NTWF Mafia II: The Idyllic Village of Wafflenet

[Alyssa]

Penny had stopped caring.

Dying had taken the life right out of her, and she desperately wanted to just fade away forever.
She'd thought that's what dead people do, they just fade out of life as suddenly as they'd arrived.
But it seemed she had some unfinished business, whether she knew it or not. Her spirit refused to move on, so she was stuck. She'd been worried about something, something important. She knew that was the likely reason she was still there, but the depressing fact was that it was hard to care about earthly things when she was several feet underwater, staring up at an enormous shark who'd just swam through the front door in search of a snack.

The flood had began as just an annoyance, but had steadily grown to biblical proportions.
Penny had lost track of time after the coffee cup she'd been lurking in had been pushed away and everyone had scrambled up and away from the rising water.
While the others had escaped, she'd simply sunk into the suddenly-vacated booth and watched as the water claimed the restaurant for its own and quickly filled the room. There really was no reason to hurry, as it wouldn't harm her, nothing could anymore. Being dead also meant she could no longer do anything, she was useless, and feeling invisible to her family and friends acquaintances had a whole new meaning when she was literally unable to be seen.

She used to be so happy, when she was alive!
The Coffbookees had been her pride and joy. She had loved waking up every morning with a purpose, ready to serve a freshly brewed helping of good literature to her customers.
Maybe her work had kept her mind off of how lonely she was for all those years.

And her sister... GINZ
She realized with a shock that Ginz was still alive, and that the very water she was sulking in was threatening her sister's life.
Penny bolted upright, filled with a newfound sense of purpose.
That was why she was still here. She had to save Ginz, and anyone else she could.
Another shock hit her as she realized her poor cat was stuck in her apartment, trapped by the very doors and windows previously meant to keep him safe indoors.
She had to help them!


Penny soared upwards through the flood, and right through the ceiling to the attick above, where she was suddenly in the midst of the remaining townspeople.
Completely unaware of the doings of anyone else, Penny searched the room frantically until she zeroed in on Ginz.
She floated over as quickly as possible and stationed herself right in front of her sister.
With the quest filling her mind, her determination had made her want to be noticed, and she had become visible again.
"GINZ" she yelled. "CAN YOU HEAR ME GINZ"

[Ginz ❤]

It was so unfair! She had just started talking to Melvin, and suddenly he dropped dead. Ginz was too shocked to believe it at first. Someone had poisoned her brother! She knew he wasn't the most well-liked person in town, but that was only because they didn't know him like she did. He was good deep down, she knew. She didn't have any actual proof of it, but that didn't mean they shouldn't believe her.

Ginz feared for her life more than ever. She realized she was the only Mahb sibling left alive. She felt terrible about the whole ordeal. She didn't have much time to dwell on it, however, because the place started to flood and they all had to climb into the attic. Ginz followed suit. She made sure to stay close to Dan, but the rest of the day was a blur. At one point she culd have sworn she felt Fluffle snuggling her, but had it really happened, or had she imagined it? She couldn't be sure anymore. Either way, it was slightly comforting, and she was glad for it.

Then they killed Diana. They threw her out of the window into the flooded street. Ever since the scholar came to Wafflenet, it had been clear to Ginz that she valued knowledge above all else, and at first Ginz thought she could agree about it. She was very passionate about science herself, after all. But worrying about archives over human lives? That she couldn't fathom. The very reason Ginz liked science was because she saw the possibility of improving and even saving lives with it. She reminisced to the days before any tragedies happened, when one of her biggest hopes was ending world hunger with her potions. She wondered if she'd live to realize those dreams.

She was lost in thought, and still assimilating her brother's death when all of a sudden Penny stood right in front of her. "GINZ" she yelled. "CAN YOU HEAR ME GINZ"

Penny's apparition had been so sudden it made her jump. "PENCIL MARIE MAHB, you almost startled me to death!" she blurted out. Tears started rolling down her cheeks. Ginz couldn't tell if she was crying again because her sister had died, or because she was happy to see her again. It was a bit of both, she supposed. They were bittersweet tears of joy and despair alike.

"I can hear you, Penny, loud and clear," she said, after having recovered from the surprise. "I know it's only been a few days, but I've missed you so much." Ginz reached out for a hug, but her arms went right through her sister. "Oh. That didn't work quite as I hoped."

[Draco]

Rocky wasn't really sure what to do in the attic. He all ready handed roses out to everyone! He was a lone g-host, he couldn't handle all of the princesses himself! Then he heard Penny and Ginz. Within seconds he is now next to them, between them even. He holds his arms out and puts both of them into a g-hostly hug, patting both on their backs.

"So girls, what should we talk about?"

He smiles, sparkles appearing all around him.

"The weather? Favorite tree? How we seemed to have lost half the people in the attack? How there is a man in the corner I have never met before surrounded by cats?"

....

"When did they get there and why did no one notice them?"

In the corner was a wet man in a suit, around him were some very wet and annoyed cats. The man smiles and waves, saying nothing.

