#Diogenes Entertainment

[tv-moments]

Ripley

Season 1, “III Sommerso”

Director: Steven Zaillian

DoP: Robert Elswit

[kenpiercemedia]

Marvel Announces "X-Men: Xavier's Secret" One-Shot for January 2025

The Press Release: The X-Men’s new era has been a smash hit with longtime and returning fans, and this January, readers can experience key stories set just before the From the Ashes era in X-MEN: XAVIER’S SECRET #! The one-shot collects the first six issues of Alex Paknadel and Diógenes Neves’ acclaimed X-Men: From the Ashes Infinity Comic that releases weekly on Marvel Unlimited. “X-Men:…

[keycomicbooks]

Supergirl #22 (2013) Mahmud Asrar Cover, Michael Alan Nelson Wrtiter, Diogenes Neves Pencils, Cyborg Superman Appearance 

#Supergirl #22 (2013) #MahmudAsrar Cover, #MichaelAlanNelson Writer, #DiogenesNeves Pencils, #CyborgSuperman Appearance "Close To Home" Careful what you wish for! Kara may have found a home away from Earth, but it's at a price that Superboy will have to pay to a major Superman foe! https://www.rarecomicbooks.fashionablewebs.com/Supergirl.html#22 @rarecomicbooks Website Link In Bio Page If Applicable. SAVE ON SHIPPING COST - NOW AVAILABLE FOR LOCAL PICK UP IN DELTONA, FLORIDA #KeyComicBooks #DCComics #DCU #DCUniverse #KeyIssue

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

we're never going back, never, never (basically, I guess it could be worse) / and the people only sleep* / up here in heaven without you, i'm here in heaven without you / dear, do you often think of me as you overlook the sea? do I qualify as dearly departed or am I that sucker in the sky? / the fall guy for the first and the last time / I'm never coming back, never, never mostly all this criminal life is a one way road & it's obvious additional:

it is hell being here without you dear <- a bit of henry after betty's death core

yes, I do suppose it could be worse / and the people only sleep / and awake to tell how gory and gruesome was their end / do I qualify as dearly departed or am I that sucker in the sky? <- makes me think about pentito(s?). "Before I leave, I apologize to my mother and to god, because their love knows no bounds. The rest of the world — I know — will never forgive me" <- suicide note from one sicilian mafioso (iirc he didn't became a pentito but killed himself in jail)

*needs a bit of elaboration. they -are- sleeping <- once again bout living in a parallel world. they would support anyone — so neutral and not actually caring for the objective real world with its struggles. what matters is who pays. 'they aren't primal. they just created & work in the industry of violence. it's a separate industry on the sicilan market' <- point i think about very often these months

here in heaven for moretti plot bc i love comparing criminals & criminal underworld w divine things & a completely parallel universe; bc they are indeed live in a different world and it makes them incapable of living a normal life, they loose this skill & live in some kind of illusion actually

[starkraivennemad]

Waiting...

Text 16:45>> Can we meet at Diogenes? 6pm? Important and *private*. – GL

Mycroft Holmes stared at his phone in surprise.

Gregory Lestrade had never asked for a private audience with him before. Yes, they have shared private dinners in the office at Mycroft’s behest, not Gregory’s. And certainly not with an emphasis on privacy which Gregory would know was innate with being at Diogenes.

Text 16:47>> I am here and available for you now if the need is urgent. – MH

Text 16:48>> Be there in less than 30. - GL

He has waited for Gregory for a variety of reasons in the years he has known the man, but this was the longest less than thirty minutes of Mycroft’s life as he tried to deduce why Gregory would have need of him and could not come up with anything.

Mycroft waited with bated breath as Gregory was let into the office.

He looks happy... That is good. It’s been a long while since I’ve seen him look truly happy and not just smiling because it’s expected.

Usually affable and expressive, Mycroft had not realized how much he had come to enjoy those traits in Gregory until their slow decline as the knowledge of his wife’s affairs took its toll. Gregory’s pride and heart had taken a major blow and Mycroft waited as it played out to its inevitable heartbreaking conclusion.

All Mycroft could do was watch, wait and be something to Gregory that by some miracle he realized Gregory has been to him – a friend. That he himself wanted to be so much more than a friend to Gregory continued to be his secret. Still, the last few years had been misery for the copper.  

And yes, part of that misery was his fault with Sherlock’s ‘dying’.

The guilt of it had made him pull away when Greg needed him most. When Sherlock returned to London as last, he was immediately forgiven. Mycroft however, begrudgingly accepted the blackeye, then endured the painful weeks of silent treatment, as he - Mycroft Holmes - begged forgiveness before they slowly found the way back to being friends once more.  

Through it all Mycroft watched and waited as Gregory slowly found his footing again.

Mycroft watched and waited as Gregory found his self-worth and pride again.

And as much as it killed him internally – Mycroft watched and waited as Gregory began to date again.

His only satisfaction was that none of the dates seemed to fulfill Gregory enough for even a second date. One evening during dinner, while Gregory whinged about yet another disappointing date, for a very brief moment, Gregory had smiled at him. It was such a warm beguiling smile. A smile where Mycroft almost, almost, confessed his love, but fear sealed his lips. He could not make himself say the words. And when the moment passed, he told himself it was his imagination and he waited.

Gregory was certainly better, professionally and personally, but Mycroft understood he was not fully happy. Still, he kept his secret to himself. What was the point? Men like Gregory Lestrade: warm, solid, salt of the earth, moral, not to mention unbelievably handsome simply did not date men like Mycroft Holmes: uber-intelligent, cold, posh, exacting, and constantly skirting the fine line of what’s moral and lawful. Though dreams of Gregory Lestrade permeated his nights, in the cold light of day he knew he would not be the person Gregory would ever turn to romantically and being his friend was better than nothing – so he watched and waited.

Thus, seeing Gregory look at him with that beguiling smile again filled Mycroft’s heart with cautious joy. He beamed as he stood to greet him. “Good evening, Gregory.”

“Wow… I miss the way you used to smile at me…” Greg closed and locked the door behind him.

“Pardon?” Mycroft, basking in the glow of Gregory’s smile and his locking the door, was taken aback. “The way I used to smile at you? Is that a joke? That’s not funny.”

“The truth is not here for our entertainment, but for the elucidation of facts.” Gregory teased with words Mycroft had once said to him. He crossed the room to stand near him, still smiling. “Though to paraphrase what your brother likes to remind me – my being so slow at seeing and observing is one thing – but oh observing and absorbing that truthful light is at a snail’s pace. Still, even a snail as slow as I will eventually get there...” Gregory loosely gestured to the room and the two of them, “…Well here...”

“Gregory what are you on about?”

“Sorry… This is a first for me…” Gregory said, slightly pinking. “…my asking…”

“What is…? Asking what…?”

“When I was a young spotty thing, I was a pretty boy – I know hard to believe as ragged as I am now…”  Greg joked self-deprecatingly, then quickly held up a hand to stop the numerous protests about to fall from Mycroft’s lips. “Though I don’t see it personally, I am aware that I’m found to be attractive. And perhaps that is why I have not need, but did you know that I have never been the one to ask first?”

“Never?”

“Never. Every single one of my dates in life happened because the other person asked first. Hell, even my ex was the one who proposed, not I.”

The incredulousness that a man as secure and confident in his professional mien as Gregory, has never asked anyone on a date personally, was overshadowed in the enormity of what was being implied now.

“Gregory… Are you asking…?”

There was something – a feeling, a slow joy that slowly began to creep from the depths of Mycroft’s soul at Gregory’s words. He did not dare to call it hope. That was far too dangerous a thing. The looming shadow in fear of the emotional crash if what he feels is wrong, have him frozen in place.

“Asking you out on a date?” Gregory clarified, “No.”

Mycroft inhaled sharply from the blunt impact of it. Unable to exhale, unable to speak in that miniscule spark of hope that dared to shine, swiftly snuffed

“Mycroft breathe…” Gregory lightly placed a hand on Mycroft’s tie, right over his tie clip, right over the heart he’s not supposed to have as the breath rushed out of the contact. “As I said I’m slow. In all the dates I’ve gone since my divorce I noticed a few things. 1 - you stopped smiling at me like that when I began to date again. They all failed because snail me realized that 2 – after each date I all but ran to where I preferred to be as soon as possible – with you.” Gregory emphasized the point by firmly tapping Mycroft's chest with his finger.

It is not lost on either that, whether by surprise or desire - or both, Mycroft has allowed this.

“Gregory, I…”

“Shhhh, let me finish….” Gregory smiled shyly as he laid his hand on Mycroft’s chest again, fingers gently caressed the fine material of Mycroft’s shirt while his palm stayed in place. “The point of dating is to get to know to someone. To get to know them and see if you’re compatible. To see if you want more from them. If you want a future with them.  And the way I see it Mycroft, you and I have been dating for a couple of years now, yes?”

Dumbstruck in the reality that his dreams just might be coming true all Mycroft can do is nod as he waited, knowing there was more.

“We - well I - didn’t know that. I thought it seemed like you wanted to for a while after I was divorced, but you never actually asked. And as you now know - I have never asked anyone before. So when nothing happened, I tried to tell myself you wouldn’t want me, but now and then you smiled that smile… And this snail finally realized I was so tired of looking in other faces when all I want to see is yours.”

The hand on Mycroft’s chest had slowly travelled to cup his face and Mycroft was transfixed staring into the eyes that stared into his.

It was only natural when Mycroft found his hands have gently rested on Gregory’s hips. As much as he is screaming on the inside to just DO something. He understands that this ONCE Gregory needs to be the one to do this. He’s waited so long for this; he patiently waits a little more. 

“I know what I want is you, Mycroft. And I do know you. And I do know we are compatible. And I do know I want more… And I do know I want a future… So no, I am not asking for a date - I believe we’re well past that. What I am asking for…” Gregory closed his eyes and took a breath. When Gregory opened them again, the resolution in them is rock solid. “Mycroft Holmes, I’m in love you and for the first time in my life *I* am the one asking: will you be…mine?” 

“Yes.”

Mycroft softly brought his lips to Gregory’s at last.

The kiss is soft, slow, almost languorous… As if neither can believe the moment is happening.

Then Gregory’s tongue slides across Mycroft lips asking, begging for entrance and the kiss becomes – more…

Knowing at last the wait is over.   

