Serial Killer Round 45: The Roaring Twenties (3: Voting Period)

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Unknown a killer stalked the halls, hidden among the lawbreakers. Unseen, the figure used the darkness to mask his/her horrendous deeds. Unheard, a life was extinguished.

The Killer has Struck! The Physician was unsuccessful. Check your inboxes!

"Did you 'ear somet'in' lads?"

Speaking for the first time, Bobby made a stray comment, "Relax, it was probably just the wind. This house is old, ya know."

Silently, he gripped the handle on his revolver, struggling to hear if anybody was coming his way.

"Uh oh..." Phillip thought to himself. He immediately reached for his gun, only to find nothing at his waist. This was the issue of being an off duty police officer. "Aw, damn! That's right..."

Bobby jerked his head in the direction he heard the voice. "What's wrong?"

"I left my pistol back at the station!" Phil answered. "I'm off duty. Besides, it's never 'just the wind'..."

Harold Blake reenters the room noisily while holding up five candle sticks, drawing startled gasps and curses from the guests in the dining hall.

"Sorry that took so long. I had a little bit of..." he trails off as he notices that he has also drawn the wrong kind of attention.
"What's gotten everyone so nervous? Has something happened?"

"Did you see anyone out t'ere?"

"Aren't you all being a bit jumpy? Don't tell me you gentlemen are scared of the dark?" Amanda said scathingly, although she was also clutching her umbrella rather tightly.

That officer may be incompetent, but at least I always come prepared She thought, hoping she wouldn't have to use her hidden blade anytime soon.

"What's eating you guys, a stray wind or somethin'?" Henry wasn't paying attention and only just realized something was up.

"No, I didn't. There isn't much to see by, after all; but, just because I saw nothing doesn't mean there was nothing there," he explained, setting the candles onto the dining table. Harold took a long, slow look around the room, measuring the atmosphere. Any sort of good will that had been in his voice previously was replaced with harsh command. Command that demanded respect and expected obedience.
"I've been playing the game long enough to know when something's not right. Tell me what's happened. Now."

Ray shrugged. He might have heard something but he just assumed that the others were spooked by the dark.

"I don't suppose any of you schmucks know where the wine cellar is. At this rate, I'm going to finish all the refreshments before the party really starts."

Odd place but the envelope had fifty dollars in it. Three hundred more for when the gig was over. I'm sticking around.

"I'm not afraid of the dark!" Phillip said to Amanda. "I'm just afraid that I don't have a gun. Things here are just a little fishy..."

That's when Ray made his comment. "Ooh!" Phil called out, breaking his fear filled train of thought. "I wish to join that gentleman!" and he pointed to where he believed he spoke.

"Aren't you all being a bit jumpy? Don't tell me you gentlemen are scared of the dark?"

The expression on Karl's face was a wry smile as he gave a snicker. "The dark isn't something to be scared of... my co-workers are well aware of that." All the same, he had his hands clasped behind his back, where he could reach his knife easily. Complete strangers were just as untrustworthy as anyone else, in his line of work. You never knew who might be an informant.

A couple of comments were made about a wine cellar, only widening the thief's smile. Heh. Drink if you must. It'll only mean you're walking out of here with lighter pockets.

No stranger to the dark nor cold, Piotr's eyes were quickly adjusted to his surroundings. He chose to stay silent amidst the panicking crowd of strangers. No point in drawing attention to himself.

Slowly and silently, he backed away to a wall. He trusted no one, and had hoped to keep everyone and everything stayed within sight. It'll be a defensible position, if things started to go south. His eyes swept the rest of the room, being careful never to look directly at the open flames courtesy of some of the guests.

On the dining table, there was nothing but empty plates and name cards. No food, nor drinks, anywhere. Perhaps it was a good thing he always kept pieces of bread on his person at all times. It should last him the night. He surreptitiously broke a piece off and took a bite.

Amidst all the chaos Carl had done nothing but stand near a wall. Watching.
He had noticed an alarming amount of hidden knives being carried, including the suspiciously silent commie that just walked over to his wall. This was clearly not a crowd to be trusted.
He walked over to the dinner table and sat down, keeping a distance from the group.

No one was speaking up, and some were even going to drink. A few glasses couldn't hurt, and Henry doubted they were the kind to go on a toot especially in a place like this.

He looked around and saw some uncomfortable faces, suspicious faces. Why did Henry feel so relaxed, looking at these complete strangers? I'm the musician, and no one ever bothers the musician.

Darby had watched silently the other strangers that had arrived at the manor. He didn't feel like talking much until a person spoke up.

"Aren't you all being a bit jumpy? Don't tell me you gentlemen are scared of the dark?"

Darby was getting a bit annoyed at her attitude. She was a woman after all, she'd never seen how men like Darby fought and to be made fun out of was more than he could handle in his state.

With a irritated tone he spoke to her.

"Scared ? Don't worry about it lass. I've faced worse than this before. Now where the hell is the scotch ? I could use a drink or two."

David split up from the main group not long after the power went out, using his book of matches to light his way.
Never did like these Landlord Houses, bunch of immoral gits, the lot of them... He thought as he reached the front landing of the manor.
Eh, if anyone comes in or out, I got the entrance and hopefully them. He rekconed as he sat on one of the stairs and lit a cigarette, It's glow providing a small bit of light in the darkness.

"Now now, settle down everyone. It may have been t'e storm. Not'in' to get in a twist about."

