

Killed = 44: AggonyKing (n10), Ameranth [wiseguy] (n4), Andres (n8), Arjos (n3), Bow-wow-wow (n5), ByzantineKnight (n6), Camikaze (n8), Captain Black Adder [townie] (n1), Cecil XIX (n7), Choxorn (n9), dcmort93 (n9), Diamondeye (n10), Drunk Clown (n7), El Barto (n3), ELITEWARMAN8GINGYBREADMENMILK [townie] (n2), Frozen in Ice (n8), fubbleskag (n8), God Emperor (n10) Ibn-Khaldun (n8), J.D. (n6), Johnhughthom (n7), Jolt (n7), Kagemusha (n6), Lord Brennus (n5), Lord Winter [wiseguy] (n4), Memnon (n8), Moros [luca] (n2), Nictel (n6), Pharoah [townie] (n2), Raskolnikov (n6), robbiecon (n8), Romanic (n7), Skotsko (n10), slash and earn (n10), slysnake (n5), Suburban Plankton (n5), thefluffyone93 (n10), TinCow (n3), Tratorix (n6), Visorslash (n7), woad&fangs (n9), Xenoneb (n3), Zack (n9), Zim (n9)

Lynched = 8: Earthling (d2) [townie], a completely inoffensive name [townie](d3), Subotan [wiseguy] (d3), Major Robert Dump (d4), Ishmael (d5), Montmorency (d6), landlubber (d8), Captain Blackadder (d9)

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

Added: Autolycus (d4)

Active:

AggonyKing, Askthepizzaguy, Autolycus, B Ray, Backwards Logic, Beefy187, Believer, Beskar, BillMc, BSmith, ByzantineKnight, Cahoma, Chaotix, Choxorn, Clitsome, Craterus, Crazed Rabbit, DaveShack, Death is yonder, Diana Abnoba, Double A, edse, Erebus, fyremarble, GamezRule, gibsonsg91921, gnarleycharlie, Guiri, hero di classic, Ironside, Jarema, J.D., Johhog, kennigit, Khazaar, Krill, LazyMcCrow, Lewwyn, Monk, Neri, Nightbringer, Niklas, O!TheLastDays!, Peasant Phill, Populous Romanus, Psychonaut, qlyphz, Renata, Sasaki Kojiro, Scienter, scottishranger, Secura, Seon, shlin28, Sigurd, Silver Jan, SisterCoyote, Sprig, sturmhauke, The Stranger, ULC, White_eyes:D, Winston Hughes, Xehh II, Yaropolk

[Montmorency]

The two attackers expecting a similar result on Oh! The Last Days! found their expectations quickly crushed. Not only did they not quite have their full contingent of numbers but when they cornered TLD they found three armed figures waiting for them.

The attackers debated opening up anyway, trying to kill the entire lot, when another figure swooped in from the side and aimed his gun at the two attackers. "Ready!" he shouted and clicked his gun, and this was the two attackers' cue to hightail it back to their cars, dropping two 1951 half-dollars in their midst behind them.

Heh.

By the way, who was it that claimed fyremarble was a Don, eh?

[Diamondeye]

I had an idea things would end like this. I seemed to be right.

Oh well, GE, we tried. Good luck to anyone and everyone still alive

[AggonyKing]

took you guys long enough to kill me :D

[Ishmael]

I would like to point out that with the death of what was presumably the last FBI operative, the Communist Party has never been in a better position. Contact me if you're interested.

[Crazed Rabbit]

vote: edse

Let's lynch a surgeon everyone!

CR

[Craterus]

select: Craterus

[God Emperor]

I had an idea things would end like this. I seemed to be right.

Oh well, GE, we tried. Good luck to anyone and everyone still alive

We did :)

See you guys on the other side ! :p

[TheLastDays]

What the...? Leave me alone! Also, nice try, Pizza

[Montmorency]

So what happened to those 12 kills a night, Pizza? I'm not seeing it. And what happened to those 5 rogue detectives? Oh well, I suppose you did get the traitorous 6th then? Oh no, you didn't. :P

[Choxorn]

Just to tell you, GH, you guys don't have a lot of the dead guys' roles listed, and you also still have a lot of dead people listed as "Active."

[GeneralHankerchief]

The roles are listed, we just stopped putting them in the player list. You need to read the end of the day writeups when Commissioner Fermanagh delivers his postmortem reports.

[GeneralHankerchief]

All feedback PMs should be out, please PM if there are any outstanding issues. Thanks.

[thefluffyone93]

GAWD DANGIT!

Curses on all of you!

NOW YOU WILL NEVER SEE MY SICK WRITE-UPS!

[Choxorn]

Cool, but dead players are still dead, not active, and you should stop listing them as active. ;)

[Frozen In Ice]

Fluffy you should have waitied till today to annoucne your candiancy, you;d have it in the bag.:)

[Erebus]

Select: Zombie Fluffyone

Even better then Zombie Reagan.

[Populus Romanus]

Fluffy, if you were alive today I would be voting for selecting you.

