Mynx

I know I've been buried under RL of late, and I think the Wolf is in the same boat... UPDATE: Tanny is too busy to mod right now; she said to put this on hold and someone else can start up a game if they'd like

You know, Snyp, I probably needed someone like you around when I was a teenager. I sure as hell couldn't tell when a boy was flirting with me... >.> Also: lololol

Candy corn is an abomination so Reese's wins by default. Originals or remakes?

Confirming sign up. Character to come.

Whereas my luck always kicks in that I find myself enjoying the RP too much to act entirely on my suspicions

Carey leaned against the ship's railing and looked out over the water, gnawing on his bottom lip. It didn't feel right. Nothing felt right anymore on this ship, and Carey had no idea what to think. There seemed to be so few of them left, so few possibilities as to who could be the monster. It could even be his friends, and as much as Carey tried not to think about that he couldn't help but consider the possibility. Where did that leave him, then? OOC: Thought I had more but I'm out of words today. Vote for Vene/Adam

"There's just no winning, is there?" Carey said glumly to Kipling as they mopped. No one had told them to - no one was telling anyone anything at this point - but they both felt they needed to do something to keep their hands busy if not their minds. "The monster kills someone, we turn on each other. The monster doesn't kill someone and we still turn on each other." "If the monster is still around," Kipling argued. "We got rid of the Asante, and nothing happened last night." "You heard that noise though. Something wasn't happy and with all the food we're getting right now don't tell me it was your stomach," Carey arched an eyebrow at his friend. When Kipling rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue, Carey managed a brief grin. "So who are the likely suspects now, at this point?" "Depends. How's your luck been on your past suspicions?" "We'll never know, I guess." Carey brooded down at his mop. He still wasn't sure what to make of either the Lieutenant or Michael's behaviour since the attacks had started, and couldn't decide if the familiar mutterings he'd heard were encouraging or concerning. And what did it make him, if all he did was join in with the mob? Kipling's elbow in his side pulled him from his thoughts, and when Carey looked up his friend pointed to where Davey was huddled under the mast. Poor kid, Carey thought. This mess was no place for a minor. Moving closer, Carey made sure the water in his bucket was relatively clean before he dipped his mop in it and flicked some at the young boy. "You been assigned to hold the mast up with your back now?" He asked, trying to keep his voice light. OOC: another vote for the Lieutenant/DoR

Carey grimaced and looked away as Equiano's body was dragged to the edge of the ship and tossed overboard to the sharks, a pair of sailors moving to help the Lieutenant treat the spear in his shoulder. He couldn't quite decide how he felt about the decision; certainly Equiano was - had been - strange and 'other' enough that it wouldn't have surprised him to learn the Asante had access to unnatural powers. But on the other hand, he'd also been the first to warn them... And now they were armed. What could possibly go wrong with that? "Carey?" Davey's timid voice spoke up at his side. "How do I hold this properly?" Glancing down at Davey, Carey blanched when he saw the small boy was peering into the barrel of the musket he'd been given, one hand far too close to the trigger for comfort. "Davey! Don't look down the firing end while it's loaded!" "Oh." Blushing, Davey immediately dropped the barrel. So that it pointed at Carey. Swearing and darting to the side, Carey snatched the musket out of Davey's hands, struggling for a moment to juggle it with the one he'd already been given. "Hell's bells, Davey. Haven't you ever used a gun before?" "Of course I have!" Davey half-glared, half-pouted. Not quite true, actually... but close enough - he did go with his father on a few hunts, and it shouldn't be too difficult to shoot, really. Just hold... and pull the trigger, right? "What kind of a man you think I am?" "A young one," Carey said, shouldering both muskets and holding out his hand. "Maybe you'd better give me your pistol, too." "Hey!" Frowning, Davey slapped Carey's hand away. "I may be young, but I'm still big enough to carry a pistol of my own!" At least it didn't weigh as much as the musket... and wasn't half a big as he was. "How am I going to defend myself from the monster?" "The monster is going to be the least of your problems if you blow a hole in yourself first," Carey scolded. "Or knock yourself overboard from the recoil." "Oh..." The young boy hesitated, looking at the pistol he'd pulled from where he'd stuffed it into the back of his trousers - another cause for Carey to wince. "Can it really do that? If we give one to the monster, do you think the recoil could throw it overboard?" He grinned. Despite himself, Carey laughed - sometimes he just couldn't tell if Davey was being serious. "I don't think the monster has the hands for it, but maybe that's an idea. Here, give me that-" he took the pistol from the younger boy with more gentleness than he'd taken the musket. "Let's go put these below deck and see if we can't scrounge something off Adam, hmm?" OOC: Special thanks to Tanny for writing Davey's parts.