[Gelquie]

What happened next happened too quickly for Julie. The moment she had stepped away from the window was the moment that the accusations went rampant, and then Diana spoke words that Julie thought she would never say. She couldn't blame her for being concerned about the archives, but what she said... Did she really think that about the rest of the town? About them? If she thought so lowly of them, and with those words... Perhaps she was, in fact, a murderer. Julie let out a shudder. To think that someone so vile and so menacing was so close to all of them... And had done so many horrible things without any of them knowing... Julie swallowed, feeling uneasy at the thought.

Julie turned away from the window and resumed playing her mandolin, trying to focus on the raindrops outside. Her focus kept getting continually interrupted by the sound of shouts from outside, from the people who had gone onto the roofs to get supplies. She could barely make them out from the sounds of the storms. Still, she couldn't help but worry about whether or not they could be in trouble. It's not like she'd fare any better on the roofs; they're much more experienced with that sort of thing. Still, Julie couldn't help but feel... useless. What was she good at? Playing music? Sure, it helped calm and inspire people, but it couldn't do anything to stop the murderers or to even get supplies in a situation like this. So was there really anything she could do...?

She paused in playing, looking around the room again. She couldn't help but see their faces. She saw frowns, looks of worry, anger, tears, and oh so much more. So much had been lost in the last few days, and even she was starting to lose hope. But if she could give something, anything... Anything to give them a break from their thoughts... And a break from her thoughts...

Julie was about to strum on her instrument again when her hand brushed against something soft, and she heard a whimper. She quickly looked down to see Primrose, who had her snout stuck inside her mandolin. How did she not see her before...? Julie cringed as Blaze struggled with Primrose to try to get the wolf out. She was really stuck, and that wasn't good for either the mandolin or the wolf. Then suddenly, the mandolin was yanked out of her hands as Primrose ran off. No, no. That's not how you hold a mandolin, that's not how you treat a mandolin at all! Julie cringed as she heard the mandolin get bumped against the wall as Primrose turned around.

"Uh...could you help, by any chance? And also sorry. I guess. Did you have raw meat hidden inside that thing or something?"

"Why would I do that?!" Julie cried out as she rushed over to Primrose. Then she decided to slow her pace. As much as she wanted her instrument back, she was still dealing with what was most likely a feral creature. (How does Blaze handle them anyway...?) She approached slowly and spoke softly and sweetly--as she would to a dog--while she reached her hands out for the mandolin.

"Hey, I know you're stuck, but can you help me get it back? my mother got it for me for my birthday and it really is my favorite instrument and it's very special to me, so I'm really gonna need that back, okay? Okay, now hold still..."

Julie grasped her hands around the mandolin and began pulling, trying not to pull too hard in fear of acquiring the ire of the wolf. She struggled with Primrose for quite some time, trying with limited success to get the wolf's snout to a point in the hole where there's more space. Then she tugged and struggled more, doing as much as she could to not acquire the wolf's ire, and--

KA-BRACK!

Julie stopped dead in her tracks. There was now enough room for Primrose's nose to be free, but at the cost of the mandolin's E string. As Julie brought her instrument back, she backed away as she stared at the damage. At least there was no damage to the instrument itself, or at least, none that Julie could see. But that E string... Well, wait, strings were easily replaceable. She'd just have to grab her strings that she had left... on... a music book on the floor...

The flood.

No. There was no way that her spares had survived. And with the flood and the murders and their location...

She stood silent for a moment before she turned and traveled to the other side of the room without a word.

((If I went too fast with the mandolin-retrieval, please tell me.))

[Dan]

So it'd come to this. Another person cracked under the pressure, said something terrible in the heat of the moment, and lost their life for it. Of course, given the content of the speech, the historian's death wasn't altogether unwarranted. After the week they'd had, anyone--especially an interloper into the town--taking the deaths of family and friends lightly wasn't long for this world. As the angry townspeople had demonstrated.

But still, another one dead. This was the abject terror that the crime syndicate had plunged the unassuming town into. Don Dan wondered if the remaining mafia members had any idea it would spiral this far when they hatched their plans, however long ago that was. He shuddered to think about the ramifications. The downpour outside had certainly brought a chill upon the cramped attic, even with the entire town crowding in among the boxes, but he still felt a shiver down his spine as he mulled over the turn of events. If the mafia truly had expected this to happen, townspeople turning against their own, claiming their own bloodlust to match that of the mafia's, then they were even more cutthroat and coldhearted than any of them could have guessed. And by all accounts they were sharing the same room at this very moment.

Unless, that is, the mafia members were the trio who'd trumped off to be heroic by hopping over rooftops. No matter their affiliations, why they would go risk their lives when it seemed even mother nature had aligned against the people of Wafflenet, he didn't know. He was grateful they had volunteered, at the very least, for it meant he could remain relatively safe here. Then again...if they weren't mafia, they'd made it that much easier for Don Dan to be snapped up in the mafiosos' claws and jaws next.

