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ladylynse · 3 years

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Chapter 6 [FFN | AO3] of Forewarning

All Dipper knew was that there was something buried in some special thermos behind the shack; all Danny knew was that he had no idea how he'd gotten here.

Based off this artwork by @hashtag-art. Happy birthday, @bibliophilea!

(beginning | previous)

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Once safely back at the Mystery Shack, Wendy turned off the golf cart and grabbed her supplies from the rack in the back. It had been a bumpy ride, but she’d only needed to sacrifice one bag of marshmallows to the forest. That wasn’t bad, considering how many creatures she was fairly sure lived there.

And, fine, maybe it made her a little paranoid to think that some of the bumps she’d hit had been deliberate, a growth of tree roots just so or deep holes suspiciously covered with leaf litter, but it wasn’t like she voiced her thoughts to anyone else.

Besides, whatever lived in the forest seemed happy with the occasional sacrifice of candy. At the very least, she’d never been stopped by something yet, and she took a lot of shortcuts through here by herself. That wasn’t exactly recommended, even for those who knew the territory well. When her family went out for apocalypse training, they were supposed to pair off. They didn’t always, but they did more often than not.

It’s easier to survive if there’s someone you trust around to watch your back, but you have to know how to fight if there isn’t.

Whatever had stopped by the Mystery Shack wasn’t bringing the apocalypse with it—she was pretty sure about that—but she didn’t want this to turn into that. Taking the twins to see the haunted grocery store? Sure. She still hadn’t been sure they’d actually see ghosts despite the stories—no one had been until it had happened—but that was different. That was contained. That was very much not in the Mystery Shack. Where the kids slept. With only the oblivious skeptic Stan around to fight the things that went bump in the night.

Now, if those things were corporeal, she wouldn’t be concerned. The man knew how to punch, and he’d punch before asking questions. But whatever had turned up this time clearly had the option to not be corporeal. Like a ghost.

She remembered the footprints appearing in the scattered baking soda a split second before the boy who’d visited earlier appeared. The same boy who had flashed a careless grin and flipped through postcards and keychains and magnets in the gift shop before taking a tour with Mabel.

Whatever he was, he wasn’t a ghost, but he was entirely too much like a ghost for comfort.

There was no sign of Stan yet—not a surprise; she hadn’t heard his car—but chances were good he wasn’t far behind her.

She saw Soos walking in from the lane and raised her hand in a wave. He spotted her and held a finger to his lips before pointing, and something cold and heavy settled in her gut as she spotted three figures by the woodshed: Mabel, Dipper, and the not-a-ghost boy who’d called himself Danny.

She cursed under her breath as she hurried to meet Soos. “That’s him,” she hissed. “We need to get him away from the twins.”

“Did you find anything in town that we can use?”

“I bought a couple more boxes of salt.” Silver was expensive—too expensive for her, anyway—and she wasn’t exactly guaranteed to find holy water even if she tried breaking into a church, mostly because she didn’t know where she’d look for it. She could’ve bought a cast iron frying pan, but she might as well grab one from the kitchen. The ideas of what they might be able to do had quickly fallen apart when she’d realized what was actually feasible. “It’s better than nothing.”

“What about garlic?”

“For a ghost?”

“You said he wasn’t a ghost.”

“Close enough to a ghost. And, anyway, there should be some in the kitchen. We can always chop up a couple of cloves and see if it does anything.” If it didn’t, and they didn’t waste it, they could always throw it into hamburger meat or make garlic bread. “How long has he been here? The kid?”

“Just a couple of minutes,” Soos allowed, “but this isn’t the first time the kids have met him.”

Wendy closed her eyes. “I know, I just…. I’d hoped they wouldn’t realize he wasn’t normal.” More to the point, she’d hoped that he wouldn’t come back. What the hell did he want, anyway? Sure, he’d said something about fixing whatever was wrong, but their ideas about what needed fixing weren’t likely the same.

“They might not. He was pretending to be normal when he talked to me.”

“He talked to you?”

“Just to ask after Dipper and Mabel.”

Wendy frowned. Soos didn’t sound too optimistic that Mabel and Dipper wouldn’t realize there was something weird about the kid, and frankly, she thought he was right. Mabel might be more forgiving, but Dipper…. “We’ll play it cool. Keep doing whatever you were doing. Try to keep an eye on them without being too obvious about it. I’ll prepare the fire pit.”

“The wood, campfire forks, hot dogs, marshmallows—?”

His gaze had wandered pointedly down to the box of salt pressing against the white plastic bag she carried, its blue label clearly visible. “Yeah. I won’t ring it thickly enough that it’s noticeable, especially since it’ll have to be in the gravel where nothing’s growing anyway, but if he’s going to pretend to be normal, then we’ll see how long he can keep that up.”

“And if he’s not affected by the salt?”

“We cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“And if we’re wrong and he is normal after all?”

Wendy snorted. “If he’s normal, he’s only normal for here.” She saw Soos shift uncomfortably and added, “If Stan comes back before I’m finished, give him the pitch about taking measures to ghost-proof the Mystery Shack and advertising doing that because it’s haunted. He’ll know how to get more of what we need, even if he doesn’t think it’ll do anything.”

“What if he’s not bad? The kid, I mean. Not everything is bad. Not everyone is bad.”

The kid had claimed he wasn’t a threat. He’d said he was stuck, that he just wanted to go home, that he had to fix something, not break it. What if it hadn’t been a lie? She didn’t see how his sneaking around could mean his intentions were honourable, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t missing something.

On the other hand, if he were simply determined to show a friendly face to the twins to get them to lower their guard, only to strike once he’d fooled them—

Wendy wasn’t sure if she wanted to take that risk. Having a healthy amount of suspicion now and apologizing later sounded much better to her than being overly trusting and being burned—especially if she wouldn’t be the only one caught in that fire. She and Soos had lived their entire lives here. Mabel and Dipper had not. They might not yet appreciate the degree to which not everything was as it appeared.

“You don’t need to be ready to attack,” Wendy finally said. “You just need to be ready to defend.” Soos nodded, maybe thinking her words were for both of them, but they weren’t. She had no intentions of simply being ready to defend. She wasn’t about to attack unprovoked, but if this kid did anything that set off alarm bells for her, she’d act on her gut. She trusted her gut more than her head. It was reliable in these sorts of situations.

The trouble was, her gut should have made a call on this already. Instead, she was still conflicted, and more time to mull it over on her trip into town hadn’t helped. Part of her still wanted to take the kid’s words at face value, but the little she’d seen of what he could do backed up the part of her that insisted he was far too dangerous to blindly trust. Soos wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but there was so much that could seem innocuous at first….

The knowledge that Soos was right and they had no idea if salt would actually help defend them didn’t make this any easier—especially when Danny was clearly interested in Mabel and Dipper. Soos had mentioned Dipper having a book, and she remembered seeing glimpses of it before. If that’s what the kid was interested in, how was she supposed to help Dipper and Mabel protect it while still protecting them?

Salt first. Purifying fire and questions later, if the kid decided to stick around for it. As long as he wasn’t hurting her friends, she was willing to give him a shovel and see how deep he dug.

XXXXXXX

Danny didn’t see the journal around, but Dipper apparently didn’t need it to draw his magic circle thing in the dirt. To be fair, Danny didn’t know if it was the same one as before, but he also didn’t want to find out. Which meant taking the initiative and trying to explain before they decided to pull more magic stuff on him.

“Please don’t do whatever you’re planning on doing,” he said, keeping his voice low in the hope that the guy he’d been talking to earlier wouldn’t hear it. “I just want to talk, I swear.”

“Are you ready to explain now?”

That was Dipper, with a bite in his voice that reminded Danny a bit of Valerie. Dipper might not sound even half as malicious as Valerie could when she was spitting curses at Phantom, but he was appropriately wary. “Yeah. But you have to promise you won’t try any magic stuff.”

“No. You’re not defenseless, and I’m not swearing away my ability to protect anyone.”

Oh. Right. He might think that particular promise carried more weight than a regular promise. He seemed to think giving his word would make it impossible to break. Danny didn’t know of any ghosts with that power, and frankly he didn’t want to meet one who had it. “You don’t have to. I just…. I promise I’m not here to hurt you or anyone else. I only want to talk. And not, y’know, risk being exorcised if you don’t believe me.”

Mabel looked from Danny to her brother and raised an eyebrow. He scowled at her but said, “Fine. If you don’t do anything except tell us the truth right now, I won’t try to exorcise you.”

Not ideal, but it wasn’t like Danny was planning on lying through his teeth to them, anyway—or that he couldn’t still attempt a lie if he felt he needed to. He had a feeling it wouldn’t work, though. He hadn’t had a whole lot of luck earlier. Maybe seeing through that thing was a kind of survival instinct around here, just like Secret Lab Guy had said.

Come to that, though— How had he had an entire conversation with someone, spilled half his life story to that someone, and not actually gotten their name?

Whatever. He’d ask later if he didn’t figure it out before then. It just proved the point, though. These people were good. Sharper than he was used to, unless almost everyone in Amity Park had already figured out his secret and was just being nice and waiting for him to make some kind of grand announcement.

Yeah, right. If Amity Park’s continued obliviousness wasn’t natural, then Vlad had done something. Not something Danny would thank him for, exactly, but something he wouldn’t fault him for, either.

“Thanks. Can I sit?” There weren’t chairs. There weren’t even logs. Dipper would be able to tell that he was staring at the circle drawn in the dirt, though, and know the question for what it was.

Mabel reached out one foot and drew a line through it with the toe of her shoe. “Yup!” she said, dropping down in place. “Pull up some grass.”

Dipper glared at her as Danny sat down on a patch that was more gravel than grass, but the other boy didn’t say anything; he just settled down and looked like he’d be ready to grab the axe beside him at a moment’s notice. Danny didn’t really want to find out if he knew how to use it. Then again, going by the assorted sizes of split logs nearby, he wasn’t overly skilled; even if it wasn’t a normal axe that Danny could avoid with intangibility, there was a good chance that Dipper was clumsy enough with it that he’d be easy enough to avoid.

“I’m sorry about not being entirely straight with you earlier when I said I would be.” Danny didn’t know where to begin, but an apology seemed smart when he still wanted their help.

“Which time, Phantom?”

Well, at least there wasn’t any lingering doubt. Danny sucked in a breath and let it out slowly to give himself a bit of time to think. Mabel looked ready to listen, but Dipper…. He still wasn’t sure about Dipper. “This isn’t exactly something I tend to tell strangers,” Danny said slowly, “but you’re right. I’m Phantom. I’m the one you let out of the thermos.”

Dipper was still practicing his glare, but Mabel asked, “So what are you? You’re not a ghost. We’ve seen ghosts.”

“I’m still a ghost,” Danny said, since as far as he knew, that was true. “Just…part ghost. Part human.” He rubbed the back of his neck and offered them a smile. “Remember when I joked about being the poster boy for interdimensional safety?”

“You expect us to believe you were in some sort of accident,” Dipper said flatly.

They didn’t need to know all the details, but— “Yeah. Lab accident. It didn’t kill me, or at least I don’t think it did, but I did get ghost powers, so that’s cool. Not something I’d recommend to anyone, but cool.”

Okay, Dipper definitely didn’t believe that, but Mabel nodded as if Danny had said something normal and not what probably sounded insane. “Why were you in the thermos?”

“Clockwork, I think. He’s the one who gave me the message to warn you in the first place, remember? Also the one who likes to pretend he doesn’t interfere but interferes like this. I thought it was Vlad, until I…until I realized how long it had been. And, no, before you ask, I don’t know who wrote that journal. I wasn’t lying about that. The only important bit I lied about was ‘Danny Fenton’ being a friend.”

“Why fess up now?” Dipper’s question was a challenge, sure, but Danny could hear the genuine curiosity behind it. Chance were, he wasn’t a great liar, either.

“Because I might need your help to get home. Especially if that help involves you trusting me enough to let me help you and you not trying to kill me first.”

“What were you looking for earlier?” Danny blinked, trying to figure out what that meant, and Dipper must have read that confusion on his face because he elaborated, “Mabel heard you. We know you were back before you showed yourself now.”

Right. She had been in the gift shop area, hadn’t she? “I was trying to find some clue about what else I’m supposed to do here.”

“And?”

That meant did you find it? Danny might’ve promised them the truth, but he’d also promised the other guy that he wouldn’t blow that secret, either. More or less. Hopefully that wasn’t what he was supposed to do here? “There’s something weird about this place,” he said instead. “It’s got this…feeling. I don’t know how to describe it.” It was something unnerving, like the feeling the Fright Knight could give you, but with more…. More I’m-watching-you vibes. Vlad times a hundred. If he didn’t need to stick around to get home, he’d be gone by now. Whatever Clockwork was trying to warn these guys away from, it felt like a danger on par with Pariah Dark.

Not that he’d be able to explain that to them.

Mabel reached over to poke Dipper in the arm. “Show him the journal.”

That would make things a lot easier for him. “I could tell you what it has wrong about ghosts. Or at least about me,” he offered. He wanted to do that regardless, but if he could give them more reason to show him, well….

“It seems to be right about you,” Dipper said, “unless you want to pretend that you’ve never been affected by anything we’ve done.”

Danny blew out a breath. “Look. Being part ghost doesn’t mean I’m exempt from everything that works on ghosts. It also means that I need to be careful around hunters, including you guys. But I’m not here to fight you or steal something or whatever your book says about me. I’m the good guy, I swear.”

“The good guy. Who needs his own little dedicated section in the journal.”

“Dedicated section?” That sounded worrisome. How much info did these guys have on him? Some of it had to be accurate, but if it was just full of things he’d done as a ghost with no context, like the stealing—

“More like a paragraph,” Mabel interrupted, “and it’s not even in the same language as the rest of it.”

Wait.

“Not the same language? What language is it?”

“See for yourself,” Mabel said. She elbowed Dipper when he didn’t immediately produce the journal and offer it up and then hissed a few things in his ear for good measure, which finally seemed to convince him. He pulled the journal out from beneath the vest he’d been wearing earlier, flipped through to the right page, and turned it around to show Danny.

Danny leaned closer, but he didn’t recognize the language, either. If it was something ghosts spoke, he’d never seen it written down, but aside from Wulf, most of the ghosts he’d met spoke English. He didn’t know how many other languages they spoke, though. He’d never asked. If this was some common language he had yet to learn….

“It might be the way it’s coded,” Dipper admitted, “instead of actually being in a different language. Some passages in the journal are coded, but they’re all the same code, except for this. I haven’t had any luck cracking it.”

Danny frowned, reading the page over before Dipper could take it away. He couldn’t see anything about a thermos or anything else that would have led them to him in the first place, but there was a bit of gibberish above that section written in green ink that might be the first code—

Wait. Green ink? Everything else in here was black or blue or some kind of brown that Danny really hoped wasn’t blood. “What else is written in this colour?” he asked, pointing to the passage.

“That’s it.”

“In the entire book?” That didn’t make sense. “But…why?”

“When I find the author of the journals,” Dipper said bluntly, “that won’t be one of the first questions I ask.”

“It won’t even be one of the first hundred,” Mabel added. “Dipper’s never understood the importance of colour.”

To be fair, it wasn’t typically high on Danny’s list of priorities, either, but this colour thing was definitely strange. How many other weird things were in that book if this didn’t make the list?

“Does it mean something to you?” Mabel asked.

Danny hesitated. The fact that it happened to be the same colour as his eyes—or his ectoplasm—in ghost mode could be a coincidence, but things tended to be a lot less coincidental when Clockwork was involved. Danny wasn’t really ready to bet that whoever had written this journal had simply run out of every other colour of pen that day. “Maybe,” he admitted, “but only in that it might point toward me.” Or another ghost like him. Hopefully not Danielle.

“So do you know who wrote it?” she prompted.

He shook his head. “I don’t know the handwriting. That’s not saying much, though. There are a lot of people—and ghosts—I know whose handwriting I’d never recognize.” He wasn’t even sure he’d recognize the Ghost Writer’s handwriting. “What does the other part say about me?”

“That something was stuck in a thermos behind the shack,” Mabel answered immediately, ignoring her brother’s glare. “Which it was.”

“It’s a Fenton Thermos, something specifically designed to contain ghosts. My parents build them.” If he wasn’t trying to keep his secret anymore, there was no harm in admitting that. “They’re paranormal scientists and inventors.”

“Like the author of the journal is,” Mabel said, shooting Dipper a pointed look. “That must be why the bit about the thermos is in there.”

“Not— I mean, I’m not thirty years old. Seriously. Do I look that old to you? I just turned fifteen last week.” Well. Last week for him. Not for whenever this was, five years in his future. “Me being in the thermos is Clockwork’s fault.” Probably. Except Clockwork wouldn’t have needed to catch him in a thermos to force him back here; he could’ve simply asked and called in a favour if Danny had complained, which he would’ve. More likely, Clockwork had merely taken advantage of someone else capturing him in a thermos, and that list of possibilities was long—and included more than one ally, even when the capturing was intentional.

“I don’t know all the details, okay? I just…. I haven’t met a ghost besides Clockwork that messes with time.” His evil future self didn’t count, not when Clockwork’s power had still been the vehicle for everything he’d done.

…Danny really hoped this had nothing to do with him. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t appreciate the thermos parallels.

Of course, now that he thought about it, the fact that he’d been stuck in a thermos had to be deliberate. Sure, it was a way to skirt the notice of the Observants, but Clockwork had messed with the timeline before without doing anything sneaky like that. If the thermos was important…. Coupled with the fact that there was a portal being built beneath a place called the Mystery Shack….

“That’s why I’m here.”

“You care to share with the class?” Dipper asked.

“The thermos, the portal—”

“What portal?”

Oops. “The, y’know, whatever, it doesn’t matter, the point is, you said the author of the journals was a paranormal scientist? Maybe an inventor, too?”

“No, no, don’t change the subject. What portal?”

“Like a portal to another dimension?” Mabel queried. “Is that why you talked about interdimensional safety earlier?”

Oh, crud. They weren’t going to let his slip about the portal go. So much for that secret. “Just…never mind that right now. Paranormal scientist. Inventor. Like my parents. He probably didn’t know them, it would’ve been too early on for them to have made a name for themselves, they might not even have been together yet, but…. Okay. This is gonna sound crazy—”

“Crazier than everything else you’ve said?” Dipper asked dryly.

“—but just go with me on this. Please. I know what happened when my parents messed stuff up, and—”

“And you’re warning us so we’re prepared and more careful,” Mabel finished. “So I don’t get impatient and Dipper doesn’t get complacent.”

Danny frowned. “What?”

“Your warning,” she repeated. “You’re not trying to get us to stop what we’re doing. It’s a terrible warning for that. That kind of thing just makes you wanna do it more, whatever it is. So you’re actually warning us to be more careful than you think we would be otherwise.”

Danny opened his mouth to tell her that warning someone not to do something obviously meant they shouldn’t do it, and then he remembered all the times his parents had warned him not to touch stuff in the lab.

Right.

Maybe she wasn’t wrong.

Just because that was what a warning meant, didn’t mean it would always have the desired effect.

Moreover, Clockwork would know exactly what to have Danny say to get the desired effect.

He’d thought he’d come to help with the portal, but he still didn’t know the blueprints of his parents’ portal as well as Tucker did. If this were just about helping them build or fix the portal in the basement without bad consequences, Tucker was a better choice than he was, and Clockwork could most definitely have arranged that.

But Danny had joked about being the poster boy for interdimensional safety, and he could still disassemble and reassemble most of his parents’ weapons in order to tweak them, even if he wasn’t as good at it as Tucker, and he’d be an idiot to keep ignoring the fact that Clockwork had made sure he had a thermos here.

The thermos wasn’t for him. It had never been for him. It had contained him, sure, but Clockwork must’ve made sure he was stuck in one so that he’d think of this. So that he’d think of what they’d done with his evil future self. And so he’d have it when he needed it.

There was a portal in a secret lab in the basement of the Mystery Shack, and the thermos written about in Dipper’s journal was for whatever was coming out of it.

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 4 years

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Witches, Chapter 24: welcome to Themis.

Watch me go this whole arc without mentioning the “dark age of the law” but still trying to impress upon us the corruption inherent in the school and the legal system anyway.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

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“Phoenix Wright speaking.”

“Hello, Mr Wright? This is Constance Courte, one of the professors—”

“—at Themis? I remember hearing your name. What’s up? Is something going on with the school festival?”

“No, everything remains as scheduled - including your lecture that you’ll be giving tomorrow. I was calling to ask if, perhaps, you would be able to arrive a bit earlier tomorrow - say, around one o’clock? I’d like to discuss in advance what you’re planning for your lecture and seminar. I imagine that Professor Means likely told you that the stage is yours and you are free to say what you like, but he and I disagree on - well. We have rather different teaching styles, shall we say.”

“Yeah, he pretty much said it was up to me, but I’d be happy to have a chat with you about what you’d like the fledgling defense attorneys to learn to make it easier on your future judges. The mock trial starts at two, right? I can definitely be there early - oh, I invited my two junior partners along, too. Hope that won’t be a problem.”

“Not at all. I look forward to meeting them too. And there is something else I would like to ask of you, though. It’s in regards to Prosecutor Gavin.”

“I’d heard he’s the prosecutor who was invited to speak, same as me.”

“Yes. At my suggestion - he was one of my students. I teach several classes open to students of any course. I believe it’s better to have a fully rounded view of the courtroom and understand all those positions, and I hope you might agree. Klavier was one of my favorite students, though I’m not sure I should admit that I do have favorites.”

“I’m not sure I’m following what you mean to ask. If you’re worried I take some sort of issue with him, on basis of what happened eight years ago, I’ll be the first to assure you that I don’t blame him for what happened.”

“I’m certainly glad to hear it. Now, I said that I suggested that Klavier be invited, and he agreed to come to Themis again, yes, when the academy’s administration sent him a formal email asking him if he would come speak. As for myself, I have reached out to him a number of times over the past year, most recently floating this idea, and every time, I am met with silence. Considering everything that has happened, I’ll admit that I am concerned about him.”

“...Honestly, so am I, but I am, without a doubt, the worst person to ask. I know for a fact that he will be doing his damndest to avoid me.”

“We may be in that boat together, and I fear that tomorrow he will continue to do so. This brings me to you, Mr Wright, and what I would ask of you. I have heard quite a bit about you, I’ll admit, some rumors much less court-related and much odder than others. One of the things they say is that you are quite good at seeing things that other people can’t.”

“...!”

“However that may be, I would be deeply grateful if you would, if necessary, help me corner Klavier tomorrow, because I suspect you may have also noticed that he is very, very good at avoiding people if he does not want to be found.”

“Well, this just feels like my first day of university all over again.” Phoenix shields his eyes against the sun and stares up at the building that looms in front of them. It’s a huge campus for a high school, but it’s also a fancy lawyer high school with alumni that probably donate boatloads of money from their lucrative careers, so it’s not all that surprising. “Lost as hell.”

“There’s probably at least three lecture halls in every one of these buildings,” Apollo gripes, staring out across the quad at the other nearby academic buildings. “Which one is the lecture hall where we’re supposed to meet the professor?”

“She said the main lecture hall,” Phoenix says. “I am making the assumption that this building in the center of campus is the main building, and thus, houses the main lecture hall.” But who the hell can actually know, really? Athena’s probably lost as hell too, since they’d waited as long as they could by the main gates to campus waiting for her, and still she didn’t turn up.

With still an hour until the mock trial, students aren’t swarming all over the campus yet, though maybe it would be better if they were. The mock trial is also taking place in the main lecture hall, but because it’s only students and faculty attending the mock trial, there are no signs pointing the way, because everyone who is regularly at the school would know where the damn main lecture hall is. And there’s no crowd to follow, yet, and so, their current predicament.

Behind them, someone clears their throat. “By chance, you would not happen to be Mr Wright?”

It’s the hair, isn’t it? Or the blue suit. Hilariously, “hair and bright primary color suit” is also how Phoenix would describe both Apollo and Athena to anyone looking for them. The office accidentally has a theme. “That would be me, yes,” Phoenix says, turning around to come not quite face-to-face with a very tall man, with a carefully arranged gray beard and hair, and, over his vest and dress shirt, a white robe that in any other situation would scream frat party bedsheet toga. Trucy went to the Themis website last night to show him pictures of the professors so that he knew who he was looking for. “And you are Aristotle Means?”

“I am indeed.” He offers a hand and Phoenix shakes it. “It’s wonderful to finally get the chance to meet and speak with you in person.” He was the one who sent the invitation email to Phoenix. And a formal invitation letter and a pamphlet about the school and one about the mock trial and Phoenix meant to read those and has no idea what they disappeared to.

“Thanks for the invite,” Phoenix says. “And - oh, this is Apollo Justice.” The introductions are swiftly made - “The other lawyer at our agency should be coming, too, though I’m not sure where she’s gotten off to” - their situation and desperate need of directions explained, and Professor Means offers to escort them up to the main lecture hall, which is on the third floor of this building, meaning that Phoenix and Apollo almost had it. “Thank you. I appreciate it - and for the invitation to come here to speak. I wasn’t expecting that - I’m sure there are other defense attorneys around, and alumni at that, who are…” Phoenix searches for any words at all that won’t drag himself too fiercely through the mud. Apollo is suddenly seemingly very interested on all the posters on the walls advertising school announcements and campus clubs.

“Nonsense!” Means says brightly. “Truly, I could think of no defense attorney I would rather have to our illustrious school, and I am glad that situation has been sorted out that you may return to the courtroom. I have had my students study your cases for years, you know.”

“R-really?” Kind of flattering, kind of alarming that he had his students study up on the tactics of a disbarred lawyer. Unless they were “what not to do” kinds of lessons, in which case that’s not flattering, and also why would he invite Phoenix here, then.

“Indeed. Your defense of Will Powers is one that I find particularly exemplary. That even while you were backed into a corner, you still managed to shift the blame well enough to buy yourself and your client further time, and another day to investigate. I have my students practice how to make effective accusations of a case’s initial witnesses, and to sound convincing even if they themselves do not believe their gambit.” Phoenix’s stomach flips over itself. Apollo really isn’t looking at him now. Means, oblivious to the tension between the two, that Phoenix hoped was going away but now is back in pained full, continues, “It is unfortunate, in truth, but is our client’s acquittal not our utmost priority? Is it not ultimately justified, what we do in pursuit of that?”

