Mafia V - Return of the Narrator

[Joosbawx]

The Maltese Falcon Returns (a.k.a. Mafia V)

This game is mostly born out of Joosbawx' love of Film Noir, hard-boiled detective stories, and the genre films and novels like The Maltese Falcon exemplify. The rules are close to Classic Werewolf, but I've decided to put in a bit of a twist, so please familiarize yourself with the following and come back as often as you need for reference sake.The object of the game, beyond simple survival, is to obtain the Maltese Falcon for yourself or benefit of your faction. Therefore, there are multiple ways to win the game, depending upon which faction the player belongs.


Gameplay Notes
------------------
Since the individual object of the game is to obtain the Maltese Falcon, this means that one Citizen cannot implicitly trust another Citizen as s/he may have an ulterior motive in targeting another individual with a lynching vote. At the beginning of the game the Maltese Falcon is randomly given to one player. If and when that player is killed, the Maltese Falcon moves to the individual or group responsible for that players death.

Example 1: 'Player A', a Citizen, has the Maltese Falcon. S/he is killed by the Shadow Agents or Templar Knights during the night. The Maltese Falcon is then randomly assigned to one of the members of the faction responsible for that death. There will usually be some evidence left behind that would indicate that the deceased was in possession of the Maltese Falcon at time of their demise.
Example 2: 'Player A', belonging to any faction, has the Maltese Falcon. S/he is voted against and lynched by 'popular vote'. At time of death, the Maltese Falcon will be obtained by the player that started the bandwagon against 'Player A'.Day game play consists of finding out who was killed, the District Attorney protecting someone from lynching, and finger pointing by the general population for a 'lynching'.

Night game play consists of the District Attorney protecting someone from death, kills by both the Templar Knights and the Shadow Agents, scries or recruitment attempts by the Templar Knights and the Shadow Agents, the scry or kill by The Shadow, the Mole using their ability to hide the true role of one player, the Private "Eye" and the Patsy.

Anytime the person holding the Maltese Falcon is killed the Maltese Falcon is transferred to the person or group responsible for their death. Killing the player holding the Maltese Falcon is the only way to transfer ownership.

Recruitment - When one of the two factions with recruiting ability attempts to recruit a player, that player is sent a PM from the narrator and given the choice to join or refuse the organizations offer. If the player accepts the offer they join the Knights Templar or Shadow Agents as a 'Neonate/Recruit' for the remainder of the game. A player may only be recruited once per game. If a player refuses a recruitment offer by either faction they can still accept an offer made at a later date; however, the faction attempting the recruitment loses the ability to scry that night in lieu of their recruitment attempt, just as if they had recruited successfully.
Characters Exempt from Recruitment: The Shadow, The Fan Boy, any member of Templar Knights, any member of Shadow Agents, the Private "Eye", and The Patsy. If one of these characters is approached for recruitment the faction making the attempt will simply be informed the player refused, and the player will be informed they were approached with a recruitment offer.


Knights Templar
The "Cult" returns, this time wearing the vestments of the Knights Templar. The Holy Order of Knights...or Un-Holy, depending on whom you believe...are not extinct. Their goal is to increase their numbers, and, most importantly, recover the gift they intended for the King of Spain before it disappears again...The Maltese Falcon. They are led and recruited bythe Templar Marshall who is identified (at death) by the signet ring s/he wears. Templar Knights carry nothing to betray their faction when killed. Templar Neonates, or those recruited during the course of the game by Templars, are not as indoctrinated as the older members and may reveal the name of one other Templar when threatened with death...so be careful whom you recruit. The Knights are aided in their quest by the Templar Oracle who has the ability (75% chance) to divine the role of anyone else; however, due to the extensive indoctrination rituals, the Oracle cannot scry on any night the Knights indoctrinate a Neonate.The tenets of the Order of the Knights Templar strictly prohibit anyone from intentionally revealing their membership upon penalty of death.
Winning the game: The Knight Templar win if they successfully eliminate the entire Shadow Agency and obtain the Maltese Falcon, or if their numbers equal the number of non-Templar Knights players.
Templar Marshall - "Master/Alpha Mason". Gives Templars ability to recruit Neonates. Scries as: Templar - Evil.
Templar Oracle - "Mason Seer". Able to scry and discern role of anyone each night, except on night when Templar Knights recruit Neonate. Can see if target currently holds Maltese Falcon. Scries as: Oracle - Evil.

Templar Knight - "Mason". Scries as: Templar - Evil.
Templar Neonate - "Mason Recruit". May reveal name of one other Templar if put to death. Scries as: Templar - Evil.




Shadow Agents
This extensive network of Agents hold allegiance to no one but themselves and their leader, known only as The Fat Man. Each member of the Shadow Agents is hand-picked by The Fat Man, who has the ability to bring in Shadow Recruits; however, like the Templar Neonates, they are not as seasoned as their Agent counterparts and may fold under pressure if threatened with death. The Brain works hand-in-hand with The Fat Man and has the ability (75% chance) to perceive the role of anyone else; however, due to the extensive background checks that must be performed on any Recruit, The Brain cannot scry on any night the Shadow Agents recruit. All Shadow Agents are under strict orders to eliminate any member that intentionally reveals their true allegiance to anyone outside the organization, upon penalty of death.

Winning the Game: The Shadow Agents win if they successfully eliminate the entire Order of the Knights Templar and obtain the Maltese Falcon, or if their numbers equal the number of non-Shadow Agent players.
The Fat Man - "Mafia Don/Alpha". Gives Shadow Agents ability to obtain new Recruits. Scries as: Agent - Evil.
The Brain - "Mafia Seer". Able to scry and discern role of anyone each night, except on night when Agents recruit. Can see if target currently holds the Maltese Falcon. Scries as: The Brain - Evil.
Shadow Agent - "Mafia". Scries as: Agent - Evil.
Shadow Recruit - "Mafia Recruit". May reveal name of one other Agent if put to death. Scries as: Agent - Evil.



The CitizensThese are the everyday members of society. They usually play by the rules and follow the law; however, that isn't to say that when an opportunity comes along to get a leg up they wouldn't take advantage. The goal of the Citizenry is to get rid of the Shadow Agents and Knights Templar...if, you know, you actually believe in that sort of myth and legend. The Citizens are the pool of potential members the Shadow Agents and Knights Templar may recruit...unless, of course, the Templars or Agents accidentally try to recruit each other. The citizens are really in the game for themselves to survive, and score the Maltese Falcon for themselves if possible, or align themselves with an underground faction if they are approached and choose to join.

Winning the Game: The Citizens win if they successfully eliminate both the Knights Templar and the Shadow Agency. Additionally, a citizen can score a personal win (and a cool signature award!!!) if survive holding the Maltese Falcon at the end of the game.
The Private "Eye" - "Seer". Has completely accurate ability to discern the role of anyone in the game. Scries as: Private "Eye" - Good. Cannot be recruited.
The Patsy - "Fool". Has 25% chance of accurately discerning the role of anyone in the game. Scries as: Private "Eye" - Good. Cannot be recruited.
District Attorney - "Baner". Has ability to us her/his influence to protect any player each day and night from lynching or attack. This role has to send in a PM for Joosbawx for each game day and game night. This role can be recruited by the Templars or Agents. Scries as: District Attorney - Good/Evil (if recruited successfully).
The Mole - "Illusionist/Witch". Has the ability to alter the perceived role of any player when investigated by the Oracle, The Brian, The Patsy, or the Private "Eye". If target is scried, the role defined by The Mole will be the role perceived. Scries as: The Mole - Good/Evil (if recruited successfully).
Citizen - "Villager". Scries as: Citizen - Good.
Sam Spade & Effie - "The Lovers". The Lovers play together and win if they survive the game. If either lover is lynched or attacked, the other Lover is killed also, regardless of faction membership. Lovers are recruited independently, but still remain Lovers. Scries as: Lover - Good.


The ShadowWho knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows. This role is special, and stands for Truth, Justice, and the Citizen Way. In this character's eyes anyone can be corrupted...except The Shadow. Therefore, nobody is to be trusted...except The Shadow. Nobody can bring the wrongdoers to justice...except The Shadow. This character acts outside the law in order to destroy all Evil. As a result, he is wanted by both sides of the law and cannot reveal his identity under pain of death to anyone. This character cannot be recruited. The Shadow has three special abilities, and may choose to use either one on any night s/he chooses.

Six times during the game The Shadow may use her/his super-sleuth ability with 100% accuracy to determine any player's alignment...Good or Evil. Secondly, The Shadow has six bullets with which to dispense Justice to those s/he deems as Evil. Thirdly, The Shadow has the ability to protect someone from from attack during the night...much the same as the District Attorney. The Shadow may choose to investigate, kill, protect, or do nothing, and must send PM to Joosbawx each game night.

Alternatively, The Fan Boy believe s/he is The Shadow and has all the same abilities, but simply isn't and doesn't. The Fan Boy acts as though s/he is The Shadow, but, due to the lack of super-sleuth ability and training of any (real) kind, The Fan Boy has only a nominal chance of doing any real good at all...except for helping to hide the real Shadow, perhaps. Due to the obsessive nature of this character, s/he, when scried, shows as The Shadow, also.

Winning the Game: The Shadow wins if s/he survives the game and both the Templar Knights and Shadow Agency are eliminated.
The Shadow - "?????". Scries as: The Shadow.
FanBoy - "anti-?????". Scries as: The Shadow.



Current List of Players (32)
- Updated: Tuesday, August 26th -

Alarra
Almighty Salmon
Andre Fairchilde
Atreyu, the Masked Llama
Castaras
CurlyKitGirl
Crystall Myr
Eldritch Knight
evnafets
Helgraf
HyramGraf
janusnori
Jontom Xire
Kahldan
Korias
Krursk
Malmagor Andrigal
North
pingcode20
Pwenet
radikalskippy
Raiser B1ade
Raldor
S.Hadow
Space is Curved
Supagoof
Timberwolf
Tormsskull
Traveling Angel
Vonriel
whitehelm
Zar Peter


Day/Night One

Fleeing Coward, a Citizen, was lynched.

[Joosbawx]

The Falcon Returns

The pressing flesh of the masses on the stain station platform were suffocating and infuriating...but you can't blame them for not understanding. I gathered quite a few dirty looks as I lowered my shoulder and made like Knute Rockne through the tangle of hellos and goodbyes, uttering half-hearted sorries along the way, until I'd made it to the stairs. Moving down them, I hoped the height advantage would allow me to spot my prey again...pick up the trail I could almost smell.

THERE! Just heading out the turnstiles! Excited, I charged through the crowd, forgoing the usual obligatory, if insincere, apologies. No time...too close...eyes on the prize. Hefting the attache slung over my shoulder, I reassured myself the cargo was safe and headed for the exits intent on catching up before I couldn't tell which way he went once he hit the street. Tunnel vision...so close now. All I had eyes for was the straw-colored fedora and overcoat with a hint of the burgundy cravat peeking at the back of his collar. Closing the distance, I tried my best to be subtle, focusing on the target, not letting my attention waver. To lose him here and now would be unbearable.

Caught at the corner, the straw fedora waited for traffic and I made up several yards. When he darted out into a break in the lighter night traffic, I was able to use the same gap between the impatient taxis and bulbous sedans to cross East 42nd with him toward another knot of commuters and tourists...and I thought I should have been able to catch up to him at the next street corner easily. Maybe even without being seen. The crowd crashed into us, and I felt like I was swimming upstream. Seemed we were the only two heading against the flow, which made it easier to follow him, too. I smiled to myself as I continued to close the gap..soon..closer...just about there.

I smelled it before I realized what I'd heard. Acrid, sharp, and pungent...and I slowed down glancing around me to see where it was coming from. But it was just a whiff of sulfur and smoke that I would have disregarded if it wasn't for that sound I had to replay in my head to convince myself I'd actually heard it...the thick, dull spwat of a silenced small caliber gunshot. Blinking, I turned a full circle, noting that my quarry had stopped and turned to face me. The self-satisfied smile on his face was the last thing I saw clearly as a spreading warmth-quickly-turning-to-fire spread from the left side of my trunk. The crowd was thinning and a little puff of smoke curled from a fresh hole of the pocket of that straw overcoat I'd been following and I hit the pavement hard, the attache thunk-ing heavily on the sidewalk beside me. I clutched my chest with one hand and tried in vain to grasp at the leather bag with the other as a vaguely familiar shape loomed over me with a leering grin...wait...there was something I was supposed to be doing...something important...I don't have time for this right now. I reached out a hand toward a shape, hoping ti'd help me back onto my feet, but the fire in my chest flared and I opened my mouth to cry out against the pain...but it was muffled my a strong hand as the strap to my bag was cut with a sharp jerk against my shoulder, sending a new wave of fire through my chest...though, as tired as I'd suddenly become, it was difficult to concentrate on anything. Whatever it was I was supposed to be doing could wait. I'd just close my eyes for a few minutes and get out at the next stop to get some air.

Pressing my cheek against the cool dampness I closed my eyes and took a deep breath that caught in my chest until I coughed, a copper taste filling my mouth and nostrils. Shouts and the sounds of a scuffle interrupted my thoughts for just a moment before I realized I was too tired to care. I'd just close my eyes for a minute and get back to whatever it was I was doing in a minute. Just close myself for a minute...that's all...


Day One Begins.

Day One Ends: Friday, August 24 @ 9pm Central (US)
Please remember to post your votes in RED, thanks.

[Korias]

Korias is already awake as you see him. Popping a couple dozen mango Altoids into his mouth, which is accompanied by a silent grimace, He exits the small grungy apartment and heads to the streets. Wearing a grey hoodie and keeping to the shadows, you can no longer tell whether the grimace on his face is from a dozen or so half eaten Altoids or his face has frozen like that. He steps out of reality for a moment, before walking up towards the 4th wall.
I realized that my informant had never come by the time I got there. I could tell. No man that smoked that many cigarettes was going to walk away without leaving a few of the damn things half smouldering in the ground. Bending down to the ground, examining it. Nothing at all. Not a single trace that he might have been here. He sighed. This was going to be too long. Opening up a new can of Altoids, he throws one to a passing pigeon, before walking away.

The Falcon. What was it? What could it be? Walking back to the main streets, he pondered the object. And what the hell does Maltese mean, anyway?

[Khaldan]

Joosbawx, you win the internet. That was awesome.

Khaldan, the small, white cat is seen in the streets. Once Korias goes by Khaldan, it seems like he doesn't like Korias, and hisses.