He hastened to his wife's side. Safer here than anywhere else, he hoped. At the very least he'd have a hand to hold onto.

And that's when Penny popped into view right in front of them. He flinched, surprised at the suddenness of the spirit's appearance, but after the initial surprise wore off, he felt his heart lifting slightly. He even smiled a smidgen at his wife's using Penny's full name.

"Penny," he said as warmly as he could muster. "So glad to see you again. If Melvin was able to come back, I knew you'd be able to as well. Are you alright?"

He frowned. Boy, that was a dumb question to ask. What he really wanted to ask was if she could tell them who killed her, so they could apprehend the culprit. But that seemed a little rude.

[Avery]

Round: Five
Round Name: After the storm...

As dawn broke, finally the rain began to subside.

Torrents of raindrops trickled into a misty drizzle; claps of thunder no longer shook the ground; the wind went from a screaming howl to a sleepy zephyr. The muddy, silty stream that had been raging through Wafflenet's town centre quickly ran its course and receded back, leaving the town soggy but no longer under threat of catastrophic flooding.

Through it all, Waffles, No Nets had emerged in well-- decent, if not exactly great, shape. Some glassware had been knocked askew by the winds and water, and thus shattered; all the remaining food was waterlogged and would have to be thrown out; the tiles were slick and muddy and would have to be painstakingly scrubbed. But overall, the diner was in acceptable condition, all things considered. And as an added bonus, as the townspeople surveyed their beloved restaurant after climbing down from the attic where they'd weathered the storm, they noted that the floodwaters had carried away Melvin Mahb's body. Far, far away, the townspeople hoped.

Most of the townsfolk hadn't gotten much shut eye in the attic, but there was so much clean-up to be done in the town centre that no one immediately headed for home. Merchants went to their shops to check the damage; others flitted about, clearing debris here and there, talking to their friends, and (thankfully) at last cutting Mick Angelo-- whose body was now battered beyond recognition-- down from the gallows.

Upon exiting the attic, Tom E. Gunn, the owner of the town feed store, immediately set off towards his shop to assess the damage. The feed store was at the very periphery of the town centre, in an isolated little pocket, so quickly Tom found himself alone. He hummed under his breath as he walked, oblivious to the person walking behind him, far enough back not to be seen by Tom.

At the shop, Tom was pleased to find everything largely in tact. The floor was wet, and some small objects had been blown off their shelves, but nothing a little cleaning wouldn't fix. Still humming, Tom went to the supply closet in search of a mop. As he rummaged about, he was completely oblivious to the person who silently slipped into the feed store. His heart skipped a beat when, mop in hand, he turned around and finally saw them-- but then, realizing who it was, Tom smiled.

"Miss Williams!" he exclaimed. "So nice to see you! Have you been able to check on the chickens yet?"

"No," Nora Williams said flatly.

And that was when Tom E. Gunn noticed the glinting knife in her hand, and the sweet old lady lunged towards him and sliced into his neck.

**

Afterward, Nora was the one humming as she walked back towards the denser part of the town centre. Her knife-- the one she'd used to kill Penny, Kay, and now Tom-- was tucked neatly into her handbag, its blade still smeared with swipes of blood. Ah, life was good for the Wafflenet Slicer!

Nora was running on such a euphoric adrenaline rush that she didn't even notice when two people fell into step behind her. Just as Tom had been oblivious to her, Nora was oblivious to them, only realising their presence when one of them reached out and grabbed onto her shoulder. Her stomach flopped as she turned and noticed who they were. Oh. Not them.

Still, she tried to keep her voice cheery as she said, "Hello! So glad the storm is over, aren't you?"

"It is nice," the one agreed. "Though Nora, Nora, Nora. You couldn't have expected us not to figure out who you were eventually."

"And once we did," added the second, "you couldn't have expected us to just let you continue. This is our town, Nora. Ours to kill. Not yours."

"I don't understand," Nora lied, though in truth she understood far too well.

"What do you have in that bag, Nora?" asked the first. "A knife, perhaps? One that is good for slicing?"

"No," Nora murmured.

But it did not matter what she said. The mafiosos would not hear it. Nora could only watch in horror as the one pulled a pistol out of their pocket, then leveled it in her direction.

"But I'm like you!" she cried as a last ditch effort. "You can't kill your fellow killer!"

"You are not like us, Nora," said the first, and then they pulled the trigger.


**


It was, ironically, Sparky Drama O'Llama who found Nora's body, as he also walked towards the feed store to see if Tom needed help. This time, he did not scream. He did not flinch. Instead, he simply stared down at her, numb. There was only so much emotion one man could take, after all.


... and then, he noticed, glinting from her handbag, sticking halfway out, the blade of a knife. A lump formed in Sparky's throat, and he leaned down. Gingerly removed the weapon from the bag. As he gawked at the bloody blade, he tried to come up with an innocuous explanation for it, but could think of nothing. Especially not when he rummaged further into the handbag and came up with a tiny notebook. Sparky flipped it open and only had to skim through a few pages before realising that he was reading the demented diary of a serial killer.

