NTWF Mafia II: The Idyllic Village of Wafflenet

[Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)]

And then Rocky had come flying out of nowhere, right on top of Mick with a flump. He had guts, Fluffle admitted. In no universe, canon or not, would she dream of doing the same.

"I want you to cook for me."

What was Fluffle, chopped cilantro in yogurt? She blinked with a vacant expression on her face.

I don’t know, I’m just trying not to look like a lunatic and a murderer! HOLY MOLY his voice got scary. Fluffle clamped her hooves onto her ears, wondering when they were going to approach the people in the cuffs and chains and actually help them? They were so close, all they had to do was walk a few paces and then talk to the townspeople. And where was Ginz’s ghost? Fluffle’s plans didn’t go much farther than making Penny a scarf and saving her bakery and possibly the town, so she decided to stick with these crazy gentlemen, even if one was adorable and talked to himself, and the other, very grand and a little…odd.

Rocky didn’t seem to notice the people in cuffs just yet, but posed elegantly, just as he had in life. Fluffle’s lips turned up. There was the BFF she knew.

"The G-Host Club is where the town's handsomest boys with too much time on their hands entertain young ladies who also have way too much time on their hands. Just think of it as Wafflenet's elegant playground for the dead and beautiful."

Never mind. Hm. This sounded like a good idea, actually. Fluffle could bake cupcakes, find spooky ingredients from the next universe over (the one with a bunch of unique looking pets seemed perfect for such a purpose) and hold more Freemason’s meetings, just for fun!

Wait. The ladies were excluded from being hostesses? He asked Mick to cook for him, and not her. Well, that was perfectly fine. Rocky was a little on the crazy side, even for Fluffle. Perhaps in all the time she’d served him in her life, he hadn’t recognized her work. He WAS royalty after all…wasn’t he?

Mick got a rose, and she got a wave. That was fair. That was completely fair. Fluffle looked away from the rose, which looked almost as tasty as the earpiece. She wasn’t…oh no, yes she was! Fluffle turned around, and peeked through her fluff. There, where her heart would have been, was a greenish hue. She hastily covered it up and turned back around. Neither ghost had petted her, which was…okay, too, she guessed.

A chuckle rang out, echoing in Fluffle’s head. She searched for the voice, but could find none. Do not be jealous. Where is the Fluffle we know? Who was this lighthearted female?

That didn’t matter. Fluffle looked at her fluff, and the shade of green was gone.

She contented herself with eating a white rose petal that had fallen. Innocence tasted even sweeter.

[Robyn]

"Umm, Dove! Hey Dove! So, how do you think we should like, escape?"

At the sound of her name, Dove craned her neck to see who was calling. Britknee-chan was grinning over at her in a manner that was...strange, to say the least. Being unfamiliar with the concept of forced smiles and nearly anything else that could reflect poorly on her own social interaction skills, Dove could only assume that the poor girl was just pleased to see a friendly face in this unfortunate situation.

Escape, though? Dove was still contemplating how they'd even all gotten there in the first place. Quite the metaphorical wrong turn at Albequeurque. She gave two sharp tugs at the cuffs on either side of her. They were incredibly secure. Merlot-san gave her a quizzical look, and Osilon seemed almost too deflated to care. She'd almost feel bad for him, but their hands were almost touching and the constant disgusted shivers going up her spine left little room for pity.

Meanwhile, the two agents that had collected all of them here were prowling up and down the line like scavengers, trying their best to harvest some information out of her various neighbors. It was going about as well as you'd expect. But Dove, despite everything she'd lead one to believe, wasn't stupid. Those two were the ones that got them in there, and they were also their ticket out.

"Well, I've ruled out escape by means of physical force, Britknee-chan. These bonds are solid," Dove whispered back, "but the bonds of our friendship and minds are stronger! Perhaps we can reason with our captors."

Speaking of which, it looked like Osilon was bombing at this particular approach. For every question Harr-san softballed to him, he just shrank deeper and deeper into his stony silence, and it wasn't helping. Dove gritted her teeth. Sure, everyone in the town had pretty much figured out how to read his whole no-voice routine, but these people were going to think he was a total weirdo!! Not that he wasn't, but it was making the rest of them look bad. She needed to step in, and fast. She could win them over with her natural charisma and interpersonal talents!

"I said this isn't an interrogation, you can talk freely! What do you think you are, some sort of stool pigeon?" Harr-san said, exasperated.

She was just about to walk away when Dove piped up. "Wait! I...apologize for my..." --not friend, NEVER friend-- "peer's(?) behavior." Ugh. She guessed that would have to do.

Harr-san raised an eyebrow in mild interest, and Dove pressed on.

"You see, all of the trauma of the recent events has really gotten to him. He just hasn't been the same. They say he might never read above a third grade level again," she whispered with all the severity that statement merited.

"I...that seems a bit extreme," Harr-san said.

"It's all true, though, about the murders. Right now, we are a town divided, and things can never return to normal for us. Not as long as there are still those who would defy the law amongst us," Dove answered.

Harr-san was kneading her temples. Letting her clipboard arm swing defeated to her side, she finally relented.

"You know what? Okay. Let's just say that everyone here is EXACTLY as crazy as they seem, and all of these completely ludicrous claims of a mafia lurking around are true. Are there no suspicions? Do none of you have any idea who could be behind it all?"

Dove pursed her lips. Of course she had suspicions. But wouldn't putting them out in the open leave her susceptible? If she blamed someone, and they turned out to actually be guilty, then it would probably only be a matter of time before she'd be afterlife apartment shopping with dear cousin Robyn.

But desperate times called for desperate measures. It was time to name names.