((*point at korias*))

[Helgraf]

It was a steaming miserable excuse of an afternoon. The sun beat down on everything below, marking the desperate and the guilty with red hot fingernails, scratching faces, arms and necks with its toxic jezebel red. The heat slid around your body like a cocoon, layer on layer of misery that squeezed out watery sweat and the vapours of the prior night's boozing. I'd need to change shirts before I headed out for the evening. Maybe two fingers of scotch too, for fortification in the face of adversity.

As I walked down the street, I noticed the blueshirts had cordoned off a street corner and were making busy shooing away the gawkers. Now I'm what you might call an imposing gentleman - or as the less witty have had occasion to remark, a knuckle-dragging ham on legs. This has certain advantages in a city like this; it doesn't make me bulletproof, but it does tend to discourage ... less focused opportunists. I use this size to lumber over toward the disturbance, see who's running the show. Couple of beat officers, with the look that says they've seen it all before - perhaps a few too many times. A rookie; he's keeping it under control, but I can see it in his eyes - that rooted need for justice that only the newest members of the force keep for long. And Sergeant O'Larahmagh. Me and the Sergeant go way back, old drinking buddies, but I've been out of town for a couple of years now. He's the first one to pick me out, of course - you don't put twelve years into the force in this town and not know how to pick out the real trouble from the poseurs and riff-raff. We talk for a bit, he gives me a little, but not a lot - it seems the brass are keen on keeping this one under wraps for a bit, though they won't say why. I promise to take him out for drinks soon. He asks - cautiously - about the dame, and I can't help but stiffen a little. I just shake my head and look at the corpse a moment. O'Larahmagh understands - or at least he's good enough not to ask any more questions about it.

I turn to go, and I hear the Rookie whispering something to the Sergeant. A very short argument in tones I can barely make out gets underway. It ends as these things inevitably do as O'Larahmagh pulls rank on the rookie. I continue on my way, heading towards the Island. There were only two reasons to go to the Island - one was for companionship, the sort of desperate thing that most folks on the lower rungs clung to because it gave them the illusion that somebody cared, someone felt they meant something, even if you had to chip in a sawbuck for it.

The other was Lucky's. Lucky's is the sort of place you find in every major city and no small number of littler ones. To call it a bar is a great misservice, though whether to Lucky's or the concept of a bar is debatable. Needless to say, it's a place where you can get a drink, a smoke, some anonymity, and just let life pass you by for a while while you crawl into a smaller world, just as dark and grimy, but with different pictures. But it was a familiar world, and in the insanity of a big city like this, a lot of people were willing to pay the small amount of money they had to spare for a little familiarity they didn't have to share.

The salt-sting of the ocean breeze lit the jezebel red streaks left behind by the lashing fingers of the uncaring sun. The breeze was cool at least, and for a moment even pleasant, until the reek of dead fish hit ... and then it was a more hurrid motion, down the three steps and through the thick salt-crushed wooden door. Inside, the smell of strong liquor, stale smoke and a more quiet desperation overtook the rot from without, and I knew that I'd found someplace, that although not home, would certainly do for the next several hours.

[Joosbawx]

(Man, Helgraf, you are half the reason I enjoy this particular game so much. Bravo!)

[Jontom Xire]

I was sitting in the corner of one of those snug nooks in Lucky's, nursing a drink I could barely afford, the need to save money for food desperately battling the need for alcohol and gradually losing. The urge to simply drink the whole thing in one shot and order another was almost stronger than I could bear, driven by a need to forget the world, forget my miserable existance, and hopefully die of alcohol poisoning, allowing me to leave this life behind in the best way I knew how. What little hope I had left to me was solely focussed on the possibility of someone I knew coming in, someone I could blag a drink from. Preferably a big one. The smell of the alcohol evaporating from the glass in front of me was caving in my self control when I was mercifully distracted by the door opening.

I knew him, but not in the drink-blagging sense. I knew him more in the way the prey knows how to avoid the predator. A big man with big fists and not averse to using them. A man to avoid. A man to avoid unless you were out of cash and desperate for a drink and he was looking for information and was prepared to pay for it. I half hoped, and half dreaded, that he might see me, might make his way over. I started racking my brains for all the gossip I had heard or over-heard, anything at all that might interest him, anything that might earn me just one more drink.

I admit it. I was down and I was out. The city had been too quiet for too long. How can you make a living trading information, a bit of blackmail and suchlike, when there's nothing much going down. Or maybe I had just lost my touch. Maybe I had lost my access, sold other's trust too many times, not that I ever let them know it. I have my honour, but I also have a stomach that needs filling, and even greater than that, a need for alcohol to dull the pain of life's existance. I was never much good for much, so had made my way keeping my ears and mind open. I'd picked up a tit bit of information here, a bit there. People had found me to be the guy who knew, the guy who held everyone's secrets. And they had come to me for that information. Often with clubs and knives and fists, but always with money. Of course that had been a few years ago now. In my heydey when I had felt that the world was my oyster and everyone respected me. Now I knew better. They had never respected me, and now I didn't even have the information any more. People still came to me from time to time, but more out of habit than because they expected much. I needed a lead. I needed something to sell. I needed something to happen. I needed another drink.


(( Helgraf, the big guy just come in is supposed to be you, but if you don't want to, that's cool. ))

[Tormsskull]

http://i124.photobucket.com/albums/p15/Tormsskull/Private_Investigator.gif
(avatar by kpenguin)

I was standing at the corner of Main and 3rd, watching the passer-bys and wondering how I had ended up here. A crooked cop, the judge had called me, sentencing me to five years in the big house. And prison changes a man, and never for the better. I adjusted my hat as I kept my eyes focused on the black sedan, a gun kept inside my trench coat and a polaroid camera in the other.

If the senator would just raise his face, let me capture his misdeeds in a picture, his election hopes dwindle and so would my debts. So many people to pay back, but money is what it takes to survive, and I wasn't about to kicked to the curb by an unforgiving world.

And there it was, the perfect opportunity. As I raised the camera to snap the picture a body stood right in my way. Dropping the camera to my side I glared at the man in front of me, my left arm making its way inside my jacket for the revolver.

The man stood there, a knowing smile on his face. I hesitated, not out of fear, but more of sensing an opportunity.

"I've got a job for you."

I relaxed myself, pressing my coat down to smooth the wrinkles.

"I'm already on a job, ya see?"

"This job will pay ten times what you'd make for being a photographer, and its coming straight from the top."

I admit it, he piqued my interest, in a way that a low cut dress would pique my interest. So I listened to him, and the plan sounded so crazy that it might just work. I tossed the polaroid camera into the trash and caught the closest taxi.

Seeing my destination I told the cabbie to pull it to a stop. I paid him and stepped out in front of some establishment. Looking up at the sign it read "Lucky's", and I knew I was at the right place. Now it was time to have a look around.

[Timberwolf]

I walked down the grimy streets, rain soaking my red dress as I took in the smells. This mean old city meant everything to me. Life, love and death. A gun barked its staccato cry in the night. Someone over in New Town getting his tonight. Taking a long pull on my cigarette, I flipped a quarter to Marco, the doorman at Sal's Bar and walked on in. Surely someone'd buy me a drink.

[Skippy]

There is a drunk guy at Lucky's. He's just there, sitting on a lonely table at the corner, with a bottle which he has just half emptied. He silently watches all the people coming and going, as he has done since she left him. He dreams of the past, reliving old glories, on exotic countries. He sights and waits, sadly, for something to make him feel alive again, or for his life to end. The cigarette on the tray is almost entirely consumed, and yet he has barely touched it.

"Play it again, Sam" he says. If he's talking to Sam, the pianist, or he's just drunk and dreaming alive, that's something no one knows. He falls asleep on the table.

[CurlyKitGirl]

There are ducks in the pond again this year. They paddle serenely about in the early morning mist. There haven’t been any ducks in the pond for a very long time, but this year they came back.
As delicate wispy tendrils of mist drift peacefully I remember how a handful of years ago the mist swirled and eddied in violent fits as dark shadows fought each other for dominance and retribution. A gang warfare.
Around the pond the grass is etched in crystalline shards of frost. Where I stand the grass has shed its glassy mantle revealing its true emerald heart and icy water soaks into my jeans and trainers.
There was a time; a turbulent time, when the emerald was exchanged for the ruby of blood, slick on the ground and smeared across the waters of the pond. Corrupting everything. The plants thrived on the decay.
I can still recall how the muffled howls of pain fear and pure bloodlust echoed off the shuttered windows as we stood frozen inside, waiting for the sun to rise and banish the fight until the next dawn.
A broken child wanders the streets of this dismal city always returning to this same area; day after day. Sometimes I think it'd be best to put this poor girl out of her misery but in her posture and eyes, always looking downwards strike a chord deep within me.
It seems like I'm looking deep into my own past, when a similar child paced the city in need. What for I cannot say, all I know is that my life changed because of a few coins and a helpful face. Perhaps, just perhaps, this chid could be saved. Grabbing her arm I say "Kid, come with me and I'll see you get a good meal and I'll help you." The child flinches and tries to run but I cannot, will not, let her go. A mere waif like her, she couldn't leave and she looks a few months away from death.
I take her into Luckys'. Sure I'm underage but this kind of place caters to the lonely and those who were forgotten by the machinations that control the city and keep the rich rich. I order two meals, sit the child down and push a bowl of stew towards her. "Eat kid." She wolfs it down so fast I swear she's going to eat the spoon too. I quietly tell her how she's it's going to be from now on. In return she whispers "A man was shot today near East 42nd. He was carrying something big."
I can only look at this poor girl, "What's your name kid?" is all I can say.
"Charlie."
"Well Charlie, people round here know me as Curly. Now keep your lips shut and watch." She nods and looks around earnestly. Eyes too sharp and wary for a kid her age. I mourn her lost childhood, and think back on how mine was stolen from me.

[Atreyu the Masked LLama]

*Watching from an alleyway, I crushed a cigarette beneath my hoof. Nasty habit it was, I'd probably enjoy it, but its so hard to light a cigarette without thumbs that its not worth the trouble. I stared out into the street pondering my past and my future. Who was I? Who was I going to be? We didn't have a llamatar contest for this one, my player was too busy, but it was okay. I could be anyone I wanted, I wasn't limited to one of four or five options. I didn't know who I wanted to be, but I did know who I wanted to point at.

I lowered a hoof from the alleyway and pointed it menacingly at Exachix. We had a history, Exachix and I, a history born of wolf fur and annoying fairies. I wasn't going to let the fact that he wasn't in this cty or this game allow him to escape my justice.

To pass the time I sang a song my mother used to sing to me as a cria.


I Don't Know Which LLama I'll Be by the llama mama

How many choices do I have
And only one to choose
Very hard decision to make
Even though I cannot lose

There are one hundred llamatars
Here in my stable
Ever growing when Ceika is able

By now I've almost picked one
I'll decide tomorrow for sure
Right its down to three that are fun
Don't you wish I had a hamburgler.

[Jontom Xire]

I'm still keeping one eye on the big guy who just entered, and the other anywhere except my drink, which is drawing my attention like an itch you can't scratch, when the door hinges open again, not even half as wide as before. Two shadows slip in, quiet and unobtrusive as only those who survive by not being noticed can do. I'd have bet the drink I was finding it so hard to resist that I was the only one who noticed them arrive. But then that's what I do. It's how I survive, by observing even those who survive by being unobtrusive and non-descript. One of them was a waif barely even there. I swear if she turned side on she'd disappear. They slid through the shadows and the crowd like eels in the sewage stream this city calls a river, and found by chance the booth behind me. I say by chance because after ordering, and receiving stew, I heard a bowl slide across the table and then one of them whisper something. Most people wouldn't have heard it over the noise and hubbub. But then that's what I do. It's how I survive, by hearing the secrets whispered in the quietest of voices in the most private of places.

My ears pricked up like those of a dog who's just scented the butcher's boy. Information. My trade. The stuff that keeps food on the table, a roof over my head, and most importantly, liquor in my mouth. It was the merest scrap of information, and nothing that special, but every little helps. The trick is to gather the scraps and put them together like the most god awful jigsaw ever invented. I felt my hopes rise. Something was happening. My world was starting to revolve again, like a bicycle wheel after a crash, and I was there when it started. See I wasn't all out of information. I already had a few scraps, just nothing I could use. For example I knew someone who might be carrying something. Something valuable, the kind of thing you might mention if you saw him carrying, even if it wasn't that big, but then the waif was small. Normal things look big to someone small. Could be the same guy, could be not, but I had a hunch that felt like a certainty, and I'd have bet the empty glass in front of me that it was the same guy and that now someone else was carrying that thing that guy had looked so long for and had, until he got shot near East 42nd, been carrying. Wait. Something was wrong. Empty glass?

[Madmal]

Today is a gray day indeed.

The air feel heavier than other days,though; not only the usual mix of the smoke coming from confty fireplaces, and those from the cigars of hopeless dreamers, that attempt to ease their drems with the company of a glass of Whisky; or, pity her, some desperate woman with a weak will.

I've stopped dreaming long ago, but my determination to keep afloat is still burning inside me. I'm not ready to quit the game. i think i'll never will.

That's why i'm still at that lousy night job at, all because of the accoursed money. These supposed "gentlemans" may find Charleston "exotic" and "alluring" or any other fancy word that comes to their minds, not caring if that said word doesn't even gets close to what these drugged and numb minds.

My legs are killing me from all these continual shows, this day is in honour of a fat-pig banker, that other day for the mayor...the Sergeant or another cop trying to be "convinced"...I'm done for, at least for this time. That scum Frank can surely keep the show going without me, i've never been the spotlight there, and i'm pretty sure he can get nicer faces at a cheaper cost tonight. i'm pretty sure this city isn't missing a couple for block.

Now, let's keep the coat and hat on, and keep the voice down. Lucky's seems to be the closer place, and i doubt i'll be able to keep this march longer without any rest. Hope the same bartender's there, he's always with some interesting tale of the whereabouts, and i need to take away some frustration.

Still, something tells me this is not going to be a quiet get-away from work...the air still feels heavy, cold...and grim. if there were magpies at this moment, i could even bet my worned-out shoes that they would be squaking nonstop, like some kind of eerie concerto.

[whitehelm]

points at Zar Peter

Zeb's not playing, so now you're at the bottom of the player's list..eventually, that spot will be mine!

(I'm not really an RPer, sorry)

[Zar Peter]

The piano man in Luckys' makes a deep drought on his cigarette, sips his Whiskey and starts to play a tune (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rZ1_M_L_RSI).

