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chanoyu-to-wa · 4 years

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Nampō Roku, Book 6 (11.2, part 2): the Details of the Go-daisu-sho [御臺子所] in Ashikaga Yoshimasa's Shoin.

11.2, continued) What follows is a sketch that documents this [kind of arrangement]¹.

_________________________

◎ The way that the notes have been written on the illustration is frequently very confusing. I will try to make better sense of things, for the reader, by redrawing the sketch, and separating the text from the sketch completely (with the notes referring to points indicated on my drawing by bracketed letters). The somewhat erratic ordering of the notes on the redrawn sketch (below) reflects the confused way in which the details are written on the original sketch (though I have more than once combined fragments that are actually scattered more randomly, since otherwise the descriptions would be unreadable).

¹Hidari ni zu wo shirushi to domu [左ニ圖ヲ記シトヾム].

Hidari ni [左に] means “on the left.” The sketch follows this section of the text, with was written right to left.

To domu [トヾム] is most likely a corruption (as a result of deterioration of the paper)* of to iu [と云], which means something like “so it is said.” ___________ *Tanaka Senshō’s teihon [底本] has to iu-iu [ト云〻]; while, once again, Shibayama Fugen agrees with the Enkaku-ji manuscript by concluding this sentence with to domu.

In both this case, and the one cited in the last footnote in the previous post (where the kanji kyaku [客] and miya [宮] were confounded), the discrepancies can be explained by physical deterioration of the paper on which the text was written. Tanaka’s interpretation may have been the result of scholarly inquiry, rather than deterioration between the time when his source copied down the text and when the Enkaku-ji manuscript (and Shibayama’s teihon) were produced.

Consequently, the present issue tends to support the argument that the previous sentence was also corrupt.

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◎ The sketch of the south-facing shoin in the Higashiyama-dono’s palace.

Ⓐ Mi-chōdai [御調臺]².

Ⓑ Above this is [suspended] a mizu-hiki [水引], [tied up] with age-maki [アケ巻]³.

Ⓓ Jō-dan [上段], 6-mats⁵.

Ⓔ Shōji [障子]⁶.

Ⓕ Small wood-floored room, with a latticed ceiling; the room was finished with imported wood⁷.

Ⓖ Mi-kutsu-sho [御沓所]⁸.

Ⓗ When tea will be served from the daisu, 2 raised tatami [for the nobleman] are [arranged] here⁹.

Ⓘ Daisu-sho [臺子所], with windows above on the two [adjoining walls]¹⁰.

Ⓙ Four koshi-shōji [コシ障子] panels. The upper [part of the shōji] are kumi-bone [組骨], while the lower [part is finished like] fusuma [with] sunago [paper pasted on both sides]. (These [shōji] are removed when [the tea utensils] are displayed on the daisu.)¹¹

Ⓚ 2-shaku 6-sun 8-bu high shōji with exposed wooden frames, two panels¹².

Ⓛ Above, wrapping around the daisu-tatami, are [two] windows featuring a diamond pattern¹³.

Ⓜ In this veranda room are spread twelve tatami-mats, including the mat on which the daisu is displayed¹⁴.

Ⓝ Wooden storm-doors, two panels. (This [doorway] is also known as the mo-biki no ōdo [裳引ノ大戸].)¹⁵

Ⓞ Under the windows that face in two directions, a 6-panel byōbu, [covered with paper] decorated with flakes of gold and silver, is stood; perhaps it might also be stood with two panels folded [closed]¹⁶.

Ⓟ [Along this side are a bank of] shōji¹⁷.

Ⓠ In this area is the ochi-en [落エン]¹⁸.

Ⓡ In this area is a smooth edging board 5-sun [wide]¹⁹.

〽 This room measures 3-ken by 4-ken²⁰.

==============================================

²Mi-chōdai [御調臺] = mi-chōdai [御帳臺]. The nobleman’s “seat of estate*.” While originally portable (it was taken to wherever the nobleman wanted to be), by this period it was built in at the end of the jō-dan farthest from the entrance to the room. __________ *Also used as his bed, when dining, and possibly when pursuing literary or clerical activities (to the extent that a nobleman would be personally involved with such things) as well.

³Kono ue mizu-hiki, age-maki ari [此上水引、アケ巻アリ].

A mizu-hiki [水引] is a length of cloth suspended from the otoshi-gake [落掛] (the horizontal beam that serves as a base for the transom), and gathered into a series of swags* (rather like ornamental bunting) with cords. The cords (usually with tassels on the lower ends) were tied with an age-maki [総角] knot. The mizu-hiki could be lowered (to shield the interior of the mi-chōdai from the view of those seated on the outside).

An age-maki knot is shown above, while a mizu-hiki suspended along the front of a government check-point (seki-sho [關所])† is shown below.

This detail seems to have been something that became common during the Edo period (a mizu-hiki was often suspended in front of any elevated platform on which government officials were seated -- such as the open-front building that housed the inspectors at the government check points that were erected at intervals along the major highways)‡. The mizu-hiki could be lowered or raised, depending on the preferences of the nobleman who would be seated on the mi-chōdai.

Reference to the mizu-hiki is found only in the Higashiyama-dono o-kazari sho [東山殿御飾書], which is the Tokugawa-sponsored revised version of Sōami's O-kazari ki [御飾記]**. __________ *Sometimes just two, with a single cord in the middle; sometimes into three swags, using two cords.

†The example shown in the photo is the reconstructed Hakone seki-sho [箱根関所], the first major government check-point on the famous Tōkai-dō [東海道], when leaving Edo.

‡In earlier days sudare-like blinds (albeit usually made of finely split bamboo, rather than reeds, and edged with kinran or brocade) were suspended along the open side of the mi-chō-dai. These were often left open (rolled up and then secured with the same sort of age-maki cords), but could also be lowered (permitting the person seated on the mi-chō-dai to see the people seated in the room beyond, while being hidden from their view), at the nobleman's discretion.

**All of these details argue against this being an authentic part of Nambō Sōkei’s notes, which originally made up the contents of Books One, Six, and Seven of the Nampō Roku. (The language of this entry, too, is of the Edo period, rather than the second half of the sixteenth century.)

⁴Ni-ken no oshi-ita toko [二間ノ押板床].

Ken [間] is a unit of length equal to 6-shaku, so two ken (ni-ken [二間]) would equal 12-shaku -- which is the width of this oshi-ita [押板]*.

An oshi-ita was a wood-floored platform, raised a certain distance above floor-level, on which decorative objects were arranged†. One (or a set of two, three, or even more) kakemono was hung on the wall at the back of the oshi-ita, and one (or more) tables were set up in front of the scroll(s), on which incense, candlesticks, and flower arrangements were displayed.

Appending the kanji toko [床] to the expression oshi-ita [押板] (like appending toko to the expression shoin to make shoin-toko [書院床]‡) only appeared in the Edo period. __________ *The expression oshi-ita [押板], “a board pushed [against the wall],” originally referred to a long Korean table (such as were used in the dining halls of Buddhist monasteries) that was pushed against the wall, and on which the various objects were arranged. As a consequence of the expense and nonavailability of such pieces (after trade with the continent was suppressed in the fifteenth century), a built-in shelf of a comparable height came to supplant the actual table, while retaining the same name.

†It was thus the forerunner of the ita-doko [板床], a board-floored tokonoma.

‡Shoin-toko [書院床] refers to the dashi-fuzukue [出し文机], the built-in writing desk (historically speaking, it was only called the tsuke-shoin [付書院] much later) when the objects on it are arranged for display (rather than for use).

