Author's Notes:
RELATIONSHIPS: Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight, Leorio Paladiknight/Original Female Character(s)
RATING: Mature
NOTE: Please be warned that this story may contain depictions of depression, addiction, alcohol abuse or alcoholism, recreational drug use, and implied sexual content.
Chapter 2: Game Over! Try Again?
Wildin, Leorio realizes, is nothing less than a paradise for pick-up artists or for those interested in honing such artistry. By literally gamifying the concept of game, even those most inept at the skills of seduction understand that they too can be winners as long as they keep coming back and making different choices than they did before. There may be a steep learning curve for some, including himself, but the slope leads upward soon enough.
By his fourth week of visiting the speakeasy, he's fully found his footing. In the beginning, he had about a fifty-fifty chance of landing an NPC. But he's since gotten to the point where, if he's fetched a woman her second drink of the night, he's more or less guaranteed to get her in bed in due time.
He proclaims liquor as his secret weapon to anyone who will listen. Not only does it make him hotter and funnier to his targets, but it also boosts his charm and confidence. Posing the key question of whether fornication is the next order of business no longer makes him shrivel up in shame. Instead, he welcomes that moment of truth, when the game is over and the ending he's earned is imminent.
Victory is always sweet. He hauls his trophy over his shoulder and marches toward one of the bar's back rooms to celebrate. If no rooms are available, the brothel next door is always a viable alternative.
After he's had his way with his prize, he waits for the breathing beside him to slow down and space out to signify that sleep has besieged his bedfellow. Only then does he get up, get dressed, and get out of there for good.
No matter how late it is, escape is crucial. Sometimes, the sun is already rising above the horizon as he bikes back toward the frigid solitude of his lodging.
One Friday night in Wildin is especially memorable. Leorio can tell that it's destined to brand itself onto the pages of his playbook of conquests.
That night, he and Basho spend far too much time playing drinking games and goading each other to engage in various acts of tomfoolery. When they finally stumble into the brothel, all but one of the rooms are occupied. At that point, one of the women they took with them declares she's had enough of their antics and elects to leave.
So he and Basho end up booking the free room together, where they tag-team the remaining NPC from dawn to noon. As sunlight seeps into the room and illuminates the bed, Leorio does his best to keep his eyes off his friend, who's hunched over his own spreadeagled body on the mattress.
Basho grunts and groans in a low, gravelly voice. Sweat trickles down the sharp angles of his strong chin and drips directly into Leorio's parted mouth.
To ward off any impure thoughts, Leorio screws his eyes shut and buries his face against the abundant hair of the NPC wedged between their bodies. With trembling hands, he squeezes her womanly flesh as if it's the anchor preventing him from drifting toward the stormy sea.
One evening, after Leorio has gotten off early from his work shift at the Limeiro Medical Hub, he sits alone at Wildin's bar and waits for his companions to arrive.
There can't be more than a dozen patrons in the speakeasy at this hour. Despite this, the pianist devotes great energy to the jazzy number she plays. Her almost floor-length hair flutters like a flame as she bangs on the keys.
When the song comes to a close, Leorio momentarily sets down his whiskey to clap alongside the other customers. The pianist briefly gets up to curtsy. The sheen of sweat makes her dimpled face glimmer beneath the soft golden lighting.
Leorio downs the rest of his drink just as the opening chords of the second song ring out. Movement in his periphery causes him to turn. The wiry-haired stranger he encountered on his first night in Wildin is sitting on the barstool beside his.
Puffing on a crooked cigarette, the man slides a sheet of paper over the counter toward Leorio. "Here you go."
"What's this?"
"When we spoke before, you mentioned you were willing to accomplish a survey form. The developer heard what you said, and he delivered."
Leorio pushes back his prescription sunglasses before skimming the survey. "Whoa. This looks comprehensive as hell. I haven't seen my buddies filling out any forms like this."
"Not everybody needs to," the stranger says, "but the developer has kept careful tabs of your progress in particular. He's become increasingly interested in you, Leorio Paladiknight. He wants to know how you — more than any other beta tester in this area of the game — have been reflecting on your experience so far."
"Eh? Why me?"
"Even though you're relatively new here, you've rapidly grown into one of Wildin's most loyal patrons. You must hold strong opinions about this place." The stranger's eyes drift from Leorio toward the mustached man polishing glasses on the other side of the counter. "Isn't that right, Mr. Bartender?"
