Because I am terrified that I will be killed tonight, and I wanted to repost my thought process.

WE ARE GONNA WIN THIS.

 

Okay, firstly, I apologise for the very late conclusion to Day 4. I blame a combination of my travels taking me to foreign countries and the holidays. However, you guys really should have posted far more quickly. Yes, you posted prolifically, but it was all much after the maximum deadline of 48 hours! This Day was almost twice as long as usual, and the conversations continued. Technically, jadedmutt shouldn't even have gotten lynched, considering that she only garned three votes within the 48 hours.

It's unfair for the Witch Confederation in granting long Days, because it allows the town to gather in strength and for information to be shared more easily. Yes, this is partially my fault, since I really should have closed Day 4 earlier, but I will sternly remind you guys that you mustn't take so long to make decisions!

For Night 4, I expect full decorum and prompt decisions! Let's keep this night within the allocated 24 hours, if we can!

Now, for fairness sake, I will have to delete all posts which proceed outside the Deadline of 48 hours. However, as a compromise and acceptance that this is partially my fault, I shall allow Schadenfreude's and the other members' votes to count, even though they were outside the window. Moreover, I'll only delete the posts outside the deadline when Day 5 begins. You will have Night 4 to save what you need, if it's absolutely essential.

Does that sound like a good solution? Good. And I hope you all had a Happy New Year! Once again, I apologise for this very belated close for Day 4. Enjoy.

jadedmutt: 0 (+6)
Ashaya [Deadline Vote], Gila [Deadline Vote], CheddarTrek [Deadline Vote], Schadenfreude [Deadline Vote], Anya [Deadline Vote], Calz the Gay BFF [Deadline Vote]
Yet to vote: jadedmutt
4 votes needed to smother somebody with a pillow
[/SIZE]Consensus was reached.

~ DAY 4 HAS CONCLUDED ~



Somewhat expected, but still strange, events happen as the day ends at the Slumber Party...​

A consensus was reached. The Slumber Party has chosen to kill jadedmutt through a violent Pillow Fight. Dun dun dun.

/./././.​

In the gilded conference room within the city-state of Oestrogen, one of the most important events of the galaxy was taking place. The issue of Merrill had stagnated Femme Nation’s economies, which had veered the Core Worlds close to civil war. Mafiatonium, the primary fuel of starships within the galactic unity, originated from Merrill; if the Council of Femme Nation could not find accord soon, all interplanetary travel might cease – and the Core Worlds would simply descend into the insular demesnes of the previous epochs.

Dame Mishie Chelle knew this fact too well. Her convening of an emergency conference attested to her great concern. However, the conference – the “Slumber Party” – did not escape attention. The Beastly Confederation of Witches, who picketed the Council’s meetings with divisive messages, had aspired to sabotage the Slumber Party, if rumours spoke true. So far, the lives of six delegates had already been lost.

Dame Mishie read the list to the other councillors, whom she was meeting at the Capital far away from Oestrogen.

“Most recently, we had to bid farewell to LochNess and Vira the Vile,” said Mishie, quietly.

A tall councillor with a protruding chin raised an eyebrow. The woman, gifted with fair hair and a fairer complexion, spoke in a breezy, Australian twang.

“I heard,” she said, “that the other delegates killed Vira the Vile with their own hands. I realise that Oestrogen has been placed under a communications embargo for the purposes of cordoning against any Witch interferences, but our own delegates?” The remarkably masculine councillor coughed. “This is a political disaster. The media will have a field day.”

Mishie took off her spectacles and rubbed them against a cleaning cloth.

“Councillor Shezza.” Mishie addressed the woman. “Vira the Vile’s official cause of death is voluntary asphyxiation. DOMINATRIX, our official espionage network, insists that we can pass her death off as a lesbian encounter gone wrong.” Mishie sniffed. “We all know that Delegate Vira’s personal life is… chequered. There is a reason why she is banned for petting farms.”

Dame Mishie stressed: “Especially those with pigs.”

Councillor Shezza looked askance at Mishie but chose not to reply. Instead, she fished out an addictive, handheld game from her carrier to play. On the back, it read “LoL”.

“Which star-systems continue to clash over Merrill’s bid for independence?” asked Lady Tinn de L’Escargot, who had up to this moment said nothing. “I would ‘ope that zis conflict is near resolution. Our fighting ‘as dragged on for too long.”

Mishie referred to a datapad. “Star-systems Alpha Taurus and IPAte refuse to acknowledge the planet Merrill’s sovereignty. Their stubborn refusal is forcing the hands of their delegates to abstain from any negotiations.” She frowned. “The Star-systems which recognise Merrill’s stake to independent control are endeavouring to maintain reconciliations, but it won’t be long before we see full-fleshed war.”

“I don’t really see a problem,” was the glib response of the councillor sitting next to Mishie.

The other councillors stared at the woman, who was busy taking pictures of herself with a portable camera. She was young and rather pretty, despite her vapid and nonchalant expression. Although colourless, her bouncy curls reminded Mishie of effervescing bubbles from a soda pop. The nametag on her shirt was smudged from jam: Bloo– Lus-

Since she couldn’t read the name, Mishie decided that it must say “Blooming Lustre”.

Snapping another photograph, Blooming Lustre giggled and passed the camera to Councillor Mourn. While the two women busied themselves with the pictures, Lady Tinn turned her gimlet gaze towards Mishie.

