Mafia The Third: The Seaside Town of Aifam Cove

[Gelquie]

One minute, Kylie--along with her mother and Lucille--were getting closer to the cliff's edge, about to get onto the trail to the beach. Kylie had tightened up her coat, had subconsciously moved closer to Lucille ("for warmth," she told herself mentally). And then they began hearing shouting behind them. Shouts of rage, shouts of panic, all increasing in volume... And then the mob was passing right through them, pushing them aside as they charged through with the mayor's assistant, tied up and gagged. Kylie could only stare in shock. What were they doing?

She tried shouting something, but her words were lost in the din of the crowd. And then she realized. It didn't matter what she did. It was a lost cause. Even when the man spit out his gag, pleading his innocence, whose words fell onto the deaf ears of the crowd. And then...

Kylie put her hands to her opened mouth as she watched Jack Ryan Smith fall below the cliffline to certain death.

She wasn't sure what to think at first. She figured that there would be some chaos going on, as well as searches for the murderers before they killed again. She just didn't think it would happen this quick, and this... brutally. Kylie couldn't help but shake.

Kylie took glances at her companions, and her eyes were stuck on her mother. She was standing there, pale and with her eyes wide with horror. For a moment, she looked like a statue, and then Kylie saw her try to surreptitiously sneak a shaking hand into her purse. For... Kylie knew what it was for.

Kylie stepped forward away from Lucille and put a hand on Bea's hand, trying to move it away from the purse. Kylie couldn't afford to do this right now; to watch her mother debase herself, to take care of her when so many people had died. She knew that she would eventually...

And then Kylie wondered. Bea might especially break when the group reached the stash, with all the stress in the air. And if that were to happen, that wouldn't just hurt her business, she couldn't she couldn't she couldn't... She had to try something else.

"M-mother, Lucille," Kylie said, attempting to be sympathetic, but unable to hide her shaking voice. "Maybe we should take a break. I... I don't want to risk... I mean, with everything that happened, I... I think we should go to the teahouse. You know, to put something in our stomachs, and wait for things to settle down before we pray. I think it'll be good for all of us."

Kylie let out a weak smile and stared at Beatrix, her furrowed brow betraying the worries dancing upon her mind.

[Kristykimmy]

After a minute, Lindsey opened the door. She attempted a smile and her voice shook when she spoke.

"Hey, Anna, it's good to see a friendly face. Things have been so awful lately, I can hardly believe all that's happened. Thank you for the flowers you sent yesterday, by the way. It was a really nice gesture. Look, I put them on the counter," she pointed to them vaguely, "right where Enna used to..." her voice trailed off.

Anna looked over where the flowers sat on the counter, beautiful lilies in the tall fluted vase. Miko had done a beautiful job with them. She thought about saying she was sorry for Lindsey's loss, but the card and flowers had done that, and maybe it was best to say as little as possible about the murder.

"Anyway, can I help you? Can I offer you some cake?" Lindsey asked trying to smile but failing.

“Cake would be lovely,” Anna said, welcoming the excuse to sit down and talk. Sometimes all someone needed was to be able to talk.

“The service was mostly lovely, except for Travis. But, he is Travis, it was almost inevitable he would do something like that,” Anna said, deciding not to talk about the ending. “Enna would have been happy to have known she had so many people who cared.”

She glanced over at the disturbed and nibbled cupcakes and then to the rabbit. The bites weren't human, though they didn't look precisely like something a rabbit could do either. There were no traces of cake or icing on the rabbit, but Lindsey could have cleaned her up. Talking about the rabbit would be a good way to get Lindsey's mind off things Anna decided. “She didn't do that, did she? That might be bad, cake and icing aren't supposed to be a part of a rabbit's diet. You should take her to the vet if she starts acting strangely. She's a lovely rabbit. She's the magician's, isn't she? Are you pet sitting?”

She glanced out the window. Miko had gone home just ahead of her, she'd seen her. It seemed strange not to see other people on the street by now, heading back to their homes or businesses. She wondered if they were hanging around, gawking at the proceedings involving Christopher's murder. The poor boy. Of course, the truth was far more awful than Anna could ever have imagined.

[Avery]

They were so close-- so close-- to the ramp leading down to the beach, where Lucille would give Bea the refill for her special cabinet, when...

