Mafia The Third: The Seaside Town of Aifam Cove

[Jayeee]

“...'It's time', I exclaimed as I turned to the camera.'” The muffled sounds of paper being shuffled echoed through the town's speaker system as Travis Richem took a deep breath. “And so ends chapter two-hundred and eighty-five of my fabulous memoir, Travis Richem IN YOUR PAGES, entitled: Travis Finds Puberty; Women Find Love. Join me next week for chapter two-hundred and eighty-six, in which our hero Travis is hospitalised when Valentine's Day strikes and he's almost ripped apart by admirers.”

He sat back in the chair for a few seconds. Life was good. His little announcements had become more and more frequent after the time of his initial victory over Aifam Cove, he was surprised he hadn't thought of it earlier. His memoir was the perfect reading material to keep the town appeased and relaxed after the intensity of The Travis Games. He had so many plans now that he had undeniable access to the speakers throughout the set. After his memoir recital was completed – in about another year, he estimated – he would recite even more books. All of them would be rewritten with him in the titular role of course, for who would possibly care about the originals? He'd already had Neah Potter start trawling through all the books in town to cross out every single name and replace them with Travis. He couldn't wait to read them all, so much better than the originals. Travis Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, in which the secret turned out to be that he was fantastic, but the appearance of a giant spider made him rip out a chunk of the pages; The Travis of the Rings, in which Travis murdered some hairy-footed individuals to acquire a special ring, and then declared that authors used spiders far too often in their writing and threw the book across the room in fright; The Travis of Oz, in which Travis finds a pair of glamorous new shoes; and his personal favourite, Travis the Pooh.

Travis sat forward again and grabbed the microphone. “In other news, I had a wonderful shower this morning. It wasn't too warm, but not too chilly either. Let me tell you, that water running down my soft skin was great. Other headlines on this lovely day include: me going for my morning jog, me spotting Tiffany stalking me in the bushes, and of course me collecting my mail. See you next time, this has been and always will be, Travis Richem.”

It felt good to be in charge. Not too in charge, that was best left to Juan. Travis definitely didn't want to mess with that madman after the house party at his place all those months ago. He hadn't realised Juan could be like that, it had shocked him beyond belief, that somebody as harmless and foreign as him could perform such acts. It had definitely been a night to remember. If nothing else, the career pack certainly knew how to party.

They were the perfect actors for ever expanding cast. Juan's budding romance with his girlfriend, which Travis would eventually become a part of, was a charming addition. His own romances weren't anything to scoff at either. By day, he'd be decorating cakes with Elizabeth – icing loving messages that he'd then pass on to the other love interests of the town, and by night he'd go nature-watching with Susie, although they spent more time looking at each other than the grass or whatever. Charlotte was still intent on writing stories about him, and he couldn't possibly say no to that request. Not when she cared for him so deeply. He'd finally been able to make peace with Jason and Fiona's incestuous relationship, although he was counting the days until they both ran to him instead. And because he was such a darling, he'd even arranged for dear Janice to receive sushi every day! They were living a happy life together.

Even the non-career pack residents were enjoying life. Tiffany's S&M tendencies certainly hadn't let up, but Travis supposed that it added some more turbulence to their love. Claire was always inviting him to go on dinner dates with her. She seemed to have a real craving for lesbian, which he assumed was some kind of pasta dish. Rachel was insistent that this time they try for little Olivia instead, but Travis still needed time to mourn over poor Oliver. At least Tiffany had had the right idea, he'd seen her with Markus lately, and if she thought that she could get into his bed by befriending his long-long brother, then she was correct.

Travis stepped out of Town Hall with a wide grin. In truth, being the winner of The Travis Games hadn't changed too much for him. He could go about his business as usual. Sure he'd had a couple of statues of himself constructed, and a few billboards of his face had appeared too, but he was just as he always had been. A star.

After concluding the first drafts of his memoir, Travis had also started work on his debut album. Travis Richem IN YOUR TUNES was due for release in just a few months, and he couldn't wait for the world to hear such classics as: Rolling in the Blood; The Macarena ft. Juan Constinopolis; Single Ladies ft. Tiffany, Rachel, Susie, Elizabeth, Jessica, Charlotte, Gemma, Janice, Fiona and Claire; I'm too sexy for my Aifam Cove; and Don't Stop Worshippin' (Travis). The Grammy was probably on it's way to him already!

He'd even already made a start on the next segment of Travis Richem IN YOUR FACE. Applications to be the next love interest of Travis Richem had been sent to every extra on the set – it had been far too long since he'd engaged in a dating show concept. He already had the plan in his mind – they'd perform hilarious tasks to win his affection and then after standing on top of the cliffs, he'd shoot the ones he didn't like with a water hose until they fell off. Betting had already begun, and insiders were tipping Tiffany to come out on top, but Travis was nothing if not surprising. Who knew which lucky civilian he'd pick in the end? That was what reality television was all about anyway: the twists.

And that was what made Travis Richem so amazing. Nobody could predict what he'd do next. Not even he could. But whatever it was, it was sure to be better than anything others could ever come up with.

He turned to the audience. “So, when's The Travis Games II?”

SPOILER: Click to show

Travis Richem would like to personally express his gratitude to all those who participated in The Travis Games segment of Travis Richem IN YOUR FACE. While this still would have been possible without your cooperation, he is eternally grateful that so many extras decided to appear on his show. He is marginally saddened that the death of so many second-rate actors was a necessary part of the process, but he promises to embed the names of those who passed in his memory forever. And he's great with names, so you'll always be remembered.

With regards, the victor of The Travis Games,

Travis Richem.

[Avery]

The sound of a squawking alarm clock rent the pre-dawn air. In her cozy bed, Beatrix Devon let out a moan and blindly reached over to silence it. She still would never been a morning person—though at least now she blissfully headache and hangover free as she set about facing the day. The inn was at capacity, as it often was in summer, and there was breakfast to prepare. As the clock went quiet, Bea opened her eyes and let out a sleepy yawn.

As she rose, she stared at the empty spot on the other side of the bed. Nathan’s spot—always empty when she awoke, since he had to go open the Teahouse even earlier than she had to set up breakfast. This was a small mercy for Bea. Though in the past six months she’d grown to hate him much less, she still appreciated not having to deal him with so early in the morning.

After dressing herself, Bea took a sip from a bottle on her nightstand. Water, not booze. It had been months since her last alcoholic drink, and Bea was very proud of this. She would have liked to say that her sobriety started just after her realization of how she’d so neglected Kylie—when she’d decided to mother her child again, and embrace the ghost of her sweet little Lenore instead of ignoring it… but that would be a lie. For a small time after the rise of the mafia, Bea had rationalized to herself that while okay, she wouldn’t drink to excess anymore, she still could partake some: a sip here, a glass of wine there. But soon she’d had to face that this simply wasn’t workable. She was an addict, and for her, one sip could never be one sip, one glass never a glass. She realized that if she wanted to be the person Kylie deserved, the person Lenore deserved, the person she deserved, then she’d have to forgo alcohol altogether.

Strangely, Nathan had helped a bit in this regard. He always had a cup of tea in hand, and though in the past Bea had decided she most certainly did not like the beverage, she soon learned that perhaps she just hadn’t had the right brews. So she started replacing booze with tea. Looked forward each day to trying a new exotic type of green tea or a sweet cup of vanilla chai, rather than sipping on an aged whisky or vintage wine. And Nathan was so excited over her taking up his passion that… it was kind of charming, really. She wanted to hate him. She did. And part of her still did hate him even now.

But she couldn’t hate him entirely. Not after he’d helped her—with the booze and Lenore both.

Bea smiled sadly as she thought about Lenore. Her sweet little blonde angel. In the few months after the mafia murders, she’d spent so much time with her precious child. Her two girls, together at last, as it should be. Lenore helped her hate herself far less. The child helped her let go of that agony about that December day: the guilt, the grief, the obsession.

“It isn’t your fault, Mommy.” Even now, Bea could hear the little girl’s high voice—clear and sweet, like honey. “And I know you’ve hated Daddy for so long because he stopped you from saving me, but it isn’t his fault, either. It was an accident, Mommy. And just think… if he hadn’t pulled you back, you would have drowned, too.”

“Maybe that would have been better,” Bea had whispered.

“No. Because then Kylie wouldn’t be here.” She’d reached out a ghostly hand and run a finger along her mother’s damp cheek. “I’ve been gone for a very long time, Mommy. But Kylie’s still here. You can’t live in the past forever, ignoring all the good things that have come since then.” And then with wisdom far beyond her years, Lenore said, “Because if you do, then you might as well have died in the river with me that day.”

And that… that had hurt. But she was right. Bea couldn’t stay focused on the past forever. She had to look ahead… at the great things that had happened since Lenore, and would happen in the future still.

After that conversation… Lenore had stayed around for a little while. But then one day about a month ago, Bea woke up, and she was gone. And Bea could feel it in her heart, a mother’s intuition: this departure was permanent. And Beatrix Devon realized then… for twenty years Lenore had stuck around because of Bea’s grief, her guilt. Because Bea had been in such denial about her daughter that Lenore couldn’t have peace. But now that Beatrix was finally healing, her daughter could move on. Both of them could move on.

The day Lenore crossed over was a rare day that Nathan had decided to open the tea shop late. And so he’d still been in bed when Bea had awoken, and when she started sobbing… he’d woken up, too. He’d held her as she’d cried. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t judge her or tell her she was being silly. He just held her for the longest time.

And after that… she couldn’t hate him entirely. What he’d done was terrible, and she could never forgive him. But he’d helped her too, as much as she hated to admit it. He was not this black-and-white monster with no redeeming qualities. She still didn’t trust him completely—she didn’t trust him enough to leave him—but she also didn’t loathe being with him, not entirely.

In the inn’s dining room, Bea smiled at the early risers who’d come to lurk as she set up the spread. Today would be a good day: she could tell this already. Maybe she and Kylie would take a horse ride—they’d done that quite frequently lately, and it had really helped them bond. Bea had started to know her daughter, really know her. And it was wonderful—all these things about Kylie that she’d been too shut off to ever learn about. All these wonderful traits and hobbies and features that had been there all along, and yet Bea was only just now starting to embrace.

Bea knew that she couldn’t make up for the nineteen years of distance and alcoholism. It didn’t matter how many times she apologized to Kylie—she had to accept the responsibility for her actions, and she did. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t put all her effort into finally being a mother now. It wouldn’t fix the past, but it would at least make the future bright.

