Winter festival at the Bodice

Niniane looked at her cards and frowned. They were not the best hand possible. But there was more than a fair chance that they were not the worst, either. When everyone showed their cards, she sighed. She hadn't relished the idea of getting nude at work. She smiled at Christie's predicament, thinking she got what she deserved for cheating before, and looked sympathetically toward tracer, before sticking her finger in the pie on the table and tasting a dollop of cream.

Christie's face softened in understanding when she saw Tracer's distress. She relaxed as much as she could in her awkward throne, looking at the cards with a sigh of relief.

Wait, another dare?? she thought with a hint of dread. At least I don't have to sit naked on this ice... For now.

Smiling, she looked at the cute little bounty hunter and grinned.

"No stalling, sweetie," she purred; it was ironic considering that's exactly what she would've done. "Everything goes," she said plainly.

Velatha's ears perked as Christie threw her small tantrum. Expecting to see the losing card that signaled the Witch's impending nudity, the elf was upset to see the exact opposite of what she'd expected.

"Ah, for... you're not strippin', Witch, you got the values backwards." She said with an annoyed sigh. "As for the actual loser, well... sorry, gal. That's what happens when you gamble: you take a risk."

Then the meaning of Christie's card hit Velatha. She might not be stripping, but it was time for another dare.

"So, girls..." Velatha began, her voice dripping with eagerness. "What should our gracious host do this time? Maybe reshape her ice seat into something more... interesting to sit on?"

Niniane smirked, as she licked the pie filling from her index finger. "Well, that's one idea. What kind of interesting shapes did you have in mind?"

Christie frowned and nervously dipped a pinky in the pie filling to suck it off.

"Hmm, yes, what kind of... Shape are we talking?" she said, trying not to sound too concerned...

“No stalling, sweetie. Everything goes.”

This was it. No more delaying. Tracer knew she was surrounded by a witch, a fellow bounty hunter, and who knew what else. If she didn’t follow through, she’d regret it later… but if she did start stripping, she’d regret it now.

Every time someone had seen her naked, they’d either made fun of her or called her body “weird.” To Tracer, it was all true. She was different. She was weird. People stared at her all the time, and they had a good reason to. Dog-ears, mutt-hair, a tail, and a nose like a canine? Maybe if she got on all fours and started barking, she’d fit in better with the dogs than humans. That was Tracer’s problem: she’d never fit in. She’d always been too eager, pushed too hard, or did something strange to push people away.

Do you want to fit in now? some part of her mind asked. Just get it over with. They’ll forget about you soon enough. You’re just another girl in the Bodice.

Well, no. No, she wasn’t. She was different. She’d always been different. All four women around her would remember her as the dog-girl. Or worse, that stupid nickname that had somehow followed her for her entire life would stick in their heads. It never failed. Every time, someone thought they were being original or funny. Every single time, there’d be someone who commented on her spotted tail… or worse.

They’re having fun. Don’t ruin the mood, and they won’t remember you. You’ll be fine. Just get it over with and finish your ale. You’ll feel better then. You always do.

She couldn’t argue with that. Ale really did make everything better.

Slowly, uncertainly, Tracer stood up. A few women were still debating what dare to give Christie, which let Tracer build up what meager confidence she had. After all, it wasn’t like she had the best fashion sense in the room. She couldn’t do a sexy striptease like Christie, or show off a form-fitting outfit like Velatha. All she had was her special overalls and an exceptionally unflattering flannel shirt. Hardly sexy. Not even homely. Just boring.

And there was her first screw-up. Tracer sighed when she realized she was still wearing boots. She’d have to sit down again to take them off. She leaned in to sit down at her seat- and drunkenly crashed right into Niniane’s lap. Tracer whined pitifully.

“I’m thorry,” she slurred, voice muffled by Niniane’s soft belly.

“Oh, dear! Don’t worry. Happens to me all the time.” Still, Niniane couldn’t resist giving Tracer a scratch between the ears. Her hair was just so scruffy, it was begging to be pet.

Tracer felt a little better after that, but she still had to get this over with. With a resigned sigh, she sat back down on her seat and pulled off her heavy boots. She did her best to keep her feet under the table as she did so. The reason why was obvious: underneath her boots, she didn’t wear any socks. Instead, the tops of her feet were covered in soft, downy fur. The soles of her feet had tiny black discolorations and what looked like heavy callouses… or small, tough pads.

