NTWF Mafia II: The Idyllic Village of Wafflenet

[Draco]

A man wearing a trench coat and fedora walks into town. This was the first time to this town, but what was going on was something he knew of all to well. You see, he came from another town that was plagued with a Mafia and Ghosts. In fact, he made a small business off of it, and now he was here to see if he could profit here as well. You see, this man, his name is Named. He takes off a pair of sunglasses. Named Fluffypants.

Several small shadows run past him and into the alleys.

[Avery]

"I'm going to go to Waffles, No Nets and get myself a coffee, would you either of you care to join me?"

"Um, sure!" Brit squeaked, not wanting to be left alone in the rain. She tucked the cigarette Diana gave her into her pocket for later use, then ambled after the historian into the diner and sat across the booth from the woman.

And then of course like, the people in the diner started babbling loudly about killing someone else, which made Brit totes nervous, and she wished she'd never come back inside. But then like, she guessed leaving now in the middle of the heated discussion would be super duper suspicious, so she stayed in place. Gosh, executing more people seemed like, totes dumb! How many innocents would they hang before they realised you couldn't fight murder with murder!? It was like fighting fire with gasoline, jeez!

Fortunately for Brit, they like, settled on Mick instead of her. She stayed at the fringe of the mob as they strung him up in the gallows, and was glad to get back into the diner thereafter, because like, it suddenly started lightning-ing and scary stuff like that. Gosh, it looked like might like, flood! Eesh! Sitting across from Diana a couple hours after Mick's execution, Brit stabbed weakly as a very undercooked waffle. It was undercooked cos like, Tanya had NO IDEA how to cook good diet waffles, urgh! Brit totes missed Mick already.

"So," Britknee said to Diana, "that was like, a super brutal execution, huh? And jeesh, it's raining hard! I hope we don't get stuck here..."

[Terra]

Blaze had watched anxiously as the town hanged Mick. She didn’t participate much - but would she have done more if she hadn’t had Primrose to deal with? Maybe she would have been as bloodthirsty as the rest of them. (She couldn’t blame them, after all, after so many deaths...)

The one bright side to all this commotion was that Blaze’s sister appeared to have disappeared. When Blaze went outside during the execution, she was nowhere to be seen.

Good.

A couple of hours after the execution, Blaze was once again sitting in Waffles, No Nets, slowly picking off pieces of bacon and feeding them to Primrose (she wasn’t in the mood to eat it herself, and screw the whole no-human-food thing, Primrose needed to eat something at this point).

A stray piece of bacon flew onto the table where the historian and that weird teenager were sitting. Primrose jumped on the booth next to the historian and slurped up the bacon; then she curled up on the booth and rested her head on Diana’s lap.

Blaze sighed. She didn’t particularly feel like arguing with Primrose at the moment.

She looked around the restaurant. Any one of these people could be killers...or technically, they definitely were, if you counted the hangings.

But who were the Mafia? Who was the Wafflenet Slicer?

It could be any of them.

Blaze wished she’d managed to get ahold of the ghost of the pony earlier, but she hadn’t had an opportunity to speak to her since. But maybe someone else knew something.

Then again, she was tired.

But then...the killers could easily strike again in the night.

But on the other hand...she really wasn’t in the mood to interrogate anyone right then.

She sighed. Might as well get the ball rolling, at least...

“HEY,” she said loudly. “Would anyone be interested in starting some kind of ACTUAL INVESTIGATION?”

She yawned. “...Though maybe in the morning? Unless anyone has any USEFUL INFORMATION to give us, because that would be REALLY GREAT. YOU KNOW. SO WE CAN STOP SOME OF THE KILLINGS MAYBE FROM HAPPENING MORE.”

She glared at everyone in the restaurant. “IT’D BE MUCH APPRECIATED.”

[Robyn]

Puella Paloma Columbidae continued to dash through the street in the rain, in a manner reminiscent to the opening of one of her favorite animes, about one minute and five seconds in, to be specific. It wasn't really something she could sustain in the now bone-chilling torrent, though, and she soon slowed, shivering in the street as the rain started to whip diagonally.

"No, no, nO, NO!" she screeched, shielding her precious costume with her umbrella. Then she felt her hair begin to go limp. "OH, GOD, MY HAIR!" The skirt plastered itself to her legs. "OH, GOD, MY COSPLAY!" She thrashed around with the umbrella wildly, unable to protect all of her magical girl assets at once.

"This rain is stronger than the hydro jets of the great unagi!" Puella Paloma Columbidae called to no one in particular over the storm. "I'm going to need to find shelter, and quick!"

So find shelter she did-- the nearest building happened to be the Wafflenet Public Library, a cornerstone of her childhood. She had read all the manga volumes. All of them. Fortunately for her, the library was more often than not deserted because the farmers around these parts resented fancy book-learnin', and she had no trouble finding a comfy couch to dry off on undisturbed while the storm raged on outside.

