Post by FruitAndGarbage on Jan 31, 2014 3:02:19 GMT -5
From the first moment the group gathered, talk immediately focused on who would meet their fate at the mob's hands that day. A traitor had been found, someone insisted; your intelligence is wrong, was the equally fervent reply. Who wanted who dead and why seemed to be the sole focus of the discussion, and suspicion became rampant. It seemed everyone had something to hide, and a number of hidden agendas were beginning to come to light. Some speculated that there may even not be any communists at all, and this was all just a ploy by someone who had it in for specific people here to get them killed or outed. Who was actually behind that ploy, nobody could agree upon, and finding them was beginning to feel impossible.
Behind that roiling morass of accusations and counteraccusations, the discussion of investigation was quiet and intermittent. It seemed that with so many dead and so little to show for it, blood was calling for blood. Cooperation and discovery were forced to take a backseat to infighting and the threat of violence, and for a time it seemed like no-one would end up under scrutiny. The group as a whole was so preoccupied with the lynch that was seemingly on the forefront of their minds that it was ultimately a small handful of calmer voices that determined who, if anyone, would be interrogated.
While there was little interest in the proceeding itself, no one person wanted to be the one to suggest that they jump straight ahead to violence, for fear of what might then be said about them. All eyes turned to Storyteller0910; everyone was intent on appeasing the few who had decided he was worth seeing to before taking care of what was clearly in their minds more important.
"Bill says you're West German."
Storyteller0910 nodded. "I generally just say 'German', but yes. German, but not a traitor."
"Can you prove it?"
He shrugged, voicing what was one most minds. "Not really. If I had a passport, it could be forged. I'm intelligence anyway, so it's not like I carry anything that could identify me. Nothing genuine, anyway."
Things fell quiet for a while, until Silver Jan spoke up. "Actually, if you did have something made by the West German government, even if it was just a fake ID, I could probably tell who made it. Every agency has their own little signature, whether they know it or not. No matter how hard they try to hide it."
Eyes rolled. Groans arose. Nevertheless, Storyteller0910 tossed a wallet across the table; Silver Jan pulled out a few things and squinted at them through the oppressive darkness.
"We've only got your word that you're a documents expert! We don't have any guarantee that the two of you aren't in cahoots, or even that you know anything about what you say you're doing."
"Nope," he said, peeling apart an ID card thoughtfully. "But this is the best we've got right now."
And so it was.
Storyteller0910 is West German.
It didn't seem worthwhile to argue any further; the whole thing felt like a distraction to most, anyway, when the day's discussion had been dominated by something else. With little further discussion, talk became dark, violent, threatening. It seemed for a moment that the man who had claimed to be the only medic in the place might be the one next needing his own ministrations, or perhaps the one who had been revealed to have been interfering with other people's own clandestine activities. Perhaps no-one at all would be selected, as there was little agreement about who needed to see the mob's version of justice.
But, eventually, the eleventh hour approached. With it came a panicked, almost default decision. Someone had to die; someone would.
Unlike guiri and Mahaloth before him, patricia didn't go down quietly. As the first hand reached for him, he lashed out; the attacker went down, clutching a probably-cracked knee, and patricia fled. He might have made it out into the tangle of mazelike corridors had a chair not been hurled with desperate accuracy and unthinking impulsiveness. It was an almost cartoonish scene, completely at odds with the situation, and completely incongruent with what followed.
Even dazed by the ballistic seat, patricia fought like a demon. Fists swinging, teeth gnashing, invectives flowing, he kicked and struck and even headbutted, clawing his way away from those who would see him dead. Still, every bloodied nose and blackened eye seemed to fuel the determination to see this done. In the end, patricia was outnumbered and unarmed. The mob was not. The knife found its home, in time.
patricia was Borys Stasiuk. He was from the Ukraine, and he'd been just as happy under Soviet rule as he had the governments that came before it. His extensive talents had found a home in any organization that had arisen to support the regime du jour, and had ensured he was too valuable to get rid of when that one fell. With a little time and effort, he could forge just about anything, plant whatever needed to be seen or remove what needed to be hidden, and sow the seeds of suspicion or innocence wherever he pleased. He was a mafia-aligned framer/lawyer.
It was a relief to have finally gotten ahold of one of the people responsible for this mess. At the same time, it was sobering and intimidating to finally have proof that there was a group of people, organized and violent, intent on destroying everyone else here. It was impossible to think, now, that there might only have been one mastermind behind the trap, bluffing everyone and manipulating them against each other. The communists were among the group, and they looked like everyone else.
With that in mind, everyone sought out their own to wait out the "night", or more likely to base their operations from. There was little hope that when they gathered again, everyone would be present.
Night 3 begins now and ends in approximately 48 hours (Saturday, February 1st at 10:00 PM PST). Please submit your actions before then, via PM or on your private board if applicable. In the meantime, feel free to discuss in this thread.