The drink always stays on the same place of the piano, when he lifts the glass you can see a big, round stain. And it's never empty. It seems that as soon as it is going to be empty accidentally a waitress comes by or even a guest stands up and refills it. He is not the best singer in town, no he's just quite up above
the average, but the guests don't bother. They know that if he played better, he would play somwhere else.
But there is an other reason why they like him being there: It's his reliability.
In fact he's a living post box. Sometimes somones comes to him, tips him and give him a letter with a written song wish. He takes the money and the letter and plays the song about two hours later. Then another man stands up, tips him or refills his glass and get the letter from the piano man.
He never asks why. He never asks who.
But his customers know that he would find them if they won't pay enough.

[Madmal]

((and when that happens, would you point to yourself?:smallconfused: ))

[CurlyKitGirl]

The two children, almost non-entities in this dismal bar, stop talking when the piano man begins to play. Almost unnoticed Charlie hums along, for a few minutes as animated and happy as a child should be. And Curly, ever more disillusioned by what occurs in the underbelly of life somehow manages to dredge up a few of happier times too, a soft light in her eyes.
But thiis gentle recollection of happier times stops abruptly when the song comes to a stop. Sinking back into the endless drudge and struggle that only the forgotten ones and the outcasts know they resume their whispers, barely noticeable even in this deathly quiet place.
"Kid, how old are you?"
"Seven." is the reply, but in her eyes I can see someone aged far far beyond her years; and scarred by the events of her painful life. "How old are are you?" Her voice is so quiet, that even in this solitude her whispery husk of a voice is hard to make out.
"Well, Charlie, I'm not entirely sure any more. I thiink that I'm sixteen." Even to me the reply sounds vacant, yet somehow dreadful, although I don't exactly know why. "Let's get you some more food and a drink. I think I have enough money."
Desparate to get her another meal and a drink, not noticing my gnawing hunger I feverishing paw through my pockets hoping for enough change. There's enough; barely. We'd have to go without food tomorrow unless I found some more cash.
Noticing the man in the booth next to them (Jontom) she idly thinks to herself "That man seems to be listening to us. He can't want to rob us, we don't have any money, and from the loks of him he has enough."

[Korias]

It's 5 o'clock some where... says Korias as he walks into Sal's Bar. Sitting down at the seat farthest away from the door, he orders the usual. A bottle of aged scotch that never seems to end. Good thing the Barkeep knows him. So whats the big deal with this falcon? What could it be? sipping the scotch, he looks around the room. It makes no sense. Whats the point of the buzz? Holding the glass to his head to quell a formidable buzz, he sighs. His informant never came, so what could his motive be? Was he dead? Did he get caught? Or was he selling secrets to a higher bidder?

Spying the rainsoaked woman in the red dress (Timberwolf), he calls over the barkeep, handing him a wad of cash. Soon after, the womans drink is being refilled by the barkeep. Its all leading to dead ends... every single one.

[Kyrian]

Five o'clock, was he insane? It's almost one. Anyways, Whitehelm had some crazy reasoning, so he was the top of my hit list.

Kyrian tries out the noir style, and points at whitehelm.

[The Valiant Turtle]

A short thin man sits at a grungy table at Lucky's. A large tankard of Lucky's special gripped firmly in his right hand, and two empties already on the table.

He leans back taking a deep drink from his brew. You spot a badge on his right lapel. It reads:

Raldor, MD
Assistant Coroner.

As you pass by you hear him muttering something about the head coroner suddenly taking an extended vacation. You notice the headline of the newspaper in front of him and smirk knowingly to yourself.

This guy is about to be one very, very busy coroner.

[Skippy]

"Hey, you!" Says the drunk, talking in the general direction of Almighty Salmon "fetch me another drink!"

[CurlyKitGirl]

((Uh, Joos; Timberwolf is the woman in the red dress.))

[Joosbawx]

((Uh, Joos; Timberwolf is the woman in the red dress.))

Sorry...exactly why I said "make sure your vote contains name of your target". Edited and fixed.

[Pwenet]

Reaching towards my hip, I pull out my best friend, given to me by my wife many years ago. The good times that it represented, the happiness, the joy. Following that comes the despair, the sadness, the impact and bright light, and her body, twisted and broken within the car. Twisting the top, I take a slow drink from the engraved silver hip flask, drinking the aged whiskey, before putting the top back on and placing it back into its holster.

It has been seven long years since the day a drunk driver plowed into our car, and killed her. Seven years I have been unable to find the drunk bastard who did the deed. Seven years since I last knew happiness, when my head was clear, when closing my eyes didn’t show me the crushed and mangled body of my wife. Seven years since the cops gave up, not taking note of my report, of my memory, of a gunshot before the accident, and the loss of control. Seven years since I lost faith in my comrades on the force, and left off on a sad lonely tale of revenge.

Removing my black fedora, I run a hand through the thinning hair. Once I would have despaired over the lost hair, yet now I barely care. I have been following clue, been tracing things, trying to find out who wanted to shoot my car, who wanted the death of me and my wife, who ruined my life.

Walking through the streets, I watch those walking about, living their lives, the happiness, the joys, the sorrows. Yet my sorrow overwhelms me, and I shoves my hands into the pockets of my black trenchcoat, feeling the shape of my second best friend on my hip, my restored Colt .45, fully licensed and legal, and loaded. This was another gift from my wife, for when I was a detective, for when I was happy and had such things such as hobbies. Yet now I carry it, with a bullet within destined for the killer of my wife.

As I wander, I see a man, acting strangely, pointing at yet another, yet not saying why. Perhaps he is a madman, corrupted by the uncaring society that tries to make you feel sympathy for others you know nothing about, yet just turns you even more jaded. Perhaps he is involved in something else that I really don’t care about. Maybe he is lost within his own world, where he is at the very bottom of everything. Whatever it is, I shrug and pull my gaze away from him, before continuing my lonely journey.

((Points at Whitehelm))

[Almighty Salmon]

A blind rugged man sits at the bar in Lucky's. In his right hand he holds a cane and in his left a bottle of scotch. On his face he wears a pair of dark black shades to disguise his eyes. He sits there staring into thin air lost in though.

Suddenly Radikalskippy's shout shocks him and he jumps. Alright lad, take it easy. I'll buy you a drink, just one mind, you look a little drunk. Hey, Barkeep. Pour that man a drink. He points in the direction of radikalskippy. And make it snappy too!

[Vonriel]

The sun, that thrice-cursed sun, always there, always looming. Couldn't someone just turn it off, for this once, today? I could use the relief. Ahh, the rain, so refreshing, yet so counterproductive to my needs. And today, vision was more important than stealth. I ran along the rooftops, the rain hitting my face like a thousand tiny bullets, but I didn't care. All that mattered was that I find out what was going on in this city. In my city. A man was supposed to be arriving by train, or so I had been told. In his possession was the most precious of treasures, glittering like volcanic glass, set with priceless gems. The falcon. With its arrival, there was now a new threat in my city. Two of them. Those low-down good for nothin' Templars, hiding behind their precepts of faith and nobility, really nothing more than a gang of muderers. Very well, murder all they want, nobody takes over my city unless I let them. And then there's the Shadow Agents. They run deep in my city, too deep for me to root out short of anything but all-out war. Their stink has.. but enough musing for now, I'm almost there.

Just over the edge of the rooftop, I'm sure some astute observer would notice the faint glow of my cigarette, but again, this wasn't about stealth. I needed to see him, see if this was the man about whom I had received the information. There, just then, was that an attache? And it's just big enough to hold it, too. The police are doing a good job of obstructing the view from the street, but I know my city better than they do. Dropping the still-glowing butt, I ground it beneath my heel and hurried along the rooftops. I have to get to Lucky's. I have to talk to him. I just hope the bastard hasn't skipped town yet, with all the coming troubles.

Ahh, Lucky's. That safe-haven for criminal and law-abiding citizen alike. The place smelled foul, but it was necessary. Thankfully, the big man showed it to me once, if indirectly. There wasn't a better spot in my city to come for information, and that's one thing that's always in high demand and short supply. Stopping just short of the door, a thought strikes me. What if the big man is here? Surely after the last scrape he wouldn't be too welcoming. Screw it, I need the information, and he's the only one around who would know. Stepping into the bar, I see him instantly. He always liked the out-of-the-way booths, but then, they did make him harder for the less astute to spot. I give a nod to the bartender, and almost make my way to his table when I finally notice what seemed odd. He's not looking at me, but the big guy at the bar. Finding discretion the better part of not getting my arm broken, I walk past his booth and pause when I see the two kids. Damn it, this shouldn't be happening in my city. "Here," I whisper, surreptitiously dropping a small stack of money in the older one's lap. Taking a seat, I wave for a waitress to bring me some whiskey. Something strong, to help me pour over the pieces, and then settle back to wait.

[Korias]

((Just a thought: Does anybody else notice that the majority of us are ending up at bars and getting Whiskey and Scotch?))

[Vonriel]

(( Shush! You're ruining the moment! Besides, everyone's ending up at the same bar. :smalltongue: ))

[Supagoof]

A man in a purple trenchcoat stands leaning against the lamp on the corner. In his hands, the tarnished metal of a sax glints every so often catching the light amidst the fog and cloudy sky. In front of the man, a crumpled fedora is upon the ground, some change loosely scattered about it's interior. It was a slow day.

As he places the instrument to his lips, you catch a glimpse of the chilly air escape before vanishing amongst the fog. The music begins softly, a slow relaxing tune that reminds you of a smoother time, a more peaceful time. As the sound progresses through the air, the tune changes to more turblent rhythm. You feel your stress level rise, as the tone become both connecting and dischorded. It seems to capture the very essence of the happenings of the night, rising to a brutal squeek before gently coming back down to the softer more peaceful feeling of prior. As the tune appears to be coming to a close, a crackle of lightning erupts in the sky, and raindrops begin to gently fall.

The man picks up the fedora, taking the change out of it before setting it back upon his dishevled head. He let's the sax swing into the darkness of his coat, and walks away from the street light to find shelter from the oncoming storm.

As the rain really begins to pour, he spots Lucky's. The place seemed to be popping enough, and he was pretty certain he could afford a cup of joe with the change he made today. As he heads inside, he feels the tension of glares as patrons eye each other suspicously. He head over the the counter, and placing the saxaphone at his feet, captures the attention of a waitress and order his java. She flips a mug over and quickly fills it with the confidence of a person whose done it a million times before.

It warms as it goes down. Supagoof smiles and glances around at the other patrons again.

[Atreyu the Masked LLama]

((Okay, Whitehelm is about to die in Camp Sleeps-a-lot, it seems rather rude to kill him off in this game, too. If you are looking for someone to kill, I recommend someone who's just a citizen, is too busy to provide interesting RP and tends to die early in Mafia anyway. Plus, he's pestering the players and the narrator by pointing at people who aren't playing.))

[CurlyKitGirl]

Clutching the small stack of coins some man pricked by his conscience had give us I smile. A small ray of light in a grey dismal day. I count out the money once, twice, three times; a grin showing on my face. Seven dollars was enough to keep us eating for a while, maybe even get us somewhere warm for a night.
But I'm not one to accept charity; I always pay for what I receive, but how to repay him. Many girls would act as jezebels, but I swore to someone a very long time ago now that I wouldn't ever turn down that track, for it leads to despair. Try as I might I could never remember that person, but I could never go against the shadows deparate words.
There was only one thing left then. Telling the kid to "Stay put." I rose shakily to my fett and walked over to the piano man; my feet sticking to the gum of spilled liquor dropped years ago. When I reached him, I whispered something shakily in his ear.
He nodded and began to play (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8RLgKOamoME). My voice started out shakily and cracked, but quickly my voice became to sing the oh so familiar song. One I knew from when I was happy. As I sang I remembered some of the few joys I knew and cherished. A laughing face. Happy shrieks and laughter, innocent and as clear as a river should be. A voice, singing to me.
All too soon I began to remember the bad memories, but I refused to let them ruin my small moment. I knew that forcing them down would only bring trouble when I next venture out onto the cold uncaring streets, back to where I live; if you can call it that.
Once I finish I bow in the money mans' direction and scurry back to my seet like the filthy rat that I know they saw when I sang. I sat down and ordered us another bowl of stew each, and some tea.
Looking at Charlies' face change, even after two bowls of the slop they call stew here makes me glad that I allowed people to see us. Perhaps I could earn more money; even in the short time I've known Charlie, I've realised that I see her as my sister. I will do anything to protect her, even fight through the swarms od money grabbing monsters that chose to cast us out and revile us as scum. I will do anything for her now.

[Skippy]

Suddenly Radikalskippy's shout shocks him and he jumps. Alright lad, take it easy. I'll buy you a drink, just one mind, you look a little drunk. Hey, Barkeep. Pour that man a drink. He points in the direction of radikalskippy. And make it snappy too!

"Thank you, fella. You're a good man. That one, on the other side," He says, pointing at Fleeing Coward, "seems to be a bit rotten..."

((I'm just pointing randomly now, to someone who hasn't posted... Just to wake them up, as a manner of speaking...))

[Alarra]

Time had passed, things had changed. Whether it was enough or too little to make a difference was hard to say. I stood, motionless in the midst of the thronging crowd, knuckles white on the handle of my small suitcase, the leather bag slung over my shoulder clasped in a death grip as well. I'd felt the shift as soon as I'd stepped off of the plane. The heavy, oppressive air closing in on me, making breathing a chore. It was too soon. I'd made a mistake. I shouldn't have come back here, Falcon or no.

As I stood in the crowd, my mind was flooded with images of my last fateful trip. Frantically pushing my way through crowds of people to deal with the incompetent brass that had sequestered away her body. A criminal, they'd called her. Part of a shadowy network, undermining the very integrity of the city. They'd never known her. They couldn't have understood.

And then the days of red tape, the pain and hassle of moving the body home, the mourning, the grief, our mother, unable to leave her bed for weeks for the pain.....and now, here I was. Returning to this scene, taking up her mantel, knowing the pain and worry that my family would feel if my fate wound up the same as hers, yet unable to take any other action.

"Hey! Move it blondie!" A particularly rough jostle from behind struck me from my reveries.

"My apologies." I nodded, as courteously as I could. I didn't belong here. I moved on, riding on the crowd, dazed and alone. When I found myself deposited unceremoniously on the sidewalk outside the terminal, I breathed a small sigh of relief. The cab was waiting, shining in a patch of sunlight that made it appear to be sent from above, just for me. I couldn't turn back now. It was destiny that I find it for her.