[pahrak-the-sinnoh-slizer]

Game Night: Cassette Beasts

Pokémon fans threatening to find a new monster taming series is like Americans threatening to move to Canada: we’ve all said it at some point, and for completely valid reasons, but the reality is that it just isn’t that easy to pick up and go.  For me at least, it’s hard to pin down exactly what it is about Pokémon that’s central to my interest in it, so I’m not quite sure what to look for in other monster tamers.  At the very least, when something like Palworld rolls around I can easily tell that it’s not that.  The last several Pokémon games have been some of my favorites, but I’ve remained curious about the genre at large; unfortunately these games are innately a rather large commitment, which doesn’t pair well with my indecisive uncertainty.  All this to say, while I was definitely intrigued by Cassette Beasts when I first heard about it years ago, that intrigue never actually went anywhere…until now.

I believe I recently heard someone toss it out as a recommendation on a stream I was watching, which is why it stuck out when I was browsing the Games Done Quick channel on YouTube.  Out of curiosity, I wound up watching the speedrun.  I then poked around the official wiki a bit and came to realize this game could be very appealing to me specifically.  And BOY was I right about that!

Before we get into it, spoiler-free tl;dr: Cassette Beasts both wears its inspiration proudly on its sleeve and iterates upon it in many truly fascinating ways, with an atmosphere that switches effortlessly between delightfully cozy and creepy cool.  I have some gripes, but I have been thoroughly entertained and downright mesmerized playing this game.  If you have any interest in monster tamers, pixel art indie RPGs, and/or cosmic horror, I highly recommend checking Cassette Beasts out.

>PLAY

The game first asks you to customize your character, sans outfit—that comes later so you’re not entirely overwhelmed right away.  There’s also an option for pronouns, including he/him, she/her, and they/them, which is lovely to see.  You are then dropped onto the shore of a mysterious island, and are found by a girl who tells you that you’ve landed in a different dimension.  So, yes, technically an isekai.  But this is a limbo-esque world that only has humans because they keep falling into it from time to time—every single character is either from another world, or was born to parents who are stuck here.  That, combined with making your character’s explicit goal “find a way home”, excellently avoids the most common pitfalls of the genre and lets you assess it without preconceived notions.  What’s really interesting about this is that people are pulled from many different worlds, and from various points in the timeline: you have characters talking about the Mars landing of 1969 and the 20th century peace treaty with the elves, and also famous Greek philosophers and Karl Marx.  I love how eclectic it is, and it’s frequently used in really funny ways. (You all remember Diogenes, right?  Guess what traits are shared by all the monsters he uses.) The people brought here have all banded together in a mutually supportive community, with everyone contributing what they can and materials like wood and metal being traded for goods as opposed to using money.  Why do we want to go home again?  This sounds like a nice place to live!

But anyway, we’re here for the monsters.  And in-game they are just called “monsters”, never “Cassette Beasts”.  Which strikes me as odd.  But the monsters have been in this world way longer than the cassette tapes, which are actually a relatively recent arrival courtesy of an isekai’d shopping mall.  Rather than catching a monster, you record them on a blank tape, meaning that even if you are successful you’ll still need to defeat the monster or flee to end the battle.  You then use your tape and cassette player to take on the form and powers of the recorded monster, and fight your battles first-hand!  Pokémon briefly flirted with this idea in a spin-off manga (Pokémon ReBURST), but here it’s fully embraced; this sort of approach can be seen in other aspects too, as we’ll see later.  After learning the basics, you’re given a few major questlines and then set free into the open world of New Wirral, tackling whatever catches your attention as you romp around.  There is some level-scaling, though I’m not sure of the specifics.  Regardless, both it and enemy AI can be adjusted via Settings, and you can also turn off the glitch effects that show up if those are impacting your experience.  In battle you control both your avatar and one of several recruitable partners, and can carry up to six tapes at a time—essentially Doubles format, with all the complexity and chaos that entails.  One very interesting wrinkle in the formula is that in addition to the tapes/monsters having health bars, the humans also have their own health bar, hidden under that of their tape as if the tape’s HP was a shield meter.  If attacks overkill your tape, the excess damage is dealt to your own HP, and if you lose all of your HP then you’re done regardless of how many tapes you have left.  It’s an important extra resource to keep in mind, and the same is true for (most) NPC cassette-users: if you deal enough damage to their own health bar you can defeat them without having to get through all of their tapes.  Until the late/post-game, that is, where your human foes are invulnerable beneath their tapes while you very much are not, and that feels very unfair.  I also find it strange that there’s no item for restoring your human HP—campfires to rest at are fairly plentiful, but it’s still somewhat odd.

Each monster has one type, and rather than limited uses for each of its moves, both characters generate AP every turn they can then spend on certain attacks.  Moves also each have a type, but while there is a same type attack bonus (STAB), it’s not as significant as it is in Pokémon.  Naturally, each type has advantages and disadvantages over other types, but!  Weakness and resistance is also toned way down, and is not your primary goal when using type advantage. Type interaction is far, far more nuanced in this game, involving the entire spectrum of ailments and buffs and debuffs, and even changing the target’s type.  For example: Water extinguishes Fire, temporarily reducing its attack power.  Using Fire on Water creates steam, which heals Water over the next few turns.  Fire also melts Ice, changing it to a Water type for a few turns.  And this is all just barely scratching the surface!  A chart showing these interactions is given to you in-game, which is nice; more than that, whenever you discover a new interaction for the first time, a tutorial box pops up and elaborates on the effects, as well as providing an explanation of why (extinguish, steam, melt, etc) that goes a long way in keeping track of them all.  While a fantastic feature, it can get repetitive at times: the mystical Astral type has identical interactions with all four classical elements, and despite all 4 being mentioned the first time, you’ll still get that same text box explaining that interaction 4 times.  Types range from the usual suspects (Fire, Water, Air) to some very…surprising choices (Glass, Plastic, Glitter), plus Typeless moves that take on the type of the monster using them.  Moves are treated as stickers applied to your tapes, and can be peeled and moved at your discretion; you obtain them either from leveling up a tape, or from shops and chests and drops.  Leveling up monsters (from 0 to 5 stars) also increases their max AP and how many move slots they have, and I think slightly increases their stats?  Your human characters, though, have their own stats which increase as you level them up from 1 to…well I’m not sure exactly but it exceeds 100 at least.  I couldn’t tell you the exact mathematical way the two sets of stats interact, but it’s a neat idea, strengthening yourself as well as the tapes you collect.  Your partners gain experience even if they’re not with you, and thank God they do, otherwise it’d be a pain to spend proper time with each and every one of them.

There’s one other major battle mechanic unlocked at the end of the tutorial segment: Fusion.  After filling up a meter, your avatar and partner can fuse their monster forms together to unleash hell upon your enemies.  Monster sprites were made modular so that the game could automatically generate fusions on its own, meaning that there are in fact over 16000 different fusions you can make, and your bestiary will keep a list of them all. (Thank God there are absolutely no incentives for filling that list!) Fusing will also cause whatever music track is playing to gain vocals, which is a fun way to up the presentation factor.  Your relationship with your partner is key to Fusion: its measured from 0 to 5 hearts, and you need at least 1 to be able to perform Fusion at all.  At 2 hearts, you gain a super move.  Every level gained increases the stats of your fusion as well.  It’s a fun mechanic to mess around with, even if a lot of the fusions can look a bit derpy—small price for the sheer flexibility of the system.  I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that Pokémon fans have been enamored with fusion since at least B2W2; I doubt it’s coincidence that Cassette Beasts chose to implement it as a Mega Evolution-esque gimmick.  Once you get to the late/post-game, the NPC fights also gain access to Fusion, giving you a chance to figure out ways to play around the feature from the other side.

Like I said before, this game greatly expands upon a number of fan-favorite concepts from Pokémon, and I’m pleased to say that extends all the way to Shinies.  Every monster has a small chance to be a “bootleg”, with not only a different color scheme, but a different type.  There are a total of 14 types in the game.  Do you see where this is going?  Every single monster has 14 variants with different types and color palettes (even their original type, weirdly enough?).  And every single one has a page in their bestiary dedicated solely to tracking how many of these variants you’ve found.  Probably nightmarish for a completionist, but holy shit is that insanely cool!  Multiple palettes to choose from instead of being stuck with just one that might suck!  And they have mechanical differences to incentivize recording them beyond simply collector’s value!  Fantastic!  There are also various ways to increase your odds, all the way up to 20% in specific cases, which I imagine will entice quite a few players into the hobby of bootleg hunting.

Let’s see, what other mechanical topics can I cover before moving onto more story-related stuff?  Field moves are a thing—you obtain them by recording a specific monster, and in the case of some like the glide you’ll partially transform when it’s activated.  I think it strikes a nice balance: it’s dependent on what you yourself have actually recorded, but doesn’t ask you to dedicate move or party slots to it.  Their approach to evolution feels simplified: when you rest after getting a tape to 5 stars, you’ll be prompted to “remaster” it if applicable, rather than having to guess which level you should be aiming for.  There are a few wrinkles when it comes to branching evolutions, but only a few, and mostly come down to either having a certain move on the monster to change its remaster, or, after choosing to remaster, being given two options right there.  Those options can be a bit vague, though; I looked into it ahead of time, and if I had gone with the option my gut opted for when remastering my starter, I would have gotten the less cool-looking monster.  I also want to mention the loading screens; you know how The Sims lists random stuff on its loading screens?  They do something similar here, except they’re all related to one of the monsters: “Directing Traffikrab”, “Tuning Kittelly”, “Sharpening Ripterra’s knifeclaws”.  It’s a little thing but I find it charming, and perhaps a bit devious in making players curious to track down these various monsters being teased.  Oh, and selecting the Flee option will tell you your percent chance to flee, and even if you fail you can still choose to blackout if you really just want to get out of there.  There’s also a Mystery Gift analogue that’s been used to distribute various bootlegs, and things I haven’t even tried like the “Gym Pass” to customize your player character's stats.  Beating the game also unlocks customization options for future playthroughs like randomizers and permadeath.  There’s a LOT.  It’s a very packed game.

