NTWF Mafia II: The Idyllic Village of Wafflenet

[Terra]

Blaze wanted to scream and yell and swear even more as Julie sunk her hands into her stomach and RED-HOT PAIN was now in MOST OF HER UPPER BODY NOW and that was REALLY NICE THANKS A LOT except she couldn’t even SAY ANY OF THIS because she had a REVENANT’S HAND DOWN HER THROAT WHICH WAS JUST AWESOME.

Basically she just REALLY HOPED SOMEONE WOULD COME TO HER RESCUE SOON.

And then, suddenly, she felt SOMEONE ELSE INSIDE HER except whoever this was she was in her MIND OH GOD OH GOD GET IT OUT -

Blaze, Robyn communed from within, I'm sorry about this, I know it's strange, but I'm a friend, and you're gonna have to work with me to get this to stop! Focus your energy towards me! If we work together, I think I can force her out!

Blaze frowned. Who was this? She was completely unfamiliar - it was weird, she kind of felt like Dove, but at the same time obviously wasn’t her.

But if whoever this was could help end the OH GOD PAIN that Julie and Diana were inflicting...

Okay, she thought.

She tried to think about this person - this weird person who’d showed up inside her head - concentrate really hard on this stranger...who had shown up out of nowhere...and was now somehow inside her...

She scrunched up her face, trying to focus her mind entirely on this weird person oh wow she felt stupid doing this what the heck.

AM I EVEN DOING THIS RIGHT, she thought. BECAUSE THIS FEELS REALLY WEIRD.

* * *

”Snow,” said a voice behind Terra.

Terra felt a tap on the shoulder and turned to look at Icon. She was startled to see him; how’d he get there so fast?

Probably rushed over to protect his precious Robyn, she thought bitterly.

Also, how did he see her? She’d have to work on her invisibility. Later.

"You've been here longer than I have, even if it's just by a few minutes. I'd appreciate knowing what's going on, in particular why there are two revenants in the town square, what's with all the bureaucrats, and where my fiancee is, if you'd be so kind."

“Well,” she said. “Basically, all the Mafia members in this town seem to be dead. The two revenants are the spirits of two of them; according to Diana, the red one, she made a deal with the devil or something to gain her powers. The bureaucrats were alerted by the food inspector or someone like that about the murders, so they arrived to take care of the situation and the town decided to fight them for some reason. And as for your fiancée...she can’t be far from here, as she’s here to help her cousin.

“Also,” she added after a moment, “it might be helpful to note the presence of the ghostbuster.” She indicated the man standing in the square with the strange ghostbuster gun.

“Lastly,” she said. “Snow? You won’t even call me by my first name?”

Terra tried to give Icon a superior smirk or some similar kind of expression, but found she couldn’t quite manage it. She was finding it difficult to look at him at all, really; it was inspiring in her feelings that she didn’t really want to feel -

“You know what,” she said, “this Mafia here is really annoying me to death. They’re really just being a drag right now, aren’t they? It’s a very standard, hypocritical kind of villainy they espouse, and I’m finding it extremely tedious. So, I’m thinking, someone really needs to put a stop to this. You feel me?”

She brandished her knife, which was as transparent as the rest of her.

“You get my point,” she said with a fierce grin. “Pun intended, by the way.”

(It wasn’t, but she liked it too much after hearing herself say it to admit otherwise.)

With that, she soared, still invisible - and then she dived, right toward Diana, and with that momentum drove her knife’s blade right into her back.

“Long time, no see,” she said with a smirk.

[Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)]

(did some of this from memory, rushed, hit a lot of blocks, but here it is.)

Fluffle watched, not speaking.

Diana and Julie kept tormenting the poor girl, as Fluffle could see by Blaze’s writhing face. But no, another ghost sank into Blaze, just as she had tried to get inside the sugar shaker some time ago. Wasn’t it painful? Fluffle noticed the looks of sheer bliss on their faces, waving opposition away like pesky flies.

Even with her inventory distributed amongst the townspeople, Fluffle felt useless. Waiting for someone to save the pony and ride the dragon…wasn’t that the classic story in half the children’s books she’d eaten? This was no classic story she was in, anyone could see that.

Fluffle continued to struggle, even though she was protected (so long as Buster didn’t hit that button). What good is it if she was safe from harm and everyone she loved wasn't? Fluffle lay on the glass floor of the jar, exhausted from the energy she so fruitlessly exerted on the glass. Her surroundings trembled. Were Buster’s hands shaking? The ghostbusting gun clattered to the cobblestones and fell into a crevice created by the dynamite that exploded. Fluffle’s vision was obscured by earth and stone, so she couldn’t even watch anymore.

Even so, she saw them from her (disad)vantage point partially underground before she heard them tumble off his lips.

His words.

Mick’s voice trembled as he related his life, now gone, to Buster, who still had a chance to do what was right. Fluffle’s essence twitched and quivered, and sloshed around, turning fully blue in some places and completely disappearing in others. Mick had really–Fluffle had sheep blood in her, didn’t she? Fluffle rammed against the side of the jar —grown, but she knew, the whole time—Ouch…WHAM!—he was in there, somewhere—WHAM!—and here he was—Fluffle noticed the top of the jar was slightly…ajar—vulnerable, yes, but willing to fight—Fluffle stretched her hooves to the top of the jar and started to twist violently—and there was no way she was going to sit idly now that he had truly been revealed as innocent.

Clink.

The top of the jar was open, and so small, that all Fluffle could do was to make it roll, not unlike a hamster in its wheel. Fluffle rolled out of the crevice, just in time to see several occurrences at once.

A new ghost that openly CLAIMED he was from the mafia wanted to write a report on Wafflenet. Nice knowing you, thought Fluffle and the pink voice simultaneously.

Fluffle shook with want. Oh, no, not now…she didn’t want to be mischievous just yet! But her entire being cried out for it…

Rocky floated over to Julie again and serenaded her with a song and a bunch of flowers. That was the sweetest thing ever. Fluffle restrained herself from clapping her hooves in approval, but then the heartless revenant tossed down the bouquet. Fluffle growled. That wasn’t nice. Well, she’d spent more time with Diana, so that was somewhat understandable.

From what she gathered from several conversations, she understood—the ghosts had to be held down for the extermination to work. They had to be just as trapped as she was. Fluffle noticed Tracy on the roof of Waffles, No Nets and waved. She was all right after all! Tracy was sprinkling salt and sage, which tickled Fluffle’s fur. A salt crystal touched Fluffle’s nose, which at once slowed it down. She walked forward and her nose took about a half second to catch up with the rest of it. Fluffle backed away. Tracy’s intentions were good, but Fluffle didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire unless she had to.

Mick fell. Pinkish vein-like lines covered him where he would have had veins if he was alive. Fluffle, unarmed, unthinking, unwilling to see him in pain, forgot her surroundings, the danger, the slowness of her nose, Julie glaring daggers at anyone who moved towards the gun, and galloped to him. His scorching hands on her fur nearly made her squirm with heat and pain, but she let it go. The reunion was cut short by something no one had expected.