The bartender pipes up with an indeed even though he doesn't appear to be following their conversation at all. Upon the stranger's request, the bartender extracts a red ballpoint pen from his apron pocket and extends it toward Leorio.
Leorio, though nonplussed, takes the pen. "Well, here goes."
The first few questions touch upon the basics, such as how often he visits the speakeasy (every single night, including during the weekends) and how he heard about it in the first place (via word of mouth, specifically through his two closest friends on the island).
As for the next set of questions, they seem bent on exploring every aspect of his psychological state throughout the process of baiting and bedding the women of Wildin.
Do you find yourself thinking frequently about Wildin when you're not there?
Do you wish you could spend even more time in Wildin than you already do?
Do you believe that your activities in Wildin have increased your libido?
Do you refrain from scheduling plans within the timespan that you typically set aside for visiting Wildin?
Have you been spending less time with friends and acquaintances outside Wildin's confines?
Has the dating simulation decreased or eliminated your desire to maintain romantic or sexual relationships with women other than Wildin's non-player characters?
Would you push back against an actual or theoretical attempt to dissuade you from visiting Wildin?
For each of these questions, he checks the "yes" box. He then flips over the sheet. Below further questions is a broad, blank rectangle — a space for the respondent to share insights that the survey questions haven't covered.
Once he's finished tackling the individual questions, he dives into the essay portion. He details in writing everything he's learned thus far from his sexcapades in the simulation.
First off, specific NPCs generally appear on a particular day of the week at around the same time. Invariably, they all engage in this game of push-and-pull while they wander within Wildin's premises.
But the power shifts the moment they leave with him. Once he gets them alone and throws them down the bed of the brothel or back room, as the case may be, whatever token resistance they previously demonstrated dissolves into a vocal chorus of enthusiasm and encouragement.
They shed their clothes and spread their legs without shame. Since they never show any signs of pain or discomfort, he need not concern himself with tedious matters of preparation or aftercare. He can instantly get down to business without any fuss.
The NPCs can't acquire or pass on sexually-transmitted infections or diseases. Neither can they conceive. This means he can safely forgo any forms of contraception.
The more he indulges in these carnal relations without protection or consequences, the more he wonders if he can ever go back to wooing women in the real world. With the NPCs, he's free to be as rough and greedy as he likes. He can relinquish all his usual reservations. He can take the lead. He can dominate. When all other aspects of his life are spinning as wildly as a compass gone awry, he relishes in remembering that there's a place on Greed Island where he can reliably stay on top of things.
In the dating sim, if he makes the right choices, he scores points. If he racks up enough points, he wins his prize. He enjoys his reward to the fullest. He then casts it aside and moves on to the next potential conquest. Nobody ever outstays her welcome.
Some might call these cyclical interactions in Wildin transactional, but he appreciates them for what they are. Completing the puzzle of each character's programmed psyche always bestows him with brief but dependable benefits. He takes comfort in this predictability.
His nightly visits to the speakeasy are swiftly becoming his favorite part of the day. Just picturing partaking in that intoxicating blend of thrills, tipple, and titillation is what gets him up in the morning and what drives him to keep going throughout the day. It's the last thing he thinks about before drifting to sleep in his own dwelling.
He believes he'll never stop chasing the short-lived high of exploring, conquering, and plundering a body for the first time. He never wants these adrenaline-ridden nights in Wildin to end.
After he's done with this essay, he glances up. The wiry-haired stranger is nowhere to be seen.
The bartender sidles up and holds out his work-roughened palm. "Much gratitude to you, Mr. Paladiknight. I'll take your accomplished survey form and pass it along to the developer when he next visits."
The prospect of anybody reading his unfiltered thoughts suddenly mortifies Leorio. "My feedback is confidential, right? Only the developer will read what I wrote?"
"Of course, Sir. You have my word. So please go about your night without worries."
The bartender gestures toward the doorway, through which Basho and Zepile have just arrived. Leorio excuses himself to join his friends at the table they've claimed.
With his meaty hand, Basho claps Leorio's back in his usual bracing manner. "Hey, before we all go our separate ways to play tonight's field, why don't the three of us kick back for a bit? I'll get us a round of beers. My treat."
"All the drinks here are free-flowing," Leorio points out.