I gave the driver the address of the small apartment that I'd rented for the unforeseeable future and allowed myself to slump against the seat, eyes closed. Just an hour there, or two. Time to put away my things, perhaps have a drink to calm my nerves, and then....then I'd look up this "Lucky's" and get to work. The sun slanted in and pierced my closed lids and I knew. Knew that even though it currently seemed an insurmountable task....a new city, unknown people, dangerous criminal organizations lurking around every corner....that I could do this. That I could find the falcon and recover it in her memory. I didn't know how, but I knew I would.

[Zar Peter]

((Joos, I didn't vote for whitehlem, he voted for me!)

The piano man takes a break and sips again on his whisky glass. Then he smiles to one of the guests who just pointed at him while discussing with other guests.
He notices the saxaphone beneath the bar and whispers to a waitress that she should ask the owner if he wants to play a jazz with him.

Then he looks at the drunkyard and plays his next song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=saQYseNNiyU)!

((Zar Peter points at radikalskippy without a reason despite that he must point))

[Eldritch Knight]

This city, far from the peaceful and prosperous place I expected, has turned out to be a haven for the poor and the oppressed. I hear them calling out for a hero, someone to rise above the aura of inequity and suffering so that no one should have to suffer. Several nights ago, I saw something that reminded me why I came here. A young homeles man, cut down senselessly, simply because he had found a dry place to sleep. I saw the attack happen, and yet I did nothing. I do not care if you call me a coward. This city is filled with them, so what's one more? The Maltese Falcon showing up here would be certain to divide this cesspool more than it ever has been before. Should the Falcon fall into the wrong hands, this city would be brought even deeper into the darkness that I strive to counter. I came here to find my past, and lay it six feet underground. I was fortunate to have been able to salvage my life, and make something of myself. Out of the crime-infested squalor of my childhood, I have actually made my life mean something. I am greatful to those who made it so. People like Reverend can make all the difference in a violent kid's life. I suppose part of the reason I returned is to pay my respects to this great man. I suppose that, perhaps in burying my past, I can finally start creating my future. Time will tell. Now, my only thoughts are on the Falcon, and the realization that only it's destruction can protect this city.

I suppose, now that I am here, I might as well get settled. I've got a long journey ahead of me.

Rev. Elijah Knight.

[Supagoof]

The saxiphonists, hearing the tinkle of ivories, looks over in the direction they came from. Sitting at the old beat up instrument, worn from years of use, is the piano man. What kind of buisiness he ran on the side the sax player ponders for a moment. Even the best of musicians in this town struggle for money, but there was a magic charm the piano man must have with his smile to be living well. The moment's interupted as the waitress passes the invitatioin to the sax player when she refills his java. The sax man looks over at the piano man and gives him a nod. He figured there must be no harm in playing a tune together, and maybe some of the piano man's fortuetous luck would rub off on him. He finishes his cup quickly, gently picks up his sax, and head's over the piano. Amazingly enough, he could feel the persona of care and pride, despite the appearance, that had been invested into the intrument. The key's, though worn, were never chipped. In fact they seemed to illuminate the piano man's hands as much as shiny ivory could. Join that with the distinct smell of whiskey eminating from the wood, and one could tell the piano has only been played by one man, this man, the piano man.

You got anything in the key of G minor. I can keep up if you want to lead? He prompts the man mid tune. his voice is heavy and low, as one might expect from someone who has seen too many years living the rough life in the streets. Taking off his jacket and slumping it upon the floor, he straps his saxophone around his neck.

[Space-Is-Curved]

It was a long trip by train. How long had it been now? How may trains had I been on in the past days? I couldn't bring myself to try to remember. Where was I even going now? It didn't matter. It didn't matter as long as it was away from where I'd been. Away from that mixed up dame and the whole town. That was what mattered.

After an unspoken eternity the rocking ceased and the noises of the tracks racing by underneath hushed, only to be replaced by the chattering voices of travelers whom I considered in no way to be my fellows. They were merely in the same place as me, not in the same world.

I made my way through the town as if in a haze, allowing my feet to lead, my body to follow, and my mind to sleep. All towns were alike. In a matter of what was probably a few minutes I found myself standing at the doors of the only establishment in town that I gave half a thought too. The sign said Lucky's, but the atmosphere said even clearer that most of the regulars were not.

I entered and the smell immediately brought me home. This was where I belonged, amidst the scents of alcohol mingled with a dozen forms of smoke, from cigar to .45. The sounds were just as unique. A piano was playing somewhere and there was the constant sound of the voices who knew the dangers of being overheard. I walked over to the bar and ordered a drink, placing a portion of my quickly thinning supply of money on the bar. Looking around, I quickly gathered what had happened. Murder. This was better. This was what I was used to. This was my element. I scanned the faces in the room with the practiced eye of someone who needs that sort of thing to survive, and has had to use it before.

It was then that I slowly stood up and pointed at Jantom Xire.

[Eldritch Knight]

Having settled in to my old apartment, still vacant after all these years, I felt it best to go out and see how this old city had changed. I wonder if Lucky's still around. Been a long time. Should be interesting to see how he's changed. Always been something about that place that brings people together. How often do you see friendships forged in a bar that'll see people literally through hell and back anyway?

As I walk into Lucky's, I notice that little has changed. As I walk, I notice an old photo of myself with the Reverend playing a game of pool.. Happier times indeed. I had almost forgotten that this was the place we always went when we needed to talk. I head towards a neglected table at the back. We always sat here to drink, and talk. It's not every day you find someone like him here, I swear this city has gotten worse since I left. I order my usual, sit back, and remember......

I was never told how the Reverend died, but I do know that he had a lot of enemies. Good men seem to attract the bad ones like flowers attract bees. I suspect that he was murdered. I may not know who killed him, but I suspect I know who might. For now, my eye is on Llama

Edit: Why do I keep saying things that really don't need to be said?

[Zar Peter]

The piano man and the saxaphonist starting a duet playing Gershwin (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cv0Dy81oDVc)

[Castaras]

A darkened alleyway. Quiet, with only a rogue counting the money he gained from pickpocketing that day. Was that a flash? No. Just the reflection of his gold coins from that light. Wait, light? It should be dark, shouldn't it? The rogue, nervous and suspicious, draws his shining dagger, seeing an orange flicker on the walls. Disappearing behind the wall, towards the orange glow, a scream is heard, and the flickering orange light grows brighter, brighter, brighter.

A deep red demon, wings wide, wreathed in flames, moves slowly down the alley, out to join the crowd. It glares at the nearby buildings, eyes cold and cruel.

Puny humanoid scum...what would the gods hope to find here in this darned haven of mortal souls? Already corrupted, I see no reason for me to remain in this place...But yes, I must move on...search for this object as best as I can...

The balor raises his head, to regard the crowd gathering with disdain, looking for where the best place to cause destruction would be. Seeing the piano man and the saxaphonist, he points to Zar Peter.

Would thouest like power great and mighty, mortal?

[Supagoof]

The saxaphonists is enjoying the music. The piano man seems to have captured the spirit of the room and lead the song with seemingly no effort. All was going well when a disturbence from outside forced the music to a screeching halt.

errrk!

Outside, a beast not seen on the earth was gesturing toward the piano man. It was horrific to look at. The sax player felt the snap of the cord against the back of his neck as he abruptly dropped the sax, took a few steps back, and pointed his finger in alarm at the creature (Castaras).

Either someone put something funny in my coffee, or all hell has broken loose. Either way, we're not in Kansas anymore.

[Skippy]

The piano man and the saxaphonist starting a duet playing Gershwin (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cv0Dy81oDVc)

"That's a nice one, Pete. Now give us some Jazz"

[North]

Light filtered through the venetian blinds as I groggily woke up. I looked around the dingy apartment. Well at least this time I ended up in the sty im paying for. Terrible slum apartment, terrible run down mattress all went together with the terrible life Id fallen into. At least I didnt have to get up I still had hooch left from the night before.

Empty. Damn. Figures.

I pulled myself out of bed. Dragged myself over to the mirror and stared at the bastard I hated. Dirty. Unkempt. Scum. Looks like you went 15 rounds in the ring with The shower had broken three months earlier. When I asked the your hands tied up slumlord who owned this dive to fix it, he laughed in my face. Id been using the sink to wipe the dirt and vomit off since then. It wasnt much but it was more then I deserved. I needed to get to Luckys and crawl back into a bottle. Maybe Whitehelm is there.. He owed me some money....

[Traveling_Angel]

I was standing in the alley next to Lucky's, minding my own business, when I felt the demon. Damn, I have to deal with him to. I leaned around the corner, saw the demon seaming to be intent on offering the typical deal. At first I felt more annoyed then anything then a shock of recognition went through me.

Well you're back early.

"Why Castaras, I haven't seen you in a long time." Meanwhile, my mind was racing. I needed the demon gone or distracted before she did major damage. "Why do you have to go for the fire and brimstone each and every time? You could use a bit of creativity." I looked Castaras over, trying to find anything out of place with the whole 'big demon' motif.
"Really, after last time, I would expect a different approach."


((Really, Castaras, that's a horrible way to intro a demon. good start though. ))

[Timberwolf]

The red dressed woman points.

For mixing game styles, I will point at the Balor (Castaras)

((Guys, I will be gone until Sunday night.))

[Zar Peter]

"That's a nice one, Pete. Now give us some Jazz"

As requested here is some jazz (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CWjvcUqkwQM)

[Fleeing Coward]

Points at myself

((Kill me off if you guys want to, just a citizen and my time's limited as it is. Was kind of hoping I was dead in a couple of the others games by the time this started but that isn't the case so I'm juggling 5 other WW games along with this and got Ye olde west coming up along with c&d + team raf + that eating thing. Really shouldn't sign up to everything I see :smalltongue: ))

[Raiser Blade]

*sigh* Another dreary day at work. To add insult to injury not only did i have to put up with the indignity of serving drinks to middle-aged, sloshed up, quite rude men but i made only minimum wage. Hardly enough to keep up with my tuition payments. Being the lone male "waiter" in the place didn't help either because it seems that the guys "save the tips for the hips".

Looking around at the crowd that was gathering i wondered what was going on until i heard someone mumble something about a murder.

Fantastic another murder. I'd be lucky to be alive by the time i finished school in this area.



*Points at radikalskippy


Edit: wow the RP in this thread is Awetastic at the rate were going were gonna need 2 threads :smallsmile:

[Helgraf]

I'd largely ignored the smaller man who reeked of lost opportunity who'd started out toward me, then turned to regard two figures who didn't belong here - at least, not yet. A woman of some resolve and a little girl, probably just old enough to be getting her letters in a decent place. They held my attention for the span of a malt double with rocks, by pique as much as anything else. The bar had begun to fill out with an assortment of gutter trash, hard-lucks and a smattering of others. I recognized one of the Reverend's old buddies, though I doubt he'd know me from any other walking wall of meat. Then, of course, there was the freak-job. Fire and Brimstone were the province of the preacher, not some nutjob high on angeldust. I craned my neck, indicated Lucky should top off my glass, then moved over. *"You. You with the devil costume, you don't belong here. Get out." (point at Castaras)*

That's when I noticed the other dame. Sweet merciful oblivion, from across the room her image sank into my retinas, burned its way through the liquor and into my hindbrain. My jaw closed with an audible snap as a haze of facts and figures resolved itself in my scotch-laced nog. That had to be her. Not quite a dead ringer, but damn close anyway. Either way, best to find this sort of thing out right away. I adjusted my headpiece, a rumpled bit of hardened, almost leathered fabric that used to be a hat years back, and did my 'parting the Red Sea' bit. You learned to walk in such a way that though your eyes never really caught on anything that could be noticed, that you radiated the notion of "I know exactly where I'm going and I'm going to get there now" ... with a faint undercurrent of ... "and you'd have to be a damnfool to do something about it."

Cutting through a thick cloud of blue-green smoke that funnelled through the air from the table where the goyam and pakis, each to a man with a burning nail on the lip, babbled to themselves in a patois that was equal parts Yid, Pakistanian, Afghan, German, and lord knows what else that I couldn't even pick out, I emerged practically beside the blonde. I bent forward a bit to rumble at her ear.

"I understand you'se looking for somethin' for someone..."

[Alarra]

As I stepped from the cab, I immediately regretted my choice of atire. The seedy clientele that frequented Lucky's were a far cry from the upper west side elite that I usually associated with. I'd gone 'casual'...but realized I didn't know the meaning of the word. My head spun faintly and I questioned the scotch I'd had before I came. What was I thinking? I knew I couldn't hold my alcohol, had never had the steady head she'd had, and the taste I'd planned to 'calm my nerves' had doubled, then tripled. I wonderered again if I was cut out for this task.

I entered and felt a wave of smoke, grease and other unmentionable odors sink into my pores. The patrons appeared a part of the decor and I wondered whether they would leave perfect impressions on the vinyl chairs should some unforseen catastrophe force them to stand.

There wasn't a table open and the crowd obscured the bar from view. I moved toward it anyway. For what purpose I was unsure. All I knew was that if I were to be able to find any information at all, this would be the place to find it. I surveyed the patrons, hoping something would jump out at me. A picture of two men caught my eye, or rather, the fact that one of the men was sitting below it, seemed noteworthy at least. I glanced at him (Eldritch Knight), vowing to get his story.

I continued moving closer to the bar, the crowd aggravating my claustrophobic tendencies. I'd need to find something soon, I couldn't stand this place. The gravelly voice in my ear made me jump, but was followed quickly by a wave of relief. "That's right." I kept my voice just loud enough to be audible over the hum of conversation, but only to him, trying best I could to keep my excitement unnoticed. "You know something I don't?" I raised one eyebrow in what any who'd seen it would have said was a perfect imitation of her. Don't ask me to do it again, I couldn't if I tried. I hoped he'd ask to move the conversation somewhere more private, somewhere less....well....here, but glancing over his meaty, scarred visage, began to worry that there were ulterior motives at play.

[Helgraf]

A brusque nod to the lady. Scotch. What were the odds of that. I rumbled over to the bar, put a twenty down, took a bottle, waved off Lucky with a motion that said 'keep it'. Then crossed back to the lady, the tendrils of smoke from the other table curling along the edges of what was once a hat. I grumbled in a low baritone, just shades off of a full basso rumble.

"Youse don't ... blend too good here. Let's find you some fresh air ... or at least someplace away from the vomit and the dying fish outside." I leaned in and whispered two names to her pretty little ear, the one I felt certain was the 'who' she was here for, the other being the name of the third member of our little triad from the old days; my protege, in a way.

