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Mafia '83

 
  

Page: 12(3)4

 
 
STOATIE LIEKS CHOCOLATE MILK
22:01 / 30.06.06
"Me? Oh, I was trying to find a coin with a picture of a bear on it so I could get the music box working. Suspect? Hmm, right now I'm not sure I trust anybody, but I still have that disturbing sense that Poker is not what he seems".
 
 
Orange
22:17 / 30.06.06
Clementine edged her way down the stairs to talk to the manager, looking tired and withdrawn. She felt like a shadow of the person she´d been just a few days before. She´d been in her room when each of the murders took place, but now that she thought about it, she had no way of proving anything. She had passed Krung in the hall and had her first unsettling conversation with him fairly late on Monday night, but even if he were still around to serve as a witness, Steve had been killed hours later. She felt her stomach clench with despair and guilt at the thought that she had been partly responsible for the death of the innocent Krung. And while she´d never been sure quite what to think of Vince, he had been the first person with a kind word for her, and with that thought she felt even more hopelessly alone. She was beyond even feeling shock that she had been accused herself. Clinging to the idea that she could somehow help uncover the killers was all that was keeping her going.

Leaning down and whispering, she told Mr. Biskup that she suspected Capt. Barry, the muttering old army loon.
 
 
Feverfew
08:37 / 01.07.06
Feverfew, passing through in a hurry, alas, lets it be known that he suspects Elijah.
 
 
P. Horus Rhacoid
13:57 / 01.07.06
Well, shit, while Steve's been off in his room comforting Sally- and, ultimately, watching her run off screaming at him for being 'insensitive,' whatever that means- it looks like everyone else has voted. Crap!

'Hmm, that dummy gives me the creeps but it's a goner anyway and so's its owner. An insurance salesman, though? What a dick! I'll bet Poker is the killer. A killer. One of several. Shit!'
 
 
Eloi Tsabaoth
22:04 / 02.07.06
INTERROGATION COMING SOON
[External image]
DON'T TOUCH THAT DIIIIAAAAAALLLLLL
 
 
Joy Division Oven Gloves
01:28 / 03.07.06
Ricky lay curled up foetally on his bed, eyes fixed on the door, waiting for the manager and guests to arrive.

He couldn't remember where he'd been when the three killings had taken place. Charlie would know, he could tell him what to say but he wasn't here and Ricky was afraid.

He closed his eyes and drifted away from the claustrophobic nightmare the hotel had become. He floated in the dark, the distant sounds of the bar and the fevered accusations of the guests receding into the background until they were no longer there anymore.....


[External image]


Meanwhile, deep in the hotel's basement, Charlie had managed to find himself a winter-coat that fitted and was searching round for a pair of children's tennis racquets that would double as snow-shoes.

The boy had gone all catatonic on him. Weak, thought Charlie, weak and spineless. Just the kind of kid he liked. It'd take him years to find a straight man like that again. Pausing his search the doll reconsidered leaving. Maybe he should stay, maybe he could talk the guests into letting the kid alone?

Then Charlie remembered the bloodlust in the faces of the guests and the wood-chipper outside the hotel he'd noticed with some trepidation on their first day here. He forgot about snow-shoes and started looking frantically for anything resembling skis.
 