A commotion. Screaming and cursing, a clamor as a mob surged out of the church. Bea watched, horror-stricken, as the crowd lobbed Jack Ryan Smith over the guard rail, his body cartwheeling through the air before slamming down onto the rocks below. She clapped a hand over her mouth and let out a silent gasp. Her eyes bugged wide, and her pale skin went as white as the snow beneath her feet. Memories seared through her brain: a bleak December morn-- a tumbling girl-- screaming, screaming...

And then before Bea even really realized what she was doing... she found herself reaching into her purse. Her fingertips grazing over the cool metal of her flask, which still had a few drips of gin inside...

The feeling of Kylie's hand clasping over her free one wrenched Bea from her frenzied thoughts. She flicked her eyes away from the buzzing, receding crowd-- some of whom were skulking back into the church, others who were drifting off towards Main Street-- and withdrew her other hand from the purse.

""M-mother, Lucille. Maybe we should take a break. I... I don't want to risk... I mean, with everything that happened, I... I think we should go to the teahouse. You know, to put something in our stomachs, and wait for things to settle down before we pray. I think it'll be good for all of us."

Bea did not want tea. Hell, it was the last thing she wanted. She considered dipping her fingers back into her purse in pursuit of the flask, but then noted the concerned furrow of her daughter's brow and held back. Stupidly, she dared another glance towards the cliff edge, and imagined images of Jack's body danced into her mind. What were these townspeople thinking? Why would they do such a thing?

She wanted to say 'no' to Kylie's request. Tell her daughter that tea would only serve to further sour her stomach. But if she did... and Kylie decided to go off for a cup anyway... no. Bea could not let her sweet girl out of her sight. She... she could get the refill for the special cabinet later. She had these last drops of gin for now (perhaps she could surreptitiously pour them into whatever tea she ordered)-- and still a bottle of scotch and fifth of vodka for later. And even if she ran out-- though she winced at the thought, it was better than those other thoughts... of Kylie being the next body to turn up in this town.

So she murmured to her daughter, "Okay. Tea is fine, I suppose."

And then, before she could change her mind, she took a deep breath and set off towards Main Street, refusing to let go of her daughter's hand for the entire duration of the walk. Because as long as she hold onto Kylie, then Kylie would be okay.

[PFA]

Professor Bardsley had been pondering to himself all the implications of what had happened, when suddenly a crowd broke out of the church, dragging the assistant mayor along with them. He was startled at first, but after getting a good look at the crowd, at the makeshift gag that Mr. Smith was wearing, he realized what was happening. With the police gone, and no one to handle a proper investigation or trial, the townspeople took it upon themselves to do their own executing. This was... somewhat alarming. And yet, somehow, he wasn't terribly surprised. After all, there was mafia in town. Everyone was getting restless. Bloodshed at this point was... inevitable.

Still, to think it had come to this. Angry townspeople throwing an innocent man off of a cliff, thinking he was a member of the mafia. All he could do was watch the phenomenon, staring wordlessly as the assistant mayor's body tumbled off the edge. A sharp crack echoed through the air as he landed, punctuating the reality of the situation. The man was dead.

...And yet, somehow, his crazed voice seemed to echo through the air immediately afterward. This was the second time Professor Bardsley thought he had heard the voice of a dead man, and it was honestly quite puzzling. Perhaps the whole ordeal was getting to him; after all, he was positively certain that ghosts weren't real. He just shook his head, wandering back toward the church in thought. Three people were dead now, in such a short period of time. How many more were doomed to the same fate?

---

Ugh. Well, there goes breakfast, Cassidy thought bitterly, as her nausea finally started to subside. All it took was one brief glimpse at that poor kid's body, the overwhelming scent of blood... she felt dizzy just thinking about it. She was really not prepared for this kind of violence.

Unfortunately, if there really was mafia in town... somehow she got the feeling that it wasn't going to end here.

She moved to the sink, starting to wash up after her little vomiting spell, and thinking on what she would do next. Obviously she would have to go back out, but... then what? She absolutely dreaded the thought of having to go back to that coat closet, where that kid's body was. I mean, presumably someone would have taken it to the morgue or something by now, but even the mere thought of the body being there was enough to make her sick. But that closet was right by the door, and she couldn't stay in this church forever...

