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ayuuria · 4 years ago

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Yashahime Translation: Livedoor News Interview

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The New Story That Continues the World of Inuyasha, Anime “Hanyō no Yashahime” Director x Producer Interview

With the Resolve to Reopen the Concluded “Inuyasha” World in Their Hearts. The Behind-the-Scenes Production of “Hanyō no Yashahime”

For 12 years from 1996-2008, “Inuyasha” (original creator: Takahashi Rumiko) which was serialized in “Weekly Shōnen Sunday” (Shogakukan) was a feudal fairy tale that depicted the heart of the battle between demons, humans, and half-demons for the Shikon Jewel.

Anime “Inuyasha” broadcasted from 2000-2004 followed “Inuyasha the Final Act” from 2009-2010, after the original work was concluded. It is a timeless masterpiece that is now loved around the world.

Continuing that world of “Inuyasha” is the new original anime, “Hanyō no Yashahime”, which began broadcast in October of 2020. Many Inuyasha fans were surprised at the shocking set up that the daughters of Sesshōmaru, a popular character in “Inuyasha”, would be the protagonists.

With everything from the production, background music, and cast performance having an Inuyasha flavor mixed in, being moved from seeing the new characters and the “Inuyasha” characters coming together on the TV screen, to the absolutely unclear mysterious developments, the hearts of fans around world have been grabbed once again.

Since broadcast began, despite having completed one cour (translator’s note: Cour = 3 months or 13 weeks/episodes), the full picture of the story still cannot be seen. We carried out an interview conversation with director Satō Teruo and producer Naka Toshikazu regarding the things of interest about the work up until now and ahead.

We Prepared a Device That Would Allow Inuyasha Fans to Enjoy (the show)

— One cour has passed since broadcast began. Are the responses reaching you?

Naka: The response is incredible. Especially on social media.

Satō: You’re right. I’m also on Twitter, so I get reactions from all over the world. I truly get a sense that it’s work that’s receiving a lot of attention.

When I look at comments on the official (Twitter) account, most of them are from overseas. Not only do I once again realize that “Inuyasha” boasts a worldwide popularity, I do my best while feeling the pressure of “Hanyō no Yashahime” being a work that inherits that world.

— Apparently the one who suggested the project was Suwa Michihiko of ytv Nextry, who was the producer for anime “Inuyasha” and “Detective Conan”. How did you two feel when you first heard about the project?

Naka: “We’re going to do a story that’s been neatly concluded once before again!? How!?” is what I felt at the beginning.

From the moment I first heard about it, I was still floating around what kind of story it would be. “I might make it a story about Sesshōmaru’s daughter.” was as far as I had gotten. I thought “If I’m not mistaken, if we make it like that, then there might be something to do”.

Satō: There were talks of “wanting to do it” for 2-3 years and Rumiko-sensei, Suwa-san, and the “Inuyasha” staff had mulled over the idea.

It’s just that not only was the story of “Inuyasha” itself was very neatly concluded, after “Since Then” (the special edition (chapter) depicting the after story) we had Rumiko-sensei tell us “There’s nothing left to do in “Inuyasha””.

There was a rather heavy responsibility in touching that and as an Inuyasha fan myself, it made me really think about “In order to create a new story out of a work that was neatly concluded, what sort of form does it need to take?”

I think Inuyasha fans would watch, so I felt that I wanted to release something that everyone would agree to as much as possible without breaking their (idea of) “Inuyasha”.

— In terms of the target audience for “Hanyō no Yashahime”, do you consider Inuyasha fans the main target? Or do you focus on the new audience that does not know “Inuyasha”?

Naka: For us, we want people to like the new characters so in that sense, we keep in mind the new people.

It’s just that a lot of time has passed since “Inuyasha” was broadcasted and I think among the people who watched “Inuyasha” back in the day are people who have become parents. I think watching it as two generations, parent and child (Mom and Dad who liked “Inuyasha” and the children who are touching it as a new work), is the most ideal.

Satō: The voice actresses who voice the three princesses (Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha), are from a generation that watched “Inuyasha” right when they were kids. They chit-chat while recording every week (laughs).

It would be great if the new target group could go back and watch “Inuyasha” because of “Hanyō no Yashahime” and think “There are demons that appeared in “Hanyō no Yashahime” too”. On the reverse side, I would like those who watched “Inuyasha” to enjoy “Hanyō no Yashahime” from the point of view of “It’s the demon from that time”.

For that reason, we inlayed different devices and components into the story.

Naka: We periodically put in devises that would make people who like Rumiko-sensei’s other works smile a little bit. Like the hoodlums who appeared in episode 2 or the monkey gag in episode 9.

— In other words, while still keeping in mind those who don’t know “Inuyasha”, you are of course creating a work that Inuyasha fans can enjoy as well.

Satō: Making sure we don’t destroy the image of “Inuyasha” characters is at the forefront of our minds, especially when we bring them out into the “Hanyō no Yashahime” world. This is so that people watching don’t think “That’s not the kind of character they were”.

Of course, when we bring them out, we always have Rumiko-sensei review the scenario. She’ll tell us “It should be fine if it’s like this” and apply that to the scenario which is how we’ve been doing it.

Naka: We’re careful so that when “Inuyasha” characters take the mound, they don’t eat into the spotlight of the new characters while also not losing their “status”.

— Among the fans, the way the broadcasting order of “Hanyō no Yashahime” to “Great Detective Conan” is similar to “Inuyasha” to “Conan” became a popular topic of conversation. Was that formation something Yomiuri TV-san was particular about?

Satō: The order is the same as when it was broadcasted during the golden hour of 19:00-20:00 (7-8pm on the 12-hour clock). We’re grateful that they’re nostalgic about it.

Naka: I don’t know if they were particular about it or not, but it was decided from the start that it would be broadcasted during that timeframe (before “Conan”). It’s possible that it just turned out that way, but from the production side, it felt “just like before” in the end.

Satō: It’s like (Yamaguchi) Kappei-san (role of Inuyasha and also Edogawa Conan/Phantom Theif Kid in “Great Detective Conan”) has 2 consecutive appearances (laughs).

Naka: Not only is the connection between the timeframe the same, but also when we heard that SixTONES would be doing the opening for the October cour, we thought the flow looked the same as “Inuyasha” since it would be a group from Jonny & Associates that would be singing (Editor’s note: In the past, V6 and Tackey & Tsubasa were in charge of the theme song for “Inuyasha”).

In the end, we’re also curious as to how the structure is the same as during “Inuyasha”.

A Character Cannot Come to Life Without Working Out the Fundamental Aspects

— Next, we will ask how story the of “Hanyō no Yashahime” was created. We just heard from Naka-san that “When I first heard about it “I might make it a story about Sesshōmaru’s daughter.” was how far I had gotten”, but were there any different ideas regarding the direction after that?

[Characters bios written following the question but I’m skipping it]

Naka: We proceeded with that intention as is.

It’s just that even if it’s a daughter, we couldn’t quite settle whether the daughter would be twins or an only child. We couldn’t decide until right on the line of “If we don’t decide what sort personality the character will have at this stage, we may have to relook things including the broadcast timing” (laughs).

Satō: We pretty much decided after directly talking to Rumiko-sensei.

— What did Rumiko-sensei tell you?

Naka: Regarding the character persona, she pointed out things such as “With only the setting, you don’t know why they speak that way” and “Why they dress like this doesn’t feel right to me”.

Especially with Towa, it took a long time for Rumiko-sensei to understand and agree to the part where “She dresses like a boy because she’s this kind of persona”. That’s where we struggled the most.

Satō: For Rumiko-sensei, apparently, she understood Setsuna and Moroha straight down like “So this is the kind of child she is”.

However, only with Towa did she say, “If you don’t clearly boil down and solidify how she will grow and what sort of foundation she’ll have, the story development will become blurred wouldn’t it”.

With that point, it was a lot of work deciding Towa’s character.

Naka: Not just the settings, but we had Sumisawa Katsuyuki-san (in charge of series composition for “Inuyasha” and now this work as well) vigorously write the scripts for episodes 1 and 2 and show Rumiko-sensei “With this story flow, Towa will respond like this” and “We’ll use this language”.

With that, we put things in order in a “But, we probably don’t need this kind of language after all, right?” kind of way.

— It was explained in the story that Towa dresses like a boy because “It’s easier to fight in”, but is that one of the settings that was solidified like that?

Naka: Yes. The result of coming up with different reasons and many ideas was that we ended up settling on a conversely simple reason.

Satō: Rumiko-sensei casually said “Isn’t “it’s easier to fight in” good enough?” (laughs). We were turning up a lot of different rationalizations. (translator’s note: Not confident on this sentence) For example, “As a girl, there was something she didn’t like”.

But it also became “I don’t think that’s true” …… It made us realize it was fine to have something simple and straightforward.

— So Rumiko-sensei was involved with the character persona starting from the foundation.

Satō: I learned a lot from speaking with Rumiko-sensei as I was creating the characters. Rumiko-sensei’s way of thinking is very logical and upfront. For example, “Because (she’s) this kind of child, (she) behaves like this” or “(She) Won’t say something like this”.

That’s why, people who view the work will see their foundation. In my head, I knew “If you don’t work out the fundamental aspects, the character won’t come to life” but I came to realize that once again.

In the anime, there were many people who put out ideas starting with Sumisawa-san, but I thought it must be a lot of work for Rumiko-sensei to create a manga while consulting with the editors.

We’re Mindful of the Composition that “Towa Sets the Story in Motion”

— With the characters solidified, did you receive any orders from Sumisawa-san as you planned the story?

Naka: With “Hanyō no Yashahime”, it started with Sumisawa-san first writing the scenario that would become the first manuscript.

In that regard, we discussed with him things such as “Keeping in mind of the development ahead, please pay attention to this part” or “Please put this device in”.

More precisely, there was a lot of discussion about Moroha’s position at the beginning. There was the fact that Moroha was the easiest character to move, but we wanted him to keep in mind as much as possible that she (Moroha) should show her concern for Towa and Setsuna in a way that ensures they’re at the forefront.

Satō: To the writer, Moroha is like a “Mini Inuyasha”. Hence there was a tendency to naturally center the story around her.

However, Sesshōmaru’s daughters, Towa and Setsuna, are the protagonists this time so we wanted (the writer) to keep that in mind.

Because Moroha is easy to understand with her character and Setsuna is a female version of Sesshōmaru, when their vectors become conspicuous, Towa appears overshadowed no matter what. “The protagonist getting overshadowed by those around them troupe.” is something that happens in original works.

That’s why we’re conscious of the composition of bringing Towa into the center and using her to move the story whenever possible. That’s the part we especially placed importance on when putting together the story.

— Next, please tell us the appeals of the three protagonists. Starting from Towa please.

Naka: Regarding Towa, she inherited Sesshōmaru’s silver hair, has a boyish outfit, and has an outward appearance that would make girls think she’s attractive.

However, her values are surprisingly modern, and she has a naiveness about her which Setsuna calls out within the story. I don’t think there have been many characters who have been balanced like this thus far.

Although, at the current phase, there’s a point that what the goal behind her actions is might still be a little weak.

Satō: Just as Naka-san said, Towa has a half-hearted kindness and naiveté; how that will change as she travels with Setsuna and Moroha. Please look forward to that growth as you watch the story.

I think there are people who get impatient seeing Towa’s current indecisiveness (laughs).

What will that kind of protagonist experience and how will her feelings change from that. It will make me happy if people think “Towa’s changed; she’s matured” at the end.

Naka: I think having lots of room for growth is what gives her that protagonist feel. Conversely, Setsuna is a relatively standard character. However, on the one hand, she does have a kind side.

Satō: She does show a little affection after all (laughs)

Earlier I said “a female version of Sesshōmaru” so I think her nonchalant kindness is the same as his. The vector of her character direction is easy to understand which is her appeal.

— It seems Setsuna coldly pushes Towa away, but also shows concern for her. Despite saying, “The curse of the Dream Butterfly doesn’t need to be broken”, she goes along with Towa’s search for the Dream Butterfly.

Satō: Just as the line “I can’t readily accept that” in episode 3 said, Setsuna cannot accept Towa as her sister.

However, I believe she understands Towa’s virtues as an individual. We would like everyone to pay attention to how Setsuna draws the line of “I can understand Towa’s good qualities, but I can’t acknowledge her as an older sister” and the point at which that line is crossed.

Will the day ever come where Setsuna will address Towa as “Towa nee-chan” ……

— It feels as though the distance between them is getting shorter, like when she almost went along with Towa’s high-five in episode 11.

Satō: Little by little. Within that, we would like for you to please look forward to how their feelings intersect when the time comes.

Naka: In that episode, it looks as though she gets along with Towa, but when Towa tried to lay her head on her lap, she didn’t allow it. I was watching with great interest like “So that’s where she draws the line” (laughs).

— Next, Moroha.

Naka: Moroha is pretty much just what you see (laughs)

Satō: She’s a hybrid of Inuyasha and Kagome. If her theatrical elocution is like Inuyasha’s, then her actions are understandable like Kagome’s.

In that sense, I think she’s a character that viewers can easily connect with. There’s also the fact that currently, all the gag lines are relatively being placed on Moroha (laughs).

Naka: In earlier episodes, her level of participation was high but lately she’s been in charge of punch lines (laughs). For example, when they didn’t take her to the battle in episode 10 or when she got caught up in Setsuna’s attack in episode 11.

Earlier, we discussed how “We were careful not center too much around Moroha” but it put us at a disadvantage as a result and I feel a little bad (laughs). However, Moroha will be taking charge in episode 16 next week (1/23/21) so please look forward to that.

Satō: Not only will Moroha play a very active role, but it is also an important episode that depicts the environment that she grew up in. Why she has to collect bounties and what kind of relationship she has with Jyūbee will be touched upon. If you watch that, I think you’ll come to understand her actions up until now like “So that’s why she was doing things like that”.

From a composition standpoint, episode 15 revealed Towa and Setsuna’s past, episode 16 will reveal Moroha’s backbone, and furthermore, the story of Setsuna’s childhood will come hereafter. If you watch that far, the full story of this will work will become clear for the most part.

The first cour was a period of planting seeds, but now going forward, the composition is set up so that the fruit of the tree will ripen and fall, so please continue to look forward to it.

The Casting of Miroku Was Entrusted to the Sound Director for “Inuyasha”

— Next, please tell us about the casting. On what points did you decide the cast group?

Satō: It was fundamentally decided through auditions. If we don’t progress the script to some extent, sound director Nagura Yasushi-san can’t determine the direction of the roles, so when the script amount had accumulated, we gathered up people who could picture the characters and carried out the auditions from there.

It was right about the time when the COVID crisis was escalating, so we worried if we could really start broadcasting in October.

Naka: The balance between the three was the deciding factor. After we narrowed it down from a number candidates, we took a “If this person did this character, then the balance would probably become like this” kind of view and decided from there.

Satō: There’s going to be a lot of dialogue between the three of them not matter what, so in order to avoid having similar voice tones and similar ways of speaking, we created the characters based on that assumption.

Towa’s thought process and actions are modern and Moroha acts on her emotions. Conversely, Setsuna is always calm and collected like Sesshōmaru and makes decisions after observing the entirety of the situation. Then she’ll look for the best solution and take action.

Because each of the characters has that kind of nature, we ordered Nagura-san to look for a balance that enables you to easily tell the three of them apart when they’re conversing.

– Did you not look at it from a standpoint that the voices should or should not sound similar to those of the parent generation like Sesshōmaru, Inuyasha, or Kagome?

Naka: That is a point that we were not at all concerned about. We proceeded with a viewpoint that the person should match the outward appearance, the actions within the story, and the nature of the character.

When balancing the three of them, balancing the twins seemed difficult, so from there we decided on Moroha first as her position takes a step back. We decided on Towa and Setsuna at the end after looking at the balance between them and considering Moroha for a second time.

— What were the key points in selecting the cast outside the three girls?

Naka: We left it up to Nagura-san. There were times when he asked for our review and opinions.

For example, there was an idea for Riku (CV: Fukuyama Jun) to have a more feminine voice. But when we spoke to director Satō, he said “A masculine image”, so we went with that direction.

— The Miroku that Yasumura Makoto-san, who replaced the late Tsujitani Kōji-san, played was a hot topic but did Nagura-san decide on that casting as well?

Satō: Regarding Yasumura-san, we asked Tsuruoka Yota, who was the sound director for “Inuyasha”, to decide. We thought that fit more under the category of “Inuyasha” rather than “Hanyō no Yashahime”.

Of course, I’m sure the viewers knew (the voice) was going to change, but we received a lot of feedback saying “It’s Miroku-sama!” and “It doesn’t feel out of place at all!” when episode 1 was broadcasted.

I was in Tsujitani-san’s care many times as a sound director prior to him playing Miroku. I was still a newbie producer back then but even when I met him after that at the “Inuyasha” set, he spoke to me like “Hello~”

I was producing while my heart was pounding hard. During testing, when I was panicking because I couldn’t match up the lip-syncing, he reached out to me like “We’ll do the syncing so it’s fine”. The figure of him reaching out to me so nicely is strong in my memory.

It was such a shame that he died so young. However, this time Yasumura-san, who was also his junior at the same agency, is working hard as his successor, and I think he was casted well.

Naka: Director Satō, you said “The air around Yasumura-san is completely different now compared to when I worked with him in other works”.

Satō: In episode 1, it seems he was really nervous having to record with the cast of “Inuyasha” who are high level seniors.

He was relaxed to some extent in episode 13 which was Miroku’s episode. He said to me “I’m sorry about before when I was extremely nervous” (laughs).

Creating Scenes in A Way That’s Distinct from the Popular (Methods)

— In order to make viewers feel that this is a work that inherits the world of “Inuyasha”, do you do any devising on the production side?

Satō: I would say scene creation. We don’t really get onboard with the popular trends. We split the cuts and show things the way they did in “Inuyasha” in order to smoothly give it that “Inuyasha” feel. I think it’s distinct from what’s popular nowadays.

This might be weird way of saying it, but it’s like we’re using an old-fashioned way of creating. By purposely doing things in a “Works from about 10 years ago felt like this” sort of way, it brings out that “Inuyasha” feel.

For other parts, Sumisawa-san directs the theatrical elocution and we have the same sound team from “Inuyasha” working, so no particular explanation is needed. In that aspect, they’re making it a lot easier for me (laughs).

For me, “Inuyasha” was the first work I did as a freelance producer. Not only was it a work that taught me the fundamentals of producing, but I also learned (how to make) storyboards from “Inuyasha”. In that sense, it’s a very memorable work.

— At the beginning, you said you “Put in devices that connect to “Inuyasha””, but between episode 9-12, demons that appeared in “Inuyasha” were continuously making appearances and it became a topic of discussion.

Naka: That section was the “devoured by Mōryōmaru” series. We had to speed through things in “Inuyasha the Final Act”, so I brought out those demons thinking “If we could just use the demons that we couldn’t properly show back then, even just a little”.

Satō: After fall for Meiōjū, we only had the scene of Mōryōmaru taking the armored shell (laughs)

Naka: We explain that “The demon that appeared this time is actually in “Inuyasha”” on the official Twitter account. It would be wonderful if there are people who take an interest in “Inuyasha” after watching “Hanyō no Yashahime”.

Satō: I think there’s also a wonderful world laid out in that work, so we would certainly love for you to watch “Inuyasha” while enjoying “Hanyō no Yashahime”.

Picking Out Noteworthy Episodes and Explaining Them!

— From here, we will have you look back on episodes that have already aired. We have picked out a number of impressionable episodes, so please tell us some secret (behind the) production stories, memorable recordings, and scenes that left a lasting impression on you.

Episode 1: Inuyasha Since Then

Satō: It was like a “class reunion” (laughs). Although, we couldn’t have everyone record together due to the COVID crisis.

We had everyone take turns recording but they were all was greeting each other like “Oh my god~!” as they passed by one another. Likewise, it was a teamwork that went without saying.

Jaken (played by Chō-san) was adlibbing a lot and that situation made me really think “This is “Inuyasha””.

The first episode was mainly “Inuyasha” basically, but at the very beginning and end, we had the story connect to episode 7 of “Hanyō no Yashahime”. In that sense, the episode was pretty much full “Inuyasha”.

Naka: While we had director Satō do the storyboard and production, I saw the storyboard and felt “Ah, it’s “Inuyasha”. It will be okay”. Like feeling relieved (laughs)

Satō: When 10 years goes by, the producers from back then aren’t around anymore. The people I worked with are now at the director level. Explaining something like the rules of “Inuyasha” from square one to the new people is a hassle, so I was like “I’ll do this myself” (laughs).

The surprising thing is, we had the same group of people from 20 year ago with chief animation director Hishinuma Yoshihito (in charge of character design in “Inuyasha”. In this work, he oversees animation character design) and the animators from back then. It felt as though “Ah, nothing’s changed”.

I remember working while saying “Back then, I never thought we would do something like this 20 years later”.

Episode 2: The Three Princesses

Satō: You could say this episode was episode 1 for “Hanyō no Yashahime”.

Due to the COVID crisis, we couldn’t have the three princesses record together and it made me realize how important it was for everyone to record together. Even though it’s a conversation, when you have one person record first and the other person responding while listening (the recording), it changes the mood and rhythm.

Nagura-san tried to match up schedules so that the three princesses could record together as much as possible, but in the end, we couldn’t record with everyone. In a sense, episode 2 was very memorable to me in that it left the impression of “So we’re going to have to record like this from now on”.

I think all the works that started airing in the fall were in the same situation, not just “Hanyō no Yashahime”. Since we were recording in chunks, it became necessary to pay even more attention than before to ensure that we didn’t forget to record anything.

I’m grateful to everyone involved that we somehow managed to air every week, despite these difficult times.

Naka: The first demon that appears in episode 2, is a point where we kept “Inuyasha” in mind as we pulled Mistress Three Eyes from Mistress Centipede.

I think it was an episode where we appealed that “We’re aware of the “Rumik World”” by putting in the hoodlums mentioned earlier and Towa’s gag face.

Even though the original “Inuyasha” leaned a little more to the serious side, I think Rumiko-sensei’s taste of allowing a little bit of leeway while not shaking off just that (aspect) is there.

This time as well, including the broadcast time, there were views from inside stating that they didn’t want to make (the episode) too serious. However, director Satō had already added that kind of relaxedness even before that was directly said. He splendidly created that balance that wasn’t too serious.

Episode 7: The Apple Meeting

Satō: Riku, who appears in episode 7, is a character we aimed to have revitalize the story by plopping in a new character just when the story was about to get stuck in a rut. Rumiko-sensei also uses this technique; for example, Kōga and Mugen no Byakuya in “Inuyasha”.

I spoke with Sumisawa-san at the beginning, expressing my desire to introduce a new character to revitalize the story before viewers could start thinking “We’re going to just keep watching this journey?” as they watch the three princesses progress on their journey. He’s a keyman who stirs up the story.

Plus, the three Yashahimes are girls, so there was also the idea of having a romantic component like with Inuyasha, Kagome, and Kikyō. Although he ended up having the feel of a pick-up artist as a result of trying to add that component in (laughs).

Naka: Episode 7 is an episode that connects to episode 1. We intended to put in the device of connecting episode 1 to another episode when we organized it, but after watching episode 7 I thought “It connected pretty well”.

I think it was nicely organized as it turned into a spoiler episode where you found out why Towa was there and what Setsuna and Moroha were doing while Yotsume was telling the old tale.

Satō: Going forward, Riku will gradually involve himself with Towa, and we wanted to show why that is over a number of episodes.

I think you’ll understand to some extent in episode 15, but he’s a character that you don’t know which side he swings to (friend or foe?), so he’s a character to look forward to in that sense.

Episode 13: The Delicious Feudal Monk

Satō: It was a parent child episode with Miroku and Hisui (CV: Urao Takehiro) that we added with the desire to develop Hisui. He is the son of Miroku and Sango (CV: Kuwashima Houko) and I think everyone was wondering what Miroku was currently doing, so we thought it would be nice to introduce what Miroku was up to here and depict the parent-child relationship.

Naka: It’s an episode where Hisui finally plays an active role. It was a feeling of sorry to have completely kept you waiting in the first cour. I am glad we were able to give him an active role to some extent. Moroha ended up going somewhere else though (laughs)

Finally, Setsuna stole the show at the end when her true power was released. I think it brings out Miroku and other “Inuyasha” characters in a good manner while still having highlights for “Hanyō no Yashahime”.