Good to see you again, Boaz

Isn't there a vote in for Adam too?

You can count me in provided you're willing to put up with my ignorance

Carey shook his head slowly at Davey's question, putting an arm around the boy's shoulders and guiding him back out of the way of the crowing crowd. "Just do our best to stay out of it if we can, Davey. Mutiny isn't going to help anyone." "And staying on this death-trap is?" Kipling grunted, arms crossed as he watched Michael's attempts to negotiate. "Maybe we would be better off taking our chances on a skiff." "Don't be a fool, Kip," Carey said harshly. "Hell, for all we know the monster is one of the mercs anyway; where would it get you to be in even closer quarters with one?" "Where's it getting us just staying on this dump and waiting to be butchered?" Kipling countered, though he made no move to join the mutineers. "And what are we supposed to do in the meantime? We don't even. Know who we can trust, Carey." And wasn't that the truth. Keeping his expression neutral and a comforting hand on Davey's shoulder, Carey chewed on his lip as he studied Michael. The man did seem to know an awful lot about the mysterious, but he also seemed to be using it to try and help them. Assuming a cross would hold anything at bay, that was. And what about the Lieutenant? Or Captain now, or whatever. He certainly had gained from the misadventure that had fallen upon them all... OOC: turnabout is fair play 0:) voting for Death of Rats/the Lieutenant

"I still want to know who made that decision," Carey repeated, sipping at the meager amount of rum he was given. "Normally I'd blame the Captain, but..." He grimaced. "Who does that leave, then?" Davey asked, his eyes wide. "The Lieutenant has the rank, I suppose," Adam scratched at his chin thoughtfully. "But a lot of decisions are advised by Equiano." "And he was the first to realise what was going on," Carey mused. "But what about Mister Walters? I can't imagine anyone being in his situation without harbouring a little resentment." "Three possibilities," Adam agreed. "Present company excluded. The question now, though, is who is the more likely threat?"

Carey gave up trying to sleep after Kipling's snoring startled him awake for the fourth time. How it was his friend could sleep even in the most stressful of times Carey would never know. Grumbling a little under his breath at the hour, he slouched off to the kitchen in the hopes of getting something to drink. Surely Adam wouldn't notice if one bottle went missing. The sounds coming from the kitchen soon put paid to that, however, and once he was sure that the noises belonged to Adam and not the monster, Carey shrugged and pushed the door open. "Don't suppose you have some rum you're willing to part with, my friend?" "Rum?" Adam pulled his head out of the larder and looked at Carey. "That's not a snack, young man." "I am eighteen you know." Carey protested. "You and every youngster on this ship." Rolling his eyes, Carey took a seat at the table and started picking at a bread roll. "Something to wash a snack down, then?" He grinned, before sobering quickly and shaking his head. "I can't even get my head around what's been happening. Whose bright idea was it to bring a witch doctor on board anyway?"