“That’s a bit of a slippery slope, don’t you think, Professor?” Apollo asks. He finally looks Phoenix in the eye, but he’s glaring at him instead, and that just makes Phoenix feel even worse. He’s supposed to give a lecture to these students; what’s he supposed to say when all they know him for is his most desperate and shadiest moments? Hell, what’s he supposed to say to Apollo once Means leaves?

“Unfortunately, if it is, then it is the prosecution who have given us our push down it.” Apollo’s frown deepens. “Consider how many of them value only victory and have their own underhanded tricks that, if we did not act, would convict our clients not on strength of evidence but simply on the prosecution’s say-so, that they demand this of the judge. We are letting our clients down if we do anything but fight their fire with our own.”

Phoenix expected him to protest further, but Apollo is strangely quiet. Maybe he’s thinking about Blackquill threatening Mayor Tenma to try and get a guilty plea, or maybe even that time that Klavier didn’t tell even his detective that the defendant could see and the witness was blind. He doesn’t mount a defense of the supposed minority of prosecutors who aren’t underhanded on behalf of his friend, at any rate. Means changes the subject and Phoenix carries on a conversation with him without his brain in it, and when they come up on the lecture hall, Phoenix has no idea what the hell they were talking about. He just wonders what Courte thought about inviting him here, considering it was her favorite student who got him disbarred. She hadn’t given any hint of animosity during their weird conversation last night.

“If I see Professor Courte around, I will let her know that you’re here,” Means says as he leaves. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t show up for a while. She labors under the unfortunate curse of being habitually late.”

The size of the lecture hall reminds him of his own university days, but not the quality of the room itself, which is unfathomably better. Hell, it’s at least as nice as the courthouse, stark white marble-looking walls and shiny white desk surfaces, with a screen at every station. Students wouldn’t even have to remember to bring their laptops for lectures. The cynic in him wonders just how much this all cost, and whether they could have gotten even more nice screens and supplies if they hadn’t tried to make this hall look like a temple or museum. Wealthy alumni, he thinks again.

“So when he said ‘curse’ there,” Apollo ventures slowly, the first thing he’s said since he asked Means that question, and Phoenix is just glad that this all hasn’t put them off speaking terms yet. “Do you think that was just a turn of phrase or - I mean, that just sounds really petty, for a curse.” He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself of such, rather than actually believing it.

“Petty’s what they are,” Phoenix says. “Besides, I know a guy who has a fae blessing that he can memorize any words that are written down on a page, so long as he eats the paper it was written down on. A curse that’s just chronic lateness? Might not be that far off.”

“Eats the paper?” Apollo repeats.

Phoenix sinks into one of the seats in the back row. Apollo has no idea how lucky he is that the fae in his past saw it fitting just to give him plain, unvarnished Truth. (Magnifi gave the same to Thalassa and Trucy, presumably because in the human world he thought he would need them, but what was the motivation for Apollo’s fae? Just a gift?) “Eats the paper.”

Time crawls by, with Phoenix checking the clock every few minutes, neither Courte nor Athena showing up. “I did tell Athena we’re meeting at one, right?” he asks, and Apollo, staring bored down at his phone (“Your daughter is texting in class” he said a few minutes ago) nods. “Right, because I told both of you at the same time, and you’re here.” The back of the chair is low enough that he tilts his head the whole way back to stare up at the ceiling when he tries to lean back.

1:30 comes and goes. Apollo encourages Trucy’s bad habits of texting in class. Phoenix sinks down into the chair and props his knees up against the edge of the tables. The hall slowly starts to fill up with students and their colorful uniforms, based on what profession they aspire toward; and then with an overhead announcement telling all students and faculty to please make their way to the lecture hall, the room begins to flood. Apollo springs up out of his chair and waves to someone. “Hey, Athena!” he shouts, ignoring all of the eyes that turn toward him for his loud yell and the fact that he’s someone not dressed like a student. Athena’s probably run into a dozen people who mistake her for a classmate and asked why she isn’t wearing her uniform.

“Apollo! Mr Wright! I am—” She doubles over, hands on her knees, to catch her breath. “So so sorry that I’m late!”

“You’re lucky that the person we’re supposed to be meeting is running even later,” Apollo says. “So you’re not the last one here.”

When Means returns, he informs them that he still has not yet seen Professor Courte this morning, and then Athena immediately launches in to badgering him for information about the school. He seems to appreciate her enthusiasm, and she for her part seems enthralled by the whole concept of Themis. And why wouldn’t she be? She doesn’t know enough to know the rot that crept under the foundation and, for all Phoenix knows, still lingers there.

“Excuse me, Professor Means?” A small but firm voice interrupts the conversation, and Phoenix’s wandering mind. What subject had the conversation gotten to, anyway? “Forgive my interruption, but with the mock trial starting soon, and you giving the opening speech, it would be best if you went up to the balcony now to wait for when we start.”

“Ah, of course, Ms Woods,” Means says. “As organized as ever, aren’t we? I shall leave you to keep this trial running smoothly, but do introduce yourself to our guests, wouldn’t you?”

The young woman wears the black dress that marks the students of the judges’ course, and she has pinned a sunflower up in her ashy brown hair. “Of course,” she says to means, and then she turns to Phoenix. “My name is Juniper Woods. I’m a third year in the judge course and the Student Council President. Professor Means must have given you the introduction to our prestigious academy, but if there’s anything you wish to know—”

“J-Junie?” Athena gasps. “Junie, is that you?”

“Huh?” The young woman blinks in confusion, and then her dark eyes go wide and she too gasps, a hand flying up to slap over her open mouth. “Th - Athena? I barely recognized you! I didn’t know you were back from Europe.”

“I know, I know, that’s my fault, I’ve been so bad about staying in touch with people since I got back and started working and everything - I kept meaning to write!” Athena’s grin gets progressively more nervous and her babbling picks up speed. Widget can’t decide whether to settle on green, yellow, or blue. She clasps her hands together tightly. “I didn’t realize you’d for-sure decided to study law! And such a prestigious school, too!” She casts an admiring glance around the hall.

“So,” Phoenix asks when Juniper doesn’t respond and instead continues to stare ahead, not at Athena but somewhere between Apollo and Phoenix, in blank shock, “old friends?”

Athena nods, her hair swinging about wildly with her enthusiasm. “We knew each other when we were kids! We were best friends, right, Junie?”

Juniper has nowhere near Athena’s energy, or apparent glee. Maybe it’s still her surprise, or maybe it’s some sort of embarrassment, or maybe it’s - whatever, but all the same, a pang of sympathy shoots through Phoenix’s heart. A long-lost childhood best friend who’s much more reluctant to pick up the relationship again. Poor Athena. Juniper isn’t even looking at her, and has turned her eyes toward the floor now. “Yes. We lived close by each other, and used to play in the forest together.”

Maybe she just likes plants, and nature, with the sunflower in her hair, running around in the forest as a child. Not everyone grew up right in the city. It’s possible for that to be an innocuous statement. Some people actually just have yards and trees in them, Phoenix, he tells himself, failing to convince himself. Because on the other hand, she’s an old friend of Athena’s, and she’s studying law and there’s that old joke about that, and Phoenix can say it all he wants, my kingdom for one normal kid, for one other person besides Ema in our ever-expanding social circles to be relatively normal, relatively unaffected by fae bullshit—

And Juniper’s not looking at anyone, and Athena and Apollo are looking at Juniper, so Phoenix can cast a quick glance over her.

He closes his eyes to reset himself to regular vision, and to ask himself if there’s such a thing as fate or destiny that drives them all together like this, or whether Edgeworth is wrong every time that he says most people in the greater Los Angeles area are maybe a little more superstitious than most but otherwise unremarkable and unmagicial. Because he claims that, and then Phoenix meets someone else, just by chance, and no, no, they’re at least somewhat fae-adjacant too. To hell with it all.

Also, her name is Juniper Woods, which, come on. That’s a very fae-trying-to-figure-out-how-to-name-someone-like-humans-name-humans name.

“I’m afraid that we only have the one seat reserved for Mr Wright in the mock trial, and otherwise, you should wait in the lobby down on the first floor,” Juniper is saying. She seems much more comfortable and self-assured when they’ve switched back to talking about the organizational details of the day. “It is a part of our curriculum, after all, and we need the space for all of our students.”

“Oh,” Apollo says. “Darn. I wanted to see what the mock trial was all about.”

“I’ll trade you,” Phoenix says. “You can take my seat, and I’ll go wait for Professor Courte still, with Athena.”

“But I want to watch the mock trial too!” Athena protests.

“Sorry kiddo, but Apollo got first dibs, and he’s got seniority on you, too.”

Athena groans. She doesn’t try to engage Juniper in conversation again, either, when she escorts the two of them downstairs. Juniper leaves them in the lobby there, as stark white and like a Greek temple as the rest of this building has been, but there are a few nice couches and some wide windows that let in enough natural light. Phoenix sinks down into a couch, even though it reminds him a bit of the courthouse lobby couches and he has an official long-standing rule against those. Athena would hopefully stop someone who tried to beat his head in with a fire extinguisher.

But he needs to take the time to figure out what he could possibly say in a lecture, that won’t make him sound morally bankrupt or like an idiot who only wins by lucky bluffs. And maybe he is, but he doesn’t need to encourage the legal system to fill up with more people like that, especially not if Means is already doing so. He closes his eyes. What are the most important things that Mia taught him? What has he noticed Apollo and Athena have trouble with - what parts of defending has he watched them learn on the fly, because it can only be learned in a courtroom? He could talk about body language; he’s not Apollo or Trucy or Thalassa, but he’s pretty good at that.

Or, hell, what are the biggest mistakes he’s made over his career? What could someone have said to prevent those? Don’t trust evidence given to you by strange girls in top hats, except if Apollo had heeded that then Phoenix wouldn’t be here. Always check what’s written on the back of your evidence. Someone who seems too weird to be human might still be human but you should always watch the way you phrase your statements anyway. He’s going to sound like a paranoid morally bankrupt bluffing idiot. And again, maybe he is, but that’s not something he wants to encourage. Is it paranoia if it’s justified fear? Is the terror that he’s instilled Apollo with something that will help or hurt him in the long run? Or the short run.

Something loudly shatters. Athena yelps. “What did you break?” Phoenix asks, opening his eyes, expecting to find Athena frantically attempting to hide the pieces of some broken Themis decor that costs more than anything in the Agency because appearances might be important but Phoenix hasn’t ever been secure enough in the amount of clients he has to spend a thousand dollars on an easily-breakable light stand, Mia.

“It wasn’t me!” Athena protests. She stands in the middle of the lobby, staring all around, and there’s nothing broken in Phoenix’s line of sight, so with a yawn he swings his feet down from the couch. “I think it came from outside.”

“Guess we should go take a look,” Phoenix says. “Everyone else on campus is supposed to be in that lecture hall right now.” Maybe it’s Professor Courte, wherever she got off to.

Outside, Athena swivels her head around like an owl, trying to judge where that sound earlier came from. “Maybe over there?” she suggests, pointing across a stretch of green to, further along the side of the main building, a stage set up with a line of spotlights and giant speakers along the scaffolding. As they approach, Phoenix sees that the stage is set up like a courtroom, with two benches on either side, a judge’s podium looming high in the back, and a witness stand in the center. Just like apparently everything else at Themis, they are all designed to look like they’re made from white marble, and trimmed with gold. The whole school balances precariously on the line between classy and pretentious. “Do you think they’re having some sort of concert here?” Athena asks.

With Prosecutor Gavin around, it wouldn’t surprise him. There’s something lying on the stage behind the witness stand, something green. “Athena, what’s that there?”

They hurry closer to the stage and up the stairs on the side, close enough that Phoenix can see the woman lying on the stage, in a green track suit, her hair fanned out across the ground, a dark bloodstain spreading out across her white shirt from the arrow jammed in her side. Athena screams. Phoenix has been here too many times before. “Athena,” he says, turning to her, watching her face pale and go slack, “call the police.”

She nods silently, fumbling the phone from her pocket and dropping it to the stage; her hands are shaking when she picks it back up, and she casts one last glance at Courte before she turns her back on the scene. Phoenix kneels, finding no pulse in Courte’s neck. Her skin is cold. Already dead - already gone. Athena’s voice shakes, but all considered, she does a good job at relaying the necessary information and sticking only to that. “I’ll run and go tell everyone in the lecture hall, too,” she says, tucking her phone back into her pocket.

“Wait.” Athena stops with one foot raised. “Don’t. They’ll find out as soon as the police get here. We might as well do some investigating now, before anyone else gets here.” Who knows what sway someone at this school might have with the police, whether that someone is the murderer or just wants the incident buried for the sake of the academy’s good name. If they know what the crime scene looks like now, they’ll know if it was tampered with later.

“Are we allowed to do that?” Athena asks. Her eyes turn back down to the body and then she looks away, pressing her lips tight together and swallowing hard.

“We’ll make sure to leave everything just like we found it,” Phoenix says, picking up the little notebook lying next to Courte’s body and paging through it. A planner, with a sword emblem on the front cover and every page. Under today’s date, she lists mock trial preparation in the morning, the meeting with Phoenix at 1:00, and the start of the mock trial an hour later. No hint as to who she may have interacted with in any of that span of time. Her limbs have begun to stiffen, so it definitely wasn’t recent. “But considering—”

Considering the rot inside this institution. Does Athena need to know that? Is it going to help her solve the case if she does?

“Considering?”

There’s no reason to dump all the rumors and past troubles of Themis on her now. It might not even be relevant, and Phoenix can keep his eyes out, with that in mind. Athena is still standing at a distance, her hands to her mouth, her eyes big and fearful. “C’mon,” he says. “Deep breaths, and take a look at this and tell me what you see.” She, unfortunately, has to get used to this if this is the career she wants to stick with; there’s nothing like dropping right into the deep end for acclimating to it, and Apollo saw a man die within his first month of working at the Agency, so Athena’s got a lot of catching up to do.

The murder is just like the mock trial. The body’s location, the lack of blood suggesting that it was moved, the murder weapon - just like the mock trial. Apollo’s head is buzzing, or maybe that’s Athena in his ear, seemingly more indignant about the school newspaper she found than the actual murder. “—and Junie would never lead guys on like that! ‘Battle for the she-devil’s black heart’! This is slander!”

“It sounds like tabloid trash,” Apollo says. Campus newspaper standards sound like they’ve really fallen since he was in school.

“Ugh, I know,” Athena says. “That’s what Mr Wright said.” Compared to the explosive reaction when the police arrived and put a halt to the mock trial, campus is eerily quiet now, as the police have begun to send away most of the student they believe could not have been involved. Apollo wonders how they could have alibis for the time the body was moved - there was some sort of check-in or attendance taken of students at the mock trial, given that it is part of their curriculum, after all.

Apollo stuck around while Phoenix and Athena were questioned, and now Phoenix has gone off elsewhere and set them loose. Athena wanted to go find Juniper. Apollo really hopes she’s not going to bother her more about this damn school newspaper. “But it was talking about the two competitors in the mock trial being rivals for her affection. You saw the mock trial, Apollo. What were they like? Were they any good at being lawyers? Were they better than me?”

“Now you’re starting to sound like you think they’re rivals,” Apollo says, pushing open the door of the stairwell to let them out on the third floor, back to the lecture hall; if Juniper is anywhere, it’s probably here. “Your rivals,” he amends, because Athena doesn’t look like she gets it. “For Juniper’s attention.”

“Well, isn’t everyone at least a little in love with their best friend?” Athena asks.

Apollo snorts. “My best friend is insufferable,” he says. Which doesn’t necessarily refute Athena’s point, given that someone else in Apollo’s life who is also insufferable is Prosecutor Gavin, and that - that’s a road Apollo’s not going to go down. Not that they’re actually friends. But the half of that. The insufferable part—

“So?” Athena prompts. “So what’s your point? So whenever I meet him don’t say things like that, because then he’d be more insufferable?”

“Sure,” Apollo says. Might as well go with that answer. He pushes open the lecture hall doors and looks out over the large hall. Almost empty now, he spots Juniper sitting in the bottom row, and two other students, one in the red uniform and one in blue - they might even be the same two guys from the mock trial - standing by one of the benches, talking among themselves.

“Because being insufferable doesn’t rule out—” Juniper glances up at the door opening, and then she stands, smoothing down her skirt, and Athena hurries down the stairs to meet her, abandoning the current thought. “Junie! Are you all right? I was worried that—”

“I’m all right,” Juniper says, a little stiffly, and Apollo can’t decide which of the two girls he feels worse for. Athena, whose eagerness to reunite with an old friend keeps being rebuffed, or Juniper, whose body language screams uncomfortable with her every action. “I have to be. I’m Student Council President, and representative of the school, after all. I need to keep myself together, and act properly, for the sake of the school and my classmates.”

Athena nods, more in a way like she’s acknowledging what Juniper is saying rather than agreeing with it. Her fingers flutter toward Widget. “Um, I hate to ask this of you, especially right now, but could you tell us anything about Professor Courte?”

Juniper sounds like she greatly admired the professor - her professor, considering that she’s one of the judge course students. She coughs a few times as she’s talking; Apollo figures she’s just got a cold from working too hard - this might be a high school, but Apollo remembers college, and this seems more like college - but Athena appears incredibly alarmed, and she keeps restlessly shifting her posture, unsure of what to do. Maybe Juniper wasn’t in great health when they were younger? Whether it’s either of them steering the conversation, or just the way it happens to go, Juniper moves on to telling them about the mock trial. She wrote the script that outlines the initial scenario and the evidence involved, and she and Courte were the only two involved in putting it together.

As she explains, her two fellow students finally finish whatever conversation they were having and approach to join her. Hugh is a smarmy and rude budding defense attorney who has high opinions of only himself and Juniper; Robin is a very excitable prosecutorial student whose voice cracks when he yells too loudly and he carries a lump of clay around in his pocket to fiddle with and smush back up whenever its shape becomes unsatisfactory. Athena cheerily introduces herself, and then as soon as the two boys are looking at Juniper, she turns, aghast, to Apollo, undiluted panic written across her features. Horrified by her best friend’s apparent taste in guys? (Apollo can sympathize. The best taste Clay has ever had is his low-key celebrity crush on Klavier, and Apollo’s not gonna get into that.)

They do seem to genuinely like Juniper, though, or at least they can’t stop talking her up - once they’re done arguing about which of the two of them was closer to winning the mock trial, vowing to beat the holy hell out of each other, and then assuring Athena that they won’t actually be beating the holy hell out of each other, because they’re all best friends and have certifiable proof of that. (Athena gets a strange expression on her face when they say that. Maybe she hears something in their voices, or maybe it’s just hitting her that her long-lost old friend has new friends in her life, people who have their own in-jokes and secrets shared with her. It would be like Nahyuta meeting Clay, and that thought makes Apollo feel very strange, too.)

But besides their appreciation for her mock trial script, and her acting as the defendant in said mock trial, she is - or was supposed to, before this happened - singing in a concert for the school festival. “It was supposed to be later today,” Juniper says, ducking her head. “I’m only singing because most everyone else was too embarrassed to try out…”

“But still!” Athena has joined what’s now a triangle of people gushing over Juniper. “The stage outside, right? My Junie singing in front of a crowd - that’s incredible! You’ll be amazing!”

“Ah - th-thanks.” The poor girl is definitely uncomfortable with all of the attention now. “I made my own costume for the performance,” she adds. “I was still working on it this morning.” She takes her phone from her pocket and Athena eagerly leans in to see. Apollo rests an elbow on her head to push her out of the way enough that he can see without crowding Juniper’s personal space. “I based it on the outfit of a singer I really love—”

“Lamiroir?” Apollo didn’t mean to interrupt so loudly, but he recognizes that ruffled white dress and the beautiful blue cloak; he would remember it even if the brooch on her costume hadn’t come into contention as a piece of evidence.

Juniper almost whacks her head on Athena’s when she raises it. “You know Lamiroir?” she asks, and Apollo almost laughs, because he knows she wouldn’t think to mean it like that, but he does know Lamiroir, as in, met her, multiple conversations with her, cross-examined her.

“She’s an amazing singer, isn’t she?” Apollo says, and Juniper nods in eager agreement. He can’t actually listen to much of her music all at once, though. Something about it makes him homesick for somewhere, and he’s not really sure where - it isn’t Khura’in, exactly - but it always leaves him melancholy at best. And while Lamiroir’s songs are beautiful, none of them are what he would call upbeat, and that doesn’t help either.

“She’s incredible,” Juniper says, her words turning into a sigh of admiration. “I was so excited to hear that she was coming here for a tour last year, even if she wasn’t the main act, and then I couldn’t make it—”

“You didn’t really miss much,” Apollo says. “Since she only sang one song, and then there was the murder.”

“Huh?” Athena asks. Hugh and Robin don’t exactly appear to be in-the-know either.

“Were you at the concert?” Juniper asks. “Wait,” she adds, before he can answer, and she finally seems to have a little more energy than she did before, and to be relaxing her formality, even just a little. “Your name - you’re Apollo Justice. Didn’t you defend Machi Tobaye?”

“Er - yeah.” What’s this weird feeling - being acknowledged? Being recognized? Weird. “That was me.”

“Now you’re really gonna have to catch me up on what that case was about.” Athena interrupts with some force, sounding more than anything like a petulant child. Though she also has to be feeling bitterly left out, finding Apollo suddenly pulled into this group of people who have some connection to her old friend that she doesn’t. “Whenever we have time to talk about old cases. Whenever this case is dealt with.”

Maybe that was a bad thing to say. Maybe that cursed them, cursed the investigation to be suddenly kickstarted in the worst way. Maybe that’s a ridiculous thought, and it’s just unfortunate, unlucky timing, that at that moment, Detective Fulbright enters, trailed by a few officers. “Hello, my lawyer friends! Long time, no see, though I’m afraid we’ve no time now to catch up - Juniper Woods, you’re under arrest for the murder of Constance Courte!”

Athena shrieks louder than Robin, and both of them are louder than Juniper, who blanches and then goes a little sickly green, her hands over her mouth as another bout of frantic coughing escapes her lips. It’s not Juniper who Fulbright has to argue the reason for arrest with - it’s Athena, Athena demanding the evidence, the motive, why why why, and when Fulbright tells her everything he can he adds that Prosecutor Blackquill won’t let him say any more, Apollo’s stomach drops through the floor. “Blackquill?” Athena repeats indignantly. “Prosecutor Blackquill is the one—”

“Indeed!” Does Fulbright have any idea how terrifying the man actually is? Or is his casual attitude only feigned. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do, and we must be going. Come along now, miss.” Two officers flank Juniper, escorting her up the stairs to the doors, one of them holding the mock trial evidence that she still had in her pocket.

“Hold it!” Athena cries. “Hold it, hold it!” Fulbright stops, and so do the other officers, but Juniper doesn’t look back at Athena. “It’s not her! I won’t believe that! Junie! I’m going to defend you! I promise I’ll get you freed!”

At that, Juniper turns her head. She still looks green and pale, and tears flow freely down her cheeks, but a smile crosses her face, the first one that Apollo has seen her give. “Th-thank you, Thena.”

“Have you ever actually defended a case before?” Fulbright pushes his sunglasses back up his nose, from where they had slid down as he gave Athena a disbelieving look. “As more than the assistant, I mean. You’re pretty new to this, aren’t you?”

“I’ll help,” Apollo interrupts. Can’t let Athena start to second-guess herself now, especially not with her friend the defendant, and likely in desperate need of reassurance, at that. “I’ll be right here with you, Athena, for the whole case.”

“You don’t need to worry about a thing, Junie!” Athena calls after her, and between coughs, in her tiny voice, she thanks them again, and then she, and the other officers and Fulbright, are gone, and the door closes on the silent hall.

The first person to make a sound is Hugh, with a derisive snort. “Please. Like rank amateurs are going to be able to handle this case. I’ll get this solved and have it under control for Juniper’s sake.” He turns, hands still in his pockets, and stalks toward the doors behind one of the mock trial benches.

“You don’t even have a badge!” Athena shouts after him. “And I do, you smug little—”

Whatever her particular choice of insult would be, she is drowned out by Robin, also yelling after Hugh, and then running after him. “Totally rude, man! And I’m in this too, don’t you forget it! I’m gonna save Juniper!”

Athena places her hands over her ears and leaves them there a moment, until both of them are also gone, and silence returned to the hall. Just the two of them now, in over their heads with another case and client. “The mock trial,” Athena says finally. “You said that it was all kind of like the real murder?”

“It was almost exactly like what we know of the real murder,” Apollo says. “The body probably having been moved to the crime scene, the arrow as the weapon, the - the stage wasn’t set up yet in their mock crime scene photo, but—” Is he missing a detail? He’s still pretty sure he’s missing something. Rope, was there a rope? No, he’s just assuming because of the bruising on the victim’s wrists in the real crime scene. “I’m going to start scrambling the two in a minute. I wish you’d seen the mock trial, too, or we had a script, so then we’d be sure we’ve got all the details right.” Fulbright mentioned the script, so it’s probably part of police evidence now, and way out of their hands. And by the time they’ll be able to talk to Juniper again, she’ll have gone through questioning by Prosecutor Blackquill and who knows what state that traumatic event will leave her memories in. “It’s not like I took notes on the mock trial or anything.”

Who could have thought it would be this direly important?

Now that everyone else is gone, Athena’s bold, decisive confidence is falling apart, and her shoulders slump, almost like she’s deflating. “We’ll write down what we know for sure and then come back to this later,” Apollo says. This is Athena’s case, and she’s going to need to take charge, but he’ll give her a few moments longer to come to grips with their situation. “Then we’ll need to—”

“Or, Herr Forehead, we could just take a look at the script now, ja?”

Apollo nearly smacks him in the face. It’s not Apollo’s fault, really, because Klavier could have given him warning, and how was Apollo - how were Apollo’s reflexes - supposed to guess that he was right behind him? It’s Klavier’s fault for putting himself right in arm’s range of a startled defense attorney and deliberately startling him. He’s got no reason to look so offended that Apollo nearly hit him.

