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Post by RielCZ on Apr 18, 2014 3:53:37 GMT -5
"Can't you see this is wrong?" Rilen protested as the one who had earlier cracked the gun was in the mob's hands. And with the slice of a knife across her throat, another townsperson was dead. It was the same knife used to kill Miko. Oh, how he wanted to grab that knife. How he wanted to destroy that knife... How he wanted to destroy every murder weapon. Word circulated the newly deceased was a none. "Huh," the boarder remarked to himself. "I never would have guessed that." Rilen appreciated the work of sisters in general. Aunt Matilda had been one; she had left the convent of the Woo -- or whatever they called it -- a decade before Rilen was born, but she always told stories of her time there. The reverence... and the parties. The boarder guessed this nun probably lived a lifestyle closer to that of the latter. Regardless... The crowd was quickly dissipating -- as was Rilen's hope in their virtue. Some poor young girl was crying over the body of the nun... the two must have been close. Rilen thought of wandering over to comfort her but another lady seemed to be doing that already. Bowing slightly to the fallen sister and saying a silent prayer to Woo -- man, that was something he hadn't done in a while -- he started to journey off up Stalberry. He supposed he would go home. It was getting dark, and it had been a long day for Rilen. A long, long day. A long, long, traumatizing day. "So, Barbra," he started as he gazed down at his -- it was beginning to feel a little less awkward -- wondrous plant, "I suppose, tonight, you'll get to see where I stay." He managed a weak smile at her. "It's not really my place... it belongs to my sister, she just let me live there for the time being... But it once belonged to my aunt." He stopped. Why was he explaining all this? He supposed he just wanted someone to talk to. The boarder heard noise from further back, from around the nun's body. He spun around, just in time to witness Cheryl throwing what appeared to be gravel at thin air... He supposed it was probably salt, and at a rogue and malevolent ghost. Rilen smiled, mostly bemused, but almost determinedly. Some people were doing things right; not everyone was caught in bloodthirsty Morty-mania, or mafia-mania, or whatever the difference was, if there was one. He continued down Stalberry. And then a thought struck him. He again focused his attention to Barbra. "I hope you won't get homesick." He wondered if she had ever spent a night outside Seeds of Love. "I suppose, need be, I can take you to the old shop and spend the night with you..." Though Rilen wasn't sure if he felt up to sleeping in Miko's store the night of her tragic death. At last, the church came into complete view. He was a little more than halfway there as dusk set in. Or was that smoke? No, it was probably dusk. Rilen witnesses the death of Lucille after trying to intervene on her behalf. His hope in the town is quickly diminishing.
He sees Kylie and Bea, and while he starts walking away, turns back in time to see Cheryl throw salt at a presumed ghost. Somehow this makes him feel slightly better.
Rilen decides to head up to his home, but tells Barbra to make sure she lets him know if she feels homesick and wants to stay the night at the flower shop instead. |
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Post by Kristykimmy on Apr 18, 2014 9:55:11 GMT -5
Anna had caught up with the crowd just in time to see them murder Lucille right outside of the Stallion Inn. She got out of her car, slamming the door as hard as she could. She walked with quick steps over to the edge of the cliff where her life had ended only a few days ago. The words of Dr. Parker came back to her. “There's definitely a reason why you're still here."“What was that reason!” Anna screamed out at the ocean. “Am I here just to witness everything fall apart? To see how badly we all messed things up, those of us who actually cared and wanted to do right by the world? Why?” She dropped to her knees, crying without tears. She looked back over her shoulder after a minute. Travis was harassing Christopher. She wasn't about to take that. Cheryl was there, but Cheryl was living. There wasn't much she could do. Anna ran, her blood pounding in her ears from the sheer fury she felt for the members of the Mafias that had torn Aifam apart. She pulled her fist back and swung with all her might, connecting with Travis' face. A satisfy feeling, the feeling of connecting with something passed through her arm. A moment later, it actually hurt a little, but that was small price to pay for it. Christopher was crying, trying to hug Cheryl but passing through her. “Come here, Christopher,” Anna said, putting her arms around his shoulders comfortingly “Travis is completely evil and insane, and don't mind a word he says. We're not going to let him hurt you again.” Suddenly, the ground shook with an explosion. Smoke started rising from the beach. She looked at Cheryl. “Cheryl, can you hear me? I know you're a reporter and probably want to cover whatever is going on down there, but I think we should get out of there.” Anna arrives in time to see the murder of Lucille and loses it. When she regains control of herself, she goes to slug Travis for harassing Christopher. An explosion rocks the area, and she suggests to Cheryl that they all get out of there. |
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Post by Tiger on Apr 18, 2014 10:29:48 GMT -5
((Aagh sorry this is so long)) Cheryl put a protective arm around where she thought Christopher’s shoulders should be, glaring at Richem through the camera viewfinder. She expected the delusional “reality star” to retaliate, but apparently the living weren’t the only ones through with Travis Richem. Anny Dywight punched Travis – hard. So there were definitely advantages to being dead. With Travis out of the way for the moment, Cheryl stooped to give Chris as full a hug as was possible with their different corporealities. “It’s okay, Chris. It’s all right.” She heard Anna’s voice, too. “Come here, Christopher. Travis is completely evil and insane, and don't mind a word he says. We're not going to let him hurt you again.”Cheryl didn’t know what exactly had caused Christopher to break down. By the time he’d gone into a full-fledged panic, Cheryl had been engulfed in such fury that she couldn’t remember what exactly Travis Richem had even said. She should have stepped in sooner – but how? Travis didn’t listen to reason, and her guess was that salt would have hurt Christopher as much as it would hurt Travis. There’d been nothing she could do. But she hated that fact. Cheryl looked up slightly and saw Beatrix Devon hugging her daughter. Just a few days ago, the reporter would never have imagined that the two of them would find themselves in such a similar situation. But here they were. The mob was still out there. Cheryl wasn’t sure she cared whether or not they took Morty to the grave – he would come back as a ghost anyway, tenacious as the creep was – but they were attacking innocent people, too. Sister Erata had done nothing but been determined. And there were so many determined people here. Melanie Porter, Cheryl suddenly remembered. She turned into a wolf in front of that entire pack1 – if they haven’t hurt her already, she must be next on their list. I’m sure a wolf can run and fight, but-There was an explosion from the beach. Smoke poured from somewhere near the cliffs. What on earth – is it the mafia? Or Morty? Anna said, “Cheryl, can you hear me? I know you're a reporter and probably want to cover whatever is going on down there, but I think we should get out of there.”“I can hear you fine, Miss Dywight,” she replied in a slightly clipped tone – it would have been sterner if Cheryl could have summoned the energy to be truly annoyed. “This is about more than covering stories, I’m not that foolish.” But she was foolish enough to feel conflicted – she wanted to get out of the streets, away from the mob – more importantly, get Christopher and the Devons out – but the mob was still going to attack other innocent people. She couldn’t stand by and let that happen… Her phone buzzed. Keeping one arm “around” Christopher as best she could, Cheryl dug the phone free and answered it. Pratchett’s voice was sharp on the other end of the line. “Cheryl – Piper Boudreaux was just here.” “What!? Are you all right?” “I’m fine – she wasn’t here for me. I’m not really sure why, but she took one of the old tripod cameras. She also blasted out half my equipment with some sort of ghost rage, but I’m up and running enough to help. What’s going on out there, Cheryl?” “It’s – there’s…the mob’s still going insane, and they haven’t caught Gunderson yet, and Richem just showed up…” With great effort, Cheryl pulled herself together. “Christopher’s still with me – the Devons and Miss Dywight are here, too. Sister Erata…the mob…” “Oh, ‘Woo…” “Yeah. And people came by just a few minutes ago saying Melanie Porter, the owner of the pet shop, turned into a wolf.” “…Oh? …Okay then.” “Pratchett, we need to stop them – and we need a safe place to hide, both us and anyone we can rescue from the mob. There must be a way – can you…ah, I don’t know…” “There’re no mobsters in the studio yet, but it’s not like it would hold up to an angry mob for long. It’s yours if you trust the people you’re bringing inside, but…” “The studio might have to do. What about finding the people they’re going to run into?” “I don’t know, Cheryl. Look, I wish I could be the Lucius Fox to your Batman, but I’m just a radio-turned-television technician – and