Episode 14: The Mastermind Who Burned the Forest

Satō: This is the episode where the truth behind the fire that attacked young Towa and Setsuna is revealed. It’s a real binding episode you could say, and I think it’s a story that could be put in a modern setting.

Also, from this story, the distance between Towa and Setsuna that we talked about earlier will somewhat destroy a line, I think. There’s Towa who shows her anger towards Homura, the one who tore them (the twins) apart, and Setsuna who has some thoughts from seeing that.

If you can feel that, I think how you view episode 15 will change.

Naka: I thought Towa’s comparison to a smartphone at the beginning was a little off as she doesn’t understand the concept of jealousy (laughs).

Also, something that I thought was strange after rewatching episode 14 was how the gardener and the cook were fine with working in such a dangerous place (laughs). I thought it was amazing even though they’re just regular humans.

Demons and humans unexpectedly coexist in this world. In a sense, you could say it’s very open-minded for a demon. Demons were depicted in all sorts of places in “Inuyasha” too, so it was an episode that made me realize once again that it’s this kind of world.

Episode 15: Lunar Eclipse, The Sorrowful Parting of Fate

Satō: Why did Towa and Setsuna have to grow up separated (from their parents) when they were young? This is the episode that answers that and depicts the continuation of the brief flashback in episode 8.

Why Sesshōmaru and Kirinmaru confronted Inuyasha and Kagome becomes clear. With this, I think you can start to understand Sesshōmaru’s actions.

Naka: This episode was a little different. To begin with, we thought that patrons would be happy to see Inuyasha and the others at the end of the first cour, so we organized it so that the past would be discussed at this timing.

It’s just that it felt completely independent from the main story and Riku just suddenly narrates it, so I’m sure viewers were surprised. Riku was in there as like the navigator.

The three Yashahimes don’t particularly know this, and this episode was purely for the viewers. It would be great if everyone looks forward to what’s to come while keeping this in mind.

— Thank you very much. Lastly, please give a message to our readers who are looking forward to what’s coming up ahead.

Naka: Cour 1 has just ended and we have entered cour 2, so from here on you will learn the things that you wanted to know. Please see for yourself how Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha will grow as you look forward to the mysteries being unraveled.

Satō: After episode 15, “what each character must do” will continuously become clear, and it will become a story that pursues that. On top of that, it would make me really happy if you could enjoy watching what will happen to the three (girls).

#yashahime #hanyou no yashahime #yashahime: princess half demon #translation

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klarolinelibrary · 4 years ago

Photo

Hi KC Readers,

Happy Friday!

We have another weekly releases for you to check out. The stories below were updated during the week of April 17 - April 23.

Grab a snack and drink, then dive right into the new stories and reimagined characters of Klaus Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes!

FFN

Klaus POV - The Trouble with Spells (Chapter 21)

Author: ilovetf

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: I think the title is self explanatory. The Trouble with Spells as seen through Klaus's eyes and his POV. Over the years, people kept liking this story and some even asked for Klaus POV, so I decided to give it a try. Hope you enjoy it. All feedback is more than welcome. Good or bad.

Date of update: April 17 2021

SKULLS (Chapter 9)

Author: Lovely Vero

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Vampiro and El Diablo, aka: Klaus and Elijah Mikaelson, heads of the bikers SKULLS are fighting Gabriel Desperaldo, aka: El escorpión - head of the Spanish mafia - and his human trafficking in their city of Los Alamos in New Mexico. Never in a million years, did they imagine that the love of two captured women would change their life forever.

Date of update: April 17 2021

In the shelter of your light (Chapter 3)

Author: Clarity23

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Caroline expected to face some challenges when she decided to foster a teenage girl. But she did not expect that the girl's older, annoyingly handsome brother would be in the picture as well. AU

Date of update: April 17 2021

Everything and anything for you (Chapter 13)

Author: thelibrarianofalexandria

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: She had it all planned ahead. Graduate early, go to an Ivy League college, make her dreams come true. However, she has to change it a little when her whole life is thrown upside down and a handsome original takes an interest in her, the younger, shy, sister of Caroline Forbes.

Date of update: April 20 2021

You can't run from your past (Chapter 2)

Author: CookieDuo

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Caroline Forbes is an FBI agent with secrets. Three years ago she fell in love with a target before she helped put him behind bars, and she faked her own death. Now he's escaped from prison and he's learned the truth, about who she is and the secret she's been keeping since he got sent away. Now she has to run, but he's determined to catch her. And he always gets what he wants.

Date of update: April 20 2021

Take on the world

Author: Logan27

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Starts near the end of 4x14 (I would rewatch that episode up until Klaus comes out onto the porch just for a refresher). Caroline makes a life altering decision and takes a big chance in order to move forward, heal and discover.

Date of update: April 21 2021

A Failed Sacrifice (Chapter 4)

Author: CookieDuo

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: She ruined the sacrifice to save her own life, and in order to survive she turned to the only other vampire who'd been able to survive the wrath of Klaus Mikaelson. She gets away, and learns from the master, but when Klaus eventually catches up to her, her life will never be the same again.

Date of update: April 23 2021

AO3

Step Up Or Step Out

Author: ThrowMeAStory

Rating: E

Length: One shot

Summary: 4x16 au, Part 7. For Caroline it's been a long time coming.

Date of update: April 17 2021

no goodbyes (Chapter 9)

Author: deadofwrite (dead_of_write)

Rating: E

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: “Last night shouldn’t have happened,” Caroline whispered. Guilt. Shame. Regret.It was all the emotions he feared. And it was written all over her face. aka. a college/cheating au

Date of update: April 17 2021

Turned Off or Turned On?

Author: Anonymous

Rating: E

Length: Drabble

Summary: Caroline-that-has-flipped-the-switch seeks out one Klaus Mikaelson. Deep down Caroline knew that seeking him out was wrong on so many levels, he had been responsible for so much death and destruction, but that didn’t stop her. Truthfully, it made her want to go to him more, now that her emotions had been turned off. There was nothing from keeping her from having him. Had she had them switched on it was doubtful she even would have gone out of the door, she would have just wistfully thought about going instead. Thinking about what might have been.

Date of update: April 17 2021

One of a Kind, Two of a Kind, or the Three Musketeers (Chapter 10)

Author: Phandancee74

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Caroline recognizes how hard it is for Elena to be a doppelgänger, her fate predestined as well as her face. It's pretty tough being the last of your kind too though, and Caroline is determined to protect them both, with some very helpful Bennetts on their side. A fic that integrates Malivore and the larger supernatural universe into TVD from the start.

Date of update: April 17 2021

A Blonde, A Brit, and A Baby (Chapter 3)

Author: Books4eva180

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Caroline Forbes life is right on schedule for her Twenty-Year plan that she created at 16 years old: at 23 years old she is a junior editor at a magazine company in NYC and she has fantastic friends; one of whom is about to get to married. Life couldn't be more perfect or at least that was until she slept with a British asshole. What was only supposed to be a one night stand has turned into a life changing night because Caroline is now pregnant. Klaus Mikaelson has always enjoyed the simple things in life. Bourbon, art, and an endless stream of girls who are more than willing to fall into his bed. This all changes when he is forced to move to America to join his father's law company and he isn't even really his father. Then to make matters worse he ends up sleeping with a girl and even worse she ends up pregnant. Forced together in a situation that neither of them could have planned for will feelings blossom (yes they definitely will) Will Caroline be able to handle this life changing event? Will Klaus be able to escape the demons from his past? Will the both of them be able to provide a happy and healthy home for their baby?

Date of update: April 18 2021

Darkness Becomes Thee

Author: BelleMorte180

Rating: E

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Austria 1300s When Klaus met a young girl on a riverbank, he knew that he would one day come back for her. When he looked into her bright blue eyes, he could see a reflection of his own soul, a darkness that lingered inside both of them. When the young girl turned into a beautiful woman with a thirst for blood, his fascination with her turns into obsession. He wants not only her loyalty but her eternity, a possessiveness that is equally returned. or my "Caroline is the serial killer Elizabeth Bathory" au.

Date of update: April 18 2021

Reunited (Chapter 13)

Author: CandyCane1287

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Set after 5x12 TVD, where Caroline confesses what she did with Klaus to Katherine and Tyler hears. Katherine reveals that she’s dying and knows of a witch that could help her. But the witch is in New Orleans and that’s where Elijah and Klaus. Baby included but nice Hayley doesn't stick around. Also, Elena is supportive here.

Date of update: April 18 2021

A smutty anniversary (Chapter 6)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: E

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Caroline and Klaus celebrate 3 months together with a day full of smut.

Date of update: April 18 2021

american dream prom queen

Author: trashcanbarbie

Rating: T

Length: Drabble

Summary: “What would they say, if they knew you were here, on my birthday doing something almost…” she trails off, because she doesn't know the word. “Nice?” he suggests, then grins like a wolf, “They’d roll in their graves, my siblings.” “They're not dead.” He grins, and Caroline feels as if he’s laughing at a private joke when he says, “Aren't they?”

Date of update: April 19 2021

We are young (Chapter 12)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: T

Length: One shot

Summary: Basically, Klaroline flirt in front of their kids who they are barely older than, and Landon is appropriately confused.

Date of update: April 19 2021

Nowhere Else To Go (Chapter 2)

Author: NerdyNostalgia

Rating: G

Length: Drabble

Summary: Klaus has an unexpected visitor while in New Orleans and is determined to show her a good time. He isn't going to let this chance pass him by, and if it means he and Caroline get closer...well, that was a bonus. But is Marcel planning something?

Date of update: April 19 2021

Part of Your World

Author: perfectpro

Rating: G

Length: One shot

Summary: After trading the loveliest thing she possessed to a sea witch in order to walk on land, Caroline realizes that she'd accidentally bargained her voice away. Human legs shouldn't always feel this sort of pain, should they? With only a week to go before the spell wears off, the bargain can be undone entirely with true love's first kiss. The only problem is... Who falls in love in less than a week?

Date of update: April 19 2021

I Don’t Want You To Die

Author: klarolinexluv

Rating: E

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary:

Date of update: April 19 2021

Sibling Rivalry (Chapter 9)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: In which Klaus and Rebekah are both bi, their taste in men and women overlaps infuriatingly often, and they argue over their newest shared interest. Edit: This is going to be a full series now, I love it so much. Edit 2: Oops, I dropped a whole bucket of angst on Caroline's backstory. If only there were some Mikaelsons willing to help her work through it...

Date of update: April 20 2021

What Could Have Been (Chapter 37)

Author: TNaPKI

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: My impression of what Season 6 of The Originals would have been like post 5x13 where Klaroline becomes endgame. Is Klaus really gone or is there more to the story? Find out! FINAL CHAPTER out in a month!

Date of update: April 20 2021

The Salvatore Sisters (Chapter 19)

Author: 1Jemmagirl22

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Caroline and Davina Salvatore are Stefan and Damon's younger sister's, and they are far more than meets the eye. When Stefan and Damon's younger sisters show up during the beginning of season 2, what could possibly go wrong. The Salvatore girls have a dark past littered with their brother's enemies, the same enemies that just so happen to be their family. With Mikaelson's as husbands, miracle powers that could crush a Bennet witch, and whole life their brothers never knew about just how much have can these sisters and their family cause.

Date of update: April 21 2021

YOU ARE NOT HERE

Author: wincefish16

Rating: T

Length: Drabble

Summary: PROMT - HUMAN. KLAROLINE LOVED EAC OTHER, HAPPY IN A RELATIONSHIP WHERE CAROLINE IS THE ARTIST AND KLAUS IS A LAWYER. THEY HAVE AN ACCIDENT AND CAROLINE SLIPS IN A COMA. SHE IS LIKE THAT FOR 1 YEAR. KLAUS , AS A TRIBUTE TO HER STARTS PAINTING. DOES HE FALL INTO NEW RELATIONSHIPS?

Date of update: April 21 2021

Compromise Coffee (Chapter 3)

Author: BelleMorte180

Rating: E

Length: One shot

Summary: Caroline Forbes has a coffee problem; or better described as a crush on the cute barista, Klaus, who knows how to make her large, non-fat latte with a caramel drizzle and two extra espresso shots just right. After years of coming to Compromise Coffee, Caroline thought he would have made a move by now, but he hasn't. Caroline has decided that it is time for her to make the move herself.

Date of update: April 22 2021

Soulmate visions (Chapter 4)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: On your soulmate's eighteenth birthday, you see through their eyes for an hour, but they don’t know. And if your soulmate turns eighteen before you are even born, you never get a vision. Klaus gets his soulmate vision right after he orders Tyler to bite Caroline on her birthday….

Date of update: April 22 2021

Give Me A Sign (Chapter 6)

Author: PumpkinDoodles

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Caroline Forbes is happy that she left founders' parties, competition over guys she'd known since elementary school, and even Mystic Falls itself behind years ago. She's not second-best to Elena anymore. Even Liz would be proud of her new life working on the side of the law. Mostly. (If you need to compel someone into giving up stolen goods, is it really a crime?) Of course he's the one person from her past who comes looking for her. Klaus does that.

Date of update: April 22 2021

Secrets Inside Us

Author: 1Jemmagirl22

Rating: T

Length: Drabble

Summary: Klaroline as actors falling in love on set.

Date of update: April 23 2021

Destination Wedding (Chapter 2)

Author: PumpkinDoodles

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: The first rule of going to your ex's wedding is 'make sure you look good,' but Caroline's seriously worried that this British Guy is going to make her late. And she cannot be late to Rebekah Mikaelson and Matt Donovan's wedding at a Virginia winery.

Date of update: April 23 2021

There Is Nothing I Would Not Do

Author: ThrowMeAStory

Rating: M

Length: Drabble

Summary: 4x16 au, Part 8. Caroline and Bonnie reconnect.

Date of update: April 23 2021

Cloud 9: A Collection of Klaroline Fusions and Crossovers (Chapter 10)

Author: klarolineagainnaturally

Rating: G

Length: One shot

Summary: Various fusions and crossovers with Klaus and Caroline including Much Ado About Nothing, Ready or Not, and Tangled!

Date of update: April 23 2021

FFN/AO3

FFN: The Traitor and the Coward (Chapter 5)

AO3: The Traitor and the Coward (Chapter 5)

Author: Uppity Bitch

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Klaroline AU supernatural multi-chap - Original!Caroline has spent lifetimes running from her lover and his family. Despite the centuries of loneliness, she regrets nothing. Soon, she'll bring an end to this madness. Or bring the madness full circle.

Date of update: April 17 2021

FFN: Heartless to Heartfelt, Redone (Chapter 10)

AO3: Heartless to Heartfelt (Chapter 13)

Author: SmallTimeWriter

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Daggered and buried deep within the ocean, Klaus has spent the last 9 years in a torturous state. Haunted by memories of the past and images of a child he never got to meet. Now awakened, but not the same. He is faced with a decision, can he forgive those who wronged him when a threat larger then they could anticipate appears? They must reunited to survive. All Main Characters.

Date of update: April 18 2021

FFN: Divine Intervention (Chapter 13)

AO3: Divine Intervention (Chapter 13)

Author: Uppity Bitch

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: This takes place in an alternate universe after Klaus seeks assistance from a certain blonde Norse goddess after Katerina has become a vampire and foiled his attempt at breaking his curse. Later chapters will follow this spicy "power" couple as they stir up all kinds of trouble in Mystic Falls. (Dark Klaroline) *Nominated for 2016 Klaroline Award - Best Original Story Concept

Date of update: April 19 2021

FFN: A Beautiful Symmetry (Chapter 154)

AO3: A Beautiful Symmetry (Chapter 154)

Author: Uppity Bitch

Rating: M

Length: One Shot

Summary: A collection of random AU one-shots featuring Klaroline. *2019 KC Award - Best one-shot series* Chapter 154: Dimples and Domestics. The Mikaelsons are spoiled, selfish snobs — and unfortunately are art student Caroline and her parents' main source of income. At least she only has to put up with them over her summer break...

Date of update: April 21 2021

FFN: Through his eyes (Chapter 6)

AO3: Through his eyes (Chapter 6)

Author: TheAlllureOfDarkness

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: The story of Klaus and Caroline, from Klaus POV.

Date of update: April 21 2021

FFN: Judgment Call (Chapter 5)

AO3: Judgment Call (Chapter 5)

Author: Eliliyah

Rating: T/G

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: As a Federal Agent, Caroline Forbes has always lived by a strict moral code. But when new evidence comes to light that Klaus Mikaelson, the first man she helped send to death row, may not be guilty hours before his execution, she begins to question everything she's ever known. As the investigation leads to the heartbreaking truth, she's forced to choose between right and just.

Date of update: April 23 2021

#klaroline library #KCL weekly releases #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline

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leeknow-bestboy · 4 years ago

Text

If You Close One Eye - Chapter Three

Ships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin | I.N, If you really squint you can notice Lix is into Binnie, Hyunjin was into everyone once

Characters: All the kids, The ex kid isn't here I edited him out, Other Character Tags to Be Added

Trigger warnings: panic attack, ptsd, original character death, homophobia, original character cheating, descriptive imagery.

Word count: 5172

Chapter: 3/?

Next (Out soon!) / previous / first

Tags: Murder Mystery, amateur detective minho, Soulmates, not your typical soulmate AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Slow Burn, Slow Build, good things take time let it slowburn, minho is singlehandedly responsible for the slow burn so blame him, no soulmates in this universe only they are, criminology student minho, art student jisung, POV Third Person, chan deserves better and he does indeed get better don't worry, art references please look stuff up, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, best sibling bond ever.

"If you close one eye, you can see what your soulmate sees"

Born with one eye an unnatural golden color, Minho and Jisung have been forced to cover them up with colored lenses in order to blend into society.

The magic to their eyes? Even they still didn't know.

This is the story of how criminology major and dance minor Lee Minho found himself hopelessly in love with the serial killer, local artist Han.

[Alternatively, let's see how long I can make these two dumbasses pine without one of them snapping. Edit: they finally did]

[Also WARNING: a HUGE amount of Jeongchan ahead, it's not subtle at all! So much fluff--]

"As impressed as I am with you, I think the right thing for now would be to take time off. You can probably tell this had been quite a destructive journey for your mental state." Jae commented.

Now back in the office, the two detectives had stood opposite to Minho with Sungjin and Wonpil supervising from the back of the room.

"I found her though! Her case went cold from how long it's been, and I found her under 24 hours! Now you tell me to take a break?" Minho's voice cracked, almost offended by the idea.

"Minho, we never thought you would find her. Nobody planned to show you a second corpse a week into your training, it's too much." Young k insisted.

In the back of his mind Minho knew he had a point, but he couldn't accept that he'd be put to rest. Not like this, not while the prosecution started working on locating Min-ra's killer.

"I'm involved! I can't stay home and do nothing while they work on this, it's my case." Minho pleaded, only to be met with two pairs of sad eyes. Didn't they get it?

"I understand, I do, but you're still young- these are a lot of horrors for someone to go through before their twenty second birthday." Young k reasoned, hand lifting to Minho's shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

"You guys... How do you cope with this job, then? How come you hadn't gone crazy?" Minho asked, now despaired. He made his way to the usual chair- a comforting source of routine in the madness that was going on.

"We have. In case you hadn't noticed, we all are a little crazy around here." Sungjin spoke up, hand smoothing out the stress gathered between his eyes. That might have been a good point too, had Minho known what this team had gone through in the past few years.

"You might think we're toughened up, for me I'm fine as long as I keep god in mind- I remind myself of heaven and hell, so death doesn't scare me anymore, but it still stays with me, so I can't sleep so well." Jae revealed, earning a shocked glance from the younger.

"Me too," Confessed Young K, shocking Minho farther. These guys were professionals... did they really not adjust yet?

"I used to be a cop, in my time- a serial killer went on a spree, and I was the one who always found his victims.

Always, on my shift-"

He paused.

"I kept dreaming of them, waking up in cold sweat with red marks from scratching myself in my sleep.

It got into my head that I had to find the killer to put them at rest. I was denied access to the case though, so I did my digging independently without a team. Sungjin scouted me after I found him, and I kept working since."

A long silence followed, broken when the black-haired detective continued. "It didn't help; finding him, I mean. What helped was doing things, investigating, staying occupied. We're a little similar, I think."

Minho didn't know how to respond, so he didn't. Instead, next it was Wonpil who spoke up.

"Me and Dowoon, we hadn't witnessed as much gore as these two, but we get to face a lot in real time. Back when I started, some people scared me so much I couldn't sleep- Just people, looking in their eyes and knowing they wanted to hurt me, knowing they could, might, and that I was responsible for getting it under control.

I didn't get to shoot anyone; I hope I'll never- but Dowoon did. It's the reason he only deals with phone calls now… he's always been too kind for this job, that softie. He never did anything to deserve his emotional baggage."

Minho sagged. Cops as well, then… if he hadn't signed for the internship, he still might have ended up the same way. The thought was jarring, suggesting something Minho never considered when he picked his ideal career path.

"I have too many stories to tell, you'd probably rather not sit through them all.

I do think, as far-fetched as it might sound to you right now, that you have a spot in this team. Minho, let your sunbaes ease you into this- after that, you can prove yourself as much as you'd like." Sungjin summarized.

Minho let his head hang, struggling to accept that they've all felt the same. Then… there was no getting better, was there? As time went on, the burden only got heavier.

"I will, I'll take a break." He surrendered, leading to Wonpil releasing a sigh of relief and opening the door they had closed earlier for privacy. As he did both eavesdroppers toppled over, landing on the floor with a hard thump. Seeing as Chan was the one on the bottom, he had it a bit worse, softening what could have been a rough fall for the younger.

"You two are insufferable." Minho commented, stifling a chuckle. Paying closer care, he couldn't help a sigh at noticing that, despite the embarrassing situation, the first thing Chan managed to refocus on was the intern atop him whining softly from being startled so bad.

The blond groaned, gently checking the other for injuries. What was it now, had he hit his head when he fell? Did he fail to notice everybody's eyes on him? The excuses have been slowly running out one by one.

"I'm heading home." Minho announced, walking around the two laying on the floor and waving on his way out. This had almost distracted him, but… not really.

From that point onward, it was bound to get worse.

"Ryujin? Are You there?"

Minho sat in his car, a light rain shower tapping against all windows as he waited. The month of march has been full of sunshine and clear sky, and so far it seemed april only had those as well- so of course for the weekend of his sister's birthday there had to be a drop of temperature.

Ryujin hummed, sounding bothered. "Oppa, you're calling me now? Last time we talked..." She trailed off. That's right, he should have checked up on her- it was inconsiderate of him, but frankly he didn't know how to broach the topic after telling her the bad news.

"Where are you? Let's talk." He pushed on, intending to apologize in person. That, and make up for all that he should- he's thought up a plan to cheer her up and celebrate her birthday properly.

"Why does it matter? I'm home, it's raining." She replied, voice betraying the fact she was upset, and for a good reason.

"Put on something comfortable and come down, I'm outside." He instructed, a small smile spreading across his face at the sound of her shuffling quickly about her room without hesitation. Five minutes later she was already stuffing her umbrella at the feet of the shotgun's side.

"Oppa!" Ryujin smiled, wrapping her hands around Minho in a hug that said it all; I'm not mad anymore, I missed you, are you okay?

"Put your seatbelt on, we have a reservation to catch." Minho ordered mischievously. That implied he's reserved a table, but to a person who's known him for years growing up, it should be easy enough to tell what he really has in mind. As such Ryujin smiled back, sitting obediently and tacking her belt into place before grabbing his aux from the hatch and playing some music.

When they arrived, the studio was dark. For a platonic date between siblings Minho hadn't bothered to light up candles or scatter flower petals and had instead left the studio as it was. He pulled open the trunk, taking out a short vanilla cake with whipped cream topping that he's bought on the way to Ryujin's.

Covering the cake container with his umbrella, Minho gestured for Ryujin to head in first. She did, stepping into a stairwell that headed up towards the studio he rented. After joining her he struggled with the umbrella and container, trying to pull out the keys he's been given. Eventually he succeeded, making a short happy sound before unlocking the respective door.