Puella Paloma Columbidae yawned, magically. Last night had been a cosplay doozy. A whole new costume AND matching props in less than half a day? The world didn't appreciate her genius. But that was okay. It was her destiny to defend the earth and all its wonders, all day and every day. It could just owe her a huge favor later after all that protecting was finished.

She settled into the couch, cheek against the armrest. Last night...had been a doozy, alright...

* * * *

Puella Paloma Columbidae hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep until she woke up. The storm was worse than ever. The clouds were gathering black over the horizon, and lightning screamed blue through the sky. She bolted upright when a clap of thunder reverberated throughout the empty library. Yawning again, she grabbed her umbrella and flung open the door. Rain be darned, she needed to get to where the people were. They needed her help, whether they wanted it or not. And now that she was...(yawn!) rested, there would be no stopping the PPC Express.

She passed Mick's body on the way to the diner and had to stop. His corpse was slanted against the wind, arms flopping against himself and mouth slack. Looks like those vigilantes were at it again, doing her job for her. And with such savage methods! Surely, she could solve all this fuss with the power of magic.

Waffles, No Nets was busier than she'd ever seen it. Perfect. She flung open the door and made her entrance: eyes wild, hair damp and stringy, and one wing hanging askew to the side.

"MY NAME," she shouted, "IS PUELLA PALOMA COLUMBIDAE. I FIGHT FOR JUSTICE...FREEDOM...AND THE JAPANESE-AMERICAN W--"

Way too tired, is what she actually was. Puella Paloma Columbidae waved her scepter dizzily once before passing out on the checkerboard floor.

[Draco]

Rocky stared at the magical girl who just appeared. He... Got a idea. He faded back into the ground leaving Ginz and Dan alone again. Moments later a white rose whisks through the room and lands in front of Dove Puella Paloma Columbidae. Following the trail it came from leads to the front counter, where he appeared. A man wearing white Arabian robes holding onto another white rose.

"In a corner of the vast universe, there’s a planet which plays a beautiful melody. It’s called planet Earth. I, the G-Host Knight, have vowed to never let anyone destroy its eternal song. Let music and romance live on forever."

He throws the rose to someone in the diner, then turns back to Puella Paloma Columbidae.

"You however, might want to dry off and take a rest."

[Tiger]

((I'm so so sorry about the length of this!))

Mick lurched...awake (that wasn't the right word but he couldn't think of a better one) to find himself in a room with gray walls and a few disconcerting abstract paintings. He was sitting in a chair with a too-slanted back, so he had to sit forward to keep his back straight. An unpleasant but not unbearable smell hung in the air...half-cooked beef, maybe.

Mick raised a hand to his throat. The noose was gone, but he felt the ridges of the rope on his skin. And I deserve...d it, Mick thought, shutting his eyes. Out-of-tune Muzak started to play the instant the paintings and too-close walls vanished from his sight. What was I thinking!? Join the mafia and get money without actually hurting anyone...and after what happened in Netwaffle...

He wished he could open his eyes and this could all just be a nightmare, every bit of it - the murders, the lynching, the Slicer, all the fear and paranoia that was going to tear the town apart from the inside out, if the three mafiosos didn't finish the job. If only he could go back in time and find himself in the back alley where the deal had first been made and punch himself in the face... No amount of money or college tuition had been worth all this. Better the mafia had killed him at the start.

Speaking of things Mick should have done, he realized he ought to have left a written confession and list of names somwhere - in a non-mafioso's house, or someone's waffle, or on a snippet of paper in Fluffle's side dish... There was a half-written confession in Mick's house, a rough draft, but he'd never finished it.

So the town would know he was guilty...but there was nothing they could do about the mafia, because Mick hadn't been smart enough...hadn't been brave enough, to risk his own life to warn them. And look where that had -

Something buzzed.

Mick's eyes snapped open. An off-yellow table with one leg longer than the others and another leg bowed out like it belonged on a different piece of furniture had appeared in front of him. On the tabble was a silver earpiece. A blue light flickered on its side, illuminating Mick's name, printed along the earpiece's edge.

Mick picked up the earpiece. It trilled and shook a little. ...Why not? Mick put the earpiece on.

"Welcome to Purgatory Incorporated, Redemption and Returns Division," said someone on the other end in a gravelly voice that might have suited a pirate. "Metastophelous speaking."

"Purgatory?" Mick repeated. "Is that where I am?"

"Wow, they really teach you nothin' in those stick and mud schools, do they?"

"...Wafflenet's pretty modern, actually."

"But you don't know about purgatory."

"I do," Mick protested, "But nobody mentioned earpieces!"

Metastophelous's voice went deadly calm. "Well, brilliant as your hick-town book-leanin' has made you, kid, you're in purgatory. Now, listen, Micky, I've got your file right here on my lap. Can you guess what I'm lookin' at right now?"

"...Not really."

"I'm looking at a box, Micky. If I check this box, you take the fast-elevator right to the basement floor - that means no chances for you, no chances for your town, and I have to deal with your very agitated roleplayer."