Right then, story.  There are two BIG big questlines, one of which being a setup similar to collecting Gym Badges: there are 12 special NPCs all over the map who give you a stamp when you defeat them, but rather than specializing in a certain type, they tend to have a favorite tactic they employ in battle.  One of the easiest to find specializes in moves that create defensive walls; one particularly annoying one prioritizes controlling accuracy and evasion; there’s even one who specializes in just one particular monster with an elaborate signature move.  It’s perhaps not an enormous difference, but again, it’s nuanced.  There is also a “Champion” fight at the end, but I won’t get into that.  More importantly, the questline that the game is largely centered around and leads to the end credits, is the hunt for hidden subway stations that house powerful, eldritch boss monsters known as Archangels.  Apparently, when humans first wound up in New Wirral, they didn’t know what to make of the monsters and tended to refer to them as angels or demons.  That fell out of fashion as the community came to understand monsters better.  The Archangels, however, cannot be understood by human minds.  Each one is drawn/animated in its own style that clashes with the world around them—your partners all say that it hurts just to look at them, and just being in the stations makes them feel uneasy.  A personal favorite is the claymation skeleton with a vertical mouth, to give you some idea of what to expect.  These fights have their own unique mechanics, and the Archangels tend to hit very, very hard; if you do survive, some floating guy in a red coat with a 3D rendered reflective triangle for a head shows up and absorbs the boss (concerning), and you’re given part of a riddle that will eventually lead you to the final dungeon.  The vibes are incredibly at odds with the typical overworld gameplay, and I mean that in THE best possible way.  The Archangels were a real highlight for me.

In addition to those, every partner you can recruit has their own questline, which can range from a single fight all the way to finding 6 hidden locations around the map with their own substantial battles to win.  The girl who finds you at the start of the game, Kayleigh, is your first partner, first having a quest that’s essentially “finish the tutorial” before switching to a more personal quest that involves dealing with an actual cult.  You’re also very early on pushed in the direction of Eugene, who has that long, long quest finding hidden locations all over the map.  Slow-going as it is, though, it’s about fighting off a horde of capitalist vampires who are trying to establish a housing market, so.  That’s fucking hilarious.  But it has stiff competition in Felix’s quest, where you follow his middle school OC brought to life as she journeys to four sacred altars to slay their guardians.  That’s right, Felix’s edgy anime OC, an angel demon catgirl ninja named Kuneko, is also up and about in New Wirral and he is mortified by this discovery.  Excellent questline, no notes.  Another partner you’ll run into fairly early is Meredith; her quest involves navigating a dungeon you probably won’t get to for a good while, though it’s a solid dungeon when you do get to it.  There’s also Viola, the character from Twelfth Night by William fucking Shakespeare, whose search for her brother takes her into a haunted shipwreck to face a villain from a different Shakespeare story.  New Wirral is very eclectic.  But perhaps least expected of all is Barkley the dog.  One of your playable partners is a dog.  His quest is the shortest and an utterly fucking brutal punch to the emotional gut.  Anyway I like all these folks, they’ve got personality and endearing character development that touches on some personally relevant topics.  Aside from Barkley, you can romance any partner after maxing out your relationship level, and that was a tough choice to make.  The Gym Leader analogues are sufficiently quirky for their role, and you meet a handful of other perfectly fine recurring characters—including a few who are only encountered in post-game quests.  If I’m really being strict here, I don’t think I’d say any of this game’s characters have jumped the ranks to new blorbo status, but take that as you will.

The post-game has an interesting structure to it.  You don’t unlock any new areas, not really, but after engaging with the newly-unlocked sidequest board for a bit, you gain access to a few longer questlines.  There are two that eventually come together which each feature their own new characters, one following the direct consequences of actions you took earlier in the story, and one that’s about someone new being dropped onto New Wirral, showing that the world keeps turning even if your particular story is over.  There’s also another questline which delves even deeper into the background lore of the game, and that’s something I’ll never get enough of.  The repeating sidequests are brief and rewarding enough to from a satisfying gameplay loop to disguise the grind, and I’m only just now considering an extended break after nearly 70 hours total gameplay (which I would guess is around half post-game).

Oh, I should also talk more about the bestiary and completing it!  Each monster has the standard flavor text and habitat listing, plus that page that tracks bootlegs, and a list of how many you’ve encountered/defeated.  However, when you raise a tape to 5 star level, you also unlock an additional page of flavor text, usually something related to the inspiration for the monster’s design.  While heavily scaled back, having this sort of progression in the bestiary reminds me of doing research in Pokémon Legends Arceus, and I very much appreciate that.  Going that far is optional, of course—really, doing anything involving the bestiary is optional.  But the game does nudge you in that direction and reward you several times along the way.  When you first encounter the “professor” character, he gives you a series of quests that just ask you to record one of the monsters found in the central region of the map.  Easy!  From there, he gives you a handful of resources and tapes every time you hit a new milestone of 10 monsters recorded.  In the post-game you can also randomly get quests asking you to get a certain monster to 5 star, or perform a specific fusion, or use a specific monster to fight the professor’s assistant, all slowly, slowly nudging you in the direction of completion.  But what’s really interesting is that you don’t necessarily have to fully complete the bestiary to get the grand prize (this game’s equivalent to the Master Ball).  Cassette Beasts originally had 120 monsters.  A later update raised that to 128, and some time after that, they released a DLC that added a handful of unnumbered monsters.  You get the Master Tape by recording 128 monster species.  So, if you record a bunch of the DLC monsters, you can “complete” the bestiary without tracking down every last monster in the base game.  If you do go beyond that, the completion percentage will actually go over 100%, which is so weird to see, but in a cool way.  It seems the intention was specifically to not make completion increasingly difficult as new updates are added, which is honestly pretty rad!  And, again, though I appreciate the bestiary remembering all of your fusions, I’m so glad there’s nothing incentivizing you to from every last one of them.  Same goes for bootlegs.  So, does this mean future updates/DLC with even more monsters are on the way?  No clue.  But they are working on a multiplayer update expected to release soon! (I don’t have Switch Online so I won’t be able to do much with that lol.)

I did purchase the DLC right away; I was confident I would enjoy the game enough I would want it eventually, and buying them both together was slightly cheaper than buying them separately. (The bundle also comes with a cosmetics pack but it’s nothing that interests me personally.) After progressing through the main quest enough that you become able to access the final dungeon, a small boat washes ashore, and you’re able to ride it to a dock in the middle of the ocean housing some sort of carnival.  The ringmistress asks you to explore the three major attractions and beat their power sources, the “Infernal Engines”, into submission.  Despite being a small area it’s still just as open-ended as New Wirral, an effort I appreciate.  You can tackle the attractions in any order you want, even leave in the middle of one to go do another if you prefer.  The place is also populated by several new monsters to record, including one of my personal favorites, a ghostly book monster named Hauntome.  It’s a few mini-dungeons, some solid bosses capping them off, and then one last boss, with a loose story in the background that has some connections to the main story but isn’t anything essential.  I don’t know if I’d go as far as to call it a must-buy, but it is fun, and inexpensive, and more Cassette Beasts.  Up to you.

There are two major themes I picked up on during my playthrough: community and art.  The people who’ve ended up in New Wirral, in spite of coming from countless different dimensions, have all banded together to support each other and however many newcomers show up; they don’t even ask for anything in return, they just value life and want to be sure people are cared for.  The theme that plays in Harbourtown is transparent about this: “we’re all in the same ship […] but at least we’re together […] I don’t know you but we’ll make the most of / wherever we are now”.  Fusion is about literally joining with someone to create something stronger than either of you could do on your own.  There are even some genuinely scary twisted manifestations of this idea, like the Mournington cult and the truth behind the Landkeepers—people crave community, and there are some who will use that to their own advantage.  It’s baked into the motivations of all your partners, and, switching gears, most of them are heavily connected to art too!  Felix is an artist learning he doesn’t need to be ashamed of his past, less “polished” work.  Kayleigh, after addressing her regrets with Mournington, reconnects with her old hobby of playing guitar.  Meredith actually takes things in a different direction: she used to spend all of her time consuming vast quantities of art to the point that it cut her off from her community, showing that you still need to exercise moderation when it comes to art.  Viola is a character from another, pre-existing work of art!  The Archangels play into this as well: one of the biggest things setting them apart is the way they clash with the rest of the game’s art style, and their nature as incarnations of humankind’s ideas is a delightfully malevolent spin on the whole thing.

Taking these two themes together, Cassette Beasts presents a thesis on our responsibility to our fellow people and how we can all find our own way to fulfill it, with a particular focus on art and how it broadly conveys our ideas and inspires change.  The final boss fight punctuates this beautifully when, after Aleph destroys your cassette player, Morgante awakens and tells you that you don’t truly need the cassettes.  “THE ABILITY TO MANIFEST YOUR WILL TO ALTER REALITY…TO CHANGE YOUR WORLD, AND YOURSELVES...THAT LIES WITHIN YOU.”  Then she and ALL of your partners fuse with your avatar, and through your combined might, you strike down the malevolent forces in your way, secure a path home, and bring a huge, fundamental change to New Wirral as its inhabitants now have the option to decide if they should stay or go.  It’s an extremely satisfying ending, even if it does see you and your partners going their separate ways.  But, who knows?  Given a few tidbits from the post-game, it sounds like we just might get to meet them again someday.

Again, I had a really, really great time with Cassette Beasts and highly recommend it.  It’s charming, its fun, and it’s only $20!  Maybe don’t get it on Switch, though, not if you can’t stand frequent load times.

And, just to brag about my bootlegs a little:

-The random free bootleg from Harbourtown was a Glass-type Dandylion for me

-The freebie Ritual Candle netted me a Water-type Glaistain!

-The post-game bootleg starter, I got a Poison-type Candevil

-Was able to use the mailbox to get a Fire-type Undyin

-And obviously there’s Barkley’s Ice-type Pombomb

-The first one I encountered purely by chance was an Astral-type Jellyton

-Air-type Jellyton

-Ice-type Carniviper

-Astral-type Carniviper

-Fire-type Traffikrab

-Plant-type Squirey

-Ice-type Boltam

-Lightning-type Snoopin

-Poison-type Kirikuri

-Glass-type Scubalrus

-Glass-type Spooki-onna

-Lightning-type Dominoth

-A Fire-type Piksie

-A Glitter-type Picksie

[throughpatchesofviolet]

A Night Out

Synopsis: Heathcliff and Sherry spend an evening out at a local tavern, taking advantage of a rare opportunity to relax.