Ryujin stepped inside, smiling wide and letting her hands swing about. The sight had been endearing, causing Minho to smile softly. He set down the cake container, placing the cake atop it before laying down himself and crossing his legs. Ryujin sat on the other side, watching him place candles and carefully light them up with a newly purchased lighter he got for the occasion.

"Happy birthday, to my favorite nerd." He congratulated, laughing at her content smile.

"I missed you. I didn't think you would come, but you even prepared all of this... What about college?" Ryujin Interrogated.

"Make a wish first, the wax is melting." Minho avoided neatly. They can talk for a while afterwards.

Ryujin took in a breath, blowing out the candles decisively. "Not telling." She announced before he could ask the usual question.

Minho chuckled, messing his little sister's hair only a little while considering if it'd be too much to sing her happy birthday. Deciding against it, he took out a knife from the container, realizing he forgot napkins. Whatever, it's no mousse. He passed her the knife, watching her cut out a slice and crumble it quite messily as she ate.

"Ryuddaeng," Minho started, tone straightening out. "How have you been?"

Ryujin's smile faded, swallowing what was left of her slice before responding. "I don't know what to say. Everything feels frustratingly normal."

Minho felt relief wash over him at that. "You're sleeping alright? Eating too? How about any birthday plans with friends?"

Ryujin moved her hair behind her ear, uncrossing and then crossing over her legs. "I'm okay, I did cancel my plans with the girls though, it felt disrespectful."

Minho sighed, rolling a shoulder. "You know it had nothing to do with you, the estimated time of death is the last day she was seen, over a month ago."

Ryujin averted her gaze uncomfortably, picking her nails before forcibly setting them behind her. "I didn't know, I don't know anything about what happened, I didn't think you'd know either."

Minho raised a hand to his face, realizing he kept Ryujin in the dark to an unfair extent. "I've been looking, like you asked. I was the one who discovered her, so the police offered me an internship and shared their findings."

Ryujin straightened, interest piqued. "You intern at the police now? Is that okay? Wait, you found her? Yourself, you mean… god."

Minho nodded.

"You're not joking right?" Ryujin asked again, shocked expression turning sad.

"I'm serious. I came to check out a field she drew for her Instagram, right outside seoul. I don't know what I was expecting, I don't think I was ready to actually get somewhere searching for her." Minho added, trying to keep his composure as memories came flooding back. Ryujin rushed over, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. He guessed she wasn't expecting it, either.

"After results came in, they ruled it a suicide; she shot herself." He ended, hoping to wrap up the story so that they could lighten up a little. He was startled to feel tears drip down on his neck, figuring he's caused the opposite of his intentions. What for? Chelle was never worth his little sister's tears, she just wasn't.

"That must've been so scary." Ryujin mumbled, and Minho was hit with the realization she was crying for him, rather than her late ex-girlfriend. That made things both better and worse, leaving him lost on how to comfort her.

"Ryujin, I'm fine. I got talked through it by the police team, they calmed me down and fixed me up, I'm as good as new." He promised, petting her hair awkwardly. In truth he wasn't, and they didn't, but she didn't have to know that.

He didn't tell her about Min-ra.

Pointedly didn't about Chelle's cheating, either.

After Ryujin calmed down a little, a small smile showing with lot of effort from Minho's side, the two ate a few more cake slices and stood up. Minho swiped the crumbs to the nearest trash can and plugged his phone to the studio's aux cord, playing a steady beat. "Remember this?"

Ryujin smiled, dancing lightly to show that she does. "Come on! it's a good occasion, let's clear the air." Minho commented, raising the volume and dancing a little on his own, smiling through the mirror at his sister, perfectly coordinated with himself.

Since young both had loved this pastime more than any other hobby, helping them bond and providing good stress relief. When they were dancing, it was as if everything went away: their dad, school, occasional homophobia, bad days and broken hearts. Here they were, pretending to be Chanhyuk and Suhyun, dancing to how people move.

"You're taking it easy on me! I hadn't rusted yet." Ryujin complained as the song came to a stop.

"What are you feeling?" Minho asked, grin spreading across his face. Now they're talking.

"I still have my playlist for these, let's start with Taeyong and Ten." Ryujin suggested, already on her way to fix them up on Min's phone.

"Steamy." He commented with a chuckle, swiftly followed by an "Only if we do good-bye baby too."

Ryujin rolled her eyes. "You're so embarrassing."

"We can try cover hard carry after." He offered.

"Taemin's Move, too! You told me last time you figured out how to do the part we were stuck on, I want to see." She turned, eyes challenging him silently.

"Deal." He assured, recalling his practice with Dahyun of the girl's class, a same age friend who had offered to teach him. At that Ryujin smiled, rushing up to his side for the start of next song.

"Jisung! You scared the life out of me!" Seungmin whined, making annoyed motions towards his stubborn roommate who's been up all night as per usual.

"I'm almost done, give me a minute." Jisung assured, knowing that was an obvious lie. This time he hadn't been drawing in the living room or kitchen, but had instead set up his stand in the bathroom, hence scaring sleepy Seungmin on his nightly pee break.

"No, Jisung, you need to go. I need to pee really bad." He insisted, and had he been anything other than upset the crudeness of his own speech would have made him blush. Frustrated Jisung stepped out, carrying his canvas with him.

"I hate anatomy, why do I do this to myself?" He asked aloud, only to be answered grumpily with a "because you religiously draw every single one of your fever dreams, you weirdo." From across-the-door Seungmin. He had a point, too.

Today's painting had been only a sketch for now, something that's been on his mind since an insect of some sort came crashing into his eye at random. The vision of people dancing, beautifully so. Really, he could have been more focused on the vision if he wasn't panicking and batting the thing away, but the thought was enough. He knew for sure his professor would appreciate it as well, since the work of Edgar Degas was included in their future study course.

It was around a week ago that the same professor picked an interest in Jisung's art and asked him if he'd like to have them presented in a proper show, which was the dream of every art student ever.

Of course he agreed, but since then his anxiety kept growing. He knew he was good, he loved his own art dearly, but he wouldn't know what to do if others did not.

Rather than letting it eat him up, he decided to push forward with all his might, doing his absolute best for every new piece he wanted to enter.

So far, he had drawn almost seven out of ten pieces for the show: A tall grass field, a city view through a window, an iced coffee cup, a drawing of a park and a drawing of a cat- although that one might not be good enough to show. After that came a short block, and then he drew the club scene, and then today he started on the dancers. As for the showering man, he considered it shortly, only to decide it felt way too intimate to showcase.

Jisung hadn't considered himself a landscape artist, but by what he's been inspired to paint lately, that might have been the direction his mind wanted to go.

More than that, Jisung always drew mundane small things that made life unique in his eyes, and although he couldn't find himself excited at his own cups of coffee without context, there was something about those moments specifically that made him feel like they were meant to be cherished.

"Okay, I'm done. You can have the mirror back now." Seungmin informed, having caught on to the reason Jisung has been drawing in the restroom to begin with.

"Sleep well Seungmin-ah" Jisung wished affectionately, quietly cooing at his sleepy roommate as he made his way back to bed and flopped down.

Although Jisung was the night owl, Seungmin often had stress keep him up, then the next day he'd be extra exhausted and ready for sleep. Today seemed to be one of those days, judging by his friend's unmoving figure so soon after collapsing in bed.

He couldn't help but admire him. The two have been sharing a room for give or take a year of college, and have known each other since high school by chance. Seungmin was taking up animal science as major, claiming he was attracted to the idea of a straightforwardly good profession such as veterinary medicine. Not only that, but he also minored in photography, making him stand out from the other nerds in Jisung's eyes.

While the two came in contrast with each other in many ways such as; how neat they were, their favorite subjects, favorite creative outlets, how they got down to studying and the way they dealt with stress, they both found enough in common to bond over easily.

They both liked the same music, found the same things pretty or gross, both liked to capture and preserve chosen memories in their own way, and most importantly they were both caring and tended to each other's needs. The result was, expectedly, a strong friendship that grew almost immediately after moving in.

Focusing back on his work, Jisung's mind wondered with some three AM thoughts. How much different will their lives turn out? A vet and an artist, in college they may live together well, but years will tell of the gap between the two.

Life had a way of doing that, tying different people together naturally or forcibly. How many chances will he get to befriend someone like Seungmin? And just how many unlikely things like it are left for him to experience?

Although he believed himself to be highly likable, Jisung didn't have many friends in college, only Seungmin and Changbin from his minor. It's been different in high school, but in college being an introvert really took its toll, isolating Jisung until he felt too late to join the already formed friend groups all around him. That's fine, he assured himself- his art, what mattered most to him, at least he still had that. When he was drawing, he never seemed to get lonely.

Closing his eyes, he recalled again the dancers; a boy and a girl. Should he attempt a new concept? If the boy was the moon, the girl was a star. Their poses suggested they were close friends rather than coworkers, and Jisung wondered if boosting their contrasts would add or take from that fact.

For some reason, his instinct told him to shine more light on the boy, and he only half frowned when he realized he's been putting so much more effort into him rather than splitting it equally. Alright, he reasoned. Let's not do that, brain.

He sighed quietly, looking to where his finished pieces were laying against the wall in a stack. Should he pay a visit to the dance majors in his college? The thought made him anxious. No, he'd rather stay inside- he could look up references if he wanted. Lightly slapping his cheeks, he turned back and continued his work in silence.

Minho spun, goofing around rather than practicing a specific choreo. At the corner of his eye he could see Hyunjin doing something similar, half clinging to Felix at the other's laughter.

"Hyung!" Felix called him over, worry ghosting over his face for a moment as if he noticed something was off. Minho smiled uneasily, walking over to the two. What was it?

"Did you sleep well? You seem tired, you have bags under your eyes." Felix questioned, cupping Minho's face with both hands. Minho pursed his lips, causing Felix to let him go with an eyeroll.

"I'm fine, I just have a lot of work. I'm jealous sometimes- I wish I majored in dancing, then at least I'd be stressed about something I like."

Hyunjin made a face, almost offended that Minho made their lives sound like a dream when in truth the two dance majors were working long and hard hours just as he did. "Change your major then." He challenged.

"I can't do that." Minho sighed for the hundredth time. It was clear to him that his mother would fund whatever he set out to do, but he never felt comfortable relying on her, they didn't know each other well enough- a strange thing to say about one's mother. No, he decided years ago already, he wants to make a living for himself without her support.

"I got an internship too." Minho added, using his bragging rights for once after refusing to do so in front of Ryujin.

"You did? Where?" Hyunjin asked, offense long forgotten or at least bottled down to where it won't bother him. If Minho got something cool going for himself, then what's there not to support?

"In the district nine police station, I'm working with the detectives there." Minho dropped the information as if it wasn't a big deal. He knew it was, but after the things he's been through it seemed more like a curse than a blessing- not that they needed to know that.

"Oh right!" Felix called, tone raising with a smile spread across his face. "Chan-hyung told me you were working with him! You two are interns then? I thought he was doing volunteer work." Minho paused, reminding himself that Felix and Chan did in fact know each other quite well.

"He's volunteering at the emergency call center; I intern with the investigator team. It's a bit different, but we do work in the same office block." He explained, noting with slight fright the ray of sparks flying from both his friends' eyes.

"That's so cool! It's like you're a movie star!" Hyunjin hyped, the other nodding furiously.

Minho reached to rub his neck, pulling the hat of his hoodie over his head to relieve his fluster. "I'm still new, I don't know anything." He lied, wishing he could be praised for something good like his hair, his face or his dancing… not like this.

"We can say we danced with a detective like Sherlock Holmes." Felix added, clinging onto Hyunjin's shoulder with the other instinctively reciprocating the affection. Obviously he was blowing things out of proportion, but they both tended to be overly supportive of Minho in everything he did.

Minho hummed, hoping they'd cool off after a moment.

The dance instructor entered, giving them a once over before calling for the rest of the class members' attention.

As embarrassing as it was, Minho Felix and Hyunjin were all sophomores despite their age gap due to the fact Minho spent a little over a year working and saving money to fund himself, while the two of them enrolled immediately after high school.

Normally he shouldn't have been allowed in the majors' class at all, but it was the minor's squad instructor's call at the time to up his studies, which led to his current instructor always keeping an eye out for every flaw and mistake that could justify kicking him out.

Unfortunately for him, Minho's spot was well deserved.

Calling him out for demonstration, the instructor asked him to dance what their class had practiced last time, which was four days earlier. Relying on his fogged-up memory from before the Min-ra incident, he still managed to execute it perfectly, mentally patting his own shoulder in pride.

"Okay." The instructor went on, not finding any particular flaws to pick on this time around, yet infinitely patient for them to show up sooner or later. "Let's begin."

"Minho-hyung! Are you up for ice cream?" Felix's voice sounded not thirty seconds after the instructor dismissed them. Minho turned, drying his hair with a towel. He had a gap in his class schedule of forty-five minutes, which meant he probably could take the younger up on that offer even after a quick shower.

"Sure. Hyunjin too?" Minho asked, making eye contact with the friend in question.

"Yeah." Hyunjin smiled before making his way to the shower room.

After they were clean, the three headed to an old ice cream place that had survived impressively in that spot for at least ten years. Ordering three cones of a combination they all love; strawberry vanilla, they left the place with a feeling of satisfaction at treating themselves for a change. For Minho especially, a treat was a good call during the week he was supposed to recover in.

He only managed five or so well-earned licks though, before he felt an itch at his right eye. He groaned, signaling the others to halt in their walk for him to rub the dirt out real quick.

Art, multiple pieces spread across the floor. One of the field, another of the club- a third one of a park, an iced coffee and a city view that seemed eerily familiar. Minho froze, unmoving. The common interest was clear: they were all signed HAN.

The sound of Felix and Hyunjin screaming in unison brought Minho back to reality, lowering his hand and realizing to his misery that he dropped his cone of ice cream. Felix passed his cone to Hyunjin before wrapping his hands around Minho and patting his back gently, an attempt to comfort his friend over the loss of vanilla-strawberry ice cream rip. Minho could swear he was crying a little, too.

"Felix, Felix I'm fine." Minho attempted, glancing over to where Hyunjin was standing, eyes teary and sniffing heavily. Oh for fuck's sake.

"It's just ice cream! I can go get a new one." He added, although he had no such intention.

"But you're broke." Felix sniffed, tightening his hold. Minho's lower lip trembled. That's true, he is broke.

"It's okay, don't worry, I don't need it. I'm good." He lied.

"You can have mine." Hyunjin offered, wiping his eyes awkwardly on his forearm since he was still carrying both cones.

"Really?" Minho asked, touched. That meant a lot, coming from Hyunjin. All three of them needed this treat after feeling so stressed for a long time…

"I'll remember this." Minho promised, Felix taking his que to let go so he could take Hyunjin up on his offer. Under different circumstances he might have declined, but he had his class on white collar crime in less than fifteen minutes.

Hyunjin took one last lick before longingly passing his ice cream to his friend. "Make sure to hold it well." He requested, giving Felix's cone back to him as well and pulling out his phone to check the time.

"Yongbok, we have to go; theory's at the other building." He informed, pulling Felix to him before pushing him towards the right direction.

"Bye hyung!" he called, Felix waving with considerably less enthusiasm at the prospect of dance theory.

Walking toward his lecture hall, Minho entertained the thought that maybe his hallucination was an attempt made by his subconsciousness to divert his attention towards anything of actual importance. Following the thought, he decided a small checkup wouldn't hurt. Sure, there were plenty of Hans, it was a common surname- but maybe if he searched for Han artists in his area, he could narrow it down to a list. Why artists? Regrettably, only for the sake of the context the name was brought in.

Looking up the name on google under his table with one hand, Minho made use of his ambidextrousness to write down the list of Han artists from district nine. After farther thought, he expanded the search to include Hans in his living area around the college and from around Min-Ra's home. If he was lucky, he wouldn't have to include all of seoul.

Narrowing it down to two artists, Minho found that neither of them drew in the style he saw. Was he overdoing it? And just what was he searching for, anyway?

Annoyed, Minho typed down "art signed HAN, seoul", and hit a tumblr account for first result. That couldn't be a reliable source, and yet he entered in search of anything useful.

The url read hansquirrelart, which was only somewhat promising. Reading the description, Minho could tell why google directed him there.

"Han Jisung, 00', seoul." He read, assuming this couldn't be the guy he's looking for, since the world of a nineteen or twenty-year-old squirrel aesthetic art blogger wouldn't seem to have any overlap with Minho's. However, since Minho himself had no idea of what he was expecting from his search, he scrolled down a bit to see the content. After a few memes, a first art piece showed, marked big and red with "WIP".

Minho's blood froze, recognizing the style of the drawing. The caption read "Peek of my recent classwork, might not finish. Not very into this one." And the end was signed clearly with HAN, the same way the works he hallucinated were.

Now driven, Minho followed links from the tumblr to a similar twitter and Instagram that wasn't private, all under the same name. "Guess what?? Ya boy got a spot in an art show this saturday!! Come see me, everyone's invited :D" read a recent post. Minho jotted down the details before moving to the Instagram, breath hitching as he saw a picture of a guy with his face crossed out by a filter. Despite everything, he seemed oddly compelling.

"Mind sharing these notes with the class?" Called the professor, upset at the sight of Minho furiously writing what seemed to be minor details while others listened.

"Ah? No, I'm sorry." Minho apologized, quickly turning off his phone and throwing it in his bag with the resolution to continue later. For now he should focus on passing his classes.

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riverdale-events · 5 years ago

Photo

Trick or treat! Let out a cheer! Spooks and sweets are coming—Halloween is almost here! Tricks and Treats of Riverdale - an all ship, all character inclusive event - will run from October 27th- November 2nd. We have 3 themes to fulfill all your Halloween cravings, whether they are sweet, spicy, or sour. Don’t forget to tag #riverdaleevents in your first 5 tags!

Spooky: Haunting, Horror, Lovecraftian Horror, Mystery, Possession, Seances, Serial Killers, True Crime, etc

Supernatural: Demons, Fey, Ghosts, Magic, Universal Classic Monsters, Vampires, Werewolves, Witches/Wizards, Zombies, etc

Seasonal Celebrations: All Saints’/Souls’ Day, Dia de los Muertos, Halloween, Samhain, Costume Shopping/ Crafting/ Parties, Decorations, Festive Carnivals, Jack-O-Lantern Carving, Graveyard Visits, Haunted Houses, Scary Moviefest, Scary Story Sleepovers, Trick or Treating, etc

We have listed a few suggestions next to each theme to help inspire ideas. It is by no means an extensive list as there are plenty more that apply. Any concept, idea, AU, or specific prompt, at any rating, that is applicable to a theme is accepted! You may double up (or more) on themes in your content, just let us know which theme it is for.

Remember!: Make sure to 1. tag your content on tumblr with #riverdaleevents - exactly as written, no spaces 2. indicate which theme your content is for 3. add your event fics to the TRICKS AND TREATS OF RIVERDALE collection on AO3. 4. send us an ask if we miss reblogging your content

Find out everything you need to know about this event in our FAQ below the cut! If you’ve got clarification questions, just ask us!

WHAT CHARACTERS AND SHIPS ARE APPLICABLE?

We will be accepting content for ANY Riverdale character or ship (including OCs)!

Solo, original character, reader insert, het, slash, and ot3s are all welcome!

WHAT KIND OF CREATIVE CONTENT CAN BE SUBMITTED?

Fanfic (oneshots, drabbles, or multi-chapters), Graphics, Gifsets, Fanart, Aesthetics, Fanvids, Edits, Playlists, Fic recs, etc

If it’s created content, you can submit it!

If your piece is a multichapter fic, you don’t have to complete it before the event ends. It is eligible as long as you start posting it during the event window. Make sure to keep tagging us on your chapter update posts!

M and E rated content is welcome for every theme!

HOW DOES WORK GET SUBMITTED FOR THIS EVENT?

To submit work, please tag us with #riverdaleevents in the first 5 tags of your work or at @riverdale-events on your piece. We will reblog every submission here at Riverdale-Events over the course of the event. If we miss reblogging your content, send us an ask!

Be sure to indicate which theme/prompt your content is for. You can put it in your tags or on your piece, just let us know so we can reblog appropriately.

We also have an AO3 collection. AO3 has a really great tutorial on how to post to a collection! Check it out for in-depth instructions. The easiest way to join is to go straight to the TRICKS AND TREATS OF RIVERDALE collection on AO3, and click the “Post to Collection” button. That will take you to a screen to upload your fic as normal! That button fills out the specific collection for you, so you know your work is going to the right place. Your fic will still show up under your works, and you will be listed as the author of your story.

THERE ARE MULTIPLE FANDOM EVENTS GOING, CAN I INCLUDE IT IN ALL OF THEM?

We support all fandom events! If there is another fandom event running at the same time as this one, and your content is applicable, feel free to submit it/include it in all of those available! Make sure you tag ALL applicable event tags in the first 5 tags of your post.

Tricks and Treats of Riverdale and @southsidearchive‘s Falloween 2019 will run concurrently from October 27th-November 2nd. If you would like to include your content in both events, make sure you tag #riverdaleevents AND #southsidearchive in the first five tags of your post.

WHEN CAN I SUBMIT CONTENT UNTIL? WHEN IS THE MASTERLIST RELEASE DATE?

We will continue to reblog and accept Tricks and Treats of Riverdale content through NOVEMBER 2ND (with overflow until we post our masterlist).

We will post our masterlist on November 4th.

If you have content that you’re almost done with and need more time, please contact us and let us know. We will do our best to accommodate.

Posts applicable to the event, like chapter updates, will continue to be reblogged after the event wraps. However, they will not be added to the masterlist.

SHIP, TRIGGER WARNINGS, AND OTHER TAGS:

Every piece of content we reblog will be appropriately tagged with ship/character tags. When you post your piece, make sure to use the correct ship tag so that we can reblog appropriately. If you aren’t sure what your ship tag is, check out our masterlist! [CLICK HERE FOR RIVERDALE SHIP TAGS]

If there is a trigger in your content, make sure to tag appropriately on your tumblr post and/or Ao3 post.

Other tags: #fanfic #gif #fanart #edit #fanvid #fic rec #fanmix

If you have any questions, comments, or concerns feel free to send us an ask, or reach out in direct messages to any of us running this event! Cat - @bettysnooper Mila - @jughead-jones Sarah - @theheavycrown

#bughead #varchie #parentdale #southside serpents #riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale x oc #riverdale x reader #riverdaleedit #tricksandtreatsofriverdale #riverdaleevents #*admin

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twatd · 5 years ago

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Once Again

We return. WicDiv is in the final stretch, and so is TWATD. The first of our two essays on #44, focusing on the issue’s echoes and callbacks. Spoilers – like oh so many spoilers – below the cut.

Alex: Remember issue #14 of The Wicked + The Divine? The Woden remix issue? I reckon, with a bit of ingenuity, you could use the same method – cutting up panels from elsewhere in the series, pasting them in new contexts – to make a fan edit of #44, front to back.

The issue is crammed tight with echoes of old images. It put me in mind of Avengers: Endgame, the way it’s constantly calling back to moments from the past twenty-one movies, and the criticism of that tendency as ‘fan service’.

In WicDiv, this echoing feels inevitable. The series has always had its repeating motifs. Going back to the very first issue, we get a whole host of phrases we’ll be seeing over and over: “Once again, we return.” 1-2-3-4. “I’ll miss you.” “Don’t.” Kllk. And images, too – from that very first cover, with its carefully-framed headshot echoed on the first page inside, something the first arc plays with again and again.

But what is the purpose of it, other than reminding us of something we’ve seen and loved in the past?

To answer that, let’s look at some specific examples – beginning, as the issue does, with Lucifer. From the very first panel of her, stood in a variation on her classic power pose, Luci is pretty much playing the Greatest Hits here. She lights a cigarette on her own inferno, holding a familiar eyebrow-cocked expression. She teases a finger-click, taking us back to the courtroom. Her threat of violence to Laura, framed side-on, recalls Lucifer’s murder in issue #5, and Ananke’s millennia of practice for that moment as seen in #36.

Lucifer wraps herself in motifs and echoes possibly more than any other character this issue, and it feels like armour. She’s the one member of the Pantheon clinging on to the lie of godhood, playing her role because it protects her from the consequences of what she’s done. She’s perpetuating Ananke’s cycle, and so she reaches for the easy iconograpy, the tropes, of the Lucifer myth.

