NTWF Mafia II: The Idyllic Village of Wafflenet

[Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)]

May 25, 2013 18:09:50 GMT -5 Tiger said:

May 25, 2013 17:50:15 GMT -5 Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff) said:

((*refers to last round* Tiger, I thought Mick had lost his memories of everyone he saw?

((Sorry for the confusion, I know it was vaguely worded - he's forgotten the identities of the mafia members (he still knows the people themselves, just doesn't remember them being mafiosos) so he can't just reveal their identities to the town.))

((Ooooh I totally get it. And lol, how convenient xD )

[Lizica]

Tracy had zoned out for quite some time as she examined and scribbled notes in her damp notebook of codes and radio signals, trying to come up with a solution. But even she was unable to ignore the rainwater that swiftly rose at her shoes. And in a blur, THE PYTHON had keeled over, people had panicked, Tanya had herded the diner clientele upstairs, and now everyone sat clustered together in this cramped space, fidgeting anxiously, chattering with rising terror, all waiting for the storm to let up. Fluffle came by and snuggled each of them; Tracy hugged her gratefully and could almost feel the memory of warmth in her fur before she disappeared.

But still the rain fell, and still the water rose.

Far be it for Tracy to believe that aliens were in charge of the weather, but there was no denying that this storm was awfully suspicious.

The flood had cornered most of the town in this tiny area, and someone had been killed right under their very noses. This was a desperate alien-incited situation. This was an emergency.

But Tracy had been preparing and stocking up for years for this alien emergency. Granted, a massive flood paired with murders was not precisely the kind of alien apocalypse she had always expected, but this was nevertheless a dire emergency.

Tracy felt--not happy--but she felt a renewed sense of purpose. Her fellow townspeople would be hunkering down in this attic for a long time. They needed supplies. Food. Light. Batteries. Blankets. Tin foil.

And Tracy knew exactly where and how to find those things.

She pushed her way through the attic crowd, and finally came upon her tenant, the birdwatcher, huddled in a corner of the attic close by the stairs.

"Mr. Osilon," said Tracy, with grim determination, "we need supplies from the Shipshape Shop. The only way there is over the rooftops, and I need you to show me the best way across."

[icon]

And then THE PYTHON died.

That certainly put a damper on things, Osi thought. He never did get to find out if the man was truly a fan of birds. Bit of a shame, really.

But now here he was, and here they all were, crammed into the upstairs of Waffles, No Nets, possibly the only diner he knew that had both an attic and a basement. It was a bit chilly up here, although that was to be expected. When he had climbed the stairs up to the roof earlier the door was open- a draft must have blown in.

Osi frowned. He wanted to watch the birds, to see their patterns; this was so abnormal, so anomalous, so chaotic. The weather was messing with his head; he huddled up in the corner, try to calm down, try to keep breathing, go to your happy place happy place happy place--

"Mr. Osilon, we need supplies from the Shipshape Shop," Miss Chaetura said as she strode up to him. Outside, outside, outside, she wanted him to get across the alley to the Shop? That was hardly a problem at all; he'd done it earlier, and sure it was raining a bit more but that was hardly a problem. He stood up, rather unfolding and uncurling himself, and, with a pointed look, nodded towards the stairs.

But before they headed up, he stared around the room once more through his goggles; Miss Chaetura was a neat, reliable lady, but Osi wasn't certain the two of them would be enough to carry supplies. They would need some extra help if they wanted to take everything.

[Jayeee]

Well, that was unfortunate. ATTICUS PYTHON stared at his body, drifting about in the torrent of water. It was a total bummer that he died, but at least he was doing something manly at the time - he'd go down in history for that, he was sure. Now that he was a ghost, - and a rather handsome one at that - he could go about his business without any interruptions. Sure, he wasn't able to drink beer or punch women anymore, but that was a small price to pay if he could preserve his looks forever and move through walls. Nobody could hide from him now - not that they'd want to. And besides, now that ATTICUS PYTHON was dead, PYTHON MARLEY could rise.

PYTHON MARLEY floated through the floor of the diner's attic, now wrapped in chains, and looked around at the huddled families and scared individuals. PYTHON MARLEY laughed as he caught a few people glance over at him and then quickly look away as if they hadn't seen a thing. Ah, this was the life.

