DeanTheAdequate

OOC: Not feeling the writing bug right now... But I shall vote. Xanthus- Javier. Mmmm... Baseless accusation.

Dr. Van Muncie takes in a light breakfast, then begins searching the area. It's not long before he comes upon the scene of the first murder. But it is spotless. "The fool cleaned it up... Nothing to go on here." Instead, he checks his notebook on the rake marks, then begins searching for a pushbroom. A little while later he begins sweeping the well kept wooden floors. "Stop, please" says a maid "That is our job sir." "Yes, but in helping you for a moment, I'm doing mine as well." The maid looked cross, but soon trotted away. There was no reason to worry the girl. He had found what he was looking for. The claws of the wolf made scrtaches in the well-waxed floors. Barely noticeable to someone who wasn't cleaning the things. But panic was not needed now, for on top of that the doctor had no wolfsbane. And being confined did not give him a chance to find any. So better to keep quiet for now. He'd have to go on faith and intuition for his first accusations. He hated to do something as low as... gamble. "Hmm..."

Van Muncie scans the room. A large crossbow resting from floor to his palm, and a small dixie cup of punch in his other hand. "I knew I smelled a wolf when that invitation was accidently delivered to my door." (Meanwhile, at the asylum...) Napoleon stares out of his window and sighs. Still no mail...

Dean settles back in his chair with the sign "Meat Seat" on it. "Well, I'll have to get my toolbelt. Any gutters need cleaning?" He gives a wry smile as he summons a lily in one hand and an electric drill in the other.

I have it. A real blast from the past. I'm going to be Dr. Van Muncie from the first WW game. He may have been my moderating NPC, but I liked it!

Well, If we went back to HS I wouldn't reprise my role as MEAT. I'd have to be someone else... As for a "Reunion" game, why not? I'm thinking either Napoleon or Dr. Cuthbert.

Man.. I really flaked this game. I start in with a joke and then RL slams me around, making me be the sterotypical "Napoleon" in the asylum. And as soon as I got up to speed, I get infected with lycanthropy and forget if it's night or day phase. (Sorry MTYF... No reason to clutter up your mailbox...) Still, I got to speed and enjoyed myself. I really like my letter to Josaphine. Well, let's see what's in store next time.

Well sir, my favorite pic of the Ol' Deanster is my avvie now. Hopw that helps. As for Phil, he's exactly like GiGi. The cat from "Kiki's Delivery Service". When I get a few moments I'll look for a pic or two.

Souinds good! I'll take an avvie and a banner, if I might. Dean is... Well, Dean Martin from his rat pack days. He wears a velvety black smoking jacket with a glowing neon martini glass emblazoned on his left jacket pocket. He dons matching black trousers and usually has something to drink in his hands. His familier is a little black cat known as Phil D. Cat. All that is known about him is he is quite intelligent, can speak, and weilds the power of cynacism. Thanks, in advance.

*Napoleon "Rides" into the gates. He keeps it open until his "men" are all inside.* Thank you Eyremon. You may have saved the assult. But it is not over yet. A traitor still walks amongst us. *He stuffs his hand into his coat, the makes cold eyes at Rena* OOC: One for Rena

Dean comes back from the Beer booth with a sixer of pints. He spies the geld on the ledge, and its owner. He reverently sets the tray of ales on his stool, looks around, then begins casting a small spell. The booth descends into darkness, so that all who can hear are The Big Pointy One and himself. "Very well," Dean says "You have asked for the worst advise possable. Advice so bad, it rivals that of starting a land war in Asia... If only CaoCao had not taken it as real... So my worst advise? It has driven others mad. It has rivaled the Necronomicon and every work of Robert Heinlein in inducing insanity. Are you prepared to accept the truth inside this bad advise?" TBPO nodded. "So be it." Dean took a big drought from a pint, downing it in one go. He shifted left, right, then checked Phil. The little cat had covered his ears with his paws and was cowering. "Be normal. Suscribe to the standards that society puts before you. Enjoy watching reality television and talk about it at the water cooler of your nine to five job. Rest easy in your safe bed next to your partner who has grown dull with your existance. Take in meals at only the trendiest of places, yet eat no grains, for a dead doctor said they shall make you fat. Excersise three times a week. Not for your health, but to make others THINK you have health. Drive a big Sport Utility Vehicle. Biggest on your block, so that it hardly squeezes in your driveway. Only read what is on the best seller list, or on Oprah's. And finally, buy a Segway, for it is the future of inner city transportaion. Even if it makes you look like a tool. That is all." The spell fades, the darkness dies out. The carnival can be seen again. Dean pockets the coinage and downs two more of the pints. Then offers one to TBPO.