A strange ghost, one that had that look in her eye, floated toward Diana and thrust her knife into her back. The desire to cause trouble faded rapidly, leaving Fluffle feeling empty. Filling the void of this distraction, Fluffle scooped up her bow, nocked it nearly perpendicular to the string, and, not waiting after the bow was fully drawn, shot it at the ghost nearest to Blaze…

[icon]

Well, he'd offered Dove a handshake, and she'd taken it. That seemed to settle it, Osi told himself with the sinking suspicion that they hadn't really settled anything at all; but their progress was made one step at a time, and that was what counted.

And she changed the topic, too; smart move, he couldn't help but noticing. And what she said was true, there were plenty of remaining lawmen running wild. What they needed was something spontaneous, something that would scare the bureaucrats off while- and this was an important part- not completely destroying the town. There were still plenty of birds around, but they needed rest, recovery, something that he couldn't refuse them now. That duck over there was dangerously poor-off, for goodness sake, it was eating a doughnut. He soared up to get a better vantage point.

Glance around, take in the sights; the wreckage of an explosion (when did that happen? Probably while he was all birded out), a fracas in the center of the square, Miss Chaetura was on the roof of the diner, and now-

A crash from outside the square surprised him; he looked down, (that was the direction of Dove's house, wasn't it?) and there, just milling around, was her flock of doves. They must have been stuck in their coop earlier.

Which meant they weren't injured...

Osi tugged his goggles down for a moment to look at Dove. "What do you want n-" she started to ask, before she noticed his line of sight. The conclusion snapped into place: "Really, Osi? You want to use my doves? Just because I saved your life doesn't mean you can mooch all favors on me!"

He gave her another look, another sincere look, and she turned to give him a glare that could shatter glass. "...Fine, alright! But look here, Baka, you let those doves get hurt and your afterlife is on the line."

He gave a quick nod before floating down to the doves. Yes, he could work with these birds; they were agile, certainly, but certainly dangerous enough to knock someone over (or off a roof). Here, you few can distract those bureaucrats, this group can target the ones off the side, and let's send a couple after that ghostbuster, he's certainly in a bit of a bind.

He couldn't control thousands of birds, but sometimes you didn't need that many. Sometimes a few dozen would suffice.

* * *

Icon half-listened to Terra's information, taking mental notes: revenants were the Mafia on its last legs - past its last legs, those bureaucrats were pulling a GSIS, that ghostbuster was clearly dangerous, and as for Robyn-

Shoot, he could have sworn he just saw her phase into that girl. Revenants brought pain, a lot of pain towards their subjects, and if Robyn was in possession then she would end up with a lot of that pain as well. What worked well against ghostly grudges? He tried to recall his research, think, think-

"Lastly... Snow? You won't even bother to call me by my first name?" Terra's last comment snapped him out of thought.

He tugged at his collar, loosening his tie for a second. "Yeeeah, sorry about that, Terra, it's just... y'know, with tomorrow and all," he began lamely, "and maintaining professionalism and everything, honestly, it's just to stay on the- oh gosh that is a sharp knife-" she cut him off with a dive towards that red revenant- Diana, she'd said- and stabbed her with precision that would make most assassins weep.

Oh hey look, that ghostbuster was distracted by several convenient flapping doves. Time to move, Icon thought as he sped over to the scene. His afterlife abilities didn't lie quite in healing others, but any ghost with good enough concentration could manage a passable anodyne. That revenant has got toxic hands down the girl's throat, Robyn's already inside her body, which would mean his best move would be to drop two hands on (through?) her shoulderblades and try to pull out as much pain as possible...

It looked like it would work. He darted over to enact the equivalent of Spectral First-Aid, shooting around a glance which warned that it wasn't the only skill he had up these finely-threaded sleeves.

[Lizica]

Julie frowned. "Used to? That implied that I had 'good' in the first place. At least, what you consider good. And no matter how much you choose to be blind to it and the world, the dark sides are always there."

"'Get a life?' What do you think I had this morning? If you wanted me to 'get a life' so badly, then you shouldn't have killed me in the firARGH!"

Tracy was shaking from exertion and terror and sadness and, dimly, anger. She was so tired, so wiped out. She could only barely register Julie's responses beyond the buzzing in her head...

"There are always dark sides," she acknowledged softly. "But there are still good sides. I'll remember them, even if no one else does. That's what life should be, maybe. ...That's what you always have a chance at, if you look for it."

How much would be heard, really heard, she wondered. Her body dearly wanted to pass out and later wake up safely in her dusty, slipshod, dear old shop. She heard, dimly, the noises and cries around the square and the diner. Tracy wondered if the aliens were really helping them.

But beyond the salt, there was little she could do now. Tracy rested her hand on her shovel, still wedged in the sack, and shakily sat down upon the rooftop. She hoped her fellow townspeople would be able to work this out.

Because aliens or not, with or without her, there were a lot of things that the little town and its inhabitants needed to fix. And she knew they could do it; they could help each other. That was Wafflenet, dear old Wafflenet, no matter what its fate would be in the end.

[Celestial]

Diana scowled as Mick tried to reason with the ghostbuster. Of course he would try to, he was just too softhearted. He could not even kill somebody who was a threat to him. However, Diana also felt a pang of fear. If the ghostbuster was convinced to turn sides, there was no telling what he could do. He could easily harm her and Julie, put them into his ghostbusting gun.

Oh well, it did not matter. As long as they could kill Blaze, Diana would be satisfied. She did not need anything else from this town, she had gotten everything she needed in her notes and observations anyway. The only thing keeping her here was revenge. As Blaze begged for help, Diana squeezed her heart a little tighter, blocking her bloodflow by a fraction. It was a toss-up between a satisfying revenge and getting the job done quickly. But Blaze should be dead in a few minutes. Diana savoured these last moments of the girl's life. With her and Julie's help, it would all be over soon.

Julie talking to Buster did not distract her. But the salt raining down on her did. It tore through her crimson body, making her simmer and shriek. She glared up in the direction where the salt came from, seeing the alien conspiracy nut. However, there was another, much more pressing matter at hand. Julie was stuck and Diana even knew why: somebody was helping Blaze.

She tried to grab the ghost out of her, tear out whatever was helping her even as the sage and salt affected her but she was growing weaker. The darned cleansing herbs were the worst thing against a creature that spread disease.

Then the knife pierced her back.

No, that was definitely the worst thing. Despite the pain, however, Diana still managed to smirk at Terra.

"For all your annoyance, you have to admit, we outdid you. Not even you, Terra Snow, caused the same havoc we did. Even you cannot deny how much bigger and bloodier this was," she grinned. Her red essense began to flicker as Diana felt herself slip away. Her hands came out of Blaze's body and reached into her jacket, taking out the notebook. She handed it to Julie.

"Look after that. Make sure you give it to somebody with at least an ounce of education. Perhaps I won't be able to complete my monograph but people will know what happened here," she said and fell to the ground, smiling. The crimson revenant fell apart into noxious smoke which dissipated all across the town square, sweeping over the townspeople.

***

"Welcome back, Dr. Pallada."

Diana opened her eyes. All around her was blackness but she could somehow sense that it was not empty. There were things, structures in the dark that eluded her vision, twisted beyond all recognisable shape or form. And in front of her stood the man she had seen before.

"I went down surprisingly easy," she sighed. "It was fun while it lasted but I do wish I had gotten that Blaze girl."

