Dear Tumblr,

Today I've learned that "laconic phrases" are blunt and concise statements that convey lots of meaning.

The term "Laconic phrase" is named after the Greek region of Laconia, where the Spartans live.

And the Spartans are known masters of dry humor and pithy comebacks.

It's all coming together.

Love,

The Pen

Vernunft

What is the meaning of life? Elevation, said dad. Or at least, that was how he summarized the better things in life. It reminds me, in his diction, of a statement by the illustrious Homi Bhabha, one of the founding figures of postcolonial theory, infamous for his shitty prose: when asked what the point of the humanities was, he answered sartorially: "Interpretation". These are supposedly great minds, luminous stars of the thymocracy. Philosophy is the enterprise where we must seek the meaning of life. Philosophy is religion. But it is not simple. Religion is wrong, in many ways, whereas philosophy is difficult, or challenging. If only we could speak German, or Latin. I wonder sometimes if German is a classical language. Probably not, because so many proles speak it. And what about Dutch? It seems Dutch is just a dialect of German, but if so it is probably akin to Mandarin and Cantonese. For all that, though, Dutch is less beautiful than German, in the sense that it can't communicate our sensibilities. Sense and sensibility. In that title, I find truly the magnificence of English, but also, I am reminded of the terrific poverty of an English world. Perhaps English will die out. It's better than French, and yet French is so much more rich, in some ways, than English. But English is evocative, Lord. It's arcane. Genteel. Lordly. Mystical. Magical. Oh, but if we speak good Dutch, isn't Dutch a great language? It is a very wordy language, special in that it can state things very precisely and hilariously. Hilariously in the sense of being full of fun. So here are three words: ingenuity, vernuft en Vernunft. English, Dutch and German. The last word is poetic, elevating. The second word is precise, clear. The first word is honest. English can be honest. Maybe it is harder to lie in English, harder to bullshit people, but we all know that Latinity can really obscure one's true meaning in English, Latinity or Frenchness, either one works, I think.

Linguistics is depressing, I presume. Literary theory is aggrevating. I studied History, I also studied Area Studies. I suppose we need a set of prejudices to really write, but we also need liberty. If we can let our stream of consciousness flow, things are good. We ought to think for ourselves. Still, there is a social component to theory. Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar; sometimes, we have got to say something. That's liberty, also. They talk about this in psychology, deeming true psychology to be peaceful communication. Communication is a very important word. Theory can be a pastime. Psychology can be small talk. Fuck me, the whole idea of writing is faith. Writing is the essence of religion, you only need to consider the sutras, bibles and qurans of the world to see this. The area of faith is an arena where we can find true musicality. Philosophy ought to be music, in the sense that it should be totally abstract, but there is also the aspect of theology, or history. A philosopher should not be a raconteur. Nonetheless, raconteurship is fun, elevating, recreating. It is a hobby. I don't know. I once thought I was a Deleuzian. Today, I still find myself hacking into deleuzianism, becoming decentrered in the creation of concepts, like a philosopher; but that ain't the whole story, there is much to be thought; consistency, systematicity and ideation. But ideation is, in a lot of ways, the essence of deleuzianism; whereas wisdom, sagacity, is the essence of laconicism, or pithiness. Writing in slogans, that was a deleuzian idea. So by history we can mean the self. Does that make you a philosopher? A often said, every man is his own philosopher, but I no longer uphold those words - I doubt them. Doubt, and certainty, are categories. In philosophy, we often encountered the whole release of the mind into wild speculation, or unhistorical thought, but that was never the point. The point was to be like Marx, to write "the point is" and then provide some kind of world-shocking truth, but words fall short. Again, writing is faith. Is writing a faith? In the work of Derrida, you might recognize it as such, but who is Derrida? Who is Deleuze? Who is Winston Churchhill? To ask that final sentence, is almost to insult the legacy of that heroic man, but maybe he was just an asshole. But still, a liberator-asshole. Writing is faith, not a faith, but how can we be sure? How can we not-doubt it? I don't know?

I actually mistyped something. I said I used to say every man is his own philosopher, but I actually said every man is his own historian. Every man is his own self. Every man collapses on himself and becomes schizophrenic. Autistic. Depressed. Who was Leonard Cohen? Can you be a philosopher and a poet? What's wrong with Bob Dylan? Was Leonard Cohen crazy? Is Bob Dylan boring? They were all just men at work. Some people say that history is a craft. Nobody says that about philosophy. My dad said the point of life is elevation. I say it is edification. I don't fucking mean that, or maybe I do. Maybe I fucking do. But then I am still reiterating, obscurely, my father's words, and there is nothing wrong with that, because he was a smart man, probably. And these are all very pragmatic statements, from a philosophical point of view. So in the end, perhaps that is something we must learn to do, to be pragmatic in philosophy. Still, philosophically, that doesn't make much sense. What about using one's mind? Fucking hell.

I want this post to be fun, but I don't find philosophy fun enough, maybe - I always just worked it, didn't enjoy it or play it. I didn't get off on it, or whatever. I wasn't into it. I can't be pragmatic, whilst doing it, and I can't stop thinking. For it to be work, you have to be pragmatic; which is a weird thing to say. But it might be true, just like so many of Socrates' statements. Why are we pragmatic? To stop thinking. Why do we stop thinking in writing? It is a faith. So "I write" is indeed enough. That's my laconic phrase for today.

Something I've noticed for a while is that Akechi doesn't appear to say that he was in foster care in the Japanese script.

Akechi おかげで僕は、色んな所を転々とさせられて、まあ、今じゃ気ままな一人暮らしだけどね。 okage de boku wa, ironna tokoro o tenten to saserarete, maa, ima ja kimamana hitori kurashi da kedo ne Thanks to him, I was passed from foster home to foster home. But, I do quite well by myself these days. After that, nobody would keep me for too long, so I got moved about a lot. But now I'm alone and free to live as I choose.

There are a few interesting points here:

おかげで okage de, "thanks to"

Akechi does not specify what or who he's crediting here; the translator has glossed in "thanks to him". IMO it's more likely to be "because of the death of my mother"—the thing he was just speaking of. Shido is responsible, but (at least according to Akechi's flow of speech) he is slightly indirectly responsible.

転々とさせられて tenten to saserarete

tenten to suru, in this context, means moving around often from place to place; living at a lot of different addresses. But note the passive-causative on suru here, saserareru. This is something that was done to Akechi, something others inflicted on him, something he experienced as a profound negative. This was bad. Looking at what he goes on to say later—"so someone would want me around!"—I've tried to capture this with "nobody would keep me".

Also note that tenten to suru, while not usually violent in this "moving about" context, is also a term for e.g. kicking a ball around, which again makes it an interesting choice of words.

気ままな一人暮らし kimamana hitori kurashi

This is a set phrase, essentially meaning "a free and carefree life alone"; it's used, often with a little irony, to describe the joys of living alone, or of being single. Note that Akechi does not mean this—he sounds (JP audio) miserable as fuck, and he's brought this up, rather ineffectively, to try and lighten the mood.

It comes across as "I was alone, and I'm still alone, but at least now I'm alone on my own terms and can do as I please"—which he knows is untrue, and we know is untrue, and Ren and Futaba can surely tell is untrue.

By the way, this quick use of a throwaway stereotype, as if it explains everything—ima ja kimamana hitori kurashi da kedo ne—is one of Akechi's verbal tricks; he becomes laconic in this way when he touches on things he doesn't want to discuss, things that are sensitive to him.