 
Eloi Tsabaoth
22:05 / 04.07.06
Ricky remained curled up on the bed, the eye of a storm comprised of the other hotel employees ransacking his room. Clearing out closets, tearing open furniture, even smashing open the toilet cistern.
Eventually Jonathan rounds on Ricky, brandishing a chair leg. He doesn’t seem upset as much as on some new level of amusement.
“Ha! So where’s Howdy Doody, Ricky? Where’s that little scamp scampered off to, huh? Your secret little case of all your little tools, your little devices? WHERE’S IT HIDING?”
Ricky remained silent. Esteban, one of the hotel’s cleaners, barged his way to the front.
“This fucker killed Steve, boss, I always knew there was something wrong with him! just let me…”
“No! We’re not animals. Ha hah! We’re not vegetables or minerals, we’re not models of modern major generals… we’re going to do this properly.”
Steve’s voice emerged, a whisper of a whisper.
“He’ll come back… He…he always does…”
Jonathan rolled his eyes.
“So it’s somewhere else. C’mon, let’s use our brains. Gary, Esteban, you’re helping me search. You two stay here, keep an eye on Ricky…”
Jonathan charged off like a man on a mission, despite not having a clue where he was going. On his third rotation of the corridors he saw something out of the window. The utility shed, located out near the now snow covered gardens, had its door wide open.
Out in the snow Jonathan was freaked. Teeny tiny little footprints to the shed. Child sized ski-marks going away and down the hill.
[External image]
Esteban and Gary share incredulous looks. Jonathan smiles and shakes his head.
“So it was a kid or a midget or something in a wooden costume. It makes perfect sense. Perfect!”
“So do we go after it, I mean, him?”
“In this weather? He’s a boysicle.”
They hear a blood-coagulating scream.
“Fuck!”
Our three intrepid, if slightly tired heroes quickly make their way back to the room.
The two men left on guard have been… well, swept aside is the closet word. Their mangled corpses lay to the left and right of the door.
Inside there was nothing but a whole lot of blood and a suitcase. Charlie’s case.
Jonathan carefully opens it to find Ricky inside, carefully cut into his component parts, from the expression on his head, it was while he was still alive. Dismantled.
Jonathan suddenly looks very serious.
“You’d need three people to do this. Two to hold, one to saw…”
“You mean he was Innocent?”
“If you want to put it like that, yes.”
They stare at the horror for a few minutes. Then Jonathan grins and claps his hands together.
[External image]
“Well, I’m off to bed! Please inform the guests about the three horrific murders and burn the corpses, will you boys? I’m just plum tuckered out. “
He breezes out of the room.
“Good niiiiight!”
 
 
Feverfew
17:55 / 06.07.06
Feverfew noted that it was quiet. Not too quiet; the snow still fell, the trees still creaked (but not as much as the ancient pipes), and the wind still howled.

Odd as it was, he missed the sound of the piano.

"Three innocents dead, god help us...

Everyone else was still in a state of shock, numb to the outside world and quiet, quiet, quiet.

Perhaps the sandwiches had been a bad idea.

So, to pass the time, Feverfew puts on the black fingerless gloves he's learnt to treasure since the snow started falling, pulls on his jacket and goes outside for a cigarette.

From the right viewpoint, the scenery is breathtaking; acres of forest, covered in snow, with barely any other habitation in sight. No lights, no cars, no movement... Apart from the ski-marks, which are quickly being filled, no signs of human existence until you turn around, and see the hotel...

Life had got very weird, very quickly, no doubt about it.

Feverfew stares out into the bleakness for a while. He finishes another cigarette, then goes back inside. The other's haven't moved, much.

Just what the hell is going on here?
 
 
Elijah, Freelance Rabbi
14:33 / 07.07.06
Elijah was tired. Three people had been killed now, two of them he had accused of being psychotic killers just before they were horribly murdered.

He had never seen a dead body before, and now there had been three in a very short time.

Everyone seemed to be as shellshocked as he was, even the guy who went out for a smoke came back inside looking like he was only half alive. The killers had not gone after anyone since the kid with the doll, and if they were staying true to form then someone would be dead soon.

Everyone in the lobby just sat, waiting for the moment when the bullet hits the bone.
 
 
■
19:16 / 10.07.06
Boy, the guests had been sitting still a looong while. Shiney managed to polish all the glasses in that time, even the one he'd taken a whizz in earlier in case anyone tried to piss him off.
 
 
Eloi Tsabaoth
20:03 / 10.07.06
Suddenly they were all killed in a massive explosion.

The End.