"The guy advising your...traitorous comrade, Mick, he would have a few choice words to say about that. I, however, will just state that it is outside the rules of the game. You could not kill Blaze Wolfstorm. As for your death at the hands of Terra Snow, just because you can hurt other ghosts doesn't mean they can't hurt you back. Your power was weakened by the salt and she could get to you without being hurt. Besides she is...interesting. Could have made a good revenant if she wanted to," the man shrugs, adjusting his glasses in an eerily similar motion to Diana.

"So what is my punishment this time? Is it undergraduate essays? Eternal lectures with noisy students? Lack of funding?" Diana asked him snarkily. The man however, only smirked. His face seemed to twist for a moment into something far more grotesque before it became normal again.

"No. You stay here, in the darkness. Perhaps one day, you'll find your way out. I wouldn't count on it though," he said and began fading away. "Consider this my reward to you for being so entertaining. You won't suffer but you won't enjoy yourself either."

"And my research?"

"...I'll make sure it's safe."

Diana smiled as the darkness consumed her entirely.

"Good. That's all I need."

[Gelquie]

As time went on, the force on her hands just became more and more powerful, as if it were trying its best to push her out. She struggled as much as possible. As much as she wanted her hands free, she and Diana wanted to get their revenge. Blaze needed to suffer as much as she had.

In the distance, Julie could hear Tracy's wavering voice. "There are always dark sides. But there are still good sides. I'll remember them, even if no one else does. That's what life should be, maybe. That's what you always have a chance at, if you look for it."

Julie only shook her head. She'd seen good sides, sure, but they were always just covers for what was really going on. But it was useless trying to argue with her, with aliens or anything. She'd just continue to be blind to the real happenings of the world. And besides, she wasn't a threat. Not anymor--

"AGH!" Julie cried out as an arrow stuck into her shoulder. She looked towards the source to see the pony. That little... How did she get free?! She glanced over to the gun to see it on the ground. A part of it must've broken, allowing her to get free. She gritted her teeth, trying to keep enough of her strength to keep her hands inside Blaze.

"An arrow's not going to stop me, pony," Julie growled, even though her arm was shaking from the pain. "You should've stayed in that gun, where you would've been safe from us and not done something so incredibly stupid. We should just torture you all for everything that you've ever done to us. Diana, what do you say we--"

Julie had looked over to Diana as she was saying this, just in time to see the strange woman strike a knife into Diana's back.

"DIANA!" Julie cried out, everything else about the situation exiting her mind. It was mostly out of reflex, forgetting she was a ghost. But it turned out to be justified when she saw how much it had affected Diana. A new feeling came from Julie's hands, growing cold and sick out of horror and fear. Julie felt the force on her hands and decided to yank her hands from Blaze's body. She fell back somewhat, with the forces of the beings combined, but she was out; unstuck. But it was too late. Julie could see that Diana was dying... Again... Julie felt more horror than she did the night Diana first died. At least back then, she knew that she could come back as a ghost. But could she come back from this?

Diana's notebook slid into Julie's hands. "Look after that. Make sure you give it to somebody with at least an ounce of education. Perhaps I won't be able to complete my monograph but people will know what happened here."

"Diana..." Julie trailed off before merely nodding. She didn't even think about who she might give it to, not with the situation before her. But she made a silent promise to herself to honor her friend's last request.

Julie could only watch in horror as her best friend disintegrated into a red smoke, spreading all around. She could only stare for a moment. Then she looked into the eyes of each of the townspeople surrounding her. The woman she had just tortured, the well-dressed man who came to her aid and was silently warning her against trying anything, the ghost exterminator, the woman responsible...

There was so much she wanted to do to them all, so much who had helped contribute to all of their deaths. But... Her friend was gone. She was weak. She was outnumbered. And that stupid unreliable exterminator wasn't lifting a finger to help out, not in the state he was in and not with how the gun looked now. She took a moment to glare at everyone before sighing, clutching the notebook in her hands as she folded her arms.

"Fine. I get the point," she said forlornly, but with an edge to her voice. "You get to live, for what it's worth. You can go home and live in the little ruins the flood has made of your town and ask whether it was all worth it. Or not. Whatever you do in your happy little bubbles."

She then shot a glare towards Terra. "And you... You've gone beyond crossing the line here. Get out of here and go back to your own territory. Now."

She turned away from the crowd and floated away, heading in the direction of her destroyed home. There was so much that she wanted to do that she couldn't. Couldn't stop the town, couldn't save Diana, couldn't save her family, couldn't save herself. And now completely helpless about it again. As much as it was fun, after seeing what she had lost, she wondered whether it was all worth it.

She looked down at the notebook in her hands and clutched it tightly. Now this was all she had left of her friend, who may or may not be permanently dead. She wanted her to continue on, to give the book a good home, to make the story known...

Yes. At least that was something she could still do.

She floated away from the scene, not a single song on her lips.

[Tiger]

The revenants were still attacking Blaze, and Mick tried to pull the bow up again, but he couldn’t draw the string. But it turned out his efforts weren’t needed - other ghosts showed up. Tracy threw…salt? and some sort of plant Mick recognized as sage. The things even a waffle artist picked up in a diner…

And suddenly, there was Fluffle.

Mick hadn’t realized relief could be as energizing as fear. He threw his arms around the pony’s neck, holding tight to her not only out of thankfulness that she was alive(ish) and free, not only because part of him whispered that it might be a hallucination, but also because he wasn’t sure he could hold himself up for much longer.

Over Fluffle’s shoulder, he saw an unfamiliar ghost stab Diana in the back with a spectral knife. His breath would have caught if he still had any – it could have been that simple?

Fluffle looked back at him, and Mick loosened his grip. The pony retrieved her bow and arrow and shot at Julie; the arrow pierced the ghost’s shoulder. "An arrow's not going to stop me, pony. You should've stayed in that gun, where you would've been safe from us and not done something so incredibly stupid. We should just torture you all for everything that you've ever done to us. Diana, what do you say we--"

Mick, who had tensed at the threat, now found his attention caught by Diana. The red ghost passed a notebook to Julie, and fell, disintegrating into smoke. Mick felt the absence of his gut tugging with fear as he remembered that the smoke had been worse than the phasing…

Inevitably it washed over them – Mick realized he could phase into the ground and avoid the worst of it, but by that point it was too late, and he’d expended so much effort staying above the concrete he couldn’t switch to intangibility fast enough. The haze hit him like a dust storm, tiny, painful beads that dug into his skin and made contact with the places where the veins were running visibly along his body. They started to turn red again…

No. There was still Julie to deal with, he had to stay up, had to stay conscious…he grabbed onto Fluffle’s shoulder for support. She twitched at his touch – Mick realized he was growing hot again.

Julie looked around at them all, glaring, but she seemed somehow…shrunken. Diana was gone…was that all it took? "Fine. I get the point. You get to live, for what it's worth. You can go home and live in the little ruins the flood has made of your town and ask whether it was all worth it. Or not. Whatever you do in your happy little bubbles."

And just like that, it was over.

Mick lost his grip on Fluffle’s fur. He started to drop further into the smoke, but something seized his collar and dragged him up – just before his vision went black, Mick saw the orange radio drop to the ground, loosing its spectral glow and switching to a station blaring a confidential report on Area 51.


Metastophelous was not the biggest demon at Purgatory, Inc. Metastophelous was not the meanest demon, either (though his clients would argue with that). Metastophelous was not a particularly powerful sorcerer, nor a brawler, and he didn’t have wings. His reputation wasn’t spotless – there were fewer failures peppering his resume peppered than others, perhaps, but it was still not entirely clean. There were many demons here older, wiser, and snarkier than Metastophelous had hopes of being. Except for the age thing, he supposed everyone hit their thirty-thousandth century eventually.