“Prosecutor Gavin! What are you doing here? And how did you—”

He remembers that Klavier attended Themis when he was younger, yes, and he’d wondered if along with Phoenix, there had been a prosecutor invited to lecture, just for equity - but that doesn’t explain why he’s here in the lecture hall, and in his hand, a professionally-bound booklet that, on the front, reads submission by Juniper Woods. “Is that the script? How did you get that?”

Klavier winks. “I just so happened to borrow it for you, Herr Forehead. And not even a word of thanks?”

“So you aren’t supposed to have it. Just to clarify.” Apollo glances around the hall, knowing he won’t be surprised if he spots a certain faery dog in the vicinity. If Vongole picked up something and ran off with it, would the ordinary person just see a floating object, or does what the invisible-to-most hound picks up turn invisible with her, too?

“Ah, I’m sure we’ll get it back before it’s noticed to be missing,” he says. Definitely stolen, but maybe he took it himself, ghosting in and out of wherever the police have their evidence piled up.

“So is anyone going to introduce me, or are you just gonna leave me hanging?” Poor Athena, left out of the loop again. “I guess you know this guy, Apollo?”

“Why hello there, Fräulein. I don’t believe we’ve met before.” And there goes Klavier turning on all the rock-star charm, a brilliant smile and his accent falling on thick. “I believe I would remember your face.” Apollo rolls his eyes. Typical Gavin. Athena doesn’t seem entirely taken with him, yet, but she’s definitely relaxing from her earlier frantic nervousness. “My name is Klavier Gavin. I’m a prosecutor, though I was rather more famous for my band, the Gavinners. Regrettably the band went, ah, kaput, last year, but I was the lead localist. Perhaps you heard of us.”

“Gavineers,” Athena repeats. “No, sorry, don’t know it.” She pauses for a moment, considering something that Apollo expects to be smarter than what she actually says. “Can I have your autograph anyway?”

Klavier laughs.

“No, Athena, don’t encourage him. His ego’s already the size of Jupiter.”

“Ach, jealously hardly becomes you, Herr Forehead. And you’ve no reason to be - you’re the one always being trailed by the lovely Fräuleins, ja?”

“She’s the new lawyer at the Agency,” Apollo says irritably. It really is so much easier to like Klavier with no one else around, no one he’s putting on a show for, putting up this facade. It feels - almost dishonest, and like Apollo’s talking to someone entirely different than the man he knows, or thinks he knows. And it doesn’t surprise him that he’s currently dealing with this version of Klavier, especially because they’ve already failed this month to deal with the elephant on the calendar. It’s been a year since they watched Kristoph break down into the changeling shadow of himself, and a year since Klaver told Apollo everything there was to know about him and his brother - and Apollo texted him about it, earlier in October, and Klavier refused to engage. Threw up a stone wall and Apollo has no idea why he’s so much less willing to talk than he was in April. Now they’re face to face and Klavier’s just playing the vapid Eurorock flirt, and Apollo can’t even wring his goddamn neck because he has a case to deal with instead.

“I’m Athena Cykes! Nice to meet you!” She extends a hand and Klavier slaps the mock trial script into her palm instead. He does give her a little bow of his head, saving her from looking too off-put, and she turns her attention to the script. “So this is Junie’s script?” she says. “The one the actual crime is like.”

“I figure we could give it a little mockup of our own,” Klavier says, sweeping a few loose strands of hair behind his ear. “With myself as the prosecution, of course, Herr Forehead as the defense, and you, Fräulein, to fill in as both judge and defendant.”

“So like a mock mock trial,” Athena says. “All right! I’m ready to go!” She flips open the script and starts paging through it. “Let’s see, what do we have for evidence…?”

“And you, Herr Forehead? Ready to rock?”

“No,” Apollo says. “Why can’t we just, you know, look at the mock trial script and just read it?”

“Ach, but where is the flair? The drama? To the bench with you!” He plants his hand in Apollo’s back and shoves him off toward one of the mock trial benches. Athena has already taken her place at the witness stand, her nose in the script book.

“You are insufferable,” Apollo mutters, and he regrets saying it - or that specific choice of word, or using that word earlier because that’s more how he tends to describe Klavier, not Clay - because Klavier doesn’t seem to hear him, and Athena’s head snaps up and she shoots him a look, and then tosses another pointed one in Klavier’s direction. Apollo shrugs. Athena’s not the one that reads body language. If he doesn’t say anything she can’t hear anything. She flips to the next page of the script and pulls a few photographs out from where they were wedged.

“Achtung, baby! Let’s rock!”

The murder is really, really just like the mock trial. The body was moved from the location of the murder (the art room in the mock trial, currently unknown in the real case) down to the quad (just the stretch of ground in the mock trial, on the stage set up in the real case), where it was found with an arrow in its side. The athletics storehouse lies around the side of the main building, near the art room window, and contains heavily padded high jump mats and ball carts, which would allow the body to be tossed out the window without showing signs of trauma and easily moved. The real murder weapon wasn’t decided in the mock trial - it wasn’t the arrow, Robin argued, and the mock autopsy report agreed - but Klavier suggests it’s an awl from the art room. The mock trial script has several photos packaged with it, including the awl, the one Juniper had in her pocket.

“I hope that was just paint on it,” Athena says, pressing her lips together. “It’s scary how similar this is.”

“It can’t be a coincidence,” Apollo says. He believes in coincidence, but not to this extent. “I guess we should investigate the art room.”

“I’ve got to sneak that script back, so I might as well check up on whether the police have gotten to that.” Klavier leans onto the bench, propping up his head on one hand. “What’s your next move, Fräulein and Forehead?”

“Wait, wait, hold up!” Athena yelps. “I need to finish scanning the script! I want to have a copy of the whole thing!” She has laid it out flat on the stand, and Widget is lit up, recording everything in front of it and projecting a screen to the side, where she is checking her photos of each page to be sure they are readable. “And then we’ll - we’ll - Apollo, what should we do next?”

“Start by interviewing everyone who might be related to the case,” he says. “Hugh, Robin, definitely - Mr Wright might be able to tell us if Professor Means has anything to say - and we’ll ask around to see if there are any other witnesses.”

Athena nods vigorously, and as she continues her work with the script she bounces on her feet with nervous energy that once again collects within her, the tension in her shoulders and the deeper furrow of her brow, anxious to get moving again. It might be a miracle if she finishes her task with the script without bolting off and chasing the need to feel like they’re making tangible progress. Klavier at the other bench has gone silent, and now that Apollo thinks to look, takes a wide glance around the hall, he spots Vongole stalking about the edges of the room, the way she did in the courtroom a year ago, circling silently and ceaselessly. Could Athena see her? Apollo doesn’t know what the pattern is for who can and can’t, and he isn’t sure he wants to.

Instead of a lot of things he could say, he goes over to the other bench and says, “You’re in an awfully helpful mood today.”

“Am I not supposed to be? Shall I keep all of my information to myself, though I am not the prosecutor, and this not my case?” He straightens up. “We have the same goal, ja? To find the truth of who killed the professor.”

Is that the goal of a defense attorney? The truth, or to save their client? Is that the goal of a prosecutor? The truth, or to get justice for those wronged? Should all of those be the same thing? “Did you know Professor Courte?” Apollo asks. Athena closes the script book but doesn’t move. Her intent stare, and her head tilting this way and that like an owl, tells him she’s not just waiting for the answer, but waiting to analyze it.

There is a moment after the question when Klavier slips, when even his powers of glamour don’t hold up, and actual, real, emotion finds its way across his face. He looks exhausted, he looks distraught, and Apollo has barely a moment to take it in, to process that pain, before it is gone, smoothed over and replaced by Klavier’s neutral expression. And more than neutral - more like he’s ratcheted the glamour up a few more notches, bright and gold and hard to tear his eyes off of Klavier’s face, but impossible to get even a glimpse of the actual person and feelings behind it. “Ja, I knew her. She taught the judges’ course, but she made some of her classes available to all students, and I was fortunate enough to be able to take some with her before I went to study abroad.”

Athena’s eyes narrow into a suspicious squint. So what she’s hearing is definitely more than yeah, took a couple classes from her a decade ago. Apollo guessed as much. He remembers Klavier talking about Themis, about a professor he had there, one who if not knew what he was and what the fae had done to him, had guessed by knowing enough about the fae to notice his horrible high-sodium dietary habits. Apollo opens his mouth to mention that.

Whether Klavier notices that, or notices Athena’s expression, or was just steeling himself for a second and always intended to keep talking, he adds, “She was a brilliant woman. Always concerned with truth and fairness and the proper means to an end, and determined to dig out corruption wherever it could be found. I’ve rarely known a more honest person, or a better one. I had not seen her for quite a while and had expected to speak with her again as I came back here. And now…”

Athena’s face falls. She raises a hand to brush aside her bangs and surreptitiously wipe her eyes. “So,” Klavier continues tersely. “I have as much reason as you to want to be sure that we find her real killer, ja?”

What to say to that? I’m sorry is hollow as it ever is, and the best Apollo can do - the only thing he can ever do - is to investigate, find the truth, expose the murderer. He and Athena should get moving again, but he doesn’t quite want to just leave Klavier alone now either. Not with the grief that keeps flickering across his face, a different kind of grief than before: Kristoph and Dayran were murderers. Professor Courte was murdered.

“Were you going to be giving a lecture like Mr Wright was, too?” Athena asks, offering the script book back to him.

Klavier takes it and idly thumbs through the pages, stopping on a photograph stuck between two middle pages, of Professor Courte lying in the dirt holding an arrow to her side, posing as the mock trial corpse. “Ja, and a concert as well. You saw the stage outside? That was to be for a bit of a reunion performance of the Gavinners, just this once, one last time.”

“Really?” Apollo asks. “I didn’t expect you’d just—”

He and Klavier never spoke about the band, the break-up, and Apollo had just assumed what it was about. No replacing Daryan, and then, after Kristoph, Klavier reevaluating everything, re-prioritizing, figuring out who was Klavier Gavin, and what was he, prosecutor or rock star? Or something like a crisis of faith. Of identity, though honestly, given what he knows, he thinks Klavier can’t really afford to get hung up on identity crises because that’s his whole life.

“Ja, well, the school asked, and suggested having a student representative up to sing one song, and at that point I could hardly refuse someone the grand opportunity to get up on stage there with me, could I?”

He winks, leaving Apollo more the fool to have expected something meaningful from him. “Oh! That was going to be Junie, right?” Athena asks. “Had you met her before? She’s a real sweetheart! She would never kill anyone!”

“We exchanged a few emails discussing song selection and other such things, but I am hardly the man to determine whether she did what she is accused of.” Klavier waves a hand, feigning a casual dismissal of Athena’s statement, when his own response is, knowing his history, anything but casual. Athena’s face darkens, but she perks up a moment later as he continues, “As I am neither prosecution today, nor ever the defense, I will refrain from judgment, and simply do my best to help you find the truth. That is an acceptable agreement to us, ja?”

“Ja! Danke! Whatever help you can give us would be fantastic!” Athena says brightly. “Thank you so much!”

Klavier grins back at her. First meeting of the Themis German Language Social Club, call to order. One day they’re going to need someone who knows Khura’inese and then they’ll all be sorry. (Ha. As if.) “Best we all get back to investigating, but I won’t say goodbye, as I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again. Bis Später! Herr Forehead, Fraulein.”

Vongole follows him up the stairs out of the lecture hall, close at his heels, confirming for certain that Athena can’t see the fae dog. “Au revoir!” Athena calls after him, and even still down on the floor, Apollo hears Klavier’s laugh.

“Huh, German sounds different than I remember,” Apollo says.

“Always the critic,” Athena says. “Prosecutor Gavin seems like a pretty good guy. Really friendly. It’s kind of nice, to be reminded that’s possible - I mean, I know, like Mr Wright and Prosecutor Edgeworth, and Prosecutor Debeste was very friendly too, but—”

“And then we’re against Prosecutor Blackquill for this case.”

Athena sighs. “And then,” she echoes, wearily, crossing her arms, “there’s Prosecutor Blackquill.”

“I’m afraid, by orders of Prosecutor Blackquill, that no one not affiliated with the police’s official investigation is allowed in here right now!”

Fulbright’s broad shoulders block off almost all of the doorway of the main building’s third-floor art room. Behind him, Phoenix gets a glimpse of some colorful mobiles hanging from the ceiling, several officers bustling about between easels, and, very likely not affiliated with the police’s official investigation, Prosecutor Gavin. Frozen with wide eyes, he stares at Phoenix, and then as an officer passes by barely an inch from him, he hops to the side, landing on one foot and bouncing to the other, deftly maneuvering himself between people who have no idea he is in their midst. “So Blackquill is the prosecutor on this case?” Phoenix asks, and it takes all of his years of practice to keep a straight face with Klavier, over Fulbright’s shoulder, making a slashing motion across his throat. Definitely not supposed to be there.

“I am here, am I not?” Fulbright asks. “Prosecutor Blackquill and I are a team! Which is to say yes, he will be prosecuting!”

Does Blackquill consider them equally a team? Somehow Phoenix doubts it. Though, all considered, the detective seems to like Blackquill well enough, which makes him someone Phoenix should try and talk to. He’s only going to learn so much about Blackquill from facing him in court, or talking to Edgeworth. What of the detective who has to be his eyes, ears, and hands on the crime scene?

(Although, as far as eyes are concerned, Phoenix tries to peer at the window to see if, by chance, there might be a hawk sitting on the outside sill.)

“I thought the crime scene was down at the stage,” Phoenix lies. The lack of blood beneath Courte’s body refutes that suggestion. “What are so many officers doing up here?”

“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to say,” Fulbright says. That’s a pretty good hint that they think this is a place of interest, and that they’re looking at it as, possibly, the real scene of the murder. “If you would, Mr Lawyer, please leave us to our work.”

“All right,” Phoenix says, catching Klavier’s eye. Kid still looks like he thinks the eye contact is a preamble to being hit by a train. “I’ll just be heading out that way.” He tosses his head back down the hall and with that, does as he is asked and leaves, and immediately after turning the corner he parks himself there and leans up against the wall. Just out of sight, but the stairs and elevators both lie beyond him, so anyone leaving or going to the art room passes right by him. And he waits there with his magatama burning a hole in his pocket, metaphorically; if it ever does anything, it gets cold, like ice against his skin that will never melt with his body heat.

The minutes tick past, and then, finally, the hellhound rounds the corner first, tall, tall as Phoenix has ever seen her, but still wispy, barely corporeal, head held low yet almost eye-to-eye with Phoenix, her empty red ones and his blue. Klavier follows a moment later, all gleaming shining gold like the sun shines only on him, like different light illuminates him than the overhead fluorescence of the academy hallway. Funny, how Thalassa looks like dusk, a rich blue and starlit night, while it’s the daylight that glows out from under Klavier’s skin. The same, and not at all; two sides of the sky, and the magic in the very air of the Twilight Realm soaked through them to make them so.

But Klavier’s eyes still gleam that haunted blue that says every way he turns his head, he expects to see fae, or just fears that he will. Balanced on a knife’s edge between paranoid and justifiably so. “What’s the word in there?” Phoenix asks.

When he stops looking with the Sight, everything about Klavier goes dark, dull, desaturated, gray and tired. Lines under his eyes like he hasn’t slept well in weeks, and the color sapped from his face by that same exhaustion, he’s two different people when the magatama cuts through the bright glamour that a changed child effortlessly breathes. A star, and the black hole it left when it burnt out.

“They think it’s the location that the murder actually took place,” Klavier answers. “Luminol reactions detected traces of blood on the floor that was wiped away. The suspect’s script also had the art room as the most likely scene of the crime, so they are only further convinced of her guilt.”

“Planning out a murder in advance so well that it gets chosen as a mock trial case.” Phoenix shakes his head. “Hell of an argument the prosecution is making. But that’s good to have confirmed for sure. Any talk about a motive?”

“None that I heard.”

“Not that they’ll necessarily need a motive, with this other evidence looking like it does,” Phoenix muses, “but Prosecutor Blackquill will probably figure out something anyway. I wonder what Ms Woods’ grades look like. She’s probably a smart kid” - her script was the one chosen, and she’s Student Council president too - “but that’s the first place I’d look if I was trying to figure—”

“How can you do this?” Klavier asks.

“What?”

“Just stand here and - and talk to me like nothing happened! I ruined your life!”

“Is that what you think happened?” A year ago, the only time they’ve seen each other since that unfortunate, life-changing trial, even with Vera, Trucy, and Apollo around as a buffer, Klavier still ran from him. Phoenix knows that this is exactly what Klavier thinks. Guilt wouldn’t have him running and hiding otherwise. “I don’t think the truth of that matter is as clear-cut as that.”

“Don’t—”

“If I held a grudge against everyone who inadvertently, or with good intent, helped a bad actor’s ploy to ruin my life, I wouldn’t have any damn friends left,” Phoenix interrupts. Maybe that’s an exaggeration. He would still have Larry and Maya - but Edgeworth? Pearls? Iris? Vera? Trucy? For Redd White, Morgan, Dahlia, Kristoph, their hands on the strings, knowing how to play a perfect prosecutor or a family member against their latest target.

(And Kristoph and Dahlia may be too alike, poison and betrayal and petty pride and a devil’s horns, but Iris knew exactly what her sister was. Iris consciously chose to help her manipulate and lie because she wanted to stop her from killing anyone else but didn’t want to see her caught for her crimes. She was a well-intentioned accomplice who knew exactly what she was doing to help her sister. Klavier had no idea. Phoenix would be a damn hypocrite to forgive one and not the other.)

“Don’t - don’t patronize me, just because I’m not one of your little band who can see lies.”

Phoenix swallows, forcing down a strange and foreign anger that bubbles up from his stomach. Is it because he’s hearing someone else’s voice when Klavier speaks, someone they’re both conspicuously avoiding mention of. “Dammit, Gavin, I’m not. Look at me” - he motions to his chest, to the cursed necklace mark imprinted around the base of his neck, that he knows Klavier can See with his marked eyes - “and tell me that your brother was the first person to hate me enough to not care who becomes collateral and who gets used!” He drops his hands to his sides and they smack against his legs. “I’ve been here before, and I’m not lying to you, and I don’t hate you or blame you.”

“You don’t hate me,” Klavier repeats, his voice dead and dry and wholly accentless. Does he do that on purpose? Or is it an accident that it slips, that he sounds just like - like him. “You don’t hate me, of course you don’t, I’m to believe that, yes? Then do you always carry that magatama with you?” He tilts his head; his eyes don’t waver from that grayer shade of blue. “Or that’s just something you happened to grab knowing that I would be around.” He leans forward a few inches so that he’s closer to looking Phoenix in the eye. “Couldn’t let me get past you. Couldn’t bear the thought of something slipping out of your control.”

“Are you sure you’re still talking to me with that last bit?” Phoenix asks. Or does he just want to bait Phoenix into reacting to the comparison - does he want to make Phoenix hate him for these things he’s saying? Does he want Phoenix to hate him, to hate him for his part in what happened as much as he hates himself for it. “Yes, I did bring my magatama along because of you, but I was going to lend it to someone.”

He’s got no way of knowing how Klavier is going to react - especially since they don’t know who killed Courte, who to blame, who to hate and hold responsible, but Phoenix, Phoenix is right here, and Klavier already lashing out at him as the specter of his guilt and everything that went wrong - but he knows he needs to say it. “Professor Courte gave me a call last night. We were supposed to meet earlier about the lecture, but she also admitted to me that there’s a particular someone who she was worried was avoiding her, for whatever reasons he might think he has, and she asked if I had any way to help her be sure that he wouldn’t be able to slip away without her getting a chance to chat with him.”

The last of the light bleeds from Klavier’s face; something dies behind his eyes. “She’s worried about you,” Phoenix says, realizing as the words emerge into the air that there is a problem with the statement, and Klavier blanches, hearing it too. “She - she was. I’m sorry.”

Klavier’s nod of acknowledgement is a shallow motion, and his face pinches together like he fears moving too fast will make him sick. And then he bolts for the stairwell, flinging the door open and disappearing inside.

“Klavier—!”

The door slams with a force that shakes the hall. But the hound remains there in front of Phoenix, looking at him, as though she’s waiting for something. Seeking some kind of help or reassurance Phoenix doesn’t know how to offer.

Over behind the main building, beneath one of the art room windows, they find Robin Newman high-strung and lamenting - loudly, furiously - the fact that as a prosecutor there’s nothing he can do to save Juniper. The police investigation at the stage is ongoing - they tell Apollo and Athena to go away because students aren’t allowed to be snooping around, and Athena gets fired up and Apollo has to urge her away before they have a Nine-Tails Vale redux but with more witnesses. Stomping away and telling Apollo that they’ve just got to come at this from another angle, literally, to hide and eavesdrop, Athena stumbles into a conspicuous cardboard box that pops up to reveal itself to contain a student - Myriam Scuttlebutt, one of Juniper’s classmates in the judge course, by what of the uniform they can see not hidden beneath the box. It has arm holes in the front so that Myriam can have a fuller range of motion. It’d be impressive dedication to snooping if she wasn’t the one who wrote the trashy campus tabloid and its slander about Juniper, and if she hadn’t just tried lying to Apollo about being Juniper’s friend to get information on the case. As it is, she’s annoying.

She’s the prosecution’s witness for tomorrow. Blackquill has bagged a girl in a box who hisses like a snake, and when the sunlight hits one of the punched-out handholds in the box, the place that presumably Myriam sees through, her eyes catch the light and glow like a deer in a car’s headlights.

Human eyes don’t reflect light like that.

Surprise isn’t even an emotion that Apollo feels in these situations anymore, just resignation. Maybe Blackquill will say something tomorrow that drops a hint. Maybe Phoenix will sit in the gallery and be able to tell them. Maybe Apollo is too tired to care anymore.

Phoenix they find again in the main campus building, with Professor Means, who, on finding out that Athena took up Juniper’s defense, tells her that he will do everything in his power to help the case and that if they aren’t finding the evidence they need for the correct verdict, to come see him at once. Phoenix’s face darkens as the professor speaks, and Apollo is glad to know that he isn’t alone in thinking that all sounds mildly shady.

By the time they’ve made this full loop of the campus, they find that Hugh has also circled back to the lecture hall, where he tells them that he actually saw Courte’s body when he was wandering around before the mock trial started, but he didn’t want to say anything because the mock trial would be called off and he knew he had to win because he was going to confess to Juniper when he won. Athena looks aghast, and she doesn’t say why but Apollo thinks he has an idea: that, of all people who could be in love with her friend, it has to be this black hole of egocentrism that took it to the point of ignoring a corpse.

If these are the kind of people that go to a law high school, Apollo will gladly take the college debt instead. (Not that Themis isn’t probably expensive as hell, but. The point remains.)

The autumn sun sinks down through the orange sky as they navigate rush-hour traffic to the detention center. Athena’s leg starts bouncing in the waiting room, enough to disturb Apollo’s chair next to her, and she continues to vibrate as they head in to see Juniper. “I think you can afford to take it down a notch,” Apollo tells her, and she nods even while she continues to drum her heel against the ground. So much for being a bastion of calm to support their client. He just hopes that Juniper won’t really notice Athena’s frantic nervous energy.

Juniper is already on the other side of the glass when they enter, but she sits with her body positioned away from them, her arms folded and her hands tucked away, and her long hair hanging down past her face. “Heya, Juniper?” Apollo ventures, Athena gone silent but still twitching her leg, and all of that movement in the corner of his eye doesn’t help him as he tries to understand Juniper’s body language. She’s afraid, upset, understandable, but is some of that - is she nervous because they’re here now? Is some of her fear directed at them? “How are you doing? We’ve talked to everyone that we could but there are a couple things we wanted to ask you.”

Juniper turns her head. Apollo’s stomach drops; Athena gasps, and Widget lets out a staticky, surprised warble. No word to this emotion - “surprise” doesn’t quite cut it, even with Widget’s yellow background. “I wanted to tell you, Thena. I just...” Juniper coughs into her hand. Her skin has taken up the yellow-green color of a plant that hasn’t seen enough sunlight, and when she pushes back some of the hair that frames her face, she tucks it behind a pointed ear.

When Athena said that Vera reminded her of an old friend of hers, she didn’t mean Juniper, did she?

“I didn’t know how,” Juniper concludes at last, when the silence stretches on without interruption from either Athena or Apollo. “Or if you could still think of me as—” Another coughing fit interrupts her.

“Of course you’re still my friend!” Athena says furiously. Widget lights up red, bright enough that it illuminates the bottom half of her face. “And of course we will still defend you!” She clenches her fists and turns her impassioned glare on Apollo. Does she expect that he’s going to be the weak link? That after Tenma Taro, no, this is what’s too weird? They’ve been working together for a whole six months. She should know him better than that.

“Of course we’ll still defend you,” Apollo repeats, before Athena can kick him or something, like she looks like she might. “You don’t need to worry about that. You’re not the first changeling I’ve defended, anyway.”

“Huh?” Athena cocks her head to the side. They didn’t tell her about Vera - Vera didn’t mention it, and so Apollo and Trucy never did. “Wait, really?”

“I’m not” - Juniper coughs - “a changeling.” She raises her head and finally looks them in the eyes. Her own aren’t the plain red of all the fae’s true forms that Apollo has ever seen, though if he actually thinks about it, that number is only three, Kristoph, Vera, and Iris. The whites of her eyes are still white, and still have dark visible pupils in their centers - it is just the irises that have changed to that bright, distinctive faery red. And thinking back, he definitely remembers noticing that Vera’s ears were large, distinct and almost batlike, while Juniper’s aren’t much larger than a human’s ears, and if they had the points but without her sickly green skin, Apollo isn’t sure that too many people would notice. Her hands, nervously clasped together, lack claws. “I’m half human.”

“Really?” Athena has finally stopped bouncing. Was she worried about some discord she heard in Juniper’s voice, that has now cleared now that she’d admitted this. “How is that - how does that happen?”

“Athena,” Apollo says, “nobody here wants to explain to you how babies are made.”

Juniper covers her face with her hands.