“And our latest casualty?” asked Lady Tinn.

“Jadedmutt. DOMINATRIX’s surveillance reports indicate that Arbiter Ashaya wanted to re-enact the Breaking Dawn birth-scene on Jadedmutt. Needless to say, it did not end well.”

The room became silent. None of the councillors dared to speak; even Mourn dropped the camera for a moment to seem pensive. Stoic but trembling, Lady Tinn took a deep breath. She folded her arms, appearing troubled and meditative.

“Ze truth is,” started Lady Tinn, “I received yet another message from our anonymous adversary. I ‘ave a theory that the writer is connected to the Confederation of Witches, even its leader, but I do not ‘ave any proof.”

Impassively, she uploaded a message to the projection screen. “Please read and observe.”

Mishie and the rest of the Femme Nation Council leaned forward, examining the words which sprawled in a thick, bold font. The text was red, the tint of shrivelling organs:


“Tinn,

For many years, I have watched you from the dark crevices of this wretched world. You have spiralled in and out of my dreams and subconscious, but soon, this will be no more. I will finally achieve peace. The clash for Merrill is only the beginning. By the end, you will smell the stench of burning wood, as your delighted Femme Nation becomes a sea of fire.

And at last, you will finally have learnt to not trifle with me. There are forces at work beyond your comprehension. It will all end, and I will vitiate my standing.

Prepare. This shall be the last time I message you.

The Lich Witch.”


Speechless, the councillors gaped at Lady Tinn, who was attempting to keep an inscrutable, neutral expression. She gave a small, self-deprecating smile.

“We have little time left,” she said flatly. “If the Slumber Party does not reach a treaty soon, I’m afraid that I’ll be done like a Thanksgiving Turkey.” Tinn paused for dramatic effect. “Or what Irene, during those mafia games, calls ‘Tuesday’.”

/./././.​

jadedmutt was clobbered and sent to the Universal Female Unconsciousness as an Angel.

Posting in this thread is prohibited until Day 5.

Players with night actions need to bold their actions when posting in their QT. Failure to use the correct format might result in recording a non-action by me in the player log. Moreover, I will response in your QT to confirm your action.

Only the following ( 6 ) individuals have permission to post in this thread (After I'm done intruding, of course):

Anya, Ashaya, CheddarTrek, Gila, Schadenfreude, and Zeitgeist (Host).

Graveyard: 8
Little Knee (MamoSwined), Palindrome (Devoured by Witches), Insectamantidae (Smothered), 1and1is3 (Strung Like A Bon-Bon), LochNess (Strung Like A Bon-Bon, Vira (Smothered), Lindsey (Dead in a Debauched Pile of Zelda), jadedmutt (Smothered).


Night 4 has started.

/./././.

Good luck. And remember, be prompt!

 

[Anybody who picks up on the more subtle pop-culture references gets a cookie. :3]

Okay, first things first! After thinking about it, I've decided against deleting the posts, because really, what's done has already been done. You've all had enough time for the information to seep into your brains anyway.

Secondly, I thank you guys for your ultra-prompt responses! You responded within 24 Hours of the end of Day 4! Well-done. I applaud you. In contrast, your host is very late; I had to travel to NY, and my internet access was severely limited. Call it the benefit of travelling with censuring parents. The trip was to help me decide a college to attend. So far, JHU seems to be the best pick. This trip really helped me sort out my irl stuff, which I unfortunately had to place over DLP.

However, I realise that some of you guys were in a state of anticipation. I apologise and can only hope that you view the wait similarly to how you would've viewed the wait between GOF and OotP: the anticipation only builds your excitement. :3

Thank you to everybody who supported Femmafia. I sincerely hope that, despite all the drama that plagued it, it was truly a pleasant and funny experience for y'all. I know it was for me. =)


[Once again, I remind you that flavour text is just flavour text. It doesn't necessarily reflect the game-state. Infer at your own peril]
----


Night 4 has concluded.

More shenanigans awaken the dawn at the Slumber Party....
​

The Beastly Witches have made another move, preparing their fangs for a zesty meal...

/./././.​

Calz didn't quite know what to do. After jadedmutt's messy death, courtesy of Ashaya's insistence on re-creating the Demon-Baby birth scene from Twilight, one would have thought that the Slumber Party would be more sombre. However, the morning of the fifth Day was nothing but energetic. Schrodinger, an enigmatic and broad-shouldered Delegate, proposed hosting a play for Oestrogen's national stage. Her choice of theatre was an epic fantasy called 'Eragon', featuring a farm-boy who receives a blue dragon and rescues the beauteous elven princess.

“A completely original work,” Schrodinger asserted.

Although he was the proponent of the Arts, Calz really didn't think that hosting a play soon after Vira and jadedmutt's deaths was a sensitive move. Hence, he tried implying that perhaps they should wait, until a peace treaty can be finalised. However, nobody listened. Schrodinger herself was too busy playing director for Eragon; excited, she was currently casting the roles of the intrepid rebels who were fighting to liberate the land of Alagaesia.

“Now that we've cast Heather Sinclair as Saphira the Blue Dragon, it's time to pick our male protagonist,” said Schrodinger, unfolding a list. “Our farmboy, who is thrust into destiny to rescue the elven princess, must be the epitome of youth and adventure.”

She looked up. “Who wants to be Luke Skywalker?”