But he rarely left his desk, and the angels and demons and creatures of other origin knew to nip to the opposite side of the hall and avoid Meta’s eyes when he did. Water coolers and sulfur heaters became vacant by the time the demon reached them, and he outright heard an angel call back her intern with a warning of, “Don’t, wait for Metastophelous to finish his business.”

Meta reached a door with a plaque identifying it as Obscura’s office. When he stepped outside again a few minutes later, he carried a bronze key. The door on the fiftieth floor of Purgatory, Inc, was rarely used, and now Meta attracted attention as he stormed through the corridors. He unlocked the door, stepped through, and vanished.


Fluffle moved as fast as her ethereal hooves could carry her out of the town square. The red smoke only smelled bad to her, but she remembered what had happened last time Mick had been hit with the stuff. At least the revenants were gone…unless Julie came after them. Fluffle’s ears twitched – well, she had her bow and arrow, and she would show the purple-handed revenant again if she had to.

Her bakery was still intact, miraculously still standing despite the flood and the heavy fighting. The roof was high enough – Fluffle floated to the shingled surface, breathing in the clear air even though she no longer had lungs that needed the fresh oxygen.

It felt like the night she’d stood on Nets, No Waffles to guard the town, but when Fluffle looked back at Mick this time, the sight was worse. The vein patterns were pulsing with an ugly red light and stretched up across his face. His tail was limp again, but now the rest of his body was, too…it was so hard to tell when people didn’t breathe, but the pony knew something was worse than before.

What could she do, besides hope that another treatment of her fluff would be enough?

“Miss Puff.”

Fluffle jumped and turned around. Her eyes widened – a demon was standing there, a creature with orange skin, four pure-red and softly glowing eyes, a long tail with a spade tip, ears that stretched way, way up above a noseless face, and two long, clawed toes on each foot. He was wearing a white shirt, khaki pants, and a yellow tie that made his outfit just a touch uncomfortable to look at, but that didn’t make him much less threatening.

The pony scuttled back, going for her bow and arrow. Surprisingly, the demon just chuckled. “You don’t recognize my voice?” He pointed at the headset draped over his neck, then his ear.

Fluffle narrowed her eyes. Now was not the time for charades, but…two syllables…

Waitwaitwait. Headset. Earpiece. Sounds – she’d heard him on the radio. Metastophelous?

“I’m here to help, sweetheart.”

Fluffle didn’t move. She’d heard plenty about Metastophelous from Mick - he didn’t seem like a helpful sort of guy. But he did scratch her behind the ear as he stepped up to her. With one arm and no obvious effort, he pulled Mick off Fluffle’s back and carried him to flat part of the roof. Fluffle cantered to Mick's side as Meta lay the ghost down and stooped over him; the pony watched Meta carefully, wary of the demon doing anything underhanded.

Meta pulled a shiny silver smartphone out of his pocket. As he scrolled through one of the phone menus with his thumb and positioned his free hand palm-down over Mick’s chest, the demon said, “Blood poisoning – turns out mixing revenant abilities is like mixing paint. A little yellow and red makes orange - a blood-boiler and a disease-carrier makes blood poisoning. Lucky for Micky, this needs to wrap up soon. Tiger’s already running late…”

He glanced from the phone to his hand, and spread his fingers a little farther apart. “By the way, sweetheart,” he said to Fluffle. “Thanks for the help. I don’t fight my clients’ battles for ‘em, and I hate breaking my own rules. He’s lucky to have you to lean on when he needs it. Make sure you remind him of that, okay?”

The demon glanced at his phone, nodded, and pressed a button. “Showtime,” he muttered. Fluffle shrank back – what was he –

The phone pinged, and Metastophelous plunged his hand into Mick’s chest. Fluffle was paralyzed with shock. She could only watch as white-orange light washed out in waves from around the demon’s wrist as he forced his hand to stay in place with obvious effort. Mick jittered and twitched, and that jarred Fluffle enough to put a hoof on his arm to both try and comfort him and keep him from thrashing onto the slanted part of the roof.

For a moment, it seemed like nothing was happening except that Meta was making things worse – but then Fluffle realized the veins were disappearing from Mick's face and arms, buffered away by the waves of light like cliffside rocks struck by the sea. The phone pinged again, and Meta twisted his wrist; there was a loud sound like something being shucked from an oyster, and on a third ping, the demon scooped a large purple and red ball about the size of a nectarine pit out of Mick’s chest. He shoved it and the phone back into his pocket as Mick went still again.

Meta removed Mick's broken earpiece and plucked a new one from his shirt pocket. “Listen up, kid, I know you can hear me. You did well – talking to that ghost-hunter saved a ghost in Dunburrow, and that ghost is gonna save a kid, and that kid is gonna grow up to do some spectacular things.” The demon smiled thinly. “More immediate to you, of course – you passed your assignment. That’s knocked some time off your sentence.

Here’s the thing – there’s more time you have to work off.”

Fluffle’s eyes widened and she looked at the demon pleadingly – he couldn’t take Mick, not after all this – would he even give her time to say goodbye?

The demon didn’t look over at her. “Unfortunately, Micky, we ran into some…complications.” The demon glanced at Fluffle. “Number one is Fluffle here. Thane says he told her where she was supposed to wind up; I’ll give you a hint, kid – it was a much higher floor than you were headin' for. Now, the thing about Thane is, he doesn’t like leaving his heaven-bound, earth-walking ponies miserable.

“Number two – kid, what were you thinking, signing that contract with Rocky to work at a G-Host club! No economic sense – but paperwork’s paperwork. Don’t worry – we’ve got it all filed at the office.”

Contract? What contract? Fluffle was confused, but Meta’s flat grin twitched like he was trying not to laugh at a private joke. Maybe Fluffle just didn’t get it – not that she really cared, because…was Metastophelous saying what she thought he was saying?

“So, Michael Angelo – due to those extenuating factors, Purgatory, Inc., is willing to make a compromise. You get to stay here, in Wafflenet, with Fluffle – until we need your presence in another place. We contact you on the earpiece, you get zapped wherever we need you to go – good stuff gets done, you chop some time off purgatory, and then get to go back for at least however long we kept you.” He slipped the new earpiece into Mick’s ear. A blue light glowed softly at the end of the piece, then faded away.

“What d’you think, kid? Sound fair?”

The demon snapped his fingers – Mick twitched, rolled onto his side, toward Fluffle and away from the demon, and the pony and parolee’s eyes locked. Fluffle made a high-pitched noise she didn’t have a name for, and Mick lunged toward her to lock her in another, stronger hug.

“More than fair,” Mick said.

“I’ll be in touch, then.” Fluffle glanced up as the demon rose. He put two fingers to his forehead in salute to Fluffle before turning away, taking two steps, and vanishing into a puff of orange smoke.


Back in his office, Meta settled back down at his workstation. Metastophelous did not usually allow himself to gloat – but today, after making sure nobody was in the hallway peering in, the demon heaved a brief but intense fistpump.

[Terra]

Diana smirked at Terra, as Terra tried to drive her blade further into Diana’s back.