A quick reminder, since it appears this was not clear: check your quicktopic at the start of each day to make sure I haven't told you something game-related. It's easiest for me to tabulate things via quicktopic rather than PMs, and has a lower chance of accidentally sending things to the wrong party. Thanks!
Behind that roiling morass of accusations and counteraccusations, the discussion of investigation was quiet and intermittent. It seemed that with so many dead and so little to show for it, blood was calling for blood. Cooperation and discovery were forced to take a backseat to infighting and the threat of violence, and for a time it seemed like no-one would end up under scrutiny. The group as a whole was so preoccupied with the lynch that was seemingly on the forefront of their minds that it was ultimately a small handful of calmer voices that determined who, if anyone, would be interrogated.
While there was little interest in the proceeding itself, no one person wanted to be the one to suggest that they jump straight ahead to violence, for fear of what might then be said about them. All eyes turned to Storyteller0910; everyone was intent on appeasing the few who had decided he was worth seeing to before taking care of what was clearly in their minds more important.
"Bill says you're West German."
Storyteller0910 nodded. "I generally just say 'German', but yes. German, but not a traitor."
"Can you prove it?"
He shrugged, voicing what was one most minds. "Not really. If I had a passport, it could be forged. I'm intelligence anyway, so it's not like I carry anything that could identify me. Nothing genuine, anyway."
Things fell quiet for a while, until Silver Jan spoke up. "Actually, if you did have something made by the West German government, even if it was just a fake ID, I could probably tell who made it. Every agency has their own little signature, whether they know it or not. No matter how hard they try to hide it."
Eyes rolled. Groans arose. Nevertheless, Storyteller0910 tossed a wallet across the table; Silver Jan pulled out a few things and squinted at them through the oppressive darkness.
"We've only got your word that you're a documents expert! We don't have any guarantee that the two of you aren't in cahoots, or even that you know anything about what you say you're doing."
"Nope," he said, peeling apart an ID card thoughtfully. "But this is the best we've got right now."
And so it was.
Storyteller0910 is West German.
It didn't seem worthwhile to argue any further; the whole thing felt like a distraction to most, anyway, when the day's discussion had been dominated by something else. With little further discussion, talk became dark, violent, threatening. It seemed for a moment that the man who had claimed to be the only medic in the place might be the one next needing his own ministrations, or perhaps the one who had been revealed to have been interfering with other people's own clandestine activities. Perhaps no-one at all would be selected, as there was little agreement about who needed to see the mob's version of justice.
But, eventually, the eleventh hour approached. With it came a panicked, almost default decision. Someone had to die; someone would.
Unlike guiri and Mahaloth before him, patricia didn't go down quietly. As the first hand reached for him, he lashed out; the attacker went down, clutching a probably-cracked knee, and patricia fled. He might have made it out into the tangle of mazelike corridors had a chair not been hurled with desperate accuracy and unthinking impulsiveness. It was an almost cartoonish scene, completely at odds with the situation, and completely incongruent with what followed.
Even dazed by the ballistic seat, patricia fought like a demon. Fists swinging, teeth gnashing, invectives flowing, he kicked and struck and even headbutted, clawing his way away from those who would see him dead. Still, every bloodied nose and blackened eye seemed to fuel the determination to see this done. In the end, patricia was outnumbered and unarmed. The mob was not. The knife found its home, in time.
patricia was Borys Stasiuk. He was from the Ukraine, and he'd been just as happy under Soviet rule as he had the governments that came before it. His extensive talents had found a home in any organization that had arisen to support the regime du jour, and had ensured he was too valuable to get rid of when that one fell. With a little time and effort, he could forge just about anything, plant whatever needed to be seen or remove what needed to be hidden, and sow the seeds of suspicion or innocence wherever he pleased. He was a mafia-aligned framer/lawyer.
It was a relief to have finally gotten ahold of one of the people responsible for this mess. At the same time, it was sobering and intimidating to finally have proof that there was a group of people, organized and violent, intent on destroying everyone else here. It was impossible to think, now, that there might only have been one mastermind behind the trap, bluffing everyone and manipulating them against each other. The communists were among the group, and they looked like everyone else.
With that in mind, everyone sought out their own to wait out the "night", or more likely to base their operations from. There was little hope that when they gathered again, everyone would be present.
Night 3 begins now and ends in approximately 48 hours (Saturday, February 1st at 10:00 PM PST). Please submit your actions before then, via PM or on your private board if applicable. In the meantime, feel free to discuss in this thread.
A quick reminder, since it appears this was not clear: check your quicktopic at the start of each day to make sure I haven't told you something game-related. It's easiest for me to tabulate things via quicktopic rather than PMs, and has a lower chance of accidentally sending things to the wrong party. Thanks!