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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

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Wound By a Key

I was given the opportunity to collaborate with the marvelous, amazing, talented, fantastic @spielzeugkaiser for this story/piece and it was SO MUCH FUN! Thank you for drawing something so amazing, thank you for sharing it with me, and thank you for this fun collab!

Based on “The Music Box Song” from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

---

The first thing Geralt noticed, as he led Roach down the main road of the little hamlet, was how oddly quiet everything was. There were a few people meandering in the marketplace speaking in low tones, but otherwise the midday streets were empty. It was unusual. Especially for springtime.

He heard the small pocket of villagers speaking as he passed them, their curious and nervous gazes following his every step.

“Do you think that’s the White Wolf?”

“Look at his hair! Who else could it be?”

“Do you think he’ll be able to break the spell?”

He reached the door of the town’s only inn and tied Roach’s reins to the hitching post outside. He gave her an affectionate nuzzle and a few quick pats before ducking through the low wooden door, the villagers’ pointed conversation pushed to the back of his mind for now.

He needed food and lodging, first.

“Afternoon,” the innkeep nodded. Geralt nodded back and took a seat at the bar. The rotund, middle-aged man turned to face him, not a glimmer of fear or apprehension tainted his welcoming expression. “What can I do for ya, traveler?”

“I’ll have a tankard of ale, please; and stew if you have it. I also need a room for the night and a stable for my horse.”

“Two full pieces of silver will get you all of that and a bath to boot,” the man offered. Geralt gave a small, grateful smile and pulled two silvers and a copper from his purse, setting them on the counter directly in front of the beaming innkeep.

“As a thank you for your unexpected but welcome kindness.”

“Appreciated, sir.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt was just bringing the first spoonful of venison stew towards his mouth when his gaze caught on something behind the bar. His eyes narrowed and he looked down at the food suspiciously. Perhaps the man had been a little too kind to a Witcher. Maybe the kindness in his eyes really was just a well-practiced act, after all.

“Where’d you get that lute?” Geralt asked. He’d almost asked - Where’d you get Jaskier’s lute? - but that would have revealed too much.

“Oh, right. I had nearly forgotten about the lute,” the man frowned and shook his head. The Witcher caught a whiff of relief and sadness drifting off the stranger and grew even more confused. “That’s a tragic tale, really. Not good for a traveler’s appetite.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a Witcher. I’ve seen and heard a few unpleasant things in my life.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” the innkeep chuckled. “But that’s just because I’m not a very observant person. If you’re a Witcher you might just be able to help the lad out. Would you care to hear the bard’s tale and see if it’s something your Witcher magic could fix?”

Geralt nodded and took a bite of stew, convinced that the man wasn’t actually trying to rob or kill him (or both). “Go ahead, then. Who is this bard and what horrible fate befell him?”

“A few weeks ago, just after the second thaw, children from the village started going missing at night. They’d come back at midday, their faces pale and their limbs heavy like lead weights. They would sleep for days before they could get out of bed again, and they were incredibly weak. When that bard wandered through on his way to find his friend, he heard of our blight and followed a child into the woods one evening, determined to solve the mystery and stop the madness.”

“Hmm.”

“Turns out it was the Fae -” Geralt’s head snapped up. “- And they were making the children dance all through the night for their entertainment. The faeries would make them dance until the poor little dears were totally exhausted and only had enough strength to wander back home. The bard offered to dance and play for them for two full days in exchange for the childrens’ freedom… and they agreed.”

“Fuck.”

“You sound invested in the lad’s wellbeing,” the innkeep raised an eyebrow. “I can take you to see him, if you’d like.”

“He’s here?”

“Sort of,” the man rubbed his hand up and down the back of his neck and the scent of anxiety spiked through the air. Geralt shook it off, determined to finish his meal before attending to his foolish friend and companion. “The Fae weren’t exactly happy about his interloping, you see. They accepted his terms and let him play for the full two days, and the children have been safe ever since, but they didn’t return him the way he left. Apparently the faeries decided that it would be more fun to curse him a little bit and watch the aftermath play out.”