My role-what? Mick thought, but he was really more concerned by the talk of chances for the town, and for himself, much as he hated to admit that selfishness.

"I wouldn't mind ticking off this box, Micky. It'd be so easy, and we both know, right now, you probably deserve it."

Mick stayed silent, picturing a red pen hovering over a checkbox. He'd never thought such a harmless, almost silly image, could be so frightening.

"So - how about we stop the sassing and whining and attempts to break the fourth wall, and see if you can convince me not to check this box. Are we clear?"

"Yes."

"All right then. Mick - oooh, your file has your full name. Michael - Michael..." There was a pause. "Michael Angelo. My God. Your roleplayer has no shame."

"Roleplay...is that what Dove does, all the dressing up?"

"Roleplay is none of your business, Angelo. And this post is getting far too long, so here's the deal. You can go back to Wafflenet. You'll be a ghost, spooky blue specter if the Canonical Department's telling me right, but you'll get to poke around, manipulate some objects, avoid that Alex guy's manga reference, and do some good while you're there. Make things better, and you might get some time cut off your sentence."

"My sentence?"

"For God's sake, Angelo - your sentence here, your couple hundred years of purgatory - small agonies, like moderating YouTube comments and filtering out spambots, nights that fluctuate in temperature, high heat-high humidity, infestations of large bugs...someone on your committee suggested you could make your own omelets for breakfast. Tiger just doesn't get tired of that joke."

"Who's - "

"How's that sound to you, Micky? The Karma Board estimates your sentence at about three to four hundred years right now. It'll narrow down to specifics once the Lifespan Analysts finish up, but it ain't gonna be short."

"That sounds...really pointless. It punishes me, yeah, but...the town's still in danger."

"So what's your decision?"

It wasn't that hard to make. "I'll go back."

The earpiece trilled, and the gray room disappeared; Mick heard Metastophelous's voice, a little faint; "Ghost quota? He's not a ghost, he's a metaphysical parolee!". Mick blinked, and found himself in the back alley of Waffles, No Nets. He jumped, catching a glimpse of his blue-ish arms and spectral tail, when he saw Tanya taking out a garbage bag. Her gaze never flicked to mick, despite his color, his transparency, the tail, and the fact that he was, y'know, dead.

"...Tanya?"

The waitress didn't even blink.

Mick tapped the earpiece. "Metastophelous - how do I make people see me? People saw ghosts in Netwaffle, but something's wrong, I - "

"Nothing's wrong, kid."

"But...the Netwaffle ghosts..."

"Did any of 'em have earpieces, oh observant one? No? Think, kid - you came from purgatory. It's not gonna be that easy for you.

"Here're the rules - all of them now. You can see and talk to ghosts. You can mess with certain objects - the more familiar they are, the easier it'll be. The living are strictly off-limits unless the committee over your punishment decides otherwise. You have to keep the earpiece on at all times, so I can give you updates and hopefully keep your part of the roleplay going."

"Whatever you're talking about, this should be easy to finish - I just have to get...a can of whipped cream or something, and write...write..."

Metastophelous was silent, leaving only the faint hum of static and the sound of a cold, wet wind slapping against the diner's shingles.

Mick's voice trembled with anger. "I don't remember their names. Or their faces."

"Sorry, Micky. The Plot Non-Derailment Division insisted on the memory thing. Look - I have one more bit of advice for you."

Mick almost told Metastophelous that he didn't want to hear it, but he remembered the checkbox and held his tongue. Barely.

"Seriously consider avoiding the ghosts. Remember, they're all dead - directly or not - because of you."

Mick nodded slowly, clasping his upper arms in both hands to stave off some of the chill. He wondered if he could unroll the sleeves of his red checkered sweater, but didn't try. Being cold despite being dead was probably another price of purgatory...of being a metaphysical parolee. "So what do I do?"

He heard the distant shuffling of papers, followed by a clicking noise, like someone typing. "Sticking around the diner might be a bad idea, considering practically everyone and their ghost is in there..." A few more clicking noises followed. "Although, that's where all the drama's going to be happening. Maybe find a place to hide out, get your...spirit legs."

Mick bit his tongue - he could feel that, too, though a little dulled - and decided on the diner's basement. The living might come down there if they needed sugar or extra jelly packets, but he didn't think the town ghosts would have any interest in the place. Mick lowered himself to the ground and found his tail vanishing into the bloody cobblestone. He pulled away from the rocks, braced himself, and dived into the bottom fo the restaurant, phasing into the dark, cool basement and its host of storage crates.

[Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)]

(I have no idea what the Moltara I’m doing xD Assume Fluffle is sitting on the roof on the opposite side of the building from the Town Square) The roof may not have been 100% tangible, but Fluffle’s flank was getting as numb as the rain and murders made everyone feel. It was time to get off the roof. Fluffle stuffed some fur over her bullet wound, jumped hard, and sank through two floors of the diner. Whoops. She supposed there was such a thing as sinking TOO fast. Fluffle, facing away from the other ghost present, lay prone. This dank, quiet basement was the perfect place to think.