"For all your annoyance, you have to admit, we outdid you. Not even you, Terra Snow, caused the same havoc we did. Even you cannot die how much bigger and bloodier this was," she grinned.

Terra scowled, but then she noticed how Diana’s red figure was beginning to flicker in and out. In surprise, she pulled out her knife and moved back, but it was evidently too late for the revenant, since a few seconds later, she dissipated into toxic smoke.

Terra’s eyes widened. She looked at her knife. Then she looked back at the spot where Diana’s spirit had been a moment before.

“I killed a ghost,” she whispered, in disbelief.

Then she punched the air triumphantly. “I KILLED A GHOST -” and she dissolved immediately into a coughing fit induced by the smoke, but it didn’t matter.

She’d done what she hadn’t thought possible. And it was amazing.

* * *

As this was going on, Blaze was still trying to concentrate on the strange ghost that had appeared inside her, stupid as she felt -

When suddenly, much of the pain disappeared; that in her head and throat and lungs and heart suddenly faded, not completely, but mostly. The pain in her stomach lingered longer, until it disappeared too, a moment later.

With this, Blaze opened her eyes (she must have closed them at some point) and she saw Diana rapidly fading away before she disappeared completely, leaving behind only a cloud of red smoke.

Then Julie looked around at the townspeople, and Blaze braced herself for another surge of pain -

"Fine. I get the point," she said forlornly, but with an edge to her voice. "You get to live, for what it's worth. You can go home and live in the little ruins the flood has made of your town and ask whether it was all worth it. Or not. Whatever you do in your happy little bubbles."

“Oh,” said Blaze. “Oh. That’s great. Cool.”

She swayed slightly on the spot.

She then shot a glare towards Terra. "And you... You've gone beyond crossing the line here. Get out of here and go back to your own territory. Now."

Terra smiled sweetly. “Sure thing.” She swept off to the side; she needed to get out of range of that smoke, anyway. (She wouldn’t actually leave until she could see what Icon and Robyn were going to do, though.)

And then Julie floated away, holding the notebook of her former fellow mafia member.

“She’s gone,” said Blaze, staring. “Good.”

And she collapsed - the last thing she was aware of was a voice saying, “Hey, um, is my fiancée still possessing you?” before she blacked out.

[Avery]

Round: Epilogue
Round Name: After the battle...

Even the bloodiest of battles cannot last forever.

By the time night fell over the wee town of Wafflenet, more people were injured than not. A number of dead bodies from both sides of the fighting lined the town centre, lying where they fell. Furthermore, it was becoming increasingly clear to the lawmen that the townsfolk were simply not going to give up. And as the injuries (and deaths) continued to pile, the lawmen realised they could not stay here in this town infinitely. They needed to evacuate their more severely wounded personnel back to a hospital in the City, before anyone else bled out. Were the denizens of Wafflenet criminals, the whole brutal lot of them? Yes. But leaving at this point-- getting the hell outta Dodge-- wouldn't be pardoning them so much as... stopping even more carnage. That's what the lawmen rationalized to themselves as they pleaded for a temporary ceasefire so that they could gather their wounded and get out of town. The townspeople, saddled with their own wounded who needed care, acquiesced, under the condition that the lawmen never come back.

"If you so much as step a pinkie toe into this town, you will be shot on sight!" said the citizens.

"Okay, okay, just let us leave!" cried back the lawmen. "Please-- just let us leave!"

The townspeople let them go, and then began a new frantic battle: saving the lives of those injured in the fray. And then, afterward, they faced the depressing chore of burying the bodies-- the mafia killed, the battle felled, the executed; all the corpses from the town square and the diner's freezer and anywhere else they may have fallen during the past few bloody, bloody days.

**

Afterward, when all the bodies were buried and the blood scrubbed from the cobblestones of the town centre, the townspeople gathered to discuss the future of Wafflenet. They soon had to face a very depressing fact: even with the mafia gone, and the lawmen chased, their beloved village was... sort of a wreck. The flood had damaged a good number of buildings and destroyed many others. When, after the battle, someone had gone to wash his hands, he'd singed his skin clear off; someone had spiked the entire water supply with a very caustic poison. And though no other booby traps were discovered, the townspeople were antsy. The mafia might be gone, but that didn't mean they hadn't left deadly traps behind.

"It just isn't safe here," said Sparky Drama O'Llama. Having suffered a gnarly head wound in the battle, his dome was now wrapped in padded white gauze. He thumbed at it as he spoke, squishing the gauze between his fingers.

"But this is home," said Goldie Fisher, the owner of Nets, No Waffles. "Where else can we go?"

"We're going to have to rebuild anyway," countered Sparky. "All the buildings that weren't completely destroyed by the storm have heavy water damage. So why stay here, where there are so many bad memories? Why not get a fresh start elsewhere?"

"We could like, build houses made of gold! Because we're like, rich now or something!" squeaked Britknee, nursing her shot shoulder.

"NO ONE IS SUDDENLY RICH! WE BEAT THE MAFIA, WE DIDN'T WIN THE LOTTERY!" yelled Blaze.

"Let's build somewhere with a natural tinfoil supply," suggested Tracy Chaetura.

"I was actually thinking," said Sparky, "about not quite rebuilding. Well, not exactly."

"Oh?" asked the town.

"Well, as some of you know, a few ghosts from Netwaffle came by during the battle. And I was just thinking... we have so much in common with them. We share so much history. And beyond the horrid mafia ghosts, they're a very friendly bunch. They were so very sorry about what had happened to us. The state of our town. The ruin of our town."

"GET TO YOUR POINT!" Blaze said.

"Well," Sparky said, "what if we all... moved there? They have plenty of space. A thriving tourist industry. Our newly minted ghosts would have some seasoned pros to teach them the ropes. Those of us alive-- well, we can probably make a lot more money running tourist traps than we ever did farming."

For awhile, no one said anything as everybody considered Sparky's suggestion. On its face, it seemed... a little crazy. Netwaffle was hours away, and even ruined, Wafflenet was still home. But the more the townspeople mulled over it, they realised that perhaps Sparky's crazy idea wasn't so crazy, after all. Their mirrored, bloody histories wedded the townspeople of Wafflenet and Netwaffle, in a way. And the non-mafia ghosts who'd shown up during the battle had been awful nice.

"Do they even have room for all of us?" asked Goldie Fisher after a few minutes of consideration.

"I spoke with them," said Sparky. "And yes. Yes, they do. We'll be welcomed with open arms."

**

SIX MONTHS LATER...

It was a bright, cheery morning in the village of Netwaffle: the height of tourist season, warm and sunny, not a cloud in the sky.

Inside the new construction diner called Waffles, No Nets II-- which was next to the tea shop of one of Netwaffle's ghosts, Glenda-- the spirit of Tanya was serving up some pretty delicious waffles to the townspeople. It was still early enough in the morning that the tourists were all asleep in the haunted hotel and hadn't yet straggled in; the crowd in the diner was decidedly local.

After being rescued from the ghostbuster's gun, Tanya had been quite sullen for a time, but after moving to Netwaffle, she'd realised that a ghostly life wasn't as bad as she'd initially thought it would be. In fact, nearly all of Wafflenet's ghosts were thriving now-- and its living residents were doing quite swimmingly, as well.