For twenty years, Bea had been caught up in the wave of grief caused by Lenore’s death. She had blamed herself, hated herself, numbed herself to the world with gin and vodka and rum. But no more. Instead, she would live in the present moment, and eagerly await the future, and think fondly about the past. She would not pretend that Lenore hadn’t existed like she’d tried to for so long; if someone asked, she’d say she had two daughters, but one was gone.

“Happy,” she’d say. “In a better place. And I’m in a good place, too.”

[Nova]

Nathan was elated!

It was summer now, and that meant sun all day everyday. There were no more frigid temperatures for a while now, and he was able to stay busy taking care of what he loved most: his Teahouse. The town was full of tourists passing through, and they came into his shop in droves for a cup of tea, and silence. It seemed as if it were the one place, besides the local Inn, that didn't have Travis's daily readings and reports.

It was a busy time for him, and he loved every bit of it. The tourists were grateful to him, leaving large tips and taking bags of his homemade tea with them. Rarely did anyone treat him poorly, but when they did, he was able to take care of them. With a simple voodoo doll or leading them to a back alley so they can properly be disposed of, they would disappear, and no one ever noticed or cared. No one of great authority came to Aifam Cove anymore, nor would they ever.

He never spoke of this to Beatrix, whom he moved in a couple months ago with. The odd lady, she acted strange if he ever mentioned it. Instead he talked to his sister Lindsey, who reopened her shop next to his. When he wasn't at his shop, or with Bea at the inn, he was with her playing videogames. They had great conversations about being on opposing mafias and how they got away with their crimes, or talking about the suspicious townsfolk who might foolishly try to start an uprising against Winter's Wrath. He taught her how he made his tea, and she taught him how to make her delicious cakes. He was so happy to have her back, and they never took a day for granted.

And then, at the end of a long day, he came home to Bea. There would be a plate of sandwiches waiting for him, and they would cuddle on the couch as they watched a movie, or talked a little of Lenore. He planned to open the shop late the day Lenore went on, and he was so glad he did. He was able to be with his love, to comfort and soothe her, as he promised.

Soon after he took her on a trail out in the woods - a secret trail that only the locals knew about - and they spent the day talking, laughing, and he got down on one knee and proposed to her. Her breath was taken away, and was a bit worried and frightened. Most likely worried about the wedding and all the details, he assumed. But in the end, she said yes! They were to be wed. Sirensong Beach would be a beautiful place for a wedding, and surely Piper Boudreaux would photograph their marriage, if she could abstain from trying to catch Webster.

He thought about everything he had in life now. Lindsey. Beatrix. The wedding. His teahouse. He was truly elated! He had achieved everything he wanted in life, and everyday was heaven. At times he could barely believe it. Who knew that through the mafia, all your hopes and dreams will be realized?

[Coaster]

Overlooking the cliffs of Sirensong, visitors often catch sight of a blue-robed garden gnome, stained white in Weewoo droppings, planted firm in the stone, ambivalent to their presence, staring watchfully at the ocean beyond.

Sometimes they take pictures, because it's a pretty big gnome as far as gnomes go, and fairly quirky for a public works project--after all, it's cemented in the sidewalk right on the edge with a memorial bench right behind it. And the view over the sea wasn't bad either; on an early morning, you could catch a really nice sunrise if you didn't mind being a little chilly, covered by the tip of the shadow of the towering Woo cathedral behind.*

SPOILER: Click to show

*This anomaly alone is enough justification for most people to visit.

It tended to be a popular spot for advertisement postings which often obscured it--the latest screening of Travis Pan, tattered shreds of paper where a two-for-one burger deal used to be, an obvious joke Missing poster offering a reward for the return of their lost velociraptor, contact one Frederic Rapture. But occasionally, there was the faux-intellectual type who'd actually peel back the papers and find the inscription before sitting, only to find it an advertisement in itself, and a chicken-scratched one at that:

Memorial Games Night & Barbecue
Every Thursday, Sirensong Beach
Bring your own eggs

[Sporty]

Out in the darkened alleys and empty fields, a wolf wandered.

Melanie rarely left this form now. Ever since Winter's Wrath had discovered the existence of a resistance, they'd been trying to track down and take out its members. Several of the rebels had managed to hide their identities thus far, and so they continued to live their normal lives outside of the skirmishes and guarding the innocents, but it wasn't really possible for the only known werewolf in town to keep her part in it secret. Werewolves were tough, though, and in all her run-ins with the mafia Melanie had managed to escape without too much harm.

But even this body had its limits, and in her normal form... well. Either way, she couldn't afford to run into anyone from Winter's Wrath more often than necessary.

At the moment, Melanie was hiding out by the side of Leo's old salon. Across the busy street, she could see the pet shop with her name still proudly displayed on the storefront. She chuckled at a memory of passing on the store to Damien.

"Since it's yours now, you'll probably want to change the name."

"No way Mel, your name is staying right there in the title!"

"Damien, honestly, I won't be offended. The shop was supposed to just be called 'The Menagerie' originally anyway."

"So you want me to pass up the chance to remind the mafia that you're still around? Fat chance! Besides, I want to keep it ready for when you come back."

After a moment, Melanie sighed, the smile slipping from her muzzle. It was hard, leaving the shop behind and going into hiding. She got along well enough -- her friends both in and out of the resistance slipped her food and money to buy supplies with when she could, and she'd made a small but surprisingly comfortable shelter for herself deep in the woods -- but she missed being a normal part of human society.

Something approached from behind her, and she whipped around, hackles raised as she growled a warning. After seeing who it was, though, she lowered her defenses.

He made for a handsome wolf, sleek black and a bit lanky. He wasn't yet as strong as her, but his instincts were good and he was a quick learner. Overall, a fine addition to Melanie's special branch of the resistance.

Without a word, he dropped a small pouch of something that he'd been carrying in his mouth. Nudging it open with his muzzle, he took a small bite of the tiny crystals and then gestured for Melanie to do the same. She complied easily -- the stuff was salt, and the resistance had taken up the habit of tasting it upon meeting to ensure that the mafia's ghost friend hadn't decided to use her newly-discovered possession powers on any of them.

After ensuring that neither wolf had reacted to the salt, Melanie huffed. "Damien, you should know better than to sneak up on me like that," she hissed in a voice barely above a whisper, careful to keep her voice too low for anyone to listen in.

The younger werewolf gave her a sheepish smile. "Sorry," he whispered back.

Melanie raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing out here like this in the middle of the day? Shouldn't you be taking care of the shop?"

Damien waved the comment away. "Marco's got everything under control. I had a little free time, so I thought I'd check up on you."

Melanie's expression softened, and she sat down on the grass. "I'm fine. Things have slowed down a bit now that summer's in full swing -- the mafia can't make too much of a scene and risk scaring off the tourists."

Damien walked up and sat next to her. "That's not what I mean."

Melanie gave him a questioning look, but the younger wolf was silent for a moment. Finally he sighed and murmured, "Are you really sure we'll be able to get rid of them, Mel? So that you can come back, and the others in hiding can too, and we don't have to give up our profits or watch our backs or play along with that reality show idiot any longer? Are you seriously sure?"

Melanie thought about this for a moment, but then smiled, a glint of determination in her eyes.

"Yes," she replied. "I am. And do you know why?" She got up and took a couple steps forward before stopping to gesture with her snout toward Main Street.

"Out there is a town whose citizens were once so intent on stopping the mafia that they threw people off the cliff over mild suspicions. They've learned better now -- in the hardest way they could, and their resolve was pruned back fiercely in the process. But the mafia could never destroy it completely, and it's starting to come back. You can see that, not only in the actions of those of us in the resistance but also in the more silent war that Marco and the others have waged. We keep a low profile now, but only because we are biding our time. When the town is fully ready, when the tourists are gone and out of danger and Winter's 'Wrath' has eased into complacency... Then we can strike. And with an entire town against just seven madmen and a ghost, what else could be the outcome?"

Damien's expression brightened considerably at the thought. Melanie chuckled, but after a moment she gave him a stern look and the instructions, "Now if you're finished, get out of that form and back to the Menagerie before someone recognizes you. It's a lot harder to get things done when the mafia has a price on your head. Trust me."

Damien gave her a lopsided grin. "Sure thing, boss," he whispered before scampering off. Melanie huffed and shook her head at the return of the old nickname, but smiled nonetheless.

Yes, things were harder now, but she meant what she said about knowing that Aifam Cove would one day be free again. It wouldn't be quite the same as before -- she was no fool, and she knew that people would be scarred from all the death and fear they'd had to deal with during the mafia's reign. But even scars could be managed with enough time and care, and if change meant Merry finding a new home and Lucille finding a greater purpose and Melanie herself finding a way to treat lycanthropy as something other than a curse, then maybe they could find a way to bring something good out of all this after all.

SPOILER: Click to show

The mafia does not appreciate Melanie interfering with their plans, and Melanie doesn't appreciate having to stay full wolf, go into hiding and do her work from the shadows. But she does anyway, because she knows that Aifam Cove will one day prevail! Also, Damien runs the pet shop and is secretly a werewolf member of La Resistance now

Thank you so much for letting me be a part of this, everyone! It was a wild ride, and an amazing experience getting to help bring this game/story to life. Hope to see you all in Mafia IV!

[Draco]

It has been a long several months. During the time many things have happened.

Jack Ryan Smith, he continued to work in town hall. Even without a formal mayor, he managed to keep up with his previous duties as acting mayor. Sure he got bossed around from time to time by the Mafia, but the papers were signed. Of course, he did wish they didn't allow Travis inside town hall... He groaned at the thought of having to listen to one of his stories again.

"Why did they bring HIM back to life of all people?"

He grumbled as he sorted a few papers. He knew he should have made a deal with that teacher before they decided to burn the bodies. He growled to himself.

"Who decided I wanted to be cremated and tossed out to sea? WHO? Not me!"

He was busy this time of year, dealing with the tourists, dealing with the money, making sure the mafia got their share, and then there was that new business....

---

Rocky managed to set up the Aifam Cove G-Host Club. It had few members working there, but what they had worked. He unwillingly let alive people in to help cater for the living tourists. He was no longer mayor of this town, the moment Bardsley turned in the papers for the mafia takeover, the mayor's job disappeared. It was a shame really.

When he found out Fluffle was in town, he made sure to give her a cupcake topped with a rose. It actually took days for him to even realize his fluffy friend was even in town. Of course he offered for her to help in the new Club.

He hands a tourist girl a flower and winks to her as she steps past the G-Host club.

"When you have free time to spare, we'll be waiting for you my dear."

She looked at her friend and laughed as they walked off towards the beach.

---

Afe has been doing all sorts of things during the time. He has helped out in the G-Host Club from time to time. He didn't get many customers, he didn't know why.

