Mafia The Third: The Seaside Town of Aifam Cove

[Lizica]

OH, FOR THE LOVE OF--

Piper couldn't go anywhere without being hassled by someone, could she?

“Piper Boudreaux," the intercom called as it had the last time she was here--but this time the voice was raw and brusque, "you dirty, child-killing scumbag! What brings you here, other than disappointing someone else with your continued existence?”

"Pratchett," Piper called back as she made her way farther into the building. "I don't have time to kill you, and I'd prefer not to, but if you don't leave me alone, so help me--"

Seemingly-hidden security cameras lined the studio walls, following Snipe Hunt, and Piper wished they'd leave her alone, too. She just wanted to check out the studio's dead cameras without distraction. She just wanted to see if anything would work for her. She just wanted to find out if all photography camera film burned at ghosts' presences. She just wanted these Aifam Covers to leave her alone so she could get her Webster photo.

Was that so much to ask? Was that so hard?

It shouldn't be so hard. At the very least, Aifam Cove should be able to leave her alone now that she was dead. But Bardsley had mocked her after her death. Travis still demanded mafia requests after her death. Townspeople still interrogated her and chased her after her death. They even still delivered junk mail to her house and shoved hideous, useless flyers into her mail slot after her death.

Frustration steadily growing, Piper spun to each of the studio's security camera in turn; and each one twisted around accordingly, turning away.

“Is your camera still giving you trouble, Pipes?”

"It's not Snipe Hunt!" she cried out, seething, into the web-ridden halls of the Channel 24 News Studio. Her own ethereal echo ricocheted off the walls and equipment. In a nearby storage closet, film reels clattered to the floor, crunching on gum wrappers underneath. In one of the neighboring rooms, a broken camera on a tripod that had been knocked over by another ghost suddenly righted itself.

She filled the dusty studio abyss again. "It's not Snipe Hunt!" Piper said again--but this time her voice was tinged with something else--desperation. Her ghostly hands were shaking; and in her grasp, Snipe Hunt's little bells were ringing, steadily ringing. "It's all of you! It's all of you! No one leaves me alone! You demand things, you kill me, you keep demanding things! But I don't care! I don't have time for any of you! I don't need--I don't need--"

Piper's voice choked.

Outside the studio, she could hear, dimly hear--over the echoing silence--over Snipe Hunt's persistent ringing--the sounds of pounding feet, of angry shouts.

Piper looked up, slowly. She looked at the twisted security cameras.

...Had she done that?

Had her ghostly--...

Her ghostly aura. She must have some amount of control over it. That must be how she'd ruined Snipe Hunt's film from almost twenty feet away. She'd been reaching too far with her posthumous energies. But--maybe if--maybe if she could learn to pull it back. Maybe she could still get her photo. Maybe she could still get her photo.

Piper's hands were still trembling; Snipe Hunt was still ringing. If Pratchett was saying something now, Piper wasn't listening. She shakily made her way into the adjoining room filled with camera equipment and plucked up the broken camera and tripod.

She needed to get to the beach. Yes, that was what she needed.

SPOILER: Click to show

In a weirdly unfunny post, Piper goes into the Channel 24 Studio and listens to Pratchett's remarks over the intercom. He hits a nerve, and Piper struggles to express her abject fury at the people of Aifam Cove.

She realizes that her ghostly aura can affect cameras, even at a distance, and takes a tripod and camera from the studio's broken storage.

[Avery]

(Friendly Narrator Reminder: Votes are due in about seven hours. At this point, each vote is crucial, so please don't forget! :3)

[Celestial]

Diana raised an eyebrow at the young man who had suddenly called out to her, waving around his toy sword like it was a proper weapon. She had to suppress a laugh. It was no wonder this town was so badly off if people like that lived here. The boy was around the age of your average undergraduate but he looked even stupider than any of them. He was the sort who would not even be accepted to the worst university. Therefore, he deserved none of her respect. There were very few people who did. Julie had been one, so had Dan to a lesser extent. Bardsley, he could potentially be one, although first impressions were good.

That said, it was best that remained safe than sorry when it came to the manchild. She had underestimated Terra before and she had only just climbed out of that pit she was in. Empires- no, empires collapsed rather quickly and gradually, torn apart by their own size and eventual decay of infrastructure and administration- civilisation would fall before she went back there willingly. She drifted out of the way quickly he charged at her and turned to smile at Bardsley. Of course he had a hand in it. That is exactly what she would have done, not stand by and record. Well, not before Wafflenet happened anyway. It amazed her how much alike they were.

While the manchild was distracted by the Professor, Diana took a moment to regain her composure and smiled at Bardsley.

"Oh, an anthropologist? Well, it is no historian as history is the queen of the social sciences, but nevertheless a noble profession. Besides, if you had a hand in this, you must know a lot about this phenomenon-"

However, the manchild's blade began glowing now. No matter what it did, no matter how fancy the tricks were, a blade was still a blade and dangerous. She had no wish to hang around somebody who could kill her, even if it was dangerous. Besides, she was here wasting time when there was research to do. This time, she would not be alone. A collaborative effort, while normally something Diana loathed, seemed very appealing right now if it was Bardsley who was to be her co-author.