I knew that look she'd given - there'd been another dame like her once. We'd lost touch in Chicago ... and it was better I left them thinking I was dead. Too many people looking for me that would've used her - or him - against me. Far better they remembered the decent side of me. It was a side that I kept buried pretty deep these days to protect myself. I handed her the bottle, and extending my arms out a bit from my sides, moved toward the door. People got out of the way - the ones too drunk 'helped along' by their less inebriated friends, though I saw at least one pocket fisherman at work in these acts of charity. I didn't look back; if the dame was square, I knew she'd be following along, and if she wasn't, well, better for me to make my distance now anyway. One oversized hand in the air with a tight-clenched tenner just peeking through the fingers. It wouldn't take long; the cabbers kept a busy trade on the Island ferrying the important ones to their addictions; whether booze, lust, a needle ... or something even less ... socially acceptable - and then back again. You could make a lot of money as a cabber, but you always had to worry about someone in the back seat deciding you'd seen too much. Wouldn't be the first time some no-green ended up in the river suffering from a mysterious head-injury.

I turned a bit, keeping the air held high. The fare was more than enough for two, and I ain't no angel. Another look at Dame Sweetness would certainly be welcome ... she was sure several steps up from most of the floozies on the Island. I wondered, briefly, just how deep the reflection went.

[Alarra]

My heart stopped at the whispered names. Was it really going to be this easy? He turned away and I found myself clutching a bottle of scotch. Where had that come from? A faint shake of the head, intending to clear the fog clouding my brain, left me feeling more lightheaded and confused than ever. Maybe it was the thick smoke choking the air or maybe it was me. I couldn't say.

I followed with a nod, wordless, numb. I scanned the other patrons as I navigated the path he carved. I could see their gazes following me, feel the unspoken jeers, unsavory swine, undressing me with their eyes. No....I didn't belong here. Even without the spark of impending information, I was glad I'd run across this man.

A car pulled up and I slid inside with relief. I didn't care where it took us, as long as it was away from here. I didn't listen as his low voice instructed the cabbie. Probably not smart of me, but I always was a bit too trusting. I closed my eyes as we moved away, breathing in air that was blessedly clear of smoke, giving myself a moment to gather my thoughts before turning to him, "Who are you?"

[Supagoof]

The comment shot to his ear like a bullet through paper. The man said "You. You with the devil costume, you don't belong here. Get out." So it was a costume that had tricked his eyes. Well, it wouldn't have been the first time they had been fooled. It was a good costume for sure, but why this time of year? And was the costume really that good, or was it the haze that played tricks on his eyes. Many times they had been fooled with too much time on the streets scanning the fog. A fog that lingered around this city permanently, as if to say "You ain't safe here." Despite the foreboding warning this place had, everyone still seemed to flock here. Perhaps it's the exhilaration of fear or the sweet euphoria of its release that kept every monkey in a suit roaming in and out of this cities revolving door. Funny how he had seen them come and go, yet not a connection was made with any of them. Sure, as the strangers walked by they smiled and dropped change into his hat. Perhaps it was the sound of music that steadies their nerves for that brief moment. But none really knew the man behind the music. His face, though seen many times, was forgotten in the very brief moment it was noticed. Funny of how one can fall so far like that.

The new notes from the piano man brought the saxophonist back from his thoughts. A little more lighter of a tune, perhaps because the crowd was getting surlier. He brought the sweet wooden mouthpiece back to his lips, and let the smooth sound flow out of it once more.

[The Valiant Turtle]

The overworked and very drunk coroner stumbles towards the exit to Luckys and trips over the tail of that Demon thing.

He points at Castaras

Git zat shing outa mi way pleassh.

[Helgraf]

The dame was right on the level and quick to trust as well. That was dangerous; too dangerous in this city. The cabbie was smart, he didn't ask any questions about why a pretty little thing was travelling in the company of a thing like me _away_ from the Island. Like as not he presumed I was some sort of delivery-goon, taking the girl to someone too ... refined to practice their deviancy on the Island itself. It was better for me - doubly so for the girl - if he put two and two together and got six anyway.

"Fer now you can call me MT. You've got an awful lot of brass beelining for Lucky's when yer ... " and I admit, this next part was mostly guesswork," ... not more'n a few hours off'n plane and a little portaged. She'd not be too happy." I didn't give the name; it was something of a custom the three of us had developed. Names were dangerous, but also names were personal. They connected you, and they could be pulled out of you. But the girl looked smart - book-smart at the least. The rest would come in time, if she was given the chance. "You carry a piece?" I gave her the longeye stare, the sort of thing that suggests this is not a good time to be making up stories. Gods, how'd she manage that faint hint of exotic scent, and still keep it through the smoke, the bar and the streets? My eyes closed, opened once. Back in focus.

The cab had just come across one of the bridges that connected the Island to the city; still dangerous here. I passed another sawbuck to the cabbie and grumbled something in Yid. The cabbie gave a nod of his head. The money, of course, was gone almost before it hit the seat fabric.

[Shadow]

Finally.
Finally I've made it.
Bus rides always did get me sick. Especially the long ones. And this one had been as long as the Great Wall them ******** have, as far as I was concerned.
So now I'm here. Back where it all started for my daddy. And where it all ended. Badly I might add. He got what he deserved, or at least that's what the papers said.

Funny how a local celebrity like Silas Hadow could've fallen on hard times like that.
Silas Hadow.
My daddy.
A no good, worthless reporter turned celebrity, thought dead, returned from the grave to try his hand at being a bit of a private ****. That worked out well from what I hear. For about a day and a half. Bouncing from job to job like a pinball after his return, he ended up with some sort of Agency, they say. Some sort of gangster is more like it. Sure, he sent a check to moms every once in a while. Sure, he wrote me a letter or two over the years before he was killed. But what did those ever get me?

They got me here, that's what. Back to this hellhole where it all started for him. That's right. Daddy knew who had the Falcon, and he told me too, in those letters. Now if I could just keep my head clear long enough to find it....

And so now I'm here. Looking for the Falcon just like my no good daddy. Cuz he never left me nothin' that I could eat. Nothin' that I could sink my teeth into. Nothin' but a legend and a promise of fortunes beyond my wildest dreams.
I don't know. I can dream a whole lot of fortune.

My sponsor tells me to stay away from the big city in the night. Stay in. Too much temptation if you're out on the street with those big, bright neon signs guiding you home like....
Stop thinking like that, fool. That's what got you in that mess back in Wyoming.

Go get a cup'a joe and clear my head. That's what I need. A cup'a joe and a smoke.
A smoke and a place to crash. A pace to crash and a clue where to start looking for this Falcon.
After I find that.... well.... then maybe I'll have a drink. You know.... in celebration, like.

Damn fool. Quit thinkin' like that....

[Castaras]

(( Oh bugger.

I'm going to die.

Can I just say, that if you lynch me, you have a chance of losing a role that could help you all find the mafia and such?

*shrugs* Probably not going to stop the bandwagon, but you really don't want to lynch me. ))

[whitehelm]

Joos: You still don't have my vote for Zar...not like it matters, but still.

[Andre Fairchilde]

(Apologize, been extremly busy and want to write up a backstory or Andrew, but haven't had time... :smallmad:)

"Well if Castras need's savin' then Eldritch Knight Fleeing Coward get's my vote."

(Anyone that want's to save Castras, you may want to follow suit. Otherwise - you're a dirty gangster.)

[The Valiant Turtle]

You sure are polite for somebody lookin' like a demon from Hell.

Maybe this radical guy is to blame for all this.

Raldor points at radikalskippy


((Vote Change))

[whitehelm]

Joos: I didn't vote for Llama either, I voted for Zar Peter.

[Zar Peter]

A man in dark clothes steps to the piano man and whispers in his ears. The piano player listen carefully, then he points at Fleeing Coward. The dark man noddes and disappears in the crowd.
The piano man starts playing We didn't start the fire (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rq3PVHVn0kE)

[Korias]

*No RP Reason, but I'm changing my point to Fleeing Coward.*

[North]

(( Saving Castaras is fine and good in itself. But wouldnt it have made more sense to jump on the whitehelm or radikalskippy bandwagons then the fleeing cowards? Helm had 3 votes and Rad had 3 (4now) and fleeing coward only had two,including his own which would have been changed probably.So it would be more likely to save Cassy by voting on those two.... sounds gangstery to me :smalltongue: Maybe your trying save skippy/helm thru a blind or maybe just seem like your trying to save Cas?))

I walked into Luckys. The smell was acrid and smoke hung over the bar. I walked to the bar my usual seat was free.

Scotch. Leave the bottle here.

[Supagoof]

(( Saving Castaras is fine and good in itself. But wouldnt it have made more sense to jump on the whitehelm or radikalskippy bandwagons then the fleeing cowards? Helm had 3 votes and Rad had 3 (4now) and fleeing coward only had two,including his own which would have been changed probably.So it would be more likely to save Cassy by voting on those two.... sounds gangstery to me :smalltongue: Maybe your trying save skippy/helm thru a blind or maybe just seem like your trying to save Cas?))

I walked into Luckys. The smell was acrid and smoke hung over the bar. I walked to the bar my usual seat was free.

Scotch. Leave the bottle here.

((True, but then maybe you're trying to save Fleeing Coward?

Sorry Joos, I didn't make it obvious with a new post, but I did remove my finger from Castaras.))

Supagoof, upon hearing the tune change tempo at the end, decides to sit this one out. Although he's familiar with the tune, he didn't quite want to put his tongue through the paces of such a speedy song. As he sits around catching his breath, he notices a strange guy sitting alone and pointing at himself. Wondering what kind of torture the man is putting himself through, he hopes that a kind soul would only help put him out of the misery. Glances at others around the room, he spots them staring at Fleeing Coward as well.

After the piano man's solo is over, Supagoof does start into the A Train (http://youtube.com/watch?v=AOHqWk_wLNM) to see if the speedy fingers of the piano man can keep up.

[Vonriel]

Huh. What might have been a faint smile crossed his face when the girl sang. Sure, it weren't no nightengale, but she at least knew how to work the pipes. A repayment, perhaps? He'd have to muse on it later, because right now something more interesting caught his eye. The big man left, followed by a pretty little thing. A dame like that can mean trouble, and in a city ready to boil over from recent events, trouble could cause the spark that lights the tinderbox. I just gotta hope that dame is smart enough to keep away from the explosives.

Thankfully, with the big man gone, I can hopefully make use of the man I came here for. I stood up carefully, and made my way to his table. Sitting down, I slipped him the customary amount for his services. Hopefully, he's got something I can use. If not, well, I suppose I could let slip some of what I know and see if he's still as good as he once was. And with a bit of luck, I can save my city. Too bad the good lady seems to hate me as of late...

(( I point at Fleeing Coward, who as much as said he won't be able to play this one fully. Yeah, yeah, OOC points are lame, but I've got no one to point at IC yet. :smallbiggrin:

Edit: Also, Joos... screen stretchy baaaad.))

[HyramGraff]

((I'm playing as Tracer Bullet))
I had had a long day in the office with my two best firends. One I keep loaded and the other keeps me loaded. I'd been mulling over all of the facts trying to figure out who offed the man known as Joos. I've come to the conclusion that only one person was crazy enough to comitt the act and that person was a Fleeing Coward.

[Eldritch Knight]

Lucky's was filling up with everyone from the Old crowd. I recognized Silas Hadow's kid, and gave him a passing nod. His father was a local legend around here, and even I heard tales of him during my travels. A good kid, at least from what I heard, he has some big shoes to fill. Then again, I had some infamous relatives around here. 'The Collector', as he was called, was actually an uncle of mine. I heard that he had killed 5 people in 'artistic' methods a few years back. Last I heard of him, the FBI had cornered him just outside of Chicago. From what I heard, only one of the people sent after him survived the encounter. They got him though, sort of. They cornered him in a plastics factory, and he ended up falling into a vat of the stuff. When the fished him out, he had turned into some kind of a freakish statue. Some poetic justice. Turns out he had some weird kind of multiple personality disorder, to the point that in the end, the two personalities were duking it out. They actually have his 'statue' locked away somewhere. I saw it once, just to be sure that it was actually him. It was funny, half of his face was locked in some kind of bestial fury, while the other was calm, serene, almost innocent. Really creepy, I didn't stick around.

I suppose that's just one of the reasons why I left. I didn't want to be known as the nephew of the Collector. I suppose that was why I was involved in the criminal life when I was younger. Wanted to live up to his expectations, I guess. Looking back now, I was lucky when the Reverend took me aside and told me, 'Yer ruining yer life, laddie. Ye can be greater than this. Ye kin make your life mean somethin', ye only need to choose. I cannae force ye, lad, this is a choice ye have ta make on yer own, but know this, laddie, I've got faith in ye.' That one conversation changed my life. After that, I swore that I would make things better, both for myself and this city. But how can I, when I am only one man? I guess, only time will tell.

[Traveling_Angel]

At first, I was sure the demon was gonna do harm. Then I remembered that she really hadn't done anything horrible, just got shot on her open flaunting of her nature.

I guess I'll have to go for someone else.

I looked over at Fleeing Coward, and realized he was being quiet. To quiet.

[Alarra]

I could see my own thoughts, uncertainties, reflected in his eyes. I knew I shouldn't have gone to the Island, especially not without a bit of research first. And hopping in a cab with some thug I didn't know from Adam...just because he could drop a few names...Well, few would say that was a well thought out plan. Yet at the same time, I felt it was the right one. Whether it was something about him, or a combination of scotch and jet-lag, I couldn't say, but I felt I could trust him, rely on him, almost as if I knew him.

I wanted to change his opinion, show him that I was sassy and capable and strong...like her, but when I opened my mouth, my voice simply caught in my throat, his question catching me off guard. I nodded, suddenly feeling very young and small under his gaze. I wanted to ask where we were headed, but suddenly even that felt like unwarranted prying.

[Jontom Xire]

When she entered the room she drew my attention. Hell, she probably drew the attention of every red-blooded male in the room, and while she had all that it wasn't what drew my attention. It was the similarity. I wasn't the only one to see it. The big guy spotted her too and they exchanged some words before leaving together. The vague suspicions I'd been having solidified with a clang you could'a heard all the way across the bridges. It was back. Well sorta. The Falcon had been found, but then it has been lost, but that was the way of it with the Falcon. The most elusive treasure of all time. I never did understand why anyone would chase it so hard. You couldn't sell it and all it would bring would be a host of guys trying to track you down and kill you for it. The Falcon was just bad luck, a curse, like being married. You hunted after it and sought it and then when you got it you wished you hadn't.

