The Almost Report Scours the Scene of Skirla's Innosensuality

[Wyvern]

The news cameras slowly flicker on and focus on the dining area of Celes Crusader’s Café, which has been refurbished to its original elegant state after the questionable décor of last week’s Dawgrim’s Reek. The cameras move by a few strips of yellow “Private Investigation” tape and pause at a serving counter, searching for a figure of authority to explain the fine lines that surround the area like a crime scene. They scan over a series of numbered evidence locations until they spot Wyvern, who looks like an (un)lawful official in his gray tailored scale suit and optical geld illusion tie. The overgrown lizard adjusts the brown gloves that barely cover his claws as he stares down at a spot where many troglyodyte medics and investigators have gathered. His slightly weary eyes examine the pale body of the troglyodyte actor who plays Blarr on “Dawgrim’s Reek,” which is still twitching and very much alive but clearly out of its element.

 

“Sssssooo, what’s the diagnosis?”

 

A troglyodyte in a lab coat tilts his head up with a frown, moving away from the deep carpet stains that surround Blarr’s body.

 

“Excessive saliva loss, leading to dehydration and fatigue.” The doctor watches as Blarr gets lifted into a raft used for traveling through sewers to reach troglyodyte first aid facilities, then shakes his head. “Seems like he started panting and just didn’t know when to stop. He’ll be fine, he just needs to recover.”

 

“Hmmm, I sssee…” Wyvern scratches one of his horns and broods over the thought of medical bills for a moment before turning and noticing the cameras. “Oh! Hello there, welcome to the Almost Report. Uhmm, in current Pen news, Werewolf XLIII: Mad Wolf is officially open to asssylum inmates who wanna sign-up, and-“

 

“Wyvern.” A troglyodyte wearing a sleuth cap interrupts, adjusting a magnifying glass in the front pocket of his miniature coat and clearing his throat. “There’s a room over here I think you should see.”

 

“Right.” Wyvern tucks his tail as close to his black slacks as he can muster and trails behind the inspector troglyodyte, careful not to disturb any evidence in his path. The almost dragonic reporter turns his head to speak to the cameras as he maneuvers through a narrow gap between dining tables. “Thisss new Werewolf thing is hosted by recent birthday pennite Patrick, who dessserves a round of applause for all his Pen contributions over the years. We appreciate ya Patrick! Also, birthday wishesss go out to Alzorath, who continuesss to rep the artistic side of the Pen.”

 

Wyvern comes to an awkward halt as he notices the back lounging room that the troglyodyte has chosen to inspect, suddenly becoming very self-conscious and tugging at the collar of his shirt nervously. The overgrown lizard feigns innocence as he slowly steps into the room, pretending to be caught off guard by the overturned furniture, the rug burns, and the occasional stray articles of clothing. Wyvern’s nostrils flare up over the intoxicating fragrance that still lingers over the room’s many violated regions, savoring the familiar musk of a certain succubus’ fleeting satisfaction. He breaks into a bit of a sweat as he eyes the faint outlines of scratches on the cushions of a broken easychair, failing to connect them to fingernails, claws, or tails but remembering very well how they got there all the same. The almost dragon blushes as he spots a familiar red pleated skirt dangling from the rim of a sofa turned on its side, snatching it and hiding it behind his back as the troglyodyte inspector continues to search aimlessly.

 

“Errr, n-n-nothing to ssssee here I think, eheheheheh.” Wyvern grabs the troglyodyte inspector by the arm and begins pulling him towards the exit of the messy lounge, not wanting to stick around long enough to see if any embarrassing Almost Dragonic Brand products turn up. “N-not much as far as concrete evidenccce goes anyway, unless you want to use it for stand-up at Snypiuer’s Open Mic event.”

 

The inspector glances at Wyvern suspiciously before a voice from the Café’s central kitchen disrupts the investigation at hand.

 

“Hey Wyvern, come take a look at this!”

 

Wyvern perks up and takes the opportunity to immediately race out of the lounge, pulling the troglyodyte inspector along with him as his claw clings fast to his arm. The overgrown lizard dodges past a variety of cooking utensils and racks of plates until he reaches a wide circular counter that makes his eyes widen a bit. The troglyodyte formerly scheduled to play the role of Skirla Innosensual rests on top of it, his wrists tied behind his neck by the head of a leather whip and his feet crossed and tied together by a knotted black fishnet stocking. The troglyodyte’s would-be wig is tied around his mouth as a gag, and a mysterious black film tin rests at his side. Wyvern clears his throat and moves in closer to inspect the film reel, his eyes growing wider as he reads the gliding cursive written on the front of the tin. The words are accentuated by the mark of a familiar shade of red lipstick, which replaces a period at the end.

 

“Next time, on Dawgrim’s Reek… For Wyvern’s eyes only”