It’s worth noting that most of these images are inverted. In that last example, Lucifer stays on the same side of the panel, but switches her role, from victim to the position of power. Even the colours of her outfit are flipped – white to black, blue to red – and her pose too, with arms up rather than down. Tim is going to be exploring the Two Girls in Hell sequence in his essay, so I won’t go too deep on that, except to point out that when Laura saves Luci, it’s by taking Ananke’s “I’ve missed you” and making it sincere.

#44 does this over and over, taking a familiar motif and inverting the meaning. We’ve heard a lot of variations on “it’s okay”. Minerva, begging Ananke to tell her it’s going to be okay, a conversation we’ve likely all had with ourselves at some point. Its answer at the end of that arc, laid out in black and white: “It was never going to be okay.”

Here, it’s Dionysus who wields the phrase, and for the first time “it’s okay” isn’t a lie. Dio isn’t pretending that death won’t come for us all, or that Minerva’s situation is anything less than fucked. Instead, he’s encouraging her not to fear the inevitable. He isn’t offering denial, but acceptance.

Then there’s the other character interaction Minerva has this issue, which inverts something familiar in a much uglier way – her relationship with Baal. Time and time again, we’ve seen Baal wrap his arms around Minerva’s tiny frame. It’s indicative of the role he thought he played in her life, somewhere between bigger brother and father figure, but he now knows this was just a way of manipulating him.

In #44, Baal takes Minerva in his arms one last time, with very different intent. That big hand, able to cup her entire head, used to comfort or protect her, is used instead to smother. That tight embrace becomes a murder weapon. The contrast turns what could be a triumphant moment – this is the defeat of WicDiv’s big bad, after all – into an unsettling one.

Of course, it wasn’t much better the last time WicDiv’s big bad got taken out, as #44 is ready to remind us. The issues it draws from more than any other are the series’ first, and its midpoint. #22 and #44 are both stories about what happens when you beat the minions and get to the dark lord in their tower to find them helpless.

Here the repeated image – Laura with arm outstretched weighing up whether to kill the villain – acts as a kind of mental hyperlink. We’ve been here before. Twice before, in fact, just a couple of issues apart. (The second also introduced the idea of Woden’s kill-switch video release, which is vitally important to where this issue ends up.)

Both times, Laura hesitated – and then acted anyway. Our expectations are primed for the same thing to happen again. But, as any comedian will tell you, you set up pattern on the first and the second beat, then break it on the third.

This time, Laura hesitates – and is talked down. We see how much she’s grown as a character, because she’s put in the exact same situation, right down to the composition of the image and the people around her – Cassandra always hovers over her shoulder like a goth Jiminy Cricket – but the outcome is different.

I’ve mentioned fan service already, but there’s an alternative term I’ve been skirting around: payoff. A good final chapter (depending on how you view the epilogue) should bring together the threads of the story up to that point. That’s as true of WicDiv as it is of Endgame, as it is of a Dickens novel.

I do still worry about accessibility – how much of this comes across if you’ve only read each issue once, like a normal person – but maybe that’s not giving enough credit to the fantastic work of Jamie McKelvie + Matt Wilson making these images so immediately iconic, so mentally sticky, that you can recognise their vague outline five years later. As Tim suggested when I raised this question, these connections are likely kicking around in the subconscious of a more casual reader, even if they couldn’t put together the full serial-killer wall I’m making here.

There’s another thing, too. The fact that all these echoes are backing up feels indicative of what Laura is trying to do: breaking the cycle. Ananke’s six millennia-long plan is in its death throes, and this is one final twitch. Over and over, the issue shows that while the circumstances and tools might be the same, intent can change the meaning and outcome.

I suspect we’ll be free of echoes next issue, for the first time. I wonder if I’ll miss them.

Enjoyed this essay? You’ve got like 24 more hours to throw a bit of cash our way over at patreon.com/timplusalex, before we close down the Patreon in August. Think of it as a going-away present. Or a tip.

#WicDiv #The Wicked + The Divine #The Wicked and The Divine #TWATD

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ais-n · 7 years ago

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Creator 2017 Tag Meme

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works you’ve created this year (fics, art, edits, etc!) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2017. Tag as many writers/artists/etc as you want (fan or original!) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works. <3

No one tagged me, I just need some positivity after the shitshow of 2017. Although, because 2017 sucked so much for me, I actually might not even be able to do 5 works... If you look through my tumblr archive, I had so much less than normal that year.

But here’s to trying! :D Below are in no particular order. Sorry for the long post.

1. Have I the honor, milady?

I got excited in September because I started my patreon and I wanted ideas for things to draw. I asked on tumblr for people to suggest the funniest outfits for Boyd and Hsin from ICoS to wear for Halloween and there were some great responses lol One of them was for Hsin to be a princess, at which point I drew first the sketch version below and later made it into my typical Ais’ Terrible Art via Paint comic. Original post here.

This continues to be one of the silliest and stupidest things I’ve ever drawn, and yet it makes me laugh every time I look at it XD So it’s definitely a 2017 fav for me lol

2. Reciprocal: Reina’s Story

In case you didn’t know, in October I started what is meant to be a serial series called Reciprocal. I released the first story already on my Patreon - you don’t need to be a patron to read it (in other words, it’s 100% free for everyone to read, it’s just where I posted it). Read it here.

I wanted to write a story that has a bit of a supernatural twist to it, but that let me also touch on mental illness, and focus a lot of LGBTQIA+ stuff. I also wanted to set it in a seemingly super mundane, real world setting. I’m actually really excited about the serial itself, and plan to submit a future story of it to a magazine some friends are doing. I’ve started 2 more stories in this universe but haven’t had the chance to finish them yet. One of my goals for this serial was to really try to chill out on word count per part, and try to keep it 5,000-10,000 words per story. This is exceedingly difficult for me to do and I’m pretty sure I failed in the first installment but here’s to hoping for future ones lol

(Read all of Reciprocal #1 for free at my patreon, in case you missed the link above)

3. Incarnations

I am by far most proud of Incarnations. If you didn’t know, this is a book I worked on (on and off) for about 20 years. I finally finished writing the first draft of it in October 2016, then tried to edit it in 2017. I got some great feedback that will require some major rewrites, which was delayed by several months due to my bout of extreme depression this past Fall. But I did get some chapters out already on Patreon, and more will definitely be to come.

Incarnations is an LGBTQIA+ fantasy/sci-fi book which is the start of a series called Wildwood Rising. It’s sort of a police procedural, sort of a murder mystery, and sort of a typical fantasy story. What’s it about? Well..

It started with one body, and soon became four.

No connection except unknown magic stopping the decay. An ancient sentient language appears near the latest corpse.

Vikenti’s the magical cop assigned this case. Experts are baffled and he’s impatient. He wants this case solved, because it’s starting to seem a serial killer is targeting the community.

He isn’t the only one having problems.

Sloane wants answers for the nightmare that turned her into an outcast in her own home. Fawkes and Corrin need to know who they are. Keiran wants clarity. Besin craves history. Ven and Enria lost their family. Jade wants justice. Harper wants to forget. Twins Cypress and Hunter are on the run from everyone just for being born.

Everyone has a story.

Everyone has a past.

Everyone has darkness that can find them, and everyone will learn more than they expected about themselves, the world, and life.

It started with one body, but the story that body tells is so much more than a simple murder.

-Incarnations by Ais

patreon.com/ais

btw many of the characters are LGBTQIA+ in some form and/or people of color.

Here’s the beginning of it:

(read more Incarnations here)

4. Queenie

I really like to draw but mostly suck at it (hence Ais’ Terrible Art). Still, it doesn’t affect how fun it is for me to draw random shit. I’d been seeing on youtube that people are doing this “one marker challenge” thing where you get one marker and try to do a whole piece of art using just that one marker. I thought it would be fun to do but decided to start slow, by using a set of “dual tip skin tone markers” I got at Barnes & Noble randomly. They’re alcohol -based markers, the first time I’ve ever used those.

I sat down to draw and didn’t really have a plan at all for what I’d do (I would have done some things differently if I had planned with pencil or anything instead of going straight in with sharpie like I did). I ended up with a girl I call Queenie. She isn’t the best piece of art I’ve ever done but I really like something about her, I think particularly her eyes. She makes me happy when I look at her so that’s why I’m including her in this 2017 recap. And because she’s my first alcohol-based marker piece of art.

I used 6 markers and 2 sharpies altogether on her.

5. A strange discovery in Irridian library

In all honesty, this wouldn’t hit my top 2017 moments if I actually had more options, but I’m super limited because 2017 was horrendous for my creative energy. Not that this sucks by any means, this thing amuses me, but I’m sure I’ve written better stuff in my life.

Anyway I thought it would be really funny to write a fake newspaper article set in the Incarnations world, about one of the main characters (Besin, he shows up in the first chapter and is Head Librarian). I thought it would be funny to show petty local urban politics in a fantasy world setting. So this was a whole article written by this woman Ghieta from Seiyunne Circle (the main newspaper in the largest Magetown on Ariwyn), basically all about being salty about Besin being way too devoted to his job as a librarian. XD idk I just thought the topic was absurd enough that it would make me laugh.

Read the whole article here. Preview below:

(read the rest here)

One of the things that I’m really looking forward to with Incarnations and Wildwood Rising is the whole thing is my world/etc. Which means I can do all the stupid random shit I want for extras without having to ask another poor soul to randomly go in on silly little stories whenever I feel like it (like I had to whenever I collaborated with others on writing). If you get into Incarnations, look forward to a loooooot of random shit in the future because it’s so fun to do XD

Honorable mention

by the way, honorable mention is a woman I just drew after being inspired by Queenie to the point that I bought some Prismacolor alcohol-based markers to try doing art only in color (no black lines etc). I would have added her to the list but she’s technically my first drawing of 2018. Still, I really like how her eye turned out so you get to see her below anyway.

I still need more shades in between though - couldn’t get enough blending on the shadows as you can see below. Also I fucked up her right eye’s eyelashes but oh well, I like her left eye enough I don’t mind the right being fucked.

TAGGING: I don’t know who to tag because I’ve been so inconsistent on tumblr lately so idk who even is into tags lately. So here’s the thing - I want to see everyone do this! If you don’t have anyone to tag you, say I tagged you and do this! Let’s get all the cool creativity out there, friends! :D

#ais terrible art #about me #incarnations #writing #drawing #creativity #2017 #remember #long post #sorry #memes

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thefairystales · 8 years ago

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Mashima Hiro interview by WebNewtype (2/5/17)

Quick translation so that I can get this up before the movie airs. Please correct me if you spot any errors.

Article ©WebNewtype Translated by thefairystales | DO NOT EDIT OR REMOVE SOURCE Please credit by linking back when using. (usage rules)

You not only drew the key visual and designed original characters for Fairy Tail Dragon Cry, but also worked on a storyboard close to 200 pages in length. What made you so involved in the production of the movie?

All I did was to start drawing after the request came (laugh). The request to make a movie came in just when the manga was entering its final part, and I had many ideas floating around in my head. Nothing would begin if no one does anything, and I wanted to give my best since I was asked to be involved in it.

When did talk about writing an original storyboard start?

There was interest expressed in making another movie right after the first movie (Fairy Tail the Movie: Phoenix Priestess) was released. I was also interested, and since I had amassed many ideas that I was not able to use in the manga, I tried to come up with a story leading to a new climax. I was hoping that the release of the movie could coincide with the climax of the manga, even though I did not specifically aim for it to happen.

When the PV of the movie was released, there was also a comment posted of you saying “I want to make a movie that is focused on entertainment.” Which parts of the movie contribute to that?

I came up with the story of Phoenix Priestess while thinking “I want to make all the fans cry”. However, Dragon Cry turned out to be a simple story with its highlight being the intense battles and flashy action scenes. I thought that it would be nice to make a movie that the audience can enjoy without having to think too much while watching. I also drew the key visual, and I wanted the scene where half of Natsu’s body is dragonized to be the focus.

You also commented that there are surprises in the movie.

A certain character’s past, which has not been touched on in the manga, is revealed in the movie. Please watch attentively “to the end”! In addition, there are various references made in the movie, even though many of them have unfortunately been cut... You can see what has been cut by comparing the movie with the original storyboard. The storyboard is merely a draft, and it’s embarrassing to show it to everyone.

I’ve seen both the original storyboard and the film, and I feel that the original characters Swan, Doll and Gapri are even more charming in the movie as compared to the original draft.

I made additional suggestions after submitting the original storyboard, and also received suggestions from the anime staff. There were many parts of the movie which were touched up after we integrated our ideas. Of the 3 characters mentioned, Swan became an especially good character after that. I have yet to watch the completed film, but I think that it’s an enjoyable movie.

We can also see new settings that have yet to appear in the manga.

Most of these, including the “surprise” that I’ve mentioned earlier, are things that wouldn’t be included in the manga and drawn only for the movie. In that sense, the movie complements the manga and I hope everyone will enjoy it.

You have also worked on the storyboard for the original animation DVDs (OAD) that were bundled with the manga volumes. Were there aspects of that experience that you made use of when you worked on the original storyboard for this movie?

The original storyboard is also a draft proposal, drawn with the expectation that the anime staff would adjust its contents accordingly. I drew it with the same feeling as I would draw the manga. However, doing the anime storyboard was difficult, and I had a tough time! I drew it while timing the seconds with a stopwatch in one hand, and also repeatedly grappled with trying to understand terms that I had just learned while working on it.

You handled the writing of the original storyboard in a similar manner as the manga.

When it comes to the weekly serialization of the manga, there have been times when I was absolutely stuck and and just decided that “I’ll just drag things on till the next chapter for now, and wager on myself (when I work on the chapter for) next week!” (laugh). That wouldn’t work when it comes to the draft of the anime, and I made sure that I handled the story composition and development properly, recalling the days when I was still a rookie.

Please tell us about yourself as well. What are the kinds of things that interest or appeal to you when you come into contact with a piece of work?

I think a good piece of work is one that surprises the audience, and I tend to like those that contain an unexpected twist right at the end. I keep in mind the joy of trying to surprise my readers when I am drawing as well. When I’m developing my story, I don’t foreshadow one event after another, but instead often adopt a pattern where I’ll add in some foreshadowing at parts that I can potentially expand on, and revise it when I expand on the event subsequently. I’ve become good at this since I’ve been doing it for a long time, but there have also been times when sharp readers have pointed out something that had been retconned. I want to work towards being able to draw my manga in such a way that nothing appears to be retconned even if I had revised something retrospectively. RAVE was my debut manga, and I drew it with all the developments firmly set in place. However, serialization of Fairy Tail began with me casually deciding that the story is more or less about wizards going on jobs. It was fun coming up with stories about the various situations they encounter, and I think this style is one that suits me.

Two chapters of Fairy Tail will be concurrently released on 26 April in the combined issue 21.22 of Weekly Shonen Magazine. You are known as someone who works quickly; What is the secret behind that?

I’m not fast at all! It just appears to be that way! I’m happy that people think that way, but my pace of work cannot be considered fast if you were to leap in and see the manga circle from the inside. I have to accelerate my schedule little by little many months before so that I can stock up, and only release 2 chapters at one go when I have a surplus of one full chapter of content. I don’t draw 2 chapters worth of content all of a sudden (laugh).

You also post illustrations of Fairy Tail on Twitter even though you’re busy.

I started it as a form of fan service, and also partly as a hobby because it was a fun. I’m also glad that I get to personally experience the support of many foreign fans through the replies I receive. I’ve heard about having foreign fans from the editorial department, but I thought that they were just paying me lip service (laugh). I worked on the manga with an awareness of the foreign market after that. For example, I try to ensure that the shape of the speech bubbles are more circular rather than elliptical so that it would be easier to fit the English-translated lines. I also take into consideration the difficulties of translation, and stopped including puns that play on the Japanese language.

Fairy Tail has been serialized for 10 years, and next year marks 20 years of your professional debut as a manga artist. Please tell us your feelings about your journey.

This 10 years passed in the blink of an eye. It feels like only so little time has passed, yet at the same time, it has already been 10 years. I was a high school student when I started seriously aiming to be a manga artist, and looking back, I think I was really lucky. I was also aided by the trend of the times. There were hardly any fantasy manga in Weekly Shonen Magazine at the time of my debut, and filling that niche has allowed me to come this far.

Lastly, please leave a message for the fans.

If you enjoyed watching Dragon Cry, that is because of the effort put in by the anime staff. Please convey your comments to them. The Fairy Tail manga is also heading towards its climax. I would be glad if you continue reading till the end!

#fairy tail #fairy tail dragon cry #translation #interview #mashima hiro

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docfuture · 8 years ago

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The Maker’s Ark - Chapter 34

[This is a chapter from my latest novel, a sequel to The Fall of Doc Future and Skybreaker’s Call. The start is here, and links to my other work here. It can be read on its own, but contains spoilers for those two books. I try to post new chapters about every two weeks, but I’m currently also rewriting Fall, so there will sometimes be short stories and vignettes if I don’t have a new chapter ready. The next chapter is planned for the week of February 21st.]

Previous: Chapter 33

Fits and starts. Flicker knew that was how real research worked. And things had been going too smoothly. Doc had built a test rig, Stella had provided a repurposed Xelian construction shelter for a deep space station, and Three had towed it into position with one of her ships--and set up the sunshade. It was in a solar orbit at what Journeyman called a 'sweet spot': It was closer to the the sun, so the net total of orbital kinetic energy and gravitational potential energy matched that of the surface of the Earth as closely as possible. That cut down on the compensation he had to do to port there and back--distance didn't matter, but energy did. He had been able to establish a connection to a small, spherical space that should have a speed of light that varied radially--lower toward the center and the same as Earth's at the outer edge. It didn't start off containing any mass, and had no difference in vacuum pressure at the boundary. Everything else, he still wasn't sure about. The first automated tests on the restricted portal he'd set up before porting out for safety had gone fine, as far as Doc was concerned. No explosions or waves of mass to energy conversion had come back when the small test probes went through. The probes hadn't come back, either. But no one had really expected that--the far side was likely to be pretty unforgiving to anything electronic. That had been yesterday. In the meantime, Flicker had practiced flying in space--slowly--without panicking. She could manage about two g's now. The Skystone protected her from vacuum, but she kept a full pressure mask on; air made it much easier to talk. She still kept reaching out reflexively for mass for stabilization--but she was down to about to fifty times a second. When she was calm. Now she floated beside Journeyman, doing her best to stay calm while he muttered to himself and retraced a section of pattern on the base slab so they could continue the tests. They'd tried a few more probes--nothing had come back yet except some barely detectable radiation. Not the magic homing bead, not any of the diamond nanoparticles from Doc's mechanical release device, not the end of the titanium wire Flicker had poked through. Then something only Journeyman could detect had started to vary slightly, and the radiation readings had worried Doc, so there was nothing for it but to recheck. Flicker had nothing constructive to contribute, and she knew better than to pester Journeyman with questions he didn't know the answers to yet. She thought longingly about the nearest significant mass. Venus was about twenty million kilometers thataway. Not much help. Three's ship and the Learning Is About To Occur kept watch from several hundred kilometers out. The two of them were doing their best to cheer her up and distract her while she waited--with mixed success. At least it gave Flicker someone to complain to with millisecond latency. DASI's main nodes and Doc were both back on Earth, minutes away. "Is Journeyman still ranting about the gloves on his suit?" asked Three. "Yeah," said Flicker. "It's a fair complaint, though. We're doing everything in a high vacuum and Journeyman is a gesture and pattern magician. Nobody has yet been able to make pressure gloves that don't interfere with fine manipulation." "It is an interesting problem," said Learning. He had a pleasant tenor voice and a habit of casually tossing out mind-boggling suggestions. "I wonder if a magician could use a biogestalt to operate a humaniform remote for vacuum work. Has that been tried?" "Ah... not that I know of," said Three. "And I'm not sure a biogestalt would be able to use probability manipulation at all." "Surely you jest. The most impressive act of probability manipulation on Earth that I'm aware of was performed by a biogestalt." "What are you talking about?" asked Three, saving Flicker the trouble. "Flicker's serial contingent causality reconnection during the Xelian fleet attack, to avoid the randomized beam strikes. It was powerful enough that subtle effects from it were detected propagating outward from the far side of the portal zone to Grs'thnk, though they were not recognized as such at the time." "It was detectable in another universe?" said Three. "That's both disturbing and something Flicker and I should already have been told. Why--" "Just a moment, please," said Flicker. "Since when am I a biogestalt?" "Does the term offend?" said Learning. "You refer to that part of you as your 'high speed mind', but it seems to operate in a similar fashion. That is clear from the mishaps you've experienced. I did a first principles analysis during the period of concern over your commandeering of computational resources. I concluded that it matched a high speed biogestalt multiplicity cascade better than an unconstrained AI launch, which reassured the aid mission leadership somewhat." "And you didn't tell DASI?" said Flicker. "Hell, why didn't you tell me?" "I didn't have permission. Biogestalt theory is on the restricted list, because of the potential for abuse--it contributes to several significant Grs'thnk social problems, though disagreement about how much makes that a politically sensitive topic. Official aid mission policy is to avoid sharing new problems with Earth when they've barely started helping with your existing ones. And Doc has an unfavorable view of biogestalts which is well justified at Earth's current technology level. The embassy leadership is discussing sharing the data with Director Reinhart and DASI given its new relevance, but, like all political questions, a long period of wrangling argument is required first. There is a book you might find helpful, once it becomes available." "What is it?" asked Flicker "A History of Biogestalt Development and Pathology, Volume One, Fourteenth Edition. It's the standard reference used in the biogestalt prep sequence at the Grs'thnk Naval Academy. I'm told it's a bit dry for bios, but I found it fascinating." "A biogestalt in my own body... I need that book yesterday. I need that book last month. Wait a minute--the restriction you have on talking directly to DASI is a political one, set by the aid mission, correct?" "Yes," said Learning. "However, it--" Flicker bared her teeth. "You want to share data responsibly--but you can't, because you'll get in trouble if you do. And I have a veto. They gave me one. I've never used it before, but I think I'm about to. Three, what's the relevant agreement?" "That would be the Preliminary Protocol on Data Sharing, Restrictions and Limitations. But I'm not sure--" "Great. I'll veto it, then ask Learning to share any data whose absence is compromising Earth's military security. I know there's an agreement for that. And they can sort everything out again, after the transfers." "Flicker," said Three. "This is politics. Will you at least let me try finesse? Prime is busy, but give me ten minutes and the threat of your veto, and I bet I can get things moving. Without calling into question an agreement that was very painful to negotiate in the first place. It won't be an idle threat, and they'll know it. And, just between us biogestalts, I have a stake here too." "Oh. Yeah. I guess they could pull Learning out on military orders. I can't do anything about that. Okay, try your way. But make sure they know I'm pretty angry. If this 'multiplicity cascade' is a documented problem, DASI and I not knowing about it probably cost me a couple hundred subjective years during my bender. And who knows what else." "Don't worry, I will." Flicker thought for a moment. "And Learning? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to blow up. You were just trying to help." "No apology needed," he said. "Learning is about to occur. I am content." "Heh. Yeah. Some already has. And I need to go--looks like Journeyman has finally fixed whatever it was. Thanks." "You're welcome. And good luck." ***** Flicker sped up her mind so everything happened with glacial slowness, and she clamped down hard on her hand with her power--no molecular rearrangement allowed. A bit extreme, maybe, but she didn't know yet what was required, and she didn't want to find out by not doing enough. She flicked the tip of her left little finger into the portal, then immediately pulled it back out again. It was on the far side for about a microsecond. There had been a slight tingling from her proprioception sense, but that was all. She hadn't lost any skin, and there seemed to be no ill effects. There didn't seem to be any effects at all, except-- A spark jumped from the portal boundary to the tip of her finger. It was a considerable jolt--it heated up her finger noticeably. She'd expected to lose some electrons on the far side; the chemistry was going to be different. It didn't really matter how--she wasn't allowing any chemical reactions. But that made her electrons unhappy, unhappy electrons tended to wander, and they hadn't all made it back out with her finger. The interesting thing was that a lot of them seemed to have made it back out on their own, after a delay. Or the charge imbalance had pulled out other ones--electrons were interchangeable. She checked the sensor readings on her visor--she still had a positive static charge, but it wasn't nearly as large as it had been at first. She slowed back down. Time to see what everyone else thought. "Radiation--" began Journeyman, then he stopped. "Oh. That's just charge equalization. You okay?" "Green," she replied. "Played a mini-game of lightning tag, but that's it. My finger seems fine--I'm getting feeling back now." She held up her hand to look at it. Nothing seemed different. All she felt was the now familiar pressure of the Skystone protecting her from the vacuum--she'd kept her glove off for the test. "Three?" Flicker asked over her com. "You have any initial impressions?" "The radiation from the boundary spiked, then dropped off," said Three. "The spike was almost entirely electrons. I think Doc is right--the earlier radiation we saw was a result of the far side not quite being a vacuum anymore, because of the probes." "Cool." Flicker turned to smile at Journeyman, who had come out from behind the radiation and blast shield. "We have an existence proof! Matter can can stay intact on the far side, if it's me." "The part of you that isn't electrons, anyway," he said. "Yeah. That could be a problem. If I lose them all, then they all return at once when I come back, that's a lot of energy. And I can't entropy dump here, except to the heat sink." The heat sink was a big chunk of ice, loosly contained in plastic, attached to the outside of the shelter on the other side of a blast shield. It gave Flicker something to connect to, if she needed to dump excess heat in an emergency. A small enough one, anyway. "But the charges should start to equalize after a while," she continued. "Some variant of the electromagnetic force has to be operating on the far side, or I wouldn't have gotten that zap--it would just be a steady flow. And the strong nuclear force is working fine, or I wouldn't have gotten the tip of my finger back at all." "All right, let's try some repeats, and see just how much charge you lose, and if the spark and the radiation spike happen every time." Ten minutes later, he was back to muttering to himself, and Flicker was getting impatient. "I don't understand," he said. "We're getting variance, but there's either some variable other than mass, surface area, acceleration, and time spent on the far side, or a lot of randomness. At least it doesn't seem too dangerous." "Yeah. I want to try to sticking my whole hand through and leaving it there for a good second or two. The whole point of these tests is to see if I can operate on the other side, and we haven't gotten much closer to finding that out yet." She watched his eyes through the faceplate of his suit, and heard him sigh. "Not exactly safe, but none of this is safe." "No. But there's no other way to find out." "All right. But if you flash the red alarm, we are out of here. Antarctica, so you can dump, then get somewhere to heal. Whether your hand is all the way back or not. You clear on that?" "Yeah." "Okay." He moved back behind the shield. "Ready when you are."

