"Sorry sugar, it's just not your night" - DTTF Contest

My entry to the Drawn to the Flame competition: Jenny Barnes and 'The House Always Wins'.

Jenny is obviously a high roller thanks to her outrageous fortune and I liked the connection between the disappearance of the professors and the story of Izzie. This is a without a doubt a scenario suited to Rogues, but Jenny has the fine clothes, disposable income and badass attitude to pull it off!

I've written a short story showing how this deck fits with the scenario. It was great fun to write but it is by no means professional so there's no pressure to read the whole thing. If you do, I hope you enjoy!

~

The air feels unusually cold tonight. As I walk the quiet streets of Downtown, a bitter wind bites at my skin through my thin - but exquisite - dress. I can’t help but notice how the autumn has slipped away, imperceptible, but in its absence dark evenings and threatening skies fill this dreary town. The sharp clacking of my heeled boots echoes as I wander past flickering street lamps, replaying last night’s events over and over in my mind. I would never have agreed to help Dr. Armitage - old tutor or not - if all this talk of strange disappearances wasn’t so close to my sole purpose here in Arkham: Searching for Izzie. After that… thing attacked me in the chem labs I can’t quite believe that I’m even following through with this tonight, but it’s the closest I’ve come to finding out what happened to her and I can’t give up now.

All day I’ve been searching for some sign of this ‘gambling den’ that Armitage mentioned to me before I went to the University. I’ve had to call in some favours, but an old… friend of mine agreed to help me out. You’d probably know him as ‘The Louisiana Lion’ or some bullcrap but I knew him as ‘Leo’, at least until I found out he was only interested in my money. As much as I resented calling him up after all that happened between us, I knew a common criminal like him would know where to find this club and we agreed to meet by some back alley close to the theatre. Why he couldn’t just tell me where it was I’ll never know, but I suppose that’s men for you. Idiots.

As I round the corner onto the street Leo mentioned, I prepare myself for an evening of turning on the charm. Whatever I’m feeling about the past won’t stop me from dazzling the crowds and breezing my way through this stinking club. If all else fails, the reassuring pressure of the double holsters beneath my skirt reminds me I can handle any situation. Most girls like me would never dream of going out alone after dark but I’ve learned the hard way how to stand up for myself. What a little monetary persuasion can’t handle, a less-than-subtly concealed switchblade or .45 can.

The sky grows darker and the first drops of rain begin to fall as I meet Leo as we planned. I try not to pay any attention to his deep south Mississippi drawl as he leads the way towards the theatre and stops outside an upscale Italian calling itself 'La Bella Luna'.

“Now I’m sure you wouldn’t realise it darlin’ but this is the top casino in town,” Leo says with a smirk. The menu displayed outside by the door appears only to offer spaghetti and I can hear cliché music emanating from inside.

“Never would have guessed,” I reply with a sarcastic smile but Leo doesn’t appear to catch on.

“Now you’re gonna need me to get ya inside,” Leo continues, pulling open the door and gesturing for me to enter first. I move to go through the doorway but as I pass him, Leo reaches out to hold my waist. I ‘accidentally’ kick him in the shin with my heavy boot, and head straight for a door at the back of the room as Leo recovers. An unusually burly waiter attempts to block my path but I smile sweetly and slip a couple of notes into his outstretched hand.

“I’m a friend of Dr. Morgan,” I say confidently, and the waiter nods knowingly and steps back to let me pass. I go through the door as Leo finally catches me up.

Entering the lounge of the casino feels like stepping into another world. The cold, damp and silent streets are replaced by a beautifully furnished and inviting room, filled with well-dressed patrons conversing amiably. A heavy cloud, the strong scent of cigarette smoke lingers in the air and the faint clink of glasses can be heard above the chatter like windchimes in a brewing storm. The mellow tones of jazz waft faintly from from some unseen corner of the building. Just beside the entrance to what appears to be the cardroom, a gang of tough-looking men are huddled together in hushed conversation. One of the men facing me has a face like fractured stone, a thick scar running through his left eye all the way down to his jaw, and he seems to be giving directions. Suddenly, he looks up and catches my eye before I am able to tear my gaze away. Disturbed and unsettled, I head further into the room followed by a sulking Leo. Without warning, the man with the scar appears in front of me, giving me an icy stare and introducing himself in an equally cold and clipped voice as the manager of the ‘Clover Club’. I smile politely and practically drag Leo away to avoid further conversation. The pit boss heads back towards the restaurant, eyeing me cautiously.