"I cannot cause disease anymore, alas," she disappeared into the floor, out of the manchild's range, before appearing right besides Bardsley. She took him by the arm and smiled viciously up at him. He really was very oddly handsome and very intelligent too. Perhaps her intellectual equal. Certainly they seemed to think alike, with research being queen instead of morals like ordinary people.

"Let's go, he is not worth my time. I am very interested in your work, Professor Bardsley, and I am very much interested in seeing what more can be gleaned from this town that I can further add to my Wafflenet research. Additionally, I would be very glad to share with you what I have learned from my own personal experience in Wafflenet. Due to my book being published posthumously, I believe there were things in it which must have been left out which would make for a fascinating addition to my theory," she smiled widely at him and began floating away out of the theatre, away from the manchild and towards the mob. She hoped that Bardsley would be joining her.

SPOILER: Click to show

Diana condescends Winston in her head before she decides she does not want to take risks. When Winston's sword begins glowing, she dives into the floor and appears beside Bardsley, to whom she suggests that they get out and go watch the town as well as talk about their research.

[PFA]

The boy struggled out of Professor Bardsley's grasp, accusing him of killing the... stylomancer? Presumably that meant Mr. Endicott? Which, of course, was entirely untrue. Mr. Endicott had been killed by Abominable Aifam, which he had nothing to do with. But before he could correct him on this, Dr. Pallada spoke again.

"Oh, an anthropologist? Well, it is no historian as history is the queen of the social sciences, but nevertheless a noble profession," she admitted. "Besides, if you had a hand in this, you must know a lot about this phenomenon-"

She paused, noticing that the boy's toy lightsaber had started... glowing, as if it were real. Professor Bardsley was admittedly unsettled by this. Had the boy gained the ability to turn his delusions into reality? Did ghosts have that kind of power? The professor had never cared much for Star Wars, but he was familiar enough with the franchise to know that a lightsaber was a dangerous weapon. So when Dr. Pallada had retreated out of the way of the attack, Professor Bardsley did likewise, sidestepping out of the way. Dr. Pallada reemerged beside him moments later, taking him by the arm.

"Let's go, he is not worth my time," she said, and he couldn't help but agree. "I am very interested in your work, Professor Bardsley, and I am very much interested in seeing what more can be gleaned from this town that I can further add to my Wafflenet research. Additionally, I would be very glad to share with you what I have learned from my own personal experience in Wafflenet. Due to my book being published posthumously, I believe there were things in it which must have been left out which would make for a fascinating addition to my theory."

"I'd be happy to accompany you, Doctor," Professor Bardsley replied, following after her and moving away from the boy and his lightsaber. "I think the town is about to shed blood again, and I for one would like to watch..."

SPOILER: Click to show

Professor Bardsley is unsettled by Winston's apparently-now-real lightsaber, and flees the battle with Pallada. He expresses interest in watching to see who the town kills next.

[Coaster]

As Fella's killer finally opened the door and gave his speech (nobody had answered Fella's question, so he assumed he was out for that round), Fella noticed that the people had stopped the boxing match and were listening carefully to this new guy and his friend.

New game?

Someone raised his hand and asked a question. The human speech was garbled as usual, but it seemed like the burger guy was explaining the rules to a new game.

And then he ran, commencing the game of tag and confirming that he was "it".

Little did the burger killer guy know, Fella had been standing behind him the whole time, fortuitously in a good position to tag him right at the beginning.

Fella's claws and incisors passed through the hasty bloke's clothing without leaving a mark, and he--and the rest of the crowd behind him, likewise--ran through Fella as if nothing happened.

...Well, apparently Fella was out for the whole game. That was a real bummer.

As his glowy, ghostly velociraptor eyes welled up with crocodile tears, Fella hung his head as he moped back into the theater to join the rest of the "out" crew.

A shorter one pointed to the far corner of the theatre and dashed out as Fella entered. So was this some sort of jail where he could free his team when they were tagged?

Confused as ever and slightly addled from all the activity, Fella let out a pitiful gurgling growl to whoever was left, asking for an explanation.

Off-handedly, he realized he still had one of those nasty creme fake egg things in his mouth. He spit it out on the floor and it rolled down the aisle, covered in ectoplasmic slobber (and its original foil packaging), into the middle of the fray that took place in front of him.

SPOILER: Click to show

(Coaster has lots of exams in the next couple days and gives a less thought-out than usual post.)

Fella assumes he was, in fact, out of the game during the round where people died and such, and as Morty opens the doors for everyone inside, Fella thinks they've moved on from boxing to a game of tag. Since nobody pays attention when he tags Morty and Err at the outset, Fella assumes he's been disqualified from the games altogether and sulks back into the theater, where this introduction/combat is going on between Diana, Winston, and Bardsley. He thinks this is where the "jail" is for the people who were tagged out, and Yoshi-esquely spits out a Creme Egg covered in ghost slobber.

