Sapphic Sorority Mystery

Thirty stories of glass shine in downtown Tampa, reflecting the overcast sky that has the whole state of Florida worried. The Football Ultimate Television Association, or FUTA, does not own this building. All the same, their two brightest stars smile down at the glossy lobby: Riley Jameson and Adela Salazar adorn sixty-foot banners that are reflected in the gray tile floor, already dirty and wet from people tracking water in as the workday begins.

Not all of the building is as modern and chic as the lobby. The break room on the twentieth floor still has those gross foam ceiling panels, carpet, and walls that were once white but have begun to go yellow.

The room is superficially clean, smelling of strong coffee and a whiff of overly strong perfume.

In the doorway stands a slim blonde in her forties whose soccer mom energy is offset by her tired, somewhat severe bearing. She wears a black skirt and a white blouse. It’s flattering but businesslike. She’s nothing if not practical, at least in this building. Her name is Annette, and it might as well be a mononym like Madonna; nobody ever calls her anything else.

She is the COO of FUTA. She places one hand on her hip and adjusts her glasses with the other as she watches the girl at the other end of the room.

Oblivious to Annette’s presence, the girl is deep in the cupboard underneath the coffee maker, only her hindquarters visible as she rummages. Her name is Ava, and her dangling lanyard identifies her as a FUTA intern.

Annette takes in the view impassively. This brunette is only an intern here, but online she’s only one step shy of an influencer. Ava isn’t particularly serious about it, but her earthy charisma, significant natural bustiness, and a talent for taking flattering photos have given her a strong Instagram game.

She’s not quite as glamorous at this moment, although her little khaki shorts and snug crop top make it fairly clear why people seem to like pictures of her so much.

“OK,” Ava mutters. “Oh,” she adds under her breath as she bumps her head on the way out. She’s not clumsy; it’s just a horrible cabinet. “Jeez. OK. Oh, man.” She withdraws from the cabinet and gets to her knees, rubbing her head.

She still hasn’t noticed Annette, who leans against the doorframe. Annette typically doesn’t pay much notice to younger women who lack certain physical characteristics, but Ava has come to FUTA from that sorority in Gurlberg. The one with all the controversy and murders. CCL is as flamboyantly horny as FUTA is. Maybe that makes them kindred spirits, at least in some ways.

“Kid,” Annette says.

Ava turns in surprise with an unreasonable amount of bounce and jiggle in her generously heavy chest. It’s a pity she doesn’t play soccer; Annette can’t help but feel as though she’d have been popular in FUTA.

“Oh,” Ava says. “Ms. Annette. Hi.” She gets to her feet, holding a large container of creamer. “What do you need?”

Annette watches Ava fill the creamer jar beside the coffee pot. She’s just doing her job; Ava’s a grad student, but FUTA has her stuffing napkin dispensers, proofreading emails, and cleaning up spills. They could be getting more out of her, but that’s not the problem today.

“Let’s chat.” Annette shuts the door and locks it, brushing past Ava to get to the coffee. She pours for herself. “Want one?”

“Uh, am I in trouble?”

“No.”

“Then sure.”

“Let’s sit.”

Annette gazes across the table at the girl.

“I’m not a marketing person,” Annette tells her flatly. “We have a thing this weekend. The person who would’ve been the…”

Ava smiles expectantly.

“…gopher has Covid.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. It’s like the third time this year.” Annette takes off her glasses and sighs, then blows on her coffee. “I need…”

“Loyal, discreet, **** labor?”

Annette smiles and looks away. “I told them to stop getting smart interns.”

“Right?”

“Yes, that’s what I need. What are you making here right now?”

“Twenty an hour.”

“I’ll make it fifty for the weekend. You’re on the clock all the time. I don’t know how the math works out, but that should be good, right?”

Ava tries to look cool. She clears her throat soberly.

“Uh, I guess,” she replies, self-consciously rubbing her feet together under the table. She wonders if Annette noticed her old, battered Nikes. She does some math in her head. This is like six car payments or more in one weekend of work. Or two months of rent. This is actually huge. Annette has her attention. “What are we doing?”

“Uh, probably a lot of ****. Fetching ibuprofen. Carrying luggage. It’ll be hell,” Annette says frankly, waving a hand.

“I’m confused.”

“You know Vivien Corbin?”

Ava thinks. “The actress?”

Annette nods. “Right. She’s a nepo baby. She stopped acting as soon as she inherited. That’s why you haven’t seen her in anything in a while. Anyway, we go back a little. She doesn’t act anymore, but she likes to get involved in a little venture capitalism. Not because she needs to be richer, but because she likes it when people debase themselves for her.”