While a certain amount of intentional manipulation had been known since earlier times, even in Rikyū’s day the objects were arranged primarily for use (Rikyū, for example, actually made a habit of using his dashi-fuzukue prior to the gathering -- perhaps to write out the page of information for the guests that was traditionally left in the koshi-kake) -- and then left as they were, so they could be inspected by the guests. Deliberately arranging the objects on the tsuke-shoin, while considering it to be just another place where treasures could be displayed (but never actually used), was done at the behest of the Tokugawa bakufu.

Toko [床], which literally means “bed,” was a slang reference to a built-in mi-chōdai. It thus referred to a platform floored with a tatami-mat (rather than a board).

⁵Jō-dan roku-jō [上段　六疊].

Jō-dan [上段] means that this six-mat section of the floor was elevated above the other parts of the reception room (though the mi-chōdai was naturally raised even higher). Only persons of high rank would be invited to sit there (since they would be in close proximity to the nobleman who was ensconced on the mi-chōdai).

⁶Shōji [障子].

Sliding papered panels. Possibly they were papered on both sides (and so would be what are called fusuma [襖] today), though this is unclear (since no description is made -- as it is for the shōji located elsewhere).

This word is not found on all versions of this sketch.

⁷Ishi-datami no kumi-ire kara-ki no ko-itashiki [石疊ノクミ入カラ木ノ小板敷].

Ishi-datami no kumi-ire [石疊の組入] refers to the ceiling: ishi-datami [石疊] means that the ceiling was divided into squares (like a checkerboard) by means of horizontal lattices. A wooden panel was placed above each open square thus created (to hide the underside of the roof above), which is what kumi-ire [組入] means. This kind of ceiling is also called a kumi-ire tenjō [組入天井].

Kara-ki no ko-itashiki [小板敷] means a small, wood-floored room (in this case, apparently equal in size to a 3-mat room). The room was floored with imported (“Chinese”) wood. (Kara-ki can specifically mean ebony.)

This small room was located between the vestibule (where the guests’ wooden shoes were stored) and the jō-dan. While it could have been used as a place for persons of lower rank to sit, the room was finished with high-quality imported wood because the guests who were invited onto the jō-dan would have to pass through it.

⁸Mi-kutsu-sho [御沓所] refers to a vestibule (often with the floor paved with stone) in which the guests’ footwear was stored.

Kutsu [沓] are lacquered wooden rain-shoes (with raised soles and a sort of carved hood that covers the toes).

⁹Go-daisu no toki, koko ni o-age-datami ni mai [御臺子ノ時、コヽニ御上疊二枚].

O-age-datami [御上疊] seems to refer to a low platform on which two tatami (ni mai [二枚]) were placed, as a seat for a nobleman. In fact, this refers to the kind of arrangement that was originally named the mi-chōdai [御調臺] (albeit apparently without the usual surrounding hangings that were incumbent on a mi-chōdai of the original sort).

When tea would be served from the daisu, the nobleman left his mi-chōdai and took his seat on this o-age-datami.

¹⁰Daisu-sho [臺子所]: the mat on which the daisu was set up.

¹¹Yon-mai no koshi-shōji, ue kumi-bone shita sunago no fusuma-shōji, daisu kazari no toki mina hazururu [四枚ノコシ障子、上組骨下スナコノフスマ障子、臺子ノ時、ミナハツルヽ].

Koshi-shōji [腰障子] are shōji that have a (usually) wooden panel at the lower end. The idea is to protect the shōji from being damaged by the feet of people who are seated along them (this veranda room was used for the seating of the lower ranking attendants of the persons who were received on the jō-dan, and such attendants would usually sit in rows along the sides of the room). Two pair of such shōji were placed along this side of the room, to let light into the large hall (though between the lower pair of pillars, a pair of fusuma were used).

The actual height of the panel is not fixed*, though it is usually around 1-shaku today. Occasionally shōji of this type have a panel that rises to the height of a person's shoulders (when seated on the floor). Shukō’s 2-mat room was said to have had shōji of the latter sort.

Kumi-bone [組骨] refers to a shōji panel that is papered on only one side, while the lattice-work is visible on the other -- and which was intended to allow light to pass through. The upper part of these four koshi-shōji panels were made in this way.

Meanwhile, in the case of these particular shōji, either the wooden panel was covered (on both sides) with sunago-kami [砂子紙]†; or else, rather than a wooden panel, the frame was simply covered on both sides with sunago paper (though this might seem rather dangerous)‡.

When chanoyu was served from the daisu**, the four koshi-shōji that separated the veranda room from the large hall (to its right) were removed. ___________ *Today koshi-shōji are usually distinguished into koshi-tsuki-shōji [腰付障子] (on the left) and koshi-daka-shōji [腰高障子] (on the right).

Unfortunately, nothing is said to indicate the height of the wooden panels in this description.

†Sunago paper is paper on which small flecks of gold or silver foil, or small bits of mica, are scattered.

Usually a heavier sort of paper such as tori-no-ko [鳥の子] was used for fusuma, since the idea of this kind of panel was to keep light from passing through.

‡The lower panels are described as sunago no fusuma-shōji [砂子の襖障子]. This means that the panels were papered on both sides with sunago-kami [砂子紙]. However, since the purpose of the panel was to prevent damage to the shōji when someone was seated in front of it, and since the veranda room was usually where the lowest-ranking attendants of the guests were seated (with their backs to the shōji), usually with nothing to occupy them whatsoever, this aspect was probably even more important than usual. Thus there was almost certainly a wooden panel inside that was simply disguised by being covered on both sides with the decorative paper.

Fusuma [襖] are made just like shōji, but differ from them in two respects: first, because heavier paper is used (since the purpose is to keep light from passing through); and secondly, because they are papered on both sides.

**The officiant was probably one of the dōbō-shū [同朋衆] (since the service was conducted on the veranda). Yoshimasa would have sat on the 2-mat o-age-datami platform, if he was participating.

¹²Takasa ni-shaku roku-sun hachi-bu, kumi-bone no shōji ni mai [高サ二尺六寸八分、組骨ノ障子二枚].

The shōji were similar to modern-day shōji, where a wooden framework is covered on one side by a thin sheet of paper*, and probably without a wooden panel at the bottom.

The relatively low height of these shōji panels may have been because persons seated on the veranda were not supposed to simply step into the adjoining room through these shōji. (The shōji would require them to go down on their knees and slide over the track, probably with their heads bowed forward. The low height of the kayoi-guchi / katō-guchi [通い口・火燈口] in the tearoom -- the doorway to the preparation area that has a rounded upper edge, and through which food and sweets are brought to the guests -- serves the same purpose of keeping people from walking through it.) __________ *This is the meaning of kumi-bone no shōji [組骨の障子].

¹³Ue ha daisu-tatami oshi-mawashi, hishi no kumi-mono mado [上ハ臺子疊ヲシマハシ、菱ノ組モノ窓].

Though this text is written on the sketch as if it were connected with the previous statement (regarding the low shōji that were described in the previous footnote), it actually refers to a pair of windows in the walls that surround the daisu-tatami on two sides.

Oshi-mawashi [押し回し] means to be pressed, or wrapped around (something). Thus, the windows are being described as “wrapping around” the daisu-tatami.