True to Sparky's declaration, they'd been welcomed with very open arms. In fact, the townspeople of Netwaffle were thoroughly excited about the new arrivals, because the stream of tourists that poured into the ghostly hotspot was always increasing, and the extra help was badly needed. And they just had so much in common with the Wafflenetters! It was like they were long lost family-- or, not so long lost, in the case of people like Dove and Robyn Byrd.

"Here you go, diet waffles for you Britknee, and hay waffles for you, Fluffle, and a plate of cinnamon waffles for you, Sparky!" said Tanya as she floated around Waffles, No Nets II and thunked down plates of piping hot waffles wherever she went. "Oh! And Tracy! Your alien-free^TM waffles will be up in a jiffy!"

"Thanks, Tanya!" called the diners. 

Sparky raised his glass of poison-free water. "I propose a toast!" he called. "To Wafflenet, the town we loved, the town of so many memories; and Netwaffle, the town of new memories!"

"To Wafflenet and Netwaffle!" chorused the diner.

They grinned and clinked their glasses.

[Avery]

Having her shoulder stitched up after the battle was like, the most painful thing Britknee Paris Snoodson had EVER experienced. Gawsh, it was going to scar and she couldn't wear her sexy halter tops anymore without people seeing like, an ugly bullet wound! Britknee was DEVASTATED. Though, on the bright side, she realised she now totes had a sexy war wound to woo the men. With her like, sad story of being viciously shot by scary law people. Guys lurved damsels in distress, right?

Plus, having a shot-up shoulder meant Brit totes was exempt from digging graves for the dead people! Woohoo! She just stood there with her sad puppy eyes and was like "Aww this is so sad!" as the rest of the townspeople labored with shovels and corpses.

... then, at the meeting, Sparky brought up his idea: moving to Netwaffle. Britknee was like, super taken aback by this. Her stomach flipped. She didn't say anything, but she was like, TOTES not kewl with that idea. Because... because...

Here was the thing about Britknee Paris Snoodson: when she regaled the residents of Wafflenet of being from the City, they kind of just super assumed that she meant the City-city, like, the one with super tall buildings and things! And Britknee never exactly lied to them but when they assumed these things, she didn't like, exactly correct them either. And she totes was NOT lying when she had, at the outset of the horrid mafia deaths, chirpily mentioned that deaths happened all the TIME in the City! Because, that was true.

There definitely had been a lot of deaths in the city Britknee was from. So many deaths! And like, that was kind of why she and Courtknee had left in the first place, selling their stupid little apartment and fleeing to Wafflenet. Because like, their home city had once been something pretty kewl and chill, but after all those deaths... it had evolved... and neither Britknee nor Courtknee had much liked what it'd turned into, all the tourists and the ghosts...

They hadn't much liked the idyllic village of Netwaffle-- their like, hometown!-- being transformed into a ghostly tourist hotspot.

So Sparky's suggestion for everyone to move back to Britknee's home city? Ummm. It made her super nervous. Because like, she could try and pass herself off as New To Town in Netwaffle but she knew people there. She like, knew EVERYONE there. She'd been born there! And Courtknee lived there.

Except where else was there for her to go? Obviously she wasn't gonna like, stay in Wafflenet with everyone gone. And her threats of fleeing back to the City were suddenly like, useless, given that everyone else was fleeing there, too.

It had been awkward, at first, being back in Netwaffle and trying to like, explain to the Wafflenetters why everyone was sooo familiar with her, and why the ghosty lady who ran the tea shop called Britknee "niece, dear" and got superrr mad when Brit called tried to call her "Miss Noshus" and not "Aunt Glenda". And Brit had like, tried to claim to the Wafflenetters that Glenda was totes crazy, Britknee was NOT her niece! But then Glenda pulled out the family pictures... and Britknee's story fell apart...

... and it hadn't been so bad, after that. Especially cos like, no more cows! She'd sold them to one of the few farmers who'd had to stay behind in Wafflenet because of their like, farms or whatever. And turns out that, after sending Britknee the letter about marrying Dustin Blieber, Courtknee had totes actually moved to the real City, and wasn't even around anymore! HURRAH!

It was like, kind of good to be home.

[Stal]

The Ghost of Salesman Stal surveyed the destruction of Wafflenet. Something seriously wrong had gone on in this town. He just didn't really know what.

And no one had bought anything. Again. "I just don't get this town. Everyone else loves my wares. Something must be seriously wrong with them."

But his time here was done. It was time to go home. Back to the home office. But he'd be back out on his rounds in about 6 months.

First stop would be that other town... Netwaffles, was it?

[Robyn]

Stubborn. That's what this demon was; plain old stubborn, obstinate flames licking at Robyn's palms, uncooperative, painful, stubborn, on FIRE, EVIL, /HURTING/--

...Better. Robyn could feel a wave of healing presence wash over all of them, and her heart soared. Icon! Her brow furrowed, a smile working itself onto her face through all the effort. Three against one would be no problem at all. The voices of those outside her realm of possession were muffled, like trying to listen to someone through thick glass, but they seemed to go through phases in quick succession: confident, then anguished, then defeated. It was working. It was working! The revenant's force withdrew from the living host, and Robyn let out a harsh breath, her job over. Well, she'd given it her all, and this girl wasn't dead, whoever she was.

Gently, she extricated herself from Blaze's soul.

"Sorry about all that. Just wanted to make sure you were going to make it!" Robyn apologized, realizing a little too late that the girl had blacked out. As long as she was breathing, Robyn was okay with that. She looked like she needed some rest, anyways.

After a furtive dress check (not a wrinkle in sight!), she spun around to face her fiancé, handsome as the day they met. They exchanged a quick kiss, both glad to see the other relatively unharmed, and then Robyn drew back, dismay written all over her.

"Oh!" she cried, arms crossed futilely over her gown, "It's bad luck for you to see me in the dress!"

Icon scoffed. He took her hands in his, and replied, "Yeah. We helped ward off some revenants, found your cousin alright, and we're getting married tomorrow. Boy, we must be the single two most unlucky souls on the entire planet."

He winked. Robyn giggled, leaning in for a more tender embrace, when suddenly she was interrupted by a comically large yawn.

"WHAT, TERRA."

"Um, nothing except for that while you were busy playing possession thumb war, I totally killed a ghost!!"

Robyn blanched at this information. She drew closer to Icon, exchanging a worried glance with him, but Terra just rolled her eyes and pocketed her knife.

"Oh, please. You're not worth the effort," she muttered. "Besides, tomorrow's the big day. Who am I to ruin that, hm?"

Robyn didn't much appreciate her tone, but for the time being, she supposed she could let it slide.

It had slowed down. The three of them surveyed the area-- for the most part, the battle seemed to be over. The guns had either run empty or had been laid down, and a quiet settled over the rubble and debris. Robyn scanned the site for any sign of her cousin, when just past a half-destroyed building, she heard a far-off call that was steadily getting louder and closer--

"Imoto-chaaaaaan!" Dove squealed, zooming past Icon and tackle-glomping Robyn just like old times. The latter was nearly knocked to the ground, but she regained her gravity and floated back up, clutching Dove in a hug.

Dove was bouncing up and down. "It's over! No more killings! It's over!!"

"I know, I know!" Robyn laughed, "You don't have to worry about a thing anymore. The survivors are going to pick up the pieces; you can finally be at rest now."