“What is a little bit, exactly?”

Geralt had never heard of just a little bit of cursing. There were either dire consequences or death on the other end of curses and neither one were fitting ends for Jaskier’s colorful, too-short life.

“It would be best if you finished your food, Sir Witcher. If you’re as close to the bard as I think you are, it’ll spoil your dinner to see him like this.”

---

The alderman ushered his two impromptu visitors inside and closed the door quietly behind them. He gave Geralt a slow, calculating once over. “So I take it you’re a Witcher, eh?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve come to break the fae’s curse on this bard?”

“Depends on the curse.”

“Apparently he knows the lad,” the innkeeper added helpfully. Geralt glowered and pulled his hood back away from his face.

“I haven’t actually seen him yet, but it’s very likely that this bard and I are acquaintances.”

“Right this way, then. I’ve kept him out of the children’s hands. I didn’t know if the singing and dancing routine would still make him tired or not and I wanted to be safe; for all the help he did to rescue them from those dastardly faeries, the villagers certainly seem to enjoy turning the key and making him perform.”

Geralt grew more and more worried with every word that passed through the alderman’s lips. Singing and dancing routine? Turning the key? Making him perform? What had the faeries done to his stupidly caring friend in return for his bravery? What kind of curse had they placed on the silly, fun-loving human?

The three men crossed through the manor’s sitting room and dining room and into a clean, empty storage room that ran against the very back of the building. Positioned in the center of the floor was an enormous, intricate music box. The figure standing up from the top was facing away from them, so Geralt took a moment to inspect the stand itself.

The square box was carved around the bottom edges with buttercup blossoms and had paintings across all four sides, depicting the childish, storybook version of Jaskier approaching the Fae in the woods, his two nights of dancing and singing, his transformation, and, as they came around to the front panel at last, his imprisonment. The doll on top of the stand was Jaskier; or it had been, once upon a time.

The bard looked only slightly different in his current accursed form, but it was enough to unnerve the usually stoic Witcher. The blue of Jaskier’s eyes was misty and glazed over. Glass, Geralt realized. He suppressed a horrified shudder at the thought. His eyes look like they’re made of glass. His skin was pale and when Geralt reached out to caress his arm (bent stiffly at the elbow much like a jointed doll’s would be) it felt waxy and too-smooth. Inhuman.

Jaskier’s body was bent slightly forward at the waist, both arms resting oddly at his sides with the elbows bent at ninety degrees. Two circles of rouge brightened his cheeks and his eyes had been lightly lined to make them seem wider and more doll-like. A wreath of colorful flowers had been pinned into his hair and the blue silk doublet Geralt had last seen the bard wearing was nowhere to be found.

The Fae had clearly taken their time with dressing and decorating him. His waist was cinched into a colorful corset-style vest that tied up the front with little blue silk bows and his legs were outfitted in tight-fitting, navy blue breeches that buckled just below the knee. His hose was off-white and complimented the shapely curve of his calves and ankles. He was wearing the buckled, heeled shoes of a nobleman and they shone with polish. There was nothing holding Jaskier up, which meant that the curse itself was keeping him upright and in place.

The Witcher turned to glare at the alderman, his emotions finally boiling over at the sight of his bard’s transformation. “Did the Fae tell anyone how to break the curse?”

“We think the answer is in the song.”

“The song?”

“When you wind the lad up he sings a little song. He’s standing on a music box, after all.”

“Hmm.”

The alderman approached the side of the box and wound the large key jutting out, twisting until he was red faced and the bronze-painted peg would turn no more. He released the key and stepped back to join Geralt and the innkeeper where they stood with their backs against the far wall.

A few soft, tinkling metallic notes played through the room before the doll came to life. Jaskier’s back straightened and his arms reached out towards his audience in jerky little movements. Every time one of his joints extended or shifted there was a loud wrenching sound as the inner workings of the music box manipulated his limbs in time to the melody.

