A desperately long and chilly night passes slowly for those few players still caught up in the Mafia's deadly game. The dawn, when it comes, is cold and bleak; groggy trainers stumble to the rough center of the beach, huddling inside occasionally wildly inadequate clothing and shivering as they gather into a loose gaggle.
It's an even smaller gaggle than before; two players are missing, and as ever, two reluctant search parties are dispatched to find them. The first tardy player, L'il Dwagie is not hard to find; she is curled up in a kind of sandy nest scooped out of the beach, occasionally shivering in her sleep but nevertheless quite alive.
moon-panther is somewhat less fortunate; searchers comb up and down the beach, but it is some time before the tide washes her bloated corpse onto the sand. Whether she drowned out in the chilly waves or simply succumbed to hypothermia first, it is difficult to tell, but either way, she won't be joining her former companions for discussion today.
moon-panther is dead. She was not mafia.
Forty-eight hours for discussion.
It's an even smaller gaggle than before; two players are missing, and as ever, two reluctant search parties are dispatched to find them. The first tardy player, L'il Dwagie is not hard to find; she is curled up in a kind of sandy nest scooped out of the beach, occasionally shivering in her sleep but nevertheless quite alive.
moon-panther is somewhat less fortunate; searchers comb up and down the beach, but it is some time before the tide washes her bloated corpse onto the sand. Whether she drowned out in the chilly waves or simply succumbed to hypothermia first, it is difficult to tell, but either way, she won't be joining her former companions for discussion today.
moon-panther is dead. She was not mafia.
Forty-eight hours for discussion.