Dove's grin simmered down into blankness at this. She was so young. Had been? Was she still? There was...so much still she wanted to do, but she guessed she was going to have to learn how to let it go. Adjust. Mature, even. The thought saddened her.

"Robyn, this town...it's all I know," Dove admitted, "Being dead, the afterlife, super sugoi ghost powers desu...I don't know anything about it. How am I going to make it out here?"

Robyn threw an arm around her shoulder. "Sweetie, you've got family out here. Did you think we were going to just throw you to the wolves?"

Dove glanced down at Blaze instinctively. Still alive, she saw. Dove smiled.

"No. I guess not."

"Well, good," Robyn beamed, "With that being said, we've got some last-minute preparations to make, if you'd be willing to help. You ready to come with us?"

Honestly, she wasn't. But she was reminded of a profound quote from Princess Sugar Lovecatch Glitterbomb in episode 39 of Sprinkle Sprinkle Lionfight: “It's a terrible thing, I think, in life to wait until you're ready. I have this feeling now that actually no one is ever ready to do anything. There is almost no such thing as ready. There is only now. And you may as well do it now. Generally speaking, now is as good a time as any.”

Yes, she was almost sure that was Princess Sugar Lovecatch Glitterbomb.

Dove took Robyn's hand. Robyn took Icon's. Terra tossed her hair behind them. They vanished from Wafflenet, all headed into the next era of their eternity, ready or not.

[Gelquie]

Julie decided not to go to the reunion that morning, thinking that it wouldn't be proper for her to do so. After all, she had only decided to follow the villagers to Netwaffle after meandering around Wafflenet mostly alone for about a week. She still liked to go there on occasion to think and examine, and with fewer people there to glare at her. But she still ended up spending most of her time in Netwaffle. What use is a song, after all, if no one is around to hear it?

Of course, it did mean that she had to be careful around people again. The people who knew who she was would jump on her the moment she tried anything, and she wouldn't put it past them to keep sage and salt with them anyway. The people who didn't know who she was could either be informed, be useful, or provide a much-needed audience for her songs. So she had merely gone back to keeping her mouth shut, and merely focusing on her memories and her project with the book.

Julie was sitting on the bench near Waffles, No Nets II, reading an official-looking spectral letter in her hand.

"Julie Merlot,

Congratulations. The works of Diana Pallada that you have submitted has gone through peer review and has been accepted. A formal version of your colleague's work will be printed and submitted for publication. Once that is done, you will receive a copy of the thesis for no charge.

We thank you for your contribution and hard work towards working to get the late Diana Pallada's research published. We will keep you updated for each step of the process. If you have any questions, you can call us at this number..."

Julie skimmed through the rest of the letter before stuffing it back in her pocket. She didn't know the letter could go on for so much longer when what had already needed to be said has been said. It was something that she never understood about Diana's field of study. Which made it all the more difficult to argue with the bureaucrats when they did something wrong or changed something drastically. Perhaps it wouldn't have been as difficult if she was allowed to use her tools or her hands, but the company turned out to have good security, and she still had dangers to worry about. So she could only rely on her words.

At last though, it was done. There was still more work to be done, but she was certain that the hard part was over. Her colleague's work was sure to get published, even if Julie could argue with her endlessly on how no one would actually read it. Not that she was going to deny her friend's last request.

Still, Julie had also been working on something of her own, something she had hoped to play for a while. Even though it was early morning, she was sure that some would hear it, and that it would matter on a day like this. She tuned her ghostly mandolin strings (now with a new ghostly E string; Netwaffle had a lot of good things for ghosts, thankfully) before she began strumming on it. A few chords later, she began to sing.

"In a formerly-idyllic
country to-own of Wafflenet,
In came a force diabolic
And made the town a deadly threat.

A travelling salesman Stal
he was the first to fall to them,
and o'er the town came a pall
As more deaths from this one did stem.

The Mafia, that deadly force,
How they struck strong, how they struck quick,
Power over town they enforced
And their foes they did well to trick.

Also taking place in killings,
a serial killer had come,
With two groups in competing stings
The town had found itself struck dumb.

More resisted, and thus more died,
So the townsfolk went up in arms
Killed their own kind; less ways to hide
As everyone sounded alarms.

One of four Mafia soon fell,
The reluctant chef, he dealed
and returned as a ghost; left hell
for his crimes he wanted healed.

He was joined by ghosts he helped kill
And they each tried to help the town,
When they came, rain pounded the sill;
The living moved up to not drown.

Water filled both streets and rooms below.
The historian's newfound stress
Angered the town; they pushed her below,
Her neck broke down there in that mess.

The historian was godmother;
Helped them kill while heading the crime.
Returned ghostly like no other,
Became a revenant in time.

The storm went away that morning,
With everything covered in grime.
Townsfolk were cleaning or mourning
And dreaded what's next in this rhyme.

The only charm to each one's day
Was a serial killer's death,
But her name just brought more dismay
For the kind took others' last breath.

Then one ghost roused out their stupor;
Called them to fight back once again,
They gathered to fight like troopers,
But killed another of their kin.

It was then that outside help came
But then they saw all the bodies.
They chained up all while all passed blame
Of who's causing this tragedy.

They all eventu'lly broke out
And townsfolk all scattered about.
The Mafia found a small scout;
Pushed him off-roof without a shout.

The town gathered again to hang,
accused a widower grieving,
he fought but he hung to the gang
Ending all of his deceiving.

Then the lawmen returned at once
So they all hid inside a store.
Entered godmother with vengeance
and with her powers killed some more.

She was driven away from there
By a traitor attacking her,
But told a lone one in the lair
To make the townsfolks' deaths occur.

They woke that morn to find aghast
A murdered girl stabbed with a knife.
They chose to fight down to the last
And went to met the lawmen's strife.

They battled on and people died
with the last fighting alongside,
till a witness said what she spied
and pointed at a girl who lied.

They hung the girl in their fury
and indeed they hung the last one,
But she avoided her jury
And returned wanting to spare none.

For waiting in battle was her friend
And they both were revenants now.
And on their side at the true end
A ghost killer forced then to bow.

To take revenge they then attacked
All the town but mostly the spy
The buster took the ghosts intact
While the friends made the shocked spy fry.

They left little hope for the town,
They battled well, her death was near
But the town's arms they won't lay down
And they fought back in ways severe.

The ghost killer, he balked and cried
at the words of a sad traitor,
Redeeming the scene the friends tried
to make their words and threats greater.

As the last had her arms held down,
the godmother, she did not see
a woman of a ghostly town
approach and stabbed her back with glee.

The torture of the spy did halt,
And her book given to her friend
And so she ended her assault
As her existence came to end.

The friend and last she was outmatched
knew perseverance was not smart
And so she left while surely scratched
Both in her flesh and in her heart.

So the Mafia came to end,
Left only a handful alive,
And so with so much left to mend
They skipped town in order to thrive.

The survivors reside here now
No more attacks must they defend
But memories stay on their brow
Which can never come to an end."

Julie strummed her mandolin for another minute, playing just the right chords before she let the song die on the wind. Then she sat in silence, merely staring at her mandolin.

[Dan]

(Shortly after Don Dan's execution...)

So they'd found him out.

He supposed it was only a matter of time. He'd been behind the destructions of a dozen other towns just like this one, and while everyone suspected the man behind the Maphia name, he'd always managed to just squeeze by, just narrowly avoid the tightening noose. So the thirteenth time was the one that finally tripped him up. At least he'd been instrumental in pulling the town apart at its seams in the process. Mission still accomplished...there was just a little collateral damage.

