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mavspeed · 3 years

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First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Hey @applesfallingfromblondehair, thanks for the tag love!! likewise i dont usually do this but this feels interesting so lets see if my ass has improved over the last few stories lmfkjgjk

also this will prob be a mix of xmcu fic + kingsman fic bc i think i have a more or less equal number of fics written for both

The first time Charles meets Lucifer Morningstar, actual devil from hell, ruler of the underworld, fallen son of the lord above and god knows what else, it had been after Erik had been sentenced to life imprisonment in the highest security cell in the Pentagon.

- this is from a professor and a devil walk into a bar, which is kinda a crossover rarepair fic that rose out of me and mutuals on twitter discussing tom ellis and james mcavoy being roommates and kinda... devolved from there. i am proud of this one lmfnjgkj

“Are you okay, Professor?” Hank asks quietly.

Charles blinks. He supposes it’s a valid question. He’s been in a bit of a funk the past few days- scratch that actually, the past few years. He’s just lost so much- his father, and then his mother’s love, and then Raven and Erik and Sean and countless others. Building a school, gaining students he loved to teach and nurture hadn’t helped him in the slightest, and he’s as lost as he ever was, wandering the halls of a drafty mansion alone, feeling like he’s been stranded at sea even whilst surrounded by people.

- from in the belly of the beast, which again came out of me wondering what would have happened if fox had gone w their original plan and charles had been that last horseman instead of erik. this story will prob gain a sequel... sometime in the near future when im not too bogged down by current wips

The Xavier family hall of the deceased- because of course they’re weird enough to have a cemetery- is full of rows upon rows of holograms. Charles is four and gets bored of his father crying over his mother’s hologram, so he toddles over to the other rows. Unfamiliar names, all of them- Charles is young, and he doesn’t understand death. He doesn’t even know who his mother is, who’d died at childbirth and left him with a father still at a loss when it came to bringing up a kid.

- from tequila on a spaceship, the sequel to a fic that still has some people angry at me i think. this fic never did gain as much traction as the first one but im still proud of it esp since it discusses certain themes of reincarnation that ive always wanted to see explored for myself in reincarnation aus (and i only ever saw it in danveresque’s reincarnation au)

There are cork boards covering every inch of the wall. Red strings, photographs, conspiracy threads, everything. Raven takes it in, swallowing, noticing the picture in the middle.

It’s one of Charles, when he’d been in university. His final year- he'd just been done presenting his year- end project, his fringe a tumbled mess and a bright smile on his lips. Erik had taken the picture, Charles scurrying to his side once he’d been done and demanding to look at the image, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. He looks like how Raven had always imagined him to be.

“He wouldn’t want this,” she finally says, turning to look at Erik.

- from tequila on a beach, the first fic to the fic above. this fic is v special to me because i actually wrote this on a spiral after having a very tough visit with one of my parents in the hospital after a surgery for organ removal to prevent the onset of cancer. its simpler than my other fics yet i think more powerful because of what happens. also i think the first time i killed charles off lol (spoiler alert). also idk if ppl were aware of this but this is called tequila on a beach precisely bc charles and erik were tipsy from tequila at a frat party and then went to a beach. its the way they first met (and will continue to meet for all their next lives)

Erik doesn’t know how it all started. Maybe it was when his insane sergeant had started rambling about imaginary cities, treasures of gold and cursed incantations. Maybe it was when trickles of rumours had started pouring down about the higher ups wanting to investigate unfound territory, disregard the Egyptian government’s feelings on the matter, and put a previously unfound myth on the map for all the world to see. Or maybe, Erik thinks, it was when archaeologist Klaus Schmidt put a bullet through his mother’s head and he ended up going to America armed with dual citizenship and the sole intent of wanting to drive a coin directly between Schmidt’s eyes, joining a division of the American military focused solely on guarding archaeological digs- more importantly, in Egypt, where Schmidt’s interest had shifted.

- from courting the end of the world, another one i’m just insanely proud of! this is the first time i’ve ever attempted a multichapter movie au and it actually managed to work pretty well, i at least haven’t run out of inspiration for it yet lmfjgjg. also erik as himbo rick connell... very rent free in my head

The day after they murder Shaw and leave his house of horrors, Erik crosses the Canadian border with Charles across his back. Charles had started getting tired while they’d been walking, stumbling and nearly tripping until Erik had forced him to get on his back, ignoring Charles’ protests.

The blood’s seeping out steadily from Charles’ nose, staining his shirt and soaking it through. It’s been leaking on and off, and the effects are already obvious in the dark circles beneath Charles’ eyes. Any more, and Erik knows they’ll have to find him a doctor. He hopes the nearest town in Canada has one that would be willing to treat them.

- from a world built for two. i actually dk where the inspiration for this came from, i think i was once again on a depressive spiral and wanted to break my comfort characters into pieces and put them together again. this also deals with codependency and unhealthy coping mechanisms as a result of trauma which i showed as sweet in the fic but i would def not recommend in real life. pls if u relate to either charles or erik in this go see a therapist

The call comes in the afternoon, an hour before Charles is supposed to teach his Intro to Genetics class. Frowning, Charles abandons the game of Candy Crush he’d admittedly been playing rather badly and picks it up. “Charles sp-”

“We need you, Prof,” Kitty says desperately into the phone. “He’s been in a temper all morning, and then Alex’s reports missed out a whole subsection, so he’s fired the entire marketing team! Please, Professor, you have to come immediately!”

- from and we can be pirates. i wrote this in like 4 seconds for my friend who wanted professor charles and ceo erik and actually did not expect this to gain the attention it did... its always the fics u write in like 4 seconds lmfjggj. a sequel for this Is coming too probably at some point in the very far future

Charles Xavier can admit as he sits across from Essex, hands cuffed to the desk, that in hindsight, this had perhaps not been one of his better ideas.

He refuses to admit it as he controls Erik’s mind, preventing him from lashing out and making him close his eyes to the nightmare unfolding in front of him. He refuses to admit it as he gets shoved into the back of a black pickup truck, and the butt of a gun is smashed across his forehead hard enough to knock him out cold for a few hours. He refuses to admit it when he wakes up what appears to be hours later in a cold interrogation room, hands cuffed to the table in front of him, with a suppression collar rendering his mind dark and almost achingly silent.

- from from the land of gods (bring me home). i’ve been struggling w this fic a lot (it didnt come as easily to me as the first one did) but its getting there. also i put charles through hell in this rip sorry mister xavier

In the aftermath, both of them stand at the border of the mansion. The air feels frigid, slicing into Raven’s lungs like a thousand paper cuts. “Charles, please,” she begs, heart in her throat and voice hoarse. “He wouldn’t want you to be like this. He wouldn’t want you to do this. It’s not too late, you can come back.”

Charles gazes back, a brick wall. He hasn’t even cleaned up, still in that damnable yellow and blue suit with blood drying in the corners of his mouth, the bridge of his nose. There’s nothing in his eyes- blank, almost see through. He looks as if he’s a mere shade, a ghost lounging about where he once was. Raven knows better.

“I will raze the world to the ground,” he finally says, his voice free of any inflection, “and when I’m done, no one will be left standing. Not you, and certainly not me.”

- from where all the poets went to die, a dark fic based on what would have happened if moira had killed erik with the bullets. its the first time ive written dark charles and it was v fun if im being honest

10.

Charles is a light sleeper. It’s a trait that stays with him- all the way from his father and the tests to taking care of his mother to Cain Marko and his fists to Cuba and then now, the dust of Washington settling over him and making the waking world lie an inch beyond his eyelids. It therefore stands to reason that the second the windowsill creaks he’s up in a shot, hoisting himself up and lashing out with his telepathy instantly.

That’s not a trait that had stayed with him. That’s a newly formed trait, bitter and bold, carved into existence by Cuba by his students disappearing one by one in Vietnam by the letters that announce Sean’s death in black unfriendly print by-

The tendrils of his telepathy forged cold and distant meet a barrier and recoil, stunned. He focuses his eyes and then widens them, staring at Erik who stares back, hidden beneath that infernal muddied magenta helmet of his. They stare at each other for a moment before Erik clears his throat.

- from in the valley of kings (you will come home). my first ever cherik fic! im actually also proud of this one even if i ended it horribly and half my mutuals refuse to read it bc of how it ended LMFJGJGJ. i cant believe this was supposed to be a funny and cute kid fic and then i turned it into an angst ridden mess. also leo is actually an oc whose adult version is fancasted as charlie rowe by me and another mutual on twitter and im v proud that readers are willing to die for the baby

11.

Mike has to google it, finding a crafts shop nestled into the corner of the street right smack in the middle of Louisiana, past a long and winding dirt road and the crumbling farmhouses relics of a time long past. The air is hot, humid, sticking to the back of his neck like an unwieldy parasite as he pushes the door of the shop open to the sound of the bell tinkling above.

He finds the origami paper quickly enough and has a momentary breakdown about what Bill’s favourite colour even is- he had never thought to ask him. Twenty seven years of following every single footstep of his like a dedicated, most definitely creepy stalker, three months of more than a few states traversed with Bill’s laughter now echoing in his ears like a shadow that trails after him, and this is what stumps him. It takes ten minutes, but he finally settles on light green.

- my first and last entry into the IT fandom bc i love these two but to be very fair there isn’t much content out there for him (and twitter content actually intimidates me lmfjgjjg) a thousand paper cranes never got much traction either but i suspect its bc i was horrible at promoting it. also i very much love this fic even if it never did that well bc ive always wanted to write a fic like this after watching the movie in cinemas in 2019

12.

ok nsfw i guess

Mornings start like this- Eggsy snuffling into David’s neck, attempting to work his way back up to wakefulness as David sleeps the sleep of the dead, the streams of morning sunlight gradually lightening up the room. It’s a while before he gets the energy to sit up, pushing an eager V off the bed- V for Vendetta, a kitten named after one of David’s favourite movies that they’d adopted about a month after moving in together- before stumbling to the loo. He’s already in the shower when David comes in, naked as the day he’s born with his arms entwining themselves around Eggsy’s waist as he murmurs a sleep-soft, “Good morning, love,” as he presses a kiss into the two-days-old hickey on Eggsy’s shoulder. His breath smells of toothpaste, the minty fresh kind he insists on buying from Target no matter how much Eggsy insists that the other brand is much better. Without fail, Eggsy always has a split second thought of thinking that he must truly be in heaven because no way can this be his reality, every single day, before sinking to his knees and allowing David’s cock to hit the back of his throat.

- from that’s the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of. i genuinely wish i had an opinion for this but i don’t remember writing this its been way too long

13.

The first time Eggsy sees her is in Trafalgar Square.

Trafalgar Square is uncomfortably packed on any normal day, but on New Year’s it is quite the hothouse. Sweating armpits and hot bodies plastered against each other, the twinkling lights overhead providing a flash of blue and green and yellow and red, screaming children and giggling teenagers shoving their way through- it’s a recipe for disaster. Eggsy doesn’t know how he ends up there. It happens sometimes- one second he blinks, sequestered in the comfort of his living room, and the next he’s somewhere else, as if he’s been teleported. “Life goes past you,” Tilde had said once, “and you don’t even notice.” Tilde would be right.

- this is a roxy and eggsy friendship centric fic that i abandoned bc i lost my ardor for this world about the same time i got into xmen lmfjgjg. all the king’s horses also had some great fancasts in it with dev patel fancasted too... rip ig

14.

once again, nsfw

Eggsy, truth be told, doesn’t actually like having sex in bathrooms. First of all, bathrooms generally have an unsanitary air about them. Besides that, the granite of the sinks always feel cold against his hips, there is the ever present fear of being walked in on and unlike what people might say, he actually really isn’t that much of an exhibitionist- and truth be told, he’s never liked the look of himself in the mirror mid coitus.

For David Budd, however, he suspects he might be up for anything.

- from do you ever dream of me. im actually proud of this fic and this series, i never usually write straight up porn or friends w benefits and i think it worked well in here. once again didnt get much traction but that was very of the norm for my kingsman fics lmfjgj

15.

It is on his fifth meeting with the therapist on site that she brings the issue up. The elephant in the room- or the bomb , David thinks morbidly. If asked, he can’t remember specifics about that day now. All he remembers is this- the burn of Julia’s picture in his wallet against his thigh, the Botticelli painting on the far wall and Miss Paulson’s face, severe and unsmiling.

“When you couldn’t reach Julia,” she says, after he finishes describing the feeling of running to Julia, the panic searing his chest as he’d prayed for his legs to work faster so he could do something, anything to reach her hand. “How did that make you feel?”

- from your haunted social scene. i genuinely... do not remember anything about this either helpfkjgjg,,, this has 55 comments tho which. Nice

16.

David brings her home on- in a move far too cliche for it to be reality- a stormy night. It’s in fact storming so hard the windowpanes shudder like leaves in the wind, droplets crashing against the glass in a cacophony so loud Eggsy more than once considers turning the radio all the way up to drown it out. He’d gone scrounging for David’s sweatshirts instead of his own halfway through, wincing intermittently at the flashes of thunder. At a particularly loud one JB had jumped up, squeaked in a very undoglike manner and skidded across the floor to cower beneath the sofa, only coming out when coaxed by Eggsy to do so. Officer Oatmeal had watched the proceedings from her regal place by the armchair, dozy eyed and blinking heavily.

- from a cat named lavender. from what i remember this was also my first try at bringing up trans eggsy

17.

He first appears at the black prince on a cold Monday evening, eyes like Frank Sinatra and lips arresting anyone’s gaze if they weren’t careful enough. He stood out too, clad in a respectable bomber jacket and boots that clicked against the tile rhythmically and loudly, a sort of organised, measured cacophony.

“Go and serve him,” Andrew said, fat and disinterested, seated behind the counter and idly flicking through bills, less than ten percent of which he pays Eggsy. “I’m busy.”

- from trust is left in lovers after all. i never continued this which is sad bc this did get a lot of attention... it was just v hard to keep the story going

18.

It usually rains cats and dogs in London but for some reason, the rain is heavier than usual today. The droplets splatter against the windows in a constant buzzing rhythm, the sound meshing together in a melody not altogether pleasant to the ears. It’s half past five and yet the light has to be kept on because that’s how dark the sky has gotten- thunder rolls like a loud crack, abrupt and deafening, causing Daisy to jump in her seat.

“Just a thunderstorm, flower,” Eggsy says. They’re seated at the dinner table, Eggsy going over her homework while David sits opposite them, hunched over his laptop as he attempts to finish a post mission report. Eggsy is half convinced he gave up ten minutes ago- he’s got his earbuds in and he hasn’t really typed anything in a while, eyes focused on the screen. His eyebrows are scrunched up in a glare that’s too adorable for his own good- and for Eggsy’s.

- from could feel like kryptonite. a lot of my kingsman fics are actually so much happier than my cherik ones... i should prob look into that rip

19.

“When you’re done lazing around you can come in, you dozy dog,” he tells Officer Oatmeal, who butts her nose into his knee. She’s the only one not on a diet in the house, Eggsy deeming her far too healthy and skinny to need one anyway. In fact, she’s under strict instructions by Eggsy to fatten up instead.

Once the animals are done feeding- Eggsy sporting a suspicious scratch on his left forearm- they settle down to eat their scrambled eggs and toast. David’s taken a large gulp of his scalding coffee when Eggsy says, all of a sudden, “So, I have a school reunion.”

- from gonna set this dance alight. don’t remember much about this either tbh

20. (the last one FINALLY)

It isn’t a big event or explosion that makes David realise he wants to see his father’s ring sitting pretty on Eggsy’s index finger. No teary confessions in the rain like in the rom coms Eggsy loves to rent out and sniffle his way through, or a fight that makes David see sense. In the end, it’s breakfast that cinches the deal for him.

The day had started out normally enough. David wakes up at eight like clockwork, the soft downy hair at the base of Eggsy’s neck tickling his nose with his arm locked tight around his waist. He’d yawned, exhausted- mostly because they’d stayed up very late into the night making good use of the bed- before standing up and shucking his shirt off to head for the shower. Eggsy had shifted in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible, and the sight had been too endearing to resist so he’d bent down, pressing a kiss to his forehead and smiling when Eggsy groaned out loud.

- from lover boy rules. i actually started a lot of my kingsman fics in the same way which is rather awful of me. im glad thats changed with my xmen fics lmfjgjk. also this has 15 comments???? i dont even get that much attention with my xmcu fics these days... which is arguably a more active fandom... Hello

anyway that’s the end of it needless to say i do not know 10 other authors so im just gonna tag whoever i know rn: @hellfre , @queerneto, @ikeracity, @drinkingstars, @zebraljb

#whew this is super long i apologise #u can pinpoint the exact time i replaced taron with james as my number one boy #fic tag #fic meme

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slaapkat · 3 years

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More than ever being into comics has really and seriously gotten me through the year. I’ve never been more glad to have a hobby like this that proves over and over that you will never run out of anything to read. Even now I’m getting into more and more!

This list is meant to show what has stuck with me the most this year, with a little blurb as to why. While the year itself might have sucked I’m genuinely grateful to have discovered so much and to continue to discover more.

1. Strange Adventures (2020)

-an honestly stunningly beautiful and emotionally captivating story, mitch gerads and doc shaner keep blowing me away more and more every single issue. what i would give for prints of literally anything in any issue

2. Green Lantern 80th Anniversary 100-Page Super Spectacular (2020) -- ‘Dark Things Cannot Stand The Light’

-close to my heart because literally NOTHING will ever match the sheer excitement of reading this at the same time as @ufonaut and both of us realizing Holy Shit This Is Happening. WE PREDICTED IT. WE MADE THIS HAPPEN. IT REMAINS THE BEST SINGLE STORY IVE EVER READ. ITS GENUINELY BEAUTIFUL.

3. JSA (1999)

-the run that got me into the jsa and made me love them! i still have a lot of problems with geoff’s characterization but overall I wouldn’t be where I am now with this run to hook me in. the arc ‘Redemption Lost’ is my absolute favorite for the incredible glimpse at hal jordan losing it all over again as the spectre lmao

4. JSA Classified (2005)

-possibly the only run that I’ve 100% liked practically all the way through. made me like pieter cross mid-nite because turns out he was a mad scientist this whole time. made me love the isa because turns out they really were a found family this whole time. made me love the ted/jay friendship. made me love the jsa even more because they really just hang out all the time and jay even wears flash themed slippers while watching tv with everyone!!! they have arcade cabinets for the kiddos!! so much of classified is so good I can’t even list it all here!!

5. Fate (1994)/The Book of Fate (1997)

-more so the second iteration than the first (seeing as i have collected every issue of book of fate) but they both deserve a mention if only for the fact we wouldn’t have one without the other. jared fate, second to alan scott, is one of the comic characters who legit impacted my life for the better this year I really do love him SO much. also re-introduced me to giffen’s comedic genius. I want him back so bad.