He drifted over to his totally-not-brother-in-law, Don Dan. "PYTHON MARLEY hopes you're happy, bro. Now you're the most manly Mahb left, and that's barely anything at all. Who's going to carry on the family line now? You won't of course, you'll probably end up having a bunch of little girls." He shook his head, the chains of his new uniform rattling and leaving behind an ethereal glow. "PYTHON MARLEY knows you were jealous of how great he is and all, but did you really have to kill him? You just doomed the world to forward-thinking, you know that?" He spun around and threw his hands up into the air. "Before you know it, all women will be driving and voting and raising children by themselves." He thought about this for a minute. "PYTHON MARLEY thinks that on second thought, he'd rather be dead than live in that kind of world. Nice one, Mafia dudes." he glanced over his shoulder at Don Dan again. "Except you, PYTHON MARLEY thinks you make a totally bogus godfather."

PYTHON MARLEY slumped his shoulders. "What do you think of the new uniform though, bro? Perfect, don't you think? PYTHON MARLEY had some babe read him a story called 'A Christmas Carol'. It's about this chick called Carol or something, and they kill her on a Christmas Day. PYTHON MARLEY thinks that's the best kind of present to receive."

[Tiger]

Mick hid in the chimney of Waffles, No Nets as Fluffle played in the torrential downpour. He glanced over the stone ledge every now and then, catching a glimpse of her disappearing into the sheets of pouring water. It looked...fun. Exciting. An advantage of being dead.

He probably couldn't do it, and certainly, he didn't have Metastophelous' permission. Mick kept to the chimney, waiting for Fluffle to disappear. His nonexistent insides should have squirmed with grief; as he had when panicking in the basement, Mick noticed the absence in place of the sensation. It must have been him who killed her - why else would she freeze up? But, Mick's desperate logic protested, the memory was gone, fuzzy and warped like his memories of certain conversations and meetings in dark places - surely that meant another mafia member was involved? Surely that meant he at least hadn't pulled the trigger...?

"Got a hit for you, kid. And yes, I used that word deliberately."

Mick put a hand to the earpiece, hunkering down inside the chimney. "What is it?"

"Hold on one second...highlight...copy...paste...trim out the prose...annnd transmitting."

Mick twitched, partially phasing through the chimney, when Tracy's voice suddenly echoed from the earpiece. There was a faint, almost static background noise to it, and an extra set of raindrops that didn't match the ones pelting Mick's chimney. A recording. Oh.

"Mr. Osilon, we need supplies from the Shipshape Shop. The only way there is over the rooftops, and I need you to show me the best way across."

Mick poked his head through the chimney. "That looks dangerous," he remarked.

"Wow. Every word out of your mouth is sheer genius, Angelo. It's a wonder the townspeople managed to figure out you were mafia with a steel-trap brain like that on your side."

"What is it you want me to do?" Mick asked. "I think Tracy's right on this one, Osi's the best person to ask about rooftops."

"Well, at least arrogance isn't one of your many, many sins. Just murder and cowardice. Good stuff. But Osilion doesn't have a bird's-eye view of the town, Angelo. Get up high. see what the roofs are like, and maybe try using this amazing thing we call imagination! Imagination, Angelo, helps us solve problems! Like, 'how do I get out of the mafia before the whole town's killed?' or 'how do I pay for college without turning into a black-hearted fiend of the night?'"

"I get it," Mick grumbled. He swooped out of the chimney; the cacophony of rain and the whistling wind muted some of Metastophelous' continued stream of insults. He reached a good height, and looked down. Wafflenet was almost hidden by the torrential downpour, and what little Mick could see resembled a villages built in and along a river. Thank goodness Waffles, No Nets had high ground - chalk another point up for Mony.

Mick squinted and found the radio tower that marked the Shipshape Shop's roof. There were a few paths that looked...all right, but Mick had no idea which way Osilion would choose, or how badly the tiles would slip, and combined with the wind...

And what can I do to stop that? Seasons don't fear the reaper, nor do the wind, the sun, or the rai-

"D'you mind?" Metastophelous snapped.

"...What?"

"Not you - Tiger. Hey, Tiger! That reference barely makes sense. Stop dawdling and get the point already!"

Mick was completely lost by this rant to someone who didn't seem to be there, and tried to focus on the rooftops instead. There were a lot of gaps. Jumping would be dangerous in this weather, with the wind and the rain, which apparently didn't fear the reaper, or purgatory for murder.

