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Murder at Midnight Mafia Game Thread (Day 4) [Game Over; Town Wins!]

Spoot-Face

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Spoot-Face
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Murder at Midnight Mafia I posit to you this one question: Where do criminals go when they can no longer hide in the shadows? If you venture out beyond the safety of the sprawling metr

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Ape before investigating Jif's butt:   Ape after investigating Jif's butt:

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The pale moonlight casts a soft, comforting glow across Drakken Cove on this uncommonly calm night as Ava Benoit takes her nightly stroll through town on her own personal hunt. As she passes by the still smoldering remains of what was Gertie Tilton's home, she casts a quick glance at it, only letting herself feel a tinge of somberness for a brief moment before returning to her normal stoic and detached disposition. She doesn't necessarily feel guilt or regret for what happened; some would say such is life in Drakken Cove, but Ava always has to laugh at that sentiment. Life in Drakken Cove is no different than anywhere else she's lived, except that maybe it's more honest. All the violence, depravity, and grotesqueness that lives in Drakken Cove lives everywhere. Most people just don't see it. No, what has Ava reflecting on the past day's events isn't some sense of shock or horror of the evils of human nature, because she's grown numb to that a lifetime ago. As one of the few fellow women inhabitants who were more than mere holes to be filled, Ava felt a sort of kinship with Gertie. Cliche, maybe, but women like that need to stick together -- here, or, for that matter, everywhere.

That is why it was Ava's straight razor that graced Gertie's neck in her last moments. Ava knew what was coming, and what the townsfolk planned was magnitude's worse than what she had to offer. Gertie must have seen it, too, and if Ava had even a moment to explain to Gertie, she believes the woman would've readily accepted the blade and thanked her for it. It wasn't hard for Ava to do -- it's not the first neck her blade has touched, but it was the first done in an act of kindness. Many a john, in the past, has received the wrong end of her razor after having been too rough. At one point enough was enough for Ava. What started in mere self-defense grew into somewhat of a crime spree, taking advantage of men at their most vulnerable and robbing them of all money and dignity, and the ones who resist suffer a fate worse than embarrassment from having been robbed by a whore. Whether it's the killing itself that she has grown more... accustomed to, or just the feeling of being the one to put the fear of death into someone else for a change, she may not even know. It just gets easier every time, and she doesn't want to stop.

This is the reason for her nightly stroll, when even most men would be afraid to wander the streets, especially after recent events, but Ava doesn't go anywhere without her trusty blade, tucked unseen in her boot, and she is a quick draw. Besides, her purse is getting light, and she could use a new gown.

For the past few minutes now, Ava has noticed a shadow following her. One of the fresh runaways from the city, come to live the exciting life of an outlaw, and still too shy to approach a whore, she thinks.

"Come on out of the shadows, now, sailor. I won't bite."

As the figure steps out of the alleyway, a smile dawns across Ava's face.

"Well, I wouldn't have pegged you as needing my services."

"It's not my first time," the man chuckled.

"Well, I assume not. Let's head somewhere more comfortable."

"No, here," the man says, stepping back into the alleyway.

"Well, all right," Ava agrees, after a thinking a moment.

As soon as they both disappear into the dark cover of the alley, the man grabs Ava tightly be the arms and pulls her into him. One hand strokes down her hair and grasps it firmly, pulling it sharply down behind her back. Ava is sharply cognizant of his every move. His other hand then creeps up her shoulder and begins to wrap tightly around her exposed neck. Tighter. Tighter. Just then something in his eyes changes. Something Ava was not expecting. Something sinister.

I'm going to end this... now, she thinks.

"So, you like it rough, huh?", she says, ever so alarmed at how much she had to strain to speak. "Well, so do I."

She brings her leg up, wrapping it around him while pressing herself closer. She holds his steady gaze, her eyes fixed and calm, even as her face begins to burn red, trying not betray her intentions as her hand begins to creep closer and closer towards her boot. Just as her fingertips began to graze the leather, the man's hand that was holding her hair snaps onto her wrist. A look of shock flashes across Ava's face.

"You're good with a knife, too, I hear, aren't you? Whore."

For the first time in years, the sickening fear of death creeps back into Ava's soul. She swore to never feel it again, and it's more terrifying than she could remember. She tries to scream, but she can't muster even a whimper. She tries to run, but her legs begin to grow weak and limp. All she can do is stare in agonizing horror into his cold, deathly eyes, knowing that no one is going to offer her a quick mercy like she had offered Gertie.

The next morning they found her body, carved up and neatly pilled in the alleyway, much like the one before, and inscribed with the moniker "whore". No one said a word to each other the entire morning. It only took until about mid-day for life in Drakken Cover to resume and Ava Benoit was forgotten.

jvill -- Ava Benoit, french prostitute – Miller – Town was dead

 

It is now Day 2.

