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Murder at the Masquerade: An RP Stage Short
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Molly Maltese
Molly Maltese
Old Shoe

Jan-8-2010 18:21

(The same idea as the Harlequin Short, only the murder does not have to happen right away; this one is very loosely structured. Happy RPing, and ANYONE is welcome to join.)

"Well this is quaint." Molly Maltese said approvingly, adjusting her mask with a flick of her wrist. "I wonder who shall be the first to uncover my identity; I took a great many pains to disguise myself this evening."

"I hardly recognized you, ma'am." Her driver said politely, and Molly threw him a benevolent grin.

"I really do look quite striking with black hair, don't you think?" she asked, and he nodded. She leaned forward to check the mirror again. She had gone to the stylist and had her hair dyed a sleek, shiny black, and had deep finger-waves done to frame her face. A large peacock fascinator clung to her hair just above her elaborately twisted bun, launching a spray of exotic feathers behind her to match her peacock-detailed gold mask. Only her quirky red-lipped smirk was even faintly recognizable.

"This will be fun." she said as she climbed out of the car and adjusted her floor-length red-and-gold satin gown. Fluted beads jangled gently around the swooping neckline. She wrapped a white fur stole around her shoulders and moved inside, showing her invitation to the doorman. Immediately she was asked to dance by several young me in dashing black masks.


M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa

Apr-8-2010 09:37

Marc was angry. Jack had humiliated him. But also, Jack Billings was right. Marc couldn't prove that Jack was the killer. Zeo, one of the smartest people there was dead; his lifeless body laying in some kind of dark closet. Marc had known that Zeo had sent for help shortly before his death. Shortly after, Zeo's help never arrived. The body had been spotted by some one looking out the window.

Finding this killer was going to be harder than he thought. He pulled out his pocket watch. The time was now 11:35 pm. The night was still young. It seemed as though he had been hunting this killer for hours. But hours, as it had seemed, was only ninety minutes. Yes an hour and a half.

Marc let out a deep sigh as he walked away from the crowd. He pulled out his pipe, filling the bowl with his favorite tobacco. He hesitated before lighting it. He paced around the room in deep thought. The killer in here was the most psychologically advanced criminal Marc had ever hunted. For all the bodies that were found, the all bullet shells were picked up.

"That's it!" Marc exclaimed.

"What's it?" Vulkie asked quickly.

"Think about it! What was noticed at each of the crime scenes?" Marc asked.

No one spoke.

"The bullet shells. There were no bullet shells. Everyone who was shot...the killer picked them up. There certainly are no trash bins in the building. So whoever is the killer, has the bullet shells on them, has to be the killer!" Marc explained. Why didn't he think about this before? The answer: he was too excited. Yes, excited. He was excited, not because he lost a friend and not because three innocent lives had been taken away. In fact, he wasn't excited as in happy. No. Instead his adrenalin had kicked in. He started jumping to conclusions too quickly. He put out his pipe, put it back in his jacket pocket, then turned to the large crowd.

"Everyone, listen up. Every civilian in here, every detective in here, empty out your pockets."

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