She scanned the line of townspeople before alighting on one who gave her a particularly uneasy feeling.

"Maphia-san," Dove stage-whispered.

She did not know the man very well, but something about him struck her as...quite odd. Every member of his newly-joined family dropping off one after the other with him always emerging relatively unscathed-- and to that point, where was his wife? Dove hadn't seen her all morning, and she wasn't even in the cuff chain. Had he gotten rid of her, as well?

(He hadn't, but Dove had "slept" through the ordeal of her execution.)

"Every member of his family has been picked off one by one so far, but here he is, fresh as a sakura blossom! Has the grief not already consumed him, desu?" Dove said, the broken Japanese seeping back into her speech in the heat of her accusation, "And Birch-sensei, for that matter! Where has he been this whole time? Perhaps planning the latest murders in the depths of his lab?"

She fixed Harr-san with a serious look. "If we could figure out who the perpetrators are, I'm sure the matter of your...food safety inspection, or whatever you're here for, would be solved easily from there. But we have larger problems to deal with at the moment. You must help us, or at least release us, for the safety of the town!"

Dove was beginning to wish she'd had a spare Puella Paloma Columbidae outfit stored away somewhere. Everyone took her seriously.

[Terra]

"HEY!" Britknee screeched at them. "Could you like, shut up!? No one wants to hear you guys!"

Blaze looked around, startled. She and her sister, Annabel, had gone from shouting about Blaze’s name (with Annabel whining about how it WAS HER GIVEN NAME, AFTER ALL, and IT WAS AWFULLY DISRESPECTFUL TO HER PARENTS TO GO AROUND CALLING HERSELF SOMETHING ENTIRELY DIFFERENT FROM WHAT THEY’D PICKED OUT FOR HER, and Blaze screaming back about how SHE HAD CHANGED HER NAME BECAUSE SHE NEVER WANTED TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH THEIR FAMILY EVER AGAIN) to their high school woes and how ANNABEL HAD NEVER LISTENED TO BLAZE ABOUT THE INEVITABLE PANDEMIC and how THERE WASN’T ACTUALLY A PANDEMIC AFTER ALL, IN CASE YOU DIDN’T NOTICE, CLARIBEL, and how THERE COULD STILL BE ONE, AFTER ALL, INFECTIOUS DISEASES HADN’T BEEN ELIMINATED FROM THE WORLD OR ANYTHING and so on, when Britknee had cut into their conversation with her little demand.

“You DON’T UNDERSTAND,” said Blaze, scowling at Britknee. “THIS WOMAN RUINED MY LIFE IN HIGH SCHOOL. AND SHE DARES TO TRY TO SPEAK TO ME!”

“I RUINED YOUR? LIFE?!” Annabel screeched. “I WAS CONSTANTLY EMBARRASSED BY THE SHEER FACT THAT I HAD ANY KIND OF FAMILIAL CONNECTION WITH YOU, AND IT’S EVEN WORSE THAT WE’RE TWINS!”

“BELIEVE ME,” bellowed Blaze, “NOBODY REGRETS OUR TWIN SIBLING RELATIONSHIP MORE THAN ME.”

“YEAH?” yelled Annabel. “WELL, YOU COMPLEEEEETELY RUINED PROM! I AM NEVER GOING TO RECOVER FROM THAT! NEVER!”

Blaze was about to shout back with something about how PROM SUCKS ANYWAY, I THINK I IMPROVED IT CONSIDERABLY, REALLY, ALTHOUGH THAT’S ADMITTEDLY NOT A DIFFICULT THING TO DO, but she noticed that the food inspector’s assistant was asking everyone something that sounded important.

"You know what? Okay. Let's just say that everyone here is EXACTLY as crazy as they seem, and all of these completely ludicrous claims of a mafia lurking around are true. Are there no suspicions? Do none of you have any idea who could be behind it all?"

The anime girl was the first to respond.

"Maphia-san," Dove stage-whispered.

Blaze’s blood ran cold. So they were doing this now, were they...

Truth be told, Blaze had her own suspicions. She’d noticed Primrose behaving a bit oddly around certain townspeople lately...and she couldn’t help but wonder if that meant anything. But was it enough to warrant voicing her concerns?

On the other hand...she couldn’t stay quiet. She couldn’t just say nothing, not when lives were on the line.

She took a deep breath.

“I think you’re right,” she said. “About the Maphia guy, I mean. Don Dan? I mean...”

She hesitated.

“Primrose was behaving kinda weird around him,” she said, unusually quiet (which means, in this case, something close to a normal indoor voice). “And you have to trust a wolf’s instincts, you know? Not to mention, his name kind of says it all.

“Also...” She glanced down the circle at the musician. “Something weird happened with the musician, too. Her mandolin. Primrose got her snout stuck in it. I think she might’ve been looking for something. After all, she’s the town messenger...she sees a lot around here, doesn’t she? She’d have a lot of chances to commit a murder, wouldn’t she?”

Blaze realized only then that her voice was shaking. She hated this feeling of anxiety, discomfort - and normally she’d shout over it - but she realized that she was a bit afraid of what the consequences would be of these accusations.

But Blaze was soon startled out of these thoughts by the loud interruption of her sister.

“CLARIBEL, IT’S A LITTLE RUDE NOT TO RESPOND TO SOMEONE WHO’S TALKING TO YOU,” shrilled Annabel.

“YEAH, WELL,” said Blaze, “IT’S PRETTY RUDE TO YELL, BUT WE DO IT PLENTY ANYWAY, SO I DON’T SEE WHY YOU’RE COMPLAINING!”

Ah. That felt better.