He ran back to the more populated part of town to tell them all: "The Wafflenet Slicer is dead!"

Nora Williams was the SERIAL KILLER.

[Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)]

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we can't cover you for the flood." The stubby little man stroked his mustache matter-of-factly, as if to emphasize his smug little point.

Fluffle stomped her hoof. She would not have this little fellow tell her that! This was an outrage! Fluffle had worked too hard and too long to be shoved away by a simple sentence. She slammed a solid blue hoof onto the contract where it said, "The bakery owner will henceforthtowith be negated of all responsibilities and liabilities and loss of abilities should a flood basically take over the town."

The stubby little man frowned, and his mustache drooped with it. "Miss Puff, be reasonable. You're dead. Read this."

Fluffle craned over the man's shoulder to see print that looked like nothing more than a horizontal scratch, thinner than the thinnest pasta noodle. The man held it under a microscope, and Fluffle put her eye to it shakily. This microscope wasn't built for ponies.

"If there is no one to run the bakery, every insurance is negated and the bakery will be repossessed by the town of Wafflenet within thirty days of the death of the owner."

Holy crabgrass. Fluffle's ears flattened. There was no way she was going to let this crazy company get away with it. This was discrimination against the dead! Fluffle opened her mouth and was about to stuff the entire contract down her throat--or his throat--but she stopped herself. This was her passion--her dream. She wasn't going to give up the bakery because she was merely dead.

Fluffle shook her head. No, she'd have to find someone worthy. Perhaps Tracy, Ginz, or even--wait, she had just been killed. Fluffle exhaled through her lips, producing a horsy sigh. Nora was the reason Fluffle had to knit a scarf for Penny. That gash across her neck wasn't going to look stylish instead of scary by itself. She had no idea how to knit, but she could learn. Maybe Diana had some books on the subject. She hated hugs. Fluffle rubbed her hooves together in glee. She could squeeze the knowledge out of her--almost literally! Hahaha!

Her mind came back to reality as the stubby little man twirled his mustache absentmindedly. She growled at him. It wasn't fair. Not one bit! She focused her entire being into him. She wasn't acting like this stuck up moneygrubbing cow. She WAS the stuck up moneygrubbing cow!

The man blinked with large blue eyes that were not his. He stared at his shoes. And then he began punching himself in the face repeatedly. Fluffle exited his body, somewhat satisfied with her mischief.

"Very WELL, Miss Puff! I will give you...er...sixty days." The shaken fellow scrambled out of the bakery without another word.

Fluffle swiveled her head. The bottom floor was covered with mud and all sorts of gunk. The bag of sugar she'd "borrowed" from Waffles, No Nets was high up on a shelf, and mostly dry. Fluffle was surprised it was still good.

Trying hard to freeze her hooves, she began to scrub. Her hooves became transparent every now and then with all the effort.

Fluffle groaned. She needed help, and she needed it now.


(Or within the next sixty days.)

[Lizica]

All in all, it had been a successful raid on her own store.

From the floating flotsam that used to be her dusty convenience store, Tracy, Dove, and Mr. Osilon had extricated a few shrink-wrapped sandwiches, several bags of chips, assorted cereals, enough light bulbs and batteries to power the whole town, a few blankets that had been wrapped in plastic, and a dozen rolls of aluminum foil.

And besides the leaky ceiling, and besides the waist-deep slowly seeping water, and besides the part where her two rooftop cohorts looked as if they were going to glower each other to death, and besides the part when Tracy had screamed directly into Dove's ear upon seeing the levitating nets filled with supplies, and besides the part where the power finally shorted out and almost exploded and left everyone in the pitch black, and besides the part where everyone had tripped on the underwater fallen postcard stand, and besides the part where Tracy ran back to get her radio and got her leg tangled up in telephone cords, and besides the part where they had found a few of their rooftop footholds had caved in the rain--

Well, besides all that, the three of them had done pretty well. They had made it back to the attic of Waffles, No Nets (Unfortunately, they hadn't been able to get to the archives or to Julie's house.), and they then bestowed upon the townspeople the Shipshape Shop's supplies. And, somewhat more comfortable, everyone had settled in and enjoyed the supplies for...the remaining three hours before dawn, when the storm let up.

Clearly, the aliens were baiting them. This flood of an apocalypse had lasted for only a day and a night. Surely the nefarious creatures must have something far, far worse up their sleeves.

But what?

Tracy pondered this the entire time she inspected the damage of the shop. It looked much worse in the daylight. Wares and boxes were strewn about the building, brown and sticky with mud. She'd have to call someone to restore the electricity. Her dear old radio tower was black and bent completely out of shape, drooping like a dying plant. Her inflatable UFO decoy had been skewered by rushing debris, and it was now a rubbery mound of light bulbs and wiring. Her meticulously organized conspiracy notes and papers had been blurred and soaked beyond recognition. ...Clearly the work of alien saboteurs.