Something had to be done about the bakery. She couldn’t make the flatbread like she used to, nor could she make ghost muffins. Ghoul water was hard to find. Ginz might be able to help her, and Fluffle would pay her for the non-ghostly customers she helped. But Ginz might not have been fully comforted by the gift of cupcakes just yet.

On top of that, Fluffle was running out of sugar! She looked around. A bag of sugar lay right next to her. The alicorn had said she was pious in her life. Surely that didn’t mean she couldn’t borrow some sugar from her neighbor? After all, Fluffle would pay the restaurant back in bits. Fluffle rolled her eyes and sighed. This wasn’t wrong. She was sure of it. And yet…something was definitely wrong. Nope, taking the sugar was absolutely justified. She needed it. Her establishment needed it. Besides, hadn’t Mony borrowed some waffle mix from her once or twice? True, he’d gotten permission beforehand, but she would grab it like she stole something. Whatever.

And there remained the issue of being seen with a bag of sugar. Fluffle pondered this. She’d whinnied right in the middle of the restaurant, and yes, some people had noticed her, but no one had said hello back. How rude. Fluffle shrugged her fluffy shoulders. They wouldn’t notice her if she took the back entrance through the kitchen. She giggled. She was going to be naughty for the first time in her ghostly life!

Concentrating slightly less than she had previous times, Fluffle solidified her teeth and seized a corner of the bag. It wasn’t too heavy, but it was easier to drag it. She dragged it on the floor, knowing very well she couldn’t just float out of there with something solid in her grasp. Or could she?

Fluffle crouched, then leaped into the air. Her body went through the ceiling until—Ah! Ouch! Her teeth! The bag fell to the floor with a thud. She neighed quietly, squeezing her eyes shut. Nobody heard, right?....No. It didn’t seem so.

Fluffle solidified her teeth once more, grabbed the bag, and turned around to head for the stairway.

She froze. It took all her willpower not to tip over. The last time that happened, something terrible followed.

It was the gentleman who’d made her heart pound once or twice with that face of his, his hard work, and his ability to soothe her troubled mind. He’d even NICKNAMED her! "It'll be okay, Fluff," Mick had said. But he was dead! How could that be…?

Wait. “It’ll be okay?” She’d heard that not too long ag—

Fluffle’s legs grew weak as she unwillingly thought back to the night of her death…

***

The Cow Moofia…she had to run…she was too scared…

Fluffle struggled and struggled for her legs to start working. If her ancestors hadn’t been so sheepish, she wouldn’t have had this problem! The cows were grinning, taunting her with the fedoras and rocks.

The night was closing in, both in reality and in Fluffle’s vision. She managed to right herself. Fluffle looked at the cows one more time, who were laughing. They were obviously having the time of their lives. Fluffle was about to run straight home when a figure approached her in the darkness. He/she looked at the cows in amusement, and petted Fluff with one hand.

It was so good to be petted. That was nice.

“It’ll be okay.”

A cow screamed.

Fluffle’s legs stiffened.

BANG.

Fortunately for the person, the gunshot was obscured by a clap of thunder…[/i]

***

Fluffle, still holding the bag of sugar from terror, swatted a hoof at the other ghost in the basement, and cowered back against the wall, knowing she couldn’t float off like he could. Sugar had limitations. He may not have been the one who held the pistol, but he probably knew who that was.

Fluffle wasn’t going to stick around to find out. She scuttled up the stairs and fled Waffles, No Nets through the front door, not caring who saw her.

She had to get back to the bakery, to her apartment, at all costs.

She had to write a note in hoof-code…

[icon]

The rain was getting worse. The staccato droplets had increased in tempo, and ever since Mick got lynched they only seemed to get worse. Osi generally didn't mind rain- a good drizzle could bring out some birds afterwards- but this kind of weather meant that all the birds were in their nooks, avoiding as much to do with water as possible.

He had since exited the Diner, left his tinfoil hat on the stairs and gone across the roof to the Shipshape Shop. The alley was somewhat difficult to navigate, but with a few bumps and splashes and crinkling of tinfoil shingles he was soon scrambling back into the safety of his own room.

Death. This town still felt like so much death, he needed to get out, get away, get a breath. But what could they do? The townspeople were stuck. The weather was getting worse, if this kept up it would start flooding outside. The birds were gone, gone, tucked away. At least they were safe.

He couldn't deal with this. Calm down. Calm down calm down breathe breathe breathe keep breathing-

Opening a window, Osilon Swallowed a breath of freezing air and received a minor hurricane to his face. That helped him cool down, at least.

He decided to return to the diner. It was cloying, and crowded, and felt like death and smelt like eggs, but it was better than sitting outside. Or alone. Look around the room, make sure you have everything; umbrella, bird spotter's notebook, goggles (although those were always on), pencil...

Osi tugged on his turtleneck collar once more, then headed back onto the roof of the Shipshape shop and across to the diner. He needed to calm down, to stay level, to calm down. Things were taking a turn for the worse.