Jaskier’s bright, lilting tenor flowed forth as he danced mechanically atop his pedestal. He turned in a slow circle, his arms reaching up and around as if seeking an embrace as he sang:

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That's wound by a key.

“How can you tell

I'm under a spell?

I'm waiting for love's first kiss!”

Geralt blushed as the doll-Jaskier reached directly out towards the space where the Witcher happened to be standing, almost as if he was reaching out for the true love he sought to break his spell. Geralt’s eyes met briefly with the wax figurine’s and he felt his heart skip a beat. Jaskier is so close and yet he still doesn’t see me. The Witcher gave a heavy sigh and shook his head as the bard continued his automatonlike performance.

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!

“Yearning, yearning

While I'm turning around and around…”

The tune faded away into nothing again and Jaskier fell silent. His torso drooped forward. His hair fell into his eyes and Geralt reached out to move it away without thinking, letting his fingers brush the bard’s painted cheek as he pulled back. “So do you know anyone who could possibly free him? He only has a few days left.”

“What?!” Geralt snapped. He spun to face the innkeep with a thunderous look on his face. “What do you mean!?”

“The curse has to be broken before the end of the month or he’ll be stuck like this forever.”

“Fuck. Why didn’t you tell me that first?” the Witcher snarled. He gazed hopelessly at his friend and clenched his fists at his sides.

It was so much easier to kill monsters. It was so much easier to break curses when they were placed on princesses or nobles or foolish peasants who had meddled where they shouldn’t. But Jaskier had been doing a good deed without being prompted and he had done it all alone without Geralt there for backup or protection. The stupid bard had rescued an entire village’s children by offering himself to the fae and now… now…

Geralt sighed and shook his head. He needed to think. He needed to breathe.

“I’m going to contact some friends and see what we can do,” he finally said. “But first I need rest. May I return to my room at the inn?”

“Aye. Good luck, Witcher.”

“Hmm.”

---

Geralt tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

Two glassy blue eyes kept following his every move, searching for him in the dark.

He knew he had to rescue Jaskier, the only problem was finding someone who loved him enough to break the curse. The Witcher rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. Dawn was only a few hours away and he’d failed to get any sleep or meditate deeply enough to rest. He kept hearing those words, high and breathy, echoing through his head over and over:

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!”

The thought of anyone else kissing Jaskier sent a tight, angry buzzing sensation flickering beneath his skin. He bristled. He frowned. He… He was jealous. The moment Geralt tried to picture Essi Daven or Priscilla or that one foolish Count with ashy-blonde hair and broad shoulders he’d caught the bard with late one night even coming close to kissing Jaskier, the Witcher felt the urge to growl and bare his teeth. He wanted to curl around the music box and snarl at anyone who came too close for his liking. He wanted to wrap Jaskier in his arms and keep him there forever, where he could hear the bard’s heartbeat and feel his warmth.

An unnerving thought.

He’d always been a very possessive lover.

Fuck.

But what if he tried to kiss the bard and the spell didn’t break? Then he might lose Jaskier regardless of whether or not he woke up. If Jaskier’s curse dissipated at the hands of another and he knew that Geralt had kissed him, had acknowledged his love for the bard and faced it head on and failed, then the Witcher might break down forever. Without Jaskier, what reason was there to return to the inn or the campfire at night? Of course there was Roach, but once she died he didn’t have to seek out another…

He could just disappear like many of his Witcher brethren often did.

Geralt groaned and rose to his feet, slipping on his boots and cloak as quietly as possible. He crept through the sleepy town under the blanket of night and snapped the lock off the alderman’s back window. He gripped the lower sill and took a deep, steadying breath before heaving it open.

He had to try, at least.

He had to know.

The Witcher climbed silently into the storage room and walked in a slow circle around the music box. Jaskier was standing perfectly still, the painted smile on his face and the silk flowers in his hair looking as brilliant as ever, even in the darkness. Geralt stood in front of his cursed friend and sighed quietly.