Once again, Napoleon looks out his window. But halfway through the day he gives pause... He stares at the fortifacation. He considers the ins, the outs, the tensile strength of the cusions, and the velocity of a french cannon. Better that the cannons were inside. He gives a sharp whistle and makes a gesture. Mounting his "horse" he gallops to the encampment. "Pardon! I, the emperor of all Europe, demand refuge in your mighty keep. My men have store and we must endure this winter." He wait's outside the "Getes" for an answer.

There will come times when a line forms. It may be for a sporting event, or a grocers checkout, or even an ATM. But remember this... A quick stab in the kidney of the person in front of you will scatter the line very efficiently so that you may go about your business. Thank you for your patronage.

Very well then, any particular advice needed, or general?

Dean takes out the slip of paper and pockets it, in case he may need it later. "Truely there are those who do not need my advise, for thiers is enough." He places it instead in a frame and writes under it "Our First Tip"

Dean saunters over to the ever growing line of booths. He smiles down the line and assembles a crude booth. Soon he produces a can of paint and writes in big, bold letters on the sign above... Bad Advice, 5 Cents He then finds a pair of stools and places one in front of the paper which claims The Doctor is in "This will sooo never work" says Phil, towing behind him a stuffed rabbit won from the ball toss. "Yesh," Dean says "But if it does... I'll be swimming in gin by," he does some calculations "8pm on the 23rd" Dean then puts up a jar labled "Tips" and sits behind the booth, waiting.

*Dean strolls over, cotton candy in hand. He tosses 5 Geld in his hand and thinks for a moment, eyeballing the booth members critically. He soon tosses his money in the jar and walks past Zool, Ayshela and Salinye. He then kisses the wooden mermaid at the swap-meet tent not but two feet from the both. He stares at the doll, then leaves.* "Yeah, freezing up like that is the most common side effect..." he says as he slowly shook his head. Then downed another shot of gin. Edit: Forgot names... DOH!

Dean stumbes over to the board. "Now isn't thish intereshting..." he says "But I'm married to my job!" "Your job is drinking." says Phil D. Cat "Besides, the courts threw out your marrage licence on the grounds you can't marry intagible objects. Like an idea or even voice actresses." "Ho-kay. Then I guesh I'll do it. I have to fill my schecond sherry tank under the vicars." Phil just eyeballs Dean in the way cats do. Dean then wanders over to find other booths.

*The warders bring Napoleon a writing pad and a ball point pen with a feather taped to it. He takes off his hat, moves as if he is entering a tent, and sits at his chair. He begins to write, in french. But not to worry gentle reader, I have translated it!* Dearest Josephine, I remain encamped with a few officers, but the situation has turned ugly. I can sense them plotting amongst themselves. My spies have reported in. They have found a mineral deposit in the shape of a spoon. Now we can have more cannonballs to fight the Russians. I have found that even with dwindling supplies we are able to have three meals a day. I have awarded the chef the medal of freedon, but I was given a cockeyed look. I would have given a proper medal instead of a certificate, but alas, all the medals had to be made into cannon fire. But I still do not deserve such treatment. As a matter of fact, the next time the Sargent brings me my writing kit, I shall give him a certificate of execution. While the meals are still arriving steadily, I must keep face in front of the men. Until winter passes, My love Emperor Napoleon the First *He rolls his note and presses a cracker jack ring as a sort of "Seal" in peanut butter. Then he hands the letter to an orderly, who snidly salutes. Napoleon then resumes his position standing at the window, hand in coat*

*Napoleon stands in his corner. Hand in his 17th century coat. Hat still on his head. He has a musing look crossing his face, as if he's sizing everyone up in the dayroom.*

Aw heck. I was thinking about not going for it this time... But what kind of Wolfmastah would I be if I didn't at least try? Is Napoleon taken?

Daffy: Tying hith vote to prime? What madness! Illpallazo: No... Look down below... *** *Wings materialize around the young man and wrap him in a cocoon of feathers, as he drifts slowly off the ground, as runes glow gold and a magical circle with a sun-and-crescent-moon flares to life on the ground. The wings open in a flash of bright light to reveal a slender, moon-pale young man, dressed in white and lavender robes, who both bears a resemblance to Yukito and at the same time, does not. He has gained several inches in height, and silver hair falls past his bare feet, even tied back as it is. While whoever this is is a creature of ethereal, unearthly beauty, a deep coldness, sadness, and loneliness hangs about him: while he resembles an angel, there is something untouchable about him, ice to the core. His catlike, violet-silver eyes certaintly hold nothing but frost.* Yukito- And now to... huh? *Wile E. presses a button on a remote. Birdseed peppers Yukito as a familier dustcloud comes around the track* Road Runner- Meep! Meep! * The road runner begins a pecking... and pecking... and pecking... Soon Yukito can't be seen. But then the road runner darts away, satisfied. Leaving behind the pre-transformation Yukito. An eraser falls out of his jacket.* Optimus Prime- Now then... We've found the last eraser. Pepe- But I still have not found ze love... *Wile E. is starting to back away, when he's hit by speed racer who's still on the line painter.* *** Illpalazzo- And so ends another Laff-A-Lympics. Daffy- Yeth. If only there was some way to continue... (OOC: You got the last one. There ya go. I am thinking of making a Laff-A-Lympic's RP game here. Just an excuse to play around with cartoon characters. I'll set up some rules later. Keep an eye out for it!)