[Lizica]

Tracy inspected what was left of her waffle. It had been the last one Mick had ever served, and although Tracy had wolfed down the waffle itself, the masterpiece that was Mick's topping had been set aside, mostly intact.

The whipped cream, however, was starting to melt and ooze.

Tracy attempted to mold it back into place, much like she so often fixed tin foil.

But tin foil is not much like melting whipped cream.

Having irrevocably smashed the topping completely, Tracy desperately tried next to carefully rebuild what was left, and formed it into a shape that was reminiscent of a famous mountaintop a few hours north of Wafflenet.

But it wasn't the same. It would never be the same.

She scooped the whole thing into her mouth and chewed, upset, and studied her wet notebook instead. The pattern she had uncovered had been broken. And once again--what did that mean.

Across the table, Julie was concentrating supremely hard on playing her mandolin. It was a lovely tune, alternating between light and heavy tones. Tracy, her mouth still full of waffle toppings, gave Julie an approving thumbs up just as Dove burst into the diner.

"MY NAME," she shouted, "IS PUELLA PALOMA COLUMBIDAE. I FIGHT FOR JUSTICE...FREEDOM...AND THE JAPANESE-AMERICAN W--"

And then she had promptly passed out. To her credit, she had been much more articulate than Tracy had been upon entering the diner. Tracy reached into her bag and pulled out one of the last tin foil hats. Being at the bottom of the bag had taken its toll on the shape of the nekomimi. But Tracy let out a thin sigh of relief when she was able to bend this piece of handiwork back into shape.

Tracy walked over and tapped the tin foil ear-hat onto Dove's head. (It even matched her cat clips! That brightened her up just a smidge.) She looked up, waved at the ghost of Alex. It then occurred to Tracy that Alex had passed out on almost the exact same spot as Dove a few days ago, and she wasn't sure how he had liked her dousing him in water and dragging him around on the sticky diner floor. She thus resolved to treat the unconscious better from now on. Heaving Dove up, Tracy glanced around the diner. It was still so crowded. So she dragged the cosplaying girl back to Julie's booth and propped her up.

As Tracy settled back into the booth herself, she looked up belatedly at Julie.

"Hope you don't mind?" she asked.

[Robyn]

"SUSHI," Dove shouted, jolting awake. Wow, that was a heck of a dream she'd just had. Something about Mick finally serving those little taiyaki fish buns she'd always been bugging him to sell, unpractical as they might have been. She thought they could have gotten popular. But in the dream, she'd bitten into one, and instead of sweet red bean paste inside, there had been a horrible mixture of a murky brown substance and fish heads, rank with the scent of death, spilling from the wound in the bread, lifeless no-lid eyes staring at her as they waterfalled down and swirled around her fee--

Dove stopped herself from going any further with that memory. Some dreams just weren't worth recalling. She tried to sit up, only to realize that she was already sitting up against a familiar vinyl backing. Blearily, she blinked. Was this the diner? She didn't remember getting here. Raising a hand to rub her tired eyes, she yawned, and then stopped right before she got to the delicate artistry of her cosplay makeup (could you even imagine the smears? Close one!). Ribbons. Those were ribbons on her arms. Fingernails immaculate. Fake scepter on the bench. OH, THAT WAS RIGHT.

She was PUELLA PALOMA COLUMBIDAE, and it was her job to save the town! The urge to hop up on this table and re-announce her glorious cause was strong, but as her vision came fully back into focus, she saw that she'd been seated next to Tracy Chaetura, with Julie the minstrel directly across from them. Had one of them moved her? She had passed out, right? It was all a blur. Puella Paloma Columbidae mentally added "get a full night's rest" to her personal magical girl code for future reference.

Turning to Tracy, Puella Paloma Columbidae said, "Chaetura-san, I'm glad to see you are well. You as well, Merlot-san. I apologize for my clumsiness; I did not get much rest last night. A magical girl never does."

(She would seriously try to get more rest though, she reminded herself.)

She continued. "It saddens me greatly to see that Angelo-san, Kay-san, and even dear Fluffle-chan have all been taken by this dreadful plague. It saddens me even more that it was my duty to stop it, but I found myself mysteriously overpowered by sleep this morning after spending nine hours on this costume! Er-- that is-- it was gifted to me by the gods. The ceremony took nine hours."

Good save, she thought.

Puella Paloma Columbidae sighed, looking out to the raging rain that was clawing at their window. "I don't understand it at all, desu. I just wish the magical Aether of the Ages would manifest itself and guide me to whoever has done these horrible things."

It was then that she looked around the diner and realized that almost everyone in town was here-- even some of the non-living citizens. Was that where the white rose she remembered seeing had come from? And there had been an EXTREMELY attractive prince somewhere in that fog...

Ugh, she couldn't afford to think of that right now. Puella Paloma Columbidae was a warrior for the people. She had to talk to them.

"Chaetura-san. Merlot-san. You must tell me. Are there any leads to these horrible crimes? Has anyone been acting strangely, or out of character?"

