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Fenris & Yugikun Do Sprites!
I'd like to request a sprite very specifically from Yugi (since he's my inspiration in this case) for my in-progress V7 character Phillip Olivares.


It'd be super awesome if you could do him in and out of costume; also in case it's helpful here's a handy reference photo for his shirt.

V6 Final Four Congratulations
So, it appears that the time for Endgame has come once again, and it's customary to make a thread about that! I'm doing it to sort of try to restore the tradition to what felt like its purpose in olden times: as pure congratulations. I know Endgames and their makeup can be contentious. I know folks may have very divergent ideas about which characters are best suited to win. All of that's fine. But none of it belongs in this thread. This thread is to congratulate those who've made it this far, is as much or as little detail as folks feel like, and to really try to set things off on a good note for the community. So, without further ado, congratulations to:

B01: Min-jae Parker (handled by backslash)
B08: Nate Turner (handled by Slam)
G10: Fiyori Senay (handled by Bikriki)
G31: Candice Banks (handled by Muninn)

I look forward to reading all of your work. To channel Bilbo Baggins for a moment, I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, but I hope to change that in the very near future. Good luck, guys. :)

Echo, Bravo
BB Gunnerson stood far from the center of everything and let the world dissolve into noise. The candle she held flickered with the breeze—no, with her own unsteady hands—as the words from the mayor and the priests blended with the ambiance. Silence was relative, and no matter how still and respectful the crowd, there was always something to be picked out. The faint hum of the failing streetlight nearby, the buzz of mosquitoes and crickets, the rumble of the far-off highway—they all came together into something larger and more than even the collective here, let alone any of the individuals. This could have been comforting but was not.

BB had seen people she knew and knew of, but she was pretty sure they hadn't seen her. Nobody but her parents had since she got back from school, and while that was not unusual in itself, the cause was; as soon as she found out that the buses were missing, she'd withdrawn to her room and locked the door. She looked at her keyboards and her bass and it was all she could do to keep herself from either hitting every note she could all at once or smashing the instruments; she gently laid them in her closet and closed the door, then cued up Earth 2 on her CD player and turned the volume up so loud she could feel the hum when she laid her hand on her desk.

She killed the lights and crawled into bed and pulled her blankets tight around her, thoroughly-temperate afternoon Arizona warmth be damned, and stayed there, sweating and staring at the wall, for seventy-three minutes and thirteen seconds plus a little bit, only finally moving to start the album over again when the silence after its last notes became too much to bear. She expected all the while that her parents would intervene, but they didn't. It was only as darkness fell that her father came and knocked and when she did not respond opened the door and said there was a vigil, would she like to go? And she'd said sure but had ditched her parents just about as quickly as she could and made her way to a spot far enough to be isolated but close enough to be inconspicuous.

The noise of it all was crushing, and she felt filthy and disheveled, and she wished she'd changed before leaving the house. This was the wrong weather and scene for shorts, and if her black shirt made it easier to hide any sweat stains, it did little to reflect the lack of normalcy n the world. She had a robe in her closet—not a bathrobe or one of those slinky silk things from steamy scenes in movies, but a heavy brown robe like an ancient monk or druid might've worn, that she'd used for a couple gigs over the past year—and that seemed more appropriate to the unearthly spectacle.

As she watched the crowd, the insects picked up and blended with the voices again, and the word "teeming" came to her unbidden. This place was teeming with mourners, arms and legs and abdomens dragging as they writhed over each other, a pulsating mass, and her candle fell from her hands, the flame snuffing in the air before it impacted the concrete and cracked into three sections loosely connected by wick. She glanced left, right, but nobody had noticed, and nobody noticed as she turned and slowly fled.

Half an hour later, her parents brought the car around and picked her up where she'd texted them to, and nobody said a word as they sat in the traffic that came with such a large gathering, listening to the hum of engines and their own breathing.

The Mafia Waiting List
I'd be down to do my thing basically whenever, though will grant anyone ahead priority easily. It's a bit of a palate-cleanser in style anyways.

The V2 Read-o-thon
I'll take one in the morning, then!

Worm Mafia
So, I can't guarantee I'll be in again before phase end and am thus violating the midnight rule (though honestly it's not too bad since I'm the last post anyways). I'm going to VOTE: Randomness for all the reasons I've outlined in the past couple posts, and urge others to do the same so that we at least take a swing instead of just kind of pathetically losing to inactivity. Might be back before phase end, but honestly probably not since I usually sleep until like 10 am and phase ends at about 9.