“Wow. That sounds super healthy.”

“It’s not. She’s kind of a Weinstein. Lots of power tripping and using all that money and stuff to get sexual favors and stuff.”

“Is that what…?” Ava trails off, pointing worriedly at herself.

Annette shakes her head. “No. That’s not what I need you for. I really do just need you as a valet and general servant. Not just for me, but for our party.”

“Party?”

Annette nods. “I’m getting there. Look, we’ve done this a few times. Viv doesn’t just pick projects to invest in. You have to go pitch them to her. She uses it as an excuse to do these big parties, and she loves it when everyone’s stabbing each other in the back and groveling for her approval. And money. You get the idea.”

“This is sounding so magical and wholesome. Not stressful at all.”

“A hundred an hour.”

“Sold,” Ava says.

“So we’ve got two FUTA projects to pitch and I’ve heard there’ll be some other people there. Some Olympic gymnasts or swimmers or something. Viv has a type. Young. Hot.”

“You’re going to ask me to do weird shit. I know you are,” Ava says. “Like carrying a secret message or something.”

“I don’t know about any secret messages, but if I think of any, yes. That’s you.”

“And I don’t have to sleep with the beautiful movie star?”

“Kid, she’s my age.”

“So?”

Annette snorts and looks away. “I don’t care what you do.”

“OK. This is sounding OK.”

“Yeah, I liked crazy shit when I was your age too.”

“You really don’t like having to beg this woman for money.”

“Would you?”

“No, I get it,” Ava assures her.

“Maybe it’ll be fun. I mean, if you enjoy wanton carnage. Coke helps.”

Ava stares, a little taken aback by Annette’s candor. Then she shrugs. “I’m in.”

“Then go pack a bag as fast as you can and get back here.”

“OK.” Ava looks at her untouched coffee, then gets to her feet, head spinning. “Um, where are we going?”

“One of her houses. Just pack for the weekend.”

“What should I be wearing for this?”

“I don’t care. Carry the bags. Do your job. Come naked if you want.”

“And my job is… servant. Maidservant. Handmaiden. That one sounds best,” Ava says.

“Kid, shut up and pack. We need to go.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Ava is 23 years old and mature enough to say Ma’am instead of Mommy like she wants to. She was a CCL girl, after all. Now… she’s a CCL woman.

SAPPHIC SORORITY **** MYSTERY

Ava lets herself into her rather pitiful North Tampa studio. It’s been a little sloppy since The Breakup. She steps over some wine bottles and discarded clothing to get to her closet, where she grabs her two weekend bags.

She takes a deep breath, considering the contents of her closet. She has just enough clean clothes to survive the weekend. Of course, there’s also the red garment in the plastic bag hanging in the corner, behind everything else. It has never been worn.

Ava stares at it impassively for a moment, then remembers: handmaiden. She snorts and lifts it out, holding it up to the light. It’s a dumb, short, tight, overly sexy Chinese quipao-style maid costume. Obviously, Ava had specific plans for it before The Breakup. It’s never been worn.

She’s been on her own in Tampa for a while. You can take the girl out of CCL, but you can’t take CCL out of the girl.

Her interview outfit is clean too: a pencil skirt and blouse. Not quite as over the top, but still flattering.

Ava holds up both outfits. Sexy professionalism is good, but flamboyant attention-seeking is the most FUTA thing that anyone can do. No, fuck that. The interview outfit is uncomfortable. Everything’s too tight. It did get her a coveted paid internship, though.

If she’s going to be running herself ragged being a servant, she can at least be comfortable. And it’s so humid.

Ava picks up a pair of skimpy dolphin shorts and another crop top. She’s just going to be part of the background at this thing anyway. Annette doesn’t care, but clothes affect perception and there will be other people at this thing.

Comfort, low-key sex appeal - Short dolphin shorts and halter crop top

Or

Flashy, over the top sex appeal - Sexy Halloween Chinese maid cosplay

Like it says in the title, someone will die at some point, and it will not be clear who the killer is. Key clues will be unavoidable, and you’ll have to distinguish them from red herrings. Your choices may affect how much evidence Ava is exposed to as well as how much action she gets (or peeps at). There will be two opportunities to get a grand prize: by having the best voting record and by being the first to correctly identify the killer and motive. You’ll make your accusation by DM so others don’t see it, but that’s off in the future. New chapters every Saturday barring anything unexpected and you’ll want to get your votes in by Mon/Tues if you want them to count.