A girl screamed as she ran out of the G-Host Club, wearing a crown of bacon...

"COME BACK! THE SMOKEY SMELL OF LOVE IS IN THE AIR AND IN YOUR HAIR!"

When he wasn't in the club working, he did other things. He tidied up some yards here and there, like Winston's house. He put a little order there, but stacking things nicer then they were left. He didn't know where his buddy went, but he thought he should help out some. Another fun past time was to run around town with his crab buddy. Originally he sort of wanted to eat the crab, but over time he became friends with the crabs. He would visit them in caves, and soon the one named Webster would join him on adventures around town.

---

The Lil' Gang went back to school. They failed in their quest to create a army of snow people. They never got in trouble, but... They were really upset over the fact they didn't get to make any. Now that school was over they were sitting on the beach together making a sand sculpture. A finger poked out of it, and they slid it back inside looking around.

---

When not working, Afe and Rocky did their own rebeling. Since they managed to somehow not find the resistance... They decided to become their own rebel force. So between times work and other duties, they would throw eggs at random Mafia houses. Yep. They were rebels.

---

He had been watching for a long time. He watched as the town elected a rock. He watched as the assistant died. He watched as the assistant returned. He watched as the mafia took over. He watched as winter turned to spring and then summer. He still watched. Unable to move. Unable to speak. He screamed silently at someone to help. For his name was Boulder, not Rocky, and he was cursed to be a rock... His googly eyes wobbled around as someone walked past him.

SPOILER: Click to show

Jack continues his duties.

--

Rocky works at a G-Host club.

---

Afe works at the G-Host club and hangs out with Webster.

----

The Lil'Gang are at it again... Somehow.

-----

Rocky and Afe are rebels in their own right.

------

The Rock is alive?

[Tiger]

“OW oh geez what the – “

“Woa-hoah! Time jumps, eh? What a ride!”

Mick looked around – he seemed to be back in Netwaffle. It was warmer, too. Where was Aifam Cove? The car? Cassidy and Jonathon? Fluffle?

“Give the pony a minute – Tiger didn’t wanna yank her around without permission. I’d say you know how she is, but…”

“What – what just happened?”

“We did the time warp again!”

“…We’ve never done a time warp before.”

“Oh, sure we have – they’re usually just smoother than that. But yeah, six months have gone by. Enjoy the occasional buzz of memories comin’ back whenever they get written in.”

“But – but what happened to Cassidy and Jonathon? Diana? You said she and Bardsley were after us, what – “

“It’s six months later, kid, c’mon. You’re not even trying to keep up! Look, they made it out safely, Diana and Bardsley are still a murdership, and I’m pretty sure we’re just gonna call this mission neutral ‘cause you didn’t actually do anything.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Mick felt the absence of a panicked heartbeat.

“Y’know…I don’t think there was really a plan.”

“….”

“Funny how life works sometimes, ain’t it? Ah well – you’d better get a move on. You’ve got waffles to cook and six months to catch up on and people to try not to murder. Good times!"

-------

Cheryl had told them not to drop the illusion.

Pratchett, personally, was disappointed. Albert didn’t really seem to care.

Cheryl had explained her reasoning and reminded the duo that there were certain contracts and restrictions placed on their being here. Pratchett hated to admit that Cheryl was right, but there were rules. Limitations. Pratchett was not fond of limits.

There had once been a radio station in this very studio building. It hadn’t been the first of its kind. As far as Pratchett knew, the inspiration was still out in its desert community, with no awareness that someone had tried to steal the formula. Why that someone had picked Aifam was anyone’s guess. Maybe they were amused by the opposite climate. Maybe they sensed the coming darkness, the spirit of the mafia or something like that, and were drawn to it. Pratchett had never really been told, and it had been sort of obvious the staff weren’t supposed to ask.

Which was kind of stupid, Pratchett thought. If you were going to summon creatures from extra-dimensional planes of Lovecraftian horrors, why would you want to bind their powers and make them silently handle microphones and soundboards and endless cords. In Pratchett’s opinion, that was why the whole radio gig had failed; stupid use of resources.

Of course, nobody had listened to Pratchett when the technician brought all this up. Pratchett had been their first successful summon, and luckily for the technician, their timing on the ‘restrict them to silence’ thing hadn’t been perfected yet. They also hadn’t worked out the kinks of restricted independence. There were still plenty of contracts, plenty of rules, plenty of bindings, but whenever Pratchett looked at Albert, the technician knew he was lucky.

Every sight of the mafia on the computer screens, or Ris Monaco’s stream of gum wrappers scattered across the floor, of course, reminded Pratchett that life could still be annoying even if you were the one extra-planar entity with free will and the ability to snark.

All Pratchett could do was help Cheryl and the resistance. Though he didn’t like Cheryl’s opinion that dropping the guise of ‘mildly creepy technician’ would do more harm than good, Pratchett wasn’t going to go against her orders.

For all its ills, this world was an interesting place. It certainly had better food than back home. Cheryl had intervened and saved Pratchett – and Albert – from being forcibly evicted back to that place. Pratchett owed her a lot, and if Cheryl thought they needed to do this slowly and steadily, well…

It was going to be a long haul. But Pratchett was certain that whatever cake they had at the end was going to be absolutely fantastic.

-------

Cheryl Roxanne Lewis was not a good investigative reporter.

Pratchett had finally broken the news to her – her disguises didn’t exactly work in a town of so few regular residents, and nobody had cause to ask as many questions as she did. The blow to Cheryl’s pride had been fierce, but this was not a time for arrogance. If Pratchett, Albert, and the rest of the resistance agreed – which they did, or at least seemed to, except for dear Christopher – then Cheryl wouldn’t try to infiltrate the mafia from within.

But, she’d reasoned, that didn’t mean she couldn't use her old investigative reporting skills at all. One could hide in plain sight, after all. Carrying a bag of salt in her pocket along with a constantly-charged camera, Cheryl Roxanne Lewis took to the streets and reported. Lindsey’s cake shop. Nathan’s tea parlor. Piper’s tourist trap. She wasn’t looking forward to the day when Travis was her target, but she reasoned that the mafia might not mind too much if she decked the creep.

The mafia didn’t seem to expect her to find anything in her reporting, but they paid attention to her ineffectual pokings. So while Cheryl drew their attention, her cohorts worked at chipping away other mafiosos. It was slow work – very slow, careful work.

She also tried to get to know all the ghosts of the town. It was tricky, only being able to see them through the viewfinder of a camera. Also, it was sort of obvious to anyone watching that she was looking for ghosts when she panned around with the tiny camera, and since it was entirely possible Piper Boudreaux had told the rest of Winter’s Wrath about ghosts on film, Cheryl didn’t feel very comfortable with that.

With the coming of spring, she’d taken to wearing a pair of thick sunglasses. On a related note, a desk in Pratchett’s office was scattered with camera parts and lenses and a vast amount of glue. The reporter and technician hadn’t quite figured out how to make a recording lens yet, but Cheryl believed it was only a matter of time.

She wanted to make a reading glasses pair as well, for use around her home. She’d offered a place in her home to Christopher and Dakota, and though she could now sort of feel Christopher, her vision showed no sign of learning to see the spectral kids. After all she and Chris had been through, a camera felt like…like a barrier, and there were enough of those in place thanks to Winter’s Wrath.

Cheryl Roxanne Lewis was a reporter. A pillar of her community. A champion of its people. She would be on air and undercover for Aifam Cove for as long as it needed her. She would see this story through to the bitter end.

And when the mafia’s grip on the town broke…now that would be a report for the ages.

SPOILER: Click to show

Mick timejumps six months into the future, winding up back in Netwaffle. Meta tells him the mission was basically neutral. Waa waa waaaa.

Pratchett is sour about not being able to use his full abilities. Tiger finally explains what Pratch and Albert were supposed to be. It’s probably not as good as you thought it was.

Cheryl Roxanne Lewis investigates things to draw mafia attention away from real investigations and is building Google Glass ghost-viewing glasses.

SPOILER: Click to show

Bonus end bit that I wrote earlier, but couldn't find a way to tie into this main post even though I really really liked it because it tied up one of the loose ends I left several rounds ago:

Cheryl pulled the camera and its cords out of her satchel. Something crinkled at the bottom of the pouch. Lips pressing into a thin line, Cheryl pulled out the sheet of photo paper.

She burned the photograph on the fire of her stove, using tongs to hold and slowly rotate the doomed picture. The edges curled, the image of Webster blackened, faded, and finally, turned to char.

Cheryl didn’t know if the recovered photograph from Piper Boudreaux’s memory card was what the mafioso would consider perfect. She was never going to find out. Pratchett had managed to recover the picture data once, but the nature photographer’s own spectral energies had turned the file into a digital mush, a soup of useless bits and bytes that even Pratchett couldn’t recover.

Cheryl had thought she would use the photograph to bribe Boudreaux’s ghost in some sort of pinch. Maybe she could try it on the reanimated Piper, but the idea made Cheryl grimace.

Her only regret in watching the picture go up in flames was that Pratchett would be upset about not getting to roast marshmallows over it.

[Celestial]

The bright light hid her pale form perfectly. No tourists saw Diana Pallada as she hovered in the corner of the main square, observing. Before her death, she would have avoided good weather like this, instead locking herself away with a cup of coffee and a historical text instead of going outside, being around people. But now, as a ghost, she could fade away, unnoticed, not have to interact with them if she did not want to and could easily do something about them should they bother her too much. And, after spending all that time in the void, Pallada had grown to appreciate the light.

She would never have admitted that the void scared her. Pallada did not feel fear at the thought of it per say but the idea of being sent back there, of being driven even more insane by the blackness did made her uneasy. It was not so much the solitude as the boredom and the loss of time. But after events in Aifam had quietened down, after she had gotten adjusted there with its new regime and the events leading up to it which just begged to be analysed and studied, she began to feel that she was going to be found and sent back. Perhaps it was the presense of Mick and Fluffle, or the fact that Julie had not replied to her, an odd thing considering that Julie did not seem like the type to forget a friend and a colleague but whatever it was, Pallada had found herself quite worried. She liked it in Aifam, there was a lot here for her. Her extensive, ongoing research, her hunt for the resistance and Professor Leland Bardsley.

Pallada smirked at the thought of him. Leland was the only one who really knew that she was afraid of going back. She had told him in what was in hindsight a moment of weakness. But he had supported her, eased her fears. But it was clear that he did not want her to go away.