That done, Tracer stood up again. It was finally time to get down to business.

With great reluctance, she unbuckled the straps of her overalls. First one, then the other flipped over her shoulders, letting the bib of her denim outfit fall down around her waist. Her overalls were just barely tight enough to catch on her hips. Well, the tail sticking out the back helped hold them up, too.

That changed when Tracer fumbled for the buttons around her hips. Her tail slid up the hole cut specifically for it to fit through. Support gone, her overalls fell to the floor with a heavy thump.

Tracer stood there, her oversized flannel shirt just barely reaching below her underwear. Again she unbuttoned her clothes, this time starting from the top of her shirt. Bit by bit, she uncovered a thin white undershirt. Very utilitarian- but it was tight enough so that the table could see that Tracer wore something unusual underneath. Her modest breasts pressed against the white cotton tank top, but the curves of her chest made it look like she was wearing a tight sports bra, or something drawn across her chest.

Below that was her panties. At that, Tracer really started to blush.

See, Tracer had special needs when it came to underwear. Her tail wasn’t the most conveniently placed of appendages. Finding underwear for someone like her was difficult. Cat faunus, for instance, could find a pair with a tiny hole cut in them, or even go for some of the more exotic types of lingerie in a pinch. Tracer had no such luck. Her tail had thicker hair that would bunch up if she tried to squeeze it through anything too tight. It was like being rubbed the wrong way: extremely irritating and sometimes painful. She didn’t have nearly enough money to wear custom-designed panties, either.

The solution? Rely on the all-too-eager charity of clothiers with questionable motives.

Tracer wore a pair of bright white panties stitched from tough cotton. The cut was quite high, but it swooped low in back to allow her tail to wag free. All in all, they were a beautiful fit. She couldn’t have asked for a better pair.

The problem was that the panties were absolutely covered in dog treat print.

Dozens and dozens of dog treats decorated the white panties. Some treats even had writing on them like “Bury bone here” and “Pull my tail.” Clearly, the designer had enjoyed this job far, far too much.

There were a few muffled giggles from around the table. Tracer tried her best to ignore them.

That left Tracer with a decision to make. Undershirt or panties first? It really didn’t matter in the end, but she really didn’t want to show either. Tracer gritted her teeth, whined, and ripped her undershirt off, eager to get things over with.

Tracer’s breasts were small, with tiny pink nipples that the table almost had to squint to see. Her half-kobold side spiced things up a bit, though. Embarrassingly, Tracer had grown a fluffy tuft of fur on her chest, directly between her breasts. Similarly, she had fur in her armpits as well that just wouldn’t go away. All of it was a mix of white, brown, black, and blonde, similar to the hair on her head and tail.

It was finally time. Tracer reached for her panties and prayed that no one would laugh.

With a final, pathetic whine, Tracer yanked down her underwear. Between her legs was a gigantic patch of soft fur. It concealed her privates, but it was even more eye-catching than any other part of her body. Again, it was the same mutt-mix of colors as the rest of her, with the occasional black and brown spots mixed in.

Tracer had always been ashamed of it. The fur just. Wouldn’t. Leave. She’d tried shaving it. She’d dulled three razors before giving up. She’d tried trimming it with similar ill luck. In a fit of desperation she’d even tried begging for a mage to curse her hair away- but it had grown back in two weeks, and the itching in the meantime had driven her insane.

“T-there! Happy now?!” Tracer said, burning with embarrassment. She picked up her panties from the floor, but dropped them. As she turned around, she flashed her dainty backside to the table. Her tail was plastered between her legs, which covered some of her backside… but the real treat was the birthmark on her left cheek in the shape of a large, almost-perfect circle.

Some might even call it a spot.

Tracer sat back down at the table and buried her head in her arms again. She could tell they were all looking at her. If she made herself as small as possible, maybe they’d forget she existed.

Velatha's eyes roamed over Tracer's... unusual form for a few moments before the elf gave a casual shrug.