half my equipment’s wiped out anyway!” “There must be something!” A voice from behind Cheryl said tentatively, “I…I might be able to help.” ------- Mick had landed in the town as stealthily as he could. The ghosts around here seemed to mostly be translucent versions of themselves. Mick’s distinctly blue color and spectral tail were going to get him noticed if he flew overhead too long. Though he wanted to find Fluffle, he didn’t want Diana Pallada to find him. Was Pallada the reason Fluffle had tried to come here? If only her note had been legible… I should get her a tape recorder or something, Mick thought. “Adorable – not what you’re here for, though. Pay attention.” Mick nodded slightly and focused on where he was landing. The building was a theater, one that had apparently seen better days. He was a little afraid of somehow breaking something just by phasing through the roof, even though his ability to affect tangible objects was feeble at best. He’d entered the concessions area of the theater. There was a snack counter, a faded fountain drink machine with most of the labels gone and replaced with scribbles of permanent marker, an overturned and broken popcorn wagon… Popcorn and salt – Mick made sure to keep his tail well-above ground-level, having heard from Fluffle that salt and ghosts did not mix – were scattered all across the floor. Beside the counter, the popcorn was red with blood. There was no body. Mick dearly hoped that Aifam Cove had a functional morgue, that they wouldn’t have to go through the same thing Wafflenet had – bodies stashed in the ice chest of Waffles, No Nets, but then left to the fury of a flood. Mick’s neck twinged. “Meta…how many people died?” “So far, sevent- no, nineteen. Carrie’s list’s out of date. Hmph. Yeah, nineteen total. Four mafia, everyone else was innocent.” “And the mafias merged…so how many are there now? Do you know?” “Should be three left, if I’m counting right. And I know it sounds small, Micky, but trust me, the plot alerts and game mechanics are going wild on this one.” Meta sounded graver than Mick had ever heard before. “And it’s not just the mafia you gotta worry about, kid. This Morty Gunderson character…he might have a higher innocent kill-rate than both the mafias. Talk about magnifyin’ a fault.” Mick looked around the theater more closely. As Metastophelous often reminded him, Mick wasn’t the smartest of most observant of people. But he saw the chains dangling from the doors. He’d seen the blood. Even as he watched the doorway, a wind blew in a cluster of fliers. Free showing! Free snacks! A safe, fun event!Well, that hadn’t been quite the case, had it? Mick’s gaze drifted back to the chains. …It hadn’t never been meant to be safe or fun. “Yeah. Makes your town’s lynch mob seem polite by comparison, doesn’t it? But of course, you never know - if your murder-buddies had kept their heads a bit longer, or it Wolfstorm’d been as chicken-hearted as you and not said anything, it coulda gotten this bad in Wafflenet.” “No,” Mick insisted. “They wouldn’t have – they would never have let it get this bad!” Meta snorted. “Never thought you, of all people, would act like fear can’t make you crazy.” “So what can I do to stop them, Meta?” “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say a blue ghost with no pupils and a tail ain’t gonna quite get the job done. But that’s what the living are for, right?” “Uhm…not what they’re for, but they’d be helpful.” “Aww, he can learn! People are friends, not murder-victims! Good job, Mick! Right, let’s see – according to the lovely map they’ve provided this time around, you’re at building 16…Fawlton Road…hm. Well, there’s a group down – “ The ground shook. Mick didn’t actually feel the lurch, his feet not being on the ground, but the building around him trembled and Mick found that dizziness was one of the senses that had not been removed when he’d died. “What was that?” Without waiting for an (undoubtedly sarcastic) reply from Meta, Mick swooped out the back of the moviehouse, following the sound of the explosion. A pillar of smoke gushed from the beach. “Nobody killed there, kid. Well, there’s a dead person there, but that’s not gonna do squat to her.” There was a pause. “Oh, c’mon, she’s signed with one of our competitors! I was right here – Obscura’s gonna have my head for missing a – “ “Meta? What should I do now?” “Oh, right. Well – you’re pretty close to that group outside the Stallion Inn. That kinda huddled mass there, on Fork Street? Couple ghosts, couple livin’ ladies, blood, you can’t miss ‘em.” Mick had heard enough of the woman on the phone’s conversation as he approached. He felt the absence of a pounding heart – no matter how many times he had to go through this, Mick was never going to get used to introducing himself. Sooner rather than later, often at Metastophelous’s urging, what he was and what he had done always came out. It was fair – purgatory was redemption through punishment, after all – but it didn’t make things any easier. “I can help you find the mob,” he clarified. “You all find somewhere safe, and I’ll help the people this mob’s after. Ah – my name’s Mick Angelo, by the way.” “ Smooth, kid.” “I’m from Wafflenet. Something like this happened before – I’m here to try and keep anyone else from being killed.” The woman with the phone - not looking quite at him, weirdly - said, "Well…I don’t think we can refuse any help at this point. Miss Dywight? Christopher?” ----------------- 1 – This is no time for puns, Cheryl! Cheryl comforts Chris, talks to Anna and Pratchett and wants to go after the mob but also have a safe place in which to send the people they rescue. Mick arrives in Aifam Cove, lingers around the theater for a bit, then offers his help to the gang with Cheryl. |
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Post by Jayeee on Apr 18, 2014 10:46:51 GMT -5
In truth, the salt was far more painful than being punched in the face. It would have been enough to drive Travis away, as he clutched his face and howled in agony - far more dramatic than was necessary. But then that widowed adulterer had punched him. It felt strange at first, almost too surreal to feel something connect with his face. It hurt, sure, but it paled in comparison to the salt that felt like it was burning away inside of him, melting his very being. He was surprised that the little adulterous witch hadn't felt it too when she hit him. His head flew back at the impact, almost as though his neck were broken, and he hovered motionless for about a minute. He almost wished that he hadn't left all his blood back inside of his body when he'd died – it would have been far more effective if his viewers could have seen the red dripping from his lips. Maybe it would have distracted him away from the burning too. But it wasn't to be. Travis used one hand to pull his head upright again, and stared down at Markus. "Sorry kid, you might want to look away for this one," he muttered in a low voice. Something had broken inside of him. Something that almost pushed Travis Richem IN YOUR FACE to the back of his mind. Something like that satisfying feeling of killing somebody else. He could feel that burning salt inside of him now, it drove his mind and clouded everything but the thought of violence and death. It felt wonderful. And the audience would love it too, they adored everything he did. It didn't matter how he acted or what he said, he was their hero, and heroes always won. Always. He didn't even care about the new ghost he'd never seen before standing with them. He didn't have time for a new backstory now. With a large smirk plastered over his face, the young television star disappeared in a flash and it was only some seconds later that he appeared again in front of Jessica, hand bawled into a fist and wound back. In short, he just wanted to return the favour. After all, there was only so much a man was willing to take and he'd read in a pamphlet once that hitting women was good for them. He hoped it was wrong - he wanted it to be very bad for this one. Besides, Tiffany found pleasure through pain, so he just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Maybe he'd even manage to shake away that burning feeling within. He shot his fist forward like a piston - that feeling of ghostly skin on skin again felt wonderful, especially with the thought that it'd be painful, and even he felt the sting on his knuckles. Travis floated up above them, laughing and shaking his hand. "There's only so much the adorable puppy can put up with before he bites back," he spat from the sky. "And this one's teeth are sharper than ever." He waved to Markus as he gradually faded away. Travis snaps. |
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Post by PFA on Apr 18, 2014 11:08:33 GMT -5
Dr. Pallada seemed a little disappointed, but respected Professor Bardsley's choice. She mentioned not having to act as a ghost, but... what did that matter anymore? Not only did everyone already know his true nature, the mafia had won. It didn't matter anymore what people thought of him, because no one could stop him now. He let out a laugh at the thought. He was unstoppable.But Dr. Pallada continued, distracting him from his thoughts. She suggested going back outside to watch the aftermath of the recent mob killing—the Sister from the church, as he recalled. It was the last thing he watched before going off on his little side trip. Professor Bardsley smiled at the suggestion. "That sounds like an excellent idea," he agreed. "I wonder if the mob has caught up to Gunderson yet? I'd love to see that fool meet his—" His voice trailed off as a sound caught his ears. A distant rumbling... an explosion? It sounded like it was coming from the beach, he thought. He frowned. What would cause an explosion at the beach? "How odd. I wonder what that was?" he said aloud. He was torn. He was curious about the explosion, but he also wanted to check on the mob. He glanced at Dr. Pallada, wondering what she wanted to do. Professor Bardsley hears the explosion, and wonders if they should go check it out, or check on the mob. |
