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Succubi and Private Eyes


Hafnium

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I've had this story buzzing around in my head for a little while and wanted to write it. The run-down is that it takes place in the world of Dark Gate, an RP run on this very forum by Tassadar. If you are unfamiliar with Dark Gate or its lore, it's my hope that I'm not so terrible a writer that this story becomes incomprehensible to you, but you might recognize a few things a little faster if you do hold some familiarity. My intent is to post in this about once a week.

Story-wise, success in most choices will be determined off of a general reaction table, which will receive a roll. This roll will determine whether the action was a major failure, failure, minor failure, minor success, success, or great success and the story will continue from there. Fetish-wise, there's no real limit (besides things that are illegal to host on this forum, of course), it will simply depend on how the voting goes, the same goes with the amount of smut.

Finally, there will be game overs. Generally, these will be accompanied by a "Try Again?" choice, so that anybody involved may decide whether it becomes the hero's true end or whether it was all just a trick of the imagination. Tiebreakers, in all things, will probably be decided with a coin flip if it comes down to it.

And now, without further ado; Succubi and Private Eyes.

≈≈≈≈≈​

The streets of Acheron were anything but quiet. It was as true at day as it was at night. The hustle and bustle of the only city to fully survive the world-wide invasion a mere two years prior persisted through each and every hour of the day, dying down only slightly while the sun was still up. But the city had not only survived, it had flourished. The cataclysmic attack that had signaled the end of many civilizations was the very tipping point that allowed the city spring onto the stage of the world. Refugees poured into young Acheron, unable to find safety anywhere else.

And why wouldn't they? If you wanted something badly enough, chances were that the citizens of Acheron not only had it, they had it in abundance. Food, shelter, water, and order? It was simple as having a few denarii. Denarii? There were plenty of quick things that could be done in Acheron for a coin, because Acheron was also well known for the less scrupulous activities that could be found inside.

For that very same flourishing city was rebuilt, from the devastated ruins of a town that their kin had destroyed and all others had abandoned, by demons. And those same ruins were, at first, repopulated by the goblins, stalkers, and the humanoid higher-class, all of whom made up the ranks of the demons. Second came those who were like of heart with the demons, and like of cravings. Many of the initial denizens of the city had peculiar tastes and an appetite to match. It was not the gold they were interested in. No, they craved souls.

But that wasn't the only reason Acheron came to be known as a city of sin. Its moniker as a place of vice was owed mostly to how its people sated their spiritual hunger; they took their fill through sex. Any who were interested, and some who weren't, could find more than just the essentials in the demon city.

Perhaps the lonely traveler wanted company for the night. Maybe a drink that would keep them warmer? A little game of chance to pass the time? No denarii? No problem. You can pay in other ways. Why don't you follow me into the backroom to discuss it? We don't have to, of course, we can – ahem – negotiate right here. Just sit down and you can pay off your losses with a smile.

That same crowd possessed an active nightlife. It was why, when shadows loomed over all the streets of Acheron, the music played louder than it ever did in the day and the crowds converged and diverged without end, making it very possible, even simple, if you were trying, to get lost in the constantly changing labyrinth of pressing flesh. Under the light of the stars and the flickering streetlamps, the people of Acheron did what they did best: they survived. They wheeled and dealed. They conned and connived. Some plied their trades, seeking payment in energy as often as they requested denarii. There were a few normal businesses, often run by human refugees, that only wanted the money to survive; these usually had a sign proclaiming “Denarii Only Please” hanging somewhere in plain sight.

In that very same climate, three gunshots rang out and pierced all the other noises. Yet, nothing changed in the crowd. Armored men and women rushed to find the cause, but nobody else did. Shots were the city guard's problem, that or the problem of someone with a few pints of blood to lose. No point in getting distracted if the bullets weren't hitting you, just keep your head down in case they have a few left. The gun might as well have been a part of the chorus, since the music kept playing and the crowd maintained that same group murmur that made it impossible to hear your conversational partner but easy to hear everybody else. That uncaring climate was the same reason that there was a woman laying face-down in an alleyway who hadn't been given a second glance since she had collapsed there.

The feminine figure let out a soft groan as her vision blurred into focus. Her shoulder-length, brunette hair was splayed out in all directions, resting on the filthy cobbles of the alley. She had a splitting headache and her body was sore from head to toe. Thankfully, the simple white dress shirt and tan slacks she had on gave her some measure of protection against the scraping stones that made up the ground. Her groaning intensified as she tried to push herself to her feet. It felt like her head was being forced apart at the cap with a metal spreader. When she had finally, after much struggle, managed to bring herself to her knees, she gently rubbed her head. Despite all other indications, her skull was intact.

