Create-A-Slut

Author's Note: I thought I would write something quick that's a little silly but fun for myself about this game. You can get the girls to wear some pretty ridiculous outfits using Create-a-Soul, and I love writing about how you can incorporate non-sensical aspects of a game into writing. Note that I'm not trying too hard to make this a writing masterpiece, it's a quickie. Also, some might be misled by the title into thinking there's more going on than there is... sorry if so, the title felt appropriate. This chapter has NO SEX. Originally written August 2nd, 2008.


She'd heard about a new weapon she could pick up, a new umbrella she could use as a sheath for her master's blade. It had the power to dazzle, a legendary creation of beauty. The rumors hadn't told her wrong. She marveled at the craftsmanship. When her enemies faced her in battle, none would stand a chance, captivated by the intricate design that turned even something as innocuous as an umbrella into a work of art. Vivid dark blue with a pattern of gold, it would feel divine in her hands. All she need do was extricate it from its confines among the ruins in the Distant Marsh.

The barrier she stepped into proved a suspicion she had, that a thing of such beauty would not come easy, but the trap had a much different nature that she expected. Traps usually set off poison darts, ground that broke away to fire pits, vines that swung boulders at that spot.

They never, never made you stand stock still.

Her muscles twitched, and her eyes sprang open when her arms down to the muscles moved as if tugged along like a string-less marionette.

"What...'s happening to me!"

First, she stood upright, legs slightly parted and both hands partly out to her sides. Only seconds afterward, one leg pulled back until she stood on it with the end of her toes, and her head turned to her right while her elbow bent to leave her left hand grazing inches from the side of her chin. At last, her limbs came to rest in an awkward stance, her right leg hanging back and her arms wholly outstretched.

"What kind of sorcery IS this?"

It had to be magic, magic or the effects of some powerful drug. That served as the sole explanation she could gather when, without a hint of fore-coming, her clothing, hair style and hair color all shifted in an instant. Frozen, she could see from the lower rims of her eyes that she now had a more fanciful look. What she could not see, she felt. Silky gloves, an ornate hat, laced stockings and a skirt and ruffled shirt to match. Strands of her newly black hair blew into her eyes.

"What torment are you playing at now? These clothes are not practical in the least! Do you intend to insult me by making me wear English clothing over the garb of my homeland?"

Her pleas seemingly appealed to that power when she felt her hat and gloves fade away. She only regretted her desire for a change when whoever felt the call to torment her for her greed took liberties.

"This isn't what I meant!" she remained still in her pose, shamefully left with... "I deny the high-born look of the English, but that does not make me a slag! No woman prefers standing outside in her dainties to wearing ill-suited clothes."

She would have felt relieved if the power awash over her had granted her real clothes. Instead, she felt her bra and panties change into a red scaled bikini, one string going around to her back and another looping around the back of her neck, golden rings connecting the cups of the top and sides of the bottom.

A belt of knives popped into existence, slung over her right shoulder.

"A... ribbon?" she uttered when she felt, and narrowly saw, it adorn her neck, the two puffed balls fluttering in the wind over her cleavage. She felt a new hat on her head next, and sometimes, the tassles on the end of the Raven Hat whipped the side of her face. It wasn't until jester shoes graced her feet that she came to grasp what that power intended.

"I'll never continue to wear this.. this.. trash! I refuse to become a laughingstock of warriors."

Even as she said this, the final pieces flicked onto her arms. She could feel them, though that was nothing to the dread of having to hear one of them. She now wore some strange gloves, padded on the back. When the large bells on her new armbands jingled, she groaned. Some new lacy fabric trailed up to just below her knees, with some brand of ribboned band keeping it at its proper height.

"My master trained me well in the art of swordsmanship! My skill makes me worthy of the highest respect, and I deserve clothes to match. You cannot possibly expect me to fight in this mockery-"

She choked back her words. Why, she did not know. Her head felt fuzzed. Dizzy. Her muscles not once budged from their state, not to careen even an inch. It passed as quickly as it instilled upon her.

"...You cannot expect me to fight in this mockery... without the right colors. The color scheme should suit me just as well as the clothes themselves, perhaps more! Purple and red will do nicely. And do something about my hair, it does not sit right to have such a fancy style and color when wearing something this skimpy."

