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Case 1: The Missing Chicken Wing
By DungeonCrawlerCreated: 2022-04-19 15:04:23
Updated: 2022-04-20 04:17:43
Expiry: Never
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQmpEvUWluw (smooth jazz)
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0noWWGvmjhU (rain background noise)
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>It was dark.
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>The rain beat down heavily on the shutters.
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>The only light came from the bottled glowflies on your dirty desk.
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>It shined fairly bright over the scattered papers
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>and the bottle of nearly empty scotch
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>and the dirty ashtray
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>...
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>You really should clean that sometime
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>But right now you have a monologue to do.
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>You are Anon, but not really
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>You became a filly because some faggot dipped you in a vat of unknown magical liquid some odd years ago.
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>Whatever it did, your body wouldn’t age, 10 years on and you wonder if old age will even kill you now.
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>Your green fur was matted, your mane pulled back in a bun in an attempt to hide the grease as natural hair care.
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>It usually worked until the customer got a whiff of you.
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>You took another swig of your alcohol, emptying your knockoff crystal glass.
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>Just another night of jazz and no work.
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*Knock knock knock*
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>Or maybe there was some work.
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“We’re open,” You said as you pulled your center drawer open, prepping a cigarette from the box you have stashed away.
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>The door all but smashed open, shocking you and dropping your cigarette.
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>The wind swept your mane and sent papers flying,
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“Shit,” You managed to say as you winced towards the entrant.
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>In stepped a Gryphon, white head feathers grayed by the rain, Her brown body feathers looked almost orange.
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>She looked sheepish as she grabbed for the door handle, fumbling it like an autist before wrenching it closed.
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“Late night to be traveling alone...” You look around, trying to find where your rolled cancer stick had wandered.
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>”I needed the utmost discretion, no ponies like coming out in a downpour this heavy.” She walked forward and sat down upon the old pillow in front of the desk, looking rather confident like an unaware chicken.
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>You pick up your beautiful tobacco roll and get to your seat, lighting it without a second thought, “so what’s a gal like you want from an investigator like me.”
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>She winced at the sight, either the cigarette or who was smoking it, before looking around, “is there...”
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>she seemed to hesitate for a moment, “an adult I can talk to?”
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“Take it or leave it, I’m the only employee here,” you puffed out smoke directly towards her, “rates twenty bits a day, we’ll guarantee to have the answer to whatever question you got.”
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>You took another heavy breath of flavored air.
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”We don’t charge til the investigation’s complete.”
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>Little Mrs Gryphon seemed to be arguing with herself, probably whether a filly could really be as good as what others say.
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>Dumb bird, had you been back in your old body you’d have just made some chicken wings outta her and kicked her to the curb for acting like this.
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>Too bad this is every client now.
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>You poured another glass of Scotch and pushed it towards her, not a big glass mind you, you weren’t made of bits.
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>She took the glass and downed it, gasping for a moment before speaking, “my life’s in danger, I need somepony to find out who.”
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You decided it was one of the more important kinds of clients and pulled a notepad from the same drawer your cigs hid in, a moment later and you had the pencil too, “why do you think your life’s in danger?”
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>”My father deals in special circumstances, helps find work when Cutie Marks aren’t enough to get by.” She tries to explain.
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Pony trafficking? “So because of the delicate circumstances you need to know you can trust your surroundings?” You already feel like this wasn’t up your alley.
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>”I,” she seemed to lose confidence, “perhaps this was a bad idea.”
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>Little miss gryph decided to start getting up
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“Hold on, you should at least wait til the storm p-”
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>”I’ll be alright.”
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>And with that, your first customer in months was gone like a ghost
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>The only reminder they’d ever been in here being the chill and the impression the door handle left after its date with the wall.
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>swiping the glass back to your side of the desk, you poured an extra helping.
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>It was the last of your scotch, you’ll need something drastic soon or you won’t even be able to afford smokes soon.
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>Downing the glass, you lay your head on your desk
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>You feel yourself quickly passing out.
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>Perhaps tomorrow you’ll get something.
by DungeonCrawler
by DungeonCrawler
by DungeonCrawler
by DungeonCrawler
by DungeonCrawler