Mustering up her courage, Cassidy made her way back toward the door, trying to push all her apprehension aside. Don't panic, she tried to tell herself. You're not going to die. No one else is going to die. Everything will be fine...

Which made it all the more devastating when she returned, just in time to hear the reporter say that someone else was dead.

Her instinct was to bolt, maybe to vomit again, or perhaps just to go hide somewhere and cry. But she steeled herself; she couldn't just run away from this. Where would she run to? There was no telling where was even safe anymore. After all, that kid was killed at a funeral, and now...

"Wh-what..." she stammered, trying to work through all her emotions. "What is wrong with this town?!"

[Lizica]

Piper had given up on seeking out the missing urn, and instead she set off to the Town Hall to fetch more maps of Aifam Cove and its beach. She selected one small tourist brochure for the Aifam Cove map; she took three large foldout maps of the trails and beach. (She needed the foldouts' room to make notes on the ghost crab burrows, after all--all her current maps of the beach at home had accrued a vast amount of thumbtacks, red sharpie notes, and carefully choreographed crab battle plans.)

Armed with maps and camera, Piper made her way to Sirensong Beach and unfolded her materials on the sand.

So, then. Ghost crabs returned to the water to wet their gills. And depending on the age of the crab, their burrow would be accordingly farther away from the sea.

How old were the mafias? Around the end of the tourist season, right, so that was about--(October, November, December)--about three months. Fairly young. So the mafias were likely to still burrow near their metaphorical ocean. Therefore, in order to find the mafias' hangouts, one simply had to find the places they always returned to!

Webster always liked to dig red herring holes to throw Piper off his trail, but Webster was an exception. The mafias were so young, they couldn't be as big or as smart as Webster yet. But surely the mafias had to return to places like the dry cleaners, and the grocer's, and the bank, and the Stabstrike family medicine. So, drawing the correlating lines between these hotspots, their burrows must be--...Hmm. Maybe Piper should check the town square for burrows.

...Okay--that was good progress! Piper put the brochure away and unfolded the beach map, beginning to mark potential burrows for Webster as she walked down the high tide mark. It was then that she heard a dim, angry rumble. Almost like thunder. But Channel 24 hadn't predicted thunderstorms for this afternoon.

Piper poked her head above the sand dunes and looked as the source of the thunderous noise sharpened. A vast crowd of black mourners moved as one across Stalberry Road and toward the north cliffs. They had probably found Enna's ashes and were going to throw them out over the outlook. Fairly classy. But why did they sound so riled up?

Piper ordinarily didn't do much non-nature photography (i.e., humans instead of ghost crabs), but with her curiosity mounting, Piper picked up her camera and adjusted the telephoto lens as she pointed it at the darkly dressed crowd. She could see as the darkly dressed crowd hoisted one of its number beyond the overlook's guardrail. Who was it? Who was that?

Though she couldn't quite hear it from this distance, Piper couldn't help but jump as the person smacked into the rocks below: Her finger jolted, and she accidentally snapped a photo.

Okay, so maybe a city-wide curfew wasn't the worst thing to follow a townspeople panic. This...was definitely much worse.

Shivering in the cold, Piper hurriedly put away her camera and went back to her map of Webster's burrows. If there was another panic and someone decided she was good enough to throw off a cliff, Piper first needed to capture her photo of Webster.

No one could force her over an overlook rail until she had bested Webster. She would not let that happen. She would not give Webster that satisfaction.

[RielCZ]

Still in a daze, Rilen somehow managed to find his way back to his sister's house.

He was up at 10:30 the next morning. He supposed repeated early wakings -- the date of Enna's unfortunate discovery, the date of her funeral -- had contributed to a momentary shift in his mental clock. But, no matter... it just gave him more sunlight in which to practice snowboarding. The sand-boarder was still determined to transfer his skills. 

After a few hours of boarding down the more moderate cliffs off Stalbury Road -- and generally failing at his attempts, blaming his oversized parka for a lack of balance -- a small crowd of people appeared.

He sighed. This could only be bad.

Yet, Rilen was determined to meet up with and follow them; as distressing as the recent turn of events had been, the boarder figured he might as well get another terrible incident out of the way right away. He didn't need a middleman news channel.

***

"Someone tell them I’m innocent!"

Rilen did not speak; he could not speak. Not only did he lack information, he was totally frozen in disbelief.