“I wish you didn’t have to find out just how much I care about you like this, Jaskier. I wish I could have told you about my rather prominent and passionate feelings before any of this nonsense had happened. If I fail you now, if you don’t wake up because this love is one-sided, I’m sorry. I want you to know that I’m so incredibly sorry for not being able to love you enough to save your life.”

With his soul bared and his confession carefully whispered into wooden ears, Geralt reached up and placed his palm against the bard’s waxy cheek. He had to stand on tiptoe in order to reach Jaskier’s mouth with his own and the position made him feel strangely vulnerable. He tried not to think about it as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the smooth, painted wooden mouth of the music box doll that had once been his most faithful friend.

He pulled away after a lingering moment of contact, shaking his white hair out of his eyes. A few terrifying seconds ticked past and nothing happened. The Witcher was about to cry out in frustration and disappear out the window again when he heard a shallow breath being drawn. His worried amber gaze snapped up and met, for the first time in far too long, a pair of bright blue irises that flashed with recognition and confusion.

Geralt held out his arms and caught the bard just as he went limp, his body exhausted from being held upright for so many days on end. He felt like a pile of crumpled laundry in the Witcher’s arms, all deadweight and no control over his limbs at all. “Are you alright, Jaskier?”

“Hnn.”

He was still waking up from the spell and likely had no memory of what had happened. Geralt bit back the pang of bitter disappointment that threatened to echo through his heart; he had no real claim over Jaskier and it wasn’t fair to make one now. Not if the bard didn’t remember his declaration.

“Let’s… Let’s get you back to the inn and get you taken care of, Jaskier. I can tell the others about the broken curse in the morning.”

“Do you mean it?” Jaskier rasped. His head lolled against Geralt’s shoulder and he glanced up with tired but frightened eyes, “Do you really love me?”

“Hmm. Yes.”

“Good,” the bard managed to shift closer despite his full-body exhaustion. “I love you, too.”

“No more running off and trying to save people by yourself.”

“Well you aren’t always around to help, Geralt, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’ll be around from now on,” the Witcher asserted. He pressed another quick kiss to the bard’s lips and watched as Jaskier blushed and stuttered in his firm bridal carry. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

---

“Geralt please stop humming that song.”

“I can’t help it! It’s so catchy, it just keeps getting stuck in my head. Will you sing it for me? Maybe that will help.”

“Fine,” the bard muttered, settling down next to the fire with his lute. “Just once.”

“Thank you.”

Geralt sank into his meditative kneel and closed his eyes. A smile played at the corner of his lips and Jaskier pretended not to see it.

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That’s wound by a key.”

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

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The thought of how the first au Cody would react to No Chip au Cody has Consumed my waking thoughts and daydreams

Oh, man. I haven't thought so much about that. I think they have a lot of similar faults, but they kind of blew up in the no chip au in a way that they didn't in the original.

It's kind of subtle until, hopefully, the final thing I posted, but I have a very long laundry list of very small changes that nudged no chip Cody into the 'actually not great parent' zone. I won't go into all of them, but probably the biggest one is the fact that Jango had a much bigger influence in Cody's life due to the fact that Jango felt as if he was training actual warriors who hated Jedi as much as he did instead of just replaceable soldiers. The clones originally kind of scraped and imitated Mandalorian culture, but as most of the clones we see were raised very directly by Jango they are very highly connected with Mandalorian culture (and everything Mandalorian culture is a metaphor for). But actually having a semi-parent gives you weird ideas about what a parent is...

The other biggie is the fact that Cody just basically has a lot more power and more ability to make decisions. His position is important, he's not disposable. His decisions are based on long-term understanding of where they will all be in the future, and he's just working with more information. Cody has goals, and he can't achieve any of them without power. Equally importantly, and which has a big effect in his relationship with Obi-Wan, he does not view himself as subservient to Jedi. No respect for any of 'em (besides, which he will not admit, Qui-Gon). It's why he's so much more openly affectionate to Obi-Wan, far more willing to openly refer to himself as Obi-Wan's parent, and far more dominating of Obi-Wan's life: he views himself as having the right. Originally he thinks of himself as a kind of interloper in the life Obi-Wan 'should' be having, but not here lol. His kid now. Mandalorian forced child acquisition.