In her opinion, being OOC was one of the worst things you could ever be. Only a real mafioso/a would be crude enough to resort to /uncanon activities/.

[Celestial]

Don Dan had, thankfully, decided to join his wife in the booth at Waffles, No Nets, leaving Diana alone with her thoughts. That's where she preferred to be, at least if she wasn't in a nice archive somewhere reading near-incomprehensible handwriting. No wonder she needed glasses in the end, although that might have been caused by a genetic disorder or pe- no, that was getting into medicine here. And medicine meant science. Diana did not deal in absolutes as the sciences did and she was not about to start now. She had standards.

The suddenly, as she had thought, the mob burst in and dragged Mick out just as he was bringing her her coffee. Diana watched in horror, although it was a horror somewhat dulled by her emotionally deadening herself today in the face of all these murders, and hanged him. Frantically, she recorded the events in her notebook, her hand shaking from the pain of writing so quickly. Somebody else brought her coffee and the thunderstorm got worse but Diana did not rest until she had recorded everything she saw and heard. Then, she began re-reading her notes. Everything was in there, down to the tiny boring details that she, as a microhistorian, had trained herself to not overlook. Perhaps they would contain something, anything to shed some light on this mystery, to explain why the town was erupting into violence so quickly. It had not even been a few days and already over a third of the populace were dead. The only precedent for this had been Netwaffle and now, the same thing was happening here.

Diana began scribbling even faster, pausing only to adjust her glasses and choke down the awful coffee that kept her energised. Netwaffe, the same conditions were being repeated in Wafflenet. Was it due to the disposition of the townspeople, the similar town structure or even the name? What drove people, ordinary people, to suddenly do such brutal things? Mick was an ordinary person who was driven to join the mafia by the need to get by, it seemed, that much was obvious and had a historical precedent, to the point of it being cliche. But who else could have a motive?

Britknee said something to her, something Diana only vaguely caught. Something about rain and the execution.

"Well, Britknee, go home if it's bothering you so much, that is the logical conclusion. I'm going to say here, I have a lot of work to do. I might just figure out-" Diana looked down at the wolf that had rested its head in her lap. She was normally a cat person but the wolf was warm and Diana could appreciate warmth. Besides, it was comforting to have another creature be so relaxed around her. She gave Primrose a tentative stroke.

"Sorry, I have nothing except coffee," she said to the wolf and turned back to her notes just as Blaze's voice rang out across the room. Diana coughed.

"As a matter of fact-" she was broken off again by the cosplayer, whose proclaimed name did not match the one Diana remembered and thus she would have to readjust her facts, once she had checked the birth ceritifate for that girl and/or looked for any evidence of a name being changed by deed-poll, like she did when THE PYTHON began calling himself that instead of Melvin (she found no evidence of the deed poll in town hall by the way.) But there was no time for that. She waited until the girl Dove/Puella Paloma Columbidae had finished her ramble and coughed.

"Let us calm down, everyone. We cannot cast accusations until we are sure of the facts. To do so otherwise is unwise and it would be unprofessional of me to encourage this. Please present your argument backed up by the proper evidence, making sure to display a wide variety of sources which have been interrogated for information. I have my suspicions but I will keep them to myself until I have acquired enough proof that my thesis would stand up for itself in an academic journal. Honestly, that is the proper way to do things, don't you all know?" she stated and looked back down at her notes just as Osilon wandered back into the diner. Diana hoped that the loud Dove/Puella Paloma Columbidae girl would not distract her again.

[Gelquie]

And another person was hung. Julie had tried to keep her music going above the sounds, but soon the situation had intensified so much that Julie couldn't even hear herself play. And before she knew it, Mick had hung, his body swinging outside in the rain just outside the window, the lightning illuminating his figure. Julie tried to keep her eyes away from the window; guilty or innocent, she didn't want to see the dead body just hanging there. She had hoped that she would not have to see another corpse, but with all the murder and death in this town, that was getting harder and harder.

And so Julie went back to her playing in her booth, this time strumming louder. Music. That was her only escape from the grim reality that the town was shrinking more and more. Even if they were all coming back as ghosts... Alex showed her that they weren't quite coming back the same as before. Not to mention that they weren't really corporeal. If she could touch them, it wasn't without a shiver in her spine and a reminder of all the terrible things that had happened, and the cold that they must be feeling in every moment of their undeath. On the other hand, perhaps they could help out and save what remained of the town. ...But it'd still never be the same. And they could never truly be alive again. They would just exist as shadows of their former selves.

Julie tried to shake the thought out of her head as she kept playing, although she couldn't help but hear what Tracy was saying from across the table. She also couldn't help but notice Tracy move an unconscious Dove to her table, and she was wearing... Okay, what was she wearing?

"Hope you don't mind?" Tracy asked.

Julie let out a tiny shrug, small enough that it wouldn't disrupt her playing. "No, I don't mind," Julie responded. It wasn't long later that Dove woke up. She listened to her introduction intently.