6. The Golden Age (1993)

-I actually read this twice! once at the very beginning of my foray into the jsa and again after I’d read a lot more and developed a better understanding of the mythos and history behind it. holy shit what a story that second time. genuinely incredible

7. Shadow of the Bat (1992) #1-4 & #69-70

-the first arc being where Bruce lets himself get thrown into arkham for a case and gets beat up and the second where he hangs out with jared stevens for a bit! Included because I bought the first arc at a store that was right about to close because of covid (😔) and the second arc because my BESTEST BUDDY got lucky enough to find it and send it to me

8. Secret Origins (1986) #31 ‘Starring the Justice Society of America’

-for the beautiful art! admittedly not much more to say other than a wonderfully written story

9. JSA All-Stars (2010)

-this ones complicated! not for the main story, but for the second side-story at the end of every issue! a story involving rick tyler and jesse chambers teaming up artemis crock and cameron mahkent that ends on a genuinely sweet note and whose greatest crime remains that we get no follow up because right after this finishes the whole universe got rebooted with the new52. still beautiful and touching

10. Rorschach (2020)

-more Tom King! I will admit to not knowing too much about the wider Watchmen universe, but I’m familiar enough to get by and Tom’s writing really helps fill out the rest. already an incredible noir-inspired detective story and I’m excited to see the rest play out.

#THIS. ENDED UP KINDA LONG BUT OH WELL #dc #jsa #COMIX BABEY

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signify-nothing · 4 years

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8 Artists Who Have Impacted My Creative Development

I just watched the Armistead Maupin documentary on Netflix and it made me think a lot about the artists who have had the biggest impact on me as a queer writer. I decided to list them here below. While the list is admittedly not as diverse as I would’ve hoped – the majority of artists are white gay men – it was important to me to accurately document the reality of how I’ve become the writer I am today, even if I am still evolving towards a more diverse perspective.

1. Amanda Palmer

I’m not going to pretend I’m in the dark about the controversies surrounding Amanda Palmer. A lot of people absolutely despise her, and if someone is looking for cancel-worthy receipts, they will likely find them in abundance. However, I can’t think of any queer woman more influential on my artistic evolution than Amanda. From introducing me to cabaret and burlesque at the tender age of fourteen to helping me learn the art of asking through her amazing Ted Talk and book, she has opened my eyes to countless things I would never have found on my own, such as what a revolutionary queer female sensibility can look like when it exists almost entirely outside of the male gaze.

2. John Logan

I can’t pretend I fully support everything John Logan does. His depiction of people of color in Penny Dreadful was horrendous and don’t even get me started on City of Angels. However, years ago, watching his creation—Vanessa Ives—battle with issues of good and evil as well as her own sexuality as I was coming out changed my world entirely. Reading his interviews about growing up gay during the AIDS crisis also helped me understood why monsters always felt like the best metaphor for my own emotional experience of coming out.

3. Richard Siken

Whenever I feel like I’ve lost my voice, or I’m burnt out on reading, my first step is always to reread Crush. No poetry collection or other work of literature has ever touched me in such a profound way. Siken always reminds me of the pure and simple power of the right phrase to reach out from the page and squeeze your heart until it feels like bursting.

4. Olly Alexander

I still vividly remember the first time I saw Olly Alexander’s guest performance as Fenton on Penny Dreadful. I was fascinated by his physicality. His depiction of horror was so queer, so embodied, so theatrical, I would replay the clips just to try to get a better sense of how he was accomplishing all that he was in his scenes. As I followed his career into music and coming out to become a gay icon, I only grew to love him more, and continue to think of him as one of my greatest queer inspirations today.

5. Bill Skarsgard

It seems strange to include Skarsgard in a list of mostly queer icons, but when I think of my creative evolution, I think of it in two different eras—the stories I wrote before I saw Bill Skarsgard act, and the ones I wrote after. He so entirely embodies the idea of a switch – someone who appears dominant one moment, and heartbreakingly submissive the next. It set my imagination on fire that someone could confound heteronormative roles like that. Even if Skarsgard himself is not queer, his depiction of the canonically bi Roman Godfrey was a life changer for me. On a more superficial level, I am also completely fascinated by his appearance, which seems to teeter between traditional good looks and a sinister ‘other’ in a way that still gives me shivers.

6. Chuck Palahniuk

The strange thing about this one is that I have not read one of his novels in ages, and they’re not ones I frequently think of as my favorites. But when it comes to sheer artistic influence, I can’t think of anyone who gave me greater permission to break the rules and say the unthinkable. Stephen King once said that if you want to be a great writer, your days in polite society are numbered. I think Palahniuk’s work is a perfect example of this. Whenever I’m afraid something I’m writing is too controversial, I just remember “Guts,” and suddenly it’s easy to keep going.

7. Ryan Murphy

I hate myself for even admitting this, but American Horror Story has had a huge impact on my writing. At least two of my novels were majorly inspired by his work, and my favorite academic essay I’ve probably ever written was also heavily influenced by his narratives. His sensibility for queerness and horror is in many ways unparalleled, and gives me the courage to explore the relation between queerness and horror that I have always felt compelled to examine in my work.

8. Joanna Russ

After reading “How to Suppress Women’s Writing” everything I’d ever believed about art suddenly seemed up for debate. How do you define a good story? A compelling character? A worthy critic? I’d spent years studying the academically approved, canonical answers to these questions. And then Joanna’s work asked me to reconsider and try to find answers to these questions that felt authentic to me as a human being, and not just as a member of a culture dominated by straight white male gatekeepers. While I haven’t yet figured out all the answers on my own about what defines great literature to me, her work helped me start a lifelong inquiry into the subject, which now forms the base of my current practice.

#queer artists #horror #amanda palmer #john logan #bill skarsgard #ryan murphy

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artemis-entreri · 5 years

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[[ This post contains Part 6 of my review/analysis of the Forgotten Realms/Drizzt novel, Boundless, by R. A. Salvatore. As such, the entirety of this post’s content is OOC. ]]

Genre: Fantasy

Series: Generations: Book 2 | Legend of Drizzt #35 (#32 if not counting The Sellswords)

Publisher: Harper Collins (September 10, 2019)

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Additional Information: Artwork for the cover of Boundless and used above is originally done by Aleks Melnik. This post CONTAINS SPOILERS. Furthermore, this discussion concerns topics that I am very passionate about, and as such, at times I do use strong language. Read and expand the cut at your own discretion.

Contents:

Introduction

I. Positives I.1 Pure Positives I.2 Muddled Positives

II. Mediocre Writing Style II.1 Bad Descriptions II.2 Salvatorisms II.3 Laborious “Action”

III. Poor Characterization III.1 “Maestro” III.2 Lieutenant III.3 Barbarian III.4 “Hero” III.5 Mother

IV. World Breaks IV.1 Blinders Against the Greater World IV.2 Befuddlement of Earth and Toril IV.3 Self-Inconsistency IV.4 Dungeon Amateur IV.5 Utter Nonsense

V. Ego Stroking V.1 The Ineffable Companions of the Hall V.2 Me, Myself, and I

VI. Problematic Themes (you are here) VI.1 No Homo VI.2 Disrespect of Women VI.3 Social-normalization VI.4 Eugenics

VII. What’s Next VII.1 Drizzt Ascends to Godhood VII.2 Profane Redemption VII.3 Passing the Torch VII.4 Don’t Notice Me Senpai

Problematic Themes

No Homo

Boundless continues to perpetuate some long-standing regressive to outright harmful ideas, as well as introducing new ones. There are two that are the biggest. The first is something that's existed for over two decades in the Drizzt books, and something that I've criticized Salvatore for for a long time: the fetishization of sapphic relationships. While Boundless is an improvement (and a bit of an oddity for Salvatore) in that it doesn't include any gratuitous lesbian sex scenes or allusions, it still very much perpetuates an imbalanced representation, such that it wouldn't be fair to describe it as true representation. Yet again, despite it being canon that the default sexuality in the Realms is pansexuality as opposed to heterosexuality in our world, the only people that we see in Boundless that are capable of same sex attractions are female. Ever since the token gay guy Afrafrenfere's epiphany that everything else he'd been engaged in, which includes his deceased boyfriend, was a distraction from enlightenment, there hasn't been so much of an implication that men could be attracted to other men in Salvatore's Realms. There exists more chemistry between Harbonair and Zaknafein than between Zaknafein and Dab'nay, which is rather sad given that the latter pair are actively sexual with each other. There's of course the possibility that Salvatore just doesn't know how to write gay male chemistry, but to be fair, his heterosexual chemistry is pretty bad. Most of it is just sex or another physical act spontaneously happening that triggers a change in the nature of the relationship, for instance, the start of the relationship between Entreri and Calihye. There's so much background "everyone is heterosexual" stuff going on that to be inclusive, Salvatore just needs to mention that there's more than one man in an orgy rather than it always being one man to many women. Or, better yet, use an example directly from the world canon that other authors have used, namely, that the workers of a brothel or attendants in a temple of Sune are of more than one gender and that a male client is greeted by both male, female, and other gender-identifying attendants. Casual inclusion of this nature isn't difficult, and we see Salvatore do it with sapphic stuff enough that leads me to believe that it's a choice on his part not to be fully inclusive.

An example of when Salvatore could've gone for inclusion, but instead went for fetishization, is in the scene of Dahlia infiltrating a Waterdhavian nobles' ball:

This isn't much better than gratuitous lesbian sex scenes at the total exclusion of gay men. It's completely unnecessary for Salvatore to have specified that women also drooled after Dahlia; simply stating "people" would've been sufficient. It's not like Salvatore doesn't have many chances and setups where he can drop a hint that gay men exist in the Realms like he does so frequently for gay women. Oftentimes, Salvatore's writing feels very much like he realizes that there's "too much" chemistry between two male characters, such that he has to throw in a "NO HOMO" wrench. For instance:

While there isn't anything inherently gay in this passage, there isn't anything inherently gay in so many places where Salvatore artificially injected "these women are sapphic" indicators. Yet here, between two male characters, it's specifically clarified that it's brotherly love. Love is love, it shouldn't have to be clarified like this. Sure, some people might jump to romantic love, but so what? This was a good opportunity to at the very least, leave it vague, but apparently Salvatore can't stomach it enough that he has to cross the possibility out with a bold black marker (maybe its the same sharpie he uses on the tapestry of Faerûn). It's as though the possibility of romantic love between two men somehow taints the sacredness of their bond. Salvatore's writing style is very old-fashioned and set in its ways, but that's no excuse not to change. Despite his espoused views on social media, Salvatore's lack of representation in his writing suggests a discomfort that he doesn't want to address. This is increasingly problematic as we try to push to a better world with more acceptance and equality. Inclusion isn't truly inclusion if it's done with only a portion of the population.

Disrespect of Women

What Salvatore does with sapphic women is fetishization, which is additionally problematic because it's a short hop from objectification of women. This point is one that I haven't touched on much in the past, but it's glaring in Boundless because in this novel, Salvatore also tries to demonstrate respect of women. Salvatore has a long history of poorly-written female characters. In his books, a female character's most redeeming characteristics were that she was hot and young. For a while, I could tell which female characters were there to stay, which were doomed to die from the get-go, and which would suffer horribly as they met their inevitable end. It always had to do with how physically attractive the character was, and usually with respect to how she measured up to Catti-brie's beauty. Not counting female villains like Sheila Kree who were not coincidentally unattractive, protagonist characters weren't spared this treatment. For instance, Delly Curtie didn't hold a candle to Catti and could barely find happiness with Catti's rejected suitor. By the same token, Innovindil, who, despite being a full-blooded elf, wasn't as beautiful as Catti, and was subsequently very short-lived. Dahlia, another full-blooded elf who wasn't as beautiful as Catti, admittedly didn't die (yet), but what she went through is arguably worse. Dahlia is portrayed to be very much second best to Catti, from her looks to her rejection by Drizzt to Catti outright beating Dahlia in a fight. So, of course, Dahlia gets stuck with Entreri, who's frequently portrayed as second best to Drizzt. Salvatore does deserve credit for trying to break the mold with Penelope Harpell and Wulfgar, but Penelope's appearance doesn't leave much of an impression. We're reminded multiple times that she's an older woman, and the focus is on her personality, but with how often younger female characters' physical appearance is mentioned and re-mentioned, it gives the impression that Salvatore doesn't believe older women can be physically attractive. As always, Catti-brie was an exception to the rule, for even in her mid-forties, "her form, a bit thicker with age, perhaps, but still so beautiful and inviting to [Drizzt]", a characterization that follows another sentence describing how beautiful she was barely a page prior. But we don't hear such about Penelope, instead, we're told about the strengths of her personality, which are admirable, but only become the focus for her, rather than for a young-appearing strong female character like Yvonnel the Second. This is not to mention that someone's form probably shouldn't be characterized as inviting, as that is something the person should do, not something done by the person's looks. The objectification of women is problematic enough on its own, but instead of addressing the issue, Salvatore appears to consider it sufficient to put in a significant anecdote featuring a temporary character to prove that he is an ally to women. The mysterious "demon" possessing the little girl Sharon is painted as a moral adjudicator, entrapping the evil in its unbreakable cocoons filled with wasps that have human faces. Before this "demon" entraps Entreri, it ensnares an old man, whom we're simply told is an old lecher, with no insight about what makes him such and what wrongdoings he'd committed. All we know is that he and his wife attempted to kidnap Sharon and threatened to kill her if she resisted. It's not very clear what's going on in that scenario or what the couple's intentions were. The man's description shifts suddenly from nothing to "old lecher", and he is damned to an eternity of suffering. But how was he a lecher? Was Salvatore trying to imply that he intended to sexually assault Sharon? Or was human trafficking one of his many sins, with the "lecher" part referring to how he is towards women? While all of these crimes certainly warrant harsh punishment, the message that Salvatore's trying to convey isn't clear. Furthermore, the anecdote gives the reader zero satisfaction in the guy's punishment, because we're only marginally invested in what's happened. His anecdote is nothing more than a cheap and lazy setup to illustrate what the "demon" can do.

Social-normalization

The second of the two worst among Salvatore's long-standing problematic themes is the simplified and social-normative qualifications of what makes a person worthwhile. To put it simply, one is good and just if they are the Companions of the Hall and/or act like them, despite the many many ways that the Companions behave unheroically and hypocritically. On the flip side, one who doesn't subscribe to or follow the model of the Companions is evil, bad, or not worthy of existence unless they change to become like the Companions. Of the latter group, it isn't sufficient to change to become a different version of themselves. For instance, during the demonic assault, Zaknafein throws himself into the fray of battle, risking his life, yet again, for his ungrateful son. Yet, Drizzt's takeaway from watching his father do this is, "joy to see his father so willingly risking his life for the cause of the goodly folk of the Crags". There appears to be a subconscious inconsistency here on Salvatore's part, for he even writes that Zaknafein helps the dwarves because Zaknafein knows it's what his son wants him to do, so removing Drizzt from the picture, Zaknafein wouldn't be doing it solely on behalf of the dwarves. Zaknafein isn't Drizzt, and that's a good thing, for not everything needs to be a Drizzt clone, but Salvatore doesn't seem to agree with that assessment.

Salvatore doesn't seem to realize that Drizzt is the problematic one. Boundless represents a point in time in which it's been awhile since Zaknafein has returned. During this time, while Zaknafein has been trying to adapt and adjust his worldviews, Drizzt's perspective hasn't changed at all, despite Jarlaxle spending a great amount of time talking to him about Zaknafein and presumably helping Drizzt get past the initial emotional turmoil of the return of Zaknafein and his own struggles with reconciling the past and the present. There's also a double-standard here, for while Entreri is forced to change because enough time has gone by, Drizzt isn't.

It really seems to be the message that the only characters that are good and valid need to be as close to Drizzt as possible, and this belief applied to Entreri has been the cause of the assassin's increasingly poor characterization. Entreri has become a "better person" by the narrator's approximation, a quality that is, yet again, not coincidentally synonymous to being an ally to the Companions of the Hall. Artemis Entreri may very well have become a better version of himself, but that is not, and should not be, becoming more like the Companions of the Hall. By whose definition is "a better person" anyway? By Drizzt's? By the Companions'? It's often the case that those that believe that they are the definition of what's right and define others' morality relative to themselves are the least qualified to do so.

Eugenics

Although not as prominent as the two themes already mentioned, one final consistent problematic theme of Salvatore's in the Drizzt books that I'd like to discuss is the idea that mediocrity and excellence are inherited traits. Boundless reminds us yet again that all of the offspring of Rizzen are as unpromising as he is, and while it isn't specifically stated that all the offspring of Zaknafein is very much otherwise, we have over thirty books basically telling us that so it probably doesn't need to be repeated. While it is true that genetics do play a role in determining what makes up a person, genetics do not lock in guaranteed results. Yet, the undistinguished Rizzen sired "the mediocrity of Nalfein", and as though that insult wasn't bad enough, "His pants fell down, too. Again, and as expected, unimpressive." Dinin "would do Rizzen proud", but that's not saying a whole lot because it was in the context of the total failure of Nalfein. There's a further level of problematic theme here, for perpetuating the stereotype that a man's worth is at all related to the size of his genitalia. All of that aside, not everyone is privileged enough to be born to top specimens, and those that weren't inherently already have a struggle on their hands. They don't deserve to have the idea that they'll be mediocre no matter what perpetuated. Genetics might be what makes an individual, but what defines them is the actions that they take.

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archivegiea · 3 years

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BOOK REVIEW: Descendants of the Crane by Joan He

Warning: Spoilers ahead.

So I ordered this book months ahead of our book club’s book talk. The book did not arrive on time so I’m still waiting for it. To be honest, I’m excited to see this book in person and read it the second time (cause I’d love to give it a second shot). This has such a GREAT cover (I’ll change the attached photo once I get the paperback).

Fingers crossed I get the book! Here goes the review where I answer some thought-provoking questions my two braincells could handle:

I. Story

1. What was your favorite part of the book?

The first scene. The travel through the red-light district, the fog, the setting, the lights and the Princess in her robes on her way to commit treason. It was a great start, though admittedly, has more potential.

2. What was your least favorite?

The last part of Chapter 8. Basically, every time Hesina busts in the door to demand some answers. The scene felt unprovoked.

3. What scene would you point out as the pivotal moment in the narrative? How did it make you feel?

The most pivotal would be that the King, after all these time, was in fact not dead. Although I was confused as it did not made sense to me, it was a different turn.

4. What surprised you most about the book? Why? Were there significant plot twists and turns? If so, what were they?

The Epilogue was definitely what I wasn’t expecting. It was so out of character of both Caiyan and Hesina; and the way no one, not even Hesina herself, questioned Caiyan in a way that long brothers and sisters would. There wasn’t enough strain, not enough conflict, between these two characters – these brother and sister not like Hesina and Saijing had.

The narrative of a betrayal had so much potential to it – feelings of pain, heartbreak, and confusion. I understand in real-time there wasn’t enough time, but, in books, time could be made. A chapter could be dedicated just talking about the pain of betrayal and time wouldn’t pass at all.

Nevertheless, it was out of character as there were no clues around to have aided that Caiyan knew all the things the late King was hiding. It was, for me, disappointing.

5. How does the book's title work in relation to the book's contents?

The book title definitely was a catch in a world where we live with “The Kingdom of Fire, Ice, Wind”, “The Queen of This and That and There.” Descendant of the Crane was such a Chinese-style title that worked with the subtle yet pointed narrative to the story.

It was unique.

6. Are there lingering questions from the book you're still thinking about?

A lot, actually. 90% of the time this book had me confused. I swear to myself I didn’t passed by passages, chapters. I made sure to read without my mind wandering so I could talk about this book, knowing I paid attention. But I was confused as hell. So there’s so many questions. The problem is that I don’t know which questions are those exactly. It’s just a general feeling around the book was that it was confusing (but I did pay attention).