With 10 people alive, it takes 6 to lynch.

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The Crusher

The Crusher

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7 minutes ago, Spoot-Face said:

The pale moonlight casts a soft, comforting glow across Drakken Cove on this uncommonly calm night as Ava Benoit takes her nightly stroll through town on her own personal hunt. As she passes by the still smoldering remains of what was Gertie Tilton's home, she casts a quick glance at it, only letting herself feel a moment of somberness for a brief moment before returning to her normal stoic and detached disposition. She doesn't necessarily feel guilt or regret for what happened; some would say such is life in Drakken Cove, but Ava always has to laugh at that sentiment. Life in Drakken Cove is no different than anywhere else she's lived, except that maybe it's more honest. All the violence, depravity, and grotesqueness that lives in Drakken Cove lives everywhere. Most people just don't see it. No, what has Ava reflecting on the past day's events isn't some sense of shock or horror of the evils of human nature, because she's grown numb to that a lifetime ago. As one of the few fellow women inhabitants who were more than mere holes to be filled, Ava felt a sort of kinship with Gertie. Cliche, maybe, but women like that need to stick together -- here, or, for that matter, everywhere.

That is why it was Ava's straight razor that graced Gertie's neck in her last moments. Ava knew what was coming, and what the townsfolk planned was magnitude's worse than what she had to offer. Gertie must have seen it, too, and if Ava had even a moment to explain to Gertie, she believes the woman would've readily excepted the blade and thanked her for it. It wasn't hard for Ava to do -- it's not the first neck her blade has touched, but it was the first done in an act of kindness. Many a john, in the past, has received the wrong end of her razor after having been too rough. At one point enough was enough for Ava. What started in mere self-defense grew into somewhat of a crime spree, taking advantage of men at their most vulnerable and robbing them of all money and dignity, and the ones who resist suffer a fate worse than embarrassment from having been robbed by a whore. Whether it's the killing itself that she has grown more... accustomed to, or just the feeling of being the one to put the fear of death into someone else for a change, she may not even know. It just gets easier every time, and she doesn't want to stop.

This is the reason for her nightly stroll, when even most men would be afraid to wander the streets, especially after recent events, but Ava doesn't go anywhere without her trusty blade, tucked unseen in her boot, and she is a quick draw. Besides, her purse is getting light, and she could use a new gown.

For the past few minutes now, Ava has noticed a shadow following her. One of the fresh runaways from the city, come to live the exciting life of an outlaw, and still too shy to approach a whore, she thinks.

"Come on out of the shadows, now, sailor. I won't bite."

As the figure steps out of the alleyway, a smile dawns across Ava's face.

"Well, I wouldn't have pegged you as needing my services."

"It's not my first time," the man chuckled.

"Well, I assume not. Let's head somewhere more comfortable."

"No, here," the man says, stepping back into the alleyway.

"Well, all right," Ava agrees, after a thinking a moment.

As soon as they both disappear into the dark cover of the alley, the man grabs Ava tightly be the arms and pulls her into him. One hand strokes down her hair and grasps it firmly, pulling it sharply down behind her back. Ava is sharply cognizant of his every move. His other hand then creeps up her shoulder and begins to wrap tightly around her exposed neck. Tighter. Tighter. Just then something in his eyes changes. Something Ava was not expecting. Something sinister.

I'm going to end this... now, she thinks.

"So, you like it rough, huh?", she says, ever so alarmed at how much she had to strain to speak. "Well, so do I."

She brings her leg up, wrapping it around him while pressing herself closer. She holds his steady gaze, her eyes fixed and calm, even as her face begins to burn red, trying not betray her intentions as her hand begins to creep closer and closer towards her boot. Just as her fingertips began to graze the leather, the man's hand that was holding her hair snaps onto her wrist. A look of shock flashes across Ava's face.

"You're good with a knife, too, I hear, aren't you? Whore."

For the first time in years, the sickening fear of death creeps back into Ava's soul. She swore to never feel it again, and it's more terrifying than she could remember. She tries to scream, but she can't muster even a whimper. She tries to run, but her legs begin to grow weak and limp. All she can do is stare in agonizing horror into his cold, deathly eyes, knowing that no one is going to offer her a quick mercy like she had offered Gertie.

The next morning they found her body, carved up and neatly pilled in the alleyway, much like the one before, and inscribed with the moniker "whore". No one said a word to each other the entire morning. It only took until about mid-day for life in Drakken Cover to resume and Ava Benoit was forgotten.

jvill -- Ava Benoit, french prostitute – Miller – Town was dead

 

It is now Day 2.

With 10 people alive, it takes 6 to lynch.