[Avery]

Yelly's response to Britknee's request to stop yelling was like, to yell some more. Yuck! And rather than coming up with a totes nifty escape plan, Dove like, went along the same line as Julie and just suggested reasoning. Ugh! Brit guessed if she was gonna escape, then she was just gonna have to like, do it herself!

As people began flinging accusations about, Britknee twisted her wrists, vainly attempting to squeeze out of the handcuffs. Gawsh, she wished she was a size quintuple zero instead of quadruple zero, cos like, then her wrists would be super duper skinny enough to slip out! But right now they like, weren't. All Brit succeeded in was giving herself blisters and making Tanya yell at her to stop twisting.

"I am attached to you, idiot! You're hurting me by doing that!" Tanya snapped, which like, totes made tears well in Britknee's eyes. Why were all these people so mean to her!?

And then both Yelly and Dove began accusing the poor Don Dan guy of being a murderer. Man, Britknee was like, not ok with that! Poor guy had just lost his wife! And his sister-in-law, and his brother-in-law! Um, hello! If he was in the mafia wouldn't he be like super duper powerful and make sure that none of his relatives like, died? Cos Britknee knew if she were in the mafia-- WHICH SHE SO TOTES WASN'T!-- she would probs go mad with power and be able to like, protect her loved ones. Not that she had any loved ones left here, on account of Courtknee being gone. More tears welled in Brit's eyes at the thought of that betraying harlot Courtknee, but she blinked them back. Like, now wasn't the time to be sad!

"Mister Inspector!" Britknee trilled. "Don't listen to Yelly-- I mean, CLARIBEL-- and Dove! Don Dan is a super totes nice guy! In fact, I think you should investigate him.." She thrust a finger at Sparky Drama O'Llama, who was chained on Tanya's other side. "Like, he's found nearly all of the bodies or something! Isn't that totes suspicious!? Gawsh!"

SPOILER: Click to show

((Narrator Note: The next round will start early tomorrow afternoon (June 4th), sometime after 1pm EST. The scenario will be "advanced" at that point as we wind down to the 'ultimate show-down' so if you have any things you'd like wrapped up before then, be sure to get your post in!))

[Lizica]

Tracy listened to the surrounding conversations with growing consternation. Talk of escape plans, talk of the mafia, talk of theories about the traitors. Could these out-of-towner government lackeys be trusted with these topics? "Not an interrogation"--HA. Yes, the people of Wafflenet needed to discuss the matter of the nefarious alien allies--but, in a manner that did not involve these vile, silencing yes-men. But for now, chained together, this would have to do:

"Mm wb nnnna nnt ngrr, wb nnd tb kunnddr hh knn gn frm d llnn," Tracy said sagely. Clearly. Everyone should have been able to tell that.

(The assistant glanced back at Tracy, as if briefly considering whether to remove Tracy's facial duct tape in order to listen--but she quickly thought better of the idea and turned back to the others, clicking her pen menacingly and making a few notes on her clipboard. She muttered pensively, and Aaron Bear inspected the circle with a wary eye.)

"LHH!" Tracy added. "Nn Nn nnnd hhn nn rhhnll rr Nn Nnnh btt bkn ee rr rrn d llos!" Seriously, everyone was jumping to conclusions. How could they make such accusations against them? It was driving her crazy.

...Also, another thing driving her crazy at the moment was hearing her radio from afar. At some point in the scuffle, it had been knocked from her hands, and now somewhere from the town square's rubbish, it was blaring out 70's disco music. DISCO MUSIC. At a time. like. THIS. It was just completely and utterly unbearable.

"NNNY RRN N OBB!" she cried. Surely someone--someone, anyone not chained, even an evil hologram, even a crazy deputized inspector--would be able to find it in their heart to at least change the channel on her temperamental radio. Why hadn't she been able to fix it...

Well. At least Blaze's yelling helped drown out some of the music.

[Gelquie]

Britknee apparently didn't think well of Julie's idea, though she didn't explain her reasoning. Julie didn't see how it would hurt to try, at least. The chains were heavy on her, and she wasn't sure how else they were going to--

Julie's thought process was interrupted when she felt someone tug on her right arm, and she gave the person to her right a confused look. Apparently, Dove was testing the chains to see if they were weak enough to break, to no avail. All it did was further rub the chains against Julie's wrists, causing a burning sensation. The amount of discomfort she felt in these chains was increasing, and she desperately wished that they had at least chosen some other way to contain them; a more comfortable way.

She listened to Dove talk as she tried to explain things to the inspector's assistant, even if she also tried to make jabs towards Osilon at the same time. It seemed to have worked in getting the inspector to listen to them about the Mafia, even if just as a start. And Julie was glad for this; they needed all the help they could get if they could ever hope to stop the murders. ...Even if it had to start like this.

"You know what? Okay. Let's just say that everyone here is EXACTLY as crazy as they seem, and all of these completely ludicrous claims of a mafia lurking around are true. Are there no suspicions? Do none of you have any idea who could be behind it all?"

She paused. Of course she had suspicions, but she was never exactly sure of them. Still even though the inspectors were frustrated, Julie knew that whoever was left doing the killings was chained up with them. Perhaps they could help out in figuring out who they were and make an arrest, making the town safe again. Still, she couldn't help but tense at the prospect of what might happen, and she couldn't help but wonder how many of the people who had hung were actually innocent and how many of the people who seemed innocent who turned out to be guilty, despite what she thought about them. Who was who?

Her thoughts were once again broken when Blaze spoke up, quieter than usual. "Something weird happened with the musician, too. Her mandolin. Primrose got her snout stuck in it. I think she might’ve been looking for something. After all, she’s the town messenger...she sees a lot around here, doesn’t she? She’d have a lot of chances to commit a murder, wouldn’t she?”