This is how he explains to the others in the engine room that he's illegitimate, for instance—tsumari kakushigo sa, "In short, I'm his secret child", kakushigo ("hidden child") here being a popular term, with no real English parallel, for the secret or unacknowledged child of someone famous or powerful.

You could maybe render his line here as a detached-sounding "but now I'm footloose and fancy-free", for the same effect.

色んな所 ironna tokoro

This is what has been translated "foster homes", but it just means "all sorts of different places":

Akechi 色んな所を転々とさせられた ironna tokoro o tenten to saserareta I was passed around from pillar to post.

So: he was passed from place to place, from pillar to post. Like a pebble rolling on a beach, or a ball being kicked around a field. Do we know what any of those places might have been? No; he doesn't tell us. There's IMO nothing here to suggest that he was in the care of the state—but equally, there's nothing that excludes it.

But Akechi returns to this in the anime, in Proof of Justice—and he is far more specific:

Akechi だから、母が死んだあとは、親戚の間を転々として行ったね。 dakara, haha ga shinda ato wa, shinseki no aida o tenten to shite itta ne After my mother died, I was passed around my relatives.

Anime Akechi gives us more detail, again with tenten to suru, but he removes a lot of the emphatic force—we gain the detail that he was with his relatives, but we lose that outraged passive-causative, that makes it clear this hurt him—what I've tried to capture with "nobody would keep me for long" up at the top. It's possible, of course, that the difference in tone is to do with the different tone in the two scenes—game Akechi is at a very low point, while anime Akechi seems reflective and chill.

But is this canon? Well, usually when the game and the anime contradict, I prefer the game for its lack of adaptation drift. But there are a couple of occasions when the anime seems to clarify things that were not clear in the game text—and IMO, this is one. Per the game, Akechi was passed from place to place; the anime clarifies that those "places" were with his relatives.

TBH, even the localisation's "foster home" doesn't necessarily imply state foster care; a relative who takes you in is a foster parent. Of course, if you want a backdoor here (which is in no way required, I'm not your mum), he never suggests how long he stayed with his relatives....

does anything in-game support this?

Well, there's one thing in the game that supports this reading, and it's actually on 8/28 itself. Immediately after Akechi says he was passed around after his mother's death, Futaba does this:

Remember, Futaba already does not like Akechi. She resents him for his pursuit of the Phantom Thieves, even before she suspects him of killing her mother. Yet when he mentions his sad past, she connects with him.

Why is that? It's because Futaba, too, was passed between her relatives—with the results we all know: they were abusive, exploitative and cruel, leading to her being rescued by Sojiro. The game draws an explicit connection here between Futaba and Akechi—suggesting that they have this backstory in common, of being passed between abusive relatives. It suggests we can glean a little more about Akechi's past by looking at what we learn about Futaba's.

And she was rescued; he was not. They both turned to crime to work off some of what they endured—but Futaba retained her moral centre, while Akechi fell off the edge. This is why she tells him what she does in the engine room: "You thought [being alone and not trusting anyone] was enough, right? That part I totally get."

but isn't he just lying his ass off here?

BTW, as to whether Akechi is just trying to ingratiate himself with Futaba (or with Ren) on 8/28—I don't think so; I think he tries, and then gives up after his performative cut-in. We just saw him trying to ingratiate himself with Sojiro—his failure there, at the start of the scene, is what upsets him and opens him up. So far, so good.

Is he trying to get in with Wakaba Isshiki's daughter, to continue his pursuit of her research on Sae's behalf?—the reason he was at Leblanc in the first place? No, because he never mentions it to Futaba, ever again.

What Akechi will do later is stand up for her, on 9/13, protesting Sae's threat to remove her from Sojiro's custody:

Sae: There have been frequent occurrences of mental shutdowns surrounding Okumura recently. Sae: If only there was a clear connection between him and the Phantom Thieves… Sae: Well, it would be problematic if there wasn't one. Akechi: So you're jumping the gun here. Akechi: You really told a man you would terminate his parental authority based purely on your speculation?

... and notice what he's doing here. Akechi clearly already knows about Sae's threats to Sojiro; she does not explain them in this scene. And Akechi has clearly not questioned her on it, as long as he thinks there's a reason for it. When it turns out there isn't one? He calls Sae out. Because Akechi knows what's it's like to be a child with nowhere to go.

Sure, it's not beneath him to throw Futaba to the wolves—or, ultimately, to try to kill her in the engine room. But he views it as distasteful, as unjustified, and as wrong. He knows gratuitous cruelty when he sees it—and it repels him. He knows the difference between right and wrong—he's just elected to ignore it.

And he expects far better than this from Sae.

revision history

click here for the latest version.

v1.2 (2023/11/21)—typos, plus extra context for the game and anime scenes.

v1.1 (2023/11/20)—reblog w/ additional commentary.

v1.0 (2023/11/20)—first posted.

Three word prompts, if they inspire you, sent with care: cthonic, laconic, iconic

Be laconic if you wish. Say one word. Half a word. A breath. Or be as loquacious as a river babbling nonsense all the way down the mountainside. Be celestial if you dare. Tell Icarus what you learned from his mistakes. Or be chthonic if you prefer. Lay your final thoughts at the foot of Hades' throne. Be as iconic as you ever dreamed, painting sentences across the sky for all to see. Or be as quotidian as a greeting card full of trite phrases penned with sincerity. Only speak, dear heart. Sing, if you dare. Scream, if you wish. Only do not sit in silence, dear heart choking on all the words you swallowed in place of air in your lungs.

Okay I saw this asked on another blog and it was hilarious so I have to ask here what do you think characters beige flags are (weird/quirky or questionable things they do that give you pause but overall have no real effect on the relationship)?

Marion: She is very particular about book time. Do not interrupt her while reading. Do not read over her shoulder. DO NOT try to distract her by initiating romantic contact.

Robin: His habit of using silly, outdated phrases and sayings in everyday speech. I turned the "goofy Medieval" dial to max several times when writing him.

John: He cheats liberally at board and card games (only if money is NOT involved) and is absolutely unrepentant about it.

Will: He affects an air of laconic ennui, but if you watch closely, he's always in motion somehow. Most frequently, it's his hands that are always busy doing something.

Meissa: They love to cook and it's delicious, but it usually looks very questionable somehow. Just close your eyes and take a bite.

Alanna: She claims that her extensive vocabulary of colourful insults is part of her Stennish heritage, but you're pretty sure she's making most of them up.

Geoffrey: His idea of interior decorating is to not. Decorate. At all.

Gui: Has a tendency to make direct eye contact with you at all times when you have his attention. Does not care if this makes it awkward.

Layton: Has so many red flags I honestly don't know what the beige ones might be.

The flag you'll need to wave if you interrupt Marion's book time.

An English Translation of Wings (Крылья, 1906) by Mikhail Kuzmin

I'm a big fan of Maurice by E.M. Forster and The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde and as I was looking up other homoerotic literature from the period, I came across this quote:

"Wilde in The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890) only hinted that his hero's inner corruption resulted from his suppression of his true nature; Gide did not dare to name the attraction of his hero in The Immoralist (1902); Proust felt impelled to engage in all manner of subterfuge, and Forster wrote Maurice for the desk drawer."

by John E. Malmstad in relation to the novella Wings by Russian author Mikhail Kuzmin. One of, if not the first, works of literature focussed on (male) homosexuality explicitly and positively came out of stereotypically repressive Tsarist Russia - how could I not be intrigued? I immediately decided that I should make it my next translation project.