It was hardly surprising. They thought alike, they were just as intelligent as each other, they both produced some fantastic research and they needed each other to keep the town as it was. It was a wonderful partnership. But at the same time, it was more than just that. Even blathering idiots like Richem could get some things right. When she realised this, Diana was both surprised with herself and not surprised at all. If somehow she could care for another person, of course it would have been Leland. And, though she would never say it, she did feel quite flattered that he felt the same way. That he loved her back.

Before she had come to Aifam, Pallada had regarded love with the usmost disdain. It had always seemed to her like such an inane, artificial waste of time which was a convenient excuse at best, created by people to acting like complete morons or a mere biological response at worst. She had always been keen to find other theories to explain away famous acts motivated by love throughout history, feeling that there had to be something more than just a shallow idiocy meant for teenagers with nothing better to do other than chase each other in a hormone-addled state. The semi-mythical city of Troy was invaded by King Menelaus for political reasons, not to get his wife Helen back, if that had been a true story, which it could have been despite great exaggeration and passing into mythology. Certainly Troy was a real place. But, Diana was a scholar. She would admit her mistakes in the face of sufficent evidence and challenge to her theory by an academic peer. Now, based on what she felt and what Leland also felt, she was willing to admit that perhaps she was wrong about love. Certainly, if anything, she could understand why it could be considered a powerful motivational force.

Fear, flattery, caring, love...her newly-discovered emotional range was fascinating. Pallada had always been more interested in the world at large, considering herself merely an observer, one recording and analysing events in order to preserve them as one of many truths, but she had never taken an introspective look into her own mind. She was a psychologist for other people, though only those of interest, and certainly never herself. All she knew was that she was different from most other people. Nevertheless, finding somebody as similar to her as Leland had been...nice.

And she would protect him and his. Having lost the potion, despite their...visit to the old man Archibald, the mafia could effectively die again. While Pallada saw no problems with dying as a concept, she knew that Leland did not want to die. Others she would have argued with but he was intelligent enough to know better and even she had to admit, there were perks to living, especially when you ruled the town. Besides, that gave her the perfect opportunity to hunt for the resistance. Admittedly, they were a fascinating case study of how a town can still try to return to the old status quo and an interesting point about counter-revolutions which she would have liked to examine in detail, Pallada was also perfectly happy to kill them or break them. That was something she enjoyed.

Furthermore, the hunt for the resistance had helped her discover a new ability, one she did not have as a revenant: possession. She had leapt into a body by accident in order to avoid being burned by their holy water, only to discover that she could control this person’s body movements. Their shocked thoughts were a joy to behold and she had crashed a meeting with it.

Afterwards, she had tried to perfect that skill. As usual, it was Leland who helped her. On occasion, she would possess him, see what she could and could not do with a living human body. Mostly she had ghostwritten though him, thought she had always made sure she was careful to be gentle with not cause Bardsley any pain. That could wait until she practised on the resistance members.

And so history flowed on for Pallada. Tourist season was upon Aifam and she was busy observing how the newly changed town had resumed business as usual. So far, nobody had come for her, whether Julie or the one who had trapped her in the void.

She wished Julie was here. This place could do with some music and she would have liked to see what her friend thought of Leland. But, nevertheless, between her freedom, her work and her relationship, Dr. Diana Aurora Pallada was happy.

-----

It had been a mixed six months. Lucille had gotten used to being a ghost, along with all the advantages and limitations this form had brought her. On one hand, she could disappear and reappear at will, as well as go through walls. On the other hand, holding things took a lot more will than she was normally used to exerting, which was an interesting experience when she had to hold a gun. It was really weird having to focus on aiming and making sure the gun did not fall through your hand at the same time. But, like with all difficulties, Lucille had managed. It wasn’t too bad being a ghost. If it wasn’t for Kylie, she would not have minded it at all.

Making the relationship work had been quite a bit of work. She was glad that Kylie seemed to be okay with Lucille’s current condition but even so, holding or kissing her was difficult. It was impossible to get lost in her like she had done before when she had to be aware of the fact that at any moment, Lucille could go through her.

But it was alright. She still loved Kylie and she made sure to watch over her. Even though Nathan seemed to treat her fine, she still kept an eye on Travis. Whenever he came near Kylie, Lucille felt herself bristle and if he tried anything, she was ready. It was amazing how much a ghost’s punch could hurt.

Kylie had changed a lot herself since she they had started their relationship. The killings in Aifam had destroyed her innocence and Lucille could no longer see the girl she had met what felt like so long ago. Whatever was left had been worn away by the training she had given her for the resistance. It was with a mixture of pride and horror that Lucille taught Kylie how to use a gun, how to aim properly and how to fight. However, she had to say it was more pride than horror. It was a real joy and a privilege to watch Kylie grow and Lucille found herself loving the girl more and more.

The resistance itself was slowly but surely gaining steam. They had been blind sighted by the appearance of the ghost who Lucille had later identified as the same woman that had written the book she kept her gun in: Diana Pallada. And she was even crazier and in need of a good drink and a romantic encounter than Lucille had thought.

Thankfully, they had come away from that fight mostly intact and certainly there was nothing that could not be recovered. Nevertheless, they had to take extra precautions. Meeting s became even more clandestine, salt rose in demand (especially to check for possession) and they had to think of a strategy to deal with evil ghosts.

Lucille had turned to the rest of the nuns. They barely left the convent now and were certainly shocked when Lucille had appeared in front of them. A congregation was probably not the best time, she had to say, but there was not much time. When they had asked about the crate full of weapons that they had found in their cloakroom, Lucille had to explain. Then more questions, why she was in a suit, what happened to her? Somehow, it turned into a confessional. She told them about her operation, her cover, everything. As expected, most were angry. Some had suspected something was up with her but were always too polite to mention.

So she told them about Lord ‘Woo. About how he spoke to her and gave her her mission, told her to atone for her sins. That had gained her a bit of sympathy. Afterwards, the nuns were more than happy to supply the holy seawater she requested and protect the resistance if need be. After all, they were doing the ‘Woo’s work and they hated the mafia as much as the rest of the town.

Slowly but surely, the resistance came together. The whole town eventually ended up on it in some degree. Of course, some members had left, not wanting to live in a mafia town, and Lucille did not blame them. Some of the ghosts could certainly use a rest. But she was going to keep fighting. Working with Cheryl was not so much of a nightmare anymore and she had almost forgotten about their past. Melanie was also a big help, with her nose and her skills and her determination. And of course, Kylie.

Bea was getting married to Nathan. He had proposed and everything. The resistance had a deadline. When all the mafia were gathered in one place, they would strike. They would not be able to even use their potion, though there were rumours flying about that even it was gone.

Lucille held up her gun in the target range she had made for herself in the cavern where she had once hid her alcohol supplies and fired. A perfect bullseye.

Whatever the case, they would be ready. Slowly but surely, Aifam was nearing its freedom.

SPOILER: Click to show

Pallada muses about her own fears of the void, about her relationship with Leland (murdershipping is mutally canon!) and about the resistance and how she is being a thorn in their side. She wishes Julie was here but overall, she is happy.

Lucille had gotten used to being a ghost and had, despite difficulties, worked out her relationship with Kylie, in between teaching Kylie to use weaponry for the resistance. They had also, despite a setback the first time they encountered her, developed measures against Pallada and now the nuns were willing participants, after Lucille had told them everything about her and that it was a mission for the 'Woo she was on. The resistance was coming together and now had a deadline of Nathan and Bea's wedding. She is getting ready.

[Gelquie]

It had been a long few months for Kylie, now that she had to live not just under the rule of the mafia, but under the household that now held a mafioso. It had been... odd having Nathan around. And for a long time, she had trouble accepting it. She eventually learned Bea's whole reason for going through with this, and despite not saying anything about it and despite Lenore's words, to Kylie, it never felt more than... wrong.

Perhaps she said this with ease because of having Lucille around, and them sticking near each other all this time. That was when they could be around. Kylie had to keep her ties to the resistance secret if she was going to be effective. Kylie's relationship with Lucille wasn't a total secret, but it became... less public. Still, they always found time for each other. They both made sure of it. Perhaps it couldn't be like before. Embracing each other was so much more difficult now, and it was a problem they were still working out. But still, her presence gave Kylie hope, an elated feeling, and she always knew just what to say to her. She didn't just understand her; it was almost like she could feel her anyway. And now, Kylie couldn't imagine life without her.

Kylie ended up taking an investigatory role. Living under the house of a mafioso was indeed stressful, but it had the advantage of Kylie having an easier time of figuring out what was happening with the mafiosos. It also gave her the advantage of being able to overhear Hermia, and to see what she was doing. But being a member of the resistance had its risks. She knew that things might go wrong one day. She had, for a short time, tried to avoid the subject of self defense, remembering the last time she was given a weapon. But the town was different now. She had no choice, she decided.

Learning to use a gun wasn't that hard, really. Especially when she was under the guidance of Lucille. Even with the more powerful weapons, she managed the recoil well. And once she had her aim down... It was just a matter of becoming quicker. She began to wear the gun with her most of the time, hidden from sight by a coat of which she had become fond. It would be important if the Mafia decided to try anything. She had already lost enough friends, family, and her love. And she had almost lost herself in her despair. If anything else happened, Kylie wanted to be ready. As for herself... She just had to try. Things were bad now, but there was still a good chance that things could be made right again.

There was still one loss that hung on the Devons despite her best efforts. Lenore... She had ended up spending most of her time with her mother, talking to her, comforting her, and being there for her. Kylie still talked and played with her, though, but Kylie was uncertain of how much it truly felt like a sibling relationship. She never grew up with one, after all, and any signs of her sister that Kylie saw as a child were stamped out by her mother in denial at the time. Still, Kylie tried. Sister or no, she owed her her life. She'd talk to her, take her on playdates with Lynna when Bea was busy, and watch over her. And she was truly glad to see Lenore dry off over time. Until the day came when Lenore disappeared entirely. She didn't see it herself; she learned what happened from her mother. As Kylie gave her mother a hug, she found herself missing Lenore too. But she knew that her feelings about the situation could never match Beatrix's.

Even so, to Kylie, Lenore was an angel. By the time Lenore had passed on, Kylie found that she and her mother could talk easier. It was easier to deal with her. No... “deal with her” was the wrong phrase now. She had an easier time talking to her and opening up to her now. Things weren't perfect; Kylie couldn't forget everything had happened in the past 19 years... But it was improving. It was definitely improving.