...Hmm. Wonder if...

Mick swooped down to one of the first gaps, looking around at the walls beneath the rooftops. There was a closed window on one side. Mick flexed his fingers, went to the window, and tried to grab the pane. His hands passed right through it.

"It's an unfamiliar object, kid. Give it another couple tries."

Mick clenched his jaw, and went for the window again. His fingers went through the glass - for a moment, it looked like the raindrops were bouncing off the back of his blue palms. He tried a third time. A fourth. Still, nothing.

"Kid - you're trying to grab the window."

"Yes, I know that."

"Micky, what you can and can't touch is based on the object more than you. Think."

"I can't go back in time and make the window familiar, Meta!"

"No - but you've got all the time in the world now."

Mick frowned and looked down at his hands. Touch was based on the object...he had time to make the object familiar... I'm trying to make my hands solid...but I'm not grabbing the window? The window's...working with my hands?

Mick bit his tongue, and tried again, thinking very carefully of the window hitting his hand. The mental image didn't settle, and his hands phased through the wood again. He gave it a second try - he felt bits of wood pressing against his fingertips, but they faded the second he got excited. Third time, in typical storytelling fashion, was the charm - Mick's fingers hit the frame, and he pulled the window out and open. Now, if he could keep the frame in place, it would be a step between the two roofs...

A moment later, Mick darted out of the house with a stapler, and managed to wedge the window frame in place. One down - a lot of gaps to go. He sped toward the next one, head filling with schemes of clotheslines and tilted ladders, fences mysteriously spanning gaps like bridges, more open windows forming thin rails to cross upon...

"Kid, if it hadn't taken you nine-hundred ‘n’ sixty-six words to get here, I'd be impressed."

[Robyn]

Unfortunately, Puella Paloma Columbidae's razor-sharp interrogation methods hadn't done a lick of good. Another townsperson was dead and there were absolutely no leads. Not to mention her feet were getting extraordinarily damp and cold and oh god it was flooding in here. PPC hopped up onto the bench in a protective position-- she had spent FAR TOO LONG constructing these shoes out of nothing but horse leather and ribbon for them to get ruined by some freak force of nature now.

"What do we do? It's like the thousands of tears shed by the Dangan Ronpa fandom are filling up the cafe, kyaaa!" she fretted.

From near the kitchen, the waitress had ordered everyone to flee up into the attic, and PPC quickly complied, parkouring her way across tabletops, booth edges, and occasionally fellow townspeople in a desperate scramble to get away from the water. The rain had already made a mockery out of her earlier; why did it keep having to come back for more? Was the universe just not ready for the incredible power of Puella Paloma Columbidae?

Once everyone reached the attic, PPC finally let herself relax and sat on a couple of unopened crates of maple syrup. The storm was strong, sure, but there was no way the water could get this high. Her cosplay was safe, and so was her brand of magical girl justice. It was a bit cramped with the whole town taking shelter, though. Having to breathe the same air as Osilon was never a pleasant affair either, but she supposed she could take a blow like that for the sake of art and the good of mankind. Currently he was "speaking" with Chaetura-san about getting across the rooftops to reach the Shipshape Shop.

"If I may, Chaetura-san," Puella Paloma Columbidae offered, turning her nose up at Osi as she crossed over to speak with the store owner, "I know these rooftops quite well myself, having done many a photoshoot at their peaks by the light of the sunrisuu, and I cannot in all good conscience allow you to cross in this weather. At least, not alone. And Osilon is totally unsugoi and really should only count as half a person."

She cleared her throat and went on, not bothering to check for Osi's reaction. "Perhaps we should first consider the trajectory of this roof to the next?"

And Puella Paloma Columbidae knew just how to do that. A tiny slit of a window occupied the space where the wall met the angle of the roof, just high enough to be annoyingly out of reach, but using her critical thinking skills (acquired from many a game of the Professor Layton series-- those things counted as anime), she swiftly pushed her former seat to the wall and fashioned them into makeshift stairs. Cupping her hands around her face, PPC peered into the window and out into the storm.

It was mostly dark, dark and rainy. Through sheets of precipitation, Puella Paloma Columbidae could see the vague flickerings of streetlamps on their last leg, but from what she could make out, they outlined a most curious thing. First, an open window; then, a ladder extending from one balcony to the next; a fire escape with a rickety-looking zipline down to the next roof; and so on and so forth.