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Post by Liou on Apr 18, 2014 13:06:17 GMT -5
Morty seemed to have evaporated. Leo gazed fondly at Winnie on his new steed, happy that they had found each other. He thought of getting back to the mob, but what for? He had been driving around in circles for so long. Even Morty would be too scared of the mob to come out by now. Shouldn't they get back to searching for the Mafia itself? He wandered aimlessly towards the beach and the mobs, cutting through buildings between the main streets. He barely noticed the obstacles that went through him. He was tired, so tired. His body didn't have the energy to feel anymore and simply yielded to the solid matter. He remembered what had made him leave the hunt in the first place - that enormous hound, larger than most police dogs. He wondered whether Melanie was still around and able to control it. She had disappeared so fast that it was as if the hound had taken her place. Leo chuckled nervously at the thought. What if she had been taken, too? Was the mafia after all the women of Aifam, now? Leo had to let the more sensible townspeople know. He prayed that someone had already found Melanie. He felt the murder before seeing it, even though he would recognise that classic scene anywhere. The way people stood around a body, repulsed, yet attracted, in a sickening way. The smells of blood and fear were so strong in the air that he wondered why his body's substance was not tinted red. It made the ghost of his blood want to leap out of his throat again. His wild race around town finally came to a stop. His bike slowly dissolved into vapor, its supply of prayer-power depleted. There lay the sister who had introduced Leo to his faith, who had given him so much strength. Was this the end, then? Who would soothe the panicked crowd at the next murder scene? Who would provide Aifam with its life-giving fluid? Leo's eyes flickered over the Devon women. Their love brought him some comfort, but he was still so, so tired. With nothing more to hold on, he could have melted on the spot. He wasn't even sure if he was still visible anymore. Broken bits of rambling reached his ears. Leo finally turned to look at Travis and paid precious attention to the star, who had just offered to teach a boy how to kill. Leo could have vomited. His inner teenager roared in anger, furious that people still tried to lure kids like him into a life of crime. Leo bit the bullet. He saw Christopher's arms around Cheryl. That was good. They were beautiful together. He wished he'd seen them like this before the tragedy began. A sudden danger made Leo flinch. Thankfully, the salt had not hit him, but its burning smell still lingered on the air. It made his skin crawl. He shuddered and felt himself become more tangible. And once again, Travis had drawn everyone's anger onto himself. Leo had seen this happen so many times. Ever since he had known Travis, he had only seen the man being yelled at or kicked out of places. He had often wondered whether Travis had been sent into any kind of therapy. That didn't seem to be the case at all. Would any therapy in the world even work on this creature? Leo had never had the bravoury to try reasoning with the man. He had known a few delusional characters in his life, and as they could become dangerous when provoked, he had developed a habit of playing along with them as much as he could. What if he had said something? Couldn't anyone in Aifam have helped this man, in all the years it took him to reveal this monstrous aspect of himself? Leo opened his mouth, tried to pull its corners up into a smile. "We're not actually doing the show at the moment, Travis," he said feebly. "None of us signed up for all this. Especially not the kid." That was pointless. He was so sorry. An apology would do, at the very least. Before he could say a single "sorry", Anna Dywight had punched Travis, leaving him to float like a broken toy. Leo was too late, as usual. Travis's counter-punch did not surprise him, but Travis's last words felt like another punch. He automatically raised his hand, as if to make a grab for the ghost before he rose too high, but his fingers closed on nothing. Leo dropped to knee-level in front of Lucille's body. Sister Lu deserved a prayer for every time she had rescued and prayed for the townspeople, and only Lord 'Woo could do anything for Travis now. So Leo prayed. He gazed down at Lucille and up at Travis. He rubbed his triple feather tattoo. The glitter, which had vanished from his body, suddenly returned as a few sparkles under his fingers. Leo has feels about everything that happens and prays a LOT, as thanks to Lucille, and as... a desperate plea to save Travis's soul?  OK then, Leo. |
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Post by Avery on Apr 18, 2014 13:18:51 GMT -5
Cassidy Jackson worked through the night.This was partly by choice—a grim determination coupled with a far-flung hope that the sooner she finished, the sooner she could get away from the demented Professor Bardsley and attempt to move on with her life—and partly because Bardsley would accept no alternative. As Cassidy worked, he hovered above her, occasionally demanding progress reports in his silky, chilly voice. He also frequently reminded her what was at stake: not just Jonathan, but her grandfather, too. “Their lives are in your hands, Cassidy,” he whispered into her ear on more than one occasion.And then around two in the morning, still sitting cross-legged on the saggy twin bed in her dorm room, finally she turned and said to him, “I’ve squared away the formulas, I think.”“You think?” he rasped in reply.“I have,” she clarified. “I—they’re ready. I’m ready.” “Excellent,” he said, a smile twisting between his lips. “Let’s go to the Chemistry lab then. It’s time to brew.”**It had, in the past week or so, practically become their home: the cool, concrete walls and sterile floor, the fluorescent-lit halls and autopsy rooms. They simply could not keep up with the demand—and when they tried to leave, to head home and catch some shut eye, more often than not they were wrenched awake not long later by the news of another corpse.Dakota Taylor Allen was going a little mad.In the middle of the night, they sat in the Aifam Morgue’s dingy break room, a cup of cooling coffee before them on the laminate table. Also before them: a mess of notes, crinkled and thick with theories. The theories they’d started crafting in the aftermath of Christopher’s death—Christopher. Still their heart seized when they thought of them, their poor sweet cousin, murdered like an animal at a funeral, of all places. Dakota had never known they could miss a person so much. Especially not Christopher. They’d always found him a little pesky, like a stray puppy picked up from a box at the side of the road. But once he was gone… it had stolen their breath away, practically. And the way their fellow townspeople had reacted—with bloody executions and chaos—further soured Dakota’s stomach. That… that wasn’t the proper way to go about. It just wasn’t.And so they’d started investigating… scratching bleary-eyed notes in between collecting and autopsying bodies… theories born in the middle of the night, when their brain was leaden with shock and exhaustion. A lot of it was outright incoherent. And even the things that made a modicum of sense weren't necessarily right. But it helped, it did. It helped make Dakota feel useful, somehow. Even if the bodies kept piling up anyway.Even if the mafia was winning. And so as they sat in the break room, staring at those notes… so tired, so very tired… Dakota laughed. A mad, despondent laugh. They ran their fingers across the crinkled pieces of paper, tracing over the swirly letters. “It’s… it’s too late,” Dakota said to themselves. Loudly, starkly, their voice slicing through the silent, stale air. “Too late, Kota. They’ve already won. They’ve already won.”Mad though they were, Dakota Taylor Allen was not too far off the mark this time around.**“It’s done,” Cassidy said as a frigid dawn broke. “Are you sure?” demanded that silky, silky voice.“Yes, I’m sure,” she said—and hated that she meant it. On the one hand, it meant Jonathan could come back to life. But once he had… the other people who would follow him back into the world of the living…For a moment, Cassidy considered shattering the large beaker of potion that she’d just created. Letting the clear liquid seep into the gummy tiles of the Chemistry lab’s floor. It would incite Bardsley’s wrath, surely. And he would hurt her grandfather, and Jonathan would stay dead. But would it be worth it? Part of her thought so.A large part of her.“I wouldn’t,” Bardsley leered as he noticed the way Cassidy’s hand twitched towards the beaker. “I have your notes, your musings. I would just find another person to brew it.” He floated very close to her then, his ghostly cheek pressed against her warm one. “Now, Cassidy,” he breathed, “let’s go try this out, shall we?”**Not long later, inside Cassidy’s dorm room, Jonathan Mallory gasped back to life—with a bruise blooming around his neck, but otherwise no worse for the wear. Professor Bardsley grinned as a sobbing Cassidy enfolded her friend into a desperate hug.