7. Did the author do a good job of organizing the plot and moving it along?

Plot-wise, yes. I can see the outline of this book in my head and think of it as something great. Moving it along, filling those plot lines in between and bridging them together in one weave, not so much. For me, something was off with the pacing. It was both too fast and not dissected as I would like it to be. One thing happen before another was sat down and talked to.

8. What was your favorite chapter and why?

The same with the favorite part of the book, the first scene. The travel through the red-light district, the fog, the setting, the lights and the Princess in her robes on her way to commit treason. It was a great start, though admittedly, has more potential.

II. Characters

9. Which characters did you like best? Which did you like least?

I like Akira because his first seen made an impression. And out of everyone he was the most interesting to me, being mysterious and all that. I liked the heroine the least. To me, she made rash decisions and something a princess and trained-Queen would do. Plus, she gets caught most of the time. Stealing a seal shouldn’t be that hard. You’re a Queen.

10. Which character did you relate to, or empathize with, the most?

Saijing. He was a brother that cared even when he didn’t want to, trusted only those he feel like who deserved it. He also stood up with Mei, even attempting to kill the director on her trial just for the sake to end it all. Also, the way he kind of said to Hesina sarcastically that sure he’ll be there at her disposal, he’ll drop anything for her just because – it was awesome.

11. If you had to trade places with one character, who would it be?

Hesina. There could be a lot of explanation as to why but I’ll leave it as that I bet if Mei told me not to move, I wouldn’t have.

III. Mood

12. How did the book make you feel? What emotions did it evoke?

Confusion. I know I understand the premise. But why am I still so confused? I realized that things didn’t make much sense. The evidences to begin the trial, the foundation of the trial itself – I mean why?

Another was quite of boredom. For me, the book was such a weight to read that it required too much effort. But I know if I gave it another shot, I’d find something I might have missed. But nevertheless, that was how I felt.

13. How did your opinion of the book change as you read it?

I thought it was very Asian. As an Asian, of course, it felt good that this was a Chinese-style fantasy. We rarely have it, just representations but not direct. It was Asian, but not very.

On the other note, on the first chapters I thought it was lacking. I didn’t change my mind very much on that. Just two points when I thought Hesina was making a great decision of pining choosing the representative, Akira, to Xia Zhong. I thought ‘Finally, girl had some sense all these time! ’, but then she didn’t push through.

14. Is this book overrated or underrated?

This book was rated 3.5 in Good reads. I think it was enough.

15. What scene resonated with you most on a personal level? (Why? How did it make you feel?)

The conflict between Hesina and Saijing. That was the only relationship that made sense to me, even if they’re at a conflict. Especially then. Every scene with these two was wonderfully written, I think. The dialogues spoke true to the role of their characters to each other and their feelings to each other.

IV. Writing

16. What did you think of the writing?

It was very light. I wasn’t the high-fantasy type. At one point, the author even mentioned a character was wearing a ‘V-neck’. Not that it was against the rules. But it was just so uncommon to use that very term in a fantasy that isn’t set on the modern day.

I keep waiting for that drop authors do in their intros. That one-liner that ends a chapter, something so strong you’re forced to continue the book, eager for more. When I didn’t get it, I waited some more until I got to the end of the book and never got it.

There were important events that could have been grounded with great foundation, the scenes and chapters had so much more potential. Characters were, for me, had so much potential as well.

17. Are there any standout sentences?

“Tell me you’re not doing any of this for free. Tell me you want your payment of candied hawthorn berries.” – Hesina to Lillian, in her head.

Hesina wanted a reason. Even the most stupid ones. She wanted a reason why Lillian would allow herself to be killed and charged for murder she did not commit. Hesina wanted to be consoled by the fact that Lillian did this for herself, even if it was just a lie. This line almost, almost made me cry.

18. Did the book strike you as original?

Yes. The cover and the title? Check. The story and the plot? Check.

19. Would you want to read another book by this author?

I’d like to try one more. Give it another shot. It has so much promise to it. It could be more. I’d like to see that.

Thoughts after some brain-fermentation:

Have a shot every time you read ‘death by a thousand cuts’.

The relationships between characters aren’t that strong for me. So if you want to walk in the line that threads the characters together, you’re free-falling.

Rating: 2.3/5

#descendantsofthecrane #joanhe #youngadult #fantasy #ya #bookreview

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actionfigurebullshit · 5 years

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I Spent All Day Working On This - New Collaborations and Documentation

Hours of a Saturday spent trying to adhere to a nebulous and completely imagined aesthetic, for a scene for a video which probably won’t be on screen for more than two seconds... and it’s still not quite right! Maybe it was this illustration which made me decide I needed to blog about this new project of mine.

I spoke to an old acquaintance of mine about Jane’s death a couple weeks ago. I stated that I wasn’t sure I’d be making videos anymore in light of the fact so much of what I’ve done over the past several years, as far as video making goes, was supporting Jane’s projects, which unlike my own, were actually produced and finished.

This acquaintance has known about my film making interest since I was a teenager- maybe he didn’t like the idea of me giving it up, or maybe he simply saw an opportunity for his creative outlet and my own to cross paths. He has a band, and wanted me to select one of their songs to use in a music video. Ultimately, he chose this one for me, and I was unsure about it at first because the idea I dreamed up would have been outside of my scope of illustration and animation skills- think of the gruesomeness of Garbage Pail Kids, but animated, organs pulsating, twitching, spurting. Eventually, I started thinking about 8 bit viscera- NES games like Lifeforce where so many levels feature “organic” themes to it

What I ended up envisioning was the suggestion of a NES style video game, which explains the wildly inexplicable events that take place in the video. Imagine a Dr. Mario style playing field, except the “jar” is a stomach, and the “pills” are candy, now throw in some Arkanoid style brick breaking, side scrolling space shooting, and worlds that look like something from Sim City, Final Fantasy IV, and the Game Over screens from Tetris, depending on your height off the ground, and you get... this.

I want to treat this new collaboration like an audition, so I want to aim high, work hard, and stay positive. That being said, it can be very daunting. Like Action Figure Bullshit, I can’t help but think to myself “I can’t do this!” and “What the hell am I doing!? I’m heading straight for disaster!”. Those thoughts are distracting, but it’s nice to have somewhere to vent. In the AFB notebook, many pages had some variant of “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing!” written in the margins. Since I want to extend that positivity to my new notebook devoted to this project, I’ll have to dump the negativity somewhere else... why not here?

It seems strange for me to start writing about making a music video when this is supposed to be a blog for my action figure bullshit... project..., but there’s actually quite a bit of overlap, if not in content, then in execution. Like I said, I have a notebook for this project. By coincidence, it has a black cover, too. To be cute, I could say it’s black like VHS tape... I might go with that, too, especially since I have an unofficial, sort of subconscious color coding system with these ordinary 70 sheet spiral notebooks. Colors such as Green, Purple, and Blue are reserved for other productions, for instance... and if only I could find a School Bus Yellow-Orange notebook again...

So, it’s the same thing as with AFB. I have scenes in my head that go along with the imagery. Even if I feel like “it’s too much” to animate or similarly outside of my range of abilities and resources, I still write it out and draw it out. I find that video production- at least from my perspective of someone who does it as a hobby and uses old and/or shitty programs to do it, the journey through the project is likely more significant than the finished result, meaning that a big reason I feel like I can’t do something is because I can’t see the end point, but I can’t see the end point because it hasn’t been defined yet. How many times does an idea morph along the way, with each new day, each new page, each new second of video? I can’t see the end result because all the in between steps haven’t been put in place yet.

Or to put it another way, I try to replace “I can’t do this.” with “I can’t do this yet.”, which satisfies that need inside of me to be negative and put myself down, but also puts in a qualifier that makes this doubt both okay and filed away so I can continue to forge ahead. So far, I’ve head to hit any significant block. If there’s a challenge to an idea or scene, a solution is never too far away.

Did you see that word, CHALLENGE? It’s another one of those things you might read in a self help book- struggles should be seen as challenges to overcome, puzzles to solve, not obstacles to avoid, sign posts telling you to turn back.

So here’s what’s going on:

I have a song, which I’ll call “Track #4″. It’s about 150 seconds long (and I say this instead of 2 minutes, 30 seconds for a reason), with maybe an additional 30 seconds of footage to bookend the music. Those bookends are well defined and could be filmed today (they’re the only live action bits in the video so far). As for the main part with the music, over a third of that, 56 seconds, has virtually every single second illustrated and described in a loose storyboard kind of format. The rest is in my head, but still needs to be documented. I’m a big believer in the “write it out” idea- these notebooks have helped me take that to an admittedly eccentric level, but I have success with it, and fun, too! Isn’t that weird? That there would be, not only fun, but a feeling like the notebook is as much a part of the project as the video.

Once I’m done drawing out every scene for this fever dream, I’ll then move on to what I guess you could call “sprites” because so much of this, I want to look like something in the vein of Parodius, Dr. Mario, all those trippy-ass games which I have so much nostalgia for. Actually animating this is a scary idea, because I feel like it will be a failure on my part if I don’t get the 8 bit aesthetic down. It’s not a requirement, and “The Journey” through this project could lead me to an acceptable alternative-- I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, though. This is what can trip me up. I’m worrying about how to animate little candies and blood vessels and Moai heads when my focus should be on documenting what I imagine for the video, let the rest come later!

Still, sometimes creativity strikes in such a way, you can’t help but work on a part that’s further down the road, possibly down a road you’ll never travel- such as this screen, but that’s part of the bookend, which is so separated from the rest of the video, it’s almost like a different video, like a framing device, and one that’s a lot less complicated than the main course.

One final thing- and one which gives more reason to blog about this on the AFB blog- I might use AFB characters in one particular scene.

Picture the game over screen from TETRIS, specifically the “B-Type” game. Clear 25 lines on Level 9, Height 5, and you see various NES characters on a multi-tiered platform celebrating your victory. Now picture this as a building that’s not too far away from the “action” of the video, and these characters are looking on... when suddenly, an Arkanoid type capsule (similar, but legally distinct! Actually, it would look more like the paddle from Alleyway) appears and abducts some of the characters and takes them on a wild ride into this weird semi-organic machine with a terrible sweet tooth.

Those characters: Greta, Trent, and Douglas. I’d love to have a little nod to AFB, and I’d love to animate some “bridge lurch” if they come under attack from something. We’ll see.

If I keep blogging about this video, I’ll go into more details, such as why looking at the video in terms of a pile of seconds is extremely important.

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vampykitty-kun · 7 years

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Hi! I'm really interested in reading comics/graphic novels about or featuring the Batkids, and you seem like you know about that kind of thing (or at least more than I do, although it's a low bar), so do you think you could give me some suggestions to get started with? Also, I've seen some DC stuff at the library with "Death of the Family" on it but some is Batman and some is Batgirl and I think I saw a Teen Titans one and are they all connected or something? I'm confused. Thanks!

Yes! I do know quite a bit about comicsin the BatFam area, I just unfortunately can’t recommend anythingthat came out in the last 2 years as I’ve not read it. But 1989-2015I can give LOTS of recommendations.

For the most part any title can be astandalone, but titles do unfortunately get wrapped up in companywide events at times. But if you read the GN rather than theindividual comics they try and keep events to their own combo storybooks and character titles to their own.

This is such a huge list that I’mputting it under the cut so you click to read it instead of everyonegetting spammed with a HUGE list of things…

Here is what I’d recommend:

-Jason Todd as Robin II (Later known asRed Hood): It seems as though the majority of Jason writers presentday neglected to actually read his original issues, because they basetheir knowledge and opinion of him on what readers in the 80’sTHOUGHT of him, and unfortunately at the time many people hatedJason. Much of the hate was for a Robin in general as at the timeplenty of people thought Bruce should be on his own. No Batgirl (seethe Killing Joke) and no Robin. So the hate was for the role ingeneral. And then you had Robin fans that hated him just because theydidn’t want anyone trying to replace Dick’s role even though Dick hadmoved on to Nightwing. Jason as Robin issues are Batman #408-428, andNew Teen Titans Vol2 #19-21, 24, 28-31. I’m sure there were issues ofDetective Comics, but I have no idea which. In recent years much ofthese issues are in GNs but some of the issues are not, so you mayhave to look those up individually to read online or buy them instores with older issues. These GN are- Batman: Second Chances(Batman Issues #402-403, 408-416, and Annual #11), Batman Ten NightsOf The Beast (Batman Issues #417-420), DC Comics Classics Library:Batman- A Death In The Family, Hard Cover (Batman Issues #426-429,440-442, New Teen Titans Vol2 #60-61). this edition of “A Death InThe Family” contains both the death of Jason and the introductionof Tim, which was a story focused around Jason. So it’s a 2-for-1deal. There’s also a GN called Batman: The Cult and Jason’s the Robinwith Bruce in that story as well though I’m not sure where to placethat in the chronology.

-Tim as Robin III (Later known as RedRobin): Tim had an excellent run as Robin. He had 3 mini-seriesbefore he had an entire run of his own that spanned 183 main issues,not counting team ups or annuals. All while also appearing in theother Batman, Nightwing, and Batgirl titles. Plenty of issues werecompany wide tie-in issues but the rest were all put into their ownGNs. Robin: A Hero Reborn (Batman #455-457, Robin Mini-series1 #1-5),Robin: Tragedy & Triumph (Detective Comics #618-621, RobinMini-series2 #1-4), Robin Mini-series3: Cry Of the Huntress #1-6 isnot in a GN that I know of, then the rest of his main run in FlyingSolo, Unmasked!, Fresh Blood, To Kill a Bird, Days of Fire andMadness, The Virtual Cell, Wanted, Teenage Wasteland, The BigLeagues, Violent Tendencies, and Search for a Hero.

Likewise…

-Dick as Nightwing in his solo title(Vol2): 153 issues not counting team ups or annuals. Like with Robinmany of these issues are tied in with company wide events, and therest are in their own GNs. I recommend the 2014-present editions asthey have a bit more in them, better paper/graphics, and are wayeasier to find, but they haven’t remade all of them yet. Nightwing:Blüdhaven, Nightwing: Rough Justice, Nightwing: False Starts,Nightwing: Love and Bullets, Nightwing: The Hunt For Oracle are thenew editions. Continuing from there the older editions are:Nightwing: Big Guns, Nightwing: On the Razor’s Edge, Nightwing: YearOne, Nightwing: Mobbed Up, Nightwing: Renegade, Nightwing: Brothersin Blood, Nightwing: Love and War, Nightwing: The Lost Year,Nightwing: Freefall.

-Batman Knightfall: One of the classicBatman stories, in which the main bad is the villain Bane, whoseriously injures Bruce. This story spans three GNs: Broken Bat, WhoRules The Night, and Knightsend

-Batman Cataclysm: Another classic. Amassive earthquake hits Gotham and decimates the city. This can befound in one GN, thought look for what I think is the 2012 edition ofthe book not the one one as they included a lot of previous cut storyin the newer edition.

-Batman No Man’s Land: FollowsCataclysm. Essentially Gotham is covered in rubble and a massiveterritory war breaks out between BatFam, GSPD, and several separategroups of Gotham’s baddies. It spans 4 super thick GNs in the 2012newer edition (don’t bother with the older editions) but also has areally enjoyable novelization if you would prefer to read it inwritten format!

-Batman Hush: Essentially Bruce vs Hushand sometimes Clayface, and a story that unintentionally set up JuddWinick to bring Jason back to life lol…one GN in more recenteditions but was previously 2 smaller GNs. I do not know if there isa difference but generally larger book versions have a bit extra inthem.

-Batman Under the Red Hood: Jasonreturns as the Red Hood, sending Bruce on an emotional rollercoaster, while Joker and Black Mask end up roped in. Lots of peopleinvolved. Like Hush this come in one or two book format. I have thesingle book format. This story was adapted into an animated movie,one that also takes a few moments from “A Death In The Family”,but the beginning part was highly modified to make it a stand alonefilm, so several key details are removed. I do recommend watching themovie, but after reading both “A Death In The Family” and thecomic version of “Under The Red Hood”, so you get the fullexperience.

-Batman War Crimes, War Drums, and WarGames (WG is three GNs long): this connects into both Robin and RedHood. This is unfortunately where Stephanie (Spoiler, brief Robin IV,Batgirl) “dies” and there’s a massive war against Black mask.It’s five GNs total.

I pretty much have to recommend anyBatman Titled GN that comes after that as it goes more into Hush,Damian comes in and there’s a lot of plot to cover there, Bruce“dies” and the mantle is picked up by Dick, and it was a heck ofride until the reboot happened.

Outside of main Batman titles aroundthat time I have to HIGHLY recommend the following:-Batmanand Robin: Basically Dick and Damian’s team-up book series. Itspanned three GN with Morrison, and one after him totaling four. Wealso got more Jason here, and his sorta Batgirl type sidekickSasha/Scarlet. Admittedly it was weird because Morrison thought itwould be fun to give Jason red hair (something the main version ofJason never had, but had in issues for another version of Jason thatwas scrapped before any issues I mentioned in this post) and bulk himup. But if you can gt around that the actual plot on the Jason endwasn’t too bad and had some gems. But the Dick and Damian interactionand banter is the treasure here.

-Batman Streets Of Gotham: Again moreof Dick and Damian as Batman and Robin. But here we get Thomas Elliot(Hush) who surgically had his face changed to look like Bruce, and hefill Bruce’s public role under very close watch. We also get Damian’slittle friend Colin Wilkes (Abuse) who ends up close to him. He turnsinto a giant bulky rage man good guy :)

-Red Robin: Tim’s new solo series thatstarted after Damian took up being Robin and Dick went from Nightwingto being Batman. It’s 4 GNs long and was amazing. I can’t stress thatenough. I still mourn it ending. You get Tim on his own, you get himgoing up against/working with/outsmarting/impressing Ra’s al Ghul.You get Prudence Wood, one of Ra’s assassins that ends up liking andworking with Tim. You get Tam Fox, and Stephanie, and Conner Kent.

-Batgirl Vol3 (Stephanie Brown asBatgirl): Stephanie came back from faking her death, took back upSpoiler, only for Tim to demand she stop being Spoiler. He shouldhave been more specific, and she DOES drop Spoiler but then becomesBatgirl with previous Batgirl’s (Casandra) blessing lol. Spanned 24issues in three GNs but they are hard to find. Obviously there isCasandra’s run as Batgirl but i’ve never actually read it so I findit wrong of me to suggest it before I have so it’s up to you if youwant to hunt those down as well. But Casandra’s run was 73 issuesVol-1 (7 GN) sand 6 issues Vol-2 (which is in a single GN)

-Teen Titans Vol3 (Tim, Conner, Bart,etc) spans twelve GNs and had its ups and downs, but if you’re a teamfan this is a good series to read.

-Catwoman: A few different runs, andsome stand alone books. They’re all good pre-reboot. Read them ifyou’re a Catwoman fan :)

Now as far as books NOT in the main runof pre-reboot comics I also REALLY need to recommend the following:

Batman Year One: Bruce’s first year asBatman. Also Gordon’s first year on the job. One GN. Awesome and alsoadapted into an animated movie.

-Robin Year One & Batgirl Year One:These come in separate books or both in one big book. The Robin inmention is Dick and the Batgirl is Barbara. Both are fantasticstories.

-Huntress Year One: Huntress’ originstory. This is the Huntress that is NOT Bruce’s daughter from anotherEarth, this is the Mob associated one that was also featured in theTV series Arrow.

Superboy / Robin World’s Finest Three:two tiny GNs that tell the story of Tim and Conner’s first meeting.They end up going against Metallo and Poison Ivy.

