Day 4: A Sticky Situation
The fairgrounds were bright under the midday sun, though the mood was anything but simple. The conversation circled endlessly back to the strangest thing of all: no one had died the previous night. Whispers spread across the midway, each more outlandish than the last.
Some insisted the Ferris wheel itself had scared off the killers, its groaning steel and flashing lights keeping them at bay. Others muttered about a secret alliance with the livestock, the goats and chickens rising up to guard the fairgrounds. One particularly animated voice claimed the ducks, now scattered everywhere, had formed a waddling militia that had foiled a murder in progress. Every theory was louder than the last, and every one was met with laughter, suspicion, or a raised eyebrow.
Still, the joking gave way to tension as the day’s vote approached. Whenever the group seemed to converge on a target, new words rose up, whispered accusations, private notes slipped from hand to hand, sudden proclamations of innocence. Each revelation shifted the current, pulling suspicion in a new direction, only for the tide to ebb back again when another claim surfaced. Promises of honesty, dramatic confessions, and cries of “you can trust me” filled the air like the calliope’s jaunty tune. Yet beneath it all, there lingered an uneasy truth: in a fair so full of masks and misdirection, not everything could be trusted.
By late afternoon, suspicion had narrowed to one person: the Funnel Cake Vendor. His booth was a whirl of sugar and smoke, powdered sugar floating through the air like ash from a fire. He worked with a kind of manic energy, flipping cakes onto plates with a grin that never faltered. People whispered about him, how his treats could heal or harm, and how no one ever knew which until it was too late. He was a little chaotic, perhaps, but never cruel, more showman than villain, and genuinely proud of his craft.
When pressed, he finally admitted the truth: yes, he had poisoned the mayor, but it had been a one-time act, and he had not yet used his healing gift. His words rang out across the midway, earnest but desperate. Many believed him. The vote swayed sharply, the crowd turning on the mayor herself. Gasps rose from the gathering as the unthinkable took shape: the mayor was about to be ousted.
But then, something shifted, some unseen hand tipped the scales of fate. The tally was counted and recounted, and the numbers seemed correct, but somehow it was not the mayor who bore the weight of the vote, but the Funnel Cake Vendor.
The crowd fell silent. Powdered sugar drifted across the counter, untouched. The vendor bowed once, a grin still lingering on his face, though his eyes were tired. And with that, the fair lost another of its own.
Dead is @apoptosis09 , who was the Funnel Cake Vendor, a village 1-shot Poisoner and 1-shot Doctor.