Sleuth Home - Detective Dominique Francon

Tough and Smart
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Magnifying Glass Plaid Scarf

Completed Missions

  • Packages Delivered: 0
  • Overdue Books Returned: 0
  • Nemeses Captured: 0
  • Secret Plans Revealed: 0
  • Artifacts Unearthed: 0
  • Journal Pages Found: 0
  • Brass Rings Won: 0

Detective Biography

Dominique Ayn Francon, 26 years old.
Former burlesque dancer, former reporter, and currently employed as a private detective after years of studying in London.

What Dominique wants you to know is that her legs are long. They travel on for miles, peachy satin skin, ending in boots laced to her ankles. You follow the leg upward, you trace the seam of her stocking, your touch ends at the hem of her skirt, black and clinging to her body. It moves with her, in stark contrast to the stiffness of her blouse, buttoned all the way up her neck and buttoned again at her wrists.

What Dominique wants you to know is that there are things she'll never tell you, but she won't mind you spending the rest of your life figuring them out. This is evident in the push of her breasts against the fabric of her blouse, the almost-strain of the buttons. The perfume she will apply to her hidden wrists, behind her ears; the perfume she combs through her dark hair. She will torture you with her blatant virginity, the impossibly brazen prudishness announced by her stiff posture, crossed arms, the habitual cross of one ankle over the other.

What Dominique doesn't want you to know is how many times her mother pushed her silver hairbrush through her hair, and how, when her mother was killed, Dominique cut their hair from her head and lay in the coffin beside her mother, tying their wrists together with the long locks.

What Dominique doesn't want you to know is the hatred she feels toward her father, the architect Guy Francon. She won't tell you about the day she ran away, bringing only two dresses and a hair bow. She won't tell you how she would slowly undress for strangers in dark rooms, telling them, "Look but don't touch," earning only enough money for bread and water. She won't tell you about the trip to London on a rat-infested ocean liner, or about the sordid papers she wrote to pay her way through university.

What Dominique doesn't want you to know is that the cheap photographs of a woman standing beneath a naked bulb in a room with cracked walls is her, not some lonely Parisian doppelganger. She is the lonely Parisian girl, the lonely German girl, the lonely girl in London who holds her coat to tight to arrive at a job where the only requirement is that she remove her coat.

Dominique's only life is in her present: tight-lipped, tight-legged, stockinged, gun-wielding, wide-eyed, untrusting.

She isn't lonely, she insists. She is just alone, and that is how she likes it. She is back home again, New York, and when old friends find her she smiles only with her lips, and the smile never reaches her eyes.

"Don't you dance anymore, Dominique?" they ask.

"I danced a few different dances before I came into town. I'm finished with bending my body for profit. What a common endeavor," she scoffs.

But there is a hint of dance in her steps as she walks away, her skirt carefully guarding the secrets she will never let be unearthe


Order o Socrates:  Poor(-3)
Arcanum Brthrhd:  Good(10)
Cosa Nostra:  Poor(-3)
Eastern Triads:  Neutral(0)
Circle of Light:  Neutral(0)
Green Hand:  Neutral(0)
The Tea Steepers:  Neutral(0)
Shangri La Tigers:  Neutral(0)



Arch Villains

None Caught

Books Collected