“I know how that works, Apollo!” she yells, her face reddening like Widget’s face reddens into anger. “I’m not asking that! I mean, I didn’t know that was - I guess there’s no reason why it wouldn’t be possible - so you’ve always been like this? Looked like this? I definitely don’t remember that when we were kids.”

Juniper doesn’t lower her hands but pulls them apart so that she’s peering through at Apollo and Athena with one eye. Pink has begun to show through the yellow-green of her cheeks. “I didn’t know when I was younger,” she says. “My grandmother - you remember I live with her, right, Thena? - never said anything until she thought I was old enough to understand, and to be strong enough to consciously hide it.” She bites her lip. “It’s easier if you don’t know, and just believe the whole way that you’re human.”

“Grandmother on which side of the family?” Apollo asks. He’d be lying to say he wasn’t personally curious, but who can honestly say before it happens what kind of information becomes relevant in a trial. They might need to know.

“She - she isn’t human.” Apollo wonders if that’s odd that even someone who shares blood with the fae seems reluctant to name them as they are. “And she warned me that this might happen if I get too stressed or emotional and now—” Another longer coughing fit overwhelms her.

“Do your friends know?” Athena asks. “Robin and Hugh?” Something like distaste hangs evident in her voice on their names. Earlier she told Apollo that all three of them sounded anxious when they spoke about the strength of their bonds, like maybe they really are on the verge of a triangular friendship breakdown, be it over the supposed love triangle or something else. Some other secrets, and she’s worried about Juniper in the middle of it.

“N-no.” Juniper seems especially nervous again, tense across her shoulders and she’s moved one hand to clutch her other wrist tightly enough that her knuckles don’t quite turn white, but a very pale shade of yellow. Close enough to white on green skin. Is she worried what they think of her for not telling them? For not telling even her closest two friends? “I wanted to, really. But I just - I never - I—”

“You couldn’t figure out how,” Apollo says, remembering Klavier talking about that same problem, Klavier telling him that he never even told Daryan, never knew the way to. “I understand completely.”

Athena raises her eyebrows at that - now she’s probably wondering what secret Apollo is hiding, and good luck to her if she ever tries to guess, but Apollo isn’t even thinking of his own situation right now - but Juniper visibly relaxes, slumping in her seat. “And I wanted to tell you too, Thena, as soon as I got to see you again, but you’d been away for so long that I couldn’t even start to guess how you would react. Or if you’ve been away for so long that you wouldn’t even believe me and would just think that I was crazy.” She looks down at her hands. “I think I started, um, showing” - she touches a hand to her face - “during the interrogation, and that prosecutor, Prosecutor Blackquill—” Her head snaps up and her red eyes widen. “Prosecutor Blackquill, Thena, he—”

“He’s a real jerk, I know,” Athena interrupts, “but we’ve beaten him three times before and I’m not gonna let him convict you! I promise, Junie, you don’t have to worry about that.”

She nods. By the expression on her face, that wasn’t all she was going to say, but after a few more seconds of silently looking at Athena, she continues, “He must have seen me this way that you’re seeing me but he didn’t even say anything. And I’m afraid that he’s waiting for some perfect time to reveal it, because—” She stops talking and they wait while she coughs. “Because—” Again, she coughs so badly that she can’t continue through it.

“Are you all right?” Apollo asks.

“Sasha has a heart condition,” Athena says abruptly, and the confusion might have successfully paused Juniper’s fit. “And so did Azura, and they were both selkies. And they said that it’s like, a thing, for people who are magic like that, trying to grow up in the human world.”

Juniper nods. “There’s so much metal and iron everywhere. And here especially. I feel like I can’t breathe in here.” Her shoulders shake as she inhales.

“Being partially human doesn’t help you with that?” Apollo glances down at the ring on his hand and is glad that she didn’t offer to shake hands with anyone when they first met.

“My grandmother said that it’s a genetic grab bag,” Juniper replies. “I guess I’m just not very lucky. But I’m worried that the prosecution will” - she coughs - “that I don’t know how he could know but—” She coughs again, but keeps talking through it, her voice growing more and more high-pitched and strained like she’s running out of air and choking. “But Professor Courte was the only person at Themis who knew this about me.”

She doubles over, wheezing.

She’s afraid that Blackquill is going to turn that into a motive. Apollo gives it some thought and decides there’s no point to reassuring Juniper that even if her glamour hadn’t cracked up, Blackquill would still probably know. That’s not reassurance.

“I…” Athena’s voice emerges faintly and her eyes dart toward Apollo, as though he isn’t equally clueless to how to respond to this revelation. Finally, she repeats, firmly, “We’ll get you found innocent, Junie, I promise.”

Get as much other information from Juniper as she knows about the mock trial and the real case, and then go into the trial tomorrow with their heads held high. That’s all they can do. They have to hope that it’s enough. They’ll have to make it be enough.

#fic: the witches of los angeles #roddy fanfics

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incarnateirony · 5 years

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It’s... Supernatural.

You know, we all say we love this show or respect where it came from, but there’s a perspective that screams beneath the surface that I think a lot of people don’t really grok

Lines float around, about Eric not having anything big under his belt before it or not thinking the show would make it year to year, or him saying it became more than he could ever imagine -- we know that in practice, but I think very few people understand what it really reduces to. I have a tumult of feelings right now in a way that’s strangely personal.

If you look at Eric Kripke’s history -- really look at it -- before Supernatural he really had two projects. They were self-written and directed shorts. Some of you know the friendships I have littered around the industry. Some are still at this point. Some have made their break. And I’ve been on both sides of that fence. He also had his weird little Tarzan thing he pitched around the same time, but it fell on its face pretty fast.

But Supernatural... Supernatural is honestly the story of a young author, respectively a kid, who had a lot of Ideas(TM). You’ve been that person -- hoping the right person would see the brilliance you had floating around in your braincase and give you a shot, or tell you what you needed to fix so they would.

Kripke was a young man with a lot of Ideas(TM). And he went in with his first idea and it tumbled in, and that’s okay, he reworked it. And he laid his idea out there prostate and a few names looked at it and said... I’ll sign on. I think this kid has something.

We can bitch about, say, Robert Singer all we want -- I do definitely believe he’s kind of uh, lost his edge with age. But he’s part of that. There were a handful of Industry Olds that got their hands on it and said... sign me on.

We can see this in action in other CW shows, such as The Outpost -- another fandom you may remember I’m avidly involved in, or was -- I got some personal news about Things(TM) I can’t/won’t talk about that have hurt personal friends I have on that team that have made me distance from it, but Arrowstorm is still a phenomenal indie team that was given a chance when Dean Devlin of Electric Entertainment looked at it and said, “you know what, these kids have something.” And now a bunch of awesome D&D nerds that used to use Kickstarter to fund feature films indie at 75K a pop have a CW show moving into their second year.

And myself, before my life collapsed in on itself from domestic violence, when I met my first good friends that had Names(TM) -- Susan, Jerry, Bruce -- I won’t namedrop more specifically beyond that -- that started motoring my work around to get it where it needed to be to, well, exist.

When you start like that, you still don’t have much. Your budget is... kind of hilariously small. You’d be shocked the kind of jumping jacks you learn to make 40K make for starter funding before you get rolling into your bigger contributions and budgets. The things you turn over in your head with a mix of your own young ingenuity and senior guidance from people who have run this mess before.

But this little show from this dude with next to no history got a few names and held this distant dream that, if he was lucky, maybe he could have a five year plan. He writ out a few pages of loose overlay and stepped in. He had what was essentially a backwater network that ran low ratings anyway that gave him a little bit of liberty, but he always knew he was riding that line, “smoke em while you got em.”

Jensen Ackles has said when he looked at the script he thought, gee, they had a chance of... maybe running a couple of years.

It had its struggles. Its ups and downs. While it almost petered out mid original plan, Kripke got his new lightning in a bottle: Misha Collins. And they’ve spared nothing on set talking about how much of an impact they made. They cleared their five years... and were shocked to order more.

In time, once Kripke had that under his belt, he went on to other plans and other visions -- which I am so goddamn happy for him even if they haven’t had the same longevity and general success of Supernatural.

They never planned for a season 6. Which, honestly, is a good deal of why I feel Gamble era was such a mess. Kinda a raw deal she just sort of cobbled together and ran with in the end. But they got their ducks in a row. And they kept going... and going.

This little engine that could that came out of, essentially, a nobody’s dream and the faith of a few solid industry names willing to give it a chance exploded into an international phenomenon that, by the last handful of years, became one of the top 20 digital shows in the world. It’s defied the writer’s strike, the advertiser crash, the digital boom, it’s just survived.

No, it hasn’t just survived -- it’s thrived.

I have so many emotions about this that I’m having a hard time really speaking it. Because myself, my friends -- past and current and now even on other shows -- like, there’s a tangibility to this mind blowing reality that no, in no way is this my show. But I am so. Damn. Happy. For Kripke, and for everybody involved.

Sure, Supernatural has evolved in a way that it’s vastly different from Kripke era. But there isn’t a single soul that has any reckoning of what we’ve really watched grow that wouldn’t imagine him looking back with true pride at his little baby all grown up... and finally, fifteen years later, as a record breaking timeless phenomenon -- finally retiring.

It’s easy for assholes to take shots about “just the CW”, but it takes a hell of a lot of awareness to really understand what this was.

I don’t just... pick shows to pick shows. I don’t pick them because they’re hot or the It Thing(TM). I might watch a few for a few seasons for that, but if I take it to heart and keep it in interest, it’s because I’m enraptured by the crew. By this fandom that mailed in post cards and set a new precedent.

There’s things about the fandom that drive me nuts in the bad way -- sure. But goddamn this crew has me heart and soul for all of their work. So congratulations to Kripke for his baby being all grown up and making so much history, and thanks to every other showrunner and author and director and editor and wardrobe worker and makeup artist and set designer and composer and coordinator and COFFEE RUNNER that has put their work into it, even if at times some of us have had conflict with what person 1, 2, or 3 decided to do at any time.

J2M’s decision was theirs and theirs alone, and not an easy one for a great number of reasons. Their friends, the crew, the impact it’s had on the BC Film Industry, on the world, on... charitable endeavors and mental health awareness. Kripke surely never imagined any of that when he started but I’m sure he’s goddamn proud and he’s probably crying and full of emotion like most of this fandom right now.

I’ll plug this video one last time. Not for myself or my views or whatever, but to really appreciate how much time and soul is in this show, and what we’ve got. And never take that for granted.

youtube

Never let the Supernatural family die.

Ever.

#supernatural #final season #eric kripke #production #FEELINGS #send help #it's finally sunk in #i knew it was coming #i was prepared #but the magnitude of it #is literally slamming me on a deep and personal and spiritual level

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marshmallowgoop · 5 years

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Goop Plays Kill la Kill the Game: IF (Ryuko Episodes 1-4)

I don’t think I have anything really constructive to say.

Episode 1

Well, okay, that’s not true.

My biggest complaint about these episodes—and especially this first one—is that the repeated cutscenes are kind of a drag. I feel like there are definitely ways to make the same events from a different perspective more engaging than this. Much of Ryuko’s episode 1 is literally just the same exact content from Satsuki’s story with absolutely no differences at all.

But that said, I did quite enjoy what was different.

Of course. It’s me.

To avoid going straight to the obvious examples, I still love these stylish opening sequences. The black silhouettes against the red is such a great aesthetic.

And, uh. I definitely inwardly squealed about what Senketsu says in this introduction....

Senketsu: Then... due to fate, or perhaps coincidence... Ryuko acquires Kamui Senketsu. She returns to the academy, but this time, she has an ally...

Yes she does have an ally (sob).

Lol at “or perhaps coincidence,” though. Suuuuure, Senketsu. Sure.

And yeah, I know. It didn’t take me long to get to the obvious examples. What can I say. I love them.

Seriously, fair warning, but practically everything I’m gonna write about this episode—and the following three—is mostly just gushing about these kids. Repeating the cutscenes sure felt tedious, but seeing more dialogue shared between Ryuko and Senketsu made the experience worth it.

Yes, I am so desperate that any interaction between them is pretty much A++++ for me.

I do have to say that their first conversation is... pretty curious, though. (And I’m not sure how I feel about Senketsu moving all weird when he’s talking, which... didn’t really happen in the anime.)

Ryuko: What’s wrong, Senketsu?

Senketsu: Doesn’t something feel... off?

Ryuko: Nah, I feel great. Better than usual, actually.

Senketsu: Odd. To me, it feels as though time has been... compressed. What’s even more strange is that after all those battles, you’re not even winded.

Ryuko: For a bunch calling themselves the Elite Four, I guess they’re not as big a deal after all.

Senketsu: No. It’s not so much that they’re weak. Perhaps you’re just too strong.

Ryuko: Let’s talk about it later, Senketsu. It’s time to deal with the boss bitch.

First off, it comes up later throughout these episodes, but those with Life Fibers in them seem to sense that something is iffy about time. And that’s actually my second major complaint about these episodes. Everything happens so quickly that nothing really has an impact, and this issue is far more obvious in Ryuko’s story than Satsuki’s because Ryuko arguably has a lot more dramatic events happening all at once: losing to Satsuki, discovering who killed her father and getting Senketsu torn up as a result, beating Nui in battle so badly that she’s convinced she put Nui down for good (which, again, uh), and then repairing Senketsu and agreeing to help Satsuki... I mean, in the anime, stuff like this took more than several episodes to happen, and here, everything goes down in like a half hour.

While I can appreciate that there is seemingly going to be some sort of justification for this breakneck speed—and if I could hazard a guess, I’d say it probably has something to do with Ragyo’s comment about how the world in the game is “distorted”—it’s still kinda sad that so much content is rushed through.

But that said, I wonder why Ryuko doesn’t appear to be affected. She’s also a Life Fiber being, but perhaps her Fibers haven’t been “activated” yet? But then, why is she so powerful?

Lots of “hmms” here.

And for more “hmms,” is Ragyo referring to Senketsu here? Or Ryuko? Or both?

Ragyo: Well, well... It seems when one allows their instincts to guide them, they are led to some amusing surprises. I thought the Primordial Life Fiber was reacting to Junketsu. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

I wonder if Ragyo realizes that Ryuko is her daughter at this point, but I’m gonna say probably not.

Still, curious stuff.

But to get back to Ryuko and Senketsu, I gotta say that it’s pretty amusing that Satsuki’s side of the story didn’t include any awkward pauses as Ryuko talks to Senketsu, lol. I am glad that they are talking and Satsuki just didn’t hear it, though. One of my first complaints was that there wasn’t enough Senketsu action back when Satsuki’s episode 1 footage dropped.

And, oh, Senketsu, you are ever so perceptive. Still sad we don’t get to see Senketsu/Satsuki bonding in the game....

Senketsu: She could have easily ripped me to shreds if she wanted to. So, why didn’t she finish me off when she had the chance?

And last note on this episode, but as much as I love Ryuko and Senketsu, I still want like ten hours of all the characters just talking. Interactions like this crack me the heck up.

Uzu: That Matoi chick’s a tough cookie, all right. But she’s nothing compared to Lady Satsuki.

Nonon: Well, DUH! We don’t need a monkey to tell us that.

Episode 2

Episode 2 is where Ryuko’s story really starts to pick up.

Especially to me. Because a lot of it is just Ryuko and Senketsu talking. Lol.

I don’t really have anything constructive or insightful to say about much of what they talk about, but I definitely have reactions.

Like...

Senketsu: Junketsu is a Kamui just like me. We’re not all that different from one another.

Please don’t say that, Sen. You are very different from Junketsu.

And I love how Ryuko just keeps asking Senketsu what to do in this episode. You really see how much she trusts him as her partner. It is so sweet.

Ryuko: Senketsu. Got any ideas on how to beat her?

Ryuko: Then what should I do?

Well, at least until Ryuko totally ignores his last suggestion there, pfft. Maybe don’t ask if you don’t wanna listen to his answer, Ryuko.

Senketsu: Don’t trust her!

Ryuko: Shut up, Senketsu.

On the subject of Nui, though, the advertising stating that Ryuko “asks Nui to train her” is totally misleading. It’s more like, “Nui taunts Ryuko, and Ryuko is Ryuko, so she doesn’t back down.” Which makes a lot more sense.

I kinda have to have a chuckle at Ryuko’s super blase attitude, though.

Ryuko: Okay, Nui. What do I gotta do to get strong enough to beat Satsuki?

Nui: All you have to do is give up your humanity. There is a chance you’ll die, though. Wanna try it?

Ryuko: Sure. Bring it on.

Senketsu: Ryuko! No!

“Yeah, whatever, I’ll give up my humanity to beat Satsuki.” Oh, Ryuko.

Also, Kill la Kill is basically people going “Ryuko no!” and Ryuko going “Ryuko yes!” and I loved this bit.

Really, there’s just a lot of stuff I loved this episode. Like how Mako is totally not paying attention to any of this...

Or how Nui pulls this giant radio phone thingie from her dress and Ryuko is just like whatever about it omg...

I mean, as much as I would have liked a lot more from this game, this stuff is so charming and lovely that I don’t feel bamboozled or ripped off. After all these years, this is the kinda content I’ve been dying for.

But for a more “insightful” comment, we again get the sense here that there’s something messed up about the timeline. Just like Senketsu, Nui makes note of how strange it is that things are going as quickly as they are.

Episode 3

And aren’t they going quickly! Ryuko and co show up at the Cultural Sports and Grand Festival, and Satsuki has already chopped her mom’s head off. Most of this episode is the same as what happens in Satsuki’s story (but with more Senketsu talking, which I love, of course), so I don’t especially have all that much to say, but I will say that this part got my heart.

Ryuko: Sen... ketsu...!

My kids. I was kinda upset that I didn’t hear Ryuko shout for Senketsu in Satsuki’s story, so needless to say, I was glad to see that she does call for him after all. Even if they haven’t had anywhere near the bonding that they had in the similar point of the anime, she still loves him so much.

Episode 4

I pretty much just have gushing about this episode. Like...

Ryuko: Wait! Senketsu! Where is he?!

Ryuko ain’t got time for hugs! She needs to know her boy is okay!!

She’s so desperate to find him...

Ryuko: Senketsu?! Senketsu! Where are you?!

And so happy when she sees him again...

Ryuko: You’re alive! Thank God!

And then Mako goes on and talks about how tightly Ryuko was clinging to him...

Mako: You were holding onto Senketsu’s scarf super tight.

Agh. My heart.

Just. Them.

Senketsu: Calm down. You can’t fight her in your current state.

Ryuko: Don’t worry. I’m calm. I’m not gonna go nuts again like last time. Promise.

They are so cute.

And funny.

Senketsu: You just said you’d stay calm and here you are not being calm again!

Pfft.

Anyway, my main criticism for the episode, as noted in my first write-up of the game, is that Ryuko apparently is convinced that she killed Nui (which, honestly, isn’t that clear here?) The fact that she doesn’t seem bothered or affected at all—and the fact that Senketsu doesn’t, either!—totally irks me.

But ey, that Shiro repairs Senketsu is great. I was hoping for Shiro and Senketsu bonding in the game because I think Shiro and Senketsu have similar relationships to Satsuki and Ryuko, respectively, and, you know, I almost kinda got it! I’ll take what I can get!

Buuut I’m a little confused. Didn’t Ragyo take part of Senketsu??? Or did I miss something??

Still, this game is just the most charming. Some of these interactions, I swear.

Like...

Ryuko: What do you think, Senketsu?

Senketsu: I find it too fantastic to believe.

Senketsu, you are talking clothes, and you find something too fantastic to believe? Okay, mate.

And I guess this is the justification for not putting Shiro on the roster (sob)...

Shiro: Please. I don’t “do” combat.

And ow...

Ryuko: Man. Satsuki’s family’s messed up.

And Mako is me, lol.

Mako: Yay, it’s Senketsu!

The story of this game is far from perfect, but jeez. I’m so charmed.

#kill la kill #kill la kill the game #klk spoilers #klk: if spoilers #goop plays klk: if #ramblings #shut up goop #loll this is just gushing tbh

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joyofcrime-elinorhigh · 5 years

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Scary Godmother: Halloween Spooktacular REVIEW:

Hello there, everybody. My name is JoyofCrimeArt and Halloween is right around the corner. Enjoy it while you can because the minute Halloween is over you know that big business and mass media are going to start bombarding us with Christmas music and advertisements twenty four seven, (assuming they even wait that long.) But regardless of that THIS time of year is celebrated with candy, pumpkin spiced everything, and of course Halloween specials. You got your Charlie Brown's and your Over the Garden Wall's and such, but if you ever watched Cartoon Network during the month of October during the early to mid two thousands their is one special you must of at least glimpsed at least once. That special is Scary Godmother: Halloween Spooktacular!.......Ah, I see what you did there, it's a pun on... yeah, well played special.

In case you don't know Scary Godmother is an animated CGI Halloween TV special created by Rainmaker Entertainment in 2004. It is based on the children's book and comic series of the same name created by Jill Thompson. This special was a staple of Halloween on Cartoon network for many years and even got a sequel entitled "Scary Godmother: Jimmy's Revenge" the following year. Now is this special any good. Ehhh-Ye-No....Sorta? Let's talk about it. The first thing you'll notice about this film is it's animation. It's...not the best looking by today's standards for sure. CGI from this era is definitely dated by this point, but it's hard to blame the special for it's animation given that it was only 2004. Plus the special does offer up it's own sort of style in many respects. The character designs on the humans aren't very good, as a lot of the time they do just looked like pallet swapped versions of the same model, but the designs of the actual monsters later in the special are really creative looking, just like in the books. Plus they do this neat thing where a lot of the backgrounds will be hand drawn illustrations and certain props will have a cool "pop-up book" element to them. So yeah, the animation is pretty dated, but I'm glad that they did something to make it have it's own unique look. So I can forgive it for the most part. The special opens up on Halloween night as we see three kids, Daryl, Bert, and Katie dressed in Halloween garb outside of the haunted "Spookhouse." Katie is dressed up as a cat, which is sensible enough, but Daryl is dressed up as a piece of candy, Bert is a baseball driver in his SUV. It's dumb and cheesy but in a charming and kinda amusing kind of way. Anyway, then we Jimmy appear on top on a tombstone dressed in his devil pajamas, but he is quickly knocked off of the stone be the light from a flashlight held by his younger cousin, Hannah, our main protagonist for the story. Now here is where things start to get a bit odd. Jimmy asks why Hannah is flashing the flashlight around, and then the three other kids jump in calling for a "flashback." Now some fourth wall humor isn't the weird thing, but what's weird is the fact that we don't actually get any real "flashback." instead we get a scene of the characters reenacting a scene where Hannah's parents give Hannah the flashlight with Daryl and Katie playing the part of Hannah's parents. But the thing is, 1.) Jimmy and Hannah clearly came to the Spookhouse separately from the other three kids because they show up afterwards, so there's no way that Katie and Daryl could of known the specifics of how Hannah got the flashlight. 2.) Jimmy was in the flashback, picking Hannah up before going trick-or-treating! So how was he confused by Hannah's flashlight? He saw Hannah's parents give the flashlight to Hannah! I mean I suppose he might not have been paying much attention to what Hannah was doing since Jimmy wasn't in the exact shot where Hannah's Dad (played by Daryl.) gave Hannah the flashlight, but still! Also then there's like this wipe, where Hannah comments that that was close to how it all went down. With, Bert even being annoyed he didn't have a role in the flashback, so I'm not even sure if that scene even happened at all! It's hard to explain but it's a really bizarre scene. Point is, Hannah's dad gave Hannah the flashlight, saying that light from a flashlight could scare away monsters. Anyway, while Hannah is off flashing her flashlight around Jimmy talks to his friends. Jimmy comes with the idea to trick Hannah into enetering the old Spookhouse. That way Hannah would run home scared and they could trick-or-treat without her, since there "big kids" and she isn't. The other three are against it at first but end up being tempted into evil by the silly devil hoodie clad little boy. So they tell Hannah that there is a monster in the Spookhouse, and every Halloween the new kid must go inside and give the monster a piece of candy or else the monster will come out and eat every kid in the world. So Hannah goes into the house, and is tricked into thinking the house is full of monster due to Jimmy's amazing work at creating hand shadows.

I DON'T CARE WHO YOU ARE OR HOW GOOD YOU ARE, HANDS DO NOT WORK THAT WAY! Anyway the big kids run outside the house leaving Hannah in, holding down the door knob so she can't run away. Even though the whole plan was to make her run away. They just want to traumatized the kid a little more. Y'know, for the lol's and such. Anyway Hannah starts crying until suddenly her Scary Godmother appears! Hannah is at first to sad to even notice this, but eventually Scary Godmother is able to get her attention. Now you may be wondering what is a Scary Godmother, and the answer to that is obvious! It's..um...I guess there like Fairy Godparent's but...spoopier? Or something? I dunno, it's not really touched upon much. All that matter's is that Scary Godmother is going to kidnap-I mean-invites Hannah to her home on the "Fright Side" for her Halloween party, so she can introduce Hannah to all of her monster friends in order to help her get over her fear of monsters. We get this weird scene where Scary Godmother has Hannah get on her broom and they fly up the chimney and into the sky to get to the Fright Side. They fly through this weird cloud monsters mouth and then end up there, but what I don't get is if Hannah flew up the chimney how come none of the big kids saw her? Also later in the film they don't seem to need to fly back in order to get back into the Spookhouse. I figured that the Fright Side was tied to the Spookhouse but they seem to be flying away from the house in order to get there. WHAT ARE THE RULES HERE! NO, YOU'RE OVER THINKING THIS! Anywho they end up in Scary Godmother's house located on in the Fright Side. I like the design of the house, it oozes Halloween and the pop up book aesthetic really shines here. Scary Godmother begins introducing Hannah to all of her friends. Starting with her "Broommate." (Yeah, I hope you like puns, cause you're going to be getting a lot before this 44 minute film is over.) Mr. Pettibones, a Skeleton who lives in peoples closets. Much like Pearl from Steven Universe his main personality trait...is being really gay. *OH MY GOD, IT WAS A JOKE, PLEASE DON'T KILL ME STEVEN UNIVERSE FANS* I swear as a kid I never got the joke that he was suppose to be a skeleton "in the closet." but it's actually kinda clever looking back on it now. And all joking aside he's not a bad character. He does act as the sassy gay best friend to Scary Godmother but he is a funny character who has a role in the story. He's the one setting up most of the party. Mr. Pettibones also explains more to Hannah that not all monsters are bad. We then cut back to Deryl, Bert, Katie and Jimmy waiting outside of the house waiting for Hannah to come out screaming, annoyed that it's taking so long and-OMG WHAT THE HECK!