At the outset I was not familiar with any previous translations, though since finishing a rough draft, I found the Hesperus Modern Voices edition, which I do recommend for its introduction and extensive footnotes by Hugh Aplin; however, I found that translation to be quite wonky in a lot of places and I hope mine clears up at least a little bit of the confusion some readers may have had at certain points. That said, as an amateur, I do not mean to disparage a professional translation and I recognise my own work still has its own passages I'm not totally satisfied with; Kuzmin's style in this book (I'm admittedly not very familiar with his other work) is difficult in that, despite the layers upon layers of high-brow references and ornamentations, its texture, it is quite laconic in its actual structure; the novella is composed of vignettes, presented on their own, without clear immediate relation to one another, or much, if any, scene-setting. It is disorienting, especially at first, and certainly unexpected given the forms of narrative typically encountered in the era, but, as others have pointed out, it has its similarities to cinema: Kuzmin's prose is like a camera pointed at various objects, leaving one to draw their own conclusions on the meaning based both on the image and the contrast created by the cuts between images, while the camera does not have a voice of its own to explain its intent in the same way an author can.

The same principle of recording detail whilst leaving a large part of the context implied applies to the dialogue as well - the main difficulty I found was in making sense out of the many disjointed phrases, often with multiple possible meanings, seperated from an obvious preceding or following context found throughout that represent several of the conversations. I apologise if my rendering of the dialogue is difficult to read or doesn't flow well, but at the same time, I believe this disorienting effect is intended at least in part by the original author.

The novella is divided into three parts, which I shall post seperately:

Part One here

Part Two here

Part Three here

Zultanekh/Djoseras snippet

(Alright I'm doing it. Since I am showing no signs of recovering from The Twice-Dead King anytime soon, I guess I'm making this into a fic 🤣 This is a snippet of something much longer. Most of it is post-biotransference, but this bit is specifically from their necrontyr years, when the Ithakas-Ogdobekh war had not yet ended and none of them were the people they ended up becoming. The two princes discuss the kingships they will never take. More below cut.)

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Though the orbuculum he sees Djoseras unmoved. "Better to die than to merely live."

"What, better to die like a dog? Are you that afraid of Zultanekh?"

The Crown Prince chuckles. It is a fine quality of Ithakas, their laconicity, but they leave too much room for interpretation. "If this one is so much of a threat, I hate to imagine what you think of Anathrosis! Or perhaps it is not that. Perhaps what you want is a written oath of your safe passage?" He follows this with a wink, for they both know such a document could only be part of a surrender. According to the hekatic past of the Ogdobekh, it is entirely correct for them to demand this of their neighbours, since Ithakas should never have seceded from their kemmeht in the first place. "That could be granted easily. Why, Zultanekh shall commission the finest scribe among the five dynasties, the lead archivist of the Nihilakh, and will have it engraved in gold if Djoseras demands it. Is it the least you deserve? I suspect it is."

"I require nothing from you, Crown Prince."

"But you must, dear Djoseras; moreover, your dynast must, since he has sent you here." He is serious now. Zultanekh leans in closer, his hands steepled in front, oddly nervous. "You require my defeat and my humiliation. You are not likely to receive it, Kynazh Djoseras. What was Unnas's gamble? At best his victory, at worst the stalling of the frontline - but you have fought us for many cycles of the moon, and the best you've done is merely his worst, with the unimaginable worse to come if he does not rein it in. At least, I hope he has not imagined it. It would be sad if he sent away his only heirs wishing they would die."

He allows himself a moment of glumness. Technically Zultanekh comes off worse in a headcount, as he is the sole heir to the throne; he is not worried, for he has the whole of the Ogdobekh war machine behind him, but he has never been very certain whether Anathrosis wishes him to live. Wanting him gone on a paranoid hunch would be exactly the kind of thing the phaeron would do.

"In our tragedies of yore there is a recurring turn of phrase, kynazh: inija spase, ali sebe ne mozhet spasti. Why tragedies? Because we find such a man most pitiful. A fine warrior he might make, the one who saves others but cannot save himself. He is no good as a father, a leader, or a dynast, for to damn himself is to damn the whole." And that is the difference between Zultanekh and the rest of the dynasty: he loves his life, and takes as objective truth that everyone else values their own, while the rest of the Ogdobekh would simply shrug and raise their hammers. None of them would ever think to convince their enemy that being alive is worthwhile. "Unnas has lost one son already. It is irrational you should agree to sever his every remaining limb. You know his demands are wasteful: save him, save yourself and your dynasty, and cease those advances."

Then, just to lighten the mood: "It'd be awfully hard to rule Antikef one-handed."

Djoseras does not dignify this with an answer. He glances to the side instead. "Isn't my brother wonderful?"

Zultanekh cranes his head to look outside. Indeed, Oltyx is magnificent. Zultanekh is genuinely astonished to see how much the boy has grown, easily a hand past his elder's height, his shouts powerful and unwavering in the face of the charge; whether it is war that changes a man, or if it was the simple passage of time, the younger scion has not been done a disservice. As the two princes watch on Oltyx rallies his soldiers on the ground, his sword flashing uncanny silver through the slaughter-mist, and soon they are all vanished out of sight.

When Zultanekh turns again he finds Djoseras is watching him. "Might I ask you a question, Crown Prince?"

"Might you?" Zultanekh repeats. "Ask away."

"What is a king?"

"He is the Creator beyond all." The only king (lord, phaeron, Patriarch, still years away from reinvention) Zultanekh keeps faith to is Anathrosis. Their relationship is complicated but the awe is very real. "He is the one who weaves pure gold from the barest sand. He is the one who imposes unity over the stars. Like us, they are numerous, but faint and weak while scattered; brought together, their collective light powers our foundries, while we are made masters of the universe. As a miner does to the raw vein, the furnace to the ore and the craftsman to the ingot, our king does to our will and more: he is light itself, the passion of movement, the all-consuming fire of the forge."

"Spoken like a true blacksmith." Djoseras says impassively. Clearly he meant it as an insult, but Zultanekh fails to feel offended: rather than the snarling boasts he is used to, the kynazh's words are more like skolopendrae skittering through the reeds, collecting implications like burrs in their hide. "Certainly it is a phaeron's responsibility to do those things and more, but like so many others you mistake the effect for the essence, the appearance as the truth. I dare suggest, Prince Zultanekh, that a king does not comprise a series of phenomena, but rather the foundations upon which they occur."

Zultanekh feels like he needs to say something, but he suddenly feels lost. Inwardly he follows the motion of those same skittering legs, while the kynazh carries on. "You say you do not understand why I should want to die. I hold in contempt your desire to live. Are you not yourself on the battlefield, subject to the same risks as my brother and I? Our presence here was requested to Unnas, and agreed after his deliberation; your speech implies to me you made no such agreement with your sire. Perhaps he has made a plan to lose you already?"

Zultanekh hopes he didn't see how he clenched his fist in that moment. Djoseras smiles thinly. "You wish to know what I think of Anathrosis?"

Do I? "Yes."

"He is inconstant. He struggles to lose the smallest things, lands and bagatelles, in pursuit of his grandiose delusions, yet he feels no remorse sacrificing the greater things which hold his kemmeht aloft - his one heir the greatest of them all." Djoseras tilts up his chin then, his dark eyes aflame with something far from hatred. "I suggest he ought to be honest about wanting to sacrifice everything, if he truly values his dynasty, and not his feelings. A true king is neither the fire nor the forge, but the earth upon which they dance and fall; he is not the weaver nor the gold, but the sand from which it is crushed, at once lower and stronger than any of us will ever be. An all-consuming fire will eventually burn down the foundries, but the stones will always endure, and it will befit Anathrosis to take their example."