Carey didn't sing that morning as he mopped the deck. Not only because it would have been more than a little morbid, but also because he was worried he might throw up if he unclenched his jaw. He'd made the mistake of being too quick to respond to the screams, and had seen more of the bloodied remains than he cared for. Some pirate he'd be, with a stomach weaker than a woman of society. Kipling, working quietly beside him, glanced over at his friend's pale face. "Who do you think it was?" "Huh?!" Carey jumped, cheeks flushing in embarrassment a moment later. "What are you on about?" "Who do you think did this?" Kipling repeated quietly, glancing around to make sure they weren't being overheard. "We'd have found a monster on board by now, and did you hear Equiano going on about a curse?" "I thought he already got rid of that body, though," Carey mumbled, his stomach lurching again at the thought. "Maybe the curse spread," Kipling suggested weakly. "It could be anyone at this point." Carey wished his friend hadn't pointed that out; he was feeling paranoid enough as it was. Glancing up out of habit when he saw motion out of the corner of one eye, Carey frowned when he saw Tiney heading for the lower decks. Odd kid, that one. Odd, scrawny kid. It wasn't hard to imagine someone that small looking for a way to get more strength and power - and strength had definitely been employed in the Captain's decapitation. And Tiney didnt even complain about working down amongst the slaves. Was that just a sign of quiet obedience, or because Tiney was actually working with some of them? Such as the one who had cursed this ship... Shaking his head to dispel the grim thoughts, Carey returned to his mopping. OOC: voting for Tiney/Sweetcherrie

"If you're not careful you're going to mop your way clear off the ship and into the water, Davey-boy," Carey cautioned. Davey blinked at him, then looked over to find he was about three feet from the railing. "...Huh. Where did that come from?" Laughing, Carey hooked an arm around Davey's shoulders and nudged him away from the railing. "You've been here a year and still haven't figured out how big the ship is, have you. How old did you say you were, again?" "Eighteen!" Davey said indignantly. "Right. Isn't that what you said last year, too?" Carey gave the boy an expectant look, waiting just long enough to see how flustered Davey could get before he laughed and ruffled his hair. "Go start back at the middle of the ship, Davey. That way I'm not having to perform a second job of keeping you out of the ocean."

Carey sang to himself as he mopped the deck, the exaggerated cheer in his voice helping only partially to offset the fact that he couldn't carry a tune if it was given to him in a bucket. "Yo-ho, haul together, hoist the colours high! Heave ho, thief and begger-" "Blimey, Carey, will you just shut up?!" Kipling snapped, flicking the end of his mop in Carey's direction. "I swear, if you keep up with that pirate bull for another voyage I swear I'm gonna toss you to the sharks." "Aw, go easy Kip," Carey replied to his friend. "It's just a spot of fun." And really, singing pirate songs was the closest he was going to get to that sort of life. Carey liked to think he'd made his peace with the contrast between the stories and real life, though he still had his moments of sulking over the fact. It paid to look on the bright side of life whenever possible, he'd decided, and his current lot in life wasn't all that bad. He and Kipling had gained enough seniority on the Slug that they were mopping the top deck of the ship, outside, instead of cleaning the slaves' quarters below. And there were youngsters on board that could be sent up the crow's nest instead of himself; something Carey was definitely in favour of. Not that he'd admit he was afraid of heights. Pirates weren't afraid of anything. "Work isn't fun," Kipling grumbled, though it was his usual grumbling now instead of genuine anger. Kipling liked to complain, and Carey liked to tease him. It was a contentious friendship, but somehow it worked. "Maybe not, but at least the weather's nice," Carey offered. "I'll give you that," Kipling agreed, standing up to stretch his back. He surveyed what they'd done, and what they still had to do, then gestured with his chin. "You take port, I'll take starboard?" Carey grinned. "Arrr, matey." Kipling rolled his eyes.

Book at home! Preferably with a fire. Vacation: new adventures or familiar territory?

Forgot to add: although Carey joined the Slug when he was 16 that was a couple of years ago - he's barely on the right side of 18 at this point.

When strange is an option, always be strange. Cash in hand or in the bank?

Carey had always wanted to be a pirate. It was in his blood, after all! Well, actually his father had been a Naval officer, and a very law abiding one at that. Nevertheless, Carey had grown up with a thirst for adventure that was fueled both by the stories he read and the fact that his mother never told him how his father died at sea, only that he had. As soon as he was of age (well, actually he was only 16 but he was tall and gangly enough that he looked older) he'd joined the first ship's crew he could find. This was *not* what he expected. At least his father had taught him the value of discipline before dying, otherwise Carey would have been a real nuisance. As it was, he still grumbles to himself but at least does his job. He still hopes for the action of a pirate attack one day, though.

I'm in!