She was still utterly baffled by Nathan's involvement, and utterly confused on what to do about it, especially when she learned that they were engaged. Even when she had reported it to the resistance, Kylie couldn't fully accept what was happening. At least Lucille was around to watch over her to keep bad things from getting worse, and for knowing just what to do, she could keep some direction in her life. But also to reassure her. Nathan never did anything outwardly bad to them since the murders, but Kylie couldn't help but partially blame him—along with the rest of the Mafia—for Lucille's death and the town's demise. She had to keep under cover, but she couldn't hide her apprehension about the wedding.

Still, she would think about that later, Kylie decided. She blocked out Travis Richem's town “announcement” (she decided that any interaction with Travis would be limited to either one short sentence or silence) as she brushed Prue's mane.

“Things'll get better, Prue,” Kylie said to her horse. “Maybe not perfect... But better.”

Not long later, her mother appeared in the stables, smiling. Kylie smiled back and brought a cream-colored horse forward; a new horse that had to replace Chamomile when she finally died. Kylie decided to name her Carys.

“Ready to go?” Kylie asked.

Bea nodded. Kylie helped her mount Carys before mounting Prue herself. Kylie snapped the reins, and the two of them began to ride into the woods.

---

((A bonus for those who've read Mafia II!))

Receiving a letter should have been much easier than it actually was.

That was Julie Merlot's thoughts after she had finally received the letter from Diana Pallada a few months ago. Julie remembered it clearly; it was a normal, boring March day in Netwaffle. She hadn't even been expecting mail, nor had she really thought of it when she first left the village of Wafflenet. But one day, a messenger came into town and gingerly placed an envelope into Julie's hands. When she opened the envelope and saw whom it was from, Julie could not hold back her squeal of delight, and she practically danced (or danced as well as a ghost with a tail could) to an isolated area so that she could read the letter in private.

Of course, when she eventually found out when the letter was postmarked, it took her all of her strength to not hunt down that messenger and give him what for. It took her a long time to get the whole story, but it turned out that the letter originally went to Wafflenet, a place that Julie had stopped visiting after a while. The mail carrier there knew full well where Julie had gone too, but hadn't bothered to forward it to Netwaffle. Out of spite, Julie thought. It took a new mail intern to recognize the mistake and actually forward the letter. And then it had to travel there and get through the same security that was keeping Julie in check. Miraculously, the letter that Julie received had not been opened. Julie didn't know how, but it wasn't.

The letter intrigued Julie incredibly. Pallada, escaped from hell? And living in Aifam? And they had allies? (She noted that Diana seemed to share particularly fond words about Bardsley... Something there seemed off, although Julie couldn't put her finger on it.) If Pallada had returned, the plan worked, and as a bonus, they had a town they could live in, one with less emphasis on all the surface lies...

Julie wanted to go. To leave town. To see Aifam in all its glory for herself. But mostly, she wanted to see her friend again. After more than a year and a half since the incident at Wafflenet, Diana had been one of the constants on her mind. One of the few she could actually talk to. Who understood her. Who didn't insult her what Julie knew was the truth. After all... After...

Julie shook her head. She had quickly decided to leave after receiving the letter, to rejoin with Diana and perhaps create a path anew. To be away from the people who could never fully understand her. To finally talk to the one she had wanted to meet again for so long.

But in the past year or so, Netwaffle made that harder for her. At one point, they seemed to realize that letting her leave was liable for too much trouble. Even when they had commissioned Buster to put anti-magic bands on her whenever she left town and threatened to exorcise her when she refused, they were still skeptical about what she could do. It had eventually become almost impossible for her to leave out of her own free will. In the past three months, she had certainly tried.

Even assault wasn't really an option anymore. She still had her physical skills, but her revenant powers had faded over time. The purple aura that once shone brightly around Julie's hands was now reduced to a faint lavender. Julie could only realize in retrospect that she had been too hasty to get out of the afterlife. Had been too desperate, too angry... Enough that she didn't take her time to fully understand the underworld's workings. Enough that she didn't consider the side glances the officiates gave each other when she was granted her powers and her 'freedom'. And once Julie realized what was going on, and that she couldn't go back, she had spent the last few months cursing herself. Soon, Julie knew that she would be a regular ghost. She could manage with other ghosts, but it was still a problem dealing with the living.

And not to mention, the more her powers faded, the more... dead she felt. Being a ghost had its perks, but at the same time... There were so many things about being alive that she missed. Perhaps it suited Diana, but Julie desperately wished that there were not only more of the potion that Diana mentioned, but that it wasn't too late for Julie anyway. Two years was a long time. And to Julie, it felt even longer.

But over time, she had come up with a plan. Although Julie's tone had grown more bitter since ghosthood, she did her best to smile and appear happy, and to avoid trouble. And then perhaps they would stop watching her so carefully. It unfortunately required her to not reply to Diana. She dearly wanted to, but even without Julie's attempts to avoid trouble, she doubted that the post office would deliver her letter anyway. She was taking a risk as it was. She just hoped Diana would understand.

But avoiding trouble to avoid scrutiny was only part of the plan, especially when so few people in the town trusted Julie anyway. She had thought of multiple options to leave without anyone following her and getting suspicious. But ultimately, the safest one involved receiving one of Buster's magic-suppressing ornaments and then going out on a trip. And then she would go away and... Stay away. She'd have to find another exorcist first to coerce or bribe into removing the ornaments for her. And then she could go to Aifam. It wasn't the perfect plan, but it was all she had.

Eventually, she decided that the day came where it was time to go. It took only a short time to account for everything. But convincing one of the people watching her was harder in spite of her efforts to be kind.

"Um, excuse me," Julie started. "I want to leave town for a while."
"What for?"
"I haven't had a chance to see my dad since I died. I want to go visit him."
"Oh? Where does he live?"
She couldn't tell the truth. "Weewoo City," she said. She dearly hoped that they wouldn't cross-check the facts. Even if Julie did go out of her way to hide any information about her parents, even going as far to say that she was visiting a friend when she was visiting her mother, that didn't mean they couldn't go searching...
There was a long uncomfortable silence. But finally, they spoke, moving on to the information about the magic suppression, the whole shpeal, yadda yadda. Good. They bought her fib. That was good.

Julie went through with the magic suppression, going through the usual of Buster's glares as he tightened her spectral wristbands. And then much much later... She was out. Free...

But not quite. She still actually had to take a trip to Weewoo City. She couldn't take chances of going to Aifam Cove right away. And besides... She could still bribe the right people.

Weewoo City was farther away, and finding an exorcist willing to help her and not immediately send her to hell was harder than she thought. Not only were they not very prominent in the market, fewer were willing to help a ghost. She ended up having to run from the city anyway, her wrists still cuffed. Not that it mattered; by that point, the aura had significantly faded.

But the diversion seemed to work. She didn't see anyone following her. Finally, it was time to go to Aifam Cove.

She floated, following the coastline up towards what she believed was Aifam. All things aside, she couldn't wait any longer to see her friend, and to see what the mafia had done with the place. And oh, the things she could do.

Julie smiled her first real smile in what felt like forever and played a jaunty tune on her spectral mandolin as she made her way north. Maybe now she could find a way to truly live.

SPOILER: Click to show

Kylie now works as a member of la resistance, mostly working as an informant, as she has inside information on Hermia and Nathan, mostly Nathan. She is happy with Lucille, though the physical barrier still gets in the way. Kylie and Beatrix have patched their relationship, and Kylie is more comfortable around her mother now. Kylie is apprehensive about the wedding, even as she takes part in both the wedding and the resistance's plans for it. Kylie and Beatrix decide to go out for a joyride.

Mafia II bonus:
Julie gets the letter months later, and takes a long time to plan her escape and then ward off anyone who wished to follow her. It's not a foolproof plan, as the combination of her fading powers and magic restrictive technology have made her revenant powers useless. But she escapes. She makes her way to Aifam Cove happily.

[icon]

"Things kind of dissipated after that.

I lost track of time. Half a year went past like a rocket-fueled cannonball; I blinked, and it felt like only a few days passed... and I found myself like I am now. Just Ris Monaco, saddled with a caffeine addiction that superseded her love of gum, and a secret summer job sniping photos of Webster for Aifam Cove's tourism site, and a sprained ankle from one of her fateful run-ins with mafiasos...Okay, so "twisting it a little bit trying to dramatically kick down Bardsley's office door at Prettyboy during off-hours" probably doesn't count as a particularly fateful run-in, 'cept if you're that doorknob. Coena would probably ding my ear for exaggerating if I said that within earshot.

Coen. I got a text from the kid a few weeks back; said they probably wouldn't be coming back to visit as often, at least not until this whole affair ended. We haven't been talking to each other much; I think I asked them a few too many questions about all their scarves and hats. Came off as a bit of a sore subject. I know I shouldn't have pried, but my curiosity was just... insatiable.

"I guess some mysteries just aren't meant to be answered."

Ris leaned back in her bedroom, sticking her feet up on her desk. The thing about balmy summer evenings, she thought, was that they were just begging for a good internal monologue as accompaniment. If there was one thing the past half-year hadn't changed, it was her ability to rattle off some particularly hard-boiled lingo to impress the fellas. 

The comfortable weight of her phone in her pocket prompted another train of thought. And what about that old website? Chris and I talked about it once, shortly after the Mafia's "move-in". We considered bringing it up with the rest of the Resistance, the idea of trying to tap into its potential and harness it as a tool. We decided against it, though. It's too powerful to use as a weapon... hell, I shouldn't even be using it myself. I need to forget it's even a thing, I do.

Ris squared her shoulders as she set the phone on her desk, but something made her stop. One last look, she declared to the world. One last look at the site, and then we never return to it again. She clicked a link and began scrolling.

Hey, this looks promising. Let's read the most recent post, she thought, fingers gliding over the screen.

...Wait a second.

SPOILER: Click to show

Apr 27, 2014 2:13:40 GMT -5 icon said:

"Things kind of dissipated after that.

I lost track of time. Half a year went past like a rocket-fueled cannonball; I blinked, and it felt like only a few days passed... and I found myself like I am now. Just Ris Monaco, saddled with a caffeine addiction that superseded her love of gum, and a secret summer job sniping photos of Webster for Aifam Cove's tourism site, and a sprained ankle from one of her fateful run-ins with mafiasos...Okay, so "twisting it a little bit trying to dramatically kick down Bardsley's office door at Prettyboy during off-hours" probably doesn't count as a particularly fateful run-in, 'cept if you're that doorknob. Coena would probably ding my ear for exaggerating if I said that within earshot.

Coen. I got a text from the kid a few weeks back; said they probably wouldn't be coming back to visit as often, at least not until this whole affair ended. We haven't been talking to each other much; I think I asked them a few too many questions about all their scarves and hats. Came off as a bit of a sore subject. I know I shouldn't have pried, but my curiosity was just... insatiable.

