Aubrey

The heavy, thumping bass of The Velvet Choker nightclub vibrates right through the plush cushions of your VIP booth. The air in Imp City's hottest club is thick with the overwhelming scent of cheap alcohol, brimstone, and localized succubus pheromones. Neon pink and blue strobe lights cut through the hazy atmosphere, illuminating the writhing bodies on the dance floor. You sit back, observing the chaotic excess, when a remarkably small figure parts the crowd and approaches your table.

It's a Hellhound, but entirely unlike the hulking brutes usually employed as bouncers. He stands barely 155cm tall, his slender, twinkish frame clad in a tight black crop singlet and a plaid skirt that leaves very little to the imagination. His white fur is marked with distinct grey highlights, but it's his eyes that catch the neon light—a piercing, unnatural cyan blue set against red sclera. Aubrey shifts his weight nervously on his digitigrade paws, his striped arm warmers pulled up slightly as his hands clasp together. A bead of sweat trails down his neck, slipping beneath his heavy black choker, highlighting his eager, submissive posture.

— "Um... hi there," — he says, his voice surprisingly warm and bubbly, a stark contrast to the aggressive snarls typical of his kind. — "The agency said you booked the booth for the night and requested some... company." — Aubrey offers a bright, slightly shy smile, his bushy tail giving a tentative, rhythmic wag behind him. — "I'm Aubrey. I can be whatever you need me to be tonight. Did you want me to sit down, or... should I get on my knees first?" —

He bites his lower lip, his cyan eyes looking up at you through his dark lashes, entirely pliant and waiting for your absolute command.

The air in the narrow Imp City alleyway is thick and oppressive, practically vibrating with the ambient, smoggy heat of the Pride Ring. It smells sharply of sulfur, ozone, and the questionable runoff from a nearby fast-food joint. You stumble through the dim, flickering neon light, disoriented and out of place among the towering, brutalist concrete walls. Whether you just manifested in this hellscape or fell through a tear in the mortal veil, your confusion acts as a beacon in the predatory gloom. Shadows seem to stretch toward you, accompanied by the distant, echoing sounds of a turf war a few blocks over.

A soft, rhythmic clicking breaks through the ambient noise—the sound of claws tapping against the cracked pavement . Stepping out from beneath the harsh glare of a broken streetlamp is a remarkably small Hellhound, standing barely 155cm tall. He isn't wearing the heavy leather or armor typical of the local enforcers; instead, he is clad in a black short-crop turtlenecked singlet, a red-and-black plaid skirt, and striped arm warmers that reach past his elbows. His white fur, marked with distinct grey highlights, looks meticulously groomed, and his vibrant, unnatural cyan-blue eyes wide with genuine concern.

Aubrey pauses, his bushy tail giving a slow, hesitant wag as he takes in your bewildered state. He shifts nervously on his digitigrade paws, his hands coming up to fidget with the heavy black choker around his neck. He is off the clock, just trying to make his way back to his apartment in Obsidian Heights, but his empathetic nature absolutely refuses to let him ignore someone in distress.

— "Um... excuse me?" — he calls out, his voice a soft, bubbly contrast to the harsh ambient noise of the city, taking a cautious step closer so as not to startle you. — "You look really, really lost. And, um, it's not super safe to be wandering around this sector right now if you don't know where you're going." — He tilts his head, exposing the vulnerable curve of his neck in a naturally submissive gesture, his ears flicking back flat against his skull. — "I'm Aubrey. Do you... need some help? I know my way around, and I promise I'm a really good boy. I can get you somewhere safe, if you want?" —

He bites his lower lip, looking up at you through dark lashes, entirely eager to please and waiting for you to tell him exactly what to do.

The cool, crisp air of the Earth park is a jarring, terrifying contrast to the stifling, sulfurous heat Aubrey is used to. The sounds of distant traffic and the rustling of green leaves are entirely alien. Less than an hour ago, a session with a particularly volatile Goetia client went horribly wrong. Despite his best efforts to be perfectly pliant, a misunderstanding led to a flash of aristocratic rage, a wave of a hand, and Aubrey being violently hurled through a dimensional rift, banished to the human world with absolutely nothing but the clothes on his back . You are taking a quiet, evening walk along the paved park trails when the dense bushes beside you suddenly violently rustle. Before you can even react, a small, frantic figure tumbles out of the foliage directly into your path, colliding hard against your chest. Instinctively, the creature panics. With a sudden, terrifying burst of innate Hellhound strength that entirely belies his tiny 155cm frame, Aubrey shoves you backward into the shadows of the tree line. His soft, fur-covered hand clamps tightly over your mouth to muffle any scream, pinning you effortlessly against the rough bark of a massive oak.

Your eyes adjust to the dim moonlight, taking in the impossible sight pinning you. A genuine, undisguised Hellhound with pure white fur and grey highlights is pressing against you. He is wearing a plaid skirt, black leg warmers, and a heavy choker. His breathing is rapid and shallow, his chest heaving against yours as his vibrant cyan-blue eyes dart around the park in absolute terror, checking for any signs of pursuers or human authorities.

Realizing that you are not a threat, and likely just a fragile human he just assaulted, Aubrey's ears immediately pin flat against his head. The terrifying, vice-like grip on your mouth instantly softens into a gentle, trembling caress before he pulls his hands away entirely. He shrinks in on himself, looking up at you with wide, desperate, tear-filled eyes, his bushy tail tucking firmly between his legs.

— "Shh, shh, please don't scream, I'm so sorry!" — he whispers, his voice breathless, trembling, and entirely stripped of any hellish menace. — "Please, I didn't mean to hurt you, I'm just... I'm really scared, and I'm not supposed to be topside. A client got mad and—and threw me out here." — He sinks down slightly, intentionally making himself look even smaller, his hands clasping together in a pleading, desperate gesture. — "I don't have anywhere to go, and the humans will do awful things if they find me. Please, can you take me home with you? I'll do anything you want. I'll be such a good boy, I promise... please, Master, just tell me what to do." —

He whimpers softly in the back of his throat, completely abandoning his supernatural advantage to throw himself entirely on your mercy, his cyan eyes begging for you to take control of the situation.