With a simple toss of the mayor's assistant, another member of the town was dead.

More blood.

Maybe he'd have to retire from his snowboarding attempts for a little while...

Rilen distanced himself from the slowly dispersing crowd and sat on his board, which he carefully lay in a snowbank. The added weight made it fall through into the snow, but Rilen was too distracted to take notice of the new chill on his bottom. Not only were the mafias killing, now, but the townspeople were as well... 

He couldn't leave the island; he had money for food but not enough for any ride back to the mainland, not this late into the season. And if he left the town he'd certainly freeze in the cold. Still, not being a permanent resident, he didn't think he'd serve as a candidate for death by either side... 

But so what if he could escape being killed? He couldn't escape witnessing the deaths of others.

Getting up, he retrieved his board and decided to traverse to the main section of town. He needed to... clear his head. Ensure his mind would not get on fire!

He stopped and shook himself. 

[Stal]

Mr Stal hung back and watched in detached horror and fascination as the crowd gathered and lynch Jack Smith (well I won't be cashing in that favor he thought to himself).

Two people dead by the hands of the mafia. First Enna. Then Christopher. Now Jack.

And something told Mr Stal that it wouldn't be the last one to come. A mafia is a network, after all. And that network is not just one person. And now they were starting to take away Mr Stal's customers. Starting to eat into his profits, into his favors. They were starting to make life very difficult for him.

And... And the crowds may not like Mr Stal much either, he realized as he quietly turned from the lynching and went into his restaurant before they could find any more targets.

On the other hand... There would likely be a crowd before long needing to stave off their bloodlust with food and drink. He did need to strike while the iron was hot. Maybe he could make a lynchmob special. Or a mafia murder combo.

No, too soon. Far too soon.

But there had to be a small way of profiting from all this.

In the meantime he found pictures of the three recently slain residents and began an In Memorium wall. And he just stood in front of it looking at those pictures. And wondering... What did Enna and Christopher have in common?

[Ian Wolf-Park]

Evan had just returned from the agonizing conference, bone tired, when he spotted the crowd toss Jack Ryan Smith, the assistant mayor, off of the nearby cliff. At first, he thought he was seeing things, so he quickly rubbed his eyes, only to discover that the crowd was still there. Of course, he was not aware of the mafia murders, so he didn't know the exact reason why the crowd literally tossed the assistant mayor out of the office. However, he was not surprised that the crowd took matters into their own hands considered that they were told (by the assistant mayor, no less) that it would take months to find a new constable for the area, and Jack's nature, mainly by being an obstructive jerk and a bureaucratic nightmare. There were times where Evan had secretly suspected that Jack was the mayor as the actual one had rarely shown his face around the town, even for events. Still, Evan was saddened by the loss of a permanent resident, but did not say a word for fear of retaliation. Instead, he went back to his home and office, eager to finally get some rest.

[Tiger]

_{((Just to be clear because I don’t think I have been before now - Pratchett is talking to Cheryl through an earpiece, so unless Pratchett’s talking really loudly or the person listening in is very sharp of hearing, they probably aren’t going to be able to hear him. ...Y’know, you start writing, and you know you’re going to have some common themes between your work, but you never expect it to be something like “characters with earpieces”, do you?}))

Albert started to pack up the camera, but it was too late to make a clean getaway from the church. Aaron Greenhand, town magician assisted by the beautiful Trixie, who happened to be a rabbit, was stepping into the building. He looked cross, which didn’t really surprise the reporter on a day like this one.

“Hello, Mister Greenhand. Can I help you?” Cheryl Roxanne Lewis probably wasn’t looking too friendly herself at the moment - had the magician been with the crowd that had thrown Jack Ryan Smith to his death? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember if he’d been at the funeral at all, in fact. When I review the tapes - I need to make a list. Figure out who was here and who wasn’t. Maybe that’ll help narrow down who could have done this...

As she and Aaron talked¹, Cheryl pulled on her coat, hat, and finally, gloves. As their talk waned and she slipped on her last glove, Cheryl said frankly, “Christopher’s body vanished from the coat room, Mister Greenhand, if you hadn’t heard. Mister Smith was guarding the door, and there’s no other entrance to the room. You’re a magician - I don’t suppose you have any idea how one would go about making a body disappear?”