Basho chortles. "It's the sentiment that counts, right? Besides, the refreshments in Wildin might not always be free. Once the testing phase ends and the speakeasy opens up to the rest of the island, we're probably going to have to pay with cash cards just like everybody else."
Even though it makes sense for the speakeasy to work this way, Leorio groans. "Ugh. I'm not looking forward to shelling out the Jenny, that's for sure."
As Basho ambles toward the counter, Leorio mentally calculates. What percentage of his salary should he set aside regularly to ensure that his lavish liquor purchases will stay within his budget after Wildin's testing phase ends?
Zepile interrupts this mathematical exercise. "You know, I recently heard a bombshell rumor about this place."
"Don't tell me it's news about when the bartender's going to start charging us for alcohol?"
"No, no. Nothing like that."
At this point, Basho returns to their table with a bucket of ice-cold beers. After they've all toasted and taken generous gulps of ale, Zepile recommences the subject.
"So have either of you heard about the Chameleon?" he asks Leorio and Basho, who shake their heads to signify that they haven't. "I overheard the bartender and Wdwune talking about something very interesting a few nights ago."
"Who?" Leorio says.
"Wdwune," Zepile repeats. "You know, the guy who single-handedly conceptualized and developed the dating sim. Along with List and Razor, he belongs to the prestigious roster of Game Masters. He represents the 'D' in Greed Island's name."
Leorio raises an eyebrow. "The 'D'? But doesn't his name —"
"It's a long story," Zepile cuts in. "If you see Wdwune hanging around, you can ask him directly. Nothing gets that guy as worked up as explaining the origin of Greed Island's 'D' and his decision to reclaim his own name. Anyway, let's not get off-track here."
"Yeah, sorry," Leorio mutters. "So you heard the bartender and the 'D' guy talking. About what?"
"Wdwune mentioned a character called the Chameleon," Zepile says. "Something about his hushed tone tipped me off — this wasn't a conversation to which the average customer should be privy. But the bartender noticed me hovering nearby so they both changed the subject. I didn't learn anything more from them."
"That's too bad. I thought we were going to hear some juicy insider information about Wildin's development." Basho is shaking his head, empathically, as he speaks. Beer foam adorns the angles of his mustache.
Leorio has to resist the urge to dab off the foam with his thumb.
"My story isn't done yet," Zepile tells them. "It was Monday night when I heard about the Chameleon so I held out hope for Xena to arrive. You've gotten with that NPC before, haven't you, Basho?"
"One time, yeah," Basho replies. "You couldn't pay me to seek a second session with that woman. Boy, she's a gossipy one. I kissed her and kissed her till my lips went numb. I didn't want to, necessarily, but that was the only way I could get her to shut up."
"Well, I pursued her for a particular purpose that night," Zepile says. "Once we were alone in the brothel, I asked her about the so-called Chameleon. And, just like that, all the speakeasy's secrets came spilling out."
Leorio's jaw drops. "No way."
"That's what I call a big-brained move," Basho adds.
"Then the next time I visited Wildin," Zepile continues, "I privately spoke with as many NPCs and players as possible to gather even more information. Most of them were clueless, but a fair few were aware of the rumor too. So I think I've finally figured out the story behind the Chameleon."
"So tell us," Basho urges. "Stop keeping us in suspense."
"Among both the players and the NPCs, the chameleonic character is believed to be a mythical creature who may or may not be in active development," Zepile explains. "Some say she's only a rumor that the bartender brewed up to keep the patrons coming back. Others swear up and down that they've met her personally and that she's fulfilled all their wildest dreams."
"That's quite the endorsement," Basho comments.
Zepile nods. "Those who claim to know her are unanimously effusive in their praise. The Chameleon is special because she automatically morphs into the player's ideal romantic and sexual types combined. Not only in terms of looks, but also with respect to her personality. Or so they tell me."
Basho's dark eyes widen. "She's every player's romantic and sexual ideal? You know, my romantic and sexual preferences are so vastly different. They're practically on opposite ends of the spectrum. And there's no way I'm alone in this. At nighttime, we all want a tomcat to ruin us in the sack. Then, by morning, what we need is a saint worthy of taking home to impress Mama."
"Yes, I'm certain many men share your sentiments on that matter," Zepile agrees. "However, the Chameleon is allegedly programmed to display the perfect combination of those two often opposing ideals, tailor-made especially for every player who encounters her."