(I forgot to fix the boiler)
 
 
Eloi Tsabaoth
08:04 / 11.07.06
Last night seemed to go on forever. Everyone lay in their beds, uncomfortably hot, despite the snow-storm outside, the smell of roasted flesh in their nostrils. No-one got more than a few minutes sleep at a time before being woken by weird disjointed fever dreams of a sea of teeth and eyes and raw flesh all melting together with a terrible chattering noise.
Everyone stumbles down to breakfast. No-one can meet anyone else’s eyes, each lost in their own little world.
Xander Keening was nowhere to be seen, nor was Jonathan Biskup. After a while Gary and Esteban and a few others make the grim march up to his room. The door was open, almost invitingly.
XK lies on his back on the bed. 6 paintbrushes protrude from his stomach, their tips a rusty brown.
“S’funny… He almost looks… happy.” Ponders Gary.
Then their eyes follow the dried blood trail from the bed to a canvas set on the stand. The strokes of the painting are unmistakable.
“Shit… he painted that in his own fucking blood! What is it, is it the murderer?”
Everyone scrutinises the painting. Esteban shakes his head.
[External image]
“Not unless he was killed by a kitten…”
"Damn. He was Innocent all right..."
Their minds numbed by the endless parade of carnage with a background noises of jangling paranoia, the little group make their way to Biskup’s manager’s quarters. The door there is also open.
He’s not there. But he’s left a small pyramid of miniature empties and a note.
“if yo ucnanCnN Thning what to do won and one makexs 4 time tidwe tro find the blue fiaury killed for fun or for food catch a killer by becomunbg is gone someone else do the job im tired you take over.”
The boys look around. His outside gear has gone. So has the shotgun they all knew he kept under his bed.
“We’d better look for him. Fuck! We’ve hardly gone any goddamn staff members left. Hey you, what’s your name again?”
“Uh… Feverfew?”
“Right, whatever. I’ve seen your credentials, the boss didn’t hire you before for whatever reason but I’m starting to think he wasn’t the best judge anyway. You’re hired, welcome aboard, go get a uniform if you want. Just get everyone together and keep an eye on them. Today… You’re in charge!”
 
 
Kiltartan Cross
08:29 / 11.07.06
"Poker. No messing about, no discussion, we've got to get him, and get him right away. I said, damnit... insurance my ass. He's laughing at us right now behind those shiny little glasses. Travelling goddamn insurance salesman, he's a fucking psychopath. Poker. Beat the shit out of him, lock him up, and find his fucking friends before anyone else ends up as a weird-shit piece of modern art."

Michaela is somewhat stressed, and looks as if she hasn't slept overnight. Unwashed and wearing the same clothes as yesterday, she's beginning to look wrecked.

"Damnit. Of all the stupid things to happen."
 
 
■
08:53 / 11.07.06
"Hell, with the number of people left in this place, just about anyone but me must be the culprit! Poker we're gonna hunt you down like a dawwwgg."
 
 
Baz Auckland
09:11 / 11.07.06
Captain Barry sits at the bar...still... muttering to himself...still... now he has a note in front of him though that someone slipped in his pocket during the night.

"One thing I learned in the jungle is never trust anyone...not even yourself. Goddamn it all, I'll rise to the bait this time though and say Poker is it. If whoever wrote this is wrong this round, they're next.
 
 
Tezcatlipoca
09:59 / 11.07.06
T. C. Poker takes a long draw on his cigarette. He exhales slowly, the thin grey whisp curling up to the ceiling.

"Look," he says. "I really don't know what you three think you know, but remember that we have people here who can help us as much as hinder us, and losing them is only going to make life easier for those who are bringing us death."

He pauses for a moment, takes a swig of Bourbon, then continues. "You want to lynch me, go ahead. I can offer no good reason other than the fact I know I'm innocent.
And the guilty? Well, my money is on Elijah. So far, and by his own admission, everybody he votes for gets killed, and that makes me nervous."
 
 
STOATIE LIEKS CHOCOLATE MILK
12:08 / 11.07.06
I've long had my suspicions of that Poker, but thus far they've been harmless. It'd be a bit weird to change now, though...
 
 
Orange
12:18 / 11.07.06
Poker. Why didn't she pick up on that before? That shifty character has had it coming for a long time, thought Clementine grimly.
 
 
Elijah, Freelance Rabbi
13:18 / 11.07.06
"This is the second time you have accused me you limp dick, and this will be the last, my vote is for Poker"
 
 
Tezcatlipoca
14:36 / 11.07.06
T. C. Poker pushes his glasses back to his face and raises an eyebrow at Elijah's puerile outburst.