"I guess some mysteries just aren't meant to be answered."

...Wait a second, what? Ris stared at the screen in shock for a brief moment, then opened the next spoiler.

SPOILER: Click to show

Apr 27, 2014 2:13:40 GMT -5 icon said:

"Things kind of dissipated after that.

I lost track of time. Half a year went past like a rocket-fueled cannonball; I blinked, and it felt like only a few days passed... and I found myself like I am now. Just Ris Monaco, saddled with a caffeine addiction that superseded her love of gum, and a secret summer job sniping photos of Webster for Aifam Cove's tourism site, and a sprained ankle from one of her fateful run-ins with mafiasos...Okay, so "twisting it a little bit trying to dramatically kick down Bardsley's office door at Prettyboy during off-hours" probably doesn't count as a particularly fateful run-in, 'cept if you're that doorknob. Coena would probably ding my ear for exaggerating if I said that within earshot.

Coen. I got a text from the kid a few weeks back; said they probably wouldn't be coming back to visit as often, at least not until this whole affair ended. We haven't been talking to each other much; I think I asked them a few too many questions about all their scarves and hats. Came off as a bit of a sore subject. I know I shouldn't have pried, but my curiosity was just... insatiable.

"I guess some mysteries just aren't meant to be answered."

okay now this was just kind of creepy, seriously what

SPOILER: Click to show

Apr 27, 2014 2:13:40 GMT -5 icon said:

"Things kind of dissipated after that.

I lost track of time. Half a year went past like a rocket-fueled cannonball; I blinked, and it felt like only a few days passed... and I found myself like I am now. Just Ris Monaco, saddled with a caffeine addiction that superseded her love of gum, and a secret summer job sniping photos of Webster for Aifam Cove's tourism site, and a sprained ankle from one of her fateful run-ins with mafiasos...Okay, so "twisting it a little bit trying to dramatically kick down Bardsley's office door at Prettyboy during off-hours" probably doesn't count as a particularly fateful run-in, 'cept if you're that doorknob. Coena would probably ding my ear for exaggerating if I said that within earshot.

Coen. I got a text from the kid a few weeks back; said they probably wouldn't be coming back to visit as often, at least not until this whole affair ended. We haven't been talking to each other much; I think I asked them a few too many questions about all their scarves and hats. Came off as a bit of a sore subject. I know I shouldn't have pried, but my curiosity was just... insatiable.

"I guess some mysteries just aren't meant to be answered."

Ris gaped at the screen. The site was exactly how she and Chris and Coen had read it before: the posts they'd found had been documented accounts of Aifam Cove, updating as the murders had taken place. The posts had placed emphasis on specific members of the town, especially with regards to the Mafia... but she'd never seen them containing posts about... about herself.

But, if someone were documenting her unsaid thoughts... and she was the only one in her room right now...

A small thought about the implications arose in the back of Ris's mind. She glanced around hurriedly for a good several seconds... before closing the window tab. I haaaaaate dealing with the supernatural, she thought as she began removing the site from her browser history. It raises more questions than anyone really ought to have to deal with.

I guess some mysteries just aren't meant to be answered.

SPOILER: Click to show

Case closed?

[Avery]

(Narrator Note: Just as a heads up, I'm going to be leaving the epilogue up until Tuesday evening-- so about two and a half more days. After that, all rounds will be merged into one massive thread, renamed, and moved to Memory Lane. So if you'd like to have an epilogue post for your character, make sure it's up by Tuesday!)

[Pixie]

((Collaboration with Liou))

Lili always came back to Aifam Cove.

When she had faded during that day of ruin, she wasn’t certain of where she wanted to go. She had seen the desolation and defeat of the town, and all she knew was that she had to get away.

She had wandered in and out of Aifam Cove over the past half a year, traveling the lands. She was unsure of what she was seeking, but she did not stop in her search. Worry for Aifam Cove and its residents kept on bringing her back. A remembrance of her past sins and falseness drove her away. She went back to her childhood home to have an unsuccessful visit with her parents. After awhile of observing the living, trying to feel their humanity and vitality, she began to look for a friend and a place to belong among them.

She had one after another of unsuccessful attempts at self-realization and finding a place to belong. She couldn’t find a place among the living as a spirit. She was ignored by most; she unsettled the rare living who were able to see her. Most reacted erratically when they realized they were speaking to a ghost. In the great variety of towns and atmospheres she had visited, there was none which had a place for her.

Wherever she went, she left behind ghosts tales. They centered on a pale woman in white with a red ribbon tied around her throat. Some tales would say she was a rebel woman beheaded in a revolution long ago and her head was kept on by her ribbon, or that she was a child who had passed away in a plague. In the stories she was a hero and a villain, an omen of renewal and instigator of misfortune.

In actuality, she was nothing but a lost soul.

Lili wandered back into Aifam Cove. She took in the surroundings and found that on the surface, nothing seemed to change at all from the last time she had been there. After a brief moment, Lili glanced away from the billowing Winter’s Wrath flag and looked up. She saw Leopold drifting around town.

Leo was keeping an eye out for any mafia-related trouble, but mainly focused on the fashion police. No one was safe from his appraising eyes. Those tourists had better bring their best outfits to Aifam. He had already screamed at three people who had dared to step out in socks and sandals.
His own style was light and airy today, with soft wavy hair, a beaded tunic and sequined scarf.

A cloud of sparkles blew out of Leo's hair as he stopped in midair. "Liliana! I haven't seen you around in soooo long, girl! Look at you, all dainty and ethereal!" He gazed at her face more attentively. "Wanna walk and talk? Or flutter and chatter? Let’s go for a stroll by the beach, together!”

Lili still felt bad about herself, and she didn’t want him to be burdened by her troubles. She had far too many of them. However, she indulged in talking to him because she really needed a friend at that moment. Besides, if anyone could not be brought down by her sorrow it was cheerful Leo, who had an unobtrusive presence of another ghost over his shoulder and a sweet personality. She had came to him several times before when her wanderings had returned her to Aifam.

“What has the Mafia been doing with the town in my absence?” Lili inquired, “Has there been more murders, and does the resistance need any favors from me?” Leo had shown her the resistance when she had returned the first time, and she was a passing ally to them. Her ability to help was limited by the fact that she was not willing to use violence against anyone, and she did not believe she had much to offer in terms of help.

Leo smiled at her good will. "Oh no, nothing nasty has happened, girl. They don't go crazy if we rub them the right way. We never give them a reason to get mad... but it's obvious what everyone really thinks of the maf. You should've seen when everybody went on a diet to bug the cake store, and pies were all the rage. Pie fights everywhere! No more tea parties, sorry about that." He wiped the grin off his face and spoke more gently. "Yeah, everything's changed. It's still bearable."

“I’m happy to hear that people are not going gentle with this,” Lili chirped, showing Leopold a weak smile, “This whole mess with the Mafia still should have never happened. How have you been faring here? What have you been up to in the past few months?”

Leo spoke cheerfully, as if he were telling her about a new job. "I'm not bad, not bad at all. I mean, ummm, have you seen me?!" He posed and flipped his dazzling hair. "There's plenty to do here. Plenty to watch. I love to creep on people."

Lili raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips, as images of him pestering and spying on unsuspecting tourists formed in her ghostly mind. “Leopold…”

He smirked at her. "What? The resistance needs me to creep on people! We want to know who we can trust. I also float around and give messages, you know, ghost things. But more importantly, I have to keep an eye on everyone's clothes. For 'Woo's sake, it's like people don't have a clue what they're supposed to wear. I don't dare imagine what the town would look like if I wasn't around." He shuddered dramatically.
"And how about you, sweetheart? Where did you disappear to?"

Lili was mildly amused by his fashion-savvy antics and skewed priorities, and at the same time, she was jealous of his passion. She debated how much of the truth she should tell him, before deciding not to hold back. The time for restraint was over. She had to let go. She felt his companion’s presence and strongly wanted both of them to know.

Lili told him “I’ve been all over the world. I’ve been into small towns nobody's ever hear of, big cities where a ghost girl can get lost for days, cultures so different from my own. I’ve been back to Aifam, and I know you’ve seen me then. I’ve been back home, the home before Aifam. Oceans don’t bind me anymore, though it would have been lovely to swim in life.”

Leo listened intently. "Well, you have been around! Have you stayed with the living, or with the…?”

“I actually haven’t been back to afterworld very much. It’s a very cute place, but the teddy bears lie to me. There is no factuality and I can’t bear it. When I had visited I had seen spirits like my own, but they were either sparse or hiding,” Lili related.

“So, what have we learned from this journey? Did you run into any epiphanies, muses or amazing fashion ideas?"

“I learned that interacting with the living is difficult when one is a spirit. When I went back home, I left a note to my parents telling them I was dead and sorry, but they thought it was a cruel prank. They couldn't see me. I suppose we had grown too apart after I moved to Aifam Cove. They didn’t want to believe anything had happened to me and I was still celebrating my independence in a faraway tourist trap. I don’t blame them for their delusion. I merely had come there because I wanted them to have resolution.”

Leo hesitated for a moment. There was no need to bring this up now, but there was no need to hide it, either. He still felt a little guilty about it. "Sometimes a clean break is easier. I... also lost someone, a long time ago. He never left me. I never accepted to see him."

Leo started and rubbed the back of his head. "Now I know that it was a huge mistake," he said more pointedly. "But after losing him, I couldn't bear to look at him. It was too much to deal with." He wondered whether Lili could see the presence that was constantly behind him. He was so used to it by now, an electric warmth right between his shoulderblades. "Not everyone will be as stubborn as me, though," he continued. "At least he knows how to become visible to me." He knew that Hal wasn't losing a word of their conversation. The younger man's presence was becoming more insistent behind Leo, as if he wanted to push Lili, to stop her from becoming invisible.

The other ghost seemed more solid to Lili as Leopold recalled someone who had been lost to him. The silhouette was identifiable as that of a young man. Was that presence the man from his past? She realized she still hadn’t told him very much about her journey and began to talk again.

“Overall, I didn’t take as much from my journey as I should have. Most people couldn't see me, and it just made me lonelier. There was an incident with a young man who did see me, in one of the towns I had been to, and really it wasn’t just him. I tried to talk to him and befriend him. He took a look at me and realized I was a ghost,” Lili murmured, feeling vulnerable. “I could barely introduce myself and I nearly drove him mad with my presence. When he asked me what happened to make me the way I was, I was not willing to lie to him. I told him the truth. That in a terrible place far from where he was, my dearest friend had taken my life in an act of misguided mercy. He shouted at me, demanded I leave. In his mundane life he wanted nothing to do with a melancholy dead girl.”