I sat and stewed I remembered that chap on the bridge, looking down like he wanted to die, like he was about to jump and end it all. That Fleeing Coward had seemed like he wanted to die, so let him I figured. Better him than someone with all the hope and desire for life in him.

That's when Vonriel sat down and slipped me some notes like they didn't exist. I disappeared them like they didn't exist too, and even without counting knew there was enough there for a few more glasses of forget. Or maybe a few more glasses of celebrate. The game was on, life was coming alive again, like when you open a week old corpse and find a ton of maggots inside. With the Falcon on the move there would be need for my services and I could regain my former glory. If I lived long enough. I caught the barkeep's eye and he knew what to do. While the drink was being brought I looked askance at the man beside me. He hadn't changed much since I last saw him, with that do-gooder fervour shining in his eyes like a fire that burns all before him. I didn't like the man too much, always interfering in others lives - surprised he lived as long as he did with all the do-goodery boiling up inside him - and figured he despised me as much for my lack of altruism and my self-serving way of life, but he knew I was good. We'd worked together, and against each other, before and while we may not like each other we had a lot of respect for each other's abilities. He was a hard man and not one to cross, but he needed me, needed my information, and sometimes my surmises and suspicions too.

"What you looking for?", I asked, as if I didn't know. There was only one game in this town at this time. One man dies on a street and within a few hours everyone seems to know the Falcon is involved. People die every day as regular and sure as the sun rises and no-one cares. No-one except people like the man beside me. But this killing had got the city in a stir.

[Helgraf]

It's a hard thing to learn that you still have a heart after you've gone through considerable lengths to lock it up. Especially in a place like this, where it's just one more target, one more orange to be squeezed and sucked dry of anything value, leaving a withered failing husk behind in its place. The driver looked up and back at me a moment. I shook my head ever so slightly, and he took the right, pulling into a small lot. It was meant to be a park, a spot of green that in some misguided mind would soothe and calm the souls of those who lived here; that some little bit of greenery would somehow shift decades of grime and grubbing and reveal the better people in all of us.

It was some trees, yes, and a few rolling lumps that might generously be called hills spotted with crabgrass, the only kind that would grow in this urban blight. But there was something else here, something she had to see. Duty, I suppose you could call it, or a self-inflicted wound demanded by a conscience most folks would as soon ignore. I got out of the cab, giving the driver a handsign discreetly, then moved over to open the door on the other side.

"C'mon. There's a coupla things youse got to see 'fore we go any further with this, blondie." I almost winced calling her that ... the old habits died very hard; even though she wasn't the other dame, I was still going by the old rules. No names. I walked over to the fountain, where a concrete angel ... or mermaid ... the intent had never been clear, sent a stream of water splashing to the pool below. I did not turn to make sure she'd follow - I couldn't protect her, not from this anyway. And the real ruckus was going down at Lucky's. Better to keep a fresh face outta there until she knew a little more. Damnit, gotta stop thinkin' like that, I cursed at myself mentally.

I waited for her by the edge of the fountain, peering into the waters. Memoria wasn't about to dull my senses though. I could hear the idling of the engine, the faint sound of footfalls and squeak of rubberized wheels from where a young woman pushed a carriage along one of the cobbled 'trails' that wound through the park. The scent too - exhaust and that slightly exotic scent that had caught me up a moment when she'd first come into the bar. Ketchup. Someone'd probably left a half-eaten dog in one of the trash bins.

[Jontom Xire]

(( Mafia III : The Maltese Falcon - http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=39711 for anyone else that wants to know. Previous OOC post deleted for neatness. ))

==EDIT==

(( Mafia 3 refers to a still earlier Maltese Falcon game, but all the previous mafia games weren't the film noir/Maltese Falcon versions as far as I can tell. Can someone give me a search term? ))

[Helgraf]

(( Mafia III : The Maltese Falcon - http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=39711 for anyone else that wants to know. Previous OOC post deleted for neatness. ))

==EDIT==

(( Mafia 3 refers to a still earlier Maltese Falcon game, but all the previous mafia games weren't the film noir/Maltese Falcon versions as far as I can tell. Can someone give me a search term? ))

((Well, you see, that's the thing. The Falcon was a new element added to Mafia starting with Mafia 3. Mafia 2 had had a little bit of the Noir style posting from a few of the players, but it wasn't really part of the theme that time around. So there really isn't a true predecessor before Mafia 3.))

[Jontom Xire]

(( Weird 'cos a lot of people reference it. I've been reading for over 2 hours now and I'm about half way through. Pity the post one summary is incomplete. I'm finding it fun looking at the pointing and matching to the summary and working out why people pointed how they did. It's clear Shadow got recruited the night Alarra died so as to get at the PI, yet the summary makes it seem the PI never died. However Captain van der Decken got lynched that day, so maybe he was in touch with Shadow and got lynched before the Shadow Agents could kill him. I can't wait to get to the denouement.

Also this game looks like it's going to be even better than the next one! ))

==EDIT==

(( Denouement reached. Anyone who hasn't read the thread, go read it. Awesome play, Shadow! Better than I even suspected from just reading the thread. I am however a little confused. How come it took everyone so long to figure out who had the Falcon (the rules were quite clear and the hints were heavy), and why did people lynch the last Templar when the preceding night time post made it clear that the Shadow Agency were in possession of the Falcon and only needed to see the templars dead in order to win? ))

[CurlyKitGirl]

((Umm, maybe they didn't know? Doesn't matter anyway))

This bar was getting weirder and weirder; some loony and entered the bar trying to scare us, perhaps it was another hashed attenpt at a robbery; it doesn't really matter as neither the kid or I have any money worth the effort this loon's going to.
Resuming my anxious watch I noticed someone looking distinctly out of place here, she'd obviously tried for casual but this lady clearly had no idea on how to fit in in the squalor of this dump. Altoghether too neat and clean. It alarmed me slightly, though I can't tell why. She looked so familiar but I'd never seen her before, perhaps a shadowy lady I dimly recalled looked like her; uneasy and scared, looking for someone. That's it! It was her look and attitude, she had he same look I see every day on closed secretive faces.
Either way I knew she had money. And I had a seven year old waif who would be a perfect begger. And this woman looked a soft touch.
"Kid, see that lady there? Leaving with that giant." I pointed them out to her. "Try to see if you can get some money outta her. You know hhow right?" She nodded. "Go on. I'll be right here till closing time." The kid slipped out of the seat, and out of the room, unnoticed. I sat to wait. I could only hope they didn't catch a cab.
She returned a few minutes later. "Damn it." We cold only wait for a while longer, eat, watch and keep warm.

[Shadow]

((Hmmm.... Starting to get into this one, huh JX? Now you see why this the game of choice for many of us? You're doing better than I expected by the way. Thanks.))

[Space-Is-Curved]

I sat and drank. And watched. I always watched. What I saw worried me slightly, but I tried my best not to show it, not to show that I might have gotten in over my head by coming here. It looked like a tougher place than I expected. I had heard that it was nice, but something must have changed. There was too much interest in the murder, and in this Falcon. Sure I'd heard of the Maltese Falcon, who hadn't, but I made it my business to keep to my business. Unfortunately, it looked like the Falcon would have to be my business if I stayed here much longer, and I had no real intentions of leaving.

As I sat and drank, I saw a girl come in. She was about as inconspicuous as the demon, another strange sight indeed. The dame left with a rough looking guy, but that didn't really surprise me. What did was the way they talked before they left. They knew something.

I also saw a tortured soul sitting at a nearby booth. He looked rough, and wanted to die. I thought about it, and decided that I would hate to deny someone in so much pain's wish, so I pointed at Fleeing Coward

[Alarra]

I didn't quail, didn't doubt, just followed him across the desolate excuse for greenery blindly. My mind quaked under the weight of a thousand questions and it was an effort to keep myself from interrogating him. What was his game? Why here? What did he know? How was he connected to her? to the falcon? and a current, underscoring everything I thought or did asking me what the hell I thought I was doing. I didn't voice a single thought, bring up any cares or concerns. It just wasn't done that way. Even society bred, young and naive as I was, I knew that. The information would come, in time, if I purely had the wherewithal to wait for it.

The fountain was scarred, the concrete edge knicked and cracked, the product of years spent on the sidelines while parties, unconcernedly, cracked against it in play, in fight. I watched the water. The splash taking a hypnotic toll on my senses. I couldn't explain why, but I felt a deep, crushing sadness here. It was a long moment....seconds, hours, days...time crept to a standstill as I waited for him to speak. Eventually I looked up into his eyes. They were brighter than I'd expected, glinting in the corners and with a warmth that belied his gruff exterior. Hey wasn't smiling, but then, I couldn't imagine why he would have been.

[Vonriel]

Anyone with half a brain would know what I wanted. I didn't have the time or the patience to beat around the bush, but if it's games he wanted to play, fine.

"You tell me." Came my almost too-gruff reply. It was getting late, and the weight of events in my city was catching up to me. And if this is how I felt now, well, there's no telling how I'd feel by the end of it. If I survived to the end of it. No, no "if"s, I will survive to the end. My city needs someone to look after it, and no one else will. With luck, he'll be able to get me started down the road I need to go. If not, I expect he'll fail someone else, more powerful, more vengeful than I. When that happens, he'll wind up face down in a gutter somewhere, like all his type. But no time to give thought to that now, I have to focus on the task at hand. I have to figure out who is trying to ruin my city.

[Jontom Xire]

"The Falcon's back. And you know what that means. The others'll be back too. It'll be just like last time. They're already gathering. The dame that was here a moment ago. She's part of it. A relative, maybe a sister of someone who was someone last time. Maybe she's in it already, maybe she just came to find out what happened last time and picked a bad time to do it."

I paused, sensing that I was being too over-eager, like a puppy keen to please it's master and bounding round in circles. But he'd paid me and not badly. I wasn't going to tell him all I knew, always hold some back. He'd paid for a few more drinks and something to eat, but more than that. He'd paid me in hope, in his own way, without probably realising it. My drink arrived and I downed it, not having to hold back now, now I was fluid with a bit of cash, and ordered another one, asking him to just bring a bottle. He hesitated and I gave him a wad of the cash so recently acquired, then waited until he was out of earshot again.

"Look, it's too early. It's happened so quickly. I heard rumours, I'd heard things. You know how I am. I didn't know he'd got it yet, but suddenly he's merely had it and now it's on the move again. There's so many rumours, conflicting rumours, I need a little time, just a little time, to sort them all out. There'll be more information tomorrow anyway. And I may have a lead. I think it's a good one, but I'm going to need a little capital. You know, to grease palms, loosen some tongues."

The bottle arrived and I poured myself another one, sipping it gently now, now that the need had passed and become just a desire. I needed to get rid of him now, see if I couldn't get those two kids out of here, somewhere quiet where I could ask what the littlest one had seen. She must have been there, might know something. But the rumours flying around Lucky's were talking of an attache case that was still there. Why empty the case and leave it there in the middle of the crowd when you could just take the case and leave, empty it later down a deserted alley to be picked up by some beggar later and moved wherever he felt like going. Muddying the trail like a fugitive crossing a river to throw off pursuers.

[Helgraf]

(( Weird 'cos a lot of people reference it. I've been reading for over 2 hours now and I'm about half way through. Pity the post one summary is incomplete. I'm finding it fun looking at the pointing and matching to the summary and working out why people pointed how they did. It's clear Shadow got recruited the night Alarra died so as to get at the PI, yet the summary makes it seem the PI never died. However Captain van der Decken got lynched that day, so maybe he was in touch with Shadow and got lynched before the Shadow Agents could kill him. I can't wait to get to the denouement.

Also this game looks like it's going to be even better than the next one! ))

==EDIT==

(( Denouement reached. Anyone who hasn't read the thread, go read it. Awesome play, Shadow! Better than I even suspected from just reading the thread. I am however a little confused. How come it took everyone so long to figure out who had the Falcon (the rules were quite clear and the hints were heavy), and why did people lynch the last Templar when the preceding night time post made it clear that the Shadow Agency were in possession of the Falcon and only needed to see the templars dead in order to win? ))

((Because they believed mistakenly that the Shadow Agency was already eliminated - when in fact we had one member left who hadn't been on the PM... That was the ace in the hole)).

[Helgraf]

"This is where they found her," I murmured quietly; finger tracing a faint pale pattern in the stone ... tapping slightly darker spots that wouldn't normally draw attention, places where the stone had drank in the blood.

Another long look, steeling my gaze in layers of ice and focused intent. "Do you still want to walk this road?"

"This is the price of that damnable bird. Death and despair and all for what? A chance to touch on a tapestry of grim deeds and dirty secrets. It's not where she died though. She was carried here ... carried in the arms of a wailing banshee, if you were to believe the stories of people who were hiding behind their doors, all wondering if they would be next. He laid her down on the stone, then nearly broke his hand in grief ... here." There, the discolouration was more vivid, though time and rain had again muted it to a dull russet upon the stone.

The questions came like hammers ... but she had to know what and why she was getting into before this went any further. A bit inside of me twisted on its own knife ... but I couldn't - and wouldn't - let her throw away everything for that damn bird without making absolutely sure she understood to the core what it was she was about to involve herself with.

"Both of them died in our foolish quest to obtain that damnable falcon. And now you come, looking for what? Answers? Redemption? And if so, is it for your sister's death or yourself?"

I waited, the only sound for long moments the trickling of the waters...

[Vonriel]

I sat back, digesting. He didn't tell me too much that I didn't know already, of course. I knew they'd be back once the bird showed up. He let one or two things slip that I didn't know, though. The dame, I'll have to watch out for her. Her big friend, as well. They could be trouble. He also told me he was holding something back. He may not have realized he let it slip, but it was as plain as day to one who knew what to listen for. 'You know how I am' he said, and yeah, I do. I once ran those alleyways beside him, trading in information, in secrets, and I knew that you always held something back just in case. Of course, he was more useful to me in one piece. After all, I'd been out of that game for a while, and he knew people new on the scene that I didn't.

Then there was the problem of the money. I'm not made of the stuff, but I had to keep him interested. Thankfully, some business dealings from a while back left me with a bit of dough to spend. And, this being my city, there were a few other... underhanded places to find cash, if you knew where to look. Still, I was likely to find myself broke as those two kids over there if I keep spending like this.

"It's a deal. Let me know what you find, and there's more where this came from." I pulled out another small wad, and slid it across the table to his waiting hand. Not a second later it was gone; he could make money disappear without even trying. With the payment came the feeling that our dealings were done, and the closeness of the bar had gotten to me. Nodding once, trusting him to keep his word - after all, you don't stay alive long when you make too many enemies - I stood up and walked out of the bar.