Stars are shining on Basho's eyes as he takes a long pull from his beer. "Now I need to meet that character. If she fits the exact specifications you mentioned, I might skip the whole song-and-dance of seduction and instead go ahead and put a ring on her finger. I'll set the record for being the first human being delusional enough to marry a Greed Island NPC. And I won't care if everyone laughs at me for that."
Zepile grins. "I'd laugh along with everyone, but honestly I can't be sure I'd do things differently if faced with such perfection. How about you, Leorio? How would you react if you ran into the chameleonic character? Would you be looking to wife her up like Basho would?"
"Hell no," Leorio responds without hesitation. "In fact, I don't want to meet the Chameleon at all, if she even exists."
Basho almost spits out his beer. "What? Why?"
Leorio shrugs. He cracks open his second beer from the bucket and chugs it down to keep his buddies from badgering him.
In truth, he already knows what form the Chameleon will take for him. Who else would it look like but that person?
It's strange. He can go on qualifying for licenses and earning money and buying objects and building structures that he tries to fool himself into believing will form the components of a life worth living. Ultimately, though, a collection of things — no matter how coveted or expensive — is just a collection of things. Meaningless, in the grand scheme of the universe.
All it took was a single night to smash to pieces his former ethos of prioritizing material objects. All he needed were those warm arms around his waist, fingers flailing and chains rustling against his abdomen, breath blowing over his back, and the stupor of successive orgasms lulling him to dreamland. He realized the truth right then and there — home for him was a person. Not a place where he could relocate or possessions he could purchase. He would give up all that if it meant he could keep the fragile strings connecting him to his home intact.
Unfortunately, as he was deciding this in the darkness of his bedroom whilst halfway in and out of a dream, silver scissors flashed in the dark. Snip, snip.
Just like that, the dream was gone.
One afternoon, in Leorio's office at the medical hub, Menchi hops down from the examination table. She wheels around one arm, then the other. For good measure, she snatches up two kitchen knives from her belt, twirls them around with both hands, then resheathes them.
"All better now!" she hoots. "Hard to believe you've gone from one of the more hopeless examinees at the Hunter Exam to my own personal hero, Leorio!"
"That's Dr. Paladiknight to you." He makes sure to wink to soften the impact of his words. "Listen, the last thing Greed Island needs is for you to perform below optimal level and for your otherworldly culinary creations to suffer as a consequence. So if you encounter any more issues at your catering job, come visit me again."
"Sure thing, Doc!"
Armed with a prescription, Menchi leaves. He's alone, updating the Gourmet Hunter's patient record, when another familiar voice reaches his ears. "It's always lovely to see the owner of my favorite heartbeat by far."
The singsong quality of that voice is unmistakable. Leorio is beaming even before he glances up and spots the petite woman standing by the door. "Melody, it's been a while. How have you been holding up?"
Melody's smile is as gentle as it's ever been. "Things are going wonderfully. I don't know whether you've heard from Basho, but I'm currently working in the Shiso Tree area."
"That's where the game's starting point is, right?"
She nods. "I've been preoccupied with composing tutorial music and an opening theme suitable to Eta's specifications."
"That's cool. You really are the coolest woman I know."
"That's high praise, coming from you. Basho tells me you've been mingling with a multitude of women these days."
Reddening, he scratches the back of his neck. "It's just the way we men unwind after long days of slaving away at work. I'm not as lecherous as Basho makes me out to be."
"Didn't think you were. And even if you actually were, I wouldn't think any less of you for being that way. You're forgetting my former line of work. A vast majority of men within the mafia speak openly about their conquests. A high body count, in both senses of the phrase, is a badge of honor among my colleagues at Nostrade."
Imagining Melody's mafia associates — or one of them in particular — sleeping around in an effort to fit in leaves a sour taste in Leorio's mouth. He changes the subject. "So what are you doing here?"
"Eta tasked me with fetching some medicine. I thought I'd also pick up something to soothe my aching muscles while I'm here. Serving as a full-time musician is surprisingly demanding, both physically and psychologically."
"Want me to give you a check-up? I can prescribe you something better if I have a handle of what specific ailment is bothering you."
"That won't be necessary," she tells him. "I dropped by the pharmacy before coming here. I purchased this over-the-counter balm that Kurapika always uses for his chronic migraines. He mentioned once that it also relieves other sorts of muscle pains. This feature makes the medicine doubly useful to the boss, given that he can't control how or where he falls during his frequent fainting episodes."