The first hint Flicker felt that something was wrong was an itching sensation from the high speed nervous system in her hand. Little feedback made it across the portal boundary. She could tell her hand was still there, and that her power was keeping it intact, but that was about it. That had been a bit worrying at first, but as long as she could keep things stable, her hand should be okay. But this was new. Something was trying to happen, and she was preventing it, but there was resistance--and it was growing. What could be-- No. The correct response to something new and unexpected was to pull her hand back. She started to, carefully. Then she began to get proper sensation back from the part of her wrist that had been on the far side of the portal. It was hot--and getting hotter. Not the surface either, this was deep inside. Enough of careful. She stayed clamped down and jerked her hand the rest of the way out, at full power. And all hell broke loose. The radiation alarms started screaming and flashing, she started dumping to the heat sink and it wasn't enough, and what was wrong with the water molecules in her hand? They were still heating up, and-- Oh. Oh no. She hit the red alarm and did cold calculations in her mind. Journeyman had superhuman reflexes, magically enhanced. A millisecond to port to her, another millisecond to port both of them to Antarctica. Would he be fast enough? He would be. She'd make sure of it. She pivoted slightly, and pulled her hand in. It was already putting out neutrons and hard gamma. The Skystone was protecting her so far, but it didn't stop everything, and all she had to shield Journeyman was the rest of her body. Then there was the heat. She pulled it inside, away from the surface, so it wouldn't cook Journeyman in the time they needed. She'd have one last chance to get rid of some before they ported out. She felt him appearing, close behind her, and she hard dumped to the heat sink, which flashed from ice into superheated steam. She was sloppy--she got some into the blast shield, too. But that wouldn't matter, they'd be gone before the shockwave hit. Then he started the second port, his little pocket universe closing in around the two of them, and she had to hold the heat in. Her hand was at forty thousand K and climbing--her power was all that was keeping it solid. And it was getting worse, fast. She moved as much of the heat as she dared into the rest of her body. There wasn't anywhere else. She remembered her first trip to the moon, and just how bad things could get. But she needed to keep it away from Journeyman--he was the fragile one. Five hundred microseconds into the second port and her hand was up to two million K, and it started getting worse faster, again. Eight hundred microseconds. Ten million K. Journeyman was getting a big dose of hard X-rays--but most of them would go right through, and the real enemy was heat. Antarctica. Mass. And she could finally move. She entropy dumped to the ice in all directions as she accelerated away from Journeyman with ten billion g's of relief. Then she was far enough clear to let the heat surface, vaporizing her costume in a wave of plasma as she started radiative cooling, doing everything she could to quench the burning from a hand filled with nuclear fire.

Next: Chapter 35

#Maker's Ark #FallofDocFuture

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doctorwhonews · 8 years ago

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The Pirate Planet - Novelisation/ AudioBook

Latest Review: Written By: James Goss Based On The TV Serial By: Douglas Adams Released By BBC Books: 5th January 2017 Audiobook Read By: Jon Culshaw 10 CDS/ Audio Download Running Time: 11 Hours, 22 Minutes Once in a blue moon, the hardworking, devout people of Zanak experience a 'new golden age of prosperity'. The stars in the night sky suddenly change position, and the economy skyrockets. The natives are assured by their mysterious leader - The Captain - that all this is part of a grand design. But there is an outlier group of which the are wary, contemptuous, even scared. The Mourners. Looking decidedly pale and skinny, they always wander together, and can bring only trouble. Luckily, the Captain's many armed guards are there to ensure that there is no breach of the peace. Now enter three odd individuals, in Zanak's main city, with no warning or announcement. The seeming leader is a toothy, excitable extrovert, with a long scarf and curly hair. With him is a somewhat younger-looking woman, much more smartly dressed, with beautiful looks, and a keen intelligence. And lastly, is a diminutive metallic creature, that has a red visor instead of eyes, a little tail that sways side-to-side, and a rather more impressive nose-laser. The Doctor, Romana, and K9 - as they call themselves - soon make an alliance with a young couple. The male is Kimus: earnest, dedicated and open-minded. The female is Mula: thoughtful, pragmatic and diligent. This in turn leads to the Mourners becoming more engaged in the future of their world, knowing that suddenly a missing piece of information may be missing no more. Soon enough, the mystique over the Captain evaporates. He is far more machine than man, and with a decidedly twisted sense of humour. But he has a plan or three in motion, and many cards in his deck to play. Zanak, and the wider universe, may both end up facing a change of cataclysmic proportions.. --- This joint release of both book and audio release sees the completion of the Fourth Doctor era into novel form. For many years, three stories were outstanding, and the common denominator was that Douglas Adams wrote the scripts. In the case of The Pirate Planet, Adams was still an unknown quantity in the wider world when first pitching his first contribution to Doctor Who. By the time this second story of Season 16 - or 'The Key To Time' arc - was transmitted, Adams' other work for the BBC - The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy - steadily became a sensation, and eventually a global phenomenon. Anthony Read was responsible for editing Adams' scripts into a makeable BBC production. He also made it build on The Ribos Operation, in developing new companion Romana. She was only the second Gallifreyan to assist the Doctor, after his own granddaughter Susan. The story also had to present a different kind of mystery over which item was the segment of The Key to Time. Later on, Adams would take over from Read, and oversee Season 17 (which suffered especially from industrial strikes). Eventually, he realised he could not focus on both primetime TV, and further contributions to his 'baby boomer' Hitchhikers. Such was Adams' disconnect from Doctor Who, that none of his three major stories were adapted until very recently. (However he did introduce close friend, and second Romana, Lalla Ward to her eventual husband Richard Dawkins). Shada was the last of those three, but hit bookshelves first, with the aid of Gareth Roberts. More recently in 2015, the much-loved City Of Death was also converted into a richly detailed novel. This new effort has the same author as City, in the form of experienced writer James Goss. Although The Pirate Planet was four episodes long, this book comes in at 400 pages plus - which is considerably more. Goss has clearly taken inspiration from Adams over the years, in becoming himself a successful author, and he decides to put as much of the original script (and related notes) as can fit. This means that this is one of the longest works of Who fiction, and it lacks the pace of action-adventure that is found in both the majority of the classic, as well as the modern, TV format. Yet, most who are familiar with the TV original must concede that whilst great fun, it is not the strongest production, and really could have done with an American TV budget. Pennant Roberts has done great work for other TV shows, but few would call any of his Who work first-rate. The cast were not all stellar in their readings, with Kimus, Mula and the Mentiads being decidedly bland. This production and acting hurdle is removed entirely here. The book does some excellent work in making the villains even more interesting. It gives them backstory, and motivation, that is rare to find in most Doctor Who books; and I include some of the best original novels in making that statement. The Captain is portrayed as a lot more intimidating, and macabre in design, as well as having a longevity which is mind-boggling. This also makes the subplot involving his subservience to Xanxia that much more emotive and engaging. The Polyphase Avitron becomes a much more intriguing monster, in contrast to the cod pirate parrot of TV. Goss evokes real sense of dread over the Captain's pet, and makes its lethal potential more credible and unpleasant in nature. Xanxia - otherwise simply known as 'The Nurse' - is expertly introduced into the narrative. She appears to be someone that could help the Doctor and Romana. How wrong their impressions of her turn out to be! When the facade has fully receded, there is one of Kimus' better moments, in terms of showing some steely resolve. Also good, is the use of novel 'budget' (and reader imagination), as the Nurse suddenly is adorned in royal robes, thanks to the unique nature of her existence. Mr Fibuli is a touch more likable than in the TV original, and there is little evidence of moustache-twirling cruelty, compared to his sneer and chuckle at the end of Episode Three. He has some inner thoughts that are very 'Everyman', and his brilliant engineering skills feel more layman too. Fibuli's constant awareness that he is replaceable - like any of the Captain's underlings - mean readers care for what fate befalls him. As it turns out, there is a heavy does of irony concerning this end-point, in conjunction with the final chapters' foreboding and tense action. Although my synopsis suggested the guards were respected, even admired, by the (mostly faceless) Zanak citizens, both this novelisation and the TV story frequently take pokes at them for being witless and predictable. All the same, they are not to be taken as completely benign, and do sometimes make a successful capture, or take out a do-gooder with a well-aimed shot. Of course, Goss seizes the opportunity to do some nice work with getting inside the heads of heroes as well, and that very much includes K9. The Fourth Doctor is relatively easy to write for, but few can really make him truly surprising and electric on page in a manner that the legendary Tom Baker could on-screen. Luckily, Goss is very much in that select group. The much-celebrated clash of "It is not a toy!" / "Then what is it for?!" is lovingly expanded on, and probably is the highlight of the entire book. There is plenty of good material for Romana too, as she shows promise that would make her a long-staying companion, and eventually do great things for both E-Space, and Gallifrey itself. She is quick to learn, proactive, and consistently helpful to the Doctor. This sometimes makes the much older time traveller rather defensive. At one point he convinces her to complete a massive timetable, but barely achieves the delay effect he wanted it to. Nonetheless, she still is made to appreciate the Doctor's genius and quick wits, when he is forced to think of a solution to both the threat facing the universe, as well as the key objective of locating the Segment. K9 is of course secondary to the interpersonal drama, but still a personality; one that has emotions concerning tasks, and opinions regarding those he encounters. His one word summations on his 'owners' would be "odd" and "logical" respectively. The metal mutt's inner thoughts are generally the more light-hearted moments of the book/audio-reading. And now, time to recognise just how good an audio release this is, for both casual fans, and die-hards alike. Jon Culshaw has never done anything routine, forced, or ordinary to the best of my knowledge, (perhaps with the exception of singing on Comic Relief Does Fame Academy). Even with the weight of ten CDs, or eleven-and-a-half hours of running time, he puts in a wonderful solo performance. There is especially good use of third-person/first-person blending, which means that listeners can be caught out, thinking Culshaw will be talk in his own steady and affable manner, when reading Goss' prose. Much of the music gives this long story clout too. There are subtle strands, and a much more bombastic sense of 'What's Next?' upon the close of another chapter. I however need to come back to my point on the page count/ running time. This is possibly a case of Goss just slightly getting the balance between quality and detail wrong. The first half of the book, whilst not totally ponderous, does feel slow on several occasions. There are some digressions that display Adams' wit, and thoughtful wonderment at a vast interconnected cosmos, but they do not all feel as organic as in the Hitchhiker's novels (which admittedly used a guide book as the framing device). Thus some passages/moments outstay their welcome. Most odd is the sense of a Season 22 story opening, in that the TARDIS crew take an age to land on Zanak, and get involved. Nonetheless, the final half of this novelisation - especially the final third - is so much more urgent and gripping. It particularly delights in improving on the somewhat absurd Episode Three cliffhanger, by having a homage to the modern-day use of TARDIS in-flight to save a falling victim. Also, there is a very funny moment where the Doctor, in deep, deep trouble, thinks how clever it would be to rig a hologram. Thus when he actually does it, it banishes all feelings of indifference over the implausible onscreen execution. One change I have more mixed feelings over, is the use of the 'Mourners' title, rather than 'Mentiads', which both sounded mysterious and ominous, yet also very funny depending on the particular dialogue context. At least there is much more back-story, and insight into their transformation, and also their "vengeance for the crimes of Zanak". Especially worthwhile is the detail on how Pralix's father was shot down, not long after he transitioned into being one of the select group. This means that the rather dour supporting character is now an angel of retribution, for both the planets and his own lost parent. There also is a change-up in making the Mourners mixed-gender, with at least one of them being female. This elder Mourner is given a few evocative moments in the narrative, helping reinforce how much more progressive Doctor Who was for women in the Graham Williams era, than it had ever been hitherto. --- In sum, this is a very important book for anyone trying to get more insight into the Tom Baker period of the show - one which has been analysed and critiqued for many years now. It has a sense of something old, but also something new, and deserves at least being explored in either print or audio reading, if not both. A compression of gems, that is indeed most rich. http://reviews.doctorwhonews.net/2017/01/the_pirate_planet_novelisation_audiobook.html?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

#SERIES 16 #BBC #AUDIO #FOURTH DOCTOR #BOOK

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itkmoonknight · 5 years ago

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ITK Newsletter, no. CVI: ISLA RA SESSIONS - Featuring Guest Derek O'Neill

Loony fanatics!

Welcome, welcome, WELCOME to the latest and greatest ITK newsletter for you this week, coming straight from the hand-eye coordinated skills of one of the High Priests of Khonshu, Rey!

We had a blast last week reviewing the new Moon Knight comic annual and it was so much fun chatting with the likes of Tommy and Chad alongside fellow High Priest Connor. More on this later, but we've got a new platform we're keen to test out!

In any case, this coming episode is a FUN one! My gosh, it has been ages and for so long I've wanted to have a chat with our special guest next episode, Derek, as I've been a huge fan of Derek and his co-hosts' work on TV Podcast Industries (previously known as Defenders TV Podcast).

Derek, John and Chris allowed us to find our feet int he podcasting world, so we'll be forever grateful to them, and anyway - it was such a pleasure to chat with Derek FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER face-to-face so to speak.

PHASE OF THE MOON: WANING GIBBOUS

ISLA RA SESSIONS - DEREK O'NEILL FROM TV PODCAST INDUSTRIES

I've had the absolute pleasure of chatting with Derek's co-host Chris Jones a couple of times on ITK, and we've had Derek and John narrate the 'Bare Bones' (long time listeners would know what that it - basically it's the comic book synopsis) in the past, but this was the first time I actually got to speak to Derek, and all nerves aside (which comes with chatting with someone you look up to) it was an absolute blast!

I must also add this note in bold -

**NOTE: Please note that events which take place during the upcoming ISLA RA occur BEFORE any announcement of the Moon Knight TV show**

I add this as Derek and I do talk about a 'future' Moon Knight show...but of course, as recent events tell us, we the Loonies have already nabbed a TV show as announced by Disney!!

Derek's ISLA RA books are an eclectic and throughly entertaining read...I urge you to read these either before or after you listen to the show this coming weekend.

As always we present to you an option to either read ahead, or wait and be surprised by listening to Derek -

Derek's Top 4 Isla Ra (Desert Island) Comics: ???

As always, we aren't giving anything away! Below you'll find encrypted links to Derek's books. These will be in the show nots as well, but if you want to prepare for the show and discover what books Derek has chosen - and read them ahead of our discussion - then look no further than below -

DEREK'S TOP 4 ISLA RA BOOKS:

Derek's Top Pick

Derek's 2nd Pick

Derek's 3rd Pick

Derek's 4th Pick

NEW PLATFORM FOR INTO THE KNIGHT - A NEW ERA

In other news, we tested a new platform last week (and a BIG shoutout to Capes and Lunatics, a fellow member of The Collective who put us onto the platform) called GetVokl.

It's brilliant and opens up some possibilities for hosts and Loonies alike! It's similar to Discord in the fact that it allows Loonies to converse with one another, and even do that in a video or audio capacity. It opens the door to the hosts in that we can now broadcast shows live with video and have it simulcast over Facebook and Twitter...! We won't be doing this for every show we do (for instance, next episode will not be broadcast live as it's already recorded and edited) but whenever an opportunity pops up, we may give it a go.

There's also an ITK Welcome room which accommodates up to four Loonies who just want to hang out and chat away about anything Moon Knight related...

It seems like a heap of fun, so be sure to check it out and subscribe if you can!

THE LOST SESSIONS?

Also, as a bit of a heads up - some Loonies recorded the second episode of the ROUNDTABLE ROBIN: A SIDEKICKS' REVENGEANCE and I've got 80% of it completed. The utter tragedy is that one of the set of vocals didn't successfully record, so it has been left incomplete and therefore delayed.

We at ITK and the Loonies involved are working hard to rectify this and we are looking to release this episode once I get the new vocals and it's all edited together.

Some of you may have seen this featured as a GetVokl broadcast last weekend, and you would have caught the last two-thirds of it... there was actually another 20 minutes before the broadcast, which will be captured int he final cut of the podcast when it's released, so you'll get to hear the entire chat in all it's glory!

A huge thanks to Rick, Tommy and Knol for meeting up to chat and record their thoughts on Moony and anything else they wanted to alk about (I hear Kaijus were discussed?? :P)

Keep your eyes out for this soon!

THE HUNT FOR KHONSHU'S GOLDEN SCEPTRE

For those who listened to Episode 113, you would have heard the next thrilling chapter in our serial - Part Cinquieme: Serpientes de Caos...

For those who missed out, I'll be releasing Part Cinquieme as a separate episode later this week...

As a suggestion, why not create a playlist and add Parts 1-5 together to get the whole picture?

CO-HOSTING ON THE COLLECTIVE

Finally, I do the rounds once again and I obviously just can't get enough of podcasting!

I'll be guest co-host on the Signal of Doom Podcast this Friday alongside David Finn and it should be a hoot! Apart from dissecting the latest news in geek culture, we'll review a handful of latest releases and we also will review The Walking Dead issues #1-12 for Dave's Trade of the Week!

Always fun to chat with Dave and I might even see if Dave's amenable to using GetVokl to record...we may even broadcast it as a vodcast!

I'll also be recording another episode of Last Sons of Krypton - A Superman Podcast with my brother in arms, Connor McKenna. We'll be reviewing DC Comics Presents #85 with Superman teaming up with the Swamp Thing. We'll even have guests on the show too...a couple of hosts who have their own Swamp Things Podcast will join us to give their expert take on that gooey, swampy mess of a man!

You can always chat or leave feedback to us -

We absolutely LOVE to hear from you, and will always address and give you shout outs on the show, so please don't hesitate to drop us a line!

We've got various social media outlets and we use these to read Loony comments on the show - if you DON'T want your comments broadcast, please just add, "(DNB)" at the end of your comment, and we'll be sure not to broadcast it. We'll pick a few comments from here and discuss on the show!

Email: [email protected]

Podcast Page: http://intotheknight.libsyn.com

Facebook Page: Into the Knight - A Moon Knight Podcast

Facebook Group: Into the Knight - A Moon Knight Fan Base

Twitter: @ITKmoonknight

Discord ITK Server: ITK Server

GetVokl : Into the Knight Welcome Room (New!)

That's it for this newsletter - be sure to tune in this weekend for our Episode 114...I can't urge you enough to not listen to me...but to the thoroughly entertaining Derek and his thoughts on comics, Moon Knight and watching your favourite TV shows...it's a decent sized show with a surprise special guest to boot!!....OK, I'll leave you with that little teaser....!:P

Stay well, and -

May Khonshu Watch Over the Denizens of the (K)Night,

Rey

Proud Member of The Collective

Check out this episode!

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how2to18 · 6 years ago

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THIS IS PART XV of LARB’s serialization of Seth Greenland’s forthcoming novel The Hazards of Good Fortune. This is the last week of our serialization of the book but it isn’t the end of the novel. To finish the novel, you can pick it up in bookstores or order it upon its release on August 21st. Links to pre-order the book are below.

Greenland’s novel follows Jay Gladstone from his basketball-loving youth to his life as a real estate developer, civic leader, philanthropist, and NBA team owner, and then to it all spiraling out of control.

A film and TV writer, playwright, and author of four previous novels, Greenland was the original host of The LARB Radio Hour and serves on LARB’s board of directors. The Hazards of Good Fortune will be published in book form by Europa Editions on August 21, 2018.

To start with installment one, click here.

To pre-order (and finish the book) on Indiebound, click here; on Amazon, click here; at Barnes & Noble, click here.

Chapter Forty-Nine

The weekend had been taxing for Nicole. She spent most of it holed up in the hotel suite frantically trying to figure out who had hacked her. She still had no idea. Her friend Audrey called on Saturday to commiserate and invite her to Nantucket, but Nicole declined. She felt safer in the city. As far as Nicole’s vague plan to somehow repair her marriage, the release of the tape rendered the degree of difficulty nearly insurmountable. Not only was it humiliating for all the obvious reasons, but she had inadvertently added another layer of stress to Jay’s life, and knew her chances of getting him to reverse his decision existed in inverse proportion to his anxiety. She surmised it was still DEFCON 4 in her husband’s head. She wanted to talk with him but not enough time had passed. Yesterday afternoon she contacted Bebe. To Nicole’s relief, Bebe did not sound angry on the phone, nor was her affect in any way chilly. Jay’s sister made sympathetic noises and when Nicole asked if her sister-in-law would join her for a drink after work the next day Bebe was game.

They met at the Oak Room in the Plaza Hotel. Nicole was in a corner, nibbling mixed nuts, nursing a glass of chardonnay. Bebe sat down and ordered a vodka martini. Nicole thanked her profusely for coming, a crumpled a cocktail napkin in her hand. Nerves. When Bebe asked how she was doing Nicole looked down, shook her head, and moaned. She put the napkin on the table and with the index fingers of each hand proceeded to smooth it out. It was around six, and the bar was starting to fill up with after-work pleasure seekers and several tables of tourists. The waiter placed Bebe’s drink in front of her, glanced at Nicole—did he recognize her? She hoped not—and departed. Bebe took a sip and gazed into Nicole’s watery eyes.

“What possessed you to make a tape?”

“I was drunk; it was idiotic. I was mad at your brother.”

“You were going to show it to him?”

“No. I don’t know. I wish I could unwind everything.” She told Bebe about their fight before he left for Africa, her desire to have a child, his unwillingness, and her resentment. “I keep telling myself I’m going to call my therapist who I haven’t talked to in five years, but I don’t want him to judge me.”

“He’s a therapist. They’re not allowed to judge you.” One of the many reasons social success accrued to Nicole was because she exuded a potent mixture of refinement and aplomb that captivated men and women alike. She operated in a matrix of hints and signals. Her default mode was one of surpassing subtlety, but with the decision to take Dag to bed she had precluded that approach and the luxury of indirection was no longer hers. Too much was slipping away too quickly.

“Who do you think put that tape out there?”

“You’re asking me?” Bebe said. “How would I know? I have no idea.”

Nicole was at a loss. “I might as well ask the waiter.”

Bebe studied the martini.

“How can I help?”

“Talk to Jay,” Nicole suggested.

“And say what?”

“I love him, I’m horrified by my behavior, and I’ll do anything to get him back.”