Julie couldn't but feel ill at Blaze's accusation. True, she did see some things during her job just by wandering around a lot, but they were mundane things. To be considered a killer because of that?

"I wouldn't do that!" she finally replied. "I took the job because I don't make enough making music, and I could still play music and be outside as a messenger. That's it." She then let out a sigh. "I don't know why she was so interested in my mandolin; there's nothing inside it. I just thought she was hungry and desperate from being trapped in the attic for so long, and trapped with us..”

She looked around, wondering where Primrose was anyway. Just then, there was a sudden twisting of the manacles coming from Britknee, and she let out a grunt of pain as the chains rubbed into her wrists again. She was about to say something when Tanya spoke up, and when she saw how Britknee stopped, she decided against it. She turned her attention back to the others, trying to ignore the burning still on her wrists, but found that she didn't have anything more to say anyway.

Meanwhile, Mr. Bell, chained not too far away from the others, heard Britknee's accusation and began trying to talk over the others that had taken up the conversation.

"Leave the poor man alone!" he shouted. "I happen to have seen him wandering around shortly before he found one of the poor victims! But I know someone who doesn't have a good alibi. We know that one of the mafia sympathizers worked for the diner, and the server was probably in it too. And now you're one of the very few left working there, Tanya. What were you doing working in that sort of place with that sort of people? Inspector, I say she's the one you need to investigate."

[Dan]

People were whispering, muttering, glancing at each other suspiciously...Don Dan was all too familiar with this sort of behavior, so he ignored it. Not much he could do about it now, not even if he wanted to. He shifted in his spot slightly, but found that the tree he'd been chained to was heavier than it looked. It couldn't have weighed more than a few pounds, he would have guessed, but there seemed to be this added heft to it, that made it rather immobile. Its pink leaves glistened in the afternoon sun, and he almost wondered if--

"Mister Inspector!" Britknee trilled. "Don't listen to Yelly-- I mean, CLARIBEL-- and Dove! Don Dan is a super totes nice guy!

He snapped out of his reverie with the mention of his name, glancing over at the women on the far end of the chain. They were speaking with the inspector's assistant, it seemed, who was scribbling notes quickly. She looked up and cast a quick look towards him, and his stomach sank.

Of course this was going to happen. Why was he even surprised? He'd barely even spoken to Dove in his time in the town, not being one for anime or the taste of sarsparilla, but he saw now the mistrust she had in her eyes that explained more than anything why they'd never spoken. She too felt what so many others in his life had felt upon learning of this new acquaintance, and there was nothing he could do to change that in any meaningful way, short of putting on a costume of Sailor Moon or whoever it was that she was dressed as earlier.

Blaze, on the other hand, he wasn't surprised in the slightest that she would chime in with her distrust of him. The girl rivaled Tracy for most paranoid person in town. Time and time again he was greeted with the suspicious glances, even upon his arrival, when he'd attempted to make her acquaintance at the first meeting of the gospel choir. She'd shaken his hand, sure, but hearing his name sent her eyebrows skyrocketing, and a hasty retreat to the top of the risers, where she began loudly practicing her next song.

So it surprised him to hear his name being sent out, but it shouldn't have, not in the slightest. This was the path he was doomed to walk for the rest of his life (a path which didn't seem likely to ever lead out of this town). The first sign of trouble and everyone points to the Maphia man. And that's exactly what was happening here. Even when everything else that had happened to him in the past few days--his family ravaged, his house destroyed--seemed like someone up there had been toying with him in the most malicious way possible, it wasn't enough until he was going to face the blame for it all on top of it.

The inspector and his assistant were conversing quietly now. He too made a quick glance towards Don Dan, and soon enough was walking over to him.

"So," the man said. "I hear you've had a difficult week."

Don Dan said nothing, unable to tell if the man was being sarcastic or sympathetic. "Difficult week" was hardly the way he'd phrase it. The man continued, "A few others have raised some questions as to your involvement with the murders going on here this week. Do you have anything to say about that?"

"Do you know my name, sir?" he replied, quietly. "Have they mentioned my name?"

The inspector stared down at him, contemplating the question for a moment. "Monica didn't say, no."

"It's Maphia. Don Dan Maphia."

He raised an eyebrow. "Surely you can't be serious."

"I am. As serious as the situation this town has been mired in this week. And it seems I'm being blamed because I moved here recently with my wife, and because my name sounds like a mob boss. I assure you, I have not been involved with the murders taking place here. People just won't look past the first impression of me, as has been the case my entire life. Hell, it's the reason I even came here in the first place, because it was so difficult to find a place where people would trust me. No one but my wife..." he trailed off, overcome with emotion for a moment. "And now just no one."

Aaron watched him carefully, and then strode off to converse with his assistant once more. Whether or not Don Dan had made any impression at all on the man, he wasn't sure...but with his luck, the impression he'd made had only sealed his fate even more.

[Avery]

Round: Six
Round Name: On a quiet rooftop...

As the hours ticked by, things began getting a tad heated in the town centre.

At first, a few of the more optimistic townsfolk had attempted cooperation with Err Bear and his assistant, Monica; but when it became clear that this tactic was getting them nowhere, out came the accusations.

"It isn't my fault--" "(I was given those beans!)" "He did it!" "She did it!" "So it's her fault!" "No it isn't!"