Tracy fixed up her radio and, toting it along with her, went out in search of a working phone she could use to call for the eventual delivery of more stock.

She made her way across the town square to a pay phone that was only partially muddy and partially hanging askew on its stand. She had just picked up the receiver when Sparky ran past her yelling, once more the bearer of bad news.

"The Wafflenet Slicer is dead!"

Tracy did not know which townsperson was supposed to be the Wafflenet Slicer (what did it meeeean), but if there was one thing she gleaned from this announcement, it was that the cycle of murders had not in any way been disrupted. But again...what could she do about it...?

As she dialed her supplier, two things happened at once: Her eyes fell upon the gallows (wet but unforgiving), and her radio started spontaneously blaring out country rock music by itself. She'd have to give her notebook another good study after this.

[Terra]

Once the storm had subsided the next morning, Blaze had immediately rushed home with Primrose to the rest of her wolves. Thankfully, she found that all the wolves were safe on the second floor of their home. There had been some flood damage on the first floor, but nothing that she couldn’t take care of eventually.

Then Blaze thought back to the previous day - when she was in the town square, when it was raining but not yet flooding, and she’d seen the girl with perfectly curled red hair.

She felt a twinge of guilt. The entire night, during the flood, she hadn’t thought of her sister at all...

Maybe they weren’t a family she wanted to associate herself with anymore. But they still were family, right? Surely it wouldn’t hurt to at least check on them. Make sure they’re still alive.

“Come on, Primrose,” said Blaze. “I think we should go back into town. At least for a bit.”

Primrose ignored her; she was busy sniffing at Chrysanthemum, another wolf who was simultaneously sniffing her.

“Primrose, come ON,” said Blaze.

Primrose exhaled in what seemed to be an impatient sigh and walked to Blaze’s side.

They left, walking back into town and crossing town square - where they heard Sparky O’Llama shout, "The Wafflenet Slicer is dead!"

“SERIOUSLY,” said Blaze. “Do you ENJOY announcing deaths or something?”

Then she stopped. Blinked.

“Wait, are you saying the MAFIA killed the Wafflenet Slicer?” she said. “That’s INCREDIBLE. AMAZING. ONE KILLER TAKING CARE OF ANOTHER. WHO’D HAVE THOUGHT.”

[Robyn]

Dove-- not Puella Paloma Columbidae-- had returned home after the events of the flood with bags under her eyes and cat clips struggling to keep any semblance of a hairstyle she had left intact. She'd been faltering in and out of her magical girl persona over the last couple of hours, and she decided she'd rather ditch the whole thing than dare to put a toe out of canon. The lack of sleep and the recent deaths weighed on her brain, heavy. Ugly. Shaming. Too bad neither Puella Paloma Columbidae nor Dove herself turned out to be of any help to the town.

The first floor of her house was slightly water-damaged, but she was at least content to find that her doves were nestled safely within their hutch, unharmed and sleeping with their little heads tucked under their wings. Dove tried not to be jealous. Even with these unsightly bags forming under her eyes as of late, she just wasn't able to get the rest she needed. She couldn't rest; not until justice had been served.

She flopped down on her bed a while later, kneading her forehead to think. Was she just not trying hard enough? She was doing everything she could think of. That whole ordeal with Chaetura-san and Osilon had been extremely trying on her patience, and while it turned out to be widely for nothing, at least they were trying to help. What was the rest of the town doing? Just laughing behind their backs? Planning on how to best kill them next? Or-- her. Just her. She didn't need to drag those two in with her; she barely knew one and knew the other much too well to care for him.

Maybe Wafflenet didn't need her.

Before Dove could dwell any longer on this new and troubling thought, she noticed something in the pile of mostly dried possessions she'd managed to salvage from downstairs-- another familiar blue envelope, glowing with a spectral aura.

She wasn't sure if she was in the mood for this. But in the end, insomnia-induced apathy won out, and Dove took her miniature Rilakkuma letter opener to the seal. Her cousin's handwriting seemed scrawled, less composite than usual. Or was that just her eyes blurring over? Dove yawned and read on.

Dear Dove,

Or what is it I hear you're calling yourself as of late? Puella Palmtree Columbia? Sorry if I'm getting that wrong; it's been like a giant game of telephone trying to figure out exactly what's going on over in your town. What I've been hearing...it hasn't been good.

Dove, do you realize your situation? Half of your town is dead. Two were confirmed mafia members. There's still another lunatic going out killing people on their own! As busy as I am with my own preparations over here, I'm so, so scared for you.

I know you probably won't listen to me, or like it when I say this, but I think you need to stop with the whole magical girl charade. I get it, okay? You want answers. You want justice. That's exactly what I wanted when I first set out to get information (although, admittedly, I was not as flagrant as you've been about it), and look where I've ended up.

That isn't to say I'm not happy now, because I am, but no one should have to go through what I did. For a long time, it was terrifying and lonely and I was very, very lost. I want you to live a long life, Dove. To get to experience the things I never could. I want you to keep feeling the sun on your skin, to go out with your friends, fall in love and get m-- ahaha, whoops. Bad example. But you understand, right?