“I’m not sure he’s going to be receptive to that message right now, but when I talk to him next I’ll try to figure out what he’s thinking, and if it’s appropriate, I’ll say something. All right?”

Nicole effusively expressed her gratitude. Bebe told her she had to get going. Franklin had invited her to a fundraiser for Christine Lupo, and because she enjoyed harassing her cousin, and wanted to take the measure of the woman who was prosecuting her brother, she could not resist.

“Wait a minute,” Nicole said. “Franklin is hosting her in his home? Why would he do that?”

“To be fair, I think he arranged this before Jay’s—” Bebe searched for the right word—“setback happened.”

“Franklin should have canceled the event,” Nicole said.

“Franklin,” Bebe said, “should have done a lot of things.”

When the waiter brought the check, Nicole took it and placed a credit card on the table. She began to say something, hesitated, then asked, “Do you think Franklin would mind if I came with you?”

“Probably.”

A look of concern clouded Nicole’s worn face. Continually recalibrating her social position was exhausting and, given its downward trajectory, destabilizing.

“You really think he’d have a problem?”

“Yes,” Bebe said. “Which is why you’re going to be my date.”

The Statue of Liberty set against the velvet jewel box lining of New York Harbor at night never failed to move Christine. She stood at the window of a Tribeca penthouse in a guest bedroom having gone there to take a phone call from her daughter, who had a question about homework. Christine remembered when her parents brought her downtown as a small child, how they pointed to Ellis Island, the portal through which her grandparents passed on their journey from Italy to the Bronx. She remembered standing on the docks for the bicentennial celebrations, July 4th, 1976, captivated by the sight of the tall ships sailing upriver as bouquets of fireworks burst overhead, tendrils of light illuminating the New York and New Jersey shorelines. Recalled bringing her children down here to see the display on a more recent July 4th, and how she had told Dominic Jr. and Lucia they were all part of a chain and that one day they would bring their children to watch the celebration in the harbor. Her relationship with Dominic Jr. had deteriorated since he discovered what she had done to his T-shirt, but he would get over it. Mothers and sons found each other in the end.

Perhaps she would stage a photo op for her campaign on Liberty Island, one mighty, torch-wielding woman in the shadow of another. A link with history, an image for tomorrow. Her immigrant grandparents could not in their wildest imaginings have conceived that their granddaughter might rise from Arthur Avenue to become the Governor of New York.

The idea of charging Jay Gladstone with a hate crime was Lou Pagano’s, but this didn’t matter because, as District Attorney of Westchester County, she would get the credit. It was a bold move that would demonstrate her credentials as a crusader against racism and generate support in the black community (plummeting since the nonindictment of Russell Plesko) while doing nothing to antagonize law enforcement. It was an elegant legal maneuver that was sure to pay political dividends. But the decision to add the charge to the indictment had not been arrived at easily. Pagano called her at home on Sunday and was surprised she had not immediately agreed but instead had asked for time to think about it. To charge Jay Gladstone with a hate crime was to raise the stakes considerably. The bar for proof was high, but it could serve as a useful bargaining chip, should he decide to accept a deal. More important, it would send a signal to voters that she was sensitive enough in matters of race to bring the weightiest charges against one of New York’s ruling elite.

Again, she called Franklin Gladstone. Now that they were about to augment the original indictment with a charge that would immeasurably compound its severity, she felt the need to at least mention it as a courtesy so her patron would not be caught off guard when he heard about it. Franklin told her not to worry and expressed his admiration for her integrity.

To Christine’s pleasure, the hate crime charges had led the local news that evening. She noted with no little satisfaction that Imam Ibrahim Muhammad had called a well-attended press conference during which he commented that while the Westchester County District Attorney’s office should have brought charges against the officer who killed John Eagle, the new ones against Jay Gladstone were “a positive step in her relations with African-Americans.”

All of this was going through her mind as she tore herself away from the view to greet the guests at the fundraiser Franklin and Marcy Gladstone were hosting for her gubernatorial candidacy. From the other room came the restless sound of money.

Despite the retention of a prominent interior design team, Franklin and Marcy had expensively decorated their penthouse loft in no particular style. The gathering of more than a hundred that filled the living room and spilled out on to the deck was a glittering portrait of achievement. A smattering of media people gathered in a corner listening to Roger Ailes hold forth. Across the room, Rupert Murdoch chatted with the actor Jon Voight. Near the free bar manned by a white-jacketed waiter, Ezra Gladstone and his twin brother Ari sipped artisanal beer and engaged the daughter of a casino mogul with whom they were exploring a co-venture. Dr. Bannister and his wife chatted with Michael Steele, who had recently become the first black man to chair the Republican National Committee. It was a coup to have attracted such prominent African-Americans.

A hedge fund manager approached with his wife and asked about Wall Street regulation. Several others immediately were drawn to her orbit, and so Christine Lupo began to work the room.

Standing in front of a framed pair of boxing trunks worn by the heavyweight fighter Sonny Liston, Franklin was talking to a bond trader from whom he planned to extract a six-figure contribution when he noticed a woman scanning the crowd. It was his cousin Bebe, chatting to another woman who had her back to him. He immediately realized that Bebe’s companion was Jay’s wife. He had invited his cousin as a courtesy never imagining she would attend. That she had brought Nicole was an overt provocation. Why had Nicole come? Franklin immediately crossed the room to greet the women.

“I didn’t expect to see you two,” he said, approximating friendliness.

Bebe said, “You invited me, didn’t you?” She was drinking club soda. “Nicole wanted to come. Who was I to say no? I like your loft.”

Franklin nodded at Nicole, who smiled uncomfortably and said something about how it was important to listen to all political points of view.

Franklin to Bebe: “Haven’t you been here before?”

“Remind me,” she said. “When would that have been?”

Franklin’s parrying skills were minimal, but his arrogance rendered them unnecessary. Rather than offering a wisecrack, he said, “Well, I’m glad you’re here tonight. I think Christine’s going to make a hell of a governor.”

Bebe raised her well-tended eyebrows. “She seems like a strong-minded woman. I’d like to meet her.” Franklin looked stricken, which only heightened Bebe’s determination. Turning to her sister-in-law, she suggested the two of them immediately say hello to the candidate.

“She’s getting ready to speak,” Franklin said.

“If you don’t introduce us,” Bebe said, “I will. Come on, Nicole. I want to talk to her.”

Nicole excused herself and went to refill her wineglass as Franklin grumpily accompanied his cousin across the room. From her position near the bar, she watched Franklin introduce Bebe to Christine Lupo. The politician was pretty and relaxed, two qualities Nicole felt herself to be decidedly lacking at present. Men beset Nicole whenever she stood alone at a party; they would babble and flirt, gauge their chances with the unobtainable. But tonight, many of the guests had probably watched her have sex with D’Angelo Maxwell, so she had no idea what to expect. The amateur porn shattered the illusion of her inviolability. A spasm of self-doubt seized her. Why had she come? Did she really want to face the woman who was trying to send her husband to prison? Was it only because she could not endure once again returning to her hotel suite alone?

A familiar-looking man in a business suit approached. Mannequin handsome, with graying hair and a friendly expression, he seemed to know her. Who was he?

“Nicole?”

“Yes, hello, you are—?”

“Fred Panzer, Lynx News.”

That was it! She didn’t know him, just recognized his face from television. Immediately, she wanted to retract the warmth of her greeting.

He said, “I’m a little surprised to see you here.”

“You don’t know me so why would you expect one thing over another?”

Panzer shrugged. “No reason.” She looked over his shoulder for someone else to talk to. “Have you thought about doing an interview?”

“About what?” She knew what but wanted to make the creature say it. The wine in her glass was disappearing again.

“Recent events. Get your version out there, gain control of the story.”

“I think you want to contact my husband.”

“He won’t talk to us.”

“Because he’s a very intelligent man,” Nicole said.

“Jay Gladstone would be the get of the decade today. He’s O.J. in reverse.”

“What does that mean?”

“Famous white guy who killed an African-American. The trial’s going to be a circus.”

“My husband didn’t kill anyone.”

“Dag’s still in that coma, isn’t he?”

Nicole briefly thought about tossing her drink in Panzer’s face but preferred to consume the dregs of the glass. Now another problem presented itself. Marcy was slicing through the guests like a Coast Guard cutter, headed in her direction. What could that woman possibly want? Marcy might ask her what she was doing here or, worse, suggest she leave. Without saying goodbye to Panzer, Nicole tottered off to find a bathroom. There was one adjacent to the kitchen where the busy wait staff were working. She felt their eyes on her as she passed through.

When it came to audacity in another woman, Christine Lupo was of two minds: Since it was the quality she cultivated that allowed her to achieve her exalted position, she admired those who possessed it. But when it was employed by another woman to challenge her, she found it distinctly less appealing. Men she squished like they were bugs. They didn’t scare her the way women did. This Gladstone lady had fixed her with a dark-eyed gaze and, as Franklin gaped like a trout, was saying, “To not at least convene a grand jury seems like a remarkably tone-deaf response to what happened. How can black people have any confidence in the government if they don’t get their day in court?”

“I’m sorry, tell me your name again.”

“Beatrice,” Bebe said. The nickname was for people she liked.

“Well, Beatrice, to answer your question, I don’t think about what works for me on a personal level because that would be a betrayal of the contract I have with the citizens of this state. You’re a New Yorker?”

“Born and bred.”

“Well, I will never betray you. I weighed the facts and made the best decision for the citizens of Westchester County.”

“You’re dying to be governor,” Bebe said. “Aren’t you?”

“I will be governor.” Then Christine Lupo winked at her interlocutor. “With the help of people like you.”

Wanting to end the conversation, Franklin said, “I think it’s time for the DA to speak.”

As the host led the guest of honor to safety in another part of the room, Bebe watched them. While she was not going to mention her brother’s case, she had intended to test the politician. The DA was a formidable adversary, self-possessed and unyielding. Words bounced off her armor. Jay needed to prepare for war.

Where was Nicole? Bebe peered around the room, searching for her. Had she gotten flustered and left? That would be understandable.

Marcy approached and demanded to know whether she was enjoying herself.

“Immensely,” Bebe said.

“How’s Jay doing?” Marcy asked, with barely concealed relish.

“Under the circumstances, he’s all right.”

“What he did? It’s a shanda!” Bebe looked at her quizzically. “D’Angelo, the tape—” Her voice trailed off as if she could barely bring herself to enumerate his transgressions. “Why did you bring her?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Hmmpf,” Marcy said, a noise intended to convey that to respond would be beneath her. But curiosity won out: “Try me.”

Before Bebe could answer, Franklin tapped a spoon on a glass and called the room to order. Without bothering to excuse herself, Marcy flew to his side and when everyone had turned their attention to the host and hostess, Franklin introduced Christine Lupo as the next governor of New York. After the polite applause died down the district attorney spieled with great conviction about lower taxes, more police, and eliminating regulations that limit what businesses can do. Attentively, the wallets listened. “And for everyone in this room who works on Wall Street, I want you to know that a Lupo administration will be in your pocket.” Far from humorless, the district attorney knew how to land a well-timed joke. After the briefest pause during which the marks realized the verbal slip was intentional, a wave of laughter rippled through the room. She shouted: “I mean on your side!” and the levity rose.

In the wings, hands clasped at his waist, Franklin beamed. Christine Lupo was his politician and who could identify her ceiling? The DA had everyone reaching for their checkbooks.

Nicole spent five minutes locked in the bathroom, several of them staring at her reflection in the mirror. How could she have let herself sink to such depths? The dalliance with D’Angelo was bad enough, her role in his current predicament unbearable, but an emotional collapse in its wake? That was inexcusable. Malingering for days in a luxury hotel suite swilling champagne like some dissipated royal was not how she had reached her enviable station in life, and neither was hiding out in Franklin’s bathroom. Why did she not stand her ground with Marcy? She couldn’t let that virago intimidate her. Why should she care what Marcy thought? Marcy was a rigid, conformist nonentity, mother of three spoiled children, all of whom would be living in a cardboard box under a bridge were they not born Gladstones, a woman whose entire existence involved doing the bidding of her overbearing husband. Marcy was nothing.

Nicole reapplied her lipstick and touched up her eye makeup. She wanted to have a word with that Lupo woman.

When Nicole emerged from the kitchen, her target was addressing the packed room. She pushed between two tall bankers to get a better view. There was Franklin, staring at the guest of honor adoringly with Marcy next to him, thrilled to have famous people in their home. There were Ezra and Ari, those charter members of the lucky sperm club. The Lynx reporter lurked near Bebe.

The guests were rapt. Nicole could not understand it. Yes, the politician was a compelling woman who seemed in control of her life in a way that shone a light on Nicole’s precipitous fall. But Christine Lupo struck her as decidedly second-rate, an ambitious hack whose road company charisma stood in sharp contrast to that of President Obama, the only politician Nicole had truly loved. Why had she not done more than just say hello to him at the Waldorf dinner? She had been too distracted by Dag. She remembered his speech in Chicago the night he was elected. The poetry of his words had brought her to tears. Christine Lupo droned; the moneyed mollusks opened. Who were these pasty-faced white people? And who were these black people? What were they doing in the enemy camp? Could none of them discern the falsity at her core? The clones of these men and women packed Washington to the rotting gills. Nicole knew them, worked with them, slept with them, and now their avatar, an empty suit with padded shoulders, intended to use the power of her office to ruin Jay’s life.

“A few minutes ago, I was looking out the window at the Statue of Liberty, and I thought of my grandmother who was born in Calabria, Italy, and took a boat to Ellis Island where—”

From the back of the room, Nicole said, “You’re a fake,” loud enough to be heard. Several pairs of eyes swung in her direction. The attention only emboldened her. Christine Lupo stopped in the middle of a sentence and looked in her direction.

“Excuse me,” she said.

A woman shushed Nicole, but she paid her no mind. “You’re a big fake and shame on you for using Jay Gladstone to advance your political career!”

Several people made hissing noises to indicate their displeasure. Who is that woman, someone said. Oh, for heaven’s sake, said another, it’s Jay Gladstone’s wife. Is she drunk? Jon Voight and Roger Ailes were gaping at her. As Nicole continued to interrupt the DA, the quiet downs and shushes increased in volume. The Lynx reporter filmed with his cell phone.

Franklin moved in her direction.

Nicole was undeterred. Louder: “You need a well-off white man on the docket so you can prove you have no racial bias, but you didn’t have the guts to lock up the cop who killed that black guy.”

The two bankers flanking Nicole moved away from her so Franklin, his face tainted with rage, had a clear shot. He seized her arm, pushed his face close—the tip of his nose pressed against her hair, she shuddered in revulsion—and whispered, “Everyone’s sorry your phone got hacked, but you should leave right now.”

“Franklin, it’s okay,” Christine Lupo said. He looked at her questioningly but did not release his grip. “Let the lady speak.”

Under his breath, he hissed, “Goddammit.”

Nicole wrenched her arm away and said to Franklin, “You’re a putz.”

How much had she imbibed? There were the two glasses of wine at the Oak Bar, two at the loft—wait, no, one and a half at the loft. She wasn’t that drunk. A little food might help. Perhaps she’d grab a canapé on her way out. Nicole cleared her throat and focused on the district attorney: “The people here tonight, who have a lot more in common with my husband than they do with that poor black man who got killed by a policeman, they’re all nodding in agreement because by crucifying Jay you absolve them of their sins.”

She waited now, pleased with her insight, the freedom with which she expressed it, and wondering if Christine Lupo would respond. Would the Christian reference disturb Marcy? She had more: “Who made you Pontius Pilate?” The smile on Nicole’s face after delivering the last barb was disreputable and rakishly appealing, the kind one uncharitably recalls when sobriety reasserts itself. Nicole deployed it like a ninja.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Gladstone,” Christine Lupo said from the front of the room. Her manner was noncombative. “You look better in person than you do on the Internet.”

There was a brief pause while the refined attendees contemplated whether it was permissible to display their delight at this insult, concluded that Nicole deserved it, and burst into sustained laughter followed by applause. Nicole felt hot, blinding shame that rose from her feet to her calves, her hips, belly, up through her back, flaming her neck and thickening her tongue. The entire room was mocking her. Why had she not left ten minutes earlier? Why had she come at all?

Christine Lupo concluded with, “I can’t comment on a pending case.”

Bebe was at her side. They were in the elevator. The air in the street refreshed her.

“That was impressive,” Bebe said.

“I don’t care what those assholes think of me.”

Bebe asked if she was all right and Nicole told her she was, and that calling out Christine Lupo was liberating. Heckling was not Bebe’s style, but she was impressed with Nicole’s commitment, rash though it might have seemed. Her brother was already in bad shape. It was hard to see how his wife’s outburst could make it worse.

They chatted about the presidential election during the cab ride uptown.

Nicole hoped Bebe would tell Jay exactly what his wife had done, although she wasn’t going to ask her. If Jay’s sister performed that modest task, the wretched humiliation Nicole experienced in Franklin’s penthouse would be worth it.

What was it Franklin had told her? Everyone’s sorry your phone got hacked. How did he know someone hacked her? None of the accounts she read had mentioned that detail. No one knew that that horrid clip had come from her phone. What else would have provided it? No one used video cameras anymore. Franklin had assumed—that was all. But the more she thought about it, the less sense her conjecture made. Franklin wasn’t clever enough to guess something like that. When she returned to the hotel Nicole sent the following text to her husband:

Franklin hacked my phone. He’s the leaker.

Chapter Fifty

It was a serene Christine Lupo that gazed across the East River at the Queens skyline from the backseat of her town car as Russell Plesko drove north on the FDR. Pagano’s request had gone through, and the cop had been assigned to the DA’s office where he filled in on an as-needed basis. The evening had been an unmitigated triumph. Christine’s ability to charm a roomful of New York City honchos had her thrumming with confidence. They didn’t just respond to the message—they loved her. Her policies, humor, and improvisatory ability combined to showcase considerable political skills and all of it resonated with the donor base. Even that slatternly wife of Jay Gladstone was a gift. The interruption had allowed the district attorney to display poise, forbearance, and quick-wittedness. The woman had opened fire with both barrels and Christine had crushed her without sacrificing likeability. What a nasty person that pipe-cleaner skinny, entitled, rich bitch seemed to be. Christine thought of the Bronx nuns who taught her at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow. They would have loved the poke she delivered. What kind of depraved world was this where people leaked sex tapes on the Internet? She wondered if the woman had done it herself. This suspicion made her think of Dominic Lupo and the personal dishonor she had suffered as a result of his behavior. At least the evidence of his sexual incontinence wasn’t smeared all over the Internet.

Poor Jay Gladstone. She immediately froze the sympathy she felt and examined it. The declaration became a question: Poor Jay Gladstone? Yes, yes, he was a man made of blood and sinew and a beating heart. Christine Lupo understood what it was like to have a spouse who was a curse. Her quarry was an estimable man—It’s what made him such valuable prey—brought down by a poor choice in mates. Certainly, his predicament was thornier than that, the car had not run over D’Angelo Maxwell by itself, but none of the auto-da-fé he was enduring would have occurred had his wife honored her marital vows. As for the fiasco that had taken place in the basketball arena, the man had paid for his sins in the currency of shame.

These thoughts created a disturbance in her well-ordered moral universe. Before this evening, Jay Gladstone was only a prominent citizen charged with crimes, an abstraction. But seeing his wife tonight—flushed face, firing squad eyes—listening to her aria of abuse, had brought Jay into sharper focus, and the picture that formed was of a human being who was suffering. And suffering caused by a cheating spouse was something about which Christine was not without sympathy.

Then what of mercy? Well, mercy was not exactly hers to dispense, was it? That was more God’s bailiwick. Why was she even thinking these thoughts? Sin and mercy were not helpful when considering a defendant in a pending criminal case. Sin and mercy were ideas, and she needed to stick to facts. If the luxury of a Jesuitical debate were permitted, she would never prosecute anyone. Many of the accused that came under her purview had partners who betrayed them. Humanizing a defendant was against the rules.

As the car sailed over the Third Avenue Bridge and north on the Major Deegan Expressway, Christine realized that something about Jay had been peeled back by his wife’s presence and it kept niggling at her because it felt familiar. She and Jay were public people with families in the process of fracturing. Until recently, they both had been paragons, the kind of citizens others were encouraged to emulate. The vehicular assault charges he faced? Had she not done something similar in the parking lot at work? Sean Purcell had bumped a demonstrator with her official vehicle. Knocked the woman down. A black woman, no less. It wasn’t on the cataclysmic scale of what Jay had done but to pretend there was no parallel would be disingenuous. Had that been racially motivated? Of course not! Moreover, Christine knew it was an accident. By a stroke of luck, no one had reported that incident. Who knows what cynics might have made of it? What if what Jay had done was an accident? What if his lawyer’s claims were accurate? Was she persecuting him? Reasonable people might disagree on whether there was a political tinge to the initial indictment and the subsequent hate crime charge but Jay Gladstone would get his day in court. That was the beauty of the system. She needed to stop seeing moral equivalence where there was none. Ultimately, all that united them was philandering spouses. It was impossible to have anything in common with someone so wealthy. Still, her cerebral push and pull would not cease.

They were riding east on the Cross-Westchester Expressway.

“Russell, what do you think about Jay Gladstone? Do you think he’s guilty?”

Plesko did not answer right away. Christine waited. She didn’t want to influence him so did not offer a further prompt.

“Permission to speak frankly?”

“Granted,” she said.

“He did it, that’s pretty obvious. But did he mean to do it?”

“That’s what I’m asking.”

“People wanted to hang me,” Plesko said. “Like they could all read my mind. But no one can do that. I don’t care who they are. If Gladstone says it was an accident, I believe him.”

“Even after what he witnessed? He accidentally ran over the man he caught with his wife?”

Plesko adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see his passenger. “Does he seem like a violent guy to you?”

“I indicted him.”

“Hey, look, you gave me a break, and I’ll always be grateful for it.”

“Tell me what you think,” the DA said.

“I guess you can’t let everyone off.”

With all the certainty at her disposal, she declared: “Jay Gladstone has had enough breaks.”

By the time she climbed out of the car in her driveway Christine had convinced herself it was true.

Her mind returned to Jay as she lay in bed. Their fathers were both men of the Bronx, first-generation Americans who served in World War II, raised families in New York, pillars of their respective communities. Bingo Gladstone was a version of Mario Lupo with a lot more money. Like something caught between her teeth, the similarities continued to nag her. To her growing consternation, all of it added to this nascent kinship with Jay that she found harder and harder to dismiss.

Twenty minutes later, when she could not fall asleep, Christine went to the kitchen to make a cup of herbal tea. As she waited for the water to boil, she booted up her laptop. Jay had an extensive online presence. Christine skimmed sports pages and business sites, noted his philanthropic activities and the awards he had received. There was a group photograph with Archbishop Desmond Tutu celebrating Universal Children’s Day that she had previously missed. It was not the profile of a criminal.

When the kettle whistled, she brewed the tea, spooned honey into the cup, and returned to the computer. On a real estate site, she typed in Jay’s Bedford address, which for reasons Christine did not want to think about she knew by memory. Up came a single photograph and a description. The image of the palatial house on a hundred and twenty acres, with pool house, barn, paddock, and bridle paths did not produce resentment or envy or in any way stick in the DA’s craw. Jay Gladstone had Sultan of Brunei money, but he employed thousands of people and paid untold millions of taxes into the public treasury. In her view, this was how America was meant to work.

Since the separation from her husband, Christine occasionally found herself missing, not Dominic Lupo exactly, but the companionship he had provided. Case in point: The night of the incinerated T-shirt on the backyard grill. Had Dominic been there, she would have asked him to play the heavy. Something in her had loosened. It was energizing.

She finished the tea, rinsed the cup, and put it in the dishwasher. Went upstairs, but instead of getting into bed, she slipped on a pair of jeans and a sweater. Checked on her sleeping children and went downstairs. Closing the back door quietly behind her, she climbed into her black Lexus sedan, slipped La Boheme into the CD player, and backed out of the garage.

Chapter Fifty-One

Just after eight the same evening, Bobby Tackman arrived at Jay’s Bedford estate to conduct a simulated interview in preparation for the real one. The communications expert reviewed a list of fifty likely questions and made sure his client had responses to each of them. The theme of the evening was Apology. Keep apologizing, he advised. Then apologize some more, and you will be redeemed because America loves a redemption story.