In any case, soon the town centre had devolved into a horrendous shouting match, as everyone desperately attempted to convince Err Bear that it was entirely someone else's fault that there'd been a spate of murders, and that there was a stack of corpses in the diner's freezer. Err attempted to maintain some sense of order by duct-taping the mouths of the loudest townspeople, and repeatedly demanding that everyone shut up, but this accomplished little, since most of the tape was promptly spat off, and his orders to be quiet fell on deaf ears.

There was one man, however, who decided to take action as the rest of the town screamed and whined.

Sparky Drama O'Llama had not lived in Wafflenet his whole life, you see. Sure, he was born there, and resided there now, but for a few years when he was a young man, he'd taken off for the City to pursue a very special career: magic! Years later, his skills were rusty, though he did know quite a number of nifty parlor tricks, and could pull a dove out of a hat or find a quarter under your sleeve if so pressed. The most useful magic trick Sparky still knew, however, was far from illusory: the art of escape. So as the rest of the townspeople squabbled, Sparky worked at the handcuffs, subtly writhing and twisting and pulling until at last, after the town had been chained up for a good six hours and dusk approached, he broke free.

Err and Monica were on the polar opposite side of the circle at that time, attempting to wrestle another piece of tape over the mouth of Blaze's sister, Annabel, who had already spat off five previous pieces and was presently biting them as they tried to silence her once more. She was doing a rather stellar job of it, and had quite handily managed to wholly ensnare their attention-- which it made it quite simple for Sparky to off his chains, sneak up behind Err, and put the man in a choke-hold.

"Monica!" Err screeched as Sparky took him down and then began riffling through his pockets for the keys to the chains. "Help me! Monica!"

But Monica, knowing that she would be no match for the burly Sparky, simply gaped as Sparky continued digging and finally came up with the handcuff key. Triumphantly, he held it up, then said to Err, "Sorry about this, Inspector!"

... before slamming Err's head against the cobblestones, knocking him out cold. Monica screamed and, as Sparky began to free the rest of the townspeople, rushed over to her boss's side. He had a pulse, thankfully, but was out like a ton of bricks. Monica briefly considered attempting to drag him to the train station and get both of them the hell out of Dodge, but knew she was not strong enough to do so. She would have to bring reinforcements, she realized. And as much as it horrified her to leave Err to these uncivilised brutes, Monica knew she had to go. If she stayed, after all, soon the freed wretches would turn their aggression towards her.

"I'm sorry, Mister Bear!" she murmured, and then as more and more townspeople were freed, Monica fled to the train station.

But she, and others, would be back very, very soon.

**

After being freed by Sparky, the town dispersed into a variety of places. As always, a great number found themselves inside Waffles, No Nets, which was also where they'd dragged the unconscious Err Bear and tied him up to a chair, with his own chains (this delighted the town greatly).

One man, however, decided to break from the crowd.

He needed, you see, to visit his birds.

Up on the roof, Osi Crane sighed deeply, glad to be away from the agitated, yelling clump of townspeople. He always found it therapeutic, being with his pigeons. Pigeons, after all, did not demand that he speak. They neither hassled nor belittled him, as did some of the townspeople. So, with one of his pigeons hooked delicately over his finger, Osi stood at the edge of the roof and stroked the little bird's feathers. 

When he heard footsteps on the stairs leading up to the roof, his heart skipped a beat, but he didn't look back, because looking at someone generally meant they expected you to talk. So it was much simpler to just ignore the new arrival.

The new arrivals, however, had other plans. They strode across the roof and stopped only a few feet short of Osi. Then, the one said, "You are an odd one, Osi Crane."

Only then did Osi turn, flashing them a nervous smiling, but still saying nothing.

"Always observing," continued the first. "Watching, watching, watching. And you probably learn a lot, don't you, when you are always watching?"

"You learn too much," added the second. "Isn't that right, Detective?"

Osi froze. His stomach turned. He petted his pigeon once more, then gently brushed it off his finger; it flapped away in a chorus of chirps. Osi wished he could speak-- but even now, he could not find his voice. It felt trapped in his throat, sticky. He glanced frantically around the roof, trying to find an escape, but there was none. The two mafiosos were between him and the steps.

The only other way was down. And since last night's storm had destroyed Tracy's inflatable something-or-another, the one that had saved Osi last time he'd gone off the roof, a fall now would surely mean death.

He was trapped.

"Like a caged bird," laughed the one. "Clipped wings. Nowhere to go."

"Goodbye, Osilon," said the second.

And then they pushed Osilon Crane off the roof. He tried to evade them, but to no avail: it was two against one, after all. Osi gasped as he fell, but did not scream. The wind rushed at him, cool and inviting and terrifying. With no inflatable thing to break his fall only a few feet below like before, his tumble was long and quick and seemingly endless. And as he stared at the rapidly encroaching ground below, he gulped and tried to relax his body. Listened to the scream of the wind. And thought to himself: At least I am not dying, without first learning what it feels like to fly like my birds.

Dead on impact, Osi's body hit the cobblestones with a sickening thud. But when his corpse was first spotted, some ten minutes later-- by which time the mafiosos had made their escape from the roof and reintegrated themselves with the rest of the town-- it was curious what they found: unlike the other victims, Osi's face in death was not contorted in agony and fear. Rather, he wore a smile. He had liked how it'd felt, to fly.

Osi Crane was the DETECTIVE.

[Robyn]

She was still rubbing the marks around her wrist by the time she got home. Doors locked, windows shut, phone unplugged-- it wasn't safe anymore. No, that wasn't right; it had never been safe, but until now, she'd been too obtuse to realize it. As if it weren't enough that the mafia was still at large, in were coming more people to lock them up and do who knows what with them. And had everyone seen the way that Sparky basically made that inspector bite the curb? Even the NPCs were getting violent! Dove paced in her loft, removing her hat and raking a hand through her roots. Maybe it was time to skip town. But would they find her before she could? Maybe they were watching right now!