[Diana]

Winston charged forward with a mighty yell, lightsaber held high in a blaze of holy wrath, as… the two villains neatly sidestepped his blow and turned away?

"Let's go; he isn't worth my time," the first sneered. "I am very interested in your work, Professor Bardsley, and I am very much interested in seeing what more can be gleaned from this town that I can further add to my Wafflenet research.”

"I'd be happy to accompany you, Doctor,” said the man. “I think the town is about to shed blood again, and I, for one, would like to watch..."

What? Winston skidded to a halt. This - this wasn't how this was supposed to go! Who did they think they were?

“Don’t turn your back on me!” he shouted, but in his confusion, the challenge came out a touch weak. “You’re – I’m the hero! You can’t just walk away!”

The main villain paused briefly, shooting him a mildly contemptuous look over his shoulder. “I'm sorry to disappoint, but I have more worthwhile matters to attend to.”

“Worthwhile?” Winston fumed. “This is a boss battle! I’m supposed to defeat you so I can this stupid ghost arc over with!”

The villain lifted one perfect ghostly eyebrow. “Oh, is that what you believe?” A soft chuckle. “Well, I'm afraid you're sadly mistaken. You're dead, and defeating me won't change that.”

And just like that, he casually strode away, leaving Winston spluttering in the dark.

Dead? Dead? What – what – how dare he… just… what? What was going on? Where was his bossfight? He just wanted something to make sense, for once! Was that too much to ask? Was this just another cutscene? He supposed it fit, as it was rather early on in the plot to conclude everything… but he didn’t want to spend any more time like this than he had to.

But then, what the villain had said… no! Villains lied. They smiled and leered and spun demoralizing tales, all crafted to grind the hero’s spirit into the dust. And he would not let that happen!

…

(His skull throbbed, a phantom ache. It felt wrong.)

Was he really… dead? He… he knew he was dead, but… that was just a state. A temporary thing. A gap between a lost life and the next one. When you ran out of lives, you got a Game Over. And he was still playing, so… surely he wasn’t dead dead?

Even though he’d died?

(a sudden sound, in the darkness before the dawn)

Aifam Cove had set itself up as a roguelike from the very beginning. It had been very hard to lose a life in the game’s prologue stage, with nothing other than environmental damage to provide any sort of danger in the setting. But when the plot had started – the NPCs had started dying off left and right, and it had been a major plot point that they weren’t coming back. It added tension and a sense of a countdown to the murder mystery – he was the hero. Any failure on his part, any idling or wasted time, would only end in more deaths. He had to save them!

(a whoosh of air – a crack – a rush of sickening pain to fill the dent)

And then he’d died.

They’d cheated! It was an ambush! He was stronger! It wasn’t supposed to happen! This wasn't how the story went! He was the hero!

Yet here he was.

He felt a sudden surge of panic. No! He was the main character, he was special! He was the one that got to break the rules, he was the chosen one, he was the exception! He was the character that survived the ghastly experiment and came out with super powers! He was the one that the goddesses marked to save the world! He was the one who the prophecy brought back to life! Death – real death – couldn’t touch him. They brushed and tangled, but he always emerged the victor - that was who he was. It had to be a plot device. It had to.

(a crunch – i can’t think i can’t breathe how could this happen they cheated they cheated this is wrong)

Just a cutscene. Just a plot device. Fated. Destined. To be overcome.

(it hurts, why can’t i move)

Then why had it felt –

(why does this feel-)

…so real?

Winston looked down at his hands. They were still translucent, still oddly cell-shaded. He tried to clasp them together and the fingers phased through each other.

A cracked sob escaped his throat.

It was true. By Azura, it was all true. He was a ghost. This - this lack of realness. It wasn’t a ghost shader effect, it wasn’t a permanent noclip. It was death.

The realization rocked him. He dropped to his knees, then pulled them up to his chest and hugged them, trying his hardest to think and to not think at the same time.

No! How had this happened! He couldn’t be a ghost. He couldn’t! Ghosts were an enemy type! They were evil and malevolent and glitchy! It just – it wasn’t possible. He couldn’t be that!

...

Could he be a good-aligned ghost, at least? He’d never heard of such a thing, but… he was the hero! He was the unshakable force of goodness in the land, the chosen hand of the gods, the paragon of light! If he was really a ghost, then… yes. Yes. He was a different ghost. A good ghost – one whose spirit remained to protect the innocent and vanquish darkness.

…He didn’t want to be a ghost. Not – not just because ghosts were bad. He wasn’t bad – silver didn’t burn him, after all, so he had to be holy-aligned. And maybe other ghost characters might be the same way. Afe was... weird, but he was an ally, if nothing else. But…

He didn’t want to be dead. He didn’t want to have lost.

This was why he hated roguelikes – this was why Aifam Cove was terrible. There was no chance to do over if you made a mistake. If you didn’t realize something was happening. If you lost an ally. If something unreasonably unlucky happened. If you died. Whatever happened… you were stuck with it.

This game wasn’t very fun anymore.