We get a Black Hannah and what I think is just a literal clone of Katie, except she's in a bee costume. Who cares about this story, I want to know about the secret underground cloning lab that exists in this town! Anyway as I said the big kids are waiting for Hannah and Daryl and Katie are trading candy, because they decided to trick-or-treat a little before meeting up with the rest of the gang. Katie offers Deryl a piece of candy for "three kisses." And they go in to kiss before Bert interrupts them. I wonder where this romantic subplot will lead........ (It leads nowhere.) Back on the Fright Side it's time for Hannah to meet another one of Scary Godmother's monster friends. This time a werewolf (or is it wolf man?) named Harry. Harry is...pretty much the worse. He's dumb, arrogant, rude, and overall self absorbed, with food being the main thing on his mind as he mooches off all of his friends. And I'm not saying this as an insult to the film, because the film acknowledges it! Nobody in the film likes this guy! And to be fair he's not too annoying to the audience, as he seems far more annoying to the characters in the film, but still. It's weird why they even bother inviting this guy. Even when Harry isn't doing something wrong everyone at the party seems to have disdain for him, which in some ways makes me actually feel bad for him. But then he does something else selfish or annoying to make me feel less sympathy towards him, which I guess is good since the film isn't trying to make him sympathetic I guess? You'll see more as I go forward with the review, but yeah. Harry is THAT guy. The guy we all know, the friend that we don't like but we just got to put up with. Harry goes up to Hannah thinking that she is an actress in his favorite "Skelevision" show. (Ha Ha! The puns have returned!) I wonder where this subplot of Harry thinking Hannah is an actress will lead........ (It leads nowhere.) Though I do appreciate the film diverting from the cliche "Vampires vs Werewolves" rivalry, instead opting for a "Skeletons vs Werewolves" rivalry, which makes a lot more sense when you think about it. Though this rivalry probably has less with race and more with everyone hating Harry. So after that it's time for the next guest to arrive. We get the vampiric couple of Count Max, Ruby, and their son Orson. Wait a minute....Max....Ruby....

MY GOD! Scary Godmother invites the vampires in. (Because vampires can't enter a house uninvited.) and Hannah starts befriending Orson. It's a really cute scene and makes some great use of a rotating camera angles. Orson is also really fun with his awkward childishness contrasting the fact that he is a vampire. Hannah and Orson's friendship just feels like a genuine friendship in the way kids there age becomes friend. (Also it's a better love story then Twilight, am I right? Yuk Yuk Yuk?) Oh and there's also a pointless chase scene...moving on. Also throughout the film Harry keeps becoming incapacitated. First he get's peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth making him unable to talk earlier in the special, and then he get's hypnotized into a trance by Count Max. We then get our next guest, the monster named Bug-A-Boo. A giant multi-eyed fanged monster. I love his design due to it's uniqueness and while he's not actually scary looking to the audience, if you where to imagine this thing being in the real world it would be terrifying. And Hannah agrees with me as Bug-A-Boo is the monster that causes her to finally freak out. And can you blame her. One of his teeth is the SIZE OF HANNAH!

Also there's a genuinely funny bit with Hannah screaming, then Scary Godmother telling her to breath. She breaths and then starts screaming again. Good stuff. Anyway another chase scene begins and Hannah tries to shine the flashlight on Bug-A-Boo. Only to find out it doesn't have any effect. Scary Godmother lies to Hannah telling her that flashlights only work on monsters who live in the closet, not under the bed. Hannah says she wants Bug-A-Boo to leave and he begins to comply. This is when she see's that looks don't matter, and that Bug-A-Boo is actually nice. Though is he that nice? We learn that his job is to scare children by hiding under there beds, which is pretty much the same thing that the big kids do to Hannah, and their treated as the villains. Also do you think whatever company Bug-A-Boo works for is a rival company with Monsters Inc? With all of the guest arrived the monsters and Hannah begin their Halloween party. We cut back to the big kids and theirs a bizarrely funny bit with a Bert saying that his "Door is ajar." there's no logical reason I find it funny, but I do. Also that cut to the big kids lasted exactly 19 and a half seconds and only exists to do the "Door is ajar" bit. WORTH IT! Then we get a very brief dance sequence with the monsters and then cut BACK to the big kids. Because...why not? The night is ending and the big kids have, for all intensive purposes ended. Katie wants to go an rescue Hannah but Jimmy is insistent on waiting for her to come out of the house on her own. Jimmy you're plan isn't very good! You have your little cousin run into an old abandoned house that has a frickin' GRAVE YARD it it's front yard, and then spend like, hours, waiting for her to run out. Why not just go in there and see if she's scared? If she is she'll probably agree to have you take her home. I means she's must of been there for a while since all of the houses are turning there lights off, so if she wasn't scared before what would make you think that she's be scared now. What do you think she's been doing this whole time?! You wasted your whole Halloween on faulty logic! If you wanted to get more Trick-or-Treating done you should of just cut your loses and given up long before now! But no, you still hold on to this plan. What is she was attacked by a murderous clown or something!? Who knows what kind of non supernatural threats could be inside this creepy old house. Jimmy you are so stupid!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SgxYUxqcg1Q

Ugh! So anyway Jimmy says that they should continue with his idiotic plan because he's the leader, and all of the big kids get into an argument on who the leader is. There's a bit decide to do a vote on who should be leader and they each get one vote each. Bert and Jimmy vote for themselves and Katie and Daryl vote for each other. (Which is a cute moment and the one of the only bits of continuation for their "romantic subplot.") Then if that wasn't pointless enough we get a scene of Bert demanding recounts and Daryl recounting the votes. Granted the scene is kinda funny, but I would be lying if I said it wasn't pointless. Back in the Fright Side we get more interactions between our colorful cast of characters, and we get to see a bit more of Hannah and Orson and also some interactions with Max and Ruby. We get to see Max is sort of introverted and behind the times. He wants to be, in his own words, "groovy." I like Count Max a lot because of this and most lines from him get a pretty good laugh out of me. He's kinda like a less silly version Count Dracula from the Hotel Transylvania series. Again, it's good stuff. So then it turned out that Harry, the Scumbag Steve of the monster world, has eaten all of the buffet. (Though in Harry's defense, before this scene none of the other monsters where letting him eat any of the buffet, which does seem a bit unfair. It further goes to show how odd it is that they even invited him if he wasn't even allowed to partake.) So now that there's no food left And thus Bug-A-Boo suggests that they should order pizza. And thus we begin the pizza sub plot! I call it the sub plot because the whole pizza scene takes up a total of four minutes (not counting the cut back to the big kids that occurs in the middle of said subplot.) and contributes almost nothing to the story! I know that four minutes does not sound like much, and it really isn't, but consider the fact that the special is only 44 minutes long. So that's an eleventh of your whole story! Keep that in mind. So we then get a scene where we learn that Bug-A-Boo and Hannah both like pizza with extra cheese and olives on it. Further cementing that fact that Bug-A-Boo is nice and doesn't eat little girls. Proving that no matter how different people look or act we can all bond over are love for pizza. World peace is truly a possibility here folks. So they have Harry order the pizza's because they clearly haven't learned there lesson by this point and he ordered twelve pizza's, and Scary Godmother doesn't have enough money to pay for it. There's a funny bit where the pizza delivery boy offers to give them the pizza's on the house is Scary Godmother gives him her soul, but she declines. Scary Godmother, Mr. Pettibones, and Hannah try to get some money by taking all the money that got stuck to Bug-A-Boo from being under the beds all day. Hooray for stealing money from your friends! (Which he accidentally stole from children!) Also the pizza's are said to cost about 200 dollars, and Hannah even mentions finding a 50 dollar bill. I know Bug-A-Boo goes under a lot of kids beds but how many kids who are young enough to be scared of monsters under the bed really have that much money under there beds. Even I've never seen a fifty dollar bill before, and I'm way older then those kids would be! So then Scary Godmother chastises Harry for buying to many pizza's, telling him that he's going to make it up to her by working for her until he makes up the money. This is actually a major plot point in the second special, if you can believe that. Also Harry doesn't get any of the pizza. Poor Harry. If only he wasn't so darn awful I wouldn't feel so conflicted in feeling bad for him! There's also a funny joke where Count Max recalls an old conversation he had. "-But other then that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the show!" It's funny because her husband was shot right in front of her...oh, now I've bummed myself out. Then Hannah tells the monsters why she's here, and gives Bug-A-Boo a piece of candy in exchange for not eating everyone in the world and that's when the monsters tell Hannah that she had been lied to by Jimmy. We also learn that Jimmy is one of the kids on Bug-A-Boo's route and that even big kids get scared. Then Scary Godmother comes up with a plan to get back at Jimmy. It's time to go Toy Story on those fools. Outside the Spookhouse the big kids finally decide to enter the house, even though by now they seem scared to enter it themselves, which would make a logical reason why they didn't go in to get Hannah by now, except they where in the Spookhouse earlier in the film when Jimmy was making his magical shadow puppets. They walk inside and see Orson, thinking he's just a kid in a costume. Orson get's mad that they don't think that he's a vampire and called out his parents form the closet, as Count Max and Ruby say that there going to eat the big kids. They run in fear from the actual vampires and end up coming across all the other monsters all threatening to eat the kids. Harry ends up actually trying to eat Daryl thinking that he's a actual piece of candy. So that's one potential human casualty that could of occurred as part of this plan. They then find Hannah and Hannah uses her flashlight to "defeat" the monsters, as every time she points the flashlight at one of the monsters they pretend to die. Scary Godmother even frickin' melts. The big kids end up running out of the house scared and Scary Godmother gives Hannah a magic key, telling her that if she ever wants to return to the Fright Side she can, and all that she would have to do is use that key on any door. Jimmy asks if Hannah wants to hold his hand for "her protection" and she agrees. The special ends on the valuable moral that "Revenge is great!" So in conclusion, is Scary Godmother: Halloween Spooktacular any good, and is it worth watching? Ehhhhhh, I think it depends on who you are. This special, from a technical standpoint, isn't that great. There are a ton of flaws with it. The animation is dated, the special is overall pretty plotless, there is a ton of filler, and some of the choices made by the characters don't make to much sense. So if you want a special that is better on a more technical level, one with better story, animation, ect. then this special probably won't be your cup of cider. But if you have nostalgia for the special, or if you don't mind some cheesiness and just want a fun but kinda dumb special that will put you in the Halloween mood, you might end up enjoying it. I had more fun watching this special for this review then I expecting to be honest with you. So maybe consider checking it out sometime. What do you think of Scary Godmother? What do you think of the sequel (which I hope to review next Halloween, from what I remember it's one of the few sequels that is better than the first one, though that not that difficult considering this special.) Leave your thoughts in the comments down bellow, I love to hear what you guys think. Any suggestions for things I should review. Suggest them down bellow and maybe I'll do em' if I find them interesting enough. Please fav, follow, and comment if you like my review and have a great day and Happy Halloween! ...Oh, and did you know that Scary Godmother is played by Rarity from MLP:FIM? And Hannah is Princess Cadance? It's weird. (I do not own any of the images or videos in this review all credit goes to there original owners.)

#Scary Godmother #Cartoon Reviews #Halloween #2000's #Review

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nanonaturalist · 6 years

Note

I've been meaning to message you since the moth appreciation post because like I need to talk/know more about that moth that lays eggs in water? What the f-ing what? That is mental. I didn't know we had aquatic moths! (I currently have lots of Garden Tiger babies at home for a uni experiment. I love my fuzzy babies.)

Hello, Friend! Isn’t that ridiculous?? I only recently learned about Petrophila moths [link], too, and when I read that about their caterpillars, my mind practically exploded. Nature is so weird. But these moths with aquatic caterpillars caught my notice for a totally different reason initially: they are jumping spider mimics.

You can see from these photos that they’re not very large. If you weren’t really paying attention, you may not even notice anything unusual about them. The first time I saw them, I definitely didn’t notice that they were spider mimics. But one night, I went to a talk about moths, and the presenter talked about these and I thought it was awesome! She had a mercury vapor lamp set up outside after the talk for us to see some moths, and a Petrophila showed up. I was super excited! When I went to add the photo to iNaturalist, thinking I’d seen something new, it turned out I had already seen them at least four times.

You may not even be able to see how these are spider mimics. They don’t really *look* like spiders, do they? But remember, our eyes are much different than insect eyes, and we have the benefit of seeing things from far away. We can see this isn’t a spider. But imagine you are a small predatory insect or a spider, and you are in front of this moth looking at it. What will you see?

Jumping spiders above are Dimorphic Jumper (left) and Bold Jumper

Anyway, back to the aquatic caterpillars. I’m sure you know that most moths and butterflies have perfectly normal caterpillars who eat leaves, make poops, and turn into perfectly normal moths and butterflies. So finding out that one type refuse to play by those rules just seems super weird. But is it, really? Or is it just weird because… well, we have an idea of what caterpillars are supposed to be, whether or not that idea is accurate?

For example, look at some other insect orders with complete metamorphosis (they have larvae, pupate, and then become adults). Flies are a huge group. Where do fly larvae live? You know about maggots and food, but what about mosquitos? Those are flies too, and their larvae are aquatic. What about parasitic botflies that grow in animal tissue? What about gall midges who parasitize plants? Caterpillars will grow up in equally diverse habitats (although, I don’t know of an animal parasite… yet). Same with beetles–larvae will live on plants, underground, in water, in wood…

But let’s look a little closer to moths and butterflies, since most caterpillars are fairly predictable in terms of habitat, and the exceptions aren’t very well known. Here’s a phylogenetic tree showing the evolutionary history of insects. In this tree, branches that are closer together are more closely related.

Note: I found this tree in an image search, but I was unable to locate the original source. I would love to credit it if I can! Let me know if you have seen this in a book before.

In this tree, I have circled the branch including Lepidoptera (moths and butterflies). Look at who else is in that circle: Trichoptera (caddisflies). Below are a couple examples of caddisflies. Chances are you have seen them before (they are pretty ubiquitous near ponds, lakes, streams, and rivers!), but had no idea what they were.

Caddisflies are also very difficult to identify. The one on the left is in the Macrostemum genus (zebra caddisflies), but the one on the right… uh… I’ll get back to you on that one.

There are a lot of moths that look pretty similar to caddisflies, so it’s easy to see that they are closely related.

Left to right: Yellow-headed Lichen Moth, Belted Grass-veneer Moth, Bluegrass Webworm Moth

These look so similar, in fact, you may ask how they even grouped them into different orders. This is easy to answer if you know your scientific names AND Greek! Moths & Butterflies = Lepidoptera (Lepido = scale; ptera = wing)Caddisflies = Trichoptera (Tricho = hair; ptera = wing)

Since I have an electron microscope at work (the “nano” in my username refers to my background in nanotechnology), I felt obligated to illustrate this. The white bar on each image shows the magnification. “um” refers to “micrometer,” or 1/1,000 of a millimeter. A human hair is typically about 100 um wide. (If you have questions about electron microscopes, let me know! These things are fun!)

Typical Lepidoptera (Moth & Butterfly) Wing

Above: Images of the scales on an American Snout Butterfly wing obtained with Scanning Electron Microscopy. Compare the scales in the middle of the wing to those on the edge of the wing.

Typical Trichoptera (Caddisfly) Wing

Above: Images of the hairs on a caddisfly wing obtained with Scanning Electron Microscopy. Note the similarities in the how the caddisfly hairs and butterfly scales attach to the wings.

Looking at these images, it’s pretty clear that they are different. But you have to look *very closely* to notice this difference, and when you look even closer than that, you start to see similarities again.

Guess where caddisfly larvae grow up! If you don’t already know about caddisfly larvae, oh boy, they’re fun!

It may be hard to tell, but I took this photo with an underwater camera. Caddisfly larvae build little cases by cementing together stones, pine needles, sand, or a variety of other things. You can sometimes identify the larvae based on what materials they use and what shape the cases are in. An interesting aside: if you raise these, you can get them to build their cases out of whatever you want. At least one person got creative, and I’m happy to see that she is still selling caddisfly jewelry over 20 years later!

I don’t mean to turn this post into an advertisement, but her stuff is beautiful and super interesting. She describes her process and some info about the species of caddisfly she raises on this page of her website [link]. Photo credits go to her–I totally stole these images.

Caddisfly larvae are exclusively aquatic. Moths and butterflies are slightly younger than caddisflies, so they have had more time to evolve their own method of development (mostly on land). I believe the Petrophila moths are one of the older moth genera (but definitely not the oldest!), so they could be like Cetaceans (you know, whales and such who had gone *back into the water* after they realized they were cooler than land mammals).

I have not yet had the honor of witnessing a little baby Petrophila scooting along the bottoms of ponds, eating algae and whatnot, so I don’t have my own photos to share, but there are a couple on their bugguide page [link] (just click the link for “caterpillars” to filter out all the adults). They more or less look like a normal caterpillar, except … a little wetter than usual. The females will go completely underwater to lay their eggs (they will carry a little air bubble with them, apparently). And typically moths don’t live too much longer after laying eggs, so who knows if they ever fly again. I’m sure the fish don’t mind finding them!

I hope I satisfied your desperate yearning for aquatic moth secrets! The closer you look, the weirder nature gets. Jeez.

Posted June 22, 2018 (finally!) All photos are mine except the caddisfly jewelry, phylogenetic tree source TBD. Everything was seen in Texas except the caddisfly larva was in a stream near Crater Lake in Oregon.

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jui-imouto-chan · 6 years

Text

Part 12 of the Mostly Human AU

Suggested by @manadrite —This definitely isn’t a feel good chapter, but I enjoyed writing it anyway. Actually, that makes me sound sadistic.

Oh well.

>[X]<

Connor didn’t expect to see someone different behind the counter when he went into the pet shelter at his usual time, that day.

He always comes in at the same time every week; 3:30 PM every Sunday, on the dot.

The employee usually behind the counter, named Jesse, was teasing, but kind, always making sure the animals were on their best behavior when he let them show Connor their affection.

Of course, they would be on their best behavior, anyway, so it is redundant, but Connor appreciates the sentiment.

In place of Jesse sat a young adult, approximately 23 years of age. His name tag reads, “Thomas”; he vaguely remindes him of Luther’s relative, Adam. He had about two inches on Connor, though he was leaning against the counter, making his height seem less daunting.

“Welcome,” he said, the corner of his lips quirking slightly. Connor found himself a little winded, system fan hitching.

Thomas’ voice is smooth, rich—similar to Markus’ but somehow different.

Connor explained that he usually comes in to hang out with the animals, moving his hands around this way and that before wringing them together as he fleetingly wondered about a tiny inkling of nervousness he felt when he looked at him.

The man’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at Connor, a small breath of a chuckle escaping his mouth as he led Connor to the animals.

Connor realized that he was staring at Thomas’ mouth a lot. And maybe his warm hazel eyes, too.

Connor slowly relaxes during the time he spends with the animals, almost forgetting that Thomas is in the room.

Thomas laughs lightly at Connor being tackled by one of the pups who felt like he wasn’t getting enough attention.

“So cute.” He hears Thomas say. He wonders why he fleetingly hopes that the dark-skinned man is talking about him.

He motions for the man to join him as a few more pups follow the lead of the first, stepping their way on top of him and smothering him in licks.

Connor remembers Hank telling him that it’s weird to lick a dog back, despite it being a sign of affection. He doesn’t want to look weird in front of Thomas; the thought of the other looking at him in disgust is oddly concerning.

Connor also found the male extremely attractive.

Perhaps it was the shelter uniform being well-fitting, or maybe the friendly smile and easygoing yet professional air the other had to him.

After he made a few searches online, he discovered that his antsiness and sudden fascination is a crush.

So, the next week, he’s still searching for information.

The look on his face as he reads another article explaining it must be surprised enough to warrant curiosity on Thomas’ party

Thomas pokes Connor’s forehead, causing Connor to blink out of his stupor, tilting his head in confusion and causing the curls hanging down to bounce with the motion.

Connor then notices a faint, warm buzzing in his synthetic skin where the other pressed his finger.

“You okay? You were spacing out.” Connor smiles and nods to confirm that he’s alright. “By the way, I think one of the lizards has decided that your hair is his new home.” Thomas jokes, pointing to a lizard sitting amidst Connor’s curls.

Connor lets out a meek squeak when the lizard flicks his tongue out at Connor’s ear. He pulls the lizard off and wags his finger at him mock-scoldingly.

“I’d prefer if you take me out on a date, first, Mr. Lizard!” Connor jokes. Thomas’ eyebrow raises along with a corner of his lips in Connor’s peripherals.

“Is that so? Does that offer only extend to reptiles or are mammals included, too?” Thomas asks with a bit of humor in his tone.

Connor considers for a second. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind a play date with a puppy or a kitty, that’d certainly be more than enjoyable. Yes, I’d say mammals could be included.”

“Even humans?”

Connor tilts his head. “While I wouldn’t expect one to want to go out with me, I’d still be very likely to say yes.”

“Would you say yes to grabbing a coffee with me on Wednesday, then?”

Connor smiles; his crush wants to spend time with him? Even if it’s just friendly, he’s sure an outing would make his Thirium pump beat out of his chest.

“I would.”

Thomas’ shift was at its end when Connor stands up, making sure all of the animals are in their proper places.

He walks to the counter, smiling with a small skip in his step. Excitement for Wednesday bubbles in his chest, an odd sensation that makes him run a quick check of his biocomponents.

“Does 9 am sound good? Uh, f-for Wednesday, I mean.” Thomas’ cheeks have the slightest bit of blush as he verbally stumbles the moment Connor’s eyes meet his, sparkling.

“Yes, that sounds perfect.” Connor spots a notification in his peripherals and looks down to his phone to check a text from Hank. “Ah, I’ll have to take my leave, now. I’ll see you, then!”

As soon as Connor gets home, he lifts Sumo from the floor into a bear hug and twirls a bit. Remembering that he has to cook, he quickly places the dog down after planting a kiss near his ear.

When Wednesday comes about, Connor makes sure that he follows the comfort-casual-but-appealing outfit guide from a website online that explains to him how to escape “the friend zone”.

He heads over to where he’s meeting Thomas, wearing a nice, albeit dorky, t-shirt and jeans, along with black tennis shoes. His hair is left curly, and mostly untouched, though he wears his usual beanie for when he goes out.

Thomas looks good, but Connor hasn’t seen him look bad, though he feels like it’d be impossible for him to actually look bad, in Connor’s eyes.

Thomas’ eyes widen when he sees Connor, blush creeping up his cheeks, before he turns his head and coughs, looking back and seeming composed when he smiles.

They head inside and the two of them get coffee and sweets, and by the time they leave, Thomas’ carefully crafted composure had crumbled in the slightest.

Their outing becomes a regular event each Wednesday, and Connor now has two things to look forward to every week.

Hank asks him about where he goes, but Connor just tells him he’s out with a friend.

Gosh, Connor keeps liking Thomas more and more every moment they spend together.

The other can make him laugh and smile so easily, and he is so courteous and kind.

His love of animals shows such compassion and understanding and Connor feels himself hoping that the other may like him, too.

One Wednesday, it is unexpectedly hot. Connor wears a well-fitting but informal button-up with jeans, still wearing his beanie. His systems are lagging from the heat, and he has to pant discreetly to supply his fan with enough air to cool him down.

“Man, you look like you’re burning up! Here, let’s take this off.”

Thomas reaches over the table, pushing his fingers through Connor’s hair as he gently pushes the beanie off. Connor’s eyelashes flutter and he almost purrs as he leans into the touch. Any contact with Thomas feels nice.

Thomas teases that he’s almost like one of the cats, though his voice is slightly lower than before, and his volume makes it seem more like a murmur.

He ruffles Connor’s hair, sits back down, and places the beanie on the table, asking a nearby waitress if he could order a milkshake. Connor orders an ice cream, and they’re sure to share with each other.

Though, they only have one straw, so Connor and Thomas are taking turns with the shake.

Connor takes it upon himself to feed Thomas the ice cream when the other wants some, to the darker man’s embarrassment.

When Connor tilts his head to look outside, Thomas freezes.

Connor wonders what’s wrong. Thomas doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t emote for a moment.

And then anger swirls into his expression.

“You’re an android, huh?” Thomas mutters, voice dark. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before glaring coldly at Connor, whose voice feels lodged in the synthesizer.

His LED, now visible, turns to yellow, flashing. Red is slowly trying to make its way in.

“I can’t believe I’ve been spending my time feeling attracted to a piece of plastic. You from the Eden Club? Is this a fucked up way for you to attract new customers? Were you planning to lead me to a room and then have me give you my life savings for renting your time all these weeks?”

Connor can barely manage to whisper weakly, “N-No, th-that’s—“

Connor feels the shake being spilled over his head. He can see red light shining against the liquid as it rolls down, cold seeping into his body. Something within himself drops, but he’s too stricken to do an internal check.

“I can’t believe I fell for it. Man, this hurts. I thought I finally found someone cool, but you were really just a scam. An advertisement. You’d never understand how disappointed I feel.” Thomas laughs in an unpleasant way.

“You’d never understand feelings. Go play pretend back in the red light district where you belong, Pinocchio.” And with that, Thomas leaves.

Connor’s eyes fill up with tears and he makes a run for it, storming out of the cafe all the way home.

He’s gone into his hiding space. Hank is calling out to him.

“Connor, I heard you come home, where are you?” Hank pauses beside the door. He can hear every whine, sniffle, and sob that escapes Connor’s mouth as the tears pour. “Oh, Connor, what’s wrong? Hey, buddy, c’mon, you can talk to me. It’ll be okay, just talk to me.”

“It hurts, Hank.” Connor’s voice is soft, but Hank can hear it loud and clear.