Emile heard the other guests talking as he walked through the dark a bit in search for an ash tray. Suddenly he felt a chill and a burst of wind past right by him. He paused, trying to look desperately for what had passed but all he saw a man's throat cut open like a pig in a butcher's shop. The man was already dead by the time Emile crouched down to inspect further.

"Merde!" Emile exclaimed. "A doctor! I need a doctor!" Emile shouted to the guests. He lit a match showing the entire display. At least the man had died with a smile.

The lights shot back on with a bang, flooding their eyes with light, and revealing a rotten scene. Emile was crouching in a puddle of blood, next to the dead body of Dr. Hope. Maybe more interesting was the place where the guests found themselves. Indeed, it was like a small bar, complete with a few precious bottles of smuggled alcohol from overseas. On the wall near the corpse was the word "Murder" written in red over and over again. Finally, a small scrap of paper. "Kill the murderer, or he'll get you, too"

A single pistol with one bullet lay on one of the tables, with "Justice" carved into its handle.

Indeed, the good Doctor has kicked the bucket. Is it enough to convince a group of skittish criminals to take matters into their own hands? Of course it is! Time to vote, cats!

Alex looks over the scean with cold and black eyes. "Well, one less person I suppose. Sad it had to be a doctor though. Such a mess but thank god I'm not cleaning it up. Bloody hell what is this place." she said sipping some wine.

She was bothered some by the sight but showing it would do little to bring the man back. "Hope he didn't leave behind a family." she added.

"Aaah Jesus," Henry muttered at the sight of the writing. That wasn't the answer he was looking or, nor wanted.

Ray covered his eyes when the lights snapped back on. After a moment of adjusting, he noticed the murder scene.

"Jesus Christ, Mary and Joesph!" he shouted, barely holding onto his new bottle. He leaned against the counter, staring at the writing. It was blood. What kind of sick person wrote in blood?!

"This isn't the gig I was promised. My band isn't even here yet. I don't know about you but I'm going to scram." He carefully set the bottle behind him and got to his feet. He felt like he was going to retch.

I saw my fair share of madness at Belleau Wood... I'm not sticking around to see where this leads.

He made for the door.

Henry decided to make light of the situation; leaving the room hot-headed wasn't a good idea, and the last thing they needed was another damn dead body.

"Well the clarinetist is here, and I heard he's great." Henry said with a smile, grabbing the man's arm.

"Sweet Jesus Mary."

The sudden smell of blood makes him sick. Sheamus takes off his cap and holds it by his chest, bowing his head and muttering something under his breath.

He catches Ray leaving from the corner of his eye.

"Oh no you don't!"

He throws his massive right hand and grabs Ray by the wrist.

"Where do you t'ink you're going?"

Whoever had left them this grizzly encounter obviously wanted to shake up the group, otherwise they would've killed with a bit more discretion. Whoever had gathered them here had set a cat among the pigeons and was hunting them down one by one. Surly they didn't know about her unscrupulous inclinations? Choosing to remain unphased by the ordeal, lest the murderers intent was to send them into a panic, she continued to smoke her cigarette and see what would happen next.

"What sort of sick game is this?"
Harold eyed the scene with disgust and trepidation. It had never occurred to him before now that he might be in very real danger; but, it was impossible to deny that anymore with the evidence laid out before him. What would have happened, he wondered, if he hadn't chosen that moment to leave the room? He averted his gaze from the grisly sight, imagining his own life draining onto the floor, and his eyes automatically went for the gun on the table. How easy would it would be to grab that pistol right now, with everyone still gawking? His hand twitched, but he made no move. Reaching for a weapon in a fit of panic would be bad PR. As much as he hated to admit it, he would need to cooperate with everyone here. Harold felt a sinking feeling and a chill ran down his spine at the realization that one of the people in this room, one of the people with whom he needed to cooperate with, had just killed a man in cold blood.

OOC: Quick question: since there's more RP elements to this, and the execution is clearly in the RP as well, are we voting based on player knowledge or character knowledge?

Richard's eyes darted from corner to corner, a cold sweat perched on his brow. This certainly was not his line of work

"I wouldn't suppose anyone has any ideas?"

"I have one..." He stepped out of the pool of blood, wiping the soles of his shoes elsewhere to get the blood off. "We make sure everyone who was invited is in this room."

Emile looked around, trying to make a headcount of everybody or at least the ones that are here. "Whoever the killer is, he or she is still here... enjoying the view." Emile's eyes caught the pistol on the table, with the word "Justice" engraved into it. "Now is everyone accounted for?"

Ray pushed away fiercely.

"Get your hands off of me! I was at the bar with a drink when it all went down. I'm not sticking around to sing for a murderer while he rips my guts out. I say we all go our separate ways and let the cops handle it."

The note said I had to sing for a party or the hole I dug myself into would be revealed to the band. It'd ruin me. Well, to hell with it. Better alive and out of work than lying dead on the floor.

He straightened his suit and glared at the rough looking Irishman.

Looking at this ape... He's probably the one I owe money to.

"Listen pally. I don't want to die. Why should any of us..."

Something threw a switch in his mind. Looking at all of them and realizing how they weren't they typical crowd to come together...

"Dear god, whoever invited us here wants us all to die..."

All plans of leaving died in his head. The bridge outside would be an easy place to pick off a lone fella and his bid for freedom.

If there even is a bridge left... You can hear the wind from here.

He stared at the body and looked at the gun.

"...are we really going to play their game?"

Henry ignored his question, rhetorical or not. He looked familiar.

"New York, '22? Can't remember the venue but I think I remember you. Yeah you were that aah... singer! Yeah, was it Ray?"

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