Zultanekh lets out a quiet hiss. "You are happy to be slaughtered."

"The flesh is ephemeral. I am ephemeral, as is my brother. Unnas is ephemeral, and so are you, even Anathrosis whom you fear so greatly."

There is a hefty pause. Zultanekh thinks he sees something like pity in the other's expression, which seems contrary to this message of indiscriminate sacrifice he's been espousing. Just the first of many Djoserasian contradictions that will fascinate the Crown Prince in the eternity to come.

"If I should fall, my brother will take my place. You have seen for yourself how much he has learned. Anathrosis nurtured his own foe, poor creature, and he did not even realize it; you are the best among the Ogdobekh, Prince Zultanekh, but you are only one, and you do not understand what you are fighting for." Djoseras smiles. "You are a just man, a reasonable man. It does you no good to assume Unnas's intentions, for Oltyx and I fight not for his person but our legacy, and all of Ithakas stands behind us. I pray you will reassess your intentions swiftly, or else prepare for the ice of eternal night."

All tension leaves Zultanekh like an arrow. He chuckles - first hollowly, then with legitimate mirth, that he is still capable of surprise - and strokes his hand through his coppery beard (a redhead, of course he was a redhead, he forgets this often) as he sits back on his chair. "So that's what it comes down to in the end! In any case, I suppose we must destroy one another, as expected. Yet have you spoken admirably, kynazh? You have. Why, that's the nearest thing to a love-speech that was ever made to Zultanekh."

It is Zultanekh's personal policy to break the ice after frosty words have been exchanged. Officially, it's because he wishes to avoid things escalating at a poor moment's notice; in truth, it's an excuse for absurdity. "Do not be concerned that your judgement falls incongruent with ours. Is your Oltyx a remarkable fighter? Certainly. He strikes me as a worthy scion, and he brings fresh blood to the fight, better equipped than us elders." Soft stone, fluid steel - flyting, or flirting, there need not be much difference. Zultanekh grins. "But your brother, he is too young for me, is he not? Zultanekh will not reckon with him. If you desire to petition a peace-match between ourselves, it is not his praises you should sing - but your own."

He expects Djoseras to ignore him then, or give him that look of insane violence he showed when Zultanekh last threatened Oltyx's life. What he did not expect was for Djoseras to stare at him in silence, neither dismissive nor angry, nor even as if Zultanekh has said anything asnine. The kynazh often keeps a blank face in conflict, but this is not like that, in that it is not deliberate. The best way to describe his expression is transparent. Regrettably Zultanekh is not given more time to contemplate it, for he is briefly called away to receive a report. When he comes back a mere five minutes later, he finds Djoseras is no longer there, the orbuculum smooth and empty once more.

"The stones will endure," the Ogdobekh prince mutters, resting a hand atop the smooth crystal surface. Djoseras meant bedrock, but Zultanekh ends up thinking about a pebble instead, skipped merrily across the surface of a long and silver lake; leaving wide ripples upon it, then sinking into its heart, its gleam white and secretive under the surface. "Well, then."

He has been at war for too long to hazard this emotion.

@prometheanpiero location: A quaint fire in the backyard of Hyacinth's not-so-quaint villa. notes: love u

Apollo always said that Hyacinth was a terrible lyre player and a worse singer, by Godly standards and the standards of the Muses, that was likely true. By the standards of the mortal realm he was at least above average. In Elysium you were allowed to live out your impassioned profession infinitely, but Hyacinth had been born a soldier and had always been a soldier. So in the Elysian fields he'd gone to battle everyday, ran through those who crossed his path with his dory, then returned into the evening to drink and play by the fire. Reminiscing on former glories and the irritating ones of the Golden Fields, if something could not truly die, and a battle could not truly be won, it wasn't worth any praise. That was the stifling nature of the gilded cage where he and so many others had been placed.

Prometheus was a solitary soul. Hyacinth appreciated that about him, while he himself had been forged in a brotherhood of violence, his avariel kin had been baptised another way. In wings and solitary lashes and never ending pain, oh, how his friend had suffered. Like all Spartans Hyacinth had an infamously dry with, laconic phrasing was brief, curt and to the point. The weight of a true Spartan's silver tongue wasn't how many flowers he could place upon it but how deftly they could be understood.

A few light strings plucked as the two of them sat alone as they so often had in the days gone by, long nights where the pair sat in shared but comfortable silence. Prometheus was a taboo, a rebel in the midst of the Gods, at any time they could have descended upon him again. And yet, they did not. Apollo's answer to this was aloof and evasive at best, but perhaps the threat of their alleged paradise's end was enough for the moment. The First was dead, a tragedy, but Hyacinth had yet to weep. "She got Epimetheus in the divorce." Afterthought was spending an awful lot of time at the Pyramid, and he'd attended that macabre masquerade on her arm. Hyacinth knew mental warfare when he saw it, but love was another battlefield entirely.

So I just finished reading Five (I found it recently) and first off lemme say: its AMAZING. Your mind is a treasure trove cause the comic is absolute genious. I was wondering if you could explain a little more of what happened to Shikaku's mom. Im confused on how his grandpa turned her over to ROOT (I understand the why just not the how she ended up in that position) also GODDAMN, why you gotta go and make her hot??? Like there is not enough content on this woman to help me with my hyperfixation.

:D! I'm very happy you're enjoying my comic, friend!! Your compliments make me smile <3

As for Shikaku's mom (re: Shikata), she was tortured by enemy nin to a degree that rendered her both infertile and unable to sign for the forseeable future, so she effectively became useless to Grandpa Nara, who pretty much only wanted her to have male kids and be a soldier. He gave her up to ROOT as a means of winning a favour from the Hokage / Danzo, as ROOT at the time was only a couple of years old and was always in need of recruits, especially those with Clan-exclusive bloodline techniques. Doubly so if they didn't need to be brainwashed too terribly much to be loyal to Konoha, because that was more efficient.

ROOT, as we can remember, is an underground organization that commits wetwork atrocities for Konoha's benefit, even against Konohan citizens, so it needs to keep its soldiers both quiet and loyal. Eventually Danzo would recruit a Hyuuga/fuinjutsu user that would develop the tongue-sealing technique that Sai has (and Yoshino has in the comic) to keep them from speaking about the organization or against it, but at the beginning the best Danzo could manage was cutting out the soldiers' tongues to keep them silent. So that's why Shikata doesn't have a tongue :'(

Glad you find her hot, 'cause I like to think the reason Shikaku's so handsome is 'cause he inherited his momma's looks heheh :3 Most of her personality and fire was brainwashed out, but since she was recruited as an adult and not a child, there's still a bit of humour to her even under ROOT's intense conditioning. She laconically expresses the Nara trademark "Mendokusē/What a drag" phrase using the sign for 'tedious'.

Sparks Fly

The conclusion of yesterday's story. Dean performs at open mic night while Castiel swoons behind the counter.

Suptober prompt: Crossover Flufftober prompt: "You kept this?" Fictober prompt: "You’re making my head hurt." Inktober prompt: Forget

(Read on AO3)

The door closes behind the handsome man's departing back. Castiel tries desperately to look uninterested, busying himself with the dials on the front of the espresso machine. But he can't hide it: he's flustered, and he feels flushed heat creeping up his cheeks and across the back of his neck.