Lastly, and this also wasn't obvious until the thing I just posted, Cody has different motivations in his relationship with Obi-Wan. The way I originally wrote it ("Hey Ahsoka would have been pretty fucked in terms of actually learning to be a Jedi if Obi-Wan hadn't been there"), Cody stepped in because not EVERYBODY can be the cool dad, ANAKIN & QUI-GON. Then he caught feelings. In this one, Cody was aware from the beginning of the Emperor's plans for Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan is an assignment. That's pretty huge. Obi-Wan never, ever knew, but Cody resented the assignment at first. Then he caught feelings etc.

So that, and a bunch of other stuff, snowballs into...yup. Really interesting how just a) Being More Parented, b) Having More Information, and c) Being Told To Do Something He Was Gonna Do Anyway changed an incredible amount. There's other stuff to say (30k worth OTL) but that's the biggies.

That didn't answer your question but I hope it did in a roundabout way. There would be mutual contempt. No chip Cody would take a page out of Jango's book and view the other guy as subhuman, un-Mandalorian, and pathetic. Not even him. He'd very sincerely imitate Jango's attitude, while probably having even less respect for the way Cody doesn't show 'strength' and assert his position as Obi-Wan's parent. I imagine very little respect for the guilt coma (Local Man Has Two Modes: All Guilt Or No Guilt). Replaceable soldier who follows bad leaders and a weak parent. Probably hates him even more because here's obviously a ton of similarities. Our normal roleswap guy would have a normal human reaction and wonder what the fuck is wrong with him - probably, actually, extremely close to Rex's in the final thing, and wonder how do you get that idea that fatherhood looks like that.

#my writing #look when your alternative is a guilt coma sometimes you have to choose the no guilt route

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strangcrdoctor · 5 years

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"So wait, you preened and primped us both up, just to take us to the darkest, dingiest London in history, where the term “pea soup fog” was first coined, and where Jack the Ripper is still on the loose,” he asked in a harsh whisper as they navigated the oily cobblestone streets, with nothing but the fain efforts of the squinting lamps to guide their way. There were still people out, hansoms and landaus and dog carts clattering up and down the streets, none the wiser or careful toward the interlopers in their midst.

Okay, damn it. He was charmed. Terrified, wildly curious, but also charmed. There was always something about the fang-in-cheek smile Vlad had when he was up to something interesting that got Stephen to go along with his mad schemes. There was also so much about this time period that never matched up to him - the advent of modern science and society and philosophy, in as much as a baby was an advent of a fully fledged person one day - that getting to see it, feel that world under his feet and understand the shackles of iniquity that modern society was still throwing off in real time...

Charmed. Definitely charmed, albeit for very odd reasons. Not the least of it being because he might have been slightly too eager about the risk involved.

He looked over at the vampire, conceding not for the first time how good he looked in this garb and in this era. He could coif like the best of them, where Stephen had gone for something not grungy, but slightly more modest than the all but shining veneer the other had put on. And to think it had all started as a brief dalliance, nothing more than a pillow-talk conversation after a week spent out in the woods enjoying the moonlight together. To go from that peace to this dangerous clamor, it was jarring in the way that reminded him of how much he loved his job... and having a travel partner.

“Was it unusual for gentlemen to link arms while walking together in this day and age? Because I’m half tempted to be as affectionate as society can allow at the moment,” he said through a grudging chuckle, brushing his hair back behind his shoulder and wishing he’d maybe tried harder to match his compatriot’s efforts. He didn’t want to besmirch a gentleman’s reputation just by walking around with him, after all. “So, be honest. What exactly is it that prompted this little jaunt into yesterday? I know you hate traveling unless it’s either business or pleasure, and we just got done with pleasure so this must be business of some kind. Now that we’re here, do share with the class.”