When Tackman left, Jay called Herman Doomer. A team of attorneys was preparing to wage war with the league, but the lawyer warned him that when facing a player boycott, their influence was limited. “You have to knock this interview out of the park,” Doomer said. Jay asked what was going on with the Planning Commission regarding the Sapphire situation. Doomer had made inquiries, but as far as he knew, no new information was available. Jay had hoped to hear from Aviva since he had withdrawn from participating in the commencement, but she had not returned his calls. With all of this on his mind, he shambled to bed.

It was a surprise to find the house situated on a dirt road bounded by low walls built from stones. This evocation of the rural past left Christine strangely moved. She, too, yearned for a time before the current fractiousness, when America had a common purpose. What were Jay’s political preferences? Her Internet scavenging revealed he had made contributions to Democrats and Republicans. What he believed in, she recognized, was the efficacy of the system.

She parked on the road in front of the property, turned off the headlights but left the engine idling. The night was cloudless, pricked with stars, and a half moon impassively shone. Although the house was dark, several security lights painted the grounds in pale yellow. A single light illuminated an upstairs window. Probably on a timer, she thought. From a fawning profile on Forbes.com, she knew Jay owned horses and wondered if whoever looked after them lived on the premises. Lowering the car window, she inhaled the pleasing earthy scent. An owl broadcast its presence. A breeze disturbed the branches. Homes like this one often had security cameras, but none were visible.

She placed her hand on the steering wheel and saw her bare ring finger, moonlit. For ten minutes, she observed the house. No cars passed. Christine had never done anything remotely like this. The burning of her son’s T-shirt, she knew, was indicative of the heightened emotional state she was in, but this amounted to stalking. As long as it did not become a habit, she believed her behavior on this night was justifiable. How else to get a feel for her adversary if not by entering his world? She wanted to know what it was like to be this man, to live in storybook surroundings with a gorgeous young wife and a geyser that spouted money. She imagined him riding a horse along the edge of a luminous meadow, wind at his back, savoring yet another victory. And then he was not alone. There she was, Christine Lupo, the girl from Arthur Avenue, astride a golden palomino. The two of them, together in the gloaming, the broad land spread out intoxicatingly before them, like a Technicolor movie. She could almost hear the brass and strings swell on the soundtrack. Christine had never ridden a horse. Once, as a girl, her father had put her on a pony at a church fair in Yonkers. What was she doing on an imaginary horse next to Jay Gladstone riding into a Hollywood sunset? Smirking at the silliness of it, she repressed the vision. Jay Gladstone and Christine Lupo together in a sylvan fantasy, on horses, no less. It was ridiculous.

Jay was drifting off when Nicole’s text arrived. Was Franklin the mastermind? Nicole certainly thought so. It was impossible to know if she was drunk and raving, or if it was true. He turned off his phone, but could not get back to sleep. For half an hour, he lay in bed listening to the night and trying to slow his rampaging mind. Was Franklin capable of treachery on this level? It was not beyond the realm of possibility. But could he have acted so aggressively? Jay did not realize he possessed that degree of malevolence. Perhaps he had underestimated him. As reprehensible as it was, Jay had to give his cousin credit. The sheer chutzpah of the gesture was impressive.

The road in front of the house rarely saw nocturnal traffic and Jay listened as a car engine hummed in the distance increasing in volume as it rolled past and then died away. Several minutes later he heard another car. It got louder as it drew nearer but then the sound did not recede. A lone vehicle in the middle of the night was not a welcome sound. Someone had parked in front of the property. He lay there for a few seconds, but when he did not hear the car go away, he climbed out of bed, crossed the hall, and entered a guest bedroom in the front of the house where a timer light was on.

Sitting in the car, Christine was in a reverie. Dominic was gone, she had a career-making case on her hands, and with adroit handling, there was no reason she could not spin it into political gold. Thomas Dewey was a New York prosecutor, and he had nearly become president. No one knew how far she could go. Then the light in Jay Gladstone’s upstairs window went out.

Jay immediately saw the car at the end of his driveway. It was not there because of a flat tire. Whoever it was, they were there for him. In a way, he had wanted this. It was why he was reluctant to be saddled with personal security even after the rampage at the arena. He went to the safe, opened the combination lock. Removed the gun, felt the heft of the weapon in his hand. Checked the clip. Fifteen rounds. Boris had shown him how to shoot.

He walked downstairs and sat in a chair facing the front door with the weapon on his lap. He thought about prison versus death and concluded death might be preferable. He wished he could have resolved the situation with Aviva. His will was in order. The floor was cool against the soles of his bare feet. He wondered who would say Kaddish for him.

After sitting there for ten minutes, his nerve failed him, and he called the police. The cop on duty the night of the accident arrived at the house. Officer Wysocki. He acted like he was pleased to see Jay and asked how he was doing. He told Jay there were no other cars on the road.

When Wysocki left, Jay drove into the city.

Chapter Fifty-Two

The next morning, he did not make the mistake of arriving at the office alone. Behind a flying wedge of corn-fed security, he made it through the demonstrators without incident. He had coffee. He met with Bebe and Boris and briefed them on his preparations with Tackman. The Sapphire matter was taking suspiciously long to resolve and Bebe told him she was going to reach out to someone she knew in the city bureaucracy to find out what was going on. Jay told Boris to prepare to fly to Hong Kong the following week to familiarize himself with the Asian branch of the business and brief Bebe when he returned. When the confab was over, Bebe stayed behind and reported what Nicole had done at Franklin’s house the previous evening. They were in the sitting area of Jay’s office. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

“She was battling for you.”

“That’s not the way to do it,” he said, rubbing his temples.

“Nicole wants to save the marriage.”

Jay opened his eyes and regarded his sister. “Would you stay married to someone like that?”

“You remember that secretary who worked for Dad in the late seventies?”

“Miss Sloves?” Bebe nodded. She had a throaty laugh and always acted pleased to see him when he visited the office as a gangly teenager. “What about her?” Bebe’s knowing look spilled the old secret. “You can’t be serious.” She slowly nodded.

Layers of certainty, conviction, and belief began to dissolve. Jay found himself searching for words to express inchoate thoughts. His father, who had coached him in youth basketball, who had passed him the Torah at his bar mitzvah, had been prowling around Manhattan unpeeling his secretary? It was inconceivable. “How do you know?”

“Mom told me years ago. She almost left him, but she didn’t.”

The news caused a tectonic shift in Jay’s perception. The ground swayed. Foundations adjusted, recalibrated. For his entire life, he had modeled himself on his father, held him up as a shining example of how to be a man in the world, prostrated at the feet of his exemplary life when all the time, in this most basic measurement of goodness, Bingo was an imposter, a failure. But as much of a punch to the solar plexus that this represented, in some indeterminate way that he could only begin to discern, it was a relief.

When Bebe left the office, Jay lay on the sofa and thought about his father and how he had behaved in the wake of this dalliance. He reviewed family dinners, Sundays watching football, skiing and sailing vacations, business meetings, shows, charity events they’d attended, endless conversations shared about topics distant and local, and there was nothing he could remember that hinted at Bingo carrying on with his secretary. So, did Jay have to reexamine his perception of his father, adjust his place in the pantheon? Did he have to demote him?

It was with all of this still reverberating that Franklin appeared. Jay did not want to deal with his cousin, who was standing at the foot of the sofa looking down at him over his gelatinous belly.

“Your wife caused quite a scene last night,” Franklin said, satisfaction mixed with the outrage he was impelled to convey.

“I heard. As you know, I can’t control her.”

“Someone needs to. She’s an embarrassment.”

His cousin’s presence further agitated Jay, who rose from the sofa and lumbered to his desk where he flopped into the chair. He thought about the text he had received last night from Nicole: Franklin hacked my phone. He’s the leaker. What had led her to that conclusion? Could it possibly be true? It was certainly of a piece with Franklin’s surreptitious financial maneuvers.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“You’ve got a lot on your plate,” Franklin said. “For your own well-being, I think maybe you shouldn’t come to work until things cool down.”

Here was the Franklin he knew, blunt, artless. Bebe had said nearly the exact words, but her intent was far different.

“Did you hear what happened to me on Saturday night?”

“It was all over the sports page.”

“But you didn’t call or text to see if I was all right?”

Franklin ignored the question. “Fans, Christ, they’re fuckin’ fickle! You okay?”

“Yes,” Jay said. “Thanks for your concern.”

Never before had he felt vulnerable to Franklin. The dynamics of their relationship had been set years earlier and had remained static. Jay believed that Franklin had come to accept the structure of the company and was satisfied with his role. For his cousin to use the current situation to try and maneuver him out of the way seemed entirely out of character. But that appeared to be what was going on. He second-guessed telling Doomer to delay bringing legal action.

“What do you know about that tape?”

Franklin regarded him uncertainly. “What do you mean?”

“Was I not clear? Do you know anything about how that tape got out there?”

“Only what I read,” Franklin said.

“You’re sure?”

“What are you asking me? It’s awful. It’s a crock of politically correct bullshit what’s happening to you. I’ll tell you something, Jay, I never liked Nicole. She was beneath you. Between you and me, if I had walked in on Marcy schtupping some guy, I would’ve killed them both.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s what you would have done.” Jay had not checked with the hospital since yesterday. He made a mental note to do that when he finished with his cousin.

“Crime of passion,” Franklin said. “People understand.” He made a brisk motion with his hand as if to wave away culpability.

“About the tape?”

“I sympathize, believe me. I do.”

“Did you leak it?”

Jay saw Franklin’s slack body stiffen, the planes of his face become rigid.

“What? No! Me? Wha—?” Franklin shook his head vigorously. “No, no, no. Why would you say that?”

“You know nothing about it?”

“Jay, come on! Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m going to tell you one thing, and then we’re done.” Jay paused to let the weight of what he was about to impart sink in. It appeared Franklin might say something but his only response came from his shoulders, driven upward by the tension he was unable to conceal. “If I find out you had anything to do with the leaking of that tape, I will cut your legs off. Between that and what else you’ve been up to, I’ll have you so tied up in court you’ll be afraid to leave your house without calling your lawyer to see if it’s allowed.”

“I had nothing to do with it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know what’s going on in Asia,” Jay said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Let’s not get into that now. Did you or did you not hack my wife’s phone and leak that tape?”

“Did I hack her phone? I can barely work a fucking blender.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Hand to God, Jay.” Like a Boy Scout taking an oath, he held his hand up.

“Hand to God? Now I know you’re bullshitting.”

“You don’t trust me? Go fuck yourself.”

“Go fuck myself?”

“You got what you deserved,” Franklin said. “You’re an arrogant schmuck, and you always were.”

He left the office, barreling through the door and slamming it behind him. The room was silent as a cave. Absent Franklin’s sulfurous presence, it felt strangely empty. Jay still had no idea if Nicole’s accusation was valid, or if she had been drunk texting. He had assumed it was the latter. After having confronted Franklin, he was unimpressed with his denial. There was a risk in trying to ascertain guilt. If Franklin was culpable, the ramifications for the future of the business were profound. But a rupture in their relationship was inevitable anyway. It was going to happen as soon as Jay informed Franklin of the lawsuit he intended to file.

An unfamiliar sensation overcame him, and his heart began to tom-tom. He cursed to himself. Was this a heart attack? Unbelievable. Franklin will have finished the job. He remembered that a coronary event was often accompanied by pain radiating down the arm. Was it the left or the right? He didn’t feel pain in either one. He willed himself to relax and took several deep breaths, letting the air run slowly out of his nose, which he was able to do since the swelling had decreased. A minute later his heart rate ceased its campaign of terror.

When Jay reached Dr. Bannister, the surgeon informed him there had been some hopeful signs since they had last spoken. Something about brain waves that Jay did not have the bandwidth to absorb but had encouraged the doctor. He called Doomer and inquired about the situation with the league. Doomer reported that the commissioner was intransigent. The league was insisting that he sell the team. In desperation, Jay pulled up the list of NBA owners on his computer. He knew them all from league meetings and considered himself friends with several of them. Of the twenty-eight calls his secretary placed, she managed to reach five of the owners. Jay jumped on the phone with each. He wheedled and inveigled. He recounted his history and reminded them of his sterling reputation. They listened dutifully. But of these five men, all of whom expressed sorrow at his predicament and conveyed their sincere sympathies, none would speak on his behalf in public. Too sensitive, was the consensus.

Bastards, Jay thought.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Late that afternoon, the television crew arrived at the apartment to set up. Bobby Tackman paced and offered silken words of encouragement as Jay sat in a chair with a bib over his shirt having makeup applied by a quiet young woman with a nose ring and a tattoo of a peace sign on her forearm. She treated him professionally, which he took to be a positive sign.

Jay was in the kitchen nursing a glass of whiskey when Anderson Cooper arrived and said hello before conferring with the producer, a fussy man in a snug suit who seemed barely out of his teens. Jay freshened his drink and as the whiskey slid into his bloodstream he began to feel its effects. Nervousness receded. It occurred to Jay that in many ways he had been preparing for this his entire life. Always he had chosen to rein in his personality, content to let the light shine on Bingo. This self-abnegation had begun when he was young and continued until his father’s passing. But now circumstances required Jay to step on stage, and he was ready.

Tackman continued his magpie chatter, but Jay was no longer listening. He visualized himself conversing sagely with Anderson Cooper about the scars of American history, the travails of black people, and “the deep well of empathy I’ve drawn from my whole life.” He pictured the easygoing host nodding sympathetically. He imagined viewers across America, around the globe, and all of them coming to see the untarnished quality of his soul. Church Scott (that traitor!) didn’t know what was in his heart? Jay would show the world. He took another sip of whiskey.

“Ten minutes,” a production assistant said.

Jay slipped on his suit jacket. Tackman looked him over. The consultant did not like the picture.

“You need to lose the suit. Put a sweater on.”

“I always wear a suit in public.”

“Millions of people are going to watch this and you’re going to remind them of their boss. A sweater makes you more relatable.”

In his bedroom Jay selected a gray cashmere number with a V-neck. As he pulled it over his head, the soft material masking his face, he felt dizzy so he sat on the bed. To steady himself he took several deep breaths. His balance returned and he felt a surge of energy. He wanted to talk, get a few things off his chest.

In the living room, Jay sat in a director’s chair next to Anderson Cooper, who was checking notes on a clipboard. A sound technician pinned a microphone to him. The television lights were warm, but he was not uncomfortable. Behind one of the two cameras, Tackman stood next to the producer and gave a thumbs-up. A voice said, “Rolling,” and Anderson Cooper introduced Harold Jay Gladstone as a real estate executive and NBA franchise owner to the millions of viewers who would be watching the interview later that evening.

“Please call me Jay,” he said.

“All right,” Anderson Cooper said. Then: “Are you a racist?”

Man, Jay thought, right out of the gate. But he was ready.

“I am not a racist. I made a terrible mistake and I’m here to apologize to all the people I’ve hurt. I don’t know how I could say such disrespectful words. I’m so sorry.”

“Who, specifically, do you want to apologize to?”

Jay was ready:

“There are so many people, starting with D’Angelo Maxwell.” Here Jay paused. Acknowledging this first seemed like the wisest course. He wanted the first apology to resonate like a bell. “I feel terrible about what happened to him. I wish I could undo it. When he recovers I will do everything in my power to make it up to him. He’s doing better, you know. I talked to the doctor this morning, and he’s improving.” Again, Jay paused. He wanted to allow any helpful information time to register. “And I hurt my wife, Nicole. She didn’t need this. I blew up her life.”

“You seem remarkably forgiving about her behavior. What about what she did? She had relations with a player and you caught them.”

Anderson Cooper was not pulling punches. Jay pressed on.

“Yes, I did. I did. But this isn’t about her.”

He congratulated himself on the magnanimity he displayed. So far, he was hewing to the Tackman plan. This was easier than expected.

“Did you know you were being recorded?”

“Of course not. I did a terrible thing and I want to explain. I’m not sure how to say this because for a man in my position, well, everything can be misinterpreted.”

Anderson Cooper wanted some elaboration, but Jay just looked at him. He was having trouble accessing this part of what he had reviewed with Tackman. All he could remember was the apologizing he was supposed to do, and he had already done that. His mind went back to the previous night and the car that stopped in front of his house. By the time the police officer arrived at the house, it was gone. Now he wasn’t even sure a car had been there at all. The sweater was making him hot. What did Anderson Cooper want him to say?

“I think you better ask me another question.”

“You said ‘Why is everyone in this family having sex with black people.’ What did that mean?”

“That’s the question you’re going to ask now?” Jay was trying to be light, amusing. Cooper was stone-faced. “Don’t you want to work up to it?”

“It would help if you answered it. What did that mean?”

“What did that mean? It meant what I said.”

“Everyone in this family?” Jay did not respond. “Would you elaborate?”

Jay paused for a long time. The television lights were getting hotter. His lower back was swampy. He could feel Tackman’s eyes willing him to take control. To steady himself, Jay locked into Anderson Cooper’s unwavering gaze. “I have a daughter who I love very much. She’s an intelligent young person who is in a phase of life where she is experimenting. Her girlfriend is a black woman, which is fine. Nothing wrong with that. So, there’s my daughter and my wife. The word ‘everyone’ was hyperbole, something perhaps you can understand, under the circumstances.”

Anderson Cooper wanted more but Jay decided that he had said enough on the subject. He leaned back and waited for the next question. But before it arrived, Jay wanted to make another point:

“My daughter’s friend happens to be very anti-Israel and she expressed that opinion at our Seder where she was a guest. So, I admit, I may have had some residual bad feeling. But, look, I’m not saying that excuses anything.”

“What do the political opinions of your daughter’s girlfriend have to do with what occurred?”

“We had a rainbow Passover this year, black people, white people, a thing of beauty. The next day I flew to South Africa where I’m doing a major project. When I arrived home, I said a few unfortunate words that, believe me, I’ll regret for the rest of my life. That’s not how I talk. You can ask anyone who knows me. I don’t talk about people. I talk about ideas. May I tell you what I’m doing in South Africa?”

“Let’s stay on this subject for now. Who do you think released the tape?”

“I can’t say on television, but I believe I know the person’s identity and he’s someone who for his own personal reasons does not wish me well.”

Although Jay was tempted to go into more detail, he chose not to.

“When you first heard the tape, did you remember making that statement?”

“I’ve said all I have to say about those words.”

“All right, let’s talk about you.”

“I’m responsible. I have twenty-nine partners in the league. They’re an incredible group of men. I want to apologize to my partners and the commissioner. This mess lands on his desk and I caused it and I’m sorry. Stupid words. Foolish. A man gets upset, says things he shouldn’t say. I was jealous.”

Revisiting the experience was making Jay increasingly uneasy. His mouth was dry. He wanted a glass of water.

“The league wants you out.”

“The media wants me out.”

“And the league. I’ve had sources tell me—”

“Look, I put the league in a difficult position. My partners there are understandably angry. I have a lot of respect for the commissioner and he’s frustrated. But let me ask you—is what I did so terrible that it merits banishment? Is it fair that I should lose a business that I’ve been devoted to, that I love, because of a few words that are being misinterpreted? No one who knows me will tell you I’m a racist. No one. My family has been in the real estate business for generations. Years ago, not every landlord would rent to black people. There are prominent real estate families in New York City—I’m thinking of one in particular—that would not rent to minorities. That was never the Gladstone way. Back in the 1930s, when my father was on his high school prom committee, he refused to hold the event at a hotel where they were going to make the black kids use the service entrance.”

“What does that have to do with—”

“I’m telling you. I’m not saying Bingo Gladstone was Abraham Lincoln, but what I am saying is that I was raised in a liberal tradition, my parents taught me that God created everyone equal, and that’s how I’ve always lived my life.”

“Church Scott, the coach of your team, was quoted as saying, ‘I don’t know what’s in his heart, but I’m praying for him.’ What would you say to Church Scott?”

“Church Scott’s reaction to this—” Jay considered his words. “I’m disappointed. That’s my only comment. He’s a friend and I wish him well. Do you know he’s the highest paid coach in the league?”

“You say that like he mugged you.”

“He mugged me? He didn’t mug me,” Jay said. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Are you saying that because you’re his employer, he should suspend judgment?”

“In this situation, I think he should get the players to stop this silly talk about a boycott, suit up, and go win some playoff games.”

“When Mayor House of Newark was asked to weigh in on your situation, he had no comment. What would you say to Mayor House?”

“Mayor House is a fine man who’s a little confused right now.”

“Confused how?”

Jay knew he was standing on the edge of a cliff. He took a step back.

“I’m not going there. Let me just say that our family foundation has given away millions of dollars in scholarships, we’ve funded nutrition programs. Half the charitable organizations in Harlem, Bed-Stuy, and Newark have the name Gladstone on the wall because we want to help. But there’s someone else who’s leading the attack on me, this Imam Ibrahim Muhammad fellow, who happens to be a Muslim.”

“What does that have to do with the situation?”

“I want to tread lightly here because it’s a sensitive area. Some Muslims, not all of them, have issues with Jews. Some of them take extreme points of view. Some of them, quite frankly, are worse than Rumanians, who during the Holocaust were worse than the Nazis.”

“Some of them. Is that code for—”

“No, no, no! It’s not code for anything. This particular imam has been leading demonstrations against me in front of the arena where the team plays, violent demonstrations in front of my offices, spreading the most scurrilous lies. It’s pretty obvious that my personal situation is being used to advance several agendas that have nothing to do with me. But I occupy a certain position in society so people feel like they can say whatever they want. And you know what? That’s fine. The Constitution guarantees that right. Everyone just needs to be a little less sensitive, but people are extremely sensitive, they’re so sensitive it’s like no one has skin anymore, only nerve endings. So once again, I want to be clear, I apologize to everyone.”

“You have said that your words have been misinterpreted, misunderstood—”

“I have.”

“I want to give you a platform now to say whatever you want to our audience.”

“Thank you.” Jay turned directly to the camera. He paused, and then said, “Please look inside and ask yourselves whether you have ever done, or said, or even thought something that would embarrass you if it were made public. I would like to say to anyone who hasn’t, you’re a better person than I am.”

“What happened that night in Bedford?”

Jay was prepared for this. What further light could he shine on the question that would not doom his chances of exoneration? That he had been cuckolded by Dag and in a spectacularly misguided attempt to—to what, exactly? To discuss what had occurred? To arrive at some kind of rapprochement? He still did not know. Now the door was open and his restless intellect impelled him to articulate all the subtle gradations of intent that had led to the catastrophe and then dive into the waves of remorse that subsequently rolled in and gambol like a seal. But instead, he said:

“It was an accident.”

Anderson Cooper let the moment linger. Considering the circumstances, Jay was relatively pleased with how the interview had gone, and would not be lured into a rhetorical trap to be destroyed by his own words.

“That’s the extent of your comment on the subject?”

“On the advice of my attorney, that’s all I can say about it.”

Anderson Cooper recognized the immovable object in front of him and pivoted.

“Will you sell the team?”

“When Hell freezes over.”

Chapter Fifty-Four

Jay believed the insight and distress he had displayed would go a long way toward rehabilitating his image. He believed he had come across as folksy, honest, and repentant. He believed he was on his way back to the sunny uplands of acceptance and admiration. When the interview ended, the panicked look on Bobby Tackman’s face told him otherwise. Tackman took Jay aside and ordered him to not say another word to the host. He watched as the consultant buttonholed Anderson Cooper, who was being congratulated by his now ecstatic producer, a man who knew broadcast gold when he saw it, and begged him to not run the interview, a request that was summarily rejected. The television crew wrapped their gear and vanished.

Jay was in the kitchen sipping a glass of water when Tackman barged in. He made it clear that the opportunity had been outstandingly botched. Jay listened as the consultant enumerated his sins:

“You can’t apologize and then disparage your daughter’s black girlfriend, why did you express any opinion at all about Church Scott or the mayor of Newark? How would you feel if some well-meaning black man spouted off about Jews? And don’t get me started on what you said about the Muslims. I’m not even sure you and I can work together anymore.”

Tackman ordered him to not engage in further direct contact with the media until they could formulate a new plan.