The air felt good, like a nice cool glass of water on the hottest day of the summer. I resisted the urge to gulp it down, though. Things don't happen unless someone makes them happen, and if I'm gonna save my city, I'd have to make them happen fast. With the enlistment of Jontom's aid, at least for now, some of my work is eased. I just hope his skills aren't too rusty.

[Jontom Xire]

I drank a couple of glasses, the alcohol sliding down smoothly like a kid on a helter skelter. It made me feel so good, on top of the world again. It also gave Vonriel time to make some distance, and I was sure he wouldn't be hanging around outside for very long, if at all. I got up, stuffing the half full bottle in a pocket, and moved to the door, turning as if giving the bar one last survey. In fact I was catching the eldest kid's eye, not difficult when you've got the head of a president peeking from between your fingers. I gave the slightest of head movements indicating her to follow me and passed through the doorway. Once outside I turned left and moved a dozen yards to the nearest corner where I leant against the wall, taking the bottle from my pocket and drinking a deep draught through the neck. If she didn't follow me it wouldn't matter. I had a bottle. I could wait. But I needed to speak to that kid, find out what she had seen.

As I waited I ran through all I had heard and all I knew in my head. I was missing something, I was sure of it. Maybe I was getting old. Maybe tomorrow I'd go buy a notepad and a pen and start writing stuff down, have it clear in blue and white on paper where I could spot the obvious and the unobvious that was currently eluding me. It would be worth it.

[Krursk]

Krursk points at Supagoof. No RP reason, but my school has massed singing. The A Train is an abomination and anyone slightly associated with it should be set on fire

[Joosbawx]

FINAL Vote Tally
Day One


{TABLE]#|Korias|Exachix|whitehelm|Jontom Xire|radikalskippy|Fleeing Coward|LLama|Zar Peter|Castaras|Eldritch Knight
1|Khaldan|LLama|Kyrian|CurlyKitGirl|Almighty Salmon|radikalskippy|Eldritch Knight|Castaras|Supagoof|Timberwolf
2|||Pwenet|||Raiser B1ade|Fleeing Coward||whitehelm|Helgraf
3|||North|||Raldor|Andre Fairchilde|||
4|||||||Zar Peter|||
5|||||||Korias
6|||||||Supagoof
7|||||||Alarra
8|||||||HyramGraff
9|||||||Traveling Angel
10|||||||Jontom Xire
11|||||||Space is Curved
[/TABLE]


Day One Ends:
Friday, August 24th @ 9pm Central (US)
--: ---------- :--
Please ensure your votes contain the name of target
and are posted in RED.

[Joosbawx]

Day One Ends



Police Issue Warrant for Fleeing Coward

Early this morning a body was found on East 42nd not far from the entrance of Grand Central Terminal. The deceased, an archaeologist who had some years ago fallen from favor within his profession for his regular support of a peculiar and far reaching conspiracy theory, was found shot twice from relatively close proximity. After disappearing from a dig he was leading outside of Jerusalem twelve years ago, Dr. Bawx' whereabouts have largely been unknown, save for a few scattered appearances worldwide. Police say while it was unclear why the deceased was in New York, it did appear as though robbery may have been the motive for his murder, what exactly was taken is not, at time of this publication, known. Police have arrested one suspect and, according to the District Attorney's Office, plan to press charges.

The suspect arrested is Fleeing Coward, an aptly named known consort with a list of arrest and implications for various felonies, including theft and various confidence schemes. At the time of this publication the suspect is being held in solitary confinement awaiting trial. Police say considering the previous crimes of Fleeing Coward and his known and suspected associates he will be moved, for his own protection, to the state penitentiary for his own protection.

Speaking to a source not to be named here, this reporter believes there may be more to this particular act of seemingly random act of violence than meets the eye art first glance. Witnesses to the crime state there was a struggle over a satchel the deceased was carrying after his death and before authorities could arrive on scene, with one man assailing and robbing the freshly ill-gotten gains from the man that appeared to have shot Dr. Bawx. Descriptions of both men and imprecise and convoluted; however, they agree that one man seemed, from the cut of his clothes, to be fairly well to do, while the other, for the same reason, seemed more inclined to manual labor than a white collar profession. It is this reporters belief that Fleeing Coward is simply a handy escape goat to hang the implications upon while a more sinister and far reaching circumstance may very well exist. Further information will be made available by this reporter as it develops.


Summary
Fleeing Coward, a citizen, was lynched.


Night One Begins.

Night Two Ends: Monday, August 27 @ 11:59pm Central (US)
Please remember to post your votes in RED, thanks.

[Khaldan]

((Wait, the DA is the day baner as well? weird..))

[Andre Fairchilde]

He woke with a splitting headache, and in jail. Specifically, he awoke when the turnkey took two empty tin water cups and started hitting them together yelling “Ahp! Ahp! Ev’ry wahn ahp!”

Andrew Fairchilde is many things to many people, but mostly a disappointment. Disgraced, fired former cop, kicked out of the fraternal union. Failing private eye, reduced to taking divorce jobs and defending guilty criminals. Right now, he’s just another detainee in the roust tank. Just another dirty detainee in a dirty, dirty city.

With a CLANK each of the cell doors unlock, and all the cell doors open as one. Each prisoner, victims of last nights roust begin to shuffle out to their wives, molls, bottles, bosses, blackjacks, and debts. Andrew rolls off the metal bunk onto the floor, and tries to stand up. He’s dazed, but not hung over. Touching his head, he clearly has a huge bump on the back of his head.

‘Last thing I remember was going into the Waters building….’ Clearly he’d been hit from behind. Standing in the cell, now empty, ambled to the cell door.

‘Got to get back to my office…’ Another image flashed… sitting in the chair with a light on his face, being ‘interrogated’…

He was still dressed in his work clothes, a dark blue stained overalls he filled with housebreaking tools and a flashlight. The pockets were empty, which was normal – he emptied his clothes of all identification when he was breaking into another office to plant evidence. If he were ever found dead, it may take weeks – if ever – to identify his body. Not that he could afford much of a funeral.

Leaving the cell behind, he was at the back of the sad crowd of overnight detainees. Drunks, Johns, Hopheads, Bums, they all had more purpose than Andrew.

As he headed to the stairs, a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to one side.

“Lad, stay awhile. We need to talk.”

Sergeant O’Doyle. THE face and badge behind the Fraternal Order of Police. The FOP picks the Sergeants, the Captains, the Chiefs… and they’re dirty as hell, selling their services to the highest bidder. Sergeant O’Doyle, the man behind Fairchilde’s expulsion from the police force.

Sergeant O’Doyle, the ‘Kingmaker’ himself…. and as Andy knows -and probably ONLY Andy – a Kingslayer too…

“Lad – welcome back to the Force.” O’Doyle hands Fairchilde a detective badge.

“We got the paperwork filled out while you were…undercover down here. Come over to me office, I’ve got an assignment for you…. Y'see Silas Hadow Jr. is in town...”

The badge looks like it has a blood smear... Working for the 'Kingmaker' was worse than working for the Devil herself...

[CurlyKitGirl]

The man in the booth next to us stood up suddenly and walked towards the door. As he looked around th dive one last time he caught my eye, and flashed a note at me.
I had him figured out from his quiet discussion with the money man - Vonriel. A man who selld information to the highest bidder so he can have another drink. And what's more, from the amount of good liquor he'd been knocking back since he met Vonriel, he'd come into some money; a lot of money.
And there was only one reason he'd want to talk with a gutter-girl like myself. He needed a source to sell to the next highest bidder. I could play the same game as he. "Stay here Charlie and keep your eyes open."
I stood up and walked out of the bar. Breathing deeply of the night air, tinged as always, with stagnated water, filth and the masses of unwashed bodies mingling with vehicle exhaust. Following the man I saw him stand against a street corner and take a few more discrete nips from his hip flasks; well, discrete to hi. To everyone else he clamped his cracked lips to it and drank as if it was the only thing keeping him alive. It probably was.
I walked up to him and said, "I know what you want. Ask."

[Traveling_Angel]

I thought that he was guilty of something. Oh well. I'd just have to go sleep in my hole.




(Day one begins? shouldn't it be Day one ends, night one starts?)

[Joosbawx]

(Day one begins? shouldn't it be Day one ends, night one starts?)

(( Fixed. ))

[Jontom Xire]

The girl came up to me and spoke her piece, short and sweet, a bit like her. Her face, framed by long curly locks like a waterfall, was suprisingly clean for a street kid, her clothes were worn and ragged, dishcloths draped on a skeleton frame, but her eyes were sharp, gleaming like moonlight off a knife blade just before it slides between a man's ribs. She'd left the child behind. I wouldn't have done that, not left a girl as young as her in that place, in Lucky's, a mixing pool of the worst, poorest, and dirtiest in the city. I had what she wanted and we both knew it, a shared thought passing between us like telepathy. She had what I wanted and claimed to know it, but I wasn't so sure. I knew things she didn't know, things I learnt when she was just a babe in swaddling cloths. I began to wonder if I could get more from her than I had planned. An extra pair of eyes or two, too young to know all the facts, too young to know enough facts to figure out new ones, and so not able to replace me. Never to be competition, at least not for a few years yet and maybe at that we could become a team. I looked down at her, taking another swig from the bottle while I let the moment settle.

"I want the girl. The other one. And some time. I want to talk, you understand? Just talk. I need to ask her some questions. She may have seen more than she knows and that information may be worth money." I took another swig from the bottle, watching the girl closely, my eyes locked on hers like a search light pinning a plane against the night sky.

"And another thing. The both of you are small, nondescript. In my trade that's a good thing, a great thing. You may hear other stuff, see other stuff. Stuff people say and do when they think no-one's watching, 'cos to them that's what you are. A no-one. You tell me, you hear? Only me. And I'll pay. I'll pay what it's worth, a fair price. And I can help you too. I can tell you places to go, places to be where you'll hear stuff. I can show you how to run the roofs. All I want is that you only tell me, and that'll work to your advantage too. This is a dangerous trade, girl. I have experience, contacts. People know that it'd be a bad idea to off me. Letters left behind where they'll be found, see? Letters people don't want found. You don't have that, so if you don't want to die, you be discreet, you only talk to me, ok?"

I looked down at her, hoping that she'd heard every word, hoping that she'd remember them, the words locked inside her head like gold coins in a counting house chest. I'm not a bad man. I have a conscience, tucked away somewhere inside like a mouse in its hole. I'd feel really bad if a girl as young as that wound up dead because she spoke the wrong word in the wrong place and I'd set her on that path. But I figured she was a smart girl, street smart, the smart that counts. She'd have to be to have survived this long without whoring herself, and her eyes were too bright for her to have taken that route. She could be useful, valuable. I'd take care of her like a mechanic takes care of his favourite wrench, polishing it and making it shine. Show her some skills, but always make sure she knew who was boss. I didn't want her trying to go off on her own, start her own business, compete with me, an ungrateful pupil trying to usurp her teacher.

[Vonriel]

(( Well, I think we're all waiting to see what the result of the night is. It should have just ended, by Joos' posted schedule, so we should see it soon. ))

[Korias]

(( Well, I think we're all waiting to see what the result of the night is. It should have just ended, by Joos' posted schedule, so we should see it soon. ))

((Aye. Thats what I'm waiting for, at least.))

[Skippy]

The drunk guy fell asleep on the table, his bottle still at his side, but completely empty.

[CurlyKitGirl]

"You make an interesting proposition. I'll get Charlie, but the two of you don't leave my sight. I've seen what can happen to little kids when noone looks after them." I shuddered inwardly, and felt a strange feeling, deep and dark just like I imagined the sea to be, and accompanied with a deep ache and an overwhelming sense of loss. I shook it off.

I walked back into Lucky's and over to our booth. Charlie was curled up in a corner right up against the wall, watching everything. "Come on Charlie-kid, we're off to earn some money." Trustingly she took ahold of my hand and we left the sleazy dive. He was still there, shadowed by the harsh orange glare of a sodium streetlight; but not under it, no, he was waiting at the edge of it near an alley. I took her over to him. He and Charlie walked off a distance, far enough so that I couldn't hear what was murmered, but close enough that I could see what was happeneing clearly.

While they talked I dwelt on this man and his ideas. In him I felt a kinship, like he and I'd gone through the same things; and that the both of us had become moulded to fit our territory. I knew he was an expert dealer for I saw how much money this Vonriel character had given him. If I helpd him out both Charlie and I'd be able to stay somewhere warm and keep off the sreets, but there would be a lot of danger involved; then again I was a non-entity, so was Charlie. I didn't think they'd care about us. And he could teach me, he was a pro, I barely rated as a novice. I had my decision. Providing Charlie was kept safe I'd accpet his offer. Charlie and I would work for a man we didn't know, but had to trust so that I could look after the both of us.
When he came back I told him my decision.

[Jontom Xire]

A short while later she came out of Lucky's again with the kid. She stopped a little way off while the little one came closer and we headed a little deeper into the alley, out of the light. I crouched so I'd be closer to her height.

"Curly says you want to talk to me", she said. So now I knew the older one's name.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I want to ask you about what you saw happen on East 42nd. Do you know what happened?"

"A man in a straw coloured hat shot a man carrying a big bag."

"How big?" I asked. She held her arms about two foot apart, then about a foot and a half high. An attache case or small suitcase by my guess. "Did you see what was in the bag?"

"Not really", said the kid.

"What d'you mean?"

"It looked like metal, but not shiny new. It was sorta dark, but it glinted."

"What shape was it?"

"It was a dragon", she said. Or more likely a falcon. Good enough confirmation for me.

"Did you see what happened to it?", I asked.

"The man with the hat took the bag from the dead man, but then there was a struggle with someone else and it fell outta the bag. Then it disappeared."

"Did you see who took it?" I asked insistently, "Who did the man in the hat fight with?".

"Dunno", she said, and bit her thumb, looking down at her shoes. I gave her a five note and she looked round at the older girl hesitantly before stuffing it in a pocket. I stood and walked over to the other girl.

"I'm Jontom. You can find me in Lucky's most times. Don't come to me, just sit where you sat and talk quietly if you want to pass a message, or catch my eye and we'll meet here when I can get away, ok?" I slipped her a president and it vanished instantly. Good girl. She'd got the knack.

She held her hand out to Charlie. I stood in the shadows and watched them leave. Well it wasn't much, just confirmed what I already knew, but it was something. And now I had some extra eyes and ears to see and hear, some extra feet to run errands. It wasn't much, but it was something.