It was times like these she really wished she'd invested in that underground Tokyo-3 bomb shelter replica. Dove sat by the window, watching nervously. A few townspeople milled about-- no, milled wasn't the right word. They were definitely moving, with no one wanting to be out in the unprotected open for too long by themselves. Who could blame them? With what little neighbors she had that remained, the killers could be anybody out of the people she thought she knew.

Who was left? She still stood by her suspicions of Maphia-san. Dove was sure he'd like to push all the blame on the Wafflenet citizens being unable to look past his unfortunate name, but there was something else there. He knew how to slather on that pathological appeal (and if there was anything Dove knew anything about after watching endless anime series, it WAS emotion), but he did lay it on thick, didn't he. Bad luck was one thing, but... she wasn't sure.

Someone had noted earlier that Merlot-san had pretty good access to all of the townspeople, what with her being the messenger and all. Dove's heart seized. She'd gotten letters from her before! MERLOT-SAN KNEW WHERE SHE LIVED! Dove bit back a horrified gasp, reminding herself that as long as she kept the door bolted, the minstrel would have no choice but to just use the mail slot. She couldn't possibly break in! ...Right?

Of course, there were other possibilities. Perhaps Blaze-san was using her pack of okamis for evil, or Chaetura-san was letting her alien paranoia overtake her brain! Could Britknee-chan even be part of all this mess? Dove's thoughts were racing at lightning speeds, and she was so absorbed in her web of frenzied reasoning that when there came a tapping on the window, she screeched and jumped back about ten feet.

Oh. It was only one of her doves asking to be let inside. Something was wrong, though. Its wingbeats seemed rapid, labored, and it was barely hovering above the windowsill, as if it was being weighed down. Dove quickly opened the glass and offered her hand, where it landed, unusually heavy. The bird cooed its thanks, hopped from her fingers onto the brick port, and ruffled its feathers. Its talons were stuck on something broad and fabricated.

"Come inside, hato-chan," Dove murmured, an uneasy feeling growing in her stomach.

The dove fluttered in, suddenly jerking around trying to extricate itself from its trappings. Dove grabbed it, not wanting it to injure itself, and carefully removed its claw from a notch in what now appeared to be a leather strap. It flew off to the hutch, and Dove was left holding Osilon's goggles.

"How..." she began, flipping them over in her hands. And that's when she saw the blood splattered on the glass lenses.

They clattered to the floor, and her scream sent a flock of pigeons outside spiraling into the air.

[Terra]

Blaze had been looking for Chrysanthemum for quite some time, since being released from her handcuffs.

She and Primrose had scoured the town, and they didn’t find him. They had returned to Blaze’s farm, and he was nowhere to be found. Where was he?

(If Primrose had detected his scent, she wasn’t giving any signs of it.)

Well...surely he’d return eventually. He was capable of taking care of himself, right? Surely nothing could have happened to him, right?

...Right?

Sighing, she started walking back through the town toward Waffles, No Nets. It seemed like the town center, nowadays; everyone seemed to gather there. Maybe someone there would know something...

Then she heard a scream - and Primrose sniffed the air and abruptly started to run down the street.

“Primrose, what -”

Blaze ran after her, barely able to keep up at all, zigzagging and turning corners. It didn’t seem like Primrose was following the path to the scream - if anything, she was going away from it.

Then Primrose stopped in front of something lying on the street in front of the Shipshape Shop.

As Blaze caught up with her, she saw the body.

It was Osi. That bird dude. With his skull split open, and a smile on his face.

“Oh, my GOD,” said Blaze loudly. “This is NOT WHAT WE NEEDED RIGHT NOW.”

Several birds flapped their wings frantically to escape into the air, startled by her shout.

[Avery]

After being freed from the human-chain, Britknee like, went into Waffles, No Nets cos she didn't want to go home, because it was still super totes depressing that her home was even still standing after the flood, and like, whatevs. Plus like she didn't exactly trust the townspeople not to get over-eager and totes murder that Err guy, so like, she decided she oughta be in the place where they'd taken him, just so she could like, maybe talk reason into them (hah!) if they got all murder-y.

She sat in a booth in the corner and ordered another water bottle from Tanya. She also was pleased when the waitress/cook scavenged up a non-waterlogged box of diet cereal for Britknee. There was no milk for it but like, who cared, milk had calories!

But then like, as Brit was eating the cereal, she heard a commotion outside... and when she craned her neck and peered out, like. OMG. ANOTHER DEAD GUY! And a crowd rapidly forming around him! Uhhh! What!

Britknee glanced over at Err Bear, who was still unconscious, and was like, sort glad he was still unconscious, cos he would be even more angry if he saw that people were still be super duper murdered. After swallowing down the last bit of cereal, Brit debated with herself for a bit as to whether to stay inside, or go out with the crowd that was forming around Osi. Like, inside was probably better, she decided. Especially if the idiots started talking about like, executions again; Brit wanted no part in that.

[Lizica]

One of the few upsides to being chained up, handcuffed, gagged by seedy political officials, and surrounded by screaming townspeople and haphazard radio broadcasting for six hours straight is that everyone is too preoccupied and upset to wake you up.

When Tracy was finally permitted to conk out and catch up on her sleep, it was only with especially violent jerks on her handcuffs and especially violent shrieks in her ears that she opened her eyes again, just in time to see Sparky slam Aaron Bear's head into the pavement. Oww--...but yes! Townsfolk standing up against the bureaucrats!