Please, don't make yourself a target. I couldn't bear that for you. If things turn out wrong, I'll be here for you, but I believe that you can make it out of this okay. That is all I want for you: to be okay.

I love you. Take care of yourself.

Sincerely,
Robyn

Dove held the letter in her hands long after she'd finished reading. She wasn't sure that Robyn knew what she was talking about. What sun? The sun hadn't shone for days. What friends? There was Brutus, but other than him, Dove was completely alone. She didn't even want to talk about the third option.

Gently, Dove set down the paper, undid her hair, and let it fall down her back, wavy from drying. She curled back up on the bed. Tossed and turned. Finally, as the sun grew higher in the sky and backlit the symphony of rainclouds still gathered, she laid on her back and began to drift off, sleepy from silent tears.

"The Wafflenet Slicer is dead!" called Sparky from outside the window.

Dove registered this, felt nothing, and closed her eyes.

[Gav]

"Holy crap."

Birch sighed as he walked back into his office. It had been a trying week, he barely remembered being there for most of it.

And now his office was soaked. Luckily none of the documents were on the floor.

He stomped through the squishy carpet, reached for the mop, then stopped. No, best to get a hot meal, and get away from the madness for a while. It would still be here when he came back.

He'd also have to get a pair of galoshes.

[Dan]

As bad as the storm had been, and as much as they all feared for their lives from their perch in the diner's attic, surveying the damage the flood had done on the town was almost worse. Mud and muck covered the town square in a thick layer, causing Don Dan's shoes to squelch every time he took a step. Debris and detritus were strewn about on top of that, minor memories from a happier time: flyers for last month's church gospel concert (of which he was a member: a soprano), a broken pink box stamped with "Fluffle's Bakery" lying next to four upturned cupcakes whose frosting was indistinguishable from the mud surrounding it, an unrolled stream of crushed and torn aluminum foil flowing out of the Shipshape Shop like a bizarro version of a red carpet. The buildings in the town square had a distinct brown line marking their walls about four feet above ground level: the remains of what had once been a raging river, now just a reminder of their near-deaths. Or in some cases, real deaths.

He trudged through the crud, looking for something to do. All around him townsfolk were already getting back to their homes and shops, attempting to clean up as best they could when literally engulfed in trash. He, on the other hand, felt at a loss for what to do next. He should be at his home, cleaning up...except there was nothing to clean.

His house, or rather the Mahb family house which he'd gratefully made a home these past few months, was demolished. Torn away in the flood, leaving nothing but shards of a former life. It had been a concern of his ever since he'd arrived in the town, but his wife and sister-in-law had assured him it was a fixer-upper, but still salvageable. He'd listened to them, even sort of grown used to the idea that they'd return to form what had once been a comfortable family home. But it was too late now. Three walls had been partially washed away in the flood, causing the roof to collapse inwardly on their modest dwelling. The worst of it, though, was the barn housing Ginz's lab. He'd been so worried about collapsing on her while she toiled away, but instead it had collapsed on her life's work, and he was dismayed to watch her devastation upon that discovery.

So they'd returned to the town square, ostensibly to aid in clean up there, but he didn't think he could muster up the strength. He wasn't sure where Ginz had gotten off to, but she was nearly as shell-shocked as they walked back into town as she was upon seeing her two siblings die. As bad as things were for him, he realized, she was having a much more impossibly terrible week. Don Dan hoped beyond hope that the two of them would survive the violence and find a way out. There was literally nothing keeping them here anymore...besides two tons of mud. Once that was clear, he'd do his darnedest to find a way out, even if it meant walking to the nearest town with all their worldly possessions on his back.

He stopped short. His wandering had brought him to the last place he'd wanted to be. In front of him stood the hastily constructed gallows, the rope swinging lightly in the post-storm breeze. They'd at least cut down Mick, which he was thankful for. But the mode of his murder remained, creaking slightly but mostly intact, or at least as intact as a shoddily made gallows could be after a flood rushed over it. The platform sagged somewhat, and he could see their was strain on the nails at the bottom, but it would live to see another day...and at the rate this week was going, live to see another death.

Don Dan realized what he was going to do to clean up. With a sudden yet forceful grip, he began pulling it apart piece by piece. The nails gave easily, the waterlogged wood ripped like paper. Soon the creaking became louder, and his movements more wild to match. He was determined to see this thing in pieces on the ground.

When the task was over, breathing heavily, he surveyed the damage around him. That felt good. That felt right.