This pair of windows, which would seem, from the description, to have met at the corner (so that the entire window was shaped like an “┏”) were covered with shōji panels* where the lattices were oriented on a diagonal, resulting in a diamond (hishi [菱]) pattern. These panels would, therefore, contrast with the rest of the shōji that enclose the veranda room. __________ *These had paper pasted on one side only. The paper was generally pasted on the outward-facing side of the shōji because (at least originally) its purpose was to deflect rain (if the wooden lattices face outward, water will collect on the upper sides of the horizontal lattices, loosening the glue that fastens the paper to the wooden frame).

¹⁴Kono engawa daisu-tatami tomo ni tatami jū-ni-mai shikaruru [此エンカハ臺子疊トモニ疊十二枚シカルヽ].

Once again, though it appears that this statement is written as if it were connected with the previous two, this is not the case.

Here the author is simply indicating that this enclosed veranda room (engawa [緣側]) is of 12-mats (including the mat on which the daisu is displayed). While the tatami in modern rooms are usually arranged in “decorative” patterns, in the early rooms there were usually simply laid down in rows.

The arrangement of the mats in this room would have looked like what is shown above.

¹⁵Ōshike fuchi no do ni mai, mo-biki no ō-do to iu [大シケフチノ戸二枚、裳引ノ大戸ト云].

Ōshike [大時化] means a heavy storm.

This seems to refer to wooden doors set in deep tracks (such as were found in the seawalls that protected the warehouses that adjoined the wharves) that would prevent wind and rain from blowing through. A pair of such sliding doors shared the tracks at the end of the veranda room.

A mo [裳] is a ceremonial train*, made of white silk gauze (usually with a design stamped on with gold- or silver-infused lacquer†) worn by women when attending upon a person of high rank. They would tie on the mo (mo-biku [裳引く]) after stepping into the veranda room through this pair of doors (which open onto the carriage entrance)‡.

Elsewhere in Book Six of the Nampō Roku, mo-biki no ō-do is used to mean the host’s entrance -- the katte-guchi [勝手口] or sadō-guchi [茶道口]. __________ *The mo resembles an apron, of the sort that is tied on at the waist. It flairs out slightly from the waistband, and is several meters long. Unlike an apron, the mo extends toward the back, and trails behind the wearer. White Takeya-machi gire was preferred for the mo because it was much less expensive than kinran, and also significantly lighter in weight (which is important on account of its length). Also, white with a pattern in gold would not clash with any of the other colors that the person was wearing -- though, during certain historical periods, the white cloth was dyed to complement the rest of the outfit.

†The series of cloths called Takeya-machi gire [竹屋町裂] were originally used for this purpose. In fact, the cloth that was imported from China was white silk gauze, with an arabesque (or other) pattern stamped on it in gold. This is why the design is usually quite simple and geometric (which minimizes the size of the blocks needed to stamp the design). Below is a photo of an actual piece of Takeya-machi gire.

Reproductions made in Japan, however, usually reduce the patterns, and then render them as kinran [金襴] -- to the extent that modern people do not even realize what the original cloth was like. Note, however, that the way the stamp was cut, “real” Takeya-machi gire actually does look like woven kinran -- unless one looks very close.

I will digress for a moment, because there is a certain amount of confusion connected with Takeya-machi gire. In the Edo period a “rule” arose stating that scrolls written by monks (some versions of the rule specifically state monks affiliated with the Daitoku-ji in Kyōto) -- and (again, according to some) it should not be used when mounting scrolls inscribed by others. The reason for the rule was actually connected with yoko-mono [横物] (horizontal scrolls), many of which were not originally intended as scrolls, but were written to be framed as gaku [額] (framed specimens, very often of calligraphy, that are hung high on the wall, usually suspended above fusuma or shōji). When mounted in this manner, conventional cloth can be used without any special difficulties. However, if calligraphy such as this is mounted as a kakemono, there are problems because most traditional cloth is only 9-sun or 1-shaku wide, and kinran must be cut parallel to the weft (if kinran is cut parallel to the warp, the metal threads will detach at the edge of the ichi-mon-ji and project forward). It is possible to “splice” several sections together to make it appear to be a single piece, though after a time the lines where the sections meet become apparent (and it takes a lot of effort to match the pattern). The pattern on Takeya-machi gire, on the other hand, is stamped on with gold lacquer, meaning that the cloth can be cut in any direction without any subsequent problems. This is why it was preferred for wide horizontal scrolls. Furthermore, since the design is stamped on rather than woven, the cloth was much less expensive than kinran, which was philosophically in keeping with scrolls written by monks.

‡The mo would become horribly wrinkled if worn while riding in a palanquin or some other such conveyance).

¹⁶Kono ni-hō mado no shita, kin-gin sunago-ji no roku-mai byōbu tate, mata ni-mai ori mo tatsu [金銀砂子地ノ六枚屛風立、又二枚折モ立].

As above (footnote 11), sunago-ji [砂子地] means that the paper was lightly covered with flakes of gold and silver foil*.

There is a certain ambiguity regarding how the byōbu will be arranged†, and using a 2-fold screen might seem to be the more logical solution. __________ *Though sometimes mica flakes were used rather than silver, since silver will oxidize to black, while mica will retain its silvery glitter.

†In fact,it is rather difficult to envision a six-fold screen placed only along two sides of the daisu-tatami (if only because the folds would tend to make it project rather far from the wall). This six-fold byōbu is only described, and not delineated in the sketch.

One possibility is that it was arranged as if it were a two-fold screen, with three panels on each side, as shown below.

Another is that two panels extended along the wall on the left side of the daisu-tatami, with four panels along the far wall -- and this may be why two panels are folded up (to limit how far it would project along that far wall and the adjoining pair of shōji).

In this second case, the screen would have to be oriented with what was usually the back side facing toward the room. As a result, the byōbu would have had to be finished in the same way on both sides (at least nowadays, the back side is usually finished with inferior paper).

‡Earlier it was written that Yoshimasa owned both a six-fold and a two-fold byōbu that were used for this purpose.

¹⁷Shōji [障子].

There is no description of what sort of shōji these might have been. Since a window is mentioned as having been opened in the wall to the left of the daisu-tatami, it is possible that there were only three shōji on this side of the veranda (rather than four panels, as on the other side of the room).

Furthermore, because of the presence of the nume-ita (see footnote 19, below), someone seated along this side of the room would not be able to touch the bottom of the shōji with his feet. Thus, these shōji may have been ordinary kumi-bone shōji [組骨障子], with the paper-covered lattices continuing down to the floor.

¹⁸Kono tokoro ochi-en nari [此所落エンナリ].

An ochi-en [落緣] is an additional veranda one step lower than the inner veranda. It would be wood-floored. A balustrade may have been erected on the outer edge of the ochi-en.

¹⁹Kono kata nume-ita go-sun iri [此方ヌメ板　五寸入].

Nume-ita [滑板] means a board that has been sanded so that it is perfectly smooth. The board was inserted between the mats and the lower track of the shōji to hold the mats firmly in place (since the veranda was built first, and mats were added only later)*. This, of course, was the way that the go-sun-ita [五寸板] arose -- with the space later being used as a convenient spot for some of the utensils when using the daisu.

In the same way, a base-board 5-bu thick (though sometimes wider, as necessary) is inserted between the mats and the walls in a tea room. __________ *In the early days, the floor was not covered with tatami. Rather, it was wood, with tatami put out only here and there, much the way futon are set out for the guests to sit upon today. When the custom of covering the entire floor with tatami first arose, rather than rebuilding the rooms, boards of this sort were inserted between the mats and one or two of the walls, so that the standard-sized mats would fit into the slightly larger traditional rooms. (Kyōma tatami measure 6-shaku 3-sun by 3-shaku 1-sun 5-bu, while the rooms were traditionally built with spaces measured to the full shaku, rather than fractions thereof.)