Worm Mafia

If Cicada is scum and Randomness is town, then Randomness is telling the truth about having swapped Cicada with Skraal. That means that somebody did indeed shoot at Cicada (instead killing Skraal). Since scum wouldn't shoot one of their own, that means some town role decided to shoot the non-counter-claimed Doctor, and scum somehow missed or held their shot. That's super improbable.

If Cicada and Randomness are both scum, on the other hand, then they can just say whatever because they knew in advance where the shots were going and such, and just shot Skraal and then had Randomness claim in order to foster town cred for both Cicada and Randomness.

If Cicada is town and Randomness is scum, then Randomness, with the scum team, decided to pop Skraal basically to hit someone the doctor would likely not be protecting, and cooked up the claim to establish Randomness as a town voice. If Cicada's town, that ruse works just the same--maybe even better, since there's an actual town voice going "Oh, that makes loads of sense as to why I didn't die!" The payoff in this instance is establishing cred for Randomness, which would also explain the odd manner and timing of the claim.

If both are town (which I doubt) then they're just telling the truth.

Worm Mafia
My thoughts:

Cicada: Cicada's early posts had my hackles up a lot. That said, my feelings became complicated throughout the first day, leading me to eventually shift gears and focus on CBP instead. Cicada's claim was odd and preemptive, but also gutsy and of the sort unlikely to fly untested unless an unlikely safeclaim. More than that, the only way Cicada is sum is if Randomness is also scum. This means we should not lynch Cicada today under any circumstances. At the same time, we should not take Cicada's vote as 100% in town's interests; there is a chance of sneakiness if Randomness is scum.

CBP: Confirmed town, for reasons beaten to death elsewhere. CBP would've been counter-claimed were there such a thing out there, and the specifics of the role absolutely guarantee a town alignment. Should not be lynched under any circumstances and can effectively unilaterally control the vote if willing to throw the game otherwise.

Deamon: Somewhat slippery and hasn't posted much of content, as he tends to do. His jump from Cicada wagon to CBP wagon looks good to me because of the circumstances surrounding it--he was the first to jump ship after my posts, when continuing to drive the Cicada wagon was most likely to be successful. I like that he supplied some reads, but I'm hesitant because he listed Kermit and Randomness as town reads while nulling everyone else and the rest of my speculations suggest that at least one of those two is scum--only other option I can see is Cicada/Deamon/Prim (unless random tiny scum game) and as I've stated I cannot conceive of a setup in which Cicada is scum and Randomness is not.

Randomness: Here's where stuff gets trickier. Randomness turns serious really early, with focus on Cicada--this looks bad at the current juncture given later weirdness between the two, and Randomness is weird throughout the phase, trying to move the lynch back to Cicada and arguing against being too gung-ho about CBP while also being willing to compromise to secure a lynch. It's an odd, defensive stance. Randomness also is really keen to get details of Yugi's having been blocked, and also is weird about Cicada's claim. I'm actually feeling more certain that there is no Randomness/Cicada collab going on. Also of note: Randomness apparently acted in accord with Cicada's claim, while seeming skeptical of it while it was rolling out.

Coupled with the weird and unverifiable claim that scum could've easily faked, I'm more than a little suspicious of Randomness. Certainly top of those I've listed so far.

Prim: Prim has never voted, has only asked questions, and has basically thrown in the towel. If Prim is town, that's really bad. Prim's greatest involvement is pretty much poking at Yugi's claim, which we now know was legit. Prim's behavior when cornered echos past town games, but something this time feels off to me. Also, chance Prim gets modkilled anyways if my math is right--if Prim is scum that sets town up in much better shape/gives a potential reprieve, and if not that's basically game. That makes Prim a notch lower for me, unless we really think she's for sure the scummiest.

Kermit: Willing to poke at things and take a stand, which I like. Style seems solid, logic follows though is imperfect. Wish we had more recent stuff to go on. I think the assumption that Cicada and Randomness must share an alignment is incorrect but I can see how he got there and it's an odd route to pursue as a gambit.

Thus, I'm left with the following:

Conf Town:

Treat as Town:

Complicated, skews Towny:

Skews Scummy:

Note that if we have three scum I must be wrong about at least one of Kermit, Deamon, and Cicada.