I dispose of Leo as quickly as possible in the lounge, letting him be ushered by eager members of staff towards the busy cardroom. Amid the racket of shifting poker chips, chatter and occasional shouts of joy or despair, I follow Leo at a distance as he is seated at one of the many beize-covered tables. Someone immediately puts a drink into his hand and Leo’s bewildered expression becomes much more relaxed as he starts to play. Noticing the obviously inexperience croupier fumble the cards, an idea forms in my mind.

Striding out of the shadows, I buy myself a large number of chips and head straight towards a table, sitting myself down elegantly at an empty chair.

“Deal me in,” I say with absolute confidence, gaining a few surprised looks which I quickly quell with a cool gaze. A high roller, I attract a lot of attention from other patrons and soon the crowd around me mirrors my increasingly large pile of chips. A fat, red-faced man with an equally fat stack of chips sits himself down at the table, amid cheers from the gathered crowd. He seems to be popular - most likely due to his massive fortune - and smokes a cigar while addressing the people around him.

“One more win and I’ll make the VIP Area!” Roaring, he gestures jovially towards a large oak doorway at the back of the cardroom. We begin to play, but before I hand back my cards I manage to slip an ace up my long satin sleeve, unnoticed by the oblivious croupier and inebriated crowd. A sure gamble; there is no way I can lose from here. Calm and composed, I lead him on to betting far too much and the look on his face when I turn over the ace is almost as priceless as my jewellery. The crowd roars as I rake in the winnings from my hot streak but in the corner of my eye I see the pit boss and a couple of his thugs lurking on the edges of the crowd and immediately my insides turn to water at his piercing gaze. It seems I have attracted unwanted attention. In amongst all the rowdy shouting, I slip away and head over to the bar for a drink.

Seated at a comfy stool, I take a sip of much needed liquid courage. Though the bar is much quieter than the cardroom, there are still many gamblers around - celebrating their successes or drowning their sorrows. I take a cigarette from the case I always carry with me and I’m just about to ask the bartender for a light when a pair of dejected patrons take a seat opposite me. I stop and immediately hold very still when I overhear one of them mention the name, ‘Francis’.

“How’d he do it? I mean Peter, I just don’t understand!”

“You’re just upset, Frank. We need to go home.”

“No, I can’t leave without knowing how he managed to win game after game like that! I swear the pit boss was treating him like he was some sort of royalty.”

“No Frank, you’re just drunk. We’re leaving.”

If I can find Dr Morgan, maybe I can find Izzie too. Piecing together all that I have learned, it all falls into place. I stand and strut back towards the cardroom.

Every step I take seems to make my legs grow heavier and heavier as I push my way through the packed cardroom once more. The shouting and cheering echoes inside my head as the whole room seems to tilt and spin. I stagger as I approach the doorway as I realise: there was something in the drinks. A steely grip clamps on my arm and I wince, the grotesque face of the pit boss looming over my shoulder. Half whispering, half growling, he jerks me away from the doorway at the rear of the room and back towards the lounge.

“I think it’s time for you to go.”

In pain and brought sharply back to my senses, I desperately try to pull away from the pit boss but it is no use. My mind racing and my heart pounding, I realise I have only one option. Surrounded by the clamour of the other gamblers, I manage to reach downwards and pull out the blade concealed in my long boot. With all the agility I can muster, I twist my body around and in one swift movement plunge the switchblade into the pit boss’ back, causing him to cry out and slump to the floor. Blood seeps through his suit. I brush down my dress and look coolly down at the motionless corpse. Game on.

Reaching the large oak door at the end of the cardroom, I pull it open and slip through. The noise and activity behind me suddenly disappear and I find myself in a dark and featureless corridor, devoid of the warmth and opulence of the rest of the casino. At the end of the hall with his back to me stands a thickset man in a suit, smoking a cigarette and lazily watching through an open door. It appears from the faint sound of rain to lead to an alleyway outside the club. There are two other doors on the opposite side of the corridor - one of which must be the way to the VIP Area the wealthy gambler mentioned - but they are both identical from this side. The thug hasn’t seen me yet but I hope that he is too distracted to notice me slipping past and trying one of the doors. One step at a time, I try creep towards the doorways, my heart pounding in my chest. Each step feels like an eternity. Suddenly, a freak gust of wind blows a flood of dead leaves through the open doorway, and the thug snaps out of his reverie to watch one glide and scuttle - in a show of balletic grace and cursed luck - and come to rest on the toe of my boot. In an instant, a glinting derringer materialises in his hand as I realise there is no way to fight my way out of this one. I consider making a run for the doors but there’ll be a bullet in my back before I even reach the handle. Plan B it is.