²⁰〽 Kono ma san-ken ni yon-ken [此間三間ニ四間].

San-ken [三間] refers to a length of 18-shaku; yon-ken [四間] is 24 shaku. San-ken ni yon-ken [三間に四間], therefore, means 18-shaku by 24-shaku.

Consequently, kono ma san-ken ni yon-ken, means that the room* measures 18-shaku by 24-shaku.

This refers to the area bounded by the mi-chōdai and jō-dan (on the top side of the sketch), and the 12-mat veranda room (along the left side). The 2-mat o-age-datami was only set up within this space when tea would be served from the daisu, and so was not subtracted from this measurement.

This 24-mat hall might have been the ni-no-ma [二の間] -- a tatami-floored room one level below the jō-dan, in which medium-ranking officials (those in the class below the officials seated on the jō-dan) were seated. Usually there was one further level of tatami-floored room below the ni-no-ma. ___________ *Ma [間] means an unobstructed or open space; a room.

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iamthedukeofurl · 4 years

Text

TMA Theory

The Magnus Institute itself was a low-grade Fear Generator. So, what we know about The Institute is that it had several departments 1) Administration

2) The Archives 3) Artefact Storage

4) Research. It’s also, presumably, an “Academic Institution dedicated to the study of the paranormal and supernatural”. People come in and dictate Statements, which are dutifully written down and organized by the Archivist, but we never hear about anybody from the Research department coming down to examine some statements, neither do we ever hear Jon referring to any notes from Research, or using any of the Researchers. Instead, he always uses his own assistants for follow-ups, and it’s not even clear that the follow-up investigations are even part of his job.

We know that Jon and Tim both transferred in from Research, and despite working there for four years, Jon had no knowledge of the Fears, or any real belief in the supernatural. So, allow me to propose my theory of what goes on in the Research Division of the Magnus Institute:

Somebody is hired to work for The Magnus Institute, they’ve heard the stories about the place, it’s something of a joke, and nobody knows why it’s being funded. It’s a simple, three story building, archives and storage in the basement, library and research on the first floor, administration upstairs. The Library is full of texts on a wide range of topics, from folklore to history to mathematics, which might help one delve into the world of the supernatural.

Some of these new employees believe they are about to find themselves thrust into a secret world of fairies and ghosts and wizards, others are skeptics, but they’re desperate, jobs are scarce, and the Magnus Institute’s paychecks are very, very real. So, they get in there, they’re taken to meet the institute’s head, Elias Bouchard, who outlines some simple rules

You are not allowed to access Artefact Storage without written permission

It is strictly forbidden to take any physical media outside the Institute, including books, documents, or photocopies.

All research must be done on an institute-approved computer running proprietary monitoring software.

Which, okay, a little intense about security, but not unreasonable. And then Mr. Bouchard looks at you, gives you a firm handshake and says “Your first assignment is waiting for you at your desk. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, I expect you’ll do great things here”.

And so you get your assigned desk, and there’s an assignment, describing some mysterious incident or old ghost story or whatever, “Investigate and write a report on the Disappearance of the S.S. Torchlight, which left Alexandria in 1910 and never arrived back in Plymouth”. And so you do, and almost immediately you figure it out. The S.S. Torchlight was in poor repair, it departed behind schedule and was in a hurry to make up lost time, it had an inexperienced captain, and there were some nasty storms along its intended route. Clearly the captain, worried about the schedule, decided not to detour around the storms, and the ship sank with all hands.

However, this is The Magnus Institute, they certainly wouldn’t have handed this to you unless there was SOMETHING strange going on with the Torchlight, they wouldn’t just hand you a random missing ship from over a century ago. You look around you, all the other researchers, diligently exploring the world of the paranormal. You can’t just go turn in your first assignment and say “The ship sank in a storm”. You’d get fired, laughed out of the institute, and if you could get a job anywhere else, you would have.

Mr Bouchard’s words echo in your mind, “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. I expect you’ll do great things here”. So you come up with theories. You research Sirens and Sea Serpents and The Flying Dutchman, you look into the possibility that the Torchlight may have been smuggling artefacts stolen from a pharaoh's tomb. The previous captain had died on the voyage to Alexandria, maybe somebody aboard the ship killed him and his ghost sought revenge.

And, in the Institute’s library, you find plenty of legends and stories about ways a ship might be lost at sea. Of course, absolutely nothing with any evidence pointing you towards the S.S. Torchlight.

You consider asking one of your co-workers for help, but you can’t. They’re real investigators, doing important work. They’ll take one look at what you’ve found and expose you for the fraud you are. Your first assignment, and you can’t find the slightest lead.

There is no official deadline, but it’s understood that occasionally mister Bouchard calls somebody up to his office to check in on their research.

So you keep your head down and try to look busy, you try to match the focus and intensity of your colleagues. Sooner or later, you give up completely. The ship was lost in a storm. The house was old and creaking. The “Impossible” muder was entirely possible if you assume that the detective just ignored all evidence that pointed to the wealthy, respectable husband who had the keys but swears he wasn’t home that night. Whether or not the supernatural exists, you can find no trace of it in your current assignment. But that won’t do. You might make a small lie, saying “Well I’m following up a new lead”, even if you don’t believe it will go anywhere. You might make a big one, simply inventing evidence to support some sort of supernatural explanation. Anything to buy yourself some more time, to avoid being exposed for the fraud you are. And the entire time, you’re being Watched. Watched by your colleagues, watched by the security cameras (There seem to be more every day), watched by the proprietary monitoring software on your laptop, watched by the serious faced old men in the oil paintings. Heck, you’re even watched by those strange people who work down in the Archives.

You hear things, some sort of strange worm infestation? The Police start poking around, at one point they arrest your boss for murder? You’re curious, you want to ask questions, but that might bring Attention to you, and the thought of that fills you with dread. You have the unavoidable idea that, should you be noticed, Something Terrible will happen, something worse than being Fired, being laughed out of academia (After all, if you can’t keep a job at The Magnus Institute, what are you good for).And, as you bury your head in old books, staring as the words swirl before you, The Ceaseless Watcher Drinks. What you don’t know is that literally every one of your colleagues feels the same way. The supernatural is real, but you won’t find a trace of it in the library of The Magnus Institute. The books and assignments are very carefully curated to contain no actual facts or connections. You might hear the name “Jurgen Leitner”, but you won’t find any of his books in the Institute Library. Jonah Magnus has spent a very long time assembling the most impressive, but least useful, collection of information on the supernatural ever seen. He wrote many of the books in it himself, and is quite proud of how they unreadable they are.

#the magnus archives #tma spoilers #tma #the magnus institute

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seanpatricklittlewriter · 7 years

Text

Vicious Cycle

A while back, I wrote about the physical aspects of my creative process—where I write, the tools I used, etc… Now, to mix it up a little bit, I want to talk about the mental aspects of the creative process, at least the mental aspects of my creative process. I can’t speak for every creative person, and I certainly can’t speak for other writers.