Given the lack of voting this day phase and the fact that I was unlikely to have time to get to this during the week, I rolled with what I had. Poor Graham was lynched, which tipped the already unstable balance. The game is over, and the Wolf has won! Final scorecard: - Peredhil - Abercrombe, the sheep and goat herder - A Benevolent Spirit - Tanuchan - Tennison, daughter of the local innkeeper - A Benevolent Spirit - The Seer - Patrick - John, a young man - A Malevolent Spirit - Lord Panther - Curtis, the town drunk - A Malevolent Spirit - Venefyxatu - Graham, the town idiot/drunk - A Benevolent Spirit - Azuran - Lord Bartholomew, a shop owner with delusions of grandeur - The Wolf Wolf/Malevolent Spirits tie with Villagers/Benevolent Spirits, which tips the game in Team Wolf's favour.

Anyone who looked at Augustine at this point would assume him to be a man who had just given up. He knew he should be doing more for Derulian - trying to at least keep some semblance of calm, or quash the persistent talk of accusations and lynchings. Instead, however, he sat in a corner of the inn and stared bleakly at his drink. He felt defeated. Tired. Nothing he said or tried to do was working or helping anyone. Damn it all, he'd come to Derulian to get away from this sort of thing! And what had it gotten him? Nothing but bloodshed, violence, and increasingly haunting dreams. There was a commotion outside. Another lynching, Augustine surmised, taking a drink to try and chase away the lump in his throat. He couldn't even bring himself to go and see who had been chosen this time; it'd only depress him further to witness the death of yet another innocent. And even if they had found the wolf, how were they any better at this point? Murderers, all of them. The door opened, and Augustine glanced up to see Lord Bartholomew. He wore a long, grey fur cloak, with a deep streak of auburn running down the middle, as he entered the tavern. His head was angled downwards, the brim of his soft leather hat folded up like ears on either side of his head, the front coming to a point--snout-like. He slowly flexed his fingers and several rings glinted like claws in the lamplight. Gold and pewter--Bartholomew never wore silver... Although his head barely moved, his eyes looked up, half hidden behind untamed eyebrows and the brim of his hat, and he slowly bared his teeth, grinning wolfishly. Augustine froze in his seat, a sudden and certain dread washing over him as Lord Bartholomew approached, his movements reminiscent of a stalking beast. "I would have thought you'd been outside enjoying the festivities, Father," he said by way of greeting. "What-" Augustine swallowed to wet his throat. "What did you do?" He asked. "Me?" Lord Bartholomew raised his eyebrows innocently. "I just observed, this time. Given all the accusations that Graham has been throwing my way - if his nonsensical ramblings can truly be considered accusations - I thought it might come across as bad taste if I were too involved with his passing." Augustine winced. So Graham had been the latest victim. But Lord Bartholomew... "It's you, isn't it?" The Cleric asked in a hushed voice. "It's been you all along." "Guilty as charged," Lord Bartholomew laughed. "It's been quite a pleasant hunt, this moon. I must admit I was a tad worried at first that it might be a bad idea to hunt here - mixing business with pleasure, so to speak - but the way everyone was so eager to turn on themselves truly did help me. That, and most of the spirits are not exactly what you'd call friendly, I'm sure." He grinned again. "And what do you think is going to happen now?" Augustine at last found the will to stand up and meet the werewolf's eyes. "What's to stop me from alerting everyone? Or from taking you down myself?" "Will anyone believe you, given that the attacks are going to stop now that Graham is dead?" Lord Bartholomew asked. "And I'd be careful about the threats you throw my way, Father; as I said, many of the spirits here aren't going to do you any favours." He cocked his head thoughtfully. "Maybe it's time you moved on, old chap. You have always been a bit of an outsider here, after all. I'd hate for the focus to turn to you if these kills were to start up again." He was right, Augustine realised. No one had been listening to his attempts to peacekeep all this time anyway, and it wouldn't take much to turn the villagers against him. He sagged. "You brought death to this town," he accused without any weight. "Death is a part of life, Father. Surely you know that?" Bowing graciously, Lord Bartholomew turned and stalked back out of the tavern. OOC: Game Over! Wolf Wins! See OOC thread for details. And special thanks to Azuran for his contributions to this post

Can't wear watches, I suppose?