A crème egg slowly tumbled down the aisle. Winston eyed it dully. He liked chocolate, even if it didn’t heal much HP. With his current state... well, fat chance of that. Would he ever get to taste one again?

He prodded at it listlessly. His fingers, as usual, passed through, although they felt oddly wet when he drew them back.

He tried not to whimper. Eventually, he pulled it off.

This… maybe this didn’t matter. Maybe it really didn’t change things. It – it did, it did change things, and he didn’t like the way this franchise was going, but… the rest of it was still the same. The cutscene was over. He’d had his breakdown, his realization. But the villains were still out there. The danger still loomed. The townspeople still needed him. He still had work to do.

He was still a hero.

He got to his feet and turned around, fully intent on marching back into the fray. Yes. Yes, he was a ghost. Yes, he had died. But he had not perished! His lightsaber hummed in his belt sheath, and he felt a surge of courage. Winston Teakes was still here! And Winston never quit a game halfway!

Then he bumped into a spectral dinosaur.

SPOILER: Click to show

Winston is appalled when the villains simply brush him off and exit the bossfight. He attempts to chase after them, but is stunned when Professor Bardsley pointedly informs him that he’s dead. He woobs around for a while, then decides he’s still The Hero, and he can still beat the game.

Then Fella shows up. Ghost Yoshi, anyone?

[Sporty]

"Morty's locked us all in, and two innocent people died, one of which was my.... Friend."

Alma was clearly in anguish as she caught Melanie up on events, and Melanie's blood boiled.

That theater wasn't just a threat... it was a deliberate trap! she realized. What did he possibly hope to achieve, locking everyone up like that? What had he expected to happen!?

"We need to hold him down somewhere where he can't hurt anyone else." Alma went on, lifting the popcorn machine. "Can you go that way and head him off?"

Melanie nodded and took off in the direction Alma had indicated. She needed to be fast -- Morty was surprisingly quick, so far outrunning and outmaneuvering even Leo's ghostly bike.

If that blasted fool would just turn... But he didn't. He kept running straight down Chet Street, and Melanie couldn't be sure that he would go left when the looming cliffs did force him to turn.

But Morty had to be stopped. He had to be! His meddling had done as much damage to the town as the 'Woo-forsaken mafias, and she would not ignore him in the hunt any longer!

But for that she needed to cut him off, and to do that she needed to go faster, and why couldn't she run any faster and --

And then all at once she was, rounding the mob and arcing around Morty and his friend where they hadn't glanced her way, and there were shouts behind her that she ignored because surely they were more shouts to take out the madman? And then she completed the arc and planted herself in front of him and snarled as her hackles rose, and he stumbled back in shock and... and...

Snarl? Hackles? Did I catch up to him because I started running on...

Oh. Oh dear.

SPOILER: Click to show

Melanie is disgusted by the pain and death that Morty has caused, and agrees to try and head him off. He's too fast, though, and she's not sure she'll be able to... until a sudden burst of speed allows her to arc around and cut him off. After she does, though, she realizes that the sudden speed boost came from her subconsciously shifting into wolf form in front of the entire freaking mob.

[Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)]

Several miles away

Twang.

A growl. Another marshmallow was impaled onto an arrow. The wielder held her breath, shut her eye, drew the string again, and raised the bow as high as it would go.

Twang.

No, not far enough. A pink pony with fluff thicker than honey growled again, but her frustration appeared to ebb within mere seconds as she attached yet another marshmallow to the end of her arrow. She was just about to draw the string back when--

"Confound it Fluffle! You're supposed to be getting rid of the rats, not inviting them back here!" Aiden Montgomery, an extremely disheveled librarian/bakery worker shouted at her via the back door. "The customers are getting antsy! One even said he found a rat nearly drowned in a vat of pudding!" Fluffle gasped. This was not as it should be.

Fluffle nodded gravely. Serious measures had to be taken to lure the rats away from the bakery and back where they came from.

She'd seen them come in herself along the river, floating on a dilapidated roof and hood that looked like it'd seen the wrong end of a transformer.

Rats who looked almost as if they'd seen all the trouble in Wafflenet were huddled together in fear, and jumped straight for the shore as soon as they'd come near. Fluffle had merely stared as they flocked together and invaded The Other Fluffy Bakery. She frowned. The living customers wouldn't like this one bit.

And now she was baiting them outside in the only way she knew how. The most practical solution, in fact, and one that would help her hone her archery skills. In a way, it would kill two rats with one stone--without killing any rats!

But evidently that hadn't gone too well.

Arrows with marshmallows at the end wouldn't cut it. Fluffle had to follow the rats back where they came from to see what kind of disturbance was causing it. And by the powers of FLUFF she was endowed with, she could help! Fluffle reared up and whinnied, excited for an adventure. She glanced at the bakery. Aiden Montgomery could stay a little while longer.

And Mick...well, she hadn't quite seen him in some time. Perhaps he was away on some sort of business. That didn't stop her from missing him...he was too special to her for her not to say anything about her spontaneous journey.