But it wouldn't end there. Ohhhh no, it wouldn't end there. When the bigwigs heard about this little mutiny, they would send in squadrons to silence Wafflenet more effectively, and the town would be assaulted on two fronts--from the sky and from their fellow man.

Finally free of her cuffs, Tracy had torn off her duct tape (owww), located her radio (smacking it until it played better music), and returned to the Shipshape Shop (still a mess). She squelched her way through the debris, looking around for potential scheme ideas for the town to shake off more government officials.

In the back stockroom, she dug through waterlogged box after waterlogged box. Plastic water pistols, energy drinks, pulpy wet napkins, tin foil, instant ramen, instant coffee, paper clips, tin foil... She had one box of aluminum baseball bats--old inventory she had purchased to sell but had liked too much to put on her shelves. They could be handy, but at the moment, Tracy was not sure if the townspeople could be trusted with potentially harmful sports equipment. She pondered this, and paused when she thought she heard footsteps outside the stockroom...but no, that was just overly loud drumbeats on her radio. Well, anyway--aluminum baseball bats. One tool. And lots of tin foil. Two.

Maybe they could also use the nets that had helped them carry supplies last night. They could use it to build pitfalls in town. That might catch the eventual government reinforcements off guard, though it wouldn't do much against the aliens. How could someone trap them? Maybe she could repair her inflatable decoy with new lights and such. It might not fool the aliens, but it might act as a diversion if the townspeople were having a hard time with the government conspiracy concealers.

Well, she'd give it a try! Yes! She'd fix her inflatable decoy, have it up and operational, then when it seemed finished, she'd head over to the attic of Waffles, No Nets to retrieve the netting. Wafflenet needed to be prepared, after all! And this time they'd be ready for--...for...

Out in the alley next to the Shipshape Shop, sprawled over her deflated, bloody decoy, there was--

Perfectly still and serenely smiling, his eyes clearly closed without his goggles, there was--

There was--

Had this been an accident? Why hadn't she heard? No, it couldn't be an accident, if anyone knew how to navigate roofs, it was him. He had leapt from countless rooftops in the blinding rain and still come out on top. Her radio must have been playing too loud. This was no accident. They'd killed two birds with one stone.

[Tiger]

Before the murder

Mick was strangely reminded of a busy shift at Waffles, No Nets. True, he smellsed mud and fetid water rather than waffles and burning eggs, but the rush of voices all assaulting him at once and the million worries running through his head was quite familiar.

“Angelo, I told you to stay away from this guy!” Meta snapped.

"I'm putting together a club of hosts. G-Host. So I need you."

“Tell him you don’t have time for this!”

”The G-Host Club is where the town's handsomest boys with too much time on their hands entertain young ladies who also have way too much time on their hands. Just think of it as Wafflenet's elegant playground for the dead and beautiful."

“It's gonna be a playground for the dead and the more dead at this rate!”

Mick glanced around Alex at Fluffle, who looked…annoyed, Mick thought. Possibly because all of this talk about a…G-Host Club was a little irrelevant to the problem of the townsfolk all in cuffs. Or maybe she was bored. Or maybe she was irritated that her fellow freemason was schmoozing Mick instead of being appropriately friendly with her.

"That's where you come in," Alex said. "We need to be able to offer the princesses meals, snacks, desserts, and so on if they so wish. And being able to be a host wouldn't hurt either."

“For the love of – kid, tell the rock-farmer with delusions of anime grandeur to get lost!”

Mick took the yellow rose Alex held out to him. “Uhm…y’know, Alex…that sounds like a good idea.”

"ARE YOU MAD? PUT ME ON HIS EAR, I'LL - "

Hang on, Meta. Aloud, Mick said, “A business for the ghosts, that’s great. But, uhm…I’ve got some issues I’ve gotta deal with first.” He pointed at the earpiece, though that didn’t really explain much. “The living can’t see me, but I’ll be happy to cook once the mafia’s taken care of. And Fluffle, you have a bakery, right? She can help."

I kind of owe him for being sorta involved with his murder, Mick thought. And now I've got somebody who might be able to help me if he thinks his cook's in a pinch, and maybe Fluffle can have something to do with her afterlife if she didn't have plans already, and[/i], if familiar objects are the things I can touch best - Waffles, No Nets is full of them. Where else would be big enough for a club like this?[/i]

"Yeah yeah, you're still no brain trust, kid."

Mick looked up at Alex. “So…uhm… can I get up now?”

The assumption that time had passed because Tiger was super late in posting this round but had an ending line she wanted to use made Alex float up and away. “Insert dialogue here later,” Meta muttered.

Mick straightened his sweater, and realized he still had the yellow rose in one hand. He saw Fluffle snacking on a white rose petal, and held out the flower to her. “You can eat this one too, if you want.”

“Aaaawww!” Metastophelous cooed. “Giving your ickle pony-crush a pretty flower!” The saccharine sweetness went out of Meta's voice like a cut wire, or the snap of a broken neck. “Too bad at the rate you’re going, you’ll be stuck in the basement before anything really gets going.”

((Will post for Round Six later, this post just felt a little long @.@ Fluffle/Draco/anyone else is free to drag Mick into the future if it’s more convenient for your post, of course, I can always flashback a bit there.))

[icon]

Osi blinked.

Light, that was the first thing he had noticed, it was oddly light. Lightheaded, light shining, light weightlessness. He thought he heard a train in the distance. Odd thing, trains.

He opened his eyes, blinked owlishly a few times. He was, in fact, on a train. That's odd, this didn't look like it was anywhere near Wafflenet...