[Gelquie]

The first thing that Julie did when they could finally exit the attic was to go home. She wasn't confident about the state of her house, but she hoped that some of her supplies would survive, mostly supplies that would help her recover, but she also wanted to check if her spare set of strings survived, on the off chance that she was wrong about where she put them. Her confidence in this manner sank when she first saw her house; everything was caked in mud and rain, and a part of the roof had collapsed in on itself. The inside of the house told a horror story, of everything thrown asunder and mud strewn everywhere, and a pool had formed under where the part of the roof collapsed. The biggest horror, however, was the amount of instruments that she saw strewn among the muck, some warped beyond repair. There were few items that she found in good condition. Thankfully, one of them was a flute, which she miraculously found undamaged in its mucky but intact case. She decided to take the flute with her before she turned away from her house. She wouldn't be staying there for a while, and there were other areas of the town that needed her more. And... she didn't want to look at her house. Not right now.

She walked through town forlornly, keeping her mandolin in her case and under her poncho as her shoes squished audibly in the mud, now providing little protection against the elements. She didn't get much sleep the night before. It was incredibly hard, with all the commotion in the attic combined with her worry for what may happen, either during the night or in the future. Even so, she was trying her best not to think about it. With everything going on, she wasn't going to be able to rest well for a while anyway. And besides, with all the flood damage, she doubted that there was much coffee left in the town anyway. As much as she wanted to just lie down... She dearly hoped that someone from another town would come by. The police, rescue workers, anyone. Just someone that could help them through all of this.

As she neared the post office, she felt something odd under her foot in the mud. She dredged the thing up with her foot to find a beret beneath the mud. Was that...? It was hard to tell, but Julie was wondering if it was one of her old berets that she had lost some time ago. She had given up hope of ever finding it. And yet now the rain and the flood seemed to have dredged it up, even if it was in a dirty state. If none of this had ever happened, would she ever have found it? ...Not that it was worth all the damage the flood had caused in the town. To be honest, she would rather have never found her hat again as long as none of this ever happened. With a sigh, she picked up the hat--with her hand beneath her poncho as she did so--and hung it up carefully on a nearby tree. She wasn't going to bring it with her as it is, but perhaps the rain would wash away the rest of the muck.

As she did this, she heard a shout from nearby. "The Wafflenet Slicer is dead!" Julie paused. Could it be true? The Slicer had been struck down? But... Who could it have been? ...Julie figured she would find out soon enough. She didn't have the energy to want to go find out which acquaintance had done such terrible things.

She headed straight to work, at the post office, not bothering to wipe her feet before entering; the extra mud was not going to make a difference with the mud that was already everywhere. She managed to find her boss fairly quickly and walked up to him. Thanks to her shoes, her entrance was loud enough that her boss saw her before she even got near.

"Ah, Julie, there you are," said her boss, a stocky middle-aged man with brown, balding, and greying hair, blue eyes, and the beginnings of a beard on his face. "Glad to see you've made it through the storm."

"Likewise, Mr. Bell," Julie replied tiredly.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you've come in. I thought you'd want to take the day off. I don't have any messages for you to deliver anyway. No one wanted to do any business with that nasty storm. ...Still, I hope you'll stick around, or at least nearby. With all the damage, I'm expecting a big influx of emergency messages today. People trying to find each other, commissioning for help from others in the town... But if you want to take the day off today, I'll understand. I know how much the events in the town have affected you."

Julie thought for a moment before she shook her head. "No... I'll stay. There's no place for me to rest now anyway, even if it was safe. Besides... I need to help out somehow. I can't just sit around and sing all day. Not with this disaster."

Julie felt Mr. Bell's hands fall upon her shoulders. "I'm glad you'll be around. Still... You look exhausted. Take a moment and sit down. Don't want you to hurt yourself. You'll still have plenty of time to help pick up."

Julie didn't even think about arguing. She walked over to the nearest chair and slumped down into it before taking the case off her back and unpacking the mandolin. Mr. Bell normally asked her to take her playing outside, but today he didn't say anything when her saw her take it out. Laying back in her chair, she began to tune her strings quickly, and was almost done when she tried to tune the last one only to feel a lack of tension. Right, the string... She would have to place an order for one later, but now was not the time. She'd just have to improvise even more until then. So she began strumming the instrument, this time playing the lower notes, thus making the tune she had in mind sound even more somber than she intended. She paused for a moment before sighing, deciding to go along with it, singing quietly to herself.

"Dim-ming light in all of the town,
Taking joy on this hor-rid day,
Killing us here from all around
To fill everyoooooooooone... with dismay..."

She let that last word hang before she resumed playing, this time a different, lyricless tune, although it was not any less somber.

[Avery]

After emerging from the attic, Britknee walked aimlessly about the town centre for a couple minutes before drifting towards like, her farm. Most of the houses and buildings she passed on the way there were like, totes damaged. Which kind of made Brit's heart swell... not in a bad way, but in a super totally excited way! Cos if the farm was destroyed, she could like, get an insurance pay-out and use the money to move back to the City! Ohemgee! This was so exciting!!!

... except when she arrived to it, Brit's farm was practically untouched.

The farmhouse itself was like, in great shape, with just a bit of mud on the covered porch. The totes scary dairy cows, though looking rather confused, were wandering around perfectly unscathed. Even the super flimsy barn that Britknee like, was too scared to go into on account of it being ummm, flimsy, hadn't been damaged. UGH! This sucked!