At the counter, Inias leans over the sign up sheet, then straightens again to crow, “Your future husband has a name! Dean Winchester, or whatever!” His normal, laconic tone has sharpened into something sarcastic, something with bite.

“Inias, please,” Castiel mutters, but his fellow clerk is relentless.

“Castiel Winchester. Mr. and Mr. Dean Winchester. The Messrs Winchester-Novak,” he singsongs, his mouth twisted into a nasty smirk.

“You're making my head hurt.” It's a feeble protest, which Inias gleefully ignores.

“Yours will be a June wedding, I think..”

Castiel groans, “What do I need to do to get you to forget about my... interest in that man?”

“Cover my next five clopens, and I'll never mention your pathetic crush again.”

“Done.”

~~~~~

That Tuesday is a particularly slow day at the store, which gives poor Castiel plenty of time to overthink. Inias had referred to his “pathetic crush,” an unfortunately apt turn of phrase. The man, Dean, is a regular customer at Eagle Eye, and Castiel is absolutely, pitifully besotted with him, and has been for months.

At first it was simple physical attraction. He's gorgeous, with a strong jaw, sparkling green eyes, and full, kissable lips. But it's Dean's literary taste that's got his head so completely turned around. He's in the store at least once a week, buying a book or two at every visit. His preferences run in particular to Vonnegut, Brautigan, and the Beat poets, but he's also taken home some Tolstoy, some Faulkner, a bit of LeGuin and VanderMeer... A few times, he's asked Castiel for a recommendation. He's bought every title Castiel has suggested, on the spot, and come back later to rave about each one.

There's a particularly lovely smile that comes across his face when he's talking about a good book. It's intoxicating to see. Castiel has wasted far too many of his idle hours lost in fantasies of what else he could do to bring that beautiful smile to light.

And now, this evening, Dean will be performing, right here in front of him, in this store. Castiel wonders what talent the man will display. Music? Dance? Poetry? Whatever he does tonight, surely it will be perfection.

~~~~~

Dean's performance is... Not perfection.

He's the fourth act of the night, right after Marv's weekly recitation of his latest mediocre poems. He stumbles and almost trips as he steps up to the microphone, both hands wrapped awkwardly around his guitar.

“Hi, my name's Dean,” he says. He's too loud, too close to the mic. He winces, then tries again, keeping his voice softer. “Sorry, um, hi. So... Wow, there's a lot of cameras in here.” He looks down and fusses with his guitar strap for a moment, takes a couple of deep breaths. “Look, I mean, I don't... I don't do... this? So, if I horribly mess up, and get really nervous, it's uh... Because I don't do this.”

The crowd is stocked with Tuesday-night regulars who have seen their share of nervous newbies. They clap and whistle in encouragement. Dean blanches at the sound.

“Here's the problem,” he says, wrapping a visibly trembling hand around the microphone stand. “I don't play, in front of people..? So, pretend you're not here.”

The crowd chuckles. Dean gives them a weak smile, then he chides, “Alright, shh, you're not supposed to be here.”

Another deep breath. He looks down at the neck of the guitar and carefully positions his fingers for his opening chord.

“Okay, here goes...”

The song he's chosen was a big enough crossover hit in its day that even Castiel, unfamiliar as he is with a lot of modern music, kind of recognizes it. It's a song about wanting someone, a plea to the object of an unrequited desire. Dean plays it stripped down, and slow. This is probably out of necessity; it's clear that he's a just a beginner on the guitar. His hands fumble at every chord change, and he struggles to keep the beat steady as he sings.

His voice, though... It's warm and honey-rich, and he packs the lyrics with all the longing a heart can hold. When he calls, “Meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk,” Castiel's toes curl in his sneakers with the strength of his longing to do exactly that.

As the song goes on, Dean relaxes a bit. He even manages to stop staring down at his hands and look  out at the audience a little. Across the crowded room, somehow, his gaze finds Castiel's and locks on, and there's that smile, the one he dreams about far too often.