“Excellent spending the night with you, Cassidy,” Bardsley said, the beaker balanced carefully in his hands. “And now, I have… other places to be.” He started to float out of the dorm room, pausing only to stare for a moment at Cassidy and croon to her, “I’ll see you later, hm?”And then he was gone.**After returning to Aifam Cove proper from the Prettyboy campus, Professor Bardsley floated about the town on a mission: to rally together a certain percentage of the town’s ghosts, as well as three specific individuals from amongst the town’s living. Joyous news dripped from his lips. And once they were all collected, together through the freezing morning they headed to the Aifam Morgue.It was locked, but this did not matter. Bardsley had picked the lock of the Chemistry lab earlier tonight, and now he picked this one. And then, together, they entered. Three breathing, heart-beating beings and four ethereal ones. But by the time they exited a while later… “Why should I trust you?” the ghost of Piper Boudreaux challenged Bardsley as they started down the corridor—towards the break room where Dakota had passed out sometime in the night, and now slumbered with their head flopped over on the laminate table. “You killed me, after all,” she reminded.“And now I’m bringing you back,” Bardsley said thickly. “If you don’t want to, Miss Boudreaux—”“I get to come back first, right Juan?” Travis asked anxiously. “Not if you keep calling me that.”“He’s reviving Chill first,” Lindsey Lukas said. “You’ll have to wait your turn—“ “Quiet,” Bardsley said as they reached the break room. “We don’t want to Dakota to hear us coming.”“Must we really kill them?” Lindsey asked. “I… I thought we agreed on no more pointless deaths, so long as the townspeople cooperate…”“This one is necessary,” Bardsley said. “It might take a while to revive everyone, and we can’t have Dakota realizing we’re here and ruining things. Now, let’s do this.”They entered the break room; the sound of the door opening awoke the morgue worker. Pink hair frizzed, they blinked and stared in confusion at those who entered the space. The mafia ghosts. Their heart sank into their stomach as they realized this: Bardsley, Boudreaux, the crazy Travis Richem and the seemingly sweet Lindsey Lukas. And… three others were with them. Alive people.“Good morning, Dakota,” said Alma Mathers-Fitzgibbon with a wave. “It’s not necessary to greet your victims,” Nathan Lukas said as he rolled his eyes. In his hand, he had a fat, gleaming knife, its blade reflecting against the harsh artificial lights that blazed overhead. “In Abominable Aifam—”“Stop this. You’re not Abominable Aifam anymore, Nathan, and she’s not Chill of the Night. We’re Winter’s Wrath, remember?”Both of them glared briefly at Hermia Smith. Diminutive Hermia Smith, her dark hair tied back in a messy bun. Hermia, who’d blindsided all of them—and yet who in the end had helped unite the mafias into one solid front. “Stop bickering,” Hermia said, “and kill Dakota, Nathan. Kill Dakota so we can get on with this whole revival thing that Bardsley’s gone through such an effort to arrange.”“Revival thing?” Dakota echoed—their last words.“Yes, it’s going to be great,” Nathan said, shooting a smile at the ghost of his twin, Lindsey. Then he plunged the knife into Dakota Taylor Allen’s heart.**An hour later, seven breathing, beating-hearted beings strode out of the Aifam Morgue. By this time, most of the residents of Aifam Cove had stirred, and many of them meandered around Main Street on their morning errands. They all paused and stared in shock at the briskly moving group. Soon, the group stopped at the town square. And for a while they stood there, waiting for a crowd to gather. It did not take very long, on account of the fact that word of the suddenly-alive mafiosos had spread like wildfire. Before long, nearly everybody in the town—including those who’d spent the night hunting Morty, without success—had drifted to the square. Gaping in a sort of stunned awe.“Shall we begin?” Bardsley asked his fellow mafiosos eventually. In his body once more, Bardsley was beaming from ear to ear. He radiated power, practically glowed with it.“I think we shall,” agreed Hermia Smith. “Take it away, Professor.”“Excellent.” Professor Bardsley looked at the crowd. “Good morning, Aifam Cove. You are now gazing upon the seven people who have brought this town to its knees. And it was so much fun. But the collateral damage was… severe. Fixable, but severe. And so today, the united, revived Winter’s Wrath has a very nice proposal for you all.” He gestured to Nathan. “My colleague shall explain it now.”“As Bardsley was saying,” Nathan began, “we have a proposal for you. It seems as if we all have a common enemy: Mortimer Gunderson, who is presently hiding somewhere in this town. Though my friends and I had so much fun with all the murder, we’re tired. We wish to call a truce. First, you guys take care of Morty for us: we want his head as much as you do. And then… so long as you respect our authority, and provide for us as is…” He paused. “… Expected. Then, well. We can have a harmonious relationship, the lot of us.”“It’ll be simple,” Lindsey Lukas picked up. “Every business provides us a nice portion of the proceeds—smaller in the winter, larger in the tourist season. We are treated as the superior peoples we have already proven to be. We will allow for the peaceable cremation and funerals for all those who have died in the past week. And then… life shall carry on.”“And just in case you bright folks get the idea to murder us once again, well.” Bardsley grinned lecherously. “I think that I am standing here now—as well as Miss Boudreaux, Miss Lukas, and Mister Richem—proves that death is not a major problem for us. We can overcome it. And so if you kill us, we will arise again. We cannot lose. So it is best for everyone to obey.”“And if you think it would be easier to flee… well, that is not an option, either,” Nathan said. “We cannot profit off an empty town. And the tourists would not come to someplace without businesses and life. So… I think it’s best for everyone to stay.” This was most definitely a threat.“But first,” Hermia Smith said, “to prove to us that everything is… copacetic… as Nathan said, we want Morty Gunderson’s head. Just as a… token of your good will. So go get us that head, friends. Get it for us, and we can all live happily ever after.”“What are you waiting for?” Bardsley asked when the crowd did not immediately disperse back into a Morty Gunderson hunting party. “Your new rulers said go. So go!”It was a command, and it was terrifying. After another few moments of shocked staring, the crowd disintegrated as they obeyed the missive. As Bardsley watched them go, he laughed. They all did. “Now,” Bardsley said, once everyone but he and his fellow mafiosos was gone. He gazed up at the flagpole in the middle of the town square, which boasted the Aifam Cove flag. It flapped lightly in the morning breeze. “I think this needs some replacing, just to remind the town of who rules the roost.”“We cannot let them forget,” agreed Lindsey Lukas.“They will never forget,” said Bardsley.
Dakota Taylor Allen was the MAD CONSTABLE.Aifam Cove has fallen. Winter's Wrath rules. So get on your new overlords' good side by getting Morty for them, okay?Winter's Wrath flag by the fantastic mafia overlord Lizica. Also, the rest of the game will go like this: on Sunday, I'm going to make another Narrator post with Morty-catching and the like. Then, Tuesday or Wednesday, there will be a final Narrator post in a new, epilogue round that takes place six months later, in summertime. I've had a lot of fun Narrating this whole thing, and I hope you guys have had fun playing-- and I'm very excited to see this intense, awesome conclusion play out!
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Post by Kristykimmy on Apr 18, 2014 13:35:47 GMT -5
“I can hear you fine, Miss Dywight. This is about more than covering stories, I’m not that foolish,” Cheryl replied shortly. “I didn't mean to offend-” Anna started but was cut off by Cheryl's phone ringing. Anna stood there, hands on Christopher's shoulders, waiting for Cheryl to get off the phone. In response to something Cheryl was saying to Prachett, a voice said, “I…I might be able to help.”Anna was surprised by the appearance of the new ghost. He wasn't from in town. “I’m from Wafflenet. Something like this happened before – I’m here to try and keep anyone else from being killed.”"Well…I don’t think we can refuse any help at this point. Miss Dywight? Christopher?” Cheryl said, looking in the direction of the ghost, but missing him. Before Anna could reply, Travis suddenly materialized in front of her. He was swinging. There was no time to duck, but she did make herself let go of Christopher so he wouldn't be knocked down. The fist connected and she was knocked off her feet. She lay on the pavement for a few seconds, dazed. It had hurt, not as much as she was sure it would have had she been alive. Still, she'd been through worse, namely getting thrown over a cliff. She got back to her feet, not wanting to worry those around her anymore than they were. “I'm fine,” she said, dusting herself off as a matter of habit. “So, Mr. Angelo, then? Yeah, we could use the help.” She waved her hand at Bea and Kylie. “I'd like to see the living who are innocent stay that way. Also, the mafia ghosts are still here. That was one of them. I'd like to keep Christopher here safe from him.” Anna talks to Cheryl and Mick, gets knocked down by Travis' punch, and tells Mick if he can help them save the living and protect Christopher from Travis, she's happy to have his help.