"Quite," he says quietly. "But are you prepared to be next when I am gone? We both know what you are, my friend, and my death isn't going to make the slightest bit of difference."
 
 
Elijah, Freelance Rabbi
15:07 / 11.07.06
"Well Mr. Poker, if you had some kind of insight into who was and was not a killer would you not have used that after your first accusation against me and found out I was innocent?" Elijah pushed up a pair of imaginary glasses in an impersonation of Poker.

"I think this guy is a fraud, and is trying to pass himself off as some kind of detective and has been from the beginning,"
 
 
Jake, Colossus of Clout
15:35 / 11.07.06
Jake slips his headphones off, basking in the rightness that is a Sox victory over the Yankees, courtesy of one Mr. Dwight Evans.

"I've got to say, Poker, 'travelling insurance salesman' is damn near a synonym for 'serial killer.' I was nuts not to vote for you right off the bat. Would the rest of you mind terribly taking care of this sick piece of trash? Today's game is a doubleheader and I don't wish to be disturbed."
 
 
Feverfew
17:14 / 11.07.06
Feverfew, stood outside watching the snow, stubs out the latest cigarette and goes to his room, avoiding as many people as possible.

A while later, he reappears downstairs, to speak to everyone in the bar.


"Right, then. Like the man said, today, I'm in charge."

This was met with a stony silence. He persevered;

"Ok, ok. So Old Man Biskup has... disappeared, in unknown circumstances. I know we're all a little edgy with everything that's going on.

Also, four innocent people dying doesn't help matters. But I'm pleased to see everyone rallying together in sniffing out a killer, and I just hope you're all right about T. C. Poker.

Mr Poker, I sympathise with your plight, but... You're fucked, basically. I thought I was going to have to jolly people along regarding the voting, but with seven votes for you already, I think you're well and truly boned".

So far, eight votes have been counted. With Krung killed in the pantry, Ricky being the man in the suitcase, Vince all strung up like he was and XK being put out of the picture, that should leave three votes, (including Feverfew).

Last two to vote - you know who you are - you have until next Thursday, the 20th, as Biskup said, to complete this macabre round. Until then, everybody just has to sit tight...
 
 
Elijah, Freelance Rabbi
17:45 / 11.07.06
Elijah thought that with the addition of a suit Feverfew looked much more refined, almost like the logo for an encyclopedia...
 
 
P. Horus Rhacoid
18:05 / 11.07.06
Steve sits in a chair, brooding. Sally's been missing since yesterday, he's got no idea where she is, but given the high probability of violent death in these parts, he's not too hopeful. He sees one of the chicks making eyes at him and smiles at her. Maybe Sally missing isn't all bad...

He's had his suspicions about Poker and now it looks like they've been confirmed. Time to rock the motherfucker like a hurricane.

'Like a hurricane'? Where had that come from? It didn't even make sense, unless Poker was a boat or something.
 
 
LykeX
20:22 / 11.07.06
The go-with-the-mob strategy hadn't produced a killer yet, but on the other hand, Luke himself hadn't been singled out either.

TC Poker! You do NOT have the right to remain silent.
 
 
Jake, Colossus of Clout
05:40 / 18.07.06
Is... is anyone there...?
 
 
■
07:07 / 18.07.06
Shiney looked up from the skidoo he was building from the bar's massive stash of toothpicks. Had someone just said something? Nah.
 
 
Baz Auckland
07:46 / 18.07.06
Captain Barry looks up from his drink and idly wonders whether this whole thing is a gimmick for Biskup to make a small fortune off of his guests... I mean, he charges by the night, right? I wonder if those roads really are impassable....
 
 
Tezcatlipoca
07:56 / 18.07.06
T. C. Poker crosses to the bar and gets himself another Bourbon. For a while he stands there, his back to the assembled crowd of guests, his hands and the line of his jaw tightening uncontrollably.

