Murder By The Book - Ender's Game

I say, dearies, this is all rather barbaric. And a silly conclusion to jump to, too! For all we know, the editor was killed by someone with a grudge who wanted to cover their tracks by making us suspect Undercover. Honestly, the whole organization is just a boogeyman at this point isn't it? When was the last time a real Undercover murder happened?

I think we should put our energy into finding a way out instead of killing each other. Has anyone tried breaking a window yet? For now, I'll vote: No Lynch.

Akumu are you implying you write nonfiction murder mysteries ???
You're almost as obvious as a Belcerebon.

Of course not; that doesn't follow at all. I am a law-abiding citizen! Not that I would expect clear thinking from a genre writer.

Akumu are you implying you write nonfiction murder mysteries ???
You're almost as obvious as a Belcerebon.

Of course not; that doesn't follow at all. I am a law-abiding citizen! Not that I would expect clear thinking from a genre writer.

"Yeah, right!" shouts Anona from the bar. "I bet you're a law-abiding citizen just like in that movie Law-Abiding Citizen, which wasn't about a law-abiding citizen in the slightestl! I bet you planted a bomb RIGHT HERE last night after breaking out of prison."

A genre writer? Excuse me, a genre writer???
Vote Akumu harder with the force of a thousand Algolian suns

Personally I ship Anona with Anona

I say, dearies, this is all rather barbaric. And a silly conclusion to jump to, too! For all we know, the editor was killed by someone with a grudge who wanted to cover their tracks by making us suspect Undercover. Honestly, the whole organization is just a boogeyman at this point isn't it? When was the last time a real Undercover murder happened?

I think we should put our energy into finding a way out instead of killing each other. Has anyone tried breaking a window yet? For now, I'll vote: No Lynch.

Whether Undercover is real or not, what is undeniable is that we are trapped in here with at least one murderer.

I've run the numbers, and refusing to act can only benefit the killers. This wasn't a hard calculation, so I have to seriously question the motives of anyone who suggests it.

In fact, j'accuse!

Vote: Slorange

"Pity we don't get phone service way out here or else we could just call the police and that'd be no fun at all," says Anona. "I mean, it wouldn't illustrate the human condition at all. Yeah."

Votals in the Rye

Solaris - 1 (Garuru)
Granolaman - 1 (Gnauga)
Chwoka - 1 (Nova)
Garuru - 1 (cyber95)
Akumu - 1 (icanhasdonuts)
cyber95 - 1 (Chwoka)
Schazer - 1 (Sotek)
Mirdini - 1 (Solaris)
No Lynch - 1 (Slorange)
Slorange - 1 (Akumu)

With 21 alive, it takes 11 to lynch and 6 to soft lynch. Deadline is Thursday, March 20 at 11:59 PM Mountain time.

"Oh, how fitting," I say, vibrations sputtering from my vocal cords, rebounding off of molecules in the air to create a pattern recognisable to my peers. Or it would be, if I had said it in anything more than a quiet, frightened mutter.
"Already the seeds of demise have been planted in soil most fertile. All the prerequisites are present for germination. Isolation is the water upon which we are afloat. Fear is the warmth that allows our enzymes to function at optimum temperature. Vindictiveness is the cruel oxygen that fuels our respiration. The plant that grows is a flower of utter and sublime evil."

I frown, adjusting the wire frame which houses my prosthetic lens. It is a gesture which many would assume idle fidgeting, but which almost certainly has very much more significance for having been conducted by one as clearly wise as myself.

I survey my colleagues, who are surely shocked by my beautifully logorrheic display of grandiloquent eloquence. I worry how some of these people could be stone-cold murderers. How Iconoclast plays to their name, harbouring such vituperative malcontents within their ranks. Were it that I could just pluck the malignancy from them piece by piece with re-education. Alas, that would probably be highly immoral..
Oh, that's an idea. I'll have to write that down.

I digress. I will not allow such labefactation of the writing art to stand! Such corruption within our oft-vaunted ranks serves only to expedite our egress into endless agony.

Oh, must we cry out to kill our comrades? They too are trapped within this lexicographical oubliette.
Oh would it we would not.

But progress marches on, and few now listen to such words which seem grandiose and padded, lacking in feeling or in speed.
As the universe heats and stretches out to infinity before cooling, snapping back in into nothing more than a speck, so too is this course fixed.

The poll is rolled anyway. My words are bold, unheard.
A square of paper pocked by pen, placed in lieu of words.
Upon that cellulose quadrangle lie symbols stark and whole.
Symbols which speak for burning flame, Chwoka is the coal.

"Is there anywhere I can uh... Get a cup of tea here?", I stutter to no one in particular, at approximately 30 decibels in volume.

"Now now, I am a non-fiction writer myself- well, perhaps you might call me an anthologist- but I can certainly understand the appeal of a good story. Even the most fantastic fictions carry certain fascinating insights, were one to look closely."

"Oh, of course, we can't make such important life-or-death decisions on empty stomachs. And I suppose we should at least attempt at last meals; we're not savages, after all. I'll put on a kettle for tea. Could someone take a look through those cupboards over there?"

"Yeah, over here!" shouts Anona, producing a box of tea bags from behind the bar. "There's not exactly an oven over here though, so you might just have to take it cold. Or microwave it, but who does that?"