Leo hovered comfortably, listening to her distress without a word. He was fiddling with his bangs again.
"Put yourself in that boy's place, Lili. Would you have wanted to make friends with yourself?" He paused, waiting quietly for that nasty sentence to sink in. "Exactly. Are you even friends with yourself? If you can't be, then how's that guy going to manage it? If you go around believing that you're dead, people will look at you and believe that you're dead. No surprise there."

She grew quiet, afflicted by his words. It was definite that she had been murdered, and that he had been too. The translucence of her body, the ghost pain that tore through her whenever she thought about Alma, and her levitation marked her demise as indisputable fact. If he hadn’t faced his own death, she would have been angry at him. Being dead was something outside the limited domain of belief.

Leo noticed Lili absentmindedly rubbing her neck. His fingers rose to his own throat, where the dim white slash mark was nearly invisible against his sparkly skin. "Funny how these things happen. Mine has nearly disappeared," he remarked thoughtfully. The trauma of his murder felt more distant now. It was still a vivid memory, but it never took over his mind unless he brought it back consciously.
"I feel all right with the way I am. Well, almost. I can't help but hurt over it sometimes. But I feel too pretty not to look pretty." Lili didn't seem to have quite as much control over her ghostly body as he did.
"You have to stop thinking about this-" he waved his hands all around Lili "- as a body. It's not a flesh wound you have. It's a wound to your spirit. The only way you can fix that is by cleansing your spirit. For me, I know praying to Woo does wonders, but also listening to music, dancing, and seeing beautiful things. That's what has always made me feel alive. And just look at all the amazing outfits I can create on a whim!"

He turned to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Now, what is it you really want to tell the living, honey? What do you want to be? They say that in Rome, you do as the Romans do, and in Rome, they have amazing food and parties, and great fashion too. I've never been to Rome, myself. But I've been in the world of the living, and in that world, you do as the living do."

Lili ran his ideas through her head, and was blank when it came to how she could apply them. “I don’t know what I want for myself, so I don’t know what would heal me,” she admitted, her hands fluttering to back to her neck as she spoke, “Too many years of lies made me lose myself. I don’t know who I am supposed to be. Half a year of struggling and I’m not any closer. I do not feel at all alive. I think I broke before my body did. You are right in that this is only my spirit now, and I know my body was strangled and now sea and wind... but my spirit is the spirit of a dead woman, too. The wounds transcend my body and as much as I wish to fix it, I am stuck. There is so little to cling to that I can trust, and I am so glad you are my friend. You see, Leopold, I was false in life, and now I am lost.”

Leo huffed indignantly. He always felt a pleasant fuzzy feeling when someone called him their friend, but he would never let any friend speak of themselves in that way. It was unbelievably exasperating.
"Girl, are you forgetting all the good things anyone has ever seen in you? You're offending them, girl! You are the only one who thinks you were fake. Now, stop with the vague stuff and look down. That's right, look down at yo' feet. Where are you and where do you want to go? Nobody's gonna tell you where to go, girl. Even the walls ain't got nothing to stop you! You do what you want. For real. You got all the time in the world. If you really want to find where you belong, you'll definitely run into it some day."

They paused. She realized that they had made it to the cliffs where so many had lost their lives six months ago, and were hovering stationary together.

“You may be right,” Lili smiled, staring out over Sirensong Sea, “I have freedom now, but no direction. Let us hope time will be my compass.”

[Lizica]

This was one of her best sandcastle mazes yet. While there was no longer snow and ice for reinforcement, the walls were of a staggering height, with tree branches and saplings used as a base and as support. She had dug a marvelously hidden pitfall in one of the corridors, and pulleys all along the walls were armed with buckets of sand, shells, seaweed, and miscellaneous beach debris.

She was quite pleased with her latest overnight creation, all things considered.

Piper Boudreaux patted down a last sand wall bulge and suddenly paused. She had heard a noise. Her target was approaching the sand maze.

Swiftly, Piper gathered up Snipe Hunt, her shovel, her coffee Thermos, and her last bucket of water and sand mortar, before pole vaulting over the wall and perching herself on a thin platform on the other side--for stealth, discreet viewing over the wall, and optimal gloating, of course.

Behind her along the outer corridor, Piper heard a scuttling and an approaching urgent clicking. Whirling around irritably, she glowered down at the giant ghost crab, who had, over the course of the long night, already stolen her memory card and all seven of her backups. "SHHHHHHH!" Piper hissed. "Not now, do you want to get us killed?"

Surprisingly, Webster complied and fell silent as he, too, listened to Piper's target on the other side of the wall.

And Professor Bardsley leisurely opened the front door of his house--unknowingly triggering a pulley. In rapid response, a heavy bucket of wet sand suddenly launched smack into his smug face, whacking his pretentious little glasses clean off his nose with an exceptionally satisfying crunch. Piper grinned.

"Good morning, Professor!" Piper called brightly from her safety perch. "It's a lovely day today, not a cloud in the sky. I recommend wearing a dunce cap and some shades while keeping an eye out for the pitfalls in aisle three."

Bardsley responded by letting loose a volatile stream of curses as he staggered to the ground to retrieve his glasses.

Behind her in the maze corridor, Webster was making urgent clicking sounds again.

"WHAT," Piper demanded, turning.

He pointed nonchalantly at Piper's safety platform--which was (only NOW evidently) clearly under far too much pressure for the tree branch she had used as the base. The platform then promptly snapped beneath her weight and the added weight of her building supplies, and Piper whacked her chin on the top of her sand wall on her way down as it crumbled.

Webster clacked his claws and shook his eyestalks.

"Thanks," Piper said dryly, her face to Bardsley's lawn. "Thanks for the warning."

Webster gave a sprightly, clipped clap.

Piper raised her head. Through the sand wall, she could now hear Bardsley yelling something. Maybe he was swearing murderous intent to Piper. Maybe he was calling for his creepy chasm banshee girlfriend. But honestly, they had no reason to be upset this time--Piper hadn't even broken into the house. All she'd done was build a giant sandcastle maze clear around Bardsley's house in every direction, riddled it with traps, and attached the doorknob to a pulley. And anyway, breaking into Bardsley's house wasn't a great idea to begin with. She'd learned after "Juan's" party that planting booby traps for him everywhere in a house filled with drunken mafiosos got to be a bit hectic after a while.

But either way--it was likely time to skedaddle before either of those stuck-up scholars could catch her. Piper hauled herself to her feet, grabbed her supplies, and (wobblingly) pole vaulted over the remaining walls. Aha! Maybe she could even make it to her shop to get another memory card before Webster got too far? He was following her out of the maze now. Maybe she could still make it!

Piper bolted past Town Hall, seizing a brief opportunity to rip down more photos of Webster and crumple them up along the way. Honestly. It was bad enough that everyone and their ghost were now taking Webster photos except Piper--but why did they all have to be so BAD?

They weren't good photos--they were never good photos--okay, sometimes they were funny--but they were always awful photos--what did people think they were doing--why didn't ghosts ruin their photography, too--didn't anyone have any artistic sense--...and they were usually only print offs! Hideous images printed on cheap computer paper with cartridges running out of ink. They were horrendously composed and horrendously taken, every single one--grainy photos of a family applauding Webster on the beach, Piper running towards them in the background; photos of Webster and a malamute running in circles in the square; photos of the assistant mayor's ghost riding Webster rodeo-style down Main Street while the selfie frame was crooked; photos of Pratchett, his intern, and Webster eating ice cream in the studio; photos of Webster chilling with animals at the pet shop with poor indoor lighting; photos of Webster wearing a ridiculously wide assortment of wigs and hats at Stop. Glamour Time!; photos of Webster raucously bursting into teahouse meetings to steal Snipe Hunt; photos of Travis in a revolting crab suit dancing the Charleston with Webster while Piper (and various other townspeople) covered their eyes; and finally, an eternally-recurring photograph of Snipe Hunt's display screen showing Webster's own Webster photo. (That last particularly low-quality photo had been photocopied into oblivion and pasted to Town Hall countless times. Webster must have conspired with someone in town and broken into her house for that one. Or, well. "Broken in" was probably the wrong phrase here, because that stupid crab STILL had all of Piper's keys and STILL refused to give them back, GRRRRRAAAGGHH WEBSTERRRR.)

Leaving a trail of crumpled papers behind her, Piper finally made it to Prints in the Sand and flung open the door. Dumping her sandcastle supplies onto the floor, she flew into the back room, where she quickly outfitted Snipe Hunt with a new clean memory card (quick, before Webster was gone)--and now, properly armed, she spun back through the shop, breathing hard. But she nearly bumped into someone on her way back outside, dangit, why now--

"Uh--are you the owner? Can I buy some disposable cameras?"

In the time that it took Piper to grimace, glance back at the tourist in her shop, and then shove her head out the door, Webster was already nowhere in sight--lost again.

Grumbling sadly, a deflated Piper pulled herself back into the shop and slowly rang up the tourist's purchases. As she did so, the tourist obliviously adjusted his oversize bronze sunglasses and looked at the display cases on the shop wall.

"Hey--is that a camera there? What happened to it?" he asked curiously.

"That's Old Green," Piper explained with a sigh, not even needing to look up. "It was impaled when my close-up shot of Webster got too close."

"What about this one?"

"That's Ahab. Crunched to dust when I erroneously thought I could rush Webster and take a selfie."

"And this?"

"That's Titania. Crushed when I built a sandcastle maze to trap Webster and the whole thing collapsed."

"This one?"

"That's Fillmore. Squashed in a pitfall trap."

"This one, too?"

"That's Merriam. Roundhouse kicked by three pairs of legs into a rock."

"And this?"

"That's Snapping Turtle. Sliced in two when I tried to dig into Webster's burrow."

"And this old one?"

"That's Respite. Partially melted in an underwater...incident."

The tourist finally took a breath to examine the wall of destroyed cameras as a whole. Finally, he approached the counter and paid. As Piper shook the sand from her hair and handed him his bag of merchandise, he pointed at the camera around her neck.

"What about that one?" he asked.

"This is Snipe Hunt," Piper said.

A pause.

"And?" the tourist prompted.

"And what?"

"Has anything interesting happened to it?"

Piper abruptly halted as she dusted off the sand, and at first she looked at the tourist as though he'd gone insane. Then her face swiftly phased through a series of clouded, bizarre expressions, from confusion to anger to dismay to horror to fear to anguish to bemusement. Finally--Piper snorted.

And then--she laughed. It was a loud, ringing laugh, and her camera's bells brightly joined in.