“What hurts, kid? Did someone attack you? Are you okay?”

“I w-wasn’t attacked, but. My chest, my thirium pump, my-my heart hurts.”

“Does this have to do with the ‘friend’ you’ve been seeing every week?” Hank’s voice grows gruffer.

Connor made a small noise of confirmation, shoulders shaking and LED flashing red.

Hank sighs. Connor’s hands are around his knees, and Hank tries to open the door. Connor lets him. Hank wraps Connor in a hug.

“It’ll be okay, son.”

Connor sniffles into his shoulder, burrowing into Hank’s embrace for comfort.

“It’ll be okay.” Hank repeats, more to himself this time.

When Connor enters sleep mode in his arms, Hank cleans his boy up, then places him in his bed, cocooned in blankets. He calls up Kara, Markus, Kamski, and the Twins.

The person who hurt his boy is going to face the consequences.

Next Level: Any New Suggestions + Anything I come up with while writing!

X | Continue to Next Level

O | Save Progress And Quit to Main Menu

—————————————- •

This one took a while; sorry for the wait!

Leave suggestions in my asks and in the comments! Feel free to ask questions, talk with me, anything!

I’m down to write Headcanons for things outside of this AU, and if you want me to write shorts with Connor paired with someone, I’m willing to do so! (NSFW isn’t out of the question 😉)

#connor rk800 #connor detroit become human #connor #connor dbh #hank dbh #hank and connor #detroit hank #dbh hank #hank anderson #Jui’s Mostly Human AU

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constastan · 6 years

Text

kusanagi+totsuka, ~5k, AU where mikoto doesn’t exist, or is a lion in savannah somewhere like God intended, or in jail

The card is the first thing Izumo sees after returning from his day off, for once properly used. Tucked into the door handle, yellow and gaudy, it stands out against the dark wood, relegating everything around it to a background. Turning it over, Izumo doesn’t find any name signed, but the combination of intricate handiwork and cheap materials is telling enough. Bouncy letters on the back read, Happy housewarming!

Not what one would expect after nearly nine months, but then, one generally stops expecting anything about six months in.

“Idiot,” he says later that day, when Totsuka appears at the door with a single tinkle of the doorbell and an expectant smile. “Housewarming’s for when you invite people to your new place. ‘s the opposite of that.”

“But you changed a lot around here,” Totsuka returns. “It’s kinda new!”

“Wonder how you’d figure it from the outside. Peeked through the windows?”

Totsuka laughs. He looks pretty different himself, a couple of inches taller and a certain way that makes Izumo suddenly aware he’s not going to remain a shiftless kid for the entire lifespan, however well he fills the part. His jacket has to be too light, though the bulkiness creates an illusion of warmth. His hair is nearly too long, some of the strands catching on the black cord around his neck that holds a small metallic pendant. That’s a new one: Totsuka accessorizing.

Still, when he says, "Let’s see" and starts admiring all the renovations clockwise, his priorities turn out to be unchanged. He scarcely notices anything about the woodwork but admires the print on curtains, points out the new cushions but misses the tablecloths - Izumo’s particular point of pride — and nearly loses his mind once he reaches the music machine.

"It’s like a stereo system!" he declares when the second song begins, interrupting his singalong for a moment.

"What’d you think it is? A jukebox?"

"Not fair, Kusanagi-san. You know, I learned to play guitar from a busker in Iwaki, she was very good. I thought, ‘when I’m in Shizume I’ll play for Kusanagi-san’s patrons for free’. But I can’t beat this!"

With a smile, Izumo leans on the counter to see what he’s picking for the next turn.

"Why, go ahead and audition anyway. Live music is a whole another tier."

Totsuka beams directly at him before narrowing his eyes at the screen.

"Really? Well, I’ll give it my best. Oh, If I Fell In Love With You, I can play that! Does Mizuomi-san like rock or ballads more, Kusanagi-san?"

"Rock," says Izumo. He thinks his reply sounded easy and even as usual and came without any unnatural delay or strain. Yet Totsuka suddenly lifts his head as if catching a distant sound of something unfamiliar and ominous. He pauses before continuing. "He’d probably appreciate the Beatles. But he’s gone now."

For several long moments Totsuka is silent and looks taken aback. His hand is still hovering over the buttons; slowly, he brings it back to his side, and gives the interior another once-over, maybe trying to tie all the changes together.

Izumo reaches into his pocket for cigarettes.

"He was sick for a long time."

"I’m sorry," Totsuka says a little haltingly, then seems to remember something that brings about an odd flash of animation. "Ah, occhan died too. Last year, in the spring."

"Are you-" Izumo stops, unsure what exactly he meant to ask, gives himself a moment to focus. "Have you moved in with your… with his family?"

Totsuka shakes his head and finally comes over to take a seat at the bar, every motion careful and deliberate, like slipping between the dead they brought in there.

He went away right after the funeral. No reason, he was just thinking about occhan and the wind that always seemed to nudge occhan in the back wherever he went, and realized how little of the world he had seen, himself. It’s weird he had never thought to ask to tag along. His second — or was it third? — cousin is helping to rent out the apartment and they split the money. And now he has been to Saitama, Iwaki and Niigata - Saitama is the best, but the others are fun too. There’s always some kind of job if you aren’t too picky. Now he’s back to Shizume though, to pick up the rent money now that tenants moved out and because he felt like coming back. Who knows for how long. Who knows? That’s the only answer he is willing to give for anything that has to do with future plans, so eventually Izumo has to throw his hands up and stop asking.

Despite Izumo’s reservations on that point, the rent does come through. It’s instantly obvious when Totsuka walks in a couple of days later, all languid airs and exaggerated swagger.

"Well, the deed is done, Kusanagi-san. I’m a rich man now. Bring us the best you have to celebrate, on me!"

Two can play the game, so Izumo makes a show of examining the menu at length with a pondering frown before looking back at him, unimpressed.

"The best I have, huh. Well, that would be an Arizona Sunset for those of us who are underage. As for me, I’ll go for a Blue Arrow, and thanks for the treat."

"Geez," Totsuka says, not quite managing a proper pout. "At least let me watch how you make it. Because, see, I was in fact reflecting on things and I’m not satisfied with my career. I wanna do something creative."

"Following the recipe isn’t exactly an art form," Izumo points out, and comes to regret this warning very soon because Totsuka apparently has an outpour of creativity that garnishes anything he touches. He manages to keep his own cocktail safe, if mildly minted, but the Arizona Sunset goes supernova with fruit and syrups.

"It’s delicious," Totsuka assures him as soon as his lips touch the rim of the glass. He doesn’t return to the customer’s side of the bar. Izumo can see his eyes trailing along the shelves, sliding smoothly over the rows of bottles, sparkling with interest over the equipment. For several sips they savor their respective drinks in silence.

"What kind of job were you thinking?" Izumo asks eventually.

Totsuka hums and twirls his glass. His eyes are half-lidded; in the dim light they look warm, sweet and amber like honey.

"Mhm… a bakery? You know, an old-timey one, ran by some elderly couple. With family recipes and… rustic interior, is it what it’s called?" his voice is sing-song, also honey-textured. "And the same customers come every day for breakfast or lunch, so you make small talk…"

"Totsuka," says Izumo, in an undertone despite himself. "I’m talking prospects. not daydreams."

"Or a food truck. Going around the country, selling street food. Always on the move and everybody’s glad to see you when you come!”

"Food trucks don’t have routes throughout the entire country, idiot." Izumo sighs and goes to rinse off his glass. Totsuka trails after him. "It’s pointless, and nobody has that much gas to waste."

"But carnivals do, don’t they? If I sell street food and also busk, it’ll be like a mini-carnival."

The next day, they make a Kit-Kat milkshake, a Derby and some spicy nuts and bolts for snacking. The day later, it’s mozzarella sticks and plain soda. The food truck comes up occasionally, every time Izumo tries to gauge anything out about Totsuka’s cooking pursuits. After a certain, very early, point it’s all a game, but the kind that gets more amusing as new details come up. The truck is supposed to be orange, medium-sized, with a grill, candy floss machine and some space for the futon, guitar, keepsakes and Totsuka himself. Izumo eyeballs the price for him, just to be mean.

"I’ll put some ads on," Totsuka decides after a brief awestricken pause at the numbers. "Don’t you want to advertise your bar all over Japan, Kusanagi-san?"

"Depends. How much’d you even charge if you hope to cover the costs?"

Totsuka slumps onto the table, half-defeated, half-overdramatic and says:

"Maybe I’ll just sell the apartment."

It takes Izumo a surprising amount of self-restraint to stop himself from childishly retaliating, Well, maybe I’ll just sell the bar.

Not that he actually would, at the present moment. He has given himself until the end of college, so the time isn’t exactly running out yet — though the day when it starts to is already an impending dot on the horizon. It’s like the mid-August of summer holidays, is he’s still allowed to think in high school terms.

Then again, Izumo thinks, as he mops the floors late at night, meticulously studies the damage to the coveted tablecloths and moves expertly through the maze of tables without as much as brushing a chair once, nobody allows or disallows him anything. His family isn’t rushing him, and the money has never been an issue. No, it’s all self-imposed. He knows the bar will have to go eventually, better sooner than later. Better before he has a real reputation in the business world to worry about.

Izumo straightens out, propping the mop against the wall and looks around, taking in the interior, somewhat mismatched from the patchy renovating, a bit too fancy for the people who come there. Ever since his uncle died, it seems to enter deeper and deeper into transitory state. Izumo wouldn’t be able to explain why on earth he decided to upscale it. The theme he should have stuck with is neutrality, a complete lack of anything suggesting affiliations, or even non-basic standards. That’s how the place gained traction, after all. Neutral grounds ruled by a person who is on pleasant, distant terms with every group in your tier. Somewhere to have a drink without any fights erupting and maybe, when the floor grows emptier, take the bartender aside and wheedle a favor out of him. Izumo agrees just often enough to keep the rumor that it’s doable alive without appearing to take sides.

After a week or so and no fewer than twenty cocktail recipes Totsuka unearths the live music plan and proclaims he needs to know his audience.

"Guys who don’t know half a thing about music," Izumo reassures him. "And I don’t permit bottle throwing here, so you’ll do fine with anything."

Naturally, Totsuka is as offended as he hoped.

"I need to know what kind of people they are! You don’t get tips if you play against the grain, Kusanagi-san. And nobody sings or claps along, and it’s just depressing."

"No singalongs is what you should be aiming for, thanks," Izumo says, but Totsuka’s mind is clearly made up. To save him the trouble of climbing through the bathroom windows or trying any other wacky kidbook schemes, Izumo eventually deposits him on a far-end seat at the bar one Thursday night with a Coke and instructions to attract as little attention as possible. To hold out until he’s in the spotlight, guitar and everything.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t take a guitar to make someone high-school aged stand out in a half-empty bar. For the first hour nearly everybody who enters greets Izumo with "Oh, and that’s…?". They provide their own helpful suggestions, too. Izumo shoots down ‘little brother’ right away, but accepts ‘cousin’ a couple of times. When Totsuka manages to cut in first, it’s usually ‘intern’.

"Intern?" Izumo asks him via a raised eyebrow after the first time. Totsuka mutters back, “Cause I’m learning cocktails from you,” burying the back part of the sentence in his drink. Izumo only shrugs.

At long last, the novelty of Totsuka starts to wear off. Tables are getting fuller, and by ten Izumo can say with certainty that Totsuka should have been able to collect an accurate sample of the local public already. He’s in no hurry to leave though, glancing around with gleaming eyes and a half-smile. The local public is indeed a sight, especially for those who don’t hang out in certain parts of the town too often. Mohawks, bleached-out do’s, even a couple of pompadours. Leather jackets, clunky jewelry, bandanas. Tattoos and scars, sometimes overlapping. Each gang brought in their own style, contributing to a wild mess of clashing key pieces. It took Izumo some time to get used to that visual cacophony; Totsuka, however, seems to be taking it in stride, like most things.

When Izumo has to go to the back room for a minute, he slips off the chair to follow him and whispers.

"Are they really terrible people, Kusanagi-san? Who do really terrible things?"

"Really terrible people go to the dive bars in another district." Izumo loads off several bags of readymade snacks into his arms. "These are at moderate levels."

"So, they just fight among themselves?"

"Why’d you say that?"

Totsuka ponders a little, then says, "The leather jackets and the punk-style guys definitely fight". Izumo stops for a beat to glance at him because that’s true. This untimely pause must encourage Totsuka and he probes further: "Is there a reason?"

Izumo sighs and goes over the options in his head while his hands collect the utensils and supplies semi-mechanically.

"Look," he says at last. "The reason they come here, drink, chat with me is because it’s comparatively safe. They know I’m not gonna tip anyone off on their business. And so I don’t."

Turning back, he runs smack into Totsuka’s pout, this time full-fledged, and decides to rectify it a bit. Even at this point he knows that decision is more on a wrong side. Too bad there’s no way to predict the scale of wrong sometimes.

"Some smuggle, some have gambling rings, some do bodyguarding. Sort ‘em on your own if you are so curious."

Before heading out he catches a glimpse of Totsuka’s eyes lighting up and a grin beginning to form. Figures: now he’s gone and turned what could be a simple curiosity bone-throw or a flat rejection into a game. If Totsuka doesn’t figure it out, he can’t blame Izumo, and if he somehow does, the subjects of their discussion can’t blame Izumo either.

It appears like a win-win.

The next afternoon sees Totsuka parked on a sturdier chair with a guitar, facing the still-empty room. That’s as good of a stage as the bar can provide, but he seems to be perfectly content.

"It’s a nice observation point," he informs Izumo.

"Weren’t you complaining about the lighting and whatnot earlier?" asks Izumo. "What happened to that?"

He knows perfectly well what happened to that though: the endless circulation of ideas and plans in Totsuka’s world. Technically, he deposed the busking to old news himself, with that espionage schtick. Now Totsuka’s fully ready to lurk in the shadows and sniff out secrets, even if it takes some guitar-playing on the side. His gaze is glued to the door.

The first person to come is Gonzo, the leader of so-called ‘leather jackets’ that Izumo just labels as ‘the north-east one’ in his head, even though that’s also not their proper name. He isn’t entirely sure whether they’re really a biker gang or just dress the part. Gonzo is generally a boisterously good-natured guy, twice as much today, but that doesn’t stop Izumo from taking notice of how uncharacteristically early he is.

And sure enough, Gonzo is barely halfway through his first drink when he suggests Izumo to step out for a smoke while it’s not busy yet. Outside they listen to the buzz of passing trains, watch the sky go a darker shade of pink little by little in what could be called a companiable silence if there were any companions involved. Gonzo’s eyes lazily drift from the cotton-candy clouds to the dark windows way below.

"You keep anything up there?" he asks, nodding at them.

Here it comes, Izumo thinks. Unlike Totsuka he knows pretty well how the north-east gang makes money and what issues come with this kind of business.

"Odds and ends."

"Could they make space for a bit?"

"Should they?"

Gonzo laughs and leans sideways, not quite bumping shoulders. The underworld custom of talking in circles and vague hints clearly isn’t his strong suit. Charisma-laced candor, however, is. The wisps of his cigarette smoke now curl in the air next to Izumo’s own, merging together as they float up.

"They could make you some money, is what I’m saying. There’ll be a shipment in Chiba tonight, and we’re all booked out. Will take it off your hands in twenty hours tops."

"Pretty risky for my business and for yours."

"It’ll pay off, for both," says Gonzo. Through the half-closed door Izumo can hear the doorbell ring and Totsuka greet someone cheerfully. Someone who could be from the central district, or criminal outskirts, or rival dealers and probably expected the presumed neutrality of their go-to for decompressing to span both floors.

He gives a careless shrug.

"Sorry."

Coincidentally, the newly arrived bloke turns out to also be one of the north-east guys. When Izumo and Gonzo reenter, the bar is already tingling with bits and pieces of music. Totsuka is not playing yet, just running his hands against the strings to make them hum, fingers plucking at one or another occasionally. The patron sits at the table nearby with a beer. They seem to be talking about some band; Totsuka breaks off to mouth, "On the counter," at Izumo. He glances there and swipes the coins, an appropriate number of them surprisingly, off into his pocket, making a mental note to teach Totsuka operate the cash register.

"Wait a sec, you got a show on?" says Gonzo, paradoxically less single-minded now that he’s been rejected. "And I have a first row seat, too."

Over the course of the next half an hour he backs up Izumo’s assessment of his good-naturedness, laughing and calling out song titles and occasionally going as far as to clap along. The music now fills the space properly, ringing off the glass edges, oozing into the back room. Customers flow in steadily, and so do drinks. The north-easterners trickle over to where their leader is parked in Totsuka’s corner; the circle gets denser until he starts looking like booked personal entertainment.

Izumo is too busy to really do anything along the lines of watching over, but the music makes it easy enough to keep tabs. It runs on steadily and smoothly for a while, interspersed with claps and shout-outs, starts stumbling a little when Totsuka gets ambitious enough to follow those suggestions; then grows sparser, laxer, gradually making more and more room for the background noise.

He turns his head to get a good look at that point. Totsuka is still at his original spot, but now leaning onto the counter, guitar tossed across his lap carelessly. His cheeks and eyes are overly bright and the grin when he catches Izumo’s eye is positively dazzling. Izumo, a bartender, inadvertently glances at the glass with soda sat near the improvized stage and wonders who dumped their shot in there, also when and for what exact reason. As soon as his look drifts back, Totsuka flings the guitar down and himself off his seat in one motion that has a certain drunken grace to it. To be fair, it barely stretches to see him all the way to Izumo’s end of the counter.

"It’s going really well," he reports blissfully and, before Izumo has the chance to take a jab at some of his riffs, specifies: "The intel gathering. I’ve very nearly figured it out."

"Well?"

"Not yet. Still gotta check. Say, Kusanagi-san, we should bet on it!"

Izumo raises an eyebrow at him.

"Can’t win gamblin’ with a rich man like you. I don’t deal in trucks, and what else can you want? A pudding cup?"

Tosuka is all too happy to use that as an excuse to laugh out, all tipsy merriment. The protests that follow are also fairly stereotypical, if Izumo’s experience counts for something,

"Nope! A drink, a drink! You still haven’t served me your best one. I don’t buy the Arizona Sunset!" And here he leans in to mock-whisper: "Is that Blue Arrow after a-"

They both look up simultaneously as Totsuka’s cut off by something falling over him, something that for a split second looks like a tangible shadow to Izumo. Then he recognizes it for what it is - a high-grade leather jacket — and becomes aware of a smiling Gonzo at the eye level, the likely source of this windfall.

"Sorry ‘bout that. Some of my guys were being funny, overdid it a little. Better get some air outside, that will help with clearing his head."

Totsuka partially scrambles out from under the jacket, letting it fall back onto his shoulders, and in that half-buried state looks between them like a bewildered chipmunk. Izumo takes a moment to pass through the haze of half-formed thoughts of dragging him upstairs, throwing down a blanket and having him sleep it off for a while. But the night air is also good, as he, a bartender, can attest. He stifles a sigh.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks."

Gonzo nods and Totsuka, who’s still in the process of getting the tousled hair out of his face, is pulled to his feet. Before leaving he turns to wink conspiratorially at Izumo through the remaining flyaway strands, and Izumo says to himself, since there’s nobody else, So, not that drunk after all, huh.

They come back in twenty minutes or so. Totsuka does seem more even-keeled, less sparkle and more glow. The leather jacket is sitting on his frame properly now, though it’s hard to say who gets the credit for that. He takes a seat at one of the corner tables this time, smiling absently at Izumo as he motions at the discarded guitar. One of “the guys" picks it up and eventually it finds its way back into the case. Izumo is rather sure he catches a glimpse of it cased at some point between then and the midnight.

Still, the fact remains: they've come back. It’s a good hour, if not more, of partying for the north-easterners that night. They drink and tip remarkably well and Izumo is waiting for his chance to tell Totsuka, See what I told you about the live music. Totsuka, however, seems to be moving with the tidal waves of people around him, never approaching alone. Whenever their eyes meet, he smiles in the same conspiratory way and gesticulates something inarticulate. Izumo only wonders if the night air really worked like they hoped.

It’s after midnight that the people start trickling out. A little early, Izumo thinks, but then recalls they have an overnight job lined up. Two by three, three by four, the group makes its way to the entrance and then outside. From the corner of Izumo’s distracted eye they blend into clusters of black spots against the light-colored walls, then transform into firefly-like tiny bursts of vivid color as each one stops to light a cigarette just out of the doors. The hum of departing slowly fades away to near silence, and when Izumo finally turns away from a desolated customer with a large tab, the bar looks lopsided — the right side is now barren.

Izumo leans against the counter, putting his weight onto it for several seconds: that late-shift feeling, something between lightheadedness and fatigue, starts to settle in. Making use of the downtime, he sorts out the tips, wipes the counter, prepares the trays for dirty glasses and tries to remember what he wanted in the back room. It comes to him like a jolt: the blanket. Only at that point he realizes.

The bar is half-barren and locked in what feels like a unnatural hush: the music is long gone — soaked into the walls, splashed out into the street — and no inane chatter has come to replace it. Belatedly, Izumo remembers Totsuka never swapped from Gonzo’s jacket back to his own bulky excuse of it, and wonders if he, a black dot at the edge of vision, gave Izumo’s back a mischievous smile on his way out.

Twelve hours in, Izumo thinks of all the ways to bastardize Blue Arrow while still retaining the right to call it that and entertains himself by looking up substitutions.

Two days in, he skims the local news column closely and starts straining his ear for any noteworthy gossip during the shifts; there’s none, which is reassuring.

Three days in, he suddenly reaches to turn on the portable radio mid-afternoon while prepping the bar alone.

Five days in, he tries to recall the address even though he knows Totsuka never mentioned it. Nor his cousin’s name, for that matter.

A week in, Gonzo shows up at his usual time.

Just like the last time, he’s alone, but in stark contrast from the last time he isn’t the one determined to have a word. Izumo bids his time and eventually Gonzo catches that prompting undercurrent in his persistent lingering glances. He goes through the trouble of coming over to answer it with a roll of shoulders and a lazy smile.

"The last week’s gig turned out good, by the way. The trouble paid off in full, like I said. Think it over for the future."

Izumo keeps the frustration off his face as he rummages through his memory trying to pinpoint what on earth he could be on about. Eventually, their smoke outside backdropped by cotton candy sky and the upstairs windows floats up to the surface.

"Ah," he says. "Well, looks like you’re making do without me."

Gonzo winks.

"The kid sure came in handy, so thanks for that, too. But we gotta have something more permanent."

"The kid," Izumo repeats slowly.

"Your cousin, was it? His place was perfect for the job. You know, a tiny block, on the outskirts... all warehouse-like, even. Could have fit twice as many crates in. Does he live with your family?"

Izumo, listening as if through the thick layer of something muffling, says, "No".

"Ah. Well, figures, since… Anyway, transporting the stuff was a piece of cake back then. I was gonna chat him up about a couple more shipments I had an eye on, but now that he’s cleared off…"

This time Izumo stops himself from dumbly echoing, "cleared off…", but something of the sentiment must be seeping through on his face anyway as Gonzo’s eyes flicker away. Still keeping them off, he rubs his cheek, the picture of someone’s who’s wondering if they're getting dragged into family drama.

"I mean, he joined us here and there while we were finishing up that business — no harm in that, keeping company. He loves to be on the move, no? Left him in Sendai last, he asked to pick him up Sunday. Said he’ll be staying for some open air schtick. But…"

"I see," says Izumo and somewhat hastily serves him his usual. They talk a bit about the current climate in the city and how the rent’s on the rise and, what movies are on, for Pete’s sake, before Hiroki and some others finally show up. The minutes swell, break off and sink slowly like heavy droplets from a leaking pipe. Izumo goes through the routine with an odd sense of distance, as if his hands move three paces ahead of his consciousness.

Hours later, Gonzo approaches him before calling it a night — half-cautiously, or so it looks to Izumo’s currently lagging mind.

"Can’t promise you anything," he says in a hurried attempt to redirect. "Don’t even know how long this place’s gonna stay in the business."

Gonzo blinks, then just looks at him for a moment — tall, solid and steady on his feet. Not the kind of person you can just hip-check off their chosen track. No knocking the subject out of his hands until he’s ready to drop it, Izumo thinks, and waits for him to keep going.

"Right, just thought I’d mention… Me and some guys, we’re going back to Sendai next week."

"Good luck, but don’t bother," Izumo hands seem to be picking up speed uncontrollably. It’s five paces ahead of the rest now, no less. "He’ll be in Nagasaki by then, or maybe in Europe. There’s no keeping up with him for us who have things to do."

Having blurted that out, he stops for a second – completely, hands and all – mesmerized by the satisfying finality of the words. That didn't just sound like it's over, he thinks, that sounded like it's been over for a week. Like it possibly never even started.

Several days later he re-discovers the card in the pile of mail where he first put it, and feels grateful to have something he can- not dispose of but physically set aside, literally put on the shelf. A gesture like this is the only thing his perfect wrap-up speech was missing.

He pauses for a second, surveying his options, then opens the drawer that holds a purchase agreement and other non-trivial papers. The yellowness and gaudiness of Totsuka’s inverted welcome seems to show through the top sheet, so he buries it deeper in the stack.

In the end of the winter when he starts getting things ready for the deal, it’s still there, unfaded.

#k project #Kusanagi Izumo #totsuka tatara #izutotsu #(fake advertizing )#fic

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hannah-the-writer · 6 years

Text

The Darkest Minds

(Very Positive Review - I loved it)

Okay so to start I would just like to say that if you don’t want to hear me ranting then you should stop reading now.

Firstly, the casting of the movie was amazing. I could not have picked better representations of the characters myself. Especially Amandla Stenberg (as Ruby) and Harris Dickinson (as Liam). The actors portrayal of them was outstanding and far proceeded my expectations. You felt real honest emotion during every scene, especially the one at the end.

Secondly, the film was visually stunning. The way that during the first few scenes it was quite dreary and after they showed the world as being so full of life and colourful was so well done. Also the way they portrayed the characters using their powers was a nice touch.