Wow, tremendous write up you little clever beaver.

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Jetscode1

Jetscode1

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2 hours ago, Spoot-Face said:

The pale moonlight casts a soft, comforting glow across Drakken Cove on this uncommonly calm night as Ava Benoit takes her nightly stroll through town on her own personal hunt. As she passes by the still smoldering remains of what was Gertie Tilton's home, she casts a quick glance at it, only letting herself feel a tinge of somberness for a brief moment before returning to her normal stoic and detached disposition. She doesn't necessarily feel guilt or regret for what happened; some would say such is life in Drakken Cove, but Ava always has to laugh at that sentiment. Life in Drakken Cove is no different than anywhere else she's lived, except that maybe it's more honest. All the violence, depravity, and grotesqueness that lives in Drakken Cove lives everywhere. Most people just don't see it. No, what has Ava reflecting on the past day's events isn't some sense of shock or horror of the evils of human nature, because she's grown numb to that a lifetime ago. As one of the few fellow women inhabitants who were more than mere holes to be filled, Ava felt a sort of kinship with Gertie. Cliche, maybe, but women like that need to stick together -- here, or, for that matter, everywhere.

That is why it was Ava's straight razor that graced Gertie's neck in her last moments. Ava knew what was coming, and what the townsfolk planned was magnitude's worse than what she had to offer. Gertie must have seen it, too, and if Ava had even a moment to explain to Gertie, she believes the woman would've readily accepted the blade and thanked her for it. It wasn't hard for Ava to do -- it's not the first neck her blade has touched, but it was the first done in an act of kindness. Many a john, in the past, has received the wrong end of her razor after having been too rough. At one point enough was enough for Ava. What started in mere self-defense grew into somewhat of a crime spree, taking advantage of men at their most vulnerable and robbing them of all money and dignity, and the ones who resist suffer a fate worse than embarrassment from having been robbed by a whore. Whether it's the killing itself that she has grown more... accustomed to, or just the feeling of being the one to put the fear of death into someone else for a change, she may not even know. It just gets easier every time, and she doesn't want to stop.

This is the reason for her nightly stroll, when even most men would be afraid to wander the streets, especially after recent events, but Ava doesn't go anywhere without her trusty blade, tucked unseen in her boot, and she is a quick draw. Besides, her purse is getting light, and she could use a new gown.

For the past few minutes now, Ava has noticed a shadow following her. One of the fresh runaways from the city, come to live the exciting life of an outlaw, and still too shy to approach a whore, she thinks.

"Come on out of the shadows, now, sailor. I won't bite."

As the figure steps out of the alleyway, a smile dawns across Ava's face.

"Well, I wouldn't have pegged you as needing my services."

"It's not my first time," the man chuckled.

"Well, I assume not. Let's head somewhere more comfortable."

"No, here," the man says, stepping back into the alleyway.

"Well, all right," Ava agrees, after a thinking a moment.

As soon as they both disappear into the dark cover of the alley, the man grabs Ava tightly be the arms and pulls her into him. One hand strokes down her hair and grasps it firmly, pulling it sharply down behind her back. Ava is sharply cognizant of his every move. His other hand then creeps up her shoulder and begins to wrap tightly around her exposed neck. Tighter. Tighter. Just then something in his eyes changes. Something Ava was not expecting. Something sinister.

I'm going to end this... now, she thinks.

"So, you like it rough, huh?", she says, ever so alarmed at how much she had to strain to speak. "Well, so do I."

She brings her leg up, wrapping it around him while pressing herself closer. She holds his steady gaze, her eyes fixed and calm, even as her face begins to burn red, trying not betray her intentions as her hand begins to creep closer and closer towards her boot. Just as her fingertips began to graze the leather, the man's hand that was holding her hair snaps onto her wrist. A look of shock flashes across Ava's face.

"You're good with a knife, too, I hear, aren't you? Whore."

For the first time in years, the sickening fear of death creeps back into Ava's soul. She swore to never feel it again, and it's more terrifying than she could remember. She tries to scream, but she can't muster even a whimper. She tries to run, but her legs begin to grow weak and limp. All she can do is stare in agonizing horror into his cold, deathly eyes, knowing that no one is going to offer her a quick mercy like she had offered Gertie.

The next morning they found her body, carved up and neatly pilled in the alleyway, much like the one before, and inscribed with the moniker "whore". No one said a word to each other the entire morning. It only took until about mid-day for life in Drakken Cover to resume and Ava Benoit was forgotten.

jvill -- Ava Benoit, french prostitute – Miller – Town was dead

 

It is now Day 2.

With 10 people alive, it takes 6 to lynch.