Daffy- And nexth up... Dave for team KODT. Illpallazo- Dave has some combat training with a history of playing paintball. He's a favorite for this match. Daffy- But what's this? He's not at the starting gate. Let's go to Boba Fett from the Star Wars Christmas special for an update. *** Boba Fett- .....No chance in hell. *The sarlac swallows him up. The microphone dangles in the air for a second, but Simon Belmont from "Captain N" grabs it.* Simon- *Ahem* Simon Belmont here reporting next to the vending machines in hallway 7-b. Dave was last seen in search of a grape Faygo when... *Simon turns a corner. There is dave, with his knees erased!* Dave- Now I know what a critical hit to a roll of 17 feels like... Simon- Ew, you've got no knees. I'm not even speaking to tha... *More sarlac service. Josie from "Josie and the Pussycats" grabs up the mic.* Josie- Sorry about that Dave. You're gonna have to miss the event, but we've got an artist on standby to help you out. Dave- OK... Where's my amulet? All I remember was being hit with the force of 1000 flipped tables and then... Josie- I think this is it! *Josie produces the amulet. But someone erased parts of the +12 so that it makes a -12* Dave- That was sooo cheap. This calls for a quick stop at the pizza place to plot against BA's friggin home brewed monsters... *** Daffy- Well, it looks like team KODT dosen't take the gold this time. Illpallazo- Not to worry. Thier participant named Sara won the Judo competition. But now is not time for a history lesson. On to the future. The next event, The Free-Form swim. (OOC: Dave was innocent. Day phase!)

I'll play... AND I'll even finsh this current one! (Sorry gang... Stupid RL!) Anywhoo... Let me be the first for the con-men... Con-people. I'll brush off my used car salesman outfit!

(OOC: We apologize for the delay. With the voting going 4-2 to Nave, I'll just get the RAID then...) Pepe points at Parker. Parker points at Pepe. Pepe primes a pungent perfume. Parker pushes a panic powerswitch. Time slows. The jet of stench fires at the masked hero. A seemingly normal web burst spews forth from the web-shooter. Pepe thinks quickly, puts on a pair of dark sunglasses, and backwards-dodges the webbing. The stench, however, contacts the web-head... Even as he tries to bound away. Spider Man- OH GAWD! IT'S UNDER MY MASK!!! Meanwhile the web spray keeps going. Snagglepuss saunters into the bathhouse. Snagglepuss- Heavens to merga--- *WHUMP!* The webbing smacks him in the head... erasing it! Pepe- You see! Arrest heem! Inspecter Gadget- You rang? Pepe- No zomeone competant! Inspector Gadget hangs his head in shame, then rollerskates out. Instead, Inspector Protector bursts in. Inspector Protector- We got here as soon as we could. Get that masked man. ANd get his gloves off. Spider Man- OK... Skewing the betting pools for new tires on thje spider-mobile... Bad idea. Spider-man quickly web-slings the guns out of the ICPO's hands and he leaps to freedom. Spider Man- And to think... Aunt May would have never thought I ran with a rough crowd. Aunt May- EAT YOUR WHEATCAKES!!!! Spider Man- Crap inna hat... *** Daffy- Well, it looth like one of the culprits have been captured. Ilpallazzo- Indeed. For once the masses have found justice. Daffy- Not tho! The perpetrator abscounded away! Ilpallazo- Oh. Well then time for a regime change..... Yadda, Yadda. Let's go to Excel at the scorboard. *** Excel- Well, the Scoobie Doobies are ahead by 15 points thanks to the pie eating contest. The Really Rottens reamed the road rally. Finally the Yogi Yahooies are at rock bottem because they've lost Squiddly Diddly for some reason. *** Illpallazo- Wrong scoreboard... *Ilpallazo grips a braided rope that decends regally* *** Excel- Whoops! Sorry. They're so close together that I....EEEEEEEEEE! *Excel drops down a nigh bottomless pit* *** Daffy- Out of your thystem? Ilpallazo- Yes, as if I had purged an awful essence from my system... Daffy- Too much information Buster. The next event is the Ski Salom/Skeet shoot. Have fun! *** Meanwhile... in a bar across town. Spider Man- And to think, I almost had them! Iceman- There there... You've still got the old Ice man to provide cold ones. Spider Man- Thanks. Where's Jean? Iceman- On the mechanical bull again. Spider Man- Makes sense, considering who her boyfriend is... (OOC: Nave was a wolf! Night Phase. Seer, wolf... TO THE PMs!)