"Forget trajectory," she said, half suspicious and half intrigued, "Chaetura-san, you have got to see this."

[Gav]

"Urgh, my head..." Birch rubbed his head. It felt like he had been out the past couple of days. He had gone to Waffle No Nets for a cup of coffee to clear his head, and before he knew it, people were shoving him upstairs, yelling about another dead body and water.

And now he was stuck up here. And with no coffee. Truly the darkest of days.

He looked around at what everyone was doing, aside from making a clamour as usual. Maybe he'd be able to find out what had happened? He noticed that girl with the broken ankle wasn't there. Maybe she was lucky enough to escape the storm.

(Just to note I will, unfortunately again, be incredibly busy over the next few days. I'll try to participate as much as possible til then, but otherwise assume Birch is uh.. having a headache and lying down if I don't respond otherwise. And that I'm not dead unless I am. )

[♥ Azzie]

Nora was sitting in the attic, trying to sleep.
It wasn't easy. For one thing, there was a lot of commotion, and for another, she was utterly terrified. Her chickens... She'd left them outside when she'd gone for lunch. It was true they could always use their little chicken-door, but would they know to in time? What if Genevieve was off somewhere again? It didn't bear thinking about. And yet she found herself completely unable to stop.
She was dimly aware of people mentioning stepping across the rooftops to get supplies. Se thought this a thoroughly silly idea for two reasons. First, the roofs were quite far apart- at least, too much so to step across- and second, why would anybody even think of going onto elevated places with so many murders lately? She certainly didn't intend to take the risk. So she focused her energy on trying to sleep, hoping her dreams would prove a safer refuge than her reality.

[Chao]

Kay was truly happy that indeed someone had picked her up and taken her to the attic. No staying with the corpse of Melving. Instead it was staying with his chained ghost. Did he really think this was just another one of his stupid costumes? Kay thought it more likely that he had been judged by the same entities who had judged the original Marley. And most likely all the coffers chained to Melvin-Marley contained books on how to behave towards women correctly. So in order for him to ever move on he'd have to unlock them one by one and truly live by them. Perhaps Alex-ghost could give Melvin-Marley some lessons?

Another thing Kay noticed then was that apparently being dead did not mean she was no longer allergic to furry pets. And even such a tiny dog as Britknee's caused an allergic reaction with her and within seconds, Kay could feel a sneeze crawling up whatever was a sugar dispenser's nose. 'Aaachooo!' And a small spray of sugar emerged from the dispenser.

[Terra]

When the diner started to flood, Blaze immediately grabbed Primrose’s leash and led her into the attic; Primrose followed Blaze, just as eager to get out of the water as anyone else. When Blaze got up to the attic, she immediately took off her soaked shoes and socks and set them aside; Primrose shook herself off, spraying water everywhere.

Blaze looked out the window, worried about her poor wolves who were still at the farm. She had never been separated from them during a storm before - and she hoped that they had the good sense to move to higher ground in this flood (if they were in her house, and her house had been flooded, surely they’d move up to the second floor, right?), but there was no way of knowing.

Primrose was pacing, agitated; she was never able to stay calm during a thunderstorm. She whimpered slightly under her breath.

“It’s okay, Primrose,” said Blaze. She opened her backpack and pulled out a can of dog food that she kept for emergencies. She opened the can and set it down in front of Primrose.

Primrose didn’t touch it.

Eh, well; it probably didn’t taste very good compared to her usual diet of raw meat, anyway.

Then Blaze heard a familiar voice.

She turned to see a transparent figure floating in front of Don Dan - PYTHON MARLEY, apparently, had returned from the dead to haunt them.

“Oh, HELL,” she said.

He was spouting all kinds of horrible woman-hating stuff and she was about to turn away in disgust when she caught the tail end of what he said.

"Except you, PYTHON MARLEY thinks you make a totally bogus godfather."

She looked at PYTHON MARLEY. Then she looked at Don Dan.

Then she said, “What? Whose godfather are you?”

[Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)]

Fluffle reached the attic to find the townspeople abuzz with chatter and plans to get across the roofs. Fluffle brightened. She LOVED that game! But, she thought to herself, hay bales in carts might not work underwater.