Having thought this all through, my proposed course of action would be to lynch Randomness, hope Prim's scum and gets modkilled, and then cross our fingers that night roles get some mileage. Randomness has the oddest series of posts/the thrust most focused on courses of action that'd've been harmful to town, and the claim is very very convenient and was volunteered in an odd way. This isn't perfect (any lynch here is gonna be way looser than I like given we've had no successes) but I think it's the best odds of town surviving.

Worm Mafia
Cicada Days
Aug 21 2017, 05:53 PM
I don't think I like the idea of linking Prim's vote to any specific voter, even if that voter is confirmed Town. If we can't reach a plurality/majority then the vote is wasted anyways. Could we just ask Prim to vote to lynch when we reach a vote threshold, on whoever that may be?
The issue there is that if we have three scum, town cannot win without either their cooperation or CBP's vote. If we suspect Prim, then having her ape CBP is the best option--it backs her into a corner if she is scum (potentially letting us overcome a townie flaking) and if she's town it guarantees she won't misfire unless CBP does (and if CBP misfires we're in trouble anyways, for reasons already discussed).

Worm Mafia
Randomness' most recent post feels weird to me--it's a slight variant on the chainsaw defense; rather than turn on the accuser (Cicada) it's a "Oh, but Deamon's done this scummy thing!" I can see the rationale behind it, but I also don't think it quite gels with what he's said; his specific statement was:

Doubly important info.

I mean lurking mafia seems most likely at this point

Randomness reads this as:
Deamon is pushing for an inactive lynch at a point where bussing is a waste of time.

A few things are weird with that. 1. Deamon's pushing a lurker not on the basis of "kill dead weight" but on the basis of "I think scum is lurking." This might or might not be a good assumption (I really want to hear more on it), but it's certainly no "prune the inactives." Representing it as such feels to me like spin. 2. The use of the word "busing" just throws me a bit. Busing is almost always used to refer to scum dumping other scum for credibility. It doesn't really have any relevance here that I can find, but moves the statement into scummier waters linguistically, either by suggesting some sort of innate scuminess or as some bizarre Freudian slip.

Another unfortunate thing: If there are townies among the low-activity, there's a solid chance that wrecks the potential to get a lynch in general, which is bad news. Prim, if you wouldn't mind, would you be willing to at least take a gander at the thread before the phase ends and vote the same way as CBP? We've already established why CBP's vote is hugely important, and i think this is the most reasonable way to handle low activity folks right now.

Full breakdown when a bit more awake; work gave me a rough time over the weekend. -_-

Worm Mafia
To clarify: the game also ends if we mislynch, of course. But I'd rather lose to "we guessed wrong" than to "we literally could not get it together enough to lynch a single player for the entire game."

Worm Mafia
Cicada Days
Aug 18 2017, 11:21 PM
Well if we can't actually make a decision on who to lynch game likely tips into the favor of Mafia next day phase barring a good call from the remaining useful Town at night. Supposedly, anyways. I think we should at least try to come to a general consensus even if somewhat unfounded, since that's probably in Towns best interest (the alternative being a slow creaking burn to death).

Actually, barring pretty amazing town luck or weird setup the game ends overnight if we don't lynch.

I think it's worth digging into everyone briefly. I've been trying really hard to not wall of text this game, but gird yourselves for a wall of text likely tomorrow when I'm less zonked. I'd really like to ask everyone else to poke through all those left and assemble thoughts there as well.

From the Foam to the Gravel
Wednesday, June 3, 2015

The air conditioning had been on its last legs before the trip, and finally gave out somewhere in the great nothing past the Lake Mead National Recreation Area. By this time it was mid-afternoon and the land was cooling from the sweltering-yet-not-unusual ninety degree high, but Kimberly Nguyen still had to roll down the windows to get some airflow going. It was her third day of driving—really she was setting a pretty leisurely pace at about eight hours a day—and so she'd had plenty of time to realize and reconsider the mistake she was making.