But her body might not be, she realized, as she caught sight of red on the front of her shirt. Shit. She felt that summed things up pretty well. It didn't hurt – at least she couldn't feel anything more than the ache that permeated throughout the rest of her body. She cautiously brought one finger to the red blotch, running it across her skin through the stained shirt. No pain. Emboldened, she brought her finger up to her nose and took a short whiff. Her eyes narrowed, she was on her way to solving the mystery. The final conclusion would require just a little more evidence. She licked some of the offending red liquid off of her finger...

Hot sauce. Luckily for her, it turned out that the gunshots had, in fact, been a problem for somebody else, at least on that night.

She brought one knee up and pushed off of it in order to stand up in the deserted alleyway. Even after determining that she was uninjured, if not without pain, there were still a few other pressing problems. Her inability to remember how she got there or even her own name among them. On a whim, she dove into her pockets for clues as to how she had ended up face-down in an alleyway. Luck smiled on her again, she pulled a brown envelope from her slacks. On the back it read; In Case of Amnesia, Open This.

Convenient, she thought. Might as well give it a try. She tore open the envelope...

1. What's the heroine's name?
A. Alima
B. Diane
C. Other (Enter one)

2. What's her specialty?
A. Guns; she's quick on the draw and a good shot to boot. It's gotten her out of more than one bind.
B. Subterfuge; give her a dark night and she's a ghost. Add in a simple bobby pin and most doors can't keep her out.
C. Speech; she's got a silver tongue. All she needs is an open ear and she might be able to convince its owner that the sky is green.
D Cunning; she's practiced the quick-draw with her brain rather than her gun. She's a little faster on the uptake, puzzling things together, and at reading people's true intentions.

(Note: The name doesn't matter, mechanically, I just couldn't decide myself and thought I would open it up. Specialty will determine the success rates of various actions in the future. Making her skilled with guns means she's more likely to succeed in a quick draw situation, subterfuge gives her a bonus to sneaking about, etc. That isn't to say that a gunslinger can't successfully sneak about, however, it's just easier for a heroine that specializes in subterfuge. Additionally, taking gunslinger, subterfuge, speech, etc. options will gradually increase her chances to succeed at future such options.)
 

Tassadar

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

1B, 2D!
 

the_taken

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

1B 2C

Silver Spoons scoop out pudding. Silver Tongues scoop out pussy.
 

Host

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

Lets go sleuth us some problems.

1B2B
 

scyberkahn

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

Why guns and not magic? Or some odd martial art?
But in any case, 1B2A
 

GargantuaBlarg

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

Magic? What do you think this is, the Dresden Files?

As for martial arts, I unfortunately have no knowledge of a kung fu detective to reference. Except maybe the Wing Chun Sherlock Holmes thing, which was quite silly, but doesn't really count.
 

scyberkahn

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

It does sound like the Dresden Files, so why not experiment?
 
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Hafnium

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

(Note: While magic and obscure martial arts are available in this setting, the hero, in this case, is capable of neither. Her gun is her conflict solver. Also, I have never read the Dresden Files and as such am completely unfamiliar with them.)

From the envelope, she pulled a folded scrap of paper. Her eyes scanned the letter.

Your name is Diane. This is what you look like. If this isn't what you look like, it's because you're a shapeshifter. You run a private detective agency on...

It was all coming back to her now. She skimmed the rest of the frantic scribblings as her memories fell into place. Her name was, indeed, Diane. She was a Karkastan, a child of faerie and demon parentage. She could shapeshift, but she hadn't, as she compared herself to a picture provided on the paper. The outline of a slim, tomboyish figure was visible from behind her dress shirt and slacks. Soft skin, pale by choice, as a shapeshifter, and a preference for the night shift. That was one of the things about being a shapeshifter, you could shift yourself into the bronzed body of a goddess, but people had issues with trusting someone who could tan by moonlight. Her piercing red irises already set some of the humans she dealt with on edge, she didn't need to add any other disadvantages into the mix.

The same went for her chest and hips. They were average by Acheron standards. Acheron standards coming from a place in which nearly every dancer, performer, or woman on the corner could shift her form in subtle ways and the only people who bothered to look anything less than gorgeous were the ones who didn't want to be noticed. Of course, in a city of vice if you made anything too big then you were just asking for any goblin with booze on his breath and a denarii in his pocket to proposition you. On the reverse end, if you went too small then you would be noticed for how unnoticeable you were. Diane had opted for the middle-ground. If she swung her hips, the boys, and some ladies, noticed. If she didn't, she was just another woman in the crowd.