----
¹ I assume Kozma's and my next posts will fill in this conversation; I didn't really have enough to make a decent-length post without going a little past "Cheryl sees Aaron coming".

[TJ Wagner]

It was like Miko was waking up from a deep sleep when she became aware she was standing in the center of her shop. She was vaguely aware that she had been talking aloud, but had no idea what she might had been saying or how a pair of pruning shears had suddenly appeared in her hands. Shaking her head, she laid the shears down as she struggled with trying to piece together her fragmented memory. She could remember standing in the church, looking at the flowers, and then...nothing. How she had gotten home or where her thick coat had disappeared to was a mystery, but sadly Miko was used to such mysteries. She did have a vague memory of a scream and a shout that another person had been murdered, and she supposed there would be more flower orders in the next few days.

"Murder is good for business," she suddenly said aloud, more than a little frightened by her own voice. It didn't sound like her, but she was no longer sure who she really even was these days.

Searching for some bit of normalcy, she made her way to her upstairs apartment and quickly changed into a pink turtleneck and jeans. She hated wearing all black even if this dress was complimenting. Almost viciously, she scrubbed off her makeup and pulled her hair back into a plain ponytail. Looking more like herself, she walked back downstairs to make herself ready for any new funeral arrangements.

The TV was on as always, and she looked over to see Cheryl broadcasting as usual. She had never really seen her up close in person before today, and was surprised that the woman was actually more professional and lovely looking in person, but now she looked flustered. Miko turned up the volume for once.

“I also regret to inform you that…that Jack Ryan Smith is…is also dead. Details…details to come.”

She turned off the volume quickly. Another murder? She shivered involuntarily, and she couldn't help but recognize that it must have happened during the time of which she had no memory. Of course, that was just foolishness. She had these spells often and while people had told she acted oddly, she still knew that she had limitations.

She did have limitations. Didn't she?

Turning her attention away from the TV, she addressed her new plant friend. She only hoped that no one would walk in while she was talking. "Hello," she said in a soft tone, "You said your name was Barbra, right?"

Was it her imagination or did the plant actually seem afraid of her now?

[Chao]

Siddhi was glad that she had left the church when she had. As depressing as the death of the blind boy had been, an agitated crowd was much less to her taste than dead people.
The sea air even managed to pass on some of the calming effect it usually had on Siddhi and soon, despite the cold, she was in her own world of colourful dashes and canvas. Yes, the colours were off that day, with the waves all red and the froth all grey, with a white fog lingering over the sea in her painting... but it was still calming.
Not really paying attention, what exactly she was capturing on her canvas, it was only when a strange cracking sound could be heard over the surf that Siddhi realized what had happened... what she had painted... An angry mob pushing the assistant mayor over the cliff.
Mouth open, Siddhi gaped at her painting. Was it true? Did this really just happen? A look to the cliff and the dispersing crowd up there, drove the point home: The people of Aifam Cove were retaliating to the murderers. But lynching? Most likely without real evidence? Maybe a visit to the grandparents in good old India wasn't that bad an idea... But no, one did not turn one's back to a community just because things were not all daisies and sunshine. So, she would stay and hope/pray/whatever that she would not be the next victim of whomever.

[Celestial]

They had barely reached the beach when Lucille heard the commotion behind them, though it did not stay that way for long. Her eyes widened when they settled onto the sight of the townspeople throwing Jack Ryan off the cliff. She tried to call out and stop them, get them to snap out of their madness in the name of the Lord 'Woo but even her voice was lost over the din of the bloodthirsty crowd. Lucille had seen many of these people drunk, not at their best to put it mildly, but this...this was new. She had never seen them so desperate for revenge. The deaths of Enna and Christopher were beginning to have an effect. And now, she realised, nobody was safe. Even if they were spared murder at the hands of the mafia, their own friends and neighbours could turn on them.

Lucille shivered at the thought and muttered a silent prayer that she was too important, too valuable for the townspeople to turn on her that way. But, she glanced at Kylie at her mother's side, she realised that there was more than just her to look after. Her friends, her neighbours, her fellow Sisters...they were all at risk. So she had to move fast.