Dean sings, “Get me with those blue eyes, baby, as the lights go down.” Castiel knows the lyrics well enough to recognize that Dean's made a change to the color, and to understand what that might mean. For the first time since the start of his “pathetic crush,” he feels a stirring of hope. He smiles back, and quietly sings along.

~~~~~

On their first anniversary, Cas shows Dean a video of the performance. At the sound of the first clunky chord, Dean's pawing at the screen, too embarrassed to look directly at it. Cas laughs and holds the phone out of his boyfriend's reach.

Dean groans and covers his eyes. “Ohhh my God, Cas! You kept this? Where did you even get it??”

“The store records all of the open mic nights. Sometimes we use clips on our social media, with permission. Sometimes the performers request copies for their own use.” He kisses Dean on the nose. “Sometimes they're treasured mementos of unforgettable nights.”

Dean leans in and kisses him back, full on the mouth. Then he pulls away and smiles. “That was an unforgettable night. The first of many. I'm hoping for many, many more. But please never make me watch that again. I can't believe how bad I used to be.”

“You were never bad, my love,” Cas corrects him. “You were just starting out. I enjoyed listening to you then, and I enjoy listening to you now that you're more skillful.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, and his boyfriend nods. “Well, I think you're really gonna like the song I wrote for you last night. It's so much better than that t-swizzle cover.”

He grabs his guitar, and Cas settles back to listen.

A Non-Exhaustive Deep Dive Into the Character of Ricki Tarr in 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' - PART ONE

Now anyone who's had the (mis)fortune to converse with me recently will know of my newest hyperfixation - Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. In the course of about two weeks, I have finished the book, watched the movie, and watched the BBC TV series from 1979. Anyone who's continued to converse with me will also know that my absolute favourite character in this IP is none other than Ricki Tarr. I love that bitch from Penang. I knew he'd be my favourite the second I read his name.

Those familiar with the IP will also know that he might be one of the most maligned characters in the whole plotline. No one seems to like him. Not his boss, not Smiley, maybe all the women who keep ending up with him, but not anyone within the world of the Circus. I think this is grossly unfair. Not only does he play a huge role in the plot... occurring in the first place, but he seems genuinely competent. His sins cannot be worse than those committed by, say, James Bond, to name another spy with woman and impulse problems.

In this (MULTI-PART) essay, I will be exploring the character of Ricki Tarr, as depicted in the book, by Hywel Bennett in the 1979 TV show, and by Tom Hardy in the 2011 film. Think of this as a sort of explanation of the character. Of course, this is mostly just my own opinion and bias, but I still hope you enjoy this deep dive/high-school-english-literature-essay/video-essay-in-much-more-boring-text-form. Obviously, spoilers abound, so don't click 'Keep reading' if you haven't read the book yet or if you care particularly much about accidentally having plot points revealed to you.

Ricki Tarr: In Defense of Ricki Tarr

The character of Ricki Tarr is one who spends Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy defending himself (indeed, he's probably done so his whole life). While this may to some degree obviously be because he is being interrogated by Smiley, Guillam, and Lacon for most of his appearances, I would argue that he is also written to be particularly defensive of his position. In the book, Le Carre writes: "'She was good company,' he insisted, as if arguing against a trend," His use of language such as "insisted" and "arguing against a trend" establish early on that, even if it is not explicitly written that Smiley et al would disagree with Tarr, that the latter expects disagreement, and has taken the tone of argument and defense instead of neutrality. The content of his argument, that of Irina being "good company", is also relevant here. Tarr is said to have many wives in the book, as well as both being said to flirt and actively shown to at least feign romantic interest in many women, so Smiley et al would likely consider Tarr's interest in Irina and his desire to bring her to the Circus as another example of his womanizing, rather than genuine love or even using her for professional purposes. Ricki's defensiveness of himself is also evident in Le Carre's descriptions of him, such as in the quotes "'Fact, Mr Smiley. Fact,' he declared, with the defencelessness of a man longing to be believed" and "he said with another flash of that false confessiveness". Words like "defencelessness" and "longing" show just how desperate Tarr is to support his point, and how unable he actually is to do so in the face of interrogation. We get a sense that he might almost be used to having to conduct himself in this manner, that this isn't just a one-off incident requiring absolution, but a pattern of behavior and ways that he is treated by authority. The usage of the phrase "false confessiveness" is interesting; on the surface it seems to paint a picture of Tarr's bad character and dodginess as a person, which is certainly how Smiley and Guillam see him. But one does wonder if that character analysis by them is true, or whether they are seeing only what they want to see. Personally, I feel like it's a bit of both.

Tarr's necessity of defending himself is also seen in the movie. In it, he seems much more passive and compliant, one could say a softer character perhaps. I will speak more on that later. Tarr, played by Tom Hardy, says to Smiley: "I know what I am to the Circus, I'm one of the Scalphunters, someone you can hand your dirty little jobs to," In this, Tarr acknowledges his comparatively lowly standing, almost denegrating himself a bit. I feel that he could be doing this before anyone can accuse him of going beyond his pay grade in his actions with Irina, making it clear that he understands his role and his standing in life, so those points can't be used against him. By knowing that he has to present himself as such, he continues to prove my point that he is used to defending himself and his actions.

Another aspect of Tarr's self-defence is snark, being almost cheeky, almost disrespectful. This is evident throughout the story, and can be seen as a character trait. In all 3 adaptations, we can find Tarr referring to George Smiley and Peter Guillam as "Mr Smiley" and "Mr Guillam". Given the way Rick Tarr is characterized, it's almost certain that he is giving them attitude using exaggerated politeness and making himself seem subservient and almost childlike, which juxtaposes his personality. But perhaps this politeness is also a defense. Tarr can't have been rude, can he? He's even addressed them properly!

In the TV show, Tarr introduces his story by saying: "'Well, I guess I'd better make my pitch. I've got a story to tell you. It's all about spies. And if it's true, which I think it is, you boys are going to need a whole new organization,'" This is both a compelling introduction to the plotline, but also serves very well to characterize Tarr and to show the way he diminishes things in the way he speaks in order to contrast them with the seriousness of the matter. He talks about a "pitch", as though he were a salesman, trying to sell his story to Smiley et al. This can be seen as a defense in the way that he's trying to make the matter seem much less serious, maybe for his own emotionality but also maybe to juxtapose that with the content of the story, so that Smiley and his associates can be more fully convinced of how important it is. The usage of words like "story" and "you boys" also make the matter seem trivial, fictional, but to the characters it is of course real. This is both a nod to Tarr's cheeky characterization, but also diminishing the respectable Circus men by demoting them to the status of "boys" who are listening to a "story". This might also be an example of fourth-wall breaking by Le Carre.

In the book, Le Carre writes the following exchange: "'Common-law marriage,' Guillam said drily. 'Unofficial but permanent.' 'There's a lot that are the other way round these days,' said Tarr with a sharp grin at no one, least of all at Smiley, and Guillam shot him another foul look." This can be seen as an example of Ricki's impulsivity and social inappropriateness, especially in the eyes of people in Smiley, Guillam, and Lacon's social class. Reading this, I also thought it was an attempt by Tarr to equalize the power imbalance between the men who are deciding his fate and himself, by making a crass joke at the expense of perhaps the most powerful.

Tarr is also seen to be defensive though his cheek around other characters. For example, to the man who has been guarding him in the safe house: "He gave the door a playful tap. 'Come on, darling, it's me. Ricki,'" When he could easily be harmed or given up to the Circus at someone more powerful's decision, and in fact the guard is very well-trained and possibly stronger and more experienced in combat than him, he still acts jovially and calls the guard a pet name, one that could maybe be considered insultingly feminine in the time period that Tinker Tailor Solider Spy was written. This could make him seem both friendly and light-hearted, or using such techniques as a double bluff to defend himself against anyone who might wish to use his true emotional state to undermine him.

While Ricki Tarr is spoken about and portrayed as someone cavalier who does not have very strict morals or care very much about other people, and while that may be true to some extent, I also feel that he uses not caring as a defense mechanism. This might be evident to other characters as well, as the guard in charge of him in the safe house says, in relation to Tarr's wife and daughter, "I think he's shut them out of his mind in view of the emotional side," This might be an example of Tarr using the psychological defense mechanisms of repression or suppression, where one unconsciously blocks unwanted thoughts or impulses. He is also shown to unsuccessfully attempt to care less (this time about Irina) in the film, where he tells Smiley "she wasn't even my type," however in this portrayal he is unable to control his emotions as he is visibly emotional to the point of tears.