[Askthepizzaguy]

2400 Plaza del Universo
Radio City building, Suite 501
Fatlington, New Jersey

To keep alive a moment at a time
But still inside a whisper to a riot
To sacrifice but knowing to survive
The first to climb another state of mind
I'm on my knees, I'm praying for a sign
Forever, whenever
I never wanna die
I never wanna die
I never wanna die
I'm on my knees
I never wanna die
I'm dancing on my grave
I'm running through the fire
Forever, whenever
I never wanna die
I never wanna leave
I never say goodbye
Forever, whenever, forever, whenever

The Anachronism hour with Santino Slice Senior




"Buon giorno, Fatlings. This is Santino Slice, once again filling in for my son DJ Slice. The song you just heard was "Walk" by The Foo Fighters. I wish to make an announcement. I've decided I've had enough of this government. It's time for a change! I'm going to be running for Director of this committee.

I don't particularly care for no-frills executions. I promise you if elected, I will spare no expense, drowning all the rats in this city.

Select: Askthepizzaguy for Fatlington's Pest Exterminator.

Reasonable rates. Years of experience. Competent service. Glorious death guaranteed.

[Montmorency]

Pizza is losing his grip on power. As it is said, his men, who hold no great love for their erstwhile master, will begin to abandon his cause, now that they see that no profit can be gained thereof. Pizza, I say, would admit himself well if he were to do a noble thing and prostrate himself before the town and take its knees in supplication.

For Pizza may be of some use, yet, and his information may redeem his crimes.

[Askthepizzaguy]

Pizza is losing his grip on power. As it is said, his men, who hold no great love for their erstwhile master, will begin to abandon his cause, now that they see that no profit can be gained thereof. Pizza, I say, would admit himself well if he were to do a noble thing and prostrate himself before the town and take its knees in supplication.

For Pizza may be of some use, yet, and his information may redeem his crimes.

I presume you still remember how to count votes?

Call me when the math matches your words.

[Montmorency]

Here is from the catalog of all the nations that went to war against Hellas under the Great King Xerxes:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

I cannot give the exact number that each part contributed to the total, for there is no one who tells us that; but the total of the whole land army was shown to be one million and seven hundred thousand...

As regards the land army supplied by all the nations—Thracians, Paeonians, Eordi, Bottiaei, Chalcidians, Brygi, Pierians, Macedonians, Perrhaebi, Enienes, Dolopes, Magnesians, Achaeans, dwellers on the coast of Thrace—of all these I suppose the number to have been three hundred thousand. When these numbers are added to the numbers from Asia, the sum total of fighting men is two million, six hundred and forty-one thousand, six hundred and ten...

Suppose, however, that they were equal in number, neither more nor fewer. If they were equal to the fighting contingent, they made up as many tens of thousands as the others. The number, then, of those whom Xerxes son of Darius led as far as the Sepiad headland and Thermopylae was five million, two hundred and eighty-three thousand, two hundred and twenty.

Do you think the 5 Nations of Mafia Scum can overcome all of Town, now that even the Communists are desirous of worthy alliance?

These are the words I know have been spoken to you of Town's valour by a foul traitor and exile:

Now I praise all the Townies who dwell in all the Gameroom, yet I am not going to speak these words about all of them, but only about the Fatlings. First, they will never accept conditions from you that bring slavery upon Fatlington; and second, they will meet you in battle even if all the other corruptible Townies are on your side. Do not ask me how many these men are who can do this; they will fight with you whether they have an army of 5 men, or more than that, or less.

I myself do not promise that I can fight with ten men or with two, and I would not even willingly fight with one; yet if it were necessary, or if some great contest spurred me, I would most gladly fight with one of those men who claim to be each a match for three Townies. So is it with the Fatlington Townies; fighting singly they are as brave as any man living, and together they are the best warriors on earth. They are free, yet not wholly free: LAW is their master, whom they fear much more than your scums fear you. They do whatever it bids; and its bidding is always the same, that they must never flee from the battle before any multitude of scum, but must abide at their post and there conquer or die. If I seem to you to speak foolishness when I say this, then let me hereafter hold my peace; it is under constraint that I have now spoken. But may your wish be fulfilled, PizzaKing.

[Askthepizzaguy]

DAY 11: INDEPENDENCE DAY

I think it's time to announce my retirement as people wrangler.

OOC: Last night was successful on many levels, although we lost a couple good people. The main success behind it was that many stragglers seeking to become doctors or wiseguys or rogues or Mades should have achieved 100% of what they wanted or are within one successful move of becoming so. The remaining families save one seem to be fine operating without my assistance and are proving capable in many regards. I am simply obsolete.

Congratulations to those of you who made it.

• To those of you leaving the nest, here's my advice: You have groups. You have worked with these folks for a while. You know them, you trust them. Keep going. What do you need me for, you've already got allies, partners, and promotions mostly. Send PMs to everyone in the group, invite everyone to chat, IM, or quicktopic. Get yourselves organized and select a leader among you to send in default orders. Essentially, my replacement, known to be loyal to yourselves. Get your night actions agreed upon BEFORE DAY PHASE ENDS, and DO NOT ALTER YOUR ORDERS.

• To those of you who have yet to hatch, you can go the rest of the way without me, seriously. If you honestly think you still need the assistance I'm here, send me a PM. Otherwise try to do it on your own.

There will be no N11 orders from me unless you meet very specific exceptions. You're on your own.

With love, Pizza.

[Montmorency]

Phooie! Just collapse and fall in amongst yourselves already!

[Askthepizzaguy]

Phooie! Just collapse and fall in amongst yourselves already!

I suggest hiring a new propagandist as well.

[Ishmael]

And of course, if you feel that you can't trust your groups to support you now that the iron fist of ATPG is no longer casting its shadow over their every move, join a group that's permanent, stable, and that you can actually win with. Join the Communist Party.