Rubbing her sleep-weary eyes, Brit changed clothes, ran a comb through her hair, and ate like, a piece of toast (she knew it had so many calories but urgh she was hungry and sad!). Then, changing her nine-inch super cute designer heels for a more mud-practical pair of flats (ugh, she felt so short!), Brit stalked back into the town centre. And she hadn't been back in the thick of things for like, more than ten seconds, before Sparky ran by announcing the death of the Wafflenet Slicer. This news both exhilarated and terrified Britknee. On the one hand, like, the murderer was dead. On the other hand, the murderer had been murdered by even scarier murderers who could still totes murder her! Ahh!

"Like, I just hope these dumb townspeople don't kill more of their other townspeople in so-called executions!" she announced to no one in particular. "Cos like, they totes haven't been working so far, obviously!"

[Tiger]

“Well, hope you’re happy, Angelo – you missed your chance!”

Mick tried to swoop down another side street; speeding along in his ghost form was still taking some getting used to, and he slid halfway through a house as he tried to make the turn. “Anything now?”

“I’ve got just as much info on her as you’ve got chances with the pony.”

“Can we not talk abou-“

“You seriously didn’t high-hoof her? Angelo, I know you ran out of time that round but come on!” Metastophelous’ voice was cruel and taunting on the other end of the earpiece. The sound was starting to grate on Mick’s nonexistent nerves.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t find the ghost he was looking for. He couldn’t even find Diana’s body in the mess of the town, let alone what remained of her spirit. Seeing the destruction wrought by the flood was making Mick feel guilty for swooping past it all, but if the Godmother was back…well, he, Mony, and Fluffle had done enough good the previous night that Mick was convinced a ghost like Diana’s could do serious harm.

Speaking of Fluffle… “We both know I’m at least part of the reason she’s dead. If it was me, I wouldn’t want a high-five from the murderer with the earpiece. For all she knows, I’ve still got the mafia on speed dial.”

“Don’t be stupid, the thing doesn’t have buttons for making calls.” Meta sighed, and tapped several keys. “You are lookin’ under rubble and things, right?”

“Of course I am,” Mick snapped. “You are positive she could be back? I’m only haunting this place as punishment; what if she didn’t get that option?”

“Kid, she’s got a blip at some afterlife distributary. Private number and address, but just because there’s no record of a return doesn’t mean she didn’t make it.”

“What about that ghost quota?”

“Non-enforced. Your second-dearest mentor – after me, of course – ghosted without any record of hitting an afterlife distributary. This is a roleplay, and on the NTWF, no less; canon’s optional at best. Especially if there’s a joke involved. Or a pun.”

It took Mick a moment to place the description with the person – PYTHON. Right. Mick’s brain made the equivalent of a groan at the thought of the jerk running – “Floating,” Meta corrected – around town, hassling the survivors even more unstoppably than before. Hopefully he wouldn’t run into the other ghost.

And while he was wishing, maybe Godmother Pallada had just quietly departed into the afterlife and the remaining two mafiosos would lose their nerve and the Wafflenet Slicer would stop –

”The Wafflenet Slicer is dead!”

“Well,” Metastophelous said after a brief spurt of clicking, “one out of three isn’t bad.”

“Who was it?”

“The chicken-lady Nora. …What is it with this town and birds? Thought you’d all be obsessed with baked goods…well, I guess you’re obsessed with those, too. Should’ve called this town Wafflebeak. Wafflefeather. Wafflewing, that even has a nice sound to it – plus, imagine the Wafflewing special at the diner, a waffle and a chicken wing slapped onto a plate in beautiful culinary harmony…”

Mick tuned him out almost at once (though Mick picked up enough to think that cooking chicken in a honey-glaze and serving it alongside a waffle also doused in honey did sound pretty good). He hadn’t known Nora very well, but she’d seemed nice, polite, quiet…

“And you seemed like a charming young’n with a good future and enough good looks to net a pony girlfriend,” Metastophelous pointed out. “Not the ripest cherry in the bucket, maybe, but certainly not the murdering conspirator you turned out to be.”

“…Why did it just occur to me to ask how it is you always know what I’m thinking?”

“Like I said, not the ripest cherry. I read the prose, Angelo – and don’t you dare ask me what prose I’m talking about. My god. If you could see how lengthy it gets, you’d cry.”

Mick looked around in search of something besides Meta to focus on, and realized he was across the street from Fluffle’s bakery. The place looked a mess even from the outside, and Mick could see that at least some water and muck had flooded into the bakery as well.

“No,” Meta snapped. “Kid, I know what I said earlier, but I actually think you had a point when you said she probably doesn’t want anything to do with you!”

“I know,” Mick muttered. “But…maybe I should ask her if she’s seen Diana.”

“That is, without a doubt, one of the stupidest things I’ve heard you say.”

“Great!” Mick said, hovering toward the bakery, though he had no intention of passing through its walls. “Why should I stop being stupid now? Apparently I’m fantastic at it.”