None of the delegates replied. Instead, they glanced at each other with queasy hesitance, hoping that somebody else would volunteer for the protagonist role. Being the main character was difficult; one did not simply walk into Mordor Alagaesia's Helgrind.

“Nobody wants to be Luke?” said Schrodinger, disappointed. “I'll have to assign a Luke myself, then! Let's see. Who has the nubile naivety of our young dragonrider?” She pointed at a rather distracted, sullen woman who was sitting at the back. “You! Gila! You can be the sunny farmboy, Luke.”

“I'd rather watch than play,” was Gila's wan reply.

Tutting, Calz wiggled his hips in disapproval: Gila had made a poor move. Because Schrodinger hailed from the planet Dhullia, 'no' translated as 'yes'. If Gila didn't want to accept the role, she should have instead blackmailed or threatened the director with retribution.

Sure to Calz's predictions, Schrodinger deftly ignored the lethargic Gila and turned to the other girls, who were wringing their skirts with nervous anticipation.

“Next up, the elven princess,” she said brightly. “Princess Leia needs to be bold and beautiful, so beautiful that she rivals that swimsuit model, Mary-Sue. Any volunteers?”

Ashaya leapt. Her small face, tight with giddy exhilaration, burned with the chance to take centre stage as the princess of the elves – and freedom fighters.

“I'm beautiful! Pick me as Princess Leia! I've always wanted to be a PRINCESS!” screamed Ashaya.

“You've always wanted to be a princess? Really?” CheddarTrek sounded sceptical. “May I ask why?”

Ashaya harrumphed. “Why not? Free gifts, the chance to travel everywhere, all eyes on me. Making a living from being hot...” She clapped her hands. “It's the ideal job. I could do it everyday, thriving on all that attention.”

Grinning, Ashaya pushed up her chest so that the other girls could see. Anya in particular leaned in to get a closer look.

“And it'd be a shame for these tits to go to waste. All princesses have huge racks. Just look at The Little Mermaid. No fish has that kind of inflatables!”

“Perfect! Then Ashaya can be Princess Leia, Love Interest in Eragon,” said Schrodinger, as she ticked another name off her list.

CheddarTrek asked: “Who is playing the debonair scoundrel, Murtagh – ”

“Han Solo, not Murtagh,” corrected Schrodinger idly.

“Does Han Solo interact with the elven princess? Because if he does, sign me up,” said Anya, whose wide eyes were fixed on the angle at which Ashaya's bossom strained against the white bathrobe she called a 'costume'.

Referring to her list, Schrodinger shook her head at Anya.

“No, you have to play R2D2, the robotic sidekick to C3PO, played by Calz because he's British and effeminate. You two are the Will & Grace of the dragonriders, who will save Alagaesia.”

“Robots? I thought Eragon was a fantasy?” questioned Schadenfreude.

Nonchalant, Schrodinger waved her hand. “It borrows some elements from science-fiction here and there.”

“Me as R2D2? Is it because I'm spunky and cute?”

Ashaya snorted. “Anya, it's because you're short.”

“To answer your questions, CheddarTrek will play Han Solo,” said Schrodinger, speaking over Anya's hiss. “And his wooly friend, Chewbacca, will be played by Irene.”

At the mention of the name 'Irene', an Asian girl wearing plaid socks dropped the tome she was holding and looked up. She stood akimbo, glaring at everybody who glanced upon her. Calz was reminded of an enraged elephant during a sexual encounter gone wrong.

“Why am I fucking Chewbacca?” she snarled.

Schrodinger's response was feckless: “Because you rave incoherently and have a hairy upperlip in the morning.”

While CheddarTrek restrained a frothing Irene, dragging her to the kitchen, Schrodinger took out copies of the play titled 'Eragon' and distributed them to the rest of the cast. The director spoke quickly as she did so.

“And finally, Schadenfreude will play Lando Calrissian, since none of us like her. Darth Vader, the villainous traitor who controls the realm, will be played by Hermonie, who is a truly evil mastermind.” Schrodinger opened her copy of the play. “If everybody is happy with their roles, then we can begin acting Act II, Scene III. Our dragon-riding farmboy, Luke Skywalker, is about to rescue Princess Leia from a dastardly prison within Middle-Earth.”

“Middle-Earth? Honey, don't you mean a prison within Alagaesia?” asked Calz.

“Same difference,” were Schrodinger's words.

Gila, who had the opening lines of the scene, seemed apathetic to what was happening. She began reading her lines with the clinical tone of an undertaker.

“Princess, I'm here to rescue you,” Gila recited.

“Oh, you are rescuing me? Oh, my Lordie,” gasped Ashaya, as she thrust out her padded bosom towards the bored Gila.

Schrodinger seemed peeved, as she addressed the girl's panting portrayal of Princess Leia. “Cut! Ashaya, that wasn't your line.”

“I know, but I wanted to improvise!” Ashaya said, brightly. “The princess mustn't have had great sex in ages, being stuck in that Middle-Earth prison and all. Her libido must be burning, hence my awesome showcase of tits.”

“How fantastic,” deadpanned Gila.

Ashaya flashed a kilowatt smile. “Aw, thank you!”

After muttering under her breath about girls not recognising sarcasm, Gila yawned and strolled towards the room's exit. She cracked her knuckles, when Schrodinger, ever the attentive director, asked where the hell Gila was going.

“To get food. I'm bored and hungry,” intoned Gila.

Schrodinger scowled. “Can't you wait? I wanted you to try on Luke's outfit. Crossdressing always excites me...”

“Sure, I can wait.” Gila's voice was flat. “And on the topic, Meryl Streep won her two Oscars for baking. That was sarcasm, by the way, if you couldn't tell by my inflection.”

Without another word, Gila walked out of the play room and into a winding corridor beyond sight. Schrodinger seemed embittered by this series of events, but she didn't say a word and continued with the play's rehearsals, calling the actors her “talking props”. Although the delegates were hesitant, they complied, not wishing to incur Schrodinger's oddly manlike chokeholds. This arrangement proceeded for the next thirty minutes, until a scream sounded from the kitchen.

“EEEK, BLOOOOOD!!”

Realising that the scream came from Irene, the delegates rushed to the kitchen, only to find a sight of slaughter: CheddarTrek was sprawled across the floor, outdated Christmas bonbons stuffed into her mouth, while Gila's stomach was swollen, as though somebody had fed her a most fatally disagreeable meal. Both bodies were huddled next to Irene, who was wailing in the bloodshed.

“Well, they're stuffed,” noted Schadenfreude.

“Why did Gila have to die? Why?” cried Irene, clutching Gila's clothes. “She could have been our Canadian judge, the Master of Mamo!”

Ashaya, still in her Princess Leia attire, frowned. “Isn't she a little short for a Master of Mamo?”

When the other girls gaped at Ashaya, Irene wailed and pulled something from beside her left pocket. Under the morning light, Calz noticed that it was some sort of banner, inscribed with an odd message written in magenta lipstick.

“I found this nearby Gila, when I went to the bathroom,” explained Irene, before bursting into an absurdly ostentatious array of tears.

The banner's message was strange but familiar:

“THE LICH WITCH IS STILL PROWLING. WE MUST HUNT THE WITCHES BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE! GIVE ME LIBERTY OR GIVE ME TAX-CUTS! AND BE PRO-LIFE: PRESERVE AND KEEP PRISONERS WELL FED! MATTSILVER FOR POKEFAB PRESIDENT 2012!”




/./././.​

Last night, the residential districts for Delegates were invaded. CheddarTrek and Gila were killed and sent to the Universal Female Unconsciousness as Angels. The Prancing Protester also PROTESTED.

Posting is permitted in this thread until somebody is killed in a pillow fight or at the latest: 10:09PM EST on 12 January 2012.

Players, especially info-roles, should check their QTs for any updates. Please PM me if there are any problems. I know that it is the holiday season and that recent developments in this thread may have delayed our progress, but please do not forget the minimum posting requirement: 2 post per 24 Hours.

Only the following ( 4 ) individuals have permission to post in this thread (After I'm done intruding, of course):

Anya, Ashaya, Schadenfreude, and Zeitgeist (Host).

Graveyard: 10
Little Knee (MamoSwined), Palindrome (Devoured by Witches), Insectamantidae (Smothered), 1and1is3 (Strung Like A Bon-Bon), LochNess (Strung Like A Bon-Bon, Vira (Smothered), Lindsey (Dead in a Debauched Pile of Zelda), jadedmutt (Smothered), CheddarTrek (Stuffed Like A Christmas Chicken), Gila (Stuffed Like A Christmas Chicken).




Day 5 has started.

 

Huh.

Schadenfreude is totes a witch.

Deadline vote: Schadenfreude.

---------- Post automerged at 10:43 PM ---------- Previous post was at 10:40 PM ----------

Or rather, Rescind deadline vote: Schadenfreude.

Lynch vote: Schadenfreude.

 

First off, I am not a witch. Do you want me to reveal my role to prove it to you? Because I will.

CheddarTrek and Gila died last night, meaning we must have had a vigilante kill again. Meaning Vira and jadedmutt weren't witches. God we suck. Though, knowing that Cheddar was confirmed town, Gila would've been the vig kill, and all things considered, pretty much assuredly a witch. Which makes me feel stupid for going along with what she said.

Right now, I'm thinking that Ashaya was right, that Anya is the witch.

Voting for Gila then changing your mind after she wrote a big list about why jadedmutt had to be a witch? You've been very sneaky.

Lynch vote: Anya.

 

I'm pretty sure are the witch, since you and Gila were close. Ash must be the vigilante.

Hm.

 

No, it didn't have to be the vigilante. The witches have SOUP. They could have easily souped both of them correctly, if they guessed their roles.

Deadline lynch vote: Anya

---------- Post automerged at 06:10 AM ---------- Previous post was at 06:04 AM ----------

Actually.

rescind vote
Lynch vote: Anya

 

Ah, I guess it could've been that, too. Thanks, I didn't think of that.

...Don't we now have a vote stalemate, what with Anya being the galpal? What happens now?

 

Oh, you are correct.

This means.

I AM THE NESSPERADO. I SACRIFICE MYSELF TO DECIDE THE LYNCH. ANYA IS GOING TO BE LYNCHED

And now we wait for Zeitgeist~

 

Wait... What?

 

Ashaya? You're awesome. C:

 

Well, we have a good 48 hours to wait, I guess, for Zeitgeist to be back. Once he is, GAME OVER.

Schadenfreude will have been the lone survivor of this Slumber Party....that is tragic. Anya and myself will have died in a blaze of glory, me kamikaze-ing us both into simultaneous death.

Now THAT is an ending.

 

Sounds pretty romantic.

 

It is. I fully expect Zeitgeist to write our super romantic love tragedy, in which you were a Witch and I was a humble Nessperado, and you betrayed me, never revealing your true faction, until one day I realized that I had been betrayed. Brokenhearted, I committed a suicide/homicide so that we could be together forever.

---------- Post automerged at 07:03 AM ---------- Previous post was at 07:01 AM ----------

Oh, and I killed Calz as well. Sorry Calzy baby.

 

Such a beautiful love story, shame about the rating though. Should have put it up and gotten some raunchier sexy scenes.

---------- Post automerged at 02:36 AM ---------- Previous post was at 02:12 AM ----------

Wanna guess what role I was?

 

D'awwwwwwwwww, you were me, the glorious Scumapotamus. That is so fucking appropriate, it amazes me. Of course Scumapotamus was whiteknighted until the very end XD

 

Please wait for the finale and the closing comments. The results of the Slumber Party will be officially announced at a predetermined time. Please refrain from posting until further notice.

Also, if you liked the flavour of Day 5 or Night 4, please feel free to Thumbs-Up. Your support is appreciated. I hope you caught the Easter Eggs to a certain NBC show in the flavour of Day 5. :3

Schadenfreude: 2 (+0)
Anya, Calz the Gay BFF
Anya: 2 (+0)
Schadenfreude, Ashaya
2 votes needed to crush somebody with a pillow
Yet to vote: None

 

FILLERTASTIC!


​

 

Schadenfreude: 2 (+0)
Anya, Calz the Gay BFF
Anya: 2 (+0)
Schadenfreude, Ashaya
2 votes needed to crush somebody with a pillow
Yet to vote: None


Day 5 has concluded

As the story ends, the true mastermind behind this plot is revealed...​

Ashaya the Nessperado has sacrificed herself to hijack the lynch, electing Anya to be killed in pillow fight...

/./././.​

Tension was palpable. On opposite sides of the conference room, the delegates glared at one another, imbuing their looks with distrust and aversion. Anya and her skimpily dressed butler, Calz, were growling at a wide-hipped brunette and a young schoolgirl in Catholic knee-socks. The wide-hipped delegate, attired in an apron and a burnished name-tag labeled 'Molly W', cracked her knuckles. She meant serious business: to her, this was not a game. It was time to prove to the world that there was only one Delegate of Mafiatonium in Oestrogen. One could have cut through the tangible enmity as a knife cuts through ripened cheese.

“I know what you’ve done, Anya,” she said, in a low voice. “I know who you are.”

Anya frowned. “Ashaya, what on earth are you talking about? You're acting oddly.”

Gripping her 'Molly W' name-tag, Ashaya hissed and curled her hands into tight fists. Calz tensed instinctively, putting a protective arm over his bouncy best-friend.

“I should have noticed the signs,” she said. “The shifty stares, the constant evading, the misdirecting questions. It's so obvious in hindsight, I feel stupid.”

When Anya flinched, Ashaya stepped forward, grabbing the other girl by the arm and staring into her face. Both girls spoke simultaneously:

“– You're lesbian.”

“– I'm not a Witch!”

Silence dropped down like an anchor through water. While Ashaya stared at Anya, the latter girl flushed red. She trembled on the spot; with what, Calz was unsure. Rage? Relief? Embarrassment? For an evanescent moment, panic dashed across Anya's face, before neutral bemusement formed in her expression.

Ashaya gasped.

“I merely thought that you were a Scissor Sister, somebody who licks honey from the pot,” said Ashaya, bitingly. “But are you saying that you're a Witch? One of those political loonies who wanted to stir up trouble?”

“Of course, it's the lesbian thing. Totally not a Witch.” Anya fidgeted, looking sideways. “Er, I like yodel in the valley. Play for the golf team. Squeeze the double bongos.”

The schoolgirl standing next to Ashaya raised an eyebrow.

“Really? You admitting that you're lesbian?”

“Schadenfreude, I'm a big lesbo, obviously,” replied Anya, nervously. “Give me naked girls on chips, and I'll snack on those crackers until kingdom come. I own Jodie Foster movies. I've listened to Melissa Etheridge. I own a bike.”

Ashaya stared at the twitching girl. After a moment, her eyes widened like saucers, as she pointed an accusatory finger at Anya.

“You're definitely a Witch! Oh God, you killed LochNess!” Ashaya shrieked.

When Schadenfreude clapped her hands to her mouth, while Ashaya held the finger of accusation at the inscrutable Anya, Schrodinger strolled into the conference room. The woman, still wearing her director's cap, was humming the theme song for the movie Thor. Schrodinger scanned the room, perplexed.

“Hey, what's going on? Why are you fighting?” she asked.

“Schrodinger, we found an infiltrator, a spy. Anya is a Witch,” explained Schadenfreude. “She was the one who had been killing off our delegates, all this time. All this time. I suspect that she's even one of those shapeshifters, a Kaidashian.”

Surreptitious, Schrodinger peeked at Anya, who gave a meaningful look. “Is that so? Well, this certainly is a surprise.”

“We have to alert the Council of Tampons,” said Ashaya hastily. “Lady Tinn and Dame Mishie must be informed of Anya's evilness, her web of lies in sabotaging galactic peace.” She turned to Anya. “I trusted you! You were my confidante and bestie. We were blood sisters. EVEN OUR PERIODS WERE SYNCHRONISED!”

“Oh, puh-lease,” Anya's voice went cold, devoid of her characteristic girlish trill. “We all know that I only have one bestie, which is Calzy. And stop the Damsel in Distress act, Shay. We all know you're fakin'.”

Smug, Calz grinned upon Anya's reference to him and blew an infuriating kiss towards Ashaya.

Adjusting her Catholic schoolgirl uniform, Schadenfreude stepped towards Anya and Calz. She tossed her braids, eyes flashing with rebellion.

“It doesn't matter. We've finally caught you. Anya, we won,” said Schandenfreude. “You can hit me, baby, one more time, but you can't defeat me. Admit it, Anya. You lost. When the Council arrives, they'll arrest you, and Femme Nation will have peace again.”

“Arrest me? Who says that’ll ever happen? To arrest me, you have to catch me first.”

At that comment, Anya began to change shape. While her short, dark hair shot back into the skull like a geared piston, she sprouted up and became wider. From a pouty mouth, two, huge teeth emerged. After her feet became as fat as ginger stepchildren, Anya’s Batman tee-shirt bubbled, morphing into an ugly jersey, with a grey tone which gave the impression of elephant hide. Across the jersey were the words “University of Southern California”. Even her skin tone darkened, turning into an interesting hue of carrot-orange.

Overall, with her spray-tan and grisly demeanour, Anya resembled an Eldritch hippopotamus.

Schadenfreude gulped. “Holy shit, it’s like an evil, monstrous Oompa Loompa.”

“Schadenfreude, don’t fear! We can make it through this.” Ashaya brandished a magical mallet, drawn from the misty middle of Hammerspace, at Anya. “I shall defeat you, foul titspawn! Your dark deeds are over, and in the name of the Moon, I shall punish you!”

“You dare match your puny weapons against the power of a Kaidashian” roared Anya, lashing her horrific teeth.

“That’s right! Just who the hell do you think I am?!” Ashaya struck an impressive pose. “By all our powers combined, I am Captain Nessperado! Believe it!”

“Fluff doesn’t work against me, for I am a KAIDASHIAN!”

Lividly, Anya leapt at Ashaya, fangs bared and claws extended. With her impossible speed, she was a mere blur of orange; Ashaya struggled to track the shape-shifting beast. Mallet met hippo, as Anya launched a jump-kick into Ashaya’s face. The blow propelled with the force of a cargo ship. Schadenfreude closed her eyes, perhaps imaging that it was the end of Ashaya the Captain Nessperado.

However, Ashaya had something prepared. She brought her hands together; the fingertips began to glow with supernatural energy, presumably for some sort of supernatural attack.

“Star… Gentle… UTERUS!” cried Ashaya.

Upon the magical incantation, blue spheres of light burst from Ashaya’s palms, as Anya came to kick the mallet-wielding warrior’s face. The energy blasted Anya away, throwing the hippomonster into a cabinet of Oestrogen’s best drinks: Lutrash Surprise and Surrarin Sunkiss. Shards of glass rebounded across the carpet, sparkling like millions of teardrops.

“All right, we clobbered that Snooki,” Schadenfreude said, in a rush. “It’s finally over. Now I can buy my croutons in peace.”

Gingerly, Anya pulled herself off the ground. Her bald, orange head was wet with sweet juices, which, along with the sour smell wafting from the monster’s garments, reminded Schadenfreude of a spoiled fruit punch. As Calz helped Anya to her feet, one could glimpse the hippo’s expression: jolting eyes, a bloodied maw which jutted outwards, flaring nostrils. She was angry.

“You’ll pay for that,” spat Anya, adjusting her USC jersey. “Hell’s bells, I’ll empty your night, before chopping off your manhood and feeding it to the goats!” She snarled. “Anya vi California commands you to DIE!”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Schadenfreude couldn’t help but ask.

“Chopping off my manhood? Er, we don’t have sausages, Anya. That threat doesn’t make sense.”

Schrodinger, who was oddly silent during the girl fight, made a jarring, coughing sound, as though Schadenfreude’s comment had thrown suffocating dust into the air. Ashaya gripped her mallet and narrowed her eyes.

Dismissive, Anya waved at Schadenfreude’s comment. “I read it somewhere from a book about winter and a girl horny for dragons.” She snapped at Ashaya again. “Enough talk. It’s time that I ended this Slumber Party. Ashaya, it’s time to roll the dice. After I’m finished with you, all that will remain will be blood and bloody ashes!”

“Is that so?”

Everybody wheeled around. The remark had come from the door, where a contingent of women was standing. On the left was an oddly masculine blonde, while a tall, dark-haired woman and an Indian girl in a pixie cut were leaning against the wall. All three wore long, white cloaks, the official uniform of Femme Nation’s Council. The tall woman, who was puffing a cigarette, raised an eyebrow.

“I believe zis is when somebody says ‘the game is up’,” said the woman; her voice held a faint, French accent.

“Lady Tinn!” Schadenfreude was relieved. “Councillor Shezza and Dame Mishie Chelle! You’re here.”

Shezza – the bulky blonde – ignored Schadenfreude, seeming strangely troubled, as Mishie – the Indian in the pixie cut – grinned and waved at the delegates. Lady Tinn focused her attention on Calz and Anya, who were growling as though Tinn’s very presence upset them. Enigmatic, Tinn scrutinised the Witch who had caused so much trouble to Femme Nation.

“Stop struggling. Eet is no use: you ‘ave lost.” Tinn said to Anya. “My guards will take you into custody, where you will be charged for multiple counts of treason, manslaughter, murder, and jaywalking.”

Lady Tinn gestured. From behind the door, a squad of guards, dressed in magenta robes and matching gloves, charged into the room and seized the truculent Anya. The Californian hippomonster hissed and tried to knock the assailants off her arms. She glared at everybody, giving Schrodinger a specific, significant look.

“You can’t take me. I am the goddamn Scumapotamus, Mistress of White-Knights and Anointed Traveller-Slayer!” she yelled. “I’ve never waited to kill, always eager to stir trouble. Mafiatonium is my life and my essence!” Anya was fervent. “More important to my sex life than a British boyfriend, more precious to my complexion than L’Oreal!”

The monster rumbled. “And I’ll be damned before I allow you to stop the Witch Cause. It’s Morphin’ Time! Avengers, assemble!”

It happened too quickly for Schadenfreude to notice. One moment, Schrodinger was picking at her director’s cap; the next, she had pounced on the guards surrounding Anya, tossing them into a paper shredder. Meanwhile, Shezza had captured Lady Tinn and held her in a chokehold. Both Schrodinger and Councillor Shezza had changed their appearances, showing bulging muscles and thick moustaches. Ashaya voiced what everybody was thinking.

“You’re not women! You’re men!” she screamed.

Derisive, Schrodinger spat on the floor. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Lady Tinn was staring at Shezza, who was holding her captive. The Frenchwoman’s face was rather impassive but one could sense a trace of betrayal lingering in her countenance.

“For ‘ow long, Shezza? Why do you throw us aside? Were we not good for you?” Tinn whispered.

Shezza tightened her his grip around Tinn, eliciting a wheeze.

“T’ ain’t your fault. Femme Nation was nothing but cool for me,” said Shezza, speaking in an Australian drawl. “But Mister M offered me a better deal.”

“Mister M?”

“Whoops, I actually mean the Lich Witch,” Shezza said, taunting.

Tinn’s eyes widened. “Mister M? What do you – non. It cannot be. C’est impossible!”

As Schadenfreude looked around, confused, Ashaya prowled towards Anya and Calz. A spark of rivalrous enmity enveloped Ashaya, who grasped her magical mallet.

“What’s going on?” said Schadenfreude. “Somebody explain this to me. Tinn, what’s impossible?”

“I am what’s impossible. Long time no see, Tinn.”

Although the remark had come from Schrodinger, it had sounded different from his usual voice. The tone seemed whinier, the inflections were choppier, and the pronunciations were more Midwestern. These changes sent a chilling shiver down Schadenfreude’s spine.

Schrodinger’s facial features had also altered, revealing puffier cheeks and beady, creepy eyes behind a pair of dusty glasses. Those features stretched when the person was known as Schrodinger grinned.

“No, you’re meant to be dead! I thought zat you weren’t alive…” Lady Tinn murmured. “Mknote… You are ze Lich Witch?”

Schrodinger – Mknote – sniggered. “Dead, me? Very much alive. And yes, I’m the Lich Witch. I was the true mastermind behind the Witches and the crisis over Merrill.”

While Tinn sputtered and slumped in Shezza’s arms, Mknote turned to Dame Mishie, who had been silent during these new revelations. Pursing his lips, Mknote examined the Indian woman.

“Mishie, you could’ve been one of us. You could have joined our cause,” he said, bracingly. “Why didn’t you? You’re one of us, like me and Shezza.”

“No, I’m not,” was Mishie’s stressed reply.

Mknote guffawed. “You are, Mishie. You truly are.”

When Mishie tautened, Lady Tinn chose that moment to gather her composure and voiced her thoughts:

“Mknote, why are you doing zis? You are killing Femme Nation with your schemes! What have we ever done to ‘arm you?”

“You mocked my dreams! The dreams I had of you, Tinn!” Mknote howled. “For rejecting my love for you… for refusing to allow me to practice cannibalism… Femme Nation must suffer!”

Schadenfreude muttered, “Oh, good God, he’s such a retard.”

Mknote ignored Schadenfreude and continued to talk: “I’ve made plans to halt the Slumber Party long enough for civil war to erupt in the galaxy. However, it seems that you’ve stopped all my Kaidashian spies. Pity… Tinn wins again.”

“Not a total loss,” said Shezza, smirking.

“Yes, not a total loss.” Mknote agreed. “When the Witches delayed the Slumber Party, they managed to locate a special girl within Oestrogen. A delegate with the telepathic power to transmute ordinary water into Mafiatonium.” He made a demented face. “The Spirit of Mafia. My agents should have captured her by now.”

Tinn’s breath hitched.

“No…”

“Yes, Hermonie. We caught her!” Mknote checked his watch. “And now, we must leave. I have a spaceship to catch, and your reinforcements should be coming any minute now. I can’t afford to be apprehended yet.”

“What about Anya?” asked Shezza, dropping the weak-kneed Tinn to the floor.

Curious, Mknote peeped at the orange hippo. The sight was not good: Anya was strewn across the floor, mouth agape, with Ashaya’s prone body nearby. Judging from the lipstick marks on Anya’s face, Ashaya had given the Witch a toxic kiss, killing them in a joint, ritual suicide. Calz himself was nowhere to be seen. The scene was reminiscent of a Lifetime Original about lesbian love tragedies.

“Leave her. We have more important things to do.”

Shezza nodded, scurrying towards Mknote. When the two evil-doers approached the window to escape, a platoon of pink-wearing soldiers barged into the conference room. They aimed their weapons at Shezza.

“Time to go,” screeched Mknote, throwing a smokebomb on the floor.

As smog shrouded any visibility, Mknote’s voice boomed throughout the room:

“You may have won, Tinn, but I’m watching you. I have eyes everywhere. Everywhere…”

Schadenfreude groaned and hoisted up Lady Tinn. The girl sighed.

“Lindsey is dead. Ashaya is dead. Calz is missing. All the delegates are gone… except me.” Schadenfreude muttered to herself. “God, I wish this were all a dream. I’ve had enough craziness for a lifetime.”

She paused. “I need to move to a new town. Somewhere with less drama and more peace. Perhaps Hogsmeade or maybe King’s Landing.”

“How about Gotham?” piped Irene, who had just walked through the door. “I heard it’s very nice this time of year.”

/./././.​

Anya was clobbered and sent to the Universal Female Unconsciousness as an Angel.

Therefore....

We have reached a conclusion:

The FEMME NATION has won.

{1and1is3} {Ashaya} {CheddarTrek} {Gila} {insectamantidae} {Lindsey}
{Little Knee} {LochNess} {Palindrome} {Schadenfreude}​

Posting is permitted in this thread by everyone as the game is over.



1and1is3 was the Master of Mamo
Anya was the Scumapotamus
Ashaya was the Nessperado
CheddarTrek was the Batshit Batmanus
Gila was the Quinanya
insectamantidae was the Kneedle of Arya
jadedmutt was the Insectaraptor
Lindsey was the Saint Mutt
Little Knee was the Easy Cheese
LochNess was the Rayndrogynous Rider
Palindrome was the Shamanalyst
Schadenfreude was the Prancing Protester
Vira was the Dromeosaurus


Some observations:
Femmafia went through a lot during its run. If gathering together thirteen girls on a pre-dominantly male forum wasn't hard enough, we endured an abrupt shut-down before Day 1 even ended. Evidently, the game was too awesome for some male politics, but this shut-down was only temporary: with grass-roots support, we were back in a week's time. However, multiple delays also happened when your host had to leave for America, creating clashes with his travel time-table.

It's a testament to the girls' characters that they stuck with Femmafia during these trials and tribulations. For lesser men, the game could have easily been abandoned and orphaned. However, the players, despite everything, sustained their posts without succumbing to nonchalance, a miracle considering the apathy that has afflicted some recent mafia games. Moreover, the girls managed to conduct a civil, well-paced game without resorting to mud-slinging and insults, which have been a feature of Femmafia's predecessors. This lack of drama must be accoladed; they managed to keep the game fun, for both participants and observers.

Although specific players will receive Awards and the Town technically did win, I'd say that all the girls are winners. Without them, the game would haven't have been half as interesting and functional as it had been. And to think that detractors thought creating a mafia game full of just girls would end up in a hormonal disaster! I thank you players for making my life both easy and difficult (but in a good way).

The Witches came extremely close to attaining a victory. In fact, if Anya had done what she originally planned to do (Spike both Ashaya and CheddarTrek), she would have killed both of them by the virtue of her Scumapotamus powers and thereby win the game. Of course, the Scumapotamus powers would have only killed one person if she wasn't right about the first person she decided to Spike (and she would have been publicly revealed as a Witch), meaning that this was a gamble. Moreover, if neither Ashaya nor Schadenfreude was the Nessperado, Anya could have used her Gay BFF to lynch one girl and win. All in all, the town came perilously close to losing - and this should be noted.

I attribute this close call to a number of factors. Firstly, you shouldn't leave lynches until the very last moment! Many times, including Day 1 and Day 4, majority votes strangely took a long time to form. Contrary to other games, this lack of a lynch wagon meant that perhaps town players weren't thinking as clearly about their choices, since everything was a bit rushed. Yes, the delayed behaviour can be linked to the busy holiday times (I myself became busy with the New Year's Season), but leaving lynches to the last moment is a bad principle in general. In the future, players should give themselves more time to vote and discuss.

This game also demonstrates the power of an extra-vote, such as "Lump". The Gay BFF gave Anya an exorbitant amount of leverage. In fact, her Calz vote frequently tipped the lynch wagon in her favour; it would have even granted her victory, had Ashaya been any other role (or if Anya had chosen to kill Ashaya, whether by Night-Kill or Spike). Players should remember how crucial a double-voter can be and be chary about pre-lynch, Day 1 activities, such as voting in Mayors or assigning Pandas. Even seemingly insignficant activities can all weigh up.

I also believe this proves that if you're scum, you shouldn't leave Ashaya alive. If you're innocent, please refer to previous games such as Death Eaters.

Warty dramas and all, I think Meta Mafia: Slumber Party was a productive and fantastic game. At the very least, it introduced more girls to the mafia subforum, equalising that gender ratio in games just a little bit more. To the Femmafia players, I really hope that this was a great experience for you and that you'll continue playing mafia games on DLP!

The thread is open to discussion.

Feedback is appreciated. Awards and the links to QTs are coming. Thank you all for playing.​

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