( @kaledvoul )

#kaledvoul #''new beginnings

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vitalmindandbody · 7 years

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What’s the world’s loneliest metropoli?

In Tokyo, you are able to rent a fondle. Loneliness is a health edition in Manchester. And perhaps nobody is as isolated as a migrant worker in Shenzhen. But can we really just knowing that makes a city lonely?

New York has a trip-hammer vitality which drives you insane with restlessness, if you have no inner stabiliser, wrote Henry Miller after gotta go back to the city following almost a decade in Paris. It could be expected that the Brooklyn-born novelist would have been happy to return, hitherto something didnt sit right:

In New York I have always experienced lonely, the loneliness of the caged animal, which fetches on misdemeanour, sexuality, alcohol and other madness. Miller didnt hurt for friends or allure he was married five times but he saw himself as an interloper, forever and ever the laughable guy, the lonely mind, and it was his hometown that brought on this delirium of loneliness.

Could Millers paroles be proof that New York where countless parties have gone to find honour, work, affection and even themselves is the loneliest metropoli in the world? Or is it possible that the person , not the place, was different sources of Millers discontent? And if so, whatisthe loneliest metropoli?

Urban life is more traumatic than rural areas, but whether its lonelier is a place at the end of the debates among social scientists. A 2016 report by Age UK mentioned there are higher incidences of loneliness in metropolitans, but precisely what delivers it on is surprising. The same report found that gender and education are predominantly irrelevant except for those with the highest level of education, who are often lonelier and that household income and caring for a pet too have little effect.

Isolation is one of the biggest problems faced by Vancouver tenants. Photograph: Ben Nelms/ Reuters

So what impacts loneliness, and how does that play out in municipalities? The sizing of a household inversely affects how you feel: the smallest private households, the more lonely it tends to be. And people who rent or own a residence are lonelier than those with a mortgage, perhaps because municipalities with lots of renters such as London, which is expected to have 60% of inhabitants hiring by 2025 have greater transience, and potentially lower parish action. New York, Los Angeles and San Francisco have rental representations hovering in the mid-5 0s. Renters reign in German cities, extremely a long-term trend assigned to low-pitched leases and housing programmes, but one that are able to be brought to an end forcing neighbourhood engagement.

One thing is certain: the percentage of those who live alone has increased dramatically. In the US, 27% of beings live alone, up from 5% in 1920, and in New York City its approximately one one-third. The same veer is evident in Canada, and even more pronounced in Europe 58% of people in Stockholm live alone, a figure that is considered the highest in Europe. In numerous metropolis, the trend is here to stay. The Australian Bureau of Statistics estimated that there will be 1.3 m more single-occupancy households by 2025, a jump of approximately 60%, and one who are able to audience major metropolitans and affect better access to cheap housing.

Obscured by those figures, nonetheless, is the assumption that were alone have contributed to loneliness two things the sociologist Eric Klinenberg, columnist of Disappearing Solo, replies are often conflated. In knowledge, theres little proof that the rise of living alone is responsible for establishing us lonely, he wrote in 2012. Research shows that its a better quality , not the quantity of social interactions that best prophesies loneliness. What matters is not whether we live alone, but whether we detect alone.

The demographic that most reports appearing lonely are older people, and they do often lives alone. In Stockholm, 35% of beings over the age of 75 experienced loneliness, while in Bristol 10 -1 5% reported the same.( Hence the slogan Bristol: a brilliant region to grow old .) Older people are likely to be more lonely in metropolitans, especially if they are poorer, have physical or mental health issues or live in underprivileged countries.

Campaign to Objective Loneliness suggested that 7% of older persons in the UK are lonely, while age investigate Thomas Scharf saw that 16% of older persons in expropriated neighbourhoods in English cities has been seriously lonely. Manchester fared worse than Liverpool or London, which may explain why it is considering loneliness as an city health issue: it developed the Valuing Older People programme in 2003 to address, among other issues, loneliness and quarantine. Similar campaigns have jumped up in other metropolis which recognise that loneliness scampers tandem to topics such as discrimination, housing, healthcare, and quarantine among elderlies and others susceptible citizens.

