perfectlygoodjapanese | In Which A Japanese Dating Sim Is Played

Ladies and Gentlemen! I present to you tonight a true gem, a real treat. From the sandy shores of far-off Japan comes a game of a truly spectacular nature. Indeed, it defies description alone, but for you, gentle readers, I shall endeavor to educate and elucidate. Tonight, I give you....

London Detective Story

We begin our evening in the dark. The default name for the young lady you play is "Jane", but since I found that boring as hell, I went with Ellery, in honor of Ellery Queen, a rival detective. But since just plain "Ellery" won't do, I added a few extra 'y's, just to make it sound like the characters were whining every time her name popped on screen. We join Elleryyyy at home in the middle of the night, listening to weird noises in her house.

Eloquent girl.

So Miss Elleryyyy has been hearing a scratching, tapping noise inside her walls every night. I'm going to imagine it's raccoons.

... Creepy, sentient raccoons.

So Elleryyyy, suitably freaked out, calls out to the noise just in case it's her dead husband's ghost. Though, to be honest, I'd probably call out too. You never know, and it's nice to cover all the bases.

Oh, it's just a nervous breakdown! Sweet!!

In true otome fashion, Elleryyyy goes on to wax poetical on the nature of death and such. It's all pretentious, but since she's in mourning for her dead husband, I give her a pass. The next morning, we meet Elleryyy for the first time. After a rough night of sleep listening to probably raccoons, she sighs.

Jesus christ, was there some creepy stalker in my walls?!

Ellery gives a flustered non-answer to the weirdo, whose name is 'James'. As a side note, I'm going to pretend she's clutching a rope of garlic around her neckline just in case the house is infested with vampires. We're covering all our bases!

You've been here for FIVE MINUTES and I didn't even recognize you at first. No, I don't think 'boredom' enters the equation.

So we find that James Morris here is her next door neighbor and is always skulking around trying to 'be friends' with Elleryyyy. Elleryyyy, contrary to alerting the cops to this guy's presence, finds him a nice sort of chap to be around.

Comin' on a hair too strong, James. They make small talk and we find that James is not only a painter but works at a newspaper. But hey, a workin' man, that's respectable. if I wan't so absolutely DEAD SET on dating Sherlock Holmes, I might try for this guy's route.

...What.

She just came out of mourning for her husband! Have a little tact, you bum artist!!
Elleryyyy says the same thing.

Oh Jesus, he's the guy scurrying around in the walls at night, isn't he. He tells me, Dr. Phil style, that means I'm ready to move on, but it just comes across as him practically panting to get under my pink frilly skirt.

This is a very clunky proposal, Bum Artist. Incidentally, it looks like you're having chest pains. Have you been drinking your own paint to survive?

You are really not helping your case here, Bum Artist. Elleryyyy demurs again, politely trying to tell him that she's still in mourning for her dead husband.

Bum Artist, please stop being creepy.

Apparently not gonna happen! And so we come across the first decision I get to make: strip and 'model' for Bum Artist, or live to see another day. I choose to not have him draw me like one of his French girls, partially because he's seriously weirding me out, but mostly because I am keeping my eyes on the prize: SHERLOCK HOLMES.

Admittedly the face Bum Artist makes when I turn him down is pretty great. Combined with the constant slurring of the name makes this truly sweet.

I'm going to die in this game, aren't I. Man, this IS a Sherlock Holmes game. What's the betting Bum Artist is just a cover and this guy's actually Moriarty?

Now that I think about it, it makes sense. Jim Moriarty, James Morris. Dammit, next play-through I'm going after the criminal mastermind.

The doorbell rings, breaking up slightly tense air. Bum Artist continues to be a creeper, though.

I inform him I am. If this lady had more balls she'd inform Bum Artist it's none of his business. We open the door to meet...

!
!!
!!!

THAT'S SHERLOCK HOLMES AND I'M MRS. HUDSON?!?!?!?

Oh god. This game. It's going to make me ship Holmes/Hudson. What.

I cannot pause long to marvel over this COMPLETELY unprecedented turn of events, for another gentleman comes into the door.

This man with the impressive ponytail and the ugly bowler turns out to be

Wow. So these are, as of now, the three 'gettable' gentlemen in the game. Bum Artist (possibly Moriarty), Ponytail Watson, and SHERLOCK HOLMES.

Awkward highly functioning sociopath, you will be mine.

Nope, Holmes and Watson aren't "a thing" which means that Sherlock will be mine. They're there because Mrs. Hudson has a room to rent, but only one. Personally, I think the best way to solve this is a fight to the death with broken pool cues, but Holmes and Ponytail insist there's no reason they can't be gentlemen.

Bum Artist pipes up again. Aw man, are you still here? Go comb your hair or something, nobody wants you.

... Otome game, if you have Sherlock swing like that I will be horribly disappoint.

Damnit!!

Sherlock, no, keep away from the Bum Artist. He's not that interesting, I promise.

DAMNIT!!

Bum Artist shoots him down cold, however, and Holmes says he's let himself be 'carried away'. Yeah. That's what it was.

I try to kick out my neighbor because I DO want one of these men to live with me.

That is a mighty epic pout you have there, Bum Artist. So why'd you drag me away from people who could give me monthly rent money?

Ohhhhh you're the 47%! Okay, I gotcha.

It's okay, everyone's jealous of Sherlock Holmes. Bum Artist bitches for a bit about he's got pride, damnit, and then turns the focus where it rightly belongs: MRS. HUDSON.

So what if I am?! Afraid someone else is going to catch you stalking me in my walls at night?

That is not an invitation please don't read it as such.

You know that saying about how a liar thinks everyone is constantly lying to him? Yeaaaahhhh...

We get a bit of backstory about Mrs. Hudson's late husband. They inherited the house from Mr. H's aunt when they got married. Mr. H, whose name is Thomas, was only married to Elleryyyy for 3 months before he died in the Victorian equivalent of a car crash.

Mrs. Hudson is like the 1800s version of Beyonce, with those propa dollas.

Bum Artist, I am disappointed in you! Elleryyyy can lodge whoever she wants! Stop supporting the male patriarchy like that! Aren't artists supposed to be progressive?

But this is Victorian England, and the patriarchy is strong, and Elleryyyy explains women don't trust her.

Moral of the story: bitches be crazy.

Bum Artist apologizes for not noticing Elleryyy'y's financial woes, which means he's really bad at stalking. We can chalk it up to the paint he must be drinking to survive. I excuse myself back to the drawing room because I have two strangers potentially rifling through my shit.

That's very kind, Bum Artist! I'm almost feeling nice towards you!

Aaaaaand there it goes. That didn't last long.

I ditch him and go back to my potential ~~sugar daddies~~ tenants.

Sherlock, if that suit is made of crushed velvet, I am out. I'm sorry. What is that even. I babble about how I'm a terrible host for making them hang around like that, which is true.