It was fun! Definitely a strong comeback for mafia games on here.
Looking forward to the next one. :)
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"Big problem with that, Duke. If you're 'wrong about Sven,' then we're all dead. I guess you'd be right about us being guilt free, though. Kinda hard to feel guilty when you've been chopped into pieces."
"That may be. But there's two of these nunnlifs left, yeah? So for all I know, you could both be nunnlifs. Besides, that little tussle I had with Sven got me thinking. What if their little human suits are so damned good, that not even they could tell each other apart? For all I know, the other nunnlif's voting you off the island because not even he can be sure you're human. In which case, all of this squabbling doesn't mean squat."
"The Duke, then, huh?" Alexander mumbles, glancing at Sven first, and then to the older gentleman. The wrinkles on his forehead could probably be counted, and used to ascertain the number of years that he has been alive. After a moment of deliberation, he nods once. "This is gonna be one hell of a comeback... Fine." He turns to Leto and shrugs. "Sorry, Duke, but I'm playing for Team Human."
Alexander continues to growl, clearly unconvinced of Sven's innocence. Still, he was not totally oblivious to their current predicament. He turns to Robert and Tharp and grunts. "All right, roomies. Since you're the only two that can undeniably wave the flag of humanity, it's your asses on the line. With everyone else raving like a lunatic, it's getting real hard to tell who the other nunnlif might be. So who are you two voting for?"
Alexander laughs bitterly, sounding awfully delirious for someone who hasn't had a sip of alcohol. "Ha. Vote me to the chair, and I promise you, either Robert or Dash are gonna bite the dust. And once that happens, there ain't nothing stopping the nunnlifs from finishing off the rest of you. Unless two of you think that you can handle an alien abomination in a one-on-one fight. I'm pretty sure that I can, but you're all not me."
Alexander finally pulls himself off the ground, leaving to question whether it had been Sven's blows or the two untimely deaths that left him stunned. He spends a few moments in silence, wiping some of the blood off his face with the back of his hand, before finally speaking up. "Now, let's clear up one of these misconceptions I still see going around," he growls, a little more calm than he had been before. He looks dazed, yet somehow still lucid. "If one of your own kind slips up and gets caught, what do you do? Keep your silence, or protect them, even if it draws attention to yourself? Of course not! You sell them out and let the crowd tear them to pieces for you. After that, everyone has to trust you. Right, ?"
"Nothing personal, Tharp. I can't stand this goon, but I'm not about to let Jim get shocked!"
"Hard-headed is right, but not in the way you're thinking!" Alexander says as he shakes his hand, only to be taken off-guard by Sven's headbutt. He stumbles backwards, covering his nose with his other hand. This was hardly the first time it had been broken. "Heh, got a little fight in you, eh? Well, you should know that if I grew balls, I'd end up having four of them! If that happened, I'd have to waddle around like one of your damned penguins!" Paying his bloody nose no mind, Alexander lowers his head like a bull and charges in for a tackle!
"I might be a *@&&#@, but at least I'm not a drunken, penguin-humping hippie!" Alexander howls back, instinctively swinging his arm out at Sven like a gorilla on steroids. "It's a good thing you're human, 'cause the chair is too damned good for you! Once this mess is all said and done, if the nunnlif hasn't taken you first, I'll take you down the old-fashioned way!" At the Duke's mention of his military experience, Alexander's face only seems to turn redder...
For some reason, Sven's comments about Alexander's show seem to offend him far more than any accusations of him being inhuman. "Careful about who you call a fraud around here, Sven. You know what we do to those around here," he says darkly, his face turning beet red. "I'll have you know that Arctic Survivor won more awards than Planet Earth and March of the Penguins combined! Morgan Freeman wishes that he had the pleasure of narrating my life!"
Alexander blinks at Robert and Dash's rather brazen reveal. "What? No. Ugh. Damn it. Fine, you're off the chopping block. You've both got some serious stones on you. And some serious guts. But speaking of guts, I still think that haggis is f~%!ing disgusting." Looking to Mike, he shakes his head and grunts. "Cunning as these nunnlifs have been so far, it'd be mighty stupid of them to draw attention to themselves with such an obvious ruse." Finally, he looks to Sven and Tharp with a look of disdain. "You think I'm a nunnlif? I could see the angry Scot voting for me, but you two?"
"I'm not too keen on breaking my promises," Alexander says, turning to look at Robert. "You've been pointing fingers all willy-nilly from the start. At humans, no less. It's time for you to meet your maker. Whatever the hell it is that made you nunnlif scum, anyway."
"A whole lot of nothing is more like it," Alexander says gruffly, feeling only a smidgen of satisfaction. "But... I'm willing to bet that at least one of us that voted for Clive is another nunnlif. Voting off one of their own is a sensible survival tactic, after all. But then, sticking together is also a viable survival tactic. Speaking of, that might be why none of you got killed."