***

He heard music. It was still dark, and he didn't think he could move any of his limbs, but he definitely heard music. A loud trumpet, some drums, an accordion, and a familiar voice belting out verses in some language he should have understood, but couldn't quite remember just yet. Next he heard the clatter of glassware. Some quiet chatter to accompany it. A clink of glasses every now and then. Over it all, the music still boomed.

Next came smells. Garlic first, soon followed by tomatoes, wine, olive oil. Bread baking in an oven, sauce brewing on the stove. The aromas were engrained in his unconscious, and they sent him to his childhood home in an instant. He smiled, though he wasn't sure he even had a face any longer. If this were hell, he'd certainly enjoy his time here.

And then, with a jolt, he realized he could open his eyes, and there it was -- the little restaurant his ears and nose had detailed so clearly on their own. Red and white checkered tablecloths, flickering candles, puffy older men crowing around each other as they twirled spaghetti on their forks, chattering away over the soundtrack. And Don Dan was standing in the middle of it, taking it all in. This wasn't so bad.

"Ah, there you are," a voice said, and he turned to follow it. A man with heavily lidded eyes and a prominent double chin sat at a booth on his own, a half-eaten bowl of pasta in red sauce in front of him. The man seemed to be taking in the new arrival with a mixture of appraisal and apathy. "Get over here."

The man didn't seem like someone to say no to. Don Dan slid into the seat across from him, saying nothing.

"So you got caught, eh?" the man continued, eying Don Dan with a slight frown. "Got too cocky?"

He shook his head. "There were only so many townspeople left; they had to catch on eventually. The act only works when there's plenty of bolder personalities to worry about. Besides, I usually was able to get out before that point, but with the storm and everythi--"

"No, you were cocky, kid," the man interrupted, scowling. "Even when the odds seemed to be catching up to ya. Don't pin this on them, and especially not the weather; you got to swingin' because you insisted on that stupid name. You wanted to rub it in everyone's face, and it got you killed."

Don Dan's eyes narrowed. "Hey, I got the job done, didn't I? The town's destroyed, or nearly. What more do you want from me?"

"I wanted you to move on to another town, that's what. Despite what the families in your hometown may have thought of you, you became quite the successful mafioso, kid. Don't let that go to your head, but knowing you it's too late for that. No, instead of carrying on to whatever vulnerable small town you came across next, you're here with me in this endless fever dream of a mafia movie, forced to listen to 'That's Amore' for the rest of eternity."

As if on cue, the song blared onto the sound system. "When the moon hits your eyes like a big pizza pie..."

"So, what am I supposed to do now?"

"You've got two choices, kid. I can't make the choice for you, but I can try and sway you towards what's obviously the right choice."

"Shoot," Don Dan said, curiosity blazing.

"You can stay here, in the deathly pizza parlor of doom, watching the destruction of that town from afar, wasting away the rest of your afterlife eating chicken parmigiana and getting as fat as the rest of us." The man gestured with his fork at the doughy men staring soullessly into their minestrone. "Or you can go back down into that hopelessly gullible town you once called home and find some ear to whisper into, some poor sap to bend to your will and get that town back on track before it's too late. And then you can head onto the next poorly named town and do more dirty work. That's what you were born to do, and it's what you should do."

Back to Wafflenet? Why would he want to do that? He'd done as much damage there as he was going to. No one trusted him anymore, that's why he was dead. And what's more, he no longer had any family to return to. They'd all gone before him into the great beyond, one even by his own hand...though he couldn't say he felt much remorse at sending his brother-in-law to his death. No, that one felt somewhat more satisfying than guilt-inducing. At any rate, there was little reason to return to Wafflenet. For one thing, he'd have to face those people he'd just tormented into insanity or death, and that was never something he was able to do in the past. Much as he loved rubbing his deceit in people's faces, he wasn't much for owning up to the accusations lobbed against him.

A small niggling thought occurred to him, though. What of his wife? Where did she end up?

Ginz had never reappeared as a ghost in Wafflenet, unlike her siblings. What's more, Don Dan hadn't even spoken to her the day of her death, as everyone went about their own business dealing with the aftermath of the flood. He had no idea where she ended up, what her particular afterlife appeared to be, what she was doing with the rest of her eternity.

And yet...why did he care? He hadn't married her for any particular reason other than her connection to Wafflenet, which he'd already selected as his next target. She was nice enough, sure. A doting, thoughtful, altogether cheerful woman. Seemed to have her head in the right place, for the most part. But did he love her? No, certainly not. The vows he'd said were as full of deceit as every other part of his life. But he still found himself wondering what happened to her, despite the potential awkwardness of facing up to someone whose life he'd torn asunder. Did he regret her death? Not particularly. We all gotta die sometime, after all. But the sheer fact that he didn't know where she'd gone...he had to know. Had to find out what his unique brand of lies had done to someone he'd used so thoroughly. At least that way he'd know the extent of his deeds, his destruction.

"How many places like this are there?" he asked the elder mafioso. "How many afterlifes?"

The man eyed him with distrust. "Millions. Hell, there's probably billions at this point. Everyone's got their own spin on the trope, after all."

"And can someone move through them?"

"I guess," he replied slowly. "But why would you want to? There's nothing you could do to destroy any of them."

"Didn't want to do that anyway," Don Dan said. "I've got someone to find."

"Ha! You must be joking. Finding someone up here is like finding a needle in all of the hay ever grown, on every planet, in every universe."

"There's hay on other planets?"

"Not the point. What I'm saying is, you can't--"

"I get what you're saying. But I'm going to try anyways. How do I get out of here?"

The man scowled once more, and Don Dan noted that it seemed like his neutral expression. Some afterlife this was. "Through those doors," he said, pointing at the swinging doors labeled IN and OUT. Above them a painting of a disembodied horse's head hung proudly. "But lemme tell you, you're making a huge mis--"

He stood, not wanting to hear any more lectures from Don Spaghetti. "See you around. Though I seriously hope I won't."

Don Dan Maphia approached the OUT door. He wasn't sure this was going to work. He wasn't even sure he was doing this for the reason he thought before. But he was going to try. Even if it took decades, centuries, milleniums, he'd find the woman he'd once married for every purpose but love. He didn't quite know why he wanted to find Ginz so much, but he was going to try.

What else was he going to do with all this time?

[Draco]

It took some persuading, mostly from his sister, but Rocky manage to buy out a decently large building. So it wasn't long before this building became home to the G-Host Club. What is the G-Host club you ask? Well, you could just go back several rounds and read it, but here it is again for your convenience. 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 Netwaffle's elegant playground for the dead and beautiful.

It has taken some time, but the business was finally underway. It just happened to be a day everyone decided to take off. However, several people were still in fact working and hosting. Even when they were supposed to be closed, women needed wooing it would seem. He was forced to hire a few extra hosts after leaving Wafflenet however. It would seem the two he asked to be hosts and himself, just wasn't enough.

Drake sat in the corner tugging at the collar of his suit. Fluffypants sat at a booth, not dead, but he needed some extra money since his business plan to expand to another town failed. Word had it he owed the Cat Meowfia... Rocky on the other hand simply floated around the room waiting for something to happen.