“Oh, gosh, thank goodness,” I gush theatrically before he can even open his mouth. He pauses, confused, but his gun remains stoically trained at my head. “Oh you just have to help, please, I beg you!” I begin to well up as the thug shifts uncomfortably and his eyebrows knit in a conflicted expression.

“Wha.. What is it doll?” He asks tentatively, his gun arm beginning to waver.

“Well something terrible has happened!” I break down into ostentatious sobbing as the thug - with a aggravated grunt - finally relents and drops his gun. “In… in there,” I sniffle as I point back towards the cardroom. “Oh goodness, there was blood everywhere!” I break out into another dramatic wail as the thug rushes towards the oak doors, partly out of duty and partly out of desperation to get away from the hysterical woman in front of him. As soon as I hear the doors slam shut behind him, I drop my act, regain my composure, and head straight to the nearest of the two doors.

I try the handle but it is locked. Rattling it furiously, I groan as it refuses to budge. What if Izzie is just beyond this door? Throwing a worried glance back down the corridor, I wonder how long it will be before the thug realises I am still back here and I am hunted down once again. Deciding it is a risk worth taking, I drop to my knees in front of the lock and deftly unclip the thin silver chain holding a pendant of elaborate and glittering shapes around my neck. Custom-made and outrageously expensive, the tools are an essential part of every outfit. Inserting the silver lockpicks into the door’s lock, it isn’t long before I nudge the final pin into place and the handle turns with a satisfying click. My heart races as the door swings open and reveals the room beyond.

The scene before me is doubtlessly the VIP Area, but any hope I had of finding Izzie - or Dr Morgan - is dashed without a second thought. What must once have been a beautiful room has been torn to shreds; the ornate chandelier balances precariously on the edge of a table, the fashionable paintings and furniture are ripped and defaced and countless shards of shattered glass litter the polished floor. The room is a graveyard: morbid, derelict and soundless.The coppery stench of blood assaults my nostrils as I take a few tentative steps into the room. Almost immediately, an even more gruesome sight reveals itself from the rubble. In the half light, I can make out the slumped shapes of motionless corpses still sat at the poker table, the once-green cloth stained black with dried blood. Almost without feeling, I briefly examine the corpses, expecting to find Dr Morgan among them. Strangely, there is no sign of him - and no sign of Izzie either, thank God. I turn to leave the forsaken room behind me and finally escape the strange club when a piercing scream suddenly explodes through the air like lightning, followed swiftly by the thunder of gunshots coming from the direction of the cardroom.

I rush outside into the dark corridor, listening again as a fresh wave of gunshots launch themselves from the main area of the club. The door to the alleyway swings madly on its hinges, crashing against the wall in gusts of screaming wind. The rain lashes down furiously as I look frantically between the open doorway to freedom and the heavy oak doors holding back the chaos in the Clover Club. All of my experiences from the past two nights are telling me to get the hell out of here while I still can but at the same time, the inexplicable events are the closest I’ve come to discovering the truth behind Izzie’s disappearance. The paranormal forces she spoke of in her letter… Did she lose her mind, or was there some truth to her paranoid raving? I have a strong feeling that whatever lies beyond those thick doors might finally give me the answers I have been seeking for so long. I turn my back on the open doorway, my mind resolved. However disturbing recent events have been, nothing can stop me from getting to my Izzie. As I walk down the corridor for what might be the last time, I reach for my trusty twin .45s, reassuring in their familiar weight and feel.

“A perfect addition to the outfit,” I mutter to myself, smiling, as I finally reach the entrance to the cardroom. Without missing a beat, I push through the doors and stride into the cardroom like a model on a catwalk. I stop and pose, pouting and holding a pistol over my shoulder.

“"Watch this!"”