Ship: The Adventure of Wuthering Heights

Words: 5,445

Warnings: alcohol, mentions of gambling, smoking, mentions of drugs, mentions of torture and death (no one is actually tortured/killed), mentions of food

Note: This fic is set in my Sherlock Holmes AU; Originally posted in June of 2023

A pleasant hush had descended on the Backstreets, and Heathcliff observed the evening routines of the local residents with a disinterested expression—here, on the outermost fringes of the Nest, the denizens of the District enjoyed a modicum of tranquility that stirred a bitter resentment in his heart.

Arrogant bastards, he thought, glaring at a pair of men as they lounged on the steps of their apartment, discussing whatever topic entertained those within the folds of high society—poetry, he supposed; those Odysseys and Iliads that only men and women of  ‘genteel breeding’ had the pleasure of reading.

Scoffing, Heathcliff leaned against the side of the alleyway, his gaze turning towards the building that formed the opposite wall—the Diogenes Club. It was a polite structure, constructed of ruddy bricks that had been glued together with thick globs of cement, and several windows adorned the frontside. The building possessed two stories, with the second floor rising from the first and shunted back a ways, and every single curtain was drawn, much to his consternation.

How much longer is this going to take? He thought, eyeing the nearest window warily. Every now and then, the drapes were drawn back, and someone would peek out before hastily drawing the curtains once more. He knew exactly who it was, and the game he played, but he wasn’t deterred. Does he just think he can keep her all night? That I’ll get fed up and leave?

Huffing, Heathcliff kicked the pavement, muttering a string of curses to himself. He’d been waiting since five, and, though there wasn’t a clock nearby, he knew it’d been a good three hours since his companion had vanished into the establishment—the surrounding apartments had been painted gold, then orange, and now a cool shade of indigo, and now the faintest lines of silver were beginning to dance through the streets, lending a soft, sparkling sheen to the pavement of the cul-de-sac.

What business is so important he has to keep her three hours? He glowered at the window, the curtains once again flickering as someone peered out at him. If I have to wait much longer, I’ll go mad.

Heathcliff had oft repeated that exact line to himself over the past three hours, yet he’d remained outside, patiently awaiting his companion’s return—such was the power of the vow between them.

“I shouldn’t have signed that lousy scrap of paper,” he grumbled. “I’d be off having a fine time with my mates at the pub if I hadn’t—I’d be starting scraps here and there, sure, but at least I’d be inside where it’s warm.”

But I wouldn’t be sitting half as pretty as I am, he reminded himself with a scowl.

His gaze returned to the window, but it was still. A moment later, the front door opened, and a woman dressed in a familiar coat of brown tweed stepped onto the street, her brow knit as she addressed someone behind her.

“—I won’t hear anymore of this, Mycroft. I have made my position on this matter perfectly clear—perhaps clearer than you would’ve liked. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my companion and I have another appointment, and I’ve wasted quite enough time entertaining your nonsense.”

“Sherlock, you cannot be serious about keeping this … engagement of yours. Your reputation will suffer for it—as will the family name!”

“Reputation means little to me, as you well know—besides, you’re the one the family name relies on, what with you being the eldest.” Tipping her cap, she offered the man a stiff bow. “Now, good evening.”

With that, she turned on her heel and set off at a brisk pace down the street, signaling for Heathcliff to join her with a wave of her hand. Glancing between her and the man still standing in the doorway, he shrugged, detaching himself from the shadows and hurrying after her.

“I take it things didn’t go well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as she fished a pipe from one of her coat’s numerous pockets.

“It went as expected,” she replied crisply. “Things played out exactly as I told you they would, this morning: Mycroft begged me to drop my work as a Fixer, but he really dug in when it came to me keeping you around.”

“Ah … hence the ‘your reputation will suffer’ …” Heathcliff sighed. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone worried about me disgracing a lady.”

“And, as I’ve told you, not even my dear brother can undo the ties that bind you and I.” She smiled mischievously, lighting her pipe. “Imagine the look on his face if I were to produce the contract … he’d faint, I’m sure.”

“As would a good chunk of my mates,” Heathcliff muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Though, they wouldn’t be as civil as Sherlock’s brother, he thought ruefully. No … they’d brand me a traitor, and then they’d exile me … but not until after they’ve tried to kill me.

He glanced at Sherlock—Sherry—hoping that he’d feel the familiar rush of rage towards her that he’d felt when they’d first started out on this private venture. But, try as he might, the flames of anger and resentment had long since abated when it came to Sherlock Holmes. After all, she’d opened her home to him, despite his untoward behavior, and had let him eat whatever leftovers remained when she finished eating—and, oftentimes, those leftovers were the entire feast.

She’d even enlisted her friend, Dr. John Watson, to tend his injuries whenever he returned to the Office covered in wounds from this or that clash between Syndicates, silencing Watson’s complaints with nothing more than a cold glare and a single, sharp word.

And, if that weren’t enough, she’d promised him the one thing no one else could—information. Along with a forty percent cut of her earnings, so long as he agreed to help her on cases every now and then.

By all accounts, Heathcliff had landed himself a deal that others would’ve killed for. Free room and board, a doctor whenever he needed one, tidbits of information on the person he yearned for most, and a sizeable paycheck … to hate Sherlock Holmes after all she’d offered him would be to bite the hand that feeds—and she fed him well.

And all he had to do was swallow his pride and sign a fancy little contract.

Heathcliff sighed, abandoning his attempt at hating the woman beside him—it was impossible for him to harbor hatred toward her, given the circumstances. “You said we had another call, this evening?”

Sherry shook her head. “That was simply an excuse to get away from my brother,” she said, her smile fading. “I don’t like lying to him, but he’d exhausted my patience.”

“Then we’re returning to Baker Street?”

“If that’s what you wish.”

Heathcliff raised an eyebrow. What I wish?

That was the other thing that had stifled his frustrations shortly after they’d both signed that scrap of paper—Sherry always took interest in what he wanted. At first, this had only served to incense him further—he was already bound to aid her, and now she was trying to befriend him? It reeked of deception, the kind of trickery any Backstreets swindler would employ.

And yet … she’d met his gaze whenever he answered—she’d seen him, rather than straight through him, and committed his responses to memory. It’d been far too long since someone had wanted to know Heathcliff for who he was rather than for what he could do for them, and, despite reminding himself over and over that it was probably a clever ploy to win his trust, he’d developed a secret fondness for the detective—a fondness he both loathed and treasured.

“I didn’t have anything that I wanted to do,” he said finally, ignoring her piercing gaze as it settled on him—those sharp, sapphire eyes, sparkling with an intensity that made his insides squirm, were incapable of missing even the slightest of details. Heathcliff instinctively reached to adjust one of his suspenders, then froze.

Lass has me fretting about my appearance, now, he thought, gritting his teeth and forcing his hand back into his pocket as Sherry chuckled softly.

“You’ve been doing that more,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Doing what?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“Straightening your clothes whenever I cast a glance your way,” Sherry replied, smiling. “There’s no need for it, you know—I’m not going to scold you for having a button undone.”

She cracked open an eyelid, her gaze hovering on the collar of his shirt, which, as usual, was unbuttoned.

Heathcliff muttered an oath, beginning to fumble with the buttons, which only made Sherry laugh more. After a moment, she tugged his arm, halting him so she could adjust his attire herself.

“I told you—I’ve no problem with how you dress.” She pulled his dusty, brown jacket so that it covered his shoulders properly, then fussed with his sleeves, picking off a few pieces of lint. “As long as you’re comfortable, I’ve no qualms about your clothing.”

Heathcliff grunted, waving her away. “If you didn’t care, then you wouldn’t be fussing.”

“I’m only fussing because watching you fumble with buttons and folds is as entertaining as watching rain trickle down a windowpane,” she retorted.

“Yet you were chuckling just a moment before,” he growled.

“Only because you fall for my teasing so easily—surely you know when I’m taking the piss, by now?”

Heathcliff bristled, but couldn’t think of a clever comeback. Instead, he settled for another curse, turning to follow Sherry as she continued down the street.

“If you don’t have anywhere you’d like to visit, then we can retire to Baker Street early—Victor did send me a letter, and I could spend the evening continuing my correspondence with him.”

At this, Heathcliff hissed. “Not that rich sod from the Nest, again … he isn’t insisting you return to that bloody estate of his, is he?”

Sherry’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “He is. I know how you feel about him, so you can look after the Office when I visit him, if you so choose.”

And let him flirt with you? I’d rather be shot! Heathcliff bit his tongue, barely stopping himself from listing the numerous reasons Sherry shouldn’t return to Victor Trevor’s estate—chief among them the jealousy surging through his veins.

“Victor informed me that a man by the name of Hudson has been working his father into quite a state, and wishes for me to look into him, and it wouldn’t do to turn down a friend after all he’s done for me.”

She turned her eyes toward Heathcliff, their mischievous twinkle growing brighter as she grinned.

“Unless, of course, something prevents me from writing back to him.”

Heathcliff returned her gaze coolly. He knew exactly what she was doing, and if he wasn’t so stung by her dragging Victor’s name into the conversation, he would’ve been flattered. To think, the great Sherlock Holmes was hinting at wanting to spend time with him … outside of the Office, no less!

Finally, he sighed. “I suppose … I might know a place we could go—but it’s not exactly the kind of establishment I should be taking a lady.”

“My dear Heathcliff, do you think I’m unfamiliar with the City’s dens of iniquity?”

“No, but still …” he avoided her gaze. There were places he frequented that he’d wanted to keep Sherry away from—the taverns were one thing, but the gambling dens and the underground fighting rings, thick with tobacco smoke, were places he didn’t want her to see, lest they spoil her opinion of him.

“I assure you, you shall receive no judgement from me—if that’s what you fear.” Sherry placed her finger over the end of her pipe, snuffing out the flame before pocketing it. “And if you’re concerned about my reputation … I made my stance quite clear, earlier.”

“That you did,” Heathcliff muttered. “Alright—perhaps I have a bit of unfinished business at a place nearby. But I don’t want to hear you complaining about the clientele, got it?”