"You’re right," he says quietly. "I’m not just an insurance salesman. I am the insurance salesman; I’m the best damn salesman in the state. But they," he spits, "They were always against me. All of them."
He takes a long, slow inhalation. "Sweet Arlene. My poor Arlene. It was hot. So very hot. And-"

T. C. whirls around suddenly, his face red. "I freed them all," he screams. "All of them! They were nothing without me, do you hear me!? Nothing! Arlene, Donald, that fucker at the gas station, the old couple, the piano guy, the dummy guy, god-" he halts suddenly, eyes rolling with drunkenness and hate. "God," he repeats to himself, his head nodding. "God." A grin. "I’d have freed more of you, you know. All of you if I’d had the chance. But my legacy will continue, oh yes my dear cattle, it will continue. I’m not the only one here, and I can and will see more of you in hell before this storm has eased."

T. C. falls silent once again, and a dread quiet descends over the room. And then the pressure and Bourbon finally catches up on him, and T. C. – his paroxysm over - slumps to the floor in an undignified heap.
 
 
Feverfew
17:53 / 18.07.06
Feverfew muses about the strangeness of the hotel. Outside the snow, impossibly, is getting thicker and thicker. In his room, however, it's sweatingly hot; today, the radiator came on and would not shut off, no matter how he tried.

Also, with all the killers still out there, Feverfew is taking no chances, and has some 'protection' that he found behind the bar.

[External image]

And then the shouting started, from the bar, as he was on his way downstairs and outside for another cigarette, or maybe two.

T. C. Poker has, evidently, gone completely batshit, or was so from the very beginning, and the weight of his actions was weighing on his soul. Or something poetic like that.

And Lord, but he's heavy for such a slight man, as Feverfew picks up his slumped body and places it in a large, leather chair. Taking no chances, Feverfew handcuffs both wrists to the arms of the chair, with two pairs of handcuffs found in Biskup's personal effects that were left behind. He avoided speculating on that while he tied Poker's legs at the ankles to the chair.

Then, he sat back, and waited for the self-confessed supposed killer to wake up. In old man Biskup's absence, they were going to have a little chat...
 
 
Tezcatlipoca
09:21 / 19.07.06
T. C. comes round slowly, his head still swimming through a miasma of exhaustion and rage.

"What the hell," he mutters to himself. "Damn Bourbon." He tries to move, his wrists straining against the handcuffs that bind him to the chair. "What the- oh. Oh, yes. The confession. Well," he says, eyes flashing defiantly, "What the hell do you people want, hmmm?"
 
 
Feverfew
19:17 / 19.07.06
"Oh, fast cars, beautiful women, a house in the country... But mostly, I really, really want to get to the truth of things."

Feverfew is, pretty much, through with screwing around.

"So then. We have options. Many options. There's the ideal, the good, and the undesireable."

"The ideal is that you provide undoubtable evidence that you're a killer. Sounds strange, but it would explain why everyone's suddenly decided you ain't flavour of the month. Evidence, and spin a nice story, and you'll be remembered as more than just a creepy little 'insurance salesman' who reeks of bourbon and sweat. A lot of people here need closure, closure that only you can provide, if you can find it in yourself."

"The good is if you stay there and do nothing. If old man Biskup returns any time soon he's going to interrogate you anyway and we'll all know the truth. So if you want the right to remain silent, then you go right ahead. But if you do that, I'll line everyone here up and have them ask you questions day and night for days on end until something in your story cracks, and we'll have our evidence anyway."

Feverfew pauses to light a cigarette. It's a habit he wants to give up, but, hey, we could all be dead soon.

"The undesireable is... well. Let's just say you don't want to know, just yet. I'll leave you with two possibilities for now, and just the threat of a third."

Feverfew leans back in his chair, sat directly opposite Poker. He leans in one last time, offers T. C. a cigarette which he accepts, (tricky, with the handcuffs, but not impossible) lights it, and sits back again. They stay like that, staring at each other, silent and tense, while the Insurance Salesman considers the first two options.
 
 
Jake, Colossus of Clout
06:13 / 01.08.06
So, have you finished torturing him yet?
 
 
Feverfew
08:58 / 02.08.06
These things, like so many in life, take time. Have faith!
 
  

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