Leorio's next words burst from his mouth in a rush before he can stop himself. "Kurapika has chronic migraines? And he's fainting on a frequent basis too? This is the first time I'm hearing about any of this stuff! Who the hell is taking care of that guy when I'm —" He bites his bottom lip before he can blurt out too much.
"You haven't been keeping in touch with him, Leorio? I presumed you'd be the first one he'd consult about matters such as these since you're both a physician and his best friend."
Best friend. Melody's utterance of this phrase is an inadvertent slap to the face. If he ever merited a title as intimate as Kurapika's best friend, he's long since lost that status after all the years of radio silence between them.
He tries his best to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "That Kurapika. He's way too busy leading Nostrade to waste time with nobodies like me. As his right-hand woman, you should know better than anyone that he prioritizes his work and his Blacklist Hunter missions above all else."
Communication is a two-way street, and Leorio hasn't tried calling or writing Kurapika either. But Melody doesn't need to know the specifics of their estrangement, does she?
"So when did you last meet Kurapika?" Melody inquires.
"Long ago. Doesn't matter now."
"You must miss him something awful, though surely not as badly as he misses you."
He shrugs. "Hey, if he's thriving except for his frequent bouts of sickness, then I'd gladly wish him the best from afar. Missing him won't help him achieve his dreams or help me attain mine."
What Leorio doesn't mention is that he met Kurapika last night, in a way. Every time he can remember his dreams, Kurapika is present in some capacity.
Sometimes, the Kurapika in Leorio's dreamscape reenacts the feverish motions of their last encounter. He's beside Leorio, beneath him, above him, around him, inside him.
More often, however, Kurapika is simply an elusive golden presence. He lingers on the edges of fitful dreams, just beyond the reach of Leorio's fingertips.
It's not as if he's seen Kurapika in the flesh again. He doesn't even keep a picture of his former friend. He's long since replaced the one in his frame with a photograph of Killua, his sister Alluka, and Gon, which the latter sent Leorio along with a letter detailing the trio's adventures as they traveled around the world. Leorio, in the process of tying loose ends before his move to Greed Island, dashed off concise responses to all Gon's queries in his missive. Leorio evaded any questions relating to Kurapika, of course.
So he hasn't laid eyes on the real Kurapika in recent times. He hasn't inhaled the cinnamon scent of Kurapika's shampoo. He hasn't heard Kurapika's appealing voice, whether over the phone or whispered against his ear. He hasn't coasted the creamy skin of Kurapika's back with reverent fingertips. He hasn't dipped his tongue into that mouth tasting strongly of cherry-flavored hard candy — the stress of Kurapika's successive promotions within Nostrade's ranks had gotten him hooked on tobacco, but he was trying to quit with the aid of spun sugar and nicotine patches.
Logically, Leorio has no reason to be daydreaming about Kurapika to this extent. But his meeting with Melody in the afternoon — with all the mentions of their mutual friend — somehow rewired his brain to be bursting with that blond hair, those brown eyes on the cusp of maroon, and the brief lapses from their shared language into the Kurta dialect in moments of extreme emotion.
Every day, Leorio endeavors to lock up all the details he cherishes about his favorite person in a secret compartment of his chest. Sometimes, a flash of a remembrance flies out of its own accord. Yet he always manages to suppress it and snuff out whatever pesky feelings accompany his momentary weakness, whether nostalgia, longing, or regret.
Until tonight, that is. He's backsliding farther in this moment than he ever has. In these circumstances, his usual whiskey won't cut it. Lady Absinthe may just have the remedy for him.
After he's guzzled enough of the green spirit at the bar, he woozily whirls around to face all the action. What he needs now is a lady of another sort to straighten out the colorful chaos of his thoughts.
No, two ladies would be a better distraction than one. He can snag an easy NPC and screw her in the bathroom, then return to Wildin to scout a second target with whom he can spend the night. He's done a double feature once before so he knows it's possible. He just has to work fast and smart.
Of course, the green fairy fluttering around his ears may have other ideas. Does he have any choice except to surrender his fate to her whims, whatever they may be?
More Author's Notes:
To access an interactive/playable part of the story, check out the version posted on Archive of Our Own (AO3 username: lemonpika).