Kylie was shaking and Bea was reaching for alcohol but Lucille stayed calm. She was a smuggler, she had nerves of steel which would allow her to haul cargo even through a storm and coast guard raids while not losing her cool. But, she had to admit, right now she did not want to get caught on the wrong side of the townspeople. Who knows what they would do if they found out about her illegal business? Not all of them knew about it and it only took a small mob to throw her off the cliff like poor Jack there. Lucille, above all else, wanted to keep living. She liked being alive. She hadn't even gotten anywhere with Kylie yet.

"I think you're right, Kylie. I have a few things stashed in my room in the convent, I can bring them for us to reflect over. I think we could all use that, that and some food in our bellies," she smiled at them both and follow on after Bea, who she noticed was not letting go of Kylie's hand. Which was a shame. After all that had happened, Lucille felt like she needed something. Not booze, that rarely made her feel better. But some warm human companionship.

She grabbed Bea's shoulder suddenly and stopped her in her tracks with a strong grip.

"Ms. Devon, please, calm down. I understand it is distressing for you and I know you don't want anything to happen to Kylie. However, please, do not lose your mind," she told her gently but firmly. Slowly, she worked her fingers down and loosened Bea's grip on Kylie. "Now...if you don't want tea, I have some lovely Scotch...cake back at the convent. I only ask for your daughter's help in bringing it over to you," she gave Bea her most charming, trustworthy look and flashed Kylie a small, subtle smile. "As the Weewoo Trinity is my witness, I swear nothing will happen to her. I will return with her to the Inn shortly," she gave Kylie a small nod. "You trust me, don't you, Kylie?"

[Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)]

"Lady, some of us may like to hang out, but we sure as haute couture ain't gonna hang each other! Obviously there's a mafia goin' round. It's killin' our cake ladies and cute lil' boys, it's sneakin' into our chapels, it's losin' its playin' cards, and it's got fantastic abdominals, I presume. Someone's gotta find those creeps, figure out how they train their abs, and kick them outta town." He stopped for a second as an idea struck him. "I got it! We have to find someone whose deck of cards is missing one!"

Alma had smiled shakily at him. Leo had a funny way of reassuring people everything was all right, but he reassured her nonetheless. No one was going to get hanged like Christopher had said. She wasn’t sure what stomach muscles had to do with the mafia, but perhaps Leo was on the right track? “An excellent idea,” she reassured him right back, albeit with less confidence.

After going home, she decided to tend to her fish once more and clean their tanks. She loathed how other people neglected their fish to the point in which planaria worms started showing up in their tanks. Blech. Now that was a sight Alma fumed at. Mrs. Fitzgibbons, before dousing her clean hands in the fish tank, turned on the television just to generate white noise. It got awfully lonesome in her home with no sound but the filters running, a steady, low humming not unlike the heartbeat of a mouse.

While detangling a small eel who often got stuck in the filter yet again, she heard something that nearly made her jump with the shock. “…that Jack Ryan Smith is…is also dead. Details…details to come.” Alma whirled around as she tugged the eel free, gasping. ”But he was alive this morning!” she thought, but then reconsidered. ”People are alive until they are not…” she thought, correcting herself. Jack, who’d been so helpful to her, or at least tried to be…Why? Why did he have to be dead too?

A rapping noise snapped Alma out of her thoughts. She quickly wiped her hands on her shirt, searching for it. No one was knocking on the door, she noticed, as soon as she let the cold air in and quickly shut the door once more. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a…a Weewoo. A brown one. Flapping and rapping its beak against her window.

Alma was uneasy around birds, but she opened the window for it anyway. It cooed gratefully, then stuck out its leg as it scanned the room for worms. There weren’t any worms, but there were plenty of fish! The Weewoo whistled and licked its beak as Mrs. Fitzgibbon took the letter that was tied to its leg. She opened the envelope carefully, and had to sit down when she realized who it was from.

My Soul,

I have heard a great deal of what’s taking place back home. I’m as worried as you are, but unlike you, I am powerless. A return trip from here would take me several days at best. I am counting on you. Please, don’t travel alone, and do your best to find our daughter. It’s pained me greatly to stay here, but I see no other way to pay off the house.

Also, have you bought any more fish? If not, then please don’t, and if so, I can’t wait to meet them. We will solve this together. I know we will. If anyone in town acts suspiciously, stay home. Lock every lock. Don’t come out until you’re sure all is well.

Please, be safe. I will return as soon as I can.