Going to the top floor of the bakery, where the G-Host Club opened at night, Fluffle grabbed a sheet of ethereal stationery, dipped her hoof in some marshmallow fluff (where was the ink when you needed it?!) and stamped out a message for Mick. There. That oughta do it.

Fluffle flew above the quiet, peaceful town of Netwaffle, and followed the river to a....sea. She kept going, never changing direction, finding the simultaneous changing and not-changing of the water ever so peaceful.

But then, the door of a red car--the same color as the hood and roof. It was...floating. With a bunch of rats huddled together on it!

Fluffle flew faster towards the direction of the rats. At last, a town came into view, where she just barely saw another group of rats board a part of the completely wrecked car. That explained the where of the matter, but not the why.

She flew over the town, but saw no one. Had this town been evacuated just like Wafflenet? She shivered as memories threatened to scuttle back into her mind like a horde of spiders. No, she'd gotten enough of those memories from her nightmares. Mick was almost always there to help her out of them at night, and she wasn't going to have a breakdown in a strange town in the middle of the day, NO SIREE FLUFF--

A velociraptor ghost seemed to be...alone. And crying!

If that wasn't reason enough to frighten hundreds of rats enough to flee on floating car parts, Fluffle didn't know what was.

The pony floated over to him, tilted her head, and gave a gentle and questioning "Pblblllt?" in an attempt to comfort the strange ghostly being. She just hoped he spoke her language.

SPOILER: Click to show

After a horrifying rat infestation at Netwaffle's The Other Fluffy Bakery, Fluffle leaves a note for Mick in hoof-code and marshmallow fluff and heads to Aifam Cove to discover the reason the rats were leaving.

She finds a sad Fella and asks what's going on in her language.

[Avery]

(Narrator Note: Hi everyone, real life decided to EXIST so execution post will not be up until the morning. So more time for HIJINKS prior to death! =D Sorry about that. <3)

[Lizzie]

Dakota was passed out on the sticky and disgusting movie theater floor.

They slept soundly, the spilled soda intermingling in their greasy, unwashed hair. They never had a thing for movies in general, and since the mafia had began to strike, Dakota had just been... tired. Exhausted, unmotivated. So they slept soundly. Through the three deaths that transpired, they just… slept obliviously. They were never much for the Hunger Games anyway.

When they woke, they screamed. There was a commotion going on, and screaming, and the sounds of pounding feet. Their hair, sticky from the floor, hung limply in front of their face, and they raised themself up to peer over the edge of the seat they passed out near. A deserted movie theater greeted them, and they raised themself up to stand on the ground.

A quick look around, and they heard the yelling subside slightly. A step or two, and they were on their way out the door and into the lobby of the building.

Dakota pushed their way out of the doors as soon as they could, and saw Nathan and Bea… walking? They were confused by this. Bea, they trusted. They loved Bea and Kylie, though they didn’t trust Kylie at times. But… Nathan?

He seemed like a trustworthy person, but his sister was a mafioso. He owned a little shop, but… Dakota couldn’t place it. They couldn’t bring themself to trust him. They considered calling out to Bea, and even raised an arm weakly, as if they were reaching to stop her.

Deciding the feelings were nothing, Dakota reluctantly wandered back into the theater to collect the bodies of Liliana and Miko. Lugging them out the doors again, they took the short walk as more time to reflect on what had happened. Employing a few townspeople to carry Miko’s body bag, they headed down to the morgue.

When they finally got inside, it was pure chaos. Dakota was met square in the face with people asking where they were, what had happened, why were there two more people dead, why were people being locked in the movie theater?

“I don’t know, I was at the movies and I fell asleep and I don’t know,” Dakota murmured, and took the opportunity to take the two bodies down to the examination room. Winston’s already lay there, cold and dead, his eyes still open as they had been in life. They looked at the blood on the side of his head and sighed, taking the time to comb his hair back and close his eyes.

“I… I guess life really isn’t a game, Winston,” Dakota said, laughing bitterly at their own joke.

SPOILER: Click to show

Dakota awakens to chaos, and watches Nathan walking down the street. They're torn on trusting him, but forget it so they can bring the bodies to the morgue. They then take care of Winston's body.

[Birdy]

Time seemed to crawl. After Miko's execution and the subsequent pandemonium, it had taken a while for things to calm down.

Then, mostly, people just milled about, avoiding the stiffening body in the lobby. Some chose to take advantage of the free snacks, while others just looked for a quiet place to think.

The respite didn't seem to last long. Another murder had happened - this time by the mafia.

Accusations once again flew through the air. Tensions were rising. It would not have been surprising if another body were to show up soon, but then--

The doors burst open with a gust of icy wind.

Hermia squinted in the bright light from the doorway, and shaded her eyes, trying to see who these newcomers were.

It didn't take long to figure out.

“Now, everyone!” called one of the figures to the hushed, confused crowd. He stepped inside, snow boots loud against the tiled floor. “You all know me: I am Morty Gunderson, and I’ve been working these past few days to stop these awful murders! And this here—” He gestured to the man standing beside him “—is my brother-in-law, Aaron Bear. Aaron has past experience with defeating mafias, and so together, he and I are going to get to the bottom of these killings once and for all!”