"Almost everything interesting happened with Snipe Hunt," she said.

As the tourist scratched his head over this statement, someone outside the shop suddenly banged upon the window. Piper peered around the tourist--

Webster was outside in the sunlight. He waved cheerily at her and at the tourist. And then in his claws he innocently held up Piper's keychain and fanned out the eight memory cards he had stolen from her last night--and he then proceeded to juggle them, all while doing a snappily choreographed skipping dance in front of Prints in the Sand.

"EXCUSE M--GAH!"

Piper tripped over herself and lunged out the door, barely catching the door handle before throwing herself outside.

"WEBSTERRRRRR!" she screamed, leaving the bewildered tourist behind in her dust. Webster was already scuttling off at a breakneck pace down the street, his legs on the pavement making a joyous, melodious clacking as he continued his juggling act. The two of them would probably do three or four circuits around the entirety of Aifam Cove as Piper breathlessly chased Webster down, passing townsperson, mafioso, and tourist alike. She didn't really have a plan this time. Her most carefully planned schemes always seemed to backfire on her, anyway.

But maybe that was alright. Someday--someday!--Piper Boudreaux would surely snap the greatest Webster photo ever taken. And, even if she didn't, Piper w--....

"--WAIT! NO. DON'T YOU DARE LOCK ME OUT OF MY HOUSE! WEBSTER!! WEBSTER, GET BACK HERE!"

SPOILER: Click to show

((With thanks to PFA for the Bardsley parts of this post!))

Piper seems to be doing a little better, thanks to her taking up a second hobby: tormenting Bardsley. After finishing up a sandcastle maze in his yard, Piper tears down some *fantastic* photos at Town Hall and then returns to her shop for a memory card. She explains the fate of each of her cameras to a curious tourist--and then she runs off to do battle with Webster, once more.

((Thank you for such an awesome game, guys! I had a blast playing, reading, and writing, and I laughed and nearly cried at your posts more times than I care to count.))

[Rosalie Dylas (Maddy)]

Once upon a time there was a teenager who escaped from an island. He was alone. He was haunted.

Once upon a time he moved in with his cousin. They helped him as much as they could. He kept distant. He cut himself off from the world. But his cousin was the exception. Still, he felt alone.

Once upon a time the mafia moved in. And he died. He had always expected to die, that was what he deserved right? Then he could see. He was blind then he could see. And it was terrifying. The world was so big, so so big. He'd never really got used to seeing things. He still relied on sound. Sound was always how he interacted with the world, even when he could see.

Once upon a time, things got better.

For one, being dead meant you didn't have to go to school EVER AGAIN. School was the absolute worst. He never learned anything other than he hated school. School at Aifam Cove had been slightly better because at least he had one friend, but that friend was Ris and they'd often get in trouble so it wasn't that much better. Now that he was dead he never had to go to school, and Dakota couldn't threaten to burn down the house if he didn't go.

Another was he got Cheryl Roxanne Lewis LIVE. He didn't have to listen to her on T.V anymore, he got to listen to her LIVE AND IN PERSON. Her voice was even better in person. Especially when she was talking to him. Or when she said his name. His name in her perfect voice was the best thing, and usually his name sounded gross and bland, but nothing could sound gross and bland in Cheryl's voice.

The mafia ruled the town but it didn't seem all bad. Christopher had a bad habit of trying to befriend the mafia and assure them they weren't bad people. He didn't want them to feel bad. No one at the resistance seemed to think that was a good idea so he mostly stayed outside unless someone went out with him. He didn't think he was worth all the fuss but he didn't want to argue, if that made people happy then he was happy.

Despite talking about killing people, Christopher liked Lucille. She was nice and her voice was warm yet felt solid. Maybe if Christopher asked super nicely she wouldn't kill anyone.

Christopher would often to try and befriend the mafia. They couldn't all be bad right? There had to be something more to them. He tended to stay away from Piper as he didn't want to mess up her camera (she seemed to forget who he was every time they would meet anyway - not that he blamed her, he wasn't very memorable). He also steered clear of Dr. Pallada, she was terrifying. But she knew lots of things and was just trying to teach everyone about them, and Professor Bardsley liked her, so she couldn't be ALL bad. She was just scary. Professor Bardsley was a teacher though, teachers can't be THAT bad, despite school being awful, its not the teacher fault, and Dr. Pallada liked him, so he couldn't be so bad. Christopher would also try to go see Hermia Smith down in the basement of the Radio Station. It must get lonely down there. Travis still called him Markus but Christopher assumed Travis would probably never learn his real name so he kind of just gave up on that front. His morning stories were....odd but Christopher listened to them to be polite.

He slowly began to forgive his mother Alma. There was only one person that he should hate. He wanted to save all his hate for her. Alma wasn't as bad as her, she'd never do the things that she did. Maybe Alma had a good reason. She just wanted to protect her family. She wasn't a bad person, she couldn't be a bad person. He had to believe that.

Everyone at the TV Station was nice. He made sure to be extra careful not to break anything so Pratchett wouldn't get mad. Albert never talked but maybe he just didn't have much to say. Ris was still Ris. He had to use Ris to communicate with Coena since he couldn't use a phone nor knew how to. It'd mostly just be, "Ris text Coena I said hi." Christopher wasn't very much help to the resistance. He was more like a team mascot than anything else. He did the best he could, but he just wanted peace.

Christopher stayed with Cheryl. He still fell asleep sometimes. It wasn't something he had to do per say, but it would happen. He still had nightmares. Sometimes Dakota would be there, sometimes he didn't need Dakota. He was getting better. They'd never really go away, but they were less frequent, and less intense. Christopher understood barriers. Cheryl wouldn't see him all the time but Christopher had lived his whole life not being able to see. As long as he could hear her, then it didn't matter. That was all he needed.

Dakota was still there for him, just like they'd always been, just like they'd always be. Dakota had helped him far more than either of them could ever really know. He would never be alone as long as he had Dakota.

He never told anyone. He never brought up knowing Thomas Everington again. He made special care not to say her name. There were things that just shouldn't be talked about. That belonged far in the ocean, not here. It was in the past and it was going to stay there. Maybe someday he could forget. He wouldn't forget their names though or their voices. Someone had to remember them.

Christopher Dylans smiled. He really smiled. And he laughed, really laughed. He hadn't done that in forever. He was happy. Not pretend not happy. Really happy.

Once upon a time Christopher Dylans was left alone on an island. He was so alone. He'd been alone all his life, and for once he hadn't been, but she left too. Everyone left. He was alone.

Once upon a time in a sea side town a blind boy was murdered in a coat closet during a funeral.

Once upon a time he wasn't alone anymore. He never had to be alone again. He wasn't afraid of dying anymore, he wasn't living his life waiting to die. He was surrounded by people who sincerely cared about him.

The town was in the grip of the Mafia, but it wasn't all bad. Everything would be ok. No one else would die (for real this time), and he would never be alone ever again.

And they lived happily ever after.

The End.

[Lizzie]

Dakota wanted to feel the sun.

It had been a long six months since their death. A long, long six months. They had gotten pretty used to being, y’know, dead. It was actually kind of enjoyable. But Dakota really missed the sun. They would even deal with sunburn if they could feel its rays on real skin for just one measly minute.

A lot of things had happened since their death. Winter ended, spring came. Spring ended, summer came. Time went on. Dakota’s house was sold to a nice old couple who understood their… problem. They learned new things, especially about their new ghostly existence. They took a trip, to the gorgeous city of Stalton. They seemed to blend in, and only some people spotted them. Dakota couldn’t help but note that it was mostly children, and some teenagers, as if adults had lost the spark in them that made them believe. It was as if Dakota was akin to the ringing of a bell. Except they were a ghost.

Dakota watched the tourists, laughing as a little boy turned to stare. His mom scolded him as he stopped on the sidewalk, looking at them. Dakota raised a hand in a wave in reply, and the shocked child ran off with his mother. This got a small smile from Dakota. A memory of a very young girl, a five year old Alicia Allen, doing the exact same thing. The young, dark haired girl had stared at a translucent… person. Then, she ran to catch her mom, curly black pigtails bouncing. Shame mom doesn’t like me anymore, Dakota sighed, running a finger through their frizzy pink hair, or Daddy, either. At least I have Topher… Their thoughts trailed off.

Sighing, the punk haired ghost floated off into another direction, bored of watching tourists on the sidewalk. There was not much they could do that still interested them. Couldn’t dye their hair other colors, couldn’t go home to sleep, couldn’t do anything. Could barely keep in touch with their former friends. Couldn’t even change their clothes.

They also hadn’t seen Winston in ages, since that lightsaber incident even. Dakota floated by his house sometimes, waiting to see if he would come out, or if new people would move in. Mailbox was never checked, light was always on. No new people, no Winston. They had considered, at one point, going in to see if he was inside. They quickly thought better of it, invading privacy was not one of Dakota’s favorite things to do.

Dakota floated down the streets, watching as tourists and townspeople alike flitted in and out of shops.

Sighing slightly, Dakota floated off to their old house. It was owned by a lovely old couple now. They weren’t afraid of the Mafia, being “too old” to care, and they were seemingly fearless. It was funny, of course, to watch as they tried to decipher their chicken scratch constable notes. Large charts had adorned their walls of their bedroom, a profile of all of the townspeople they thought might have had a hand in it. Khiran, Liliana, Travis, Kylie, Winston, Lucille, and Nathan… They thought they had killed. Most were proven guilty, with the exception of Travis and Nathan. However… Dakota thought back to their fatal stabbing at the hands of none other than an innocent, Nathan, with Travis accompanying him in the back. They had realized now that nothing was as it had really seemed to them then. They had been blinded by grief at the death of their cousin that they hadn’t protected themself, or the rest of the town…
But that was all behind them, Dakota reasoned, as they gazed up and down the street. Though they hadn’t exactly saved the town, had they really failed it? They weren’t sure.

The steady stream of traffic drove by, but one car in particular caught Dakota’s eye, and they began to follow it down the street. It was blaring music, the girl in the driver’s seat obviously having the time of her life singing along. As the song changed, they picked up the familiar beginning chords of a VERY familiar song.

IIII HOPPED OFF THE PLANE AT LAX WITH A DREAM AND MY CARDIGAN!

Dakota smiled lightly, memories flooding their brain of a different time, a time before the Mafia deaths. They realized that everything was returning to as normal as it could be. Christopher and Dakota still saw each other frequently, they had bonded with a group of townspeople, alive and dead, and they were finally out of that horrible job at the morgue that had ruined their day all those months ago.

Dakota was happy and the sun was shining, and they couldn’t ask for anything more.