JLA: World Without Grown-ups: This is astory spanning again two tiny GNs. Where Tim (Robin), Conner(Superboy), and Bart (Impulse, later known as Kid Flash) team up whensuddenly all the adults are in one dimension and all the underagepeople are in another.

Red Hood: The Lost Days: the story ofwhat happened between Jason’s resurrection and when he came back toGotham in Under The Red Hood. It’s one GN.

There are also some alternate universe stories that came out pre-reboot called Elseworld’s stories. Here are some good ones:

Batman:Brotherhood of the Bat: Alternate Universe what-if type story. Thisstory is if Talia had joined Bruce in Gotham and abandoned her fatherRa’s and his ways. The story is centered around their son, TallantWayne. This was an AU created before Damian entered the comics andthus one of many stories where Bruce and Talia’s son had a differentname. Bruce is dead and Tallant has to face his grandfather. This wasone thin GN but did have a sequel…

Batman: League ofBatmen: takes place after the above and spans two GNs to finish thestory.

Thrillkiller Batgirl & Robin: 3 issue AU where Barbara and Dick are the first vigilantes in Gotham in the 1960′s and go up against a FEMALE Joker. Bruce is a legit Detective. Every bit of this story is PAINTED and it’s amazing. It is followed up by a sequel.

Thrillkiller ‘62: Takes place where the above left off. But now Bruce is Batman alongside ‘Batgirl’. I won’t spoil the events of the above to give goo detail here lol.

Superman: Speeding Bullets: AU where Baby Kal-El crashes into Earth, where he is discovered by Thomas and Martha Wayne. The couple decide to adopt Kal-El, and name him Bruce. Fuses the two characters together. Thomas and Martha still die. “Bruce” becomes a flying Batman and later Superman.Batman: The Dark Knight Returns: Pretty much the most popular and longest AU that DC did. Spans 1 thick GN or multiple tiny ones. Not the greatest of art/setup but still good. Think of this as an AU Future Fic taking place after Jason died and Bruce retired instead of Tim coming along. Then he comes out of retirement to be a total badass. I do NOT however recommend any of the sequels or prequels because they are just BAD. This was adapted into TWO animated films which I honestly think I recommend more than the GNs due to the art.Post Reboot we hit the New 52. It had its up and downs. Nothing BatFam was particularly terrible but very little was amazing. personally the first 4-6 volumes of GNs for any given series was worth a read but not necessarily a buy. I read all the BatFam titles and the only ones that were MEH for me were Catwoman and Teen Titans. Red Hood and the Outlaws wasn’t for everyone, but I personally enjoyed it other than some details like Jason suddenly having magic??? and Kori having some personality issues but I was glas she wasn’t ditzy if that makes sense, and I really loved her character design even if I wish she at least had a touch more clothing on (once she was in a space suit and it was amazing). Suicide Squad isn’t technically BatFam but it had Harley in it in the New 52 and it was amazing even if I hated her visual re-design. Talon was a branch off of a Batman story line, and a specific character got his own title that spanned 2 GNs and was enjoyable.

Past that any Gns involving Batman The Animated Series are great, so are the Young Justice GNs.

I also have a huge love for the Batman Beyond show and Comics, but after the reboot they messed that up too.

#BatFam

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sbextra · 7 years

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Persona 5: Ascertaining Purpose in the Face of Expectations

Spoilers for all of Persona 5,other Persona games, and Neon Genesis Evangelion. Also rambley as fuck

This is gonna serve more as a subjective review of my engagement with Persona 5, and why I’ve come out really enjoying this game, for reasons outside of what is probably the more standard fare in this discussion.

One of the things that I found kept hitting home for me in Persona 5 was that there’s this introspective self-reflection that’s near omni-present in the game. Social links seem to rely very heavily on mediations of identity, while those cast in the light of villainy seem to be the few of the primary cast that uncritically seek hedonistic desires, an idea that only further gets reinforced by the implementation of these villains succumbing to *The Seven Deadly Sins*. Structurally, within the social links I played at least, confidants are presented as donning a mask , acting out a role successfully be it as a professional shogi player, a pr0 gam3r, store clerk, teacher, etc etc, pretty much anything.

Things go pretty well until you start getting a glimpse into their life, where they’re struck with immense role strain, pulling the validity of their perceived identity into question, leaving characters at a point where they feel they’ve lost everything. We see this with Shinya realizing the personification of strength he strived to be falling into conflict with his heroic aspirations, Hifumi’s role as a Shogi enthusiast conflicting with a prescribed idol career, Takemi’s aspirations to break new ground medically vs set institutions, and Kawakami’s teaching ideals being repressed by public expectations due to previous happenstance. Characters wane and wax between these roles, until they’re forced against a wall of obligation that causes them to ultimately forgo their truest desires. This is where the protagonist steps in, and through changing the context for these characters, and changing how they’re seen by those reinforcing these societal obligations, they find the confidence to seek their own emotional liberation, and claim their emancipation. These characters themselves don’t really change that much, they’re just given a medium, through player autonomy, to really explore who they are, instead of who just who they’re told to be, or seen to be. They then have a cathartic moment of realization, understanding that just maybe, by forgoing who they were perceived to be, they can strive closer towards their truest self, even at the cost of losing who they were seen as before.

Persona 5 consistently places it’s characters in situations where they feel they’ve lost everything, but through re-contextualization and an abandonment of their fears, they find new bold meanings and forge paths towards their happiness and fulfillment.

In my run, I chose Kawakami as my romantic route, and the idea of fighting role strain is something that stays very present. There’s the obvious issue that she’s a teacher, and you’re a student, which is a reality that never fades away during the run of the game. Even on the very last in-game date, it’s an issue and a strain that’s present in her mind, but she ultimately goes against social norms for something far more valuable to her. It’s this harrowingly relatable sense of indecisiveness and anxiety that’s ultimately pushed aside for the pursuit of this cathartic happiness that I find so compelling. Previously, P3 and P4 felt a little empty on the back-end of social links because once you hit your rank 10, you kinda just never talk to the characters again. Having an arc like Kawakami’s, that continues past the streamlined route of an SLink was a wildly welcome improvement to me. It’s something that I felt really reinforced the human flaw and nuance of these characters, because ultimately Kawakami is running into a similar problem as she had before. It’s wildly relatable to feel as if you’re just another human caught in the throes of making the same mistakes over and over, but seeing the process of making these mistakes as the route to removing the mask and becoming the happiest self you can be feels like a truly romantic outlook on life. In a world where it’s easy to become obsessed with success, and stricken with anxiety for not living up to expectations, Persona 5 tells us that maybe we need to focus on what will make us the happiest first, and that seeking our own emancipation from expectation is the path to this happiness. The pursuit of the true self is a theme that is far from new to the Persona series, but I really feel that Persona 5 takes a ton of extra steps to really sell this idea further than Persona 4. Persona 5 capitalizes on the fears and anxieties of the process, and that even in the face of being seen as the lowest, we can still ascertain our emancipation and reach true happiness.

One great parallel to draw from Persona 5 to it’s contemporaries is how unwelcoming the setting is. Persona 5 is flat out oppressive in comparison to it’s brother-sister-games. You aren’t greeted with a friendly uncle once you move into your new town. You’re greeted with a “fuck you” and a terrible reputation. You’re immediately surrounded with whispers, rumors, and flat out shit-talking from those with more influence than you. Despite being labeled immediately as a terrible person and a problem child, you slowly but surely claim emancipation and find happiness that really matters, by defiantly sticking to your ideals, no matter how terrible the situation gets. Eventually you reach your highest high, and you’re more successful than ever before, but that looming pressure of role strain is still present in your MCs life, even if small. It’s a progression that almost mirrors the progression of the social links, but I really feel like that provides an emotional unity amongst the cast, despite how different their subjective struggles are. Persona 5 dabbles in explaining this through the usage of “aesthetics”, an admittedly poorly chosen term given how hot the fuckin’ meme climate around that term is.

Characters find unity in Persona 5 through “aesthetics”, or their world view. Through your autonomy as a player, they affirm the belief that fighting for their happiness is worthwhile, directly in the face of society that demands they act as a small piece of a larger predetermined identity. The MC is thrown straight into the depths of this process, being seen as the biggest shitbag, but over the course of the game’s calendar, you change the world, just a little, by changing how you and those close to you see it. The moody oppressive atmosphere of a Japan that doesn’t want anything to do with you is reclaimed. It becomes the city where you foster a small army to fight the same fight you do. While Persona 4 and 3 have more of the impression of falling into a friend group, it’s this sense of reclaimation that makes Persona 5 feel so much more emotionally intimate to me. To give an incredibly subjective example, a lot of Persona 5 and it’s imagery of being just one of thousands in a crowd reminds me a lot of the feelings I get when I listen to shoegaze. There’s this powerful sense of intimacy, amongst an overwhelming dissonance. It’s a contrast that makes these relationships feel more important to me. It gives them a distinct, weighted, and honest value, which I feel it helps escape any notion that these character relationships are contrived.

It’s this sense of intimacy that scales across characters of all calibers in Persona 5 that I find really brings this thematic unity. The route to ascertaining our purpose, and more importantly happiness, is by rebelling against expectations and exploring our identities in hopes of realizing what we actually find most important. No matter how grand our aspirations are, all that matters is that we’re special to those we love and respect, and most importantly, to ourselves. Even at your lowest of lows, don’t forget that life goes on.

cons: Everyone says prolly, mechanics are an improvement but not as good as SMT IV yet, Boss fights are mechanically underwhelming, you can’t date the boys (who are weirdly written better as romances than most of the females), cant disable animations making the gameplay loop a lot longer than it needs to be during grinding, this song is dogshit that seems to only serve to ruin and trivialize emotional punchlines as a “safe” route around contrived, hammy writing at times, That cat seriously needs to not tell you to sleep as much

Kawakami best, Ryuji and Yusuke best, I AM SHAPSHIFTER. THAT OST IS SICK , 8.5-9/10

#this isnt really structured well #Itd probably just be easier to call this "why I like SLinks in P5

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ciathyzareposts · 4 years

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The Black Gate: Gunpowder Treason and Plot

Druxinusom asks me about Inamo. I love that the dialogue options allow you to say that Inamo was murdered or to say something like, “Uh, well, he’s not doing so hot.”

I suppose it’s time for a recap before we move forward. The Avatar hasn’t been in Britannia for 200 years in Britannian time. He leaps through a red moongate when it appears in his back yard (it’s still a mystery how or why) and finds himself in Trinsic, former City of Honor, where a gruesome murder has just occurred. A local blacksmith named Christopher and a wingless gargoyle named Inamo have been killed in a ritualistic manner. The Avatar teams up with his old friend Iolo and Christopher’s son, Spark, to solve the mystery. He soon learns that the murders were committed by a gargoyle and a man with a hooked hand, and that they may have fled to Britain on a ship called The Crown Jewel. In Britain, the Avatar learns that a similar murder happened years ago in Britain.

Spark seems to think we have the kind of relationship where he can talk to me like this.

The victims of both the Trinsic and Britain murders had the misfortune of running afoul of a relatively recent fraternal/philosophical organization called The Fellowship, which seeks to replace the old Virtues of the Avatar with a simpler doctrine. They have maneuvered Fellowship members into positions of authority all over the land. The player should have some idea going into the game that the Fellowship is up to something suspicious, as the game manual–written by Fellowship founder Batlin of Britain–is a thinly-disguised revisionist history that undercuts both the Avatar and Lord British. As the game progresses, it becomes clear that the Fellowship (or at least its leaders) are taking orders from an otherworldly demon called the Guardian, and that they have a plan that involves a mysterious substance called blackrock. Someone has built a generator in the Dungeon Deceit, fueled by blackrock, that is affecting magic all over the world and driving mages insane.

While this is all going on, a mysterious island–the very one on which the Avatar defeated Exodus in Ultima III–has risen out of the ocean, causing worldwide tremors, and is waiting to be explored.

Most players join the Fellowship in Britain, either because they haven’t been paying attention and believe it’s a worthwhile organization, or else to investigate it from the inside. If they want, players can follow a relatively linear path that chases leads from one city to another until the game comes to an end. My Avatar, Gideon, declined to join the Fellowship and decided to conduct his investigation in his own order, starting with visiting the cities in the classic order of virtues: honesty, compassion, valor, justice, honor, sacrifice, spirituality, and humility. I decided to visit each city’s associated dungeon at the same time, so I could engage in a little side exploration, wealth-building, and experience-earning. I also decided to take the opportunity to do a little “surplaying” (see the glossary) by following the virtues as in Ultima IV, visiting the associated shrines, and returning the Runes of Virtue to people in each town who deserve them.

In Moonglow, I stick the Rune of Honesty in the desk drawer of the town healer.

I made some significant progress in Moonglow, where I awoke the sorceress Penumbra–who had put herself in an enchanted slumber 200 years ago in anticipation of these events–and told me about the anti-magic generator. She said that to destroy it, I would need the Ethereal Ring, currently in possession of the gargoyle king Draxinusom in the gargoyle city of Terfin.

In replaying these events, I mostly stuck to the script I related in my series of April and May entries, including visiting the Dungeon Despise (incorrectly called Shame) after Moonglow. I nabbed the magic carpet a little bit earlier. I found the switch that opened the room with the full set of plate armor in Lord British’s castle. I saved myself from a repeat visit to the mines near Vesper by purchasing “Unlock Magic” from Nystul before I left Britain the first time. I probably missed the odd NPC or two. And of course I didn’t repeat my Lock Lake clean-up efforts.

Sigh.

Despise ended up exhausting me with its numerous traps, teleporters, and locked doors; you find at least half a dozen keys in the dungeon and still not all the doors open. But I got far enough to serve my purpose, which was to make enough money to feel comfortable buying some spells and getting some training. I also got some nice equipment upgrades for my six characters. Before I gave up on the dungeon, a teleporter brought me to a little tower poking out above the mountain tops. There was a locked chest there. I’ve learned the hard way to open locked chests at a distance, as they can be trapped and explode. (In a weird subversion of reality, you can double-click on your lockpick and then have them open any accessible chest on the screen, no matter how far away from the characters. If it’s far enough, they don’t take any damage if the chest explodes, even though presumably one of them would have had to walk up to the chest with the lockpick in hand.) There wasn’t enough room to get away in the tower, so I had Shamino lug the entire chest out of the tower and back to the streets of Britain, where I opened it in safety. It contained a sword called Magebane, which I don’t remember from previous experiences with the game (admittedly, they were a long time ago). Magebane doesn’t appear in Vetron’s Guide to Weapons and Armor, so I don’t know how much damage it does or why it’s called “Magebane.”

Finding a chest at the top of the world.

What I can tell you is that if you keep it wielded, it hums insistently. This problem doesn’t just affect this one sword. If you equip a Wand of Fire, it cackles constantly until you run out of charges or put it away. Since there’s no easy way to have characters “sheathe” weapons, having them make continual noise was one of the more obnoxious design choices in the game.

I had previously explored Britain, City of Compassion, and I had given the Rune of Compassion to Nastassia in Cove. Next up is Jhelom, City of Valor. But as I prepare to board my magic carpet, I realize that for role-playing reasons, I really need to go to Terfin next. Mages–including friends of mine–are being actively assaulted by the anti-magic generator in Deceit, and I know how to stop it. That’s not something I can justify putting off.

The party takes the magic carpet to the island that was formerly the site of Blackthorn’s castle. Shamino seems lost in thought as we arrive, and I recall that he was guillotined here back in my party’s experience with Ultima V. It occurs to me that I failed to note his miraculous resurrection when he appeared at the beginning of Ultima VI. It’s probably too late to ask him about it now. Terfin was settled by gargoyles fleeing the destruction of their homeworld after the events of Ultima VI.

Even here I have to hear this nonsense?

The first gargoyle we meet is a winged one, a trainer named Inforlem, who is capable of training in both strength/combat and intelligence/magic. Between him and Sentri in my party (dexterity/combat), I’m not sure we need anyone else. I suppose other trainers out there might be more efficient, requiring fewer slots to increase more attributes, but you can’t hold your slots open forever while you run around comparing trainers.

The gargoyles’ Shrines of the Principles–control, passion, and diligence–were relocated to Terfin, including the statues of Mondain, Minax, and Exodus. Exodus is again represented as a demon instead of the computer that he was in the game. You can’t talk to them anymore, so either their spirits didn’t make the trip or they just don’t have anything to say. In my winning entry for Ultima VI, I talked a bit about how odd it was that the gargoyles would hold up humans as exemplars of their virtues, particularly tyrannical humans. It’s as if some aliens came to Earth and told us their virtue system was exemplified by Pol Pot, Stalin, and Hitler. But the gargoyles seem to be using the triad more as examples of unbounded adherence to a single virtue–as in, Minax is an exemplar of passion unchecked by control and diligence. As such, I’m not sure they’re really “worshiping” the triad so much as using them as warnings.

Someone bellyaching about food screws up this shot of Exodus.

Of course, the Fellowship is trying to make their way into Terfin, too, despite being closely associated with the Britannia Purity Society. The chapter hall is run by a winged gargoyle named Quan who refuses to explain the self-selected name. He sees a lot of overlap between the Gargish system of virtues and the Fellowship’s Triad of Inner Strength. Runeb, a particularly rude winged gargoyle, is his assistant. I toss the building but don’t find anything incriminating. Quaeven runs a kind-of community center, a combination between an athletic facility and a library. He’s also a Fellowship member, and currently working on converting Betra, the provisioner. He imparts some interesting information about the “voice” that Fellowship members supposedly hear after visiting the Meditation Retreat: it not only helps guide them in effective life choices but also helps them win at the gambling games at Buccaneer’s Den. That’s a bit worldly for a deity.

Anyway, Betra says he has no plans to join the Fellowship. Indeed, he’s heard rumors of a plot to destroy the gargoyles’ altars of virtue. He notes that only two gargoyles in town have the necessary supplies to pull this off: himself and Sarpling, a Fellowship member whose name, ominously, means “snake tongue.” Upon further investigation, Sarpling has a note in his chest from Runeb, the Fellowship clerk, talking about the forthcoming use of explosives on the shrines. When confronted with the note, Sarpling caves immediately not only to the plan to blow up the shrines but also to assassinate Quan so that Runeb could take over the Fellowship branch.

This is why you don’t talk without a lawyer.

Runeb attacks me when confronted with the evidence, and we’re forced to kill him. Upon reporting all of this to Teregus, who maintains the shrines, we all get 50 experience points. Quan, for his part, refuses to believe in the plot even after Runeb’s death.

The 6-to-1 odds didn’t really work in his favor.

The tavernkeeper also tells us of continued problems between winged and wingless gargoyles and suggests that we talk to them about it. A gardener, Silamo, is a wingless gargoyle and clearly bitter about it, but he doesn’t want to talk to us. I otherwise can’t find any dialogue options related to this supposed problem.

Lord Draxinusom lives in a small, one-room hut next to the community center. He fondly remembers the old days and notes that no one really seems to look up to him anymore. He’s suspicious of the Fellowship. When asked about his Ethereal Ring, he says he was forced to sell it, along with most of his other possessions, to the Sultan of Spektran to finance the gargoyle move to Terfin.