His actions speak just as loud as his words in this regard. In the television portrayal, Hywel Bennett slouches in the chair as he is telling the story of Irina, only sitting more upright when making a impassioned point or when reading her diary. And in the film, Tom Hardy is shown reclining on a couch smoking. He is clearly acting casually, like it's not that serious to him, like formality isn't something that matters to him in this situation, even around his superiors.

One can also interpret Ricki Tarr's violence against Smiley as a last defense of himself, the only way he can think of, the only way he knows. Smiley is calmly suggesting that he might have abandoned his wife and daughter in order to save himself, deliberately triggering Tarr into the emotional instability and impulsivity that he is known for in the Circus. Tarr might have been aware of this, but still unable to restrain himself from feeling anger. And as someone who has probably been spoken about time and time again as a unrepentant womanizer, someone who always goes too far, someone uncaring, uninhibited, this would be yet another thorn in his side. One can imagine that being spoken about so often in such negative terms, with little regard for what you perceive as your successes, would wear you down and make you very defensive about your own character. And as such, when he could bear it no more, Tarr attacked Smiley. This usage of violence could also be an echo of Ricki Tarr's upbringing, as I will further elaborate in a future installment.

This brings Part One of this essay of an unhinged length to a close. In future installments, I will address the topics of Ricki Tarr as a so-called "bad boy", his emotions, and compare and contrast the portrayals of this character in both the television show and the film. I hope you enjoyed it. I promise I wrote this in a completely healthy mental state, just in one of special interest/hyperfixation

What do you think Hyacinthus’ personality is? At first I kinda theorized he acted very similar to Patroclus but that’s like… repetitive 😭

Then I kind of made him the likable arrogant prince but i’m still not sure. Wonder what your take is

I'm so sorry for the late reply! I was on vacation away from home on the weekend 😅

Now that I'm back, you will receive a brief evolution of my view on Hyacinthus! Thanks for asking because I've been mean to talk about it for a while.

Like many people, when I first learned the myth of Hyacinthus, I imagined him as a mellow fellow: kind but shy and insecure because his boyfriend is a god. He's also a sad boi who doesn't believe he deserves Apollo. You know, the typical bottom/uke in every Yaoi media (or at least the ones I watched)

But soon, I got tired of the “boo hoo, they are out of my league” trope. I've been eating blank planks for too long, and now I want some flavor for Hyacinthus! So, I began to experiment with other possibilities to develop his characterization.

The first thing I assigned to Hyacinthus is that he is a curious soul for two reasons. One, I like the version where Hyacinthus' mother is the History Muse Clio. His mother inspired his love for reading books (Clio's sacred artifact) and his passion for learning new things. Two, I want Hyapollo to have a God of Knowledge x Curious Human dynamic, where Apollo falls in love with Hyacinthus because of his inquisitiveness.

Second, Hyacinthus is athletic and social as he grew up as a Spartan prince. Hyacinthus was trained with his siblings since childhood and mentored by Apollo later on. This special education helped shape his skills in combat and phrases.

Remember my HC about Clio being his mother? With his mother's poetic genes in him, Hyacinthus is a social butterfly. His charm isn't just in his beauty but in how he enraptures people in conversations. He is also a flirt and enjoys teasing Apollo. This guy is shameless, straightforward, and knows exactly what he is doing.

However, if you get on his nerves, Hyacinthus will not hesitate to roast you verbally. “Laconic phrases” are Sparta's signature way of rebutting. Hyacinthus isn't violent, but his comebacks can be 100% intentionally brutal, which means your face won't be physically damaged, but you can't save it in any way.

Third, I won't say Hyacinthus is arrogant because humility and discipline are some of the defining aspects of the Spartans. But I believe he has a strong sense of national pride. He loves and is proud of Sparta and will not take it lightly if you bad-mouthed his homeland. Whether or not he will kick you down a bottomless pit depends on how much you degrade his kingdom's image.

So there you have it. My take on Hyacinthus is that he is a knowledge seeker, quite outspoken, and has squirrel-like energy.

Of course, this is still a rough draft. I'm still trying to pin down a concrete personality and character development for our prince in future fanfics, and I'm always open to new character traits for Hyacinthus!

274: Nap Eyes // Whine of the Mystic

Whine of the Mystic Nap Eyes 2014, Plastic Factory (Bandcamp)

Can’t speak to the sound on the original 2014 pressing of this guy from Plastic Factory Records, but the 2015 Paradise of Bachelors/You’ve Changed edition sounds pretty revelatory to me—kudos to the folks at the plant, and to Mike Wright and Peter Woodford for the mixing and mastering. Talk about Nap Eyes tends to quickly descend into the Nigel Chapman show—the vocalist’s laconic cadences and ambling lyricism offer plenty of grist for a critic to chew on, but here on the LP the rhythm section is mixed loud and way up front so that the insistent throb of Josh Salter’s bass becomes as difficult to ignore as the pounding of your own pulse in your ears when you’ve run too hard. Whine of the Mystic was recorded at Drones Club in Montreal back in 2013, which is basically just a none-too-large loft apartment in my current neighbourhood where they do raves sometimes, and the record sounds just like listening to the boys play while wearing good custom-fitted ear plugs. That rawness does a band who can flirt with a nutritious beigeness a lot of good—the guitars singe and flare, the amps sizzle, and the feeling of this band as a slack psych live force comes through.

I’ve been a huge fan of Nap Eyes since I caught them in Ottawa back in 2014, and people generally dig them when I recommend the record (with the exception of my pal Meghan, who despises them with the grumpy exhaustion that comes of seeing a band you don’t like constantly opening for bands you do). As such, Whine of the Mystic has been with me through a lot—the best songs (like “Dark Creedence,” and the last four) make a shimmering soundtrack to existential hangovers; walking toward some workaday Calvary in the rain; handrolling cigarettes badly; pining for girls if only to keep in practice; not getting a master’s; being 27 as hell for many years. It’s full of little touches that still delight me, like when they kinda morph into the Proclaimers for a bridge on “The Night of the First Show,” or the way the raincloud pacing of “Dreaming Solo” finally cracks open into the most amiable outro jam imaginable.

Giving your record a punny name is a risky choice, and as a phrase Whine of the Mystic skirts the edge of dorkiness. But in the end, I come down on it as an apt synopsis of the album’s charms. Chapman’s plaints linger on the humdrum, yet they paint the experience as intoxicating, Halifax as the backdrop for an ancient mystery cycle that repeats itself wherever life’s taking place. It brings to mind an exchange from Louis Malle’s The Fire Within, a superficially dull but emotionally feverish movie I haven’t thought of in ten years. The main character, a suicidal alcoholic who feels drained by what he perceives as the world’s absence of meaning, talks to an old friend, who has settled into a steady life as an academic and a husband. I don’t remember much of what they talk about, besides this:

Alain Leroy: Dubourg, what will you do tonight? Dubourg: Tonight, I'll write a few pages on my Egyptians, then make love to Fanny. I fall into her silence as into a well. At the bottom is a great sun that warms the earth.

All life is quotidian, but the primal and transcendent lies within that quotidian life, if you can truly immerse yourself within your own. Good luck.

274/365

but what about little gangs withing the gang? please tell me about members teaming up into small groups of 2-4 depending on activities, habits, interests, opinions, political views, tastes in food, origin/nationality or anything of this sort :3

I love, I love...

Before I begin I want to lay the ground a little: for general dining, team administration, and discussions of news or politics in the mornings, they are usually all together, even if some are more vocal than others (Sorbet and Gelato love to feed Prosciutto's disdain of the general state of Naples, so these three are cursing like their lives depend on it). From there we branch out as follows:

Honorable first mention is the Soap Opera Enjoyers consisting of Illuso, Sorbet and Melone. (Pesci attended once, but as he rooted for the protagonist over Illuso's favorite antagonist, he was never invited again.) Illuso used to binge soap operas by himself before he discovered that Sorbet is just as dramatic a bitch as he is, and Melone naturally tagged along because it was an activity he could do while resting on Illuso's bed. They stay up into the night discussing their favorite dynamics.

There is definitely a Rowdy Pack formed by Gelato, Formaggio and Ghiaccio plus Pesci the apprentice. Whenever their blood gets rumbling, they team up and take to the streets to patrol their own turf, or start trouble elsewhere if they are feeling especially frisky. With Formaggio's mobility, they have been taking a clandestine tour of Naples, spreading their macho chaos across the city, and might be part of the reason members like Buccellati want little to do with the Hitman Team.

The Budget Committee includes Risotto, Prosciutto and Illuso; the first two are there due to leadership status and because Risotto trusts and observes Prosciutto's guidance as to how to live with human dignity on an assassin's pay, and Illuso worked himself into their ranks by virtue of his coupon stash and keeping up to date with where they can find sales or get what they want cheap. It is a group where all three appear to advantage, and even the boring stuff goes smoothly.