I am impressed by how some writers have an incredible, workman-like approach to the craft. Stephen King is amazing, of course. He is prolific. He writes every day, rain or shine, holiday or not. He’s at his desk by seven or eight in the morning, and he goes until lunch, maybe later. Of course, there are other writers than make King look like he’s suffering from writer’s block. John Creasy, a British mystery novelist, has written over 500 books under a dozen pen names. That guy is a workhorse. In Stephen King’s book, ON WRITING: A MEMOIR OF THE CRAFT, King talks about Anthony Trollope:

“At the other end of the spectrum, there are writers like Anthony Trollope. He wrote humongous novels (Can You Forgive Her? is a fair enough example; for modern audiences it might be retitled Can You Possibly Finish It?), and he pumped them out with amazing regularity. His day job was as a clerk in the British Postal Department (the red public mailboxes all over Britain were Anthony Trollope’s invention); he wrote for two and a half hours each morning before leaving for work. This schedule was ironclad. If he was in mid-sentence when the two and a half hours expired, he left that sentence unfinished until the next morning. And if he happened to finish one of his six-hundred-page heavyweights with fifteen minutes of the session remaining, he wrote The End, set the manuscript aside, and began work on the next book.”

That is an admirable work ethic. And an incredible pace. Every writer has to figure out what works for him or herself. Writing is a personal art. Some people work better at night. Some in the early morning. Some need quiet. Some blast music (the louder, the better). Some have little spaces set up where they write daily. Some write in various locations—you get the idea. Whatever works best for you, you must do. When people tell me they’d like to write, but they don’t have the time, I always think, “Then you don’t really want to write.” You make time for what’s important to you, always. If you value television (as I do), you find the time to watch. Runners find time to run. Anglers find time to fish. Painters find time to paint. Barbarian hordes find time to bathe in the blood of their enemies. You make time for what is important to you.

When it comes to the amount of dedication it takes to write 300 pages of a rough draft, that has never been a problem for me. I have been churning out novels since I was in high school. I wrote at least one or two piles of garbage in high school, and I probably cranked out several thousand pages of unreadable hack when I was in college. (This is a good thing, though—Brian Michael Bendis said that you have to write about 20,000 pages of slop before you start to figure out what you’re doing.) I can always find time to write. Even when I worked jobs that had me doing 12-hour days, I would manage to scrape out a paragraph or two at night. Before John Grisham quit law to write full-time, he wrote on legal pads between court cases. I read a story about a mystery writer who was driving semis, and he would dictate his story into cassettes while he drove, then he paid a local gal in his hometown to transcribe the stories to MS Word for him. I have known servers who wrote scraps of stories in order pads with cheap pens standing at the counter waiting for an order to be put up. Point is—if it is important to you, you’ll do it.

Writing isn’t about waiting for some mythical muse to kick you in the ass. It’s not about art. It’s not about being attuned to the celestial heavens. Over my lifetime of writing, reading about writing, taking classes on writing, and teaching classes on writing, more than anything else I’ve learned, writing is about putting your butt in a seat and writing. That’s it. No magic. No inspiration. Just sit and do. If you can’t do that, you can’t write. I get people (especially students) telling me about stories they have in their heads. They can summarize them well. They can tell you about them for days. However, the story stays unwritten until they can put themselves in the chair and write it out. My good friend, Nella Citino, gave me a mug a few years ago that I keep on my desk at home. It says, “Any idiot can come up with a good idea—get it written!” That is the truth of the matter. Put up, or shut up. Sit down and write.

That’s all fine and dandy to say, I know. The actual practice of it is much harder in reality. I have learned that my own creative process tends to follow an ebb and flow. When I’m writing, I’m 100 percent writing. I don’t want to edit. I don’t want to read someone else’s book. I don’t want to watch TV. I write as long and as hard as I can. I write until the backs of my hands hurt from typing. I write until my vision goes blurry from staring at the screen.

When I get into editing, I don’t have time for writing. The two modes are different parts of my brain, it seems. I cannot switch back and forth between the modes easily. I don’t have time for someone else’s book, either. I cannot enjoy reading a new book when I’m in editing mode. I get too critical. I get too into the “That’s not what I would have done there…” mode, and I start to hate that book. I feel like I have unfairly subjected some authors to that mode of my brain and now I dislike their stuff.

When I am out of the writing and editing modes, I get fully into the reading mode. I will read six or seven hours a day. I will put away three or four books a week when I’m in that mode. I have always been a fast reader, and when I’m in that mode, I read even faster. I enjoy reading in that mode. When I’m trying to read when I’m in writing mode, I have no patience for reading. Why read someone else’s story when I’m not done telling my own, yet? I do force myself to read when I’m in writing mode, but it’s only after I’ve put in a full day of writing, or I’ve had to take a break from writing because my hands hurt too much to continue. (Getting old is for the birds.)

My final mode in the creative process is the do nothing mode. It happens usually after I first finish a book and my brain begins to feed me the “why bother” rap it has perfected over the years. “Why bother?” it says. “Wouldn’t you be happier lounging back into depression and playing video games for fourteen straight hours?”

--You have a point, Brain.

“How about you maybe just watch Scrubs reruns instead of writing?”

--Brain, you are on fire!

“Hey—remember five years ago when you accidently read that really negative review of one of your books? Go back and reread that comment so you know not to do this anymore.”

--As you command, Overlord.

This do-nothing mode is one of the worst things my brain tries to do to me. It is very easy to slip into, because doing nothing is literally the easiest thing in the world to do. Doing nothing requires zero effort. Doing anything at all requires 100 percent more effort than doing nothing.

I have quit writing books at least a thousand times in my life, maybe more. Every time this weird creative cycle in my brain hits this point in the rotation, I quit being a writer. “Been thirty years with no real success to show for it, Fatso,” says my Brain. “Do the world a favor and shelf your keyboard.”

And I do. I do every time. Every time I hit that point in my creative process, I officially quit writing.

Sometimes, that brain-forced retirement lasts months. Sometimes, it’s only a few hours. But I always quit.

I also always come back.

In the movie, THROW MOMMA FROM THE TRAIN, Billy Crystal uses the expression, “Writers write. Always.” It is something my father has repeated to me many times over the years. It is something I have imparted to my students many times. It is okay to quit writing. If you stay retired from it, though—that is where you run into problems.

I have found that I am able to claw my way back from those self-imposed bouts of retirement through sheer force of will. Pick up the computer. Open the file. Put your damn hands on the keyboard and make some words. Sometimes, I do that, and I will only get a few words, maybe a sentence or two. Nevertheless, I will have written something. That’s the key. The next day, I might only get a few words again. Maybe I only sat at the computer for ten minutes before letting that negative part of my brain take over for the day. (“C’mon Fatboy…let’s go re-watch THE PRINCESS BRIDE.” –Swell idea, Brain.) But it IS a few words that I did not have that morning, and that is what counts.

I am getting better and the productivity side of writing. I am getting better at knowing that I can sit down and churn out five or ten pages in a sitting, even if I don’t “feel” like doing it. Those pages might need some enhancement later on, but they will exist. It is always easier to go back and enhance. You cannot edit if the pages don’t exist.

I know I’m hardly an expert on writing. I know that my pathetic sales are a misty, almost evaporated drop in the wide and vast lake of publishing. I know that I am not an expert on the creative process. This is just a summary of how my brain works when I write. It is why I do what I do. And why I want to write. It might not help you, but it is something to read and consider.

If you struggle in a creative field like I do, like so many of us do, I think it is important to remember that we are not alone. We are all tiny little ships making our own way on a large, cruel sea. Your mast might snap. You might hit a rock. A big whale might sneeze on you. Maybe you don’t feel like holding the tiller anymore. This is okay. It is all part of the process.

But don’t give up.

Keep sailing.

I hope we all get to where we want to go.