...Gunderson. She should have known he'd be behind this.

Someone began to question Gunderson - rather politely, considering the circumstances - and soon everyone had the answer they'd been wanting.

Mortimer Gunderson had locked the entire town inside the theatre to... "contain" them, while he went off to get some help for the town's mafia problem.

The town's reaction was understandable.

They proceeded to begin to chase both him and his brother-in-law across town.

Or, most did. Some hung back, discussing that it would be better to simply capture the man instead, and began to formulate a plan.

While Hermia had to agree that not even Morty deserved to be beaten to death by a mob, she wasn't sure how much help she could be. She was just so tired... Perhaps she could go back to the Stallion Inn, rest up a bit, and then find them? But by then, it could be too late...

Hermia grimaced and rubbed her head. She didn't need another headache right now.

If nothing else, perhaps some fresh air would do her some good.

She walked across the lobby and stepped out into the cold.

A breeze blew past, and she shivered. She shouldn't stay out in this weather too long. She should probably head back to the Inn.

Mind made up, she walked down Fawlton Roan, turned onto Main Street, and headed for the Stallion Inn.

SPOILER: Click to show

Hermia mills about the lobby with the others.

Murder happens, and the crowd gets angry. Again.

Morty arrives in the nick of time and frees everyone, so they can chase him and his brother-in-law across town.

Hermia considers helping those plotting to capture and detain Morty, but decides she is too tired to be of much use.

So she heads back to the Stallion Inn.

[Coaster]

And that was when Fella found himself startled by a floating puffball--probably a bat, silly mammals--who greeted him in a rather obscure glossopharyngeal fashion, as he was much better acquainted with a strictly guttural dialect, himself.

Simultaneously, as Fella leapt back in surprise (mostly from the sudden mammal attack, linguistic bewilderment aside), he collided with a lightsaber wielder with no sense of personal space, or at least came as close to a collision as two ghosts reasonably could.

Thusly, Fella's balance failed; he collapsed the other way and was left scrambling around on the floor, failing to push himself back up with his big head and little arms, like all those mean kids in school used to make him do before they expelled him for throwing bananas at them during study session and--

--oh, right, ghosts can float and stuff.

He regained his composure and chirped and growled in response to the both of them, whirling in circles to answer them, whining and inquiring what the rules were that he missed while he was out, and whether there was a jailbreak or something since those ghosts had left and obviously they allowed to play, and whether they had to tag-team or do something stupid like sing teapot songs and play horsie and whatnot in order to get out.

SPOILER: Click to show

Fella is startled by Fluffle and knocked off-balance by Winston, falls down, gets up, and asks in a more velociraptorly accent whether he was still allowed to play tag and what they had to do to get out of jail.

[Tiger]

Mick was making his way back to Netwaffle when an exceptionally cold breeze struck. He shivered at the cold and winced at the sharp pain the wind brought to a half-healed burn on his arm. Mage ghosts. Of course there’re mage ghosts, he thought distractedly.

Then he realized that the wind smelled like blood.

He paused, spectral tail wavering slightly in the continued breeze before it died. Nothing but trees that way. His sense of smell wasn’t noticeably better now that he was dead – actually, it was probably worse because it seemed hyper-attuned to bad smells and reluctant to take in good ones. But unless a pack of wolves had gone nuts and killed a lot of deer…

His earpiece buzzed to life. “Cool trick, huh, kid? Took me a solid week of testing to get that right – and I couldn’t even use it until now!”

“So you’re just going to use my flight home as a test-run?” Mick snapped. It probably wasn’t wise to use such a tone with his demonic guide to purgatory, but Metastophelous was incredibly frustrating.

“And you’ve never had a lot of self-control or common sense, let’s be honest,” Meta said conversationally. “Sure, I could test-drive all these fun purgatory effects on ya, kid, but I really think they’d be more effective as surprises, so this ain’t a false alarm.”

Mick noticed the absence of his heart pounding. “I’m on another assignment?”

“That is correct, sir! Follow the direction of that bloody wind!”

“But – I have to go back to Netwaffle and tell Fluffle – “

“Oh, right – she’s heading that way too, actually. Crazy coincidence, isn’t it?” Meta seemed…not to be talking to Mick. Mick was relatively used to moments like this, and knew he wasn’t supposed to ask about it. “The pony left a note for ya, hang on – it says…erm…” There was a moment’s shuffling. “…Gloopy hoofprint…gloopy hoofprint facing left…kinda smeared goopy hoofprint…is this some kinda pony version of Dinotopian?”

“Uh...”

“No, I wasn’t askin’ you. Ugh. Look, computer says that’s where she’s headin’, and if there’s one thing you don’t do, Micky, it’s doubt the computer.”

“…Didn’t your computer kind of not help much at all when – “ Another wind struck him, this time peppered with hail. “Ouch! All right, all right, I’m going! But where…and why?”