The Rat’s Nest was an unassuming building upon first glance, with ashen brick walls and a number of freshly scrubbed windows, but locals knew better—though the establishment had a modest exterior, the inside was rank with illicit activity, from gambling to forgery to smuggling enkephalin.

Still, it was a place Heathcliff frequented—if nothing else, he could turn up a tidbit of info or two to run back to Sherry for her cases. And … well, the drinks were nice, too.

“The Rat’s Nest,” Sherry’s eyes glanced over the sign hanging above the door, and she sighed, clearly unamused. “How clever.”

“Careful there,” Heathcliff said, nodding at a crowd of thugs gathered outside the establishment, their eyes trained on the unusual duo. “This place is one of the most dangerous places in the District.”

“I’m familiar with its reputation,” she said softly. “Many of my clients have run into trouble with those who frequent this establishment … but it’s a wealth of information for any Fixer willing to step inside.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been here, then?”

“No—but I know a certain man with a rather unkempt appearance who has.” She shot him a sly grin, and he grit his teeth. “What’s your business, tonight?”

“Same as every night where you’re not demanding I go and dig up information—pool.”

Sherry raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he opened the tavern door, a cloud of thick, blue tobacco smoke roiling forth and smothering them as they ducked inside.

The building was packed, with people from all corners of the Backstreets crowded around tables throughout the main floor. Many of them were speaking in hushed whispers, dark eyes glittering warily as they surveyed the room, watching for potential eavesdroppers. Most were smoking thick cigars, contributing to the hazy blue cloud drifting across the ceiling, while others had their fingers curled around neatly chiseled glasses filled with brandy, vodka, or gin—at least, that’s what Heathcliff supposed, having glanced over the bar menu briefly once or twice. He fancied the scotch, himself.

One quarter of the room had been lowered several yards, and a staircase had been installed for guests to travel down to the lowest point in the tavern—a space filled with dartboards, pool tables, and slot machines. Throngs of Rats had gathered around the slots, their dim eyes reflecting the dazzling colors as they watched the reels spin as if in a trance.

Sherry barely suppressed a soft cough, glaring at the indigo fog rolling overhead. “Would it kill them to crack open a window?”

“Don’t let ‘em hear you saying that,” Heathcliff whispered, nudging her towards the stairs. “Trust me—this crowd can sense disapproval, and they’re pretty quick to stamp it out.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve upset them a few times, then?”

“And what would make you think I’m the one who upset ‘em? Perhaps I was just an innocent bystander who witnessed some poor sod getting thrashed for daring to tell one of ‘em off?”

Sherry grinned, shaking her head. “My dear Heathcliff … I’m sorry, but it sounds like you’re recounting one of your personal experiences.”

He muttered a curse, prodding her closer to the stairs. “Fine, I’ve been in a few scrapes with these lads in the past, but that’s all the more reason for you to keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow, her eyes gleaming mischievously. “Is that why you’ve been coming back to the Office so ragged these past few weeks?”

“Mouth. Shut.” Heathcliff hissed, his eyes flicking towards the bar before scanning the nearby tables. “I don’t need you drawing more attention than you already have.”

Sherry huffed, folding her arms. “You’re not scared of them, are you?”

“What? No!” he scoffed. “Just get down the bloody stairs before I—”

He stopped midsentence, noticing a few people had turned to stare at them, and he felt his face flush. Grabbing Sherry by the elbow, he led her down the stairs, then towards a pool table in the bottom left corner of the room.

Releasing Sherry, he sighed, leaning against the pool table with his eyes closed. This woman is going to be the death of me.

“Eight-ball or one-pocket?” Sherry’s question, asked in a soft, gentle tone, made him open his eyes, and he was surprised to see her racking pool balls on the table behind him.

“Eight-ball,” he answered, and she nodded. “You … you’ve played before?”

“Once or twice,” she replied, shrugging. “Mycroft often lets the boys play at the Diogenes Club, and I picked it up from them—though, my dear brother was upset when he found out.”

“I can imagine.” Heathcliff couldn’t help but grin at the thought of Mycroft fuming because his precious little sister had learned how to play something as ‘scandalous’ as pool.

Sherry removed the rack from around the balls with a flourish, setting it to the side before placing the cue ball at the headstring. “Would you like to shoot first?”

“If it pleases the lady,” Heathcliff hummed, and Sherry scoffed. But she nodded, tossing him a cue stick from the set hanging on the wall beside the table.

“The floor’s yours.”

Without another word, Heathcliff moved himself behind the cue ball, leaning forward and placing his bridge hand on the table—open bridge, as always—and delivered a sharp prod to the cue ball, which collided with the pool balls at the opposite end of the table, sending them scattering in all directions. A solid blue ball rolled neatly into the top left pocket, and Heathcliff shot Sherry a smug grin.

“Seems I’ll be taking an early lead.”

“Don’t go getting cocky, now,” she warned, rubbing a chalk cube on the end of her cue stick. “You haven’t even seen me shoot.”

He shrugged, moving to the right side of the table to position himself behind the cue ball, eyes fixed on a solid red ball a few inches away from the leftmost pocket. As he settled down to shoot, though, he felt that familiar sensation of being watched by a sharp pair of eyes …

Sherlock, he thought, gritting his teeth as his heart skipped a beat. His gaze flicked up to meet hers, but he quickly focused his attention back on the cue ball, trying to ignore her. Just focus on the game, Heathcliff—don’t let her get in your head.

He poked the cue ball firmly, but it only rolled enough to nudge the red ball he’d aimed for, and he muttered a quiet curse as Sherry scooped up the cue ball and reset it behind the headstring.

“Allow me …” she said, settling into a striking position.

Heathcliff huffed, stepping back to lean against the wall, studying Sherry’s movements.

There were few moments where he had the opportunity to truly look at Sherlock Holmes—she was always bundled up in her brown trench coat, a short, tweed cape hanging about her shoulders, with a familiar cap perched atop her head.

 And that was usually all he noticed.

But here, in the dimly lit tavern, with her crouched low as she charted the course of the cue ball in front of her, Heathcliff had a rare opportunity to admire her face—it was surprisingly soft, with the faintest of wrinkles under her eyes denoting the many sleepless nights she’d spent in her favorite armchair, her deep blue eyes reflecting the leaping flame contained in the fireplace. He never really knew what she was thinking on those nights, but he knew one thing: Sherlock had some of the most piercing eyes he’d ever seen, and they expressed her thoughts more clearly than her own tongue.

Sherry narrowed her eyes, studying the cue ball with an intensity that she usually reserved for the morning papers, and she set her bridge hand flat on the table, running the edge of her cue stick back and forth along her thumb and index finger in quiet contemplation. A few locks of her warm, tawny hair brushed against the table as she leaned forward, delivering a firm strike to the cue ball that sent it shooting across the table, knocking a ball with a thick, yellow band into the top right pocket.

Wordlessly, Sherry straightened, moving around the table to prepare for another shot, this time her gaze set on a ball behind the headstring, sporting a band of indigo. And, again, she sank the ball.

Moving back around the table, she cast Heathcliff a sly glance, and he snorted. So, she’s got a little bit of skill—it’s nothing to be proud of. It’s not like we’re playing for money or anything.

Sherry sank yet another ball, and he sighed as she once again looped around the table.

Okay … maybe she’s got something to be proud of.

“I do hope I’m not boring you,” she said, flicking her eyes in his direction  as she settled down for her fourth shot. “I’m not familiar with the kind of conversation people have when they play pool.”

“They’re usually about topics that wouldn’t interest you, anyway,” Heathcliff replied.

“Try me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, listening as the cue ball clattered against a trio of balls at the other end of the table. “When it’s me and my mates, the topic usually turns to who fancies who pretty quick.”

“Ah … you’re right. That isn’t something that interests me.”

“Not even if it’s about me?” he asked, opening his eyes to study her curiously.

“I was under the impression you were in love with that Earnshaw woman.” Sherry’s words were polite, but her eyes were dark. She gestured at the table. “It’s your shot.”

“So it is,” he murmured, detaching himself from the wall and plucking the cue ball from the table, once again resetting it behind the headstring. “Have you learned anything more about Cathy, by any chance?”

“Nothing that pleases me,” Sherry muttered bitterly, brow furrowed. “The more I learn of her, the more I dislike her—if you’ll pardon me saying so.”

Heathcliff hummed in response, taking his shot and sinking another ball in the rightmost pocket. “Wouldn’t happen to be because you’re … jealous, would it?”

“I have no reason to envy her,” Sherry said simply, but the storm in her eyes brought a smile to Heathcliff’s face.

Oh, she’s definitely jealous …

He missed his next shot, and Sherry took his place, resetting the cue ball and knocking two more balls into separate pockets. She really was quite good at the game—better than most.

“If I’d known you were this good, I would’ve made a bet with you.” Heathcliff sidled up beside her, earning an annoyed glare.

“And what would the stakes have been?”

“Nothing big—just a bet to see who’d be buying drinks.”

Sherry shrugged, jabbing the cue ball and sending another pool ball rattled into a pocket. “If you want a drink, I have no problem buying you one.”

“You, Miss Sherlock Holmes, are the complete opposite of a lady. Your brother would be horrified if he heard you were offering to buy a man a drink, you know.”

“There are more scandalous things,” she replied, rounding the table and sinking her seventh pool ball. “For example—I’m about to beat you at pool by knocking the eight ball into that pocket.”

She nodded at the hole closest to him, and he grinned.

“You’re just racking up your sins, tonight, aren’t you?”

“I never said I was a lady—you’re the one who assumed I was.”

With that, she sank the eight ball into the pocket beside Heathcliff, and the game was finished.

“Not bad,” Heathcliff mused, knocking the rest of the balls into the table’s pockets as Sherry hung up her cue stick. “Seems I owe you a drink.”

“If I drink, it’ll be back at Baker Street.” Sherry sighed, twirling her hair around her finger. “I don’t care to drink in public—and especially not in places like this.”

“What—you can’t hold your liquor?” Heathcliff teased.

“I hold my drink better than you,” she said sharply, and he winced—she had seen him in a drunken stupor once before, and though he couldn’t recall any of the things he’d said or done, the disapproving look in her eyes during the weeks following his intoxicated haze had hurt more than the initial hangover. “But … if you’d like, I can treat you to a glass of brandy.”