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Post by Gelquie on Apr 18, 2014 14:11:14 GMT -5
Kylie only stood and stared blankly at the seven people who now stood before her. It turns out that they were the mafiosos, and that they were the ones who betrayed the town. And now that there were so few of the actually innocent left... How had they even come back to life? Kylie didn't think such a thing was even possible. And yet here they were, standing before her. All of them. Even the ones she had suspected. Even the ones where she had given anonymous tips. Not that she expected them to lead anywhere, but... Well, it did. She didn't like death, but at least it seemed to be stopping the deaths of the innocents. She repeated it in her mind to keep herself going, and... Well, now, it had all been for nothing. And on top of everything else... It was like a slap in the face. Not that she would've reacted much to that anyway. Kylie's face was frozen in neutrality for most of the speech. All the emotions she would have given she had spent yesterday. With the last death being her lover. With the sudden explosion with the suddenness of it sending Kylie into unconsciousness. With Bea's explanation that she apparently had an older sister who had died, whom Bea had never gotten over. With Lucille later arriving to comfort Kylie and apologize for scaring her with the explosion that was apparently hers. With the realization that Lucille would never fully be able to hold her again, being an entire dimension away. With... With Kylie trying to absorb all of that information. Trying to push things aside for the moment as she learned new things. Trying to push aside the memory of the very moment when Lucille had died. Trying to push aside the blood on her clothes seeping through and clinging to her skin. Trying to push aside Bea's past, everything about her sister, any wondering about what really happened to her father. Trying to push aside the explosion of-- Okay, that last one was easier to absorb once she learned about it. But still, she ended up doing nothing else that day except for locking herself in her room, and taking a reluctant bath. And now that she had had time to sleep, she found she just... Couldn't react anymore. Not even to the mafiosos taking over the town. Not even to the fact that one of their closest customers was the leader of the entire gang. Not even to the fact that the man whom Bea loved helped with the killings, and had been so close to them. So she just listened. Listened to their terrible demands. To their demands to kill Morty, whom Kylie didn't even care about anymore. How if they complied, that their lives would be spared. That their lives would go on like... Like normal. Kylie resisted saying anything. Nothing was normal now. Nothing would ever be normal. The town she had grown up in and known and loved was gone. Replaced by this farce. The mafia was demanding that they cooperate to spare their own lives... But in reality, all Kylie really wanted was to have Lucille back. But she knew they wouldn't do that. Lucille was strong. She could fight back. Kylie was not strong. And from the looks of the faces of the mafiosos, they knew that. Finally, they were sent away to hunt for Morty. Kylie turned around and walked as slowly as she could without arousing suspicion. She really didn't want to hunt for Morty. She didn't even hate him anymore; he had only been trying to prevent this from happening, even if he had chosen terrible methods to do so. But they'd kill the rest of the town if they didn't kill him. Letting out a sigh, Kylie looked up. "Lucille, if you're around," Kylie said, her tone even and unchanging. "We'd better find him. Before they kill anyone else. But I don't know where to begin." Kylie listens to the mafiosos' speech without emotion. She doesn't want to hunt Morty, but knows that she has to, so she asks Lucille for help. |
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Post by Ian Wolf-Park on Apr 18, 2014 14:20:26 GMT -5
Evan had a front seat to the unbelievable spectacle, no thanks to his home and office standing across from the town square. Professor Bardsley, the Lukas twins, the newspaper reporter, Richem, the nature photographer, and Miss Mathers-Fitzgibbons, all mafia. With the exception of Richem, he had been blindsided by the majority of them as he had thought they were nice people to interact with. He was wrong, that was for certain. He definitely was scared after hearing Winter's Wrath message, but he wasn't showing it. He wasn't going to be afraid of them, even if it meant standing up to them mentally, which he knew was going to be draining. A few seconds later, his office phone rang. He picked it and answered it. "Agent Wolf, it's your commander, Agent Fox. We've received reports from our system that at least 5 people in your area being resurrected, but we're not able to confirm it. What's the news?" a voice on the other line replied. "I just witnessed and can confirm that 4 people, recently deceased and part of a mafia, initially 2 separate ones, were resurrected, although I cannot confirm if it was from magic or not, nor can I confirm a 5th person being resurrected. If you're asking me to investigate either one of these matters, I'm afraid this is out of our hands now. There's nothing else that we can do except for monitoring the situation." "Ouch, that's bad indeed and I'm going to have to consider this your final assignment, if that's the case as we don't want to incur the mafia's wrath. Agent Wolf, as of today, I formally relieve you of your duties as a member of the Phantom Society. You were one of our best agents and I'm sorry it had to end this way. Best of luck in the future." Although Evan did not want to hear those words, he knew he had no choice. When the called ended, Evan took out Wolf Fang and stared at it briefly before putting it back. "Now, time to find Morty and make him pay for those innocent deaths," he thought to himself as exited from the back door. Evan watches in horror as Winter's Wrath makes their announcement, but knows he has to keep up his facade towards them. Once it ends, he receives a call from his boss at the Phantom Society. Evan confirms to his boss the bad news, forcing his boss to relieve Evan of his duties. ( Nova, Birdy, Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)- wow,great job pulling the wool over our eyes) |
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Post by Avery on Apr 18, 2014 14:23:04 GMT -5
Telling Kylie about Lenore yesterday had been hard. One of the hardest thing Beatrix, nee Fiona, had ever done. She'd sobbed throughout the story, especially when she described the way Lenore died... that plunge into the river on a camping trip, that scream in the wind. How Bea had tried to jump in after her, only to be dragged out of the water by her husband. And so Lenore had been carried away and lost forevermore. Even now, the morning after, Bea still felt a little numb. Telling Kylie the story... it had been cathartic in a way, a weight lifted off her chest. But it'd been draining, so very draining. Her slumber afterward had been fretful and light. She'd resisted guzzling booze to help ease her into sleep, but not without great struggle. The only reason she managed to drag herself out of bed the following morning was Merry. It didn't matter how sad Bea was: the dog needed to be fed and walked. And that's how she found herself near the town square the next morning. At first when Bea saw the crowd, she thought: no. Another death. Panic surged through her. But then saw that instead, the townspeople were listening to... speakers? Seven speakers. Including... Nathan... If Bea was numb before, she felt outright sick after listening to Nathan talk. He was... he was... mafia. And Hermia too. Nice little Hermia, her longtime guest. Bea couldn't believe it. She didn't want to believe. How could Nathan be a murderer!? He... he was so sweet with her, and... “Your new rulers said go. So go!”When the crowd left, Bea moved a bit down the road-- but she didn't join the Morty hunt. Instead, she watched from afar as the mafiosos replaced the flag in the town square with one of their own creation. A blood red beast. They all looked so pleased with themselves. Including Nathan. Bea's numbness segued into anger. Though she knew it was reckless... she couldn't help it. She stormed back over to the turn square, sidling right up to her lover. " How could you?" she asked him, venom in her voice. Bea is shocked to find out that Nathan is mafia-- and so she confronts him once the town has gone off on their Morty hunt. |
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Post by Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff) on Apr 18, 2014 14:57:26 GMT -5
The mafia hath no fury like a mother searching for her child, and Mrs. Fitzgibbon was no exception. Well, what was she supposed to do to hire a P.I.? The smaller jobs at Aifam Accounting were simply not enough, and she wouldn't dare rely on friendship to help her out of trouble. That always came with repercussions and awkward debts, and she was going through enough of those as is. There was no other way that she could keep her only solace, her fish, with her while being behind on rent and while her husband was away on business! The girl was on her own!
And on her own was not where Alma wanted to be. Then again, perhaps it was--a close-knit community complete with independence? It was the perfect job!
Just like her husband, she'd be away on business, with those who had shared a bond closer than brotherhood itself: a bond of blood. It wasn't that Alma took a dark joy in killing, oh, no. When she killed, she killed quickly and felt nothing. It was always business, she thought to herself, she was only away on business, and would come back to life later. It was thrilling, not to have to rely on a husband, or a friend. What's more, she'd had gained more than what she'd bargained for; what she craved that had been taken away from her:
a family.
While in the mafia, Alma could teach the townspeople so much about the sea, as she had taught her daughter long ago. And, upon the family's reunion--mother, father, daughter--she reasoned they would by then save enough money to take a trip away from the town, on a boat overlooking the ocean, and go sailing.
Alas--! One of the three had booked too early, and was forced to go on her own.
Or was she?