Wafflenet. Mafia. Memories released came forwards, flooding his brain, pounding like the throbbing headache he suddenly felt. Skull split, cracking, floating- Relax. Relax. You're dead now, although considering all the ghosts around town there was probably a catch. Time to spot it.

He looked around the inside of the train. He didn't know anybody else on board; he marked this as suspicious. Turn around, look out the window; rather than running along the ground, the train was suspended in midair, travelling at cloud level along telephone-wire railroad tracks; was this some sort of afterlife train? Osi saw a snappily-dressed lady sitting next to him, reading the paper; her head was that of a parrot. he did a double take, and now she was simply a full parrot, sitting on the seat. Her neck swiveled, she flew off to find another perch with an irritated caw.

And the more he looked, the more he could see this was the case; it seemed like everyone aboard the train was a bird. The fellow with the suitcase was a penguin; that woman over there, a stork; that young kid, a frogmouth. He looked across the aisle, saw a kingfisher, albatross, sparrowhawk, cassowary; it was all birds. Everyone was birds. Everything was birds.

"Tickets? Tickets, please," a voice called out. Osi looked up; this was the conductor, apparently. He had the head of a pigeon. "Ah, Mister Crane. Welcome to the Afterlife Express, Subdivision Aves."

"You're probably wondering what you're doing on train with all these, y'know, birds," the conductor began. "You see, we don't normally let humans onto non-human trains, but you, Mister Crane... you helped your town. You've been fighting that Wafflenet Mafia scourge, indirectly of course, but it's been aid enough. Aid enough. So we decided to, how shall I say this, pull a few strings, mm? A few of the higher-ups were not easily convinced; tracking down some of the signatures was a wild goose chase--" here he was interrupted by several loud HONKs "--but it's amazing what you can get away with for the sake of character development."

Osi wondered how he was able to say this all with a beak. This was all probably some giant metaphor or something.

"So you see, Mister Crane, we thought we might throw you a bone. Let you spend time with the birds, make the most of your afterlife. It certainly is a bit presumptuous of us, but I hope that you don't mind."

Osi looked around; all the birds were looking at him. The pigeon conductor man leaned forward. "Come along, Mister Crane. Your afterlife awaits."

He frowned. On the one hand, this was an awful lot of birds. But on the other hand, the town was still at risk; he had seen mafia members, he could still help save Wafflenet.

But then again, that was an awful lot of birds.

He reached out...

"Oh dear."

The conductor backed up, twittering slightly. Osi was standing on his seat, now; the nearby bird-people were moving out of range as quickly as possible. Osi kicked open the window behind him; air rushed in, or perhaps it was the metaphysical spirit of the air; this whole metaphor shtick was getting dumb.

He couldn't pass on yet; Wafflenet needed him.

Osilon Abacus Crane jumped.

And as the birds started to settle back into place, ruffling their feathers softly, the conductor pulled out a small communication device. "Can I get Plot Development on the line? We just had another character go rogue. Yes, Wafflenet. Yes, again." He sighed. "These folks just don't know when to give up, do they."

[Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)]

While the townspeople were chained up, Fluffle had made up her mind to leave the ghosts and do what she had to do: be available as a comforter or conversationalist (especially with Snuggles--she loved how enlightened he was and he knew more about business management than she thought). But no, Sparky was the one who had done more than she ever could: he incapacitated Err Bear and set everyone free. But, a reader or two wondered, what was the pony doing?

Fluffle was in a daze.

Not only did she have a reference to put on her résumé (okay, so he wasn't the best cook and was in fact a reformed mafia member, but potential employers didn't need to know that), the reference in question handed her his rose.

At that point, all rational thought went out the window. She did not even remember if she thanked him properly (was it a snuggle or a hug or a high five she had given him? Not important.)

And so she walked, slowly, towards a field of reeds, almost passing Waffles, No Nets. She chewed, slowly, savoring the taste of the yellow rose and the spectral scent of its previous owner. Her sheepish ancestors may have given her something good, after all. Stiff legs for an excellent sense of smell that functioned in death? It seemed like a fair trade.

She saw him fall.

Not a Freemason, but a customer. A customer with whom she'd shared plenty of interesting conversations (given that neither party was able not willing to speak). A customer who'd smiled once or twice when she brought him the wrong order and frowned when she blew raspberries all over his muffins. Every time that had happened, they'd both laughed silently afterward, and Fluffle offered a fresh batch of sesame muffins, which appeared to be his favorite.

Once, she recalled, he had brought a blue jay into the bakery. The blue jay chirruped and nestled into Fluffle's fur. She had a large, fluffy, pink home, she thought. It had taken the two of them six hours to convince the blue jay that Fluffle wasn't a nest. He had apologized using his arms, and Fluffle waved a hoof, flattered that the bird should choose a cozy home such as her fluff.

He wasn't screaming. His eyes were closed (although it was kind of hard to tell from the goggles he was wearing) and a gentle, serene smile was on his face.

Fluffle extended a hoof, stuffing the rose into her fluff. Never in her death had she felt so powerless. Even if she had "gone fast", she wouldn't have caught him.

Osilon lay in front of her, not seeing, not moving.

Fluffle heard a distant train whistle. Won't be...long, now. she thought.

A shrill scream rang out a few minutes later.

Fluffle lifted her head and stopped wading in the reeds. Oh, Celestia, not that magical girl. Fluffle wandered toward the sound, curious as to what sort of trouble she was in. Fluffle wasn't very worried. She was armed, after all.

She passed the ghosts by once more on her way to Dove. Fluffle soundlessly tapped the ground with a hoof, inquiring as to whether or not the two were going to accompany her to help her. It was obvious.