Awesome scene @Spoot-Face

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Drums

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3 hours ago, Spoot-Face said:

The pale moonlight casts a soft, comforting glow across Drakken Cove on this uncommonly calm night as Ava Benoit takes her nightly stroll through town on her own personal hunt. As she passes by the still smoldering remains of what was Gertie Tilton's home, she casts a quick glance at it, only letting herself feel a tinge of somberness for a brief moment before returning to her normal stoic and detached disposition. She doesn't necessarily feel guilt or regret for what happened; some would say such is life in Drakken Cove, but Ava always has to laugh at that sentiment. Life in Drakken Cove is no different than anywhere else she's lived, except that maybe it's more honest. All the violence, depravity, and grotesqueness that lives in Drakken Cove lives everywhere. Most people just don't see it. No, what has Ava reflecting on the past day's events isn't some sense of shock or horror of the evils of human nature, because she's grown numb to that a lifetime ago. As one of the few fellow women inhabitants who were more than mere holes to be filled, Ava felt a sort of kinship with Gertie. Cliche, maybe, but women like that need to stick together -- here, or, for that matter, everywhere.

That is why it was Ava's straight razor that graced Gertie's neck in her last moments. Ava knew what was coming, and what the townsfolk planned was magnitude's worse than what she had to offer. Gertie must have seen it, too, and if Ava had even a moment to explain to Gertie, she believes the woman would've readily accepted the blade and thanked her for it. It wasn't hard for Ava to do -- it's not the first neck her blade has touched, but it was the first done in an act of kindness. Many a john, in the past, has received the wrong end of her razor after having been too rough. At one point enough was enough for Ava. What started in mere self-defense grew into somewhat of a crime spree, taking advantage of men at their most vulnerable and robbing them of all money and dignity, and the ones who resist suffer a fate worse than embarrassment from having been robbed by a whore. Whether it's the killing itself that she has grown more... accustomed to, or just the feeling of being the one to put the fear of death into someone else for a change, she may not even know. It just gets easier every time, and she doesn't want to stop.

This is the reason for her nightly stroll, when even most men would be afraid to wander the streets, especially after recent events, but Ava doesn't go anywhere without her trusty blade, tucked unseen in her boot, and she is a quick draw. Besides, her purse is getting light, and she could use a new gown.

For the past few minutes now, Ava has noticed a shadow following her. One of the fresh runaways from the city, come to live the exciting life of an outlaw, and still too shy to approach a whore, she thinks.

"Come on out of the shadows, now, sailor. I won't bite."

As the figure steps out of the alleyway, a smile dawns across Ava's face.

"Well, I wouldn't have pegged you as needing my services."

"It's not my first time," the man chuckled.

"Well, I assume not. Let's head somewhere more comfortable."

"No, here," the man says, stepping back into the alleyway.

"Well, all right," Ava agrees, after a thinking a moment.

As soon as they both disappear into the dark cover of the alley, the man grabs Ava tightly be the arms and pulls her into him. One hand strokes down her hair and grasps it firmly, pulling it sharply down behind her back. Ava is sharply cognizant of his every move. His other hand then creeps up her shoulder and begins to wrap tightly around her exposed neck. Tighter. Tighter. Just then something in his eyes changes. Something Ava was not expecting. Something sinister.

I'm going to end this... now, she thinks.

"So, you like it rough, huh?", she says, ever so alarmed at how much she had to strain to speak. "Well, so do I."

She brings her leg up, wrapping it around him while pressing herself closer. She holds his steady gaze, her eyes fixed and calm, even as her face begins to burn red, trying not betray her intentions as her hand begins to creep closer and closer towards her boot. Just as her fingertips began to graze the leather, the man's hand that was holding her hair snaps onto her wrist. A look of shock flashes across Ava's face.

"You're good with a knife, too, I hear, aren't you? Whore."

For the first time in years, the sickening fear of death creeps back into Ava's soul. She swore to never feel it again, and it's more terrifying than she could remember. She tries to scream, but she can't muster even a whimper. She tries to run, but her legs begin to grow weak and limp. All she can do is stare in agonizing horror into his cold, deathly eyes, knowing that no one is going to offer her a quick mercy like she had offered Gertie.

The next morning they found her body, carved up and neatly pilled in the alleyway, much like the one before, and inscribed with the moniker "whore". No one said a word to each other the entire morning. It only took until about mid-day for life in Drakken Cover to resume and Ava Benoit was forgotten.

jvill -- Ava Benoit, french prostitute – Miller – Town was dead

 

It is now Day 2.

With 10 people alive, it takes 6 to lynch.

Raising. The. Bar. Wow Spoot. 

Looks like we have a Jack the Ripper on our hands. Other than that, I have absolutely no ******* idea.

@JustEndTheSuffering you are a really easy vote right now. Any chance you play day 2 or...? 

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