The networks of migrant workers in China might help to stifle isolation, but living and working conditions can be difficult. Photo: Andy Wong/ AP

But its is not simply older people who suffer from quarantine. In Australia, city dwellers have fewer acquaintances than they did two decades ago. In the US, a troubling one in five people said they had only one close friend. Or consider idyllic-looking Vancouver, on the shores of the Pacific Ocean, which contends is not simply with affordability( it was recently crowned the most expensive city in North America ), but also with friendliness.

The Vancouver Foundation thinktank questioned community leaders and kindness to identify the biggest editions facing Vancouverites and were to say it wasnt homelessness or poverty; it was isolation. Of 4,000 parties from 80 -odd ethnic groups “whos” polled, one third of respondents noticed it hard to make friends something I detected firsthand when I expended a rainy, gray-haired wintertime working in Vancouver, strolling Stanley Park alone with my dog at weekends and sitting in army cafes by myself. In this young, diverse municipality, the newly arrived conflict most: among people who had been in Canada for five years or less, nearly half( 42%) had just two close friends.

A dearth of friendship doesnt afflict only recent immigrants. Many Tokyoites long for pals so affectionately that theyre willing to hire them. American columnist Chris Colin, plotted by Japanese affection for hire manufactures such as cuddle cafes and cat rentals, spent age with a service that provisions temporary acquaintances. The clientele was run, he wrote: widowers, shy single categories, that one buster who just wanted a pal whod do him the solid of waiting seven hours outside Nike to snag these fresh sneakers for him when they went on sale. The largest of the rent-a-friend organizations, Client Marriage, has eight chapters in Tokyo alone.

Japanese cat cafe have become popular with those who live in urban areas, as has the idea of tendernes for hire. Picture: Junko Kimura/ Getty Images

Across the Sea of Japan, theres a different trouble: large-scale migration. As urban Chinese move to big cities such as Shanghai and Beijing, they encounter separation on an epic tier. As of 2012, a astounding 230 million people had migrated from the countryside to cities.( More than half the countrys population now live in municipalities, up from one one-third in 1990.) Known as the moving population, they can find themselves in low-quality, high-density housing, subject to discrimination and at risk of low-pitched social participate, especially if they move frequently.

Researchers canvassed Chinese reports on community social networks, neighborhood connects and marginality and determined that migrants were more neighbourly which may used to help offset quarantine but faced discrimination and, in a number of cases, grisly living conditions: one corporation in the factory metropoli Shenzhen rooms more than 200,000 hires in dormitories, which theres been an epidemic of suicides. The report memorandum: The vicinity for them is likely to be the factory. Yet in Beijing migrants had greater neighbouring intensity in other words, theyre better at connecting with their home communities suggesting that migrants may accompanied much-needed hamlet qualities to the lonely urban jungle.

If life in Chinas megacities shows anything, it might be that loneliness is often due to event. This wouldnt bombshell Olivia Laing whose brand-new journal, The Lonely City, chronicles a post-breakup stint in New York.The concept with cities is we are absolutely surrounded by beings, Laing recently told the Globe and Mail. We can see other people living richer, more populated lives than our own. At the same epoch, we can feel very uncovered there are lots of gazes on everyone. That is why the loneliness of the city has a particularly distinct tang to it. Loneliness, however, is often like bad weather, it transfers through our lives.

So are parties in Shanghai or Berlin more lonely than those working in Stockholm or Vancouver? I set the question to one of the fields resulting researchers, the University of Chicagos John Cacioppo, who wrote the book, Loneliness. His research quarrels the idea that urban life is inherently lonelier than rural areas, and he declined to play favourites and select merely one city. You invoke an interesting question, he reads. Regrettably, we have no data with which to address it. Maybe Laing is privilege that city loneliness is ephemeral. Or perhaps we are in a position learn lessons from Henry Millers struggle with New York; in 1944, he packed his handbags and endeavoured to sunny Big Sur, California.

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