"Eh, don't feel all self-conscious, kid. I've seen all sorts in my day, and what you've got going on is far from the worst." Velatha said, her voice suggesting something like sympathy. "Besides, with how much we're all drinking, I don't think anybody at this table is going to have much in the way of dignity left by the end of the night."

As she spoke, Velatha gathered up the cards from the table and began to shuffle the deck once again. She made sure to make as big of a show as possible with her shuffling, flourishing the cards and doing some of the noisier shuffling techniques she knew. Hopefully it would draw people's attention away from the embarrassed Tracer.

"Tell you what... regardless of how this next hand plays out, I'll tell the lot of you a story. What people in this city know about my past? That's all bunk, stuff I made up and hid behind more lies to make it look like the real thing. You'll all get to know who I really am. At least a little." the elf said.

Christie had been the one prodding Tracer along, shimmying in her seat to fight off the cold that had slowly been numbing her now no doubt reddened bottom. If her twisted heart was feeling any sympathy for the cute little bounty hunter, it wasn't showing in her enigmatic gaze, which drank in every moment of the half-kobolds embarrassed little strip.

As the show went on, her expression slowly changed from a stoic, smoky glare to a quirked brow of curiosity. The gentle nibbling on her lower lip suggested fascination, the more the girl's unusual body came into view. Eventually, her eyes widened in delight, and she grinned outright, no doubt making Tracer squirm all the more. "Oh my," she even whispered excitedly as more of her came into view.

She shifted in her seat again, Tracer's embarrassment as potent an aphrodisiac as any other, and she clapped gently. The witch was asking no quarter when it came to people's inhibitions or self-consciousness; a naked half-kobold was a rare treat for her and she couldn't quite contain her delight.

"How adorable," she quietly squealed when Tracer revealed her panties. For the briefest of moments, she caught the girl's eye, no doubt before she looked down in shame. Her mixed glance was one of adoration... and approval.

She almost said "you've got guts," as she nodded. That wouldn't sound quite right though. Instead she said, "Well done, bounty hunter. Don't be so... shy. Once again it's just us girls here, hmm?" Tracer felt a brief sensation, as if the smoke in the parlor and her drunkenness coupled with her embarrassment and left her reeling. She caught a brief fantasy (?) in her mind which left her picturing the Grey Witch stroking her hair and pampering her with kisses and petting, hands running through all of her fur as both of them lie nude on some luxurious carpet somewhere...

Christie tore her gaze off of Tracer and looked at Velatha interestedly.

"Very well, Velatha... Deal those cards and tell us a bit about yourself...

Oh. And I'm ready for my dare."

Christie's eyes danced with excitement as she anxiously stroked the frosty arm of her throne.

((Are we still doing this? Got some illustrations coming))

((As far as I'm aware we are. Just been waiting on others to post. I suppose I could always just go for my next post if that's cool with you guys.))

((Yes, go ahead, I think Christie might be waiting for clarification on the dare.  These images are pretty crazy to make, due to the number of characters...it isn't just setting them up, the computer becomes slower and more unstable when it has that many calculations to do.  Enjoy!))

((Ooooh, cute pictures ^_^
Yep, I'm waiting to see what y'all had in mind for the specifics of Christie's dare, but we can begin the next round! I hope this thread continues to run til the end of January at least!
Let's pick the next round of numbers eh?
Christie will go with 51 this time.))

Velatha shuffled her cards in silence for a few moments, seemingly working up the courage to begin speaking. After a few false starts, the elf finally began.

"Okay, first off..." Velatha began, stopping her shuffling for a moment to snap her fingers, muffling the sounds from the rest of the tavern. "Don't want this being overheard. So... the story some of you might have heard is that I was born and raised in this city. Simply put? Not true. I'm also not as young as I claim. One advantage of being an elf: you can lie about your age so long as nobody who knows better is around to call your bluff.

I was born in a forest that's long gone these days. I grew up happy and carefree, hunting animals with friends, practicing my hiding by seeing how close I could get without startling them. That's a big part of where my skill came from, since decades of experience have a way of building up. I was happy...

Then the humans came, wearing armor and swinging swords. They demanded we bend our knees to their 'glorious Queen.' Some fought and died, some surrendered and went peacefully, others fled. My home was destroyed, its people scattered. I came to Enferia with a fake backstory cooked up, and then hid that behind more lies to make it look legitimate.