Thirdly, the script was beautifully written. If you’re a fan of the books you will appreciate how close to the book most of the script is. You can’t help but want to go and (re) read the book after watching it as it reminds you of the astoundiny well written book.

Fourthly, every change that was made from the book worked so well (bar one). The glowing eyes, Chubs being a green, Ruby being a woc, they all bettered the movie. Also the few characters that weren’t included didn’t bother me as much as I thought they would, although I would like to see how that plays out in any further adaptations of the other books.

Okay now for the rant.

The Critics

For gods sake. I have read every review on rotton tomatoes. They all say practically the same thing. In a nutshell they tell us that this is just another teen dystopian adaptation and that it pulls all aspects from other films and there is no originality to it.

I have one question for them, Did you even watch the movie? Because I did and I cannot understand where you are coming from. The only similarity between Katniss Everdeen, Tris Prior and Ruby Daly is that they are all strong female characters and are you sure that is something you want to discourage?

Also how old are you? Late thirties? Early forties? Yeah? Well have you even looked at the target audience? I understand that this type of movie might not interest you, of course because you feel no connection to the characters. You cannot see that even though the movie is ostensibly about a dystopian society, there are so many things that young adults can relate to within this movie.

It seems as if you have walked into the movie with a preconceived idea of what it is going to be like, not watched it and written a review of what you though you saw. I honestly cannot understand your negativity. I would like to have a face to face conversation with one of you so that you can make me understand your stance on the generic nature of the film. So please feel free to contact me about it.

Anyway

Advertising

The film was amazing, but I hadn’t seen it advertised until about a month before. Within that month there were YouTube adverts, posters and all sorts but it was too little too late. They needed to really get the word out and I believe that if they had that the move would have done better than it did. I mean for God’s sake it was a movie with:

The director was a woman of colour

The main character was a woman of colour

They had a freaking female director!!!

The books are amazing

An amazing cast

Young adult empowerment

A strong female lead

Romance

Action

Adventure

What more do you freaking want?!?

Okay I’m sorry that was mean but I feel really passionate about this film.

They left it exactly where the first book ends... which is an emotional cliffhanger. I need a second movie and by the looks of it it hasn’t even made back what it cost to make so it isn’t likely. I am so sad.

The only changes I didn’t like

This is just personal preference so don’t get mad, okay?

The Reds

They breathed fire. It was just weird and honestly what are they going to do when Cole comes into the picture in Never Fade? Have him breathe fire too. I freaking hope not.

Cabin 27

I’m really sad there wasn’t more about this, although if they ever did get round to making In The Afterlight then they could explore it more thoroughly then. And Sam, she was a really good character it’s sad she didn’t have more of a part.

This really deserved more recognition than it got.

PSI forever! Black Betty Gang!

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nachoscheesy · 3 years

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Automattic, Tumblr, and the future of the site

Hi, my name is Nacho, I am currently a mechanical engineering student in Kansas and I have an idea that could benefit Tumblr and their new owners Automattic.

A little about me, I have been on Tumblr since around 2010 and have seen this site change in a variety of ways. On top of being a current student in mechanical engineering I also have worked in industrial settings doing NDI requiring that I have a very high attention to detail. As well as a sense for process improvement and error reduction.

I tell you this about myself because I want to gain the trust of the Tumblr community, and show that I care about the state of this site as well as its users. I honestly believe if Tumblr mobilizes itself as it has in the past, we could be a force for good and positive change on the (hell) site. As well as stopping the steady decline of the site by people that seem to not want to listen to the community.

I am NOT associated with Tumblr or Automattic in anyway other than being a Tumblr user, I am hoping to gain enough momentum and attention that I would be able to get the attention of @photomatt to work together and develop Tumblr into what it should have always been. I am asking the community to please let me know what all you think are the major issues on this site and app. I have tried to compile to the best of my ability a short list of what I believe are the foundational issues that, if addressed, would allow tumblr to flourish and be a major player on the web.

As someone who has been on the internet for a very long time, I have seen the same trends over and over kill sites like Tumblr. While Tumblr has transformed in a variety of ways the core of the site is still the same. I say all this to prove that I do care about the future of this site and what happens to it, and I fear that Automattic will eventually end up using Tumblr to test out a variety of feature sets for other sites and apps eventually dumping it off again on the highest bidder.

Yahoo and Verizon had issues in marketing to this sites users, as well as its own internal strife with the actual @staff at tumblr offices. I think that is because the changing hands and people in power that have influence over this site are either dethatched from the way Tumblr works as a whole, or have not been listening closely to the inhabitants of the site, possibly both.

First, I wanted to ask the question, what Tumblr isn’t, I do not think that Tumblr is a social media platform in the traditional sense like the big players (Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook.)

I think this might be obvious to some but not all, but Tumblr is a midpoint between social media, content creation, and brand development. With its ability to customize different aspects of a blog to meet hyper specific goals of the brand or user. Tumblr can be a site that makes it possible to cater to the niche or eclectic styles of individual users. As well as the potential for reaching large swaths of audiences with its spiderweb like user interactions.

Tumblr, in essence, is a sort of cross roads on the internet that lends itself to a wide variety of facets of what people want from the internet. Tumblr is also the breeding ground for a lot of creativity and internet culture that gets constantly reposted all over the web. I think this sets Tumblr to be a prime piece of online real estate, in the sense that the site and its users can quickly and effectively propagate a single piece of media with a high content value.

Second, I wanted to look at all the most common issues that plague the site and that have continued to persist over the years. Some of these issues being things like, stability, updates changing entire blog formatting, general quality of life issues like organization and linking to outside accounts, advertisements on the site, and overall clarity in some fundamental ways.

The core issues of what is causing this site to be slowly killed off at the root is multifaceted and can be seen by anyone who has been here long enough, however I think that there is still a chance to make significant improvements to Tumblr as a whole and build the site and app back up from the base itself. I believe if we were able to reestablish a lot of the base expectations that we have come to know from other apps, along with the uniqueness of Tumblr as a whole we would see a steady increase in users again. As well as a fundamental change in the way the Tumblr experience is felt.

I have summarized what I think are the core issues on both the app and the site its self below. This is not an exhaustive list of issues my goal was to understand what makes Tumblr fundamentally work and in what ways we could build a better foundation to highlight the sites strengths, while mitigating its weaknesses.

First – The App

Tumblrs app has been awful for a very long time, with a ton of stability issues and general functionality problems. Personally I almost exclusively use Tumblr through the app and had always wanted to see more quality of life changes done in the way of how other apps function. The Tumblr app feels more like it just works and gets the job done, but not always.

A few other things being what I think are compression issues with the app, and how things posted on desktop don’t look as good on the app. As well as the tagging system not working as intended all the time, with the tags disappearing for each reblog.

Second – Search Feature

The search function on Tumblr is lacking a lot of functionality that I think is pretty standard on other sites, as well as being able to search on a blog for specific posts or even just filtering by liked posts. I think this is one of the main points of contention with Tumblr on both the app and the site, having a search function that can’t return specific results with the ability to modify or filter them is a very baseline thing to have on any site or app.

Third – Bots

This is probably one of the worst issues on Tumblr that does in fact effect everybody, while I personally do not know much about bots and how they work all the way through. However, I do think that if Tumblr were to enable a sort of system that allows users to report bots and suspicious activity would help in mitigating this widespread issue. Bot spam and phishing, is a widespread issue that affects every site on the internet. However, I think if they allowed the site to be self-reporting with a system in place that rewards users who give accurate reports of bots and phishing by moving their reports to the top, while penalizing users who maliciously report users. I know that this might not be a perfect system, but I think allowing a site and its users to self-report and rewarding reporting in good faith would take a large portion of the weight off of Tumblr staff as a whole.

Fourth – Interconnectivity

Here what I mean by interconnectivity, is that Tumblr does not seem to want to play well with other apps or even its own internal links. One of the key things to bringing up the appeal of Tumblr would be to allow for users to be able to link multiple accounts on Tumblr and have their content be posted to all other media platforms as well. The ability to post from a single platform onto several other platforms at once would be a key in continuing the idea of Tumblr being a cross roads as well as an attractive feature for content creators across the internet.

This is a difficult thing to implement given that companies want you to use their app over someone else’s, but if Tumblr did push for a sort of “cross play” I believe it could be standardized for everyone across the web.

So, if youve read this far I greatly appreciate it. What I am asking for right now is for you to follow me, and reblog so I can build up momentum and hopefully bring some long needed TLC to tumblr that it has been missing.

Please PM me with other things you think the site and app are missing on need fixed in the meantime. Or things you think I missed, or should be considered more important, the goal is to bring the tumblr community together to improve the site.

Follow my blog as I continue to try and make a way for tumblr to keep its unique brand of weird. I will be adding a survey to my blog soon that will allow me to compile all the most common issues that the community feels are effecting them. This is just the first step in what I am sure will be a long and winding road to a better tumblr, so thank you in advance.

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starspatter · 6 years

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Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 6

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 3,791 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Also on ff.net and AO3. In which Dick is surprisingly racist towards clones.

Two birds on a wire One says "come on" and the other says "I'm tired" The sky is overcast and I'm sorry One more or one less Nobody's worried

-Regina Spektor, "Two Birds"

Then.

Once their guest had left, Tim turned to Dick with a wounded air.

“How about giving me some warning next time before someone shows up, huh? A little heads-up would’ve been nice.”

Dick’s smile didn’t falter.

“What, did she catch you doing something embarrassing?”

Tim skewered him a look of disgust.

“Do you have to make everything sound dirty?”

“Sorry, sorry. …I’m surprised you’re still doing ‘that’ after all these years though.”

Tim shrugged with a heavy sigh. “Was just testing to see if I still could, I guess. I messed up on the landing anyway.”

“You probably just need to work on your form some more. It has been a while since I last saw you brush up on any techniques, they’re bound to get a bit rusty. If you want, I can still coach you…”

Tim’s lips tightened.

“Forget it. It’s not worth it.”

“Are you sure? That girl seemed pretty impressed by it. She’s the one you were talking about earlier, right?” Dick nodded in sage observation. “She’s cute; nice face, decent rack- ow!” He rubbed his arm as it was abruptly met with an annoyed punch. “Hey, it was a compliment.”

“…Didn’t sound like one.”

“Would you prefer I said she has a mighty fine ass?” He waggled his brows and grinned provocatively, despite wincing from the pain. Kid could still hit pretty hard when he wanted to. “Not as fine as mine though.”

“Shut up before I shove a dumbbell up there.”

Dick clutched his behind in mock dread at the threat.

“Seriously though, she’s obviously into you.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “The way I see it, from where I’m standing, she’s more into you.”

“Oh ho, do I detect a note of jealousy?”

“No,” Tim denied hotly, though his cheeks told a different story. “It’s just that you’re being super-gross about it. You know you’re acting like Bruce by coming onto every giddy schoolgirl and her mom who walks in through the door.”

Dick’s smirk jerked slightly.

“Wow, okay dude, we’re really going there.” It was his turn to be hurt by insensitivity. “You didn’t need to go that far. I’ll have you know this and that are completely different.”

“How so?”

“I approach these things from a sole marketing perspective. Purely professional. It’s called ‘show business’, bro.”

“Uh-huh. This coming from the guy who just lied about his scars to make himself look good. I suppose ‘that’s’ also part of your advertising strategy?”

“Hey, it’s not like it was a total lie. That really did happen, you know – minus the ‘falling debris’ part. …Besides, what else would you have me say?”

Tim shook his head, keeping his voice low. “…I don’t know.”

Dick seized on the telling silence. “You are attracted to her, aren’t you?”

“I am not.”

“It’s okay, I can see why. It’s all right to admit these things, you know. You don’t have to hide it.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

The firm, yet flustered defiance only further confirmed Dick’s suspicion.

“Heh heh, little Timmy’s got a crush~”

He tousled Tim’s hair teasingly, to which the boy scowled.

“I do not.” He pushed the invading hand away in indignation. “Will you cut that out already? I’m not a kid anymore.”

Dick lowered his limb in disappointment.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Despite insistence otherwise, it delighted Dick that Tim was finally exhibiting some of the youthful desire – if not exuberance – he’d missed out on through his teenage years. “Trust me though, I have no interest in someone her age. She’s all yours.”

“Look, will you just drop it?” Tim snapped bluntly. “It’s none of your freakin’ business.”

Dick exhaled, clicking his tongue. If only Tim could be more honest with his feelings, true to himself – though he was painfully aware of how excruciatingly difficult that must be, what with everything the boy had been through. To be fair, he had his own troubles genuinely opening his heart to others, after all the times it had been broken and betrayed before. …He could only imagine how terrifying it must be for Tim, to allow someone else – a complete and total stranger – to get close by entering into his currently (semi-)stable and secure – if supremely secluded life, experience that kind of risky emotion again. Breach the many walls and defensive barriers he had set up around himself, upset the plainly precarious balance that was still a struggle to barely maintain. So as much as he wanted to continue coaxing and clowning – kidding around, he agreed to leave it alone for now, raising both palms in admitted defeat.

“Okay, I get it. I won’t bother you about it anymore.”

The subject successfully dismissed, Tim attuned towards the boxes in the back.

“So did you want me to help with moving this stuff or what?”

“Yeah, I needed to clear out some old things to make space for new equipment. Trying to tidy up the place more, getting rid of useless junk and whatnot. …Although most of it’s probably going up to the storeroom in the attic anyway. Sorry to bother you for this; I’d do all the lifting myself, but with my back…”

“Don’t mention it, it’s the least I can do to repay you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Tim knelt by one of the cartons as Dick set to work sifting and sorting, organizing according to some arbitrary system that ostensibly only made sense to him.

“Christ, how much crap do you have here? Seriously, what even is half this junk? I knew you had all kinds of odd ends lying around, but I didn’t realize it amounted to this much. Do you ever throw anything away?”

Dick shrugged.

“What can I say, I’m a hoarder by nature. Keeping keepsakes is my hobby. …Well, more like a habit, I guess. Why do you think we had a trophy room in the basement? It wasn’t originally Bruce’s idea, I can tell you that.”

Tim remained quiet as he poked through a large collection of CDs, containing a few recognizable but mostly random titles by various indie bands and artists he’d never heard of.

“Man, you’ve got weird taste in music.”

“Hey, don’t knock the classics. Those are precious goods, be careful with those.”

In spite of his scoffing, Tim picked up one of the discs that appealed to him, and was almost about to subconsciously slip the item under his oversized hoodie – an old, old habit of his own – before remembering he didn’t have to resort to sneaking or stealing when he could just ask.

“Can I borrow this?”

Dick didn’t even twist to look, implicitly trusting in his little brother’s judgment. “Yeah sure, go ahead.”

Tim breathed out in relief as he pocketed the prize with permission. That was a close call. Borderline kleptomaniac compulsions hadn’t surfaced like that in a long time, but then, it was only another minor checkbox on the extensive, exhaustive list of psychotic symptoms he was suffering from today.

There was another entry that caught his eye, different from the others. It had no hard case or album cover; just a plain, simple jacket labeled with marker:

For Babs.

Tim wondered if it was a mix tape – surely Dick wouldn’t have tried to record something himself? He couldn’t tell whether it was a gift Dick planned to give but never worked up the courage to – or something Barbara sent back after (one of numerous) breakup(s).

…Maybe Joker was right. Being in love with someone seemed like way more hassle than it was worth. Hell, just watching those two go back and forth between affection and anger even back then was tiring. Aggravating.

At any rate, he left burning curiosity alone, not wanting to intrude too much on Dick’s privacy (years ago he would’ve taunted his brother with the juicy bit of exposing bait himself, but that was then, when he was less mature and still found amusement in such things), and moved on to another container. As soon as he saw the contents inside, he balked a bit, heartbeat spiking. Aching. It was a family photo album, full of fond memories from the Flying Graysons’ circus days. His hands trembled as he flipped tentatively through the pages, unable to tear away even though it made him uncomfortable for a number of reasons. Paranoid of polaroids. Anything involving camerawork tended to make him queasy, though he could typically tolerate homages to others at least. These were different from the blown-up, polished posters on the wall though; the images portrayed within were more intimate, unscripted. Candid, captured moments of a close-knit clan, happy as a clam – treasured remnants of childhood innocence and bliss combined with parental pampering.

“This must have been such a cool place to grow up.”

“…It was.”

Glancing back at the receptacle, buried at the bottom was another set of snapshots: a framed photograph of Dick and Barbara together (him smiling smugly straight at her in puppy-like adoration while she beamed brightly at the viewer instead), and a worn print of the former in graduation garb next to Bruce, who had his paw wrapped proudly on the other’s shoulder. Scrawled on the top left-hand corner in Bruce’s surprisingly haphazard handwriting was a short congratulatory message:

Good luck at college, Dick.

Tim recalled how Dick told him the story of Bruce missing his graduation from Gotham State University, shortly before the two split up as Batman and Robin. (…The old man never even bothered to come to his own high school ceremony – not that Tim was expecting him to – although Dick and Barbara both did attend at least, albeit sitting at opposite ends of the auditorium.)

“It was building for a long time. I realize that now. …It was never really right. I mean, this isn’t exactly a normal childhood.”

He hadn’t really comprehended the notion then, but Tim understood now what those words meant – unfortunately all too well.

Tim sensed a shadow behind him, and for a brief instant, he half-envisioned it being Bruce from the way it loomed – but of course when he revolved around it was only Dick instead.

“Yo, you all right? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Tim looked down at the scrapbook in his lap, a wistful mist in his eyes. “I was just… thinking I don’t really have any pictures of my folks. At least none where we’re all together.” Or that isn’t a mugshot, he thought sullenly to himself. “I never saw my dad keep any mementos of Mom after she died. To be honest, I’m not sure I even still remember what she looks like.”

Dick plopped down on the ground next to him, resting a hand on the boy’s sagged shoulder.

“Listen, I hope you know: No matter what, you can always think of the two of us as family at least. I know I haven’t exactly been that much of a great guardian myself, that I could never replace what you lost either… But you are still a brother to me. Hell, I consider you the closest thing to a real relative I’ve had since then.”

Tim simply nodded, swallowing a lump in his gorge. Dick patted his back with a thump.

“Us guys, we gotta stick together, right? Through thick and thin.”

“Yeah.” Tim ducked his neck towards his collar, surreptitiously drying ducts on his sweatshirt. “…Thanks, you know, for letting me stay here so long. Roy and Conner too.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” A pause. “…How’s Conner doing by the way?”

Tim snorted, the caution in the other’s tone not escaping his notice. “What do you care? You never liked him anyway.”

“That’s not true. It’s just… The whole idea of cloning someone kinda wigs me out, okay? I dunno, imagining there being a duplicate copy of you running around is freaky enough, but one of Superman? It still doesn’t sit well with me to leave him loose like that, after all the underhanded crap Cadmus has pulled. Something about it just doesn’t seem right. Who’s to say he doesn’t have some secret kill switch that’ll make him go rogue like Supergirl’s doppelganger? Gotham may be full of crazies and creeps, but at least we never really had to deal with stuff of metahuman caliber aside from Ivy and Clayface, or Kirk when he took the serum.” Dick intentionally didn’t include Killer Croc on the atypical rogues roster; guy was too dumb a criminal to count. “We’re on the high end of the ‘weird’ scale, sure, but not even Batman’s equipped to take down a serious superpowered menace alone.”

Tim glared at him in disbelief.

“Is that you talking, or the old man?”

“…Maybe a bit of both,” Dick willingly conceded. “Look, I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“Yeah well, don’t be. I’ve got Mr. Kent on speed-dial, and Kon gave me his full consent to use the Kryptonite at my discretion as part of our ‘roommate agreement’. If anything happens, he told me himself he wants me to hit him with it as hard as I can.” …Even if it meant killing him – although Tim knew he could never go through with that. Not again. “Besides, it’s not him you’re actually worried about, is it?”

“Tim…”

“No, you know what this is?” Tim clenched his fist, drawing away from contact again. “You look at him with the same way you do me – like some ticking time bomb about to explode. I’m getting real sick and tired of it.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Sure it isn’t. Look, for your information, Conner’s doing fine. Hell, he pretty much behaves just like you; he’s probably getting wasted and chasing after chicks at some mixer right now. …That’s what you call a ‘normal college life’, isn’t it?”

Dick cleared his throat, aversely acknowledging hypocrisy.

“…What about you? How is school going? Do you like it there?”

Tim shrugged.

“It’s okay.”

“You know you didn’t have to just stick locally around here. If you wanted to go someplace else I would’ve sponsored you. I mean, I chose to stay close to Gotham because of that… ‘part-time job’ stuff, but you’re smart, you could’ve gone anywhere better.”

“I told you, I’m fine with this.”

“What about taking that girl’s suggestion at least? Life doesn’t just have to be about books and studying for tests all the time either, you know. Look at it this way: You’ve got the time and opportunity now to be a part of after-class club activities that I never had. Why not take advantage of it, get out there and socialize. Enjoy the excitement of your youth and all that.”

Tim stared, trying unsuccessfully to read the other’s expression. He couldn’t deduce whether the dude was just being humorously sarcastic, or genuinely envious and attempting to live vicariously through him. Either way, he wasn’t falling for it.

“I said forget it.”

Dick kept pressing despite disengagement, earnest in his endeavor to tempt Tim to pursue what used to fill the boy with fervent passion, desperately hoping to rekindle some kind of joyful spark.

“Come on, I’m sure it’ll be fun. I bet I could even still teach you to do a quadruple somersault if you’re interested.”

“Why? I suck at it.”

“You just need more practice. …Besides, it’d be kind of a shame to let a legacy die out without passing it on to at least one person.”

Tim wavered at the sincere, if somewhat scheming statement.

“I don’t know…”

“Trust me, it’s easy once you get the hang of it.”

“Maybe for you.” He bitterly bit his tongue under his breath. “I’d like to see you try to concentrate on keeping your balance with the Joker as a peanut gallery.”

“What was that?”

“…Nothing.”

Dick held his gaze for a second.

“Tim, I didn’t want to bring this up, but… Conner called me the other day. He told me, about the lab incident. He says you haven’t been sleeping or eating much either.”

Tim grit his jaw, feeling like a dagger had just been thrust in his gut. He couldn’t believe his best (perhaps only) bud in the world would betray him like that.

“Damnit, Kon.”

“Don’t blame him, he’s just worried about you too. I told you: You don’t need to keep hiding things from us. We’re here to help if you need anything. Babs too. If something’s troubling you, you can talk to us.”

“It’s fine, I’m handling it.”

Dick wouldn’t desist, determined to get the truth out of him.

“Tim, I heard you yelling earlier. …He’s back again, isn’t he?”

The boy sighed in surrender, eyes slanting stage right. “…To your left, making faces.”

His partner fixed him with stern concern.

“Are you off your meds again?”

“They don’t work. Not as well as they used to.”

“That doesn’t mean you should just stop taking them.”

“For what? So I can only experience the side effects?”

“So talk to Leslie. Ask her to adjust the dosage.”

Tim made a hollow noise. “I’m already on the highest strength that’s considered ‘safe’ for human consumption.”

Dick pulled out his phone anyway and began dialing her number.

“I’m contacting her. There must be at least something else we can try.”

“Not Dr. Thompkins,” Tim whined, as if a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Look, either you call to make an appointment, or I will.”

Tim seethed, grinding his teeth. “All right, fine. Jeeze. God, you and Barbara still both treat me like a fucking child.”

“Yeah well, maybe if you stop acting like one.”

“Whatever. Just hand me the phone. I’ll talk to her.”

Dick extended the cell towards Tim, who took it with all the enthusiasm of accepting a dirty sock.

“It’s ringing.”

He listened closely in on the conversation to confirm a meeting time was set up, before Tim returned the receiver.

“Here. She wants to talk to you.”

Dick lifted the mobile to his ear.

“Hey, doc.”

“Hello, Richard. It’s good to hear from you boys. How’s the back treating you?”

“Fine.” He didn’t want to dwell too much on his own health status, so he moved on to the matter at hand. “Is there anything we can do to help Tim?”

“In such a rare and unusual case as this, it’s hard to say. It’d be beneficial to start by identifying the root of his relapse. Once we pinpoint that, it’ll be easier to formulate a treatment plan. It’s possible it could just be due to the stress of moving to a new environment. It’s good that you’ve been able to help support him through high school, but now that he’s becoming independent it may be triggering a stronger separation anxiety response in him. Even if consciously he rejects it, the Joker ingrained himself as a parental figure in Tim’s mind. Essentially, he equates that kind of attention with the nurturing love and protection he never properly received growing up. It’s common for child victims of abuse to form a disorganized attachment to the caregiver, especially when the caregiver behaves in an inconsistent manner. The conflict of the caregiver being both a source of comfort and distress can cause the child to display contradictory patterns when faced with a stressful situation; instinct tells him to simultaneously avoid and approach the one who is mistreating him. In the absence of a familiar atmosphere he’s accustomed to, he’s likely seeking alternate methods of coping as a survival mechanism. Has he been under any kind of particular pressure lately?”

Dick relayed the events leading up to the fainting spell, with little input from Tim beyond affirmative nods.

“I see. It’s certainly a sign of progress that he’s trying to face his fears, but a heads-on approach might not be the best tactic.”

“I tried to tell him that. He won’t listen.”

“I’ll have a chat with him about it when I see him, hopefully we can find a way for him to succeed in his studies without compromising his sense of safety. One more question, this is important: Has he tried to harm himself?”

“I… don’t think so. I’ll check, and let you know.”

“Please do.”

As Dick temporarily terminated the exchange, he rotated to see Tim had stood up and was headed towards the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out for a smoke – walk – whatever. Just text me when you need me.”

“Hold it.” The harsh bark arrested the boy before he was halfway to the exit. “Wrists.”

Tim swiveled with a sour countenance.

“Seriously? Do we really have to do this?”

“Show me.”

He hissed, but obediently rolled up his sleeves, revealing bare but apparently unmarked skin.

“Satisfied?”

Dick advanced and examined him all over anyway, before nodding.

“All right. Now empty your pockets.”

Tim tsked, feeling as violated as when the staff at the detention center frisked him on admittance for any concealed contraband. He dug through his possessions, retrieving objects one by one: phone, wallet, CD player, lighter, cigarettes, and finally – under Dick’s demanding eye – the hidden pocketblade.