“Scotch would be nice,” he muttered, hanging up his cue stick.

“Scotch, then.” Sherry moved towards the stairs, and Heathcliff scrambled after her, catching up as she reached the main floor.

Before he could say anything, however, she’d vanished into the crowd, leaving him alone on the landing.

Shit, he thought, glancing around frantically for her. Really, Heathcliff—you bring a lass out with you for the first time in years, and you decide the ideal place to take her is a seedy little tavern packed full of the shadiest Syndicates in the Backstreets … and then you go and lose track of her. Sure, she’s Sherlock Holmes, but with a face as cute as hers, any drunk sod could fancy the idea to try and charm her—not that he’d succeed, because she is Sherlock Holmes and has no interest in romance, but …

He shook himself, muttering a quiet curse.

Pull yourself together, you stupid fool! It’s because she’s Sherlock Holmes that she’s in so much danger here—all sorts of Syndicates gather here, and none of ‘em are too keen on her after she broke up their enkephalin smuggling rings. If they cornered her, they’d do all manner of unthinkable things to her …

He shuddered, a cold, dark realization dawning on him.

… and it’d be my fault. I’d be the reason she got caught and tortured. His stomach twisted painfully at the thought, and his heartrate accelerated. They’d kill her and I’d be the one responsible for it, because I’m the bastard who brought her here in the first place.

He was about to dive into the crowd in search of her when he felt a gentle tug at his arm, and, glancing down, he saw that Sherry had returned, a glass of whiskey in her hand, which she offered to him.

“Sherlock!” he wheezed, relief washing over him. “You’re … safe.”

“Of course I am,” she replied, raising an eyebrow at his quivering frame. “Are you feeling alright? You’re shaking like a newborn calf …”

He blinked, then released a tired sigh. “Don’t go running off on me, love … you scared me half to death.”

“Ah …” Sherry glanced away, then took his elbow. “Let’s go over here—there’s a table in the corner that was unoccupied … you can rest there for a moment.”

Heathcliff allowed her to lead him through the crowd, and they settled down at a small booth in the farthest corner of the tavern, far away from the wary eyes of the ruffians clustered around the bar.

Sherry was silent, quietly observing the murmuring crowds, and Heathcliff took the opportunity to take a swig of his drink, sighing as the familiar warmth of alcohol spread through his limbs, filling him with renewed vigor.

Setting the now-empty glass down, he turned his gaze to Sherry, who was staring at her lap, her hat drawn low over her eyes.

“You doing alright?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” she replied curtly, lifting her head and staring out at the people milling about the tavern.

Heathcliff tried to read her eyes, but they weren’t the dazzling window to her thoughts that they usually were—instead, they were clouded with an emotion that was foreign to them … something different from the delight and anger that usually thundered through them.

“… can I ask you a question, Heathcliff?”

Sherry’s voice was soft, hesitant—so much less confident than usual.

“Of course,” he said, tilting his head. “What is it?”

“Do you still love Catherine Earnshaw?”

Heathcliff blinked, surprised by the question. “Of course I do—Cathy’s the only reason I’m doing all this, remember? You said that as long as I help you out here and there, and sometimes keep you company now that Watson’s left to focus on his practice, you’d tell me what you learned about her whereabouts.”

“I see. I suspected as much.” Sherry’s words were stiff, and that clouded emotion in her eyes thickened. “And what if she’s ceased to love you? Have you ever considered that possibility?”

“That ‘possibility’ is an impossibility,” Heathcliff hissed, bristling.

Sherry frowned. “Then you’re set on returning to her, once I discover where she’s decided to roost?”

“Naturally—once I get the information I want, our contract’s fulfilled. I’m free to go on my way, and you can find someone else to accompany you on your cases.”

“And what about everything we’ve been through? Is the friendship we share so trivial that you’ll just vanish without a word once you get what you want?”

Heathcliff hesitated at this—certainly, Sherlock meant something to him … she meant more to him than anyone else in the Backstreets. Hell—just a few moments ago, the thought of losing her had stricken him with terror, and that fear was rivaled only by the bitter thought that someone else would steal away her affections … but he knew that was impossible. Sherlock Holmes had no interest in winning a man’s heart—and besides, didn’t his love belong to Cathy?

Still, the idea of parting with Sherry once he finally learned of Catherine’s whereabouts left him feeling hollow. He did harbor a secret affection for her, after all … even if he refused to admit it.

“You’re … you’re not going to make me choose between the two of you, are you?”

“I’m not. But the fact that Catherine Earnshaw and I lead very different lives and desire very different things—save, perhaps, one thing—is undeniable. It’s not a matter of choosing between Catherine and I … it’s a matter of choosing between the life Catherine wants and the life you currently lead.”

He blinked—he’d never once considered how different his life would be once he was finally reunited with Cathy. He’d just assumed things would go back to how they were before he left—only this time, she would accept him. How could she not? He was returning to her a fairly wealthy man, after all …

But, life as it was before was … dull and uninteresting, now that he thought about it. He’d rise with the sun, eat breakfast, do whatever business required his attention, eat lunch, return to business, eat dinner, and then go to bed shortly after sunset. And there’d be balls, no doubt—and he loathed balls. Even with Cathy at his side, the drabness of it all would bore him to tears—especially in comparison to the fast paced life he led in the Backstreets working with Sherry.

At Baker Street Office, he had his three meals a day, a room for himself, and there was something new happening nearly every day—unearthing scandals, busting enkephalin smuggling rings, tearing down entire Syndicates, and learning the secrets of the Wings … plus, he still had the pleasures of gambling and drinking to pass the time whenever Sherry gave him leave. Though the consequences of those behaviors weren’t always the best, he at least enjoyed freedom when he was working for her … a freedom that he’d lose the moment he returned to Catherine.

“I’m close to figuring out where she is, Heathcliff,” Sherry said softly. “I just wanted to make you aware of how serious a choice awaits you. I won’t sway you one way or the other—but I will say that of all the men I’ve known, you certainly keep me the most entertained.”

She rose, brushing off her coat.

“I think I’ll return to Baker Street, now. All things considered, this was a lovely evening—it’s been a long time since I had this much fun.”

Heathcliff started. “Don’t you want company on the way home?”

“I’ll be alright on my own—I’ll leave the door unlocked for you. Just go easy on the whiskey, alright?”

With that, she swept out of the tavern, leaving Heathcliff to brood over the problem she’d unceremoniously dropped in his lap.

It was only a few minutes after she departed, however, that he realized something—Sherry had said there was one thing that both she and Catherine wanted. What that thing was remained a mystery to him, though his fluttering heart dared to hope that, perhaps, it was him.

[tvmigraine]

Random Doctor Who RPG Facts about the Paternoster era

A possible Time Lord is still alive in Victorian England. Running the Diogenes Club is Dame Regina Smythe. The club itself is able to change size, miraculously gain rooms and have its interiors change on a whim, making it appear as a TARDIS. The game suggests they could be a Time Lord who's been chameleon arch'd, but I like the idea that it's an incarnation of the Doctor.

The Artful Dodger was a real person - specifically, they were Sam Swift the Quick (The Woman Who Lived). He isn't immortal but he ages at an incredibly slow pace (basically making him Jack Harkness). He looks after street urchins called "The Raggedy Children" while continuing to do crimes.

There is a giant Labyrinth underneath London. One suggested theory is that it's a dying TARDIS, due to its ability to traverse through history when travelling through it.

Madame Vastra and the Doctor both stopped a Krynoid Pod from hatching in London.

Ada Gillyflower (The Crimson Horror) has her own K-9. Their K-9 is an actual dog that's telepathic.

The political history of Who is further complicated by a wholly new Prime Minister for London - his name is Nathan Fairfield.

There is a female splinter of Scaroth. Her name is Scarlett Valentin and she is both an actress and opera singer hailing from Paris. The book states that she stole her skin from a prostitute in order to specifically appear young and healthy.

A splinter of Clara works for Torchwood - her name is Rhona Austen. It is suggested that she was only recruited as bait for the Doctor, but she is said to be a capable Torchwood member.

Jackson Lake's TARDIS (Tethered Aerial Release, Developed In Style) is available for aerial rides above London. It is now a business run by a brother-sister duo called Henry and Charlotte.

The Silence are a threat in London - specifically there is one called The Revenant Reverand, who uses his position hiding in a church to place suggestions into people's minds.

One of the main plotline hooks they offer is continuing the adventures of Victoria Waterfield, exploring what she did after leaving the TARDIS. It is not what I expected in this book.

Saving my favourite pint for last... there is a Dalek hiding in the criminal underworld called "The Napoleon of Crime". He was pulled out of the Time War following the events of The Evil of the Daleks and is trying to return to the TIme War. After acquiring Cyberman technology (The Next Doctor), he uses it to try and build a Time Corridor and get back into the Time War.

He has two lieutenants - the first is Mister Steele, a partially converted Cyberman who's fighting against his programming. Because of that programming, he is still planning to build a new Cyber-King and convert London, but fights against this so he can remain loyal to Napoleon. The second lieutenant is Miss Lovelace, a clockwork robot that is almost fully human that is entirely devised to be a rival to Steele, all for Napoleon's continued entertainment.

Napoleon also has an alien army thanks to his collected alien wares. On top of Cybershades, he now has Chessmen - pawns in his games that are controlled through Cyberman, Clockwork Robot and other alien technology. He has recruited The Revenant Reverand and Scarlett Valentin before, along with the Borad who is still alive!

Notably Napoleon commissioned the Borad to create a Dalek clone as a form of company - he eventually managed to create Josephine. She has a scrapped, bulky shell made from leftover pieces, being dubbed a "Steelclad". She was originally a woman named Lyssa Marden who the Borad "saved" from a fatal accident, although she does not realise what she's been turned into.

I love this character - he enjoys being a leader of the criminal underworld, especially being a nemesis for the Paternoster Gang (the book suggests Napoleon unconsciously sabotages his own plans because he would enjoy remaining in Victorian London).

Cubicle 7 beat Big Finish, this is way more fun.

[dolphin1812]

We’ve reached the first Grantaire ramble! Here are some interesting and/or funny lines:

“Ecclesiastes says: ‘All is vanity.’ I agree with that good man, who never existed, perhaps.”

