trusthell | pageant of the bizarre

[Throughout the late afternoon and early evening, Stan seems to have put a surprising amount of effort into setting up the dining hall. It's not usually something he would do without any kind of potential gain, but hell - there's not a whole lot else to do here. And really, if he hangs up some of the ribbons from the sewing room, well, it's not like anybody was using them. He knows how to decorate for parties.

There is a conspicuous lack of glitter in any of the decorations, though. Too soon.

The only dish currently set out is a pan of cinnamon noodle kugel. It's a potluck, bring your own shit! He has bothered to make some punch, at least, as well as bringing down some booze from the bar. Maybe alcohol on Murder Night isn't the best idea, but he'll keep an eye out for anyone who decides to indulge. He'd have to anyway. Apparently passing out in the dining hall will end in explosions.

Speaking of rude and arbitrary rules: off to the side, there's a table labeled KINGMAKERS. There's only one piece of paper there now, a well-done drawing of what looks like a young, ostentatiously emo Mitt Romney. It's obviously Stan's, since he got here first, but he hasn't bothered to sign it; apparently you can submit anonymously or not, however you feel like. As long as we're all participating in the public mockery!]