"Where have you been?!" Endre wrapped his arms around his wife as she emerged from the Aifam Morgue. "Don't you leave my side again, do you understand?" "Mrs. Fitzgibbon, come back with us. Now. " Alma looked behind her and bit her lip. Slowly but surely, she wriggled out of her husband's grasp, something she'd never, ever done before. "Alma, no. You're staying with me." Endre looked hard into her eyes and grabbed her wrist. He glanced at the line of six other people, one of which was holding a knife, and instantly knew. "What are you doing, going with those murderers? They're the ones who started it! They'll kill you!" Alma sighed and put a hand on her abdomen--a useless gesture now, but one she had grown used to over the past few months. "They won't kill me. And they won't come after you, either." she said, fighting to keep the emotion out of her voice. She pulled at her wrist again. "My Soul...what do you mean? You've got to be joking." Endre's voice went quiet. "I was frightened, okay? Someone had to protect you. Might as well have been me, the one who you always protect first." Endre practically threw her wrist aside in disbelief. He shook his head slowly, as if unwilling to believe her. She held a shaking hand out to Endre, but he slapped it away. "How will I know you won't attack me while I sleep?" he spat. "Endre, please, no, it's not like that--" "I...I can't trust you anymore." Endre pulled away as if he had been pierced by a sea urchin. "You are my Soul! At least..." His voice grew very deep and very quiet. "I thought you were." "Wait...I'm sorry...don't leave, you'll be in danger...!" "Because of you." And with that, he departed to his house to rest, and pack, but not without locking every single lock and keeping his pistol on him at all times. “It’ll be simple,” Lindsey Lukas picked up. “Every business provides us a nice portion of the proceeds—smaller in the winter, larger in the tourist season. We are treated as the superior peoples we have already proven to be. We will allow for the peaceable cremation and funerals for all those who have died in the past week. And then… life shall carry on.”
Alma said nothing.
“And just in case you bright folks get the idea to murder us once again, well.” Bardsley grinned lecherously. “I think that I am standing here now—as well as Miss Boudreaux, Miss Lukas, and Mister Richem—proves that death is not a major problem for us. We can overcome it. And so if you kill us, we will arise again. We cannot lose. So it is best for everyone to obey.”
Alma said nothing.
“And if you think it would be easier to flee… well, that is not an option, either,” Nathan said. “We cannot profit off an empty town. And the tourists would not come to someplace without businesses and life. So… I think it’s best for everyone to stay.” This was most definitely a threat. Would Endre try to leave? Alma said nothing. There was only one way she could leave. -------------------------------------------------------- The cliff overlooking the Netwah Sea was sturdy, powerful, unmoving. All the creatures that lived on top of it and below it were always moving, always seeking something. Alma, however, was not. She stared at the waters below, taking in the salty sea air for what she thought was the last time. She'd forced others to be a part of it sooner than they were ready. It was only fair that she would join them. Lynna was nowhere to be found. Endre was about to leave and about to put himself in terrible danger. Bardsley had forced her to stay in the mafia, showing her that she wasn't nearly as independent as she thought. Well, she'd be independent, all right. Alma lifted one foot and set it over the cliff. She hesitated. Her cloak billowed in the wind and the sight of it filled her with inexplicable sadness. She was going out beautifully. Alma leaned forward and waited for the wind and waves to catch her. "Wait!" Alma screamed and fell flat on her backside. Who in their right mind would-- Alma screamed again and crawled backwards a few paces. Rising from the sea, rising from below the ledge, was a small child. A girl of about seven or eight, her hair fluttering as though she was underwater. The child was a strange shade of blue...it was definitely a ghost. Tears stabbed at Alma's eyelids. "It can't be..." Her throat hitched and her chest ached. "No..." "Mom, you're not ready to swim just yet. I turned into breezes a few times for you but 'Woo, I guess that wasn't enough." Alma gaped. "That...." Memories flashed in her head. ( A breeze blew by, carrying the salty sea air directly to Alma as if it had willed it.
"Huh...?" Mrs. Fitzgibbon stirred. The air was chilly, yes, but it carried an element of peace on the windward side. Wrapping her scarf around her neck, she found strength return to her nerve-weakened muscles.) ( A small breeze of rationality crept into the tempest of Alma's thoughts.
Reaching over the concession stand, Alma grabbed a container of salt and ripped the top open. Without a moment's hesitation, she thrust the entire thing at Bardsley.) "That was you?" Alma choked. "I...oh, Lynna....who did this to you?!" Her voice filled with fear and shook with grief--it was a wonder she could get the words out at all. "No one, I don't think." She held up a ghostly paper bag that was tied with a string at the top. Whatever was inside was moving and feebly fighting to get out. "I prefer to keep those memories away but kind of with me until I'm good and ready." She put the paper bag in her pocket. "What h-h-happened?" Alma had to repeat herself three or four times before her little girl could hear her properly. She stared at her child. So small, so vulnerable, so desperate to learn, so brilliant, even in the same clothes she wore when she had left for school...and Alma had failed her. Miserably. "I was doing what you were going to do. I walked along the cliff. Then I don't know if people came up or not, but I was being taught to swim very, very fast." Alma gasped, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. Her child had....perhaps at the hands of the mafia?! Lynna continued. "At first it was real scary because I couldn't breathe or float, but you said someday I'd learn to swim. To stop fighting it. To flow with the current. So I did. I trusted you, and now I can swim anywhere I like! Look at me!" Lynna flew circles around her, soared into the clouds, and floated right next to Alma again. "You also sent my Pillowface over to me--I know you tried your best to keep him with you, but I kind of wanted him with me too." And sure enough, the red-capped Oranda, now blue with the classic ethereal hue, swam up to Alma and nipped at her cheek in greeting. Lynna's expression went from proud to serious. "There's one thing I don't quite understand." Alma gasped and gasped like a fish straining for oxygen outside of water. "What...?" she asked as calmly as she could, which wasn't very calm at all. "Why on earth did you teach other people to swim before they were ready? I know you're a lifeguard--you're the judge of when they're ready or not. You and a bunch of other people who are kind of scary..." Silent tears streamed down Alma's cheeks. Pillowface noticed and promptly began to lick at them. Lynna took no notice and stared out at the sea. "It's beautiful, really." She snuggled closer to Alma, and the latter noticed that the former felt warm, just as Christopher had. Oh, no. Christopher...he was bound to find out sometime soon! The tears streamed faster and Alma began to tremble. "I'm not complaining of course. You, after all, told me the sea is our home. We all wind up there eventually, whether or not it's together or alone. Heh, that almost rhy--" Lynna turned towards Alma and gasped. She decided right then and there to let everything she was going to talk about sink to the bottom of the conversation and to let her younger self rise to the surface with one name. "Mama..." she said slowly. "Why are you crying?"
Endre threatens to leave Aifam Cove and doesn't know what to think of his wife anymore. He definitely can't trust her, that's for sure.
Lynna, deceased, wonders why Alma was part of the mafia.
The latter, of course, is devastated at her child's death.
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Post by RielCZ on Apr 18, 2014 15:03:43 GMT -5
A fish, a teacup, a newspaper...
And four zombies.
Together. Swirling together in a mass of snowflakes and cards and evil...
Clutching Barbra, the wintry landscape outside turning a malevolent shade of crimson, Rilen screamed.
And then Rilen was no more.Rilen woke, sweating, to sounds coming from further in town. In his youth, his dreams meant something. Premonitions. As a pre-teen, Rilen forced himself to forget his subconscious symbolic visions... they only foreboded ill. They drove him crazy. At last, there came not one night where he remembered what he saw. But he remembered this dream. Especially with the sounds outside, he knew something big had just happened... Something terrible. He dressed himself for the cold and picked up Barbra. Barbra. She had been there. "I'm sorry," he said to his most wonderful plant. "I... I think I need to leave you behind today." He knew only yesterday he'd told Barbra he'd never let her out of his sight, but... today was different. "I'll come back for you later." In Rilen's view, the only way he would come back would be if he left Barbra behind. Grabbing his board, he exited his sister's home. *** He joined the surrounding crowds just in time to hear, "Take it away, Professor."
Everything... this wasn't happening. None of this was happening. And then the professor dismissed them all with a casual, "Your new rulers said go. So go!"
Rilen seethed. He was done. He wasn't from this island. He shouldn't be forced to be treated like some kind of slave, some kind of animal. No one here should be. He marched up to them. Another woman had just yelled, "How could you?" Her malice seemed to be directed at one of them in particular. The boarder addressed them collectively. "How could you indeed?" he almost yelled. "Happily ever after? Do you think anyone from this town could ever live happily ever after after what you did to it?" He supposed Morty was to blame, too... "And there wouldn't even be a Morty if not for you!" he added accusingly. Rilen raised his board at them defiantly and attempted to stare the mafia down, though he feared he was losing. "I'm not from here... God knows I'm not from here. You can't force me to do anything. Resurrect the entire town to do your bidding, if you want, but I'm leaving." He wasn't sure he should mention the resurrecting of the town, but if everyone was alive again and everyone went after the mafia again and killed them... Well, the mafia had a potion, but the town had salt. "I'm off to find Morty," Rilen finished. "For what purpose, I don't even know anymore." He started to walk off, only half hoping he wouldn't be stopped by the mafia along the way. Rilen in a fit of rage confronts the mafia.