In the casino, there is complete pandemonium. I walk unflinching through waves of panicked patrons feeling from the bar, some grabbing as many chips as they can while others just looking to escape with their lives. Expressions of abject terror on every desperate face tell me that this is more than just a drunken punch-up. The closer I get to the bar, the louder the screams become and just as I approach, the last firing gun is cut off abruptly, followed by a strangled and gargling shriek. Focused and calculating, I survey the scene in front of me. Bodies, unmoving and covered in oozing black slime, lie scattered around what used to be the bar, the shelves of expensive drinks toppled and spilling liquor and broken glass across the floor. An unnatural abomination - a writhing and pulsating mass of orbs, slime and sinewy tendrils - has somehow appeared in the club, its grotesque mass filling up most of the room. A screaming man has been caught by the ooze, his face bloody and his eyes wide in pure animal terror.

“Not me,” he wails, “I gave them who they wanted! I kept my word!” He yells the same terrified mantra again and again until a crawling appendage reaches his mouth and begins to push down his throat. The man’s eyes roll and he emits a suffocated sound verging on inhuman. Somehow, I feel the attention of the spheres shift to me. By natural instinct, I raise a gun and fire it, just as another tendril plunges towards me. The bullet hits the arm and a high-pitched wail comes from somewhere inside the creature as its appendage falls to the ground. Before it can recover, I fire two more shots into the main body of the creature, black slime spurting in all directions. It groans and lays still. I look down at my dress and sigh. That sludge is going to stain. Suddenly released, the man held by the creature gasps for air, retching as he drags himself away from the still-oozing abomination. Now the chaos has subsided, I recognise him as Peter Clover, the infamous gangster and owner of the casino. If anyone knows about the events here tonight - and the disappearances - it will be him. I reach to give him a hand up and smile charmingly.

"Let’s get outta here!"

I haul Peter to his feet and we begin to stagger back through the club amid the crowds of people flooding into La Bella Luna and the street beyond. Suddenly, I hear a crash from somewhere outside and screams of pain in the lounge. A terrible monstrosity smashes through the entrance to the club, crushing the stairwell and knocking over gangsters and patrons alike. It is massive, easily eight feet tall, with the head and body of a human but with thick green legs extending horribly into smooth appendages like the bodies of serpents. It roars as it slashes with its clawed hands, tearing into more of the packed crowd who are screaming and scattering in panic. The only way out is the doorway to the alley at the other side of the club. Slowed by the weight of the injured Peter Clover, I realise how impossible it is to reach there before the abomination catches us up. I fire a couple of shots in its direction but it seems unfazed, and instead focuses its piercing eyes on me and begins to slither towards us. I know this is a fight that I can’t win. I look around me, my mind racing as I scan the room for another way out as the monster closes in fast. Then I see it. I point my weapon in the air and fire a single shot before the beast is upon us. The chain of the ornate chandelier snaps at the bullet hits its target, and the structure of glass comes crashing down onto the inhuman beast. The noise is deafening and we are showered in shards of glass as the creature writhes in pain. I drag Peter into the cardroom as furious roars echo throughout the club.

We are almost there. The corridor is deserted, just as before, but it seems to stretch for an eternity as we hobble towards the back exit. Peter is fading fast but escape seems seconds away. I can hear cars, smell rain. Then, with mere steps to go, Peter collapses to the floor. I drop to my knees, pulling him upright and shouting above the din of the club and the ringing in my ears.

“Where is she? Where is Izzie? What have you done to her?” His eyes unfocused and glazed, Peter tries to speak, murmuring incoherently before his head finally drops and he gives in to unconsciousness. Without warning, the doors to the cardroom crash open, and the snakelike monster bursts through the doors, its claws bloody and dripping with gore. I stand and face it, knowing that this time, there is no way out if I want to know the truth. As the creature rushes towards me at an incredible pace, I aim both my guns at its chest and look it square in the eyes. Ten feet. Five feet. This is it. Double or Nothing. I blow the creature a kiss and squeeze the triggers.

The bullets strike it square in the chest and the monster roars and recoils, its arms flailing as black ichor spurts from the gaping wound. It collapses to the ground, twitching, as I reholster my guns. I look over at its corpse with a smirk.

“Sorry sugar, it’s just not your night.” I turn and drag Peter out of the casino and into the rain-slicked streets of Arkham, leaving the Clover Club behind for good.