This wasn't 2012. She wasn't twenty-one anymore, wasn't even vaguely shocked to discover that Survival of the Fittest had bared its fangs once again. She hadn't hopped the first airplane from Minneapolis-Saint Paul International Airport after firing off a scalding ramble to be lost and found in cyberspace. She knew full well now that there was nothing for her in these places. Walking the streets once populated by these now-dead teenagers would bring no closure and offer no clarity. Surrounding herself with the grief of a gutted community would in no way alleviate her own pain. There was no mourning by proxy to be had, no kinship to be felt; in Seattle she'd spent days stalking through the rain, talking to nobody, retreating nightly to her hotel room to stare at a wall and not write a fucking word. She had done nobody any good and she would do nobody any good in Kingman, least of all herself, but even though she told herself every stop on the way that the right choice was to turn around and go back home and maybe make nice enough with the Star Tribune to land an interview and at least spread her thoughts, she still finished her lunch in Denver or Vegas or rolled out of her motel bed in Lincoln or Grand Junction and got back into the car and continued her drive. Yeah, maybe if she could get one single person to not watch the feeds that'd be more worthwhile than anything she could possibly gain by fumbling her way through a bunch of states more flyover than her own, but something drew her on just the same, and maybe she followed it because that sort of impulse was familiar in a way she hadn't felt in a long time now.

With the windows down she had to crank the volume up really loud so she could hear Springsteen over the roar of highway air and whirring motor, and she had her hair tied back which she'd never really gotten used to but it beat having it in her face when she was trying to focus on the road. Kimberly didn't drive very much; there was this real horror about driving that crept up on her sometimes, because it meant sharing the road with hundreds of strangers who might or might not know what they were doing, and two hundred and forty-six of her classmates hadn't chopped each other to pieces so she could be crushed to pulp under the twisted wreck of someone's Hummer because they just had to check their texts while merging at sixty.

Kimberly's car was this really shitty black sedan from the late Nineties that she'd gotten cheap mostly because it was a manual and when she'd finally gotten around to learning how to drive she'd been dead set on driving a stick just to relish the fact that she could. Everything in it was operated by cranking or twisting something; it took a solid five seconds of working the handle to get the windows up or down, and she had to actually put the key in the lock to open the door. It was better that way, though. There was a feeling of connection that was comforting in its way.

She'd made her way past Santa Claus, Arizona (population: fucking nobody) and through the only marginally less depressing Golden Valley, and while the roads had been mostly empty she'd noticed that some of the same cars cropped up again and again, passing her when she pulled off to find a bathroom and slipping by in parking lots or gas stations only to later overtake her once more. They were varied—the three she'd recognized most consciously were a minivan plastered in bumper stickers, a sleek red sports car of a make she couldn't identify without closer inspection, and a green Subaru—but they all seemed to be setting course for Kingman. Maybe she was reading too much into it. There wasn't much worth driving to out here, and there weren't many ways to go besides straight down US-93. It unsettled her nonetheless.

Minneapolis and Saint Paul were big enough that they could absorb even an unusual influx cleanly, without a trace to be found. She had this inkling Kingman wasn't the same.

Her first sight of the town did little to dispel that notion. It was distinct from the desert all around in that it was more green-brown than grey-brown, but that was about as far as it went towards welcoming visitors. A whitish-grey brick wall shielded the low buildings closest to the highway from traffic noise, but Kimberly couldn't guess if those buildings were dwellings, industrial structures, or abandoned shells.

It was getting dark when she pulled off the highway and into town, and over the next ten minutes night descended in full while she searched out a gas station. She'd let her tank run almost dry, mostly out of a desire to avoid extra stops in little nowheres. Now that she found herself in the moderately-sized nowhere that was her destination, there wasn't much to it but to settle in and see what she could do about finding a place to pass the night.

The gas station was small but a lot cleaner than she expected, most of the pad free of oil stains and the windows of the little shop crystal clear. There was nobody else around, so she pulled up at the first pump, hit the button to let the attendant know she'd be paying inside, and got the fuel flowing.

The door had one of those electronic bells that rang at a pitch nobody could find pleasant. The inside of the store was almost as empty as the outside; there were three employees, one seemingly here to start his shift, and another apparently at the end of hers. The guy who was neither leaving nor arriving slouched over the counter, reading a magazine. It looked like The National Enquirer.

It wasn't that different from any gas station she might've seen back home—same scratch lotto tickets under glass, same junky snacks and drinks, same stacks of cigarettes behind the counter that always made her feel a little bit uncomfortable—but an insubstantial pall hung over everything. It took a solid thirty seconds for the newly-arrived employee to tie his apron on, nod goodbye to his female coworker (who vanished through a backdoor), and run his hand through his hair three times, and only then did he let his gaze wander in Kimberly's direction. The guy reading didn't so much as move his head.