#writing #writingprocess #fiction #novels #novelist #muse #inspiration #struggle

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kohakuhime · 7 years

Text

The Reluctant Guardian, Ch. 10

Takes place post canon, and this refers to events that take place in an alternate verse. Michael, Isabel, Mikomi, and Kazuo belong to @mpuzzlegirl; Darien, Alana, Rowen, Sylvie, and the twins belong to me; and YGO and its associated characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi.

This update is longer to accommodate for the fact I was a week behind. Thank you for your patience!

+++++++++++++++++++

Brock Turner was many things. Ex-military, extraction specialist, security detail, and he even fancied himself decent looking and a good cook if someone asked (not many did).

He also knew that he was decidedly nervous about reporting to his employer. Not scared, but definitely feeling an edge of anxiety.

He and two other men stepped off the elevator in the executive wing, and Brock noticed the secretary sitting at her desk. He caught a glimpse of a black business suit and a matching black hat that her hair was tucked beneath.

That wasn’t the only thing that matched. He repressed a shudder as she turned dark, dead eyes on him. She gave him the heeby-jeebies whenever she looked at him. He wondered if she had always been so creepy—maybe that was why his boss had hired her. To intimidate those coming in.

Well, it sure was working.

“Brock Turner to speak to the boss about this afternoon,” he said.

She did not move immediately, and then after a moment to process she pushed a button. “Mr. Turner to see you,” she said. It gave Brock goosebumps at how flat and dead her voice was.

“Ah, yes. Be a dear and show him in, won’t you?”

“Yes sir.” She stood slowly, moving carefully and almost as if she was made of glass. She turned her attention to the men. “This way.”

Brock grimaced. Yep, definitely something off about her.

The three of them followed her into the spacious office. Lots of white leather and splashes of color in the tiles, and against one wall a large mosaic. His attention was more focused on the oak desk, however. The corner of Brock’s mouth turned down as he noticed the leather armchair turned away to face the panel windows. “You are dismissed, my dear.”

“Yes sir.” The secretary turned and softly closed the door behind her.

An uncomfortable silence fell after she had left. Brock cleared his throat, and after exchanging looks with his co-workers he spoke. “Hello, sir,” he said, biting back the ‘boss’ that had nearly slipped out. You always addressed him as sir, no exceptions.

“I trust this afternoon’s errands went well, yes? You have our new guests settled in comfortably?” The question was asked with a good degree of jovialness.

Brock hesitated. “No, sir,” he said at last. “The kids got away from us.”

Another pause, followed by a soft exhalation. “Ah. That’s terribly disappointing, Mr. Turner. I so looked forward to meeting with them. How did this come about?”

Despite the mild and genuinely disappointed tone his employer had adopted, Brock caught the undercurrent of displeasure and menace.

“There was a factor we did not originally include in the plan—“

“You were trained specifically for extracting people in your former line of work. You should account for anything to go wrong, shouldn’t you?” The rebuke was not spoken particularly harshly, but there was a definite edge in his voice now.

“Sir, we had everything planned. Tracking apps placed on their phones, finding their common areas to hang out or their so-called ‘safe point’, and any other way they had of escaping us. The only thing we did not account for was for a literal white knight to show up.”

“That sounds an awful lot like an excuse, Mr. Turner.”

“With all due respect, sir, this man was able to disappear and reappear at will. According to the team leader that went after the Gayle-Corazón boy, this stranger was able to even shoot green lightning at them. We can’t plan for someone who can teleport.”

A long pause followed, but this time the tension was gone. “Dressed in all white and could shoot green lightning, you say?” came the reply, and something close to real interest was in his voice. “And he could disappear and reappear at will?”

“Yes, sir,” said Brock, trying to keep the relief out of his voice.

Another pause, and then a gentle clap of the hands. His boss still had not turned in the chair, so Brock could only guess that it was a good sort of clap.

“Ha, so he’s here at last then,” said his employer warmly. “You are correct, Mr. Turner—there’s no amount of planning that will cover for him. I do not lay the blame on your teams. In fact, this little exercise did exactly what I wanted it to do.”

“Sir?”

“It got his attention. He’s going to start looking for us.”

“Is that a good thing, sir?” Brock asked uncertainly.

“In my book, I believe it is. We will worry more about him when the time comes—I do feel he would start looking for us the first chance allowed for him. I want all cameras in the city watching for him, and I want to be notified when he comes into the city.”

“Yes sir,” said Brock, inclining his head.

“In the meantime, I can imagine one Noa Kaiba will be exceptionally displeased that his family was endangered. Please let our cyber security division know that we need to tighten down security on any and all files we have regarding our current line of work. I want any such attempts to log in to our system shut down.”

The man on his left cleared his throat. “So far we’ve been able to shut down all outside investigations into our business. The Kaibas have so far not made a connection to us in regards to the latest expansions, but already this afternoon we’ve had to redirect and work overtime to divert Noa Kaiba’s intrusions into our mainframe.”

“Are you suggesting you are not up for the task, Mr. Carter?” There was something soft and dangerous in the question.

“N-No sir! Not at all!”

“Good. It should not be a problem then to cover our tracks for the day?”

“We already have our malware program uploaded into the city servers. All activity for the past four hours is being scrubbed even as we speak.”

“Wonderful! It seems you have it under control, so you’re dismissed.” A hand rose from the chair and pushed a button. “All right, my dear, please escort these gentlemen out.”

“Yes sir.”

The door opened behind them and the secretary stepped inside. “Come with me.”

Brock was never happier when he left the office and was back in the elevator heading back downstairs. That whole floor gave him nothing but the creeps.

+++++++++++++++++++

Darien was frightened.

The phone call had come in while he had been repairing the kitchen sink. One of Ellie’s friends, a Mai Valentine, had been on the line. Her voice had been calm but with an edge, carrying a sense of urgency. His grandchildren were missing and very likely in danger, she had told him grimly. They were trying to locate Rowen and Sylvie, but so far no one had found them.

Darien’s first instinct, his gut reaction, was to immediately return to Domino. He should have never left them alone. How could he have known, though? There was no way to prepare for a threat to the children, especially if he hadn’t known, and now…

There would be time for self-berating later. Now he had to get Alana and go back. Mai had assured him that those who knew the children were searching for him, but Darien did not intend to stay where he was while his grandchildren’s lives were in danger. Alana certainly didn’t—she was already searching in Ellie’s old bedroom for their daughter’s spare can of mace.

He had not even gotten his car keys when there was a movement from behind him. He had been expecting Alana to come find him, to let him know she was ready to go.

He had not expected the man in white standing in the doorframe.

Darien gave a soft gasp and staggered backwards. The other man’s hands rose in a placating gesture, gold eyes flickering under the hood. “I am not a threat,” he said quietly. The hands lifted the hood from his head, long teal hair framing his face. “I am here on behalf of your grandson. He requested that I notify you of his safety—he is not in any further danger from those seeking to harm him.”

Darien paused, eyes flitting towards the doorway behind the stranger.

“She isn’t downstairs yet and I’d rather not get a face full of mace. Please—a moment of your time.”

Darien studied the newcomer with a frown. The other man watched him patiently, his expression unreadable. Perhaps this man was not a danger after all.

“I’m listening,” Darien said slowly. “You said Rowen was safe.”

“Yes. He and his younger sister are now under my protection. The little girl is quite ill, but her fever was already starting to come down when I left them.”