"It saddens me greatly to see that Angelo-san, Kay-san, and even dear Fluffle-chan have all been taken by this dreadful plague. It saddens me even more that it was my duty to stop it, but I found myself mysteriously overpowered by sleep this morning after spending nine hours on this costume! Er-- that is-- it was gifted to me by the gods. The ceremony took nine hours."

Dreadful plague...? Well, Julie supposed that the string of serial deaths counted as a metaphorical plague. It was certainly plaguing the town.

"You're having trouble sleeping too?" Julie asked. She was glad she wasn't the only one. Although she didn't quite understand why she would spend the whole night on her costume at a time like this.

Before Julie could think more on that, Dove spoke up again. "Chaetura-san. Merlot-san. You must tell me. Are there any leads to these horrible crimes? Has anyone been acting strangely, or out of character?"

Julie paused in playing her mandolin. She had given some thought to these murders, although it was more towards the emotions and horror at the thought of the murders than who actually might have done it. Not to say she hadn't given it any thought. But anyone acting strangely...? Julie paused for a while, trying to think of who was acting odd that went beyond general sadness or shock. She had barely seen anything of Nora since the murders began, Blaze didn't actually seem to change that much really, THE PYTHON... is THE PYTHON, Diana insisted on being purely academic, as usual; Tracy... is Tracy, Ginz looked more sad than anything and so did Don Dan, Julie hadn't really seen much of Professor Birch either, Osilon... well, she'd say he was silent, but he's always silent; and Dove... well, Julie found Dove's overnight foray into her costume to be odd, as well as her absence for most of the morning. It could be just a coping mechanism, but... What if it wasn't?

It was then that she heard Diana speak up, asking for everyone to not jump to conclusions about these things. She paused. Diana was right; they couldn't act too rashly about everything. ...But on the other hand, the murders were just going to continue if they didn't act fast enough. And then how much could they figure out before one of the murderers strike? Was there really any way to know for sure who had been committing the murders?

Julie stared for some time at Dove before she finally shook her head. "I... I don't know..." she finally admitted. "This is affecting us all, I know that, and we have to stop this... somehow. It's just..." She looked around the room, at all the members of the town who had joined them today. Before the first murders, she couldn't imagine any one of them being killers. But then people started dying, and now she couldn't help but think of it. But the thought of it all...

Julie sunk further into her seat. "I don't know..."

[Jayeee]

ATTICUS PYTHON was dumbstruck. He'd left the diner shortly after his conversation with Mick - his new student. He'd raced back to his car to grab some beer, but by the time he'd returned, Mick had been hung. And he had just been getting started on his journey to manhood too. ATTICUS PYTHON took a moment to look up to the sky. "You better be on an intense workout session up there, bro. ATTICUS PYTHON expects nothing less from his prized pupil."

Kneeling on the floor, he flung open his briefcase, grabbed a beer and downed it in one go, before jumping back to his feet and making his way into the diner. He flung open the door. "The law is back," he announced, hanging onto the door-frame both for stability and to pose. "ATTICUS PYTHON is most upset that you killed his dude. He was like, totally on his way to becoming a man. Now ATTICUS PYTHON's gotta find himself a new bro to help." He shook his head. "Not cool."

He turned around to brood in the rain - nothing drove the women crazier than watching a guy go through emotional turmoil while raindrops fell to the ground. He'd hit the jackpot with the weather - he wondered if Mick had made it rain as a way to thank ATTICUS PYTHON for all the work he'd done improving him. He was touched.

As he stepped back into the diner, dripping wet and still with a brooding look on his face, ATTICUS PYTHON's eyes lit up at the sight of Osi Crane. He was perfect - if anyone could turn somebody this meek into a piece of muscle-bound man-candy, then it was ATTICUS PYTHON. He jumped in front of Osi. "Yo, bro. Never seen you around these parts before." He grinned and grabbed Osi's hand, shaking it roughly. "And yeah, before you ask, these are totally ATTICUS PYTHON's real pecs. Pretty rad, right?" He took a step back and posed. "BOOM!"

After about a minute, ATTICUS PYTHON stood up straight again. "So bro, how'd you like to become a proper man? ATTICUS PYTHON is seriously depressed just looking at you. Some chicks go for this little lost boy look, but you know what really makes a chick go crazy?" Without waiting for a response, he quickly replied, "The answer is ATTICUS PYTHON. He's everything a woman wants. ATTICUS PYTHON knows that you must be feeling pretty jealous, so how about ATTICUS PYTHON trains you? Sounds too good to be true, right?" As he slapped Osi on the shoulder, out of the corner of his eye he noticed Don Dan and his sister, Ginz, sitting at a booth. His eyes narrowed. "Tell you what bro, you give ATTICUS PYTHON some time to lay down the law, and think of some ways to improve your manliness in the meantime, okay bro? ATTICUS PYTHON will call you over when he's ready." He flashed Osi a final smile before bounding over to his sister's booth.