"Oh, EBWOP!" yells Anona. "Looks like... uh... Anthologio or whatever their name is found the actual kitchen! Catch!" He says, throwing the tea box of bags into the kitchen.

Robert is smacked in the face with a box of tea bags that tumbles to the ground. The collection of tea is an eclectic collection; cheap and rare, local and very very foreign. An apparently open bag of loose leaves spills out onto the ground.
"Hmm. Reminds me of a story about a tea-leaf reader hired by royalty in a far-off land. Everyone ends up dead, of course, in a series of ironic self-fulfilling prophiecies. I can't seem to read these leaves, but hopefully they say good things for my survival, hm?"

Robert picks up and examines the surviving tea and plucks an herbal-looking one.
"Might be good for everyone to calm down," he says as he pours a cup of hot water, and hands it with the teabag to fella who asked for it.

"If we REALLY need to calm down, there's probably some weed stashed in there," says Anona, rifling through the bar. "It's the future; it's probably legal!"

I nonchalantly emplace the tea in a cup, shove some water in, and ensconce the entire article in the microwave. I turn to Anona.
"I'm not sure it is, but don't quote me on that. I've always been of the opinion, pertaining to the matter which you are mentioning, namely particular recreational drugs, that as long as they do not have addictive, noxious, virulent or otherwise permanently debilitating properties, are acceptable. Though that comes with a level of responsibility, perhaps a licence or two. I would of course never subject my mind to such substances.", I say.

It probably comes out as a quiet mutter, varying in intensity from the breathing of a bird to a leaf falling on the ground.

"What'd he say, Anona? Didn't quite catch all that. Hey friend, could you speak up a bit?"

Anona walks into the kitchen. "I couldn't quite hear, did one of you say my name?"

can we not roleplay too much?

like, I get that quirks are allowed in this game but when your post has nothing to do with the game then its just filler that I don't want to read through.

can we not roleplay too much?

like, I get that quirks are allowed in this game but when your post has nothing to do with the game then its just filler that I don't want to read through.

Yeah omg. Like what is even happening.

yeah what the hell is happening.

I am super lost already. :(

Susan sighs through her nostrils. Very elegant. She's remembering why for the most part, she sticks to her stablemates.

"Unlike Kellerman and his -ah- professorial ilk," Susan begins, stepping up tones from wilting to scathing, "I've found my works suffer for knowing more and more over the years about less and less."

"I'm not so self-righteous I'd not take a dip out of my own genre for personal reading, so I've some understanding of how these awful things transpire. I imagine a fair number of people would find this tea and normality a damn sight nicer than the usual screaming and brass tacks these things descend into all-too-rapidly."

Susan's got a cup of Earl Grey. Nobody's quite sure when she nipped around and fetched it. She raises a brow behind the rim of her teacup.

"All this murder business is simply awful; it stands to reason the majority of the assembled have no experience with it. How could you fault them - fault us - for at least a short period of being able to deny these goings-on?"

((Eh I'm cool with it. It's still about four times less words than SRS MAFIA wallposts, and infinitely more entertaining))

Shelley seems remarkably relaxed about the scenario that has begun playing out, glancing around the library before she's accosted by an author who's presumably in hysterics over the whole 'lynching' deal.

BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

vote: MIRDINI

"I - I'm afraid you have me confused with someone else? I mean I had a sister, but I'm not anyone's brother."

I have to say I've always been distrustful of fiction, one can make it say anything at all.

"Then again Mr. Kellerman, non-fiction can be just as unreliable. History is, after all, written by the victors - something worth trying to compensate for, but that's often rather difficult. Especially concerning events where sources are few and far between."

"Reminds me of situations like this, really. The scholarship regarding criminal infiltrations of various organizations - particularly in the past few decades - is remarkably spotty. Considering their literary connections I wouldn't be surprised if Undercover had something to do with that, too. Still, with the Iconoclast library at my fingertips I should hopefully be able to dig up some more relevant information now."

Shelley rustles up some Earl Grey in a Susan-esque fashion, muttering under her breath all the while.

"Not like I can make any progress on my latest work locked in like this. I wonder if 'Murderous Literary Standoff' qualifies as a legitimate reason to get my flight to Prague refunded... still, the books should still be around when I get there. They've been around for centuries, after all."

yeah what the hell is happening.

I am super lost already. :(

I'm with you man

Wanna go get a burger

Well, Kellerman, if you're gung-ho about stringing someone up, I'm certainly not going to stop you. Everyone's entitled to their opinion, and I'm clearly in the minority. I usually am! I just think that most people would prefer to get to experience the party at least for a little while; I mean, who would have come if they knew they were going to leave – or in this case, die – immediately? I've been with Iconoclast a long time, and I think just about everyone knows my opinions on that, or has heard about them.

Honestly, one could say that using me not wanting to kill anyone this easrly on as an excuse to attack me looks a bit like latching on to unpopular behavior to get someone killed, regardless of if they were the right person. Especially when this is very typical behavior for me (yes, yes, I know bringing up how people have acted at previous parties is a bit of a faux pas, but come on. Come on!) and happens regardless of how I feel about the host or other partygoers. Some might call that suspicious! Bloodthirsty, maybe misleading.

I won't, though, not right now.