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Post by Diana on Apr 18, 2014 15:49:17 GMT -5
Winston leaned forward as his noble mount put on a burst of speed. “Heyah, Epona!” he called out instinctively. Well, Epona was neither ghostly nor a mobile cottonball, but he was Link right now, so… eh. Close enough. His fluffy ball of speed shot across the landscape, closing in on the NPC horde at alarming speed. Winston grinned tightly – clearly, he’d made the right choice. But when he reached the mob, everything went wrong. It was like the fluffymount went into some kind of autopilot. She seemed intent on running along with the mob, and while at first Winston thought it was some kind of race, half an hour dragged on without any sort of plot advancement, much less resolution. Worse, he couldn’t even get the fluffysteed to stop, no matter what he shouted, and eventually he was forced to make a very nonstandard dismount. “IMPACT AT T-MINUS-ONE!” he screamed as he vaulted off the high-speed fluffball. He scrunched up his eyes and covered his face, bracing for the inevitable impact– …Oh, right. Ghost intangibility. Winston floated there for a bit, feeling rather silly as the mob’s stragglers stampeded off into the distance. The embarrassment quickly morphed into frustration and general dissatisfaction. He’d finally found an efficient means of transport, and then she had to go all glitchy on him! This game was so… half-built! And he hadn’t even gotten to talk to the other NPCs – it was impossible to interact with them while mounted, and now they were too far away. Where was he, anyway? Winston straightened himself out and took a look around. He’d lost track of where he was while yelling and button mashing. It looked like… Boulder Point, maybe? It wasn’t a part of the map he visited very often, having no particularly interesting shops or stores. He’d come down here a few times in search of quests, but like the rest of Aifam, it rarely had anything going on. Aifam had been so boring for the longest time. And now this. Honestly, Winston couldn't tell what was worse - a game with no plot at all, or a game with a screwed-up farce of one that jerked and pulled in all directions, stringing along and tossing out plot points like popcorn. Bleh. He was definitely going to go back to Morrowind when he got home today - now there was a game that knew how to pull off a sandbox. He gradually drifted up the road in the direction of the town square, frowning. Everything was pretty quiet, and he didn’t see any NPCs at all. Maybe he should just head home? He pondered it. The hair villain was still running rampant, but it was unlikely he'd encounter the villain so soon after their last cutscene. Maybe another ingame day and a few missions later. But where was the next mission? Movement, on the far left of the screen! He squinted, once again wishing for a scope. It looked like there were a bunch of people in the distance, towards the town hall. At least these ones weren’t moving. What had the point of that last scene even been? Winston shrugged. Aifam. It took him longer to close the distance between him and the crowd without a mount, but when he got to a near enough threshold, a scripted event began to play. “Good morning, Aifam Cove.”He tensed. That voice was familiar. Slimy, cold, emotionless, the sort he’d never associate with – but familiar. “You are now gazing upon the seven people who have brought this town to its knees,” it continued. “And it was so much fun." Winston gawped as he took in the form of the hair villain. The living, breathing hair villain. What – how?! He’d been dead! Winston had died to be able to face him! How could he – “You console-commands abusing scumbag!” he screeched. “You can’t just resurrect yourself like that! That’s not even – that’s not even an excuse for a plot! You’re just a dirty cheater!” Winston glared at the gathered villains with narrowed eyes; the hair villain’s lackeys and dragons. Most of these guys hadn’t even been introduced to the plot yet. Winston recognized the tea shop guy, the purveyor of sissy drinks. And one other, the one that hadn’t even responded to him. He’d seen the wheelchair guy dead. This was… this was real, wasn’t it? They weren’t lying. The – the bad guys had died! Why were they alive? What foul necromancy was this? …Why couldn’t he come back to life? “My colleague will explain it now,” the hair villain said, and Winston glared at the sissy tea shop owner as he rattled off a generic villain takeover spiel. Money, blah blah, power, blah blah, subjugation, blah. This wasn’t explaining anything at all! And... there. “And just in case you bright folks get the idea to murder us once again, well.” The dark stylomancer grinned. “I think that I am standing here now—as well as Miss Boudreaux, Miss Lukas, and Mister Richem—proves that death is not a major problem for us. We can overcome it. And so if you kill us, we will arise again. We cannot lose. So it is best for everyone to obey.”This was stupid! That was the sort of thing that he was supposed to say to them, not the other way around! Valiantly riding into open combat. The shocked villain shooting accusations about how surely Winston hadn’t survived their last encounter. Proudly informing him how they were wrong, how the power of goodness would prevail. How could they do it, when he couldn’t!? This was wrong! This was all wrong! Surely – surely – he just had to win. Resurrection was now A Thing in Aifam Cove, and that could only mean that it was going to be somewhere in his future. Somewhere very, very soon. “And if you think it would be easier to flee… well, that is not an option, either,” sneered the purveyor of wussy beverages. “We cannot profit off an empty town. And the tourists would not come to someplace without businesses and life. So… I think it’s best for everyone to stay.”Winston’s eyes narrowed. Oh, but he wasn’t here to flee. He couldn’t stand by and let this happen. This was the time for justice. Shvvvvzzz. His lightsaber blazed to action. And so did he. With a mighty yell, he shot from the ground in a mighty leap, willing himself forward as much as anything else as he lunged for the monsters in human form. His blade flashed through the first one in a trail of liquid light, blueness flaring like a star with the force of his courage. It cut through the villain without resistance, burning through their unholy magics and sending them back to death once more. From there, he slashed backwards, a fluid moment straight from the first to the next. His blade stabbed into the tea noob’s chest. The idiots were so close together that he had an incredible accuracy boost, and he was going to make full advantage of that. He whirled away from the tea man and let loose a flurry of strikes that were guaranteed to fell both the hair villain and the woman standing next to him. That made at least three rounds right in the midst of the fray, though, and with this many enemies, he needed to kite to avoid damage. With one last will-powered jump, he leapt away from the cluster and whirled back (oh, if only he had a ghostly cape) to survey the damage he’d wrought. Or rather, the damage he hadn’t wrought. They were still standing. All of them. Unruffled. Unscathed. A few of them were looking down bemusedly. Winston stared in disbelief. Those had been perfect hits! He’d even gotten a Multi-Attack bonus on one of the turns! There’d been a ninety-nine percent chance to hit! How were they all at full health!? The hair villain just – just looked at him, one eyebrow cocked. That look drove Winston over the edge. He dove towards him with an inarticulate yell. There was only one thing in Winston’s head at that moment – not life or death, not ghostliness, not victory, not whether or not his DS was adequately charged. No. The only thing Winston wanted right now was to wipe that stupid, condescending, evil smirk off his face. The lightsaber burned white-hot as he cut, swung, slashed, stabbed, and hacked at everything he could reach, screaming all the while. “I’m sorry,” came that calm, loathsome voice, “but you’re obstructing my line of sight.” Nothing. Nothing. He was unharmed. Completely unharmed. But – no! Why was this happening? Why – He needed another way to defeat them. A bossfight – yes, he needed to look for their weak points! Environmental damage! Another strategy, besides the obvious – something to let him charge in and save the day! Reclaim their resurrection tricks for his own righteous use! He glanced around wildly, trying to see if any of the environment objects had mouseovers. (Of course they didn’t – this was Aifam. Stupid, stupid!) Cilivians, bad guys, civilians, podium, town hall, flagpole – ah! There was a flagpole, one bearing their vile emblem – maybe he could tip that? They were standing in a rough line formation – yes, that was it! Afe’s tutorial would pave his way to victory! He zipped over to it and pulled, concentrating as hard as he could. He could feel his hands solidify, straining against the metal, his willpower overcoming death itself- His hands flickered out, and he overbalanced and stumbled through the flagpole. What? No, he must have had the wrong button combination! He re-focused and yanked again, but he lost his tangibility even sooner this time. Again. Again! The flagpost hardly budged. Surely – surely a little more – He grabbed it a seventh time, only for his hands to phase right through. He squinted, grit his teeth, stared at the flagpole fiercely enough to burn a hole through it. He had a headache. The back of his skull throbbed. Nothing. Nothing. Why was it doing this? No, no, it just needed to recharge! He couldn’t fail now. He couldn’t! He counted off ten seconds, then pulled again. A flicker, a single second of feeling, and then it was gone. What was wrong? He didn’t understand – was his skill level too low? “F-f-“ he sputtered. “Fus! Fus ro dah!” The Shout he had used to fell the mighty Alduin did not even ripple the air. The truth came slower. It oozed like syrup. As a ghost, he could fight other ghosts – fight other ghosts and win, smiting them with the power of his righteousness. But like this… like this, he couldn’t do anything. He was powerless. The villains had won, and all he could do was thrash about uselessly. “No!” he shouted. “No, this isn’t fair! You guys cheated! This is all wrong! This game is stupid! This isn’t how it’s supposed to go!” Nobody listened to him. Nobody even looked at him. Because – he wasn’t even there. Not like they were. Not anymore. He was real! He was important! He was the hero!