Yes, it had all flooded back to her. She turned the letter over to look at the back, in what was quickly becoming a time-honored tradition for her.

Or it might just be a hangover. Again. Get some water and make sure to put this back in the envelope, reseal it, and stick it in your pocket.

In a moment of truly stunning detective-work, Diane scanned the alleyway again. Empty bottles littered the area that she had collapsed in. She nudged one with her foot, sending it rolling across the cobblestones until it tapped into the side of a building and stopped dead. She remembered it all now. A succubus had come to Diane about finding a cat, Mr. Tiddles. With no other cases on her desk, she had spent two days searching for Tiddles. Somehow, he had ended up in the garden of a Fallen Angel's estate, that had been a harrowing rescue. The succubus, overjoyed to have her cat returned, paid Diane twenty denarii and invited her to a party. Greased by promises of drink, how could the detective say no? One drink had become two, two had become four, and four had become enough to melt a fist-sized hole in a troll's stomach. She had ended up here.

She sighed, searching her other pockets for her coin pouch despite knowing what she would find. Two denarii left, out of twenty. The only two denarii to her name. She heaved another sigh into the alleyway, like it was a deadly weapon, stashing her amnesia letter back into the envelope and stuffing it into her pocket along with the coin purse as she did so.

The amnesia letter was a handy tool for a detective in Acheron. In a place where any case that paid better than a missing cat had at least three thugs with blackjacks somewhere along the way, waiting to give you a splitting headache, a little reminder of who you were was handy in case somebody got a little overzealous. It was also useful for those occasional episodes where a private eye might want to get so drunk they forgot their own name and ended up in an alleyway somewhere.

Diane spied a few other tools that were important in her line of work, piled in a crumpled heap. The first and foremost was her fedora. You couldn't be a private eye without a fedora. It was like being a swordsman without the sword, a circus without the clowns, or a barber without the striped pole. Unfortunately, someone, although the detective set herself as the prime suspect, had left their lunch in the hat. It looked like she would have to be a private eye without her hat, at least for the walk back to her office. She dumped the offending former foodstuffs into the alley, she didn't work lost and found unless it paid.

The second was her trench coat. It was more optional than the hat. You could get by as a detective with just a fedora and some dress clothes. The quantity of available pockets and its usefulness in warding off the rain certainly made it handy, though. She put the trench coat on and delved into one of the pockets for her third-most important set of tools, her notepad and pencil. Diane only took her gun on cases, but she took her notepad everywhere. With a little bit of cunning, it was her most valuable and important weapon. When people saw you writing in the notepad, looking at them with suspicious eyes and jotting down everything they said, they got nervous. Nervous people made mistakes, nervous people admitted things, even if they were innocent. A nervous, innocent person would admit every crime they had committed since the first sweet they had stolen from a relative's candy dish for a person staring at them and writing in a notepad.

Diane stowed her notepad and pencil and held her fedora away from her body and to the side in her hand. The alleyway might have been strange and foreign to her at first, while she was still dazed, but most places in Acheron didn't remain that way for long. The Karkastan didn't understand much about the world, but the city wasn't among them. She knew the place like the back of her hand. She could get from point A to point B in no time at all, weaving through the crowds, greasing the right palms, and complimenting the right people. And if she couldn't, her inability wouldn't last for too many more days. The only question was, where was Diane going now?

Where should the newly conscious Diane head first?
A. Hit the bar again; she's got two denarii left and might as well blow it.
B. An entertainment lounge of ill-repute; where better to relax until the headache fades?
C. Her office; she's got work to do (hopefully).
D. Other (Enter something).
 
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xgkf

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

B.
 

Tassadar

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

C!
 

GargantuaBlarg

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

C!

Also, find some smokes. Alsoalso, reverse fedora and wear it as a people deterrent.
 

the_taken

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

C She'll have to pay rent at some point, and two ducks won't cut it.
 
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Hafnium

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

It really wasn't a question. There was only one place for her to go: her office. With two denarii she might be able to afford a drink or two of the cheap stuff; just enough to make her feel worse without carrying her far enough to forget how much worse. At one of the many insidious houses of entertainment and pleasure? She might be able to afford a minute or two of company, but after that she'd be paying with her soul. There were a lot of vices in Acheron, but the trading of little bits of your energy for coin and company wasn't one that you wanted to fall into.