Darien felt something loosen in his chest. There was a note of sincerity in the last sentence he couldn’t ignore; he wondered if perhaps this stranger understood the need for proof. “It would seem Rowen and Sylvie have a powerful friend looking out for them,” he said quietly, unable to hold the relief from his voice.

“Most would not consider me a friend,” said the man after a brief pause. “But I do not consider myself an enemy to them, either.”

There was a subtle weariness in his voice, and the man seemed…older in that one moment. He could not explain it if he was asked how, but Darien felt that this man was so much older than him in spite of his physical appearance. He looked as if he was from another time—and perhaps he was. A nagging thought was there at the peripheral of his mind, something Ellie had once told him.

It was not until he met the golden eyes, sharp and fierce and yet world-weary and knowledgeable, that Darien suddenly placed him. A name from a lifetime ago, from a story he’d only heard second-hand, reached him. “You’re Dartz.”

The stranger—no, Dartz—seemed surprised for a brief moment at being recognized. “I am,” he said at last, a question in his voice.

“Raphael,” Darien said simply.

“Ah. I should not be so surprised.”

“He never told me about what happened, not directly. He only ever spoke about it in detail with my daughter, and even then it wasn’t a topic of conversation that he brought up often.”

“I’d imagine not. Stealing souls is hardly a decent topic of conversation at the dinner table.” There was something wry in Dartz’s voice now. “You do not sound so upset at seeing me now.”

“I think there was a part of me that wondered if you would show up one day, especially now that he’s dead,” Darien admitted. “He was never sure if you had truly died after being defeated, though he never said as much. I could tell he thought about it.”

At the mention of Raphael’s death Dartz’s face spasmed the briefest of moments. Something clouded the gold eyes, and he looked so much older in that one moment. His expression cleared and he looked away. “I heard about his passing,” he said. “I had hoped he would live longer than this. Your daughter as well, though I never met her. No parent should have to bury their child—I apologize for your loss.”

A long pause followed.

“Rowen and Sylvie will be under my care until the matter of their safety is assured,” Dartz said at last, sounding brisk. “You need not worry about legal ramifications. Those have been settled for now. When it is safe for them to be returned, I will bring them back to you—no sooner, no later.”

“…If you aren’t their enemy, Dartz, who is?”

“That,” Dartz said after another pause, “is what I intend to find out. For now, I ask that you remain here. It would be safer away from Domino—“

“I don’t want to sit this out on the sidelines,” Darien said, interrupting Dartz. His own voice was calm and measured, but there was a hint of steel beneath the calm. “Those are my daughter’s children, Dartz. I won’t press you to return them if it isn’t safe, but I won’t stay out of this either.”

“It is ultimately your decision when it comes to your actions,” Dartz said quietly. “All I ask is that you do nothing that would leave your grandchildren orphans.”

There was a noise from behind Darien and he started. He turned to the kitchen sink, which was dripping water from the faucet still. He had not finished fixing it yet.

When he turned back to the doorway, Dartz was gone and Alana was in his place. “Darien?” she asked hesitantly. “I heard you talking…was someone on the phone?”

“…Alana, we need to talk.”

+++++++++++++++++++

Noa was beyond angry.

Isabel could tell even without asking. His lips were pressed together so tightly that it was an angry slash against his pale face. Twin spots of color in his cheeks, the dark flashing blue eyes, and the way his fingers viciously jabbed each key on the keyboard were the only other clues to his current emotional state.

She could not blame him. Any subject involving Dartz was a sore point for Noa.

He had been this way for nearly three hours, long enough for the sun to start going down outside. The moment Isabel had called him about the incident at the mall, her husband had cleared his schedule and shut everything down to start the search for his nephew. Mikomi had missed her recital, but given the circumstances Isabel knew her daughter could care less over a missed concert—she was more worried for both her brother and her cousin.

“Anything?” she asked, her own voice controlled and curt.

“Not a thing,” he replied, eyes never leaving the screen. “They turned all security monitors off in that quadrant of the mall for four hours—routine maintenance, apparently,” he added, voice rich with disgust. “As for the security guards, nothing extraordinary about them so far. I’m having custom search engines running for any common history between them, so we’ll see if anything turns up.

“Interestingly enough, it’s not just the mall that was down. More than half of the city’s surveillance cameras weren’t recording during those four hours—all cameras in areas where Sora, Claire, Michael, Rowen, and Sylvie were. That’s just a touch interesting in my books, so I’m running virus and malware checks through the city systems too.”

Isabel felt that it might be more than slightly illegal for Noa to be looking through their personnel files, and for him to be searching through the city’s surveillance cameras. She also found that, given the circumstances, she did not particularly care.

“What about the men who took Michael?”

“Kazuo identified one of them in this shot right before the cameras went down,” he said, and with another click a picture came up. Noa zoomed in on the picture and the man was brought into sharp relief. “Nothing outstanding about him. Close cut brown hair, shades and turtleneck, and what looks like an earpiece. Facial recognition software can’t place him.”

“Why not?”

“See the way he’s ducking away from the camera? He knows where it is, so he’s keeping his face turned. I can maybe pull a partial result, but not enough to identify him. Still, I have the most up-to-date software and programming—I’ll keep trying.”

Isabel’s phone started buzzing and she looked down at the screen. “Joey’s calling.”

Noa actually looked away from the monitor as Isabel answered the phone. “Joey?”

“Mai and I checked the workshop, and then the center in the park. There’s no sign of any of them. We found Rowen’s phone on a bus that runs the park circuit—the bus company called us since we were the most recent number outside of the twin’s.”

“Rowen’s phone was on a bus?” she repeated aloud. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Noa turn in his seat to face the computer, fingers flying across the keyboard. “What about Sora and Claire?”

“Alleyway by their workshop was covered from ground to roof with pink paint and glitter, and it smells like strawberries—nearly made me pass out because it was so strong.”

One of their smoke bombs, Isabel knew. The twins had been barred from using any of those except for absolute emergencies—it seemed they had deemed it a situation to use one. “Is there any other place the kids would go that you know of?”

“No. I’ve got Tristan and Ryou helping me look for them, and Duke’s looking too. Mai reached out to Rowen’s grandparents and they’re on their way. I’ve been trying to reach Yugi, but no dice. I’ve gone to voicemail every time I’ve tried to call him.”

“We aren’t having any luck reaching Seto, either,” Isabel said, frowning. “Same problem, except we shouldn’t be having it.”

Isabel heard Noa’s sharp inhalation and a triumphant noise from behind her. “Got you, Rowen,” she heard.

“Joey, I’ll call you back as soon as I know more—Noa’s got something. Keep trying to get a hold of Yugi.” Isabel hung up and came back to the monitor. “What did you find?”

Noa pulled up two separate windows across the monitors. “Whatever’s going on with the cameras must have missed the bus cameras. Here’s the bus stop nearest Rowen’s house,” he said, and he tapped the screen as Rowen came into view. Isabel’s stomach clenched at the blanket in his arms, a brief glimpse of Sylvie’s hair visible through the blanket. On camera, the teenager crossed the bus and sat down, attention going between the windows and his sister.

“He got on and he stayed on…fast forward a bit…and there, he’s getting off at the park stop across from the museum. He goes—hold on, pulling up park footage—nope, that’s where we lose the cameras. We know at least he got off in the park, but after that…nothing.”

Isabel frowned, leaning forward. “Noa, rewind back to where Rowen was on the bus,” she said. As the footage rewound she held up a hand. “What’s he looking at?” she asked, pointing to the screen. Rowen was looking over his shoulder and peering forward through the window.

