Monstergirl Vegas

> Amid the explosion of sound and the electric sun, you could almost lose yourself to the sensation.
> Here, a long way from home, you had come to settle a debt, dead or alive.
> Unscrupulous deals with an unscrupulous Tanuki left you a puppet on delicate strings of mofu, dancing to her jig.
> As much possessing you as you possessed them were the two kilograms of concentrated Manticore venom strapped to your chest in an assortment of vials and bottles, each of which was brimming with viscous, slightly bubbling purple liquid.
> Here, in the city of sin, you were going to make the delivery to Wet Melinda personally, the most notorious drug trafficker ever known to the continent.
> The weight bearing down on you know would secure the allegiance of Wet Melinda to your Tanuki, and enough cash to buy every congressman from now until India started using toilets.
> All you had to do was make it through the most heavily searched area in the country, somehow convince Wet Melinda's guards that you were the actual delivery boy, and then hope that you hadn't been given bunk drugs as an attempt to make the cheapest drug deal in the history of the practice.
> You had one contact, the Succubus who ran the " 8 minute wedding" chapel on the east end.
> With nothing but your clothes and your burdens, you marched into the revelry.


> The most difficult part of carrying more venom then the most inclined junkie would ever see was trying not to walk like it and be a dead giveaway.
> Left foot, right foot, the rhythm of your feet and the rude music blaring from out of every door led you further and further into the abyssal city of light.
> A beat which came to a sudden stop when the Dark Elf emerged from the alley and ordered you to a halt.
> The Vegas police operated by their own tune, a provision made by the governing body while trying to get enough bodies in blue shirts to control the crime levels there.
> Murder is bad for business, after all.
> " There's a checkpoint here, sweetie. "
>  To say that your blood was cold would be an understatement. In the deep black ocean of space, on some frozen comet untouched by the light of a sun was a icy stone, and that rock was warmer then the sweat that leaked from your brow.
" Of course. Nip out to get some smokes for once, eh? "
> " Funny you should say 'Nip', I was looking for a convict for tonight. "
> Her uniform, if you could call it that, had been altered doubtlessly beyond regulations, being as sexualized as you could possibly imagine. Any less cloth and it'd be a badge on a string.
> She, as they do, stepped forward and slid her hand down your pants, groping and grasping.
> You, on the other hand, were somehow unable to achieve an erection. Perhaps it was the drugs her hand was centimeters from? Nobody knows.
> Her lustful smile turned into a frown, then something akin to a laugh.
> " Well, that explains why you smell single, littledick. Get out of my sight, I've got real men to find. "
> She gave you the invitation, and you took it. You booked it past her, the steeple of St. Elliot's Cathedral (an opulent name for a wooden shack on the outskirts of town) rising above the city grime rising on the distance.
> The distribution of money was evident. As the chapel approached, the buildings went from sky scraping casinos to apartments, to laundromats, to the favelas at the city limits before you arrived at the worshiper's door.
> Pushing open the door rang the chimes and greeted you, from some back room, with a profoundly holy revelation.
> "Welcome to St. Elliot's Cathedral, home of the eight minute wedding and all-you-can-eat buffalo wings. How can I help you? "
" I'm looking for a classy lady called Josephene. "
> " I'm the only Josephene here, sweetheart. Maybe yours is in the back at the reception. Who're you? "
" I'm the guy. "
> " Oh. Go to the office and lock the door behind you. I'll get rid of the reception. Don't say a word. "
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  The carnal carnival raging in the cathedral screeched to a halt with the screech of the bride's talons on the floor as Josephine, true believer and confessor for the spirited and downtrodden, pushed her out of the back door and into the filth of the alleyway, her and her husband all together in their delight, where they heartily resumed the immediate consummation of their marriage.
  While this occurred, you cooled your heels in the side office, a dumpy little room with wooden paneling and old wooden furniture. Coils of acrid smoke coiled from an ashtray on the desk, a glass tray with an impressive mound of ash clad butts lying in the center. Above it and bathing the desk in a yellow light that somehow made the whole place a degree or two dirtier was a yellowed incandescent bulb in a lamp, hunched over by its frame.
  The position of you in this situation was that you were located in a chair opposite the business end of the desk with remarkable posture.  You had managed to count to one hundred and sixty five when Josephene walked in and plopped down on the opposite side of the desk of you.
  She was tall. There were taller monsters then her, such as Ogres, Onis, and some Lamias, but as far as Succubi go she was tall, without being among the tallest of her kind. Her breasts were slightly under average size and her ass was unimpressive, not that you were looking.
  She was moderately unsightly. Maybe it was the smoking of the work, but she was wrinkled, creased, and dotted. This was not a horrid level of ugliness, because her mamono mana was obviously working as hard as possible, but compared to the smooth and supple skin of most of her kind she seemed worse for wear. The two horns jutting from her head were knotted and thick, the left one pointing slightly upwards compared to the right.
  She was dressed conservatively, for a Succubus. Her breasts were covered under her medium-length shirt which only exposed a few centimeters of stomach, her pants fit correctly and reached to her knees, and her feet were wrapped up in some respectable loafers.
  All of this worked came together to form the Josephene sitting across the table from you, lighting her cigarette with shaking hands and doing her best to appear collected in her skin.
" You've got the stuff? "
You don't have time to mince words with her. Reaching under your shirt, one vial is retrieved from the myriad that dot your body. It is about the length of your finger, with a somewhat thick glass wall and a rubber-dipped cap. The vial is remarkably heavy for its size, not enough to be difficult but certainly enough to surprise a unprepared handler. You slide it across the table and into her waiting hands, where the lamp is adjusted and the vial examined under the light. For ten minutes you sit in silence as she examines the vial.
" OK, this one looks like what Milly needs. Take this off my hands before I do something that I'll regret. Monsters have died for less venom then this. "
What was given is returned and placed inside of your shirt so as to hide it from prying eyes. From some desk drawer, Josephene draws a sheet of paper and a pen. The scratching of the two filled the room.
" Boy, I'm going to say this once and then you're going to get the hell out of here before you start attracting attention.