A woman in the corner of the attic was trying to sleep. Fluffle, through a force that wasn't her own, tip-hoofed over to her. It was as though a harmless monster was trying to take over her not-quite-there body. Fluffle conceded reluctantly.

Big mistake.

The pony, through with very little awareness, solidified a bit of fluff, and moved it gently across the sleeping lady's nose. The real Fluffle, the Fluffle that was there all along, chuckled. This was fun. She ducked behind a group of townspeople before the sleeping lady could turn around.

What else could she do?

A sneeze behind her caught Fluffle's attention. A forlorn sugar shaker was on the floor. Fluffle giggled and tried to step into the sugar shaker, just like she had haunted the water that she stored in her fluff.

Someone else was in there! Whoops! Fluffle blushed, and exited the sugar shaker, wondering what the pharmacist had been up to in there. Fluffle was not one to steal someone else's mischief. That could get ugly.

She wanted to help the rest of them get across the rooftops, but to carry people across by jumping meant solidifying her entire back. Fluffle tried. She managed to get the top half of her back, then the lower half, and the third time she tried she completely failed and ended up solidifying her flank. That was rather embarrassing. Nope, she couldn't carry more than one person on her back at a time, and certainly not for long. Fluffle supposed she needed a bit more practice before she had the carrying capabilities she used to have.

Practicing would make her look strange, though. She already got a few stares when it was her flank that went solid. She paced, circled, listened to Julie's music, tried haunting the bricks in the chimney (they were blocked for some reason), walked out into the rain, slid down the roof again but came floating right back up...

Fluffle was bored. And a bored ghost is not a happy ghost. Unhappy ghosts cause mischief and fear, depending on the type of ghost.

Fluffle lay down in the attic, plotting, mostly, but she was also enjoying the company of her fellow townsfolk.

[Avery]

Things were kind of weird in the attic. Like, super weird. First of all, the PYTHON guy's ghost was harassing some of the people and being like, a total jerkwad even in death. And also like, the alien chick, Tracy, was trying to gather a group to go gallivanting about on like, the rooftops, to gather supplies. Umm, hello? Were these people total idiots!? (Well, of course Brit already knew the answer to that question but still.) As Tracy looked about for volunteers, Brit slunk back and wedged herself in the corner in an attempt to hide. Cos like, no way was she volunteering or getting volunteered to go on a practical suicide mission. Geesh, these people were so freakin paranoid! Yeah, there's been a spate of vicious murders, but it wasn't like they'd be up in this attic forever. Going on supply missions? Umm, overreaction much!?

And even worse her pretty shiny sugar shaker like, randomly let out a puff of sugar, which was SO SCARY. And some of the sugar got in Britknee's mouth and she SWALLOWED IT and holy no the calories! Nervous, Britknee pushed the sugar shaker away from her. Things were so strange in this town, ohemgee.

Then even WORSE Brit look and noticed that Yelly had brought her freakin' wolf up into the attic! Uhhh, what! Was this woman deluded! ... oooh, but wait. The lady had doggie food! Brit had been feeding Snuggles scraps of waffles and things all day but he hadn't had a good can of actual dog food in like, a day now. And the silly wolfie wasn't eating it, so like... Brit was about to ask if Snuggles could have it when Blaze said to Dan, “What? Whose godfather are you?”

"Umm," she said. "He is probably like, you know. A GODFATHER. Duh! Like, a father to someone's god or something! MORE IMPORTANTLY, Yelly-- I mean, Blaze... that is some like, delish looking doggie food! Could Snuggles have it since your beast-wolf apparently won't touch it since I'm sure she's like, totes used to eating people or something instead?" When Blaze didn't immediately reply, Brit added in her most sweetest cutest voice, "Please?"

[Lizica]

"Forget trajectory. Chaetura-san, you have got to see this."

Dove was beckoning Tracy over to the window. Tracy poked her head out and squinted through the sheets of rain. That was strange--she didn't remember the rooftops having so many...convenient footholds before.

Aha! Perhaps the infiltrator aliens had their own traitor in their midst, someone determined to help Wafflenet rather than destroy it.

"Wow!" Tracy said brightly to Dove with a grin.

Wait--sudden second thought coming: THIS WAS A TRAP.