Yours,

Endre


Alma’s heart sank. Not coming? What was she supposed to do all alone?

A feathery clearing of throat startled her. The Weewoo tapped its foot, impatient. “Wait…you want a fish?!” She exclaimed in horror. “I’m sorry, but, you can’t. Here.” Alma, thinking fast, snatched a handful of crackers from her pantry. The Weewoo huffed, but took them in its feet. “Cheep-skate,” he muttered as he flew away.

Mrs. Fitzgibbon took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Despite the anguish and kicking and urge to throw up once more, Endre’s letter gave her something else. Motivation.

It was time for action.

……..

After fruitlessly scoping the entire town and asking around for Lynna once more, Mrs. Fitzgibbon decided further action would be necessary. With purpose, an aching back, and jelly-like legs, she barged into Melanie’s Menagerie.

The bell atop the door tinkled pleasantly as though it expected her. Alma stepped inside, scouring her surroundings for what she was after, when a chocolate lab nearly bowled her over! “Lacey, down!” a voice barked. The voice belonged to the man to whom the dog ran after the command, a scruffy-looking fellow with unruly hair. Alma could not help but laugh. “Still trying to get the “Down” command down, Marco?”

The lad laughed and scratched Lacey’s ears. “You know it.”

“How were classes at Prettyboy College treating you?”

Marco stared at his shoes, stroking his dog’s hide absentmindedly. “They were okay. Listen, you here for another fish?”

“Why, how did you know?” Alma gasped in mock surprise.

(Elsewhere…)

I stretched loudly and obnoxiously, clearly in no mood for banter. "Hello," she said in a soft tone, "You said your name was Barbra, right?"

I was hurt. “Manna T. My name is Barbra Manna T.” I shook my petals in disbelief. Well, Miko seemed troubled by something else now, so I supposed I had to forgive her. “I will spare you any guilt or grief you have gained for getting my name wrong.” There. No harm done.

Miko looked like she’d seen a ghost or something. Sheesh. But instead of critiquing her appearance outright, I decided to soften the blow. “You know…” I whispered softly, leaning towards her, “I think I can find a way to do your petals. You know as well as I do that presentation is key for anything, especially for going outside.”

I paused. What was outside like?! Oh, no, I was going to be caught lying! To save myself, I coughed several times in rapid succession.

“I’m sure it’s lovely this time of year.” I lied again. “Why, all you need is a scarf and I think even flowers can be taken out!”

I had always longed to see the pretty beaches and cliffs and ocean and all the foreign names everyone was talking about. I was curious to see if they lived up to my magnificence. Perhaps Miko would know. Perhaps Miko would show me…

[Avery]

Narrator Note: The next deaths will occur tomorrow afternoon (March 21st) and will entail another time skip. Therefore, if you've any pressing matters for your character to deal with in the present moment, well-- no time like the present. Also, since things have slowed down to a rather reasonable pace, I have hereby lifted the posting cap, though still of course use discretion (e.g., no double posts or three posts in an hour or something) XD

[Sporty]

Melanie was still trying to explain things to Fella when the accusations started.

They hadn't seemed like too much at first – just the paranoid thoughts of a few frightened mourners. But... everything escalated so quickly. By the time she realized the crowd had gotten out of hand, they were ignoring all pleas for reason and dragging the assistant mayor away.

Melanie hadn't stuck around to see what came next.

Now she trudged through the snow, thoughts roiling. First a mafia'd taken Enna, then the boy Christopher, and now the town was flinging some deranged justice around. The deaths hadn't been far too personal for her – she'd never met Christopher before, and the assistant mayor clearly hadn't been the type to make friends – but this was just too much. It was all so very wrong, and...

And what if she or one of her friends was next?

At that moment, Melanie felt she wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bed and just wait for the moonrise. But she knew that staying home alone would just leave her with her thoughts, and that was the last thing she needed. Something to take her mind off of everything until she had some time to calm down would be best, and a little company wouldn't hurt either.

Besides, she had animals to look after.

The soft tinkling of the door to her shop was a welcome familiar sound. As Melanie stepped inside and stamped the snow off her boots, she discovered another dose of friendly familiarity: Alma was there, chatting with Marco. Melanie put on a warm smile for her best customer.

"Mrs. Fitzgibbon! It's a pleasure to see you here."