Alexander blinks at 'Clive.' "What the hell are you babbling on about? Dash? How would you even know that? This is all just some crazy talk you came up with to try to throw us off at the last minute!"
I don't think I actually dotted this before. Whoops. :P
"Ellie had to be just a lucky guess. As for Russ, well, either the nunnlif geneticist figured out who he was, or his mention of Clive raised some flags." With arms crossed, Alexander nods his head self-assuredly. He was pretty sure that Sven or someone else had already said something to that effect, but in his humble opinion, it sounded better coming out of his own mouth. "Either way, there's no point doing nothing anymore. I'll see you in hell, 'Clive.'"
"If you've got any other leads you'd like to share, then be my guest. Cuz the way I see it, we can either go with what that 'far-fetched' cheese line, or you and I can get shocked like that lunatic wants." Alexander jabs a thumb in Robert's direction.
Alexander snorts derisively at Robert's allegation. "Oh, don't you worry yourself Robert. I already said that you can't be human. You're next. But first I have a bone to pick with this cheese-loving freak." The Scandinavian shakes a meaty finger at Clive. "Sven is right, Russ did say something about you. Seems like there was more to Ellie's dietary notes than just our tastes." His finger lowers slightly when he hears Sven's latter remark. "Wait, what?"
", I said that everyone had to stay hydrated!" Alexander bellows at the mummified corpse, his feigned composure crumbling into dust. His balled-up fists looked like a pair of sledgehammers. "And you were the geneticist this whole time? Now what the f@!$ are we supposed to do!?"
"Don't get the wrong idea, Sven. Can't be having Jimmy or anyone getting their brains fried."
Sven watches Alexander carefully when the survival expert starts talking about drinking. At the word "water", he relaxes. "As long as it's really water, I agree. Nothing else. I've seen some of your shows, man." With a grunt, Alexander takes a swig from an inconspicuous canteen. "It still might come to that, Sven. So best we all hold onto any empty containers we've got. They'll come in handy." Now the opposite hand is lifted. "On the other hand, if we don't lynch anyone, they just keep picking us off since if they can do it even as we're watching if they take their time (and let's hope it's only one of us at a time if at all) then they have pretty good odds not to take out one of their own." "The longer we hold out, the more time we give our human geneticist to work, and the greater chance we've got to put a 'nunnlif' to the chair later on. Sure, they'll pick off a few weaklings in the meantime, but us strong folks will be left to wrestle down those tentacled sons of b*+&@es. Survival of the fittest!"
"I don't see how getting s+~%faced is conducive to our survival," Alexander says in earnest, looking at Jimmy and the Duke as thought they were flailing tentacles around. "If anything, it just makes us easier prey. Stupider prey, at that. We should be drinking water. Keeps the brain juices flowing." "Look, I'm no stranger to acts of wanton violence. Being former military, and all. I mean sure, I've busted down a few doors, cracked a couple of skulls, and torched some bad guys in my day. But in my professional opinion, frying some random person's brain isn't the answer right now. We need more I-N-T-E-L before we act."
"Man, that's just cold. And believe me, I know cold," Alexander says gruffly, directing a glare of his own at Robert. "You best be careful about picking on Jim there, 'cause guess what? I know that sob story of yours about the haggis was a crock of s#@&. And as far as I'm concerned, there is no human on this godforsaken planet that could possibly think that s*!~ tastes good." "Jim here was just doing his damned job. If somebody else had done their damned job, then maybe poor Ellie wouldn't have been turned into mush."
Alexander watches Doctor Wilkens get fried with a look of disgust, but he does not exactly lift a finger to help either. He does not seem terribly surprised to see that the man was human after all. "Well that just f*~#ing figures." However, his eyes narrow when Elora's body abruptly turns into mush. "And that's just f!~+ing great. Anybody have anything useful to say, now that the second smartest person in the room is dead?"
"This mess just started and you people are already out for blood? Disgraceful. It's a good thing we're all locked in here, because not one of you would last a day outside. Hell, can't even blame dehydration or starvation for your insanity."
"Disgraceful," Alexander remarks with disgust when Dash tosses his cookies. "Now you're going to get all dehydrated. Ugh. But I guess we know who the weak link in our group is." He looks to the man and nods sagely. "When the creature comes after you, try to at least go down fighting."
" Central heating is still on. We don't need a bonfire... yet."
"Damn shame. Otherwise we could broadcast this live, so the whole world could see!"
"Yeah. When my unit and I were stranded, we didn't need to start killing each other until after people started to starve," Alexander says matter-of-factly, as though his little tidbit were somehow relevant. "I hate to say it, but we're better off just sitting on our asses than we are frying people right off the bat."