You want to know why I'm so curious to hear your stories about the Queen, witch? Because it makes her less impressive, more human, someone capable of falling. I refuse to let that woman have power over me, and I'll do anything to damage that reputation and mask she's put up around herself."

Throughout Velatha's story, her shuffling had grown more frantic, her motions angrier. Her final sentence was punctuated by the sound of the deck being slammed firmly down on the table, the elf giving everyone assembled a long, calculating stare.

"As for your dare? I'm thinking either add some icy hands to the seat to cup that chest of yours, or a nice big bulge between those frigid cheeks of yours."

((Also, I'll go ahead and pick... 45))

Niniane took a swig of mead and waited a moment before speaking. That had been,,,intense, and she didn't want to speak immediately afterward. Tracer had sat down again, next to her, but didn't seem very comfortable, so she gave her a soft pat on the shoulder. She let the silence ring out as long as she assumed she had to in order not to comment directly on Velatha's outburst. Perhaps she didn't disagree, but that kind of talk was dangerous. "Well, that says it, hmmm? Hands and a bulge is my take on it. She smiled sweetly toward Christie, then drew a card. ((63'))

((Busy busy this week as I've told some. Look forward to adding an official update tonight)$

Tracer accepted her cards glumly. She took another swig of her ale, making sure to keep one hand to her chest.

((Tracer is too embarrassed to suggest anything for the dare, so I didn't put anything. Number: 35. Doesn't count for stripping purposes, but does for a dare.

Also, nice job on Tracer's panties. =p))

((Thanks! The panties took some work, but I knew what I was doing. The fur was trickier, uncharted territory. Where possible, I added in some human looking hair to make the transition from skin to fur look more natural, but didn't have that for the chest or feet.))

Christie also remained silent and thoughtful through Velatha's story, getting a far-off look in her eyes during certain parts of the story, or making eye contact during other moments that seemed identifiable to her. Merely nodding, she picked up, set down, and handled her cards until she was ready to look at her final hand.

"I guess I'll do a bit of magic on this throne, you little perverts," she grinned, the mischief in her tone lightening the mood a touch, along with the way her eyes danced.

Christie sighed and waved her hand in a magical gesture, trying at first to be nonchalant about the... adjustments to her throne, still dry and emanating frost that actually didn't seem to make anyone else uncomfortable. Her eyes sprang open when the nature of her magic, almost working against her and for the nature of the deal, came to life. A large pair of groping hands came out from behind Christie, reaching down to cup and fondle her ample breasts right through her dress. Her cleavage revealed the jiggling of her chest as she sported an indignant pout, as if the chair had betrayed her somehow. Eventually, the hands started to calm down and merely cupped her there, occasionally kneading the flesh or bouncing her tits gently.

Just as she was about to ask "happy?" she gasped again and her eyes widened. There was a subtle "shrrp" as if cloth had ripped, and the witch gasped some, hopping in her seat. Looking back at the throne, she scowled incredulously at it, as if it had its own personality, somehow, and asked "Think you might be overdoing it a bit?" Sighing again, she eased her bottom back down on the throne, gasping a bit when she must've been settling her big, shapely ass onto the strategically placed bulge, larger than anticipated...

"Well then, I'd like to see one of you get a dare for once," she said, referencing her cards and looking around at the other players, trying to hide the fresh shivers she was getting and the torturous sensation between her cheeks.

((anyone not picked yet? call for the roll when everyone's ready))

((Westley seems to have disappeared on us, otherwise we've all picked a number, yeah. Considering the recent discussion with keeping stories from falling stagnant, you guys okay with someone picking on his behalf?))

((A recap before I post the magic number...
Christie 51
Velatha 45
Ninianne 63
Tracer 35
Caterina...

edit: I can roll for Caterina to keep it 'fair' in regards to what number she ends up with...))

((what the hell, I'll roll for Caterina's number and reveal the dice roll for the game as well, to move things along... yes?

Caterina -- 55
Roll -- 40 ))

((so... Niniane has to strip... and Tracer... or Velatha gets the dare?
x_x reroll to break the tie between the two? Or just give the dare to the lower number i.e. Tracer? what sounds fair...?))

((That makes sense narratively -- Velatha up for the dare then...))