“It’s called Aifam Cove,” Metastophelous said. Mick heard a few keys tap, and the burn on his arm faded with one last violent sensation of searing. “And Micky…listen. What went down in this place is really serious. Due to...circumstances, I couldn’t get you or any of my parolees into this place earlier. And it’s too bad, ‘cause I think they could’ve used some help, even from ghosts like you.”

Insults came standard with demonic afterlife guidance counselors. “What happened, Meta?”

“Same thing that got you in your current state of being.”

Mick’s stomach should have jerked. “Another mafia?” He was especially aware of the rope mark scars on his neck as his throat formed the words. Or performed the motion to form words – being dead was confusing in a lot of ways.

“Yes…and no, kinda. Worse, definitely worse. I’ll explain on the way. Though, ah, maybe you should know first, otherwise she’ll be waiting there to greet you and I’ll be cursing my luck. And Tiger, but when am I not cursing her, really…where was I? Oh – I’m pretty sure you remember Pallada?”

“Of course I remember her, she nearly killed everybody! Heck, the second time she died that nearly killed me!”

“Good memory, kid! She also led your club of murders, don’t forget that! But anyway, I bring up the good godmother ‘cause I was thinking, you might wanna let Snow know - when you get the chance – that ghost-knives aren’t a permanent solution to troublesome spooks, either.”

“Wait – Diana Pallada is alive – and she’s in this Aifam place!? She’s a lunatic revenant!”

“Well, three outta four ain’t bad – seems like her revenant powers are gone. I think she might’ve traded them in for some more crazy because wow, Micky, some of this dialogue…”

Mick was suddenly having trouble breathing, which was an unusual reaction from a being without lungs or the actual ability to interact with the oxygen in the air. Pallada was insane, but the cunning kind of insane. Even if she’d lost the incredible powers that had made her such a towering opponent in Wafflenet, Mick didn’t fool himself for an instant – any fight with her would still be a desperate one.

“Kid, I don’t know if fighting her’s actually the strategy we’re going with. At this point, we might just wind up bein’ volunteer clean-up crew.”

“But Fluffle’s going to Aifam, too! It’s kind of hard to hide when you’re a fluffy ghost pony – if Diana sees her, do you really think she’s not going to go after her, revenant powers or not?”

“I never said that, kid. But I’m sure Fluffle’s got her bow and arrow, she’ll be fine. Now if you’d shut up and put all that energy going into your yapping into your flying, you’d get there sooner and I could actually brief you on what’s goin’ on. Unless you’d like to just get there blind. I can arrange that, y’know.

“…Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

-------

Pratchett knew provoking the ghost wasn’t wise. There was no guarantee the technician could stand up to a ghost’s power, and it wasn’t like there were a lot of options for running. Piper actually threatened murder. After all Pratch had done to help her out, no less!

But Pratchett didn’t really regret the taunting until Piper, apparently as touchy about her camera as a mama bear about her cubs, shouted that her camera wasn’t to blame – and half of Pratchett’s equipment went haywire.

Two monitors went out, almost…searing from the inside out. Pratchett was reminded of the yellowing and curling of burning paper. One of the laptops shut off after displaying an overheating warning; another, with the same burning-pages effect, blue-screened just before it shut down, too. All of Pratchett’s internet pages crashed, announcing DNS errors, and the video-editing program crashed. The remaining computers flickered, but to Pratchett’s enormous relief, settled to normal. A few announced that they were restarting, including Pratchett’s current computer. The technician pushed it aside for one of the more stable devices.

…What the heck had that been? Granted, Pratchett thought the video-editor crash might not have been Piper’s fault, but everything else was definitely not normal computer behavior. Well…if a ghost can mess with a single camera, maybe an angry ghost can put computers on the fritz. I better find where she’s gone…

With a lot of finangaling and despite several discoveries of corrupted files, Pratchett managed to get back into the security camera controls, and started setting the cameras back to normal. The hovering, jingling little camera was nowhere to be seen now, but there was a steady line of cameras that seemed to be twisting away from the halls even as Pratchett reset the ones closer to the front of the building.

Piper was heading for a storage room. The same one Christopher had been in, if Pratchett wasn’t mistaken. But…why? The ghost had never explained what she was actually doing here.

I could ask…but… Pratchett opened a file folder from the desktop, and frowned at the corrupted contents. Yeah, I was afraid of that. I’d better keep my mouth shut.

-------

"Of course Cheryl, I pinkie promise."

He’d switched from calling her “Miss Lewis”. That surprised Cheryl – yes, of course, a few people called her by her first name, but generally not after starting on the “Miss Lewis” track. The only other one she could think of to do that was Pratchett. And in a way, she’d assumed that was because ‘Pratchett’ was literally the only name she had for the technician, so it was only fair.

Then again, she’d been dropping her own formal habits when it came to the once-blind child, hadn’t she?

“Very good, Chris,” she said, and held out her pinky.