[Supagoof]

The crowd moved in and out of Lucky's all night long. The saxophonist and the piano man played a variety of tunes, each with it's own sweet dischord of times past. Despite the irritation of a few, even the one lone drinker with his hand raised in anger over the late Duke's number, the two continued to play. What was it he said, oh yeah. "The A Train is an abomination and anyone slightly associated with it should be set on fire."

Did he know? Had he seen a past performance, no the performance? Or was it just the randomn speculation? Who knows. It was a small crowd that night, and aside from a few, most perished in that setting. That night when he went from the top of the charts to the outskirts of society. It was part of the act, but how was he supposed to foresee the throwing of drinks onto the stage. Foresee the fuel to the fire that would engulf the theatre in it's demise. The headline would haunt him forever. "The Goof was on fire...."

At least here wasn't a bad night, thought Supagoof. Nobody seemed to recognize him or bring up the events past. The place kept him warm, the coffee continued to be refllled, and the music they played kept him going. Despite the ominous looks and subtle gestures of the clientelle, Lucky's allowed him to escape for that brief moment of his lost existance in the streets.

And the music continued to flow....

[Timberwolf]

I walked into Luckys and took my usual seat, smoothing my dress over my knees as I did so. Cigarette ? Cigarette holder ? All there. High heels ? Definately or I'd be reduced to looking people in the sternum all evening.

So, I got to thinking. Who'd want to waste Joosbawx ? Actually, I then thought. Who wouldn't want to whack Joosbawx ? It was a damn small list. Everyone in this no good two bit bar seemed to have a reason for wanting the man dead. Everyone from Lucky himself, the only person in the bar shorter than me, to Supagoof. Everyone had a reason for wanting him gone and I couldn't figure out who had the biggest reason of all. The Falcon, it all came back to the Falcon. Everyone wanted it, the Templars, the Shadow Agents, the Fat Man, The Private Eye and of course, there was the Shadow, always lurking in the background ready to dispense his own brand of justice.

I took a long pull on my cigarette and dismissed the questions of my age from the bartender with the usual bite to the nose. I'm short, not underage for drinking.

[Alarra]

As he spoke, I could feel steel daggers driving their way into my spine. I straightened, lips pursed tightly together. After a time, I gave him a cold gaze, my eyes sharp slits. "I know exactly what I am doing." My voice was ice, distant, with a thread of rage boiling beneath the surface. I was amazed I sounded as confident as I did. I didn't know what I was doing, of course, but the implication that I had embarked on this task on a whim, that I hadn't considered exactly how much danger, pain and heartache I would be taking on by coming here, infuriated me.

I glanced at the horizon deliberately. "It's late. Take me home now." A part of me cringed at the thought that I had dared to give him an order, but I knew that I would have to adopt a tougher persona if I were to survive here long. He looked about to speak, but apparently thought better of it, a good decision. We rode the blocks to my apartment in silence. I'll say this for him at least, he knew when to hold his tongue.

I stepped out of the cab with a small nod of thanks. It seemed some habits were too firmly ingrained to drop, no matter how angry I was. We would see each other again, I was sure, and perhaps, if nothing else, the next time he would respect me. The cab stayed at the curb until well after I was inside and I was able to watch it from my front window as it pulled into the night. I stood there a moment longer, watching the lights trailing away in the distance before something inside me snapped and I sank to the floor, welcoming the tears and the bottle of scotch that would be my companions until sleep finally claimed me.

[Joosbawx]

(( My hotel in Chicago was having some wifi issues...which I actually helped resolve for them...so I couldn't get the night posted. I will be able to do so when I get back to the hotel tonight, so the night update will be forthcoming probably sometime around 7pm tonight. Sorry for the delays, but I'm in chicago, so I ahve to roll with the training conference I'm at. ))

[Andre Fairchilde]

"He doesn't know anything. He's the perfect patsy. I should know, I left him."

The apartment was filled with antiquities. Some still had the dust of a pharoah's last drink on them.

"And you have no problem being cruel to him? He can't ever even know of..."

""Cruelty? You think this is cruelty? He has no other use to me, and this gives him a purpose. Cruel for him is life with no master. He falls apart. Look at his disaster now."

"The Kingmaker has brought him back onto the force. He'll be part of their goon squad again. You can't want that... not that I care one way or another as long as I get what I want."

"He has no friends. No contacts except the devil himself, and he'll deny me? He'd betray the pope himself for a chance with me again..."

[Helgraf]

The dame had made her choice. The cabbie dropped her off at what she called her place, then took me to another part of town. I got out of the cab and tossed the driver the balance plus a good tip. Always keep a cabbie or two dedicated to your interests - but never so much that they get too close. Then someone else makes a weapon out of them.

Weathered lips cracking into a sardonic echo of a smile as I thought about what had just happened. Why oh why did she have to have the same stubborn streak, I quietly mused. The smile curled away, leaving no evidence of its presence. I should cut my losses right now, tail it out of this city. The falcon was here, yeah, that I was sure of - too many whispers all adding up to the same range of possibilities. That meant those thrice damned Templars would be on the move, if they weren't already here. And it also meant the Agency would be making its move, possibly as early as tonight.

The alley smelled of spilled wine, vomit and the stench of unwashed humanity. An alley cat of the truest sort had torn open a trashbag and was sifting through the remains, trying to pull something edible. Trying to get by ... a lot like us, and judging by its gauntness, about as successfully.

Night was falling on the city, and the reapers were abroad. I picked up an old, half-empty bottle of scotch, let the vapours sidle up my nose and tickle the back of my head for a few moments, then took a long pull and another. Memories long unwanted were trying to pull themselves out of the self-imposed exile I'd put them in. It was time to stuff that djinn a little tighter into its bottle.

[Crystall_Myr]

Bam! I was out of bed and dressed faster then most men would be able to blink, and looked at the clock. I apparently had overslept. I moved out of my house, then stopped, wondering why the hell there were two newspapers there as opposed to the usual one. I picked them up, and swore loudly - did I really hit the snooze button that many times? I scanned the headlines, not expecting much, but finding more then I was ready for.

Murders. I began to walk at a very brisk pace, and before long was near the center of town - where the action is. That's when I saw Lucky's bar. Normally I avoid the place, being somewhat of an antisocial and disliking both crowds and loud noises, but the place was busy tonight, really busy, too busy for something not to be going on. I decided to ignore my daily pattern and peeked inside. The pianist, as always. A saxophonist with him. Odd. More people. People I hadn't seen before. Two kids... aren't they underage? Whatever. A... damn, is that a demon? No, can't be. Just someone in a good costume. People, people, people, one, two, three, four, ten, sixty, a hundred, god knows how many people here. I needed a breath of fresh air, but that's just not the sort of thing you get at Lucky's.

Eager to be out of the place, I perked up my ears and looked to find something about the murders. The man had a bag... a purse? Meh. So it was some sort of mugging, but for what reason? I needed a breather, so I left the place, and went for a walk outside.

(@ \/: Really? Hadn't noticed. :smallredface: No points, then. The rest of my post fits it being nighttime.)

[Khaldan]

((psst, Crystall, tis nighttime.))

[Tormsskull]

((I'm going on vacation (wooo-hooo) from tonight - if this notification saves me from an autolynch, I'll be back late Monday or tuesdayish, otherwise I understand))

[Kyrian]

(I'm out til Monday, so no auto-lynchy please :smallsmile: )

[Eldritch Knight]

(Leaving tommorow morning for a few days. Assume that I point with the majority. I do not wish to be autolynched.)

[Shadow]

((I don't think you guys need to worry about autos. Joos has been MIA for a couple of days (much like myself) and then there's the holiday weekend to consider. But if he hasn't posted an update by Tuesday or Wednesday night, I say we autolynch him! :smallwink:))

[Castaras]

*points at Joosbawx* :smalltongue:

[Andre Fairchilde]

(Wait, he's in...Chicago... where Shadow is... Shadow what have you done with Joosbox! Joos - why not go to Shadow's house, he probably has internet service...)

[HyramGraff]

((Shadow, you're in Chicago? If so I'll need to look you up sometime.))

[Korias]

*Pokes JoosBawx*

*Pokes him again*

*Pokes him a third time*

Points at Joosbawx.

[Shadow]

((Shadow, you're in Chicago? If so I'll need to look you up sometime.))((SW burbs. Definately.
And you should check this out (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=45085), too.
The first one's gone and passed, but there's another on the way.))

[Jontom Xire]

(( I really hope this game doesn't die off. I was really enjoying it. ))

[CurlyKitGirl]

((*pokes Joos* Perhaps we should point at the narrator...))

[Skippy]

((Not at nighttime, we don't... We need the day to start to point at the narrator...))

[Madmal]

((well, but there are more options...
Le Poke of DOOOOOOM!! at Joos))

[Shadow]

blah blah blah blah blah blah .
blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.

blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.

blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.

Summary: Joosbawx was killed by Shadow. He was the narrator. :biggrin: :tongue:

[Jontom Xire]

Is that an admission of guilt? Does that mean you've got the Falcon then?

[Helgraf]

I was willing to co-narrate (if Joos needed it) if my character died early in the game. But I don't think we should hand the reigns off on this one just yet. It just doesn't feel right.

[Shadow]

I concur.
What's Mafia without Joos?

[CurlyKitGirl]

I concur.
What's Mafia without Joos?

Not Magia at all; especially if Helgraf dies. Remember what happened after Alarra and Helgraf died last game?

Perhaps we should wait a while longer.

*pokes Joos and anyone who knows where he lives*

[Supagoof]

Joos lives in Fargo.

Though he was last said to be in Chicago...which is where Shadow lives...hmmm.

What did you do with Joosbawx, Shadow? :smallconfused:

((And would you unti him and let him get back to narrating this game for a bit? :smallamused: ))

[Eldritch Knight]

Patience, my friends.. Joos will be back in time. I'm willing to wait until he shows up.

[Shadow]

Joos lives in Fargo.

Though he was last said to be in Chicago...which is where Shadow lives...hmmm.

What did you do with Joosbawx, Shadow? :smallconfused:

((And would you unti him and let him get back to narrating this game for a bit? :smallamused: ))He's not tied up.
I ate him. Well, his liver anyway
With some fava beans and a nice chianti.

mmmmmmmm.........
Joos'y liver and chianti.....

[Andre Fairchilde]

(Does this mean that whoever has the Falcon wins? :smallsmile: )

[Korias]

(Does this mean that whoever has the Falcon wins? :smallsmile: )

This implies that you have the Falcon, Andre.

Because of this, I point to thee next round.

[Alarra]

Ahem. I have spoken with Sir Joosbawx...(he's not fallen off the face of the earth! le yay!)...and apparently work has gotten insane since he returned from his trip. Everything should (ideally) settle down by the middle of next week and then he'll be back. :smallsmile:

[Helgraf]

Ahhh, a ray of hope in this grimy distasteful world.

[Vonriel]

Hey, Helgraf? This is all supposed to be ooc chatter. :smallwink:

[Helgraf]

Yes, it is, isn't it. :xykon:

[Timberwolf]

So Shadow hasn't got him locked in his basement until Joosbawx hands over the list of roles.

[Shadow]

I don't have a basement.
He's locked an an extremely small linen closet with all my dirty socks.

That s.o.b. is holding out on me.

[Jontom Xire]

Three days since last post in this thread - just bumping to keep it alive a little longer.

[Shadow]

Don't worry.
We all have faith that Joos will be back when he's able.

[Timberwolf]

When he's given you the list and managed to chew through the ropes ?

[Shadow]

He already chewed through the ropes.
I have him bound with zip ties now, swat team style.
Let's see you chew through those from behind your back mister!

[CurlyKitGirl]

((Isn't Joos a descendant of Houdini? You'd better try better than that Shadow. You'll never get the lists out of him with those paltry methods. My sister could get ut of those.:smallsmile: ))

[Supagoof]

Can she? Hmmm....

*Goes to tie Curly's sister up with steel cables....*

[Castaras]

;) Kinky.

No idea why, but it's still Kinky. :smalltongue:

[CurlyKitGirl]

Re-bumps thread. Goota keep this in the limelight for a while.

[Alarra]

Joos promised to come post here today and update with what's going on.

[Joosbawx]

Resurfacing from the lightning sand of work and some minor real life issues with a deep, gasping inhale like Wesley climbing a vine in the midst of the Fire Swamp, the narrator pops in to (at least) apologize.

Hello all...very, very, very sorry for having started this and not have carried it through. However, I only ask you to be patient until after this weekend when I have my little vacation from work and recharge my batteries. Come Monday, I plan to pick up the game where we left off...UNLESS, by popular vote, you'd like to start anew from scratch. Either way is fine with me. So thanks for not stringing my up by my pinky toes (except for Shadow, of course), and lemme know whether you'd like to start from scratch or continue as is.

Also...


Wednesday is
Internation Talk Like a Pirate Day!
Yar!!!

[Castaras]

I really don't mind which way we go. Either is fine for me.

And welcome back Joos! Hope work isn't going to kill you before the weekend.

[Andre Fairchilde]

(Well, we already have our roles and I have the Falcon :smallwink: so I vote we continue on. But, as mentioned, I volunteer to be co-narrator if you wish...)

[Joosbawx]

But, as mentioned, I volunteer to be co-narrator if you wish...

I very well may take you up on that...

[Andre Fairchilde]

(Ok, send me a PM and we'll talk in person on Saturday. Otherwise, I'll give you a call...)

[Joosbawx]

Hmmm...bad news, it seems. Due to a computer issue I had at work, I may not have all the information I need to continue the game as is. I will look at home tonight and post again one way or another. Just a heads up for everyone still interested in playing.

[Korias]

I'm interested in playing. I need to increase my RP skills by repeatedly doing the same action over and over.

Wait, thats an MMO. I want to play this cause it sounds awesome.

[The Valiant Turtle]

The city coroner arrives at Luckys bar and realizes that he may have just mis-identified a dead body. He runs out frantically.

Oh dear, I hope they haven't already notified Mr. Bawx' next of kin!

((I'm content with either continuing or re-starting, some people may not really be monitoring the thread still, so a re-start might be best for them))

[Andre Fairchilde]

(Well, do we want to do another quick sign-up thread? Do we want to keep the same roles, or lack of roles?)

[Joosbawx]

Raldor brings up a good point, and seeing as I'm lacking a bit of my information I'd prepared for the first run at Mafia V, perhaps we should restart. I'll creat a signup thread and we'll start from there.

New Sign-Up Thread Here (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=3214089#post3214089).

[Madmal]

awww, man! first i loose most of my character sheets for RPGprofiler and tangledweb, now this? :smallmad: