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House Targaryen

GoT Mafia Game 70

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Whee, I have an actual back-story! I feel important. Not like the rest of you afterthoughts.

Amanda Frey. For being a hoity toity so and so who was too good to attend my pre-party drinks like other, decent folk. Also, she's unemployed an likely a drain on society.

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:crying:

I wanted to come, honest! Your butler wouldn't let me in with my filthy rags.

To a certain player who shall remained unnamed, I know the alt rules are supposed to be relaxed, but not that relaxed. ;)

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:crying:

I wanted to come, honest! Your butler wouldn't let me in with my filthy rags.

That's because you tried to come in the front door. If you'd gone around by the servants' entrance they would have let you in and given you a uniform. I know you've fallen on hard times, dear, and I thought the least I could do was offer you work... Off the books, of course, we have to avoid the new minimum wages laws where we can.

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Ronald Kenning looked at the invitation again and sighed. He turned to his wife, whose eyes were glued to the middle of the road as they sped along. Her hands clenched the wheel, tighter still when she heard him sigh.

"I told you, you'll have fun seeing them again. I promise," she had pled. "Just do this for me. I'll drive."

Ronald had put up a fight at first. "These people are despicable," he argued. Now they just seemed to repeat the same old row.

"You don't even know who else is invited. What if Jon shows up? Last time you two had a nice conversation."

"Until he punched me in the face."

"Well, that wasn't very steady of him, but you know he could never hold his balance after a few drinks. e probably mistook you for Robb."

"Robb Greyjoy?" Visions of a face as hideous as a gargoyle swam in front of Ronald's vision, briefly obscuring the hated invitation. "I'm...not sure how to take that."

"Oh, you look nothing alike, but you know Jon. Always too vain for glasses."

"This is not convincing me any more that I should be here in the car with you..."

"But they're nearly family. Maybe Carol will be there. You know my mother was a Frey too."

"So was everyone's mother; you can't even figure out how she's related! Other than that you both have your fucking bitchy moments..."

Anabel Baratheon-Kenning braked hard, suddenly. "What did I just hear you say? That's it, Ronald. I've had it with you and your fucking complaining tonight. Fine, don't come to the fucking party. I'll just tell them you couldn't fucking come. I'll give you the fucking car and you can stay at a fucking hotel tonight."

And so he did. They drove the rest of the way in silence, Harold dropped Anabel off, and went to town. But now, with all the hotels nearby full up for the night, Harold was left with no choice but to go back to the party and beg the reservation information off Anabel. Fuck Anabel and her pretend cousins. Fuck them all. And when he arrived, she wasn't even fucking there anymore, but had been seen leaving before dinner, stumbling drunk on cocktails, arm in arm with Carol Frey, both of them singing at the tops of their lungs and reminiscing, loudly, about the best of times. Good. Maybe after they left the pub again...and the next pub...and the other one in town, she'd have to spend the night cold and under a newspaper in her stupid fucking cocktail dress and stag-shaped brooch. Meanwhile, he'd have some dinner and try to avoid the fists of people he never really enjoyed in the first place. Seven hells, why couldn't they just go to the Summer Isles on a cruise for a holiday like any normal couple?

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After seeing the theme of the dinner party, Ronald Kenning swore eternal irritation at his wife, the Seven for giving him enough noble blood to be invited to such a terrible affair, and himself for making the deal in the first place--spending Dragonday with his in-laws now seemed like such a harmless proposition in comparison to this. Gods, these people were just as terrible as he remembered. Beginning with Yronwood. Oh, he couldn't remember why he held that grudge, since the origins were concealed in a youthful haze of drugs of one sort or another, but gods, the man's shirt was ugly enough.

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Ronald Kenning looked at the invitation again and sighed. He turned to his wife, whose eyes were glued to the middle of the road as they sped along. Her hands clenched the wheel, tighter still when she heard him sigh...