“Likely at the vehicle that had been tailing him, Miss Corazón.”

Isabel froze at the voice. Noa stiffened in his seat, color receding from his face. Then, at the same time, they slowly turned to face the entrance of the office.

Dartz stood silently in the doorway, his hood pulled away to fully reveal his features. There were a few lines to his face that had not been there years ago, drawn features that showed the start of age, but it was the same man they had encountered years before—the same one who had caused so much misery in their lives.

Isabel had not realized she had moved until her fist was colliding with Dartz’s cheek and the man toppled backwards to the floor. She stood over him, fists clenched impossibly tight at her sides. Noa came up behind her, one hand on her shoulder as he too glowered at their unwelcome guest.

“I suppose I deserved that,” Dartz said quietly after a moment’s pause, one hand rising to his cheek.

“I’m so glad you’ve deigned that you warrant a punch to the face. How gracious of you,” she retorted. Isabel thought she could see blood in the corner of his mouth. Good. “And for the record, I’m married now.”

Something flashed in Dartz’s eyes, his gaze flickering as he put two and two together. “Apologies then.”

“You’re either really brave or really stupid to come here,” Noa said at last, ice in his voice. “I’m leaning more towards stupid, since your track record shows a distinct cowardice streak.”

The man at their feet slowly rose, taking a step back. Maybe it was out of caution, or maybe it was to respect the boundaries between them. “You look healthier,” he replied simply. His expression was neutral and composed, even as the blood pooled in the corner of his mouth and his cheek grew red. “The last time I saw you, Noa—“

“—I was yet another pawn in your gambit to take over the world.” Noa’s reply was hard and held an edge. “You brought me back from the dead simply to run I2 in Pegasus’s absence, maybe even to attack Seto and Mokuba if Alister failed. I wouldn’t know, since it never progressed to that point and Isabel thankfully stopped me.”

“Noa—“

“You’re the second man in my life who’s manipulated me, and the first was my father.” His voice was a venomous hiss. “Neither of you hold a particularly good place in my book, so you’d best have a damn good reason for coming back now of all times.”

Isabel heard the pain in his voice and her hand moved to squeeze her husband’s gently. Noa shot her a glance, returning the squeeze gently.

Dartz had not missed the subtle exchange and for the briefest of moments his expression softened, exhaustion and understanding visible in his gaze. It was gone as soon as it had come when Isabel turned a hard look on him.

“Where’s Michael, Dartz?” she asked. “What did you do with my nephew?”

“I believe your son gave you a message in that regard—“

“That is not an answer,” Noa snarled almost at the same time as Isabel said it.

Dartz’s eyebrows rose. “He said something similar earlier today, when he woke up,” he said. “I was surprised to see he has golden eyes, rather than his father’s.”

The last comment came without context or asking, but something in Isabel’s stomach unknotted. Dartz had done that deliberately—Michael was conscious, had to be conscious if Dartz could note her nephew’s features and behavior. “My sister,” she said quietly.

Something close to surprise lit his gaze. It was gone again, buried beneath the neutral mask. “I hadn’t known she was the boy’s mother.”

“For someone who appears to be all-knowing, you’re remarkably unobservant,” Noa said flatly.

Dartz’s expression closed. “I will be brief, as my presence is clearly an unwelcome one,” he said. “I came because I was asked by the children to tell you they are safe. They are no happier at their situation than you or I am.”

“Okay, so give them back then,” Isabel said coolly. “It sounds like it’s such a burden to watch after poor defenseless children.”

“When it is safe to do so, I will return them to their proper guardians. I have no desire for custody of the children, but at this time it is unsafe to return them to the city.”

Not safe to return the children? Isabel and Noa exchanged glances. “And why would that be?” Noa challenged angrily. “Give us one good reason why you can’t bring them back.”

Dartz did not look away from them. His eyes were dark and there was a flicker of exhaustion in his gaze. “There is only one reason I would have to return to Domino and risk your ire.”

Ice dropped down Isabel’s spine. “I thought it was gone, Dartz,” she said slowly. “There shouldn’t be any of it left.”

“That is why I am here—to find out what exactly is going on.” Dartz’s voice was very hard and dangerous, a threat hidden in his voice. “Until I know more, until the safety of those children is guaranteed, they will remain with me.”

“Oh, right, because leaving children in the vicinity of a viper is a great idea,” Noa said coldly. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“And you clearly can protect them, since the children were either attacked in broad daylight or forced to flee their homes,” Dartz retorted, and this time there was an edge in his voice. “If this enemy is the same one that’s brought me here, they are better off where they cannot be found.”

“What do you want us to do? If you’re asking us to just twiddle our thumbs and do nothing—“

“It will be the same warning I delivered earlier tonight: do not do anything that would leave those children orphans,” Dartz cut over her smoothly. “That would mean doing any investigative work into the ones responsible. I will not have anyone else targeted,” he added, interrupting the starts of Isabel’s and Noa’s reply. “If someone must be a target, it will be the one they cannot catch.”

“Look, buddy, I’ve already got the ball rolling in multiple areas. Whoever this is probably already knows we’re onto them, so at this point there’s no point in stopping what I’m doing just because you say so.”

“I know I do not have that right, and I also know that I cannot ultimately stop you from proceeding with what you are doing. I need at least forty-eight hours, Noa,” Dartz said quietly. “Give me enough time to handle this on my own, or to at least gauge the situation.”

“Riiiight. Uh huh. And you are a fantastic one man army, aren’t you?” Noa asked.

Isabel felt the pressure in the room drop as the familiar rush of magic filled the air around them. Noa’s computer screens flickered wildly and the lights dimmed drastically. Dartz’s own expression remained mild, but the gold eyes were flecked with aquamarine.

“Do not forget who I am,” he said, his voice carrying a thrum of power that had not been there before. “I am perfectly capable of handling this on my own.”

The magic died away and the atmosphere calmed.

“Twenty four hours, Dartz.” Isabel’s voice was hard. “I’m giving it twenty-four hours where we do nothing, and then whether you want it or not we’re going right back to doing what we were before.”

Dartz studied them for a long moment and then sighed softly. “All right. In twenty four hours I will let you know what I have found. If you do any further investigations, I recommend you do them as quietly as you can. Do not draw attention to yourselves. You can protect against a physical threat, but not a magical one.”

Dartz started to turn from them. “I trust you will notify the remaining relatives of the twin’s whereabouts,” he said.

“Joey and Mai? Why don’t you do that yourself?” Noa asked testily. “We aren’t your servants.”

Dartz paused. “Because the last time Miss Valentine spoke of me, it was in Paradius before it fell and she promised castration with a rusted fork. I for one am inclined to believe her.”

He turned the corner before either of them could react. Isabel felt the familiar pulse of magic and she hurried out of the office—only to be greeted by an empty hallway. Dartz had gone.

“Noa…I think I know why we can’t reach Yugi or Seto,” she said grimly. “I think Dartz might be deliberately blocking any attempt to reach them.”

“You’d think that after he lost his source of magic he wouldn’t be able to keep up any kind of spell or magic. But of course he can.” Noa shook his head. “Give me technology over magic that can just BS everything any day.”

“It just means that he’s serious about keeping us out of this,” said Isabel with a sigh, hands going on her hips.

“And that is really going to stop us from getting involved?” Noa asked, a smirk on his face.

Isabel’s smile mirrored Noa’s. “Not even for a second.”

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#au: reluctant guardian #oc: darien monroe #oc: alana monroe #other's oc: isabel #noa kaiba #dartz

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