We’ve already read about how Grantaire is contradictory and his disrespectful attitude toward religion (his jokes about the cross in his introduction). Here, we get an example of both of those at once. He questions if Ecclesiastes (also a part of the Bible) was real, which would probably offend the religious sensibilities of more devout Christians, but he’s agreeing with him as he does so, thus affirming the words of the text. 

“Caligula made a horse a consul; Charles II. made a knight of a sirloin. Wrap yourself up now, then, between Consul Incitatus and Baronet Roastbeef.”

I don’t understand the reference with Charles II, but the wordplay is at least entertaining.

“ As for the intrinsic value of people, it is no longer respectable in the least. Listen to the panegyric which neighbor makes of neighbor.”

This suggests that he’s upset by the lack of community and callousness toward others that he observes in his daily life, but that his response has been cynicism rather than action. He even makes a reference to cynicism as a philosophy later on, joking about Diogenes’ cloak.

“Virtue, granted, but madness also. There are queer spots on those great men. The Brutus who killed Cæsar was in love with the statue of a little boy. This statue was from the hand of the Greek sculptor Strongylion, who also carved that figure of an Amazon known as the Beautiful Leg, Eucnemos, which Nero carried with him in his travels. This Strongylion left but two statues which placed Nero and Brutus in accord. Brutus was in love with the one, Nero with the other.”

Given that so much of Grantaire’s introduction was about his adoration of Enjolras and was filled with allusions to ancient Greek figures associated with homosexuality, it’s not surprising to see what appears to be another reference to queerness. It’s also not surprising that Grantaire’s attitude here is unclear, as he’s always full of contradictions. On the one hand, Brutus’ love for a statue of a boy is portrayed as a “spot” on his character, marring his image of virtue. Grantaire, though, just questioned the meaning of virtue itself, claiming that it was linked to violence (the “slayer”) and was determined by the victor, not by one’s character. Moreover, Brutus’ love of the statue of the boy is equated with Nero’s love of a statue of an Amazon (a woman), suggesting some level of equality between their loves. Consequently, this story could be less a commentary on queerness from Grantaire and more an instance of his general rejection of love, mocking Nero’s affection through the comparison with Brutus’. It could be a continued criticism of virtue, too. If “virtue” is violence and destruction, then love is a “spot” on virtue, even though love is typically thought of as a better trait.

His cynicism is a product of despair as well, as we see from his admission that he’s “sad” in between all his other statements. He’s still very petty, though, continuing to speak even after Bossuet silences him.

I admit that I don’t follow the references to theater and law in the other discussions (aside from the Charter), but it does give us an idea of the range of interests here. Les Amis may be bound by republicanism, but they not only have different opinions within that, but different hobbies and priorities. Grantaire’s in his own category (disavowing politics and also ranting in a very specific way), but Jean Prouvaire’s interest in mythology is really distinct from the focus on mistresses in Joly and Bahorel’s group, which is also different from the definitive political focus of Courfeyrac and Combeferre here. This isn’t to say they couldn’t all discuss these subjects - Grantaire is definitely knowledgeable about mythology, and Combeferre is basically interested in everything - but it still says something about how they choose to spend their time when they’re not doing activist work. It also gives us an indication of who’s closer to whom, even if they’re all friends. On top of that, the list of discussions (theater, politics, love, etc) gives us a feel for what a Parisian café was like at that time. It’s a wonderful way of giving us a sense of place while helping us get to know the characters.

Courfeyrac burning the Charter in the middle of all this is so funny. Combeferre, with his belief in gradual progress through education and small social changes, really tried to defend it (albeit “weakly”), but Courfeyrac was feeling chaotic, and the fire was right there.

[imaginependergast]

Been thinking of domestic-ish Pendergast lately. Figured I’d entertain the thought. I think he cooks? If so, is it as intricate as, say, Hannibal’s? (Save for the cannibalism) What is his workout plan/routine?Is he more of a cat or dog person? His favorite movie/book?

Any other little things you can think of?

I, too, love the domestic Pendergast.

I think he primarily leaves the cooking to Mrs. Trask, at least when he's at the mansion. I'd say he can cook, but not to the extent that Diogenes can or to the extent Diogenes likes to. We know cooking is definitely a Diogenes thing from Obsidian Chamber. He can be a solid cook but much prefers eating to cooking. I think it's also worth considering if he does cook it's at least relatively higher end meals so his floor is higher than most people's ceiling.

He meditates for sure so I think that counts. I think he's focus primary on flexibility and cardio, so mainly something like yoga and running. I'm sure he goes to the shooting range to keep his gun skills good and probably does some light strength training, but less than Proctor who has to partially to fit the role of Pendergast's enforcer when need be. We know they were in some military service together so they probably have worked out together in the past but I doubt they'd do so as employer/employee.

Cats or dogs is a good question. I might be biased as a cat person but I'd say cat. I think as much as he would value the loyalty and utility of dogs, he also values the hunting instinct, independence, and curiosity of cats. Plus as much as many cats are incredibly affectionate (like mine!) I think he'd prefer to have a pet that's a bit lower maintenance. I like the idea of Pendergast reading at the fireplace, absinthe in hand, and a cat snuggling on the arm of his chair, in his lap, or across the room being able to be a comfortable companion in silence.

He slagged TV as being loud and vulgar like opera way back in Cabinet of Curiosities so I doubt he'd watch movies or TV, at least not on his own accord. I think most, if not all, of his pop culture knowledge, at least about media, comes from cultural osmosis or spending time with Vinnie, Corrie, or Coldmoon. As for books I honestly don't know where to start because fine literature isn't my forte. I'd assume it's something classic in nature, either literally from the ancient Greeks or Romans or something a bit more modern.

I make my husbando Pendergast watch the Law and Orders with me plus old episodes of The FBI Files.

Some others...hm.

I think he'd be one of those people that, since he has nearly all the banalities of daily life taken care for him, he sometimes has issues doing super basic things. Like he has no idea to check if dishes and cups are dishwasher safe or might do laundry without all the right things (detergent, dryer sheets, etc.) or be slightly confounded by different cable or streaming service packages, having no idea what, if any, is better regarding content.

I also think domestic!Pendergast would stay in bed a bit longer on weekends, or at least Sundays, if he had a partner. I could see breakfast in bed being something he would indulge in. Maybe not every weekend, but enough where it's not uncommon. If he and his partner are at the Dakota I think he'd be the one who puts the coffee/tea on in the morning.

[tv-moments]

Ripley

Season 1, “IV La Dolce Vita”

Director: Steven Zaillian

DoP: Robert Elswit

[nicklloydnow]

“Like his ancient predecessor, the Cynic Diogenes of Sinope, Cioran turned his poverty into a badge of philosophical honour. For the most pressing needs of his body, he would rely on the kindness of strangers and the generosity of friends. He wore other people’s hand-me-down clothes or entertained them with his wit and erudition in exchange for a meal. He would do anything, except take a proper job.

Doing nothing in a world where everybody seemed busy doing something – anything – struck Cioran as the only lifestyle worth pursuing and defending. A life devoid of action and practical ambitions, of distractions and busyness, is a life in which room has been made for meaning: ‘Anything good comes from indolence, from our incapacity of taking action, executing our projects and plans,’ Cioran wrote. And he behaved accordingly. When a journalist once asked him about his writerly routines, his answer was candour itself: ‘Most of the time I don’t do anything. I am the idlest man in Paris … the only one who does less than I do is a whore without clients.’

(…)

Having thus received ‘the revelation of the universal insignificance’, Cioran decided that the best possible social existence would be a parasite’s life – a loser. In a meaningless world, he observed, ‘only one thing matters: learning to be the loser’. Embracing loserdom, making the most of it, becoming one with it, became the great project of his life. Cioran aspired to be a loser as single-mindedly and passionately as others aspire to make a name for themselves in business, academia or politics. For he realised early on that loserdom puts us in the best position to understand how society works, and how it can surreptitiously turn our sociality into a form of self-enslavement. Most important of all, loserdom gives us the key to life’s best-guarded secret: at its core, the world – and we in it – is nothing but a failed project. Let me elaborate.

We fail all the time, in things large and small, yet our biggest failure may be that, as a rule, we don’t understand failure. And since we are not equipped to think about it, we can’t grasp its broader significance in our lives. A long evolutionary history has hardwired us to go blindly for whatever increases our chances of survival in the world, and therefore to chase immediate success. Brooding over failure, just as brooding over our finitude and mortality, doesn’t improve our chances of survival. Failure is the sudden irruption of nothingness in the midst of existence, and contemplating nothingness, while spiritually enlightening, doesn’t make much evolutionary sense. That’s why when failure happens – and it happens all the time – we instinctively tend to move on, without paying much heed or studying it in depth. This must be one of failure’s sweetest victories over us: on a deep level, we are designed to fail, and to fail badly (including our final failure: physical annihilation), and yet we are conditioned to remain blissfully unaware of failure’s darker message because our thinking can’t come to terms with it, just as it can’t come to terms with death itself.

Take the Beckettian quote about failing better, which self-help gurus, entrepreneurs-turned-spiritual-masters and other ‘life hackers’ repeat with abandon. Nothing is easier, if you listen to these sages, than to stumble upon spectacular achievements after experiencing disaster. On this view, failure is always pregnant with fulfilment, like a quarrel between lovers, which makes their eventual reconciliation all the sweeter – a little trick meant to spice up an already grand relationship. What these people always fail to mention, however, is what comes right after their favourite failure quote. For there is, for Samuel Beckett, something even better than failing better: failing worse. Going down and going under. Capitulation. Looking for an exit. Expiration. Here’s the larger context of his novella Worstward Ho (1983), which, as a rule, is conveniently left out: ‘Try again. Fail again. Better again. Or better worse. Fail worse again. Still worse again. Till sick for good. Throw up for good.’ Failure doesn’t necessarily lead to success, but to even more failure – abject, painful, unbearable failure. Did I mention that Beckett was Cioran’s friend? ‘Amidst your ruins I feel at home,’ Beckett wrote to him once.