"Out for blood already, are we?" Alexander says, glowering at the Doctor. "A geneticist might have done the killing, but if we're gonna just kill anyone who's ever flipped through a genetics textbook, then we'd might as well just throw ourselves under a bus. Survival 101: You don't get your greatest assets killed. That includes the geneticists, and well, me of course. You'd all be dead without me here."
"Hmph. You heard what he said, right?" Alexander asks, arms still crossed. His eyes quickly dart from one person to the next. "One of those geneticists did him in." His brow furrows, and his eyes narrow. His thick eyebrows begin to resemble caterpillars - angry caterpillars. "So which of you science flunkies did Marco in, huh?"
"No, you're right. Science isn't worth squat at this point," Alexander asserts with crossed arms. "This is officially a survival situation. It's a good thing you have me on board, because surviving is what I do best! As long as you all stick with me, you've got nothing to worry about. This place has got security cameras, right? Make sure you keep them rolling, 'cause I'm gonna need the footage afterwards. For, uh, reasons."
"That's just it, isn't it?" Alexander grunts, rather wishing he had a stiff drink in hand. Both to calm his nerves, and to wash out the taste of blood. "Doesn't matter whether he had any enemies. Someone wanted him dead. Probably didn't even care who he was; there was nothing personal about it. Could have just as easily been me or one of you that got ripped to shreds."
"I thought it was odd that there were no cameramen around," Alexander says boisterously, otherwise sounding strangely calm considering the gravity of their situation. "This must all be some huge prank, like one of those hidden camera shows. I bet that any second now, the real Marco will walk right through that door. Because this..." He gestures at the mutilated corpse, "...is clearly fake. See, look..." The large man lightly dabs his finger in a splotch of blood, before touching it to the tip of his tongue. "Mm. Mm. No, that's real blood. Hm.
As a member of the Scandinavian Special Forces, Captain Alexander Maxerson was trained to survive and operate while under even the coldest and most dangerous of climate conditions. After an honorable discharge at the age of 32, he decided to share his survival experience with the world. The very next year, the fruit of his labor, Arctic Survivor, debuted on the Discovery Channel. The show was a smash hit, raking in ludicrous amounts of cash from merchandising. After a successful first three seasons however, Alexander decided that the show needed something to keep it fresh, to keep the fans interested. On the debut of season 4, Alexander pulled his most shocking survival stunt yet. What followed was disaster. Walrus and polar bear activists worldwide were outraged by the episode. Loyal fans of the series accused it of jumping the shark, asserting that it betrayed the true spirit of the series. Making matters even worse, documents leaked on the internet suggested that Alexander had never even been in the military before. The rest of season 4 was promptly canceled, and publishers pulled out of the book deals they had signed with him. Millions of dollars worth of merchandise was pulled from the shelves. Alexander was left in ruin. Alexander spent the next year of his life in self-imposed exile in the Scandinavian wilderness, chopping logs, growing out his beard, and rethinking his life. One day however, a television producer from the Discovery Channel visited his humble abode, offering an interesting proposition. With controversy having died down, the time was ripe for Alexander to make his big comeback. All he had to do was win some goodwill back from his old fans. He learned of an expedition to the Antarctic that was in need of a survival consultant. In that moment, Alexander could see it. Like a seal rising from its breathing hole, he would make his triumphant return to television in - Antarctic Survivor.
"Final round, eh? I guess I can't afford to hold back anymore!" Ducking under Meowselsworth's sweeping laser, Alexander dives towards Eldon, readying an uppercut.
As Alexander sees the fist closing in, he steps forward to meet it with his own. "Take this! The force of the collision sends Alexander reeling back, nearly putting him right in the path of a laser. He quickly ducks down, gritting his teeth as the scorching beam grazes his arm.
"I knew it was you all along, Eldon Gorski!" Alexander leaps through the air just as a stray laser drags across the ground beneath his feet, ripping it asunder. As he lands some ten feet away, his eyes dart to a nearby cow, which he quickly snatches up by the leg. "How does it feel to be so fake!?"
"This is it! " Alexander roars out, his voice reverberating throughout the arena. Balling his hands into fists, he slams them together, piercing the air with a sharp crack. His entire body tenses up, accentuating each and every one of his massive, well-toned muscles. As the rage of his ancestors boils within him, his beard even seems to grow an inch. Too many foes have evaded my grasp! Tiamat, Mustakrakish, and even Flglhran! But not this time!
As stray gears and springs bounce past him, Alexander grunts, more or less satisfied by the turn of events. Cracking his knuckles, he assesses those that remain.
Still huffing from his outburst, Alexander is brought back to his senses when he hears Eldon's voices. The rage in Eldon's voice kindles his own, bringing out another roar. The berserker stands and smashes his fists together, a bestial snarl on his lips. Someone would pay for Finwa's death, and if it couldn't be Mittens, then it would have to be the next best thing.