Before I can bring up the subject independently, Draxinusom happens to mention that Teregus’s son, Inamo, is in Trinsic. Inamo left Terfin because of the growing influence of the Fellowship, with which he had vocal and public disagreements. This suggests that either the Fellowship got lucky when they were able to kill Christopher and Inamo at the same time, or that perhaps Inamo was the main target after all. We then have to break the news to Teregus, who is understandably upset and asks for updates on our investigation.

It was a waste of all life.

I’m surprised that I don’t hear anything about the mines north of Terfin during our time in the village. I briefly pop in to check them out and find in the storeroom enough powder barrels to indeed destroy the shrines. We find lots of gargoyles working, but none of them will talk with us. I’m also surprised we didn’t find an NPC companion in Terfin. I could have sworn I remembered there was at least one.

This guy has some issues.

The island of Spektran is northwest of Terfin. I think it’s where we found the pirate treasure in Ultima VI. No longer a desert land crawling with giant ants (giant ants in general seem to have ceased being a problem in the last 200 years), Spektran is now lushly forested and dominated by a single large building. The door slides open as we approach, and the Sultan greets us from an armchair just a few feet into the hall. Wearing a Persian headwrap, he introduces himself as Martingo, the Sultan of Spektran. The man is clearly quite mad, hallucinating subjects–including a harem of 11 women–throughout his barren fortress. He repeatedly speaks to an invisible “advisor” during our conversation. I’d like to think that elsewhere in this game, you can find an interesting backstory on this person.

When we bring up the Ethereal Ring, he says that it’s in his vault, and he welcomes us–dares us, in fact–to test its defenses and to retrieve it. His “vault” is in fact just a large room behind him. We soon find that the Sultan’s vaunted “security system” consists primarily of a stone harpy that comes to life when we enter the room. The damned thing kills me repeatedly, and I hate waking up at that Fellowship shelter in Paws. I have never once kept playing from this situation, as I don’t trust what the Fellowship did while I was unconscious, and I don’t trust these doppelgangers of party members who are suddenly all full of praise for the Fellowship for finding and rescuing me.

Kind of a dumb thing to yell at a creature made of stone.

After dying a couple of times at the harpy’s stone claws, I have this idea that it can only be defeated with fists. I don’t know where I get this idea; I think maybe I’m muddling it with another game I played recently where that was true. It would make sense that conventional weapons wouldn’t be able to do much damage to living stone, but then again, neither would fists. Either way, it seems to work, although it takes me another couple of reloads before I’m able to kill the harpy with all of my characters left alive. Martingo’s vaunted vault has nothing in it except three magic rings and the Ethereal Ring, which is the only one I take. We defeat some wolves before lifting off to the Dungeon Deceit.

My one fourth-level spell is looking a bit lonely.

Deceit is a man-made dungeon with brick walls. Its first challenge is a magically-locked door, but we take care of that with “Unlock Magic.” A few harpies attack us on the other side, but they’re regular harpies, not stone ones, and we don’t have any problem with them. A switch lowers a door which leads into a room with a dragon! We actually manage to kill the thing, but not before losing three party members. Since that route only seems to mislead you into a dragon battle, I reload and go a different direction. I soon find that the dungeon is characterized by unavoidable traps: arrows shooting out of the walls, fire erupting, lightning bolts zapping–which I can only avoid through trial and error or finding whoever sells the “Detect Trap” and “Disarm Trap” spells, but I seem to remember from previous experiences that they don’t work very well.

Despite the yells, no one is protecting anyone here.

In the dungeon, I meet two warrior sisters named Eiko and Amanda. They are in pursuit of the cyclops who killed their father, a mage named Kalideth, and studied under a trainer named Karenna of Minoc specifically for the task. I find the cyclops in a clearing in the middle of the dungeon. He introduces himself as Iskander and admits he’s done some monstrous things in the past in defense of his clan. He complains that humans seem to think that cyclopes exist solely to be killed by adventurers, and thus Iskander has been wandering the world looking for some place that will serve as a homeland. Neither conversation gives me dialogue options to use with the other parties, and I ultimately decide that it’s none of my business and move on.

To be fair, your kinsmen in Cove attacked us first. After we invaded their home with weapons drawn.

Eventually, we make it to the tetrahedron generator. Exhausted and out of most spell reagents by the time we arrive, I am annoyed to find there’s nothing obvious to do. Pointing Rudyom’s wand at it doesn’t cause it to explode. Double-clicking on it does nothing. Trying to walk into or on top of it does nothing. Frustrated, I consult my screen shots and am reminded that Penumbra wanted me to bring the Ethereal Ring back to her before I tried to use it.

Trying various things that don’t work on the tetrahedron.

Rather than fight my way back out, I decide to reload from before I entered the dungeon. I take the carpet to Penumbra’s and get the ring enchanted. Afterwards, she asks me an odd question: how did I know to come to her in the first place? The answer is, I didn’t. I was exploring the towns in systematic order and followed the clues I found to wake her up. But that’s not one of the answers I get, which are Nicodemus and the Time Lord, neither of whom I’ve actually met this game. It’s a bit annoying that Origin didn’t anticipate a player simply stumbling upon the quest this way.

Why is that even important?

Some miscellaneous observations before the end:

It’s kind of annoying that the bedroll, which you often need to find in the dark, is one of the darkest items in the backpack.

Either the “Light” spell has a bizarrely random duration or something else is going on. I cast it while the party was exploring the Vesper mines. After that, I did the MoonglowPenumbra segment and then flew to the Dungeon Despise. The spell was still active when I entered the dungeon and lasted for most of my exploration. Then, later, when I cast it in Deceit, it blinked out after about three minutes.

To land the magic carpet, you have to find a section of ground the size of the carpet that has no obstacles. A large plant, rock, or log is enough to stop the carpet from settling down. As I flew to Despise from Moonglow, I happened to pass over the ruins of Skara Brae, and I noted that the entire island seems designed to disallow using the magic carpet to get there. It is scattered with just enough rocks, logs, and other debris that there’s no clear place large enough to accommodate it. That’s just an impression, though; I didn’t search the whole island.

They really want you to come in the long way.

I took note of some experience point rewards for solving quests. Returning the signed bill from Cove gave everyone 10 experience points. Solving the gunpowder plot gave us 50. These are small numbers in comparison to combat.

If I start the game with the GOG settings, it frequently freezes in the middle of NPC dialogue and I have to wait about 30 seconds, clicking around occasionally, before I get it unstuck. If I just fire up DOSBox and open the game on my own from there, this never happens. But I worry that not using the GOG settings is what caused the corruption last time.

The Books of Britannia entry has been updated with Brommer’s Flora, The Book of Forgotten Mantras, and Book of Prophecy.

I fight my way back to the tetrahedron, and this time it lets me enter the thing, although my party members are unable to accompany me. I am pitted against a monstrous, demonic defender, and nothing I can do allows me to defeat him. This is the consequence of following my own path and reaching this point before most other players, who probably have more advanced protection spells, better equipment, higher levels, more training, and so forth.

Sorry it’s so dark, but I ran out of sulfurous ash for the “Light” spell.

Thus returning to the outdoors, I reflect on my next move. The responsible thing to do would be to return to Britain and pick up the path the way the game was meant to be played. The second most responsible thing to do would be to continue my previous path, returning to the tetrahedron later when I’m more powerful. I thus board the magic carpet and aim it west, towards the Isle of Fire.

Time so far: 30 hours

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/the-black-gate-gunpowder-treason-and-plot/

#retro games #dos games #retro #crpg #adventure #amiga #oldcomputers #8bit #16bit #blog #repost

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icyroseslove-blog · 6 years

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GHOSTWRITER

ghost·writ·er

/ˈɡōstˌrīdər/

noun

a person whose job it is to write material for someone else who is the named author.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Identity is the single most important thing when it comes to the art of ghostwriting. In fact, it’s what defines the business as a whole. There are two types of identities a person will find in the ghostwriting industry: the famous and the enigmatic.

The famous are the stars, the ones who appear on TV with dazzling smiles and a charming bounce in their step. They’re the artists who have their names printed into record books with a net value attached. The famous have giant followings and their faces hung on the walls of a squealing teenage girl’s room, covered in a protective lamination to defend against her baby brother’s invasions. In dehumanizing terms, they’re the perfect products and money making tools of a company. In ghostwriting terms, they’re the buyers.

The enigmatic, which are more commonly known as the ghostwriters, are the famous’ unknown secrets. They’re the ones who sit at a desk for hours, painting the paragraphs that will soon be filling the best sellers under another person’s name, or counting the measures to a star’s greatest hit. The ghostwriters, who are the sellers, are the people who make a creation that someone else will soon take credit for. Their names do not go down in history for being diligent workers, and most of the time, they don’t want to be known. That’s why the sellers choose their careers. They, of free will, become the ghosts of a world that know the art from their fingertips.

But there is one type of identity that allows a person to be both the famous and the enigmatic. Some call it a double life, while others call it a symbol. But the identity has a true name: aliases. Pen names allow people to become the ghostwriters of themselves, sitting down to write a novel that their second name will assume the attention of. There would be a name to the work, but still no face to go with it.

Androkles didn’t feel that it was necessary to have a face assigned to a novel. In fact, he preferred being faceless, because it meant he could go to the ice cream shop two blocks down from his house without having paparazzi shove expensive cameras in his face. After all, he was the most popular writer of the 21st century.

Androkles Hemmer, or more commonly known to the world as Andrew Homer, was the man responsible for writing 12 novels, 10 plays, 3 musicals, and hundreds of ghostwritten songs for the music industry in the span of a few years. He was the author of the most famous play in modern times, One is a Thousand. The extent of his fame and achievement was international. Often times, he’ll see yet another critic praising the philosophical aspects of his novels or a fan gushing about the flowery romance between the two leads of a play in another language.

He leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against the blank paper presented in front of him. There was a need to write gnawing at him, his mind pouring over possible story ideas. They were good, in fact, they were probably so original it could spawn a few new genres, but there was something about them that felt empty, something non-genuine, which was the complete opposite of what Androkles was often eulogized for.

There was a play that was itching to be produced onto paper. But there were no characters, no twisted and selfish motivations the protagonist was harboring for the greater good conjuring themselves in the writer’s mind. That was odd. But he knew exactly what he was going through after finding he couldn’t create anything for months: a writer’s block.

Groaning, he placed the pen down on the desk and stretched his sore muscles. Androkles kicked the chair, grumbling about how he needed to buy a better one. Deciding to take a small break before continuing his work, he walked into his living room and opened his laptop. The light lit up the dim room, causing his pupils to shrink from the bright source. He checked his singular social media account, which had millions of followers that he didn’t know he would gain. He rarely posted anything, and often it was just pictures with no words for context. There were countless pictures of his cat, Andrew, who was most likely outside killing something before he presented it to Androkles. The male looked at the most recent post, dated to be published last month.

yay strawberry

It was a picture of the pot that was on his front porch currently. There was a small green sprout bursting from the soil, morning dew making the plant dip a bit. Admittedly, he was terrible at taking care of plants, but the seed proved to be strong, growing despite his inconsistent watering schedule.

He scrolled through the feed, looking at insignificant and important things alike. It was the usual on the website; the front page was filled with news about trends, celebrities, and political decisions, as well as rising musicians (some of which he wrote title songs for at one point). But there was always a singular article about him, who was one of the biggest accounts on the site. It was the same topic that sprung up over and over, becoming even more complex as the years progressed: Who was Andrew Homer?

At this point, everyone knew it was simply a pen name, not a real one. Besides his cat, the only shred of information he ever shared with the media is that he likes writing with feathered pens.

(Everyone thought he was pointing to quills. He was actually talking about fluffy pens, the $1 ones with the soft fluff at the top and a plastic tip to cover the ballpoint end when you were done. He doesn’t need expensive materials be successful. The quill eventually became his trademark.)

Suddenly, his phone rang, blaring out the notes to the default ringtone. Androkles pulled it out of his pocket, not bothering to check the ID because he knew only one person had his phone number.

“Hello, Ryo.”

“Hi there, Androkles! Are you in high spirits today?”

Androkles rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth pulling a bit. “Spare me the jokes, please. I have an ache in my wrist and I’d rather not make it worse by facepalming. What do you need?”

“Always the straightforward man. Well, it’s best if I get to the point. A client wants to hire you to write a song for him. He’s a musician named Phanuel, have you heard of him? He’s the guy who just peaked at the top of the Billboards just last week.”

He hummed in reply. The writer had the radio on yesterday, cooking as he mindlessly bobbed his head to a bubblegum-pop song that he composed a number of years ago (the client was adamant about making it appeal to as many people as possible. He begrudgingly accepted as he wrote a V-vi-IV progression in C major), when a radio host rambled with a caller about a rising star named Phanuel. Androkles brushed off the commentary quickly, as his eggs were starting to burn.

“Yes, I know him. The person who sang ‘Our Letters,’ right?”

“Right on the dot. He called to ask for a written song. Any genre and whatever you’d like.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s a lot more creative freedom than I’m usually given. Are there really no details the client wants me to put in the song?”

“Actually, that’s where there’s going to be some complications.” There was a silence. Androkles waited for him to continue. “He wants to discuss the message of the song in person at your house. Face to face.”

Androkles froze.

“Wait, did I hear you correctly? Did you say that a client actually wants to meet me? He doesn’t want to send a note or something?”

Ryo sighed, his breath crackling over the phone. “Phanuel said that he likes working together with his coworkers. Talking helps his creativity start to flow much easier. A people person, he called himself.”

“What about a fill-in actor?”

“No one has your writing skills, I’m afraid. Anyone can tell the difference between a pro and Andrew Homer. Homer does it better.”

The writer fiddled with his glasses, pushing them up with shaking hands. “Ryo, we can’t do something like this. You know that better than anyone else.”

“I know, I really do. It’s just… I know how you hate disappointing people. Especially your clients. I told him I would discuss it with you, but it was likely that such an arrangement wasn’t possible. Phanuel said that composing the song would be impossible otherwise.”

Androkles rubbed his temple, attempting to sooth the headache spawning itself from frustration. This was the first time anyone had ever requested to be face to face with him. He’d heard that some ghostwriters meet with their clients to discuss the future of the project, but he was lucky that no such request had been asked of him in the long years he’d been a writer. He really wanted to keep himself a secret. But if there was anything he valued more than his identity, it was having a satisfied client.

“Would it be possible…” he spoke softly, “for Phanuel to come here and for me to wear a disguise? Or stand in a separate room and talk to him from there?”

“...you’re actually going through with this?”

“Of course. I’m not letting down anyone who wants to work with me. Especially someone who just started his career.” He tried to say it with confidence, but the shakiness of his words betrayed him. “Besides, it doesn’t take me a very long time to write songs. I could probably finish it in a few days, given that I take as minimal breaks as possible. Phanuel will be out quickly.” He wasn’t going to mention that he had writer’s block at the moment.

There was a static-filled huff over the receiver. “Alright. As your agent, I’ll support your decision to do this. But as your friend—” Ryo stressed the word heavily, “I don’t know if I like your choice. It’s just… your situation and all.”

“Ryo,” he murmured. “I’ll be fine. I manage to get the groceries without anyone suspecting a thing, right? I’m sure I can handle a few days of talking to a customer.”

“I just want you to stay safe, that’s all.”

“I’ll take every precaution. I’ll even wear that mask you gave me. The one with the bear face on it? It’s right here.” Androkles reached out to the side table cluttered with notebooks, pulling a white mask toward him. He wrapped the strings around his ears and inhaled through his nostrils. “Mhmm, it still smells like the hot chocolate you spilled on it.”

“That was an accident.” He could hear the smirk in his voice. “Okay, if you're really confident about this, I’ll call him after I get the paperwork done. But remember, stay safe, okay? And if you want, wear the mask.”

Androkles nodded to no one in particular. “I will.”

“Alright then. I’ll update you on Phanuel when I get an answer.”

Just like that, Ryo hung up, ending the call with a beep. Androkles removed the phone from his ear. He was trembling.

The writer got up from the russet couch and walked into the kitchen, pulling open the drawer to get a cup so he could shock the nerves out of him with a glass of extremely bitter coffee. He grabbed a porcelain white cup, grasping the smooth handle with his fingers. Androkles was fumbling to open the coffee maker, his shaking hands making it difficult to place anything down.

Was this guy— Phanuel— actually willing to meet up with a ghostwriter when it was old knowledge that you could exchange a few emails with them and receive a song in a matter of weeks? Moreso, why would he ask Androkles for a song when he was already skilled?

Through all of this mental turmoil, Androkles didn’t notice the mug was phasing through his hand. Finally, it slipped through and shattered on the tile floor, making a loud crash. He was shocked. Uncontrollable transparency only happened when he was extremely nervous.

He sighed audibly, walking over to the corner to grab a broom and a dustpan to clean up the mess. He floated over, picking up his feet to avoid cutting them.

It was hard to be a famous ghost writer sometimes. Especially when you’re an actual ghost.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ONE IS A THOUSAND

DEDICATION

This play is dedicated to my friend, who, after reading such a play, will know that despite end dates, he will still have an identity to me.

STORY OF THE PLAY

Clark lives in a world where the date of someone’s death is shown in bold letters above their head, although you cannot see your own. He is a man who has anxiously watched dates approach and has seen many people succumb to mortality, but despite all of this, Clark wants nothing more than to find who he is and live life in a society that tells him the numbers over his head are the only things that distinguish him as an individual.

One is a Thousand tells the tale of Clark’s identity to his loved ones after his death. A million dead is a statistic, but one tragedy can be the sorrow for a thousand.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Today was the day.

Androkles was running around his room, emptying his closet and heaving stacks of coats onto his bed. He lifted them, observing how much skin they would cover if he wore it before throwing it onto the floor behind him. None of them were perfect. They either exposed his neck too much or made him look like a junkie. The brown trench coat he usually wore outside was acting as a makeshift bed to Andrew, who refused to get off the comfy coat despite Androkles's pleading. Clothes were scattered everywhere, thick sweaters hanging off the armrests of chairs, the shoe rack overturned for tall boots, and twisted scarves resting on his work desk. He still needed to find gloves.

“Woah, what happened in here?” Ryo asked, sticking his head into Androkles's bedroom doorway. There was a spark of amusement in the eyes that were scanning the clothes strewn across the furniture.

The writer was visibly startled by his friend’s appearance, yelping before phasing through the floorboards. His head popped up from the ground.

Ryo extended a hand to him and the ghost took it, floating out from the basement and back into the bedroom. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

Androkles shot a hard glare at him before grabbing the nearest piece of cloth and whipping it at his friend. Ryo shrieked, retreating back into the living room.

“Hey! Don’t throw things at me!” A fountain pen flew at Ryo, the nib stabbing his cheek harshly, leaving a large ink stain the color of his hair staining his face. He threw up his hands as he backed away. “Okay, I surrender! See, look, I have my hands up. Androkles, I’m waving the white flag now, stop throwing things at me. Andro—Androkles, no. Put the typewriter down. I’m not ending up in the hospital because you gave me a concussion.”

Androkles's eye twitched, his lips contorting into a maniacal smirk. He lifted the typewriter higher. “You wanna bet?”

“No, I don’t wanna bet on anything, because there are only two outcomes to this. One leads to me being confined to a hospital bed. Put it down.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Now.”

The ghost lowered the machine, sighing. “Fine, I will. But only because a client is coming over in a few hours and I’d rather not explain why there’s an unconscious man in my living room. Now come over here, I need your opinion on this coat.”

His friend had a wave of relief wash over his face. The war was finally over. “Sure. No chucking things at me, though.”