This sugarcoating of failure is part of a larger societal process. Everything that is unpleasant, disturbing, depressing in our culture is neutralised, sterilised and promptly taken out of view. Not so much for mental health reasons as for economic and social ones. To be productive members of society, to be able to make large amounts of money and to spend even more, to take loans and to pay them back with interest, we need to be hooked to a ‘positive outlook’. Capitalism doesn’t thrive on loners, depressives and metaphysicians. No respectable bank will lend money to a client today who may snap and go Henry David Thoreau tomorrow.

Navel-gazers can be dangerous elements. And so can philosophical nihilists. Should their numbers be left unchecked, they could undermine even the most industrious of communities. That’s why such antisocial tendencies must be watched closely and weeded out as needed. An impressive army of therapists, wellbeing coaches, yoga instructors, self-help experts, entertainers, educators, entrepreneurs and other charitable souls is deployed to make sure that we don’t ever stumble upon the dark side of existence, let alone look the void in the face, as Cioran used to. This is problematic even when it comes to us through the mediation of art or literature. The great books that explore the abyss of the human soul (the mediocre ones never go there) now come with ‘trigger warnings’. Inhaling serious literature is apparently as dangerous as smoking. Granted, this sugarcoating industry has turned life in modern society into a highly artificial affair and largely a mockery, but most people don’t seem to mind. For mindlessness is another important dimension of modern life.”

[bethnalgreen]

The Preston and Child Books

Welcome to my corner of Tumblr, and my first-ever post. Sorry about the length!

Warning: Spoilers ahead.

I can't even remember when I first read "Relic," the first novel in what became the Pendergast series by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. It was probably sometime in the 1990s. I do have specific memories of reading "The Cabinet of Curiosities" in the summer of 2002. My sister and I had just moved to New York City, and I was working at Barnes & Noble. You could borrow any hardcover book from B&N to read as long as you put a protective book cover on it. I spent several late nights reading it in our sublet, scared half to death and definitely entertained.

For the next six years, I was a passionate fan of these books. I even managed to snag an audiobook version of "The Book of the Dead" before its official release date (not from B&N) because I was going to be on a plane that day and wanted desperately to read it ASAP.

It's hard to believe that's been almost 15 years ago. I'm still reading the P/C books, and looking forward to them, but I've found myself increasingly disappointed in them.

I don't want to just dump on them. I write for fun but have never finished a story, and I truly applaud the imagination and dedication evident in even the books I truly dislike. (And there have been a few. I give every P/C book a second chance, but it doesn't always make me like it more. The novels I love have been read at least half a dozen times.)

The sticking point for me in the last half-dozen books or so has been the character of Constance Greene (she's so special she can't just be a Green, she has to be a Greene.) She's like a female version of Agent Pendergast, minus the empathy, charm, and any other personality trait that makes him tolerable.

Pendergast can be a pill, that's for sure. But I always manage to root for him, because he does occasionally show signs that he's human. Constance may as well be a robot ... actually, that could explain a lot. Pendergast's outrageous intellectual and physical feats can be explained to some degree by his wealth, his education, his experience in special forces, and his FBI training.

Constance, on the other hand, was picked up off the street at age six by a sociopath. He molded her into exactly what he wanted in a companion. She had more than a century to practice the harpsichord, study languages (Gaelic, really? How convenient), and read hundreds of books on esoteric subjects. She apparently never left the house during that time, which is why her physical feats really beggar belief.

As much as I like "The Book of the Dead," this crap with Constance started then. She'd been a long-term shut-in, but she somehow was able to track Diogenes all around the world, get the better of him in Florence despite his meticulous planning, and outthink him on the slopes of Stromboli.

From there, it's only gotten worse. She's become an "all-knowing ninja," to quote someone on Reddit. She can fire a machine gun after watching (with ill-concealed boredom, no doubt) a man show off the weapon for a few minutes. She can swim, even though she couldn't just a few weeks earlier. She becomes an adept at Chongg Ran after a few lessons (of course she does!).

And what makes it all worse is this gross quasi-romance that's taken up too much time in the series. Constance has convinced herself that she's in love with Pendergast, and she won't take no for an answer. (He's told her "no," with words and body language, more than once.)

If Pendergast has to have a romantic partner, doesn't he deserve better than a short-tempered, monomaniacal sociopath? This woman threatened to kill him in "Blue Labyrinth" for reminding her about her dalliance with Diogenes, then planned her own suicide as he lay dying in the hospital. She saves his life because she's obsessed with him and is dependent on him.

I haven't yet read "The Cabinet of Dr. Leng" -- given how Constance-centric it sounds, I've decided to get it from the library instead of spending my hard-earned money on it -- but I'm hoping the trilogy is a way to gracefully get rid of her. Have her fall for a man back in the 1880s and stay there. Hell, have Diogenes pilot a spaceship from Area 51 back into the 1880s and whisk her off to Mars!

She's taken up enough space in this series. Please, guys, just ditch her already ...

Favorite P/C Novels

Relic, Thunderhead, The Cabinet of Curiosities, Still Life with Crows, The Book of the Dead, Fever Dream, White Fire

Least Favorite P/C Novels

Brimstone, Cemetery Dance, Crimson Shore, Obsidian Chamber, City of Endless Night, Crooked River, Bloodless

[cooledtured]

REIGN: The Conqueror — Madhouse Studios’ Medieval Futurist Anime

Anime ahead of its time, REIGN: The Conqueror (アレクサンダー戦記 [Arekusandā Senki]) is a Madhouse Studios (One Punch Man, Death Note, Trigun) gem deep in its back catalog. Based on a novel by best-selling Japanese author 荒俣 宏 (Hiroshi Aramata), it’s the story of the rise and ensuing battle against Persia of the ancient world’s greatest emperor, Alexander the Great.

We’ve an engaging cast of characters which are all, at least in name and relation to him, accurate to ancient accounts. Onscreen are King Philip II of Macedon and his pagan queen Olympias, both rearing Alexander to one day assume the throne. Alexander finds adventure alongside many friends including Ptolemy I, his most trusted general of the fearsome and mighty Macedonian army. Carrying Alexander to victory is his famous black stallion war horse, Bucephalus, who takes down soldiers and assassins with golden armored mechanical muzzle and hooves. Also in this epic is Alexander’s personal tutor and famous ancient philosopher of the Western World, Aristotle, driving story subtext and plot. In fact, many memorable philosophers are there, such as the cynic-philosopher Diogenes “The Dog” and the ghost (or “essence”) of Plato.

One interesting dynamic to REIGN: The Conqueror is we never quite know if we’re watching the past or the future unfold. It subverts any familiar timeline, suspended in a surreal and timeless period where fantasy elements abound, such as shapeshifting spirit alchemist factions (like the Pythagorean Cult, bent on hopes to assassinate Alexander), cloud resident titans and elemental gods. While undercurrents of electricity and advanced technology are part of this world, battles are won by horse cavalries, swords, spears and shields. Landscapes are adorned with moving walkways and extreme architecture. Flying machines course the sky. This is medieval futurism at its best, and Madhouse Studios probably couldn’t have chosen a better art designer to create such hypnotizing and impossible juxtaposition. That animator’s name is Peter Chung, the very same Aeon Flux legend himself.

Perhaps none of the ethereal themes would have been so elegantly animated, or as moving and entertaining, without Peter Chung (IG: @peter_k_chung) at the helm of this multi-nation anime project. Chung’s animation is influential for many. Those less familiar with his work, you might be surprised to know his portfolio includes some of the best and most popular animation of the last 35 years. Notwithstanding his well-known MTV series, Aeon Flux, his animation and collaboration is responsible for the original Transformers TV show, the title opening sequence for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and also co-designing Nickelodeon’s Rugrats. Chung’s art direction and contribution is part and parcel to the stunning visual imagery and magic you experience in REIGN: The Conqueror.

I could imagine this 13 part series landing perfectly among today’s anime and post-Game-of-Thrones era. But it aired on WOWOW and Adult Swim a little too ahead of its time in ’99 and ’03. REIGN: The Conqueror challenges watchers to sit back and enjoy the beauty of anime that’s packed with style and memorable story, makes you feel anime in a visceral way. It will surprise and intrigue you.

Enjoy the series on YouTube here!

JEFFREY WELLS | Writer

POP-COOLEDTURED SPECIALIST

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[myfavouritecroft]

@cuttingcanine || starter call

 ♞–What a despicable thing, to have to deal with public events and getting out of his beloved stationary havens. Really, this time of evening, Mycroft would much rather spend at Diogenes. The only thing to get him out of his office with no regrets would be keeping his brother out of trouble-- but that seems to not be what's happening right now.

      However, his brother was supposed to be here, somewhere. Not that he is easy to spot. The night is dedicated to Scotland Yard to make connections with outside offices of law enforcement. Pathetic pleasantries and biting off more than one can chew, if you ask the elder Holmes brother.

      His invitation was expected due to his government status and making sure his eyes and ears were paying good attention. Not that it was clear what he did, or him advertising it. For now, he simply sat at his assigned table, drinking. This will do for now-- or... well, it would-- if his table was not currently entertained by a particularly sloshed high ranking officer. Mycroft turns slightly and whispers to the man sitting by him.

      ❝Would rather go deaf at this point...❞

[denimbex1986]

'Ripley, a new eight episode Netflix original series starring Andrew Scott, premieres on the streaming service this Thursday, April 4th.

Andrew Scott (Fleabag), recently nominated for an IFTA for his performance in Andrew Haigh’s All of Us Strangers, can next be seen in Ripley. The eight episode series based on characters by author Patricia Highsmith, whose work has previously been adapted as The Talented Mr. Ripley.

Ripley follows the titular grifter living in New York and Italy during the 1960s, as he is hired by a wealthy man to begin a complex life of deceit, fraud and murder.

Scott plays Tom Ripley, Dakota Fanning (The Watchers) plays Marge Sherwood, and Johnny Flynn (The Lovers) plays Dickie Greenleaf. Writer Steven Zaillian (The Irishman) is the showrunner, director, and producer of the new miniseries. Scott, also serves as a producer on the series with Enzo Sisti (No Time To Die).

Ripley is co-produced by Showtime and Endemol Shine North America in association with Entertainment 360 and Filmrights. Executive Producers are Zaillian, Garrett Basch, Clayton Townsend, Guymon Casady, Ben Forkner, Sharon Levy and Philipp Keel of Diogenes.

Ripley premieres on Netflix this Thursday, April 4th.'