"...friend?" The word sounded foreign on his tongue. Alexander had heard of this ritual of camaraderie before - this so-called 'friendship' - but only in the midst of the hippies whom he so desperately hated. He had resolved to hate it by association. And perhaps in retaliation, people learned to hate and fear him. Yet there she was, acknowledging him as a friend, a brother even. Huh, maybe I shouldn't be so angry all the time. I mean, what is there even to be angry about? I don't have to yell at things, half of them aren't even capable of hearing me anyway. Maybe the hippies were right about that peace thing. Maybe it's time I settled down, got a real job, maybe even get married and have some brats of my own. I can owe it all to this woman, my first frie-
In an instant, Alexander was once again covered from head to toe in blood and gore, fleshy bits hanging off his body here and there. Quietly, he picks what he recognizes as Finwa's eyeball off his shoulder and drops it to the ground. Moments later he falls to his knees before the blood splatter and looks to the ceiling in vain, letting out the mightiest bellow he had ever summoned.
"Argh! Only me mum called me Alex!" Alexander growls through grit teeth as he makes the final pull on the cord, before snapping it between his incisors. The finished product is a set of thick leather faulds, offering protection to the thighs and groin. Nonchalantly, he tosses it over to Aaron. "Throw that on as well! Your current dress is a disgrace!" "Now what was it you wanted me to kill?" he asks Finwa impatiently, before setting his eyes on the sewing machine. "" he says, recognition coming to his eyes, "You thought you could get away from me, huh? Well you were wrong! Oh, what? Are you laughing at me? Huh? What, you don't think I'll do it? Are you kidding me? " Dipping his head and charging forward with a bullrush, he dives forward, grappling the sewing machine as he falls to the floor. Its needle jabs back and forth menacingly, going for his eyes, but he simply plucks the point out and tosses it aside, before trapping it in a vice grip between his arm muscles. Flexing them slowly, the chassis of the sewing machine bends and snaps under the pressure, sending sparks flying and smoke billowing out of the machine. "WANT ME TO STOP? THEN SAY "UNCLE"! SAY IT, DAMN IT!" he screams at it, before finally, the machine bursts into a ball of flames, reduced to a smoldering hunk of metal and plastic, "Well you can't now, can you!? YOU'RE SO DEAD."
As the round drags on, Alexander begins to pound on the cow hides with his fists, adjusting them to some kind of specifications known only to him. Strangely enough, by now they appear to have been cured, a task that would have taken an ordinary man far longer than the game allowed him to accomplish. Apparently satisfied by this development, he tears the hides from the tanning rack and tosses them onto a nearby table. "I hate to admit it woman, but Quasimodo here is right," he says as he pulls out a knife and starts to cut patterns out of the hides, "I thought I'd throw you a bone, but your leadership didn't do us squat. Even your lackey would be better suited for the job." Procuring a thick, curved needle and a bundle of cord, he starts to stitch the pieces together.
Given a few moments, the throwing cows all become tanning cows. Watching intently as their hides become leather, Alexander offers them some positive reinforcement.
The metric ton or so of beef and bone that should be there is nowhere to be seen.
Looking to Finwa, Alexander's gaze hardens. " Ready doesn't even begin to @#$%ing " He pounds his fists together, his teeth grit and his lips snarled like wolf on the hunt. In spite of the talent show being over, he grabs one of his unused throwing cows and hurls it across the arena, before letting a battle cry. "Come on, people! "
Alexander had watched with awe as the Eldritch Abomination emerged from the portal, licking his lips with anticipation. He had no clue what the Monk had been having him moving all those stones around for, but in that moment he knew it would all be worth it. This is the moment I've been waiting for! The ultimate opponent! If I were to consume its flesh then I would... Looking upon the writhing mass, Alexander poised to strike. And then it dropped. "Raaaaaaagh! What did you do that for, you stupid cat!?" he shouts, his hands balled into fists. He turns to the seemingly unconscious Murder Monk, and proceeds to shout at him. "Come on, summon another one! I want my prey back, damn it!"
Turns out I never dotted this! So huagh!
With a heavy thud, Alexander drops the final arcane stone into position, before stepping back and dusting off his hands. By this point his entire body was covered in blood, the shrapnel and splinters having worked themselves loose during his manual labor. The crimson liquid poured freely, dripping to the ground like raindrops. Popping his neck with a cock of his head, he takes notice of the fencing match. "Looks like they're having some fun," he comments, more impressed by the intensity of the situation than he was of their fighting style. The thought of using such skinny swords just seemed plain wimpy to him. A real man would use a big sword! Like a bastard sword! Oh, I'm a real bastard alright! Brushing some blood off the bridge of his nose, he looks to Murder Monk. "Well, I got everything into position like ya asked. What's next?"
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