She'd meant to look through the store a little, maybe buy some food, but the atmosphere put her on guard, so instead she made a quick circuit, grabbed a newspaper titled The Daily Miner, and quickly returned to the counter.

"What can I do for you?" said the newly-arrived employee. He looked like he was a few years younger than Kimberly, and he had half a foot of height on her. He was white, heavyset but not fat, with close-cropped dirty blond hair, pale blue eyes, and oddly-thin lips. His nametag read "Lester," which was the sort of name that made Kimberly hope he'd given his parents some hell growing up.

He seemed to be sizing her up in turn, and that made her a little more conscious of her own appearance. She'd dressed to be inconspicuous: blue jeans fitted but not tight, white tank top under an unbuttoned black long-sleeved shirt, hiking boots, hair tied back. She had a straw cowboy hat in the back of her car, along with her other clothes, but hadn't gotten enough of a feel for whether she'd look like an idiot or not if she put it on.

"I need to pay for my gas," she said, putting the paper on the counter, "and I'd like to buy this."

Lester pursed his lips, which made them almost disappear. He glanced at the guy reading, who didn't response, then turned back to Kimberly.

"You're new in town."


He didn't seem totally ready for his impoliteness—for his tone made his statement anything but simple observation—to be met in kind. He met her gaze with a little more focus now.

"You a reporter?"

"Fuck no," Kimberly said. That changed his expression to a stillborn smile.

"Good," he said. "Not much here for reporters right now. Not late arrivals, anyways."

"I'm not surprised," Kimberly said.

He'd still made no move towards ringing her up. The guy with the magazine was only pretending to read now; he flipped a page forwards and then backwards and then forwards again with only a few seconds between, like maybe Kimberly was dumb enough that she needed a sound effect for his feigned inattention to be conspicuous to her. But fuck that guy.

"So what brings you to Kingman, then?" Lester said.

"Personal trip," Kimberly replied.

"We've become a real hot spot in the past few days," Lester said. "Lots of tourists. I think you'll be disappointed."

"I'm not a tourist."


Flip, flip, went the magazine pages. The door chimed, and an older woman in a faded floral dress and flip flops walked in. She nodded at Lester, and he said, "Evening, Suzie," and then she wandered over to the snacks.

"A lot of people are here for a lot of reasons," Lester said, turning back to Kimberly and lowering his voice, "but I don't think most of them are good."

"I imagine I'd agree with that."

"People are hurting."

"I understand."

His lips hid again and he scrutinized her face, making no pretense of hiding it. Kimberly gave him a smile, not her happy smile but her long-ago smile, and he broke eye contact.

"So," she said, "can I pay?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, okay. Just a sec."

The woman he'd called Suzie was buying half a dozen Diet Cokes and two packs of Camels, because she had terrible taste. The guy ringing her up still held the Enquirer in his left hand, thumb holding his place while he punched buttons on his register one at a time using his right index. Kimberly waited, and soon Lester gave her a figure and she handed him cash. She'd made sure to keep most of the money she'd brought squirreled away throughout her bags and car, because having to flip through a few hundred worth of twenties wasn't particularly inconspicuous. Lester punched some more buttons and handed Kimberly her change, dropping one of the quarters so it bounced off her palm and rattled on the floor. All four in the store paused in silence for a second.

"Sorry," Lester said.

Kimberly shrugged. She did not bend to retrieve the coin. Lester did not offer her a replacement, just her receipt.

"Hey," Kimberly said, "is there anywhere around here someone might be able to get a room for a few days?"

"Not unless you're really lucky," Lester said. "Lots of tourists, lots of reporters. Maybe if you go to Flagstaff, or back to Vegas or Phoenix."

Suzie had finished her own purchase, but she and the guy who'd checked her out seemed united in their desire to spy on Kimberly's conversation. Whatever. She'd get out of here and manage. She'd been prepared to sleep in her car on the outskirts if she had to. It wouldn't be the worst place she'd passed the night.

"Thanks," she said, giving Lester a nod and the others no recognition as she turned back to the door.

She was on the threshold, door held open, electronic beep already sounded, when Lester called out, "Hey, wait."

Kimberly turned back, fixed him with her gaze again. It seemed he'd turn away again, but he rallied and held eye contact, searching her face for something at the same time. This wasn't common, but also wasn't all that unusual. After a three count, she raised an eyebrow.

"You sure you're not with the news?" he asked.