Going out in the storm for supplies was already incredibly dangerous, and these appearances of safety could be a lure--or worse, they could be rigged. But then...the diner's electricity would surely give out soon, and Tracy gave a shudder when she thought about the town scrunched together in the attic, shivering and casting suspicious, restless glances at each other, all while sitting in the dark.

Trap or not, this must be done!

She hopped down from the crate of maple syrup and started going around the attic in search of volunteers. Not many seemed keen on the idea of jumping around on rooftops in the pouring rain.

Tracy found Dr. Birch seated at the side of the attic and approached him. She molded his tin foil hat (wound around like a head bandage) back into shape and passed it over.

"Dr. Birch, your hat, sir!" she said with a salute. "Show those aliens who's boss! Wear it with pride! Wafflenet shall rise to the occasion, higher than even the flood waters!"

As she walked away, Tracy considered that maybe that battle cry was rather badly worded. Oh well. She emptied out the remains of her bag (extra roll of foil, some pencils, a handful of pink fluff); they would need the extra space to bring back supplies.

...Provided they could make it out and back at all.

[Celestial]

THE PYTHON/Melvin, had died suddenly from poison in his drink. Diana, now on her seventh cup of coffee to try and steady her nerves, the psychological effect of it being associated with work for her outweighing the side-effects of caffiene making her increasingly alert, decided against drinking it down in case it too was poisoned. She did not want to take risks, not now when there were mafia about in the diner here. The death was undeniable proof, it was timed perfectly and there was nobody else who would risk killing Melvin/THE PYTHON in such a paranoid and tense atmosphere lest they risked being killed by the bloodthirsty crowd. Even if the evidence pointed to every single woman in the town of Wafflenet wanting to kill THE PYTHON sometimes. After his terrible magasine, with its grammatical mistakes, uncited evidence and terrible lack of research, Diana did share the sentiment. But of course, it was impolite to speak ill of the dead, even if the dead were despicable people. It was important to judge not by your own standards but by their standards.

But now, they had even more problems with the rising water in the diner that had trapped them there. Diana was very glad that her room was in a house on a hill, the water would not get her precious research. But of course, the research needed her mind to get it into other, to be formulated into theories and be recorded in monographs and journals. Her analytical skills had to be preserved. So for now, Diana joined the others in the attic, sitting in a corner and scribbling away in her notebook. She was craving a cigarette and/or coffee but with the rising water and the damp of the attic, plus the close proximity to people that she was in, the two seemed impossible. Especially with PYTHON MARLEY being just as annoying in death as he was in life. So she instead focused on her research, ignoring everyone around her.

There was no doubt that the close quarters and the flood would heighten the aggression already present in the townspeople. Even here, it was only a matter of time before somebody was executed. This was how it went, natural disasters brought out the worst in people. The best too but the worst was always the one that was more widely recorded because people liked to focus on terrible events. Unless of course they were revisionists who insisted that things were not too bad, then met by post-revisionists who said that things were okay but there was still a lot of terrible things going on. It all depended on how you looked at the evidence.

Evidence.

EVIDENCE!!!

Diana leapt up suddenly, a bad idea in such a low attic.

"THE ARCHIVES!" she screamed suddenly, once the pain from hitting her head had faded. She looked around frantically and saw Tracy, Osilon and Dove all gathering to go for supplies. She ran over to them. "Listen, since you're all going out, please go to the town hall and make sure the archives are all safe. Those are priceless sources which cannot be destroyed at all costs!"

Maybe she could go with them...no, that was a stupid plan. She wore glasses, had the strength of a wet tissue and her only asset was her brain, a most useful thing but not when it came to clambering over rooftops. But these people did not appreciate the true value of those archives, they would not save them unless she went with them. Or perhaps they would, they seemed like the sorts who would help somebody out if they were asked politely.

Unless of course, they were the remaining mafia all gathering up to make their escape. That too was possible, there was equally enough evidence to support it. In which case, Diana was going to her death on the slippery, rainy rooftops. But she did not care. If she did not have her archival information on the town of Wafflenet, she was doomed. Her monograph would be a sourceless, poor work that she would have to abandon and start over. Diana was not about to let her magnum opus, a discipline-changing historical work be washed away.

[Avery]

((Reminder: Votes are due in approximately three hours. Please have yours in by then so that the town can viciously murder another innocent execute a guilty horrid person!))