Androkles rolled his eyes, He held up the coat by its shoulders, presenting it to the raven-haired male who strode up next to him. “It covers my wrists, but it leaves my neck exposed. If I really want to wear it, I’d have to put on that sweater over there. But that still leaves a giant space under my jaw. The mask could cover it up, but there’s a chance it could slip off and reveal my whole face. What do you think I should do?”

Ryo hummed in thought, closing his eyes and putting a hand to his jaw as if deep in thought. After a silent 10 seconds, his dark eyes lit up and he had a devious expression, grinning as if he’d found the cure to a disease. Then, he walked over to Androkles's work desk, where scarves were hiding his drafts and fluffy pens underneath. His friend took a brightly colored cloth in his hand, showing it to a confused Androkles.

“I have just the solution for you.”

All of a sudden, Androkles felt even more anxious.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ONE IS A THOUSAND

SCENE 1: I QUESTIONED

(AT RISE: FATHER is sitting in the house, reading the newspaper on the couch. It is lively and children’s toys are scattered everywhere. A crayon drawing of a nuclear family hangs on the wall. CLARK’s death date is marked on the calendar, followed with the date in the future.)

(There is the sound of a door opening. A child CLARK runs in from offstage and drops his backpack, rushing to jump into his father’s arms.)

CLARK

Dad!

DAD

There’s my little champ. How was school today?

CLARK

It was so fun! We made rainbow toast and painted our favorite animals. Do you wanna see mine?

DAD

Of course I do.

(CLARK runs to get his backpack and pulls out a drawing of a badly painted bird. He gives it to DAD, who breaks out into a giant grin.)

DAD

This is amazing, Clark. The bird looks so real. You could become an artist if you wanted to. But my memory’s a bit fuzzy… can you remind me what animal this is?

CLARK

It’s a puffin!

(DAD pulls CLARK onto his lap.)

DAD

A puffin? Where did you see one?

CLARK

It was in one of the books the teacher always reads to us! Puffins are so cute. I think they’re my favorite animal now.

DAD

Did you hear that, honey? Our son loves puffins!

(MOM is heard laughing off-stage.)

CLARK

Hey Dad, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.

DAD

What is it?

(CLARK points to the numbers above his dad’s head, which are dated to be a decade before his son’s.)

CLARK

What are these things?

DAD

(expression darkening) Why do you… want to know?

CLARK

Well… everyone has them, but no one talks about it. They’re just kind of there. And Suzy had one that was dated for today. She didn’t come to school today and the teacher was very sad. Are they vacation days?

DAD

(hesitating) Not… exactly. See son, when the date of the numbers finally arrives, those people get to go somewhere. It’s a place far away, farther than their loved ones can reach them. Their vacation lasts a very long time. But after a while… we get to visit those people on their relaxing vacations.

CLARK

Are they at the beach?

DAD

It can be wherever they want, as long as they love that place.

CLARK

Then I’m going to go to my bedroom when my date arrives! I love my bedroom. It has all of my toys. Are you going to visit me when that happens?

DAD

...I am. Wait, is that Will I see out there? Why don’t you go play with him?

CLARK

Okay! Will!

(CLARK runs offstage. Mother walks onstage a few moments later.)

MOM

I heard your conversation.

DAD

I was hoping you would.

MOM

Is it really… necessary for children to know about the dates? Can’t they wait just a bit longer?

DAD

They’ll have to know about it sooner or later. I just wish we had more time…

(MOM sits down next to DAD. They lean on each other.)

MOM

...26 is a young age to die, isn’t it?

DAD

It is.

MOM

I wish he had more time. I wish I didn’t have to watch my son die.

DAD

Shhhh, don’t say that. Let’s just enjoy the time we have together.

(Freeze frame. Adult CLARK walks on stage.)

CLARK

I didn’t know the reality I was told that day. That a vacation which became permanent for someone wasn’t willing. That day… after Will told me Suzy had drowned in the river next to her house after trying to get her beloved stuffed dog back from the water… I realized… what death dates were.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He should have never listened to Ryo.

An image in the mirror reflected back at him, and he wasn’t quite sure it was even him under all the layers of clothing. A large winter hat covered his head, the sides falling over his ears (which were growing red from embarrassment). On his body was an oversized street style coat that stopped at his ankles, covering most of the turtleneck he had on. Black jeans were stuffed into combat boots (he didn’t wear shoes in his house, but it was all for the sake of his image). The bright scarf that was previously in Ryo’s hands was now draped loosely around Androkles's neck, covering the skin that the bear mask failed to conceal. The only thing left to cover was the transparent skin of the midsection of his face.

“And the final part of my plan are these,” Ryo announced, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a large pair of dark sunglasses, handing them to Androkles. He slipped them on, and the bright light filling the room seemed to dim immensely, leaving him disoriented for a second. Ryo grabbed him by the shoulders, cocking his head toward the reflection.

“Well?” he asked.

“I look like I’m ready to battle the blizzard of 1888,” Androkles admitted. It wasn’t hot under the bundle of clothing (temperature didn’t affect him), but it certainly felt uncomfortable.

“That means we got you all covered up. No transparent skin revealed at all. Another perfect plan of mine.” Ryo adjusted the scarf, pulling it up more. “Phanuel will be over in an hour. I told him about the secrecy of this meeting because as it goes for all ghostwriters, you don’t want your identity to be known. He said that he’ll promise to not let any information get out there, so don’t you worry about anything. Everything’s going to be okay. Your hands don’t need to tremble anymore.”

Androkles didn’t notice his limbs were shaking. Ryo held him in a comforting embrace, and he let the easy familiarity calm his nerves. His friend pulled away from him and sighed. “I have to go now. It’s busy work, being the agent and editor for the world’s biggest author and all.” Suddenly, Ryo’s gaze grew dark. “But before I go, I just need to remind you to do something…”

Androkles gulped. “What is that?”

Ryo kept his solemn face as he glared at the writer. “Remember to stay super neutral.”

The man ran out of the house before Androkles could get his hands on the typewriter.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ONE IS A THOUSAND

SCENE 3: THERE’S SOMETHING MORE

(AT RISE: Adult CLARK and WILL are at a post office. It is relatively quiet, with the exception of the ticking of a clock in the background. Workers are standing behind desks, chatting with each other as they wait for customers. A large mailbox stands center stage, facing out to the audience.)

(CLARK dumps a load of letters into the mailbox.)

WILL

What are they for?

CLARK

They’re letters for the people who might miss us when we’re traveling the world! Of course, we’ll write while we’re overseas, but we can’t just leave without telling anyone. That would be heartbreaking.

(CLARK starts to pull out more letters.)

(cont.) See, I have one for everyone. The boss at work, our co-workers, the nice lady who always gives us extra bread at the bakery… They’re all getting one! Look, even your mom’s getting a letter!

WILL

Was it really necessary to write all of those letters? Half of those people probably don’t even care about what you’re doing in your life. I mean, my mom probably does, but that’s because she has a personal connection to you.

CLARK

Everyone has a personal connection to me. It may not seem like it, but every stranger you’ve ever met has made an impression on you, even if you’ve glanced at them for only a second. Besides, I see these people on a daily basis. Getting a letter sent to them isn’t going to hurt. We just have different interpretations of each other. Now help me get these letters in, they’re falling out.

(CLARK and WILL gather the letters that have fallen out of his pockets. They put them in the mailbox.)

WILL

Is that all of them?

CLARK

… no. I have more at home, but I couldn’t fit them in my pockets.

(WILL sighs.)

WILL

Let’s go get them then. I’ll grab a few so that you don’t have to carry so much.

CLARK

You’d really do that for me?

WILL

Of course. You’re the one that’s paying rent.

CLARK

Very funny. I’m going to ask someone when these letters will arrive. I don’t want them to arrive after we’ve been gone for too long.

(CLARK runs off stage. A worker from behind the desk calls out to WILL.)

WORKER

Are you friends with that guy?

WILL

Roommates.

WORKER

I see. Are you aware that it’ll probably take more than a week to deliver that giant stack of letters? The big city isn’t exactly an easy place to deliver letters.

WILL

I am.

WORKER

You wanna break it to your friend that those letters might not be delivered while he’s still alive? Or do you want me to do it?

(The room freezes.)

WILL

I’d rather be the one to do it.

WORKER

Good. Spend your time wisely, kid.

(CLARK runs on stage with a smile stretched across his face. He embraces WILL.)

CLARK

They said that they could send all of the letters in a week or so! Everyone will receive something right after we leave. Although, those people were looking at me weirdly. But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that we’ve got the world ahead of us, Will. Now come on, we’ve got more letters to get!

(They run off stage hand in hand.)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There were only 5 minutes remaining before he would hear those fated knocks.

Androkles was quaking. He checked himself in the mirror at least 50 times in the past half hour, frantically searching again and again for any skin that was showing. With the exception of the little dots of olive skin not covered by the sunglasses, everything had remained the same as the time of Ryo’s departure. He sighed heavily, feeling anxiety rise in his chest.

Wait, he had to talk, didn’t he? This wasn’t just a chain of emails with no voice to assign the words to. He had an actual voice. One that Phanuel would hear.

The ghost was about to start screaming.

A soft mass brushed up against his leg, startling him out of his thoughts. Androkles looked down to find that his cat was stepping on his boot as if he knew it would temporarily break the toxic cycle of anxiety. He looked at Andrew fondly, bending down to pick him up and cradle him in his arms.

Andrew was a stray Androkles had stumbled upon at the beginning of his career. It was a rainy night in a dark alley, and being the person he is, the man couldn’t ignore the soft purring coming from a cardboard box. He opened the lid to find a starving kitten lying inside, not bothering to look at Androkles. It just stared at the corner unmoving. He took it to the vet, waiting for news to come back about the kitten.

1 hour. It was the longest he had ever spent outside and it was for Andrew.

Now it was time for a significant upgrade: 4 hours every day for less than a week spent with a stranger that he had to write songs for. The anxiety of having to veil his ghostly origins came back to him again. Androkles buried his face in the cat’s black fur, causing Andrew to purr contently.

There was no way he was going to get through this.

Knock, knock, knock.

Androkles's movements came to a halt. A silence followed the quiet rapping, hanging in the air like mist.

Time froze. A paused moment suffocated Androkles, and Andrew was kneading his hand. It was comparable to the second of thinking before replying to a well-thought-out question, or the still atmosphere of a picture of a family at an amusement park being taken by a stranger.

Androkles was experiencing one of those moments, and his heart was starting to race.

The knocks resounded from the door again. Androkles panicked, placing the midnight cat down before checking himself in the mirror once more. He adjusted his scarf, the thick, leathery gloves restraining his movements a bit. He took a breath, smacking himself mentally to gather his thoughts. Androkles looked at himself with a determined expression.

Come on, you can do this. It’s only a few days. Answer the door.

Forcing his limbs to move, he opened the bedroom door and approached the oak door. The average-sized entrance suddenly seemed to be looming over him as if it were an obstacle. His shaking hands grasped the bronze doorknob.

I can do this. I can do this. Everything will turn out to be fine and my identity will be hidden.

Androkles's wrist refused to turn the knob.

No I can’t, this was a stupid idea. Why did I agree to this? I don’t have the skill to be sly. The client is going to find out I’m a ghost and it’s all going to be over. Oh no, oh no, what do I do…?

A soft pat on his left foot made him look down. Andrew was kneading at his foot, meowing loudly. The feline looked at him with a blank expression.

Androkles grinned. “You’re right, Andrew. It’s just one person. I can stop being afraid.”

He unlocked the door, pulling it open and letting sunlight flood into the room, allowing Andrew to slip outside. The dark environment around him brightened, and if it weren’t for the sunglasses, Androkles would be rendered to a blind mess.

Through the tinted lens, he saw a boy. Actually, rather than a child, it was a man about Androkles's age in appearance, though his soft face gave him a youthful charm. The man was an inch taller than the writer, and his jaw was strong and defined. His skin was a caramel, and his hair was a dark brown, leaning closer to black than a milk chocolate. A guitar case was secured onto his back, the black strap digging into the light blue cardigan he had on.

Androkles stared for a bit, taking in the man’s confident stature. He had a fist raised, almost as if he was about to start knocking on the door once more.

Phanuel lowered his arm. He cleared his throat. “Hello there. Is this the household of Andrew Homer?”

The writer hesitated before speaking. “I-It is.”

“Oh.” Phanuel tilted his head to the side, causing curly brown locks to fall into starry eyes. “Are you… Andrew Homer, the writer?”

He nodded weakly, pointing to himself with his index finger. “That’s me. Are you Phanuel?”

Something in Phanuel’s eyes brightened, and suddenly, the man straightened his posture. He extended a hand. “Y-Yes, I’m Phanuel. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Phanuel was blushing, and the hand held out for Androkles to take was shaking a little. Oh, so the guy, who was supposed to be a charismatic teen heartthrob was nervous in Androkles's presence. He couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the man standing in front of him. At least Androkles wasn’t the only one that was nervous. He took Phanuel’s hand and gave it a semi-confident shake. “The same as well. Here, come inside. We can start working on the song in my living room.

At that, some of the tightness in Phanuel’s jaw disappeared. The dark-haired male nodded, and Androkles moved aside to let him in before locking the door. They walked to the table in the middle of the room in relative silence before sitting down at the opposite ends.

Phanuel spoke up. “Aren’t you… hot in all of those clothes?”

Androkles shrunk into his scarf. “I-I get cold easily.”

The air around them was awkward. It was the type of atmosphere that came when you were left alone with the friend of a friend, unwilling to talk without the thread connecting you two filling in the gaps in the conversation, but forcing yourself to so you don’t sit in silence. It was to be expected. After all, they were strangers to each other, only meeting up for the sake of work. Androkles didn’t know how Ryo could deal with this type of unsettling quietness.

“I have to apologize, I don’t usually have guests over,” Androkles said sheepishly as he cleared the papers and scattered pens off the table. He walked over to the cabinet, searching for some blank sheet music. He suddenly remembered how Ryo dealt with meeting new people, as being in an industry meant you had to make lots of connections. “S-So, Phanuel. Tell me a bit about yourself.”

If there was any previous tension between them, Phanuel seemed to have forgotten, because his words had an easy flow to them. “Well, I’m a musician, but you already know that part. I play the guitar, and I’m allergic to pollen.”

Androkles nodded, hoping that Phanuel saw it. He bent down to check for a pencil, having already found a stack of paper. “Really? How about your likes and dislikes?”

“Ah, uh…” The man hummed in thought. “I really like peach flavored candy. Specifically peach-mango lollipops, those are delicious. But the coffee flavored ones, they don’t really appeal to me. They try to be caramel and chocolate at the same time, but they’re only trying.” The writer, although faced away from Phanuel, could almost feel him making hand gestures to his speech. “I also hate wet socks. It’s my belief that they’re sent directly from the fiery pits of the underworld to torture my feet.”

Androkles held back a laugh. “Oh really? How exactly do they torture your feet?”

“It’s how the water just sticks to your feet and you can’t wipe it off because it’s the cloth that’s wet. The socks get soggy and the part in the front starts to droop down and cling to the sides of your toes. It’s cold and unpleasant. Then you have to take it off and but the spot the water got onto is still moist and…” Phanuel shuddered. “Just...no.”

The writer was struggling to keep down his giggles. Anyone would agree with that. “Favorite song?”

“Mmhm, probably ‘Love Lies’ by Khalid and Normani.”

“Favorite genre of music?”

“Surprisingly, classical.”

“Favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Pineapples on pizza or plain?”

“Are you kidding?” Phanuel leaned back in the chair, causing it to creak quietly. “Pineapples on pizza. Plain pizza is bland.”

Androkles gasped, turning around to face his guest. “What you say is delicious is an invention made by the devil. I will not stand for anyone liking pineapples on pizza in this household.”

Phanuel laughed loudly. “And I’m sure you’re very happy with extremely plain pizza.”

The ghost rolled his eyes, blushing slightly. “Favorite novel?”

Now it was Phanuel’s turn to turn red. He dipped his pink dusted head down, staring at his hands. “U-Uh, Perhaps in Death. Your novel.”

Androkles almost dropped his papers right there. He was frozen to his spot. Perhaps in Death was one of his earliest novels, but it was still successful and managed to get a movie adaption. It was the story of a girl making a contract with a demon to find the murderer of her sister. It had been a long time since someone mentioned it since the work that took the limelight was One is a Thousand. “T-That’s your favorite story?”

“Yeah, it is. Don’t get me wrong, I love One is a Thousand, it’s just…” Phanuel struggled to find the right words. “I don’t know. I think there’s something very powerful about people making promises. ‘We’ll meet again, I promise, but perhaps it will be in death.’ I think that’s such a great line, don’t you think?”

The writer flushed deeply, pulling up the scarf covering his neck. “Y-Yeah, I guess it is.”

Androkles sat down at the table, passing some paper and a pencil to Phanuel. “So, do you have any ideas for the song?”

“...no, actually,” Phanuel admitted. “I’m going through some… musician’s block. I know I really shouldn’t force myself to compose any songs at the moment, but there’s a song that’s just waiting to be written. I just don’t know how to execute it. That’s why I wanted to hire you to help me write the song.”

Ah, so there was the problem. Once again, there was a similarity between them, but this time it was one that might hinder their work. “Okay, let’s start with the basics. What story do you want to tell? Maybe something current?”

Phanuel looked to be deep in thought. He rested his head on top of his hands. “How about… finding inspiration after a long period of nothing? I really can’t think of anything other than overcoming a creative block at the moment. You know, like when it rains after a long period of no water? And then it smells really nice outside?”

Androkles blinked. “Petrichor?”

The musician’s eyes widened by a fraction. “There’s a word for it?” He nodded, and Phanuel’s eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his head. “It sounds so… serene. I like it.”

It was. There was a tinkling of notes resounding from the back of his mind, and Androkles knew he had to compose it now. “Take out your guitar. I think I have an idea.”

Phanuel nodded his head, moving to open the black case that was currently lying on the ground unopened. With a few clicks, it was unlocked, and Phanuel pulled out a sand-colored acoustic guitar. Androkles didn’t know how to play the instrument, having only mastered the piano and violin, so he figured he would let the musician strum all of the chords for him.

“Play… D Flat Major 7.”

Phanuel adjusted his hands on the neck, barring one of the frets with his first finger before strumming. The guitar made a rich sound, the chord resonating in the wooden body. It sounded perfect.

“Alright, now play E Diminished, then C Minor 7, and then A Flat.”

Phanuel obeyed, playing the chords Androkles was stating. He shook his head, asking the man to switch the last two chords in the progression. He made a sound of agreement and played the chords in order. They both looked at each other.

“That sounded... really nice,” Phanuel said, wonder in his eyes.

Androkles was furiously writing down the notes. This was working. “It does.”

Just as he was about to give more directions to Phanuel, a loud purring from behind him erupted. The two of them were startled, and Phanuel cocked his head to the side, looking past Androkles to see where the sound came from. He lifted a caramel finger to Andrew, who was meowing softly.

“Is your cat supposed to be on top of that bookshelf?”

Androkles whipped his head around, almost causing the winter hat to fall off. His eyes landed on Andrew, who was inching his way across the top of a tall spruce bookshelf with a dead mouse in between his fangs. The shelf he was standing on was stuffed with books, some of them his own and others from authors he occasionally read from. It was old and therefore weak, and the paint was starting to scrape off. The second thing he noticed was the lack of empty spaces on the various shelves. He would have to get a new bookcase sooner or later.