“Give me the knife.”

He hesitated.

“Don’t make me wrestle it from you.”

Relinquishing, he slapped the weapon into Dick’s grip without a word.

“Thank you. You can go, but try to keep near.”

“Sure thing, Mom.”

Dick deliberately chose to ignore the sardonic retort, used to receiving attitude by now. (For a fleeting moment, he mused if he ever gave Bruce this much frustration, although no doubt Alfred would certainly attest to it.)

After Tim left, Dick hit redial to reassuringly inform Leslie on the observed lack of self-inflicted damage to the patient’s physical condition at least – and preemptive confiscation of means just to be safe – before bidding goodbye with a final beep. He sighed as he rubbed his neck, hoping his “tough love” hadn’t come off as too deterring. He really wasn’t good with this whole “parenting” thing, considering the primary role model he had for nearly half of his life after early adolescence.

As he picked up the memoir from the floor, he caressed his fingers feather-light over the cover, brushing off collected dust and disenchantment before delicately placing it on a shelf for easy viewing access. The rest he unceremoniously dumped in the “to toss” pile, purposefully cramming as much trash as he could on top. …After a few minutes though he fished them out again, rescuing from the base of the rubbish heap with ambivalent reluctance, restoring to the original package and sealing tightly with tape. They could remain upstairs for now at least – like his ruined Nightwing costume – evidence of old wounds and shattered bonds shuttered behind closed panel; tucked away in the dark recesses of his conscience, lurking and lingering deep in the shadows off-screen.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Two birds of a feather Say that they're always gonna stay together But one's never going to let go of that wire He says that he will But he's just a liar

#TimSteph #Tim Drake #Timmy Todd #Stephanie Brown #Dick Grayson #Batman the Animated Series #Batman Beyond #DCAU #Return of the Joker #fanfiction #starstories #Ironically Dick later gets a clone himself in the 'Hush Beyond' comic story arc #which is a mess in all sorts of ways but I'm considering canon for the sake of keeping 'continuity'#on the subject of the tie in comics though one thing I love about Gotham Adventures is how they highlight Dick's fondness for music #wherein his musical knowledge actually comes in handy to help solve a couple cases #if you haven't read the series I highly recommend doing so for a lot more extra character development and wonderful BatFam interactions <3 #also FYI all the photographs appeared in the show at some point #cookie to whoever guesses which ep each is from ;O #P.S. Happy Father's Day

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years

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878.

5k Survey VI

251. Do you blow your nose in public? >> I don’t usually blow my nose, I just use a tissue to wipe if my nose starts running. I’ve found that blowing my nose constantly like I see other people doing doesn’t help me any; I just end up more congested for longer, which leads to me blowing my nose more often, and so on. So I stopped. I hate the noise, anyway. 252. Do you want to follow in your parent’s footsteps? >> No. 253. What is the coolest web site you know of? >> o_0 254. Which cartoon would you most like to see turned into a movie? >> I have no thoughts about this. 255. Of the following, which word best describes you: enthusiastic, fair minded, generous, helpful >> Fair-minded.

256. Can you eat with chopsticks? >> I can. 257. Could you tell real money from counterfeit? >> I don’t know, I’ve never been in the situation where I would have had to. 258. What do you think about school uniforms? >> I think there are benefits and downsides to it like almost anything. 259. What ancient civilization would you most like to visit? >> I don’t want to visit any ancient civilisations. 260. What would make a great new Crayola color? >> I don’t know. 261. If an art project is created with the intent of getting rich and famous, does that cast doubt over its significance as a work of art? >> In my understanding of art, anything can be art as long as someone beholds it as such. Obviously there will still be standards depending on who’s judging the thing as “art”, but like I said -- it depends. From my point of view as an observer, I don’t think the intent to earn money invalidates the product’s artistic nature. 262. If you became president, whom would you invite to sing at your inauguration? >> --- 263. Who is the greatest philosopher of your country? >> The “greatest”? What does that even mean, how is that quantified? There are a lot of philosophers that were born here, I suppose. Wikipedia might have some answers for you. 264. If all the nations in the world are in debt, where did all the money go? >> It was spent. 265. Is it as easy to make you happy now as it was when you were a child? >> I don’t know how easy it was to make me happy when I was a child, so I can’t compare. 266. Who knows more…you, or your parents? >> More about what? 267. What instrument would you like to be famous for playing? >> I don’t want to be famous for playing an instrument. Or for anything. 268. Children fill its lungs completely with air. Adults breathe in a more shallow way, not filling their lungs completely. Why the change? >> I’m not Google. 269. Would you have sex with a stranger for one million dollars? >> I wouldn’t have sex with anyone for money. I can’t do that. 270. Are you completely in control of your body? >> Mostly my body controls itself, I think. It’s a bit of an autonomous system, innit? Are you completely in control of your mind? >> Of course not. “I” am not even really a thing. 271. Which is more romantic: an expensive, glittering bouquet OR flowers that were hand picked as they grew beside the parkway? >> Don’t fucking pick flowers from the wild just to make some foolish gesture. If someone did that on my behalf I’d be pretty turned off. 272. Do you know yourself well enough to understand why you feel the way you do? >> Sometimes, sometimes not. And there’s always the chance that the story I tell myself for why I react to things the way I do is wrong, or exaggerated. We’re all just guessing, some guesses more educated and likely than others. 273. Which do you do more often: let movies, songs and books put your feelings into words for you or put your feelings into words by yourself? >> Hm. 274. Do you believe celebrities when they are endorsing a product? >> No. Like, I know how advertising works... 275. What kind of movies do you wish were made more often? >> I don’t have an opinion about this. 276. Does fashion matter to you? >> Sure, I think the fashion industry and how clothing is made and haute couture are all incredibly interesting subjects. Fashion also matters to me because I wear clothing just like everyone else, and I like to learn about the stuff I use on a daily basis. Learning about fast fashion, for instance, greatly informed how I buy and use clothing, and what kind of clothing I buy. 277. Should politicians be held to the same legal standards as everyone else? >> Of course. Why would that even be in question? I’d even argue they should be held to more stringent standards, considering they’re responsible for the lives and livelihoods of whole groups of people. 278. What do you get in trouble for the most? >> --- 279. Should parents spank their kids? >> I wouldn’t, and I don’t appreciate that other people do. I’m not interested in arguing about it, but I definitely don’t want to associate with you if you think that’s something worth arguing for. 280. What is your worst daily habit? >> Skin-picking (on my lips, specifically). 281. If you had your choice which one TV show would you have canceled? >> Why would I do that? 282. Do you like the taste of sweet or salt? >> I prefer salty foods to sweet foods. 283. Are you very precise about what words you use to describe your feelings and thoughts? >> I try to be as precise as possible, but I don’t always succeed when it comes to the spoken word. It’s a lot easier when I have time to sort my thoughts out and then write them out in a coherent fashion, while also being able to look at what I’ve written and analyse its specificity. 284. What do you feel the most guilty about? >> Nothing. 285. Do you meditate? >> Not usually. I do it spontaneously on occasion, but not like some sort of routine. 286. Can dreams be visions, or do you feel they are always random images? >> I think they can be either of these things, depending on the dreamer and the dream in question. 287. Do you try to write/say what you are feeling in a true and simple way? >> I do try. I do not often succeed. 288. The thief _______ that everyone steals. What verb would you fill in the blank with? >> The word that fills in the saying is “believes”, if I recall correctly. 289. What’s the most incredible experience you ever had? >> *shrug* 290. Are you ever afraid to write/say/think how you feel? >> I am sometimes anxious about how it will be received, especially if it isn’t exactly positive. But if it must be said, it must be said, and it will be said one way or the other (and I can only hope I say it tactfully, lmao). 291. Do you write/say/think it anyway or become intimidated and try to avoid it? >> It eventually comes out, one way or the other, like I said. And sometimes the way it comes out is “very badly”. 292. What is one thing you can’t do? >> I can’t do that weird shape with my tongue. 293. Do you like movies starring Charleton Heston (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charleton_Heston)? >> The only movie I recall that stars Charlton Heston is The Ten Commandments and that movie can fuck off. 294. Are you gentle? >> No. 295. When do you feel the most raw and vulnerable? >> A lot of times. 296. Are you trying to find yourself? >> No?? That phrase makes no sense to me, lmao. 297. Where are you looking? >> --- 298. Are you sometimes afraid of being honest because you are afraid of hurting people’s feelings? >> I’m just tired of getting backlash for expressing myself, so I’m pretty defensive about that. 299. What would make you a stronger person? >> I don’t know, not being post-traumatic and constantly under siege because my brain hates me? 300. What book would you like to read sometime soon? >> There are like 150 books on my to-read list.

#surveys #survey #5000 question survey

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weekendwarriorblog · 4 years

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The Weekend Warrior Home and Quibi Edition July 17, 2020: WE ARE FREESTYLE LOVE SUPREME, DIRT MUSIC, THE PAINTED BIRD and More!

Apologies for being a day late with this week’s column... things came up.

Since this is a relatively quieter week, at least compared to last week, I want to talk about something that’s been getting a lot of ridicule and unwarranted hatred in recent months, and that is something called Quibi, and so…

IN PRAISE OF QUIBI

You know, I’ve heard a lot of shit-talking about Quibi for one reason or another. I think it’s mostly the “too cool for school” #FilmTwitter kids, who haven’t even bothered to watch half the programming and content on the streaming platform – which has absolutely nothing to do with movies, mind you -- so they honestly have no fucking idea what they’re talking about. Sure, I understand the trepidation… short programs that you watch on your phone? Why would anyone get behind that? I mean, everything needs to be a 3 ½ hour Martin Scorsese movie that needs to be seen on the biggest screen possible, right?

Well, no. You see, CEO Jeffrey Katzenberg saw how successful YouTube was with their model – maybe not necessarily their original programming – and he figured he could do them one better. Instead of following the normal TV model of 22 to 60 minutes episodes, he decided to make every episode under 10 minutes. Maybe this seems weird to many people but if you watch any commercial network television, that’s actually the norm. All programs are broken up into smaller increments to allow for the commercials, and the smart shows time those breaks with mini-cliffhangers that makes the viewer want to return after the commercial break rather than switching the station. For the comedies and dramas, it just means you can watch as many episodes as you want without investing the hours involved with binging most shows. You can watch a lot of a series in an hour or more, and you’ll know right away if it’s for you. (There are some I really didn’t like at all such as Dummy and a few others.)

The big problem is that we really shouldn’t be looking at Quibi as an attempted competitor to Netflix, Hulu or any of the other streaming services. Quibi isn’t meant to be for watching movies or to be watched on the biggest screen possible. It’s quick, short bytes of entertainment similar to what you might normally watch on YouTube, but with actual programming. It’s a service geared towards people who don’t have 8 hours a day to binge-watch shows and maybe just want something to watch on a 5 or 10-minute break from sitting at their computers working. (That’s another good reason why having to be viewed on a phone/tablet makes it a good way to take a break from the computer.)

I totally understand some of the trepidation based on the early programming, because I haven’t found much in the narrative realm that has jumped out at me. I like Will Forge and Caitlyn Olsen’s Flipped, since it stars two of the funniest people on television, and the second story on Sam Raimi’s United States of Horror was far better than the first one. I also found a great guilty pleasure in shows like Chrissy’s Court and Dishmantled, each which put a spin on favorite TV genres, the court and cooking shows, both which are hilarious. I binged both of those series, which are about 10 to 12 episodes in a little over an hour, and Reno 911 and Jason Reitman’s The Princess Bride adaptation have been some great recent additions to the service.

The reason why you should be watching Quibi is for the daily programming, which is every bit on par with anything currently on television, mainly because Quibi has joined forces with some of the best news sources and content creators. For instance, the BBC show, Around the World with host Ben Bland, takes all of the great news from the BBC and puts together a daily six-minute “montage” of the most important news from outside the United States. There’s also NBC’s The Report, which offers two episodes on weekdays – the Morning and Evening Report – and two Weekend Reports, and it’s solid news reporting but also nothing that outlasts its welcome like the normal 24-hour news.

Then there’s so much other great programming, including Answered by Vox with host Cleo Abram, where you can learn about so many relevant and timely topics, and it’s become a particularly beneficial during the COVID pandemic. I have to admit that when I first started watching this, I was kind of amused by Abram’s twitchy interviews where she seemed unsure of herself, but over the course of the last couple months, her bubbly personality has really come out, as she’s tackled topics of special interest to herself. Quibi has rightfully been promoting the heck out of the show by advertising it on other shows. I also am impressed by the topics Shan Boodram covers on Sexology, an extremely candid and honest discussion of what some might consider taboo topics.

Similarly wonderful to watch every day is EW’s Last Night Late Night with Heather Gardner, which sums up the previous night’s late night shows – the best jokes, the best bits from the interviews, performances etc. – and there’s also Rotten Tomatoes’ Fresh Daily with Maude Garrett, which gives you a look at the best things to watch on streaming and digital on a day-to-day basis. (For full transparency, a person I greatly respect and one of the few I genuinely like in the industry, Mr. Simon Thompson, writes and produces the show.) Video game fans may enjoy Polygon’s Speed Run, although it recently changed format and is now three days a week, rather than five, and each episode is now on one subject rather than the segment format previously used. I hope this isn’t a sign of Quibi or these companies trying to save costs because there’s some nervous about the platform lasting.

Personally, I love Quibi, and I didn’t even hesitate for a second to shell out the $5.30 a month (including tax), mainly for the daily programming. Honestly, I really hope that we’ll get more of Chrissy’s Court and Dishmantled, and I hope to eventually get to some of the shows I haven’t watched, as well. (I’ve had a few issues with streaming and buffering in the last week, which I hope Quibi will resolve, because it’s very frustrating to sit down for my daily watches and just get the spinning ball repeatedly.)

Anyway, let’s get to the movies… and is it possible that Hulu may be receiving the coveted “Featured Flick” two weeks in a row? Certainly looks like it. If you’re trying to figure out what to watch after watching Hamilton on Disney+ for the 20th time, how about going back to the very beginning?

Andrew Fried’s doc WE ARE FREESTYLE LOVE SUPREME (Hulu) looks back at how Wesleyan alum Thomas Kail and Anthony Veneziale put together the group of improvisational performers that would include one Lin-Manuel Miranda. I was lucky enough to know about Freestyle Love Supreme way back when they were starting out, since a good friend of mine managed the East Village club, Mo Pitkins, where the group frequently performed. I knew pretty early on how much talent Miranda had from seeing him perform. Make no mistake that this is not a movie only about Miranda, as it’s as much or more about Kail and Venziale’s efforts to keep the group’s shows happening while Miranda is pulled away to do In the Heights on Broadway, and then ultimately doing his magnum opus, Hamilton.

For some reason, I thought this doc would mainly be about the idea of bringing Freestyle Love Supreme back for its limited stint on Broadway, but it goes all the way back to the beginning and how they met and came together, plus how they found new members to fill in for Miranda and Christopher Jackson when they went to Broadway. Freestyle Love Supreme is a pretty amazing group because as the name implies, they’re a bunch of freestyle rappers who improvise every show based on things they get from the audience, but it also allows them to explore their own personal lives and histories and incorporate them into each show. I’m actually a little bummed I never got a chance to see it even though I’ve known about them since the early ‘00s. This doc might feel a little long even at under 90 minutes, but it’s worth sticking with since they’re such an interesting group and the combination of performances and interviews makes it a fine doc about these amazingly talented individuals and how the sum is bigger than the whole of the parts.

Another long-gestating project that has finally seen the light of day is the romantic drama DIRT MUSIC (Samuel Goldwyn), based on Tim Winton’s popular Australian novel that people have been trying to adapt since back when Heath Ledger was still alive. I believe Russell Crowe had been trying to adapt it, too. It stars Kelly Macdonald, who I’ve loved since her first appearance in Trainspotting and who I’m always hoping will find some of those great roles we see other actors her age getting. (Sorry, but Puzzle just wasn’t one of them.) In Dirt Music, she plays Georgie, a woman living with fisherman Jim Buckridge (David Wenham), a widowed father with two sons, although they’re not married. When Georgie begins a relationship with troubled local musician Lu Fox (Garrett Hedlund), it causes problems within the tight-knit community, but instead of getting into a confrontation with Jim, Lu runs off.

I actually quite enjoyed this drama, partially because it marks the return of Gregor Jordan, an Australian filmmaker who has quite a few decent movies under his belt, including an earlier Ned Kelly movie. It is a little hard to figure out what is happening, partially from the accents but also from the decision to tell the story in a non-linear fashion that isn’t always apparent where each of the characters are in the story. Obviously, a major thing to pay attention to is how great Macdonald and Hedlund are in their roles in this possibly unlikely romance. You can totally see Ledger in the role of Lu, and the fact that Hedlund is so good should help you appreciate him more as an actor. Macdonald also still has this youthful energy despite being in her ‘40s, and that gives their relationship something akin to her relationship with McGregor in Trainspotting.

What really captured my attention was the gorgeous music by the Fox family, and I was even more impressed to learn that the actors – Julia Stone, George Mason, Neill Maccoll, and yes, Garrett Hedlund – all performed their own vocals in the songs, which includes a gorgeous version of Tim Buckley’s “Song of the Siren” (famously covered by This Mortal Coil). Frankly, I’m most surprised by the fact that Hedlund had musical talent I never knew about, and you can combine that with the emotion he brings to Lu with very few words, and you have another example of why Hedlund just isn’t getting the credit as an actor he deserves. I really liked the way this story was unfolded and where it ended, and I hope we’ll see more great work like this from Jordan.

I was a little more tentative about Wetlands director David Wnendt’s THE SUNLIT NIGHT (Quiver Distribution), which was adapted by Rebecca Dinerstein from her own novel, but not only because it premiered at Sundance way back in early 2019. If you’ve been reading the past few months of columns, you’ll know that there are a lot of recurring themes of movies that play at Sundance, and this one stars Jenny Slate, who had such an impact at Sundance with the movie Obvious Child, which I really didn’t like. Yeah, I’m not really a fan, even though I like her in smaller roles like her role in Gifted a few years back. In this one, Slate plays Frances, a New York artist, whose parents are about to break up and looking for a change, she accepts an internship with an artist in Northern Norway where the day lasts for months. It’s a pretty obvious “fish-out-of-water” comedy premise like one we may normally see at Sundance, but it never really delivers on

Probably my favorite part of the movie was seeing David Paymer as France’s father, mainly because we just don’t see Paymer in many movies these days, but Zack Galifianakis’ character, one of the Norwegians who has an affinity for Vikings, just doesn’t add very much to the story. While I liked the set-up for the movie and Slate is generally likeable in the lead role, the movie just isn’t funny enough to be deemed a comedy nor enough drama to have much of an emotional impact, and the romance between Slate and a local didn’t do much for me either. By the end of the movie, Sunlit Night had veered too far into the most obvious indie territory, so it ultimately fell short for me. I just wish Dinerstein had more (or anything) to say with this story, and I feel like Wnendt and his cast probably did the best they could with what they had to work with.

A movie that’s finally being released after playing a number of festivals last year is the Czech Republic’s 2019 Oscar selection, Václav Marhoul’s THE PAINTED BIRD (IFC Films), based on Jerzy Kosinski’s novel about a young Jewish boy navigating the landscape of WWII-era Eastern Europe all on his own, ending up in one horrifying situation after another.

While this is a beautifully-told story featuring equally beautiful and quite stark black and white cinematography, I can’t wholly recommend it to everyone, because that beautiful camerawork is used to depict some of the most horrible depravity and violence, all experienced by this young boy who just can’t seem to catch a break.

There is very little dialogue in a film that takes an episodic approach to following this young boy’s journey as he either watches horrifying things or is put through grueling torture and even rape as he’s handed and bartered from one adult to another. The “painted bird” of the title is a literal bird that’s painted to attract other birds that attack it, and it’s clearly meant as an analogy for the boy.

If you’ve watched any Czech films over the years, you’ll know that they’re generally pretty grim (they’re a grim people), and you’ll probably know fairly soon whether you want to sit through the entire 2 ¾ running time to see how this boy fares with everything he faces. (Note: A big deal has been made about some of the more horrifying violence in the movie, but honestly? Being in black and white, it isn’t that gory, and I’ve seen far, far worse. A lot of the worst of it is off-screen and your mind tends to fill in the blanks much like last year’s The Nightingale.)

Barely saying a single word, Petr Kotlár is able to carry the film, and it’s interesting when more familiar actors like Udo Kier, Harvey Keitel, Stellan Skarsgaard, and Barry Pepper are brought into this world Marhoul has created from Kosinski’s book. Like so many other movies right now, it’s a shame this won’t be seen on the big screen where you’re forced to really focus on what you’re watching without distractions.

The Butterfly Effect writer/director Eric Bress’s latest horror film is GHOSTS OF WAR (Vertical) about a group of American soldiers -- including Brenton Thwaites, Sklar Astin and Theo Rossi -- who travelling across France during WWII when they come upon a French Chateau where they decide to hole up. That is, until they learn there’s a supernatural enemy that may be worse than the Nazis they’re hiding from.

The premise for Bress’ latest venture into the supernatural is a fairly simple one, and it’s hard not to watch this movie and not think of the far superior Overlord from a few years back. As soon as the soldiers get to the estate, it’s pretty obvious (mainly from the title) where things are going to go from there, and unfortunately, the bland casting doesn’t do very much to elevate that simple premise, the weak writing, and none of it feels particularly scary. If that general premise doesn’t seem very interesting to you, then Ghosts of War introduces a pretty out-there last act twist that’s either gonna be praised for changing things up or it will be condemned for being so out there. The problem is that the movie just hasn’t built enough good will to earn its twist, and viewers will probably just be even more annoyed by it.

Ghosts of War will be available On Demand, via Virtual Cinema Screenings and digitally after being on DirecTV for the past few weeks.

Down at New York’s Film Forum, you can rent Elizabeth Coffman and Mark doc Flannery (Film Forum), winner of the Library of Congress Lavine/Ken Burns Prize with its look at author Flannery O’Connor. The repertoryVirtual Cinema adds Jean-Luc Godard’s Made in the U.S.A. (1966) and Carl Theodor Dreyer’s Michael (1924), the latter part of the Forum’s “Pioneers of Queer Cinema” program.

Starting on Film at Lincoln Center’s Virtual Cinema this Friday is Koji Fukada’s Mayak (Andreevsky Flah Film Company/Anniko Films), while FilmLinc is also starting its annual Dance on Camera Festival, the 48th edition, although this time virtually.

Available via Film Movement’s Virtual Cinema is Emily Harris’ adaption of Joseph Sheridan le Fanu’s Gothic vampire novella, Carmilla, starring Hannah Rae as 15-year-old Lara who lives in isolation on her family’s country estate with her strict governess Miss Fontaine (Jessica Raine) until a carriage crash brings a mysterious girl into their lives.

Now we’re getting to more movies that I just didn’t find the time to see even though I had screeners for a couple of them, like the latest in Hulu’s popular monthly horror series, INTO THE DARK: THE CURRENT OCCUPANT, which will hit the streamer this Friday. It’s directed by Julius Ramsay and written by D.C. speech writer Alston Ramsay, taking place in a psychiatric ward where a man trapped with no memory, played by Barry Watson, believes that he’s the President of the United States and the subject of a political conspiracy. No, it’s not a documentary.

Over on Netflix, there’s Catrin Einhorn and Leslye Davis’ doc Father Soldier Son, which follows a former platoon sergeant and his two sons over a decade after his return home from a serious injury in Afghanistan, showing the long-term effects of military service on a family.

Dan Wingate’s doc Kaye Ballard - The Show Goes On (Abramorama) will get a Virtual Cinema release this Friday. I actually am not familiar with the actress, singer and comedian but apparently, she’s had a career that has spanned eight decades, starting in the 40s, and her friends include Ann-Margret, Carol Burtnett, Carol Channing, my good pal Red Reed and more, all of whom are interviewed, along with Ballard.

Also out on Digital this week is Steve Ohi’s sci-fi horror comedy Useless Humans (Quiver Distribution) about a ruthless alien who crashes a 30th birthday party causing four friends to team up to save the world. Will Addison’s Easy Does It (Gravitas Ventures), stars Linda Hamilton, as well as Ben Matheny and Martin Martinez, the latter two as friends who want to escape their Mississippi hometown when they learn there’s a cache of hidden loot in California. Hamilton plays their hometown criminal matriarch “King George” who learns of the money and has her bounty hunter daughter (Susan Gordon) chase the friends down.

On Friday, New York’s Japan Society will kick off its annual “Japan Cuts” program of new and repertory Japanese cinema, and like most other festivals and series this year, it’s going on line, beginning with Shinichiro Ueda’s Special Actors (the Opening Night film), Fukushima 50 (the Centerpiece) and Labyrinth of Cinema, for $7.00 each, which is a pretty good deal. (There’s also a new competitive section called “Next Generation” which focuses on new Japanese talent.) And then for $99, you can get an all access pass to watch all 42 films in the festival, which includes a lot of movies you may never have a chance to see in the States otherwise. You can watch a playlist of trailers from the movies here. All 42 films will be available starting this Friday, so make sure to include this in your weekend plans.

In related news, the New York Asian Film Festival (which cancelled this year altogether) and the Korean Culture Center of New York are teaming once again for Korean Movie Night, this year doing them virtually with a new program called “A League Of Its Own,” which focuse on Hit Korean Baseball Movies, plus there’s a bunch of other Korean films you can watch (FOR FREE!) here until July 25.

Also, if you’re anywhere near some of the drive-ins taking part in Amazon’s summer movie program, you can catch “Movies To Make You Proud” Black Panther and Creed on Wednesday night.

Next week, more movies mostly not in theaters!

By the way, if you read this week’s column and have bothered to read this far down, feel free to drop me some thoughts at Edward dot Douglas at Gmail dot Com or drop me a note or tweet on Twitter. I love hearing from readers … honest!

#TheWeekendWarrior #Movies #Reviews #WeAreFreestyleLoveSupreme #DirtMusic #ThePaintedBird #GhostsOfWar #VOD #Streaming #Netflix #Hulu

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