Her wish was granted. She lost the coiffed look she preferred to her hair, but simply long hair beat out her recently updone styled hair by a lot. A few strands of a band wavered in her eyes to let her see the change to color as it progressed, phasing between red and purple, gold and green, any color of the rainbow and colors not, represented until it stopped on...

"Pink?! You cannot mean to leave me like this! Such an unnatural hair color would leave me looking like a freak, and I've had enough of that treatment in my life. Do not test my tolerance of human ignorance. Change it back to blonde this instant!"

She instead caught the changes happening on her bikini to match her hair. What madness! Though it granted clothes well suited to her needs, it sought to undo that by giving them an awkward color. How could she expect to perform on the battlefield wearing an outfit of pink with all the bells and details made gold?

...Very well! Why had she thought that red and purple would work best? Pink and gold were the perfect match for her ridiculous ensemble. Her enemies would succumb to fits of laughter the instant she jingled her way to them. An excellent tactic! Why did it take this strangely beneficial trap to reveal to her such an obvious method of combat?

To her surprise, her limbs snapped out of their puppet stasis, allowing her her first full look at her joke of a suit. All was as she thought, but she admired that the padding on the back of her hands with her new gloves turned out to have a cat paw pattern. She strutted toward her prize weapon from the generous spirit of Distant Marsh, one leg crossing over the other step by step. The bells bounced and jingled about softly, and upon gripping the end of her new umbrella, she pushed her blade within its hilt to confirm that, yes, it fit snugly.

With so much offered to her, Setsuka knew some catch had to enter... and this must have been it, because the instant she got her hands on it, her hand jerked the umbrella off the blade and made for another one. An... unusual... one. She saw the face of a lizard on the end, and it had a shade of green to match.

"I don't want this monstrosity!" Setsuka lamented. "This has no semblance of art or beauty to it! My body-"

She felt a light tick go off in her head, and when she looked at it again, she saw it with new eyes and smirked. "...My body would do well to have a weapon as laughable as the clothes that outfit it. I see it has an in-born power called Strong Impact. With that and other great skills, I should remain an enemy of fearsome skill."

With such a generous power gracing her with its offerings, she expected great things to come to her. She never thought, as it faded onto the hilt, that she would receive...

"...Hysterical Strength? All that does is increase my skills opposite of how well I'm able to block attacks..."

A new one faded into view.

"Appeal? Again, I'm not some prostitute. I have no reason to make myself seem more attractive to men!"

Once the initial shock wore off, the new skills set into her mind.

"Yes... I can see now. There's no shame in taking advantage of the weakness of a man's hormones. That makes victory all the more likely! In fact..."

She smiled. Why hadn't she thought of this approach sooner? She could strut her stuff toward any man, and he would fall to his knees in both laughter and arousal.

That still left women.

She pondered, and came to a quick thought. "If I can't reach the women with my charms..." she deduced, "... the only way to weaken them further is to make them laugh more!"

She had a taunt. Before, she only used it to goad her opponents into a rage where they would become open to attacks. Now that she wore such clothing, the meaning behind her words would change entirely! To be sure, she had to practice it once. She stepped back once, her hand going over her mouth as she said...

"This is ridiculous!"

Perfect. From the mouth of the old Setsuka, it came off boastful. Now, it sounded absurd and surreal.

Pride swelled within. She imagined Taki, the normally serious and composed warrior ninja, brought to her knees by Setsuka for the first time with her new weapon. Strong-willed Taki, powerless against the sluttish joke of a wardrobe that made her look better suited to the life of a court jester than a warrior. Setsuka would saunter up to her, breasts heaving and swaying, while Taki gasped for breath. In the eyes of a woman like Taki, her sexy strut would make it that much worse, the ninja immobilized by the absurdity made of pink and gold, bells and cotton.

But that paled next to what she saw for Mitsurugi, the lone downfall of her master. She had the means for revenge in her hands. He would laugh... at first. His blade would slow, his senses dimmed by lust and amusement. After enough taunts from her, Mitsurugi would succumb to one weakness or the other, laughter or desire. No matter which, she would stand triumphant above him. The tip of her lizard blade would kiss his neck, the man too undone to take the threat of its sharp edge seriously. In one decisive cut, the last sight of the legendary samurai would be that of a scantily clad, pink-haired jester girl laughing at his defeat.

She checked her water's reflection as she carried out the taunt again, admiring the sight as her many bells jingled.