Speaking of vices, she patted her pockets down yet again. Diane grimaced in the cold, cold alleyway. No smokes. What she wouldn't give for one of those, right about now. Sure, they were bad for you – even someone who was descended from faerie and demon ancestry wasn't immune to that – but in a place like Acheron you had to have a vice, or people didn't trust you. Everybody had a vice in the demon city; if you didn't, you did and were just hiding it. People who thought you were hiding something might look too hard, they might find something you were really hiding, because everybody was hiding something. Especially the people who weren't.

So, you pick up a light vice or two, to avoid the hard stuff. A drink here, a smoke there. And it helps a little with the stress. You let people know that you've got that little vulnerability and you stay away from the brothels and trading a sizable chunk of your spirit in a back alley somewhere just for the feel of being drained, win-win. The issue was that, in times such as the one that Diane found herself in, a detective might just kill for a cigarette.

There was nothing that could be done about it at the moment, though. Without much coin to her name and without her gun, both of the options for obtaining one were off the table. It wasn't worth bumming a cigarette in Acheron, that was the same as owing somebody and owing somebody was bad. Besides, she had a short walk ahead of her to her office and what she hoped would be a desk with a pack in it.

Diane briefly considered turning her hat inside out and wearing it through the city as she traveled, if only to give her headache a brief reprieve from the light of the streetlamps, but she hadn't sunk that low—not yet, anyway. Fedora in one hand, other hand in a pocket, the brunette strolled into the city streets proper as casually as she could, considering her splitting headache and aversion to light at the time.

It was an uneventful trip. Acheron standards for uneventful being several dodged pickpockets, a few catcalls from goblins, mostly male but one that wasn't, a couple of attempts by obvious thugs to “show her something interesting in an alley, alone”, two bodyguards offering her their services for low, low prices, and a few propositions from succubi and incubi. The most unusual thing to happen on her trip back to her office was that a human boy offered to sell her an apple for three denarii – which was overpriced even by the city's standards – but she couldn't afford it and waved him off.

By the time she had come upon her destination, Diane was almost glad to see it. She was as close as she could ever get upon witnessing the old, brick building. At one point, maybe before the invasion, it might have been something better, now it was just an old shell. A building of nothing but ghosts—ghosts, rats, and her. She opened the iron door, producing a loud creak as the rusty thing came at its own pace, and slammed it shut behind her, as it had only been a willing participant in opening. Normally, she might have cared about making a racket and being noticed, but there was rarely ever anybody on that street. Most of the buildings around were occupied by people of like mind with her, the type that didn't want to be bothered. Sure, it was probably bad for business, but that bothered her less than the people.

She stepped through what she imagined used to be a reception room. The furniture was all long gone, pilfered by some looter or another, so it was a straight shot to the hallway that bisected the building. There were rows of doors on each side, some with windows, some without. The spacing between the doors was uneven because the rooms they led to were of varying length and make. The dusty, old wooden floor creaked as she moved through the hall. The sound of scurrying and rustling could be heard as comfortable rats dove for cover at the presence of something bigger than them moving past the dilapidated rooms they had taken up in. Her own office, mostly rat free, was the last door on the left. It was the most spacious room in the building and had a window with letters on it, reading:

D.T.
Private Eye

Before she opened the door, however, Diane spotted a shadow moving past the window. Her brain immediately began to analyze the situation. There were obvious signs that the door had been opened. She pressed her back to the wall beside the door and peaked through the window, waiting silently. The figure paced by again. Diane quickly determined that whatever was waiting in her office was one of three things: an amateur, innocent, or someone so powerful that it didn't matter. The private eye swallowed stiffly as she recalled her garden extraction of Mr. Tiddles; she hoped that the estate's owner wasn't that displeased about the destroyed rosebush. Her office consisted of a mere two rooms, attempting to go into the front door would surely get her spotted. The other room had a window, but the walls were so thin that she'd have to be quiet if she went in that way or whoever was waiting for her would surely hear her. She'd have to go in sooner or later, though, or find a new office, but how to handle it?

[Cunning: Slight Success (the benefits for this success are actually part of the post above, just didn't want to break immersion)]

What does Diane do now?
A. Go in casually, it's her office, after all. She can figure out the rest when she comes to that part.
B. [Sneak] Go around the back way and climb in through the window. Try to get hold of Diane's gun and get the drop on her visitor.
C. Other. (Choose one)
 

Tassadar

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

A! The temptation of B was great, but the character must play it cool!
 

xgkf

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

A.
 

Ranger Princess

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Re: Succubi and Private Eyes

C.

Try to find something to use for a weapon in one of the other rooms like a knife or bat then go in.

Operation Pointy Stick.
 
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