“Don’t ignore me!” he screamed. “ Don’t ignore me!” They did. He was the hero and they were the NPCs and the villains and this was all going wrong and he was defeated and they didn’t even care and none of it had mattered-Something inside Winston broke. “Please,” he rasped. “Just – give me another life. Just one more life. I’ll do it better this time. I promise.” The world continued to move on without him. Silently, loudly, endlessly; talking and interacting and continuing like his death hadn’t meant a thing. His lightsaber sputtered and fizzled out. Aifam Cove wasn’t a game, it was a nightmare. Silently, disbelievingly, mind reeling, world tilting, Winston floated away. Floated, not walked. He was dead. He was a ghost. Ghosts didn’t walk. He could still feel the tug upwards – faint and light. A whisper of music, a strain of song. Just another plot hole, an unexplained loose end in this tangled mess. No, he followed a different pull – one far stronger, more comforting, more desperate. Winston wanted to go home. He had played the hero and died. He had fought beyond death and lost. The game was over – over! No sign of resistance, no chance of victory! And yet it persisted! How? Why? Why? This game wasn’t fun. It was broken. It was wrong. He’d tried. He didn’t know if this was for shock value, or if the developers just made this as a sick joke, but he – he couldn’t keep doing this. He’d endured long enough. He had other games to play. He drifted through his front door. It had been a day or two since he’d last been able to interact with anything, and the dust was beginning to settle. He’d left the lights off, but it wasn’t that difficult to see. He let his hands drift through the fridge door. It didn’t feel cold. It didn’t feel anything. His fingers passed through the forgotten yogurt containers, the frozen pizzas, the TV dinners. How long until they all went bad? No, it didn’t matter. His inventory was useless to him now. He floated up the stairs, into his room – his kingdom of games and gaming. Just as it was when he’d left it for the last time, back when the story had been full of purpose; silver controller on its podium DS plugged into the wall, Wii stacked atop his PS3, his lovingly-crafted computer and its bright blue display. It should have horrified him, but right now he just felt empty. He couldn’t handle any more shock, any more misery. He was done with Aifam Cove. He needed another story. He wandered over to his bed. The sheets were still a mess, from when he’d tumbled out of bed in a foggy mess, charging off to his scripted demise. He tugged absently at them, but only managed to pull them back a few inches before his hands lost their coherency. Not that there was a point to it to begin with. He reclined against the pillows, more out of exhaustion (perhaps emotional exhaustion) than anything else, but they didn’t feel soft and fluffy anymore. Not when he had nothing left to feel with. When he sank halfway through the bed, he finally gave up and half-rolled, half-slid out and back onto the floor. At least the pizza boxes didn’t dig into his feet anymore. He glanced down at the tangle of controllers on the floor. If he focused hard enough, he could pick them up; maybe he could even play for a few minutes before he got too involved in the game and the controller slipped through his hands. Ghosts, after all, were not known for their gaming aptitude. Haunting, yes. Harassing the innocent, yes. Attacking adventurers, yes. Being the hero? Not a chance. A different urge struck him. He reached out a misty hand and touched his Xbox. He felt – something– It wasn’t like touch, like any sort of physical sensation. It was closer to… static? A hum? The sort of feeling he got when his lightsaber flared to life, that sense of courage and power and meaning. It made him feel important. It made him feel like he used to. He floated closer, immersing both his hands in it. It felt nice. Comforting. Better than the rest of this mess, that was for sure. He wished – he wished he could– A contortion, tug, a pop, and his ghostly form simply... collapsed upon itself. The swirl of ethereal mist that had been Winston Teakes neither noticed nor cared as it snuggled into the machine, towards home, a few last wisps of ectoplasm streaming settling around the power button’s ring. Inside the console, he floated among tangles of wire. Circuits and sparks, whirring discs and cables and connections. He drifted along them, within them, letting the current whisk him away as the machine hummed to life. A familiar hum. He closed his eyes. He was home. Winston Teakes faded away. And the current swept him beyond– There was Hyrule, a glistening land of forests and plains and seas and skies, all with their own civilizations and cities – all with the same hero, his iterations dotted through time. Different journeys, different friends, but always the same purpose. There was Tamriel, where dragons flew and gods could walk the earth; the proud Imperial province, the mysterious swamps of Black Marsh, the sandy dunes of Elsweyr, the fierce, wintry north of Skyrim. There was the once-proud city of Dunwall, rats and rot and the distant song of the whales. There were the Wastelands, humanity carving a foothold in a brutal post-apocalyptic future. There was Rapture, the underwater would-be utopia; there was Gielinor, a grand world of gods and monsters and never-ending quests for a bold adventurer. There was the vast and endless expanse of space, with all its many planets, Halos, systems, galaxies for him to explore. Vast and endless. Winston opened his eyes and found himself exactly where he wanted to be. He smiled – a wide and joyful smile – and drew his lightsaber, which hummed to life. He had worlds to save. Game over. |
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Post by Liou on Apr 18, 2014 16:00:13 GMT -5
((Collab with PFA <3)) Leoghost had stayed to pray for Sister Lucille. He drifted automatically behind her body when it was moved and spent the night at the church, practically drowning in prayer. He glittered proudly in the chapel, unlike the first night he had spent in the church, when he had preferred to hide. He knew that they needed every bit of light they could get. His eyes were focused firmly on the sky. Any time now, they would be able to get out, to literally rise from this slump. When morning came and activity was heard from the town square, he drifted there as if in a trance, his entire being still focused on the Weewoos. The entire display left him cold. He had been floating near the front of the crowd. He carelessly turned his back on the mafia. They weren't particularly pleasing on the eyes, and it wasn't like they could do anything to his back now. At least he could finally look at the Aifam Covers - the real ones - and think, in all confidence, that they were innocent. It took an incredible load off his mind. He barely listened to what they were saying. Later on, he noticed that Professor Bardsley was still on the square. Leo floated over to him lazily, sparkling under the sun. "Hello there, Professor." He didn't mention the display of power. "I've been curious about something for a while, if you don't mind my asking." He sounded pleasant, like an interested student asking a question after class. "Do you actually realise that you're insane?" Professor Bardsley paused, apparently caught off-guard by this. A tense silence pierced the air for several moments, before he finally spoke again. "...Yes," he conceded. And then, he started to laugh. "I never used to understand why I was so different from everyone else. It wasn't until I started studying psychology that I realized what it was. Sociopathy... defined as a lack of empathy or remorse." "I remember the day I realized it," Professor Bardsley continued. "Oh, how it scared me. If anyone else ever found out, I knew they would lock me away somewhere, where I'd never see the light of day again. But I couldn't let that happen, oh no. So I educated myself. I learned how to fit in, so no one would notice." He gave a calm, eerie smile. "I became a scholar, even, so I was too valuable to be locked away. It worked so well, didn't it? No one suspected a thing. Not until Gunderson, at any rate... ah, I could have gotten away with it, if it weren't for that hypervigilant fool. "But none of that matters anymore, does it?" Professor Bardsley started to laugh again. "It doesn't matter what anyone thinks of me, because there's nothing more they can do about it. The mafia controls this town now. I can't be locked away, or killed again, because I'm just too powerful. I can do anything I want, and no one can stop me." Leo still gazed at him curiously. It was a very different look from the one Bardsley gave the people he observed. It was closer to a look of pity. "It's strange. I've never met a person who seemed so beautiful on the outside, while being so ugly on the inside." Leo's glittering form drifted away and higher into the sky, laughing lightly. "Well, enjoy your town, Professor! Maybe some day you'll find an actual meaning to your life." Leo asks Bardsley some direct questions; we learn about the Professor's sociopathy. |
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OK then, Leo.