As Jay absorbed this litany of transgressions, the apartment, which seemed to have cooled with the extinguishing of the television lights and disappearance of the crew, felt like it was heating up again. A mule was trying to kick its way out of his skull. He was about to respond to Tackman when he noticed the vision in his left eye had become occluded and the entire room lost definition, straight planes bending, becoming curvilinear, vibrating, melting, the floor rising and the entire space beginning to disintegrate. Tackman had stopped talking and was looking at him strangely. Jay lost his balance and crumpled, his head striking the floor. Indistinct voices rose and fell. There was so much to do and undo, and yet as consciousness slipped away, what he felt, oddly, was release.

An ambulance brought Jay to Mt. Sinai Hospital where doctors determined that he had not had a coronary or a stroke. He had fainted, the resident who examined him concluded. Probably from stress. He ordered Jay to remain in the hospital under observation for the night. A nurse inserted a needle into his arm for hydration.

Jay had been born at Mt. Sinai. Although his parents lived in Queens at the time, his mother had insisted on it because she wanted her son to be able to say he had been born on Fifth Avenue. When thoughts of his death inevitably arose, he marveled at the symmetry. Staring at the ceiling Jay felt the weakness and frustration that had become his constant companions, but, more than anything, there was the growing sense that he had slipped on some cosmic banana peel and was now in a continuous state of imbalance. From Dag to Nicole to Aviva, the ability to make things conform to the way he wanted them to be had deserted him.

Although Dag had shown slight improvement, the doctors had hinted that a full recovery might not be possible, something that would forever haunt Jay. Additionally, although it paled in comparison to how he felt about the havoc he had wreaked, he feared losing his NBA franchise and not receiving permission from the city to begin construction on the Sapphire, because those endeavors represented a significant part of his future. But what overrode all of this, casting a shadow the size of the world itself, was death. It wasn’t so much that he dreaded the prospect of nonexistence, although he had a healthy terror of that. What concerned him was that he would die now, with his reputation not just deteriorating but seemingly in free fall. How long was he going to live if stress landed him in a hospital bed? Long enough to salvage his reputation and avoid the ignominy of dying in disgrace?

It was not difficult to locate Dag’s room and because he was wearing a hospital gown, the night nurses assumed Jay was just padding along the crypt-quiet halls on a late walk. When he peeked in and saw Dag was alone, he entered and sat in the chair next to the bed.

Dag’s long, lean frame lay still. His chest rose and fell. Clear fluid ran from an IV drip into the soft flesh of his wrist. An oxygen mask covered his features. His eyes were closed. Someone had arranged for a shave, and his cheeks were smooth. Jay glanced at the squiggly green lines of the monitors.

Leaning his head back, he said to the ceiling, “I don’t do this often, but please God, save this man. Please, please Yahweh, Jesus, Allah, whoever is listening.” Humble and emotionally naked, he felt like he was performing a sacred duty. “Little help here, okay? I’m begging.”

Tentatively, he reached his hand out and laid it on Dag’s bicep. It was warm. There was a hitch in Dag’s breathing which caused Jay to start, and he removed his hand and watched Dag’s face for signs of distress. When steady breathing resumed, Jay gently returned his hand to the big man’s arm.

Heas leaned toward Dag’s ear and whispered, “I have no idea if you can hear me, probably not. But, listen. I’m so deeply sorry for this. With my hand on a Bible, I will tell you I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was angry, and because you humiliated me, I wanted to scare you. I admit that. I wanted to put the fear into you in a way you would never forget, and then I did the most unimaginable thing I’ve ever done. I will regret my behavior as long as I’m alive, Dag. I will pray for your recovery each day, and when you recover, I hope you can forgive me.”

Dag’s eyes opened. Jay was dumbfounded, tried to talk, but his tongue would not obey.

“I’m going to be all right,” Dag said.

Jay was crying, tears streaking his face. The mixture of relief, shock, and gratitude paralyzed him. Again, he tried to talk but his tongue expanded to fill his mouth and words would not come.

“How are you feeling?”

Whose voice was that? He still could not get words out.

Swimming to consciousness, he saw Doomer and Tackman at the foot of the bed. Next to them was his sister Bebe. He had been dreaming. It was morning. Through the fog, he realized the tears were real and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He hoped his visitors didn’t notice. It was Bebe who had spoken. Her voice was soft and solicitous. Once more she asked how he was feeling.

Chapter Fifty-Five

A nurse arrived to administer another round of intravenous hydration. The hospital would discharge him as soon as she checked his vital signs. The only thing the attending physician prescribed was blood pressure medication and a few days of rest.

Jay tried to concentrate as Tackman related the extent of the damage. This took several minutes. True to Tackman’s postgame analysis, the Anderson Cooper interview did not serve the purpose Jay had hoped. The reaction, on television and the Internet, was predictably merciless. “Self-indulgent,” “non-apology apology,” and “insensitive” were leitmotifs, as were “slanderous,” “anti-Muslim,” and, of course, “racist.” Jay was a whipping boy, caricatured, lampooned, dismissed, and the consensus was that his time was over, what he represented was an abomination to right-thinking people, and the acceptable repentance, according to public opinion, was to self-immolate in the middle of Marcus Garvey Boulevard. Tackman concluded by saying, “The only surprise was that no Rumanians complained.”

“There’s still time,” Jay said. The rattle of his laugh had the gallows in it. Everything had gone so transcendently wrong it had begun to seem perversely funny.

“I spoke with the commissioner this morning,” Doomer reported. “He wants to know if you’ve reconsidered. The team is still refusing to play.”

“I’m not selling,” Jay said.

“You’re certainly within your rights to maintain that position,” the lawyer said. “However, we’ve been notified that if you don’t sell the team, he’s going to ban you for life. They can go to court and force a sale. They can get a judge to issue an injunction removing you from day-to-day management of the team by asserting that the rights of the other owners now supersede yours. We can challenge it, but they’ll win.”

“This is America,” Jay reminded them. “The government can’t seize your property because you said something stupid.”

Tackman suggested they explain the interview by saying Jay was “pre-stroke.”

“I stand by every word,” Jay said.

The consultant looked at the lawyer, imploring him to intercede.

“Jay, I think Bobby is right. You can help yourself by embracing the stroke.”

“I didn’t have a stroke.”

“Pre-stroke,” Doomer said.

“It makes you a victim,” Tackman pointed out. “The equation changes. We can suggest the entire episode, going back to the car accident, was a result of physical deterioration.”

“There could be significant ramifications for your legal defense,” Doomer said. “It’s a persuasive mitigating circumstance.”

Bebe had heard enough. “My brother didn’t get to be who he is by bending to the prevailing winds,” she said. “As long as he’s in possession of his faculties, I think we can all depend on him to make a sound decision.” Bebe held Jay’s hand. Their eye contact excluded Doomer and Tackman, who knew not to intrude. “Jay, you need to wait until you’re out of the hospital and you’ve gotten some rest. Don’t make any decisions today.”

He appreciated his sister’s advice and neither Doomer nor Tackman contradicted it. They arranged a conference call for the next day to discuss subsequent steps. Boris arrived and, after a few minutes, the others departed. While they waited for a doctor to sign the discharge papers, Jay complained: He had believed in the legal system his entire life, and now it was gearing up to steamroll him.

But he had another idea.

Chapter Fifty-Six

On a summer day about a month after Jay graduated from college, his mother invited him to accompany her on a roots trip to her old haunts. They visited her modest home on a quiet street in Bensonhurst. Several members of the Italian-American family that lived there were home and when Helen explained that she had grown up in the house, she and Jay were invited in to look around. The rooms were neat and small and Jay remembered thinking that it could not be possible that his mother, who explored multiple continents, hosted sophisticated dinner parties, and lovingly smoothed the jagged edges of her coarser husband, could possibly have grown up in such mundane circumstances. To be able to witness the distance she had traveled was to be reminded of his own astonishing luck. After lunch at Nathan’s in Coney Island they went to Brooklyn College where Helen had graduated, although did not attend the ceremony because she had to work that day and so never collected her diploma. Miraculously, it remained on file decades later:

Helen Shirley Goldstein, BA Brooklyn College, 1952

Jay was aware that his mother existed in a whorl of parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins before she married her husband and eventually became Helen Gladstone of Scarsdale, but his mental image of her earlier identity remained unformed. This tangible evidence, first her house, and then the degree, and the pride that filled her as she held it in her unwrinkled hands, enabled him to complete a vibrant picture. She seemed younger than he had ever seen her that afternoon, and so vivid. Now he was glad she could not understand what was happening to him because it would utterly violate the sense of propriety she had worked so hard to cultivate.

A wedge of purpling clouds roiled over Sheepshead Bay and by the time Jay and Boris arrived in Brighton Beach the sky was sloppy with rain. Boris slid the SUV into a parking space down the street from the Rasputin nightclub and he and Jay jogged along the sidewalk through the deluge. They breathed the salt air and heard the rough surf batter the deserted beach a few hundred yards away. Boris pounded three times on the door. A pierogi-shaped woman with six inches of teased black hair waddled past them holding an umbrella and smoking a cigarette. She was walking a small dog with the muzzle of a lion. When the dog sniffed Jay’s leg the woman said something to it in guttural Russian and jerked the animal’s chain without stopping. A moment later the door opened revealing a huge man in a tracksuit. Unkempt brown hair and a mustache the size of a pickle. He, too, was smoking a cigarette. In a borscht-flavored accent he asked what they wanted. Boris told him whom they were there to see. The man ordered them to wait and closed the door. The rain intensified. After all Jay had accomplished, after reaching the dizzying heights he had, socially and in business, he was standing on a rain-splattered sidewalk in front of a nightclub in Brighton Beach. He almost laughed at the wildly improbable nature of the situation but was interrupted by the return of the bearish man, who waved them inside.

The words were being sung in Russian but the big, sultry voice was unmistakably that of a black woman, or a white woman who was trying to sound black. The unseen chanteuse was belting the disco anthem “I Will Survive” in the language of the Moscow trials. The place smelled like a mixture of sea breeze, disinfectant, and stale cigarettes. Jay had to adjust his eyes to the shadowy darkness. The nightclub was a large, multi-tiered space ringed with tables surrounding a dance floor. On a small stage, the singer, a statuesque black woman with a huge Afro, belted the Russian lyrics as if she had been raised on the banks of the Dnieper. A laptop that stored her backing tracks rested next to her on a high stool.

The mustache motioned for Jay and Boris to wait. He approached a table where two men in suits sat listening to the performance. When the song ended, the men conferred. In English, the singer asked if they wanted her to sing another song and one of the men replied that she should audition for one of those talent shows on television, but meanwhile, they would like her to perform in the club starting this weekend. The diva thanked them, gathered her gear, and hustled off the stage. One of the men rose from the table and escorted her out a side door. The mustache beckoned Jay and Boris to the table.

It had been years since Jay had seen Marat, from whom he kept a wary distance. He did occasional favors for him, like arranging apartments for associates in Gladstone buildings, but their contact was minimal. Marat rose from his chair, smiled, and embraced Jay and Boris in succession.

Only his height was unchanged. When Jay thought of Marat, it was as he looked in the 1970s, with a barrel chest, more hair, and a coiled aspect. In his late sixties now, his hair had thinned and grayed. The Cyrillic letters tattooed on his ringed fingers had faded. His chest had shrunk, and his girth expanded. Most surprising to Jay, he smiled when he asked if they had enjoyed the singer. They assured him that her talents were exemplary.

“During sixties, in Soviet Union, all kinds of Africans showed up to attend school,” he said. “She reminds me of those days.”

Marat indicated they should join him at the table. He inquired whether they would like a drink and, without waiting for an answer, called into the darkness for a bottle of vodka. He asked after Boris’s mother, and Boris told him that she was well. Marat sent his greetings.

“Is my son causing you problems?” Marat asked with mock concern. Boris looked away, embarrassed by the teasing. Jay assured him he was not. He had trouble imagining what it must be like for Boris to have Marat Reznikov as a father.

A beefy woman with bleached blonde hair appeared with the vodka, deposited it on the table, and toddled away. Marat poured three glasses and lit a Lucky Strike.

“I’m trying to quit,” he said, taking a deep drag and blowing an impressive cloud. “You see how well it’s going.”

Boris asked if he could have a cigarette. His father lit one and handed it to him. It was a surprisingly intimate gesture. Jay had never seen Boris smoke.

Marat stared at Jay. “You look like shit.”

“It’s been a difficult time.”

“I always tried to keep my name out of the papers.” Marat waved the smoke away. “The more people know your name, the more people want to take you down. Why you go on television? I watched that interview. You dug your own grave with your mouth.” Jay did not respond. Being addressed like this in front of Boris was painful. “What kind of idiot goes on television?” Marat still pronounced it “eee-dyote.” His accent still redolent of the Odessa docks.

“My advisors suggested it.”

“Your advisors?” He spat the word like a bloody tooth. Now it sounded jarring in Jay’s ears. Marat called out for appetizers. The same waitress arrived in seconds with a plate of herring and crackers. Marat slapped her backside as she departed.

Jay thought back to the summer when he met his Ukrainian cousin for the first time. To a college student from a world far removed from the first-generation Bronx and Brooklyn experience of his parents, this immigrant seemed like a wild beast. His surface was composed, but underneath something simmered that could erupt without warning, like the steamy day when the two of them crossed a potholed street in the Mott Haven section of the Bronx, and the gypsy cab lightly struck Marat. Jay never forgot the sick feeling that overcame him as he watched his cousin pistol-whip the driver.

His mouth full of herring, Marat said, “You drove all the way to Brooklyn to see me on this beautiful day. What’s on your mind?”

Jay wrenched his thoughts back from the Bronx. He outlined his situation with the league, related that the playoffs started soon, and told Marat that a judge was going to rule on the matter shortly.

“What can I do?”

“You still know a lot of people in the sports book in Las Vegas?”

“One or two.”

“And that league referee who went to prison for gambling.”

“Not personally, no.”

“There are rumors, Marat, we discuss them at the owners’ meetings.”

“Always there are rumors.”

“Any hint of fixing in a sport can make people think it’s like professional wrestling. It would kill the league.”

“Rumors are like oxygen, Jay.” Marat glanced around the dim room, over one shoulder, then the other, to illustrate his point. “Everywhere.”

“I’m not asking you to confirm or deny.”

The expression that had been so welcoming hardened, replaced by a feral wariness that appeared at home in Marat’s weathered features.

“Boris, give us a minute,” Jay said. He did not want his protégé to witness his further abasement. Boris took his glass of vodka and retreated.

Jay leaned over the table, lowered his voice: “I only want to be able to communicate to the commissioner that facts might come to light that could cause trouble for the league exponentially worse than what my situation is causing so he’ll have to back off and figure out a way to line up behind me.”

Jay hadn’t intended to drink the vodka, but now he took a sip.

“That’s your plan?”

“I don’t have a lot of options.”

“If they push back then on top of all the other trouble, they’ll get you for extortion. Not only will they get you, they get me, and then I’m going back to prison. But, Jay, I’m not going back to prison.” Marat had done time upstate for running a gasoline racket.

“I can’t go to prison.”

Marat took another drag of his cigarette and released a plume of smoke.

“Take your medicine. I did five years. You are big boy, you can do it.”

The club was starting to feel like the middle of the night on a deserted subway platform in the 1970s, the atmosphere rank with bad possibilities. Jay started to perspire. His clothes were already moist from the downpour and now he wanted to take a shower.

“Listen to me, Marat.”

“I’m listening.”

“When you asked me to forget what I saw—”

Marat interrupted, “I’m not going to tell you I’m grateful because I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He drained the vodka in one gulp and poured another.

Jay knew his cousin would admit nothing out loud but it didn’t matter. It was a decision that went against his grain at the time and in the ensuing years he had carried like a virus.

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“You are bigger man than your father, and Bingo was great man. Is handicap to be born with money because hard to learn how shit works. But you learned.”

Marat, philosopher.

Marat, dispenser of favors.

Marat, lands’ end court for petitioners with no hope.

Jay knew exactly how shit worked, which was why he was here in the Rasputin nightclub swilling vodka with his grizzled cousin. He reflected on his father, wondered if he would have traveled to Brooklyn to sit down with Marat and attempted to pull invisible levers that would shift the planes on which everything was built. He concluded that that is just what Bingo would have done. But Jay didn’t know if he had Bingo’s nerve. Perhaps the easiest thing would be to arrange a deal with Marat and then not live up to his half of the bargain. Marat would turn him into a pavement stain and that would be the end of it.

“I could lose everything.”

“What everything? Don’t be dramatic. You’re a fucking billionaire.” Marat picked a piece of tobacco from between his teeth and flicked it off his finger with a callused thumb. “I tell you what. Say I make a couple of phone calls.” Jay straightened his back. This negotiation is why he was in Brooklyn. “What can you do for me?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I didn’t say I would do it.”

“Marat, just ask.”

“I love basketball.”

“I do, too.”

“Remember when Russian men’s team stole 1972 Olympics from the Americans?”

“Who can forget?”

Marat smiled as if he were the one who had arranged that farce himself. He drained his glass and called for coffee. The same waitress arrived with the same speed and placed two espressos in front of them. Jay inhaled the pleasant smell. Its familiarity comforted him, but he did not touch his cup. Marat downed the shot in one gulp.

“I hear your team is worth more than billion dollars.”

“So I’m told.”

“Give me half.”

“Cash?”

“Ownership.”

His cousin was throwing him a lifeline, but it was one that would strangle him. A partnership with Marat would be like sharing a confined space with a sleeping lion. Eventually, the cat would awaken.

“That’s not possible.”

“I should risk my ass for a box of chocolates?”

Jay insisted such a transaction would be remarkably difficult to engineer. There are few businesses as public as professional sports. Owners have to vote, Marat was a convicted felon. There were ways to disguise ownership, Marat said. His name was on only a fraction of the enterprises he controlled.

“Those are illegitimate businesses.”

At first, Marat seemed insulted. At this point, Jay did not care.

“Not all of them, boychik. Not all of them.” Marat named a well-known Manhattan restaurant operated by a famous chef and informed Jay that he owned a controlling share. When Marat saw the look of surprise on Jay’s face, he said, “See, even a guy as smart as you, you don’t know everything.”

“I don’t think it can work.”

“Don’t tell me it can’t work if what you want to say is you don’t have the balls to pull it off.”

Jay said he would think about Marat’s offer and call him. Marat told him not to use the phone. He should come back and shake on the agreement in person.

“If you don’t want to do it, I understand. Big decisions are not easy. When time comes, if things are bad, perhaps then I help you.”

“How?”

“You say you can’t go to prison.”

“I won’t do that.”

“Then maybe you want to disappear.”

It was still raining when they drove back to Manhattan. Jay did not mention the particulars of his discussion with Marat, only that he had agreed to consider helping him. Boris listened and nodded. Who knew what he was thinking about his father, their relationship, and the different roads their lives had taken.

Was it worth it to make Marat a silent partner? If it could help Jay avoid prison, perhaps it was. One of the reasons he had hired Boris out of college was because Marat had asked, but also, he viewed it as a means to keep Boris out of his father’s orbit. As corny as it was, Jay wanted to be the kind of example for his young cousin that his father had been for him, someone to admire, to emulate. In going to Brighton Beach, he had utterly betrayed that idea. In the Gates of Heaven Cemetery, Bingo Gladstone lay not far from where Babe Ruth was buried. Today Jay was glad of it. As they drove over the Brooklyn Bridge and slid beneath the cloud-shrouded towers of Manhattan, the wash of shame he experienced was tempered by the distant hope that his gambit might work.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Dag’s coma lasted ten days. After a week, when Dr. Bannister and his team attempted to bring him out of it, the patient was unresponsive. The wounds were beginning to heal, but his slightly enhanced brain function proved a false dawn. The prognosis went from hopeful to guarded. The international medical team Jay had assembled could not say if he would emerge from a “persistent vegetative state.” Jamal Jones had not been back after the first week and Brittany Maxwell had returned to California to look after her children. But Dag’s brother Trey, Lourawls, and Babatunde were a constant presence, as was Imam Ibrahim Muhammad. When his friends took a break, Trey remained at his brother’s side with the imam.

Muhammad told Trey his own story: The crimes, prison time, and conversion. They discussed the fragility of existence and the innate need of humans to submit to something greater than themselves. The cross on Trey’s neck was inked when he was trying to make Church Scott’s team and he derived limited comfort from the art when he was cut loose. He told the imam that he wished it had been something more than a decoration. Now that his life had once again derailed he found himself compelled by the spiritual succor his new friend offered. The words of Ibrahim Muhammad were seductive and welcoming and offered sensible solutions to seemingly intractable problems.

At Dag’s bedside Trey perused the pamphlets the imam gave him with heightened interest. What he knew about Islam mostly came from television: Jihad, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, seventy-two virgins, a grab bag that did not cohere into anything he could comprehend. Because white people controlled the media, he viewed much of what it purveyed as inherently suspect. He wanted solace in a time of need, not to strap on a suicide vest and blow himself up. He was impressed that the Prophet was a warrior who vanquished his adversaries and had multiple wives (the Prophet actually reminded him of several guys he knew growing up in Houston). The idea of being part of a vast community of believers that stretched around the world held deep appeal. The no drugs or alcohol business might be a problem, but following every rule wasn’t the point, was it? Besides, if he had to quit, he could.

He considered the Five Pillars of Islam: Al-Shahadah (Testimony), Al-Salah (Prayer), Al-Siyam (Fasting), Al-Zakat (Almsgiving), and Al-Hajj (Pilgrimage). All of them seemed not only doable but an effective program for gaining control of a sybaritic existence defined by running errands for his brother, whom he loved, but wasn’t it time to think about his own life? Trey Maxwell needed to create some sacred space for himself. He needed to stand up and be his own man, gain inner strength, purify, and if one point six billion Muslims could be trusted, Islam was the answer, the word, the “for real” thing.

Dag’s room was on the tenth floor, overlooking the heliport adjacent to the East River. Each day the helicopters would come and go, arriving and departing in an endless cycle. One came in and another took off, climbing above the river and banking into the distance. There was something mystical about the helicopters to Trey, something he could not quite put into words. But he felt it. Then, it hit him: The helicopters lifting off reminded him of the Prophet Muhammad ascending from Al Aqsa astride his winged steed to begin his heavenly journey. His mind never used to work like that. He felt something good was happening.

When the imam arrived at the hospital the following day, Trey asked how he could become a Muslim. The imam praised him and said he knew Trey would find happiness, tranquility, and inner peace. His friends took the news in stride, which is to say they asked him if he was going to wear white robes and sell bean pies up on 125th Street. When Trey said, “Ain’t funny,” and they saw he was serious, that temporarily ended the comedy.

On Wednesday afternoon of the second week Dag was in the hospital Trey, Lourawls, and Babatunde were playing poker (Trey’s conversion did not include a prohibition against a friendly card game in Dag’s room). Exuding the false cheer of hospital rooms where the possibility of upsetting news flickers like a lightning storm on the horizon, Lourawls gloated as he raked in a twenty-three-dollar pot. Babatunde cursed and told Lourawls he had no talent for the game, it was just luck. Trey ordered the winner to shut up and deal the next hand. As Lourawls began to distribute the cards, Dr. Bannister entered with a group of residents and asked if they would mind stepping out. This was routine, Bannister saw Dag each day, and the entourage left the room. The banter continued in the hallway while they waited for the doctor to finish the examination.

Bannister emerged from the room accompanied by the residents, the graveyard in his eyes. He said, “It looks like your brother might have sepsis.” Trey had no idea what sepsis was and asked if it was dangerous. “It’s a systemic inflammatory response and, yes, it’s dangerous. His organs are failing.”

Trey asked if they could do anything to reverse what was happening and Bannister informed him they were doing all they could.

Trey spent the night at the hospital, grabbing snatches of sleep in the chair next to his brother’s bed. Teams of doctors attended Dag, changing IVs, hooking him up to different machines. As the night wore on Trey stared at the blinking lights. He talked to Allah and with every cell in his body he supplicated, begged, and prayed. Dawn arrived and, bleary-eyed, Trey watched as helicopters rose up like flying horses and arced over the river through the early morning light soaring above the pallid sun toward Arabia.

D’Angelo Maxwell died that afternoon.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously.

Seth Greenland is the author of five novels. His latest, The Hazards of Good Fortune (Europa Editions), will be published in 2018. His play Jungle Rot won the Kennedy Center/American Express Fund For New American Plays Award and the American Theater Critics Association Award. He was a writer-producer on the Emmy-nominated HBO series Big Love.

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