The first? The bookcase was wobbling forward.

“Andrew! Get down from there!” Androkles shouted as he bolted out of his chair, running toward the teetering spruce shelf in record speed. Phanuel followed, and as soon as they were halfway across the living room, the shelf tipped over, causing Andrew to let out a hiss and jump.

The two of them extended their hands, waiting to catch the feline. Androkles watched as Andrew fell into an arch directly into Phanuel’s arms, causing him to dip his body. He let out a sigh. But Androkles was starting to shout something at him.

“Andrew, watch out—!”

Androkles turned around and a shadow was looming over him. The assortment of brightly colored novels flew at him, blinding him from the shelf that was about to collapse on top of him. He let himself grow intangible, and he fell through the floorboards, avoiding the bookcase that landed with a loud bang.

“Andr—Andrew! Oh my god!” He could hear Phanuel scramble to move the piece of furniture. “Andrew, if you can hear me, I’m going to call the police to help me get you out of there! Please respond if you’re under there!”

“No, I’m okay!” Androkles flew through the floor, reappearing in the living room. He ran to Phanuel and grabbed him by the shoulders. “I’m okay! I’m right here, see?”

Phanuel’s jaw dropped, shocked. “Andrew…?”

“I’m not under the bookshelf! See, I’m uncrushed and… right in front of you…”

Androkles took a step back from Phanuel, retracting his hands as if contact burned his palms. He was sure that he was wearing the same stunned face as the man except 10 times worse. The writer looked down at his hands.

They were transparent.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ONE IS A THOUSAND

SCENE 5: THE ACT OF SUNRISE

(AT RISE: CLARK and WILL walk upstage together, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders as they share raucous, hearty laughs with each other. Their business clothes are untidy and neckties loosened, as the alcohol has made them unrestrained, rendering them to stumbling drunks, constantly tripping over their own feet. The looming apartments of the city surround them, shrouding them in shadow and distancing themselves from the noisy bustle of city life. A sunrise is peeking over the horizon.)

CLARK

(laughing) You should have seen the way you threw that punch at that guy when he was poking fun at me! Your face just got all red and taut, then out of nowhere, a fist comes flying and a guy is on the floor. It’s a shame we got kicked out, we only got to celebrate for an hour. But I don’t think the poor guy really deserved that.

WILL

Oh, he did.

CLARK

Look, drama can be fun sometimes, but you shouldn’t resort to violence when you get angry. You could’ve offered the guy a drink instead of a punch… but the past is behind us. We’ve got plane tickets, and next week, we’ll be traveling the world! I can almost feel what it’s going to be like in other countries. The hot springs of Switzerland, the Galleria dell'Accademia di Firenze in Florence, the cherry blossoms in Japan… they’re calling for the both of us to explore them. Aren’t you so excited?

WILL

I am, to be traveling the continents with my best friend. I’m hoping we won’t lose each other in the crowds.

CLARK

We won’t. You always keep a tight leash on me. Remember how I wandered off in the aquarium during a field trip and you were the only one that could find me?

WILL

You could never stay away from the puffins.

CLARK

And I will continue to run after them on our trip to Iceland. Now sit down with me. If I keep walking like this I’ll throw up on my loafers.

(They collapse onto the sidewalk, chuckling. They lean on a lamppost, sitting with content smiles. The sun starts to rise in the distance.)

WILL

You know, Clark, I don’t usually say things like this but… I’m glad you’re my best friend.

CLARK

Oh? What’s this all about? Are you going through the sentimental phase of the alcohol?

WILL

I think I am.

(CLARK grows quiet. He stares at WILL.)

(cont.) Sometimes I think about what it would be like if I hadn’t met you. How different would my life be? Would I be a completely disparate person to how I am today? I don’t know. But I know one thing’s for certain. You made everything better for me just by existing. These emotions… they’re hard to put in words. But I think the only thing I can say is ‘thank you.’ I’m so glad I met you.

(CLARK pauses before laughing. He smacks WILL on the shoulder.)

CLARK

Oh, Will, you’re so funny at times. I suddenly have a philosopher as a friend. But I can’t deny that I feel the same, too. But you act like we’re going to part ways or something. That’s not gonna happen. You’re my best friend for life.

(WILL glances sadly at the date over CLARK’S head. His friend is scheduled to die in 6 days. The sun starts to rise. Lights slowly become brighter.)

WILL

… the same for you, Clark.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Androkles stared at his wall unmoving. Andrew crawled under his arm, trying to get him to open a can of cat food for him, but he felt too numb to get up.

After he revealed himself to Phanuel, he nearly shrieked, running over to grab the guitar and its case before shoving the musician out with his instrument. Androkles slammed the door on Phanuel’s protests before dashing to his blankets and crying under them. He was sure Phanuel stayed at the front door for nearly an hour, realizing that it was a fruitless endeavor once it started to rain outside. The sound of heavy footsteps walking down the porch’s steps gave Androkles some peace of mind before the reality hit him once more.

Was Phanuel going to reveal his identity to the world? Was the rising star going to hop on social media and post a long message including the details of his visit, explaining how Androkles flew through the wooden floor after a bookcase fell on top of him? All of this drowned Androkles into the fantods, and he started crying even harder.

He had multiple missed calls on his cellphone, all from Ryo. They were all probably about his ghostly origins being revealed by teen heartthrob Phanuel, so he didn’t bother to pick up. He didn’t want to hear those words anyway.

Androkles fell backward onto his bed, groaning loudly. The feline crawled on top of his chest and curled into himself, resting his soft body on top of Androkles's. Everything was going fine until Andrew crawled on top of the bookcase and knocked it over. Of all days, why did the shelf have to fall down the day of a visit?

He was never going to write another novel ever again.

The clock struck 2:30, the time Phanuel was supposed to come and work on the song. Tears burned at Androkles's already raw eyes. He knew his client wouldn’t come back after the disaster that was yesterday. Even if Phanuel didn’t care about the fallen bookcase (which was still on the floor after having been toppled over), would anyone want to work with a ghost?

Knock, knock, knock.

Androkles shot upward, causing Andrew to fall off his chest and earn himself a hiss from the feline. His heart began to pound in his ears.

“Andrew?”

Phanuel’s voice was muffled behind the wooden door, He knocked the door a few more times, and Androkles pulled the fluffy blanket over his head. He just wanted Phanuel to go away, to just tell him he revealed his identity to the world and leave his front porch with the strawberry plant alone. But the musician kept rapping on the door with his knuckles after a few silent moments with no reply.

“Andrew, I just wanted to let you know… I didn’t tell anyone. About your, uh, form.”

Androkles huffed. That was a lie.

“If you don’t believe me, you can ask your agent. I called him after all of that happened yesterday because I wanted to know if you were alright. I figured he knew because he kept emphasizing the importance of the secrecy and made me read the contract at least 6 times. I just didn’t know… it would be something like this.”

No one would. But he was thankful that Ryo had him bound to a contract before he told anyone about him being a ghost.

“Not that I’m disappointed in what you truly are! It’s just… surprising, that’s all. I didn’t expect that my favorite author would… literally be a ghostwriter…”

Androkles walked up to the door in his fluffy mint slippers, which were partly stained after he spilled paint to them. After the soft padding of his feet halted, he opened the front entrance and sighed heavily. He was met with the sight of a mossy haired Phanuel, whose eyes were blown wide open at Androkles's appearance.

“What do you want, Phanuel?” he asked in a jaded voice.

Phanuel reached out to Androkles's face, attempting to wipe the tears streaming down his face. “You’ve been… crying…” Once his fingers met with Androkles's cheeks, his hand went through his face, and he pulled back, startled.

Androkles rolled his eyes. “Come inside. I need to discuss this… situation with you.”

Phanuel nodded, and just like yesterday, he stepped past Androkles to enter the house, heading towards the middle of the living room. Androkles closed the door and locked it, double checking if there was anyone outside that saw Phanuel walk in. He shut the curtains, walking back to the room with the fallen shelf in it.

“Sit down on the couch,” Androkles said. Phanuel obeyed, placing himself on the russet couch resting beside the glass coffee table. He fiddled with his thumbs as Androkles sat on the opposite end of the couch.

“So… what do you want to talk about with me?”

“Well, let’s start with the obvious,” he replied. Androkles rubbed his forehead. “Please don’t tell anyone about me. I’d rather not be exposed on the front page of every news portal with headlines saying ‘Andrew Homer, an actual ghostwriter?!’ I want to be able to go outside without having paparazzi stalking my every move and gossip magazines spreading rumors about the type of salad I eat. I’m not really a public person. And then there are… pretty straightforward reasons.”

Phanuel scanned his body, looking at the transparency of his face and hands. “Yeah, I understand.”

“I’m not a… people person like you. Having millions of people know about my life makes me really uncomfortable. Everyone deserves some privacy, even the most famous author of the 21st century, right?” The musician nodded. “So please, I’m begging you to not say a word about me. And if you already have… well, I guess I can’t really stop you from doing so.”

He shook his head. “No, I would never do that. It’s wrong to just give away information about a person’s lifestyle. I don’t really care if you’re a ghost. You’re a nice person to be around. You aren’t just trying to use people for their fame.” At this Phanuel’s eyes glossed over and he looked away. Androkles wondered what the story behind his words was. “But I have one request from you. Not as Phanuel, but as your client.”

“Go on.”

“Can we…” A slight blush spread onto Phanuel’s face as he struggled to find the words. “... keep working on the song, even though I know about all of this? I know it’s really selfish of me to ask since you don’t really want to have anyone around when you’re not hidden, but I—”

“Okay then.”

Phanuel looked up. “Wait, really?”

Androkles smiled weakly at him. ‘As much as I want to keep my identity hidden, I don’t want to leave any unsatisfied clients. I’d be happy to write your song.”

The man’s eyes lit up, like yesterday, when Androkles acknowledged him at the front door. Phanuel went to hug Androkles. “Thank you so much—!” His arms went through the ghost’s intangible body and he blushed. “U-Uh, oops. I keep forgetting about that. Sorry.”

The writer snorted.

“Wait, you laughed! Does this tickle?” Phanuel stuck his hand into Androkles's arm and he snickered. The musician went to fix a lock of light brown hair that was sticking up, but his hand went through the strands. Androkles laughed even harder. His tear sore cheeks were hurting from smiling.

“Phanuel, stop that—”

Androkles leaned forward to lower Phanuel’s hand, but instead, his palm went directly through his head, landing in the area where there should have been a brain in place of nothing. Phanuel screamed, pulling his hand back as if the ghost had hit him. Androkles was cackling, bending over because his stomach hurt.

The musician stared at the ghost who was doubling over in laughter. Then, he started to laugh too, and pretty soon, the living room was filled with the sound of giggling and rasps for breath. Every time silence replaced the happiness in the room, one of them would start laughing again, causing the other to follow. It was a circle of never-ending chortling.

“So does that mean,” Phanuel asked while wiping the tears in the corner of his eyes, “you’ll really continue to write the song with me?”

“Of course, I already said that. But promise me you won’t stick your hand in my skull again.”

“I can’t promise that, Andrew.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

SCENE 8: FAMILIAL FORGIVENESS

(AT RISE: MOM is sitting in a wooden rocking chair inside. She is looking through albums of her son and her having fun in his childhood. The radio is on a low volume in the background. The house is nicely decorated, and a table with flowers sits downstage, and two plates are sitting out on top of it. The house is full of empty picture frames. In the background, there is a calendar with CLARK’S death date marked on it.)

(MOM sighs and closes the album with a forlorn expression. CLARK knocks on the door and she’s visibly shaken. She doesn’t get up to answer it.)

CLARK

Hello? Is anyone home?

(MOM doesn’t answer.)

(cont.) I was hoping… that someone would be in here. I need to tell you what’s been going on my life. I wanted to get some approval. It feels wrong pursuing my dreams without getting permission from my family.

(MOM nods. CLARK sighs.)

(cont.) Mom, I know we’re not on good terms, but please let me in.

(MOM sighs heavily and gets up, walking slowly to the entrance. WILL’s face lights up as she stares at him with a steely expression.)

MOM

What did you come here for, Clark?

CLARK

I wanted to talk about how my life’s been going. I know you don’t want to see my face after I said I was in love with my best friend but… will you let me into our house one last time?

(MOM crosses her arms and looks away.)

MOM

One last time. Then you vanish from this household. I’ll go get some tea.

CLARK

Thank you so much.

(He walks into the house while she puts a kettle on the stove. CLARK sits down on the couch while MOM stands from a distance. The air is tense around them.)

MOM

So… what did you want to tell me?

CLARK

First I wanted to say… I’m sorry for being such a bad son. And I know that being gone for 15 years isn’t going to make forgiving me easier, but I’ve come here to ask… if you’ll accept the actions I’ll take in the future.

MOM

It depends on what they are, Clark.

(CLARK is smiles. His MOM is finally willing to listen to him.)

CLARK

I’m… going to travel the world with Will. In Florence, I’m planning on telling him how I feel. How I’ve cherished every year I’ve spent with him. And even if he rejects me, it’s still an opportunity I can’t let slip away. Life’s too short to not do so, right?

(She glances at the date on top of his head.)

MOM

It really is.

CLARK

Then after I come back with experiences under my belt, I plan on writing a book about them. Then hopefully, I’ll inspire someone to live a full life. Sure, they may not want to trek through rainforests and swim through rapids, but people will eventually find what they love right?

(He plays with his hands.)

(cont.) I want… to tell people that there are so many possibilities in the world. That they don’t have to be confined to the death dates floating above them. We can all live, despite knowing that there will be an end to our existences… do you support my dream, mom?

(Silence.)

MOM

I do.

WILL

And… do you forgive me for running away all of those years ago?

(She walks closer to him, hovering over him. Suddenly, she embraces him, tearing up.)

MOM

I don’t think I can. I don’t want to give you forgiveness for hurting me so much. But the thing that caused me the most pain was not knowing where you were or if you were crying. I’ve failed you as a mother…

CLARK

Don’t say that.

MOM

… but I’m glad you came back to me. I just wish we could’ve spent more time together. You don’t know how much I’m thankful for your return. Clark, I love you so much. My beloved son. My baby. You’re alive and you’re living.

CLARK

I love you, too, Mom.

(The two of them start to cry. In the kitchen, the kettle starts to whistle.)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Androkles put his pen down and shook the tension out of his wrist. He heard his joints pop as he stretched his arms, and the man sitting across from him did the same. Looking at the time on the clock mounted on the wall, he internally sighed as the two hands displayed the time 5:56.

“We’ve been working for almost two hours straight,” Androkles announced. “Wanna take a break?”

“Sure,” Phanuel replied, placing the guitar back in the case. The instrument was actually donated to Androkles by Ryo, but he had no use for it. After all, he was a writer, not a musician, so it sat in the back of his closet gathering dust on top of the case. It proved to be useful, though, because in Phanuel’s rush to apologize to Androkles, he forgot to get his guitar.

“I’ll go get us some drinks. Is water fine with you?” Phanuel hummed in agreement, and the ghost walked to the kitchen, returning with two cups of cold water sloshing in his hands. He placed them on the table and Phanuel drank it, his Adam's apple bobbing before he wiped his lips and made a refreshed sound. Androkles took a few sips of his drink.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Phanuel said as he collected the sheets of work they got done, “is eating a necessity for you? I mean, I don’t know if you have a digestive system or…”

“It’s not. I eat for my own enjoyment. Everything a human needs, like sleep or bathing, I do just for the sake of having fun. Life would be kinda boring if I just floated around doing nothing when I could be eating ice cream, right?”

“Ah, I see what you mean. ‘I walk with life because I want to, not because I’m forcing myself to. Though there may be an end, that doesn’t deter me from writing my footsteps into the ground.’” Phanuel’s cheeks turned red, and he brought the glass to his face to hide his redness. “...From A Journey’s Manhunt. Johann’s line.”

Androkles covered his wide grin with his hand. It didn’t take long for him to realize that Phanuel was an avid reader of his. A Journey’s Manhunt wasn’t a recent novel, but still fairly relevant. It was a staple book in many high schools, and a company offered to do an audiobook on it a year after it came out. Androkles, of course, greenlit their decision to do so. He wondered if Phanuel read any of his less known books. “‘Of course, Johann, but why would you want to explore nature’s fortresses when you could stay with us, safe and happy in our bucolic village?’”

Phanuel shot an amused glance at him. “Of course I love our village. It’s warm with my mother and father in our home, and I love my younger brother. But this world lies in the bosom of Abraxas, and through that, I have the striking notion that traveling is meant to free us. The garden of the world is open to all horizons.’ That reminds me…” he pointed at the back door in the kitchen, which was covered in a straw-colored curtain. “Do you have a garden back there? When I came in the other day, I saw some plants through the window.”

The writer smiled. “Do you want to see?”

His eyes widened, so Androkles took that as a yes. He got up from his seat, and Phanuel followed him to the kitchen. His fingers wrapped around the knob and he pushed it open, presenting his backyard.

The yard was surrounded by a barrier of high maroon fences, preventing anyone from climbing up unless they leaned a ladder against it. But the main attraction of the large yard was the plants planted in neat rows. Flowers grew everywhere; tulips were bursting, violets littered the small spaces under the taller flowers, rose bushes were starting to bloom, and buttercups scattered the ground, creating tiny golden dots that seemed to make the garden sparkle. A cobblestone path snaked around the beds, allowing for safe passage. Phanuel gasped.

“Can we… go out there?”

“Sure. Just don’t step on the flowers.”

They walked out of the house, their shoes clacking off the stone path quietly. Phanuel’s jaw hung open as he bent down to observe the flowers, making little oohs and aahs as he explored the color-splashed garden.

Androkles watched him from behind, amused by this wonderstruck man prancing around in his garden. Phanuel pointed at the plants, looking at him.

“Did you plant all of these?”

“No, actually. Ry—my friend did. It was supposed to be a way to make me go outside more. But these plants don’t need to be taken care of. They grow on their own. I just come out here sometimes.”

“They’re beautiful.”

Androkles nodded. He was about to ask Phanuel if one of his hobbies was gardening when the sky rumbled lowly. It was a loud, thundering sound that came from above, causing the two of them to look up. The sky was covered in a blanket of dark grey clouds, blocking out the sun and causing the air to grow frigid. A raindrop fell on Phanuel’s cheek and he wiped it off.

“Oh yeah, I forgot it was supposed to rain this afternoon.” As Androkles said that, the light drizzle of water grew heavier, beginning to make a wet patch on Phanuel’s shoulders. The rain fell through Androkles's skin, phasing through his shirt as well. “Let’s go inside, you must be getting wet.” But Phanuel was still looking up at the sky. Androkles raised an eyebrow. “Phanuel?”

“Not yet. Let’s stay outside for a bit.”

He grabbed the musician’s wrist, attempting to pull him inside. Phanuel’s dark locks were already starting to droop. “Come on, you’ll get sick from being in the rain.”

Phanuel grabbed his arms, finding that they were still intangible. He pretended he was holding onto Androkles, hovering his fingers right above the non-touchable skin. The rain was soaking his checkered shirt. “Let’s dance.”

Before Androkles could protest. Phanuel was jumping around in the garden, laughing despite heavy sheets of rain coming down on his head. He extended a hand to Androkles, and the ghost rolled his eyes, letting only his hand become tangible. Phanuel’s smile widened, and he pulled Androkles closer to him, eliciting a surprised noise from the writer. The man spun Androkles around as if they were in a ballroom and Androkles let his other hand become physical as he placed it behind Phanuel’s neck.