Kimberly slipped out the door, letting it swing shut behind her, and made her way back to her car as the desert night began to turn chill.

Worm Mafia
Note that a smaller scum team is possible. It strikes me as unlikely, though, and there's no way to know in any event, so I feel it's best to proceed according to the not-mega-optimistic assumption.

Worm Mafia
The problem is, assuming a typical sized scum team the game is over if we mislynch or no-lynch. It's better to take a risky lynch for chance of payoff than shrug and lose 100%.

Also, following the same assumptions, town 100% needs a vote from either every townie or a member of scum to get a lynch. Scum will thus be unlikely to bus under any circumstances. Our only actually confirmed townie is CBP, which means that for all intents and purposes, if CBP won't support a lynch the only way we get that lynch is if it ends the game in scum victory.

Worm Mafia
Aug 17 2017, 08:03 PM
@Murder The idea that getting Cic would have been as easy as pushing a vote is interesting, but you also flipped to push CPB shortly after, while they were digging themselves into a bad spot, a vote which got a lot of momentum from your push, on someone who is definitely town. I see it as oppurtunism rather than derailing.
It absolutely would've been! In fact, I seriously considered it back at this point, as I felt it significantly more likely to end in a lynch. On the other hand, I found CBP's play markedly more suspicious.

It's very, very easy to jump on people for having pushed town in a game where the only flips we have are on town. What I'm not seeing is analysis of processes--you're seemingly assuming that my turn to CBP was based on a desire to divert a lynch from Cicada to a town target, but that rationale makes sense only if Cicada is scum. And, frankly, if Cicada is scum, I think you're her most likely partner from all I've seen thus far. What's holding me off from going hard in that direction is that Cicada's claim is really gutsy, hasn't been countered (and if there's someone who can counter it, now is probably the time to do so), and makes sense from a balance perspective (which is to say, doctor's about the most common role in existence and games without them are very rare--I'd expect some heavy-duty alternate protective roles were that the case, and if there were such roles in play they'd've all triggered on Skraal and protected him instead).

Worm Mafia
Lynch this phase is definitely good/potentially necessary--if we're dealing with three scum, we need to lynch scum during the dayphase and are still at a spot where a perfect game is necessary come morning unless scum's kill is blocked. We're also at a spot where we need 100% town buy-in to get a lynch. It is thus wise to tread very carefully.

re: Randomness' suspicions, I think a big question would be why I've flailed around diverting from lynches on Townies. If I had nefarious motivations, getting Cicada lynched Day One was as simple as dropping a vote. The fact is, this game has a very different character than anything we've seen on the site of late, and that's throwing me heavily off-balance. Yugi's behavior in particular was in line with his more brazen scumplay, and stood out enough to merit questioning.

re: busdriver claim, that's an intriguing one. What troubles me slightly here is that it's incredibly easy for scum to fake/pull as a ruse, since they'd have all info involved. There's a possibility of verifying it given further action detail on past nights and other folks confirming or denying; scum could still fake that, but it'd be riskier and more difficult.

Worm Mafia
Aug 16 2017, 11:12 PM
Since this is a rather critical juncture I'm gonna soft claim with information. A shot was fired at Cic last night. It didn't go through. I'm not going to full claim unless peope desperately need to know, but I think that not revealing everything is better for now.
I think full claiming is a pretty good choice, because the information you're offering is somewhat fishy. It implies that a. there are multiple killing roles and b. you are somehow able to ascertain that a kill specifically was attempted, and its target, but not its source. This is a pretty odd and niche role combination, that is potentially very, very convenient.

Worm Mafia
Aug 16 2017, 05:03 PM
We had a private talk channel thing, yeah. At this stage since I'm going to die anyway I decided to reveal the role so that town doesn't waste a possible lynch on me, as my first concern anyway.
Do you die at the end of the day phase, or the end of next night phase?

Worm Mafia
Aug 16 2017, 10:53 AM
I am the other Masonized Lover.

It's me.
So, to clarify, Masonized Lover is your assigned role/exact title? Thus, presumably, you and Bik knew each other were town and could maybe talk?

I sorta feel like this claim is a bit unfortunate in that now scum will definitely not shoot CBP no matter what (thus removing some of the possible don't-immediately-lose mechanics), but on the other hand I think this one's pretty easily verifiable/counter-claimable so I'm willing to accept CBP as confirmed town absent a big surprise.