I'm alt guessing are are HT Reddy. Reddy, you aren't allowed to join in your own game so you can continue to write scenes in the middle of the day. :P

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That's because you tried to come in the front door. If you'd gone around by the servants' entrance they would have let you in and given you a uniform. I know you've fallen on hard times, dear, and I thought the least I could do was offer you work... Off the books, of course, we have to avoid the new minimum wages laws where we can.

Rose Tully, your exploitation of the downtrodden has me concerned and your swanky parties are sooo overrated

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Rose Tully, your exploitation of the downtrodden has me concerned and your swanky parties are sooo overrated

He says, though he seemed to be enjoying the open bar just fine only a couple of hours ago. Maybe you would have enjoyed the party more if you hadn't spent the whole time draped over the bar slurring at the migrant help.

Besides what is the point of being Lady Tully if I can't exploit the underclasses a little here and there.

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Great, Kenning is here. He still never apologized for sleeping with my sister, he doesn't even remember that night. Whatever. God he's wearing an ugly shirt ... and he actually popped the collar. Who does that? Douche.

...

On a serious note, the point you get for being first on a successful lynch - I assume it has to be continuous? Like I vote for X, then hop to Y and hop back on X at number 6, I don't get credit for being first. If not ...

Stokeworth

remove vote

Stark

remove vote

Martell

remove vote

Tyrell

remove vote

Dondarrion

remove vote

Stonetree

remove vote

Kenning

remove vote

Cerwyn

remove vote

Erenford

That should cover the ones that haven't been hit :P

REMOVE ALL VOTES

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Great, I have to go to sleep now and miss all the fun role playing. :frown5:

Lucky you! Kenning's first post made me want to tear my eyes out. Fortunately his second post laid a second vote on what is fated to be the successful lynch train of the day: Yronwood! His lynch will give the crafty Victor Von Erenford (Reddy forgot the Von) +1 point for being the first vote on a successful lynch mob, +1 point for not moving his vote all day, +1 point for getting Yronwood lynched and +1 point for lynching a FM. 4 points! The rest of you boys and girls can earn 3 points if you hop on the mob now and refuse to move your votes despite all Yronwood's pleading and groveling.

Talking of points, I'm going to suggest a groundbreaking plan. A daredevil idea that will appeal to those of you that are brave and intelligent. The plan is as follows: everyone gives their points to me. I know you haven't got any points yet and that the rules don't really mention anything about giving points to another player, but Reddy did say the rules were susceptible to shift before the end of day 1, so if you send enough PMs to him demanding the right to give all your points to Erenford I think he's likely to cave in (always was a softy, Reddy). When I have everybody's points I'll laugh manically lead you all to victory, glory and a better tomorrow. Does that sound good?

On a serious note, the point you get for being first on a successful lynch - I assume it has to be continuous? Like I vote for X, then hop to Y and hop back on X at number 6, I don't get credit for being first. If not ...

Good try, bozo, but no, you'd be 6th on the lynch. Today it's your turn in the wicker man, so it's a moot point anyway.

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Cool. I scared everyone off.

That's fine. I'll just stay around and talk to myself. So, what's the name of that girl who agreed to marry me? She had nice ass. And my hands look weird. And so does that Erenford guy. I think he's got a glass eye. A pretty good one, actually. You hardly notice.

Waiter! Another one! No, wait. Make it double.

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I know you haven't got any points yet...

What are you talking about. I've got a point, and you can keep your grubby claws off it. Now hop along and fetch me another drink, there's a good lad.

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What are you talking about. I've got a point, and you can keep your grubby claws off it. Now hop along and fetch me another drink, there's a good lad.

Here you go. This is a special cocktail of my own creation. I have named it "The Plant-witherer". It's a very... elitist cocktail, you might say. I only mix it for people with an attitude class. Bottoms up! hahaha hahahahaha bwahahahahahaha *coughs* Sorry, I got carried away again.

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