That’s when the real dancing started. Once Phanuel felt Androkles's hand on his skin, he took the other one and started to dance around the garden, avoiding the flowerbeds that were shimmering from the warm, spring fallen water. The musician let his hand float over Androkles's hip as if they were engaged in dance, and they tripped over each other’s feet while they pranced through the garden.

(They weren’t actually stumbling. It was more of Androkles's feet phasing through Phanuel’s feet, causing the both of them to laugh.)

They stopped in the middle of the path, right in front of the blooming rose bushes. The duo was out of breath, having gone in circles halfway across the garden. They laughed loudly, slightly dizzy from the constant spinning. Phanuel was still gripping onto Androkles's hand.

Water was running down the sides of Phanuel’s face, and his dark brown locks were sticking to his forehead. Now that he was up close to the man, he could see why so many people praised him for his looks. His cherry lips were parted slightly, and his eyes were big and sparkly, like a child going to the zoo to see puffins for the very first time. He watched as a droplet fell off Phanuel’s defined jaw.

“Hey, Andrew…” he asked, squinting slightly because of the rain falling into his face. “What’s your real name?”

Androkles lowered his head. “I don’t really want to answer that. You know, to keep my identity hidden.”

“Ah, that’s okay, I understand. Names are a big part of our identity, aren’t they?” They started to sway back and forth in a relaxing manner. The movement was soothing enough to make Androkles close his eyes temporarily. “They give others an image or a way of alerting us. Personally, I think names are stories of who we are. It could be Phanuel, the rising star. Or Andrew Homer, the world famous writer. Or maybe even Phanuel, the best friend, or Andrew, the son.”

Androkles pushed a finger to Phanuel’s lips, silencing him. The singer looked at him with a confused expression. “I don’t really want to think about any other identities at the moment. Right now, let’s just be Phanuel and Andrew, two people dancing in the rain together.”

The man in front of him looked shocked at his words. But the surprised look on his face melted into a smile. Soft laughter came from his mouth. “I think I like that one the best.”

They kept dancing, even after the rain stopped and the sun’s rays shone through the parted clouds. Water droplets ran off leaves and decorated the heads of flowers. There in the garden danced two people, one a completely dry ghost who made the rain fall right through him. Another, a human who was completely drenched in warm rain, smiling brightly. They stopped spinning in circles once a sneeze rang out from behind maroon fences.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ONE IS A THOUSAND

SCENE 10:

(AT RISE: It is Clark’s death day. The scene is dark. Storm clouds roll in as CLARK stands under an umbrella. The stage is empty, with the exception of the main character. He seems to be dripping wet. Thunder sound effects roar in the background. A rusty payphone sits to the side of the stage.)

(The rain continues to fall as CLARK lifts the umbrella, allowing the audience to see his face. It’s upset, unlike the smiling CLARK who is usually around.)

CLARK

(talking to himself) You know, sometimes I think to myself… would people be more positive if death dates weren’t around? If we weren’t in such a constant state of anxiety… would anyone have bothered to live? The greats of the Renaissance did it. The fallen kingdoms of the ancient world managed to survive. And yet, we’re all just waiting for the day we die. We can’t even see the date of the day we’re supposed to die. What are all of us waiting for?

(He looks to the payphone. Fumbling with the change in his pocket, he produces a few coins from his pocket before dialing the number. After a few rings, a light shines from the dark half of the stage, revealing a distraught WILL leaning into his phone.)

WILL

Clark… Clark, where are you?!

CLARK

Will, I’m sorry if I worried you. I slipped onto a train to go visit our hometown. I wanted to see my mom before we left to see the world. Admittedly, I should’ve have told you, but—

WILL

Clark! It doesn’t matter what you did! Just tell me where you are!

CLARK

I’m at a payphone in the middle of the road. The last bus left before I could get on. It’s a good thing I had spare change, or else I wouldn’t have been able to call you. You’re always the one calling me, so this is a nice change, isn’t it?

WILL

Don’t move an inch. I’m coming to get you.

CLARK

Oh, thank you so much. It’s getting cold out here. I’m so glad I have you as a best friend. You’ve always been so protective of me. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I really appreciate everything you do for me. But could you hurry here? The only thing protecting me from the rain is this payphone and it’s not doing a really good job.

(Thunder rumbles once again.)

WILL

Clark, is it… raining there?

CLARK

Yeah, it started a bit after I left my mom’s house. Why?

WILL

Get out of there! There’s—

(There’s a snapping sound, and a wire falls onto CLARK’S side of the stage. CLARK is startled as the line cuts off. The light on WILL’S side shuts off.)

CLARK

Will? Are you there? Darnit, the line’s cut off. But I told him my location, right? Now all I have to do is… wait.

(He sits down, leaning against the payphone. He looks up to the sky, slightly tilting his umbrella.)

(cont.) I wonder how many chances people get in their lifetimes. Maybe to get the opportunity to go on a reality TV show, or sign a record label to become the next idol. Or maybe they get the chance to achieve their dreams. I don’t know, it could be something as small as being able to get a toy. But the thing I really wonder about… is how many of them they take.

(He stretches his arms, choosing to reach a hand toward the sky.)

(cont.) But maybe there are some things that come by chance. Like a ladybug landing in your hair. Or a bird making its nest in the tree outside your window. I wonder how common it is… to meet your own Will? Is it 1 out of every 5 people? Or 1 out of a hundred. Maybe even the statistic of a lightning strike!

(Lights start to flash. CLARK laughs.)

(cont.) So maybe…

(He lowers his umbrella, looking at the sky.)

(cont.) ...we’re 2 people out of 960,000 who will experience the life-changing moment we call lightning strikes. Or maybe just the greatest person you will have in your life.

(Lightning strikes the payphone. An explosion is played, and the lights flare before settling to black in almost an instant.)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The second Androkles opened the door, Andrew walked out, brushing against Phanuel’s pant leg, purring. The two of them watched as the feline curled up on the porch.

“I think he likes you.”

“I’m hoping he does.”

They sat down at the wooden table once again, and Androkles produced two fluffy pens out of his pocket. Phanuel raised an eyebrow.

“I like feathered pens,” Androkles confessed. He watched in amusement as Phanuel’s expression grew even more confused and then suddenly, his jaw dropped. He lifted the fluffy blue pen to eye level, gaping.

“It’s not quills…?” Phanuel gasped. “Oh my god, it’s not quills!”

Androkles laughed. The world only knew half of the story, didn’t they?

He laid out the music sheets in front of them. The two had written all of the music, now all that was left to write were the lyrics. Then, Phanuel would leave his house and he would never see him again.

Something about that future made his heart grow heavy. But he couldn’t think about it now, he was working. “So, your theme was petrichor? A metaphor for finding inspiration after a long bout of musician’s block?”

“Yep. I got some inspiration while I was walking here. You know how you have a bunch of plants in your backyard.” Androkles nodded. “Well, what happens when there’s no rain?”

“They dry up. Oh, so you’re going to use plants in the song, too?”

“Uh huh. Listen to these lyrics I came up with. It’s only a few lines, but we can build off of them.” Phanuel cleared his throat and strummed the first chord of the intro. “Under gentle mornings, I’m waking to fading dreams. Little quiet mournings, it’s sunny today, it seems… Can you continue from there?”

Androkles hummed in thought. “Uh, so you wanted plants in the song. Hmmm… I got it! Strawberries and roses are drying under the light. Raincoats and umbrellas are sitting on the sides.” He remembered the other day, where they were dancing in the rain, spinning between the roses bushes and stepping over perennials. The memory of Phanuel erupting in a loud sneeze once the sun shone through made the ghost smile to himself.

Phanuel repeated the words, plucking through the chords while playing it fingerstyle. “The sky is so blue, the world is clear, but there’s no peace in my mind. My breath is taken, flying far away, but when will teardrops fall from the sky?”

Teardrops fell from heaven in the backyard, Androkles was sure of it. Even if they fell through him and left him dry, they still gave life to the grass underneath his feet. But they left Phanuel soaked in spring’s rain. “I long for the day, for cloudy worlds and rainy skies, and sitting under my umbrella is a cat next to my side.”

The memory of Andrew on top of the bookshelf came to his mind. He nearly burst out into laughter. If it weren’t for Andrew, he wouldn’t have a pen name. He wouldn’t be the 21st century’s most famous author. He wouldn’t have shown who he truly was to Phanuel.

Phanuel kept playing the sand colored guitar. “The rain is pouring down, it’s dancing. Smiling strawberries love more. When it passes by, put down your hood and—”

“Smell the petrichor,” they said in unison.

“That’s—That’s it!” Phanuel screamed. “That’s gonna be the first verse and the chorus! We’ve got to write it down!”

“Already ahead of you,” Androkles said, holding up a paper with the words of the song written in ink. “Now we just need the rest and then we’re done.”

“We’ll actually be done… I can’t believe that.”

“Me neither. Now, let’s get to work.”

They ran through the written lyrics once more, making some adjustments. Then they started on the second verse, throwing ideas at each other and refining the words. Before long, there was a full sheet of lyrics, inspired by the past few days of hesitation and dancing. The story, which was observed from a person’s point of view, was weaved through the experiences of sunny weather and joyful plants, accompanied by a cat pressed against the human’s side.

“And… done.” Androkles wrote the final word and dropped the pen, shaking his arm. He had an ache in his wrist today. “Alright, it’s all written. Here.”

He handed the paper to Phanuel, who was looking at the lyrics starstruck. “These are amazing…! You’re such a skilled songwriter.”

Androkles flushed. “I’m just a writer, that’s all.”

“The most popular writer of the 21st century.”

“Andrew Homer would be disappointed in these lyrics.”

“Andrew Homer wrote these lyrics. Be proud of what you’ve created.” Phanuel grinned widely, showing off his teeth. Now that Androkles looked at it, one of his front teeth was a bit crooked. It seemed that the rising star had flaws in his appearance as well. “I know I am.”

He was growing redder by the second. Androkles hid his face behind his hands. “T-Thank you, then.”

Phanuel nodded, causing his hair to bounce up. He looked at the time displayed on the wall. His smile dropped. “It… looks like it’s time for me to go. It’s 7.”

The writer rotated his body around, finding that the time was indeed 7:00. Disappointment rose up in him. He turned back to Phanuel, who had a slightly saddened expression as well. “Oh, I guess it is. Let me help you gather your stuff.”

The two of them were both taking their time cleaning up and they knew it. Phanuel set his guitar back in its case slower than he previously did, and he cleaned the inside thoroughly, cleaning out nonexistent dirt. Androkles gathered the music sheets, pretending to not know the order and gently placing them in numerical order. He took the pens and put them to the side of the table. Phanuel tightened his strap, refastening it even though he knew it fit perfectly on him. Suddenly, after a few minutes of cleaning their workplace in silence, they realized that there was nothing else to reorganize.

Androkles decided to break the silence. “So! I’ll lead you to the door.”

Phanuel nodded, even though the door was only a few feet away from the two of them.

The duo walked to the door and Androkles unlocked it slowly, hesitating before pulling it open. Phanuel stepped onto the porch, taking in the fresh smell of earth. It had rained in the morning once again, leaving the air slightly damp and the pot with the strawberries watered. The musician turned around to face Androkles, who handed the sheets of paper to him.

“Thank you for everything, Andrew. I think my musician’s block is finally going away. It’s all because of you.” Phanuel gave him a bright smile and he shook his head.

“I only gave you the opportunity to be creative. You’re the one who truly overcame it.”

A silence fell over them. They stared at each other, waiting for the other to say goodbye. They both didn’t want to hear those words.

“Hey, Andrew, can I make a request?”

“As what? The client or as Phanuel?’

“As Phanuel.” He stepped forward, their one-inch difference seeming to be a large, unfulfilled gap. “Could you.. make yourself tangible so I can give you a hug?”

Androkles smiled, letting his body become a physical object. “Go ahead. I don’t leave any unsatisfied clients.”

Phanuel embraced him, and Androkles felt his touch on his skin. There was a living being hugging him, radiating warmth from under their fingertips. Androkles’s hair was brushing against Phanuel’s nose, tickling him. There was light, such a bright light inside of him, brighter than the sun. The man pulled away from the ghost, looking at him fondly.

“You know, to the world, you might be Andrew Homer, the world famous author. To your cat, you might be its beloved owner. To your agent, you’re their boss. But to me…” He took Androkles’s tangible hands, finally being able to lift then. “You're my inspiration, my muse, and my coworker. But most of all, you’re my friend.”

Something about the genuine look in Phanuel’s eyes made a tear slip down his face. Or maybe it was the stinging of the warm air around them. Whatever it was, it made him overwhelmed with emotion, inundating him in happiness. Phanuel wiped it away.

“Andrew, don’t cry…”

“It’s Androkles.” Phanuel’s hand paused, lightly touching the skin of Androkles’s cheek. He took it in his own hand. “My real name is Androkles. Andrew Homer is my cat’s name. I used it for my pen name. But keep it a secret, will you?”

There was a moment of nothing. Then, they started to laugh together, their hands still clasped.

“Who gave you that idea?”

“I wanted to have an alias so no one would know who I was. Andrew is the only thing I’ve ever stayed outside for.”

“Brilliant. A cat is the true writer for One is a Thousand.”

Androkles giggled. “It is. Now shoo, it’s getting dark. You should get home before the sun sets.”

Phanuel sighed, pulling away from Androkles. “I really should. Thank you again. I guess this is goodbye, Androkles.”

“I guess it is.” His face fell, but the bubbling happiness inside didn’t fade. “I’ll be waiting for ‘Petrichor’ to hit the top of the Billboards. Goodbye, Phanuel.”

The musician walked down the steps of Androkles’s porch, leaving the ghost alone with the smell of the world after rain.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ONE IS A THOUSAND

(AT RISE: A coffin is set in the middle of the stage. The characters are all dressed in black, and quietly mourn. The group includes WILL, MOM, COWORKERS, and multiple other characters that CLARK has met in his lifetime.)

(A speaker steps onto a podium.)

SPEAKER

We’re gathered here to mourn the loss of Clark Bell. His death was due on the day of May 18, 2016, and has arrived much sooner than we had all hoped. At the age of 26, Clark became an office worker in the city. Although he pushed papers all day, he still kept his dream of traveling the world buried deep in his heart. Clark finally got a step closer to his dream, but it was cut short after a lightning strike hit the payphone he was at. Will, if you would please.

(WILL walks up to the podium with a grief-stricken expression. He clears his throat.)

WILL

I… have no words to express how I feel about Clark’s death. There’s nothing that exists that can convey my grief. Clark had such a defined identity. He was a son. He was a co-worker to some, and he was a bright customer to others. He was the person living above apartment #2 and he was the stranger in the crowd. He was… my best friend. He existed differently in each and every one of our minds. He was a single person, yet he was a thousand different people. But in the end… he was Clark. Just Clark. The guy that wanted to see the world. To chase puffins off beaches. He just wanted… to be free. And I’m so sorry to say I wasn't there when he needed me. That’s all.

(He steps off the podium. The funeral progression plays out and slowly, people start to leave. The only two people remaining are WILL and MOM. The latter approaches WILL.)

MOM

Hello there, Will.

WILL

Hi, Mrs. Bell. I’m sorry. I’m probably the last person you want to see. I… didn’t arrive on time.

MOM

(shaking her head) Never. You’ve always punctual. Always working so hard. Just some of the many qualities Clark admired in you. He loved you so much.

WILL

Loved?

MOM

Yes. My son loved you. He loved many things. He was in love with life. You know that better than anyone. You two spent a lot of time together. He loved you so much, he wanted you to have this.

(She pushes an envelope into his hands.)

(cont.) Inside are two tickets to the Accademia. He talked about it a lot with you, didn’t he? It was his dream to see the art there with you. He talked to me about it right before he left my house. There was a line he would say to you if you said that the place was beautiful. What was it? “Yes, the statues are beautiful. But the real piece of art here is right in front of me.” He left them with me because… he knew his death date all along. It was always circled on our calendar at home. Clark was a brilliant boy, it didn’t take him long to figure it out.

(She laughs quietly.)

(cont.) What he wants you to do is to go and explore the world, Will. He wants you to experience the thrills of life and be able to come back and say, “I’ve changed.” Clark wants you to travel the world. He wants to find someone and get married, settle down and have a family. Make an identity for yourself just as Will. Just live as you are.

(WILL starts to cry. He looks up from the letter and hugs MOM.)

WILL

Thank you so much.

MOM

Don’t thank me. Thank Clark. He is the one who is truly a thousand.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Androkles didn’t think it was necessary to confine himself to these terms. In fact, he preferred to be referred to as Androkles Hemming, not the internationally famous Andrew Homer, or the introverted ghost, just Androkles. He was, in literal terms, a ghostwriter, but he chose not to be part of any world. Phanuel helped him realize that he could just be himself.

Now he was in his kitchen, humming the words to Petrichor, one of the biggest hits to have ever been on the radio. It broke multiple records in its first week, become one of the most listened to songs in history. The music industry had been overturned by the release of Phanuel’s new album, Ghost, and his fame exploded. Androkles was content with listening to talk show hosts rave about the star’s sudden rise to fame.

The album, in Androkles’s opinion, was honest, and that’s why it succeeded. It was an honest, catchy masterpiece that took the hearts of the public and twisted a knife of emotion and life in them, causing millions to fall to their knees. From what Androkles heard, Phanuel’s worldwide tour had just sold out.

“...on the show is one of the world’s most popular idols out there. He's the mastermind behind the hit Petrichor, and one of the youngest artist to have hit the number 1 spot on the Billboards. Introducing... Phanuel!”

A familiar voice came on.“Thank you for having me here. I’m really honored to have the opportunity be on the radio. Oh no, I don’t know what to say. I’m nervous.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Phanuel.”

Laughter broke out. After the wheezing stopped, the host spoke up once again. “So, Phanuel, where exactly did you get the inspiration for writing the songs on Ghost?”

“I got it from just sitting down and observing the world around me. You’d be surprised how much you can learn by just listening to yourself. Also, most of the songs are inspired by stories from my favorite author, Andrew Homer. I’d say that a lot of my music is influenced by him.”

“Wise answer. What would you say is the main message of the album, and what’s the story behind your main track, ‘Petrichor’?”

“I wanted to tell a story about identity. We live in a world where people spend their whole lives trying to find who they are. Some people hide who they are, while others fake it. I wanted to show the world that it’s okay to be yourself. Now, as for the title track, it’s about finding light after going through dark times. It’s actually inspired by my own experiences. I had musician’s block for a long time, and after being taught important lessons from a dear friend of mine, I overcame it. I want to go back to my hometown and tell them thank you, but I have a world tour ahead of me.”

“A busy man you are. That’s all we have for today, make sure if you want tickets…”

Androkles turned down the radio, taking his eggs off the pan and dumping them onto a porcelain plate. He shut the stove off, taking the plate and sitting at the table in the living room, which had a pencil holder filled with fluffy pens in the middle.

The famous was traveling the world, living his dream. The enigmatic was at home. The aliases of ‘friends’ still lingered in the garden, refusing to wash away in the rain.

He pulled out his phone, checking his social media. Androkles laughed happily at the most recent post, stuffing more eggs in his mouth.

yay strawberry

The flowers on the strawberry were blooming.

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