I also love the idea of a Workout Trio with Ghiaccio, Pesci and Risotto. Due to his laconic nature, Risotto is rarely included in small groups, but here he feels at ease to communicate through his body, and there is definitely a lot of competition at the gym or jogging down the streets. Building strength and stamina is vital to the first two, so even when Pesci doesn't much feel like exercise, he will pull through on his desire to impress. It is the only gathering in which Ghiaccio is fairly quiet and even mellow.

Porca Puttanesca!! is a little dining group made up of Prosciutto and Gelato. Prosciutto was the first to discover the restaurant and the chili eating competitions on-going, and because his ability to taste is much affected by his Stand, he entered the competition and won a free meal. Since then, Gelato has found him out, and at least once each week he will holler the phrase in bold until Prosciutto consents to going. Needless to say they are roasting the competition and keep eating for free. (I want to turn this into a fic someday.)

These are the ones off the top of my head!

9, 13 and 14 :)

9. What inspired you to write your first fic?

For my one-shots, I felt like exploring some rarely touched territory. The Tails/Amy one in particular, since I wanted to resolve Tails' controversial Lost World portrayal in a way that could make sense (and I didn't need to use the phrase Wildly Inconsistent in order to do it), since as a Tails fan, the period of fans constantly shitting on Tails - some even requesting that he be replaced or killed off - was not fun. So I guess you could say the Tails/Amy one-shot was me venting, but in a positive way lol.

As for BtS/Stellar, I'll admit that part of it was due to the "Fine, I'll do it myself" mentality when I grew fed up with how hard it is to find traditional Sonicy adventure stories that also retain Eggman as the undisputed main villain - even less that don't needlessly soften him up for the sake of "depth" - but mostly it was because I simply had all these ideas that I thought could be worth sharing, and I wanted to see if I could make a coherent story out of them.

It began in 2014 with the naked template of the character who would eventually become Trudy. Then I started thinking up what, in my mind, the ultimate Eggman Big Bad story would be like. Then I brainstormed the story themes involved, and the setting, and how the official cast would interact with the OC in a way that remained in-character for all of them, and it just kind of snowballed from there.

tl;dr: "All these ideas are exciting me, but no one else is gonna write it cause they're too busy writing OoC Sonamy/edgy Scourge/SA2 adaptation #500, so I better harness that Passion and Effort that fans always talk about".

13. Describe your writing style. If you were to participate in an anonymous fic writers guessing game (like The Masked Author), what writing habits do you have that would be a dead giveaway that it’s you?

If there's gameplay segments, the immediate giveaway would be that Gameplay Narration!Crusher is a lot more sassy than Story Narration!Crusher.

If not… well, as you've noticed for yourself, I'm fond of giving the readers as much of a perfect picture as I can when it comes to the locations. I try not to go overboard and drag it out, but I'm one of those guys that must describe the exact kind of scenery, architecture, sky, etc. "Can't you just say it's a sunset?" "NO, they might think it's just a basic orange sky, I HAVE to specify it's a purple that gradually fades into deep red from a distance!!!"

As for how I write the actual characters, one stipulation that I've been trying to impose on myself with Stellar is to be as economical as possible with the dialogue. They still say a fair amount mind you, since that's pretty unavoidable for a story that's in written fanfic form, but for the big dramatic moments and emotional scenes and whatnot, my intent is to focus on the characters' actions and subtle gestures first and foremost, with everything they do say being just the right amount to go along with it. I take a conversation, decide on the necessary exchanges and length, then add some additional character-enhancing flavor text afterwards to round it out.

This was brought about by the IDW cast's inability to shut the fuck up, with Sonic's wall of text to Surge being the final straw. It made me realise and appreciate how laconic the game cast is by comparison (...usually), so that made me want to try it out. Eggman is a slight exception for this rule, since being Eggman, I figure he can get away with hearing himself talk as much as he sees fit, though even with him, every inch of his dialogue is at least still relevant in some form or another, some cases more subtle than others.

14. Share a snippet.

(Note that there'll be some narration that breaks this up a bit during the actual story.)

Eggman: So being the generous gentleman that I am, I've given these ancient husks a second chance at life so they can have the freedom to carry out my pursuits. But I couldn't just leave them, could I? All that time spent from a bygone era surely must have left them scared and confused upon witnessing this brave new world! They could do something silly in their old age, like resist me! So to help them out in the modern day, I gave them a little… maintenance.

The second of my OC introduction posts is ready! Meet Samuel Weatherbee, the Laconic Captain. The appointed Dad of the friend group, but if you think that makes him more responsible/less chaotic than everyone else, you’d find the opposite to be actually true. Picrew link

Edit: Notes on his past as a zailor and a possible future after playing Irem

Quick Facts:

•       Was already orphaned before London fell. Didn’t know his old surname, so the urchin gangs came up with this one for him

•       What we’d call in modern language to be semi-verbal. Can’t get two words out of him most of the time [though he is good at letter writing], but he’s the best at his interests: navigating and monster hunting

•       Spent much of his life as a zee-captain before retiring to run a modest bar [I had already decided he was a bartender before playing BAL, and I was repeatedly amused by the plots of obtaining rare bottles and interactions with Mr Wines]

•       Hasn’t considered himself human in 30 years and isn’t bothered a bit by that fact

•       Rumored to be immortal, whether that’s from something he found in his days at zee, a deal with a devil, a deal with a god, or a certain card game. Really, he fears the true death more than almost anything and has taken great measures to avoid it.

•       Refuses to phrase any statement as a question. One may ascribe this to his lack of interest in conversation, or one may wonder just how far East he almost went, once

•       Not quite religious, but superstitious about Stone, Storm, and Salt

•       Since he’s been in the Neath since London fell, he feels he knows it better than most. He generally believes it to be futile to challenge cosmic powers and is happy to spend his days as an NPC running a rest point for others. That is, until he meets “his kids.” [My OC Orsinio as well as a few of my friend’s OCs, and later April]

•       Had a bit of a midlife crisis (as much as that means when you can’t die) and wanted to have new stories to tell his young friends, so walked into the Medusa’s Head on a whim one night to begin hunting the Vake. Regrets it immediately and spends most of the ambition wishing he had never left his bar

•       The ambition journey made him realize that it is possible for humans to take a stand against cosmic power. He can’t change everything or save everyone, but he can do something about this immediate problem and save someone.

•       Yes, yes, putting an end to millennia of senseless violence is well and good, but really, he wanted to fight Veils for flirting with his kids (Paisley sure did happen) and calling him “Sammy”

•       Before Bag a Legend, he would walk away from any problem he couldn’t solve. Now, his method is something of, “forceful first, ask questions never” 

•       Now, he’s officially back on the playing board, making waves in the Neath again rather than flying under the radar. The Masters somewhere heard saying, “Oh no, he’s back” before proceeding to pester him for help with everything. Maybe he’d actually say yes for once if they hadn’t picked up the trend of calling him “Sammy” [The one time he actually speaks for more than a single sentence at once is yelling at Wines during railway. 10/10 funniest moment for that to happen]

•       Can be impulsive and stubborn. Because he knows the Neath so well from experience, he feels like his decisions are the right ones, and he struggles to compromise when others have different sources of knowledge and plans

•       Exemplifies the adventure hero archetype of period-typical literature. He’s not too interested in lore or power, only the thrill of discovery. Never wonders if he really should be somewhere, only that it’s his right to explore

•       Doesn’t have bad intentions, but was indeed raised on Victorian British imperialist propaganda, which I imagine only got worse after London fell. His “kids,” especially Orsinio, help him to unpack some of that and challenge the ideals he was raised on. This will become relevant during Evolution arc

•       No matter where London goes, he’ll be there, keeping the home fires burning. He wants to be a sanctuary for everyone with no exception, a protector. It was a spur of the moment choice, but this is the reason he chose to make his double into a city at the end of the railway. Dabbled into the Discordance because what better fit for him than language that revolves around not speaking?

•       Plays red with a black lean on the chessboard. Not too fussed about cosmic forces, but he grew up on the streets and spent much of his life working class. And he sees death as something to be conquered, so naturally, he opposes light.

•       “A mix of voices” railway ending, he can’t be bothered with strong political opinions [I really wanted to get the perfectly balanced ending but I was ONE off, alas]