He looked around the diner - too many people would notice him sitting with Ginz. ATTICUS PYTHON had to be clever. "HELLO, PEOPLE THAT ATTICUS PYTHON HAS NEVER MET IN HIS LIFE," he announced as loud as he could, and then slid into the booth. "Didn't ATTICUS PYTHON tell the two of you not to be around when he's present? Can't you two just go somewhere else? Like an alleyway, or a ditch?" He asked in a whisper, with a frown. He shook his head, once again spraying water droplets everywhere and then pointed to Ginz. "ATTICUS PYTHON FINDS YOU GUILTY OF NOT BEING ENOUGH OF A WOMAN. You should be on the floor licking your man's shoes, chick."

ATTICUS PYTHON turned his attention to Don Dan. "And you: this is all your fault, isn't it? ATTICUS PYTHON had just found himself a student to pass on his wisdom to, and then you went an killed him. You know, at first, ATTICUS PYTHON was totally impressed that THIS CHICK HE DOESN'T KNOW AT ALL decided to marry the head of the mafia. Totally manly. But then it turned out to be you. ATTICUS PYTHON is not impressed."

He shook his head slowly. "But your plans came to nothing, bro. ATTICUS PYTHON found a new student-" he paused and waved at Osi. "YO, BRO, COME AND MEET THESE DUDES!" He slammed his fist onto the table in excitement. "Isn't he terrible? ATTICUS PYTHON is going to turn him into a law abiding MAN!"

[Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)]

UGGGGH. Writing was tricky! Fluffle had to solidify different parts of her body at specific times or else:
* The ink would fall from her ghostly hoof to her precious paper
• The ink would be knocked over
• The letters wouldn’t come out right
• She’d run out of delicious paper

At last she managed to put together a note that looked something like this:

SPOILER: Click to show

She hoped it was legible. She got several ink stains on it, and, most curiously, one that resembled a pointed hand! But Fluffle thought it was a fine piece of work, especially for one with ghostly hooves. She tacked it to the front of her shop, (with difficulty, of course!) and went back inside. Fluffle had the sugar. But what about the water? The flour? The eggs? She couldn’t bake by herself!

Fluffle, involuntarily turning her forehead solid, facedesked. They needed her! They needed her “haunted” cupcakes! Everyone knows that you have to comfort someone who’s lost someone close to them. And even though no one came to comfort Fluffle, her duties still stood.

Though how she would crack an egg would be a long story. Fluffle, though she tried, could not solidify more than one part of herself at once.

Wait a minute. What had that server guy said? The eggs Fluffle made were haunted?

Fluffle looked at an egg. She visualized herself squeezing into it, and controlling it, and provoking it to break right over the bowl….

Nothing happened.

Fluffle tried again, this time stepping on—or rather, into—the egg. She rolled it about three inches.

The pony stamped her hooves in frustration. Her passion, her whole life—it really was over, wasn’t it? Haunting seemed like an incredible idea, but it wasn’t easy. The pony flopped onto her back soundlessly.

Fluffle wondered if Waffles, No Nets served ghost waffles. Perhaps the ghosts in there could teach her, even! She’d just have to sneak into the kitchen again and inquire. Simple.

The bluish pony sighed and carefully placed the eggs back into the refrigerator. She ambled slowly back to Waffles, No Nets, figuring that Mick was still in the basement. Though troubled by this, she reassured herself that he wouldn’t follow her. She moved slowly instead of using her newfound speed because she was in no rush. She had eternity to get there.

[icon]

Osilon just managed to make it down the stairs and return to the diner when he was accosted by a particularly enthusiastic fellow. "Yo, bro. Never seen you around these parts before." It was that one LOUD SNAKE guy, he knew; it would be hard to mistake anyone with a voice that loud. Before he could get away, LOUD SNAKE GUY (who appeared to be dressed as a drunken lawyer) walked up to him and started punching him on the shoulder. Ouch. Oh dear. Oof. Agh. Oh look and now he's walking away, that's nice.

This was an unusual development; people hardly ever bothered to initiate conversations with Osi, unless it was about paying the rent or getting off of their roofs. What reason would he have to talk to a guy like this about... what had the man even been saying? He tried to remember...

Wait a second. Pecks? Finding chicks?

THE PYTHON was a fellow bird enthusiast!

...Or maaaybe not, the voice in the back of his head told him. Osi was certainly quizzical. A guy this loud was hardly a prime candidate for birdwatching. Likely his voice would scare off any roosts before getting within watching distance. He stopped and recalled the facts he knew about THE PYTHON: the man certainly wasn't nice, but he was not-nice in a reliable sort of way; a neat rudeness, of sorts. And clearly anyone who appeared to like birds could do no wrong, right?

"YO BRO, COME AND MEET THESE DUDES!" Osilon Terned his head; the guy was now sitting at the booth with Mr. and Mrs. Mahb Maphia. He seemed to be calling Osi over; excellent, Osi thought. He skittered over to the table, leaning yet again against the door to the stairs. This would be the perfect chance to see if THE PYTHON was really the ornithologist he claimed to be.