The mob was heading one way, but their group headed the other. Cheryl wasn’t sure who, exactly, had come up with the plan to try and get Morty from behind by taking a back alley of Main Street to get to Chet Street, where the main mob had gone. She sort of hoped it wasn’t her because the plan didn’t really work. There were a lot of houses, fences, and agitated dogs between Main Street and Chet. For some reason Pratchett wasn’t answering Cheryl’s text messages or her calls – what, was something more important than stopping a killer as insane as the mafia he claimed to be fighting going on at the studio?

They made it to Fork Street before making any progress. Cheryl could hear the mob, distantly – it was a generally angry sound, so she assumed they hadn’t caught and killed Morty Gunderson yet. Apparently that was justification enough to stop at the Stallion Inn so Sister Erata could pick up the young Miss Devon. Cheryl waited outside impatiently, scanning the streets with her camera. They’d lost Alma, it looked like – hopefully the woman was all right…

“How’re you doing, Chris?” she asked. “Holding up okay?”

At that point, a very curious thing happened. People who Cheryl had seen run off with the mob came bolting out from the gap between the subdivision on Chet Street and Stalberry road. They were shouting something about a wolf – specifically, that Melanie Porter had turned into one?

“First mermaids and now werewolves? You know, I’m not even that surprised. Is Sister Erata almost finished in there? I think Miss Porter could use our help!”

SPOILER: Click to show

Meta starts briefing Mick on the situation, in particular telling him that he’s going to Aifam Cove, that there’s something “like but worse” the mafia situation in Wafflenet, that Fluffle’s gone to the Cove, and that everyone’s favorite historian is also in town, albeit without her revenant abilities.

Piper’s ghost aura destroys and damages some of Pratchett’s computers. Pratchett decides not to pester her anymore.

I'll summarize the Cheryl bit later because I have to go stand by a poster today, guys!

[Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)]

Well, now she'd done it. She'd scared the poor little guy into...falling into the floor and floating only belatedly.

Crepes. That could only mean one thing...

THERE WAS FROSTING ALL OVER HER FACE.

And he was recently deceased.

Fluffle glanced to the side of her and saw a ghost, human this time...WITH A GLOWING BLUE CANDY CANE! Smart man, to always have food with him. That looked pretty tasty right about now. She'd hadn't had a thing since yesterday. Ah well, it could wait. She nuzzled him in greeting, as her excellent judge of character read him as "friendly."

Of course that same judge of character hadn't served her well while she was alive, but what did she care at the moment? He did look odd...

The raptor appeared to look at her questioningly and uttered a mysterious series of growls and chirps. Fluffle tilted her head. Oh, right, the frosting. She wiped her face with a hoof and "Pbbltbt"'d her question again, which summed up everything she wanted to ask very neatly:

"What is this place why are the rats leaving here is someone hurt do I still have frosting on my face?"

Though it was hard to tell, the raptor seemed to have a...playful look in his eye as he half floated half ran half flew (wait those were three halves) circles around them.

Oh! Tag! Fluffle nodded vigorously. She was up for a game of tag any day! Fluffle very solemnly tapped the raptor with a hoof, and dashed off behind a row of seats, her tail wagging like a dog's.

SPOILER: Click to show

Fluffle plays tag with Winston and Fella and wants to eat Winston's lightsaber.

[RielCZ]

Rilen started to walk away from the man he approached outside the theatre.

"Oh, but I do. I haven't been here in a while. Why was everyone in the movie theater?"

Sighing, Rilen spun to face the man but by the time he turned around the mysterious person had already disappeared into the mob up ahead.

The boarder glanced in the other direction. There appeared to be absolutely nothing going on anywhere else in town; everyone was in the mob, either engaging in the general bloodthirst or attempting to defend against and lessen it.

At this point, Rilen was so apathetic toward this whole situation he wasn't even sure to which side he belonged. Probably the latter, though. As much as Morty perhaps deserved what he did to so many others, including Miko, to do it in the same fashion would just serve to show how naturally murderous the town really was; he hoped the town was better than that. It wasn't much hope, but hope nonetheless.

"Hey Barbra," he started not even bothering to sound cheery, looking down at the plant in his arms, "want to go see what's going on up there?"

Rilen walked further toward the mob and arrived in its general vicinity just in time to see a popcorn cart hurdled at someone. His eyes widened. Had he somehow received the ability to see ghosts? Word had circulated that salt apparently hurts ghosts, but--

No. The guy hit the ground with the regular amount of corporeality.

Hey, wasn't that the guy he had talked to before?

And before Rilen processed it, the man whom he thought was new to the island was engaged in a passionate act with some woman.

So he had roots here. Arguably more roots than Rilen. Rilen was the newbie.

He frowned. It was beautiful the man found his beloved, but... it was somehow bittersweet for Rilen. 

The boarder walked further in.

Holy crimony was that a wolf at the front of the mob?

After the initial shock Rilen supposed he didn't care. There were worse things going on here.

He waited around for something to happen, ready to intervene -- on whose side he wasn't yet sure -- if necessary.

SPOILER: Click to show

Rilen joins the crowd and waits for something to happen.